Cyberzon
by wazoo 
sci-fi, amazon women, elbow room, bad movies, rude people, and an aversion to the dentists chair
Update: 29/12/1997 to misc3



Cyberzon... a typical tale of gratuitous sex and kinky violence.

by wazoo (one of the #awa denizens)

first off, the obligatory disclaimers...

if you are not over the age of 200, do not read this junk.

if you are a resident of the planet earth, the following text has no
redeeming features whatsoever, additionally, as a consequence of reading
this drivel, your chances of winning the "Irish Sweepstakes", or the
"Publishers Clearing House" thing will be diminished to the point of
virtual non-existence.

all sorts of horrible things are likely to befall you if you
continue...so what!  no matter what miserable fate occurs as a result,
there isn't a lawyer in the country that could pursue the case to
financial advantage...

in other words, if you don't have a weird sense of humor, what are you
doing here chump?
------------------------------------------------------------------------

the scenario ---

sci-fi, amazon women, elbow room, bad movies, rude people, and an
aversion to the dentists chair...  somehow, this is all supposed to add
up.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 1 - in which I ramble on at considerable length, whilst barely
approaching the point.
--------------------------------------------------------------- 
Life is absolutely amazing, I know this for a fact.  Take me for 
example, one tall scrawny computer geek.  Nothing unusual there you say,
"lot's of tall scrawny computer geeks".  But wait, you don't have the
real picture, when I say tall, scrawny...you're probably thinking about
normal malnourished undeveloped geeks.  I'm talking about really
amazing.  I'm talking about astonishing.  I'm talking about the kind of
scrawny that inspires comments like; "How have you managed to avoid being
blown through the wall by the air conditioning unit at the grocery
store?"

Not surprisingly, nobody has ever mistaken me for Arnolds stunt double.

But, I digress, after all, you're reading this tale for the story, right?

Well, it's kind of like this, 'bout a year ago, after getting tired of
and by my last employer, I decided that I needed a change of scene, a
vacation from the drab streets and political correctness of the home
turf.

Now I'm one of those crazies who've been dreaming for years of an alien
encounter(of the best kind).  I've even given thought to putting in one
of those personal ads...you know the bit..."Wanted.. Alien woman of
extraordinary love, wit, warmth, beauty...must be able to "f**k like a
snake(haven't the foggiest what that means, heard the phrase once and
figured that it must mean INCREDIBLE or some such)and have access to a
functioning spacecraft free of liens(my dad was a lawyer before he got
sensible and became a happy cabinet maker)...send picture of spacecraft
to...".

Oh yeah, so anyway, I decided to book on down to UFO country(You know,
Roswell and such), and see if I could maybe have any luck hitching a
ride.  OK, so I'm not a rocket scientist or any other kind of character
that the aliens are likely to be interested in, but hey, I could wash
dishes or something.  So, off to the desert southwest i went.

Well, after hanging 'round the thriving metropolis of Roswell for a
couple of hours, and drawing 'bout three too many suspiciously
unappreciative glares from the local constabulary, I figure 'tis time to
take a gander at the rural splendor(read as "get out of Dodge, boy!").
So i hop in my motorcar, which has just enough of the body left to sort
of indicate that it was a Toyota at one point and little enough of the
exhaust system to make it abundantly clear that it is, indeed, an
internal combustion powered(slightly) vehicle, and drive towards the
nearest exit from the town.

Being as it's night time, and being as I was kind of in a hurry to scoot
from the town, I've not the foggiest notion as to the road I'm on or the
direction I'm heading.  Not that I'm overly concerned, I figure "hey, if
there's any alien life 'round, either I'll find it or not".  So, I'm
just sort of following any old misdirection that presents itself.  After
about two hours of this meandering, I'm really not sure what road I'm
on, or if it's even a road.  The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm
definitely out of gas.

Oh well, I see no reason to get overly bent about it.  After all, I've
got a sleeping bag and the seats recline.  So, I figure to nod out for a
couple of hours, and worry about finding civilization after the sun
comes up.  Well, when I do finally wake up, I figure it's daytime
alright, at least, it appears to be light.  I'm also wondering if I'm
in the middle of a tornado, or just the mother of all windstorms.
Fortunately, it proves to be a windstorm, and it only goes on for a
couple of hours.  Unfortunately, it's enough of a windstorm that no
matter which direction I look, I can't make out any indications of a
road.

"Blast and befuddlement", actually the thought was phrased somewhat
differently, but I don't think it would particularly improve the tale.
No matter which direction I face, desolation.  Well, maybe not
desolation, I see what appears to be a hill off in the distance.  In
hopes that it is a hill in the distance and NOT a mountain half way to
China, I start moseying off in that direction.

After about an hour of this, I'm starting to get the impression that the
second theory may actually be the correct one.  Either that or the hill
is moving faster than I am.  Just about the time I'm starting to wonder
if it mightn't be a good idea to return to the car, and hope
civilization finds me, WHAM...  The ground disappears under my feet.
Unfortunately, this disappearing act is very short lived.  Almost
immediately, I am one with the ground again.  Stretched out face down in
the dirt and trying to remember how to breathe.

After a few moments (which seemed to stretch out for a ridiculous period
of time) ,during which I'm certain that I was working out quadratic
equations with imaginary roots, I remembered how to breathe again.  It
was at this point that I also discovered that breathing dirt is prone to
inducing one whale of a coughing fit.  So, I spent another few moments
practicing that art, while my mind switched to solid geometry.

"Oh my, what an incredible experience" raced through my thoughts (OK so
it was something else, pick your own phrase already...gee).

Staggering first to my knees, which only took a couple of tries, then to
my feet, then repeating the previous two parts a couple more times, I
was finally erect (in a purely bipedal sense I assure you).  I was also
in a bit of a hole (in the ground, good grief, will you Please quit
reading that sort of thing into this narrative).  Looking around, then up
and down, I decided that "I don't believe it, I have apparently
discovered an old, dried up well"..."now, doesn't that just put the
icing on the cake".

Looking up, which appeared to be the sensible thing.  I quickly
performed a quick and dirty trig function (having grown bored with solid
geometry), and decided that I must be about 7.23 meters (give or take a
smidgen) below the opening.  While my mind was certainly racing about
performing these calculations, my body was still in the process of
attempting to restore breathing and such as automatic functions not
requiring particular attention.  To put it another way, I was not ready
just yet to begin the process of extricating myself from the well.

With this fact in mind, I sat back down...err, actually, I sort of fell,
having found myself rather dizzy at the moment.

"Ouch...grrr, oh my, what sort of debris have I just rammed my shin
into?"

As I proceeded to roll about, whilst clutching my shin, my hand (the one
not clutching my shin) discovered what had attacked my shin.

"Argh...Ahhh!!, how 'bout those Packers anyway?"

After which, I put a couple of extensively skinned knuckles (still
attached to the rest of the hand fortunately) to my mouth, which
blissfully, muffled my shrieking somewhat.  Now, I've got to admit that,
what followed was not my most well conceived action.  Abandoning my
grasp 'pon my skinned shin...  well, OK, I struck the offending object
with a vicious abandon that would have been right at home in the W.C.W.

Right, this was distinctly not the brightest action under the
circumstances.  The very item that had, so nonchalantly attacked my
shin, then bit my knuckles, now attempted to break various bones in my
other hand.

"....insert whatever phrase you may think appropriate here...I probably
used it"

For a span of time, not sure how long, there I am, thrashing about in a
mostly fetal position, mumbling not-nice things, and just plain feeling
somewhat less then "top o' the morning".  In the midst of this
wonderfully joyous aspect of "life as we know it", I am compelled to
freeze.  Quite suddenly, and quite completely.

"How's it going sport?, a Packer fan, eh?, oh well, can't be helped I
suppose".

Slowwwwwly, I turn my head.

"You know, I don't see any particular advantage to hitting that box, but
if it helps, by all means, don't let me stop you".

I shake my head, blink rapidly several times, and make strange (and VERY
incoherent gurgling noises), then proceed to remind my heart that it
SHOULD continue functioning without waiting for a request on my part.
Since that doesn't seem to change things, I try rubbing my eyes.  Still,
when I open them and risk looking in that direction, my hallucination is
still there.

"Duh"

"Duh"

"Aieeee"

Shake my head a few more times, then continue with...

"Duh"

Still there..."So, this is what comes after life as we knew it" proceeds
to meander 'round my assuredly former excuse for a brain.  "Oh well"

"Nah" she says, "you're not dead".

"Duh" if you're thinking (you who be reading this) that my
conversational ability is less than incredible at this point..."Duh"

A smile that looks like it could kill at fifty yards is joined by a
blink from the most incredibly green (living emerald green, I swear)
eyes that I've ever seen.  As consciousness seems content to maintain its
acquaintance with me, more of this picture/vision starts to arrive in
focus.

What I'm seeing...what I'm seeing...oi veh!  My brain returns to the "I
must be dead" scenario.

Again, she says "Un unh, you're not".

Hmmmmm, this is a tough one.  I've never had anything resembling
artistic talent, so there's no way I can draw you a picture of this
vision.  As to a talent for words, well, there's a problem with that
also.  I'm looking at a vision that hasn't had the words invented for
yet.  So, be so kind as to bear with me as I make this foolish attempt.

Since I've already (kind of) done the eyes and smile bit, more on the
head...the hair, well I've always had a weakness for dark hair with that
burnished copper sort of tint to it...for hers, you have to try an
imagine the whole thing being iridescent besides.  I mean, it's like it
keeps changing.  Now, if I had seen this on any other woman, I don't
know if I could possibly tear my eyes from observing only the head.
But, this is definitely NOT any other woman.  See, this head reaches to
about the same height as Gabby Reece.  I know this 'cause I once saw her
playing a tournament in L.A.  Now, I'm not exactly short ('round 6'2"),
but this woman is at least an inch or three above me.

Besides being painfully photogenic to look at, I'm getting a crick in my
neck, so my eyes start meandering slowly downward.  I see a neck that is
out right pulsing with sinews perched upon shoulders...oh my, oh my,
ohhhhh myyyyy.  I'm seeing shoulders that have to turn sideways to get
through the door.  I know this for a fact 'cause I have to take a couple
steps backward to get them into my field of view.

This is a bit of a mistake, this is when I start seeing the way the
whole package is fitting together.  The best idea I can give you, try
and imagine a physique with the symmetry of, oh, say Anja Langer.  Then
try to imagine that as being kind of emaciated.  Then, try and merge
that thought with the shredded vascularity of a Carolyn Cheshire, with
that being considered too smooth.  Move down to the legs, and you can
think of Wendy Jeal as being too "Twiggyish".  This all being tied
together with an altitude that doesn't give up a centimeter to the afore
mentioned Gabby Reece.

Now, try and picture all of the above, whilst in an old, dried up well,
approximately 7.23 meters below the opening, a VERY long way from home.
Yep!, I fell over again, this time banging the back of my head on the
rock wall behind me.  I'd love to be able to say that it was a result of
my great sophistication that I did not immediately let loose with
another protracted series of loud, crude comments as a result of this.
I really would...fact is, I was flat out speechless, couldn't even make
incoherent gurgling noises.

"Hmm...think I'm going to have to get you out of here while there's
still some intact components left", she says.

"Du", I manage to blurt out.

-------------------- end part 1, finally!


------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 2 - In which an excessively long introduction still fails to set 
the stage.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

My vision blurs off into a swirling mass of hideously bloody reds and
bile greens, my ears are assaulted by a cacophony of noise that is 
simply too repulsive to begin to describe, my body...my body refuses to 
admit to how it feels. Then, wham, "Doff" "Arch!!!"

Thereupon ensue the delightful sights, sounds and wonderful feelings of
heaving ones guts out.

After a decidedly wretchedly long period of this wondrous experience, i
hear,

"Mm, doesn't look like transporting agrees too well with you"

"Du"

"Some folks just never get used to it, think you're probably one
of them, pity".

"What?...alright, alright, I give up. What's this all about, where am 
I?....And...WHO are you?"

"Ahh, conversation at last, I was beginning to think this might turn out
to be a real drag." "OK, what it is?, well this is your prize, you're on
your spaceship, and I'm part of the prize...OK?, you got all that?"

I'm shaking my head, doing my best Warner Brothers cartoon confusion 
imitation...she's still standing there, looking as impossibly beautiful 
as before, except now, she's got this decidedly snide grin on her face.

"Prize?"

"Yep...third place winner in the Wqztyxrpsq fantasy giveaway"

(No, that's not how it's spelled, and don't ask me to pronounce it, as 
weird as it looks, take my word for it, it sounds worse)

"The what fantasy..., hold it, go reeeeeal slow, what?"

"It's kind of like your Publishers Clearinghouse shtick". "Except 
instead of magazines, they sell fantasies". "With me so far?".

Very slowly, I manage to articulate, "Ohhhkaaayyy". "Ah, I don't think
I've heard of that one, but please, do continue."

"They do a random drawing from everyone in the quadrant, and hand out a 
prize fantasy." "So, what's the confusion, you won this weeks third 
prize"

"Ahhh, OK, so...what's the prize?"

"What's with you?, you don't even know your own fantasy?" "Man, I'm 
really beginning to think this is going to be a massive drag."

She shakes her head kind of slow, frowns a bit,then says "Alright, I 
can see you need things spelled out completely, 'k, here goes then"

"One, an alien woman of extraordinary love, wit, warmth, beauty, possessing
two gee muscularity, and the ability to "f**k like a snake!"..."that's 
me".

As she is making this statement, she executes a graceful, slow,
enticing wave of her hand(which I note, is made-up of long, elegant, 
strong looking fingers, generously accented with veins which clearly are
up to the task of supplying any appropriate quantity of required 
fluids).

The hand, is then connected to a wrist(which I note, is in 
precisely the correct location and without a doubt ideal for being the
connection between the afore mentioned hand and the next element of 
note).

Ahh, my tortured gaze continues it's journey to a forearm...to 
the forearm, to end all forearms (a forearm, that I note is incredibly 
thick, sinuous, vascular, in short, positively, frighteningly, 
unbelievably dangerous looking, while miraculously remaining utterly 
feminine and graceful).

From there, I wander past the elbow, an elbow of which I would gladly
speak with grand, impassioned eloquence, unfortunately however (at least
for the sake of the elbow, which loses it's great chance for poetic
description) it is located too close to the upper arm.....

This upper arm nearly ends the story. This upper arm consists of all the
expected parts, you know, biceps, triceps, and there my meager knowledge
of anatomy fails me, leaves me hanging there. It's not that the muscles
are large, sharply defined, vascular, and a picture of perfect symmetry.
No, it's not that you could count each and every vein, each and every
outside muscle fiber. It isn't even because you could distinctly see
evidence of each slow, sure pulse of her heart as it caused those very
distinct veins to pulsate. No...and if you believe any of the above
listed denial, have I got a deal for you! Now, I'm not going to feed you
some song and dance about her upper arms being larger than my thighs.
What I will say is that the dimensions were a great deal closer than I
would believe possible, and the word "hard" is just another example of
the failure of the English language to convey an adequate description.

As difficult as it was to prod my eyes toward further exploration, rest
assured that her shoulders were admirably up to the task (as noted in an
earlier part of this tale, mention was made of the distinct possibility
of their requiring her to pass through doorways, sideways) Hmm, my
initial suspicion was indeed correct, a standard doorway would not allow
her to pass straight through, unless she decided to do so anyway, after
which, the doorway would then be sufficiently wide, if a bit worse for
wear.

Now, I've already spoken, though briefly, of the incredible beauty of 
her hair, her criminally photogenic facial character, et.al., besides 
which, by the time my captive vision had migrated from her fingers to 
her shoulders (as incredible a journey as mans first trip to the 
moon...I swear) the slow, sensuous (I know I already used that line, 
you're just going to have to put up with a case of terran vocabulary 
trying to describe an alien...) wave of her hand indelibly drew my 
attention elsewhere.

It is indeed fortunate (at least for the back of my head, if not for 
your patience with this narrative) that she was wearing some skimpy, 
kind of too tight, but at least somewhat covering top sort of thing. 
Just for the record, nah, this isn't the part of the female anatomy that
I'm inclined to be vastly interested by. Hey, I'll admit, 'tis nice when
they're nice, but they just don't hold a candle to muscle structure, at 
least for my attention. Still, in this case, 'twas fortune indeed that 
almost just about sort of hid them from further analysis because, as I 
later found out (and as will doubtless become further, excessively drawn 
out narrative a bit further in this story) I would have keeled over on 
the spot. My foolish skull would have viciously attacked(albeit 
completely without success) the floor (oops, excuse me, that's deck).

Now, despite my insistence that this part of a womans anatomy is not 
that which is most likely to receive overmuch of my attention, this part
of the description still ends up with two paragraphs.  I think that this
is due to the symmetry and proximity of this (for lack of a better term)
dual....ahhhhh.....element. Yes, that's the ticket, dual element.  What 
does manage to peek out from the item of apparel which mercifully 
shields me from the immediate impact (at least enough that I don't 
collapse then and there) is a ridged valley(yeah, it's a crummy 
metaphor, but "striated" doesn't describe it any better)starting to the 
north and obviously continuing far to the south bordered by pectoral
muscles that appear to be sufficiently dense, deep and clearly well 
nourished as to be able to give dancing lessons. As it turns out, this 
is but another example of woefully inadequate description that will
certainly be returned to later in this manuscript (so, don't say you
haven't been warned)

As the hand(yes Virginia, THAT hand) continued it's grand sweep, as it 
passes south of the northern extremities (so to speak) my poor eyes are 
subjected to the "abs"....You've heard of "six pack abs, eight pack abs,
possibly even twelve pack or in extraordinary circumstances a FULL CASE 
of abs". Nope, it doesn't work like that, I'm guessing that you might be
saying to yourselves, "bet he tries to pass this one off as a 'beer truck
full of abs', you might even be imaginative enough to be saying 'the 
whole brewery'....nope, remember, I'm from Wisconsin, the state that 
drinks as much on its own as the rest of the country combined. The only 
way to describe these abs is to say "the combined output of every 
brewery in the state, would still be a distant second".

This visual journey, as arduous a trek as I've ever undertaken is 
briefly interrupted by her voice (which, in keeping with every other 
aspect I've noticed about her, absolutely, positively MUST be against 
the law in any place on the planet).

"Like the abs, do ya?" she says while giving them a quick twitch, which 
causes an audible snap.  "I know you think that some of your fantasies 
are twisted." she continues while undulating this part of her anatomy 
(hmm, undulating really doesn't begin...more like seeing a spandex bag 
filled with anacondas...no that isn't it either, it's like...oh blast, 
it's driving me crazy and sucking the eyeballs out of my skull)."But, 
I've got to tell you...you Terrans don't know from twisted" ...
"Kinky...,if I were to tell you about kinky... " as she's saying this, 
the muscles in her torso are flexing and contracting with complete 
independence. It's as if she can manipulate any muscle of her body 
independently of any other. "But I've got to admit, even though you're 
awfully tame, I kind of get off on the bit about being able to punch a 
guys intestines up into his chest cavity by flexing my abs" and proceeds
to snap her abs out and up with a definite accompanying sound.

"Duh" is my considered response to the above dialog, no doubt 
accompanied by weird twitching and probable drool on my part. In 
addition to which, I'm feeling the hot flush of turning a decidedly 
embarrassed shade of red.

"Look" she continues while slowly relaxing her extended abs, "they ARE 
the leading fantasy fulfillment company in the sidereal universe". 
"Naturally, they know (intimately) what their clients want, and besides,
like I already said, you Terrans don't know from twisted"

With this statement completed, the visual tour continues.  It also 
begins to dawn on my dim perception, that for all the evident, hard 
muscularity of this woman, I had not seen her flex prior to the ab show.
All the impression of vibrant, incredible strength that she had 
conveyed, had taken place in a totally relaxed state. She radiated more 
power by simply breathing than I had ever seen in a fully pumped, world 
class FBB in the midst of competition posing.  To put it another way, I 
was beginning to feel my (formerly well behaved) consciousness, once 
again begin to indicate it's intention to desert me high and dry.

Before this has a chance to occur however, she slowly lifts a leg in an 
arc off the floor while extending her foot forward. This causes both the
muscles in her thigh and those form the knee down to expand in a 
rippling fashion.

This, unfortunately proves to be the final assault on my ability to 
absorb this visual beating.  I see red, then gray, then black.  About 
the same time, I hear a sickening "thwack" which I later surmise is my 
vastly bruised noggin once again valiantly attacking an object both more
solid, and far less movable (the previously promised deck) accompanied 
by a feeling, which has nothing whatsoever to recommend it, of a very 
sharp pain in the vicinity of what I surmise is left of my skull.

At this particular time, an intermission of sorts takes place.  Being 
rather totally unconscious for a period of time (I know not how long), I 
can only guess at what actually occurred at this point.  Since this is a
period of which I have no awareness, if you are so inclined, you may 
wish to make good on your escape. Alternatively, if by some quirk, you 
are actually enjoying this pathetic narrative, you may wish to do 
something along the line of what I suspect that delightful woman did at 
the time.

It is my suspicion(largely based upon aspects of this tale not yet 
arrived at in this story)that her initial reaction was probably along 
the lines of...

"What a woose, what an utter maroon"....as she slowly shakes her head 
while her eyes roll 'round with an expression of being sorely tried. 
At this point, I believe, she scooped me up, trundled into the next 
room(oops, sorry again Uncle, that's cabin)being careful(of course) to 
negotiate the narrow doorway sideways, and deposited me in, what my
recollection of late 20th century, Terran interior decorating leads me 
to believe is, a barclay lounger (you know, a reclining couch potato 
bucket).  From here, I believe that the dialog went something like 
this...

"Hmm, wonder what I should have on my pizza?"

(By the way, gentle reader, those of you still here at any rate, the
aspect that you may wish to emulate at this time is the quest for 
sustenance...the expressions of disgust and my placement in a spot more 
comfortable than face down on the deck having already been dealt with)

Yadayadayada.....and time passes...slowly, something vaguely resembling 
consciousness begins merging with my reality, or at least with my 
variation of awareness.  Dim, fuzzy images gain in brightness and a 
growing focus.  In time, I'm becoming convinced that I'm in the midst of
a strange and completely pointless dream.  I seem to be sitting in a 
totally pedestrian reclining chair, looking out at what can only be 
described as an extremely cheesy, low budget parody of the bridge of the
starship "Enterprise".  My head is definitely throbbing by this point, 
so I'm having a bit of difficulty continuing with the dream theory. OK, 
so I went to some bar, attempted to show the locals how we abuse 
ourselves back home, and I've ended up in some really weird motel.  No, 
that can't be it, let's see, I know...but before I can pursue this 
particular bit of misdirection, she wanders into my field of view. Once 
again, my brain starts to blur, my eyes attempt to retreat into the 
furthest recesses of my badly abused skull, my breathing, heartbeat....

SPLASH!!! as about a gallon of very cold water, ice cubes and all is 
thrown at my face.

"See here sport" she growls (showing yet another side of her vocal 
versatility...really, what Beethoven could have accomplished with no 
more than her vocal abilities) "If you don't quit this passing out 
nonsense right now, this ridiculous manuscript is going to be longer 
than 'War and Peace' before we get past the introduction!"

SPLASH!!! as the other pitcher of ice water finds its mark.

"Duh" I sputter and chatter while shaking my head like a dog climbing 
out of the river. Then, realizing that I'm soaking wet, covered with ice
cubes which are doing there ice cubingest best to make me even wetter 
and colder, I leap, or stumble or whatever graceless physical action it 
is that gets me out of the chair.

"Duh", still shaking my wet mop of a hairdo and rubbing my eyes HARD. I
remove my hands and risk another look....Yep, it's her.

THWACK!!! as a towel flies into my face.

"Here, dry yourself off while I continue to enlighten that excuse of a 
mind you pretend to have with regard to the prize you've won".

"And if you say 'Duh' one more time before the end of the intro, you're 
going to eat that towel!" This statement is accompanied by an expression
that would cause yeast to perform a rapid retreat from a beer vat, so I 
bite my tongue (I then perform an absolute miracle so far as my 
existence thus far in life is concerned...as I feel the joyous sensation
of what my teeth have just done to my tongue, I don't make a peep, not 
one sound, nada!!!!, I've never seen a look like the one she's giving me
at the moment, but be assured dear reader...it has the intended effect)

"TWO!" she snarls, "Finally we get to point two" while this is issuing 
from her vocal chords, I'm seeing a pair of eyes that could cut 
'Superman' in half, lasers don't hold a candle to these eyes. 
Fortunately, this terrible aspect fades quickly, threat or no threat, 
another two seconds of that look and I'd have fallen over again. As it
is, I barely manage to keep to my feet while stumbling 'round like I'd 
just attempted to set the world record time for polishing off a quart of
tequila.

What starts as a snarl, becomes a sneer, is transformed into a quirky 
grin, from there, it softens into a gentle smile, then opens wide and 
warm.  Then she says "Hey, relax, part of your fantasy is that I have to
actually like you" The sun shines brightly, sounds are soundier, I'm 
almost ready to..."STOP that NOW"...."I mean it, I may like you, but I 
WILL STILL....If you faint on me ONE MORE TIME!!!!!" and her fist comes 
up, looking very clenched, looking very....looking...!

"I'm awake" I blurt out, "I hear you", i stammer, "I....I", I remember 
that I'm not supposed to make noise, so I begin to concentrate, with all
my being, beyond any thing I've ever attempted in my life, I'm trying to
breathe very quietly, and remain standing.  If this were an Olympic 
event, I would have won the gold for sure....I am inspired, I am also 
fervently hoping that my various bodily fluids are staying within my 
body, except of course, I'm sweating like I'm in the middle of a blast 
furnace.

"May we get on with point two?", she sweetly inquires, or should I let 
the people reading this bilge shred you like a cuisine art?"

This inspires a very quick affirmative nod of my head, so quick, I 
suspect I've just given myself a case of whiplash, but, QUIETLY!

"Two, a late model, functioning spacecraft free of liens"..."that's this
ship that you're in". This is accompanied by a sweep of her arm 'round 
the vicinity of the room (darn it anyway, I'll get it straight yet Unc, 
the BRIDGE). Well, of course I'm distracted by this gratuitous display 
of her heavenly spread lat, I continue to be mesmerized by her wings 
'til my obvious lack of attention to important matters is signaled by 
those eye beam skewers that she can turn on and off quicker than I can 
blink.  So I tear my eyes from the jaws of really bad things and scope 
out the surroundings a bit.

I'm amazed, truly amazed, appalled, flabbergasted. My first impression
of the place was actually correct, if somewhat understated. This place 
is so cheesy that even a die hard 'Packer' fan would run for dear life. 
Only problem is, she's standing between me and anything resembling a 
door in this joint.  Being the long time 'no need to scurry' type of guy
that I am, the thought of attempting any sort of broken field run past 
her is dismissed before the idea can even leave the sub-conscious level. 
Here I am, until she decides, and only until she decides otherwise. So, 
I proceed to attempt to combine relaxation with a concerted effort at 
not allowing my 'no longer the least bit rigid' skeletal structure to 
collapse in a puddle on the deck (see Unc, I knew I'd eventually get the
hang of it:)).

Slowly, I'm turning around, I do a 360, then another, then reverse 
direction and do 360 the other way. When I've finished this stilted 
pirouette, I'm looking at her again. She's kind of smiling, which is a 
real relief and has a twinkle in her eyes, which are doing an incredible
job of melting me without burning down the house (so to speak...).

But, I'm sorry folks, I'm not buying any of it.  Yes, I'm looking at the
woman who goes beyond my wildest fantasy (this is beyond an Olympic gold
medal achievement, this is the kind of record that will outlast the 
species...beyond MY WILDEST....oh sure!), but this 'bridge', is...this 
'bridge'... only way I can even begin to clue you in on it is like 
this, "ever seen any of the Troma films?", "You know, the outfit that's 
made the real classics of low budget films like 'Toxic Avenger'?". 
"Well, gentle reader, what I'm looking at (bridge wise, not the lady... 
got to keep these things straight) wouldn't make it into one of their 
rehearsal halls, much less into an actual film".

A bit of sputtering, incoherent babble (though nothing that sounded even
remotely like 'Duh', and I blurt out, "This.is a late model 
functioning spacecraft?" My eyes are rolling around, independently of 
each other, thereby rendering anything resembling visual acuity 
impossible. This is beginning to feel like a good thing to do, mean, if 
I can't focus on this disaster...

Nope, she's not letting me get off that easy, "Yes", she fairly chirps in
a manner that somehow combines visions of the 'Mouseketeers', with 
overtones that would seem to be right at home in one of those individual
viewing booths that they have in those....on second thought, never mind 
about those, we're looking at the bridge of a late model functioning 
spacecraft, not touring the parts of Amsterdam that don't get shown in 
the 'National Geographic' article.

"This is the bridge, pretty cool,  isn't it?"

"Hmm", I back up a bit on my reactions, then I get this huge grin (I 
mean the grin like the 'bird that ate the cat' kind of big grin) on my 
face.  "Cool, yah hey!, mean like I can say 'computer, plot a course for
some place or another and engage the warp drive', and WHAM, we be out 'a
here?"

"Nope", she replies with a shake of her head (this of course causes 
another 5 gigawatt display of sinews and muscles on her neck, but I 
quickly glance the other way and viciously pinch my thigh in an effort 
to maintain a vertical presence. meaning that I stay standing... please 
keep your thoughts at least somewhat polite).

"No", I pathetically whine, "why not, what good is a functioning late 
model spacecraft if it won't go..", then I have a thought that catches 
up with my runaway mouth, "oh, I see, I can't drive it of course, 
obviously I don't know how" shaking my head in an attempt to look both 
positive and sage (don't think it worked, but I tried). A very slight 
pause, then I continue with "You can drive the ship, ya hey, that's 
cool, I don't mind, got no macho thing 'bout driving being a male 
thing... really, that's cool with me", as I'm back to my face splitting 
grin.

"Ahh, nope" she says, still shaking her head. This is getting me all 
over excited, turning away and mangling my thigh some more. "I don't 
have a clue how to make it work" she says, torturing me some more by 
accompanying this statement with a shrug which manages to spectacularly 
show off another series of muscle and sinew writhing about.  By now, 
I've had more than enough of mutilating myself, so I merely stare down 
at the deck and grab the back of the reclining chair with a totally 
vicious abandon and lack of concern for the chairs feelings, 
unfortunately, I also locate a loose staple in the upholstery via this 
technique.

"Hey", she says, in a manner that's as gentle and refreshing as a cool
breeze on a muggy day in August. "We've still got a bunch of this intro 
left to get through, think you can preserve at least some of your body 
for the actual story?"

"Hmm, what about an owners manual?", I ask without much hope. "Maybe I 
can figure it out with that, I'm pretty good with tech manuals, I can 
even decipher 'IBMese'."

"Yeah, there's an owners manual alright", my grin returns in a flash as 
she says this "but, it won't do you any good, see the species that built
this ship records everything verbally...their range of hearing starts at
about .01 Hz and continues up to about 500 KHz. on top of which, they 
have eleven separate vocal chords operating independently, you'd never 
be able to figure out the chord structure", my grin vanishes like the 
hope of the justice department finally nailing 'Microsoft', and I slump 
into the chair.

"A functioning late model spaceship, except it won't function", I 
mutter, "Yep, no doubt about it, this outfit definitely must be the last
word in fantasies for the sidereal universe" I somewhat bitterly opine.

"Hey", she says, "remember what I said earlier, you won THIRD prize!" she
offers, though not without kindness, so I brighten up a bit, though I 
stay sensible and avoid looking at her, the voice alone threatening to 
put me under.

"Besides, look at all the good aspects to it", as she leans down in 
front of me, again playing hobb with anything resembling control of my 
already vastly damaged scrawny bod. "C'mon", she says, and to make sure 
that I understand what she means, she wraps one long, sensuous, lovely, 
vascular, sinuous hand around my excuse for a bicep in a grip that 
plainly says "If you ever want to see your arm again", and with an 
absence of effort that makes nonchalance look nervous, yanks me out of 
the chair, with my feet flying in an arc brought rudely to the ground by
her hold on my arm. I'm not sure at the time if it's been ripped 
completely out of it's socket, or merely severely dislocated, but to be 
certain, I am most definitely awake, and am following along as quickly 
as I can stumble or be dragged, mostly the latter.

"It's not" she says, still leading, dragging, pulling me behind and 
somewhat to her side, then stops suddenly, giving me and my frail 
body the immediate opportunity to either stop when she does, or forever
part with my arm, an arm that is rapidly losing any sense of feeling. In
a panic, I start having thoughts of nerve damage, loss of limb..."No,
not that either" she continues, "you're arm isn't dislocated, detached,
removed from it's preferred location, and as to nerve damage, 'tis in
your head only!" then tugs (no, that's not the right word either, but I
seem to be at a loss for nicely descriptive terms for having an
irresistible force, forcing me into yet another inescapable
position...) me 'round so's that I've no choice but to be
staring/gaping... I don't know what, except that once again, I'm being
devoured by eyes that are flaming emerald green at me.

Then, twist sideways, whoosh, through a door and into the next "cabin". 
I'm suddenly recalling an "amusement" ride at a fair when a youngster, 
an adventure undertaken prior to my realization that sudden, violent 
changes of speed and direction were not my calling in life.  Again, I am
jerked to a halt, I think my eyeballs followed suit in something less 
than a minute.  The vise like grip on what used to be my left bicep 
started to ease up, enough so that I was able to experience the 
distinct feeling that blood was indeed welcome to visit the furthest
reaches of that limb. But the grip was still undeniably there, for 
which, I must be at least somewhat grateful, after all, it prevented yet
another collapse on my part.

"Three" she exclaims. Now I'm terrified.  There's something about the 
way she makes the statement in conjunction with her facial 
expression plus yet another aspect of her growing versatility with 
making statements with her eyes... whatever it is, I'm trying to 
shudder.  If you were to see a picture of the place, my apprehension 
would seem ridiculous, after all what could be frightening about a small
enclosure (maybe 12 X 12 X 12 feet cubed). In this enclosure are five
items, a beach chair (you know, one of those folding wooden frame things
with a canvas seat), a small round table (kind of a night stand sort of 
thing, and not a part of a set with the chair, more like 'Ethan Allen 
Early American Bricabrac' actually), on which are sitting what looks a 
great deal like a 'MaxiSwitch' programmable keyboard (sans chord), what
looks like a 'Logitech' three button rodent (also sans chord), and what 
may only be described as a '60s pair of exceptionally tasteless wrap 
around sunglasses.

"Yes,...three..." she sort of mulls the phrase a bit while I start 
wondering if this is it, the end, the.. "Three is the best part", she 
continues, "whatever else you may or may not be, I have to admit, this
makes it worth the trip."  (If you think you are confused at this point,
please understand... just getting to the point where I could describe 
the situation this coherently...).

"Duh", and immediately realizing that I had committed an unforgivable 
breech of conduct, I (who am not the least bit religious) started 
praying fervently, for what... I'm not certain, perhaps a quick and 
relatively painless demise...

"Ahhh, not to worry" she says, while giving me a bit of a wink. This 
doesn't soothe me in the least... to the contrary, I'm beginning to 
attempt a rapid analysis of 'Christianity' versus 'Animism' versus...
when she brings me back to the present locale with just a bit of a 
twinge on my arm. It's only a small twinge, I'm certain that it's still 
attached to the rest of me, but whatever distraction I may have been 
indulging in, is gone.

"This is really the best part, you're going to love this!"
"This is the control center for the entire fantasy."
"This is your Trinary Optimizing Anticipated Data System, more commonly 
referred to as TOADS."
"This particular unit is the Mk 19683, it has 81 729-3 243 GHz 
processors, 6561 teratrytes of ARAM, and 27 Jujuplex Infinite Storage
Modules, more commonly known as jisms."
"In addition, this particular model has the full 7D sensory I/O system
with complete rollback and anticipation circuitry, plus the multi-morph 
animator option."
"And the icing on the cake, an all channel time compensating bandwidth 
enhancing router with triple-triple asymmetric redundancy coupled with a 
state of the art Target Observation Acquisition System Tranceiving 
Energy Relay"
"Or, do you just want the simple explanation?", she asks with a cheshire
grin.

"Simple is good" I reply in a fruitless attempt to sound urbanely bored.

"OK, simple it is, this is the gizmo that allows you to locate the
flamers and spammers, send me off to do a number on them, while you get 
to watch the fun while drinking a beer."
"As a bonus, it's the ultimate net connection, it allows you to have an 
unblockable server, unhindered access to any computer on the planet,
whether it's on the net or not, plus it can break any Terran encryption 
code, transparently.

"Cool", I reply desperately trying to sound nonchalant, "will it run
'Privateer 2?"

"No problem", she replies with growing enthusiasm, "plus all channel 
satellite/cable HDTV!"

"What's this bit about flamers, spammers and doing numbers on them" I 
ask, recalling an earlier statement.

"Simple", she replies, with a look that leaves no doubt as to her 
sincerity. "Your fantasy about being able to send a 'Cyberzon' to pay an
educational visit to rude dudes.", she finishes with a look that says 
mayhem incarnate!

"Wow", I enthuse, "you mean, I get to watch you trashing shmucks, ignore 
taxes, cable bills, passwords, and have mad passionate sex with the most
beautiful amazon in the sidereal universe?"

"Except for the sex, yep." She replies with a nod of her head. "You only
won third prize, remember?" she finishes.

"ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!" is all I can manage as a reply to this news.

-------------------- end part 2, bet you thought you'd never see this!


------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 3 - A relatively brief, and assuredly pointless exercise in once 
again failing to get to the real(TM) story.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blast...only third prize....

But don't think I'm complaining. Well, OK, so I'm complaining.  But, I 
still have to put this into perspective...the only thing I'd trade this 
for is FIRST PRIZE!!! Second prize is actually worse than third. I know,
you're asking yourself "How can second prize be less cool than third?". 
Hmm, it's like this, I still wouldn't be able to fly the ship, and (far 
more important) still wouldn't be able to...wouldn't be able to, aww 
fudge, the only difference between third and second is that I'd feel 
good about carrying on a "platonic" relationship with her.  Sorry folks,
me, I'd rather be frustrated than "brain dead".

As to first prize...still couldn't fly the ship, but I'd have been 
"automagically blessed" with sufficient stamina to... to possibly 
survive anyway.

As she's explaining this to me, I interrupt her (yep, all those self 
inflicted blows to my skull had rendered me completely foolhardy) with 
the following query; "I don't get it, why give me a starship, but no 
chance of going anywhere with it?"

She turns to me, with a heart rending, soft, inviting, subtle smile, 
combined with a pair of glowing, neon emerald eyes.  Just as I am about 
to drown (like the proverbial sinking rat) in the radiance of her 
expression, she speaks thusly:

"Hmm, sorry to 'burst your bubble' so to speak, but there's no way in 
the 'seventeen known hells' that they would allow a Terran access to 
'civilized space'."

"You have to understand", she continues, "this system, and the 
inhabitants thereof, are classified as a 'level seven red zone'."

"A what?" I blurt out (oh, praise be, my vocabulary is returning)

"Hmm, it's kind of like the 'Roddenbury Rule', you know, the one about 
non-interference with (hopefully) developing cultures."  "That, combined
with a total quarantine to prevent your contaminating life as we know 
it."

"And, truth be known, to prevent any possibility of my being able to 
return home.", she finishes with a smile, that is somehow, both sweetly 
touching and outright terrifying. (don't ask for a better description, 
you really don't want to know)

"Ah", I chime in, doing my best imitation of masterful deliberation, 
"OK, just for the sake of discussion, I suppose I can accept a desire to
keep us Terrans at arms length, not so sure I'd want us as neighbors 
either.", "But, why should you be stuck here?...not that I'm complaining 
mind you, just curious."

"Oh" she chimes back, with a vibrancy that again threatens to loosen my 
bowels, "that's simple enough...I'm certifiably insane!" she finishes 
with another of those lightning glances. (fortunately, she was not 
looking directly at me, and I managed to extinguish the blaze on the 
upholstery almost immediately)

"Yep", she continues, obviously having observed the stupidly dumbfounded
expression on my face. "Positively certified...I have an unacceptable 
propensity for taking great pleasure in exercising wanton, chaotic, 
protracted violence." "In other words, I'm an extraordinarily mean 
bitch." (now, don't blame me gentle reader, I'm merely relaying her own 
description, be glad I'm not able to convey the total experience via 
this limited vocabulary of mine)

"I was given a choice, I could either submit to 're-education, or accept
assignment to this fantasy as permanent exile." She then paused for a 
moment before continuing with; "When I read the specs for your fantasy, 
Well, I knew immediately, this was the only real choice for me." Then, 
she faced me directly with an expression that was enough to once again 
cause me to enter the time-warp of immediate unconsciousness.

Yadayadayada....back to the waking world again, where I once again, 
foolishly begin to ask questions......

"I don't get it," I utter with my usual penetrating insightfulness, "If 
this is a 'level seven red zone system', what's with all the UFO's 
zipping about?", I finish with an attempt at a penetrating glare of 
mental dominance that even more quickly degrades to a sheepishly blank 
stare at the deck.

"Bloody punk kids!" she bites off with a vocal timbre that makes a
chainsaw seem a close relative to a plastic spoon.

In yet another exhibition of her extraordinary ability to precisely 
interpret my every expression of total ignorance, she proceeds to 
enlighten me vis a vis her previous comment. "Yeah, bunch of punk kids 
out for a joy ride in their parents ship, going out and mooning the 
natives." Noticing that this has somewhat failed to cause immediate 
awareness in me, she continues the description; "What, you mean you never
did any fool stunts like that when you were in school?" she queries me 
with a look that inspires me to a willingness to confess to any crime 
she cares to name...any!

"Ah...I...I'm, I mean...ah...sure I've done my share of crazy nonsense..
I just don't ... I ... You mean to tell me that the UFO's we keep seeing
are nothing but a bunch of high school kids out on a lark?" I finally 
manage to say.

"Er, no", she continues, "grade school actually would be a closer 
description." Noticing my tremendous non-verbal communication capability
she finishes with; "haven't you noticed how they're always described as 
being somewhat less than four feet tall?", while simultaneously drawing 
herself to her obvious more than six foot height.


-------------------- end part 3, good grief, will this puppy EVER get 
off the ground?
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part 4 - OK, OK, so you've shown incredible patience.....
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hmm, fantasy, which becomes reality, courtesy of some intergalactic 
outfit that pedals the things like souvenir pennants at a football 
game.  Well, if it hasn't become apparent to you by now that I have a 
rather "sick mind", it shouldn't take too much longer.

Flamers, Spammers, Rude Dudes....Hmm, 'tis more than a shred of truth to
the theory that "bad tempers are carried in flimsy packages".  Not that 
there's no such thing as folks that are physically strong and mentally 
minuscule (hey, read the 'sports page' occasionally if you need proof of
that), but when it comes right down to it, they don't call it a 
'Napoleonic complex' for nothing.

So, here I am, with the computer to end all computers, an Amazon with an
attitude (but who still actually 'likes' me), and a spaceship (which 
despite not being able to leave the system, has numerous, wondrous 
attributes, including a functioning 'transporter' unit).  Are you 
beginning to get the picture?

Yep, those 'aliens' may not be willing to let me visit them, but, 
apparently, they're not to picky 'bout what transpires in this system 
(so long as it STAYS in this system).  You need it spelled out in a 
clearer fashion... OK, be real careful 'bout being nasty with e-mail, I 
might see it... Then, you might receive an 'educational visit' from a 
vision with terribly green eyes...

Hmm, first time it went down.  There's a news group that I've long been 
a 'habitué' of, AAWA (if you're reading this, 'tis obviously no surprise
to you).  I don't know about you, but I tend to get a bit bent towards 
'jerks' that seem to derive pleasure, purpose, whatever, by being flat 
out rude and nasty.  Think you know the type, "She's really a man", 
"this, that, or another person, is an obvious.....", yah, you know the 
type, the ones who never use a true e-mail address, the ones that you 
know are really short, ugly, gangly/fat, near-sighted, narrow minded, 
frustrated, adolescent......yech.  But become veritable giants within 
their anonymous electronic cocoon that their parents have provided them 
with, in lieu of an upbringing.  That some of them are also middle aged 
alters the truth of the type not one whit, a @*$)($) is a ((*%)$().....

And then there's me and my fantasy setup.  A computer that can, not only
figure through any dummy email account, but can pinpoint the location 
within .00001 angstroms.  In short, this gizmo can find anyone, 
anywhere, anytime.  And, 'Napoleonic complex' that I admit to having, 
combined with an 'insane amazon' and a 'transporter', are just the 
ticket for 'improving manners' on a rude, crude world.

Oh, yeah, the first instance... guess the details of what fired me up 
'bout the post aren't that important (hehe, figure if I keep you 
guessing a bit, may inspire 'civilizing' influence, hey?) but, suffice 
to say, I managed to get a bit bent over it.  Oh OK, quit your gritching
already, man ... what an unruly bunch....

This yahoo was flooding the ng with a ton of nasty grams.  Criticizing 
all the women (what few there are) who run the 'schmoe circuit', yep the
'mixed wrestling' bit.  Hey, doesn't really matter what you think of the
routine, simple fact is, it helps pay the bills for these ladies (yeah, 
I know, the term is 'politically incorrect', fact is, I had an 'old 
fashioned' upbringing, women are either 'ladies', or 'young girls' in my
vernacular... so, pax anyway, 'tis meant neither as insult, nor slight). 
Oh yeah, the rude one..., anyway, not only is this jerk going out of his
way to be snooty about it, he's doing a symphonic blow job on the theory
that 'ain't no female in the world could last a round with him', that
he'd have any 'wench begging for his candy' in under a minute.  'All of 
the videos are completely faked, all the 'muscle women' are 
'transvestites on steroids', yadayadayada.... You probably saw it, or 
one of it's multitude of clones.

Well, as I've alluded to (yeah, excessively, I know), this whiz-bang 
computer has features that Asimov never dreamt of.  The 'tracking 
system' really can!  Yep, I ran a trace on this, this,... well, this 
character that I didn't have much of 'the milk of human kindness' for. 
Hmm, turns out, his e-mail was actually misleading, he was actually 
worse than his limited vocabulary could convey.  Nope, he wasn't short, 
gangly/fat, ugly (at least, from a static photo standpoint), covered 
with acne, nor near-sighted.  Fact is, at least from the 'static photo' 
standpoint, this jerk could have been in the movies, as the proverbial 
'action hero' type.

Unfortunately, people are not 'static photos'.  They live, breathe, 
move, and in one or more fashions, interact with other living, 
breathing, moving individuals.  That was his real problem, the 
interacting part.  He was, to put it in excessively understated terms, 
"not nice".  Hell, he was a... nope, I'm not going to indulge you in 
that, I'm not going to be that vulgar for the sake of 'literary 
dramatics', just take my original description... "not nice."

He was particularly "not nice" to ladies.  A consummate pick-up artist 
from hell.  Complete with a 'little black book' filled with names and 
numbers of too many bruised and beaten women, names of too many of the 
unfortunate ones that you can hear saying "I know he's no good, but I 
can't leave him..."  You know the type, both his, and theirs.  And there
I was, with these 'alien marvels' that could do the kind of things that 
many would dream of.  Hmm, some of you might admit to such feelings, 
some of you (I'm sure), would heatedly deny such feelings within 
yourselves.  But, I doubt that any of you would deny that such attitudes
as mine certainly exist within what passes for 'human civilization.'

In short class, 'the bell has rung, school is in session.'

So... green eyes 'beams down' behind this night owl joint frequented by 
this pigeon and moseys 'round to the front entrance.  Whereupon, she 
makes her entrance.  Hmm, think I'm gonna short-circuit this part some. 
I could probably write an entire story just about the effect of this 
woman making an entrance.  But, that would cause yet another delay in 
this tale, suffice to say, she baited her hook, cast her line, and 
reeled the fish in, and spent less time at it than it took me to write 
this paragraph (OK, very slight exaggeration there, VERY).

In case there's any of you that scoff at the possibility of someone 
being able to 'score' that quickly, well, you haven't had this woman 
give you a "c'mon boy", I don't care what your sexual preferences are 
or aren't, don't care if you're the pope.  I don't know if it's 
pheromones, ESP, or what, just know "ain't no way anyone could say no to
her." Combine the 'literally' unearthly charm of 'green eyes' with the 
jerks 'normal' pre-occupation and in mere moments, they're in transit to
the pigeons roost.

OK, I'll admit to it, another reason I won't give you a more detailed
description of the preliminaries is that I was to busy ranting and 
raving to pay over-much attention.  Remember, THIRD prize, I wasn't in a
mood to accept any of it....

Anyway, they arrive, yadayadayada... Into the beasts lair they traipse. 
Into the obviously expensively, and equally obviously, tastelessly 
decorated condo they go (no, I'm not cutting this character ANY slack). 
He motions to the couch while saying "Some wine?"

Arggggh, I know I'm going to be sick.  I'm wondering if there's a way I 
can beam about five gallons of yesterdays pizza on him, without the 
remotest possibility of any of it touching her.  Fortunately, an 
intelligent combination of not wishing to experience the joy of 
self-induced regurgitation with the utter terror of any of it splashing 
on her.... yes, deep breathing and a cool head prevailed.

By the time I get past the above mentioned excursion through demented 
mania, they're on the couch exercising their individual moves toward 
combined ends.  Ends that are combined but totally separate.  He thinks 
he's going to get some tonight, she knows he's not going to forget what 
he's going to get.  Me, I'm in this goofy chair, wearing these weird 
glasses and I'm right there, in the room with them.  I know that I'm 
going to end up repeating this, but I'm going to say it now anyway. 
What we call 'Virtual Reality' systems, are further from this gizmos
capabilities than a string and two tin cans are from an OC-6 data line.

Wild... I'm getting sight, sound, smell, feeling .... Then I realize 
she's giving him some line 'bout how much she wants to be with a guy who
can be 'really physical', how she loves wrestling and getting real rowdy
with a guy who can give as good as he gets, how it makes her get 'hot.'

Is this guy eating it up, hmmph, you can put that one in any bank and 
draw interest sport.  The fish has been hooked, drawn in, and placed on 
the filet board.  And, is under the totally incorrect assumption that 
things are going 'just as he hoped.'  Yep, Adonis is smooth swelling 
with macho, strutting his stuff, flexing his Terran muscularity, 
flashing his 'baby blues', and grinning his wolfish grin. 
Unfortunately, he's doing this with a carnivore who's about to 
demonstrate that his smile is that of a guppy that has just jumped out 
of the aquarium onto the floor, right in front of the cat.

Hmm, (in case you haven't noticed, I think that's replaced 'duh' as my
general purpose expression) I'm watching/hearing/smelling/feeling/etc. 
the ongoing events totally mesmerized.  Mesmerized to the extent that 
I'm really not sure of the sequence of the preliminaries.  By the time 
I'm actually tuned into the adventure, the two of them are 'squaring 
off' (so to speak).  Lessee, Adonis has been going through his strut 
routine, been expounding on the theory that no woman could possibly 
match him, etc., etc.  Green eyes, has responded by simply egging the 
idiot on without so much as saying a word (told you, her expressions 
speak volumes, didn't I? hmmm, well, they do.)

Adonis speaks thusly, (actually, that implies greater eloquence than is 
actually the case, but no biggie) "Wanna arm wrestle baby?" and accents 
the question with an expression that has me re-thinking my earlier 
musing on the possibility of successfully puking all over his pin-head. 
"No", she replies with her nuclear grin. "Why bother with the pansy 
jive?, let's just get straight to the rough and tumble, kick out the 
jams brawl.", then with majestic grace, rises to her feet and glides 
away from the couch, with "come hither little boy" screaming from her 
every move.

Adonis, not surprisingly, proceeds to (far less gracefully to be sure) 
scramble to his feet and attempt a flying tackle on her.  Here, he 
encounters what will be the first of many difficulties that are to 
befall him for the remainder of this encounter.  It seems, that he's 
never 'run into' a woman who looks like she probably weighs about, oh 
say somewhere between 210 and 225 lbs. and solid at that.  It's near 
enough absolute certain that he's never 'run into' a woman who actually
weighs something closer to something near 260 to 280 lbs. of two grav
muscularity and bone density.  Face it, he's never encountered a woman
who is perfectly, comfortably at home, moving gracefully about while at 
a weight that would exceed 500 lbs in our gravity. He flies through the
air, slams into her back, and falls face first to the floor.

She then pirouettes, looks from side to side, then down, and says, "What
are you doing down there?", with a quizzical expression on her face. 

The 'fish' gamely rises to his feet, and with just the right amount of 
sneer and leer says "you ready to rock wench?"

Hmm, like I said, or at least implied, this fool ain't no rocket 
scientist.  He's not little by any means, matter of fact, looks like he 
could play pro football.  Which, 'tis quite likely he might have done if
he could have passed the college entrance exam, but I digress.

"Ready when you are chump" she replies with the slightest trace of a 
smile. "I love to rock."

With a speed that would impress most anyone, he grabs both her arms and 
proceeds to throw her to the ground.  At least, I think that was his
intent.  What actually happens is he grabs both of her arms, does a bit 
of a twist, and grunts.  He then twists back and forth a bit, and grunts
some more.

"Whenever you're ready", she states in a seductively soft voice, while 
batting her eyelashes a bit.

His sneering leer transforms into a somewhat twisted grimace.  An 
expression that does nothing to improve his looks.  In fact, it seems to
me that it made him somewhat resemble a constipated toad.  Granted, I 
may be somewhat prejudiced in this matter.  Apparently, it has dawned 
upon his rather minuscule brain that his attempt to hurl her to the 
ground is proving somewhat less then successful via his current
approach.  He then gets one of those "I've got a light bulb on top of my 
head" looks, which actually seems more like a sputtering match.  His 
grimace sours even more than before, and he attempts a new tactic.

First he hooks his left leg behind her right calf, leans forward a bit, 
and with both hands, gives a mighty shove to her chest, while pulling 
hard with his left leg.  This scene continues with him falling smartly 
upon his backside and uttering something to the effect of "ooof."

Shaking his head and snarling (in his best imitation of a rabid 
goldfish) he positively glares upwards at her.

Her only response to this being to somewhat increase the angle of her 
smile and inquire, "problem", in a voice usually encountered only at the
counter in a fast food joint.

OK, gentle reader, 'tis only fair to announce that from here on, the 
actual dialog used by the Adonis, is being edited, nay, 'tis being 
replaced wholesale by words and phrases far more innocuous then was 
actually the case.

"You extremely unattractive, promiscuous canine like allegedly female 
creature", "That's it very young child of the feminine gender", "Now I'm
becoming somewhat irritated by the way in which events seem to be 
transpiring", "Now I'm really going to perform a simple mathematic 
operation on your anatomical feature which is approximately at half your
height, on the side opposite of that which is the location for your 
eyes!"

Hmm, OK, what did you think, should I continue in this vein gentle 
reader, or should I phrase it thusly? "*^$*#($(~$(!~*)@$@^$((_*$^(!_"
Yep, I agree, my first approach, while not providing any particular 
clarity, fills more page space.

Anyway, after the above interpreted outburst, he leaps/stumbles/staggers
to his feet complete with the sound effects of rasping/wheezing/raging 
breath. (I must apologize to y'all, as fantastic as this computer 
system is, I still haven't figured out how to use the 'metaphor 
manipulator')

Weaving to and fro like some dangerously 'punch drunk' boxer, turning an
ever more beet like shade of crimson, he draws back his fist, then 
quickly sends it careening into her mid-section.  Almost as quickly, he 
withdraws his (now somewhat the worse for wear) fist, clutching it with 
his other hand, while bending over in a ninety degree forward angle, and
proclaiming, "OUWWWWW", nearly at the top of his already ragged lungs.

She, on the other hand simply shakes her head in a slow negative fashion
and softly, though quite clearly states, "Ahh, that really isn't
recommended."

Having made this statement, she grasps the upper part of his right arm 
with her left hand, and proceeds to unfold him via the simple expedient 
of jerking him, abruptly upwards.  She executes this particular maneuver
with sufficient force and speed that his head wobbles back and forth in 
a fashion that reminds me of a toy from my somewhat distant youth, I 
believe it was called a 'Slinky.'

At this time, I become somewhat distracted, no, not distracted, 
extremely focused is the proper term.  As sinuously attractive as I had 
already decided that her forearms were, this was the first time that I 
had really noticed them.  Bridge cables were the first thought that 
crossed my mind, bridge cables.  This particular bit of visual revelry 
was soon, and quite rudely, interrupted by a most plaintive wail.  No, it
wasn't a wail, it was a howl, no it was a shriek, no it was all of the 
above, rising in a cacophonous crescendo to become an unbelievably 
unpleasant and equally unwelcome noise.

Miffed as I was by this particular disturbance, I tore my gaze from the 
elegantly writhing tapestry of her forearm and shot a withering glare at
the source of this interruption, namely, the pin-heads face.  (what my 
glare was supposed to wither, I haven't the foggiest, I wasn't there, 
the jerk couldn't see me, much less take stock of my current wrath...oh 
well) Anyway, I see his face, at least I assume it was the same one.  At
this time, however, I couldn't really be certain, oh I was reasonably 
sure but... but it was twisted beyond any hope of recognition, which 
takes some doing considering how twisted it appeared to me at last 
notice.  And the noise...

Then, darling woman that she is, green eyes casually places her hand 
over the jerks mouth, immediately abating his caterwauling.  She then 
tilts his head back a bit, so's to force him to see her face, and starts 
speaking clearly and firmly, though with a rather 'matter of fact' 
nonchalance.
"Lucky for you, I have decided that I will not hit you." 
"Unfortunately for you, I have decided that, that would be too
merciful." 
"I have decided that a person with the propensity to strike
another person, without anything resembling reasonable provocation,
should, properly, be deprived of the ability to repeat such actions in
the future."
"In accordance with this decision, I have decided to render your right 
arm functionless"
"The method I have chosen to employ in arriving at this resolution is 
thus:"
"I am going to squeeze your upper arm with my hand."
"I will do this with sufficient force to inhibit the circulation of 
blood through that particular limb."
"I will continue to do this for a period of time, which will be 
sufficiently
long to render your right arm, ahh, how to put this so you'll 
understand, yep, got it, render your right arm 'dead'."
"In case you're wondering what this particular bit is called, you may 
refer to it as a 'tourniquet hold', just in case you happen to be 
curious in that regard.", she finishes this with a look of simple 
certainty.

Hmm, the alert reader may be wondering at this point, "If she's got one
hand on his upper right arm, and the other hand is occupied with 
stifling his shrieking, what is he doing with his 'free' arm?"  This 
particular bit also had me a bit curious, so I decided to look for 
myself.  Surprisingly, to me at least, he was doing nothing with his 
'free' arm.  In fact, it was simply dangling there, glancing back to his
face, I had something of a revelation (which she was kind enough to 
confirm after the event), the expression in his eyes seemed to indicate 
that the only item which existed in his entire universe of the moment 
was the combination of his right arm, and her grip on it.  Nothing else 
mattered, nothing else existed, only that limb, and the pain it was 
carrying.

She declined to allow this particular scenario continue in such a linear
fashion however; Making certain that his eyes were still properly 
focused on her face, she spoke to him again.
"I will offer you an alternative to this action."
"If you will take it upon yourself to break your face, thoroughly, I 
will release my grip on your arm."
"Before you agree to this alternative, which I know you are ready to do 
immediately, without further deliberation, I must explain what is meant 
by 'thoroughly'."
"Hmm, it means that you must knock out a minimum of four teeth, break 
your nose, your jaw in at least two places and either crack a cheek bone
or an eye socket."
"If you do this, and only after you do this, I will release my grip on 
your arm."
"It is only fair to warn you however, that this is likely to prove 
somewhat difficult, and that time is growing short."
"Oh, the reference of time growing short pertains to your arm and how 
much longer before it will no longer matter."
"Does this alternative appeal to you?" she inquires with rapt attention.

Hmm, I must apologize again gentle reader.  As much as further 
description of this event might interest you, I am going to chop it 
short.  Yes, he agreed to the 'alternative'. Yes, she released his arm, 
just as she'd indicated a willingness to do.  Yes, the process by which 
this occurred was every bit as grotesque and absurd as it sounds.  Yes, 
blood flowed freely, his own blood by his own vicious hand.  Yech.

-------------------- end part 4 

A brief intermission will now take place to allow both reader and author 
an opportunity to 'toss their cookies'