“Regard these shiny happy people,” I instructed my man-lover. We nestled in a darkened corner of the Caledonia Lounge, Athens, Georgia’s premier venue for alternative rock music. “Just look at them – staring blankly at the stage as they wait for the next band, standing disconsolately in the place where they live, smoking marijuana in this chronic town to ease their ennui.”

“Little do they know that I’m losing my religion to a new one – that is, the carnal cult of your tumescent embrace,” my Southern beau replied as he unbuckled my belt. “I feel like I hadn’t experienced life’s rich pageant until grasped your eponymous manhood.”

“Oooh, murmur sweet nothings in my ear,” I cooed. “It’s the end of the world as I know it, but I feel fine with your hands down my pants.”

“Well, you know what we say around here,” my macho man drawled. “Everybody hurts, but they hurt less with their hands around 10-inches of man-meat.”

“You’re really making me feel gravity’s pull,” I warned, my heart beating faster. “That is, you are drawing me inevitably towards you like the Comet Kohoutek is drawn towards Spaceship Earth every 100,000 years.”

“Do not doubt my erotic prowess,” my suitor boasted, his hands moving faster. “If you believe they put a man on the moon, then you must believe I can transport you to unimagined pleasure-realms.”

“Oh, don’t stop!” I moaned. “You’ve taken me on a new adventure in libertinage and I feel ready to explode! I’m out of time!”

“What’s the frequency, Edith?” my darling demanded. “That is: what emotional frequencies must I manipulate to secure that sticky-sweet physical document of your love for me?” Suddenly, I felt my body quiver. I moaned ever-so softly in the corner of the Caledonia. Suddenly – unexpectedly – our encounter had ended in brute spasm of passion.

“That one went out to the one I lust,” I sighed.

Previously on…