I'd been
on the road all day when I pulled into Portland,
and I'd nuzzled up to a lot of silicone tits
in the last 24 hours. I was about as tired as
my silly band KISS, and neither the prospect
of yukkin' it up for my buddy with Amyotrophic
Lateral Sclerosis nor my mighty Israeli constitution
was enough to pull me out of the comfort of
my town car. Portland Schmortland. I was dog
tired and wanted to kick it at the Benson with
some vegan yummies and the Shopping Network.
I'm an Aold man, after all, and pretending to
be a maniacal tit-grabbing goo-bag has lost
some of its splendor over the years. I missed
my BBQ and Paul Stanley was taking care of my
cats and last time he watched them they ate
the goldfish.
Suddenly I glimpsed on the horizon one VIVA LAS
VEGAS. And I tell you I woke right up. Viva had
consented to do an interview for me, even though
she had several parties to attend and some bands
to see. She wore fishnet stockings, which I asked
her to remove and then stretched over my head.
She laughed her musical little laugh and I felt
like the ice was really broken.
I took her down to the basement and she grabbed
a Miller Lite. I shut the door to my little green
room and she made herself comfortable on the couch.
We were alone, me and Viva Las Vegas--wearing
nothing but a skin tight super short zebra slip,
stretched over her lovely ass and refreshingly
bite-sized breasts. Yum yum yum!
I asked her straight away if she ever tried KISS
Krunch, our limited edition cereal that was made
in Minnesota, where Viva hails from, and where
all cereals are made.
"Are you kidding? How old do you think I am?"
"Please say eighteen....nineteen?"
"Ha!"
"Um, well, what is the sexiest song of all time?"
"Voodoo Child."
"Sexiest cu--"
"Take of my boots."
I took off her boots. She yanked my metal folding
chair in towards her and spread her little pink
toes all over my face, starting with my eyes.
Thank God I shaved this morning! I swallowed hard.
I had to know....
"Sexiest member of KISS?"
"Let's find out," she purred.
She kicked over my chair and started teasing
my
tongue--still trapped behind her fishnets stretched
over my head--with her big toe.
"What a great red that is," I stammered. "May
I, uh, ask... what color is your polish?"
"Chanel's Pulsar."
"Uh, umph... ahhhhmmm."
My tongue, always my ticket to ride, fought the
taut strings of her Wolford fishnets as she straddled
my face. Fuckin' Austrian stocking technology!
My chin was in! If I could just....work...the
g.....
She giggled, moaned, panted, screamed. And the
more I tried to push my fish through her 'nets,
the more I got into the restraints. The clouds
of my warm hot breath must have formed a storm,
for all of a sudden the skies broke and a torrent
of summer rain ran down my cheeks, chin, chest!!
It was pure ecstasy.
She got up and left as quickly as she--uh--came.
I know she never really liked my band, but I like
to think she liked me. She let me keep her fishnets,
anyway. They're still stretched over my face.
