"Big Man As Pick-Up Artist"

[Keith M. Kurzman]

Big Man As Pick-Up Artist
by Morris Kurzman
(C) June 1998 (I think this piece stands on its own, but it might be worth
looking in on "Big Man", posted elsewhere, for context, if you haven't already.)

I saw her as a passed a Sushi Bar down in Soho:
She was sitting on a stool, sipping sake and finger her sashimi,
if you know what I mean.

So I slipped in, siddled up alongside her and said,
"Hey, Baby: what's your sign,
if you know what I mean?"

She sighed, took a long, sensuous drag on her cigarillo and said,
in a smoky soprano that could stop a speeding cyclone,
if you know what I mean,

She said, "My 'sign' is 'Do Not Enter'". "Ouch" I thought.
This succubus was colder than a Hoboken blowjob,
if you know what I mean,

So I knew I had to bring out my big guns:
No pussy-footing, no beating around the bush on this one,
if you know what I mean,

(I say that, by the by, because sometimes I can be extra
subtle-like. Things can slip by all unnoticed, and this ain't
no cock and bull story I'm telling,
if you know what I mean.)

So I turn to her and say, in my sexiest come hither voice,
"Baby, up in my apartment I've got this desk that folds out into a cot--
so I guess you could say it's for work or foreplay,
if you know what I mean."

Well, I could tell I was getting her all real hot and bother now,
on account of the way she started stroking her
wasabi with her supple forefinger. And man could she stroke the
wasabi! I'd let her stroke my wasabi any day of the week, including hump day!
(If you know what I mean.)

But I didn't know for sure she was mine until she took her
wasabi slathered forefinger, and crammed it up my
nose, with all the rampant, madcape force of a
rhinoceras bitch in heat!

Spicy!

END

Alright, you know the drill: Comments? Criticism? Suggestions? Anastasia? No,
strike that last one.

--Morris Stegasaurus