A Date With Mystic Mike

The night is hot and heavy.  Balmy, if you will.  My astral projected form slides through the taffeta curtain with a sexual eeriness that cannot be ignored.  My mind's eye and my jap's eye are focussed upon the same goal.

You see my shimmering ethereal silhouette and smile.  When you said goodnight at the door and didn't invite me in for coffee, you knew that wasn't the last you'd see of Mystic Mike.  It was all a test, to see if I am as powerful as the five-star reviews on LateDates.com said I was.  I intend to prove them all correct, and to further my campaign for an elusive sixth star rating.  Our night together will strive towards these goals.

Summoning my spirit animal, I straddle the headboard like a goose, honking the sweet sounds of love.  You are surprised by this.  You hadn't realised that this evening would involve such primal passion.  My soothing avian calls lull you into a soft sense of sexual tranquillity.  Tonight is not all about fertilising eggs.  Although I may migrate to Canada by the evening's end, you will not feel cheated or used.  My mind inception techniques will make sure of that.

Spirit animal, or embarrassing picture to be seen looking at during work hours?

Calling upon the spirit of your dead grandmother, I immediately know what pleases you.  Your ancestors are all around us, shouting out sex tips, willing me on, pushing me to strive for penetrative perfection.  As you hold me close, I whisper that your departed brother doesn't blame you for the motorcycle accident.  This piece of mind soon translates to wanting a piece of my pert ass.

Moments later, my astral projection begins to fade.  Before disappointment can set in or before you doubt my powers, I use telekinesis to throw stones at your bedroom window.  Using the power of the mind, I float up to the window and tap on it gently.  Your bewilderment freezes you to the spot as I pull open said window, scoop you up, and carry you outside.

Although my mind is more powerful than a James Blunt ballad, my atrophied arms have grown weak.  I cannot remember the last time I had to lift something with my hands.  You slip from my grasps and plummet towards a spiked phalanx of garden gnomes, porcelain hats pointing upwards like an ancient Aztec temple trap.  But you are not afraid.  Mystic Mike stops your descend with but a flick of the wrist.  Palm outstretched, I pull you back towards me with nothing but my mind.

Another flick of the wrist and we are both naked.  Your neighbours begin screaming as they see my pimpled rump float past their kitchen window.  Their family meal may be ruined, but their complaints will fade away into the backdrop of our ecstatic screams.

See the moon there?  That's what I'll do to your boobies

We may not be touching, but my tantric caress feels electric as it slides across you.  I call this move the Fondle Of Tesla.  I arch my fingers as I cast psychic electricity all over you, causing your hair to stand on end like a flummoxed Troll doll.  I create a magnetic field which causes your tongue piercing to ping off and fly into a nearby bird's nest, killing the occupants instantly.  We pay this no heed.  After all, their deaths will by karmatically replaced by the new life we will forge tonight.

Before we go any further, the prongs of a taser strike my exposed buttocks, sending me into spasm.  As we collapse on the floor, we find that we are surrounded by the local law enforcement.  It seems that our trans-dimensional love affair has caused some upset with the neighbours.  Using the power of suggestion, I ask you to wait for me when I get out of prison.  We both know that won't be for a long time.