A passing hoodlum of non-specific ethnicity did a double-take. “Man, talk about white bread! You da flour da bread come from...” he declared through teeth bared in a sarcastic grin, advancing warily like a dog attempting to sniff out fear in an intruder. Without even glancing at his inquisitor, the pale youth gracefully raised his right hand, the long index finger pointing skyward as if in a gesture of caution... the remaining fingers and thumb slowly curled into a representation of some curious symbolic nature. A wash of terror swept across the face of the hood and the veins began to stand out on his forehead. His voice gagged shut in his throat and his hands went to his thumping heart. His eyes began to plead for mercy. Almost as if it was a sigh, the pale one dropped his hand to his side. As the trembling dog-man scuttled off down the sidewalk, the blonde stranger began to stride purposefully across to the building he had been watching.

Entering the dim, bizarrely lit interior of the outre establishment, he cast his eyes about the room and its unusual collection of patrons until he spotted a red door with MAX written across it in bold letters. Moving silently acoss the room to the door, he entered without knocking.

“I have been told you want to see me” he said in a voice betraying a hint of Teutonic accent. “What about?”

Max had been feeding his collection of tropical fish, which occupied a large tank across one wall of his office. He was a thirtyish man of great height and powerful stature, dark eyed and with long, straight, black hair. His lean Celtic physique displayed the sort of mezomorphic muscle tone that comes from a combination of genetics and vigorous lifestyle, rather than from something so artificial as working out.

“Orgasms...” he smiled, looking away from the fishtank. “I understand you can do things... like to a human body... without even touching the person. Some kind of Zen shit, right?”

“Something like that.” replied the strange one. “A little Zen, a little tantra, a little mantra...something old, something new...a little ‘real’ black magic. So what did you have in mind?”

“Well,” said Max. “My customers, the back room variety anyway, are stinking filthy rich. They pay big bucks if we can treat them to a ‘big bang’. I’ll station you in the peep-room so you can see them through the mirror; you do your tricks while one of my boys is servicing a lady. You’ll be well compensated if you can pull off what I think you can.”

“This should be interesting at any rate.” replied the pale youth. “When do I start?”

“We got a little time to kill.” informed Max. “Maybe you can tell me what it is you do... how it works and all?”

“I doubt that you could really grasp the process in your present state,” replied the enigmatic guest. “But maybe I can get your mind started in the right direction. Let us discuss it in your voyeur chamber so I can assess the work environment as we talk.”

After being subjected to a protracted tutorial on Gnossis, life force, ancient Egyptian and Oriental magical arts, as well many affirmations as to the actuality of dark gods and goddesses, Max left the stranger alone as his first customer entered the opposite room with her jockey.

“You know,” said his pale new employee as Max left the room. “It is even possible for a mortal to attain to something like godhood... to leave this corporeal flesh behind... to wear or discard the Earthly dust as one does with clothing.”

“I don’t know about that.” Max replied. “But the Earthly dust can have some damned good orgasms if it is pushed the right way... heh, heh. Time to get to work.”

The room opposite the mirror was a small cubicle, practically filled by a king-sized platform bed adorned only with a red satin sheet and many pillows. The only other furnishings were a small washstand in the corner and a rack with towels and washcloths. Into this room a somewhat jaundiced, though well-built young man with matted, brown dreadlocks, plentiful tribal ink, and a number of salient piercings led a pleasingly plump woman in her late 20s/early 30s. She had wild, bright-red hair which was adorned with colored feathers and a few random tiny beaded braids. The hump-jockey was naked but for a pair of black sweatpants, a hemp necklace, and moccasins. His customer was amply decked out in black vinyl and velvet; she was soon stripped to black mesh stockings, garter-belt, and Docs. In her own mind she was kinky as hell and very “frustrated”. This visit was, in fact, a gift from well-intentioned girlfriends.

Pushing her partner who had already “risen” to the task at hand onto his back on the bed, she mounted him like a stallion and at once began a langorous, serpentine undulation. He answered with grinding oscillations of his own, back arched for maximum effect. In the hidden chamber behind the mirror our mystery man went to work.

The pale forehead furrowed in concentration and the blood began to pulsate in his temples, his own heartbeat synching to that of the red-haired woman in the next room. His hazel-blue eyes turned to brownish, then amber, and then to a deep shade of jade green as the pupils narrowed to demonic, catlike slits. Now the arms began a hypnotic weaving, reminiscient of a Hindu deity, the hands forming cryptic and forbidden signs and symbols as the dance continued. After a few trial pinches of thumb to forefinger resulted in satisfying flinches from his subject in the next room, he was ready for the deep assault.

A rhythmic inner vibrance, similar to the purring of a cat, began to well up in his solar plexus and his frontal lobe began to throb. He pushed the pounding heartflood into her already engorged mons pubis with intense focus of his powers, her “ruby of Venus” vibrating like a tuning fork to his patient ministrations as she swelled far beyond the breaking point. With extensions of his left hand he stayed the energy at the base of her spine, letting it gather around her cervix with immense portent until it built into a wall of force he could barely contain with all his mystical gifts; then he released it. The lightning-bolt of orgasmic voltage blasted up her spine in a torquing blissball that shattered her conciousness into prismatic colors and sounds. Visceral tactile sweetness tore throughout her limbs and loins and torso, cresting over her form in visibly potent waves.

“Uuuuuuuunnnnnnggghh!” Her deep groan was even audible in the soundproof voyeur chamber with the intercom off. Her face showed a combination of stunned disbelief mixed with almost unendurable pleasure. The mystery man laughed out loud as he realized the momentum of his efforts had catapulted her into a more organically “natural“ series of cosmic clustergasms. He was enjoying this new line of work.

The power of the woman’s passion overwhelmed the gigolo, and he probably emissed a little sooner than he wanted to, but it didn’t matter. The redhead, panting and quivering, fell off him and collapsed into a puddle by his side, her leg twitching involuntarily as she effused little cooing noises. After a few minutes the boy got up and washed at the basin, then dressed, kissed her sweetly on the cheek, and left. A while later, after a dreamy doze, she followed suit. In the adjoining chamber the pale man closed his eyes, let his conciousness congeal in meditation, willed the fleshly form to fall inward upon him, and sliding out as an invisible wraith, left his body behind.

“Man, get a load of this tip!” Max enthused, displaying a fistfull of big bills as he thrust open the door of the peep-room. “That chick was really... um... happy... heh, heh.”

Then he stopped short and his jaw dropped, incredulous. Where once the pale young man had been, there were now only an incredibly ancient remains. He was practically a skeleton, the leathery skin shrivelled around it as though it had been shrink wrapped. Max felt the hair raise up along his back and neck; his head swam alarmingly and it was as though some strange wind went through his body.

Upon recovery, as he hurried to call the police, from deep within, behind the fluctuating surface of his concious mind, an ominous murmuring began to swell. It was as many voices, overlapping in plumes and fragments of speech; long forgotten tongues from earthly and otherworldly realms swirling and chanting in a singular accord the intent of a singular being. The translation of the meaning of these voices, if such a thing were possible, would be something along the lines of: “I think I will like this new body. It shouldn’t take me half a day to root this cretin out of here and into oblivion.”