Chapter 9: Bum Chicka-Ow-Ow.

Sergei could stand his hunger for Eleni no longer. Like an Ethiopian being digested from the inside by his own underfed stomach, Sergei buckled with uncontrollable gurgles of insatiable craving. After the neighbors called the cops on him due to the noise, he decided he simply had to have Eleni. Then. Now. At that moment. Which was then.

There was one way he could lure her back to Sifnos, where they had spent their nights of passion and days of drinking wine and eating roses. And that way was Hired Goons. He dispatched them with his trademark swiftness and efficiency, the same swiftness and efficiency that had earned him the nickname of "The Minuteman." Within hours, a report came in, that Eleni had been located and was en route back to Sifnos. Sergei knew he had to prepare his manor to receive this most special of guests. She was even more special than the Special Olympics kids he had let use the property as part of a legal settlement.

He groomed the lawn and his own thick, swarthy chest hair. "Manscaping," as he had heard the term described on Queer Eye for the Evil Villain, was supposedly attractive to women. As if he needed any help, he thought to himself! Sergei took the occasion to strain and re-oil his masculine mustache, a thick outcropping of drooping facial hair that let his potential lovers know one thing up front- that this was a man with facial hair, if you knew what that meant! And he hoped he did, for he was quite sure it meant something about unbridled virility, and he liked the concept of having that associated with himself. He finished up his self-preparation by drawing a bath of pungent cologne and soaking in it.

By and by the help dragged Eleni into the foyer, kicking and screaming. "Sergei!," she yelled.

"Why have you brought me here? You know as well as I do that ours is a coupling that cannot be! For years I've withstood your emotional coldness, the frequent beatings, and your singing in the shower! Who stood by you when you sued McDonalds for scalding you with coffee? Who supported you through the infamous Speedo affair? Who let the dogs out? I did! I DID!"

She went on. "Yes, I may love you with all the raging intensity of a wildebeest in heat, but I cannot tolerate your, um... shortcomings!" Her eyes drifted downwards.

Sergei drew back his hand and landed a bitch-slap across the starboard bow of her face. "I give you nice things! I offer you an undying passion and thick mane of back hair unmatched in the civilized world!" he chided in his vaguely European accent. "And this is how you show your immense gratitude? I will teach you a lesson, woman. A lesson in undying passion and hairy-backed carnal lust! A lesson in what it means to be truly sexed-up!"

With that, he grabbed and lifted her and carried her into the bedroom, sweating and gasping with step after step of pounding flab against the marble floor slabs echoing through the halls. He pressed his moist, livery lips against hers, continuing to breathe through his mouth. Struggling visibly to contain his bowels while bearing her weight, he dropped her three-quarters of the way onto the bed, a splayed mass of quivering and disoriented femininity.

"Yeah baby, you KNOW you like THAT," he yelped, holding his lower back as he grimaced. He threw his mustache back in the humid breeze as if he were in a shampoo commercial. Then he set the radio on AM-Light and performed a gyrating striptease to a Hall & Oates song, his hirsute form jiggling in the flat harsh light, before ripping Eleni's bodice off and mounting her. "Prepare for Sergeification!" he cried. His personal physician would later pinpoint this moment as the cause of his hernia.

Eleni found herself somewhat curious about the proceedings.

Sergei delivered satisfaction as if he were a missile-defense system locking onto its target. "BAM!" he yelled. "BAM! BAM!" It was really quite annoying. "How ya like THEM apples?" He delivered blow after unsure blow of gynoscopic force to her nether regions.

Eleni tried to focus on coital enjoyment, despite the fact she was bleeding profusely from her earlier slap, and that her hair was painfully entangled in the nightstand drawer knob. Her thoughts turned to Chinese water torture. Drip, drip. BAM! BAM! Although she was not totally convinced, she felt she may have briefly experienced some level of pleasure before it turned to an insistent pinching.

"BAM! BAM! BAM!" Sergei continued. Then, as quickly as the act began, it sputtered to an unforewarned stop, as Sergei lifted himself on his wobbly arms. "That enough for you?" He squealed with macho delight. Sweat oozed from every oily pore on his person. "How many did you have, babe?" he asked, the glaze of his juices gelatinizing across his body into an opaque hazy sludge in the stale air.

Eleni hesitated. She gave the answer she knew he wanted to hear, based on number of "BAM"s, the girth of his mustache, and the minute and a half that had elapsed. "One hundred and seventy-four, my stallion!"

"Yeah! YEAH! Now THAT'S how you get it! YARRRGHHH!" He screamed in a throaty, Howard Dean career-ending emotional outburst, flailing his arms in the air like a rodeo cowboy. Or possibly a rodeo clown. And with that final outpouring of effort, he was spent. He lost consciousness and collapsed in a cologne-drenched festering pool of his own sweat, hair, and musk, pinning Eleni to the bed for several hours beneath him until she managed to pry herself free and get a danish.

Why, oh why did she want him so? Maybe because that was the best damn lovin' she'd ever had.