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Haitian dominatrix teaches a class of black men.

A lutenist struck up a slow, throbbing melody.

"We want to SEE something,"

"What? You cochinos want me to take off my clothes?"

The audience yelled and whistled their congratulation for her clever surmise.

Maria looked down at the clothes she had on. A short red skirt, a tight white short sleeve blouse covered with a black silk jacket. She tried to recall what she had on underneath, and remembered that her husband had convinced her to wear something sexy for the trip -- a pair of black satin panties and matching bra. The crowd kept whistling and as she looked out at them, she realized that all eyes were on her. Even the guy that smelled like he had bathed in Rioja red had awakened.

She reached her hand down, and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse. Looking up, she smiled at the crowd coquettishly and announced, "OK. Where is Don Miguel?"

"More! More!" The crowd was rowdy and she could hear voices yelling at her to "Take it off, take it all off. We want to see those chichis!"

"Go ahead, Maria. You make your characters do it all the time," I said. "Take off your clothes, then you'll know how it feels."

She shook her head, but her hands were reaching toward the front of her blouse. She watched as they slowly unbuttoned her blouse. The lute grew louder and was joined by a guitar.

"You've go to do it, Maria if you want to meet Cervantes."

"I don't know if I even WANT to meet Cervantes," she replied , but she had begun moving to the beat. Ripping off her jacket, she heard the crowd whistle and cheer her on. "Take it all off Maria! Don Miguel is not far away."

"I don't want to do this!" she protested, but she continued to strip off her clothes. Soon she was dancing in just her bra and panties.

"Chi-chis! Chi-chis! Chi-chis!" chanted the crowd.

Maria's hands began to unsnap the bra as she listened to the rhythm of the music, her body mimicking it perfectly. Freeing her tits from the garment, the obviously excited woman flung it into the crowd and began to dance more energetically.

"A train! A train! A train!" the excited men roared.

Maria looked over at me in desperation. "Homer, you can't make me pull a train. Trains haven't been invented yet!"

"Maybe 'railroad' trains haven't been invented," I grinned with leprechaunious logic, "But haven't you heard of pack trains? Mule trains? Have a nice day, Maria." I waved and walked out the door.

Over a mile away I could still hear Maria's cries of ecstasy. Sounds really carried out here on the Mancha.

Wesendonck estate near Zurich, circa 1857:

"Good afternoon, Herr Wagner," Allison greeted the rather bony composer.

"Pardon our intruding, sir, but Ms. George here has long admired your music and wanted to see how you compose it." I added.

"Another Amerikan tourist?" he grumbled. "Oh, vell, go ahead, zay it! Get it out of ze vay."

"Say what?" Allison asked.

"Ze stupid zhoke."

"I don't understand."

"Ze zhoke, ze zhoke `9W.'" Wagner replied with growing disgust. "You know, `ze answer iss 9W, vhas iss ze qvestion?'"

"I'm confused," confessed Alison.

"All Amerikans know ze damned zhoke, get it over vith: `ze answer is 9W, vhas iss ze QVESTION?'"

"The question?" repeated Allison, totally baffled.

"Ja? Ze qvestion, `Do you spell your name vith a V, Herr Wagner?'"

"And the ANSWER is `9W?'" said Allison with an uncomprehending frown. Then she brightened. "Oh, I get it! `9 W.' `Nein, "W."' Oh, that's very funny, Herr Wagner, very - he he HE -- funny. Oh, I love it! `9' -- ha ha HA -- `W,' -- ho ho HO," cried Allison, LOL&ROF.

"Mein Gott! Mein Gott! Ze only Amerikan in ze vourld who never heard zees dizgustink zhoke and I'm zuckered into telling it!" Wagner buried his face in his hands.

"Vie haf you come to disturp me, anyvay?" he moaned.

"Vell, I mean, well, I'm a singer and I just love your operas and ..."

"You, a zinger? Vhat do you zing?" Wagner shot back, incredulous.

"I'm a soprano, well really more of a soubrette."

"A zoprano? You do not LOOK like a zoprano," Wagner said throwing out his hands to indicate HIS conception of a zo, er,

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