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Another tourist in the magical land.

I looked over and...holy shit! Jessica fucking Alba! She smiled that gorgeous Jessica Alba smile at me.

"Hey," she said, "what ya drinkin'?"

I looked at my glass. I had stopped choosing my own drinks at some point, telling the bartender to indulge himself and get creative. "Uh...I think it's bitters and antifreeze."

"Ha!" she laughed, and signaled the bartender for the same.

The barkeep gave a double take as he realized who he was serving. "On the house," he said, nodding.

She gave him a gorgeous smile as well, sipping her drink. She returned her gaze to me.

I looked her up and down. She was wearing tight jeans, cowboy boots and a tight white t-shirt. I was recalling that she had worn something similar in one of her movies, though I couldn't recall which one. She was a knockout.

If I hadn't been drunk I would have realized what was going on, but I was rapidly approaching Pickled.

She was still looking at me. I was about to ask Ms. Alba what a nice girl like her was doing in a place like this, all Bogey style, but then a large wall in the shape of a man was suddenly between us, his ass in my face.

"Hey baby," the large biker dude said to Jessica, leaning against the bar. "Buy you a drink?"

"No thanks," I heard her say. "I'm having a conversation here."

"Sure you are, baby...with me. Hey, I loved you in that Sin City movie."

That was the movie I was trying to recall! Thanks man-mountain! I downed the rest of my drink. LEVEL UP! I had achieved Pickled.

I stood up, putting my hand waaay up on the guy's shoulder. "Hey buddy, the girl was talking to me."

You know those cartoons when Bugs Bunny or whoever encounters somebody so big that they have to crane their neck and there's this fisheye lens effect so the guy looks 20 feet tall? It may have been the liquor, but I swear that was what happened as the dude turned toward me. The guy's bald head, way up in the rafters of the bar, looked down on me with sunglasses and a big, bushy red handlebar mustache.

From out of the moustache came the words, "Fuck off, pissant." The last word rained spittle down on my face. Then he turned back away from me.

"Hey!" I yelled, stepping back from the bar so I was to the man-mountain's side.

I could almost hear the sound of a tree falling as he slowly turned toward me again. His arm came up in a fist...through the booze haze I realized I had made a horrible mistake and closed my eyes and held my breath.

I waited...nothing.

I opened my eyes. Jessica Alba had come between us and was holding the guy's wrist in a tight grip. The guy was obviously shocked that she was able to stop him mid-swing.

It only took him a moment, though, and his other arm came up to bat her away. Only...he missed. She ducked under the cuff, pulling the arm she already had a hold of hard and threw him over her shoulder and onto a table. Luckily it was empty, as his weight broke it into flinders and the whole thing crashed to the ground.

I looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Pilates," she said for explanation, and turned as his three buddies rushed us from the pool table area.

After "Jessica" had rabbit punched the first reinforcement in the stomach and connected a kick to the second one's face that could have come from a horse, the third one ran out the back door. As drunk as I was, I finally figured out what was going on. We left quickly.

We ran and she pulled me into an alleyway a few blocks later. I recognized it...the one where I had burned the bum alive to summon her a week ago. Police tape was hanging from the wall. Had the police investigated it as a murder?

She pulled me to the wall, her back to it. She looked into my eyes as she started to unfasten my belt and pull down my zipper. I could smell her faint brimstone scent. My cock was getting hard, fast.

"Demie," I murmured.

"Fuck me," Demie with Jessica Alba's face commanded. Her clothes vanished and a naked movie star was pulling my hard cock to her pussy.

I took her, there against the wall, right on the spot where I had immolated a man whose only

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