When Eli-X was hustlin' alien sex at the pleasure domes down around Rigel sector, and no one knew who the screw was Eli-X. He found himself in a virtual whorehouse straddling a time shift, where eddys and ripples in time often made for a hallucinogenic freakout for your average Mr. Terran Tourist Who'd Never been Past the Holiday Inn at some shitty Marsport.

Eli-x took a tramp shuttle ship out about near Rigel, and somehow after some alien globule ripped him off for sex and took every stitch of click jumper and every skin credit he owned (Hell, he even cleaned out Eli's virtual storage somehow getting past Eli's poor encryption), Eli found himself on some planetoid whorehouse dome called Nellie's.

Now, back in old-timey days, there was a real Nellies whorehouse in Natchez Mississippi, but that was before man ever even took a shit on Mars, much less stepped foot on it. A great grandparent of that shithole rippling in history and stinking of the olde nostalgia was Eli-X's direct lineage in the thigh-split heals-in-the-air face-covered-in-cumm genescape. He often replayed those times, unlocked the grease and horror in his genes in full resolution playback. All the grainy detail tasting of figseed and kittenbone.

He called her all sorts of names, in his treacle reverie - and one day she answered back ... he ejaculated for miles before he gathered his senses to ask her a serious question.

"Maw Maw Sister-woman!" he telepeaked to her.

A staticy old timey crackle came through his cheap-assed sensor pack some Rigel bum left at the Flophouse Dome: "Yep, Yep, Yup Yup. Is this my future seed a talking through a crack in time?"

He knew he had somehow logged into a coldpak Popsicle planet that kept folks frozen and the old woman was long dead. But it was redirected by cosmic flair to Nellie's. Eli's baggy suit environ kept him from freezing his pecker off, on that planetoid. Some android whore let him through the Nellie's airlock. Outside the sign was a pair of fat woman's legs all neon neon a-winkin' and a blink with an aperture right where there was womanhood, and Eli, half drugged, floated through the door with a tug from the android whore. It wasn't just an android whore. It was a He android whore in drag.

No, that was too easy - it is never that easy in Eli-X land. You gotta work hard for your porno. So, what next, Mister Bond? Expect Eli-X to die?

Eli-X dezoned on the Nowtime and accessed his festering olde granny port. Within the space of thirteen nanoseconds, Eli-X's granny had torn the synthesheathes of masculine hormone from him, great slabs of black man mean fell from our hero's glimmering endoskeleton, he became a living live wire shimmering in end of the universe gloss of fuck whores. Granny puckered up her wet mouth as it was then, right back in the never never of time gone by. She licked her lips and Eli-X came to sudden arousal. She took his syntho-cock in her thin white hands and unsheathed it of its blackness, its covering of sleaze, the flaccid member fell out of its erectile aspect and just lay there snoozing on his thigh. His head fell back, nothing more than a white skull oozing blood, eyes rolling like eight balls. His brain cowered in the back of his head showing it cerebral fractality to Granmammy Knickerripper.

She was made of gloss, thin and sheer like gossamer, silken labias of anality in female form. Sepia-toned like an old photo from the silver nitrate days. She stank of the developing solution. Her hair in white fumes of acid burning paradise trickling down the trough between the left and the right hemispheres as she dipped downloading kisses into his psychic cleft.

There it was, the scar on his mind, the kisses burning as his way out reconfigured his flesh.....

The scar opened and his eyelid opened up inside it, and he saw the foyer and den of the whorehouse. Old Nellie, the android hag with a Mississippi twang redirected from coldpak Maw Maw Catweazle on Popsicle corpse planet, she comes floatin' in on an antigrav wheelchair. "Someone here to see Grandma Nellie?"

Eli was just wire and stick, the flesh off the bone virtual or not, he couldn't tell. He thought he was getting sexed up but up popped Nellie in the wheelchair floating and hovering over him.

Eli didn't say anything. He couldn't He was a skeleton of fractal math equations and meat off the bone desiccated on the floor glowing in putrescences all solid state braised circuitry. Eli was still drugged from the alien blob and never did boot up again "All systems Go".

Grandma Nellie shot her tumescent bodice in antigrav wheelchair about the room. "Does sonny boy like the ancient Hattiesburg/Natchez whorehouse Den? Eli woozy woozy, eyes on stalks virtual, just a metaloid skeleton, opened a virt eyeball and saw twenty alien whores/droids. There were jetcar salesmen talkin' to em, trying to buy them expensive Blatz beer. There were pleasure dome real estaters cheatin on their terran wives, cooing to the Chinadoll android, over there in the corner was some big dumb superspace athlete trying to come up with enough money with his frat brothers to have a go with some little earther with an oinkpie.

Grandma Nellie scoots the antigrav chair to a yellowed wallpapered wall, next to the upright piano with a doily on it. She sticks out her feeble liverspotted hand to some hidden substrate indentation in the wall, and the wall slides back with a crank whir whine, and out comes this cobalt ray gamma ray old timey mad laboratory scientist big fat cannon electrodes stickin out pointed at eli. Eli is still virt paralized, his virt flesh melting oozing glowing on the floor.

Suddenly from the kitchen comes little teensy puppet people, alien or not (who can tell these days?), terran or not, that sang chipmonk voices, "Don't let her do that to you! She will shrink you to puppet people!"

Eli thought he was in some old timey silver nitrate movie movie that they didn't have none of no more.

But he wasn't, he was just caught in the headlights of the shrinking spell. He thought of all the things he did as an anti-grav juvenile in space borstal. He thought of all the lies he had told about being "a gypsy abandoned in outer space" sobstory of conmanship. He thought with glee of all the bollocks he had pumped into his sad story of crime. He was a good boy at heart but what a liar. This thought came to him now. A silver hand pointing at him, a steel catheter inserted up his cock, a burning sensation in his cock, black oil flowing out of the pores like desperation. This is the dream he had as his hands, then his feet, then his forearms, then his shins, then his upperarms, then his thighs, then his torso, then his head finally squished to a Nursery Room brightness of palette and he was trapped like in an old silver spider web of movie movie nostalgia.

Mistress Chuckie vision strangled at him like bronchitis. Her meager fingers stroked his Oh-So-Thin-White-Dukeness (broadcast rights available for the next 11 nanoseconds) his utter pale lameness his lost in lingerie oddness his crotch of gladness his pisshole of sadness his radar bacon finder his loinchop laughter grinder. It was a simple child colored-in nightmare of saucy suicide and unconvincing patricide.

Eli-X tugged back his shriveled foreskin and let loose with a blast of greasy color. The old witch, now bomb-gestating hagmaiden Nellie of Grandma arse-finger land, took the full brunt of it, her leatherlong tongue of hateshine licking it off all round like clowning custard pie attacks of silliness. And Eli-X (who realised he would not escape this kindergarten patterned insanity this time) shat his nappy...

He didn't take too kindly of his own Maw Maw Catweazle over on Popsicle Coldpak planet workin' virt through Grandma Nellie, the madame of the android whorehouse. It wadn't right. The bitch don't recognize the pups no more. The dog mama don't recognize her own seed grown up down the timeline. The puppet people crouched on the foyer table as Eli found himself shrunk down just like them. They were all just clients for the whorehouse now turned into puppet people. Eli knew this was all "B Movie" memorywipe ideas floatin all gossamer from Grandma Nellie's worn out plugged in bubblememory. He knew he was a puppet person and how was he going to get out of this here pickle? The den of the whorehouse smelled of dead sea salt, semen from every specie that ever wanted to dip their wicks at Nellies. Nellie spurted her antigrav chair hovering ov er Eli and the puppet people and said, "Grandma Nellie's got more puppet people for the B Movie virt dimension. Grandma Nellie's got to keep the clients happy.

Before she knew it, the chinadoll android, who hated Nellie with a passion, even if it was Mama Catweazle redirected from the cosmos, acting and intervenin through the Nellie corpus, she turned the clanky b movie puppet machinery on Nellie.

"Ouu, oou, you bad American bitch. " said the chinadoll, her blue breasts sparkling and glowing with anger...

And then the UniCredit ran out. PING. Eli-X was on his back in some room that smelled like an incontinent's nine-night old bedding. He was covered in slightly violet hued bull come. He spat and spat until all the hairs were out of his mouth. In his head still the thump thump of the tricephallic stereo system, his brains were like crushed velvet inside a Dutch cap fresh from a good hard fucking. His eyes came open on superslowdrive like a cameleon changing all his body chemistry back to fit in with his current surroundings. Coming round from the rush of the IntelliJection popper he had been sniffing some lazy moments of whore fetish ago.

I mean, even the Greatest Porn Star in the Whole Fucking Universe gotta get him some R&R.