It was a scorching day in the Desert of Sexual Desire and Fred Aura, our death-defying explorer, had been trudging through the lustful sands for many hours. Desperate for water (and other things) he made his way towards the outline of a tree in the distance.
As he got closer to the titillating tree he realised that it was not a sign of bountiful water and women, but a dead tree containing nothing but a very large vulture, who was taking a lot of interest in his flagging footsteps.
As he got even closer he realised that the vulture was not actually a vulture, but some kind of harpy birdwoman with extremely large talons. Convinced that this was his last adventure in Alphabet Soup Land, and he was about to become lunch for the lusciously feathered lady, he lay down in the sand and waited for the the clawed strike that would shuffle him off his mortal coil.
Several awkward seconds passed in sizzling silence.
Fred craned his head up, squinting against the sun reflecting off the seductive sand, and peered at the impassive expression of the woman steadily watching him, upturned falcon nose decorating her face.
‘Hey, Harpy Lady- aren’t you going to consume my delicious man-flesh?’
‘NO.’ The birdwoman tweeted through her razor sharp teeth. ‘Just because I’m femme, doesn’t mean I do MEN,’ she scoffed with a low whistle. ‘Now cheerio, back to your toil!’ she chirped, waving a muscled feathery arm.
Fred gathered his dying dignity up and trudged onwards into the sensuous scenery, wondering if he could avert gender stereotypes long enough to ask for directions.
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