There is a certain type of woman with the mysterious ability to subliminally control the mind of man, forcing him to see her in the sexiest black lingerie regardless of what she is actually wearing at any given time.

She dares him not to strip her with his imagination whenever he gazes toward her because she knows only too well that he is powerless to resist and cannot do otherwise, being but a simple man and mortally subject to the bewitching spell that she has cast.

Such was the case with a certain raven-haired beauty that i was once aquainted with via the medium of television for never once did i lay my eyes upon her without a strange kind of intuitive X-ray vision kicking-in to teasingly reveal those sultry assets.

Like all the best mythological demons, she is known by many names...Cruella of the Cobbles, the Wicked Witch of Wetherfield...the Underworld Temptress herself...Carla Connor.

What she did or didn't do, the men she loved or didn't love, the garments she did or didn't wear are all beside the point with Carla because, as far as a man of flesh and blood such as i am concerned, her every appearance was a darkly erotic tale of softly whispered pleasures and pains...so brief in the telling but forever after lingering in the memory.