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The Secret Life of Wonder Woman

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A spot hits the stage, dead center, as a striking woman with dark hair gracefully takes her position in the limelight. A grainy voice crackles over the speakers transporting the audience to a bygone era. The amazon onstage - clad in that familiar red, white and blue - mimics her performance in battle as the audience hears, "This week in all American newsreel, we take you to the battlefield in Greece where a beautiful bombshell fights side by side with our boys to defeat the evil German empire. As lovely as Aphrodite. As wise as Athena with the speed of Mercury and the strength of Hercules. It's.'" The radio announcer takes a moment to let the spectators' anticipation build as the demi-goddess onstage winks to the crowd, extends her arms, and sets out to execute her signature spin. The voice concludes, "WOOOOOONDER WOOOOOOMAN!"

The heroine breaks her power stance as the voice from the darkness dissipates, and a swell of music begins. The chords of the familiar jazz standard, Black and Tan Fantasy by Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong, fill the room. Like clocking out from a long day at work, she visibly relaxes, lets out a deep sigh, and wipes her brow. As she notices that the audience is still with her, despite being "at home," she slowly starts to undulate her hips to the beat and fingers her lasso of truth...an idea strikes her. She gives the audience a knowing look, and a palpable wave of excitement ripples through the room. She gently and with reverence takes off her lasso and sets it aside for later.

With the lasso gone, the Princess of Themyscira no longer holds back and begins to dance in earnest with the music. She bumps and grinds, hitting every beat; she's graceful but doesn't lose the threat of power behind every move. Almost to remind the audience of that, she quickly spins out of her skirt (after relentlessly teasing its release) and drops into the splits. The strength of the movement, coupled with the position's inherent sensuality, arouses exclamation from the spectators. Seamlessly, she sweeps her legs into a delicate dance on the floor, and when she's back on her feet, she quickly glances at her lasso. The time for games has ended.

The amazon strips out of her last remaining layers, a bodysuit with the WW logo and a patriotic bullet bra, to reveal pasties with the same logo strategically placed for the audience's modesty. She marches over to the lasso and, in one fluid movement, is whipping the rope through the air, but there are no evil villains to tie up. Only one worked-up demi-goddess.

She places the loop around her neck with reverence and, with one last smirk to the audience, pulls the rope between her legs. In a series of complicated and increasingly erotic pulls, the bombshell ties herself up, binding her body in a pattern that resembles her costume, form-fitting, supple, just a little too tight in her most delicate places.

As the music descends, our heroine pulls her lasso tight one last time, widens her stance, places her hands on her hips, and looks off into the distance, leaving the audience with one final, powerful image of sexual, feminine beauty. The lights dim, the audience cheers and makes a quick mental note to never mess with Themyscira and to invest in some durable rope.