During your time on the internet, some of you may well have stumbled upon the concept of Slash Fiction. Officially this is supposed to be erotic fiction involving popstars (and various other famous types), but in actuality it's the hormonal ramblings of over-excitable teenagers who have about as much grasp of sexual tension as they do of the fundamentals of grammar and punctuation. Realising that sex sells, we've decided to offer up our own contributions to this disturbing and quite frankly wrong form of fiction in our new feature which we've yet to think of an original title for. First up involves Kylie Minogue and Gina G in a tale we like to call Going Down Under...

It's 1996 and Gina G has just arrived at the Top of the Pops studio on a cold and rainy night in November, ready to entertain the nation with a performance of her number 6 smash, I Belong to You. Despite this, she was not in a good mood. Even though she was riding a wave of success after her Eurovision performance, she was living in fear of it crashing down on the beach and leaving her coughing up water and struggling like a beached whale. Not that she looked like a whale, she thought, remembering how the nation loved her in the white lacy dress she was famed for. She looked down ruefully at the dress she'd carefully chosen for tonight's performance. It was soaked, the rain sodden material clinging to her curves like a lovers embrace. If her lover was made out of silk and was a dress, that is, and even that would have been more than she was getting right now. "Why am I so lonely", she whispered to herself as a tear rolled down her cheek, unnoticable amongst the raindrops.

But this was no time for moping! She had a show to do and she didn't get where she was today by cracking up under the tragedy of isolation and the fear of never feeling loved again. That time would come later, when she needed to be relaunched as a depressed torch singer once she reached her sixties, but for now she was a popstar and popstars, like big boys and people who are lachrymose intolerant, don't cry. With a forced confidence she strode into the building with her head held high and her hair well drenched.

Waiting for at the reception was one of tonight's guest hosts, Paul Whitehouse from the Fast Show, who looked her up and down. "Blimey, love", said the ex-painter and decorator and man who, despite having worked with Harry Enfield for many years, has somehow resisted punching him, "You need to dry off. You look bloody knackered as well!". Gina just stormed past without even acknowledging him. How could she explain to him about her restless nights, unable to sleep for fear of having that dream again. The one where she finds herself appearing on a Saturday night TV talent show alongside Dollar and the bloke from Go West. No-one could understand the humiliation which such a nightmare caused. No-one. Yet no matter what she did, her subconscious mind would always return to it, waking her up with a start as Sonia's grinning - yet strangely 2D face - leered at her with evil, malicious eyes. No, Paul wouldn't understand, he couldn't, so she just sped to her dressing room where she'd be safe from the questions. As she breezed past him, Paul didn't know what to say, so he just said "Chris Waddle", as he always did, clutching for a catchphrase instead of thinking of something funny to say.

Safe inside her dressing room, Gina closed the door and looked around. It was a typical TotP performers room. A dressing table, on one side of the room, a table on the other with some various food-stuffs on and, in the far corner, hidden under a cloth, a selection of sex-toys, in case the artist gets bored while waiting to be called. Gina ignored all of that and dealt first with the task in hand and slowly, sensuously, sexily, and alliteratively took off her wet dress and hung it up to dry. Shivering slightly in her bra and panties, she took them off as well, and then bent down to turn on the three bar heater which had somehow escaped being mentioned earlier. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. She froze. Who could it be? She wasn't expecting anyone and her stage call wasn't for a good thirty minutes yet. There was only one way to deal with an unexpected interruption like this, and that was to deal with it as a professional, as an artist and, above all, as an Australian.

"Rack off mongerel! I'm in the nuddy here!" she shouted, in an Australian accent.

"It's alright!", came a feminine voice from the other side of the door in an Australian accent, "It's me, your bonza bud Kylie, come to say G'day!"

Kylie! Gina's heart skipped a beat, she was a massive fan and had all of her singles, except for Some Kind of Bliss, as that hadn't been released yet. She even had Keep on Pumping It, credited to Kylie and Keith Washington which only managed to stumble to number 49 in the charts. She ran to the door, forgetting about her nakedness and opened it wide to let the diminutive popstar and Michael Hutchence lover in.

"G'Day", said Kylie, in an Australian accent, who was also naked, "I see you got caught in that rainstorm as well, I got bored waiting for my stuff to dry so I thought I'd come and yabber with you"

"Come in, come in", said Gina, in an Australian accent, "But what are you doing at the Top of the Pops studio, your last hit was in October 95 when you duetted with Nick Cave and you won't have another until the aforementioned Some Kind of Bliss at the tail end of 1997?"

Kylie was silent for a moment as this plot hole was pointed out to her, but she recovered her composure quickly. "You're dripping wet, I see", she said in an Australian accent, "Do you fancy some lesbian sex?"

Gina looked at her watch. She had time. "Sure, why not?" She said in an Australian accent.

They had some lesbian sex.

"Ooh!", gasped Gina G.

"Aah!", gasped Kylie.

"Just a little bit!", gasped Gina G.

"A little bit more!", gasped Kylie.

All in an Australian accent.

They finished having some lesbian sex. As Kylie left the room with a knowing wink, Gina smiled to herself as she thought about how Kylie had known what she was looking for. It was a love that she just couldn't ignore and, as she dressed and went to the stage to perform, she mimed her words with a brand new conviction. "I belong to you", she mouthed towards Kylie - who had tickets to be in the audience for tonight's show, thus clearing that little plot-hole up - and that night, she did. She really did.

Phew! Hot stuff, huh? If you have any popstar couplings you'd like to see us slash, preferably those who are unlikely to sue, then feel free to mail us with your suggestions.