There was louder applause. This was indeed a excellent emission. The big-name farters were coming through with a fine show.
“And our entry of the fragrant gender is Whoopee, runner-up in our contest last month,” the announcer said. “We have real hope that she’ll be our first local female champion.”
The woman approached the arena, lifted off her farthingale, and stood with a broad bare bottom. She pirouetted, squatted, and let fly a modest pink cloud that rotated like a football. It hovered, valiantly retaining its shape, until it flattened, buckled, and gave up the ghost. “Time. Eighty two seconds.”
There was considerable applause. Whoopee’s effort had taken the lead, however narrowly.
“Now Blowtorch, a convert from the firefart division. Last month’s time was sixty nine seconds, enough to place. He says he’s improved his wind since then.” The fourth competitor stepped up, almost as ugly as the other men. His gut could be heard rumbling from a fair distance. He pushed out a swisher of a reddish cloud that did indeed vaguely resemble the flame of a blowtorch. It coruscated into the air, shimmering with power. But it burned out too swiftly, and was only seventy seconds, not in the running this time.
“And finally we have a new face, as it were,” the announcer said. “Micro, for his first competitive effort.”
The audience was silent. The people were waiting to see this thin-bellied amateur make a fool of himself. Prior hoped they were in for a remarkable disappointment. It was up to the Spire.
He approached the arena, turned, and bent over, orienting the Spire. Do your stuff.
The Spire issued a rushing jet of black gas. It formed into a spherical mass that sparkled like a dark star. It floated in place, neither shrinking nor expanding. A murmur spread through the audience as it hung on past a minute. This was no amateur effort! Slowly, reluctantly, it thinned, until at last it sank to the ground and dissipated into a trace of goo. “Time,” the judge said. “Ninety seconds.” “The winner,” the announcer said, amazed. “Micro.” Prior relaxed in relief. The Spire had come through. I COULD HAVE MADE IT TWO MINUTES, BUT DIDN’T WANT TO BE OBVIOUS.
A NEW RECORD WOULD HAVE BEEN SUSPICIOUS. Thank you, Prior thought as he walked away from the arena. People were closing in on him, eager to learn more of him, now that he had made his sudden fame as a worthy farter. The other contestants looked on, scowling. They didn’t like being bested by a rank amateur. Smellie hugged him and kissed him impulsively. “You were great!” “Just get me out of here. I don’t want to answer questions.” She took possessive charge. “Micro is tired from his great performance. He needs to rest now. I’m sure you understand.” She took Prior’s hand and hauled him away.
When they were safely in her house she kissed him again. “Oh, Micro, that was absolutely wonderful! You showed them all.” “You helped,” he said. “I was glad to. Oh, this village has never seen a fart like that! Hardly anyone can do a black one, and they mostly poop out in a few seconds. What a spectacle!”
She served him a nice meal made from her new supplies. The time seemed right to broach his special idea. “Smellie, if you had a pretty face, you could land a good man, right?” “Oh sure. Men care about faces almost as much about bottoms, once
their edge is off. But what’s the use debating that? I’m a realist.” “I may have a way to give you that face. But it would not be an easy
process.” “What are you talking about?” “As I said before, I have a magic fart. It can be turned to several different things. I could make a fart that would melt your face and allow it to heal in a prettier image. But you would need to keep it swathed for several days, and there might be pain. Thereafter your face would be as nice as your nature.” She sat down, awed. “You can really do this?” “I believe so. But it could be risky. Magic can be dangerous in the hands
of amateurs, and I’m an amateur.” “Let me think about it.” As they settled down to sleep, after making their evening excursion to the public privy, she hesitated, then spoke. “You’ve been so good to me, I really shouldn’t ask anything more.” “Ask.” “Last night we clasped, and you were concerned because I didn’t climax
with you. Tonight I can put on a show that—” “No. I don’t want fakery.” “That’s what I thought you’d say. So my idea is, maybe I should try it for real, this one time. Let you simulate—as if we’re—that much would be an act, of course but—” “In love?” She blushed. “In pretense. So I can fool myself into letting it happen.
Forgetting myself. I know it’s a lot to ask.” “I’ve never had a woman to love me. That’s why I’m going after the Maiden in the Tower. She’s supposed to be my ideal woman, and my hope is that she’ll truly come to feel it. It’s the biggest thing I’ve missed in my life.”
“Yes, and I wouldn’t even think of interfering with that. Tomorrow you’ll go to her, and I hope you succeed. But tonight, in pretense—” She broke off. “Maybe it’s a stupid idea.”
“I like it. We can say the words and do the acts, knowing it’s only for tonight. Completing our association.” “Oh, thank you,” she breathed. When night came, they joined each other in the bed, in darkness. “I—I
don’t know what to say,” Prior said, feeling awkward. “I’ve never—” “Just hold me, beloved.” Relieved that she knew how to proceed, he put his arms around her. She was all warm woman. He kissed her, and she was all melting love. It was so nice that he just kept holding and kissing her for a while, then stroked her hair. “You’re beautiful.” “I have dreamed of this moment.” She was better at this than he was, but he was learning. “I never had the
wit to dream of love, just sex.” “And I want it with you, dear.” It was stupid, but that word “dear” sent a wash of pleasure through him. “Oh, this is great!” He hardly cared whether they had sex; it was just so nice loving her. “Darling,” he added belatedly.
She kissed him more ardently. She caught one of his hands and brought it to her breast. He had stroked breasts before, but this time it had more meaning. He put his face down and kissed it. She shifted just enough to slide the nipple to his mouth, and he kissed that too, feeling it swell. She held his head to her bosom, breathing harder, and each breath pressed it firmer and softer against his face.
“I’m getting warm,” she murmured. “But not there yet. Can you enter me without ejaculating right away?”
As it happened, he had jetted that afternoon, and his response was a bit slower than usual. He got in position and entered her carefully, and it was all right. He did not thrust, but just held position, kissing her mouth again. “Oh, my love, my love,” she said. “I love you so much.” “I love you,” he echoed, feeling it. Her vagina softened around him, and tightened. He repeated the words, and got a similar response. She was sexually turned on by words of love. Soon she came to the climax, and clasped him tightly, kissing him constantly, while her vagina convulsed.
It was too much. He had to thrust, and thrust again, his orgasm over whelming. She clung to him, meeting him with her closure, taking all that he had to give. He felt himself spurting, felt her accepting it, in a phenomenal mutual climax.
Yet it was not the end. He kept kissing her. “I love you, I love you!” His penis was diminishing, but not his passion. He couldn’t let go of the feeling. “Yes, yes,” she breathed, meeting him kiss for kiss. But finally they relaxed. “Yes, that’s what I never had,” he said. “I neither.” Then, after a pause: “In the morning, before you go—I’ll
take that fart.” They relaxed into sleep, embraced. It was wonderful.
Chapter 12—Curse
Veil watched the next qualifier. He tackled the demoness orally, turning her on with kisses of the face and breasts, then licking her vulva expertly until she climaxed. He was good enough so that it made Veil react; she could live with that kind of sex. But there was bound to be a catch.
There was. “I am impotent,” he informed her when she interviewed him. “But then what would you want with me?” “That is why I want
you. I have a strong desire for sex, and my doctor says I have the physical capacity for it. But I can’t get an erection in the presence of a woman. It’s psychological, perhaps the result of some early episode I can’t remember. I believe that if I once have real sexual experience with a woman, the barrier will be gone, and I will then be able to do it with other women.”
“I’m not sure how I can give you that experience. It would more likely be an exercise in frustration for you.”
“Not necessarily so. You will be committed; you will neither laugh at me nor avoid me. Your interest is in having sexual experience with me. That should make a difference.” “My interest is in getting out of here and going home with my child.” “And your surest means of achieving that end is to make me potent. You will address me, use your female wiles to arouse me, and finally bring me to copulation with you. You will have no other purpose. I believe that there should be some progress in the course of a year.” “May I see your penis?” “Welcome.” He doffed his pantaloons and stood with his nether portion
exposed. His penis and testicles looked completely normal. She squatted and took hold of the member, peeling back the foreskin and inspecting the glans. Nothing wrong there. She massaged it with her fingers. It was ordinary through
out, but did not react. “May I make an oral approach?” “You may.” She touched the tip of the glans with her tongue, then licked it. There was no increase of its size or hardness. She licked the stem just behind the glans, the highly sensitive equivalent of a woman’s clitoris. Still no reaction. She put her mouth over it and sucked gently. Nothing. She took the whole limp penis into her mouth, not difficult at all in this small state, caressing it with tongue and lips. “You are wasting your time,” Impotent said. “Other women have tried.” So it seemed. “Would you care to try it on me?” For the average man got just about as much sexual titillation from licking a woman’s vulva as he did from having a woman swallow penis. “If you wish.” She doffed her farthingale and lay on the couch, spreading her legs. He got down and addressed her cleft. “Take me to orgasm,” she said. But she reached down to put one hand on his penis, verifying its condition.
He was just as competent on her as he had been on the demoness. Soon he had her building to pleasure, and then to full climax, which she did not try to diminish or conceal. Her bare legs clamped his head as she writhed with the force of it. But his member never budged. This was a tough case. “Have you tried a variety of women?” “Every variety.” “Including very young ones?” “I am not turned on by children. My desire is for comely grown women.
I merely can not get an erection in the presence of one.” “What of violence?” “Sado-masochism does not turn me on; it disgusts me.” “What of sexual demonstrations? Does watching others have sex turn
you on?” “No.” She was constrained to believe him. “What of romantic stories?” “Those, yes.” Progress at last. “Do you get an erection when watching a romantic play
or hearing a story?” “Yes. But it fades in the ready presence of a woman. I can relieve myself
only by masturbating.” But she was minded to test it, for this seemed to be a man she would be
able to relate to comfortably. “May we experiment?” “If you can find a way to make me potent, welcome.” “Then let us lie together, and I will tell you a story.”
They lay down on her bed, side by side, naked, on their backs. She took hold of his penis so she could verify its state of arousal without looking or calling attention to it. She knew that he would forget the contact after a while, if she kept her hand quite still.
“There was once a young woman called Desiree,” she said. “She was not particularly attractive, so was not socially popular. She wanted more than anything to have the kind of sex appeal she saw other girls practicing.” “I would like to encounter a girl with enduring sex appeal for me.” Veil knew it. “Desiree was walking home from her dull job when she was caught by a sudden shower. Half a torrent fell in a few minutes, and she was drenched. Water cascaded into the gutters of the street. Then she spied a little man caught in the flow, about to be washed into a deep culvert. She reached down and caught him by the collar, hauling him out of danger.” As she spoke, she found herself getting into the story, and let it flow on its own.
‘Thank you, plain woman,’ the little man said. ‘I regret I can not suitably reward you for saving my life.’ ‘That’s all right,’ she said. He evidently felt guilty. ‘I’m an elf. We come in two varieties. A wish elf
could have granted you one wish. But I’m a curse elf.’ ‘A curse elf!’ she exclaimed. ‘I never heard of that.’ ‘We’re not popular, so we keep a low profile. Now, unfortunately, I am
required to curse you.’ She was curious. ‘What kind of curses do you do?’ ‘Oh, there’s an infinite variety. Do you have a preference?’ Desiree laughed. ‘Curse me with sex appeal.’ The elf hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘You mean you really can?’ ‘Indubitably. But you’d be better off with a minor curse, like a hangnail.’ ‘I’ll take the sex appeal.’ ‘As you wish, so to speak.’ He lifted his two little hands, spread his fingers, and made a strange gesture. She felt a weird tingle. She blinked—and the curse elf was gone.
Had he really cursed her with sex appeal? She doubted it. But she was curious to find out.
The rain abated, and she walked on toward home. A man was walking the other way on the sidewalk. He saw her, and paused, staring. She tried to skirt around him, but he put out an arm to intercept her. ‘How much?’ he asked. ‘How much what?’ she replied, confused. ‘To have sex with you. Now.’ She thought he was joking. ‘I’m soaking wet, and I’m not even pretty.’ He brought out his wallet and showed a twenty dollar bill. When she just stared, he produced another, then a third. ‘That’s all I have,’ he said.
Bemused, she decided to call his bluff. ‘Okay.’ She took the money from his hand.
He immediately backed her up against a telephone pole, opened his fly, and hoisted up her skirt. Before she realized that he was serious, he had her panties to the side and his hot stiff penis was pushing into her surprised vulva. It jammed up somewhat painfully. ‘Hey!’
He didn’t stop. She tried to back off, but her back was against the pole and her wiggling only settled her vagina more firmly down on his intruding member. She was fairly skewered.
The man panted and thrust, and in a moment she felt the hot jet of his semen. It was way too late to protest; the deed was already in progress. He thrust several more times, spewing out what was in him, and subsided. Then he withdrew, pulled in his penis, and hurried away, looking somewhat shamefaced.
Desiree was left holding the money. It wasn’t even rape; she had been paid. Stunned, she fumbled out a tissue, wiped her cleft, and put herself back together.
She took a moment to ponder, and realized that maybe the elf had not been joshing her. He just might really have given her the curse of sex appeal.
The episode had not been fun, but she did have sixty dollars she could certainly use. Still, it could be a fluke. The man she had encountered might have been so desperate for a woman that he simply took the first one he encountered. How could she be sure?
There was a pair of rather cute boys living a few houses down the street from her. She would have liked to have something to do with them, but they had never noticed her. They were decent types. She would ask them.
She walked to their house, went to the door, and knocked. ‘Hi, Al,’ she said when the door opened. ‘I’m Desiree, down the street. I wonder if—’
‘You’re soaking wet,’ Al said. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold. Come in.’ He called back over his shoulder: ‘Hey Bo, it’s Desiree.’ ‘Well, there’s really no need. I just want to know whether—’ Then Bo was there too. The two boys bustled her into their warm apartment and solicitously stripped away her sodden clothing. While Al dried her with a soft towel Bo fixed her a mug of hot chocolate. In moments she was sitting nude at their table, drinking it. It was wonderful.
‘This may seem inopportune,’ Al said. ‘But there’s something about you. Would it be too much to ask if—’ This was the test. What did she have to lose? ‘Welcome, both of you.’ Suddenly she was on the bed with them, and Al was kissing her mouth and fondling her breasts while Bo was squeezing her buttocks and tonguing her cleft. Then Al’s rigid penis was in her mouth while Bo’s was plunging her vagina. They tried to be gentle, but were overcome by passion. They jetted almost simultaneously.
Desiree swallowed the coursing fluid, and rocked with the force of the eruptions. Her question had been answered: she had potent sex appeal.
The boys were embarrassed as they subsided. ‘We’ve never been like this before,’ Al said. ‘I don’t know what got into us.’
‘I do,’ Desiree said, satisfied. Innate caution caused her to avoid the truth. ‘You just never saw me nude before.’
‘We thought you were, well, plain,’ Bo said. ‘No offense. This was amaz ing.’ ‘Just my luck to get caught in the rain. I’d better go home now.’ ‘Of course,’ Al said. ‘But now that we know the real you, we’d like to—’ ‘How about formal dates with each of you, on alternate nights?’ They agreed. Soon she was on her way home, in borrowed dry clothing, carrying her wet things. She was well pleased with her supposed curse. Now she had two nice boyfriends.
But as she settled down to sleep in the evening, it occurred to her that it could be awkward at her job, where there were four men for every woman. Could she turn off the sex appeal? Would baggy clothing mask it? Or would she be stuck trying to fend off married men, including her boss?
Well, she would worry about that in the morning. She drew he sheet over her and dropped off to sleep.
She woke in alarm. There was a man in bed with her! Or something. He was trying to rape her.
She turned on the light. She stared. The sheet was squeezing her breasts, and part of it had somehow gotten wadded around her hairbrush, and the wrapped handle was pushing into her cleft. She realized with horror that she had so much sex appeal that the very things of her bedroom wanted to have sex with her. It was indeed a curse; how could she sleep if she couldn’t trust even the sheets to leave her alone?
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