The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever

by Jennifer Tate

  "Those lions were noisy eaters, and their feeding sounds became even more arousing when they neared the end of their feast, and started to crunch the bones. Such soothing music—in my soul I can hear it still."

  "Sounds to me like sicksoulitis. But you're lucky, sicksoulitis is only fatal in men."

  "Dare I ask?"

  "Samuel Butler says, it's because 'the souls of women are so small, that [maybe they have] none at all.'"

  "When I get my hands on Butler, I'm going to shove a Roman candle up his butt, and light it. Then we'll see how cute he is."

  Mercury guffawed. "That may be taking tough-love a tad far."

  Old Hairball finished eating his goldfish, and began to purr. Mercury started to pace.

  "Sit down, Mercury! And for heaven's sake, stop worrying! Nothing will go wrong. You missed out on the Christians in lion country, but the real entertainment is about to begin, and you'll have a front row seat for it. By the time you're finished with Princess Betty-Jo, she'll be wishing those lions were eating her."

  "Lions have all the fun."

  Venus shook her clenched fist at Mercury. "Don't take her up too far. I want her to suffer before she dies."

  "Lighten up, goddess. If it's agony you want, it's agony she'll get."

  "Now what about Raiden?"

  "I've talked Raiden into taking his spring break at Myrtle Beach, and I've been teaching him how to fish. The guy's keen."

  "No shit!"

  "After I've dispatched The Princess, Foul Odder and I will take Raiden on a fishing excursion. And don't you fret. By the end of the excursion he'll be 'sleeping with the fishes.'"

  Satisfied, Venus relaxed, and—excited by the spectacle of her piranha friends pigging-out on an angelfish—moved her hand through the slit in her gown.

  Mercury looked heartened. He knew that Venus loved commando style. "Please goddess," he said, "let me give you a hand with that."

  She shot him a withering look. "For centuries, planet earth was my favorite playground, and toying with the destiny of mortals my favorite recreation—such a pleasant diversion from the tedium of..."

  "Me, I prefer Charades."

  The runt is a good example of why we need birth control on Olympus, she thought. "You would, she said."

  "Less travel time required."

  She pounded the padded Corinthian leather arm of her throne. "To Hades with Zeus and his decree! He's ruined my fun!" She flashed her evil smile as she recalled how, in the beginning, she had sweet-talked Pandora into opening Zeus's box, and her jubilation when all of those miseries: famine, greed, war, pestilence, and bubonic plague were loosed upon the earth. The grim and gory years that followed, had been a dream come true.

  "Zeus let you get away with murder in the beginning, and still you couldn't resist destroying the Grecian and Roman empires—could you?"

  What is this, an inquisition? "I was bored, nothing fun was happening."

  "But you shouldn't have been surprised when Zeus finally pulled your plug after you destroyed the Roman Empire."

  "The pompous jerk!" Her hand trembled beneath her gown.

  "I don't know why you're upset. You got your kicks. Zeus should have only banned you from messing with the mortals."

  "Zeus'—no involvement with mortals decree—is asinine! Nothing changed. The mortals simply dreamt up their own gods, and then proceeded to foul up the earth with a creativity that even I was forced to admire."

  "'Lord what fools [those] mortals be.'"

  "You've got that right."

  "Be careful, goddess. You lucked out in 1773 when our exalted leader discovered it was you who started the American Revolution. If I were Zeus, you'd have been placed over my knee, spanked, and shipped off to Hades quicker than you can say sayonara goddess." He loosed a crooked smirk.

  "You'd have enjoyed that, wouldn't you?"

  "Fortunately for you, it was the British Empire you started to unravel back then. You were only spared a sabbatical in Hades because Zeus likes the Yanks, but can't tolerate the British aristocracy."

  "Why does he hate the Brits?"

  "That's what I asked him."

  Venus raised her hand, palm up. "And?"

  "Zeus said, and I quote, 'The Brits are pathetic. Too many polo ponies, and too few happy foxes.'"

  "What an ass-wipe."

  "But there was another reason for Zeus's clemency."

  "You mean grumpy foxes weren't reason enough?"

  "From time to time he's inclined to intervene with the mortals himself, and he knows that the Yanks will be facing a merciless foe when Emperor Kahn arrives. His American friends will need all the help he can give them, when they have Kahn to deal with."

  Her anger turned to fury, and she hammered her throne once more. "How does Zeus have the gall to threaten me with banishment to Hades, when he's meddling with the mortals himself?"

  "Don't anger him Venus! Banishment to Hades would mean eons of suffering and dreariness, the kind of monotony that could drive an insane goddess crazy."

  Mercury's attempt at humor riled her even more. "Hades or no Hades, vengeance will be mine!" she screamed. "Psyche will rue the day she took my son from me, and Paris will suffer for squealing to Zeus about how I rigged the beauty contest. That pair will never cross me again when they see what happens to their descendants! Princess Betty-Jo and Raiden will pay for their folly.

  "What is it with you? You're like an elephant that never forgets an injustice. Get over what Psyche and Paris did to you. Let sleeping cows stand."

  "Not when I'm in a cow tipping mood."

  "Saving Emperor Kahn's butt is a better reason for offing Princess Betty-Jo than revenge for a couple of two-thousand-year-old grudges. And why do I suspect that your obsession with slaying The Princess may have something to do with the Golden Apple?"

  "Maybe you've been blessed with the Wisdom of Solomon."

  "If I'd been blessed with his wisdom," Mercury said, "I wouldn't be captive to your beauty." Then he thought, I'd be the fourth wise monkey. I'd see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil'. And I'd also fear no evil, because I'd refuse to fornicate evil goddesses—beautiful or otherwise!

  Venus was well aware that nothing could rival her beauty. Even the many portraits and statues of her—the prevalent decor in her opulent temple—didn't adequately depict her real-life splendor. "Am I more beautiful than the American Princess?" she said, as she parted her gown to give the messenger god a glimpse of her breasts—two good reasons for him to lick his lips.

  "Of cor...of course you are, in an evil sort of way."

  Caught in the booby trap, she thought, as she basked in his praise. It's so easy when men keep having fits over tits.

  "But remember," he continued, "'beauty is in the eye of the beholder.' A rattlesnake will tell you that beauty is a long slithery female, with two beady eyes and a sexy rattle."

  "Snog your rattler! Nobody cares what a snake thinks. But Princess Betty-Jo's beauty is another matter. She has real beauty—beauty that came to her through the ages from Helen of Troy."

  Mercury looked thoughtful. "So Helen is where Princess Betty-Jo's beauty comes from."

  "But not to worry. The Trojan slut's beauty will vanish forever, with Princess Betty-Jo's lamentable early demise. Then, the Golden Apple—symbol to all of my incomparable beauty—will again be mine. But this time, it will be mine for eternity."

  "Only if Princess Betty-Jo is slumbering with the worms before the millennium. She's favored to win the All-Universe beauty contest, and there's a rumor that Zeus is going to immortalize the winner, like he immortalized Psyche."

  Venus' fury bubbled over again. "He wouldn't dare!"

  "You'd better pray you're right, because if Princess Betty-Jo wins the All-Universe, and Zeus immortalizes her, the Golden Apple will be hers for a thousand years—maybe for eons."

  "Damn Zeus! Damn him! He shouldn't allow the mortals to enter the All-Universe. There's no precedent! He's doing everything he can to deny me the adu
lation that's rightfully mine.

  "Zeus does what he wants. You know that. And besides, Princess Betty-Jo is his granddaughter—albeit many times removed."

  "Well I also do what I want! My only competition in the All-Universe is Princess Betty-Jo, but by 2000 the wench will be six feet under, and so maggot-infested that even the bowsers will look like ravishing beauties by comparison."

  Mercury stood up. "Gotta leave for Toronto. It may take a while to talk Raiden into taking his spring break at Myrtle Beach. Too bad he can't be possessed; it would make my job a whole lot easier."

  "I don't want excuses! I want Princess Betty-Jo and Raiden dead! Dead as doornails!"

  "What's a doornail?"

  "Damned if I can remember. But in the earth's fourteenth-century, if you were dead as a doornail, you were seriously dead!"

  "Easy, goddess. She'll be dispatched on schedule, and Raiden will be leaving to spend time with the fishes shortly thereafter. Just make sure you honor your end of our agreement. I expect to find you open and friendly when I return."

  The diminutive twit is perma-horny. "Anything else?"

  "Yeah—wide open and very friendly. I'm taking a hell of a risk for you!"

  Oh, oh. I'm losing him. "You are, but you know that your reward will make it all worthwhile. When you return from Myrtle Beach, we'll fornicate. Just don't try to put that thing of yours in the wrong hole." As an added incentive, Venus took Mercury's hand and moved it through the slit in her gown.

  The messenger god took a deep breath, and reveled in the intoxicating aphrodisiac that was Venus' aroma. Then he closed his eyes, and drooled like a Basset hound. "The way you moan—such a basic, earthy sound. Please, goddess, I must have you."

  Venus was not about to give in to Mercury's pleading—not even as the waves of pleasure washed over her. "Take care of The Princess and Raiden first," she said, as she drew her legs under her. "It will be a character builder for you."

  "Damn you Venus! Damn what you do to me!" Mercury savored Venus' aroma one last time, and then swaggered out of her temple.

  Venus laughed at his swagger. "What a dud. Foreplay with that guy is like a close encounter with the turd kind." She tossed Old Hairball an angelfish, and considered her foes' progeny, the earth mortals Betty-Jo Chance and Brad Raiden. "It's payback time. Soon I'll be shut of those cretins, and ruling the earth with Emperor Kahn."

  A flea infested Old Hairball looked as if he could care less.

  "None other than Nostradamus has foretold the coming of Kahn, the King of Terror, and Nostradamus has never been wrong. He predicted the French revolution, the rise to power of Napoleon, the conquests of my buddy, Adolph, and the death of two of the Kennedy brothers."

  Old Hairball scratched beneath his right ear.

  "Now, on the eve of the millennium, Emperor Kahn's arrival is at hand. Nostradamus has written:

  In the year 1999 and seven months,

  A King of Terror from the sky will come.

  He will resurrect the great King of the Mongols.

  Soon after Emperor Kahn's arrival, and his resurrection of Genghis Kahn, the Mongol hoards will again be swarming over the earth like locusts. And this time they'll be brandishing chemical weapons, biological weapons, and nukes." She sighed as she pictured the devastation. "I can hardly wait! If the Americans thought they had a difficult time competing against a few Chinese swimmers on steroids, wait 'til they see the supermen and women that eugenics and genetic engineering produce. And Emperor Kahn will have a nasty surprise for those sissy Americans—he'll use the new drug-testing technology to sterilize their elite athletes. The best part is they won't even know they've been neutered."

  The love goddess again slid her hand up her inner thigh, excited by the thought of America's finest athletes copulating like crazy in a futile attempt to procreate. "It's true, you obnoxious pussy," she said as she peaked once more, "'Sex is best with someone you love.'" When she finished winding down, she grabbed Old Hairball's tail, and forced him to listen to her plans for the conquest of America. "Every American man, woman, and child will be enslaved by Emperor Kahn. The men and children will be made to toil in the fields and factories, but that will be a blessing compared to the horror that's awaits their women." She quivered in anticipation, and gave Hairball's tail a yank to make certain he was listening.

  "Rrrow!" he cried.

  "There's only one problem. Nostradamus' prophesy reveals that the son of The American Princess could save America. But you needn't be concerned, you ugly puss, because I've ensured that he'll never be born." Her voice was shrill, her eyes savage. "Princess Betty-Jo's death will remove the American hero's threat to me and to Emperor Kahn. Dead women don't have sons who grow up to be heroes."

  In celebration of Princess Betty-Jo's anticipated demise, Venus kicked Old Hairball with her red, pointy-toed, stiletto-heeled shoe.

  "Rrrow!" Old Hairball cried, even louder than before. Then his claws went after her leg and ran her nylon. That was a mistake, because, holding his tail with both hands she swung him around like the hammer in a hammer throw, and released him in the direction of the piranha pool.

  Old Hairball landed on all fours, but following his successful splashdown he found himself surrounded by a bunch of repulsive, razor-toothed piranha. The sorry puss gave a plaintive cry before he realized that it was his lucky day. The piranha, having just eaten their fill of gold and angelfish, weren't interested in a pussycat—not even one that looked like dessert.

  She hauled him out of the pool by the scruff of the neck, and shook the bejesus out of him. Despite the run in her nylon, her mood was improving.

  "With Mercury willing to do whatever it takes to have me, and Zeus busy shagging his strumpet, Europa, it'll soon be bye-bye American Princess and bye-bye Mr. Raiden."

  -5-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE

  A Loveable Lover

  It was two-thirty on a March '94 Sunday at Horry Courts in Myrtle Beach. Betty-Jo Chance was playing in the South Carolina indoor tennis championship, and she was kicking butt. For the nineteen-year-old tennis sensation, heaven was only a game and a lovable lover away. The game she knew she was going to win, but the loveable lover?

  Although she was plump, she captivated men when she played. Quite unintentionally, she had added an arousing dimension to a tennis game. When she pounded the ball cross-court, her breasts swelled upward in a delight soon followed by their equally captivating descent. They appeared to be jockeying for position as the eighth and ninth wonders of the modern world. And while her breasts did nothing to advance her dream to play professional tennis, she did have a big weapon—Betty-Jo was ambidextrous. Her switch-hitting ability enabled her to hammer forehands, and hit deceptive serves from both her left and right sides. Her opponents suffered—confused and overpowered.

  * * *

  In the Great Smokey Mountains of Tennessee, Freddy—Foul Odor—Smith worked his still. Pigs found him offensive. That was because Foul Odor never bathed.

  A few good old boys, on the lam from the Tennessee authorities, had become semi-permanent residents of South Carolina, and they had a standing order for the smelly one's product. It was during Foul Odor's March moonshine foray to Myrtle Beach that Mercury possessed him—not always an easy task since most mortals couldn't be possessed, and even at its easiest, possession was exhausting work. Then, with Mercury at the controls, they checked into an eighth floor room at the Strand Princess.

  What I need is a drink to steady my nerves, Mercury thought. But before long—after numerous swigs from Foul Odor's jug—he wasn't thinking too clearly. No reason why I shouldn't have a good time with The Princess before I show her to the exit.

  * * *

  A week after her triumph at the indoor tennis championship, Betty-Jo came close to finding a man—thanks to the efforts of Venus and Mercury—but Foul Odor Smith was the deadly, not the loveable variety of man she was looking for.

  She was doing fill-in housekeeping at The Princess when a foul smellin
g, pot-bellied, redneck blew his nose on a pillowcase and staggered over to her. It was eleven A.M., but the redneck was already seriously polluted.

  "You and me is gonna have some fun now, honey," he said.

  "If it's a fun time you're looking for, why don't you go out back and goose a chicken?"

  The redneck gave her a lopsided leer. "Ah already got me a chick—and you're it!"

  "So now you're thinking it'll soon be happy as a pig-in-clover time for you, 'cause you get to be the pig."

  "Shud your face!" he said, closing on her as she backed away.

  If I humor the porker, I wonder if he'll leave? "Don't you think the world would be a better place if you stopped trying to add branches to your family tree?" she quipped.

  "I'm warning you. Shud-up and strip!"

  "Listen to me—then think for a moment. 'I'm not your type.'

  "What d' yuh mean yuh ain't ma type?"

  "'I'm not inflatable.'"

  Unfortunately, Foul Odor was between Betty-Jo and the door. "You oinker!" she yelled, you've shoved your snout into the wrong trough this time." She tried to escape over the bed but he cornered her and ripped off her blouse and skirt. Then he pulled down her bra and stared at her breasts in disbelief.

  She was so shocked by the speed and ferocity of the attack that she neglected to scream.

  He yanked her hair and snarled, "On your knees!"

  Betty-Jo's presence of mind struggled back, with an idea that might give her a chance. "If you won't hurt me, I'll do something for you that I know you'll really like," she said. She sank to the floor, her head at the level of his crotch. Then she made a fist with her right hand, and a lid for it with her left. "Lift the lid on the garbage can," she said."

  Amazingly, he did.

  She jabbed her fist upward as hard as she could. The blow may have been lucky, but it served its purpose. Foul Odor howled in pain and staggered backward clutching his groin.

  "Oh, oh. You're gonna be one irate piggy now," she said.

  "You bitch! I'll teach yuh t' mess with me!"