The Magic Fart (21 page)

sex, when it’s set for that. Oubliette told me to touch you with the Spire.” “The bitch!” “No, because you’re my ideal woman. The Spire would make you want me. I wasn’t able to touch you with it, and really, that’s just as well, because that would not have been love, just passion. As it happens, you can make up your own mind, and that’s best.” “Even if it means I don’t marry you?” He smiled in the dim light. “Best for you, not for me. That’s the way it

has to be. I really fouled it up.” “Perhaps.” She looked around, her long dark hair flaring as her head turned. “We seem to have used up the night. We need to plan the rest of our escape.” “Yes. I figure I can fart us to food and lodging as we travel.” “No. Don’t use the magic fart. That would be a dead giveaway, and they’d

recapture us.” “But we have nothing, not even clothing. How can we make our way?” “There are other contests. Farting is out, and I don’t go for defecation.

So it will have to be urination.” “Pissing?” “There are contests for volume, color, and distance.” “Well, with the Spire I could—” “No Spire.” “But I’m not that good a pisser.” “Fortunately I have a fairly tight bladder. I should be able to get some

distance.” “I wouldn’t ask you to—” “We’re not where we came from. Here women can urinate as freely as

men.” Prior looked at her, out of sorts. “But your hood is as much of a giveaway as the Spire. Neither of us can—” He paused, astonished. “Your hood is gone!” Her mouth dropped open. “Oh!” She sounded oddly dismayed. He peered at her face, but it wasn’t yet light enough to get it clear of shadow.

“Not that it matters. I’m sure I don’t know you anyway. “It matters,” she said. “You’ll know soon enough. I’m Tantamount.” Now his own jaw dropped. “But she doesn’t have a—” He glanced at

the baby, on his shoulder. “And Chance is your son. Why did you think I was so angry?” “But—but I never—” “You certainly did. You seduced me with the Spire, and deliberately impregnated me. Not to mention burying my house in smegma. I had to give up my practice and hide, lest my reputation be destroyed.” Now he remembered. He
had
done that. “I suppose it’s too late to apologize,” he said. “Way too late,” she agreed with controlled fury.

Chapter 18—Trap

Well, now it was out, Tantamount thought as she worked her hair into a halter. Now that the secret was gone, she could afford to be comfortable to that extent. Of all the men who might have come to rescue her, this was the worst. But she was stuck with it.

One thing that really bothered her now was that she should have recog nized him when she numbed his penis. His artificial member fitted very well, and there was no obvious juncture where it connected to his living body, but she was a doctor specializing in penile malaise. She should have caught on immediately that his member was artificial. She had been distracted by their situation, and had never thought to inspect it. The more fool, she.

“Well, I’ll still do my best to get you out of here,” he said. “Then you’ll be free of me.”

“Not so fast, you jerk. You can’t just kiss off your son. You have legal responsibilities.”

“My son,” he echoed, as if just realizing. “He’s quiet when I’m holding him. Does he realize?” She shrugged. “You like holding him?” He considered only briefly. “Yes.” That was one point in his favor. She had tested him by having him hold Chance when she did her primal scream. The baby had firm notions about who was all right and who wasn’t.

“There was one thing I couldn’t decipher,” she said, as they ate the re maining roast pig Prior had hauled up through the cave. “Why was I kidnapped? At first I thought it was random, but I did wonder why they took a woman with a baby, surely a drug on the fresh maiden market. Then they arranged to notify you. That didn’t make sense either, as long as you were anonymous. But now it is clear that this was set up from the start. The question is why. My sister evidently caught on, and thought it was a good match, the canine, but she didn’t set it up. Who did that?” “I don’t know. Someone with a sadistic sense of humor. Putting you to

gether with the man you most despised, and watching the action.” She nodded. “The ancient Romans had some similar entertainments.

On the other hand there’s the analogy of
The Magic Flute
.” “The what?” “It’s a literary reference. Naturally you wouldn’t know.” She was punish

ing him with her contempt. “I’m an ignorant guy,” he agreed, accepting it. “It is an opera by Mozart, dating from 1791. The Queen of the Night gives a magic flute to a young prince so that he can rescue her daughter from the palace of an evil high priest who has abducted her.”

“I’m the prince,” he agreed, laughing weakly. “You’re the kidnapped daughter.” He shook his head ruefully. “Some prince!” “But you were the one with access to the magic fart.” “The Spire,” he agreed. “But this can’t be an old opera.” “That depends on the whim of whoever set this up. There does seem to

be a certain devious logic.” Chance woke and began to fuss. “I guess I’d better give him back to

you,” Prior said. “He’s been great.” He held the baby out. “He’s hungry,” she agreed, taking Chance and putting him to her breast. “How does it work out, in the opera?” “The prince goes to the castle of the high priest, protected from danger by the music of the flute, and discovers to his surprise that the man is not evil, but merely protecting the girl. The prince gets to know the girl, and likes her a lot, and she him. So the prince undergoes the ordeal of the search for truth. This prevents him from speaking to the girl, who thinks he doesn’t love her.” “So much for the parallel.” “Parallels can be figurative as well as literal. We met each other anony

mously, here in Fartingale, so had our misunderstandings.” “Like my thinking you could love me,” he said. “I confess to being severely stressed with respect to that. I was coming

to like you, before I discovered your identity.” “That’s the opposite of the opera.” “Opposites are parallels too. Here is what I am faced with: you are the father of my son. I don’t love you but I do love Chance. I want what is best for him. So I am obliged to consider you seriously.” “This is hell for you.” “Yes. I am trying to fathom who hates me enough to do this to me.” Prior spread his hands. “I really am sorry. I do like you a lot, love you even. I’ll do anything to make it right, if I can. I just don’t know what that is. So—whatever you decide.” “Thank you,” she said tightly. “First I want to escape this awful culture

and return home. Thereafter I’ll decide.” “Fair enough,” he agreed. “But maybe you’d better let me use the magic

fart.” “No. I think urine is our best bet, and I’m the one to do it. Now that my

hood is gone, I’m essentially anonymous. That will help.” “Except for Chance,” he said. “They’ll be alert for a woman with a baby.” She put her hand to her forehead. “Oh! I forgot about that. You’re right.” “Maybe I can use the magic fart after all. I can made a little cloud that conceals the baby, making him invisible, if I’m carry him. Then we’ll look like an average young couple.” “That might work. We’ll have to act like it, kissing and such.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be,” she snapped. “It’s a necessary act.” “Not for me.” She paused. “You really thought of me during our separation?” “Yes. You’re such a smart, beautiful, motivated person—all the things I’m not. Now I understand why you took my penis. It was for the benefit of mankind.”

“Don’t praise me for that! I let the ends justify the means. My sister told me that, and now I realize it’s true. I did wrong you.” “We were pretty mean to each other.” “We were indeed.” What was getting to her was that she found herself softening toward him. They had offsetting wrongs, and with that cancellation, what was left was an ignorant but decent guy, and her need for legitimacy. She didn’t want her son to be a bastard.

“Let me see what I can do,” he said as Chance finished nursing. He took the baby back, and there was the squeak of a narrow fart. A trail of vapor floated up from his posterior and clung to his upper section, surrounding Chance. And Chance disappeared. “But can he breathe?” she asked, alarmed. “Sure. Take a breath and see.” She put her face to the cloud and inhaled. The mist was faintly sweet, like dilute perfume, and made her feel satisfied and sleepy, but not out of breath. It was a rather special magic. She put her hand in and found Chance, nestling peacefully.

“I have to acknowledge that the Spire is apt,” she said. “This will do. Very well, let me see whether I’m fit to pee, as it were.” She found a rock as the light brightened, sat on, it leaned back, and let fly a long jet of urine. “Measure that.” Prior paced it off, from her feet to the wet landing spot. “About six feet.”

“I doubt that’s good enough. These folk are competitive pissers. But with practice and a full bladder I’ll improve. Let’s go find a clothing shop.” She was privately amazed to hear herself talking like this, but this did seem the best way to travel anonymously. “We’d better tank up,” Prior said. “Agreed.” Prior lay on the ground by the steam and sucked in water, man style, while she scoped handfuls up to sip, woman style. They both drank until their stomachs were full. This was uncomfortable, but she, at least, needed the ammunition.

They walked across the terrain, following the stream upstream. Water was usually a good place to find human habitation. After an hour they came to a small settlement. A sign identified it as Piss Creek. Good; a urination contest should be quite in order. Her bladder was already filling.

She took Chance back and nursed him, then returned him to Prior. Not having to carry his weight made her walking easier.

“Here’s our situation,” she told Prior. “We were out walking and lost our clothes in the stream; they just disappeared into the ground. We were part of a tourist tour, and missed our transport. We need to get some clothing.” “They won’t just give it to us.” “Correct. So we’ll piss for it.” They came to the central privy, always a social center. It was posted with ads: MULTI-COLORED TURDS, GUARANTEED. EMPOWER YOUR FARTS: FLOWERY SMELLS, GREATER VOLUME, MELODIOUS SOUND, IMPROVED VELOCITY. MASTER THE POWER OF PISS: THE FAMILY THAT PEES TOGETHER, SEES TOGETHER. While she read the notices, Prior spoke to a likely man, telling the story Tantamount had suggested. “Nothing’s free,” the man said sourly. “Where’s your money?” “Lost that too. We’ll have to piss for it.” The man nodded. “We’re always up for a good pissing, here in Piss Creek.

Folk who piss together, have bliss together. What stakes?” “Clothing for each of us, versus a fast fuck with my wife, who will be the

contestant.” The man looked at Tantamount, seeing her shape. “My wife’s got spares,

and my son needs a good fuck.” “She’s not going up against a man,” Prior said quickly. “Naturally not,” the man agreed, though evidently he had had it in mind.

“My daughter will take her on.” It was playing out pretty much the way Tantamount had planned; her research in the Tower now stood her in good stead. Soon the villagers gathered for the spot show; pretty women were more fun to watch urinating than men.

The man’s wife showed off a good used farthingale dress that looked as if it would fit, and a pair of pantaloons. The son and daughter come out. “First pissing,” the man announced. “For the dress.” Oops—they wanted to contest separately for the items, instead of mak

ing it a package deal. They were stuck for two contests. The daughter, who was a halfway comely teen girl, removed her dress, sat on the pissing stool and let fly with a good stream that cut off abruptly. The spectators applauded. Trust the villagers to know how to do it well. It was necessary to have a sufficient amount to maintain a steady flow, however briefly, and the girl had done that.

Tantamount took the stool, held her breath, compressed her bladder, and forced out a powerful stream. It splashed just beyond the girl’s effort. The villagers applauded again.

“You won it,” the man said, handing Prior the farthingale. Now for the pants.”

The daughter let fly with another jet, the same distance as the first. But Tantamount, her pressure diminished, fell short. She had expended too much urine the first time, her inexperience costing her. “Well, now,” the son said, stepping forward, his member stiffening. “Hey, we didn’t say public,” Tantamount protested. She knew she was

stuck for the fuck, but there were limits. There was a sigh of regret among the villagers. But they went along, allowing Tantamount to take the young man into the closed privy. She put her hands on the seat, presenting her bottom. “Hey I want it from the front,” the boy protested. “You can’t feel my breasts from the front,” she pointed out. “This way

you can reach around me.” “Say yeah,” he agreed. Without further argument he stepped up behind her, put his stiff penis to her cleft, reached around to grab her breasts, and rammed home. He jetted on the first thrust, being young.

That was it. One advantage of doing it with a teen boy was that it was fast. He was out in a moment, and she grabbed some toilet paper and wiped herself dry.

But they still needed the pantaloons, and she had little urine left; she had let too much flow in the contests. “Let me consult privately with my husband,” she said as they returned to the plaza.

The villagers smiled. Women paid off their bets, but often preferred to have follow-ups with their own men, to erase the feel of foreign intrusion. Prior joined her in the privy. “Give me Chance,” she said. “Oh.” He obliged. She nursed the baby as she talked. “I need more

urine.” “That will take time.” “No. I want it now, so we can win the pants and be on our way. You have