Beetle Juice (6 page)

Wetzel had a problem with this. “If married women want me, why wouldn't ex-virgins?”

“Oh, they would. But they would be women loved and scorned. It will take them some time to get over that.”

“You understand this better than I do.”

“I do,” she agreed. “It comes with being of the feminine persuasion myself. I suggest that you follow my advice now. This will enable us to live in this village without undue strife.”

“I can stay with you?”

“Yes, if you want to.”

Wetzel spoke carefully, clarifying his emotions as he did. “I can't say I love you now, though I wish I could. But I know you for the excellent person you are, and I trust you. You are my friend. I like your company. I want to remain with you. I will give you sex any time you wish it. Is this a fair compromise?”

“Yes, Wetzel. Give me sex now.” Her need was burgeoning, now that some time had passed; he felt it coming at him, though she was not using the stimulus thought on him. She simply couldn't help her passion in his presence.

He embraced her and got to it, making sure she got her climax. He shared that, and it was good. Then they slept.

The following days played out as Weava had predicted. Wetzel bedded one wife a day, catering to her so that she was fully satisfied. Meanwhile he learned the seductive art from Weava and practiced it on one virgin at a time. It was indeed a challenge, but with persistence and increasing skill he did manage to seduce each village virgin. These were by far his most satisfying liaisons, but each ended the moment he succeeded. Virginity was of the mind as much as of the body; once a woman had sex she was changed, her original naïveté gone. It was that emotional freshness that he craved. He left behind a series of angry young women, even though the rules of this game had been clear from the outset. Each foolishly hoped to be the exception.

He also transformed and used his horn to guarantee the purity of the village water supply, to heal wounds, and cure ailments. When a rogue bear attacked the village, Wetzel speared it with his horn and left it dead. He did have formidable physical and magical powers, and was certainly paying his way. In fact he could have run the gantlet of men barring his departure, killed them, and escaped. But he was determined to leave peacefully or not at all. It was his compromise with his situation. He knew it and they knew it, because of the telepathy. He did not bother to hide it; why should he?

He could have been happy this way, as he had everything a normal man might want: sustenance and plenty of sex. Except for the one thing: he could not love a non-virgin, and he could not keep a virgin. It was the paradox of his unicorn identity. If there was a resolution, it was not here. He doubted it was anywhere, because it was inherent in his nature, but at least he could dream that somewhere in the universe there was an answer. A virgin he could both love and keep.

“I wish I could be that virgin,” Weava said sadly.

“I wish so too. You are the perfect woman. I know it. But I just can't—”

“I understand,” she said. And she did. That was part of her tragedy.

Then he spied the trail. It came up to Weava's house and terminated. It led through the village without touching it, winding into an unknown realm. He tried to fathom it via telepathy, but found only nonsense:
Beetle Juice
. He followed it briefly, then, nervous, returned to the house.

“What is it?” he asked Weava. She was able to see the trail only when he held her hand and faced it.

“That is your legitimate escape,” she answered. “I know of it only through legend, but it seems it is true. It is an aspect of an entity known as the Amoeba that spans all our universe and all time and all alternate universes. Few, very few, are ever offered the privilege of joining it. This is your destiny, Wetzel. You must take that trail.”

“Come with me!”

“I can not.”

“Try.” He held her hand and led her onto the trail. They walked a short distance into it, and the village faded. “See?” he said, letting her hand go.

She vanished.

Alarmed, he ran back off the trail. There she was, standing in the street. “When you let go, I reverted to my own frame. This is for you alone.”

He fought the notion, but during the night, between frenzied bouts of sex, she persuaded him. He would take the trail, leaving her and the village behind. It represented his peaceful compromise. His chance to discover his greater destiny. His search for the Virgin. This persuasion was Weava's final gift to him.

But he could not do it without giving her an equivalent gift. He would share his secret with her.

“But you must not,” she protested. “I never asked you to do that.”

“It is my virginity,” he agreed. “My own personal privacy. I want you to have it to remember me by. You are the one person who deserves it. You don't have to share it; it can be your secret too.”

“I can not deny that the idea of learning it fascinates me,” she said. “But I think I would prefer to have you keep it. That's safer.”

“If I am gone, and you keep it, it will remain secret. It is my ultimate trust in you.”

She could not demur further. He became the teacher, guiding her to his most secret place, the storm shelter, and showing her the precious secrets stored there.

“Oh, it's wonderful!” she exclaimed as she looked around, clapping her hands like a little girl.

And the telepathy was so close and intense that they were both in the haunted cellar, seeing each other there.

“You can even take off your clothes and show me your secret place, if you want to,” he said smiling. “You are my first and only visitor. My virgin of the moment.”

“I want to. No one can see us here.” She stripped and stood naked before him, and he saw every detail. He was thrilled, not so much by her body, which he had seen so many times before, but by the fact that he saw it here in the storm shelter. No one else had ever been here before. “I do feel like a virgin, here.”

He kissed her, and she kissed him, and they sank down on the stone floor and made love. It was glorious.

Then he guided her so that she was able to make her own storm shelter that no one else needed to see or even know about. She had been sexually molested as a small child, in the woodshed, and not even understood the nature of it until years later; then she had buried it, embarrassed. Now that memory served to hide whatever other secrets she might have. But, to erase the ugly smell of it, she took Wetzel into that woodshed and made love to him there. Now it was a place with a pleasant memory that she would not mind visiting again.

“Thank you, Wetzel, for this marvelous gift,” she said. “This is my place of restored virginity. I will always be a virgin here. Only you know better.”

“I know no such thing. I love you, my virgin.” He kissed her again, loving her, and she melted in his embrace. In her mind she had indeed become virginal here, and that was what truly counted.

Then they emerged and found themselves in her bed in her house, pleasantly embraced. That closeness, physically and emotionally, had enabled them to achieve the visit and construction. To make her a secret virgin.

“You know, I think now I could stay with you, because—”

“No,” she said gently. “Let the fond illusion be our secret.” And of course she was right.

In the morning the trail remained. He transformed, touched her fondly with his horn, and marched onto the trail. He did not look back, knowing he would see her tears.

The trail soon left the village behind. It wound through a forest that was at first similar to the one he knew, but gradually became dissimilar. Still distracted by the memory of Weava, so deserving a woman yet ultimately not for him, he paid scant attention. He hadn't even thought to bring any clothing or pack any supplies. He could go back for them, but did not want to disrupt the parting they had already managed. He would make do.

Where did the trail lead? Weava had spoken of the Amoeba, a creature that spanned the whole of existence. It seemed it offered the trail only to individuals needed for a mission. He had no idea what such a mission could be, and less idea what beetle juice meant. Some sort of beverage? A sexual reference? Or was it a code for something completely alien? Or a gross cosmic joke?

Then he became aware of human minds. There was a village ahead. That was a relief; someone there might have a notion what he was here for.

He trotted up to the village, but the villagers ignored him, continuing about their assorted businesses. He could tell from their minds that they were aware of him, but determined not to interact with him unless he initiated it. It seemed that was Amoeba policy. He could also tell that they had been through a significant experience recently, some kind of threat they had had to fight off, and they were still making repairs. He could not learn more without prying unduly.

Then he spied a group of four people camped at the far edge of the village, somewhat apart from it. An old man, a young man, and two young women. One of them was ordinary, the other a striking beauty; neither was a virgin. They saw him coming, and were eager to interact with him. These were people he needed to converse with; they evidently knew why he was here. They were members of an experienced team, and they had been waiting for another member. That would be him. It was clarifying as their assorted thoughts radiated.

He walked on through the village, approaching the foursome. The two women gazed at his form and loved it. That was normal for non-virgins. But it reminded him that he was in equine form. If we wanted to talk with these people he had to revert to human form. He did so, coming to a halt before them. “I see that you are the members of the team I am supposed to join,” he said, evincing more dramatic confidence than he felt. If they were not such a team, he would be at a loss.

They were silent, still assessing him. “I am sure we will get along capitally,” he continued, again hoping it was true. “I am Wetzel.” He glanced at the women, who did not know he could read their thoughts, and were thinking rather nakedly, especially the pretty one. “Thank you for your honest appreciation of my physical equine and manly qualities, ladies.”

Now the pretty one spoke, and he picked up her name. She was a vampire! A were-bat with a taste for blood and sex. That was a surprise. “We didn't speak.”

“Ah, but you did, Vanja.” Then he had to explain. “You see, I am telepathic. More precisely, I am a telepathic were-unicorn.” He smiled. “We are a rare breed. I presume it was for my ability to read minds that I was summoned here, though I did have other qualities.” He looked again at the women, who both blushed. It seemed that in their cultures women were not supposed to have raw sexual desire, and seldom voiced it. Their unprotected minds were thus an embarrassment.

Meanwhile the young man was dismayed. It seemed that he had had access to both women, and now feared competition. He wondered what they had gotten into. He needed reassurance, as Wetzel did not want to have to deal with a jealous husband or equivalent. “Perhaps I can answer that too, Tod,” he said, naming the man. “There is a concept in my mind that I presume stems from the Amoeba and relates to our mission.” Again, this was partly guesswork that he hoped to have confirmed.

“A concept?” the man asked. He was evidently the leader of this group. “What is it?”

“Beetle Juice. I am as perplexed by it as you are, but there it is.”

“We will surely be finding out soon,” the older man said. His name turned out to be Wizard, and it seemed that was literal. He could actually perform magic.

“Bug juice,” Vanja the Vampire said. “That could be considered a form of blood.”

“Or simply a squished insect,” the young man, Tod, said.

“First things first,” the luscious vampire said. She had voluminous black hair that flounced about her shoulders and breasts, contrasting red pupils, and of course visible fangs. “You must be worn from your journey here, and there is much we will need to tell you. Why don't I just get you alone for a while and bring you up to date, Wetzel?”

Both men smiled, agreeing, knowing her nature, and the other woman, after a pause, agreed too. It seemed that Vanja would be the one to initiate him into their group. He was amenable.

“Your other form is a unicorn,” Vanja said. “I'm a girl, and girls love horses. Similar species. Would you let me ride you?”

Such a thing had not occurred to him. Be ridden like an animal? Yet he wanted to get along with these people, and if this was the price of her favor, he could do it.

And that will alleviate your nakedness
,
which is embarrassing Veee,
she thought.

Oh. He transformed.

She stood beside him, then jumped, sprawling onto his back. She swung a leg over, grabbed his mane, and sat up, steadying herself. “I'm not an experienced rider. You can readily dump me off if you have a mind to. I won't be hurt; I'll simply go to my bat form and hover.”

Now he realized something else. She wore no clothing. What had looked like clothing was pigmented skin. He felt her bare thighs against his skin, all the way up to her crotch. That was a sexual turn-on. She was no virgin, but she was certainly interesting, and would do for a sexual partner. He stepped forward carefully so that she would not be dislodged.

I assume you are reading my mind
, she thought without speaking.
You know I want to have sex with you. That's why I'm touching you in a way I know you are noticing. There's a private glade up this path where we can stop and do it. Then we'll talk.

He could not speak in this form, but he could respond. He walked along the path her mind indicated. She was correct about his noticing her warm thighs and crotch. He was eager to have sex with her, more so than with any non-virginal stranger he could remember.

We're two of a kind, transformers, just different types. We should get along. But tell me by nodding your head: is it true about unicorns and virgins?