When at last the prince thrust himself into his wife for the final time, shuddering, she, too, shuddered with an emotion that she could not identify. Nothing had been different for the prince except his wife’s response, but that had made everything different. He felt he had gotten closer to her than he had ever been capable of getting before. And all because of a little bottle of magic bubbles!
The next morning the couple awoke to find that for the first day since they were married the princess’s shoes were not worn out in the least. The prince used the magic bubbles each and every evening and, in fact, discovered that he enjoyed the clean fresh feeling that he got from them. But more than anything else he enjoyed his wife’s response to him after he washed with them. The new intimacy that had started to develop continued to grow stronger. And the princess discovered that she did not feel the same need to scrub and scour her house all hours of the day. They both marveled again and again that a small bottle of magic bubbles could have accomplished so much.
But ere long, the prince came near the bottom of his bottle of magic bubbles. He was suddenly alarmed. He could not go back to the way things were with his wife. He simply must have more bubbles! All of this came to the prince’s attention on the very night of a rather important dinner feast at the castle of the king. The prince would simply have to approach the wizardess at the feast, and get her to supply him with more bubbles.
That evening, when the opportunity arose, the prince approached the wizardess sheepishly. “I’m afraid I’m nearly out of the magic bubbles you gave me,” he said with a self-conscious grin.
She leaned closer to him in order to whisper in his ear. “Any good soap will work as well.”
He was stunned. “Do you mean to say—?”
“What I mean to say is that the magic you are looking for is already within you. You merely need to clean everything else away more thoroughly so your wife can find it.”
What a revelation this was for the prince! But of course it made perfect sense. His wife was fastidious in all matters and quite sensitive to unpleasant odors. He had been careless and inconsiderate of her feelings. But how could she not have told him?
He went to where his wife stood at the festivities to immediately communicate his displeasure with her over the matter. From now on, he swore, he would know sooner—and from her—when she was unhappy with him.
He grasped her arm gently but firmly as he politely—from all outward appearances—led her onto the dance floor. Only she could tell by the pressure of his fingers that he was not taking her away merely to dance. She could tell he was angry and was immediately concerned. He took her in his arms, holding her very close on the dance floor and causing her heart to beat more quickly in spite of her apprehension. She looked up at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were not happy with me before the wizardess gave me the bubbles?” he asked her.
She stared up at him. It all seemed so long ago now, like nothing more than a bad dream. “I suppose I was embarrassed,” she replied finally.
“Why should you have been embarrassed?” he asked her. “It is I who was the unwitting fool!”
“Oh,” she said, dismayed. “I am truly sorry.”
He held her more tightly. “If we are going to be happy together you will have to be honest with me,” he said. “I must know if there is something bothering you. Especially something that can be so easily remedied.” He sighed in exasperation.
“How do you mean?” she asked him.
“I mean the bubbles are not magic at all,” he told her.
She stared at him in shock. Then she smiled. “I knew it,” she said.
“You knew I was an awkward dolt, do you mean?”
“No,” she laughed now. “I knew it was you that I loved, not the bubbles. I knew it was you!”
He continued to look at her, confused.
“That smell that drives me wild,” she explained. “It worried me a little to think that it might be magic that caused my sudden response to you. Remember, it started when you used the magic bubbles?” She laughed again, and he smiled, too, getting the point at last. “Now I know that what I am really attracted to is the natural, clean smell of you.”
“Well, since you put it that way I will forgive this time,” he said. “But the next time something is bothering you, you had better tell me right away, agreed?”
“Agreed!”
And with the problem so well resolved, and future problems so neatly foiled by their new agreement, there was nothing more but for the prince and princess to wear out their shoes on the dance floor.
PRINCESS ORA
P RINCESS O RA CAME BACK TO THE PRESENT WITH A START .
“What?” she said, staring wide-eyed at her husband.
“You’ve been daydreaming again,” her husband teased, wrapping his arms around her lovingly. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.”
It was true; she had not even heard him come into the room. The warm suds on her hands as she washed the dishes had lulled her into exotic visions of steamy baths and pink, flushed skin that became buoyant and bouncy in the water. Being alone with her thoughts was what she liked best; real life could be so unendurably boring. Each thing you contemplated before the fact turned into a poorly done reproduction by comparison.
How long, for example, had she dreamed of having her own prince, and all the wonderful and mysterious things they would do together? But alas, nothing they had done together had come close to the things she had imagined. And love her husband though she might, she could not find a way to stop comparing him and the things he did to the images she produced of him in her mind’s eye. She never mentioned these thoughts to him for fear of ruining them altogether. And anyway, if he truly loved her, shouldn’t he have been able to guess her wishes in these matters? So the poor princess continued in silence, and lived her life flitting unhappily between her imaginary world and reality.
“I was asking if you knew when the wizardess was going to arrive,” the prince repeated.
“Oh,” replied Princess Ora absently, pretending to have been considering this. “As I remember it, the wizardess did not set a time. She will be here, I suppose, when she can fit us in between my sisters.” She was slightly irritated to have been disturbed from her erotic daydream to answer mundane questions about tedious daily activities.
The prince had come up behind her and he began kissing her neck and shoulders as he wrapped his strong arms around her, behavior that could become something very exciting in her mind, but which she knew from experience was not likely to turn into anything terribly exciting in real life. Perhaps she would consider the possibilities later when she had a moment alone, but for the present she nudged the prince gently away from her.
“In case she comes sooner, rather than later, I must get this mess cleaned up,” she said.
The prince sighed and stepped away. Oh, the things he would love to do to her! It seemed his life had turned into one never-ending exercise in self-control. Even when the princess opened herself to him she seemed distracted and disappointed in the things they did, and these were very tame. Surely she would leave him if she knew the things he longed to do to her. But he shook these thoughts from his mind; his wife was a woman to be treated with respect, not some trollop without any restraint.
They both jumped at the sound of the doorbell interrupting their thoughts. Princess Ora quickly dried her hands and rushed to greet the wizardess.
Harmonia immediately picked up the strange tension in the air as the princess led her into their kitchen. It was so palpable, in fact, that she actually looked into the air all around her, as if it might be visible. “My goodness!” she exclaimed.
But Princess Ora was too preoccupied to notice this outburst. She appeared, in a way, to be of a separate world entirely, thought the wizardess. And of course, she had identified what ailed the princess.
“Yes, my goodness indeed,” said the prince to be polite, though in truth he had no
idea what the wizardess meant by her outburst. Perhaps, he mused, all women were absentminded and abstract. He thought it best that he lead the group toward the point of their meeting. “Would you like anything to drink before you begin the interview?” he asked the wizardess.
“Oh, this interview is quite finished,” replied Harmonia with a slight chuckle. She fished through her overstuffed bag and retrieved a little golden pen. She handed it to Princess Ora.
“Use this as needed each and every evening,” she said.
The princess stared at the pen for a moment before accepting it. Then she examined it as if she had never seen a pen before. “A pen?” she asked.
“A magic pen,” corrected the wizardess as she made to leave.
“But,” the prince interjected on behalf of his wife, “What exactly is she supposed to do with the pen?”
“Why, she’s to write with it, of course!” replied the wizardess. And as quickly as she had come in she went out.
“My goodness,” said the prince again, hardly aware of what he was saying.
“Yes, my goodness indeed,” replied his wife. She went back to the sink to finish washing the dishes. And it was not until their evening dinner that either one of them mentioned the pen again.
“What will you write tonight?” the prince asked his wife.
“What?” she blinked. She had been thinking about the whipped cream that was sitting atop her dessert.
“The pen,” he reminded her. “What do you plan to write with it?”
“I hadn’t thought of it,” she replied. Where had she put the pen?
“Perhaps the wizardess intended for you to write about yourself, like in a diary,” he suggested. He remembered hearing somewhere that this often helped people who were unhappy. Perhaps he should try it himself.
“Do you think so?” she asked offhandedly. She seemed so calm and unconcerned, as if it had nothing to do with her own interests. It was almost as if she were in another world, only half seeing and hearing what was really happening around her.
“Yes,” he replied shortly. “I do.” He found her cool disconnection to him and their life together irritating. It was becoming an effort to engage her in the simplest conversation. He rose from the table and left the room to prevent himself telling her what a dull, lifeless creature she was.
Princess Ora hardly noticed her husband leave. It was, in fact, a relief to be rid of his niggling questions. She did not want to discuss the pen or what she would write. No doubt he would expect her to write about doing dishes and cleaning his under shorts. She could think of better things to write about than those things. Suddenly she wanted the little golden pen, and she stood up from the table and looked around the kitchen. Finding the pen and a large notebook filled with paper, she took them outdoors to look for a quiet place to write. At length she wandered a small distance into the woods to a favorite spot of hers, and sat on a nearby stump. Her hand that was holding the magic pen twitched.
Princess Ora opened the notebook and looked at the blank page. Once again her fingers twitched around the pen. She put the point of the pen on the paper and all at once, and quite without effort, words began to appear. A story—her story—came pouring out onto the sheet. Or perhaps it would have been her story if she knew how to make it so. In the meantime, it would be her story on paper.
In Princess Ora’s story there was a princess, much like her, waiting alone in the woods. She was waiting for her lover. Princess Ora paused in her writing every now and then to glance up and around, so that she might better describe the dusky woods and the surrounding shadowy places where the princess might be ravished once her lover arrived. She set the scene in great detail for her heroine’s clandestine meeting.
Once the stage was set, it was time to at last introduce the prince who would ravish the story princess. He would, of course, look very much like her own handsome prince. But that was where the likeness to her husband would end. Her story prince would not act such the prim gentleman with his lover. No, this prince would hardly be able to control his passions for his princess. He would not make her suggest or seduce. Nor would he bore her with questions. Her absolute submission would be understood from her presence at this rendezvous, and he would need no further encouragement. Her commitment would be implicit and absolute.
While Princess Ora was busy in the woods writing her story, her husband became suddenly alert with a start. Strange words had begun to appear in his mind’s eye and he could not, at first, make sense of them. At length he perceived he was seeing a story unravel in his head. It was about a princess who was waiting for someone in the woods. The prince paced back and forth as he read about how the princess waited, so excited and hopeful about her meeting, which the prince quickly surmised to be with a lover. The anticipation with which the story princess waited left no doubt.
The real prince’s curiosity was piqued when at last the story prince arrived, emerging from the thick forest and sneaking out to catch the story princess unaware. The real prince read on with interest as the story prince was described in great detail. All of a sudden he gasped. The story prince was no other than himself! But what could this mean?
The real prince could only continue to read the words as they appeared with startling clarity in his mind. A story was most certainly unraveling right before his eyes. But alas, the story prince was no respectable gentleman like himself. It was quickly becoming apparent to him that the character who had at first appeared to resemble him was, in fact, a cad. For this imposter prince came upon the princess in the woods like a panther, catching her quite unaware and, without so much as a word, reaching around her, grasping her breasts and pinching her nipples right through her clothing! The real prince gasped at the thought of such indecent and disreputable behavior.
But the story princess seemed delighted by this shocking disregard for her respectability. She reached her arms up behind her head to run her fingers through her lover’s hair as he continued to pinch and twist her nipples sharply. Meanwhile, his roguishly hot breath and tongue caressed the back of her neck. Raising one hand to her head he seized a fistful of her hair and yanked it backward so that he might devour her lips. The real prince in the tower wondered to see such lewd treatment of a woman being narrated so clearly inside his head. Certainly he had never allowed himself to treat a lady in such a way. And yet, he could feel his body tightening with a strange longing. What kind of dream was this?
These ponderings were interrupted by the ongoing story in his mind, which was steadily accelerating in its debauchery. The woodland princess was now allowing her gown and under things to be torn from her body and tossed to the ground. Her lover picked up her naked form and laid her onto a nearby bed of leaves. She opened her legs wide to accept him into her body. He ravished her most thoroughly, pushing her legs up high over her head and far apart as he ground himself into her, his hot gaze taking in all of her openly displayed nakedness in the dusky light.
The real prince, meanwhile, was standing in his castle tower, staring blindly out one of the windows, but only seeing the story that was playing out in his mind. He reached between his legs to try and rub away the ache that was developing there. Absently his gaze fixed on a small figure far off in the distance, but he was so caught up in the narrative that he did not, at first, recognize it to be the form of his wife.
The story prince, meanwhile, in a swift and smooth maneuver, crossed his lover’s splayed legs and flipped her over so she was on her knees. He did this without disengaging from her body and immediately resumed his pummeling thrusts with her on all fours on the forest floor. Under the influence of such unrestrained abandon, the story princess seemed to have forgotten all caution, allowing her body to be ignited from the violent passion of the prince. She thrashed about wildly, crying out as she thrust her hips up and down over her delighted lover. Still staring blindly out the window, the real prince read all this and imagined the scene well—for Princess Ora was quite explicit in her writing—and his own passion
s were also ignited to the point of burning out of control. Still, somewhere in the far back reaches of his mind, the prince wondered at the origin of these mysterious words, unraveling this most unusual scene right before his eyes. His gaze was still fixed on the little figure of his wife in the woods, but yet without recognition, as he simultaneously read the story of the ravished princess and rubbed his throbbing body for relief.
But all of a sudden the prince froze. His mind recoiled at the thought, even as it swiftly registered that the little figure hunched over in the woods was his wife and that she was the one responsible for the story of the ravished princess. Slowly, other realizations crept in, confirming this: the likeness of the story princess and her lover to Princess Ora and himself, the constant state of distraction in his wife, the magic pen. At length, the prince discerned that his daydreaming wife had secret passions that, for her own reasons, she had been too withdrawn to make him aware of. But now through the magic pen, the wizardess had seen to it that he found out.
The prince had not remained standing in the tower while having these revelations. Upon first realizing his wife was, in fact, the author of the amazing story, he had immediately descended the stairs of the tower with the intention of joining her.
It took no time for the prince to reach his wife’s little hideaway in the wood, but he stopped for a moment a small distance off, thinking of how he should approach her. A slow smile crept over his lips as he watched her, single-mindedly bent over her little notebook, scribbling furiously. The words she wrote were still appearing in his mind. He struggled to clear the words and his thoughts so he could remember how the story had begun. Ah, yes, the story prince had come upon his princess in the woods and taken her by surprise!
It was still dusk as the prince stealthily crept up behind Princess Ora. His body was hard and alert and his heart was hammering in his chest.
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