Beetle Juice

by Piers Anthony

  “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.

  Chapter 3

  Trail Mates

  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 v
oluminous 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?

  He nodded his head.

  But you can enjoy regular women too?

  He nodded again. He was already enjoying their physical contact.

  “Then we’ll get along,” she said, reverting to audible speech now that she had confirmed the telepathic mode. “Now I have some points to make while I have you muzzled. I’m no virgin, but I can seduce any man in short order when I try. I will be happy to demonstrate with you. Meanwhile I’ll answer your most likely question: yes, it’s true about vampires and blood. But as a general rule I don’t take the blood of friends, and I do have an alternate way to get the equivalent: a man’s semen bolsters me similarly. So when you have sex with me, you are actually feeding me. I don’t need a lot, a few drops will do, it’s a hormonal thing, but I do need it regularly. So I will be after you for sex every night, and not just because you are one magnetically virile stud. If you don’t like that, simply tell me; I do have other sources.” She squeezed her thighs against his hide suggestively.

  Wetzel walked on, not demurring. It was interesting how she was managing him, effectively silencing him while she made her presentation. He liked her, and she was indeed sexually interesting, especially for a vampire. His fantasy research had indicated that vampires could take sex or leave it; her ability to use it in lieu of blood was not in the literature he had seen.

  “Another thing,” she continued. “We are a team, and we stand by each other, to the death if need be. You join us, we’ll stand by you, and expect you to support us similarly. We’ll be your friends. It is no casual commitment; the Amoeba brought us together for a purpose, and we need to know we can depend on each other. But apart from that, the other woman, Veee, is my friend. I don’t want her hurt. Anyone who hurts her will be my enemy.” Her mood darkened, and it was clear that she was neither joking nor bluffing. “I’m not suggesting that you would do so deliberately, but you could do so unintentionally, simply because you don’t yet know her well enough. Reading her immediate mind won’t necessarily suffice. She has had wide involuntary sexual experience, but now is in a voluntary relationship with Tod, and is becoming her own woman. They love each other and will marry in due course. You could surely seduce her, because of your magical appeal to women, but she would thereafter feel guilty and be hurt. She wants to be true to Tod. It’s a cultural thing. So I ask you, I beg you, do not have sex with her. You can be her friend—she makes the best possible friend—but leave her alone sexually. I am not trying to reserve you for myself; you can have sex with anyone else, and I suspect you will, just as I do with any man who takes my fancy, including especially Tod. Veee and I share him, for now; that’s complicated to explain briefly. She’s not the jealous type. But Veee alone you should spare.”

  Wetzel walked on. Vanja’s mind buttressed her words; she was making sense in this context. He would try to honor that request.

  They came to the glade. He transformed back to human form, and sure enough, Vanja transformed simultaneously to her bat form, hovered momentarily, then landed on his shoulder.

  “I have heard you, vocally and mentally,” he said. “I will treat your friend carefully. Because she is not a virgin, I should be able to hold off.”

  She jumped off his shoulder, transformed, and landed neatly on her feet before him, now completely nude in appearance. She put her arms about him, drawing close so that her belly and breasts pressed against him. She had the most provocative figure he had ever seen. “One other thing,” she murmured, smiling to flash her fangs. “I don’t bite when making love, unless requested.” Then she kissed him and drew him down on the grass, wrapping her legs about his hips. He was in her and climaxing immediately; she was indeed good at seduction and at sex.

  “Now more detail,” she said briskly as they lay still clasped. “Exactly what is it with unicorns and virgins? Are you really helpless before a virgin?”

  “It’s a liability of the form. My passion is for a virgin, but the moment I have sex with her I lose further romantic interest. I can enjoy sex with any woman, but I can love only a virgin. I want to love and marry and have a family, but my wife must be a continuing virgin. It’s not just her body; she must be virginal in her mind too. I know that’s impossible. I took the trail in the hope that somewhere, somehow, there is an answer for me.”

  “So if you find the right virgin, your life is complete?”

  “Hardly. I am completely smitten by any virgin I meet; she can make me do almost anything. Until she stops being virginal.”

  “So, if we encounter an enemy virgin, one who wishes us ill, we will need to protect you from her, odd as that sounds?”

  “Yes. I cannot say no to a virgin. So I am not looking for a virgin as such, so much as THE virgin who will fulfill my life, imaginary as she may be.”

  “I don’t know enough about the Amoeba to say, but it is my impression that it does try to satisfy the ones it summons. So maybe there is an answer for you, though I can’t imagine what.”

  “I hope so,” he said fervently.

  “Okay, I believe I have introduced myself. Next you should get to know Tod. He’s the leader of our team. He’ll need to know your capabilities so he can organize the mission.”

  “What is the mission?”

  “We don’t know. Just that it relates to beetle juice, thanks to your information. That’s typical of the Amoeba; it doesn’t tell you, but in due course does show the way. We can be sure it will be a challenge that utilizes all of us, though maybe not in exactly the ways we expect.”

  They got up and walked back toward the village. Wetzel noticed that her painted clothing had reappeared. Too bad he could not do the same. “Thank you for the information,” he said.

  “Thank you for the ride.”

  He smiled. “Who thanks whom for the sex?”

  She returned the smile. “It’s a draw. We both desperately wanted it. We’re a close match bo
th in being half-humans and in our keen sexuality. There will be many other times.”

  “There will be,” he agreed.

  They rejoined the other three. “I am turning Wetzel over to you, Tod, for background on the Amoeba and our organization as a team.” She flashed a smile. “And yes, he is a stud.”

  “Let’s take a walk,” Tod said. He was a fit brown-haired man of pleasant disposition.

  “First get him some trunks,” Veee said. She was embarrassed by his nakedness, though also admiring it.

  Tod rummaged in his things and came up with a pair of undershorts. Wetzel put them on. “I did not think to bring clothing of my own,” he said. “When I transform suddenly, it is hard on clothing.”

  “Veee will surely design you something feasible.”

  “I will,” Veee said.

  They walked along the same path as before. “The Amoeba is a remarkable entity,” Tod said. His mind was well informed and surprisingly powerful; he was much more of a person than his appearance or attitude suggested. “The trails are actually its pseudopods, extending beyond our imagination. We are in the Amoeba, and it facilitates our association.”

  “In it?” Wetzel asked, surprised. “I assumed it was controlling the trail from some other vantage.”

  “Not so. Everything you see here is part of the Amoeba. It provides a mutually compatible environment so that all of us are physically comfortable, when we might not be in each other’s frames. It also enables us to converse with each other, though our individual languages may be quite different. Your telepathy may enable you to relate to foreign cultures on your own, however.”

  “I am not sure of that,” Wetzel said. “I have no prior experience with foreign cultures. But it may be so. That might be why I was offered the trail.”