Read Hex and the Single Girl Online
Authors: Valerie Frankel
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Romance, #C429, #Extratorrents, #Kat
The couples shifted into the locker room, dressing quickly and quietly. Molly understood that speaking at all would somehow dissipate the cloud they were all floating on. She remained respectfully silent, even though she was dying to tell Stanley that she felt comfortable in her skin, now that a dozen strangers had put their hands upon it (over the pajamas, of course).
When they slipped outside, down the street, and into their car, however, the two continued their respectful, floaty silence. They drove home in a heady, speedy haze, the Long Island Expressway a blur of black pavement and white lights.
Once home, Stanley wordlessly steered Molly into their bedroom, where he undressed her, undressed himself, lay her down and made love to her, lying on top, his hands brushing the hair off her forehead, kissing her cheeks and lips.
Their sex that night was basic. Page one in any sex manual. No bells and whistles. No hard-to-find spots or out-of-the-way zones. And yet, looking into each other’s eyes, breathing in unison, they were lost in a new uncharted world together.
When they were done, nestling into each other’s necks, both silently aware they hadn’t enjoyed each other so well in many years—if ever. Her heart was pounding, her skin felt dewy and vibrant. Her soul was a bouncing buoy.
Molly broke the silence and asked, “It might be counterintuitive, but I think having sex the old-fashioned way might be the best way for us to stay young.”
“Do you really?” he asked.
“I do,” she said. “Darling.”
KINGDOM COME
Once upon a time in a far-off land, there was a King, a Queen, and their miserable, sullen, whiny, and all-around pain in the ass sixteen-year-old daughter.
“What are we going to
do
with her?” asked the King to his Queen. “She hates everything. I can’t stand to see her mope around, draping herself on a chair, sighing, moaning as if she’s in agony.”
“But she is,” said the Queen from atop her lavish purple-cushioned throne. “She’s lonely.”
“Lonely?” he barked. “How can she possibly be lonely when we send handsome young men to her chamber every
night? Each one has been verified by the Palace Measurer to be at least seven inches. I’ve seen the charts.”
“I’ve seen the men,” said the Queen.
The King paused. “You have?”
“Indeed, and they are all in excellent condition,” she said. “But good measure alone isn’t enough for a lonely girl.”
“Poppycock,” said the King.
“Why do all men—from the exalted ruler to the lowly outhouse swabber—believe unilaterally that a virile man will make a girl happy?”
“It makes every
other
girl in the Kingdom happy,” growled the King. “That’s why it’s the law of the land! From her sixteenth birthday onward, every female in the Kingdom shall be attended by a man as often as she desires. Satisfied women make for steady men, and steady men make a strong Kingdom. BUT—an unsatisfied Princess in the Palace
makes an unhappy home. And before you tell me that a man’s service isn’t enough, I ask you: Haven’t I given her everything else she could desire? The finest jewels? Silken robes from the Orient? None of our other five daughters gave us such grief! They were thrilled with our gifts. In turn, they’ve gifted us with scores of grandchildren.”
“I agree with you,” said the Queen. “This Princess is difficult.”
At that moment, the so-called “difficult” Princess wandered into the royal chamber—stumbled in, really, since every step was a barely tolerable exertion. She slogged along as if her spun-golden frock and jewel-encrusted crown weighed a thousand pounds.
She sighed morosely before collapsing on a settee. “Another horrible day,” she whined, and let her rosy cheek rest upon her dainty hand.
The King covered his ears. “Can’t you make her shut up?” he asked his Queen. “I can’t stand to listen to one more word!”
“That’s not helpful,” sang the Queen like a warning.
Exasperated, the King launched himself off of his opulent blue-cushioned throne. He paced in a circle around his depressed daughter on the settee. “You tell me,” he demanded. “What is wrong with the courtesans I send to your chamber? Aren’t they young and handsome? All under twenty-five years of age. All muscular and fit, with strong bodies and lustrous manes. Plus, they’ve been expertly trained in the erotic arts. They can lift a five-pound weight with their tongues! They bathe in perfumed waters and are massaged with fragrant oils. Their chins and scrotums are shaved by hairmaidens. Their hands and feet are cleaned and buffed by nailmaidens. And yet, according to your chambermaid, you reject them after only five minutes.”
“They disgust me!” the Princess retorted.
The Queen, sensing that her daughter was on the verge of a crying fit, attempted to diffuse the situation. “The Princess has been visited by the same courtesans for too long. She’s known most of them her whole life, played with them as children. They’re like brothers to her.”
“Your point?” asked the King.
“We expand her servicing circle,” said the Queen.
“Fine,” said the King, eager for an idea, desperate for a plan. “What do you suggest?”
“A contest,” said the Queen. “We can send word to all the neighboring kingdoms. Whomever can satisfy the Princess will get to claim her as a wife.”
“Satisfy how?” asked the Princess.
“You’ll know it when it happens,” said the Queen.
“And how will this be verified?” asked the King.
“The chambermaid,” said his wife. “You have her spying already. Why not make it official?”
“What do you say?” asked the King to his daughter, desperate for a fix.
“I’m to be open to anyone?” she asked. “Even men who clean the stables and plow the earth and sweat through the rags they call clothes? The poor? The uncultured? Even elderly men of some thirty years?”
“As long as they’re healthy,” said the King, feeling expansive. “We can wash them before hand.”
“I guess it’s worth a try,” said the Princess hesitantly. “But I’m not optimistic. And no one over thirty. I have limits.”
And so, riders set out on the Kingdom’s fastest horses to reach the far corners of the land, entrusted to spread the royal decree, that any one who could relieve the Princess’s acute frustration was entitled to marry her and enjoy her beauty and vast inherited riches forever and ever. The decree caused a widespread sensation. Men and boys from across the land flocked to the Palace for their go at her.
The line outside the Palace was as long and winding as the great Clymaxus River. “There must be a thousand men out there!” said the King in the tower, a spyglass pressed under his eyebrow.
The Queen clapped her hands twice. A servant girl appeared behind her. “Bring more lubricating oils to the Princess’s chamber. Quickly!”
“Make it a barrel!” said the King as the girl darted off to do their bidding.
The contest began at sunrise the next day. One by one, the suitors were taken to the Princess’s chamber. Each man tried his time-tested tricks and death-defying skills. One by one, the men were sent away.
The King and Queen watched the line grow shorter as the day wore on, their hopes of a happy household diminishing by the hour. But then, just as the sun set, the chambermaid burst into the royal chamber, exclaiming, “She’s done it!”
“Oh, thank God!” said the King.
“What a relief!” said the Queen. And then, an afterthought: “Did she fake it?”
The chambermaid shook her head violently. “No! It was as real as the Gods. Real as the stars, moon, and sky. Real as hunger and thirst and fatigue at the end of a hard day.”
“Bring them here immediately,” boomed the King. “We will declare them married tonight. The entire Kingdom will feast for forty days in celebration!”
“Can we afford that?” asked the Queen.
“Make it four days!”
The chambermaid returned several minutes later, the Princess and her young squire behind her. The King and Queen studied their daughter, who was flushed and shimmering, the light of contentment shining from every pore. Her eyes were big and blue and moist with tears of joy. “Oh, Mother!” she cried. “Now I get it!”
“Wonder of wonders!” said the Queen. “You’ve come a long way.”
“Well, young man,” said the King, slapping the slight but sturdy squire on the back and tussling his short, wavy, shiny brown hair. “Pray, share with us your secret. Why have you succeeded where hundreds before you failed?”
The future Prince-in-law shrugged modestly. Speaking softly, the youth said, “I talked to her first. I played with her hair and held her hand. I praised her poise and told her how beautiful she is. I kissed her gently on the eyes and lips. I showered her with affection and kindness. I gave her what every woman wants.”
“Fascinating!” declared the King. “And how is it that you are so knowledgeable about what a woman wants?”
“I know what women want, sir,” said the squire, “because I am one.” He (she) untied the strings of his (her) cape, letting it fall to the ground, revealing the shapely figure of a female.
The King and Queen stared mutely. Gauging their reaction, the Princess shook her head and groused, “This
is
the tenth century, you know.”
The King couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The Queen, however, had attended a boarding school for young ladies of the court in her youth.
“You promised to marry them,” prompted the Queen. “Please begin.”
“Marriage?” he whispered. “Shouldn’t it be a domestic partnership? Or a civil union?”
“Don’t you want your daughter to be happy?” asked the Queen. “Look at her.”
The King turned toward his daughter, recognizing in her face what he’d seen in it years ago, when she first learned to ride a horse. When she played with dolls. When she was a baby in his arms tugging on his beard. He saw the same unshielded love and joy in her eyes now as the Princess gazed at her chosen partner.
He smiled, feeling their love in his heart, remembering that his purpose on earth—along with ruling the Kingdom and collecting taxes—was to help his children fulfill their dreams. No matter how queer those dreams might be.
And so he married them.
There was much rejoicing in the land. Some male courtesans chose to offer their services to Lords. Some Ladies trained female courtesans for themselves. The Princess and Princess adopted twins, giving the King and Queen more grandchildren to dote on.
And everyone lived happily, sappily, ever after.
About the Author
VALERIE FRANKEL
lives and works in Brooklyn, New York. She is the author of ten novels, including
The
Girlfriend Curse, The Accidental Virgin
and, for teens,
Fringe Girl: The Revolution Starts Now.
Nonfiction-wise, Val coauthored
The Best You’ll Ever Have: What Every Woman Needs to Know About Getting and Giving Knock-Your-Socks-Off Sex,
a guide that should answer all your burning questions about erotic gizmos. She also writes for magazines including
Self, Glamour, Parenting
and
O
. More personal information (not
too
detailed) can be found at her blog/website www.valeriefrankel.com.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
By Valerie Frankel
HEX AND THE SINGLE GIRL
THE GIRLFRIEND CURSE
THE NOT-SO-PERFECT MAN
THE ACCIDENTAL VIRGIN
SMART VS. PRETTY
Credits
Cover photographs by Getty Images
Copyright
HEX AND THE SINGLE GIRL. Copyright © 2006 by Valerie Frankel. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Mobipocket Reader February 2007 ISBN 978-0-06-135882-1
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