CAUTIONARY TALES
Piers Anthony
Contents
Introduction
1. Bluebeard
2. Root Pruning
3. Cartaphilus
4. A Picture of Jesus
5. My America
6. Serial
7. The Courting
8. Pep Talk
9. Knave
10. Juliet Quartet
11. Editing
12. Medusa
13. Rat Bait
14. Humor
15. Lost Things
16. Privy
17. Wood Knot Dew
18. Living Doll
19. Religion
20. Adult Conspiracy
Author’s Note
Introduction
This is an unusual volume, consisting of stories and essays of mine that have not before been collected. Some may not be to the taste of some readers, so there is a Caution before each one calling out the problem area: that it is an essay when what is sought is a story, that it has controversial social or religious material, or aberrant graphic sex, or in some other way could violate the preference of the reader. A few, being relatively innocent, have no Cautions.
Following each item is a discussion giving its history and special features. One, “Serial” was bounced from the Relationships volume it was in because it features rape. Another, “Cartaphilus,” was written to be translated into a graphic (that is comic style pictures) presentation. “Juliet” was rendered virtually unpublishable because a thirteen-year-old girl sets a man’s hand on her breast. “Adult Conspiracy” deliberately torpedoes that aspect of my Xanth series. “Pep Talk” is an essay about writing a novel in a month, with an illicit romance in the interstices. “Rat Bait” is perhaps the most disgustingly graphic sex story I’ve done. So these really are different, but should be tolerable for mature readers. None, I trust, are dull.
In sum: tackle this volume at your own risk.
Caution: simulated sex with a child
1. Bluebeard
I stepped into my Interact identity. It was Females’ Day on the Zone, meaning that there would be no charges of any kind for female players in certain games. That meant no permanent record, and that was just as important to a girl as the money.
I zeroed in on the ad I had heard about, next to the Junior Miss Games section. Maybe that was just coincidence, or maybe the game sponsors figured that today’s junior was tomorrow’s adult, so they were cultivating a future market. Naturally such a game would be fascinating to a child of any age. It was obviously based on a fairy tale, though of course the details would be changed to make it a worthwhile challenge.
There it was: “Bluebeard.” I felt the tingle of spine that such a notion evokes in a girl. Bluebeard was a rich noble who married seven women in turn. When he took business trips, he told them they could go anywhere in the castle except one room. Of course each wife sneaked a peek at the forbidden chamber—and spied the bodies of her predecessors. Until Wife #7 managed to escape and expose the rascal. It was a story stronger in mystery than in sense. Nobody even missed those other six wives? What about the stench of their corpses? Why didn’t Bluebeard hide the bodies where they couldn’t be so readily found? So there would be a forbidden chamber in the game, but no dead wives; it had to be something else. And there was the fascination: what was there? The only way to find out was to play the game.
I moved my electronic marker to knock on the castle door. A panel opened showing a grim face. “Go away,” it said sociably, and the panel started to close.
“But I came to play!” I protested, my spoken words appearing in print along the bottom of the screen. If I changed my mind, I could edit them out before I spoke again. Of course I didn’t do that. No girl would, at this stage.
The grim face scowled. “You are too young. You look like a ten-year-old child. You can’t marry Bluebeard until you are at least eighteen.” The panel started to close again.
“I’m at least eighteen!” I cried hastily. “I’m—I’m using my little sister Nettie’s membership. She said it’s all right. Since this is Females’ Day, I won’t be running up any charges on her account.”
“You should get your own account, registered to your name and age,” the face said. “Come back when you do. There’ll be another Females’ Day next month.”
“But this is my only day off!” I protested frantically. “I’ll be too busy then. And why get a whole membership when I won’t be playing much anyway? Why should you care whose name it’s in, since it’s free today anyway?”
He stared at my emulation figure. “Eighteen—in a ten-year-old persona. It’s highly irregular—”
“But people do it all the time, don’t they?” I pleaded. “Just let me in, and I won’t say a thing. I just want to play the game.”
He finally relented. “You swear you are eighteen or over? That you are adult, and qualified to play an adult game? And you know that this is an adult game?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” I agreed eagerly, answering each question, as any girl of ten would.
“Then enter, Nettie,” he said, and the heavy oaken door swung slowly inward to reveal the dark interior hall.
I entered, relieved that they had accepted my word instead of doing the thorough verification of my identity that the law required. The one that would have shown that there was only one child in my family, so that there couldn’t be an older sister. The stats were on record from the original application for membership in Interact, the worldwide electronic entertainment network. But maybe they didn’t care, since the charge meter was turned off; there would be no permanent record of this transaction. Females’ Day was really a way to get more women into what had been a mostly male dominion. Monthly free samples to get new folk hooked, so they would become game addicts and be willing to pay endlessly for the privilege. Some games were extremely expensive, but those who were hooked had no choice except to pay. Why worry if they were underage, any more than the erstwhile tobacco companies had worried about the targets of their advertising? Soon enough they would be of age, and addicted to the special thrills of electronic entertainment. In fact maybe the tobacco companies owned electronic stock, since they knew so well how to nudge around and under and through the law. Free samples were seldom truly free; they were more like trial doses of heroin. I knew that—which was why I was here.
A maid met me in the anteroom. She held up a wedding dress. She looked doubtfully at me. “Are you of age to marry?” she asked. “Because—”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “ This is my little sister’s persona, because I’m on her card. Just make the dress fit.” Though I was surprised to encounter marriage; there had been no warning of this. Still, how could the Bluebeard scenario be played out without a wife? So it did make sense, on reflection.
She put the wedding dress on me, and it did fit my small persona, because it was a one-size-fits-all costume. Computer simulations in virtual reality are handy that way; no fancy re-stitching is needed. She set a tiara in my hair and showed me the mirror. I was now a lovely young (very young!) bride.
Music played as an inner door opened. I stepped through, and there was an aisle down the center of a chapel. At the far end was the altar with a priest, and beside it stood a portly man with a massive blue beard. I was about to marry Bluebeard! I might have been daunted, as any girl would be, but reminded myself that the game was not reality; no ceremony was binding beyond the confines of the game itself. So I marched down the aisle, thrilling to the swell of the wedding march, a melody I had always liked.
I reached the altar, and the priest mumbled some words, and Bluebeard put a golden ring on my finger. By this time I was identifying completely with my persona, so the scene seemed real; suspension of
disbelief becomes easier with practice. Then he kissed me, and I had to clamp down on my reactions lest I go into freakout mode. I mean, the groom does kiss the bride, doesn’t he? Even if the groom had the universe’s bushiest Technicolor beard and the bride’s a ten-year-old girl. So I got through it, mainly by closing my eyes and pretending I was sucking on the world’s fuzziest giant peach.
He took my hand and led me through another portal. Now we were in the castle bedroom, with fancy draperies at the stone windows and an enormous four-poster bed. Oops—were we supposed to consummate the marriage? I really hadn’t considered that detail. In the fairy tale book they always sort of slide over that sort of thing. Any girl would be wondering whether it was better to quit the game now, while she was ahead, so to speak. I hesitated.
Fortunately Bluebeard ignored the bed. “Wife, I have to make a business trip,” he said gruffly. “Here are all the keys to the castle.” He held up a huge ring. “You may go anywhere you choose, with one exception. Do not enter the chamber that this little key unlocks.” He selected the smallest of all the keys. “Promise me you will not enter that one room.”
Ah, we were getting into it! “I promise,” I said, wondering what would have happened if I had refused to promise. Would the game have shorted out right there? That forbidden chamber was the whole point of it, after all.
“Good. I shall return in a fortnight.” He handed me the keys, and tromped out of the bedroom door. In a moment the castle shook as he slammed the great outer portal. I looked out the window and saw his huge blue charger galloping away. He had effectively been written out of the game. I had two weeks to myself.
Naturally the first thing I did was head for the forbidden room. There were servants cleaning the halls and making beds, just as in a hotel. They were figments of the game’s imagination, and I ignored them.
The forbidden door was easy to recognize. It had a big placard on it saying FORBIDDEN CHAMBER—DO NOT ENTER. So I put the key in its lock and tried to turn it. It resisted.
The placard changed. ARE YOU SURE YOU ARE OF AGE? it printed at me.
“I’m using Nettie’s card,” I explained again. “I’m actually at least eighteen.”
ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS? YOU GAVE YOUR WORD.
I hesitated. This was actually the third time the game had challenged my age or motive. Apparently they were really serious about keeping children out. Yet all they had to do was run a routine check on my membership, a process requiring perhaps all of two seconds, and bounce me out of the game when I couldn’t document my age. So it seemed clear that they really didn’t care. This was all window dressing.
“Yes I’m sure,” I said. I twisted the key again, and this time it turned. I heard the crude tumblers moving, unlocking the door.
The chamber was bare. The walls were not stone, but mirror glass, making it seem much larger than it was. There was only a chest the size and shape of a coffin lying in its center, reflected endlessly in the walls. This was the big secret?
I stepped inside—and the door slammed closed behind me. Oops—I had left the key in the lock. Now it and all the other keys on the ring were out of my reach. And the door had no handle inside. I had stupidly locked myself in. I would surely lose a point for that.
Of course I wasn’t really confined. I could exit the game any time simply by lifting my real hands and removing the electronic helmet that brought me the sounds and sights of Interact. My gloves and socks were only to track my movements in the game; they didn’t interfere with my real actions. But then I would default, and never find out what the big secret was. No curious girl would want that. I didn’t care about winning the game; I just wanted to fathom its mystery.
So I walked my persona to the coffin and pulled on the handle on its lid. The lid swung up and back, forming a padded horizontal table. And in the depths of the coffin lay a handsome naked human man. No pointed elven ears, no vampire fangs, no nothing supernatural. There was no doubt of this because everything was laid out to view.
“You’re it?” I asked, disappointed.
“Aren’t I enough?” He sat up, then lifted himself out of the coffin. He turned to bend over it, presenting me with his small bare masculine buns, and hauled the base up so that it snapped into a continuation of the padded table.
“That depends,” I said. “You must be something really special, to be Forbidden.”
“Of course I’m special,” he said. “I have remarkable lust and stamina. Get that dress off and I’ll demonstrate.”
I realized that I was still in the wedding dress. “Uh, you’re naked,” I said somewhat belatedly.
“Indeed. Get naked yourself, and lie on this altar of erotic expression. You and I are about to have a memorable experience.” He touched his genital, which lengthened.
I backed away, not easy with this. “I think I don’t want to play anymore,” I said.
The man fixed me with a disconcerting stare. “I think you will play my game, girl. You may call me Lucifer.” His genital expanded ominously.
This was definitely alarming. I lifted my hands to the helmet, as any girl would. The helmet didn’t show in the game, but the gesture was unmistakable.
“Listen, girl,” he said. “You have forsworn yourself three times to reach this chamber. You claimed to be at least eighteen, when in fact you are only ten. The arrangement by which you entered this game has no validity, because of those misrepresentations. If you quit now, you will be charged with the crime of illicit entry. a penalty fee will be assigned, and you will be arraigned for disciplinary proceedings. Not only will your family be impoverished by the assessment, you yourself may be removed from what is obviously an unsuitable home and assigned to a reform school for an indefinite period. Are you sure you want to let yourself in for that?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded as any girl would be. I did not speak, but neither did I continue my motion toward the helmet.
“You thought you couldn’t get in trouble when no fees were charged?” he inquired rhetorically. “That no fees meant no record? Girl, those records are there regardless. They just aren’t publicized. We can produce three game scenes showing your persona swearing that you are what you are not. You lied, girl, committing perjury, and thereby criminalized yourself. The law is now your enemy.”
I found my voice. “But I only wanted to—”
“To go where you knew you were forbidden to go. To do what was forbidden. And you did. Now you are locked into your situation as surely as your persona is locked in this chamber. You can hardly claim you weren’t warned.”
I began to cry, as any girl would. “Please, I didn’t mean any harm! I was just curious. Let me go, and I’ll never tell.”
Lucifer smiled. “Now we are making progress. I shall be glad to let you go, and to guarantee that no news of this is ever bruited about. Your secret is safe with me. If.” He looked meaningfully at me.
I tried twice before I got the question out. “If—if what?”
“If you remove that dress and lie on this bed. There is no need for any of this to be unpleasant. Indeed, you should enjoy it.”
“But—but you want me to—to—”
“Exactly.” He fondled his member again, which was now enormous.
“But I’m only ten years old!” I wailed.
He shrugged. “So?”
“It—it’s against the law.”
He laughed. “Le me clarify something for you, girl. What we do here is purely in simulation. There is no physical component. Neither of us is actually here. There is thus no violation of law. But what you have done is against the law. You lied to break into a game you knew was forbidden to you. You did it three times. You said you were of age, adult, and that you knew this was an adult game. And that you were sure you wished to play this game. You know that ‘adult’ is a code for sexual expression. You volunteered for this, girl. Now you will get what you wished—or face the penalties for your crime. It is your choice.”
I stared at his
erect member in the manner of a hapless bird at a snake. “You’ll let me go? If I—?”
“I will let you go, with nothing on your record. No one will know, if you don’t tell. It will be our secret.”
Still I hesitated. “How can I be sure that---?”
“Certainty is impossible, of course. Still, if you please me, I shall have no reason to do you any mischief. I will simply go on to the next innocent girl.”
“Why—why don’t you get a—a woman? Wouldn’t she be better? For what you want?”
“Grown women know too much. They are not innocent. Sex is just a process to them. They grow cynical. But a virginal child is something else. The experience is all the world to her. She will never forget it. That is that I crave: that first experience, that defloration of innocence. There is just nothing else like it.”
“You—you want a child?” I asked, appalled. “Instead of a woman?”
“Yes. Now will you come to me, understanding the nature of the deal?”
“I—don’t know,” I said, my hands hovering near the helmet. “It’s so awful!”
“I trust that you have considered that you will be subjected to similar indignities in reform school,” he said smoothly. “The main difference being that those are physical rather than merely in emulation. The male instructors take their pick of the girls or boys, who are completely in their power, and of course other girls have their tastes.”
“Other girls?” I asked blankly.
“You can’t escape them, in the barracks. I understand the perverts work in teams, if there is resistance. One holds you down, another pries your legs apart, while a third wields the—”
“No!” I screamed, clapping my hands over my ears.
But his words came through anyway, because the ears of a persona have no physical reality; like the rest of the images, their aspects are only for convenience of orientation. “I apologize for causing you discomfort, girl. I have no wish to appall you. I merely wish to be certain you understand the alternatives. Do you?”