Weight in Goldbybrainfade©
Where shall I start. Lots of stories start with a description of the sex interest, in this case, Janey, who is a natural blonde, not too tall, but with a bouncy body and personality that means that men's eyes tend to follow her, and women (wrongly) see her as an airhead bimbo. Alternatively, I could try to grab your attention by describing the way that Janey and I found ourselves furiously fucking each other on the forest floor, our clothes in ragged tatters. But no, I think that I will start with the only part of this story that you might have heard about, the most expensive meal of the century.
I know that there are rumours about the meal, even though all the diners, chefs, waiters and other staff were sworn to secrecy. Janey and I were not there, but we did watch it on closed circuit television, and some of the stories I have heard are gross exaggerations. Many of the richest people in the world had paid to be there, and many of the most decorative ones were invited. It is true that many of the former did end the meal intimately entwined in the latter, but most of this entwining was done quite privately in hotel rooms or in the curtained off booths, and not, as reported, in full view, on top of the tables amongst the food. It is true that two people died, but this was purely as a result of their exertions, and they did not die in the dining room, but upstairs afterwards.
All in all, the event was really quite tame. Even though, it has meant that Janey and I can afford whatever we want for as long as we choose to keep the supply going. Some of those rich diners have paid us a huge amount. I wonder if that would have been the case if they knew the full story.
Who am I? You will have seen my name on the television if you read the credits after some old nature programmes. If you watch those sort of programmes you might also recognise Janey's real name. Of course, we are both now living under assumed names - there are too many people who would like to take what we have on offer without paying. Our neighbours think we both work from home for some company in the City.
Janey was never an airhead. Yes, she used her looks to her advantage, she would have been stupid not to and as I have said, she was not stupid. She had studied Biological Sciences at university, got a first, and gone on to get her PhD. After that, she had problems. She had been employed by a large company, she thought, to do research for them. Her employer, however, thought that he was paying her for other matters biological. When he groped her to get what he thought he was due, she took appropriate offence, and got the sack. It was all settled out of court, and she got a tidy sum from him, but she found it very hard to get another research job afterwards.
She started to do a little free-lance work on the television. She lived off her looks, not her knowledge. She would not, however, submit to the casting couch, and that is perhaps why she did not get the big breaks.
When I met her she was fronting a series of nature programmes for children. It was cut-price stuff. I know how much they were paying me as a cameraman. She was bored.
She asked me if I would be interested in working for her. She was thinking of investing the remains of her payout on producing a proper series of nature programmes. She was not thinking of the large scale David Attenborough sort of thing, more the educational stuff that is used on remote learning courses.
We were a team of two. People thought that we were a couple in more ways than that, and it puzzled them. "What could a gorgeous lass like her see in a much older overweight slob like me?" They were right. There was nothing sexual between us. As far as I know, she was totally uninterested in sex, unless it was the subject of an episode. She regarded the male of the species with considerable disgust, which was not surprising, considering the way men had tried to treat her.
I now know that she had still been a virgin.
We were trying to film an endangered species of nocturnal rodent. We had an infra-red camera. We had found what we believed was an active burrow, and had slowly built a shelter nearby to allow us to hide. Our cameras were mounted around the burrow, and we were monitoring them from our shelter. I think that we must have disturbed the creature; We caught a couple of glimpses of it at the start, but it must then have moved to another burrow.
Janey and I sat in our shelter staring at the monitors. That night it rained, and the mist rising off the damp ground made the chance of filming very unlikely. The two of us sat on a log, leaning against a tree buttress, trying to keep alert. There was an overpowering scent coming from somewhere which made us drowsy. We slept.
I awoke first. It was dawn. I felt lousy, as if I had a hangover. My whole body ached. I tried to stand up. It was then that I realised that my trousers were rotten. I put my hands on my knees to try to help me to stand up and the thick fabric just shredded under my fingers. You know what it looks like when you break a piece of really rotten wood. The wood fibres look almost normal, but there are threads of fungus entwined though it, and all strength was gone. My trousers were like that. Then I noticed that the fungus threads were all over my skin as well. I tried to stand, but I was fused to the log. As I strained, I realised that I was in a serious state. The threads had grown half way up my chest, and had gone inside me. I felt as if I was in the middle of shitting out a really big compacted turd. Not only that, but my penis was distended. Threads had grown up inside it, and had then thickened up. Looking down, I could see a white string, as thick as a pencil, tying my penis to the log.
"Janey. Wake up. Please help me."
Eventually I managed to shout loud enough to wake her. She screamed. If anything, she was worse off than me. She tried to struggle. All her lower clothing fell off as she moved, Her vulva was gaping, stretched open by an enormous rope of the fibres.
"I've been raped. It's buggering me. " she wept. "Do something you useless bastard" That was addressed to me.
She tried to grab hold of the rope and pull it out but she screamed in pain. We both panicked, struggled, and strained to no result. Slowly we calmed down and started to try to think. My penknife would have helped. I could see it just out of reach where it had rolled when my trouser pocket had disintegrated.
Janey had the best idea. She managed to get her bra off, and to pull out the underwiring. With this she tried to scratch at her tether, but it seemed to regrow as fast as she gouged at it.
She slumped hopelessly. The sun climbed behind the trees. All we could do was stare at each other.
About mid morning the first direct rays of the sun shot through our shelter's doorway. We watched it crawl it across the floor. When it reached us we thought we were going the have severe sunburn to add to our misery, but no, when the sun started illuminating the fungus is started to change colour. It changed to a golden yellow, and started to become powdery and to fall away in puffs of dust. It was a slow process, but gradually we felt our tethers shrink. My penis and arse started to feel less stretched. Finally my penis was free, and I was able to squirm round and reach my penknife. At last, I managed to slice through my fungus turd and to painfully stand up. I passed the knife to Janey, who hacked through her dildo. She could not reach her own nether tie, and so she gave me the knife and eventually I freed her, and helped her to stand.
We were both desperately thirsty. I found our plastic water bottles, but they were covered in the threads, and the plastic left was little more than a cobweb. We supported each other to stagger the quarter mile or so back to where our tents were pitched. We were barefoot, our boots had disintegrated. Each step moved and stretched our oricices. We were more or less naked. I gave the remains of my shirt to Janey, I just wore a hat. There were golden ropes or strings dangling from both our crotches.
Back at our camp we drank a large proportion of our stock of water between us. Soon after, as we re-hydrated, we thought that we had made a serious mistake, as the thtrads seemed to revive and swell again, increasing our discomfort. But soon I found myself needing to pee, and as I strained to do so, the thread in my penis seemed to dissolve and fall away. An hour later, Janey tugged at the rope coming out between her legs and it moved.
It hurt her, but eventually it came free. She examined the revealed end. Quite calmly she showed it to me. "There is still stuff inside me. This looks like the stalk of a fruiting body, If it was a mushroom then the cap is still in there. I picked up and examined my rectal stalk. It was similar.
"What will it do?" I asked.
"I don't know. Typically, it would ripen, and then eject millions of spores. "
"Then it would try to distribute the spores."
"We are the carriers?"
"What can we do?"
"Not a clue."
We stood and looked around us. We both felt tired. Strangely tired.
"I'm going to rest."
"Are you hungry?"
"No, are you?"
We both crawled into the shade of our tents. We rested, but did not sleep.
This was a shock. As far as I recall it was the first time that she had chosen to call me by my given name.
"Please come here."
The please was a shock too.
"Into your tent."
I crawled out and in.
"Peter, I'm frightened."
I murmured something. She lay on her camp bed naked and dirty. I was used to seeing her as a rather demanding boss, who only ever turned on the charm when a camera was running. I looked at her then. I saw that she was beautiful.
"Oh Peter, you've hurt yourself"
I'd gashed my leg when I was cutting my bonds.
"Let me clean it."
The idea of this lovely creature touching my body was marvellous.
I crawled. She followed.
We filled a pan with some of our water. She found some soap and a cloth, and started to gently wash my tiny wound. I took the cloth from her, and started to wash some of the mud from her body. She grabbed the cloth back, ripped it in two, and we gloried in washing and exploring each other. I wiped her face clean. She wiped mine. I wiped her neck -- her beautiful soft kissable neck. She washed and kissed mine. The corner of my cloth swung across and touched one of her nipples, which I noticed was becoming more prominent. She gasped, and arched her back somewhat so as to make her breasts move towards me. She looked down at them and, with a look, invited me to cleanse them. I cupped them in my damp cloth and wallowed in their quivering beauty. I felt her cloth moving downwards. She looked up. Our eyes met. We dropped our cloths and put our arms around each other. Our lips met. Our knees crumpled, and we lay on the earth, our hands furiously caressing, hugging, stroking, loving, while our tongues darted between us. She pushed me onto my back and stared at my penis. She put her hands around it.
Most story tellers would now claim that their endowment was enormous and iron hard. I will not claim that. I am only averagely endowed, but I have to admit that my erection was much more rigid than usual.
"So hard. So soft. Beautiful. Like velvet. Like rock. Gorgeous"
Her mouth moved towards it.
"Please Peter. Let me!"
I gasped as she engulfed it. Her tongue bathed it. Her lips embraced it. Under normal circumstances I would have come in about thirty seconds but I was being gloriously pleasured and it could go on foe ever.
"Peter, Peter, I need you. May I?"
She straddled me and lowered herself so that my penis was just touching her outer lips. She lowered herself a little further.
The thought ungraciously crossed my mind that, having spent most of the night being stuffed overfull with the fungus thing her vagina would be loose and slack. It wasn't. She rocked herself back and forth, and side to side trying to impale herself. It was only when she moved her hand, and fingered herself, so that her honey juice flowed anointing the head, and that entry was started.
God, she was tight.
Looking into my eyes she took a couple of deep breaths. She seemed to be deliberately trying to relax herself. I felt the pressure on my penis lessen somewhat. Her eyes closed, and she allowed herself to descend. In a smooth motion she slid around me until her labia were caressing the very root of me. Then she opened her eyes again.
Under normal circumstances her sexy grin as she said "So good. So absolutely fucking good" would have had me gushing stickily. Something was very very different.
She closed her eyes again. I felt her vaginal muscled start to tighten. They pulsed around me. Then she started rocking again. Then rising and falling. She straightened her legs out beside me and lay full length on me, reaching her face up towards me to kiss me.
"Roll over. Hammer into me"
I rolled. She clenched herself around me. I think that if I had really tried to withdraw from her at that moment the damage would have been permanent.
I mentioned that I am somewhat overweight. I doubt if she weighs a third as much as me. She put her arms round me and pulled me to her. I started to pull and plunge, pull and plunge, suck and slam, suck and slam. She met my strokes. When I plunged into her she thrusted and I swear that she lifted me. We rolled over again. She ground her pelvis into me. We rolled. We fucked. We kissed. We screwed. We loved. We shagged. We came.
She was on top at the time. She was internally hammering herself, and grinding her clitoris against me. She was certainly enjoying it, but it would be anyone's bet who was enjoying it the most.
And we were not exhausted. After some more water we did it again.
We both felt bloody wonderful.
It was when I told her that whoever taught her to make love had taught her very well that she told me that she had been a virgin.
"I thought all men were utter bastards."
I admitted that most of us probably are. She laughed, and then we really made love. Long slow gentle exploratory caring sharing lasting and ultimately very sweaty sticky love.
Then we slept again. In the same tent.
In two days we had to be back at the landing strip to be picked up. It had taken us four journeys to carry all our kit down from the strip to the valley floor where we had been filming. Somehow we found that we could easily carry more than half our kit in just one journey. The second trip was more like a gentle nature walk. And we were carrying the stuff uphill.
When the plane arrived, and when Janey passed one of our bags up into the aircraft the porter receiving it could not take the weight and let it drop.
We did not know our own strength. We had to be so careful. For the next couple of weeks we kept breaking things when we clutched them too firmly or threw them too hard. We were at the end of filming, and both of us had other commitments. We parted at the airport each taking planes to different destinations.
It was becoming to seem like an unreal dream, were it not for my new-found strength, and my longing for her. Then she rang me.
"Peter love, I think I'm pregnant. Isn't it wonderful. We are going to have a baby."
I was stunned. Fatherhood had never been amongst my plans, but somehow I was not upset by the news.
"Where are you. I've missed you so much."
"I'm in ......." (Remember our secrecy. I'm not telling you, dear reader, where we are now.)
"I'll be there tomorrow."
I drove through the night, and joined her in her hotel room.
We made love, but not with the desperation of out first love making.
We talked about the future. If I sold my flat in the City then we could perhaps get a cottage together.
Estate agents did their thing, at that time the property market was buoyant. A couple of weeks later we were painting and decorating.
Is this the sad bit. We are not so sure. Being realistic, I do not think that either of us would have been a good parents. Anyway, one of Janey's old colleagues had had a miscarriage a few years before, and so when she started to bleed she thought she was losing the baby. It happened so quickly. One moment we were putting up wallpaper. She went to the loo, and shouted for me. She was doubled up in agony. I helped her to get to the bed, and I started trying to ring for a doctor. The land line had not been connected yet, and reception on the mobile was iffy.
I was waving the phone around trying to get a signal when Janey screamed, and then relaxed. She got her breath back, and then put her hand down. She strained a little, and something slid into her hand.
A most gorgeous smell filled the room.
Janey looked at the thing in her hand.
It was slightly knobbly, about the size of a golf ball, and a beautiful golden yellow. She carefully placed it on the bedside table.
That smell, it was just heavenly. We remembered the last time we had smelt in in the jungle.
I lay on the bed beside her. She told me that she felt a lot better. She said she felt absolutely radiant. She certainly looked absolutely gorgeous. We both undressed, and were soon engaged in another amazing bout of sex. Oh, that scent was amazing.
Eventually we had to seal the object in a glass jar in order to be able to think straight and to spend time other than in each other. We tried a plastic bag, but that just disintegrated.
Being a scientist, a biologist, she had to find out what the object was. She had me take it to a well known museum, where after much study, they declared it to be a truffle of some sort. They had tried a DNA analysis, but found that it was heavily contaminated by human DNA, and could get nothing conclusive. When I collected the unstudied portion from them I could not help but notice that the only man in the laboratory was looking tired ill and haggard, and that the female researchers were all behaving strangely.
Some time later, we received a letter telling us that it was believed to be a "Golden Truffle". There were stories of these in some old manuscripts but these had never been believed. It was the first one known to modern science. The stories described them as being very powerful aphrodisiacs, as having a lovely smell, and a unique flavour. They were described as coming from the correct part of the world, but there were stories that only women were able to find them, and there was much secrecy and magic involved.
The ancient manuscripts described them as being more valuable then precious stones, silver, and gold.
Then we received another, anonymous letter, offering us a rather large sum of money to learn where we had found it. We wrote back, declining the offer.
Janey thought that she was 'pregnant' again.
The letter writer offered an enormous sum in return for the remaining portion of truffle. After some discussion, we agreed, and a security van delivered the cash and took away the now rather wizened yellow object. We paid off our mortgage in full.
The second one that Janey 'gave birth' to was a little larger than the first, but her cervix, having been stretched once, allowed a much easier less painful passage.
A plain clothed policeman visited us, and told us that there were stories of burglaries being planned. He did not know what the target was, but they knew the address involved, our cottage.
We sold the cottage and the second truffle, and bought a rather luxurious mansion not too far away, but under new names.
The truffles served at that dinner were the third and fourth. Of course, the prices have dropped a little now, but now we do not really need any more money. We will never have to work again, we could easily live well for the rest of our lives with what we have now. We have a few more truffles in long term secure cold storage. We have experimented. If I wear a condom it does not happen, and incidentally our fitness and strength declines. It does need both of us.