This is a part of a bigger story of mine8(not finished yet), and it contains some castration.


"You see, Professor, I have a fake profile on the net, and I correspond with Ada from it. She got no idea it's me. I'm there as her online friend with whom she likes to share her erotic fantasies. And I share mine with her."

"What's your fake name, Bob?"

"Federico Billycock."

"Federico Billycock?" I laughed heartily. "I presume she's never told you, I mean Bob Nesbitt, about her correspondence with this Federico of yours."

"No, never," Bob shook his head. "Well, what I want to say is that I told her several times, as Billycock, of course, that I often imagine myself as a satyr or faun from Greek myths, and in those fantasies of mine, I'm always making love with some nymphs - dryads, naiads, oreads and so on."

"Oh, Bob, you're my true disciple indeed."

"Oh, it's not like that. Those fantasies of mine started long before we knew each other. But with this lawsuit known to the public, I'm afraid Ada might start to guess who's been corresponding with her. Even if my double game is revealed, I don't want her to think it was you who influenced my fantasies in any way."

"Is she sharing her fantasies with Federico Billycock?" I asked.

"Yes, she's always describing them in a picturesque way," Bob extracted his smartphone from his jeans pocket. "Let me log in to Billycock's account. Oh, I see she sent a message to him only five minutes ago. Oh, yes, she wrote about one of her recent fantasies."

"I'd be very delighted to hear it, if you don't mind, Bob."

"Well, Professor," Bob hesitated. "It's a private correspondence."

"Come on, Bob," I nudged him. "Nothing is private to science."

Bob reflected a little bit, then consented:

"Okay, I'll read some of it. Listen to what she writes -  I am a noble woman living in ancient Rome. I sit half submerged in the shallow pool of my mansion, the warm water girdles my relaxed body. A yellow butterfly is fluttering over my loose hair. Rose petals are floating around me, and a soft, tender breeze comes through waving draperies that curtain the pool from the rest of the house. I close my eyes and dream about the gladiator fights that I witnessed only an hour ago in the arena of the Colosseum.

One of the gladiators, named Marcus, is fighting completely naked. He's very strong and dexterous with his sword, and has already defeated many fighters, who lie dying on the sand of the arena. No doubt he is going to be the winner of the whole fight. 

Another gladiator is confronting him with sword and shield, but Marcus is quick enough to slash at the opponent's left shoulder with his own sword. The blow is so hard that his enemy's arm is cut completely off the rest of the body. First the shield, then the severed arm drops down onto the ground. Marcus is furiously excited, and that's when he loses his guard. His foe is still on his feet, still clutching his sword in his right hand, and with that sword he strikes. It's a sharp and unexpected blow, a low lunge that Marcus fails to parry, and in a second his scrotum, like a windfall pear, hits the sand between his feet. The audience roars with loud amazement.

I open my eyes and gaze through the water at the hairy triangle between my legs, and feel a pleasant tingling sensation down there. I know for sure that at least one of those two gladiators is doomed to die. I close my eyes again and see the dying man's arm, lying atop the gory shield. By the way, Federico, do you know that 'dead man's arm' is the name of an English pudding?"

Bob stopped reading, turned to me and said:

"The message ends here."

I stood up and tapped Bob on his shoulder.

"Like a windfall pear," I said, "hits the sand between his feet. Quite poetic. What did Dr Freud say to this? Oh, yes, he said, everywhere I go I find a poet has been there before me. Anyway, Bob, I think you should have a gladiator show at your wedding party."

"I'd rather not," Bob said embarrassedly.

"Well, Bob, your fiancée is no Miss Grundy by all means. Have you, by the way, ever tasted dead man's arm, my dear friend?"

"Never," Bob answered with a wry grimace.

"You should definitely try it someday. It's an absolutely delicious thing, I assure you, and so British."


The bigger story, which is not finished yet, may be read here:

https://www.wattpad.com/story/332587856