I put my head in my hands and cannot stop weeping. Why did I say I could turn straw into gold?

Tomorrow morning I will be killed.

The straw looks golden, there must be some way. I take a handful of straw, press it together as tightly as I can, and let go. It is still straw. I throw it angrily to the floor and resume my weeping.

"Why are you crying?"

I jump in fear – I had thought myself alone in this small, drab, straw-filled room. Then I turn around, ready to defend myself. A short, horribly ugly man is calmly standing there. I say angrily, "You scared me."

He shrugs. He does not care that he scared me.

I take a breath and almost gag. "You smell. Do you ever bathe?"

"Rarely. I do not see the point."

"You are the ugliest man I have ever seen." He has a broken nose and missing teeth. Hideous is the perfect word.

"No doubt. But I have stopped you from crying. Favor given, favor earned. You now owe me a favor."

"What? Are you crazy? You just distracted me, you solved nothing. I'm doing you a favor not to scream. The night guards would come and I assume kill you, you're not supposed to be here."

"You agree not to call the guards?"

"Fine. Sure." I guess I'm not calling the guards. Yet.

"Favor returned, debt gone. I was curious to see the woman the king might marry. And I repeat my question: Why are you crying?"

I look at the pile of straw which will not turn into gold no matter what I do. "Long story."

"I like stories with unhappy endings."

"Well, the king announced a party where he would choose a woman to marry, and of course I came. But so did every other good looking bitch in the kingdom. It seemed impossible that he would pick me, so when it was my turn to talk to him, I said I could turn straw into gold."

"Can you?" He arches an eyebrow.

I look again at the straw and want to cry. "It is harder than I thought."

He rubs his crotch, then says, "Go on."

"The king was properly impressed by my claim. He squeezed my breasts, then he – do you know why he squeezed my breasts?"

"To see if your breasts are real or if you place padding into your corset."

"I'm real."

"Oh my! I assumed that . . . Oh, my." He's staring at my breasts.

"Then he squeezed my ass. To check if my ass was real?"

"No, he's just a lecher."

"Aren't all men lechers?"

"Some more than others. I would have grabbed your cunt."

"You are vile."

"Undenied. Go on."

"He looked closely at my face, then he grabbed my wrist and dragged me to this room. He told me to transform the straw into gold. If I do, he will marry me and I'll be the queen. But if I don't, he kills me."

"He would have someone else kill you. The guards are paid to do that."

"I thought, how hard can it be? Straw looks golden, right? It must have gold in it."

"You didn't do well in chemistry, did you."

"No." Worst course ever. I had to give the teacher a hand job just to pass.

"Hmm," he says. He looks at the straw. "Hmmm." He looks at me. "Hmmm."

"Hmmm what?"

"I do not like to become involved in the affairs of the king. There are dangers. But . . .  " He announces dramatically, "I will turn this straw into gold."

"You will? You can? How, how, how . . . "

"Using magic, of course."

"And why would you do this for me?"

"Because I like you. Because it breaks my heart to hear a woman cry."

I am touched by his kindness.

Wait . . . something sounds suspicious . . . I realize, "Then will I owe you a favor?"

He smiles evilly. "Yes. In return, you will have to give me a child."

"I have to give you my first-born child?"

"For me to take care of?" He looks horror-stricken. "Heavens no. You have to let me impregnate you." He waves his hand dismissively. "Then carry the child to term and you take care of it."

"I would have to have actual sex with you? I would rather die."

"Those apparently are your only two choices."

"Die. Sorry."

"Hmmm." He looks at me. "Hmmm. You do not seem very bright. I will make you an offer. To repay the favor done, you must have sex with me until you bear my child, except if you guess my first name. I will give you a thousand guesses. That's a very large number, right?"

"Yes." I cannot imagine that many names or needing to make that many guesses.

"Once you do, then you don't have to have sex with me, and the king can father your children. Or the father can be whoever's noodle you decide to gobble, that's your business."

"Okay." I just guess his name and I'm free. Alive. Queen.

"Deal agreed, deal made, by the forces of will, fate, and magic."

"Whatever."

He waves his hand at the straw, and it turns to shiny gold. I put my hand on the cold, heavy metal. He really did it. He says, "You should somehow convince the king you could do that only once."

"I will." I turn to him, "And I changed my mind on that offer of sex." He should have seen that coming; he can't possibly expect me to have sex with him.

"You cannot do that. We have a deal, sealed with our will, fate, and magic."

Now is a good time to call for the guards. I shout, "Guards" – but no sound comes out of my mouth. I shout again, and again there is no sound.

The ugly man says, "You agreed not to summon the guards."

"What happened to my voice?"

"Magic."

Something makes me keep my promises to him? I never had to keep my promises before. "Oh fuck."

"Delighted to." He walks up to me, the top of his head reaching to my nose. I want to run, but I can't move my legs. That damn magic.

I tremble. He reaches out his dirty hand. Ugh. His nails are even dirtier. I am totally disgusted.

He unfastens the ivory button on the top of my expensive, white silk dress. I am frozen motionless. He spreads the top of my dress open with his dirty hands and touches my collarbone with his dirty fingers.

I already want to take a bath. I am overwhelmed by a need to run, but my feet will not move. I can see black smudges on my button, my dress, and my skin.

His hand unfastens my second button. I try to resist and cannot; I try again to call out for help and I cannot. His hand unfastens my third button.

As I watch, helplessly bound by magic and my promise, he takes off my clothes. I am standing naked before him, even though I should not; in a room with gold that should be straw; in a room in the king's castle that should be safe but is not; in front of a hideous man I should not have to even look at. Or smell.

He takes me in his arms and attempts to kiss me, my naked breasts pressed into his grimy coat. His breath is foul, his face dirty. I struggle to avoid his kiss, holding my lips up high where he cannot reach them. When he kisses my neck, I push him away. Successfully. It feels good to reject him.

"So it is to be like that. No, you did not promise to kiss me. But I can take what was promised." Another evil smile. He lifts me up, and I cannot struggle, and he lays me on the floor of the room and I cannot move from where he has placed me.

He takes off his pants. At first I do not understand why he is not excited yet his cock stands straight out. Then I realize his cock is merely small.

And then I remember my path out of this nightmare. "Fred. Tom. Thomas. Mel. Bill. William. Joseph. John. Jonathan. Samuel. Robert. Jesse. Andrew. Don. Walter. Errol. Howard . . ."

He cannot enter me at first, I am too dry. He lowers his mouth to my nether parts, and begins to kiss me and suck on me in a way that I can feel and hear but not explain. And now fate does its part – his tongue and lips, as dirty as they might be, excite me.

I am shamed to have become excited; my body has betrayed me.

He then climbs upon me and enters me. His uncaring entry does not hurt me, perhaps because he is small. But he is disgusting. I am still calling out every name I can think of.

And then my mind becomes lost in pleasure. Feeling upon feeling in my nether parts, dirt and smells assaulting me, pleasure mixing with distaste, arousal mixing with disgust. He is moving, not with the slow strong thrusts of a lover, but with the jerky movements of a dog. These serve to increase the stimulation on my clitoris. I have stopped calling out names.

Then I hear him going "mm mm mm mm mm" as he jerks in and out of me even faster, then he pushes into me and holds himself into me, still saying his strange, high-pitched "mm mm mm mm."

Then he stops, opens his eyes, smiles at me, and says, "That was magnificent. May I touch your breasts?"

I shake my head no. I do not want his hands and dirt upon my breasts. I want him to keep thrusting in me and creating pleasure for me, but he has stopped, no doubt having emptied his semen in me. He is done, even as my body seeks more pleasure.

He reaches out with his hand to touch my naked breasts, even though I have told him no. I bat his hand away.

"I should have asked for more. Very well, what you let me do tonight is more than satisfactory."

"Did I guess your name?"

He smiles. "No. You made 107 guesses. That was somewhat impressive. You have 893 left."

"Am I pregnant? Is that how it works?"

He shakes his head slowly. "Fate plays a hand. I will come again. If you are already pregnant with my child, you will be able to resist me. If it is your monthly flow, you will be able to resist me. But your promise is magically enforced until it is fulfilled."

I try to count the days since my last period. Around ten? I must guess his name before he makes me pregnant. Being able to resist him some day would be, perversely, bad news.

Or perhaps he is infertile – that would not surprise me – and he will never make me pregnant. I imagine a life of him forcing himself into me again and again. That too would be unbearable.

I ask, "What should I call you?"

He laughs, a short barking sound. "Are you trying to trick me? Pathetic. You may call me Lover."

"I will not."

"Of course." He walks out the door and is gone.

The Next Day

When the king comes for me in the morning, he is amazed to find the straw has been changed into gold. I explain that I can never make more gold, but that the gold in this room is my dowry. He greedily accepts my offer – I am as beautiful as any of those other women, plus I have large breasts and gold – and so our marriage is scheduled for that night.

I have been placed in a room as beautiful and elegant as I have dreamed. I am to be Queen. I will be rich and comfortable for the rest of my life.

I do not remember which names I guessed and which ones I did not. I was in a rush. I still am, but there should be some pattern to my guessing. I spend the day memorizing which names I will guess and then writing them down.

As I am lying on the luxurious bed that is now mine, there is a knock on my door, one of my new maidservants I assume, coming to me for some reason. But when I give permission for her entry, in strolls the ugly troll from last night.

"You're going to defile my wedding night? Really?"

He rubs his crotch and makes a short grunt of excitement. "Defile? Hmm, I had not thought of it that way. I merely wished not to go second."

He comes up to kiss me, and I slap his face. He does not seem surprised.

"I have been thinking about you all day. Your breasts are magnificent, even if all I can do is look at them. Your vagina so tight and warm. Your skin so white and smooth. I never thought I would ever kiss a woman, much less jam my dangle into her dangle-holder."

"Aaron. Abe. Abraham. Adam. Ajax. Al. Alan."

"You guessed Alan last night."

I do not let him deter me. "Andy. Andrew. Arthur. Art. Axle. Baron."

As I call out names, he places me on my luxurious bed. I can make small movements, but the magic keeps me where he has placed me. He pulls up my skirt, then pulls off my undergarments, revealing my womanhood and clearing the path for his defilement.

My lack of lubrication is again a barrier to him, but – as I call out more names – his mouth is upon me and his tongue is probing me and pushing inside me, his lips are sucking on my womanhood.

And then I am filled with pleasure and excitement, and my mind is blank and I cannot remember any names. I feel his small cock push inside me. I feel his quick jerky movements, then finally his mm mm mm mm sounds and holding himself inside me.

Then he pulls himself out and stands. I too stand, returning my clothes to their proper place. He says, "That went well."

I do not know what to say. I finally notice, "You bathed."

"A favor to you."

"Thank you."

He smiles, his evil grin revealing that he has once again taken advantage of me. "Favor given, favor owed."

Ugh. He reaches forward but instead of squeezing my breast, as a true man would, he rubs my nipple. I try to move away but cannot.

It is a surprisingly pleasant sensation, though I show him none of my pleasure. "Take your hands off me, you creepy freak."

He stands back. "I'm done." And he turns around and walks away, leaving me in the midst of sexual arousal.

"Do you give yourself to King Alfred?" the bishop asks me.

I forgot the name Alfred. "I do." I add, "Promise given, promise made."

I want that to be true – I want this promise, given now in front of so many people, to replace the one I made last night to the hideous troll.

I can hear myself saying these words, but I cannot feel this promise in my heart. My promises to the troll were not heartfelt; they were casual and I was not thinking deeply on them. But, in my innocence, they were sincere.

King Alfred quickly unfastens my buttons with a clean hand. His face is not handsome but not ugly; he is older than me, but his body has not yet started to decline, it is still strong and healthy. He is taller than me, and stronger than me, and he has a firm, confident, deep voice.

He kisses me without asking, and I do not mind. He squeezes my breasts, which I also do not mind. Then he tries to force himself into me, but I am too dry. That does not surprise or slow him; he reaches to his bedside and opens a jar, then greases his cock and forces himself into me. I forgot Bartholomew.

His initial strokes are slow and strong, as a man's should be. I look at his face, his eyes closed in pleasure. The king of our country is using me for his pleasure. He is expecting me to be the mother of his children! It is difficult for me to believe even as I feel his thrusts into me.

He does not care that he is with me rather than any of the other beautiful woman who offered themselves to him last night. But I am the one. It is amazing and I am filled with awe. And all I have to do is lie here.

His thrusts become faster as he becomes more excited. I can feel my own excitement growing as his pubis pounds against mine and his cock stimulates my vagina. Then there is one final, strong thrust. This is what it is like to be fucked by a real man.

I would be giving him my virginity if I could have turned the straw to gold by myself. But I am not clever, and I am giving the king what I can.

Finally he rolls off of me, his cock now small and easily sliding out of me. He says, "You must call out with pleasure while I am exciting you. You were too quiet."

This is what it is like to have intercourse with a real man. The troll was so happy to have sex with anyone that he didn't complain about anything. The king confidently instructs me, so I may be a better wife for him. "Yes, my king."

"You are dismissed." I stand and dress. He is already falling asleep. His semen is leaking out of me, at first dripping down my leg and then spreading into my undergarments once I am wearing them. A real man has more sperm than my vagina can hold.

As I walk back to my room, I imagine a battle within my body – the king's sperm versus the troll's. The king's sperm are more numerous, and they are no doubt stronger and healthier. The troll's sperm, however, arrived first. And fate may be on their side.

I want one of the king's sperm to triumph, but my desire means nothing, even though my womb is the battlefield and my egg the prize.

I have already betrayed my king by having sex with another. By not being a virgin on our wedding night. And now my body may be choosing the sperm of a horrid monster over his. I am not proud of myself. I hate the troll for doing this. But then I remember he saved my life and I would not be here without him. Favor given.

I return to my room and my task of writing out and memorizing names, until I am tired and must sleep. I dream of two men fighting over me in a tavern. The smaller one wins the fight. Then they sit at each side of me and I am trapped in the middle. Both are kissing me at the same time, the smaller one fondling my nipple and the larger man squeezing my breast.

The Next Day

A knock on my door.

"Go away."

The door opens; the troll struts in like he owns my room and should be here, even though he should not. He says, "Congratulations upon your marriage, my queen."

"Thank you," I say drolly. No one asks my advice, and I do not rule; my only purpose as queen is to have sex with the king, give him children, and direct their raising.

"I bathed for you."

"You are still ugly beyond belief." I will not thank him.

He startles, then is grim. "I was born that way."

"Your clothes are still cheap and ugly."

"Fancy clothes would change nothing."

"Your bathing to me is no favor if it demands a favor in return."

"I think it is." He reaches out his hand. I do not know if I can stop him, but I want to feel his fingers again, so I do not try to stop him. He again fondles my nipple, and I feel the same pleasure.

And then I start guessing names, and again he takes off our clothes and has sex with me, first exciting me with his mouth. And again, he places his sperm in me before the king.

The king asks why my dress does not show any skin of my breast. I had thought that since he was going to remove it, and since he would see all of my breasts eventually, that seeing just some of the top would not matter to him.

But his request is reasonable. He wants to be excited by merely looking at me; the removal of my dress should be something he desires before he begins, not a task done for its eventual reward.

This time I know to make excited noises as the king has his way with me. I scream very loudly when he finally pushes into me and holds himself in me. I am a good queen.

A Week Later

And thus my life continues. Traitor to the king. But knowing I am alive only because of the troll – the king would have killed me. So I do not feel righteous anger towards the troll, nor do I feel the love I want to feel for the king.

The troll's quick ejaculations should be a blessing, not a frustration. But by the time we are having sex he has actually excited me; my body eagerly participates in this betrayal.

But I can be angry that I must have sex with the troll. A woman's body should be given freely, not taken by promise.

I could say the same of the king, but I do not. The king rewards me with fine clothes, delicious foods, and a life of ease and elegance. Favor given, favor paid, I realize.

After the seventh day, I have guessed all of the names I could think of. My guesses total 587, so I have 413 left. I have either forgotten an obvious name, or his name is unusual.

Today is the ninth day. As he reaches out to undo my button, I say to him, "Stop." His hand halts, though it remains poised over my button, eager to unpeel my dress. "Your name is Rumpelstiltskin."

He looks up at me in surprise, his hand momentarily dropping to his side. "Like the fairy tale. That was an intelligent guess. You surprise me, Queen."

"A counselor suggested it."

He laughs. "That makes more sense. But it was a good idea just to ask for help. You are still displaying some intelligence, and I am still somewhat surprised."

He adds, "However, that is not my name."

"Rumpelstilzchen."

"The name in the original German story. No, I do not have a foreign name." His hand flies up and rips the first button off of my dress before carefully unfastening the rest.

As he does, I point out wickedly, "You revealed too much with that comment. Now I know not to guess foreign names."

He frowns. Then he smiles. "Favor given, favor earned." He reaches out and fondles my nipple. I hold back my gasp of pleasure so he does not see it.

A Month Later

I have one guess left. I did not know there were even a thousand names. Perhaps I have forgotten a name. Perhaps he has some name even the king's counselors could not imagine.

I cannot use my last guess until I am sure it will be right.

So, as he leaves my room, I follow him. He walks out of the town and into the woods. I am afraid to walk into the woods; I do not know what excuse I will make if King Alfred calls for me while I am gone. These are risks I do not want to take. But I must somehow learn the troll's name.

As I follow him deeper into the woods, the trees become so thick they block the sun. He finally enters a small house.

There is no name on his mailbox. There are no letters in his mailbox. I do not know what I can do. I would sit on the dirt road and weep, except I fear some man might come and help me.

So I wait, with desperation, not hope. The sun begins to set, and I am now chilled by the cold and afraid of the dark. I stand to return to the king's castle, my mission a failure, when I hear a singing from the open window. It is his small, nasal voice, which could appeal to no woman and be respected by no man.

I am a horror to him? I start walking home, then must run when the dark terrifies me. I imagine animals biting me and raping me, even though I know they will not rape me.

When I return to the castle, I think on what I heard. Why does he think it is a horror to be fucking me?

That does not make sense. I am always bathed and clean. I wear perfumes which would appeal to his senses. I am young and beautiful, my breasts firm and large, my stomach taut. The sight of my body excites him. He always ejaculates quickly and seems happy.

I am confused. Am I a horror to him? I cannot be a horror to anyone. My thoughts continue around this same circle, disrupting all of my efforts to sleep.

When I finally fall asleep, I dream of his tormenting song.

I awaken with a start. His name is Horror. He was singing to himself.

What awful parents would name their son that? The world can be more cruel than I wish to know.

But Horror should have been one of my first guesses.

The Next Day

This afternoon, I am giddy with happiness. I see now my foolishness in guessing common names. Of course his name is not common – he told me that from the start. You do not seem very bright. I will make you an offer. He was luring me, already understanding my stupidity.

But now I know his name. He will not again stick his tiny cock in me and use me for his pleasure while leaving me unfulfilled. No more dirt on my skin and clothes. No more blasphemous ugliness. No more long baths afterwards trying to cleanse my skin from his touch and smell.

No more sex with a man too poor to afford the ointments needed to enter me, who instead must use his own lips and tongue in their stead. My vagina must be a disgusting assault upon his senses.

No. The place from which my urine flows, the place which holds old semen, is cleaner than he is.

And no more betrayal of the king. No more cuckolding. And no more exposing my womb to another man. The future king can be King Alfred's son.

He knocks.

"Go away or I will call the guards." He enters confidently, with no concern of intruding on my privacy. I cannot call the guards, I foolishly agreed that I would not.

He did not bathe today. He is disgusting, and I must tolerate his smell for the last time.

He unbuttons my dress, starting with the top botton as he always does. He removes my clothes, studying my naked body for the last time, taking pleasure in my shame for the last time. He takes off his pants, showing me his small cock for the last time.

I ask, "Will you hand me my brush?" He does, and as I brush my hair, his hand reaches out and fondles my nipple, leaving a large black smudge on my milky white breast. I feel that rare pleasure for the last time.

Now I lie on my bed. He puts his mouth on my female parts and drives me mad with desire. I could have said his name when he first entered, but I wanted this pleasure one last time.

He sits up, intending to push his cock into my eager vagina. I ignore the pleasure flooding my brain, pleasure which he uses against me. "I will guess your name."

He stops, bemused. "You have one guess remaining. Are you certain you wish use it? You will have no more guesses." He rubs his cock; he is already gloating over his victory. Then he starts rubbing my womanhood, to keep me excited.

"I am certain."

He waits eagerly, still rubbing me. It feels wonderful. When I hesitate, he urges mockingly, "Then guess my name, foolish queen."

I take a deep breath. "Aethelred?"