The Magic Fart Read Online Free PDF Page A

atrocity.” “We are a culture that loves contests,” the announcer continued imperturbably. “Anything will do, but those involving natural functions are particularly diverting. Folk don’t merely relieve themselves, they make a game of it. For example, pissing contests.”
    She should have known this would quickly get ugly. “Thank you, I’m not interested.”
    He ignored her. A picture came on the screen, showing two men stand ing before a slightly slanted, marked alley. “On your mark,” one said. “Get set. PISS!” And both aimed their penises, whose tips barely protruded from their pleated pantaloons, down the alley and let fly with strong streams of urine. The man on the left’s effort arced a good five feet before splashing on the pavement. The man of the right nevertheless had a stronger urge; his urine struck several inches beyond. “Damn, you win again,” the first man said. “Lunch is on me.” “You just need to tighten your bladder,” the other said as they com
    pleted their voidings, pulled in their members and walked away. Veil had watched the disgusting exhibition despite her best intention.
    “Men will be little boys,” she said. “And women,” the announcer said. “Often they can arrange for male
    sponsors. Here is a more advanced contest.” “I’m not interested.” But she was; there was a subterranean fascination
    in this gaucherie. Two pretty women walked to an elevated pedestal, lifted their skirts high, sat on the pedestal, leaned back, spread their legs, opened their clefts, and let fly with twin streams of urine. Everything was visible from clitoris to anus. This time the one on the left jetted farther. There was applause, and now the scene widened to show a ring of men watching.
    The women finished their voidings, wiped themselves off, and stood, letting their farthingales drop back into place. “I choose—you,” the winner said, pointing to the handsomest of the men. “And you go with him.” She pointed to the ugliest man. The other woman grimaced. “I don’t understand,” Veil said. “The contest was for dominance,” the announcer explained. “The women are rivals, so they settled it the conventional way, with a contest. The winner gets to have sex with the man they both desired. The loser is stuck with the one neither desires. All the men are amenable, of course; they are stimulated by the sight of women urinating.”
    Veil knew a good deal more about sex than she cared to advertise in this situation, and agreed: the sight of women’s bare spread thighs excited men, and female urination could be a phenomenal male turn-on. Such contests were thus designed to ensure that the spectators would be eager for sex.
    The victorious woman took her man’s arm and guided him into the pub lic privy. “I expect the best fucking of my life,” she told him as they disappeared.
    “Come on honey,” the ugly man said, approaching the losing woman. She sighed and got back on the pedestal, her skirt lifted. It was high enough so that his standing crotch was the same height as her seated one. He pulled his hard penis through the slit in his pantaloons and wedged it into her open vagina. He shoved, and it penetrated visibly. In a moment he was at full depth and pumping vigorously. The woman made no pretense of enjoying it; she leaned back, bracing herself with her hands behind her. The man climaxed, breathing hard, almost knocking her back with the power of his thrusts. Soon he was spent, and pulled out, his member disappearing in his pantaloons. The spectators applauded again, clearly appreciative of his performance. Then the man walked away, and the crowd dispersed. “I don’t—” Veil began. “The loser might renege,” the announcer explained. “So she has to perform in public. That’s part of her penalty for losing. She doesn’t have to pretend to like it; in fact she is expected to show resignation or aversion. Men like seeing that too, and it makes the stakes