Magic Pills
"Well Peter, now that you're on the couch, let's go over in detail again the reason you came to see me."
"I've already told..," I said, lifting my head from the couch Professor Schlotheim had laid me on.
"A patient lying on the couch is always more open to his inner feelings and experiences," the professor returned my head to the cushion with a slight movement of his hand, then pulled a chair over and sat down at the headboard. "This property of the couch was discovered by Dr. Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis. So what you're saying is that there's something inexplicable pressing down on you hard and constantly?"
"Yes, Professor. I feel this pressure on me. But not all the time, just at work."
"And where do you work?"
"I work at a strip club," I answered.
"A male stripper?"
"No, I am not," I smiled. "The strippers are all girls there. I work as a waiter at that club. "
"I thought they employ girls as waiters in places like that."
"The dancers and strippers, they are girls. You're right, most strip clubs have girls working there as waiters. But the owner of our club, she's different and decided to hire guys as waiters."
"What's her reason?"
"Our club's main goal is to get as much money out of our guests as possible. Male guests. The girls dance on stage and between the tables, undress themselves totally, and then just sit down naked at the tables with the guests. The pleased men start offering the girls to have drinks with them. That's where the waiters come in. We bring drinks to the guests and the girls. But the thing is, our girls don't drink liquor at work, though they ask the guests to treat them to alсoholic beverages. They drink something non-alcoholic under the guise of an expensive drink, like apple juice instead of brandy. All that stuff they order from me, all those expensive, exotic cocktails, are in reality a cheap mixture of some soft drinks."
"Don't the guests notice it?" asked the Professor.
"They're too sexually aroused to notice it. That's the trick."
"I see "
"So, my task is to bring the girl a non-alcoholic drink, which I will then list on the bill as an expensive alcoholic one. And most importantly, I have to keep a record of which fake drink which girl ordered through me. Then at the end of the shift, each girl gets half the price of those drinks."
"I believe it's called consummation."
"Correct. So the owner of our establishment, it's called Tootsie Club, wants drinks and food to be served to customers by guys only, so that the aroused guests don't harass or distract us, and we in turn carry out our job duties totally undisturbed. And the main duty is to keep a proper record of consummation. And that's where I fail. I get confused in my notes all the time."
"How so?"
"I keep things mixed up, writing down incorrectly the girls' names and the drinks they ordered."
"What's the reason for this absent-mindedness? Are you distracted by the sight of naked girls around you?"
"That's not the main reason, I assure you, Professor. Yeah, there are naked girls around me all the time, they're dancing on stage, walking in aisles, sitting at the tables with the guests, standing at the bar. They are everywhere. And they get real angry with me, and yell at me when they find out I wrote down their orders wrong again. After that I get even more confused.
"Do their yelling and anger affect you?"
"Yes, it does, but it's not what's really oppressive to me."
"Then what is it?"
"It's hard for me to explain it. I feel something in their presence, in their nakedness, in their behavior, in their dancing, in the way they undress, in the way they behave. I feel something inexplicable, and this thing pressures me, weighs me down, makes me get confused and make mistakes in my notes. It lays heavy on my consciousness but only in the girls' presence. I hope you can figure out what my problem is."
"Peter, you yourself have just identified the cause of your problem."
"You're kidding, Professor."
"You said that the problem is that there's some weight lying on your consciousness."
'Exactly,' I confirmed. "But what kind of weight it is, I don't know. I just feel it but can't identify it in any way.'
"Very well, Peter," Professor Schlotheim smiled slyly. "Let me first tell you a little fable, if you don't mind "
"No, I don't," I said.
"Once a donkey was loaded with heavy panniers, and the beast hadn't gone halfway before he collapsed under the weight and could not get up. Three wise men passed by, and watching the donkey, began to tell his master their thoughts about what had happened.”
"One said the donkey must have eaten too much thistles, the second said the donkey must have fought with other jackasses, and was now resting after the fight, and the third surmised the donkey must have had his horseshoes worn off."
"Then a peasant passed by, and said to them all - the donkey is dying under these heavy panniers, just take them off him quickly, and then go on making your assumptions."
"Well, Peter, I, like that rustic man, first want to take these panniers off you, and only after that learn the reason why you can't carry them any longer."
"I see, Professor," I said. "But how are you going to take them off?"
"First, I'd like to administer a little drug therapy to your mind. I can, of course, write you a prescription for some known medicine, as I should. But I want to try something else, if you don't mind?"
"What do you mean?"
Professor Schlotheim got up from his chair and walked over to the glass cabinet at the opposite wall.
"I have my own laboratory," he pronounced. "There I managed to develop this new drug. It's not licensed yet."
The professor opened the cabinet and pulled out a small transparent plastic jar full of green pills.
"But I tell you - this drug has been tested on ten species of animals, and my assistant Bob has already tried these pills himself, with no harm to his health, but only benefits to his mental condition. Now it's up to you to trust me. I'm willing to give you this jar today. All you have to do is take two pills a day for a week."
I pulled myself up and sat on the couch.
"And what effect on my mental condition do you expect, Professor?"
"Rest assured, Peter, you'll like it. It's all about your trust. We'll have another session with you in a week, and believe me, by that time a lot of things will have fallen into place in your head. So, Peter, are you taking these pills?"
Three hours later I walked briskly through the staff entrance of Tootsie Club, changed into my waiter's uniform in the locker room, slipped the jar of Professor Schlotheim's pills into my apron pocket, and hurried into the club's hall.
The club had not yet been opened that night, and there was no one in the hall except Michael, the bartender, who was standing behind the bar and wiping glasses.
"What's up, Peter?"
"I had a real good day today, Mike. Now just need some soda to wash down a pill."
Michael splashed some soda into a glass and set it on the counter in front of me. I swallowed one of the pills and chased it with the drink
"What shit are you taking?" asked Michael.
"Oh, just some new stuff."
"Antidepressant?"
"Why? Of course not."
"Then you'll need one soon. I hate to break it to you but the boss wants to fire you."
"What?" I looked at Michael in disbelief. "But why?"
"For one thing, you keep messing up consummation records. The girls ain't happy with you. They want you out of this club."
"But I can assure her I'm not going to mess these things up anymore."
"For another, she says you're always looking at girls' pussies instead of working."
"But, Michael, I'm..."
"Yeah I know it, you're a regular man like me. I do the same thing too, but not to this extent. Peter, believe me, everyone sees the way you stare at pussies. It's like you're seeing a pussy for the first time, even though you see scores of them every night."
"I don't know what to tell you, Michael, and I don't know what I could say in my defense."
"Try to do a good job today. Be attentive, stay focused on your duties, don't get confused, don't get distracted, just do your work. And in the morning I'll try to talk to the boss about you. I'll ask her to give you a trial period."
Stay focused. Be attentive. Easy to say, but how was I supposed to do that? Stay focused on what? Pussies? No, I shook my head. Maybe it's not a bad idea to try one more pill, I thought. Maybe it's gonna work.
"Okay, Michael," I said. "Thanks for your concern. You know what? I guess it'd be nice of you if you poured me a brandy."
"Are you sure? Here at work?"
"You see, this news, it's some shock to me. I need to digest it and calm down. Nothing wrong having a drink in a situation like this."
"Suit yourself, Peter," Michael poured some brandy into my glass. "But be quick and drink it up before someone sees you."
I took another pill out of the jar and quickly downed it with brandy.
In half an hour the club was open. The first guests took their tables, made their orders, and the girls began to dance on the stage, gradually getting more and more undressed.
Within the next two hours all the tables were occupied, some of the girls continued to dance, while others were already sitting with the guests, ordering drinks for themselves and making me run back and forth among the tables. I was absolutely sure I'd messed up my records again. I did some usual things like confusing Angelica with Vera, or registering Pamela's orders to Marina.
Anna Fuller, our boss and the owner of the club, regularly appeared in the hall. In her presence, I tried to show her some work fuss, trying not to pay attention to the girls' bodies, especially the thing they had between their legs. But this ostentatious bustle only made me more confused in my notes.
At the bar, I ran into Diana, one of the most attractive dancers. She had nothing on but a pair of high heels. She grabbed my shoulder and shook me hard.
"You son of a bitch, I just looked at your records, you again failed to write down two Sexes on the Beach I ordered from you."
"I, I...," I mumbled, looking at her shaved pussy. "I'll write them down right now."
"I'll rip your fucking balls off tonight if you don't make it right!"
I just kept on staring at her pussy.
"And she'll do the right thing," Anne Fuller's voice came from behind me. "And if she forgets to rip them off, I'll give you a good kick in the nuts. What are you staring at again? Get back to work!"
I didn't turn around but ran to the tables.
Diana wants to rip my balls off. What a horrid thing! And Anne wants to kick me in the balls. But if Diana rips them off, there's no point in kicking my balls. What if Anne kicks the balls first and then Diana rips them off?
What the hell am I thinking about? What's going on in my head? Why aren't the pills working? Maybe I should take another one. One or two.
I looked toward the bar. Diana and Anna Fuller were gone. I hurried to the bar.
"Michael, double brandy!"
"Just a second, my friend."
"No need to write it down. That's for me "
"For you? What's wrong with you, buddy?" Michael looked at me disapprovingly.
"Come on, hurry up! I've no time!"
I quickly shook three pills out of the jar into my palm and immediately tossed them into my mouth.
"Well, where's the brandy?"
Michael reluctantly poured me a double brandy, which I snatched out of his hands and drank in a gulp.
I looked at the stage. Diana was already there, doing an exciting dance with a pink balloon. Fully undressed, on high-heeled shoes, she would deftly and sexily cover her pussy with the balloon, then for a brief moment show it to the admiring glances of the men sitting at the tables. The men were obviously aroused by her dance, not taking their eyes off her body. I could even feel their cocks ready to pop out of their pants.
I myself stood there mesmerized, anticipating every moment when her pussy would appear from behind the balloon.
She wants to rip my balls off, I thought again. She wants my balls to be torn off and thrown down into some garbage can. My balls. I felt they were getting heavier and heavier as I watched her dance. Every time I caught a glimpse of her pussy, I could feel my balls pulling my crotch to the floor even harder. Was it real, or was I only imagining these things? These heavy, ponderous testicles in my pants. Was it the effect of the pills? I began to realize what kind of weight Professor Schlotheim was talking about. A pair of heavy panniers on the donkey.
I felt like having another drink. I was about to ask Michael for another brandy when I saw an open bottle of vodka on the counter next to me.
I grabbed it and greedily drank several gulps straight from it.
Okay, I thought, now I know what I wanna do right now. I wanna dance like Diana! Right now. Without any delay. Just like that, with a balloon. Cover it up, then show it up! Just like her!
I rushed forward and jumped on stage. Dance! I'm gonna dance. I'm gonna show them something! I'm gonna show them what I have!
Diana saw me but didn't stop dancing. Imitating her moves, I began to take off my clothes. The audience started laughing loudly, thinking it was some prearranged number. Some kind of stage parody.
My shoes, clothes and underwear quickly flew away in all directions and soon I was standing on stage wearing only my socks. No, I wasn't standing, I was wriggling in some terrific sort of dance. Some ecstatic dance. I was twirling and swirling my hips hard, making my cock and balls madly swing from side to side. The audience roared with laughter.
Did I just tell you something about swinging my dangling cock and balls? I was wrong to tell you that. I no longer felt any heaviness down there. There was nothing to swing down there. Nor was I afraid anymore of Diana ripping my balls off, or Anna Fuller kicking them.
How could Diane rip them off when I looked exactly like her down there? Yeah, absolutely, you're not gonna believe this, but I saw it myself, it was exactly like her shaved pussy, and all the men were staring at it. Staring at my cute slit between my legs. Adoring it! Lusting after it!
Suddenly the music stopped, Diana broke off her dance and turned to me.
"Idiot, what are you doing here on stage?" she yelled at me. "Get dressed, you fucking moron!"
Holding the balloon in front of her groin, she walked up close to me. Between our crotches there was only that pink balloon.
"I told you I'd rip something off today!"
"You won't!" I replied cheerfully. "There's nothing to rip off anymore!"
"Peter, you been sniffing or smoking some shit tonight?" Diana asked angrily. "Or what?"
"Give me the balloon! I wanna dance with it. I'm a bubble dancer!" I cried. "I can also do some fan dancing! Hey there, will someone bring me a fan? Okay, the balloon's enough."
I clutched the balloon with both hands, trying to wrest it from Diana.
Suddenly, with a loud pop, the balloon burst. It broke into two shreds, one of them flew right into my...
Well, of course it flew into my balls, just because there was my scrotum hanging down there, holding my pair of testicles inside. No trace of the cute slit I'd seen only a minute ago. The other fragment of the destroyed balloon flew into Diana's groin, hit her pussy and fell down on the floor.
Nothing happened to the girl. She just continued to stand before me. Just the way it was supposed to be. But with me, it was different.
A sharp, devastating pain pierced both my balls and made me howl like a wounded animal.
"Maaaah baaaaalls," I screamed and collapsed to my knees. With both hands I grabbed my injured testicles and started feeling them. Yes, they were balls, my balls. There was also dick hanging over them. But where's that pussy of mine? It was gone. No way to see it down there.
I raised my eyes to look at Diana's pussy only to see that the girl had vanished. Instead I saw Professor Schlotheim standing on the stage. Yes, it was him, wearing some old-fashioned top hat.
The Professor grinned cunningly.
"Well, Peter, I hope you know now what has been pressing you so hard all these years. The thing that became so obvious after you started working here, among all these undressed girls. Do you know what I'm talking about?
I nodded, still down on my knees and squeezing my balls with both hands.
"Peter, now you resemble the donkey from another fable. This donkey didn't like being an ass, wishing to be a lapdog. He couldn't think of anything smarter than to start acting like a lapdog - playing with dog toys, walking on his hind legs, jumping on his master's lap, licking his face. Such a behavior only irritated the master and he punished the donkey by beating him severely. The way you got it tonight.”
"Yeah, I got my balls hurt. Can I blame your pills for this?"
"It was not a good idea to mix them with alcohol. Anyway, now you know what those heavy panniers symbolize."
"Yes, I do," I sighed heavily. "A pair of hefty, aching panniers, which I hold in my hands right now."
Professor Schlotheim spread his hands.
"Now you know for sure that you have vagina envy, or if you like, pussy envy, or vulva envy, labia envy, pudenda envy, whatever."
"So what am I supposed to do with this sort of knowledge?"
"I think it's time for magic tricks," Professor winked at me, then took off his top hat and held it upside down in front of him.
"Magicians usually pull rabbits out of hats," he pronounced, "while psychoanalysts extract not rabbits but, I'd rather say, habits out of the heads. But tonight I'm going to pull something very interesting from this hat. Can you guess what?
"No idea," I shook my head.
"Come on, take a guess, Peter."
"Will you pull my testicles out of the hat?" I asked shyly.
"Not exactly," smiled the Professor, and put his hand into the hat. "Well, what do we have here, let us see."
To my amazement Professor Schlotheim pulled a huge pair of garden shears out of the hat.
"Well, what do you say to that, my poor little donkey?" the Professor asked, teasingly. "Neddy, are you ready?"
"Neddy has pudenda envy, Neddy has pudenda envy," I began to mutter, staring mesmerized at the shears. "Neddy has pudenda envy..."
"What the hell is wrong with you, Peter?" came a female voice above me. "Cut out this delusional shit at once! What Neddy? What the fuck pudenda?"
Someone was shaking me hard by the shoulders. I pulled one hand away from my still aching balls, rubbed my eyes to see that there was no Professor on the stage, but Anne Fuller standing in front of me, shaking my whole body.
"Are you out of your mind, Peter? Why all these naked dancing?"
"I, I, I just...," my gaze skittered along Anne's body. She was wearing a rather short skirt and high heels. She was slim, attractive and sexy. About 35 years old. A brunette with green eyes. Green like the professor's pills.
"What are you babbling about? Are you on drugs? Michael saw you taking some pills. Answer me!"
I fixed my eyes on the spot where her slender legs disappeared behind the hem of the skirt. And just above that, there was..."
"Neddy envies your pudenda," I said quietly. "Or is it pudendum? I'd better ask the Professor.”
I leaned my body forward to let my face land right on her groin.
"What are you doing, Peter?!" Anne shouted.
I wrapped my arms around her hips and gave out a sob.
"Neddy wants to be your lapdog."
"Fuck you!" Anne pushed me away from her, took a step back, swung her foot back first, then kicked me with all her might right in my bare balls. "You're fired, moron!"
Indescribable pain shot first through my balls, then my whole body. I felt nauseous. I couldn't stay on my knees anymore and I collapsed face down on the floor. With my hands I tried to find my injured balls somewhere underneath me. I wanted to take a breath, but I couldn't. I wanted to die right now, right on this stage, right at the feet of Anna Fuller. Her feet, her legs. There was nothing dangling between them. How cute.
Diana must have been around somewhere. Probably still naked. With a nice slit between her legs. Watching me dying in testicular torture.
My balls were burning with unbearable pain. I started losing consciousness, and before I completely passed out, I saw a dirt road running through a green field, then a donkey with heavy panniers on his back, jogging along аnd jingling the bell attached to his neck. And there was that girl riding the donkey and humming these words:
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy…
The original story may be read here:
https://www.wattpad.com/story/359943648
"I've already told..," I said, lifting my head from the couch Professor Schlotheim had laid me on.
"A patient lying on the couch is always more open to his inner feelings and experiences," the professor returned my head to the cushion with a slight movement of his hand, then pulled a chair over and sat down at the headboard. "This property of the couch was discovered by Dr. Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis. So what you're saying is that there's something inexplicable pressing down on you hard and constantly?"
"Yes, Professor. I feel this pressure on me. But not all the time, just at work."
"And where do you work?"
"I work at a strip club," I answered.
"A male stripper?"
"No, I am not," I smiled. "The strippers are all girls there. I work as a waiter at that club. "
"I thought they employ girls as waiters in places like that."
"The dancers and strippers, they are girls. You're right, most strip clubs have girls working there as waiters. But the owner of our club, she's different and decided to hire guys as waiters."
"What's her reason?"
"Our club's main goal is to get as much money out of our guests as possible. Male guests. The girls dance on stage and between the tables, undress themselves totally, and then just sit down naked at the tables with the guests. The pleased men start offering the girls to have drinks with them. That's where the waiters come in. We bring drinks to the guests and the girls. But the thing is, our girls don't drink liquor at work, though they ask the guests to treat them to alсoholic beverages. They drink something non-alcoholic under the guise of an expensive drink, like apple juice instead of brandy. All that stuff they order from me, all those expensive, exotic cocktails, are in reality a cheap mixture of some soft drinks."
"Don't the guests notice it?" asked the Professor.
"They're too sexually aroused to notice it. That's the trick."
"I see "
"So, my task is to bring the girl a non-alcoholic drink, which I will then list on the bill as an expensive alcoholic one. And most importantly, I have to keep a record of which fake drink which girl ordered through me. Then at the end of the shift, each girl gets half the price of those drinks."
"I believe it's called consummation."
"Correct. So the owner of our establishment, it's called Tootsie Club, wants drinks and food to be served to customers by guys only, so that the aroused guests don't harass or distract us, and we in turn carry out our job duties totally undisturbed. And the main duty is to keep a proper record of consummation. And that's where I fail. I get confused in my notes all the time."
"How so?"
"I keep things mixed up, writing down incorrectly the girls' names and the drinks they ordered."
"What's the reason for this absent-mindedness? Are you distracted by the sight of naked girls around you?"
"That's not the main reason, I assure you, Professor. Yeah, there are naked girls around me all the time, they're dancing on stage, walking in aisles, sitting at the tables with the guests, standing at the bar. They are everywhere. And they get real angry with me, and yell at me when they find out I wrote down their orders wrong again. After that I get even more confused.
"Do their yelling and anger affect you?"
"Yes, it does, but it's not what's really oppressive to me."
"Then what is it?"
"It's hard for me to explain it. I feel something in their presence, in their nakedness, in their behavior, in their dancing, in the way they undress, in the way they behave. I feel something inexplicable, and this thing pressures me, weighs me down, makes me get confused and make mistakes in my notes. It lays heavy on my consciousness but only in the girls' presence. I hope you can figure out what my problem is."
"Peter, you yourself have just identified the cause of your problem."
"You're kidding, Professor."
"You said that the problem is that there's some weight lying on your consciousness."
'Exactly,' I confirmed. "But what kind of weight it is, I don't know. I just feel it but can't identify it in any way.'
"Very well, Peter," Professor Schlotheim smiled slyly. "Let me first tell you a little fable, if you don't mind "
"No, I don't," I said.
"Once a donkey was loaded with heavy panniers, and the beast hadn't gone halfway before he collapsed under the weight and could not get up. Three wise men passed by, and watching the donkey, began to tell his master their thoughts about what had happened.”
"One said the donkey must have eaten too much thistles, the second said the donkey must have fought with other jackasses, and was now resting after the fight, and the third surmised the donkey must have had his horseshoes worn off."
"Then a peasant passed by, and said to them all - the donkey is dying under these heavy panniers, just take them off him quickly, and then go on making your assumptions."
"Well, Peter, I, like that rustic man, first want to take these panniers off you, and only after that learn the reason why you can't carry them any longer."
"I see, Professor," I said. "But how are you going to take them off?"
"First, I'd like to administer a little drug therapy to your mind. I can, of course, write you a prescription for some known medicine, as I should. But I want to try something else, if you don't mind?"
"What do you mean?"
Professor Schlotheim got up from his chair and walked over to the glass cabinet at the opposite wall.
"I have my own laboratory," he pronounced. "There I managed to develop this new drug. It's not licensed yet."
The professor opened the cabinet and pulled out a small transparent plastic jar full of green pills.
"But I tell you - this drug has been tested on ten species of animals, and my assistant Bob has already tried these pills himself, with no harm to his health, but only benefits to his mental condition. Now it's up to you to trust me. I'm willing to give you this jar today. All you have to do is take two pills a day for a week."
I pulled myself up and sat on the couch.
"And what effect on my mental condition do you expect, Professor?"
"Rest assured, Peter, you'll like it. It's all about your trust. We'll have another session with you in a week, and believe me, by that time a lot of things will have fallen into place in your head. So, Peter, are you taking these pills?"
Three hours later I walked briskly through the staff entrance of Tootsie Club, changed into my waiter's uniform in the locker room, slipped the jar of Professor Schlotheim's pills into my apron pocket, and hurried into the club's hall.
The club had not yet been opened that night, and there was no one in the hall except Michael, the bartender, who was standing behind the bar and wiping glasses.
"What's up, Peter?"
"I had a real good day today, Mike. Now just need some soda to wash down a pill."
Michael splashed some soda into a glass and set it on the counter in front of me. I swallowed one of the pills and chased it with the drink
"What shit are you taking?" asked Michael.
"Oh, just some new stuff."
"Antidepressant?"
"Why? Of course not."
"Then you'll need one soon. I hate to break it to you but the boss wants to fire you."
"What?" I looked at Michael in disbelief. "But why?"
"For one thing, you keep messing up consummation records. The girls ain't happy with you. They want you out of this club."
"But I can assure her I'm not going to mess these things up anymore."
"For another, she says you're always looking at girls' pussies instead of working."
"But, Michael, I'm..."
"Yeah I know it, you're a regular man like me. I do the same thing too, but not to this extent. Peter, believe me, everyone sees the way you stare at pussies. It's like you're seeing a pussy for the first time, even though you see scores of them every night."
"I don't know what to tell you, Michael, and I don't know what I could say in my defense."
"Try to do a good job today. Be attentive, stay focused on your duties, don't get confused, don't get distracted, just do your work. And in the morning I'll try to talk to the boss about you. I'll ask her to give you a trial period."
Stay focused. Be attentive. Easy to say, but how was I supposed to do that? Stay focused on what? Pussies? No, I shook my head. Maybe it's not a bad idea to try one more pill, I thought. Maybe it's gonna work.
"Okay, Michael," I said. "Thanks for your concern. You know what? I guess it'd be nice of you if you poured me a brandy."
"Are you sure? Here at work?"
"You see, this news, it's some shock to me. I need to digest it and calm down. Nothing wrong having a drink in a situation like this."
"Suit yourself, Peter," Michael poured some brandy into my glass. "But be quick and drink it up before someone sees you."
I took another pill out of the jar and quickly downed it with brandy.
In half an hour the club was open. The first guests took their tables, made their orders, and the girls began to dance on the stage, gradually getting more and more undressed.
Within the next two hours all the tables were occupied, some of the girls continued to dance, while others were already sitting with the guests, ordering drinks for themselves and making me run back and forth among the tables. I was absolutely sure I'd messed up my records again. I did some usual things like confusing Angelica with Vera, or registering Pamela's orders to Marina.
Anna Fuller, our boss and the owner of the club, regularly appeared in the hall. In her presence, I tried to show her some work fuss, trying not to pay attention to the girls' bodies, especially the thing they had between their legs. But this ostentatious bustle only made me more confused in my notes.
At the bar, I ran into Diana, one of the most attractive dancers. She had nothing on but a pair of high heels. She grabbed my shoulder and shook me hard.
"You son of a bitch, I just looked at your records, you again failed to write down two Sexes on the Beach I ordered from you."
"I, I...," I mumbled, looking at her shaved pussy. "I'll write them down right now."
"I'll rip your fucking balls off tonight if you don't make it right!"
I just kept on staring at her pussy.
"And she'll do the right thing," Anne Fuller's voice came from behind me. "And if she forgets to rip them off, I'll give you a good kick in the nuts. What are you staring at again? Get back to work!"
I didn't turn around but ran to the tables.
Diana wants to rip my balls off. What a horrid thing! And Anne wants to kick me in the balls. But if Diana rips them off, there's no point in kicking my balls. What if Anne kicks the balls first and then Diana rips them off?
What the hell am I thinking about? What's going on in my head? Why aren't the pills working? Maybe I should take another one. One or two.
I looked toward the bar. Diana and Anna Fuller were gone. I hurried to the bar.
"Michael, double brandy!"
"Just a second, my friend."
"No need to write it down. That's for me "
"For you? What's wrong with you, buddy?" Michael looked at me disapprovingly.
"Come on, hurry up! I've no time!"
I quickly shook three pills out of the jar into my palm and immediately tossed them into my mouth.
"Well, where's the brandy?"
Michael reluctantly poured me a double brandy, which I snatched out of his hands and drank in a gulp.
I looked at the stage. Diana was already there, doing an exciting dance with a pink balloon. Fully undressed, on high-heeled shoes, she would deftly and sexily cover her pussy with the balloon, then for a brief moment show it to the admiring glances of the men sitting at the tables. The men were obviously aroused by her dance, not taking their eyes off her body. I could even feel their cocks ready to pop out of their pants.
I myself stood there mesmerized, anticipating every moment when her pussy would appear from behind the balloon.
She wants to rip my balls off, I thought again. She wants my balls to be torn off and thrown down into some garbage can. My balls. I felt they were getting heavier and heavier as I watched her dance. Every time I caught a glimpse of her pussy, I could feel my balls pulling my crotch to the floor even harder. Was it real, or was I only imagining these things? These heavy, ponderous testicles in my pants. Was it the effect of the pills? I began to realize what kind of weight Professor Schlotheim was talking about. A pair of heavy panniers on the donkey.
I felt like having another drink. I was about to ask Michael for another brandy when I saw an open bottle of vodka on the counter next to me.
I grabbed it and greedily drank several gulps straight from it.
Okay, I thought, now I know what I wanna do right now. I wanna dance like Diana! Right now. Without any delay. Just like that, with a balloon. Cover it up, then show it up! Just like her!
I rushed forward and jumped on stage. Dance! I'm gonna dance. I'm gonna show them something! I'm gonna show them what I have!
Diana saw me but didn't stop dancing. Imitating her moves, I began to take off my clothes. The audience started laughing loudly, thinking it was some prearranged number. Some kind of stage parody.
My shoes, clothes and underwear quickly flew away in all directions and soon I was standing on stage wearing only my socks. No, I wasn't standing, I was wriggling in some terrific sort of dance. Some ecstatic dance. I was twirling and swirling my hips hard, making my cock and balls madly swing from side to side. The audience roared with laughter.
Did I just tell you something about swinging my dangling cock and balls? I was wrong to tell you that. I no longer felt any heaviness down there. There was nothing to swing down there. Nor was I afraid anymore of Diana ripping my balls off, or Anna Fuller kicking them.
How could Diane rip them off when I looked exactly like her down there? Yeah, absolutely, you're not gonna believe this, but I saw it myself, it was exactly like her shaved pussy, and all the men were staring at it. Staring at my cute slit between my legs. Adoring it! Lusting after it!
Suddenly the music stopped, Diana broke off her dance and turned to me.
"Idiot, what are you doing here on stage?" she yelled at me. "Get dressed, you fucking moron!"
Holding the balloon in front of her groin, she walked up close to me. Between our crotches there was only that pink balloon.
"I told you I'd rip something off today!"
"You won't!" I replied cheerfully. "There's nothing to rip off anymore!"
"Peter, you been sniffing or smoking some shit tonight?" Diana asked angrily. "Or what?"
"Give me the balloon! I wanna dance with it. I'm a bubble dancer!" I cried. "I can also do some fan dancing! Hey there, will someone bring me a fan? Okay, the balloon's enough."
I clutched the balloon with both hands, trying to wrest it from Diana.
Suddenly, with a loud pop, the balloon burst. It broke into two shreds, one of them flew right into my...
Well, of course it flew into my balls, just because there was my scrotum hanging down there, holding my pair of testicles inside. No trace of the cute slit I'd seen only a minute ago. The other fragment of the destroyed balloon flew into Diana's groin, hit her pussy and fell down on the floor.
Nothing happened to the girl. She just continued to stand before me. Just the way it was supposed to be. But with me, it was different.
A sharp, devastating pain pierced both my balls and made me howl like a wounded animal.
"Maaaah baaaaalls," I screamed and collapsed to my knees. With both hands I grabbed my injured testicles and started feeling them. Yes, they were balls, my balls. There was also dick hanging over them. But where's that pussy of mine? It was gone. No way to see it down there.
I raised my eyes to look at Diana's pussy only to see that the girl had vanished. Instead I saw Professor Schlotheim standing on the stage. Yes, it was him, wearing some old-fashioned top hat.
The Professor grinned cunningly.
"Well, Peter, I hope you know now what has been pressing you so hard all these years. The thing that became so obvious after you started working here, among all these undressed girls. Do you know what I'm talking about?
I nodded, still down on my knees and squeezing my balls with both hands.
"Peter, now you resemble the donkey from another fable. This donkey didn't like being an ass, wishing to be a lapdog. He couldn't think of anything smarter than to start acting like a lapdog - playing with dog toys, walking on his hind legs, jumping on his master's lap, licking his face. Such a behavior only irritated the master and he punished the donkey by beating him severely. The way you got it tonight.”
"Yeah, I got my balls hurt. Can I blame your pills for this?"
"It was not a good idea to mix them with alcohol. Anyway, now you know what those heavy panniers symbolize."
"Yes, I do," I sighed heavily. "A pair of hefty, aching panniers, which I hold in my hands right now."
Professor Schlotheim spread his hands.
"Now you know for sure that you have vagina envy, or if you like, pussy envy, or vulva envy, labia envy, pudenda envy, whatever."
"So what am I supposed to do with this sort of knowledge?"
"I think it's time for magic tricks," Professor winked at me, then took off his top hat and held it upside down in front of him.
"Magicians usually pull rabbits out of hats," he pronounced, "while psychoanalysts extract not rabbits but, I'd rather say, habits out of the heads. But tonight I'm going to pull something very interesting from this hat. Can you guess what?
"No idea," I shook my head.
"Come on, take a guess, Peter."
"Will you pull my testicles out of the hat?" I asked shyly.
"Not exactly," smiled the Professor, and put his hand into the hat. "Well, what do we have here, let us see."
To my amazement Professor Schlotheim pulled a huge pair of garden shears out of the hat.
"Well, what do you say to that, my poor little donkey?" the Professor asked, teasingly. "Neddy, are you ready?"
"Neddy has pudenda envy, Neddy has pudenda envy," I began to mutter, staring mesmerized at the shears. "Neddy has pudenda envy..."
"What the hell is wrong with you, Peter?" came a female voice above me. "Cut out this delusional shit at once! What Neddy? What the fuck pudenda?"
Someone was shaking me hard by the shoulders. I pulled one hand away from my still aching balls, rubbed my eyes to see that there was no Professor on the stage, but Anne Fuller standing in front of me, shaking my whole body.
"Are you out of your mind, Peter? Why all these naked dancing?"
"I, I, I just...," my gaze skittered along Anne's body. She was wearing a rather short skirt and high heels. She was slim, attractive and sexy. About 35 years old. A brunette with green eyes. Green like the professor's pills.
"What are you babbling about? Are you on drugs? Michael saw you taking some pills. Answer me!"
I fixed my eyes on the spot where her slender legs disappeared behind the hem of the skirt. And just above that, there was..."
"Neddy envies your pudenda," I said quietly. "Or is it pudendum? I'd better ask the Professor.”
I leaned my body forward to let my face land right on her groin.
"What are you doing, Peter?!" Anne shouted.
I wrapped my arms around her hips and gave out a sob.
"Neddy wants to be your lapdog."
"Fuck you!" Anne pushed me away from her, took a step back, swung her foot back first, then kicked me with all her might right in my bare balls. "You're fired, moron!"
Indescribable pain shot first through my balls, then my whole body. I felt nauseous. I couldn't stay on my knees anymore and I collapsed face down on the floor. With my hands I tried to find my injured balls somewhere underneath me. I wanted to take a breath, but I couldn't. I wanted to die right now, right on this stage, right at the feet of Anna Fuller. Her feet, her legs. There was nothing dangling between them. How cute.
Diana must have been around somewhere. Probably still naked. With a nice slit between her legs. Watching me dying in testicular torture.
My balls were burning with unbearable pain. I started losing consciousness, and before I completely passed out, I saw a dirt road running through a green field, then a donkey with heavy panniers on his back, jogging along аnd jingling the bell attached to his neck. And there was that girl riding the donkey and humming these words:
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy,
Neddy has pudenda envy…
The original story may be read here:
https://www.wattpad.com/story/359943648
