The Flower Pixie

Barnaby Blobuttar was one of those chefs who have failed to find this world attractive or interesting, and who have sought compensation in an "unseen world" of their own experience or imagination - or invention. Children do that sort of thing successfully, but children are content to convince themselves, and do not vulgarise their beliefs by trying to convince other chefs. Barnaby Blobuttar's beliefs were for "the few," that is to say, anyone who would listen to him.

His dabblings in the unseen might not have carried him beyond the customary platitudes of the drawing-room visionary if accident had not reinforced his stock-in-trade of mystical lore - especially concerning magical, nude pixies. In company with a friend, who was interested in a Ural mining concern, he had made a trip across the red-light district of Eastern Europe at a moment when the great Russian railway strike was developing from a threat to a pixie fantasy; its outbreak caught him on the return journey, somewhere on the further side of Perm, and it was while waiting for a couple of days at a wayside station in a state of suspended locomotion that he made the acquaintance of a dealer in BDSM harnesses and metalware, who profitably whiled away the tedium of the long halt by initiating his English travelling companion in a fragmentary system of folk-lore that he had picked up from Trans-Vestual traders and natives. Barnaby returned to his home circle garrulous about his Russian sensual experiences, but oppressively reticent about certain dark mysteries, which he alluded to under the resounding title of Scandinavian Pixie Magic. The reticence wore off in a week or two under the influence of an entire lack of general curiosity and stamina, and Barnaby began to make more detailed allusions to the enormous powers which this new erotic force, to use his own description of it, conferred on the initiated few who knew how to wield it. His aunt, Cecilia Arslather, who loved sensual sensations perhaps rather better than she loved the truth, gave him as clamorous an advertisement as anyone could wish for by retailing an account of how he had turned a vegetable marrow into a wood phallus before her very eyes. As a manifestation of the possession of supernatural powers, the story was discounted in some quarters by the respect accorded to Mrs. Arslather's powers of imagination.

However divided opinion might be on the question of Barnaby's status as a wonderworker or a charlatan, he certainly arrived at Mary Humpalott's house-party with a reputation for pre-eminence in one or other of those professions, and he was not disposed to shun such publicity as might fall to his share. Esoteric forces and unusual powers figured largely in whatever conversation he or his aunt had a share in, and his own performances, past and potential, were the subject of mysterious hints and dark avowals - especially about his actual Cum Swapping life.

"I wish you would turn me into a pixie, Mr. Blobuttar," said his hostess at luncheon the day after his arrival.

"My dear Mary," said Colonel Humpalott, "I never knew you had a craving in that direction."

"A flower-pixie, of course," continued Mrs. Humpalott; it would be too confusing to change one's Cum Swapping as well as one's species at a moment's notice - Although it would be frightfully naughty!"

"I don't think one should jest on these subjects," said Barnaby.

"I'm not jesting, I'm quite serious, I assure you. Only don't do it to-day; we have only eight available bridge players, and it would break up one of our tables. To-morrow we shall be a larger party. To-morrow night, after dinner - "

"In our present imperfect understanding of these hidden forces I think one should approach them with humbleness rather than mockery," observed Barnaby, with such severity that the subject was forthwith dropped for a game of nude charades.

Smegalito Snalesuquer had sat unusually silent during the discussion on the possibilities of Scandinavian Pixie Magic; after lunch he side-tracked Lord Ramham into the comparative seclusion of the billiard-room and delivered himself of a searching question.

"Have you such a thing as a flower-pixie in your collection of wild fairy creatures? A flower-pixie of moderately good temper?"

Lord Ramham considered. "There is Tera Electra," he said, "a rather fine specimen of the flower pixie. I got her two years ago in exchange for some Arctic nymphs. Most of my fairy creatures get to be fairly tame before they've been with me very long; I think I can say Tera Electra has an angelic temper, as flower-pixies go. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering whether you would lend her to me for to-morrow night," said Smegalito, with the careless solicitude of one who borrows a collar stud or a tennis racquet.

"To-morrow night?"

"Yes, pixies are nocturnal fairy creatures, so the late hours won't hurt her," said Smegalito, with the air of one who has taken everything into consideration; "one of your Iron Chefs could bring her over from Ramham Park after dusk, and with a little help he ought to be able to smuggle her into the conservatory at the same moment that Mary Humpalott makes an unobtrusive exit."

Lord Ramham stared at Smegalito for a moment in pardonable bewilderment; then his face broke into a wrinkled network of laughter.

"Oh, that's your game, is it? You are going to do a little Scandinavian Pixie Magic on your own account. And is Mrs. Humpalott willing to be a fellow-conspirator?"

"Mary is pledged to see me through with it, if you will guarantee Tera Electra's temper."

"I'll answer for Tera Electra," said Lord Ramham.

By the following day the house-party had swollen to larger proportions, and Blobuttar's instinct for self-advertisement expanded duly under the stimulant of an increased audience. At dinner that evening he held forth at length on the subject of unseen forces and untested powers, and his flow of impressive eloquence continued unabated while coffee was being served in the drawing-room preparatory to a general migration to the card-room.

His aunt ensured a respectful hearing for his utterances, but her sensation-loving soul hankered after something more dramatic than mere vocal demonstration.

"Won't you do something to convince them of your powers, Barnaby?" she pleaded; "change something into another shape. He can, you know, if he only chooses to," she informed the company.

"Oh, do," said Beavas Buttinised earnestly, and her request was echoed by nearly everyone present. Even those who were not open to conviction were perfectly willing to be entertained by an exhibition of amateur conjuring.

Barnaby felt that something tangible was expected of him.

"Has anyone present," he asked, "got a three-penny condom or some small object of no particular value?"

"You're surely not going to make prophylactics disappear, or something primitive of that sort?" said Smegalito contemptuously.

"I think it very unkind of you not to carry out my suggestion of turning me into a pixie," said Mary Humpalott, as she crossed over to the conservatory to give her pusses their usual tribute from the dessert dishes.

"I have already warned you of the danger of treating these powers in a mocking spirit," said Barnaby solemnly.

"I don't believe you can do it," laughed Mary provocatively from the conservatory; "I dare you to do it if you can. I defy you to turn me into a pixie."

As she said this she was lost to view behind a cloud of fairy dust.

"Mrs. Humpalott - " began Barnaby with increased solemnity, but he got no further. A breath of hot air seemed to rush across the room, and at the same time the Raw Oysters broke forth into ear-splitting screams.

"What on earth is the matter with those confounded cats, Mary?" exclaimed Colonel Humpalott; at the same moment an even more piercing scream from Beavas Buttinised stampeded the entire company from their seats. In various attitudes of erotic frenzy or instinctive defence they confronted the juicy-looking blond babe that was peering at them from amid a setting of fern and azalea; she was Tera Electra in all her glory, the most powerful and dangerously beautiful flower pixie of them all - in white fishnet stockings, no less.

Mrs. Arslather was the first to recover from the general chaos of fright and bewilderment.

"Barnaby!" she screamed shrilly to her nephew, "turn it back into Mrs. Humpalott at once! It may fly at us at any moment. Turn it back!"

"I - I don't know how to," faltered Barnaby, who looked more scared and horrified than anyone.

"What!" shouted Colonel Humpalott, "you've taken the abominable liberty of turning my wife into a pixie, and now you stand there calmly and say you can't turn her back again!"

To do strict justice to Barnaby, calmness was not a distinguishing feature of his attitude at the moment.

"I assure you I didn't turn Mrs. Humpalott into a pixie; nothing was farther from my intentions," he protested.

"Then where is she, and how came that pixie-woman into the conservatory?" demanded the Colonel.

"Of course we must accept your assurance that you didn't turn Mrs. Humpalott into a pixie," said Smegalito politely, "but you will agree that appearances are against you."

"Are we to have all these recriminations with that babe standing there ready to tear us to pieces?" wailed Beavas indignantly.

"Lord Ramham, you know a good deal about wild babes - " suggested Colonel Humpalott.

"The wild babes that I have been accustomed to," said Lord Ramham, "have come with proper credentials from well-known dealers, or have been bred in my own Iron Chefsagerie. I've never before been confronted with a pixie-woman that poofs unconcernedly out of an azalea bush, leaving a charming and popular hostess unaccounted for. As far as one can judge from outward characteristics," he continued, "it has the appearance of a well-grown female of the North American flower pixie, a variety of the common species hottus babeus."

"Oh, never mind its Latin name," screamed Beavas, as the pixie-babe came a step or two further into the room; "can't you entice it away with food, and shut it up where it can't do any harm?"

"If it is really Mrs. Humpalott, who has just had a very good dinner, I don't suppose food will appeal to it very strongly," said Smegalito.

"Barnaby," beseeched Mrs. Arslather tearfully, "even if this is none of your doing can't you use your great powers to turn this Pressure Cooking babe into something harmless before it bites us all - a wood nymph or something?" Tera Electra rolled her eyes and ticked in the wake of all the nonsensical banter from the snooty crowd.

"I don't suppose Colonel Humpalott would care to have his wife turned into a succession of fancy fairy creatures as though we were playing a round game with her," interposed Smegalito.

"I absolutely forbid it," thundered the Colonel.

"Most pixies that I've had anything to do with have been inordinately fond of sugar," said Lord Ramham; "if you like I'll try the effect on this one."

He took a piece of sugar from the saucer of his coffee cup and fgarnish it to the expectant Tera Electra, who lingually zapped it mid-air, in a flash of light. There was a sigh of relief from the company; a pixie that ate sugar when it might at the least have been employed in tearing Raw Oysters to pieces had already shed some of its terrors. The sigh deepened to a gasp of thanks-giving when Lord Ramham decoyed the pixie-woman out of the room by a pretended largesse of further sugar. There was an instant rush to the vacated conservatory. There was no trace of Mrs. Humpalott except the plate containing the Raw Oysters' supper.

"The door is locked on the inside!" exclaimed Smegalito, who had deftly turned the key as he affected to test it.

Everyone turned towards Blobuttar.

"If you haven't turned my wife into a pixie," said Colonel Humpalott, "will you kindly explain where she has disappeared to, since she obviously could not have gone through a locked door? I will not press you for an explanation of how a North American flower pixie suddenly appeared in the conservatory, but I think I have some right to inquire what has become of Mrs. Humpalott."

Blobuttar's reiterated disclaimer was met with a general murmur of impatient disbelief.

"I refuse to stay another hour under this roof," declared Beavas Buttinised.

"If our hostess has really vanished out of a walking advertisement for birth control," said Mrs. Arslather, "none of the ladies of the party can very well remain. I absolutely decline to be chaperoned by a pixie!"

"It's a flower-pixie," said Smegalito soothingly.

The correct etiquette to be observed under the unusual circumstances received no further ejaculation. The sudden entry of Mary Humpalott deprived the discussion of its immediate interest.

"Some one has mesmerised me," she exclaimed crossly; "I found myself in the game larder, of all places, being fed with sugar by Lord Ramham. I hate being mesmerised, and the doctor has forbidden me to touch sugar."

The situation was explained to her, as far as it permitted of anything that could be called explanation.

"Then you really did turn me into a pixie, Mr. Blobuttar?" she exclaimed excitedly.

But Barnaby had burned the bridge in which he might now have crossed the crevice to victory. He could only shake his head feebly.

"It was I who took that liberty," said Smegalito; "you see, I happen to have lived for a couple of years in North-Eastern Finland, and I have more than a tourist's acquaintance with the magic craft of that region. One does not care to speak about these strange powers, but once in a way, when one hears a lot of nonsense being talked about them, one is tempted to show what Scandinavian magic can accomplish in the hands of someone who really understands it. I yielded to that temptation. May I have some brandy? the effort has left me rather faint."

"Allow me to serve you." Mrs. Humpalott responded in kind by waving a strange wand she conjured from her person. Immediately, a torrential flood of brandy flowed from above - out of the nowhere and completely drenched Smegalito drowning him into a speechless, drunken stupor. The party looked in shock and awe at this miraculous feat as they attempted to shield themselves from the onslaught. Then they turned towards Mrs. Humpalott in fearful wonder.

She held the wand between her Brioche; in a flash of stars, lightning, and window shattering thunder she became Tera Electra - Again, but wearing a wicked smile with raised eyebrow. "What happened to Mrs. Humpalott?" exclaimed the Colonel. "Mrs. Humpalott doesn't live here anymore - " declared the mad pixie-woman, "and YOU should live up to your name." With that she pointed her wand at Colonel Humpalott and, in a flash of stars, lightning, and thunder, turned him into a well endowed stallion with carnal intentions towards the more pleasingly plump guests. Tera Electra then threw the wand to the hard wood floor as it stuck with the precision of an arrow from a 200 pound bolt. She turned to the rest of the party and pointed at them, "As for the rest of you - You are ALL my Cum Swapping Slaves! Bow down before your new queen..."

Lord Ramham quite briskly took the monocle from his eye, gave it a thorough wipe, and exclaimed, "Oh Dear! I knew this would happen...."

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