Legend of the Lost Thong

by Thongliona Thongberry

Part III: What Thongs May Come

These days, my paranoia has come full circle. What with my nightmares of Antoine and my struggle to forget what happened to him, and to myself, it is hard for me to relax. Hard for me not to jump at simple everyday sounds. Everything is hard for me. So very hard.

Although not nearly as hard as Antoine used to be, when we …

No. It’s torture. Thinking of the happy times, that is. I know they always say, “Remember the happy times.” As though that does any good! Remembering the happy times only makes me feel the effect of my loss even more. Makes me burn with rage and anger.

And guilt.

Even with security guards and body guards surrounding me, I am still unable to relax.

Anywhere except my pool.

The pool is the one place that I can go to feel safe, secure, loved.

Especially when Enrique’s arms are around me as I tread water in the pool.

For some reason, Enrique had always reminded me of Antoine. There was a certain boyishness about him, a playful demeanor, much like my former lover. He was tall and thin and lean, and incredibly sexy and incredibly great at giving and receiving sexual favors. It felt almost as though I could grow to love him. Not as much as I had loved Antoine, certainly, for he had been the love of my life. But … I could grow to love him. Even though I’ve only ever loved one man in my entire life.

Antoine.

But as I lay in my pool, months after telling Enrique the story of Antoine’s demise, I began recalling things. Little things, from the past few months. A slight change in Enrique’s attitude towards me. A slight … coldness, perhaps. Or was it warmth? I wondered, then, if Enrique really could speak English, or if he had learned. Because if he did, then he knew all my secrets. All my sordid, sexual secrets. Secrets that I had never told anyone else, even Antoine. And blackmail suddenly became a fear.

I knew then what I had to do. There was only one option.

I had to kill Enrique.

I had to kill my pool boy.

Tears welled up in my eyes. He was the second best I’d ever had, next to Antoine. And if I hadn’t been forced to become a woman, then who knows what bounds our relationship could have surpassed?

But the option of controlling my own sex had been long ago decided, by fate, luck, or chance, who knows? But it had been decided, nonetheless.

In a most unorthodox fashion.

Antoine was dead.

That was the only thought that ran through my head as they tied me up and carried me away, to their secret underground layer.

Who they were, they never told me, and I never found out.

All I knew was that they had designated themselves as Keepers of the Lost Thong.

They were to guard it at all costs.

And because I had touched it, and attempted to steal it …

My punishment was the chopping off of my head.

But it never occurred to me that they meant my lower head.

They brought me into a large chamber with an incredibly high ceiling. In the center was a large bonfire, and several members of their society were pounding on drums as they danced around the fire.

There were slave girls, too, who were nearly naked. They danced in front of me, as I myself was stripped naked. But, although I had once been bisexual, my 4 ex-wives had long ago cured me of any desires I might have for the female of my species, and so all their dancing had no effect on me.

Seeing this, the slave girls frowned, and their superiors shouted orders with them. With that, they stripped off their thongs, and began rubbing their hot little cunts against me, and against my member—to no avail, much to their dismay.

With a wail, the slave girls ran off crying, and I remained calmly limp and unaroused.

Until they brought out … The Hunk.

That’s what I’ll call him, because I never knew his name, and he was most certainly the hunkiest man I have ever seen. He sauntered over to me, all rippling muscles and well-oiled, hairless skin. The look in his eyes was one that could devour even the most pious of beings in its lustful gaze. I could feel myself hardening even as I looked at him, even though I told myself that Antoine was dead, and I must be faithful to his memory as I had never been faithful to him during his lifetime.

But it was no use. The Hunk came over to me, he himself as hard as stone, and, I swear, well over a foot long. His touched mine, and sparks flew—and not just on my side, either. He could feel it, I knew. He could feel what lay between us. A lust such as I had never known before, not even with Antoine.

He spoke something in their language, and the guards all backed away from me. It was just the two of us, standing there, facing each other. And then he smiled.

He had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen—even more beautiful than Antoine’s.

I was as hard as a rock, and just as eager. I wanted to feel him inside me, to feel myself inside him. I wanted everything. But I knew, deep down in my heart that I could have nothing but this one time together with him.

So he circled me, looking me up and down.

And then when he was in front of me again, he came over and pressed up against me. I could feel his long, hard member throbbing against my skin—and my own throbbing against his. I could feel his lips descending upon my neck, and his hands wandering wherever they wished. I leaned my head back and moaned as his lips and tongue trailed a path down my neck to my chest and below, where he began to suckle upon me as though he had never tasted anything so sweet, so succulent.

And then he was behind me, riding me from behind.

It was pure pleasure. Probably the most pleasure I have ever known. Even more than I got from all of my encounters with Antoine combined.

And then he came, but left me in the dust, wanting. And then, sated with his own selfish pleasure, he laughed and insulted me in his own language, and pushed me over to the waiting axe-man.

I was so stiff with longing, that I could not get it down. They placed it above the chopping block, and a second later—

I still have nightmares about that period in my life. About how I came home, and was forced to become a woman, because I was incapable of performing as a man. About my failed marriage to a wonderful man whom I adored, but who, after waiting two whole months until our wedding night, was disgusted to see that I had once been a man. And he had walked out, and divorced me immediately, leaving me heartbroken.

As though I hadn’t already had enough pain in my life.

But, since there had been no prenuptial agreement, I managed to add quite a substantial chunk of his fortune to my own, making me even richer.

Rich enough to afford all the thongs that I could wear, although none of them were legendary.

But, that is enough reminiscence. Back to the present.

As I said earlier, Enrique must perish. I cannot deal with a liability as sexy as his bad self.

And so …

I am going to kill him tonight.

“Enrique,” I call softly, entering the pool shed where he sleeps. “Oh, Enrique …”

“Si, Seniorita Lynn?” he asks, stepping out of the shadows.

I stop, stunned. In this dark yet dramatic lighting, he looks more like Antoine than ever before.

“Antoine,” I whisper, my heart breaking yet again.

And then Enrique smiles.

“Yes, Jamie,” he whispers, “It is I. Antoine.”

My knife, the one I had planned to kill him with, drops to the floor. I take one hesitant step forward, and then another.

“Antoine … is it—is it really you?”

He nods, and then crosses the distance to me, and lays his hand on my heart.

And in that moment, as his eyes meet mine, I know it to be true.

Antoine! My beloved Antoine has returned!

“But … how?” I ask, dumbfounded. “I saw you die!”

He smiled again and nodded. “That is true. I did die.”

“Then how are you here?”

“Oh, Jamie,” he sighs, laughing softly and embracing me. “You don’t know, do you? The power of the Lost Thong. The part of the legend that I never told you about.

“You see, whoever wears the thong shall die and instant death. But in exchange for the death of their mortal body, they are granted one wish. It can be anything, anything at all. But since you are no longer in the mortal realm, there is no longer a need for such things as money, or sex, or power, as you have no use for them. That is the mistake many have made in their search for the thong. What use is power when you have no one over whom to exercise it?

“But that was not my wish, my dear Mademoiselle Lynn. Oh, Jamie. You know how I love you, how I have always loved you. My only wish was that you could be brought to understand the power of my love for you, and that I might watch over you and keep you safe from harm. And so they granted this body and allowed me to return to you in the mortal realm. It is all I ever wanted.” He snuggles closer to me, in the darkness. “All and more.”

And we hold each other in the darkness.

We both know that neither of us will let go, ever again.