The Toading

Asher Black

 

I was sure the gods had cursed me never to get my rocks off until either I’d die or they’d wither and shrink to nothing. Last year I slept right through Festival. The year before, I got kicked in the throat for trying to hump another male in the confusion. And here, at this very spot, the year I was sure I’d get it right, I found…

Sprawling on the soft earth by the cool waters, the air full of song, the night glittering with stars high in the spectacular Spring of the heavens, lit all aglow and writhing obscenely in the rushes…

Complete disaster.

It was hard enough to pair up in a busy swingers’ city like this one, and now there was little chance left of attracting more than another bruised throat. The other inhabitants of our fair metropolis had ceased the sensuous operetta of the hunt and were crooning the lascivious song of genital pleasure or grunting in a melodic rictus of not-yet-sated lust.

I heard an angel moaning in ecstasy, calling my name. I took my time coming to her. You know, drawing it out. And what did I find waiting for me? The most repulsive hag imaginable. It turns out she was only yawning in her sleep. She was ghastly even while dreaming. The time when relaxation is supposed to enhance beauty. I thought if she were to wake and that face to take on hideous life, more than my balls might wither. Even the floating lilies might dry up, and anything else without the sense to hide its head from this gleaming gorgon.

Now, I’m not overly proud. Pigin, I said to myself, you’ve got two choices. Wake her up and try hard to squint, or go home in agony. What I did was both:

Smelly and liquory on your thighs
Is the velvety bog
Sticky and slippery is your prize
You darling horny…

She interrupted. “What are you doing?” The sound of her voice! It was monstrous.

“Singing. I was… uh… singing. Good for the throat, they say.”

illustration by Amanda BurkinshawShe was even uglier awake than I’d imagined. Deathly pale, skinny, tiny eyes set too close together. Taller than me (I like that, of course, but not that much taller!).

Her mouth was all right. A good size, promising in fact, but her lips were huge.

She sat up and dangled her legs in the water, kicking at it lightly. “Really? I didn’t know they say that. I can sing, you know.”

For a moment, my heart leaped. And then….

Where is my prince, my wonderful prince,
When will you come to my bed?
A kiss will suffice if it’s long and it’s thrice,
And happiness once we are wed.

Her singing voice was abysmal. If I had to listen to those tones trilling my name day in and day out… And kissing? Out of the question.

“Well?”

I shrugged.

She sat pulling the flowers out of a twist of honeysuckle, inhaling the rising scent deeply, sucking the nectar out of their stamens one by one. Just watching that was intoxicating, even had she not obviously known what she was doing.

“I’ll have you know that gentle ladies and gentler men come to hear me sing at home all the time. I’m considered quite good.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you play the palace.” I didn’t mean to be rude, but I couldn’t help a little sarcasm.

“I do, in fact.” She said it with astonishment, as though I should have assumed so. Then she giggled. An unfortunate sound. I would have believed she was drowning rather than laughing, except we were still on the bank.

She was obviously infatuated with me. Despite her appearance, I swelled with all of the masculine energy I could muster. I stretched, bulged, and showed off all my assets. I knew she couldn’t help but be impressed. I chalk it up to the Festival. Sometimes the urges of the season are excruciating. Besides, I have male pride like any other.

I do have some standards, however. I turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Her lips seemed to pout. she was a creature of wiles. You know that infantile manner employed by the better…

“Back to the city. I might as well get some rest. Festival continues tomorrow night, and I want to be at my best. Perhaps there is still — ”

“A Festival?” She clapped. “I never get to go to Festivals. ‘Not till you’re older’, my parents say.”

I shuddered as she mimicked the voice of something more aurally disturbing than her. That did it. I leaped toward the water, thinking to swim off and put the night behind me. Add insult to injury, I missed and landed lopsided in the blackest, foulest mud. It was gross. I oozed. I couldn’t see from that position or hear what she was doing, but I guessed she must be making that horrible sound that passed for laughing again.

I choked on the foul stuff as I tried to right myself, and what’s worse, I began to sink. I kicked my legs, and the last thing I heard was a sucking sound as I began to go under. Truly cursed, I thought. And this was to be the end.

Then I felt her hands on me, dragging me out, legs first. Blessed troll! For all her other faults, the bony fiend had saved my life.

She held me by the bank, and I confess I was exhausted. She dribbled water over me and wiped me clean with her hands. She wasn’t so bad. Ugly, but not impossible. My mind started to drift as her fingers moved smoothly over my spine…

Nnnnnn… maybe…

I lay there, cradled by her, letting her stroke me. Her fingers moved in little circles on my throat, over my eyelids. She even turned me over and rubbed my belly. And she was staring at my sex, as though studying it. I couldn’t believe it. Sure, I’m proud of it; it’s enormous. I couldn’t blame her, really.

She told me how handsome I was, murmuring soft words over me. I began to feel sorry for her. Then, as she was caressing my legs… the punchline.

“I want to see this Festival. For once, I want to go and see.”

I started to protest but she put a slender finger to my mouth. “I’m lonely. Sometimes life is so lonely for me.”

I could understand.

“Of course, there are always young men… boys… pawing at me, and my mother and all the other ladies of our house fawning over me, telling me how pretty I am. That’s not the same as…”

It made sense. You couldn’t exactly tell her the truth. What mother or aunt would do that? The bit about suitors was obviously imaginary. For all I know, she thought I wanted her, too. But I understood. She’d see a handsome male like myself and be convinced he had the hots for her.

She winked. “…real friendship.”

Pity. Her hands stimulating my skin. Her evident desire. The aching compulsion of Spring. I knew I couldn’t refuse her request.

*****

The city was a thing of splendor. Seeing it reflected in the wet pools of her small eyes reminded me how beautiful it was. A city on the water. We leaped from platform to platform, her hair raining little droplets upon the floor and sparkling from the lights floating overhead.

Everywhere was singing. It was the loveliest place in the world, even if we made an odd pair. At least she was pleasantly damp.

We visited the galleries, the museums, the golden orb. I told her the story of how it had come to us, that it had been raised from the waters and erected in the city center; about its mystical properties. It was truly a marvel, and I could see that she found my account of it fascinating. I was witty, dashing, amazing.

We stood under the statue of Ch’an Chu the Wise. I pointed out that his third leg was a symbol of virility. She pretended not to understand; it was odd to see such an obviously wanting creature play at innocence.

We went to the finest restaurant I could afford. Escargot, freshwater mollusks… I was famished, but she ate only from my own plate, licking her fingers and her lips, giggling a little. I could see why she was so thin. Perhaps it was the excitement. Maybe she was fasting. My people fast in the Winter, when we retire from the frozen waters and shelter in languid sleep deep in our catacombs in the earth. We live for the Spring. Live for one thing, of course. Still, the mollusks. She seemed to enjoy the most appropriate dish.

At last, we reclined on the cusp of a soft floating dais. She tied one of her ribbons around my throat. Yes. I stretched and felt my heart quicken. She was very good at this. I decided, once and for all. For all her disagreeable appearance, she managed to be arousing. This Festival would be seminal.

“You’re a pretty thing,” she teased, admiring my collared throat.

It’s true. I was starting to realize how much she found me attractive. Who could blame her? The men must’ve been ogres where she came from. We slept for a while.

Once, I awoke and licked along the back of her neck. She stirred with pleasure, eyes still closed.

*****

“Did you sleep well, my prince?”

“I did, in fact… huh?… prince?” Of course, I didn’t mind her calling me that. The night before had been… surprising. It wasn’t just the joy of the city. It was her, too. I liked her style.

“My prince and my friend. Don’t you know that you’re supposed to be a prince?”

Well, since she put it that way… It was clear she was infatuated. It’s just hard, that’s all. Resigning oneself to share the Festival with someone whose outward form would make your flesh crawl. Nevertheless, it would be my one chance.

I made my voice natural enough. “You, my dear?”

That’s when she did it. There and then, I swear… she licked me. From the small of my back to the top of my head and down between my eyes. It was exciting, exhilarating, magical.

I swooned. She succumbed even more and nearly lost her balance. Surely, she wanted all I could give. Mmmm. She was going to love…

I stuttered. “Will you… will you…” I trembled. That wouldn’t do. “Will you accompany me to the Festival tonight, my dear princess?”

“I would like nothing more,” she said a little hazily.

“Truly. You do want to, don’t you?”

“Why, surely. It is my fondest wish. I must go home to my mother now, but nothing will stop me from returning to you tonight.” She was a vixen with words. I wasn’t cursed after all. By Ch’an Chu’s beard, I was blessed!

I leaped about, showing off the vigor of my intentions, and she laughed and clapped her hands with glee.

*****

The moon rose. The stars sparkled. The night sky was like a map of the floating city. I could sense her excitement rising as those who had slumbered in the day began to give voice to their desire. I sang to her, trilling so sweetly that I was amazed at myself. I had never been more sonorous. My throat bulged with it. I bulged with it. And sure enough, she joined my song, striving toward harmony, answering my call. It didn’t matter that her voice was horrid. The response in her was arousing for me.

I plunged into the waters, and she wiggled in after me. She was open, curious, obviously desiring me as much as I desired this, my reason for my being. I felt the purpose of my life surging between my legs.

Couples were everywhere, plunging into the cool bath around the platforms. She was wide-eyed with the delight of it.

“This is the Festival?”

“Yes, princess. Isn’t it glorious?” She was bewildered with wonder.

“Lovely. It’s… lovely.” Those minuscule eyes glanced furtively at the other couples. She pointed. “Oh, my! He has two heads!”

I laughed and she smiled nervously. I understood. Of course, she’d mentioned that she’d never been to a Festival. It was her first time. Who wouldn’t warm to the idea? Hadn’t she loved me so openly early that very morning? Indeed, she was hot for it.

“Lick me again, will you? I liked it very much the first time.”

She shrugged and did and swooned, almost going under the water in her ecstasy.

I swam, gracefully kicking my legs. I dived, popping up right in front of her. She squealed in delight. I dove again, this time emerging behind her. Then I mounted her, locking onto her back. I held her tightly around her neck, and in a moment, I was holding her just as tightly with my sex. Our heads out of the water, our bodies a graceful symmetry… she cried out in pleasure and grasped the platform in astonishment, and I pushed…

Yes, I was good.

Under the golden orb, we made love. In the marvelous baths among the lilies. I knew, indeed, it was her first time. She cried out again and again, and it spurred me on. I came. An explosion of pleasure. I was blind with it. She screamed in ecstasy. A shriek of delight.

I had known she’d love the Festival.

*****

I woke beside her. She was shedding tears of happiness. And I cried, too, for joy. I dried her eyes with my tongue, drinking down the salt of them. Truly love and the orb work miracles. In the night, she had changed so that there beside me was a princess in beauty. Even her sobs were a delightful song. Her slick, green skin glistened. Her eyes were large and luminous. She was still larger than me, but not so very much now. Exquisitely proportioned. No more pale skin, yellow hair, giant red lips. I knew then she would stay with me for the rest of her days.

I made love to her again that morning.

illustration by Amanda Burkinshaw
Illustration by Amanda Burkinshaw

Fairy tales were traditionally adult stories, replete with adult situations reflective of real life and challenges faced by the community. In other words, they were not children’s tales. “The Frog Prince” is a tale of Germanic origin, predating both the Brothers Grimm and Disney adaptations which standardize and bowdlerize such fairytales, sanitizing them of their sexuality, violence, and questions of social behavior, and freeze the underlying art in a particular cultural context, such as the moralistic Victorian bedtime story, complete with a valuable lesson.

Traditionally, such fairy tales were frequently shared around fires within women’s communities, sometimes in sacred groves during rites of passage. Like many fairy tales, “The Frog Prince” is fluid, continually reshaped by the “folk process.” In this process, each culture and storyteller adds their own verses, shifts meanings, and reconfigures dramatic elements. This phenomenon, well recognized in folk music and its derivatives like blues, jazz, and gospel, emphasizes the expectation for each narrator to contribute something novel or original, not merely to replicate but to infuse the tale with their own insights or perspectives.

The retelling tradition forms a global community of authors, a practice that dates back to prehistory and the oral tradition, often reinterpreting traditional stories with innovative twists (including turning the story on its head). Deliberately subverting expectations and inverting the tropes invites the reader to think critically about those contexts and re-evaluate any preconceived notions. Joseph Campbell (The Hero With a Thousand Faces) describes the frog in the story as “the nursery equivalent of the underworld serpent that upholds the earth and symbolizes the life-generating, demiurgic force of the abyss.”

Among the first adult books read by Asher was “The White Goddess: A Historical Grammar of Poetic Myth,” authored by Robert Graves, known for “I, Claudius.” Graves was deeply interested in the underlying symbols of our stories and penned his own rendition of “The Frog Prince” in poetic form, inspiring Asher to follow suit in prose. Asher’s rendition is his contribution to this enduring folk process.

Readers interested in exploring the folk process and layers of meaning in fictional narrative and the imagination may benefit by consulting Robert Graves, Joseph Campbell, Carl Jung, Umberto Ecco, and resources such as these:

Books:

  • Bradley, Marion Zimmer. The Mists of Avalon: A Study of Arthurian Legends. Random House, 1983. (While not a scholarly article, it offers a feminist reinterpretation of Arthurian legends)
  • Bettelheim, Bruno. The Uses of Enchantment: Meaning and Morality in Modern Fairy Tales. Penguin Books, 1976. (Analyzes psychological and social meaning of fairy tales, not specifically focused on women)
  • Mukhopadhyay, Patricia. The Sacred and the Feminine: Women and Woodlands in India. Oxford University Press, 2015.
  • Okpaku, Isabel, ed. Gender and Oral Traditions in Africa. Indiana University Press, 2000.
  • Myerhoff, Barbara G. “Women’s Rites of Passage in Oral Traditions.” (journal article)
  • Lorien, J. “Gender and the Environmental History of Sacred Groves in Africa.” (journal article)

For broken links or other errors, contact Asher Black via his website.