The window was open only a few inches, but Eri and Isa glided through easily. Once inside the bedroom, a few quick wingbeats found them hovering near the ceiling, looking down at the sleeping Man.
“Did not I tell you, Isa,” said Eri, in what would have been far fainter than a whisper to human ears, “How beautiful is this Man?”
“Truth,” Isa replied, “But the measure of a Man is not his beauty, nor his size, but how he Provides.”
“I have visited thrice already,” said Eri. “Do not you recall the feasts those days?”
Isa ignored the question. Her eyes were fixed on the Man and on his Provider, which even asleep was frightening in size. “You ask my help because…” She did understand, but timid Isa sought a last-minute change of heart.
“There is enough for two,” explained Eri, not for the first time. “Is not wasting wrongful?”
There was no answer to that. Eri flitted downward on softly fluttering wings, and after a moment’s pause for courage, Isa descended to join her.
They stood on the Man, one on either side of the great Provider. The surface of the Man slowly rose and fell, in the accustomed way. Had he awakened, had he seen them, their form would not have been strange to him, for humans and Fairies had branched from the same root, one to grow huge, coarse, slow, and meant to Provide, the other to grow small, delicate, agile, and destined to feast. But for their wings, the Fairies could have been taken for human girls writ in miniature perfection, bodies bare and hair bound high.
“Let us begin,” invited Eri.
She and her sister bent over the Provider, and began to kiss it, with silken tongues and parted lips and dewdrops of wetness.
A Fairy’s kiss is the second most erotic sensation a Man ever feels, if he is so favored.
Almost immediately the sleeping Provider began to stir; Isa flew off and, trembling, watched it, while Eri stayed on the Man and kept up her kissing, licking, lapping, nibbling, and nuzzling. Isa watched the first stages of the wakening with a shudder.
It was accepted that the Provider must wake before Providing, but the transformation was frightening. This one would be twice Isa’s height, and fifty times her weight, once fully wakened. Were it to move suddenly it could fling her across the room; one jump and it could pin her, crush her, or, worse than death, break her wing. The legends were terrible, and most Fairies felt the fear. That is why, by tradition and habit, they sought only adolescents — but that was tricky, for the Man must be old enough to Provide, yet not so old that the Provider itself was such a massive beast.
Only Eri, of all their sisters, had never felt the fear. The other Fairies thought her strange, and whispered about her; they feasted from her harvest nonetheless.
The Provider was fully wakened. Isa kissed and licked its tip, and she could begin to scent and taste Man as in his sleep he responded. Eri straddled the enormous shaft, spreading her delicate legs as much as she could, settling down upon it with her nether lips spread wide, clinging to one of the ridges of blue that throbbed on the surface. The pulsing of blood through the Provider beat against Eri’s most delicate bud, and she moaned with the pleasure of it. She had sometimes watched, hiding in the darkness, as a female Man took the whole of a great Provider fully within her lips, and had marveled at it, and wondered, and dreamed again and again. The Fairies had not had males since the dawn of time, and without truly knowing what she longed for, Eri ached.
Isa paused in her kissing. A look of distaste flashed across her features as she beheld Eri, riding the Provider, rocking on it, rubbing herself on it, her eyes closed, head thrown back, mouth open, lost in sensation. “Eri!” she called sharply.
Eri’s eyes opened and she looked back at her sister, from her perch atop the great Provider; she was unashamed, and continued to rub her delicate petals across the gnarled and dreadful surface of the massive shaft, her expression daring Isa to remark.
“It is time,” Isa urged. “The Man will Provide. Bring it forth.”
Eri rose into the air with a quick beat of her wings. A spot of nectar marked the spot where she had pleased herself. She turned around to face away from the Provider’s tip, and settled back down on it, carefully placing herself just below the most sensitive spot where the tremendous shaft met the bulbous head. She leaned backward, and began to beat her wings.
A thousand times, ten thousand times more erotic than a Fairy’s kiss, the most exciting and beautiful and effective sensation a Man ever feels, is the brush of a Fairy’s wings: more delicate than the flick of an eyelash, silkier than a passing lock of hair, softer than a breath, no heavier than a moonbeam.
The Man moaned. The sound was too low for Fairy ears to hear, but they felt the vibrations in his body. The Provider twitched, breaking away from Isa’s kisses and lifting Eri upward; she clamped it firmly with her wide-spread legs and rode it, never ceasing to flutter her beautiful wings against the giant staff.
It settled back with a thud that shook both sisters. Eri sped the beating of her wings, caressing the Provider over and over again with the most beautiful of all sensations. Isa crept toward the tip again, slowly, wary of movement. She exclaimed “It begins!” as a clear drop of liquid appeared, a drop so small to Man but already enough to sate Isa or any one of her sisters. Eri redoubled her effort, fanning her wings, holding tight to the shaft, and, helpless to control herself, once more rocking her own flower against the Man, distracted, lost in her own pleasure and the fog of fantasy.
The Provider erupted. Isa knew well enough to be safely aside the direct path, else the powerful jet would have sent her flying. Eri shouted wordlessly in the midst of her own climax, loud only to Isa’s ears. Another spurt issued forth, a jet the width of a Isa’s arm and twice her length; splattering onto the Man’s skin it joined the first. One last dangerous emission, and then the Provider calmed, issuing its treasure forth in less fearsome gouts, one pulsing after the other.
Eri alit next to Isa. The two of them tumbled into the growing lake.
“So much!” Isa exclaimed in wonder.
“Did not I promise such?” replied Eri, and then could speak no more, for her face was plunged into the warm, spicy, fragrant, swirling pool of Provision, immersed to her ears.
The sisters rolled and played and giggled — they were young, with not a hundred children between them — and dipped and splashed and feasted until they could drink no more. Then Eri reached up to her head, and unbound her hair, leaning forward as she did.
In rolling waves her locks untwisted, tumbled, cascaded across her neck and over her shoulders, past the mounds of her breasts, past her flower, on beyond her knees and feet until, fully unfurled, Eri’s height and half again, it spread before her. Eri began to sweep her head from side to side, dragging her locks through the Provision, collecting it much as the hairs on a honeybee collect pollen from flowers.
Isa followed suit, also careful that her hair should fall forward and not foul her delicate wings. She too collected what she could: in the long tresses made for the purpose, of course, but also by dipping into the Provision and coating her face and body as much as she could. Every surface could carry Provision to her sisters, except for wings, on which it would not gather.
The Man was stirring. Some part of his mind was trying to wake him, to alert him that something was afoot. The Provider, in contrast, was starting to go back to sleep, diminishing and retreating from the Fairies even as it continued to ooze and drip.
There was more than they could carry. Eri was coated, glistening, laden with sodden, heavy, hair, full of the bounty they had earned; Isa was her twin. It pained them both to leave Provision behind, but any more and they could not get aloft.
With powerful, effortful wingbeats they rose. Flying erratically under such a burden, they made their way to the window; neither could manage a gliding exit, so they perched on the sill, climbed through the opening, and took off into the night.
They would be welcomed at home. Hundreds of their sisters would surround them, mouths eager and hungry, and kiss the Provision from Eri’s and Isa’s bodies. They flew toward that greeting with growing excitement. For the most erotic sensation a Fairy ever feels is the kiss of another.
And with this much Provision to go around, there would in due time be babies aplenty, each one to learn from her sisters how to seek and harvest the food of the Fairies.
He woke slowly, grudgingly, groping for his cell phone in the dark. Without opening his eyes he stroked the alarm into temporary silence, then dropped the phone on the bed and sighed. Morning? Already?
He scratched absently at an itchy spot. His fingers felt something dry and flaky; before he had fully grasped this they wandered farther and ran into a spot still wet and sticky.
He opened his eyes; snapped on a light; looked down. He groaned.
Another wet dream? What a mess. All over the place: on him, on the sheets. This was, what, four times in the last month? And all of a sudden, too, twenty years after such coming-of-age signs should have been behind him.
He sat up, blinking. He could not recall the night’s dream, nor any of the ones before. He had an impression, dim and unformed, of sex so good that it made his actual experience almost unpleasant by comparison. But of course that wasn’t possible.
“You need a girlfriend,” the Man said aloud, chiding himself at the mess.
He then forgot about it, busy with his day, until that night as he prepared for bed.
Maybe I just need more fresh air, he thought, and opened his bedroom window wide.
— Frenulum
