Henry Higgins was a well-known writer. Well, I should say he was as well-known a writer as writers of pornography go. His tales occupied the pages of every adult magazine in the business - sometimes two or three in different magazines the same month. Henry’s writing always came from experience. In the name of "research", he’d go out and have sex with six different women every day. And never the same woman twice, as he never wanted to deal with raising a kid. It would have cramped Henry’s style. Everything about his character, his personality, even his appearance, was dripping with sleaziness. But none of his fans had any idea of this.
Of course, the ladies knew, but Henry was unstoppable. They could accuse him of rape all they wanted, but no matter how good a case they had, he couldn’t be convicted. Either some male lawyer or the male judge would always be impressed at his ability to bag women and let him off the hook. And he was so good at using aliases, disguises, and fake ID’s that the five women he’d managed to knock up were never able to catch up to him. "Henry Higgins" wasn’t even his real name; nobody knew what it was. Even Henry couldn’t remember; he’d changed it so many times. But Henry Higgins was his pen name nevertheless, and his readers identified his raunchy screw-the-cunts-and-forget-them style, just like Henry’s own sex life. He knew that, as he was approaching 55, he couldn’t keep this us forever, but he was determined to die trying.
One fateful day, Henry was working on his latest tale, "The Nitty-Gritty of Sex," about two women named Holly and Jolly whose chests expanded to ridiculousness and become uncontrollably horny after eating a bowlful of enchanted hominy grits. (Pretty stupid, but then again, so were most of Henry’s tales.) But as the sex scene was driving to a climax (Henry couldn’t help chuckle to himself while thinking about that), he couldn’t decide how to end the tale. Of course, the guy Fred would just leave the ladies to stew in their own sexual juices, but the exact words eluded his mind. Henry was under a major deadline to finish this story in only three days. This was about the worst possible time for him to develop writers’ block. His body didn’t feel up to another bout of "research" now, so he decided to visit the nearby mall and see what was available.
As soon as he entered, Henry saw IT. A mysterious wooden shop that looked quaintly old-fashioned. What was it doing in a modern place like this? He walked over towards the odd place that called itself "Spells R Us", determined to figure this one out. Inside the door, he saw a lovely young lady with long blonde hair, sizable breasts, a beautiful body, and a pleasing face. Henry was tempted to ask her for a "research" session with him, but the scowl ruining her otherwise perfect face made it clear she wouldn’t be giving him any.
Determined to help the customer (after all, they’re always right), Dannie turned her frown upside down and asked him, "Hello, Henry. What do you want to buy from us?"
Henry was startled she knew his name. "How did you..."
"Long story short, Henry, I’m a wizard-in-training. Knowing your name was the least of my still-meager abilities. Now I know you have a bad case of writers’ block, so I think I’ll sell you this." She pulled a pink inkwell from behind the counter. "This will let you finish your problem. Just finish your tale, and your story will be done. You won’t even need to edit or proofread it; the magic will take care of that for you. After that, you’ll be on your own, but I think you’ll be able to crank out further stories quickly."
Henry thought about this, and readily agreed. Now he could finish quickly, under the deadline, and do the other two stories required of him during the upcoming month. And if the broad was right, he’d be able to do a lot more "research" from now on... "Okay, dearie. How much do I pay?"
"That’ll be two thousand dollars, please."
"TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS? Isn’t that a bit steep?"
"Oh, but I know you can afford it. You’re worth millions. And this isn’t just any old spell. It’s quite powerful. Plus, my supervisor had to travel to another dimension to capture the dragon scales, centaur blood, and unicorn tears necessary for this baby. Do you know how much inter-dimensional travel adds to your life and car insurance?"
Henry was stunned she knew how wealthy he was, and it just now occurred to him that she’d also known about his writers’ block, not to mention his use of old-fashioned quill and ink. And he’d hardly said anything! Maybe there was something to this magic stuff after all. And if she was wrong about its abilities, what was the worst that could happen to him? He’s just out two thousand bucks, no big deal. "Alright. Here you go." He wrote out a check for the twenty grand, and took the inkwell home with him. He thought he saw a twinkle of vengeful happiness in Dannie’s eyes when he left, but it was no big deal.
Once he got home, Henry headed straight for his desk and opened the inkwell. As Henry dipped his quill into the inkwell, he felt ideas rush through his head. So many ideas ran through his head, he wasn’t sure which one to use. After thinking for a few minutes, he wrote that final paragraph:
"Holly and Jolly were startled that they’d shared the same man. Immediately, they snapped out of their uncontrolled carnality, and made Fred choose between the two of them. After thinking it over, he settled on Holly. They got married, making sure to hold back any more physical expression of their love for each other until the honeymoon. They had five wonderful kids, each of whom grew up to be an outstanding member of society. And Fred gracefully paid for breast reduction surgery for both ladies. THE END."
"WHAT?!" Fred screamed. As soon as he put the quill down and read his final paragraph, he couldn’t believe he’d just written that. Him, Henry Higgins, the raunchiest, filthiest, most chauvinistic XXX-rated writer in the business! He prepared to tear the sheet holding those words, which seemed to be mocking his very being and ability as a writer. But just as the tearing sound reached his ears, Henry saw sparks flying out of the paper and into his body. He felt like his body was being electrocuted, and Henry Higgins passed out.
When Henry awoke, he was surprised he was still alive. He also didn’t recognize his surroundings. His house was full of warmly-colored furniture. The rooms were large and spacious, and the furniture looked like genuine antiques. Everything was in high taste, totally unlike his old house. As he got up, he felt something funny in his body. Henry looked down and saw--- BREASTS! Rather small ones, but definitely now the kind a man would have. Paranoid, he removed his Victorian dress, complete with lacy bras and satiny knickers. Underneath, he saw the shapely body of a woman in her early thirties. He couldn’t believe his eyes, until he felt his body around. It was real, all right. Confused, the newly-minted female decided to masturbate, until she was startled by a sound from the distance.
"Madam, this behavior is not becoming of you. After all, Honey Love is a high-class, old-fashioned sort of person." It was a gentleman in a formal tuxedo, carrying a silver tray holding a bottle of champagne. A towel was wrapped around his wrist, and a cummerbund was attached to his waist. The black bow tie, the clean white shirt, the shiny black loafers, the balding head, the snootily-raised nose - there was no question about it, he was her butler.
Honey could only stare at him in disbelief, until she felt a strange series of thoughts cloud her mind. Memories of things Henry would never have done, and beliefs Henry would never have held. As soon as she was able to think straight, she replied in a high-class British accent, "Of course, Philbot. I would never do anything as undignified as that. Now fetch me a wine glass for my daily glass of champagne."
"Very good, Madam." Philbot left her bedroom, and promptly returned with the wine glass Honey had asked for. Honey Bid him good-day and dismissed him. She got up into her Victorian-era poster bed, and sipped the glass of bubbly. Afterwards, her new light-headed state allowed Henry to get back to work. Being the world’s foremost romance novelist is never easy.
In a shop back at the States, an old man in a frayed bathrobe asked his beautiful blonde-haired assistant, "Well, how’d it go?"
"Perfect! I watched the whole transformation on my crystal ball. I’d heard all about Henry Higgins and his ham-headed ways from one of my best friends. She’d been subjected to his ‘research’. That’s what he called going up to a beautiful young lady, raping her, and running away never to see her again. That guy didn’t deserve the money he got from those stupid, sleazy stories. But now he’ll never mess with my kind again!"
"Good work, Dannie. There may be hope for you yet." The old man returned to the back of his shop to check the inventory.
Dannie just wistfully smiled and said, "So long, Henry Higgins. Long live Honey Love."
THE END
Dedicated to the memory of Barbara Cartland (1901-2000)
© 2000
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