“I can’t believe my mom invited my cousins to my birthday party. And a fucking magician? That’s so lame. Doesn’t he look like a creep, too?”
He must have overheard me say this to my friends. Why else would he have taken it out on me like that? Maybe if I had kept my mouth shut, my stomach wouldn’t be full of his cum right now. Gulp.
I was wearing a grey skirt and a black sweater, the bare minimum of fanciness for mom to stop asking me to change into “something nice” and just ask me to “play with my cousins” instead, which was almost worse. There was a point in the afternoon when I was looking forward to the magician so he could keep my cousins occupied while I snuck out into another room with my friends. But he caught me just as I was leaving.
“Is there a birthday girl in the audience?” he asked the twenty-or-so people crammed into the living room. He was the embodiment of cringe in his cape and top hat. If you have to be a magician, at least try to be a cool magician.
I rolled my eyes before turning around, and put on a fake smile.
“Wow, you’re easy on the eyes. How old are you? Wait, don’t tell me. If I don’t know, I can’t get in trouble.”
This inappropriate joke, made more pathetic because he was like thirty, got way too many laughs from the boomers in the room.
“Hey, didn’t I see you get out of a clown car earlier? What were you doing with a bunch of pervy clowns?”
I didn’t know where his joke was going so I just kind of winced through my painted smile and let him embarrass himself.
“Sorry, it was probably someone else. That chick flashed me her pussy when she got out of the car and you don’t seem like the kind of girl who would go out there with a short skirt and no underwear. Although… your skirt is pretty short, isn’t it?”
What the hell? I was still reeling from his pitiful crowd work that included the word “pussy” when I realized my thighs were cold. Did my skirt shrink? I don’t even own anything close to that length.
“Tell you what, let’s just… let’s just settle this once and for all,” the bastard said before flicking up my skirt in front of my uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and parents.
“Nora!” my mom exclaimed at the sight of my hairless slit, directing her outrage to the wrong person, as usual.
“I was wearing underwear, I swear,” I yelled over the murmurs and giggles.
“Did you have a quickie with anyone at this party?” The magician yelled way too close to my ear. “Maybe they have them. Can everyone check their pockets, please?”
Before I could set the record straight (I certainly did not have a “quickie” with anyone today, or ever), my uncle Stan gleefully yelled out “I got ’em, I got ’em” and got up while twirling white panties around his finger. If they weren’t mine they were a damn good replica.
“Oh my, now we know these two aren’t playing checkers when they’re alone in her bedroom,” the magician said.
I couldn’t raise my voice high enough over the laughter to tell my mom this was all an awful joke completely out of line. Even if she believed it, why would she be pissed at me instead of Uncle Stan?
“Ahem, Nora. That’s your name, right?” The magician put his hand by his mouth as if whispering a secret in my ears but he said it loud enough for all to hear. “Nora, you got a little something dangling out your mini-skirt. Or is it called a micro skirt when the butt shows?”
I couldn’t believe it. My skirt had shrunk to stripper size and, if anything could be more traumatizing than that, a yellow silk handkerchief was trailing out of my butthole.
“Is that what you were doing with these clowns? Is your butt full of clown semen?” There was the clown punch line. And when he started pulling, the handkerchief was tied to another colorful one, and another, and another. This was the moment when true terror took over me. The moment I understood this wasn’t just some skilled pervert but a being of supernatural power. He could have easily been pulling the handkerchiefs from his palm, which is what the audience probably believed. But no, they were coming from somewhere deep. Hundreds, thousands, I could feel them in my guts.
The crowd was loving the show and doubled in laughter when I tried to scream and a string of handkerchiefs retched out of my mouth instead.
“Nora, how much did you clown around today? Hey, you with the panties, Come give me a hand.”
Uncle Stan bumped his belly against my friends on his way to the rainbow-colored piles. His face was red and his breathing heavy. If he died of a heart attack on his way to the makeshift stage, it would still have been the best day of his life. He was told to pull handkerchiefs from my mouth, which he happily did until he hit a snag. The joke, though my digestive system didn’t think it was a joke, was that the rope of cloth ran from ass all the way to mouth.
Uncle Stan and the magician played tug of war with my insides for a while, ignoring my gags and tears. My family and friends loved it. Before the joke got stale, the magician untied a knot on his side and let Uncle Stan continue to pull a body’s length of cloths from my throat.
“Let’s see what else is in there,” the magician said before sticking a few inquisitive fingers in the hole once my butt swallowed up the last handkerchief.
He wasn’t satisfied with two, three, or even four fingers. I wanted to tell them all that his hand was really digging up my rectum, that this sexual assault was not fake in any way, but it came out in gargles; Uncle Stan wasn’t done yanking the colorful string from my mouth. All I could do was spread my buttcheeks apart so that the hand inside would hurt a little less.
“I feel something metallic in there. A watch, maybe? Do you usually wear a watch?” he asked Uncle Stan.
“My Rolex… My Rolex is gone,” Uncle Stan said, still just happy to be involved even with an eight-thousand dollar watch missing.
“Maybe you can get it out since your hand’s been inside little peach before.” The magician extracted his hand from my butt, leaving it throbbing and gaped.
“Really? I put my hand in there?”
No, Uncle Stan, what the fuck are you even thinking? But all it took was a smile and a nod from the magician for him to pinch his fat fingers and drive them through my tender rim. While that was happening, I had taken over tugging miles of handkerchief, desperate to free my throat.
“Keep going, it was much deeper than that,” the magician would say whenever my uncle got squeamish.
Uncle Stan’s hand reached the end of my descending colons, his forearm up to the elbow in my butt but still no watch. His fingers were searching around the bend. I should have lifted my shirt to let everyone see the very real bulge.
“Oh well, guess I was wrong.”
Spoilers. I knew how the rest of the trick went before anyone else because Uncle Stan’s wrist spawned a ticking metal ring with nobs. I clenched my teeth on a bundle of cloth to stop me from biting my tongue as he laboriously pulled his fat arm out of my rectum with an oversized watch on the wrist, which he only noticed once it was out and covered in my mucus. He was ecstatic.
“Did anyone else leave anything in little Nora’s butt? Because this is getting ridiculous, I haven’t had time to do a magic trick yet. Think carefully. Papa, no? OK, let’s do a simple card trick. Nora, if you can think of anything other than clown cocks, try to think of a card. Any card.”
I had just pulled the last handkerchief out of my throat and was gasping for air. I wasn’t thinking of no damn card.
“OK, keep thinking of your card. Now I have an important question for you, Nora, my lovely assistant. We all know how much you like it in the bum, but are you technically a virgin?”
I was, but I had to think whether that was the right answer. I caught my mom’s glare and had to say yes even though I dreaded the implications.
“So, it’s fair to say that the most amazingly impossible place for your card to appear would be… IN YOUR UTERUS!”
As he dramatically announced the prestige, my shirt and the tiny leftover of skirt were ripped off of my body like from a powerful vacuum behind my back. I was naked in front of everyone, and they were gasping. Not ‘let’s call the police’ gasps, ‘Wow, what a show’ gasps.
“Sir, if you would do the honors,” the magician called on Uncle Sam again instead of anyone with smaller hands.
He did me the kindness of using his watchless hand, but still, losing your virginity to your uncle’s fist in front of your loved ones was not the special moment I imagined. I hope it was magic that stopped me from fighting or running otherwise I’d never be able to forgive myself. Uncle Stan’s fingers tore through my hymen, stretched my birth canal, and wore my vulva as an armband while he fingered my cervix, feeling the edge of a piece of cardboard inside.
After a good ten minutes of spelunking and with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on a person, he pulled his red arm out, the Queen of Hearts between two fingers.
“Is this your card?!” the magician asked me. I nodded. They clapped. Being fisted is exhausting; I just wanted the show to end.
I was sitting on a chair in the living room legs crossed, covering my breasts, waiting for the last guests to leave so I could run to my room and lock the door forever, but that psychopath wasn’t done with me.
“Hey, pretty amazing stuff, huh? I was just thinking…” he kneeled down next to my chair and my skin crawled. “…maybe we can go catch a movie together this weekend?”
I should have said yes. I should have let him use me until he got bored and moved on to another birthday girl. I should have seen the signs of childish entitlement that comes with terrible power. But I just wanted him gone. I shook my head no.
“Well… you’re an ugly dumb bitch anyway. Enjoy the taste of my cum in your mouth for the rest of your life.”
A snap of his fingers and foul-tasting jelly seeped onto my tongue. I had to eventually swallow not to drown it in and as I felt the bitter oyster sauce slime down my throat, a new batch was already filling the void it left in my mouth. It’s been like this ever since. My saliva is his cum. Ta-da! Great trick. Fuck my life.