A curiousity came into the town. Clad in the contrasting, comic colors of the vocation, the clownish creation approached the square unaware of current events and startling the socially-distanced crowd of adults.
"Come no closer, stranger," cautioned one of the younger women, Ameria by name, "for your own protection as well as our own." Truth be told, all the town's population held their own protection much more preciously than the safety of some buffoon blundering within their boundaries.
While Ameria spoke, the Harlequin maintained a forward pace, albeit more slowly, and truth be told, not out of self concern but to assure them that Ameria's warning had been heard.
"We are accursed, clown. Leave, whoever or whatever you are, you fool," threatened Ameria, and truth be told, those were the kindest, and loudest, words spoken toward, and to thwart the oncoming jester. Perhaps, it is time to describe the intruder a bit more and the locals,too, because the typical, ignorant mutterings marked too many male voices; while the female phonetic pronouncements voiced "What in the name of the gods?" and "Id'git" even "Is this one o'dem Rude Paul creatures?" Not with Ameria's brave volume, but hearable and hurtful, nonetheless.
The aforementioned Harlequin, neither hurt nor harmed, adorned in cap and tunic sporting squares of ebon and lily with stockings of black, actually could not be recognized by gender. This was due to the garb as well as size, demeanor, movement, and walk, or perhaps, gait of Humor's herald.' Conversely, the tremulous townfolk, trying to exude energy and brashness, actually had been for many years under an Evil Wizard's alleged, but long-standing curse: "You will not be able to embrace anyone, anytime, anywhere in the environs of your district, town, burgh, or you will be infected, invaded, infested with deadly boils, pimply pustules, fevers, fits, discharges of bile from all your bodily functioning holes, and the deadliest of deaths" which despite its ridiculous rash of redundancy ravaged the villagers; even the bold, brave, bazen, brash Ameria (oops, sorry for my own rash of redundancy). For them, any stranger, strange event, strange weather, or strange symptom was further evidence of the aforementioned, and, still evil Wizard and that foul fiend's fouler fulmination (okay, the last word, while alliterative, is not precise, but foolish stories have foolish storytellers).
Despite their warnings and deprecations, undaunted or foolish, our fool advanced foot by foot. "Oh, hurting humans, I am here to help, heal, humor, and hug," Thus, spake the Harlequin, how else but happily?
That was the tipping point for those tied to testosterone, but the basso voices tended to diminish due to 'extra-social' distance placed between them and the dim-witted, or sexually threatening court comic. For the he-men, half of the Harlequin's 'h' words heralded only homophobia or hatred, whichever is more horrendous or hilarious. Yet, the women, and those are are womanly, who are the world's warriors, remained in the square, whether due to nature, nuture, depravity, deprivation, sensitivity, sensuality, curiousity, or concupiscence.
"We fear half of your offerings, Harlequin, whatever or whoever you be." Ameria berated herself for those words since she herself was attracted by the opportunity for a hug, healing, and happiness, and yes, damnit sex. Her full bodied neighbors and friends felt the same, with only slight variances of fear, sexual wantonness, deviance, foolishness, fun, and frolicking.
"The alleged curse, like all curses, was uttered in hate, fear, or ignorance; it can be lifted, lightened, and licked by love, courage, and hope." These hortative words of the Harlequin were enhanced by hands hastening to hold and be held, hug and be hugged. "But I can only offer to do my part; for healing is only half supplied by the healer, and more by the healed. A hug is never completed until made whole by another hug."
Needless to say, the few feminine ones, who did not gasp, emitted gratuitous groans of needed carnal completion to satisfy their voluptuousness. All even hoped for happy hugs (with kisses too, if ever possible) with spouses who had been untouched since the hurling of the verbal missile. Each woman unconsciously leaned forward to the sensation of sensual, sexual surrender, or more, in the hold of the Harlequin.
Suddenly, our strong willed and decisive Ameria found herself passed by her kins-women who rushed forward. Not only the boldest, but the quickest of them, even swift Ameria could not overcome their headstart and their collective desires to be the first hugged.
The happy Harlequin recognized no looks of harm in the hurrying horde, and surrendered a hug wider than any arms could hold. Imagine pairs, and those french-threesomes, cubed exponentially--was their any singular embrace emanating from the Harlequin? Each holding seemed to be commingled with innumerable others, though each woman experienced a singularity of warmth and caresses. All achieved and all experienced clitoral climaxes; though some blushed in the realization while others reveled in the depth of desire and the desire to peak again and again and again. Each woman climaxed repeatedly as the Harlequin hugged happily. Each woman hugged happily as the Harlequin climaxed repeatedly.
Did this lust-full-filling moment last the an instant or for hours? No one knew. They knew only that they felt 'lush-ciously' liberated, amazingly alive, and fully feminine. Had there even been a curse? No one could think of anything so mundane when all the delicious opportunities of frolicing, frivolousness, fun, fingering, etc. had been reawakened. They embraced each other completely, without consciousness of any differences--there simply were no 'Others' and no 'Othering' either and ever.
A single curiousity remained: not one of these wonderful, wise, wanton, warrior women could ever discern the gender of the Harlequin, but did it even matter? Not to them.
So, if that curiosity has remained with you, my womanly or woman-loving, reader, know that the Harlequin did not remain with them. Silly, isn't it? Foolish, isn't it? Fabulous, too?
Finis. And, if a moral is warranted, try this: Should one 'hail' a Harlequin? 'Hail' yeah, and hug one too.
