The Smut Goddess

What can I say about Vashti that hasn’t already been said? I am the only boy on the soccer team who does not have some filthy story to share about her. I am the only boy on the soccer team who has yet to convince a woman to give his penis the popsicle treatment. But I musn't get ahead of myself.

Vashtie is not even a girl, not the way some boys talk about her. Vashtie is a machine, like an ATM where you make a withdrawal. Vashtie is like a carnival ride, and everyone who has been on the ride comes out on the other side taunting those yet to come. Unlike most carnival rides however, there seems to be no height or age requirement, though the youngest guy to ever see the main attraction is a sophomore. The only thing Vashtie—the carnival ride, the machine, ATM—asks of you is that you bring your own condoms.

About that sophomore, his name is James Pinafore. He is tall, gangly and deathly thin. His elbows look like horns. His face is so bony it could be mistaken for a plate of armor. He has a younger brother with sickle cell anemia. Disease runs throughout his family. At the time, no one believed that James—tall, gangly, elbows like horns, face like a plate of armor, Pinafore— could convince any woman, even Vashtie, to spread her legs.

“We need proof!”

Oddly enough, James was prepared. He bent down and unzipped his backpack on the bench. Watching him kneel was like watching a lawn chair collapse. James stood up and produced a woman’s thong, pink with floral lacing. It dangled from the tip of his sharp fingers. Tony, our midfielder, snatched the panty and studied it.

He looked convinced. The thong had Vashtie’s scent but he was still a bit unsure. Kiowa, our best defender, took the thong and pressed it to his face. Kiowa was an expert on smelling things. He could even smell his own butt crack at all times.

Kiowa nodded his head. James Pinafore looked so proud he almost had tears in his eyes. A speech was in order so we gathered around him to hear the details. James Pinafore had a severe lisp and stuttering problem so after sifting through his five-minute speech only one sentence came out intelligibly, “…we had sex.”

Vashtie made the smut list obsolete. At first the smut list was a word of mouth thing, something that came up in conversation until it evolved into a written document. There were several copies, each with unique rankings authored by a different hand. Then Aaron Douglas, the most enterprising among us and also the senior class president, proposed that a universal smut list be written to “remove all debate and doubt”.

The disparate smut lists were consolidated and a new list was constructed through fair and honest proceedings. Names shuffled up and down the rankings but one remained solely at the top, Vashtie. Note that I have not provided her last name for fear that you may be tempted to research her. There are nearly 5,000 registered Vashtie’s in the sunshine state alone. Should you be able to identify this one in particular, I’d be very impressed.

The smut list was published on a Friday and distributed in a two-page leaflet, laden with SAT words such as ‘Labyrinthine’, ‘Tawdry’, and ‘Abstemious’. That was the work of Gregory Jennings. His father is a Harvard Alum.

The following Monday, a strange thing happened. Once all the girls in our school became aware of Vashtie’s complete and utter dominance as Queen Smut, they decided to rally against her by becoming coy and self-respecting. They demonstrated by burning their short skirts and backless halter-tops in the student parking lot. The next day each girl involved in the rally arrived on campus dressed conservatively. Some of the girls who had not taken part in the rally showed their solidarity by dressing in ways their parents would approve of. However, no one took it to the extreme of wearing robes and such.

Once news of the demonstration got around, Aaron Douglas made the executive decision to discard the universal smut list because the varsity athletes were furious about the newfound elegance in their girlfriends. Our school janitor came into every classroom with a recycling bin to collect the abundance of leaflets that had been printed. That afternoon, most of the girls who had taken part in the rally organized a shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret to celebrate.

It seemed that with each passing day, a new player on the varsity soccer team would arrive at practice with a sly grin, bubbling with news of “last night". It turned out that Vashtie had decided to strike back at the girls who rallied against her by becoming even more of a smut. She no longer wanted to be referred to as “Queen Smut” but rather as the “Smut Goddess.” Boys would arrive at practice and lift Vashtie’s panties out of their gym bags. When Kiowa wasn’t around to confirm, we had his younger brother do the sniffing. Apparently at some point in Kiowa’s family history they had been crossbred with bloodhounds in a bestiality experiment.

Soon Vashtie had been losing so many pairs of panties that she had been reportedly seen at the local supermarket buying thongs in bulk. I dreaded the inevitable day when I’d be the last player on the team to not have tasted Vashtie’s milkshake. Judging from the stories, Vashtie’s sexual habits were somewhere between a raging bull and a lame bird. Each consecutive story became even more descript and fanatical than the last. The analogies used stretched all imagination. It frightened me so much that I began to compose a story of my own in-order to spare myself the experience. Yet there was no beating Kiowa’s nose. Getting Vashtie’s dirty panties was my only salvation.

It was then that I contacted James Pinafore or rather I stopped him in the hallway and pulled him aside.

“I need Vashtie’s number.”

James smirked, but there was not enough skin on his face to performed it properly so it looked as if he was choking on something. I knew that James Pinafore was not choking on anything so I did not perform the Heimlich maneuver.

“Everything has a price,” James Pinafore said, tapping his open palm.

I placed my fist upon it, “Your life!”

James Pinafore folded like a leaf, not literally. I took down Vashtie’s number and texted her after my 3rd period class. She responded almost instantly with her home address and a time.

That evening, I visited my local convenience store for a box of condoms. I bought the most durable kind that had special coatings and layers. I did not intend to enjoy this experience. I also snagged a bag of chips to place over the box of condoms so that no one would see it. The store clerk was savvy to this trick. In fact, I recognized him as being one of the brighter students in my Calculus class. He scanned my items quickly and bagged them. Then he slapped me on the arm, “Good luck.”

The walk to Vashtie’s house took longer than expected. She lived on the affluent side of town where houses more resembled estates and it was difficult to see the house numbers from the edge of the front lawns. Eventually, after several wrong turns and flagging down a handful of joggers for directions, I came upon Vashtie’s home. It was quite lovely looking with a rose garden out front and a cobble stone walkway leading to the double door entrance.

I rang Vashtie’s doorbell and stepped back.

“Your late,” said a voice through the door.

“I got lost.”

“No worries.” The locks clicked and the door swung open to reveal Vashtie standing in the foyer. She was wearing a yellow chiffon dress with heels to match. She had dark hair that fell upon her shoulders in waves, olive skin, and soft features.

“Are you headed out?”

“Pick a color,” Vashtie said curtly.

“Red.”

Vashtie then reached into a laundry bin and produced a red lace thong, extending it toward me. “I’d charge you, but I don’t like handling money before dinner.”

I didn’t know what to say. I took the dirty panty and held it limply around my fingers. I was expecting an entirely different experience. I’d even taken time earlier that day to practice willing myself to orgasm in less than sixty seconds.

“That’s it?” I said looking up; the disappointment in my voice was bare and raw. I reached into my pocket to show Vashtie the condoms I’d bought.

“Oh, God no! Put those away. Come in.”

Vashtie led me through her house towards the dining room where her parents were poised to begin dinner.

“Join us!”

The meal was actually quite delicious. We ate lamb. The meat was seasoned and tender. Afterwards, Vashtie’s mother cut each of us a slice of cherry pie and we discussed international politics; the crisis in Libya, the fate of mineral deposits in the Congo, and Europe’s euro problem.

Throughout the meal Vashtie listened attentively, expertly cutting in to provide strong and educated opinions.

Just as the conversation came to a close Vashtie’s mother asked her,
“So dear, how is your business performing?”

“My business is going splendidly, mother. Money coming in, panties going out.”

Her father chuckled good naturedly, “Well, that’s good to hear honey. We know how much you hate to do laundry.”