Once upon a silly time, there was an Elfboy that lived all alone with his father in a big, ironic forest called Smirkwood. The father was a bit of a nutter and believed he was a king. All day he would walk around making royal proclamations to the squirrels and generally embarrassing the crap out of his son. The Elfboy's name was Smegolas, and he'd always thought that with just a little bit of luck, he could go far away from the murky woods and live in style in a big city like the ones they had in Bakdor.

You see, Legolas the Elfboy was blessed with great beauty: smooth skin with the luster of pearls, long silken hair like strands of moonlight, limpid eyes as blue as heaven, and a body that wouldn't quit. He was quite sure he should be reclining on a bed of satin instead of grubbing in the forest and eating acorn stew for breakfast, lunch and dinner. All of his thoughts were bent toward finding a stepping-stone out of his exile in the Murkywood Trailer Court, and he never gave in to temptation with other Elfboys and Elfgirls, because he was saving himself for someone special, someone with cash and unlimited credit.

One day as the Elfboy was out foraging for road apples, he strayed into the forbidden zone. This corner of the forest butted right up against the Desperately Lonely Mountain and was a bleak and gloomy place with a damp, heavily sighing wind that slouched furtively through the bare, cringing branches of the stunted trees. In the darkest part of all was a cave that was said to be home to a Dwarf, the hairiest, smelliest, ugliest Dwarf to ever pop out of a hole in the ground. A Dwarf so black of heart that he didn't recycle, used the car pool lane when he was alone and stopped cold every chain letter ever sent to him. A Dwarf so evil, he out-evilled all the other horrid, evil Dwarves by a zillion to one, and everyone knew that Dwarves were the most evil of all the evil creatures of Middle-Sized Earth.

Smegolas was about to turn around and get his shapely butt back across the border when he heard singing. At least, he figured it was singing. It sounded like a pig being put through a wringer, but the Elfboy recognized the melody of the ancient ballad "We're In the Money". Taking it as a sign, because the leave doesn't fall far from the mallorn, if you get my drift, Smegolas pulled his shining locks back with a scrunchy and followed the braying deeper into the rising gorge. The greasy bread-and-butterflies he swatted away were immediately replaced by a flock of black-and-bluebirds that came out of nowhere. 'Why do birds suddenly appear?' the Elfboy wondered in irritation, as he shooed the birds that kept trying to sit on his shoulder. Shrugging madly, he pressed on, penetrating deep into the bush.

Smegolas finally reached the clearing in front of the cave and beheld a little man in a boat. On second glance, it was a Dwarf in a bathtub, but this is that kind of story, you know, the kind with lame double entendres inserted at every opportunity. The Dwarf wasn't actually taking a bath; it was common knowledge that Dwarves didn't bathe in the traditional sense. However, Dwarves did fill bathtubs with their mithril and lay around in it for hours at a time. Which is exactly what this Dwarf was doing, and he had so much mithril that it was running over the sides in glittering rivulets. The Elfboy's mouth fell open at the sight of all this wealth, and a great desire grew in him to possess some of it. The Dwarf had so much; surely he could spare a little to enable Smegolas to buy a ticket on a Greyhaven bus out of this backwater burg.

"Oy! What are ya doin' in the bushes there? Would ya be spyin' on me, now? Tryin' t' get a wee peek at me willie?"

Smegolas reeled back as the Dwarf rose to his feet in all his hirsute glory. There were not more than a few square inches of skin around his eyes that wasn't covered with a mat of coppery hair and his limbs were knotted and bulging with muscle like the roots of a mighty oak. Though the Dwarf was stark naked, he kept his modesty for nothing of his Dwarfhood could be seen through the macramé screen of ginger curls at his crotch. For a moment, the Elfboy feared he'd go blind, and then he feared he wouldn't, as the gnarled creature grabbed his crotch and pumped his hips several times in Smegolas's general vicinity.

"Come on out then, darlin', and look your fill," the Dwarf challenged. "But ya better not be after me lucky charms."

"Top o' the mornin'," Smegolas said in Dwarvish, as he stepped from hiding.

"Don't strain yourself, laddie. I speak Elvish, and you are a total SILF."

"SILF?"

"Sindar I'd Like to Fuck," the Dwarf translated.

"You flatter me," Smegolas said, with a discreet roll of his eyes. "Say, I was wondering, where did you get all that mithril?"

"It's mine!" the Dwarf bellowed.

"Yes, obviously this mithril is yours, but where did you get it?"

"Why do you wanna know?" the Dwarf asked. "Elves don't care about mithril, just the pretty, shiny things we make out of it. Like this cock ring."

The Elfboy blinked, as the Dwarf hauled out what he alleged was a cock. To Smegolas, it looked more like a Balhog kielbasa with varicose veins. Then the Elfboy's eyes were captured by the gleam of the polished metal and the exquisite design of the cock ring. Nasty, evil, and smelly they might be, but no one had bling like the Dwarves. Of its own volition, Smegolas's hand crept toward the expensive piece of erotic hardware, but he stopped short and drew back.

"Very nice," he said. "Bet it's worth a bundle."

"You've got a one track mind, laddie. So it's mithril you're wantin'. Well, I can show ya how to get it, but ya must do somethin' for me in return."

"I'm not going into that cave with you."

The Dwarf laughed. "You're awful picky t' be so greedy," he said. "But I can't say no to a hottie, so I'll show you the secret of acquiring mithril."

"Oh goody," Smegolas clapped his hands. "Will it take long?"

"Long?" the Dwarf repeated. "Oh yes, laddie, long and hard. Don't turn up your pretty nose; I've a clothespin you can use if you need it. Now come over here and kneel before me."

"I don't like the sound of this."

"It's up to you. Do you want the mithril or not?"

"What's your price?"

"Your firstborn."

Smegolas stared at the Dwarf. "Let me make sure I understand you," he said. "You'll teach me how to get mithril in exchange for any child I might have?"

"Your first child."

Smegolas smirked. What a stupid Dwarf! Couldn't he see that Smegolas was a boy Elf? Though Smegolas knew it was never a good idea to make a bargain with a strange Dwarf in a dark part of the forest, he really did want the mithril, and since he couldn't have children, he had nothing to lose. Holding his breath, the Elfboy got on his knees in front of the Dwarf and was taught the mysteries of parting Men from their mithril. The Dwarf stroked himself as he whispered the secret methods of conjuring wealth using naught but hands and tongue. As the last word left his lips, the Dwarf came all over the Elfboy's face. Smegolas leapt to his feet with a shriek of outrage and stalked away in a snit.

"Don't forget," the Dwarf called after the sulking Elf. "You owe me."

"I asked for mithril, not a pearl necklace," Smegolas huffed. "And I'm a guy, idiot."

"Says you," the Dwarf muttered, ogling the Sindar's buttocks until they were out of sight.

X: :X: :X: :X: :X:

Not long after the Elfboy's fateful meeting with the Dwarf, the newly crowned King of Bakdor, Lord of the Rest, Cellardor's Heir, Wielder of the Sword That Was Broken and Mended with Duct Tape and Super Glue, Guardian of the Cum White Tree and bearer of the secret handshake went riding near the edge of the Murkywood. It was a pretty long way to go for an outing, but we have to get him and Smegolas together somehow. Anyway, the young King Arrogant was riding with his posse when he beheld a dazed man staggering from the eaves of the forest.

"What has befallen you?" Arrogant asked. "And lace up your britches when you talk to me."

The man didn't answer beyond the wide smile that seemed permanently affixed to his face. Upon examination, it was learned that the stranger had been robbed of all his mithril.

"I will go into the woods and apprehend the brigands," Arrogant declared, because he was one of those people that are always announcing what they're about to do.

Because this is a fairy tale, the king went into the forest alone while his knights played mumbletypeg by the road. He came to a clearing with the requisite shafts of sunlight spending their gold on the mossy forest floor and beheld the most enchanting sight. A beautiful Elf sat upon the bank of a silvery pool, braiding hair like starlight as the words of an ancient Elvish lay filled the air.

"If you want it, here it is; come and get it. You better hurry 'cause it's goin' fast."

Arrogant dismounted and walked closer, led by the magical sound. "Forgive me for intruding," he said with a bow. "I am Arrogant, King of Bakdor, and I am in pursuit of a thief, but I could not pass by without telling you how beautiful…"

"Twenty pieces of mithril," Smegolas, for it was indeed the Elfboy, interrupted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Twenty mithril pieces for your basic hoover action," the Elfboy elaborated. "If you want me to put my finger in your bum, that's extra."

"Your finger… in my…" Arrogant's words failed him.

"A bit shy, are we?" Smegolas said, reaching for the laces of the king's leggings.

In a trice, Arrogant's codpiece was ripped open, his breeches were around his ankles, and the head of his cock was disappearing between the Elf's sweet lips. The man's knees trembled at the first touch of the teasing tongue for he was not used to caresses of this sort. He was undone by the Elf's skillful fondling and when the lissome creature spoke it was as though the man woke from a dream.

"I'd like to see the color of your mithril before we go on."

"Mithril?" Arrogant repeated.

"Yes, mithril. Like that pretty pointy circlet 'round your head. Hang on a minute; did you say you were a king?"

"I am Cellardor's Heir, Lord of the Rest, Wielder of…" Arrogant paused as the Elf began tapping his foot. "King of Bakdor," he finished lamely.

"Bakdor!" the Elfboy squealed. "You're from Bakdor! I'll bet it's wonderful! It's wonderful, isn't it? Tell me all about it!"

"Gladly, fair one. Do you think we might, um, finish what we started while I talk?"

"Absolutely, and don't worry about the coins. This is a freebie. On the house."

"That is most kind of… ohhhhhh," Arrogant's voice trailed off in a blissful groan as Smegolas deployed all the tricks taught to him by the Dwarf.

"Shazam!" the king exclaimed in ancient Numenorean as he crested. Never had he known such pleasure. And he was not about to let the provider of it get away. "You must come with me to Bakdor," he said.

"I'd love to, of course," Smegolas played it cool. "But what would be the nature of our relationship there?"

"Well, um, I was kind of hoping it would be our little secret. I'm supposed to marry the daughter of Lord L. Rond Hubbard, but I was thinking you could have your own quarters near the palace, and I could visit you when I have time."

"I see," said Smegolas, not liking the sound of this for indeed it did paint him in the colors of a cheap strumpet and put him in the second fiddle chair. "No thanks."

"No thanks?" Arrogant could not believe his ears.

"No thanks," the Elfboy affirmed primly, and repeated his refusal in three other languages.

"I guess another toot on the horn of Bakdor is out of the question then?"

"Fraid so. Too bad. You're a real looker and that's the nicest cock I've ever seen on a Man, and believe me, I've seen every one that's swung by the Murkywood."

Fine beads of sweat broke out on Arrogant's upper lip, but his choice had been made when the Elfboy's lips first touched his scepter. "I'll marry you," he blurted out.

"You do realize I'm a male Elf," Smegolas said, wondering why he had to keep pointing out this fact to all and sundry.

"We'll work it out somehow," Arrogant said. "Right now my balls are turning as blue as my deep blue eyes."

"I'd like something a little… firmer," the Elfboy said as he grabbed the man's staff again.

The king gazed down on the most perfect pair of DSL* he'd ever wet-dreamed of just a breath away from his aching arousal. "You will be my queen," he promised, slipping the cock ring of Barelyhir from his impressive girth and offering it to the Elf.

"Now you're talkin'," Smegolas said, putting the ring around his wrist like a bracelet. "Let's get your royal rocks off one more time, my husband to be who shall surely wish to share half of all he owns with his beloved."

"You bet," Arrogant said. "I'll wait while you pack."

"I'm good to go," Smegolas said, producing a pizza and a beer out of thin air.

"You are the booty call every man dreams of," Arrogant said, as he lifted the Elfboy to the saddle of his charger. "I'm just glad mumsy and daddums aren't around to give us grief."

* Dick Sucking Lips

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The people of Bakdor were a little surprised to say the least at their ruler's choice of consort, but they weren't really all that interested in the government, in fact, voting was way down in the last two hundred years, but that might have been because there were no elections. At any rate, the folk of the Off-White City took the Elfboy to their bosom and let him suckle at the mild and honey of… Milk and honey? What a dumbass analogy; I'm stopping it right here. So… Arrogant was more than happy with his choice and after a few weeks, Smegolas found to his wonderment that he returned the human's feelings. He was really and truly in love with this man and it seemed that he was living his dream: wealthy, adored and immortal, what could possibly go wrong?

Well, one morning, Smegolas woke up feeling queasy, and the next morning, and the next, until Arrogant began to worry about his beloved's legendary lack of a gag reflex. The Healers were sent for, conducted their examination, and rendered their diagnosis. The Elfboy had a bun in the oven; he was in the family way, preggers, knocked up. Arrogant rejoiced and Smegolas did as well, until he remembered his bargain.

'Oh well, never mind,' he thought. 'It's not as if that wretched Dwarf knows I'm preggo, or could ever find me here.'

The pregnancy was hard on Smegolas. For one thing, it was eleven months long, rather than the nine that humans got away with. He got fat even though he was puking all the time and Arrogant developed an aversion to anything more arousing than a quick cuddle and a shot of Bakdor's best down the Elfboy's swanlike throat. The king assured Smegolas that he was beloved, but that did nothing to ease the Elfboy's itch. Smegolas was horny and none of the cunning Dwarf-made dildos presented to him as a wedding gift could satisfy him anymore. One morning, simmering with frustration, he waddled to the balcony of his bower, rubbing absently against a gargoyle as he gazed down on the Off-White City.

Accompanied by a long, two-note whistle, a message was shouted up at Bakdor's queen. "Yo, foxy mama!"

Smegolas looked down and his mouth began to water. It was the totally hot son of Bakdor's Stewardess, not the one that sulked off to play Robin Hood in the woods, but the one with the perpetual reddish stubble and the swagger that said he claimed everything that found favor in his eyes, not too bright maybe, but a man with a capital M. Smegolas's Elfhood stood up and suggested inviting the captain in for a cup of mead. 'Good idea,' the Elfboy's bigger brain agreed, already sending a signal to the fingers to make a beckoning motion.

However, when Smegolas threw open the doors of his chamber, it was not the wolfishly handsome captain that capered in. It was the Dwarf of the Desperately Lonely Mountain who promptly doffed his insanely clever disguise and did a merry little jig around the Elfboy's rotund figure. "Mine, mine, mine," the Dwarf chanted rather single-mindedly until he spun to a stop trailing noxious fumes of B.O that would drop a Warg in its tracks. "Give me the baby."

"Oh good," the Elfboy said, sitting down to ease the strain on his aching back. "Could you take it now, please?"

"No, you have to give it over, laddie."

"Dragon shit. Listen, short stuff, it's true that you taught me the secrets of holding two balls in my mouth at once, how to take a man's full length without gagging, and the place inside that makes a male's eyes roll back in his head, but I'm thinking I could have learned all that on my own. Maybe I even knew it already."

"Goin' back on our bargain, are ya? I wouldn't advise it, ya pointy-eared navel-gazer. No one holds a grudge like a Dwarf."

"I'm not wimping out; I just think a whole baby is a bit steep."

"Well, we canna parcel out the little darlin'."

"What do you even want a baby for anyway?"

"I don't have to tell ya anythin', bucko. After the child is born, meet me in the place where the bargain was made."

"Maybe I won't. You don't know my Man. My baby daddy will put his foot so far up your wrinkled ass you'll be chewing on his shoelaces."

"Do you really want him to know about your past?" the Dwarf leered.

"He knows, and he doesn't care."

"About all the men, sure, but what about me? Ay? Ya really think he'll look at ya the same way after he knows we had a thing?"

"We did not have a thing! Get out and take your stench with you!"

"I'm goin', but don't forget our bargain."

"Wait! There must be some way to buy you off. Name your price."

"I have all the wealth I desire. If you'd come across with a wee bait o' nookie, I'd not be sayin' no, but otherwise, you've got nothin' I want."

"Oh come on. How about if you give me a riddle to guess? Dwarves are always doing things like that, aren't they?"

"I don't see why I should. We made a deal, but I can't resist your pretty face. All right then, if ya can guess my name before we meet again, the deal's off and ya owe me nothin'."

"Done," Smegolas said, thinking, 'How hard could it be?'

It was hard. Take the hardest thing in the world and make it ten times harder and you'd be getting close to how hard it was. In fact, it was impossible. No one knew the Dwarf's name. No one even knew the Dwarf, period. As Smegolas went into labor, attended by his father who had always told him to be careful with the boys and not to get pregnant, which the Elfboy assumed was just another mad figment of the old coot's mind, but he knew better now, he was plagued by worry that the Dwarf would appear and demand the child. When it didn't happen, Smegolas made a list of the most common Dwarvish names, packed a diaper bag, and set out for the Desperately Lonely Mountain. It's a fairy tale, so no one noticed when he left the city with the infant in tow.

The Elfboy, who had recently started listening to his dad's mad ramblings, left his baby in the care of a reliable looking holly (Elves have used trees as nannies for simply eons, didn't you know, dahling?) and crept toward the Dwarf's cave. Just as Smegolas's father had predicted, the lumpy little man was doing a soft-shoe in the tub of mithril, roaring a Dwarvish marching song at the top of his lungs.

"Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work to we go," the Dwarf bleated over and over until he was exhausted and sank down on his wealth to rest. "Whew," he sighed, ending his ritual with a plodding poem. "I'll dance more tomorrow and rest today for I'm going to take the queen's son away. No one will ever guess who I am. Rumpledforeskin is my name!"

'Fuck me,' the Elfboy thought. 'My crazy old man was right. Wonder if he's really a king too? I have to remember to ask him. Man, I hope I can take the weight off fast now that the baby's here. It sure doesn't help that Arrogant's always bringing me chocolate. Oo, look at the pretty sparkly mithril.' Smegolas derailed his train of thought and stepped boldly from behind the sweaty palm trees.

"I have come as I agreed," the Elfboy said.

"Where's the snack? Er, I mean the dear, precious child."

A single perfect line over Smegolas's perfect nose marred his perfect brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"A mere slip of the tongue," the Dwarf answered, opening a jar of mint jelly. "Where is the sweet little lamb?"

"Not so fast. You said that if I guess your name, I could keep my baby."

"I must've been drunk, but sure, whatever." The Dwarf wiped saliva from his chin, as he threw another faggot on the fire.

"I've been called a flamer before, but this is ridiculous, Mary," the faggot said.

"Your name is Mary!" Smegolas blurted out. "Oh, Warg shit, I didn't mean to say that! That's not my guess. I get a do-over."

"Fine," the Dwarf said over his shoulder, as uncorking an unpretentious Chianti to breathe as he prepared a small Caprese salad and a tray of bruschetta.

"Your name is… Drat it! I had it just a second ago. It's on the tip of my tongue."

"Take your time." The Dwarf wiped his hands on his apron, staining the embroidered words: 'Kiss me, I'm Dwarvish'. "I have to wait for the oven to pre-heat anyway."

"It's… it's… Wrinkledforeskin!" Smegolas said triumphantly.

The Dwarf snorted, though he was surprised at how close the Elfboy's guess was. "I hope the kid got your looks and not your brains. Now hand over that pork roast, er, baby."

"It's not fair," the Elfboy wailed. "In all the other stories, there are always three wishes, uh, guesses, that is."

"Begorra! If it'll stop your whinin', have another go at it. While you're thinkin', could ya turn around and bend over?" The Dwarf reached under his apron and fondled himself. "It would sure me get where I wanna go a lot faster."

"Barf! You're so disgusting that I can't even…" Smegolas paused and stared at the hooded, one-eyed trouser snake the Dwarf was stroking. "Rumpledforeskin!" he shouted gleefully. "Not Wrinkled, Rumpled! Ha ha! Loooo-zer!"

The Dwarf glared at the Elfboy prancing about with his thumb and finger forming the L rune. "Treacherous, pointy-eared, switch-hitting, staff-sucking, pegboy of a race of buggerers and con artists! Is this fair? I ask you? Is it? I made a bargain with you, and you reaped the benefits, but when it came time to pay up, you reneged. I bent over backward to make this deal work. I even gave you an extension when I didn't have to and three options to get out of the contract. And all because I'm a fool for poontang."

"What happened to your accent?"

"That's all you have to say about the inequality of this situation?"

"Well… what kind of businessman asks for a person's firstborn anyway?"

"Fairy tale," the Dwarf reminded the Elfboy.

"Oh… right. Guess this is happily ever after then."

"Yeah, guess so. At least I've still got my mithril."

"No hard feelings?"

The Dwarf leered and grabbed his crotch. "Maybe a few," he said.

Smegolas flounced off and collected his child leaving the Dwarf to his onanistic existence in the shadow of the Desperately Lonely Mountain. The Elfboy and the King did indeed live happily ever after for Smegolas got his svelte figure back and Arrogant couldn't keep his hands off it. The Dwarf was never seen again, but travelers unlucky enough to stray close to the forbidden zone near dark have reported hearing strange sounds from the vicinity of the cave. The say a fell voice intones a mournful chant printed below.

"Heed my words though they be corny. Don't make bargains when ye be horny. Small head thinkin' will bring ye t' shame. Rumpledforeskin is my name."

The End.