Dirty Elves – Part 1

“I fucking hate elves”

I heard him say this from my peripheral, just in earshot, and it caught my attention. I was sitting at this dive bar. One of those dive bars where only alcoholics go and occasionally fucking millennials trying to be different. You know the ones, you have seen them. It was Christmas night. My son was with his mom, and I could not stand one minute alone in my house again. I wanted to feel as bad and lonely as the other alcoholics. I wanted to hate myself and my life.

I am not sure the right way to describe this guy. He just had a presence. Like “The Dude” from the Big Lebowski but with class and verve. Intelligent eyes, well built, and a handsome man. I turned and saw him take a sip from his three finger gut rot whiskey. I know it is gut rot whiskey because I am drinking it too, and its the only whiskey they have in this god forsaken place. Seeing him made the smell of stale alcohol and cheap cleaner masking it disappear.

“They are insufferable little pricks.” He says it to no one in particular, but at the same time it draws me in. He has a story to tell. I turn my head and body on the uneven swivel stool to open myself to him. He continues, “and I mean that both literally and figuratively. They are socially, complete assholes and because they are tiny, their dicks are fucking small.”

“Ok, you got me. What are you talking about?” I ask, looking at him like he is telling a joke.

He slightly turns his head to me, and fucking stares into me, like a damn boring instrument, looking at me like I am the crazy one. “Who the fuck is this guy?” I think to myself.He slightly tilts his head, his body language easing just ever so slightly, releasing the tension between us a bit. “I am going to tell you a truth. Every part of you will think it is bullshit. But it is true. Every last word. I only ask one thing of you, will you approach it with an open mind?”

I have spent so much time in shitty bars, hearing shitty stories, tall tales, drunken logic, braggarts, woo girls, and all manners of bullshirt artists. Hell, what is one more.“Sure, I am game. I love a good story.” I down my tumbler and signal to the bartender for a new one. I readjust my body and posture to get comfortable, digging in for what I hope is a whopper. “Wait, before you start, my name is Errol. What is yours?”

I extend my hand for a shake.The guy looks me over…inspecting me. He grudgingly holds out his hand, “Dante.”

His eyes flicker with life as he starts, “Errol, I can tell you are intelligent and I am pretty sure well read, so I am going to assume you can follow along. There is an ancient magic that runs through this world, really the universe. No one knows when it began and that is immaterial anyway. Modern physics tries to interpret it as string theory or the theory of everything or quantum mechanics. They are wrong. The modern world does not believe what it cannot measure and magic cannot be measured. I know you have felt it before. The thing that made you dodge something coming from behind you that would have hurt you, that call you made to someone in need at the exact moment they needed it, or even that moment that you felt compelled to walk over to that one girl and talk to her as if drawn by a tractor beam.”

He paused for a bit, waiting for my mind to fit moments from my life into the examples he just laid out. My mind does do that, a specific reference of each pinned to each example. It felt good, but also sent up warning signals, like here is a fortune teller and charlatan who finds that happy medium between descriptive and generic to make me believe the bullshit that is coming out of his mouth. My internal guard goes up instinctively and it takes a ton of will to try not to physically show it. I do not really think I succeeded as I see his eyes narrow ever so slightly.“

I don’t really know who or how, but this magic led to the creation of what we call gods normally. Not God like religion, but gods like the Greek gods. They have extra powers, time is different for them, they are part of this world and outside of it. You have heard many tales of these gods over the course of your life. Many are true, many are not.”

He paused to take a sip. He has a fantastic meter to his story. Not too fast, not too slow. Regardless of how I think it is one big lie, I am drawn in. And his voice! I defy anyone to place it. It sounded ancient and regal but without condescension. A voice that sent images of the pied piper in my head.

“Santa and the elves are part of this class of beings,” he continued.

“Wait, Santa Claus?” I ask incredulously.

“Well, Santa is not his real name. It is a perversion of a perversion of a perversion. Humans have taken the truth and like they always do, bastardized it for their own ends. And the elves, they have all kinds of names for themselves as a species and trying to pronounce their names, well, it’s like you need two tongues.”

“Wait,” the internal laughter starting to come out on my face, “how do you know this stuff?”

“Errol” he says deadpan and serious, “I am telling you what you need to know when you need to know it. Listen or do not, but don’t interject with unnecessary questions. You are better than that.” He looked at me and I just nod. I had not been dressed down like that since the Army. I felt like I had let down the one decent officer in the unit. I mentally transition. Seriously, this story will make a great story so why not shut up and listen.

“The elves are also ancient. I could not tell you if they are from this world or another. I know their creation myths, but they are complete pathological liars. So I don’t know what to believe. The bastards will tell you anything to get what they want. The history of them in this world for the most part is one of just ruin. Terrorizing people, towns, theft, rape, frame jobs, anything to cause strife and discord. You could ask why, and there is not a real answer. It is just their sole purpose for being. They would run around in ancient times in little packs and just constantly fuck with any and all humans and the animals that humans relied on.”

“The one thing the elves truly love is sex. They are like 16 year old boys constantly on viagra and cocaine. They will fuck anyone and anything. Put a tiny hole in a pumpkin, they will fuck it. Go walk in the forest alone, they will gang rape you—whether boy or girl. Leave an animal alone in the wrong place overnight, and it will be traumatized in the morning. They don’t care about consent. Consent is a foreign concept. And to them the more perverted, the better.

He took another sip, this one longer, for some reason, savoring this shit whiskey, and continued, “The first time I dealt with them, I was young. It caught me off guard. I was spying on them. Santa had given me an amulet of stealth to be able to watch them silently. Otherwise, there is no way I could sneak up on them fuckers. I tracked a mischief of elves for a couple of days.” He paused, cracking his first wry smile. “Sometimes, the English language is so perfect. The collective noun for elves is mischief. Always makes me chuckle.”

I noticed that Dante had a way of moving his hands as he talked. It made me think of a master weaver, as if his hands were creating the basis for the tapestry of the story. I wondered, if he sat on his hands, could he tell the story. I also realized I was getting sucked into the world that was unfurling in front of me and I was glad to.

Dante made slight eye contact with the bartender, the universal signal for another round. The bartender, pissed that he had to set his phone down slowly got up and moved to claim Dante’s glass. Dante slightly pointed his finger at both him and me. I tipped my glass to him, thanking him for the gesture of the round.

Dante slightly swiveled his bar stool to me, opening his body to me. “After tracking them for a couple of days I had stumbled on their current camp site. A small glen in the forest. Hell, calling it a glen is too large. A clearing, soft grass, and an opening in the woods overhead where the sun and moon light could illuminate the area. The elves are good too. No game trails to the area reducing the chances of someone stumbling on it and even better reducing the chance of someone finding it after they were done with them.”

I interjected, “How did you track the elves? It sounds impossible,” Dante paused, looked at me, tilting his head, peering over the lip of his slightly cracked tumbler. I knew what he was doing, judging whether this was an irrelevant question or a relevant one. His body language acquiesced to the question and he began. “Absolutely disgusting business, tracking elves. They know that humans cannot do it unless aided by the gods. And the gods hate those bastards more than me and they don’t really want any humans to come in contact with them, so they rarely give anyone the capability to track elves. The elves know this so they are pretty careless. However, I don’t think they can go 10 feet without one of them masturbating and just ejaculating all over a tree or plant or insect. They really don’t care. So once you know have the ability to see what you are looking for, it is just following a trail of sparkly cum to their place.”

I physically giggled, images of little elves masturbating in the woods, and shots of glitter spread all over the forest. I mean, seriously, that image is funny. I give this dude high marks for creativity.

“When I found their place, the first thing I saw was a young woman, tied up, spread eagle on the glen. She was still dressed in what I believe was wedding attire. She had the most beautiful crown of winter heath adorned on her head, but it was slightly askew. She glowed in the light of the moon. Her breath misting in the winter air. Her features were mesmerizing. I had never seen a maiden like her in the flesh. I can remember every line of her face and every contour of her body to this day.” His golden voice drifted off towards the end, as if his mind could not recreate the memory of her and command his voice at the same time.

That was the first moment of doubt I had about him. Not in the way it sounds, but the first time I doubted that this story was not false. This man was either the most fantastic story teller I had ever met, drunk, crazy, a combination of those three, or it was true. Maybe it was my whiskey talking, my need for a connection on the loneliest night of the year for me, my desperation to believe in something, or maybe the soul aching need to feel something, anything–but I was open to believe finally.

Dante looked at me, a flash of remorse and anger etched in his eyes. I knew that look was not for me, but for the past. He continued, “I was raised in a classical fashion. Arts, languages, mathematics, poetry, strategy…these kinds of things. While I could recite a poem of love by Sappho perfectly in native Greek, I had never touched a woman. While I could lay out all the lessons of the Art of War, I had no idea how to pursue a woman. In that moment I saw her, I was entranced. My whole world reduced to the glen, her, and me. I wanted to rush out to her, to be her hero. But that course of action was not for me. My mission was to stay and observe and I could not let him down. My duty and honor would not allow such a rash choice.”

“The elves all slowly came out in a line, surrounding her. I could seer her writhing, moving in the most unnatural way, struggling to me. Another set of elves came out with rudimentary drums. They began to play a slow rhythmic beat, hypnotic. From what I had been told, the lore, the elves should have already been all over her, but they weren’t. As the drum beats slowly increased in tempo and sound a beam of light from the moon highlighted this beauty body. Errol, to this day, I have never seen something so intoxicating.”

Again he paused, another sip.”I saw her writhing against the restraints. Moving her legs against each other, pulling on the arms, yet she did not cry for help. She did not scream as I was expecting. A elf, about six inches larger than the rest came from the forest.” He held up a hand about 3 and a half feet above the ground displaying the approximate size.”This elf was beefier than the rest. he had to him what would be a sword to him, to us a large knife. The knife had a mystical glow. Moonlight reflected off gems in the hilt that were exposed. The elf raised it over his head with two hands. I remember gasping inaudibly. I was going to witness a sacrifice. It took every ounce of my will to not intervene. To sprint to the location and kick the elf with all my might.”

We were both waiting for the punchline here and took long draws from our drinks. He began again, his mesmerizing voice pulling me in, “The elf drove it down. As he did, she finally cried out, but the knife did not find her. The elf missed, on purpose, burying it into the ground. I could see her eyes, they were as alive as anyone I have ever seen. The elf grabbed the knife and pulled it from the ground. Its shine duller now due to the damp earth and grass covering parts of it. He placed the tip of the knife on her throat, edge down.”

He began to demonstrate the elf’s actions as he continued to describe the night, “The elf rotated the blade and slid it under the gown. In a quick motion he sliced through the gown covering her shoulders, exposing her first shoulder to the night. Quickly, he sliced open the other side. I could see her shoulders. I could see her breasts heaving. For the first time I reconsidered her position. I was not so sure she was a human sacrifice.”

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/nlw5ix/dirty_elves_part_1