“Wow,” I muttered. “I'm really feeling strange.” I put down my fork.
She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Maybe you are a bit flushed,” she said, eventually. “And why do you keep wriggling like that?”
“I'm not wriggling, am I?” But I couldn't help it. I just had to squirm. Without any reason, I was starting to feel aroused. Not just slightly, either.
“There! You just did it again. You're like a cat on hot bricks. What's going on?”
“I don't know.” I blushed. Something very strange was happening, and I was pretty sure I hadn't felt anything like this before. “Excuse me just a moment.” I flipped up my skirt and tugged my panties down. The coolness of the air confirmed my suspicions.
“What's come over you? Got ants in your pants?” She was almost laughing.
“It's extraordinary, I...” I squirmed some more.
She must have recognized the symptoms. “Well, I promise I didn't put Viagra in the stew.”
I had to touch: just a little squeeze to ease the throbbing. But what my fingers encountered was a complete surprise. There had been some kind of extraordinary change in my private geography. I lifted my skirt and had a look.
“Now you've gone pale,” she said, rising from her chair. “What is it?”
“You're not going to believe this,” I gulped. “Promise you won't laugh.”
She shook her head. “You tell me first.”
“I've...” I gave a little cough. “I think I've got three clits.”
“You've...?” For a moment, her eyes were wide with surprise. But then I think the absurdity of what I'd said must have dawned on her. Her eyes twinkled, she put her head back and opened her mouth and then — I'm quoting from memory, but it was something like “HA HA HA HA HA...” for quite a long time, and then “I've never heard anything so bloody ridiculous. HA HA HA HA...” Et cetera.
So when she'd calmed down and told me not to be so daft, and I'd assured her that I was being completely serious, of course she had to have a look. Then it was her turn to go a bit pale. “Bugger me,” she said, “You have an’ all. Three clits. Wow.” She seemed quite impressed. “And two of them look like they're made of gold. How on earth did that happen?”
“Don't ask,” I said gruffly. “Eat.”
I don't remember much of the ensuing conversation. There was a certain amount of “Mph-mph-mmmph” from her, and a certain amount of “Wa-wa-wah” from me, and as usual I nearly snapped her head off her shoulders, but not quite.
“Oooh,” I gasped finally, still shivering. “Thanks. You saved my life.”
“Looks like I struck gold, then,” she quipped, sitting back on her haunches.
“Yeah,” I panted. “I think we both did.”
My thanks to those who worked so hard on the Golden Clitorides Awards 2001, and to those who voted according to their conscience (democracy needs you!). My congratulations to all the winners. — O.