Morgan wrestles with his imponderables.

It came as no surprise to Morgan that he not only woke up back in the enchanted forest, but did so with a full bladder, courtesy of all those mugs of coffee so liberally laced with whiskey. Fortunately, there were plenty of trees available to go behind for a piss - although precisely which side was the behind side was a little hard to tell. He wasn't overly shocked either when the tree he relieved himself against took exception to this and sideled off as fast as it's urine drenched roots could carry it. He was however a little unnerved when a bald, plump little man with cock in hand was revealed by the departing tree.

"Oh! Hello" said the man, waving his flaccid penis towards Morgan in a friendly manner, "great minds thinking alike, eh?"

"Probably more like full bladders thinking alike" Morgan replied as he shook off the last of the drips. He presumed that the stranger was doing the same thing at first, until it became patently clear that what he was actually doing was openly and unashamedly masturbating. Morgan found himself staring in fascination at the stranger's growing, stiffening cock. He couldn't help himself, this was so unexpected.

"Feel free to join in. I'm Georgie Porgie by the way.

At first, Morgan's blood ran cold as he recalled the old nursery rhyme from his childhood:

Georgie Porgie pudding and pie,

Kissed the girls and made them cry.

When the boys came out to play,

He kissed them too, he swings either way!

But then again, he thought, 'why not? After all, he was no stranger to the odd morning wank; the feeling of fresh forest air on his exposed member was not unpleasant and as he'd not managed to cum inside the Toothfairy before she vanished last night, he had sperm to spare. As he worked on his cock, he recalled the erotic thrills and sensations he experienced as he **** and strangled the plump little milf of a fairy. Had he actually killed her? As she still seemed very much alive (athough admittedly distressed) when she suddenly vanished, Morgan felt a comforting hope that maybe he hadn't. He also realised that he rather liked little plump people sexually. They were generally friendly with soft, smooth, warm, cuddly bodies which, around here, they seemed to make freely available for just about anything. Georgie Porgie saw the look on Morgan's face, read his mind and said, "Would you like to hump my mega-soft bum?"

Morgan had never humped a man's bum before and so such was the intense novelty of the situation that a few experamental thrusts of his inquisitive cock between Georgie's soft, smooth, warm botty-cheeks was all it took to get him spilling his man-juice all over the backside of his new friend. He tried to apologise for this but Georgie wouldn't hear of it. "No, no; in my rhyme, nobody's ever pleased to see me. Believe me sir, you're a most refreshing and not unexciting change. Feel free to cum again, anytime. "

It occurred to Morgan that Georgie might be able to answer a question that had been nagging away at him since he first arrived in Fairyland.

"Georgie, where are all the children?

"Good God Morgan, you're insatiable!"

"No, I mean, fairytales and nursery rhymes are all for and about children aren't they; and yet now I'm here at their source, there isn't a child in sight."

"Well, of course not. Children don’t create fairytales and nursery rhymes; adults do it for them. Adults play the children's parts when telling these stories and rhymes in the real world and so this is what you see mirrored here."

"And where exactly is 'here'?"

"I'm not entirely sure but I believe it's geographically located somewhere in the collective human subconscious. I know that seems a long way away to some but it's right next door really."

Of course! The door! That connecting door between pure fantasy and the real world that's just too obviously there to be believed in enough to physically walk through.

"Do you know about the door to the real world" Morgan asked.

"Oh sure. We all do. It's not there to keep us in you know, it's there to keep riff raff like you out; no offence intended of course."

"None taken, but then it doesn't work does it!"

"What doesn't?

"Well, anything; like a stopped clock doesn't work for a start."

"A stopped clock does work, you plonker; it's right twice a day, regular as clockwork"

"No, I was actually referring to the door and speaking in metaphor."

"Ah well, we imaginary folk don't go in for foreign languages like metaphor much. We are what we are and our sole purpose in existing is to represent something else entirely."

"Precisely. You, my friend, are a living metaphor!"

"Am I? Coo! Cool, and there was me thinking I was just this short fat geezer who hung around enchanted forests in the hope of getting buggered. But hang on, if I'm a metaphor, what does that make you then?"

"A commuter" and with that, Morgan stepped through the door most mortals refuse to believe in en route to a scheduled Literature lecture.