Wizards & Witches

Somewhere within the universal space / time continuum thingy (though not nearly as far away from here as some people suppose), there lies a land of make believe and magic. Our younger children can see this strange and wonderful place very clearly and visit it daily. However, as they age, they seem to lose this wondrous gift until they join the rest of us in the adult belief that such a land can't possibly exist. Instead, we sensible adults elect to put our trust in politicians who, though they have no magical powers whatsoever, persistently promise us marvellous miracles. They sell us dreams of fantasy futures that never quite happen at best and are far more likely to result in disappointment, economic collapse, loss of human rights and dignity, despair and on a really bad day, war. We call all this, "being grown up about things."

Meanwhile, in the mystical land of magic (which, to give it a name, we'll call Gagaland), politicians are not required; nor are plumbers, chefs, bus drivers and sewage workers. Schools are not needed and not a single hospital exists there. Magic fulfills every human need at the wave of a wand. For example, need a house? A quick swish swish with a bit of dead tree and there it is, a nice semi detached with garage and a quiche cooking in the oven to welcome you. Fancy something more appetising to eat? A bit more swishing coupled with a muttered bit of cod Latin and voila, there magically appears an instant feast fit for a Roman Emperor - (that tastes suspiciously of cod).

At first glance, it would appear that magic really does meet every need - and so it does - save one. You see, to actually produce a real-life flesh and blood magical person, sex is still required. Indeed, it's absolutely essential and for this reason, a universal consensus has been reached whereby no magic of any kind may be allowed to play a part in the procreation process. This is to stop such perverse practices as gentlenen's, penises emerging from under their robes, snaking across the street, corkscrewing their way up some lady's leg under her clothing, popping into her vagina for a quick visit and indulging in a bit of gratuitous inseminating. In fact, there's a specific law againt that particular practice. (See Road Traffic Act 2018, para 5, sub sec. 3: Obstruction of the Highway (Trip Hazards)).

In order that non magical sex can be effectively policed, all couplings between males and females must take place in the presence of two or more witnesses who then sign a parchment declaring that there was nothing magical about this particular fucking at all, despite what the couple concerned might claim about it later. Children conceived and born without such a parchment being registered are deemed to be illegitimate and fed to dragons.

The only official building in the whole of Gagaland is the huge castle that serves as the registry for all those scrolls of parchment. They are kept in the keep in the charge of the Lord High Scroll Master. However, today is the Lord High Scroll Master's day off and so the whole place is left in the hands of his apprentice, Bert, who is currently reading through some scrolls at random, relishing their descriptions of copulations and if he's really lucky, the illustrations. Being magically inscribed, these illustrations are moving images in every sense of the phrase; guaranteed to bring a tear to your eye and a bulge in your trousers. Hold such a parchment to your ear, you'd swear you can hear the moans. Best not hold it to your nose!

Bert, quite naturally, is masturbating as he views the crudely draw figures on the scrolls doing rude things to each other. He's done this many times before without incident and has no reason to suspect that this occasion will be any different. But it is. Getting thoroughly engrossed in a particularly graphic boob mauling illustration, Bert becomes careless as to where he's pointing his penis as he enters that most magical state commonly known as orgasm. In consequence, a generous splodge of cum lands right on top of the illustration, drenching the figures in it. Quite naturally, these figures stop their sexual activities in order to complain about being half drowned in Bert's jiz. In a state of near panic, the apprentice seeks to wipe the irate little figures clean, despite them desperately begging him not to. As a result, he wipes them off the scroll and into oblivion. Since this particular scroll was wholly dependent on pictorial evidence of a lawful insemination, the resulting infant is now at risk. The yearly audit is due next month and that will surely expose the lack of evidence for the child's legitimacy unless this dire situation can somehow be rectified. If it can't, a very large reptile will most certainly eat it. Clearly, the original witnesses will have to be traced and a new parchment drawn up. But first, he needs to break the news to the prospective parents. What was the date on this scroll again? Whoops! She's now eight months pregnant. Hmmmm! A fair amount of artistic licence is definitely going to have to be exercised when it comes to redrawing the original illustration. Now, where do these people live?