What are you doing here? Can’t you see I’m naked? Stop staring at me like that! Go away and close the curtain!

Ah, Miri invited you. Well, that’s different.

What, to see a special show?

I’m sorry for laughing. My, but you’re a piece. You know, Miri once invited me to see a special show.

Yes, I’ll tell you about Miri. Just help me into that chair and sit down. I hope you’re not frightened by the unknown, as Miri would say. Move your pretty head closer if you can’t hear me.

Miri came here about five months ago. She rented the hall, opened her show, and bam, an overnight smash. Why, people were coming from New York to see her. You couldn’t get tickets even at scalper’s prices.

Someone at the office did get hold of tickets—how, I don’t know—and a bunch of us went to see her show. I was a little disappointed when I saw the hall; just rows of folding chairs and a raised stage. Even the puppet theater itself didn’t seem anything special; a very large box sitting on the stage with a curtain covering the front.

When everyone was seated, the house lights went out. There was total darkness for several moments, and then, without warning, the theater lights went on.

There stood Miri.

What a striking woman she is! Tall, with long black hair that falls in loose waves below her shoulders, and a lively face with flashing dark eyes. You know, there is something so attractive about a woman on stage: the lights and the eyes of the audience are on her, she becomes the center of attention—I always get turned on by a woman on stage.

She looked over the audience, her eyes stopping at mine. My heart beat faster. She smiled, at me, I was certain, and the room seemed flooded with her radiance.

She thanked us for coming and hoped we’d enjoy the show, which she said was called “The Chaste Queen.” She disappeared behind the theater. The curtain rose.

Everyone gasped. There were ten or eleven puppets crowding the stage, all about two feet high, decked out in colorful costumes and makeup. The amazing thing was that they looked almost human. The lighting was such that it was impossible to tell if these were the most skillfully made puppets that could be imagined or human beings somehow reduced to doll size.

An orchestra began to play, and the puppets went into a dance, their movements fluid and graceful. I sought some sign of supporting wires, but could find none.

There was a king and a queen, and various members of their court. The dance, a stately Renaissance melody, finished, and the dancers turned toward us and bowed. The audience clapped and cheered enthusiastically.

The curtain fell, and when it was raised, the scenery had changed. In the center was the queen’s bedroom, brightly lit; on either side was a room in semi-darkness. The queen lay in her royal bed, the covers pulled up to her chin.

“The king is coming soon,” she said, her voice slightly high pitched. And sure enough, a door in the back of the scenery opened and in walked the king, bearded and slightly overweight, looking like a diminutive Henry VIII.

“Time for the royal screw,” he barked. Gales of laughter swept the audience. The lights dimmed and the king threw off his clothes and jumped into bed with the queen, under the covers. The lights brightened, and we could see clearly again.

The king was pounding away on the queen, but what caught everyone’s attention was the expression on her face: it alternated between a caricature of boredom and a series of ridiculous faces directed at the audience itself. Each new face produced fresh waves of uproarious laughter.

The king finished quickly, gave a loud belch, rolled over, and fell asleep.

The queen rose from the bed, dressed in a red silk nightgown.

“Time for my Lancelot!” she cried, and went into the next room, in which the lights went on.

A moment later, another puppet entered the room, this one a young man, apparently good-looking. He approached the queen, embraced her, and at that instant, a kind of translucent screen came down, and we could only see the action in shadowy forms.

They both took off their clothes. He began to kiss her body, his mouth lingering at her breast.

It was strange, but those half-seen puppets, so human-like, were causing the sexual tension of the audience to rise. I could sense it in those around me and felt it in myself.

His head went down between her legs. Cries of delight began to come from her, when suddenly he straightened up and spat.

“What the hell did you put in there?” he cried.

“That’s the royal sperm, my dear. You wouldn’t want to speak against the king, would you? That’s treason.” And she pushed his head back down between her legs.

This time, people laughed so hard that some almost fell off their seats.

All this noise must have woken the king, because he began to stir and called out:

“Where’s the queen? Is she fooling around with my head page again?”

As he got out of bed, the lights went out. When they came on again, the king was in the other room beating the page. The queen was lying calmly in her bed. She picked up a silver bell and rang it. A second page entered the room.

“Yes, your royal highness?”

“Time to kiss the royal heinie,” she said, and with that, he jumped on the bed, they both becoming entangled in the bed covers.

Ah, you don’t find it amusing. You saw one of the serious shows. It’s really a repertory company, you know. At one time, all the shows were bawdy like that. It’s only recently that she’s started adding pieces of more weight. Well, then, I’ll spare you the details and continue my story.

After the show, I waited for the crowd to leave. I heard their comments: they loved it, had never seen anything like it.

When the hall was empty, I walked over toward the theater. I had to meet Miri. There had been a promise in her look and smile.

She came out as if she were expecting me.

“It was wonderful,” I said, stammering slightly. “You’re a genius. How do you do it?” She smiled graciously, and I went on, “Why, even the voices were incredible. So many different kinds, all sounding so real. Do you do them all by yourself, without an assistant?”

She laughed.

“You know, your puppet theater is so real and life like that you could do serious drama, too.”

“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about,” she said.

“Did you know that I write plays on the side and also do a little acting?” I asked eagerly.

She smiled knowingly and said:

“But what I really want is to show you something special. A private show, just for you. Let me lock up first.”

She locked the doors, walked behind the stage, shut the house lights, and then pushed out a luxurious couch that was mounted on rollers. When she was about ten feet in front of the theater, she stopped and lay down on the couch.

“Come,” she said.

I pulled over a folding chair and sat next to her.

She clapped her hands twice.

“Let the show begin!” she cried.

The curtain rose.

They were there again, her magic puppets, dressed in forest clothes set in a sylvan scene. The orchestra began, and a female puppet in the middle, scantily clad, began an erotic dance.

The music, which I had never heard before, reminded me of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. As her dance become hotter and more explicit, the other puppets began to undress and join her in the dance. I, too, began to pant with lust. Then, one by one, they left the theater and the stage and made their way to the couch upon which Miri reclined.

Only the female dancer, her breasts jutting out from her green felt vest and her lips wet with desire, remained. She stopped dancing and pointed at me, her mouth pouting.

“He’s for me!” she cried.

“Of course he is, darling,” Miri answered. “But first, I have him.” And she laughed, her voice light and airy.

I, too, was aching with desire, and I truly did not know if it was for the mysterious Miri who lay beside me or the two-foot-high doll woman with the jutting breasts and the wet mouth.

Those on the couch began to undress Miri. Their bodies were perfect miniatures of real human beings. But I was so consumed with desire that I did not even wonder about this.

The women caressed the bodies of the men while they themselves caressed Miri. There was one at each breast, sucking and licking, another kissed her mouth, while still another entered her vagina with his oversized penis.

Miri herself moaned and cried, and the puppet men changed position.

I watched, panting and giddy, wanting to join them. All the while, the music continued its hypnotic rhythm.

Suddenly, she clapped her hands.

“I want the real thing! she cried. “Something big to fill me up.”

They moved away from her and she sat up and looked at me.

“Come, I want you. Now.”

I tore my clothes off like a madman. The puppet men and puppet women clapped their hands to the music.

I entered her, on fire, and moved my body to the frenzied rhythm that filled the room.

When I finally came, it was as if every cell in my body had exploded in orgasm.

I fell asleep on her breast. And when I awoke the next day, I joined her troupe.