Saving the World Through Sex (eBook)

Chapter 1

“It’s true,” Payasam Tart, the recently elected president of the International Tarts Society texted over an encrypted network to the other I.T.S. members, “that our next meeting was scheduled to occur in my country—the land of lingam and Kama Sutra. However, in view of the present crisis, as many members as possible should convene in the capital city of the country in peril. We will gather at the All Seasons Hotel on the first day in February. As you know, that time of year is called Candlemas or Imbolc, among other names. Our goal is to light a metaphorical candle in the darkness of the Deeply Divided States of Vespuccia.

“I’ve reserved a block of rooms at the hotel, so pack warm clothes, boots as well as shoes, and be sure to bring your thinking caps.”

_______________________

“All right, Tarts,” Payasam said after the dozen Tarts who were able to attend the meeting settled themselves in the living room of Payasam’s suite. “First I’ll apprise you of the situation, then I’ll tell you what the Board”—she indicated Peach, Cherry, Chocolate, and Almond Tarts, sitting in the front row—“proposes to do about it.”

“As you all know—as indeed the entire world knows—the Deeply Divided States of Vespuccia have just elected Eric Tayshun as their president. As a private citizen, he was simply a sleaze, although a rich one; as president, he will be an utter disaster. He uses Squawker to conduct foreign policy,” Payasam said with a shudder, “and we fear that if he feels disrespected by foreign leaders, he’d declare war in a squawk. And he has access to the nuclear codes!

“It’s up to us to save the world from a nuclear holocaust. Therefore, this man must be distracted from the pursuit of war by the pursuit of sex. And—“ Payasam looked around, beaming, “we have just the candidate to distract him! Almond, could you ask her to join us in here? She’s in the bedroom.”

“Where she no doubt rules,” Cherry said with a smirk.

They all waited until Almond returned with the candidate. The other Tarts gasped at the sight of her.

She was beautiful, no doubt about that, the most beautiful Latina they’d ever seen. Long, dark brown, glossy hair framed a face with perfect features. Her eyes were were so dark a brown as to be almost black, her mouth full, red, and sensual. Of average height, she was as slim and graceful as a flamenco dancer.

“Tarts, I’d like to introduce Carmela Sandoval,” Payasam said. “Carmela, do have a seat on the other side of me. Ladies, starting with Cherry, please introduce yourselves and then we’ll explain our society to Carmela.”

She indicated the first member of the Board, who nodded.

“I’m Cherry Tart, and I serve the I.T.S. in—” she mentioned a small country known for its beaches and salubrious climate. “I’m lesbian, as is the president of my country. She and I get on very well indeed.” She grinned, showing white teeth in a tanned face. With her short, shining brown curls and athletic build, she looked like a tennis player.

“I’m Chocolate Tart,” the young woman next to Cherry Tart said. “I serve the I.T.S. in West Africa. I work in the foreign minister’s office.” Sleek and shining as a chocolate truffle, she seemed to promise love at first lick.

“I’m Almond Tart,” said the exquisite young Asian woman sitting next to Chocolate. Her silky black hair was drawn away from her face in a ponytail; black eyeliner accented the corners of her almond-shaped eyes. “Like Chocolate, I work in the office of the foreign minister of my country.”

“And I’m Peach Tart,” the young woman sitting next to Almond said. With her luxuriant strawberry blonde tresses, light brown eyes, and slender figure, she might easily have been mistaken for a film star. “If you decide to join us by accepting the mission, I’ll be your mentor.”

“Thank you, ladies.” Payasam turned to Carmela. “The International Tarts Society has one mission: to discourage the heads of government from declaring war. After experiencing the delights we have to offer, practically all such world leaders refrain from waging war because they know we would leave them instantly if they did. It really helps our cause that most politicians think with their penises rather than their brains.”

Carmela giggled. “So, really, the Tarts are the opposite of Vestal Virgins. Same goal but different means.”

“Exactly,” Almond said. “Or you might think of it as ‘Lysistrata’ with modifications.”

“Bear in mind,” Payasam went on, “that Tarts are not prostitutes. We don’t do ‘pay-as-you-go.’ During the day we work as assistants in our assigned statesman’s or leader’s office, performing routine office tasks. It’s only after office hours that the assistance becomes personal. Any questions so far?”

“Yes,” Carmela said. “What if the statesman or leader insists on giving presents of jewelry or cash or something?”

“Our policy is to discourage presents, if at all possible. We’re paid for the office work we do during the day. However, if the alternative is hurting their feelings, then yes, let them give jewelry and whatnot. Clever Tarts hold on to such presents and eventually convert them to cash. It’s not obligatory, but a donation to the I.T.S. rainy day fund is appreciated.

“Now, your prime minister, foreign minister, or president will be called ‘your beneficiary’ among ourselves. Let me further advise you that no woman under the age of twenty-one is permitted to join the I.T.S., nor is any woman older than thirty permitted to remain a member.”

“That seems rather sexist and ageist, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Carmela objected.

Payasam smiled. “We made this rule for several reasons. The most obvious is because of the kind of work we do: age does wither, and custom does stale our particular variety, despite what Shakespeare said. The second reason is that age thirty is still young enough to embark on a completely different career and possibly meet some lovers who aren’t raging egomaniacs.”

All the Tarts laughed, thinking of the egos they were obliged to massage, stroke, and otherwise titillate in the course of their careers.

“Now, Carmela, having heard about our society, what do you think? You’ve already been told about the mission, of course. Would you like to join us and quite possibly save the human race?”

Carmela sat very still, looking at Payasam, then at the others. “Yes, I would like to join.”

“The beneficiary who would be your assignment is the most powerful man in the world.”

“I know.”

“What is your motivation for taking on the mission, Carmela? This will be no easy task, you understand. You will make almost no friends or allies during this assignment. Most likely the women you’ll meet will be jealous of you and the men will dislike and distrust the power you may achieve over your beneficiary. Of course, you’ll have us for sympathy and support.”

Carmela took a deep breath. “My college sociology course required reading several books: Manzanar, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, and The History of the Conquest of Mexico. After I finished reading each book—this was outside of class, of course—I threw up in the bathroom and then cried for hours. I did look a sight, believe me,” she said reminiscently. “I told myself that nothing like that was ever going to happen again if I could prevent it. This man, El Presidente, has already mocked and insulted my people. Both my parents emigrated from Mexico and have been citizens for years. He talks of building a wall to keep Mexicans out. He has to be stopped! If I can distract him, I will.”

All the Tarts clapped.

“All right,” Payasam said. “Now I have to ask you some very personal questions. You understand.”

Carmela shrugged. “Fire away.”

“You are not, I trust, a virgin.”

Carmela shook her head.

“Good. He doesn’t like them. You’ve never been pregnant nor given birth?”

“No.”

“Good. He doesn’t like the bodies of women who are mothers. You’re twenty-two, five feet five inches tall, you weigh 118 pounds…”

“Yes.”

“You can’t gain any weight during your assignment, you know. He doesn’t like any fat at all.”

Carmela sighed. “I can manage that. And before you ask, I do work out.”

“That’s good. Now, I ask you to think...