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Sexual peculiarities
of the Elves of Middle Earth

In Spanish

By Bacarú
Translation: Daniel W. Koon

You are reading an informational article on a piece of crypto-literary fiction, an article written solely for adults and dealing with themes of social anthropology and mythology.

Jealously guarded for many centuries, sealed in a baked clay pot and carefully wrapped between layers of linen, cotton smeared with dried peat and a mixture of natural preservatives, the diary of a young woman, filled with stories that seem to come straight out of the legends of Middle Earth, has been discovered by Michelle Corini, official and researcher from the Department of Sociological Anthropology of the Pan-American Museum of Malta, in an archeological site located in an abandoned stone quarry northeast of Sodankyla, Finland, which is believed to have served as a temple several centuries ago.
This document, providing great archeological insight about a hitherto unknown society, was written in a rare mix of vegetable inks which seeped into its pages, leaving the text imprinted on the thin sheets of leather which were bound together in the form of a book. The extensive manuscript documents, among other themes, interesting details of the sexual habits of a strange civilization, so similar to the elves described many centuries later in the well-known work of the famous writer J. R. R. Tolkien that this clan has already been labeled “the Elves of Middle Earth”, although in reality there is nothing to suggest that the celebrated novelist and philologist dealt with these sexual themes in any of his works.
The language in which this Diary is written and takes poetic flight is seamless and coherent, with a basic structure that contains elements of Finnish, Latin and Greek, which were the cornerstones of the Quenya language, or High-Elven, one of the languages used by J. R. R. Tolkien in his masterwork. A portion of this Diary has been analyzed in the laboratories of Packard Bell & Golam (the same research group that investigated the famed Shroud of Turin), and their carbon dating tests confirm the material’s antiquity, placing it in the year 7137 BCE.
Several of the specialists who have had access to this document, including Hiram Lannister, Professor of Ancient History of the Reformed Neo-Presbyterian University of Bathurst, Alaska, and Mitungo Massaly, Director of the Classics Department of the Advanced Institute for Associated Linguistics Research, in the Aleutians, have floated the theory that perhaps Tolkien had stumbled across some similar text and forged from it his unforgettable work The Lord of The Rings, reflecting certain aspects of this community, and also that he borrowed several elements from the mythology of this unique community. According to them, “The descriptions of the social environment, the clothing, the subtleties of their language, the morphological details of these individuals, their mythological beasts, and the behavior described in the Diary, are almost identical to those reflected in this monumental work by the famous writer.” But fans of this classic have reacted almost violently against such insinuations, since many of them are certain that the erudite Oxford don, who was also a noted philologist and a brilliant linguist, wrote his unforgettable saga of Middle Earth merely as an excuse to develop the languages which he himself created with his own well-tested talent, that his characters were only a pretext to elaborate on and publish those languages and to provide them with social utility and literary dimensions.
The author of this Diary, a sharp-witted young woman of 19 named Atanielle, who lived many centuries ago, apparently belonged to the most elite of social classes, possibly to the nobility, and among other things she relates, in copious detail, the sexual customs of the epoch in which she happened to live, and even some of her own personal experiences. The members of this social group called themselves elfida*, a phoneme which is believed to have been later adopted into Scandinavian mythology as “elves”. Progressing through the text, one might imagine that the author is exaggerating in one or the other aspect, perhaps owing to her age. On the other hand, her contemporaries, as some have already begun to speculate, must have been quite different from what we would consider as human today.
The elfida normally lived in communities comprising several families, with an aggregate of between one hundred and three hundred individuals total. They were distinguished in their physical appearance by such characteristics as fair hair; lithe and pleasantly-shaped bodies; conspicuously pointed ears; pallid, rosy skin; and almond-shaped eyes. Thus they would have been easily distinguished on sight from the other social groups with which they would on rare occasions come into contact.
From what we can gather from the Diary of Atanielle, this was a community with a highly developed culture: they were lovers of beauty in all its aspects, they had a tendency toward a romantic melancholy, which in conjunction with their own peculiar philosophy, caused them to “listen to the pulse of life”* in a very distinct way. They possessed great agility in their movements and unusual skill in the many occupations that they practiced. The elfida were respected in war for their abilities: their facility with the bow; their ability to move swiftly, stealthily and silently; their skill at insinuating themselves into the landscape of the forest; and, apparently, their overly developed sexual organs, making them very much feared by their enemies, for in that epoch it was believed that this was the very zone in which bravery resided. And they were also very much sought out as a result of this condition, and the subject of much gossip by the females in all the regions in which their “fame” had extended. Curiously, most of these very same properties (except for the last one) were likewise attributed to the elves in Scandinavian mythology, and later carried over into the marvelous work of Tolkien. But what is astonishing in the study of these matters is the discovery of just how advanced they were in their knowledge of sexuality, it being believed that they were not only highly enlightened for their own time, but it is also believed that they were more advanced than many present-day societies with regard to certain aspects of modern sexology, and that they even have various contributions to make to this science, as evidenced by the tales contained in this Diary.
From the writer of this manuscript we learn that the elfid men used a gadget formed from the finest and sturdiest duck intestines, which were later worked into a convenient form, producing a cover sufficiently thin and elastic to snugly fit the male member before sexual relations, protecting it from the “lower ills” * so abundant in those regions. It would seem that this device was also used for birth control, although, as regards the latter, the young elfid women had also learned to produce a form of unguent composed of several herbs, which had the property of neutralizing the “nectar of the male”* with the goal of avoiding unwanted pregnancies.
Female virginity was held in great esteem among the elfida, who in general celebrated various ceremonies associated with this state of purity. The Diary tells of a curious way in which individuals from the highest classes performed this kind of worship -- a sort of hymenolatry -- in connection with the wedding ceremony.
On their wedding night, the couple was invited to occupy a closed cubicle of walnut wood, built twice as tall as it was wide, to the floor of which was tightly secured the nuptial bed, decked out in white sheets and perfumed with rosewater. The inner surfaces of this matrimonial chamber were thoroughly padded, including walls and ceiling. The absolute necessity of this will be seen later. After the banquet, surrounded by the happy guests, the newlyweds were introduced into this peculiar room, which was situated on the center axis of the opening of a deep well. When the compartment was closed, all those present maintained their utmost silence around it, so as not to disturb the lovers inside. When the first orgasm was imminent, the elfid male would pull a cord placed within his reach, which released a mechanism that liberated the cubicle, which then descended in free fall, at a dizzying speed, toward the bottom of the well. This arrangement generally enabled the couple, tightly locked in their amorous embrace, to reach their climax floating in the space between the floor and ceiling of this peculiar room. The guests, having waited in silence for several hours, threw their cups in the air and shouted for joy, as they watched the framework disappear through the lip of the shaft. Our narrator tells that the pit was so deep that bringing the newlyweds back up to the surface lasted almost an entire day and night, which the occupants of the receptacle made use of by... recovering from their injuries, if they were lucky to have escaped without any broken bones. But even some of those who were injured continued coupling until they reached the surface, and tradition said that those were the couples most likely to overcome the many trials and tribulations of marriage on their own.
Once the room was returned to its initial position, the newlyweds were called upon to exit it. They were required to open the compartment, and to display the sheet with the reddened mark indicating the young bride’s virginity heartily yielded up. Next, the crowd celebrated the act with loud revelry and mirth, while the mother of the recently deflowered young woman approached the couple under pretext of congratulating them, while in reality, in a very discrete and unnoticed manner, she furtively received from the girl’s hand a tiny vial with the juice of red berries, which every prudent young woman took with her for such an event, to produce the effect on the sheets, “in case the flower has already been probed by other stingers, as is frequently the case”*.
In any event, the elfid community was very understanding and tolerant of this accommodation, since it was well known how difficult it was to stain the sheets, particularly if one was floating above them at that appointed moment.
Atanielle tells, in the text written in her own hand, that from this ancient elfid tradition comes the phrase “to go down the well”*, referring to certain sexual practices of deep emotion and of rare attraction. Although there is no reason to doubt this in principle, certain researchers point out that enough time has elapsed for this phrase to have taken on an entirely different meaning nowadays among the inhabitants of a certain Caribbean island, where, if we understand correctly, it refers more recently to a more specific and ancient tradition in which only the head of one of the partners descends, and then, by only a relatively short distance...
The author of this Diary also includes an amusing description of a curious manner of secret greeting among the young elfid women who have been initiated into the sweet joys of sex without the benefit of this quaint nuptial rite. This greeting supposedly indicated the path by which this introduction has occurred, and referred specifically to that part of the body with which the greeting novitiate had received “the benediction of the nectar of the male”.* If the arriving guest greeted her friends by placing her fingertips together on her forehead, in reality she was indicating her lips, just to the south of her forehead, as the site of this initiation. If she placed her joined fingertips at the height of her navel, she would in point of fact be indicating the lips to the south of her navel. If she located the signal on her left shoulder, she was in reality indicating the front part of her body. Finally, if she placed her fingertips on the right shoulder, then she was announcing that deep and hard initiation via the posterior part of her body. And so she might arrive among a group of friends, many of whom could only greet each other by touching their foreheads, still others making their greeting by running their joined fingers from their forehead to their navel to their left shoulder to their right. Which is to say, by indicating their own rather complete initiation, and usually it was precisely these young women who were regularly invited to share their own stories with the others. Our amateur chronicler relates the memory of some of her friends greeting each other by applying the signal only to their right shoulder, indicating the strategy often employed to preserve one’s virginity, and as it was the custom every time that a new girl arrived to share one’s own secret greeting with the group, everyone had to rise and display her own sign, while these last ones, those with the touch on their right shoulder, preferred not to return to their chairs, and thus usually spent the entire evening on their feet. Our irreverant narrator confesses to her Diary her suspicion that these novitiates were exaggerating, since they were very proud in their greeting, making the complete sign of the cross, yet had no trouble whatsoever sitting.
Not long ago it was rumored that the Diary of Atanielle was hidden away in the armored and sheltered climate-controlled basements of the mysterious Gypsy Library of Southern Aquitaine, but the library’s board of directors has on repeated occasions publicly denied being the guardians of such a volume. From time to time some other dark corner of the world comes to light which is reputed to hold the valuable manuscript, but very quickly its possession is denied, ruining any opportunity to verify its real existence. What is known is that powerful collectors are already offering copious sums to antiquarians, and the curious notebook of leather pages is already believed to be valued at more than eight million euros (November, 2005), driven up by the latest progress reports from the difficult translation of the text which suggest the discovery of curious new secrets about sex among the elves, based on explicit and detailed content regarding the different types of ritual orgasms and their amazing physical manifestations; secret elfid sexual positions; unknown erotic massages; as well as magical whispers with extraordinary aphrodisiacal powers. But these will be treated in later articles, provided that the interest of the readers is made evident in a convincing enough way to placate the firm and capricious censure of the strict, irrational, puritanical and old-fashioned Editorial Director who has taken over this illustrious publication of the fantastic genres in Cuba.

* Literal translation of the original manuscript.
You may provide your opinion on the present article by sending a message to:
guaican@cubaliteraria.com
Putting the word “Opina” in the subject line.

 

 
Dirección editorial:
Gerardo Chávez Spínola
Diseño web:
Yalier Pérez Marín / Rafael Arteaga
Mantenimiento web:
Rafael Arteaga
Asesoría técnica:
Alejandro Jiménez Pérez

CubaLiteraria