Mike checked his email. He ignored the dementia warning, the nail fungus fix, the insurance promotions, the free covid-19 tests, the tinnitus cure, and the weight loss aids. He decided against the tickets to Carnival in Rio.
He promptly answered the message from the widow in Asia who wanted to give him half of $25,000,000, so long as he used the rest of it for charity work. He also answered the solicitation for people with no experience at all to send emails for $500 a day. He made a note on his calendar to pick up his delayed package from National Express and to take out of his Money App account the $950 that he had been paid. He ordered all three credit cards.
He soon got to his favorites. "I want YOU! YOU! YOU! All night long!!! I can see you TONIGHT. I am so horny and wet thinking about YOU. And I’m all FREE!!!" He thought, Well, she certainly seems like a friendly sort. He glanced at her blurry picture and moved on.
He looked through the messages that promised a wide variety of earthly pleasures. The attached videos were enough to give him an erection. As he started to breathe heavily, his eyes settled on "East European girls are looking for LOVE!"
The young woman in the picture was named Alyssa. She was pretty, blond, and completely dressed. She was a classics major in her second year at university. Her top showed a bit of décolletage, but not a lot. And Alyssa was smiling.
There she is, Mike thought. Alyssa got a reply.
Hmph, the readers must be saying to themselves, Mike was just looking at his spam folder— and a bunch of scams. Well, yes and no.
It has to do with Mike’s religion. You see, Mike was an Orthodox Saccularian. Saccularius billed himself as the Roman god of mail, still active after all these centuries, and when the internet arrived he took over as the god of email, too. He is the one who wants you to get fabulously rich, instantly quick; to grow your penis by at least nine inches and to find oodles of romance with plane loads of busty women. For most people, it is indeed all fake.
Except for Mike. Mike gets this stuff, too, but for real. This is how it happened: one day he got an email from Ashley, whose schedule was open that lucky day and wanted to give him the best blowjob he ever had. She also sent ten nude selfies and a video. Mike wanted Ashley, bad.
"Oh, god," he said out loud, "if only Ashley was real. If only she was right here."
And that moment the Roman god Saccularius materialized out of thin air. "My good man!" He said with a flourish of his hand, "What is your pleasure?"
Saccularius was dressed in garish colors, mostly reds and yellows. He himself was light purple.
"What? Who are you?" Mike said.
"I am Saccularius! I am the ancient Roman god of mail. I have a sideline where I do computer tech support; I am, after all, a certified Megasoft technician. But today email is my main game."
Mike pleaded. "Ashley. Ashley is my pleasure. Can you make her appear? For real, I mean."
Saccularius looked pensive. "My good man, that is a substantial question. I am a Roman god, a member of Zeus’s inner circle, and for over twenty centuries I have seen few new congregants. A lot of the scratchings on the walls of Pompeii were under my control but it has been pretty thin ever since. It has been two millennia since someone has called out for me." He hung his head. "It’s sad, especially for a close friend of Zeus."
"What about Ashley?"
"My good man, that is where you come in. You have called out to me. If you agree to be my first worshipper in two thousand years, I will make all these emails real, just for you."
"So if I get a message offering me ten million dollars, I can have it."
"That’s right."
"Where does the ten million come from?"
"Who cares? You don’t have to pay it."
"Well, I’m pleased to meet you, my bounteous and munificent god Saccularius." Mike extended his hand.
"Great!" Saccularius ignored the hand. "Wait till I tell Zeus about this! Ashley, my girl, c’mon in."
Ashley walked out of the wall. She was the Ashley of the email pictures. Naked and beautiful, busty and curvy, she walked to Mike and gave him a wet, open-mouthed kiss.
"I’m a believer," said Mike, as she stroked his crotch, "Hail, Saccularius!"
"My work here is done," Saccularius said. Then, with a flourish of his hand, he dissolved into nothingness.
Ashley had Mike’s cock out and was on her knees. "Nice one," she said.
"Oh, wait! I can do better." Mike turned back to his email and found the message that promised to reveal a South American orangutan ritual that would instantly add five inches to the length of his penis.
Mike did the odd dance required by the orangutan video. Ashley started to giggle. Mike became irritated. But then — Bingo! He was five inches longer.
"Even nicer," said Ashley, unfazed by the instant transformation. Ashley’s mouth spent a half hour on his cock and her fingertips played with balls. She made him cum.
"Well, I’ve done what I promised," she said, "Farewell." And she walked back through the wall.
"Ashley, wait!" Mike said, but it was too late. He was talking to a blank wall. As Ashley vanished, his penis returned to normal.
But that was the start of it all. The next day Mike took delivery of the toaster oven, the all-terrain vehicle, and the coffee maker. He opened a separate bank account for the $12,500,000 paid by the widow of an African prince, paid the taxes, filled out the paperwork for transactions larger than $10,000, took his one-third cut, and paid the rest to a local homeless shelter.
But the nicest part of every day involved the women. Jill was as horny as can be, with her legs spread as she begged for satisfaction. Samantha wanted Mike, and only Mike, and wanted him twenty-four hours a day. Bridget was hot, sweaty, and yearning for a long night with him. All three were only 2.8 miles away. That day, Mike gave Jill her satisfaction, gave Samantha everything she wanted, and spent the night feeling Bridget’s heat and tasting her sweat.
And all the messages, whether from women or package delivery services, came from trusted senders. If you only knew, thought Mike.
Then there was Alyssa, who replied to his email the next day. She just knocked on his front door. In the doorway stood the girl of his dreams. She was pretty, with shoulder-length blond hair. Her figure was reasonable, given the circumstances; that is an odd thing to say, but Mike had thought that all email women had ginormous boobs on bodies that just wouldn’t quit.
Mike and Alyssa started to talk. They talked for hours, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. Mike talked about his life, and Alyssa talked about hers.
Mike complimented her on her command of English. "I’m a character from an email, silly," she replied.
Eventually they touched hands, and that started the ball rolling. He touched her neck and cheek, and whispered in her ear how he had been waiting for a girl like her to come along.
Seeking to impress, Mike began talking about his ATV and his soft life collecting millions of dollars. The story seemed to puzzle Alyssa.
"But where does it all come from?" she asked. Mike did his best to explain about the emails. To Alyssa, none of this was adding up. Finally he had to come out and say it.
“I’m an Orthodox Saccularian."
"A what?" She asked. The question took Mike farther down the rabbit hole. He had to explain who Saccularius was and how Orthodox Saccularians did not much care where all this stuff came from.
For Alyssa, that tore it.
"Mike, do you know what saccularius means in Latin?"
"No. What?"
"Saccularius means thief. You’re doing business with a thief."
