THE VIRGIN MERCHANT: Buying Modern Warfare In Another World

I’m a man of honor. That’s a fancy way of saying I’ve never committed a crime, never lied on my taxes, and never, not once in seventy years, accidentally brushed a woman’s hand in a grocery store line.

I’ve lived alone since God knows when. I was an orphan, you know the usual, a blank slate dropped into a world where life was harsh. To eat, I broke my back. To get through grade school to high school, I worked three part-time jobs simultaneously. I was the kid who smelled like deep-fryer grease and instant coffee, the favorite punching bag for every bully from the playground to the breakroom. It was tiring. But here’s the kicker, the cosmic joke of my existence: I was allergic to women.

Literally. One touch and my skin would erupt in hives so violent you’d think I’d wrestled a jellyfish or a giant bee. A single brush of a shoulder could send me into anaphylactic shock. Not only that, my life was a perpetual game of "the floor is lava," except the lava wore flower scented perfume, mini skirt and had soft voices.

Now, here I was in a dingy New York hospice, the air smelling of bleach and my inevitable end. I'm about to die a virgin, alone and have too many regrets in life.

This city was never kind to me, and frankly, neither were the people. I was a speck of dust that lived a quiet, entirely sexless life. Now, my breath hitched.  My lungs felt like they were filled with dirty ocean water. And I know, this was my end. Well, I thought as the lights flickered and the monitors began that annoying, long beep, at least in the afterlife, I don’t have to worry about the hives or girls…

Then the world blurred. Darkened. And then, what the heck? It vibrated?

Suddenly, I sucked in a breath that didn’t hurt. My lungs expanded like brand-new bellows. Weird fresh air, scented with forest and flowers, then I snapped my eyes open, expecting a tunnel of light or a very disappointed Saint Peter holding a peanut butter sandwich. Instead, I was standing in a place so bright it made my retinas scream.

Massive, shimmering white pillars stretched into an endless golden sky. And the statues, oh, dear lord, the statues.

Everywhere I looked, there were marble-carved, perfect naked women.

Not just "artistic" naked, we’re talking "HD-4K-uncensored-Renaissanc" naked. I gawked at them. Like, am I dreaming of naked women now?

"Great," I wheezed, looking at my hands, which, strangely, didn’t look like wrinkled prunes anymore. "Even in death, the universe is mocking me. Is this the 'Forbidden Planet' or am I in the lobby of a very expensive, very confusing spa?"

Then, I saw her. In the center of this marble-breasted madness sat a woman on a throne. I’ve seen CGI, I’ve read mangas with '10/10' waifus, I’ve watched movies where the lead actress made the world stop spinning. They were all garbage compared to this. She was the peak. The final boss of beauty.

"Arthur," she spoke. Her voice didn't just reach my ears; it caressed my soul like a warm silk blanket.

"Okay, let's stop right there," I said, my voice sounding suspiciously younger and sassier than it had been a few minutes ago. "I know how this goes. You’re either the person who's going to tell me my life was a simulation, or you're the one I owe rent to for this luxury cloud of naked statues."

She giggled, a sound that could probably end world wars. "I am Venus. Goddess of love, beauty, desire, and... well, quite a lot of things you never got to experience."

What the...

"Venus. Right. The Goddess of everything I was allergic to," I deadpanned, crossing my arms. Rolling my eyes at the same, then I looked at her, really looked at her, and my survival instincts screamed.

"Okay, listen, young lady. Your Majesty. Goddess. I’m an old man who just died in a room that smelled like cabbage and chicken. I’m unique, sure. A unicorn of virginity. But if you’re looking for a hero, I think you’ve got the wrong file. I'm no warrior and I'm no hero."

Venus leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with a mix of genuine pity and divine amusement. "Your life was... exceptionally unfortunate, Arthur. Seventy years of kindness, yet you lived in fear of a touch. It’s the most tragic comedy in the history of the Earth realm. I’ve decided to take pity on you."

"Pity? Oh, I love pity. It usually comes with a 15% discount at the pharmacy or at Mcdonalds," I snapped, though I was shaking inside. "What are we talking about here anyway? A heavenly pension? Or a mansion where the walls aren't made of naked statues and boobs?"

"Better," she whispered, her smile widening. "A new world. My world. A world called Venhus. A world of magic, ruled by strength and beauty. I’m giving you a second chance, Arthur. A body of youth, a life of adventure, and the destiny of a man who will finally, finally, be touched."

I blinked. "Wait. Is there a catch? There’s always a catch. Do I have to fight a demon king? Do I have to save a princess? Because I’m tellin’ you now, if a princess touches me and I explode into hives in the middle of a quest, that’s going to be real awkward for everyone involved."

"Oh, trust me, darling," Venus said, waving a hand and causing the world to dissolve into white sparkles. "I’ve given you everything you need to thrive. You’ll be, um, overpowered."

"Wait! I have more questions!" I yelled as my feet left the floor. "Does the new world have indoor plumbing? Can I bring my cat? Goddess! Hey! Young lady! Venussss!"

The last thing I saw was her blowing me a cute little kiss. "Good luck, my little merchant. Try not to faint!"

"I'M NOT A MERCH..."

And then, I fell.

Hard…then…Harder…And let me tell you, falling for eternity is a great way to discover that you’re not a "screamer" you’re a "dry-heaver."

And I don’t freaking like heights. I don’t like the feeling of my stomach trying to exit through my throat. But apparently, Venus thought a three-minute freefall through a cosmic kaleidoscope was just the thing to spice up my transmigration. I vomited twice mid-air. If there’s a god of the wind out there, I apologize for the projectile bile, but that’s on the Goddess of Beauty, not me.

Then, the world stopped spinning and started smelling so bad that my stomach churned.

I woke up on a floor that felt like it was made of splinters, rotten bananas and failure. The air was heavy with a scent I can only describe as "Concentrated Dog Poop" I sat up, my head throbbing like a hungover drum, and scanned the room.

“What the hell?” It was a dump. No, calling it a dump is an insult to landfills. The roof was held together by prayer and bird droppings; the walls were peeling with a damp and black mold.

I spotted a piece of a broken mirror propped up against a pile of moth-eaten sacks. I crawled over, praying for the face of a Greek god or Elvis Presley.

Guess what I got?

Was a cosmic middle finger.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I croaked. My voice was younger, sure, but it was thin and raspy.