Peter loved Piri’s ass. “Your bottom is like a beautiful baby pumpkin,” he told her time and again. Piri put up with Peter’s praise and his caresses and sometimes his licks and nips and kisses, but only once would she let him put his finger in, and then only a little way and only for a moment. “Don’t be naughty,” she said, twisting away. “But I need your ass,” Peter moaned. “I need to be inside it. I need to fuck your baby pumpkin.” Piri gave Peter a frown. “At least let me make love to you the regular way,” Peter implored, but Piri wouldn’t allow this, either. She was afraid of birth control pills and patches, she hated the idea of devices, and she didn’t trust condoms. “Besides,” she said, in an all too reasonable tone of voice, “My first time I want to feel the real boy in me.”

On Halloween weekend Piri’s parents were out of town attending a peace conference, so Piri asked Peter to come over to help give out trick-or-treat goodies. Peter showed up two hours early. He’d bought Piri a present: a pair of baby pumpkins, each no more than six inches across.

“Why they’re adorable,” Piri said. Peter smiled. “I picked them out because they reminded me of you—of your beautiful bottom.” Piri gave Peter that frown again. “So what shall we do with them,” she said, “carve them or make them into pie?” Peter gave Piri a frown of his own. Piri said, “Or would you prefer to fuck them?”

“Fuck them?” Peter asked.

Now that Piri had this idea in her head, she insisted. Peter was nonplussed. “I can’t do that.”

“At least try,” Piri said, smiling naughtily. “Come on, I wanna see.” Peter was holding both pumpkins, so Piri was able to tug down the zipper of Peter’s pants without resistance. A half minute more and she had Peter’s pants and underwear pulled all the way down.

“This is ridiculous,” Peter said, glancing toward the living room window to make sure no neighbors could see in.

“Your penis doesn’t seem to think so,” Piri said. Indeed, Peter’s full erection jutted beneath the pumpkins.

“Come on, do it boy! Fuck those pumpkins. Pretend they’re my ass.”

“But there’s no, uh, hole,” Peter protested.

“Use your imagination,” Piri said.

Peter held the pumpkins beneath his erection. He thrust between them. “This isn’t working,” he said. “There’s no way I can get inside.”

“Exactly,” Piri said.

Exasperated, Peter set the pumpkins on the couch.

“Giving up so soon?” Piri asked.

Peter sighed.

“I do want to see you fuck those pumpkins,” Piri said. “A real man would find a way.”

“Could we carve a hole?” Peter asked.

“That would ruin the beauty,” Piri replied.

Peter shrugged.

“Okay,” Piri said. “Follow me. And bring a pumpkin. And leave your pants down.”

Peter picked up one of the pumpkins and waddled after Piri into the kitchen. Piri was already holding a small, sharp knife. “How big a hole do you need?” she asked. While Peter was considering this, Piri plunged the knife into the pumpkin’s hide. “Thick-skinned little critter,” she said, and she withdrew the knife and plunged it in again, crossing the original slit. Then she twisted the knife. “There,” she said. “Is that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said.

Piri put down the knife and stuck her finger into the pumpkin. “Pretty tight,” she said. “And pretty cold and gooshy in there.”

“Cold?” Peter said. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

“I’ll warm it up for you,” Piri said. “I’ll stick it in the microwave.”

“But mightn’t it explode?”

“Oh, you’re right. That would be an awful mess. We’ll heat it in the oven.” She turned the oven on high. She stuck a meat thermometer into the pumpkin’s slit. “We’ll bake it to 105 degrees,” she announced.