The Anxious Antidote
Spicy Fan Fiction:
The Affectionate Antidote
Posted by Ernie the Email | May 26, 2025
Dear Diary,
Woe is your Hilda! I seem to have found myself in low spirits once again on this loneliest of nights in 1561, way before I would become a character in an award-winning book about the dangers of eating contaminated fajitas at a street fair.
Alas, I thought I had finally found the one . . .
It had been a long day at my tavern. Those two scientist-explorers were making scientist love again on one of the wobbly tables, and at first the other patrons were really into it, chanting “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” and clinking mugs whenever one of them screamed out a sultry hypothesis in a moment of passion. But after the first hour, the scientist-explorers started getting freaky with their fancy lab equipment, and I didn’t think glass test tubes were made to be used like that. The crowd grew bored and wanted to get back to eating their mutton, so I eventually had to chase the intellectual lovers outside with a garden hose. I hoped they would conduct a new experiment on how to make some friends soon.
Once that was taken care of, I went back behind the bar and resumed the favorite pastime of all sixteenth-century women: staring into nothingness and wishing we were born a few centuries later when online shopping was invented. But it wasn’t long before I found my thoughts drifting toward love once again. As you know, your Hilda has always been a hopeless romantic at heart, but mostly just hopeless these days. All the eligible bachelors in the village are either married to the sea or already on their deathbeds by their thirtieth birthday! The closest I’ve come to the touch of a man is when my orthodontist stuck his fingers in my mouth to hook up my metal headgear. But at least I know that once my gross black teeth become straight gross black teeth in a few years, all the boys will surely line up in my yard.
I was lost in such ruminations of longing when a paper airplane sailed through the open window of the tavern and landed gently on the bar. How strange! I was used to finding messages in bottles along the shore, most of which just ended up containing frustrating fines for smashing bottles along the shore, but I had never witnessed a message being delivered in such a manner as this. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was not a standard piece of 1560s yellowed parchment paper, but rather a sheet of Staples Premium Bright White Inkjet & Laser Printer Paper with 98 brightness and 24 pound weight for crisper text and vivid colors. I was very impressed! Someone must have done a lot of research to make such a fine selection of stationery.
“Greetings,” the paper said. “I’m Ernesto Emily Email, and I’m on a grand adventure from the future! I’ve been flying through space and time to become a more cultured correspondence.”
I believed Ernesto about his time travel because emails hadn’t been invented yet, and so I sat enraptured as he told me stories of the future: New video games cost 80 doubloons now, and it was worth it to invest your monies early so you could be among the first to enjoy the biggest new releases in a semi-playable state before dozens of patches are rushed out. You also had to wait two years to watch the next six-episode season of your favorite TV show, the perfect amount of time to build up anticipation and completely forget all the characters and plot lines. And for sports fans, you had the pleasure of signing up for like six different streaming services just to see all your team’s games, and of course the completely necessary blackout restrictions definitely still applied.
I could have listened to Ernesto talk all day! I made sure to refill his mug at regular intervals so his parchment wouldn’t get parched. It was a few years before Mountain Dew Baja Blast would be imported to our little corner of the world, so we quenched our thirst with the earthy flavors of Dr Pepper instead. [Editor’s Note: Did you know that there’s actually no period in the brand name “Dr Pepper”? It’s true, look it up! I just thought I would educate you about that in case you thought it was a typo. Yes, I’m also editing fan fiction now to really expand my repertoire of useless skills to bring to a publishing job! —Alexandra]
It was getting late, and I was worried about Ernesto flying home after drinking all that Dr Pepper, so I invited him to spend the night in my guest bedchamber.
“That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said.
“Please, it’s no trouble at all!”
I led Ernesto up the creaky stairs and got him settled in the guest bedchamber. Then I retired to my own room across the hall, where I emptied my sloshing bedpan out the window and then changed into my cute nightgown, which was really just a tattered old sheet covered in dirty brown stains. I was just about to get into bed when I heard a piece of paper slide beneath my bedchamber door.
Curious, I approached the paper and bent down to investigate. It was Ernesto again, but something new had been written on his torso, the words curling down his body like tiny black hairs leading to a hidden treasure at the end.
Do you like me?
There were three checkboxes beneath his query for Yes, No, and Maybe. I felt my breath catch in my shriveled black lungs, and then before I realized what was happening, a big glob of saliva dripped from my mouth and landed squarely in the checkbox marked Yes.
Once again, my heart had taken control of my body before my brain could catch up.
The next thing I knew, we were lying together on my rock-hard mattress that was filled with rocks. Things started off slow, and I kept my nightgown on because I was self-conscious about my various sixteenth-century bedsores and suspicious moles, but Ernesto didn’t seem to mind. He weaved his way through my metal headgear like a key into a lock, and he used the edge of his body to sensually floss himself along my slimy brown gums. Ernesto got extremely damp after that.
My stomach was doing flips, which wasn’t ideal for all the rancid mutton sitting at the bottom of it. Luckily, I was already wearing my sixteenth-century adult diaper beneath my nightgown, and so I could keep kissing Ernesto while having diarrhea at the same time, and only the smallest trickle escaped the confines of the diaper and ran down my leg.
Night had fallen, and I grabbed one of the flickering candles from my nightstand and let a stream of hot wax drip right onto Ernesto’s chest. Ernesto let out a manly hiss as the wax pooled on his papery skin, but I could tell he liked the burn. When the pool of wax was big enough, I pressed a heavy seal into him and branded the email with my tavern’s logo.
Ernesto was mine now. The email’s affection was like an antidote for my affliction of loneliness.
We fell asleep entwined, and I dreamed of our sixteenth-century wedding: A beautiful beach ceremony. Stunning fountains that flowed with Mountain Dew Baja Blast. The Dave Matthews Band performing their biggest Dave Matthews Band hits at the reception. Everything was perfect.
When I awoke in the morning, Ernesto was gone. Had I just dreamed of our heated tryst? No, I could spot ink stains on my filthy sheets, along the remnants of last night’s diarrhea.
It was real.
“Ernesto!” I cried, running to the window and sticking my head out. At first, all I saw were the scientist-explorers making love in the alley outside the tavern, apparently having been caught in the cross fire when I emptied my bedpan out the window last night. But when I looked up, I could just see the tail end of the paper airplane flying over the horizon, and then it was gone. Ernesto had left without even saying goodbye, and I felt like such a sixteenth-century fool standing there by myself.
I should have known: Emails were always sending and receiving, and I couldn’t expect one to be tied down in one place for long. Ernesto had forwarded himself on to his next big adventure, and he had forgotten to cc me along the way.
Hot tears ran down my cheeks and pinged off my metal headgear like rain.
Will I ever find someone who loves me enough to stay?
Forever yours,
Hilda
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