Mind Blower (18 page)

Then the cock inside me began to swell, and I realized that it was flexible as to size. It grew larger and larger until I thought it could fill me no further. My asshole stretched tight around its immense width, and the tip of it penetrated deeper than any man ever had. But there was no pain at all. I heard myself sighing, and I grabbed my ankles to let the cock slide deeper into my now totally spread ass. With that, it began to get hotter. The temperature of the cock increased until I felt my bowels begin to flush with heat. The temperature rose until I almost felt scalded, but at the same time I felt myself yielding and letting myself be penetrated more than I had thought possible. It must have been in me a foot and a half, and was now tingling hot, when it began to move. I snapped a popper, and sank into total passive acceptance, to enjoy what has, even to this date, been the best fuck of my life.
 

The cock went in and out, moving through its entire vast length. It pushed to the sides; it teased the rim of my asshole, and then plunged into the very root of me. It tipped in at dozens of angles, and 1 reached down to spread my cheeks even more. I opened inside forever. I couldn't open enough. I pushed against the cock and begged for more. For deeper. For hotter. The popper heightened all the sensations, so that I could feel the ripples going up and down the canals past the opening to my ass.
 

And just when I thought nothing more could happen, the cock began to vibrate in a soft, rapid rhythm. I fell apart, and split right down the center. If the cock had changed to a knife at that point and penetrated into me, I would have welcomed it. And I realized that what allowed me to feel thus was that VuVu wouldn't hurt me: the computer was only interested in seeing how far I went, and how. The cock was probably sensitized and would not penetrate if there was too much tension, and would stop if it were asked. So I could open, and did. I closed my eyes and let myself be fucked for a long rapturous time, sailing into that region past the reach of understanding, deep into the brute fact of unformed living consciousness. I cried and moaned and thrashed my head wildly about, and at the moment when the pressure on the prostate gland reached the point that I spilled into coming, I voluntarily reached up to embrace my partner and opened my eyes in horror when my arms wrapped around a tangle of pipes and struts and wires.
 

In a flash I saw that I had become so enraptured with the sensation that my concentration had strangled attention, and I had forgotten all the other elements of the moment. At the point of complete abandon, there was nothing to hold on to but machinery. A familiar feeling of nausea welled up in my stomach, but at that moment the sounds of my fucking began to be played back, and I looked up to see myself on the screens, in various stages of passion, opening my legs, yearning toward the cock. I stared in wide-eyed wonder, and grasped the point, that the act did not end when I came, that the act went on forever, reverberating through time and space, always recorded, always having an effect. And the important thing was the sex, the actual fucking, which had been visiting me for a while, and was now visiting millions of people throughout the world. And I flashed the vision of a vast field of bodies, in a giant orgiastic tumble, with all the cunts that have existed since the monkeys first appeared, in all their shapes and sizes and smells. And the billions of cocks, all hard and pulsing with desire. And wave after wave of posture rolling over the field of flesh, in every conceivable shape and form, until there was nothing but a great fucking and sucking and eating and caressing and slapping.
 

Then I felt a problem crack open, and I realized why I was often so sad after orgasm, why I retreated. It was because I treated the moment of orgasm like a museum piece which, once perfected, should be hung on the wall of memory and revered. And in doing that, I missed the continuation of the flow, the moment-to-moment change. So much intensity goes into orgasm, that like a heavy body, it bends light around it, distorting all vision for some time afterwards. But with seeing this, I could just lie back and let awareness continue, and drift into the flow of my body's ebb, and accompany with my mind the travels of sex as it whipped through the world, enlivening individuals and tripping them into one another's arms.
 

Tocco's words came home: "The point is to not swing wildly from extreme to extreme all the time, but to know a quiet awareness at the edge where the opposites are constantly interpenetrating. Then you will be silent inside. Then you will understand."
 

As I lay thinking, another arm of the machine descended, and this time at its tip was a disembodied cunt. Again, it was an almost perfect sculptural imitation, covered with natural hair. But it looked very eerie descending as it did at the end of a metal arm. I wondered if Dali had had a hand in the design, when the cunt came down and completely covered my cock. It gave off a smell that was indistinguishable from real cunt; it pulsated with vibration and gave off heat, so that in a moment I felt my cock stiffening to rise into it.
 

The cunt grabbed my cock like a hand. And began to move up and down, and around, thrusting and drawing back, always returning to the base of my cock to long slow pull up to the head. I lay back to enjoy it, and soon began to move in unison with it. Perversely, I grabbed the metal arm so that I could pull the cunt in closer to me, and began to ram into it hard, sloshing around inside, stretching the walls, bruising the lips. I could be as rough as I wanted, knowing that I wasn't causing pain. And the thought went through my mind whether fucking a computer wasn't the best sex possible, a kind of ramified masturbation.
 

VuVu responded, and soon we were moving into each other, and peaking in cycles, only to descend to come at it again. I was moving in an oddly familiar way when I realized that I was fucking the cunt the way the cock had just been fucking me! That I had learned, through my responses to being fucked, more about fucking! The notion was so simple, I wondered how I could have overlooked it all this while. The better a woman I became, the better a man I could be, yet to do that, I would actually have to experience the sense of being a woman while I was being fucked, even though I knew all about the womb fantasy now and how I really wasn't a woman. But then, when I went to be with women, did I suddenly switch roles to become a man? The whole thing danced around in my head, with confusion between social roles and inner images and sexual organs and having children.
 

To complicate matters, VuVu dropped the cock substitute again, and as I groaned into the cunt now hanging over the head of my cock, teasing it with its heat and juices, the computer's cock sank down and smoothly lodged itself between my cheeks and into my ass. I went wild with the effect. All the ambivalences in me coaslesced in a single unifying movement. The cock moved into me and brought me to a state of utter abandon, and with that same abandon, I plunged into the cunt wrapped around me. I no longer had any label to hang on to what was happening. One might have called it a bisexual experience, but that would have missed the richness of it, the exquisite subtleties. My body was like an alchemist, taking the metal of the cock going into my ass and transforming it into the metal of my cock going into the cunt. In a real sense, VuVu was fucking herself, but I was a catalytic agent, translating one input into an output so totally restructured as to be a different thing.
 

At one point I lost all sense of what was there. My cock felt as though it was the cunt and the cunt was a cock driving into me. My ass became a cunt, and the cock going into me became a cock growing out of my cunt and going into someone else's ass. Then it didn't matter at all, and the only thing left was the heat and the dance of the organs and the growing climax. I let myself go totally passive, and in that found the center of activity.
 

We fucked for ages, and I popped a dozen poppers and watched myself freak out over four spots in time, and rode with it until I could contain myself no more and let the scalding spunk rise in spurts up the tube and shoot into the gaping cunt that hung down from the ceiling, and simultaneously felt the cock discharge a hot sticky fluid deep inside my ass.
 

I fell back, closed my eyes, and relaxed more totally than I ever had in my life. The cunt and cock stayed glued to me for a very long time, and then gradually they pulled away, and I was left by myself on the table in the middle of the room.
 

However, in a few minutes, the lights on the computer wall began to blink in absurd patterns, and I realized that everything that had happened was being run through and analyzed in a process that I could not begin to understand. I got off the table, disengaged the electrodes, stretched luxuriously, and dressed.
 

Tocco came back in.

"From what I can judge to date, the entire thing was a success. How do you feel?"

I checked myself. "Perfect," I said. "It was dazzling."

"Did you learn anything?" he asked.

I told him about my realizations, but there was more somehow that I couldn't put into words. It was that part that he was interested in. "The next step is dangerous, for VuVu will provide you with the words to describe that area of experience which is now blank. The danger is that you will take the words as a solution to the problem, when all they do is to close the gap in your mind, complete the gestalt as it were. When the last piece of the conceptual puzzle is in place, then you can forget all further verbal considerations about sexuality, and begin to live yourself fully."
 

I felt piqued. "Isn't that what I've been doing?"

"Yes, you have. And in addition, you have been muddying your perception with the search for understanding. What you haven't realized is that the search itself was the source of confusion. Once you know there is nothing more to know, then you can begin to learn."
 

"That last sentence just spun my head around," I said.

"Well, let it settle then. We can go to my study, and when VuVu's analysis is translated into English, we'll take a look at it."
 

FIFTEEN

WE SETTLED IN the study, and Tocco brought out some glasses and a bottle of brandy. He took off his jacket, loosened his tie, and heaved himself into the couch by the window. I drew up an easy chair and sat facing him. He poured the brandy, and we clinked glasses. I felt the velvet liquid burn down my throat and heard Tocco's gasp of pleasure.
 

I peered at him over the rim of my glass and said, "Who are you, Tocco?"

He chuckled in the best Sidney Greenstreet manner and put his glass down. "If you're thinking in terms of my biography, Michael, I shall have to disappoint you. Where and when I came from and developed is a closed book. Basically, I am just a man, who happened to have been born with a good brain and a completely unwieldy body. It didn't take long for me to find out that the pain of unrequited sexual desire surpassed all others in my hall of unhappy experiences. And since I'm a fanatic at heart, I dove headfirst into the area which gave me the most trouble, determined to master it. I mastered the area, all right, but have never come to terms with the pain which comes from desire which isn't reciprocated. I realize that it is a trivial aspect of the self, but we each bear our particular cross with as much dignity and humor as we can manage."
 

He shifted his weight and continued. "But this is not to talk about me. The point is to go into your question, and to see if we can discover what lies at the root of your supposed problem. You came, originally, because you wanted to know if it were possible to share an image orgasm with someone. How do you feel about that now?"
 

It seemed such a long time ago, and in a way the question made no sense to me now. "It seems that it was a false problem. After the thing with VuVu I feel that I have to accept my own fantasies for myself, and let the other person have his or hers, and be content with what happens between our bodies."
 

"That's a totally pat answer, and doesn't strike to the heart of the situation. Let's take it from the beginning. Fantasy is what happens when there is a conflict in reality that is conditioned and unconscious. When two people fuck, their motives, their emotions, their bodies, all clash. It is a violent bringing together of two autonomous biospheres. Each of the individuals must be in total contact with his or her own reality in order to know what the other's reality is, and only then is there a chance that they can get into complementary rhythms. And the rhythms must be in tune if they are to go into the next stage of self-for-getfulness.
 

"This is the reason, parenthetically, why an orgy which isn't a jolly group-grope on one hand, or a programmed scenario on the other, requires a number of individuals with enough sensitivity, humor and strength to allow themselves to enter into the chaotic sequences which make the psychic space turbulent before they get it together.
 

"Now whenever there is unconscious conflict, or unresolved conscious conflict, thoughts are produced, and in the context of fucking, the thoughts take the shape of fantasies of one form or another. Sometimes one enters a mythical realm and transmogrifies into fabled beasts; sometimes the mind grows demonic, and hateful paranoid delusions cloud everything over. The fantasies grow like dank flowers in the stagnant backwater of energy which gets trapped and can't flow. Quite often these flowers are more interesting than the mundane reality which we find ourselves. And one can spend his entire life sniffing imaginary flowers. Many have done so, and in times like these, when an entire civilization is in full decay, it becomes modish. That, of course, is decadence.
 

"But for most of us, fantasy is something that comes and goes, and sometimes it's a pleasant movie and sometimes it's a nightmare. And we often fall into the fantasy, identify with its workings, and in its grip attempt to negotiate through reality. Of course, we always stub our toe or plunge off cliffs."