Pages Torn From a Travel Journal (11 page)

No. This was something else altogether. Something more methodized, yet arcane & immemorially inhered nonetheless.

Something, too, my most ghastly nightmares could never have concocted.

At last, my will supervened the nagging lust in my heart, & I forced my eyes away from the sultry agglomeration of unclothed women, to look—

Gad, I can scarcely recount . . .

To look back at the head of the table.

What I saw is simpler to baldly state, & that was this: Eamon was copulating with the dead man’s head.

Yes.

His work-pants ringed his ankles, his large hands pressed against the ears of the decedent, while his hips . . .
thrust
to & fro.

Hence, the function of the inscrutable knife-slit, to create a proper egress for the . . .

The act.

Horrific as this was, I pinpointed my vision on the area of (for lack of better terminology)
violation;
&, lo, too well I could see the glistening stem of Eamon’s erection pistoning in & out of the convict’s brain. Slowly, at first, then faster, harder. Each appalling stroke shot Eamon’s eyes to a different woman, no doubt to sustain the necessary level of excitement for this ultimately
un
exciting task. Eamon’s face began to strain, eyes puffing now, hips battering the crown of the convicts’ head, faster, harder, frenetic. All that could be heard were the muted thumps of each buffeting impact of pelvis to head, & the synchronous wet
crinkle.

It was then that someone said, “Hump it . . . ”

Then a louder statement, “Hump it, Eamon!”

Another voice, louder still, “Git’cher dick up in there
deep,
brother!”

Next, a woman’s voice, half-shrieking, “Fuck his brain ta puddin’, Eamon!”

Then the loudest booming voice so far, that of the elder I’d glimpsed earlier: “EEEEEEEEEEEEEE-haaaa, Eamon! Hump that head, son! I say
HUMP
it!”

It was as though that trumpet-blast rebel vociferation had in some unknowable way unloosed total orgiastic endorsement. & hence forward?

Chaos.

As if by the snap of satanic fingers, I was standing numb & incomprehending, dead-center within an unknowable kaleidoscope of shrieking, throbbing, panting, ever-moving, copulative frenzy: pandemonium fit for the blackest arcades of Gehenna. All the men had either extracted their privates through their flies, released their trousers, or even stripped completely naked, churning, hips pumping in fornicative mimic, as they stroked themselves whilst leering at the mental sexual fodder, to wit: the young women void of garb with their paphian bodies & witch-fire eyes, so to sufficiently inflame their members for the hideous reward to come. The women themselves danced, writhed, & spun enfrenzied, desperately caressing one another’s breasts, trading tongues, titillating the next’s swollen nipples, or even more lewdly ranging their mouths from one bared pubis to the next; while one after another, the vengeance-crazed men—

There is no other way to relate it.

One after another (& as profanity is not my wont), they
fucked
the head of the dead man on that Tartarean table. I may even have drooled like a mad-house idiot, staring out, reminded at once of the horrid graffito I‘d discovered in the garage commode-chamber. But this was no pervert-scrawl. This was real.

This was
taking place right now.

Hellish images reflecting akin to flashes on a fiend’s falling ax assaulted my eyes: tumid erections plunging into the raw brain like rods into a butter-churner, faces contorted in distilled animality, bodies stiffening & backs arched as if in burning torment yet lidless eyes showed an indubitable opposite; while crazed women danced, sprang, & twirled like an organic perpetual-motion engine, a delirious horde of delectable, voluptuous feminine flesh. & sounds, sounds, the sheer, cacophonic
rampage
of sounds: machine-gun chuckles; hoots, hollers, whistles, & even rabid howls; waves of climactic moans; hootenanny caterwauls & climactical squeals more beast-like than human; & voices, voices, voices, instilled to
madness
with satyriac lust; retaliatory appetency; incubic prurience & succubic guttle–the absolutely unnameable abandon which hit me as an omni-directional cannonade from ravening throats male & female alike as the spiriferous melee surged to incogitability:

“I’se a-comin’, IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII’se a-comin’!”

“Shee-IT, yeah! Thar’s a great big dick-goober in the middle’a yer coconut!”

“Hump it, hump it, HUUUUUUUUUUUUMP it!”

“How you lak that, fella? Huh? How you lak my big
dick
in yer head?”

“Fill ‘im up, Deller! Fill that evil bastart’s head with
cuuuuuuuuuuuuum!
”

“Yes sir! I’se comin’ up a
storm
in this here killer’s noggin! Ooooooooo-DOGGIE! He’ll likely have my cum drippin’ out his
ass!
”

“Git that nut, Tater! I say,
git
that nut!”

“Yeah! Squirt it way on up in ‘nare!”

“Aw, jiminey, I’se got, I say I’se got so much jism pumpin’ out my pecker it done feel like I’m takin’ a blammed
piss,
it does!”

& from the hallucinotic outskirt of roaming, roving women, came a Cimmerian chant: “Fuck that head! Fuck that head! Fuck that-fuck that-FUCK that head!”

My soul smoldered as if I indeed slipped unknowingly into some insupposable byplace of the Hades. Even in the primevous, coruscating background, I could see some of the clan’s boys–Clonner & Jake among them–half-hiding as they leered at the spectacle with pumpkin grins, masturbating energetically. Meanwhile, more adult clansmen had appeared & wasted no time stepping right up & draining the viscid merchandise of their loins into the killer’s cranium like a player in a crap game all taking his turn. Other men whom I positively noticed to have already spent themselves had managed to refract & go again, a few even a
third
time!
Then one very corpulent clodhopper sporting cauliflower ears, only a moment before a very vocal climax, withdrew his curiously arciformed erection from the unfortunate head, slapped the killer’s face to one side, & ejaculated stout opalescent loops into the dead mouth. & just as the flickering, gaggling, moaning, shrieking, swaying, leaping, uncontemplatable mayhem finally would rise to such a pitch as to somehow spontaneously combust, the scene began to relent until it seemed to have run its frightful course, leaving the male participants standing stoop-shouldered or leaning against trees in exhaustion; or lying flat out on the ground, immobile from exertion, all limp-penised, cross-eyed, agape-mouthed; the women, too, sweat-gleaming as if varnished, their abundant chests heaving from fatigue, lay about entwined in one another like spent odalisques of some Plutonian harem. And as a final touch, in this macabre denouement, the aforementioned clan-elder approached the corpse on the table, tipped the head back over the edge, & marveled at the gush of semen that
poured
out, quite like milk from a filled-to-the-brim creamer. “Tarnations!” he cracked, “Would’ja
look
it all that nut we put in this som’bitch’s head!”

I nearly collapsed in a faint.

Surely, I’d witnessed enough of “backwoods ways,” even though a part of me
had
to shrive that this tenebrous mode of capital punishment made hanging, firing squad, & electrocution seem humdrum when juxtaposed. Ordinarily, I would never think of taking my leave of a host without bidding proper adieu (it would’ve been un-genteel) but under
these
circumstances?

It was time to leave, with
prompt
dispatch, I’d say.

I back-stepped, hoping to be indiscreet, slipped behind a flickering torch, & prepared to canter my way out of these forbidden woods, back to the road which would return me to Nate’s ramshackle garage. I felt myself sinking into shadow, & in a moment had disappeared from the nefarious clearing. Still soul-shocked by what I’d descried, I stumbled away into darkness barely veined by moonlight filtering down through the limbs of the gnarled, serpentine trees overhead; & when I turned to bolt away–

“Howard!” came a hot, hushed whisper. “Ya can’t up’n leave now! Ya just
cain’t!
”

The sudden start may have momentarily halted my heart. At once, moist hands were on me, & then from the darkness, an earthy yet enticing, white figure emerged as of a sensualistic marble statue emerging from a pool of black ink: the preeminently figured woman I’d come to think of as the “albiness.”

Once I realized who she was, I felt a hair-trigger surge in my libido; but all I had time to speak was, “Um, my, I . . . ,” & that was all the situation permitted me to voice before the woman roughly embraced me, pressed her lips to mine, & plunged her tongue into my mouth. Her breasts, perfect to a preposterous degree, squashed against my chest like ethereal prods, charging me with a steaming, licentious heat; indeed, her nipples were so stoked by goatish desire, they could’ve been bolt-heads poking my shirt. Forthwith, I shot to tiptoes when an importunate hand kneaded my member through my trousers with the deftness of a practiced milk maid’s on the teat of a cow. I tried to pull away–why, I was not sure at this point–but then other feminine hands–
many
of them–assailed my body & literally pulled me down onto the forest’s carpet. Against my will, my shirt was opened; soft, wet lips lowering to lick my chest & draw in my own nipples. “Git his pants down!” someone commanded . . .

& it was so, posthaste.

“Howard,” the albiness pleaded, “please don’t leave us yet!”

I don’t appear to have much of a CHOICE!
I thought sarcastically, because I was being held down with dominance, hands pinning my arms to the ground, more hands following suit upon my legs, unyielding as iron fetters; & then my alarmed gaze roved an upward half-circle to see that at least a half-dozen “creeker” women–the very women who’d participated in the obscene ritual at the clearing, & all still shiningly naked–knelt about me, holding me fast to the ground as if I’d been
staked
there. Women, yes, the weaker sex, but these women were
hill
women, with bodies not only staggeringly provocative but bodies toned, conditioned, &, moreover,
strong
from the rigors of life in the hinterlands, far stronger–I hasten to add—than this spindly, lily-handed, 146-pound scribe. I may as well have had a pallet of grain sacks sitting atop me.

“See, see,” the albiness panted, straddling me with her bare groin to my bare belly, “we just cain’t have it–you leavin’ without a-fuckin’ us. You’se a hero! We need yer
seed,
Howard.”

In the moonlight, I gaped up at her face, which was now flushed pink with excitement, as were her breasts & tops of her arms, while the rest of her remained the fascinating slick-white. Her nipples, now, stuck out surely as coat pegs. Eventually, I jabbered, “Mum-mum-my
seed?
”

“Aw,
shore,
baby!” she replied in a voice like warm, exotic fluid while mouths & tongues still laved my chest & more hands stroked my legs. “Ain’t no one special
never
come through here–”

“I assure you, Miss, I’m hardly
special.
You should see my reviews–”

“—then all’s a sudden
you
come along’n catch that devil’s-dick-suckin’ bag’a swamp scum that did that awful thang ta Sary. Howard, you’se the first hero we’se ever seen!”

This again!
“Really, girls, you’re very lovely; in fact, if there were one word I could deem accurate enough to be applied to the physical beauty of you all . . . it would be the word
superlative—
”

The crowd of faces peering down burst into chattery laughter.

“Hush, now, with yer fancified words,” cooed the albiness. Her eyes seemed even to
glow
a startling red. “Just go on’n give us what we need. Cain’t hardly
believe
ya wouldn’t wanna.”

Another face–hovering over magnificent breasts, mind you–urged forward into greater moonlight, & considered with concern, “Less’n yer one’a them
homo
-types, a
queer-
boy. Well,
is
ya?”

Even in the crush of this calamity, I frowned, “I assure you ladies, I most incontestably am of no such persuasion–”

“He’s right!” another one, a huge-eyed–and huge-
bosomed
–blonde exclaimed.