Pages Torn From a Travel Journal (12 page)

Another, in a lovely, lilting voice: “Well, holy everlivin’
shit!
”

& another pixie simply squealed in glee.

“Bleechy!” squealed another. “Git’cher ass off’a him so’s we can
all
see!”

Back-lighted by a shaft of lunar light, the albiness–“Bleechy,” I’d now been given notice–began to rise from her uncouth but not unpleasing straddle, the shifty moonlight turning her sprawl of kinky hair to a sex-spirit’s orphic aura; & when she stepped aside–

The response of the remaining women couldn’t have been more gleefully
mad.
Exclamations of the most shrill & giddy approval shot from every voluptuous mouth.

“Gawd, durn! It’s huge!”

A whistle of giggles, then: “It looks like a shaved weasel, it does!”

“This hero-man shore got himself a
rig,
don’t he?”

“That there’s enough dang
meat
ta hang in a blammed smokehouse!”

I could not conceive as to their meaning, but then, another shrieked & blurted:

“Why, that’s the biggest motherfuckin’
dick
I ever gandered in my
life!
”

Preposterous. Evidently they were referring to the dimensions of my genitals, though I‘m quite certain they sported nothing especial in that department. They must only be saying such things to be polite to a visitor . . .

Now the albiness, Bleechy, stood over me, one bare foot to either side of my hips, her hands on her
own
hips, & she looked down red-eyed in the tinseled moonlight & in a manner purred like a feline. My eyes roved slowly upward, examining every perceptible detail of her luscious physique. She was an ivory tower of the most succulent, intoxicating woman-flesh. “Howard, you are, I say you are shorely somethin, you is. Like a breath’a fresh air come through this shit-hole. A hero–”

My eyes rolled. “Miss, in all seriousness, I’m
not
a h–”

“–and smart as a whip and all full’a big fancified city words–”

“I’ll admit, I’m a bit bookish, have been since I was four. See, I was taught to read early, as well as possessing a connatural proclivity for reading–”

“–and
handsome
–”

Speechlessness struck me like lightning.

“–and mixed up with all that,
what’choo
got ‘tween yer legs? A pecker bigger’n
any one ever been part’a this clan!
”

A gulp seized me.
Could this be true?
No! It was only graciousness that urged remarks of such kudos. Notwithstanding, I wasn’t here to be complimented (nor
raped
by a bevy of young women
so attractive
they existed essentially as caricatures of feminine desire!)
Happenstance
had navigated me here, happenstance & only that. All that weighed on my mind–Bliss—had been relinquished to some subconscious repository during the distractive madness I’d just witnessed.
Bliss,
 I thought forlornly. What was she suffering now? What was she thinking?

& here I was lying with my pants down & my genitals exposed before a rabble of naked “creeker” girls.

Never have I felt more ashamed.

“Ladies, I must
go!
” I asserted in my beefiest voice, & then I summoned all my strength to break the bond of so many hands holding me fast to the ground.

I didn’t budge, & giggles burst like scattered night-birds.

“You ain’t goin’
nowhere,
Howard,” Bleechy’s voice bubbled down. “If’n you ain’t gonna give us yer business, we’se just gonna have ta take it . . . but what’cha gotta understant, hon, is we’se takin’ it with enough thanks ta fill a blammed
pig-trough.
”

An . . . interesting manner with which to legitimize abduction, imprisonment, &, ostensibly, the forcible engagement of carnal knowledge upon an unwilling victim.

“Please understand, gentlewomen,” I implored, “my conscience, if you must know, is bound to another woman. I’m sure I would not be able to . . . perform.”

More chatterous laughter rose up like alien surf. A wide-hipped, plug-nippled, & quite mind-boggling brunet chuckled to object, pointing downward. “Not perform, huh? Then why’s yer peckerwood hard as a fencepost & dang near as big?”

I could not contrive a response.

“One at a time, girls,” ordered the albiness (pronunciating the word “time” as
tam
), then plopped her shapely groin down on my erection . . . & squealed. In pain-staking slowness, she rode my privates up & down. The sensation was, admittedly, quite pleasurable. “Don’t’cha git’cher nut, baby. Just give us each’a little sit-down first, okay?”

“I assure you, I do not receive your meaning!”

Her eyes rolled back in her head as one possessed by a daemonic entity, & the moan that escaped “Bleechy’s” throat seemed unworldly. “Ah, oh, hon! Fuck–oh, Howard . . . Ain’t never felt
nothin’
so’s good as this!” Her hand quickly plied her own privates (baring a peach-seed-sized clitoris out, shiny & pale-pink) during the course of my penetration, when, with a chilling promptitude, she shrieked with all the force her lungs could conscript. Meanwhile, a darkly lovely face huddled close–it was one of the breast-heavy women who held my arms immobilely to the ground–and whispered, “See, Sir, we’se need ya ta give us all yer
nut.
”

My face must have corrugated with confusion. “Pardon me, but . . . my
nut?
If by that you mean my
semen,
then I’ll point out the
impossibility
of one man trafficking his
sperm
to a dozen-plus women in a single foregathering!”

It was the sated Bleechy who now knelt beside me, patting my head as though I were a listless pet. “Just don’t let’cherself come while each gal has a nice sit-down on yer prick–”

“
What?
” I raised my voice at the absurd inference.

“Just you think ‘bout what fellas do when’s they’se holdin’ back, then leave the rest ta li’l ole me. See, I’se got a
system!
”

I had not an idea in the world of what she spoke; I could only assume she expected me to slake the loins of
all these women
. . . without ejaculating?

Bleechy continued, as now the 4th or 5th woman took her turn being impaled by me, “We’se need ya ta git’cher seed up in us,
all’
a us, so’s some of us might get
pregnant . . .
”

“It’s a
hero’s
nut we all need up’n our cunnies,” another preposterously chested girl explained, “a smart, handsome,
city
-man’s nut!”

“—so’s ta git some of us knocked up with a
hero’s
baby!”

Oh, for the sake of Agamemnon!

It proceeded as thus: one stepped on, sat down, rode her hips manically until her crises was reached, then stepped off to make room for the next, & throughout I was forced to listen to the most shrill cries of satisfaction:

“Feels lak I’se got a
gopher
stuck up me!”

“This dick’s twice as big as anythin’ I been fucked by!”

“Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh . . . . Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Oh, I’se just
swear
this hero-fella’s peter is pushin’ ‘gainst my stomach!”

“Oooooooo, that there’s just the best the best the best the best everlin’
fuckin’
 I’se ever gots in my whole cotton-pickin’ LIFE!”

& more of the same.

So aggravated was I by their misconception of–I cannot help it–conception, my mind felt quite divided from my undeniably aroused member, such that the annoyed distraction did indeed enable me to forestall orgasm, while the women continued to use my erection for a, so to speak, carnal “scratching-post.” Bleechy kept patting my head as the waiting line, at long last, dwindled.

& when the last woman was finished?

“
Now,
Howard,” gushed Bleechy, “
now
you’se can have yer nut,” & she swivelled where she knelt, lowered her face, & pulled into her mouth the entirety of my sexual architecture. Instantly I clenched, my toes curling as if to break the souls out of my shoes. Through delectation-narrowed eyes, I managed to glance at the locale of the act, & saw Bleechy engaged in very methodical & adroit fellatio, her lips stretched painfully tight around the girth of my organ. It was rhythmic, machinelike, & rife with suction but the culmination she apparently wanted felt unsummonable: my mind was still at odds with sundries, & when I remembered my chief worry–Bliss–I felt, oddly, that I was being unfaithful to her, an absurd notion, I know; nonetheless, I was even less confident that I would be able to finalize the act to completion.

Bliss. What further horrors had O’Slaughnassey inflicted upon her since I’d departed? What lies might he be telling her about me? Did she now dismiss me as a coward?

These prospects injected me with a most dreadful anxiety, such that Bleechy could sense this by some, I suppose, “hill-tramp” intuition.

“Howard, honey? Ain’t you likin’ the feel’a my mouth on yer peter?”

“I . . . ”

“Aw, you mean you’se’re feelin’ guilty ‘bout that other gal you mentioned? Well, why nots just pretend it’s
her
suckin’ yer dick ‘stead’a me!”

The suggestion sounded like so much nonsense–by now I was absolutely
disconsolate
via my fears for Bliss; yet some Freudian toggle seemed to click in my head with nearly an audible snap. Then:

It
was
Bliss I imagined fellating me, then crawling forward to be penetrated, & then, then–

Smiling resplendently, her eyes abeam with love for me, & her nearly inapprehensibly beautiful body shimmering,
then
she took my member in the “grip” of her deformed foot . . . & began to stroke.

This chimeral image alone, after only a moment, caused my loins to break like a veritable dam; & into the intricate webwork of my libidinal nerves was flooded ecstasy like that experienced by opium-smokers. I shuddered, stretched out & straining against the forest thatch beneath me, moaning outright; & with one spasm after the next, my seminal fluids were relocated into Bleechy’s hot mouth. Evidently, said spasms did not abate when she expected them to, for soon (after, perhaps, the 12
^th
or 15
^th
spasm) the albiness’s ruby-corundum eyes shot open in what could only be flabbergastment, & she actually released a muffled mewl. After 5 more spasms–well, perhaps 10–the dispensation was at an end; so, too, was my soul-upheaving orgasm. Winded in the literary “afterglow,” I looked to Bleechy to express some exhausted gratitude & compliment her on such formidable skill, but by now she’d disengaged from my privates & knelt bug-eyed, a hand to her closed mouth.

“Gawd, dang,” one of the other curvaceous sprites remarked. “Looks lak Bleechy got’s herself a mouthful!”

Indeed, along with the expression of utter shock on her face, her cheeks ballooned; they appeared
stuffed
akin to the cheek-pouches of a foraging chipmunk. She made noises in her throat whose meaning I could not imagine, then turned & crawled aside.

To
whither
is
she
crawling?
I wondered.

On my left, I discerned that all of the promiscuettes who’d used my penis for a “sit down” were all lying prone in a line, lying, yes, with their legs lewdly spread, their hair-crowded pubises lewdly raised, & their fingers–lewdest of all–curled into the tender vulvic entries in order to deliberately open them.

Of
all
the
falderal!

One needn’t have earned dual doctorates in predicate calculus & existential thaumaturgology to now discern the full meaning of Bleechy’s “system . . . ”

Up to the crotch of each spread-legged nymph Bleechy nuzzled; for lack of more eloquent metaphor, she then “fish-lipped” her mouth & daintily expectorated a small allotment of my semen from the reservoir of her mouth into each opened orifice, which I suppose might suffice as a mode of fertilisation. Each woman giggled upon “receipt.” Bleechy spat the last of it into her own hand &, amongst slick, indelicate sounds, rubbed it into her own sex, pushing her fingers deep, all the while peering at me in astonishment: “Well, holy jumpin’ jiminy, Howard! Not only’ve ya got a giant dick, ya done
cum
more’n a blammed Appaloosa stallion!”