Authors: Edward Lee
The House (10 page)
Hence was Plugger, a rare survivor. By age 50, the syndrome had turned his penis and gonads into
things
that scarcely looked as such now. A scrotum stretched to the point of shining, housing lumpen testicles the size of boiler onions. A penile shaft that, flaccid, measured sixteen inches long and probably four wide. A glans big around as a navel orange.
things
that scarcely looked as such now. A scrotum stretched to the point of shining, housing lumpen testicles the size of boiler onions. A penile shaft that, flaccid, measured sixteen inches long and probably four wide. A glans big around as a navel orange.
"Holy shit," Leonard muttered.
Then it was lights, camera, and action. "A delectable measure of talent," Plugger complimented as Sissy and Snowdrop fervently laved the elephantine genitals with their tongues. They were antsy tonight, fired up and nearly shivering in their zeal, for both were close to clinical withdrawal. "Twins of passion," Plugger commented, lounging back on the floor, manicured hands behind his head. "You, blondie," Rocco gestured Snowdrop. "Do that finger thing like last time."
"Huh?" Snowdrop squinted at him.
Rocco kicked her in the side of the head. "Stick your finger in his dickhole!"
Snowdrop, her memory refreshed, was quick to comply. "A most tantalizing combination of sensations," Plugger pointed out. Snowdrop sheened her index finger with saliva and inserted it into Plugger's urethra, drew it fully in and out as Sissy masturbated the mammoth tube of flesh with both hands. Rocco articulated, "Yeah, it takes two hands to handle the whopper!"
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
Now Snowdrop was drawing two, then
three
fingers in and out of Plugger's urethra.
three
fingers in and out of Plugger's urethra.
It took at least twenty minutes of proper attention before Plugger's penis came fully erect. And, erect, it proffered a terrifying vision. It looked like some strange, glistening and puffy sea creature. Eyeless, with a puckered mouth. Beneath which sat the bloated scrotum traced with veins.
Rocco took the camera away from Leonard. "Okay, kid, here's where I take over. Hate to do this to ya but it's how Vinch wants it."
"Um, what?" Leonard asked.
"Have one of the bitches blow ya till you get hard, then fuck Plugger."
Leonard stared. Blinked. Gulped. "You want me to, uh,
sodomize
the man?"
sodomize
the man?"
Rocco frowned, setting the Canon on his shoulder. "No, kid, you ain't gotta butt-fuck him. Get your willy up and fuck his
dick.
"
dick.
"
"Um...oh," Leonard said.
Plugger winked at him, grinned with—believe it or not—a gold tooth. "Step right up, my boy. It'll be
grand!
"
grand!
"
Leonard sorely doubted that it would be grand. Sissy briskly sucked his cock amid a flurry of wet, smacking sounds as Leonard squeezed his eyes shut and thought very resolutely about the hostess at the Widow's Walk. He thought long and hard but, alas, it took some time before Leonard could achieve the necessary erection considering what he would resultantly be required to do with it.
"Come on, kid," Rocco griped. "You're pissin' me off. Raise that crane and get with it. The Yankees are playing fuckin' Baltimore tonight."
"Hurry!" Sissy whispered up to him, a grim plea in her eyes. "Don't get him mad!"
It was a good point. Thus far, Leonard had managed to avoid Rocco's wrath, and he facilitated this simply by doing what he was told.
Do as you're told,
Leonard thought desperately. Perhaps it was the fear element, then, but against all odds, Leonard finally achieved an erection—
Do as you're told,
Leonard thought desperately. Perhaps it was the fear element, then, but against all odds, Leonard finally achieved an erection—
"Yeah, good, good woody, kid," Rocco praised from behind the camera. "Now fuck Plugger's dick and come in it."
Leonard considered that these were perhaps the most absurd words ever spoken in the history of civilization. "That's the spirit, son!" Plugger elated, standing now and holding out the strange tube of meat. The urethral entry was already well-lubricated with Snowdrop's spit, so Leonard—
—stared. Blinked. And gulped—
—and then admitted his penis into Plugger's urethral tract.
It was a tight fit, yet Plugger, the passive partner of this standing duo, made no protest. Leonard held Plugger's shaft as he moved his hips back and forth. More strained thoughts then, of the Widow's Walk's pert and horny hostess, the new girl on
Charlie's Angels,
Helga on
Hogan's Heroes,
the cover of Roxy Music's
Country Life,
and, the end-all: Mary Ann from
Gilligan,
and those preeminent packed breasts, the tan tummy, and the cute little farm-girl bellybutton. What was a farm girl doing on the
Minnow
anyway? Didn't she have fields to tend to? What the fuck was a
farm girl
doing on a three-hour tour?
Charlie's Angels,
Helga on
Hogan's Heroes,
the cover of Roxy Music's
Country Life,
and, the end-all: Mary Ann from
Gilligan,
and those preeminent packed breasts, the tan tummy, and the cute little farm-girl bellybutton. What was a farm girl doing on the
Minnow
anyway? Didn't she have fields to tend to? What the fuck was a
farm girl
doing on a three-hour tour?
The questions aside, the images sufficed. Leonard successfully ejaculated quite quickly into Plugger's penis, rifling what seemed a dozen hard spurts of semen.
"Mmmmmm, a hot one," Plugger approved and winked.
"Hey," Rocco cracked from behind the whirring camera. "Maybe you'll have a dick-baby!"
Rocco and Knuckles busted out laughter.
Leonard exhaled in a blurt, and withdrew, and with that came the most absurd thought of all:
I just came in a man's dick...
I just came in a man's dick...
"Watch this, kid! This is great!" Rocco enthused.
Sissy, on her knees, inclined her face toward the ceiling, open-mouthed like a chick awaiting nourishment from a dutiful hen. Plugger walked over, his fingers pinching off his urethra. Then he lowered the gargantuan cock to the target sight, released his fingers, and out fell all of Leonard's sperm directly into Sissy's waiting mouth.
That was about it for Leonard; the acknowledgment that he had just had coitus with a penis was not easy to cope with, after all. Rocco gave back the camera, and Leonard filmed the rest in a mercifully forgetful blur: Plugger slicking his swollen penis up with Noxema, then sodomizing both girls until he eventually ejaculated white worms into Sissy's face.
"What a man!" Rocco obliged later, and slapped Leonard on the back. "Your daddy'd be proud!"
"Damn straight," added Knuckles. "I know mine would."
Leonard, mind-blown, rather doubted that his dear, dead father would approve of his son's fornicating with another man's penis, not that he paid it much mind. Instead he retreated to the dark room to begin processing this latest snippet of dementia. There seemed no end, now, to the limits to which human sexual activity could be exploited for the purposes of perversion.
And the girls, by the way, bled for days.
««—»»
On the night they brought the pig, Leonard was in the cutting room trying to tune in the SoundDesign FM radio. (There was an 8-track player, too, and a record "changer.") Sometimes at night he could pull in D.C.-area stations, which were a godsend. Leonard had been weaned, so to speak, on WHMC from Montgomery County, Maryland, namely the Barry Richards Show, "The Home of The Heavy, Heavy Head"; back when music had some artistic integrity with the likes of Lothar and the Hand People, the original King Crimson (not this watered-down-for-money-with-some-bald-guy-in-the-group shit they were doing today), early Pink Floyd, and Sir Lord Baltimore, which made the hard rock of the '90s look like The Mickey Mouse Club. As the early '70s degraded into the mid-'70s, Richard's show bit the dust at about the same time as Chuck Colson and E. Howard Hunt. Along, then, came the next wave of music that was supposed to defy commercial strictures: Peter Hammill's terraschizoid warbling with Van der Graaf Generator, Throbbing Gristle, the Buzzcocks before Howard Devoto quit, Hawkwind, Robert Calvert, Adrian Wagner, Magma, the Fripp and Eno projects, and tons more good shit that perpetuated music as an art form. No Lemonheads in this bunch, fella. No doubt, there was no No Doubt, and you can bet your corona The Spice Girls weren't nothing but yet-to-be-produced sperm cells in their Brit daddies' balls where they really-really-really-really-really-really should've stayed.
But that was then, and this was...well, this was a 1977 Mafia safehouse in rural New York into which broken down heroin addicts were forced to have sex with animals. All the
local
radio waves provided were evangelical stations and dim talk shows. However, on luck's infrequent visitations, Leonard could snatch WGTB from Georgetown University, and John Page's "Abstraction Show," or WAMU's "Rock and Roll Jukebox" which
never
played rock and roll unless you consider Robert Wyatt, Perubu, and The Residents rock and roll. It was these wee-hour musical fugue states that got Leonard by, that allowed him to retain some infinitesimal sliver of his actual spirit.
local
radio waves provided were evangelical stations and dim talk shows. However, on luck's infrequent visitations, Leonard could snatch WGTB from Georgetown University, and John Page's "Abstraction Show," or WAMU's "Rock and Roll Jukebox" which
never
played rock and roll unless you consider Robert Wyatt, Perubu, and The Residents rock and roll. It was these wee-hour musical fugue states that got Leonard by, that allowed him to retain some infinitesimal sliver of his actual spirit.
Sissy and Snowdrop moaned intermittently from their back room, dry-heaving and well into the closing vise of withdrawal. Leonard stared at the wall behind the big Sankyo editor and Bolex titler as lilting strains of Brian Eno's "Discreet Music" washed over him. Leonard, for no estimable reason, thought:
Wasn't it Eno who said that if variety is the spice of life, then monotony is the sauce?
But—ug—sauce. It reminded Leonard that they were down to their last three cans of Giant-brand spaghetti, and he'd had to cut it to half-rations to begin with. Rocco never brought enough heroin or food, and more often than not, Leonard preferred to starve than to break down and consume more dog food. Coppola didn't eat dog food, Cimino didn't (though he would after he released
Heaven's Gate
), so—
Wasn't it Eno who said that if variety is the spice of life, then monotony is the sauce?
But—ug—sauce. It reminded Leonard that they were down to their last three cans of Giant-brand spaghetti, and he'd had to cut it to half-rations to begin with. Rocco never brought enough heroin or food, and more often than not, Leonard preferred to starve than to break down and consume more dog food. Coppola didn't eat dog food, Cimino didn't (though he would after he released
Heaven's Gate
), so—
Why should I?
Eno ebbed out, nearly inaudibly, giving over to Lou Reed's
Metal Machine Music.
Then the commotion barged in, loud footfalls on the wood floors and—
Metal Machine Music.
Then the commotion barged in, loud footfalls on the wood floors and—
"Oink, oink, oink—"
Did Lou Reed have pig noises on
MMM
? Leonard didn't think so. He got up and went to the living room.
MMM
? Leonard didn't think so. He got up and went to the living room.
"Vinch needs a pig flick, kid," Rocco announced, and slapped a bag of heroin on the table.
A pig flick.
Leonard scarcely batted an eye, for by now he'd made several, and these were by far the most difficult from the managing standpoint—managing the animal, that is. Dogs, mules, horses—they were easy compared to the mammalian genus
sus vittatus.
They were feisty, sometimes downright vicious. At least Leonard had a modicum of an edge in that he'd helped raise pigs on his father's farm as a child.
A pig flick.
Leonard scarcely batted an eye, for by now he'd made several, and these were by far the most difficult from the managing standpoint—managing the animal, that is. Dogs, mules, horses—they were easy compared to the mammalian genus
sus vittatus.
They were feisty, sometimes downright vicious. At least Leonard had a modicum of an edge in that he'd helped raise pigs on his father's farm as a child.
"Sure," Leonard tried to enthuse to his boss. "No problem."
"And here's the star," Rocco announced. Scampering circles about the living room, and amid a cacophony of protesting chortles, was what looked to be about a 150-pound Chester, white with a few black splotches. Its hoofs ticked maddeningly on the wood floor as Knuckles let go of its leash. "Get in there, ya fuckin' pig!" he complained, and kicked the animal on its flank.
Rocco obliviously rubbed his crotch. "Shit, my dick's hard," he announced. "I'm gonna fuck me one of them dirty bitches. Kid, go help Knuckles bring in the food."
Thank the fates,
Leonard thought through a sigh.
Food.
His gut ached as he followed the gargantuan Knuckles out to the Deville. "Nice night, huh, Mr. Knuckles?" Leonard offered a cordiality. Knuckles unlocked the trunk, let it bob open. "Shaddap," he said, and pointed to the grocery bag. Leonard's lips pursed.
Only one bag,
he considered. Usually they brought two: one for dog food, one for people food.
Leonard thought through a sigh.
Food.
His gut ached as he followed the gargantuan Knuckles out to the Deville. "Nice night, huh, Mr. Knuckles?" Leonard offered a cordiality. Knuckles unlocked the trunk, let it bob open. "Shaddap," he said, and pointed to the grocery bag. Leonard's lips pursed.
Only one bag,
he considered. Usually they brought two: one for dog food, one for people food.
Hmm.
"Take the bag in the house, then get your ass back out here and clean the pig shit outa the backseat," Knuckles said.
Leonard froze for part of a moment. It was not easy being here in the first place. Nor was it easy existing in a near-constant state of blood-ketosis only because these cheap-suited assholes were too incompetent to bring enough food. It was not easy making animal movies, nor was it easy keeping two clinical heroin addicts alive. And now—
now
—here was this cement-for-brains Mafioso thug ordering him to clean
pig shit
out of the car. Leonard's thoughts churned, and something inside his spirit snapped, and at the conclusion of that moment he came very close to replying:
Fuck you, you dago moron whop motherfucker.
now
—here was this cement-for-brains Mafioso thug ordering him to clean
pig shit
out of the car. Leonard's thoughts churned, and something inside his spirit snapped, and at the conclusion of that moment he came very close to replying:
Fuck you, you dago moron whop motherfucker.
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