House of Holes

by Nicholson Baker

  “It was a hot day, and I wanted to feel the breeze on my bottom—I think that’s why.”

  “Don’t you want to feel the breeze now?”

  “Mm, but this is an awkward situation.”

  “I know it’s awkward but, hey, that’s what makes it fun. I’ve spent all day in the darned Porndecahedron looking at self-filmed amateur masturbation movies, and I’ve seen almost too much of it, if that’s possible.”

  “You’re at the House of Holes, and you’re watching mas-turbation movies? I thought it was a sexual paradise.”

  “It is,” said Dave. “People masturbate a lot in paradise, let me tell you. Have you been?”

  “Nope, never have. We sometimes get people wandering over, so I’ve heard some stories, but I’ve never gone. My husband and I—” She trailed off. “And my kids.”

  “The whole family thing. I see.”

  “They’re at school—and my husband’s doing one of his trips to France to the cheesemakers’ convention, so I’m here, and I’m—what can I say—walking the dog.”

  Dave had an idea. “Look, you’re a neighbor to the House of Holes. You should pay a quick visit. I’ll take you. You can just look around. I’m sure Lila—she’s the director—would want to cultivate good relations with abutters.” He peered at her rear. “And you’re definitely an abutter.”

  “I’ve heard about Lila. But no, thanks. Maybe another time.”

  “Okay.” They stood on the shoulder of the road. “Well, I’ll be off, then. But will you walk me to the property line? I want to come back here, and I don’t want to trespass.”

  “Sure. It’s through here,” she said, parting some shrubbery. Her dog made a brief yip of pain. “Oh, sorry, Gumball. Careful, Dave, there are some serious thorns here.”

  “Thanks, having the one arm makes some things more difficult.”

  “What happened? An accident?”

  “No, it was intentional. I wanted a really big penis, and Lila said that I had a choice. I could either lose twenty percent of my intelligence or lose my left arm. And it’s all totally reversible. I really wanted a bigger penis, a monster cock, I was tired of looking at my own. I’m not quite sure why. I guess all the Internet spam finally took its toll. And I said, Hell, Lila, take the left arm. So I had what’s known as a crotchal transfer.”

  “Who with?”

  “With this guy, he’s an Australian wilderness photographer. He uses a giant eight-by-ten wooden camera. Glenn is his name. He has my penis and balls, and I have his penis and balls. Meanwhile my amputated arm is out wandering around somewhere, having its own adventures.”

  “That’s nuts,” said Chilli. “How does the photographer feel about the swap?”

  “Glenn’s okay with it, surprisingly. I mean, my penis was fine, it was adequate, just not huge. Lila gave him two months free at the Hotel du Trou, and he takes boudoir pictures of women and indulges every whim. He’s a good nature photographer, actually, and a nice guy. Are you sure you don’t want to pay a visit?”

  She looked indecisive for a moment, and then not. “I’ve got the dog, and I’ll have to pick the kids up in an hour anyway. Thanks, though.”

  “What about tomorrow?” asked Dave. “I could meet you right here at, say, eleven. We could get some lunch, and maybe I could show you the Porndecahedron. I know you’re married and all—you can set limits. We could just walk around. There’s lots to see, believe me. Besides, you drive me crazy.”

  She looked at the clouds, which were doing something particularly puffy. “This is so wrong,” she said. “But okay, I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”

  “Good—and one more thing: If you go home now and get horny with yourself?”

  “Yes?”

  “Here’s something to consider. It might be that at a certain point you think, Wow, I’m making these great expressions, and I’m making all these interesting noises, and I’m moving all around in this sexy way that’s sexier than I’ve ever been—and nobody’s seeing me play with myself. Well, in that case, just set up your webcam or your video camera, whatever you’ve got handy, and film it for me.”

  Chilli looked not at all sure. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “You know you want to. And I’d love to see your eyes go all glassy, and I’d love to see that ferny thrusty feeling growing right down past your knees. I’d love to see your whole gaping snatch hole just munching on that orgasm, just chewing on that big sweet piece of half-melted pleasure that’s hidden inside you until it’s swallowed up by its own dissolution. Okay? If you play tonight, will you film it for me?”

  “I’ve got to go pick up my kids now,” she said. She was breathing, not moving.

  “I know. Get yourself all filled with oxygen and nitrogen and helium and all the other special components of the air that will allow you to breathe out the best come you ever had right in your own bedroom, this afternoon. See you, bye.” He squeezed her arm and ducked through the hedgerow.

  Dune Visits the Midway

  Shandee was standing up on a balcony on the midway, shaking her hips self-promotingly. She had white boots on and a small green cloth of Ka-Chiang hanging like a flag from her pussyhole. Out in front Krock was calling, “Forty to slap the pretty ass, sixty to spank it. Forty to slap, sixty to spank.” Dune, strolling by, saw Shandee and immediately got in line for her. He paid and was given a pair of blue quilted oven mitts. “I’m going to slap that girl’s happy ass,” announced the man in line in front of him.

  It was a long wait, in through a red door and around a series of small turns that led through a maze of plywood baffles painted black. Finally, Dune reached a small private room with a velvet curtain in it. Shandee was there—or part of her was. He couldn’t see her face or upper body because she was leaning forward through a hole in the curtain that went around her waist; only her legs and bottom and pussy hanky were visible.

  Dune sat down and said to himself, Will anything ever look as good to me as this girl’s wineglass shape looks to me right now? Probably not.

  “Shandee, baby,” he called quietly. “It’s me, Dune. How goes the search for your one-armed mystery man?”

  Shandee’s voice came muffled from the other side of the curtain. “No luck yet,” she said. “Lila wants me out working on the midway while Dave sows his oats. She says I have to wait because Dave has a superlarge penis and he needs a little more time with it before he has to give it up.”

  “Too bad for him, he’s missing out on you,” said Dune. “Have you been going with anyone else?”

  There was a thoughtful silence, then Shandee said, “Ruzty’s paid a few calls.”

  “That sweet smiley kid with the accent?”

  Shandee sighed. “It’s embarrassing because whenever we finally get down to a little kissing, Dave’s arm starts thrashing in his bag like a bad puppy. I put him in a drawer, but he starts thumping to get out.”

  “I can sympathize,” said Dune, lightly stroking the back of Shandee’s knee with his oven mitt. “You’re so damn pretty I can barely swallow my own spit. And I can only see the lower half of you.”

  “That’s sweet. Have you been well?”

  “Oh, I’m rattled and cranky and horny,” said Dune. “But I do have something that will be of interest to you.” He tucked a scrap of paper into one of Shandee’s boots. “It’s the number of Dave’s hotel room. Four thirty-four.”

  “Wow, thanks, Dune.”

  “And now, before my time runs out, I hope you’ll let me slap or spank your ass.”

  “Sure, that’s what it’s for,” said Shandee. “But wear the mitts, and don’t spank too hard. Some guys spank me too hard.”

  Dune blew on her ass and rested both his mitts on it for a moment. “Shandee, honey, I’ll spank you so soft you won’t even know it’s spanking, I’ll spank you real tender, and you’ll know it’s me, because I’m really just touching your ass with a man’s gentle touch and showing you how much respect I have for it.”

  “That’s nice,�
� said Shandee.

  “And can I kiss your ass, too? And worship it?”

  “Yes, you can kiss and worship my ass.”

  He bent close and kissed, closing his eyes, and then he whispered, “And can I pull out your hanky and stick one pinky finger in your pretty pussy? I know I’ll find true peace if I do.”

  “If you do that with your pinky, Dune, they’ll cut it off,” said Shandee, putting her knees together. “Look up on the wall above you.”

  Dune glanced at the long, bony row of dried fingers that were nailed there. Then he noticed a small blood-stained chopping block in the corner. It was not a pleasant sight.

  “Damn savages,” said Dune. “It’s almost worth it, except I play guitar and keyboards. Can’t they make an exception for an old friend?”

  Shandee shifted her weight fetchingly, considering. “Krock is a stickler,” she said finally, “but you’ve been so helpful, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Pull out the cloth of Ka-Chiang, and I’ll push some fresh juice from my cunny for you.”

  Dune breathed. “Oh, that would be a welcome treat.” He pushed an oven mitt into Shandee’s upper leg, softly, and palmed her left asscheek. Then he thumped the asscheek a little on one side, so that she jumped and her elegant flesh shimmied. He pinched her thighs gently three times and tugged on her hanky till it fell out. “Now let me see your pussy cry,” he said.

  Shandee was wet already; she arched her back up and pushed. Dune saw a tender shining weep of wetness that brimmed over her slit and leaked down one leg.

  “Oh, my glory!” Dune said, losing control. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d flung off an oven mitt and slid one pinky finger knuckle-deep into her velvet draperies.

  There was a bonging sound and a commotion. A disembodied male arm leapt up, twirled once in the air, and seized Dune by the wrist. Krock hurried in and grabbed the knife. Mischa set out the chopping block on a towel. “Dune, why did you do it?” said Shandee, full of disappointment and concern.

  “I forgot myself, I’m sorry,” said Dune, disengaging the viselike fingers of Dave’s arm. He turned to Krock and Mischa. “Now hear me out, guys. I play keyboards and guitar, and to be honest I’d rather lose my pecker for a little while than my ability to make music.”

  That statement got Krock’s attention. “Daggett,” he said into his communicator, “tell Lila that Dune has verbally agreed before witnesses to lose his pecker.”

  Lila was pacing up and down in front of her desk when Dune was led in. “All right, Mr. Pussyfinger,” she said firmly. “Just for that bit of defiance, we’re going to do a switcheroo on you.” She opened a door.

  In walked Marcela, the art critic, in a black slip. “Hello,” she said, with a nervous smile.

  Chilli Goes to the Porndecahedron with Dave

  Chilli met Dave at eleven o’clock at the border crossing. She’d put on a little makeup and was wearing sandals and a sleeveless white shirt with black buttons. “Hi there,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry, I can’t go with you.”

  “Oh, pshaw, sure you can,” said Dave. “See the sights!”

  “Well, just a quick visit then.”

  They walked through a thicket and emerged at a clearing and climbed a low stone fence and walked a little farther. Dave pointed out the White Lake and the midway. They bought some falafels and ate them, while Dave told her about the darkrooms, where you talked in utter darkness. Chilli seemed to like that idea, so they checked into a darkroom and sat.

  “So how did everything go yesterday?” asked Dave in the dark.

  “Just fine,” Chilli said, enigmatically. “Now, tell me how this Porndecahedron works.”

  Dave said, “It’s a twelve-sided projection theater, like a dodecahedron. You’ve heard of buckyballs, right? It’s a big buckyball that you go inside of. There’s a cluster of seats in the middle, either single or tandem seats, and you go in and sit in a seat, buckled in for safety, because you’re suspended. You sit there and movies play on all the screens around you.”

  “Dirty movies.”

  “Well, you pick the playlist. Could be music videos, or a mashup from Brad Pitt movies, or handjobs, or beautiful Balinese dancers, or men having sex with each other—some women like to watch men having sex, it seems. Some people are into fetishes, so then there’ll be twelve screens of, say, men coming on women’s feet.”

  “Oh, wow,” said Chilli.

  “I personally think all fetishes are just a waste of time. All you need for good porn is a pretty smiley woman who’s having fun, and a dude with a hard dick who isn’t fat.”

  “And you watch this on your own?”

  “You can, or sitting next to somebody you’ve not met, or hardly met, or somebody you know well. It’s like a planetarium, except instead of planets and stars there are nipples, or cocks, or gorgeous faces, or flowers opening, or sped-up clouds, or whatever, you get to pick, and you’re surrounded.”

  Chilli took these varied images in. “And you decided to spend eight hours watching movies of women making themselves come?”

  “I love homemade come movies. But not pussy close-ups. You have to see the woman’s face when she comes, pussy and face together, or it doesn’t work. I thought about watching some more movies when I got back from your beautiful field yesterday, but my mood was totally different because of talking to you. Also Lila’s got me on a deprivation schedule, which means I can’t masturbate myself as often as I’d like.”

  “How sad for you.”

  “Yeah, so for instance right now my cock is dealing with a massive porn overdose. It’s so full of home jizm brew it hurts.”

  “By ‘your cock,’ of course you mean the cock you got from the Australian photographer guy.”

  “I think of it as mine, but, yes, it’s his cock I’ve been edging with. Do you edge?”

  “I don’t know, frankly, do I?” Chilli said.

  “Edging’s when you do yourself till you almost come and then stop. You keep right on the edge of the tipping point. Go, stop, go, stop. Do you do that?”

  Chilli gave this some thought. Dave heard her crossing her legs in the dark. “If my husband’s away,” she said, “I’ll drop the kids off with my mom, and I’ll do a shop, and then back home, yeah, I have so many crazy thoughts in my head that it sometimes takes a while to get through them.”

  “Nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon, edging,” said Dave. “Close, then away, then close, then away, till it really burns, and then finally, whammo bing-bangy ba-doom! Then, blip. Snerp.”

  “Um, I don’t know how to ask you this, but—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you think I could feel this unusually large cock of yours that you had grafted on? Just for a second. I don’t want to do anything with it, I just want to touch it for a second.”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Dave. “It’s not a graft, though. Let me clarify that. It’s an interplasmic dual crotchal transfer. Very different process. I can explain if you want.”

  “No, that’s okay. Let me just grope a little closer to you. Woops, where are you?”

  “I’m here. My pants are down now.”

  “Oh my god, your balls are like sheep balls. Wow.” She breathed in with a sipping sound, fondling Dave’s cock. He moved his hips a little so that it poked and shuttled through her loose fingers. “It’s been so so long,” she said.

  “Your fingers feel good. So long since what?”

  “Since I’ve held a really nice big cock. I went out with a boy in college for about a month. He was big. Not this big, though. Uh. It’s so heavy. I’m going to stop now though. Self-control. I have something for you.”

  “Your mouth?”

  “No, here.” She handed Dave a flash drive. “This is the movie I made of myself last night.”

  “Great, we’ll pop into the Porndecahedron and watch it. I’m signed up for a block of time.” Dave readjusted his clothes, and they walked out into the sunlight squinting and shading their eyes and
smiling at each other.

  “I’m so horny I can barely walk,” Chilli said, giggling. “Where is this filthy Frigahedron?”

  “Right through here,” said Dave. At the upload station he keyed in his password and loaded Chilli’s movie into his playlist. “I warn you, this is pretty immersive. It may just be too much for you. All I’ve got on this playlist is women making themselves come. Plus a few titty cumshots to spice the mix. I love those.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll be a part of it. I want to see what you do when you watch me.”

  Dave got them a pack of Red Vines and opened a door, and they walked into the staging area and sat together in a tandem chair. Once Chilli had gotten herself buckled in, they were lifted up into the center of the Porndecahedron. Dave tapped a button on his handrest and they started watching. There were movies above them and below them and on all sides, and all the soundtracks merged and mingled and were confusingly present, although some people muted all but one of them or overlaid a music track. “So this is it, huh?” she said. “She looks like she’s enjoying it. Oh my goodness, that’s a lot of sperm. Don’t you find this a bit overwhelming?”

  “Hell, I could probably handle twenty-four screens,” said Dave. He was biting his lips, watching, his eyes ping-ponging around from clip to clip. “I love the way she moves her knees,” he said.

  “Now that woman looks sexy to me,” Chilli said, pointing off to the left. “Whoa, was that her orgasm? She really came hard.”

  Then Dave spotted Chilli’s face. It was on one of the screens just above his head and to the right. “There you are!” he said.

  “Where? Uh-oh. This is incredibly embarassing.”

  “No, it’s not, it’s beautiful. Is that your living room?” On the screen, Chilli was taking off her shirt and undoing her bra and looking at herself in the mirror of her laptop screen. “You are so sexy! Jesus. Mmm. I’m going to have to do some serious edging. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “You’re going to bring your charley horse out right now?”

  “Yeah, and I wish you would liberate your clit, too. Just set it free.”