House of Holes

by Nicholson Baker

  Cardell went and got the screwdriver, and then he sat and read part of an article about crampons. He heard the shower going for a while in the pipes, and then he heard it turn off. Betsy emerged wearing a loose gray cotton dress with her hair turbaned and a different color of lipstick on. She was carrying a tube of something. She walked near him, and he smelled her smell of warm clean wet skin and Kentucky bourbon. He heard a drawer close in the kitchen, and she emerged with one latex glove.

  “Now, Card, I gave it some thought in the shower, and here’s what I think we might do. You sit in that chair, facing away from me, and I’ll sit here on the couch like so. You put the handle of the screwdriver into one finger of this glove and hand it back it to me.”

  “Right now?”

  “Why not? Here’s your drink. I’ll just take up my usual assplay position on the couch.”

  “This is where you usually play with your ass?”

  “Yes, I like to do it in the living room because it’s nastier that way.”

  “I got it. Here.” Cardell handed her the glove with the screwdriver in it. “I figured go with the middle finger.”

  She smiled. “Ah, the long fuckfinger of the night. Tried and true. Don’t turn around, now! You can’t look, you horny boy. Now.”

  He heard sounds. “I just pull up my dress and scooch down, and then I just squirt a whole mess of Push on the screwdriver finger, like so, mmhm, get it all ready, and then some more right around my asshole, mmhm.”

  “What’s ‘Push’?”

  “It’s a kind of organic lubricant. Really thick but really slippery. Magic stuff. Unscented. Ooh, I’m tingly now. And one thing: I’m not a fan of the word ‘enema,’ but let me just inform you that I’m very clean.”

  “You mean you squirted a bunch of warm water up your butt and all that?”

  “I did, used the syringe and the old red two-quart bottle. It was my grandmother’s hot-water bottle. She was a pretty wild lady. Passed it down to me. I used to fill it with hot water and hump it on cold nights. Now, though, mmm. I love to get savage with my ass, but it’s got to be squeaky clean. I hate shit, just hate it.”

  “No, I agree, shit’s bad. It’s not good.”

  “So now you want me to fuck myself in the ass while I play with Monsieur Twinklestump?”

  “Who’s Monsieur Twinklestump? A sex toy?”

  “My clit.”

  “Oh. Yes, if that’s what you most want to do, yeah.”

  “Oh, that’s what I want to do, you bet it’s what I want to do. See, I get reading these paperbacks about the dark devilish men from New Orleans with their hungry eyes and their long southern python cocks that are always ready to ransack a loving woman’s asshole, and while I’m reading I put my feet on the arm of the couch and I just feel that cool air on my cunt’s pussyhole, and I put two fingers in there and, slimp, I taste it, and then I kind of pet my clitty with my thumb, like this, ooh. I like to keep everything growling and purring as much as I can. My left hand’s for my ass, my right hand’s for my cunt and clitty. Separation of powers.”

  “Phew, I need a rearview mirror.”

  “Don’t you turn, now, Card, you just listen while I devastate my ass for you. Whooo! Oh, it’s going to go in slow. Nice and slow. I start to push it in a little and then I stop—not yet, cause I like the push part so much, and I circle it around the outside some where the choirboys sing because it feels so good on the outside and my asshole starts to melt and depuckerize and get all soft and willing and ready for this big hard screwdriver handle that I’m about to—ooooooof, there it goes in. Screwdriver’s going in. Awwwll.”

  “Is it all the way in?”

  “No. I can feel the edgy parts, the facets. It’s about an inch in. I wish you could see my cunt staring at the ceiling, Card. My cunnyhole is just looking straight up, and I’m holding the metal part of the screwdriver. I can wiggle it a little bit, that feels good. Ooh.”

  “You’re making me nuts!”

  “Stand up and slip off that bathing suit. I want to see your ass while I keep pushing and jiggling on this thing.”

  Cardell’s suit dropped to the ground, and he kicked it so that it billowed and landed on a bowl of shells. He flexed his asscheek muscles, trying to look as buff as possible.

  She said, “You’re a hairy candy-bun boy, aren’t you? Can you show me your asshole?”

  “What? No.”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “I’m not into that,” said Cardell. “This is about your ass, not mine.”

  “Nonsense, just show it to me, bun boy, bend over. Give me a good look. Come on.”

  Finally, Cardell bent and opened his asscheeks for her to have a look.

  “Oh, Card, that’s one tiny hairy asshole you got. Very discreet. What’s the matter, you’ve never shown anyone your asshole before?”

  “This is outside my comfort zone.”

  “Good, well, good. Now grab your cock and get it in its comfort zone, honey, and do just what you want to do with it. I’m going to screw myself with this screwy fucker, I’m going to—hooo. I’m going to let it go in till my asshole muscle locks on the—almost, almost—handle’s—there it is—narrower part. Hoh, it’s locked in. Hoo yeah. Fuck. I’ve got this shiny silver screwdriver pointing straight out my ass, I wish you could see it.”

  Cardell scanned the room for reflective surfaces. He thought he could almost see some of what was going on behind him in the curve of a glass vase filled with colored sand. “Me, too,” he said.

  “Well, do the next best thing and jerk your bull cock while I abuse myself with this thing, just jerk and jack and pound it like you love to do every single day and night. And if you can, tighten your buns again so I get something to look at besides your arms and elbow moving, although I must say they’re nice arms.”

  “Okay.” He breathed little panting breaths, his hips rocking as he flummoxed his beatstick.

  “I’m going to take a moment to check in on my nipples now. Yep, crinkling up nice. And now I’m going to—oh, lord god—pull the handle out, because that empty feeling feels so good, when I feel my ass closing down again, I tighten it on itself, and it’s suddenly all, like, empty but concentrating hard on its memories, all the nerves in a huddle, and when it goes tight that always makes me want to work my clit, like right na-ha-ha-how! But then when I do my clitty, that makes me need to feel my ass tingle again, so I’m going to circle it with my fingers and feel it go soft again and oh, god, I need something in my cunt now. I think I’ll shove this tube of Push in my cunt, oooh!”

  “I’m jacking, Betsy, you’ve got to know I’m jacking it now.”

  “Back up toward me, I need to feel those balls when I come. I need a heaping handful of hot hairy balls! Don’t turn around.”

  Cardell backed toward her and stood with his legs parted and felt her hand enclose his balls and tug on them.

  “Big warm balls,” she said. “You’ve got a lot of come in these, I can tell.”

  “I’m close, Betsy!”

  “Come all over my coffee table, baby, just shoot it every-where.”

  “Betsy, no, I can’t come on your coffee table! Those are your husband’s hiking magazines.”

  She spoke in a quiet voice. “You’re right. Then close your eyes tight and turn around.”

  “Okay.” He turned, and just before he closed his eyes he saw her with her legs jackknifed back, propped against the arm of the couch, and the screwdriver in one hand and her other hand pincering.

  “And now sit on my foot.” She held her foot in the air so that Cardell could rest his weight on it, as if he were astride a bicycle seat. “Nestle yourself right down on my foot. Push on my leg. Ooooh, yeah. I like to see your balls squashed and hanging like that around my foot. Can you feel the ball of my foot against your cock root?”

  “Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god, yes,” said Cardell.

  “You like to see me push this in?” She squinted. “It hurts a teensy bit when it goes back in, and
then it locks, and it fills my hips so good.” She jiggled the screwdriver. “Come for me now. Come very slow now, slow down right on my open cunt. Press your hot butthole against my heel. Oh, that’s it, fucking press it and jack it for me. Blow that load!”

  He made a strangled shout and put his full weight down on her foot, feeling her heel against his ass. A torrential comeload pitched from his cock and landed on her stomach and thighs. “It’s silver,” he said, catching his breath.

  “I told you. All silver. And now I’m going to put my legs all the way back, all the way, and tickle my ass so it’s like an eye staring right at my finger, and I’m going to frig myself now and think about you watching me and coming on me. I’m thinking about the vampire count’s cock filling my bowels, oh, my ass, my ass is so freaking hot.” She slapped high up on her thighs with a pat pat sound.

  “Come for me, you sweet sexy thing,” said Cardell.

  “I’m almost there, I’m almost there!” She arched. “I’m there, ah, ah, AAAAAH, hoof hoof hoof.” She lay splayed, tired, smiling.

  “That was fun,” said Cardell.

  “It was,” said Betsy. “Maybe I’ll just give my husband a quick call and tell him about it.”

  “You should,” said Cardell.

  “Could you put the screwdriver back in the tool belt on your way out?”

  Luna Fucks a Penis Tree

  Luna woke up in the House of Holes Hotel. She had a great contentment bubbling inside her like the little bubbles that you see when you shake up a bottle of salad dressing.

  “So,” said Lila to Luna, when Luna wandered into her office after a shower. “What is your plan for joy today?”

  “I feel pretty today,” said Luna.

  “You are pretty,” said Lila.

  “My breasts feel heavy and flirty. Do you want to see them?”

  “Yes, of course, always,” said Lila. “But let me call in a man so he can see, too.”

  “No,” said Luna, “just for you.”

  Luna lifted her clean, pale-blue shirt and scooped her bra up slowly, letting her breasts fall and bobble.

  “They do look heavy,” said Lila. “And flirty.”

  “Do you want to feel them?”

  “Sure.”

  Luna walked toward Lila and arched her back and leaned forward. Lila thumb-tweaked both of Luna’s nipples at the same time, which made Luna shiver. “As hard as little erasers,” Lila said, “erasing all inhibitions.”

  “Lila,” said Luna, “I want to be fucked so many ways right now I don’t know where to start. I’m beside myself. In the shower I thought, I want to be fucked by a tree!”

  “Well, now,” Lila mused, “we do have Jason’s Woods. That’s where we get the hardwood for our salad bowls and our Dendro line of peckerwood dildos. Have you tried a Dendro dildo?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “Then you’re in for a treat. Anyway, what I’ve been told is that some of the older pearwood trees have had their branches cut so often that they’ve developed semihuman traits, and now they are known to exhibit sexual desires of their own. There’s a man in there, Jason, who makes the bowls. He’ll know the grove of pearwoods I mean. Daggett can buzz you over there in a cart.” She pressed a button. “Daggett, we need you, hon.”

  “Thank you, Lila,” said Luna.

  “Your pleasure is my pleasure. Where is Daggett? He’s a little slower because he misses his cods. Oh, I should say: You’re going to have to let Jason hold your breasts, I think. He can’t make bowls without inspiration.”

  “I can live with that.”

  Daggett drove Luna in silence down a long curving path, past the lake. The wildflowers gave way to lilac and forsythia, and then there was a salt marsh, and then suddenly they were winding through deep silent woods, with mica chips of sunlight sparkling through the leaves. Finally they came to a clearing and a small well-kept shingled house, painted green. “I’ll leave you to it,” said Daggett with a wink. “Just give Lila a call when you want me to pick you up.”

  Luna knocked. A tall scruffy man in a leather apron came to the door. His hands were black with stain. His eyes had a crinkly honest look. “I heard you were on your way out here,” he said. “Did Lila tell you I make bowls?”

  “Yes, and she said I’d probably have to let you fondle my breasts, and I just want you to know I’m okay with that.”

  “Good. Well then, let’s do that first, shall we? You’ll have to help me clamp my hands. Can I get you some green tea before we get down to it? Or some home brew?”

  “Home brew would be good, thanks.”

  “Okay, well, why don’t you scoot your pants a little ways down for me.”

  “My pants?”

  “I think, yes. I need to experience curving shapes to make my bowls. What lovely hips.” He cupped her cameltoe for a moment. “Do you like to eat salad? I do.”

  Luna nodded, stepping out of her pants.

  “Turn around, please, so I can have a look at your—”

  “Panties, or no?” She turned.

  “Panties are fine. Oh, my. Don’t move. Bend forward just a little.” Jason walked across his studio and unhooked a very large salad bowl from the wall. He stood behind her and pressed the bowl around her ass. Then he leaned against the bowl, humping at it with his hips. Luna felt well and truly cupped. “Now that’s what I call a Cobb salad,” he said.

  Luna touched the smooth, perfect grain of the bowl. “This is lovely. Who inspired this?”

  “Oh, a woman Lila sent me a few months ago. Her name was Jackie. She tried out some of my dildos, and I made three huge bowls in her honor, and then of course she went on her way. Those were the last dildos I made. I make friends with women, and it’s nice, but they just don’t want to live out here in the woods with me. They want be in town.”

  Luna looked around the studio. “Well, you are quite isolated,” she said.

  “Yes, it helps me concentrate. When I come I can shout as loud as I want. Will you dance for me? Let your breasts roam for a moment—I need to see how they dance.”

  “Okay.” She danced, and as she danced she tried to think of the most delicious salads she could imagine—with artichokes and sundried tomato and blue cheese dressing, and beets, lots of beets.

  Jason nodded. “Good, good. I’m beginning to get the gist of them. Now I’ll need you to help me clamp both my hands in these vises.” He placed his hands, palms up, between two battered, smooth wooden vises. “Just turn the cranks.”

  “How tight?”

  “Uh, not so tight that my hands are crushed, but tight enough so that they are immobilized. I must be immobilized in order to feel your breasts completely. Sorry my fingers are such a mess. I’ve been staining today.” Luna tightened the screws till she reached a point that seemed right. “Good,” said Jason. “Will you give me another sip of that brew? And help yourself. And if you could stroke my palms with your fingertips for a moment to sensitize them, that would be very kind of you.”

  She brushed lightly over his palms with her fingertips. His eyes fluttered, and he began breathing through his mouth as if in a trance.

  “Mmm. And now the big event.”

  “My breasts?”

  “Yes. Take them out for me, please. Unfetter them. I want your bosoms naked as jaybirds. Big honking jaybirds.” Jason began to sway from side to side, and he looked at her with a look of heavy, slow-blinking lust. “Are you ready?”

  “I think so.” Luna took off her sweater and her tank top and then, without breaking her gaze, reached back and flicked open her bra and shrugged it off, holding it momentarily like a baby when it landed loose in her hands.

  “Let me see. Oh, my, oh, my. Now please lower them, almost to my hands.” She reached forward and held his shoulders and leaned, looking down at the hanging outline of her breasts as they came closer to his immobilized hands. She stopped when she was almost there.

  “Ah, I can almost feel their warmth. Now very slowly lower. Lower. I want to almo
st hold them. Just graze the nippletips, graze the nipples, oh, that’s it, that’s good. I feel the aureole energy. Now give them all to me. Give me those glories!”

  “Nope, wait,” Luna said, and she lifted her chest and shook her breasts for him.

  “Oh, you freaky teaser!” said Jason. “I can’t wait any longer for it, right now, please.” Strange things were happening under his leather apron.

  Luna again descended, as gradually as she could, on the verge of filling his hands with her boobflesh. At first it was just her nipples, then a little bit of the tips of the cones, and then her boobosity began settling in, and they reformed themselves, fattening on the side fill as they gave their titfat to his upturned palms.

  “Ohhhhhh, I can feel you forming the bowls for me, Luna, the fullness, the brimmingness of your breasts, there’s more of you and more of you, you’re so good with your hot boobfat, I can feel the salad bowls in your beautiful knocker-jug-bosom-boobs, that’s what I need. Mmmmmm. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  She could feel his hands trying to clench and grasp and pull from her all the knowledge of her palm-smothering abundance. Then he sighed and nodded, indicating that he was done.

  “How will you remember them?” she asked.

  “I have ‘absolute shape’—I never forget any shapes I really care about. Come, unvise me. I’ll walk you out to the peckerwood tree.”

  “Should I put my pants back on?”

  “Absolutely not. Never put that bottom away!”

  The light snuck in sideways through the trees as they walked, and Luna felt that it was a sexual sneaking in, as if the trees were long legs that could be seen beneath the skirt of the leafy canopy. Then she saw a different angle of trees, and they seemed strong and male. Her underpants, she discovered, were wet.