House of Holes

by Nicholson Baker

  They stopped. “This is the pearwood penis tree,” said Jason. He took off his leather apron. They listened. “Hear the fluids in it, the sap?” he said. “Hear the mushrooms growing at the base?”

  She listened. “Yes.”

  “Good, cause you’re going to hug it while I fuck you.”

  “I thought I was going to fuck the tree.”

  “After me. That’s how we wake the sleeping giant.”

  He grabbed her ass and pulled her panties down, turning her so that she held the tree. He shoved himself deep into her. It felt sudden and tremendous, and she made a surprised sigh: “Ooof!” Then she began to hear different sounds—a cracking and a ticking as several small buds of bark appeared on the tree trunk about three feet off the ground. The bark split open, showing a pale, smooth, fleshy branch, and then the branch, thus exposed, began to straighen, while the nodular wooden balls remained covered with a finely wrinkled bark.

  Jason was slamming his hips into her. He thumped into her hard, so that she almost lost her grip on the trunk. “Oh, oh, oh, god, Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! Here it comes, baby, ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh! Aaaaaaaaah!” Jerk after jerk of Jason’s artisanal come filled her rejoicing twathole. “Now quick, hop on this new cockbranch.” She grabbed it and held it—it was still warm from its accelerated growing. And then she heard the summer wind begin—a warm wind that made a different kind of rustling in the leaves because the leaves were drier now—and the light that snuck in between the boughs and boles was splaying and scattering, half of it reflected off the water, half direct from the setting sun. “Fuck me deep, tall, strong penis tree,” she said.

  The cock shape grew longer and pushed into her, and then the whole tree seemed to branch into her core and out her arms and legs and lift her far above the earth. “Hold on!” called Jason, as she was swept up on a high bough impaled on old boreal growth. She looked out from her high-splayed vantage, and she said, “I’m a treefucking woman!” Dappled sunlight shone and emptied itself onto her. She squeezed her Kegeling love muscle around the smooth, thickened branch within, and when the wind came up again all the leaves twittered and shook. The tree itself shuddered: It was having some kind of orgasm. The new growth of penisbranches fell off. Panting and quivering, Luna climbed down. Jason hugged her, then gathered the fallen branches. “I’ll polish and stain these tomorrow,” he said.

  “Dendro dildos?”

  “Yes, inspired by you.”

  “Can I come back and get one?”

  “Please do,” said Jason. “I’ll make a salad for you.”

  Henriette Goes for a Walk

  Henriette decided to take her new extra-big ass on a walk to the noisy quay where the Masturboats docked. She wanted to feed the gulls and see what was up. First she got in the shower to wash herself so that she could be clean all day and the world wouldn’t know what a totally freaky, filthy-minded, cocksucking whore of a princess she actually was. She washed her hair and her face and her body, and last of all she washed her pussy and her huge deep asscrack. Her pussy she washed by holding it spread open with her right hand and splashing water up at it a bunch of times, and her asscrack she washed by jamming the cold soap between her pleasantly joggling cheeks and working it around a few times. Washing the asscrack wasn’t really that difficult; rinsing was trickier. Soap could burn later if you didn’t rinse every bit of it away, Henriette knew from experience—burn like a bastard—and you couldn’t just rely on the water that was coursing down your back to do the job.

  So Henriette employed what she thought of as the Aswan Dam method. She cupped her left hand in the shape of a C, and then she pressed this C below her anus, but before her pussyhole, in the no-man’s-land known as the perineum, which is a word that comes from the Greek word for “pine barrens.” She cupped her left hand there and made a seal against her asscheeks so that the water as it coursed down her back would be caught in this temporary well or spillway that she had created. She had in effect dammed her ass temporarily. When her hand was full she began agitating it, still keeping the seal intact—steadily slooshing the water in waves against her anus for ten seconds or so. Then she opened her fingers to let that rinse effluent fall away. Again she made the C-cup with her left hand and let it fill, and again sloshed it vigorously. At last she knew that she had a truly clean, well-rinsed asscrack, ready to greet the day.

  She dressed in her new form-fitting ass jeans and went strutting outside. She walked down the Avenue of the Men Who Need to Suck on Twat Every Day and took a left on Upskirt Street. There she heard a voice calling, “Wait, stop, hello, wait!” Ruzty hurried up in his torn jeans, out of breath. His T-shirt was old and red, and it said “Phillies.” “I request to squeeze your ass,” he said, in his foreign voice. “You will notice that I have the ass-squeezer’s license.”

  “Do you now?” asked Henriette. “Good for you. What else do you have?”

  “Basically, that’s it,” said Ruzty. “Everybody is trying to keep going, but then they turn out to be broke. The size of what they owe is how rich they are. If they can borrow a billion dollars, that makes them rich. Really they have nothing. But never mind, because I have”—he pulled out a folded sheet of paper and patted it—“an ass-squeezer’s license, signed. This means I can walk up to a girl like you with a big, beautiful ass and tell her I want to squeeze it, and she has to let me.”

  “Let’s see the license,” said Henriette.

  Ruzty waved it at her.

  “Very well. Where?”

  “My hotel.”

  They went up to his suite at the Portalino Extended Stay Suites.

  “How do you want to squeeze it?” Henriette asked.

  “I want you up on the bed, as soon as possible.”

  Henriette took off her roomy denim ass pants and arranged herself bending forward on the bed like a person skiing down a slalom course.

  She felt his hands on her, squeezing their way along her backthighs and finding her lower backcheeks and massaging her deeply, with an interest in all her cores and centers. Then she felt his cock pushing strangely at the seams of her underwear. “No, now, Ruzty,” she said. “You have an ass-squeezer’s license, not a pussy-fucker’s license.”

  “Wait a second, yes, I do, I do, I just forgot to show it,” Ruzty said, rummaging in his pockets. He had a slightly desperate sound. He waved another folded piece of paper. “I’ve been saving it for this moment.”

  Henriette looked the paper over. “You just typed this yourself and printed it out, didn’t you?”

  Ruzty looked chagrined. “Yes.”

  “Is the ass-squeezer’s license forged as well?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Daggett said he couldn’t give me a real one because there are too many. I was wrong, I know it now. I went outside the proper channels.”

  Henriette said, “Ruzty, you very bad boy.”

  Ruzty said, “I’m sorry.”

  She looked at his eyes, which traveled to her ass. Then she caught sight of his remarkably solid but curved piece of equipment. She made a tiny hissing sound and said, “Oh, might as well go ahead anyway. Fuck me, horny sailor.”

  Ruzty’s dick bounced with gladness. Henriette gnawed the sheet and waited. She felt his cock helmet finding the sloppy gates. Then impulsively she turned onto her back. “Take me where I can see you,” she said.

  He sank over her, and she led him inside, forcing his cock to unbend. She gave him the Cook’s tour of her innerness. His backbone worked lithely; his bottom, swiveling, rose and fell.

  Henriette straightened her knees, so that her feet were up in the air, running. She laughed because it felt so good, and she said, “Ruzty, you are a swervy-dicked master of the fuck! Don’t stop! Fill my bitchgroove!”

  He squeezed her very hard to him and breathed in her hair and shuddered out everything he had into her. “I give you everything,” he said.

  Later in the shower, Henriette remembered this and got on her knees and said, “Oh, Ruzty, oh, Ruzty,” and came.


  Dune Tells Mindy How He Lost His Penis

  Mindy, the documentary filmmaker, was standing in her room at the House of Holes Hotel, working on a jigsaw puzzle of marbles in a bowl and listening to “32 Flavors” by Ani DiFranco. There was a knock on her door. She opened it and saw a long-haired, dark-eyed man standing in the hallway, wearing a fringed suede jacket. He was wildly handsome, and he smelled like old cigarettes.

  “Hey, I’m Dune,” he said. “They took away my penis, and I wonder if you can help me.”

  “If I can I will,” said Mindy. “What happened?”

  “Well, they did a switcheroo on me,” Dune said. “I’ve got a vagina now, and it’s a hot one, but every day of my life I want my own tackle back. You’re Mindy, am I correct?”

  “I am,” said Mindy. “Would you mind if I set up a video camera and got your story? I’m making a film about this place.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  Mindy kicked the tripod mounts out and got her camera running.

  “Should I sit here?” Dune sat down heavily. “Hoo, I’m wiped.”

  “Would you like something to eat? I could make you an omelet.”

  “I’d love an omelet,” said Dune. “I’ve been flying a pornsucker around Providence, Rhode Island and I ache all over, and frankly I need the attention of a good woman.”

  Mindy cooked him a three-egg omelet and he ate it. “That was fine food,” he said. “What’s your secret?”

  “Butter and salt.”

  “So simple. Butter and salt. I’ll be fried.”

  Mindy cleared the plate away and clipped a microphone to Dune’s lapel. “So how exactly did you lose your penis?”

  Dune told Mindy all about when he lost control on the midway and stuck his pinky into Shandee’s pussy.

  Mindy, nodding encouragingly, checked the sound levels to be sure she was getting all of it.

  “So then I went to Lila and she said, ‘Okay for you, Mr. Pussyfinger,’ and she called in this woman who said she needed her own penis and a pair of balls—the whole desk set. She got what she wanted, from me.” Dune looked down and laughed sadly. “Ah, Mindy, you don’t want to hear my problems. I’m just broke, and I don’t have money for smokes.”

  Mindy brightened. “I have a couple of those little Winchester cigars in my purse for emergencies, hold on,” she said. “I just quit smoking, that’s why I’m doing this jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Thanks.” Dune lit the cigar and took a long squinty drag. “Hm, a nice little Winchester. My dad smoked Winchesters. ‘A whole nother smoke.’ ”

  “Dune, do you think you could show me your genitals? I’d like to get that on video.”

  Dune tapped his cigar. “A week ago if you’d have asked me if I’d bare my crotch for you, I would have said, Sure thing, right away. Now I’m a bit skittish. Everything has its price.”

  “The price is sometimes steep,” said Mindy.

  “You got that right, hot goddess. Lila’s got us all doing the fucky-fuck and the sucky-suck and the humpy and the squirty and the juicy-Lucy and the ooh, ah, ooh. Everything we do they keep track of, and they know what we want most, and they want to milk us till our money’s all gone and our balls ache, if we have balls, which I don’t at the present time. Because it’s the House of Holes, and is there anything worth paying court to more than a woman with a pretty face and two good titties and one hot switchy ass she wants to shove in your face? Hmm?”

  Mindy took that as a rhetorical question. “I’m more into men,” she said. “I like men. Sometimes I like smoky men in dirty suede.”

  “Course you do, Mindy,” he said. “You’re a lovely lusty woman and you want to be a part of this whole slumber party. You want an ‘experience.’ And you will have that at the House of Holes, believe me. If you haven’t already.”

  “I already got shrunk down and squirted out of a man’s urethra.”

  “Well, then, there you go.” Dune was tiring. “Listen, would you mind if I moved to the couch for a sec?”

  “No, go ahead,” said Mindy. “Let me just unclip your mike.”

  “I just need fifteen minutes of downtime. Thanks for dinner, thanks for the smoke.” He closed his eyes and was asleep almost immediately.

  Mindy watched him sleep. When he sat up an hour later, she had a second Winchester cigar ready for him. She said, “What was she like? The woman you switched with. You mind if I turn the camera back on?”

  Dune stretched. “Sure, turn the camera on. Are we rolling? Marcela was her name. She was nice, very friendly. She’d put in a request to do Dick for a Day.”

  “I’ve heard of Dick for a Day,” said Mindy, with interest.

  “Yes, now, Dick for a Day is not that involved because they can morph your clitty out for six, eight hours without too much bother, and it’ll go back good as new. But it turned out Marcela wanted something more like Dick for a Couple of Weeks, and that takes a full interplasmic transfer. That’s what it’s called, a ‘cross-crotchal interplasmic transfer.’ I’ll bet you want to know how they do that.”

  Mindy nodded that she did.

  “Well, you need a tweenella. That’s the person who is desi-gnated to put her hands on the two crotches that are going to be crossed. She completes the crotchal circuit.”

  “That sounds like it would be kind of fun,” said Mindy.

  “Oh, but doing tweenella is hard work, too,” said Dune. “You can only do it a few times because the sex plasma travels right through your arms and your chest and your heart. It can actually stop your heart for a moment, to have that much sex plasma traveling through you. They had a piece of hotness named Rianne doing it. They brought in a large stone bowl, and they poured some glowing blue liquid into it—looked like coolant—and Lila told Rianne to soak her hands in the bowl to get them all ready and sensitized for the transfer. She told me to sit in one chair and Marcie in another chair.”

  “You were naked?”

  Dune nodded. “From the waist down, with our feet in stirrups. And then Lila hauls out one of her breasts.”

  “Uh-oh!”

  “They are not small, let me tell you. She squirts some of her special magic titty milk on my balls, and she has Marcie hold open her pussy so that she can dribble some right in there, too. Well, that started to work almost immediately, started to burn, like my cock had had a shot of Everclear, and I started to feel that I had this special bond with Marcela. I said, ‘Hey, Marcie, are you sure you’re okay with the switch? I warn you, my dick can be a handful.’ And she said, ‘I can handle your dick fine. The real question is whether you can keep up with my cuntatious clit.’ So we were having our fun, and then Lila tells Rianne, ‘Okay, now take your hands out of the bowl and get to work. Grab their crotches and lean into them hard.’ Rianne’s sitting cross-legged between us, like a yoga master, and she grabs our crotches, which completes the circuit, and, foong, this ungodly flow of energy comes pouring through her arms, and at first I started to get a huge boner on, and I thought, Well this is nice. Then Rianne’s whole body started shaking, her tits are bopping around, but she kept her hands holding our crotches. And then I started to feel Marcie’s pussy flowing into me.”

  “Wow, go on.” Mindy checked the viewfinder, making turning gestures in the air to keep him talking.

  “I felt my own cock and balls starting to melt and flow, and I felt this channel widening inside me. My boner was still hard as ever, but it was getting smaller and smaller, and Marcie starts going, ‘Oh, my word, I feel my clitoris growing like a weed.’ And eventually it was all done.”

  “Transfer accomplished,” said Mindy, shifting in her chair.

  “Yes, I had Marcie’s clit and pussy, and she had my cock. We were all three of us totally wiped afterward—Rianne was exhausted, poor gal—and while we were putting on our clothes I asked Marcela, ‘Can I walk you on back to your hotel room?’ Lila said she thought that would be a good idea because there’s always an adjustment period for the transferees. But Marcela said no, thanks,
she wanted to be alone with her new penis. So I went back to my hotel room, and I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to get used to my pussylips, which I kind of liked, and then I took a little nap, and then the phone rang, and it was Marcie.”

  “What a surprise,” said Mindy.

  “She said she was having some problems getting the hang of my cock, and could I come down and show her some things. I said, ‘Sure, I can visit for a bit.’ I went to her room, and she was there posing in front of her mirror, and I asked her how she felt, and she just opened up her bathrobe. And god damn, she was this beautiful naked babe with two big bosoms and my big load of dick just hanging there.”

  Mindy envisioned it. “Mmm.”

  “She was a real chick with a real dick, and I’m not going to lie to you, it turned me on to see that cock of mine having found a happy home between her legs.”

  “Was it hard?” asked Mindy.

  “No, not terribly hard—that’s what she wanted help with. She said, ‘I want a real stiff one, can you help me with that?’

  “I said, ‘You want me to play with my own dick? Sure, I can do that. Hell, I’ve done it a thousand times.’ But she said, ‘Dune, I want you to suck your dick.’ I said, ‘Woo, sorry, can’t do it. I do draw the line there. But I can give you a handjob because you attract me. I bet you’ll look sexy with a stiff dick.’ So she sat on the corner of the bed with her knees open, and I sat behind her.”

  “Can you demonstrate how?” Mindy asked.

  Dune took off his pants and his black briefs and sat on the corner of the bed. “I was sitting behind her like this,” he said.

  “Wait.” Mindy adjusted the camera.

  “Now you’re seeing my pussy, aren’t you?” asked Dune. “As requested.”

  “Yes,” said Mindy in a low voice, “thank you.”

  Dune pulled his pudendum open. “Mindy, let me ask you: Do you want to interview this pussy?”

  Mindy nodded.

  “Okay, then give me a microphone. Do you have a big microphone? Because what I’ve learned is that when I play with my cuntpussy, I need something inside or I feel empty.”