by Marco Vassi
He came quietly, softly, with a look of reverence and surprise on his face.
They lay locked for a long time and gradually straightened their limbs and stretched out their bodies, and rolled apart. After a while they sat up and smiled at one another in a kind of secret understanding. Suddenly, the spell was broken by the voice of the husband. "You never came that way with me," he said. He was sitting with his arms curled around his knees and looked like a sulking four-year-old child. The lovers gave each other a "what can we do?" look, when Tocco hoisted himself up on his feet and lumbered over to the unhappy man like a rhinoceros preparing to charge. He went right up to him, and to everyone's surprise, yanked his head up by the hair and slapped him soundly across the face.
"You have one choice, my friend, and the choice is NOW. There is no one, not one single person in the known universe, who will help you when you want to suffer. And it doesn't matter how many rationalizations you have, or how many reasonable arguments for your case; if you can't cope with whatever reality is coming down, you will go under." Tocco spoke with fire in his eyes. "So, will you face the stupidity of jealousy and possession, and end it, now, once and for all, or will you slide back into that morass of sentimentality and oppression which is lovingly called the family? There's no compromise. If you succumb to jealousy, there's no way out."
The husband seemed to gather strength from Tocco's words. "I want to be rid of it, you know that," he said, "but I don't know what to do."
Tocco looked around at the other two. "Well," he said, "it seems that those two have something fairly exciting happening between them now, and have no immediate need of a third. So why don't you go take a walk?"
The indecision showed itself as a field of conflicting movements over his face. Tocco bent down to him again. "That is the reality. Do you understand? The reality. She is hot for another man. There is no way you can change that. There is no way you can convince her not to feel that. Your only strength lies in letting it happen and then seeing what comes next. You can't pin her down to a tomorrow. If the two of you have something worthwhile, you will be together enough."
The husband stood up slowly and looked down at his wife, and a strange sense of power radiated from him. She watched him and her face seemed to grow ten years younger, as though she were a young woman again and seeing him for the first time. The man at her side fell out of the ring of attention. Then Tocco did something of true mischief. He said to the husband, in a loud whisper, "Besides, there are scores of eager-cunted girls and women crawling—sometimes literally crawling—over the grounds outside." The husband smiled, turned on his heels, and walked out.
The woman made a gesture as if to follow him or call out to him, but the man behind her reached around and pulled her down. He covered her tits and began mauling them, pinching at the nipples. The door slammed shut, and after a moment's shock she turned to her new lover, and with a look of self-disgust, flung her mouth down to his cock.
Tocco took my elbow and we left the room. "They've been doing this for weeks now," he said. "Jealousy is not like syphilis. It takes more than a shot of penicillin to cure it."
We got out into the hallway, and Tocco continued. "I think we've had enough for today. I'm afraid I've become a little tired. It's still amazing to me that people demand comfort from one another, as though it could be given on request. If only people would be simple in knowing precisely what they wanted, then they could ask for things it is reasonable to expect that others can provide: a glass of water, a bit of privacy, a good fuck." He paused, and added with a flourish, "But the species has never been known for its ability to do anything simply."
We ascended in the elevator, and Tocco said, "You are in a different place than you were when you got here, and I have let you have some time simply to enjoy your new awareness. But you have yet to come to terms with the specifics of your original question. And for that, I will introduce you to VuVu. But get a good night's sleep, and I will come by for you in the morning."
We went into his study, and I had started to leave when something tripped in my mind, and I asked, "Tocco, what do you get from all this?" He looked at me with an amused smile for a long while, and then said, "How else would a fat, ugly old man get so much sex?"
I spent the day walking in the woods. Spring was setting the juices free, and the trees came more alive, and the afternoon filled with the sounds of men and women fucking on the grass.
FOURTEEN
I GOT UP early the next day, just after the break of dawn, and went to the kitchen for a solitary breakfast. I felt strong and clearheaded, and looked forward to meeting the woman Tocco had spoken about, Vu-Vu. I wondered if she were French.
I went back to my room and spent a pleasant hour just sitting in a wicker chair- at the edge of the garden, watching the day come alive. I don't know when I had been more content. And when Tocco's knock came at the door, I was positively exuberant in greeting him. But once again he pulled the rug out from under me, for he was dressed in a dark blue double-breasted suit, complete with a bowler hat and thin briefcase. His black leather shoes squeaked as he walked in. His tone was extremely brisk.
"What you will be doing today," he began, "is confronting yourself in a way not available to man prior to the past twenty years. And there have been perhaps only a dozen people in the world who have attempted this experiment. They have all failed. Two committed suicide, one went mad, and the others reported that they were totally untouched by what happened. So I have high hopes for us today, for if you can deal with VuVu, it will provide our research with a first. And, in a way I am not allowed to divulge, our funds depend on our continuing success. But there's no point in talking about it further. Let's be off."
We went once more through his office and down the elevator, but this time, upon emerging, we took the hallway to the right. I wondered at what sort of woman she must be to merit all this special attention, and just what sort of esoteric trip she had that was new to mankind's experience. We finally came to a small wooden door, opened it, and entered into a medium-sized room. Tocco turned on the light and a strange sight met my eyes. In the center of the room was a massage table. Above it hung a strange set of pulleys and metal arms and rubber tubes. One wall was a bank of meters and circuitry housing, while four video screens stared down from the ceiling. It looked in a way like a surreal recording studio.
I turned to Tocco. "Where's VuVu?" I said. "You're looking at her," he answered. My mind went quizzical. Tocco's eyebrows went up and his face showed a flash of sudden understanding. "Oh, how foolish of me. Of course, you would have had no way of knowing. VuVu is a computer."
I laughed. "Tocco, you're not going to sit me down for a battery of psychological tests, are you?"
He spoke slowly. "I don't know quite how else to put this, Michael, but you are going to have sex with VuVu."
And then it made sense. The contraption above the bed brought to mind descriptions of the Masters and Johnson machinery. The mechanical aspects were clear, but what was the role of the computer itself?
Tocco seemed to be reading my thoughts. "VuVu is programmed to understand body language. Instead of dealing with problems of physics or economics or space flight, or some other inane area of human activity, we have fed all the variables of body language into the computer, using a series of equations which make a kind of sexual unified field-theory."
I was startled. "Where do you get mathematicians of that calibre, Tocco?" I had a paranoid flash. "Are you being supported by the CIA?" I demanded. "It's rather more international than that," he answered.
"Some of the variables are simply physiological, heart rate, blood pressure, skin temperature, muscle tonus, and so on. Others refer to a language of gesture, facial expressions, angle of limbs, speed of movement, et cetera. VuVu can respond to the spoken word, so anything you say will be part of the material. And also, we shall have tiny electrodes pinned to your scalp to measure changes in brain wave function.
"VuVu will be doing a number
of things simultaneously. One is to analyze all the data you provide her in order to produce a sexual profile for you. Also, she will be controlling the mechanical cock and cunt which you see hanging down from the ceiling. In short, you will be fucking and being fucked by a computer programmed to give you a perfect lay, and at the same time let you know what your scene is."
I looked at the set-up with a measure of respect. Tocco rubbed his hands together and said, "Let's begin." He snapped his fingers and two women dressed as nurses came into the room: Susan and Sylvia. I was told to take off my clothes, and then I lay down on the table. A number of switches were thrown and the room lights dimmed except for a bright glow in the center where I lay. The television screens went on, and four images of me stared down at me from the ceiling. The computer lit up with several dozen green and red lights, and the nurses busied themselves making sure the machinery above me was working and lubricated. Then Sylvia pulled down a number of thin wires and began pinning them on to my scalp. "They're quite loose," she said, "so you don't have to worry about moving your head."
And then, suddenly, all the preparations were over. I lay naked and ready, waiting for the computer to make its move. Susan came over and squeezed my hand. "Whatever happens," she said, "I'll be waiting for you afterwards." To my surprise, I found myself saying, "Please Susan, the melodrama makes the scene a bit over-ripe, don't you think?" She began to look hurt, but I smiled at her, and she copped to it. "I hope you die, you prick" she said, then kissed me and left. The others followed, and standing at the door, Tocco said, "Whenever you are ready, there is a little switch by your right hand which will start things going. You will also find something to relax you in the drawer under the table by your left side. Good luck." And with that, he left the room.
I lay there for a moment, and then found the drawer he mentioned. In it were a number of joints and some matches, and a supply of poppers. I rolled to my side, and getting comfortably propped up on one elbow, I lit a joint. Immediately, I began to relax, and after a while lay back again to look things over.
Within a short time I felt an odd sensation creeping up on me. It was a sense of aloneness without really being alone. The images of myself on the screens gave a sense of otherness, although the other was still me. Watching myself in such objective immediate feedback did strange things to my head. And then, the images changed, and it took a moment for me to realize that what was happening was that three of the screens were showing pictures of me in different time-space. One seemed to be five minutes behind, another was a minute or so, and the third was about fifteen seconds. It must have a delayed feedback loop being used, and it provided a disoriented twist to my time sense.
And then I became aware of the living wall of lights, and I remembered the reality of the computer, a mass of electrodes and wires and transistor circuits. It was only a machine, of course, but then, so was I. In many ways it was much more intelligent than I was, and although I knew it wasn't a person, a sense of quiet and precise awareness emanated from the wall. VuVu sat in perfect self-absorption, not needing or wanting anything, not caring to budge, not evaluating, but simply being aware and analyzing whatever data came through. I saw in an instant that it was nothing other than the Buddha mind, and that man had created a machine which exhibited all the faculties of perfection he himself had only occasionally been able to achieve.
Suddenly I was turned on to the whole thing. I could do or say anything I wanted with VuVu, and it would be dealt with impartially, with no distortion. I lit another joint and let myself become open to the machine. If the computer could give me back myself in my relationship with it, if it helped me to know myself better, then it was obviously the organism that I needed to involve myself with. I finished the joint, lay back fully, and threw the switch.
Immediately the machinery above me began to move. The first thing which descended was a penis substitute, a cuningly carved cock made of some material that came close to feeling like skin. It came down to the level of my thighs and nudged itself right under my balls. I lifted my legs; the cock slid down the crack of my ass and moved toward my asshole. Somewhat self-consciously, I guided my body so that the cock went right to the hole, and then it began gently prodding until it entered. The effect was pleasant, but not electrifying. I did a few experimental wiggles, found the cock to be pliable, and opened to it more. I caught sight of myself in the screen, and for a moment I appeared totally ludicrous, but that changed to flashes of depravity, and the image-war began in my mind. But this time I just let it rage, not getting involved in identifying with any of the ideas, but simply letting them be part of the experience.
Then the cock inside me began to swell, and I realized that it was flexible as to size. It grew larger and larger until I thought it could fill me no further. My asshole stretched tight around its immense width, and the tip of it penetrated deeper than any man ever had. But there was no pain at all. I heard myself sighing, and I grabbed my ankles to let the cock slide deeper into my now totally spread ass. With that, it began to get hotter. The temperature of the cock increased until I felt my bowels begin to flush with heat. The temperature rose until I almost felt scalded, but at the same time I felt myself yielding and letting myself be penetrated more than I had thought possible. It must have been in me a foot and a half, and was now tingling hot, when it began to move. I snapped a popper, and sank into total passive acceptance, to enjoy what has, even to this date, been the best fuck of my life.
The cock went in and out, moving through its entire vast length. It pushed to the sides; it teased the rim of my asshole, and then plunged into the very root of me. It tipped in at dozens of angles, and 1 reached down to spread my cheeks even more. I opened inside forever. I couldn't open enough. I pushed against the cock and begged for more. For deeper. For hotter. The popper heightened all the sensations, so that I could feel the ripples going up and down the canals past the opening to my ass.
And just when I thought nothing more could happen, the cock began to vibrate in a soft, rapid rhythm. I fell apart, and split right down the center. If the cock had changed to a knife at that point and penetrated into me, I would have welcomed it. And I realized that what allowed me to feel thus was that VuVu wouldn't hurt me: the computer was only interested in seeing how far I went, and how. The cock was probably sensitized and would not penetrate if there was too much tension, and would stop if it were asked. So I could open, and did. I closed my eyes and let myself be fucked for a long rapturous time, sailing into that region past the reach of understanding, deep into the brute fact of unformed living consciousness. I cried and moaned and thrashed my head wildly about, and at the moment when the pressure on the prostate gland reached the point that I spilled into coming, I voluntarily reached up to embrace my partner and opened my eyes in horror when my arms wrapped around a tangle of pipes and struts and wires.
In a flash I saw that I had become so enraptured with the sensation that my concentration had strangled attention, and I had forgotten all the other elements of the moment. At the point of complete abandon, there was nothing to hold on to but machinery. A familiar feeling of nausea welled up in my stomach, but at that moment the sounds of my fucking began to be played back, and I looked up to see myself on the screens, in various stages of passion, opening my legs, yearning toward the cock. I stared in wide-eyed wonder, and grasped the point, that the act did not end when I came, that the act went on forever, reverberating through time and space, always recorded, always having an effect. And the important thing was the sex, the actual fucking, which had been visiting me for a while, and was now visiting millions of people throughout the world. And I flashed the vision of a vast field of bodies, in a giant orgiastic tumble, with all the cunts that have existed since the monkeys first appeared, in all their shapes and sizes and smells. And the billions of cocks, all hard and pulsing with desire. And wave after wave of posture rolling over the field of flesh, in every conceivable shape and form, until there was nothing but a great fucking and sucking
and eating and caressing and slapping.
Then I felt a problem crack open, and I realized why I was often so sad after orgasm, why I retreated. It was because I treated the moment of orgasm like a museum piece which, once perfected, should be hung on the wall of memory and revered. And in doing that, I missed the continuation of the flow, the moment-to-moment change. So much intensity goes into orgasm, that like a heavy body, it bends light around it, distorting all vision for some time afterwards. But with seeing this, I could just lie back and let awareness continue, and drift into the flow of my body's ebb, and accompany with my mind the travels of sex as it whipped through the world, enlivening individuals and tripping them into one another's arms.
Tocco's words came home: "The point is to not swing wildly from extreme to extreme all the time, but to know a quiet awareness at the edge where the opposites are constantly interpenetrating. Then you will be silent inside. Then you will understand."