The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 9

by Maxim Jakubowski

  Due to their highly mirroring nature, golems were much more effective psychoanalysts than humans. Yet by contrast with human psychoanalysts, a psychoanalygolem didn’t exist until someone needed one. Even more than with a gigolem, it was essential to construct your own psychoanalygolem yourself. It was important for a psychoanalygolem to be – so to speak – virgin, the first time you used it. It must be pure and clean from the mental problems of anyone else who wasn’t its own particular creator. In many functions, golems were subjected to imprinting. They adapted better to the needs of an owner if they hadn’t had any previous contacts with other human beings. The innate knowledge that golems manifested, however, fuelled the idea that in fact they were simply a separately embodied extension of the human mind, their existence a highly effective representation of humanity.

  Had two parallel universes really overlapped? Had the creationist world of the golems trespassed into the Darwinian world of the humans? Or vice versa?

  What János really needed at this point was a friend – a human being, not a mirror of mud.

  Silvia should soon be arriving again in her train. She would have the rest of the day free. Quickly he phoned her, on the train.

  He met Silvia at the Kafka Café, a prestigious and ornate establishment in Alphonse Mucha Art Nouveau style near the Old Town Square.

  “You only drive vehicles heavier that thirty tonnes, “János said to her. “So do you think that golems are real creatures?” He knew what he was implying; and so did she, for such is friendship.

  “As with vehicles over thirty tonnes,” she answered, “the question is whether you drive them, or they drive you.”

  The answer was somewhat Zen-like, but then so had his question been.

  “What if I wanted to have a child with you?”

  “All such things go through gigolems, as you well know.”

  “And if I just wanted to make love to you?”

  “We would need a gigolem to interpose between us. What questions you do ask! Even children know that.”

  “That’s the whole problem. Does anyone still exist who’s even able to imagine a heterosexual relation between human beings of reproductive age? I’m not talking about gerontophiles, who make a virtue of necessity. I’m not interested in that.”

  “Hmm. Have you heard of the Virgil Award? No, not the Virgin Award. Virgil guided Dante into Hell, in other words down a deep hole. Last year a friend of mine called Zsuzsa won the award for keeping her vagina – to which she’d conceeded the rare privilege of a visit by a human penis – in the same position for twenty minutes.”

  “Lucky her, lucky that penis.”

  “It took great concentration.”

  “That’s a prize-winning exception, so it doesn’t count – no more than being able to jump right over an elephant. The norm defines the standard of reality. I ask you, can love without a gigolem still exist today?”

  “On the other hand, having won the Virgil Award, Zsuzsa couldn’t find her vagina again for six months. In practical reality, true love without the mediation of gigolems can’t exist any more.”

  “Maybe I should continue trying with Patricia,” said János, half to himself. “Even if she isn’t a real woman, it could be a pleasant hallucination.”

  From her handbag, Silvia took something. It was a little Adam-Schwarzenegger doll. Due to his memories of the museum, János recoiled, but Silvia pushed the doll towards him.

  “It’s a lucky charm. Take it. Tourists buy lots of them. If you press it here on the chest—”

  “I’ll be back!” exclaimed the little Adam-Schwarzenegger.

  “And if you press the genitals instead—”

  “Hasta la vista, baby!” exclaimed the little Adam-Schwarzenegger.

  “That’s what Adam-Schwarzenegger said to God when he left Eden,” said Silvia seriously, though she was also looking affectionate. “It does bring luck. I haven’t had a train crash yet.”

  “I understand,” answered János. Sadly he accepted little Adam-Schwarzenegger. Thoughtfully he regarded Silvia. He pursed his lips. Then he raised his eyebrows.

  “Your own gigolem is this very same model, am I right?”

  “Of course! A full-size Adam-Schwarzenegger. Maybe a little too big for me.” Silvia was of slight build. “But I’m religious. It’s reassuring to be taken sexually by the Ancestor, the archetype of us all. It’s a communion.”

  “Does he also say ‘Hasta la vista, baby’?”

  “Every day, when I go out to work.” On Silvia’s face was a dreamy expression. “Sometimes even when I go for a crap.”

  “Gigolems have taken possession of the monopoly of human sexual reproduction,” stated János.

  “No, they didn’t take possession,” said Silvia. “It’s always been like this, since time immemorial.”

  “That’s what I’m starting to believe too. But then I rebel and I can’t believe it.”

  “Listen, János, gigolems are the indispensable interface between two incompatible devices. Without gigolems, human males and females wouldn’t have a chance of real sexual interaction.”

  “That’s only since vaginas started to migrate.”

  “Vaginas began to migrate in biblical times.”

  “In biblical times it was the people of Israel who began to migrate, not vaginas.”

  “Vaginas too,” insisted Silvia.

  History constantly changes, thought János, to adapt to the demands of the Zeitgeist, the spirit of the age. The dictatorship of the present over the past compels history to contain delusions disguised as facts. When the final old woman with a fixed vagina died from old age, the illusion that vaginas were already migrating in the distant past would consolidate itself, and nobody would escape this concept.

  “I’m going to fuck Patricia,” declared János.

  “May its mud satisfy you,” was Silvia’s parting wish.

  When János opened the wardrobe where he had closed Patricia, the gigolem showed no resentment, since resentment is a human feeling, not a nonhuman one. Excluding elephants which never forget. And perhaps cats.

  “Fuck me please,” Patricia said promptly.

  “This very moment,” replied János.

  It was a wild and successful embrace. Patricia remained female all the time and, if it were possible, became even more female, so that János felt himself even more manly. This was exactly what he needed at the moment, both consciously and subconsciously, so with natural spontaneity the gigolem fulfilled his desire. János even experienced a feeling of love for Patricia, and this didn’t scare him at all, albeit that he knew perfectly well that he was dancing on the edge of an abyss, black and bottomless. Thoughtlessly he blessed the existence of gigolems. For a complex person in a continuous state of inner evolution, a gigolem made an incomparably more useful and satisfying partner than a person of flesh and blood. Looking at things from an evolutionary point of view, rather than a creationist one, in principle every man or woman is programmed by his or her genes to choose the best amongst all existing partners with whom to reproduce himself or herself. Yet in practical reality almost everyone finally adapts himself or herself to accept the best amongst possible partners, since not all existing partners are effectively available, so sometimes the best possible partner might actually be amongst the worst existing ones.

  Even so, there are some supremely romantic individuals who prefer the path of continuous and endless search for the unobtainable ideal to a resigned acceptance of the reality that’s available! For such persons searching is a greater priority than finding. Indeed they must be careful to avoid finding, since finding puts an end to searching.

  Gigolems allow you to go on eternally with the search, since every gigolem alters in harmony with the subconscious hopes of its owner, so that even though the eternal searcher, man or woman, can never be fully satisfied by his or her gigolem, he or she can’t get bored with it either, unless that boredom already exists within himself or herself. Incessantly the gigolem mutates i
nto a thing ever more akin to the subconscious object of desire. By virtue of being very nearly encountered and found inadequate, the object of desire likewise mutates, sometimes contradictorily, so that what was formerly desirable becomes undesirable, and vice versa.

  Tragedy comes when subconscious expectations fade or die, due to the entropy of old age or other causes. Then the gigolem becomes the implacable amplifier of your own ennui, merciless mirror of your own deterioration, inescapable witness to the demise of your vital and loving feelings. The more intense and rich your life formerly was, the more bitter your state when all enthusiasm is in the end extinguished.

  János’s little flame of love for Patricia was not quenched as yet. He shivered as those first words of hers came back into his mind: Mine are you. Maybe those had been prophetic, announcing the ultimate truth: You are mine. How could he possibly keep a safe emotional distance between himself and his gigolem? Since a gigolem was intrinsically an extention of oneself, the relationship between a human being and a gigolem could reach depths of intimacy unimaginable between two human beings.

  A problem was that what originally were microscopic sexual deviations within a person’s libido, a mere frill upon a fantasy, no more than a hint, could by positive reinforcement from the gigolem become dominant and overwhelming, generating attitudes which in the past would certainly have been classed as behavioural monstrosities.

  János was aware of political perversion. Onan clubs existed, dedicated to masturbating at images of detested politicians. People who joined such clubs subconsciously had regarded sex as a way of humiliating a partner. These people also had powerful political antipathies. After a while in bed with a gigolem, they found the gigolem conforming to the object of their hatred, such as the President of the United States – whom they possessed sexually in order to give free vent to their hatred. After a time they could only get an erection, or clitorection, by focusing on the President’s image.

  A fleeting fantasy about having your genitals nibbled pleasurably by catamites swimming in a pool which also happened to be home to fish – the Emperor Tiberius’s favourite erotic pastime in Capri – could mutate into a fixation upon the fish themselves. One’s gigolem could become a big cod or halibut between the increasingly smelly sheets.

  Perplexed by his meditations, and in the vague hope that Silvia might still be at the Kafka Café – or alternatively, since several hours had passed, that she might have returned there – János headed that way after shutting Patricia in the wardrobe once more. By now it was six in the evening.

  As he walked, his fingers played with the Adam-Schwarzenegger doll which she’d given him, rather as a nun might play with the beads of her rosary. Occasionally the doll exclaimed, “I’ll be back!” This seemed a good augury for actually finding Silvia at the café. János could, of course, have phoned her mobile, but what was the point in having a lucky charm unless you trusted it?

  Almost immediately he entered the Kafka Café, he saw a full-size, indeed oversize, Adam-Schwarzenegger gigolem sitting at one of the bigger tables. Cleopatra from the museum, no less! – because Cleopatra was with none other than Dr Sládek! Also at the same table were . . . well, one of the persons was a tall young man with red hair, but the other entity was a human-size plucked chicken. A red crest on a feathery head. Beady eyes. Red beak. Nude wings tucked in to its sides, just like scrawny white arms. The giant chicken frequently bobbed its head in a pecking motion, as if in agreement with all the remarks being exchanged between the red-headed young man and Dr Sládek.

  János would have fled from the café right away, were he not mesmerized by the sight of the human chicken, or chicken-human, whichever.

  This allowed time for Dr Sládek to notice János. The museum director rose and beckoned and minced towards János and delicately yet firmly took him by the arm.

  “My dear fellow, have you recovered from your violation? Is your equanimity restored? Let me buy you a Viennese coffee with whipped cream! We were discussing gay inhuman rights.”

  Were whipping and cream a sly allusion to János’s punishment?

  Dr Sládek drew János towards the table where a seat remained unoccupied.

  “Introductions! This is Cleopatra, as you already know.”

  “Soup – or sandwich?” demanded Cleopatra, as a waitress arrived.

  “No, no,” said Dr Sládek, “a Viennese coffee for our Hungarian friend. And this—” nodding at the red-headed man “—is Gustav, and—” nodding at the nodding poultrygolem “—his lover Anastasia.”

  “Tuck-tuck-tuck-tuck,” said Anastasia.

  “May I ask you, Gustav,” asked János, “why your gigolem is a giant chicken without any feathers?”

  “Yes, you may ask!” And Gustav waited. Evidently he was a literal-minded person.

  “So why is your gigolem a giant chicken without any feathers?”

  Presently János sat filled with astonishment and sympathy and Viennese coffee with whipped cream.

  He’d been aware of involuntary metazoophilia, yet hadn’t previously met a metazoophilist. Metazoophilists tended to conceal their condition, partly from shame, partly to avoid prosecution by the World Wildlife Fund. Not so Gustav, for whom explaining seemed to be a paradoxical blend of self-exorcism and joyful affirmation.

  Less than two years previously, Anastasia was a woman of impressive beauty. Gustav had adored feminine beauty beyond anything else in the world. However, during his childhood Gustav had undergone certain experiences at the farm of his grandparents, which his conscious mind had erased but which led him to associate various mental categories with specific animals. This led him to place on his ample bookshelves – for Gustav was a great reader – little plastic models of animals in front of the books, which represented for him the essences of the different books. The Origin of Species, a tortoise. Harry Potter, a hog. Gone With the Wind, a plastic eagle, and so forth. For a while Gustav had worked in a library, but he was asked to leave after he reorganized the shelves according to his own zoological classification system rather than the Dewey decimal method.

  After only a short while with his beautiful gigolem, whenever they coupled Anastasia would mutate into an anthropomorphic version of some animal while he was embracing her. Gustav may have been literal, but his subconscious was symbolic. Often she would become a woman-size anthropomorphic goose or duck or hen, resembling some Disney cartoon, depending on which creature emerged from Gustav’s subconscious mind as sexually significant. Since his gigolem couldn’t suddenly sprout feathers all over, but only modify whatever hair occurs on a human body, such as on the head and armpits and pubes, mainly her skin appeared like a plucked bird’s – and Gustav soon found these goosebumps or, increasingly, chickenbumps intensely erotic.

  “Other metazoophilists may find themselves in bed with a goat,” said Gustav. “Anthropomorphized, that looks like a demon embodied . . . but I love a chicken.” He put an arm around Anastasia and cuddled her.

  “You should be careful,” advised Dr Sládek. “Your sexual object isn’t a real bird, true enough. That’s been legally upheld. But I hear that the new tactic of the WWF is to sue for moral damages for degrading the image of animals. That might earn them and the lawyers a lot of money.”

  Just at that moment, several dwarfs dressed in medieval costumes unfurled a multilingual banner outside the windows of the Kafka Café: Justice for the Fucking Dwarfs! We want dwarf Gigolems!They marched off down the street in the direction of Charles Bridge, where all the statues are.

  “They do have a point,” said Gustav.

  Dr Sládek shook his head. “A dwarf gigolem might mutate into the appearance of a child during embraces. You know that paedogigolems are forbidden. Gigolems in the shape of dwarfs could easily be misused. A dwarf might sell his gigolem on to a pervert.”

  “Dwarfs are being deprived of the fundamental human right to sex. And paedo-perverts can already buy gigolems.”

  “But only adult-size ones.”

  “
Which become adult-size children in their arms, because the body can’t be compressed.”

  “That’s aesthetically grotesque,” said Dr Sládek. Unfortunately at that moment he happened to glance at Anastasia whom Gustav loved.

  “It isn’t as grotesque,” exclaimed Gustav protectively, “as fucking a pool of mud!”

  Dr Sládek twiddled his moustache. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about certain creationists who are so obsessed about people being made from dust and dust returning to the earth—” János pricked up his ears “—that I hear they can’t finish a sexual act without their gigolem dissolving into mud, which they continue fucking until they come, and only when the tension’s released can their unfortunate gigolem reshape itself.”

  “Look, dear heart, let’s not get into an unnecessary dispute.” Dr Sládek addressed János. “We were about to visit , whose gigolem is eating him.”

  János had been compelled to study some Russian in primary school during the last days of communism in Hungary, so he knew that Dr Sládek was referring to a Yuri Semecky.

  “His gigolem is eating him?”

  “Yes, it’ll take another two weeks.”

  “But why?”

  “There’s quite a lot to eat,” said Gustav literally.

  “No, why is his golem eating him?”

  “ is an ultra-masochist,” said Dr Sládek. “Come and see for yourself. That’s the scientific method.”

  Compelled by curiosity, János went with the museum director and the metazoophilist and the Cleopatra gigolem and Anastasia the megapoultrygigolem, although under other circumstances he might have felt reluctant to be in such company.

  They went along one street, then down another street, until they reached a tall house where a plaster bear the size of a magnum of champagne stood on its hind legs in a niche above the doorway. Many houses in Prague bore similar symbols from the good old days when people couldn’t read – swans, sheep, goblets, fiddles, religious virgins.

  A card by one the doorbells read: Yuri Semecky. Maybe didn’t wish any fellow Russians to visit him, only Roman speakers. Or maybe this was part of his masochism.