The Sex Machine

by Troy Conway

  Kai Lai was speechless, but she glared at me.

  Suddenly she laughed. “Actually, I am not angry with you at all. The mere fact that you know so much of the history of China convinces me that you are an inteligent man You are not blinded to our past glories. Such a man can be made to see the present and the future glories of my country.”

  She walked with me down the length of the junk. It was a well-cared-for vessel, the sails were clean and neat, the deck freshly scrubbed. From what I could hear of its throbbing hum, the diesel engine was in perfect condition.

  I complimented Shu Shang when we passed him close beside the forward hatch. He nodded gravely, explaining how his ship was a symbol of the New China, where everything was shipshape. His one good eye twinkled as he spoke, he appeared to look on me as he might on a child. He waved a hand, telling me to enjoy myself.

  Kai Lai hooked my arm with hers and drew me toward the bow. We leaned against the port prow rail, watching the riverbanks, which seemed an endless conglomeration of green, growing things, change slowly into tilled and cultivated fields. The sun was ahead of us to the west, slowly sinking. It would be dark in a little while; already the moon was in the sky.

  “It is so peaceful at this time of evening,” My companion said softly. “It makes me romantic.”

  I got the idea suddenly that all these Chinese dolls were hooked on sex. Now, I’m all for sex—I make a good living as founder of my League for Sexual Dynamic—but they seemed to be coming on a little too strong. But so automatic are my responses, that I slid an arm about her slim middle and drew her hip closer to my own.

  “Too bad we’re on your father’s ship,” I breathed into her ear. She turned a surprised face.

  “My father is of the New China, not the old,” she exclaimed. “I am a grown woman; I can take or .reject a lover as I wish, even on my father’s boat.”

  Her eyes told me she would not be averse to choosing me as a lover. She smiled and laid her head on my shoulder. The offshore wind blew strands of her heavy black hair across my face. They seemed heavily perfumed, excitingly so. I kissed her forehead.

  After a moment, she asked, “Would you like to see your cabin?”

  “Cabin? I thought I’d be lucky to get a bunk.”

  Her dazzling white teeth shone in a smile. “You are a guest of the Chinese people. As such, nothing is too good for you” Her shifting hips led the way aft toward the cabin fitted in below the poop deck. This was the captain’s cabin, by all rules of the sea It was going to be mine, apparently for this voyage.

  She opened the door. I followed her into a fairly large chamber with windows at the stern through which dying sunlight came in to show me a bunk-bed fastened to the starboard bulkhead, and a table near the right, with a chair. Two hooked rug were on the floor. Scattered here and there on the bulkheads were nautical instruments, a barometer, a wicked-looking cutlass and two revolvers in worn leather holsters.

  It was a utilitarian room; then were no frills.

  Kai Lai turned and leaned her rump against the edge of the desk. “We sleep here,” she told me, crossing her arms and reaching for the hem of the striped jersey.

  I blinked. “We?”

  She gurgled soft laughter behind the striped jersey as she lifted it up over her head. Her golden breasts came into view, tipped with dark brown nipples. Chinese women, as a rule, are not noted for their mammary development. Chinese female breasts are hemispherical m shape, and with protruding nipples. While they do tend in later years to become fat and sag, according to Mondiere, when youthful they are extremely shapely.

  Kai Lai had breasts that were perfect globes, jutting firmly and quivering to her slightest movement as though set on springs. Jayle has termed such breasts sein en globe ou globuliforme. These thoughts ran through my head as Kai Lai straightened and pushed out her seins at me.

  “Get ready,” she smiled. Her fingers relaxed their hold on the striped jersey. It pooled on the floor at her sandaled feet.

  I was ready, but I didn’t tell her that. I slipped out of my jacket and began unbuttoning my shirt. My body has great recovery powers where love-making is concerned. To look at me as my trousers and shorts came down, nobody would guess I’d ever heard of a girl named Ip Chung.

  Kai Lai had the same voluptuous breasts that Ip Chung boasted, and the slimly plump hips, the shapely thighs. Her denim pants went down to her ankles and she stood naked before me. She assumed a proud pose, nude above her sandals, head thrown back. Her eyes raked my midsection, gleaming with pleasure.

  “You are a real man,” she breathed,

  She advanced on me, her hips swinging. Her handsome golden legs bent and she went down before me as the women of Phoenicia are said to have done with their lovers, for the oral congress was well known in the ancient world. Two soft palms came up to hold me worshipfully.

  Her eyes raised to my face. She whispered. “We shall love all the night long, and tomorrow, and tomorrow night as well.”

  I figured she was kidding. She wasn’t.

  CHAPTER SIX

  She came to her feet, sliding upward against my body, her naked flesh to mine, soft and warm, smooth as satin. Her kisses went up my body along with her breasts and belly. When her lips were just at my throat, I bent down and kissed her.

  Her mouth was warm, wet. She kissed with hunger in her moving lips and stabbing tongue, with a lazy sense of suspended Time, as if this were all, this were eternity itself. The pleasure built in me until I wanted to yell. Kai Lai was a knowledgeable babe. My hands moved up and down on her bare back. I caressed her buttocks very gently with my palms as I ran them up the lozenge of Michaelis, that triangle of beauty is seen above and centrally located to the buttocks. My fingertips slid down the cleft.

  Kai Lai moaned. Her thighs moved together as her hips worked. “Take me.” she breathed. “Take me now! I die for the touch of your tortoise head.”

  “As my tortoise head yearns to sheathe itself in your flower-heart,” I replied.

  I was in no mood for play. I moved her backward, step by step. When the backs of her knees touched the edge of the bunk, she sat down. Her hands went out to brace her body on the crumpled coverlet. Her golden thighs rose and parted.

  The bunk was high off the floor. By leaning forward, I could perform the hannechi connection of the Arabs, which translated, means in the way of the serpent. I became a snake, writhing back and forth inside her yin as Kai Lai opened her eyes wide and squealed in absolute delight.

  She panted, “Hai, hai,, hai!” as her hips worked from side to side, and back and forth. She was as emotional as Ip Chung had been. In a matter of seconds her soft thighs were holding my hips and her ankles were locked at the small of my back.

  We went on and on. This Chinese doll must have orgasmed a dozen times, to judge by the intense spasms of her body. Her legs tightened and loosed, tightened again and then parted. The constant souak el feurdj movements were a bit much for her. She could not retain her seated posture.

  She slumped over on her spine.

  Her big breasts shook like golden jelly to my copulative rhythms, The souak el feurdj motion is a steady movement in and out and sideways, in the wriggling methods of the snake. I do not believe Kai Lai had ever experienced this particular pleasure before, her gasps and cries and stifled words told me it was something new in her experience.

  She might have beat her palms together in that odd way she had, but her palms were too busy caressing me, urging me on and on to greater heights.

  I was determined to exhaust her, something I. had failed to do with Ip Chung. I wanted no insults about my virility from Kai Lai. When I was done with her, she would think me heterosexual Hercules, a potent priapist of that class the Japanese name dokyo, after a long-dead priest who was reputed to enjoy the strongest penis in the entire world.

  China has its own hard-headed hero, the Hsi Men Ch’ing of the book Chin Ping Mei. He was a notable cocksman, indeed. But I like to think I outdid him this night, with the
whimpering convulsing Kai Lai. It is true that I was driven by a kind of need to rebuild my image in my own eyes. No woman was going to make me call quits again the way Ip Chung had done.

  I hammered away, shifting my knees to the bunk edge.

  “You have the clitoris of the hyena,” I panted.

  Her eyes were closed, her teeth sunk in her lower lip, yet she parted that red, bite-swollen mouth to say, “Yours is the great yang of the bull! The stallion. Oh, burst my cloud all night long, dear Professor!”

  I tried damn hard.

  Naturally we lost track of time. Her “tongue grew cold” as the Chinese phrase the supreme delight of the diddled dame, a score of times. The night was dark beyond the cabin windows; occasionally, as we changed positions, I caught the. tracery of moonlight on the water of our wake.

  And we did change positions, many times. Yet always I so managed my body and hers that my yang was in constant contact with her clitoris. I wanted to exhaust her, to make her crawl away from me, fleeing from my priapism as from the plague. Only in this way would I feel my old true self.

  She moaned, “Liu Hiana had you in mind when he wrote his Lieh-hsien-chuan!”

  Being a complete sexologist in my role as founder of the League for Sexual Dynamics, I knew she referred to the Han scholar who lived in the first century before Christ, who claimed that the male retention of semen preserved the male power and made him young. The Lieh-hsien-chuan was his masterwork, dealing as it did with the sexual exploits of Jung-ch’eng.

  According to the Chinese erotologists, a man has only a limited amount of sperm to distribute in his amorous exploits; a woman has an inexhaustable supply of ova. Apparently Kai Lai and I were demonstrating the truth of this old axiom, because her cloud burst so many times I lost count while I had not burst my own cloud even once.

  Dawn found us in the bunk, me cm my back, Kai Lai crouched above me, her hips sliding and stabbing back and forth on my maleness. There were tiny purple rings under her black eyes with their sooty lashes, but she did not heed the tiredness of which they were a sympton.

  “More, more, more,” she sobbed.

  I began to think it was the only word she knew.

  Well, I was going to give her more. I was not yet tired, though I must admit to .a bit of soreness. I reflected on the many positions explained in the Jou-p’u-t’uan, a Chinese erotic classic. I swung over into the Posture of the Butterfly Exploring a Flower, and followed that with the Posture of the Bee Stirring Honey. Kai Lai ate it up. She loved it. Her hips went flying all over the place and she screamed thickly in her happiness until her throat must have been raw.

  Sunlight was a golden brightness in the cabin. I was getting damn hungry, not to mention thirsty.

  “Can’t I have a little wine? Or water?” I begged.

  She smiled up at me, being in the position entitled The Starving Horse Races to the Oatbin. She was flat on her back, her legs upraised, the undersides of her thighs against my chest, with her ankles on my shoulders. She held me to her with her fingers widespread on my back. Our tongues were touching, our mouths foraging for kisses.

  “Water, of course. No wine,” she panted.

  I struck while she was in a good mood. “How about some food?” When she seemed to debate this in her head, I added, “You may be on a diet, but I’m not.”

  Kai Lai nodded, “Very well. Food, then.”

  Her hands drew me to her again and my stallion galloped as fast as he could to her oatbin. When she peaked, screeching and bumping herself up into me, I held her tightly until she subsided.

  Then she pushed me away and padded naked to the door. She aid not open the bolted door, she merely yelled, “Bring us a tray with some food on it. And a pitcher of water.” She hesitated, then looked over her shoulder at me. “Bring also a little rice wine.”

  She came back toward me. I would willingly have seen her don her striped jersey and blue denims, but she was determined to have another go at our erotic exercises. Reaching beneath the bunk she brought out a ceramic jar in the shape of a male organ. Sighing, she shook out some reddish powder on her palm.

  “Hashish?” I asked, knowing that the drug made the male organ become a stick of jade, indeed.

  “Mixed with other things like cinnamon and ginger,” she smiled, kneeling beside the bed and reaching for my manhood. Gently she powdered it red, then rubbed in the mixture. My penis began to sting, as if absorbing all the heat from the red powder.

  In moments I was as potent as a sexual Samson. Kai Lai gurgled delightedly. She was about to climb up on me again when a knock sounded at the door. She ran to the door, buttocks jiggling, and threw back the bolt. Her hand reached out. Somebody put a tray in it. She used both hands to hold the tray and kicked the door shut with a golden foot.

  I went to help her, somewhat ludicrous in my stuck-up state.

  The tray was piled with such Chinese delicacies as egg foo young, egg rolls, sweet and sour pork. There was a bowl of gravy on it as well as small offerings of chicken with walnuts, and water chestnuts with kidneys.

  “The captain sets a mean table,” I marveled.

  Kai Lai smiled. “It is in your honor that we have brought along Ging Tou, who is the finest cook in Canton. He outdid himself this time, I believe.”

  She took no food and drink herself; she knelt before me and held the tray so I could make my own selections. As she did so, she leaned far forward so I could place the tray on her naked back. This posture brought her lips close to my manhood.

  While I feasted above, she feasted below, and when we were done, she knocked the tray aside and clambered up onto my lap. She turned her back to me, planting her bare feet on the hooked rug, and sank down.

  “Don’t you ever get tired?” I asked, after a time.

  “Never of this! I was born for fang shu, for bedroom play!”

  She was indeed. As I was myself. But enough is enough. Toward three o’clock in the afternoon, my body was trembling with exhaustion. Not my manhood, that seemed to be a different part of me. It clamored for love; it was ready to go on and on. But my every other muscle was finished.

  At four, I pushed her away, held her there at the length of my arms. “Go get another playmate,” I begged. “We’ve been at our game of yin and yang for more than .twenty hours without a rest. I’m beat.”

  What am I saying? I asked myself. I was admitting to another defeat at the hands of a Chinese doll! I was quitting under female fire. Me, Rod Damon! The priapist! I could not believe my own ears.

  My tongue was smarter than I was, or maybe it was only my subconscious at work. A guy could kill himself this way. A part of me would not let me do that. It had spoken though my tongue.

  I could have wept, but I was too tired for that. I held Kai Lai off as long as I could, and then I fell asleep. I was beat, worn to a nub. Whatever happened while my eyes were closed and I was dreaming, let it: At least the rest of my body would be resting.

  My eyes opened to lantern light.

  I was alone in the cabin. It was something during the night. The diesel engine was troubling down in the hull and the junk was moving quite rapidly up the Canton River. I yawned, stretched, and went back to sleep.

  Kai Lai woke me, kissing me with parted lips. She was naked again. I had never put on any clothes. I shoved her off.

  “I need exercise. Scram!”

  “You are a magnificent man, Professorbut you’re no superman. I proved that last night.”

  My hand fumbled for my shorts. “You know somebody who’s better, huh?”

  “Oh, many men. You’ll get to meet them in Tin Song.”

  “Chinamen all?”

  Eyes roguish, she nodded her head until her black hair flew. “All, and for the greater glory of the mighty Mao.”

  “Hogwash, honey. I don’t believe it.”

  I got into my clothes, found some rice wine still untouched and swallowed it all. It spread through me, warmed me. I needed warming. I was lower than a snake’s belly in the
confidence department right now. For the second time in something like two dap I had failed to make a woman cry, “Enough! It was a bad feeling.

  My feet aimed me at the door. My hand opened it. I walked out on the deck. The river air was fresh, cool. Captain Shu Shang saw me and waved a hand. I went to stand beside him at the port rail.

  “We’re making good progress,” I complimented.

  His shoulders shruged. “It is to be expected. My Pai Lu is a fine vessel. She carries an important passenger.” He grinned at me. “Did my daughter exhaust you?”

  “Just about.”

  I told myself the mores of China were surely changing when a man could speak this way of his daughter. So much for the doctrines of Mao Tse-tung.

  We got into a discussion of Marshal Lin Piao and his changes which are marking Peking doctrine. Gone is the fear that held Red China in its grip for the past two years, along with the Red Guards. These adolescent apes have been sent into the country to learn how to farm. They had become a millstone about Mao’s fat neck; this was one way to get rid of them.

  Trade goods were appearing in the marts of Peking and Shanghai. Not the drab garbs of former years but brightly colored silks and woolens. It was as if Red China had come to realize the depths of its mob madness and was determined to bring back a sense of normalcy.

  Was it the real goods, though—or window dressing?

  Shu Shang claimed it was for real. He praised Lin Piao as being Mao’s right arm and a strong one. Today, Chinese in authority were sitting down with foreign diplomats instead of causing the Red Guards to overturn their cars and do them bodily harm. There was no more burning and looting of foreign embassies. Red China was about to take its place in the world.

  I was not so sure. If there were any truth about the robots, it might be wisdom to play down their public belligerency until the world lowered its guard. Then would be the time to send out its robot army across Siberia and into Russia, to let loose their atomic warheads toward Moscow and Stalingrad, and maybe even San Francisco and Los Angeles.

  The proletarian cultural revolution was at an end, Red China would have the world believe. Maybe so. But I did not swallow the doctrine that the new era of Lin Piao was all sweetness and light, as Captain Shu Shang would have me believe. Somebody was going to lower the boom one of these days. Then the world would really know and understand Red China