"Anesthetic? What the hell have you been doing to me?"
"We were evaluating your suitability for the Program. As it turns out, you show a good deal of potential. The next stage is to educate and train you in the various nuances of sex and lovemaking. Interested in continuing?"
Boy, was he ever.
"Now this is my pussy," Karen ("I despise that name -- call me Kari.") was saying. Her pubic triangle appeared to be the same shade of dusky blonde as the hair piled in a Psyche knot atop her head. She motioned him closer and pulled apart the lips to show him. "When I'm excited and anxious for a man, I get wet down here and inside me. That lets this -- " She indicated the growing bulge in his pants " -- slide into me more easily, and with more pleasure for both of us. It helps, though, if you rub me here -- " she indicated a small red protrusion just at the top of her split, " -- and perhaps, if you're so inclined, you might even use your mouth and tongue instead of your fingers."
As she guided him into her, he was thinking of all times he had fantasized about doing . . . something or other . . . with a woman, and how he had always come back down to earth frustrated and unfulfilled. Ah, but it was hot and slippery in there. Inside her. Deep in her moist darkness. Hot! She pulled his head down to her breasts and gave him a nipple to suck.
"Yes, Dr. Abelian, the instruction has been very satisfactory so far. I do hope I'm making a passing grade in the course."
"Call me Jarman, Paul. And yes, you're doing just fine. So far. Now, we'll be introducing you to some of the more advanced modalities of sexual expression.
"Women are fine as sex partners, but the highest level of sexual expression is joining with another of your own sex. Are you with me so far, Paul?"
"Well, uh, I guess, Dr. . . . Jarman."
"The way a man achieves the most intense sensations from the sex act is by being the receptive partner. This means having another man's penis inserted into him, into his anal opening and full length up into his rectum. Now stop me if I'm going too fast for you or if this makes you squeamish."
"It's a bit difficult for me to accept actually, Jarman. You mean a guy pushes his erect penis into another guy's asshole, the place where the . . . the excrement comes out of? Wouldn't that hurt? And it stinks down there . . . it's unclean!"
"Come now, Paul. We try to stay openminded about such things here. If you desire to achieve sexual enlightenment, you'll need to be more flexible than that. Of course, if all this is too much for you, we'd be happy to furnish you with a bus ticket back to your home. Think about it."
He thought about it. On the one hand, the idea of shoving his penis up someone's butt, or, worse yet, having some other guy's penis shoved up his own revolted him. It made him nauseous. And yet . . . maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. Think of the payoff. Getting the chance to love the women here, to fuck them was so . . . delicious that he couldn't just walk away. Could he?
"Jarman, I've decided to stay. If it means gritting my teeth and overcoming a few prejudices, then so be it."
"That's quite a mature attitude, Paul. You're what? Eighteen? We'll very shortly bring you up to the knowledge level of an accomplished master in the art of lovemaking. How would you feel about that?"
"I guess that's why I'm here. Lead on, Doc."
Ten minutes later Paul was peering down at the plump bare buttocks of the woman on her hands and knees in front of him. "Hold on to my hips as you put yourself into me," the voluptuous brunette was saying. "Gently now. That's it. Pull back a little, then thrust forward again. Slowly. All the way in now. Hold still at full insertion and feel the heat in the depths of my pussy. Reach around me and finger my clit. Yes. Feel how I quiver inside when you do that."
Ten minutes later Paul was on his hand and knees and Dr. Abelian was peering down at his skinny bare buttocks. "Now, Paul, I'm going to insert my finger into you now. This is to lubricate and relax your anal opening. Hold steady. Good. It may feel a bit strange at first but any discomfort will be only momentary. Ready?"
Ten minutes later Paul was lying on his back on an examining table. A light woolen blanket covered him and he was sobbing gently.
"Paul, I'm sorry it didn't work out as planned. You tensed up at the exact moment I tried to enter you. Certainly that might cause you some discomfort, but things will get better . . . you can count on that. We'll try again tomorrow morning."
"I'm sorry I failed you, Doctor. I'll do better next time. I promise."
The next morning Paul was feeling just fine. Better than fine, actually. Super. The "cheer up" injection Dr. Abelian had given him made everything seem brighter.
"Paul, undress, then make yourself comfortable in that fancy chair over there. Good, good. See, it tilts back. Now lift your legs up into the stirrups. I'll fasten the straps. Normally we use this type of equipment for gynecological exams, but it suits our purpose quite nicely for what we have in mind today.
"I'm going to give you an injection now. Yes, right down here into the sphincter, into the outer ring of muscle actually. It'll sting a bit, but only for a second. This is a muscle relaxant. It will loosen you up and make things go much more smoothly."
Paul was still feeling mellow. Very mellow. The momentary pinprick down below there didn't bother him at all.
The doctor held up a gleaming steel instrument. "Now Paul, this is a speculum. It's a device we physicians use to open up and spread apart a body orifice. I'm going to insert it several inches into you to open your anus up, to spread and stretch you down there. It might feel cold at first, but it won't be painful, and you may find the sensation interesting, mildly arousing even."
It was cold, all right, but once he got over the shock it didn't hurt. The feeling of being stretched was a bit weird, but no big deal. Imagining himself being opened, made accessible for a penis to enter, did somewhat . . . arouse him. His own penis was becoming hard even as Dr. Abelian was manipulating the device inside him. Paul felt a faint twinge of regret when he felt it being removed.
"Now, let's see how much of a difference that made," Abelian said. Paul was relaxed to the point of total limpness. He had dismounted from the chair. He was now resting his weight on his elbows, leaning forward, bent over the edge of a padded examination table. Naked from the waist down, his defenseless bare buttocks presented themselves to the doctor.
Paul felt the penis push into him. He was so loose down there (from the injection and the dilation?) that Abelian's first thrust slid all the way up to the hilt into his rectum and filled him completely. He felt totally open and vulnerable. The sliding friction inside his gut began to arouse him and he felt his penis harden and rise. It actually did feel good. A wave of intense heat gradually rippled upward from his lower belly.
After the doctor left the room, Kari entered. She motioned for him to climb onto the examining table, and pushed him down so he was laying flat on his back. Then she climbed on top of him. It was strange, feeling the good doctor's fluids slowly dribbling out of his anus while she straddled him and milked his penis. His vital essence flowed up into her in one massive surge and he was well and truly drained. Wrung out and drained. Used up.
This was the daily pattern Paul settled into -- getting fucked by the doctor, then fucking Kari. Sometimes the anal stimulation alone would bring him to orgasm and this tired him out too much for making love to Kari. When that happened, she would just hold him, cradle his head on her soft breasts, and rock him to sleep. Her touch satisfied him to the very depths of his being.
Several weeks later, Abelian called a conference. Paul, Kari, and two men and a woman identified as "bio-medical engineers" sat in a row of folding chairs, flanked on each side by about thirty other unidentified persons. The doctor stood behind a lectern at the front of the room.
"What all this has been leading up to," Abelian was saying, "is setting free and utilizing what Wilhelm Reich called 'orgone energy.' It is a fundamental cosmic force present in all matter, but especially in living organisms. Sexual release triggers emission of thi
s energy and there have been developed methodologies of concentrating and collecting it. My own research has given tantalizing hints that orgone energy may be the key to life extension, and possibly eternal youth and physical immortality."
The room rang with shouts of disbelief, and Abelian paused until the tumult had died down.
"These are remarkable claims, to be sure. However, we are prepared to test them under laboratory conditions. There is history to be made here and Nobel Prizes to be won."
The helmet was hot and uncomfortable. Perspiration trickled down his forehead and into his eyes. Paul couldn't believe he had agreed to wear this weird metal bucket with a cable harness trailing out of it and leading to a wall console. Both the doctor and Kari had similarly wired helmets on their heads. All three of them were otherwise naked inside this faintly illuminated, overheated sweatbox. Abelian had called it an "Orgone Accumulator."
"It is critically important that we three reach orgasm simultaneously, or nearly so. This will set loose the maximum possible quantity of orgone energy in a single explosive burst. The wires in our helmets are for transmitting and amplifying the cortical impulses mirroring the energy emission, in order that the technical staff in the adjoining room can accurately monitor and record the event."
A metallic voice from an unseen loudspeaker spoke: "Prepare to commence the test run. Phase one. Initiate linkage."
The good doctor instructed Kari to bend over forward and Paul to insert himself into her from behind to full depth, but to refrain from thrusting. They complied.
"Paul, hold still and relax your anal sphincter as you have been taught. Push gently outward as I enter. Steady. Hold steady."
Now the three of them were fully linked up. Paul held on to Kari's hips as Abelian pumped in and out of him in a slow, steady rhythm. There seemed to be a faintly luminous phantom light emanating from their bodies. It was getting hotter in there.
The loudspeaker hummed and crackled. "Phase two. Radiation."
"Nothing to worry about," Abelian said as he continued to thrust in and out of Paul's rear aperture. "Just a mild bath of low-level X-rays to trigger an orgone cascade reaction. It's perfectly safe."
"Phase three," the loudspeaker intoned.
"This is the critical point, Paul. Begin thrusting to bring yourself to the brink of orgasm. Then reach around forward to rub Karen's clitoris to stimulate her to climax. We'll all come together in the same moment. On my count: ten . . . nine . . . "
When Abelian reached "three," a starburst went off behind Paul's eyes as he felt his penis begin that now-familiar twitching. Kari shrieked and the doctor groaned.
"Disengage immediately!" The loudspeaker shrieked. "Excess resonance! Can't control the energy level! Runaway reaction! Emergency! Cut the power! No! No! NO!"
There was an intense blue-white flash and a dull boom, and Paul felt . . . sensed himself lifted and flung at, then through the flimsy wall of the chamber. He must have blanked out for several minutes because the next thing he knew he was staggering through the streets of the compound. Sirens were blaring. Some of the buildings were burning and a thick pall of greasy black smoke obscured the rest. (Got to get out of here!) The gate had been blown part way off its hinges and he made his way through the wreckage and stumbled downhill. There was a highway down there somewhere. Have to get help. Fast.
"So, Kirin," Paul was saying. Even back in the Sixties, the era of Free Love and Universal Enlightenment, there were winners and losers, predators and victims. We had our share of charlatans, too: Timothy Leary, the Pied Piper of psychedelic drugs, Jarman Abelian, the 'eternal youth through sex and orgone energy' messiah . . . "
He glanced at his watch. Damn, he'd be late for his appointment with the cosmetologist. He was due to get his hair re-grayed and the wrinkles incised more deeply into his face. It certainly wouldn't do to go around looking younger than his own daughter.
* * *
THE ICE MAIDEN
The background of the story is true.
German submarine wolf packs were slaughtering Allied shippping in 1942. An effective way of escorting convoys to and from England was desperately needed. There just weren't enough destroyers available, and there was a critical shortage of aircraft carriers. What to do?
Project Habakkuk.
Inspired by an inspiration of mad inventor Geoffrey Pyke, engineers built and tested ship-like prototype ice structures in lakes in Alberta, Canada, in 1943. The idea proved feasible, more or less. Ships made of solid ice, with suitable reinforcing members made of more conventional materials, would be effectively unsinkable by torpedoes or shellfire. However, such vessels had a couple of major drawbacks. They would have been extremely expensive to build, the equivalent of $100,000,000 or more each, a fortune by 1943 standards. They also had an unfortunate tendency to gradually melt away or even vaporize in warm weather.
By early 1944, the Allies had won the Battle of the Atlantic, and there was no longer a need for unsinkable aircraft carriers. The Habakkuks never sailed. But what if they had?
At a stately six knots, the H.M.S. Indefeasible plowed through the rolling swells of the Arctic Sea off the coast of Norway. She was an experimental ship, one of the first of the new Habakkuk-class aircraft carriers carved out of chunks of the Greenland icecap. She was an iceberg shaped into the semblance of a ship's hull by jets of superheated steam. An iceberg stiffened and reinforced with inventor Geoffrey Pike's miracle material, Pykrete -- really only a frozen mixture of water and wood pulp, but which boasted many of the useful properties of construction steel. An iceberg fitted out with triple 2,500 horsepower Liberty Ship engines. A fighting and freight-carrying iceberg. Her crew called her the Ice Maiden.
Tromsö lay ahead, about 150 miles to starboard. It was March of 1944, and there were a thousand newly-built up-gunned Sherman Firefly tanks and 600 Lend-Lease P-39 fighters aboard -- destined for Stalin's armies, by way of Murmansk. The weather forecast called for blustery winds, with a possibility of heavy snow later in the evening. It was sleeting lightly and visibility was down to 50 feet.
Jud Kirsch unbuttoned his military parka as he stepped indoors and muscled the door shut against the resistance of a frigid wind gust. Straight from the North Pole that damn storm must be blowing. At least they had issued cold-weather headgear with fur earflaps, rather than those less-than-useless Army Air Force regulation billed caps. He stopped at his commanding officer's desk and languidly saluted. "Captain Judson Kirsch reporting as ordered."
"I'm an engineer, not a flipping soldier," he repeated for what must have been the twentieth time. "Sure, I know more about the P-39 and what keeps her in the air than any of those glorified flyboys and jumped-up mechanics at the Bell Aircraft plant in Buffalo. But, damn it all, why did they have to stick me on this motorized ice cube?"
"You sure as hell aren't much of a soldier, flipping or otherwise," Colonel Smythers snapped back. "We requisitioned you for your mechanical knowhow, not your military skills, that's for damned certain. Now, shut up your whining and enjoy the 36-hour furlough topside. I understand you've been making time with that nursey broad, Malice something-or-other. She has to be as frigid as the superstructure of this damned ship, if my information sources are correct, and they usually are. Lots of luck with that one, and don't freeze your pecker off. Dismissed."
Kirsch gave a sloppy salute, nonchalantly pivoted, and walked out the door of the drafty administrative building. Imagine, living and working in Quonset huts on the deck of a tossing and heaving iceberg. Then stomping your way through snow-drifted paths toward the holds and workshops. Ice caverns, really. Well, at least it had one major advantage. There were plenty of hidden places for a tryst or rendezvous, assuming you could find a willing partner, that is. Well, there was always Major Paige, commander of the on-board nurse contingent. Mary Alice was too big a mouthful for her close friends, what few of them there were, and "Malice" was probably more apt anyhow. She did have a coldly imperious manner, not to mention a rather sharp tongue
. As well as dangerous curves.
"Close the damned door!"
The coal-fired stoves in the aft mess hall didn't quite manage to compensate for the frigid gusts of arctic air that slammed in every time someone entered.
"Sorry, mates," he apologized. He looked around.
There was Malice herself, in all her icy majesty, sitting by herself in the officers' section. Five-foot eleven of sculpted femininity, and a scowl that could give Medusa a run for her money. Scowl, what scowl? She was looking in his direction and smiling. Motioning him over.
"Major Paige?"
"My friends call me Malice, not that I have a malicious bone in my body, ha, ha. Grab a seat, Jud, old fellow, and plop your skinny behind down." With a negligent gesture of her hand, she indicated an open spot next to her.
Had she been drinking on duty? That might account for her jolly familiarity. Nurse Malice, the Snow Queen, the resident Ice Maiden of the Ice Maiden? Could it be?
The Syntax of Seduction Page 38