The Big Broad Jump

by Troy Conway

  She sprawled across my chest, her hands still clutching the family jewels, plaiting the separate hairs the same way she must have done her long golden hair. Her hilly rump, round and firm and fully packed, blotted out the view of the lousy wallpaper of the room. Outside, the town of Betchnika slept. It was very late in the day. Not so much as a car horn squalled.

  I hadn’t subsided, of course, and to Katie this was a marvel without equal.

  She muttered something in Czechoslovakian that sounded like awe and I chuckled. She answered that by gently squeezing my testicles. All that did was make the topmost tower stretch an inch further.

  “What do I need to make that go down, Rod? Beat it with a stick?”

  “I stay ready,” I said. “You complaining?”

  “Oh, Rod.” She smothered it with kisses, rising to her knees to snuggle. Her mouth was one hot little item. I stirred pleasurably.

  “You’re not as pure as the driven snow anymore,” I reminded her. “Mind very much?”

  “So I drifted.” She sat back on her haunches and I could see the gleam of her eyes and the tender shadows her breasts threw even in the dim light. “When I think of the years I wasted—but not even Karl Orlonikek was as big as you are!”

  “Who he?”

  “Just a boy who used to take me dancing. We’d pet on the porch until Poppa caught us. He never came back. Folks are afraid of commissars around here, you know.”

  “How big was Karl?”

  She chuckled. “You men. Always wanting to know if you’re bigger than the next one!” I told you she was a hep chick. “Well, you are. Let’s put it this way, if we were talking about tobacco, he’d be a cigarette and you’d be a cigar.”

  I teased her. “Want to smoke, Katie?”

  “Oh, can I? May I? I wondered if you’d let me—” She crouched forward and I felt marvelous. “I didn’t know if you approved of such things!” Her tongue flicked out like a darting snake.

  “When it comes to men and women, I don’t draw the line at sexual limits. Be my guest. Enjoy. Later on, I’ll give you some lip service you may remember all your born days.”

  She didn’t need any urging.

  She began to lick away, eating from the top down, and before she or I knew what was happening, she’d traveled all the way to the danger line and almost mechanically now, without asking, she hoisted herself atop me once more. And again we were off to the races. This time I ploughed into her at Yankowski’s fabulous forty-five-degree angle until she was moaning for me to stop, then I turned her over on her stomach and the ancient Greek Art of the Back-Scuttle has seldom known such zealous championing. But I hadn’t pegged her wrongly at all. Even in that rather helpless position, she was able to rock and roll back into me until I had to triple my stroke to keep her from mashing me backwards. Following which gainful employment, we immediately reversed roles and she tried to do me from the top. But there I really had her. And in less time than it takes to shake a joystick, she soon collapsed atop the flagpole, tired and spent. All in all, we had been busy a good two hours, and Katie Walsky had sampled a little of everything that is, at least, natively Damon and basically American. The Greeks don’t exactly do it the way we do—but that’s another story.

  I carried her into the bathroom, set her down in the tub and let some warm water revive her. She drowsed sleepily, her breasts still pulsating. The refreshing bath made her perk up. She stared up at me with love and wonder in each eyeball. And still I hadn’t really gone down. I rode proudly in the range of her vision.

  “Good God,” she murmured.

  “Thank God,” I said.

  “I used to think singing was everything, but you opened my eyes. Belting out ballads and tunes just can’t compare to this. What a shame it can’t be waxed and sold as a record label.”

  “Please. The mere idea makes me sick. You okay?”

  “If I was a kitten, I’d meow and howl off the back fence.”

  “But you are pussy. Prime pussy, believe me. For a newcomer to this art, you’re kind of fabulous yourself. You’re going to have a long and fruitful life, Katie.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “On my oath.”

  “Climb in. You wash too. I’ll do your back. I hope that fiend Chris has kicked over the chair. Hanging’s too good for him.”

  I got in the tub and she made room. We locked into a beautiful pretzel formation that still left us face to face. She was warm and so good to look at. I fondled her chest fondly. She sighed and arched her shoulders in another V.

  “Mmmmmmm,” she said. “Do that again.”

  “I can and will, ma’am.”

  “You know something? I wouldn’t have believed it. But I’ll be raring to go again in a minute—”

  “Rare away. There’s no law against it.”

  She nodded happily, took the bar of soap and scrubbed away at my deltoids, rib cage and back. I returned the compliment. She grinned and fidgeted. The fever was returning, and like she had said, that was new to her too. But she was so willing to learn. The perfect pupil.

  “Rod. You have to stay on this silver pill case?”

  “Sure, it’s my job. Why?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing. Just that you ought to know everything. The Firnl Lab is about three miles from here and a couple of miles from there is a small Skoda works, a cannon section. You ought to know that the women who work there have been hanging around the lab when they finish their shifts. Every day. Like clockwork.”

  “What for?”

  “Rumors are around about the pills. Everybody remembers about the old men and what happened. So these women hang around waiting for some of the studs to come out—you know, men who might have been dosed with the pill. You know how women are. Like lunatics when it comes to a good man in bed. Especially, a super-charged man. Thought I ought to tell you. You might think of something.”

  “I already have. Let’s dry off and go back to bed. Good thing you told me, Katie. This could be important.”

  “Not as important as what you’ve got,” she pouted. “You don’t need silver pills. You’re a giant!”

  “Don’t lose your head, now.”

  We toweled each other down and she shivered ecstatically. I could see she was all gingery and ready to go again. It’s great to be young, isn’t it? No tired blood, no need for silver pills. Just your youth, your dreams and a lot of get up and go and you’re all set. You don’t have to get Life out of any bottles or wonder drugs. Or new inventions.

  By the time we reached the bed, I had a plan half-formed. Sure. It made sense. Hang around that Firnl Lab, pretend to be one of the sexed-up males, grab some of the horny, desperate females and in return for some loving, they might tell all they knew. Hell, they must have seen something or knew something at least, hanging around the Lab like that, everyday. It was worth trying.

  When I detailed my plan to Katie, she grudgingly admitted it was a fair scheme that might work. But I could see she didn’t like the idea too much of sharing her claim with anyone else. Still, she was a game trouper and did understand the vicissitudes of espionage. It was like a That’s-Show-Biz! situation.

  “Never mind, Katie. You can help. And I can promise you there’ll always be a lamp burning for you in my fly. Scout’s honor.”

  “You’re no Boy Scout. You’re a Wolf Pack leader.”

  “So I am.” I slipped my hand between her legs and she sighed helplessly and began to twitch again. She was like me. Always ready. I wished I had her back at the university to help me out with my Masters-Johnson tests. Her response factor was hypersensitive. “And what are you, my girl?”

  “Your horny little, ever-loving, always-wanting woman! Oh, Rod—I feel it again—it’s coming over me like a tide. Is it always like this?” She let out a shriek of delight. A low cry as the lightning touched her rod. She quivered electrically, shot sparks and the current flowed. I put her legs up past my shoulders and raised my body. Her eyes opened; fear almost came into them; the Damon Dr
op can be frightening to a newcomer, even if it is a special girl like Katie Walsky. She knew I wouldn’t hurt her; she just didn’t know how much she could take. I knew, though. She was now ready. Her snatch was made for plummeting. The higher the better, the deeper the greater. She was still bottomless and she didn’t know that, either.

  “Oh, oh—what are you doing—oh, that smarts!”

  “Just a second longer. And then it won’t. Today you are a woman. This is your diploma, Katrina Walsky.”

  “Is it? What did I do?”

  “You were a woman when you walked into this room and you have remained a woman ever since.”

  “Then”—she gasped, straining as her warm thighs passed to their full length above my shoulders—”sock it to me!”

  On the words, I dropped from the ceiling. It’s my own ploy, my own baby, my own little invention and as I like to repeat has won the day all over the world.

  Like so many women before her, and I hope ever after, and like Gretchen Zimmer of Munich, Katie Walsky did the only thing likely and possible under the imposed circumstances and positions of our bodies.

  Her shapely body gave one galvanic twitch, she struggled to come erect, her thighs seemed to wave like flags, she cried out with a mighty moan of ecstasy—and fainted.

  Flat on her back, dead away.

  After all, she was only a virgin. Correction. Had been.

  And now, as I had told her, she was really a woman.

  She had given me everything I wanted plus the extra little thing that was necessary to my stay in Betchnika. I now knew what my next move was in Operation Silver Pill.

  The Firnl Laboratory near the Skoda works, Cannon Section.

  Where hungry women waited and lusted after ingested studs.

  Exactly my speed.

  That kind of investigation was the sort of thing that was right up my alley. All the way up.

  Katie slept blissfully on the bed as I lay back, smoking a cigarette and planning tomorrow’s strategy. She breathed deeply and it was nice watching her yum-yums rise and fall. What a girl.

  I was terribly fond of her already.

  And if I had anything to say about it, I would see that she got her crack at the Big Apple—star time U.S.A.

  I owed her that much for being such a sport about everything.

  Besides, I was still going to need her help if I ever wanted to keep my record even at 1000—I’d run up that kind of batting average working for Walrus-moustache and the Coxe Foundation. I hadn’t missed yet.

  Now that I’d separated myself from the questionable aid of one Christina Ketch, I had to have a partner, didn’t I? What better help could I get than a native-born Betchnikian with a nice wiggle and a willingness to learn from the great Damon?

  You said it, boys and girls.

  I’d found my real ally for the silver pill caper.

  Katrina Walsky, Girl Guide.

  K-K-K-Katie!

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next day we stayed in the hotel. I was waiting for night to fall so we could go out to the Firnl Laboratory and try my plan. There was a little radio in the room, a powerful five-watter that sort of gave out the local news. I ordered our meals from the sleepy clerk downstairs. Katie did go out once, to check in at her home and make it look like she’d been home all night, and then she came back right away. It seemed that Poppa commissar left her pretty much to her own devices. So much for motherless kids. Anyhow, Katie, when she came back breathlessly with eyes shining (the mere idea of being alone with a lover in a hotel room all day was a drug to her) reported that Poppa Walsky was hip-deep in conference with Gekko and Orkoff again. The Firnl Lab scientists had some fresh data of a sort. Katie couldn’t tell what but it didn’t matter.

  While we ate our bread, cheese and wine, I kept my ears tuned to the radio. Along about two o’clock, the Czech-spouting newscaster announced the death of Chris in the barn. Katie translated for me. The announcer sounded like he was doing a weather report but I got all the details anyway. Betchnika Radio made no comment on the death except to mention the suicide note without revealing its contents or making any reference to the murders of the twenty-five old men. That figured. It was still a Communist station, no matter how you sliced it, and no matter how small the town of Betchnika was. Maybe that’s why Moscow had chosen such an isolated little burg to conduct their experiments in the first place. It added up.

  Between eating and listening to the radio, Katie and I made love again. Sometimes she was the aggressor. Sometimes I was. It’s nice to have a healthy once-was virgin around a hotel room. Especially on rainy days. I was glad about the rain. It fit in with my little scheme for the Firnl Lab like I fit into Katie. But she never did stop marveling at my incredible build and indefatigable desire to fornicate.

  Time humped on and we were both happy. We took about three baths apiece, renewed ourselves, and refreshed our bodies. Toward five o’clock, I was ready for my work in the field. Katie got her clothes back on almost ruefully. I’d found out a lot about her in a short time. She had the makings of a female Rod Damon. She knew what she had, how to use it, and never tired of variety or degree of performance. I was thoroughly pleased with her. Hollywood didn’t know what it was missing.

  “What time does that Skoda factory close?” I asked. “I want to be at the Firnl when those women are hanging around.”

  “Five o’clock. Skoda has a strong union. Same as everybody else.” She sighed, looking at the bed, the sheets, the battered pillows, the lousy wallpaper of the room. She rubbed her stomach tenderly.

  She looked like she was going to cry.

  “What’s the matter, Katie?”

  “I’m going to miss this room. Just because it was my first illicit experience. My very first experience. It’s like my honeymoon suite.”

  “Cut that out. You’ll see a thousand rooms and a thousand experiences before you cash in your chips. Besides, we’ll come back here and I’ll roll you over and do it all over again.”

  “Promise. Cross your heart and hope to die?”

  “I’ll promise but I never hope to die.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she agreed almost ruefully. “You’ve got too much to live for.”

  “Pot calling the kettle black.” I pushed her toward the door. “Come on. Show me these hungry, yearning women, aching to be raped.”

  It was raining cats and dogs when we reached the street. We had to race to the Renault. I let Katie drive again. The skies were dark and rumbling thunder rolled in the heavens. Then a jagged flash of lightning ripped across the firmament. That was perfect. I hope it kept up until we reached the Firnl Lab. I wondered how Chris was doing at the local morgue.

  “Rod,” Katie murmured, as she sped the Renault along the cobbles, taking the main drag out of town, “you do like me just a little, don’t you? I mean—oh, damn!”

  “Sure, baby. Just remember that whatever I do in the next few hours is all for the cause. I’m a dedicated man. It’s part of the job.”

  She didn’t say anymore, gave the Renault some gas and we climbed out of town, leaving the gables, the terracotta and the chimneys behind us. In the teeming rain, Betchnika looked more like a ghost town than ever.

  It wasn’t a nice place to visit and I wouldn’t want to live there.

  Nobody would. Even if it was the place Katrina Walsky hung up her bra and panties.

  The Firnl Lab was a square, stone, tomb of a building set down in a clearing, sheltered on all four sides by tall elms and spruces. In the sheets of rain and occasional flashes of lightning, it looked awesome and unfriendly. Katie knew exactly what to do. She slithered the Renault to a stop on the curving macadam roadway leading up to the building and parked about a hundred feet before the entrance. The car was hidden by a leafy bower of forsythia and a high hedge of privets. I peered through the windshield. The front of the building looked unguarded and unprotected. High windows with thick pebbled glass hid any view of what was going on within those low four walls. OFF to the left,
a towering smokestack stretched into the sky. No smoke was issuing from its mouth. A phallic symbol of sorts—if there ever was one. If this was the true home of silver pills, it was a great advertisement.

  “So where’re the hungry broads?” I asked.

  Katie snorted. “You blind? Look!”

  I looked. Near the huge steel doors that fronted the facade, I could see now a low stone patio with an iron railing. Standing there, huddled like churchgoers near a shrine, were about eight women, all ulstered and macin-toshed and umbrellaed. The women were heedless of the downpouring rain. All of their attention seemed to be riveted on the big main doors and another exit cut out in the face of the building about twenty feet to the right. That, too, fit my plan to a T. I eased out of the Renault. Katie jumped.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Step One, silly. Remember? Now, you’re sure about that other abandoned storehouse nearby? We’ll need it if this works.”

  She nodded. “I told you. When you come out of the buildings, bear left through that break in the trees. There’s a bad road. Never used. Keep on going for about a hundred yards and you can’t miss it. What will you do if they catch you before you make the storehouse?”

  “I’ll worry about that when the time comes. Now, you wait like you promised. Then meet me at the storehouse. I’ll need you like crazy if none of these dames talks English.”

  Again, she nodded, worried. “All right. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I hope I know what I’m screwing, is what you mean.”

  With that, I dashed from the car. The rain pelted me and the lightning flashed again. Making good time and no noise, nothing that could be heard in such a downpour, I gained the cut-out exit to the right of the main entrance of the Firnl Lab. It worked like a charm. None of the waiting dames had seen me. I peeked out. There was something comic and forlorn, the way they stood around silently, waiting for the human guinea pigs to come out. I had to work fast before one of them did emerge from the building. That would just about ruin everything.