The Big Broad Jump

by Troy Conway

  It was the last neat touch.

  When Gekko and Orkoff saw me drive up in a Daimler in my nice tight uniform with Poppa Walsky’s daughter driving, I’d be in like Flynn. We would account for Poppa’s absence with the story of his being indisposed— which would be the flat honest truth if Katie doped his oatmeal properly.

  So that was it. We were just about all set for the big chance.

  We were ready to move in the morning.

  In the meantime, the night was young and she was still beautiful and eager to learn a few more strokes of the art and craft of making it in the sack with a man.

  But this time she couldn’t stay all night.

  She’d have to be on the scene at the house in the morning to give Poppa Commissar the full treatment.

  Still, we had time to ball most of the night away before dawn came creeping in over the mountains and down into the trees. So I showed Katie a few more tricks. Most importantly, I taught her Von Tappen’s method of holding-of-orgasm. A highly difficult but very important ploy for those who would stave off the moment of fulfillment to lengthen the amount of time in which to enjoy the sex act. It’d be a fine thing if everyone knew the canny old Kraut’s Prussian game, but in reality it would drive most women up the wall. Women have to let go, they have to have their lubricity and fourteen little orgasms along the way. It’s different for guys. We pop bigger and at wider intervals, give or take the stamina of the man in question. For me, it’s different of course because I am Damon. One of a kind. Still, I like to spread the seeds of knowledge wherever I go. Or whenever I can.

  Katie was grateful for the information but she really didn’t need it. The average guy she tangled with, once he felt her delicious man-trap close over him, would have let go soon enough. As for herself, she was in her prime with plenty of gas and oil to travel a long way. But the information would come in handy later on when she was much older and would have to be more careful with her energies.

  “Gee willies,” she panted in my arms as I dipped and retreated, inserted and withdrew everytime I felt myself approach the peak, “that’s real cruel. What kind of fun is that? You go away just as soon as I’m ready to spring a leak.”

  “I am merely demonstrating Von Tappen——”

  “Screw Von Tappen! Half the fun is feeling you flood my insides with joy juice. Come on, Rod—give. Cut loose. I want a deluge!”

  “Don’t you want to learn how to hold back?”

  “In a word, no. I didn’t give anything up for Lent.”

  “You are shameless. A hussy. A wanton. A pagan. In short, a very very nice piece of ass.”

  “If you say so—” she murmured impatiently. Dreamily. Her thighs drove mercilessly around me, digging her heels into my flanks. “Now will you come, please? I’m tired of holding out and as soon as you spill over, I can come up a gusher.”

  “Make me,” I teased.

  “Damn you!” she panted again, smacking her smooth abdomen into my ribs, jockeying for a fresh position. She engulfed me with her womanliness. The Venus Trap slammed shut. I was caught. I couldn’t get out now. So I did her a favor. I cut loose on the rise, letting go a torrent. She cried with happiness. She gushed. Within seconds, we were a deliciously soft, velvety, squirming union of warm fluid.

  “Von Tappen!” she snorted. “Hah! What was he, a Nazi?”

  “Uh-uh. He left Germany in 1933, went to Brooklyn to live, drove a cab to earn a living and then won a seat at Columbia. And he did it all by burning the midnight oil and cracking a lot of books—”

  “And a lot of women too, I’ll bet. Anyway, I don’t like his method. Who wants to be strong when all the fun is in being weak?”

  “You got me there, girl.”

  She squeezed me by the testicles.

  “Nobody’s got you,” she growled. “And nobody ever will. You’ve found a home in the world. You with that damn joy toy of yours. So you’ll roll all the way, screwing everything in sight. But you’ll see. I’ll go to Hollywood, become rich and beautiful and famous, and maybe you’ll give me a second look again. I’m right, aren’t I? You’ll be pulling out of Betchnika if tomorrow’s plan works?”

  “Afraid so. I don’t work for myself. My people will want me to go back home and make my report.”

  “Your people? What are they—all women?”

  I laughed. “Your people are my people. The Coxe Foundation. Who pick up the tab for my travels. Now, what do you say we get some sleep, and before dawn we’ll drive out to your house.”

  She yawned, stretching happily. Her splendid body uncoiled like a tigress at play and she turned around, planting her derriére squarely in front of me.

  “Don’t do that,” I warned.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m an ass man. All I have to do is see one like yours and I’m never too tired. I can’t resist an urge to fill it up—”

  “You’re not scaring me,” she whispered sleepily. “You know that, don’t you? If that’s your hang-up, go to it, man. With my blessings. Bet you can’t keep me from falling asleep.”

  “Don’t bet. You’ll lose.”

  “Prove it.”

  She had that sort of fanny that fills out East and West like a heart-shaped Valentine. North and South was just as magnificent, full, packed and covered with a skin of pure ivory. I couldn’t help myself. What a launching pad for a guided missile. I hugged her, kept my legs closed and shot the bolt home. She didn’t move right away, but she was right. She would never be a Von Tappen student. She had too much to give. In no time at all she was pushing back and her roll was jellied in no time at all.

  When we finally quit, she subsided with a sigh.

  “You win. You always do. Gee willies, why do you always feel so good?”

  “My heart is always in my work,” I reminded her. “And this is the liveliest art I know.”

  “Goodnight, Michelangelo,” she whispered happily.

  “Goodnight,” I said and rolled over and went to sleep. Our rumps kissed all night.

  Somewhere in Betchnika, a pair of dogs barked noisily in the cobbled streets.

  I wasn’t the only one getting his licks that night.

  By dawn, we decamped from the hotel. Katie, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, drove the Daimler. As soon as we left town limits, I changed my clothes in the back seat. The commissar uniform was as tight as the first time. I felt like my buttons were going to pop. But it was the usual Red miserliness. Plain coarse woolen jacket and pants of a military cut with a soft-billed cap to make it official.

  The day promised to be warm again, and by the time Katie drove slowly up the road to her house, it was getting muggy. A threat of rain hung in the leaden, hazy skies. It didn’t matter. Today was an indoor operation if all went off without a hitch at the Firnl Laboratory. May Day meant that everything would be closed, but it had to be a perfect day for Gekko and Orkoff to be there to brush up on their research and experimentation. I was counting on that, thanks to what I had overheard in the Walsky hallway.

  Katie parked under a bower of concealing trees, turned to kiss me and smiled.

  “I look funny?” I asked, worried about the uniform, and my appearance.

  “You look just fine. I feel like saying ‘Tovarich’!”

  “No kidding?”

  “Would I fool you, man of mine? Give us a kiss before I go in and make like a treacherous daughter.”

  She kissed me moistly.

  “This will only take a sec. But I’ll hang around awhile to see if the stuff really works, okay? Give me about a half hour.”

  “Take your time. We can’t get to the Firnl too early. Though I’ll bet a million bucks to a ruble that Gekko and Orkoff are down there right now, as early as it is, making like mad scientists.”

  She nodded, hopped out of the car, waved, and disappeared through a high row of privets, to enter the house by the back door. I waited in the Daimler and smoked a cigarette. I forgot about Poppa Walsky and his Katie. My mind was on the Firnl Laboratory. I
f my plan worked, I’d be out of Betchnika and on the plane to Munich in less time than it takes to deflower a virgin.

  Any virgin.

  I was sure of a few things, though.

  May Day or not, there would be the same hungry women hanging around the Firnl Lab waiting for their super-charged studs. Sex never takes a holiday. Sex Hunger, that is.

  Gekko and Orkoff, if I passed for a visiting Commie official from Moscow, would have to do what I told them. If Katie’s monkeying with the silver pills worked, they would have to draw up a bad report and abandon the project. Which was all I was interested in. Me and the Thaddeus X. Coxe Foundation. And Walrus-moustache.

  I wondered if he had had a chance to talk to Joe Levine yet about Katie. It would be even tougher to leave her without keeping my promises to her.

  The sun had poked its way through the hazy clouds when Katie came skipping back through the privets. She had on a big smile that looked very vengeful. She had been gone exactly forty-five minutes, I realized with a start.

  “Well?” I asked as she slid in behind the wheel. She was humming one of her rock and roll classics. Which meant she was happy again.

  “Sleeping like a baby. He went right into the mush, face first. I left him there. He’ll be all right.”

  “Good. Let’s get going before I lose my nerve altogether.” I pulled my cap down over my eyes and tried to look mean. She put the Daimler in gear.

  “Firnl Laboratory, home of the Silver Pill,” she said with bright chirpiness, “Coming up!”

  “Take your time. We don’t want to get any tickets.”

  “From who? Our police force consists of one car, two bicycles and about fifty foot patrolmen, all in town. It’s clear sailing from here on in.”

  “All the same, be careful. Don’t run out of gas, either.”

  “Who me?” She laughed and the big car went spinning out to the roadway, lunged down the lane and sped rapidly away from Poppa Walsky’s ranch home. I hoped the good commissar didn’t drown in the oatmeal. Disobedience to a parent is one thing, but I frown on patricide. Katie was too adorable and delicious to spend her life rotting away in a Communist jail.

  The Daimler ploughed smoothly toward the Firnl Laboratory.

  The sun seemed to play tag with us along the way, ducking in and out of the leaden clouds. It was lousy weather, really. Muggy and sticky. I hoped the laboratory was air-conditioned.

  After all, when a man is going to get laid, shouldn’t he have all the comforts of home and not have to worry about sweating like a pig before he starts?

  That’s only fair and sensible.

  There was one thing I hadn’t told Katrina Walsky. I, Rod Damon, intended to join the silver pill experiment myself. If only to prove to Gekko and Orkoff the stunning degree of differentiation and lack of standardization in their faulty pill.

  Faced with my kind of performance, they’d have to see they were in trouble. On the wrong track, as it were.

  But I kept that to myself as Katie kept on humming and kept on heading for the Firnl Laboratory in the woods.

  When we pulled up to the place, things were moving as I expected. As early as the hour was, and it couldn’t be later than nine, the lab was already doing its overflow female business. The stone doorway was crowded with loitering peasant women. I even detected an upper-middle class woman or two or three. They all had one thing in common. Hungry eyes, restless bodies and tongue-licking expectancy. My hopes soared. Not even May Day had turned them away. Which meant only one thing to me. Business was going on as usual at Firnl—the scientists had to be there, the male guinea pigs had shown up and word had got around to the man-hungry females of Betchnika. It wasn’t surprising that the regular men of town were not hanging around. Walrus-moustache’s theory was correct. Even if the pill still wasn’t perfect, it seemed to have shamed the average Betchnikian man into apathetic inactivity. They were all probably home sharpening their razors.

  As Katie wheeled the Daimler onto the concrete driveway, I said, “Honk the horn. Good and loud. We’re not sneaking up on Gekko and Orkoff, you know.”

  She did, blasting the sylvan stillness of the trees and early morn with a tattoo of noisy alarm. The women on the patio turned to look at us, shaking their heads, shooting questions at each other. There was a fresh hopefulness in their manner. I recognized some of the eight wantons from the storehouse experiment of the first visit They wouldn’t recognize me, though, unless I took my clothes off. Besides then I was dressed like a Balkan boy scout, this time I was a commissar!

  Katie slowed the car to a halt. No one had emerged from the lab.

  “Again,” I said, indicating the horn. “Make out like it’s New Year’s on Times Square.”

  With high glee and her natural love of music, she continued to batter the car horn. Pretty soon, we got results. The women were all laughing now, even if they didn’t understand the joke, the front doors of the lab swept open and two besmocked, bewbiskered, curly-haired bears stood bewildered on the threshold. It was Gekko and Orkoff all right. Nobody else could look so Russian, so scientific and so befuddled by the appearance of a very-official looking car from out of nowhere. I caught my breath, pulled my tunic down tighter and got out of the car. Katie came out her side and Gekko and Orkoff spotted her, exchanged glances and then came clattering down the stone steps to see what was up. The waiting women hurled taunts and jibes at them as they came. I yawned very theatrically, dusted off some imaginary lint from my coat sleeve and Katie went to greet Gekko and Orkoff, managing to look awed and proud at the same time. I got the impression as she began to talk to them in Russian that she was explaining all about Poppa Commissar’s sudden illness and my very urgent arrival at her house.

  Gekko and Orkoff came stumbling over with her, looking perplexed. I gambled on using English and won.

  “How many men do you have inside to test for the pill?”

  “Ten,” blurted one of the beards. “But, Commissar, this is most unexpected and a great honor. But Moscow didn’t tell us—”

  “Moscow has to tell no one anything.” I eyed them coldly. “I am Commissar Damonski, plenipotentiary with sealed orders. You will select ten women from this rabble and follow me—” I strode past them toward the entrance. The old trick. Act like you belong; don’t give the enemy time to think; and bluff like mad. “Comrade Walsky,” I barked over my shoulder. “Follow me. Inside, you will assist with the technical details and terms. I’ll want a full report. Moscow has waited long enough!”

  “But, but—” One of the beards was pulling respectfully at my sleeve. I whirled and eyed him up and down. He was medium-sized like his partner and mostly beard with great big popping eyes. “Comrade Commissar, we are not prepared. We must have time. You see, we haven’t perfected the project yet. Experiment Seventy-Nine—”

  “What is your name?” I snapped coldly.

  “Gekko,” he stammered. “Boris Gekko. And this is Feodor Orkoff. My colleague. Surely—”

  “Comrade Gekko,” I poured on the coal. “Moscow is tired of this project. They have sent me down for a final report. This test shall get to be your last. You understand? If this failure continues, you can go finish your project in Siberia! Do I make myself clear?”

  “Siberia!” He paled and looked at Orkoff, who was just as frightened and just as pop-eyed. “Orkoff—select ten of the ladies. I shall guide Comrade Commissar into the laboratory.”

  Katie stood at my elbow, hiding a smile as Orkoff sprang down the steps to make his choices among the women who had picked up a word here and there. There was a great clamor and engulfment of poor Orkoff. Gekko sighed, tried to smile, then ushered us into the building. The Firnl was all stone, all white and antiseptic looking like a hospital. I decided to mix brains with kindness.

  “How is it you speak English so well, Gekko?” I asked.

  He trembled at the implication and then saw I meant it as a compliment.

  “I got my doctorate at U.C.L.A.,” he babbled. “It was—�
�”

  “Good. Capitalism does have its uses. Now, on to the experiments. I must return to Moscow tonight. Whether you fail or succeed is immaterial to me. You understand? You must produce some form of results at once! If we fail here, we can try the project elsewhere. Come, now. Get on with it”.

  As he led us down a tiled corridor, Katie came abreast of me and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back. Poor Gekko stumbled over himself in his anxiety to please. Behind us, I could hear Orkoff busily and noisily shouting as he made his selections. Footsteps hammered the tiles behind us as the ten lucky women came hurrying in, babbling like kids at the circus, moaning cries of happiness. Orkoff was having his hands full keeping them toned down.

  Gekko was still trying to make friends. To be cordial. To lay out a red rug of welcome from the Firnl to Moscow.

  “Commissar Walsky has been most helpful. Sorry he is ill. You are fortunate to have Comrade Katrina to guide you about Betchnika——”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” I barked. “Come, come, Gekko. Get on with it. There is no more time to lose.”

  There wasn’t.

  I had to make the plan work; get out; accomplish the mission; and discredit the pill all in just a few hours. Or else it was curtains for Commissar Damonski of Moscow.

  And Rod Damon of America.

  If it had been possible, I would have kept my testicles crossed for good luck.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  As I had planned and counted on, Gekko and Orkoff fell all over themselves making me welcome. Anxious to impress the visiting fireman from Moscow, they immediately got down to cases and prepared the experimentation room. Katie seemed to know where it was because she led me directly to it. With that troop of hungry females clamoring at our heels.

  Beyond the tiled corridor, there was a large, square, high-ceilinged room that resembled a gymnasium more than anything else. There were mats and pillows and towels hung neatly on racks. A great overhead camera-type object focused down from the ceiling on anything that would take place below.

  There were ten men already in the room, stripped down to their jockey shorts, standing around listlessly, pawing the floor like restless stallions. When they saw us coming in, with the women in tow, their eyes opened wider, some winked, some smiled and interest generally quickened. You could tell by some of the jockey shorts taking on too many new bumps. I didn’t think they had been given the silver pill yet. It looked like the normal, horny amount of wolfly male interest.