Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe (18 page)

The more Dick thought about this, the more confused he was. He’d been told that he was ‘The One’, but based on what he’d learned, that actually didn’t mean much. Perhaps Benjamin was ‘Another One’.
 
Perhaps there were actually lots of ‘Ones’ and the Resistance purposely kept them apart. Maybe the Oracle had seen them all in her dreams as if she was counting sheep. Is that what all the ‘Ones’ had been. Just sheep; all eventually heading for the slaughter? Dick felt his imagination running away with him. He didn’t like the feeling and was desperately trying to catch it up. The longer he dwelled on it, the more worried Dick became. Given the huge secrecy that
Taylor
sought to maintain around the Resistance, Dick wouldn’t have put it past him to have a devious plan like this. He was still trying to keep up with his imagination when he felt a strong, manly hand on his shoulder. Dick turned round to see Vera standing next to his desk with a quizzical, yet still stern, look.

‘Mr. Brunel, are you all right?’, she said in her low voice, leaning towards him. ‘You seem lost in your thoughts’.

Dick shuddered in his seat, shaking himself out of the world of paranoia and into the world of his unsightly boss invading his personal space.

‘Yes Miss Darling’, Dick said, quickly composing himself. ‘I was, er, thinking about the Project and possible solutions’.

‘Good show, Mr. Brunel’, said Vera, who’d now moved even more uncomfortably closer, her slightly greasy nose almost nuzzling his ear. ‘I want to discuss that with you after work’.

Part of Dick interpreted this as a work-related request but there was a small, teeny-weeny part of him that interpreted it as a chat-up line (although not a very good one, granted). The last two hours passed very slowly as Dick contemplated spending even more time in the company of Vera. By
six thirty
only Dick, Vera and Benjamin remained in the department. Being his normal, toadying self, Benjamin asked Vera if she wanted his assistance that evening. Without raising her head from the pile of files that perpetually covered her desk Vera waved her hand to dismiss him as if she was shooing away a particularly irritating fly. Dick buried his head in his work trying to avoid the inevitable. The thing about the inevitable, however, is that it always happens. In this instance the inevitable was heralded by the sound of a large heavy report being slammed shut. The noise startled him.

‘Right’, said Vera standing up from her desk and rubbing her sweaty hands together. ‘Quality time on Project Gladstone’.

She walked passed him and locked the department door.

‘Can’t take any chances. The Resistance might have spies anywhere’.

She looked at Dick, and from her raised eyebrows, was either expecting a response or was suffering from some form of involuntary eyebrow spasm.

Dick replied with as much naivety as he could muster. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

‘Mr. Brunel, as servants of the Party we cannot afford to take any chances whatsoever. The Resistance are an insidious, evil bunch of malcontents who would stop at nothing to frustrate the ambitions of the Party. They could have agents anywhere. An office cleaner or maintenance person for example might walk passed this room or even enter it, cunningly looking for information or just eavesdropping on conversations’.

‘Do you think that’s true. I mean, that members of the Resistance are here among us?’, Dick asked, watching and shuddering inside as Vera dropped the office door key into her ample cleavage like some poor unfortunate victim falling into a dark, bottomless pit.

‘It is highly unlikely given the employee screening processes in place, but that does not make it impossible’, Vera replied, walking towards Meeting Room A. ‘Which is why we cannot afford to take any chances. Bring your documentation in here so we’re further shielded from prying eyes or ears’.

Dick wasn’t exactly sure whether ears could be prying but he unlocked his desk drawer, removed his report and joined Vera in the meeting room. She locked the door and hid this key exactly as before. Dick shuddered again. Vera explained that there had been a disappointing response so far. No one involved with Project Gladstone had come up with a practical, workable or even sensible solution to the problem. Someone had suggested that the police should be given special powers to poke all women with a knitting needle. If they didn’t shout then that proved they were man-made. Someone else proposed that the mechanical prostitutes could be identified by placing large and powerful magnets on every street corner. Another idea involved keeping every single woman in
London
immersed in salt water for two weeks to see if they exhibited signs of rust. Faced with this level of thinking and incompetence the Party hierarchy and the Leader himself were becoming nervous and agitated that it was taking so long to solve this particular problem.

With a sigh that indicated ‘here goes nothing’ Dick opened his folder. He took Vera through his notes and outlined his thoughts, cautiously at first as he wasn’t sure if they would be viewed as too crazy, but then with greater conviction as Vera demonstrated an unexpected high degree of enthusiasm about his plans.
 
For his solution to succeed, Dick explained, he needed access to, and the co-operation of, the engineers who had designed and built the original mechanical prostitutes. Vera scanned his report, nodding at regular intervals then folded her arms, her face contorted with what Dick interpreted as a very, very slight smile.

‘Mr. Brunel’, Vera said, leaning back in her seat which protested with a groan, ‘Your solution, while radical, some might say even outrageous, has a ring of possibility about it. Your plan seems practical and effective! It’s not every day that I get excited, in fact it’s very rare that I get excited at all, but today is one of those days! If you can condense these thoughts into a proposal I will pass it to the Party with my recommendations that it is given the most serious consideration’.

‘I’ve already taken the liberty of preparing such a document’, Dick said, reaching into the back of the folder and presenting Vera with a few sheets of paper headed ‘Executive Summary’.

‘Mr. Brunel, you are truly remarkable!’

There was that very slight inkling of a smile again which was becoming disconcerting. Dick smiled back.

‘You haven’t shared these thoughts with anyone else I hope?’ Vera asked.

‘Of course not’, Dick replied with a shake of his head.

‘And everyone still thinks you’re working on that education project?’. Dick nodded.

‘Good, good. Just checking. You will of course receive full credit for your solution but if it is adopted and effective, we will both bask in the glory of its success’.

Dick was pleased that his proposal, while inventive and definitely a long shot, would be championed by Vera. He saw a ticker tape parade in his honour; being carried shoulder high and having a shiny medal pinned on his chest by the Leader himself. His imagination was running away with him again - but this time in a good way.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
‘Stay here. I won’t be a moment’, Vera said retrieving the meeting room key from the depths of her bosom and getting up. ‘There’s something I need’.

She returned minutes later not holding yet more papers or files as Dick had expected, but a large bottle of brandy and two glasses. She locked the door once more, set the bottle down and filled the glasses.

‘I keep these locked in my filing cabinet for special occasions’, she explained. ‘It’s outside of regular working hours so I think we can do this without feeling too guilty’. She raised her glass and Dick followed suit. ‘To a genius idea Mr. Brunel, a genius idea!’.

They clinked glasses and toasted potential success. It would have been all right if they had stopped there, put the bottle, glasses and papers away then went home. But they didn’t. Toasting Dick’s proposal was swiftly followed by toasting it once more. Then again. Then again. Then Vera proposed a toast to the Party. Then the Leader. Then the Ministry of Information. Then the downfall of the Resistance (Dick suggested this toast to make sure he came across a true Party supporter). From then on the toasts became just as frequent but increasingly obscure. To the production of more bridges. To increased steel production. To the digging of more canals. Deeper ones. To more colourful hovercars. Green ones. To more comfortable office chairs. Brown ones. To toothpaste with a more minty taste. To shiny shoes. To carpet. To the sky. To the letter ‘J’. To even numbers. To prime numbers between one and twenty. To words that don’t rhyme with anything, like orange, mirror, month and purple.

Each toast was preceded by the filling of glasses and followed by the downing of their entire contents. By the time they’d toasted the office carpet for the third time, having completely forgotten the two previous mentions, the brandy bottle was empty and Dick was feeling particularly mellow. He wasn’t sure exactly what Vera was feeling but he had a good guess as she lunged forward across the table and grabbed him, prising his lips apart with a snake-like tongue. This totally unexpected and inappropriate gesture from his department manager caught Dick completely unawares. As Vera’s darting tongue probed deep down his throat threatening to find his spleen, Dick found himself simultaneously caught in her strong grip. In a clumsy but powerful, and ultimately irresistible move, she yanked him up from his seat and embraced him. Dick’s mind was hazy under the influence of so much brandy but as far as he could remember he’d never wrestled with a large bear before, and most definitely not one that was squeezing his buttocks in an overtly sexual manner. He was sure though, that if this ever happened, it would feel exactly like this. In extreme conditions the body produces extra adrenaline that gives it almost superhuman strength. Dick felt certain this was happening to Vera but in this case her strength wasn’t used to outrun enemies or raise a car off an accident victim, it was used to force him down on the meeting room table. He was thinking about whether he should resist or comply as Vera straddled his wriggling body, pinning him down by his hands. She leant forward, her breasts smothering him.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

‘I need you Jeremy. I want you’, she slurred. ‘I want us to make the beast with two backs’.

Dick was in danger of suffocation and decided to save his breath for breathing rather than waste it on talking or crying for help. Unfortunately for him an increasingly passionate Vera took his lack of response as a sign of consent. Still straddling Dick, she sat back. Dick caught his breath and gasped. Transfixed as if he’d been staring at a gorgon Dick could only stare in horror as Vera began to unbutton her blouse.
 
Her discarded top revealed a corset which look liked it had been made from a tarpaulin and which demonstrated the same structural engineering skills that had built the railways or canals, and which certainly contained the same amount of metal work. Vera’s hands were now fumbling with the various cords and fixings that kept her large body safely contained.

By now Dick had conceded that resistance was futile. His expression had changed from that of someone caught staring at Medusa to that of a deer caught in headlights. Except that in Dick’s case the headlights were Vera’s enormously saggy breasts. Instinct took over and Dick found his hands involuntarily reaching up and fondling them. They felt like two enormous sandbags and just as sexually stimulating. Kneeding them gave Dick no pleasure at all but Vera moaned like an animal; in this case, road kill gasping its last agonising breath before expiring. The amount of brandy consumed would have dented any man’s libido but Dick wasn’t any man. By instinct his penis grew in response to Vera writhing and grinding her hips in slow circles. She looked down at the growing bulge in his trousers.