The Adventures of Holly White and the Incredible Sex Machine (30 page)

Jack was choking. She knew he was choking but she could not stop her rut. She fucked
her hips up onto his cock. He wasn't even wearing a condom. She was breaking all
her rules, her rule of abstinence, her rule of safe sex. She wanted his come inside
her. She wanted his blood and spit and life force. She saw his eye staring wide,
his face darkening as he choked. It was just like the eye in the anus. It was life
and death and she could not stop the fuck to save him.

She felt him gasping, unable to take in air, but even as he coughed out his last
breath he arched his back and he came so hard that she was pushed back by the jet
of sperm, strong as a fireman's hose.
That other cock, the spasm of death and life
fountaining up into the sky.

His face was a terrible shade of blue, his eyes too wide, his mouth a gargoyle's
pained stretch and she climbed lustfully back onto his cock as he pumped into her
in great pounding thrusts, spewing his jism into her loins. She reached up to push
her clit against him with her hips and felt the snap of a cracked spine or an egg
spilling its dandelion yolk across her thighs.

She gasped. She came. And at the very point of climax the weight of the man seemed
to dissipate. Her cunt made a final
satisfied sucking sound and then her labia stretched
bright and wide and empty, the shape of a wide glowing O.

She coughed through a sudden cloud of blue smoke. For a moment she thought that the
soft furnishings had yet again caught fire, but when the smoke cleared there was
nothing, no flames, no singeing and, ominously, not a single hint of Jack's corpse.
He was incorporeal.

She had fucked him out of existence.

It was dark, but she remembered the way. Her clothes were dishevelled. Underneath
her skirt her knickers were torn at the crotch. Jack's seed still dripped down her
leg but that was all that was left of him and so she ran.

She struggled with the door of the telephone booth and almost tumbled down the stairs.
Perhaps that would be for the best. Mandy would find her when she shut up shop, her
neck hanging at an odd angle, the terrible potential for damage suddenly snuffed
out. She twisted her foot but found balance on the next step and continued her plummet.
She thudded against the green door and spilled into the bookshop, gasping for breath,
her buttons still undone, her bra askance, her bosoms flopping out over the top of
it.

Down in the dark depths of the shop Holly was surprised to see a circle of people.
It was her book club. Sex Book Club. She could see Rodney's face among them. He heard
her stumble and he turned to face her. His face lit up with his grin.

‘Holly,' he said her name reverently and bowed his head as if to greet a monarch.
All heads turned towards her. They did not seem surprised to see her. There were
books in piles on the table. De Sade, Nin, Réage, Salten. She thought of
Josephine
Mutzenbacher
and
Bambi
. Two sides of a coin. The innocent and the profane.

‘Mandy.'

Mandy looked up at her command. She stood and walked cautiously towards Holly, looking
her up and down, taking in the sight of her breasts, the torn stockings, the glowing
semen painting the inside of her legs. A body exposed and ravaged by lust.

‘My girl,' she said. Then, ‘You've done it. You have finally arrived.'

‘I can't control it,' Holly sobbed. ‘It is too powerful. I can't figure out how to
harness the sex.' She held out the black leather notebook, Wilhelm Reich's instruction
manual. ‘Nothing makes sense.'

Mandy held her hands out as if to placate some wild beast. She made a comforting
shushing sound. She stepped closer, held on to Holly's hands, clasping the book between
her fingers and Holly's. She traced the gold letters on the front of the book.
W.
R.

‘Oh. Wilhelm Reich's theories?' Mandy laughed. ‘He had most of it right. If only
someone had told him to embrace the aliens…' She shrugged. ‘Oh well. He was working
alone. We can never figure things out without help. You have our help now. We have
been waiting for you to come home,' she said. ‘We have been marking time, waiting
for you to tell whatever story you have been fashioning over there in Paris. Tell
us.' She said. ‘Tell us the story of Holly and her incredible adventures in orgone
energy.'

Holly nodded. Where to start? So much had happened. So much had changed. She took
a deep breath. ‘I told him to come and meet me in a phone booth…' she began.

A Thousand Nights and Then One Night

Nick opened his eyes. He had been in isolation for too long, darkness punctuated
by a blinding glare when the door was open for a moment and the bowl of gruel delivered.
He had been keeping to a routine, defecating in a far corner of the room, sleeping
on the clean, dry mat in the other. He had been reciting. Pieces from
The Story of
the Eye
by Georges Bataille that he had memorised, a scene from
The She-devils
by
Pierre Louÿs. He thought of Holly often. He had kept a count of the days, as accurately
as he could; the isolation cell made it difficult. Was it the morning meal, or night?
He had lost a few days here or there, but in general he knew that it had been over
two and a half years since his imprisonment, give or take a month.

He wondered if Holly had cut her hair.

He woke thinking of Holly. He put his hand to the slow rise of his penis. He wanted
her right now, but anyone would do. He wanted sex in a way that was particularly
insistent. It was
an oddly familiar feeling. He shaded his eyes with his other hand
as he stroked himself. The light was blinding. He wished someone would turn it off.
It was the sun. He realised this suddenly and it was a startling enough revelation
to give him pause in his furtive activity. The light was the sun and the arousal
he was experiencing seemed so familiar because he had felt it before, lying in the
accumulator beside Holly.

Orgone. He could smell it. A bright scent of burning like a condom rubbed so hard
that it had started to smoulder.

He stood, steadying himself on the stone wall with his fingertips. He moved towards
the door, which was suspiciously ajar. He leaned against it and it creaked open.

Outside the grit of sand blew on a hot breeze. His guard was covered in it, but in
nothing else. He lay naked, and the creature in his arms bleated but seemed, surprisingly,
far from distressed. The goat's pink erection protruded from between his shivery
thighs. His little eyes tipped up towards the cloudless sky. The animal shifted back
into the lap of the guard, who pressed his hips fervently forward.

Nick stared at the odd sight, a man copulating with a goat, unselfconscious, pink
with desire. He knew Holly was behind this. He staggered past them, past the other
men dressed in scraps of American military uniforms, past the civilians dressed in
galabias and shorts and skirts, each in various states of undress, each locked in
a carnal embrace. He had lost strength but he hobbled out of the compound, through
the streets of the tiny, copulating town. Orgone was everywhere. Somehow Holly was
responsible, finally, for his escape.

The aircraft was painted a military grey. The pilot was sitting at the controls,
squeezing his penis, whimpering. Nick
looked at the thick stick poking out from the
man's fly. He licked his lips. He wanted nothing more than to fall hungrily into
the man's lap. He resisted.

‘I will suck you,' he said, and the pilot nodded, shuddering.

‘I will suck you as you fly. Will you do that? Fly the plane while I swallow?'

The man nodded. ‘Please,' he said, ‘please, do it now.'

Nick clambered up into the co-pilot's seat, touched the man's thigh. ‘Take us up
and I'll take you right into my throat.'

‘OK,' said the pilot and he punched buttons on his console.

‘To Australia. Brisbane, Australia. Can you get me there?'

Nick had no idea where they'd taken him. He had been drugged, blindfolded, chained
in the back of a plane.

‘Of course,' said the pilot, ‘but we will have to stop for fuel.'

‘All right,' said Nick, ‘I will suck you for the whole journey. I'll drink your come
better than anyone has ever done before.'

‘Oh god,' said the pilot, starting the engines, ‘oh god, do it now.'

‘When we have altitude, then I'll go down on you and I'll stay down.'

Nick's cock was straining in his own dirty trousers. He was breathing in pure orgone.
The world was suddenly filled with it. It made him light-headed, but he was used
to resisting the inexorable pull of pure orgone. He had practised resisting Holly's
energy. He pressed his erection down. It was exquisitely painful. It would continue
to be so till he found the source of the orgone spill.

She's done it, he thought, Holly has done it. She's trapped so much orgone it has
changed the very fabric of the world.

‘Take me to Australia,' said Nick hoarsely, and when they had reached a proper cruising
altitude he went, greedily, down.

Nick found Holly standing in the wild garden outside the telephone booth. She had
not been hard to find. He stepped into an abandoned car, the keys still swinging
in the ignition, the driver's seat slicked in vaginal juices. He indicated unnecessarily,
drove on the wrong side of the road for a block before realising that in Australia
they do things differently. It didn't matter. The streets were littered with abandoned
cars. He followed the pulse of light through streets. The smell intensified as he
inched past naked, writhing bodies.

Nick found Holly. Above her pulsed three spectral lights. The lights were orange
and seemed to hover in clouds that glowed as brightly as Holly's vulva. Nick recognised
her immediately. It was Holly, but not exactly the Holly he remembered. This woman,
standing naked, proud, tall, was a vision. Her skin seemed translucent. He was treated
to more than her nakedness. Under her skin there was a pulse, a blue glow like a
heartbeat; from her mouth came a noise that seemed to transcend sound. All the bodies
in the street were copulating to the rhythm of it. She was surrounded by a group
of men and women. Each was holding an open book and there were words, sex words,
dripping from their mouths. And yet, together like this, reading in a chorus, it
was a sound like hymns rising to the tallest spires of a church. A litany of sex.

There was sex everywhere. Wherever he looked there was a fuck happening, people rutting
on top of parked cars, cunnilingus in the gutter, fellatio up against telephone
poles. A bitch and a dog joined in a painful embrace, arse to arse. A man with
his
cock visibly inserted into the neck of a bottle, the member bright red like his face,
the tip of it squirting great globules of ejaculate into the vessel while another
man, still half-dressed in a policeman's light blue shirt, pounded his prick into
the man's exposed behind. Everywhere another body writhing in a pained and exquisite
ecstasy, everywhere a spattering of come and juice.

He remembered the night she helped him recreate
The 120 Days of Sodom
. Here, now,
was something de Sade would have been proud of, and at the hub of all this fuck was
Holly herself.

Holly. His love. But more than the warm body he used to embrace, here was a different
Holly, a glowing creature of astounding beauty. There was an older woman kneeling
at her feet, her mouth locked to her cunt as if they were conjoined, this woman's
fist was buried to her elbow in Holly's vagina, pistoning back and forth in a way
that must, surely, be bruising her womb. Nick stepped carefully over a couple locked
in a carnal embrace. His shoe slipped on a puddle of pearly white, he looked down
to see a man tugging at his own cock convulse as a jet of semen slapped against the
leg of his trousers. Nick's shaft had been emptied a dozen times on the flight to
Australia and still he felt it swell painfully, tenting his crotch.

Above him in the sky the three orange craft, for they were indeed craft of some sort,
began to chant in harmony to Holly's music. He remembered the sound of Buddhist monks
he had once heard, a sound that was at once discordant and yet harmonious. This
was a tune that surpassed that sound and yet was reminiscent of it. He stared up
into the orange light and watched as their hard metal carapaces began to crack. A
note was reached, a perfect, pure pitch. The sides of the spacecraft slid open.

Within was a wondrous vision of flesh and mucus, three gigantic vulvas, their lips
trembling, juices beginning to drip, slick and glowing blue down onto the revellers
below. Each drip that plummeted to earth caused the ground to shake, the earth to
rupture. The revellers beneath faltered in the midst of their fuck and toppled into
the earth.

Nick unzipped his pants and stepped out of them, picked his way across the crazy
paving of limbs, genitals, open mouths. Someone rose up from the pile of bodies and
slipped his lips onto Nick's cock and he paused for a moment to enjoy the sucking
sensation before pushing the fellow roughly onto the tit of a woman. Nick stepped,
his cock hard and throbbing, towards the true centre of his life.

Holly's eyes focused on him and he tripped clumsily towards her. He saw the tears
travel easily across her cheeks, heard the crack of thunder and a bright flash of
lightning break the darkness of the sky.

He found her breasts first, then her mouth. His cock pressed into the back of the
kneeling woman's head. He rubbed himself against her short-cropped hair. He kissed
till there was no breath, and disengaged to gasp at the hot, heady air of the sex-filled
street.

Nick looked up at the glowing sky. ‘He was right,' he rasped, breathless, ‘Dr Reich.
Those are alien craft.'