Chapter 32—Eegs
THE FIVE GUARDS WERE GOLEMS, CREATED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS PURPOSE AND ENDOWED WITH FANATIC LOYALTY TO THEIR MISSION. THUS THEY WERE “EXPRESSLY ENDOWED GOLEMS” KNOWN IN THE TRADE AS EEG'S. THE CODE NAME FOR THEIR UNIT WAS “CHERRY TREE,” AND THEY ASSUMED THE ASPECT OF COMMENSURATE APPURTENANCES. THEY HELD ME IN LIMBO AND DEFENDED MY EXILE FROM ALL INTRUSIONS. PARAGRAPH. (I CAN'T PARAGRAPH IT MYSELF, FOR IT WOULDN'T BE GOUT-SHAPED.) BUT THE EEGS WERE ESSENTIALLY SEXUAL CREATURES AND MY EXILE WAS THEIRS TOO. THEY LONGED FOR THE OLD-FASHIONED INFERNAL ORGIES OR AT LEAST SOME TOKEN SIN. THREE MALES AND TWO FEMALES—AND WHEN THERE WERE TOO FEW INTRUDERS FOR THEM TO PRACTICE THEIR TALENTS ON, THEY HAD TO INDULGE EACH OTHER. EVERY CENTURY OR SO ONE OF THE FEMALES WOULD CONCEIVE. BUT THE ISSUE, BEING CONTRARY TO THE WORD OF THE ELDEST GOD OF THE GALAXY (NOW ELDEST GOD OF THE UNIVERSE THE GALAXY HAD BECOME, EXALTED BE HIS INACCURATE ACRONYM!), HAD TO BE CONCEALED. THE OFFSPRING COULD NOT BE KILLED, FOR THEY WERE DEMONIC AND IMMORTAL AND NOT SUBJECT TO THE CURSE OF THE CHERRY THAT MADE THEIR ELDERS VULNERABLE TO MORTAL EJACULATE. AND SO THESE NEWFOUND DEMONS WERE CAST INTO THE SHAPES OF LIVING CREATURES AND RENDERED IMMOBILE AND PLACED IN SELECTED PARKS AT THE VARIOUS OUTLETS TO THE PASS (FOR SO EGG'S PRIVATE TRAVEL ROUTE WAS TERMED) WHERE THE NATIVES TOOK THEM TO BE STATUES. ONLY WHILE IN THE ACTUAL ACT OF COPULATION WITH LIVING THINGS COULD THESE OUTCASTS GAIN SOME MEASURE OF THE ANIMATION THEY CRAVED—AND FEW MORTALS CARED TO INDULGE IN COPULATION WITH SUCH STATUES. THE DEMONS THEREFORE BARGAINED FOR SUCH ATTENTIONS BY OFFERING TO ANSWER ANY QUESTION AN OBLIGING MORTAL MIGHT PUT TO THEM. BUT THEY WERE SEVERELY LIMITED IN THE ARTICULATION OF SUCH DISCOURSE. THIS WAS ANOTHER PENALTY FOR BEING THE SPAWN OF ADULTEROUS EEGS. ONLY BY THE INFUSION OF LEGITIMATE PROTOPLASM COULD THEY BE RENDERED FULLY ANIMATE THEMSELVES. I AM THE SPIRE.
* * * *
The horn withdrew from Tantamount's mouth, and red fluid drooled from between her sparkling white teeth. “Suddenly I know all about certain statues,” she said, licking the overflow from her red lips. “Those horrible statues behind my sister's clinic. But—"
“That was the second gout,” Prior explained. “There is more.” He guided her into a prone position on the couch, and lifted her skirt out of the way so that her full, resilient buttocks showed in all their clean white splendor. He brought a little more of the member into view. It was still as hard as horn, and though narrow at the tip its girth increased toward the base. Its aperture was not a slit but a round hole, surprisingly large for a penis.
“That phallus does not have the most esthetic configuration,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at it. “But every time it touches me I palpitate, and when it ejaculates I have visions and I feel so good..."
“This is what you have always desired,” he said once more.
“But my life work—"
He positioned himself and hauled up her generous posterior so that her smooth, perfectly molded cleft showed taut. He spread the silky flesh of her labia, nudging in the horn.
“Yes, yes!” she breathed breathlessly.
“Let's do this right,” he said as he inched the horn in. “This is the position of the Cow, according to the ancient erotic texts of India. Let's say I'm the bull, and this is the bullhorn. So moo, cow, moo!"
The caress of that horny member unnerved her with its incipient thrills, but she still had female human pride. “Prior, this is ridiculous! Why must you spoil—"
He began to withdraw, and the promise abated.
“Moo! Moo!” she cried, alarmed.
The retreat ceased, but the advance did not resume. “But I'm not sure I want to fuck a cow at the moment. It's too bovine, know what I mean? Let's make it the position of the Dog. How about it? Would you make a good female dog?"
“This is disgusting! Absolutely animalistic! I won't—"
He recommenced the strategic withdrawal.
“I'm a bitch! I'm a bitch!” she screamed.
“Funny. You don't sound like a bitch.
“Arf! Wuf! Ho-o-owl!"
She was getting the message.
“But maybe the ass is better,” he said thoughtfully. “A nice, braying, donkey-type ass."
She was silent. The horn hesitated inside her, then began to retr—
“I'm a piece of ass!” she cried.
“But I feel more like a wild boar, so—"
“I'm a pig! Oink, oink!"
“Then again, maybe an elephant—"
“Anything you want! Please, Prior—"
“Why,” he said curiously, “you sound almost as if you want something...."
“Enter and ejaculate! Don't torture me!"
He cupped one hand behind an ear. “I'm not certain I comprehend the terminology."
“Complete the fornication!"
“Eh?"
“Fuck me! FUCK ME!"
“Oh, all right, if you feel that way.” He eased the horn on in to jog the eager cervix. “Here comes the third gout, elephant ass bitch!"
And the third gout came, driving out the remnants of the first gout as new grease from the greasegun drives out old.
Chapter 33—Eggs
AFTER SEVERAL THOUSAND MILLENNIA THE CHERRY TREE EEG DEMONS (SEE GOUT NO. 2 FOR RATIONALE OF NOMENCLATURE) REALIZED THAT I COULD BE EMPLOYED FOR THEIR PURPOSE, FOR I COULD PRODUCE THE MORTAL PROTOPLASM THEY DESIRED AND I HAD NOT ACTUALLY BEEN TURNED OFF. AND SO THEY FORNICATED WITH ME UPON OCCASION—TWO OR THREE TIMES PER CENTURY—AND FROM EACH SUCH UNION A LIVING EEGLET WAS CONCEIVED AND BIRTHED AS AN EGG. THESE EGGS WERE STORED AT THE BORDERS OF LIMBO AND FORGOTTEN. BUT THE STRAIN OF SUCH POTENCY ON THE DEMONIC SYSTEMS WAS SUCH THAT THEIR GENITAL SECRETIONS WERE ADVERSELY AFFECTED. THUS THE CHERRY DEMONS DEVELOPED BUTTERSCOTCH-FLAVORED EJACULATE, MUCH TO THEIR CHAGRIN. PARAGRAPH. EVENTUALLY A CACHE OF THESE EEG EGGS WAS DISCOVERED BY A SPACEFARING MORTAL, WHO ASCERTAINED THEIR SINGULAR NATURE AND WHOLESALED THEM ON THE BLACK MARKET. SOON INFANT EEGS WERE SCATTERED ALL OVER THE UNIVERSE, FOR REMOVAL FROM LIMBO AND CONTACT WITH MORTAL FLESH STIMULATED THEIR HATCHING AND GROWTH. NATURALLY THEY PROCEEDED TO WREAK SUCH MISCHIEF AS THEY MIGHT. THIS WAS ENTIRELY AGAINST DEMONIC PRINCIPLE, FOR IT SIGNALED THE END OF THE PROPER SEPARATION OF MAGIC AND SCIENCE. BUT THE SMUGGLING CONTINUED. I AM THE SPIRE.
* * * *
“And now I know about eeg eggs,” Tantamount said. “This is astonishing."
“It's all leading up to the deal we are about to make,” Prior said confidently. “I have what you've always wanted."
“Yes,” she said, starting to turn over.
“Not so fast, bitch ass!” He caught inside her thigh, squeezing the fine firm flesh between thumb and fingers until she winced. Then he stroked his hand between her lush buttocks, bearing down on her rectum. “Now for this next number—"
“Prior,” she protested, squirming. “What—"
“Now is the month of Maying,” he sang, stroking her flinching sphincter again. “When merry lads are playing, fa-la-la-la-la—"
Tantamount tried to straighten out, but he hooked his other arm around her voluptuous hips and held her there, rear pointed up. He scooped a little clear grease from her vagina where it overflowed and rubbed it generously over her anus. “Each with his bonnie lass,” he sang, thumbing some of the lubricant into the target hole. “A-dancing on her ass, fa-la-la-la—"
“Surely you don't intend to practice anal intercourse?” she asked, shocked.
“This isn't practice, innocent baby. I'm thoroughly experienced, thanks to the tour you started me on."
“But I never indulge in perversive exploits! It isn't—"
“You don't consider it perversive to hack off a man's living, fucking penis and crucify it in a laboratory?"
“So that's why you're so angry! Prior, how can you bear such a grudge for such a little—"
“It may be little, but it's mine. 3.97 erect. I want it back."
“But I need it for the advancement of—"
She silenced as the great horn centered on her attractively puckered rectum and n
osed determinedly within. The breadth of it distended her sphincter and the hollow tip of it probed far into her virgin bowel, a hypodermic ready to inject. “Who would have suspected it would feel so good!” she murmured wantonly.
“This horn always feels divine,"’ he said. He hesitated again. “Next time you feel like stealing a man's—"
“Never again!” she cried.
“Cross your heart?"
“Cross my fucking heart!"
He nodded, satisfied. The fourth gout flooded her colon.
Chapter 34—Mountain
NOW IT CAME TO PASS THAT EGG LEARNED OF THE EEG EGGS (IT SEEMS ONE WAS INADVERTENTLY POACHED FOR HIS BREAKFAST) AND REALIZED THAT NOT ONLY WAS SOMETHING AMISS, HIS ACRONYM HAD BEEN PROFANED. SO HE BANISHED ME TO AN UNINHABITED WORLD, AND MY GUARDIANS WITH ME, AND DECREED THAT HENCEFORTH I SHOULD SPOUT ONLY LUDICROUS SUBSTANCE. ABOUT THAT TIME ONE OF THE BACKWARD PLANETS HAD INVENTED ICE CREAM (A NOXIOUS CONFECTION OF ANIMAL MAMMARY MILK AND VEGETABLE SUGAR, DEVIOUSLY FLAVORED AND CHILLED TO SEMI-SOLIDITY), SO HE STARTED ME OFF WITH THAT, MY PENALTY FOR MILLENNIA OF LOYAL SERVICE. NATURALLY I PRODUCED ONLY THE FINEST GRADE OF EVERY FLAVOR AND TYPE—BUT THERE WAS NO ONE PRESENT TO CONSUME IT. GRADUALLY A MOUNTAIN OF IT FORMED ABOVE ME, YET I COULD NOT DESIST WITHOUT A SPECIFIC DIRECTIVE, AND THE DEMONS WERE NO LONGER EMPOWERED FOR THAT. ONLY WHEN SOME INTREPID MORTAL CONQUERED THE GUARDIAN EEGS (BY REAMING THEIR DEMON ASSES) AND PROVIDED A NEW DIRECTIVE COULD I MODIFY MY OUTPUT. FINALLY SUCH A MAN CAME. I AM THE SPIRE. FUCK YOU, SISTER—YOU'RE MY MILLIONTH-GENERATION DESCENDANT.
* * * *
“Prior!” she exclaimed. “You conquered the Spire. The phallic horn of plenty!"
“It is,” he murmured, “up your ass."
“Help! I've been stuffed with ice cream!"
He withdrew the tip of the Spire and watched the yellowish substance ooze out of her flaccid rectum. “Not exactly. I switched formulae each time. Standard-potency human ejaculate for the first gout that will make you a mother in just about nine months—"
“No!” she cried, appalled. “I took Precautions!"
“So did some of those wives and concubines. But the Spire has never had a failure. It is, you might say, the irresistible force."
She turned over now, stricken. “Gravid! And I'm not even married!"
“The second gout was cherry ice cream, of course,” he continued imperturbably. “Petroleum jelly for the third—"
“WHAT?!"
“Well, I know we'd be needing some lubricant for the fourth, so—"
Tantamount squirted from his grasp, assisted in the maneuver by the leaking lubricant, and stood on the floor quivering beautifully with fury. “Of all the—you, you—you MAN, you!"
“But for the fourth gout I have stuffed you with what you have always most desired. That's why it felt so good."
“But all I have ever desired is science, medicine, and—” she began plaintively.
“Precisely. And how do you propose to achieve all this?"
“I was setting up my laboratory to perform an exhaustive analysis of your penile smegma, to ascertain-"
Prior removed the Spire from his crotch where it had been fastened to his attachment-base, and set it upright in the center of the room. It was about a foot long, horn-shaped, with a gentle column of steam rising from its narrow aperture. “All you needed,” he said gravely, “was enough of that unique smegma to spread out for your multiple tests. And 3.97 can't have been producing much, because naturally it doesn't like being isolated in the lab, fuckless. So you haven't gotten far, have you, saving mankind from a fate worse than abstinence?"
Her full breasts shook. “But in time—"
“You don't need time. You need smegma. Well, you have it now."
“I—?"
“Shit a little, Emdee. Find out what I put in there, that last gout."
Dazed, she squatted and strained. Her bottom extruded a waxy ribbon of substance. She caught some of it on her finger, brought it to her face, frowned and touched her tongue to it. “Smegma! You mean—?"
“Cheese, sister, cheese. My very own formula, proof against all venereal disease except amputation. All yours now."
“Smegma!” she exclaimed, brightening visibly. “How wonderful! There must be half a pound of it in me. I must conserve it all!” And she began straining in earnest.
Prior smiled indulgently. “Don't bother. I am giving you the Spire, set to that formula. It will produce as much as you need—maybe even more than enough.” He twiddled with the great horn, and it began spouting more of the waxy stuff. The first sustained gout hit the ceiling and splashed down all over the living room, and more followed in a steady stream. It was a yellow fountain.
“Oh!” Tantamount exclaimed, running over and trying to catch it all in her hands. She was like a child in a candy store. “It's raining smegma! Oh joy!"
“Courtesy of Egg's cosmic dildo, the source of all potency.” Prior sighed with satisfaction. “Now I'm going over to your lab and I'm taking back my penis—3.97 erect. It's a fair bargain. Have fun.” He waved as he left.
She had already forgotten him. She was in smegma heaven. The stuff was pouring on her head, and she was smearing it over her exquisite body as though it were soap, transfixed by delight. “All I can ever use!” she cried. “I'll eat it, drink it, sleep in it—"
It took Prior about half an hour to get his precious penis disconnected from the lab setup and reconnected to his socket, but finally it stood proud and not too tall at his loin. Now it was just over four inches, because the socket added to its length, but he remained well satisfied. A long (or more correctly, short) lost friend had been recovered, and they were going to have a fucking good time together.
Of course he would keep the alternate members too, since variety was the spice of sex. And he would have to drop in on Oubliette to obtain a special fitting, so that he could handle the little errand he owed Black. A certain bunch of fat crooked policemen were going to get screwed—simultaneously. Compliments of a late noble man.
As he left the house he saw yellowish material pouring thickly out the window. It was excess smegma overflowing the confines of Tantamount's living room.
Prior chuckled. No one but he could turn off the Spire or change its setting, and he intended to lose himself. So unless the Eldest God of the Galaxy became aware of the situation and interceded, Tantamount would have more than enough.
In fact, this was the beginning of the formation of Mt. Smegma.
Author's Note
Every book has its story, and this one more so than most. First a bit of history.
Back in 1969 I was constantly looking for markets, as like most writers I had more of a problem getting material published than I did writing it. Other speculative genre writers tried erotica, and I had word that a particular editor at ESSEX HOUSE was doing some really fantastic stuff. So I queried, and received several books as samples. I read them, and they were indeed fantastic erotica. By that I mean they were in the erotic genre, with plenty of hot sex, but also in the fantasy or science fiction genre—the sort of thing you didn't see in standard genre print, which was traditionally notable in its paucity of romance and complete absence of sex. Yes, I could do this sort of writing.
So I started writing 3.97 Erect, the title referring to the length of the protagonist's diminutive erect penis. It moved well, as I had him encounter a succubus at the beach and discover with her the remarkable anti-venereal-disease property of his smegma. Then he ran afoul of Tantamount Emdee, the luscious idealistic unscrupulous lady doctor and researcher, and lost his marvelous little member.
About that time I lost my prospective market. The innovative editor had been abruptly fired and the fantastic line shut down. My promise had been amputated in much the manner of Prior's penis. So I left the novel and went on to more conventional genre writing. But it bugged me, and a year later I returned to finish it, on general principles.
It was a challenge, for I had run out of my initial idea. What c
ould I write that was as fantastic as what I had written? I checked my file of unused ideas, and found one that hadn't fit anywhere. It wasn't erotic, but perhaps it could be adapted. Thus came to be Mount Icecream, with its motley cast of characters—how did you like that black and white horse sleigh haul down the slope?—and from that derived the profane conclusion of the novel as I labored to work out the explanation for that mountain. I was concerned that readers would fathom the completely different elements of the story, but I never had a comment or complaint. Perhaps, as with sausages, it is best that a writer's sources of story not be inspected too closely.
So the novel was done—without a market. It was no good for the traditional porno publishers because of its fantastic element, and the way it violated their taboos, such as referring directly to venereal disease, feces, and the fact that a man can't just service women in rapid order without limitation. At one point a traditional publisher, BANTAM BOOKS, considered it; their editor said that it received several rather sweaty readings there, but they concluded that they didn't want to get this solidly into the erotic genre. Another editor was interested, but then found a better job at another publisher that didn't do erotica, where he worked with a new writer named Dean Koontz. So my loss was Dean's gain, and he went on to better things. So the novel languished, a victim of its nature and sheer chance.
Until more than fifteen years later when Charles Platt saw it listed in my bibliography and asked to see it. He liked it, and set up his own publisher to publish it, BLACK SHEEP PRESS. He wasn't satisfied with the title, and after some dialog came up with Pornucopia, which seemed ideal. But he couldn't get a printer to print it; even those who claimed to have no taboos suddenly balked when they saw the manuscript. Unable to publish it, BLACK SHEEP went out of business. But he did find another prospective publisher, Phil Gurlik, who set up TAFFORD starting with this novel, and which subsequently did several others of mine. So that worked out well enough in the end.
TAFFORD's Pornucopia sold slowly but well; it had legs, in the industry parlance. Actually it was what was between the legs that counted. It ran through three printings despite being restricted to readers age 21 or over. I am privately pleased that over the years I have received no complaints about its content, either that it failed to deliver what it promised, or that some child got hold of it and freaked out. (Well, I did have a teen girl correspondent who somehow sneaked a peek. “Oh my lost innocence!” she lamented.) So our restraints on sales seem to have been effective. I really don't want to alienate my readers, but neither do I want to be limited to “safe” material.
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