by Troy Conway
But that could wait until morning. Meanwhile, I still had Lola on my hands, along with a roomful of hippies. For The Big Head’s benefit, I’d have to pretend I was enjoying the party as much as he was.
I steered Lola back toward a corner d the room where Egbert and two other members of The Decline of the West were holding forth on the powers and glories of acid. The five of us chatted about music and acid, love and acid, East Village and acid, and acid and acid. Then we went through the whole routine again. It was the sort of conversation that’d give anyone but a dyed-in-the-wool hippie a terminal case of yawns. But I stifled mine. I had an image to project, and the fate of the world was hanging on how well I projected it.
Fifteen minutes passed, then fifteen more. Someone had turned on a record player and a few couples were dancing. Others were clustered in mall groups, passing around thin, hand-rolled cigarettes that had to be marijuana I noticed that Lola and her chums weren’t indulging, and I asked her why. “We’re cooling it till it’s time for the good stuff,” she replied. I didn’t quite follow her, but I pretended I did Nothing destroys an image like an admission of ignorance.
Another fifteen minutes passed, then another. The crowd began to thin. Soon it was thee a.m. and the number of partyers had shrunk to the original two dozen that had been there when we arrived. Then it was four a.m. and the crowd numbered no more than twelve or thirteen.
Finally, at four thirty, a longhair-type wearing blue jeans and a psychedelic sportshirt locked the door. The record player promptly went off, and the crowd gathered around The Big Head, who was standing alongside a table with a bottle of pills in his hand. I slipped into place next to him.
“Acid?” I asked, nodding toward the bottle.
He nodded back. “Want to turn on with us?”
I produced the bottle of LSP capsules that Walrus-moustache had given me the night before. “Let me turn you on,” I said “I’m in a loving mood, and there’s more where these came from.”
He took the bottle from me, held it up to the light and whistled under his breath. “Am I seeing things, or is this The Big P?”
I didn’t know what he meant, but I had a good idea we were on the same wavelength. “LSP,” I replied, covering myself both ways. “You’ve heard of it, of course.”
“Sure. I’ve got a few mikes of it at my pad. But not enough to play Santa Claus with. In New York it’s harder to find than female roosters. Where’d you connect?”
I flashed a hippier-than-thou smile. “One of my buddies at the university whipped up a batch. I don’t mind sharing the wealth.”
He gave me a look that was one part doubt and one part grudging admiration. Then, evidently, he put aside the doubt. “Fellow lovers,” he announced to the hippies, “our buddy Damon has just volunteered to turn us on with the hottest new drug this side of dreamland-LSP. If you want in, hold out your hand. If not, help yourself to the old standby.” He put his bottle of LSD on the table for the standbyers.
Lola snuggled up alongside me, beaming with pride at having introduced me to the obviously admiration-filled hippies. The Big Head uncapped my bottle and began passing out the capsules to the longhairs who had rapidly queued up in front of him. Adventurous to a fault, every last cat and chick in the crowd has eschewed the LSD for the new stuff.
When everyone had a pill, The Big Head gave me back my bottle. I took one for myself and one for Lola. Then I waited for Our Leader to lead the way.
“Here’s to Damon,” he said, hoisting the capsule in a gesture of toasting. “May he live as long as he wants to, and may he want to as long as he lives.”
“To Damon,” echoed the hippies. Then, following their leader’s lead, they popped the pills into their mouths and swallowed hard.
I was tempted to palm mine and merely pretend that I had swallowed it. But I didn’t dare take the chance. The Big Head was watching me. I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to simulate an acid high successfully, and if I failed the jig would be up. So, putting duty before personal preference, I joined the crowd. Then I waited for the stuff to jolt me into hallucinogenville.
I didn’t have to wait long. The pill had barely gone down my throat before I began to sway dizzily. Then a weird sensation of weightlessness overtook me, and the next thing I knew I was floating toward the ceiling, belly-up.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Get me down from here! You over there! Somebody! Anybody! Get me down!”
I saw Egbert run up the side of the wall and walk upside down toward me. He smiled, patted me lightly on the head and walked away.
I waked along the ailing after him, then down the wall and back onto the floor. For a moment things seemed normal enough, and I congratulated myself on having regained my mental equilibrium. Then the room started spinning wildly, and I clutched the first thing in sight to steady myself.
What I had clutched was Chiquita’s breasts They were right in front of me, thrusting out of her turtleneck like a pair of twin melons. They felt good in my hands, but then suddenly they started growing bigger. Soon they were the size of two huge beach balls. I struggled to keep my grip on them, lost and fell to the floor.
The room stopped spinning, and things seemed normal again. I inched my way toward the corner and sat in it. Then I closed my eyes and tried to act as inconspicuously as possible.
But closing my eyes hadn’t been such a good idea. No sooner had my lids come down than I started seeing the wildest things imaginable.
First there were colors—raw, naked colors, of the most fantastic shades and hues I had ever seen. They gushed through the room like torrents of water, overpowering everything in their wake.
Then came the animals. Elephants, tigers, rats and giant ants. I tried to run away from them, but everywhere I turned they came after me. Finally a huge walrus came between me and them, and with one stroke-of his whip, killed them all. What a relief!
Then I felt weightless again—light as air and twice as billowy. It was calm and nice. Very nice. Then I heard music. And I saw it. Yes, I actually saw it floating through the air, just as I was floating. It was all very peaceful.
Until the walls started breathing.
I didn’t really mind that they were breathing. Like, why should I care what they did?
But they were breathing so damned loud they ruined it for the rest of us!
I walked over to one of them and told it to quiet down.
It wouldn’t listen.
I tried to reason with it.
No dice.
Finally I resorted to violence. I took a bottle of club soda and flung it right between the wall’s eyes. That did it. I didn’t hear another sound from the walls for the rest of the night.
It wouldn’t have mattered even if I had, because by then I was too tired to care. All I wanted to do was sleep. I went back to the corner where I had seen the music and I closed my eyes. The colors came at me again, but this time they were softer and more peaceful. They wrapped themselves around me like billowy clouds and we went to sleep together.
When I woke up I was looking into the eyes of a woman.
A beautiful woman.
She was lithe, long-limbed and luscious. Her long black hair toppled over her shoulders like an inky waterfall. Her eyes were sparkling brown, and her bright pink lips were parted in a sexy come-hither smile.
I tried to remember where I had seen her before, but I couldn’t. Then suddenly I did remember. I had seen her on a photograph—a snapshot which showed her wearing a topless go-go outfit.
“Your wife?” I heard myself asking Walrus-moustache.
“Corinne LaBelle,” his voice replied. “She’s a biochemist. If you’ll pay a little closer attention, you’ll notice that she has a small, heart-shaped tattoo on her left breast. See it there next to the nipple?”
I looked, but I saw nothing. Her nipple—along with the rest of her breast—was covered by a smartly tailored dress.
“Come now, my friend,” the voice continued. “A man with your seductive talents s
houldn’t have any trouble persuading her to expose it.”
I reached for the buttons on her dress, but she backed away.
“Wait!” I said
But she wouldn’t. As I struggled to reach her, she slid out of my grasp, scampering the across the room and out the door.
I tried to get up and follow her, but my body was glued to the floor. She vanished and I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
The next thing I knew I was huddled in a corner of the kitchen with Egbert , the leader of The Decline of the West. “Damon,” he was saying, “this country’s in bad shape. What we need is a total change of direction, a return to the peaceable ways of our ancestors. And we can’t get it by operating within the system. We have to take radical action, forceable action. In short, we need a revolution.”
“Agreed,” I replied. “But how do we pull it off?”
He smiled. “You’ve heard of flower power, haven’t you?”
“Sure.”
“What does it mean to you?”
“Everybody loves everybody else and proves it by giving them flowers.”
He let loose with a macabre Bella Lugosi laugh. “That’s what we’ve convinced the public. But the real flower power is something quite different It’s militant. It goes straight for the jugular. And it gets the enemy with their own weapon—force.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Then listen closely. What would you say if I told you that right now there are several hundred hippies all set to overthrow the government?”
“I’d ask you how you plan to do it.”
“With LSD, Damon. With LSD.”
“I still don’t follow you.”
“Well, what would you say if I told you that we plan to pollute the water supply of Washington, D.C., with enough acid to turn on the whole city? And that when everybody is turned on we plan to . . . zdvlhas;ohepowe;bdlkbdbdkbweb?”
I gulped and tried to clear my head. He still was talking, but I wasn’t receiving him. Colors were flashing through my brain and the room was spinning wildly. I grabbed his shoulder for support. “Wait!” I said. “Give it to me again after the part where everybody is turned on.”
He patted me on the head. “It’s kid of hard to understand, but try, because you’ll be glad you did. Now, like I was saying, there’ll be half a dozen platoons hiding out in unobtrusive apartments throughout Washington and its suburbs. The headquarters will be in Chevy Chase, Maryland . . . zvs½0hd;h5hf,oihc;ohandflkjdhad and they’ll all be armed to the teeth. Vsgdhff;kjh;khdhfjhfkjhfjhg. . .”
“Wait!” I screamed. The colors had become brighter, and the room was spinning even faster. My legs were getting wobbly, and it took all the energy I could summon to keep on my feet.
He looked at me sympathetically, as if to say he understood my difficulty in keeping up with him.
“Go back to the Chevy Chase part,” I said. “Give—it—to—me—again—”
He tried, but it was useless. No sooner would he get three or four words out than my mind would wander and I’d have to ask for a replay. Finally I couldn’t even ask anymore. My words had become as incomprehensible as his.
He gave me another pat on the head. “Don’t sweat it, baby,” he smiled. “There’s plenty of time.” Then he ambled out of the kitchen. I tried to follow him, but my knees buckled and my body went slack. I wound up in an unconscious heap on the floor.
When I came to, I was standing in my old comer of the living room and Lola was kneeling in front of me. She was naked, and her hands were tugging frantically at my belt. I tried to help her unloosen it, but my arms hung at my sides like a pair of lead weights. Finally she abandoned the attempt and unzipped my fly. Then, reaching inside, she pulled out her friend.
“Oh, baby!” she told it. “I thought I’d never see you again! Why don’t you write or something?”
The way things had been going all nigh5 I wouldn’t have been surprised if she got an answer. But she didn’t wait for one. Clutching the base of the shaft with eager fingers, she took the tip in her mouth and began making slow, warm circles around it with her tongue.
I was filled with desirebut not only for Lola My eyes had drifted across the room, where Chiquita and two other girls were sitting on a couch. All three were naked, and I was lusting after them like I had never lusted after anyone before.
“Come here!” I called to them. When they ignored me, I repeated, “Come here!”
To my surprise, all three of them got up from the couch and crossed the room toward me.
I clutched Lola by the hair and tried to tear her away from me. She looked up, and her eyes were full of fire.
“Later,” I snapped.
“Later,” she mumbled. Her legs twisted around mine like two snakes climbing a tree, and her tongue slithered gently up and down the instrument of my passion.
“Help,” I cried weakly.
I looked down at Lola She was clutching me more tightly than ever, and her tongue was swirling back and forth across my overheated loveshaft. Nothing impeded her progress this time, because all my clothes had mysteriously vanished and I stood there as naked as everyone else.
“Help,” I repeated softly, “or join in.”
The cutie on Chiquita’s left, a tall redhead with breasts the size of volleyballs, leaned toward me. I grabbed her splendid spheres and gyrated them in frantic circles. In reply, she leaned closer still. Her mouth found mine, and our tongues locked.
Meanwhile, the brunette on Chiquita’s right had crept around me. Her deft fingers had taken firm hold of my buttocks, and her tongue went wild.
Chiquita surveyed the proceeding like a general surveying his troops. “All together now,” she smiled, “a-one an’ a-two an’ a-three an’ a-four.”
“Turn on the bubble machine!” called The Big Head, suddenly materializing from nowhere. Having said his piece, he just as suddenly dematerialized.
The ministrations of my three nude demoiselles were beginning to take their toll. Inside me a volcano of passion was bubbling to life. I didn’t want it to erupt—at least not until I had ditched the three second-stringers and paired off with Chiquita She was the key to The Big Head.
“Come on, Chiquita,” I said “Help me get rid of these girls and well fly together.”
To my happy astonishment, she obeyed. Clutching Lola by the shoulders, she turned her out of the saddle and sent her sprawling across the room. Then she beat away the redhead and the brunette, and hilly we were done together.
She lay on her back on the floor.
Her thighs parted to receive me.
I knelt between them—kissed her squarely and deliberately.
The hot, quivering lips of her womanhood wrapped lovingly around me.
All of a sudden, it was New Year’s Eve, Halloween and the Fourth of July.
Fireworks exploded and odors flashed through my brain. Music danced in front of my eyes Tantalizing fingers of sensation crawled up and down my legs Then I moved up and she let me in.
I didn’t know where the fireworks, the colors and the music were coming from. But there was no doubt about the source of the tantalizing fingers of sensation. Lola, the redhead and the brunette, finding that I had shelved them in favor of Chiquita, had decided not to be sore losers. All three of them had climbed on top of me, and their lips and tongues were grazing every exposed surface of my body.
Chiquita squirmed maddeningly beneath me. I pumped against her, harder and harder, faster and faster. The boiling lava inside me began rising to the surface.
Lola and her chums continued to work me over.
Chiquita continued to squirm.
The boiling lava continued to rise.
Then the whole world seemed to shake as the explosion coursed through me. I gasped, and abandoned myself to the most exquisite sensations I had ever experienced.
“Ite, missa est,” intoned The Big Head, suddenly popping up alongside the bizarre tableau which our five bodies composed.
“You
better believe it,” replied Chiquita, sliding out from on bottom.
Then, before I realized what was happening, everyone had gone and I was all alone.
But not for long.
A few seconds after they had left, they all were back, this time with Corinne LaBelle among them. She stood to one side with The Big Head as I replayed the same foursome scene with the redhead as my prime object of assault.
The redhead was followed by the brunette, and the brunette was followed by Lola. Each time, everything happened the same way and the sensations were always unbelievable. I began to feel like an actor in a repertory company who plays the same role opposite a different leading lady each night. It was a nice feeling. Then, quite suddenly, it stopped. Actually I stopped. If I kept it up I could kill myself. I passed out.
When the lights went on again, Lola and I were sitting together. Chiquita and one of the guys from The Decline of the West were sprawled across the couch on the other side of the room. Several other naked couples occupied places on the floor, and one imaginative twosome was locked around the leg of the table. The Big Head, fully clothed, was sitting alone with his back to the door. His arms were wrapped around his chest, his lips were blue and his body was trembling.
I rubbed my eyes and waited for a new round of hallucinations to start.
None did.
I stretched and took another look around the room.
Everything—and everyone—remained in place.
I listened for music
Them was none.
I stretched again and breathed a sight of relief. The effects of the drug had worn off.
Gingerly disengaging Lola’s hand from its resting place, I stumbled to my feet. Every muscle in my body ached, and a dull pain was gnawing at the base of my skull. My throat was dry. My stomach felt as though someone had scrubbed it out with a steel wool pad.
I found my clothes and put them on. Then, helping myself to a can of beer from the refrigerator in the kitchen, I tried to sort out my thoughts.
It wasn’t easy.
Obviously I had done a lot of hallucinating during the course of the night.
But just as obviously, I hadn’t imagined everything I remembered.
