Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe

by Mark Leigh

  Masturbation crossed all social divides, and in Dick's experience the wealthiest people he had known were among the most chronic masturbators (or at least, that's the impression they gave), so he was pleased to see that these people could indulge themselves by buying devices which were gold or silver plated and embellished with precious stones. Designer brands were rife with contraptions branded by Gucci, Armani and Dolce & Gabbana while more sporty users were provided for by the likes of Adidas, Puma or Reebok. Nike versions, he noted, were marketed with the slogan. ‘Don’t Do It’.

  After a while Taylor, carrying a well-worn leather briefcase, came back to see how Dick was progressing. Dick rubbed his eyes and slumped back in his chair, glad of the distraction.

  ‘Wow. I didn't realise how weird your world is. And depressing. And people are happy to live this way?’

  ‘They have no choice. They don't know any better’, Taylor shrugged.

  ‘But what about your parents or grandparents. They must have told people what life used to be like’, Dick enquired.

  ‘Sadly, no’, Taylor added. ‘The Party has been in power for over a hundred years so none of us have surviving relatives to tell us about what they would have surely called ‘the good old days’ — the days ‘pre-Party’. The Party have made sure that the history books have been re-written; any trace of a more liberal existence has been almost completely erased’.

  ‘But what about old books?’, asked Dick. ‘There must still be some around that give people an idea of life in my time’.

  ‘Occasionally we do find old literature but we’re not sure whether to believe it or not’, Taylor explained. ‘Some of it might actually be fake, planted by the Party to further confuse us. They are so devious we’re really not sure what to believe’.

  ‘Well, what about people in other countries? The people there must be enjoying the future of 2150 and not some weird throwback era. The British people must know what life is like outside their borders. What it’s like in the real world’, Dick stated, demonstrating rare logic that surprised even him.

  ‘To all intents and purposes’, Taylor explained. ‘These countries don’t exist’.

  It was time for Dick to frown again.

  ‘The Party have, in effect, cut themselves off from the outside world. There is obviously some contact to enable the import and export of food or goods, but this is very tightly controlled and monitored. Unlike the original Victorians who wanted to expand their empire and protect their colonies, the Party practice a much more severe and extreme form of “Splendid Isolation”. That way they have control over the population’.

  ‘So most people don’t have any idea of what sex can be like or what they’re missing?’, Dick enquired.

  ‘Not really. Any stories that have been passed down are dismissed as old wives’ tales or fanciful myths. And it doesn’t matter if anyone believes them anyway; the Party will detect and make sure they stamp out any “unnatural” acts or behaviour before they can spread’.

  ‘Yeah, but according to the Party, having sex more than once a week is an “unnatural act'!” exclaimed Dick. ‘l could tell the Party a thing or two about unnatural acts that would make their hair curl! Sex with pets. Inserting fruit in your ass. Inserting fruit in your pet’s ass. Inserting pets in your ass — with or without fruit’.

  ‘Ass?’, asked Taylor.

  ‘You know, your rectum…’, explained Dick who suddenly smelled that distinctive rose-scented perfume again.

  ‘But why would you want to insert a pet in your rectum?’ asked a soft, feminine voice.

  Dick turned around to see that Alice had entered the room.

  ‘Good question’, Dick responded, slightly embarrassed. ‘The thing is, I personally don’t know, but people got turned on by many different things’.

  ‘Turned-on?’, Alice enquired blankly.

  ‘Yeah. You know. Get off to’.

  More blank looks. ‘Stuff that gives you the horn’, continued Dick.

  Alice looked even more confused, ‘The horn?’

  ‘Stuff that makes you aroused… sexually excited’.

  Alice nodded her comprehension and Dick continued. ‘In my time there was a market for photographing and filming every variation of the sex act. People wanted to see heterosexual sex, same-sex sex, group sex, sex with dwarves, sex with fat people, sex with old ladies, sex with transsexuals, sex with transvestites, sex with old fat dwarf transsexuals.

  ‘There was a demand for seeing people dressed up having sex’, continued Dick. ‘I'm not just talking about revealing outfits or sexy uniforms, I'm talking about dressing-up as bee-keepers, fishermen, coal miners, even deep sea divers complete with the big brass helmets and lead boots. Hell, I know of two films, ‘Three Ring Circus’ and ‘Banging Bozo’ where the male star was a sex-crazed clown. I guess some people out there found size 24 shoes, green hair and a bright red nose erotic’.

  ‘And it was a fact, was it not,’ interrupted Taylor, ‘That many people liked watching others being harmed when they had sex — or they derived pleasure from harming others?’

  ‘True’, confirmed Dick. ‘There was a huge market for movies featuring people being spanked, whipped, beaten or punched. And don’t even get me started on golden showers’.

  ‘Golden what?’, asked Alice.

  Dick opened his mouth to explain but as the words were on the way from his brain to his mouth another part of his brain went into action to comprehend how ridiculous his explanation would sound and fortunately the two actions cancelled each other out. While a completely different part of Dick’s brain considered what to do next, Taylor interjected to save Dick’s embarrassment.

  ‘Well, that’s enough small talk for now. We’ve got a busy schedule’.

  ‘So’, Dick asked, now relieved he wouldn’t need to tell Alice about urination as a source of sexual pleasure. ‘I assume the Resistance High Command has a plan.’

  ‘We do’, said Taylor optimistically.

  ‘ls it a good one?’

  ‘lt’s the best one we've thought of’, Taylor added, with slightly less optimism than before. ‘And we think it's the only one that can succeed. It involves infiltrating the Party, gaining their trust, finding out about this rumoured secret weapon and then destroying it’.

  ‘And I'm going to be the one infiltrating the party’, said Dick, still secretly hoping that Taylor might say something like, ‘Actually no. We've thought about it some more and decided that you're not really suitable. Oh, and by the way we've just discovered a way to send you safely back to your own time’.

  But he didn't.

  What he did say, showing Dick the small electronic chip implanted just below the skin in his palm was, ‘You're the best choice. All of us have been tagged by the ID chips I mentioned. These record our name, address, occupation, family records — anything and everything about us’. He continued. ‘We can give you a fake identity to avoid detection. One of our members works in the Ministry of Population Control and through him we've arranged to get you a pre-programmed biometric chip that will give you a complete new identity’.

  ‘Great’, replied Dick. ‘But how can I suddenly ‘pop-up’ in your society from nowhere? Won’t it seem odd when a brand new member of the population appears out of the blue?’

  ‘Not at all’, said Taylor, this time with renewed confidence. ‘We’ll also be able to create all the records relating to your existence. Your education, employment, taxation, medical history. As far as the Party is concerned it will be like you’ve always existed here. There will be absolutely no reason to think otherwise’.

  ‘And all the falsified records will withstand the most detailed scrutiny’, added Alice. ‘We are absolutely certain of that’.

  ‘Well it still sounds like a high risk strategy’, said Dick.

  ‘I’d be lying to you if I told you it wasn’t’, said Taylor adding, ‘But desperate times require desperate measures’.

  Dick voiced his doubts. ‘But surely you must ha
ve given this same sort of fake identity to the other guy you mentioned. The one that was probably exposed by the Party and killed?’

  Ignoring this remark Taylor just repeated what he’d said earlier, ‘You’re the best choice’ and from the briefcase, handed Dick a bulky folder crammed with every single detail of his invented life. Dick flicked through it anxiously. As an actor in his particular field, Dick didn’t usually have many lines to remember but now he found himself having to memorise a whole back story. He left the room and returned to his temporary quarters to study his file and learn more about the oppressed world of 2150. As the door closed Alice spoke to Taylor.

  ‘Will he succeed?’, she asked gravely.

  ‘He has to’, Taylor replied, even more gravely. ‘For all his faults he’s the best chance we have. And given the time scales, he’s the only chance we have’.

  ‘But he knows about the previous attempt’, Alice commented.

  Taylor nodded. ‘Whatever happened, happened’. He put both his hands on Alice’s shoulders and looked intently at her. ‘But we need to play that down since we don’t want to dishearten him. This time the Oracle says she is completely certain’.

  Taylor moved his hands down from Alice’s shoulders to her chest and began opening her blouse. A few minutes later he was enjoying energetic sex with her on the table, not the sort of behaviour you’d expect from a serious-looking leader of the Resistance given the fact that he had just started co-ordinating their biggest, most important and critical mission. But he was only human, after all.

  CHAPTER 8

  Now, if ‘Uprising!’ was a movie (and I’m looking to sell the rights if any agent, producer, director or studio exec is reading this), at this point you’d see a montage showing Dick studying his comprehensive fake history and undergoing his induction. You’d see him in a classroom environment being tutored by Taylor and Alice, frowning at handwritten notes that covered an entire blackboard, You’d see him cramming late into the night, the strain of the mission and the pressure to succeed showing on his face. You’d see his frustration at having to learn such a huge amount of information in such a short period of time, coupled with his fears of being trapped in the future — all to an upbeat rock soundtrack. The whole sequence would be like Rocky’s training regime albeit not as dramatic. After all, studying and writing on six by four index cards is nowhere as exciting nor strenuous as running energetically up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

  So, you’ll have to take it from me that Dick studied and trained as well as he could, given his extremely low boredom threshold and his butterfly mind. Still, what he lacked in concentration he made up with determination and a photographic memory. Seated opposite Taylor and Alice in a small, stark room, Dick was being bombarded with quick-fire question after question after question. This had been going on for several days. Taylor would become angry and bang the table when Dick was slow at responding or got an answer wrong. Alice however, although just as serious, was more forgiving. Dick felt he was being cross-examined rather than tested, and looked at his inquisitors not so much as good cop and bad cop, as bad cop and good lay. He wasn’t sure what it was about Alice that aroused him. It could have been her distinctive perfume, her full breasts or her pert buttocks. Or the fact that he hadn’t had sex with anyone for two days (well, 142 years and two days) and at this point he’d have screwed anything with a shadow.

  ‘Well?’, Taylor asked with a tone of annoyance.

  ‘Sorry?’ asked Dick, tearing his gaze away from Alice’s chest.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Pinner. North west London. Abode 16876, Elm Grove Tower’.

  ‘And what were your parents’ names?’ Taylor continued.

  ‘Thomas and Victoria’.

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘They don’t’, Dick explained. ‘They died in a tragic hovercar crash eleven years ago’.

  The questioning went on and on and on. Then it went on and on a bit more. Like it did every single day. At the end of what Dick thought must have been the twenty fifth session Taylor at last gave a sigh of relief and smiled at Alice, then at Dick.

  ‘Full marks again Dick. I think we can say you’re now ready to begin your new life’.

  With that he reached into the table drawer and pulled out an intricate brass mechanical device that resembled the sort of thing Dick imagined would insert a biometric chip under your skin. That or do something unimaginatively painful to your genitals. Fortunately Dick discovered it was the former. He offered his palm to Taylor and moments later was the recipient of both a small implant and a sore hand.

  ‘Right’, said Taylor triumphantly. ‘Say goodbye to Dick Longg, pornographic film star and say hello to Jeremy Brunel, a potential new Assistant Communications Under Manager at the Ministry of Information’.

  Alice saw lines forming on Dick’s forehead so she jumped in before the frown was fully formed. ‘It’s the media monitoring and propaganda-generating machine of the Party’, she explained. ‘Its eyes, ears and mouth’. She told Dick that the Ministry of Information was responsible for devising publicity campaigns to inform and persuade; its main purpose was to influence the public.

  ‘Control them, you mean’, added Taylor. ‘We thought your previous marketing and publicity experience in the film industry would make you ideal for the job’.

  Dick thought about it and had to agree. Two of his early jobs in the studio publicity department had been persuading people to see the absolute stinkers ‘King Ralph’ and ‘Hudson Hawk’. If he could manage this he was sure he could convince the public that pre-marital sex was evil. One thing Dick wasn’t sure about however, was his new name. He didn’t see himself as a Jeremy. He placed the name in the same category as Tarquin, Gerald or Adolf but Taylor told him it was too late to change it. The falsified records had been completed and fully integrated into all Party databases. The resistance member who arranged Dick’s new identity had engineered not just Dick’s entire back story, but also the job vacancy. It had been arranged that Dick’s resume and experience made him the most suitable candidate by a long way. In theory he was a shoo-in for the job. All he had to do was remember every single thing he’d been taught and not crack under the pressure of the forthcoming job interview. Taylor had told him that this would be far, far more strenuous and severe than any of the mock interviews he’d undergone so far.

  - - o O o - -

  This interview had been arranged for a Friday morning. Dick was taken there by Susan who, so they wouldn’t be observed together, dropped him off six blocks from his final destination. Only then was he permitted to remove his sunglasses and the blindfold they concealed. He breathed in deeply, gulping the clean air in lungfuls. This was the first time he’d been out of the resistance headquarters since his arrival and Dick savoured this refreshing antidote to the L.A. smog he was so familiar with. The streets were filled with hurrying commuters like him, too busy and pre-occupied to notice anything about Dick’s appearance that might make him stand out. Of course, there shouldn’t have been anything that gave this impression as Dick had been groomed and styled in the fashion of the time, which meant a severe suit and even more severe haircut. In fact he cut quite a dash as he followed the crowds to his potential employer.

  Although he’d been given a street map it wasn’t difficult to find the Ministry of Information. Even a few blocks away it towered over the surrounding buildings, seemingly sucking workers towards its entrance like some monstrous vacuum cleaner. Turning the last corner Dick faced this thirty-storey monolith of a building. Craning his head, he surveyed its grey, faceless exterior. There was nothing about it that said this was a vitally important cog in the Party machine. If you didn’t realise its purpose, Dick thought, the innocuous building could have easily been the Ministry of Ball Bearings or The Ministry of Blotting Paper. But then Dick remembered that its stark, anonymous features were indicative of Party policy. The building’s appearance said ‘hard work’, ‘respect for authority�
�� and ‘mindless dedication and commitment’. It also said, ‘Abandon any hope of slacking, all ye who enter here’. Gulping again, a combination of nervousness and a desire to appreciate the air once more, Dick entered the double-height entrance lobby and crossed the foreboding cold marbled foyer like, he felt, a dead man walking.

  Dick presented himself and explained the purpose of his visit to a very stern and very flat-chested receptionist. After checking and crosschecking a long list of names and appointments then making a verifying phone call to someone deep within the building, she directed him to the security desk. Here Dick held his palm over a scanner that flashed green. One of the security guards gave him the look that all security guards give; the look that says ‘I’m bored with this unbelievably dull job and am only doing it because I’m not clever enough for the police’. After being issued with his visitor’s badge Dick was directed to one of the gated elevators situated beyond reception. He pushed one of the ornately engraved ivory buttons and as the doors closed he was sure he heard a disembodied mechanical-sounding voice say, ‘We know who you are’. Or was it ‘We will kill you’? He hoped it had actually said ‘twenty fifth floor’ but the elevator had reached its destination before his paranoia became too acute.

  Exiting on to a deserted corridor he followed the signs to section G. Here he was met by an even more flat-chested woman and directed to sub section G.3. Arriving here Dick was met by a woman so flat-chested that she might as well have been a man or an ironing board in a wig. She/he/it showed him to Interview Room 54.2 that was empty except for two chairs either side of a desk. Dick straddled one of the chairs, his arms resting on the back. He leant forward and curled his lip, then decided that this pose was a bit too confrontational, or just plain stupid, for an interview. He was just changing positions when in walked a large, formidable woman in her late-forties carrying a large, formidable file. Without shaking Dick’s hand or displaying any other form of greeting or courtesy, the stony-faced woman placed her file on the table and sat down opposite him. She introduced herself as Miss Vera Darling, the department head and therefore Dick’s potential boss.