Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe

by Mark Leigh

  ‘Sit down Dick’. Dick did as he was told, relieved that the desk between him and the Leader would hide any further embarrassment. The Leader sat facing him and smiled.

  ‘Aren’t you remotely interested in how I finally realised your true identity?’

  ‘But I’m Jeremy…’

  ‘It was your penis’.

  Dick stopped. The Leader didn’t.

  ‘My doubts about you were all but confirmed by David Parnell. One thing he learned from your colleagues was that they had managed, fairly recently, to get someone deep within the Party however they would not reveal who this person was, how it happened or where they were. Then I remembered that a short time ago, using stolen Party technology, one person travelled back to 2010 but two people came back. Two agents were dispatched to follow them but they failed to make a clear identification. You don’t need to be a genius to work out that the person brought back was most probably recruited by the Resistance to do their dirty work’.

  Dick could only listen in shock as the Leader continued his explanation. ‘This person seemed to go under cover at about the same time as you appeared on the scene at the Ministry of Information. I’m far too suspicious to believe in coincidences to I decided to probe deeper to try and uncover evidence of your duplicity’.

  As Dick’s anxiety levels reached ‘Code Red’ the Leader continued his explanation. ‘We reviewed every single inch of video security footage you might have appeared in. There were eight teams on the project and they went back weeks and weeks looking for any clues, however small. Well, three days ago they eventually found that clue. And you know what? It wasn’t small. It was in a video taken in your department at the Ministry of Information.’

  ‘Fuck!’, Dick thought. Then he thought some more, ‘Fuck!’ He knew there were cameras outside the entrance and in the lobby but he had no idea the actual offices and meeting rooms were all under video surveillance, and he doubted whether anyone else was aware of it.

  The leader continued. ‘Of course, when I said the footage featured ‘you’, I meant you and Vera. You remember that night don’t you?’, the Leader asked, smiling. ‘Well, everything that took place was captured by the hidden security cameras. And I mean everything. You made quite a couple, or should that be quite a coupling?’

  Dick choked; a combination of fear and the memory of that night in Meeting Room A. Being reminded of what happened was like someone opening-up an old wound. And squeezing lemon juice in it. Then vinegar. Then a bit of lime for good measure, then rubbing it with sandpaper before hitting it hard with a stick.

  The Leader continued. ‘That’s when I thought, there’s only one man I’m aware of with a twelve inch penis’.

  ‘Thirteen…’ Dick added, realising that setting the record straight was also tantamount to admitting his guilt.

  ‘And that was Dick S. Longg, world famous porn star. Well, famous of course in his own world’.

  ‘But if you realised my identity three days ago’, asked Dick. ‘Why the hell didn’t you confront me then?’

  ‘Well, since we had you under close observation I knew you wouldn’t pose much of a threat, and I thought I could use the situation to my advantage’, explained the Leader. ‘I wanted to see whether you still had contact with the Resistance or whether you were in the field on your own. And of course, I wanted to see how you reacted to the news about David Parnell in the meeting. Your response was priceless!’. He smiled. ‘And I hope you also enjoyed me toying with you in my little introduction. I like to have my little jokes’.

  Dick was stunned.

  ‘Mr. Parnell failed to report in to us this morning’, continued the Leader. ‘I don’t doubt you have some knowledge about what happened to him’.

  Dick shrugged his shoulders but in a way so unconvincing that he might just as well have said, ‘Of course I do’.

  ‘Come on, Dick’, said the Leader with a strange half-smile. ‘Just tell us. You’ve got nothing left to lose’.

  ‘What about my life?’, asked Dick.

  ‘Okay, apart from that’, agreed the Leader, adding, ‘Anyway, it’s probably a fair assumption to say that Parnell was killed by one of your colleagues, acting on your tip-off’.

  ‘And if he is dead’, asked Dick. ‘Then you happily consigned him to his fate just to prove I was still in contact with the Resistance?’

  ‘Well, yes’, the Leader answered. ‘What is the sacrifice of one man for the greater good of the Party?’

  Dick shot the Leader a glare that said you’re a cruel, callous, cold-hearted, contemptible fucker (he would have used the other ‘C’ word to complete the alliteration but the publishers said they didn’t really want that word in this book).

  Noticing Dick’s look of abhorrence, the Leader shook his head.

  ‘Dick. I’ve changed’, he said, adding earnestly, ‘I’m not the man you once knew’.

  Dick frowned.

  ‘Look at me Dick. Look at me’. The Leader had placed the gun down on the desk near him and leaned towards Dick. ‘We know each other… Imagine me with short hair and without a beard and moustache’.

  Dick looked. Nothing, but yet…

  ‘And thirty pounds lighter’.

  Dick thought there was something slightly familiar about him. Then the Leader rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a tattoo of tape measure; one that neatly wound its way around his strong bicep.

  ‘Fuck’. Dick thought. It had been over a century since he’d seen that tattoo, but here it was, instantly recognisable.

  ‘It… It… It can’t be!’ Dick stammered. You’re… you’re…’

  ‘That’s right Dick…’ smiled the Leader.

  ‘Maxx Boner!’, Dick gasped.

  ‘The one and only!’, The Leader / Maxx replied.

  Dick slumped back in his seat, the colour having drained from his face almost instantaneously. Being threatened by a loaded gun and then having your identity revealed was enough of a shock. Having it busted by your porn star rival from the past was enough to give anyone cardiac arrest. He thought back top his own time, to the day Maxx Boner suddenly and mysteriously disappeared from the industry. At the time rumours about his disappearance were rife. Some said Maxx had been murdered by drug dealers or by the jealous boyfriend of an actress he was screwing on and off screen. Other stories were far more salacious. These included him being kidnapped and slain by a poorly-endowed serial killer, known by the FBI as ‘Wee Willie Winkie’ or suffering hideous shaft blisters when a cheap penile sheath he’d been wearing to increase his length had caused a chronic allergic reaction. And to think, all along he’d been living in the future.

  ‘Fuck me!’ Dick was still stunned at meeting up with his rival once again. ‘Maxx Boner by name. Maxx Boner by nature’.

  ‘Sadly no more’. The Leader said dolefully. ‘Probably like you, my disappearance and my appearance here were so sudden I had no time to take the things most dear to me’.

  ‘Like photographs of loved ones or childhood mementoes?’, enquired Dick.

  ‘No. My penile implant inflator and valve set’, Maxx said with a dismayed expression.

  So the rumours were true after all, Dick thought. Maxx had relied on artificial aids to sustain his erection and without his inflator he was like someone with… someone with… well, the best analogy he could think of was someone with a very long but very floppy penis.

  ‘But couldn’t you use the technology here to compensate?’

  ‘That’s what I thought’, Maxx said. ‘That notion… that promise… it’s what kept me going. The then leader of the Resistance and his colleagues tried all sorts of methods but nothing worked. My erections either took too long to achieve or they were extremely painful. Usually both. And having to inflate your penis with a bicycle pump for forty minutes beforehand is guaranteed to kill any amorous moment stone dead.

  ‘So, even under pressure you couldn’t rise to the occasion?’, Dick asked.

  ‘I just wish the technology had been as clever a
s your witty word play’, Maxx sighed. ‘I had my doubts about using a compressed air line from the start, but I was assured it was safe’.

  ‘My god. What happened?’, asked Dick.

  ‘The relief valve stuck…’, Maxx grimaced at the memory that was obviously still fresh in his mind. ‘Pressure build-up’. The rest of the words came slowly. ‘Muscle torn…’

  Dick winced.

  ‘Testicle rupture…’

  Dick crossed his legs.

  ‘Shrapnel embedded in scrotum…’

  Dick stuck his hands over his ears and went ‘La, la, la, la, la, la’.

  Maxx continued. ‘There was nothing they could so. Going to a public hospital was impractical. My injuries would have raised too many questions and my identity would have been compromised. The Resistance did the best they could to stem the blood loss and patch me up’.

  Dick thought this was exactly the right moment to say words of encouragement. The problem was, he couldn’t think of any. Dick looked at Maxx and thought it was like talking to a world-class envelope licker who’s just lost his tongue. Any words of encouragement were instead replaced by a banal platitude.

  ‘But at least you’re alive…’

  ‘Yes, alive but now permanently incapable of sex’, Maxx said despondently. ‘Gone is my eleven inch erection…’ (‘Yeah, right’, thought Dick knowing it had only been ten inches at best). ‘Now my only satisfaction derives from getting girls to dress up and play with themselves in front of me’.

  ‘Milk maid?’ Dick asked.

  Maxx nodded.

  ‘Slutty nurse?’.

  Another nod. ‘I know I’m predictable’, Maxx admitted. ‘But it’s just a hobby. Not being able to screw meant I had to find a fundamental new purpose in life. That came easy’.

  ‘Unlike you’, Dick added, very unhelpfully. Maxx ignored him and continued.

  ‘I actually had two new aims. The first was to get my revenge on the people who dragged me against my will to this godforsaken time and who made me impotent. The second was to find a substitute for sex’.

  ‘The dressing up thing?’ asked Dick.

  ‘No you fool!’, shouted Maxx, pounding the desk. ‘That’s just a small but pleasurable diversion! I’m talking about power! The power I could wield by defecting to the Party and rising within its ranks’.

  ‘Oh’, said Dick.

  ‘Now come with me. I think we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, Dick’. Maxx gave a wry smile. ‘You don’t mind me calling you Dick, do you, Dick?’

  Dick shook his head.

  ‘Good. And you may call me Maxx. ‘Leader’ is so very officious, don’t you think?’

  Dick was thinking of lots of things, but that definitely wasn’t one of them. He was thinking that the game was up, that he was about to die and that he must find a way to escape. Before he had an opportunity to think of any more things Maxx had stood up and was beckoning Dick with his gun. ‘Let’s continue our conversation in more comfortable surroundings’.

  It was as Maxx turned to open the office door that Dick suddenly saw an opportunity to cuff him with the hole punch, steal his gun and make a run for it. He decided, however, to reconsider his plans when he saw Carter standing sternly just outside the doorway. Maxx pocketed his gun and walked ahead of Dick while Carter followed dutifully behind. He didn’t hold a weapon but didn’t really need to. His expression and body language said more than a loaded gun could ever do.

  CHAPTER 29

  Drinking brandies, settled in the comfort of his luxurious office, Maxx elaborated on his appearance here. Four years before, just like Dick, he’d been identified by the Resistance and brought forward in time to overthrow the Party. Suddenly it all became clear to Dick.

  ‘You were their great hope. The One!’, he exclaimed. ‘But you went missing!’

  Maxx leaned forward, gently swilling the warm amber contents of his glass. ‘The Resistance at that time gave me a new identity and trained me well. Then they sent me out into the field to gain entry into the Party and gather intelligence. All this must sound very familiar to you, Dick’.

  Dick nodded. Refilling both their glasses, Maxx explained precisely what had happened.

  ‘Like you must have been, I too was a reluctant hero. I never wanted to carry out any dumb mission but I had no choice. I, too, infiltrated the Party and learned a lot about them. I was committed to my mission but then I had my…

  ‘Massive genital explosion…’ Dick interjected.

  ‘Accident’, corrected Maxx with a look of annoyance. ‘After my accident I decided I wanted to work with the Party rather than against them. The Party leader at the time had what I wanted more than anything’

  ‘A fully operational penis?’

  ‘Total power’, said the Leader. ‘Total control’.

  Maxx explained how he managed to engineer an audience with mid-ranking Party officials. How he admitted who he was, what he was here for and why he wanted to defect. He explained that although he didn’t know the location of the resistance headquarters he had enough information to reveal the identity of its leader and key personnel by their appearances. It took a long time, Maxx explained, before these individuals were eventually tracked down and arrested. Interrogation resulted in a few more members being captured. The result was a severely decimated resistance movement and his acceptance into the higher echelons of the Party. Once there, his ascension was rapid.

  ‘And what happened to the resistance members who were captured?’ asked Dick.

  ‘They were removed from society’.

  ‘Killed?’

  ‘Liquidated’.

  ‘What’s the difference?’ asked Dick.

  ‘None really. But liquidated sounds so much more ruthless’.

  ‘Then how did you become Leader? What happened to the previous one?’, Dick asked, surprised at Maxx’s seemingly meteoric rise to power.

  ‘It was tragic. He was working late one night in his office when he fell over and died’.

  ‘Heart attack? Embolism?’ Dick enquired.

  ‘No. Shot in the head’. Maxx shrugged. ‘Shit happens’.

  ‘And you took over?’. Dick asked, a chill rapidly running up his spine.

  ‘Eventually, yes. There was a bit of an internal power struggle but I persuaded all my rivals that I was the best man for the job. You don’t need to know the boring details of the politics or the body count…’.

  There was a buzzing sound and Maxx picked up the telephone from his desk. He looked at his pocket watch, uttered a few noises of agreement and replaced the receiver.

  ‘I just don’t know where the time goes’, he said. ‘That was Carter reminding me that we need to ask you a few questions about your role in the Resistance. How you kept in contact with them, what your own mission is — everything in fact that they didn’t tell Parnell. Come on, what do you say?’.

  Dick couldn’t think of an appropriate response to this, apart from that of assuming a very worried expression, so that’s precisely what he did.

  Maxx continued with a creepy smile, ‘I know you’ll want to help us, Dick’.

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ Dick asked.

  ‘Torture’, Maxx suggested.

  Dick looked confused. He pondered for a short while and then asked, ‘Do we write our names on their backs and let them race. If mine wins I give you information? If yours wins, you let me go?’

  It was Maxx’s turn to look confused.

  ‘Or do we see which one eats the most lettuce?’, added Dick.

  Maxx frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand you’.

  ‘Tortoise. You said we could resolve this issue by tortoise’.

  Maxx sighed. ‘I said ‘torture’’

  ‘Oh’, said Dick. ‘I’m sure you said tortoise’.

  ‘No. It was definitely ‘torture’’.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Absolutely positive’.

  ‘Well’, Dick continued. ‘That puts a whole new complexion on the matter
’.

  Dick didn’t like the idea of torture. It was worse than the idea of tortoise, even though he actually suffered from a childhood allergy to these creatures, and turtles and terrapins too. In fact, the whole damn family of shelled amphibians.

  Waving his gun again at Dick, Maxx stood up. ‘Come on, let’s get the interrogation over with. I’m a very busy man so I can’t stay, but I’ll see you afterwards’.

  Carter opened the office door and stood waiting. Dick was nervous. He’d never been tortured before and in fact, had a very low pain threshold. Even getting cramp in the arch of his foot when he woke up would usually make him yelp like a whipped dog. Dick knew he wouldn’t last long under torture so he decided to bluff his way out.

  ‘Fine’, said Dick. ‘Bring it on. I’m not going to tell you anything! Ever! I can stand being severely beaten’.

  Maxx shook his head. ‘Dick, that’s far too crude and besides, in my experience it takes too long. I like to think I’m a man of taste and sophistication. That’s why I favour torture with a certain form of irony’.

  Dick’s reaction indicated that he wasn’t at all sure about ironic torture.

  ‘It seems only just that a penis that has given so much pleasure should now be at the receiving end of a similar degree of pain’, Maxx explained. ‘Carter will make the necessary arrangements’.

  Dick didn’t like this. You made the ‘necessary arrangements’ about booking a hotel, a cab or airline tickets. When used in the context of torture it seemed too casual, as if this was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps, Dick thought as he was being led away by Carter, that here in the Party, it was. Dick was marched down the corridor and into an elevator.

  ‘Press the up button. Press the up button’, willed Dick, concentrating as hard as he could. It was inevitable though that Carter pressed the button marked ‘basement’. Dick didn’t like that. There were never any good things in basements. Basements contained boring things like plant rooms or boilers. But they also contained horrible things like cells and dungeons and it was in one of these that Dick soon found himself.