House of Holes (23 page)

A young woman walked up and said, “Excuse me, what are you doing?” She had a large blunt-faced dog on a leash. The dog barked once politely and then sat down.

Dave whipped his hand out of his pants. “Just having my way with the clouds,” he said. “My apologies.”

“You shouldn’t be doing that here in this field. This is a working farm. It doesn’t belong to the House of Holes. Beyond that road over there is the property line. This is the real world.”

Dave was horrified. “Very sorry, I had no idea I’d wandered off the range,” he said. “You’d think they’d have a little border-crossing caution sign.” He looked at the woman. She had generously messy hair and rough lips with no lipstick and a tiny scar on the bridge of her nose. “I’ll tell you, it’s one heck of a nice field you’ve got here. And you have some nice clouds, too. Nice soft luscious clouds just hanging in the sky.”

“Thanks,” she said, with some friendliness, looking at his missing arm. “It was the clouds coming over this hill that convinced my parents to buy this place. It has different weather on this side. And the oats grow well down on this slope.”

“Do you drive the tractor?” Dave asked. “I’m Dave, by the way. I’d offer to shake your hand, but I’ve been, ah, having a meeting with the fondling fathers.” He folded up his plaid blanket and stuffed it into his canvas bag.

“I’m Chilli,” she said. “Yes, sometimes I drive the tractor.”

“Good skill to have,” he said. “Portable.” He stood and brushed off his pants, holding the canvas bag over his lap. “Well, I’m off. I’m practicing for a festival.”

“Was that what you were doing when I walked up, ‘practicing’?”

“I like to stay in shape.” They walked together down the rutted path toward the road. “Do you think there are certain fields on this planet that are sex fields? I feel that this is a sex field. It’s not just the clouds. It’s the shape of the land. You can’t tell if it’s a rectangle or a triangle or an oval. It undulates.”

“It does,” said Chilli.

“Can I ask you something impertinent? Do you ever come out here and just want to take your pants off? With the sky so huge and those clouds just hanging there?”

“Do I come out here sometimes and play with myself?”

Dave nodded. “Yeah. Do you do rude things to your little pulsing happy bloated clit, who’s sitting there in the prow of the boat, looking backward at the rowers with her horn saying, ‘Row, team, row, row the boat faster, and when you reach the shore, slide way up on the warm sand’? Do you do that?”

The woman looked down at her dog for a moment, and then she said, “Once I did sort of take my pants off.”

“What made you do it?”

“It was a hot day, and I wanted to feel the breeze on my bottom—I think that’s why.”

“Don’t you want to feel the breeze now?”

“Mm, but this is an awkward situation.”

“I know it’s awkward but, hey, that’s what makes it fun. I’ve spent all day in the darned Porndecahedron looking at self-filmed amateur masturbation movies, and I’ve seen almost too much of it, if that’s possible.”

“You’re at the House of Holes, and you’re watching mas-turbation movies? I thought it was a sexual paradise.”

“It is,” said Dave. “People masturbate a lot in paradise, let me tell you. Have you been?”

“Nope, never have. We sometimes get people wandering over, so I’ve heard some stories, but I’ve never gone. My husband and I—” She trailed off. “And my kids.”

“The whole family thing. I see.”

“They’re at school—and my husband’s doing one of his trips to France to the cheesemakers’ convention, so I’m here, and I’m—what can I say—walking the dog.”

Dave had an idea. “Look, you’re a neighbor to the House of Holes. You should pay a quick visit. I’ll take you. You can just look around. I’m sure Lila—she’s the director—would want to cultivate good relations with abutters.” He peered at her rear. “And you’re definitely an abutter.”

“I’ve heard about Lila. But no, thanks. Maybe another time.”

“Okay.” They stood on the shoulder of the road. “Well, I’ll be off, then. But will you walk me to the property line? I want to come back here, and I don’t want to trespass.”

“Sure. It’s through here,” she said, parting some shrubbery. Her dog made a brief yip of pain. “Oh, sorry, Gumball. Careful, Dave, there are some serious thorns here.”

“Thanks, having the one arm makes some things more difficult.”

“What happened? An accident?”

“No, it was intentional. I wanted a really big penis, and Lila said that I had a choice. I could either lose twenty percent of my intelligence or lose my left arm. And it’s all totally reversible. I really wanted a bigger penis, a monster cock, I was tired of looking at my own. I’m not quite sure why. I guess all the Internet spam finally took its toll. And I said, Hell, Lila, take the left arm. So I had what’s known as a crotchal transfer.”

“Who with?”

“With this guy, he’s an Australian wilderness photographer. He uses a giant eight-by-ten wooden camera. Glenn is his name. He has my penis and balls, and I have his penis and balls. Meanwhile my amputated arm is out wandering around somewhere, having its own adventures.”

“That’s nuts,” said Chilli. “How does the photographer feel about the swap?”

“Glenn’s okay with it, surprisingly. I mean, my penis was fine, it was adequate, just not huge. Lila gave him two months free at the Hotel du Trou, and he takes boudoir pictures of women and indulges every whim. He’s a good nature photographer, actually, and a nice guy. Are you sure you don’t want to pay a visit?”

She looked indecisive for a moment, and then not. “I’ve got the dog, and I’ll have to pick the kids up in an hour anyway. Thanks, though.”

“What about tomorrow?” asked Dave. “I could meet you right here at, say, eleven. We could get some lunch, and maybe I could show you the Porndecahedron. I know you’re married and all—you can set limits. We could just walk around. There’s lots to see, believe me. Besides, you drive me crazy.”

She looked at the clouds, which were doing something particularly puffy. “This is so wrong,” she said. “But okay, I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”

“Good—and one more thing: If you go home now and get horny with yourself?”

“Yes?”

“Here’s something to consider. It might be that at a certain point you think, Wow, I’m making these great expressions, and I’m making all these interesting noises, and I’m moving all around in this sexy way that’s sexier than I’ve ever been—and nobody’s seeing me play with myself. Well, in that case, just set up your webcam or your video camera, whatever you’ve got handy, and film it for me.”

Chilli looked not at all sure. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You know you want to. And I’d love to see your eyes go all glassy, and I’d love to see that ferny thrusty feeling growing right down past your knees. I’d love to see your whole gaping snatch hole just munching on that orgasm, just chewing on that big sweet piece of half-melted pleasure that’s hidden inside you until it’s swallowed up by its own dissolution. Okay? If you play tonight, will you film it for me?”

“I’ve got to go pick up my kids now,” she said. She was breathing, not moving.

“I know. Get yourself all filled with oxygen and nitrogen and helium and all the other special components of the air that will allow you to breathe out the best come you ever had right in your own bedroom, this afternoon. See you, bye.” He squeezed her arm and ducked through the hedgerow.

Dune Visits the Midway

S
handee was standing up on a balcony on the midway, shaking her hips self-promotingly. She had white boots on and a small green cloth of Ka-Chiang hanging like a flag from her pussyhole. Out in front Krock was calling, “Forty to slap the pretty ass, sixty to spank it. Forty to slap, sixty to spank.” Dune, strolling by, saw Shandee and immediately got in line for her. He paid and was given a pair of blue quilted oven mitts. “I’m going to slap that girl’s happy ass,” announced the man in line in front of him.

It was a long wait, in through a red door and around a series of small turns that led through a maze of plywood baffles painted black. Finally, Dune reached a small private room with a velvet curtain in it. Shandee was there—or part of her was. He couldn’t see her face or upper body because she was leaning forward through a hole in the curtain that went around her waist; only her legs and bottom and pussy hanky were visible.

Dune sat down and said to himself, Will anything ever look as good to me as this girl’s wineglass shape looks to me right now? Probably not.

“Shandee, baby,” he called quietly. “It’s me, Dune. How goes the search for your one-armed mystery man?”

Shandee’s voice came muffled from the other side of the curtain. “No luck yet,” she said. “Lila wants me out working on the midway while Dave sows his oats. She says I have to wait because Dave has a superlarge penis and he needs a little more time with it before he has to give it up.”

“Too bad for him, he’s missing out on you,” said Dune. “Have you been going with anyone else?”

There was a thoughtful silence, then Shandee said, “Ruzty’s paid a few calls.”

“That sweet smiley kid with the accent?”

Shandee sighed. “It’s embarrassing because whenever we finally get down to a little kissing, Dave’s arm starts thrashing in his bag like a bad puppy. I put him in a drawer, but he starts thumping to get out.”

“I can sympathize,” said Dune, lightly stroking the back of Shandee’s knee with his oven mitt. “You’re so damn pretty I can barely swallow my own spit. And I can only see the lower half of you.”

“That’s sweet. Have you been well?”

“Oh, I’m rattled and cranky and horny,” said Dune. “But I do have something that will be of interest to you.” He tucked a scrap of paper into one of Shandee’s boots. “It’s the number of Dave’s hotel room. Four thirty-four.”

“Wow, thanks, Dune.”

“And now, before my time runs out, I hope you’ll let me slap or spank your ass.”

“Sure, that’s what it’s for,” said Shandee. “But wear the mitts, and don’t spank too hard. Some guys spank me too hard.”

Dune blew on her ass and rested both his mitts on it for a moment. “Shandee, honey, I’ll spank you so soft you won’t even know it’s spanking, I’ll spank you real tender, and you’ll know it’s me, because I’m really just touching your ass with a man’s gentle touch and showing you how much respect I have for it.”

“That’s nice,” said Shandee.

“And can I kiss your ass, too? And worship it?”

“Yes, you can kiss and worship my ass.”

He bent close and kissed, closing his eyes, and then he whispered, “And can I pull out your hanky and stick one pinky finger in your pretty pussy? I know I’ll find true peace if I do.”

“If you do that with your pinky, Dune, they’ll cut it off,” said Shandee, putting her knees together. “Look up on the wall above you.”

Dune glanced at the long, bony row of dried fingers that were nailed there. Then he noticed a small blood-stained chopping block in the corner. It was not a pleasant sight.

“Damn savages,” said Dune. “It’s almost worth it, except I play guitar and keyboards. Can’t they make an exception for an old friend?”

Shandee shifted her weight fetchingly, considering. “Krock is a stickler,” she said finally, “but you’ve been so helpful, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Pull out the cloth of Ka-Chiang, and I’ll push some fresh juice from my cunny for you.”