A Thousand Nights and Then One Night

Nick opened his eyes. He had been in isolation for too long, darkness punctuated by a blinding glare when the door was open for a moment and the bowl of gruel delivered. He had been keeping to a routine, defecating in a far corner of the room, sleeping on the clean, dry mat in the other. He had been reciting. Pieces from The Story of the Eye by Georges Bataille that he had memorised, a scene from The She-devils by Pierre Louÿs. He thought of Holly often. He had kept a count of the days, as accurately as he could; the isolation cell made it difficult. Was it the morning meal, or night? He had lost a few days here or there, but in general he knew that it had been over two and a half years since his imprisonment, give or take a month.

He wondered if Holly had cut her hair.

He woke thinking of Holly. He put his hand to the slow rise of his penis. He wanted her right now, but anyone would do. He wanted sex in a way that was particularly insistent. It was an oddly familiar feeling. He shaded his eyes with his other hand as he stroked himself. The light was blinding. He wished someone would turn it off. It was the sun. He realised this suddenly and it was a startling enough revelation to give him pause in his furtive activity. The light was the sun and the arousal he was experiencing seemed so familiar because he had felt it before, lying in the accumulator beside Holly.

Orgone. He could smell it. A bright scent of burning like a condom rubbed so hard that it had started to smoulder.

He stood, steadying himself on the stone wall with his fingertips. He moved towards the door, which was suspiciously ajar. He leaned against it and it creaked open.

Outside the grit of sand blew on a hot breeze. His guard was covered in it, but in nothing else. He lay naked, and the creature in his arms bleated but seemed, surprisingly, far from distressed. The goat’s pink erection protruded from between his shivery thighs. His little eyes tipped up towards the cloudless sky. The animal shifted back into the lap of the guard, who pressed his hips fervently forward.

Nick stared at the odd sight, a man copulating with a goat, unselfconscious, pink with desire. He knew Holly was behind this. He staggered past them, past the other men dressed in scraps of American military uniforms, past the civilians dressed in galabias and shorts and skirts, each in various states of undress, each locked in a carnal embrace. He had lost strength but he hobbled out of the compound, through the streets of the tiny, copulating town. Orgone was everywhere. Somehow Holly was responsible, finally, for his escape.

The aircraft was painted a military grey. The pilot was sitting at the controls, squeezing his penis, whimpering. Nick looked at the thick stick poking out from the man’s fly. He licked his lips. He wanted nothing more than to fall hungrily into the man’s lap. He resisted.

‘I will suck you,’ he said, and the pilot nodded, shuddering.

‘I will suck you as you fly. Will you do that? Fly the plane while I swallow?’

The man nodded. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘please, do it now.’

Nick clambered up into the co-pilot’s seat, touched the man’s thigh. ‘Take us up and I’ll take you right into my throat.’

‘OK,’ said the pilot and he punched buttons on his console.

‘To Australia. Brisbane, Australia. Can you get me there?’

Nick had no idea where they’d taken him. He had been drugged, blindfolded, chained in the back of a plane.

‘Of course,’ said the pilot, ‘but we will have to stop for fuel.’

‘All right,’ said Nick, ‘I will suck you for the whole journey. I’ll drink your come better than anyone has ever done before.’

‘Oh god,’ said the pilot, starting the engines, ‘oh god, do it now.’

‘When we have altitude, then I’ll go down on you and I’ll stay down.’

Nick’s cock was straining in his own dirty trousers. He was breathing in pure orgone. The world was suddenly filled with it. It made him light-headed, but he was used to resisting the inexorable pull of pure orgone. He had practised resisting Holly’s energy. He pressed his erection down. It was exquisitely painful. It would continue to be so till he found the source of the orgone spill.

She’s done it, he thought, Holly has done it. She’s trapped so much orgone it has changed the very fabric of the world.

‘Take me to Australia,’ said Nick hoarsely, and when they had reached a proper cruising altitude he went, greedily, down.

Nick found Holly standing in the wild garden outside the telephone booth. She had not been hard to find. He stepped into an abandoned car, the keys still swinging in the ignition, the driver’s seat slicked in vaginal juices. He indicated unnecessarily, drove on the wrong side of the road for a block before realising that in Australia they do things differently. It didn’t matter. The streets were littered with abandoned cars. He followed the pulse of light through streets. The smell intensified as he inched past naked, writhing bodies.

Nick found Holly. Above her pulsed three spectral lights. The lights were orange and seemed to hover in clouds that glowed as brightly as Holly’s vulva. Nick recognised her immediately. It was Holly, but not exactly the Holly he remembered. This woman, standing naked, proud, tall, was a vision. Her skin seemed translucent. He was treated to more than her nakedness. Under her skin there was a pulse, a blue glow like a heartbeat; from her mouth came a noise that seemed to transcend sound. All the bodies in the street were copulating to the rhythm of it. She was surrounded by a group of men and women. Each was holding an open book and there were words, sex words, dripping from their mouths. And yet, together like this, reading in a chorus, it was a sound like hymns rising to the tallest spires of a church. A litany of sex.

There was sex everywhere. Wherever he looked there was a fuck happening, people rutting on top of parked cars, cunnilingus in the gutter, fellatio up against telephone poles. A bitch and a dog joined in a painful embrace, arse to arse. A man with his cock visibly inserted into the neck of a bottle, the member bright red like his face, the tip of it squirting great globules of ejaculate into the vessel while another man, still half-dressed in a policeman’s light blue shirt, pounded his prick into the man’s exposed behind. Everywhere another body writhing in a pained and exquisite ecstasy, everywhere a spattering of come and juice.

He remembered the night she helped him recreate The 120 Days of Sodom. Here, now, was something de Sade would have been proud of, and at the hub of all this fuck was Holly herself.

Holly. His love. But more than the warm body he used to embrace, here was a different Holly, a glowing creature of astounding beauty. There was an older woman kneeling at her feet, her mouth locked to her cunt as if they were conjoined, this woman’s fist was buried to her elbow in Holly’s vagina, pistoning back and forth in a way that must, surely, be bruising her womb. Nick stepped carefully over a couple locked in a carnal embrace. His shoe slipped on a puddle of pearly white, he looked down to see a man tugging at his own cock convulse as a jet of semen slapped against the leg of his trousers. Nick’s shaft had been emptied a dozen times on the flight to Australia and still he felt it swell painfully, tenting his crotch.

Above him in the sky the three orange craft, for they were indeed craft of some sort, began to chant in harmony to Holly’s music. He remembered the sound of Buddhist monks he had once heard, a sound that was at once discordant and yet harmonious. This was a tune that surpassed that sound and yet was reminiscent of it. He stared up into the orange light and watched as their hard metal carapaces began to crack. A note was reached, a perfect, pure pitch. The sides of the spacecraft slid open.

Within was a wondrous vision of flesh and mucus, three gigantic vulvas, their lips trembling, juices beginning to drip, slick and glowing blue down onto the revellers below. Each drip that plummeted to earth caused the ground to shake, the earth to rupture. The revellers beneath faltered in the midst of their fuck and toppled into the earth.

Nick unzipped his pants and stepped out of them, picked his way across the crazy paving of limbs, genitals, open mouths. Someone rose up from the pile of bodies and slipped his lips onto Nick’s cock and he paused for a moment to enjoy the sucking sensation before pushing the fellow roughly onto the tit of a woman. Nick stepped, his cock hard and throbbing, towards the true centre of his life.

Holly’s eyes focused on him and he tripped clumsily towards her. He saw the tears travel easily across her cheeks, heard the crack of thunder and a bright flash of lightning break the darkness of the sky.

He found her breasts first, then her mouth. His cock pressed into the back of the kneeling woman’s head. He rubbed himself against her short-cropped hair. He kissed till there was no breath, and disengaged to gasp at the hot, heady air of the sex-filled street.

Nick looked up at the glowing sky. ‘He was right,’ he rasped, breathless, ‘Dr Reich. Those are alien craft.’

‘It’s OK,’ Holly said. Her voice raked at his skin. She made words, at the same time still singing, a weird quartet in an unknown key, with the dripping sexes above her. She was pure fuck. He wanted to find his end in her.

He stepped around her, behind her, into her. Her buttocks were like butter. He could feel the woman’s fist pounding against his cock through the thin membrane of Holly’s body. He reached around to hold her breasts. His hands squeezed them roughly. It was impossible to be gentle. The pulse of her energy seemed to demand this kind of gorgeous violence. He felt her breasts swell beneath the pounding of his fingers, a jet of liquid spurting out of the great round globes. He looked over Holly’s shoulder and saw the electric-blue sparks shooting from her nipples and falling onto the backs of the revellers where they settled into radiant white-blue puddles.

‘It’s all right,’ said Holly, her voice crackling like an exposed electric cable. ‘We figured out how to direct the energy. Now everything is as it should be.’

Around them he could hear the phrases spill from the mouths of the readers, who managed to keep their voices steady as they held their books in one hand and frigged each other at the same time. He heard the voice of de Sade, of Nin, of Boccaccio, Sacher-Masoch, Anon, Anon, Anon, Anon…

‘Oh god,’ Nick groaned, ‘I’m going to split in half. I’ll die.’

‘I know,’ said Holly, calmly. ‘This is how it is supposed to end. Beautiful, isn’t it? Come inside me, Nick.’ She rested her hands on the head between her thighs, ‘Mandy. It is time. Come with me now.’

He felt Mandy’s hand begin to slip though Holly’s flesh. Her fingers surrounded his thick pulsing shaft. She took hold of him as if Holly was insubstantial, nothing more than smoke. The three space-cunts began to spray like taps turned on full. The ground around them began to dissolve. The people thinned out, their flesh became amorphous.

Nick felt himself falling forward as if Holly had liquefied and his ejaculation exploded through the phantom spectre of his love. His come hit his own cheeks with the force of tears. His cock pulsed, Mandy’s hand pulsed, the writhing bodies all around them pulsed. The world was the contraction of his balls, its death the expiration of his seed, his come dissolving into space like a galaxy being born. The force was cataclysmic. A shout like the beginning of things, and when the final echo of the climax was resolved there was not a thing but silence where it all had been. A silence so beautiful that nothing in the clutter of the past or in the wonderful peaceful emptiness of the future could ever be as perfect as this moment, this little death.

Now.