What do you get for the man who already has what everybody else needs?
We met Serge back in Part One of this story, and we shall pick him up from there.
Please be gentle, it's 3am and I've still too much tequila in my system.
By the time Serge got to the showers somebody was already there, of course. He took off his soiled clothes and threw them into a red locker, which incinerated them immediately. Terry was in the bank of showers, working up a furious lather and singing Cantopop songs.
Terry is the current possessor of the Magical Sixties Penis. Serge tries not to stare when he walks across the cold, wet tiles, but it’s hard to miss. If you squint your eyes, you can see tiny daisies falling off of it and washing down the drain.
The Magical Sixties Penis has been described as both curse and blessing, by both owner and recipient of its...charms. You see, the Magical Sixties Penis is not an actual item so much as it is an abstract concept with teeth. Metaphorical teeth, of course. The Magical Sixties Penis is now, and forever shall be, as it transfers from one person to the next, gifting its properties to whomever it sees fit. Right now, that’s Terry, and he is grateful for it.
Being fucked by the Magical Sixties Penis is like the first time you had sex while on drugs. Not on a puff of weed, but on a whole bong worth, or ecstasy, or DMT, or acid. It’s all that sex can be, in more than three dimensions, in ways you didn’t know you could feel because there aren’t words for them, except when you’re stoned out of your gourd. The Magical Sixties Penis wants you to be happy, happier than you can be on your own. And, like Green Lantern’s ring, it seeks those without fear, those who will know best how to use it. For now, that person is Terry. And every woman or man he touches, they’re in ecstasy when he’s with them. There’s no harsh come-down afterwards, just a gradual drift back from Perfect Orgasm to Perfect Relaxation.
“Hey Terry,” Serge says as he grabs the nearest bar of soap. He smells it: jasmine. Figures.
“Serge, man, good job tonight, I was really very impressed, and the Emperor seemed to be a lot happier than usual, which is saying a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess he was. I couldn’t help but notice you having sex with a number of elderly ladies up in D Section, Terry. Don’t you ever get any rest?”
“It’s the old man’s birthday. How could I, in good conscience, tell those ladies no? Besides, they all needed it, that’s what the Penis told me. And they were very happy. One woman cried and told me that for those few minutes, she hadn’t missed her dead husband for the first time in thirteen years. Sometimes even I get touched by this power, man.”
“I can see why. How’s James holding up?” Serge asked, careful not to look at Terry when he spoke. James was the last man who had been blessed with the Penis.
“He’s doing pretty good, all things considered. Ever since the accident, he’s been a lot quieter than before, but he’s still happy. I swear, if I smile as much as him when the Penis finally leaves me, I’ll be okay,” Terry laughed, and began to delicately cleanse between his legs. Serge didn’t have the heart to tell him that some people thought that James smiled so much because he had gone mad without that divine pleasure giver, without the satisfaction he once gave to the women in need. Sure, he still got enough residual fucks to cripple a bull moose, but you could see it in his eyes sometimes; something was missing.
Serge finished his shower as quickly as he could, long before Terry, and grabbed a change of clothes from the communal rack. SINCLAIR OIL the shirt proudly proclaimed. He tucked it into a snug-fitting pair of acid-washed jeans and put his old shoes back on. He was supposed to use new ones after the ceremony but he’d gotten attached to this particular pair of Chucks. They’d been through a lot together and they had the epoxy to show it.
On his way out of the locker room, Serge was tempted to shout something to Terry. The shower had been turned off, so Serge knew he’d be heard. He wanted to say good luck to Terry, or shower the Emperor’s blessings upon him, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth. Only those who also served knew the emptiness that service could bring. He wanted to let Terry know that he understood, but the words stopped on his tongue.
As he made his way to the Tram, he realized he’d left his ID in the pants he’d incinerated. No ID, no ride, he thought, but the conductor had clearly been watching the show on his ‘Vision earlier in the night and let Serge onto the train with a knowing wink and an elbow in the ribs.
“It’s a living,” Serge thought to himself as he sat down for the long ride home. On the tram car’s ‘Vision, they were showing clips of the Emperor in his youth, interspersed with clips of the nights festivities. He waited for his favorite bit, the vid clip of when the Flames of Dominating Majesty first erupted from His Royal Highness’s hair, over fifty years ago. If you watched carefully, you could see a moth fly a little too close, becoming the first martyr to the Emperor’s Reign.
benjamin sTone
3:06 am, Urbana, Illinois
Current Music: "The Samurai in Autumn" - Pet Shop Boys
Last Book I Read a Page of: THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES - Nathaniel Hawthorne
Last Movie: CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS (Doc., US, 2003)
Next Movie: ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND (US, 2004)
Please be gentle, it's 3am and I've still too much tequila in my system.
By the time Serge got to the showers somebody was already there, of course. He took off his soiled clothes and threw them into a red locker, which incinerated them immediately. Terry was in the bank of showers, working up a furious lather and singing Cantopop songs.
Terry is the current possessor of the Magical Sixties Penis. Serge tries not to stare when he walks across the cold, wet tiles, but it’s hard to miss. If you squint your eyes, you can see tiny daisies falling off of it and washing down the drain.
The Magical Sixties Penis has been described as both curse and blessing, by both owner and recipient of its...charms. You see, the Magical Sixties Penis is not an actual item so much as it is an abstract concept with teeth. Metaphorical teeth, of course. The Magical Sixties Penis is now, and forever shall be, as it transfers from one person to the next, gifting its properties to whomever it sees fit. Right now, that’s Terry, and he is grateful for it.
Being fucked by the Magical Sixties Penis is like the first time you had sex while on drugs. Not on a puff of weed, but on a whole bong worth, or ecstasy, or DMT, or acid. It’s all that sex can be, in more than three dimensions, in ways you didn’t know you could feel because there aren’t words for them, except when you’re stoned out of your gourd. The Magical Sixties Penis wants you to be happy, happier than you can be on your own. And, like Green Lantern’s ring, it seeks those without fear, those who will know best how to use it. For now, that person is Terry. And every woman or man he touches, they’re in ecstasy when he’s with them. There’s no harsh come-down afterwards, just a gradual drift back from Perfect Orgasm to Perfect Relaxation.
“Hey Terry,” Serge says as he grabs the nearest bar of soap. He smells it: jasmine. Figures.
“Serge, man, good job tonight, I was really very impressed, and the Emperor seemed to be a lot happier than usual, which is saying a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess he was. I couldn’t help but notice you having sex with a number of elderly ladies up in D Section, Terry. Don’t you ever get any rest?”
“It’s the old man’s birthday. How could I, in good conscience, tell those ladies no? Besides, they all needed it, that’s what the Penis told me. And they were very happy. One woman cried and told me that for those few minutes, she hadn’t missed her dead husband for the first time in thirteen years. Sometimes even I get touched by this power, man.”
“I can see why. How’s James holding up?” Serge asked, careful not to look at Terry when he spoke. James was the last man who had been blessed with the Penis.
“He’s doing pretty good, all things considered. Ever since the accident, he’s been a lot quieter than before, but he’s still happy. I swear, if I smile as much as him when the Penis finally leaves me, I’ll be okay,” Terry laughed, and began to delicately cleanse between his legs. Serge didn’t have the heart to tell him that some people thought that James smiled so much because he had gone mad without that divine pleasure giver, without the satisfaction he once gave to the women in need. Sure, he still got enough residual fucks to cripple a bull moose, but you could see it in his eyes sometimes; something was missing.
Serge finished his shower as quickly as he could, long before Terry, and grabbed a change of clothes from the communal rack. SINCLAIR OIL the shirt proudly proclaimed. He tucked it into a snug-fitting pair of acid-washed jeans and put his old shoes back on. He was supposed to use new ones after the ceremony but he’d gotten attached to this particular pair of Chucks. They’d been through a lot together and they had the epoxy to show it.
On his way out of the locker room, Serge was tempted to shout something to Terry. The shower had been turned off, so Serge knew he’d be heard. He wanted to say good luck to Terry, or shower the Emperor’s blessings upon him, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth. Only those who also served knew the emptiness that service could bring. He wanted to let Terry know that he understood, but the words stopped on his tongue.
As he made his way to the Tram, he realized he’d left his ID in the pants he’d incinerated. No ID, no ride, he thought, but the conductor had clearly been watching the show on his ‘Vision earlier in the night and let Serge onto the train with a knowing wink and an elbow in the ribs.
“It’s a living,” Serge thought to himself as he sat down for the long ride home. On the tram car’s ‘Vision, they were showing clips of the Emperor in his youth, interspersed with clips of the nights festivities. He waited for his favorite bit, the vid clip of when the Flames of Dominating Majesty first erupted from His Royal Highness’s hair, over fifty years ago. If you watched carefully, you could see a moth fly a little too close, becoming the first martyr to the Emperor’s Reign.
benjamin sTone
3:06 am, Urbana, Illinois
Current Music: "The Samurai in Autumn" - Pet Shop Boys
Last Book I Read a Page of: THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES - Nathaniel Hawthorne
Last Movie: CAPTURING THE FRIEDMANS (Doc., US, 2003)
Next Movie: ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND (US, 2004)