23

The fourth cavern was enormous. It contained a village of prefabricated huts with bright lights on the end of tall stone pillars illuminating the lower part of the cave. The huts were provided with lighting, heaters, hot and cold running water, liquor, tobacco, and furniture.

Although I had learned much when I was the Speaker and had been in twenty caverns, I did not know where the supplies came from or where the water was pumped or the electrical generators were housed. Nor did I know what entrance the Nine used.

Caliban and I were marched into the central square of the village and dismissed. He went into the house marked with a card bearing his name: I went into the house prepared for me. Here I shaved, showered, and then ate a meal cooked by a famous Parisian chef. I wanted to gorge myself but I ate relatively little. I did not care to have a heavy bloated stomach when I went through the ceremony in the

Council Cave of the Nine.

The woman who served me was a big titian-haired Dane with the greenest eyes and the softest thickest reddest pubic hairs I have ever seen. She was only an inch shorter than I and truly had the figure of a goddess. I knew her well, since she often came to the caves at the same time as I.

After I had eaten, I lay down on the bed. She lay down beside me and began to kiss me. I responded fervently and stroked and cupped her great shapely breasts, and gently rubbed the huge nipples. We went through the usual preludes of uninhibited and experienced couples, but when my penis failed to respond in the slightest to her skilled sucking, she stopped. She looked puzzled and hurt.

She said, “You must have been through something terrible.”

“Nothing to talk about,” I said.

“Nothing to talk about! That means nothing to you?”

I was silent. She said, “I heard about you and Caliban on the bridge.” She shuddered. And then, surprisingly, she laughed.

“Cocks crossed,” she said. “What is the matter with you two?”

“I wish I knew what is the matter with me,” I said. “Is there something wrong with Caliban, too?”

“Aside from you, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. But he has that horsecock. He can only get it into very large women, you know.”

That did not seem likely to me. I was a doctor and I had also read much in medical pathology. I had never heard of a single authenticated case of a man with a penis so large that he could not get it into a normally sized woman, provided that there was lubrication and the woman was not frightened and endowed with a powerful sphincter. I told the Countess Clara Aakjaer so.

She said, “You may be right. I told him to try me once, I thought I could take him. I was eager to try, but he said no, he knew it was no use. He wanted me to suck him off instead. I refused. I love to suck cock but only if it leads up to getting fucked. I’m funny that way.

“Anyway, I know that he has had a long love affair with his cousin, Trish Wilde.”

“She’s one of us?”

“Yes. She’s an extraordinarily beautiful girl. She has his bronze coloring and even looks like a female

Doc Caliban. But they never came here together. I just happened to be here once when she was. I knew her name but I didn’t connect her with Doc until I happened to run into her when I was visiting New

York. She took me up to Doc’s apartments in the Empire State Building, and we had dinner together. We couldn’t talk about our common interest in the Nine, of course, because his other guests were outsiders.

But afterwards we had a long talk. Trish, by the way, warned me to stay away from him. Outside the caves, he’s hers, she says.

“But she was very frank. She said Doc could get into her but only with a lot of pain for her and she usually sucked him off. The worst of it is, Doc has great moral resistance to fellatio.”

“What?” I said.

“He was given a peculiar training from the age of two on,” she said. “It made him the greatest athlete and strongest man in the world—with the exception of yourself, of course. I don’t suppose he would have gotten to that state if he hadn’t had the physical foundation for it, he’s got the biggest bones of any man I ever saw—except you, of course.

“He also was educated in the physical sciences and he became not only the greatest surgeon—under a different name by the way—but an extraordinary chemist, physicist, anthropologist, linguist, you name it.

The man is disgustingly knowledgeable.

“His father raised him to be a superman, the primary purpose of which was to do good and combat evil.”

“Sounds like a super Boy Scout,” I said.

“In a way, you’re right. His father hated evil with a passion you might call psychotic. His father was killed by criminals, you know.”

“I didn’t,” I said.

“Yes. Anyway, Doc was given a rigid moral training, and for a while he was thinking of becoming a minister. Would you believe that he had no sexual experience with a woman until he was twenty-seven?”

“With a woman?” I said.

“I mean he didn’t even masturbate. He suppressed his sexual feelings. He prides himself on his, selfcontrol above everything, you know. He never brags about it, of course, he never brags about anything.

Not bragging is part of the self-control bit. But you can tell he’s proud. I suppose that he may have been inhibited by the very size of his whang; it may have embarrassed him. This reinforced his moral reasons and ability to do without women. He told his colleagues, Rivers, Simmons, and the other three—I forget their names—that he was too busy to get involved with women. Besides, he didn’t want to endanger them.”

“They didn’t accept all of that,” I said.

“When Doc was twenty-seven, and was busting up a drug-smuggling ring in Los Angeles, he was captured. A woman, a member of the gang, the leader’s moll in fact, slipped him a drug and he was tied up and carried off to a house up Topanga Canyon, I think Trish called it. Anyway, while the other gang members were gone, the woman—Big-Eyes Llewellyn, that was her name—raped Doc. She not only fucked him a number of times, she sucked his balls off.”

“There was one woman who could get that bazooka in,” I said.

“Yes, but Doc told Trish that she was a freak. Anyway, Doc tried not to respond but he failed hopelessly, abysmally. He found out what he was missing. The discovery did not delight him, it enraged him. He broke his bonds and killed the woman and escaped.”

“He had to kill her?” I said.

“No. That was what sent Doc into the first sickness of his life. He almost went insane after that; his conscience almost killed him. He had lost self-control, and committed two evil acts, for the first time and in rapid succession. First, the woman had made him lose his self-control by fucking him and then sucking him off. Second, his reaction to this resulted in another loss of self-control, and he had killed the woman as you would kill a chicken, by wringing the neck until the head came off. He confessed to Trish, a few years later when he met her, that he had an orgasm when the blood jetted out of her neck. It splashed all over him and the room.

“He became very depressed and even suicidal for a year. He told no one what had happened. As far as his buddies were concerned, he had retired from society for a year to meditate and experiment. He went up to the Arctic Circle, somewhere in Canada, where he has a hideaway and stayed there for a long time.

Then he came back with the intention of throwing himself into the battle against evil with a terrible fury.

He would try to make up for what he had done by ridding the world of more evil.

“It was then that he met his cousin. Apparently, their fathers had not seen each other since they were teenagers. Trish’s father had migrated from England to Canada and lost contact with the family. Doc’s father also came from England but much later. It was only by accident that they met and then found out they were related.