Mission Earth Volume 3: The Enemy Within

  The tune she hummed was phasing over into moans!

  Left, right, my own body was jerking back and forth in time to those grinding hips and flying torches.

  Then suddenly she stood still. She was shuddering. A torch was in each hand now. She was crying out faintly.

  She was having an orgasm!

  The two torches, one in each of her hands, held level, began to approach each other.

  Suddenly the flame heads ground together!

  She screamed in ecstasy!

  Then she sank abruptly down, cross-legged. At the same moment she dropped the torches into the bucket where they hissed and steamed.

  She seemed dejected.

  Her fingers fumbled out and she found her cura irizva.

  She struck a plaintive, quavering chord.

  Her eyes came up and fixed themselves on me. There were tears in them!

  The indefinite oriental music began to flow sadly from her fingers. In a voice that was a dirge of sorrow, she sang:

  You have no need of me,

  You beautiful man.

  You do not want my arms.

  You do not wish to feel

  The entwine of my legs.

  You have no need

  Of pressures from my breasts.

  You do not need

  My hands with their caress.

  You do not crave

  To flood me

  With your juice.

  But OH, you brutal male,

  If ONLY that you DID!

  As her crying words died away in the hall, I was totally beyond the ability to react.

  I sank back. I whispered, “Oh, Utanc, have pity on me. I do want you. I will die, Utanc, unless I have you.”

  There was a tiny sound beside me.

  A hand was lightly caressing my cheek. The softest whisper floating in a haze of perfume, “Lie quietly, darling.”

  There was the click of a light switch. Then the sound of the lamps being capped.

  It was totally dark.

  Another stir beside me. A delicate hand on my chest. Lips, full and soft and moist against my cheek–a delicate kiss.

  I reached up to grasp her jacket to pull it off.

  “No, no,” she whispered. “I am much too modest to be seen undressed by a man in the dark.”

  She pressed my arm back against my side. She kissed my throat. “This is all for you. Do not think of me. Think only of yourself. Tonight is yours.”

  She was removing my turban in the dark. Then she kissed my eyes.

  She removed the caftan from me and then she kissed my chest.

  She pulled off my boots and kissed my feet.

  Then she gently undid my belt and slowly began to pull off my pants, her lips kissing lower and lower as the flesh was bared.

  Lightly she began to caress my shoulders and arms with her fingertips. She took my ear lobe between her teeth in a gentle way. Then her tongue sought the entrance of my ear.

  Quivers of pleasure began to go through me. I once more sought to reach her with my hands and pull her garments away.

  “No, no,” she whispered. “There is no need for me to undress. I am too shy. This is your night and your pleasure.”

  She kissed me on the mouth!

  I felt like I would faint with pleasure!

  Her tongue pried my lips apart and sought the inmost reaches of my mouth.

  She sucked my willing tongue out and her lips drew upon it and her teeth lightly held it.

  I was going into a daze of pleasure.

  Her hands were stroking me, touching spots in my body I had never suspected had any pleasure in them. I began to breathe heavily.

  She stroked my breast. “Darling, darling,” she was whispering. And then, “The mouth is everything.”

  She kissed down my throat. She kissed down my chest. She kissed down my stomach. She kissed down my thighs.

  Suddenly all the blackness around me was a vortex, pulling me in as though I were being swirled right down, helpless with sensuous pleasure.

  I floated suspended in joy amongst the stars.

  White lightning seemed to flash across the whole universe.

  I lay in an utter daze. I had never felt such a thing before. Lights were spinning in the utter blackness of the room.

  My heart was pounding so hard I felt my chest was going to explode.

  We lay quietly in the velvet dark.

  I could feel the spent relaxedness of her.

  Time passed.

  Then her hands upon my cheeks. She stroked them. “That was very good,” she whispered.

  Weakly, with one hand, I sought to pluck at her breast. Gently she steered my hand away. “This is all for you,” she said. “The mouth is everything.” She kissed me. “Everything,” she said. She kissed me more passionately. “The mouth is everything,” she moaned. “Oh, darling, lie still. This is all for you. Just spread out your arms and legs and enjoy it.”

  Her tongue was stroking my lips. Then her whole mouth was cupping and stroking my lips. Then her mouth and tongue and hands were once more finding secret places in my body.

  My passion began to stir anew.

  Her hands suddenly caught my hair on either side of my head. She was gripping my head passionately. I could feel her eyes like black coals in the dark as she looked at me.

  “Oh, darling,” she said with choked passion. “The mouth is EVERYTHING!” She kissed me. She drew back. “It is many hours until dawn.”

  And her mouth once more began its journey down my body to culmination in sublime ecstasy. It seemed to me that never before in my life had I ever had sex. And not like this! But it was beyond anything I had ever dreamed for or of. Nothing, absolutely nothing in Heavens or on Earth had felt that good before!

  PART TWENTY

  Chapter 8

  When I awoke it was well into the afternoon.

  I showered, something new for me. I put on clean clothes. Something new for me. I smiled at Melahat Hanim. Something new for me. She was helping the waiter serve me breakfast.

  The whole world smelled good, looked bright. Something very new for me.

  “Where is my darling Utanc?” I said.

  Melahat said, “When the car was delivered, she and Karagoz went off to get her driver’s license.”

  Of course, that was easy. I had given her the proper identification and birth certificate of an actual baby girl that, had it not unreportedly died, would have been about Utanc’s age by now. But Karagoz would have to teach her quite a bit before she could pass any driving test.

  I went out to the cool patio and sat in a chair. One of the small boys came tearing out of Utanc’s room without any clothes on, spun about and vanished. He returned with pants on and tried to sneak by me. It was too narrow a gap. I tousled his head and smiled at him. He gaped back.

  I reached in my pocket and got a coin. I gave it to him. He stared at it suspiciously.

  I reached into my pocket and gave him a ten-lira note. He took it and looked at it in amazement.

  I reached in my pocket and gave him a hundred-lira note, almost a US dollar. “Just tell Utanc, when next you see her,” I said, “that the moon and sun together are dim compared to her.”

  He didn’t know what to make of it. He went off muttering the phrase so he could remember it. Suddenly he was back. “Sultan Bey,” he said, “can we eat all the grapes we want?”

  I smiled indulgently. “Of course.”

  A little while later, there was a roar of an approaching car. I got up and looked out toward the gate.

  A vehicle shot in, braked with a squeal of tires and slid exactly into the parking place.

  It was a white BMW road-rally car. A sedan with a low profile and a big trunk. Plastic no-see-through glass covers had been put over the inside of the windscreen and windows. You couldn’t see who was in it.

  Utanc got out on the driver’s side. She was garbed in a white cloak with a peaked hood, and veiled, and all that was visible of her were her sloe-black eyes
and even these were shadowed by the hood.

  Daintily and modestly, she crept across the yard and when I would have stopped her, turned her body and slid past me, eyes downcast, and was into her room.

  I was in a state of alarm at once! Had I done something to offend her?

  Karagoz was getting out. He had some bundles. A small boy grabbed them and sped to Utanc’s room. The door slammed behind him.

  I went over to Karagoz in alarm. “Is the car all right?”

  Karagoz said, “It’s fine. They had one all ready to deliver to a rich official and, for a premium, they sent it right over this morning as soon as I relayed your note. Drives great. Awful (bleeped) fast, though.”

  “Did she like it?”

  “Oh, yes! Drooled over it.”

  “And when does she get her driver’s test and all?”

  “Oh, we got the license. I only had to show her a few things the salesman showed me. Then I showed her how to steer and so on. In about ten minutes she had it. The test man said she was the best driver he’d seen for some time. Mysterious.”

  “Well, of course, anyone expert at driving camels would have no trouble learning to drive a road-rally, stick shift car,” I said.

  “That’s true,” said Karagoz.

  “Then what’s she upset about!” I demanded.

  He thought and thought. Then he said, “In the store where they sell cassettes, she wanted some Tchaikovsky—he’s some composer or other—and some piece called ‘The Overture of 1812’—she said she wanted the one with real cannons in it—and they didn’t have either one and said they’d have to send to Istanbul for it. But she really wasn’t upset. She just told them she’d take the Beatles that they did have and they could order the rest.” He thought a while longer. “Oh, yes. She said the high-frequency band was missing on the audio cassette deck they tried to sell her and that they better get some decent hi-fi equipment in if they wanted her for a customer.

  “But actually, she was very sweet about it. She’s very shy and not forward at all. You can tell from her accent she’s been raised amongst the wild nomads of Russia. Really, she’s the most mannerly and demure person I ever met. Except, of course, when she gets behind the wheel of that car!”

  So I had no slightest clue of how I had upset her.

  The day dimmed for me.

  I could hear some laughter coming from her private garden, her own throaty amusement and the high-pitched little squeals from the two small boys. So she wasn’t mad at them. She had drooled over the car. She had not been mad at the merchants. She had gotten her driver’s license. She was not upset with Karagoz. There was only one conclusion I could reach.

  She was mad at me.

  I stared for hours unseeingly into a discarded pile of shriveled grass.

  I knew I could not live without Utanc.

  PART TWENTY

  Chapter 9

  Now and then in a lifetime, somebody catches a glimpse of Heavens and then promptly plunges into Hells. And that was what was about to happen to me.

  That night, there was no messenger from Utanc. I fretted away the hours fruitlessly.

  In the morning, red-eyed and bushy-haired from lack of sleep and worry, I thought that if I could just speak to her and ask her what was wrong, it would all come out all right. At least I would know.

  Accordingly, realizing it would be fruitless to knock and fearing to just get the door slammed in my face, I conceived a cunning plan. I would lie in wait in the patio and when somebody came in or out, I would be able to go in and quietly put my question to her.

  Looking back on it now, it still seems sensible. Yet it was rash beyond belief.

  I took a position behind a high-backed wicker chair just outside her door. The tall and curving weave of the chair hid me rather effectively, yet, kneeling there, I could peer out and keep an eye on her door.

  Faintly, from within, I could hear water running and then splashes.

  After a bit, suddenly the inner bar of the door was being lifted!

  The door opened!

  One of the small boys, stark naked, came out of the door!

  He stopped!

  He yelled, “Melahat!”

  From within came Utanc’s voice, musically calling to him, “Ask her for a back brush, too!”

  The small boy dashed through the patio and out into the yard, shouting, “Melahat! We need some towels!”

  My chance! He had left her bedroom door ajar!

  Out I came from behind the wicker chair.

  I tiptoed into the room, taking great care not to make a sudden noise and frighten her.

  Water splashing was coming from the bathroom. Its door was wide open.

  Silently, I crept forward. If only I could say a word or two and see her smile back, I knew everything would be all right.

  Then, there she was!

  She was lying in the tub! The bubble bath was white froth clear up to her chin. Only her head and the tips of her fingers were showing. Her hair was tied high upon her head to keep it out of the water. She was in profile to me. Her eyes were upon her hands and a bar of soap she was lathering.

  I had passed by a low table. A small book was on it. My trousers must have brushed against it. It fell and made a small sound.

  Utanc must have heard it but she did not look in my direction. She said, “Did you get the back brush?”

  The sound of her voice sent a shiver of delight through me. How utterly sweet she looked, just her head and hands above the bubble froth.

  The sound of her voice and sight of her in her bath was making it almost impossible to speak. My love for her welled up. I fought for control of my vocal cords. “Utanc . . .”

  Her head whipped round toward me. She opened her mouth in shock. She turned bright red!

  I took a step forward to reassure her, trying to find my voice.

  She cowered back, trying to shrink into the bubbles. Suddenly she screamed, “Don’t kill me!”

  I recoiled!

  I gazed in horror at how I had frightened her.

  I backed up out of the bathroom!

  Another voice! “Don’t kill her!” It was the second small boy. He, too, was stark naked. He was standing by a dressing table that was covered with open boxes.

  Suddenly he exploded into action!

  With all his might he threw a powder puff!

  “Don’t you dare kill her!” he screamed.

  He found another powder puff on the dresser. He pitched it as hard as he could throw!

  The powder trailed through the air!

  The puff hit my pants in a white explosion!

  “Don’t kill Utanc!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

  He was scrambling through the boxes to find another powder puff.

  I got out of the room.

  I went across the patio, totally confused.

  The first small boy was racing back across the yard. He had dropped the towels and they were strewn behind him.

  He was carrying something—a long-handled back brush.

  Screams were still coming from the bedroom behind me.

  The first small boy rushed at me from the yard, blocking my way. “Don’t you dare kill Utanc!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  He struck at me with the bath brush!

  He wasn’t very big. The brush could not reach higher than my arm. But he wielded it with all his might.

  I had had enough!

  It was his fault anyway! He had left the door open!

  I cocked my right fist.

  With everything behind it, I hit him in the face!

  He flew backwards about fifteen feet!

  He landed with a crumpled thud!

  Staff had come pouring out of other buildings, probably at the first screams.

  They saw the boy land.

  They saw me in the patio door.

  They stopped.

  They made a ring of people twenty feet back from where the boy lay.

  He was twitching, lying on
his side, his eyes shut, blood gushing from his nose.

  The staff did not come forward to him. They knew better.

  The boy’s own mother started ahead toward him. Then her arm was caught by Karagoz and she halted.

  The Turks were wringing their hands. They did not know what to do. But they knew me.

  One by one they knelt and, slowly, moaning, they began to pound their heads against the grass of the lawn.

  I stood there, glaring at the scene.

  There was a sound behind me.

  Something slipped past me.

  It was Utanc.

  She didn’t look at me. She didn’t stop to soothe me.

  She went out onto the lawn. She was covered with a white hooded cloak and she was veiled. Her feet were bare and had left a trail of water on the flagstones.

  She went straight to the small boy.

  She said, “Oh, you poor little boy. You were trying to protect me.”

  She felt for his pulse. She looked at his limbs.

  Then she picked him up and carried him toward me. Then past me. Her eyes did not even flick at me.

  She took the small boy into her room.

  She closed the door.

  The staff melted away.

  I did not know what to do. I was in a spinning confusion. I could not add it all up.

  I went to a corner of the yard that was very dark and sat down under some bushes. I was sort of numb, like you feel when you are going over a cliff and are only halfway down.

  After a while a bearded old doctor from the town drove up. Karagoz showed him the way to Utanc’s room.

  The doctor was in there a very long time.

  Finally he came out.

  I was instantly in front of him. I said, “How is Utanc?”

  He looked at me. “Is that the boy’s name? Odd name for a boy.”

  “No, no,” I said. “Not the boy. The woman! How is she?”

  “Ah, she is very upset. You see, the boy had, she says, a very pretty face. His nose is broken and his cheekbone is pushed in. She offered me real money to repair it.”

  I saw what it was all about now. She had some weird female concern for aesthetics. “Well! Can you? Can you?”

  He hesitated. Then, “The nose, somewhat. But the cheekbone . . .”

  “Fly him to Istanbul!”

  He shook his head. “No reason to do that. They can’t do any more than I did, no matter their fancy equipment.”