“let’s make it,” I said, “you’ve got 40 bucks. where’s this immortal FUCK MACHINE?”
Tony lifted a partition of the bar, said, “come through here. take the stairway to the back rear. just go up there, knock, say, ‘Tony sent us’.”
“any door #?”
“door #69.”
“oh, hell yes,” I said, “what else?”
“oh hell yes,” said Tony. “get your balls.”
we found the stairway. walked up. “Tony will do anything for a gag,” I said.
we walked along. there it was: door #69.
I knocked: “Tony sent us.”
“ah, do come in, gentlemen!”
here was this old horny-looking freak, glass of schnapps in his hand, double-lensed glasses. just like the old-time movies. he appeared to be having a visitor, a young thing, almost too young, looking flimsy and strong at the same time.
she crossed her legs, flashing all the bit: nylon knees, nylon thighs, and just that tiny part there where the long stockings ended and just that touch of flesh began. she was all ass and breast, nylon legs, cleanblue laughing eyes.…
“gentlemen, — my daughter, Tanya …”
“what?”
“ah, yes, I know, I am so … old … but like the myth of the black man with the ever-huge cock, there is also the myth of dirty old Germans who never stop fucking. you may believe what you wish to. this is my daughter, Tanya, anyhow . ..”
“hello, boys,” she laughed.
then we all looked toward the door which was labeled: FUCK MACHINE STORAGE ROOM.
he finished off his schnapps.
“and so … you boys came over for the best FUCK ever, ya?”
“Daddy!” said Tanya, “must you always be so crude?”
Tanya recrossed her legs, higher this time, and I almost came.
then the professor finished another schnapps, then got up and walked over to the door labeled FUCK MACHINE STORAGE ROOM. he turned and smiled at us, then very slowly opened the door. he walked on in and came out rolling this thing on what looked like a hospital bed on wheels.
it was NAKED, a clod of metal.
the prof rolled the damn thing right out in front of us, then began humming some rotten song, probably something from the German.
a clod of metal with this hole in the center. the professor had an oil can in his hand, poked it into the hole and began punching in quite a quantity of this oil. meanwhile humming this insane German song.
he kept punching the oil in, then looked back over his shoulder and said, “nice, ya?” then he went back to work, pumping in the oil.
Indian Mike looked at me, tried to laugh, said, “god damn … we’ve been taken again!”
“yeah,” I said, “it seems like it’s been 5 years since I been laid, but I’ll be damned if I’ll stick my cock into that mound of hard lead!”
Von Brashlitz laughed. walked over to his liquor cabinet, found another 5th. of schnapps, poured a goody, sat down facing us.
“as we in Germany began knowing that the war was lost, and the net began to tighten—down to the final battle of Berlin—we knew that the war had taken on a new essence—the real war then became who was to grab the most German scientists. if Russia got the most German scientists or America — those were the ones who were going to get to the moon first, Mars first . .. anything first. well, I don’t know how it really came out … numerically or in terms of scientific brain-power. I only know that the Americans got to me first, snapped me up, took me away in a car, gave me a drink, put pistols to my head, made promises, talked madly. I signed everything . ..”
“all right,” I said, “so much for history. but I’m still not going to stick my dick, my poor little dick into that hunk of sheetmetal or whatever it is! Hitler must have really been a madman to nursemaid you. I wish the Russians had gotten to your ass first! I want my 20 bucks back!”
Von Brashlitz laughed, “heeeheeeheeehe … it is just my little joke, nien? heeheeeheeeheee!”
he shoved that mound of lead back into the closet. slammed the door. “oh, heheeehe!” had a bit more schnapps.
Von B. poured another schnapps. he really put them down. “gentlemen, I am an artist and an inventor! my FUCK MACHINE is really my daughter, Tanya …”
“more little jokes, Von?” I asked.
“joke nothing! Tanya! go over and sit in the gentleman’s lap!”
Tanya laughed, got up, walked over and sat in my lap. a FUCK MACHINE? I couldn’t believe it! her skin was skin, or so it seemed, and her tongue as it worked into my mouth as we kissed, it was not mechanical — each movement was different, responding to my own.
I was busy at it, ripping her blouse from her breasts, working at her panties, hotter than I had been in years, and then we were tangled; we somehow got to standing — and I took her standing up, my hands ripping at her long blonde hair, bending her head back, then reaching down, spreading her asshole as I pumped, she came — I could feel the throbbing, and I joined.
it was the best fuck I had ever had!
Tanya went to the bathroom, cleaned-up and showered, dressed-up again for Indian Mike. I guess.
“man’s greatest invention,” Von Brashlitz said quite seriously.
he was quite right.
then Tanya came out and sat on MY lap.
“NO! NO! TANYA! IT’S THE OTHER MAN’S TURN! YOU JUST FINISHED FUCKING THAT ONE!”
she didn’t seem to hear. and it was strange, even for a FUCK MACHINE, because, really, I had never been a very good lover.
“do you love me?” she asked.
“yes.”
“I love you. and I am so happy. and … I’m not supposed to be alive. you know that, don’t you?”
“I love you, Tanya. that’s all that I know.”
“god damn it!” screamed the old man, “this FUCKING MACHINE!” he walked over to this varnished box with the word TANYA printed on the side. there were these little wires sprouting out of it; there were dials, and needles that quivered, and many colors, lights that blinked on and off, things that ticked .. . Von B. was the craziest pimp I had ever met. he kept playing with the dials, then he looked at Tanya:
“25 YEARS! damn near a lifetime to build you! I even had to hide you from HITLER! and now … you try to turn into a mere and ordinary bitch!”
“I’m not 25,” said Tanya, “I’m 24.”
“you see? you see? just like a common bitch!”
he went back to his dials.
“you’ve put on a different shade of lipstick,” I said to Tanya.
“you like it?”
“oh, yes!”
she leaned over and kissed me.
Von B. kept playing with his dials. I felt that he would win.
Von Brashlitz turned to Indian Mike. “it’s just a minor kink in the machine. trust me. I’ll get it straight in a minute, ya?”
“I hope so,” said Indian Mike, “I’ve got 14 inches waiting and am twenty bucks down.
“I love you,” Tanya told me, “I will never fuck any other man. if I can’t have you, I won’t have anybody.”
“I’ll forgive you, Tanya, for anything that you do.”
the prof was getting pissed. he kept turning the dials but nothing was happening. “TANYA! it is time for you to FUCK the OTHER man! I am. .. getting tired… must have a bit of schnapps … be off to sleep … Tanya …”
“ah,” said Tanya, “you rotten old fuck! you and your schnapps, and then nibbling at my tits all night, so I can’t even sleep! while you can’t even raise a decent hard! you’re disgusting!”
“VAS?”
“I SAID, ‘YOU CAN’T EVEN RAISE A DECENT HARD!’ ”
“you, Tanya, will pay for this! you are my creation, I am not yours!”
he kept turning his magic knobs. I mean, on the machine. he was quite angry, and you could see that, somehow, the anger gave him a vital brilliance beyond himself. “just wait, Mike. all I have to do is to adjust the electronics! wait! A sho
rt! I see it!”
then he leaped up. this guy they had saved from the Russians.
he looked at Indian Mike. “it’s straight now! the machine is in order! have fun!”
then he walked over to his schnapps bottle, poured another goody, sat down to watch.
Tanya got off of my lap and walked over to Indian Mike. I watched Tanya and Indian Mike embrace.
Tanya worked Indian Mike’s zipper down, got his cock out, and man he had plenty of cock! he’d said 14 inches but it looked more like 20.
then Tanya put both her hands around Mike’s cock.
he moaned in glory.
then she ripped the whole cock right out of and off of his body. threw it to the side.
I saw the thing roll along the rug like an insane sausage, dribbling little sad trailets of blood. it rolled up against a wall. then stayed there like something with a head but no legs and no place to go . .. which was true enough.
next, here came the BALLS flying through the air. a heavy, looping sight. they simply landed upon the center of the rug and didn’t know what to do but bleed.
so, they bled.
Von Brashlitz, the hero of the America-Russ invasion took a hard look at what was left of Indian Mike, my old beer-drinking buddy, very red on the floor, flowing from the center — Von B. took the highroad, down the stairway …
room 69 had done everything but that.
and then I asked her: “Tanya, the heat will be here very quickly. shall we dedicate the room number to our love?”
“of course, my love!”
we made it, just in time, and the stupid heat ran in.
one of the learned then pronounced Indian Mike dead.
and since Von B. was a kind of U.S. Govt. product, there was a hell of a lot of people around — various chickenshit officials — firemen, reporters, the cops, the inventor, the C.I.A., the F.B.I. and various other forms of human shit.
Tanya came over and sat in my lap. “they will kill me now. please try not to be sad.”
I didn’t answer.
then Von Brashlitz was screaming, pointing to Tanya — “I TELL YOU, GENTLEMEN, SHE HAS NO FEELING! I SAVED THE DAMN THING FROM HITLER! I tell you, it is nothing but a MACHINE!”
they all just stood there. nobody believed Von B.
it was simply the most beautiful machine, and so-called woman, they had ever seen.
“Oh shit! you idiots! every woman is a fucking machine, can’t you see that? they play for the highest bidder! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS LOVE! THAT IS A FAIRY-TALE MIRAGE LIKE CHRISTMAS!”
they still wouldn’t believe.
“THIS is only a machine! have no FEAR! WATCH!”
Von Brashlitz grabbed one of Tanya’s arms.
ripped it completely off of her body.
and inside — inside the hole of her shoulder — you could see it — there was nothing but wire and tubes — coiled and running things — plus some minor substance that faintly resembled blood.
I saw Tanya standing there with this coil of wire hanging from her shoulder, where the arm used to be. she looked at me:
“please, for me too! I asked you to try not to be too sad.”
I watched as they ganged her, and ripped and raped and tore.
I couldn’t help it. I put my head down between my legs and cried…
also, Indian Mike never got his 20 bucks worth.
some months went by. I never went back to the bar. there was a trial but the govt. exonerated Von B. and his machine. I moved to another town. far away. and one day sitting in a barbershop, I picked up this sex mag. here was an ad: “Blow up your own little dolly! $29.95. Resistant rubber material, very durable. Chains and whips included in package. A bikini, bras. panties. 2 wigs, lipstick and small jar of love-potion included. Von Brashlitz Co.”
I sent him a money order. some box number in Mass. he had moved too.
the package arrived in about 3 weeks. very embarrassing. I didn’t have a bicycle pump, and then I got the hots when I took the thing out of the package. I had to go down to the corner gas station and use their air hose.
it looked better as it blew up. big tits. big ass.
“whatcha got there, pal?” the gas station man asked me.
“look, man, I’m just borrowing a little air. don’t I buy a lot of gas here, huh?”
“o.k., that’s o.k., you can have the air. I just damn well can’t help wondering whatcha got there …”
“just forget it!” I said.
“JESUS! look at those TITS!”
“I AM looking, asshole!”
I left him there with his tongue hanging out, then threw her over my shoulder and made it back to my place. I carried her into the bedroom.
the big question was yet to come?
I spread the legs and looked for some kind of opening.
Von B. hadn’t completely slipped.
I climbed on top and began kissing that rubber mouth. now and then I reached for one of the giant rubber tits and sucked upon it. I had put a yellow wig on her and rubbed the love-potion all over my cock. it didn’t take much love-potion. maybe he’d sent a year’s worth.
I kissed her passionately behind the ears, stuck my finger up her ass, kept pumping. then I leaped off, chained her arms behind her back, there was this little lock and key and then I whipped her ass good with the leather thongs.
god, I gotta be nuts! I thought.
then I flipped her over and put it back in. humped and humped. frankly, it was rather boring. I imagined male dogs screwing female cats; I imagined 2 people fucking through the air as they jumped from the Empire State Building. I imagined a pussy as large as an octopus, crawling toward me, wet and stinking and aching for an orgasm. I remembered all the panties, knees, legs, tits, pussies I had ever seen. the rubber was sweating; I was sweating.
“I love you, darling!” I whispered into one of her rubber ears.
I hate to admit it, but I forced myself to come into that lousy hunk of rubber. it was hardly a Tanya at all.
I took a razor blade and cut the thing all to shit. dumped it out with the beercans.
how many men in America bought those stupid things?
or then you can pass half a hundred fuck machines in a 10 minute walk on almost any main sidewalk of America — the only difference being that they pretended that they were human.
poor Indian Mike. with that 20 inch dead cock.
all the poor Indian Mikes. all the climbers into Space. all the whores of Vietnam and Washington.
poor Tanya, her belly had been a hog’s belly. veins the veins of a dog. she rarely shatted or pissed, she had just fucked — heart, voice and tongue borrowed from others — there were only supposed to be 17 possible organ transplants at that time. Von B. was far ahead of them.
poor Tanya, who had only eaten a little — mostly cheap cheese and raisins. she had had no desire for money or property or large new cars or overexpensive homes. she had never read the evening paper. had no desire for colored television, new hats, rain boots, backfence conversations with idiot wives; nor had she desired a husband who was a doctor, a stockbroker, a congressman or a cop.
and the guy at the gas station keeps asking me, “hey, what happened to that thing you brought down here one day and blew up with the air hose?”
but he doesn’t ask anymore. I buy my gas at a new place. I don’t even get my hair cut anymore where I saw that magazine with the Von Brashlitz rubber dolly sex ad. I am trying to forget everything.
what would you do?
THE GUT-WRINGING MACHINE
Danforth hung the bodies up one by one after they had been wrung through the wringer. Bagley sat by the phones. “how many we got?”
“19. looks like a good day.”
“shit, yeah yeah. that sounds like a good day. how many did we place yesterday?”
“14.”
“fair. fair. we’ll make it good if the way keeps up. I keep worrying they might quit the thing in Viet,” said Bagley of the phones. r />
“don’t be foolish — too many people profit and depend on that war.”
“but the Paris Peace Conference …”
“you just ain’t yourself today, Bag. you know they just sit around and laugh all day, draw their pay and then make the Paree nightclubs each night. those boys are living good. they don’t want the Peace Conference to end anymore than we want the war to end. we’re all getting fat, and not a scratch. it’s sweet. and if they settle the thing somehow by accident, there’ll be others. they keep hot points glowing all over the globe.”
“yeah, I guess I worry too much.” one of the three phones on the desk rang. Bagley picked it up. “SATISFACTORY HELP AGENCY. Bagley speaking.”
he listened. “yeh. yeh. we got a good cost accountant. salary? $300 the first two weeks, I mean 300 a week. we get the first two weeks’ pay. then cut him to 50 a week or fire him. if you fire him after the first two weeks, we give YOU one hundred dollars. why? well, hell, don’t you see, the whole idea is to keep things moving. it’s all psychological, like Santa Claus. when? yeah, we’ll send him right over. what’s the address? fine, fine, he’ll be there pronto. remember all the terms. we send him with a contract. bye.”
Bagley hung up. hummed to himself, underlined the address. “get one down, Danforth. a tired, thin one. no use shipping out the best on first shot.”
Danforth walked over to the wire clothesline and took the clamps off the fingers of a tired, thin one.
“walk him over here. what’s his name?”
“Herman. Herman Telleman.”
“shit, he don’t look so good. looks like he still got a little blood in him. and I can see some color in his eye … I think. listen, Danforth, you got those wringers running good and tight? I want all the guts squeezed out, no resistance at all, you understand? you do your job and I’ll do mine.”
“some of these guys came in pretty tough. some men have more guts than others, you know that. you can’t always tell by looking.”
“all right, let’s try him. Herman. hey, sonny!”
“what’s up, pops?”
“how’d you like a nice little job?”
“ah, hell no!”