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From: losgud <lushgod@hotnomail.com>
Subject: {ASS*} SPRING ORGY -- The Palm Tree Parababble
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Welcome to my little addition to the illustrious SPRING ORGY! Gee, do I
even need the standard smut disclaimer? Pretty tame terrain below.
I'll leave the story-coding to greater minds than mine. Blame for the
genesis of this goes to the obvious party! All else stays on my
shoulders. A word of warning to everyone else--those bushes with the
orange leaves? With the blue fruit? The deliciously sweet and
nourishing blue fruit? With the signs posted all around exclaiming "Eat
Me!"? Don't! I haven't completed my chemical analysis yet of the
fruits "properties"; suffice to warn that they are hallucinogenic--in a
bad way.
Okay, here goes. My confession. I'm so-o-o sorry, but really, isn't
everyone having more fun on the island than that cruddy old boat? Well,
maybe I'm not, but sacrificing to the greater good and all . . .
THE PALM TREE PARABABBLE
Janey said:
>Next up is one for Malinov's castaway cruise. I hope you're coming?
Losgud said:
>Malinov's castaway cruise? What's that? Ah me, always missing the boat.
>Maybe someone will write me in a nice cameo appearance.
Janey said:
>Do write something for the castaway island party . . . I want to read it.
>If you don't I'll put a cameo of you doing something really embarrassing
>in my next one!
I _immediately_ grabbed my large cardboard suitcase out of the fridge.
I thought briefly about contacting some of my regular correspondents.
But Coyote Azure was still off-line, some of the others were a bit too
busy with real life to wing off on a breeze...and hell, with my dinky PC
o' shit it'd take hours to bring up the Hotmail Compose screen. And
days to agonize over my little notes. I was paralyzed with indecision.
Fortunately, Reason strolled over and tapped me on the shoulder.
"Hello, Mr. Reason!"
"Losgud, you doofus. You're the only one in the world who doesn't read
ASSD on a daily basis. Everyone who is planning on going is already
down at the dock."
Even speeding with the cyberwind didn't get me there quite on time. The
gangway was already up. I was left with no option. Gripping the cool
handle of my cardboard suitcase in my teeth, I began inching my way up
one of the fat ropes that held the behemoth fast to the dock. Damn, I
should have worn gloves. But once I got the hang of it, I was fairly
scurrying up the rope.
When I got to the very top I poked my beady face over the edge.
"Eek! Los ratos!" Fortunately for the others, the drinks had been
disbursed moments before I made my presence known. The tray clattered
on the floor with an empty rattle as the native serving girl ran
screaming down the deck.
I hoisted myself up over the side. "That's Losgud to you, ma'am," I
shouted after her, "and I do believe there's but the one of me." Only
then did it really register that I had an audience in a line of
loungers.
"Hi Losgud! Excellent entrance!" growled The Bear.
Poison Ivan gave me the thumbs-up. "Triple-Bo in my book."
"Yea yea," I muttered, "but I bet there'll be twenty better this month."
"Jealous?" Kim <grinned>.
"As long as I've been on the trail of the Elusive Golden Phallus?"
"Well," Mark Aster noted, "if you'd gotten here on time and gone up the
gangway with the rest of us. And already you're getting into a bit too
much setup here that has nothing to do with the sex . . . "
"Sex?" I blinked, "did someone just say the magic word?"
There was a general roar of laughter, but not so loud as to disguise the
noise of clinking ice cubes. I brightened at the sound. But then I
frowned. "Hey, don't you have to wait for the seatbelt sign to go off
before the drinks come around?"
The answers flew quick and thick.
"Right idea, wrong mode."
"My this airplane has stubby little wings."
"This is a boat, Losgud--they crash _through_ the water, not into the
water."
"Hmmm," I pondered the last, "that's reassuring."
There was a sudden shift of mood. DG came storming down the deck waving
his laptop. Flaptop? Hope it didn't become a slaptop. "I thought I
said that I encourage anyone who is planning to participate in this
festive event to use details, scenes, and characters from the following
introduction in their own stories. . . . Please keep in mind that this
is a light-hearted farce! Everyone comes onboard and proceeds
immediately to Kim's Cabin."
Therefore: meanwhile, back in cabin 341 . . .
"And did anyone else notice that all the fire extinguishers have been
replaced with ice buckets?" I asked.
Maybe someone had, but no one was paying any attention to what I'd said-
-which was just as well, as much as I was biting my tongue for having
mentioned it.
Just then the bathroom door popped open like a cork from a bottle of
champagne. The bubbly gush of Kim spewed forth. The distraction was
fortunate in a way; the mini-fridge in my room wasn't big enough for my
suitcase, so I'd buried an item or two deep in the ice of every bucket.
The room started getting a bit stuffy for me. The floors slippery and
the walls sticky. And noisy! The bathroom door was banging like a
loose shutter in a high wind. From inside I heard a low moan followed
by a high shriek, a giggled, "Now I know how it felt to go down on the
Titanic!"
I repaired to my own room to freshen up, perhaps have a quick nap.
Cabin 666, a retrofitted broom closet next to the boiler room. I was
not surprised. I sat on the edge of my bed and studied the itinerary.
What was it with all these early morning workshops? This was supposed
to be a vacation of sorts! I decided to prepare my proxy, rummaging
through the dresser until I came across the complimentary sheet of
stationery and nub of pencil. "Greetings from Bates' Motel"--hmm, I
didn't like the looks of that.
A brief scribble on both sides of the piece of paper and I was done.
I'd heard that these cruise ships were virtual floating cities--sure
enough, Kinko's was up on the fourth level. I ran off a couple dozen
copies, then snuck into the conference room and distributed them
randomly on the tables, the "Hold Me Up" side visible. Face down was
"LOSGUD SPEAKS--& makes an ass of himself!" There, that took care of
that!
I went running down the corridor, turned a corner and collided with a
young lady. Down on our respective asses we went, sheets of paper
floating down around us. She was quick to snatch them all up and hold
them protectively against her bosom. I delicately plucked my original
from the fan. She glanced at my piece of paper, and then at my face.
"Are you really Losgud," she keened, "the world famous Smutologist?!!"
"Uhhhh, yup. Who are you?"
"Oh," she blushed so sweetly, "no one you've ever heard of. A fledgling
writer of erotica who slipped aboard the ship bearing her very first
effort in the hopes of . . . "
I nodded at the papers she held clutched.
She nodded back.
Shyness, be brushed aside, I commanded myself. When opportunity knocks
you on your ass, answer! "Really? Great? Given the attrition rate,
the NGs always need new blood. If you'd like, we could, uh, go back to
my cabin, and, uh, I could read that and, uh, give you some pointers if
you would like."
"Would I?" she gushed. "Would you?" she double-gushed.
The others may have thought they were engaged in merriment all evening
long, but I had the genuine article down in my cabin. I gave her
pointers well into the deep of the night, until I eventually ran out of
pointers. At some point, sheer intellectual exhaustion must have made
us fall asleep. Dawn came creeping through the porthole just in time
for me to observe Mary Mint slipping out the door.
I gave the new day some consideration, but nothing stirred below.
"I'm afraid I have nothing to offer the morning," I begged off.
I was answered by a growly sort of laugh. Dawn quickly turned to
Daylight, and sat on my face.
Hours and hours and hours passed before I could pry myself out of bed.
I'd missed breakfast, I'd missed lunch; to judge by the vast
reverberations of mastication shaking the boat, I was in very real
danger of missing dinner as well.
But I had no clue where the dining room was. And all these levels and
corridors and stairwells, it was like a fucking maze. Finally some of
the cabin numbers began to look familiar. Ahh, there was 341! The door
was ajar, so I peeked in. The room was empty. Well, not empty. There
wasn't anyone inside, but it looked like someone had dumped the contents
of a Victoria's Secret catalogue into the room.
I glanced up and down the corridor, then stepped in. My god! There was
enough, um, _inspiration_ to stock a thousand stories. I began stuffing
my pockets until I was interrupted by an uneasy feeling.
The ship gave a lurching groan, which I mistook for the sound of my
imminent discovery. I heard the creak of the swinging door. I whirled
around, knocking over the goddamn lamp. Too busy to bother picking it
up. "No, I'm not a TV; no, I'm not a fetishist; no, I'm not a common
thief; no, I'm not a merchant of previously-owned underthings. I'm
simply gathering raw material for future stories! Honest!!!!"
Curiously--but not out of keeping--I found that I was defending myself
to an empty doorway.
Then the smell hit me. No, not _that_ smell. I turned and saw in
disbelief that the halogen bulb had ignited the piles of underwear.
Briskly I stepped over to the room's phone.
"Hello? hello? Yes, this is Losgud . . . uhm . . . cabin 341--yes I
know that's not my room--what am I doing in . . . ? that's none of your
goddamn business! Listen, this is urgent, I need to talk to the
Continuity Officer. Oh, hi Julie. That'd be you? I thought you were
the cruise director. Oh yea? And that, and that and that? Your
printed job description is the bow ballast? You don't say? Other-
Duties-As-Assigned spelled out is in the stern? Say, you all are short-
staffed. What? You'd like to staff my shorts? Help me short my staff?
Um, well, back to what I was calling about . . . I've got a problem. My
panties are on fire. No no no, they're not actually _mine_. I knocked
over this stupid lamp and . . . I just don't see how this is possible.
I mean, these panties are wet! No, not just damp, wet. Soaking wet,
sopping wet, I mean _dripping_ wet! How could they catch fire? No, I
mean that in a literal sense. What? Your Hot Panties Smolder For Me?
Well, I'm flattered, but . . . no, I don't doubt your mechanical
aptitude. I'm sure You Could Cum Down And Grease My Rudder, but there
really isn't the time."
I hung up with a shudder. Ms. Julie Cruise Director was no doubt
sunlighting as an Agent from SPAM. Should I tell the others? Too late!
Out in the hall I located the nearest ice bucket. After retrieving my
personal possessions, I chucked the bucketful in the blaze of ill-fated
cabin 341. Futile gesture, that.
I ascended an Escheresque series of staircases while preparing myself
like a baby sheep in the oven to roast. "You idiot, you shouldn't be
allowed out of the house!" I lambasted myself. "If word of this gets
around, you'll never get invited anywhere ever again. Not even second-
hand."
Having eventually reached the sunshine of the main deck, I noticed that
not everyone was off at dinner. Keep calm, I told myself, don't betray
yourself. I strolled over to the pool. There was a woman girdled by an
inner tube standing at the edge about to jump in. Oh boy, a real woman.
(All the sorority girls and cheerleaders had, I supposed, been deflated
and put away for later.) She stood about 5'10", well muscled and nicely
rounded, with a curly mess of dark blond hair.
"Hey, Janey! Woo-hoo, nice new swimsuit."
She turned, putting the inner tube on display. "Hi, Losgud! You like?
Glad to see you could make it. Decide you could embarrass yourself all
on your own?"
How did she know?
We gave each other a big hug. Hugs have to be big when they involve
inner tubes.
"Mmm," I leered, "turn around!"
Janey did and I instantly rewarded her with a pinch on the bottom. She
squealed and her arms dropped to protect her bum, but not before the
inner tube had fallen around her ankles. From there she was a pushover.
I barely had to tap to send her toppling into the pool.
I bent and gained possession of the inner tube. "Hey, okay if I borrow
this for awhile?"
Still blinded by chlorine, she gave my direction a quizzical look.
"Oh, by the way, I think there's a fire in Kim's cabin."
"So what else is new?" she grinned.
"Not figurative this time around."
"Oh?"
With that I ran over to the side railing, climbed up, and pitched myself
into the sea.
"Man overboard!" I heard as I leapt.
"Are you sure?" I heard as I fell.
"Absolutely. No gender confusion with that one!" I heard as I . . .
SPLASH.
I thought I'd made good my escape, but almost immediately the deck was
filled with the throngs and they were lowering the lifeboats. My god,
they were coming after me! And they were able to row!
But as they all overtook me, they just waved and cheered. "Good man,
Losgud! Thanks for the warning! Glad to see you got off!"
I looked at my lap. Not yet! "Hey, where are y'all headed?"
"To Malinov's Island! Follow us!"
Fortunately the ocean current was like an obedient narrative. I drifted
along behind the little boats, drawing into sight of the fabled paradise
at nearly the same time as the rest of them. But as the others pulled
in towards a small cove, the ocean gave a little chuckle and turned to
go around the island.
"Losgud, where are you going? To the cove, my man, _to the cove!_"
I gestured helplessly with my arms. "I don't have all my oars in the
water!"
I drifted past the cove and along the coast toward the southern end of
the island, at which point I seemed in very real danger of floating back
out to sea. There was nothing left to do but pull an Al Haig.
"I'm in control now!" came the roar of the beast. "I wield the pen!
What? Miss all the revelry of an island full of erotica's finest minds?
The mind being the primary sexual organ . . . I will wield my pen . . .
my pen is . . . my pen is . . . my pen is mightier than . . . nay, my
pen is my sword!"
With such waves of convolution, the ocean current gladly turned and spat
me out on the southern beach.
I stumbled along the shore for awhile, unsure of my bearings. Damn, I
was tired and hot and thirsty. I did have several items from my
suitcase in my pockets, but after all the agitation they would be
dangerous to open. Besides, it'd take me an hour of digging down
through all the panties to find them.
Then up ahead I spied something glittering in the light. As I
approached I saw that it was a glass bowl. With a goldfish swimming
inside. Freshwater! There was a curious array of signs posted all
around the bowl. "MAGIC WATER" "DRINK ME!" "FREE--1 SIP--MAKE YOUR
DREAM COME TRUE!!" "LIMIT ONE WISH PER CUSTOMER!!!"
"Oh right!" I murmured. "Fucking goldfish swimming around in there.
Look what good it's done him."
The fish made little kissy faces at me, then stuck it's head out of the
water. "Hey buddy, you better believe it!"
"What? Hey, fish can't talk!"
"This is fiction, you goof. I could get up and tap dance if it would
help advance the plot."
"Okay, okay. But like what?" I peered down into the bowl. "I know
fish are stupid, but what was your wish? That your little castle thing
down there be made of ceramic instead of plastic?"
The fish heaved a great sigh. "Check it out." He took a deep breath
and then began to sing.
Oh, once I was a mighty whale
but I tired of the whaling life
how I pined to shrink my tail
live an existence free of strife
the Willy's freed, Ahabs crazed
the migratory creed left me dazed
I beached myself on yonder sand
my tongue tip in this dish
desperation's final stand
had me keening one last wish
so now I lead a life that's bland
as a humble orange fish.
"Hey, not bad," I applauded.
"Yea, it's not bad. It's a good life. I swim around and around, make
funny faces. When I'm feeling particularly frisky, I dart through the
hole in the castle. This guy comes once a day and dumps a bunch of
flakes in the water for me to eat . . . hey, here he comes now! Yum!"
But I wasn't really paying attention to the final words of the fish. I
was thinking about an island full of erotic writers without any means of
expression other than . . . like sit around the campfire every night and
tell stories? Doubter! And it'd be three months before the Summer
Solstice rolled around to change the venue. While I'd been blessed well
enough by Nature, if I could just get the wording right, maybe I could
grow a great big dick _and_ redefine the phrase "Two Minute Miracle" in
terms of recovery, not performance! With the image of a nearby palm
tree as inspiration, I bent down to kiss my reflected lips.
"NOOOOO! DON'T DO THAT!!!!!"
I whirled around. Running up the beach towards me was an old man
trailing a long beard and hair, wearing nothing but a pair of ragged
trousers that, on closer inspection, seemed to be woven of native
grasses.
As he caught his breath, he reached down to tap some fish food into the
bowl.
"Whoa, shit," I whispered, "is that a palm tree in your pants, or are
you just glad to see me?" I was afraid of the answer.
"Both," he replied. "The latter in hopes of sparing you the former.
You see, I was once exactly like you, kneeling in that very spot,
thinking your same thoughts . . . "
"Huh? Who are you? Bluebeard the Pirate?"
"Try Blueballs the Private Citizen."
"Back up, back up," I waved at him. "This is getting pretty confusing.
Start at the beginning."
"Okay. Lord Malinov, your leader? A Lord Malinov was our leader as
well. Half a century ago, we were a hearty robust crew of erotic
writers--back in the age of print, mind you. We too went on a workshop
cruise, aboard the ill-fated S.S. Hindenboat. Fortuitously washed
ashore on this very island. And there I was as you are now, but where I
am now was no one to warn me away. I learned the chronically hard way
that a palm tree penis is pointless but for the clambering of cute
little monkeys."
"Wait wait wait--monkeys on isolated tropical islands: that's a myth."
"And don't I know it," he groaned. "How I dream of the touch of furry
little hands," his eyes rolled at the thought, "but the truth is that
the only mammals on the island are a vast and insufferable army of huge
rats descended from a visit Captain Cook paid to the place several
hundred years ago. I never get any sleep. All night long they scurry
up and down my trunk. And when those bastards bite your coconuts, it
_hurts!_"
Okay, to hell with magic waters and king-sized addendums. I was ready
to get to the other end of the island and have some fun the old-
fashioned way. I'd been saved, many thanks and all, but really, it was
time to ditch the pitiful samaritan.
"Um, you're not going to detain me further with the sad and sordid
chronicle of the past fifty years, are you?" I grimaced.
"You better believe I am. But first, you might want to back away. I
wouldn't trust that fish. He's not as happy as he pretends, and he has
a nasty streak. He'll spit in your mouth when you're not looking. Last
guy who was here, we got to talking. Idle conversation. Started
wishing for some food. Said he was hungry enough to eat a horse . . .
SQUIRT. It is not a pretty sight, a man who has instantaneously
ingested an entire horse. Helluva mess to clean up, too."
I jumped up, feet sliding in the sand, accidentally kicking the bowl as
I scrambled away.
CRASH!
Shit! Broken glass all over the floor. I knew I should have changed
the water last week; the only way to get rid of the stench will be to
tear up the carpet and burn it. The cat, having waited most her life
for this opportunity, was already down the hall and under the far corner
of the bed with the fish in her mouth.
Damn tropical islands! You'd think they'd be happy with their lot. But
no-o-o. Give one half a chance and it'll turn into an industrialized
continent every time.
--
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