Dick Longg: Sexual Saviour of the Universe (37 page)

‘Fuck me!’ Dick was still stunned at meeting up with his rival once again. ‘Maxx Boner by name. Maxx Boner by nature’.

‘Sadly no more’. The Leader said dolefully. ‘Probably like you, my disappearance and my appearance here were so sudden I had no time to take the things most dear to me’.

‘Like photographs of loved ones or childhood mementoes?’, enquired Dick.

‘No. My penile implant inflator and valve set’, Maxx said with a dismayed expression.

So the rumours were true after all, Dick thought. Maxx
had
relied on artificial aids to sustain his erection and without his inflator he was like someone with… someone with… well, the best analogy he could think of was someone with a very long but very floppy penis.

‘But couldn’t you use the technology here to compensate?’

‘That’s what I thought’, Maxx said. ‘That notion… that promise… it’s what kept me going. The then leader of the Resistance and his colleagues tried all sorts of methods but nothing worked. My erections either took too long to achieve or they were extremely painful. Usually both. And having to inflate your penis with a bicycle pump for forty minutes beforehand is guaranteed to kill any amorous moment stone dead.

‘So, even under pressure you couldn’t rise to the occasion?’, Dick asked.

‘I just wish the technology had been as clever as your witty word play’, Maxx sighed. ‘I had my doubts about using a compressed air line from the start, but I was assured it was safe’.

‘My god. What happened?’, asked Dick.

‘The relief valve stuck…’, Maxx grimaced at the memory that was obviously still fresh in his mind. ‘Pressure build-up’. The rest of the words came slowly. ‘Muscle torn…’

Dick winced.

‘Testicle rupture…’

Dick crossed his legs.

‘Shrapnel embedded in scrotum…’

Dick stuck his hands over his ears and went ‘La, la, la, la, la, la’.

Maxx continued. ‘There was nothing they could so. Going to a public hospital was impractical. My injuries would have raised too many questions and my identity would have been compromised. The Resistance did the best they could to stem the blood loss and patch me up’.

Dick thought this was exactly the right moment to say words of encouragement. The problem was, he couldn’t think of any. Dick looked at Maxx and thought it was like talking to a world-class envelope licker who’s just lost his tongue. Any words of encouragement were instead replaced by a banal platitude.

‘But at least you’re alive…’

‘Yes, alive but now permanently incapable of sex’, Maxx said despondently. ‘Gone is my eleven inch erection…’ (‘Yeah, right’, thought Dick knowing it had only been ten inches at best). ‘Now my only satisfaction derives from getting girls to dress up and play with themselves in front of me’.

‘Milk maid?’ Dick asked.

Maxx nodded.

‘Slutty nurse?’.

Another nod. ‘I know I’m predictable’, Maxx admitted. ‘But it’s just a hobby. Not being able to screw meant I had to find a fundamental new purpose in life. That came easy’.

‘Unlike you’, Dick added, very unhelpfully. Maxx ignored him and continued.

‘I actually had two new aims. The first was to get my revenge on the people who dragged me against my will to this godforsaken time and who made me impotent. The second was to find a substitute for sex’.

‘The dressing up thing?’ asked Dick.

‘No you fool!’, shouted Maxx, pounding the desk. ‘That’s just a small but pleasurable diversion! I’m talking about power! The power I could wield by defecting to the Party and rising within its ranks’.

‘Oh’, said Dick.

‘Now come with me. I think we’ve got a lot of catching up to do, Dick’. Maxx gave a wry smile. ‘You don’t mind me calling you Dick, do you, Dick?’

Dick shook his head.

‘Good. And you may call me Maxx. ‘Leader’ is so very officious, don’t you think?’

Dick was thinking of lots of things, but that definitely wasn’t one of them. He was thinking that the game was up, that he was about to die and that he must find a way to escape. Before he had an opportunity to think of any more things Maxx had stood up and was beckoning Dick with his gun. ‘Let’s continue our conversation in more comfortable surroundings’.

It was as Maxx turned to open the office door that Dick suddenly saw an opportunity to cuff him with the hole punch, steal his gun and make a run for it. He decided, however, to reconsider his plans when he saw Carter standing sternly just outside the doorway. Maxx pocketed his gun and walked ahead of Dick while Carter followed dutifully behind. He didn’t hold a weapon but didn’t really need to. His expression and body language said more than a loaded gun could ever do.

CHAPTER 29

Drinking brandies, settled in the comfort of his luxurious office, Maxx elaborated on his appearance here. Four years before, just like Dick, he’d been identified by the Resistance and brought forward in time to overthrow the Party. Suddenly it all became clear to Dick.

‘You were their great hope. The One!’, he exclaimed. ‘But you went missing!’

Maxx leaned forward, gently swilling the warm amber contents of his glass. ‘The Resistance at that time gave me a new identity and trained me well. Then they sent me out into the field to gain entry into the Party and gather intelligence. All this must sound very familiar to you, Dick’.

Dick nodded. Refilling both their glasses, Maxx explained precisely what had happened.

‘Like you must have been, I too was a reluctant hero. I never wanted to carry out any dumb mission but I had no choice. I, too, infiltrated the Party and learned a lot about them. I was committed to my mission but then I had my…

‘Massive genital explosion…’ Dick interjected.

‘Accident’, corrected Maxx with a look of annoyance. ‘After my accident I decided I wanted to work with the Party rather than against them. The Party leader at the time had what I wanted more than anything’

‘A fully operational penis?’

‘Total power’, said the Leader. ‘Total control’.

Maxx explained how he managed to engineer an audience with mid-ranking Party officials. How he admitted who he was, what he was here for and why he wanted to defect. He explained that although he didn’t know the location of the resistance headquarters he had enough information to reveal the identity of its leader and key personnel by their appearances. It took a long time, Maxx explained, before these individuals were eventually tracked down and arrested. Interrogation resulted in a few more members being captured. The result was a severely decimated resistance movement and his acceptance into the higher echelons of the Party. Once there, his ascension was rapid.

‘And what happened to the resistance members who were captured?’ asked Dick.

‘They were removed from society’.

‘Killed?’

‘Liquidated’.

‘What’s the difference?’ asked Dick.

‘None really. But liquidated sounds so much more ruthless’.

‘Then how did you become Leader? What happened to the previous one?’, Dick asked, surprised at Maxx’s seemingly meteoric rise to power.

‘It was tragic. He was working late one night in his office when he fell over and died’.

‘Heart attack? Embolism?’ Dick enquired.

‘No. Shot in the head’. Maxx shrugged. ‘Shit happens’.

‘And you took over?’. Dick asked, a chill rapidly running up his spine.

‘Eventually, yes. There was a bit of an internal power struggle but I persuaded all my rivals that I was the best man for the job. You don’t need to know the boring details of the politics or the body count…’.

There was a buzzing sound and Maxx picked up the telephone from his desk. He looked at his pocket watch, uttered a few noises of agreement and replaced the receiver.

‘I just don’t know where the time goes’, he said. ‘That was Carter reminding me that we need to ask you a few questions about your role in the Resistance. How you kept in contact with them, what your own mission is - everything in fact that they didn’t tell Parnell. Come on, what do you say?’.

Dick couldn’t think of an appropriate response to this, apart from that of assuming a very worried expression, so that’s precisely what he did.

Maxx continued with a creepy smile, ‘I know you’ll want to help us, Dick’.

‘What makes you so sure?’ Dick asked.

‘Torture’, Maxx suggested.

Dick looked confused. He pondered for a short while and then asked, ‘Do we write our names on their backs and let them race. If mine wins I give you information? If yours wins, you let me go?’

It was Maxx’s turn to look confused.

‘Or do we see which one eats the most lettuce?’, added Dick.

Maxx frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand you’.

‘Tortoise. You said we could resolve this issue by tortoise’.

Maxx sighed. ‘I said ‘torture’’

‘Oh’, said Dick. ‘I’m sure you said tortoise’.

‘No. It was definitely ‘torture’’.

‘Sure?’

‘Absolutely positive’.

‘Well’, Dick continued. ‘That puts a whole new complexion on the matter’.

Dick didn’t like the idea of torture. It was worse than the idea of tortoise, even though he actually suffered from a childhood allergy to these creatures, and turtles and terrapins too. In fact, the whole damn family of shelled amphibians.
 

Waving his gun again at Dick, Maxx stood up. ‘Come on, let’s get the interrogation over with. I’m a very busy man so I can’t stay, but I’ll see you afterwards’.

Carter opened the office door and stood waiting. Dick was nervous. He’d never been tortured before and in fact, had a very low pain threshold. Even getting cramp in the arch of his foot when he woke up would usually make him yelp like a whipped dog. Dick knew he wouldn’t last long under torture so he decided to bluff his way out.

‘Fine’, said Dick. ‘Bring it on. I’m not going to tell you anything! Ever! I can stand being severely beaten’.

Maxx shook his head. ‘Dick, that’s far too crude and besides, in my experience it takes too long. I like to think I’m a man of taste and sophistication. That’s why I favour torture with a certain form of irony’.

Dick’s reaction indicated that he wasn’t at all sure about ironic torture.

‘It seems only just that a penis that has given so much pleasure should now be at the receiving end of a similar degree of pain’, Maxx explained. ‘Carter will make the necessary arrangements’.

Dick didn’t like this. You made the ‘necessary arrangements’ about booking a hotel, a cab or airline tickets. When used in the context of torture it seemed too casual, as if this was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps, Dick thought as he was being led away by Carter, that here in the Party, it was. Dick was marched down the corridor and into an elevator.

‘Press the up button. Press the up button’, willed Dick, concentrating as hard as he could. It was inevitable though that Carter pressed the button marked ‘basement’. Dick didn’t like that. There were never any good things in basements. Basements contained boring things like plant rooms or boilers. But they also contained horrible things like cells and dungeons and it was in one of these that Dick soon found himself.

As dungeons go it was a very clean one; not a piece of hewn rock, dried blood or rusty chain in sight. This one had green-tiled walls and CCTV cameras and what looked like a steel table in the middle of a smooth white floor. It looked, Dick thought, more like an operating theatre than a dungeon.

‘Are you sure we’ve come to the right place?’, asked Dick, half playing for time and half just wanting reassurance that he wasn’t about to have anything pointy and/or hot in close proximity to his genitals.

Unfortunately Carter couldn’t give him the reassurance he sought. ‘It was now or never’, Dick thought to himself. Without warning he swung round and aimed the strongest punch he could at the side of Carter’s head, just above the ear. Almost simultaneously Dick realised that it was the ‘never’ part of his assumption rather than the ‘now’ part that would be true. With an agility that belied his age Carter blocked the blow with his elbow, the same elbow in fact that delivered a sharp jab to Dick’s chin. Whether it was this blow or the knock to the head Dick received when he hit the hard floor is a mute point. What’s important is that Dick was out cold for a short time and when he woke up, found himself firmly strapped to the metal table completely naked apart from something fixed around his waist, covering his groin. Although securely fastened, Dick was able to lift his head a few degrees, which is how he noticed the thing around his waist was actually some sort of box. It was quite a nice one, about six inches square and made of dark tan leather. The sort of box that would be just perfect for keeping letters, keepsakes, photographs or…