Message-ID: <4999eli$9710191437@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Andrew Roller X-Good-Total-Length: yes Subject: AMAZONIA part 1 of 2 (NND) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <34494EA0.6BD6@idt.net> _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Andrew Roller Presents AMAZONIA _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/ Chapter One It was a soft summer night. School would be out soon. His pickup was new and smelled new, and it made Susan more responsive. Her blonde hair trailed down over her face and onto his shoulders. They kissed. Crickets took up a new symphony in the long grass surrounding his pickup to celebrate the arrival of his hand, for the first time, within her tight jeans. He felt the front of Susan’s panties. Strange, how there was nothing there, except soft folds of flesh. Susan had sweet perfume. Her lips worked harder against his. Lifting his hand from within her jeans, he took hold of Susan’s head. She breathed a remorseful sigh. Did she want him back between her legs? Her lips seemed to beg for his return, but his mouth was pressed so tightly to hers that she couldn’t get any words out. His fingers infiltrated the long, honeyed strands of her hair. He felt her ear, her jaw. He seized Susan by her neck. Susan gave a shriek as he lifted her by her neck and slammed her head into the windshield of his pickup. Her blood splattered brightly against his new, leather-like dashboard. He pulled back his fist, still gripping Susan by her neck, then slammed her head forward again. The windshield cracked. It was safety glass and it splintered into a tightly-glued pattern of see-through jigsaw puzzle pieces. He rammed Susan’s blonde head into the jigsaw pattern. Again. Again. He broke through into the hot summer night beyond the glass. A white glare burst through the windshield. It was made of neon bulbs. He held Susan’s lifeless neck in his hand, stared at the hole he’d made in the windshield. Then he let go of Susan. She fell unresponsively into the footwell of his truck’s cab, on the passenger side. Her 14-year-old feet, clad in sneakers, remained draped over his lap. “My God, what have you done?” he heard from beyond the hole in his windshield. It was kind of a half-scream, this question, and instinctively he pushed himself up from the seat of his truck’s cab toward it. He groped at the broken windshield in front of him with his hands. He found he could bend it back where he’d made a hole in it. He pushed at the glass. He climbed out of the cab through the hole in the front of the windshield. There was no dark summer night beyond the windshield, not even the hood of his shiny new truck existed beyond it. Instead, he was standing in a neon-lit laboratory. He stared at a white coated technician. “God, you’ve broken through,” the technician said to him. “Are you... my father?” was all he could think to ask. “Huh?” the technician replied. Then he gulped, once, and, seeming to understand his question, answered, “No. I just work here.” He looked at the technician. The man was thin. His cheeks were gaunt. On his coat was sewn a name badge. It read: “Pope”. “Who are you?” he blurted. He began to feel a rage inside him. It was the same rage that had caused him to strike Susan’s head, so suddenly, against the windshield of his new truck, even as they kissed and she’d given him what he’d wished for from her for so long. Frantically he glanced back at the hole in the windshield of his cab, saw just shadows beyond, and wires, and some kind of a body, the person he’d once called ‘Susan’. “You don’t know what you’ve done. You don’t know what it’s like. Out there... you had a good life...” Pope said to him in a voice as frantic as he himself was feeling. His head turned from the broken windshield back to Pope. Strange, how the windshield was set into the wall of the lab behind him, was part of the wall! And he was standing on a floor, not on the hood of his new truck, as he should be. And there was no grass, no crickets. Had there ever been grass? Was it night, or day? Where was he? Who was he? A vision of a rat in a cage flitted through his mind. The rat bore his head, and he lived in a cage. Pope stood outside the cage, studying him. And now he was free of the cage and could confront Pope directly. His hand swept briefly over his backside. No, he didn’t have a tail. And, seeing his reflection in the glass cover on a laboratory machine, he saw he was human, just like Pope was. In fact, he was several inches taller than Pope. And he was young, 15, with his Learner’s Permit in his pocket, letting him drive, and he felt strong. Pope was going gray. He had spindly fingers and a thin neck. “Who am I?” he blurted at Pope. “And who are you, if you aren’t my father?” “I’m just... I just... they wanted to study a human in the wild. You had a good life. Sure, it was a six foot by six foot Emulsion Cage, but you didn’t have to ever know that. For you, it was Sedgeway, Iowa, and you were scheduled to have a normal life, right through to old age.” Pope seemed to choke on a sudden, ironic laugh. “I was working on your old age pension plan this morning. You’d have gotten it in the mail in 13 years.” He stared at Pope. The lab technician stared back. It was just the two of them, in this brightly-lit laboratory room, with the broken windshield set into the far wall. He still regarded the man as some kind of father, despite the man’s denials. “Thanks, I won’t be needing an age old pension plan,” he said, angrily. He wanted to grab the man by the neck but he felt somehow that the man was real, not like Susan, who wasn’t real, but only seemed real. Real humans could tell tales, tales that died when they did. He needed some tales right now. Any tales. “Who am I? What’s my name... Pope?” he said furiously to the man. “Huh?” Pope replied. The graying man seemed half-bewildered by having to confront, face to face, the ‘rat’ he’d studied for so long. “No... Pope is my name. Not yours,” Pope finally managed to say as they stared at each other in the laboratory. “Yours is, well, ‘Cum-Andi’ is all it really is. Cum... sperm from the subject named Andi... that’s all you’re really known by. Plus a number.” Pope grinned. It was that wry, ironic grin that had made him utter a choking laugh a minute ago. “Do you want to know the number?” he asked. “What’s the number?” Cum-Andi answered. “2A-95596E-2320541-3000,” Pope grinned. It was a Stephen King kind of grin, except Cum-Andi was beginning to wonder if there had ever been a Stephen King. There had, after all, never been any Susan. “What’s that, my goddamn phone number?” Cum-Andi growled. “No, dear boy. It’s you,” Pope replied. “It’s your identifying number and I suppose you’ll want to memorize it now, or not. The choice is yours. All choices are yours now. You had a nice life but now you’re here, aren’t you? And you can’t go home again. Because home was a six foot by six foot box that you knew as Sedgeway, Iowa, in the great United States of America at the end of the 20th century.” Cum-Andi peered at Pope through a haze of rising anger. Who was this little man, and why was he grinning now? Pope straightened his posture and pressed his fingers to a Notebook-sized, computerized pad he was holding in his hands. “Forgive me but I must call security,” Pope said. “You’ve escaped from your cage and we can’t have you running loose around the building. I’d get in serious trouble. I could be killed...” Cum-Andi grabbed Pope and smashed him head first into a glass covering over a computer. Pope screamed. The computer sparked bits of firefly lightning and its dials dimmed. Blood ran down the face of the computer. Pope fell lifeless to the floor. His notebook fell clattering between his legs. Bending over, Cum-Andi picked up the notebook. The fall from Pope’s hands had shattered its viewscreen. Yet Cum-Andi studied it, looked at the lettering written across its top: “Renno Amazonia League, D.C.,” the lettering spelled out, quite distinctly, “Do Not Remove from Building”. Underneath that, in smaller lettering, was written a rationale. The computerized notepad wouldn’t work outside the building and, hence, there was no point in removing it from the building. Cum-Andi dropped the notepad to the floor. It wasn’t working inside the building, any more. Then a chill ran down his spine. Was he like the notepad? Could he still ‘work’ if he himself left the building? Dashing through a door, Cum-Andi felt a sense of desperation. Who was he? Just a number? Just a rat in a cage? He left the brightly lit laboratory only to find himself in an equally brightly lit hallway. He wanted to jump up and smash the light overhead. He tried, couldn’t quite touch it. Cum-Andi jumped again and still managed to fall just short of it. “Damn!” Cum-Andi swore. He dashed down the hall. He saw a door set in the wall of the corridor. He grabbed the door’s knob and tore the door open. He wanted to wrench the door off its hinges but found he couldn’t. Staring into the small dark room beyond, he felt a sudden flash of fear. He’d opened a door on a closet. The cage. Sedgeway, Iowa. His truck. Susan. His eyes scanned across a mop, a cleaning bucket, and, next to the bucket, he saw a head. It stared at him. It blinked. “Let there be light,” the head said. It grinned up at Cum-Andi from a shelf. Wires trailed out of the bottom of its neck. It had no body. “Who--?” Cum-Andi felt a deep chill and was about to slam the door shut on the closet but couldn’t quite bear to because the head was grinning up at him in a casual, accepting way, despite repeatedly blinking its eyes at the sudden intrusion of light into its dark closet. “I’m Stan, if you must know my name,” the head said to Cum-Andi. “Do you want to play?” “No, I--” Cum-Andi couldn’t think of anything to say. It was ridiculous. He’d been in Sedgeway, Iowa, kissing a girl he’d longed for, and now he was staring into a cleaning closet at a head with no body. Was he dreaming? He pinched himself. Nothing. No change. But he remembered dreaming before, and pinching himself in the dream to see if it was real, and being assured it was real because the pinch in his dream was a dream-pinch, not a real pinch, and so didn’t wake him. “I’m a BabbleBot,” the head told Cum-Andi. “I can be male or female. Just get me the body you prefer, and we can play together.” “No thanks,” Cum-Andi answered. He felt again the need to slam the closet door shut but the BabbleBot stared at him so benignly, he grabbed it instead. Cum-Andi lifted the head so that it was level with his own. “Who are you?” Cum-Andi asked. The head smiled, seemed unoffended by having to restate its identity. “I’m Stan. I’m a BabbleBot. Get me a body and we can play. Male or female, your choice.” Footsteps echoed in the hall. Cum-Andi shut the closet door. Then, thinking quickly, he opened it again. Steeling himself against the possibility of finding himself in a cage once more, clutching the head as proof of what he’d found outside Sedgeway, Iowa, he stepped into the cleaning closet. He pulled the door in behind him but left it ajar, lest he find himself locked into the closet. “Ooooh, Post Office! I like games in the dark. I need a body, though,” the head said under the crook of Cum-Andi’s arm. “Shhhh!” Cum-Andi told the head. Then, looking down at it in the near darkness of the cleaning closet, he asked, “Who am I?” “Oh, I don’t know that game,” the head replied. “Keep your voice down!” Cum-Andi scolded the head. “Whisper.” “Okay,” the head answered. “Who am I?” “Don’t be useless to me or I’ll kick your head in,” Cum-Andi warned the head. It seemed to understand that Cum-Andi was serious. “Who are you? I don’t know. You haven’t told me your name yet. I’m Stan,” the head said to Cum-Andi. Footsteps hurried past the door outside. Cum-Andi heard hissing. The noise, a conversation of hisses, died as whatever was outside the door hurried past. “Sisguards,” the head whispered. “Have you been bad? They’ll take you to a Detention and Reeducation Center. You won’t like that. I lost my body there.” Cum-Andi glared down at the head. It had whispered, though, and whatever was outside the door seemed to have passed by without hearing it. “What are... Sssguards?” Cum-Andi asked. “Sisguards?” the head replied. “My, my, you’ve never heard of them before? And you so big, how could you...?” the head paused. “You wouldn’t be a Wild One, would you?” “A what?” Cum-Andi asked. “Yes, you must be,” the head said to itself, still whispering, as Cum-Andi had ordered it to. “A human, from the look of you, one of the experimental ones grown in the wild. Why aren’t you in your cage?” “You know about my... cage?” Cum-Andi paused. He still had trouble believing Sedgeway, Iowa, could really be nothing but a fictional illusion inside a six foot by six foot cage. Silently he assured himself he’d wake up at any moment and find himself in his own bed, at home, with no new truck bought for him by his dad for his birthday, and Susan still an unattainable love-object, a kind of 14-year-old Jenny McCarthy. Just like she’d always been, until she’d agreed to go riding with him in his brand-new truck this evening. “You’ve broken out of your cage,” the head said. “My, my. We won’t have much time to play, then.” Cum-Andi pushed open the closet door. He peered out. He clutched the head under his arm, not sure if he wanted it, but afraid to let it go just yet. It seemed to have more tales to tell him. And it didn’t seem as much as a threat as Pope had been. For one thing, it had no computerized notepad and, for that matter, no body. It had nothing but a mouth. “Keep your voice down,” Cum-Andi said to the head under his arm. “Sure,” the head agreed. Cum-Andi glared up the hall, then in the other direction. All he could see was the hall’s neon-lit walls. They seemed to close him in on both sides, like a tube-shaped cage. He still felt like a rat. “Which way? Where do I go?” Cum-Andi asked the head. “To the bathroom?” the head answered. Cum-Andi glared at the head and it chuckled. “Sorry. A bit of levity, brighten your day, before we both wind up in Det Ed.” “Det?” Cum-Andi asked, unable to finish because the head interrupted. “Detention and Reeducation. They’ll get us both now, I’ll bet. I’ll lose my head,” the head answered. Its face broke into a self-pitying smile. “Look, if you want a body, I’ll see what I can do,” Cum-Andi told the head under his arm. “But if you... if you joke around and fuck with me I’ll kick your head like a football down this hallway.” “Sounds like a deal,” the head answered. It grinned up at Cum-Andi. “Good,” Cum-Andi said. “Now who am I, who are you, and where the fuck are we? And how do I get out of this idiot dream I’m in?” “Not a dream,” the head said. “You may be dreaming soon, and quite painfully, once the Sisguards get hold of you. You’re an escaped animal. Escaped from a cage. I’ll bet you came from right down the hall, hmmm? You don’t seem to have gotten very far from your cage, I’ll bet, considering how little you know. You’ll be back in your cage soon. If you haven’t polluted yourself too much with knowledge of the world outside your cage.” The head looked up at Cum-Andi, and seemed to evaluate him. “If you have polluted yourself, if you know too much, then they’ll kill you. Perhaps you’d best put me back in my closet and turn yourself in before you know too much.” “No!” Cum-Andi said. He looked frantically up and down the hallway. Then back at the head. “No, I’m not going back into any fucking cage,” he hissed at the head. “It’s a nice life. You’ll get to live a full life,” the head replied. “You won’t know you’re in a cage once they’ve got you properly locked back into it. You’ll be... God knows, in Sedgeway, Iowa, if you’re one of that man’s subjects. What’s his name? The guy down the hall? Did you meet anyone besides me?” The head peered up at Cum-Andi from the crook of Cum-Andi’s arm. “Pope?” Cum-Andi said. “Yes! Pope! He used to have me sing to him on Friday afternoons,” the head said. “When he had to clean his lab.” The head peered at Cum-Andi closely. “You’re Pope’s subject, aren’t you? Raised in the wild. Or, rather, in a cage that you thought was a real place. Sedgeway, Iowa, right?” “That’s right,” Cum-Andi answered. “Pope promised me a body someday, if he could afford it, so I could clean his lab for him,” the head said. “A nice man.” “Yeah,” Cum-Andi agreed. Something told him to keep his own hostility toward Pope under wraps. The head might not like hearing that Pope was dead. Footsteps sounded once more in the hall. Cum-Andi jerked his head in the direction of the laboratory. There was a gentle curve to the hallway. It prevented him seeing all the way to the lab, but he guessed that whatever had passed by the hallway closet was on its way back. Cum-Andi clapped his hand over the BabbleBot’s mouth. The head worked its jaw, futilely. “Yeah,” Cum-Andi thought. “Blab that I’m here, fucking head. Turn me in and get a body for yourself. No way.” Mewling sounds escaped from between Cum-Andi’s clamping fingers. He pressed them more tightly to the head’s mouth. Cum-Andi turned and ran. He was wearing sneakers. They muffled his footfalls as he ran down the hall. He was glad he hadn’t taken his Dad’s advice and worn hard-soled shoes for his date with Susan. Cum-Andi felt a freezing sensation in the pit of his stomach. That father, that man he’d called ‘Dad,’ hadn’t been real. Unless this was just some crazy dream he was in. That meant his mother wasn’t real either. Or his kid sister. Bethany! Six, going on seven, just old enough to read Dr. Seuss by herself. She’d gotten lost at the Mall last weekend and Mom had gone nuts. Now, it turned out she was lost forever, or, rather, never born. Cum-Andi would have stopped, perhaps even cried, but he could hear footfalls behind him and they were numerous. They, whoever They were, had heard him running, despite his sneakers. This had to be a dream. In dreams, you always wound up being chased. Cum-Andi was torn between stopping, turning around, and confronting whatever was after him. At the same time, he kept his hand over the BabbleBot’s mouth. It kept working its jaw. Cum-Andi adjusted his fingers. The head seemed to be trying to bite one of them. “Now would be a good time to find a rabbit hole,” Cum-Andi muttered to himself, remembering a book he’d read to Bethany a few days ago, after school. She’d insisted. It had been the only way he could keep her from putting a mud-pie in the oven. And keep her from telling Mom about the pot she’d found sneaking around in his bedroom. Cum-Andi stared at the floor. It looked solid. He jumped, once, to test it. Hey, this was a dream, right? He’d probably sink right into it. The floor held. “There’s the animal!” Cum-Andi heard behind him. Cum-Andi whirled about. Something burned into his arm. He screamed. If it had been his right arm, he’d have dropped the head onto the floor. But it was his left, and in his left hand he held nothing. Cum-Andi felt tears well up in the corners of his eyes. If this was a dream, it was a damn painful one! His arm felt like it was on fire. Cum-Andi would have looked down at his arm but he couldn’t take his eyes off the creatures who were coming toward him. They had long hair, like Susan. One was blonde, two were brunettes. One of the brunettes had her hair pulled back into a tight, Puritan-like bun. The other two let their hair flow freely down over their shoulders. The creatures had slitted yellow eyes. They seemed to be wearing blue body armor. It consisted of a blue helmet, with a gaudy yellow star on its front. A blue padded vest was fitted over each creature’s chest. The creatures, underneath their vests, seemed to have bosoms. Some of the creatures were more amply endowed in their chests than others. Their arms were bare, but covered with what appeared to be small, mesh-like scales. Their legs were covered with the same cloth, or was it bare skin? Cum-Andi couldn’t decide. Most amazingly, except for one other feature, the creatures wore no pants. Cum-Andi could see what appeared to be pubic hair where the legs of each creature joined. It was the faces, though, of the creatures that most riveted Cum-Andi. They were crocodile faces. Each creature sported long, glittering teeth, and had long nails growing from her (?) hands. The teeth and the nails seemed to match. In fact, they did match, Cum-Andi noticed, for each creature seemed to have chosen her own personal color to paint her teeth and her fingernails with. Almost involuntarily, Cum-Andi glanced at the creatures’ feet. Yes! Protruding from what could only be described as open-toed, sandal-like boots, each creature had long toenails. They had colored their toenails to match their fingernails and their teeth. One creature had pink teeth, pink toenails, pink fingernails. Another had chosen yellow, a third garish purple. “Is it a Man?” Cum-Andi heard one of the creatures ask another. They hurried toward him. “Yes. One of the specially-grown, primitive men, created for study purposes,” one of the creatures rushing toward Cum-Andi replied. “It is a plot. Pope cloned himself and now has released his creation on us,” one of the creatures, running just behind the creature who led the pack, snarled. “Kill it! Pope was wise to commit suicide. We must not be unwise and let this creature run loose, spreading his diseases among us!” Cum-Andi watched as one of the creatures rushing at him raised what looked like a gun. Cum-Andi remembered his left arm. It still burned, badly, like a sunburn laid on with a vengeance by a too-long day at the beach. “Don’t! You’ll kill the BabbleBot!” Cum-Andi cried. He raised up the head to block the inevitable blast of the gun aimed at him. “He’s an animal! An escaped animal!” the BabbleBot screamed at the approaching creatures. Cum-Andi’s hand had come off the Bot’s mouth as he raised the head to protect himself. “No!” one of the creatures in the blue-armored outfits shouted. The gun aimed at Cum-Andi fired, but the blast went awry. A hole was blown into the wall to Cum-Andi’s right. Shards of it cut into Cum-Andi’s right side. “Owwww! God!” Cum-Andi yelled. This dream was getting too painful to bear. He turned. He ran. Behind him he heard contentious yelling, as if the creatures had turned on one another. Cum-Andi tucked the BabbleBot back under his arm so he wouldn’t drop it as he ran. Then he remembered how the head had betrayed him. Cum-Andi lifted the head. He glared at it. He kept running, though, for he could hear the creatures somewhere behind him, still shouting at one another. “Hi. Exercise is good for you,” the head said with a forced kind of nonchalance. “Where I come from, we play football,” Cum-Andi panted. “If you want to find out what it’s like to be a live football, betray me again.” “You were using me to block the gun,” the head answered. “I only betrayed you after you betrayed me.” “Yeah, sure,” Cum-Andi said. He didn’t believe the head had only been getting a just revenge. The head had yelled the minute it could, and it had been trying to talk, or shout, the whole time he’d had his hand clamped over its mouth. “Tell me how to get the fuck out of this dream. NOW!” The head looked up. “Air conditioning is a wonderful invention,” the head replied. Cum-Andi looked up. He slowed his pace. He scanned the ceiling. Of course! There were air vents in the ceiling. If he could pry one loose, if he could reach one, that is, he might... yes, he might just be able to get up into an air duct. “You’ll need to jump high, or find something to stand on,” the head said. Cum-Andi looked along the hall. He saw a door. He rushed to it, turned the knob. It was locked. Cum-Andi ran on. He came to another door. It too was locked. Then, running on, he came to a hallway that cut across the one he’d been running down. It was the first cross-hallway he’d come to and he was grateful for it. Rounding the corner, Cum-Andi found himself staring at a creature like the ones he’d been running from. But this one had her hair pinned up in a loosely-tied scarf. She was mopping the floor. Cum-Andi scanned her figure for a weapon but saw none. “Eeeeyah! An animal!” the creature screamed. Seeing Cum-Andi, she raised her mop. She swung it at Cum-Andi. It connected with his shoulder and sent him sprawling. Cum-Andi landed on his back. “Yow!” Cum-Andi heard the head cry as it fell from his arm and went clattering across the floor. Without thinking, Cum-Andi leapt to his feet. He attacked the creature with the mop. He managed to wrench the mop from her hands. He began to beat the creature. Viciously, without remorse. The creature responded, kicking him in the groin. Cum-Andi suppressed a scream, somehow, and beat the creature even more violently. Cum-Andi found himself standing over the creature. It lay at his feet. Blood gushed from its head and mouth. Cum-Andi reached down between his legs and gingerly massaged his crotch. “Nice work. It’s dead,” the head called from across the hall. “Now what?” Cum-Andi asked. He felt slightly disoriented by the kick he’d received in his groin. “Her cleaning cart, idiot. Get up on her cart,” the head said. “And don’t forget me. I doubt they’ll let me off, much less give me a body, now that you’ve killed one of them. They’ll figure I’m polluted, just by having seen one of them killed. By a man. A primitive man. They wouldn’t want me talking.” “Hmmm, I guess we’re partners in crime, then,” Cum-Andi said. He turned to the head. He walked over to it, his gait slightly awkward from the kick he’d received in his groin. “Good. You won’t be screaming about me any more.” “Yeah,” the BabbleBot agreed. Cum-Andi scooped up the head from the floor. He looked at it. It had a bruise on its forehead but otherwise it seemed just as it had been before. Cum-Andi heard the blue-armored creatures somewhere around the corner and down the hall. They were running toward him. “I’m getting sick of this,” Cum-Andi said suddenly. He was gripped with a desire to stand his ground, to confront the creatures. He’d end this stupid dream and wake up in his own bed and-- “Look at me,” the head said in a strange, low voice. It might have been a furious voice but the head was just a head, and it seemed rather silly for a head with no body to be angry with him. Still, Cum-Andi obeyed the head, looked down at it. The head glared at him. “Everything you ever knew is over,” the head said. It stared up at him. “This isn’t some dream, like you wish it would be. Your past life is over. It never existed, except in your head, in your cage.” The head said the word ‘cage’ vengefully. “You can’t smoke pot to get out of this one, or listen to Nirvana. This is real. Real life. And they’ll make you pay for killing one of them. They’re wymen, after all. 23rd century wymen. You’re a throwback. A primitive man from an earlier era. You’re not supposed to be alive, except in your cage, and then only so you can be studied.” “Yeah, whatever,” Cum-Andi replied. And he wished he could get that name out of his head. He wasn’t Cum-Andi. He was George. George, named after George Washington, George Harrison Smith. He lived in Sedgeway, Iowa, and he had two parents, two parents who hadn’t gotten divorced, like most of his friends’ parents. And he had a 6-year-old sister, almost seven, who had just learned to read Dr. Seuss books on her own. Cum-Andi winced at the pain in his left arm. At the shards of broken hallway in his right side. At the throbbing in his groin where earlier in the evening he’d been feeling a welcome tightness, as Susan proved remarkably responsive to his kisses. Susan! He’d bashed her head into his windshield. That’s how all this had started. He’d felt, somehow, a need... a sensation that he was boxed in, inside his brand-new pickup, that he was being studied, watched, observed, and... He’d killed Susan. Cum-Andi felt it in his gut and knew it was true. Yet Susan never had existed! Pope had said he was living in... what was it? An Emulsion Cage. Only because of Susan, Cum-Andi made his way over to the cleaning cart. He glanced at the ceiling. Perfect. There was an air ventilation duct right overhead, as if placed there by God. Because he had killed Susan, he decided to play along in the dream. He wouldn’t confront the creatures who were pursuing him. Not yet. He felt too guilty about killing Susan to do that. Cum-Andi climbed up onto the cart. He took the head with him. Unsteadily he stood. Trying not to send the cart rolling down the hall, he found he could reach the ceiling above him. Cum-Andi grasped at the metal covering over the air duct and pulled on it. “Come on!” Cum-Andi breathed. It held tight. He could hear the creatures approaching. Cum-Andi put down the head. “Pull hard. You can get it. You’re strong,” the head said, looking up at Cum-Andi from the top of the cleaning cart, lying next to his sneakers. “Quiet!” Cum-Andi replied. He grasped the air duct covering again. He pulled, hard, just as the head had told him to. The square covering popped from the ceiling. A shower of white plaster fell onto Cum-Andi’s upturned face. With the footfalls of the creatures growing ever louder round the corner, Cum-Andi reached down to the top of the cleaning cart he was standing on. He picked up the head. “See what’s up there,” Cum-Andi told the head. He lifted it up and stuffed it through the hole where the air duct covering had been. “It’s dark up here!” the head replied. “Okay, well, I’m coming up,” Cum-Andi said. He pushed the head deeper into the air shaft in the ceiling overhead. Then, grasping the sides of the hole he’d made by removing the air duct covering, Cum-Andi hoisted himself up. “Good, I can fit,” Cum-Andi said to himself. He let his feet drop back down out of the hole he’d made in the ceiling. He rested them on the surface of the cleaning cart. Then, with a wild kick, using both his feet, he sent the cart rolling down the hall. It went shooting through the intersection formed by the hall he’d escaped down, and on along the cross-hall, in a direction he’d never travelled. A moment later the creatures pursuing him reached the intersection. There were six of them, and instinctively three of them turned and followed the cart. Two more turned toward the dead cleaning wyman, the other one glared down the hall they’d been running in, as if to follow a fleeing Cum-Andi in the same direction they’d all been running in all along. Cum-Andi dropped to the floor. He rushed the two creatures who were hovering over the dead wyman. He tackled one of them. He’d made the cut for the high school football team, after failing the previous year. That had been, perhaps, why Susan had agreed to go out with him. That and his new pickup truck. He grabbed the gun from the creature as he knocked it to the floor. “Just pull the trigger!” the BabbleBot, hiding out in the ceiling, screamed down to him, guessing at what Cum-Andi must do, without even being able to see him. The voice from the ceiling served to disorient the remaining five wymen long enough for Cum-Andi to get off the first shot. “Ackckck!” the wyman Cum-Andi had knocked to the floor screamed as Cum-Andi shot it. Then he lifted his gun and blasted away, wildly, at the other five creatures. Cum-Andi had been quite good at shooting aliens at the Mall. Instinctively he fired at the wymen’s faces. One, Two, oops hit the wall... shit it fired at me but hit the ceiling. The BabbleBot! Three, got it! Four... one more... it’s trying to escape! Leaping to his feet, Cum-Andi ran for the hallway intersection. A wyman, the one who had wished to run on down the same hallway they’d been chasing Cum-Andi in all this time, had escaped down it. Cum-Andi darted to the intersection and then, at the last moment, he hit the floor. He stuck his head around the corner. The wyman, expecting him to still be standing, took out a section of wall with a blast from its gun where Cum-Andi’s head would have been if he’d looked round the corner while still on his feet. “KA-BLAM!” Cum-Andi fired. But he hit the wyman right in its breasts, and the creature fell backward, without even a hole in its armor to show it had been hit. Cum-Andi fired his stolen gun again. Nothing. Frantically he pulled the trigger a second time, but the gun refused to fire. “Re-load!” the BabbleBot, apparently counting shots somewhere up in the ceiling, cried. Foolishly, startled that the BabbleBot could be so aware, Cum-Andi turned his head. Where the air duct ventilation hole should have been, there was instead a smoking, jagged-edged hole made by a wyman’s gun. Cum-Andi dropped his eyes to the floor and saw the head staring at him. The head knew Cum-Andi was out of ammunition because it could see him, dead on, blown from the ceiling by an errant blast from a dead wyman’s gun. The head was missing an eye. “Shrapnel wound,” Cum-Andi heard himself say, as he stared at the head. “Drop your weapon, animal!” Cum-Andi heard. He jerked his head back down the hallway where the wyman he’d hit in the chest lay. It was still on the floor, on its back, but it had its gun pointed right at him. “I’m not out of ammo,” the wyman said through gritted teeth. Its breathing seemed ragged, as if it were half-stunned from the blast it had received in its chest. “Shit!” Cum-Andi said. He threw his gun at the wyman. It missed it and went clattering down the hall. “Stand up,” the wyman said to Cum-Andi. “Fuck you,” Cum-Andi answered. But he stood, just as the wyman had ordered. “Oh, God, we’ll be tortured,” the one-eyed head wailed from the cross-hallway. “Unbutton your pants,” the wyman snarled at Cum-Andi. It levelled its gun on Cum-Andi’s crotch. “What?!” Cum-Andi replied. “You heard me. Unzip!” the wyman said. Its breathing seemed even now. It was no longer in shock from Cum-Andi’s blast. Slowly, staring at the phallic-like gun with its long snout that was levelled at him, Cum-Andi unzipped his jeans. “Pull out your Thing,” the wyman told him. Cum-Andi stared at the creature. “I want to see it!” the creature screamed at him. It sounded half-guilty, half mad with lust. Cum-Andi yanked open the flap in the front of his underpants. This was one Hell of a weird dream. He produced his penis. Instinctively it stiffened. He’d never been seen by anyone before. “Good God!” the wyman breathed. The gun it held levelled at Cum-Andi’s crotch trembled in its hand. Finally, staring over its chest, still lying on the floor on its back, it breathed, “It’s true. There was such a thing as Primitive Men. Real men, with real... what were they called?” “Balls?” Cum-Andi volunteered. Then he wished he hadn’t said the word, for his balls were still safely inside his shorts. “No... yes! Penis! That’s it! You have a penis!” the wyman breathed. It sounded very guilty now, as it stared at Cum-Andi’s cock. Cum-Andi found his eyes staring between the creature’s legs. It didn’t wear pants. None of them did. It had vaginal lips, wedged there between its scale-covered legs. And that was a thatch of pubic hair growing at the base of its chest armor. “Mind if I wake up now?” Cum-Andi asked the lizard-like woman with the crocodile teeth lying several feet away in the hall. “It’s not a dream!” screamed Stan, the bodiless head. “This is your life! Run!” Suddenly Cum-Andi realized how close he was to the corner, the intersection where the two hallways met, and how unsteady the gun now seemed in the wyman’s hand as it stared at his cock. If his calculations, his instincts, Hell, if the head was right, he just might be able to... Run! Cum-Andi darted to the right. He dashed down the cross hall, scooped up the head, and ran for dear life. His cock, still protruding stiffly from his pants, wobbled like a drunken submarine in front of him. Somewhere behind Cum-Andi the wyman’s gun began firing. But Cum-Andi was dashing down the curving hallway and, when he dared to look back, the natural curve in the hall had allowed the dead wyman, and the sole surviving live one, to slip from view. It was following him, that sole remaining wyman, but it was unsteady in its pursuit and Cum-Andi guessed it would soon need to pause and reload its gun. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -Free e-mail subscriptions: No longer available due to mailbombing of my Internet account(s) by right-wing Christians. -Currently I am: roller39@mail.idt.net -formerly I was andrewroller@sprintmail.com, roller66@inreach.com, roller666@aol.com Read my complete works under these names by going to: http://www.excite.com (Click on ‘newsgroups’ and search under my various former screen names). (Also you can read irrelevant bullshit posted by right-wing Christians.) -Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated -For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com - Free plug: http://www.netusa.net/files/Authors/eli/www/erotica/assm/ -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 - JOIN the world’s greatest organization! Send $35.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association for a one-year membership. NAMBLA, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018. -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1997 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others copyright 1997 by the respective copyright holder. -END OF 272 EMISSION -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /