Livin' In the Country
Chapter 15
The best way to describe my host was that he looked like an elf on
steroids. I could not help making that connection once I took in his pointy
ears, impish blue-gray eyes and round smooth face that seemed to blend into his
round smooth head. He had this sardonic smile plastered on his kisser, as he
looked me up and down. Then he rose and stuck out his hand, which did not match
the rest of his body at all. It was large for a man of his size with long,
tapering fingers that might have belonged to a concert pianist or some such type
of person. His grip was surprisingly strong and his skin felt dry as dust. As he
pumped my hand in welcome he asked how old Jimbo was doing these days, referring
to the good professor who had sent me on this journey. I replied that he was
well and happy at the Wellington Wadsworth School of Animal Husbandry, and he
roared with laughter so hard that his shoulders shook.
"Damn if that old sheep fucker hasn't found himself the perfect job!" he
exclaimed as he slapped his leg. "He and I used to have some good times together
when we were at medical school. That good old boy would fuck anything that he
could get his hands on; nurses, patients, friends of the patients, teens to
grandmothers, if it came within range he nailed them. But he really reserved his
true affections for the animal kingdom. He claimed that he never had to say that
he was sorry for anything he ever did to or with them. They just took him for
what he was and they never pestered him about staying out late or not telling
them that he loved them."
I just stood there catching flies with my open mouth as Philo Plankton
went on and on about his dear old buddy from medical school. Then he seemed to
switch himself off and those eyes became two lasers as he took a real good look
at yours truly. "What brings you out to this wicked land my rustic friend? Don't
tell me you want to get into the movies or some such thing. I get more people
tramping through here trying to convince me that they could be the next John C
Holmes or Linda Lovelace." He kind of looked off into space after he said that,
making me feel as if I was one small step away from being shown the door.
Those names did ring a bell with me. I must admit to having a hankering
now and then to watch one of those old porn tapes. You know the ones, they were
usually grainy and the color was sometimes so bad that people looked green or
worse. I remember being dazzled by the sight of this young woman, with what
looked like an Afro hairdo, swallowing this fella's tallywacker without so much
as batting one of her fake eyelashes. As for the aforementioned Mr. Holmes,
seeing his angry member in the pink, so to speak, gave me an inferiority complex
that has never completly gone away despite my occasional success in the eternal
struggle against the other sex.
The fear that my foray into this strange land had been in vain spurred
me to speech. I began to blather about DNA and how the good professor Jimbo had
directed me to his old friend and expert in the field of DNA research, Philo
Plankton, so that he might assist me in my quest for truth when it came to who
was related to whom, in my family. I have no idea when I lapsed into incoherent
speech, but my carryings-on seemed to amuse him no end. His lasers went back
behind their shields and his eyes started to dance and flicker as he continued
to suffer my foolishness. It was at this point that she entered the room and I
completely lost the power of speech.
Standing in the entrance way behind my host was a vision of loveliness
and pulchritude the likes of which these eyes had never been exposed to. She was
attired, if that be the proper word, in an outfit that displayed her
considerable charms in a most unique way. I started to survey this living fuck
fantasy starting at her dainty feet. These delightful digits were encased in a
pair of stiletto heels, so high that they caused her to teeter as she stood
there, waiting to be recognized by my host. My eyes crawled up one of the most
shapely pair of legs that had ever been attached to a woman's torso. They were
like two columns of creamy vanilla ice cream and the temptation to start at
those dainty feet and lick every square inch of those perfect legs was damn near
overwhelming.
Beyond lay the plumpest, most perfect pussy that a man could imagine.
Her slit was defined by twin mounds of buttery flesh that guarded that entrance
to the promised land that every man dreamed of broaching. I doubted that even a
dime was thin enough to pass through that coin slot of a cunt. Framing this
whirlpool that threatened to suck the eyes from my head was one of those frilly
peach colored garter belt things that served no other function than to focus
one's attention on that perfect pussy.
To this observer this little accent piece made her nudity even more
nude, if such a description makes sense. Surely it worked for me. Everything
else in the room had ceased to exist as far as this viewer was concerned. Philo
Plankton could have burst into flame and I would not have noticed. My dear,
unfaithful wife, Rhonda, could have teleported into this room and I would not
have noticed. The president of these United States of America could have
appeared and stood on his head spitting wooden nickels and I would not have
noticed. I continued my reconnaisance, another one of those damned French words,
and espied her navel, proof positive that this goddess had not sprung full born
from the sea or any of that kind of mythological nonsense. Buried within this
symbol of her humanity winked a small jewel that had somehow become embedded
within that glorious indentation in her most perfect flesh.
I reconnoitered further and traveled over the gentle swell of flesh that
outlined her midriff. It was perfectly rounded, neither marred by excess or the
tightening that can be caused by over zealous use of the muscles. In my mind's
eye my tongue was moving over the gentle slope of her belly sampling the texture
and taste of her flesh. Then her breasts came into view and I was almost moved
to tears.
They sprang from her chest like twin torpedoes, displaying a firmness
and resilience that took my breath away. I could watch this gorgeous creature
breathe for hours, observing those bountiful bundles of skin, muscle and fat
working as one as they rose and fell showing no signs that gravity existed. The
nipples on these wonders were pinkish and plump, perfect for an afternoon of
nuzzling and nibbling. Surrounding them was a sea of pebbled skin somewhat
darker in hue, a perfect contrast to the stiff nubbins that were reacting to the
coolness of the room. As in the case of her pussy, these too were showcased by a
few strands of elastic and sheer material that cupped and presented these
wonders for all to see and enjoy.
Her face was a chiseled thing of symmetrical perfection; the eyes set
wide apart and blue as the sea around Naples. Her nose was perfectly centered
with the kind of smooth lines and geometrical precision that could be found in
perhaps one woman in ten thousand. Her lips were two lines of ripe, curving
flesh verging on being ever so close to pouty, a condition that no collagen
injection could ever create. Her flawless skin arched over a set of cheekbones
that almost any woman would kill for. Then there was her hair; bouncing, spun
gold that tickled her perfectly proportioned ears and spread like a cloud of
sunlight across her shoulders. Then this wondrous creature spoke and utterly
ruined one of the best moments of my sorry life.
She spoke in some strange dialect that I initially had much trouble
understanding. To make matters worse her speech was further handicapped by a
large metal stud penetrating her tongue. Philo seemed to have no difficulty in
communicating with her. After a brief exchange having to do with her "audition"
for a part in Philo's latest porn epic, Bimbos from Outer Space, she brightened
considerably at having gotten the part and turned to depart, giving me a view of
her astounding ass.
Philo remembered his manners at that point and introduced this creature
to me as Pandora Box, a name he had manufactured for this airhead who was to
have a speaking part in his movie, except it wasn't a movie, since the advent of
the VCR had ended movies as the major outlet for porn. I was stunned by this
revelation that Philo Plankton, man for all seasons and man for all reasons was
a producer of smut, which now explained his proximity to the adult industry's
center for production. I was standing at ground zero and feeling none the worse
for wear.
He must have sensed my surprise and the fact that I was now somewhat ill
at ease. He made an effort to relieve my anxieties by offering me the
opportunity to "bang Box's box" if I so chose. I was sorely tempted, but
declined his magnanimous offer with thanks. The thought of swapping spit with a
person with a large stud through her tongue, not to mention the propect of
having said stud contacting my sex organ while she gave me one of those
professional porn star blowjobs was equally off-putting. Besides I was here on a
mission, to discover from this man whether or not my former life was fradulent.
Despite my efforts to return our conversation to the matter of DNA and
its ramifications, he would have none of it. Instead he asked me to accompany
him to his auditioning room located on a wing of the second floor, far removed
from the normal traffic patterns in the villa. I nearly wet my pants when we
entered this floodlit place bustling with activity, all of it seeming to center
on the three small stages where naked men and women were cavorting.
Now as you all know, I have done lots of cavorting in my time and a most
enjoyable way of life it is. However these people had taken things to an
entirely different level. On one of these little stages a rather well
upholstered blonde girl with dark roots and a loud voice was screaming at the
top of her lungs for her three partners to "fuck me harder, harder, I can't feel
you!" I was amazed at how a girl with three large cocks, one in her shaved and
ringed pussy and a pair sharing her asshole, could be making such outrageous
remarks.I looked around to see one rather bored individual operating a small
hand-held video camera while another older gentleman took pictures of the
quartet as they rutted and fought for possession of the bed they were occupying.
I looked over at Philo who was staring fixedly at what was going on,
occasionally mumbling something into a little device he held in his hand. He
pointed at one of the males attempting to quiet the "faux" blonde girl and made
a fist. The quartet immediately broke ranks and reconfigured themselves. The
blonde was now on her back, arms outspread, palms flat to the soaked sheets. One
of her partners was straddling her and sliding his large cock between her sweaty
tits, bumping up against her mouth with each stroke. The second had lifted her
legs so that they were supported by his shoulders and he was drilling for oil in
her butthole. The third fella managed to work himself into a position that
allowed him to begin filling the blonde's cunt with first his fingers, and then
the thumb. It was a bravura performance considering all that was occurring
around him. I watched, transfixed, as he made half his arm disappear up that
sweaty blonde's moneymaker as his two companions continued to play in her
furrows. Philo leaned over and whispered to me that this kind of stuff was
strictly for foreign consumption since the good folk in the good old US of A
didn't much cotton to this kind of activity. I bit my tongue and let that remark
slide since I was his guest.
Philo moved over to another stage and I dutifully followed, being
careful not to trip over the miles of electrical cabling that seemed to run in
every possible direction. On this lauching pad, which is what the techs called
the beds used by the porn stars, there were a pair of sort of skinny blondes,
(that hair color seemed to be quite popular in the world of porn), taking turns
like giant leeches on the stiff member of this bored looking guy who was staring
off at the ceiling, probably wondering what in the hell he was doing here. As
they played hide the salami with their mouths, (both of these teen charmers had
studs in their tongues), I took a closer look at the lovelies and determined
that they might be related by blood. Philo leaned over and confirmed my thought,
observing that twins were the hottest thing in porn these days and every
production company wanted to have its own set on the payroll, the younger the
better, so long as they could produce evidence that they had achieved their
majority, which in this business was pegged at eighteen.
We moved to the third stage where I espied the beautous Pandora Box,
tastefully attired in a shelf bra and a big smile, being pummeled fore and aft
by these two large black men who were wearing some kind of aluminum head gear
that gave them an unworldly appearance. They sort of reminded me of a couple of
super-sized versions of the blind engineer from Star Trek. There were two fellas
with cameras taking pictures a mile a minute as the trio moved smoothly from one
impossible position to another. Philo explained to me that the aforementioned
Pandora Box was posing for one of the panels that would make up the box cover
for Bimbos from Outer Space. He also proudly observed that not only did he
produce this one, he would also direct and edit it as well as being responsible
for its casting, musical score and special effects. Indeed Philo Plankton was
one of the giants of porn and this display of his myriad talents was his
crowning moment. He didn't exactly say it that way, but I sort of picked up that
this was what his comments boiled down to.
Philo offered me some lunch and since it had already been a spell since
I had partaken of any food, I took him up on it. I was truly amazed when we took
some stairs and walked out onto a deck that jutted over the back portion of his
property. There was a buffet set up, manned by two ladies in their underwear,
who Philo introduced me to as Trixie Twist, the star of Bimbos from Outer Space,
and her lovely companion, Bambi Barnes, an up and coming, in more ways than one,
porn starlet who was in the process of making her fourth video since she began
her career earlier in the week. We helped ourselves to a mountain of food and
headed down to his study for some serious eating and talking.
I was soon filled to the gunnels and accepted my host's gracious offer
of some sippin' whiskey to help things settle down. It had been an amazing day
and there was more to follow. We started swapping stories, but after a round or
so I just sat back with my whiskey and listened to this astronaut turned porn
producer regale me with portions of his life story. Philo Plankton had been born
and raised on a farm in Kansas. For some unearthly reason he discovered he had
this uncanny ability to remember things. It went a little further when he
realized he had an easy time figuring out how things went together and came
apart. This stood him in good stead with his dad, who had an ancient collection
of farm machinery that seemed always in need of repair. By the time Philo was
fifteen, that stuff had been modified by him to the point that his dad now owned
equipment that was well beyond the state of the art and seemed never to need
anything except some oil and a unique fuel that Philo had whipped up out of
fermenting corn and a few other ingredients only known to himself.
His special talents allowed him to win a full scholarship to the local
university where he finished the first of his many degrees in less than two
years, graduating summa cum something, in engineering.(Latin is not one of my
favorite languages, perhaps because it is dead.) This in turn led to a
fellowship that paved the way for his first PhD, a study of the effects of the
space environment on the behavior of certain mechanical devices. At that point
my head was spinning. By the time my host was twenty-one he was working at the
Johnson Space Center in Houston for NASA. He got bored with things there and
took a NASA fellowship to get a doctorate in Space Medicine, also becoming a
pretty fair surgeon during that period of time. Dr. Plankton, he now considered
himself to be worthy of the title since he now had a medical degree and was a
qualified surgeon, was now ready for something worth sinking his teeth into, and
that was to become an astronaut.
Blessed with a healthy body, free from disease and possessing the
credentials that attracted NASA attention, to wit a number of PhDs in space
applications and the like and a medical degree as well, Philo Plankton was
selected for astronaut training. This proved to be a lengthy process that
dragged on for nearly six years before he was assigned to his first flight, STS
31, a six day jaunt around the planet, taking reams of data while avoiding the
globules of puke and such that floated along with him and his compatriots. Zero
graviy took some getting used to, but after a few days of queasiness he adapted
to this strange environment and was thriving when they made their reentry into
the world of gravity and all it implied.
His second flight came three years later, STS 44, which was the first
mission that included a woman. To wile away the nine years he spent waiting to
go into space Philo picked up another three PhDs, wrote a couple of books and
published some three dozen technical papers on the subject of outer space. He
also picked up a strong interest in the opposite sex, especially upon his return
after his initial foray into space. In those days women were the low fruit on
the trees for any single astronaut worth his collective salt and many others who
claimed to be happily married.
It was then that Philo Plankton leaned forward, his hands on his knees
and a big shit-eating grin plastered across his face. Then he spoke in a voice
that was soft, almost difficult to hear, swearing me to secrecy concerning what
he was about to reveal. I could do nothing but nod my head, I was so taken by
his presence. "My rustic friend, I like you, don't ask why, but I do. So I am
about to tell you what it feels like to be the first American to have
intercourse in outer space, and how that little escapade became my epiphany,
leading to this current situation.
(To be continued)
