Chapter 11: death valley came a mile too close
Moulon’s throbbing manroot took centre stage in Indigo’s world, and as she gently tweaked the fleshy wrapping, her courageous desire overcame the moralistic heave-ho. Her plump camelhoof awaited its first meal for over a week, secreting precursorary spittle over the masonry hardened digits of Moulon, he himself roaring with pleasure. Enraptured, intertwined, but only at this point in mind, Indigo unclamped the limpet and fed Moulon’s extraordinary girth slowly and correctly through the gates of her oily paradise. Moulon held Indigo hard against him and could feel her mouthwatering milk machines against his chest. He began to probe deeper now, his rhythmic strokings delighting Indigo, every shunt intimating a world of ideal form. Indigo screamed a shrill scream as Moulon provided gynaecological stuffing with deftness and accuracy. His massive testes slapped hard around Indigo’s forlorn sphinctal joy, passing sexual judgment with an alarming respect for repetition. Indigo could not remember the last time she received such a meat-feast, the darkened sabre furnishing her wealthy love-nest. The pace increased; the pair of them as one towards climactic unity, Moulon emptied his sachet of goodness as Indigo began to kick her legs feverishly against his robust back. Moulon withdrew his fleshy pole from Indigo and slumped next to her, still breathing heavily: “The great Thorbus likened the male erection to a church with sails, I prefer to think of it as a bone, my pretty little Indigo.”
Indigo jumped to her feet, releasing a little of Moulon’s payload as she straightened. She decided to complete the percentile, ignoring Moulon who continued his horizontal posturing, blood still pulsing through the veins of his sixth finger like water in a narrow brook after several days heavy rainfall. Indigo adjusted the median product of the macrocellular yield in seconds, dexterously expunging B4 with a single flick of her thumb. She turned to face Moulon and instantly regretted succumbing to feral caprice. Indigo did not hate Moulon but his post-coital arrogance elicited a neurophysiological alignment within her that was practically indistinguishable from satan’s gift. She loved Oppz dearly but since the Ford had recalled their services he would be too engrossed with subatomic chromosomes and pulsaic fertilisers to satisfy her ample physical wants. Indigo mused that men fell neatly into three categories: men who could love but not fuck, men who could fuck but not love, and ambitious retail managers. Oppz, like so many men, fell resolutely into none of these categories.
“These are exciting times Moulon. The Ford contacted us yesterday with the latest update. We are to deploy sulphur as the tracing element. We must hope that The Delorge Interpretation holds steady this fall. Oppz believes that a new epoch is upon us and will destroy the challenging paradigm and its disparate crusaders.”
Moulon smiled smugly and rolled his hands freely over his taut, smooth abdomen. “Do you seriously believe that I take any interest in the Ford’s petty power games Indigo? The inauthenticity of your existence is most amusing: you are an unconscious ant servicing the status quo.”
“You’re strange fare” Indigo replied whilst staring at him with an eager inquisitiveness.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand; only a few are free of the cerebral limitations of the herd. My father and his father before him ruled the uplands that surround Morsh before the Ford… but I’m not standing for it; it is not in my genes to put up with a life defined by another. I have accrued enough credits to flee the capillary-like reach of the Ford’s assimilation web. In the blink of an eye I’m gone.” Moulon leapt to his feet, pulled on his khaki jump-suit then turned and strode towards the hexagon.
“Goodbye Indigo. It was a pleasure pleasuring you.”
Indigo grinned to herself and stepped nimbly over to the communication hovel. She whisked the receiver out of the stone partition;
“Hello Yarm, Indigo here. That solipsistic fool Moulon thinks he’s leaving again…yes the same as last time. Just convince him that he’s better off taking a chance on this world – but easy with the forceps this time; I need him up early as several of the workers from the village are away at the chow mein market.”
Indigo returned to the outhouse to find Oppz engaged in a game of 3D chess with the irrigation navigator. The navigator had Oppz’s bishop wedged behind the pawns thus restricting the queen to lateral pincers. A simple data-processing navigator could not know that this had played straight into Oppz’s counterattacking hands.
“Knight to upper E4” the machine croaked.
“Any more news from the Ford tonight?” Indigo intervened.
“No,” Oppz replied tersely, “not unless you count irregular digital linear readouts and a selection of robust fly-by-nights as news.”
Indigo failed to suppress a belly laugh. She seldom found Oppz’s angry retorts unamusing. She seldom found Oppz unamusing – period!
Oppz adjusted his waistband and shifted his weight to his left buttock before gleefully capitalising on the machine’s error. The Hangman’s Bazooka had always been one of his favourite moves and once the rook had been placated there was no chance of defeat.
“Stick that up in your jag-drive and clean it!” Oppz punched the air gladiatorially and rose to an almost erect stance.
“When do you want to grow up and smell the soufflé?” the machine cockily replied as it swept a cyber hand over the entire board, cleaning it of pieces. Its juvenile posturing left Oppz a little aghast, and he reached for the closest wrench, waving it in front of the screen.
“How ironic it will be that a soufflé wrench shall end your whimsical existence, an existence invented and therefore controlled by man,” retorted Oppz with unmistakable glee. The wrench came crashing down onto the navigator’s main processing unit, the resulting macaroon-coloured shards of enemy plastic spreading themselves over Oppz and Indigo’s faces. Oppz breathed deeply inwards as he turned to Indigo, winking as only he knew how. Indigo found this histrionic neither heartwarming nor amusing, and decided to sleep on the sofa.
