The main highway from Calcutta to Katmandu in the tiny nation of Nepal is not a bad road, really, and the bus found it easy sometimes to race down the sloping foothills of the Himalayas with a kind of reckless abandon that left the passengers gasping for breath. And then it would climb slowly to the next summit, to new heights of fantastic beauty and grandeur, and the passengers, at their leisure, would gaze fondly out on the rolling pastures of India on their left and the craggy ridges and bluffs of Dacca Plateau on their right.
It was spring, and spring in the Himalayas is a joyous season with rippling mountain streams and singing Fia birds for musical accompaniment. The passengers, almost all of them dark Nepalese, were happy to be in the bus. They trusted the driver with a faith and courage that is unknown in other lands. If they had known what was going on in the driver's mind however, they would have been in fear for their lives.
The eyes of the driver were not on the superbly lovely scenery of his country. They were glued tenaciously to the rear-view mirror which revealed to him the miraculous whiteness of the thighs of the American girl who sat halfway back in the bus, in the aisle seat. He had never in his entire life seen such white thighs; it was rare that he saw feminine thighs at all, except his wife's.
The sign on the panel above and in front of the driver's head listed the name: Ahmeel Balahwar. It gave his age as forty-five and said that he was married and was the father of four children. The small black photograph showed him with the beard and the long hair and turban of a Sikh. He was a very religious man. But today, his thoughts were not on religion; or even his wife and four children. His mind was reeling with the intoxicating lewdness of the scene in his mirror.
He glanced casually at the other passengers. The faces were all dark and the women, most of them fat, sat like small brown lumps in their seats, swathed in colorful silk Saris. Almost all of them held grimy babies and carried great bundles wrapped in canvas or bamboo. They were a drab and uninteresting contrast to the exciting whiteness of the American girl's thighs.
American girls. He wondered what it would be like to sleep with this one. She was wearing what he had heard called a mini-skirt and she made no effort whatever to keep her private matters to herself. On several occasions, Ahmeel had caught devastating glimpses of her crotch and the brilliant white silk that covered it. On those occasions, he had felt his organ begin to grow to full erection and he had very nearly allowed the bus to roll off the road and go tumbling into the deep valley below.
Ahmeel's mind was on a private orgy that he had conjured up for himself and the American girl. His mind had even devised an ingenious, though unlikely, method of eliminating the girl's companion, a weak-looking, pale, blond man, obviously an American also. In his daydream, Ahmeel had plunged the bus over a steep cliff and, by some glorious miracle, the American man had been killed and he and the girl had been saved, uninjured. Of course, everyone else on the bus had also died, but it was a small sacrifice, indeed, to pay for their driver's pleasure. After all, they were rather a grubby, worthless, miserable lot.
As much as he hated to do it, Ahmeel brought his mind and his eyes back to the task at hand. The scheduled rest stop was at the summit of the next hill and they would be there within a few minutes. He thought about passing it up to enable him to continue his delightful ogling-but he was certain the girl would change positions after the stop-but he knew he had to make it. The passengers would kill him if he didn't. Besides, he himself had to take a leak so badly his stomach had begun to cramp.
"Rest stop in three minutes," he called out in Sanskrit. He repeated the message in Hindu and then in English. He was very proud of his prowess with languages. He wished there had been some Mexicans aboard so he could have delivered the message in Spanish, too.
Ahmeel Balahwar kept his seat as the passengers filed past him and stepped down onto the gravel. He watched from the corner of his eye as the American girl stood up, yawned, stretched and said something to her companion, who had been sleeping. The girl walked forward in the bus and Ahmeel was grateful that the man had not sufficiently awakened to follow her immediately. They were the last passengers to leave.
He licked his dark parched lips as the girl approached. He controlled his hand on the gearshift by gripping the knob very tightly. Otherwise, as Buddha was his witness, he was going to take the hand and, he was going to run it all the way up her legs, under the mini-skirt, and grasp her delicious mound.
The girl stopped before him and the delicate flavor of her expensive perfume seared into his nostrils, causing them to flare dangerously. His eyes rested on her beautiful pink knees, then rose to her full, protruding breasts, almost lewd in the thin cotton sweater.
"Will we be her long?" the girl asked.
Ahmeel found it difficult to answer correctly. His mind was reeling with sexual obscenities in five languages.
"Ten minutes," he said.
"Thank you." The girl turned toward the back of the bus. "Come on, GEE GEE," she said with a trace of impatience to her bell-tone voice. "We've used up almost half our time already. I want to have some time to look out over the mountains." She turned back to Ahmeel. "Is that distant peak Mount Everest?"
Her arm was raised and that caused her right, breast to raise proportionately. Ahmeel swallowed hard and looked directly at the pointing breast.
"It may look like Mount Everest," he said, licking his lips again at the sensual beauty of her right breast, "but it is not. We have many miles to go before we see it."
"Come on, GEE GEE," the girl said.
The driver, with Herculean effort, pulled his eyes away from the lovely American girl and looked back to see the blond American, hair awry, getting slowly out of his seat.
"We can stay a few minutes longer," Ahmeel said in a very kind tone. "The schedule is not so very important."
"Thank you," the girl said. She smiled warmly at him and he felt his fourteenth erection of the trip begin to form in his crotch. "Do you happen to know a monk by the name of Anil Feroze Nanda? He is a Sikh, just like you. I think he lives in the northern moutains, just above the capital
-Katmandu is the capital, isn't it?"
"It is the capital," Ahmeel said. His eyes were wary now. The American was in the aisle, grunting, yawning, straining, stretching, belching
-waking up to the beautiful day and the breathtaking scene before them. Ahmeel kept his eyes on his hand on the gearshift knob. His knuckles were almost white under his nearly black skin.
"Do you know Mr. Nanda?"
"I know of him," Ahmeel said. "The men from his monastery are the keepers of the most beautiful shrine in all of Katmandu. I am told that he is a very wise man?"
"I know," the girl said. "We have come all the way from California to see him. We're Americans, you know."
"You came all the way from California to see him," the American man called GEE GEE interrupted. "I came to see the goddam mountains and to keep you out of goddam trouble."
"Don't swear," the girl said.
"Come on, Christie," GEE GEE said. "You woke me up for this stop-let's stop gassing and take advantage of it."
"You're such a bear when you wake up." They got off the bus and walked rapidly a-cross the gravel parking area. The girl went dangerously close to the low wall to get a better view of the valley below and the hills beyond. Ahmeel waited on the bus until his erection subsided.
GEE GEE Parkinson took a deep breath of the cool mountain air before he entered the tiny, rank toilet, then conducted his business as rapidly as possible in an effort to avoid having to breathe the foul, putrid air inside. He failed in his attempt and finally reeled out of the wooden structure with a face as white as his turtle-neck shirt.
"Jesus," he said to Christie as he rejoined her near the wall overlooking the superb mountain vista, "man is truly a turd to build a goddam thing like that on a beautiful hill like this."
"Isn't it beautiful." The girl ignored his irritated diatribe and turned her lovely, radiant face to the fabulous view.
He put his arms around her from behind and drew her to him. Her shapely buttocks rested comfortably in the hollow of his groin and one of his hands slipped up quickly to cup one of her jutting breasts.
"When we get back on the bus," he whispered into her ear, through the silken blonde hair, "let's get on first."
"Why?"
"I want you."
She looked horrified.
"Not in front of all those people."
"We won't be in front of them; we'll be behind them. Besides, it's the sleepy part of the afternoon. In ten minutes, they'll all be in dodo-land."
Ahmeel Balahwar was returning from the toilet when the sight of the couple standing near the wall stopped him. He saw the man's hand close over the mound of her breast and he felt a dangerous tingle in his loins. He walked on and heard the proposition the man made. He groan-and wished that he could turn the bus over to the American named GEE GEE and that he could take over the rear set with the beautiful American girl named Christie. It was with great effort that he climbed back into the hot leather seat behind the steering wheel.
CHAPTER TWO
For the next twenty miles up and down the steep, precipitous road, around the hairpin curves and along the precarious ridges and plateaus of the Southern Himalayas, Ahmeel Balahwar drove magnificently, like a man possessed of a bus driving talent that has graced no one but him. He glanced only occasionally in the rear-view mirror and then only to see if perhaps the girl had shifted to a more advantageous position.
The American couple had indeed taken the wide rear seat of the bus, but the girl was now sitting off to one side and the seats along the right of the bus obstructed Ahmed's view of her tantalizing white knees and thighs. The man was sitting at exactly dead center.
As the bus rounded a particularly dangerous point in the journey and Ahmeel was directing all his mental and physical energies to making certain the bus followed the prescribed route, Ahmeel suddenly glanced up to the rear-view mirror. What he saw very nearly brought tragedy to them all.
The girl named Christie had leaned over and her head was in GEE GEE's lap. Although her blonde head covered the intimacies of the situation, it was obvious to Ahmeel Balahwar that the girl had taken the man's instrument into her mouth! Ahmeel clung to the wheel and, in a brilliant display of self-control and expert handling, brought the bus under control. His body shuddered with the knowledge of what was happening in the rear seat and, for the fifteenth time, his tool jerked to an aching, rampant hardness.
The big bus streaked out onto a straight stretch of road and Ahmeel used the interval to survey his passengers. They were sound asleep, as the American had predicted. His eyes focused once again on the couple in the rear seat. He saw that the man had slipped his hand under the girl's sweater and Ahmeel could see a wide swath of white skin. It was the girl's stomach, but he pretended it was her breasts.
In the rear of the bus, Christie Farrell withdrew her mouth from the hard object and looked up smilingly at her blonde friend.
"Did that help you get into the mood?" she asked.
"The question is," he said, "did it get you into the mood? I've been there since we left Calcutta."
She slid her hand into his trousers.
"You're right," she giggled.
"Don't be alarmed," the man said, "but that greasy bus driver is watching us."
"Don't call him greasy. He's rather cute."
"Let's give him something to keep him occupied," GEE GEE said. "Let's get naked and really upset the old fart."
"Don't swear."
GEE GEE reached down and grabbed the hem of Christie's sweater. He pulled it over her breasts so that the blazing white of her brassiere literally glowed in the subdued light of the bus. The girl lay on her back and her breasts jutted upward, still taut in the thin cotton brassiere. GEE GEE massaged each of the breasts, then unsnapped her bra and brought them out into the open, in full view of the driver.
Then, with a deliberately slow and exaggerated action, he lowered his head and took one of the hardening nipples between his lips.
"You're wicked," Christie said, giggling "You'll drive the poor driver off his nut."
"Just so he doesn't drive the bus off a cliff." Ahmeel Balahwar's eyes bounced like drumsticks from the road to the rear-view mirror. His groin ached from the agony of unsatisfied lust. His lips crusted with dryness and his tongue, only a trace wetter, flashed across them rapidly. He feasted his dark eyes on the luxurious white vision of the American girls big breasts and his yearning grew with each turn of the big tires on the road.
"I've got an idea," GEE GEE said. "Take off your pants and straddle me. That should give the driver a fantastic view."
"It could also be fatal," Christie said. "Why don't we just crawl over in the corner, out of his view?"
"I thought you liked an audience when you made love."
"I do, my darling GEE GEE, but not when the audience is a bus driver and the bus is moving over mountains like these. One wrong move and that cute Sikh could drive us all to Mecca."
"He's an expert driver," GEE GEE said. "Let's give him the acid test."
"You wicked, wicked man," she cooed. But she liked the idea and her hands were already on the band of her panties.
The bus plunged onward at better than fifty miles an hour on the straight stretches, slowing to twenty and thirty on the grades, zooming as high as seventy on the dips. Ahmeel drove like a maniac, but an expert, accomplished maniac. Miles and miles of fabulous scenery slipped past without a single eye playing witness to it. On a long, safe straight piece of road, Ahmeel took a good look into the rear-view mirror and saw the American man holding something white in his right hand.
Great Buddha in Mecca, he breathed. It was the lady's underpants!
And then, glory of all glories, he saw the most beautiful pair of buttocks he had ever seen as the girl slipped a leg across the man and straddled him. Sweat poured out of his forehead and oozed down from his turban. His face began to itch terribly under his beard. He felt his already throbbing organ twitch in agony.
But the road dipped down and away from the hill and Ahmeel directed his energies once a-gain to his job. He turned the wheel to the left, to the right, eased up on the accelerator and then, when the bus reached the bottom of the swooping dip, jammed the pedal down for the climb back up the other side. When the road tamed again, he looked into the mirror.
The girl's buttocks were raised high and her knees were dug into the dark leather of the seat on either side of the man. Ahmeel saw the dark, lance-like object pointing up towards the American girl. With a feeling of torturous longing, of burning, of yearning, of eternal frustration, he bounced his eyes from the road to the mirror in time to see the two join in a beautiful and satisfying union. The white buttocks settled gingerly onto the man.
Ahmeel Balahwar gurgled deep in his throat and, for the first time of the day, thought of his slim, dark wife with her high mount; and the pleasure it gave him. The road became dangerous again and two trucks came at him from the opposite direction. With nerves near the shattering point, he drove the bus quickly and accurately past all obstacles and came out once again on a long, narrow stretch that climbed at an easy grade up the side of the mountain.
He looked into the mirror. The girl was still going at it. Ahmeel watched them for long, dangerous seconds, marveling at their stamina, moaning at the maddening scene, groaning at what their actions were doing to him. Never, in all his years of driving the bus from Calcutta to Katmandu and back had he been exposed to such a delightful show. He had reached the end of his rope. Ahmeel Balahwar could stand it no longer!
With his hand gripping the wheel as the bus groaned and wheezed up the long, gentle grade, his right hand quickly unbuttoned his trousers and slipped inside. He tried desperately to focus one eye on the rear-view mirror and the other on the road, but that was impossible. With a tremendous sigh, he looked out at the magnificent hills, at the huge cumulus clouds that scudded across the azure sky, at the black road that glistened almost white in the blazing afternoon sun. His hand began to work expertly and beautifully in his aching lap.
GEE GEE Parkinson relaxed against the hot leather of the seat and allowed the beautiful blonde girl to do all the work. Her movements, studied, practiced and honed to a kind of perfection, drew from him everything that could be expected. Christie Farrell was not only sexy looking and most assuredly sexually attractive, but she was the most adept sexual machine he had ever known. And, in his years at Berkeley, he had known many beautiful and sexy girls.
It was to Christie's immense credit as a perfect sexual animal that he was even in India. She was wild and, without the slightest doubt, crazier than a loon, and she could not be dissuaded from coming to India to find and meet the illustrious Anil Feroze Nanda-and, of course, the true meaning of life and love and truth. She would have come alone and GEE GEE would not have been able to stand for that. To protect her-and to continue his own enjoyment of her sexual appetite and expertise-he had joined her on what simply had to be the nuttiest journey in the history of the world.
"My God," GEE GEE said, clasping the girl. "I'm there!"
"Hold on for just a little bit, my darling GEE GEE," she said. "I'm still working on it."
"You should see the driver," he said, looking over her heaving, bouncing shoulder. "I think he's masturbating!"
"You're kidding!"
"Nope, I'm certain of it. He's jumping all over the goddam seat."
"Won't we crash?" she asked. She was more sexually excited than frightened by the possibility.
"I doubt it," GEE GEE answered with a chuckle. "We're going up a long, straight grade. Maybe he can accomplish both tasks."
Ahmeel Balahwar was in a state of terrible animation. His eyes went from the road to the rear-view mirror to his flashing hand. He was near climax, but a climax of another sort was coming up just as quickly. The bus was nearly to the top of the grade and Ahmeel knew the road well. On the other side, the road plunged and dipped and curved in one of the most dangerous parts of the entire highway. He fought to rid himself of the terrible ache before the bus reached the summit.
A baby cried out in its sleep and Ahmeel's eyes flashed to the mirror to see if he were being observed by the other passengers. They were still asleep, but the interruption had set him back.
"How is he doing?" Christie Farrell asked. She was still hard at work.
"To hell with him," GEE GEE said, moaning. "I can't hold out any longer."
"Wait," she said. "Think of something cold.
Think of broken bones and crushed guts. Get your mind off sex. I'm almost ready."
The bus reached the top of the hill, then picked up speed as it plunged down the other side. The road ahead lay like a sleeping serpent, disappearing for long stretches behind the many folds of the mountain. Ahmeel Balahwar was in a highly agitated and frustrated state. He thought of ceasing, of allowing his great buildup to slip back into a state of turgidity. But the view of the American girl in the mirror drove him onward, in spite of the obvious danger that lay ahead.
His left hand steered the accelerating vehicle down through the swoops and curves and hidden crannies of the road. His right foot pumped the brakes to keep the speed of the bus from reaching an irretrievably dangerous point. And the bus plunged faster and faster past the beautiful hills under the blazing afternoon sun.
No longer able to watch the beautiful girl, Ahmeel gave all his attentions to his dual task of bringing the bus through safely and completing his appointed duty, brought on by the rollicking scene in the back of the bus. With his eyes on the road, he felt a diminishing of his inspiration, so he resorted to time-worn obscenities. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said under his breath. Then, he said the same thing in Sanskrit, Nepalese, Hindi and Spanish.
He made it on a vicious curve to the right. His left hand worked mightily on the wheel, straining. The bus hit the berm and Ahmeel Balahwar realized that he would need both hands to bring it out of the curve safely. With great reluctance and regret, he used both hands to right the wrong that his excitement had wrought.
"I can't hold out any longer," GEE GEE cried. "I think we're going to crash and, by God, I don't want to hold out."
"Oh my God," Christie said, increasing her speed. "Are we really going to crash?"
"I don't doubt it for a minute."
"Beautiful," she cried. "Beautiful, beautiful, marvelous! What a way to go!"
And they reached their long-awaited, delicious, truth-seeking climax together.
And the big, lumbering bus slowed as it came to the bottom of a dip and started the climb back up. The two Americans clung to each other in a weak, limpid heap of flesh. The black Sikh gripped the wooden wheel with both hands and his lips moved in a silent prayer to Buddha.
The lights of Katmandu shone brilliantly in the deep valley off to their right. The sun had already set behind the huge mountain range. In the distance, far above and behind the beautiful capital city, the shiny, snow-covered peak of Mount Everest gleamed like a massive diamond.
"We're here," the girl said as she sat by the window and looked out at the shimmering peak. "Before we know it, we'll be talking to the master, the Big One. Aren't you excited?"
"Ecstatic," GEE GEE said. There was a note of friendly sarcasm in his voice. "I still think we're wasting our time."
"I don't think so. After all, we are seeing India and it is daddy's money."
"I know," GEE GEE said, "but I don't think you'll get that goddam monk to leave here to go to America with us. Not in a million years."
Christie Farrell smiled a cryptic, Mona Lisa smile and gazed off toward the imposing peak of Mount Everest.
"We'll see," she said. "After all, I got you to come to India with me. And, for all his wisdom and brilliance, I'm convinced that the same kind of persuasion should work beautifully on our wonderful monk. You just leave Anil Feroze Nanda to me. Within a week we'll all three be on this same bus, going back to Calcuttta."
As the bus swooped down the first dip on its long journey to the lovely Katmandu valley, Ahmeel Balahwar shifted in the hot leather seat and kept his eyes on the turning, twisting road. It had been a most satisfying trip and he felt greatly at peace with his world. His mind had eliminated the memory of that one bad moment back there when they were all in danger of being smashed against the mountain; indeed his mind rested now on the beautiful and lovely vision of the American girl's gleaming white buttocks as she had made love to her American friend. Thinking of it, Ahmeel felt another erection coming on.
CHAPTER THREE
The bustling city of half a million people came slowly alive as the golden sun of India edged slowly and meticulously over the eastern horizon and dipped its magic, warming rays over the edge of the high mountains to bathe the deep valley in yellow brilliance. That same sun peeked into the wide windows of the Rajah Hotel, snaked a-cross the thick brown carpeting and touched the pink hand that dangled over the edge of the big bed.
Christie Farrell stirred and opened her crystal blue eyes to her new world. She felt the warm body of GEE GEE next to her, then leaped to the floor and ran to the window.
The beauty and glory of the awakening city was spread before her and already she felt the inner tinglings that come from being so close to the source of wisdom, the source of the true meaning of life itself. She had come to India for one reason and one reason only: to find and be found by the deepest and truest mind in all the world.
For the past three years, she had heard much about Anil Feroze Nanda. She heard his name spoken with reverence by the young Indian seers who were now coming to Berkeley in droves. She had sat through many sessions with her fellow students, listening to wise men such as Kanak Shah, a direct descendant of the Sikh movement, and Jubalwaha Pel, the fascinating Guru who was now "turning on" the minds of all her friends and colleagues at the University of California, and she had heard all their wisdom and had taken in their way of life. And always, when the name of Anil Feroze Nanda was spoken, always the eyes of the Gurus misted and they spoke his name lovingly, soothingly, passionately.
Strangely, she had felt great and glorious sexual arousal when she listened to the handsome young Indians-and her arousal had actually moistened her thighs when she heard them speak the name of Anil. They had told her that Anil Feroze Nanda was the seat of all mystic powers, the leader of all current mystic thought; that he was the master of all Hindu and Sikh secret which could bring ecstatic joy to life and which could guarantee everlasting peace and beauty in the life hereafter.
It was only natural, then, that she seek out the master; that his disciples were not sufficient to calm or quell the fires of passion that burned in her fine, young, nineteen-year-old body. She would find the master and she would take him back to America with her. She would be his constant companion, his mystic mistress, his concubine. Anything, just to be near him. It had taken a lot of convincing to get her father to let her make the trip to India and to Nepal, but she had never yet been denied anything she really and truly set her mind to obtaining.
And now she was in Katmandu, the brilliant star of Nepal, the capital on top of the world, the shiniest emerald of the Himalayas. And out there in the mountains, just a two-day journey from the elaborate and lavish hotel, was the Guru who could not only turn her on, but who could keep her turned on throughout eternity if necessary.
The thought of her own private mystic, her own private Messiah, her own private seeker of love and truth and life, sent a spasm of pure rapture to her loins and she felt the lips of her puss grow moist and warm and sweet. She looked around the room and took joy in its luxurious furnishings, its warmth and beauty. Her eyes settled on the lump in the big double bed.
GEE GEE.
Her aching loins began to convolute at the thought of her lover. They had made love only once in the night before falling into deep slumber, borne of the fatigue from their long journey. She wanted him now! Not so much for himself and the physical pleasure he would bring her, but for the mystic passion that now surged through her veins at the mere thought of being within two days travel from her beloved, her darling, Anil Feroze Nanda!
Quietly and quickly, she slipped out of her pink negligee and stood in front of the window, gazing once more over the ornate balcony to the city below, at the dark-skinned, gaily-costumed figures who walked slowly along the narrow streets, carrying the bundles of their mercantile existence. She hoped that one of the men would look up and see her enormous pink breasts with their dark pink nipples. She virtually purred at the sexual impression such a wish left on her.
Christie repeated the name of her wonderful monk and felt her body begin to experience a series of ecstatic spasms that made her realize the immense power the unseen and unmet Guru already held over her.
The mere thought of Anil Feroze Nanda and his great and deep love for humanity and life and earth and heaven and stars and ... and everything ... made Christie shudder with a delighted and tormenting realization that the true meaning of life and love and truth were within her very grasp!
"Golly Molly!" she cried to the silent room. Her cry was a plaintiff cry, the cry of the young lamb oozing with life; the cry of the crocodile that has awakened to a great new world; the cry of the rose that has been brutally cut from its vine.
The bright, lovely hotel room was suddenly a sanctuary, a sacred place that was inviolate; a temple, a shrine, a holy edifice that defied thoughts of earthy sexual appetites. She felt pure and cleansed and resurrected. She knew that her journey would be long and arduous; she knew with equal certainty that it would be a most fruitful one.
Christie stood naked before the window, gazing at the teeming city below, and knew that she would fare well in India and Nepal and in the lofty Himalayas. She would grasp the meaning and she would return with the wealth of ancient truths buried deep in her soul and mind and body. Her mind was now above sex, or thoughts of sex, but she was puzzled at the fact that she felt a tremendous moistening between her thighs.
Although the room had now become a sanctuary, a holy spot not to be violated with earthy thoughts and deeds, she looked longingly at GEE GEE, asleep in the wide bed, and wondered if her soul would be diminished if she crept in beside him and indulged in just a teensy bit of earthy pleasure. It certainly couldn't hurt.
The rapping on the door was so soft, so timid that she didn't hear it the first time. It sounded again, more insistent. She stood beside the bed and stared at the door as if it had come alive to intrude on her private thoughts.
Reluctantly, she slipped the thin negligee back on and went to the door. She knew the nighty was virtually non-existent, but the caller just might be someone interesting, someone with whom she could share the sacred moment in her most holy of sanctuaries. She opened the door and saw a dark, bearded, turbaned Sikh who looked vaguely familiar. The Sikh stared at the half-naked woman, swallowed hard and took a small step backwards.
"Yes?" Christie asked. "Do I know you?"
"The bus," Ahmeel Balahwar croaked. "You came here on my bus yesterday."
"Oh, for goodness sake," Christie said, smiling broadly. "The bus driver. What's wrong? Did we leave something on the bus? Did we damage anything?"
Ahmeel shifted from one foot to another and tried not to be seen gazing at the dark pink nipples that peeked at him through the thin blue negligee.
"No," he said with parched, dry throat. "I heard you say that you were going to see the illustrious Anil Feroze Nanda and I thought I might be of some service."
"Come in," Christie said, her heart leaping with tremendous joy. "Please come in, Mr., er...." He told her his name and she muttered it several times in a vain effort to remember it. As much as he tried, he could not keep his eyes from roaming from her beautiful, protruding nipples to the dark thatch of hair at her crotch. She might as well have been stark naked and Ahmeel, who had seen her gleaming white buttocks in a sexual rage the day before, was still riding the crest of passion that the vision had inspired. He felt himself getting an erection once more.
Christie Farrell realized his plight and walked across the room to get her robe. Ahmeel tried to conjure up a quick orgasm to end it all as he watched the white buttocks, bluish white under the thin material, twist and turn in front of his blazing black eyes. She slipped on the robe and turned back to him. His agony lessened.
"I live in Calcutta," he began, "and I am off duty for a few days here in Katmandu. I have a small room not far from here where I must live between my tours of duty on the bus."
"How wonderful," Christie said inanely. "You mentioned that you might be of some service."
"Yes," he said, wishing that she would remove the robe again. He thought of attacking her white-pink body, but he saw the lump in the bed and realized that it must be her American lover. But the knowledge of his presence did not deter Ahmeel's mind and body from desiring this woman. In twenty years, he had not seen a feminine body that affected him so dramatically and with such finality.
"Yes," Christie said. "And what kind of service did you have in mind? She pulled the robe tighter about her and, in spite of her innate feminine fear of a man who mentally undressed her and made no attempt to disguise the fact that he was doing so, she thought that it might be nice to have a go at this tall, dark Sikh.
"I know the mountains well," Ahmeel continued. "I am an expert driver, as you must know. You will need both guide and driver if you are going to the monastery of Nanda, Since I have some days free, I would like to volunteer as both guide and driver."
"Marvelous," Christie said. "We were just discussing the fact that we would have to go out this afternoon to find a guide and provisions for the trip. You are like mannna from ... from Mecca, my good friend, Mr., er...."
He told her his name again.
"Marvelous," she said. "We plan to start in the morning, very early. Can you rent a vehicle for us? A Jeep or a van or something?"
"A Land Rover will be the best," he said I can get one which has a large van-type back so that you may sleep. We will be on the road two nights and almost three full days. We will arrive at the Nanda monastery on ... on Saturday evening. He is expecting you, of course."
"No," Christie said, sadly. "He doesn't even know we're alive. But I'm certain there will be no problem. When he hears what I have to tell him, he will welcome us with open arms." Christie honestly believed that everyone in India, including the mystic, mysterious monks of the hills, would give their left nuts to go to America. With all his wisdom and power and mystical essence, she was certain that Anil Feroze Nanda would jump at the chance-especially with so lovely and wealthy a person as Christie Farrell.
"I can handle that for you," the driver said. "It is best that he knows you are coming so that he can arrange certain accommodations. If you will give me your name, and that of your husband, I will dispatch a messenger immediately."
"Oh, heavens," Christie said. "GEE GEE isn't my husband. We just live together. We wouldn't spoil such a beautiful friendship with marriage. You do understand, don't you?"
Ahmeel Balahwar swallowed hard. He didn't understand, but he was grateful for the interesting bit of news. He had suspected that they were not man and wife, but the actual knowledge of it now allowed him to fully vent his desires. Now, it just might be possible for him to make love to this pleasant, beautiful, sexy American bitch. He had wanted her since he first saw her lovely white thighs through the rear-view mirror of his bus and that small want had been transformed into a raging torrent of lust when he had seen her straddling the shaft of her lover. And now, seeing her practically naked in her thin blue negligee, he was nearly insane with desire.
He smiled through his thick black beard.
"There is little that I do not understand in these matters," he said, making certain that his voice maintained the proper tone, the proper resonance of mature wisdom. "Man and woman were made to love, not to fight."
"How very wise," Christie said. "I believe wisdom must be a part of everyone in India. You all seem so, so much older and more mature in your outlook."
"We are a very old people," he said cryptically. "We have many, many generations of learners and teachers and we face life as one against many every day of our lives."
"Beautiful," she chanted. "You are hired, Mr., er,...."
He told her his name again.
"You are hired, Ahmeel ... do you mind if I call you Ahmeel?"
He bowed and enacted a rather decorative salute with his right hand, a pseudo-religious salute. He said nothing ... the salute indicated his pleasure at having her call him by his first name.
GEE GEE Parkinson, hearing the girl's sweet voice as he awakened, sat up quickly in the bed.
"Where are you, you sexy bitch?" he called out. "Sleep is over and I'm going to screw the...." He saw the tall Sikh and stopped abruptly. Christie introduced them, forgetting Ahmeel's name, and told her lover of the driver's offer to be guide and driver and general tour director. GEE GEE was highly suspicious of the man-he had been suspicious the day before when he recognized the lusty male-dog look in the black, darting eyes. But he was powerless to change the situation now without making a definite accusation and disappointing Christie who was apparently delirious with joy at her lucky find. He consented tacitly and pulled the sheet around him to avoid becoming a target of lust for the obviously horny Indian. He didn't doubt for a minute that the Sikh could go both ways.
Ahmeel left reluctantly, but graciously. Three would be time, he knew. He would be with them a minimum of three days and two nights. Surely, in that time, he would find the perfect opportunity to slip his black, rigid tool into the white woman's slippery, slithery 'bulu'. He was an extremely patient man ... all Indian men were-possessed of wisdom and patience. He believed that to be true.
"And now, you sexy bitch," GEE GEE said when the Indian driver had gone, "get the hell out of that robe. I'm going to teach you the true meaning of erotic love-making. I'm going to do everything humanly possible to you."
CHAPTER FOUR
Outside the room of the American couple, on the ornate balcony of the Rajah Hotel, a colorful mountain butterfly, down from the hills to investigate the gleaming jewel city that lay so magnificently in the deep, long valley, perched precariously on the arabesque railing and stared with dark, mysterious eyes through the wide, sliding glass door-windows into the pink and brown interior of the room.
The butterfly vibrated momentarily on the railing, then settled its beautiful wings, at its sides, and surveyed the scene before it. Two strange white animals were on a bed. One of the strange animals was kneeling on the white bed with its posterior high in the air and its head, crowned with a luxurious pelt of golden hair, resting comfortably on the white pillow. The second animal was on its knees behind the first animal and, from the front of this animal protruded a dark, thick object, much like a large stick or walking cane. The butterfly had seen many strange and inexplicable sights in its travels, but this was perhaps the strangest and least explainable.
And so, the butterfly lifted its brilliantly-colored wings and, with a generously graceful arc to the right, swept down across the face of the hotel and into the dark street below.
But the scene in the room had changed little. The two white animals on the bed had not changed their position or their intentions.
"You're certain you want it this way?" GEE GEE asked again.
Christie maintained her position and thought of the marvelous Gurus she had met at Berkeley and the way they had always preached that this was the only way to approach the beauty of truth. Her body shuddered with desire as she waited for her darling GEE GEE to begin his task.
"Oh, my darling GEE GEE," she breathed, strengthening her position on the bed to receive his hard-charging ram, "I really and truly want it this way. I know we shall find the beautiful, glowing, blowing, flowing truth and the true meaning of life and love and everlasting beauty in his fashion. Do it to me, GEE GEE. Show no mercy to me."
"Sweetheart," he said tenderly, leaning forward to reach her pendulous breasts. "I have never done this to a woman before and I'm not very adept. It will probably hurt, but if I start there is no power on earth-not even your pleadings-that could make me cease until I have finished my task."
Christie's mind conjured up the image of her unseen, unmet Guru, the astonishing, amazing, illustrious Anil Feroze Nanda. Her body craved the feel of GEE GEE's hardness inside her and her breasts virtually sighed at the beauty of his hands on them, cupping them beneath her kneeling body, squeezing them, tenderly arousing the nipples to rigidity. The holiness of the room and their sweet nearness to her darling Nanda caused her body to spasm in sexual violence.
"I wanted you so much earlier this morning, my darling GEE GEE," she said, waiting for his plunge. "I hadn't thought of doing it this way, but I am ready for you in any way you wish to come to me. Don't wait, my darling GEE GEE. Do it now."
GEE GEE Parkinson raised again to his knees and directed his charger to the waiting, quivering spot between the widely-spread white cheeks of the girl's buttocks. He aimed, made a tiny adjustment in his proposed trajectory, then eased forward slowly and methodically. At the same time his groaning animal insinuated itself into the unfamiliar channel, his fingers went to the lower orifice and three of them slid inside.
"Golly Molly!" Christie exclaimed when he had driven far into both nooks. "Beautiful, my darling GEE GEE."
GEE GEE put his marvelous machinery into action. He luxuriated in the soft-sweet feel of the girl's lovely body and the visions of high mountain crests, snow-capped and gleaming in sunlight, filled his mind. He wished they were engaged in such combat on a high peak overlooking one of the verdant valleys and cerulean lakes. He wished they were back on the bus, with the Sikh driver watching and plunging the vehicle dangerously down swooping, serpentine roads.
And the girl received him gratefully, her body working rhythmically and with great precision as her own juices flowed and her passion was reaching a high point. Never before had the strange channel been violated and she knew that GEE GEE's throbbing animal was her limit.
"I'm coming," GEE GEE shouted in the room. The only response was the violent panting and grunting of Christie who wavered between ecstatic pleasure and absolute pain as her lover's terrible tool ripped and tore at her, bludgeoning its way into the abused and reticent chamber of her body. Yet, she was pleased beyond expression by the euphonious sounds of their love-making, and she knew that once the virgin channel had been routed with his love machine, she would enjoy repeat performances from time to time; but not from an instrument any larger than GEE GEE's.
GEE GEE burst like a rocket and his head raised to the ceiling and his eyes rolled like ball bearings in their sockets. He gripped the soft white hips in a tender clench as he felt his manhood spraying far into the girl's truth-seeking body.
"Golly Molly!" Christie cried.
Her darling GEE GEE fell away from her and lay panting and spent on the bed. Christie dropped to her stomach and lay luxuriously on the white sheets, smiling up at her lover.
"Come and kiss me," she said. "That was the most beautiful truth in the history of the world and I want to feel your big body against me, against my hungry breasts, against my yearning groin. Hug me, my darling GEE GEE, and perhaps we can work up the passion for another glorious session-the right way."
Ahmeel Balahwar drove the packed Land Rover with a wildly beating and joyous heart. Beside him on the front seat was the beautiful, blond-haired angel, wearing a mini-skirt. Her lush thighs were exposed almost to her crotch and, from the corner of his eyes, he feasted as the stocky vehicle chugged laboriously over the rolling narrow Punjamin Highway leading northwest out of Katmandu. Never, never before in his entire lifetime had he been so magically attracted by anything so feminine. Even on his wedding night with his beloved and accomplished Meenta he had not known such sexual lust. He wanted this woman with every fiber of his being and he was forced into the terrible indignity of having to drive over the rough road in the hard-sprung vehicle with a throbbing erection.
It had taken literally hours for the idiot companion of the girl to fall asleep on the makeshift cot in the back of the Land Rover. During those hours, the vehicle had churned its way out of the city and up the rolling hills, past lovely shrines and rice fields, terraced in endless rows, past long rows of grapes and even fields of corn. The view had become more breathtakingly beautiful with each mile, but Ahmeel was not concerning himself with the grandeur of Nepal or with the towering moutains that seemed to grow out of the earth like god-like creations; nor was he interested in the snow-capped peak of Mount Everest. He did not even feel the breathless dizziness that almost always befalls the traveler when he reaches the high ridge that rims the Katmandu valley. Ahmeel had eyes only for the naked thighs of the blonde girl and the rise and fall of her lovely breasts as the juggling of the vehicle caused them to bounce.
And now as the Land Rover passed over the crest of the ridge above the valley and started its torturous, winding, undulating course down into the next valley, Ahmeel looked through his rearview mirror to check on the Sahib in the back. GEE GEE Parkinson was sound asleep, his body rolling gently without resistance with each turn, with each bump of the vehicle on the road.
Ahmeel studied the woman by his side. He knew that she was greatly enamored with the idea of meeting the great and mysterious Anil Feroze Nanda. Perhaps she was sexually attracted to men of his type; perhaps only to the idea of men of his type. If the latter were true, then would not the simple bus driver do? After all, he was handsome, in a rough-hewn sort of way, and he could spout Indian wisdoms, sayings, platitudes and cliches as well as the next Sikh. He decided that his only stock in trade was to get the girl excited by discussing Nanda and then stepping in to take Nanda's place.
"You have heard much about the Great One?" he asked.
"Oh yes," Christie said, her eyes misting at the thought of her own personal-to-be monk. "I remember one of the Gurus at Berkeley saying that Anil-I sometimes call him by his first name to myself-is one of the wisest and most admired man in all of India, in spite of the fact that he is not yet forty years old. I'll never forget one of his greatest and loveliest quotations."
"What was that, madame?" Ahmeel asked.
"It was ... and I doubt if I can remember it word for word, but it was: 'Love and the flowers will find you out, if you are sincere; if you are not sincere, then you, my friend, are one of the lost, the unfound.' Isn't that the most beautiful saying? Doesn't it just literally turn you on?"
"But of course," Ahmeel said. He bit his dark, dry lip to keep from laughing. He remembered the saying. It was a nonsense saying, a piece of ridicule-philosophy reserved for the tourist trade and visiting diplomats. He had heard it attributed to many men, but it sounded stupid enough to have come from the Nanda.
"Lovely," he said after a small silence. "I suppose you will be very happy to arrive at the monastery, very happy to meet your idol at long last."
"I'm so anxious," she said, squirming in the seat and rubbing her thighs together, "that I can hardly wait to get there. Can't we go faster?"
"Remember, my child," he said in his deepest, most penetrating voice, "that a journey of ten thousand miles must begin always with the first step."
"Oooooooh," she cried, staring at him through brilliant, shining, azure eyes. "That, too, is beautiful. You Indians-honestly, you are the very most."
"A simple peasant saying," he said, humbly.
"Oh no," she said, rubbing her legs again. "I think it's deep and beautiful and so, so very meaningful. I just adore your country, Mr., er...."
"Please," he said, beginning to get most irritated by her inability to remember his name, "call me Ahmeel. Use my first name." Actually, it was his last name, but he did not want to bother trying to explain that complicated business to her.
"I just adore your country, Ahmeel," she said, squirming and turning toward him in the seat. "I almost wish I could just stay right here instead of having to go back to America."
"Why do you not stay?"
"Because daddy has all the money and I couldn't afford to stay long without money and he wouldn't give me two cents unless I came back to the United States. But I would simply love to come her and live."
"Remember always, my child," Ahmeel said, developing his monk-like, almost funereal voice again, "that a child and its parent are like the breeze. Without one, the other is lost, meaningless, unfound."
"Beautiful," she chirped. "Marvelous."
She squirmed and turned more toward him and actually moved closer on the seat. Her legs were pulled up onto the seat so that her knees pointed directly at Ahmeel. When he glanced sideways, he was looking down her lush thighs to the seat of her passion. And he realized with a jolt that he was not seeing the familiar white blaze of silk panty.
Great Buddha, he thought, his throat drying out as he thought it, the woman isn't wearing any panties-and in a mini-skirt. He wondered why.
"Tell me what you know about Anil," she said.
"Who?" he asked, his voice cracking. "Silly," she said, striking his right arm lightly. "You know who I mean. I mean, after all, his name must be as familiar to you as Mahatma Ghandi."
"Ah yes," he said, "Anil."
"Tell me more about him. Tell me some of his richest sayings. Is it true that all of his best ones are inscribed in marble over the gates of most of the shrines of the country? Is it really true that he once kept a Yoga position for a hundred and twenty-seven hours, without eating, drinking or moving?"
"One question at a time, my girl," Ahmeel said. He decided to avoid calling her "child." It made him seem older; more like a father. He also decided that he had better avoid further involvement in the subject of Anil Feroze Nanda. Not only did he not know much about the man, it was also quite obvious that if the dumb girl got excited only by Nanda; that it might not be possible for him, Ahmeel Balahwar, to serve as substitute to the monk in the fortunes of passion that he might arouse in her.
And he also decided that he would be completely remiss if he did not dispense with all the casual amenities and small talk and get right to the seat of the matter. He had to get the girl into a sexual lather quickly unless he wanted to miss out altogether. The American man would awaken soon. Within a few dozen miles, the road would become extremely rough and not even the dead would be able to find peace traveling across it.
"First," he said, "I will answer a question that you have not spoken, but one that I know has been uppermost in your mind. You are wondering about Nanda's sexual prowess. Ah, I can see by the sparkle in your eye that I am right in assuming that."'
"Yes," she said, a note of wonderment taking over her voice. "Gee whiz, you Indians really are mystics. How could you possibly know I was wondering about that?"
"It is in our province to know such matters about a man and a woman," he said cryptically. Actually, he had made a very lucky observation.
"Wow!" she uttered.
"Furthermore," Ahmeel said, going for broke, "you are wondering about the Nanda's, shall we say, size and propensities?"
"His what?"
"The size and propensity of his, shall we say, sex organ?"
Christie blushed, but she again looked at the handsome Sikh in wonderment. Now, how in the world could he possibly know that she was burning up with curiosity about that. She had been told in Berkeley that the Nanda had a simply magnificent tool.
"I have been wondering that," she said, creeping closer on the leather seat, "and something else."
"Ah yes," he said, guessing with more sex education than imagination, "and you are wondering about his abilities in making use of that organ."
"Yes."
He decided to really go for broke.
"There is only one man in all of India or Nepal or Tibet or Pakistan or Bhutan or Kashmir who can match the Nanda in size or who can possibly surpass him in ability."
"Golly Molly," she cried. "Who on earth is that?
"Your driver," Ahmeel said modestly.
"My what?"
"It is myself," he said, slightly irritated at her apparent stupidity.
In the silence that followed, Ahmeel made note of the fact that they were fast approaching the section of country where the road was extremely bad. The valleys were fewer and the long-upward climbs were more frequent and stretched much farther. In a matter of an hour or less, they would come into the remote areas where the government was unable-or unwilling-to maintain the highway in a proper manner.
Around them the hills stretched in vast rolling green wastelands. There were no homes, no huts, no farms. The air had grown cool and, in spite of the blazing yellow sun, the windows were up in the Land Rover against the chill. Ahmeel could hear the girl's heavy breathing above the whine of the tires and the deep, throaty rumble of the powerful engine.
"You're not ... not teasing me?" Christie said, thrilled at the prospect of having an affair with this dark, mysterious Sikh. She had never thought of him as simply their driver, or as a guide or servant. She had been intrigued by him ever since they had boarded the bus and she had noticed that he was fascinated by her legs. She had deliberately sat on the aisle seat and had exposed her legs and crotch in a somewhat elaborate and seductive fashion just to interest him; just to enjoy the knowledge that his deep, dark, mysterious and very wise eyes were feasting on her sex.
"It is an unwise man who makes such an elaborate and boastful statement and who cannot support that statement with the evidence," the Sikh said.
She moved closer to him and smelled the strong odor of him. She savored the odor and felt her crotch begin to moisten. He wasn't the monk, he wasn't her precious Anil Feroze Nanda, but he was next best and, at least, he was here in her time of need. She began to breathe in exaggerated bursts and her soft, delicate, fragrant breath ruffled the hair of his beard.
Ahmeel Balahwar thought briefly of his small, black, almost titless wife and he made a swift mental comparison of her with this precious kitten from America. His mind shattered the image of his wife and his eyes looked burningly onto the white-pink beauty of the girl who was virtually clinging to his arm. Slowly, he took his right hand from the steering wheel and unbuttoned his fly.
"It is against my religion," he lied, "to bring the stirring animal into the view of a member of the opposite sex. But there are no rules concerning the producing of the animal by that member of the opposite sex who might have an interest in doing so."
"Such a quaint rule," she said, licking her lips. "I surely don't want you to go against your religion."
Her slender hand crept across his thigh and halted at the opening in his pants. Her entire body trembled and her lower lip quivered in anticipation of seeing his enormous tool. She had only seen two male organs in her entire life; one was GEE GEE's and one belonged to a young foot ball player who had tried to seduce her in high school. He hadn't succeeded, but he had possessed the courage to produce the white, slender object for her to fondle in the back seat of his car at a drive-in theater. She was speechless and breathless as her hand slid through the opening of the Sikh's pants.
The Land Rover hit a tremendous bump as her hand went inside the trousers. The force of the impact caused her hand to jump and it struck something truly large and truly rigid. She quickly grasped the hard pole and pulled it through the opening into daylight. She could scarcely believe her eyes.
As the vehicle raced down a steep incline, gathering speed for the next climb, and the fantastic scenery of the mountains whizzed past them, Christie Farrell saw nothing but nine solid inches of black Sikh organ! She held the thick tool in her hand and stared at it as though she were in a trance of ecstasy.
It rose higher than the steering wheel and a few coarse curls of hair had emerged through the pants opening with it. Christie absorbed the great instrument with her eyes and Ahmeel Balahwar luxuriated in the feel of her cool, soft hand on his throbbing penis.
"I've never seen anything like it," she breathed, looking at it incredulously. "Would it affect your driving if I moved my hand about on it?"
He knew it would, but he also knew that he would be able to control anything that happened; that he would retain complete charge of any eventuality.
"It is an unwise man who refuses a charming and beautiful lady free access to what he has offered as sacrifice to her free choice to learn."
She didn't know what he meant, but she didn't need to. She was completely and overwhelmingly engrossed in the magnitude of what was happening. She had this strange man's tool in her hand and it was a long, thick, black one that upset every nerve in her body. She wanted to possess it wholly. She wanted to massage it, to work it, to skim back the black skin to the head; and she wanted to (her mouth watered when she thought) it-she wanted to suck it.
Slowly, her hands pulled down on the giant organ and the foreskin slowly slid back from the enormous black head. Christie could smell the headiness of the instrument but there was something that made her head swim with lewd desire.
Ahmeel Balahwar had gone much further than he had even dreamed of going. The girl had been far riper than he had imagined. He had hoped to prime the girl for a later seduction, but he was in seventh Mecca now that things had moved so quickly and the girl now sat close against him with his enormous, throbbing, aching, enlarging, rampant organ in her hand.
"Beautiful," she said and then repeated the word several times.
Ahmeel kept his eyes on the road ahead because they were now Coming into a particularly bad stretch where one side of the road was supported by a sheer cliff with a drop of no less than six hundred feet for travelers who foolishly strayed from the beaten path. It was an unwise driver, he mused, who allowed a hand on his cock to allow him to forget his main duty to life and future. He drove with a higher degree of talent and expertise than even he realized he had possessed.
The beautiful mountain scenery flashed past the windows of the Land Rover.
But the world existed only in the tiny square foot of space inside the Land Rover for Christie Farrell, American. In that square foot of space were her head, her two slender hands and a nine-inch man's tool, with a diamond of moisture at the tiny opening in its head.
Slowly, her ruby lips opened and her blonde head lowered. She took the huge, throbbing head into her mouth and began a gentle sucking motion. Ahmeel Balahwar's hands tightened on the steering wheel and his eyes bored holes through the dusty glass of the windshield. When the Land Rover came out onto a long incline and the driving became simpler, he slid one hand across the girl's wide back, over under her arm and cupped one of her breasts.
His first feel of her white tit! The thought of it was like incense burning on an alter; of standing at the feet of Buddha ; of knowing that life everlasting has been guaranteed in a sacred written contract. As the girl sucked on his enormous tool, one of her hands slipped back into his pants to fondle his great balls. It was his turn to squirm in the seat. As he did so, he felt his giant penis slide farther into the girl's sucking, kneading, working mouth.
Ahmeel Balahwar was truly in Mecca. This was far beyond his wildest dreams. As the girl sucked, her tongue licking and lashing at the flared sides, her one hand squeezed his balls and the other slowly and lightly frigged him until he was certain that he would burst into a million pieces at any second.
He had seen his own ejaculations and he knew they were powerful. He was fearful of damaging the girl's throat, or of strangling or drowning her. But he was powerless, both physically and emotionally, to withdraw even though he felt the spurting fluid already reach the stem and start its long journey up the nine-inch spout.
Now, Ahmeel was afraid the girl would anticipate his burst and would withdraw, leaving him to ejaculate in solitary drabness. He wanted her to stay with him to the very end, to swallow his seed, to engulf him. He must make certain that she did not withdraw.
"It is indeed a wise woman," he said in a low heavy voice, "who knows the secrets of bringing joy to a man. It is an even wiser woman who practices those secrets to the fullest extreme."
Christie Farrell knew what her handsome Sikh meant this time and she knew that she qualified. She had had no intentions of withdrawing and missing the sweetest part of the meat. She was prepared for his burst and, when it came, she took it all with a joyous heart and was grateful for the abundance of love that had been bestowed upon her. She absorbed the greatest quantity that she had ever known and was warmed by the knowledge that a part of this handsome Sikh was now inside her. Her only regrets were that it was all over and that she had not taken his powerful burst into her womb. God, how she would like to have had his enormous tool in her wet, oozing, convoluting love tunnel!
CHAPTER FIVE
They camped at dusk near the remote village of Lo Mantang, with the Land Rover parked on a high point overlooking a precipice of a three-thousand foot depth. Christie stood near the edge of the precipice while the two men readied the vehicle for the night's sleep. The sun was setting directly ahead of her and the valley below had turned it a deep purple haze. Yet, she was struck by the grandeur and beauty of the deep valley and enjoyed an almost sexual delight in the feeling of danger that was invoked by the fantastic height of the cliff above the valley floor.
Christie knew she was almost on top of the world; it was only a few miles into Tibet where the highest points on the globe were located. She was thrilled by the drama and sheer quiet beauty of this land and she began to have her first worries that perhaps her beloved monk would not come with her. What would wealth and civilization or even beautiful women, do to compete with the stark and almost reverent beauty of these mountains? The chill of insight, of something mysterious learned, of heavenly knowledge imparted, overcame her and she shivered. She now knew why men came into these mountains seeking truth. She felt very near the truth at this moment and she had not even reached her destination.
Many times, during their "turning on" sessions at Berkeley with the various Gurus at their disposal, Christy had heard them talk of the quiet and shocking beauty of truth to be found in the high mountains of their native land. She hadn't realized then what they meant. Now she did. She felt it deep in her soul and was surprised when that realization evoked a sexual response from her. It was ... it was almost like having, sexual relations with the beauty and stillness of the mountains.
She looked back at the two men and wished that one of them would throw her down on the edge of the precipice and make love to her. She wanted the Sikh, she wanted that enormous, thick, nine-inch-long tool to rip at her wet, unclothed pussy. She thought of raising her skirt above her crotch and calling to them, provoking a race to see which of them could nail her to the ground first. My God, she wanted a man inside her at that moment.
GEE GEE Parkinson worked side by side with the Sikh driver-guide, but his mind was not on his work. Nor was it on the magnificent scenery which surrounded them. He watched Christie as she stood on the high point of the cliff and he watched the Sikh as he went contentedly about his duties.
Something was amiss. He had known on the bus the day before that the Sikh had hot pants for Christie and he had not really wanted her to hire the man when he showed up unexpectedly at the hotel. He had suspected nothing, however, until earlier in the afternoon when he had awakened in the back of the Land Rover and saw the Sikh and Christie sitting in the front seat with completely satisfied looks on their faces. And the way they had looked at each other since that time ... he was certain that something had happened. But what?
Naturally, he would make no issues; cast no aspersions, fling no accusations. But he knew he would have to keep more alert in the future. He was troubled most with the knowledge that his suspicions were aggravated, not by jealousy alone, but also by something that he had not dared tell Christies. She thought she had talked him into coming along on the idiot's journey to the Himalayas, but he had actually been paid to stay with her.
GEE GEE had been thoroughly dismayed by the power and frankness of Thornton Farrell, Christie's father. The old man had summoned him to the family mansion in Oakland, on an evening when Christie was attending a "turning on" session with one of the currently popular Indian nuts, and he had been more than candid.
He had said, brutally and directly:
"I know you're living with my daughter and I know you're screwing the pants off her. I'm not a stupe, Charley, and don't you forget it. I was screwing Christie's mother when she was sixteen and still a sophomore in high school, and I know Christie is just as hot as her mother was."
GEE GEE had grown faint and his face had turned a sickly white.
"Don't look so goddam panicky," the elder Farrell had commanded. "I don't intend to horsewhip you and I don't intend to try to break it up. You're not a bad sort as the creeps around Berkeley go. At least, you don't wear one of them goddam flea-bearing beards and you don't pedal her ass all around town on a motorcycle. If she weren't humping with you, God knows whose rod she would have up her."
GEE GEE had swallowed hard and had wiped his sweating palms on his sweater.
"That brings us to this India bullshit," the old man had snapped. "She wants to go up to Nepal to check out that syphilitic bastard of a monk who probably has a twelve-inch tool and a gallon of spunk to a come. I want you to go along, but I want it to be her idea."
"I don't understand, sir," GEE GEE had said. "Why on earth do you want me to go. After all, we'd be sleeping together in public hotels and on public transportation such as ships and trains. It could cause a scandal."
"Screw scandal! I don't give a damn about scandal, but I do give a damn about my daughter getting knocked up by some Indian jerk who would try to feed her and the kid on so-called wise sayings and rice. In short, I don't want her hurt. I want you to see that she takes her birth control pills for her jollies with you. Most important, I want you to keep Indian dorks out of her. I'll pay you five thousand if you bring her back a virgin as far as those creeps in India are concerned. A deal?"
GEE GEE had made vehement objection to taking money for protecting a girl he already felt protective toward and had been liberally tongue-lashed for his wishy-washy attitude toward money. He left the mansion feeling weak and defeated, but strengthened by the father's approval of him as a lover for the beautiful and desirable Christie Farrell. He just hoped Christie never learned of his approval, or it would be outsville for him. Most of all, he hoped she never learned of the fact that he was a sort of sex spy for her father.
He didn't know that he was going to fail miserably in that department within a very short time.
* * *
Ahmeel Balahwar hummed an ancient Indian ballad as he worked side by side with the blonde American man. Although he pretended great interest and meticulous attention to detail, his mind and part of his vision were on the lovely girl standing on the high, wind-swept point near the vehicle. The wind was blowing her mini-skirt and flattening it against her thighs and he hoped that it soon would lift the flimsy cloth over her gleaming white buttocks. He knew that she still wore no pants and the knowledge gnawed at him like a pair of sucking lips.
Although he was glad that he had come along, he wished that he had been telling the truth about having a few days of leisure time on his hands between runs of the Calcutta-Katmandu bus. He could not, however, admit that his lust for the American woman had been so great that he had quit his job after learning that he was hired as guide and driver for the relatively short drive to the monastery in the mountains.
He was acting purely on impulse, although he was hopeful that something rich would come from it. First, he wanted to satisfy his lust by ravaging the beautiful girl anyplace and anytime he could. He knew she was wealthy so, after the trip, perhaps he could find some way of tapping some of that wealth to keep him until he found another job. He felt that he was succeeding on all counts.
And tonight, tonight of all nights, he was going to make the supreme effort to place his enormous tool into the proper receptacle of the luscious girl. He was going to have her or learn the reason why he couldn't.
* * *
They ate the food the men had cooked over the open fire on top of the high, windy peak. It was not very well cooked because the wind blew away most of the fire's heat, but it tasted good after an entire day of riding in the Land Rover. The last hundred miles had been indeed quite rough and they were deliciously tired and knew they would sleep well.
Night came quickly once the sun had dropped behind the high mountain peaks and the wind died down to a whisper. It was succeeded immediately by a damp chill which crept into their bones and took some of the joy out of their appreciation of the brilliance and closeness of the stars. And they played a waiting game, waiting to see who would go to bed first. GEE GEE lost out to the chill and crawled into his sleeping bag in back of the Land Rover. Christie was to sleep next to him and the Sikh was to curl his lanky frame in the front seat of the vehicle.
Christie and the Sikh sat quietly near the dying fire, keenly aware of each other and only tacitly aware of the brilliant stars as witnesses to their desires. The Sikh had only one desire: to ram his already erect instrument into the girl. Christie had a slightly different desire: she wanted to take both of them on at one time-GEE GEE in her now-ready rectum and the huge, gorging, nine-inch tool of the Sikh in her wet and receptive puss. She was toying with various methods of bringing about that kind of situation.
"I feel very wise and very close to the truth up here on this beautiful mountain under these brilliant stars," she said. "Do you feel close to the truth?"
"It is an unwise man who sits on a mountaintop under a blanket of Buddha's stars and does not feel a stirring in his loins," Ahmeel said wisely.
"Amen," Christie said.
"The truth is," the Sikh said, "that I have grown another erection thinking of you without panties and I would most appreciate the opportunity of revealing this enormous truth to you, my fine lady."
"Beautiful," Christie said. "I can't reveal the same truth, but I do have a lovely truth to reveal."
"And what, pray tell, is that?"
"I not only want to see your beautiful truth," she said, "I want to feel it in my sex. I yearn for the touch of your dark hand on my white breast.
Isn't that a wonderful truth?"
"A most wonderful truth," he murmured. "How does the fine young woman propose to bring this truth to full and eternal realization?"
"It would be difficult with my friend only a few feet away," she said, "but he, too, is a lover of truth. Shall we approach him with our plan?" Ahmeel felt his heart flop over and he was certain that the game was lost. The American man was a prude, a snake, a literal kill joy. If she went to him and revealed that the big Sikh had a hard-on, all would be lost.
But Christie was already on her feet and had opened the door of the Land Rover. Ahmeel caught a glimpse of her white, naked buttocks as she crawled over the seat into the back to join the American man. Great Buddha, he cursed. All is truly lost. The great truth is that I have ordered up an erection in vain.
In a few seconds, Christie opened the door of the vehicle and summoned the Sikh.
"He won't agree," she said, "but I think things will work out beautifully some other night, my darling Ahmeel. I must thank you for arousing in me the most precious urge to seek the truth. We shall find it together some beautiful night. Until then, sleep well."
The skies of India blazed with an abundance of diamond-like stars which glistened and sparkle-like pale champagne on the snow-capped peaks. They shone down on the tiny black Land Rover which was very, very still. Two still lumps lay sleeping, unaware of the great truths that surrounded then. Beyond the two lumps, on the front seat, lay a man in a white turban. His dark eyes were open and staring into the night.
Ahmeel Balahwar lay curled up in the seat, stunned by his defeat. The throbbing ache in his groin had grown to landslide proportions and he cursed himself for building up such a head of steam that now must be quieted, cooled and finally quelled. But sleep finally came and the dark eyes closed to the night. And the stars shone with renewed brilliance and the peaceful mantle of God and Buddha settled quietly, once again, over the towering peaks and the tiny camp deep in the Himalayas.
CHAPTER SIX
In the late afternoon on Saturday, the day that Ahmeel Balahwar had predicted for their arrival at the monastery, the Land Rover rounded a sharp curve in the extremely bad and narrow road and came to a halt. Ahmeel smiled up into the hills and pointed with a long, dark finger.
"See there, just above that grassy knoll and to the right of that magnificent snow-capped! peak."
Christie and GEE GEE strained their eyes and followed the line of sight set down by the pointing finger. In the area designated was a dim, al most hazy image of a wall and some buildings dug into the side of the hill just below its crest.
"That is the Nanda monastery," Ahmeel said, forcing his voice into a tone of reverence. "We have many hills to climb and many corners to turn before we arrive. I would suggest a brief pause to allow ourselves a rest and to provide a moment of calm for our laboring engine. It is very hot, in spite of the coolness of the mountain. It has worked very hard for us."
Ahmeel parked the Land Rover in an open area beside the road. Typical of his earlier choices, the area was bordered on one side by thin air and a sheer drop of several thousand feet. They were very high in the mountains now and the air was clear and thin. Even walking created a stage of light dizziness and Ahmeel had warned them of over-exertion.
As she helped ready the food for a snack, Christie kept looking up the side of the mountain toward the distant wall that signalled the end of their journey. From their low vantage point, the monastery looked more like a ruins. She remembered the ruined castles of Germany from the trip daddy had taken her on down the Rhine two years ago. From the river, they all looked as though they had sunk into the hillside, or that everything above ground had tumbled down into the river. She hoped they were not too late-that the glorious, sacred Nanda had not abandoned his monastery and gone off with someone else. The kids in America and England, especially important musical groups, were literally bleeding the country dry of its important, impressive and very wise Gurus. She wanted to get to Nanda before someone else reached him.
"This is a very remote place," Ahmeel told them as they sat cross-legged on the grass and ate their sparse lunch. "It is a very unwise person who does not take advantage of the remoteness of such a place."
"Beautifully said," Christie smiled at him. "What do you have in mind, my darling Sikh?" The Sikh looked from Christie to GEE GEE, then glanced down at his lap.
"In a very few hours," he said sonorously, "we will be at the summit, at the monastery, where it will be impossible for us to partake of the delights that one must experience to sustain one on such a long an arduous journey. I merely suggest this as a possibility ... that we should, as you Americans say, harvest rice while the sun is overhead."
"Make hay while the sun shines," GEE GEE offered.
"Beg pardon?"
"The saying," GEE GEE said. "It's supposed to be 'make hay while the sun shines.."
"You are right," said the Sikh. "Quite right."
"Don't argue all day," Christie said. "Let's just harvest rice while the sun is overhead."
"Amen," said the Sikh.
"I don't know what you mean," GEE GEE said. Christie went to him and put her arms around his neck. He looked up questioningly, knowing by the expression on her sweet face that he wasn't going to like what she and the horny old Sikh had in mind.
"My darling GEE GEE," Christie began, "there comes a moment in the life of every woman when she must seek the eternal truth in the most grand and glorious of ways. Last night, you will recall, I mentioned to you that my darling Ahmeel and I had considered the possibility of seeking the truth in a sort of triumvirate of sex. You know, all three of us going at it at the same time. Oh, my darling GEE GEE, do you see what a wonderful and beautiful and marvelous thing that would be? Just think, all three of us seeking the truth at the very same time. Doesn't it thrill you?"
GEE GEE admitted only to himself that he was thrilled at the thought of it, but a tiny part of his conscience pricked him when he remembered his pledge to Christie's father. Not only would he be violating that pledge by allowing a great Indian tool to enter the sacred and inviolate body of his beloved Christie, but he would actually be participating in that violation.
"My darling GEE GEE," the blonde girl cooed into his ear, one soft, supple breast insinuating itself into the hollow of his shoulder, "we are high in the beautiful and glorious Himalayan mountains and we are so very near the truth and my precious Anil Feroze Nanda. Even from this distance, I can feel the utter vibrations from the truth and beauty and love that rests on that high summit where the monastery lies. Can't you feel it? Don't you know that it would be the most glorious of acts if we three were to seek the truth here-right now, right this instant?"
GEE GEE smiled and she knew that he was in agreement. She quickly slipped out of her clothes and the mountain air turned her legs a delicate shade of blue. When she was stripped, she stood on the high point above the precipice and put her hands high above her head. The cold wind from the mountain peaks swished across the side of the hill and blew her blonde, silken hair into rivulets of golden water. The wind rustled the curly hair of her crotch and both men swallowed deep in their throats at the vision of loveliness before them.
Ahmeel stared more at the white marble of her buttocks than at the high, pointed, dark-tipped breasts. He felt his tool erecting and he longed to plunge it up between the cheeks of those finely-chiseled buttocks, into the inner sanctum of her body. GEE GEE, on the other hand, stationed his blue eyes at the ruffling pubic hairs and hoped that Christie would not want the Sikh's big animal in her sex. As much as he enjoyed the posterior orifice, he longed for the soft, welcome wetness of her kitten.
"Come on," Christie said impatiently. "It's only good if we get naked and I'm freezing to death waiting for you."
The men quickly shed their clothing. While the Sikh approached the naked, waiting girl, GEE GEE went to the Land Rover to produce a blanket. He fully expected to take over the bottom spot where his erect machine would pierce the beautiful girl from below and the turf at the top of the precipice looked extremely rough. Christie watched her two lovers come toward her and she drank in their long, lean bodies; she shuddered at the sensuality of the scene and from the cold. She examined the Sikh's enormous tool and admired the way it jounced up and down as he walked. She marveled at the fact that the sheer weight and length of it did not cause him to tip forward.
In sharp contrast, GEE GEE's short, thick, animal was pale and insignificant. Yet, it was fully capable of making a dangerous path through the twisted jungle of her intestines. Watching them, naked and panting as they approached her like male lions stalking a lioness, she decided that she wanted the Sikh in her rear and GEE GEE in her loins. Her actual preference was the opposite, but she knew that the pain and punishment would be greater and, in the end, so would the pleasure. Her decision could not have been a better one: it was most satisfactory to each member of the triumvirate.
GEE GEE happily took his appointed place on the blanket where his shaft stood erect like a thick bolt as he looked up at the bottoms of Christie's pointing breasts. She stood above him for a long moment while the Sikh clasped her chilled body from behind, his enormously long machine thrust between her white thighs and emerging like a poker from her front. The Sikh's hands covered her breasts from behind and she reared her head back so that her blonde hair was trailing across his dark shoulder.
"Come to me, baby," GEE GEE said through chattering teeth. "I'm freezing down here."
"Patience, my darling GEE GEE," Christie moaned. "It is an unwise man whose instrument has not the patience of the Sphinx."
"Beautifully said," panted the Sikh. "But it is an unwise woman who allows an aching prod to throb too long and too painfully."
"Beautiful."
Christie and the Sikh lowered as one and he long, dark object slipped away from her thighs. She poised above GEE GEE with the Sikh's hands still on her breasts. GEE GEE held his tool with both hands, directing it to the lowering sex already moist and matted with her flowing juices. Their sexes touched and both of them gasped in ecstasy. And the cold, hard tool in GEE GEE's hands slowly disappeared into the warm pouch. Christie's breasts, left free of the hands of the Sikh, fell warmly and excitingly over his face.
Ahmeel Balahwar backed away from the joined couple and, holding his dork toward his face, he wet the end of it with spittle to make his entry easier with the makeshift lubricant. He then lowered to his knees and spread the white cheeks of her buttocks. Christie screamed when the bulbous knob struck her at dead center and the scream echoed out over the deep valley and came back to them as the cry of a wounded bird.
And slowly, painfully, agonizingly, the long, dark animal slid up until the blonde girl was certain that her breath was being choked out of her lungs. She gurgled deep in her throat and uttered short gasps of impending death as the huge tool continued to encroach upon the tender entrails of her smooth, silken body. She could scarcely feel GEE GEE in her and, when the Sikh's crisp pubic hair crushed against her buttocks, she felt as though she had one great organ, the size of a telephone pole, rammed into one great, huge common hole between her legs. To her, there were two men, but only one massive throbbing, vibrating, electric post.
Christie raised her head as the two men began their expert, piston-like rhythm and looked up along the distant hills toward the monastery. Her thoughts centered upon her unknown and unseen monk who was now waiting for her arrival. Surely the messenger would have alerted him by now and he would be making the monastery ready for them. Although her beloved Anil Feroze Nanda did not know her, nor did he have the slightest inkling of why she was coming, she knew that he was of such wisdom and poise and compassion that he would be waiting with a fond look on his handsome face; that her journey to this remote mountain, to this beautiful land, would not be in vain.
A sharp thrust from the Sikh's churning animal brought her back to the scene on the cliff-top. Christie screamed from the pain and the pleasure of his efforts and turned her attentions to the deep valley far below. The hills dropped down in slow, rolling mounds and cliffs on either side of them. The valley floor was deep and green, a shimmering emerald trapped by the steep sides of mountains. The distant peaks seemed to ring like motionless bells high above the valley and slightly below their vantage point-they were already higher than most of the peaks within their view and Katmandu was far, far out of sight.
And now the churning within her was turning her body into a firebrand. The lovely scene before her, the monastery and her beloved monk above her, all ceased to exist. Each of her senses turned inward where they found far greater delights in the pleasant punishment being delivered so brutally and forcefully to them. She felt her very essence being drawn out, strained through the thin veil of her soul.
"The truth!" she cried. "My God, this is the very essence of truth and beauty and knowledge."
"Amen," said the Sikh.
"Jesus Christ!" cried GEE GEE.
"I have come to find the true meaning of life," Christie shouted, "and it is here with me. My God, the truth is so beautiful. Fuck me, my stalwart warriors. My darling GEE GEE and my darling Sikh. Fuck the truth into me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
The two throbbing, monstrous, pulsating machines plunged and withdrew in the double orifices, evoking from the one a flow of syrupy juices that streamed over their mutual balls and matted the hairs of their thighs. There were no animals, no birds, no butterflies to witness their debauchery. The only witness, then, was the mute wind that tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to cool their bodies that now glowed with the white-heat of sex.
Once again, in a great, glowing, flowing, throbbing, aching, screaming agony of desire, they came in unison and Christie was the benefactor of such force and energy that she felt as though her entire bottom half was being torn away from her in a nuclear explosion of a major magnitude.
* * *
They arrived at the gates of the monastery shortly before dusk. The huge, thick wooden gates were closed for the night, but Ahmeel Balahwar went to them confidently and pulled the frayed rope that rang a distant bell somewhere inside the confines of the rambling stone wall.
Christie sat in the front seat of the Land Rover, feeling her heart pound with sledge-hammer blows in her heaving chest. Under her breath, she spoke the name of her beloved monk: Anil Feroze Nanda. She felt her heart swell with pride and passion and her thighs become wet from the flowing juices of her sex. She was so near, to her beloved, her darling monk. She had come so far, waited so long. And now, he-HE-was just on the other side of this bothersome locked gate.
Why didn't they hurry? After all, what's-his-name had rung the bell an eternity ago.
Finally, the gates were swung open by a small acorn-like Indian in a flowing dirty smock. The monk stared at them in glum silence as the Land Rover bucked across the rough, stony roadway into the compound. GEE GEE snorted and sniffed the acrid smell of the place.
"Smells like a pig sty," he observed. "Hush, my darling GEE GEE," Christie said. "Someone will hear you."
"It does smell rather like a pig sty," Ahmeel said. "Perhaps that is because they keep a great number of pigs here. Since our people cannot eat beef, pork and goat have become the chief meats of the monks. The mountain goats are kept in the barnyard, which encompasses a great area of the surrounding hills, but the stupid pigs must be kept in closer pens or they will fall off the cliffs."
"Beautiful," Christie said. She surveyed the dark, low building situated across the compound and was surprised to find that it was a two-story building. It was so low, it looked as if it had sunk into the ground, much as the entire monastery had looked from below. After a few seconds she didn't mind the foul odors of the compound.
Ahmeel brought the Land Rover to a stop at the main entrance of the long, low building. Other buildings hovered in the raging dusk, but they were smaller and, if possible, even less impressive.
A second monk came out onto the roofed verandah of the building and squinted through the darkening air at them. Christie's heart made a great leap in her lovely chest and she whispered hoarsely to the Sikh:
"Is that him? Is that my darling Anil?"
Ahmeel grinned.
"No, my lady," he said. "That is Lai Bahadur Deva, the illustrious one's man-servant. Call him Deva."
"Welcome to our humble home," the man called Deva said as they emerged from the vehicle. "Your messenger arrived this morning with the news of your arrival. The Great One is expecting you. He will greet you later, when we shall all dine together."
"Thank you," Christie said, stretching so that her great breasts strained against the nylon sweater. The servant's small dark eyes bulged in their sockets and he stared openly at her breasts.
"Follow me," he said, forcing his gaze away from the beautiful bubbles. "We shall have your belongings brought to your rooms. You must be tired from your journey."
He spoke in a monotone and it was difficult to distinguish one word from another. They followed him silently down a long, warm corridor. Christie and GEE GEE were mildly shocked when they saw their rooms. They were tiny, dark, dirt floored cells with no furniture. Old slabs of wood lay along the walls for beds. Each was covered by dirty, foul-smelling burlap, presumably their blankets-or mattresses. Each room had a tiny, screen-less window, yet there were no flies or other insects in the crisp, thin air of the mountain. There was nothing else.
"Cozy, GEE GEE said sarcastically. "I think I'll sleep in the Land Rover."
"It is an unwise man," Christie said in her new wisdom, "who offends his host by refusing his hospitality. You'd better sleep in here. Your sleeping bag will help."
Several monks seemed to come out of the walls and carried their belongings into the three tiny cells. GEE GEE promptly rolled his sleeping bag out on the hard boards, tossing the filthy burlap into a corner. He wiped the hand that had touched the burlap on his pants and then examined both areas for fleas or other vermin. It was a far, far cry from the luxury of the Rajah Hotel in Katmandu. He went into Christie's cell and put his arms around her.
"How's about a little roll in the sleeping bag before dinner? I would like very much to have you without that shaggy bus driver in the act."
"Oh my darling GEE GEE," she said ecstatically. "How can you think of sex at a time like this, in a place like this?"
He looked around at the filth and the drabness of the room.
"I'll admit it isn't easy in a place like this."
"I mean, it's a religious place. It's so sacred ... so, so inviolate!"
GEE GEE took another look around.
"Well, somebody sure as hell hasn't been paying attention, then. Somebody has violated the hell out of the goddam place."
"Don't be crude. HE may be listening."
"Jesus Christ."
"No, Anil Feroze Nanda." Once again she said the name with tremendous reverence, with crashing solemnity.
"I wonder where they have the manger," GEE GEE said, baiting her.
"What manger?"
"The one where your goddam monk must have been born."
"Oh my darling GEE GEE," she said patiently and saint-like. "I should be angry with you because you are obviously a heathen when it comes to such sacred and holy matters. But you will learn as you get to know my darling Anil. You will become a believer soon enough."
Ahmeel Balahwar knocked on the thin wooden door of her cell and GEE GEE opened it.
"I am told," he said in a hoarse whisper, as though to avoid violating the sacred atmosphere with his voice, "that the Great One has summoned us for dinner. Shall we go?"
They went into the corridor where the servant, Lai Bahadur Deva, awaited them. His filthy robes swishing in the dark corridor, he led them to a large entrance room, down another corridor and into a large, well-lighted, room that was in striking contrast to their tiny cells. The room was beautifully furnished with huge Persian carpets, satin couches, a fabulous mahogany chest and table and ornate mahogany chairs with satin-covered seats. The walls were hung with silk tapestries of the deepest blues, reds and greens they had ever seen. A thousand candles, resting in silver candelabras, provided the room's almost brilliant light.
"This is more like it," GEE GEE said. "Tell his nibs that I'll take this room. He can have mine."
"Shush," warned Christie.
"Please be seated on the cushions or the couches," Deva said. "HE will be with you within a trice."
The three visitors sat on the satin-covered couches, each with a different feeling, each with different thoughts.
Christie Farrell was virtually trembling with anticipation, longing and desire. She felt much the way she had felt when she first went to a "turning on" session at Berkeley when that wonderful monk from Tibet was the current rage. It was her first session and she had gone as a skeptic. She had left as a believer. And now, now at last, the long journey was over and she was in the sacred vault of the greatest Guru of all time, the inimitable, deep, wise, holy Anil Feroze Nanda. Her heart beat with shrill thumps and her throat constricted with a delicate and beautiful dryness.
GEE GEE was slightly irritated, but mildly curious as to what would happen next. He had come all this way only because it was a free trip. He could have Christie almost any time he wanted her and he was being paid a hell of a sum of money to keep her out of real trouble. Besides, he thought he might even be in love with the girl, in a physical, sensuous sort of way. But this crazy setup, this was wild. He, too, could hardly wait to see His Nibs, the illustrious one, the Great One, Anil Feroze Nanda.
Ahmeel Balahwar waited with detached amusement. He wanted to get the dinner over and hoped for a part in the sex orgy that most assuredly would follow. He wished the Land Rover had broken down on the mountain roads. If it had, he might be ramming his hopeful animal into the girl at this moment. He savored the memory of his pokes at her and the beauty of her white-skinned buttocks and breasts. He longed to savor the reality of them again.
As for the sacredness or holiness of the monastery, Ahmeel had long ago ceased to be impressed by the monks. In fact, he had known Nanda as a boy and rather suspected that he was no more holy than a good, satisfying, resounding fart. But, if the man could live like this and have servants at his beck and call, who was Ahmeel Balahwar to say nay. Frankly, he thought Nanda was rather a frump, but that was of no great consequence now that he was so near wealth and happiness at the expense of the beautiful but extremely shallow young American girl. Nanda would have to be an absolute nut not to follow the girl back to California.
The man-servant Deva came into the room and clapped his hands. Ahmeel wisely stood up and the two Americans followed his lead. The tapestries parted again at the far end of the room and the Great One entered.
Christie felt her heart stop, yet the flowing of juices from her sex seemed to increase. She stared at the white-robed monk and already adored him. Nanda proved to be no slouch in the looks department. His great beard showed flecks of white and his full head of black, curly hair graced his scalp like a dark crown. His dark, wide, expressive eyes and thin, delicate lips told Christie all she wanted to know: he was the wisest, most compassionate, most saintly of all men on the face of the earth! And he was so handsome!
"Ah my friends," the Great One said softly. "It is an unwise man who keeps such gracious and beautiful guests waiting. A thousand pardons, my friends. A thousand pardons indeed."
Great God, Christie thought HE is asking us to pardon HIM!"
"Please be seated," the monk said, smiling a broad all-encompassing smile at them. "It is an unwise host who keeps his charming guests standing while he chatters away at nonsensical. Please ... be seated, I beg of you."
Golly Molly! HE is actually begging us to be seated!
The monk chattered aimlessly during the dinner of roast pork, baked chicken and broiled lamb. He said nothing of consequence, yet Christie Farrell made mental recordings of every word for later transcription into holy scriptures. When the meal was over, Anil Feroze Nanda moved his chair back from the table and directed his attentions to Christie. He asked all about America and California and why she had come and who she was and how much money she had and why she had come this great distance to be in his humble presence. Christie answered all his penetrating questions with quavering voice and quavering heart. She was enamored of his very essence.
"And how about pussy?" the monk finally asked. "Is there a tremendous amount of pussy in America?"
The three of them were thunderstruck. Both Christie and GEE GEE were certain they had misunderstood him, that the word they knew so well must have meant something entirely different in this never-never land in the top of the Himalayan mountains. But Ahmeel was shocked for quite another reason. He knew the crazy monk would get around to sex, but he had given him credit for far greater discretionary powers. This blunt approach was not only beneath the dignity of a monk, it was beneath the dignity of the ordinary Indian male.
"I beg your pardon?" Christie said foolishly. "I don't believe I understood your question."
"It is an unwise host who will not repeat his questions for his charming and beautiful guests. I will, however, make the question more pointed. I wish to know about the quantity and quality of pussy in America. Do the girls give their pussies freely or do they keep them locked in Medieval fashion? Do you understand the question now?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
"It is an unwise host who shocks his guests and then does not hasten to explain," said Anil Feroze Nanda. "So, with your kind indulgence and your undivided attention, I will try to explain."
The air in the beautiful, soft room had become stifling and charged with electricity. The monk had taken an almost unheard-of approach and a definitely drastic turn in the conversation. Christie did not, however, doubt for a millisecond that the beloved monk, her darling Nanda, would have a completely honorable and honest explanation for his sudden interest in American female sex organs. She waited patiently, confident of her monk's ability to make something sacred and holy out of the situation. She was not to be disappointed.
"In these mountains," the monk said cryptically and sonorously, "a man learns the truths about life. He begins to know his own soul and even the Christian religion insists that man know himself. In the darkness of the mountain night and in the brilliance of mountain dawn, a man of the mountains learns the truth. He lies in his tiny cell at night and finds the truth in the solitude of his own body. He walks the narrow mountain paths, like the mountain goats, and comes to steep cliffs and precipices that could mean death to him were he to make one tiny error in judgment. In these many ways, man learns the truth-the TRUTH! Do you not understand what I am saying?"
"Oh yes!" Christie gushed. "I understand. The truth."
"Exactly. Now. Let us continue."
The monk shifted in his chair and leaned back so that the chair was resting on its two back legs. He smiled sweetly at Christie and she felt a gush of fluid escape from her gaping, pulsating pussy.
"A man may masturbate in the night," Nanda continued, "or he may lie at peace with his world and his gods. Or he may summon a dark, acorn-like woman, as thin as the reeds of Dacca, and he may plunge his rigid instrument into the folds of her womb. It matters not how a man spends his nights as long as his thoughts are on the deity of his choice! Only through such thought can man eventually learn the truth, no matter what his body is doing at the time he is producing such thought. Now, do you understand me?"
"Oh yes," Christie said. She almost added my darling Nanda.
"And so," the monk said, "we return to the original question. Is there much available pussy in America? You will note that I have altered the question somewhat. In a country of two hundred million people, there certainly must be a lot of pussy. My question now refers only to that which is desirable and which is available." They were still thunderstruck. Christie tried desperately to understand what the monk, her beloved Nanda, was saying, but she could not. She accepted what he said on faith alone and decided that he must have an answer, that he must not be subjected to further indignities of having to make additional explanations.
"I cannot speak for others," she said seriously, "but I must say that mine is available to men of your caliber and worth. I am truly certain that, for you, there is much ... much of what you wish ... available in America. If you will come with me to California, I shall provide it to you in no uncertain terms."
"My dear child," Nanda said, "it is an unwise man who cannot recognize Mecca when it is spread before him. I shall go with you to America, but you must remain here for seven days and seven nights while the two of us seek the truth."
"Golly Molly!"
"We shall seek it in the darkness of your tiny cell and in the spacious, luxurious surroundings of my humble room. We shall seek it on the pathways and in the clusters of umbrella pines. We shall seek it beneath the dulcet tones of the lovely Fia birds and under the cascading waters of the mountain streams. We shall seek it on the roof and in the wine cellar. We shall seek it in the back of your Land Rover and in the pens with the pigs and on the backs of mules and in the center of the courtyard. We shall seek it everywhere and we shall find it; and, finding it, we shall take it to America with us so that others may seek it and find it as have we. We shall commence the searching immediately."
Before GEE GEE could voice his planned objection, the monk stood up and clapped his hands. Deva returned quietly, as though his feet were made of wool. His master nodded and smiled and Deva disappeared through the tapestries.
"And now," the host said, picking up a bottle from the table, "it is time for wine."
He poured full glasses for them and Christie drank hers slowly, as though she were sipping the blood of God. When they had finished their wine, the tapestries parted again and two small, beautiful, dark girls came into the room. They each were swathed in silk Saris and each wore a bright red dot in the center of her forehead.
"These are my daughters," the monk said. "Although the law against polygamy was passed in 1963,I am the law here and I have many wives. These are daughters from one of my wives, the most beautiful one. Therefore, they are more beautiful than any of my children. They are for you, Mister Parkinson, and for you, Ahmeel Balahwar. They are not virgins, so they will not provide you with painful and distasteful problems. I have personally seen to it that they are not virgins. Use them in good health."
The man-servant Deva appeared again and led the two men and the two beautiful children from the room. Christie squirmed on her chair and look longingly and lovingly at her tall, stately, most reverent Nanda, her darling Nanda.
"I have sought the truth in many ways," he said reverently. "Front, rear, mouth and hand. I have sought it in the cleavage of barren or abundant breast. I have sought in the hairless and haired armpit of both man and woman. I have sought it in thought and in deed. I have sought it in sheep and in mountain goat. I have even sought it in pig. What have you to offer me that would provide me the wherewithal to seek the truth in a different and most assiduous manner?"
Christie was dumbfounded and disappointed. She had hoped to be able to teach her darling Nanda a few things, but it was obvious that he would be the teacher. She had nothing new to offer and her disappointment was so great that she felt tears being squeezed from her azure eyes. She had wanted so much to be a comfort and a revelation to the Great One.
"I must have time to think," she said. "I don't want to fail you, but I must have time to think."
"So be it," he said, "It is an unwise man who casts aside a good woman because she cannot at the moment provide him with the wherewithal to experience a new and revolutionary truth. For the moment, I shall have to be content with common pussy."
"Have you ever ... ever had a woman with such white skin?" She was desperate for something different and new to offer him.
"I must admit that I have not," he said. "Is the pussy of a woman with white skin so different from the pussy of a woman with dark skin?"
"I don't know," she said. "Is the truth less real when it is found in the comfort of a bed or in the swill of the pig sty?"
He thought about that for a moment, then smiled.
"You have indeed brought me something different," he said. "I have found much greater truths in bed with a woman than could ever be found in a pig sty. Perhaps the difference there will be as great as the difference here. Let us get at it."
Without haste-and without fanfare-Christie stood up and removed her nylon sweater. She was delighted to see the monk's dark eyes widen at the sight of her white skin, at the lovely curve of her flanks, at the enormous white mounds of her breasts, constrained and high in the cotton brassiere. She was certain that the monk, with his skinny, dark, Indian women, had never seen such a pair of creamy, rich, abundant breasts. She removed the brassiere and let the breasts fall free.
The monk whistled through his beard and his dark eyes penetrated the skin of her breasts, feasting on the delicate pink-white of the skin and the dark pink of the nipples. She noticed that the monk was, indeed, producing an erection. She trembled at the thought of seeing it, of feeling it in her womb.
Slowly, deliberately, she slid the blue jeans down over her hips and thighs and stood only in her scant panties, -rimmed with lace at the legs. The monk's pink tongue darted across his thin lips and his eyes fairly danced in his dark face. His beard trembled and Christie knew that she was delighting him. She took off the panties.
Anil Feroze Nanda stood motionless on the thick Persian carpet beside the mahogany table. His black eyes swept the white vision before him, from her small, narrow ankles, up to the heavier and shapelier calves to the tight, attractive knees. His eyes dwelt on the pink thighs and settled almost permanently on the thatch of curly blonde hair at her crotch. Finally, they tore themselves away from center point and traveled leisurely, on a beautiful and exciting journey, along her flat stomach to her jutting, dark-tipped breasts. His lips parted and she knew she had him. He had been too long seeking the truth alone and with dark, skinny, lifeless women. Now, he was witnessing the miracle of lushness, the drama and sensuality of a full, abundant woman-body that had been nurtured on milk and eggs and the rich nutrients that were so sadly lacking in the Indian diet.
Christie was correct in her analysis of the situation. After a lifetime of truth-seeking, the monk was finally and conclusively being exposed to a new method of seeking the truth. He was seeing what his mind had never been able to envision. He was seeing what he had not even suspected had existed. It was not so much the whiteness of her body, but the abundance of it. Nanda actually preferred dark bodies to white, but he had never seen a dark body which offered such an abundance of curves and flesh-mounds and nuances of sexual overtones. He was entranced by Christie's fabulous body and he was too wise a man to try to hide it.
"It is an unwise man," he said, "who cannot recognize and acknowledge such a great and glorious truth. Even if you do not possess a pussy, you are a creation to behold. I will have you now, my darling American."
She stood quietly submissive as the monk slipped his white robes away from his dark shoulders and dropped them to the floor. He stood in a kind of robe-like shorts, a lengthy piece of material wrapped about his legs and waist to cover his sexual region. He undid a button somewhere and let the white cloth fall to the floor. His enormous tool leaped into sight from the folds of cloth and Christie gasped in fear and excitement over the precious animal.
The Nanda's animal was easily two inches longer than the bus driver's ... what's-his-name's. To add to her delight, it was also thicker. She stared at it in incredulity and was certain that she had died and gone to heaven ... Mecca. As the monk approached her, she felt a dizziness that she had never known.
"Golly Molly!" she breathed. "Is that for real?"
He prodded her soft stomach with the long, thick tool and she knew it was for real. Her hands reached out tentatively for it and, in a great burst of enthusiasm, she clasped it, knowing that it was unreal, that it could not possibly be so large. She had read somewhere that a man's organ, no matter how boastful one might be, never grew to more than nine inches in length ... and that nine inches was indeed a rarity. Six was more like it.
But the truth was in her hands. She estimated the monk's animal at an easy eleven ... possibly twelve ... inches in length. She was unable to gauge its girth.
"Such a delicate and delicious piece of machinery as you," the monk said, "must be utilized to its utmost. It would be an unwise partner who would merely take you and let it rest there. We shall find all the truths in one session. I will lie on the couch and you shall indulge me."
He wasted no time getting to the couch and it was obvious that he was mortally excited by the presence of the luscious, lush, inviting body.
Christie knelt beside the couch and took the huge organ in her right hand. She pulled down and skinned it back so that the enormous, flared head was exposed to the light of a thousand candles. She examined the giant head and knew that she had never known, never imagined, such sexual immenseness. She handled the magnificent specimen liberally and excitedly, hoping that he would let her bring him to climax. She was certain that his ejaculation would spurt as far as the silk-covered ceiling.
"And now," he commanded, "the pussy. Straddle me and lower your pussy to me."
She climbed onto the couch and straddled his thin thighs. From her position on her knees, she was unable to fit the long, thick penis into her. She had to raise on her hands so that her body was far above him. The deep purple knob touched the entrance of her vagina and it was like trying to fit the top of a house into the relatively small opening. He commanded her to lower herself and she did so, painfully, reluctantly.
The room immediately swam in a marvelous flurry of psychedelic images for Christie and her mind soared into a billion crevices and crannies, mysterious and dark areas where it had never been. The enormity of the act brought to her a deep and salient truth, a love, a soul-searching beauty, such as she had never known.
It was all beyond her comprehension, far above her wildest imaginings. Here she was, Christie Farrell, simple little rich girl from California, riding the crest of human success, experiencing the eternal truth with the most illustrious and glorious and exciting human being in the entire world. She gasped and moaned from the pain and the delight of such a beauteous truth.
And down through the mysterious, cryptic, unseen hollows of her soul-body coursed the fine silken thread of life eternal; the musical string that, played perfectly, resounds with the sounds of heaven-Mecca. The string was being perfectly played, strummed again and again with the glorious, all-reverent, all-knowing Anil Feroze and the somber realization that nothing else was left, nothing else mattered. Her soul-body was gorged, filled to maximum and she knew that she was receiving the ultimate in size and dimension and grandeur. There was room in her heart and her soul and her body for no more.
"And now," said Anil Feroze Nanda, his voice cracking through the veil of her ecstasy like thunder, "we shall change from the front orifice to the back. Will you please be so kind as to arrange the transaction?"
The words were like painful daggers to Christie. Her mind, still absorbed in the beauty of the soul-searching moment, resisted the meaning of the words. In the beautiful room, covered with tapestries of rich hues and Persian rugs of luxurious thickness and enormous size, Christie Farrell sat straddling her beloved monk and hoped that she had not really heard what her mind now had to tell her that she had heard. She knew that what he proposed was impossible. She knew it from experience.
"Are the women of America deaf?" the monk asked from his reclining position on the couch. "Or is it the custom in your country for women to ignore the desires of men?"
Her voice was weak and small. "You are asking me to withdraw and try the other opening?"
"Ah," he said, smiling. "You have restored my faith in the abilities of American women to hear and observe. You have heard me correctly. Now, if you will perhaps restore my faith in American women in the area of obedience, I shall be most grateful to you, as, I am sure, will be all the women of your country."
Apparently, the Great One had no intentions of taking the initiative in the act. He fully expected Christie to make all the arrangements to complete the mission. The only possible way, of course, would be for her to exert her full weight on him. That, however, would surely kill her.
Christie sat quietly on the monk and contemplated the gruesome assignment, fully aware that she would not be able to accomplish it; that she would fail miserably in the eyes of her beloved Nanda. But another fear entered the sanctuary of her mind: was her beloved Nanda not so beloved after all? Was he merely a cruel and inhuman beast who would subject her to this terrible and painful indignity, then cast her aside like rubbish? Although the doubts gnawed at her very soul she knew that she could not ignore his bidding a minute longer unless she had decided to forget about him altogether.
The cruel realization that she might have to
return to America without her beloved Guru stung her skin and jabbed deeply into her heart. She could not return without him. She had come on this long journey, this long search to find truth and beauty and love, and she was finding it. Perhaps it would not be impossible. Perhaps his deep and abiding love-and hers-would sustain her through the ordeal.
Reluctantly, she raised her body and disengaged his mammoth, monstrous organ. She stared down at the glistening animal and shuddered with the naked, wicked truth of it. With great emotional effort, she hand-shifted the terrible staff to the quivering, fearful spot and lowered her body once more. Her mind weaved in and out of her body as she contemplated the thought of attempting to cram the mighty instrument into her second orifice.
Logic told her that it was impossible and that, if it were possible, it would be exceedingly painful and perhaps fatal. But she was determined to do it. But she couldn't do it. It was truly impossible and she told her beloved Nanda that it was truly impossible.
He clapped his hands.
"Nonsense. Nothing is impossible."
Two huge men entered the room, followed by the sleazy, wool-footed servant. The servant eyed the scene knowingly and quickly directed the big dark men to station themselves on either side of the monk and the girl. The men grabbed Christie's arms and began to force her down on the monk.
"Wait," Anil Feroze Nanda said. "I have a feeling that this, indeed is going to be a somewhat memorable occasion. It is an unwise man who allows such a memorable occasion to pass without benefit of corroborating witnesses. Deva, send for the others."
Deva left the room while the two strapping monks held Christie in place. She had not yet been violated and so was not in pain. But she longed to leave the awkward position and to return to her tiny cell, no matter how filthy it was.
The blue tapestries on the wall parted and several small, dark women entered. They were followed by several tiny children and the beautiful young daughters the monk had given to the Sikh and GEE GEE. Behind the daughters were Christie's two companions, looking quite bewildered and slightly angry at what had obviously been an infringement on their time with the lovely young girls.
When they were assembled in a semi-circle around the monk and the American girl, the monk clapped his hands again.
"And now," he commanded, a note of lasciviousness in his voice, "lower her into place."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The dark Indian sky settled threateningly on the crest of the magnificent hill. Giant clouds, laden with moisture, scudded across the darkened sky towards the low, squat monastery. One by one, the brilliant stars were sealed from sight and the quickening wind brought the storm up from the warm valleys to meet the cold mountain air.
As the two strapping monks began to lower Christie onto the painful post and the others stood gaping at them in the varicolored room, lit by its thousand candles, a tremendous clap of thunder announced the encroaching storm. Christie felt her body shudder and knew that her skin was breaking out into millions of goosepimples. GEE GEE found it impossible to believe that the monk was actually attempting to enter her with his enormous rod. The entire scene was so ludicrous, he believed he was in a kind of nightmare. He cursed and started forward to stop the proceedings.
"No," the Sikh said, holding him with a tight grip on his shoulder. "There are four of them and two of us. Wait."
"Wait, hell," GEE GEE said. "Wait until the bastards kill her? Wait until she's ruined?"
"We have no choice," Ahmeel said. "It may look impossible, but you must remember that the channel is not sealed. Perhaps it will not be so impossible as we think. But it is an unwise man who rushes in against such odds. We must await our opportunity."
"Now," said Anil Feroze Nanda, "my friends and my wives and my children, we shall see the greatest demonstration of truth in the history of the world. This small, white, blonde-headed American woman is going to accomplish what all my wives have failed to accomplish-indeed, what all my visitors and female acquaintances have failed to accomplish. Pray to Buddha, my friends and family, that she succeeds, for you are about to know the truest and deepest meaning of life eternal."
The monk clapped his hands again and the two strapping monks increased their pressure on Christie's arms, pushing down on her bare, pink, tender shoulders.
She screamed and the scream was nearly drowned to silence by a murderous clap of thunder.
"Harder!" Anil Feroze Nanda commanded. Christie looked at her darling GEE GEE and her darling Ahmeel. She smiled weakly to inform them that she was going to be valiant, that she, too, was still interested in witnessing a demonstration of eternal truth. But there was no joy in this desire and the thunder rose in magnificent and horrifying peals and the brilliance of the flashing lightning almost penetrated the inner sanctum of the varicolored room.
"It can't be done," Christie screamed during a lull in the thunder. "It's killing me!"
"It must be done," the evil monk cried. "There is no other way to seek the truth at this moment. The truth is at hand, as it were. You must continue until the mission is accomplished."
"I can't," Christie cried. "Golly Molly, my darling Manda, I simply can't."
"Do you wish me to go with you to America?"
"Oh yes!"
"Then you must continue. If this cannot be so, then it is impossible for me to travel with you. You would be unworthy of me."
Deep in her soul-body, the girl was churning, boiling, trembling, vibrating. She knew it would be fatal if the pressure were continued, yet her soul cried out for the answer. She thought of the beautiful mountains and the open skies above and the verdant greens of the valleys and the azure depths of the lakes and the white brilliance of the snow-capped peaks; she sought the peace she had found when she had stood at the crest of the high precipice along the road when she had longed for the massive engorgement of male animal. These were truths; these were indeed mighty truths, undeniable, unshaken. Thus thinking, she felt a tremendous surge of sexual excitement and the pain diminished to a bearable degree.
"I can do it!" she cried. "I can do it for the great truth and glory and love and beauty that it will bring to me and to you, my darling Nanda. I can do it!"
"Then do it," the monk chanted impatiently. "The truth is awaiting your action."
She felt her body relax under the tremendous pressure and the great, log-like animal ripped at her entrails. The thunder crashed and roared outside the monastery and the sound of falling rain and hail came to her ears as a waterfall on a morning in the mountains. Her mind left her body once more and she saw the soaring eagle and the crouching leopard and the great, rollicking, galloping elephant. She saw the magnificence of Mount Everest and the deep, verdant valleys and the brown, lush plains of this mighty nation. And she saw America with its throbbing, churning, beating trains and soaring, swooping planes and rolling, towering hills. She felt the heartbeat of both countries and found great truth and beauty and love in their spacious skies and amber waves of grain.
And, thinking thus, outside of her Self, finding the eternal truth in her soul-mind's eye, she accomplished her impossible mission.
"Beautiful," she cried. "Beautiful, beautiful, marvelous I Oh, my darling Nanda, I have done it. I have taken all of you into my body. I have found the eternal truth. I have found life. I have found the meaning, the well-spring of love. I have found the glory and the power and the beauty of all things. But I really must withdraw, my beautiful, darling Nanda, or I shall find the meaning of death."
She looked down for his coveted approval and saw that his eyes were blank, staring unseeing at the silk-covered ceiling. The two strapping monks who had held her in place silently left her side and eased out of the room. But Christie was more concerned with the pain-delivering monk. His body was motionless and his hands were folded, as in death, across his thin, hairy chest. Christie experienced a haunting moment of fear. Could it be possible that her feat had killed the precious Nanda? The man-servant Deva came forward, through the group of gaping mothers and daughters.
"He is in a Yoga position," he said quietly. "He frequently slips into such a coma when he is experiencing sexual pleasure. It is the supreme method of finding truth. I would advise you to seek a Yoga coma yourself."
"But I don't know how," she protested. "I never got around to learning much Yoga. Can't I just get off and wait until he comes out of it." The servant gasped.
"It is unthinkable," he said. The thunder clapped outside to emphasize the full meaning of his statement. "You must remain in position until the Great One decides to return to the world of the conscious."
"It's impossible," she said. "He's killing me! If he's in a coma, how will he know whether I'm him or not?"
"Do not question the wisdom of the Great One," he said, menacingly.
"How long will he be in the coma?"
"Who can say?" Deva responded. "I have known him to stay in position for as long as four days. Since this is such a momentous occasion, he could possibly go longer."
Tears burst from Christie's eyes and she no longer was sustained by the magnificent glory and power of truth. Her mind had turned back inside herself and she was in excruciating pain from the rocket embedded in her buttocks. She was irritated at the selfish monk for going into a coma, into a Yoga position, during her moment of great pain and discomfort. It was so ... so unfair! She looked around the room for aid and comfort.
"I'll die if I don't move," she said. "Can't someone help me? I can't get up alone."
Ahmeel Balahwar had been watching the proceedings with an almost amused detachment. He knew the monk was a phony and he knew that the dumb American girl had asked for everything she was receiving. But he truly believed that the Nanda, the Great One, was going too far this time. He doubted that the man was in a true Yoga coma; he was convinced that the man was merely testing the girl, getting out of her as much pain and degradation as he possibly could.
Ahmeel leaned close to the American man and whispered to him.
"It will be almost impossible to break the bond and escape from this monastery alive. But the young lady has been kind to me and I wish to help. It will be necessary for us to leave her thus for a few moments until we can load the vehicle with our belongings. Will you come with me?" GEE GEE had already decided on his next move. He was simply going to remove his beloved Chris tie from the monk and take her away from the monastery. Even if it had to be against her will, he was going to remove her from the premises.
"Why can't we just get her off there and go on our way?" GEE GEE asked.
"It would be folly," the Sikh said. "If we break the Yoga position, if it is truly a Yoga position, the Nanda will be furious. He has many monks here and they are all as evil and as sex-crazed as he. We must not fall into disfavor with him or there is no way of knowing to what extent he might go."
Christie had been looking toward her darling GEE GEE and her darling Sikh for aid and her mind turned to sheer panic when she saw them turn and leave the room. She was left alone with the staring, curious wives and daughters of the monk. The servant stood quite near, ready to push her back into place if she should attempt to escape. She lowered her beautiful head and, trying to ignore the pain and tremendous pressure at her bottom, she began to cry softly.
Life had been so excruciatingly beautiful to this point. She had dreamed of this moment for months, ever since she had first heard the Nanda's name, spoken in reverence and love. All through the ocean voyage and the beautiful drive up from Calcutta, she had longed for the moment when she would be in the august presence of her beloved Anil Feroze Nanda. And now that beautiful image was shattered. Throughout the evening, from time to time, she had suspected him of not being the idol of her dreams. He had seemed kind, yet cruel. Yet, she had closed her eyes to the obvious faults because her mind would not let her accept or evaluate them.
How could she have been so foolish, so blind? She had known that it was impossible to do what the monk wished her to do, yet she had done it, knowing in her secret heart that she would find no deep and abiding truth in the act. Under the proper physical circumstances, she would have found much truth. She had found it with her handsome Sikh and she had known then that her posterior orifice was not capable of absorbing any larger truths.
Then, why hadn't she seen? When she learned that the monk had deflowered his own daughters with his massive instrument, something should have warned her that he was obsessed. When he expressed so much concern with the a-mount of available sex in America, she should have known that he was not truly interested in truth, that he would have become a raging, attacking maniac in her country. When he showed no compassion, no tenderness, no attempt to return her love-making, she should have realized that he was a self-centered, insatiable, sex-crazed nut. But her love of truth and her respect for the sanctity of this place and of his body had blinded her to these more obvious truths.
Her heart leaped with joy when GEE GEE and the Sikh returned. There was something new in the wind. GEE GEE was actually smiling and she recognized it as a smile of anger, of triumph, of challenge. What were they planning? What aid could they possibly be to her in her moment of need?
With the tall, handsome bearded Sikh at his side, GEE GEE plunged through the group of women and dropped the huge servant with a single judo punch to his neck. Christie's mind raced in wide, extravagant circles as she thought of salvation being so near. She suspected that there was great danger in violating the monk's rules, but she had not known it as a truth. The women began to scream and the Sikh said something to them in a strange language. They fell into silence and backed away to the far wall.
"They will be quiet now," Ahmeel Balahwar said.
"What did you tell them?" GEE GEE asked. "I told them if they warned the other monks, I would cut off the Great One's tool and ram it into their backsides, one by one."
"Golly Molly," Christie cried. "Don't just stand there and talk. Help me off this monster." They each grabbed a pink arm and lifted the girl slowly until she was free of the imposing spike. She cried out in agony and fell against them, unable to sustain her body weight with her own legs. They lay her on a second couch and, while the Sikh went outside to bring in her clothes, GEE GEE watched the motionless monk. He was prepared to fell him with a single judo punch if he awoke and protested. The enormous organ remained in its upright position.
When Christie was dressed, they half carried her to the Land Rover. The throb of the engine roared above the storm and the Sikh quickly put it into gear and bucked forward. He made a sweeping turn in the rocky courtyard and headed for the gate. Light began to show from the tiny cells.
"There is no time for unlocking the gate," Ahmeel said through gritted teeth. "The other monks are waking up to see what is going on. We'll have to crash it."
The Land Rover smashed the thick wooden gate into millions of splinters and then zoomed down the steep, rocky road into the blackness of the storm.
* * *
Ahmeel Balahwar was in no great hurry to race down the dark mountain in the storm. Not only would that have been extremely dangerous and probably fatal, but he knew that the Great One, Anil Feroze Nanda, had no motor vehicles and no methods of communicating with any of his possible spies in the villages along the road. He drove slowly around the wicked curves, keenly a-ware of the unseen cliffs, and watched the hypnotic clicking and swishing of the wiper blades. He also was listening to the faint whimpers coming from the beautiful blonde American girl in the back of the Land Rover. The American man had crawled in the back with the girl to comfort her.
Ahmeel know of a point far below the monastery and well out of reach of the monk where he could park the vehicle for the remainder of the night. He would sleep in the cramped front seat and that was no source of joy to his mind. Or to his body. He had not enjoyed the evening at the monastery. The daughter, Marrajo, had been sulky, incorrigible child and he had not been able to complete the act with her. She had cried and complained so about the size of his organ that he had not been able to enter any of her orifices completely. They had ended the affair with her sucking lightly on the knob of his instrument in a most unsatisfying and incomplete fashion. Long before he was ready to climax, the manservant, Deva, had come for them to bear witness to the monk's folly with the American girl.
The driver-guide was tired, aching, unsatiated and cold. They had been soaked to the skin during their dash from the monastery building to the vehicle and back. And the heater in the Land Rover warmed only his legs, not his soaking body. When they parked, he would undress and cuddle up under one of the blankets from the back.
To ward off the cold both GEE GEE and Christie had taken off their wet clothes and were comfortably ensconced in GEE GEE's over-sized sleeping bag. GEE GEE had no intentions of approaching the girl sexually, especially after her terrible ordeal with the horny monk, but he found that the closeness and sensual feel of her naked body against his had aroused him sufficiently to produce a terrible and aching erection. It was now resting precariously against her flat stomach.
CHAPTER NINE
The storm passed during the night, leaving the morning air crisp, cool and brilliantly yellow as the sun rose like thunder over the eastern ridges.
Christie Farrell, warm and contented, in spite of the throbbing ache in her middle, stretched luxuriously in the sleeping bag beside her lover. Her round, erect breasts touched the soft flannel lining of the bag above her and she remembered the night with a stab of pain in her stomach.
"Get up, my darling GEE GEE," she said. "It is the dawning of a new day and we must make plans."
GEE GEE rubbed sleep from his eyes, swore vehemently under his breath and looked at the beautiful blonde girl.
"What's to plan?" he asked. "We merely drive back to Katmandu, take the bus to Calcutta and catch the next boat or plane for the States. Right?"
Christie yawned and stretched again. Her eyes misted with sadness, then burst into a blue brilliance of excitement.
"No," she said with finality. "I came to this beautiful land to find myself a Guru and, by gosh, I'm going to find a Guru. I'm all over my silly infatuation with the idea of Anil Feroze Nanda. I will be able to face the next one with a logical, clear mind, not a silly, schoolgirl heart. The Guru I find is going to be truly pure in spirit, body and mind."
GEE GEE groaned and tried to close his eyes and his mind to the grim reality of life. Would the silly broad never learn? Must she go about the world an innocent, taking the world's abuses in exchange for her abundance of love and devotion? He had begun to doubt if any of the Gurus were for real. He was cynical enough to believe that none of them existed for religion; that all of them had succumbed to the pleasures of the body and the senses.
As they breakfasted on hard rolls and boiled eggs, Christy chattered aimlessly with the Sikh, uncomfortable and still quite sleepy in the front seat. In spite of the strikingly beautiful view from their vantage point on the cliff, they had not left the Land Rover. The air was still too cold and their clothing was still wet. Christie sat with the top of the sleeping bag up around her naked shoulders, allowing the material to gap occasionally so that the aroused and unsatiated Sikh in the front seat caught frequent glimpses of her pink, supple breasts.
Finally, she accosted the Sikh driver-guide with the question that had been burning in her mind since her awakening. In fact, she had dreamed of continuing the journey to find a new monk and, in her dream, she had been ecstatically successful.
"Do you know of another monk in this area who might know the true meaning of life and who might want to impart a portion of his knowledge to me ... and to my friends in America?"
Ahmeel Balhwar almost spit out a part of his hard bread. He looked at the girl in wonderment. Surely, she was not serious.
"You are interested in continuing the journey?" he asked, incredulously. Still, he was hopeful that she would be foolish enough to do so. He was being well paid for his labors and, with the occasional poke with the girl, he was thoroughly enjoying the trip.
"Of course," she said, "but I don't want a repeat performance of what happened last night. Do you know other Gurus in this area?"
"Yes, I know of several," he said, "but they are even more depraved and inhuman than the Nanda. There are only two which I would recommend, because I have heard fine things about them, but they are not of this area. They are far away."
"That doesn't matter," Christie said enthusiastically. In her enthusiasm, she jumped to her knees and the sleeping bag fell away from her shoulders. Her lush breasts were exposed now and their dark pink tips pointed directly at the Sikh who was half turned to her in the front seat. He chewed absently on his bread and stared at the fine young tits.
"Tell me," she cried. "Who are they and where are they located? Where are their monasteries?"
The Sikh thought. His dark brow furrowed pensively and he put a dark, crooked finger to his lips.
"The one is named Bir Bikran Lavadoh," Ahmeel said thoughtfully. "He is a Shah and has given up his government post to become a man of the cloth. His monastery, alas, is not available to us. It is far across the mountains, across the border in Tibet."
"Beautiful," Christie gushed. "Bir Bikran Lavadoh. A former Shah. Beautiful! I am in love with him already. Why can't we go to Tibet?"
The Sikh smiled indulgently and patiently. "My dear young lady," he said. "Tibet is a part of China and China is a very hateful communist nation. We will be caught, tortured and killed if we go there."
"Not in these mountains, surely," she protested. "Surely, they don't have soldiers up in the mountains to guard every foot of the border. Is the monastery very far inside Tibet?"
"A single inch is too far," Ahmeel said. He was sorry that he had mentioned Lavadoh first. "But there is another monk, a wonderful Guru whose teachings are known throughout the world, who lives in Pakistan. We could go there without trouble with any governments. We are at peace now with Pakistan."
"I don't want to hear about him," Christie said, pouting with her beautiful lower lip protruding. "I am already in love with Bir Bikran Lavadoh. We shall go there."
GEE GEE groaned deep in his throat and continued munching on his dry bread and hard boiled egg. He was not going to argue with the girl. He had long ago learned that the head-strong girl would have her way, once she had decided upon it. And he was beyond caring. He was certain that they would never return to America, that the next monk would put them all in chains and starve them to death. If not that, then the Chinese would catch them and they would die a horrible, tortured death. But it was futile to argue.
"We shall go to Tibet," Christie said finally. It was a command, an order, an edict.
The two men shrugged and looked off into the blazing yellow of morning, toward the dark valleys below, toward a land they might never see again.
"It is a long journey and we are all very tired," Ahmeel warned. "I would suggest that we find a village with a hotel and that we sleep comfortably tonight. We can start fresh in the morning."
Christie agreed and the Land Rover was soon on its way. They had to backtrack much of the road they had traveled from the Nanda's monastery and they came to Lo Mantang in just over an hour. The Sikh informed them that they would pass within a mile of the Nanda and that it could be dangerous if the monk had awakened from his coma and had alerted his network of monk-spies at the various monasteries along their path. It was not a threat which deterred them, but they decided to keep a wary eye on the road ahead.
The hotel was filthy, but it was warm and the beds were far superior to the makeshift bedding in the rear of the Land Rover. And there was room to move about. They slept for three hours, then lunched in the tiny dining room of the hotel, soaking up the lovely scenery about them. From their vantage point in the small emerald valley, they could see the magnificent peaks of Tibet in the far north; to their left was the imposing god-structure of Mount Everest.
They returned to the large room that Christie was sharing with GEE GEE and the Sikh joined them there. As they sat, rested and eager to continue their journey, the Sikh suddenly felt a tremendous desire to copulate with the beautiful girl. He knew it would not be possible to reconvene their happy triumvirate, but he dabbled with the idea of suggesting that he and the American man take the girl in repeat fashion. It mattered not which of them was first; he would happily settle for the second wind of her delights.
From the window of the room, the Sikh looked out on the rolling hills that led down into the deep, verdant valleys towards Tibet. He worried about the ridiculous voyage across the border and felt that he was entitled to all the payment he could get. The question was, how was he to get it; how was he to approach this drowsy couple and get the girl to satisfy his lust? He decided upon his old tried method of exciting the girl with talk of Gurus and monasteries and monks and great truths.
"You must be prepared for any eventuality when we journey to the monastery of Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh," he said vacantly. "I know of his teachings, but I have not had the honor of meeting him personally, or, indeed, of meeting anyone who has known him personally."
"I am certain," Christie said, rubbing her thighs together and squirming in her chair, "that he will be a most wonderful and marvelous and beautiful Guru. It is not possible that he can be half as beastly as that other monk, that evil what's-his-name."
Amazing, the Sikh thought. Yesterday, she was in love with the very sound of Nanda's name; today, she could not even remember it. Strange people, these Americans.
"Are you certain that you are ready for him if he should wish to test your-your truth-seeking organisms?"
GEE GEE Parkinson looked at the Sikh and knew what the man was leading to. He, himself, wished that the Sikh would go to his own room so that he, GEE GEE, could make love to the girl. Was the crafty Sikh wishing for a repeat performance of the triumvirate?
"Oh yes," Christie gushed. "Except for one tender area, I believe I would be ready for anything."
"But not now," GEE GEE said, standing up and going to the door. "I don't mean to be rude, Ahmeel, but I think we should all sleep now and start off refreshed tomorrow morning. Good day to you, sir."
* * *
They set off in the Land Rover the following morning in great and joyous spirits. They were rested and eager for the next part of their journey through the breathtaking mountains and even the Sikh found a deep source of pleasure in the dangerous prospect of crossing the Bamboo Curtain into the Tibetan section of Red China.
The little vehicle chugged noisily up the steep hills and whirred contentedly into the valleys. They passed the road to the Nanda monastery without incident and laughed uproariously when they were safely past it. They would never know if the monk came out of his Yoga coma, or what his response had been at not seeing his young American girl impaled on his enormous throbber.
In the late afternoon, they came down out of the mountains and began a slow, agonizing trek across a hot, desert-like plain. The Sikh had explained that it was necessary to leave the mountains temporarily for a shortcut. By early evening, he promised, they would be climbing again and, in the middle of the night, they would cross the dreaded border. It was to be a full day's journey from there to the monastery of Shar Bir Bikran Lavadoh, unless, of course, they were stopped by border guards. Once past the border however, they would encounter little or no trouble.
"The country is vast," Ahmeel had said, "and not even the populous country of China can maintain soldiers in every square yard of communist earth. Besides, the Tibetans would kill the Chinese soldiers if they were spread throughout the area."
Christie rode in the front seat with the Sikh. GEE GEE, typically, slept in the rear. The girl was back in her mini-skirt and had made it quite obvious to Ahmeel Balahwar that she was still without pants. He alternately watched the road for signs of trouble, the rear-view mirror for signs of GEE GEE and the dark area of the girl's crotch for signs that she might want him to stop....
The land was barren now and the brown soil of the desert was sparsely covered with gray patches. It looked very much like the flat desert areas of New Mexico and Arizona to Christie, but still she found it fascinating. Ahead loomed the great mountain range which curved into Tibet from the point they had just left. A pair of vultures clung to the weathered branch of a dead tree and watched them as they passed on the narrow, bumpy road.
"The road is so straight," Christie said. "The Land Rover can almost drive itself. Isn't that so?"
"Indeed it is," Ahmeel Balahwar agreed.
"It would be possible for a person to indulge in certain eroticisms, would it not?"
"Indeed it would," he responded, licking his dry lips. "And it would be a very unwise man who would deny a young woman whatever eroticisms she might have in mind."
"I have many in mind," she said, glancing back to see that GEE GEE was sound asleep. "My mind keeps going back to that glorious revelation of truth on our first day. Remember?"
Ahmeel Balahwar felt his groin spasm in a tremendous ache. His organ fairly leaped to full erection.
"I have learned," Christie went on, "that one must always seek the truth; that truth and beauty and love are everywhere and that one would be foolish indeed if one did not grasp at every opportunity to seek it out in its fullest sense. Do you not agree?"
"Most whole-heartedly I agree," the Sikh said, licking his dry lips again. The road ahead was as straight as the flight of a cannon ball and, although it was narrow, the sides of the road were level with the road surface and it was impossible for the vehicle to crash.
Her hand snaked across his thigh and found the buttons of his trousers. His throat went completely dry as he contemplated what was to happen. He, too, remembered that first day on the road and he had longed for a repeat performance on many, many occasions. It was now at hand, so to speak.
"Wait," he said with great reluctance. "There is a vehicle on the road far ahead of us. We must wait until we pass it."
The hot desert sun beat down on them and Christie swore at the heat and the unwanted interruption. Far ahead of them, a truck stood in the center of the road. She could see two persons-two men-standing in the road looking at the truck.
"They have the road blocked," Ahmeel said. "Unless we drive across the desert, we will have to stop."
"We should stop and help them," Christie said. "Maybe they're in great trouble."
"We could be in great trouble in stopping," the Sikh warned. "It is a favorite trick of bandits to block the road arid to pretend to be in difficulty."
"Golly Molly," Christie said. "We can't just drive on and leave them."
Outside, in the hot desert air, a vulture swooped down from the yellow sky and matched their speed for a few moments. The bird's dark, beady eye swiveled to take in the view inside the vehicle. It seemed to rest on the white, exposed legs of the beautiful blonde girl. Then, deciding that the legs were not available to him as food, he zoomed back into the sky and disappeared into the bright, blazing sun.
"You had better wake up Sahib Parkinson," Ahmeel said as the Land Rover slowed. "If they are bandits, we will need him."
"Golly Molly," Christie said, feeling her loins moisten at the thought of danger. "Do you really think they might be?"
"It is more than a possibility," Ahmeel intoned, "and it is an unwise traveler who does not prepare himself for that eventuality."
Christie turned on the seat to awaken GEE GEE. As she swiveled in the seat, her legs parted and Ahmeel Balahwar found himself staring at the full openness of her sex! He gurgled deep in his throat and then pulled his eyes away from the enticing scene, back to the road and to the stalled truck.
GEE GEE awakened reluctantly and sat up to stare belligerently at the object of his disturbance.
"Goddam truck," he muttered. "What in hell is it stopped here for?"
"We don't know," Christie said excitedly. "Ahmeel thinks they might be bandits. Isn't that thrilling?"
"Beautiful," said GEE GEE, sarcastically. He reached to the special rack on the ceiling of the car and took down the automatic rifle he had had installed there. At the same time, Ahmeel reached inside his white jacket and closed his fingers over the old pistol he always carried. Christie looked at her two protectors and felt a small oozing of moisture from her kitten. Danger produced such amazing responses from her sexual equipment!
Ahmeel stopped the Land Rover several feet from the stalled truck and waited as one of the men approached on foot. He rolled down the window and spoke to the man in Hindi.
"What did he say?" Christie asked. She was beside herself with excitement.
"They blew a tire and have no spare," Ahmeel said. "They want to use our spare."
"Will it fit?" GEE GEE asked.
"These people can make anything fit anything," Ahmeel said.
Christie stared out at the bearded, dusty man who stood beside the Land Rover. He was handsome, in a rugged, dirty, desert sort of way. He stared back at her, feasting his eyes on the white expanse of her exposed thighs. The man said something more to Ahmeel.
"Now, what does he say?" Christie asked.
"He wants to make a trade," Ahmeel said, sliding the pistol to his lap, out of sight of the man. "They have a young boy on the truck-a slave-they want to trade him for the spare tire and for...."
He paused and stared down at Christie's legs.
"And for what?" she asked.
"For you," Ahmeel said.
"How thrilling," Christie cried. "Did you hear that, GEE GEE? They want to trade a slave for me?"
"Beautiful," GEE GEE said. He looked at Ahmeel. "Tell them we can't give them a spare and we can't trade the woman. Tell them to give us the slave."
Ahmeel turned to him. His face showed his anguish.
"We will be lucky to get through with our lives," he said. "I will merely shoot him and we shall go around. The slave will have to stay with them."
"No," Christie said, "We can't go without him. They have no right to keep a boy against his will and we shall just have to take him along."
"You shoot the man near you," GEE GEE said, "and I'll get the man near the truck. Ready?" They were too late. From in front of the truck, four men carrying rifles came into sight and stood glaring at the Land Rover. Their rifles were raised and aimed.
A vulture screeched past them in sordid flight and a quickened hot wind from the desert wafted into the vehicle. Christie felt herself increasing in passion and she knew that the moment was an extremely dangerous one. She once again felt the yearning she had known on the mountain-she wanted the engorgement of male animal, she was ready for it!
"I'll go with them," she said. "If I don't, they will kill us all and take what they want."
"Not just yet," GEE GEE said. He looked from the man beside the Land Rover to the four men near the truck. He spoke slowly, in a hoarse whisper, to Ahmeel Balahwar. "Shoot the man beside us, then start shooting at the men with rifles. I think I can get at least three of them with this automatic. I'm going to shoot directly through the windshield." And to Christie. "Drop down in the seat as far as you can, Christie, so you won't get glass in your face."
"I want to watch," she said excitedly.
"Do as I say!"
The firmness of his voice frightened her more than the bandits. She had never heard her lover speak with such firmness, such gravity.
The shooting began and she dropped her face into the Sikh's lap. His erection had not eased and she felt the rigid hardness of it against her cheek. The explosions seemed to mount to a tremendous peak and she felt her sexual passions rising in the heat of the moment. When the firing ceased, she knew she had climaxed from the thrill of it.
The five bandits lay dead in the dusty road when they stepped from the Land Rover. Ahmeel opened the back of the closed truck to free the slave. He was an extremely young boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and he stepped into the brilliant sunlight rubbing his frightened eyes.
"Thank you, Sahibs," he said in perfect English. "Thank you more than you will ever know. I thank you. My name is Majong and I am from the mountains. Thank you for saving my life. I am yours forever."
"We can take you to the monastery of the Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh," Ahmeel told the boy who was already staring at Christie's naked legs with a lasciviousness that equalled Ahmeel's. "The illustrious monk will see that you are returned to your parents."
"I have no parents," the boy said, his voice choking. "The bandits killed them when they took me."
"Oh my dear God and Buddha," Christie said. She folded the husky boy into her arms, crushing his face to her full bosom. "Don't worry, Majong, we shall take you with us and you shall always be safe."
The boy literally purred as his cheek felt the enormous pleasure of her breasts. His drooping right hand suddenly came to life and planted itself on her crotch. She pretended not to notice and knew that the act was merely one of a playful child, frightened and looking for solace where he could find it. She allowed him that small pleasure.
* * *
It was dark when the Land Rover began its long climb back into the hills. They had stopped on the desert for their hastily-prepared dinner of black bread, cheese, wine and a foul-smelling salami. The boy, Majong, had retained his rights of freedom by staying close to Christie, feeling her crotch and her thighs and her willing breasts with his insinuating hands. Although she allowed him all possible freedom, GEE GEE was near the point of putting a bullet into his fine young bronzed forehead.
Since it was essential that they cross the border at night, they pressed onward in the darkness. The Sikh claimed that he knew of a small road, known only by the natives, which was not guarded by the Chinese. It was rough and dangerous and they would have to use four-wheel drive and pray to Buddha that the vehicle did not tumble into the deep precipices in the darkness. It would be necessary, he warned, to traverse the narrow, rocky, extremely dangerous road without the benefit of headlights.
They reached the border and the secret road shortly after midnight. Christie and GEE GEE has been sleeping in the rear of the Land Rover and awoke, as though by design, as the car approached the border. Ahmeel and the boy sat in the front seat, staring ahead at the winding, dangerous road. When the Sikh knew that his friends were awake, he half turned to them.
"There are no guards," he said, "but we can not take chances. The headlights go off now." When the lights died, the world seemed to seal them into a tiny, dark cell. The mountains, so splendid in their daytime grandeur, ceased to exist except in their minds. Even the sky was black and starless. Christie looked around and was surprised when she could not even see the Sikh and Majong in the front seat. It was impossible, she knew, for Ahmeel to see the road and that knowledge caused her heart to beat wildly. She felt a new moistening in her sex. It was positively weird the way she became sexually aroused when there was intense danger in the air.
The car stopped and they waited in the silent darkness while the Sikh allowed his eyes to adjust to the new conditions. Gradually, the rocky road appeared almost yellow before them and Ahmeel started forward slowly, following the deep yellow strip through the dark hills. Christie was literally throbbing with sexual excitement and the feeling of enormous good will toward her fellow travelers.
She looked at the dark shadows around her; at GEE GEE snuggled down beside her in the rear of the vehicle, at the pale image of the Sikh and at the slim dark figure of Majong.
"Oh my darlings," she breathed, "this is indeed a glorious moment for all of us. We are escaping from the hated Red China and we are on our way to the most wonderful and beautiful and truthful of all Yogis. I just know that the Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh will provide us all with the mystical experience, the transcendental meditations which we have traveled so far to know. Darling GEE GEE, aren't you literally thrilled to pieces?"
GEE GEE sighed in the darkness and pushed his groin against the girl's buttocks.
"Thrilled," he said.
"And you, my darling Ahmeel," she said. "Aren't you just breathless at the prospects of meeting such a grand and beautiful Yogi as the Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh?"
"It is an unwise man," Ahmeel said, "who does not feel a moment of immense and deep solemnity at a time such as this. It will, indeed, be a rare experience."
"And my darling Majong," Christie gushed, reaching up to touch the slave boy's head, "do you not feel the beauty and the power and the glory of the moment?"
Majong, who immediately received an erection at her touch, turned and smiled in the darkness.
"It is an unwise salve boy," he said, making his voice deeper than it was, "who would not anticipate such a meeting and experience without an abundance of joyousness in his very spirit."
"Beautiful," Christie said, settling back into the sleeping bag with GEE GEE. "Oh, my darling friends, we are now on the threshold of the most glorious experience of our entire lives. We shall be transcended. We shall be uplifted. Our spirits will soar through the heavens and we will return as those returning from the crystal clear springs of the shrine, cleansed, washed, made over into fine, decent, upstanding human beings."
"Amen," said the Sikh.
"Jesus Christ," said GEE GEE.
"Buddha be damned," muttered Majong. And, as the Land Rover bumped slowly over the rough road from Tibet into Nepal again, GEE GEE worked laboriously in the sleeping bag and finally succeeded in removing Christie's panties. She spread her thighs and felt his hardness enter the soft cavern of her desires.
"Oh, fuck me gently, my darling GEE GEE," she said. "Fuck me oh so gently."
CHAPTER TEN
They arrived at the monastery of Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh in the late afternoon. They were out of food and nearly out of fuel. There was a single five-gallon can on the roof of the Land Rover and the gauge on the dashboard registered empty. The gasoline would not provide for more than a few hours of driving, so it was imperative that they get along well with this new monk in order to obtain provisions from him.
The monastery was at the extreme northern region of the Himalayas and commanded an imposing view of the southern plains of Tibet. It sat like a brown-gray rock at the very top of a barren peak. The terrain was even more barren and more rock-strewn than that around the monastery of Anil Feroze Nanda. A sharp wind whipped up more bleak than it was.
The great wooden gates were opened for them and the vehicle chugged into the neat courtyard and died. They were out of gas. A monk in clean white robes came to the side of the car to welcome them.
"I am Nanak Ruhal Preet," he said with kindness. "All travelers are welcome here. The Shah is yonder, sitting on the garden patio. He will be anxious to greet you, if you will be so pleased to follow me."
They looked off toward the garden and were amazed at the blaze of roses, delphiniums, posies, lilies and a montage of other flowers-flowers of all colors and hues. Seated among the roses on an unseen stone patio was another monk, a smaller, neater, much cleaner monk than Nanda. Christie's heart leaped when she saw this respectable-looking cleric. Her heart oozed with love for this Guru and she was impatient to meet him. She felt her vagina spasm with the thought of being close to him, of hearing his wisdom, of knowing his knowledge.
"Oh Golly Molly," she gushed. "I can hardly believe it, my darling GEE GEE. I think we have finally found my beloved Guru."
They went through the fragrant, beautiful garden to the feet of the Guru. The servant, Nanak Ruhal Preet, preceded them and, with a low bow, begged audience with the monk.
"Welcome to the humble monastery of the humble Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh," the monk said in a high, almost feminine voice. "It pleases me to see such illustrious visitors from the outside world. Here, you will find peace and solitude, far from the madding throngs of Peking, Canton, Shanghai and Kweichow. I would be most pleased to hear your illustrious names and to learn of your journey to my humble mountain nest." They gave their names and, while Christie bubbled at the augustness of the monk's presence. GEE GEE watched the man suspiciously. Here, he thought, is merely a refined version of the brutish Nanda. It was obvious that the man was a pansy and would have greater interest in him, the Sikh, and Majong than in the pretty blonde girl, self while his weary visitors perish from fatigue "It is an unwise host who prattles about him-and hunger," the monk finally said. "After you have been refreshed with baths, please do me the considerable honor of dining with me. Okay?" They were mildly shocked by his use of the strictly American expression. He hastily explained that he had spent two years in Boston as a youth, attending the Harvard College of Law. He was now an old man of fifty-five and had long since given up the secular life for the peace and solitude of the mountains. Here, he explained, man could find the true meaning of life, as he had. Only here, could man escape the maddening crowds of Hong Kong, Calcutta, New York and San Francisco.
Their rooms were fantastically beautiful, cleaner than a hospital surgery room and more fragrant than the most elaborate brothels of Brussels. Each room, though small, contained its own shower and they luxuriated in the warm water and soap that cleansed their bodies of the long hours of travel. Feeling refreshed and exhilarated by the contrast in the two monasteries, they eagerly followed the servant monk to the suite of the Shah.
They were not surprised to find a beautiful, tastefully-appointed apartment. The main room was filled with deep, comfortable couches and chairs. The floor was covered with pink carpeting, thicker than bear skin and softer than foam rubber. They dined richly on boiled lobster with drawn butter, an exotic rice dish that would put America's finest chefs to shame, and delicate baked quail that surely must have been transported up from the swamps of the Tibetan Plateau.
As with the Nanda, the after-dinner conversation centered on the purpose of their visit. The Shah listened attentively and with great kindness as Christie explained her mission and her greatest and fondest hopes-that the Shah would return with her to America to spread his knowledge and his goodness to the ignorant masses who so desperately needed him. When she was finished, he pressed his fingertips together and looked fondly at all three of them. He pursed his lips and spoke:
"It is an unwise host who answers in the negative to such an attractive proposal from one so beautiful and fetching. Therefore, I must reserve judgment until I learn more about you. You will stay seven days and seven nights with me, my dear, and we shall explore certain truths. At that time, I shall give my answers. Okay?"
Christie gazed at her Guru fondly, but her mind could not help but dwell suspiciously on the "certain truths" he mentioned. The entire speech sounded vaguely familiar and, with a smarting sensation in her bottom, she remembered the painful and totally frustrating experience with her first choice ... the notorious and deadly Anil Feroze Nanda.
"We would dearly love to stay with you the seven days and seven nights," she said with a broad smile. "Is it possible that we might discuss the truths that we might be expected to explore?" He smiled with kindness and deep compassion at her. "Certainly," he said. "We shall not only discuss them, we shall demonstrate them." He clapped his hands twice and three monstrous, strapping Mongolians appeared. They were stripped to the waist and their chest and arm muscles rippled magnificently as they walked across the room to a place directly in front of the Shah.
"There are many ways to explore truth," the pansy continued. "One can explore the truth with women and with men and with the animals. Even the birds provide the wherewithal for the exploration of truth. Even the soil on which we tread and the mattresses on which we lie at sleep. However, there is one all-encompassing method of truth exploration that intrigues me highly-one which, in my humble opinion, is the only way in which the truth must be explored."
The monk clapped his hands again.
"Seize them!" he snapped in his high falsetto voice. "Chain them to the wall!"
The muscle-bound Mongolians pounced upon all three of them with the speed of lightning. The strength in their mighty arms eliminated even the smallest attempts at resistance. The monk pressed a button under the table and a huge section of the wall moved aside, revealing a brightly-lit room which was completely devoid of furniture. On the far wall of the room were shackles-enough for half a dozen victims-embedded in the stone.
Christie began to scream as a huge Mongolian pulled her into the room. GEE GEE cursed loudly, but the Sikh and Majong, resigned to their fate, went without resistance or sound. They were quickly shackled to the wall with their backs to the monk. When the irons were snapped around their arms and legs, the three Mongolians departed, leaving them alone with the Guru.
"My God in heaven," Christie cried. "What on earth are you planning to do to us?"
"I shall demonstrate an immortal truth to each of you, my dear, as you have requested. You must pardon the use of chains, but you must understand that it is not always easy for a man of my means to explain and demonstrate the great truths of the world to the people who need these truths most. You have, in your country, the saying that the truth hurts. Well, my dear, in my country, the truth is excruciatingly painful. In fact, a teensy bit horrible. So, it is necessary when teaching you the simple and honest and great truths that one must chain you up. You do understand, don't you? Okay?"
Christie felt her body give a tremendous involuntary shudder and she was fearful of what would happen to them all. For herself, she did not mind quite so much; she could always stand a little pain and, in fact, welcome it. But she knew that GEE GEE, for one, had a very low threshold of pain and that he would scream like a banshee if he were tortured. She wondered what the crazy Guru would use-whips, hot pokers, bicycle chains, brass knuckles, or what? She waited with just a trace of happy anticipation.
The monk clapped his hands again and the door opened in the main room. A giant, more than eight feet in height, entered the room stripped to the waist. Christie turned to look at him and noted that he, too, was muscle-bound and hard as nails. He looked more Caucasian than Mangoloid, yet, somehow, he seemed far more vicious. "Strip," the monk ordered.
The giant unbuttoned his colorful pantaloon trousers and dropped them to the floor. He wore jockey shorts and the bulge at his groin was as big as a peck basket. He snaked out of the shorts and his flaccid penis unrolled to his knees. Christie's heart throbbed and pounded in its cage. She wondered what the giant was going to do with that massive organ.
"And now," the monk declared, "you shall learn a very great truth, my child. Your first truth is this: all women are useless and the world would be a far better place without them. Since they do exist and there is little I can do about their continued existence, I must do my bit to make certain that their presence on earth is just a little less comfortable than it might be. I would like to introduce you to Deo. Deo, as you can see, is a giant. Eight feet three inches in height. Deo, this is Christie Farrell. You may delight yourself with her this evening."
Deo grunted and half smiled down at Christie. "Now, Deo," the monk said, "I want you to remove the young lady's clothing. Do it gently. We mustn't hurt her too soon and frighten her. You know what fright does to women? It makes them tight."
Golly Molly, Christie thought, was he going to let this giant shag her? With a tool that size when it was soft, he would be murderous when aroused. She began to tug at the chains, but knew it was useless. The giant stepped forward and grabbed the back of her sweater. The tough nylon ripped like the evening newspaper and the giant then tore her brassiere to shreds. He did equal service to her blue jeans and silk panties, and she stood naked, shivering, her erect breasts touching the cold stone wall.
"Wonderful," the Shah said. "You know what to do from here on. I shall retire to the couch at the far end of the room and leave you to your pleasures. Prepare yourself, my dear, You have journeyed far for such truths, and I do not want you to miss a single iota of what Deo is going to reveal to you."
The giant moved behind Christie and put one hand around her. The hand covered both her breasts. He squeezed gently and she felt as though he was going to rip them from her chest. To him it was a gentle squeeze; to Christie if was excruciating pain.
As though by magic, the giant's tool erupted into hardness and total erection. He stood beside Christie to enable her to see the magnificent breast in all its gleaming glory. The instrument was easily fourteen inches long and three inches broad. It looked every bit like an Oakland policeman's night stick, except that it was far larger and somewhat lighter in color.
With one swift motion of a set of keys, the giant released the blonde American girl and moved her to the other room. GEE GEE, the Sikh and the boy strained against their chains to turn so that they could see what the giant was doing to Christie. Apparently, the giant had serviced other guests for the Shah; he moved swiftly and expertly as he bent the girl's body over the end of a couch. From under the cushions, he produced straps that looked much like automobile seat belts. With these, he bound her hands. From under the couch, he pulled out similar straps and tied her feet with them. She was bent far over the couch with her glistening white buttocks high over the arm. Glee Gee, the Sikh and Majong had an excellent view of her bottom equipment.
"Very good, Deo," the Shah commended him. "That was done with marvelous dispatch. I am quite happy to see that your erection has not diminished. Now, you may proceed."
The giant grunted and spread the girl's buttocks so far apart, she was certain that he was going to split her down the middle. He raised his heavy weapon with one hand and plopped the tip of it, in undignified fashion, against the center-point of her buttocks. Oh my God, Christie moaned under her breath. Not again! Not another poking in the bottom!
Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh sat forward on his couch and rubbed his hands together in an accentuated feminine gesture. He licked his lips and glared with dark, beady eyes at the proceedings. He clapped his hands.
"Now!" he shrieked in his irritating girl-man voice.
The giant pushed forward and Christie bucked under him on the arm of the couch. Outside, the stars were out again and they blinked in an ostensible show of disapproval. A night bird, looking for vermin to devour, shrieked in an approving cackle. The teeming masses of China slept.
"Once more," the Shah commanded. "Don't be easy. Show her no mercy. The great truths do not come without immense difficulty and great and solemn tribulation. Poke her now, you stupid giant. She must suffer! You must make the stupid woman scream out in pain."
Even the giant knew that the task was impossible. Christie knew that she would die if he continued. She had taken the Sikh's instrument in that virgin channel and she had known that it was her limit. She had gone further and had been forced down on the Manda and she had known then that she was past her limit. Now, the massive giant was trying to enter her with an instrument that was far too big to be real. She knew, as Buddha was her witness, that the giant would surely kill her.
Suddenly, GEE GEE burst into a fury of cursing.
"Tell him to stop, you goddam fairy," he shouted. "Can't you see that he can't get the goddam thing in. Knock it off, you goddam miserable creepy little queer!"
"Aha," the Shah said with delight. "We find a dissenter. Keep your tongue, my good fellow or you shall taste Deo's powerful weapon up yours. As it is, I shall take care of you myself, as soon as Deo has dispensed with the woman. Go, Deo!" The giant grunted and pushed and probed and worked the big tool in a half circle, trying to find the proper angle of entry.
"Push, damn you," the fairy monk screamed. He leaped from the couch and grabbed a whip from a cabinet. He advanced on the giant, who stared at the little man with eyes filled with fear. "Shove it in her or you shall taste the bittersweet sting of my leather. Remember, there are tiny steel hooks in the end of each strand of this nine-tailed whip."
The giant pushed but he was unable to penetrate the relatively tiny opening.
Ker-ack!
The whip lashed across his naked buttocks and the hooks took their toll in flesh. Streaks of blood ran down the giant's buttocks and thighs.
Christie screamed.
"Don't beat him," she cried. "He's doing the best he can. Wait, I'll see if I can make it easier for him."
The giant stared down at her incredulously. Christie shifted her buttocks to a more advantageous position. She had been deliberately resisting the giant's phenomenal machine, but her compassion for all things living could not stand the thought of him being whipped with such a brutal and lethal weapon as a cat-'o-nine-tails with hooks in the end of the strands.
Ker-ack!
The giant plunged forward and, with the girl's help, he jammed the knob of his telephone-pole tool into the opening. Christie screamed and tears streaked down her face, but she was delighted to know that the whip was not swinging again. The giant pushed onward and Christie's mind left her body, the room, the monastery, the country, the world. She soared in space with an enormous lump in her entrails. Her body and her mind orbited the moon and Mars and Venus and made ever enlarging circles through the universe. She saw a thousand dawns and a thousand shimmering pools and a thousand mountain peaks; a thousand birds sang and a thousand stars winked at her in honest compassion.
And yet, she still heard the nasty voice of the Shah.
"Ream her, you idiot! Now that you have it in her, withdraw and plunge again and again. I don't care if you kill her, poke her!"
She felt the great shaft begin a slow withdrawal and she tried to force her mind out into the universe again. Only with this great truth, this truth of the mind leaving the body in the moment of greatest horror, could she sustain the repeated onslaughts of the giant's all-encompassing instrument. She waited ... and the thrust never came.
Ker-ack!
Still no thrust.
Ker-aaaaaaaack!
And the room was quiet. Christie's head rolled from side to side and her mind was forcing its way back into her body and still she resisted it. It was so quiet and she was in such pain. She raised her head and looked behind her and saw that the monk lay in a white heap on the thick carpet. She felt someone tugging at her bonds and strong hands lifted her in the air. She was placed tenderly and lovingly onto the soft couch.
"Jesus Christ," she heard GEE GEE say. He spoke from far away, as if in a dream.
"Come here, Deo," came the soft, kindly voice of the Sikh, Ahmeel Balahwar. "Come here and release us."
The fond hands left her and she heard the heavy footsteps of the giant, then the rattling of chains and GEE GEE was beside her.
"Christie," he said, soothingly. "Can you hear me? Christie it's all right. Deo broke the bastard's neck. We can leave here. Christie?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Halfway through the mountains on their way back to the border, the Land Rover developed a flat tire and Ahmeel Balahwar, cursing in his several languages, stopped in the middle of the road on an extremely steep incline. From the foliage around them, bright, glistening eyes peered at their troubles and only the starlight provided the scant illumination needed to change the tire. Ahmeel had turned off the headlights and the vehicle sat quietly in the eerie dark silence.
While he worked on the tire, GEE GEE, the giant and Majong leaned against the rear of the Land Rover to keep it from rolling back down the hill. In the back of the car, moaning sweetly in her sleep, Christie Farrell was reliving the terrible evening in her dreams. She had not returned to consciousness during their mad rush out of the monastery, but she had been vaguely aware of what was going on.
She had heard them talking in the courtyard and heard the other monks chattering excitedly as the Sikh had told them things in a strange language. He had repeated the things in English and she knew that the monk was dead, that the hated Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh had died of a broken neck at the hands of his tortured giant. Deo had had enough of his master's abuse. Christie was extremely thankful that he had reached his limit at the time he did; she did not know that it was her compassion for him and her willingness to absorb his punishment that had caused him to rebel.
The giant, Ahmeel had told the monks, was coming with them in the Land Rover at his own request. And the visitors were taking gasoline and provisions for the long journey. Either they were taking it, or Deo was prepared to break all their scrawny necks. Christie heard all this from her comatose state in the back of the Land Rover, where she had been laid gently by the giant.
And now they were stopped again ... perhaps by the hated Chinese? She had felt the vehicle rising slightly and had heard the clinking of metal tools. Perhaps they were taking the vehicle apart and they would be stranded here in these bleak and beautiful mountains for the rest of their lives. It was no matter; her major concern was how to put out the blazing fires in her bottom. She tried to induce the anesthetic of sleep, but she could not drop below a semi-conscious state.
Finally, the car was lowered and the tools put away. The engine burst into life and the car jolted forward on the rocky highway. Christie felt someone ease into the sleeping bag beside her and she knew it was GEE GEE. Her darling GEE GEE. She felt her loins moisten and she wanted GEE GEE to make love to her. She wanted him to take her in his arms and squeeze her gently and to say wonderful, soothing, compassionate things to her. But she was too tired and too much in pain to open her eyes and her lips to let him know it. She slept.
* * *
Morning came gray and dark and damp and Christie awoke to a stillness that frightened her. The Land Rover was stopped again. She arose to look out the windows. They were parked in a thicket of banyan trees and extra limbs had been laid across the hood of the car, and on top of it. She wondered if they had fallen off a precipice onto the forest floor. GEE GEE stirred beside her and she shook his shoulder.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Just inside the border," he said. "It would have been daylight when we reached it, so we decided to stop and camouflage the car. We're quite safe, so go back to sleep."
"How long will we be here?"
"All day. We can't cross the border until it's dark. Please, Christie, go back to sleep."
Poor GEE GEE. He had probably been up all sight and was very tired. Christie looked around the car and found that the Sikh and Majong were crammed into the back with them, on the other side of GEE GEE. She raised on her arm and looked into the front seat. The giant, Deo, was doubled up in the cramped seat sound asleep. She studied his great features and found that he was indeed quite handsome. He had looked so threatening the night before that she had considered him ugly.
She slept again and they awoke at noon. Except for the burning sensation in her backside and the soreness of the muscles in her buttocks and stomach, Christie felt quite well. Her faintness and dizziness had left her and she wished she could get out of the car and take a short walk to loosen up her leg muscles.
"Good morning, my darling men," she said cheerfully when she was certain that they were all awake.
"Good morning," GEE GEE, the Sikh, and the boy said in unison. The giant sat up in the front seat and smiled at her. He had to incline his head slightly to keep it from bumping against the metal ceiling of the vehicle.
"Good morning, Deo," she said. "I think I know all about what happened ... what you did for me."
"He can't talk," Ahmeel Balahwar told her. "He is a White Russian from Kazakh and the Chinese long ago cut out his tongue. He was sold to the Shah as a slave after the Chinese had beaten and tortured him into total submission. He is so brain-washed that he will do almost anything anyone tells him. He understands force from others."
"And he understands compassion," Christie said. She put her hand on the giant's face. "Thank you, Deo, I shall always be grateful to you."
"We had to bring him along," the Sikh continued. "The other monks would have stoned him to death if we hadn't. The authorities are probably after us by now for the death of the fairy monk. That is why we must camouflage the car."
Christie continued to stroke the giant's face and he gurgled contentedly deep in his enormous throat. "I'm glad we brought him," she said. I hated him last night, but I simply adore him this morning for what he did for me."
"He is a very bright man," Ahmeel said. "I have spoken to him in English, Sanskrit, Nepalese, Hindi and Spanish, and even a little Chinese that I know, and he understands all of them. I believe he must know a dozen languages. He was educated at the Provincial University at Krasnovodski. He is thirty-five years old. Anything else you wish to know about him, I can easily find out by asking numerous questions. He can only answer with his head."
"It's such a pity he can't talk," Christie said. "Imagine the horrifying tales of torture he could tell us. Not only torture given to him, but torture he has been forced to give to others. Such a pity. And such wisdom and knowledge he could impart. Oh those hated Chinese, why did they have to cut out his tongue?"
Deo purred under the velvet caresses of her soft hand. He responded fully to her kindnesses and vowed in his heart that no harm would ever befall this beautiful blonde girl as long as he were alive. She was his master-his mistress, so to speak-and he would follow her to the ends of the earth. His face turned bright red when he remembered the shame of what he had done to her on the evening before. Thinking thus, he felt a tremendous erection growing in his lap.
The day passed uneventfully as the occupants of the hidden Land Rover chatted aimlessly and slept in short bursts. When it was completely dark, Ahmeel Balahwar started the engine and they pulled out of the thicket and loose branches. They reached the border long before midnight and crossed it safely. They all breathed a huge sigh of relief when they were back inside Nepal.
It was the following night, however, when they finally reached the tiny, filthy hotel in Lo Mantang. They slept like the dead for two days and two nights and awoke to a brilliantly sparkling morning on the third day. Over breakfast on the third morning, Christie dropped another of her casual bomb shells.
"Tell me, Ahmeel, my darling Ahmeel," she said, munching on bread and jam, "what is the name of the monk you mentioned in Pakistan?" The giant and Majong were unperturbed by her question and so went on devouring large legs of lamb. The other men, however, choked on their thick, black coffee and stared at the girl as though she had suddenly taken leave of her senses.
"You never told me his name," she said, "and now I want you to. Will you please tell me who he is and how long it would take to go there?"
"Christie, for Christ's sake," GEE GEE snapped. "Haven't you had enough? We have to go back to Calcutta and get the boat for San Francisco. I've had all the trouble I need to last me for a hundred years, and I'm certain you don't need any more."
"Please tell me his name," she insisted.
The Sikh sighed resignedly. He fell back in his chair and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "His name is Abul Sur Fello and he lives in a monastery high in the Himalayas near Gilgit. That is all the way across the Kashmir Province of India and it will take several days to go there. The roads are very bad. And there are many bandits."
"Is he nice?"
"I know only what I hear of him. It is an unwise man who condemns another without sufficient knowledge of that person, but I would not trust him either, from the experiences we have had with the others. There seems to be a sickness in religion and, quite frankly, I find it difficult to understand."
"We must go there," Christie moaned. "We have come so far and we have suffered so much that it would be a pity if we were to turn back now. I have a feeling about Abul Sur Fello ... what a beautiful name ... and I just know that he is kind and considerate and passionate and holy and very, very wise. We must go there to seek the true meaning of life."
"Amen," said the Sikh.
"Holy God," said GEE GEE.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The following day was spent in long arduous travel back over the ecstatically beautiful mountains. The Land Rover was quite crowded and the slave boy, Majong, found that his life had suddenly taken a gigantic turn for the better. He spent the day in the back of the Land Rover, cuddled tightly against the welcome breast of his benefactor, his hand deliberately ensconced in the tightness of her crotch.
Ahmeel was beginning to show the tired lines and exhausted attitude of long travel, but he drove the vehicle onward, relentlessly seeking out the ruts of the well-traveled road, silently working the mechanisms that kept the vehicle moving forward. He sighed frequently as the Land Rover sought new heights and passed new scenes of splendor and beauty.
GEE GEE and the giant slept in the rear of the vehicle while the front seat was shared by Ahmeel, Christie and Majong. They were unaware of the four dark eyes which steadily appraised the exposed whiteness of the girl's legs and were equally unaware of the tremulous passions that rode the high road of each of the occupants of the front seat. And they all traveled onward, onward, onward.
The road from the village of Lo Mantang to the Nepal-India border was quite bad, but it was nothing to compare to the network of rock-strewn paths leading across the northern part of India to Pakistan. The voyage took the five travelers a week-and the Land Rover broke down twice. If it had not been for the strength of the giant, Deo, they would not have made it to the monastery of Abul Sur Fello at all. Of course, they were attacked twice by bandits, but the silly asses did not even have guns and were frightened away as soon as Deo stepped from the vehicle and unrolled his giant frame.
They arrived at the monastery, typically perched on a high ridge overlooking the beautiful peaks and valleys, in the middle of the day and were given the usual fond greeting by the Guru's man-servant, a short, fat man by the name of Rinti Bel Rivinel.
"His excellency will be most pleased to see you," the fat monk said. "He is having luncheon now and will be most happy if you would join him."
They were exhausted from the trip, but they piled from the Land Rover, surveyed the cluttered courtyard, and entered the low, rambling building behind the servant. Lunch was spread on a low table in a large patio behind the building and the august monk, tall, slim and quite handsome, rose to greet them. The view from the patio was so breathtaking, they had difficulty keeping their eyes on their host.
"It is an unwise host who brings his guests to dinner before allowing them time for refreshing themselves," Abul Sur Fello said with great compassion and kindness. "However, I shall leave the decision up to you."
"We are starving," Christie said. "We ran out of food two days ago and have not found a single village along the way."
The monk smiled and his sharp blue eyes traveled quickly over Christie's body, appraising her. She found it rather surprising that the bearded monk had blue eyes, but she dismissed it as a freak of nature. Anybody, she reasoned, could wind up with blue eyes. The monk appraised her quickly and then averted his eyes when he saw that Deo was watching his every movement. He smiled up at the giant and turned on a tremendous amount of charm. Deo backed away and glared at the blue-eyed monk.
They ate in silence at first and, when their stomachs were partially satiated, they began to tell the monk of their travels and of their failure to find a single true-blue monk who would return with Christie to America and be her personal Guru-for a handsome price from her wealthy father, of course.
"This business, alas, is not what it once was," Abul Sur Fello said at last. "There are many rogues and rascals among our ranks and one cannot be too careful. I dare say, though, that you should have no problems here. We are a simple folk. Ah, I have almost forgotten. I would like for you to meet my mistress."
A beautiful young Indian girl had come out of the house onto the patio and the monk gestured for her to join them. She did so reluctantly and shyly.
"This is Mirini," Abul Sur Fello said. "She is the flower of the Orient, the peace of man's mind, the greatest delight of all womanhood." He introduced the others to the beautiful woman.
Following the lunch, they were shown to tiny rooms that were well-kept and comfortable. They showered in a common bath and completed the afternoon in sleep, only to be awakened at dusk for dinner. They dined lavishly in the patio where the warm breezes from the plains wafted up to make the evening a most pleasant and enjoyable one. When the meal was finished, Abul Sur Fello expounded on the mighty truths of the world.
"Here in these moutains," he intoned, "man realizes that he is truly a member of the higher animal kingdom, that he is only a breathless step away from Buddha. It is an unwise man who may live in these mountains and not find the beautiful and crashing truth."
"Beautiful," Christie said. She already adored he dashing, handsome, intellectual, blue-eyed monk, but she reserved a tiny part of her adoration for suspicion. "Isn't that beautiful, GEE GEE. Don't you think that Abul Sur Fello will make a most perfect Guru."
The monk had agreed to go with her to America, for a trial visit, but only after she and her party had spent seven days and seven nights in the glorious nest high in the Himalayas. He would not take money, only his passage and his keep while he was in her country. She realized now that she truly had found her Guru, that she was on the threshold of the eternal beauty, wisdom and knowledge of life-the true meaning. Christie was glad that the other two monks had turned out to be impossible boors: Abul Sur Fello was certainly the wisest and most superior in all possible ways.
When the stars were shining brilliantly overhead and the dinner was cold on the table, the monk bade them all to rest and to prepare their minds and bodies for tomorrow's teachings.
"We shall spend our days in meditation and in learning the eternal truths of life," he said. "It is an unwise monk who does not give his guests every possible opportunity to learn the eternal truths. We shall find them on the hilltops and in the valleys and in the quiet darkness of our tiny rooms."
Christie knew she was being unfaithful, but she could not cast off the small arrows of suspicion which stabbed her heart. She had heard these same words before and they had led to big problems.
"What kind of truths?" she asked, looking suspiciously at the blue-eyed monk.
"We shall sleep tonight," he said with great kindness and serenity. "It is an unwise truth-seeker who does not allow his body and mind its proper rest before seeking the great truths."
The giant and Majong stayed close to Chris tie as they were led to their tiny rooms. His room was next to hers and, when the servant, Rinti Bel Rivinel, closed her door and allowed her to lock it from the inside, the giant and the boy went to their rooms to sleep in peace. Christie breathed a great sigh of relief in the dark room. The crisis had passed apparently and her beloved Abul Sur Fello was not the depraved maniac the others had been. She fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, wondering what the others were doing.
Both GEE GEE and Ahmeel Balahwar allowed their suspicions to die in the peacefulness of the night and were soon fast asleep. The night grew quiet and the squat monastery once again blended into the lifeless, silent, graceful scenery of the high mountain ridge. Above them, a night bird soared past and sighed with the peacefulness of it all.
Christie slept like the dead, her exhausted body soaking up sleep in the deepest and truest sense. She had vague memories of being moved, of being carried, but she chalked them up to dreams and was mortally shocked when she was awakened to a blaze of lights and knew that she was naked. She tried to sit up, but her arms and legs were tied in spread-eagle fashion on the cold, hard floor.
"Are you comfortable, my dear?" the soft, kind voice of the monk came to her from beyond the glare of lights.
Christie felt a chill overtake her body and she tried to cry out. It was then that she learned that her mouth was gagged. The lights suddenly lowered and she saw the monk sitting in his white robes on a chair quite near her. On the other side of her, standing, was the beautiful Indian girl, Mirini. Christie's head flashed from side to side, her large, frightened blue eyes piercing them both.
"It is an unwise woman who struggles against such bonds," Abul Sur Fello said. "Relax, my precious child, we shall attend to you very shortly." The monk clapped his hands and Mirini disappeared from Christie's view. She returned promptly, carrying a strange-looking contraption in her hands. The device consisted of a large rubber pole, attached with leather straps and buckles. Christie stared at the black rubber object and gasped inwardly when she realized that it was made in the shape of a man's organ.
Golly Molly! she breathed in panic. What on earth could they be planning to do with that?
"We are going to try a small experiment," the monk said. He had lost his foreign accent and sounded very much like an American. "This object," he continued, "is a dildo ... I'm sure you've heard of them, kid."
She glared at him as he shed the white robes and stood naked before her. He was white I
"Surprised?" he asked, grinning down at her through his tangled black beard, his blue eyes ravaging her naked body. "The name is Steve Kronski and I'm from Milwaukee. I stumbled onto this monastic bit a few years ago. It's a great life."
Christie grunted and squirmed under her bonds.
"I have one great desire in life," Steve said. "And that is to shag women in the bottom. The trouble is, I've got an eight-inch rammer and it hurts me like hell when I do it to a virgin channel.
That's what Mirini is for. She's going to open you up with the dildo. It's sixteen inches long and almost four inches wide. After that, you'll be able to take my eight-incher without the least bit of trouble to either of us. Don't faint on me, kid, or we'll have to douse you with ice water. And don't worry about the dildo, we lather it up real good with vaseline."
The phony monk clapped his hands again and Mirini strapped the dildo on herself. She dropped between Christies legs and directed the bulbous knob of the cold black object to the girl's sore backside. The knob pushed against her and Christie screamed a silent scream deep in her throat. The pain was already unbearable and the horrid thing hadn't even penetrated.
"Don't think about this," the Indian girl said softly. "Think of grand and glorious things. Think of all the wonderful truths in this wonderful world. Let your mind leave your body and you shall be able to withstand the pain far better."
The small, strong girl pushed heavily and the great wide knob broke into Christie. She fainted and felt her mind truly leaving her body. But it would not stay. It would make quick, soaring leaps into space and she would be back in the room again, enduring the gaping, searing, ripping, tearing, garroting pain in her buttocks.
The pain flashed up along the course of her body as the silent, lifeless rubber object rammed brutally and relentlessly into her. Silent scream followed silent scream and Christie fainted again and again.
"Beautiful," the phony white monk said. "It is all the way in. We will leave it there for ten or fifteen minutes until her body adjusts to it and stops trying to repulse it. If you like, you may indulge yourself with her."
The girl smiled and quickly unstrapped the dildo. Pushing aside the straps, she lowered her face to Christie's crotch and pressed her lips over her kitten. So that explained the girl's kind remarks to her ... the girl was a Lesbian and actually hated to see pain brought to the beautiful, pink-skinned girl. Perhaps Christie had found another friend who could help. Then again, she thought glumly, what help could the slim brown girl be against the strapping, muscle-bound phony monk?
The pain was horrendous, but it was assuaged slightly by the pleasure delivered to her by the Indian girl's expert lips and tongue. Christie had never experienced this with a girl; she had never had leanings in that direction. But it was delightful and she felt her juices begin to boil as the tongue darted up and down and titillated her gasping kitten. The girl took the sensitive button between her thin lips and sucked with tremendous pressure. It took only a few minutes for Christie to spend copiously.
And then, the horrifying pain returned with a gruesome intensity that caused her to faint once more. Yet, the pressure seemed to be easing off somewhat and she realized that the enormous dildo was slipping out of her just a little. It helped. The throbbing lump high in her torso relaxed. Unfortunately, the phony, evil, hated monk noticed the slipping and he stepped between Christie's spread legs. She looked up and saw that he was at full erection. His instrument was long, but it was not as thick as the Sikh's. If she could have talked to him, she could have told him that she could take him without pain to him and there would have been no need for the dildo.
The phony monk put the toes of his right foot to the end of the dildo and pushed it back again to the hilt.
The silent scream that resounded through her tortured body caused her to faint once more. She was out several minutes this time and she awoke to a dismal prospect when she heard the man's voice saying:
"She makes such a delectable sight lying there with the dildo up her, I think we'll leave her there for another fifteen minutes. Besides, she's still fainting on me and there's nothing I dislike more than buggering an unconscious woman."
Christie made every possible effort to stay conscious. She opened her blue eyes wide and stared up at the evil, hated man. Perhaps if she looked up at him in kindness and compassion, he would relent. She turned her look to one of contempt. The man who called himself Steve Kronski from Milwaukee mockingly returned the compassionate, pitiful look and then grinned lasciviously.
But Christie's charm had worked on the slim, pretty Indian Lesbian. The girl cried out in shame and compassion. Soon her cries had turned to screams of hysteria as the big, handsome white man began to slap her dark face. But the girl was beyond controlling now. Her Lesbian love for the helpless blonde American girl was so deep that she screamed out in spite of her fear and the pain the phony monk was delivering to her.
Christie watched the scene with an almost subconscious detachment. The pain was so great in her body that she knew she was drifting off into another faint. In her half-conscious state, she watched dumbly as the door to the large room sprang open and GEE GEE and the Sikh came rushing in. The phony monk had anticipated their arrival, brought by the Indian girl's screams, and had taken a huge sword from a glass-fronted cabinet. He swished the sword once and the two men backed away, cornered against the wall.
As Steve Kronski moved in for the kill, the giant, Deo, appeared in the doorway. Kronski backed away and waved the sword at Deo. "Get over with the others," he ordered. "Go on, you big boob before I disembowel you."
Deo stared at the man in rage. But his rage was nothing compared to the fury he developed when he looked past the naked phony monk, the hated American who called himself Abul Sur Fello, and saw what the man had done to Christie. Deo bellowed with such force that the overhead lights shook and trembled.
The giant stepped forward and Kronski swung the sword. Christie felt another scream course through her body, but she could have saved her steam. The giant caught the blade in his hand and, with one swift motion, snapped it like a match stick. Deo advanced on the cringing Steve Kronski, the self-styled monk, his right hand dripping blood onto the thick carpeting. He bellowed again and again as he approached the phony monk.
"Stop," shouted Steve Kronski. "Stop and I shall reward you with rubies and jewels and diamonds and gold. Stop and you shall reap the rewards of this monastery. Wealth will be yours, wealth to buy everything you want in this world."
But Deo needed no wealth. No amount of money or jewels in the world would return his speech, speech that had been taken from him by beasts such as the phony monk.
He struck the naked man in the stomach and plowed him across the room and into the thick stone wall at the back. The room was filled with the sickening crunch of breaking bones and Steve Kronski fell in a lifeless heap, blood gushing out of his mouth in torrential waves.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brilliant yellow sunshine spread across the valleys and the peaks of the magnificent Himalayas. The sound of music echoed from the vast, deep precipices, and the yellow, rocky road coursed around the majestic peaks and deep into the verdant valleys. The skies were a testament to the glory and grandeur of a god somewhere, a god who had graced the earth with such beauty and magnificence that the eye and the hand of man were stilled with its reverence.
The weary travelers, having made their grand exit from the monastery high in the Pakistani Himalayas, pressed on, charging down the steep dips in the yellow road. The Land Rover was jammed with humanity. Christie, the giant, Deo, and the boy, Majong, lay side by side in the back of the vehicle. In the front seat were Ahmeel Balahwar, the Lesbian Marini and GEE GEE. As the darkness of night crept across the fabulous countryside, the vehicle chugged and rumbled into the village of Amritsar on the Pakistani-India border. With aching bones, they stumbled from the vehicle to the welcome beds of the Basu Hotel and slept like the dead.
When the morning burst like a precious jewel over the high mountains, Christie Farrell awoke, stretched luxuriously in the bed between GEE GEE and the beautiful Mirini, and welcomed the new day.
"Oh, my darling GEE GEE," she exclaimed. "I know we will not find a precious Guru in this village, but I simply cannot return to America without at least exploring the marketplace or seeking a truth in these beautiful hills. Let us rest today and press on tomorrow."
GEE GEE groaned because he knew that a pause in their journey would mean trouble. The only way to escape total destruction in this ridiculous love odyssey was to charge ever onward to Calcutta and to freedom. But he knew that Christie would have her own way.
They breakfasted in the tiny dining room of the hotel and looked out on the beautiful mountain peaks as they each contemplated the day's activities. Ahmeel Balahwar hoped that the day would bring a beautiful orgy in the hotel room, with him and his magnificent tool maintaining the command position in a multi-faceted attack on the scrumptious body of his mistress. The boy, Majong, hoped that he would at last be able to nourish his appetite on the enormous pink breasts, unencumbered by the restraining limits placed upon him by the hated American man. The giant Deo, wished only to be left alone with Christie so that he might, in gentleness and in reverence, be allowed to make total amends for the indignity he had heaped upon her.
Mirini alone wished for something different. She had once tasted the sweet fruits of her mistress, but they had been enjoyed under extreme duress. She hoped that all the others would journey out into the village, into the marketplace, leaving her alone with Christie where everything would be perfect and sweet and loving.
GEE GEE was tired. He wished only to continue the journey to its completion. He longed for the safety and convenience and comfort of the ship which would take them back to California.
But they went, in a group, into the streets of the village. The teeming masses swirled about them and Christie, her face a radiant display of happiness, led the parade down through the main street of the village to the market where traders and merchants and the many stalls of the market lay before them in magnificent splendor.
She bought gifts for all of them. A brilliant ruby for Deo; a shining golden ring for Mirini; a velvet satchel for Majong; a satin money belt for Ahmeel Balahwar, and an ivory elephant for GEE GEE. As they pushed along through the throngs of Asians and Indians and Mongolians, Christie talked incessantly about the Gurus and the purpose of her visit and the hope that she would return to America with the wisest and most austere personage of all India.
In the afternoon, after a marvelous lunch in the fabulous Rawalpindi Restaurant, they walked down the main avenue toward the theater district and Christie, ecstatic in her restful happiness, led the group. They made a turn at Rwhangi Avenue and came face to face with a towering Sikh who carried a mammoth sword at his side.
"Englisher!" the Sikh screamed. "Foul Englisher!"
"I beg your pardon," Christie said politely.
"British pig," the Sikh screeched, raising his sword to a majestic height. "Kill, kill, kill!"
"What on earth?" Christie shrieked as she drew back from the threatening sword.
GEE GEE stepped forward and tried to dissuade the huge Sikh from disemboweling his precious Christie. The Sikh felled him with a single punch to his stomach.
Ahmeel Balahwar stepped forward and shouted something in Hindi to the man, then retreated as the sword swished threateningly across his middle.
"Foul Britisher," the great Sikh screamed. "Death to the English! Death to all of you!"
Surprisingly, the boy, Majong, stepped forward and grabbed the Sikh's sword hand. With a well-placed punch to the stomach, he weakened the man. He pulled the sword down and, with another quick, lethal punch, brought the attacker to his knees. Christie felt her crotch grow moist from the danger and she stared at the huge bearded man in amorous wonder.
The crowd parted and the small group found themselves in a sort of arena in the street, separated from the others by a ring of open space. Two policemen, carrying rifles and night sticks, advanced from the crowd and grabbed the sword-carrying Sikh.
"You will be pleased to come with us to the police station," one of the policemen said. "Everything shall be resolved there. Are you British?"
"No," Christie said, her throat tight from the excitement and her groin moist from the thrill of it all. "I am American and so is my unconscious friend."
One of the policemen picked GEE GEE from the pavement and slapped him into consciousness. The entire party marched through the crowd to the police station.
"You must understand one thing," the police sergeant said to then after a great deal of questioning. "This entire incident would not have happened if you had not looked so British."
"I don't understand," Christie said. "What has the British to do with what that poor crazy man did?"
"Do you know where you are?" the police sergeant asked.
"In India, I believe," Christie answered. She found the sergeant, with his fine beard and his long, straight nose, to be quite delightful, quite sexy.
"Quite true," said the sergeant. "You are in India, but a very special part of India. The man with the sword is Rahwal Pindisu, a survivor of the massacre of Amritsar. Have you ever heard of this massacre?"
"I'm afraid not," Christie said.
"I will elucidate," said the sergeant. "When Rahwal Pindisu was a child, he went with his parents to the gardens of Amritsar. It was during the British rule-in 1919 I believe-and it was forbidden for Indian citizens to speak against the white rulers.
"On a summer evening, when Rahwal Pindisu was only seven years old, his parents went out for a walk with him and happened to stop by a walled garden just off the marketplace. Inside the garden, a man was delivering a speech and the Pindisus stopped to listen. They had no real interest in what the man was saying. In fact, they had no political motives whatever and no real opinion about the British. But the speaker was a political man and his speech was against the British.
"Rahwal's parent's went innocently into the garden to hear the speech, unaware of the fact that British troops were massing outside the garden wall. All of a sudden, the soldiers opened fire on the people inside the garden. Several hundred people were killed and thousands were wounded. Rahwal's parents were both killed on the spot. Since that day, he has hated the British. Because of your white skin and blonde hair, he thought you were British. It is possible for you to prefer charges against him for assault. Do you wish to do so?"
"Oh no," said Christie, her heart opening up to the poor bearded Sikh whose parents had been so brutally murdered. "I would never prefer charges against him. Instead, I would like to help him."
"Help him?" asked the sergeant.
"Oh yes. Oh Golly Molly yes. Where does he live? I will be happy to go there and offer him whatever help we can give."
"Rahwal Pindisu has no home, madame," the sergeant said. "We have him in jail for the hundredth time and, unless someone pays his bail, he will stay there. Do you wish to pay his bail?"
"Of course. How much is it?"
"Three thousand rupees," said the sergeant. Christie Farrell reeled off several traveler's checks to pay the bail and the irate Indian was brought from his cell to face her.
"I am an American," Christie said to the man. "I am not English and I am not responsible for the death of your parents. Long before you fought the British, my country fought them and won. We are now allies of the British, but there was a time when we were enemies. Will you be my friend?"
Rahwal Pindisu stared at the frail, white, anemic American girl with the enormous breasts and decided that it would be wise to be friends with her. He fell upon his knees and kissed her willing breasts through the cloth of her nylon sweater. She accepted him as a welcome addition to her entourage.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They left Amritsar, the lovely flower of the Himalayas, early in the morning and set out on their long journey back across the North of India toward Nepal and the long run down the mountain road to Calcutta. It would take many days, Ahmeel had told them, and the Land Rover was quite crowded. He had suggested renting a small bus, but Christie insisted that the closeness would cause them all to become great friends.
And so, as the dark, dirty little vehicle chugged through the beautiful mountains, Christie sat jammed in the back with Deo, Majong and Rahwal Pindisu, while GEE GEE and Mirini shared the front seat with Ahmeel Balahwar.
"Let us sing," Christie chirruped as the vehicle swooped down between two majestic hills into a deep valley, wet with the morning dew and alive with the voices of Spring. Off to their right, a towering waterfall burst over a high precipice and churned gracefully into the gorge below. "I feel so alive," Christie said. "I want us all to sing and enjoy the incandescent beauty of this beautiful moment. What shall we sing?"
"There is a song my mother sang to me as a child," said Rahwal Pindisu. "It is a beautiful song. Shall I teach it to you? It is very easy to learn."
Christie was delighted with her new acquisition. Rahwal, as it turned out, was quite well educated, although he had spent his youth in orphan homes as a ward of the state, and had been in jail much of his adult life for slashing people with his huge scimitar. And he had such a gentle spirit, she found. He was always fondling her and kissing her breasts through her cotton shirt.
"Oh yes," she cried. "Please sing it for us, my darling Rahwal. Please do."
Rahwal Pindisu shifted in the small space allotted to him and arranged it so that his erection, which was constant when he was near the pink-skinned girl from America, did not hurt so much. He looked out at the phenomenally beautiful hills and his eyes misted as he thought of his mother and the song she had sung to him.
"Please sing it," Christie urged.
"I shall sing," Rahwal said. "It is a lovely song."
"Sing it," said Majong.
"Yes," said Mirini, "please sing it, Rahwal."
"I shall sing," Rahwal said.
He looked once again at the passing mountains and down into the dark, shadowed valleys. He raised his head and his lips parted. He sang: "Wake my child and seek the truest word; Seek it from the crickets that evenings can he heard;
Seek it in the night song of every nesting bird;
But seek it not from man For man is made of brass He'll send his truth a charging Directly up your ... posterior orifice." The air in the hot vehicle was charged with silence as the passengers stared at Rahwal Pindisu. The tall Sikh sat in deep rapture, his eyes misted with the memory of his sainted mother and her tender song.
Ahmeel Balahwar broke the silence. "Amen," he said.
"Jesus Christ," said GEE GEE.
"Buddha be damned," muttered Majong. "Beautiful," cried Christie. "But not true. Oh my darling Rahwal, I'm so surprised at your sainted mother singing that song to you. It is true up to a point. That part about the crickets and the birds is so, so very true. But it is also true that you can seek the truth from man. He won't do ... do what you say."
"Perhaps," said Rahwal. He looked off down the mountain and the mist began to clear from his eyes. A large, glistening tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps."
;
When the sun edged over the high peaks behind them, Ahmeel Balahwar pulled the Land Rover onto a wide expanse of ground beside the road and overlooking a sheer drop of perhaps five thousand feet to the dark valley below.
"It is an unwise driver who keeps his passengers cramped in so small a space for so long a time," he said. "Perhaps we should stop now and give ourselves time to erase the fatigue of travel before night brings sleep."
"Beautiful," Christie said. "This is a perfect place, my darling Ahmeel. We shall start a fire and we shall sit around it and watch the dying shadows of evening and we shall all indulge in transcendental meditations. Do we all agree? Even though we have no precious Guru or Yogi to lead us, perhaps we will find the way to the true meaning of life and love and truth and beauty all on our own."
"Anything is possible," said Ahmeel.
"So be it," said Rahwal.
"I have to take a pee," announced Majong. He promptly left the Land Rover and ran to the very edge of the precipice. His amber stream shot high into the air and arced into the valley. "Look everybody," he shouted gleefully as the others piled out of the cramped quarters, "I am peeing for a whole mile."
The chuckled nervously.
But their nervousness was overcome by the natural call of duty and they soon joined the slave boy on the cliff, all of them adding their tiny trickles to the mighty river that flowed far beneath them in the deepening shadows.
The night air had chilled and the wind blew briskly around the mountain, flattening their clothing to their bodies. The men soon had a fire going and they sat around it in a circle. The dancing flames, turned wild by the wind, reflected on their faces and, from a distance, created an eerie scene in the Indian night.
"I have a simply groovy idea," Christie bubbled. "Let us begin our meditations with a few simple and humble sayings. You know, something deep and true and wise and full of love for mankind and fellow man and all."
Christie was sitting in her mini-skirt, in spite of the coolness of the evening. Her legs were upraised and they could see, in the dim light from the fire, the bright white flash on nylon at her delicious crotch. The men were brought to total erection and Mirini licked her lips continuously.
"You start it, my darling Ahmeel," Christie said. "Make a simple statement and the rest of us will make similar statements so that they rhyme ... you know, like in a poem. Are you all with me?"
"Perhaps if someone else began, I would have a better idea of what we are to do," Ahmeel said, smiling down the long, pink thighs.
"You start it, GEE GEE," Christy gushed. "You know, the way we used to back in Berkeley, simply eons and eons ago."
"It is an unwise bird," GEE GEE said sonorously, "who fouls its own nest."
The others nodded and Mirini brightened and sat up straight.
"It is an unwise woman who pees into the sea."
"Brilliant," they all chorused.
"It is an unwise child who throws up on its vest," said Majong, the slave boy.
"And it is an unwise man," said Rahwal, "who tries to bugger me."
"Beautiful," Christie cried on the mountain. "Beautiful. They do rhyme, GEE GEE. Nest, Sea, Vest, Me. Beautiful."
"How about Ahmeel," GEE GEE said. "He didn't get to contribute."
"Golly Molly," Christie said, looking at her darling Ahmeel. "I think he's already deep in mediation. Let us all join him there. If we are really good at it, we might all ease into a Yoga coma. Let's try."
The sat in abject silence and their minds seemed to drift into a weird and charismatic trance. Birds of the night sang to them. The flames of the fire entertained them with wild and erotic dances. The chill wind caressed their bodies and closed their heavy eyelids and the travelers slipped deeper and deeper into their meditative comas.
Their ears were deafened to the sounds of the mountains and to the slow clop-clop-clop of an oxen struggling up the road pulling a rickety cart. Atop the cart, surrounded by articles of mountain junk, sat two old men, huddled together against the chill of night. They saw the fire from far down the road and looked at each other in puzzlement.
"Perhaps travelers in trouble, Ahmand," said one.
"Perhaps travelers asleep."
"No, I can see figures around the fire. Let us stop to see if they have something to give to poor beggars such as we."
The oxcart pulled up alongside the Land Rover and the men dismounted. They stood outside the silent circle and looked at the still faces, the closed eyes.
"Great Buddha, Ahmand," said one beggar. "They are all asleep."
"Possibly, Bittnah. More likely, they are drunk. Let us see if the vehicle possesses anything we might wish."
"Let us take the vehicle."
"Can you drive?"
"No."
"Neither can I. Let us merely take what is worthy of our attention."
Within five minutes, the beggars had loaded their cart with all the food, gasoline, clothing and valuables they could find in the Land Rover.
"Shall we search the sleeping-drunk travelers, Ahmand?"
"It is an unwise beggar," Ahmand said, "who does only part of his task. You search the men. I shall search the young ladies."
Ahmand stripped Christy and Mirini while his partner went through the clothing of GEE GEE, Ahmeel, Deo, Majong and Rahwal. They found little but the pleasure of seeing the beautiful naked bodies of the two girls.
"I think we have everything," Bittnah said. "Let us go before they come out of whatever it is that they are in."
"Not everything," said Ahmand.
He removed his trousers and stepped between the spread legs of the lovely white girl.
"The dark one is yours," he said, grinning. Christie Farrell was deep in meditation and she knew that she had finally achieved total Yoga. The brief session of wise and deep and true and beautiful sayings had prepared her for the meditation that had led to the deep stage of bliss.
She lived solely in her mind; her body no longer existed. And yet, she felt strange pleasures of the body as her mind-soul soared through the reaches of space and zoomed into the verdant valleys of truth and beauty and love.
It was amazing, she mused, how a Yoga stage produced such sexual arousement and such blissful sexual fulfillment. Her mind knew better, but she was positive that her body was experiencing some kind of eternal knowledge in the mystical experience of sexual intercourse. Her body lied to her mind when it reported than an enormous warm object had penetrated it and was at this very moment sliding in and out of her sweet, joyous sex kitten. Her mind refused to believe her body.
And, as the juices flowed copiously and her passions rose to a burning fever, her body kept reporting these strange incidents to her mind, and her mind kept putting them back into proper perspective. No such thing was happening. The body lied and the mind knew that all was at peace, that deep meditation and total coma had been achieved; that beauty and truth and love abounded in her body and in the beautiful environment around her. Even when she climaxed and her body felt the warm spurt of manhood inside it, the mind quietly and forcefully reprimanded the body for reporting such ridiculous happenstances.
Long after the soft clop-clop-clop of the oxen's feet had died away in the majestic distance of the mountain, the weary travelers remained in deep meditation. Long after the dancing flames had die into the ignominious ashes, the strange circle remained, broken, of course, by the sprawling, naked bodies of the two women.
Morning hammered at their ears, their minds and their bodies in a burst of technicolor as the rampant sun sailed over the eastern peaks and warmed the weary travelers. No position had changed, no sign of life lay on the high precipice beside the lonely black Land Rover. It was Deo, the giant, who wrist stirred and, seeing the naked women, rose once again to full erection. But his loyalty to the white woman who had saved him from his hated life with the evil Shar Bir Bikran Lavadoh was too great. He did not allow his instincts and his lustful desire to overcome his common sense. He awoke the others.
"Golly Molly," Christie cried as she rose to a sitting position. "That was some transcendental meditation. I feel as though I've been dragged through a sewer pipe. Did we meditate all night?" While the women dressed, the men investigated the vehicle and learned that all their provisions were gone. They reported this dismal fact to Christie.
"What will we do?" she asked, plaintively. "Is there a village nearby?"
"The last village was more than twenty miles behind us," Ahmeel Balahwar announced. "I don't think there is another for at least another twenty. We can drive until the petrol tank is empty. We shall have to walk from that point."
"Beautiful," cried Christie. "Now we shall learn the true meaning of the voyage for truth and beauty and love. Up until now, we have had such an easy and luxurious life. Only through the hardships that now face us will we emerge triumphant and victorious and know the true meaning of life. Am I right?"
"Amen," said the Sikh.
"Jesus Christ," said GEE GEE.
"Buddha be damned," Majong shouted. "Bugger the world!" said Rahwal.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The day was radiant with beauty and golden sunshine and the crowded Land Rover chugged marvelously over the rocky, winding, swooping, climbing roads toward the village of Naghabad, near the city of Simla in Northern India. Although the distance, from their point of embarkation, was more than thirty miles, the Land Rover ran out of petrol in the fabulously beautiful valley of Jabalnam where no human dwelled. They were still nearly twenty miles from their destination and food.
"Isn't it all so beautiful," said Christie as she bounced out of the car and stood beside the rippling Jabalnam River to drink in the fantastic scenery. All around them the mountains rose like great living mounds, covered with greenery and strange trees, and capped with white peaks that towered to dizzying heights.
"Very beautiful," GEE GEE moaned. "But the feeling in my stomach isn't beautiful. I'm so hungry, I could eat a plateful of cooked elephant dung."
"We should not stop now," Ahmeel warned. "There are bandits everywhere and they won't know that we are out of provisions. We must take water from the river and begin the long climb out of this valley. For all its beauty, it holds many dangers."
"Really?" Christie asked, feeling her crotch moisten with desire. "What kind of dangers?"
"Aside from bandits," offered Rahwal, "there are only a few leopards, tigers, water buffalo and elephants to keep us company. Ahmeel is right. We must press on."
"Why don't we hitch hike?" Christie asked, naively.
Even Deo joined the men in a hopeless shrug.
They walked into the blazing sun, up the steeply running road back into the mountains. A flock of vultures circled overhead, their dull wings methodically with eager anticipation. To everyone but Christie, hope was lost and the future was bleak. But hers was the pioneer spirit and she knew the trials and trepidations of the ancients. She was the settler, the early version of mankind that had tamed the earth and had made it home. Christie could see only the beauty of the mountains and her soul-mind communed contin uously with the natural grandeur of the magnificently beautiful bailey bathed in golden sunlight.
They had gone only two miles up the winding, rocky road when they heard the familiar sound of an engine. They stopped, as though thunderstruck, and looked back along the road they had just traveled. Far down in the valley, near the spot where they had abandoned the Land Rover, they say a puff of dust and a small flash of red.
"Holy Buddha," said Ahmeel. "I think it is a red sports car."
"See," Christie said. "I told you we could hitch hike."
They waited as the sound of the laboring engine drew closer and they could hear the crunch of tires on the rocky road. The car came into sight around a distant bend and trailed a plume of yellow dust behind it as it approached the waving, screaming, yelling travelers. As the car neared, they saw that it was occupied by a beautiful white woman with extremely dark and long hair that trailed like a black cape from her head. The red sports car pulled to a stop alongside them.
"Hello, Darlings," the dark-haired woman said. "What on earth are you doing out here?"
"We are weary travelers," Christie said. "We ran out of gasoline a few miles back and were walking to the next village. Can you help us?"
"But of course, darling," the beautiful, young, dark-haired woman said. "I am in a bit of a hurry to get to the monastery of the illustrious Anil Feroze Nanda, but it would be far beneath my dignity as a famous movie star not to help fellow travelers in need. You are in need aren't you?"
"Golly Molly!" Christie cried as recognition of the beautiful girl sank into her mind-soul. "You look just like...."
"Exactly," the pretty girl said. "I'm Myna Birdsley, star of stage, screen and television. At your service."
"What on earth are you doing up in the Himalayan Mountains?" GEE GEE asked. "This is a long way from Hollywood."
Myna stepped from the red Ferrari, showing long lengths of slim white thigh. Ahmeel, Deo, Majong and Rahwal gasped at the sight of the fabulous beauty of her white thighs and her high erect, jutting breasts. They immediately produced erections beneath their loose clothing.
"I have come on what you might call an odyssey of love and truth," she said. "All the kids are doing it. I went to see a famous Guru in Pakistan, but he turned out to be something of a schnook. Now, I'm on my way to visit the Guru of the monastery of Anil Feroze Nanda. Do you know of him?"
"We know of him," Ahmeel intoned. "After we have eaten, we shall tell you all you wish to know of him ... and more."
In the trunk of the tiny car, Myna Birdsley had copious amounts of food and the weary travelers ate until their grumbling stomachs were sated. It was decided that, since all of them could not ride in the tiny Ferrari, they would go back to the Land Rover and siphon the gasoline from the sports car into the larger vehicle. They would all proceed to the village of Naghabad together.
Within an hour, they were back on the road with the Land Rover and Myna Birdsley, sandwiched in the back with Christie, Deo, Majong and Rahwal, was emoting on the great beauties of India and Pakistan and the wealth of goodness that lay ahead of her when she met the beloved Anil Feroze Nanda. Christie felt impelled to inform her of the hated Nanda, but her mood had softened on the monk and she now felt a sort of sad kindness toward him. After all, he had been little different from the other Gurus and, in fact, had been somewhat less nasty than Shah Bir Bikran Lavadoh, and considerably better than the phony Abul Sur Fello. To disappoint the beautiful movie star in her quest for the true meaning of life would be cruel, akin to pulling the wings from butterflies. Perhaps it would be better to steer the lovely actress away from Nanda.
"Our journey is almost at its end," she announced to the actress, "but we would love to have you accompany us on the long voyage back to Calcutta. We shall teach you what we have learned of transcendental meditations and Ahmeel here is almost as good as any Guru I have met. Won't you please come with us?"
The actress stared at her incredulously. "I have spent thousands of dollars and turned down a juicy contract to play Whistler's Mother in a beautiful and erotic movie on the life of the young artist as an old man. I have done all this to seek out the truth and the true meaning of life and love and the eternal soul. I would love to go with you, darlings, but I must proceed on my stated goal. You understand, don't you?"
"Oh yes," Christie gushed. She understood perfectly. But she was almost glad that her own search was ending. She announced to the group that she was not going in search of other Gurus, that her greatest desires were to return to Calcutta and to take the ship back home. From that point on, she decreed, she would live the humble, simple, channeled life. She had, indeed, learned much and she would treasure her experiences and would remember her new friends forever.
"But my mind-soul-body has known much in these past few weeks and I cry for the stillness and peace of home."
The group rejoiced only briefly. Ahmeel was then saddened by the prospect of returning to his humdrum job and his skinny, sexless wife. Deo cried inwardly at the thought of being cast once again in the role of a lonely freak. Majong knew that he would soon be sold back into slavery. Rahwal, remembering the many days and nights in jail, pondered the agony of his next assault on a hated Englishman and subsequent incarceration. Mirini knew that she would soon find happiness with a fine young Indian woman in Calcutta, but she was not happy at losing such a sweet and generous benefactor as Christie. Only GEE GEE felt a continuing joy at the decision to end the odyssey.
The decision was a sad one for Christie Farrell. She failed in her great mission and would return to America without her beloved Guru. The memory of her bad experiences had faded into a vague soreness in her bottom; she had so hoped to return with much more than that for her efforts. Although she was certain that the time in Calcutta, waiting for the ship, would be most delightful from a sexual, soul-body viewpoint, she knew that the rest of her life would be colorless and drab because she had not found her Guru. She would spend her days being taught by the shallow, community-style Gurus and would be denied her own private audiences with these august gentlemen of the mystical world.
But, alas, she had taken nothing with her to India and she was returning with nothing. She and her darling GEE GEE would have traveled halfway around the earth and back ... for what? It was beyond her wisdom to deduce what had been gained ... or lost.
They found gasoline in the village and bought new cans for extra fuel. When they were fully loaded with provisions, they began the journey back to Myna Birdsley's Ferrari. They filled her tank and started once again over the beautiful mountains. The sun blazed like the fury of Buddha on the top of the dust-covered caravan and it was evening before they made their stop for the night, parked in a wide area about another deep precipice.
Far below, in the shadowed valley, they could hear the distant roar of a waterfall. Above, the wind whistled through the shivering teak trees. Stars of a vibrant brilliance shone down past the gleaming mountain peaks and peace once again settled on the towering Himalayas. The men built a roaring fire and the women prepared a delicious dinner of baked potatoes, crisp salad and broiled beef. They ate in silence, staring out at the darkening mountains, enjoying the exhilaration of the stupendous height and the cool, pure mountain air.
"I have a beautiful idea," Christie said. "Let us all talk of the eternal truths we have learned. Let us share our soul-knowledge with the beautiful actress, Myna Birdsley."
"It is an unwise man who does not wish to share the knowledge and the truth with such a beautiful woman," said Ahmeel Balahwar. The Sikh had moved in close to Myna and his right hand now rested on her naked thigh, exposed below the high hem of her mini-skirt. Myna's hand had been inside his trousers for several minutes.
Majong, the slave boy, had taken a recent liking to Mirini and now lay with his head in her lap as she caressed the soft black curls at his forehead. Deo sat at Christie's feet as she was flanked by GEE GEE and Rahwal.
"It is such a beautiful mountain and it is such a beautiful night," Christie said. "I feel a probing wand in the depths of my mind-soul-body and it directs me to enjoy this night to its fullest. Shall we meditate?"'
"It is an unwise man," said Rahwal, "who would refuse such a splendid suggestion." He got up and joined Ahmeel beside the actress.
Christie slid her hand into GEE GEE's open trousers and grasped the hardness it found there.
"Let us all touch each other in a circle around the fire," she said, "and we shall begin the meditation."
They adjusted their positions accordingly, stretched in a small circle around the dying fire, each touching the other. Majong kept his hand firmly entrenched on the crotch of the beautiful Indian girl, Mirini. Mirini, in her turn, grasped the throbbing animal of Deo, the giant, who clasped the left breast of Christie. All around the circle, hands touched flesh and they were prepared for the meditation.
"We must be very silent," Christie said. "When we have erased all worldly thoughts from our minds, then Ahmeel Balahwar shall lead us in a meditation speech. After that, it is quite possible that we shall all fall blissfully into a Yoga trance and spend the night allowing our soul-minds to search for truth and beauty and love."
They were silent for five minutes, although their hands moved slightly on each other. The silence was broken occasionally by small gasps blissful moans and deep utterances of joy. Finally, the deep, sonorous voice of Ahmeel Balahwar began to intone on the high, dark mountain.
"Man is a timid creature who must always seek the truth. The truth-seeker is the soul of earth, the epitome of bliss, the ruler of the spirit. Truth is beauty and beauty is truth. All that man knows or seeks to know must lead to truth. Love, sex, hate, bliss, knowledge, desire, sex, beauty, sadness, sex, happiness, security, sex, (please move your hand a little faster), joy, jealousy, wickedness, want, sex, desire, passion, sex-all these lead to truth; all these are truth. Man is a timid animal who must forever seek these great truths for they are the joy of man and the eternal life hereafter. Amen!"
"Jesus Christ!" cried GEE GEE.
"Bugger the world!" shouted Rahwal. "Darlings!" cooed Myna Birdsley.
"Buddha be damned!" said the slave boy. "Golly Molly!" gasped Christie.
There was no response from Mirini. She had fallen over into the lap of Deo, the giant, and had taken his enormous exposed animal into her delicate mouth.
Rahwal Pindisu stood up abruptly and shucked off his clothing. His enormous brown instrument jutted from his front and glistened under the blazing starlight. He shouted:
"Heaven and earth and all the gods are watching as man and woman seek the immortal and eternal truth!"
As his voice echoed through the deep valley below, a sharp cry of joy from the actress joined the sound. Ahmeel Balahwar had spread the actress' thighs and had rammed his throbbing tool into the soft, secret recesses of her body. Seeing this, GEE GEE tore Christie's skirt from her sweet, pink body and threw it high into the air. It trembled on the night breeze, then wafted to the ground near the fire. The licking flames plucked it from its resting place and caused it to burst into a flare of brilliant light.
More clothing was ripped from feminine bodies and hurled onto the hungry flames. In a wild orgy of destruction, the men fed the flames with their own clothing until all eight of the truth-seekers on the mountain were naked, their bodies reflecting the dancing yellowness of the blazing fire. As though they had rehearsed it, the men quickly took positions with the women: Ahmeel and Rahwal penetrating the waiting, yearning, crying body of the black-haired actress; GEE GEE and the boy Majong devouring Christie from front and back, and Deo plunging his mammoth rod into the sweet convoluting cunny of the Lesbian Mirini.
Screams of joy and pain and agony mingled with the songs of birds and the whispers of the dreamy, whistling wind. Mind-souls soared into the far reaches of truth and beauty as the massive instruments of the men probed and searched and moved with piston-like precision in the juicy orifices. The yellow, beady eyes of a leopard watched from the dark protection of a cluster of bushes, and blinked uncomprehendingly.
Christie Farrell sought her own personal truth upon the thick, short machine of her lover and the slim, penetrating penis of the slave boy who was apparently indulging in his first truth-seeking mission. Her mind left her body and sailed through the wispy dark clouds that became golden with her lust. She longed for even greater truths. As her misted eyes roved over the scene of undulating, heaving, gorging bodies, she yearned for the feel of more male hardness. She wanted Deo in her mouth and Ahmeeel and Rahwal in each hand. But it was a selfish desire and she immediately purged it from her soul-mind.
But the night was indeed young and the seeking of truth was barely underway. The magnitude of the moment overtook the minds and bodies and souls of the weary travelers and they acted without reason, as automatons, as robots blessed with the forgiving and unforgivable direction of an electronic switchboard. The men, without shame, without guilt, withdrew from their selected truth-holes and began to plunge them indiscriminately into anything that was available and enticing.
At one beautiful moment, Christie received her fondest wish. As Mirini and the lovely actress worked furiously on each other in a deadly and contorted clench, Christie found that her body was being penetrated from many sides by all the men. The enormous, throbbing toll of Rahwal Pindisu had insinuated itself into her open and ready posterior channel while, Ahmeel's heady poker sluiced into her gaping sex. The great glistening stanchion of the giant was probing the inner depths of her throat, while her armpits were filled with the hardness of GEE GEE and Majong.
The beauty and vibrancy of the moment caused Christie's body to shudder violently as her mind crashed through barrier after barrier of an almost narcotic and psychedelic experience. Her senses tingled with the mystic powers of a multi-orgasm and she knew deep in the inner recesses of her id that this was truth in its final and maximum form.
She felt her hungry breasts as they were sucked by hungry mouths begin to sear and burn with the yearning of ultimate mystic desire. She was transcended into a total Yoga state and her mind and soul turned inward, seeking the private and holy sanctum that cannot be violated by external forces. Although she responded violently to the surging tide of maleness that engulfed her, her mind knew that the body did so independently and willingly and involuntarily. She was like a machine, an extremely desirable robot, and she performed with a perfection and sensuality that drove her adversaries out of their minds.
Her voice cried out:
"This is the greatest fuck in the history of the world!"
Christie did not hear the expostulations that followed her outcry. Her mind was already delving into the deep and mysterious hollows of eternal truth. A million violins played; a million trumpets blared; a million sweet voices rose in thunderous approval of sex and truth and beauty and life, and Christie rode on the high road of ecstasy into the realm of the gods.
GEE GEE Parkinson was not aware at first that anything at all had happened to his beloved Christie. He kept up his delightful plunging into the soft, wet, receptive puss, uttering his own blissful outcries, listening to the plunging, flailing, ramming sounds of his teammates. His mission completed, he bellowed a great cry in honor of the moment and withdrew to lie panting and spent on the cool grass beside the cliff.
But the orgy continued until the men had satisfied their pent-up and glorious lust when they, too, fell onto the ground to listen to the dying sounds of passion as the two women attained total satisfaction from their duet beside the fire. Then, silence and peace fell upon the weary travelers and the soft Indian night closed around them, a filmy blanket of power and beauty and grandeur. And they slept.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The journey toward Calcutta continued early the following morning, but GEE GEE Parkinson was not convinced that everything was in order; that nothing had been left behind. Although Christie moved about and spoke, there was a vacancy about her. Her eyes remained open, but did not seem to focus on anything they saw. She answered questions hollowly, woodenly, as a robot.
When they reached the road to the Nanda monastery, Myna Birdsley left the caravan, in spite of their warnings and pleadings for her to accompany them to Calcutta.
"Posh," she said, pooh-poohing their warnings. "I am certain that Anil Feroze Nanda is a wise and good man. I have come here to seek the truth and, by God, I shall find it before I return to Hollywood-if I ever do return to Hollywood."
They had learned that Myna had just received a divorce from her husband, a noted British singer, just before leaving on her odyssey to Pakistan. They could not blame her for seeking the truth, but they wished she would heed their warnings about the dreaded Nanda.
In time the Land Rover made its way through the beautiful and almost haunting mountains to Katmandu, where Ahmeel was to leave them to get his job back. They would take the regular bus back to Calcutta. When GEE GEE told Christie that they had arrived in the capital of Nepal and that they would have to split with their beloved friends, she smiled vacantly and looked at each of them in turn.
"Oh, my dear, fond, beautiful, darling people," she said, a tear spilling from her left eye. "I cannot tell you how abysmally sorrowful I am at this very moment. My darling Ahmeel, I shall always remember your kindnesses and your tenderness and your wisdom."
"It is an unwise man," the Sikh said, wiping a tear from his own eye, "who cannot feel the torture and the agony at a moment such as this. I must admit that, when I first saw you wonderful people on my bus, my mind was only lustful. Since then, I have learned many truths. I have learned of your compassion and of your humanness and I know that I shall miss you terribly. If I could say one magic word that would cause you to stay in our sunny, glorious land, I would say it without hesitation."
"And my darling Majong," Christie said, placing her hands on the slave boy's dark curls. "You have been a source of great pleasure and I shall think of you often."
"And I," Majong cried, "shall never forget you." He pressed his erection against her thigh and felt at her crotch.
"My darling Mirini," Christie said, turning to the sweet Indian girl. "It is your compassion and your concern for my safety that saved me from a terrible fate with the hated Abul Sur Fello. How can I ever thank you enough?"
"You have done so by being my companion for a few days," the girl said. She kissed Christie's lips and massaged her breasts. "I shall always love you."
"And you, my darling Rahwal," Christie said. "You who have much personal misery and such dreaded memories. I wish you great happiness in life."
The tall Sikh bent low and kissed each of Christie's breasts through the thin blouse.
"My sword will always be at your disposal," he said. "If you should return to my country, I shall be waiting for you."
Christie turned to the giant and took his great hands in hers. He pushed forward and she felt his enormous rod poking at her groin.
"Deo," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I have saved you for last because I love you so. If I should live to be a thousand and one, I shall ... I shall...."
Her voice trailed into silence and she looked at the giant with unseeing eyes. Her body suddenly went rigid and she stood as though turned to concrete. Her eyes were open, but were covered with a fine blue mist. Her face wore a smile, a pleasant look of one in the throes of total enjoyment.
The beautiful blonde American girl did not answer. She held the giant's hands for a moment, then her hands dropped lifeless to her sides. Her body shuddered, but the look of absolute delight never left her face.
"Jesus Christ," GEE GEE said. "We'd better get her to a doctor."
The giant, Deo, needed no coaching; he picked the silent, almost rigid girl up and placed her gingerly on the front seat of the Land Rover.
* * *
A rather motley crew sat in the big waiting room of the State Hospital of Katmandu. The brilliant white of the walls were in sharp contrast to their mood as they waited for the doctor to come from the emergency treatment room to give them news of their beloved Christie. They had taken her directly to a local doctor who, after a very brief examination, had ordered that she be rushed immediately to the hospital. GEE GEE was certain that she had picked up a rare Indian disease during their travels; or perhaps it was merely physical exhaustion.
He sat with Deo and Ahmeeel and Mirini and Rahwal and Majong in the hard chairs and waited. He thought of cabling Christie's father and decided that he would not do that until he had made the proper arrangements for his suicide. As a protector, he had been a dismal failure. The odors of strong disinfectant rolled along the tepid air of the corridor and trapped them in the waiting room. GEE GEE, himself, felt faint and slightly ill. But he knew it was from worry over his beloved Christie.
A door opened somewhere along the corridor and sharp footsteps sounded through the hospital. A nurse came into the waiting room and summoned GEE GEE.
"The doctor wants to see you," she said. "There is a small office this way. Please come." He followed the nurse after assuring his friends that he would return. The doctor was a small, dark, very serious man with straight black hair and a thin mustache. He spoke quite crisply, without compassion as he beckoned GEE GEE to sit. "Cigarette?"
"No thank you," GEE GEE said. "How is Miss Farrell?"
"Ah yes, Miss Farrell."
The doctor swiveled in his chair and looked through the Venetian blinds to the park beyond the hospital. The hot Nepalese sun baked the dark green grass and the small trees and warmed the waters of a sparkling fountain in the center of the park. He studied the bright scene for several minutes, then swiveled back to GEE GEE.
"A most unusual case," he said. "We have called in a psychiatrist. He is with her now. There is nothing physically wrong with the girl ... she has no diseases and no physical problems."
"Are you saying that she's nuts?"
"Ah yes," the doctor said. "A quaint American word. I learned it when I was in the medical school at Ohio State University. Perhaps the girl is nuts, as you say, but I don't believe that is the current problem. The psychiatrist will join us shortly."
They waited and GEE GEE finally accepted a cigarette and the two men smoked for a half hour. The door opened and another short man with dark, straight hair, entered the room. He was clean-shaven and somewhat older than the doctor.
"This is Dr. Larvhram," the doctor said, introducing the psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist went to the window and studied the park in the afternoon sun. He stood quietly for several moments, then turned and lit a cigarette.
"A very unusual case," he said. "I had to use hypnotism to reach the girl. She is in a sort of catatonic state."
"What in hell does that mean?" GEE GEE asked. He was growing considerably more impatient as the little bastards stalled. "What's wrong with her?"
The two doctors looked at each other silently, then turned to GEE GEE. The psychiatrist spoke: "Somehow," he said, with measured words, "the young lady has gone into a trance. I cannot shake her from it. She apparently has been in this trance for some days and within the past hour or so has gone deeper. Something is happening to her in this trance and that 'something' is taking an immense toll on her physical and nervous system."
"This is all a bunch of gobbledygook to me," GEE GEE said. "What the hell could be happening to her in the trance?"
The psychiatrist sat on the edge of the desk and began to ask numerous questions. In time, GEE GEE told him of all their experiences in India, Tibet, Pakistan and Nepal. Reluctantly, he even told of their casual orgies and, of course, the big one on the mountain several days before. When had finished, the doctors looked at each other once more, then the psychiatrist turned to GEE GEE.
"That explains much," he said. "I knew what was happening before you spoke, but the background now confirms why it is happening."
"Why what is happening?"
"Young man," Dr. Larvhram said with a kind and compassionate voice, "your good friend is undergoing constant sexual intercourse."
Only the twilight zone of his mind heard the long explanation of Christie's condition from the small, dark psychiatrist. The doctor explained that the girl's experiences with the Gurus and her innocent experiments with trances and transcendental motivations had triggered a natural sexual-ism which, combined with a trance, produced the unusual situation. Apparently, Christie Farrell was sexually as well as intellectually aroused by the mysticism offered by the monks and Yogis and the entire realm of mystical knowledge and power had thus engendered her with the crude and innocent power of mind over matter.
Since it was sexual desire which motivated the girl, it was only natural that sexual power would be the one to overcome her in the final analysis. In her present catatonic state, she was enjoying the actual stages of sexual intercourse, including the mystical belief that her body was being invaded by an imaginary organ, but could not climax. The lack of final fulfillment was literally tearing her body apart.
"Okay," GEE GEE said at last. "You're the doctor and I have to go on what you say. So, what's the solution?"
"Frankly," Dr. Larvhram said, pressing the tips of his fingers together, "I don't know. I have a suggestion for a possible solution, but I have no idea if it would work."
"What is it?"
"Before I became a psychiatrist," the doctor said, "I dabbled quite a bit in mysticism. At one time, I was known as the most expert Guru in all of Nepal. The solution is for someone versed in Yoga to have intercourse with the young lady and to induce a catatonic trance on himself. In that way, both of them will achieve climax and the spell should be broken. It is certainly worth a try."
"All right," GEE GEE said after a long deliberation. "You can try it. But I want one thing straight. I'm going to be in the room while the treatment is being given."
The psychiatrist stood up and suppressed a smile.
"As you say in America," he said, "be my guest."
* * *
Christie lay on the white sheets of the hospital bed, her legs spread wide and her face still plastered with the smile of ecstasy. GEE GEE Parkinson sat in a chair in one corner of the immaculate white room and watched the proceedings with great despair and trepidation as the psychiatrist performed his clinical ablutions.
The doctor had scrubbed his genitals thoroughly with strong soap and, with the help of a dark and pretty nurse, had produced a somewhat sizable erection. The nurse, wearing a face mask, rolled a rubber object onto the doctor's instrument, then retired from the room.
Dr. Larvhram turned to face GEE GEE. He, too, wore a face mask and his hands were covered with rubber gloves. He smiled above the cloth mask and approached the bed. GEE GEE felt a ping in his heart and wished that some other medical solution were apparent. He remembered his promise to Christie's father and his mind reeled with the number of violations he had permitted. He kept telling himself that this violation was medically necessary and therefore did not really count against him.
The psychiatrist climbed onto the bed and knelt between the spread thighs of the pretty, blonde American girl. Outside, the sun had dipped behind the mountains and the park was in deep shadow. Lights had begun to play on the fountain and people walked slowly in the dull light of dusk. GEE GEE gripped the arms of his chair as the doctor lifted the thin nightgown of his beloved Christie and exposed the cleft of her aching sex.
"Observe," Dr. Larvhram said, holding his rubber-gloved hands in the air, "that the patient is not to be mauled sexually. This is truly a medical treatment."
GEE GEE felt himself erecting in spite of it. Somehow, he could not think of the act as a medical treatment. He stared at the enticing bundle of sex at Christie's middle, and at the twin mounds of her breasts, heaving under the thin nightgown. He wished he knew more about mysticism so that he could take the good doctor's place.
"And now," said the doctor, "the medical instrument approaches the patient. Contact is made and the operation is underway."
The naked doctor dropped heavily onto the smiling girl and his enormous stanchion disappeared into her body. GEE GEE stood up to get a better view.
"Observe," said the doctor. "A slow and methodic motion, a medically practiced motion, not the actions of a lecherous animal. This is purely in the interest of medical science."
"Of course," GEE GEE said. He wished the pretty nurse would return for a medical experiment he had in mind.
The doctor made several thrusts and then his gloved hands lowered and closed over the jutting breasts. GEE GEE moved close. The doctor turned and his eyes smiled over the cloth mask.
"A necessary maneuver," he said. "Each detail of the ordinary act must be duplicated precisely or her body will recognize it as a fraud and reject it."
GEE GEE nodded and the doctor continued. He brought his body down hard on the girl and, in a moment of desperation, ripped the mask from his face and kissed the smiling face.
"You understand," he said, coming up for air, "that the kiss is part of the total medical concept."
"Of course."
Within a very few seconds, the rubber gloves had been discarded and the doctor was charging away with his treatment. GEE GEE watched with growing concern and accelerating passion. He ran to the window to avoid watching the riotous act on the bed and watched the somber scene in the park. The fountain provided the only life to be seen and he stared at the multi-colored lights that played on the spouting waters. When he heard the doctor cry out, he turned.
The man had lost all medical decorum now and was whaling away at the girl like a madman. Christie's legs had come up to encircle the doctor's slim waist and the two of them were engulfed in a wild and raucous physical act that defied all medical reason.
Then he heard Christie's voice cry out and he knew that the good doctor's plan had worked.
"Oh, fuck me GEE GEE!" Christie screamed. "Fuck me, my darling GEE GEE, my darling precious!"
And GEE GEE lifted his head to the stars that were beginning to appear in the darkening sky and thanked the gods that everything was all right once more.
* * *
"My darling GEE GEE," Christie said as they stood on the deck of the ship and looked down at their marvelous friends on the dock. "I can't bear to part with my darling Ahmeel and Deo and Mirini and Rahwal and Majong and Dr. Larvhram. do you think we could take them with us?"
"Good God no!" GEE GEE groaned. "Look, Christie, you gave them money to get them started again in life and you gave them as much of yourself as medical science will permit. Please, let them stay here. Just hold your breath until the ship gets out of the harbor and you'll be over the heartbreak."
Christie waved to her darling friends who smiled up at her from below. Her eyes were filled with tears and her heart with fond memories.
"I suppose you're right," she said. "They will be happier in their own country. Besides, I doubt if they would like Africa."
GEE GEE felt his heart turn to stone. He stared at his beloved Christie and his mind tried to reverse time. She hadn't really said anything about Africa and, God willing, she never would But she had.
As the ship pulled away from the pier and eased its huge body out into the wide, beautiful river for its long voyage down to the sea, they waved until their fond and darling friends were mere dots on the horizon. The blazing Indian sun warmed the steel decks of the ship and GEE GEE led his beloved Christie to their stateroom. He mixed strong drinks and, when they were seated close together on the room's single couch, Christie turned to GEE GEE and pressed his thigh. He felt himself erecting and he responded by squeezing her breast through her thin summer blouse.
"Oh my darling GEE GEE," she said, her face a study in radiance, her voice a bell tone of happiness. "We will have so much fun in Africa. We will enjoy even greater mystical experiences in our eternal quest for truth and beauty and love and the true meaning of life?"
"In Africa?" His voice was tight and high. He couldn't believe he was hearing what the girl was saying.
"Oh yes," she gushed, insinuating her soft pink hand into his trousers. "They don't have any Gurus there, but I don't care about them anymore. We have learned all that we can learn from the Gurus."
"But what can we learn from the Africans?"
"Oh my darling GEE GEE," she said, wrapping her fingers tightly around the hard object in his lap. "I have heard that the fertility dances in some of the African tribes are so mystifying and so fabulous and beautiful in their deep and intense search for truth that even the audiences who watch them are placed in great and beautiful and mystical trances. We shall go there to witness these magnificent fertility dances my darling GEE GEE. And we shall take part in them. Aren't you just thrilled to pieces?"
GEE GEE Parkinson drained his glass and quickly poured another drink. He stared down at the exposed white thighs of his beloved Christie and thought of the numerous immense dark African machines that would come literally out of nowhere to attack the girl. But he was powerless to dissuade her from her latest odyssey and so he proceeded with his advantage and laid the girl back on the couch.
"Aren't you thrilled?" she asked again, pressing her breast into his hungry mouth.
GEE GEE came up for air and smiled into the deep azure eyes of the girl. His fingers caressed the silken blonde hair and his groin ached at her tender touch.
