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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: 7 Bikini Brigade part 7 of 22 (NND) dec13
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BIKINI BRIGADE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Seven
Night was falling as the two little peanuts entered the marsh.
None of the gingermen had deigned to go with them. They wished to
complain about it to Licorice Lad but, considering the matter, they
decided to go get royal robes made for themselves, first. Royal robes,
plus beautiful candy staffs. Perhaps then, decked out in fine attire,
they’d be able to order the gingermen to do their bidding. If not,
then, after ingratiating themselves again with Licorice Lad, they’d
bring up the matter with him. Then they’d put any gingermen who didn’t
do as they were told in the dungeon.
“We’ll be very important soon,” Percy said to Paul.
“Yes,” Paul agreed. “Then all the gingermen will do as we tell
them, and off with their heads if they don’t!”
“And no more having to work downstairs in the kitchen for us!”
Percy added.
“Yes,” Paul agreed. “All those years, serving the Sultan.
Baking pies, and making peanut brittle, and emptying the garbage. I’m
glad Licorice Lad’s in charge. Now we’ll be important!”
“Yes! We’ll be important peanuts!”
“Very, very important peanuts. Retainers to the Sultan
himself-- Licorice Lad!”
“Right!” Percy agreed.
They found an old raft near the roadway. It was made of bamboo
that had been cut down and lashed together with vines. They got on it
and, taking a pole conveniently left lying on its deck, they pushed
their way out into the muck of Molasses Moor.
The moon rose, but they could not see it, in amidst the
overhanging branches. Percy lit a latern. Then he got a compass out of
his pocket. He studied it.
“That way,” Percy whispered to Paul. The peanut nodded and
poled in the direction Percy had indicated, shoving their pole down into
the swamp and pushing, where he could find it, against its bottom.
They poled through brackish syrup. They passed fudgesicles
growing in crabgrass. They gazed at a grey heron sitting atop a
fudgesicle and he gazed back at them. He had beady eyes. His bill
looked large enough to swallow them whole, if he should choose to have
them for his supper instead of the cookie goldfish that swam in the
depths of the swamp. A sooty tern passed quickly overhead, going
somewhere in the dark.
A ripe mango dropped with a plop somewhere. It fell into the
molasses which now surrounded their raft and extended for miles around
them. The two peanuts shivered. There was no land here. If their raft
overturned, they’d sink into the muck and never see their happy peanut
fields again. They’d die a color Licorice Lad liked, though; both of
them coated a deep, rich, chocolaty brown, almost his favorite color,
black.
“Did you hear something?” Percy peanut asked his friend
quietly.
“No. Did you?” Paul replied.
“I thought I did. But hopefully I didn’t,” Percy said. Then
he thought he heard it again. It was a slow, slushing sound, as of
something trying to rise out of a watery grave. They passed under the
moss of a cypress tree.
“OOOGOOOLOOOOP!” sounded loudly to their right. The two
peanuts screamed and grabbed at each other. Paul dropped their pole and
it sank quickly into the muck.
Slowly a figure rose up from the depths of the swamp. He was
quite large. He dripped with molasses. He had large eyes that rolled
almost aimlessly in his head. His tongue drooped from his mouth. There
was a crooked smile on his face. He lifted his arms and seemed to grow
and grow, until he towered over their small raft. If the raft hadn’t
bumped up against a cypress when he appeared, it might well have
overturned. His rising, quick and reckless, caused dangerous waves to
go rolling across the swamp.
“Molasses Moe!” the two small peanuts cried.
“Who are Yooooou?” the large, brownish monster asked. He bent
down and peered at the peanuts. He seemed to be nearsighted and he had
to put his head quite close to them to see them.
“We are peanuts!” Paul said. “On business of the Sultan!”
“Are you nice peanuts?” Moe asked.
“Very, very nice peanuts!” Percy said.
The large molasses-covered monster took a bite out of a
fudgesicle he was holding. Then he asked, “How very nice are you?”
“We are so nice--” Percy began.
Moe chewed loudly. His mouth made goopy noises as he chewed.
“Do yooou know the golden rule?” Moe asked.
“Do unto other peanuts as you would have them do unto you!”
Paul said quickly.
Moe frowned. “Hmmmm,” he said. He kept chewing. Then he
swallowed, somehow, and took another bite out of his fudgesicle.
“That’s not the golden rule I know,” he said.
“What is it, then?” Percy asked.
“It’s--” Moe said. He paused and swallowed. “It’s doooo unto
others,” he said. He took a new bite of his fudgesicle and then
proceeded to speak while chewing it. “It’s doooo unto others, as you
would have them do unto you. That means me too! And I’m not a peanut.”
“Do-- uh,” Paul began. “Do unto others as you would have them
do unto you,” Paul gasped. It was horrifying, having to look at the
monster’s big, goopy mouth, so near, and so able to swallow them both if
he chose to. Especially with those large, rolling eyes above it, eyes
that might not see what he was eating, and might not care, so long as it
was chewable.
“That’s pretty goop!” Molasses Moe said. He ended his sentence
by taking another bite out of his fudgesicle, even though he hadn’t
quite finished chewing and swallowing the previous one.
“Thanks,” Paul breathed.
“Here, let me be nice too, and get your pole,” Moe offered.
“You dropped it.” He oozed down toward the swamp’s surface, until
little more than his eyes were above it. He seemed to move under the
raft. Then, suddenly, he thrust up their pole with one of his goopy
arms, almost overturning their raft a second time. “Here it is. I
found it! I’m a nice monster,” Moe declared. He handed them a very
drippy pole, all covered with syrup.
“Uh, thanks,” Paul said, for without the pole, they’d have been
stuck in the swamp, with no way to move their raft through it. All the
same, it was quite sticky, and he disliked having to handle such a
drippy, sticky pole.
“Bye, bye,” Moe said. “Have a nice trip through my swamp. I
like being able to be nice, to nice people.”
“Yes,” Paul agreed. Percy nodded with the same hasty agreement
as Paul, both of them hoping to be rid of the monster.
“Bye, bye again,” Moe said, a little lonely perhaps, not
wanting to leave them.
“Sultan’s business,” Percy said, hoping to move the monster out
of their way.
“Wait,” Moe said. He rose up again, but more slowly this
time. “We have a new Sultan now, don’t we?” The peanuts looked at each
other. Hesistantly, they nodded. “Is he a nice Sultan?” Moe asked.
“He’s uh--” Percy said.
“I hear he’s not such a nice Sultan,” Moe said. “Does he know
the golden rule?”
“Hopefully he’s a nice Sultan,” Paul offered.
“Hmmmm,” Moe said. “I wish I could go to the Citadel and ask
him. I only want nice people to be able to pass through my swamp.”
“How about--” Paul thought fast. “How about this?” he said.
“He taught us a Niceness Song, and told us to sing it to you, to prove
he’s very nice.”
Molasses Moe brightened. He even forgot to take another bite
out of his fudgesicle. “A niceness song?” he asked. “I like songs.
Especially nice ones!”
“Yep,” Paul said, nudging Percy, and giving his companion a
nervous wink. “The Niceness song:
“I am so Nice,
Some people are like ice.
But not me,
If you please,
I choose to, uh, beee
Nice!”
“Yippeee!” Molasses Moe cried. He clapped his big, goopy hands
together and molasses went flying all over, spattering the trees, and
both peanuts and their raft. Their pole, already sticky, got even
stickier. “That’s a wonderful song!” Moe said. “Could you please teach
it to me?”
“Um, okay,” Paul said.
“Can you remember it?” Percy asked, knowing his friend had just
made it up, a moment before.
“I certainly hope so,” Paul said.
We stood in the courtyard of Fruitcake Fort. It lay high up in
the gumdrop mountains. Sugar, mixed with snow, was falling rather
heavily as we stepped down from the carriage. I rubbed my wrists. They
were free again. I flexed my arms. They were sore from having been
pulled back behind me all morning. I brushed flakes of sugar and snow
off my breasts. I looked over at Katie. She wrapped her arms around
herself.
“It’s snowing,” Katie said. Sugar and snow fell on her hair,
making her look as if she had dandruff.
I gazed up at the walls of the fort. They rose high around
us. I saw perhaps three dozen gingermen. A flag was flying. It had a
picture of a berry-filled fruitcake on it.
“Arrest them,” Freddie said, behind me. He was stepping down
out of our carriage. He spoke to some of the gingermen standing around
us in the courtyard. I assumed he meant myself, and Katie, and I turned
around to see why we must be tied again, after having just been
released.
A cry went up. It was a cry from one of the gingermen who had
guarded us on our journey. A moment later there was a full-blown
scuffle, and then a fight. The gingermen fought each other. Those in
the courtyard, surrounding our carriage, against our guards.
“What’s happening?” Katie asked. Her eyes were wide. So were
mine. Were our guards, who’d tied us up so many times, trying to keep
us from being arrested? What could it all mean?
Freddie jumped clear of the fight. He watched dispassionately
as the gingermen in the courtyard wrestled our four guards to the
ground. Suddenly, our carriage lurched forward. It bolted for the
gates of the fort.
“Stop the carriage!” Freddie yelled to the gingermen in the
courtyard. Our driver, heretofore a most compliant and obedient man,
whipped the Clydesdales hard, putting them into a gallop as they neared
the fort’s gates. They were just closing, but the horses, stung hard by
the whip, managed to wrench the carriage through them. Glistening sugar
plums got knocked off the sides of the carriage as it scraped between
the closing gates.
“Stop the--” Freddie yelled. His eyes were wild. “Dammit!
The driver! Get the driver-- kill him if you must!” Gingermen bolted
through the gates of the fort and ran after the carriage. But the
carriage was fast and the gingermen were not fast runners. Though I
could not see very far beyond the gates, it seemed to me that they would
not catch it.
I turned back to where the carriage had been and found our four
guards being bound up, their hands tied behind them with licorice.
“What’s happening?” Katie asked again.
“You will not be going to the Citadel,” Freddie said. He
turned to myself and Katie.
“Where-- where will we be going?” Katie asked.
“You are welcome to stay here,” Freddie said. “Stay and help
us fight for the freedom of Candyland.” I looked at the gingermen who
surrounded us.
“They do not work for the Sultan?” I asked.
“No,” Freddie said. “Certainly not for Licorice Lad. And
perhaps not for the old Sultan either. They are all members of the
Gingerman Autonomy movement. Freedom for the Gingermen, and all that.
I’ve been trying to work out, in code of course, so the guards could not
read it, how to free Candyland. That’s what all this paperwork was
about, that I was doing on our trip,” he said. He gestured to the
papers under his arm. “We are heavily outnumbered, but perhaps there is
a way. Certainly this fort is a strong position, and even if we cannot
take the Citadel, we will be a long time in having to surrender.” He
paused. “At least, I hope so,” he added. He waved at the sky. “The
snow helps. Snow, and the heights of the mountains.”
“This is a new development,” I said, stating the obvious. I
knew not what else to say.
“We’d better get inside. There’s a storm coming,” Freddie
said. “Lots of children must be dreaming of candy tonight. We shall go
inside, and discuss things further.”
“Wow. I wish I was built like that,” Al said. They gazed at a
column of figures trudging along the road. The figures were advancing
toward them. The figures had chocolaty brown trousers and bare, sugary
chests.
“They look-- they look like gingerbread men,” Wilma said.
“Of course! We’re in some damn amusement park. What do you
expect?” Matilda asked.
“It’s a rather big amusement park,” Glenda said. They’d been
walking for hours along the coast and seen only meadows of wild grasses.
“Well, a back lot of some movie studio, then,” Matilda said.
“But we’ll get some answers now, from these blokes. And better answers
than that gibberish that guy in the bear costume managed to give us, or
my name’s not Matilda Brunswald!”
The gingerbread men marched up to the four people as they stood
in the road. As they came close, they did not slow their pace, or seem
to even notice the people. But they obviously expected the people to
get out of their way, because the lead gingerman did not move aside as
he closed with them.
“OW!” Matilda cried. “You stepped on my foot!”
“Move aside! Government business!” the gingerman said in a
deep, bellowing voice. He looked at Matilda with the vacant stare of
one who holds power, regarding one who does not.
“Government business?” Glenda asked, frowning. She stepped
back a little, to the edge of the road, lest the gingermen should choose
to walk right over Matilda. For her part, Matilda, though jumping up
and down now, on account of having her foot stomped on, did not yield to
the gingermen.
“We are on business of Licorice Lad, the new Sultan. He is the
government, and we are on his business,” the gingerman said.
“Well you still stepped on my foot, and that’s rude.
Especially for a Man!” Matilda growled. She whacked the gingerman with
her hand. He seemed not to notice. On the other hand, she seemed to
derive a certain amount of pain from the gesture. “OWWW!” Matilda cried
again, this time rubbing her hand.
“Move, human! Government business!” the gingerman roared.
“I am not moving. I *am* the government!” Matilda replied,
stamping her foot. It was the foot the gingerman had stepped on and she
said “OW!” as it hit the ground.
The gingerman shoved Matilda aside with a wave of his big,
sugary arm. She went sprawling across the roadway and landed near the
grass. Glenda stepped back further, into the meadow, as did Wilma and
Al.
The gingermen marched on.
“Good day to you!” Al called to them as they passed. They
followed the road up over a hill and into the meadows beyond.
“Those are the rudest--” Matilda said, sitting up in the
roadway. “We must have them arrested!” She lifted a finger into the
air. She pointed it at Al. “Al, go arrest them!” she told him.
“Me?!” Al said. His bald head gleamed in the late afternoon
sun and he hunched his shoulders. “Why do I have to go arrest them?”
“Because you’re a Man, that’s why,” Matilda said.
“Yes, but I’m a sissy too,” Al said. Glenda looked at him.
“I wouldn’t disagree with that,” Glenda said.
“Let’s just keep walking,” Wilma said.
“We’ve walked and walked and slept overnight in this damn grass
and now we’re walking again,” Matilda said. “I’ve never walked so much
in my life! Usually I just have to walk across someone’s front yard to
arrest them, or I have to walk from the parking lot of the courthouse to
the courthouse. All this walking is killing my feet.”
“Well, it’s not doing a thing for mine,” Al said. Matilda
glared at him in response.
“Maybe we’ll meet somebody nice,” Wilma said. She began
walking in the direction they’d been heading.
“I hope so!” Matilda said. “I do indeed hope so.” She
followed Wilma. “And the person had better be very, very nice, or I’ll
have them arrested!”
Tommy Troll held on for dear life to the back of the eclair.
It passed beyond Peanut Province and out over the coastline. It dipped
low and glided across the waves rolling in to the beach. Suddenly, it
did a barrel-roll, through the top of a breaking wave.
“Eeeeyah!” Tommy cried. He was torn from the back of the
eclair by the force of the water. At once the eclair leapt up. It
spurted a spume of cream out of its peehole, which lifted it skyward and
splattered all over Tommy.
The troll was washed ashore by the wave. He found himself
lying faceup on the beach. He lay panting. His clothes were wet. His
face was covered with cream. As he drew in a breath a big wave came
crashing in and landed right on top of him.
“Ackck!” Tommy gasped. When he had managed to cough up all the
soda pop that had washed down his throat he sat up in the sand. Then,
quickly, he moved higher up the beach, lest he be drenched again, or
washed out to sea.
“Damn eclair,” Tommy muttered. He kicked at a seashell. It
went skittering across the sand. He hated having wet clothes. It was
his job to get other people’s clothes wet, by knocking them off his
bridge when they didn’t have a toll to pay him. “Well, at least I’m
home,” Tommy said. He gazed up at the cliffs overhead. “More or less,
that is, once I’ve climbed up these damned cliffs and done some
walking. Home sweet home!” the troll said. He rubbed his hands
together. Then he looked at the sky. The sun would be setting soon.
“No matter,” he said. “I’ll walk all night if I have to, if the moon’s
out, so I don’t have to spend another night away from home.” He felt
his pockets. They were empty. He had no pretty gold coins, which
trolls love having, but which the gingermen had taken from him after
catching him turning Gumdrop Guy’s mountains into salt. “And no more
lost tolls, either,” Tommy said. “After tonight, I’ll be home, and I
dare anyone to cross my bridge without paying me a toll.” He trudged up
the beach. “Except for the gingermen, of course,” he grumbled. “They
always manage to cross without paying me, the big oafs!”
As a storm swirled outside, we huddled round the warmth of a
fire inside a room in the Fruitcake Fort. Freddie told us stories about
Candyland. We ate lots of fruitcake. Katie and I were happy. We were
no longer being tied and untied by the guards. Now they were the ones
who wore licorice bonds. They were imprisoned in a roofed stockade. I
hoped they were uncomfortable, in their bonds. I felt a little sorry
for our cook, but it couldn’t be helped, I guessed. We had a new cook
now. A gingerman who was part of the Gingerman Autonomy movement, and
worked for Freddie. He made us whatever we liked. We sipped hot
chocolate. We munched for dessert on preserved apples and snow-chilled
bon bons.
“Now there’s a story,” Freddie said.
“What?” Katie asked eagerly. She tossed a bon bon in the air
and tried to catch it in her mouth. Instead, it landed between her
breasts, in her bra. “Oops,” she said. She blushed. Awkwardly she
fished it out. Then she carefully put it in her mouth and chewed it.
“Bon Bon Bibi,” Freddie said. “She’s a big, fat woman, who’s
never been able to find a husband.” He grinned and looked at Katie.
“And it doesn’t help her that she eats bon bons all day.”
“Mmm. That sounds like fun!” Katie, her mouth filled with one,
said happily.
“Yes, well, she’s had a little too much fun, I’m afraid,”
Freddie said. “North of here, down off the northern slopes of these
mountains, there’s a huge forest. Nothing but bon bon trees for miles
around.”
“I didn’t know bon bons grew on trees,” I said.
“They do in Candyland,” Freddie said. “Anyway, she wanders the
forest, stuffing her mouth with bon bons all day and all night. Gumdrop
Guy told her he’d marry her if she quit eating bon bons and ate gumdrops
instead. Of course, she’s as bossy as he is, so there was no agreement
between those two. She tried to get him to eat nothing but bon bons.
He tried to get her to eat nothing but gumdrops. So they broke up, of
course, barely able to stand one another. I thought maybe she’d go for
Molasses Moe, but I guess he’s just too messy, even for her.”
Katie reached for another bon bon. I looked at her.
“Thinking of joining her?” I asked her.
“Nope. But I like them,” Katie said. She tossed another one
in the air but it landed on the floor by her hips. We were sitting on
the floor, on a soft carpet, in front of a fire, in our bikinis.
Freddie sat in a large chair, relishing being home again in his
Fruitcake Fort.
“And who will you marry?” I asked, looking up at Freddie. He
cast his eyes down at me.
“I’m gay,” Freddie said.
“Gay?!” Katie asked. “What’s that?”
Freddie grinned. “It means I like Licorice Lad,” Freddie said.
“You do?” Katie asked. “I thought you were going to war
against him!”
“I am,” Freddie said. “He rejected my advances. So now I
shall take him by force!”
I felt my heart sink. Surely they could be together, if they
both liked each other. But I didn’t care for the idea of Freddie using
force to bring Licorice Lad to his bed, any more than I liked having
myself be his prisoner.
“That’s why I went and got you girls,” Freddie said, looking
down at us. “So he couldn’t have you. Hopefully he’ll think of me at
night, instead of you two. In any event, you’re free to do as you
please. Would you like to help me catch him and bring him to justice?”
There was a gleam in Freddie’s eye. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
“I don’t know,” I said. And, truly, I didn’t know what to
think. I had hoped we’d finally been freed, and found a safe place, but
things seemed to be just as topsy-turvy now as when we first found out
we were in Candyland.
“I just want to eat bon bons,” Katie replied. She tossed
another one in the air. It hit her chin. She was getting better, at
least, even if she wasn’t quite able to catch them yet.
30
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