“Then there is no woman in the house,” I observed.
“I woman!” She was indignant. “Much woman! You come right time now see.” She motioned me to follow her as if by way of explanation.
Ti Nih led the way to the cave part of the dwelling. We passed between a pair of lavish draperies and I found myself in a sort of sitting-room with a teak floor and some yakskin rugs thrown about. Four young men were waiting there. They were sitting on low, wide ottonians, also covered with yak hide. Ti Nih motioned me to a chair while she herself stretched out on a couch. It was a little like being the tenth man to arrive at a minyan. Now that I was here, the rites could proceed apace.
They did. Ti Nih Baapuh produced a pipe with a large bowl and a long stem connected to a container filled with some kind of liquid. It was the kind of pipe used by opium smokers, but the shredded gook she proceeded to tamp down in the bowl wasn’t opium. It was a blend of hashish and some kind of aphrodisiac which is known in Persia as bhang. But Ti Nih’s Tibetan version added yet one more ingredient -- raowolfa, the leaf from India which contains a hallucinatory drug of the LSD type. It was a potent mixture.
Ti Nih sucked on the pipe for about five minutes and then passed it on to one of the young men. She began writhing on the couch and moaning low in her throat. Her eyes were like ebony pinballs in a state of electric shock.
By the time the pipe had been passed along to the second man, Ti Nih was tearing at the bodice of the long, loose, rough-woven garment she was wearing. As the third man started puffing at the bhang mixture, she parted the garment in the middle and exposed her large, firm, golden breasts to our view. The brown aureoles were large as half dollars, the maroon tips springing from their centers long and quivering, aglow with desire. The garment was forced down over her lush hips by the spasms of trembling which had seized her body as the fourth man received the pipe. When he’d finished it was down around her ankles. She kicked it to the floor.
Now it was my turn. I took the pipe, determined to try to fake it. But with all eyes darting from her to me impatiently, waiting for me to finish so that the second phase of the rites might begin, it wasn’t easy to pretend. I couldn’t help getting a few lungfuls.
The first one merely made me cough. After that there were more marked effects. The focus of my eyes altered and everything I looked at took on a razor-edge clarity; the colors became more intense; the shapes and forms of objects and flesh were perceived in depth. The top of my head seemed to be trying to disattach itself from the rest of the cranium; it was an odd sensation, not so much painful as nerveless—-almost as if my synapses had been snapped. But the third result was the most marked and it tended to overwhelm the other two. This was a tumescence in the obvious part of my body, but a localized tumescence. No, it was as if the rigidity had spread from my toes to my forehead, as if it had claimed my entire body and converted it into a phallus.
I put the pipe aside. I was the last smoker and the others reacted to the movement as if it was a signal. There were only four of them, but they swarmed over Ti Nih like they were an army of locusts and she was a crop of Pall Malls in the raw.
I was slower than they, but the bhang had me moving with them, tumescent from top to toe, a phallus looking or a nesting place. Ti Nih was as eager to receive us as we were to claim her. Young as she was, she spread out there like the universal whore, all-knowing, all-demanding, a thirsty vessel no amount of love juice could fill.
It’s only in retrospect that I can appreciate that I was a participant in one of the most unusual practices of polyandry, a woman having multiple sex with five men, an act of “Bon,” compounded by drugs—a Bon-bhang-bang, if you will. At the time though, I was too caught up in the action to appreciate the anthropological significance. I was no pure research scientist-observer; I was one of the guinea pigs.
How? You may well ask. How does a girl accommodate five men at the same time? Places kept changing as the frenzy grew, but the basic positioning was something like this:
One man was flat on the floor with Ti Nih in a kneeling position straddling him and bending over so that the golden roundness of her bottom protruded. It was a posterior par excellence, and it wriggled wildly in response as it was pounded by a second lover. Leaning on her hands, the upper parts of Ti Nih’s arms were pressed closely against the sides of her heavy breasts. Despite the attempts of one of the other two men to assail a more oral orifice, she had succeeded in relegating both of them to the armpits. Leaning over her, they buffeted the armpits wildly, the enraged tips of their organs striking her breasts as if they were a pair of gongs and making them swing from side to side.
Ti Nih raised her head as I approached and her lips formed an invitational O. I would have fallen on an angry porcupine to gain release from the unquenchable bhang fire within me. Ti Nih’s lips were a far more satifying target. My eagerness led me to an exploratory of her tonsils, but Ti Nih was adept and welcomed me without choking. Wham! Bam! Thank you, Ma’am! It was that fast, but desire didn’t leave me. Lust had found no temporary dwelling place in my body, but rather a permanent erection. Immediately it started another duel with her sweetly torturing tongue.
Hipe! The backfield shifted. The duel was never finished. Everybody scrambled and I ended up at the bottom of the pile-up. The sweet-smelling blossom of Ti Nih’s womanhood presented its nectar to my lips while one of her hands granted me a second release. Still the rigidity didn’t lessen. It was as if rigor mortis had set in. With the next shift I plunged into the deep cleavage between her breasts. Ti Nih was lying on her back now and I had to nudge a couple of armpit lovers out of the way to claim the breast-works. Of the other two men, one was pinned beneath her, the other behind me and atop her, bouncing madly. Ti Nih herself was an entire temple of erotica in the throes of an earthquake. Her breasts heaved and moved as if contracting to grasp my manhood. Her body was a torch being consumed by its own fires.
Hipe! Tireless, I was finally lodged between her hot, quivering thighs. I bumped heads with the man facing me, but we were both too blinded by lust to pay much attention to the contact. My entire being was centered at the fused cores of Ti Nih’s body and my own. She screamed ecstatically as we soared together to the heights of our passion.
And so it went. I don’t know how long it lasted, but I don’t think there was a possible receptacle of love that Ti Nih had to offer which I didn’t assail. The same held true for the others. Yet even when it was over, none of us—not the other four men, not Ti Nih, not myself—had expended our sex drives. It taught me an important lesson. Under the influence of bhang, the libido is tireless—but satisfaction is impossible.
Ti Nih was the one who called a halt. Her father was due back from the Lamaist temple soon. His wrath would be great if he discovered what had been happening. So the other four men left at Ti Nih’s bidding.
Cautioning me to be discreet, she said it would be all right for me to stay and meet her father. Still throbbing, I dressed-—which did not exactly conceal my still aroused lust—and tried to resume the role of the casual visitor. Ti Nih also made an effort to don the facade of an obedient and virtuous daughter. But like me she was still hungry for more love-making.