After a while the accountant was yelling out two or three numbers-"398! Number 4! 109! Where are you?" The line was dwindling. "Get the list of who has what number," he asked someone.
The list was found and the names were called. "Ronnie Strachis! Dennis James! LeRoy Potachie! Come on, men! Let's make it a clean sweep!"
"Here's DeSnis," a fat woman shouted, shoving a clean-cut boy of eighteen into the fray.
"Oh Ma, do I have tor
"Come on, Dennis, be a sport!" "Yes, you have to."
Andrea, pushing in toward Joanna, recognized the fat woman as the once she'd told the reporters was her mother. The woman caught sight of Andrea at the same time and, as though she'd been waiting for this, gave her a wave and a cheerful "thanks-a-heap-sweetie-pie" smile.
Meanwhile people were shouting, "Ronnie Strachis! LeRoy Potachie!" off into the crowd.
"Ronnie's passed out in the corner over there," someone shouted.
Three men ran to him, hauled him up, and trundled him over to the scene of the action. He was a handsome-looking artist-type but he really was out cold. Andrea enlisted the aid of a few of the Guru's young lovelies but Ronnie kept snoring soundly and nothing they could do seemed to get him an erection.
"Fuck it!" the Guru shouted, "shove it in there soft! We're going for the ultimate and we can't worry about technicalities!"
After a few seconds of ingenious work those holding Joanna and those holding Ronnie managed to get the two bodies together and cram his limp noodle into her. Despite Joanna's ten seconds of jouncing on him he didn't wake up, but unknown to him, he went down in the Eternal Record Book as having fucked her.
And now the burning question became-where was LeRoy Potachie? And even more interesting, who was LeRoy Potachie?
Nobody seemed to know anybody by that name. The cabin number listed for LeRoy was 9129. If there had been such a cabin it would have been half a mile off the boat's stern.
Suddenly a deep, rolling voice-obviously the voice of a monstrous, tough black man-boomed out over the crowd over the bandstand. "Hey, you mother-fuckin buncha honkies, I'm the one to finish this job up. What you need here is some funky soul-type style?
Everybody turned toward the bandstand. The blacks in the crowd-there were forty or fifty-glanced back and forth at each other wondering who was this brother they didn't know. And then, from behind the curtains at the back of the bandstand, emerged-the fucking Guru.
"Ha-ha, I fooled ya!"
He leapt down into the crowd and pranced up to Joanna. "I'm number 109-LeRoy Potachie by alias-and the 491st man to plow your cute little furrow tonight. But… " he held up his hands as an inspiration passed over him… "I will do it with style. You will be fucked intergalaetically! That, is from a distance. In short, I will ejaculate into the quivering essence of your echtitude from a sacred distance of three feet."
"The No Touch Shot!" the crowd gasped. "He's going to do it!" Suddenly this, already the high point of the cruise, became the highest possible point. They'd all been dying to see this.
"Please," the Guru sniffed, holding his nose. "The technical term is Thinking Off."
"Thinking Off… Thinking Off… Thinking Off… " The correction echoed to the edges of the crowd.
Andrea went up to Joanna as the Guru assumed the lotus position on the floor beneath her and someone brought a tape measure so the exact height at which she should be held could be determined. "How do you feel on this historic occasion?"
"Like I've traded in my pussy for a target in a water-pistol range."
"Ha. I'll bet you have some pretty heavy experiences before the old Guru's done." She backed off and joined Sean and the others as a hush fell over the crowd.
From various points in the ballroom the Guru's followers took up the familiar chant,
"The Is Is Not, The Not Is Is, The No Touch Shot Will Never Fizz."
They kept it up while Baalow Nee, all eyes riveted to him, took a last sighting on the target that hovered so invitingly above him and then closed his eyes. Joanna's cunt was hanging about six inches in front of his face. Her legs were held out straight and pointed one over each shoulder, so that she was facing him.
"It is my opinion," he intoned, "that everyone here should be fucking their brains out at this particular time. It will create favorable conditions on the emotional weather horizon." With that he started to meditate.
Before Sean and Andrea could work out a position in which they could fuck and watch-which ended up featuring Andrea on her knees facing the action and Sean banging away at her from behind-the Guru's heretofore limp member had started to jerk erect in definite, almost mechanical stages.
"Reminds me of a bumper jack," Sean observed.
The chanting of the Guru's followers turned abruptly to the same humming that Virginia and the Princess had used that night in Sean's apartment, only now its effect was multiplied and even more electrifying.
Somebody started burning marijuana. A lot of it. There were four pounds scattered in hundreds of huge incense burners all around the ballroom. The air immediately became thick and intoxicating; an even better medium for the sensual tension that pervaded the atmosphere.
Everywhere people were fitting cocks into cunts. Long ones into wide ones, thick ones into tight ones, skinny ones into huge ones, bent ones into straight ones, lively ones into passive ones, old ones into young ones… the squishing sounds reminded Sean of an army of cartoon characters marching through a swamp.
The Guru's cock had come completely erect. It was pointed straight at Joanna's hole. Joanna was staring down at him with an incredulous look in her eyes. Suddenly she snapped her head back-it was almost as though it had been snapped back-and rolled it around and closed her eyes.
The two guys holding her-Bernie and a friend-looked at her with alarm but the Guru said, "Do not be concerned. That is the Secondary Stage. She will enter upon the Tertiary very soon. The atmospheric tension is very high. The Monsoon Season is approaching. The Earth is in its Time of Dryness. The woman will open as at the Time of Birth."
"What?" Bernie gasped. "Does he mean she's gonna open up like she's gonna have a lad?"
"You guessed'er, Chester."
The Guru's cock jerked a few times. Nearby Sean and Andrea were fucking along easily. Andrea found herself fascinated by the eerie control the Guru had over his cock. It turned her on. And then suddenly she had a strange, familiar feeling. Wetness. Rain. The storm. The feeling was coming again.
Joanna started to groan as if in pain but a smile of pure ecstasy came across her face. Her legs shook and then went into a kind of palsied trembling. They began to part-not from the hips, but at the hips. The Guru was completely still as her cunt opened slowly, steadily, wider and wider. The moaning kept up. The humming merged with it. Everyone who was breathing was breathing pure marijuana smoke.
Things started to spin. The room moved. The smoke eddied and swirled. All the separate fucks began to merge into a single rhythm-the rhythm of the hum.
This time even Sean felt it. Everyone felt it. It was as if they had become some lower, and yet some higher, form of life: bees in a hive, each perhaps a single cell in the living organism of their society.
Interchangable parts.
Intrinsically positive impulses.
One surging moment of complete unity, total excitement, loss of consciousness, flight at impossible speed toward…
Joanna's cunt-hole was five inches wide. The outer lips, the inner lips, the clit, the pubic hair, all seemed peripheral and accidental compared to the incredible depth of the smoothly rounded cavern of her womanhood. She was wailing in rhythm with the deafening hum that carried everything with it like an incoming tide. There was one point, one spot, on the surface of her insides that cried and begged and pleaded for relief and yet danced and played and laughed at the same time.