“Run for it!” G. P. pulled Jonathan Relevant toward the window, then stopped short as he noticed the bars on it.
“Hol’ it right theah!” Pigbaigh’s gun was out. “Ah mean it, boy. Ah’ll shoot. So yew jes’ freeze!” Pigbaigh motioned to Jonathan Relevant. “Colonel Relevant, suh, yew come over heah by me wheah yew’ll be safe.”
Obligingly, Jonathan Relevant started toward the CIA man. Inadvertently, he blocked Pigbaigh’s gun. In that instant, G. P. reached into the sack and came up with a small vial of clear liquid.
“What yew got theah, boy?” Pigbaigh inquired.
“Nitroglycerin, baby! Enough to blow this place clear to the moon! Now drop that gun!”
“Put it down!”
“Drop your gun!”
Jonathan Relevant, halfway between them, looked from one to the other. Pigbaigh was nervous; his hand was shaking; the gun was wavering toward Jonathan Relevant. G. P. was also jittery; his palm was sweating; the explosive vial was slipping through his fingers.
“. . . and if the two most powerful nations in the world cannot agree in the matter of Jonathan Relevant,” the Danish envoy asked the UN, “then what hope is there for agreement in such vital areas as disarmament? If reason will not prevail, then what hope is there for humanity? Trapped between the nuclear missiles of the Americans and the hydrogen warheads of the Russians, what hope . . ."
Jonathan Relevant looked at the muzzle of the gun. Jonathan Relevant looked at the quivering vial of nitroglycerin. Jonathan Relevant sighed and asked himself the following question:
Is it possible to be Relevant—and survive?
CHAPTER FIVE
Some guys simply can’t wear Bermuda shorts. Modesty forbids. Big Dick Eberhard was in this category. And his outsize genitalia indirectly served as the deus ex machina which rescued Jonathan Relevant from his predicament.
A 250-pound lineman, Big Dick was the workhorse of the finest varsity eleven Harnell U had put together in many a year. He was a superjock among superjocks. But he had this little problem—only it wasn’t little. '
There was nothing soft about Big Dick Eberhard—including his problem. The reason for this was that Big Dick steadfastly denied himself the fulfillment of his post-puberty appetites. It was part of what the Harnell coach called “keeping in training,” Palm warts weaken the straight arm. Chastity was the price of making All-American. Besides, the team came first with Big Dick.
Yet, before the season started, his purity sabotaged team morale. The locker room was being undermined by the shower room. When Eberhard unveiled his ever-tumescent and absurdly large joint under the community spray, his teammates couldn’t help feeling inadequate. This collective feeling was carried over to the gridiron. The team was suffering from penis envy, one and all.
The coach spotted the problem in time. He solved it by having Eberhard shower in solitude. Then he went on to capitalize on it by devising the sensational “Statue of Libertine” play.
The play called for Eberhard to assume the most prominent position in the Harnell offensive lineup. His teammates gave him lots of room and were carefully drilled never to look at him. A maximum amount of time was allowed in formation, not long enough to bring down a penalty for delaying the game, but ample for the opposing team to observe Eberhard’s opened fly and fully exposed Goliath gonads.
Thus Big Dick Eberhard became the most offensive offensive lineman Harnell—or any other team-—had ever had. His titanic tumescence carried Harnell through an undefeated season. And when the season was over, he continued to resist temptation. Keeping his upper lip as stiff as his aforementioned fixtures, he remained staunch in his purity. He never broke training. Until —
The day of the first fracas over the Angel Gabriel, Big Dick Eberhard was in the van of the jocks that charged the statue. When he inadvertently straight-armed a bosomy blond SDS-er, the hand on the end of that straight arm automatically closed around one of her large, butter-soft, bra-less, sweatered breasts——and didn’t unclasp.
“Let go!” Feet off the ground, dangling from one breast, the co-ed squirmed.
But Big Dick Eberhard couldn’t let go. He was transfixed, beyond the mores of mice and men. He simply stared.
“George!” The blonde recognized a fullback she’d once dated and called him to come to her aid. “Help!”
“Now let go, fella.” With the melee swirling around them, George tried to gentle down his teammate. “You’re bruising her, buddy. See, it’s soft and it crumples easy 1ike.”
“It’s soft, Ghaw-urge,” the big fellow echoed.
“That’s right. Now let it go, old pal.”
“It feels nice, Ghaw-urge.”
“Sure it does, buddy. Now just open your fist.”
“I don’t mean any harm, Ghaw-urge.”
“I know, pal. Now open your hand. That’s it, one finger at a time.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt her, Ghaw-urge. Honest I didn’t.”
The blonde fell to the ground as the hamlike hand unclenched. “It’s all out of shape!” she moaned. “A girl could get breast cancer from a thing like that!”
“I didn’t mean no harm, Ghaw-urge,” Big Dick Eberhard kept repeating as his teammate escorted him from the scene.
Later, alone in his room, Big Dick couldn’t exorcise the feeling of that warm, panting breast in his hand. It was his first erotic contact and the lust it aroused wouldn’t dissipate. Over and over again he had to catch himself as his hands wandered groinward with the memory of that mangled mammary. Still, Big Dick restrained himself; still he kept from breaking training.
He fought off temptation all day. Toward dusk he decided that exercise might help. He put on his gym suit and jogged across the campus.
Approaching the rear of the main building of the Science Research Institute, his eye was caught by a light in one of the ground-floor rooms. Jogging in place, he observed the bars on the window and dimly remembered some sort of pinko protest when they’d been installed. He stopped jogging and froze when a female figure in bra and panties appeared behind the bars.
The girl stretched luxuriously. Then she reached behind her to fumble with the clasp of the brassiere. A moment later the bra fell away from her magnificent breasts.
Big Dick Eberhard started jogging again. He jogged straight up to the window. His eyes just cleared the sill. His jaw dropped as he got a close-up look at Dr. Ludmilla Skivar, bare bosom swaying, in the act of wriggling free of her panties.
Stepping out of them and picking them up daintily, the ravishing Russian stretched again. Her thighs rippled enticingly; the soft, ebony triangle where they met thrust forward to reveal ruby nether lips; large, nose-cone breasts strained upward, long nipples quivering. Long black hair framing her face sensually, a yawn sculpted her lips into an inviting moue.
Big Dick Eberhard moaned low in his throat. Fortunately, the gym suit he was wearing featured stretch pants. Ludmilla stretched out naked on the bed across the room from the window. Big Dick had a clear view from head to toe. The utilitarianism of his stretch pants was proven beyond the manufacturer’s wildest claims as Big Dick observed what followed.
Ludmilla was daydreaming of Ivan Relevant in the room across the hall, so near and yet so far, separated from her by the CIA lock on the outside of her door. She relived the experience of their lovemaking and phantasized what it would be like when Ivan Relevant made love to her again. Her fingertips caressed her breasts, circling the nipples to hardness, tantalizing the wide, pink aureoles, flicking the darkening tips with the edges of her nails.