“Don’t touch me!” Iceberg shrank away from “Sometimes I can’t stand having a man touch me.”
“And this is one of those times?” Job inquired.
“Yes.”
“My luck!” Job sighed. “It figures!”
“It’s your attitude,” Dr. Baariasol told him. “You always expect to have bad luck and so you have it. Subconsciously you bring it on yourself.”
“This girl is the only one left. There’s an orgy shaping up and she’s frigid. Did I bring that on myself?”
“I can’t help it,” Iceberg whirled.
“You’re reinforcing his low self-image,” Dr. Baariasol chastised her.
“Bring it on myself subconsciously . . . ” Job grumbled. He stood up and headed for the toilet to relieve himself. As he passed the thrashing flesh-mass which was Fat Tits and Little Gat, the Mafioso’s leg suddenly shot out. Job tripped over it and landed with his head in the toilet bowl. “Subconsciously!” He came up sputtering.
Meanwhile, the redhead was attempting to arouse Archer with every wile in her lexicon — which was unabridged. She rolled her hips, round derriére circling slowly, and ground her lower body against his. Her hands kneaded the flesh of his inner thighs, fingers trailing to his buttocks, nails digging into the cleft there. Her mouth kissed its way down his body, then up again to his chest until the lips fastened over one of the flat roseates and her tongue tantalized the nipple until it sprang erect. She knew her erogenous zones all right; in that respect she was a veritable mapmaker of the male body. Finally her ministrations began to show results —
“From little acorns, oak trees grow.
“And from some nuts, a redwood—Lo!”
She grasped the sapling she had created by its roots and started to move over Archer. He looked up at it with joy. Who said he had a potency problem? Why, just loo--
“Your tree grown limp,
“My style doth crimp!”
—-the redhead complained. But the unexpected disappointment made her all the more determined. Her red hair fanned out over his belly and her mouth and tongue sought out the source of her frustration. A few moments passed and then once again Archer’s readiness was on display.
“I’ve built a spire!
"Don’t chop it down!
“My groin’s on fire!
“Let’s go, to town!”
She rolled over and pulled Archer on top of her. She wrapped her legs around his neck and slid her lower body until her burning nether-cheeks were pressing against his swollen genital sac. She stroked it, panting, then reached further to grasp him and guide him to the target. But--
“I admit I may be much too pushy—
“But that’s no cause for you to go mushy!”
-—whined the redhead. Beside herself now, she redoubled her efforts. She writhed and twisted and turned, thrusting first her large conical breasts into Archer’s face, then the palpitating maw of her womanhood. She guided his hands over the hot quivering flesh of her bottom, between her trembling thighs, up her soft belly to her wildly swaying bosom. She tested his resiliency and inspired his tumescence with every orifice of her body, until-—
“Behold! a cannon mightier than before!
“Come on! the trench awaits! Begin the war!
“Oh, please! Don’t prematurely dismantle your gun!
“Fire One! before perverseness decimates our fun!”
Too late! Archer looked with sadness at the crouching figure, at the full, swinging globes of her breasts, at the derriere thrust high and glowing with anticipation, at the red-lipped tunnel of womanhood waiting for him to enter. His cannon was defused; his machine was in neutral and the gears weren’t working again; his mixed metaphors once again left him limp. The redhead craned her head around and took in his condition.
“That does it!
“I’ve had it!
“Just take it
"And shove it!
“If you can,
“Which I doubt!
“You’re no man!
“You cop out!”
Snorting with contempt, the redhead stormed to her feet and flounced over to Job, turning her back with the utmost contempt on Archer. Job looked with disbelieving admiration at the sensational package of pulchritude which had come his way—and expected the worst. Archer, head hanging as low as his self-esteem, stared morosely at the one-eyed traitor lying along his thigh and mentally composed a verse of his own.
“Ahh, Benedict! You eunuch, you!
“Just what do you call this?
“You viper! You're no use to me
“-—except perhaps, to piss!”
Morosely, Archer reflected that he wasn’t even so sure of that. Hell, where plumbing was concerned, if the hot water tap wasn’t working, the other spigot might well be out of whack as well. Looking over the scene, he saw that the other two couples were well occupied and Iceberg was dozing. He decided now was a good opportunity to put it to the test. He tiptoed over to the toilet and rinsed his kidneys.
“Feel reassured now?”
Archer jumped. He’d forgotten all about Dr. Baariasol. Wheeling around toward the direction from which the voice had come, Archer saw that the doctor had been observing him.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?" the doctor boomed jovially .
“If it had been, I wouldn’t have a problem.” Archer glared at him, both embarrassed and angry at having been watched.
“You’re a wit.”
“And you're a voyeur!”
“I’m only doing my job.”
“Your job! That’s what makes you a voyeur!”
“You’re hostile.” The skinny doctor’s good humor remained unshaken.
“Damn right! Before I came in here, I didn’t have a problem in. the world where sex was concerned. Now, all of a sudden, I’m functioning like a genital amputee. Why wouldn’t I be hostile?”
“Your problem didn’t originate here. You had it before. That’s why you were sent here."
“I did like hell! How could I be impotent and not know l was impotent?”
“You've heard of latent homosexuality? Well, you were suffering from latent impotency. It was lying there dormant all the time. Yes, latent impotency.”
Archer stared at the doctor for a long moment. “You know what I think?” he said finally. “I think you're suffering from latent senility with latent brain damage, better know in the medical profession as latent meatballheadism!”
He turned his back on Dr. Baariasol. They fell quiet. Time passed. . . .
Sunday afternoon found the focus of the encounter group on Job. They’d picked up on his incessant whining and zeroed in on him. Little Gat aimed head-on at Job’s neuroses.
“Jeez, ya sure cry a lot! Trut’ is, it's hard ta take. Whyncha look ona positive? Like ya made it wit’ this sensational broad here.”, Little Gat jerked his thumb at the redheads "
“With my luck she probably gave me some dreadful venereal disease,” Job answered morosely.
“I’ve never been so insulted in my life!
“It’s no wonder that you couldn’t hold a wife!
"I'll have you know that I’m compulsively clean!
“Promiscuous, maybe, but you—! Youre just mean!”
“I really didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Job told her. “I just mean it as an example. It’s the kind of thing that would be typical for a doormat like me.”