The lady trucker’s face reddened, her excited nipples quivered, like the voracious mouths of tiny animals. The investigator could hardly keep from throwing himself on her and biting them. The sharp pain in his tongue kept him in his seat.
She sighed softly. ‘I surrender,’ she said.
She tossed the pistol down onto the table and raised her hands ostentatiously. ‘I surrender,’ she said again, ‘you win…’ With her arms in the air and her legs spread wide, all the points of entry were wide open.
‘How can you be so blase?’ she asked the investigator in exasperation. ‘Am I too ugly for you?’
‘No, you’re quite good looking,’ he replied languidly.
‘Then why?’ She turned mocking. ‘Not castrated, are you?’
‘I’m afraid you’ll bite it off.’
‘Male praying mantises die when they mount the females, but that doesn’t keep them from climbing on.’
‘Don’t give me that. I’m no praying mantis.’
‘You goddamned coward!’ the lady trucker cursed and turned her back on him. ‘Get the hell out of here. I’m going to masturbate!’
The investigator flew off the sofa and grabbed her from behind, taking one of her breasts in his hand. She lay back in his arms, cocked her head, and grinned up at him. In spite of himself, he put his mouth next to hers, but his lips no sooner brushed up against her burning lips than stabbing pains re-attacked his tongue. ‘Ouch!’ he shouted, jerking his mouth out of harm’s way.
‘I won’t bite you…’ She turned and began to undress him.
Piece by piece, the investigator’s clothes were peeled away. He pitched in to help, like a lone traveler confronted by a highwayman. First she removed his bathrobe and flicked it into the corner, then she relieved him of his shorts and undershirt, tossing them over an arm of the chandelier. He gazed up at them, suddenly wishing he could have them back. The desire to retrieve them was very strong. Wanting to ‘pick the onions without delay,’ he jumped a good thirty centimeters off the floor. He touched them with the tip of one finger of his right hand, but his feet were quickly back on the carpet. The next jump was forestalled by a leg sweep from the lady trucker, which put him flat on his back.
Before the investigator could come to his senses, the lady trucker had straddled him. Grabbing hold of his ears, she began bouncing up and down, raising a tattoo of sonorous slaps on Ding Gou’er’s belly. His insides felt as if they were being crushed, and he shouted bloody murder. So the lady trucker reached out, picked up a smelly sock, and crammed it into his mouth. Her actions were violent and savage, not gentle or feminine. A foul, disgusting taste filled Ding Gou’er’s mouth; he wanted to cry out. Is this supposed to be making love? It’s more like hog-butchering. Just as his consciousness sent a command to his hands to shove this lady butcher off, she pinned his wrists to the floor, as if guessing what he had in mind. Ding Gou’er’s emotions were a welter of confusion. He wanted to struggle, and he didn’t want to. We’ve already seen why he wanted to struggle. And to find out why he didn’t want to, we need look no further than down between his legs, where he was undergoing a test of blood and fire. So he closed his eyes and put his fate in God’s hands.
And here is what happened: While the lady trucker, all hot and sweaty, was squirming and bouncing around on his belly, like a lovesick loach, snide laughter erupted high above him. Ding Gou’er opened his eyes, and was nearly blinded by a flurry of flash-bulb explosions, followed immediately by a series of shutter snaps, and finally the whirr of film rewinding inside an automatic camera. He sprang into a sitting position and swung at the passion-filled face of the lady trucker. His aim was perfect; with a loud crack and a frenzy of flash-bulb explosions, she fell over backwards, her shoulders settling slowly onto his upturned feet, her naked belly revealing many delicious secrets. More flash-bulb explosions, as the historical posture assumed by him and the lady trucker was photographed from every angle by her co-conspirator.
‘All right, Comrade Ding Gou’er, special investigator, it’s now time to have a little tete-a-tete,’ Diamond Jin said tauntingly as he stuffed the roll of film into his pocket, crossed his legs, and settled comfortably into the sofa. He made the muscle on his right cheek twitch as he spoke, which Ding Gou’er found quite disgusting.
Pushing the dazed lady trucker off his body, Ding Gou’er tried to stand up, but his legs were so wobbly he moved like a paralytic.
This is great!’ Diamond Jin said, moving his cheek muscle. ‘An investigator with awesome responsibilities paralyzed from the waist down from sexual overindulgence.’
Staring at the handsome, well-cared-for face, Ding Gou’er felt the fires of anger rage in his breast and spread throughout his body; his ice-cold legs felt as if thousands of tiny insects had suddenly come to life just under the skin. By propping himself on his arms, he somehow managed to stand, however wobbly. His plugged arteries snapped open, and as he began to move, he narrated his own actions: The investigator stands up and flexes his arms and legs. He picks up a hand towel and wipes down his sweaty body, including his belly, stained by love juices from the wife or the lover of Diamond Jin, Liquorland’s Deputy Head of Propaganda. As he wipes down his naked body, he regrets his fears of a moment ago. I’ve committed no crime, except for falling into a trap laid by criminals.’
He tossed the hand towel into the air and watched it float to the floor in front of Diamond Jin, whose cheek muscle was, by now, twitching frantically, and whose face had turned the color of cold steel. ‘That’s quite a woman you’ve got there,’ Ding Gou’er said. ‘Too bad she threw in her lot with scum like you.’
He stood there waiting for Diamond Jin to explode in anger. But the man merely burst out laughing, guffaws of towering strangeness, which threw Ding Gou’er into a panic.
‘What are you laughing at?’ he demanded. ‘Do you honestly think you can mask your guilt feelings with laughter?’