Sloughing Off the Rot (22 page)

John and Joad stared at the spot in the pool where the blumpkin dropped from sight. And the waters calmed again, only disturbed by the constant flow of bubbles percolating up from below. And they fixed their eyes on the spot and sat, unmoving. John mulled over the situation and felt a stirring in his loins. Joad sat still, waiting to see what John would do. Two-Dogs-Fucking remained at the stagnant puddle, his back to the others, staring at the muddy muck.

John and Joad sat, gazing at the bubbles until they stopped rising. And the surface of Aguacaliente smoothed over, glassy and steaming, still emitting the blumpkin harmonies and aromas.

“Well, what are you faggots waiting for?” screamed Santiago from behind John and Joad. Before they realized it, Santiago was already flying high in the air and dropping toward the center of Aguacaliente. He pulled his knees to his chest and tucked his chin down just before his rump smashed the surface of the water and threw a heavy spray all around, soaking John and Joad. And then he disappeared again for minutes into the depths of the spring, reappearing in front of John and Joad with another blumpkin, this one larger but looking much the same as Pamela. He set the creature at John’s feet and wiggled his thick unibrow lasciviously. He said, “This one’s for you, brother. She’ll treat you so many ways, you’re bound to like some of them.” And then Santiago jumped backwards and disappeared again into Aguacaliente.

Without hesitation, John bent down and lifted the blumpkin off of the ground. Her soft smooth skin warmed John’s arms and torso. The perfume wafting off of her made John woozy with desire. “Wow,” was all he could say as he studied the creature’s surface. Like Pamela, a multitude of female openings covered the blumpkin. And heavy, soft breasts capped with swollen brown nipples, hung all about her.

“What are you going to name her?” asked Joad, the question snapping John out of his daze.

“I don’t know,” said John. “I think she looks like a Barbara. What do you think of that, girl?” he said to the blumpkin. “Can I call you Barbara?”

And she quivered joyously in John’s arms. Her mouths puckered and sang soothing blumpkin tunes.

“Then Barbara it is,” said John. Barbara pulsed. Her swollen nipples contracted and sprayed warm, sweet blumpkin milk in all directions, soaking John and even getting some on Joad. “Alright, girl,” John laughed. “Alright. Calm down.” He stroked Barbara with one hand in an effort to calm her. But it seemed to excite her even more. In the process, John realized that he was wildly aroused.

“Don’t you think you should take her over in the shade of one of those palm trees?” asked Joad.

John took Barbara in the shade of a royal palm and laid her on the soft covering of moss. He filled wineskins with warm water and gently cleansed her. He rubbed at her and caressed her and relished the feel of her warm flesh pressing on his. Everything else happening outside of the shade of the palm tree faded into nothingness.

John was unaware of Joad diving into Aguacaliente and retrieving an enormous, bloated blumpkin for himself. John did not notice that Santiago had set a hardy looking blumpkin down beside Alf the Sacred Burro and that Alf was sniffing the creature with great curiosity. John did not see that Santiago had stacked a small pyramid of blumpkins for himself under another palm and commenced fucking them like a horny bonobo with attention deficit disorder. John did not see that Two-Dogs-Fucking was retrieving something for himself from the stagnant puddle beside Aguacaliente. John did not see these things and would not have cared even if he had.

The stroking and cleansing of Barbara drove John into a frenzy. And when everything felt right, John mounted the receptive blumpkin and filled her with his seed. He suckled at her lactating teats and gulped the sweet milk that flowed from them. Time became meaningless as John and Barbara rolled about in the shade of the palm. When they finished, John – covered in a glaze of sweat and blumpkin milk – rolled off of Barbara and onto his back. He did not know if their encounter lasted two minutes or two hours. But, he was physically drained and feeling a deep serenity. He did not feel love for Barbara, but he did feel a strong bond, a need to protect her and care for her. He closed his eyes and contemplated how he could bring Barbara along on the road with him. Did she need to stay in water? Would she be able to survive in the glare of the desert sun? Could she be strapped to Alf’s back or would Joad be willing to carry her? John found that he did not like the thought of someone else touching Barbara and decided that either he or Alf would have to be responsible for her transport.

Ignorant to John’s musings about their future, Barbara rolled toward Aguacaliente, leaving John to his dreams and schemes. John lay on his back, eyes closed and unaware of Barbara’s departure, concocting a plan to bring the blumpkin along with him on his journey. Barbara throbbed and pulsed at the edge of the hot springs, signing her blumpkin song, her periodic labor contractions growing nearer to each other, and each becoming more intense than then last. And as John drifted off into a deep nap, Barbara tensed up one last time before blasting a slick of blumpkin spew and pods into Aguacaliente. With a trumpet of sweetly sad
pahhhhhhs
, Barbara rolled into the steaming water and floated toward the center. Blumpkin spew and pods gathered around her and followed as she sank back down to the depths of Aguacaliente, leaving her quickly fading blumpkin scent as the only evidence of her existence.

A melancholy haze settled on John when he awoke to find Barbara gone. And even though the sadness pained him, John was glad that he had at some point developed the emotional capacity to feel it. His plans for Barbara were sincere. Although John still had no memory of his other life, he somehow knew that he never experienced such emotions for any of the women he had known. That was a part of his spirit that was missing from him in the other place. Something about the sadness, though, increased John’s feeling of strength and confidence.

So John stood and looked around. A row of gravid blumpkins lined the shore of Aguacaliente, throbbing and spitting pods into the waters. Blumpkins floated into the steaming pool and slowly sunk beneath the surface, dragging the pale, pulsing pods down with them. Under one palm tree, Santiago lay recumbent on the mossy ground, his legs and arms splayed out and mouth agape. Several blumpkins waited for him to regain consciousness and give them a turn. Joad sat beneath another tree, embracing the enormous blumpkin that he pulled from the waters while John was entangled with Barbara. John could hear Joad whispering sweet nothings to the blumpkin but could not make out the words. Alf the Sacred Burro lay on the ground by Joad, twitching and moving to some donkey dream.

Two-Dogs-Fucking walked around the edges of Aguacaliente, carrying in his arms what John assumed to be a blumpkin that had been out of the water too long. And when the towel-wrapped Melungeon approached, John saw that what he first thought to be a blumpkin was something entirely different. Instead of perfectly formed breasts and inviting labia gracing the form of the fleshy ball, John saw puckered assholes ringed with course hair and oozing gelatinous goo. A crusty scab covered the one orifice that slightly resembled female genitalia. Open sores bespotted the mouths on the fleshy ball, and thick black mustaches highlighted the lips. Instead of healthy, smooth gums, broken brown teeth sprouted inside of the mouths and dangled by their roots. Sweet blumpkin harmonies did not emanate from the mouths, but instead a constant, high-pitched squeal dragged long fingernails across the chalkboard of John’s soul. The puckered assholes blew raspberries of foul fumes that were not the sweet perfumes of the blumpkins, and instead stunk like a week-old shallow grave.

“What is it?” asked John, almost knocked breathless with revulsion at the appearance of the creature.

“Yeah,” said Two-Dogs-Fucking, mistaking John’s shock for envious wonder. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Several of the mouths on the ill-favored creature creached the high-pitched screech. Two-Dogs-Fucking looked down at the screaming mouths and gently shook the thing in his arms. He smiled down at it and said, “Oh, come on now, sweetheart.”

“What the hell is that thing?” asked John again.

“Why, it’s a niksik,” answered Two-Dogs-Fucking. “It’s basically the same thing as the blumpkins that you fellows have been enjoying. They just look a little different. It’s really just a matter of personal preference. I find the blumpkins to be rough on my eyes, but I could stare at my little niksik all day. Some people don’t like the smell of the niksik, and I can understand that. It is a foul bit of feculence. But rubbing a sourmint leaf on your upper lip masks the odor. And I don’t care about the smell, anyway. This niksik’s special. She’s my little Missy. Yes, I think that’s what I will call her, Missy.”

“That’s fine and all,” said John, turning his head to keep Missy the niksik out of his line of view and the odor from his nose. The sight of the writhing ball of assholes made him sweat a stinking, nervous perspiration, and tickled at his skin like the itch of grickle grass exposure. “But just take her back over by her pond. Her screeching is setting me on edge and the stench makes me want to puke.”

Santiago woke and shouted in support of John, “Yeah, get that filthy ball of assholes far away from us. I was just kidding before when I said the last one here had to fuck a niksik, you dang numbskull!”

“Please,” said John. “Take it away now.”

“As you wish, m’lord,” said Two-Dogs-Fucking, bending his knees, bowing his head, and dipping low in an exaggerated curtsey. He promptly and enthusiastically carried Missy the niksik to a spot by the stagnant pond from whence she came, leaving behind the heavy stench of Missy’s acrid flatulence that burned John’s nose and throat. Under the shade of a tattered, sickly palm tree, Two-Dogs-Fucking wooed the niksik and consummated their relationship with a coupling that consisted mainly of him fondling, fingering, fisting and fucking the multiple anuses located about Missy’s body. Unlike the blumpkins, when the deed was done, Missy remained by Two-Dogs-Fucking’s side as he lay back on the ground, succumbing to a lack of motivation and napping.

The day gave way to the light from the river of fire and the star Wormwood. In the glow of the green and orange light, blumpkins surfaced. And John, Joad, and Santiago, drunk on the wine of fornication, took turns with the various visitors on the soft mossy ground beneath the palms. Alf the Sacred Burro relaxed in the shallow waters at the edge of Aguacaliente, occasionally partaking in the blumpkin orgy, too. But mostly the donkey relaxed and enjoyed the warm comfort of the steaming waters. Two-Dogs-Fucking intermittently woke from naps and rolled about on the ground, fucking and fisting his niksik.

And as dawn greeted the land, the last blumpkin floated toward the middle of Aguacaliente and sunk to the bottom, taking with it a slick of blumpkin spew and pale pods. With the submersion of that last blumpkin, the harmonies drifting from the steaming water faded to silence, and the constant flow of bubbles from below ceased. The sweet aroma of blumpkin kisses dissipated and gave way to the smells of the desert. John and Joad and Santiago waited at the edge of Aguacaliente for more blumpkins to appear, but none did. Santiago dove in the water and remained under for what seemed longer than possible. When he returned from the depths of Aguacaliente, he dragged himself onto land and gasped for air. “They’re gone,” Santiago said between deep breaths. “Vanished. No more.”

The absence of the Blumpkins was reason enough for John to move on. So, that morning, John, Joad, and Santiago decided to set their feet to the red brick road again. But, Two-Dogs-Fucking stayed behind with Missy. “Go without me,” he told them, expecting someone to protest and looking disappointed when nobody argued the point. “I am staying with my Missy. She cannot survive away from her waters and I cannot bear to be without her. You move on, gentlemen. I wish you the wind at your back and good luck in your endeavors.”

The sun assaulted the desert and scorched every living thing exposed to it. As John walked away from Aguacaliente, the steam from the springs hissed into the air, but no more blumpkins surfaced. The only action in any of the waters occurred between Two-Dogs-Fucking and Missy the niksik as they frolicked in the stagnant pond. Two-Dogs-Fucking and Missy emerged from the puddle and sat beneath their palm, watching John, Joad, Santiago, and Alf the Sacred Burro disappear out of sight on El Camino de la Muerte. And though he felt a slight twinge of sadness at the departure of the men, Two-Dogs-Fucking had never been happier than he was at that moment, holding Missy in his arms and gently jamming a thumb into one of her windy assholes. Missy, likewise, found that there was no place that she would rather be. And she creached in her two-toned screech and pooted fetid, joyous vapors.