The Dunwich Romance (14 page)

It made a wet
pap!
of a noise.

Thank Gawd...
Her senses refreshed themselves, and she detected with relief that her shock and her reactive effectuation had not roused Wilbur. The dim lamplight revealed him still inclined on the cot; although when Sary leaned upward and squinted, she saw not a sign of Wilbur’s abundant penis but instead just a foot-long squiggle of tissue. But this she noticed via a glimpse, for her attentions had already been drastically diverted by the weighty presence of that which now lay on her belly.

Sary picked the unknown object up in a hand whilst silently manipulating herself to a position by which she could make a more comfortable analysis...

This analysis took but a moment.

Her eyes, now well-accustomed to the scant illumination, fairly
bulged
in their ocular cavities. Yes, the object that Wilbur’s member had ejected...was a manner of substance that happenstance had already introduced her to.

Them...thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiings...

Indeed, Wilbur’s penile discharge—obviously the physical matter of his orgasm, just as semen was the physical matter of a more typical man’s—she’d confronted earlier in the day, during her exploratory excursion about the property: the pile of lumpen, off-white things deposited in the crook of the drakeberry bush.
Them weird ball-things,
she remembered,
like string’a white meatballs. They done come aout’a Wilbur’s dick—they’se his CUM!
Sary could not possibly cognize ejaculant existing so bizarrely and out-of-aspect from what she’d come to regard as normal, but at least this discovery answered a great deal of her questions all at once, and this she delimitated in her own manner of bucolic discernment:
Wilbur’s dick en’t nothin’ but a flimsy sheath, like a sausage skin, which fill up with these meatball things ever time he gets horny. And when he gets his nut, them white meatballs slide aout’a the sheath!

The revelation, which was likely to revolt most women, had no such effect on Sary. Instead? She felt quite the opposite:
fascinated.

Sary of course was not at all familiar with the tenets of Aristotlian Syllogism and its sequent components of deduction by means of axiomatic inference, but she
was
able to deduce this: with a typical man, female orgasm was generally effected through the physical action of copulation, i.e., the repeated insertion and withdrawal of an erect penis within the confines of the vagina; but as Wilbur was clearly
not
a typical man, female orgasm seemed triggered by merely the
presence
of his solid ejaculant in the woman’s reproductive orifice. And such orgasms...

Better’n anything I ever thunk possible...

Sary immediately loaded the “meatballs” into her vagina.

It was all she could do not to cry out. No sooner had she manipulated the aggregation of lumps into her sex, she was writhing on the floor in paroxysmal bliss. Her vaginal vault spasmed like the heart ventricle of a hypertensive cardiac patient; and as if lying in a pool of electrified water, she convulsed time and time and time again, each convulsion eliciting quakes of incalculable pleasure which seemed to defy human sexual capacity.

Half an hour later, she twitched limp on the floor, her face contorted by the most lubricious of grins. More relief surged through her upon noticing that Wilbur was quite a sound sleeper; he’d snored through the entire machination. Part of her scrupled to return to bed before her luck departed, but it was a much greater segment of her that propelled her very quietly forward. At the door, she took considerable heed in pressing up the iron latch, opening the door, and then closing it behind her—all without begetting so much as the tiniest sound.

The warm, star-ridden night sprawled above; the moonlight
brimmed.
The craving of an opium-eater caused her to run as fast as she might—sweating, flushed pink, and unabashedly nude—directly to the drakeberry bush with the queer passage-like indentation. She collapsed to her knees before the pile of her new-found treasure and, salivating akin to a lunatic, lewdly opened her legs and fed the first string of Wilbur’s discarded seed into her “pussy.” Only a second of thought explained why the pile was here:
It’s his beat-off! He come aout here ta jerk his dick so’s no one see him, and leave his nut on the graound! It dun’t melt away unless it’s in a gal’s cunt makin’ her cum!
and in the second
after
that Sary was squirming on the grass as she was wracked by yet another concussive, thirty-minute-long Grand-Mal-Seizure-like orgasm; and when this was done, it was into her drooling sex that she fed the
next
lumpen string, and thirty minutes after
that,
the next.

And so on.

By the time she’d utilized the entire deposit of Wilbur’s “beat-off,” she was but a whimpering form of lax flesh incapable of movement. She lay spread-eagled, a veritable spate of fluid seeping into the ground between her legs. The experience all but drowned her in a vat of unearthly ecstasy that had worn her orgasmic capabilities out as completely as water wrung out of wet clothing through a wringer. All the while, the orgiastic grin never left her face; she simply lay there staring insentiently up at the sky’s illimitable void as evening expended itself into dawn.

When Sary’s ability to cogitate in a fashion more profound than a slow-dripping leak, she felt a jolt of alarm as the sparkling light of morning bathed her naked body.
I best git myself back in bed afore Wilbur wakes up!
but her energy—after last night’s saturnalic extravaganza—was slow to summon. What if Wilbur discovered her out here, laying in the grass, fully naked?

What on earth might she offer in explanation?

Only a moment’s passage made the question inert. A crunch of dry weeds, a rustle of the bush, and then a towering shadow.

Oh, nooooooo....

“Whut ye...?” The sun blacked out Wilbur’s immense, crooked shadow. His head’s angle suggested that he was looking down, seemingly, in a brief confusion: first, spying Sary naked and exhausted. Then he noticed the spot where a pile of his strange semen should be—a spot now vacant.

Sary peeped, “Um, Wilbur—I’m, uh—”

Wilbur’s next pause gave Sary a chill of dread, but then the gigantesque figure betrayed a restrained chuckle. “Look like ye’ve figgered aout fast that it’s more ways’n one I’m different from fellas hereabaouts.” Was he unnerved upon looking more closely at the spot where he’d deposited the wares of his masturbation? “Kind’a embarrassed, I am...”

Sary ached when she attempted to move. “Wilbur,
I
be the one who’s embarrassed! Yew jess ketched me aout heer buck nekit and...wal...” She glanced bashfully to where his sperm had been.

“‘Tis good ye made use of it”—another small chuckle—“it en’t like I could. I jest meant it’s a bit embarrassin’ sinct ye know naow I been comin’ aout heer to this bush, to have at myself with my hand.” Wilbur’s broad, oddly angled shoulders shrugged. “I juss carn’t help it, ‘specially sinct..wal, sinct meetin’ yew.”

An unrefined remark, yes, but in its unrefinement was only the vehicle of the utmost sincerity. Sary felt a glow in her heart.

Quickly, then, Wilbur bent over and in only a moment had picked her up in his hard, rack-like arms. “I was in a low state I was when I waked up, ‘cos I thought ye’d up’n left”; Wilbur’s enigmatical face shifted as he smiled. “Carn’t tell ye haow happy I be findin’ ya aout heer.”

Sary put her arms about his chest as he carried her—she
liked
being carried by him—and as she did so she again detected the incongruent element beneath his tightly buttoned shirt.
Does he got ROPES tied abaout him?
she wondered, for that’s what it felt like through the fabric which she’d noted earlier. Another question might have struck her as well—do ropes squirm like snakes?—but by now the situation reduced these curiosities to mere trifles. Sary didn’t care about Wilbur’s physical disconsonances.
He dun’t keer ‘baout all the ways I’m messed up,
she reminded herself. Instead, she smiled and hugged him as he carried her back to the tool-house.

“Guess ye didn’t have ye’reself no sleep atall last night,” he presumed.

“Wal...no,” she said, stretching luxuriantly in the cradle of his arms.

“Naow ya can.” He gently lowered her to the cot. “I got some work ta have at. Jest ye sleep whiles I be gone—er, help ye’reself ta whatever ye want.”

She looked up intently. “Whar yew goin’?”

“Jest got me some calls ta make’n some odds’n ends,” but this was the extent of Wilbur’s specificity.

In spite of Sary’s exhaustion, some unnamed urgency livened her. “Wal...haow ‘baout I come with yew? I can help—”

“‘Preciate the thought,” Wilbur terminated the notion posthaste, “but, no, on accaount it be the sart’a work I needs ta tend tew myself. ‘Sides, ye surely be tired as a ploughman durin’ harvest moon.”

As last night, so too this morning: Sary
was
depleted of all energy yet at once the idea of sleep seemed intolerable, and she didn’t have to wonder the reason. “Wilbur, I’d prefer it
mutch more
if’n yew’d stay heer with me.”

While she’d uttered the declaration, she’d moved her hand—without conscious volition—to her sex.

Wilbur nodded with something like abstract joy and self-congratulations intermingled. “I’ll be back not far past the noonday...then we’ll take keer’a what be on ye’re mind, and believe me, I’m lookin’ farward to it—”

Sary didn’t know what she’d do if he left without first conducting to her more intercourse. Her sleek naked body tensed on the cot; her nipples beetled as if from anger. Just as she would urge herself forward, to unfix his trouser button, though—

Wilbur, still smiling subtly, whispered this phonetic sequence from the Second Eltdown Translations, “Ssssseerdunnnnmurrrrrikfrantnzzzz,” and Sary fell fast asleep on the cot. Her host paused to look upon her, and it was a look founded by much more than primitive lust.

No. It was something whose sophistication and intricacy well transcended that. Then he grabbed his carry bag into which he placed his journal tablet and some other things, gazed once more at Sary’s sleeping form, sighed, and then left the tool-house.

Eleven

July 29, 1928 late morning

Paid respecks to my ma’s grave on account today’s I’m pretty sure her berthday. The grave is unmarked of corse, one-tenth of a stade in the woods goin north from a 73 degree angle off the first tree at the Cold Glen Crossroads. Even after all this time, I feel bad bout what happened, specially since my ma was dealt a farely poor rasher by nature. All white skinn and pink eyes that was crooked in her head, her hair even whiter, plus it all stickin up like mine, arms and legs not same lengths and all, and one’a her tits stood up high while the other hang down passed her bellybuttin. She was all mazed in her brain, too, my grandfather say, on account of how most branches uv the Whateleys be corupted by ingrowing on therselfs. Wasnt my ma’s fault. Grandsire admittd it were a mistake for him to push the old books on her, she didnt understant em—how cud she? Then that fussbudget Mamie Bishop got to pryin and putting stuff in her head against me and Grandsire. Ma just got worse an worse after Grandsire die, and started actin and talkin like she might try to muss up me opening the Gate to Yog-Sothoth. I lernt well from my grandfather that there werent NOTHING more important than opening to Yog-Sothoth, and anyone who try and get in the way, even if it be a blood rellartive, then that can’t be allowed, no sir. Had no choice but ta kill her, specially after I was ordered to direct when the ground got to talkin to me on Sentinel Hill.

Still, it were my mother, and I feel more then a speck low about it.

But nows not the tyme to be thinking low. I got lots to be thankfull four. Last night my dreem come true and I got ta be with Sary. Twas weird how she woke up rite when I thoght she might. And whut she woke up with was a serious hankering for me! Prayze be to Yog-Sothoth! All my feers was for naught! When she find out how my privits was so unlike everone else, she didnt care a smidge! And it turnt out Grandsire was right about the effect my seed have on girls from here. But first I got real scairt becuz Sary put her hands on my shirt and feel my tentaclettes shift, and I could see she was taken abak; then Im pretty sure she feel down my pant leg and feel my probosciduct, but luck be with me again cos all she did was blink and start to say something but then she left it be. Didn’t bat a eye neither once she feel my dick and reckon the fact I got no balls like most fellas. If anything she fuckt me, not the other way round! She seem reel disapointed when I cum on account it happen so fast, but it didnt take long afore my seed get to workin on her privit place. Yes, Grandsire was rite and so was the books. Looked to me that she was gettin way more than she expecked, carried on all asquirmin and ashreekin and atremblin for quite a spell, she come so hard. Made me pleased alot to know I cud make her feel real good like that, and apparently it put qwite a hook in her cos she got all over me again once we were in bed, and then after I go asleep, she sneak outside to the crooked bush and spend the rest of the night stuffin all my old cum inta herself. I seen my mother doin the same thing after I larnt what beatin off was, and she got dang wild about it. She’d git up in wee hours and I’d peep out my winder and see her run outside, lay on the ground, and start ta feedin each loop uv my spent jism into her pussy. Often went nuts with it right then n there, and sometimes Grandsire’d wake up, look out, and just shake his head, cos he knowed my ma had found about it by readin in the special books. Another thing Grandsire say onct is this: “Willy, when a fella make a splittail cum reel dandy, then she be changed for life. It make her all skewed in the head for cummin’, and make her dew crazy things ta git it.” I was durn yung when he tell me this, so’s I’d could guess little about what he was talkin of. Now, acorse, I know REEL well. His wurds would ring true, all right, and I would find that out, yes sir. Yes, my ma was a horny one, all right. Never onct been fucked by a man from hereabouts bein how ugly she be so’s no one had a kindle for her, but Grandsire tell me she sure learnt what cuming was the night on Sentinel Hill when my pa knock her up with me and that Other. After that, she cudnt leave off herself! She’d put all manner uv things up her: eers of corn, kewcumberz, broom ends, gords. One time Grandfather was fixing to make carrot and brown sugar pie so’s he need the rolling pin to flat out the dough but couldnt find it nowhere. Sure enuf he ketch my mother in her room buck naykid’n jerkin that pin in an out’a herself. Grandsire hadda mind to trash her but culdn’t fer how hard bent over he wuz laughin. Another time, I swar, my ma catched a hognose snake bare-hand, and this be about the fattest snake I ever see, like wide as a reglar fella’s forarm, and then she tyed its jaws clozed, slicked it up with sum cowfat, and stick THAT up her pussy, ‘tis how hot she was to cum. When that pore snake start ta smotherin, it begin to tussle feerce inside a her, and this just make her like it more, and then she cum like a freight train, as my grandsire used to say. Ma even KEEP the snake a couple days dead so to keep stickin it in herselff. Few times ma even try to make me fuck her when I was little but Grandfather got wise to that right off an put a hard thrashin to her. But all this be before she figgured out she cud make herself cum mutch better by stickin my seed in her pussy after I beat off. She got crazy in the head with it, and maybe thats what is happenin to Sary. I find Sary just after daybreak layin there with her tongue out and huffin like a herd dog that be all runned out. Wanted me to do it to her AGAIN before I leave the shed but I sed one of the Languor spells on her cos—dang!—I was just too weared out after the fuckin she put to me.