Physically, I would find the inhabitants of Läger Shang to be a magnificent people. Like Bambi (the girl), they were a combination of sturdy Swiss savage and finely honed, aristocratic Tibetan. Also, either as a result of the flukey climate, or perhaps due to the dietary and/or spiritual strictures of the religion strictly imposed on them by the High Lama, all of them were virtually always in superb health. Illness was unknown among them. And if lack of leprosy and such was a miracle (they hadn’t even formed a chapter of either the Heart Fund or Cancer Care), then think of the psychological boon of never knowing the sniffles of the common cold.
Health was only one of the boons Läger Shang offered its people. Longevity led the list of others. But I didn’t find that out until after my talk with the High Lama. Right now I was still in the freezing mountains with the sensually irresistible Bambi (the girl) (the naked girl, that is).
Bambi (the dog) had vanished as suddenly as she appeared. Bambi (the girl) was explaining how she’d come to be looking for me. It seems that earlier in the day Bambi (the Saint Bernard) had stumbled on Nicholas Swillhouse Dickson on a ledge higher up the mountain. (The Saint Bernards of the village, the human Bambi explained, had been trained to patrol the adjacent mountains in search of lost travelers.) She had gone back to Läger Shang to fetch human help.
Bambi (the girl) had been among the rescue party when Dickson was found. He told them about me. Two members of the party escorted Dickson back to Läger Shang; the others had fanned out over the mountainside to look for me. Bambi (the girl) had found me.
“How come you aren’t wearing any clothes?” I asked her.
“People in Läger Shang frequently don’t wear clothes,” she assured me.
“Don’t they ever get cold?”
“It is always summer in Läger Shang.”
“Doesn’t it ever rain? Don’t they ever get wet?”
“The answer is no to both questions.” She was serious. Evidently, difficult as it was to believe, it never rained in Läger Shang.
“And when you leave Läger Shang you don’t feel the mountain cold because you’ve mastered the technique of controlling your body temperature,” I remembered.
“That’s right.” She was calm about it. “Of course some of the older people wear robes when they leave the valley. But I’m young and I don’t see any reason to do so. The High Lama has taught us to believe that our bodies are beautiful. So then why should I conceal mine?”
I looked at her body. Yeah. My compliments to the High Lama. It would have been a sin to cover up a body like Bambi’s (the girl’s).
Which was nice to reflect on, but while it was heating me up, it wasn’t getting me warm enough to ignore the fact that my teeth were chattering. We had to make a choice. We could wait there until Bambi (the dog) brought others to help us, others who, presumably, might have an extra robe with which to cover the naked lower half of my body. Or we could try to meet the rescue party halfway. The cold made me vote strongly for the second choice, and Bambi (the girl) agreed.
The problem was my ankle. It was swollen to twice its normal size and no way would it support my weight. Even if it could have, without snowshoes I would soon have been up to my waist in snow trying to cross some of the drifts.
They were treacherous. You couldn’t tell how deep they were just by looking at them. Take a step and the snow might support you; and it might not. Snowshoes were a must.
Snowshoes were the one thing that Bambi (the girl) was wearing. Luckily, she was not only a big girl, she was also a strong one. She picked me up in her arms the way one would a child and started up the mountain.
My shoulder and arms rubbed against her joggling breasts. They were very soft and very warm. The nipples, taut and tapered and flame-red, positively burned against the muscle of my arm. One of her arms was under my knees and the way it supported me my bottom hung down and bounced against the blue-black curls covering her Mound of Venus. They tickled the underside of my scrotum. Every so often, as she had to raise her leg to climb, I would feel the moist lips of her vagina nipping at my dangling rear end. Before long I was beginning to react and Old Lucifer was jabbing rudely toward the night sky.
Bambi (the girl) noticed. “The High Lama says sex is healthy and good,” she remarked. “But sometimes outside Läger Shang the cold alone is enough to snap an icicle.”
The idea alone was enough to make my icicle shrivel up and melt; it might have stayed that way if Bambi (the girl) hadn’t shifted position. Now she slung me over her shoulder, jackknifed, so that my behind stuck up in the air, a weathervane to the icy wind. My flaccid organ curled up under her nose like a snuggly mustache.
That might not have mattered particularly if Bambi (the girl) hadn’t been the talkative type. She chattered on about life in Läger Shang (I gathered it was crime-free, poverty-free, disease-free, and free-lovin ), and every time her lips hit an m, or a p, or a b, an erotic jolt would travel the length of her upper lip to the tip of my asparagus. She mentioned that the High Lama played the Xylophone and the word “Xylophone” was like a vibrator treatment. Finally her consonants had so aroused me that she commented on it.
“I can’t breathe through my nose,” she complained. And once again she shifted position.
This time she carried me piggyback. I wrapped my arms around her neck and my legs around her hips (they were like velvet sofa cushions). She looped each of her arms under each of my legs. In this position, with my naked genitals disappearing in one or another of the spaces or slots or crevices at the juncture of her legs, she continued carrying me up the mountain.
At one point she stopped to catch her breath. She panted. I panted. Bambi (the dog) appeared on a ledge over us.
The Saint Bernard looked down and stared. From her angle, I figured out later, there could be only one activity in which we might be engaged. Bambi (the dog) acted accordingly.
She crouched down and slipped her paws under the harness holding the keg around her neck. When the keg was free she gripped it between her paws and pulled out the cork with her teeth. She then pushed the keg to the edge of the ledge, took another look at me on Bambi’s (the girl’s) back, and proceeded to pour the entire caskful of boiling water all over us! It works, you know. If it’s so cold your popsicle’s frozen, the way mine was, and boiling water is poured over it, the way it was poured over mine, two bodies in motion will come apart, the way ours did. My covictim summed it up:
“Drinking,” the blistering beauty said, “isn’t the only vice that dog disapproves of.”
After applying snow to our bums, we continued on our journey. We followed a tortuous side trail leading toward the top of the mountain. It ended behind an unexpected outcropping of ice rock which concealed a tenuous rope bridge crossing a gorge so deep that the bottom was obscured by clouds of mist. Bambi removed her snowshoes to carry me across.
On the other side of the bridge we followed a steep path that seemed to lead straight down. A complicated series of rocks like interlocking gates could be seen at the bottom of the path, but hid our view of what might lie beyond. Finally we reached these rock gates and passed through them.
Läger Shang!
The chamber of commerce, if it had one, would have gone adjective batty. Sunshine? I mean sunshine! The valley was flooded with it like one of those early Technicolor movies where the color is too rich for reality.
Dwellings made of white marble and roofed with gold nestled in green woods garlanded with multicolored flowers like priceless jewels in the most carefully contrived of settings. A stream wended over the landscape, bubbling cold and clear. At its beginning and end were a series of waterfalls which refracted the sunlight to form a permanent rainbow over Lager Shang. Naked children played in the water and their laughter echoed lightly over the verdant valley. Adults too walked about naked, smiling, unconcerned.