“Dorianne is my great-grandmother,” Bambi told me.
“Well, I guess she’s old enough to be that,” I granted.
“She’s a hundred and eight, but she likes to try to pass for under a hundred.”
“What was it she confided to you?” I wondered.
“Your friend convinced her that if she guided him back to your civilization, he could arrange for her to go to some special place where they would make her young again.”
“You mean like a facelift?”
“I think he gave her the impression that it would be a great deal more than that.”
“Even a facelift costs a lot of money. Did he mention if he was prepared to pay for it?”
“He told her ‘it would be no problem,’ that ‘the money can be raised.’ ”
“Did he say how?”
“He told her to go to New York to an organization called the Policemen’s Benevolent Association. Do you know of such an organization?”
“I know who they are,” I said, puzzled.
“He said they would pay her a reward for telling them the whereabouts of the High Lama. Is that true?”
“Could be,” I said slowly. If the High Lama was who I suspected he was, then the P.B.A. might very well be interested enough in his whereabouts to pay for such information. So might various branches of the Mafia having to do with numbers and drugs. Dickson, I reflected, really was too much.
The next morning we rose early and continued our ascent. Shortly after noon we reached the top of the mountain. We were ready to begin our journey down the opposite slope.
The first leg was to be accomplished by toboggan. There was a wide slope, thickly packed with snow, which descended from the mountaintop as far as the eye could see. Dorianne told us it only reached half-way to the foot of the mountain, but the way it was graded, it would mean a toboggan ride of several miles.
We strapped ourselves into the toboggan. Dorianne knelt in the very front and steered. The two bearers were on their knees in back where they could use their expertise in braking. Dickson was in front of the bearers with the box of gold strapped between his legs. I sat in front of him with my legs spread and Bambi—of necessity, due to the shortness of the toboggan—sat on my lap.
The toboggan took off slowly and easily enough, but before long it had picked up enough momentum to turn the ride into one of those thrill-a-minute chute-the-chute experiences that always seem to leave your stomach a full minute behind the rest of you. The slope, which had looked so smooth and evenly graded from above, turned out to have many unexpected curves, hairpin turns, sheer drops where we sailed through the air and miraculously landed right side up on the next downgrade. We were constantly forced to lean our weight from one side to the other to keep the toboggan from flipping over.
Up front Dorianne Brey was cackling witchlike, wrestling with the steering mechanism, and inhaling deeply from a pair of Dickson's soiled socks. In the back, the bearers were performing like a team of acrobats, leaping on and off the toboggan to provide braking action and balance as it was needed. Dickson, terrified, was screaming hysterically.
Listening to him, I realized that what he was screaming was quite queer. It was as if in his hysteria an old and very bitter hostility was seeking rerelease. It was as if terror had pushed a button and his words were coming out by rote. They were words he had spoken before, and they were aimed at those he considered to be his foremost enemies.
“ ‘I’m going to do my job, and I am not going to be diverted by any criticism from the press -- fair or unfair-—from doing what I think I was elected to do—’” he howled into the wind as the toboggan speeded up to approximately sixty to seventy miles per hour.
Bambi, facing me on my lap, was holding on for dear life. She was wearing a robe—protection against the wind the sled was bucking -- with nothing underneath it. Fear made her body burn against mine. The thrill of the ride seemed to make her passionate as well. She kissed me hard. She ground her hot-tipped breasts against my chest. She strained to press her pelvis against my crotch.
“ ‘I don’t want any press with me!’” Dickson screamed as the toboggan careened into a forty-five degree angle turn.
I slid my hands up under the robe and along the insides of Bambi’s thighs. She worked with both her hands to undo the leggings I was wearing and to free my now throbbing penis. It tingled as her icy fingers drew it forth. My tongue shot halfway down her throat with the sensation.
“‘We have had thirty minutes of this press conference. I have yet to have, for example, one question on the business of the people. . . .’ ”
The toboggan sailed through the air and landed atop a soft bank of loose snow. The speeding runners kicked up a spray around us that was like being caught in a blizzard. I could hear Dickson, but I couldn’t see anything except Bambi seated nose-to-nose on my lap.
Her robe was bunched up around her shoulders. Her breasts were big and naked and pink and she held them out in front of her, leaning back, offering them to me. When I accepted her offer, kissing and licking and sucking them, she squeezed my erection joyfully. The lubricating cream of passion spilled out from her honeybox, making both her thighs and my penis sticky.
“ ‘Network TV reporting . . . vicious . . . sordid . . .outrageous . . .”’
Somewhere behind us the Swiss bearers yodeled as the toboggan plunged into a wild turn that culminated in a grade so sharply angled that it seemed as if we took it upside down. The grade was a slab of sheer ice and up front Dorianne was screeching that she’d lost control of the steering. The toboggan turned like a spinning rocket and somehow—miraculously—landed right side up.
The result was that Bambi had come down solidly impaled on my erect penis. Now she rode up and down on it violently, shouting wordless sounds, yodeling her very own yodel of fast-mounting lust. I was riding with her every bounce of the way, those big, soft breasts of hers with the Phillips nipples slapping my face, her cushiony rear end plowing up and down on my outstretched thighs, her wide, peasant hips twirling with a heat that outfoxed the cold around us, and her cunning sheath rippling over my organ like the fingers of an expert accordionist who knows just how and when and where to push and squeeze and tickle the instrument.
“Even history is replete with [expletive deleted] examples which show the crass, cruel, contemptible callousness of the press!” Dickson was shouting into my ear.
“If there’s one thing I can’t stand,” I shouted back without breaking my rhythm, “it’s somebody talking over my shoulder while I’m trying to screw!”
“If you have to try,” Bambi panted, “We may be in trouble.”
We were in trouble, but not sexually. The trouble was that there was a boulder looming in front of us and there didn’t seem to be any way for Dorianne to steer around it. But our luck held. There was a hole to one side and we just managed to squeeze through without being scraped off the speeding toboggan like jam from a butter knife.
“Do you know what the reporters asked Mrs. Lincoln just after the President was shot while attending the theater?” Dickson howled. “They asked her ‘Aside from anything else, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the show?’ ”
“NOW!” Bambi shrieked. “SHOVE IT TO ME NOW! ALL OF IT!”
“You see what I mean about the necessity to control the press?” Dickson wanted to know.
“HERE IT IS, BABY!” I put it to Bambi with everything I had.
“WE’RE GOING TO CRASH!” Dorianne screamed.
“OH, YES! . . .YES-YES-YES!!!”
I erupted. It came a gusher. Bambi was right with me. We brought the well in together. The tops of our heads flew off as—
The toboggan, completely out of control now, smashed head-on into a snowbank at about ninety mph. Bambi and I were wrenched cruelly apart. I felt myself sailing through the air like a spinning cartwheel. My arms and legs were the spokes, and it wasn’t until I landed on it that it became clear that my head was also one of the spokes.