Chapter 5

Several days later, Hal's roommate John arrived. As usual, he was late for registration, and had missed several days of classes. To Peggy and Vanessa, he seemed the perfect compliment to Hal. While Hal was tall and dark, intense and quick-witted, John was of average height, very muscular, with blond hair and an easy, almost permanent smile. He declared that the past week at his grandparents' house in the Bahamas had been worth missing a few classes for, proclaimed that he had forgotten, for the fourth fall in a row, where the college bookstore and library were, and announced that yes, it had been sort of risky going through customs, but he had managed to bring back a pound of Columbian marijuana, all tops, of a variety that went by the nickname "chiba." Peggy was interested to know if it was the same variety as was available in New York from time to time, which was the most expensive of all grass, going for five to six hundred dollars a pound or fifty dollars an ounce. John modestly affirmed that it was, whereupon Peggy asked if she might try just a taste. John said, "Gladly," and produced a joint from his wallet. Within thirty seconds Vanessa and Peggy, Hal and John were rolling on the floor convulsed in totally mindless laughter.

The first thing on John's mind, after getting stoned and getting a beer, was Hal's artistic progress over the summer months. In a word, he wanted to see the dirty pictures. For the next two hours John alternated between drooling over the photos and carefully selecting shots that he wanted blown up.

"Why do you want them blown up?" Hal asked. The goddamned walls are all covered already."

John, a Budweiser can in one hand and another joint in the other, grunted semi-articulately, "Gonna paper the chapel with "em."

Hal stared at the ceiling. Peggy found some marbles in Hal's desk drawer. Hunting up a piece of chalk, she drew a circle on the carpet and divided the marbles into four piles. "Come on," she said. "Let's play." So they did-for five hours, with a break for dinner and time for John, who was constantly losing, to hunt up some more marbles from other guys in the building.

At the end of the five hours, Peggy naturally had cleaned everyone else out three or four times over, and they were just starting to come down from their long trip.

"Damn," said Vanessa, "that chiba really knocks you on your ass. Hey," she said, apparently thinking of it for the first time, "why do you guys have all those marbles?"

"Why not?" asked Hal.

That seemed good enough.

Finally, John broke a long, contemplative silence with a bright and sudden smile that said-"ideal"

"I've got it," he declared.

"Got what?" Peggy asked.

"I hope to hell you've got it," Vanessa added. "Wouldn't be much good if you didn't."

"Don't confuse me. Besides, maybe it was shot off in the war. Anyway, you don't know what it is."

"Well," asked Hal patently, "what is it?"

"A pussy tasting," John said triumphantly.

"What the fuck's that?"

"You uncultured boor," John said, putting on an excellent show of being genuinely hurt by his friend's lack of savoir faire, "have you ever heard of a wine tasting?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Do you know what happens at one?"

"No."

"You get five or ten different lands of wine, and you try them all out to compare them. You know, you say this one is smooth, it's fruity, it's a big wine, it has bouquet, a nice finish-while the other one is probably grade B horse piss."

"Oh."

"Well, man, we don't consume too much wine around here, but a lot of pussy-right?"

"Well-we're comfortable," admitted Hal.

"So-if you can't figure it out by now, I can't help you."

"I'm beginning to get the picture."

"So am I," said Peggy, "and I don't like it"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want my cunt to be labeled grade B horse piss."

"Oh, shit," said John, his eyes crossing slightly from too much thinking, "that's a wine category, that's not a cunt category. I mean, unless you take a leak in the middle of it"

"I just might, if I knew it was you," Peggy laughed.

"I don't see why we don't do it the other way around," said Vanessa. "We could cover your cock with chocolate sauce and bite it off."

"Ouch," said John. "Well, it depends on whether you like to eat or be eaten."

"Fuck it," said Hal, "why don't we just have an orgy."

"The two things are not mutually exclusive," said John. "Mutually exclusive," he repeated defensively, in response to Hal's raised eyebrows. "I learned that in philosophy last year, and I even know what it means. It means you can have a pussy tasting and an orgy all in the same night."

"I'm beginning to flash on this," Peggy said. "like we get about a dozen girls, and we cover up everything but our cunts, so the guys can't see who we are. Then we ask them to identify us purely by eating us out."

"That wouldn't work so well," said Vanessa. "Hal already knows us by our cunts better than by our faces."

"Well, shit, you have to be honest," Peggy said. "like if you've been into the muff in question"... she hesitated for a second. "The muff in question," she said. "That's like legal terminology. I heard it on Perry Mason. like the item in question, the day in question, the man in question-the muff in question. Get it?"

"We shouldn't do anything but play marbles on this dope," Hal observed.

"Anyhow," Peggy went on, "if you've been into the muff in question, and like you definitely know whose it is, then you have to fucking disqualify yourself."

"That sounds fair enough," John observed.

"Sounds far out," said Vanessa. "I'll do it on one condition. That we do it the other way around the next week. Have a cock tasting."

"Far fucking out," said John. "It's a deal."

He stood up very formally and offered his hand to Peggy. "Madam," he said, "I am most gratified that we have been able to reach agreement on this difficult question. The fur trade has suffered egregiously in recent years from a certain over-discreteness on the part of the suppliers which I am confident the present arrangements will obviate. If you can supply me with the pelts I need to carry on my business, you will find myself and my assistants more than ready to make up for any losses you and those whom you represent may have suffered in connection with the recent slump in the sausage trade. Now, if you will excuse me..."

John, who by this time had drunk more than a six-pack of beer, smoked three joints of some of the more powerful dope in existence, and who by his own account had not slept since leaving Nassau nearly thirty-six hours before, reached down and picked up his bag of marbles, emptied it onto the floor from a height of five feet, and passed out. Fortunately Hal, who had lived with him for three years and knew what was coming, had the foresight to put a chair under him.

"Well," said Peggy, "when shall we do it?"

"Why not Saturday night?" Vanessa suggested.

"The question is," Hal observed, "who the hell can you get?"

Peggy smiled. "That's no problem," she said. This damn place is as loose as a goose. I know about six freshmen girls right off who would do it"

"Who?" asked Vanessa, somewhat surprised herself.

"Oh, Angela... Doris... Judy Simpson... Pat, you know, from down the hall... Carol Park... Lydia Spencer..."

"How the hell do you know they'd do it?"

"Because Angela told me the other day that they'd all been swimming out at that pond Paul took you to with a bunch of guys, and it turned into a real orgy."

Vanessa was puzzled, "How the hell did you get talking to her about that?"

"Well first of all, she's a friend of a friend of mine from school-and any friends of this particular friend are going to be pretty loose. Second, she mentioned to me that she'd noticed us spending a lot of time with Hal, and she asked if we'd had our picture taken yet.

"Oh. I guess that picture room of Hal's really is pretty famous."

"Yeah."

"Besides those girls, there must be lots of others for a freaky trip like this."

"I think I can scare up the rest," Hal said. "Now which boys do you want to invite-that's the question."

By the time Saturday afternoon rolled around, everything was under control-as much as could be expected for such an event. They had decided not to use Hal and John's room for the event, because the people going in and out would attract too much attention, and they would have to keep the door locked for too long. They had decided to take a chance on an old barn on some property the school had just purchased and had done nothing with.

Peggy and the rest of the girls walked out early in order to get set up. It was already obvious that it was going to be the social event of the year, even though only two dozen people were to know about it. John had insisted that it be a black tie affair, and all the guys had dragged out their tuxedos-unused for several years-their ruffled shirts and patent leather pumps-left over from dancing school in the city- and they were ready to go.

Vanessa had ripped off about a dozen full-sized linen table cloths from the dining hall. Some of them she used to make a sort of curtain that hung from the rafters of the barn, separating the tasters from the tastees at the beginning. The others she cut pussy-sized holes in, about six feet apart. The girls dragged an old table from the corner of the barn. It had room enough for about half a dozen people to lie across it. Then they dug up some sawhorses and threw some wide planks on them to make room for the rest. The girls got up on the tables, naked from the waist down, pulled the tablecloth over them, and fitted the holes in the cloths to their cunts, so only they were showing.

"Holy shit," said Peggy, as she surveyed the scene from the front. "That's about the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

She took a hit off a joint and broke into hysterical laughter. Just then there was a knock on the door.

She went to answer it. It was John and eleven penguins. "Wait about a second," Peggy said, "till I get in position. Then you can come in, and draw the curtain whenever you want to. No hurry, because the table isn't that uncomfortable." Having controlled her laughter long enough to make herself sound like an assistant buyer in a department store asking a salesman to wait a second, she burst at the seams and went off weeping hysterically. It was all she could do to get into position.

In a matter of seconds, there was shuffling from the other side of the curtain, and the girls could hear John's voice.

"Now gentlemen, you know we have come here tonight to taste some of the finest vintage pussy available on the east coast of North America. You are also aware that this is not only a pussy-tasting; it is a contest. Now you are all acquainted with the owners of the muffs in question."

Peggy thought that sounded familiar.

"The rules are as follows. You are to taste each pussy once. No tasting is to be longer that two minutes, or two quarts of pussy juice, whichever comes first. Before each sample there is a pile of three-by-five cards. You will write down your impressions of the particular pussy on the cards, initial them, and turn them face down. No copying. You are all old enough to have your own opinion. Next, you will each have a piece of paper, numbered from one to twelve, on which you will record your guess as to who the muff in question belongs to. If you have been into the muff in question and know for a fact whose it is, you must disqualify yourself. However, if you are not absolutely positive, you may record your answer as part of the competition. Are there any questions?"

There were none.

"Now," John continued, "the Boy Scouts have a motto: leave the campsite better than you find it While I hardly expect that any of us are vandals enough to go chopping down clits or shaving cunt-hairs, it should be pointed out that each man is responsible for leaving the cunt with which he is occupied in first-rate shape for the next man. There are paper towels and plenty of water around for that purpose. In case you gentlemen should like to clear your palate between tastes, there is a case of champagne in the trunk of my car outside, which should serve nicely. There are joints in the small glasses that you see scattered around. We will proceed haphazardly, not in any particular order: just be sure you taste them all, and don't overstay your time at any particular one, no matter how gratifying it may be. And now; gentlemen, start your engines."

John pulled the curtains aside.

"Quite a spread," somebody said.

A champagne cork popped, and from various corners of the room, puffs of tell-tale marijuana smoke arose.

"I must warn you gentlemen," said John, "that the dope you are about to receive is not your ordinary, everyday, garden-variety marijuana. You will see what I mean."

Inside a minute, the place was pandemonium. People were collapsing on the floor with laughter. One by one, they began to make their way toward the table.

Vanessa, underneath her linen table cloth, had already smoked her share of dope for the day, and was floating along as if she had just come into possession of a magic carpet. She couldn't imagine what she looked like from the other side of the cloth. But soon, she heard someone shuffle up to her and felt him grasping her legs. A tongue began to probe her cunt, licking the lips up and down in a preliminary fashion, and then finally diving right in.

Vanessa could not keep from reacting. The strange, disembodied tongue took her over completely, delving again and again into the recesses of her pussy. She wondered whether she would be able to tell Paul or Hal when they came around. She didn't doubt that there were as many different ways of eating a pussy as there were men-but would she remember their styles?

She put her hands up underneath her hips in order to give herself more thrust and make herself more accessible. In the beginning, she had resolved, with the other girls, to keep from having a climax until the twelfth person-when they would all try to go together. Now she wasn't so sure she could make it From the sounds she was hearing from elsewhere underneath the cloth, she guessed that some of the other girls were having the same problem.

Next to Vanessa, Peggy was thinking and feeling many of the same things. The mouth that was fastened onto her juicy cunt was extremely gentle as it sucked in her cunt-lips and swirled them around. He seemed actually to be savoring her pussy's taste, to be trying to decide what its characteristics were. She helped him by opening her cunt as wide as she could when he really decided to go deep, and rotating her hips to make sure his tongue licked her insides everywhere. She too was skeptical about making it through twelve of these without a climax. She was even thinking in terms of two.

But soon Peggy found ways to hold off and keep herself at the very edge of a climax almost indefinitely. She remembered once having a long talk with a guy about fucking, and the problem guys always had with coming too soon. He'd told her that it was all in the mind. It was like driving a car, except you were driving your brain. There were different gears, and the trick was to know when to shift. For instance, if you were really into a fuck, feeling all the body contact and concentrating totally on the physical sensation, and felt yourself coming, you could quickly shift to thinking about something else, and just coast for a while. Peggy tried it. As she was reaching a feverish state, verging on an orgasm, she suddenly disengaged her mind and began to search for images that would let her coast for a while. The picture of a boat on a still lake floated into her mind, and suddenly although somebody's tongue was still in her cunt, she was drifting along placidly, feeling her excitement subside till it was below the danger level Then she allowed herself to return to full enjoyment of the event. In and out of it she wandered, using a large variety of images-quiet picnics in the grass, vistas of cities or mountains, and even memories of humorous situations.

The barn was by this time in a total uproar. The situation itself was such a combination of the sensual and the ludicrous that groans of passion and wild laughter mingled together and rose echoing to the rafters, John, who had taken time out from the business at hand to observe the spectacle, suddenly felt a strange image settling over the scene before him. With the heads bobbing up and down, and the isolated cunts rising to meet them and falling, the whole thing reminded him of an engine, with pistons shooting upward at various intervals, minor explosions shaking and rocking the tables, and the fuel of sexuality running it all. That was too much for him. He stood, mesmerized, for some time, and then wandered outside, Even from there, the smell of marijuana and the popping of champagne corks noises of combustion. "Holy shit," he told himself. "I've constructed a cunnilingue machine." Then he started to laugh, and went back inside.

By this time things were nearing completion. Everyone was on his last "tasting." There were stacks of cards in front of each girl with absurd comments on them, and each guy had his sheet of paper with his guesses as to the proprietorship of the various samples. John joined in, and suddenly felt the tension in the atmosphere rising. Groans and sighs and the sounds of the table creaking mixed together as the girls let themselves go. In several seconds of din and uproar, the tempo became unbearable. Then, suddenly, one by one, there were piercing cries and clutching arms and frenzies of orgasm. After a few seconds, it was all over.

The place was a wreck. Champagne bottles had been knocked over, clothes were scattered around with other kinds of litter, and exhausted guys lay on the floor trying to breathe.

"Holy shit," somebody said, "I feel like I was beachcombing at Normandy on the wrong day."

"Who the hell's got my tongue?"

"That was a fucking conspiracy." And so on.

After ten minutes or so, the white sheets covering the girls had all been removed, and people were wandering around evaluating results. Peggy was reading the stack of cards that had piled up in front of her.

"Holy shit," she said, "listen to this one! light and pale, with the fragrance of a rose and the consistency of bologna!' Who's the prick that wrote that?"

"Look at this one," Vanessa said. "'Deep, rich flavor; full tobacco taste!' You guys are really something."

"Hell with that," said John. Let's tally up the score."

Snatches of conversation showed the task had not been so easy as it might have sounded.

"I've been going out with Angela for a year and I had no idea which one was her..."

They all look the same..."

"Bullshit. You just have to appreciate the little things."

"like what?"

"Fuck if I know-I think I got them all wrong."

John was rapidly checking each guy's list against a chart that Peggy had given him. In a few moments he was done.

"I guess it's no surprise that Hal wins," he announced.

A loud chorus of boos resounded in the barn.

"He's a fucking professional... he should be disqualified."

"Well," John pointed out, "he disqualified himself on five of them. But he got all the rest right."

"Give the guy credit," someone shouted. "He's a very sensitive artist!" The sardonic quality of the voice prompted someone to shake a bottle of champagne and squirt it at Hal. That was all that was needed to create pandemonium. Someone scampered up into the barn's hay loft and began pitching hay down on everyone at a mile a minute. Someone else turned on a hose, and suddenly it was raining inside. The guys who still had their tuxedos on stripped them off and threw them out the door, and then dove into the pile of hay and bodies that decorated the barn's floor. It was a mud orgy by this time, with people groping around and throwing hay at each other and fighting for control of the hose. Fantastic configurations of bodies grew up, wrestling, fucking, sucking, tickling, yelling and generally carrying on.

Hal, who had received much of the brunt of the first attack, and who had fucked himself into oblivion, eventually got up arid wandered outside. He had been sitting in the grass for about five minutes when a pair of car lights stabbed through the trees on the horizon. There was only one road in sight, and it was the one that led to the barn. Hal leapt up and stumbled Into the barn. "Somebody's coming," he yelled. "There's a fucking car coming up the road.'"

By this time the place looked like a tarring and feathering party: everyone was naked, covered with mud and hay from head to toe.

"Out the back door," John yelled. "Take all your shit."

There was a mad scrambling of people collecting things. The guys piled outside to pick up their clothes and then scampered around behind the barn. Fortunately the road to the barn was long and open, and the car was still several hundred yards away, and moving slowly over the rutted surface, by the time the whole group gathered up everything in sight and run into the woods.

"I wonder who the hell that can be," said John, gripping his crumpled tuxedo in his muddy hands.

"I don't know," someone said, "but let's not stay to find out."

"I've got a good idea," Peggy said. "There's a pond way down at the back of this place. We could go there for a midnight swim."

The group took off through the woods. Ten minutes later they were straggling across a field in the moonlight, looking like the last humans to survive a nuclear attack.

"If you wrote about this shit in a book," Vanessa said, "who the hell would believe it?"

They reached the pond and unceremoniously dove in. Most of them were still stoned out of their minds and high on champagne. Vanessa floated on the water's surface, feeling as though she were floating in the sky. Everything seemed turned upside down. The stars seemed to be below her, and when she passed over a spring that fed the pond with cool water, it felt like the wind.

After a short swim, Vanessa emerged from the pond. The change in the group was incredible. From a messed-up, muddy legion of stoned freaks, they had turned into a group of clean, glistening gods and goddesses, conversing together in the moonlight. Here and there the orgy continued, with couples making love on the grass. The heaving of their bodies punctuating the silence with soft rhythms.

"I'm tired," John finally said.

"Me too," said Peggy, sitting next to him. "I guess we can't use that place for next week's festivities."

"I don't know," said Paul, joining them. "I'm curious about who the hell that was up there. I think I'm going to sneak back and take a look."

"Just don't get caught," John said. "You'd be pretty hard pressed to explain what you were doing sneaking around a barn in the middle of nowhere in a muddy tuxedo."

"I'm going to head back to school," Peggy announced. The rest of the group agreed. "Paul, if you find out anything, let us know. Well be in Hal's room for a while."

"Yeah," someone said, "who's got those cards we wrote? They should be good for a few laughs."

Paul went one way, and the group went another. By the tune Hal unlocked the door to his room, and let everyone who'd changed their clothes and returned into the familiar looking haven, people were ready to lie down and drink and relax.

"You know," John said, "ifs always the case that when history is made,, the historians aren't there to record it."

"What are you talking about?" Vanessa asked.

"I bet tonight was the first pussy-tasting in the history of the Western world. Maybe in the history of all humanity. And nobody knows about it."

"You think maybe we should have invited the press?"

"I don't know," John answered, "but sure as hell some group of freaks in San Francisco is going to think of the idea in four or five years, and I'E bet they'll have television cameras there. It'll be hailed as the cultural breakthrough of the century. And here we'll be, the great innovators, sitting on our thumbs completely unknown."

"I don't know," offered Hal, "I think if it's fame and fortune you want, you better try some other route."

"Well, it was fun, and that's all that counts," John concluded.

Just then Paul burst in, "You'll never guess," he said, barely able to contain his laughter.

"Did you find out?" someone asked.

"You're damned right But you freaks have to guess." He grabbed a scotch bottle and poured himself a big drink, and then collapsed on the floor. "It isn't easy to run all the way back from that place laughing your ass off," he said, holding his stomach.

"Come on, you pecker," Hal said, "spill it. We're not going to wait round ail night to find out who the hell it was."

"Guess," Paul insisted.

"Well," Vanessa offered, "there was only one car. It was pretty late. The car wasn't in any hurry. I'll bet it was someone with what axe called dishonorable intentions."

"Right so far," Paul conceded.

"Someone who didn't have any place else to go."

"Yeah."

"Someone who couldn't afford to be seen at a motel, even."

"Shit," Paul said. "You're too smart."

"Well, who the hell could it be?" Gary asked.

"Use your brain," said Vanessa. "Somebody from I the college, ten to one. And not students, because I unless they're up to something as far out as we are, they have places to go."

"And there isn't anyone as far out as we are," Hal interjected.

"I hope not," someone said.

"So," Vanessa concluded, "it must have been someone from the faculty or administration."

"Maybe," Paul said.

"Okay. You'll tell us if we get it right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Who's the most uptight, fucked-up person that fits that prescription?" Vanessa asked.

"Professor Blatchely."

"Don't be ridiculous. He's so into biology that I bet he fucks his frogs before he dissects them."

"Right," said Paul. "That's wrong."

"Okay, how about that music teacher?"

"Miss Witherspoon?"

"Yeah."

"Wrong," said Paul.

"Well," Hal guessed, "how about President Norton?"

Everyone laughed at the suggestion-except Paul. "You pussy," he said.

"What? That's right?"

"Yup."

"Oh no!" Screams of hysteria swept the room.

"That sly old coot!"

"He's not that old."

"He's fifty-four."

"If I can't get it up when I'm seventy-four I'm going to fucking shoot myself," John said.

"Eighty-five year old men have been known to become fathers," someone observed.

"Isn't that a bitch," Peggy said, "The president of the fucking college, balling in a barn."

"Okay," Paul said, "who was he with?"

"Sylvia Hankins," said Hal.

"Who's that?" Peggy asked.

"His new secretary."

"Don't be so bourgeois," Paul said. "That's wrong."

"Oh, shit, I'm not going to guess any more," Hal said.

"All right. Hold onto your organs, people. It wasn't I one person. It was a couple. In fact, it was Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan B. Nathan."

Three or four people howled. The rest were dumb.

"Who the fuck's that?" someone asked.

"You boobs," Hal said, "they're that couple who just came from Philadelphia to start the new drama department. The bitch of it is, he's gay as a mother-fucker, and I'll lay you ten to one she's a dyke."

"Oh," said Peggy, "he's that guy with the scraggly beard and the high voice."

"Right," said Hal. "Okay, Paul, what did you see?"

"Oh, not too much," Paul said casually. "When I got there it was pretty quiet The Pres was sucking Jonathan off, and his old lady was playing with herself in the corner."

"Isn't that a bitch," said John.

"You might say that. What's really a bitch is that we I got our history-making cultural event busted up just so Norton could get his horny old rocks off on a theatre teacher from Philadelphia."

"Now that does take gall," John agreed. "I think we ' ought to send him a letter saying that he ought to ' be more considerate in the future."

"Didn't they notice anything funny about the barn?" Hal asked. "like that there was wet hay all over?"

"Not to mention footprints."

"And body prints."

"I think they were beyond that," Paul said. "They probably figured the roof leaked."

"Well, fuck all this," Peggy said. "So the president of this college is bisexual or something. What I want to know is when we're going to have our cock-tasting."

"Is that all you can think about?" Hal asked mockingly, "sex?"

"Well, I don't seem to be the only one. Besides, what's so bad about sex?"

"All right," John said. "As the official promoter of various kinds of tastings around campus, I hereby schedule the world's first full-dress cock-tasting for next Friday night at eight o'clock sharp, at a place to be named not later than tomorrow midnight. Champagne and marijuana to be provided by the management."

"Okay," Peggy said, "that's settled. Now let's see some of the comments you pussy-eaters wrote."

One of the girls had gathered up all the cards, which were somewhat mud-splattered but still legible. They were passed around, and each person had several to read aloud.

"All right," said Peggy, "I'll start. This one is with regard to sample number five. Will the owner of that muff please make herself known to the studio audience?"

A short, dark-haired girl named Judy raised her hand. "Right here," she said. "What's the bastard say about me?"

"Well, it says here...'full-bodied, rich, and mellow, with a somewhat musky aftertaste. Plentiful juices. Obviously a vintage year from an excellent chateau.'"

"Excellent chateau bullshit," said Judy. "I was born and raised on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn."

"Will the author of that comment please make himself known?"

A slim, red-haired boy named Charlie raised his hand.

"Well," Peggy demanded, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Shit," he said, "I was born on Avenue B on the Lower East Side on Manhattan. I guess I just can't shake that home-grown stuff."

Ripples of relaxed laughter spread through the room.

"All right-next," Peggy said. "This one is a comment on sample number eight"

"That's me," said Vanessa.

"Okay. Here it is. 'A delicate fragrance reminiscent of baked bananas and motor oil, yielding upon closer examination to a quite definite sardine odor. Physically the sample resembles the mouth of a rather small dragon, toothless, but with extraordinarily supple and . powerful jaws, which nearly amputated the tongue of the taster. The overall effect is that of a rather dry sherry which has been left in the sun for six months and then mixed with olive oil.'"

"All right," Vanessa said, "who's the shithead that wrote that?"

Hal collapsed with laughter. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was so stoned that I couldn't taste a damned thing, so I just made something up."

"You cocksucker," Vanessa giggled. She got up and, on the spot, yanked down her dungarees, taking her underwear with them, and shoved her cunt into Hal's face. "I demand a rematch," she said, grabbing his head and shoving it between her legs.

Hal was smothered, and his protests were unintelligible. By the time Vanessa let him go, all he could say was, "I take it all back... it's ambrosia... it's the greatest thing I ever tasted... it's better than my mother's beef stew..."

And so the evening went.

And so the week went, until Friday. Calm, classes, a few giggles when President Norton addressed assemblies or performed official functions-but nothing out of the ordinary.

Just to be safe, John decided to have the Friday night event in a suite of hotel rooms in a town thirty miles from the college. This time the dress was to be informal, to avoid attracting attention, and people were to arrive at timed intervals. By eight o'clock, the girls were sitting in one room while the boys finished their preparations in the other.

Peggy was laying down the rules of the game to the girls. "Now this event," she said, "is going to be exactly the same as the one last week, with one exception. Contestants will receive extra points if they can make the men come. This is how it works. If you identify someone correctly, you get five points. If you make somebody come, whether you've identified him or not, you get three points. The person with the highest point total at the end wins. Now if anyone could identify all twelve men, and also make them all come, that would be a total of 96 points. That's a perfect score, and if you get that you win a free stomach pump. Any questions?"

It seemed pretty straightforward. Peggy opened the door to the room where the guys were waiting.

Immediately hysteria broke out. Not only were there twelve cocks protruding from holes in sheets, but each cock had a colored bow on it, and flowers strewn around it to give the effect of floral pubic hair.

"Jesus Christ," Peggy said, "How the hell is this going to be a serious cultural event if you guys are fucking around like that?" Then she turned to the girls. "One rule that I forgot to mention. You cannot use your hands, your tits, your cunts, your ass-holes, or anything else like that in this competition. Anyone found using anything other than her mouth will be forced to squat on a cucumber for the rest of the evening."

With that, the event started. Bight off, Peggy and Vanessa both had to disqualify themselves on three or four samples-Hal, Paul, John, and Gary. After that, they found it rough going-although Vanessa, because she knew Hal's quirks pretty well by this time, succeeded in getting him to shoot a thick jet of sperm into her mouth, thereby gaining three points. Peggy did the same to John. In fact, all up and down the line, there were heavings and groanings and dribbles of sperm staining the sheets.

"These three-pointers aren't so hard to come by," observed Angela as she stepped up to her third cock of the evening, a particularly large one that quivered noticeably as she fitted her lips around it "Yeah," said another girl. "This one here's a real gusher. It's popped off the last three times anyone's touched it."

"What happens if the damn things run dry?" someone asked.

Peggy never thought of that. "Well, you don't have any evidence that a guy's come," she mused. "Okay," she yelled, 'listen up, you he-men. If you're coming for about the fifth time and don't have anything to show for it, raise your hand under the sheet. That way we'll have something to show for it."

Vanessa was the first girl finished with all twelve samples. Her score was rather devastating, since first of all she had learned to use her mouth and tongue with unerring effectiveness since arriving at college, and second of all, she had rushed through in order to get everyone while they were fresh. Altogether she had accounted for nine orgasms out of twelve people, and thought she had identified all but two of the guys. Now she sat back to observe and finish writing up some of her comments. As she did, she found that it was interesting to watch the techniques of the various girls, and she found herself rating them. She had come to favor the swallow-the-whole-thing technique, but not noticed that there were others. There was the lick-up-and-down technique, the suck-and-gobble technique, and the pull-on-the head technique. All of them seemed to have their advantages, although Vanessa noticed that Peggy, with a style similar to hers, was really cleaning up even after most of the fountains had run dry.

Toward the end, the cocks were getting red, and the girls were panting and collapsing left and right, out of breath from exertion and laughter. Vanessa took a sip from a bottle of champagne, and then went down the line, pouring the liquid over every cock, and over the heads of some of the girls as they worked away. Vanessa noticed that Peggy had tackled one organ that was about the size of Hal's-the biggest in sight -and she sat down to watch. It was Peggy's last one, but she seemed as excited as she had been at the first, and so did the owner of the cock, who moved up and down in a ragged rhythm, thrusting and shoving toward a climax. Peggy let the prick fall from her mouth for a second, and sucked the big, loose balls down her throat. There was a groan from under the sheet. By this time several other girls had gathered around, and Peggy had become the star attraction. She only had thirty seconds of her two minute limit left, and now she began to force herself down on the immense, glistening organ again and again with a rapid, demanding rhythm. The cock disappeared down her throat again and again, and the balls smacked up against her chin now and then with a slapping sound. The tempo had reached incredible proportions by the time there were ten second left, and everyone had gathered around. Finally there was a monstrous groan from under the sheet, and then a series of gasps, as the cock exploded into orgasm. Unbelievably, a torrent of come spilled out of the corners of Peggy's mouth, even though she was swallowing as fast as she could. It ran in grayish droplets down the shaft and spread out onto the sheet.

"Holy fuck," said someone, "did anyone get that guy before?"

Everyone looked at everyone else. "No, I guess not," Vanessa said.

"I wonder who that fucker is," Angela breathed. "He must have control like you've never seen."

"Maybe it's Norton," somebody giggled.

"Well, everyone's made their guesses," said Vanessa, as Peggy dropped to the floor and gasped for breath. "Who do you think it is?"

"I thought it was Hal," said Angela.

"Wrong," said Vanessa. "I know that's wrong. Who else?"

"I thought it was John," said Judy.

"Nope."

Peggy had succeeded in getting her breath. "I know who it is," she said. "It's Bernie."

Everybody laughed. Bernie was a slight, bespectacled freshman, with short dark hair who spent most of his days practicing the oboe in the cellar of the music building. John had asked him to join in because he was always talking about sex, but seemingly never doing anything about it John had thought he'd call his bluff.

"That's an A Number One cock there," Peggy said. "The fucking kid's a pro." She collapsed even further to a prone position and gazed up at the ceiling.

When all the scores were tallied up, Vanessa had beaten out Peggy by three points, having guessed seven out of eight people right, as Peggy had, but having produced one more orgasm. She was the champion.

By the time the guys had extricated themselves from their positions, they had cooked up the idea that the champion should be laid by half of the guys, and the runner-up should be heir to the other half.

"Oh, my poor pussy," Vanessa complained at the thought, although first of all she rather relished the idea, and second, there was nothing she could do about it; the troops were on the way. For the next half hour there was the sound of heavy breathing and juicy cunt being penetrated by a number of different cocks. Vanessa was almost too tired to respond: she simply lay there twitching, and enjoying it.

By the time the festivities were over, Vanessa and Peggy had had all the sex they needed for a month- or so they thought-and they were ready to go home.

"I make a motion," said John, "that since the champion and the runner-up are fucked to shit, we put off reading the girls' comments about the guys until another time."

That was agreed. The group piled into five cars and went back to school.

The next day, Hal, John, Peggy and Vanessa were sitting in the school dining hall, in a far corner, looking through the cards from the night before. They were even better than the ones the guys had written.

"We're missing a big chance here," said Peggy. "We should turn these things into a book."

"We could call it 'The College Student's Guide to Pussy-tasting and Cock-tasting.' It would become a classic--like those etiquette books," Hal suggested.

"Let's hear some of those comments again," John said to Peggy, who as usual was the company reader.

"Okay," said Peggy. "Here's one. It happens to be directed toward you," she said, glancing at Hal. "like a peppermint custard banana, lightly salted, and baked in bear grease."

"Well," said Hal, "that's concise. What the hell does it mean?"

"Means about as much as the ones you wrote," Vanessa told him.

Just then Bernie, the hero of the previous evening, wandered in and joined them.

"Well, Bernie, you crazy fucker," Peggy said. "Tell us your secret."

"I'm repressed," laughed Bernie.

"Yeah. Hey, tell us where a little guy like you came by such a big cock."

"Heredity," said Bernie. "My old man wears his in a sling, and my grandfather carries his around in a wheelbarrow. I figure at this rate my kid'll have to look for his with a tweezers."

"Really retrogressing, eh?" John laughed.

"Yeah," Bernie said, a twinkle in his eye. "But Fm really glad I didn't get the short end of the dick. When I was at camp one year, my dick was so much bigger than everyone else's that I was embarrassed to take showers. I used to wear my bathing suit all the time. Finally, though, some guy started calling me needle-dick the bug-fucker."

Hal roared.

"Hey," John asked, "couldn't they see the big fucking bulge in your pants?"

"Yeah," said Bernie. "This one guy said it was a piece of hose I'd stuck in there."

"So what happened?"

"Eventually I got even. One day we were down at the lake swimming, and this guy came running down-he was fully dressed-with this magazine. He said, "Here you go, Bernie; if that's not a hose it ought to get a little bigger when you take a look at this." It was one of those really raw spread mags like you get in New York, and I'd never seen one before. My fucking cock jumped out about a mile. The guy was so surprised he stepped back and started to lose his balance at the edge of the dock. So I gave a big swing with my cock and knocked him in."

"Bullshit," John breathed between gales of laughter.

"Well," conceded Bernie, "I also helped him in with a little push."

"I hope you didn't get the magazine wet," said Hal.

"Hell no. Anyhow," said Bernie, ready for a change of subject, "what're you doing?"

"Looking over last night's results," Peggy said. "Let's see what we can find on you. You were number ten, as I remember."

"Right."

"Okay, here's one. Taste like a quiche lorraine, but needs more cheese.' That's all."

"That's weird," said Bernie.

"Well, you held back for so long that nobody got a really good taste."

"Except you," said Bernie.

"That's true," Peggy said. "But I already gave my comment."

"Well," John suggested, let's file this stuff away for a while."

"Maybe we should bury it in a time capsule," Vanessa suggested.

"Yeah. Then historians two centuries from now would know why America fell."

Peggy put the cards in her pocket book. Tm going home for Thanksgiving," Peggy said. "Maybe I'll make copies of them and send them to the Times." Then she turned to Vanessa. "By the way, you're invited to come home with me."

"I accept," said Vanessa. "I sure as hell wasn't going all the way to Arizona."

"You're all invited to stop by," said Peggy to Hal, John, and Bernie.

"We'll be there," said Hal.

It should be a wild time," said Peggy.