Pornucopia

He still wanted his own flesh back, cheese and all.

"Have a good time," Oubliette told him, kissing him chastely. "I've done all I can for you." And she had, both as surgeon and as woman. He felt like a heel for not properly appreciating it, and he couldn't tell her why. It was time for him to go, and he knew he should do so with appropriate grace.

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"You seem pensive," she remarked.

"Merely the thought of leaving you," he said with fake and ineffective gallantry. But that was at least half-truth; he did like her in or out of bed, and was certain he would miss her.

"If there is any problem of adjustment," she murmured discreetly, "and often there is, emotionally—we call it the postoperative let-down—remember that a cunette is defined as a trench within a trench, for drainage. There are other things in life."

"A cunette?" he asked, perplexed. "Sounds like a small—" Then he visualized a trench within a larger trench, or two sets of labia, and smiled. "Sure there's more," he agreed. "But it's not the drainage trench I'm concerned about, it's the drainage pipe."

"Sometimes a walk down the Eeg-trail helps," she said. She gestured toward the back of the grounds. "The statues are knowledgeable about both trenches and pipes, and provide excellent advice."

"Uh, sure, thanks," he said, not seeing much point in traipsing by the erotic stone figures again. Maybe she found solace in such contemplations (on her way to fuck with the Eggers: ah, jealousy!), but this could hardly bring back his natural penis. Only her sister Tantamount could do that—and she would never give up her handy-dandy little anti-VD smegma producer.

"They do have their price, though," Oubliette said as she left him. She had, of course, other appointments demanding her attention.

Prior went to his car and drove, knowing that he could not escape the problem by traveling. He brooded. So he could go back to his regular job with the parking department, if he hadn't been fired in the interim, and market the tamponer on the sly. And exercise a different penis every night. Great life!

Finally, ridiculously, he turned the car about and drove back. He parked behind Oubliette's residence and took a walk down the path, as she had recommended.

The beautiful stone nude was still there, though her cold arms now stretched out as if to embrace a man, and her carven lips were puckered as for a kiss, and her pelvis pressed forward. If ever a statue were ready for sexual love, this was the one.

"What the hell," he muttered. "You're worse off than I am; might as well give you something to think about." He opened his fly and took the six-incher from its box and attached it. He contemplated the statue's perfect form and imagined it as a living woman until his member came erect. Then he stepped into the female embrace.

The stone was cold, but not uncomfortably so, and anyway he was clothed except for particular areas. He bent his knees and got his member wedged against the rigid cleft, nudging the deep vagina. He could not force an entry, of course, for the slit was inflexible and this penis was too large, but he could touch. He put his arms about her body and pressed his front against those statuesque breasts. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

The stone became warm. He felt it on his mouth and then in his hands and finally against his pressing penis. The hard lips seemed to become soft, as though responding to his kiss. He did not question this; indeed it was not wholly unexpected, considering the peculiarities of these statues. They had to be alive, in some obscure ma

He parted his lips on hers and poked his tongue between. It met her tongue—warm, moist, animate. As he did this, her torso seemed to flex under his hands and her vulva softened similarly. His member nudged into her warming cleft, melting the i

Prior kissed her again, deeply—and the way opened and the rest of his organ slid into her snug vagina. He thrust, withdrew, thrust, holding the kiss, clasping the bended torso, leaning against that bosom—and suddenly fired a liquid salvo into her chamber.

As he disengaged from her, feeling the hardness of the stone already returning, her lips formed something like the configuration of a spoken word. Her magnificent breasts heaved gently. "Go," she said succinctly.

That was all.

Prior unplugged his member and knocked the dottle out and zipped up his fly. "Thank you," he said to the statue. "You are an excellent lay, even if vertical. I go."

She was cold and rigid again, but there was a half smile on her lips, half a wink to her eye.

He walked on until he came to the statue of the man. The stone erection remained, but now the figure was bent as though inserting his member into a ready orifice.

"So that's the way it is," Prior said. "Well, what must be, must be."

He squatted before the statue, licked his lips, and applied his mouth to the forward projection. At first lick the stone was cold, as before, but it soon began to soften. Prior took the large glans in his mouth and sucked, and the thing became tender. He worked his lips down around the shaft, and the warmth descended with him. The penis began to throb.

Something cold touched his head. Startled, Prior paused. It was the statue's hand, unmoving yet pushing his forehead back.

He sighed. "I was afraid of that."

He did not like pederasty, yet he did want his natural penis back, and Oubliette had warned him that the statues had their price. Maybe, however, he could fake it, this time. He stood, unsnapped his belt, dropped his trousers and shorts, bent over, and backed up to the living extremity.

The stone penis had solidified some in the few seconds it had been neglected, and the glans was cool and hard as it touched his buttock. Prior shifted, and the firm organ slid into his crack. Quickly it warmed again and became slick, as though coated with grease. Yes—this was what the stone man wanted.

Prior waited a moment, then leaned back against the member. But he kept his anus puckered tight, instead letting the half-stone member push down between his clamped-together legs, shoving Prior's scrotum out of the way. With luck, that would feel like the buggery it was intended to be. He worked his thigh muscles and jogged a bit in the rod, and in due course the statue came. It was a jet of icewater, squirting out in front of him. Better that than hot lava.

He pulled himself off as the stone cooled and hardened. Had he fooled the statue? He listened to the slowly pursing lips.

"To," said the stone man.

Good enough! "Thank you," Prior said as he do

The sheep-statue was looking toward him expectantly, tail lifted. By this time Prior had pretty well come to terms with the system, though as little as a month ago it would have been another matter. He wasted no time with foolish qualms. He unpacked the slender five-incher (because it was easier to erect in a hurry) and applied it to the ovine puddendum.

"Ba-a-a-ack up," he told it.

As before, the aperture softened, and before long he was able to deposit a moderate seminal offering. The ewe's vagina was, by the feel of it, very similar inside to a human one, and the experience was not really objectionable. He could almost appreciate why so many country youths preferred their animal female friends to the less acquiescent and more fickle human ones. Bestiality was frowned upon, generally—but this restriction had no doubt been authored by people who lacked the nerve to approach an obliging sheep. It was said that one of the venereal diseases had come to man by way of a sheep: one of the crewmen who sailed with Columbus, bringing this New World disease back to delight the Europeans. Prior didn't believe it, but it did make a nice historical story.