Pulp

1

"...he scooped her in his strong left arm as thick and as muscular as an oak tree in the winter, and his right hand's fingers each as  big as a man's arm ripped off her transparent gold threaded negligee from her snow white body falling limp in the ecstasy of his masterly manly touch as she was carried to the heavens of blissful..."2

Yes, true, this is the crap I made a good living off between failed attempts at a more literary style which as a rule ended unaccounted for at the bottom of the slush file. Well, where there is a market there is a supply and my publisher, Lust Inc, proved to all nice literate souls out there that one can find more of the green millions by talentedly exploiting the bottom of the human scale of misery. I was his ace in the hole, even though most of the time I felt more like the same without the in the at the middle of the expression. The stories were printed on cheap magazine size paper, three quarters naked heroes slobbering over half naked princesses on the covers (after all, the "stories" were destined for women), stapled thrice in the middle since my publisher was one for quality manufacturing, ha. Occasionally I saw a fish wrapped in one of my stories' pages carried home from the market, well, great for ecology.3

I don't know where from he (my publisher) came out with this bright idea that my "career" (and his piggy bank) needed an additional boost, so he proposed to my considerably sized registered fans club - a mix of rich, poor, white, black, different nationalities, a few homosexuals and even one outspoken feminist - a puzzle contest. And the first ten sending the solution will have the pleasure of flying in my company over the Colombian jungle, all flights to Bogotá paid for, and spend the following weekend at his ranch in Texas (the bastard, his ranch came in from my slush and all I got was a miserable monthly fee linked to an unbreakable ten years contract). All this adventure covered extensively by some national newspapers of course. He really put a packet on, certain to get it back twenty fold. 4

Needless to say the contest was rigged, the journalists bribed, and the resulting "winning" mix pre-defined, just the right balance for the right public's taste. What he did not tell me until it was too late for me to back up (another contract I did not bother to read the small script) is that I was supposed to be the... pilot of the old flying jalopy called Cessna which he rented for the occasion from a used cars dealership who "specialized" also in airplanes. Airplane my foot, this piece of iron was probably stolen from a planes' graveyard and repaired by the cheap mechanic who was supposed to be also the one acting as co-pilot for the ladies' eyes. But he was actually to be the real pilot and I was only to go through the motions. There's no risk, my publisher winked at me and I rushed home to compose a testament leaving everything to my dog.5

I won't bore you with the details. I got a crash course in piloting for two weeks, two Mexicans smuggled into Colombia gave the plane a fresh new cover of silver paint bought at a local grocery shop (the brushes are for free...), I got dressed into a Robin Hood green thing - tights and feather and all, and my job was to wait in the pilot seat together with my "co-pilot" separated from my itchy admirers (if they tear your clothes I will deduct it from your next pay, the bastard threatened) by a curtain which was supposed to be opened mid air above the jungle to sounds of oohs and aahs and applause and fainting... The female (of course) journalist was part of the scheme (of course). 6

I was frozen sick with fear. I didn't even hear the giggling and the shifting as the designed ten "winners" plus journalist crammed in the six places plane, and just had a fuzzy notion of taking to air when I saw some flying geese sliding past us in the opposite direction. Little by little I was de-cramping and started even playing with the plane's steering wheel or stick or whatever it is called, copying my stiff co-pilot's movement, and waiting for the great moment when the stool pigeon lady planted amid the admirers will pull the curtain aside. The voices were getting louder, I even heard some screams and I started screaming myself as I saw the plane's nose pointing down and my co-pilot's nose leaning on the stick, his eyes closed, his hands dangling, the sour smell in the air coming from the puke at his feet now sliding forward on the floor... the bastard was really stiff and really drunk and passed away...7

I tried pulling the plane's nose up, trying to control my panic as the feather caught into some piece of overhead display and pulled at my head, I overcompensated, then tried the other way around tearing wildly at the feather and overcompensating again downwards, the tops of the trees approached rapidly, the screams behind me quiet as by now everyone probably fainted... all I got was crash training, now it was time to prove that I learned something. So I crashed.8

*9

I woke up soon after as all kinds of hands pulled all kinds of parts belonging to or attached to my body. I felt my feet dangling kind of independently from the rest of my body, looking up at a dirty faced red haired strong armed female figure carrying me by the shoulders while my head kept bumping into her belly and actually a bit lower. I felt like blushing. Two other grim faces carried each a thigh with the fourth one kind of in between supporting my butt and actively fondling it. I hated the grin on that face, I wasn't a piece of meat... hey, what happened?...10

"Hey, what happened?..." I tried to ask but no sound came out because my lips were swollen and stuck together with blood. The figures carrying me seemed in some kind of hurry except for the one in the middle who kept testing the quality of the green material of my tights by trying to tear it off. "Hey, stop it..." I finally managed to croak, and a second later I felt this pair of hands losing its hold as one of the other two stuck her foot out and this lady tripped into the mud. I guess it was mud from the sound of splashing.11

"Bitch..." the red head muttered, winked at me and kept walking backwards. Other figures around us seemed to be moving the same way. The justification to their hurry arrived one minute later as we were all blown down by a sudden thundering noise and flames and dark smoke shot up. I guess it is the plane which exploded, I told myself, and started screaming not in pain but in aguish as I saw my lower limbs at an awkward angle to my body. "Yeap, both broken. I will have to sue your ass but first I have to patch it together to have what to sue." I tried to sneak a look at my ass hoping she does not mean it literally. She grinned mischievously. "Don't worry, it is still in place. Along with other pertaining parts. I checked it personally. Now just a foretaste of the pain..." and she called two other ladies, a heavy black woman around forty and a heavier blonde around twenty five. They approached giggling sheepishly, sat down half butt each on half my chest and I didn't know if in the next minutes I was going to die squashed to thin ribbon or explode in pain at whatever was done to my legs. Because something was done there which I was not liking at all and I kept screaming and cursing and calling the female nation various names till thankfully I slid again into the bliss of faint.12

The second time I came around I decided not to be a third time sissy. Writer or not writer - a man has some pride even in a den full of lionesses, I argued with myself, hearing my stomach churn. I counted them, fearful of the result, and finally uttering a sigh of relief when I counted eleven women and one male, all of whom seemed to be in reasonable shape. I was the only one with branches attached to his feet tied tightly together with panty hoses... thank god for female vanity. The other guy, the pilot, now partly awake, saw my eyes opening and started cursing, got up and waggled towards me screaming that I crashed his plane and telling disrespectful things about my mom and promising some inspiring gay one on one adventures. He didn't even see it coming and neither did I as a thick branch smacked him in the face and he fell down heavily bleeding from the nose.13

"You broke my nose, bitch..." he screamed looking straight up at the redhead glowering above him and afraid to get up, "... now I will bleed to death..." he finished in a wail.14

She fished in her pockets and took out two thin blue sticks clearly marked Tampax.15

"Stick one in each side of your nose, moron, say thanks that you don't have to fit one up your ass..."  Then she turned my way and approached with an opened can and a fork in her hand. She was medium built, solid yet not fat, a bit of a mocking smile on her sweating face, and something bulky bulging in front of her trousers... I thought I was going to get sick again even though I promised the contrary, and tried a witty...16

"...are you carrying a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?..." to which she answered with a surprising laughter and pushed her hand inside her trousers belt pulling out a... gun. A flares gun.17

"Disappointed?" she asked, grinning further, "Well, I am also happy to see you." 18

She clearly assumed the role of leader here. The other women seeing her close to me started gathering around as well. I felt uneasy, in my ridiculous Robin Hood outfit now bereft of the hat and feather, but hunger played the upper hand and I took the offered open can and started wolfing down its contents.19

"For a guy who almost got killed, went twice into coma, got both his legs broken, and is now stranded with eleven sex starved women mid of a snakes infested jungle - you look quite composed," the redhead commented loudly.20

"For some women who almost got killed, almost got blown to pieces, and are now stuck with a broken legs male mid of a snakes infested jungle with no rescue in sight - you look quite composed," I responded with a munching mouth, facing them all and wondering why do I actually feel the way she said. Because I did. I eyed the pilot who burped loud, the tampons stuck in his nose swollen and the two strings dangling down his chin making the most hilarious scene I ever saw. I exploded in an uncontrollable laughter, partly hysterical partly real, and if it wasn't for the sticks tied to my legs I guess I would have rolled on the ground.  "Sorry..." I apologized, "I wasn't making fun of anyone, I guess I am just desperate."21

"Well, so let me tell you the other piece of good news, in addition to the fact that we are all alive. We, journalists, surprisingly show sometimes some good survival sense. So I happen to have brought with me a satellite phone." Her grin turned into a smile as she saw the look of surprise on my face. "So tomorrow morning we will be picked up by a helicopter. All we have to do is survive this night. And the adventure is not yet over, we still have one Texan ranch to empty of its booze, don't we ladies?..." she concluded to screams and yells and some bare breast dancing. "And now these ladies would each like to get this scare's worth..." ...and I did not like the spark in that eye. Especially when she added "...be ready for some nasty surprises..." and winked again. And especially when she touched me in a not unpleasant way and whispered for my ears only... "...and careful with that little tent down there..." 22

Seemed they have discussed this signing kissing issue already, since they formed immediately some kind of a line in front of me. I was ready for hell.23

Males and their over reaching imagination... I thought to myself embarrassedly, once the first scare passed. All that those ladies wanted was a kiss and an autograph. A dated one, of course, so it will be worth a fortune on Oprah's or Good Morning America or some other significant show off place. After all, now they got more than they ever bargained for in fame and maybe they could get enough out of it to buy my books for a lifetime. Of course, having been through the scare of their lives they took liberties they would never have thought of under other circumstances. Strange creatures, women, not once I wondered if we are of the same species. I feel embarrassed to even mention what happened, but... hey... it may raise the bid for their mementos.24

The first trio stepped forwards and simply took off their panties to further sounds of youpeeee and asked me to sign them on the inside, just where... well... you know... Luckily miss redhead was there to keep my hand from shaking and the rapidly falling dusk masked the deep beet red infesting my face. My goodness, if this is the beginning, what next? The next was the moon, a human moon which I was invited to sign the right cheek of, and the lady kissed my forehead swearing to get it tattooed over once out of here. Then it got more sedated, as the first ones seemed to have been the more daring of the bunch. A mom and her shy teenage daughter, the first with a coffee stained book, the other with a dog chewed book (a Doberman puppy... she apologized, embarrassed), a fiftyish old lady presenting me with her husband's singlet for signature (he admires you more than I, we read your book and act the characters, you saved our marriage...), an overdressed over jeweled over heeled red cheeked young woman who smelled heavily of whisky and insisted that I sign a one thousand dollars bill (never saw one before, who the hell was Grover Cleveland?), the lady who mauled my pants earlier on apologizing she was under shock and trying to stick her tongue in my mouth, and bringing up the rear was the black woman who earlier on sat on my chest.25

"Don't leave us alone..." she whispered in my ear, then kissed me on the mouth. I did not immediately get what she was saying there, till now I was partly amused, partly uneasy, even scared. But she parted her mouth from mine, staring me in the eyes from close range for a long time, and suddenly I got it. And it hit me with such force that I felt like breaking my arms too and then burying myself under some stone in terrible shame. 26

And I called it crap. For these women I was painting a dream they will never have and they will always wish dreaming, it was their escape from reality, from dreary routines and violent husbands and dry lives and meaningless hours behind some counter or walking some red lighted streets or even the luxury between the walls and the terrible desert in their hearts. How could I have been so insensitive, I thought to myself, and I called "my" redhead to help me get to where they were huddling together from the night's cold and invisible dangers. 27

All of a sudden nothing bothered me, my broken legs, my insignificant contract, my dreams of high class literature, not even the albatross sized mosquitoes. Why should one come on account of another? Pulp, classical, dreams... They needed the dreams, I was going to write them. I told her. The redhead. There was a strange look in her eyes when I told her. Then she kissed me on the mouth as well, a far from friendly kiss. I doubt I ever felt such passion coming my way from a complete stranger. Suddenly we were not strangers anymore. Not her not any of the others.28

"What about an autograph for you?" I asked her timidly.29

"I will have it too. Later."30

We did not sleep much that night. Each told me her life's story. Each and her little hell. There was no need to take notes, I knew what my next ten stories are going to be about and the heroine's name. I was going to give each one of them her little heaven.31

"Eleven..." whispered the redheaded journalist, as she huddled into me and started telling me the story of her life.32

Everybody fell into an exhausted sleep. She got up and dragged me silently aside. There she undressed me as much as she could, undressed herself, and made love to me. I felt like crying. Heroes don't cry. I wasn't a hero.33

We woke up at sounds of approaching motors. Puffed faces bitten by sleep and by mosquitoes getting up on bodies refusing to straighten up. The sound became insupportable as a huge military chopper started getting down in the nearby clearing.34

She made me face her and moved her lips since no sound could be heard above the din.35

"No regrets... thank you for saving my marriage too..." ...and a hole the size of the Grand Canyon opened at the bottom of my stomach.36

"Will you cover the ranch event as well?"37

"I think it will be unwise. I will find someone to replace me."38

A civilian figure descended from the chopper and started running towards us. She stood up and ran towards him jumping into his arms. A second civilian figure jumped down, later we found this was an official representative of the US embassy in Colombia. A few heavily armed fierce looking paratroopers took positions around as we were being brought inside. It seemed we were being lucky with this fast rescue, since they saw from the air movement coming our way.39

"Animals?"40

"Yes, wielding long machetes..."41

I did not look her way, where did this pain come from, the hell? Certainly not from the broken legs, never heard of a link between the tibia and the heart muscle. The black lady kept caressing my head and I was thankful. It allowed me time to think. Well, I thought, who needs fame? All we all need (sorry for the messy expression) is just a little bit of warmth. Thank God for planting this small, yet full, matchbox in my brains. I only hope to be able to make good use of it.42