"The Hookers are equipped with one hell of a lot more than lassos," Hamish went on. "You've seen the asscoshes?"
"Clubs they keep shoving up a guy's ass. Some kind of ... I don't know. Anal vengeance?"
"It's even more practical -- and dirty -- than that. The asscoshes deliver a special electrical current. Quite simply, you WILL get erect. You'll be violated, you'll be shocked -- literally -- and you'll hurt like hell, and yet for all that, you'll still be sporting the hardest wood you ever had, which is all that really matters to them.
"Got it. So, lassos and asscoshes."
"It gets worse," said Hamish.
Fromm under the table he took out something which looked like a huge black screwdriver with a shiny crystal tip.
"This ... is a jackup. You don't have to worry. This one isn't loaded. I pride myself on having been able to steal and keep this one all to myself all this time."
"A jackup?"
"To keep the Games a little -- just a little -- sporting, just some, not all, of the Hookers are equipped with jackups. They're syringes filled with a drug that, well, jacks you up -- jacks your erection up, that's for sure, but perhaps even more importantly than that, it drives your libido insane. You get stabbed with a jackup and all you want to do is fuck and fuck and fuck. It induces a sex fever that almost always ends in the desired effect of death by exhaustion. There have been other ways to die, ranging from accidents to simply tons of relentless hard sex even without a jackup -- but it's the jackup that usually delvers the killing blow."
Cadmus was amazed. "How the hell do you fight all that?"
Hamish sat back. "With hate. You concentrate on hating the Hookers."
"But that's so easy!"
Hamish shook his head. "No. No, it's not.
"The Hookers pride themselves on their power of seduction. Admit it: they look damn hot. Under other circumstances ... hell, of course you'd want to fuck the daylights out of them. Just admit that to yourself and get that out of the way, right now. You notice how busty they are, that's based on an old idea that all men are tit men ... speaking of which, are you a tit man?" Hamish looked worried when Cadmus didn't answer. "Well? Are you?"
"I ... " Cadmus sighed. "I love huge tits, it's true, I love them so much ... !"
"This is not the time to think that way, Cadmus. Here, in the Game, huge tits can be your death. You let your guard down, relax, feel even a little merciful, even a little sexy ... " Hamish held out his flat hand, then slowly clenched it. " ... and they've GOT you."
"So. Hate is the answer."
"You've got to concentrate on that."
"It's all so stupid ... ! The Games are supposed to unify us."
"No, they're not."
"But they incite us to hate women, when all the Matriarchal propaganda is about how we're always supposed to revere women!"
"Exactly."
"I don't understand!"
Again Hamish leaned close to the table.
"Double standard ... !" He sat back up. "A double standard. You can't win. In any way, in any sense. Not no way, not no how. You go in there some typical indoctrinated yellow-bellied Postmanian male, and that's it, you're easy prey, you're harmless, you're dead, extinct, nothing, nada, zero. But ... you go in there all full of hate and defiance, determined to win, to survive at any cost, to growl and snarl and shout your way to victory ... " He spread out his hands. " ... and, don't you see, you're obviously just the same old nasty vicious male human who once nearly killed this entire planet, the mindless hateful beast curled up in every man who must be eternally disciplined and caged and indoctrinated. You're nice, you lose. You're defiant, and you have a chance, just a chance, of winning ... but even then, really, you've still lost, because you've just gone and proven their whole prejudicial thesis for them. And yes, it's unfair, it's a rigged and evil and completely dishonest game. But they don't care. They don't have to care. They have the power -- and the Games always prove the argument for their power, always."
"If there was just some way ... to show that ... you know. They don't own us."
"Stand up and strip."
"What!?"
"I'm squeezing as much time as we can get without that Strumpet woman around, now stand and strip, I want to see what you're working with ... You keep very fit."
"Thanks."
Hamish sat still and got very quiet, then asked "Uh, Cadmus? Have you ever ... compared your body to any other man's?"
"That sort of thing had never interested me."
"Yes, but ... listen, this girl you had unsupervised sex with. You say you were able to hold out for a long time with her?"
"At first, not so well ... but then, over time ... yeah."
"I see. You know -- please, get dressed fast now, thank you -- there have always been rumors throughout Sector Thirteen, about bizarre chemicals getting into the water table and affecting the DNA of some of the male children and their sexual characteristics ... and damned if I don't think you've just proven the rumors to be true."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You are damn huge. I mean, really, really, seriously damn huge."
Cadmus shrugged. "Does that affect anything?"
"It may affect everything. Cadmus, whenever you're caught, whenever you can -- try pleasuring a Hooker as much as possible."
"But ... I should hate them."
"It's tricky, I know. Try to think of doing it in a spirit of sheer spite ... Huh! Fast on your feet, puzzle solver, and hung like a damn mule -- hell, I'd wager on you."
Cadmus frowned. "You're supposed to wager on me anyway, you're Sector Thirteen. Thanks a lot!"
"No room for sentiment her, my boy." Hamish uncapped his flask again. "You know, centuries ago, 'hookers' were women who men paid to have sex with. Now the term is flaunted at us, it's rubbed in our noses, the idea that these huge-breasted angel-faced sexual predators were what we desired. Now it's 'hooker' as in someone looking to hook a fish -- and fillet it." He looked wryly at Cadmus. "Nature -- and some industrial pollution -- may have given you your own damn hook." With that, he took a swig.
Cadmus turned as just then Effme ushered Peter back in.
"A Ladyrinth map!?" Effme scolded, staring at the table.
"It's old, it's old, it's obsolete -- and it's within my rights as mentor, look them up." Hamish scowled. "You'll get your twenty-five deaths, lady, don't worry about it."
Effme actually said "Humph!" and turned and left the suite.
Tue Apr 10 12:53:53 2012