Collected Works ✏️ Vancouver

The Baulomorphs Get It On

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The Pool Party

My thoughts about the fate of Paris are interrupted by a knock on the door.

I remember that it’s time to go to the Baulomorph party. I grab my swimsuit and hurry to the door. Baulixia is standing against the light blue wall, wearing a bikini that’s translucent and speckled with golden sparkles. She tells me to hurry up, the party’s starting in five minutes.

As we walk along the light blue corridor, she tells me that they have permission to cross the temporary sky tunnel to the main building. The dark blue corridor becomes a light blue tunnel, and we turn left into a larger violet tunnel with all sorts of swirling and darting shadows on the walls and ceiling. I hear pounding and drilling, but can’t make out anything clearly.

After crossing the violet tunnel we enter a large open hall, where we’re welcomed by an enormous pink cube with a dozen arms. I’d seen pictures of Baulians on the Link, but meeting one is quite another thing. It looks about ten feet tall and has arms sprouting from all over its body. It speaks to us in a rarified English accent, as if a pink Prince Philip had blown up into the shape of a rectangle, his ears finally free to take any direction they’d like. I feel like I’m in a Lewis Carroll poem, and ought to look out for a frumious Bandersnatch or perhaps a pirate band of slithy toves. I expect to see mome raths and other strange beasts outgrabing from a dark wood into the humid blue air.

Baulixia talks to the cube in a voice that seems like the reverb on a Hendrix guitar, harmonized with the oscillations of a cello. The sound is syncopated with what sounds like the tinkling of tiny cymbals and the tapping of tiny snare drums. Beneath these sounds is a complex, rich, flowing current of sound, like that of a hundred xylophones. It remind me of the Indonesian music of the gamalan, or the symphonies of Zanzibar, multiplied tenfold in tangent and variation.

I’m so enchanted by these sounds that Baulixia has to take me by the arm and lead me away. She takes me down a wide corridor on the left side of the hall. The corridor is perhaps 200 metres wide and 80 metres high.

We go through a large door on the right and enter a humid room which is about 100 metres high and about the size of nine olympic-sized swimming pools placed side by side. A circular waterway dominates the room, with four bridges leading to a central area. People are jumping on and off the little boats and floating devices that slowly circle in the turquoise water.

I see several Baulian pink cubes and five or six squid-like creatures pulsing through the turquoise water. One of these creatures sweeps upward and attaches itself to the bottom of a boat. Looking closer, I see the boat has no bottom. The woman above shrieks with laughter and then dives head-first into the turquoise.

On the outside of the circular river there are little beaches and eating stations with bar-b-q corn kebabs, french fries, rice pilafs, and all sorts of vegetables which the Baulians have converted into hamburgers, steaks, and other ‘meat’ dishes that seem to make the humans happy.

In the middle of the room is the Pink Island, which Baulixia says offers snacks, drinks, and intoxicants. At the centre of the Island is the Pink Corridor with twelve private rooms. The rooms are, by strict law, absolutely private. She assures me that we’re free to do in these rooms whatever we want to do.

She takes me by the hand and suggests that we’d get to these rooms more directly if we go over one of the bridges, beneath which float boatloads of slippery bodies, lithe and plump. Above, the roof is the colour of marmalade, and strawberry vines grow up to it from the floor on all sides. Red flecks of strawberry sparkle in Baulixia’s eyes, bobbing in the turquoise reflections of the pool.

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The Pink Corridor

When we reach the Great Island, Baulixia leads me between the Tacobar and the Martinarium into the Pink Corridor. The corridor throbs, pink pulsing into violet, deep purple, and then back through cherry red to pink. She’s still holding my hand, and purring something in Baulixian. She inserts my hand into the side of her bikini bottom as she presses me gently against the wall. She slides my hand around the smoothness of her hip, over her slightly rounded, slightly plump stomach, and down into rich black curls. 

She leans back, creating an intimate distance between us. “As you can tell, I’m human, cent pour cent.”

Beneath the glossy curls my middle finger goes down, around, and ever so gently over her erect clitoris, now clearly visible among the black tangles. I think about the temples of Tikal rising from the jungle, and say, “Yes, I see. Can we use one of these rooms?”

“Yes, but we must fait attention which one we go into.” She breathes into my ear, English, Baulixian, and French rumbling like the finest virgin olive oil into my auditory canal, “But there’s something I need to do first.” She kisses my ear, neck, nipples, belly button and the head of my cock which is hoping to meet those full lips, almost plump, virgin olive oil smooth bobbing up and down the shaft of my cock. She does this twelve times, after which she says, “Now that we’re warmed up, it’s time to play.”

She walks to the first door and asks in Baulixian if she could see what’s going on in the room. The door goes from an opaque deep purple to a misty light violet, through which we see a female human body surrounded by a circle of three blue swimming forms. They look like eels swirling all together, and form a tight ring around her body. The human woman is completely still, yet beams of red light come out of her eyes and mouth. The swirling circle of aliens titlt ninety degrees so that the circuit of blue energy enters her eyes and mouth and then circles down to her anus and vagina, lifting her body several inches off the ground. The blue light blasting from her eyes and mouth flows into the blue current that streams into her cunt and asshole. This current then circles back up into her head, exploding in even more intense pulses of pink light that blast out her eyes and mouth and down again into her cunt and up her ass.

She explains, “The door’s a light shade of violet, which means we’re free to join them if we want to.” Baulixia looks up, hopefully.

I’m indeed curious to find out how we might join such a group, but I also want to get Baulixia into a room where there’s just the two of us. In some ways I’m terribly old-fashioned, and just want to do it on a bed. I tell myself, a hand in the bush is worth two birds on the loose.

Yet I also want to be a gentleman, at least as much as the situation might allow. “What would you prefer?”

“Let’s take a look in the next room.” 

When we get to the next door, called The Blast, Baulixia tells me that this is the most famous and most mind-blowing room of all. She says we can look at the other four rooms, but those were set up for “the same energy circle, cunt and mouth fucking, more or less. Although that can be very fun, indeed. But in The Blast they play the game called Smithereens.”

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