Mack Reynolds - After Utopia

He passed through a massive gate. It was horseshoe-shaped, possibly twenty feet high and wide enough so that four cavalrymen abreast could have ridden through it without crowding.

Before him stretched a court some one hundred fifty feet long by seventy-five feet wide. In the center was a large pond set in the marble pavement. There were myrtles growing along its side, and they were being well cared for. In the pond were tropical fish of every hue. There were galleries on the north and south sides of the court; that on the south was about twenty-five feet high and supported by a marble colonnade. Underneath it to the right was what Tracy assumed was the principal entrance to the buildings proper. Over it were three elegant windows with highly decorated arches and miniature pillars, once again in colored marble. And it was in this direction from which the swirling music was coming.

The room beyond was a perfect square, about twenty-five feet to the side and with a lofty dome and trellised windows at its base. The ceiling was decorated with blue, brown, red, and gold tiles, and the columns supporting it sprang out into an arch in a remarkably beautiful manner.

He pressed on and passed into another patio, one even more elaborate than the first. It seemed to be some one hundred feet in length by sixty-five feet in width and was surrounded by a low gallery supported by a good many pure white marble columns. A pavilion projected into the court at each extremity, with filigree walls and light-domed roofs, elaborately decorated with openwork. The square was paved with colored tiles, and the colonnade with white marble, while the walls were covered five feet up from the ground with blue and yellow tiles, with a broader above and below of enameled blue and gold. In the center of the court was a fountain with a magnificent alabaster basin.

The music was coming from the pavilion to the right, the largest of the four which projected into the court. And before it, six girls twirled in a graceful dance, seemingly unaware of his approach.

On his way toward them, Tracy passed the alabaster fountain and its bouquet wafted over to him. The spray was slightly yellowish in color, and the odor was of the Moselle. He would have guessed possibly a Trockenbeerenauslese, though, once again, his memory told him nothing of where he would have picked up information about such a germanic wine.

Upon his approach, two of the dancing girls darted toward him, laughing; they captured his arms and laughingly dragged him toward the pavilion, the other four giggling behind, bringing up the rear.

The pavilion was largely furnished with low couches, piled high with pillows and cushions. And it was from here that the music had been coming: Two girls were playing long-necked stringed instruments.

Tracy looked at them, eight of them in all. They were dressed in diaphanous silken trousers and gilted slippers, similar to his own with the upturned toes; all were topless. Their clothing differed only in color; pink, blue, red, orange, purple, green, brown, gold. Their figures above the waist were exceptional, and, in actuality, little was left to the imagination about the rest of them, in spite of the voluminous ankle-length trousers. They were so transparent that even the pubic hair could be seen.

The pubic hair differed. By guess, Tracy Cogswell decided that one of the girls, the most petite, was Chinese; and her hair was dark black. Another was possibly a Finn, very blonde, with very blue eyes. Another was probably Hindu, brown-eyed; a precious stone, possibly a diamond, was set into the side of her nose, and there was a caste mark on her forehead. Still another was a Negress, ebony skined, the plumpest of the eight; she had Caucasian features. He suspected she was Ethiopian, of Hamitic descent. Another was probably Arab and had sloe, sensuous eyes. Another, a green-eyed goddess, platinum blonde hair, he would have thought English; her legs were remarkably long. Still another had flaming red hair, both on her head and in her pubic region; he suspected she was Circassian but couldn’t be sure. The last of the eight: Could she possibly be Texan, or Californian, with that seemingly corn-fed figure? For some reason, it seemed unlikely to him, in this atmosphere, and he continued to refuse to think about past memories.

One of those who had him by the arm whispered, “Be seated, Master,” and urged him to the principle divan.

Another snatched up a golden goblet and hurried for the fountain from which the Moselle wine gushed. It was a pleasure to watch her graceful run.

Seated, the Hindu girl, her eyes demurely down, proffered a golden tray with several small dishes. She took up a tidbit from one of them and hesitantly put it between his lips. It was a date, stuffed with pine nuts and various spices. He had never tasted any sweetmeat so delicious.

The girl with the goblet, the red-headed Circassian, came scurrying back, holding it in presentation to him in both hands. She sank to her knees before his divan.

Out of his consciousness came a term, though he didn’t know in what language he was speaking. “Jesus!” he said.

There were just too many of them. Eight.

Evidently, they anticipated this. One of them said, breathlessly, “Would you like us to dance for you, Master?”

“Yes, of course,” he told her.

The two girls who had been playing with the outlandish-looking instruments took them up again and this time they sang, as well. It was a haunting tune, sweetly rendered.

The English-looking platinum blonde and the American-type girl sprang out to the marble floor outside the pavilion and flowed into a graceful, complicated dance. Surely they were well trained ballet girls; they didn’t miss a step. They could have been part of a Hollywood production dealing with the Baghdad of the days of Harun-al-Rashid or the Arabian Nights.

The other four girls drooped themselves around him, adoringly. The Hindu girl pressed another tidbit to his lips; it was different from the date, but equally delicious. He took the wine cup from the Circassian and drank deeply from it. It was a fabulous Moselle type, as he has suspected from the bouquet.

The Negress to his left slipped a soft hand into a slit in his trousers all the time staring lovingly into his eyes. The other girls looked miffed that she had gotten to him first. The Arab ran her hand caressingly over his chest, which was bare beneath the embroidered vest.

The Hindu girl murmured into his ear, “Which one of us do you wish to enjoy first, O Master?”

That was a difficult question to answer. All eight of them were superlatively beautiful. Or, at least, they ran the gamut from pretty to unbelievably majestic handsomeness. They were perfect in both face and figure. Surely there had never been a bevy of more attractive girls.

But he had already more than noticed the supreme buttocks of the Hindu girl. They were larger than those of the others, and in spite of the girl’s rather darkish complexion, had a rosy quality.

“You,” he said to her. He looked about but could see no indication of a bedroom in the vicinity.

But then he realized that the girls didn’t expect him to go off seeking privacy with the one of his choice. They expected him to perform here, and with them about.

He said to the Indian, as he moved slightly to one side to make room for her, “Get on your hands and knees.”

She drew in her breath and looked ever so slightly apprehensive but did as he commanded.

While the Negress, who had been caressing him most intimately during this, brought his now swollen member from his trousers, the Circassian girl stripped the Hindu’s diaphanous trousers away, so that the other was nude. The three who had not been chosen… as yet… gasped with admiration at his size.