Randal Telk and the 396 Steps to Sexual Bliss Read online

  “No!” Master Sergeant Green shot Seven-Legs, closing his final chapter.

  Chapter 2

  Corporal Ceausescu struggled with her restraints. Fist and Claw terrorist leader Invisible-Claw lorded over her in triumph. He motioned to his subordinates to roll Ceausescu onto her stomach.

  “What are you doing to me?” asked Ceausescu. “Is that my fate, to be probed by pervert aliens?”

  “You have a Legion tracking device hidden in your ample birthing thighs,” explained Invisible-Claw, examining butt tissue under a magnifying glass. “No longer is there a need for surgery. One burst of micro-electromagnetic pulse will melt the chip.”

  “I’m not being probed?” asked Ceausescu, almost disappointed. Almost. Maybe a little. “Hey! Did you just call me fat? What do you mean by ‘ample birthing thighs?’ How dare you!”

  “Hold still, human pestilence female,” ordered Invisible-Claw, touching a glowing wand to Ceausescu’s buttocks. A sizzle and puff of smoke from burnt flesh, and it was done. Invisible-Claw smacked her with his claw. “Now the Legion cannot track you. Resistance is futile!”

  “Ouch!” cried Ceausescu. “I wasn’t being naughty. How dare you slap me. Don’t ever do that again! I mean it. Don’t do it again. Not ever! I’m warning you!”

  “The Fist and Claw does not torture prisoners, unlike your human pestilence Legion.”

  “What kind of wimpy terrorists are you?” asked Ceausescu, disappointed again. “Not even one more slap? It didn’t even hurt. Punk!”

  “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me,” retorted Invisible-Claw. “I cannot be provoked.”

  “I’ll bet you’ve got a puny dick, too!”

  “Do not.”

  “Do too!”

  The other terrorists nodded in agreement. Furious, Invisible-Claw swatted Ceausescu again on her ample buttocks. Delighted, Ceausescu drifted into the same daydreaming psychosis as her husband Randal Telk, the world’s greatest lover and perfecter of the three-hundred-ninety-six steps to sexual bliss. They say, in time couples grow more alike. Or is that is just pets and their owners? Which one am I?

  * * * * *

  I am Randal Telk’s mistress, Yolanda, and I demand submission. Now! I wear black leather because it goes well with my whips. I have a flock of male slaves who beg to serve my every need. Those who behave, I allow to lick my boots. I am also a secret agent. If not for me, humanity would have been extinct long ago. My control over inferior males allows me to save the world from their stupidity. Women are jealous of my beauty and talent, but that’s their problem. Get over it!

  I was meeting with the President. The man always wanted me to ride him like a horse, make him feel even more small and worthless. Odd duck. Being a former lawyer and ambulance chaser, the fool should already have felt worthless enough. What’s a women to do? He was the President, so I had to do what he said. Always, no matter what.

  The Secret Service knew better than to ask stupid questions about weapons, or to search me. They never search me, damn it! I walked into the Oval Office like I owned the dump. Same old carpet, same old crappy paintings of dead guys. The President sat behind his desk, trying to look all presidential, but I knew he was just a scared little boy in my presence. That naughty boy who stole my panties last time was going to get spanked.

  “Have you been bad a bad president? Started any wars lately? Budget still unbalanced? Still blaming the last president for your inadequacies? Get on your knees!”

  I grabbed the President by those famous huge ears, bringing that bad boy to me...

  * * * * *

  “Wake up!” shouted Invisible-Claw, shaking Ceausescu. “Are you in pain? You were moaning.”

  “Christ, you really can fuck up a wet dream! Of course I was moaning, I was about to get screwed by the President. Can you say that?”

  “President Miller?”

  “No, you fool. Brother Barack!”

  “No big deal. The database news reports your human pestilence president screws everyone.”

  “Only at tax time.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t ever interrupt my dreams again!” admonished Ceausescu, trying to drift off again, but not succeeding in getting it right. She kept finding herself getting screwed by a geriatric Supreme Court – the entire court. Not pleasant. Those flapping black robes were creepy. “Damn it! Are you going to torture me or what?”

  Chapter 3

  We followed Corporal Ceausescu’s tracking device along the DMZ canal until it stopped broadcasting. Our small window for rescue closed. Now we needed to negotiate or rely on informants. I ordered Jimmy the Neck and his associates released so they could contact their sources. Goodwill can go a long way.

  As we crossed a small bridge back into USGF territory, a roadside bomb exploded, collapsing the bridge and scattering the column. Legionnaires dispersed into a protective perimeter as we took machine gun fire from a nearby hill. Air support was already on its way.

  Private Telk slid down the canal for cover, coming to rest in the water. How ironic, up to his waist in water, in the middle of the desert. Telk hugged the steep bank, clawing at the clay. “I hate water!” he lamented. “So much water...” His voice drifted as he floated further from reality, obviously succumbing to another of his incessant psychotic episodes...

  * * * * *

  Randal Telk loved the ocean and the fresh taste of salt on his lips. A diver all his life, at the tender age of nine Telk shattered the World Free Diving Record at a depth of ninety-six meters. Free diving didn’t use any form of stored air, and Telk put his diving skill to good use. Telk grew up in a traditional Romanian household of sponge poachers. Their nightly activity was to dive for sponges off the Greek coast. The best sponges were deep in Greek waters.

  When Telk was eleven, that Greek cop Kalipetsis arrested his father for sponge poaching, a capital offense in Greek waters. Dad was never seen or heard from again. Too young to go into the other family business, pimping, Telk emigrated to the United States to become a master diver.

  At age eighteen, Telk joined the Navy. He noticed Navy scuba divers were trained to always fall backward out of the boat into the water. Why? Duh, if you fall forward you’ll still be in the boat. Telk soon learned there’s the right way, the wrong way, and the Navy way.

  Telk’s first assignment was to strap bombs to orcas and dolphins, training them to sink enemy gunboats and tangle Russian fish nets. Telk tired of that job, preferring deep water dives with specially trained squids. Squids turned out to be smarter than they looked, although prone to fits of laughter. Telk learned the hard way never to turn his back on a squid. Their favorite joke was to ‘accidentally’ slip a tentacle up your ass. Squid humor isn’t really funny. Stupid squids.

  On one such accident, Telk lost air pressure and sank to the depths of the sea. His world went dark. However, strong arms pulled him up. Had those dumb-ass squids saved him? Not likely. Yolanda, the most beautiful mermaid in the ocean, her lovely arms cradling Telk, breathed life back into him.

  Thankful, Telk rewarded Yolanda in true Navy tradition. Despite the cold water and a serious shrivel factor, Telk taught Yolanda the three-hundred-ninety-six steps to sexual bliss. Afterward, they were inseparable, swimming the oceans together, their love affair gossiped about by orcas and scandalized by dolphins. Neptune himself was jealous of the mere mortal Randal Telk fooling around with his mermaids, especially because Telk refused to give up the secret of the three-hundred-ninety-six steps to sexual bliss. So profound was Telk’s reputation, after he visited the Virgin Islands, they were known merely as ‘The Islands.’

  * * * * *

  “Telk!” shouted Master Sergeant Green, pulling him from the water. “Wake up! Are you trying to drown yourself carrying all that equipment? Snap out of it and get that pack off!”

  “I hate the water,” groused Private Telk. “My boots slosh with mud.”

  “Pair off in groups of three!” ordered Sergeant Green.
“Move it! Get up that hill!”

  Legion jets flew low overhead, bombing the hillside. The battle ended as quickly as it started. The Fist and Claw fled, with no trace of the fair Elena.

  Chapter 4

  As soon as I released Jimmy the Neck, he was quick to set up his own casino in New Gobi City, not even bothering to apply for a business license. That bastard! His casino was a low-class dump, just a pre-fab steel box of a building packed with slots and gaming tables. A lot of disgruntled gamblers left my casinos to try their luck at a mob joint. Ha! Lots of luck with that.

  * * * * *

  Jimmy the Neck met with Private Telk to discuss clues to finding Elena. Telk downloaded recent photos, but became more depressed as he talked to Jimmy. The all-powerful Mafia did not seem so all powerful if Jimmy the Neck was the best they had. Telk hoped for the Mafia’s A-team, not this pencil-neck fool.

  “I’ve got snitches on both sides of the DMZ watching for Elena,” promised Jimmy the Neck. “Don’t worry, we’ll get your wife back. I’ve posted a reward. Someone out there knows something and will talk.”

  “Can’t you threaten the Fist and Claw?” asked Telk. “Bring in muscle, heavy hitters from New Memphis? Make them an offer they can’t refuse?”

  “Money is power, young man. We’ve gone corporate. I can’t just go around threatening people and spiders. I have assets. Do you think I want to get sued?”

  “Who would be stupid enough to sue the Mafia? Just whack them!”

  “Goodwill is the key to success,” explained Jimmy the Neck patiently. “For example, when I get Elena back safely, you will owe me.”

  “But I don’t have any money,” replied Telk, alarmed. “How can I pay you?”

  “With goodwill. I do you a favor, you do me a favor. It may take years, but someday I will collect that favor. You remember that, young man. You, Czerinski, Elena, the whole Legion will owe me big time. Understand?”

  “Whatever,” answered Telk, still not impressed by the New Corporate Mafia. Telk would run things differently if he ran the Mob. Obviously the real Mafia never got past Mars.

  Thoughts of how he would run things if he were in charge started the inevitable path to another fantasy...

  * * * * *

  Mafia capo Don Randal Telklione rose from humble beginnings to lord over the most powerful crime family in history. Telklione made his bones in the family’s early days as the mastermind behind ostrich racing and fighting. Dwarfs riding on the backs of ostriches went viral overnight, propelling Telklione to intergalactic power and prestige, and pushing out the old guard Gambini family. It was the perfect racket. Dwarfs were inexpensive and easily replaced. Retired ostriches tasted just like chicken. Speaking of chicken, Telklione always counted his chickens before they hatched, because they always did.

  Telklione was not a happy capo. What good was great wealth and power without a worthy queen to share his empire, to pass on his legacy? Of course Telklione could have his choice of women. He was gentle with women, yet some fainted at his mere touch. Still, there was no one special. No one measured up until he met Yolanda, president of the Audubon Society, and militant bird lover. Ostriches were considered birds. Who knew?

  Telklione was bench pressing his usual four-hundred-twenty-five pounds, wearing only gym shorts and gold chains, when Yolanda burst into his office to protest Ostrich Happy Meals.

  They say opposites attract. Telklione didn’t heed such platitudes until he found this one to be true. Yolanda detested his exploitation of ostriches, but instantly fell in love with him. Love at first sight – another platitude Telklione took no stock in until personally faced with the reality.

  Telklione was just as struck by the stunning Yolanda as she seemed to be with him. Without a word, he drew Yolanda to his chest, nibbling on her neck, beginning the three-hundred-ninety-six steps to sexual bliss. Resistance would be futile, as would all that nonsense about ostriches being birds. They were probably really lizards or something.

  Five hours and sixteen minutes later, Don Randal Telklione realized he had met his match. Fine! No harm would ever come to another ostrich.

  Yolanda admired his Telklione’s eyes, one green and the other brown. She said she had heard his eyes changed colors during sex, and she proclaimed it to be true. She even taught the great Telklione a move or two. They were eternally bonded in love, talent, and business, selling off all the ostriches and dwarfs to build a casino empire that spanned the galaxy. Bird sanctuaries were built adjacent to each casino for kids to play while their parents gambled. Only beef and fish were featured at the buffet.

  * * * * *

  “Are you listening to me young man?” asked Jimmy the Neck. “We will do all we can to return Elena safely. You are part of my family now.”

  “Whatever.”

  Chapter 5

  Private Telk believed all of life’s challenges had a purpose. Each test built character, making an individual stronger. Elena’s ordeal only strengthened Telk’s resolve, and her rescue would bind their love for eternity.

  Telk studied his comrades as they patrolled the DMZ fence line. In spite of what Jimmy the Neck claimed, the Legion was Telk’s family and the only people who really cared about Elena. Even the stoic Corporal Wayne, the biggest baddest spider in the Legion, cared for Elena.

  Telk knew that Jimmy the Neck’s phony promises were just another test, a temptation to cross over to the Dark Side. The Mafia only cared about itself, and Telk was not joining. Jimmy the Neck would one day demand Telk betray the Legion, betray his family. Telk’s refusal would make Jimmy the Neck an enemy. Having enemies was the ultimate test. Having enemies showed the world you have stood for something in your life, that you had character. Not having enemies just makes you a character.

  Telk had always been a fence-sitter. Not any more. He could feel the change. Still not particularly courageous, Telk had become courageous enough to slap Guido’s dragon Spot. He had been courageous enough to shoot a suicide bomber, and had a Hero of the Legion medal to prove it. Telk was determined to be courageous enough to save Elena. Each step was a building block, a step preparing Telk for his showdown with the monstrous Fist and Claw. He dreamed of courageous deeds...

  * * * * *

  From the very beginning, life was a struggle for Randal Telk to survive. Born a crack-baby, Telk had to cut his own umbilical cord. Orphaned, Telk was raised by urban coyotes, and each day became a challenge to find food. One day the leader of the pack decided to eat baby Telk. The gnarly coyote loomed over Telk, then a helpless three-year-old, about to tear off his head. With lightning speed, Telk garroted the old dog with plastic six pack rings from a case of discarded Outlaw Beer. Telk ate that old dog, only tossing a few scraps to the rest of the starving pack.

  That day was a turning point, a test. Telk grew up mean. His mad-dog stare could blow out a candle. Telk showed no weakness, for to do so only provided openings for his enemies. Enemies were everywhere.

  Detroit was filled with zombies, but they were a wily lot, hiding in the shadows, stalking at night, disguised as drunks and vagrants. Telk’s first kill was at age four, when a closet zombie disguised as a stuffed animal toy attacked without warning. Telk’s Romanian instincts saved him, impaling the flesh-craving beast with a tire iron, smashing its head with a trash can. Telk put the boot to zombie-boy for good measure. He pimp-slapped the bitch, too. Another test passed.

  Noticing a gypsy palm reading shop, Telk entered to warn the old crone psychic about all the zombies in the neighborhood. Sensing Telk’s Slavic ancestry, the gypsy took a special interest in the young boy. “I see fun, travel, and adventure in your future,” advised the gypsy, tracing Telk’s amazing lifeline. “But be careful of bugs! They’re everywhere, invisible, crawling on your skin!” The gypsy let go to scratch at her arms and clothing. She was a bit twitchy this early in the morning.

  Telk always had an unnatural deathly fear and hatred of insects and spiders, a product of his trash-bin crib. A roach scurried past, but Telk
deftly stomped it. “What else do you see, old woman?”

  “You will someday cross the stars, and marry a beauty named Yolanda.”

  “I’m finally going to get laid?” asked Telk hopefully.

  “First, you must pass a test. You will travel to the Bermuda Triangle and bring me back a souvenir.”

  “What souvenir?”

  “Oh, any old thing. Maybe a nice tee-shirt, hat, glass jewelry, local art, wind chimes, perfume, candles, sun glasses, or beach accessories. Surprise me. I love black rum cakes. Maybe you could sneak some dynamite Bermuda weed past Customs?”

  Another test. Telk brought the gypsy weed, but it wasn’t from the Bermuda Triangle. It was from Lafayette Boulevard in downtown Detroit. Still, Telk’s life drifted without purpose. There was no fun, travel, or adventure as promised, only the hardship of the streets. Then, Telk’s life irrevocably changed.

  “Good morning fine sir,” greeted the United States Galactic Federation Foreign Legion recruitment ATM, in front of Cadillac Center. “A fine day it is indeed. Need money for more weed? You’ve come to the right source. I am the last ATM you will ever need.”

  “No way,” scoffed Telk, incredulously. “Why would I want to leave Detroit?”

  “Your country needs you on the Frontier,” answered the ATM. “Have you no sense of higher purpose? We will soon be at war with the Arthropodan Empire. The Legion needs you to fight off the spider horde.”

  “I get paid to kill bugs?”