Wilt by Tom Sharpe

for me. Go into the kitchen and sweeten the woman with the boobies and the awful

    yellow pyjamas.’
    ‘Oh God. Why me?’
    ‘My sweet, you know you’re utterly irresistible. But the sexiest. For me, baby, for

    me.’
    Christopher got off the couch and went into the kitchen Sally stretched out beside the

    girl.
    ‘Christopher is a dreamboy,’ she said.
    ‘He’s a gigolo.’ said the girl. ‘A male prostitute.’
    ‘Darling,’ said Sally, ‘it’s about time we women had them.’
    In the kitchen Eva stopped pouring coffee. She was feeling delightfully tipsy.
    ‘You mustn’t.’ she said hastily.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I’m married.’
    ‘I like it. I like it.’
    ‘Yes but…’
    ‘No buts, lover.’
    ‘Oh.’
    Upstairs in the toy room Wilt, recovering slowly from the combined assaults on his

    system of Pringsheim Punch, Vodka, his nymphomaniac hostess and the corner of the

    cupboard against which he had fallen, had the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

    It wasn’t simply that the room was oscillating, that he had a lump on the back of his head

    or that he was naked. It was rather the sensation that something with all the less

    attractive qualities of a mousetrap, or a vice, or starving clam, had attached itself

    implacably to what he, had up till now always considered to be the most private of

    parts. Wilt opened his eyes and found himself staring into smiling if slightly swollen

    face. He shut his eyes again, hope against hope, opened them again, found the face still there

    and made an effort to sit up.
    It was an unwise move. Judy, the plastic doll, inflated beyond her normal pressure,

    resisted. With a squawk Wilt fell back on to the floor. Judy followed. Her nose bounced on

    his face and her breasts on his chest. With a curse Wilt rolled onto his side and considered

    the problem. Sitting up was out of the question. That way led to castration. He would have

    to try something else. He rolled the doll over further and climb on top only to decide that

    his weight on it was increasing pressure on what remained of his penis and that if he

    wanted to get gangrene that was the way to go about getting it. Wilt rolled off

    precipitately and groped for a valve. There must be one somewhere if he could only find

    it. But if there was a valve it was well hidden and by the feel of things he hadn’t got time

    to waste finding it. He felt round on the floor for something to use as a dagger, something

    sharp, and finally broke off a piece of railway track and plunged it into his assailant’s

    back. There was a squeak of plastic but Judy’s swollen smile remained unchanged and her

    unwanted attentions as implacable as ever. Again and again he stabbed her but to no

    avail. Wilt dropped his makeshift dagger and considered other means. He was getting

    frantic, conscious of a new threat. It was no longer that he was the subject of her high air

    pressure. His own internal pressures were mounting. The Pringsheim Punch and the vodka

    were making their presence felt. With a desperate thought that if he didn’t get out of her

    soon he would burst, Wilt seized Judy’s head, bent it sideways and sank his teeth into her

    neck. Or would have had her pounds per square inch permitted. Instead he bounced off and

    spent the next two minutes trying to find his false tooth which had been dislodged in the

    exchange.
    By the time he had got it back in place, panic had set in. He had to get out of the doll.

    He just had to. There would be a razor in the bathroom or a pair of scissors. But where on

    earth was the bathroom? Never mind about that. He’d find the damned thing. Carefully, very

    carefully he rolled the doll on to her hack and followed her over. Then he inched his knees

    up until he was straddling the thing. All he needed now was something to hold on to while

    he got to his feet. Wilt leant over and grasped the edge of a chair with one hand while

    lifting Judy’s head off the floor