CHAPTERSIXTEEN:  HOMAGE TO SILICONIA

Bill's not interested in cattle prods, says they can cause heart attacks. And what's more, he said he should have a turn being the Top, instead of being the Bottom all the time. I told him, no way. "Not even for a hundred dollars?" he said. He usually only gives me fifty now. I told him I wouldn't let anybody tie me up and whip me. But then I didn't want that queer thinking I was a sissy or anything, so I got him to give me a hundred and forty bucks and I just lay over that big sofa in his living room, pants pulled down, and he gave me six smacks with that cut down belt of his. IT HURT, IT HURT AWFULLY, it really did, but I DID IT, and it hurt for a long time after, but that was hours ago. And Bill said I didn't even flinch. I'm giving a hundred dollars to Mom, she'll be impressed by how stupid Eaton's is.

Peter, searching for something else, finds his black T shirt under his bed, and in the pocket the joint Righteous gave him over a week ago. He doesn't like the idea of having drugs around - they're dangerous - so he decides to destroy the evidence, by smoking it. He has the house to himself for a while so he makes himself comfortable on his bed with a glass of orange juice by his side. He's toking carefully so he doesn't cough.

Peter looks around his room closely for the first time in months, at least since he was last sick. All the things he seldom notices seem to stare back at him; the walls covered with drawings, diagrams and posters, the models hanging or stacked on shelves, and the precious treasures he's had for years on his dresser. He examines all these things once dear to his heart, they're dusty and torn now, and he doesn't care anymore. He helps a few tears for a start, and soon the walls are bare except for the 2001 poster, which he's going to move away from over his bed. And then on a sea of crumpled and torn paper he arranges a collision between his two identical models of the USS Nautilus. The victor is attacked by the somewhat sturdier Robotman who never got his penis attached. He is however briefly mated in triumph with the cover of a Superwoman Comics Peter has. He decides to keep the best of the four spaceship models he made out of cardboard and foil.

Not much gets destroyed as Peter imagines that he can sell most of his junk. And with the money I could paint those two walls black, and put in a strobe, and red and white would make it look High Tech, and I could put silver MacTac on my bed, paint my dresser the colour of Indira's hair, and put chrome knobs on it. And I could get it done before school starts in a few days.

Perhaps as some test of his conviction Peter picks up an old cherished drawing of his, the Starship that is bigger than the US Enterprise, a veteran of the Early Siliconian Wars. The drawing has many details he wasn't able to put on the model he's keeping. His mind flashes unnostalgically back to the early episodes when Siliconia was a primitive evil empire, many times destroyed, often to the last man, by the plucky defenders of Good Earth. Siliconia endured the burden of enforced conversion during the crusading Christian Sagas and later emerged as a benign conqueror who made us believe but found our beaches unpalatable and left. Today Siliconia is at peace, oblivious to the wanton destruction of yesteryear, for Peter has decided that only the future should be memorable, the past has already taken care of itself.

Overhead the two counter rotating planet stars, Lucifon and Marxon, ignited eons ago when the furnace of Evilon cooled, provide light and gentle warmth for the dead sun planet of Evilon. Farther out orbits Sinicon, the original home of Siliconians, abandoned when Evilon cooled and now a heritage planet, a major tourist attraction providing jobs, and still the source of the finest silicon crystals. Peter on his spaceboard approaches low over the radiant mountains as towards the distant horizon Marxon sets and Lucifon rises. He makes a final inspection of the wheels of his nuclear powered, intergalaxial board before landing on the smooth marble plain, unblemished by the old fashioned metal wheels. Some things must be banned. From a bluff overlooking the glittering high tech metropolis of VanEllay he blazes down a side ravine. Here the winds of Evilon have sculpted the landscape into perfect bowls and ramps with generous transitions, and Peter dallies exploring the contours with his board. As he approaches the lowland of the metropolis other skate­boarders weave their paths around him. And the green eyed Siliconian kids work their gravity screens, skating ever downhill slopes, even on rising grades.

Gravity screens are the new Siliconian way of getting around, the best ones are imported from Nipponia. They simply block out gravity, and if you just hold the Frisbee like disk behind your ass, you get pulled forward. Peter figures they're a better idea than fart propulsion. And the new Siliconian spaceships are gravity spheres with a pinpoint hole you aim at the gravity of your destination so it pulls you. And by stopping the universal clock, which you can easily do with a beam of Siliconian antitime which dematerializes the ordinary time you encounter, you're there in NO time.

The gleaming 1930's style skyscrapers of VanEllay loom overhead as Peter approaches the ramp leading up to the Grand Mall. Planters of delphiniums and indica line the sides. Peter has decided to have a big solid gold statue of Lars at the entrance, because he looks so good with no clothes on. And he'd have his hair spiked, down there too, rather than a mohawk. He makes his way along the mall, his board in 'saunter', and enters a skate through store picking up some werewolf cream which he rubs on his arms and chest. Thick, dark, curly hair appears in seconds. He thickens up his eyebrows and tries on a mustache. He's decided to wait until he's sixteen for a beard. Outside a group of roboslaves are trying to sell themselves. Peter is tempted by one programmed to give Serbian backrubs, but wonders what with ninth generation artificial intelligence if it's right to own one. Then stopping at the sign of the golden sagging boobs he buys a MacSand Witch, ten trillion sold, and a side of silicon chips. Relaxing on an enormous stuffed sofa as he muses as he munches. I'd get Bill to buy all the furniture, and I'd have him design the bathrooms too. But we wouldn't allow any real queers in Siliconia... And Bob could be an evilangist and hand out kiddieporn pamphlets - The Joy of Jacking - to the kids of Evilon. "Be a bad boy now, and don't forget to play with yourself." Peter laughs at his own joke, for the evil of Evilon has become corrupted, barely distinguishable from good. Gone are the days of mass devotion to Satan, St. Stalin and St. Bennett who oppressed the poor families on welfare. And nonsinners are no longer summarily zapped. Peter's rather confused about that whole business. But I think maybe we'd still have religion in Siliconia, even if it doesn't make sense... Like maybe it's not supposed to anyway. We could probably borrow some good ideas from the Christians. Like it would be nice to have some pretty churches, and a few cathedrals like you see in pictures. And religion would mean you could have more holidays too, you need a Christmas. But I don't think you should have to believe anything, That seems to be the big problem now. And you wouldn't have to pray, and not be sure if you're doing it right, unless you wanted to. I still think you should feel something when you do.

And religion wouldn't be boring either, maybe a few superheroes... We could have Sinbad the Sinnerman, or should it be Singood or Sinwell. He'd have a mohawk of course, and lots of tattoos, and he'd be STONED ALL THE TIME. He'd stand on street corners chanting, "Sex. Drugs. And Rock and Roll.", and he'd go up to straight people and say, "You fools, Punk rules." and they'd get scared and run away.

And maybe, if instead of churches they had cafes, nice ones like the TrendZine, and there'd be topless girl priests who'd serve special expresso with Sinneron, which would give you a buzz. And instead of hymns we could have good heavy metal bands... and have 'sinalongs'. And I'd make Eddie God, I think it's best if they are already dead. And I think we should give him a beard. And a Heaven would be a good idea, it would give you something to do after you die. Maybe it could be like a chessboard, one of those multilevel three dimensional kind, and you'd be a king and you'd play the game for real, except you couldn't die again or anything. And maybe we should throw in some things from Dungeons and Dragons too. And Heaven should have lots of video games and some good skating parkades too... Actually there's lots of things you'd want in Heaven. But I bet there are probably rules against sex in them, it would be nice though. But then you wouldn't have to stay up there all the time. You could come back down and mosey around and keep track of what's happening. And if you got bored or horny you could go to a Hell, where you could get anything you wanted.

And we'd have sex in Siliconia, lots of it... and different kinds too. Like it's funny right now, there's only one kind of sex that's really dangerous, babies and all that, and some people think that's the only kind you should do. I mean that's like saying the only way you should ride a bicycle is without brakes or blindfolded. They wouldn't have made sex so much fun if it was just for babies anyway. I'd get rid of the baby making business. Like if you really wanted a baby you'd have to do something different, like a special type of fuck or maybe you'd both have to take pills. And I don't think it should happen if you just fuck or whatever once. Like the first time you'd get it started, and then you'd work on it. The women would have to have special windows in their bellies that would open up so you could see what's happening. And if you liked how the little baby was developing, you could fuck some more to make it grow. "Ugh, ugh, ugh, this is so you'll have lots of hair on your arms... Ugh, ugh, ugh, this is for your nose kid." You might have to work at it twenty or thirty times before it was finished, but maybe you'd get more what you wanted. And with all this fuss about souls, I wouldn't put them in until the last. Think how much more fun sex would be, especially with girls, if you didn't have to worry about babies.

And you should learn about sex early. Like they try to get kids to walk and talk as soon as they can, and they teach little babies how to swim, but sex they do the opposite. I can't figure out why they don't want kids to have sex, or even look at pictures of it. You'd think they'd at least let us have some porn, I don't think sex is bad for you like smoking. And they should figure out something for kids before they're old enough for girls. Just jacking off by yourself all the time, or guys like Bill, aren't all that great. Like if you could just sort of fool around with girls, and not have to fuck them. Girls usually want older guys anyway, sixteen at least. I don't think that's fair. I figure I was just lucky, sort of, with Darlene. Like maybe they could figure out a way you could fool around with other boys, a way that wouldn't be queer. And you could do it with your friends and I bet you would learn a lot. And when you were ready for girls, you'd be ready, and you'd really be able to DO IT to them. And another thing in Siliconia, you'd be able to do it ten or twenty times a day, not just three or four.

And there should be more things you could have sex with, like right now there's just supposed to be chics. Why can't you have a whole bunch of sexes, like maybe in Siliconia we'd have seven. Peter's mind copes with the theory of probability grades ahead of its place in the curriculum. Like now only half the people are an opposite sex, but if you had seven, Peter picks up one of his pocket calculators, over eighty five per cent would be an opposite sex.

It would be neat if there was a sex you could rub mohawks with. You wouldn't have to worry about that kissing problem. And when you rubbed them together there'd be all sorts of sparks, maybe a big DA rush type of thing and your whole body would glow like that clitoris thing's supposed to. Or maybe there could be something that would turn all your skin into foreskin, and you could just roll around together and not have to worry about anything slipping out. Or how about a handshake sex, and when you shake hands with them each of your fingers would feel like your pecker when you're jacking off. Peter experimentally shakes hands with himself. "Hi there George... Aaahhh, aahhhoooo... Squeeze me huhaaarrderr... I Ooooohhh"

One sex might have little antenna they could stick up your nostrils and your nose would go all tingly, like you know what, and your eyes would see lots of beautiful colours and you'd feel real good. And it would be fun for them too, they'd get off on doing it, but we wouldn't let them have any nostrils themselves so they couldn't be queers. Peter thinks that's funny and laughs. Well maybe they could play with each others antenna, but it wouldn't be as good. How come people weren't designed so they couldn't be queer? I guess we'd have to shit differently, maybe little pellets like rabbits. Wouldn't be as messy and you'd save lots of paper. But what about the jobs toilet paper creates? There's a big pulp and paper mill near the city. And they'd have to be different from rabbits' or else kids would dip them in chocolate and tell you they're Glossette Raisins.

And I know another one you could have! There was something in that book about sex and babies Mom gave me and Alex to read. Babies have this thing stuck on them, they call it a placenta and it's full of blood vessels, just like you're supposed to be down there. Only they cut it off you when you're born... And they cut off part of your pecker too, I found that out. Like maybe if they didn't cut it off, and with all those blood vessels... Who knows? But suppose you still had them, like when you met someone you could just rub them together and you'd get a charge, like happy electricity running through you and your mind would expand until it bumped into itself on the other side of the world. And your placenta organs could have little suckers on them like octopusses, and they would kiss and suck on each other, and they could play tunes of orgasms through your body. Peter tries to contemplate what complete, total ecstasy would be like and he strokes Roland through his jeans to help his imagination. And you wouldn't have to get undressed to do it, you could just step into a telephone booth or something. And when you weren't using your placenta organ you could just flip it over your shoulder. You'd have to have holes in your clothes around the belly button where they're stuck on, and maybe you'd need something to keep them warm in the winter... But you know what? - They'd sure get in the way when you're skateboarding.

But then Peter can see being satisfied with just two sexes, although one you could rub mohawks with is hard to give up. But girls would have to take turns being on the bottom. And maybe they should have to learn how to cook first before they're allowed to do it with boys, or at least have babies. But I still think for the little kids, who're scared of girls and sex and everything, there should be machines, sex machines for them. That would be better than girls like Darlene. And like the machines would also have a big screen and good audio, and the kid could punch in any program he wanted, and he might have to strap himself in before he deposited the quarter. And maybe they could have portable ones you could plug into your Walkman when you're skateboarding. And I'd let someone like the tied up dark chic, only she wouldn't be tied up, have the franchise.

And she'd have pain machines too, a do-it-yourself type. That would help kids learn how to be brave. They wouldn't leave any welts or marks unless you wanted some to show off. There'd be all these dials for different places and types of pain. And you'd just punch in a pain program and sort of plug yourself in, and you could start small, and learn about pain and not be scared of it. And maybe you wouldn't want to be spanked when you grew up. But then that might not be enough to make you brave. Like I think being brave is simply being you, the you you wish you were. And sometimes it's a good idea to be scared.

Peter flips through the pile of his old school workbooks he's saved since grade three, and after a moment's hesitation donates them to the rubbish on the floor. This business of having to go to school and learn things is a drag. It would be a lot better if you were programmed with all that stuff to start with and then you'd only have to forget what you don't need. You probably have to do a lot of that anyway. You'd know long division and how to read and ride a bike right from the beginning, but some things like skateboarding you'd have to learn because that's fun. And you'd learn how to use drugs, they'd teach you like they do with carpentry tools, only I figure drugs would be easier. You'd have to try them all and write an exam so you'd know. And if anybody got strung out you'd make them pound gongs all day and do Hare Krishna chants, that would cure them.

Peter rescues his skateboard from the Growing pile of trash, he's not keeping as much as planned. He places his skateboard upright in a position of honour on his now uncluttered dresser. Like you're not allowed to skate on the mall anymore, it's a law, and you got to be careful they don't catch you in the parkade... I don't think we'd have any laws and stuff in Siliconia, well hardly any, just against things that are really bad and hurt people. Like government would be mainly for giving people money ... But then people want laws against things, that's what governments are really for. And people got rights, and what with that new charter Ms. Candice told us about, they're getting more rights, and they want laws against all sorts of things, that's their right, and like there's new laws all the time. They say soon you won't be able to wear your Walkman skating. And minorities got rights! Like I guess if everybody gets all the rights they want nobody'll have any freedom left.

I dunno, like maybe they should just make everything illegal, even good things so they'd be more fun. And then everybody would have their rights, and be happy too. But then everybody would be a criminal and how would you put them in jail? ... I know. The government would declare all Siliconia a jail, but they'd leave everything as is... you wouldn't even need any guards. And people would be free too because they couldn't do anything to you. And if some people didn't break any laws they'd be released - to outer space, or maybe Earth... Or maybe in Siliconia only good things should be illegal, that might work better.

Peter comes across the pictures of the tied up dark chic he keeps hidden away, and looks through them one by one. He takes the one with the nice eyebrows and sexy lips, cuts the head off and trims it. He's going to mount it over his bed. And he's saving the one with her arse spread open but throws the rest away. The trash situation gets to the point where Peter fetches two big Glad bags from the kitchen and stuffs them almost full. Mom can vacuum up the rest. He looks around at the clean slate state of his room, I think I'll put up a Harley poster for Righteous and Cal. And Ronnie says he can get me a couple of the Dayglo's posters, he tells me they're pretty gross. And when I get it all done I'll invite him over. And looking at the face of the tied up dark chic, I'll tell him she's my grandmother.

Peter finds the remains of the joint, the roach is supposed to be the best part, and he relights it, has a sip of orange juice and lies back on his bed. He picks up the picture of the tied up dark chic and takes a deep toke, singeing his finger. She has got nice lips, like Gusher's. And he wonders what they would feel like around his dick. Roland begins to stir. And what would it be like to whip a chic, really? maybe just a little bit, not like Arnold. you wouldn't want to hurt them. I hear some of them like it. Roland is uncomfortable and Peter liberates him from the straitjacket of his jeans.

"Howdy," Peter pats Roland affectionately, "You like that, eh?" He places the picture where Roland can see it. "Me too... D'yuh wanna play?" Roland nods his head enthusiastically. "They say pot is supposed to be good for sex." Peter embraces Roland with his spittled hand but his usual workmanlike efficiency is not there, He may be too stoned to care, and Roland begins to take it easy too. Like I guess you would have to ask them first, and I don't think they should be tied up... and I bet some of them would want to do the same to you, just like they want to be on top. I think little spanking games would be best. A neglected Roland flops down and rolls over. And they say grass is supposed to be good for sex.

Peter starts counting his hairs but smugly gives up, deciding that there are simply too many. Roland responds to a few gentle flicks, and once again becomes the Pink Monolith of Onon, moon of Sinicon. Peter lowers his head to put it on the horizon, and imagines it towering a thousand metres high above the denim moon hills. The Pink Monolith that foretold the cooling of Evilon and enabled the Siliconians to survive. The monolith is having foundation problems and totters forward, becoming the barrel of a cum gun pointed at his head. But not being the young man from Nantucket he takes it in his fingers and plays a tactile tune on his magic flute, and then closing his eyes and redoubling his effort he saunters into an 11-Seven and spies a gorgeous, green-eyed Siliconian chic playing the NORT machine. He buys her a couple games and admires the dark hair sprouting from her earlobes and erupting like a geyser from her head. Seconds later Peter is closing the bedroom door of his revolving Portable Penthouse Playboy Pad and helping her out of her pink plastic, spiral coil dress. The lights of VanEllay twinkle a mile below where it is anchored by gravity screens. Helicopters are too noisy, Peter has decided. He does not wholly have to imagine she has some special organ that tickles his ass as she does it. And after, speaking to Roland, "Like you and me pal, we're gonna have lots of chics." But I sure hope I don't grow out of jacking, like Lars says, before I do. But then like he says, "Don't worry about it."