A gentle knock, I opened my eyes and slowly remembered who I am and where I was. 7.30am. Basel. Jason. Oh, yeah. Shit.
I couldn’t have had more than two hours sleep. I had been worrying about a decision on a job offer in France for the summer. Sixteen weeks work for a basic wage, in the sun. I had tried to stave off the insomnia by reading Alan Mcgee’s book, and this had got me even more wound up. Here was a mouthy council estate bastard with an attitude, running amok in the music industry. He didn’t appear to have anything I didn’t, the only one difference being an unwavering self-belief (possibly fueled by cocaine). He surrounded himself with people he believed in and people who believed in him and he chased the dream. His balls were commendable. He would talk to any fucker and tell them what he wanted. I suppose it’s easy to ask for shit for your friends. He had failed with his own band, but was the master at managing his mates’ bands. This was the key difference – it’s very easy to let yourself down and be gentle on yourself – but would you fuck up your best mate’s career?
In becoming responsible for others the focus had shifted from himself and he was forced to fight in order to not look a cunt. And fight he did. Eventually ending up with the biggest band in the world on his label, all the major labels in a bidding war for his company and walking off with a cool 14 million.
And I’m contemplating going to France for a gardening job. For fuck sake, I had no bands or people to be responsible to, I was just coasting along. Was I running away from my dreams, my true vision. Going for the easy option? This shit had had my head spinning all night.
“Breakfast?” said Bram from behind the door.
I threw some clothes on and joined Bram at the dining table. He had served three perfectly poached eggs on toast and some chilled OJ. He opened the curtains of the living room to reveal a huge balcony poking out into a misty mountain. Rain fell upon the black fir tree tops that poked up through the mist, a feint outline of a large rocky mountain fell back into the grey sky. We quickly got dressed and headed out into the relentless rain. A short train and bus journey and we entered the Spa.
We headed into a bubbling hot outdoor pool that spread out into the misty day, surrounded by castle-type buildings and fir trees. We lazed around with lots of old people enjoy the lovely warm bubbles, somehow, despite the cold rain, our heads didn’t freeze over. After chatting for ages I was left wondering if Bram was looking for love, he seemed fairly desperate, a little lonely, I thought.
We walked down some wide steps into a huge cavernous paddling pool that nestled underground. It was lit beautifully, dim, red. People lazed like crocodiles in the water. Knees, noses and the occasional pot belly breaking the surface. We lay on our backs. The pool was full of a salt that enabled our bodies to float. It was impossible to sink. It was like being in space. No friction at all. We just floated there. As our ears entered the water our minds were met with beautiful violins. They were sending music under the water and it sounded gorgeous, water was an amazing conductor of sound, why had I never encountered this before. For half an hour or more we floated on a chorus of violins. Heaven must be like this.
On returning upstairs, we slipped through some plastic butcher flaps.
“Ok there’s no shorts allowed here,” said Bram. He stood there completely naked pointing his Malaysian pepper shaker at me. He pushed his shorts into a small pigeon hole, and waddled off, his naked arse gyrating up the corridor.
I stumbled for a moment then whipped my shorts off and into the pigeon hole next to Bram’s and ran after him. We walked through a corridor. It was full of naked old men everywhere. I didn’t want to look but it was difficult, we were in the middle of a Swiss Cock Theme Park.
We entered a sauna. It was rammed. Two shelves of peni all around the walls. There was a little bit of room on the top shelf to our right. An old guy with a walrus moustache had his legs wide open on the shelf below. I made eye contact and politely pointed above him with my eyes. Then I looked down. It was shaped like a comedy cartoon bomb, thin at one end, long and tapering out to a really wide end, rounded off with a huge dense bell. He looked at my penis, lifted an eyebrow, and closed his legs as much as his huge dong would allow.
We squeezed past him with our button mushrooms and I’m sure he smirked as mine sailed past his temple. We sat down and took a look around, Cockfest. Jesus, I didn’t feel too comfortable, how the fuck did I end up here.
My Welsh hobbit penis was attracting a fair few glances and I couldn’t help looking at the plethora of peckers around the room. Opposite torpedo cock was a shriveled member, an Alf’s nose; the Malaysian maggot was out of my sight line; there was one that looked like a butternut squash and a curly one up over in the far corner. I’m sure I had read in some girly magazine some time, that all penises were basically the same. No way oh say! Not here. This was Fraggle Cock. There was one with no shaft, just a bright pink round bellend, nothing else, like someone was blowing a tiny bubble with a hubba-bubba. There was one like a PG Tips pyramid tea bag. Next to him was an old long worn sock that looked like it had been filled with sprouts. Down on the shelf below to my right I spotted a woman. Phew. She was leaning back with her eyes closed. I noticed she had quite a mane of pubic hair, which also appeared in her armpits and shins. I looked around the room again, and it hit me. Every willy in the house had been shaved clean and splashed with Brut before being put on display here today. That is every willy except mine. I looked down at my hobbit muff. Holy shit. It was only me and that lady with any pubes. My penis was trying to climb back inside, shy just like it’s owner, it couldn’t handle all the attention. I closed my legs a bit, painfully aware of the glances my muff was getting. They didn’t think I was a German lady did they? A chubby hobbit like lady with a big hairy muff and some bumfluff between my adolescent tits? I tapped Bram and we rapidly bounced down the shelf and out of the sauna. I breathed a sigh of relief. Bram, with his gyrating spotty cheeks, led the way through another door and outside into the rain. I followed sheepishly.
I looked up ahead, there were several wooden huts. No doubt full of more bald Swiss genitals proudly on display, even Bram’s had been plucked, I noticed!
Bram sharply turned back, the cold and rain was too much for him and he headed back in doors. My feet were stinging on the cold concrete floor. The rain icy and painful hit every part of my body. What a strange sensation. I stood there naked in the rain. I don’t think I had ever done this, I started singing that Blue Pearl track from the nineties. Not realising while bopping along that I looked nothing like the Amazonian beauties who were gyrating in the video for it. More like a Moomin who’d lost his pants.
It was as if all the comedy cocks I had drawn in my French book in school had come to life and came to live in this park in Basel. Gaggles of peni stood in semi circles facing each other, arms folded, genitals almost kissing as they chatted away, nonchalantly. I guess it’s normal here, this is everyday life! Like popping down the shop for us. Some stray peni strolled past and others rested on benches or danced in the outdoor showers up ahead.
I stood there on my own, chubby and white, hair all over the place with a perplexed look in my eye, naked as the day I was born. This was the REAL ME. Bow down baldy cocked mother fuckers! She-Male Hobbit Muff has arrived!
I pulled open a large wooden door and stepped into the hottest room in the universe. I think it may have been build around the mouth of a volcano. I sat down next to a guy who was dripping pints of sweat into a large towel, while more pints dripped at his feet. A lady with massive round breasts lay on her back to the other side of me, with her knees up. Every once in a while she would open her glistening legs and let out a puff of Aroma D’Herbs Des Alpes. Sweat began to gather all over me. I was trying to work out what temperature my penis needed to be for it to look it’s normal flaccid self. Too cold it disappears and too hot it looks like a bacon frazzle made of putty. As I looked down it seemed to be coming back to life. Not only the temperature was helping, but also there was no one looking at him here. This was a small darkened room. And the fire in the middle obscured any peeping freaks.
The sweaty guy next to me started to rub himself all over. He started caressing his droopy wet thighs, then his long tits and then his droopy face. It was squelching and dripping all over the place. I couldn’t cope. I ran for the door. On contact with the freezing rain my nob disappeared instantly and I somehow was now sporting an erect foreskin. Work that one out. A nipple. If only i had some viagra i may have been able to make it 3d again. I stepped into an outdoor shower and was knocked back by a torrent of ice water. FUCK THIS!
I headed back for the door where Bram had disappeared.
I paused. There it was. In the flesh. Stretched over a bench, leaning back, chatting to an older lady, was the biggest cock I have ever seen in my entire life time. Now, let’s get one thing straight, I ain’t seen that many in my life, in the flesh, and I have no interest in them, it’s just in this place, I was surrounded!
Rhino Cock. His legs were wide open and his arms spread wide across the back of the bench. The woman stood next to him with her muff, hypnotised. They chatted away.
Imagine you got a hefty set of bolt cutters and cut about a metre off of an adult elephant’s trunk. This was something like it. Maybe God had made a mistake: somewhere out there in the African desert is a fully grown elephant with a tiny human penis for a trunk and all his mates are laughing at him and pointing.
But the dude on the bench didn’t give a fuck. He was looking pretty damn satisfied with his heffalump. He looked up at me. I was frozen. A cherub in the rain. I thought about peeing, you know, and pretending to be one of those fountains. Our eyes locked. On each other’s manhood. His lady friend brought her eye line up from his pecker and slowly locked on to mine. I waved! Then ran.
Through the door I came panting. Bram lay on a lounger reading a magazine, his bald shroom instantly calming me.
Later on I was so tired from my Spa experience and the insane bout of insomnia last night, that I managed to sleep though most of the concert that I had come to Switzerland to see. The first part was hours of a Punjabi chanting, I drifted off into genital-free dreams. Phew. I headed off to the Jean Tinguely museum with some friends I had met, finding that his Dance of Death installation was no longer on display. I felt it was part of the reason why I had come to Switzerland. A fire had broken out on the farm next door to Jean’s house many years ago, and all of the family – his neighbours – had died. Many months later Jean had collected the debris and left over farm machinery and made an animatronic sculpture of deathly figures, that danced. I was OK with it thought, too tired to worry. I looked at the final piece in the museum, in large writing ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, and below it a huge thick bent penis hung from the wall. Arrrrgh!
I dreamily snoozed through part two of the concert, which also entailed an hour lecture, in fucking German.
On climbing into my bed that night I collapsed into a deep empty sleep. Nothing. No worry, no thinking, just blackness. Tomorrow was another day of live music from Scelsi. I was looking forward to it. But for now I was happy to escape the peni.
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