Professor Tongue

Professor Tongue moved on, northwards along the great thigh plain. There in the delta he could see the thick dense undergrowth. Somewhere down there, he knew he would find the fabled lost city.

Many had spoke of it, written about it, down the ages. Most people these days thought of it as little more than a myth, a fabled lost city - like Atlantis or Tipton. No-one really believed the stories, believed it existed. Everyone dismissed it as legend, everyone except Professor Tongue. Tongue knew - somehow - maybe instinct, maybe intuition, that the fabled lost city was in there somewhere. Somewhere deep in that dense jungle he would find it.

Cautiously, Tongue moved down the steep slope of the thigh plain and up to the edge of the jungle. There in the depths he could see the fabled valley. He moved forward cautiously until he was easing through into the narrow tight valley.

He had to be careful. He had read the memoirs of Dr Penis who had once explored this same valley. Penis had told how he had stumbled headlong into a seemingly bottomless pit - only to come out far too soon; limp, drained and defeated.

Tongue skirted the pit carefully, his mind full of the dire warnings of the local tribesmen about the sudden monthly tides that could erupt suddenly from that very pit. Strangely, the locals regarded the floods as significant events, entering great depressions when the floods did not appear.

Sighing and relaxing from a tension that left him shivering he moved on past the great pit. Soon he came upon the next obstacle, the geyser. This too was - according to the locals - prone to sudden eruptions, far more unpredictable that the monthly floods from the pit. Although, the locals said, a flood from the geyser would usually occur about an hour or so after a particular ceremony they called "Lotsalager".

Safely past the geyser, Tongue examined his map. It should be somewhere near. If the myths and legends were true, he should nearly be upon it. He stumbled forward, his despair growing as he realised he was almost out of the valley.

Suddenly he saw it!

He stopped, dead in his tracks, there just in front of him; right at the end of the valley was the fabled lost city. All the myths, all the legends were true! Professor Tongue had found the fabled Lost City of Clitoris.

He dropped his rucksack and ran up the slight incline and touched it carefully, he ran around it and touched it again. He could hardly contain himself. He stroked, licked and nibbled at it.

Suddenly the ground beneath him began to shake and tremble. Tongue looked around confused. He picked up his hat and his rucksack. He knew he had to get out, out of the valley now. He recalled how the local tribesman had warned him of the dangers of the time of earthquakes, floods and strange eerie gasps and moans that echoed down through the jungle and into the heaving valley. A time known to all of them as The Orgasm!

Tongue ran, he knew that if he stayed he would be crushed by the thighs as they crashed together. He ran, dropping his precious map and his rucksack. He just managed to force his way through the undergrowth as the thighs spasmed and crashed together. From his safe vantage point, Tongue watched the fabled lost valley disappear from his sight.

He turned and began the slow sad walk back up over the undulating stomach. In the far distance, up above, he could see the two hills of home and the city where he lived, pink and welcoming, standing proud on the left one.

(This is one of my earliest – see here.)