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Before we left, a group of girls ran outside, and said goodbye.

Bernhard had to kiss every one of them. And he had to ask them if they had big susu. Oldest trick in the book, and some of them were double E’s.

‘What, asking them if they have big tits and getting an invite to touch them.’

As I said, older trick in the book. And at this rate, we’d never leave. Bernhard was an animal, and once he engaged in his animal activities, he could easily go on an eight hour hump marathon.  And of course the girls said they had big susu. They were dressed in satin night gowns and those mounds of flesh were almost on open display. And to prove it, they were going to let Bernie explore.

Dear Lord, please give me strength to resist, I thought.

Instead, I said, ‘Put that in the wank bank and if you are well behaved, we may come back to research the medicinal qualities of that herb the girls use to expand their tits and tighten their pussys.’

It’s been documented in surf magazines that they do use a special herb in this part of the world that apparently works by the look of the XXL mammary glands on display. The idea that this is just fantasy in a deranged travel story is something both me and Beni are keen to debunk.

‘You are always welcome back here,’ said Beni who seemed to be reading my thoughts again, ’but first I need to show you a few things. You’ll realise soon enough that what you think of as prostitution, we consider a necessity. It goes back to the courts and the dancers. Outwardly, if we aren’t showing off our assets, then what’s the point of living?’

‘Tits should be fucked,’ said Bernie as we passed the witch on the pedestal winked. This time she winked at me.

From what I see at the village, those susu weren’t there just for decoration. It looks like the girls wanted to use them.

‘Well you kinda get the drift,’ said Beni, who placed some more herb under his tongue and gave that blokey’s smile, acknowledging perhaps were on the same page, and then continued. ‘We are going to need it, it’s a tough walk up the mountain, but it should be worth it. I’ll even show you where we process the sulphur that we mix in with the herbs that are picked from the side of the mountain.’

Looks like a form of partnership was forming here.  A cure of arthritis and a cream applied to the breast region to make them grow.

‘Eliminates the need for silicon,’ says Bernhard, as the conversation continued while we easily trekked forty minutes to the summit.

‘Have you met the 12 Dwarfs yet? asked Beni, We were all dripping from sweat and my knee was feeling, well, like a well-oiled knee.

‘You’ll be fucked when the herb wears off and I don’t resupply with you more,’ said Bernhard. The moon was rising.

‘Too fucking slow if you ask me,’ said Bernie.

Someone was singing. Did you hear that?

‘Hi ho, hi ho….’

‘It’s the dwarfs,’ said Beni. ‘Not sure if you read The Year of Living Dangerously, but the dwarf gets a good mention by that midget who fucks things up and gets killed.  He wasn’t just content to fuck our woman folk; he wanted to tell them how to live their lives.’

I recalled that, I said, but I’d have to google it to find out the name of that dwarf in the Indian epic.

‘We are waiting,’ said Bernie. ‘But by the looks of things, we got a couple of hours of work.

I couldn’t find the quote. That dwarf got on my tits. She tried to justify her stupidity by using quotes from some ancient Hindu textbook. The wayang was just for entertainment, and reading into it political destinies was just stupidity.

‘That’s why the movie was banned,’ said Bennie. ‘Billy Kwan was played by a female dwarf, who in reality was a raving lesbian. From the outset, listening to her moralising just got the goat up from the outset. There was nothing offensive in the movie, no hints of mass graves, it was quite tame, but that Linda Hunt just grated on our collective nerves.’

Interesting, I said, and I was glad to hear that someone else had the same opinion as me.

‘It’s always the opinionated nobody’s who have something to say,’ said Beni who handed me a filtering mask and a pick. ‘Now enough intellectualising, it’s time for you to mine some of your own sulphur. On the way down the slope, we’ll pick some choice herbs.’

Well fuck a duck…

‘Not just yet,’ said Bernhard, who was hacking away at the glowing white stone and putting chunks of it in a backpack slung over his  back which was also supplied by Beni.

There might have been some mention of mass graves in The Year of Living Dangerously, but the moralising of that little midget also got on my tits.

‘Hi ho, hi ho, off to work we go.’

They weren’t midgets; they were hard working honest miners.

‘I was only fucking with you,’ said Beni, who had nearly filled up his back pack, ‘ but we call this mountain therapy, offloading crap that’s become too calcified in your psyche. I knew you needed to get it out of your system.’

The work was hard but invigorating. Two hours just flew. I crumbled some of the yellow calcified stone that broke off like chalk. It resembled more reef coral than the devil’s stone. I put a bit into my mouth, it tasted very bitter. And it reacted with what herbs were left under my tongue, giving me the spurt needed to finish my shift.

Beni’s team of 12 Dwarfs unloaded their bags, on the backs of about four mules where the pay dirt was stored in  Beni’s warehouse  at the bottom of the mountain.

‘We aren’t that stupid and carry it down ourselves,’ says Beni, ‘despite what you read on the news. We have a few who walk down with their packs full, to keep the tourists happy. But most of the pay dirt is brought down by mules, on the more gentle sloped side of the mountain.’

 

 

 

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