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Slowly at first, almost as if it was part of a sluggish-motion heliogromic projection, licks of mist falling away as it pushed through the bintle-murk, an enormous erectile member, the size of a small lorry trundled tip first into view. The gyrating bintle-wall almost appeared to hold its breath and Glamorgonia turned an exquisite shade of redlick crimson, averting her eyes demurely as a bobbly nose, a smiling mouth and a small pair of eyes, materialised on the giant phallus. Up on his back, a figure that could only be Jack Tar, was riding as if on a bucking bronco, waving and hallooing, a huge grin lighting up his face.

“This is Gnob,” said Glamorgonia in a whisper, “He’s your sexuality and he can be your worst nightmare or your sweetest dream. You and he are one – but, unfortunately, only when he wants you to be,” she susurrated enigmatically.

A voice, seemingly resonating from a point in the middle of Ado’s head rippled outwards; a vibration of delicious suggestion that demanded attention, “Look at me carefully; I’m the conduit of legend carrying the seed of mystery, rod of gods, pipeline of progress and ruin of man. I urge you on and I hold you back and I can do this independent of interference, of my own free will or, if I am feeling generous, in close cooperation. I am one with us, yet detached; I can rule thoughts, yet I am free.”

Gnob turned his head and looked down at the stupefied, hypnotised Ado below him. Fefe peeped out at the huge congadong from behind Ado’s back. The latter was looking up, neck bent, slack mouth and eyes that resembled antique Wedgeforest dinner plates watching mesmerised as the enormous dongleschmuck wobbled in the psycho-wind of the thermonucleoid pile, its anger-purple skin pulsating as if with promises of undefined, highly prohibited yet strangely familiar and completely uncontrollable pleasures.

“We’re going to be great friends,” suggested the vibration that could only be emanating from Gnob as he lumbered forward into the opposite side of the slowly rotating conglomic mist.

“Show us yer tits, Moggy-babe!” Jack Tar’s voice floated in the throbble-wind as thunderclouds within the ponderously gyrating bintle-wall slowly enveloped both Gnob’s retreating form and Jack Tar’s lecherously teasing laughter.

Silence settled on the proceedings and Glamorgonia managed to compose herself enough to resume her monologue.
“Well,” she said coughing slightly, her shapely lips pursed in a matronly fashion, “that was fun, wasn’t it? An interesting interlude. Obviously, what you have heard is nourishment for some contemplative cogitation and, if a personality can be assigned to this undefinable personage, he will be someone with whom I am sure you will learn to interact with due, err, control…” she observed primly.

Glamorgonia continued, “It is important to realise that Gnob is perhaps one of the most notable noblepersons in the firmament of your psychoswarm.” As an afterthought, she added, almost to herself, “however, there is still some doubt about the very sexuality of the subject of this current discourse. I use the epithet ‘he’ although some consider that in fact, he could well be she!”

“But,” she went on, “that interpretative discussion is not for the present forum, and is something that may be developed at a later stage.”

She hesitated a little before she made her next move but, coming to a decision, touched the shimmering wall, signalling the two boys to move back a little.