The Lemur of Babylon

By Clark Casey

I once met this guy in North Hollywood who had a pet lemur. He didn’t keep it on a leash or anything. It just sat perched on his shoulder looking around the room with these giant, barely animate eyes, blinking every few seconds without resting too long on anything in particular. I don’t know if the lemur had ever been in a bar before, but it didn’t seem too impressed. The guy probably brought it to lots of bars and I imagine it’s a little better than drinking alone. He’d even tied a purple scarf around its neck for a little splash of color—as if it wasn’t enough of an attention-getter to have a live exotic animal on your shoulder. You also had to accessorize it. Well, I’d never seen a lemur before and couldn’t imagine that I’d ever have the opportunity to say such a thing again, and mean it literally, so I had to ask, “Hey buddy, what’s with the monkey on your back?”

As is probably the case with all people who walk around with undomesticated wildlife clinging to their body, he was just waiting for somebody to ask him that very question. With the sort of pomp you’d expect of a tenured professor, he explained, “Actually, it’s a lemur. They’re like monkeys only they are inhabited by ancient spirits, and have longer tails.”

“Really,” I said. “And what sort of ancient spirit is inhabiting that one?”

“This here is an ancient Babylonian prostitute,” he said proudly.

“Oh, the whore of Babylon. Imagine that! And in that little monkey.”

“Lemur,” he corrected me. “The lemur is smaller and more akin to the rodent. They are mostly found in Madagascar. Many of the species can only be found there. In the ninth century, a great sultan was traveling through the Indian Ocean when his ship came into a terrible storm. He was washed ashore on one of the islands of what is now known as the Malagasy Republic.”

“Where’s that?” I asked, not much of geography buff. “Somewhere off the coast of Africa?”

“Yes,” he looked at me as though I were an idiot. “Well, in order gain safe passage, the sultan was forced to enter into a bargain with the tribal leaders. Primitive cultures worshiped the gods of fire, sea and earth. It was their custom to offer the gods gifts to stave off volcanoes, tidal waves and earthquakes. The tribal elders asked the sultan to sacrifice the prize maiden of his harem in order to keep the sea gods at bay. Her talents far surpassed the others, but the tribal elders had singled her out and would accept no other. The Sultan was very attached to her but there was nothing else for him to do. To sweeten the deal the tribesmen offered some semi-precious stones as compensation. The greedy Sultan saw that the stones would be a nice addition to his collection and so he accepted.

In accordance with the ceremony to appease the gods, the tribesmen had to throw her from a cliff at the first rays of dawn. As she plunged to the rocky shoreline and the body sank, her spirit was supposed to rise to the heavens and forever serve the gods.”

“What a waste of a good piece of ass,” I said.

“Indeed, but this particular soul was weighed down by a great desire still clinging to the material world. As she plunged to the surf, her spirit was just too carnal to leave the earth. As her body broke apart in the water, her soul flew off and came to inhabit this lemur, which was sitting in a nearby tree.”

“Too carnal to leave the earth, huh? Was she any good in the sack?” I asked.

“Oh, the best,” he replied. “You’re looking at the equivalent of a modern-day thousand-dollar-an-hour hooker. Only pharaohs and princes could afford her. No offense, but there’s no way a guy like you could even get near her. Maybe you’d be fit to carry her luggage, but that’s about it.”

Clearly, she still retained a touch of snootiness, too. The lemur gazed up at the ceiling fan with a bored look as the man went on.

“Normally, you’d have to be at least a congressman to enjoy her company.” He bent over with conspiratorial nod and whispered in my ear, “but I could let you have a go at her for fifteen bucks.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You want me to pay you fifteen bucks to fuck your monkey?”

“Lemur,” he corrected me again. “The most primitive of the primates with the soul of one of the most desirous women that ever walked the earth. I assure you, it’s certainly a bargain. I’m telling you, you’re not going to get a chance like this again.”

So after I gave the guy fifteen bucks, he led me into a back room. The floor was littered with banana peels and glamour magazines. The scented pages of perfume advertisements had been torn out and balled up as if to smear on the object that gave off the foul stench in the air. After counting the money, the man set the little primate down on an old box spring and walked out.

The lemur leered at me like I was wearing white past Labor Day, but as soon as that door closed behind her keeper, she lost her composure and tore around the room like any other worried monkey in a lion’s cage. With a shriek, she leapt up on the drapes and began squealing a little reprisal and waving her tail tauntingly. She was like a prom queen too well aware of her charms to give it away without a fight. Then the drape ripped from it rings and she fell with a thud. Bouncing off the box spring, she sprang by me tearing around the room in circles, but it was clear there was no place to go. Finally, I cornered her and she backed up on her tail trying to make herself appear taller than me.

“Quit being coy with me,” I told her. “You might have been some high class piece of tail a thousand years ago, but you’re just an ordinary monkey now, and I already paid my fifteen bucks.”

The economics of the situation didn’t escape her. You can take a whore out of Babylon, but… well you get the idea. Begrudgingly, she got down from her tail with a sigh and showed me her backside. It was a small fluffy rump feathered to a part like the hairstyle of a 1980s rockstar. I ran my hands over the thick chestnut fur ruffling her hindquarters. The soft luxurious coat probably would have sold for seven grand with a cheap pair of pumps on Rodeo Drive. Immediately, she began to purr a low vibrato like a kitten in the sun.

Clearly, the little monkey was enjoying herself, so I went the extra mile. First, I imagined my high school sweetheart Mary Joe in her daisy dukes, then the hard-drinking Lucinda in her fishnets and thigh high boots. After half an hour, I had gone through every girl I’d ever been with. Just as I was imagining my ex-wife’s sister pulling me inside of her, a clump of fur came off in my hands. Beneath it lay a clear smooth patch of skin.

She began to squeal little ravenous noises. It was just like being with a women, only more tender. She bucked in a wild tantrum as only a beast could; her mind free from thoughts of handbags and nail polish. There was just the movement of her hips rhythmically responding to the epicenter of her loins. This little primate was better than any girl I’d ever been with. She had a pulsing movement that jarred every thought from my head till I was no better than a monkey myself.

When I opened my eyes again, all of the fur had shed from her hindquarters. Clumps of hair covered the floor like a busy barbershop with no broom. Beyond my hands showed the arch of a peach-colored bottom. Across her spine was a dark mane of black hair that parted over sweaty flesh. Her face turned to shoot me a look, and the side of a rosy lip showed. The whiskers were gone now, and her mouth was smooth without so much as a trace of peach fuzz.

“Fuck me! Fuck me like an animal!” She called out.

I looked down and there was woman’s vagina around me, grabbing and flashing a triangle of pink with each bit. We kept going and all of the fur fell to reveal a firm round backside stretching down to strong thighs with a gymnast’s calves. Not only was it a woman, but a beautiful woman. A woman with demands and expectations and a whole agenda of things that needed to be accomplished.

“More there,” she directed. “Don’t stop. Harder. Over more.”

I found myself stretching to manipulate a clitoris with one hand while massaging a breast with the other. There was an orchestra of erogenous zones that I scrambled to conduct and bring to a crescendo. Finally, it was just too much to keep up with. I lost my tempo and had to sit down on the box spring to catch my breath.

When she got to her feet, there stood a tall olive-skinned temptress with jet black hair and the polished cheeks of a hostess at NOBU. She was clearly out of my league and with a stealthy glare she let me know that she was aware of it. She had strong hips and a hard flat belly. It sloped to a dense sliver of black pubic hair that was as neatly trimmed as the goatee of an insecure man. Suddenly, I began to soften. Her eyes held a great depth of disappointment. I felt as though I had accidentally sat in first-class, ordered malt liquor, then spilt it on someone’s mink.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to fuck me out of that animal for over a thousand years and you’re going to stop now!” she hollered.

Her tone frightened me. I stammered an excuse, “I’m sorry. I just got a little distracted.”

“I’ve been feeding on berries and insects!” she screamed. “I’ve been scurrying through forests in the dead of night for 1,200 years! Then I get saddled with this walking encyclopedia for another ten years. Finally, I get out of that monkey prison and that’s all you can do!”

I felt horrible to leave her wanting. I looked down and it was entirely soft. It seemed to be crawling back into itself like the penis of young uncircumcised boy who’d been swimming.

“Is there anything else I can do to make it up to you?” I hazarded to ask.

She stood fuming for a minute with her arms crossed below her breasts like a shelf for trophy nipples. It seemed like nothing was going to be good enough for her. Bridges could be built, monuments raised, but nothing could compensate for even a second of the indignity she had endured. Then a smile crept over her face. She knew exactly what she wanted.

“Buy me from that old man,” she demanded. “I’m sick of sitting on his sweaty back all day. He never takes me anywhere nice. I want to see the world. I want to shop on Fifth Avenue. I want to see the Eiffel Tower!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said and went out to find the old man. When I returned to the barroom, he was sitting over a glass of scotch looking a little glum without his pet. Clearly, he was lost without all the attention he received from having his pet lemur on his shoulder. The pedant was crippled with nothing to preach about.

“Oh, there you are,” he mustered some enthusiasm. “So how was she?”

“I want my money back,” I said. “That ain’t no fucking lemur.”