"Guess that key's a lot like me - it still works, but its teeth are just about gone; I guess that's what forty years of working for the government will do to you."
Of course, the youngster standing beside him couldn't really appreciate what was left unsaid in that remark. In forty years, Dan Wiseman had seen a lot... 'more than most people this side of National Geographic, ' he reckoned.
But now, he was being retired. Still a young man at 62, somehow he had made it through forty years working for three branches of the federal government at once... in an office that never officially existed. Turning to the young man next to him, he opened the door and stood aside.
"What's your name again?"
"Franklin, but everybody calls me Frank."
"Well, Frank, welcome to the best fucking job on the planet Earth." Wiseman handed him two typed pages. "Read this, and you'll know all about how the Office of Unusual Carnal Knowledge came to exist.
In 1963, the head of the United States Patent Office was approached by a representative of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, acting on orders from J. Edgar Hoover himself. In an attempt to "flush out" the blatant sexual perversion running rampant in the Kennedy era, Hoover wanted the Patent Office to establish a small, seemingly innocuous offshoot. The newly designed branch would not operate in Washington, D.C. proper, but would instead be housed across the river in Arlington, in a warehouse leased by the Justice Department for extra space for its voluminous files.
The idea was simple. Take out small ads in the pornographic magazines that would accept such filler. The following is a sample of an ad from the era:
"Take your place in the history of the sexual revolution! The United States Patent Office is now accepting submissions to officially recognize unique and unusual sexual positions and acts with patents, in order provide historical documentation to the inventors and originators of such acts. For a free information kit, send a self-addressed, stamped envelope to..."In 1964, the Office of Unusual Carnal Knowledge (government acronym OFUCK) received 125 requests for information kits, 35 of which were returned. Government agents, using the information obtained, opened investigations into the people named. 15 were arrested on morals charges, while the rest remained under investigation. The F.B.I did not disclose how it had received the information that lead to indictments in the 15 cases it attempted to prosecute.
In 1965, OFUCK produced its first reference guide to "Unique and Exotic Sexual Positions." In it, it recognized the 35 people who had completed registrations kits, along with the sexual positions they claimed to have invented. Each was issued a "special patent," denoted by the letters SP, followed by six digits; for example, SP-000001 was issued to Dick and Donna Clear of Oakland, CA for their innovative (and extensive!) use of yoga in sexual technique. Their position was called "The Parallel Bars," and involved placing the feet behind the head...
Dan pointed to the picture on the wall behind his desk, prominently displayed in the upper-left hand corner. "SP-000001. That's Dick and Donna themselves, photographed by a more-than-willing neighbor. Recipients of the first 'special patent' ever issued by this office."
"Did they get arrested?"
"Dick and Donna? No, son, they weren't doing anything really illegal, other than enjoying each other's bodies. Which back then was bad enough, I suppose. No, the first arrest made in connection with one of these was SP-000015." Dan walked behind his desk and fingered the picture with that number. "Mr. Ivan Comber of Pocatello, Idaho. He was the first to apply on the basis of altering his body, aka his member. Specifically, he attached various objects to his penis, and then used it to pleasure different women. Other than his wife."
"Attached?"
"Yes, son... attached. Sewn. Sutured. Pierced, even."
Frank took a moment to digest that. "What was he arrested for?"
"Anal sex. Which was illegal in Pocatello, Idaho in 1965."
Priced at $8 a copy, the first printing of "Unique and Exotic Sexual Positions" sold out by the end of 1965, and was not reprinted. However, its popularity proved immense, as people with a copy of the book passed it around to their friends, who marveled at daring of such a sexually provocative guide.
No one really believed the government could have published the book.
By mid-1966, OFUCK had received 400 requests for information kits, 236 of which were returned.
By early 1967, the F.B.I. had arrested 40 of those applicants on charges such as drugs, tax evasion, conspiracy, and, in a small minority of the cases, sexual perversion.
J. Edgar Hoover considered the program a success, and issued a special citation recognizing Dan Wiseman's accomplishments in "promoting the general well-being of the majority of right-thinking American citizens."
Wiseman proudly pointed to the wall on the right side of his desk, where a gold-framed certificate hung proudly beside a small portrait of former F.B.I Director Hoover.
"It was the only time the office was officially recognized, of course. Hoover himself died not long after that, and, ever since, we've kinda kept under the official government radar. There've been times when we've enjoyed a certain, well... favor in high-government circles..."
When Nixon was elected President in 1968, he was briefed on OFUCK's existence by no less than Hoover himself. Excited by the success of the program, Nixon authorized enough funding for a third printing of "Unique and Exotic Sexual Positions," as well as more prominent ads for the application kits.
In 1969, "Unique and Exotic Sexual Positions" recognized over 1000 of America's strangest and most inventive singles and couples. The book again sold out, this time producing a profit. Those who read it took to calling it the "Guinness Book of World Sex Records." Applications skyrocketed. People were clamoring for more application kits.
The F.B.I. only arrested 5 people in the next two years.
"Of course, that was a true blow to the program," Wiseman continued. "If the F.B.I. wasn't arresting people, then nothing else really mattered. So the decision was made to shut the doors. Except..."
In 1973, a completed application was on Dan Wiseman's desk. In and of itself, there was nothing to the application. It was standard fellatio - man seated, woman kneeling - with nothing really unusual or exotic, not even bestiality or positioning to differentiate it. Wiseman was about to throw it in the trash when...
'No... it couldn't be! He couldn't really be caught on film... with a girl that's obviously under age. He'll lose his House seat for sure... if this picture comes out!'
With nothing to lose but his job, Wiseman picked up the phone... and dialed the office number for a member of the House from the great state of Massachusetts.
"You don't mean..."
"All I'll say is that he became a great supporter of this office, and he also received his own 'special patent' - SP001499. I keep the picture locked in a special file that will never leave this room. Even though he's long dead, I'll always keep my promise to him to never let it out.
Wiseman smiled at the memory of his first meeting with his long-time patron. "When I met him at his office and showed the member his member, the first thing he said was 'Oh, fuck.' And I said 'How did you know?'"
The late 70s and all of the 80s was a time of indifference and neglect for OFUCK. With moralistic Presidents in office, the small offshoot of the Patent Office was unknown to all but a few of the most powerful people in Washington, which was fine with Dan Wiseman. The requests for applications kits kept coming in. And Wiseman kept issuing "special patents." Right up to number SP-015121.
That's when things got a little weird.
"As I remember it, he was a little geeky fella, some sort of big brain at NASA, who'd always wanted an 'sp' of his own, and had applied for 10 consecutive years without any success. And then, one day, he just walked into my office."
"Mr. Wiseman?"
"That's me, sir. What can I do for you?"
The thin, bespectacled man stared uncomfortably at the floor, not saying anything. The silence stretched for so long that Wiseman started to get up from his chair to escort the man out of his office. That's when the young man looked up.
"Will you trade?"
Wiseman was puzzled. "Trade?"
"Trade with me. Give me a 'special patent, ' in exchange for something I've invented."
"Son, you've got the wrong section of the patent office. If you want a patent on an invention..."
"No, I want to give you an invention... in exchange for you granting me the 'sp' number that I've been requesting for the last 10 years."
Now Wiseman was really confused. "You want to trade me an invention... ? What, you're trying to bribe me into issuing you a patent?"
"Yes."
"What's your name, son?"
"Rory Calhoun."
Wiseman looked him up and down. "Your parents didn't do you any favors, did they? You look like a movie star like I look like Hulk Hogan. Hang on a second."
The OFUCK administrator looked through his rejection files for a moment, quickly finding Calhoun's application.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Calhoun. Yours is a rather unique sexual position, but it has been done. SP-005691, granted to Mr. Rateesh Hayml of New York City, NY. 'Can insert own penis into own rectum.'"
Calhoun's face fell. Shoulders slumped, he turned to leave the office.
"Mr. Calhoun. Just out of curiosity, what type of invention were you going to trade if I did give you your own 'special patent?'"
"A device that freezes people."
"Freezes them? You mean it turns them to ice?"
"No. It turns them into statues. They just stop moving until you let them start again."
The silence stretched on for about a minute, as Wiseman stared right into the younger man's eyes. "Say that again."
Calhoun said it again.
Wiseman thought for a moment. And another. And a third. And then he did what any red-blooded skeptic would do.
He said, "Show me."
"Let me tell you son, that was one heck of a demonstration! He pulled this little gadget from his pocket, about the size of those PDAs everyone is using today. Then he walked outside to loading dock where a set of files was being unloaded for storage. There were two guys on the loading platform. One of them started walking toward us, and Calhoun pointed this little device at him, and pressed a button.
"And, sure as shit, he just stopped moving!
"Now the other guy was a little disturbed by this, and he started running toward us rather quick, and Calhoun points his gadget and presses the button... and the guy's arms and legs stop moving, but his momentum carries him forward, so he pitches forward on his face! So here are these two moving guys, just completely frozen, not even breathing as far as I can tell.
"So I ask Calhoun about it and he says 'Suspended animation. They aren't dead, just kind of stuck, and they will stay that way until I press this other button over here. And it doesn't matter if I leave them that way for minutes, or days. When they wake up, it will be just like no time has passed.'
"Then he starts talking about his work in 'reverse relativity, ' and how he never saw any practical uses for E=MC2, but then he wondered if he could make it so that a 'time envelope' could be projected so that the people inside would be effected like a traveler approaching the speed of light, only in reverse - time would seem to stop for them, while our time would continue normally. And somehow, he had made it work!
"So, I told him to walk with me back to my office, and we'd talk about giving him his 'sp, ' in exchange for the doohickey. Of course, he had to unfreeze the movers first, which he did, and they were a little dazed but fine.
"When I got him back to the office, I told him that, in order to certify his 'special patent, ' he'd have to show me that he could actually perform the act for which he was applying. By stripping and putting his cock up his own ass.
"He balked at that a bit, saying that he hadn't come all the way up from Langley just to have me watch him 'do his thing.' And I told him it was show or no go.
"Damn, he wanted that 'sp' real bad; he hemmed and hawed for a few minutes, then, finally, took off his pants.
"I have to say, I was startled by the size of his penis. It was 20 inches long if an inch! But the most unusual thing about it was how flexible it was when hard! The kid looked like he had an elephant's trunk down there! He just kept bending it back and up, until it was at the entrance to ass. He looked at me like he was finished, and I said 'Uh-uh! You said you could put it inside! Now show me!
So slowly starts to push the head deeper into his ass crack, no lubrication or nothing! And soon, he's got the head just inside, his head thrown back like he was hurting something fierce. And, at that point, I just stopped him."
Frank had been listening raptly as the older man told the story, suddenly realized that Wiseman had stopped talking.
"Stopped him? You mean you told him to stop?"
"Hell, no. I pointed his little gadget at him and stopped him cold. He froze just like that, his head reared back, penis just inside his anus.
"Wanna see?" Wiseman gestured to the door to the left of his desk.
Nodding slowly, the young man followed Wiseman into the next room.
Where a tall, pale, bespectacled young man stood frozen, his penis stuck up his rear.
And behind him, other men and women stood in various sexual positions, filling the entire room.
Wiseman smiled like a proud father, and gestured around the room. "Now, ain't this a helluva lot better than still pictures?"
The young man gaped for a little while, then walked over to the figure that was very obviously "Rory Calhoun."
"Can I... ?"
"Touch him? Yeah, son, he ain't going to bite you. Go ahead."
The young man slowly reached out and touched the arm of the frozen scientist. Then he gripped the arm. Then he pushed on it. The figure didn't move an inch.
Looking down, he saw something on the frozen man's leg. Something written on the man's leg.
SP-015122.
Wiseman grinned when he saw where the young man was looking. "Got a tattoo artist friend who comes in about three times a year and marks them for me. That way they've got their 'special patents' permanently." He gripped the arm of the Calhoun figure and laughed. "I told Mr. Calhoun I'd give him a 'special patent' if he lived up to his side of the bargain, and I think I kept my word!"
Wiseman took Frank by the arm and started leading him around the room.
"Surprisingly, no one ever came looking for that kid. He apparently had no close friends, no girlfriend. He just disappeared and no one even seemed to care."
Franklin's jaw hung open as they walked past a woman being taken from behind by a man who apparently had been born with a penis that was split in two. "But... you're telling me these are all real people? Applicants for special patents?"
"That's right son. All frozen by me, right there in my office, as they tried to persuade me to give them an 'SP' of their very own."
"But where do they all come from?"
"Well, that's where the story of OFUCK takes another turn..."
In 1988, any applicant under consideration by OFUCK received the following brief letter:
Dear applicant:Less than half of all applicants followed-through by scheduling an interview with Wiseman. For each one that did, Dan Wiseman used his contacts at the FBI to compile a dossier that detailed each person's current status with family, friends, employment, and finances. The pattern that emerged was startling: almost three-quarters of the people who applied for one of his 'special patents' had no children, were unmarried or divorced, had bad to non-existent social skills, and were either estranged from or had little contact with their parents.As the number of special patents issued by this office has grown to levels unimagined when it was first founded in 1963, it has become necessary for us to require demonstrations of any and all sexual positions or techniques that are pending certification. Therefore, in order to issue you the special patent that you have requested, it will be necessary for you to schedule a person interview at our office between the hours of 10 AM and 3 PM, Monday through Thursday. Please be prepared to demonstrate the activity for which you wish to receive a special patent on that date. Thank you for your interest.
They were people who were looking for something that was missing in their lives, and used sex as a means for making themselves feel accomplished. And what better way to accomplish something in the sexual realm than by receiving a patent for it?
They were also people who would not be missed if they simply picked up and left town in the middle of any given night.
Something that began to happen 5 or 6 times a year in various places around the country.
"You... abducted them?" Frank asked, face ashen.
"Depends on how you look at it, Frank. Everyone that comes to this office signs several documents. Including one that states 'In signing this document, the undersigned agrees to let the Office of Unusual Carnal Knowledge use whatever means it determines necessary to preserve the activity and image for which a special patent is being issued.'
"In other words, Frank... once they sign, they're mine."
Again the silence stretched.
"Does anyone else know about... them?" Frank gestured around the room.
"Well, now that you mention it, there are a few people actively interested in the program..."
Dan Wiseman sat nervously in the hall outside the office of his boss, the head of the U.S. Patent Office. Inside was a unique gathering of Washington political power. In addition to the Patent Office chief, there was the head of the FBI's "special projects" branch, which inherited the investigative unit of which OFUCK had been a part since 1963. There were also a Congressman, a senior Senator... and someone Wiseman didn't know.
He had been summoned here from his base in Alexandria without warning, he assumed because of the tours he had been giving his patron, the retiring senior representative from Massachusetts. The politician had been amazed at the "collection" of unique and exotic sexual positions that Wiseman had managed to collect, and Dan had taken the opportunity to mention that perhaps it was time to reissue an updated version of "Positions," the book that had spawned so much of what had happened over the past 20 years.
However, nothing had come from that request, and several years and several more tours had followed. And now he sat in unfamiliar territory, while people in the next room discussed his life's work.
It made him nervous.
When he finally was called into the office, after waiting for more than two hours, there was only one person in the room, a man he didn't know, who introduced himself as Jonathon Symthe. When that did not elicit any response from Wiseman, Smythe added, "Head of Special Collections, Smithsonian Institute."
That caught Dan's attention.
Smythe had apparently been looking over the compiled photographs and notes that Wiseman had brought with him that morning; notes which detailed the painstaking process that Dan had used to screen, select, and secure the human statues that populated the storeroom of his office. Smythe tapped his finger on the thick file and shook his head.
"Mr. Wiseman, there have been many, many things that have been executed under the guise of 'working for the government' that have been or, shall we say, would be upsetting to the public at large. Let me add two words to that: if discovered.
"Your office has languished without purpose or direction for many years, to the point where even the man who was supposed to be supervising you in this office didn't really know what you were doing. However, by cultivating the support of a certain Congressman, you have managed to keep your program alive. However, what you are currently doing has gone well beyond the scope of any mandate you have ever been given."
Smythe fixed Wiseman with a cold stare.
"I suppose I have been chosen to talk to you because I was the only one that could offer a solution that helped everyone out of the dilemma they faced. You see, your patron, who is retiring, has let a few of his more sexually liberated colleagues in on your secret. They think that these 'statues' you have in your storeroom are sculpture, or performance art... but we both know that's not true, don't we?
"So, the people who were just here really had only two goals. The politicians want you to continue 'collecting.' The FBI and the Patent Office don't want to be anywhere near you should the news ever leak out.
"And that's where I come in.
"You now work for me."
Wiseman clapped Frank hard on the shoulder. "And that, my boy, is how the Office of Unusual Carnal Knowledge changed into something much more innocuous: the Office of Folklore, Urban Cultural Knowledge, and Understanding. Every month, we give an invitation-only showing in a sub-level exhibition room at the Smithsonian. There are no more special patents; the SPs of a decade ago are now SEs - Special Exhibit numbers. Our signature book is still published every two years, and still brings new inquiries every year as to how someone can be listed. And all of that is funded by a special grant through, ironically enough, the National Endowment for the Arts.
"Though I'm sure if Newt Gingrich were still around, he'd wonder how any organization whose abbreviated name spells OFUCKU gets special priority for that type of grant."
Frank stood still for a moment, taking it all in.
"It's one of the best jobs ever created, son," Wiseman said softly. "You'll read the applications that come in, use the database in the computer to see if they've come up with anything truly original, or at least not in the current list of exhibits. When you hit on something, you'll forward it to one of our contacts at the FBI, who'll work up the file. If they fit into the 75% of most applicants, you'll invite them here to demonstrate. One out of every two will accept. After they've signed all the documentation, you'll ask them to demonstrate. And they will take off their clothes and start making love in front of you." Wiseman took a small device no bigger than a remote control from his pocket. "You'll point this at them, press the large red button... and you'll have another exhibit for our special collection."
"But..."
Wiseman shook his head. "Don't get all moralistic on me, kid. The fact is that I don't choose anyone who is even vaguely happy or content with life. Most of these people don't have lives, only the illusion of one. They expend no effort to make anyone else's life better. Instead, they mark time, looking for some magical transformation of their lives, some spell that will make it all fantastic. Some bit of immortality, born from sexual precociousness.
"And that's what I give them."
"What's behind the curtain?"
Wiseman had been so caught up in his speech, he had not noticed that the young man had moved over to the back of the room, where one corner was blocked by a sheer white curtain.
"Ahhhh. Now we come to the tragic part of our tale."
In 1965, having secured a stable government job paying what was then a more than decent wage, Dan Wiseman married his college sweetheart, Lana.
They had raised four children together, spent countless hours touring the country by car, and managed to keep the passion in their marriage well past the age when most couples went to bed only to sleep.
In 1995, Lana had developed a melanoma. She went to the doctor, had it biopsied, was told it was benign, and had it removed surgically.
A year later, it reappeared. This time, it proved to be malignant.
And it had already spread. And it was non-operable.
They tried aggressive chemotherapy. Holistic treatments. Lasers.
Until finally, Dan Wiseman had brought her home to die.
Except... he couldn't bear to part with her. So one day, he brought home his little device, and the next day, a small van pulled up to the rear of his home and took his wife to the little storeroom beside his office.
There was no funeral. Dan told his children that their mother had wished to be cremated, and, to spare them further pain, he had not waited for them before having it done. At the memorial service in her honor, he grieved with friends and family, and cried and laughed at their memories and stories.
The next day, he arranged her gently on the hospital bed he'd had delivered, and hung the curtain that separated her from the rest of the "collected."
As he told Frank his story, he gently stroked his wife's cheek, as he'd done so many times in the intervening years.
"You hoped that some day you'd be able to unfreeze her, so they could cure her?"
Dan Wiseman began to laugh - a dark, strangled laughter that mixed with the tear streaks on his face when he turned to face his successor.
But he didn't say anything. He simply stood up and walked over to where Dr. Calhoun stood frozen since 1988. He pointed the device at Calhoun and pressed the large green button.
Calhoun's image shimmered briefly, and Frank thought he saw the barest movement of his hands and mouth... as the shimmer around Calhoun began to shrink. Rapidly.
Seconds later, Rory Calhoun was gone, with not even a small POP to mark his disappearance.
Wiseman turned back to Frank. "I tried to unfreeze one of them, a few years back. It depends on how long you keep them frozen. Let them go quick, and there's no effect. Keep them too long..." Wiseman looked at the spot where Calhoun had stood a moment before.
"My wife isn't coming back, Frank. Ever.
"That's why I need you to do something for me."
Frank Snowdon was on the phone, leaning back in the padded leather chair in his newly redecorated office.
"I tell you, Dad, its incredible! Just like you said! I can't thank you enough for giving me the chance at this job. Wiseman was right, it's the best fucking job in the world!"
As he spoke, Frank eyed the dark-haired couple that stood frozen in the space in front of his desk. The man was kneeling to give oral sex to the petite woman in front of him. Except, the woman had both a male AND female sex organs, and, when he froze them, the kneeling man had his lips wrapped around the woman's cock.
"What was that, Dad? The old man? Oh, yes, I think he's happy in retirement. In fact, I think you could say that my first action 'on the job' made him happier than he's been in quite a while."
In the next room, one could stand amid a tableau of silent figures acting out the infinite couplings possible with the human body, and marvel at their creativity and variety.
Behind a sheer white curtain, however, a man and woman lay side-by-side. The woman, slightly gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes, reclined on her back as if asleep. The man held her left hand in one of his, and touched her cheek with the other. He looked directly at her, his slight smile reflecting in the soft expression in his eyes.
Instead of a hospital chart, a sign was framed and hung at the foot of the bed. It read:
"Love in Repose. SE-000231."