Karkataka or How the Crab Got Its Knees by Jeremy Edwards (Part 4)

Here it is, ladies and gentlemen: the final part (part one is here, part two is here, and part three is here) of the fantastic Karkataka or How the Crab Got Its Knees by Jeremy Edwards.

Karkataka
or
How the Crab Got Its Knees
By
Jeremy Edwards

Man-Man hurried back to Woman-Woman and told her what Tepid Rhino had told him (but leaving out the song, even though he remembered it perfectly well, because he thought it might annoy Woman-Woman). Woman-Woman became so excited that she spent the rest of the day among the firm-trunk-with-soft-veneer Hooplah Trees, until she ran out of Hooplah Trees, and veneer, too.

One vociferous night soon after, Woman-Woman said to Man-Man, ‘Let us go down to the bank of the truly undistinguished Yum Yab River, without our clothes on, and contrive to do that thing you showed me in Tepid Rhino’s air-picture.’

So Man-Man and Woman-Woman packed a thimbleful of food for the very short journey, and they went down to the River, leaving their clothes with the Hatcheck Gibbon on the way. When they arrived, Man-Man stood as straight as he could; and Woman-Woman stood with him, very much as if they were two logical corollaries. And when Man-Man’s horn began to swell and stiffen, Woman-Woman climbed onto him, taking care not to leave her oyster behind, and she engulfed him snugly, wrapping her legs around his waist like in the air-picture, only more prettily.

Well, it was like truffles and gorgonzola and espresso in the same canapé! Woman-Woman wriggled her soft, round, fleshy parts so that Man-Man’s horn felt friendly inside her oyster; and Man-Man squeezed Woman-Woman’s round, fleshy, soft parts, which made his horn tingle and swell and stiffen more.

‘Reach underneath me and contrive to address distinct sensations to my little hornlet,’ Woman-Woman requested.

Man-Man reached underneath to do this, but—incidentals!—what do you think happened, Best Beloved? Man-Man, reaching underneath Woman-Woman while she clung to him with her voluptuous legs and wriggled her soft, round, fleshy parts, lost his balance; and Woman-Woman fell backwards onto the flat, soft, fleshy bank of the ‘stremely ordinary Yum Yab River, taking Man-Man with her.

By sheer calligraphy, Man-Man’s horn was still in Woman-Woman’s oyster. But now, as you might imagine if you paid attention to the falling-backwards part of the story, they were no longer standing—not even like two logical corollaries. Man-Man was kneeling before Woman-Woman, because he had landed on his knees. And, as if that weren’t enough knees for us to be going on with, he was holding onto Woman-Woman’s knees, which had popped up like awkward questions when she landed on her soft, round, fleshy parts.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Man-Man. ‘I’m afraid that Tepid Rhino will be very disappointed in us.’

‘I feel like a Crab in this position,’ said Woman-Woman. And, to be truthful, she looked a little bit like one, though much more appealing, and with a larger vocabulary.

‘Hmm,’ said Man-Man. ‘As long as it’s such a ’ceedingly vociferous night, and we’re here by the bank of the Yum Yab River with my horn inside your oyster and your oyster, by coincidence, around my horn, p’raps there’s something we can do to occupy ourselves.’

‘Hee hee,’ laughed Woman-Woman.

‘Why are you suddenly laughing, Woman-Woman?’ asked Man-Man. ‘This is by no means the funniest part of the story, in my opinion.’

‘Your hands are lightly tickling my knees,’ said Woman-Woman, still laughing. ‘Hee hee. It feels splendid.’

‘As splendid as marzipan and sauce béarnaise and oatmeal stout, all spilt on the same tablecloth?’

‘’Proximately, yes,’ said Woman-Woman, who did not want to take the time to explain that she didn't like marzipan.

She continued to laugh, and, as she laughed, her oyster became ’specially oily; and it slithered and sluiced around Man-Man’s horn in a way that felt ’ceedingly jolly. And so Man-Man’s horn shimmied and chammied in return, until both of them felt very, very jolly indeed.

‘Shall I p’raps reach a hand between your legs and contrive to stimulate your little hornlet in a characteristic manner?’ Man-Man offered politely.

‘No,’ said Woman-Woman, still laughing. ‘Hee hee. In this ’ceedingly peculiar but ’cessively wonderful position, my little hornlet is already being very characteristically stimulated by the pressure of your flat, firm parts.’ And she removed her hands very briefly from Man-Man’s thighs, just long enough to draw him a picture in the air that explained all this, with only a few equations.

So Man-Man kept both his hands on both Woman-Woman’s knees, one hand per knee (as specified by prevailing customs and winds); and he tickled lightly, while they horn-and-oystered heavily. And soon Man-Man felt so good that he didn’t know what to do. And—what do you know, Best Beloved!—Woman-Woman also felt so good that she didn’t know what to do, because the combination of tickled knees and horned oyster and characteristically stimulated hornlet—even though it was a combination that didn’t appear on the menu and had to be requested ’specially—was positively the very, very best combination she’d ever encountered. It was like having Jane Austen and Charles Dickens and Henry James all in the same salon, only with better ventilation.

Man-Man, feeling so good that he didn’t know what to do, roared like the Tangible Ibis.

Woman-Woman, feeling so good that she didn’t know what to do either, screamed like the Civilised Civet. And an extra-’specially voluminous and indivisible dose of her oil flowed around Man-Man’s horn.

And when Man-Man heard Woman-Woman scream like the Civilised Civet (though it sounded to him more like the Discursive Pika) and felt her extra-’specially voluminous and indivisible oil flowing around his horn, he presented, as if by syncopation, an extra-’specially warm and extra-’specially algorithmic complement of treacle into her oyster.

‘I could easily be persuaded to do this again sometime,’ said Woman-Woman.

‘Well then, I suppose we’d better have a name for it,’ said Man-Man.

So they decided to call it Karkataka—which is a word I just made up, Best Beloved, that is ever so full of k’s and means crab.

THE CRAB is not a constellation—
It’s a means of copulation.
Woman-Woman’s tender knees
Will lead her into ecstasies!
We love to nestle horn in oyster,
Do so every night by choice, Sir!
Woman-Woman grips me tightly
(As I said, we do this nightly)
By the shores of Yum Yab-oomee.
She can really sock it to me!
You can keep your pink maraca—
We’re all right with Karkataka.

THE END