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Transcriber's note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
[Front cover: Janet was more than a beautiful woman. She was white heatand surging womanhood all dolled up in a body like that of a Frenchmovie star. She was as wanton as a Polynesian dancer and as demanding asa nympho.]
[Cover flap: Beth Danson was about twenty-five and, besides her deepauburn-brown hair and lovely face, she boasted an equally attractivebody. He found himself captivated by the warm thrust of her breastsbeneath the silk blouse. The clear milk of her flesh, at the "V" of herthroat excited him in a strange way. When he thought of her as his wife,it was frightening. It was as though someone had tossed him a woman andexpected him to just fall into the routine of marriage. It wouldn't behard to come to love this woman, but it would take awhile. Hell, hedidn't know her. She was a complete stranger who had suddenly told himthey were married. There was nothing familiar about her; even thefingers that were softly working over his face were alien.]
"_I think we're property..._" --_Charles Fort_
He was lying on a strangely made bed, the warm breezes of eveningrolling in off the crashing sea and the woman stood in the ornatedoorway that entered the bedroom. Her hair was as gold as the noon sunand her eyes, lifting slightly at the outer curves, were as blue as thesea. Her lips petaled back over the white strength of her teeth and herfingers did strange things to make the flimsy robe drop from the roundedsoftness of her shoulders. Then his fingers curled about the curve ofher thigh. His fingers tightened and the crimson smile broadened; hepulled and felt her resist him with maidenly demureness, but in the endshe came to him. He felt the yielding firmness of her body pressing downinto his on the bed and his arms furled about the softness that sheoffered. The warm cones of her breasts worked on the hardness of hischest and his mouth fused against hers for a passionate kiss.
SEX LIFE OF THE GODS
by MICHAEL KNERR
AN UPTOWN BOOK
AN ORIGINAL NOVEL
UPTOWN BOOKS are published at 1213 North Highland Avenue Los Angeles 38, California
Copyright 1962 by Uptown Publications
All Rights Reserved
All persons and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Anyresemblance to persons living or dead, or actual events is purelycoincidental.
FOREWORD
He left the mother ship and headed for Terra; he smiled at theinstrument panel and watched the operation of the big scout ship as itrocketed toward the light ribbon of atmosphere that enveloped theplanet. It was a joke, in a way. In a manner of speaking, he was thefirst Terran to fly an alien space ship, but he wasn't thinking of that.He was thinking of the woman, Elizabeth Danson of Everett, Pennsylvania.
She was waiting.
And he could see the warmth of her body, sheathed in the web-like gownthat seemed spun over her turgid breasts and curved hips by an army ofartistic spiders. It would not be a hard thing to love a woman likethat.
His fingers curled about the controls, his feet working the rudderpedals of the screaming ship as he headed for the strange darkness ofthe Atlantic Ocean. The space ship was operating well and the Earthlifted her curved bosom to meet his rush.
Trouble came early. The danger lights flickered in his eyes and the fearwelled up within him like a flood. Fifteen hundred miles an hour and thescout ship was out of control! The behavior of the craft was erratic, asthough a giant hand was slapping the silver belly as he plummeted towardthe ball of the earth.
Desperately he tried to reduce the speed of the hurtling ship, hisfingers working the buttons and levers in a frenzy of determination. Thecraft refused to respond. She whipped into a cloud bank, headed for thesea, lifted suddenly and whirled back toward space.
In an agony of fear he realized that he no longer was the master of thespace ship - he was a prisoner in a violent, uncontrollable meteor thatwould finally slam him into infinity against the very earth that was tobe home...
* * * * *
In the early hours of morning, Jean Renault of Nova Scotia fingered thewheel of his fifty foot boat through the grey ground swells of the GrandBanks, almost to the place where he would cast his nets into the water.The overcast sky was refusing to emit the sunlight and a light mist hungover the sea like a disjointed ghost. When Jean heard the whirring roarof the ship, it was too late. The silver streak whipped over his fishingboat with all the furies of the gods, and nearly tore his steadying sailaway. Muttering a string of French curses, Jean picked up his radiotelephone and reported in violent tones the presence of the jet to theCoast Guard.
* * * * *
In the half-light of early dawn, the United States and Canada whirledwith reports upon the strange craft. The CQ of the National Defensesystem began systematically pinpointing the track of the strange craftas it raked across the adumbral sky.
Then, it was gone!
The rocketing ship had appeared over one observation station near LakeOntario. It had been spotted by a CD worker near Auburn, N.Y., then itwas gone. The last observation of the craft showed it flying an erratictrack toward the mountain country of Pennsylvania.
At CQ operations office, in Washington D.C., Lt. Colonel Martin Griswoldtossed the last report on his desk and pinched his lower lipthoughtfully. Colonel Delbert, sitting across from him, looked serious.
"It's out of control," he mused. "And it isn't one of ours. Russian?"
"Might be." He looked at the rugged country along the Pennsylvania, NewYork map for a moment, then he picked up the phone on his desk. "This isColonel Griswold. Get me the Pentagon."
At 0930 a special plane left Washington, bound for the town in northernPennsylvania that had been chosen as a base of operations. On board theplane were the Secret Service men who were to track down the crashedship.