But a subject that stirs curiosity and excitement, along with loathing and fear.
If rape were nothing more than an ugly and revolting crime, who would want to read about it in the press? And yet hardly anyone old enough to decipher words in a second grade primer will pass by a news account of a sensational rape case, and the more intimate the details the better. For the idea of a man forcing sex upon a struggling woman strikes a minor chord of perverse excitement on the gut-strings of both sexes.
If many men find exciting to them the fantasy notion of force-fucking a terrified beauty (even though they would never in a thousand years come close to committing such an outrage in reality), surely it can't be the same for women, imagining themselves as victims of brutal sexual assault. Think of the pain! The terror! The shame! Perhaps mutilation and death at the hands of a crazed fiend!
And yet it is almost certainly true that a great many women-perhaps most women-have at times enjoyed a perverse thrill in conjuring up for themselves an imaginary rape upon their own bodies-a restless dream in the night-a romantic pretense in the daylight-a shameful masturbation fantasy.
And then there are those women and girls of every age and class and degree of wealth and level of education-far greater in numbers than the world supposes-who go beyond fantasy in their dreams of violation and actually wish for the real thing. If their wishes are powerful enough to overcome their scruples and their fears, then they are likely to find what they seek. For it is easy for a woman of ingenuity and daring to find a variety of rape to suit her specific desires, no matter what weird style of body outrage turns her on.
Some women have very particular tastes in rapists-he must be dark-haired, or Negro, or very young, or grey-haired and fatherly, or even ugly and dirty. The most unattractive man can console himself that he is sure to be some woman's ideal rapist-figure, if the two unhappy souls could only manage somehow to come together. Unfortunately, the poor fellow would probably be impotent in the face of such a silver platter opportunity.
Some women are only looking for the form and illusion of rape. They don't care to be dragged into a dark alley and mauled about by a perfect stranger of questionable cleanliness. They want rape on their own terms-a particular man in a particular time and place of their choosing. Selective rape, one might call it. A nice clean, neat little act of controlled violence that provides them all the dark romantic thrills of being ravished by an unconscionable brute but none of the risks of serious harm and possible venereal disease or pregnancy that go with an unprogrammed sex assault.
But many others-the really lost souls-require nothing less than the real thing, under the ugliest possible circumstances and at the hands of the most bestial men. Needless to say, they generally find all the debasement they're seeking and often a good deal more terror, pain and tragedy than they bargained for.
The cases that are described in this book involve many different kinds of girls and women -those who dabble in sex-with-violence in a playful way (sometimes to their sorrow), and those who go after rape in deadly earnest, eagerly plumbing the depths of degradation to feed their sick hungers. Wherever possible I have talked to the women themselves, and for the most part in these pages they tell their own sordid stories in their own words. In several of the cases I have drawn useful additional information from friends of the subject and previously existing case records that pertain.
As different as these women are from one another in their public faces, underneath they all have in common the fundamental self-hatred of the masochistic personality. And so they do not seek love and tenderness and respect like a normal woman, but rather the ultimate humiliation of being taken by brute force and used with the contempt they think they deserve.
CHAPTER ONE
Anita, twenty-six-year-old librarian, is in the habit of riding the New York subways late at night in an apparently senseless ritual - a long lonely route from the far-reaches of Brooklyn into Manhattan and then all the way back again on the return train. Sometimes she has an entire car all to herself for most of the trip. Not much traffic on that line after midnight. Almost always the ride is without incident. Sometimes a man tries to pick her up - attempts conversation. But she never responds - never speaks a word - and generally the would-be lover shrugs and lets her alone after the first rebuff.
Occasionally a man is more persistent - not so easily discouraged. One man - middle-aged - reeking of wine - crowds up against her on the seat one summer night in an otherwise empty car. She stars straight ahead and says nothing, but makes no move away from him. He stares in silence for a minute and then lays his sweaty hand on her bare knee and runs it slowly up the inside of her thigh. Her legs are slightly parted and she leaves them that way. Her skirt is well up on her thighs - a short-short mini that she wears only on these late-night rides. She would never dare wear it to work at the public library. But after midnight in the subway it serves the painfully shy girl as an advertisement of her wanton yearnings.
Sandals and dress are all she wears - arms bare - no constricting undergarments beneath. In the humid subway car her nude body nestles warm, moist and softly aquiver under the scanty sheath.
The man's slithering fingers move up the trough between her sweat-slick inner thighs and her flesh trembles but she makes no move to stop him in his crude attack. She draws a sharp breath and closes her eyes as his invading hand strikes home at the hairy epicenter of her sexuality. A hard fingertip drags crudely up and down her moist cunt-line, tracing its contours, measuring its dimensions, and then burrows inside the slack-lipped opening, trying its passage. Anita shudders and bites her lip, weeping softly.
The train jerks and squeals and pitches sideways as it slows down for a station stop. The man's hand is jarred off its target. His body rocks against hers. Quickly he withdraws his hand from under her skirt and slides away from her on the seat. The train stops. Two women enter the car and the man lurches to his feet and hurries out, with the door already closing on his heels.
On another night three Puerto Rican youths join her in her car and after some preliminary approaches in obscene Spanish they close in on her from three sides and begin poking and stroking her nude extremities. She flinches and squirms as it develops into a massive assault of rib and belly and armpit and inner thigh tickling, and then she draws in a sharp breath and closes her eyes tight, jaw agape, as five fingers spread over one breast and close down hard, kneading the squishy flesh under her dress like a lump of wet dough in a cloth bag.
But then a subway patrolman is approaching through the adjacent car and the boys retreat to a distant seat until the coast is clear again. The guard senses a dangerous situation and settles himself down across the aisle from Anita to keep an eye on things and thus puts an end to the action and cuts short another potential adventure.
On nights like these, or on nights when she is casually fondled and goosed in the Times Square station while changing trains, or has obscene threats and invitations whispered into her ear on the station platform, she goes home to Brooklyn afterwards in a calm state of mind as if nothing at all had happened, and vaguely disappointed too.
It has been a long time now since the one really memorable incident of her subway-riding prowls. Perhaps sometime again there will be another adventure like that one of May Day last year. She dreads the thought of such a thing ever happening to her again, but the prospect of it, however remote and however chilling, is what draws her back into the trains three nights every week, sometimes four, offering herself up to any and all comers, absolutely free, without cost or obligation, for any combination of your choice of brutal beating and rape on a free-for-all, first-come-first-served basis.
A hundred times she has relived every minute of it in her masturbation fantasies. She was on the way back to Brooklyn on a warm, misty night. She was drowsy and half-dozing when the gang of five boys came bursting into the car at a lower-Manhattan station. There was one other rider in the car at the time - a little old man, reading some kind of foreign-language newspaper.
The boys sat on the seat opposite, facing her.
"Hey, what's your name - hey?" one demanded to know.
As usual she didn't say a word or give them a look. She leaned her head back against the glass and kept her eyes on the advertising cards above their heads.
One of the boys knelt down on the floor and bent his neck sideways, trying to look up between her legs from across the aisle. Her knees were slightly apart as usual.
"Hey man," the boy cried out with awe in his voice. "I don't think she's wearing no pant, man!"
More heads were bent, and then one boy moved over and dropped down right at her feet. He lowered his head to her knee level, barely an inch away. "Holy SHIT!" he yelled. "No fucking pants is right! I see her fucking pussy, man! LOOK at this!"
The whole group came clustering around, knocking heads as they tried to get in position to see up the trough of her inner thighs to the magic glory-hole.
One frustrated outsider, crowded out of a good viewing angle, reached up a tentative hand onto her thigh and delicately lifted the edge of her skirt. Anita's legs shivered, but she made no move to stop him, and he slowly peeled the skirt up along her thighs and then suddenly lifted it high in the air in front of her, unveiling in the stark fluorescent light of the subway car the whole naked expanse of her ivory-white crotch, the fuzz of her golden bush and the slack-lipped pinkness of her cunt-slit underneath.
There was an ear-splitting chorus of yips and yahoos from all five popeyed youths. Anita sat rigid and glassy-eyed, gripping the edge of the seat with both hands and shuddering all over as if she had a chill.
"Hey, old man!" one boy yelled to the man reading the newspaper, who was determinedly ignoring the whole incident. "Look here, old man. Wanta see a pussy? Look at this!"
Two boys moved onto the seat beside Anita and, astonished and delighted at her complete passivity, they lifted her skirt well up over her hips and began freely exploring all of the secret nooks and crannies of her lower body. They pulled her legs wider apart and took turns at fumbling around her warm, wet snatch.
Someone else unzipped her down the back and then there were hands groping inside the dress on her bare flesh, cupping and squeezing her slack boobs. Anita sat stiffly on the seat, eyes tight-closed and streaming tears, her breath coming in quick gasps, her arms and legs jerking in little shudder spasms in response to the insolent invasions of their fingers.
Then the lights of a local-stop flashed by the windows and someone said, "Hey man - this is that station coming up. Remember the old tunnel where we fucked the whore that time?"
There was an abandoned tunnel running out of this subway station, leading nowhere but to a dead-end. It was fenced off from the main tunnel by an iron gate, but easily climbed.
They quickly put Anita's dress back in decent order again and lifted her up by the arms. She stood stiffly between them, still gasping and shuddering, weak-kneed and dizzy-headed.
The boys were convinced by her odd reactions that she must be on drugs of some sort.
"Jesus, man. This chick is wigged out of her mind. She really got herself a dose of some kind of shit."
"All the better. She ain't gonna remember nothing about nothing afterwards. We got the use of her body, and her fucking mind is a thousand miles away."
They all piled out into the gloomy G. Street station, hauling Anita along with them. There was no one else in sight.
"Ain't there no cop around?"
"Hell no - he's always on the other side. Even the token booth is closed up over here."
"So why don't we just fuck her right here on a bench then, man?"
"Another train will come along, stupid. We gotta get outta sight."
They hurried to the end of the platform, driving Anita ahead of them, and then they dropped down into the pit, impatient to get the action under way.
"Come on, man - I got a fucking hard-on already."
They climbed the iron fence and lifted Anita over. On the other side one boy grabbed her as she came down and immediately peeled her mini up over her head, leaving her naked. She had already lost her sandals somewhere along the way. She stood among them, straddle-legged, numbly blinking at the surrounding circle of leering faces. The boy who had stripped her tossed her dress up onto the iron fence and it hung there a second and then dropped over the other side.
"Wait a second, man. Let's get her away from the main track here and outta sight altogether."
They closed around her and grabbed onto her arms and hustled her down the gloomy shaft a hundred yards, stumbling over track ties in the gloom, until they rounded a bend and were in what seemed to be complete darkness.
"Shit man, we ain't gonna be able to see what the fuck we're doing here."
"That's good. Means nobody can see us either."
"Man, you don't have to see it to fuck it."
They stretched her out on the pebbly and greasy ground beside the track and then one after the other of the boys settled their weight down on top of her soft, quivering flesh, slipped their pricks up into her snatch with more or less finesse, and pounded away to orgasms. There were only five boys, but the raping seemed to go on endlessly as they took seconds and thirds on her docile body. Some were gentle - kissing and caressing her as they fucked - but others seemed to take extra pleasure in wrenching at her breasts, yanking her hair, biting and chewing on her flesh and belaboring her face and body with slaps and elbow-digs and finger-gougings. But she took it all without ever crying out beyond soft whimpers and moans.
And then at last they were gone, but in her delirious dream-state she hardly realized that her orgy was finished. She still lay there, sprawled and panting, still feeling the brutal pressure of their hands upon her, the searing frictions of their driving pricks, her body twitching in violent spasms of orgasmic recollection. Her shoulders and her fat butt-cheeks were scraped raw and bloody on the abrasive ground underneath her, and her ravaged pussy-shaft was a fiery torment.
But at last all the inner spasms had died away to cold numbness and her wild mind-flight had settled down to dull earth. Then she was only a bruised and bone-weary girl, frightened and slightly sick, lying naked on a bed of stones, shivering with cold instead of passion in a dark damp tomb of a subway tunnel. She realized that she had to get out of there - find her dress and somehow get home.
She stumbled to her feet on two dead legs and then began an agonized walk down the tunnel, groping along the wall as she went. After a painful spell of slow, stumbling progress in unrelieved darkness, she realized that she must be heading in the wrong direction. She rested on the track for a few minutes and then retraced her steps and finally came out into the bright end of the passage and the iron gate to the main subway.
She climbed over with great difficulty, suffering several further abrasions in the attempt, found her dress and put it on again, and finally crawled back up onto the still-deserted G. Street station platform. She was horrified to see in a gum machine mirror that her face was horribly swollen and bruised and her head and hair were caked with filth from the greasy tunnel floor. She didn't dare ride the trains in her obviously beaten-up state, so she left the subway and trudged on bare feet the two miles to her home through the rain-soaked pre-dawn streets.
She missed a couple of days of work at the library, but she suffered no serious physical harm. And in the months since the rape incident, the pain, the fear, the chills, the danger of the experience have faded out of her mind altogether. She remembers only the shuddering delights of the brutal debauch. And so on her nightly rides now she sets herself out as live bait for the wolves and tigers of the city subways, always hoping with desperate eagerness that another such night of violence and ravishment will come to her. She's sure to find it before long.
Meanwhile other girls with the same sick yearning to be pounced on and devoured walk the dark streets of every city, sit alone in dingy bars, go riding with strangers, take short-cuts through lonely parks and empty lots and unlit alleyways - all hoping that their dream rapist will materialize out of the night and make their fearful masochistic fantasies come true.
Some women have more luck at the game than others. A girl with more initiative and daring than poor passive Anita can find rape almost any time she wants it, and by really working at her bizarre quest can in a short time chalk up an awesome record of "scores."
Shirley W. is a prize specimen of the breed, a high-flying rape-addict who finally however laid it on the line just one time too often.
Case 1 Shirley W.
Shirley W. was a rape-seeker without any question, and very successful in her quest. There is no way of guessing how many times she was brutally assaulted in her brief twenty-five years of life. She is not available for interviews on the subject, unfortunately, for she is dead. On her last excursion into the lower depths in search of the ravishment she craved, she found at last the ultimate violation that rape-seekers perhaps hunger for - mutilation and death.
The newspaper account reads like a thousand other cases of the kind:
-- The nude and mutilated body of a young woman identified as Shirley W., 25, of Lakeside, was found in an alley off Southern Blvd. below the Way ley bridge, by children playing at the scene. There was no immediate indication by the coroner's office as to whether the girl had been raped, but there was evidence of severe beating, stabbing and savage mutilation, according to police.
The girl was last seen alive at the Rooster Bar on South Main, which she reportedly left at about ten o'clock in the company of two unidentified men. Police believe that she was killed about midnight and the body later dumped in the alley. --
Those who knew Shirley only slightly or not at all were horrified at the tragedy of a beautiful young girl with everything to live for being slaughtered so senselessly. The police were puzzled that she could have been so reckless as to go alone to the Rooster Bar, a notorious hangout for degenerates. Several witnesses reported having seen her there on previous occasions.
Her friends were not surprised. They knew her habits and dark desires only too well. They had tried to rescue her more than once from disastrous situations, nursed her bruises, covered up for her, bombarded her with warnings and good advice, but all for nothing.
I talked with two of these friends of Shirley's - Hugo, who dated her off and on in earlier days, and Cora, a schoolmate from way back and still a friend in whom she sometimes confided. Cora probably knows Shirley's whole sad story better than anyone else alive.
I'll let Cora and Hugo tell that story in their own words, as they told it to me in separate interviews.
Cora - I tried every way I knew to shape her up, that poor fool, but she just wouldn't be shaped. She was a very nice and a very straight girl in the beginning - she was my best friend and did a million favors for me over the years - but she got onto this weird sex-kick when she was still in high school and she didn't want to be steered out of it.
"I need it my own particular way," she'd tell me, "so don't bug me about it." One time she said, "Look, Cora - I need you for a friend, but I need this other shit too, and if it comes to a choice - one or the other - I need the sex more than I need you. So get off my back about it, will you please?"
It was one boy that turned her onto it, when she was in twelfth grade. I used to hate his guts for doing it, but I realized later that if it hadn't been him she would have found somebody else just like him soon enough to drag her down into the shit.
Up until she met this Birdy character, she had hardly dated around at all. She used to go out with Hugo mostly, and they were making it together, but it was all very straight and ordinary. Huge - you'll see when you meet him - is a very mild boy. He'd never rape anybody in a thousand years. She used to complain to me that he didn't excite her very much when they screwed, but at that point it was just a sort of vague dissatisfaction with her. She hadn't yet discovered what she really was looking for in the way of kicks.
But one night when she went parking with Hugo down at the lake-front, this odd urge of hers first broke out into the open and started her off on this crazy whirl to disaster.
Hugo - We were parked in this place - real dark, right by the water - where we'd been a couple of times before, and we were making out there for awhile. I had her sweater off and her bra and was giving her boobs a pretty good working over, and she was sort of diddling around with my weenie. It didn't look like we were ever gonna really make it that night. I usually let her call the shots, and she didn't seem too interested for some reason.
Then the headlights from this other car flashed over us and we got scared for a second that it was the cop that used to come sneaking around the place trying to catch kids in the act, you know? But I recognized the car - it was a guy I knew from my civics class - name of Birdy - a real slob type. He was down there with this pig with huge knockers - the biggest whore in the school, bar none. Everybody had banged her, from what I heard.
I was hoping he'd go right on by and find his own spot, but he recognized me, and he and his chick got out and came right over to my car, the fucking jerks. There we are practically bare-ass on the front seat, you know? They might've known we'd be embarrassed.
But Birdy don't give a shit. He starts making all these dirty remarks that you'd expect from him - "Hey man, take her in the back seat and get comfortable. What are you doing up there - giving her driving lessons? Wanta borrow my jack?" All that kind of shit. And his stupid chick, Buffy, is giggling like an idiot.
Then he pulls off his shirt and says, "Me and Buffy's going in for a skinny dip. Wanta come?"
"No thanks," I said. I'm trying to get my goddam pants zipped up, with him and the damn whore grinning in at me. And then the next time I look up, this Buffy has pulled her dress off and is standing there completely bare-ass, holding her big cow-boobs in her hands like she's offering them for display, and squeezing them, first one and then the other.
"We gotta be going," I said. "We was just finishing." They laughed again at that and I looked around at Shirley to be sure she was all covered up decent and ready to get the hell out of there. But I nearly keeled over - she was still just sitting on the seat in plain view with her tits naked, not covering herself up or anything. And she's grinning out at these jerks like she's enjoying their company.
"What are you doing?" I said. My God, I was shocked. But not half as shocked as I was about to be.
"Let's go swimming," she said. "It'd be fun." I'm really shook. "Are you kidding? With them? We - we got no bathing suits or nothing." She laughed at me. "Chicken!" she says, and the first thing I know she's out of the car and she's pulling off her skirt. "Coming or not?" she says to me.
Shit man - I had no choice. The other two are already in the water. I can hear them yelling and splashing around. And before I know it, there's Shirley running past the front of the car and racing off down the bank, naked as a fucking jaybird. Would you believe it? I'd been banging this girl for nearly a year, but that's the first time I ever seen her completely bare-ass all over. I didn't believe my eyes!
But I figured what the hell - I better get down there, and so I stripped too and went to join the party. By the time I got to the water though, this fucking Birdy has got his clamps all over Shirley and they're splashing around together like old friends from way back. I was bullshit.
"Come on, Shirley," I'm yelling. "What are you doing?"
Meanwhile Buffy is grabbing at me, trying to get me in a wrassle with her.
Man, I was sick! The way Shirley's laughing and screeching, you could see she was having herself a ball with this shithead. I thought she'd gone out of her fucking mind, but I guess it was just her real instincts coming out in the open for the first time in her life. Something about this slob that turned her on. I didn't understand it at the time and I never understood it afterwards with all the other slimy cocksuckers she wound up screwing around with.
But let me finish what happened that night.
This slob Buffy has got me in a strangle-hold, clobbering me with these huge medicine-ball boobies of hers and trying to get me down in the weeds. She's giving me, "Let's do it, baby - oh, daddy fuck mama," and all shit like that, and all at the top of her lungs. At the same time she's yanking hell out of my prick with her hot little hand, trying to get me hard.
But I'm not in no mood to fuck around with her or anybody else at that point. I can see Shirley up on the grass with Birdy, and they're already going at it like a fucking stag movie.
Next thing I know, Buffy is down on her knees in front of me and giving me the big suck-job, which isn't getting far, because I ain't even halfways hard. But she's gobbling away at it anyhow, and juggling my balls in her hand at the same time.
But I'm just standing there staring up the hill at them other two and getting more worried every second. Birdy's on top of Shirley, and the way his shoulders and arms are jerking around, she's either putting up a hell of a fight or else he's mauling the crap out of her just for kicks. She's been all giggly and squealy up to then, but now I get the cold chills for real all of a sudden when I hear her start this weird wailing and moaning, and she's saying, "No, Birdy. No! Agh-h-h-h! No, don't. Please - no. HELP me!"
I didn't know what the fuck he was up to, but I'd heard enough of that shit. I yanked my prick away from Buffy and went charging up the bank, ready to beat the shit out of that son of a bitch. I grabbed ahold of his arm and yelled, "What the hell is wrong with you, you bastard?"
He just shook me off and laughed at me. "Nothing wrong here at all, man. We're doing just fine."
And what really killed me was when I looked down at Shirley, and she's glaring up at me like I'm some kind of crud. And then she spits this out at me like she hates my guts or something. "Why don't you get the fuck out of here, you stupid jerk!"
I never heard her use words like that before in her life. But I didn't stick around to argue. I took the hint that I wasn't wanted. I was pretty pissed off too, the way she was acting. At that point I figured fuck her- she deserves what she gets.
So I went back to my car, put my clothes on, and I drove out of there and headed for home, taking Buffy with me. I was so mad though, I gave Buffy a belt when she tried to fuck around with me again in the car, and after that she kept her distance. When I dropped her at her house she called me a jerk too, and that made the opinion unanimous.
The next day I called Shirley. I was kind of worried about her, you know - after my temper cooled down. But she wouldn't even talk to me. It was about a month before I even saw her again. I heard from everybody else though that she was going steady with Birdy, and that was enough to make me wanta throw up.
Cora - Shirley told me all about that night with Birdy. She said she always thought Birdy was an ugly boy, and she didn't know why she had the sudden urge to go in swimming with him.
But when she got down to the shore of the lake and saw him naked in the water, she got a weird sexy feeling at the sight of him - especially his prick, which was so much bigger than Hugo's. She wondered what it would look like when it got hard - would it be even bigger still?
While she was standing there in the shallow water, wondering and shivering, Birdy came splashing in and grabbed her and pulled her into deep water with him. From there on she just let him do whatever he wanted to her, she said. He was terribly clumsy and rough and dirty-talking, but it just seemed to make her all the more excited and tingly. She'd never felt that way before. She'd always been very cautious and touchy with Hugo, but with Birdy she hardly cared at all what he did or said to her or anything. He screwed the shit out of her that night, and she even sucked him off, something she never thought she'd do in a million years to any boy. From there on she became Birdy's full-time chick, body and soul.
Birdy had never had a living doll like this before in his life, and he just flipped. Before that he always ran around with the worst kind of slobs, and now he had one of the real prize beauties of the school all of a sudden for his own little pet pussy.
It didn't take him long to find out that she didn't give a crap how he treated her. In fact, the rougher he got, the better she seemed to like it. And being the kind of prick he was, he made sure that everybody in the school knew that he had this gorgeous chick crawling on her hands and knees and licking his ass for him.
Right in front of everybody he'd pinch her on the fanny and make dirty remarks about her - call her his "little blow-jobber" and shit like that. Poor idiot Shirley - her reputation went from a hundred percent pure down to absolute zero in about one week.
And from there, things went from bad to worse. Birdy started to get tired of her after awhile. He'd pretty well used her up every way that gave him kicks - she let him do anything he wanted, I guess -and there was no more fun for him of dragging the proud beauty down to his level of slobbiness. She was already down as low as she could get.
So he tried to kiss her off, but she still kept hanging around him, begging him to take her back - promising him she'd do anything -anything for him. I wasn't seeing her much by then. We'd had a big screaming fight when I told her that she was letting Birdy turn her into a tramp, and where was her pride, and all that shit. She just told me to go fuck myself.
But the other girls in school kept me up to date on what was happening. I heard that Birdy decided to test out her promise that she'd do "anything" for him. He set up a sex-party for a bunch of his buddies and invited them all to bang Shirley in a big free-for-all orgy. But Shirley took a screaming fit and ran out when she found out what was the plan. She wasn't quite ready for that level of action yet.
But it didn't matter. In the next month or so every one of those bastards at the party got to screw her anyhow. She began dating everybody in sight and she just went wild - a different boy every night of the week. And since she'd developed a taste already for the roughest kind of sex, she wound up making it with all the roughest, dirtiest boys around.
From that she got involved with a bunch of motorcycle bums - the Blue Eagles - real scum of the earth. She became one of their dolls, which was the same as the lowest type of sex-slave- just a free whore for the whole gang, is what it amounted to.
Hugo knows more about that. Ask him.
Hugo - I didn't give a shit about that fucking j bitch anymore by that time. I was just a jerk as far as she was concerned, and she was nothing but a bum in my book. I kept hearing stories about her - the kind of shit she was putting up with from those motorcycle bastards she hung around with. Usually a girl as pretty as her would be some guy's private chick in the gang, but by that time she was such a raging fucking hot-pants that no one stud could do the job for her. So after three or four guys in the gang tried to keep her serviced, they finally just gave it up and tossed her into the common pool with the other whores and slobs that get passed around! For everybody's pleasure, and the ones they beat up on for kicks when they're feeling aggressive. She was into the complete gang-bang scene by that time. Absolutely insatiable.
This was all just what I'd heard from other kids, and I didn't believe it necessarily. Well, I guess I did, but it didn't seem possible to me, knowing how she'd been before. But then one night I got a first-hand demonstration.
The Blue Eagles used to get a big charge out of freaking out square folks. They loved to move in one a roadside restaurant or a private gathering of some kind and just take it over - terrorize the shit out of everybody in the place. They'd threaten to screw all the women there and carve up the men, or something real pleasant like that.
And then they'd usually put on a show, like pretending to drag this chick in from outside that they'd supposedly kidnapped, and they'd strip her down and rape her right up there in front of everybody, with the girl screeching bloody murder. All the time it was going on they'd be pointing their fingers at chicks in the crowd, saying, "You're next, baby. You're gonna be number two on line." They'd have everybody in the room scared shitless.
There'd usually be at least one brave bastard in the square crowd that would demand they "release that poor girl," but of course the girl they were gang-banging was actually one of their own gang-chicks. I heard that Shirley played this scene quite a lot with them. She was a good actress, and of course rape scenes were her big thing anyhow. And she really dug it, getting balled like that in front of a large, horrified audience.
So I'll tell you how I ran onto one of these scenes one night, just by pure accident. I was in the Coffee Cup Cafe down at the lake-front where a lot of students hang out, and all of a sudden a whole gang of these Blue Eagles came busting in - guys and chicks all together. They went around the room, hassling a lot of the kids, but I was sort of off in a corner and they didn't come near me. I was looking them over though, wondering if Shirley was with them, but I didn't recognize her right off, and when I finally did spot her I got quite a shock.
Her hair was all frizzed out like in Afro-style, only it was bleached practically white. And her pretty blue eyes were almost out of sight under heavy black circles of makeup that make her face look like a skull. She had on a grubby tee-shirt and skin-tight blue jeans, and the way her boobs were lollygagging around, you could tell she wasn't wearing no bra.
They started up the juke box and then a couple of the chicks hopped on the counter and began dancing around the coffee urn with a whole lot of tit action on display. That must have been one of the membership requirements in that gang for chicks. They all seemed to have oversized knockers, I couldn't help notice.
After the music got rocking pretty good, one of the chicks that was dancing pulled off her tee-shirt and started shaking her naked jugs all over the place. One of the gang, a guy with a bristly mustache, yelled out, "Who wants to dance with this gorgeous topless chick? Volunteers! Speak up, man. Who's gonna be first? Very friendly chick - no shit. Now's your chance of a lifetime, man. Raise hands for firsts."
Nobody had the nerve to volunteer. They knew they'd be asking for trouble, getting mixed up with a Blue Eagle chick, even though they'd been invited. But the mustache cat picked out a kid I knew, Vic Moten, and he pulled him up out of his seat. Vic was a meek little guy and he looked like he was gonna break down and cry.
"I got a volunteer here. Up on the stage, man. You get the first dance. Let's see if you can keep up with Crabby."
They lifted him onto the stage and Crabby moved up right close to him and shook her bare boobs in his face. "Dance, baby - dance!" she yelled. "Shake that thing!"
She pushed her hips forward and bumped her crotch against him. "Go man, go. Turn it on!"
He backed away from her and then started shuffling his feet and moving around awkwardly in a half-ass little try at dancing. We all laughed - a nervous laugh - figuring any of us might be next up there, and who knew what kind of shit these guys had planned for us? They weren't letting anybody leave the premises.
Then Crabby and the other chick closed in on poor sweating Vic, front and rear, and they wedged him in between them, grinding their boobs and bellies against him and rubbing their hands over his prick and ass and everything. He looked like he didn't know whether to shit or go blind.
Everybody was relaxing a little more now and laughing pretty good. The next thing, the girls started unbuttoning Vic's shirt and undoing his belt, and they went ahead taking his clothes off. The whole place was in an uproar by that time. They stripped him down completely, and then Crabby dropped her jeans and she was naked too. She still kept on dancing around him, pulling at his prick and tickling his balls, and every now and then she'd grab him in a big hug and rub herself all over him.
The Blue Eagle guys were clapping their hands and yelling to him, "Come on, man - get it up! Hard-on-hard-on! What's wrong-you dead? Get hard, baby-get hard. You're killing Crabby's confidence, man!"
But I guess Vic was too nervous to respond. And the other chick wasn't helping him none. She stayed behind him and every now and then she'd reach up under his ass and give him a goose or grab at his balls, and he'd jump about a foot in the air.
But then came the main event. A couple of guys set Vic down on his knees and they blindfolded him, and then they made him lift up his head and stick his tongue out and keep it flicking around in the air. Then Crabby came at him, all straddle-legged, and laid her spread cunt up over his face and dropped it down slowly until it connected with his tongue, and that was the goddamdest crazy scene you ever seen - no shit. I don't believe Vic ever did know what the hell was happening. All he knew was that some unidentified object was brushing over his tongue and squashing on his mouth now and then. That wild chick was dragging her slit up and down against him and getting her clit diddled, sight unseen.
"Beau-tee-full!" the guy with the mustache yelled. "Next week, man, they're going on the Ed Sullivan Show with this act."
They let Vic go finally, and Crabby got down off the counter and my little old ex-girlfriend Shirley herself climbed up there. She had already peeled off her jeans, and all she had on was this long loose tee-shirt that hung down to her hips like a skimpy mini-dress. She started dancing around to the music right away, kicking her legs out sideways and doing bumps, so everybody was getting all kinds of ringside views of her bare ass and her naked snatch. I couldn't believe that this was the same girl who used to be so sweet and shy not too long ago. I could see then that all the stories I'd been hearing about her were true without no doubt.
I also could see some other things that shook me up pretty good. On one cheek of her ass there was tattooed the word BLUE, and on the other it said EAGLES. That really gave me a sick feeling in my gut, that she'd let 'em do that to her.
There were other little blue markings on her arms and legs in three or four places, but I couldn't make out what those were supposed to be from where I was. I think it was names of guys that she'd belonged to. She also had shaved all the hair off her pussy for some reason. Probably to get rid of crabs, Cora figured when I told her.
But the biggest jolt of all was when she opened her mouth in a great big shit-eating smile and there was a big gap there where her front teeth should have been - uppers and lowers. My God!
Then the mustache started up again. "Okay, now - who wants to dance with Piggy? Just look at that gorgeous chick up there."
Piggy! That must have been the name they gave her.
"Second volunteer. Who's gonna be second? You never danced until you dance with Piggy, man. She'll light your wick, by God."
All the guys huddled down a little lower in their seats, especially me. I didn't want no part of this shit. I was pretty relieved when they grabbed a big old dumb jerk from the manual arts and dragged him up to the counter. I'd lots rather see him on that platform being made a fool of by that fucking bitch Shirley than have me up there. She'd made enough of a fool out of me already.
They got the big lummox up alongside Shirley and started him dancing, and they went through the same routine again, taking his clothes off and all that. But he was pretty good-natured about it and seemed to be having a ball for himself. Shirley meanwhile had pulled off her tee-shirt, and once she and the guy were both naked, they went into a wild fucking dance together - stomping all over the counter and kicking and shaking their parts around, with everybody clapping and stamping their feet and whistling.
All I can say is, Shirley looked like the biggest fucking whore in all creation up there, shaking her tits all over the place - she even had a tattoo on one boob, for God's sake! And she was spreading her legs out towards the crowd and pulling her cunt-lips apart for everybody to see, and then she'd rub her body up against that big jerk and grab onto his prick and balls and press her pussy against it. What a pig!
After awhile she started working on his prick with a vengeance, pumping it hard in her fist, and this guy wasn't as inhibited as the last one. He came up to a pretty good hard-on without no trouble at all. The place was in a fucking uproar by then.
Then Shirley moved in close to him again and the guy crouched down a little and laid his big weenie up under her crotch, and she settled down onto it and he slipped right up inside her - no shit. He actually ran his prick up her pussy! I couldn't believe what I was seeing. And then they started dancing around again, locked together like that, belly to belly, with his prick stuffed up in her slot right to the hilt. Everybody in the joint was flipping, but I was thinking -- what kind of a pig are you, Shirley? Fucking with some slob right out in a public place!
And she was having a ball for herself-no question. Nobody twisted her arm to make her do this. They began humping their hips together and then she backed up against the coffee urn and braced herself there and the guy started really socking it to her. They were actually fucking - the guy was pumping his prick up into her like crazy - no shit!
I wasn't getting too much charge out of it, frankly. It just proved to me how much these Blue Eagle bastards gave a shit about her. If she was any kind of special chick of theirs, they wouldn't be letting some jerk ball her right in front of a crowd of squares.
She was yelling out now, "Oh-h fuck me, baby! Oh-h, do that thing! Oh-h sock it to me! Oh-h, shit man! Oh-h fuck fuck fuck!" And her yelling and whooping got more and more crazy and shrill as she went along. You could see that she was going into a higher and higher orbit right before our eyes - flipped right out of her fucking mind.
And when this cat popped his nuts after awhile and pulled his dink out of her, she was just beginning to get her engines warmed up. She wanted them to drag some other dumb schmuck up out of the crowd and give her another round of pussy-pumping while she was still juiced-up and ready for it. But they'd had their kicks. The freak-show was all over for the gang, and they picked up their marbles and took off. Shirley looked like she was pretty pissed off and pouty, but she pulled on her tee-shirt and ran out after them.
As far as I could tell she never did notice me there in the room watching her, and I was goddam glad of that. It would have been just like her to decide to have "a little fun" with me in front of all that crowd, and I didn't need that kind of fun, thanks. She'd made enough of a fool out of me already, like I said before.
But you see what I mean about her? After that night's performance I didn't have no doubts anymore about what she'd turned into. A fucking all-out whore!
Cora- She wasn't with the Eagles very long after that. I heard from her off and on - she'd come around to my place and cry on my shoulder about what a mess she was in with this or that boy and what terrible things they were doing to her. But I could never really help her much. She didn't want to change her ways. She was only happy, that stupid kid, when there was some bastard treating her like a pig. That had become her whole thing in life.
I guess she was about as happy as she ever was when she was running around with the Blue Eagles, cause there she had all those bums beating her and banging her constantly, just the way she craved it. But it was too good to last. They soon got tired of their pet "Piggy" and tossed her out with the garbage. There was a big chick turnover in that outfit. They liked a constant supply of raw meat, those hungry bastards, and there were plenty more fresh young pussies where she came from - stupid cows, just begging to be taken over and screwed, blued, and tattooed by a bunch of creeps in leather jackets.
So she was on her own again and she went back to screwing around with everybody and his brother. But with all she'd been through, she wasn't exactly the young, sweet, beautiful girlchild she had been, especially with her front teeth gone, and her face otherwise beginning to show the signs of wear and tear, so it was only the riff-raff and the creeps and the rough-house boys that would bother with her any more. That's when she got started boozing quite a lot and she would hang around pickup bars and go off with any bastard who'd lay out fifty cents for a drink. She never was a hustler actually-just a free-and-easy pickup. She wasn't looking for a payoff - just a couple of shots of booze to light her fire and then a good stiff bang with a lot of muscle behind it. She didn't give a damn if it was in somebody's cozy apartment or on a pile of garbage bags in a back alley in a driving rain. Just as long as it was rough and dirty all the way.
So it's hardly any surprise the way it ended for her. I knew it was coming sooner or later, and she'd just laugh when I would tell her so.
"It's the only way to die," she'd say. "Getting killed is the only thing in the world that can top getting screwed. And it's about the only thing I haven't tried yet. Who knows? I might find out I like it. Wouldn't that be a groove - dying and having a big fantastic orgasm at the same time?"
I just hope she got her wish.
CHAPTER TWO
Rape is usually imagined as happening in dark alleyways of the big city jungle. But it is not at all necessary for a woman to walk lonely, dimlit streets to lure a rapist to the attack. The kind of man who enjoys a spice of violence and brute-force with his sex can be found everywhere - at cocktail parties, in bars, on the beach - wherever pickups are usually made. The trick for a woman with rape in mind is to pick the right stud out of the pack - someone attractive enough or repulsive enough to match her particular rapist ideal. Also someone who is reasonably sure to push the issue all the way to a conclusion and not chicken out when the going gets sticky. Once they reach the grappling stage in a motel room or out in a lonely lovers' lane, she doesn't want him suddenly to go all soft and gentlemanly on her in the face of her struggles and whimpers and pleadings. Then they both wind up angry and frustrated, with the evening a total loss.
Selena K., a research assistant in a drug firm, twice-divorced, plays this party pickup game with great skill. She enjoys sex only when it comes at her from a heavily-built man, preferably hairy and on the vulgar side, who takes her roughly and contemptuously. She uses an elaborately worked-out system of approach, buildup and subtle seduction to lure her chosen man into a horizontal tussle in a secluded nook, and then her usual tactic is to go suddenly coy and reluctant and demand to be unhanded and taken home at once. But by this time she had done her job so well of stirring the man to a peak of rampaging passion that there is no turning back for him, and eighty percent of the time she claims she winds up being roughed-up, verbally abused, and raped to her complete satisfaction.
She was referred to me by a man who once had the pleasure of "raping" her after meeting her at a sale convention, and she had no qualms at all about granting me an interview, as long as her identity was disguised. As you will see, she spoke very frankly about herself and her peculiar rape-seeking habits.
After two unsuccessful marriages to men who grew tired of having to "rape" their wife every night after a hard day at the office, she now seems to be quite content with her present rough and tumble, catch-as-catch-can sex-life.
She doesn't call it rape, incidentally. She refers to her particular kind of violent sex as getting "socked."
Case 2 Selena K.
Isley - How often do you go out on the prowl for this kind of "sock"-therapy?
Selena - About once a week on the average. The old fire starts to build up in me, and if I didn't get a good rough bang to blow off the accumulated vapors, I'd probably go off the deep end altogether.
Isley - Are you always looking for new men? Don't you have any "steadies" at all?
Selena - There's no kick in getting socked by an old friend. The second time around it wouldn't be the same. Even though he put it to me pretty good, it would be a set-up thing - phony -no spontaneity, you know? If I'm going to get my rocks off, it has to work so that he's really bullshit mad with me for cock-teasing him. The best of all is when the guy socks me in a real blind, fucking rage. Ooh, man!
Isley - Doesn't that get dangerous' though? I should think you'd wind up bloody and bruised sometimes, if the man really lost his cool.
Selena-(nervous laugh) Oh yeh - once in a while things get a little - out of hand.
Isley - What do you do in a case like that?
Selena- (laughs) I take it. I have wild fucking orgasms like you've never dreamed of. The roughest ones are the best ones. It's only afterwards that there are problems sometimes.
Isley-Have you ever been seriously injured?
Selena - No, - (laughs) - there've been times when I've gone home looking as if I've been through world wars one and two combined. And sometimes my clothes get a little torn up. But I always carry a coat with me, and a scarf for my head, in case I have to cover up the evidence.
Isley - How about the bruises? Aren't they a little hard to explain to your friends and coworkers?
Selena-(shrugs) I have very understanding friends. And I've told them at work that I have a rough boyfriend who gets out of hand sometimes, (laughs) They're very sympathetic, but they know enough to let me alone. They have their own problems to worry about.
Isley - Since you admit that the real rough stuff is what you're looking for, and the roughest ones are the best ones, tell me about the absolutely roughest time you ever had on one of these dates of yours.
Selena - Oh wow! That's hard to pinpoint, just one. There was a guy one time - Puerto Rican son of a bitch - that threw me out in the middle of Eight-sixth Street at three a.m. with nothing on but a peek-a-boo bra. But I wouldn't call that rough particularly. Just uncomfortable and embarrassing as hell. Getting arrested in the nude is a very humiliating experience for a woman.
But I suppose the roughest bash for me all-around - physically and mentally - was one time with this cab driver and three of his friends. It was my own stupid fault through - he set it up and I walked right into it. My mistake was going with him a second time. I told you before, I hardly ever go with anybody more than once for various reasons.
The first time this guy was just great, though. I'll give you the whole story on that because it was the kind of experience that really flips me. Everything was as near-perfect as it could be.
This guy looked like a dumb slob, but he was wise to me. He knew exactly what I wanted the minute he laid eyes on me. I didn't fool him with my teasing crap for a second. He told me afterwards he could spot broads like me a mile away - Park Avenue dames looking for a good physical fuck from a lower-class slob. He claimed he got a lot of "that kind of cunt" in his cab and it provided him all the pussy he could use.
The way I met him - one day I rode out from the airport with him in his cab. He came on to me very strong right from the start, and I was pretty intrigued, because he was a real ugly beast of a man. Just the thought of grappling with this animal gave me mind-shudders. But that's the whole thing with me, you see - any man that's hideous and frightening to my mind will set off whistles and bells in my cunt. And when sex is the issue, my friend, it's my cunt that calls the shots, not my mind. Most women listen to their heart instead of their brain. But I listen only to my cunt. It speaks, and I obey, (laughs) Does this kind of talk shock you?
Isley - not at all. I'd like very much to keep this interview on the level of cunt instinct and cunt action as much as possible.
Selena - Fine with me. Let's keep it basic.
As I say, I warmed up to this ape right away. I hadn't had a good sock in about three weeks and the old sap was running, believe me. So when he started pressing for a date, I said how about right now, man? I figured that was a good enough test to find out if this was all bluff and bluster or not. Sometimes you think you've found yourself an animal and it turns out to be a wilted vegetable instead.
He didn't hesitate a second though. He turned the cab around - a U-turn on Park Avenue - and ran me up to his place on the upper West Side, a really hideous slum. That made it perfect though. I was just in the mood with this ugly bear to get myself socked in some smelly tenement room, preferably on a filthy mattress with rats and roaches scurrying around us. I had the whole ugly picture all set up in my mind. We had to walk up two dark dingy flights of stairs, which was the perfect buildup, but unfortunately for my fantasy, his room turned out to be clean and neat.
But that was the only disappointment of the day. He played his part to perfection. We were no sooner inside the door when he grabbed me from behind and clamped his hands onto my breasts in a vise-grip and then he bit the side of my neck as if he was taking a mouthful of meat out of it.
I laughed and tried to pull away. "Can't we have a drink first?" I said. "I didn't have a thing on the plane."
He spun me around and held me out at arms' length, looking me up and down as if I were already stark naked.
"You're a hell of a good-looking broad," he said, "but we'll soon fix that," and he put his hand on my head and pulled my hairdo all apart and down over my face. Then he laughed like a jackass and snapped his finger against my crotch.
"Get 'em off," he said. "I ain't got too much time." He went to the kitchen and came back out with a bottle of scotch, and he looked surprised to see me still standing there with all my clothes on.
"Come on-come on," he said. "Get naked, goddammit. I gotta get back to my cab. No time to fuck around." He raised the bottle up to my face. "Open up and bend your head back," he said. "You wanted a drink-right?"
I laughed, thinking he was kidding. "I'd prefer a glass, if you don't mind. A lady never drinks out of a bottle."
He said, "How the hell would you know what a lady does?" and he thrust the neck of the bottle against my lips. "Drink-drink, goddammit," he said.
I twisted my head away from him and said, "Come on-quit." The next thing I knew he raised the bottle above my head and started pouring the goddam whiskey all over my face and down my neck.
"If you ain't gonna drink, then let it soak in from the outside," he said, and laughed his hideous laugh again.
I turned on my best outraged lady pose. "Oh, that's enough! Honestly!" I grabbed up my purse and started making moves to go, but he only kept on laughing. He waited until I had the door open and was halfway through it, and then he grabbed my arm and almost yanked it out of the socket, pulling me back inside. I went sprawling about halfway across the room and landed with a thud against the gas oven.
He came after me with his arms out at his sides like a wrestler and I rolled over sideways to get away from him, but he brought his foot up and gave me the heel of his shoe right square on my fanny and knocked me down flat on my face on the linoleum. Then he laid his foot on the back of my neck and pressed hard. "Now, Miss Hot-cunt, are you gonna get 'em off or do I take 'em off for you in about three quick rips?"
I was shivering all over by then and I could feel the sweat-trickles running down all my vertical surfaces inside my clothes. It was going to be good! It was going to be great, I knew it. A classic.
I had on one of my favorite dresses that day, and I hated like hell to ruin it, but I kissed the dress goodbye right then. I was ready to let him rip it to shreds and rip me too, if he wanted to.
But I hadn't got him mad enough yet. I had to make him really pissed off at me-hating my guts and raring to take it out of my hide.
My face was still squashed against the linoleum, but I said in a low, real nasty voice, "You- fat-bastard. You're getting nothing from me. Ugly stupid clob! I wouldn't spit on you. Now get the fuck off my neck. I'm leaving here, buddy, and you better not try to stop me again or you'll find your fat ass in big trouble."
He lifted his foot and stepped back, and I started to get up, but I only got about halfway when he caught me by the hair, wound it around his hand, and yanked me up in front of him. He held me about a foot off the floor, dangling there like a stupid puppet. And that's painful as hell, buster, being suspended by your hair that way-you know it? Feels as if the whole top of your scalp's going to rip right off.
It's a funny thing-I had never been in such a trembling state before at that stage of the game. He had barely started on me, but I was shuddering and twitching all over my body, and my eyes rolling in my head-my jaw hanging wide open, and my breath exploding out of me in loud gasps.
It's a terrible shame feeling-knowing that you're revealing your naked lust like that to some pig of a man who despises you. You're just begging him to use you like shit, is what it amounts to. But the low-down shame is all part of the pleasure-the main part. That's what it's all about, isn't it, when you're an S-M freak like me. (laughs)
He shook me like a rag-doll and laughed boisterously, and then he let fly a big wet wad of spit right square in my face. "That's what I think of you," he said, "you goddam motherfucking Park Avenue rich-bitch." Then he spit into the palm of his free hand and pressed it to my face, smearing it around over my mouth and nose. "I'll let you outta here," he said. "Don't worry-soon as I'm finished with you. But that ain't gonna be for quite a little while yet."
Then he began tearing my dress down the front, piece by piece, a strip at a time, talking all the while and every now and then spitting into my face again. "Maybe before I'm done with you, you won't want to leave here. I've had fancy cunts like you stick around for a week-begging for more. Maybe already you ain't in such a big fucking hurry to leave as you thought you was."
My dress was completely gone by then-hanging in shreds around my ankles. Then he hooked his fat fingers in under my bra and yanked it right off. "Well, look-a-here!" he said at the sight of my breasts. "Not too big, but elegant. Solid and rubbery-that's the kind."
He began snapping his fingers against my bare tits, yelling out PING each time he did it. First one boob, then the other. Again and again and again. It's a terribly painful thing. My breasts are very sensitive anyway, and when men find that out they always seem to take special pleasure in tormenting them every way they can dream up.
Isley-You describe all this in terms of terrible torture. Do you find it enjoyable-your hair being yanked out of your head-your breasts being beaten on?
Selena-(sighs) I can't say I enjoy it. I feel the pain and I suffer like anyone else. But I need it, the way a junky needs his needle. And my guts enjoy it. The pit of my belly and the nerve-endings of my orgasm machinery fire up and go into orbit. I can't possibly describe for you the feelings. The shivers run right out to the ends of my fingers and toes. Straight sex never does that to me. There have to be the two elements of pain and humiliation to set off the fuses. All I can tell you is, think of the greatest orgasm you ever had and imagine it just going on and on-building and building-until you feel like all your insides are going to explode out through your skin! (shudders) Wow!
Isley-I'll try to imagine it in those terms.
Selena-The quickest way to turn on my switches is to do vile, nasty things to my boobs. And he was on the right track, working on my nipples now, pulling and pinching and twisting them in finger-nail grips. I was still shuddering and moaning and I could feel the first contractions up inside my cunt, which mean an explosion building up of some kind. I never know exactly what's going to happen-I just lose all control and let go in all directions. Sometimes I go completely ape-yelling and screeching in absolute hysteria. But this time I started whimpering like a baby, with tears rolling down my face and then my legs gave a violent shudder and I proceeded to piss my goddam panties right there in front of him.
He stood staring down at the water-show as if he couldn't believe his eyes-the wetness spreading below my crotch, bubbling out through the cotton and dripping and then drizzling down in a half-dozen little rivulets between my thighs that were already soaking wet from my sweat.
"Well I'll be go to hell," he muttered. "Can't even hold your fucking water. You're some lady, you are!" And he let go of my hair then and dropped me. I crumpled down to the floor in a heap-not an ounce of strength left in me-and wound up squatting there like an idiot in my piss-puddle. "Fucking pig!" he said. "Are you gonna shit too while you're at it? Might as well go ahead and let it all out. Didn't your last owner ever house-break you, for Chrissakes?"
At that point a big wave of dizziness hit me. My head seemed to deflate like a balloon and I keeled over sideways and passed out completely. It was only for a minute or so, I guess. Then I felt myself being hauled over the floor by one ankle, with first my back and then my head dragging through the pee-puddle, and after that he was ripping off my soaked panties and he bundled them into a ball and stuffed them in my mouth as a gag.
"There, honey-you chew on that awhile," he said. "And that oughta keep you quiet, so you don't bother me with a lotta goddam weeping and wailing while I do my duty."
He was too calm about it all though-too cool. I wanted him to be in a rampaging fury when he socked me. This had too much promise of a classic session to let it get fucked up and trail off into mediocrity. I had to get him more riled-up than he was, somehow.
He was in the process of stripping down, and just at that point he dropped off his shorts and there was this great big dangling monstrosity of a prick out in the daylight, and the balls of a bull to back it up. It gave me a delicious shudder to see it-to imagine that fat bat ramming into me like a pile-driver. But he wasn't even up to a hard-on yet, and if he'd been really mad and aching to get at me the way I wanted him to be, then that big meat of his would have been salami-size by now.
He saw me eyeing his dingus and he said, "You're gonna suck that up to a stiff for me, baby. And you'll keep on sucking until I tell you to quit."
He was purring like a pussy cat, the son of a bitch. He was so sure he had me all tamed and submissive, but I was ready to jar him out of his cool just as soon as he hailed his fat ass in a little closer to me. I spit the pissy panties out of my mouth and braced myself for action.
When he was naked, he flexed his muscles and rippled the flab on his fat belly and then he moved in, spitting on his hands and rubbing them together.
"Come on-up, pig," he said. "Get your fucking head up here to crotch-level and let's get the old tongue working. See what kind of blowjob they learned you at finishing school."
I waited until he was in perfect position above me and then I brought my foot up and gave him a hard heel right in the pit of his gut. Hard enough to feel it, but not enough to put him out of operation altogether.
He let out an oof and went into a semi-crouch, grabbing at his wounded gut. "You goddam son-of-a-bitching whore!" he muttered while he was getting his breath back, and then he aimed a vicious kick at my head. But I rolled away from him and scrambled up to my feet, and then I began grabbing up whatever things I could get my hands on around the kitchen and throwing them at him with all the strength I had. A pot-a clock -a coffee cup-a whiskbroom. He just stood there looking dumbfounded, batting down the things with his open hands as they came at him, like a goal-tender in a game.
I was screaming at him, "Lard-ass! Motherfucker! Fat faggot! Bald-headed prick!" Every name that came to my mind.
Then with one lunge forward he caught me by the neck and clamped down hard-a real stranglehold. That took the fight out of me and shut me up in a big hurry. He forced me down onto my knees and started slapping the crap out of my face-really rocking me-pow! pow! He finished it off with a nice straight jab right square on the nose that just about put me in dreamland. I was gone completely for awhile after that-floating in limbo-and I didn't really know what the hell was happening to me when he wound his hand in my hair again and pulled my face into his crotch.
When I came back halfway to my senses, I found his fat prick stuffed into my mouth and he'd pressed my lips down over it and was riding it around like a fat snake squirming on my tongue.
As soon as he saw my eyeballs coming back into focus, he gave my head a shake and said, "Suck on that, goddam you. Hit it a lick and be goddam quick about it or I'll whip your fucking ass to splinters."
I started working his big old meat, with my lips and my tongue tickling around the head of it. I was anxious to get it up and hard as quick as I could, because I was curious to see how that enormous prod would look, standing up on end ready for business. I'd never in my life seen one that size before, and I couldn't wait to feel it in action where it would do the most good.
I didn't want to do too good a job of sucking on him though. Blowing some guy's joint is not my thing, man. It's not my mouth that craves fucking, it's my lower body openings. So my idea was to get this suck-job over and done with as quickly as possible and move on to the next act -some cunt-action, hopefully-where I'd get mine.
Well, it didn't take long to blow up the balloon. His prick just seemed to go rigid all at once. Like a steel rod suddenly run up inside it. God, it was enormous! When I pushed my lips forward along the shaft of it, the big blunt head ran so far down my gullet it nearly choked me.
It's a job of work, servicing something that size. It takes a lot of energy and a lot of spit to keep things lubricated. I was hoping to hell he wouldn't want too much of this. Now that I had him cocked and primed, I was getting the twitches in my gut again at the prospects of taking that fat bat about a half-a-yard up in my happy-hole and getting myself split wide open up the center-seam.
I was surprised to see blood smeared on his prick, and I could taste it too on my lips, but then I realized that it was running down out of my nose, where he had mashed it with his last punch.
He just let me go on sucking away and it was beginning to be a goddam drag for me, so I decided it was time to take drastic action again. It might mean another round of slapping me silly, but that's all part of the fun and games for me. Rough stuff does for me the same thing that kissing and caressing do for a straight woman.
So I started working his testicles in my hand -still licking on his penis-and then all of a sudden I gave a good hard twist to his balls and bit down on the meat of his prick-not too hard, but enough to give him one hell of a genital surprise.
He yanked his injured members away from me and gave me another one of his pop-eyed, blinky, surprised looks. Then he growled in a real mean, low, menacing voice, "You-miserable-cunt. You're gonna regret that cute little fucking trick."
I was still down there in front of him on my knees-still a little groggy-laughing foolishly at him-my hair all tangled and matted with whiskey and piss-my lips and chin smeared with blood. I must have been quite a sight to see.
"Fucking smart-ass whore," he said, moving on me again, one big hairy hand clamped over his stung prick. "I'm gonna give you the beating of your fucking life-break every bone in your fucking body-and then when you can't take no more of that, I'm gonna run this rod a yard up your fucking ass and split you wide open."
I had a dizzy spell and fell over backwards onto my ass, giggling like an idiot. "Promises, promises," I said. "Big fat mouth-full of shit." I was babbling and giggling as if I was high on something. Just the anticipation is all it was. That's enough to turn me on. Knowing I'm about to get it and get it good. My body began shivering and twitching again, and I crawled forward to him and grabbed onto his legs around the knees, looking up at him with my eyes and mouth wide open and pleading.
Do it, man. Do it-do it-DO ITU is what I was saying inside, but the only sound coming out of me was sniffs and gasps and giggles.
And then he started in-just belting the living shit out of me. Left-right-left-right. Terrible hard punches. My ribs, my tits, my belly. He'd pick me up and then slam me down again. And then lift me again by the hair and give my face another round of slaps, swinging wild, forehand and backhand with all his strength. It gets hazy from there on, although I never did pass out completely. As far as I know I just went on giggling and squealing and dribbling blood, sweat and tears all over the place. All I can tell you, from the way I looked and felt the next day, is that he hit me everywhere. You never saw such a black and blue monstrosity as my body was when he got through working off his fury on it. I looked as if I'd fallen down a mountain, face first.
It was a beautiful beating though, (shudders) He knew just how to do it. Exactly the right touch. He looked like an ape, that man, but he was an artist!
Then when my whole body was just a mass of quivering jelly he threw me down face-first over the top of the stove and started working on my rear-end. It must have been his thumb that he jabbed in first, twisting and screwing it up my butt-hole. That wasn't too much problem, because I've had my ass well-reamed a good many times before by quite a variety of pricks and other implements of various kinds.
But then he pressed his fat prick-head up into the groove and started working it around, and that was something else again. I felt sure he'd never make it with that thing, but I certainly was hoping. I desperately wanted to be impaled right up to the hilt on that huge pike of his- either hole was fine with me-and split wide-open, just the way he said he'd do.
And then I could feel it actually inching up in-side-stretching me terribly as it nudged ahead, grunt by grunt. It seemed to be stuffing up my entire ass-track like a huge hard turd of shit. And still up and up it went. I had never felt anything inside me that deeply. It was like a hot iron hitting nerves way up inside my belly that had never been touched before by mortal man.
My whole body was twitching in violent jerks -I just couldn't control it-nerve spasms rocking me from head to foot. He grabbed onto my boobs then and pulled me up, and he began bouncing me up and down on his prick, holding me against his body with a vice-grip on both of my tits. He was not only squeezing them, but twisting them in opposite directions and practically tearing them off me. I began screaming out loud, but not from pain. I've already told you what any of that booby-business does for my orgasm machinery, and the combination of the tit-twisting and the shafting up into the vast, unplumbed interior of my shit-hole just put me in instant orbit. I was screeching blue murder-throwing my head all over the place-rocking my ass frantically up and down-and rolling my chest back and forth against his tit-grips-absolute one-hundred-percent head-to-toe ecstasy! Every nerve in my body was vibrating, screaming for more.
He just squeezed and twisted my tits all the harder and began driving his prick hard up my hole, his crotch slamming against my ass-cheeks, and it felt just like he'd said it would-as if I was getting split right up the middle-torn apart.
I don't know how long it went on or what kind of pleasure he got out of it, but it had to be the greatest low-down dirty sex experience I've ever had on the meat-end of a prick. The only thing I was wishing was that there'd been another one on the front side, twice as big as his prick, ramming the living bejeezus out of my cunt-shaft simultaneously. But you can't have everything.
I don't know how I got home that day-so help me, I have no recollection of it. But I woke up next morning in my little beddy-bye, and the whole beautiful experience was only a dream, it almost seemed like. Until I tried to move, and until I went and took a look at the raw reality of the evidence in the mirror. It took me a week to get back in circulation after that one, but it was worth a week, man!
Isley-What were you wearing when you came home? Your dress had been all torn up.
Selena-Oh, I always have a folded-up plastic raincoat in my purse for cases like that. This was by no means the first time that I'd gone home bare-ass under my raincoat.
Isley-And that was the roughest time you ever had?
Selena-No no-I started to tell you before-the rough time was the thing that this led to.
About two weeks after the big bash with the cab driver, he called me up one day. I was surprised that he had my number, but it stood to reason that he must have brought me home that day, and he could easily have found my name and all that in my purse.
Anyway he phoned me and said, "This is Bernie." I had to stop and think a second who he hell Bernie was, but he refreshed my memory pretty quickly. "How ya' doing, kid? Back in A-number-one shape again? I betcha look good as new-am I right? I figure you for the wiry type, you know? Bounce back fast. Say listen, I been thinking about you, baby. Planning another little party like last time-got some new games in mind I figure you'll go for. I think I got your taste figured out pretty good. Whataya say? Tonight okay? I'll drop by at seven and pick you up."
I laughed at his nerve. I had no intention of seeing him again, that night or any other. In the first place, as I told you, I don't like second times around with any man. Even with him I was sure it wouldn't be the same kick the second time. And in the second place, I wasn't quite as "wiry" as he seemed to think. I still needed an extra week or so to get my tender carcass back in shape for another sock-session like that last one. I was still shitting blood from the ass-reaming, and the swelling hadn't quite disappeared on my nose.
So I told Bernie that it was absolutely out of the question and that I'd let him know when I was back in circulation again. In other words, don't call me-I'll call you.
But he wasn't the type to take no for an answer. I was quite startled when he rang my bell exactly at seven that night. I thought it was my sister and I pushed the buzzer and let him in before I realized. And I was even more startled to realize that I was pleased to see the big ape -actually glad that he'd come! I gave a little shudder when I saw him standing there in the doorway, but it was a shudder of purest pleasure and delicious anticipation.
"Well, if it isn't my friend the baboon," I said.
"What an ugly surprise."
He didn't smile-just chewed his cigar and squinted his eyes. He didn't even come inside-just stood in the doorway. "Let's go," he said. It was an order, not a suggestion.
I laughed and opened up my robe, which is all I was wearing. "I'm positively stark naked," I said. "Won't you let me put some clothes on?" What I was hoping was that he'd tear the robe off me and throw me down right on the spot.
"The robe is enough," he said. "Close it up and let's go."
It was a delightful idea-riding in his cab with nothing on but my robe. "What will the neighbors say?" I asked him.
"They'll say, 'There goes that fucking tramp out to get herself laid again.' You think you're fooling anybody? Come on-I'm in a hurry."
And so I went out with him just as I was. It was a cold damn night, but my body was already burning up underneath the robe in anticipation of what lay ahead.
"You'll have to take it easy with me tonight," I said to him as we raced across town. "My body is still tender from last time."
He just grunted, and I knew I'd get no mercy from him. As if I really wanted any.
Then I noticed that we weren't heading up-town towards his place after all. "Where are we going?" I asked him.
"Don't ask no questions," he said. It turned out we were on our way to the taxi company garage, way over near the river, and we drove right on inside. I figured maybe he might be leaving the cab there and picking up his own car. But he wasn't answering any of my questions.
"Get out," he said, without bothering to open the door for me.
Three other men came sauntering over with big grins of some kind of sexual anticipation on their faces. I know that kind of leer well enough by now, and it made me a bit uneasy. I've always been nervous in group situations. Nothing I love better than a good wild one-on-one fuck, but the thought of a gang-bang terrifies me. I don't know why that should be.
So I felt very uncomfortable getting out of the cab in my robe, bare-legged and barefoot. I had a terrible feeling that something decidedly unpleasant was in store for me here and I was already sorry I'd come.
And if I had any remaining doubts, Bernie too care of them by the way he introduced me.
"Here it is, boys. You thought I was shitting you? Real Park Avenue goods, and the hottest goddam cunt in New York City, I guarantee. She's all yours." How would he know about my hot cunt, that asshole commando? He never touched my cunt the other night.
I backed up against the car, clutching my robe around me like a terrified virgin. "Oh now-wait a minute here," I said, and my voice was very shrill, on the edge of hysteria. These three were genuine slob-types, out of the same mold a Bernie. Any one of them alone could have socked the living bejeezus out of me and I'd have begged for more, but all three of them in a bunch had me in a cold sweat. My teeth were chattering so much I could hardly speak coherently. "Please, Bernie. Not this. Just one of them. Please. Any one of you. I'll do anything you want, I promise-but only one!"
"Shit, honey-you're pooping the party." Bernie nudged in behind me and reached around and pressed his hands over my boobs. The others were hanging back, a little unsure, apparently not quite believing Bernie's promises and assurances about me. They didn't want to take anything for granted and blunder into a rape charge. They couldn't quite believe by the look of me, I guess, that I was the raging nympho masochist that Bernie had described me to be.
Bernie grabbed my arms then and pinned them behind me. "Go ahead, Sam. Open up her fucking robe. Get a look at the goodies. She's bare-ass under that man-lily-white bare-ass! And all for youse guys. Help yourself."
I began to cry. "No, Bernie-please. Just one, Bernie. I can't do this, Bernie. Please!"
He gave me a knee up the ass. "Shut up your fucking whining. You let out another peep and we'll tape your fucking mouth for you. You fuck I up this party, you cunt, and maybe you won't get home in one piece this time."
So I quit my bellyaching and just grit my teeth and shut my eyes. If I didn't look, maybe I could pretend it was just one man working on me.
I could feel someone fumbling at the front of my robe and then he opened it wide and the chilly air hit my flesh all the way down. Bernie pulled the robe off my shoulders from behind and nudged my rear-end again with his knee, pushing my hips forward.
"Go ahead, youse guys. Move in-grab on.
Don't be ascared of this rich bitch. There's plenty there for everybody-help yourself. She loves it-don't worry. You'll hear her purring like a pussycat and crying for more in a second."
Then I felt their hands start to work on me. Somebody laid a hand over one breast and dug his fingers in, and there was someone else pawing at my pussy. And as soon as they found out for sure that I wasn't about to start screeching bloody murder or struggling to get away from them, they suddenly got much bolder and the real horseplay began. Bernie let go of my arms and pulled my robe off altogether, and then it seemed as if everyone was grabbing and lifting and pulling me in nine different directions at once. One of them clamped onto my head with two huge hands and started slobbering kisses all over my mouth and fucking my throat with his fat tongue.
"Come on, let's bring her inside and get comfortable," Sam suggested.
They picked me up by arms and ankles and ass-cheeks and they rushed me into an inner office and spread my stark carcass over a glass desktop.
Then for the next twenty or thirty minutes they enjoyed the fuckings of me in the good old-fashioned way. Nothing spectacular-just routine pump-offs, belly-to-belly, with their elephant torsos squashing all the breath out of me. It was pretty humdrum doings on my end. I'd calmed down by then from my original panic state, and they hadn't done anything to arouse me to any new peaks of excitement. By that time I was more bored than anything else with the whole stupid business. I wondered why they didn't just go and hire themselves a whore, if this was all they wanted. But I was about to find out that the real panic hadn't even begun yet.
"If youse guys are done finally, let's have a little fun with this cunt," Bernie said.
"What're you gonna do with her?" Sam asked. "Gas her up, maybe?"
"How about lubrication and a car-wash?"
And this bright goddam idea turned out to be no joke. They actually decided in their feeble brains that it would be a million chuckles to give me an honest-to-God grease-job. They hauled me into the shop and laid me out on a rack on my back and taped my ankles and wrists to the goddam foolish thing in a spreadeagle position. I felt like a goddam Aztec human sacrifice. They raised this rack up in the air about six feet high and brought up a barrel of heavy black grease, and I'll be a son of a bitch if they didn't actually go to work at swabbing that yikky crap all over me.
They started around my crotch to begin with, smearing it up into the holes-giggling all the time like a bunch of kids into some dirty mischief-and then they got more and more playful with it as the hilarity mounted and they began spreading whole handfuls of the goddam shit all over my body everywhere.
Talk about stupid childish tricks! What the hell that kind of bullshit has to do with sex is beyond me. It certainly did nothing for me except make me want to throw up. They even smeared that stinking crud in my hair, goddam the bastards!
Then Sam got the bright idea he'd like to try a little playful wrestling match with the "greased pig." So they untaped me and pulled me down off the rack, and then Sam and I began a no-holds-barred free-for-all down in the grease pit, with both of us smeared from head to toe and slipping and sliding all over the place. Absolutely stupid. The others were just about dying laughing-having themselves a fantastic ball-but it was without any doubt the most repulsive experience of my life. I wanted to scream, but every time I opened my mouth I'd get a mouthful of that black shit. Anyway, I was pretty much in a dumb-state of horror by then.
Finally one of the guys said, "I believe you two tar-babies are about ready for a car-wash. Whataya say, Sam?"
They hauled our slimy carcasses out of the pit and the next thing I knew they had me up against ' a concrete wall and dousing me all over with some kind of liquid detergent to loosen up the grease. Sam lathered me up all over and then they turned an ice-cold spray on me from a high-pressure hose. It plastered me against the wall -stabbing into my flesh like the point of a spear. I couldn't move or get my breath. It felt as if I was paralyzed and frozen stiff.
Then they came at me with long-handle stiff-bristle brushes, and was that ever agony! At least it got my blood circulating again and unfroze me, but between the hose and the brushes, my poor hide was rubbed raw from top to bottom. And I must have looked like a drowned cat besides. Stupid jackasses!
Isley-I gather that there was no sexual pleasure at all for you in this kind of treatment?
Selena-Christ no! I don't see anything sexy in that idiotic childs' play. Do you?
Isley-It's interesting that you found this all such a horrible ordeal and apparently it didn't turn you on at all, but a savage beating and bloody sodomy the week before gave you H-bomb orgasms all the way to your fingertips.
Selena-Two different things entirely, (laughs) Maybe if they'd run the hose up my cunt and fucked me with an icy blast of water I might have enjoyed it. I really don't know. I don't understand it myself.
They all helped themselves to one more fuck apiece on me and then Bernie took me home after that. I haven't heard a word from the bastard since, thank God. That night in the garage left me feeling so cruddy, inside and out, I swore to myself that I never wanted to see another man again. I figured I'd recuperate overnight and then tomorrow I'd look up an old bull up an old bulldike lesbian friend of mine who'd give me a good artistic working over, southpaw style. Maybe I'd stick with that scene from then on.
But you know it didn't happen, (laughs) The next day I'd had a change of heart again, and I went out to one of my old bar hangouts and picked up the first bundle of muscles that came along-a young longshoreman. How about that? He beat the crap out of me, gave me two black eyes, fucked me on both ends, and finally took all my money and I had to walk home. At least I got some pleasure out of it though-that's the main thing.
But here I am-right back in my old groove again. Sock it to me, daddy, (sighs) Do you suppose there's any hope for me, Doctor?
Isley-I'm only a reporter, not a therapist. The best thing I can suggest is keep up the payments on your Blue Cross.
CHAPTER THREE
MECHANIC NABBED IN SIX RAPE SLAY-INGS, the headline screamed.
Over a period of eighteen months there had been six unsolved rape-killings in one city, and at last the police were convinced that they had the right man. Thirty-one-year-old Karl D. seemed a likely suspect. His convertible matched witnesses' descriptions of a car seen at two of the murder sites-he had once dated one of the victims and had done car repairs for another-and he had at one time been on probation on an assault charge involving a girl that he had beaten up in the balcony of a movie theatre.
For two weeks the trial was in the headlines, with much lurid detail being published about the gory crimes, but in the end Karl was found not guilty by the jury, since there had been no solid evidence offered against him. He dropped out of the headlines and out of sight and that was the end of the case of Karl the sadistic rapist as far as the public was concerned. Or was it?
Like any young and reasonably good-looking man accused of a lurid sex-crime, Karl was a marked man, in and out of prison. From the day of his arrest, letters by the hundreds poured in to him-not angry letters, threatening to cut his balls off-but letters full of love and sexual passion from girls and women of all ages, twelve to sixty. As the trial progressed and more and more intimate details of the rapes and mutilations were made known, the degree of passion in the letters increased correspondingly. The following is but a sampling of the general range and tone:
--from a forty-two-year-old housewife . ..
I know alright you're as innocent as a baby. I can tell by your looks . . . When you're out of there come and see me any time at all. My husband is never here days. Don't waste yourself on them young tramps. I'll give you what a man wants. I bet you have a good big one too and that's what I like. You can see from the picture that I got the place to put it wide open and waiting and you can see also I'm in pretty good shape all over.
--from a sixteen-year-old girl...
I'll come with you anywhere you want. They have to free you. They must! I pray for you every night, my sweet darling Karl. I'll let you do anything to me. Anything! Anything! XXXXXX!!
--from a college coed ...
The fucking pigs can't hold you, baby. What did they prove? Nothing! I know you'll be planning to split this fucking asshole town once you're out. If you need a chick-I'm ready. I'll take it any way you want to give it, baby-cause I dig it your way. The rougher the better-you dig?
--from the girls at Stacey's Grill.. .
Dear HOT COCK! SOCK IT TO US!!!!
Linda
Bernadette
Rita
Penny HE9-5518
Since Karl's mail was censored while he was in prison, most of this highly-combustible correspondence never reached him. But a courthouse clerk kept the above samples in his private file and allowed me to copy them. Good examples of unabashed rape-seekers, flocking like moths to the flame around a man who promises to give them agony with their ecstasy.
With some difficulty I tracked down Karl, now living in another city, to find out from him whether this flock of goony-birds had continued to plague him after his release and what, if anything, he had done about it.
He refused to talk at all about the crimes he had been charged with, other than to restate his innocence, but he was highly amused at my interest in the other aspect of his case and was happy to tell me all about the "weirdos" who had been pestering him by mail, by phone, and in person, begging for any little scrap of sexual attention he might toss their way-anything at all in the way of a sadistic assault. "I'm thinking seriously," he said, "of advertising a sex-crime service. I'd be a fucking millionaire in a month."
He described for me a few of his more bizarre experiences in dealing with these sex-hungry violation-hunters.
Karl-I'll give you an example of what was happening to me and why I had to move out of there to save my sanity and maybe save my life. You wouldn't believe the weirdos!
Here's one-this was typical. The doorbell rings one day. I go out and it's this chick about fifteen at the most. Her eyes are popping open like she's scared out of her fucking pants. She stutters, "Y-you wanta b-buy some-you want -wanta buy . . ." And then at that point her jaw gets stuck wide open and all of a sudden she lets out a scream and turns around and runs like hell. I laugh and go back inside. I figure some kid dared her to do it probably. I've had that kind before.
But then a little later I hear some commotion out on the back porch. I open the door and here she is again-the same chick-flattened out against the screening, her mouth still wide open, and she's making little squeaky mouse-noises.
"Did you want something?" I asked her, trying like hell to look lovable and harmless.
She sort of giggled and then surprised hell out of me by charging straight towards me and ducking past and right on into my goddam kitchen.
I had a real sinking feeling as I went inside. Once you let 'em in the house, man, it can be murder. And this was the worst possible kind to get tangled up with. Underage-nervous and jittery-right on the borderline of screaming, throwing fits, yelling to the high heavens. Big big trouble here-the worst kind. That's all I needed was another rape charge hung on me from some hysterical teen-age baton-twirler.
And there she is in the fucking kitchen, cowering behind the refrigerator, shivering all over and babbling like a baby.
"What do you want?" I said. "Will you please get out of here?"
"No-o! No-o!" she starts screeching. "Don't come near me!"
Man, she's gonna have all the neighbors over here with shot guns if this keeps up. I gotta do something and quick. So I lunge for her and grab her, and I clamp a hand over her mouth to cut off the whooping. Then I march her over towards the back door again to chuck her the hell outside, but she's squirming around like a snake and pressing her ass against my crotch and whimpering like a sick puppy dog.
She seems to have quieted down though as far as the worst screeching goes, so I let loose of her mouth when we get to the door and I'm telling her, "Now you get outta here, kid, and don't come back or we'll both be in a big mess of trouble. Whatever it is you want, I ain't peddling it."
She leans her head back and lays her face right up alongside mine and says in this little kindergarten voice, "Please do it to me. Please. I want you to. I won't tell nobody. I promise."
She sounds like a little kid begging for a lollipop and promising to be good. I gotta laugh. "What is it you want me to do exactly?" I asked her.
She looked a little confused. Just like I figured -she probably didn't even know what "it" was, that she was begging for. A goddam virgin, most likely.
"Anything!" she said. "Whatever you want to do is okay."
Oh great. "How about a kiss?" I said, figuring that might fill the bill for her and get her off my back. Her eyes lit up, so I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a nice fatherly kiss- or at least that's what I intended it to be, but she opened her mouth and plastered her lips all over mine and started tonguing me to beat hell. And the next thing I knew she grabbed the front of my pants and got a grip on my prick like she was gonna pull it out by the root. She was no innocent baby at all-that chick.
I tried to peel myself away from her, but she held on tight and her legs started riding up alongside mine-rubbing all along my thighs. I was beginning to get mad by then, and I shoved her back hard against the wall and pulled the door open.
"Get the hell out of here now," I said.
But she danced away from me back into the room. "You tried to rape me," she said, all sing-songy. "I could tell somebody and that would fix you. What if I did?"
I opened the door wider and slapped it with my hand. "Come on! Come on! OUT!"
But she wasn't acting scared or hysterical anymore. She was tickled silly to see me sweating.
She knew how vulnerable I was, goddam her. She pulled her skirt up over her belly then, giving me a head-on display of her transparent peek-a-boo panties and all the golden goodies underneath.
Then she giggled and raised one leg up toward me, waggling her foot in the air. "I'm gonna tell everybody that you raped me." Another giggle. "Unless you really do-and then I won't tell nobody. Except my girl friend. I promised I'd tell her all about it. And then she's gonna come over here tomorrow to get hers, so I hope you got plenty of juice for both of us. Cause both of us decided we want to get raped by the raper." She jumped up and down like a kid in a tantrum. "You gotta-you gotta-you gotta!"
All a big fucking game to her. It was just like I'd figured it was in the first place. She and her stupid girl friend probably dared each other. Maybe they drew straws to see which of 'em would come to get raped first.
I closed the door again, trying to keep calm. If I lost my temper over this, we'd both be cooked, believe me.
"Ain't you got nothing better to do than bug me?" I said to her, trying to appeal to her good instincts if any. But I knew I was sunk already. When a chick like this has got her mind set on getting laid, there's no way of talking her out of it. She had her hand stuffed down inside her panties now, ruffling the hairy bush, with one finger dragging low and tap-tap-tapping on her twat-slot, which I could see plain as day.
"Why don't you go call on your boyfriend?" I said. "He'll be glad to help you out if you want to get laid."
She stuck out her tongue and flicked it like a snake's fangs. "I want to get raped by the famous raper."
You see what I mean? That's what it comes down to with all these fucked-up broads. I said, "Listen-I never raped nobody. They found me not guilty-remember? They found out they arrested the wrong guy. And you got the wrong guy too, kid."
"I betcha you did rape all them women. I can tell. You look like a raper."
Then she reached behind her neck all of a sudden and I could see she was about to unzip the back of her dress. In one more second this scene was gonna be completely out of hand.
"Look, kid - I'll tell you what," I said. "I got a hell of a headache today and I wouldn't be no good for you actually. Why don't you come back tomorrow and bring your friend with you then and we'll see what we can work out for the two of you together. Okay? I promise, I'll give you both any kind of action you want. Agreed?"
She was jumping up and down again. "Raper - raper - raper!" she yelled at me. I was gonna have to shut her the hell up again. This shit wasn't funny anymore.
So I moved in on her to grab hold and maybe slap some sense into her head. But she ducked away from me and ran out of the kitchen into the hall. She wanted me to chase her, but I figured I wouldn't even bother. I could hear her running up the stairs, yelling, "Ha ha-ha ha," taunting me. Let her run around, I figured - wear herself down. Maybe it'd cool off her hot pants.
I sat down and lit a cigarette to wait her out.
But then after about ten minutes of dead silence, I had to start worrying again. No sounds at all. What the fuck was she up to? I decided I better go upstairs and see. She could be wrecking the joint.
So I went out to the hall and called to her. "Where the hell are you?" Not a peep. "Come down here, goddammit, or I call the cops."
It looked like I was gonna have to go up there after her. But I'd try to take her by surprise, wherever she was, so I sneaked up the stairs real quiet.
No sign of her in the upper hall. She hadda be in the bedroom, playing hide-and-go-seek on me. But then, just as I got set to pop open the bedroom door and scare the shit out of her, she did the same thing to me. A streak of lightning came exploding out of the bathroom with a big screech and leaps on me like a fucking wildcat. And she's not only stark naked, she's also soaking wet and covered with soapsuds.
I go sprawling on my back and she's all over me, giggling and screeching, trying to tickle my ribs with one hand and grabbing for a hand-hold on my prick with the other. Well shit! I'd had it with her goddam crap. No more kid gloves and child psychology for her. She might be underage, but she needed somebody to teach her a goddam lesson not to fuck around with a man in the sex department unless she's ready to take the consequences.
So I gave her about a count of ten and then I suddenly clamped onto her wrists and rolled her over and pinned her down. I laid my face right over hers and looked right into her eyes with the best mad sex-fiend expression I had in me. She quit giggling and actually looked a little scared again.
I gave her my mad monster chuckle and said, "Kid - you asked for it and you're gonna get it, by God. You want to know what it's like getting raped? I'll give you the complete home study course with a laboratory demonstration. Then you can go and tell your girl friend what a groovy time you had, getting your little pussy fucked from here to next Christmas."
She shivered and started giggling again, but it was from nervousness now. And she was plenty nervous - believe me.
"Don't you - hurt me," she said. Her voice was little and squeaky and her lips were trembling.
I laughed. I was beginning to enjoy it then for the first time. The little bitch had a hell of a body on her at that, now that I was getting a good top-to-bottom look at it. She looked goddam tempting, all slick and shiny from the soapy water. I made up my mind right then that I was gonna fuck her little ass off. Why the hell not?
I could have turned her loose right then and she probably would have lit out for home like a scared rabbit. But I didn't feel like letting her go. I had to teach her not to fuck around with a situation she ain't equipped to handle. It had gone too far now for me to let her off without giving her something to remember.
I locked both of her wrists together in a one-hand grip and with the other hand I went for one of her ripe little tits and give it a good hard grab and a jiggle.
"Don't expect no fucking mercy from me," I told her. "Us mad rapers don't give no mercy. Our union don't allow it."
Now she started whimpering and tried to press her legs together, but I got my legs in between hers and nudged them apart. Then I let go her boob and ran my hand down over her belly and crotch, digging all the way to be sure she felt it, and settled onto her hot little pussy to give it a taste of hand-action. Just as I'd expected, she was already soaking wet down there, and it wasn't from the bath-water. I gave the whole hairy scene a good brisk knuckling and diddling and fingernail scratching until she was damn near jumping out of her skin, and then I snaked a finger up inside the pearly gates to check out the passageway to pussy heaven.
I was some relieved to find that there wasn't no cherry blocking up the entry, although I wouldn't have been too surprised if there had been. You'd never believe some of these young teeny-boppers I've run into - swinging their asses and talking dirty and begging for it - and then they turn out to be goddam virgins all the time and scared shitless at the thought of losing it. All talk and no action.
This kid gave a violent shudder when my finger ran up her tube about two knuckle's worth and she started wailing, "Lemme go-lemme go. Don't rape me - please. I was only fooling around. I didn't mean nothing."
I gave her a good laugh on that - right square in her face. "You little cock-teasing bitch. You come in a man's house uninvited - strap bareass- throw yourself on him and pin him to the fucking floor - grab his cock and damn near pull it off - beg him to please rape you - and you didn't mean nothing by it. Bullshit, little lady. You played with firecrackers one time too often. The famous raper is gonna give you just what the hell you came here looking for. And maybe a little more besides, just so you don't forget it in a hurry."
All this time I'm finger-fucking her to beat hell and working up a good serviceable hard-on for myself in the process.
"No - no," she says. "Please lemme go, mister. I'll clear out of here right away and I won't make no more trouble for you - I promise."
I laughed again. "You talk too fucking much," I said, and I closed her mouth with a big fat slobbery kiss. She went on wiggling and whimpering and wheezing, but with my tongue a half-a-yard down her throat, she couldn't make too much noise anymore. But then she made her big mistake of the day, just when I was beginning to feel good-natured again. She bit me, the son of a bitch, right on the fucking lip. All of a sudden I went into a blind fucking rage and wanted to kill that little shit.
I raised up off her and gave her a good cunt-gouge with my inserted finger, and then I pulled my hand up out of her crotch and hauled off and belted her a beaut across the face. "Goddam little bitch!" Then I hit her another swipe on a backhand swing that really rocked her head. I never wanted to tear a fucking female apart the way I did then. But I managed to keep control of myself. It would be good enough, I figured, to give her the knock-down, slam-bang fucking of her young life - no holds barred. Pump her hot little cunt full of juice until it came oozing out of her ears.
First though she was going to get a good scare that might take about ten years off her life. I jumped up off her and stood straddling her; sucking my bloody lip. She just lay there under me, shivering all over, staring up at me with her big fawn eyes. Yeh, she was very well put together. I was gonna enjoy that sweet little body - all pink and soapy - with her pretty little titties heaving up and down with her heavy breathing. Shit - them tits'd be heaving a lot more before I got finished with her.
I grabbed onto her ankles and started dragging her down the hall. "No - please -- no," she's saying, but not very loud. Maybe she didn't want to get me stirred up any more than I was already.
I hauled her over to the bathroom and on inside. Just as I'd figured from the sudsy look of her, the bathtub was full of soapy water practically to the brim and both faucets still running full-force. I switched them off and then I picked her up, all slippery and squirming and squealing for mercy, and I dumped her kersplash down into that tub head first. Then I picked up her ankles again and lifted 'em sky-high, shoving her head down into the soapy depths, hoping she'd swallow about a gallon of it. She was trying desperately to grab onto the sides of the goddam tub and pull herself up to the surface, but with her legs and ass in the air the way I had 'em and her whole body practically standing on end, she was in a pretty fucking helpless position.
Water was splashing all over hell and I got pretty soaked myself, but she already had me all smeared up with soap anyhow, so it didn't matter to me. I let her go glub-glub a little longer and then I let go of her legs and down went her ass in a great big splash into the tub. She came thrashing up to the surface, coughing and gasping and spewing out water all over the damn room, and just about collapsed over the side of the tub, with her fat little boobs draped on the edge, little streams of water dribbling off her drenched hair and the tip of her nose and chin and the nipples of her titties. I'd say she looked like she was about two-thirds drowned.
While she was coming back to life again, I figured I'd pull my clothes off and get myself set up for round number two. I wasn't ready to let her go running home to mama yet, by God. I was gonna get myself a good soul-satisfying piece of ass out of this day's work. Goddam - I'd earned it!
So I got myself into a naked condition pretty quick and then I piled into the goddam bathtub on top of her and pulled the plug. Let the water drain away while I got things moving, and then we'd have ourselves a little sudsy fuck in the bottom of the empty tub, which ain't too bad of a frolic.
I always did like a ripe young pair of boobs, riding high and pointy on a teeny-bopper chest, and so I went to work on her cute little tangerines, giving them a good squashing and twiddling on the nipple-points. Meanwhile I was getting in a good lot of warm, wet, slippery, slimy, belly-rubbing - fitting our two fronts together and lining up the lower regions for a prick and pussy connection. She was still in a little bit of a state of shock I guess, still shivering, and was hardly resisting me at all. I was ready to give her another good belt if she tried any more of her shit, but she seemed pretty tame now, and after I'd been working on her boobs awhile and belly-bumping around, she actually started to warm up and show a little interest in what was going on. I think the nipple-twiddling was getting to her finally. She began whimpering a little and moving her hips against me, and then all of a sudden she threw her arms around my neck and pulled herself up tight against me. She humped her hips up and down a couple of times - driving her crotch against my prick, which she could feel pressing against her belly, hard as a fucking rock.
"Rape me - rape me," she whispered. "Plee-eeze!"
Here we were, back on that rape me shit again, but this time I was prepared to oblige her. We were sloshing around in shallow water by that time, as the sudsy tubful drained away underneath us. I reached a hand down under her ass and lifted the cheeks, raising her spread crotch up towards me, and wormed my prick down under her belly and laid the straining head of it right on the pussy bullseye. I held it there where she could feel it and strummed up and down with my thumb on her clit, which was swollen with her hot blood and quivering in anticipation of the imminent rape.
"Do it -- do it to me," she's whispering, all in a sweaty little passion now. "Rape me - rape me - rape me." All her hot little masturbation dreams are just about to come true for her. I bet she's thinking oh man, if my girlfriend could only see me now!
My dinkus, all slicked up with a soapy lubrication, slips up through the slats of her slit without too much fussing around and slides up into the hole as if it was machine-tooled to fit. She ain't all that tight as you might think for a little baby-faced school kid. I get the feeling from the easy entry and the matter-of-fact way she arches her hips and helps me to ride it into her that she's probably had her share of shaftings before. She could be the number-one put-out in the junior high school, for all I know. So what am I worried about? Enjoy it, man, I'm telling myself. She came here to get her cunt fucked, so sock it to her.
With my prick shoved up in her hole, she let out a little sigh of satisfaction and started humping her ass up and down, splatting her cheeks against the wet bottom of the tub with little kissing sounds, and at that point I reared back and began to do a little humping and driving of my own.
I had no intentions of letting her take over the initiative again on this little "rape" operation. From here on out it was gonna be my show, goddammit. After all - I got a reputation as "the famous raper" to protect. Whatever she expected out of this in the way of a fuck-session, I was determined to give her about twice as much action as she was looking for and make goddam sure she never forgot it.
I pulled her up against me so I could get plenty of body contact all the way down, from tits to knees and everything in between, and then I began ramming it home like a goddam pile-driver, shafting it up and down her pussy-passage like there was no to morrow.
From there on I didn't give her a chance to catch her breath for a second. Bam - bam - bam. Every time I'd sock it into her she'd let out a little puff of air and a squeak along with it, like one of them rubber baby-dolls when you squeeze it in your hand.
I kept speeding up the pace too, as long as I went - wham - wham - wham -- right up to the pop-off, and when I finally shot off my load, I must've goddam near crushed nine of her ribs, the bear-hug I put on her.
Then I let her loose and she sort of collapsed back down in the tub like she was all used up and pooped out; but I wasn't hardly begun with her. I jumped out of the tub and pulled her out after me, and she sank down in a heap on the floor at my feet with a foolish knocked-out happy-looking expression on her face.
"Come on, kid. Don't quit on me now," I said. "The fun ain't even started."
I guess she wasn't ready to quit yet at that. Down on the floor she began grabbing at my legs with her face pressing in between my knees, trying to pull herself up to get at the action area again. I dug my knee into her face and she began planting little kisses all over it.
"I'll give you something tastier than that to lick on," I told her, and I went down onto my knees so that my prick came into her range. She made a lunge for it and gobbled it into her mouth with a big wide-open bite and started slurping away on it like it was her breakfast.
I was still prick-hard enough to fuck my way through a brick wall - this hot little chick really had me turned on -- and I wasn't about to stand still for a plain old prick-licking. Maybe she thought she was gonna show me how good she was at blow-jobs, but I was still the teacher here and she still had lessons to learn.
So I grabbed onto her head and squashed her face against my belly and then I started humping again - driving my prick in and out of her lips, riding it on her tongue, reaming her gullet until I shot off my load again. I pulled out of her then and she went into a coughing and spitting fit-spewing come juices all over the joint.
"There now," I told her, "you can tell your friend that you had your face raped too."
"Gee; you're too rough" she sputtered, wiping off her smeared-up face. "Take it easy."
"Oh shit, honey," I told her. "Us rapers are a rough bunch. We just don't know when to quit. You all ready now for lesson number three?"
She gave me her big-eyed, frightened look again. "No more - please. Can't I go now? I have to - really. My mother will be looking for me."
"Well, don't you worry our pretty little head about mama," I said. "Just tell her you was out getting yourself raped by the world-famous raper. If it'll help any, I'll write you a note to take home to her."
I wasn't through with the little bitch yet. There was still one hole to go before all the cavities had been filled. I picked her up again and this time I draped her sweet carcass, belly down, over the edge of the bathtub with her head hanging inside and her legs sprawled out onto the floor.
"What are you doing?" she whined.
"Setting you up for a little continental-style rape-job. This one'll make great conversation material for you around the schoolyard."
I moved in between her legs and laid my hands on her up-thrust ass-cheeks and spread them wide, unveiling her little brown beauty to my wondering eyes.
"Oh no-o," she wailed as she felt my fingertip measuring the inside dimensions of her puckered shit-vent.
"You oughta be thankful," I said. "You don't get this kind of complete service from every goddam raper that comes along."
This asshole business wasn't exactly my usual thing, frankly, but in her case I was making an exception.
I laid my pecker-head on the mark and nudged it in enough to get it started, and then I rocked and shoved my hips until I slipped up inside far enough to get some traction. Then I leaned over her and grabbed onto her tits with a good tight grip and I began ramrodding in and out of her ass like and old sheep herder.
She started out with a lot of moaning and wailing, but once I got the groove broken in and the old weenie riding on a smooth track, she relaxed pretty good and began rocking with me, and it looked like she was beginning to enjoy the sensations.
As far as I was concerned, I had a surprisingly good fuck for my money. Her asshole gave me a lot tighter cock-squeeze than her cunt had done. I guess it hadn't had as much wear and tear from all the high school hot-rods as her hot and hairy front-gate.
I popped off pretty quick up her ass and that was the end of it - period. I'd run out of holes and I'd run out of juice - pretty well shot my load by that time. I'd emptied my balls and worked all the starch out of my weenie.
The goddam girl though - I thought she'd begging for mercy by that time - but she was full of piss and vinegar all over again, now that she was free to put her clothes on and go home.
She threw herself onto me, hugging my neck and jumping up and down the way she did in the kitchen. "Rape my pussy again - please. Just once more then I'll go. Please! Let's do it on the floor, laying flat."
I picked up her fucking clothes and threw them in her face. "Will you get your fucking ass the hell out of here quick!" I told her. "I fucked with you all I'm gonna." I laid my fist against her nose. "You get my meaning? I'm gonna count ten and then POW!"
So finally she put her goddam clothes on again and I hustled her out. In the doorway she said, "I'm bringing my friend over tomorrow - okay?"
Thanks for the warning. I said, "Yeh - you do that. I can't wait to meet your friend."
You see what I mean about being pestered? This was typical. And it went on every goddam day practically!
Isley - Did she come back with her friend next day?
Karl - Goddamn if I know. I wasn't there to find out. I moved the hell out of there the next morning -went to a hotel to get a little peace. I finally had to get out of town altogether and come here or I'd have lost my fucking sanity. Over here nobody ever heard of the "famous raper" before, thank God.
Isley-Nobody bothers you here?
Karl-It's beautiful! Used to be the phone ringing all day and all night- talk about your obscene phone calls! And I'd be sitting in my car and some fat housewife would open the door and jump in beside me-they'd follow me on the street-peek in my windows-goose me in the supermarket. I suppose Rock Hudson has to put up with that shit all the time, but I don't need it, brother!
It looked as if Karl had found peace at last in his new town, but a short time later came a report that he'd been arrested again--charged with assault and attempted rape on a seventeen-year-old girl. The charge was dropped when the girl was proven to be of very loose character and discovered to be already three months pregnant from a sixty-year-old man she has been living with.
But Karl's troubles just seem to go on and on as his rapist reputation follows him and plagues him everywhere. The last I heard-possibly just a rumor -was that he had moved to Alaska to seek peace and quiet among the Eskimos.
CHAPTER FOUR
The urge to be raped is found perhaps to a surprising extent in great numbers of young girls in their early and middle teens. At an age when girls traditionally are supposed to be dreaming of a handsome Prince Charming on a white horse, these girls apparently yearn to be taken over and virtually enslaved by crude unwashed youngmen-acid-heads and speed-freaks - who pass them around freely to friends and casual strangers for free balling.
Sex among their own circle of friends, however compulsive it might be, is not usually violent, but in any community where hippies congregate, there are always a large number of hangers-on, degenerates, half-crazed addicts, and merchants and practitioners of every kind of perversion and vice, knowing that the hippy chick is always a docile prey, and no matter how outrageous the crime committed against her, she will never ever holler cop.
The young girl joining a hippy society soon learns that she is considered fair game for every kind of exploitation and physical abuse, and that there is no one, friend or foe, able to or willing to protect her from it. No one in a hippy culture puts that much value on her "virtue" and she soon comes to believe after weeks and months of incessant drugging and fucking that her body is a pretty trashy commodity on the market.
In the 1967 heyday of the big city hippie societies such as Haight-Asbury and New York's East Village, rape was almost a daily fact of life for girls living in the crash-pads and drifting about homeless in the streets. And yet these young girls stayed with the scene and put up with all its abuses-many of them suffering numerous rapes to the point where it became a rather unremarkable aspect of their lives. It would be hard to say in many cases whether they stayed on the scene in spite of the constant outrages upon them or whether they actually welcomed the abuse. Perhaps their indifference and submissive-ness to this worst of crimes against a woman was another aspect of their rebellion against their parents and society. Fathers and mothers live forever in fear of their daughters' being molested and raped, and young girls are constantly being warned of the danger they must ever be on guard against. So perhaps the well brought-up middle class white girl, in letting herself be raped by every "impossible" type of man-junkies, winos, slum bums, Negroes- is indulging herself in just one more kind of forbidden behavior-one more way of saying-FUCK YOU, MAMA-UP YOUR ASS, DADDY!
Ursula B., a small town girl from Connecticut, had a strict Baptist upbringing and never showed any sighs of deviant impulses during her growing-up years. She had one steady boy friend all through high school, and everyone assumed that they would be married soon after graduation.
But the friends and neighbors were wrong in all kinds of ways about Ursula. She left home the day after her graduation and hasn't been back since. Now, after two years on her own, the new Ursula has nothing in common with the old. She would be considered a hippy by most people, although she herself despises the term. But since she split from home with her girl friend, Barby, Ursula has dipped into every kind of drugs and sex activity known to today's youth, and she has let herself wallow in every degradation that goes alone with those scenes.
Case 4 - Ursula B.
Ursula and Barby lit out for New York to find the action they'd been hearing so much about. In the city they moved in with a group of other young people in a crash pad-a west village loft. The group was dominated by a lanky, bald-headed Magus in a burlap toga, who had first call on all sex-partners, male and female, in the crowd. Otherwise there was considerable swapping around among the boys and girls.
Ursula's friend Barby, a spectacularly-titted specimen, was taken over by the Magus for this private and exclusive use, but Ursula had a busy time of it right from the start. Her first night in the city she was plunged into her first group sex experience, with her shivering, goose-fleshed body being sexually cunt-fucked and bung-holed by six different boys whose names she doesn't even remember. By any objective standards, she was subjected to a gang-bang that night, but she didn't think of it in those terms. In fact, over the past two years of her hippy existence, she undoubtedly has been raped between fifty and a hundred times, often in multiple assault, and yet she reported to me in our interview with a shrug of indifference that she thought she had been raped "about twice or three times at the most."
She explains it in these terms: "Rape is when somebody you never saw before- some complete stranger grabs you on the street or someplace and drags you away somewheres and beats the shit out of you and fucks you when you don't want them to. That kind of crap don't happen to me. If it's some cat that you already know and he wants to make it and you tell him fuck off but he keeps bugging you and makes you do it-that ain't rape... I guess it's all in how important the chick thinks it is in her mind that makes it rape or not. If you don't give a shit anyhow, then you wouldn't call it rape just because somebody balls you."
So her first night in the hippy pad set the pattern of "non-rape" that she's been living by ever since. This girl, one day out of high school, who had known only one boy before in her life, and slept him only twice, suddenly without any warning or preparation found herself on the receiving end of a six man prick-parade of perfect strangers. But she scoffs at any suggestion that it was a gang-rape, and she describes the event in the same matter-of-fact way in which she narrates all the rest of her depressing history.
Ursula-I wasn't all that crazy about sex, frankly. I still don't dig it for that matter, as far as big skyrocket orgasms go-at least most of the time. But the important thing is-it's not all that big a deal. Like when you're a kid, they try to tell you that the world's gonna fall down if you let some boy get in your pants. What a crock of shit.
The truth is-it don't matter who you ball or how you ball. It's a perfectly natural thing, right? If you want to do it-do it!
Isley-Yes, but that's the whole point that you don't seem to want to face up to. What if the boy wants to do it, but you don't want to? Don't you have some rights in the matter?
Ursula-Why make a federal case out of it? What's the big deal? So you do it. It's nothing, man -nothing.
Isley-Didn't it shake you at all that first night? Six boys? The first time in your life?
Ursula-(pouts) It's hard to remember anymore what I felt like then. I was so fucking glad to be away from home and with all that groovy gang, I just wanted to do whatever they did, you know? I knew there'd be a lot of balling and I'd get balled -so I was ready for it in my mind, you know? I didn't let it bug me at all. I found out that night that fucking don't mean a thing to me anyhow. It's just something you do naturally, like eating and shitting. What would you expect me to do-make a big square scene? Holler rape? Shit! The guys were getting their kicks out of it. So I was happy. It didn't cost me nothing, did it?
Isley-Was this a regular thing after that-having sex with half-a-dozen boys at a time?
Ursula-No, because I didn't stay there. The next day Browny-one of the kids- told me he was gonna split and I should come with him. He had a pad of his own and he'd been looking for a chick.
So I moved in this little room with Browny. It was weird! No furniture. Just a box to sit on and cloth bags on the floor for bedding. But it was groovy, having a place all our own.
Isley-What did you live on? Is this when you started hustling?
Ursula-No, that was way later. Browny peddle -dope, you know? I'd go pick up from these dealers and then he'd sell it to kids. We done pretty good at it. That's why he needed me, you know, cause I could get the shit for him from the big dealers. They'd give it to a chick for low price, or even for nothing sometimes.
Isley-Drug dealers would give you drugs for nothing?
Ursula-Yeh, cause I'd ball them, you know? See, a chick could pull off that shit, but a guy would have to pay full price and that'd be more than it was worth for the profit he'd make selling it again, and with all the risks of it. But lots of times if I balled one of these dealing cats, then he'd give me whatever kind of stuff he had just for that, you know?
Sometimes it's rough on you when it's some freaky cat that wants to beat up on you too or stuff lit cigarettes up your ass, but it's the only way you can work it and make out.
Isley-You exchanged sex for drugs then. What kind of people were the dealers?
Ursula-Kids-older guys-all kinds. Spades, alot of them. We dealt with a lot of different ones always.
Whoever had the stuff that day - you'd get the word.
Isley - Tell me how it worked - your part of the operation-swapping sex for drugs.
Ursula-Oh I forgot-you want all the sexy details for your story. Okay, I'll tell you about a typical time when I was first starting out on it. This is how it happened on my first day, when I didn't really know yet what to expect.
Browny sent me out in the morning to see this cat Zeke, who was always in the Green Apple Coffee Shop. Zeke told me that Ringo was dealing that day. So then I went over to Broome Street where Ringo had a ceramics shop and I went in his back room and waited. Pretty soon he came back and said all he had was grass today-no pills-no acid-nothing. Well, we always needed grass anyhow, so I told him, gimme grass. But he said he had to have cash that week - short on bread - and he couldn't give me no credit, man.
So, shit-that was it as far as I knew. No bread- no grass. Browny didn't tell me nothing about needing bread. He just said, "See if you can pick up some stuff. Anything you can get. Check with Zeke on who got a shipment."
I had a couple of other names to try, so I said, "Okay man, I'll see you," and I started to cut out of there, but Ringo stopped me.
"Wait a second. Maybe we can work something out." He took hold of my arm and began rubbing it up and down. "You Browny's chick?" he said.
I got the idea right away and I shrugged again. "I'm nobody's chick, man. I do whatever I feel like."
He pulled me up towards him and put his hands around my ass. "How much grass you need?" he said in a voice that's dripping with shit.
"Twenty bags," I said, which was what I'd heard Browny mention.
"That could be no problem," he said. "Lemme go close up the shop and then we'll talk about a blowjob maybe. How about that?"
"What's to talk about?" I said. "Go close your fucking shop."
I pulled off my dress while he was gone, figuring he might want to go beyond the blowjob and I'd work him for the most I could get. Shit, I was thinking-if this is all it takes to get stuff from the dealers, man, then we're gonna be millionaires inside of a month.
When Zeke came back he pawed me and licked me all over my tits and belly for awhile and then he dropped his pants and laid his prick out in the air and I sucked him till he popped.
That's all it was to it-no big passion thins. He had hot nuts for my head and I gave him what he wanted. I think all that mouth shit is boring, but a lot of guys dig it. It's easy to do though, and it don't take long with most guys.
So anyhow, he got his suck-off, I got my grass and I split. End of big deal number one.
Browny was glad to get the stuff, but he needed a mess of pills too right away, he said, and he sent me out again to see this black cat names Spear that always had a supply on hand.
"Watch yourself with him though," Browny warned me. "If he gives you any crap, just take off and forget about the stuff. It ain't worth it to get yourself beat up. He's a mean son of a bitch sometimes. You catch him on the wrong fucking day and he'll slit your gut as quick as he'll look at you."
I figured he was just trying to scare me, so I didn't worry about going there too much. It was about five fucking flights up in a like factory building.
When I banged on the door, this huge spade popped his head out, and he turned out to be Spear. There was five other cats in the room, all of them black, and a white chick, completely bare-ass, who never said a word while I was there-just squatted in a corner, completely stoned.
Spear didn't even ask me what I wanted. Before I got my mouth open to speak he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. "Sit down over there with the other chick," he said. "We'll get to you in a minute."
"I need some..." I started to say.
"We know what the fuck you need," he said, and they all laughed.
I sat down beside the bare-ass girl and she just kept smiling at me with her glassy eyes. After awhile one of the spades came over and sat down with me and he pulled up my shirt and started feeling on one of my boobs. I was thinking, "Here we go again," but I didn't say nothing or make any moves.
Isley-Did you expect that these black men were probably going to rape you? Weren't you frightened at all after the warnings that Browny gave you? You make it all sound so matter-of-fact.
Ursula-No, I wasn't scared. I figure on getting fucked, but they got no reason to hurt me. The other chick don't look like she's hurt-she ain't beat up or nothing. Just stoned out of her mind. I'll tell you- most of the time when a check gets herself beat up, it's only because she wouldn't do what some guy wanted to do. As long as you don't give a shit and let a guy do his thing with you, then he got no reason to beat you up.
Anyway, after awhile Spear said, "Come over here, hey." I got up and went to him. He looked me over for a second and then he said, "You looking for something special?"
I said: "I come for Browny." That was supposed to explain everything.
"You Browny's new chick?"
I nodded. "Uh-huh."
"You got some bread on you?" he said.
"Uh-uh."
The guy who was feeling my boob before said, "She got no bread on her, man, but she sure got a lot of good meat."
Spear said, "Unwrap the meat, baby. Let's get a look at the pork and the giblets."
I didn't know what they was talking about and I just stood there looking dumb.
"You need some help with the buttons?" he said.
That gave me a clue. "You want me to strip?"
He just waved his hand at me, like move it, baby.
So I went ahead and took everything off and then they just let me stand there naked in front of them for awhile while they all stared at me up and down and talked about what nice boobs I had and I was a little too fat in the ass and if I stuck around they'd soon work that off me and how you didn't often see a natural blonde pussy-bush like mine and all shit like that. And all the time they're passing a joint around among them, but nobody ever offered me a drag on it.
Finally Spear said, "Anybody want it?"
Somebody behind me was playing feelsies with my ass. He said. "I bet you she's scared shitless of all us black mother-fuckers. What d'you bet?"
"You scared of us?" Spear asked me.
I shrugged. "No. Why should I be?"
"Cause we're gonna fuck your ass off before we let you out of here, is why," he said.
I guess they were just testing me out or something. But they wasn't scaring me none. I never screwed no black boys before then, but it was all the same to me.
"You as good a piece of ass as that last chick Browny had?" Spear asked me.
I just shrugged again.
"Let's all of us find out." He unzipped his fly and whipped out his big black prick. He flipped it up and down a couple of times in his hand, saying, "Hoo-whee-lookee here!" and then he beckoned to me. "Get down on it, baby. Blow my brains for me like Sylvia used to do. It's the dues you pay if you wanta walk out of here alive."
I knelt down in front of him and started working on his prick with my hands, sort of shaping it up and getting it started. I peeled back the skin on the head of it and then began licking and kissing it until it swelled up good and hard.
It looked like it was gonna be a big day for blow-jobs for me. At least my pussy was getting a rest so far. It was still a little sore from all the workouts Browny had been giving it, and this cat Spear had a prick twice the size of Browny's or any of the white boys I'd had in me up to then. I wasn't all that anxious to try and see how far my pussy could stretch. If all the other guys there was hung like Spear, I was hoping they'd settle for suck-offs too and I'd be just as happy. But I sure wasn't gonna say nothing. It was up to them, what they wanted.
While I was on my knees licking his weenie, a couple of the other cats started fooling around my body, playing with my nipples and pulling my tits every which way and finger-fucking my cunt from behind and stink-fingering my asshole, checking out how goosey I was, trying to make me jump.
When Spear's prick shot its load off, he grabbed hold of my ears and pulled my face in against his belly and his prick slid way to the back of my mouth and spurted out all his goo down deep in my throat. It was practically strangling me, so I got choking and spewing up, but he held me against him and kept his prick stuffed in my face until he'd emptied his nuts into me and I'd swallowed everything down.
When he let me loose finally I was so dizzy in the head I almost fell down flat, but the other guys held me up till I got my head back. Spear said, "You're a hard worker, baby, but you need a lots of practice. These cats'll help you out though. They don't charge nothing for practice time."
One of the guys had all his clothes off then, and he took hold of my shoulders and laid me down flat on my back on the floor. He sprawled out on top of me and pulled my legs apart and lifted my knees up beside his hips, and then he licked his fingers and pried open my pussy. So it began to look like I was gonna get myself fucked after all. But no big deal.
He got a good grip on one tit and then started kissing me, squashing my lips down hard and digging them with his teeth, and then he sucked my tongue right outta my mouth and pulled it into his. And down below I could feel his prick nudging up into my cunt a little bit at a time. It was pretty slow progress cause it was a real tight fit. I could tell he was stretching the shit out of me and I was hoping he wouldn't tear me the way some guys do. His prick wasn't as long as Spear's, but it was heavy and fat, with a big blunt knob on the head end of it.
He gave me quite a time, that one-chewing and reaming my mouth out, jerking at my tit like he thought he was milking a fucking goat or something, and ramming his fat bat up and down my slot real hard, with his balls wanging against my ass underneath. But he came pretty quick and then he got up off me right away. One thing about these spades, they was all quick about it.
The next guy was lots easier-just a nice easy fuck without laying a hand on me. Then I gave a couple more blowjobs to the rest of them and that finished it. It wasn't too bad at all, the way it worked out for me.
It could've been a lot worse, according to what some other kids told me later. A lot of chicks got beat up pretty bad at Spear's, and burned with cigarettes and all that kind of sick shit. Some days, I guess, he was in a real mean mood and he'd take it out on whatever white chick came along. So I happened to hit him on a good day maybe. In fact Browny was so surprised when I got home that quick with the stuff, he couldn't believe it. He thought, since I was a new chick, Spear would keep me there all day and try to get me stoned. I guess maybe if I'd gave them any shit and didn't do all the things they wanted, then they might've got pissed off and stomped me, but I didn't make no trouble for them.
Isley-Didn't you ever go back there again?
Ursula-No, the whole dope thing crapped out about a week after I started in it. Browny heard the heat was onto him and he went back home to his parents to lay low for awhile. He told me that I should split until he came back to the city and he'd see me in a month or something.
Isley-So you were on your own again?
Ursula-No, the whole dope thing crapped out about a week after I started in it. Browny heard the heat was onto him and he went back home to his parents to lay low for awhile. He told me that I should split until he came back to the city and he'd see me in a month or something.
Isley-So you were on your own again?
Ursula-Yeh, but not for too long. There's always somebody around that has a place where you can go. I went with these two brothers that I had met. They was into a weird witchcraft bag and they said they needed a chick to help them cast spells and exorcise demons and be their human altar for some of their ritual ceremonies. So that's how I got into that whacked-out scene.
They would mix up these yicky magic potions- made out of my menstrual blood and fingernail scrapings and boiled piss and everything like that- and they'd actually drink 'em.
They was always trying to put evil spells on things that they didn't dig or people that bugged them. My body would be the altar when they'd do that. They'd tie me down bare-ass over a big flat stone that they brought back from the wilds of New Jersey, and they'd burn this powder on my belly - dried dog shit and all such yick.
And before them ceremonies they'd always have to purify my body-drive out the evil spirits inside me before I could be the altar. They done that by whipping me all over with snake-skins. That wasn't too bad to take-whipping never bothered me so much-but that burning shit on my belly was murder! I still got a scar on me from that.
Then there was this other thing they done-making offerings to the earth goddess-and they done that by sticking a long red candle up in my snatch and lighting the far end. And I'd have to lay there spread-eagled out all the time that stupid candle was burning down closer and closer to my cunt until it was practically singeing the hairs off my fucking crotch before they'd douse it out by dumping a whole big bowl of piss all over my belly.
I mean, fucking and even beating up I don't mind, but this kind of shit-forget it!
Isley-Did you believe in all that witchcraft mum-bo jumbo?
Ursula-Witchcraft I believe in, but not that kind of crap they did. They didn't know nothing about it really. I betcha they made up all them rituals themselves.
I would've got out of there quicker, but I didn't have no other place at the time. Then I heard them talking about getting hold of a newborn baby from this freaked-out pregnant chick they knew, and they were gonna sacrifice the baby to the devil. Christ! I didn't want no part in that kind of shit. So that's when I split from them.
This other kid, Larry that I knew, was gonna take off for Florida right away in a car and he was looking for riders, so I went along with him and these two other guys. That was pretty groovy. You could say we balled our way to Florida. Or at least I did.
The thing was, we didn't have no bread hardly at all for gas or food or nothing, so we'd stop at gas stations out in the country where there was just one guy working there and we'd tell him that we'd swap him a piece of ass for a tank of gas. Usually they'd go for it, so I got to do a lot of screwing in gas stations all along the way.
And then we'd get groceries like that too. These little stores out on the highway - I'd ball some old bastard in his back room that hadn't had a piece of ass in twenty years, and he'd come across with all kinds of fruit, bananas, bread, sliced meat and shit like that in return for getting laid. So we ate pretty good in the car most of the time.
But once in a gas station the guy got mad as hell when I offered to ball him and he told us, "Get the fuck out of here, you goddam hippies," and then he must have called the fuzz, cause this bastard in a cop car chased us from the next town and pulled us over.
He dragged us out of the car and searched inside it for dope, and then he shook us all down-ran his hands all over me the way they do, getting his feels. All he found was one joint on Larry, but that was enough to do it for us. He was gonna bust us and we thought we was dead, man-right there. But Larry talked to him awhile, and the next thing I knew the cop told me to get in his car, and he drove me off with him about a mile down the road and turned up a dirt path.
I didn't know what the fuck was going on; but I didn't say nothing. He was whistling to himself and grinning all over the place, so I figured out before too long what must be happening. Just another swap-deal like in the gas stations. Only this time my ass was buying us out of a grass bust.
We pulled up under some trees and he opened the back door and slapped his hand down on the seat, showing me where I was supposed to spread it.
Well, I never balled a cop before, but it turned out to be not so different from any other guys. He took off his jacket and crawled in on top of me, braced himself with good firm grips on my ass and one tit, and then he socked it to me like he was doing a big heavy job of work. Once he screwed his prick in, he went at me real hot and heavy, dripping sweat all over me, slamming the shit out of my cunt-the way you'd expect from a cop, I guess. I figured it was no harm to give him a little ass action-let him think he was turning me on-cause I knew he had us by the balls. I was ready to give him the complete works if he wanted it-suck-off or anything else. But I sure wasn't making no suggestions about it to him, or he was just as apt to run me in for being a pervert or something. Down in some of them southern places, they think sucking on somebody is a federal case, from what I've heard.
But it was all over pretty quick anyhow-he wasn't too hard to please. He gave me a little talking to after he was done, the way a lot of old guys like to do. After they fuck you and have their pleasure then they start telling you that fucking ain't nice for a sweet chick like you, and you oughta get away from all them bad companions that's leading you astray.
So this cop was just like all the rest. He told me I should ditch them dirty long-hair hippy faggots I was with and go back home to my folks. I told him thanks a lot and I'd probably do that, which just tickled the shit out of him, I guess.
He drove me back to Larry and the boys, telling me all the way what a nice young girl I was and he had a daughter just the same age. I practically puked listening to his shit.
Then he told the boys to get their asses out of the county and keep right on moving if they wanted to stay alive and healthy. We all smiled and told him thanks again, and then we took off, glad to be rid of that stupid ass finally.
Isley-Did you ever get to Florida?
Ursula-I never got there yet, to tell the truth. In Carolina, I think it was, we heard about a commune that was supposed to be real groovy. Some kids told us that just came from there. It was way up in the hills away from everything, and they had all the dope you wanted and everybody lived high all the time and it was just beautiful, the way it sounded.
We didn't really have nothing to go to in Florida -it was just a place, you know? So we headed west from where we was and drove up into - I guess it was Tennessee or something like that - this real wild country, looking for the place.
It was way away from cities and everything-just fantastic. There was this big rundown old house about a hundred years old that all the kids was living in-and they had little babies and young kids and everything there. Whole families!
There was woods all around and a river for swimming. I loved it when I first seen it, man. I thought I'd like to stay there forever if I could. But Larry and the guys decided they'd head out for Florida after all, and after a couple of days they took off again and left me there. I coulda gone with 'em, but I didn't care nothing about Florida actually. It couldn't have been any groovier than that place, as far as I could see.
The only trouble for me-I found out they wouldn't let a chick stay there just on her own for more than one week. That's what everybody told me. You had to be somebody's chick, you know? Belong to one of the guys there. Or else other wise you had to get cleared with Opie. He was the cat that set up the whole commune in the first place-kind of an old guy - thirty-five maybe - and he was the absolute boss of everybody there. He made all the rules for everyone.
He lived off in a separate house by himself with his own chicks-a little one-room place-and I Went down the hill to the house to see him and find out if he'd let me stick around. I'd only seen him a couple of times and didn't hardly know him at all. He was a great big guy who looked sort of like Mister Clean- his head was all shaved bald and he had rings in both his ears.
He had eight other chicks there already living with him that were his private "wives"-all crowded in together in this one room-and he told me that if I wanted to stay in the commune I'd have to join his happy family and move in with him.
I told him - why not? Shit - it looked like real groovy living - laying around in a state of high all the time - screwing whenever you felt like it - never bothering to wear no clothes if you didn't want to. And the other chicks all looked like a real friendly bunch.
I figured this Opie cat had to be one hell of a stud if he was balling all eight of these chicks regular, but one of them, Marge, clued me in.
"He don't ball all that much. He loans us out thought to the other guys. Lets them screw the chicks in return for favors the guys do him. He uses us like money - passes us from one to the other and then we get passed back again. We should have dollar signs tattooed on our asses.
If you're worried about getting balled though, just wait till you get nailed for a game day. You'll get plenty of balling then all right - all you can handle, don't worry."
Marge didn't fill me in on any of the details, but I found out the score soon enough. It turned out it wasn't all just living in paradise for the chicks. It's true there was all the drugs you wanted - acid, or you name it - but otherwise things weren't so groovy. Opie believed in male supremacy absolutely, which is okay with me, but he was a fucking sadist about it. He had about a million rules of behavior for the chicks and he was always dealing out these fiendish punishments to anybody who fucked up in any way. And every little fuck-up he'd mark up beside your name on the wall, and whenever you got ten fuck-up marks, they'd have a "game-day" for you and do all kinds of weird things to you in front of the whole gang.
But the ordinary day-to-day punishments was bad enough, and since I was always forgetting the stupid rules, I got a first-hand taste of most of 'em real soon.
Isley - What kind of rules did he have?
Ursula - Oh, like - you're not supposed to use drugs on a day when you're taking care of the young kids - or they'd blame you if a kid got hurt when you was supposed to be watching him - and rules about washing clothes and dishes - and not taking a leak or crapping anywheres near the houses - shit like that.
A lot of it was a drag, cause you'd get high and you'd forget about everything and fuck up all kinds of ways.
Isley - How were you punished?
Ursula - The simplest thing was just to cut off your drugs - cool you right down. But that didn't work too good cause you could always bum stuff off another chick. But then if you got caught, you and her both would get worse punishments.
One thing Opie would do is tie you up to a tree-trunk all day, bare-ass, and you'd just hang there on the fucking ropes and cook in the goddam sun. No water-nothing. Worse even than that was when they'd hang you off the end of a limb by your wrists and leave you dangling. They done that to me once when I let the food burn one day on the stove. They strung me up naked like that, and for two days afterwards my arms felt like they was out of the sockets. And besides that I got a beautiful set of blisters all over the front of me from the sunburn. Yee-yow!
When he was really mad with you though, he'd hang you up by your ankles, with your head dangling about an inch from the dusty ground, and every time the wind blew you'd eat a peck of that fucking red clay they got down there in that part of the world. Yick!
I had that just for an hour one day and I passed out completely long before the time was even up.
Another punishment of his that he gave me one day - he turned me over to the small kids, to let them punish me. There was these four kids that hung around there with us all the time. I don't know who their parents were - runaway kids maybe. There was three boys about eight-ten-twelve - and a girl nine. I fucked up some way or other, and the punishment Opie laid on me was I had to be a slave to them four bratty bastards for one whole day. Do any fucking thing they ordered me to do. Don't think they didn't love that, cause they wanted to get even with me for all the times when I'd given them any shit.
It all started off nice and friendly and playful in the morning. They had me playing dodge ball with them and tag games and all that around the house, but they was just getting me set up for the big surprises later, those little pricks.
Danny, the oldest boy, said to me, "You gotta take us on a hike up the woods."
I said, "Okay, we'll go to the hilltop."
"Shut up," he said. "We'll go where we want to go. You don't tell us where."
I said, "Yes, master."
So we took off up the trail with me in my blue jeans and a shirt. Around the house you'd often go practically bare-ass -just wear panties, maybe - and the young kids hardly ever wore any clothes at all actually, but going off in the woods there was thorns and poison ivy to worry about.
We went about a mile or so before the fun started. "Where are we heading?" I asked Danny. I'd never been on this path before, and the kids knew their way around the woods better than I did.
"Stop right here," he said. "This place is good enough."
We was in a shady pine grove. "Good place for a picnic," I said. "We should've brought sandwiches."
All of a sudden right then the kids let out an Indian yell and they all jumped on me at once. And this wasn't playing - they was really rough, dragging me down to the ground and pulling my shirt half off and grabbing at my boobs.
"Come on! Cut the shit, you bastards!" I yelled at them. Slave or no slave - fuck this.
But they got me pinned and Danny was sprawled out flat across my head and chest, with my shirt pulled up over my face so I couldn't see or breathe, either one. And the other kids are pulling my fucking pants off. I was kicking like crazy, but a lot of good it did. The little fucking wildcats had me stripped bare-ass naked before I knew it - shoes - shirt- every fucking thing.
Then they let me loose and I jumped up to get after them, but they kept throwing my clothes back and forth between them and the only thing I got back was one shoe, which wasn't much use to me. And then that wise little son of a bitch Danny threw my shirt and jeans way the hell up into a tree.
"You climb up there and get them, you little motherfucker," I yelled at him.
They all just laughed. "You gotta go up and get 'em," Danny said. "Climb the tree, slave. We order you!"
Well shit - I hadn't got no choice. I was gonna have to climb that fucking tree or else get my ass torn to ribbons by brambles on the way back. But climbing trees wasn't exactly my thing and I didn't know if I could make it.
"You kids gotta gimme a boost up, goddammit," I told them.
They said they would, and a couple of them crouched down and gave me their backs to step up onto. I caught hold of the lowest limb and tried to pull myself up. Once I got onto it I'd be okay from there. "Boost me-boost me!" I yelled, kicking my legs, dangling in the air, trying to haul myself up, but my arms was too weak and my ass was too heavy.
Then them little fuckers, instead of boosting me, started poking sticks up under my ass, goosing me and jabbing at my pussy and all that smart shit. I let out a yell and dropped down to the ground again.
"You little cocksuckers - I'll fix you!" They was laughing like fools at me. I'd never get up that fucking tree unless they helped me, but they were having themselves a ball poking me with their fucking sticks and whacking at me while I lay there helpless on the ground. What can you do when they're coming at you from four sides at once. I yelled, "What are you - trying to kill me? "
That was a dumb thing for me to say. They started chanting, "Kill - kill," and really clobbering me then. I had to protect my face, and my poor boobs were catching hell. I went down flat on my face and covered up my head, but they kept up their goddam attack - half of them whacking and half of them jabbing - trying to run the fucking points of the sticks up my snatch, for God's sakes!
I really thought they was gonna kill me, but then they got tired or something all of a sudden and quit, and Danny said, "I'll climb up and get your clothes for you, Ursula, but first you gotta let us all fuck you."
That gave me a jolt. Was he kidding or not? Who could tell? These kids knew what sex was all about without any doubts. They seen us all screwing and sucking around often enough right out in the broad daylight. There was no privacy and no bashfulness in any of that crowd. Some of the chicks would screw around with these little kids too sometimes, and diddle them and stuff, but I had never got into that cradle-robbing scene. But if Danny was serious, I'd rather have their dinky weenies jabbing up into me than them goddamn long pointy sticks.
I rolled over and sat up. The kids was all in a circle, grinning down at me, and Danny was already giving his prick some hand exercise in preparation. I had to laugh. This was probably what the sly little bastards had planned for me right from the beginning. Well, what the hell - it couldn't hurt, I figured. Maybe if I gave them all an orgasm it would put them into a good mood and save me some misery the rest of the day.
I said, "You think you're men enough to screw a woman, you little peanut-pricks? Go ahead and try."
I lay back on my elbows and gave 'em a good leg-spread. "There it is, baby - wide open and winking at you, goddammit. So what the fuck are you gonna do about it? Just stand there and look at it?"
Now that it came right down to the actual prick in the hole business, I guess they was all a little nervous, and nobody was too anxious to make the first move.
"Come on, goddammit," I said to Danny. "Lay down here on me and let's go. Show them other kids how you do it."
He flopped down between my legs and scrambled up over my belly like a lizard. His little knob of a prick bumped hard against my crotch, and he pressed it against me and began wiggling and humping his hips around, like he'd seen the big boys do it.
"You gotta get it in the hole first," I told him, and started to laugh. Well, that done it. He didn't much like being laughed at. He started punching away at my ribs and tits - madder'n hell.
"Who the fuck are you laughing at?" Pow - pow.
I grabbed hold of his wrists and said, "Hold it - hold it, baby. Lemme give you a hand with it. No sense getting pissed off."
I moved his ass into a better position and arched my hips up to him, and then I helped him feed his meat up into my pussy, but it was a pretty loose fit. I clamped shut on his prick as good as I could and tried to give him a little friction, but it wasn't much use. As soon as he started rocking it, we'd come apart again.
"This ain't gonna work out, man," I told him, being real careful this time not to laugh. "I just got too big a socket for the size of your plug."
I figured it was better if I took the blame onto myself for the bum connection. The other kids all laughed themselves silly over our fucked-up try at screwing, but Danny wasn't ready to give up on it yet. He had himself a hard-on and he was bound he'd get some kind of action out of me.
He got up to his knees and pushed me back down again. "Stay down," he said. "You gotta do it with your mouth. You gotta suck everybody instead."
So that was it-back to the old blowjobbing business again for me. They made me go flat on my back and then they all took turns laying their bellies over my face and feeding me their pricks for suck-offs, and I gave them a pretty good job of dick-licking, one after the other, till they was all satisfied. At least it was restful for me, doing it flat out on the ground that way, but it got kind of hard to breathe with them smothering my face with their bellies.
Even Bee Bee the little girl got into the act. She squatted down over me and I gave her a good tongue-diddling on her little clit that she won't forget in a hurry. I just hope I didn't turn the poor kid into a raging lesbian at that early age. But I guess she was already getting plenty of straight sex tossed at her from all them boys she played with all the time.
When I'd made them all happy I said, "Okay, that's my part of the deal. Now how about getting my goddam clothes down outta that fucking tree like you promised. What am I supposed to do - walk home bare-ass?"
There I was - opening my stupid mouth again. They all started jumping up and down, yelling and slapping and pointing their fingers. "Gotta go home bare-ass! Ha ha. Bare-ass - bare-ass!"
"Come on, cut the shit," I yelled back at them. "You said you'd get them clothes down for me, you little bastards. This ain't funny."
But they thought it was the biggest fucking joke in history and there was nothing I could do. The next thing I knew they all went racing off into the woods, back towards camp, and left me standing there like a fucking jackass, naked as a fucking jaybird and all alone, five miles out in the fucking woods. I wasn't even too sure I knew which goddam path to take to get back.
I was pretty pissed-off, by God. It took me about twenty minutes to find my missing shoe where they'd thrown it into the bushes, and then I had to try to climb that motherfucking pine tree for my shirt and blue jeans.
I tried every way I could to get up it, but it wasn't no use with nobody to boost me and nothing to climb on. All I got out of it was a lot of skin scraped off and a mess of sore bumps and bruises. And in the end I had no choice except to go thrashing all the way back to camp through the goddam thorns and brambles in the bare-ass nude, and I scratched the living shit out of myself from the ass on down. It's just a lucky thing I had the shoes on my feet or I would never have made it at all.
That's just a sample for you though of the things that went on that I had to put up with in that commune. It wasn't as groovy as I thought it was gonna be at first, with all them stupid punishments laid on you all the time.
Isley - All you talk about is rules and punishments. It doesn't sound like a very loving scene, the way you describe it. And you haven't mentioned much about specific sex activity.
Ursula - Yeh, well, the thing is, most of the guys had their own chicks there with them and they didn't fuck around with Opie's girls too much unless he gave 'em a green light on it. So I never did get too much action.
Isley - Not even with Opie?
Ursula - At the time I was there Opie was mostly making it with this one Chinese chick and he hardly ever messed with me at all. I don't think he dug me too much, frankly. He told me once I had tits like a fucking cow. He liked chicks really skinny for some reason.
Isley - why did you stop there then?
Ursula - Well, like I say, they kept you in drugs pretty good. And I didn't have no place else to go, man. There was no way for me to break outta there with no friends to help me or nothing. But then finally it just got to be too much. When it came my turn for a "game day" is when I finally said fuck this.
I told you they had these game days for chicks whenever they got ten fuck-up marks against your name. It didn't take me long to get my full quota. And the worst thing was, I didn't know what the hell to expect, since I'd never seen any of the other chicks go through it yet.
On the fatal day, the first thing they done was give me a dose of acid - got me off and flying. That was part of the fun for everybody else there - for the chick in the game to be wigged out of her mind so she hardly knew what the fuck was happening to her when the shit started.
So don't expect no blow-by-blow rundown on what they done to me. I don't remember half of it. All I've got is a vague recollection of about five guys at once screwing me about ten different ways, with a whole bunch of other people crowded around us - singing and clapping their hands and pulling on my arms and legs and everything. The only other thing I remember is like running a gauntlet. Everybody standing in two lines with paddles and belts in their hands, and me running between them and getting clobbered.
It must've been about two days later when I came down out of orbit again and all I can tell you is I had bruises all over me everywhere and my cunt and ass were sore like somebody had been reaming 'em out with a barbed harpoon.
That's when I figured I'd had it once and for all with that freaky bunch. I was getting lonesome for the city anyhow, so I collected my stuff together and took off from there early one morning without saying a fucking word to anybody.
I hiked up the hill through the woods to the main highway and I bummed a ride with this salesman from Memphis that came along. He was heading north, which was all I cared about, and he said if I'd go along with him and shack up that night in a motel, then the next day he'd take me all the way to Washington D.C. So I told him sure, why the hell not?
In the motel we balled for awhile - straight fucking - but he was mostly interested in my boobs it turned out. He kept telling me, "Jesus H. Christ, you got a gorgeous pair of jugs on you, kid. What a set of knockers!" That was all he could talk about. He kept on playing with 'em and licking them all over with his tongue and chewing on my nipples the way old guys like to do. All that tit-shit is boring to me, but I let him do his thing as long as he was happy. Then he wanted to stick his prick up between my tits, and he told me to squash them together around his prick and squeeze tight on him while he jerked himself in and out like he was fucking me - fucking my tits, you know? And after awhile he popped his nuts all over my goddam chest. What a slob! The weird thing was he got a bigger charge out of screwing my tits than he did from screwing my pussy.
I didn't sleep too good for some reason after that - kept on waking up all night - and when it started to get light in the morning I got a bright idea. I decided I'd rob this creep - he had a hell of a roll of bills on him - and then I'd split from there before he woke up. It would be easy enough for me to get a ride from somebody else out on the highway - I didn't need this jerk to get me to Washington.
The only trouble was he caught me at it. He must've been watching me - just pretending to be asleep, the bastard. I was fishing through his pants and all of a sudden he came flying out of bed like a shot and pounced on me.
"Goddam thieving little bitch!" he yelled, and he started clobbering the shit out of me with his fists like he thought he was Cassius Clay or something. I never got punched like that before. And kicking too. I was lucky he didn't have no shoes on or he would've killed me.
Then he threw me out the fucking door and I was glad to get away alive. I was wishing I had a knife on me though and I would've slashed the shit out of that bastard's tires before I took off.
I went in the coffee shop ladies room and cleaned up my bloody nose and then I hit the highway again, and before long I got a lift from two kids in an old car. That was a dumb mistake though. I should've known that an old heap like theirs wouldn't be going far enough to do me much good. They was only heading for the next town, about five miles up, and then I wasted a whole half-a-day with them besides because they wouldn't let me out until they finished screwing around with me.
They drove all over the place with me for a couple of hours - just going in circles, I guess - and then each one took turns driving while the other one messed around with me in the back seat. They was like just high school kids, you know? And they acted like they hadn't balled a chick in a month, they was so horny and anxious. They kept on swapping back and forth on me and I thought they'd never get their bellyfull of it and let me loose.
Then just when I thought they was ready to call it quits finally, one of them said, "Hey, man - how about the lumber yard?"
So then they drove to this lumber yard where there didn't seem to be nobody around, and they parked the car way out in the middle of all these huge stacks of lumber and then they tried to both ball me at once - one up my cunt and the other up my ass. I could tell they hadn't ever tried it that way before and they had all kinds of trouble getting their pricks up both my holes at once, but I was goddam if I was gonna give 'em any help with it. They never did make a good enough connection in my ass to do them any good, so after awhile they gave it up and both of them screwed my pussy the straight way one more time.
Then they drove me back out to the highway and left me off. I tried to hustle some bread from them before they took off, but they was as flat as I was. I was pretty hungry by then, not having had no breakfast except a chocolate bar.
I finally got smart after that though and hooked onto a big trailer truck for my next lift - the kind that has all them interstate license plates on it. You know he's gonna be going a long ways. So this oil truck driver picked me up and he was real nice and anxious to please, so the first time I mentioned being hungry he stopped right away and bought me lunch.
I thought maybe he was queer or something though, cause all afternoon he never mentioned nothing about making it with me or ever tried to fuck around in any way, but then all of a sudden late in the day he pulled over into a rest area beside the road and just jumped me without no warning or nothing and started tearing at my shirt - grabbing for my boobs like a goddam sex maniac. That pissed me off, cause he popped a couple of my buttons and ripped the goddam pocket and why the fuck didn't he just tell me he wanted to ball instead of this wild ape-man shit? So I started fighting him, yelling, "Come on - cut the crap - what's with you, man?"
I got the door open and broke away from him and jumped out, but he was right after me and he dragged me down to the ground. It was the god-damdest thing- he just went wild all of a sudden - completely freaked-out.
Even though I was saying, "Okay, man - it's okay. Cool it- I'll let you - take it easy!" he just got all the rougher and went on yanking at my jeans, pulling them down. I tried just relaxing completely and not resisting him at all, but that didn't cool him a bit. He got my pants off and my shirt all ripped open and then he came down on top of me like a ten-ton load of bricks. He practically ripped my crotch, yanking my legs apart, and then he began thumb-fucking me real rough, twisting it around and around inside me and gouging with his goddam nail.
He kept saying, "Fucking hippy - fucking hippy," over and over again. Then wham - he stuck his cock up me and started whanging away, driving it home like a fucking jackhammer. It wasn't the roughest fuck I ever had, but it was no fun with his two-hundred pounds of beef crushing me down and a mess of sharp pointy rocks stabbing my ass underneath.
The weird thing is, though, as soon as the nut was finished pumping off, he got right off me and lifted me up to my feet, and he was all sweet and apologetic about the whole stupid thing.
"I'm awful sorry, kid - I didn't hurt you, did I? I just lost my head - I swear. I don't know what the hell came over me there. Oh God, this is awful!"
I told him it didn't matter shit to me and he might as well forget it, but how about my shirt all ripped down the front? Was I supposed to go parading around from now on with my boobs poking out or what?
He said don't worry - he'd take care of it. And damn if he didn't pull in at the next shopping center and buy me a new shirt, a couple of dresses, and gimma twenty bucks cash besides. And then when he dropped me in Philadelphia, he bought me a ticket and put me on the bus for New York City, which I thought was pretty groovy. So the whole thing didn't turn out too bad for me after all. I got back home to the city richer than when I left.
Ursula has been back in New York for about two years now. She still lives the "hippy" life, although she is hardly the simple flower-child any longer, if she ever was. She has learned to get by on her wits, any way she has to.
Her life has settled down into a simple pattern because her needs are simple. As long as she gets her daily drug-dosage, she can "function," which is all that matters to her in life. And in return for the necessary drugs, she deals out the only piece of goods that she has to trade with - her ever-available, ever-serviceable balloon-titted teeny-bopper body. She lays it out for anyone she has to - any way she has to - and that has become the pattern of her days - putting out and turning on.
And now in the twenty-four-hour-a-day high state she presently "functions" in, she swears to me with a cackling laugh that "life is a ball, man - a ball!"
CHAPTER FIVE
The most pathetic type of rape-seeker is the woman who not only needs to be ravished, but craves a maximum amount of humiliation and degradation along with it. Simple rape is not enough for her. If the man forces her to perform perverted sex acts, so much the better. There is no limit to the masochistic lows such women will sink to, allowing themselves to be beaten, tormented, branded, tattooed - even disfigured and mutilated in their never-ending search for more and more debasement.
The following case is a particularly strange example of this kind of sick drive at work in a very attractive and cultured twenty-eight-year-old woman. Andrea B. in her early twenties was an associate editor of a fashion magazine, wife and mother, but her perverse drives and the terrible consequences of them have ended her career and her marriage and have taken her children from her. She has been in and out of therapy several times, twice committed to hospitals, but there seems to be no permanent help for her. Once she is on her own again, she always has reverted to her old habits of self-destruction.
She lives alone now, still supported by her ex-husband, although he has nothing to do with her otherwise. Her only "friends" these days are a coterie of perverse "artistic" young men and women who amuse themselves with her and abuse her hospitality by using her house as their headquarters, party grounds and dope cache, while providing her a full measure of the degradation and sexual abuse that she requires.
I arranged an interview session with her through an associate of these friendly parasites, a piano player named Spooks, and prior to that he was able to supply much basic information to me about Andrea's history and habits. He also warned me that her consciousness was a bit fuzzed these days, with all the chemical mind-benders she was into, and so he sat in with us at the interview to help interpret and embellish her sometimes surrealistic recollections.
The following account then is a compilation of what Spooks first told me in private conversation, and then later what they both told me together, in the most bizarre interview situation I've ever run into.
Case 5 Andrea B.
Spooks - I first saw Andrea at an arte bizarre party - a gathering of very far-out cats on the sick-fringe of the art world. The costumes were supposed to be futuristic - mostly pretty much on the naked side, with psychedelic designs in body paint and all that super-arty shit.
And the decorations all around the place were erotic works of art of all kinds - painting and sculpture - mostly in the area of sadistic eroticism.
But the piece of "sculpture" that attracted the most attention was a living, breathing specimen, featuring our good friend Andrea in the stark bare-ass nude. At that time I didn't know who she was though. It looked at first glance like an exhibit from the horror dungeon of Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, only you soon noticed that this was no wax figure you were looking at. Somebody had strapped up this lovely woman, spread-eagled against a big old wagon wheel, which was slowly turning around and around. And all over her body were bloody stripes-burn-marks-purple bruises, including the ugliest-looking black eye I've ever seen. She looked as if she'd been tortured every way there is, but it was all done with makeup. It made my stomach turn over to look at her, but everybody else seemed to think it was a hell of a joke. They all seemed to know who she was, and that apparently made the joke all the more hilarious to them.
All I could think of was that it had to be goddammed uncomfortable for that poor girl, whoever she was, hanging there like that for a couple of hours, all stretched out in four directions and turning over and over endlessly. She looked as pale as death, although that could have been makeup too. She sure had incredible self-control though- I never once saw her move a muscle or blink her eyes.
I told someone that I thought the whole thing was pretty sick, but he said, "Don't worry about her. That's only some whore they picked up. She's collecting her usual fee for the night. She's had rougher times than this in her career, you can bet."
But then somebody else told me, "She's no whore. That's the notorious Andrea. Just a weird bird, doing her thing. She digs that bondage and torture shit for real."
I remarked, "She's one hell of a beautiful-looking chick, by God-even with all the black and blue makeup."
He laughed and said, "Don't make any bets that it's all makeup, baby. Black and blue is her natural skin-tone."
I was kind of fascinated-I said I'd love to meet her.
"That won't be hard at all," he said. "She's available to be met. Just snap your fingers and tell her what's your particular pleasure."
"I thought somebody said she's not a whore," I said.
"No-she's not. Whores are for hire. The lovely Andrea is absolutely free. Have you read The Story of O? That's exactly like Andrea. Completely passive-completely submissive. I don't know who it was that trained her that way in the first place, but he did his job to perfection. Or maybe she was just born that way."
"Would you call her a nymphomaniac?" I said.
He laughed. "Not at all. A nymphomaniac is serving her own passions. Andrea exists only to gratify yours. She begs to be used or abused for your own pleasures. Just tell her what you desire. She'll do anything at all-literally anything."
"Anything within reason, you mean?"
"No, I mean anything. I don't mean commit murder or do anything aggressive, but anything at all submissive-sexual or otherwise."
"She sounds like a sadist's dream-girl."
"No-Wrong again. Sadists don't like her at all, in fact. They want a victim who suffers and weeps and begs for mercy. Andrea accepts everything with complete calm and resignation. That would drive a sadist right up the wall with frustration."
So I was more intrigued than ever. I couldn't wait to meet this elegant freak. I was told to talk to Peter, who was sort of her "keeper" for the moment. It seemed that Andrea was being passed around as a kind of pet from one guy to another in this arty circle. So Peter invited me around to his gallery next day for a demonstration of the trick lady in action.
He was a portrait painter who did pretty well for himself. When I got there he brought me into his studio and gave me a drink.
"So you don't believe the lovely Andrea is for real?" he said.
I said, "It's hard for me to believe all that I've been hearing about her."
He laughed. "Nobody believes it till they see it. And then when they do, they start pitying her. But she's perfectly happy. She like the slave in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Fovum- she lives to grovel. There are a lot of people like that in the world, but few dedicate themselves to groveling as completely as she has.
But let's get her out here and you can give her a try. I'll start her off, and then I'll turn her over to you and you can tell her whatever you'd like her to do for you or to you. Don't be afraid to let your imagination run riot. And remember-as I'll demonstrate for you-she's absolutely uninhibited- not a vestige of shame in her."
He pressed a buzzer button and immediately Andrea came in. I was completely bowled-over. She looked like a young duchess-very elegant and chic- head high, aristocratic bearing, flawless beauty, her hair sleek and shimmering. She looked as if she had just stepped out of her box seat at the Metropolitan Opera.
He snapped his fingers and she came over to him and stood waiting, her head bowed in submission. Then he said to her, "Down!" as if he were ordering a dog, and immediately she dropped onto the carpet on her hands and knees. He held up his foot in front of her face and she began licking the sole of his shoe with her tongue.
Then he took a piece of chocolate candy from a bowl and held a piece over her head. She came up onto her knees in a begging posture, her mouth open, her tongue out, reaching for the candy, but he held it out of her reach, teasing her for awhile, and then threw it down onto the floor behind a chair. She went onto hands and knees again and scurried away across the carpet to where the candy was, and then bent down and ate it right off the floor like an animal.
"You see, she knows her place," Peter said. "Too bad all women aren't trained this well." He laughed, but I'm not sure he was kidding.
He stood over her where she crouched with her fanny thrust up in the air, and he picked up the skirt of her dress and tossed it over her back, displaying her naked ass. She had nothing at all on underneath the dress.
He began stroking her sleek ass-cheeks and pinching and tweaking the soft flesh and then he ran a finger up and down the crack and teased the dainty little shit-hole.
"I'll have her fart musical notes for you if you like," Peter said to me. "She does it beautifully in the key of B-flat."
Andrea went on munching her chocolate, her face still down on the floor, paying no attention whatever to the indignities being inflicted on her nude bum-end.
"Would you like to pat the dog?" Peter asked me. "She's quite friendly. She won't bite you."
I said no thanks-I'd just sit and watch awhile, if it was all the same to him. I found the whole "dog" business pretty sick, frankly. But the real sick show hadn't even begun yet.
"Perhaps you think it's a terrible thing to treat a woman like a god?" he said. "But you're wrong about her. Andrea may look like a woman to you, but she actually is a dog. I'll demonstrate for you. Speak, Andrea-speak!" he commanded her.
She raised up her lovely head and said, "Arf arf arf," in a perfect dog imitation.
"Louder," Peter said, swiping her ass hard with the flat of his hand. "Benjy didn't hear you. Speak up!"
"Arf arf arf!" she repeated in a higher pitch.
And with that a huge brown shepherd dog came bounding into the room, tongue lolling out of his gaping jaws, and he went straight for Andrea and began sniffing and drooling around her still-exposed fanny as if she were actually a bitch in heat.
I had to laugh at that. "Looks like he thinks she's a dog all right," I said.
"No thinking about it," Pete said. "Benjy and Andrea both know that she's a dog. And if you need further proof, just keep your eyes open."
The next thing I knew Benjy, who had suddenly come up with a fantastic hard-on, climbed up over Andrea's back with his forepaws and began maneuvering his rod into position to shaft her ass. She squatted lower and spread her knees farther apart to give him his opening and after a couple of jabs and misses, damn if he didn't drive it home and bury his prick up to the hilt in her pussy.
I never thought I'd live to see this kind of scene outside of a Tangier whorehouse, but there it was, happening right before my eyes. Benjy's hairy ass started bucking and driving and sure as hell he was fucking her lovely cunt as if she was some kind of a big old hairless she-dog.
The weirdest thing was that both Benjy and Andrea had their tongues hanging out, dripping saliva, and both of them whimpering and whining in the same tones of voice. I wondered if maybe somebody had hypnotized Andrea into believing she was a dog-that could have been. But I couldn't see why anyone would want to waste the sweet cunt of a beautiful creature like that on dogs.
Then Peter said, "Now that she's all hot and passionate, she gives tremendous blowjobs, if you're interested. Just lay whatever you've got to offer right on her tongue here while she's slobbering like this, and she'll suck you onto cloud number nine."
I wasn't quite ready for that one. "No thanks," I said. "If she's so sure that she's a dog, she just might decide to take a bite out of my bone, and I can do without that bit of surgery."
Peter laughed and said don't worry. He'd show me what I was missing. He proceeded to drop his pants right on the spot and he knelt down in front of her, and damned if she didn't take his prick in her mouth and start licking away on it-more like a dog would lick though than a woman-but it sure seemed to be doing the job for him.
But this whole show was a little too sick for my taste, and so I snuck away while the performance was still in progress-the dog humping Andrea's fanny from behind and her lord and master fucking her face in the front. I'd seen more than I bargained for already and I didn't need any more to convince me that she was every bit as weird and wiggy as I'd heard she was.
Isley-I presume this was after her marriage had broken up.
Spooks-Oh sure-her husband and kids were long gone out of her life by then. Her whole existence at that time was totally involved with these arty party cats. She was their latest novelty diversion-just an exotic dolly they passed around among themselves for kicks.
Isley-You mentioned hypnosis. Was she in a hypnotic state or under some kind of drug influence or anything of that kind?
Spooks-She was on and off various kinds of drugs always, then and now-but this submissiveness of hers-her need to be used and violated and humbled-this had nothing to do with drugs. That's just her basic nature. Always has been. Maybe drugs just helped to strip away the last bits of inhibition and shame she might have had left.
Isley-How long ago was this when you saw her doing her dog act?
Spooks - Couple of years. I didn't see or hear of j her again until she came into a club where I was j working with my trio last spring. I recognized her ' right away and said hello, even though there'd been a few changes in her appearance since I saw her last. She'd been through a pretty rugged two years in the meantime and they'd taken their toll.
But you should meet her and see for yourself this fantastic fucked-up creature. She can tell you about the things she's been through, and it's quite an experience, hearing these things right from her own lips. She's a walking, talking example of what kind of hell it is for a woman to have the compulsions driving her that she has. But she'll never admit that it's hell.
I went out to Andrea's house next day and met the celebrated lady herself. No appointment was necessary. It was always open house at Andrea's, I was told. Spooks came along to introduce me and help me get through to her in case she was in one of her remote wigged-out states.
Inside the house there were several young dreamy types lounging against the baseboards in the living j room, and a pot-bellied boy in a g-string and a stick-thin nude girl were dancing a pas de deux in the middle of the floor.
Andrea was in her bedroom and Spooks threw open the door without knocking and waved me in. I started over the threshold and then stopped short with shock and embarrassment.
The bed covers had all been tossed onto the floor, and there on the raw sheet nude Andrea and a long-haired boy were in the middle of a violent, bed-rocking fuck, with him flat on his back and her sitting on top of him, riding his prick. And a second boy lay on the bed beside them, dragging sleepily on a weed.
I started to back out of the room but Spooks pushed me in again. "It's okay," he said, laughing. "You might as well get a look at the lady in her natural condition, bare-ass and balling. They'll be through pretty quick. We can wait. Bonzo doesn't last all that long usually."
I started to take a seat a discreet distance away, but Spook beckoned me up to the bed for a close look.
"You can see some of the wear and tear here." he said. "Come look. She used to have incredible smooth white skin when I first saw her body, but notice the little ridges and scar marks across her back now? She's taken a lot of whippings along the way. And when you get a close look at her breasts later, you won't believe it."
It seemed incredible to be discussing the condition of a woman's body this way right in front of her while she was rocking her way to an orgasm before our very eyes, but Andrea hardly seemed to be aware of our presence in the room.
We moved off and sat down to wait for them to finish, and the action on the bed soon petered out with neither of the two apparently reaching an orgasm. They just quit their rocking all at once, still in their positions, as if they'd both suddenly lost interest in the whole thing or forgotten what it was they'd been doing.
Spooks went to the bed and took hold of Andrea's arm and shook her. She seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep, still impaled on the prick she sat on.
"Come talk to us," Spooks said, and she looked toward me for the first time, blinking, trying to focus me on her screen. He lifted her down to the floor and she followed him across the room, smiling vacantly. I noticed that her front side was also crisscrossed with scar patterns like her back, but I saw nothing unusual about the look of her breasts except that they hung low on her rib-cage, flaccid and lifeless, as if they had suffered much abuse and had long since given up the battle.
Spooks led her up to my chair and introduced us, and then he lifted one of her breasts in his hand and held it out to me.
"See what I mean here?" he said, tapping the point of it with his finger. "No nipple at all. Some hungry bastard bit it right off her. She doesn't even remember who did it."
So far Andrea hadn't said a word, but now she laughed and said, "My nipples never were any use to me anyhow. I wasn't planning to become a wet-nurse."
Spooks said, "Tell the man all about that shit you went through with Beauregard. He wants to put down all the gory details for the education of his readers. He's using you as a horrible example of a depraved woman in his book."
She laughed again. "It's not I who am depraved," she said airily. "It's the sick sick sick men who flock around me."
Spooks said, "She thinks it's the men who are sick-not her."
"They are sick," she said, "and I am their disease. Like something contagious they pass me on from one to another."
I said, "Who is this Beauregard you mentioned?"
She closed her eyes and smiled and after awhile she began her story in a flat voice.
"Beauregard rescued me from aimless debauchery and unfocused submission and turned me into a valuable rental property, serving a useful purpose in the world. He turned me from a mindless plaything into a million dollar commodity."
"Turned her into a high-priced whore is what she means," Spooks said.
"Ah, but I was much more than a whore," she insisted. "There are a million women who fornicate for cash, but men were willing to pay fabulous sums of money for the use of me. Where else could they find a lovely lady of their dreams who would submit meekly to all their most piggish, disgusting wishes?"
She went off into a fit of giggling then-on some kind of a drug-jag apparently.
Spooks picked up her story from there.
"This son of a bitch took her over completely, and everybody at first thought it was a good thing for her-that he really cared about her and was trying to straighten her out. He had all kinds of loot, and he bought her beautiful clothes-everything- and then he'd take her to all the glamour parties around town and show her off until he had a thousand guys envying him and drooling over this fabulous chick of his. But the point of the whole plan was just to set her up so he could cash in on her. She was a business investment-the kind of sick, evil investment that bastard specialized in.
"He let the word out to certain rich sickies of his acquaintance that the delectable Andrea was available for over night and weekend engagements for a flat one thousand clams per day rental fee. And they paid it too, by God!"
Andrea leaned over and laid her hands on my knees. "Don't you think I'm worth a thousand a day, Mister Isley?" she said. "Perhaps not anymore. I'm a bit shopworn and scuffed-up around the bindings. I'm only good for free loan-outs nowadays. All you need to take me out is just a library card."
Spooks went on. "The big attraction for them was that she would submit to anything. A lot of guys felt it was worth a grand for the privilege of playing the Marquis de Sade for one night with an elegant lady like Andrea. They had delivered into their hands just about the most beautiful woman they had ever seen-cultured, educated, charming. They could take her to a party-the theatre-show her off to their friends-and either then or later they were completely free to do any goddam thing at all to her. Play any scene they wanted. Love her up in a nightclub-slap her around on a street corner-insult her in a public place, verbally and physically, in any obscene way they pleased. She'd act like a tramp or like a lady-bold or shy-play any role they demanded of her to feed their sick egos. And in the end they could take her home or anyplace else they pleased and work off on her whatever passions or aggressions they needed to get out of their systems-rape her, beat her up, whip her-or make sweet tender love to her if they liked -whatever was their bag."
I said, "I'd like to hear Andrea's version of this. Is that about the way it was for you?"
She had sobered down now and was sitting quietly, smiling at me. But apparently we had lost contact with her altogether. She didn't seem to hear a word and she said nothing.
"Did she have a great many of these thousand-dollar dates?" I asked Spooks.
"Who knows how many?" he said. "Nobody kept records. I've heard though that Beauregard made over a hundred-thousand dollars by renting her out that way. I wouldn't doubt it."
"Did she get anything at all out of this for herself?"
"The private ecstasy was all that mattered to her. She never had any lust for money."
"I'm surprised that she came through it alive."
Spooks waved his hand at her. "You call this alive?"
All of a sudden Andrea sprang up out of her chair and whirled away from us in a graceful dance-turn. "Of course I'm alive!" she cried. "Who the hell says I'm not alive? Nothing can kill me."
"That's no lie," Spooks said. "They've tried every way there is to kill you-strangled you- sliced you up-impaled your cunt-skewered your ass-beaten you bloody. What else is there to try except a bullet through the brain?"
She threw her head back and laughed wildly. "The only thing that will ever kill me is being bored to death by goddam square creeps who treat me like a goddam hot-house flower." She gestured toward the two knocked-out boys on the bed. "And limp-dick faggots like these two." She went to the doorway and yelled at the top of her lungs, "SCOTTY! Come in here and rescue me, goddammit! I'm smothering in a sea of shit."
A big red-headed young man came shuffling into the room, blinking as if he'd just come awake. "What the hell's all the noise?" he demanded, grabbing hold of her arm and giving her a rough shake.
She laughed in his face and rumpled his hair. "Who the fuck wants to know, jelly-belly?"
He looked over at us with an apologetic expression and said, "You guys done with her?"
Spooks said, "Be my guest. She's all yours, baby."
Red laid his hand on Andrea's chest, fitting his fingers between her breasts, and then he shoved her hard over backwards, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She lay against the bed and lifted her legs up toward him, obscenely-spread, her hands rubbing on her crotch. "Come on, you redheaded motherfucker," she giggled. "Don't keep a lady waiting on her fucking birthday."
He grabbed her ankles and swung her abruptly into the air, dangling her head-downward. Then he let her head bounce twice against the carpet before he flung her body up onto the bed, sprawling over the two sleeping boys.
She squirmed about, still giggling and mumbling incoherent obscenities, while Red began pulling off his pants.
I got up at that point. "I guess I've seen enough," I said. "I think it's time I cleared out while I still have my sanity."
"Why not stick around?" Spooks said. "I thought this was what you came to see. The show's just started. Red, here, is her favorite. He gives her exactly what she wants. You haven't lived until you've seen Red screw the lady up her gut with his entire fist-clear to the wrist."
Red at that point was up on the bed, kneeling over her, holding her by the throat while he slapped her face back and forth, and she was still giggling and babbling away, on a delirious high.
It looked to me as if the interview was ended. I didn't believe Andrea was planning to answer any more of my questions that day, and I didn't figure I needed to see any more of her rock-em, sock-em act with Red to convince me that all I'd been told about her was true.
Lucky girl, Andrea! Very few people in this world get just what they want out of life, but she seemed to be getting hers in carload lots, and she had the scars to-prove it.
