I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT NIGHT IN THE MOVIE. Maybe because it started something new with me. A kind of a beginning, because a man hadn't touched me before. And I never had that wild, hot, crazy feeling again. Never quite like that. It was a total shock.
It was dark in the balcony, and I was sixteen years old; there weren't many people there I was watching the picture and didn't realize the man had sat down beside me.
Then I felt him barely touch my thigh and pull away. I looked, but it was dark; and all I could see was his outline. I started to move.
But then I knew I wanted to feel his hand again, and I hoped it hadn't been a mistake.
It hadn't. In a minute the hand was back, lying on my thigh. It stayed this time.
My belly began to shake all funny, and I think I was a little scared, but I was excited too, and quivering.
I wasn't a fool. I'd heard lots of talk in school, but when the boys approached I always got scared. But I'd heard girls talk so knowingly and casually.
And there I was, tight in a corner and the guy began to feel me up ...
Things like that. And now it was happening to me. I was going to get handled and it was like my insides had turned to water; I began to grow warm and feverish.
I think I remember it so well because it was what you'd call a milestone. I knew from that experience and from what happened later at home.
It was the day I realized I was a nympho, realized that sex was the greatest gift a human could give, or possess.
The greatest thing in life.
The man's hand was lying flat on my thigh, and now his fingers began to move, pulling my dress up under them. I tried to keep that leg from shaking.
My boobs were getting hot, and my nipples were tight and hard. It was the first time that had ever happened without my doing it myself, playing with them.
I sat there tight, waiting. And knowing that the exciting feeling wasn't all my imagination. This was a fiery new world. A man's hand on me.
He'd worked my skirt up to where his fingers were on the bare skin above my stocking. I was terribly afraid he'd get scared and stop, so I was afraid to move. I wanted to stretch my legs, and I knew I'd have to if he was going to get anywhere; but I didn't want to frighten him. As I sat there shaking, I wondered what he looked like. Young and handsome and kind of like a stallion pawing the ground, maybe.
Thoughts like that went through my mind as I felt his hand go along my thigh halfway between my knee and where I knew he wanted to go. I pushed my legs a little, encouraging him.
His hand began moving up between my legs, and I could hardly keep the muscles still. Very slowly, I hunched down in my seat, pushing my legs out in a V. I did it slowly, because I didn't want to seem too eager. I didn't want him to know how bad I wanted to be touched.
He came to my panties, and when he touched them, the nipples on my boobs got so hard the}' hurt. In my wild thoughts, I saw him biting my boob. Biting one clear off!
I was sorry I'd worn panties, but how was I to know? I'd had no way of knowing a man might put his hand there.
He stopped, and I got so scared that he might pull back I got reckless. I wanted to grab his hand and push it to me, to reach over and bite him on the ear, tearing, tasting blood.
Instead I pushed my hand out in his direction.
He was all tense and ready, the way the girls told me it always was with the real hot ones. I ran my fingers up and down and along his leg; it was hard to believe this was happening and then I giggled inside.
What did he think he was going to do in a theater seat? I reached under the fold and found the zipper tab and pulled it. The zipper opened, and I could feel the cloth of his shorts as I tried to work them away.
His hand had slid up over my belly, and his fingers found the elastic of my panties. I was glad he didn't know how much I really wanted it. He began pulling them down, and I lifted my bottom off the seat to help him. My panties came down and were stretched across my thighs.
With my hand, I found the opening in his clothing and put a finger in, and his legs opened. But I couldn't get anywhere and, frustrated, went back to his belt buckle. That was holding everything up.
He was pushing my panties lower, down over my knees and then my ankles. He wanted them clear off, and I wondered why that was necessary, but I lifted my feet one at a time, and he had them loose in his hand.
A crazy thought went through my mind. I'd walked into a theater and sat down, not bothering anybody, and a man had come along and sat down beside me and taken my pants off!
My legs were wide now, and I didn't dare scrunch down any farther because the usher might come along and flash his light. I would have been terribly embarrassed, because my skirt was clear up off my belly and the man's finger was in my navel. Checking for size, maybe. I wanted to laugh.
His belt was open now, and I slid my hand down under the elastic. His belly was hard and wooly, and my hand had never been in a more exciting place. I kept wanting to bite him. Drooling kind of, I guess. Wanting to feel my teeth at his ear or neck and wondering what it would be like to bite his tongue.
I wondered what he looked like.
His hand found me; it was the first time, and I was a little embarrassed because of how it was. The girls at school called that getting ready. I'd been ready and waiting and shaking.
He touched me right, and I jerked. There was space, because I'd made it by stretching out, and his whole palm was there, flat.
My hand had found him, too, and I had a wild ferocious feeling of wanting to twist and pull and move. I couldn't help giggling, my diaphragm going up and down, but staying silent, not making a sound as I thought how he would look without clothes. Like a bull, maybe.
I wanted to make him yell.
It was all crazy and loose inside of me. In my mind, I began calling him every vile and foul name I could think of. In my imagination. I had him tied up and was doing things to him to make him yell.
I hated him and his crazy hand. I wanted to twist it and break it at the wrist. I rubbed and he jerked.
His hand was flat on me, and now he started curling the fingers into a fist. Very slowly. Pressing hard. Gripping what there was to grip. I was mature at sixteen and thick and lush, that's what a girl in the gym shower at school had called me, and there was enough purchase for his hand to gather.
He kept on squeezing, closing his fist.
I had him gripped tight in my own fist, but the advantage was his. He was too tough to hurt. He squeezed, and it hurt. And I knew I had to find something softer and hunted for it.
I found it too, soft and pliable flesh. I squeezed. It was a warning. He jerked a little, and opened his hand.
It was a wonderful, exciting game as we sat there, not knowing each other but having tight grips in the most intimate places and kind of waiting for each other. It was crazy.
He must have been sweating or something because he wiped his face, but he couldn't get to his handkerchief; he was using my panties, wiping his face with them and breathing deeply from the nervous excitement of what we were doing.
I gave a quick squeeze, and then I grabbed my lower lip in my teeth because he squeezed too. There was a momentary truce after that, and I was a little disappointed wondering if this was all it would be. Just grabbing and holding each other.
I wanted my hand elsewhere but I didn't dare let go of my advantage, or he would have had me. I held him and petted him and squeezed just a little.
He was pulling downward along my thighs. Pulling in a way that made me follow him or let him go away with part of me. I couldn't sit still. I'll slow you down, I thought indignantly. And I squeezed.
He grunted. It was a kind of battle to see who would give in first. He was on his shoulders, down in the seat, his legs spread wide, and he was helpless, but I hung on the other place.
Slowly I followed him forward, going down in my own seat. My knees hit the seat in front, and then the only place for them to go was even wider.
Getting more excited, I leaned over and whispered, "You rat! Let go!" But hoping he wouldn't.
I was as wide as I could get, and now his hand flattened. It was hot and wonderful against me. I moved my hand to where he wanted it. But then he took that wrist and lifted my hand, took his own away from me for a minute and he just held my hand for a while. He rubbed my palm and then put my hand back and showed me what he wanted me to do with a motion of his hand. I understood. It was what I'd instinctively wanted to do in the first place. Something a girl wanting a man doesn't have to be shown.
He was using his fingers now, and he didn't need lessons. He found places I didn't know I had, and of course I'd investigated. But always alone in my own room.
He heard my gasp, and I knew he was grinning; I had a vision of him. In the vision, he had five hands and they were all - Oh, God! I didn't need any visions. This was it. He was rolling and kneading and reaching; I wanted to move further to give him more room!
I began to writhe and twist and put my hand on his to push harder.
Harder!
Better than all the dreams and fantasies I'd ever had! The real thing.
Then both my hands were on his, and I was moaning under my breath. But he grabbed my wrist and put one of my hands back where he wanted it. I had to do my part. This wasn't just service for nothing.
So I did and had him almost on his back in the seat. And -oh, God, what if the usher should come and find us this way? Or maybe he was so high up it would throw a shadow on the screen with my hand and grunts coming out of him and all the wild free ecstasy of what we were doing to each other.
He exploded. All that manhood and virility realized, his body taut and writhing and me right behind him, my legs and belly all jumping and exploding like the Fourth of July in wild colors in front of my eyes.
But with him through first, he changed, and while I was helpless, right in the middle of it, and weak as a kitten from the ecstasy flooding through me, he put a hand over my mouth. I let him do it because I thought he was trying to help me keep from screaming.
But then he hooked one arm under one of my legs beneath my knee and pulled that leg up and over toward him and I was being held off the seat. Then one finger! Only one! Hard and straight and only wanting to hurt. It hurt. It hurt plenty!
My whole body came up off the seat like shot rabbit. And I heard his harsh whisper in my ear: "You little witch! That's where you should get it!"
His breath was coming hot, and he called me other names while I twisted and writhed, feeling that other, the new thing, and finishing what he'd done to me, the explosion that answered his culmination but a little delayed.
Then he used his arm to force me back down my seat, and I thought, God! I'm a safe public theater and I'm being raped by a stranger.
Well, it was rape, kind of. Not the real thing but it was being forced on me and that's what rape is: to be taken by force.
Then I guess he got scared about the usher too, because he pulled his hand out from under me. I'd been actually sitting on his hand and after pulling it away he took his other hand away from my mouth.
But I heard his whisper: "You yell and you'll be arrested, kid. They'd take my word if you start trouble."
I didn't want any trouble. I just wanted it to stop hurting and to get my pant back on.
"My panties," I whispered. "Give them to me."
He did, laughing softly, and I almost pulled my hand back when I touched them, realizing what he'd used them for. He pushed them into my hand, and by that time he'd zipped and hooked his pants and buckled his belt with his shirt all inside again. And he got up and left.
The panties were beyond repair. I almost threw them on the floor. Then I thought: What if I go out and the manager has seen me and is suspicious, takes me in the office and I deny everything but he pulls my skirt up and sees how I am and maybe takes a picture for evidence? What the man did to me. Still there to see.
What then? And me with no panties on!
Thinking that made me frightened. They were wispy and transparent; I tried to brush them but that didn't help, so I pulled them on - like putting on tattered rag.
Then I got up and left and it was hard to walk straight. I wanted to walk so my legs wouldn't rub together at all. But I walked straight. All that cold friction. It was awful.
In the lobby there were several men, and I wondered which one it was. They all looked at me. But that didn't help because men always looked at me. They looked at how my boobs stuck out and how my nipples stuck out on the ends of them, and that always gave me a sense of power over them; it made me feel good.
In fact I liked being noticed so much that once in a while, when I felt very devilish and the situation was right, I'd push my boobs out at a man and almost smile but not quite, then maybe cross my legs and show him what he was missing.
Then I'd look at him where the effect on a man shows, and watch him, and let him know I was watching. Making him feel sheepish, make him twist around maybe, to try and hide. I'd watch and wonder to myself what he looked like bare, thinking how frightening it would be to have the man tie me down somewhere alone and do that to me and make me yell and beg.
Things like that in my mind.
But now, there in the lobby, the men were looking at my boobs, and I was wondering which one it was. Then one of them sitting on a lounge didn't look at my boobs. He looked down below, and there was kind of knowing grin on his face; and I knew it had to be him.
Because his eyes and the look in them practically undressed me, and he was looking at me like he really knew and laughing at me because of the panties, knowing I had to wear them. His eyes and his look asking me: How does it feel to be dressed? And how did the whole thing feel?
I knew it was him and cursed him in my mind, thought of having him down helpless on his belly with a club in my hands and nobody to stop me and, oh God, really make him yell.
They say everything comes from the inside, and I think my fantasy about the man, there in the lobby, probably came from a book I saw once when I was younger. A book about the war and the atrocities.
My uncle had it and brought it to show my father; I got a chance to look at it when they were downstairs at the bar. There were lots of horrible pictures in it, but one was about what some soldiers did to some prisoners; the prisoners were all lying around on the ground. Palm trees grew in the area, and the soldiers had ripped off branches of palm trees and made the prisoners suffer. I wanted to make the man suffer like that.
I always remembered that picture and the palm branches with long stems, how the prisoners must have yelled, that was what I wanted for the man.
To make him yell.
But he was the one. I knew that. He wasn't bad looking. Slim and athletic looking with big hands, I'd felt them, and the grin I'd sensed in the theater and very white teeth.
I got up and left, a little reluctant when I realized I would never see him again...
But I was wrong. After I got home that night very late, I went downstairs for something out of the refrigerator and the phone rang.
I picked it up and said hello.
"Hello, baby. How are you?"
"Who is this?"
"You know. We met in the balcony tonight."
I was a little scared at hearing his voice, but I knew it was him and it was a little exciting.
"You've got a nerve, calling here. How did you know where I lived?"
"I made it a point to find out."
"Before-?"
"Uh-huh."
That meant he probably followed me into the theater. It hadn't been just a shot in the dark. I wanted to hang up, but then I didn't want to.
"You had a hell of a nerve, doing what you did in there."
He had a soft chuckle that kept sounding in my ear. "You liked it, though, didn't you?"
"Suppose I'd screamed?"
"You didn't. You just cooperated like a good little nympho and panted for more."
I kept trying to think of things to say. "That was a lousy thing you did with - "
"You're panties? Honey, they were all I had and I couldn't wait. You've got real technique. You've had experience."
That sounded like an insult.
"I have not!"
"Are you kidding? You reached for me like a-"
"You're calling me a street walker!"
"I am not. I'm just saying you're good. And I'm pretty good, too. If we'd had the room I could have made you crawl after me with your tongue hanging out."
"You're rotten!"
The soft chuckle. "What's rotten about having a little fun?"
"I was helpless. A girl doesn't like to call attention to herself."
"That's right. It's better to sit there and take it." He laughed now. "Do you know you almost went over the seat when I grabbed you at the last?"
"That was as rotten a thing as anybody ever did to a person!" Grabbed me. That was a funny way to say it, I thought.
"Quite a surprise, wasn't it?"
"I certainly wasn't expecting it."
"That's part of the fun, getting something you don't expect."
"It hurt!"
"Things that hurt the first time are fun the second time."
"There won't be any second time."
"Sure there will. Where we've got more room to maneuver. We've just started, baby."
"That's what you think. We've finished."
"Then you're going to let me get away with it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you want to get even?"
He had no idea how I wanted to get even. I wanted to tell him about the picture of the prisoners on the ground with the palm stalks, but that wouldn't have been very ladylike.
"Maybe I will someday," I said.
"There's no time like the present. Tomorrow?"
"No."
"There are some nice places in the park."
"Sure! You'd like to get me out there and really grab me, wouldn't you?"
"And you want it, too. You know damned well you do."
"Just because you caught me by surprise in the balcony and took my pants off - "
I realized how awful that sounded.
"Baby! Cut it out! You've had plenty and you know it."
That would have surprised him too. That I was actually a virgin so far as men were concerned. Everything I'd had had been by myself, alone. Or watching it done. All the things. Dreams. Ways you hear about and try because you're afraid of the real way.
But I wasn't going to tell him that. I wasn't going to tell him anything.
"Good night!" I said. And slammed the phone down...
CHAPTER TWO
IT'S SO HARD TO EXPLAIN HOW THINGS REALLY ARE with a person. How they were with me. One thing: I was a nice girl. But I guess I always thought more or less about sex.
That didn't make me a bad girl, though. I never threw myself at men or propositioned them. I always kept a good image, because I didn't want to get in trouble.
But there's no law against thinking and dreaming and, well, maybe experimenting a little by yourself. Because, good Lord, after a while it's just too much. It keeps coming into your mind.
Before you know it, you're making your own fantasy world full of naked men doing things in your fantasies that are wild and crazy and inventive because that way it isn't dangerous.
In the first place, I liked myself. But I couldn't see any harm in that. I didn't see where it was wrong to be naked in the front of a mirror and look at yourself. Or to use a mirror to see the places you can't see just sanding there.
Or trying your body out to see how it works.
On a bed is wonderful. You lie there, and it's all warm and quiet: you can hear your heart beat and the blood sing through your veins. You run your fingertips along your legs, and it tickles.
Then you close your eyes and imagine a man with you. When it's that way there isn't any embarrassment, and you can have him do or say anything you want.
You lie there on the bed; the door opens and he walks in. It's warm, you push the covers back and he looks at you. His eyes pop and you watch and see his lust in his eyes, the desire you always imagined, more fierce than any fantasy; scares you.
He walks up to the bed, puts a hand on one of your boobs; and you sneer at him: "Are you getting yourself a big thrill, buster?"
"They're nice, honey, real nice."
"You're not so bad yourself."
"You want some?"
"Show me, big man."
That's what makes it better when you're alone. You couldn't say that to a real man. It wouldn't be ladylike. But that way you can say it, lie there and watch him undress.
"How do you want me, baby?"
"The hard way, buster. You think I'm a kid or something?"
He looks at himself and grins, and then he looks at you. You're showing him what he's got to play with, and he grins and lifts one leg to get on the bed; but you stop him.
"Not so fast, buster."
"Why the delay?"
"Because that's how I want you."
He's crazy hot for you now and mutters something about hurry up or he'll weaken. He says some things you don't really understand yourself but you've heard the girls at school say them, the kids who really know their way around, so you make your dream guy say them. Then maybe you remember something you've overheard, where a girl was telling about a party some other girl went to and told her about.
There had been a big guy at that party who'd pushed a broad around, dropped her off at home afterward with her knees rubbery from exertion, and she' gone in and dropped on the bed exhausted.
So at this party, she had friends, or at least that was how the girl at school had heard it from the girl who said she'd been there.
Anyhow the girl who'd had it done to her told her friends, and they were all drunk; they grabbed the guy and tied him down and said, "There, he's all yours, baby."
And the girl laughed and knelt on his chest looked down into his face. Then she straddled his chest, which wasn't hard because she had a wide, full skirt on and it let her get down on her knees there, straddling him.
Then she put her skirt over his face, and there was nothing he could do because he was helpless. Then she got very sensuous. She began rolling her eyes and her shoulders and twisting forward on her knees, but staying there while someone put a slow record on the turntable.
And she did a whole, sexy dance for them with the guy hidden under her skirt, her body braced and writhing. A kind of sit-down dance with everybody laughing so loud the guy could hear them easily.
Then her dance got real wild, as she ground her hips, twisting and rubbing while the guy began to kick his heels and fight; but they'd fixed him so that he had to stay, and the others began laughing harder.
But maybe the guy couldn't even hear now, smothered that way, the whole world kind of a blindfold for him while she made him cooperate - got even that way.
And finally getting up and dancing away, leaving him the way he'd naturally be after a thing like that. Then the girl danced into the bathroom and came out with a towel she used as a scarf for a while, swinging it around and taunting him with it.
It had been the opposite of what he'd made her do when he'd had her in a spot. Had made her. That was the thing. He hadn't asked her. He'd just grabbed her and said, "Do this for me you witch," or something like that. So she'd gotten even. And afterward, she'd sprawled on the couch, exhausted from her dance and the other thing she'd used him for and laughed at him.
I wasn't a fool, though. I didn't necessarily believe the story. But you have to admit that it could have happened. And it was in my mind to play with.
So my invisible guy there in the bedroom ends up that way too. But he's on his belly and he's the man in the balcony. The wild, wonderful fantasy world, where everything is so easy, is full of palm stalks, and when a fantasy man yells nobody can hear him. So I made him yell and yell while I screamed. "How do you like it." Knowing all the time it hadn't been as bad as that in the balcony. In fact kind of sudden and exciting.
But I'm really not yelling of course. I'm lying on my shoulders on the bed, writhing until my muscles hurt from the strain, tormenting, torturing myself until I'm almost crazy with ecstasy, my hands wild and all the wild colors shooting in front of my eyes until I can't stand it any longer and roll over and bury my face in the pillow, scream with my hips writhing at the finish of it.
Then I'm exhausted and ready for sleep, and I drift off thinking what's happened: I'm exhausted. There were a dozen men and they kept throwing me from one to another. A dozen bodies thudding down on me. A dozen evil, lust-stained faces against mine. A dozen tongues finding mine. A dozen brutal repetitions of the wild ecstasy and the plunging colors and I stagger to the bed when they're through with me. I'm exhausted. I sleep ...
But that's not the way it is always. Just on my sex nights. A girl at school said, "Honey, it's nature! You've got to get rid of it or it'll get rid of you. It's no sin to do something for yourself that's really healthy. Otherwise you might find yourself crawling up to some guy sometime and pawing him and begging for it.
So what I did was all right. If you're oversexed, you have to do something. But I always knew the difference between fantasy and reality. I never let them get mixed up.
On the mornings after my sex nights I always woke up kind of disappointed and frustrated some way. That was the only bad thing about doing it all yourself. It didn't seem complete. It was wonderful and satisfying, but you were left with a yearning to go farther, sure that you'd find something even fiercer, more delightful. More wonderful.
So I woke up that next morning thinking about the man in the balcony and his telephoning me. But this was a better morning than any of the others because he was there to think about. There was the excitement of wondering what would happen.
I went downstairs. We lived in a house on Pendor Street that my father gave my mother when they were divorced. But Sis wasn't down, of course. She played the piano in the Ciro Club downtown; she always got home late, so I made my own breakfast.
Sis was wonderful, and saw that I had the best; I loved her. But more than that, she protected me. She'd been around men and was determined to see to it that things went right with me, because with Mom dead we only had each other.
We had our afternoons together, but when she went to work I was always in bed. I knew about men because she told me how bad they were and what they could do to a girl.
Never any details or anything like that. We never talked sex because, well, between a girl and her sister I guess it's a kind of touchy subject.
Sis had Frank, of course. She never talked about him, and I never asked her. She kept us apart.
I understood her having him. Sis was a young, beautiful, healthy woman, only 28, and she needed a man. Healthy normal women do need men, but nice women don't talk about it. That's why so much in people's minds are never said. There are a lot of nice men, too, and it's the same with them.
Like when I see a man watching me in a bus or something. He doesn't say what I know is in his mind. Like: God, baby, I'd like to pull those slacks down of} your hips, sit you over one of these seats and - Something like what you know he's thinking, but he doesn't say it. If you drop something he might pick it up and say, "Here, miss," very politely.
You see what I mean? Nobody says what they're really thinking. But I knew about Sis and Frank because I'd seen them. It was all right, I think, for me to see them because after that I quit feeling guilty about some of the things I thought about and imagined people did, maybe did myself a little when I was alone.
Anyhow, the way I saw them was this: It was her shopping day and Sis told me to go to the movies after school, but I'd seen the picture and went home instead to wait for Sis.
She came, but she had Frank with her. I was up in my room and as I came out, I heard Sis say, "No, Frank, it's too risky. She'll be coming home soon."
"But she isn't here now, honey," he answered back. And I could tell from his tone that he wanted her bad, because he sounded just like the men in my dreams sound sometimes when I'm holding them off and maybe showing them what they're drooling for, just to make it harder. When men want you that bad, they almost paw the rug; and that's kind of what I imagined Frank doing: drooling at Sis and pawing the rug.
Then I went to the banister and saw them down in the living room, by the lounge. They couldn't see me because the upper hall shade was pulled to keep the sun off the carpet, something Sis had learned from Mom before she died. So it was dark in the hall.
Sis was beautiful. I never got used to how beautiful she really was. She was dark like me and had flawless skin and a kind of tanned sexiness about her. I always enjoyed seeing her naked. Not because I'm a Les or anything, at least I don't think I am, but every time I saw her naked I'd compare us, and it always added to my self-confidence. Because I knew she was beautiful from just looking at her, and then I could look at myself and see that I was the same.
I had the same big boobs that she did with the nipples the same deep shade of brown. My belly was just as flat and our legs were slim; our thighs came up into our hips with the same smooth curves and lines.
So maybe that was why I was able to think of Frank making love to me-like he was doing to Sis while I watched.
First, she kept holding him off. "Frank, this isn't the time or the place."
He had his arms around her and was pushing her toward the lounge.
"Any time's the right time for you and me, baby," he said.
Frank was slim around his hips and very big in the shoulders and arms. All muscle up there. He was a dancer, but that didn't mean he wasn't masculine. I'd never see him dance, but I saw a picture of him in his dance clothes once; and my first thought was to feel sorry for Sis. How could she stand it?
Then I was shocked at how bold those tight clothes made him look. But it didn't seem to bother in the picture. He wasn't in any way modest about it. The way he stood with his leg out and his foot pointed at an angle, kind of pushing his belly out, he looked to be very proud. I thought of how the women in the audience must have felt while they watched him dance. He must have made them cringe when he leaped.
Anyhow, he was pushing Sis toward the lounge, and he got his mouth on hers so she couldn't object. They stood that way, in a clinch for a while, and thick moans came out of their throats. But Sis didn't have her tongue to use for talking because Frank was trying to push it down her throat from the way it looked. His hips were rubbing against hers, and they looked very graceful standing there. Then Sis kind of moaned again and braced her legs a little apart so she could press back against him. Her skirt was tight against her thigh, and I could see her muscles harden as she ground a little against his hips. I shivered as I thought of his body in the picture.
If she didn't want him to go any farther, spreading her feet like that had been a mistake, because now he could get between them and bend her backward and he did.
He leaned forward against her. One of his hands had been hidden from me, but now I could see it and what he'd been doing with it: opening the front of Sis's blouse.
Now it was all open and he bent Sis backwards some more. Her knees bent and her body arched, and then her knees touched the floor, with her shoulders and head lying back on the lounge.
He'd slid both his hands up over her boobs, and now he pushed outward, breaking the hold she had around his neck and spreading her arms out on the lounge. He was kneeling gracefully before her wide-spread knees by that time, and she was arched down on the lounge with her arms spread wide, kind of imprisoned because he held her arms that way and wouldn't let her move them.
Her head was thrown back and she whispered. "Oh, Frank!" and closed her eyes; there she was - everything tight. Frank was back a little from her, on his knees like I said, kind of worshiping her. And that word worship isn't exactly accidental, as I'll show pretty quick.
Anyhow, I could see her. Her blouse had been thrown open; she hadn't been wearing a bra. The arching of her body pulled her belly tight and away from the band of her slacks, pulled so hard her navel wasn't round anymore. It was a tight, dark line running up and down. Her boobs jutted out like beautiful brown-tipped melons, the nipples like brown grapes on top, hard grapes.
Her eyes were closed, her tight throat was working, and her lips were open. Then she whispered, "Frank - oh, darling - worship me!" And her tongue came out a little like a pink, darting snake trying to reach him.
He was kissing her throat, every little inch of it, as though he didn't want to miss any. Then he went lower and kissed between her boobs, all up and down the deep valley.
Then he took first one boob and then the other with his mouth. He was going quietly crazy, drooling for her. Her throat was wet, and her boobs glistened from his kissing. The brown nipples looked like they wanted to pop off and roll across the floor.
I was on my knees against the banister and although they didn't know it, I was going right along with them. Frank was kissing two women that way, Sis and me. I could feel his lips, his tongue and teeth, and I wanted to close my eyes like Sis; but I couldn't or I might have missed something.
Sis whispered, "Darling, darling, worship me! Quick. Oh, please! Don't torture me too long!"
Frank, worship me too, me first - I can't wait - Those were my whisperings up there on the landing. I didn't know what worship meant, but I knew it was more than just a word; and I wanted some of whatever it was too.
I guess I did close my eyes for a while, because then I saw that Sis' slacks were off. One leg was clear, and the slacks were bunched around the ankle of the other leg. But she was still in the same position, so I wondered how they'd done it.
And Frank, too. His trousers were open and down, but not off.
I felt cheated at what I'd missed, and I knew I wouldn't close my eyes again.
Frank was kissing under Sis' boobs now, still getting every inch. And she was moaning.
"Oh, you're cruel, so cruel. Don't make me wait. Darling, don't torture me."
I thought she must have been out of her mind, if that was torture, I'd take plenty of the same. As I watched, though, he did hurt her a little. When he got to her navel I saw his mouth open, and then his white teeth and his jaws closed.
Sis' eyes popped open along with her mouth, and she jerked up her head and her legs. Her knees stayed open as she pawed the air with her feet, kicking off her slacks in the process. A kind of gagging bark came out of her, and Frank shook his head like a dog with a bone, his teeth still closed; Sis' legs came way back and up as she reacted to the pain.
But now she didn't seem to mind. She did do a strange thing, though. Sis did exercises and was very supple, so touching her knee to her face was no trick. She did that now, but added something. She opened her mouth and began biting her own knee! It seemed crazy, and I was surprised at how exciting it was: Sis down there with Frank getting ready to worship her, and Sis biting her own knee as though she'd gone crazy.
Going right along with them as much as I could, I bent one finger and put a knuckle in my mouth, bit down on it. Hard. There was pain, but the pain was good. I got the same feeling that I knew Sis was getting, biting myself for the same reason, because I couldn't wait to be worshiped.
Then it seemed as though the whole room blurred, as though it was spinning around inside of my own head. Spinning and spinning, with Frank and Sis in the middle of the vortex or the eye of a storm, and the storm was whirling around me, too.
Then the vortex narrowed, and Sis' moans came from some invisible place because I couldn't see her face anymore. Or hardly even her boobs. All I could see were her straining thighs.
Frank's head was there, too, steady and solidly against Sis. The back of his head with the black curly hair and the muscles of his neck straining into two cords.
"Oh," Sis moaned. "Worship me, damn you!"
Getting hysterical now, as the time had arrived. And that was what happened. Sis straining and twisting on the lounge, her arms lashing and then her hands on the back of Frank's head, the fingers twined together, straining, pulling. It was like I saw them through a telescope now, because I could see Sis' knuckles and even the veins on the backs of her hands standing out like cords.
Then Frank began to fight and he began to sound angry, he was growling.
My mind was whirling around inside my head, but it was still working. Pity her. What about poor Frank? He was fighting for breath and he pulled away, but Sis' fingers stayed twined and she went with him, off the lounge and down with her shoulders on the floor and pulling Frank down, down. My head was in a tailspin, my body and belly shaking like an old lady with ague.
"Don't stop! Please!"
Sis wanting, oh wanting so bad, and I understood from something I heard a girl at school say once. A man can leave a girl hanging sometimes, and that's what they do.
I'd heard a girl say that, and I'd wondered what it meant. But now I knew. And I was pleading right along with Sis. Oh, don't leave me hanging, Frank. Have pity. Don't leave me hanging.
I couldn't see any more. It was all a blur, and inside it was like every bone in my body had melted. I was livid with passion. My biggest moment was passing, and when it was gone I'd be gone.
I closed my eyes tight and opened them again and peered down. I'd heard gasps and low sounds from down there, and my blur cleared for just a moment; I saw them both on the floor, stretched out there with Frank's head on Sis' stomach, his chest heaving.
"You tenacious witch!" he gasped.
But it wasn't a curse or anything like that. He wasn't even mad. The way he said it, it was like a term of endearment.
Sis said, "She'll come." She gasped out the words like a person exhausted. And I knew she meant me. I might come home.
Frank laughed weakly. "Are you kidding?"
The way they were lying, Sis was in a position to caress him; and she was doing it.
"I'm sorry, darling. I'm so selfish at times like this."
Sis' hand began to move, but I couldn't stand anymore. It was as though I was ready to do a very embarrassing thing in public, and I had to get out of sight. I had to get to my own bedroom, to my own bed.
I practically had to crawl there, my knees were so weak. Then too, I couldn't make any noise. I got to my bed and on top of it and lay spread-eagled and in kind of a new heaven. Pity me. Don't stop now! Oh, don't ever stop! Maybe it was over for them down there, but I'd just begun. For me it wouldn't ever be over. I was sure of that. But after the balcony, I would have to have more than dream men.
From then on, dreams wouldn't be enough .
CHAPTER THREE
WHAT I'VE PUT DOWN IS ABOUT THE WAY I TOLD it all to my psychiatrist: the one they sent me to. Maybe it would seem hard to remember what happened to me when I was sixteen, now that I'm almost twenty-three. It was hard to remember at first, but the psychiatrist, Dr. Wellington, kept asking the right questions; and it all came back. I'm not putting any of his questions down because he *aid they really weren't very important. It was what happened to me that was important.
So this is a kind of diary, I guess, except that you write in a diary every day, and I'm writing this all at once. It was my idea, but Doctor Wellington said it was good therapy and would fill in my time here at The Center and after a while they would let me out.
The Center is half jail and half hospital, but where I am doesn't matter much, either. It's what happened that counts.
And like I said, all the past came back to me and is very easy to write down. Most of it happened after I left the house where Sis and I lived together, but quite a little happened before that, too. There was the guy who played with me in the balcony, my first guy, and how it worked out afterward.
Like I said, he was the real beginning, and that's why I guess I keep going back to him. Also, Dr. Wellington said that first encounter with a man brought out some of the key facts in my personality.
He said a lot more. Why I was like I was - and like I am. But I can't get very excited about that. I am what I am and that's that. He had a lot of big words to explain it, but I can cut all his big words down into three little ones: I like sex.
I like men.
I like the things men do to me. I like the things I do to men. And it all adds up to three little words. I like sex.
It wasn't all peaches for the men, though. Some of the things I found that I liked were kind of rough. The guy in the balcony found that out.
Dr. Wellington told me about that too, with a lot more big words. Sadist. Masochist. Uninhibited libido. And a lot more. But I could reduce those, too. What they added up to was that I wanted it all. Every experience. And I was never afraid of anything.
A couple of days after that guy called, he came in person. There was a knock on the back door just after I got home from school, and I found him standing there. He was the same one I'd decided on in the lobby when I'd come from the balcony that day. He looked at me the same way. Not at my boobs. Down at the middle, as though he was remembering how it felt.
"Hi, chick!"
He didn't scare me. Not at all. I looked straight back at him and said, "What do you want?"
I guess he had an uninhibited libido too, because with us it wasn't the way it was with other people: thinking one thing and saying another. Being either polite or scared, I could never really tell which. With us, we said what we thought.
"What do I want?" He looked straight at my body. "You."
"Who are you?"
"My name's Lex."
"Lex what?"
"Just Lex, baby."
"You've got a big nerve. My mother's in the living room right now and - "
"Baby, you haven't got a mother. You've got a sister, and she's upstairs asleep."
"How did you know that?"
"I'm a careful guy," he grinned. "When I want something, I stake the joint out. I check and re-check, and when I know the lay of the land, then I move." He kept on grinning. "And baby, I think I've found me the right land."
What he said was vulgar and I wondered how he could be so sure he wouldn't get his face slapped. By what had happened in the balcony, of course. But he'd taken a chance there, too.
"I should have yelled in there and got the manager after you."
"Baby," he drawled. "Wouldn't you have looked funny squealing to the manager with your skirt around your neck and your panties in your hand?
Those panties. Ugh! "My sister will be down any minute."
He pushed past me and into the kitchen. "She won't be down for three or four hours and you know it."
"She ' hear us, though."
"We're going to make a lot of noise?"
"You seem to have it all planned out."
His grin softened a little. "Look, honey, I'm not as tough as I look. I took a chance on you in the balcony because you were keeping me awake nights."
"Now you're sleeping again?" "Not very well. How about the pantry?" "Are you hungry or something?" He'd walked into the pantry, and I followed him. I had a cute little way of lying to myself that I had to admit to after Dr. Wellington told me about it, but I guess I knew about it all the time. Kind of like two parts of me inside when I got excited. Two people, one lying to the other with the other knowing the lie but accepting it.
Like when he went into the pantry I knew exactly what he had in mind, it was close and private. But I told myself maybe he wanted something to eat and that justified my letting him go in and going in after him.
It was a small place with just enough room for a person to lie down on the floor if they pulled their feet up.
He reached around behind me and pulled the door shut as I said, "There's some cookies in that can.
"In what can?" he asked innocently.
"The one on the shelf."
"I'm not interested in that one."
Being so close to him made me terribly excited. He was different than Frank. He was thick and solid and would have looked like an idiot dancing. But we weren't on a dance floor or anywhere near one. The masculinity of him was weakening my knees already. He was in my nostrils and under my skin, and I had a dozen quick visions about him. I didn't know what was going to happen there in the pantry, but it didn't take me long to select one of the images and kind of lay it aside. That happened when he turned around to close the pantry window, and I saw how tight his slacks were against his buttocks. That was when I made plans for the next time we met. I was that far ahead of him.
At the moment, I decided to be completely negative; and as I stood there it occurred to me that it was like an exciting story - one I was reading - and I could hardly wait to see what was going to happen.
He turned back from the window and looked straight into my eyes. "I've got you figured, baby."
The way he looked at me, I wondered if he thought he was a hypnotist or something. I looked right back at him.
"You have?"
I didn't make it tough or anything, though. I made it sound like a surprise, as though I were a little embarrassed at having been found out.
And the surprise I purposely put into my voice must have given him confidence because his grin deepened, and he let a little contempt creep in.
"Yeah. You're the kind that stands and takes it."
"Negative, you mean?"
"Negative, baby. Because you want it, and you can't help yourself. You'll take a man any way you can get him because you're afraid he'll run away."
Maybe he was right with a little of that. And I was glad he'd gotten the other impression, about my being negative.
"You're all wrong," I said. But I said it in a way that would make him sure he was a hundred percent right.
"We'll just get a little better acquainted today, he said. "Later, we'll get down to business."
"That's what you think. I can yell and my sister will come."
"But you won't."
"You sound awfully sure."
"Cut it out," he sneered, and then he was kissing me.
The way he kissed was to open his mouth and put it over mine. Then holding me against the door, he reached up and put his finger on my chin and pulled it down so that my mouth opened, too.
I felt his tongue. It was the first man's tongue I had ever touched with my own, and it was like fire running all through me. I held my tongue back and made him reach for it. He pushed his mouth harder on mine and kind of growled in his throat. I was glad he did, because if I'd given him my tongue at first, I'd have looked eager; and I didn't want to. This way, he'd think I'd done it because I was afraid of him.
We fought that way for a while, locked together there against the door. The fire was going clear through me as I tried to push his tongue out of my mouth. Then he closed his lips around it and created a vacuum, and I was fighting the other way, trying to get it back.
When I did, it hurt at the roots where it had been pulled. But the pain was good.
He was leaning against me now, panting, and we didn't touch each other in the middle. His hands were doing something, but I didn't feel them.
His face was in my neck, and I could feel his hot breath. "Did you go for that, honey?" he said in thick voice.
"If I said I didn't, I suppose you'd hit me."
"Maybe."
"Then I liked it. I liked it a lot."
"Do you want some more?"
"What would you do if I said no?"
I know my line was irritating him, but he didn't quite know what to do with it. He was getting what he wanted, but I wasn't giving him the satisfaction of panting for it.
"Maybe I'd slug you."
"All right, then I want more. A lot more. All you've got."
I could feel his grin against my neck. "You're going to be surprised at what you get, honey."
It was weird. We were there in the pantry making love. I wasn't resisting so it wasn't rape. I was going along, meeting him halfway, yet we were fighting. We were enemies.
I guess all men and women are enemies when they make love. They fight to drag pleasure out of each other, and it's a kind "f a war.
Maybe that was why Sis and Frank called each other vile names while they were in the heat of passion. A deep instinct to kill the thing you're making love to.
Maybe I wanted to kill Lex but not right away.
His hands were He put my mind on other things. His hands were behind my head, and all of a sudden he clamped down on my hair and twisted while he pushed at the same time.
It was either take it or go in the direction he wanted to, and that meant bending my knees. They hit the floor.
"What do you want?"
"Baby, don't be stupid. You know what I want."
"The hell with you!"
"Sure, but that doesn't change anything."
I saw what he'd done with his hands when they hadn't been touching me - the closest I'd ever been to a man and it was a good thing I was on knees, because they would have collapsed.
And I wanted to. That wild, reckless, hot feeling came, and I wanted to. But I couldn't let him know.
"Let me up. I'll scream."
His laugh was shaky. "Baby, the smartest thing you can do right now is what I ask."
It was an answer to what I'd said, but it was a nasty remark at the same time. I hated him, but at the same time I was shaking all over. My insides were turning to molten fury again and burning down into my legs.
I held myself together as hard as I could and when he saw that he laughed again.
"It won't do any good. I want my payoff, and I'm going to get it."
I turned my head away quick and said, "That's what you think."
When he jerked toward me again, I was silent. "Baby," he drawled. "All I want to do is kiss you."
I whimpered a little at the way he was pulling my hair.
"You want to kiss me, don't you baby? Come on, give poppa a great big kiss!"
I wanted to, God how I wanted to. It seemed as though I had been born for this, and it was as natural as breathing. But I was thinking of the next time, when I wanted him off his guard; and what I was doing was a way of setting him up. "Come on, baby."
I said to myself, you stupid idiot, make me! Quit just standing there while I wait.
Then he did. He bent his knees a little and reached down and grabbed my boob. I guess it hurt, but I was in that kind of excitement where I didn't know pain from pleasure.
But I got the signal and reacted with a quick yelp. Then a sigh of satisfaction came from him, and I tried to jerk away, as though I'd been tricked and was trying to fight out of it.
But not too hard because his nails dug into my scalp under the hair, and I whimpered again. Not loud either, because I couldn't.
My arms were around him, but that was all right because there wasn't anyplace else to put them. And I didn't have to keep alert now. He had me, and I'd surrendered because there wasn't anything else to do.
So I could give my whole attention to this new experience. It was something I'd never imagined or dreamt about. But right in the beginning I knew I would need protection from his vigor. His passion was flaming, making him writhe, and I freed one of my hands from behind and used it to grasp and control him. He didn't object. I slanted my eyes upward and saw him braced and leaning back. His face was toward the ceiling, and I saw the edge of his stupid half-grin, the kind of fixed expression that goes with a man's passion. I would see a lot more expressions like that one, but this was the first. His mouth was a little open, and his eyes were half closed; his head jerked with the same motion as his hips.
My head banged against the door behind me as his passion got more frantic. I heard him mutter, "God, baby -oh, God!"
I kept my fist in the way and felt the drive of his lust. He wasn't holding me now, his hands were against the door behind me and he kept muttering, "Oh, God! It's so damned good!"
In passion, he was as helpless as a baby, and I made a note of that, filed it away. He was vulnerable. I could have brought him shrieking to his knees with one quick grab at the unprotected part I'd squeezed before.
But I thought of the sea. A crazy thing about a time like that, but I thought of the sea, the depths of the sea where all the life came from.
And then I knew that I would do exactly what he wanted.
I removed my fist and took him into my mouth.
"Baby. Baby. Baby!!" he muttered.
I had complete power over him. I could do anything. If I bit down, he would never have sex again. But that was not what I wanted to do. I wanted to reduce him to jelly and biting wasn't the way to do that. Sucking would work much better.
Even though he wasn't touching me I started to get that feeling. That feeling that I now know as sex. My eyes glazed over and I started to feel really good inside . It was as good for me as it was for him. And it was really good for him. He was making noises that weren't even words.
Then, suddenly, he came and filled my mouth with his disgusting fluid. I choked and for a moment I couldn't breathe. I whimpered uncontrollably, then coughed and spit it out. At least I spit out as much as I could.
That angered him. His face twisted. He lifted his hand to hit me, but I opened the door just then and went out into the kitchen.
When I turned to look at him, I saw what a sadist he was. He got a kick out of hurting things. And I got kind of a mystic feeling on top of the excitement that was still hot inside me. Similar types are drawn to each other.
"My pigeon," he sneered. Then, as a contemptuous gesture, he opened his trousers and began putting himself together. He did it slowly and openly, exaggerating the motions, making lewd and indecent motions until he finally got his belt buckled. He looked at me with an expert eye.
"You're still hot, aren't you?"
And I said, "Yes," before I could catch myself.
"Well, stay that way," he sneered. "I like my pigeons hot."
"Get out of here!"
"Sure, honey. But I'll be back. Before I'm through, I'll have you doing tricks you never heard of."
He left, and I was glad he'd insulted me so much. I wouldn't have to feel sorry for him after I gave him his lumps. I knew there would be more pleasure in it for me than if he'd been a nice guy.
But I had my own problems at the moment. What had happened in the pantry came back at me, hot and exciting, and I headed for my room. Once in bed, I was in the pantry again: but it was different. Lex was doing the choking and the whimpering.
After I relaxed as I always did and was comfortable, I thought of a funny thing. I'd been with a man twice. There had been aberrations. It had been as uninhibited as you could get.
But I was still a virgin . . .
CHAPTER FOUR
"THEY THREW HER OUT OF THE CAR NAKED."
It was funny how my ears perked up any time I heard anything that sounded like sex. That was what I heard the next day at school, after my session in the pantry with Lex.
If I'd heard it before I met him, I'd have had a different psychological attitude. I'd have been all tingly and interested, but I would have been too timid to ask any questions.
But now it was different. I'd been involved in sex myself. I'd done tricks the other girls maybe never even heard of. I saw myself walking up to them and saying, "Yesterday a guy came to my house and before I knew it I was in the pantry with him. Before I could say a word he had me by the throat and he was - "
I quit dreaming because they were walking away, Sue King and Amy Dunne, and I hurried to catch them.
"Who got thrown out of what car naked?" I asked.
They both stared. Not because I was a stranger or anything like that. They were both in my class, and we were friends. They were just surprised at me asking a question like that.
Sue looked at Amy. "Well get her. You'd think she'd grown up overnight or something."
Maybe I did. But who were you talking about?"
They were both the type that can't resist passing on scandal. "Peg Williams," Sue said.
"What about her?"
"She met a man - "
Amy sniffed. "Picked him up, you mean."
That confused me. The way she said it. "I thought Peg was your friend."
"Why, she is!"
"Anyhow," Sue said, "she drove out in the county with this guy, and he talked her into the back seat."
Amy laughed. "Can't you just see Peg with her legs up in the air and that stupid look on her face that he probably mistook for passion?"
"Will you shut up?" Sue said. "I'm telling Lorna! Anyhow, he got her in the back seat, and pretty soon she didn't have any panties on."
"What's wrong with that?" I asked innocently.
Sue was amazed. "Why, Lorna, you've never said a thing like that before."
It was a thrill to shock them. I wanted them to know I had changed, that I wasn't a little stupe anymore. "Well, for God's sake. When you get into the back seat with a man, he doesn't want your panties in the way. How could he get anything?"
Amy was staring at me, and it made me feel good. Competent. A woman of the world. I'd been a fool to wait so long.
"Well," Sue said, "the panties went and then he got her sweater off, and all she had on was a skirt and a garter belt and stockings."
"What did he do?" I asked. "Take off her shoes to bite her toes?"
"That wasn't what he wanted to bite. The shoes fell off. He began to make love to her, and pretty soon she as too weak to resist; and all the rest of her clothes were gone."
"He must have been a real moron." I sniffed.
"Peg helped him, you can be sure of that," Amy said.
"Well, anyhow, maybe the guy was some kind of a nut because after he got through with Peg, he pushed her out of the car."
"Right there on the road?"
"They were back on a road in the woods, I guess, but there she was, stark naked out of the car with the guy waving her clothes at her from inside."
"How did you find this out?"
"She was over at my house the other night, and we had some drinks, the folks being away, and she told me as a secret." "A secret?"
"Well, I didn't tell anybody but Sue. She's my best friend."
"What did Peg do? Did the man finally give her back her clothes?"
"Yes, but you should hear what she had to promise him before he'd do it."
"I suppose a girl would promise anything under those conditions."
"Peg did anyhow. Then he let her get back into the car, and she spent an hour making good on her promises."
"I'd like to meet that guy." I said.
They stared at me in horror. "You're kidding!"
"I'm not. Honestly. I'd like to."
"You wouldn't want to go out with him!"
"Maybe, maybe not."
It felt good, having them look at me that way. It was so different from having them think of me as a shy little square. But they weren't patronizing me any more.
"Does he go to school here?"
"He's a man. He works in a gas station at Main and Sixth."
"What does he look like?"
"He's tall and blonde, very good looking. That was what fooled Peg."
"She didn't report him?"
"He scared her. He said he'd beat her ears off if she did." Amy sniffed. "A very vulgar person to say a thing like that."
Then the bell rang, we went to class, and they probably forgot what I'd said about wanting to meet the guy. But I hadn't. I thought about him all during class; on the way home I stopped off at the gas station to look him over. It was exciting to go in and look at him, know that I knew something about him he was unaware of.
He was tall and blond all right. And very handsome. And he certainly looked like a gentleman.
"May I use your phone?" I asked.
"Certainly, miss. Right there on the wall."
He didn't look like a man who would take a girl's clothes away from her and then make her do tricks to get them back. He wore a pair of white coveralls, and I was amazed at my own daring when I walked past him to get to the phone and acted as though I'd lost my balance and kind of fell against him. My thigh touched him hard, as I said, "Oh, pardon me," and acted a little flustered.
He helped me catch my balance, and I laughed to myself as I went on to the phone. I hadn't exactly aimed my fall but it told me something about him. Something he could get away with in loose coveralls.
It told me he was all man and touching him had been like touching a fire.
He went outside then, so I didn't have to go through too much of an act before I could hang up and go outside.
"Did you get your number?" he asked.
"Oh, I got it all right," I said. Knowing he wouldn't understand. What I meant was that I had his number.
Before I left school, I'd gone into the washroom and taken my bra off; and as I walked down the street I'd pulled my sweater down tight. That way my nipples showed big, and he was looking at them now.
"Those are real neat gas tanks," I said, smiling. "If I had a car, I'd buy gas from you."
He laughed. "I'll let you hold the hose while I gas my car up, if you like."
I laughed back at him. But I was laughing at what he reminded me of.
"Well, I guess I can give you some business,"
I said.
Then he showed his true colors with a very coarse remark, one a man would never make to a lady. His eyes narrowed and he said, "I could give you the business, too, honey."
I wanted to slap his face, talking to me like that, but I smiled and said, "I meant on the phone. I'll drop in and use it again."
He was looking at my boobs and nipples now, as though they were the last ones in world. I acted as though I didn't notice and stood there planning his future for him, or at least a little bit of it.
But not right away because I had Lex to take care of first. If Lex thought he was going to get away with the things he'd done to me, it was time he thought again.
"My name is Wells," the man said, "Hank Wells."
"Do you own this station?"
"No, but the boss is gone most of the day. I run it for him."
"Well, good-bye, Hank. I'll see you again."
"I certainly hope so, honey. Maybe we can take a little drive some hot night."
"Maybe."
I walked away, feeling his eyes lifting my skirt behind and looking underneath. All nights were hot ones for him. And I knew he was probably thinking what I'd look like running along beside his car naked, begging for my clothes. And he was probably conceited enough to be sure he could get me in that position. One of these guys who push themselves on a girl when she doesn't give them the least encouragement.
I hadn't known much about men up to that point, but I was learning fast. And it gave me a thrill to realize all the things I'd never experienced that were going to come my way.
Little Lorna, I mused as I walked away. Still a virgin but knowing so much about men. But not sitting around hoping and praying that some guy would look at me. Men weren't going to use me. I was going to use them.
There were going to be some real surprised guys before I got through.
And Lex was going to be the first...
He called on the phone the next afternoon. His lazy, insolent voice was the same, and it was all I could do to keep from telling him off. But I didn't because there was something I wanted him for. I'd decided to use Lex to get rid of my virginity. Of course, I suppose it was only a technical virginity, but it was all I had and losing it was my right.
I said, "If you want to have a talk with me, my sister goes shopping tomorrow afternoon."
"A talk?" he said, kind of surprised. "Oh, sure. When does she get home?"
"Well, she has dinner with a friend afterward. Maybe around eight o'clock."
I could see him licking his chops. Getting at me all alone, for four or five interrupted hours had him drooling.
I could hear his brain clicking, thinking up tricks he'd make me do. There'd been the trick in the balcony at the theater, and the one in the pantry. I wondered what others his agile mind would concoct.
And I knew he'd be surprised at the one I'd dreamed up.
After I hung up I went and got a book I liked to read. I'd bought it in a second-hand book store, and I'd read it several times. It was about insects, and I liked the part about black widow spiders.
With the black widow, the female is the boss and the male hardly counts. The female kills the male after she mates with him.
Up in my room, I had a box that I kept hidden from Sis; and in it I kept some things I'd found around the house, in the basement, and out in the yard. Insects and bugs and spiders.
I collected them thinking I might want to become an entomologist some day. If you catch a big fly, spider or butterfly and take it apart, you can learn a lot. When you take a fly and pull off its wings, legs and just before it dies, its head, you'd be surprised at its complicated structure.
I kept that box with the other book, the one I never let Sis see. I had a hard time buying it because the clerk in the book store thought I was too young. But I wasn't. I was young in years, but after he'd finished looking at my oversized boobs with the nipples sticking out and the slacks I wore that were so skin-tight over my rear and belly that you could practically see my pores, he decided I was old enough and sold me this book that was very instructive.
It showed just about every animal in the world, mating. Pictures. Over fifty of them. It was surprising, really, all the various animals in the world, including man, and all with the same idea.
Sex, when you consider its importance, makes the world go around.
I got a lot of my dreams and visions out of the book. When you study a book like that, you can come up with plenty of tricks.
I had to laugh when I thought of how Lex regarded me, as an innocent little kook.
While I was waiting for Lex that day, I took a shower and then a bath. I like water. I turned the shower on and set it so it was a hard, narrow blast of water, like a bayonet, sharp, and then I let it hit my skin.
The effect was terrific. Like being stabbed. I let it hit my back and legs and then turned around and put each boob under it, the water hitting me square on the nipple. First one, then the other, until I could hardly stand it.
Pain like that is wonderful.
But it was even more exciting when I'd lie down in the shower and let it hit me on the stomach and abdomen. Then came the really exciting part. The part I had to grit my teeth for. When I lifted myself back on my shoulders.
When I did this, I thought of something I'd read once about a jail for women. How the matrons treated them. When a girl broke the rules, they took her into the basement where they had a needle-spray hose. They took her clothes off and gave her a treatment. That was what they called it, a treatment.
While the other inmates watched so they'd learn a lesson and not break any rules, the matrons used the hose on the naked girl. They followed her around with the stream of water and directed the hose at her back, and before long they'd have her screaming and trying to climb the wall.
That was what I'd think of while I let the shower hit me with force. It was so exciting, I'd scream. I could really let go because I was alone, and the noise from the shower covered my howls for mercy.
When I couldn't stand it anymore, I'd fill a tub of water make it warm and soapy and go over every inch of myself, every spot I could reach. Doing that, I learned a lot about my own anatomy.
And maybe I could have gone on like that until I was an old woman, if it hadn't been for the experience in the balcony when I learned how much better it was with a man.
Lex had been the great disturbing element in my life, and so it was fair that he should pay for anything that might happen to me in the future.
Pay ahead of time.
After my shower and bath, I went down into the basement and got everything ready and then came up stairs and waited for him.
All I wore was a bright-colored sack with nothing under it.
Then there was a knock at the kitchen door, and I opened it and saw his insolent, grinning face leering at me. But I didn't look at that. I looked below and my excitement rose. My knees got a little weak. His skin-tight slacks showed the muscles of his thighs, the latent power and vitality in him, waiting to be aroused.
"Hi, chick," he said, "ready for a little session?" He made it a sneer, like I was a hooker, or something.
I put the sullen, resigned look on my face. "Why don't you drop dead."
He pushed on in, grinning. "Your sister's still out shopping?"
"She'll be gone for three or four hours."
He stepped up to me and ran his hands over my boobs, as though I were a prize cow or something. His hands went lower, and I could feel what they were finding; everything began to get hazy, my thoughts tumbling.
"You're stupid," he said.
"In what way?"
"You're so dumb you ask for it. You tell me your sister's away. That leaves you wide open for getting worked over real good."
"Why don't you get out of here?"
What he was feeling through my dress widened his eyes a little. He reached down, caught my skirt and pulled it up. His grin deepened as he looked. But there was more. Actually respect in his face.
"God! You are a woman!" "Didn't you ever see a woman before?" I said sullenly.
Still holding my dress up, he pushed against me; and I could feel the rough cloth of his slacks against my skin. The cloth was abrasive now from his nervous excitement. He was a real man, and what was added scared me a little. But there was the excitement, too.
He said, "Look, honey. Why not just relax and enjoy it?"
I put a look on my face that said, Okay, maybe that made sense. "Let's go down in the basement."
"What for?"
"Don't ask so many questions."
I walked away, and all he could do was follow me. He came down the stairs behind me and was surprised. "Hey! This is something."
He was looking at the mattress I'd laid out, but he didn't see the other things. He looked at the thick cement walls, too. It's quiet down here. I'll bet you could yell real loud and nobody would hear."
"Why would you want to yell?" I asked, still wanting him to think I was dumb. Just a dumb nympho.
He grinned slyly. "Well, you said you're a virgin."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"Sometimes, the first time, it can be rough."
I looked at him sullenly. And I decided right then that love and sex didn't go together. People who said so were lying. When a man looks at a woman and wants her, it isn't for love. It's for the opposite. To hurt her, degrade her and make her crawl. That's where they get the big kick. The other thing, the ecstasy, goes along with it, but their big kick is to see a girl crawling with her nose in the dirt.
He rubbed her nose in the dirt.
That was one of the expressions I'd heard at school, and I never forgot it. So nobody was going to kid me about love.
"Getting a virgin is a big bang for you, isn't it?" I asked.
He shrugged. "All you dames are the same."
I turned away from him to make sure the things under the mattress were hidden and to keep him from seeing how eager I really was. My knees were like water. My nipples were hard, and I could feel a pulsing in them. The muscles in my belly were pulsing too lightning and loosening as though they wanted to fly away. As though my nervous muscles had a life of their own.
"Take it off," he said.
I knew what he meant and kept the sullen look on my face as I pulled my dress off over my head. I stood there. He looked me over. His face was turning animal, his mouth twisting. It was like I was an enemy that he'd finally cornered, and he was going to give her hell; and there would be a savage joy in it.
He didn't know there would be a savage joy in it for me too.
"Lie down, damn you."
I lay down on the mattress. "You don't have to swear at me," I said. "I'm giving you what you want."
He began to undress as I lay there watching him "You're damned right you are. Now and whenever I want it. From now on when I say bend over or lie down, all you ask is how quickly. Get it?"
"I get it."
He stripped, and as he took his shorts off he stared, grinning into my eyes, looking for fright, wanting me to be scared of what he showed me. Wanting me to whine and whimper.
I was still playing his game so I whimpered. "Please be gentle with me."
"Oh, sure. I'll be gentle, baby. We'll take all afternoon and go real slow. You'll never know it happened."
"You don't mean that. You're going to hurt me."
He grinned and he licked his lips; they were red and shiny 'Well, maybe a little, baby. It always hurts a little the first time."
"Please be gentle."
His face was hardening. "In fact," he said in choked voice, "it may hurt a lot."
He stood over me now, reached down and took an ankle in each hand. He straightened up and then changed suddenly, grinning like a clown.
I knew then that he was sick and probably would be put away sometime. They say that even when you're a little sick that way, it gets worse and worse and you finally have to be put away.
I sensed that Lex was sick because of the quick changes in his mood. Now he was a clown, and he began doing exercises as though my legs were dumbbells or something. He kept his grip on my ankles and knelt there with his back straight and began swinging his arms, as though with dumbells, out horizontally and back again.
He grinned with that same clownishness. "One -two. Three - four."
"Stop it."
He stopped with his arms straight out on either side, looking down at me.
I whimpered, "Please-"
But it ended with kind of a grant, because he changed. The clown look vanished, and the mad man look came back; he lunged at me.
He didn't let go of my ankles, and so my legs went forward, over my head and the strain of my muscles was acute.
I was looking up at my own feet when his whole weight came down on me with a thud.
He was completely mad now. I could see it in his eyes. His mouth was open, and his eyes were kind of glazed; his body was lunging up and down wildly with no direction, just like a lust-crazed animal.
He hit my flesh savagely, again and again, and I knew he'd leave small bruises everywhere he hit.
His face was close to mine, and there was no place to put my arms except around him. I was scared plenty at that moment. I'd taken too much of a chance. Maybe he'd kill me before it was over. Maybe I couldn't do what I'd planned.
I'd been a fool.
Then there was a shriek of agony, and I knew it came from me. It was his last, hard lunge, when found what he'd been hunting for. My vision blurred from the rending shock, but in the middle of the blur I could see his face close to mine. There was a look of savage victory in it, sadistic delight in having been rough. His way with a virgin. Holding me helpless with my legs locked that way, he lay still for a moment, savoring his deep triumph, tasting it with the whole weight of his body at that point.
Then it began. Slow at first, the pace of passion. The unavoidable drive and motion.
It was pure torture at first. Everything had been painful. That one brutal lunge had ruined me. It was all over before I'd started.
Then it changed for me, and I realized I would have delighted in the pain of that first lunge if I'd known what was coming. It had been the surprise that had thrown me off.
Now it was different. Each lunge was pain that made me grit my teeth. But it was savagely wonderful. His hot mad body on mine. His strained, distorted face. His tongue coming out and trying to reach my open mouth but being jerked back every time he returned to the top of one of those ecstatic lunges.
My hands slid down his back, and the way he had me practically standing on my shoulders, his thighs and buttocks were within easy reach. I clawed at them and felt my nails go in. I ripped my nails across his buttocks and knew the wetness was blood.
"Oh, lover," I choked. "Do me! Do me hard! Don't stop."
He was cursing me under his labored breath. Not hearing my words because I wasn't even there as far as he was concerned. He called me vile things in every way he could think of and probably didn't even feel me clawing him, not even when I found his soft flesh and clawed at that, went deep, deep into it. Frantically.
I remembered the balcony and tried to find his flesh, and if I had I'd have hurt him but I couldn't reach him. So I had to settle for the other.
We were rising now, together. We had become one, so when I clawed him I was clawing myself. And what he was doing to me was self-abuse. He was doing it to himself. And all those names he called me were his own hatred and disgust at what he was, not what I was. He was calling himself a tramp and a degenerate and worse.
He'd bounced me off the mattress, and we were on the cement floor; it gouged at my back. It gouged an inch at a time with every lunge as he pushed me along.
Then we rose to the unbearable. I brought my hands up and caught his head in them, pulled it down so I could find his lips with my mouth and tongue. That would make us a complete circle, a single united thing.
His hot mouth pressed to mine in his passion, and that was good too. He cursed right down my throat with the same rhythm that he was using for his assault on my body.
And my answer now was, "Yes, oh, yes! Always yes!"
Then I was screaming into his throat, and I think the unbearable delight made me pass out for a moment or two, because there was a quick vision from one of the pictures on my mating book. A great stallion trumpeting and pawing. And the cringing mare.
And it was over...
CHAPTER FIVE
SOME OF THE THINGS DR. WELLINGTON TOLD ME were pretty frank. He said. "People see themselves in other people."
I didn't quite know what he meant and asked him.
"It's called transference of guilt. You saw Lex as a sadist in order to justify the sadism within yourself."
"That's a lie."
"You wanted certain pleasure from him, so you accused him of being the sadist, which put you in the role of exacting just vengeance."
That made me mad. "You're a psychiatrist. You're supposed to help people, not accuse them of things."
"Don't tell me what I'm supposed to do."
I hated Dr. Wellington, but only because he deserved hating. I'd carried the memory of that war picture clear through my life, and it wasn't hard to lie there on the couch and see Dr. Wellington with one of those palm branches used on him.
"You're a sadist yourself," I said, and didn't try to keep the sneer out of my voice.
But actually, what happened between Dr. Wellington and me isn't important. I never had any sex with him. On the couch, when we started, I let my skirt go up once in a while; but it didn't bother him. And it didn't bother him when I bent my knees so he could see more.
Plenty of guys would have raped me if I'd shown them half as much. But I let him see everything. He just looked at my face and said, "Maybe you ought to use a chair instead of the couch."
I decided he was either all dried up or else a pansy and the hell with it. If some of the things I told him didn't get him excited, I knew nothing would. Like the parties in the roadhouse that I went to. Or the weekends when everybody taking off their clothes was only the start. Or how a girl who wanted to join a certain motorcycle club was initiated by having to take on every male member, one after another.
But as I said, Dr. Wellington wasn't important. And a lot of what happened to me around town before I quit living with Sis wasn't important either. But I guess what I did to Lex was important. Because Dr. Wellington asked a lot of questions about that.
What happened was this. After we finished in the basement, and he'd taken my virginity, he crawled back to the mattress and stretched out on his face, exhausted.
That was a break for me. I'd anticipated trouble in getting him on his back where I wanted him. But there he was, waiting for me. I crawled over to him and rubbed his back a little, very gentle.
He growled. "Cut it out. I won't be ready for you again for an hour. I want to sleep."
That was fine with me. I waited for five minutes, and when he was breathing evenly I took a pair of handcuffs from under the box near the mattress where I'd hidden them. I'd gotten them at a store where they sold theatrical equipment, and it hadn't been hard at all. The clerk thought I was working for a producer and he was so preoccupied by wondering how it would be to take me out back had bend me over a desk that he hardly knew what he was selling me.
I remember that I almost let him, too. He was good looking and his pants were so tight there would have been no surprises if he took them off. He was excited and flustered.
Anyhow, I had the handcuffs, and I moved Lex's arms around behind him and snapped them on. It didn't wake him up. I'd expected it to and was ready for him to jump but when he didn't, I got the rope I'd hidden and tied one end around his ankle and the other to a cement post near the wall. He was certainly out because he didn't even wake up when tying him pulled that leg way over until he was really spread-eagled.
Now it was my turn, and I began to feel very excited. It was time to wake him up, so I went to the washing machine and got an old dish towel that was there. It was soft and pliable, and I tied a hard knot in one corner and then stretched it out and tried it. The towel snapped fine when you jerked it just right, with a quick flip of your wrist.
I'd had practice because when I was a smaller I used to practice snapping a handkerchief at flies and grasshoppers. I was very accurate with a towel.
I went back to the mattress and looked down at Lex, spread-eagled just right, and picked my target. It was an easy shot for me.
I snapped the towel and the hard, water-soaked knot cracked like a pistol as I hit dead on my target.
Nobody on earth ever woke up so fast. A horrible animal roar of agony came out of his throat: his eyes popped open and his legs frogged desperately for a few moments as his whole body came up off the mattress.
"God!" he bellowed, and came down again, trying to roll over. His arms were flailing against the cuffs both legs got tangled in the rope, but he kept clawing behind his back, trying to reach the spot I'd hit with the towel. He rolled around in panic, and when he was on his back with his legs apart and flailing, I got another good shot with the towel. I didn't get him in the same place, but as I hit that target too, I remembered what I'd wanted to do to him in the balcony when I'd had the right grip. I'd wanted to cause the same agony I'd caused with the towel.
His eyes bulged when he felt it and a horrible scream came out of him; he started pawing toward that second place.
Then, when I went and got the knife, he sat up and stared at me in terror.
"You gone crazy or something?" he babbled.
I laughed. "I always wanted to be a doctor." I said. "A specialist."
His mouth was hanging open from amazement as he rubbed his thighs together trying to get at the hurt spots, all three of them, and not succeeding.
"You're crazy," he mumbled, shaking with terror. He was no longer the sneering rapist.
"I always wanted to be a doctor," I repeated, and tested the blade of the knife on my thumb as I looked where his legs had dropped open again He saw where I was looking and slammed his knees together in panic. "No! No! You can't do that! You're out of your mind"
"It might feel good," I taunted. "Besides, with a little attention you won't be a menace to society." "You re crazy, crazy" he kept muttering. He climbed to his feet, and I grabbed the rope fastened to one of his legs and pulled him down again. He teetered on one leg for a second and went down on his face and his knees.
More excited than I'd ever been in my life, I jumped on him and flattened him out on the mattress. I'd been looking forward to not only my own vengeance on this dope but the vengeance I'd take for the girls he was going to hurt in the future.
But that changed now, because I found I hated him most for calling me crazy.
"I'm going to kill you," I said.
"For Christ's sake! What's wrong with you? Why do you want to kill me?"
Then another thing happened, one I hadn't figured on. I got scared. I hadn't thought of that when I was planning this. I never went as far as thinking about what would happen after.
But now I wondered. What if Sis came home and found us this way? I knew I had to scare Lex and scare him good.
"When you raped me, you thought you were getting away with something, didn't you?"
"Are you kidding? I didn't rape you."
I laid the blade of the knife against his throat "Did you hear what I said?"
"Oh, sure, sure. You're a nice girl and I raped you."
"That's better. I'll let you go this time. But don't you ever come back here."
I took the handcuffs off and stood behind him with the knife, hoping I wouldn't have any trouble with him. But I needn't have worried. He was blubbering as he dressed. All he wanted to do was to get out of there.
When I saw how it was, that I didn't have to be afraid of him, I had only contempt for him. He was cowardly and disgusting.
He dressed in a hurry and didn't even wait to go upstairs with me. He ran. I went up after him and heard the back door slam, and I knew I'd never see him again.
It was funny right after that. I got weak. All weak and shaky. I'd planned it, and it had been very exciting; but I was astounded that I'd had the courage to do it.
I went upstairs to lie down; my strength returned and I felt better. I thought back over it and got all weak in the knees.
Then I guess I slept because when I woke up I heard the door downstairs and knew Sis was just getting home.
She called, "Lorna, are you upstairs?"
I went down and looked at the things she bought, and then we made supper and talked.
But Sis was very quiet, and I knew she had something on her mind. "Did something happen?" I asked.
She didn't say anything for a while. Then she got it out quick. "Lorna, Frank wants to marry me."
It was like a blow. I didn't know what to say. Then I threw out the first thought that came to my mind.
"What about me?"
"Would you object, Lorna?"
"I don't know."
There was worry in Sis' eyes but that didn't bother me. A little worry never hurt anybody, and maybe it was time she did a little worrying about me instead of thinking about playing around with Frank all the time.
I remembered what I'd seen down in the living room and almost told her about it. Just so she'd know I wasn't an idiot. I wondered how she'd react if I said: / saw you that day with your pants off and your head on the lounge while you bit your own knee. It was disgusting. My own sister making love in the living room.
"I've tried to make a home for you since Mother died," Sis said.
I thought, is that such a big deal? But I didn't say it. It was better to let Sis think I didn't have any resentment.
"I guess I've been pretty strict, Lorna, but the way the world is today, and our being all alone - "
I knew that wasn't it. She had something else on her mind. "I've always done what you told me."
"Yes. You've been a wonderful girl, and I'm proud of you. But - "
"But what?"
"There's something I've got to tell you." "I'm listening."
"I've got to tell you because you aren't a child any more. You're an adult. You'll find out sometime and perhaps hold it against me for not telling you."
I wished she'd say what she had on her mind and quit dodging around it.
"Does it have something to do with Frank?"
When I asked that, I had a clear image of how he'd looked on his knees in front of Sis. How he'd looked with his back to me, naked and the position he'd been in. It was exciting, and I got that loose, flowing feeling, but I giggled on the inside. I thought how he'd been so vulnerable. Frank must have been some kind of a nut or something, I thought, not to have taken Sis completely.
Then I thought of Sis, the way she was sitting there at the kitchen table, all cool and beautiful, and how she'd looked on the lounge with her clothes off and her mouth open and panting, her eyes closed, the moans coming out of her throat and reaching all the way to the upper hallway.
People were animals. There just weren't any two ways about it. Animals. And you couldn't have any respect for them.
Take Sis. Sitting there masquerading as a decent person when she'd done a degenerate thing like that.
And while I didn't say it, I told myself that she had no right to ask for love and respect from me. When I got an example like that from my own sister, just about anything I ever did would be all right.
"No," Sis said. "It's about Father."
"I never knew him very well. He left when I was quite small."
"Yes. And he never came back to see us. The reason was that he'd been forbidden to, by the court."
"I never knew that."
"Mother kept it from you because you were so small. You wouldn't have understood."
"But you did understand."
"I was older, Lorna."
It was a blow. A distinct blow. To learn that my own mother, whom I loved and revered, had held out on me. But she'd told Sis. I knew I'd never feel the same about Mom again. Gradually, you learn that you don't owe anything to anybody, and now I'd found out that I didn't even owe my own mother any loyalty.
"It's a hard thing to say," Sis went on, "about our own father. But about a year after I was born, he began acting strange."
"What do you mean, strange?"
"Well, he beat Mother one night. That was the beginning of it. And after that he, well, he made her do some repulsive things."
I knew right away. I don't know why, but I knew, and I could have made it hard for Sis by demanding the details. But I felt sorry for her, maybe because she was such a hypocrite and stumbled around so.
"That was why Mom divorced him?"
"Yes, there were other beatings later, so she filed for divorce; and the court said he could only see his children when Mother was there. And then only when she said he could."
It seemed to me that was a pretty dirty trick on my father, but I didn't say anything.
"He never tried, though," Sis said, "and later, he got into trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"With the police. I didn't get the details. I didn't want them. But what I want to tell you is how it ended, so if you hear it from somebody else, you won't be shocked."
Sis didn't have any idea of how hard it was to shock me, and I didn't let on.
"Father went to jail," she said, "and served a term. He was released and got into more trouble. That time he was sent to an asylum. He died there."
"You mean he went insane?"
"It wasn't his fault, Lorna. Don't think harshly of him. Things like that happen to people."
I wasn't thinking harshly of him. I was thinking that way about my mother and Sis. They were the ones who let my father down.
There was no point in really feeling sorry for him because it was too late. But there was one thing I decided. I didn't owe Sis loyalty any longer. She'd kept me in the dark about my own father. As far as I was concerned she no longer fit into my life, except on my terms.
So I planned to go out that night, something I'd never done before. In a way, I was glad she'd chosen that day to tell me about my father, because now I wouldn't feel in the least guilty about sneaking out. I probably would have been ashamed, otherwise.
"When are you going to marry Frank?"
"I haven't agreed yet. I've been thinking about you, Lorna."
"I think you ought to get it over with."
"It's all right with you if he comes here to live?"
"It will be fine."
I was already* thinking how it would be with a man around the place all the time.
So Sis had told me two things, about my father and about Frank. And she gave me a good excuse to go down to that gas station at Main and Sixth without feeling guilty, after she went to work.
I wore a sweater and a tight skirt that showed off my hips and came three inches above my knees when I sat down.
The same blond guy was there, Hank Wells, and when I walked in his eyes went straight to my boobs and lit up. I thought how disgusting it was with men. All they thought about was sex.
I was thinking about something else. How I was going to fix Hank for what he'd done to a girl friend of mine.
"The telephone's still working," he grinned. Glad you remembered us."
"I didn't come for a phone call," I said. "I just thought you might have a cold bottle of pop in that machine."
"Right," he answered, "and it's my treat."
I sat down, and he put a dime into the machine and brought me a bottle, his eyes dropping to the thigh I showed him - the inside of my thigh because I was sitting on my leg and my skirt had come way up.
He went and got a bottle for himself, came back and said, "I'm through in half an hour."
I looked bored. "So?"
"I thought we might take that drive."
"It's possible," I said languidly.
Nothing more of interest happened in the station except that I got so excited I kept rubbing my thighs together. I remembered how it had been with Lex, and I could hardly wait.
It wasn't hard to see what was on his min as we drove out into the country. I could feel his thoughts as I sat beside him in the car. And I could almost smell the heat riding in him. When he put one hand on my thigh, I shook.
He drove to a place where there were woods and rough country and pulled to the side of the road. When we got out of the car something happened to me. Something new. I wanted him so bad I forgot all about how I'd planned to get his clothes off and then run to his car, drive away and leave him. That had been my idea.
The feeing I had was not the same as the one I'd had with Lex.
I wanted to worship him. And I would have, at the least sign from him.
It was funny in a way. Usually a guy courts a girl a little bit before he goes for her. But Hank didn't. It was all so matter-of-fact that it should have been repulsive.
It wasn't though. It was one of the most exciting things that ever happened to me.
When we were out of the car he stopped and said, "Do you think we ought to take the seat out of the car to lie on?"
I heard myself answering, "We ought to be able to find a soft spot."
It was weird, like we were talking about having a picnic or something like that.
He took my hand and began walking, and walked along beside him, completely in his power. Out there in the woods, all alone, he could have killed me if he'd been a moron.
I held his hand and trotted along beside him like a little girl with her father. We didn't talk.
By the time we got to a place he liked, a little space between some bushes where there was grass, I was all crazy inside. I wanted everything. I wanted to worship him, be worship and do any new tricks he wanted me to.
I was a little scared at how bad I wanted him. My mouth was full of saliva. My nervous system must have been ready for what I knew would happen.
I was hot that way. Hot and eager. There was a big moon, and we could see each other as clear as day. I stood there feeling timid and shy for some crazy reason.
What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Take your skirt off."
Just like a little girl obeying her father. When the skirt was off he stood looking at my legs, his eyes practically petting them.
"Your panties."
When I took those off I didn't have anything on but my shoes and stockings and a thin garter belt. He stared and I saw him lick his lips.
"Aren't you going to undress?"
"Take off your sweater and blouse."
I wasn't wearing a bra so that left me practically naked.
"God, you're stacked," he muttered, and the tone of his voice thrilled me. I wished I had more to show him.
But I guess it was enough because he dropped down on his knees to look better. I stood there and felt his hands on me. He ran them up my thighs and over my belly and then cupped one boob in each hand. The nipples were standing out like marbles, so hard they hurt, and I ached to have him bite them. A sweet, fierce feeling went through me; and I had a quick, crazy vision back in my mind. In the vision, he bit off one of my nipples and then said, "Oh, I'm sorry," and I smiled sweetly and said, "That's all right.''
I asked, "Do you want my stockings and garter belt off?" Standing there asking him like a slave. And I guess I was his slave right then. I'd have done anything for him.
He put his mouth against my belly, and I could feel his hot tongue. I began to shake, and then I bent over with one of my boobs cupped in my hand, crazy to feel his mouth and tongue on it.
"Please" I said.
He raised his face, and then it hurt wonderfully. Not just the nipple, all of it, all he could gather into his mouth while his tongue worked wildly.
"Undress," I gasped. "Oh, please undress."
"Not yet," he said, and kept staring, wanting to see everything he was going to have. Wanting to get acquainted.
I stood there shivering, my knees weak from thinking how it would be and cursing him for being so slow. But my curses were love words, not really curses as I stood there feeling his hot, wonderful mouth on me.
Then he drew back, got up and began to undress. He did it methodically and completely, folding his shirt carefully and laying it out of the way.
As he reached toward his belt, he said, "Spread your skirt out on the grass."
I did as he told me, laying it out flat, and when I finished he had his pants off and was folding them carefully. He laid them on his shirt and then took his shorts off.
I gasped and thought of Lex, remembered how he'd scared me. I should have been twice as scared now because that was how Hank was. Almost twice as anxious as Lex. But I wasn't scared. The muscles of my thighs twitched, and my belly kind of crawled. It's the only way I can describe it. As though when the message went from my eyes to my brain it caused panic.
He was tall, slim and wide-shouldered.
But so strong, a girl had a right to be scared. I wasn't, though. I was just crazy with desire.
"Lie down on the skirt," he said, and as I did so I loved him for being so considerate of me, not wanting my rear on the cold grass.
Lying there on the ground, I looked up at him; and he was like a naked giant looming over me. I was being very proper and formal with my thighs tight together, not wanton and witchy, the way I really felt.
He went to his knees and then stretched his heavy length out on my body. Pressing down with all of his weight, all of it on me, so heavy and frightening.
His arms went around me, and our mouths came together. I could taste his hot breath. He pried my mouth open wide and found my tongue with his; the thrill went clear down through me. So hot and eager and thrusting, like a preview of things to come. Things to come that I could hardly wait for.
And I said the things that came into my mind. "Please don't hurt me," which was stupid because I wanted the exact opposite. I wanted to be hurt.
"No," he said in a choked, absent way as though he was getting pleasure out of torturing himself by taking it slow, waiting.
"Be gentle with me." I whispered as I licked his ear.
We went back to our kiss, and his whisper went down my throat as his tongue hunted for mine. "I will."
I'd pulled my tongue back, making him reach for it and he opened my jaws so far, reaching, that they hurt. Exploring with his tongue as though he wanted to remember every bit and contour of my mouth.
Then he began prying with his knees, and I whimpered from eagerness as I relaxed.
"Now," he said, and I croaked a wordless answer of agreement. Now.
It was a kind of signal, as though we'd rehearsed this before. Rehearsed it a thousand times in a thousand other lives and it was familiar to us.
I pulled my knees wide, and in pure reckless delight, in the wild freedom that comes then only and at no other time, I threw them outward and upward up, up, until I was straining.
He'd put his own knees on the ground to give me leeway, and I used it all so that he had to take a step forward on his knees to reach me again. And when he did, he lunged.
I was tensed, waiting, expecting the bruises I'd gotten from Lex, but there weren't any. The direct plunge and the indescribable feeling that was kind of a trap. The feeling that told a girl she'd passed the point of no return. This was it. This was the business. He had her now, and there was no way out.
He had me, but I wanted to be had, so that made it all right.
I wanted so much to be good, to satisfy him, and it made me all crazy inside and out. I wanted him to have me and still not lose my mouth, so my head was way back, my neck bent so that by bending his head down he could still have my mouth. He wanted my lips tight together, my mouth against his with only his tongue. The same closeness, working together in the same rhythm.
He'd hooked his hand over my shoulders, so I couldn't be pushed away from him. That way, he was pulling back on my shoulders each time and it was thrilling and wonderful: I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stand it.
But I'd have to stand it because if I'd tried to get away, it would have been rape, just the plain act of a man raping a girl.
I remembered a comment from school. What one of the girls said once: When a man takes that away from you, it's rough.
But what girl would want it any different? What kind of a girl would want a man to be gentle at a time like this?
He was so close, so very close. He'd stopped lashing with his tongue, and his cheek was pressed against mine; we clung to each other. And every one of his rasping, tortured breaths was a lunge into my ear. Hot! All the lust in him sounding in my ear while we slammed against each other to the beat of the rising ecstasy.
There was the sharp slap of flesh when we hit just right.
I moaned, and his rhythm increased. "I can't stand it! Oh, I can't stand it!" That was my voice. But it was a liar because then I was moaning, "Oh, harder, lover! Bruise me, sweetheart! Smash me into little pieces, darling!"
Then I had to find his mouth. I had to find it quick because that was where I wanted the scream to go, because it was all I had left to give. The scream of ecstasy that had to come.
He knew, and he gave me his mouth just as I'd given myself to him.
We both strained against the finish as long as possible. And with me, it wasn't a scream. It was just an animal howl of pure delight that met his deep animal growl of devouring passion.
Then we collapsed and lay there while the world went by. That complete, sweet exhaustion after we were finished, tranquility. The deep, relaxation, our limbs lying heavy.
The sweat was pouring off of us and blending as our bodies had blended.
And then I was crying.
He got off of me, and through my tears I saw him all blurry. There was something white, and I knew he'd taken a handkerchief from his pocket.
Then he began to dress.
"Are you going to leave me here naked?"
He frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"The way you left Peggy?"
"Who's Peggy?"
"A blonde girl - "
"Oh, sure. But what's this about leaving her naked?"
"You took her clothes and wouldn't give them back to her."
"Are you kidding?" "That's what she said."
"Why the hell would she say a thing like that?" I felt like a fool.
"You better get up and get dressed."
He didn't want to talk. I tried, but he kept going silent. As though I'd been a gas customer who had made a purchase and that was that.
We were silent all the way back to town, and with nothing else to do I thought about the lies Peg had told. About what had happened to her.
And I knew I'd never trust a woman again.
Then, when we got to my block, he stopped the car and said, "So long, kid." He said it as casually as though all he'd done was drive me home from his gas station.
"Aren't we going to see each other again?"
"I'll be moving on in a few days. I don't stay in one place long."
"You mean you'll find some other girl the next place you go?"
"Sure. You sound as though we were married, baby."
"I - I thought we might - "
"You'll be finding other guys. You've got a lot of living to do, honey."
"Don't you ever expect to get married?"
"Sure. Sometime."
"Let's keep in touch, Hank."
He moved the car a little, anxious to be on his way. "Take it easy, hon. And don't take any wooden - "
He finished with a word and a laugh and left me standing there.
I ran into the house, tears blinding me.
And I knew I'd never trust another man again...
CHAPTER SIX
DR. WELLINGTON MADE ME MAD. ALL HE WANTED to know about for a long time was my father. And what did I know about him? Nothing. And if I had and could have told him, what did that have to do with me?
Also, he did a lot of talking about how different Hank was for me than Lex. How I would probably have followed Hank around like a little dog if he'd let me, although that wasn't the way Dr. Wellington put it. And that in contrast to what I did to Lex.
He asked me if that meant anything to me, and I told him no. Why should it?
We spent a couple of sessions, on what happened at home after that. How Frank and Sis got married and how, three years later, Frank was dead.
I told Dr. Wellington how it was. That Frank turned out to be a hood. And whoever it was who came in and beat him to death that night was a hood, too.
He knew, of course, that Sis cracked up and had to go to a sanitarium. That was because of the shock of Frank's death. But there were other reasons, and I told Dr. Wellington what they were. I didn't pull any punches. I told him that Sis and Frank went sex crazy. And it was true.
Frank was a sex degenerate. A sex maniac, really, with a lot of skill at hiding it. I told him some of the things Frank made Sis do^ and how she began to like doing them.
But the main thing was that he kept her so busy with their sex life that she didn't have any time for me, and I went out pretty much on my own. So that two years later, when I was going on nineteen, I knew a lot of people and knew my way around, had begun to really live.
I got along fine because I'd learned early that you had to take care of yourself. Nobody would do it for you. And that was the way I played it.
The doctor and I had a little argument about my saying that I wanted to have every experience in life. I claimed I hadn't actually said that. I told him things just happened to me. But that when they did, I never let them get me down. I took them in stride.
I told him about Sam, naturally, because Sam opened a lot of doors for me. But I didn't tell him about the thing that happened about a month after I met Sam.
About the five guys.
I didn't tell him because he would have said I was to blame. That the five guys happened because I wanted to have every experience.
But he was very much interested in one of the fantasies I had. One of my dream guys. I didn't have very many after Sis married Frank, because after that I wasn't alone too much. I was with real guys, and so I didn't have time for dreams.
But there was this one, and Wellington kept hammering until I told him all about it.
My last dream guy, I called him.
I made this guy very handsome, and it was natural that he would have been a dancer, because Frank was around all the time and his friends were dancers. But he didn't look anything like Frank. I called him Ben, but he looked like Hank. All blond, golden and muscular with broad shoulders and slim hips.
Ben was a very proper person, and he came to the house all the time; but all he wanted to do was talk. He said I was going in the wrong direction, and he wanted to set me straight.
I'd sit and listen, but all I wanted to do was go to bed with him.
He wouldn't though, he said all that could do would be to lead to trouble. That I should keep myself pure and after a while some nice guy would come along and marry me.
It was all very boring. But it went on and on, until finally I couldn't stand it any longer and so I made a plan. I'd come to hate him by that time for being a dope, so making the plan wasn't hard.
Down in the basement we had a long narrow table that had been there a long time. Somebody had used it for a work table once, but now all it did was stand against the wall and gather dust.
After I made my plan, I went down and did a little work on it. I broke the chain on the handcuffs I'd bought at the theatrical supply house, the ones I'd used on Lex and fastened them to the edge of the table on either side. Then I got another pair and fastened them to the bottom for the ankles.
It would have been hard to do it had been real, but it was easy when the whole thing was being done in my dream world.
That was why I couldn't figure Dr. Wellington out. Why he was so interested in that silly dream idea.
But he was, so I told him how it went: After I had the table fixed, I waited until Ben came the next afternoon and talked him into going down into the basement with me. Dr. Wellington was very much interested in how I got Ben to get on the table. I told him it was easy because you can do anything in a dream, and he had to be satisfied with that.
After I got the cuffs on Ben's hands and ankles, I put a gag in his mouth to keep him from yelling, and I was ready.
Then I raped him.
I think it really rocked Dr. Wellington when I told him that. But I couldn't figure out why it should have. He'd been around and listened to a lot of people and should have been very sophisticated.
I told him it was not only easy in the dream, but it would have been easy in reality.
I was wearing my bright colored sack with nothing under it and climbed onto the table and laid there looking into Ben's eyes. He was choking and mumbling through the gag, and I kissed his eyes and his cheeks and made love to him that way and I told him I was sorry but I had to do this because I loved him and had to have him one way or another.
I was getting more excited all the time, and it was a good thing I was lying on the table. If I'd been standing beside it my knees would have melted, and I would have fallen to the floor.
Passion swept over me like a hot wave, and I opened Ben's clothes the way I wanted them. I watched his eyes as I did this, and I could read them; the excitement I felt just didn't have any words to fit it. I looked and saw female eyes and sensed female thoughts and fears coming out of him.
But he was all male otherwise and could no more keep himself from responding physically than he could have dissolved the handcuffs.
My dress was up now, and my flesh was rubbing against his, all hot like something warmed by fire. My knees were against the hard table on either side of him.
At this point, when I was lying on Dr. Wellington's couch telling him about the dream rape, he interrupted with a silly question.
"Didn't you have a pad on the table?"
I opened my eyes, angry. "What difference does that make. A pad or not. It was only a dream thing."
"Of course, but I think you want to make your dreams accurate, don't you?"
"How do you know whether it was right or wrong? A dream doesn't have to be either. Or it can be both."
"I'm sorry," he said. "Go on."
So I told him the rest of it: the wild, hot feeling of being a man, kind of. The feeling of forcing and dominating and getting my way. Of knowing how a man feels when he takes a girl.
Ben couldn't help himself, because I was forcing him to conform. And he had to respond. He wouldn't help me at first, but I looked into his eyes while I kept lunging and lunging and lunging, my eyes and thighs aching from the work he should have been doing.
Then he was helping because he couldn't keep from it. Passion had taken him over, and he gasped and moaned through the gag. I wanted to take it off, but I didn't dare.
I said, "Oh, darling, darling, love me! Take me! Move for me!" Just as though he had a choice in the matter.
He lunged up at me viciously now and tried to tear his hands out of the cuffs while I writhed and twisted and lunged.
And the world exploded for both of us.
I lay there for a while afterwards, exhausted, and then I got off and let him up. He was weak and he staggered, the passion having taken all his strength away.
I helped him upstairs and onto the lounge.
And well, that was that. My last dream man. And I wondered why Dr. Wellington was so interested in it.
I think maybe he was imagining me doing it to him. Psychiatrists are human too ...
CHAPTER SEVEN
But THE DREAM RAPE WAS ONLY INCIDENTAL BEtween me and Dr. Wellington. I don't really know why I put it in here.
The important things are what I didn't tell him. And that was plenty. After Frank came and Sis began having less and less time for me, I began to get around.
She alibied herself, of course. She said, "You're getting to be a big girl now, Lorna, and I guess you've got to get out a little. Have you met some nice boys in school?"
In order to keep her from getting excited, I brought a couple of the dopes home to show her. Characters I wouldn't have been seen with even in the hall, and I dropped them quick after Sis got the idea I knew what she called "nice boys."
But I didn't introduce her to Pete Gill. Pete had a Corvette, and the first time I went out with him he drove me into the country and gave me a blockbuster kiss. That was what they called it, a blockbuster kiss. I'd never had one before and it was a surprise.
Pete parked in the shadows beside the road and turned away from me, titled his head back. Then he turned and pulled me into his arms, found my mouth and began kissing me. From the way his lips moved, I knew he wanted a hot kiss and opened mine.
Then I was suddenly choking and coughing. I was gagging and my throat was fiery. This was a mouthful of whiskey.
"My God." I croaked.
He laughed. "Straight Kentucky bourbon, honey. You sound like you never tasted it before." "I haven't."
"You mean you've never had a drink."
"Only Cokes and things like that."
"Well then, baby, this is going to be great. You're going to have a new experience."
I might have refused, because the stuff burned and tasted awful. But what he said about a new experience was a little like a dare. And if you don't take a dare, they call you chicken.
Pete tipped the bottle up and took a long drink and then handed it to me. I tipped it up too, closing my fists and my eyes real tight. But it wasn't so bad. After the first burning in my throat, it hit my stomach; and down there the burning felt good. Hot and exciting.
"Atta girl," Pete said. "You and I are going to get along fine."
That made me feel good because all the girls wanted Pete, but I had him. Wanting him to like me even more, I took a mouthful out of the bottle pulled him over and gave him a blockbuster kiss. We held it a long time with our open mouths, tight together so we wouldn't lose the drink; and then we swallowed together and I found I was learning. I didn't cough at all.
We finished the bottle, and then everything got vague but very wonderful.
It was the way life was meant to be, all wild and exciting. We'd emptied the bottle, and the fire was burning in us. I wanted to grab him. I wanted us to be in a dark theater where nobody could see us, where I could reach down and grab him and make him yell.
Then I realized I could because nobody was around; we were all alone in the world with the fire inside us and the need we had for each other.
But he beat me to it. He'd pulled my sweater out of the bank of my skirt and was pawing at my bra.
"Damn it," he grumbled, "that thing's in the way."
He tried to pull my boob out from under it, and that hurt.
"The hooks are around behind," I said, and he found them and my boobs fell out. He lunged at one with his mouth.
A long moan came out of him, and it was as though he'd never tasted anything like it in his life.
"Baby," he mumbled. "You're the greatest! You're luscious."
He drew back his head, and I lay back on the seat and closed his eyes while he made love to my boobs. He touched the nipple closest to him with his tongue and then jerked back.
"Hot! Hot as a two-dollar pistol. Don't they burn?"
I laughed without opening my eyes, lying back on the seat knowing how my boobs jutted out and proud of them.
"They're hot as coals. Cool them off."
He buried his face in them, and I thought of a real crazy thing to do. While his was busy with his eyes closed I opened mine and reached down and found the bottle. I put the mouth of the bottle over my other nipple and tipped it up. A few drops ran out. They felt cold and wet.
I put the bottle back on the floor and lay back and closed my eyes again.
"Taste the other one."
He put his mouth over it, and I felt his tongue. "God! The booze went right through you and came out here! Baby! You're worth a fortune. You make the stuff."
"I'd rather make you,' I said, and grabbed him.
He shivered and lay back on the seat. "Let's get out and take our clothes off." "Okay."
But I had other ideas. I took his head in my hands and pushed him. Then I lifted my skirt with one hand and caressed his thick, black hair, feeling his scalp at the tips of my fingers and wanting to dig in.
I lifted my legs and braced my heels against the edge of the seat.
"You started the fire by feeding me that bourbon. Now put it out."
He was so eager he was quivering. "Oh, baby, baby!" he gasped. And I shuddered as he began kissing my stomach.
I strained forward, wild for the heat and the warmth of him. The eager passion inside him that he was trying to quell sent ecstasy through me. I grabbed his head and held on as the world spun around, and I knew it would be like this always.
He was a wild animal loving me, and I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be destroyed.
"Oh, my God!" I shrieked. "Ruin me! Destroy me!"
But I reached that high crest of ecstasy so fast, faster than ever before, and down the other side. And almost with the same breath, still screaming, but the opposite now.
"No, No! Stop! I can't stand it! No more!" But he was still avid. He hadn't enough, not nearly enough, and he had me locked helpless with his arms.
"Stop. You're killing me! I can't stand it!"
He didn't even hear me. I clawed and tore at him and tried to kick loose, but I was locked.
"Please! Oh, please! I can't stand it!"
He stopped, gasping, to look up at me dully. "You all right, chick?"
"Oh, my God!"
I was crying, but no tears were coming out. Dry crying, my whole body shaking and quivering with no tears coming.
We rested. Then I tried to move my legs, but there was no place for them to go. I was jammed there against the back of the seat. The instrument panel was too close, and there was only room for Pete and his loving in between.
He'd gotten out and was back behind the wheel, looking down at me where my head and shoulders were down on the seat.
He grinned. "You look real cute that way, baby."
"Help me up."
He reached out. "No, don't touch me, please! It's like I'm on fire."
"I've got a fire going too." "Help me."
His grin was evil. "I could crawl on top. I could kneel over"
"No, let me out first," "Promise?"
"I promise." "What?"
"Anything you want. I'll do anything. But help me up."
It was ridiculous being in that position and having to beg.
But he helped me, and we go out of the car and lay down on the grass behind some bushes. It wasn't hard to give him what he wanted. It was easy because I was eager to and all I had to think of was the great, hot desire, the focus of my life, while he panted and then moaned and grabbed at me the last few moments and clawed at my buttocks, which were in reach.
After that we lay on the grass in each other's arms and it was very strange. We were in love. Lying there together, not even really knowing each other very well, we were in love!
He was very tender. He kissed me and caressed my cheek. "You're beautiful, Lorna." "And you've awfully sweet." My sweater had come down. He pushed it up and braced himself on his elbow ran his hands over my breasts.
"They're lovely."
"I'm glad they grew that way just for you." He kissed each nipple, lightly, with his lips only. "You're nipples are hard."
"They're always hard when I'm near you." "What do they want?"
"To be kissed. They're jealous. They were watching you. They feel left out."
He made love to them and I began to shake. I ran my fingers through his hair. "Do you want me to do that to you again?"
"Do you want a return bout?"
"I'd scream. I couldn't stand it."
"Sensitive?"
"Very sensitive."
He smiled. "I think we've got a wonderful rapport."
"You mean we like each other." "Mmmmm"
"It's getting late," I said.
"Uh-huh. I'll drive you back."
I wanted to grab him and hold on and never let him go. And if he'd stayed where he was a few seconds longer I would have. Then it would have started all over again, wild and free and mad.
But he got up and the chance was missed.
And we never felt that way again.
I think it was because we didn't want to. When you fell in love, you were trapped. Love was a prison, but sex was freedom. And when you were in a position where you could only make love with one guy, even if you thought you wanted it that way, it was a trap.
He was never tender again.
Except that he cried when I was raped by a gang, so I guess he really did care for me.
That night, when Sis and Frank came home, Frank decided he wanted to talk to me. I got in a few minutes after them and he said.
"Where did you go tonight, Lorna?" "I went riding in the country." "Who with?" "A friend." "Male or female?" "Male."
"Do we know him?" "No."
Sis was up taking a bath, and Frank was wearing his silk robe and looking very sharp.
"It might be a good idea if you were a little careful about who you go around with."
"Why? Have there been any complaints?" "No. It's just how things are these days. There are some pretty crummy characters on the prowl. Some real morons."
He was a fine one to talk after some of the things I'd seen him do to Sis.
"Lorna, I think you ought to bring young men in for inspection before you date them." "Sis met a couple of them." "Sure, but if I'm any judge, you aren't dating either one of those."
"How come this interest all of a sudden?" "Now that I'm the man of the family, I guess I feel responsible."
I went over and sat down beside him, and L knew that my boobs bothered him.
"That's nice. I'm flattered. It's a little like you were my father."
"In a way, I guess I am."
"Do you want to be my father?"
"You're a sweet kid, Lorna. I don't want to see you get into trouble."
I was quite close to him and getting a little excited. And I think he was, too. He got up quickly and reached across for a cigarette.
"Have you given any thought to what you'd like to do?"
"Do?"
"When you get out of school."
I almost said, / don't know, but right now I'd like to go to bed with you. Instead, I snapped the lighter and held it for him, standing very close to him so he could sense the woman in me reaching out toward him.
He turned away quickly. "There are lots of good jobs a girl can get these days, but it takes specialization. Do you think you'd like to be a private secretary?"
I'd always thought that would be fun. Alone with your boss during working hours. Staying after work for quick ones. Going on "business" weekends.
And then maybe having him pay your rent in a swanky apartment.
"That might be all right," I said.
"It's too bad you don't have talent. You've got the looks."
I could have slapped him. I had talent. The only thing was, he didn't know anything about it.
Even with the little experience I'd had I could have made him forget Sis in one night, if I'd been given the opportunity.
"I think you ought to go to college, Lorna, and I'm willing to help you with the tuition."
"That's wonderful of you. "I'd pay you back - somehow."
I'd been willing to start paying in advance right then, but with a quick look at my boobs, poking out at him and practically begging, he smiled quickly and turned toward the stairs.
He'd gotten me so excited, just being near him, that I went up and stretched out on my bed and tried to think of Pete.
I thought how it would have been if he hadn't gotten up at that exact moment out in the country. I would have grabbed him, and the fire would have started again. He would have been on top of me, and there wouldn't have been anything I could have done about it.
But in my reverie, Frank's face kept pushing in. Then I hated Sis for having him. What right did she have? I lay there and thought of some of the torture pictures, the ones about the nurses that were captured in the South Pacific and what their captors did to them. And Sis became the one that was suffering most.
And after a while I got so excited thinking they might make love that night that I could hardly stand it. I knew that the thing for me to do was to have a dream and get rid of the fire in me. But I didn't want to. The excitement of waiting was a kind of ecstasy in itself.
I got out my animal book while I was waiting for them to go to bed and looked at the pictures, thinking how wonderful nature was, figuring out a way for each animal.
And how sex makes the world go round.
They went to bed about half an hour later. That is, they went into their room and closed the door. After that I could go into the dark hall and see it all because there was a transom over their door that they left open and it reflected the whole bed inside. Of course it wouldn't have worked if they hadn't left the light on, but they always did.
Another thing: neither of them ever wore anything when they were alone in their bedroom. I remembered how, that first night, they almost drove me crazy.
Again and again. I didn't believe Sis had the staying power, and it would have seemed that Frank should have become exhausted. But he didn't. They would rest a while in each other's arms and then start over.
It was a little disgusting because they were so tender with each other. Several times I heard myself whispering, "Grab him! He's so vulnerable! Grab him and make him hurt!" And, "Now you've got her where you want her. Make her beg for mercy!"
But no. All soft sweetness with the kind of kisses that were more a waste of time than anything else. And silly things like, "Oh, Frank, I love you so!" And, "Darling, it's just the two of us forever, now!"
While I'd watched and listened I couldn't help thinking how a real man works. How Lex got me against the wall in the pantry and made me like it!"
And the picture in that war book of the naked man tied to the tree and the one with the whip!
Tonight, Sis was in a kittenish mood. She came out of the bathroom and ran naked on tiptoes to where Frank was bending over to pick a book that had fallen by the bed.
She straightened him up and laughed while he grabbed at himself where she'd pinched him.
"Young lad, you'll pay for that," he smirked, and Sis giggled like a silly school kid and jumped across the bed. He caught her by the ankle and brought her down and then grabbed her other ankle with her head hanging over the other side.
He had her, and he could have really made her yell uncle; but he was still simpering like an idiot.
"What you going to do now, you witch!"
Lying there on her belly, Sis began to laugh. Even as disgusted with them as I was, I had to admit Sis had a pair of the most beautiful legs I'd ever seen. And a tight firm bottom stuck up there that should have given Frank a lot of ideas.
But all he did was lock one of her ankles between his naked thighs and hold the other with one hand while he tickled her.
She went into a laughing frenzy, bucking and twisting and kicking and crying, "Oh, Frank, you're so cruel!"
It was enough to make a person sick. All that slop. He kept on tickling her rear, and she was going crazy, bucking and laughing.
She managed to flop over on her back, twisting around until she had a perfect opportunity to grab him and make him worship her the way he'd done in the living room that day. But she didn't. She kept laughing and begging, "Oh, have mercy, have mercy on a poor defenseless girl! And I was getting so disgusted I almost gave up watching and went back to my room.
But I was getting terribly excited looking at Frank even though it was all being wasted. Just waiting to be used but being wasted while Sis made a fool of herself.
Then he let go of her and was down on top of her there on the bed, and I thought, Well, it's about time. Now we'll see something.
But no,, all he did was get sloppy again, with Sis there under him. The laughing stopped, and their faces got all soft with sloppy sentimentality and instead of going after her tongue, the idiot kissed her eyelids very gently.
"I love you," he whispered.
How stupidly impotent can you get? I asked myself that as he kissed Sis's lips very lightly and then ran a finger along the bridge of her nose.
"You're so very beautiful."
"I'm glad, darling, if it makes you happy."
"You're so much - woman."
Maybe she was. And maybe he was a lot of man, but they certainly didn't have sense enough to take advantage of it.
Very gently, then, he pressed her thighs apart with his knee and the silliest look of anticipation came onto Sis's face. As though this would be the first time.
I had that thought, and then I got the crazy idea Sis must have read my mind through the door, because she said, "Darling, it's always like the first time."
And he gushed, "It will never change."
Then it was like Sis was a flower or something, an orchid maybe, under him, and he was afraid he'd crush it. And nothing happened to Sis, no reaction except her eyes got brighter and brighter; and he breathed a little heavier.
But I got the impression of a patient in a dentist's chair waiting for surgery. The novocaine, the open mouth. A patient all tense and tight.
Then I heard Frank whisper, "Am I hurting you, darling?"
And I almost whooped, it was so funny and ridiculous. Hurting her at this stage? If she wasn't used to him by that time she never would be, and they should have called the whole thing off.
How stupid could people get?
When he should have been rearing and tearing and lunging like a bull, he acted like he was afraid he'd get trapped or something and couldn't get away.
I'd have trapped him! I'd have had my nails into the soft part and would have been drawing blood by that time.
Instead of whispering, "Oh, darling, I love you, I love you - " simpering the way Sis was, I'd have been yelling, "Hurt me you louse! Use me!"
And chewing his ear off with my teeth.
It was so disgusting I went back to my room and lay for a long time thinking how it would have been with Frank and me.
Would be with Frank and me...
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE OTHER THING THAT HAPPENED WHILE I WAS still at home with Sis and Frank - what interested Dr. Wellington the most, I think, was when the gang got me.
It was when Pete cried.
We'd driven out in the country, I was going on eighteen then, and we stopped at a roadhouse and had some drinks. I'm big for my age, very well developed as a woman, and so we didn't have any trouble getting served. We weren't drunk though.
That was where this gang of guys were, and it started when one of them made a remark about my boobs. I didn't think anything about it, but it made Pete mad.
Nothing happened there, though. But later, on the road back when we were driving through the forest preserve this car that had been following us cut in and forced Pete off the road.
All six of those guys were in it, and some of them were drunk.
The leader was a big blond football type, and even though I was scared he made me a little excited when he opened the door and looked in.
He grinned and yelled, "Hey, fellows, it's the brunette job with the little jerk from the bar back there."
Pete is a little small, and what the guy said enraged him. He swung past me with his fist and hit blondy in the mouth. He snarled and reached over, pulled Pete right across me and out of the car.
Pete tried to fight back, but the others were there by that time and two of them held Pete while the blond guy hit him in the stomach.
He hit him so hard my own belly tightened up, and I almost grunted from the impact. Pete doubled forward his mouth flew open and he gagged.
Another of the guys said, "Let's get the cars back in the woods. The cops may come along."
Pete had lost interest and wasn't fighting at the moment, and the two who held him dragged him along. The blond guy came around and got behind the wheel, grinning at me.
"Baby" he said, "why don't you get yourself a real boy friend."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" I snapped.
He said, "Take it easy, chick. Everything will work out all right."
They took the cars back on an old trail with lots of trees around, and they all got out. They were wild, reckless and crazy, and just before the blond guy got out of the car I tried to do something that would help both Pete and me. I played up to the guy because he seemed to be the leader.
I reached over and touched him, my fingers on his slacks very bold, and said, "You're a real man. Maybe we could get together."
The reason I did it was that I thought he'd protect me from the others, and then I could talk him into leaving Pete alone.
He sat there grinning and let me keep on doing what I was doing. But it didn't work out the way I'd hoped it would. Several of the other guys poked their heads into the car and saw what I was doing and one of them whooped and said, "Man! The broad must be drunk!"
I jerked my hand away, but they'd all seen it and they opened the door. That was when it went wrong. The blonde guy didn't protect me at all. He pulled his zipper back up and said, "It looks like we got a real one here, men."
Then another said, "How do we divide her up?"
The blond guy answered, "That's easy. We all take a turn."
I was plenty scared, but I didn't think they'd kill me or anything like that, so I guess I was kind of excited, too.
One of them had grabbed at my sweater and he yelled, "Look, men, no bra!"
But by that time I was staggering around try-nig to get my sweater down from where the guy had pulled it - up over my head so that it was only on my arms and above my neck, and I couldn't see a thing.
I could feel them though. A dozen hands must have been playing with my boobs while I was trying to get the sweater off my face. I knew they weren't going to let me pull it down, but I had to see so I was pulling it off over my head.
They let me do this, one of them yelling, "Oh, man! Big preview. There they are!"
I hadn't worn a bra, so where could my boobs be but out in plain sight?
That wasn't the worst of it, though, because while I was struggling with my sweater, one of them pulled the zipper on my skirt and it fell around my ankles.
I took a step and went to my hands and knees. But I came up fast when one of them bent down and helped me from behind.
"You lousy fairy!" I yelled.
They laughed.
"She's got spirit," the blond guy said with admiration in his voice.
Well, what did they think? That I was just going to stand there and take it without a whimper?
They didn't give me any peace, though. When I bent down to grab my skirt, two quick hands snatched at my panties and they were down too; and there I was.
I hadn't worn any stockings, so I hadn't needed a garter belt. That made the panties all that was left and when they were gone, there was nothing.
Then one of them let out a yell. "Hey, men! There's a blanket in their car. Let's have an initiation!"
Then they brought the blanket and spread it out and made me get down on my hands and knees in the middle of it.
As I waited there, naked, I remembered some of the animal pictures in my book. Most of them were that way, and I had visions of their next move, maybe picking the guy they were going to watch.
But then they grabbed the edge of the blanket all around, and I was flying up in the air, spinning and turning in the light from the headlamps of both cars, my arms and legs flying all naked and wide open most of the time while they threw me up and down in the blanket.
Pete interrupted this. He'd been on his knees at one side, gagging from the punch in the belly, and now he staggered forward, yelling, "You punks! Leave her alone!"
They stopped throwing me up in the blanket and hit Pete again, and he was back where he'd started, on his knees being sick.
Then one of them brought a bottle from the car. He said, "We ought to be hospitable and give our guest a drink."
Then two of them held me, naked like that, while one of them forced the bottle between my teeth and made me drink.
It was a real blockbuster kiss this time. When I refused to drink one of them grabbed one of my boobs, and I gulped the booze down.
I got drunk real quick and staggered so I could hardly stand up.
The blonde leader took over now and said, "Look, men, how about a little organization here? Who wants to be first?"
The first one was a thin, pale kid with a shock of black hair. I was drunk, like I said, but I could still think pretty good; and I wondered why the blonde guy hadn't wanted to be first. It was a little disappointing because I'd gotten real excited with him in the car.
I wasn't letting myself get scared. I knew that would be bad, because then I might do something panicky and get hurt. So I remembered Sis' pitch with Frank and whimpered and said, "Please don't hurt me."
He was shaking like a leaf. I think it was his first time with a naked girl, at least one with what I had, lying there on that blanket to show him. He was shaking with desire so bad his teeth was chattering.
"Don't hurt me, please," I whimpered, but actually laughing at him inside.
He was on his knees beside me, his hands on my boobs. And hardly knowing what to do, he was so eager.
"I won't hurt you, baby. Not me. I come from a good family."
That sounded so funny I almost laughed in his face. Then he was on me, practically sobbing with eagerness, his mouth slobbering on my boob and his teeth closing on the nipple.
There were two parts of my mind in this new experience. One looked at the guy and sneered. The other lay back in my mind somewhere and was more myself.
It kept saying, degraded. Stretched out on a blanket. Naked for a half dozen men to use. Humiliated. Made to crawl and whimper and kiss men's feet.
It was horrible, and yet it had some kind of a sweet fascination to it. I was shaking inside, all hot and excited. Everything was mixed. I felt anxious and excited.
There are no words I can find to describe how I felt.
Except that I wasn't afraid.
And I felt sorry for that pimply-faced boy. It was through him that I learned something. When they'd stripped me out by the cars and were being clowns and pulling my pants down and all that, he'd been right up there with them, poking his fingers at me and feeling my boobs.
But alone he was just a crazy hot kid. And then he tried and failed because he was too quick there was a tragic look on his face; and he began to cry.
He wasn't passionate after that because it was over for him, and he buried his face in my boobs and began to cry.
It was that weird.
Then he got up and ran out of sight.
I lay there waiting. Five left, I thought hazily, through the liquor.
The next one was older, a football-shouldered type I'd seen acting rather sullen when he watched the blond guy run the show and be the leader.
And I guess he decided to take it out on me.
My head was spinning by that time, and all I felt from him was violence. None of these kids, it seemed, were very sophisticated. Lex could have taught them a lot.
There was his weight hitting me. His face close to mine. The frantic lunge as though this that he was doing would even him up with the world.
I whimpered, "please be gentle."
He snapped back, "Cut it out., sister! Brace yourself."
He sneered and lunged, and I gasped and hung onto him. God! He may have been drunk, but he was all man. I changed his face there in the moonlight, and it was Frank lunging and puffing like a bull elk. I moaned and dug my fingers in his back, but he didn't even feel it.
When it was over he grinned down at me and said, "Baby, you're good!"
And he got up and staggered away.
As I lay there I heard a yell, and I knew Pete was getting his lumps again. I wondered if they'd found some place to hit him except in the belly. Then he screamed and I knew they had. I could almost feel the knee going up and see him writhing around on the ground.
But I had my own troubles except the next one wasn't much trouble. He was so drunk all he did was shake and quiver and slobber on me, his hands everywhere but not able to do anything and in a little while another guy came and pulled him off of me, kicked him back toward the group.
This new one wasn't drunk. And he had ideas. He started by being very polite and sympathetic. He said, "Honey, none of this was my idea. And then he was wiping my boobs with a handkerchief and had my head in his lap and was smoothing my hair.
But then he turned me over and his hands were strong and vicious, holding my head, and his breath coming fast. I thought of Lex and how I'd been with him - the new experience - knowing it and being degraded for all women.
I wondered about the strange, crazy thought I got at times like that. How horrible it was, but how excitingly wild to be like under a man's foot.
To be part of a man's passion.
The guy jerked and moaned, and I felt his hard hands and remembered how I'd learned to protect myself.
"Oh, baby!" he muttered, straining and straining and all taut. Then lunging upward and I fought and clawed at him.
He got up and left me there, curled up, cursing my own anger and degradation and tears, and I cursed Pete and called him vile names for not being able to protect me. For cringing away from them and squalling when they hit him, while I was taking the real beating.
The rest of them. The faces in my face. The breath on my breath. And finally staggering up and walking, rubber-legged and dizzy, back outside.
Six of them! Oh, my God! How much could one girl take? Degraded! Crawling up to plead and whimper.
One of the cars was gone. The gang was gone. Only Pete there on his knees with his face in his hands. He was crying.
I didn't feel self-conscious about being naked by this time. After what I'd gone through, it seemed the most natural state in the world.
"Are you hurt?" I asked him.
He moaned. "I'll get them I'll get every damned one of them!"
"Can you walk?"
"I guess so."
I helped him to his feet, and he leaned on my arm as we walked to the car. He was sniffling, and I tried to comfort him.
"Don't cry. Just consider yourself lucky you weren't crippled." "I'll get them!" "They were all drunk."
He jerked his arm away. "Are you defending them or something?" "No. I - "
"I saw you smiling at that guy in the car." "I wasn't smiling. I was - "
"What were you doing? Did you have his pants open?"
"I was trying to keep them from hurting you." "By going to his pants?"
"That's a fine thing to say."
All of a sudden, I laughed. It was funny. There I'd been raped by six guys, and I was being accused of loose living by Pete.
He stared at me. "What's the matter. Are you crazy or something? What's funny about it?"
"You'll never know. Wait 'til I get my clothes on. Then you can take me home."
They'd tied my clothes in knots, and I had trouble getting my skirt and blouse in shape to wear; I looked like the devil when I finally got home. So I sneaked in the back door and went to my room.
Safe behind my own door, I lay down on my bed and was very honest with myself. I think that's good. It's very hard for a person to be honest with themselves, but it's good to try.
So I asked myself if I'd really enjoyed what had happened to me. I don't exactly know why the question came into my mind. It seemed a very silly one for a girl who had just been raped six times to ask herself.
But I guess I remembered the hot, reckless feeling that had come to me while it was happening. One man after another without knowing what would come next.
Finally, I told myself I hadn't enjoyed it. I'd been in terror all the time. I was just thankful that I hadn't been in the hands of degenerates who might have injured me.
Then, after a while, I felt better. I hadn't been hurt, and that was lucky. It meant that I would always have luck. Whatever I did, wherever I went, my luck would always hold.
Thinking that way, my self-confidence came back. I led a charmed life, because if being raped by a gang hadn't been disastrous, nothing would ever be.
I lay in bed thinking of all the things I'd do, all the experiences I would have. All the men I'd meet.
Feeling very good now, relaxed and confident. I concocted a dream about them. I let a lot of them parade past my mind's eyes, and all of a sudden, there was the big blond leader of the rape gang.
I made fantasy the way I wanted it, so I had him forget all about the rape. I was standing on a corner, and he stopped and said, "Haven't we met before?"
"Yes," I replied. "I was wondering if you'd speak."
He was being very polite, not suspecting who I was, and asked, "Would you like to stop in somewhere for a drink?"
"I'd love it," I said, but why don't we go to my place. It will be less expensive there."
He smiled and said, "You're one girl in a million, thinking about a guy's bankroll."
I thanked him for the compliment, and we went to the house. Of course neither Sis nor Frank were there because this was a dream and exactly the way I wanted it.
We had a drink and then I said, "By the way, I wonder if you'd mind coming down into the basement with me. There's something I want to show you."
He was happy to, and when we got down there I stepped behind him; and while he was looking around, I snapped the handcuffs on his wrists. He stood there with his mouth hanging open, and I hooked the cuffs to a rope I'd thrown over an upper beam and pulled his hands over his head. He was helpless.
That may sound impossible to you, a girl doing that to a big football type, but remember it was a dream I was doing it in, and nothing is impossible in a dream.
He said. "What the hell is this?" I laughed. "Don't you really remember who I am?"
"Why you're-"
"That's right. The girl you and your gang stripped and raped out in the forest preserve."
"But it wasn't my fault. I - "
"You were the leader. You could have stopped them."
"I tried."
He was scared now. "Look, this is crazy."
"No, it isn't. I just want you to always remember what you and your gang did to a nice girl who didn't deserve to be treated that way. Six of you. Six! One after another! I just want you to remember."
With that I unbuckled his belt and jerked his pants down and then his shorts. I had a big paddle ready, and I whacked him across the bottom. "We're going to have an initiation, I said.
He let out a howl because the paddle had a thin, flexible handle, and it cracked like a pistol.
I braced my feet wide apart and began to paddle him. He yelled and howled. His bottom got bright red, then crimson. He writhed and kicked, but I kept on whacking him until there was sweat on my face, running down between my boobs and on my legs, and I was exhausted.
He began to cry and begged pitifully.
"Will you ever treat a defenseless girl like that again?"
Whack. "No!"
"Are you sure?" Whack.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure! Please stop!" Whack.
"Please! You're killing me!" I stopped, loosened the rope and let him down. And he was just like Lex. A coward. He huddled down on the floor and rubbed his rear and sobbed.
"You're disgusting," I said. "Get on your feet and pull up your pants and get out of here."
There on the bed, in my dream, I saw his stinging red rear and heard his howls, even after he'd gone, and I was hot with excitement.
All the warmth and vitality was flowing through me. For a minute I saw Hank, and I was in his arms. With the whole world a great ocean, and I was plunging into its depths. Down, down, down, and it was all mixed up.
Sis was on the lounge with her hands locked behind Frank's head. She was moaning, "More, more, oh, more..." And I was on that blanket under the parade of faces and in the pantry and on the balcony all at the same time.
Then my hands worked, and I straightened out and lay perfectly still.
When it was over, I took a long, deep breath. Then I cried a while. I didn't know why I was crying. I just wanted to. And after a while, I went to sleep ...
CHAPTER NINE
"DID YOU EVER HEAR OF WALTER MITTY?"
Dr. Wellington asked me that question during one of our sessions.
I said, "No, I don't think so. Who's he?"
"A fictional character," he said, "but a very interesting one. He symbolizes the daydreamer."
"So?"
"You do a lot of daydreaming." "Is that bad?" "Yes and no."
"Why do you answer question yes and no? It's one or the other."
"Not necessarily. A certain amount of daydreaming is all right. Ambitious people, citing their goals in life, daydream. In such case, the objective, the substance of the dreams, are wholesome.
But your daydreams aren't that way."
"What's wrong with them?"
"They're always about sex. They're negative."
"What's wrong with sex?" As I asked that I thought that maybe, if he'd come over on the couch with me, I could give him something to daydream about.
"One thing that's bad about daydreaming," he said, "is that if you do too much of it, you come to a point where you don't know which is which. You can no longer discern fantasy from reality."
"That's crazy."
"No, it isn't."
"Take your case. You've told me a lot of things that have happened to you."
"But I always told you which were the dreams and which were the things that really happened."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. What are you trying to do, get me all mixed up?"
"On the contrary. We're trying to straighten things out for you."
"So you do it by telling me I don't know what's true and what's false."
"If you'll be honest and think back, your truths and your fantasies do overlap. At times when we've talked, you've angled off into fantasy and made up adventures as you went along. And when you'd finished telling me, I'm sure you thought you had related something that really happened."
"You're out of your mind!"
"I'll tell you what I'd like to have you do." "What?"
"Write it down for me. Make it a biography. Write about yourself and the things that have happened to you."
"Why should I do that?" "Because when you write, you don't go as fast as when you talk. Writing is a slower process. That way, your mind will be slowed down and will perhaps be able to see the difference more clearly."
"You sound like you think I'm some kind of a case or something."
"We're all cases of one kind or another." "What kind of a case am I?" "It's a generalization, but you're channeling your energies into unproductive directions."
"So I like sex. And I admit it. You ought to try it sometime, Doc. You might enjoy it."
"I do find it enjoyable. But there's a matter of discipline. You might find that you'd also get satisfaction from exerting some self-control." "That's just a lot of abstract talk." "Perhaps, but will you follow my suggestion and write the story of your life?" "It will be a lulu."
"I've no doubt." He smiled here and went on. "Who knows? Perhaps it will be so interesting it'll make the best-seller list. Then you could sell it to the movies and make a fortune." "Who's daydreaming now?" He checked his notes and said, "Tell me again how you happened to leave home."
"I told you. Frank was mixed up with hoods. He was killed. Sis had a nervous breakdown and had to go to a sanitarium."
He stared straight into my eyes. "Are you very sure of that?"
"Of course I'm sure." He was trying to make me out an idiot or something, and I was getting mad.
"What sanitarium?"
"You know what sanitarium. What are you trying to do? See that I stay in this place forever?"
"Lorna, if you'll start writing it down, it may help you to - "
"You're after something?"
"After something?"
"You're trying to trip me up and make me tell lies. I know what happened and what didn't happen. When Frank was killed - "
"He was bludgeoned to death."
"That's right. They came to the house and killed him. The police were there. It was in the papers."
"Yes. That's true-"
"Well, I'm glad that you admit something is true!"
"And after Frank was killed and your sister went to this sanitarium, where did you go?"
"I'd been working. I had a job. I met a girl there and moved in with her."
"That was after Frank was killed?"
I sat up on the couch and wanted to climb over the top and claw his eyes out. He was trying to make a fool out of me!
"Yes -yes! After Frank was killed!"
When you went to work and moved in with your girl friend - after that - you never saw Lex or Hank or Pete again?"
"Of course not. That was kid stuff - with them - high school stuff. After I got out in the world, I began meeting real men."
"You lost that first job shortly after you got it, didn't you?"
"I quit. The boss made a pass at me, and I wasn't having any. He backed me into a corner in the washroom and tried to rape me. I reported him."
"Why don't you write that down as part of your biography?"
"Oh, damn you and your biography." "Lorna-"
I couldn't stand him any longer. I said, "All right. If I promise to start writing it down, will you let me out of here now?"
"It's a deal. I'll see that you're provided with paper and pens."
I got up and ran out of his office. It was stifling in there.
I didn't have the least intention of writing anything, but when I got to my room that afternoon I found the things, the paper and a ballpoint pen, and just for kicks I sat down and began to write.
And I guess I liked it because I kept on. It quieted things down in my mind.
The thing that Dr. Wellington asked me about happened this way. When I finished with school and went out on my own, I got a job in a big commercial credit company as a messenger girl. I carried things around because it was a big place, eleven floors to the building, and there were a lot of papers to be transferred from one department to another.
Then one day after five, with everybody gone, I was in the washroom. I hadn't been in any hurry, so I still had my uniform on. It was little jacket with a beige skirt and medium high heels. Very chic. All the girls wore them.
I was just taking the jacket off when Lee Holt came in.
Lee Holt was a department head. He was good looking and his clothes were sharp. He had a lot to say about hiring and firing on the fifth floor where I was stationed.
He came into the girl's washroom right from his desk, where I guess he'd been waiting for everyone else to leave. He didn't have his jacket on and his tie clasp, the one with the diamond in it, gleamed.
He smiled a real oily smile and said, "Hi, honey. Have you been waiting for me?"
I was so astounded, I couldn't even speak.
He believed in working fast, no preliminaries, and he came close to me where I was standing, almost in a corner of the washroom, pressed me against the wall and tried to kiss me.
I was so amazed that I didn't do anything and let him. His tongue was in against mine before I could take a breath.
But then my reactions came back, and I pushed him.
"Let me alone!"
"What do you mean, let you alone!"
"Just what I said. I want to change my clothes and go home."
He grinned. "Oh, I get it. Okay, honey. Strip off that dress, and we'll have our little interlude before you put your street clothes on."
"What interlude?"
"Are you kidding? You told me you'd be here, remember?"
"I'm here every night after work," I said with dignity. "All the girls are."
"Oh, come off it. Quit kidding and playing hard to get. We haven't got much time."
"Mr. Holt! I don't know where you got the idea I could be molested with impunity but -"
He laughed. "Molested. Impunity. What big words we're using. Come on baby, let's get with it."
He'd been pawing at me, and now he had me tight in that corner with my blouse half open. But I had my hands too, and I clawed at his face.
I thought that would stop him, but he was a very determined man.
He said, "You can't make a date with me and then get coy!"
He turned me around then, with my face to the wall and tight in that corner so I couldn't use my hands. They were against the wall and with his body holding me there, my hands were trapped.
"Okay," he rasped. "That's better. Now be a good girl and just stand still."
"I'll scream."
"Try it. There's nobody around." "The cleaning men."
"They aren't in yet. Besides, all they'd do would be to come in and watch. Do you want witnesses?"
"I wouldn't put it past you to let them help with this job," I said contemptuously.
"I won't need any help."
His hot breath was on my neck, and I writhed and struggled as I felt the back of my skirt being pulled up. Then his hands were on my bare flesh, caressing the backs of my thighs.
"Gorgeous," he muttered, his breath coming in little, short jerks now.
"Please," I said. "I'm a nice girl!"
"You can say that again," he replied. "Real nice. The nicest I've seen around here, or felt."
I felt only disgust and contempt for him and his animal ways, and I wasn't going to let him think I was afraid. As he felt for the elastic of my panties, I said, "Do you make a practice of doing this to all the girls, Mr. Holt?" my voice dripping ice.
"Most of them don't go around saving it the way you do, sweetie."
"I take that as a compliment, Mr. - ouch!"
I knew he was grinning. He'd pulled my panties down while I'd pushed and struggled and tried to escape and had been caressing my cheeks with both palms.
He'd whispered, "Nice, oh, nice," panting and pushing harder to hold me where he wanted me.
Then he'd pulled back in the middle, holding me with his chest while he opened his clothes.
I was all bare now, with my skirt pushed up against the small of my back and my panties way down around my knees. He'd had to jerk them down with force because I'd held my knees so tight together that my thighs ached.
But then he used a knee and a hand at the same time and I yelled "Ouch!" in spite of it being very unladylike, nothing more, really, than a great big grunt.
His vicious, filthy attack had forced my knees apart. In fact, I'd jerked them wide without realizing it, kind of trying to get free and was half squatting down there in the corner.
When I tried to straighten again, he had his knees inside mine and there was nothing I could do but stay that way, partially bent over with his flesh touching mine and his breath coming raggedly.
"Please," I said. "Honestly, Mr. Holt. I'm not that kind of a girl!"
He laughed nervously. "What I've found so far makes you just the kind of girl I'm looking for, like all the others except better!"
He was lunging and puffing like some disgusting animal, and all of a sudden I jerked and found myself trying to climb the wall.
"No!" I screamed. "Oh, my God, no!"
I began clawing at the wall, and then I found he had at least a small spark of decency in him because he muttered, "Sorry," and after that it was a little better. Disgusting and filthy and rotten from where we were and the position he had me in and the degradation he was forcing on me.
But with him it could have been worse.
I had resolved not to respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction of thinking that his brutal coarseness stirred me in the least.
But I was having trouble with my knees. They were weakening, weakening, turning to water and wanting to melt down, and there was nothing to hold onto on the wall. In a minute or so it was like I was sitting on his lap in that crazy position.
He was going mad as his passion rose, lunging, grunting and trying to push me up through the ceiling. A couple of times my feet actually left the floor and with his vigor at its height, it was frightening, the helpless sensation each time.
I had a wild, frightful vision of falling from somewhere and being mangled to pieces.
"Please," I begged, "oh, please have pity."
I don't think he even heard me. He was panting and babbling, and I felt his foul breath on my neck and his hand, around in front, clawing in under my bra and digging into my boobs. Clawing and pushing the hard nipples deep in as though he wanted to push them out the back so he could get at them with his drooling mouth.
Babbling, "Baby, you're the greatest, the greatest. Oh, man, what you've got, what you've got - He finished with a lunge that took me off the floor and when I came down, he wasn't there. Nothing to support me and we tumbled down together. He'd been cheated by his passion in the universal greed for ecstasy.
Mr. Holt rolled on the floor, mad and cursing weakly because that was how it finished. Blaming me.
"It wasn't my fault," I whimpered. "You're a beast. An animal!"
His passion spent, he became what he actually was, a timid, cowardly weakling. Only his degenerate lust had made him brave enough to come into the washroom and rape me in that disgusting manner.
He got to his feet and helped me up, a gentleman now. Oh, yes, a real gentleman with a sheepish look on his weak mouth and in his washed-out blue eyes.
He fixed his clothes and then, the last second before he left, he took his diamond tie clasp off his tie and thrust it into my hand.
"Here, Lorna. Take this, please."
I was indignant. I reached down and got my panties and pulled them up and said, "Never! What do you think I am? A hooker who does it for pay?"
"No, no. I just want to give you something, try to make amends."
"Amends!" I was outraged. "After pushing a girl into a corner and pulling her skirt up and her panties down and treating her worse than an animal, you want to make amends?"
He was in an agony of remorse and embarrassment.
"Please, Lorna! Take it as a token. As an apology. Do it as a favor to me."
I hated him, but at the same time I felt sorry for him. He was a pitiable creature who didn't have the will power to control his own nasty passions.
So, because I did feel sorry for him, I took the tie clasp.
"Sure you took it."
I opened my eyes and blinked when I heard that voice. I was on Dr. Wellington's couch, and I'd just told him about that disgusting incident and actually got lost in the telling, it was so terrible and vivid in my mind.
He was sitting in a chair looking at me with a blank expression.
"That's what I told you," I said. "That I took the tie clasp."
"You took it off his desk where he'd laid it while he went to the washroom, Lorna."
"That's a lie!"
"The men's washroom, not the girl's." "Why, Dr. Wellington! How can you sit there and call me a liar?"
"I'm not exactly calling you a liar, Lorna. Let's not put it that way. Let's say that we're trying to separate truth from fantasy, and we may as well start now."
I began feeling a little dizzy. "I was in the washroom after work and - "
"Mr. Holt is a man of excellent reputation. He's married and has four children."
"What's that got to do with it? A lot of married men with kids are rats. There are lots of them who would sneak around and take a girl's pants down - "
"But we're talking about Mr. Holt. He was the man who hired you, and he had the power to fire you."
"He did fire me. I said I quit, but he really fired me."
Dr. Wellington sighed, and the resigned look on his face made me hate him.
"I didn't tell you that when I came to work the next morning, he called me to his desk and smirked at me and said, "Lorna I guess we understand each other. The next time -"
"There will be no next time, Mr. Holt," I told him.
He laughed and said, "I'm afraid there will be. We'll go to a hotel - "
"Mr. Holt -" Dr. Wellington cut in.
"I'm telling you about that louse! He wanted to get at me again and I refused, I refused, can't you understand? And then he fired me I"
"He fired you, yes, but for stealing his tie clasp and being generally unsuitable for the job."
"Unsuitable! I was suitable enough for him when he had me in that corner with my pants down and - "
"Lorna. It's time we made an effort to jolt you back to reality. You were never in the washroom with Mr. Holt. He didn't follow you in there. He refused."
I stared at Dr. Wellington in complete amazement. "Why, you're out of your mind."
"You invited him in. You told him you'd wait. He didn't come. He didn't go anywhere near the girl's washroom. He went to his own and while he was gone, you went out and stole his tie clasp. He saw you as he was coming back."
"It's all a great big lie!"
"That was what really happened!"
I hated Wellington. He was the same as that nasty Mr. Holt. He wanted me the same way. Every time I went into his office I could see it. The way he looked at my boobs, and how he drooled when I stretched out on his couch.
He was treating me this way because he knew that asking me for it wouldn't do him any good.
In my writing, I put down that I had a very high regard for Dr. Wellington. But that isn't true. That was before I found out what a rat he was.
I lay there on his couch and began to shake. And I thought of all the men who had taken advantage of me. All the beasts and animals who'd only wanted me for my body. Dr. Wellington was one of them. I opened my eyes and saw the paper knife on his desk, and I wanted to grab it and ram it into him. In my mind I could see him bleeding and dying at my feet the way he deserved.
Then he looked at his watch and got up and said, "That's all for today, Lorna."
He came to the couch and took my wrist in his fingers and acted as though he was checking my pulse. But I knew what was in his mind. He just wanted to touch me. In a minute, if I'd given him his way, he would have been on his knees, opening my buttons, kissing my boobs and my neck and trying to find my tongue.
But I wasn't going to let anything like that happen. I sat up and pulled my wrist away.
"Do you feel all right?"
"I feel fine."
I didn't, I was dizzy. So when the matron came for me and took me back, I laid down in my room and that time I didn't even want a dream. I didn't need it.
I slept like the dead.
The dead...
CHAPTER TEN
I THINK THE GREATEST EXPERIENCES WERE THE parties I went to, where people really lived! I told Dr. Wellington about some of them, but I kept some to myself.
The one I liked best and kept to myself, until I started writing this diary thing, was in a penthouse overlooking the city. Everybody could let loose and have a good time because the penthouse was not on an apartment building. It was over an office building where everybody went home nights and week-ends, so no squares living close by could be disturbed and call the cops.
The funny thing was, I didn't know whose penthouse it was, or even who gave the party.
I saw him when we got there, a little fat man with a red nose that showed he'd drunk too much for a long time.
I went with a guy I met on my second job, a very sharp salesman. The job was running an elevator in a building in the garment district.
From the first moment he got into the elevator, all he saw were my boobs. He stood close to me and smiled, and I lost all the riders but him when we got to the tenth floor.
We were alone after that and he wanted to go to the thirty-first; I went fairly slow. He said a few things I don't remember and I said a few things back, and then he got off.
But an hour later I saw him again, and he grinned and said, "I waited for three elevators to get yours."
I smiled back and said, "You must not have very much to do."
"Oh, I've got plenty to do, but riding with you is worth waiting for."
"It's a pretty short ride."
"I know, but there's time to ask you to have a drink with me after you get off."
"I'm not sure. I might be busy."
"A boy friend?"
"Uh-huh."
Which was a lie because I didn't have a date, bat you should never appear too eager. Sometimes that scares them off.
"Well, if he doesn't show up, why not come to the Trader's Bar when you're finished?"
"I'm through at five-thirty."
"I'll be there," he said. "And I hope you will be too."
I went over to the Trader's Bar after work but only for kicks. I didn't really know whether I'd stay. I thought I might just look in as though hunting for a friend and then duck out.
But he was there at the bar, waiting with one eye on the door; and I never had a chance. He took ten quick strides and had me by the arm, grinning and showing his nice white teeth. He wasn't going to let my boobs get away.
"I hoped you'd come."
"Well, I'll just have a quick one," I said. "I've got to meet a friend."
"That's a shame."
We had two drinks. His name was Ed Brack and he was from Omaha, in town alone and he needed cheering up. That was what he said, but he looked fairly cheerful from the start.
I had on a loose-colored blouse and a bra that cut my boobs just above the nipples, and I'd pulled it down so that a little of the brown showed. His eyes kept going there.
Another thing, I had a suit on with a short jacket, and when I raised my arms he could see under them.
Underarms are sexy to some guys, and I could see that Ed was crazy about them.
Every time I raised my arm to show him, he took a big breath and his smile deepened. Then, when I lowered my arms, his eyes went back to my boobs.
I said, "You don't seem to be very interested in a girl's face."
"Oh, but I am. I'm interested in every part of you. What I can see and what I can't."
We kicked it back and forth a while, and then he asked me to dinner. I didn't say anything more about having a date and he didn't mention it either.
He said, "I need a shave before dinner. I couldn't go into a restaurant with a beautiful girl like you in this condition. We'll stop off at my hotel on the way, if you don't mind."
I didn't mind at all. He had a room in a hotel nearby, and he had more drinks sent up while he was shaving.
That was when he asked me to go to the party.
"It's a little affair at the home of a friend of a friend of mine. I think you'd get a kick out of k."
"I really don't think I ought to -"
I was sitting on the lounge, and he went around behind it, bent over and put his hands on my shoulders. Then he slid them under my blouse and over my boobs.
"You've got a date with me tonight, honey."
I laughed. "Well - "
His mouth was close to my ear. He said, "You've been driving me nuts with those ever since we met. I deserve something."
He'd pushed the bra down and my boobs pushed out into his hands. "God! They're wonderful." he whispered.
His head went down past mine, and I thought maybe I did owe the poor guy something, so I pushed up, lifting my rear off the lounge so he could reach them with his mouth.
His lips closed over the closest one, and his fingers were kneading deep into the other. He found the nipple and rolled it between his thumb and finger while he pulled the other one, along with a lot of boob, into his mouth and worried it with his tongue.
I felt fire. It was the drinks probably, but my knees were turning to water again.
His other hand, the one he wasn't doing anything with, reached in under my arm and began caressing. Just the tips of his fingers.
"You've got a thing about armpits, haven't you?" I laughed.
"I've got a thing about you, baby."
He lifted my arm, twisted his head and left the boob, went for the arm. I felt his tongue. It tickled until I could hardly keep my feet on the floor.
It was around this point that a new experience came my way, or started to. It sneaked up on me in a way. My skirt was already way up on my thighs, and he reached down with the hand that had been teasing my nipple and pulled it higher.
While he did all this, his head was right beside mine, bending over the way he was, and I could smell him and the smell was intoxicating, even more than the drinks I'd had.
Getting a little more excited, he reached clear over and slipped his hands under my knees and began lifting.
"Wait a minute, Ed - "
Easy, honey, easy," he crooned, and began doubling me over until I was on my shoulders looking straight up into his face.
My skirt had skinned down off my rear, and my transparent panties were tight over my exposed buttocks, pink with the dark line.
I don't think he had anything in mind. He was just fooling around, but something hit me. An urge. A new need. Or maybe an old need I'd never been able to put into words.
Anyhow, scrunched down there so I could hardly breathe, with my rear sticking up, I said, "Whack it," hardly aware that it was my voice saying it.
He was surprised. "Huh?"
"Whack it, Ed."
I could hardly breathe, but it didn't seem to bother me. I was all tensed up, trapped and helpless, and the feeling was fantastic.
He grinned and patted my rear lightly.
"Like that?"
"Harder."
He tapped it a little harder, still grinning.
"Hows that?"
I was angry with him for being so stupid. He had me where any man would have wanted me. Locked in with my rear sticking up there and the panties stretched tight over it. What more did he want?
"Whack it, damn you!"
He began to understand. The grin faded and he lifted his hand and came down with a smack that cracked like a pistol.
I closed my eyes and kicked my legs but in a way that wouldn't kick them loose.
Another whack, his palm cracking against my taut rear as though a second shot had been fired.
He whacked me three more times, and I screamed.
But by then he really had the idea and it excited him. His face turned grim and his lips twisted in a new kind of eagerness, the kind I'd imagined and dreamed about but never actually seen on a man's face.
Then he let go of me and came around the lounge. He got there before I could even begin to get my legs down and grabbed them again.
I began to get scared now, from the look on his face. Maybe he was dangerous. Maybe he would kill me.
"No - "
But he didn't hear me. He jerked me down off the lounge onto the floor, and I might have been hurt if the carpet hadn't been fairly thick.
Then he dragged me by my ankles to the middle of the room and doubled me over again.
But this time he had more leverage. He was down on his knees, one knee on each side of my head, and he had my legs pulled back and an ankle under each arms, holding them where he wanted them with his armpits, my ankles tucked in up there.
My skirt had been pulled way up from the dragging, and when he pulled my legs back my panties came so tight they were splitting me.
"No-"
Whack.
Square on my taut rump. I screamed.
But he'd prepared for that. Pressing down, his body over my face formed a gag and I was screaming against him, but it was muffled. Only my hot breath going through the cloth against him.
Then, his breath coming in rasps, he went to work.
Whack - whack - whack - I fought and clawed the carpet on either side of me. Then I clawed at him, and I don't know whether his belt buckle had been loose or whether it broke. I kept on clawing, trying to get at his bare skin to claw it, and pretty soon his trousers and his shorts were loose cloth coming down from my clawing.
He'd lifted himself a little to get a better leverage for his whacks, and his clothes came away.
They'd all bunched up in my mouth and over my face, but now they were gone and my nails were cut-into his naked buttocks.
Then my panties snapped where they were cutting into me, and he had a bare surface too.
His spanking became a frenzy and so did my clawing as we fought each other. A rapid fire of pistol cracks. Then, exhausted, he fell forward on his knees. I felt his hot breath.
The excitement whirled through me like a savage torrent. A crazy, reckless feeling that my body had vanished, only the sensations remained.
We were comparatively quiet now, but our positions hadn't changed much.
I heard him making noises like an animal and the great passion came hunting for me again. And found me.
I was afloat in the great void with electric thoughts, and the ecstatic sense of life and vitality in its vastness.
We were smothering each other. My hands were pushing on the back of his head and his weight was on me brutally, his weight the mark of his demanding.
My teeth, but he didn't feel them. My frantic, demanding rage, but his own overpowered it.
We both stiffened and screamed at the same moment. A scream from me because the unbearable was there and a mixture of moan and bellow from him, the merged sounds of ecstasy.
The aftermath was unchanged. Always that way.
Exhaustion. He fell over, still doubled up, and I fell on my side, facing him and we stayed that way looking into each other's faces like two people doubled on the floor with a cramp.
He spoke first. He gasped, "Up, baby, on your feet. We've got to go to a party."
I giggled. "I thought I've just had a party."
His grin was weak, and there was awe in his face as he looked at me.
"God! You're a bomb. A living bomb. You destroyed me."
"You didn't do so bad yourself."
I was being very gay, but for some crazy reason I wanted to cry. I wanted to crawl into his arms and have him hold me and cry on him.
He said, "God! And four hours ago we didn't even know each other."
I could laugh now. The giggling stage had passed.
"Maybe we ought to have a drink on that."
He was on his knees, getting up, and he rolled me over on my back and kissed me. It felt good, and I let him finish. When he'd kissed enough he let me put my legs down and get to my feet.
I dropped down on the lounge and said, "I heard something about dinner. Or are you the kind of guy who wears a girl out and then refuses to feed her?"
"You mean you still want dinner?" he asked with a great show of mock surprise.
"You louse!" And I threw a pillow at him.
He laughed, picked up the phone and had a menu sent up.
After we'd ordered dinner and sat there waiting for it, he said, "You wanted me to spank you. Why?"
I could have gotten mad when he asked that, but I wasn't in a bad mood. Everything seemed right with the world. And I saw no reason for not being frank.
I said, "Maybe I did, but after you got started, you liked it too."
He seemed to be trying to figure out why. "I never did anything like that before. It never occurred to me."
"But you did like it."
"I guess so. I was in a rage at you. I wanted to raise welts."
I twisted a little, rubbed my butt and smiled ruefully.
"You did. I can hardly sit down." "It was the damnedest thing that ever happened to me."
"Are you married?"
He paused before answering. Then he said, "Yes."
"Then I'll bet your wife is going to catch it when you get home. The new trick you learned in the city."
"She'd go running home to her mother." "Would your wife do what I did for you?" "No. I don't think so."
"Would you do to her what you did to me?"
"I never have. Why do you ask?"
"Maybe trying to find out how things will be when I get married."
"Are you planning to get married?"
"Some day. Every girl wants to get married."
"After you've had your fun."
"Isn't fun possible afterwards? I mean with the person you're married to?"
"It's - different," he said.
"How is it different?"
"Oh, I don't know. With the person you're around all the time, you get a little self-conscious, I guess."
"It wouldn't be that way with me." "How do you know?"
"I'd have to sleep with the man I planned to marry, to find out if we could establish a good sex relationship."
"Do you think he'd marry you after that?"
It was a strange question. It didn't make any sense. Why would a man refuse to marry a girl just because they had a good sex relationship? A crazy question and I was going to ask him about it, but just then there was a tap on the door.
"That'll be dinner." he said.
Halfway to the door, he stopped and looked back. "Maybe you better go into the bathroom. Or - well, do something."
For a second I didn't know what he meant. I thought maybe the hotel objected to him having a lady sitting on his lounge talking to him.
Then I realized I would have given the waiter a big thrill. My blouse was open and my boobs were out. I hadn't put my ripped panties back on, and I was sitting with one leg under me and my skirt up, everything showing.
I got up quickly and went into the bathroom and waited, buttoning up my blouse.
When I came out he had the table spread, and he looked disappointed.
"You hid them."
"Why not?"
"It's all right, but do me a favor. Take your blouse off again."
"But I thought we were going to have dinner."
"We are. But I never had dinner with a woman whose breasts were showing. I'd like to -"
"To tell the boys about it when you get home?"
"Maybe." At least he was frank and honest.
But the way I looked at it, they wouldn't know my name. I would just be a girl he met in the city. And I'd never had dinner half nude with a man either.
So I took the blouse off. "Remember," I said, "what you're concerned with is on the table."
He laughed. "Ill remember that. But I may miss my mouth with my fork a few times, just gaping." We sat down. "Aren't they heavy, carrying them around?"
"A girl gets used to it. Tell me about your wife."
"She's a nice girl. There isn't much to tell."
"Did you sleep with her before you married her?" It was a pretty frank question, but he'd asked me some pretty frank ones, so I saw no reason why he should be angry.
And he wasn't. He said, "Yes, but it wasn't any good."
"Why not?"
"She was so shy she was almost afraid to undress. Then, when we did get in bed, I couldn't do anything."
"Wasn't it dangerous then, marrying her? Weren't you afraid you didn't fit together sexually?"
"I didn't think of sex in relation to her. Well, I guess I did, but it was different." "Different? How?"
"I wanted to take care of her, protect her from the world."
"Was she the type that needed protecting?"
"She didn't have to be. When you're in love with someone you just naturally feel that way."
"You wouldn't get a kick out of whacking her on the behind?"
"No."
"But you got a kick out of whacking me." "Yes."
"Then wouldn't I make a better wife for you? More - more - there's a word." "Functional?"
"That's right. Wouldn't I be more functional?
With me as a wife, you wouldn't have to pick girls up in elevators."
"But I'd probably go right on doing it." "Why?"
"Because a man always wants to find something new, I guess."
"We all look alike. I mean we're all built the same. So what?"
"Don't you ever wonder about a man?" I had to admit that I did. You always wonder how they are. It's exciting, finding out. "Yes, but there's so much more chance of men being different. You can be disappointed. Or the other way, scared."
He laughed. "Have very many men scared you? "I've been scared - plenty. Have many women disappointed you?"
He was looking at my boobs as though he just couldn't get used to them. "Dessert?" I said.
He jerked his eyes up as I pushed a piece of pie in his direction.
"Okay," he grinned. "I'll take the pie if that's all you've got to offer."
Then the grin faded and he said, "That party tonight. It will be pretty rough."
"Sounds exciting."
"Are you sure you want to go?"
"Don't you want to take me?"
"Sure, but I felt I ought to warn you."
"Maybe you'd rather stay here and make love."
"I'm afraid we'd kill each other."
"Then maybe we'd better go to the party and kill somebody else."
"All right. But remember - I warned you."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THIS WAS THE PARTY I NEVER TOLD DR. WELlington about. He'd have probably said I dreamed it up. But I didn't. It was the real thing. Wild.
As we rode up the elevator, Ed said, "One thing about a bash like this. It's every man for himself."
"What do you mean?"
"We won't be together. Every man brings a girl, but maybe he doesn't see much of her after they get here."
"But some other guy might see a lot of her?"
"That's right."
"How much?" I felt wonderful. Giddy. Happy. Ready for a good time.
"As much as she'll show him." He grinned. "How much will you show?"
"That depends on the guy."
We rang the bell and the door was opened by a man who was drunk and laughing. "Welcome!" he yelled. "Come on in. Join the fun."
It certainly was going to be some party. The man who opened the door, besides being drunk and laughing hilariously, was carrying a naked girl. She was over his shoulders with her legs hanging down in front, and he had her by the ankles to keep her from falling off.
She waved a champagne bottle she was carrying and they went reeling away; we entered the room.
It was huge. And there must have been thirty or forty people there.
Everybody was boisterous, but no ones was paying any attention to us; and we stood there. I was staring with my mouth open.
And I noticed a funny thing. The girls present either had all their clothes on or they were completely naked. No halfway. None of them just had her blouse off, for instance. Or their skirts. It was all or nothing.
I held onto Ed's arm. "Are the naked ones hired entertainers or something?''
He'd changed too. We had been quiet and almost serious at the hotel after we'd made love, and I'd seen the deeper side of him. But now he was in a party mood.
He grinned, "No. Nobody's hired. They've all just come for the fun of it.
"But they're either naked or all dressed."
"You'll see why in a minute."
There was a long bar where everybody was helping themselves, and we pushed in that direction. And we had two Scotch and sodas in our hands when a whoop broke across the room.
Ed nudged me. "They've picked another victim," he said. "Watch."
I'd noticed a group of men in a huddle by the far wall when we came in. I thought they were probably talking stocks and bonds or something.
But as we watched from the bar, they dashed across the room in a pack.
A tall brunette girl saw them coming and screamed and tried to run when she saw that she was the victim.
But they caught her and pulled her into the middle of the room and went to work. While two of them held her arms, another unzipped her dress down the back and they pulled it off over her head.
She was screaming and fighting, but I think there was a lot of laughter in the hysterical scream. It was hard to tell whether she was frightened or not.
They still had to hold her while one of the men unhooked her bra and then that came off.
A big sigh of appreciation went up all over the room as her boobs came into view. They were almost as big as mine, but the bases the nipples sat on were bigger. They were immense, a deep brown. And the nipples were like oversized marbles.
One of the men made an act of kissing each one while the same two men held her. He took them in his mouth and then straightened up, licked his lips and yelled, "Some lucky guy gets those!"
The girl had long, slim aristocratic legs and a garter belt with her panties on over it. One of the men started to pull her panties down and she fought even harder.
So they tripped her and put her down on the floor on her back, and a man held each leg while another squatted on her boobs, backwards and peeled her panties down.
When they were off, one of the men threw them through the air like a prize. A little, I thought, like a bride tossing her bouquet to the bridesmaids. But I don't know why that thought came to me.
The men all grabbed for the panties, and the one who caught them held them up in triumph.
Now there was the garter belt and the stock-mgs. They came off too, and the brunette lay naked with the two men holding her legs.
After that, four of the men began matching coins. This took a minute or so while two of them were eliminated. Then the two winners let out whoops and pounced on the girl and carried her, still struggling, toward a doorway.
"What are they going to do to her?" I asked Ed.
"What do you think? She's their prize. What would a couple of men do with a prize like that?"
I remembered when I'd been with the gang and thought she was luckier than I'd been. At least she only had two men after her.
In a very short time, there was a shriek from the bedroom.
"What are they doing to her?"
"Something she can't stand," Ed said. "Maybe they're tickling her to death."
A blond guy, tipsy with liquor, came staggering up to us and put his arms around me. I pushed him away before his tongue got into my mouth, but he was in an amiable mood and didn't resent it.
"Why didn't you hit him?" I ask Ed after the drunk grinned like an idiot and staggered away.
"I told you what kind of a party it was. The men don't fight here. That's one of the rules. Only the girls are allowed to."
I got a slight idea of what he meant as I saw a flurry of action across the room. A naked blonde was sitting on a fat man's lap and a fiery little brunette, still with all her clothes on, came out of what was probably the powder room and streaked toward the two.
She yelled, "You thieving little witch!" and jerked the blonde off the guy's lap. It made no difference to the fat man. He only laughed.
But it was different with the blonde. She yelled back a curse at the brunette.
The blonde had gone to her hands and knees when the brunette threw her off, and fast as lightning the brunette got behind her and kicked her square in the rear with a sharp, pointed-toe slipper.
The blonde's rear came up off the floor as she sprawled forward on her face.
When she struggled up, the brunette was still there with another kick. Another shriek from the blonde and the same result. Down on her face again.
The brunette kicked the blonde halfway across the room that way until finally the blonde, instead of coming back up on her hands and knees for another one, rolled away and got clear.
She went whimpering to the powder room, holding her rear and walking as though on eggs.
The door where the two men had taken the first brunette girl opened now, and the three of them came out.
The girl came first, maybe she was putting on an act but if she was, she did a good job. She was staggering as though exhausted, her knees wobbling. She crossed her eyes and her mouth hung open, and she held one arm over her boobs and one on her belly.
Behind her, one of the men was buttoning up his clothing as he came out. There were satisfied looks on the faces of both the men.
At this point, my own mouth flew open and I let out a yelp as I grabbed at myself. I whirled around and Ed and I both looked down. A man's face was grinning up at me. "Hello, sweetie."
The bar was a long table covered with a cloth that reached to the floor, and it was pulled up. The grinning man was lying under there on his back with a naked girl on top of him.
I was angry. "Did you see what he did?" I asked Ed. "His hand went way up to my legs and - Ed laughed, "Baby, this is a party. You're supposed to have fun. Besides, men's hands have been there before.
I was beginning to hate him. Then my attention went elsewhere and horror swept over me. The strippers. The group of clowns had gathered again and had a conference, and now they were headed for another victim.
And that victim was me!
I saw them coming and grabbed Ed's arm. But then they were upon me and pulling me away. They pulled me, laughing like hyenas, into the middle of the room and two of them grabbed my arms.
But it was a little different than with the brunette. Two of them held me and one of them jerked my skirt up. There was a delighted whoop from all parts of the room.
They'd discovered that I had no panties on. Ed had ripped them at the hotel so I'd come without them.
I was wearing a full skirt, and one of the clowns pulled it up, found that it went higher than And even while I was terrorized, I had to admit that the drunk was a man. Alcohol hadn't slowed him up at all. His virility, symbolized by violence, increased as his passion mounted.
My captor, the one holding the twisted head of my skirt, was so amazed at the performance that he let go and my skirt fell away from around my head and that end of me was free.
I gasped for air and looked up at the man. He was watching his companion with a fixed stare. I didn't have to look in that direction to know what was going on. My ravisher was like a bull elk gone mad with lust. Each of his lunges was like a complete campaign so to speak, a separate attack calculated to destroy me.
"God! You'll shove her right through the bed," the staring man muttered.
His companion paid no attention.
I buried my face in the bed clothes and lived with the degradation I was being subjected to.
Then, in kind of a delayed reaction, my own passion began to mount. When it started, it built quickly; and I forgot the man who stood staring at my lover.
My face was still buried but with my fist doubled now I was slowly pounding the bed. I stiffened my thighs and furnished more resistance. The trapped female accepting her destiny.
As he lunged, I was now pressing back and he appreciated the help, the lift toward ecstasy. His head came down close to mine and he gasped, "That's it, baby! Get with it. It's you and me. Let's go!"
We couldn't possibly have been doing it more frantically. Sure that I would not twist away from him now, if given the chance, the stroke of his passion increased in speed and, by the same ration, in ferocity.
But I welcomed it. The rising delight of a flaming torch applied to the tinder of my passion.
The other man was still staring dully. "God!" he muttered. "Now I can see why Beth looks so worn and pale all the time."
He could only mean my attacker's wife. Evidently, the man was a sex maniac who subjected his wife to this sort of ravishment night after night. And it still was not enough.
His lips came close again. "I could go on for hours, baby. How about you?"
That scared me. Was I there for the night, bent over that damned bed?
It was grotesque and ridiculous. Had I been assaulted by some kind of a freak?
There seemed no sign of him reaching the crest. He appeared to enjoy the act only for its own sake, with no objective in sight.
Completely absorbed in his work, he was paying attention only to me, not to his companion. So he did not see the look of growing wonder on the staring man's face.
Nor did he see his companion go to the door of the bedroom and open it. I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye and saw the man motion to others, and soon the door was crowded with heads and peering eyes.
We had an audience!
"They're watching us!" I wailed.
My fantastic stallion merely grunted, the rest of his energy going into his work.
"The hell with them," he choked, and grasped my shoulders in order to exert more force.
It couldn't go on, this obscene, marathon sex bout. If he would not end it, I had to. The humiliation, the embarrassment was the worst I'd ever known. There were remarks of both wonder and ridicule.
"She'll remember that guy for a long time."
"Hell put her out of commission."
"He sure isn't leaving any for anybody else."
And the question one of the peering girls asked another: "Don't you envy her?"
There was a reply to this: "Honey, it hurts me just to watch!"
Then I forgot them. The delight of it, the fierce, wild freedom of sex poured through me like new fire. And I began to struggle for fulfillment, and in the struggle we became one. He was not just a man who had grabbed a girl, nor was I a girl being served by a man.
We were one, a single unit of sensuality. Two joined into one to obey the great command of nature.
I forgot the watchers and began to moan as the unendurable approached. A pathetic little touch of love entered into the brutal display when the man, passing also into the heights of ecstasy, reached blindly for my hand and gripped it.
The ecstasy can be a strange thing, and even as he heightened his frenzied attack I got the feeling through the grip of his hand over mine that he was saying, Help me. Oh, God, help me darling. Lift me up, up.
It was the highest point of physical and emotional delight I had ever experienced. A sweet uncontrollable madness seized me and I took the man's hand and jammed his fingers, with pure frenzy, into my mouth. His hand would stifle the scream that was rising from my throat, pushed upward and forward toward my mouth by the great energy that hung poised in that frantic union.
The energy crackled.
I screamed.
My scream blended with a bull-like, choked bellow from the man's ecstatic torture.
And after straining forward, he to give and I to receive that final, burning urge of ecstasy, we collapsed.
And it was strange. There was no laughter, obscene ridicule. Something had turned that lustful, animal act into a thing of awe that silenced the others.
Sight of the passionate height we had reached stilled their tongues.
I heard a single, whispered exclamation, "My God!" and then they filed out and closed the door and left us to ourselves.
He had slipped to the floor where he lay exhausted.
I turned and looked at him and took the edge of the sheet from the bed and wiped the sweat from his face.
"Are you all right?"
He could only gasp for a while before getting the words out. "I'm fine." His smile was an effort.
"You'll kill yourself some day."
"But what a way to die!"
I opened his collar and wiped his chest. "Your friend mentioned Beth. Is she your wife?"
As I asked the question it occurred to me that I had also discussed Ed's wife with him. Was I getting a thing about wives? Did I hate them? Was I jealous of the wives of the men who took me? Or did I pity them?
But he evidently didn't want to talk about Beth. His face stiffened and there was a look of pain on it. He didn't want to talk about her and spoke only three words. But those three words were chilling. They hit me with almost physical shock: "Beth's my sister."
My horror must have reflected in my expression because his eyes blazed out in defiance.
"All right. But what business is it of yours."
"But your friend knew."
"He and I are very close."
There had been sullen pain in his eyes, but now that vanished and there was only the defiance. The man came to his feet and a superficial grin appeared on his face. It was the mask that he wore at parties like this. A mask all the men wore.
"I'll see you later, honey," he said. He winked. "When you're ready to go again."
He left, and in a little while I followed him out into the big room.
The awe that had held them in the bedroom was gone. The party was getting wilder. As I walked toward the bar, a hand reached out from the floor and grabbed my ankle. I looked down, as I teetered and fought for balance, and saw two men and a girl on the floor. The girl was naked, a small redhead, and she was sandwiched between them.
"Come on, honey," a drunken voice invited. "Join the party."
I lost my balance and went down. I still had my skirt on, but of course there was nothing under it, nothing now but the man's searching hand.
Immediately we were in a tangled heap there on the thickly-carpeted floor.
But it wasn't a frantic thing. In fact it was quite strange. They were in the grip of a lazy, sensuous lethargy, as I sensed it would be with three opium addicts. I don't know whether they were doped or not, but I didn't think so. It was merely an exceptional mood that had touched them.
And I found that it was catching. The four of us tangled intimately, there on the floor, to form a sort of sanctuary in the midst of the wild orgy that went on round us. There were no introductions. None were necessary. As soon as I got pulled down into the slow-motion tangle of arms and legs and naked bodies, I was accepted-one of them.
"Hello, honey," the little redhead smiled dreamily. "Do you want that?"
She was referring to her breasts - one almost as large as mine - that had come into contact with my face and mouth as I fell. I felt the warm, moist taste of flesh and was in no hurry to move my head even though I was not stirred.
One of the men grinned from down where he was at the bottom of the pile and said, "No, baby, she wants me." He was pressed against the redhead's other breast in the weird pattern we made. I touched my lips to him but in the lethargy that held me, maybe a reaction from the bedroom bit, he seemed only vaguely interesting.
The second man in our pile was covered by my skirt and I felt him, his lazy, gentle exploring. He found me and I felt a deep, contented breath on my flesh and a thrill stirred me.
Contentedly, I kissed one man and found that my hand was somewhere down below on a male buttock and touching the redhead. I felt her lips move and heard her say, "Mmmm," and then a long contented sigh.
The man under my skirt pressed me, a blind child seeking comfort.
We were an island, alone. Somewhere there was a fight going on. I heard two females screaming and then a thud. I turned my eyes to look and flesh followed me to nuzzle and find contentment. I saw two girls battling across the room, two naked girls tearing at each other. I watched and worked my tongue at the same time.
They looked to be about evenly matched, but one was more scientific than the other. She punched like a man, where the other merely clawed and tore at her opponent's hair.
The puncher was merely amused. Then, as I watched, she stepped in and drove a fist into her opponent's belly. The girl doubled over and was instantly straightened by a knee in her face. She staggered around, gagging, and I felt a tightening of a hand on me and saw that a man in our pile, the one that had had his head under my skirt, had come out and was watching the fight.
There was fixed grin on his face, almost no expression at all, it was so tightly frozen there, and he muttered, "A grand on the brunette."
The little redhead's mouth was working, and the man whose head was at my feet made slow, sensuous movements.
The blonde victim of the hard-punching brunette was down now, on her hands and knees; and I thought of pointed-toed shoes, but nobody kicked her.
Instead, the brunette grabbed her arm and then pulled and pushed her under a heavy coffee table with a shelf low against the floor - just enough room for the blonde's head and shoulders and breasts.
The rest of her, sprawled and naked, lay exposed.
She recovered from the punches and began to try kicking herself loose. One of the men came forward and knelt beside her. His body blocked my view, and I couldn't see what he did; but suddenly the girl under the coffee table began kicking wildly, flailing her legs in the air in panic.
The man turned slightly, grinning down, and I saw him studying her as he moved away. She was splashed with soda.
Then he bent over again and blocked my view but the girl began to howl, and she kicked so frantically he had to grab one of her ankles and hold it rigid.
"What's he doing to her?" the little redhead asked vaguely, her words coming in a slow, lazy lisp.
Whatever it was, it was interesting because a small crowd had gathered. In fact one man got up off of an inert, naked figure to go and look.
The girl howled and fought and after a while the man got up and walked away with a look of satisfaction on his face, rubbing his empty hands together as though washing them.
My reaction was very strange. I seemed full and content and satisfied, and life was wonderful. My hand began moving rhythmically, almost an unconscious action, and the man I held sighed and found the same rhythm.
"Do you like that?" I asked lazily.
"It's nice, honey, nice," he sighed.
The redhead was making soft sounds, like a kitten. My hand had gotten tangled and she pulled and pushed it away. Her breast was pressing into my mouth, the nipple hard, and a little excitement generated in our pile.
Then it began to move and shift, and we got into layers, kind of. When the shifting was over, one of the men was on his back with the redhead lying on him, their mouths tight together, his arms around her, holding her down, his hips moving, lifting and falling, lifting and falling.
Over under the coffee table, the blonde, still trapped, was cursing the guy she hadn't even seen, cursing him for what he'd done and trying to undo it, but her hands were too clumsy. People watched, but nobody bent down to help her.
The other man in our pile was on top of the little redhead, his lips nuzzling at the nape of her neck. Thus she was sandwiched between the two men and not going anywhere.
But she didn't seem to mind. She was enough woman for both of them.
That left me out in the cold, though, and I looked up and saw Ed grinning down at me. "Do you like the party, hon?" "It's a real one, that's for sure." "You're great. You're fitting in perfectly." "Were you in the bedroom?" "I saw it. Honey, you and that guy have got a thing. You shouldn't lose each other."
He wandered away, but I got up and followed him.
"Let's go back to your hotel," I said. He was surprised. "Aren't you having a good time?"
"Yes, but enough is enough. Let's go back and make love."
"You mean you didn't get enough in the bedroom?"
"Let's get out of here."
"Okay. Do you want to take anybody with us?"
"What do you mean?"
He waved an arm. "All these people are willing. They'll be breaking up into small parties pretty soon, twos and fours. And maybe some threes."
"No, Ed. Just you and me."
He got dressed, I straightened my clothes, and we left. As we rode down in the elevator, I remembered what he'd asked.
You mean you didn't get enough in the bedroom?
Enough.
It scared me. Did I get more than other girls? Was I abnormal? Was my liking for sex a sickness?
Would I ever get enough.
I clung to Ed's arm. Suddenly, I wanted one man. Just one man to make happy for ever and ever. I was young and vital now, but I saw the years stretching on and they scared me.
"Ed," I said suddenly. "What's going to become of me?"
He didn't understand. Either that or he didn't want to. He grinned at me and said, "Just this, honey. We're going to my room and you're going to have the happiest damn night of your life. And I get better as the night goes on."
"All right, Ed," I said listlessly ...
CHAPTER TWELVE
"THAT WAS VERY INTERESTING," DR. WELLINGTON said.
"What was interesting?"
Lying there on his couch, I opened my eyes and realized I'd been telling him about that crazy party.
"When you looked ahead and the years frightened you."
"Every girl gets old," I said sullenly.
"Of course. And every girl has to make a choice. A good time and the devil with tomorrow, or find a man, settle down, and lead a solid life."
"A dreary life, you mean."
"That depends on the point of view. The responsibilities of marriage, children and a home can become monotonous, but they have their compensations."
"Name one."
Dr. Wellington shook his head. "No. we won't go into that. I'm more interested in what happened to you. That was only one of the parties you went to, wasn't it?"
"I told you about some of the others."
"There was the one with the members of that motorcycle club."
"The initiation."
"When they made you one of them."
"But they didn't. I went to their meeting in that old loft-"
"There were fifteen, you said."
"Yes. But let's not talk about that."
A member! Big deal! Fifteen times in that hot little room. One after another and little Lorna doing her best. Doing her best until she was wallowing in it! Wanting to become a member and have one guy to ride behind on a motorcycle.
But it was nothing but a trick. The next morning they thundered out of town. And Lorna wasn't with them.
I remembered that, all right.
"Let's do talk about it," Dr. Wellington said. "Let's find out if it really happened."
I came half up off the lounge. "Well, if it didn't, there must have been some other reason why I staggered around for two days like I'd been through a coffee mill."
"That's our problem, Lorna, what really happened to you and what were the dreams."
"I always told you when it was a dream."
"But I think you got a little mixed up. I've read what you wrote. Some of it isn't the same as what you told me."
"But most of it was."
"That's right. But why didn't you mention, in what you wrote, the incident where you went home with the fat man and he put thigh-length black boots on you - "
"Because it was too disgusting."
"Were there actually marks on your buttocks from the whip?"
"You're trying to mix me up!"
"On the contrary, I'm trying to straighten things out in your mind."
"You've got a funny way of doing it."
Suddenly, all the words seemed a waste of time. I was on his couch and he was there; we were alone so what were we waiting for? He knew damned well he wanted me.
"You're itching to go to bed with me, aren't you?"
"Why did you suddenly ask that question?"
He was making me mad. "Good God! Do we have to ask the reason for every word we say? Isn't it obvious? You want me and you know it."
"Lorna-"
"Maybe you need something to excite your imagination. Well, there it is. Do you like it?"
He didn't tell me to pull my skirt down. He looked, deliberately and calmly, and then raised his eyes to my face.
"Lorna, the time's come to face facts. You see, they didn't give me all the time in the world to work with you. That tends to change things. It isn't as though you were a private patient."
"What are you talking about?"
"They want results. They want a report. The courts move slowly, but sometimes psychiatry, when it's done right, moves slower."
"That's all a lot of double talk."
"Perhaps, but we must get on with it. Now quite often, you've admitted telling half-truths, incidents that really occurred but in a different way than you told it."
I sat up on the couch. "Name one!"
"Well, the conversation you had in the hall at school about the blond gas-station attendant. Hank. You admitted that your girl friend didn't say anything about her friend being stripped and made to stand beside the car, naked."
"But why would I say that if it wasn't true?"
"I think because you wanted to go out with Hank, but you had to have a reason that satisfied you."
"What was the reason?"
"You were avenging a dear friend, who, by the way, wasn't a friend at all. You scarcely knew her."
"You're so smart!" I sneered. "You're so damned smart. Why don't you tell my stories? You know more about my life than I know myself."
He was paying no attention to my hostility. He said, "There's a reverse trend in your continuity, that's very interesting, Lorna. Let's look into that."
"Quit using such big words."
"You understand them," he said. "When you wrote, you used words very well."
"What's that got to do with what we're talking about?"
"Nothing, I guess. But let's get back to Ben. That was his name, wasn't it? The man who came to your house and tried to improve you."
I didn't answer him. I couldn't. For a few seconds I was scared sick.
"The man you raped, Lorna."
"He was a dream. I told you he was a dream. And that proves you're the one that's mixed up. Calling him real!"
"I didn't call him real. I'm well aware that you told me he was a dream."
"But you don't believe me."
"Yes, Lorna, I do."
I felt greatly relieved. But it was strange. I didn't know why I'd gotten scared so suddenly and then felt better when he said he believed me. I couldn't find any reason.
"I think Ben is symbolic. A dream, yes, but as a defensive distortion for a real person."
"That's crazy! What person?"
"A real person who did talk to you and try to get you to settle down and conduct your life more sensibly."
"What person?" I fairly screamed out the words.
"Frank! Your sister's husband." "Why that's silly! Who was Frank to try and straighten anybody out?"
"You were terribly jealous because your sister had him and he wouldn't respond to you."
"You're crazy! You're the one who needs the psychiatrist!"
He ignored that. "Ben was a symbol for Frank. That was the basis of your whole cover-up. The whole distortion that followed."
I was sitting on the edge of the couch with my fists doubled. I hated him. If the paper knife had been closer, I'd have grabbed it and jammed it into his belly and then kicked his face in when he was on the floor.
"No distortions followed! Nothing. It was the way I said."
"No, Lorna. From that point on your whole picture is distorted. Frank's death at the hands of hoodlums. Your sister having a breakdown and going into a home."
"I told the truth!"
"Your sister isn't in a mental home. There was no breakdown. She was stunned and grievously shocked by Frank's death, but - "
"At least you admit that Frank's dead," I sneered. "You're not telling me that was a dream too."
"Yes, Lorna, Frank is dead, but he wasn't killed by hoodlums. He - "
"You're telling me Frank is Ben and I took Frank down into the basement and raped him?"
"No. That didn't happen. That was justification to your ego. Frank repulsed you, but you didn't take him to the basement. You never left the living room when he told you he wouldn't go to bed with you."
"My God!" I screamed. "You're telling me that - "
"You grabbed a vase from the table and hit Frank on the head. When he fell, you hit him again."
"You're a liar! You're a rotten, filthy liar!" I never - "
"You beat your brother-in-law to death, Lorna. You were found there with the vase in your hand, your mind a complete blank. You were arrested and brought here. It's been my job to try and bring it all back to you."
"No -no!"
"They want to put you in the chair for murder, Lorna. But they can't if you're insane. And it's my job to find out if you are."
I lunged at him. "You're crazy. I'm not insane. I'm as sane as you are. And everything you said is a great big lie."
He grabbed me by the wrists and forced me down on the couch.
"I'm sane! I'm sane! And you're a liar!"
Then the door opened and two matrons came in. They brought a hypodermic and I was taken to my room...
When I woke up I was quieter. All the hysteria and fright were gone. I'm not afraid any more. I'm not even afraid of being electrocuted. After all, I went out for every experience. And if I'm electrocuted, that will only leave cholera that I missed.
Joke.
But I don't feel very humorous. I kept on writing because I'm still here and it fills the time. But I really don't care what happens to me.
After all, I'm really complete in myself. When I'm disturbed, all I have to do is lie down on my bed and dream. I can bring in any man I want to: Hello, honey, my name is Jim. What are you doing tonight?
Nothing, sweetie. Get into bed with me...
Baby, where have you been all my life. You're gorgeous. Let me get to work on those boobs.
Roy, you're so tall, so handsome, so much man ...
"I'm not insane. Not in the least. And I'll probably die, but I don't care.
I did get a little mixed up on Frank and Sis. Like Dr. Wellington said, my putting Sis in a sanitarium in my dream was kind of making her take my place.
And I did kill Frank. But I'm sorry for that.
And I get away with things here, so I'm not so bad off. They have a few male attendants. There's one named Pat, and when he saw my boobs he began to drool.
He was willing to risk his job for a fling with me. He came in and right away his face was buried in my boobs while his hands were reaching down under my skirt and searching, exploring. My knees got weak and that wild reckless feeling came, and then I was on my knees with my arms around him.