Jill W-was caught at customs with three cakes of "hash" stuffed in a shoe in her luggage. She said of it:
" ... In Marrakech you send out a boy with ten dir-hams and he brings you back three cakes of hash. Or maybe only two, and keeps one for himself. Do you know how much ten dirhams is? Two dollars. One ninety-eight, if you want to be accurate. Do you think that for two dollars I'd risk going to jail?"
Convinced that her drug-addict brother secreted the hash in her luggage, she tells her story of their sordid relationship.
" ... If I was smuggling, I'd smuggle it in in my bra. Even customs guys would think twice about looking in a girl's bra. When she's wearing it, that is. Oh, they might look at my bra, because of what I've got in there-and they're pretty nice, if I do say so myself. No, I wasn't smuggling any hash ... I don't use the stuff. I get my kicks in a different way.
"I know who did stuff that junk in my shoe. Or I can give a pretty shrewd guess. My ever-loving bastard of a brother, Stan. No, I don't mean he's a bastard in that sense. Or is he? You know, could be. And maybe that's why my mother and father had to get married. Legally, I mean. They're swingers. Real swingers. Always have been as far as I know. So maybe they could have had a little accident-my brother Stan. And gotten married. Why my mother ever let me happen I'll never know. Probably drunk as a skunk. Alcohol's their hang-up, not grass or hash or keef or any of the drugs. So far as I know, anyway. And I would. We've romped around the world enough together, following 'the season.'
"When you had a couple of grandfathers who were real squares and spent all their time piling up a few millions, what's to do but spend it? Father's father made his in plumbing fixtures and mother's made his in whiskey-distilling it. And they have been working at keeping the distillery going by drinking up the product Or anybody else's. Mother's partial to French champagnes; father likes bourbon but will drink anything with a high enough alcoholic content. Even retain that tastes like cough medicine with resin in it. Oh, sure. I've tasted it. In Athens. And ouzo. That tastes like they dissolved licorice in it, but it's got a kick like six mules. I sampled that, too. On the Rialto in Venice. I've tasted most of the stuff they swig down, but just a taste. I never liked any of it. Except maybe very good Pol Roget. That tastes like cider with sparkling water. But better. The 'natural'-I never did like the pink, which is for tourists.
"When mother and father started taking me on their trips-I was thirteen or so, then-they thought it was 'cute' to give me sips of their drinks. And see me get tiddley. It never took much more than a sip to do it, then. And I didn't like it. I mean, I felt like a performing bear or something, getting tight for their amusement Maybe that's why I never really learned to like the stuff. Oh, I can drink now. And hold it But I still don't care much for it. Like I said, I get my kicks in another way-sex.
"Stan gets his from junk. Keef, hash, grass, speed, LSD. I don't think he's on the hard stuff-H-yet. And I know he doesn't think much of pop-opium- even though he owns a pipe. From Morocco. The stuff is real easy to get there. Right in the market. The Jamaa el F'na in Marrakech. The Club is just across the square from it.
"The Club? That's the Transit Club, one of a string, all around the world. For real swingers. They have them every place where there's real fun to be had: Paris, Marseilles, Toulon, Athens, Istanbul, Venice, Hong Kong, Macao, Singapore-which is otherwise pretty staid, even stuffed-shirtish, despite Boogi Street. Oh, just about everywhere, I guess.
"They're very private and very, very expensive. To keep out the hoi polloi. And just about anything goes, starting with nude bathing. And ending up with a very competent doctor to straighten you out afterwards, up to and including abortions if you happen to forget your Pill. The paraldehyde consumption must be very high-for sobering up those who get the DT's, But mostly they're just for swingers, people who like their fun easy, such as wife-swapping and buggering, with maybe a little daisy-chaining along the way.
"The boys at the Club are very accommodating- for a price, of course. And I understand they have girls-some very young ones, I heard-that take care of anything the men happen to require. Or the women. I never went in for the lesbian stuff, so I wouldn't know. I take my sex straight-more or less.
"I was fourteen, pretty near fifteen, before I knew anything about the clubs. Maybe my parents just joined up about then. Or maybe the clubs were just being formed. I know they're rather new. Anyway, we stopped off at the one in Marseilles, the year I was fourteen. And probably a little stick-in-the-mud. I certainly wasn't a swinger, then.
"Can you imagine anything duller for a kid then a club for swingers? The other times I'd been abroad we'd stopped at the George V in Paris or the Ming Court in Singapore or the Carlton in London. At least from those places you could always get a tour going somewhere-mostly to museums and cathedrals. Or tombs and temples. I'd gotten awfully fed up on museums and cathedrals and temples but they're better than sitting around reading old magazines or chewing your nails down to the elbow.
"Even Stan was bored with the club. He was seventeen, then, and just beginning to get horny but a little backward about asking for a girl. They'd have probably sent one up for him if he had. I know we had just had a session in the pool-nude bathing. Which did nothing for me, really, seeing old men with bellies flopping around in the water and women who had lost their figures making like they were gay young things. Of course there were a few of The Beautiful People-my father and mother among them-but they generally stuck together and didn't pay much attention to us kids.
"Except for one man who kept eyeing me and speculating. You could almost hear his computer working. So maybe I did show off a little, thrusting out my tits-I had fairly nice ones by then-and floating on the surface with my legs open, to show my cunt.
"It got me sort of excited, having a man notice me, even though that was what all the nude bathing was about-showing off skin. I don't know why this guy didn't make a play for me. There was plenty of it going on. Some of it downright embarrassing. Maybe he was just a peeper or maybe he liked girls with more experience. And bigger tits. Or it could be my father had put up some sort of warn-off signals, though I doubt if he ever thought of it-or of me that way. I was just an inexperienced kid, to him.
"Some of the tingles from having the guy look at me lasted until I got back to my room, making me think more about this sex stuff than I ever had before. You know, like what would it be like to get laid. And figuring there was maybe something to it after all. I knew my parents got a big bang out of it -or seemed to. With each other and with different partners. Not that I had actually seen it happening, but a kid gets to know. I even knew how it was done. I mean, how a boy could throw his dong into a girl's cunt. But as to what happened after that, I wasn't sure. But I still had those tingles.
"I was looking at my body in the big mirror, puzzling it all out and maybe teasing my cunt with my finger to see if anything would happen. It did. Some. I mean, the tingles got more interesting. That's when Stan walked in.
"He had slipped into some jockey shorts, mostly to hide the hard on he had from watching a blonde babe that was ten years too old for him. I suspect he wanted to talk to me about the blonde and what were his chances with her-which I would have put at zero, since she had half a dozen grown men after her and not likely to be looking for a kid like Stan. She was a babe who would like experience, not cherry.
"Stan just stood in the doorway of my room-we had connecting rooms-gawking at me, like he'd just discovered I was a girl. With equipment. In all the right places and in pretty fair shape. I know I twisted around when I saw him in the mirror. And gave him a nice side view of rounded tits and a flat stomach. With my finger just playing with my cunt. I didn't pull it out fast, either, because I had just reached a real interesting point, where things were really beginning to stir inside.
"I saw his dong jump to a real hard on in his jockey shorts, so I knew he realized I was female and maybe just as good as the blonde babe. And I was right there. In the same room. Where there was a bed. And teasing myself, so he knew I was interested.
"He didn't say anything, just gulped, and then started walking toward me. I wasn't really scared. I guess I didn't have enough sense to be scared. Just curious. About how things would go. I just stood there, turned now to face him, waiting, not really doing anything, except maybe a little shiver every now and then that shook my tits. With some ripples in my stomach that maybe showed.
"I don't think I even saw Stan's face, just that lump where his dong pushed out his jockey shorts, twitching some. Oh, I knew what was in there, all right. I'd seen plenty of peckers in my nude bathing, even Stan's-but not a hard on. I was just picturing how it would look without his shorts. Stan had some curly hairs around the base and a sort of skinny shaft with a bulb that was sort of blue-purr pie. That much I knew.
"I didn't know how big it could get. But I found out quick enough.
"Stan walked right up to me, until his chest was almost against my tits. He moved his chest a little from side to side, so it teased my tits, setting up some new tingles and sort of sending advance notice on what else was to happen, like down around my cunt, where the heat was really starting up. And it wasn't just heat, like hot, you know. It was sort of-anticipating.
"Feeling his dong rubbing at me, even through his shorts, made me excited and at the same time made me weak, so I wasn't doing anything, just standing there, maybe sagging a little against him, waiting to see what was going to happen. And breathing real light and easy, just enough to move my tits a little and move my stomach against Stan's.
"I was in a sort of suspended animation-all there and feeling all sorts of curious waves and tingles-but not doing anything. I felt Stan put his arms around me, felt his hands slide down my back, slow, and then felt him make a sudden grab at my ass, pulling me tight against him, with him grinding his pelvis at me.
"It was as if it was all going on in a dream. In sort of slow motion. You might even say, slow emotion, because everything was very gradual, mixed up with a sort of amazement, a kind of wonder that this was happening to me. Feeling the tension build up inside was only part of it, I think. But mostly it was the astonishment.
"Oh, I wasn't making any fuss about it. Whatever was going to happen, I wanted to happen. I let it happen. I think I could have stopped Stan any time up to when he actually put me on the bed. After that, I don't know. He went a little berserk then.
"He picked me up, mostly by grabbing my behind and lifting and walking with me to the bed, his dong rubbing right up against my cunt all the time, making things curiously light and tight in me. For myself, I was-well, you might say, standing just outside myself, watching it all happen, yet feeling it, too. Feeling all the tensions and tingles and excitement while I looked on and saw my tits and nipples swell and my little cunt begin to open up and make juices.
"I saw Stan rip off his jockey shorts. I could see his prick then, not so little and dangling anymore, but standing straight up, big and stiff, with his bulb wet and a very sparkling drop of wet on the end. I could focus on that, seeing it bright and shiny-and know it was going into me. Way in.
"I just lay there on the bed, with my legs falling open and showing my cunt, wet and open, too. After that, things got a little confused. Stan was like an animal.
"He clawed at my tits, jammed his mouth down on one and sucked and nibbled at it-not too gently either-until I thought I'd scream, not from excitement but just from pain. I know I tried to push him off them, but that only made things seem worse.
"He rolled over on top of me, muttering and sort of growling. He aimed his prick right at my cunt, pushed until his bulb was right up against it, wiggled a bit, to get things going, and then just rammed his prick in me.
"I know I yelled then, because it hurt so, and beat at his shoulders. I tried to pull my cunt away but I couldn't. He was really reaming it into me, humping up and dropping down on my mound, each time his dong going a little deeper in me.
"Suddenly, in spite of the pain, I liked it. There was warmth all up my stomach and new excitement in my cunt and pelvis that was bigger than the hurt, so new and startling I couldn't really take it in. But I was humping right back at him. It was ragged at first. We bumped more often than we really built a rhythm but finally we got together on it, with me wiggling my little butt some to get some things off, swelling my insides until it seemed I would burst. My nipples were so hard I know Stan could feel them-if he was feeling anything except his own excitement.
"He kept muttering and growling the whole time, as if that helped, and just kept up that rhythmic humping, driving his pecker and bulb up inside me. I could feel his whole shaft sliding against the lips of my cunt and his bulb pumping back and forth up in me. And giving me thrills I never expected to happen, tightness that would have to give way but felt awful good just getting tighter and tighter.
"Suddenly Stan let out a yell and drew way back, almost pulling his dong out of me, and held it there, just barely moving. I humped up my pelvis, trying to get his dong deeper in me, when suddenly he just dropped down on me, ramming his prick so far up I squealed-and then I could feel a big pulse all along his shaft and a thud I could almost hear when his come exploded out of his bulb.
"It flooded my insides with hot goo in one great glob, and triggered things in me, so I exploded, too, gushing more goo. I don't know why I wasn't flooded out. Maybe it just felt like a lot more than it really was up there. But it was certainly a wonderful release, as if my clock had been wound too tight and was suddenly ticking smoothly again, in a pumping rhythm that was far better than any ticking.
"It was wonderful. In spite of the pain and the bumping, I felt marvelous. Released and deflated but delightfully relaxed. Even the weight of Stan collapsed on my stomach and tits felt good.
"I could feel his dong going down, like a slow leak in a tire, with little jerks and twitches that kept triggering new quivers inside me. Each new easing of tension seemed better than the last until Stan's prick slid completely out of me, unplugging all those juices in my cunt. I wet the bed, I know, but who cares? The maid would make it up fresh.
"Stan rolled off me and lay down beside me, breathing heavily and still sort of muttering to himself. I was happy to have his weight off me, even if it had felt good for a few minutes. I know there were still some little explosions going off in me, like squibs after a big bang, so I just lay there and let them happen, squeezing my legs tight against my cunt to make the feeling a little bigger. I reached up and played with my tits, squeezing a little on my nipples, though they were sort of tender. That helped to prolong the little explosions. Or I think it did.
"I liked it, and I liked knowing what this 'swingers' stuff was all about. Not that I really thought about it right then-I mean, not full out-but I remember thinking I understood why my parents were swingers. If this was swinging, then I wanted more of it. Lots more.
"Stan raised himself on one elbow and looked down at me, scowling. 'You're not going to tell Dad how I screwed you, are you?'
"I know I giggled. 'Why? Doesn't he know how?'
"That set us off. We just lay there, laughing like idiots-which I guess we were along about then. Mindless and just feeling. But feeling very good, stretching a little just to feel muscles pull and know you're alive. It's great, that afterwards feeling. Almost as good as screwing itself. Only, of course, if there wasn't any screwing there wouldn't be that glorious after feeling.
"That was the first time Stan ever screwed me-or we screwed each other, however you want to put it. His technique was crude, not subtle at all, but then, at that time, I didn't know there were subtler ways of fucking ... "
The preceding is a condensed version of Jill W---'s story, with much more to come, in Chapter Three. Jill, from her own words about herself, her family and their travels, establishes herself as one of the jet-set crowd, wealthy families who entertain themselves with globe-trotting, to whom Marrakech and Marseilles and Singapore are as commonplace as the corner drugstore, as familiar as the supermarket.
Jill's family were swingers, which is not to say that all globe-trotters are swingers or sexually promiscuous. She is simply a child of the very rich who were.
Maxwell Douglas, in The Documented Story of Sub-Teen Sex, a study funded by the American Institute of Motivation Research and conducted in co-operation with the California Youth Authority and other institutions dealing with youthful delinquents, quotes a prominent volunteer social worker, who operates at two levels, working with the very poor in her social service capacity and living, in her normal life, among the very rich. She is quoted as saying that "the morals of the very poor and the very rich are very much alike."
He also quotes a C. Y. A. official, as commenting on the squalid conditions under which the very poor often have to live: "With all too many of these girls, sex is simply a way of life. Many of them live in crowded conditions where they see sex all around them. It becomes a facet of life, so, when it happens to them, they are neither surprised nor offended. They simply lack the moral background of middle-class mores."
Douglas interprets the above use of the term "middle-class mores": "They represent ... the finest values by which we live-honesty, integrity, virtue, courtesy, kindness-all the basic plus-values of life in America."
Jill W--- and the other four young girls considered in this volume are from among the very rich, where, frequently, the morals are "very like" those of the extremely poor, though for generally quite different reasons.
The moral standards of the very poor are often impaired by the type of life forced on them by poverty, the crowded conditions that bring youngsters into constant contact with sex, so that they are neither surprised nor offended when it happens to them. Among the very rich there are instances of youngsters who are given too much too soon and who are therefore bored, seeking stimulation by some means other than the plentitude around them. Many of them turn to sex for that stimulation.
Douglas, in his searching study, says that "among the so-called 'privileged' there are 'pockets of moral poverty' as real and perhaps more detrimental to society than the financial pockets of poverty."
Jill W--- and the others, as shall be seen, all came from very wealthy families, families that were, in the terms of Maxwell Douglas, "pockets of moral poverty." Each instance cited in this volume has a different triggering motivation that turns the young girl toward sex, notably, incestuous sex. However, each girl was caught up in some form of sexual activity because the family or associates lived in a "pocket of moral poverty"-where those homely, middle-class mores had little or no meaning.
Even though the immediate triggering motivation in each instance was different, the basic fact remains, that the families, and hence the children, lacked those very standards.
Jill W--- lived in a jet-set society among a .particular set, the swingers, where sex was a way of life.
Fay Y--- (Chapter One) represents defiant rebellion, one of four categories noted by a program administrator for another juvenile center. His list, developed over years of study of the juvenile delinquent problem, notes the causes as: identification; peer group status; search for affection; and "punishment" of parents. Fay was deliberately seeking to "punish" her parents for their neglect of her when she turned to sex. She was also probably seeking to garner affection long denied her by her parents.
Motivations are rarely as clear-cut as the categories developed for them. There is often an overlap, a blend of drives, and, in the cases cited here, often an underlying feeling of boredom from too much indulgence, too many worldly and material "things" far too readily available too early in life.
Vance Packard, in The Sexual Wilderness, particularly notes this restlessness among the youth that all too often breaks out in sexual delinquency. He lists eight basic causes, ranging from the shift from breast feeding to bottle feeding of infants (common in-the past generation) to fear of the potential destruction inherent in nuclear warfare. Among these eight causes he notes that overindulgence is among the most potent, since an excess of material possessions stultifies any sense of achievement.
Certainly overindulgence in material things strongly influenced both Jill and Fay.
In the case of James and Jane I---, the musical twins (Chapter Two), material possessions was not so much a contributing factor as lack of parental affection along with isolation from their peer group.
The feeling of frustration due to too many material possessions that fail to stimulate to achievement is not a real factor with James and Jane. They had the satisfaction of achievement in their music. Yet, however great that personal satisfaction may have been, they were driven to it by an overambitious mother who apparently gave little thought to their need for affection as well as authority.
Alexis S--- (Chapter Four) is the product of a broken home, and a sensuous father who gives her the affection she has been lacking from her gay, young-looking mother and introduces her to sex. Although the act is incestuous and forced on the girl, "the association in the act of a grown-up, who, to the child, must represent the omnipotent parent, probably condones the transgression." At least this is the opinion of a group of child psychologists.
To Alexis her father was not just a representative of "the omnipotent parent," he was her actual father. Aside from an initial revulsion, Alexis accepted sex and even relished it, continuing her practices with her brother, once the sex act was "condoned" by her father.
Eddie M--- (Chapter Five) is a study in tragedy, as will be seen.
The stories of these five youngsters, each caught up in an incestuous relationship, were selected because each represents some particular motivation that can drive even those of the rich to sex as an outlet for frustrations. It is perhaps impertinent even to hope that this volume will find wide circulation among the rich and that, if it does, will have any material effect on mitigating the conditions outlined here. However, there is much to be learned from these instances that can be applied to alleviate similar conditions at any economic level.
These case histories demonstrate one thing clearly-that without the warmth and affection of parents in an environment of those much maligned and scorned "middle-class mores" a youngster may allow his frustrations to turn him toward sex in all its distorted facets.
CHAPTER ONE
Fay: Who Loathed Her Real and Famous Name
"You know who I am, of course. Or at least who my father is. Unless, of course, you're one of those people who are too intelligent to look at television. At that, you look intelligent, which is something few-really intelligent people do. One of the most brilliant men I ever knew looked like a half-wit. And my father, of course, looks like a jolly, jolly big daddy to the world-and he's a louse. But a very rich louse.
"In this astrakhan hat and sable coat I look- what would you say? Twenty? Look at those haggard lines around my eyes and the droop and petulance of my mouth. Would you go higher? Twenty-five, perhaps? Of course, you know how old I am. Sixteen. One of father's secretaries will have given you the facts in my case. Oh, father wouldn't have done it himself, I'm sure. In the first place, he wouldn't know the facts-unless he heard them from one of his attorneys.
"My father is much too busy being big daddy- ever so jolly with his cute kiddies program. I imagine that, next to Dr. Spock, he's supposed to know more about children than anyone else. At least, television viewers seem to think so. Father has to keep a pediatrician on his staff-with his secretary--just to answer letters like: 'Bobbie's a cute little rascal. Should we make him put out his cigar when nursie changes his diaper? He's only twenty-six.' Oh, maybe not quite that bad, but they do ask my father some of the most absurd questions. Real stupid, some of 'em.
"But then I think people who watch my father's show and think he's really a jolly, jolly big daddy to all those cute little darlings with their carefully rehearsed 'spontaneous' remarks are pretty stupid. He keeps a real motherly woman-actually she is, and ought to be out on stage instead of him--just to coach the cute kiddies. And stand by, with a microphone-and a speaker behind each chair-to remind them when to pipe up with those spontaneous howlers.
"Of course, it's good show business. Fabulous on the money end. And I don't suppose I'd be so bitter if he carried over being jolly big daddy at home. We kids could have used a little of the jolly big daddy. Mother is worse. She lectures, you know. On how to raise the little darlings. And talks about her four little lovelies until you'd think we were all six years old. And Ted is twenty-four. Alex is twenty-two. Phil would have been twenty-if he hadn't driven his car off the Coast Highway at ninety. An accident? You know the Coast Highway. Would any sane person drive it at more than forty? Unless he wanted to miss that curve at the top of Bent Elbow. He did that the day after I got picked up as a prostitute.
"He took the quick way out And left me to face the mess. Certainly, Phil was the one who started me off. Oh, just a little matter of incest, that's all.
"When did it start? When I was thirteen or so. But don't blame Phil for starting it I don't. I seduced him. Phil was weak, though. So when I got caught he couldn't face up to it, face his part in my 'delinquency'-in making me a call girl. He was afraid all that would come out. So-an accident!
"He didn't know my father very well. But then, how could he? We rarely saw him. But father couldn't let anything mar that beautiful, beautiful image of jolly big daddy. His sponsors might cancel. If his own kids go to hell in a handcart, well, cover up, quick. Like he had six lawyers down at court to sneak me out before I could say who I really was. They marched in like a centipede in pin-striped trousers. My father needn't have worried. I was using the name 'Mavis' in my-profession. 'Mavis T---.' With printed cards even.
"My father's shrewd. At least shrewd enough to recognize he's a phony and ready for any quick cover-up necessary-like my 'delinquency.' Hell, let's be frank. That's what I'm here for, isn't it? I'm a whore. A real, high-type call girl.
"Mother isn't smart. She's convinced herself she has a message for mothers of the world. And delivers it, regularly. For two thousand dollars a night. Plus travel expenses. She was furious with me-not because I was getting laid by half of Hollywood, the rich half-but because my being caught interfered with her lecture schedule. And what I got caught at might damage her 'image.' She's even convinced herself that the image is real and that she does have four little darlings. One is dead, one's a whore. And Ted and Alex, who escaped early. Ted's out on his own producing documentaries-honest ones. And Alex is doing social work. It seems rather fitting she elected to work for the blind-her own mother and father never could see her. Or didn't bother to.
"I didn't have any talents, except my cunt. Does that shock you? No, I suppose nothing much shocks a psychoanalyst. You must be a very good one. Or, at least, very expensive. My father wouldn't have anything but the best-or anyway most expensive.
"Have you seen our house? Mother always refers to it as 'our darling little bungalow' and father-on the air-calls it 'our cottage.' It has' thirty-six rooms. And an indoor-outdoor swimming pool. Last count we had eight maids. No butler, though. It would be difficult to refer off-handedly to our butler, but mother can smile sweetly and say, 'I just couldn't keep up my busy, busy routine and have any time for my four little darlings if I didn't have a maid.' With eight she still didn't have time for us.
"Sure I'm bitter. Left to wander around thirty-six rooms-fourteen with television sets, tuned to 'our' channel-I was bored. Even my governess was bored. I think she took it out with one of the chauffeurs. Or maybe each of 'em in turn. I needed a governess like I needed a third head. What I needed was somebody to hear my lessons, my homework, somebody interested, like a father or mother should have been.
"So I turned to Phil. He was seventeen or eighteen then and took things kind of serious. He even wore glasses, but I think they were plain glass--just for effect. Because he took them off if he really wanted to look at something. Like me. Naked.
"Oh, sure. I did a striptease for him. A la Salome. Incidentally, did you know she wasn't but twelve or thirteen when she did that dance for Herod? I read that somewhere. Well, I was just her age. Fairly well developed, too. Oh, we had the best of diets and exercise, so we all kept in pretty good shape. It wouldn't do for jolly big daddy's kids to be sickly. Might be bad publicity.
"We had a riding master, a ballet maestro, a eurhythmics instructor, a fencing teacher, a judo expert-I'm Brown Belt, incidentally-and a gymnast-I can do a backbend and kiss the floor-so we'd be fit. Of course, quite incidentally, they kept us out of mother's way, so she could prepare her 'little talks' on how to raise children-with loving, tender care.
"The four of us, Ted, Alex, Phil and I, had the children's wing'-Mother always called it 'the nursery' in her lectures. A nursery! Each of .us had our suite and there was a study room-with four of the cutest desks you ever saw and not big enough for any of us to sit at-and a recreation room and a special diet kitchen and dining room, with our own chef and maid. By the time I did my Salome act, and got laid, Ted had already moved out and Alex was at college, so there was just the two of us, Phil and me, in our wing, which was practically a separate house.
"There was a 'property room' in the hall between our wing and the main house, for all those 'darling' floppy hats with enormous velvet roses, and very pointed, high-button shoes, and fancy vests, and beaded gowns, so the cute kiddies could 'dress up' for the show, pretending the things had come from their mommies' attics. That's where I got the scarves for my Salome act.
"I can't honestly say, when I started it, that I meant to fuck Phil ... Does it surprise you I know the ugly words? I learned them in my trade. Men like to talk 'dirty' to girls they've paid for, so I got a liberal education ... I just wanted to shock him, I think. Phil was so abstracted, so solemn. He needed to be shook up. I went in the private lav in the rec room and stripped and fixed myself up in scarves. I don't think there were but six, but that didn't make any particular difference. You couldn't see I was naked until I got down to about three.
"Phil was just mooning when I .came in and started the Scheherazade suite on our hi-fi. He didn't really pay much attention to my prancing, at first, even if I am a pretty good dancer. But when I started shedding scarves, he looked. Really looked, even taking off his glasses for a better view.
"When I got down to two, Phil was gawking and shaking his head every now and then. He even pointed out to me, 'Fay, you haven't any clothes on ... ' Fay's my real name, as you know. And I could see-he was interested. I had my eye on his walking shorts and they were beginning to swell. So he not only knew I hadn't any clothes on, but that I was a girl-which I don't think he'd realized up to then.
"When I was down to just one scarf-and it was a pretty skimpy one-Phil was sweating and licking his lips. And his prick was jumping inside his shorts. I was beginning to feel things, too-in my nipples and breasts and down at my groin, my cunt. I did a slow, wriggling backbend, right in front of him, so he could see my snatch right through the chiffon- and he was looking, all right. I could have played parlor golf with his eyeballs. And the bulge in his shorts was bulgier.
"The backbend and the wriggling did things to me, inside. My cunt got hot, really hot, and was opening up, and even the light chiffon across my teats teased at my nipples, making them stand up-and ache. I think that's when I really decided I was going to screw Phil. I know I did a lot more wriggling and humping of my pelvis than the music called for, but by then neither of us was paying any attention to the music.
"Then, as I came out of the backbend, I dropped the last scarf. I was naked! It was a wonderful feeling, dancing naked, with an almost grown man watching me and gulping, with his dong swelling and jumping inside his shorts. And I was going to get him to throw it to me if I had to peel his shorts off. And maybe grab his dong.
"I had a nice little figure, even then, with teats big enough to shake a little when I shook my shoulders, and well-rounded legs. Not much hips, but that wasn't the point-it was what was down there, at my hips, between my legs. My little cunt, opening and wetting and getting hot.
"I strutted a little, pelvis pushed up, so Phil could get a full view, and moved my shoulders, writhing my teats. It was exciting me-and I know it was exciting Phil, because he almost got up off his bench he was straddling, and then sank back, sweating. I, circled the bench, just brushing Phil's shoulder with one teat-it was like a really hot spark jumped between us-and moved around him. He swiveled his head like an owl to watch me.
"I came around front again and slid onto the bench, facing him. Phil backed up and I had just a little space for my rump to rest on, with my legs spread wide so he could look right into my pretty blue eyes-or my cunt. He picked my cunt, staring.
"The music had quit, but I kept on moving, in a sort of snaky rhythm that wiggled my teats and moved my pelvis around, slithering a little closer on the bench. Phil gulped and reached out slowly, to run his hand "along my leg and up to my slit, blinking as if he didn't really believe it was happening.
"I didn't either. Believe it was happening. It had never happened to me before-anybody's hand on my snatch, unless it was back when my governess used to bathe me. And I never thought just, a touch like that could trigger such intense emotions. Hot flashes shot all up through me, making it difficult for me to breathe.
"Phil put out one hand and touched my breast. And I started quivering. Not planned wiggling, just shaking. And when he leaned over and kissed my nipple-wow! I slid my ass up the bench until my cunt was practically against that big bulge-and working on it. With his hand right on my slit and a finger playing around the inner lips.
"I reached down and wiggled a hand up one leg of his shorts until I could feel his pecker, jumping and thrashing around like it wanted out I wanted it, out-and in me by then. Or thought I did. If you could call it thinking. It was just sheer emotionalism, devastating excitement.
"Phil stood up, sort of halfway, and stepped out of one leg of his shorts and then the other-and dropped back on the bench, his pecker throbbing right against my stomach. He spent a lot of time trying to skin out of his T-shirt-and all that time his prick was rubbing up against me, practically setting off sparks I could almost see. I humped a little and slid over the top of it, so it was throbbing right under my cunt and practically in my ass. Phil wiggled a little, rubbing it back and forth, and sent hot shivers from my cunt right up through my chest.
"As soon as he had his T-shirt off, he grabbed me close, pulling my teats-up against his chest and kissing my neck, moaning and mumbling. But for a guy who was only sixteen then-he seemed grown-up to me-he knew a lot about getting into a girl. I think the governess had been giving him lessons, between chauffeurs.
"He humped backward, dragging his prick and that big pulsing, purplish head along my ass and across my slit, which was so stimulating, I nearly screamed. I didn't, for fear he'd think I was scared. Well, I was. I had started something-I didn't know quite what-and it was happening! Oh, was it happening. Not just his pulsing head stabbing at my slit, but what that was doing to me, up inside, and down there and along my legs, already spread wide.
"I don't think I could have stopped him then, even if I had wanted to. And I didn't want to. Well, I did-and I didn't. I wanted to stop him because I was scared-scared, hell!-I was terrified of that big pulsing head and what it would do to me-maybe tear me wide open. And I didn't want to stop because-well, I wanted to find out, to learn what all this excitement was about. I seemed to know this wasn't all-that this was just a buildup to something lots bigger.
"Phil humped, pushing his head right into my slit, so I could feel the lips spread and feel the hot-ness of his prick against the hotness of my cunt. He wasn't really in--just pushing my lips aside to get in. He reached one finger down and started playing with my slit, teasing that little knob, my clitoris, until I could see sparks behind my eyes. His other hand was playing with one teat, and his mouth was working on the other-and we were both moaning. I know I had my head thrown back as if I were baying at the moon. Phil slid his mouth off my teat and started kissing my throat-while both his hands went around me, sliding down my back until he had them on the cheeks of my behind.
"He started easing me toward him, hunching a little, driving a little, with his head pushing my cunt wider and wider. And I hunched back, scared and hurting some, but more excited than anything. I felt my cunt stretch and stretch and then seemingly snap back a little, closing on his prick itself, his shaft. And that's when the jukebox blew a fuse! Neon lights exploded inside me and the craziest music, like dozens of records at once, went rollicking through my stomach and chest.
"I reached both arms around his neck and pulled my teats tight against his chest, moving just a little to that crazy music to tease my nipples and squash my breasts against him, hunching up with my pelvis on to his shaft, feeling it go in, tiny bit by tiny bit. Sort of tentatively, as if he might yank it out at any time, which by now I didn't want. I wanted it all the way up, as far as it would go, even if it knocked the fillings out of my teeth and loosened my braces.
"I really humped at him, using his hands on my ass for leverage,-and felt him go in. I wiggled, almost climbing on him. I wrapped both legs around him and squeezed, driving his shaft in until his blondish pubic hair was touching my slit, and I knew he couldn't go any farther. Yet I kept trying.
"We did a sort of rock-'n'-roll sitting down, with some twitchings rock-'n'-roll addicts never thought of. My teats were smashed tight against his chest, I could feel his stomach heaving against mine, and his head way up in me, moving-not much, but, oh, so excitingly! And I'd wet my cunt with my own cream until his shaft was moving easy, but his head still felt tight, almost as if it had blown up a little.
"Phil was murmuring my name, over and over and tonguing my neck and clawing at my behind and pumping! I leaned back against his hands and let him bend down to kiss my teats. He could just reach their tops but his tongue could slurp down and tease a nipple. And it was like cherry bombs going off inside.
"By then I was wound up so tight I seemed to feel every rib pressing in on my lungs-which were hot. My stomach was hot and my cunt, all the way up, was bathed in liquid fire. My little snatch itself was working, I could feel it-like gnawing at his; shaft. And something had to give or I'd have blown all my gaskets, maybe just come apart at the seams.
"Something did. Phil pulled back, just a hair-and drove so hard against me I nearly slid off the bench. If my legs hadn't been wrapped around him, I probably would have. And I felt, in the further stretch of my cunt, the pulse of something shooting down his shaft, up into me, and exploding out of his head. Hot! Oh, God, my stomach seemed to find a new thermometer to measure the heat-and it melted everything inside me, in one big gush!
"I almost climbed right through Phil, trying to get closer, get more of whatever was happening. And feeling those pulses and explosions in me. I looked down my front, half-expecting to see it red from the heat inside.
"And it was all over. But how glorious! How wonderful! I can understand why Marie Antoinette is supposed to have said, on her wedding night, 'Do the common people-do this? It's much too good for the common people!'
"It's just much too good!
"I shivered and shook from the explosions that had happened inside me, suddenly exhausted. More than if I'd been fencing, or having a judo workout. Just depleted. Depleted, but happy. And still having minor thrills as Phil started pulling his pecker out of me. I would have hung on to it, but I was so exhausted my legs just fell away and I leaned against Phi, happy to be able to breathe again, and smelling the sharp, exciting smell of sex. Sex and sweat, intermingled.
"Phil's dong slid out, and between us we wet the bench and our bottoms, but who cared! Phil's pecker still shook and quivered a little, but it was much too limp and small to do anything but start up new shivers in me.
"Phil was shuddering and heaving, but he picked me up and carried me over to the big couch and laid down beside me, soothing me with words-I didn't really hear them-and the soft running of his hands over my body. And I clung to him. I'd never had anybody I' could really cling to for comfort. Mother was always too afraid I'd muss her hairdo or smear her makeup-and governesses?-well, they're not much to cling to.
"Phil was sweet to me, kissing me softly under the ear and running his hands gently all over me, stilling some of the shivers and stopping me from crying-I hadn't even known I was crying. 'You're a wonderful little girl, Fay. Wonderful. I never dreamed ... I can't understand yet what happened ... or how it happened. Darling, I certainly never meant to, ... My God! My own kid sister. And only twelve! What a heel ... '
"I was indignant. 'I'm thirteen. Or almost' And then giggled, burying my head against his shoulder. 'You didn't have anything to do with it? Who got the chiffon scarves? Who put on the Scheherazade suite? Who danced ... ?'
"Phil drew back and looked at me, puzzled. 'You mean-you planned to--to get-screwed?'
"I shook my head, my answer muffled against him, 'Not really-planned. Because I wasn't quite sure what could happen. I just wanted to start something-and see.'
"Phil drew a shuddering breath and then brought up what was almost a chuckle. 'Now that you know -would you do it again?'
"I looked up at him. 'You mean, put the scarves on and start at! over? Couldn't we just ... I mean, here we are on a nice couch. And we're already naked ... '
"Phil grinned at me, a little lopsided-he's rather cute when he does that. 'Wasn't exactly what I meant-but-' He reached down and pulled my rump up close, so my little cunt, which was still twitchy and sort of eager, was up against his leg. 'Boys aren't built like girls ... as you seem to have noticed. And they don't function well in rapid succession. However ... '
"I could see his dong was already beginning to swell a little. 'I don't mind waiting ... ' And I didn't. I was still almost giddy from the first fuck, and my cunt ached some. It didn't hurt. Not to call it hurting, as I had heard the first time would. You get such mixed-up stories from the girls at school. Of course, I went to a very 'fashionable' school, where girls were from the 'best' families and weren't supposed to know about sex. Maybe they didn't know much, but they sure talked about it. I could have written a book of instructions on it, just from what I heard-most of it wrong. Or, anyhow, wrong, in my case. Maybe it works different for different girls. I never really bothered to check back.
"Phil just held me, sort of loose but close, and talked in my ear, those sweet and rather silly things people say after a good lay. And it was good. I guess I'd been hungry for someone to hold me and fondle me. I'd never had any of that sort of treatment. Mother and Father were both too busy and-well, governesses don't seem to run to cuddling. Just to being snippy. Father paid the bills, and they knew I never could get near enough to Father-or Mother-to complain. Anyway, for all I knew, that was the way governesses were supposed to act. So what was there to complain about? Just that I needed a little affection.
"Phil gave it to me. He petted me and caressed me, with, of course, ulterior motives. I know that. He wanted another good screw. But some of it was real. It was too tender to be anything but real. Gentle. He stroked my hair and along my cheek and down my back, not even really trying to get me excited. But, of course, it happened. Lying there beside him, both of us naked, it was bound to happen. But I wasn't making it happen this time. I mean, I wasn't working at it, as I had the first time, with the 'Dance of the Seven Veils.' So I could just relax and enjoy it. Every bit of it. The Chinese say that's the best way-relax and enjoy it.
"I could just lie there and let his hands roam over me, and feel the warmth of his flesh against mine, enjoying each new tension as something tightened in me, almost as if I could catalog them, my breast seeming to get fuller and my nipples standing up, and the tightening of things down at my cunt. That was odd, really. Inside, I got tight, but outside, my cunt was opening, getting slack and moist.
"I could see Phil's pecker getting stiffer in little jerks and quivers, and growing, until I was amazed that it could ever have fitted into me. But I knew it had. And made wonderful sensations. Looking at his pecker now, so big and long, I knew I'd never have even let him throw it into me, if I hadn't been so excited, so built up for it.
"And I was getting built up again. But it was lots gentler, this time. The first was-well, just animal. I'd been a bitch in heat and he was a convenient prick. Now it was more thorough. Slower, in tempo. So slow, really I began to get impatient. And yet I was enjoying all the preliminaries, too.
"I liked the slow way Phil fondled and fingered my teats and slid on down to tease my belly button. His other hand was on my behind, moving, sort of rotary and going closer and closer to the back end of my cunt. He'd kiss one teat and fondle the other, or nuzzle my neck and just let his dick slide over my leg. Not pushing anything, just taking it easy.
"All the time I could see his prick, twitching and swelling, and feel the heat of it against my leg, just stroking the inner side of my thigh. Close to my cunt, but not touching. Yet maybe all the more exciting. I know my legs got weak and fell open. Not much, because I was partly on my side. But it wouldn't have taken much of a push to open me wide. My cunt was so wet I could feel the sides slither a little as my legs dropped open.
"Phil eased his hand from behind me and turned me gently, on to my back. I just flopped there, everything open. Ready. Waiting. And excited. Phil ran his tongue over one nipple, nibbled at it, very lightly, and then on the other, and then ran his tongue down my belly. I have a very nice, flat little tummy. From all the exercise-fencing, judo, dancing. On to my belly button-that really started things churning. And then down on my cunt, tonguing my little clitoris so that I was moaning and pushing up my pelvis to get his tongue in deeper.
"It slid in, so I could feel the wet roughness of it on my flesh-not as rough as a cat's tongue, but it did tease and set things on fire. I almost expected steam to rise from down there, I was so hot.
"This time I could see, sort of looking down my nose and peering between my breasts. That made things even better. Seeing Phil pressing his face into my cunt. None of the girls had ever mentioned that, Just the sheer intimacy of it was wonderful, a kiss on my cunt! Plus it was thrilling in itself.
"Phil straightened up and lay beside me, rolling again so his prick actually touched my cunt. And the neon went on again, sparking and colorful behind my eyes, even though they were open to watch. This time I meant to see everything.
"I did. I watched Phil get up on his knees and straddle my legs, first, pulling them together and letting his dong get caught in that soft vise. He held himself off me, on his elbows, and his hands played with my teats and nipples while his pecker rode up and down between my legs, teasing the hot, wet lips of my cunt, until I was ready to scream, even trying to open my legs so he'd stick that shaft and head into me.
"I humped to match his plunges, so I got more action of his prick against my cunt, even feeling it hit and tease my clitoris from time to time. I reached down and clawed at his rump, trying to pull him into me. Suddenly he released my legs and they fell open-wide-and he knelt between 'em, his pecker head drumming at my cunt.
"I humped just as he plunged, and his head and shaft shot up in me, almost searing me, it made things so hot. And so good! I squealed and clawed harder at his rump, pulling him up, so as not to miss the least bit of that shaft and head. Of course, he could have pulled away, I guess. I've got nice muscles, but I don't think I could have held him if he didn't want me to. Oh, he wanted me to hold him, all right-and he wanted that head flung as far up me as possible. And it went, driving up and up and up.
"I could feel every slightest move of it-each new movement stirring more excitement, more fire. Until his curly pubic hair-he didn't have much, but some-was right up against my bare little mound. And we were humping at each other. I must have sounded like a little animal, grunting and squealing. And Phil was cursing-soft but sort of continuous, as if he was talking to something inside him, trying to make it work harder-and better.
"Then he gave a sort of triumphant grunt and pulled back, hard against my hands, until his prick was nearly out of my cunt. He did something rotary with his rump and dropped back on me, ramming his dong way back up, and pressed against me, shuddering and shaking and saying, 'Oh, my God, oh my God!' but he wasn't praying.
"I felt the jolt of his shaft as it swelled in my cunt, felt the pound of it going up inside me, and the exquisite pleasure of it bursting way up me. And I burst, too. Into a million pieces, it seemed. But only inside. Everything just let go. In the most wonderful way possible. I heard booming music and saw wild, colorful lights and felt my body get so light I thought it would float, except for Phil's weight on me.
"I clung to him, crying now but not really crying, just a sort of whimper because it all felt so good.
"Phil started to deflate, all of him. His arms sort of caved in and he pressed down on me, his head beside mine, buried in the couch, still saying, 'Oh, my God! Oh, my God!' His dick trembled and began to go down, sliding out, in spite of all my little cunt could do to hold it a moment longer, for more of that wonderful explosion. Finally, as it popped out, Phil rolled off me and dropped down beside me, staring at nothing, still saying, 'Oh, my God!' but dwindling until it was just a murmur in his throat.
"My whimpers died down, until we just lay there, warm bodies touching, spent, exhausted. Happy just to breathe, it seemed. Finally Phil rolled over and slid an arm under me and we just cuddled, content. At least, I was content. Content? I was supremely happy. I had someone to love me, and demonstrate that love in the closest, sweetest way possible. And physically and emotionally, I was satisfied.
"We did it after that nearly every night, after my governess had 'properly' supervised my going to bed-seeing that I bathed and brushed my teeth and checked my braces. As if I were still a child. I wanted to shout at her, 'I'm a woman! I've been fucked!' but I never did, of course. Though maybe she knew-or guessed. Another woman can often tell.
"Later, after I'd learned more, I branched out Phil was nice, but he really wasn't a full-grown man. So I tried a couple of the chauffeurs, the cute ones, and the riding master, who tried to look European and came from Brooklyn. Later still, of course, I went into the business."
Fay Y-- (or "Mavris") would seem to be the obverse of the Electra complex, the Electra story being that Electra was incestuously in love with her father and suffered incredibly because of it. Fay was certainly not, and apparently never had been, in the least enamored of her father. Quite the reverse. There is little to indicate that there was any "father image" involved in her incestuous relations with her brother.
Certainly, from early childhood she despised her father and his pretentious television show. She also despised her mother, for her completely artificial attitudes about her children.
It was rejection from which Fay suffered most. Surrounded by luxury, she was, nevertheless, a poverty-ridden child-the poverty being lack of love. Her delinquency was born of this simple, basic need of all children. There is no need to search in the dark corners of the mind for an Electra complex and its inversion, though many psychiatric workers would be happy to do so, at exorbitant fees, as Fay mentioned.
Fay had seen, from behind the scenes, the perversions of all that childhood held dear. She knew her father's show was a mockery, a deliberate piece of tomfoolery for the purpose of making lots of money. She saw the sleaziness of the structure he had built, using the best of childhood callously for financial gain. And not even honestly. At least in her opinion, and she was certainly close enough to it to judge.
She would probably not have had such violent reactions if her father had turned on some of that charm at home, if he had been, as he portrayed, the big, warm-hearted "daddy," Many children are deprived of a father's physical presence by the father's job or profession, but still retain a warm affection for him, often engendered and encouraged by the mother.
With Fay, she had lost both parents, all because of what she felt was a completely false situation. Her mother, in her eyes, was a silly, affected pretender, with less excuse than her father, riding, in feet, on the coattails of his success as "jolly big daddy."
She certainly did not lack any physical needs. These were amply taken care of by a succession of hirelings. But they did not add up to the one thing she needed; parental affection. In that department, Fay said privately, she "got the big brush-off." As she says of her sister, Alex, who went into social work among the blind, "It seemed kind of fitting- her own mother and father never could see her. Or didn't bother to." This may or may not have been Alex's motivation, but it seemed so to the child Fay, since she also suffered from this form of parental blindness.
She also suffered from another facet of parental neglect. She had no one to inculcate into her what Miss Helen Coad of the California Youth Authority calls "the middle-class mores." Maxwell Douglas, in his work The Documented Story of Sub-Teen Sex quotes Miss Coad as saying: "In many, many cases we are not dealing with, youngsters who have been raised by the middle-class mores by which most of us live. Theirs is too often a completely different set of values in which honesty and integrity and even sex do not have the same value as ours."
Douglas further identifies these "middle-class mores" as "the finest values by which we live-honesty, personal integrity, virtue, courtesy, kindness -all the basic plus values of life in America."
The child certainly received no training in these "middle-class mores" from her parents, since she rarely saw them. She probably had perfectly adequate "training" in them from expert hired help-the various governesses and nurses. However, to offset whatever effectiveness such paid instruction may have given the child, the little girl herself saw her parents as not living by any of these "rules." She seems to have felt, with tremendous intensity, what she regarded as the falsity of their lives, in every respect except sex, of which the child up to the point of the seduction of Phil, was only faintly aware. So, it is likely, she would consider them false in their sex relations (if she thought about it).
The intensity of her emotional drives-exemplified in her swift reactions to sex-can be considered almost in inverse ratio to the deprivation of parental love and guidance she suffered so completely. Her complete response to sexual stimuli, even to violent orgasm on her initial seduction (and repeated later), is rare, even in adult females. It argues for the tremendous tensions built up in the child by contrast between the luxury with which she was surrounded and the unnatural neglect by parents who outwardly and very publicly advocated tender, loving care.
Obviously here was a child who had an abundance of loving affection to give-perhaps an abnormal amount, though that is difficult to define-and no normal outlet for it, no-parents whom she could love with warmth and affection. She channeled all that warmth into one element, sex.
Her response to sexual stimuli, as she has reported, was violent and active, extremely rare in a virgin and not too frequent in adult females. Karl Bernhardt, in Natural Sex Techniques, an intensive study of sexual response, says:
The sex act for both parties ... is a gradual build-up of tension and exquisite release. In the male this takes the form of an ejaculation, after which he is temporarily impotent. The emotional release of the ejaculation is intense and exciting. In the female, the sex tension is generally built up at a slower pace to an almost excruciating tension, and then comes the release of orgasm. This may be an almost gentle affair, approximately little more than the realization that the nearly unbearable tension is over, replaced by a superlatively wonderful languor, which tends to subside slowly, usually in about the same time ratio as the initial buildup.
Some few highly sexed women do have highly explosive orgasms accompanied by screams, clutches and clawing as well as other outward manifestations of excitement ... The reactions vary with the physical and emotional make-up of the female ...
As the girl tells it, she was certainly well coordinated physically, under a rigid regime of gymnastics and sports, that provided her with a phenomenally well-developed body. Emotionally repressed, living in a corseted vacuum, with few outside contacts for comparison, the child could easily mistake minor erotic impulses, common to all girls at puberty, for actual sexual needs. Lacking parental guidance in "the middle-class mores," she simply let herself go.
With good physical equipment and thoroughly suppressed emotional drives (toward need for affection, not necessarily sex), Fay entered her initial sex act prepared for vast and intense excitement- undoubtedly through her own fantasizing, based on whispered gossip and rumor rampant among the girls at her school. The accuracy of the rumors and the information they imparted would have nothing to do with Fay's reactions.
There is a faint hint, underlying Fay's elaborate and verbose accounts of her various delinquencies, that she was again fantasizing, exaggerating somewhat her physical response to sex. Some of this is indicated in her preoccupation with the physical position assumed for coitus and in skipping accounts of many of her sexual adventures that were repeats of past performances.
Bernhardt, in Natural Sex Techniques, states: "A change in position ... varies the sexual response of both parties ... There are almost an infinite number of possible variables in degree of response ... " and adds that there are "more than forty basic positions for the sex act, with minor variations that ... approach one hundred."
Fay apparently aimed at trying out as many of the forty or more positions as she could master-or had a responsive partner for. This tends to argue that her professed violent response was perhaps not as violent as she pretended and that she needed constant change to stimulate her to coital response.
"My really first 'outside' activity, aside from Phil, was my eurhythmics instructor. You know, posture dancing, with leaps and gavottes. Not quite ballet but close. We worked in our private gym, in leotards. Luigi was cute-not so tall but magnificently built. Not Muscle Beach stuff but slim and sleek, the way a dancer should be. With a tremendous bulge at his groin, really huge. It fascinated me. I didn't learn until later that a lot of it was padding, a sort of special jock strap, so he wouldn't injure his manliness in some of the splits and leaps and all he would do.
"I was getting on toward fourteen then and my breasts had really developed. I've heard girls say that if you fuck young they won't develop much, but it didn't work that way with me. I mean, Phil and I had been getting in some good screwing for about a year by then, and my breasts were still developing. Maybe not as much as they might have if I hadn't been fucking Phil. I don't know. I just know they were a very nice size for the rest of me-and weren't like withered lemons.
"I'd grown a bit in that year, too. My legs were nicer, smoother and rounder, and longer. And my rump was nicely rounded. My hips still weren't much, not broad or anything like that. And my stomach was flat. Well, that was one of the things this eurhythmic dancing was supposed to do, keep my body trim and supple.
"I had new leotards, naturally. But for this particular session with Luigi I located last year's pair which were almost too tight. I could barely wriggle into 'em, especially since I had snipped the threads on a couple of strategic seams and had to be very careful. I didn't want anything to split until the right moment. I fixed a shoulder strap to go first, so. it would pop and show at least one teat. And the seam at my crotch-just enough to show pink me under the black leotard, at a very interesting spot. And the side seam, from under my arm down to the hip. When that gave, I could practically step out of 'em naked. I didn't wear the tights, planning to tell Luigi they were too hot, but actually because they're hard to get out of, like panty hose.
"I didn't need to tell Luigi anything about it being too hot. I had scarcely got to the gym before Luigi was sweating, trying not to stare at me. I knew the old leotards were pretty nearly skin tight-or tighter, since they seemed about to burst. What J didn't know was that the crotch seam had already parted, ahead of schedule and wider than I meant it to, so Luigi-who has a hot Latin temperament even if he comes from Brooklyn-could look right at my cunt, a nice, pink little fold in my flesh, without any pubic hair to obscure the erotic view.
"He gulped once and then pointed to the wall bars. 'We try a few exercises, to limber up. Heels on the bottom bar, arms back, hands grasping the bars. Now, lean forward, arching the body ... No, no, hot the knees bent. You look like a cow squatting. Straight! Now, forward, chest up!' And he was standing right in front of me, with a really good view of my cunt.
"I thrust my body forward until every muscle seemed to stretch-and my leg muscles seemed to pull directly at my cunt, starting things going. Back, thrust, back, thrust-and the shoulder seam broke. It didn't work as well as I had planned because those short sleeves kept it from sliding far enough down to be really revealing. Still, it showed enough pinky-beige skin to make Luigi's eyes center there.
"After a few more thrusts at the bar, he said, 'We'll try some backhands. Across the horse over there.' The 'horse' is a sort of leather-covered, skinny barrel, with handles like the front and back of a saddle, on metal legs.
"So I hoisted myself onto the 'horse,' grasping the handles-and managing to slide that damned sleeve down some, so a teat did show. Not really pop out, but show. Luigi was really beginning to sweat, even if he was not doing any of the exercises.
"My legs hung off one side of the 'horse' with my rump in the saddle-and I bent, dropping my head back. The strain of it really pulled that strap loose, and one teat was right out on view, the nipple hard and swelling, because I was getting hot-and Luigi was sweating and mopping at his forehead and under his chin, and gawking. The stretching also opened up the seam wider at my crotch so I could even feel the slight draft down there. Not that that did anything to cool my cunt. If anything, it made it hotter, because then I knew Luigi could really see it.
"Luigi stood right in front of me, putting a hand on either knee, so I wouldn't overbalance, and started his chant, his voice very husky: 'One-and bend. One-and bend!'
"His hands on my knees were really exciting this time. Oh, he'd done it often enough before. It was a regular exercise. But this time, I knew he was practically on top of my cunt and the leotards were open-and the opening was getting wider as I stretched. Also, each time I pulled up, the shoulder seam had given way a little more, revealing my teat completely.
"About the fourth 'One-and bend!' the side seam gave way, from under my arm right down to the leg. Then-and I hadn't really expected this but it was nice and convenient-the crotch seam and the side seam ran together popping wide open down there. So one half of me, maybe more, was naked. It was exciting to go on pretending I didn't notice and just go on doing a couple more backbends.
"Luigi couldn't pretend. Hell, half of me, from crotch to throat, was wide open. And with the bending and straightening, those busted leotards flapped, revealing more. He could see most of my body, and he was eating it up with his eyes. And sweating. He took one hand off my knee to try to pull the leotard together. At least, I think that's what he started out to do. Only his hand slid up my inner thigh, a hot hand, very exciting-and wound up right on my mound".
"I did another bend, and his hand slid down, right over my tight-stretched cunt, sending hot, stimulating flashes all up me and down my legs. In spite of how stretched my leg muscles were, they relaxed some-sideways-and my legs fell open. I straightened from the bend and could see Luigi, big beads of perspiration on his forehead and trickling down his nose.
"He seemed to be trying to pull his hand off my cunt but his muscles wouldn't behave. He stared at my crotch and up me, to the one exposed teat, and then to my face. 'Fay! Fay! Do you know what you are doing to me?'
"I tried for a smile but I expect it was a bit shaky. I was shaky all over. 'Sure. I'm working you up to a good screw,' I said and bent backwards over the horse, the leather warm against my rump. It must have given Luigi a wonderful view, standing between my legs, his eyes sweeping up to my cunt, on up past my belly button, and just seeing my breasts over the curve of my tautened body-the other shoulder seam had given way by then, even though I hadn't loosened it.
"Luigi was holding me from overbalancing with just his hand rammed hard against my cunt, when I came up, looking at him. And the other hand was fumbling with his leotards. I went down again- even though Luigi was no longer counting-and when I pulled back up he was bare to the waist. I went backwards again, really enjoying the wonderful tension in my muscles adding to the excitement in my cunt. When I came up that time I simply shrugged out of the leotards-most of them, except at my rump and around my left leg. Luigi said, huskily, 'Wait, Fay! A moment!' He took his hands off me to slide down his tights and that padded jock.
"His prick wasn't as big as it had seemed, from the bulge, but it was big, all right, bigger than Phil's -with a bigger, more purplish head. And when he straightened, it was aimed right between my legs, wagging at my cunt. He stepped closer, a hand sliding up each leg, and I bent backwards again, getting those wonderful tight tensions in my muscles and skin. And stayed there, my head and shoulders hanging down one side and my legs down the other, with my rump and the small of my back across the saddle.
"I could feel that head pushing at my cunt, the weight of his hips against me holding me from overbalancing. His hands slithered up my stomach, and on to my teats, with his fingers nibbling at my nipples. And I writhed-not much, I couldn't, not down at my cunt, since I was practically plastered against the leather horse. But I could wiggle my shoulders and get a lot more feeling from his hands on my teats and nipples.
"And the writhing did something to the muscles of my stomach and pelvis and legs, something very exciting, building up heat and tension in me. And all the time Luigi was thrusting with his pecker at my cunt, edging it just inside, and then running one hand over my taut stomach down to my cunt, playing with my clitoris. And my special band, inside, started playing 'Ooompah, ooompah!' loud and deep and growly, to the rhythm of Luigi's thrusts.
"Luigi pulled me by my legs toward him, until the small of my back and just the rounded top of my rump rested on the leather horse, and I draped over it, my head and arms down one side, my legs down the other, almost like a 'U' hanging upside down. As his head went in, I could feel my cunt working, nipping at his shaft, and under the tightness of muscles and skin I could feel that bulgy head go up and up inside my cunt. It seemed to stretch everything-and everything was already stretched, muscles and skin on the outside and-well, just me on the inside.
"Excitement? Phil never gave me such a ride. Oh, he's nice and exciting enough. But Luigi! He really knew how! He played across my tightened skin with his fingernails, very lightly but so excitingly I felt I had to scream-and of course I couldn't. There wasn't breath for it. And teased my teats and nipples and drew his fingernails gently, gently down toward the creases at my pelvis, stirring things up to a crescendo. I even think I had an orgasm, right then, but his head kept on moving up me, triggering even more tensions, till I was ready again-ready and waiting and clutching at air, flailing my arms and moaning. Writhing and twisting, making things still more exciting, because Luigi's big head kept hitting new places up in me, places nothing had ever touched before-or so it seemed.
"And then he was ramming, drawing back and ramming again. And every now and then leaning way over to kiss my stomach or a teat or whatever it was he could reach. And once in a while, as he drew back, he'd run a finger down my slit, teasing my clitoris, so I'd thrash around-not that I could move much, but the tightness was so wound up in me. I had to move, just a little. And each movement made his shaft and head shift and move inside me.
"Neon lights blistered across the back of my eyeballs and my ears heard louder and louder music, thrumming and zinging inside my head.
"But mostly it was my whole body that seemed to get into the act, almost as if every cell had pumped itself too full of heat and excitement and simply had to let go. I felt like a big, rubbery sort of pump was swelling and beating way up in me.
"Luigi leaned over me, reaching as far as he could, and latched on to one teat, sucking ,so hard and tonguing my nipple that I thought he could lift me, just with the suction. His dong was almost out of my cunt, throbbing and waggling. As he straightened from kissing my teat, he rammed his prick up me, as far as he could go-and held it.
"I could feel the throb and swell of his come pulse down his shaft, feel it all the way up me- and I was suspended, still, like a moment in time, just waiting, expectant. I think maybe a bomb feels like that when somebody has lighted the fuse. Ready to blow everything apart.
"I felt his come blast out of his head in a fiery hot blob. A big one-and then a series of smaller, bam -bam-bam. And my bomb blew up! So big I could almost hear it Every cell in me seemed to bust loose, concentrating on pouring hot cream to mingle with Luigi's. With my head hanging upside down I could see the gym pinwheel around, with colored sparks flying.
"The big deal was over. But there was more to come. Luigi sagged over me, his mouth sucking at my belly button, then he ran his tongue over my hot, sweaty skin, to one teat, sucking and tonguing-and then over to the other. And all that just kept those bam-bam-bams going, longer than I had ever dreamed of. I know I was shuddering and whimpering and wiggling, feeling Luigi's dong go down-it seemed to go down awfully slow-and begin to slide out. My little cunt was wet with both our creams but nibbling wildly, pulsing, to squeeze just one more bam out of his prick.
"As his prick slid out, Luigi dragged his lips off my teat and down across my stomach and on to my cunt. He must have been kneeling by then, because his head was right even with my cunt And he pressed his mouth, his lips spread wide, over my cunt, his tongue reaming up, scooping out cream, and giving me the double fantods. Phil had kissed and tongued my cunt but never like that, with his whole face pressed between my legs and mouth spread, covering all of my slit. Luigi seemed to find my clitoris and run his tongue around it, until I was twitching and heaving, rocking my rump and back on the leather horse and moaning with renewed excitement.
"Everything was building up again-all the tensions, the cells expanding, the whole works. I didn't even need Luigi's prick in me to trigger the bomb, just his mouth sucking on my cunt and his tongue ramming up inside, and then, finally, coming back to press on and tease my clitoris. And I blew the works again. The gym pin wheeled, the jukebox blew its neon fuses-seventy thousand of 'em, it seemed-and my private built-in band hit every high note there is. My stomach seemed to swell and then deflate in the most exciting way. It seemed to me the cream I poured down should have flooded the gym, but Luigi was drinking it all in great sucking gulps, lapping at my cunt lips with his tongue. And I was getting the shudders and shakes from it. And liking it. Oh, I was liking it, all right!
"Gradually things subsided. The gym stopped pin wheeling and my eyes could see something besides colored lights and my ears could hear again- mostly Luigi calling my name in a soft, romantic whisper.
"I just hung limp over the leather horse until Luigi came around and picked me up, one arm around my shoulders, one under my rump, and lifted me clear. He carried me over to the soft judo mat, not the hard one, and laid-me down very gently and lay down beside me. 'Little senorita, you are lovely. You are a child-woman! Fascinating! Wonderful!' he said, soothing my shakes with calming hands-or they were supposed to be calming, but every time one drifted across a teat, I got the shudders again.
"Then things quieted down-for me, anyway. My back ached some from being draped over that leather horse, and my cunt sort of shut down business for the evening, almost numb with all the excitement. Like the kid at the picnic who said he might chew a little more but couldn't swallow. I'd had it-but had it gloriously.
"I wasn't even sure I could get up, I felt so limp, with every muscle slack. With Luigi's help, however, I did get up. And take a hot shower-with Luigi. In an odd sort of way it was just sort of friendly. Not really sexy, though I did get a charge out of taking a shower with him. And when he scrubbed my back and legs with a rough washcloth and rubbed it very gently over my teats, I got some more shudders. But mostly it was, as I said, just friendly.
"I think Luigi wanted to propose to me. He -sort of hinted around at it, but it wouldn't work. I was only fourteen. My father-and mother would have to give their consent, and they never would. Having a married daughter-and maybe a grandchild-would spoil the lovely image Mother had created. I don't think Father would have minded. In fact, his having a grandchild might have given the show a shot in the arm. Only, of course, I didn't intend to get knocked up, even by a husband. I took The Pill-that was one of the advantages of having money; I could get things that maybe I shouldn't have.
"Luigi was sweet that day-and every time after that. Of course, we didn't always^ do it on the gym horse-that was accidental, even if it did prove to be fun. Of course, he only came once, sometimes twice, a week, for the eurhythmic lesson, and, believe me, I got rhythmic lessons, only they weren't eurhythmic, they were eurhythmic.
"Jeno, the cutest of our chauffeurs, was a little harder to manage, since I didn't really have much to do with the chauffeurs, except to ride behind them-and not so very often. So I had to invent a picnic-only I sort of forgot to invite anybody-and arrange for Jeno to drive me. There's a small lake I know about, out on the rancho of a friend of the family, that's very isolated. A wonderful spot for skinny dips because it's so private, which means it's also a good place for a fine fuck.
"By the time we got there, Jeno had begun to catch on that everything wasn't kosher, since we hadn't picked up anybody for the picnic. I think he suspected I was meeting a boyfriend out there for a little private smooching, but didn't realize the boyfriend was to be him. When I went behind a bush to undress, Jeno even got out the car cushions and arranged them conveniently.
"He was smirking a little when I came from behind the bush, a big towel held in front of me, looking so innocently surprised. 'Jeno. Do you know what? I forgot to bring a bathing suit.' And proved it by dropping the towel. I was naked.
"Jeno's smirk turned into a gawk and he made gurgling sounds, pointing. But I could see his pecker jump inside his twill trousers. So I knew he was interested. Why not? I had a cute figure and I certainly wasn't bad looking, especially now that I had the braces off my teeth. Hell, I was one nicely stacked, cute-looking babe, maybe a little on the small side, but lots of guys like their women small. Big men, especially, I've noticed. It's the little men who have to have tall girls, to sort of compensate, I suppose.
"I grinned at Jeno. 'I guess I'll just have to skinny-dip, with no bathing suit.' I turned a little, to give him a profile view of my teats, and hunched one shoulder, making them wiggle. 'Why don't you strip and join me?'
"Jeno wasn't too bright, but he was catching on. 'Strip? With you here? Wellll-' and he began to grin, shucking his jacket and shirt and peeling out of his twill trousers. His pecker was a good size, all right. Nothing startling. Maybe a shade larger than Luigi's, but not much. And it was rising to the occasion fast. He kicked off his loafers and practically snatched off his socks, then came toward me, grinning. I wasn't going to make it too easy, so I loped down to the lake and surface-dived in. With Jeno right after me.
"Jeno was a good swimmer, almost as good as I am, so I only had to flounder a little to let him catch me. I can tell you, getting a feel-up under water was a new thrill. And feeling his pecker slide between my legs while my body was almost floating was really something. With the water so warm, I just naturally relaxed, and my feet and legs spread open. My cunt was hot and ready by that time and wet, not just from the water.
"Jeno reached down with one hand and guided his prick into my cunt, his head pushing. Only there wasn't enough leverage, really. We were both too buoyant. I wrapped my legs around Jeno's hips and got him in a little way, just his head, though. Even with my grip and Jeno humping we weren't making progress, though I was having a lot of fun with the excitement building up where we were joined.
"Jeno turned around and started wading ashore, with his pecker-head in me and my legs wrapped around his rump and his arms supporting my back. As we came into shallow water, losing that buoyancy drove my body down on him-and sent his dong shooting up my cunt. I squealed and locked my legs tighter and flung my arms around his neck. And do you know, Jeno fucked me standing up, humping and driving by rocking back and forth. It was crude but, oh, boy! it sure sent the hots way up me.
"Maybe it was the start in the water, with our bodies feeling so light and free, and then the hot plunge of his prick in me, but whatever it was, the orgasm came quick. For me, for Jeno. Then, while his pecker was slowly going down, Jeno walked me back to the car cushions-and screwed me again, without ever really taking his dong out And he humped me so hard I had prints of the car seat buttons on my rump for a couple of days.
"Oh, I liked it. Jeno wasn't any romantic. He didn't have any sweet words, but he sure knew how to give a girl fits in the cunt department. In a way, a few months of Jeno were good preparation for the profession I went into. As a call girl. Most men who pay for tail don't bother to be romantic. They just want to get serviced.
"It was Wayne de B--- got me started as a call girl. In spite of the fancy name, which I think he had created to help him in his movie career, Wayne was always broke. I met him at a studio party Phil took me to. Studio parties are usually either dull or a brawl. This one was dull. Except for Wayne, who had the looks and manners for a movie career, maybe as a new Gary Grant, if anybody happens to want a new Gary Grant. The old one is all right with me.
"Wayne paid a lot of attention to me, mostly because he knew who my father was and he had hopes maybe I-or anybody even on the fringes of the profession-could help his career. Even so, I liked having a nice-looking guy paying attention to me. I even gave a few opportunities to make passes but he wasn't taking chances with jolly big daddy's youngest Even when I let him take me home in his practically antique MG, Wayne didn't really get around to much but draping an arm over my shoulders and asking me if I was cold-on a warm Hollywood night.
"Still, I wanted to get better acquainted, like maybe on a bed. So I invited him to drop by for a swim. 'Make it Thursday, about three,' I said. I knew Phil was off for a polo match Thursday, and, of course, jolly big daddy and Mother were never home. Or, if either was, wouldn't go near the swimming pool.
"Of course, Wayne was tickled pink to get an invitation to jolly big daddy's house and he'd have accepted if I'd had four legs and a long bushy tail and the swimming pool had been full of boiling tar.
"When he did come and walked out of his dressing room in tight orange trunks he was kind of surprised to see me already swimming in the indoor section- naked. I waved an arm at him and rolled over in the water so he could see my teats. 'Come on in, Wayne, but shed that bathing suit. They're not hygienic.' I don't know if they are or not, but it sounded good- and rather Hollywoodish, I thought, and appropriate, since Wayne is so keen on making the Hollywood scene. I guess Wayne thought all the movie people swam nude-you can get that idea from some of the wilder newspapers. Whereas most of them are as proper as your maiden aunt Hattie.
"Wayne peeled out of his fancy trunks-he'd probably spent his last few bucks on them-and dived in being very careful not to touch me in the water- until I had to pretend a cramp to get him to grab me. After that things worked out fine. We didn't screw in the water, though, but up on one of the big plastic chairs with foam rubber cushions-nice and bouncy.
"By a few weeks later even Wayne had figured out how things were around our 'little bungalow' and that his chances of getting a crack at show business through me-through jolly big daddy-were about as thin as his bankroll. I wanted to help him, all right, but my chances of talking to jolly big daddy, even about a raise in my allowance, were pretty anemic. Of course, Wayne and I were having ourselves a grand old time. I even took him out to the lake and showed him skinny-dip screwing.
"Then one afternoon Wayne came in, shaken, and not too coherent. 'This producer-he'd give me a job -if I could locate him a young girl who'll screw him. As if he couldn't get anything that walks.' I grinned at him. 'Wayne, you think every producer has a casting couch? It's part of the public image of Hollywood. He'd have to make the girl a star in her next picture-especially if he likes 'em young-or he'd be in trouble. He'd rather have it-arranged. Well, arrange it.'
"Wayne blinked at me. 'But I don't know any young girls who screw.' I shrugged. 'So what have you been doing with me these last few weeks. I know I was the underdog, but it sure looked-and felt- like screwing to me.' Wayne gawked, his jaw falling so far he could trip on it. 'You? Fay, you're crazy. You're jolly big daddy's kid. Any producer would recognize you right away. And I'd be carrying my head around in a sling.'
"I shook my head at him. 'Jolly big daddy and, especially, Mother Dear have kept all us kids so far under wraps our grandmother wouldn't recognize us. If we had grandmothers, which I doubt. I think jolly big daddy sprang full-grown out of a pregnant anvil and Mother probably created herself. No, Wayne, your producer friend wouldn't recognize me. And I can wear my middy blouse and long school stockings and a big straw hat and look even younger, if that's what he wants.' "It took a little persuading but no real arm-twisting, since Wayne wanted that job so bad he could taste it-and I'll admit it was a good role. In feet, it made Wayne a star-or boosted him .well toward being one. Wayne had a friend who had a neat Hollywood apartment and I turned into 'Mavis Trent' for the big night. Actually, it wasn't such a big night. The producer got in one labored screw, sitting in a chair, and then went to sleep. But he was happy and wanted to come back-even at five hundred, my price, since I had no idea what girls got.
"So I got a little apartment of my own, as 'Mavis Trent,' and a telephone and a telephone answering service and set up in business, with Wayne as my 'manager' for the first few months. After that he was too busy-and I had the contacts by then. The telephone answering service wrecked me. When the police raided it, they got on to me ... and here I am."
Since most of Fay Y---'s drive toward sex was emotional, in anger at her parents, rather than a genuine physical need, the likelihood of a curative resolution is remote, especially as it would come, necessarily, from another "hired expert" without actively involving her parents, whom she desperately needed.
CHAPTER TWO
James and Jane: They Made Music Together
"I suppose it is part of the egotism of every celebrity, expecting to be recognized instantly. I should be accustomed by now to having people outside my own field-music-failing to recognize me. But I am so much a part of that world-it's my only world, really-that it does come as a mild surprise that a man like you would not immediately identify me.
"I am the female half of 'James and Jane,' the musical twins. Except we are not twins, actually. That was one of Mother's concepts and her publicity gimmick. We're actually about eighteen months apart. James is the older. But he was rather slight as a boy and I was more mature, so we could be taken for twins. At least, it started that way.
"And it's ending like this, with me on a psychiatrist's couch, metaphorically speaking, trying to end an incestuous relationship. Trying to find, you might say, my own identity, as separate and distinct from the 'James and Jane' label under which I have lived, oh, for a number of years.
"Understand, I love music. I have loved it from childhood. In a way I would dislike to break up the musical team of 'James and Jane,' but if that is the only way to rid myself of this-what would you call it? Obsession?-then we'll have to break up. Even though I am very fond of my brother-quite aside from this incestuous relationship, this sexual hang-up, we have for one another. James is a fine musician, probably much better than I am, really. I respect his musical ability. I think he admires mine. I know we work well together. Perhaps too well. Which is what started us on this form of sex.
"It began-oh, when we were just children. Our close association, I mean, and our-well, I guess you'd call it isolation from youngsters our own age. Music, serious music, is a demanding taskmaster. So, incidentally, was my mother-a tyrant, really.
"Actually, the seeds of it must have been planted long before. Even before we were born. My mother married rather young, to a very wealthy man. She, to quote her, 'gave up her musical career' to marry him. Actually, Mother is a rather mediocre musician. I suspect she was never anything but second rate. Certainly she wasn't ever concert caliber.
"It was, I suspect, her frustrations that turned James and me into concert artists. And eventually drove us into bed together. And we were quite as good together in sex as we were on the concert stage. We had, of course, an inherent rhythm, which, I believe, is just as valid in sex as it is in music.
"It was fortunate, for her, that my father is very wealthy. A musical career is costly to launch, make no mistake. It takes years of study, under the best of maestros, to produce a musician of concert caliber. Even the so-called 'prodigies' that spring up from time to time have had long coaching and training. All of which costs money. Without some form of sponsorship or a wealthy patron most of them would never make it.
"We didn't need a sponsor or patron. Mother had her own built-in patron, my father. I don't think he gave one single damn about our being concert artists, but he adored Mother-and if she wanted it for us, then money was no object. So we had the best. In maestros, in instruments, in studios, nothing was too good. We even had private tutors, since, with the demands of music, we didn't have the time to go to ordinary school.
"I don't know that I can remember anything but musical training. I know I never went to school-even the swank private schools that were available to people in our financial bracket. Oh, yes, I did go to one, for a semester. But Mother said my music slumped, so back we went to tutors. Nothing was allowed to distract us from Mother's goal, the concert stage.
"I must have been eight or nine then, that fall and winter I went to private school. It was, as I recall, rather stuffy, and I was almost glad to escape back to our studio and the tutors and the maestros, except that I did miss seeing other kids. And it was that isolation that turned us toward each other- winding us up, as might have been expected, in sex.
"My brother had a much broader range than I. He could handle almost any musical instrument, even wind instruments, which isn't so unusual with concert musicians. I mean, you're either a pianist or cellist or violinist, but rarely do you find a real musician who is equally good on wind instruments, concert quality, that is.
"I was fair on the violin and cello but the piano was my instrument, and I was James's accompanist. Even in our piano duets, James was the lead-off and I followed. You might not think it, but that's the way with duettists-one leads and one accompanies. When James took the violin or one of the other instruments, it was obvious that I was the accompanist.
"I was twelve and James almost fourteen when we gave our first concert, as piano duettists, with James doing a few turns on violin and cello. The notices weren't raves but they were fair. We were cute. And looked about of a size on the stage. Mother dressed us as near alike as she could, to emphasize the 'twin' billing. So the critics didn't tear us to pieces. Not that any first-string critics attended. That didn't come until later.
"Do you know the work a concert pianist really does? And it is work, had work. Four or five hours of piano exercise a day. And pianists can't be sissies. It takes plenty of muscle to handle a concert grand with enough tone and volume to fill a hall. Ever seen even a band leader during a show? He looks as if he's doing something very simple, very easy, just waving a little stick. But I've know orchestra leaders who had to change clothes completely between each break in the program.
"It's worse for a pianist, who is really beating the keys. Particularly during study and rehearsal. Sweat pours off. James and I used to work out in shorts and singlets, which was all right when I had no more chest than a coal scuttle. And we weren't interested in sex at that time, anyway. Plus we weren't going to school and didn't hear any talk about sex and breasts and peckers, which I understand goes on.
"I wasn't even really conscious that I had developed breasts until Mother insisted I wear a tight bandeau at concerts, to hide them, and keep up the image of 'child prodigies' she was using. I guess I must have been about fourteen, then.
"Oh, I knew I was a girl. I was having menstrual periods, which rather embarrassed me, as I recall, mostly because, when I was having one, I couldn't practice as well a& usual. I felt I was letting James down. You probably know what Paderewski said about practice: 'If I miss a day's practice, I know it; if I miss two days', the critics know it; if I miss three, the public knows it' Practice is that important, that critical, in concert work.
"So I was peculiarly conscious of being a girl, possibly because I didn't have any comparisons. We lived an oddly isolated life, in a funny sort of intimacy, James and I. And for at least four hours a day-often more-we were completely alone. Our practice time. We had a completely equipped, soundproofed practice studio, with tape recorders and playbacks, so we would record and listen to ourselves. We also had tapes of the great masters to play for comparison, to study techniques and interpretations.
"It was during one of these practice sessions it first happened, the first time we were conscious of being male and female. Or, at least, the first time I realized it and what it could mean. We had two concert grand's, set with keyboards facing, so we could see and cue one another. I had just come through one of my periods and was intent on catching up, possibly overdoing it. I was sitting on the bench, facing James across the two pianos, with both of us in our shorts and singlets.
"Of course, by that time my singlet couldn't quite contain my breasts-not that they were so big, really, but that the singlet was so brief. Boy's type. Which I suspect was one of Mother's gimmicks to maintain the 'twins' illusion. Or she may not even have noticed I was growing up. Mother wasn't very observant, except of critical reviews and our stage appearances. She had her image of us, and it was fixed. We were the famous musical twins, the child prodigies. And Mother gloried in having produced us, as if it were her talent on display.
"So I was bouncing on the piano bench, beating the melody out-I believe it was one of the Wagnerian themes which take a lot of bounce and energy-with my breasts shaking and jiggling and popping out of the straps of the singlet, which were cutting into them and hurting. James was leading and watching me to give me the cues. Only he was watching my breasts bounce more than he was giving me the cues. So I missed a couple and had to fake several bars to get back.
"I felt it was my fault, since I'd missed a day or so of practice, having my period, a rather heavy one, as I recall. And hated myself for being a girl, James never had that problem, because he was a boy. Besides, the singlet hurt my breasts, particularly irritating the nipples. So I stopped practice and peeled out of the singlet. Then we went on-for a while.
"I never thought anything about the fact that I was-so far as James could see across the piano- completely naked. Or that my breasts were performing all sorts of gyrations as I worked on Wagner. I only knew I missed another cue-actually because James got so intrigued with my teats that he forgot to give it. And I burst into tears.
"That ended the practice. James came around the pianos and sat on the bench beside me, cradling my head against his shoulder, patting and soothing me. I guess that's the first time anyone had really made any effort to comfort me. I don't even remember Mother except as a taskmaster, waving a baton. Perhaps when I was very young she used to cuddle me and pet me, but I don't remember. I had always been sort of-self-sufficient. A nice little music-producing machine. Tantrums weren't tolerated and tears were verboten.
"So when I broke loose, I did a thorough flood job, sobbing against James's shoulder, with my chest heaving, and my teats rubbing up against his singlet. Not meaning to, and certainly not meaning to start anything, I honestly didn't know there was anything to start. At pretty close to fifteen I was a real dumbbell about everything except music.
"I don't think James knew any more than I did. We were a real pair of babes. But sex doesn't seem to need an elaborate educational program. It's pretty basic. A boy and a girl-and opportunity-and things work out. Maybe not the best, but they work out. Practice, as we found out later, makes things better-richer and more satisfactory.
"Right then it was pretty elemental. James was holding me, fondling me, and I was liking it. He put an arm around me and, more or less accidentally, cupped his hand over one of my teats. My own heaving and sobbing was enough to make my breast wiggle in his hand, make his fingers tease my nipples.
"That started things for me. I began to feel warm and comforted-and warm in places that had no seeming relation to where his hand was-down in my stomach and pelvis. My nipples started getting hard, standing up. I know James felt that, because he slid his hand off my breast and looked, and then put it back, starting to work a little on my breast and nipple.
"For lovemaking I guess it was pretty crude, awkward, really. But it was effective enough. I know I stopped crying and got interested in where his hand was playing with my breast, only drawing a long, shuddering breath every now and then that pushed my teat against his hand, the other against his chest.
"By that time his other hand was wandering up and down my back and along my side. And from where I was-my head was-I could look right down at his boxer shorts and see his pecker just poking out. The reddish head of it. And it seemed to be growing-and quivering.
"I'm not sure he was really conscious of it, right then. He was just lightly massaging my teat and talking-without really using words-and kissing my throat, right under my ear. I'm sure he didn't know that was one of the erogenous zones, as I heard -or maybe read;-later. It just happened to be near his mouth. But if he didn't know it, I was finding it out, because I was getting very warm and quite excited.
"He was getting excited, too, I knew from the way his pecker kept pushing out of his boxer shorts-he was getting sexy. And that stirred me up even more, seeing his pecker.
"It is difficult for me now to realize how ignorant and utterly innocent we were, at that time. Or to tell it well. So much has happened since.
"I don't really think I was consciously trying to work up anything when I reached down and caught his pecker, though perhaps subconsciously I knew, with a female's instinct, what I was starting.
"James went rigid when I first took hold of his prick-I've learned a number of the more worldly words in the past few years for sex and parts of the body. For a moment he stopped kissing my neck and caressing my teat, sort of gasping and rearing back, then started again, with a sort of frenzy, moaning instead of talking. I think I was moaning, too, because I know I was very wrought up, really worked up.
"When James reached a hand down, sliding it up my boxer shorts, I almost collapsed. He slid his hand onto my mound and one finger into the lips of my cunt, and, with his hand on my breast, I was both exhilarated and very, very weak. I don't think that, even for a moment, I was frightened. After all, James was my brother. He had never done anything to hurt me. And we had been very close, closer than most sister-brother relationships. And so isolated from the others of our age group.
"So it seemed perfectly natural for him to pick me up, with his hand under my cunt and one arm around me, with his hand fondling my breast, and carry me to the couch. Somehow, by instinct, I suppose, since certainly I had never been told, I knew what was going to happen.
"Oh, I knew it was wrong. I'm not making that excuse. Just how I knew it was wrong I couldn't tell you. I mean the sex-and what was going to happen. That there was anything especially wrong with sex between a brother and a sister had never occurred to me. Not to James, I'm sure.
"We were really children, much younger than our years. And beginning our first experiment with sex. Or I think it was our first. I've read since that many siblings experiment with their organs when very young, six to eight, but I don't recall that we did.
"James rested me on the couch and I just lay there, expectant, thrilled really, and calm for the first time in ages, it seemed. I must have been exceedingly tense without knowing it. But I lay there, feeling the tensions of our long hours of practice and the cumulative tension of our concerts drain away, leaving a strange languor that was both languor and anticipation, calm and intense stimulation.
"I watched James slide my shorts down my legs. I suppose I could have helped but it seemed I couldn't move a muscle, even to draw up a leg. James lifted them, one at a time and slid my shorts off. He sat for a long time, looking at my body, at my young, jutting breasts, my flat stomach, my navel dimple, and my cunt.
"It was thrilling to have him look. Waves of excitement washed over me, setting me shivering spasmodically. And I reached for his shorts.
"James slid out of them quickly, dropping them on the floor, and sat beside me, his dong-prick-pecker?-standing straight up, its head seeming much larger than the shaft. I touched it and we both shivered. I know I whimpered. I closed my hand around it, feeling the heat of it, the pulsing throb of it. And new excitement sent shock waves through me.
"Whatever James did, he must have done by instinct, for he had never been with a girl that way before. But he seemed to do it right At least, it was right for me. He played with my breasts, his sensitive musician's fingers gently teasing my nipples until they were stiff and quivering. He leaned over and kissed my throat, sliding his tongue down to touch my nipples and on down, slowly, tracing across my stomach, into my navel dimple-my belly button-and on down to my vulva, the lips of my cunt.
"I held on to his prick, moving my hand just a little, squeezing lightly, without knowing why. It just seemed that was the thing to do. And we played with each other's bodies as if they were musical instruments, as if we could bring forth a melody.
"Actually, I suspect we were quite crude, though perhaps not as crude as we might have been if we hadn't been musicians, schooled to a delicate touch, to produce throbbing tones.
"I know I was throbbing throughout my body, with an intensely sharp pitch in my cunt, an ache that seemed to demand surcease, release.
"I know my legs simply fell open as James's hands stroked the inner sides of my thighs and ran, with a delicious, exciting tingle, right up to my cunt. And when he'd reach there, I'd hump up, with a moan, pushing against his hand and finger.
"How he knew when to take me-except that a musician must have an exquisitely tuned sense of timing-I'll never know. But just at the moment when I felt something had to give way inside, when tensions were unbearably tight, James rolled over, sliding between my legs, and aimed his prick at my cunt, pushing lightly, pumping back and forth. That brought a gush of moisture in my cunt and suddenly his shaft was riding on that moisture, thrusting deep into me.
"There was pain, tearing, searing pain for a moment. And then something else took over, a whole new sensation that flooded my entire body, filling me with an ecstasy that overrode the pain, yet left it as a minor theme, a counterpoint to the excitement that was the major music.
"I could feel his head thrusting up my tube, opening it a little at a time-for James was slow and gentle-so that I could feel each separate movement, feeling it penetrating deep into my body, in a wildly exhilarating series of chords, each deeper and richer in tone than the last, building to some great crescendo.
"As the excitement built, my breath became tighter in my chest, a minor counterpoint to the main theme of intense, exhilarating tension within. It was as if all my being were concentrated in the passage of his erection up my tube, as if, in spite of that intense, almost painful tension, I knew something even bigger, more stupendous, was going to happen, just as a minor chord presages a crashing, thunderous climax.
"I was a little animal with my body, yet enjoying a rich emotional experience. I humped at James, driving his shaft deeper into me, until I could feel his slight pubic hairs against the lips of my cunt and the rhythmic tempo of his balls striking the cheeks of my ass.
"We were in tune. In perfect accord, just as we had worked together so long in music. The tempo changed, the new beat more exciting than the last, until, animalistically, I was clawing at his shoulder, reaching down to grab the roundness of his buttocks to pull him closer, to get more of his dong deeper into me.
"His tempo had grown frenzied, his driving harder and harder. Then, suddenly, breaking the rhythm, he stopped, drew his dong almost out, shivered and cried out-and drove deep into me. I rose to meet his plunge and then both of us slammed into the couch, grinding our pelvises together in a frenetic effort to reach for-something. A new crescendo beyond anything we had known.
"It happened. I could feel his shaft swell, pulse and drive his semen to his head, which seemed to expand to unbelievable size-and explode in me, hot, wet, exciting. And I let go. The release was a magnificent diapason, a crashing of timpani, of chords too strong to be heard, only felt in the shuddering and shaking in my belly.
"It seemed to me that I would come apart, all my limbs fling themselves wildly away, with my belly bursting with whatever had happened. Yet it was also wonderful, a release so sharp and intense it was close to pain, but a very delightful pain.
"I know I just lay there, whimpering and feebly clutching at James as his dong deflated and came sliding out of my cunt, setting new but minor chords to ringing within me.
"James rolled off me, flinging himself beside me, sighing, staring up at the ceiling, not saying anything. Nor did I want to talk. I just wanted to lie there and feel.
"It seemed I knew more about my body-each separate part of it-than I had ever even realized before. As if each part was independently demanding attention in some new and miraculous way-right down to my fingertips.
"I don't know how long we lay there, just glorying in the things that had happened within us. I know we weren't troubled about any possible interruptions. A maestro we had had for some time had warned Mother, with violent gestures and loud Germanic phrases, never to interrupt us at practice. I think he even frightened her a little by telling her she could spoil our rhythm, interfere with our concentration and perhaps ruin a concert. So we had absolute privacy during practice. And were happy with it at that particular moment.
"Then James sat up suddenly, muttering-in German. He often switched to German when he was thinking of music. He swung his legs over the side of the couch and started almost blindly for the piano, saying, over his shoulder, 'I understand it now. Come.'
"I got up and went to my piano as he sat down at his. And we played! Sweaty still from our sex, naked and almost wild with a new frenzy, we attacked the piece. It was wonderful to follow him, for he was working in a new technique, a stronger, more vibrant rhythm, reaching for something that had once been completely beyond either of us. And I could play right along with him, even anticipating some of his innovations.
"There was new freedom, new understanding in us, as if through sex we had developed a wider knowledge of the music, which, as I recall, had little or nothing of sex inherent in it. I only know we went through the repertoire with almost no blunders-perhaps not perfectly (there are few, if any perfect musicians)-and wound up with James rushing around the piano and clasping me in his arms, exultant, neither of us the least aware that we were still naked. I think our only moment of embarrassment was when we finally did realize we were completely nude. And James carried that off well. He slapped my rump with a peculiarly vulgar sound and told me to run for a shower.
"That night, for the concert, I refused to wear Mother's bandeau to hold down my breasts, though Mother wailed and raved. I also wore a more mature dress that I had picked out late that afternoon at an exclusive dress shop. I didn't try for a really elaborate costume-not one of those black velvet creations that sweep the floor and seem to be especially designed for second-rate or aging artistes.
"It was a soft, dove-gray velour with a very simple collar, knee-length-not halfway up my thighs like those my mother had been making me wear. And, of course, Mother howled over that. But at fifteen I was getting tired of the 'child prodigy' routine. And I wasn't a child any longer-though I could scarcely explain that to my mother.
"James wore a regular dress suit, with full-length trousers instead of the knee britches Mother favored. Which set off new howls.
"Until the reviews came out. Even Deems T--, the doyen of the music critic crowd, patted us on our heads and spoke of a new maturity in our work. One critic said, 'The "child prodigies" have outgrown their cute clothes and many of their cute mannerisms, to emerge as mature musicians who may eventually reach top rank.'
"I can't say Mother was satisfied with what we had done that night-shedding our 'child prodigy' identity and coming on stage as mature people, willing to be judged, not on the basis of our youth, but as musicians. She kept saying, 'But suppose you hadn't-' and shake her head.
"Mother would like to have kept us 'child prodigies' until arthritis-the dread disease of musicians-had crippled our hands, and James had a long gray beard.
"I grant we had dared a lot. We risked our concert careers. But somehow we knew we were mature, with an adult approach to ourselves and to music.
"I know how I felt-a sort of ambivalence. I am a musician, so naturally I want to continue as one-a good one. But also, James and I had been so isolated all our lives that I was quite prepared to accept the feet that we might fail-and, failing as concert musicians, turn toward more normal lives.
"It wasn't to be. We did succeed in bridging that dreaded gap of all who are labeled 'child prodigies'-the transition from child to an adult musician. I have known a number who went into retirement at the ripe age of fourteen or so-to emerge five to ten years later with the label almost forgotten, as mature adults and fine musicians. And I've known some who never made it back. The road back is long and hard.
"In that respect James and I were fortunate. We did bridge the gap-in a single day. We were children-and very isolated, thoroughly guarded children, almost, you might say, preserved in childishness. If that had kept up it is quite possible our careers would have spun put into dismal, dwindling successes or failures. Mother would never have consented to 'retirement' so long as she was, reaping the vicarious thrills of a concert artist and the ancillary benefits of having produced us.
"If we had lived more normal lives, perhaps sex would not have wrought so profound a change in us, We might just have developed normally. And had our normal difficulties bridging that gap. I think perhaps the completeness of our isolation-which, incidentally, isn't at all unusual among musical prodigies-focused us each on the other, without any real knowledge of ourselves or of sex.
"We were probably at or close to our peak as 'child prodigies' when James fumbled the score, giving me bad cues. And I broke down. And we ended it all with sex.
"Not that I recommend sex as a panacea for the failures of a musician. It happened to us just at a time when we needed something.
"Sex matured our work. And we continued sex- never again in practice time, that's too important to a musician-but at night. We had connecting rooms adjoining the studio-our lives centered around the studio, even our sleeping hours. And our sex hours.
"When we left on our concert tour, Mother was laid up with a broken leg. I didn't really believe James had pushed her down the stairs deliberately, but I accused him of it-and giggled. Actually, neither of us was at home the day it happened. But it certainly freed us from Mother's tight supervision while we were on the road and allowed us the freedom for sex. The notices were uniformly good, and the critics treated us as if we were people, not cute 'prodigies.' I even got mentioned in several reviews as 'charming' and once was called 'beautiful.' These soothed Mother somewhat. But she missed the glamour of traveling with celebrities, and I was afraid we'd never have that freedom again, the delicious freedom to roam each other's rooms, to know each other's bodies.
"It didn't happen that way. Mother's injury was far more serious than we at first supposed. She never went out on the road with us again. And that has given us complete freedom. Too much freedom. I'm hung up on James, and that's why I'm here."
Jane I--- makes quite clear some of the reasons for her sexual involvement with her brother, James. Since early childhood the youngsters had been almost completely isolated from their peer groups, which, because of an actual difference in ages even though there was a pretense of twinship, would have been distinct and separate. This certainly would have been true in their earlier years, when a two-year age differential would have been a formidable gap. This would have placed each in a separate peer group where rates of learning and particularly attitudes toward sex would have been quite distinct and separate.
This isolation was the result of their mother's determination to promote their musical careers, at the expense of normal living. It also involved a degree of propinquity certainly not usual even among twins of the opposite sex.
The fact of isolation automatically eliminated from their sphere of knowledge the usual information-and misinformation-regarding sex, which all normal children acquire. Among this miscellany of information would, in all probability, have come the social taboo on incestuous relationships, which the twins lacked completely.
Contrary to what certain puritanical groups maintain, there is no inherent bar to an incestuous relationship, though some would maintain that some divinely directed consciousness operates in the animal world to prevent or block an incestuous relationship. Benjamin Karpman, in The Sexual Offender and His Offenses, states:
The animal world takes no cognizance of the problem of incest ... There is a prevalent notion among certain pious folk that animals are saved from incest by a God-given instinct ... but this is just misguided Puritanical influence.
In this, many psychologists and psychoanalysts concur. So it can be taken that incest, interfamilial sex acts, is not an unnatural activity, but a matter of social taboos, and of legal statutes dating back to Mosaic law.
Since James and Jane lived such insulated and isolated lives, they were probably totally unaware of the "social taboos connected with incest. Their intensive training had been devoted almost entirely to music and, apparently, very little directed toward the normal life processes. So that even sex itself, once the biological urges were aroused, was not taboo.
This cannot be interpreted as meaning that their mother in any way encouraged or condoned the sex acts of her son and daughter. It is just that, in her blind obsession with developing their musical careers, she failed to consider the normal life processes and certainly willfully refused to recognize their physical development. The only indication we have that the mother recognized this physical development is that she forced the girl to wear a "tight bandeau" on stage to hide her growing bosom. Even this external evidence, in Jane, of a biological development does not seem to have penetrated the mother's perception to the extent of considering possible other biological developments with, of course, certain natural concomitants, the normal arousal of sex urges among them.
Having insulated and isolated her children from the world so that they might fulfill her own musical ambitions, the mother appears to have insulated and isolated them from her own mind as young, developing human beings. Such developing human beings require guidance and counsel if that development is going to proceed along normal and socially acceptable lines. Neither Jane nor James had the benefits of such guidance and counsel and so were victims of their own natural (or, some might put it, unnatural) desires.
What triggered Jane and her brother into an incestuous act? Problems with their work. Jane states that she was having difficulty following some of James's cues and that she felt the constriction of her body in the tight singlet. The baring of her young bosom, with her breasts reacting to the violence of her arm and finger movements in the rehearsal, appear to have fascinated and then intrigued young James, so that he in turn missed giving the necessary musical cues.
In other words, even before the actual performance of the incestuous act, the work of both was suffering. According to Wilhelm Reich, noted German psychoanalyst and sociologist, and author of The Sexual Revolution: "Patients come to us with some typical [sexual] troubles. Their capacity to work is always affected; their realizations do not correspond to the exigencies that form society."
While Wilhelm Reich may be Marxist-oriented and see society as benefiting from the revolution, he is also a clear-thinking psychoanalyst who understands the function of sex in society. What he is saying in his book is that sexual frustrations can and often do affect a person's work, or can, in an otherwise normal person, interfere seriously with the natural sex processes, even leading to impotence.
Both Jane and James were, at the time of their initial incestuous sex experience, normally developing youngsters just at an age of intense sexual curiosity. Their work had frustrated their more normal contacts with society and, being healthy, developing adolescents, sex and the sex impulses unrequited, and unresolved, interfered with their usually smooth cooperative performance as musicians.
The nude physical contact certainly aroused James and Jane, though, probably unconsciously, the boy had become aroused by his sister's physical activities which involved considerable movement of her breasts. Their reaction was immediate, intense and, given the circumstances, quite natural. With no social guidelines and no taboos, they respond to their mutual stimulation with an incestuous act of sex.
Circumstances, the mother's injury and continuing inability to travel "the concert circuit" with her children, conspired to permit a prolongation of their incestuous intimacy. Jane's report on the critical reviews following her sexual experience seems to bear out Wilhelm Reich's contention that good sexual adjustment means a correspondingly good work output. It also seems, in the eyes of James and Jane, to "justify" their continuing in a state of incestuous intimacy.
Jane, as we shall learn in the continuation of her statement, expands her sexual activities to include other young men than her brother.
This would seem to be the beginning of recognition on her part that the incestuous relationship, though initially satisfactory, was setting up emotional repercussions. This could easily be attributable to the fact that, by that time, without her mother's tyrannical rule, she was encountering for the first time the normal social taboos against incest, meeting on a new level her contemporaries and older people who could, possibly without knowing the circumstances and relationship of James and Jane, have given strong indication of social disapproval of incest.
By the time she came for consultation on her problem, her intimacy with her brother, she had realized that, if she was to have any normally satisfactory life, she must rid herself of her absorption in her brother and their sexual activities. As it shall be seen, she even indicates that her brother would like release from the emotional thrall, even though they are still capable of rich enjoyment of sex with each other.
It is quite remarkable that Jane does not indicate any great anger against her mother for the obsession that was certainly responsible for the circumstances that brought Jane into the incestuous relationship with her brother. Despite what her mother might have done to Jane's emotional life, she had certainly worked long and diligently to put both Jane and James (whatever her own motivation maybe have been) in a position where they were recognized for their looks, their work, and their general aptitudes. For this Jane seems to have forgiven her mother for the early strictures on her life. At least, she would never suffer from an inferiority complex. She was famous, wealthy and beloved. She only needed normality.
"Yes, I'm afraid I'm really hung up on James. Oh, since that first experience and since Mother no longer traveled with us, I've had others-young musicians in the orchestra. But I always go back to James.
"For one thing, it's the way we live, the way we've always lived, in each other's pocket. When we're on tour we always share a suite. Our agent has been arranging that since we were children and hasn't changed. I suspect my mother has a fine Italian hand in that. She still doesn't recognize I'm grown up-or, anyhow, growing up-and that James is an adult. Well, chronologically, he's an adult, even if he isn't what you'd call mature.
"Mother seems to think that having James share a suite with me is some' sort of 'protection*-which she appears to recognize I need in some obscure way, more as a child might need 'protection' than as a young woman. And after all, we share the studio suite at home, and have done it all our lives, so she sees nothing different in sharing a hotel suite.
"There really isn't that much difference. I mean, as far as James and I are concerned. In either place we have complete privacy for whatever we want to do. The only difference is, in a hotel suite we can also have privacy from each other, for whatever either of us might want to do. With someone else.
"Up to the time we had intercourse I don't believe either of us knew even the words for it. Somehow James learned a lot of them-from the boys in the orchestra, I'd guess. And around the hotel. Sometimes he'd tell me the words and we would laugh over them, as if they were bits of comedy. Which they were to us.
"I learned 'fuck,' and 'cunt,' and 'prick,' and 'screw'-things we had been doing and using for months without even knowing people had special names for them. Or needed any. These were things you did, your intimate parts you used, but who needed to talk about it? To find words for it? We just did it.
"After that first time, which was so exciting and disturbing, I felt oddly shy about wearing my singlet when we practiced-and even shier at leaving it off, because having my breasts wiggle and weave to my playing always seemed to get to James, so he'd fluff on some of the more intricate passages or fail to give me my cues.
"I didn't want to wear a bra-I had several by that time-because a bra is restricting, and during practice I needed all the body freedom I could get. I finally settled on one of James's shirts, worn with my shorts, as the most practical. It was loose enough for me to get a thorough workout and yet covered my breasts.
"It was rather funny, the first time I used a shirt. James had been used to seeing me in a singlet and, without really noticing them as such, to seeing my breasts popping in and out. Or else, for a while after our initial screwing, seeing me without anything. The shirt really gave him problems. I guess he could realize all the movements going on under the shirt but couldn't see anything, and it bothered him.
"Understand, I was enjoying looking at James. He seems slight but he has muscles, particularly in the shoulders and arms and across his chest. A concert pianist has to have good muscular development- and years of practice develop them. I got a real thrill out of watching those muscles ripple and swell as he crashed down on those keys.
"I didn't know then and I'm not sure even now why watching his muscular movements gave me such a series of delightful thrills. Except, in a way, they marked his maleness-and I was certainly interested in that.
"Oh, we didn't fuck every day. And certainly not just before a concert again. There was too much to be done in preparation for the evening on stage. We concentrated on working, the day of a concert. By then we didn't need to worry about sex, or let ourselves be too disturbed by seeing each other. We knew we could have sex and that it would be good, both stimulating and relaxing. So we could save up for it.
"Depending on how things went-if there was too much tension around the theater before the show, maybe we'd go back to the hotel, strip, in a sort of mutual but silent agreement, and have a really rousing fuck, with a long, lazy rest and a warm shower before the concert. Or we might not touch each other until the performance was over, saving it up for bedtime, to be followed by exhausted but restful sleep, and a sleepy, drowsy breakfast, sometimes naked, since we often ate in the suite.
"I think I enjoyed those most. The nights when we would come back from the concert, beat but glowing, aware that we had given a good performance and the people had enjoyed and appreciated us. And then a slow undressing. Sometimes James would help me out of my sheath dress, and I'd help him get out of his stiff shirt.
"I would be sweaty, too. A concert is an exhausting effort. So we'd rub each other down, then take a warm shower together, with each of us soaping the other, getting over the exhaustion of the evening, letting it wash away, until we were going again.
"I know I was. James would play with my teats and nipples and run his hands down my sides, playing with me. It wasn't exciting at first. Just peaceful. But gradually I built up, as if the shell of 'the concert twin' melted and just girl came through.
"It was wonderful, reverting to being a girl instead of a trained and strained musician. My very muscles-oh, I had muscles, too-seemed to melt. Particularly when James kissed my breasts and around my throat. If girls 'swooned' these days, I came very near it. James let his hands drift down my body, along the inner side of my thighs and back up on to my cunt, his finger playing just in the lips.
"The warm water and the playing of his hands had my cunt wide open and ready-and weakened my legs, so that James carried me to bed. His bed. He laid me on it, still wet from the shower, and knelt beside me, his hands roaming over my breasts, down my body, along my legs, and to my cunt. Then he leaned over and kissed my breasts, sucking on them gently and teasing my nipples with his tongue. And ran his tongue down my stomach, to my belly button. And back up, until I was arching up with the want of more of him.
"By the time he reached my cunt again, this time with his tongue, thrusting his face down on me, his tongue ramming into the lips of my cunt, I was in a frenzy. The excitement was so great I didn't think I could take another moment of it without something bursting.
"I clutched at his head, forcing it down on my mound, his tongue teasing my clitoris and I was moaning, 'Now! Now! Now!' with my legs spread wide for him. Ready, oh, ever so ready, and waiting. I think I was more prepared these times than when it first happened, when I first got fucked. And that made the anticipation all the more violent.
"I know I twisted and writhed on the bed, begging James to fuck me. I think I was using all the dirty words we had learned, all the gutter expressions. I know I felt that way, as if the very filth of the words made the fucking more exciting.
"I don't think James even heard me, except as a background accompaniment to his own frenzy, his own drives and needs. He was almost cruel' at one point, gouging at my breasts with his hands, thrusting with his tongue at my cunt, sucking so greedily I could feel it way up inside me, drawing on my juices, setting me on fire. And at that moment I seemed to want cruelty, as if the punishment of my breasts and cunt, the clawing at my skin, the deep, draining suck were part of a new buildup, a new dimension to screwing.
"I know when he climbed on me, answering the pull of my arms, his dong looked enormous, purple and engorged, and dripping with moisture. He slid between my legs and heaved down at me almost in a single motion.
"I could feel the lips of my cunt, wet and hot, part and stretch to take his head-and then he was ramming it far, far up me, in one plunging sweep, a purely animalistic lunge. Even so, I could feel with the walls of my tube the shock of movement, trace it as it reamed far up me. I know I screamed. I think I bit him on the shoulder.
"I know we were in a frenzy of physical action, pure and unadulterated animal activity. I writhed and heaved, shoving my pelvis at him, feeling the thud and bump of his pubic mound against me, even feel the scratch and tickle of his pubic hairs. His penis was stretching me, inside, and moving the flesh of my vagina, so that my clitoris was being teased, massaged into excitation.
"We clung together, each seeming to try for deeper penetration, greater absorption of one another. We moved in a frenetic rhythm that thrust and .pulled his dong in me. Even with sidewise twists I worked on his dong, my cunt seeming to chew at him, to want to eat his prick.
"I thrashed around, flinging my breasts at him, rubbing them hard against his chest, and he ducked his head down to mouth greedily at one. The moisture on us then was no longer from the shower, but from sweat, from sex. Even the smell of our bodies, working in that frenzied rhythm, was exciting.
"He brought it all to a grinding halt with one convulsive move of his pelvis and then seemed about to withdraw. I whimpered and caught at his shoulders, pleading in a strangled voice, without real words, to keep on. And on.
"Instead, he drove back in, deeper it seemed than ever before, shuddering so that his whole body shook with it. I could feel the throb and swell of his prick inside me, and humped way up to meet whatever was coming. And his head blew a great gob into me, way up my belly. And I blew juices back, in a wild, primitive feeling of immense release. One great surge of feeling and then a whole series of small releases, until I was down to tremulous shudders and sudden, small but violent, spasms. James had one or two spasmodic thrusts, perhaps with even a little ejaculation, a little more come.
"However, it was really all over, and the release was exquisite, a great peace after wildly emotional storms. I just lay there, with James collapsed on me, his dong dwindling and sliding out. He didn't roll off but slithered down me, kissing my breasts and nipples, my sweaty stomach, and on down to my cunt. He pressed his face warmly against it and sucked and tongued for my juices, for his, in greedy gulps.
"That almost started things again for me, but right then I couldn't have really worked up another emotional storm. I was pooped. And, actually, so was James. In a few moments he crawled up to lie beside me, an arm under me and his hand resting tenderly on one breast.
"It was a dreamy, tender moment as we lay there, getting our breath, letting the feelings of tension and excitement drain away in small shudders and long, heavy sighs, feeling the warmth of each other's flesh, knowing we had used our bodies in a magnificent orchestration. It was a moment I would have prolonged indefinitely, but those moments don't last forever. They are fleeting and ephemeral.
"All too soon we were aware that the sheets were wet, with the water from the shower, with our own sweat, and even with the juices of our sex. With a sigh James climbed out of bed and then held out his hand to me. We went like that, hand in hand, back to the shower, as if to a dreamy lullaby.
"The water was warm, soothing to flesh banged and battered through sex. And we were gentle with one another-oh, conscious that we were male and female, but very considerate, very tender with one another. Finally, James stood me on a stool, as on a pedestal, and softly dried me with one of the hotel's big, fluffy towels, being especially tender with my cunt and legs and very gentle with my breasts. Then he toweled himself, almost briskly, and we left the bathroom hand in hand again.
"By mutual consent, without a word, we bypassed James's rumpled, mussed, and damp bed and moved on to my room. We climbed into my nice, wide bed and curled up together, our bodies naked, each absorbing warmth and comfort from the other. And we slept like that all night. I think it was the first time we had ever spent an entire night together-unless it happened when we were very small children-and certainly the first time we had slept naked together.
"The awakening was just as sweet, a little drowsy, with both of us a bit fuzzy from physical weariness of our fucking. And then there was laughter. James's hair stood up in spikes, a confused tangle, as if he had combed it with an eggbeater, and I probably looked worse, my hair a scrambled mass.
"This time we went to our separate baths and did a little grooming, mostly, I think, so we wouldn't shock the bellhop when he brought us breakfast-I know I had that idea-and came back to sit at the table by the window and wait for the enormous breakfast we had ordered. I know I felt starved and James went right along with my order of grapefruit, cereal, a double order of bacon, scrambled eggs, a double order of toast, marmalade and an extra large order of coffee.
"I think the extra large order of coffee was a sort of defiance of Mother, since she still served us milk at meals, considering us children. I know we attacked that breakfast as if it might be made illegal any minute, and enjoyed every bite, until I sat back in my chair feeling faintly stuffed but still nibbling at a bit of toast, sipping my third cup of coffee.
"We weren't in the least self-conscious about what we had done. Just relaxed, fulfilled, and comfortably replete with breakfast. I mean, there weren't any guilt feelings. Not with me, anyway. Right from the start our relationship had been natural, uninhibited, and delightful.
"There was tenderness and closeness, more than we'd ever known as simply brother and sister. Along with that there was the knowledge we had of each other, of each other's bodies, even, it would seem, of each other's minds. As if we were in tune, making a harmony together. As we lolled there in somnolent ease, sex was only a very small part of it-only the delicious languor that sex brings and leaves in its wake, if it's good sex. All the tensions and worries of the concert were swept away on that tide of languor.
"Even our practice session, in a rented studio, working with rented pianos, went smoothly. And at the concert that night we could smile across the pianos at each other, playing together in music as we did in bed, with passion and with that new maturity.
"Perhaps I am a fool to want to end something so idyllic, but, honestly, I'm afraid of it. Now we are too close, too much in harmony, too aware of each other when we're out on the concert stage. Oh, it's done something for our music, I'll grant. Or I think that's what has done it, which amounts to the same thing.
"I've tried to break away from too complete a dependence on James. He has done the same. In fact, he did it first I know he brought this girl up to his room and laid her. A cute girl. I rather liked her, as a matter of fact. But James felt guilty, even though I wasn't jealous. Or don't think I was. I tried not to be. Oh, I was hurt at first, thinking I wasn't satisfying him.
"He tried to explain it-his taking this other girl to bed. Mostly, I think such explanations are a mistake. This wasn't. Because what he said made sense. Like me, he was feeling we were too close and he said, 'I wanted to see if sex was as good with someone else.' And shook his head. 'It wasn't nearly as good as ours, as what we have.'
"Of course, it could have been the girl, who might not have had the same rapport-or maybe she just wasn't as good in bed.
"I know I tried out a young man, a bellhop. But not, as you might imagine, in retaliation. I actually wanted to know if it was something special James and I had, or if any man's dong in me would give me the same thrills, the same wonderful sense of relaxation afterwards.
"It happened like this.
"I was being very lazy that day, after an especially difficult concert. James had gotten up earlier and gone out. I was just lolling on the bed, naked. I rarely wore night clothes, and there was only a light sheet over me. I suspect I was very well outlined, lying there, when this bellhop came in, bringing breakfast that James had ordered for me.
"He was very circumspect In fact, quite proper. Perhaps even overly proper in not letting his eyes stray too often to me as he laid out the breakfast things. Whatever was done, I did deliberately.
"I was almost sixteen then and very well developed. I had what the boys in the band joked about as 'a real pair of knockers.' My breasts were small but firm and high, nicely rounded. I had a nice, flat little stomach and long, slender legs. You could say I shaped up very nicely. I was, to hear the boys in the orchestra tell it, 'very well stacked,' even though none of them up to that time had made any real play for me. I was part of the 'star turn' and they were only the background music-which means there's a strong division. They could joke with me but they didn't quite dare to make the first play to make me.
"So I was rather sure I was 'a good thing' in the girl department. And that day I made the most of it. I teased. I slid one leg from under the covers and let the bellhop-his name was Alan-get an eyeful of it. And when I sat up I just somehow managed to let the sheet slip, showing one boobie, holding up the sheet with one hand and smiling at Alan. He could figure, if he couldn't actually see, that I was naked.
"And he still remained quite proper, though you could have hung your hat on his eyes. So I let the sheet slip just a little more, until he could see one full breast and the rounded top of the other, and I swung both legs over the side of the bed, managing to let the sheet expose me practically to my cunt, just held in place with one hand that was managing to jiggle one tit.
"I could tell from the expression on his face he was intrigued, and the bulge throbbing in his rather tight trousers meant he was more than intrigued. He wanted me. He wanted to throw his sex meat into me. And I wanted it to happen. It was no longer just a curiosity, an interest in seeing if all men were the same, physically. I was getting wrought up, really worked up, just over the idea of a man-and Alan was a, man, about twenty-three, I'd say-throwing his dong into me. Oh, yes. I've become adept at phrases like that.
"I squirmed a little on the bed, the very motion against the undersheet stirring things up, and dropped the sheet, so that it lay across my lap, like a bikini-a very small, easily removable bikini. I smiled at Alan and held out my arms. There was no mistaking the intent, the invitation. I didn't intend there should be.
"Alan moved toward the bed, slowly, as if he were hypnotized and as if he still weren't quite sure of me. When I brushed the sheet aside and let him see all of me, he moved faster, almost with a rush. Oh, I don't mind admitting I was a brazen hussy, acting like a real slut Yet when he was so close I had a moment's panic, in spite of the fact that I now wanted him to fuck me, wanted it with all my being. I positively squirmed with desire-and let him see it.
"Alan stopped just as he reached the bed, putting out a hand, tentatively, to touch my breast, as if trying to believe it was real. Then he dropped to his knees, which put his face right level with my breasts, and caught my shoulders, pulling me toward him. He kissed first one breast and then the other, and ended up crushing me against his mouth, sucking hungrily at my nipples.
"I could feel it all the way to my cunt, suddenly hot and gradually opening. I could feel the hot lips unfolding. I could feel the new tightness in my chest and the knotting of my stomach, almost painful, and the chokiness in my throat.
"I closed my eyes and just gave myself up to sensations, to the stirring in my breasts, the stiffening of my nipples, the tightness in chest and throat, and the wonderfully hot flashes in my cunt. So I knew this was going to be real good. Deep and satisfying.
"It was. Very Good. Alan had shed his uniform and worked out of his tight trousers when I opened my eyes again. His prick was erect, throbbing, a crystal spot of juice on the tip, aimed at my cunt as my legs draped over the edge of the bed. He slid my rump closer to the edge, until my hot little cunt was right up against the blue-purple knob of his prick.
"I had a momentary qualm then. I had never been fucked like that, by a man kneeling between my legs. It was new, startling and suddenly very, very interesting, very exciting as his legs rubbed against the inner sides of my thighs, forcing them wider as his knob thrust against my cunt, pushing out the opening lips, touching the soft, sensitive inner lips.
"I moaned as his prick rubbed across my clitoris, and Alan eased me down on the bed, playing with my breasts and nipples even as his prick thrust into my cunt, pushing aside the lips and then entering in one hot, exciting rush. He bent over me, kissing my navel dimple, sliding his tongue over my breasts and nipples.
"All the time his dong was driving up me, not hurriedly but certainly rapidly, and I could feel every slight motion of his knob expanding my tunnel, pushing on beyond any place I could even imagine. Until his pelvis was hard up against my mound and moving with a rhythm that teased my clitoris.
"I wasn't sure of how to move in that position, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Any movement added to the intensity of excitement, until we moved together in a rhythm that built and built toward a climax that seemed to tear me apart. I could feel the swell of his come as it shot up his shaft and burst into hot excitement far up me.
"It brought that wonderful release of climax for me. I burst almost with him into pouring out juices, letting my whole body flow into that excitement And then the sense of violent urgency faded, slowly, with each shivering motion, and my first fuck, with a strange man was over; or almost.
"Alan was gentle with me, as if I were something fragile, as he turned me and stretched me out on the bed-and left me. That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted and needed the comfort of his body next to mine, to ease the tensions and nervous flow of sex. But, of course, he had to be on duty.
"Another time, he promised, he wouldn't have to rush off and leave me. Except that there wasn't another time. We had to move on, to meet our schedule. I'll always remember Alan for the things he taught me, about position, about the way he could tease and arouse my body.
"Since Alan I have had a number of young men, mostly the boys of the orchestra, who have slept with me, fucked me. Some of them were admirable lovers, some indifferent, thinking only of their own physical needs and not considering mine. And, of course, I have had James.
"Perhaps it is only because James was my first lover, but I know, for me, he is the most satisfactory, even though I know, equally well, he isn't even as good, technique-wise, as some of the lovers I have had.
"I am getting older. James is a grown man. Both of us recognize our hang-up, and we've fought it. It isn't good. It's not a healthy situation. I know that I must break away from this infatuation for my brother. I must learn to lead a more normal life. Perhaps even get married some day. I can't make the break without help, as I have found out. Even if such a break means breaking us up as a musical team, but I don't think it necessarily will."
Since both partners in this incestuous relationship earnestly wish to end it, the possibilities are favorable that, with psychiatric guidance, they will accomplish it, possibly even without serious damage to their musical partnership.
CHAPTER THREE
Jill; Out for a Thrill
"So who's crying? I got caught with the goods, didn't I? Three cakes of hash! Ha! Three cakes of hash! In Marrakech you send out a boy with ten dir-haras and he brings you back three cakes of hash. Or maybe only two, and keeps one for himself. Do you know how much ten dirhams is? Two dollars. One ninety-eight, if you want to be accurate. Do you think that for two dollars I'd risk going to jail?
"No, I didn't stuff any three cakes of hash down in a shoe. Who'd be so foolish? It's probably the first place the customs boys would look. If I was smuggling, I'd smuggle it in in my bra. Even customs guys would think twice about looking in a girl's bra. When she's wearing it, that is. Oh, they might look at my bra, because of what I've got in there- and they're nice, if I do say so myself. No, I wasn't smuggling any hash. Or keef. Or anything else. I don't use the stuff. I get my kicks in a different way.
"I know who did stuff that junk in my shoe. Or I can give a pretty shrewd guess. My ever-loving bastard of a brother, Stan. No, I don't mean he's a bastard in that sense. Or is he? You know, could be. And maybe that's why my mother and father had to get married. Legally, I mean. They're swingers. Real swingers. Always have been as far as I know. So maybe they could have had a little accident-my brother, Stan. And gotten married. Why my mother ever let me happen I'll never know. Probably drunk as a skunk. Alcohol's their hang-up, not grass or hash or keef or any of the drugs. So far as I know, anyway. And I would. We've romped around the world enough together, following 'the season.'
"When you had a couple of grandfathers who were real squares and spent all their time piling up a few millions, what's to do but spend it? Father's father made his in plumbing fixtures and mother's made his in whiskey-distilling it. And they have been working at keeping the distillery going by drinking up the product. Or anybody else's. Mother's partial to French champagnes; father likes bourbon but will drink anything with a high enough alcoholic content Even retain that tastes like cough medicine with resin in it. Oh, sure. I've tasted it. In Athens. And ouzo. That tastes like they dissolved licorice in it, but it's got a kick like six mules. I sampled that, too. On the Kialto in Venice. I've tasted most of the stuff they swig down, but just a taste. I never liked any of it. Except maybe very good Pol Roget. That tastes like cider with sparkling water. But better. The 'natural'-I never did like the pink, which is for tourists.
"When mother and father started taking me on their trips-I was thirteen or so, then-they thought it was 'cute' to give me sips of their drinks. And see me get tiddley. It never took much more than a sip to do it, then. And I didn't like it. I mean, I felt like a performing bear or something, getting tight for their amusement Maybe that's why I never really learned to like the stuff. Oh, I can drink now. And hold it. But I still don't care much for it. Like I said, I get my kicks in another way-sex.
"Stan gets his from junk. Keef, hash, grass, speed, LSD. I don't think he's on the hard stuff-H-yet. And I know he doesn't think much of pop-opium- even though he owns a pipe. From Morocco. The stuff is real easy to get there. Right in the market. The Jamaa el F'na in .Marrakech. The Club is just across the square from it.
"The Club? That's the Transit Club, one of a string, all around the world. For real swingers. They have them every place where there's real fun to be had: Paris, Marseilles, Toulon, Athens, Istanbul, Venice, Hong Kong, Macao, Singapore-which is otherwise pretty staid, even stuffed-shirtish, despite Boogi Street. Oh, just about everywhere, I guess.
"They're very private and very, very expensive. To keep out the hoi polloi. And just about anything goes, starting with nude bathing. And ending up with a very competent doctor to straighten you out afterward, up to and including abortions if you happen to forget your Pill. The paraldehyde consumption must be very high-for sobering up those who get the DT's. But mostly they're just for swingers, people who like their fun easy, such as wife-swapping and buggering, with maybe a little daisy-chaining along the way.
"The boys at the Club are very accommodating-for a price, of course. And I understand they have girls-some very young ones, I heard-that take care of anything the men happen to require. Or the women. I never went in for the lesbian stuff, so I wouldn't know. I take my sex straight-more or less.
"I was fourteen, pretty near fifteen, before I knew anything about the clubs. Maybe my parents just joined up about then. Or maybe the clubs were just being formed. I know they're rather new. Anyway, we stopped off at the one in Marseilles, the year I was fourteen. And probably a little stick-in-the-mud. I certainly wasn't a swinger, then.
"Can you imagine anything duller for a kid than a club for swingers? The other times I'd been abroad we'd stopped at the George V in Paris or the Ming Court in Singapore or the Carlton in London. At least from those places you could always get a tour going somewhere-mostly to museums and cathedrals. Or tombs and temples. I'd gotten awfully fed up on museums and cathedrals and temples but they're better than sitting around reading old magazines or chewing your nails down to the elbow.
"Even Stan was bored with the club. He was seventeen, then, and just beginning to get horny but a little backward about asking for a girl. They'd have probably sent one up for him if he had. I know we had just had a session in the pool-nude bathing. Which did nothing for me, really, seeing old men with bellies flopping around in the water and women who had lost their figures making like they were gay young things. Of course there were a few of The Beautiful People-my father and mother among them-but they generally stuck together and didn't pay much attention to us kids.
"Except for one man who kept eyeing me and speculating. You could almost hear his computer working. So maybe I did show off a little, thrusting out my tits-I had fairly nice ones by then-and floating on the surface with my legs open, to show my cunt.
"It got me sort of excited, having a man notice me, even though that was what all the nude bathing was about-showing off skin. I don't know why this guy didn't make a play for me. There was plenty of it going on. Some of it downright embarrassing. Maybe he was just a peeper or maybe he liked girls with more experience. And bigger tits. Or it could be my father had put up some sort of warn-off signals, though I doubt if he ever thought of it-or of me that way. I was just an inexperienced kid, to him.
"Some of the tingles from having the guy look at me lasted until I got back to my room, making me think more about this sex stuff than I ever had before. You know, like what would it be like to get laid. And figuring there was maybe something to it after all. I knew my parents got a big bang out of it -or seemed to. With each other and with different partners. Not that I had actually seen it happening, but a kid gets to know. I even knew how it was done. I mean, how a boy could throw his dong into a girl's cunt. But as to what happened after that, I wasn't sure. But I still had those tingles.
"I was looking at my body in the big mirror, puzzling it all out and maybe teasing my cunt with my finger to see if anything would happen. It did. Some. I mean, the tingles got more interesting. That's when Stan walked in.
"He had slipped into some jockey shorts, mostly to hide the hard on he had from watching a blonde babe that was ten years too old for him. I suspect he wanted to talk to me about the blonde and what were his chances with her-which I would have put at zero, since she had half a dozen grown men after her and not likely to be looking for a kid like Stan. She was a babe who would like experience, not cherry.
"Stan just stood in the doorway of my room-we had connecting rooms-gawking at me, like he'd just discovered I was a girl. With equipment. In all the right places and in pretty fair shape. I know I twisted around when I saw him in the mirror. And gave him a nice side view of rounded tits and a flat stomach. With my finger just playing with my cunt I didn't pull it out fast, either, because I had just reached a real interesting point, where things were really beginning to stir inside.
"I saw his dong jump to a real hard on in his jockey shorts, so I knew he realized I was female and maybe just as good as the blonde babe. And I was right there. In the same room. Where there was a bed. And teasing myself, so he knew I was interested.
"He didn't say anything, just gulped, and then started walking toward me. I wasn't really scared. I guess I didn't have enough sense to be scared. Just curious. About how things would go. I just stood there, turned now to face him, waiting, not really doing anything, except maybe a little shiver every now and then that shook my tits. With some ripples in my stomach that maybe showed.
"I don't think I even saw Stan's face, just that lump where his dong pushed out his jockey shorts, twitching some. Oh, I knew what was in there, all right. I'd seen plenty of peckers in my nude bathing, even Stan's-but not a hard on. I was just picturing how it would look without his shorts. Stan had some curly hairs around the base and a sort of skinny shaft with a bulb that was sort of blue-purple. That much I knew.
"I didn't know how big it could get. But I found out quick enough.
"Stan walked right up to me, until his chest was almost against my tits. He moved his chest a little from side to side, so it teased my tits, setting up some new tingles and sort of sending advance notice on what else was to happen, like down around my cunt, where the heat was really starting up. And it wasn't just heat, like hot, you know. It was sort of-anticipating.
"Feeling his dong rubbing at me, even through his shorts, made me excited and at the same time made me weak, so I wasn't doing anything, just standing there, maybe sagging a little against him, waiting to see what was going to happen. And breathing real light and easy, just enough to move my tits a little and move my stomach against Stan's.
"I was in a sort of suspended animation-alt there and feeling all sorts of curious waves and tingles-but not doing anything. I felt Stan put his arms around me, felt his hands slide down my back, slow, and then felt him make a sudden grab at my ass, pulling me tight against him, with him grinding his pelvis at me.
"It was as if it was all going on in a dream. In sort of slow motion. You might even say, slow emotion, because everything was very gradual, mixed up with a sort of amazement, a kind of wonder that this was happening to me. Feeling the tension build up inside was only part of it, I think. But mostly it was the astonishment.
"Oh, I wasn't making any fuss about it. Whatever was going to happen, I wanted to happen. I let it happen. I think I could have stopped Stan any time up to when he actually put me on the bed. After that, I don't know. He went a little berserk then.
"He picked me up, mostly by grabbing my behind and lifting and walking with me to the bed, his dong rubbing right up against my cunt all the time, making things curiously light and tight in me. For myself, I was-well, you might say, standing just outside myself, watching it all happen, yet feeling it, too. Feeling all the tensions and tingles and excitement while I looked on and saw my tits and nipples swell and my little cunt begin to open up and make juices.
"I saw Stan rip off his jockey shorts. I* could see his prick then, not so little and dangling anymore, but standing straight up, big and stiff, with his bulb wet and a very sparkling drop of wet on the end. I could focus on that, seeing it bright and shiny-and know it was going into me. Way in.
"I just lay there on the bed, with my legs falling open and showing my cunt, wet and open, too. After that, things got a little confused. Stan was like an animal.
"He clawed at my tits, jammed his mouth down on one and sucked and nibbled at it-not too gently either-until I thought I'd scream, not from excitement but just from pain. I know I tried to push him off then, but that only made things seem worse.
"He rolled over on top of me, muttering and sort of growling. He aimed his prick right at my cunt, pushed until his bulb was right up against it, wiggled a bit, to get things going, and then just rammed his prick in me.
"I know I yelled then, because it hurt so, and beat at his shoulders. I tried to pull my cunt away but I couldn't. He was really reaming it into me, humping up and dropping down on my mound, each time his dong going a little deeper in me.
"Suddenly, in spite of the pain, I liked it. There was warmth all up my stomach and new excitement in my cunt and pelvis that was bigger than the hurt, so new and startling I couldn't really take it in. But I was humping right back at him. It was ragged at-first. We bumped more often than we really built a rhythm but finally we got together on it, With me wiggling my little butt some to get some things off, swelling my insides until it seemed I would burst. My nipples were so hard I know Stan could feel them-if he was feeling anything except his own excitement.
"He kept muttering and growling the whole time, as if that helped, and just kept up that rhythmic humping, driving his pecker and bulb up inside me. I could feel his whole shaft sliding against the lips of my cunt and his bulb pumping back and forth up in me. And giving me thrills I never expected to happen, tightness that would have to give way but felt awful good just getting tighter and tighter.
"Suddenly Stan let out a yell and drew way back, almost pulling his dong out of me, and held it there, just barely moving. I humped up my pelvis, trying to get his dong deeper in me, when suddenly he just dropped down on me, ramming his prick so far up I squealed-and then I could feel a big pulse all along his shaft and a thud I could almost hear when his come exploded out of his bulb-
"It flooded my insides with hot goo in one great glob, and triggered things in me, so I exploded, too, gushing more goo. I don't know why I wasn't flooded out. Maybe it just felt like a lot more than it really was up there. But it was certainly a wonderful release, as if my clock had been wound too tight and was suddenly ticking smoothly again in a pumping rhythm that was far better than any ticking.
"It was wonderful. In spite of the pain and the bumping, I felt marvelous. Released and deflated but delightfully relaxed. Even the weight of Stan collapsed on my stomach and tits felt good.
"I could feel his dong going down, like a slow leak in a tire, with little jerks and twitches that kept triggering new quivers inside me. Each new easing of tension seemed better than the last, until Stan's prick slid completely out of me, unplugging all those juices in my cunt I wet the bed, I know, but who cares? The maid would make it up fresh.
"Stan rolled off me and lay down beside me, breathing heavily and still sort of muttering to himself. I was happy to have his weight off me, even if it had felt good for a few minutes. I know there were still some little explosions going off in me, like squibs after a big bang, so I just lay there and let them happen, squeezing my legs tight against my cunt to make the feeling a little bigger. I reached up and played with my tits, squeezing a little on my nipples, though they were sort of tender. That helped to prolong the little explosions. Or I think it did.
"I liked it, and I liked knowing what this 'swingers' stuff was all about Not that I really thought about it right then-I mean, not full out-but I remember thinking I understood why my parents were swingers. If this was swinging, then I wanted more of it. Lots more.
"Stan raised himself on one elbow and looked down at me, scowling. 'You're not going to tell Dad how I screwed you, are you?'
"I know I giggled. 'Why? Doesn't he know how?'
"That set us off. We just lay there, laughing like idiots-which I guess we were along about then. Mindless and just feeling. But feeling very good, stretching a little just to feel muscles pull and know you're alive. It's great, that afterwards feeling. Almost as good as screwing itself. Only, of course, if there wasn't any screwing there wouldn't be that glorious after feeling.
"That was the first time Stan ever screwed me- or we screwed each other, however you want to put it His technique was crude, not subtle at all, but then, at that time, I didn't know there were subtler ways of fucking, ways that built up lots more excitement and tensions and made the release that much better. AH I knew then was that I liked getting fucked. I liked having a dong ream into me and explode up inside me. I liked the feeling of a bulb rubbing along the walls of my cunt and setting off excitement. I liked it when it was all over and I could lie there relaxing, dreaming a little.
"I wanted more of it Oh, not right then. And I think Stan was about pooped out. It was his first time, too, and he wasn't too sure of himself. Or even if he could go another round. Which is just as well. It gave us both time to think things over and work out better techniques.
"I think Stan made it with the blonde. Screwing me must have given him confidence. I know somebody taught him quite a bit between that first time and when he next came around for a piece of tail, which was nearly a week later.
"During that week I got in a little experience, too. With the guy who had been eyeing me down at the pool. His name was Kirk and he was an older man, maybe thirty, unmarried, which was sort of odd. Most of the swingers were married or anyway paired off. But Kirk didn't seem to have a regular partner.
"I guess you could say I made the advances, or at least gave him the opening for making them. I managed to slip on the edge of the pool and fall in, practically on top of him. So he almost had to catch me and hold me up, so I wouldn't drown. As if I hadn't learned to swim when I was a kid, back in Istanbul, when we were on a trip there.
"Of course, being naked, both of us, made the holding very interesting. I improved it a little by plastering myself against him and heaving, so my boobs rubbed right against his chest, where he had a pretty good mat of hair, wet and a little scratchy. At first he was just-well-fatherly, only I never knew my father to be fatherly, so I can't be sure that's what it was. Sort of disinterested-until I wriggled some against him, so my body, under water, was right up against him, feeling his dick, limp at first but starting to quiver.
"I rubbed a little harder, looking at him soul-fully, to let him know I meant more than just a girl who fell in the water near him. He looked a little baffled, frowning. 'You're getting a little personal, youngster.'
"I grinned at him. 'I could get a lot more personal if this wasn't so public.' And let him make something of that.
"He did, all right, especially when I just 'accidentally' caught his dong between my legs and squeezed. He was an interesting-looking guy, with a long, thin face and good chest and nice muscles. He closed those arms around me for a moment and glanced up at one of the cabanas around the pool. 'That's mine. Number Six. If you mean what I think you mean, youngster, we could talk privately over there.'
"I winked at him and scrambled out of the pool, letting him have a real treatment, a good look right up my cunt. I stood up and shook myself, letting him look up at me, seeing my cunt and my nice flat tummy. I stretched and turned so he got a good view of my tits. They're not big but very nicely rounded out Then I turned and trotted off, twitching my rump just enough to make things interesting, away from Number Six-as if I hadn't really meant anything. Then I switched and sauntered back to his cabana as if I had decided I just might, after all, consider that private talk. Which wasn't going to be a talk.
"I got real excited just thinking about having a grown man play around with me and end up screwing me, because that's what I was asking for. I pushed at the door of Number Six and it was unlocked, so I just very casually stepped inside, as if it were mine, and waited, getting a little panicky all of a sudden. After all, I'd only been screwed once. By my brother. So I was suddenly worried. Maybe it wasn't always that exciting or that easy. Maybe a grown man had too much dong to get into me. Lots of worries. But they vanished when Kirk stepped into the cabana and bolted the door, turning to face me. Those worries vanished all right, but others took their place. I was just a kid, trying to make a grown man, and maybe he wouldn't really want me. Maybe it would be just a talk and a spank on my rump to shoo me out.
"I was almost beginning to wish that was the way it would be when I saw his prick already rising, shaping up for action. Kirk was walking toward me, slowly, and I was backing off, fascinated at seeing his dong grow and expand. Kirk raked his eyes over me and sighed. 'Are you serious, youngster, or just teasing? If you think you're just teasing an older man to get a rise out of him, forget it. You're going to get exactly what you've been asking for-a roll in the hay. And one you'll remember,' He stopped suddenly, just a few feet from me. 'Are you a virgin?'
"I couldn't back up any farther because of the wall, and I couldn't seem to get any words out. I just shook my head, still watching his pecker, swelling and straightening up. It wasn't really so much bigger than Stan's but it seemed-well-more, I guess you'd say, competent. Like it and Kirk knew what it was all about.
"Kirk backed off then and sat on one of those padded benches, beckoning to me. I had to push myself away from the wall because my feet just wouldn't work at first Then I walked slowly toward him, my tits jiggling a little and feeling all hot and tight Like my cunt. With knots in my stomach.
"It's one thing to plan to get laid and pick out the guy you want to lay you. It's something else when it's actually happening.
"Then Kirk smiled at me. It was a nice, warm smile with lots of welcome in it. I wasn't afraid anymore. I almost rushed the last few feet and then stopped right in front of him. Kirk reached out and took my shoulders, holding me with very strong hands, just looking at me, my face, for a long, slow study, and then down the rest of me, to my mound and cunt, and then back up.
"He slid his hands off my shoulders, down my arms, to my hips, wiggling them a bit, and then put one hand on a tit. I think I started shaking then because that was so new. And so intimate. That's a funny kind of thing to say about a time like that, with both of us naked, but having his hand on my boob realty did make it intimate.
"Kirk patted the bench with his hand and I turned and sat down beside him. He put his arm around me, and I leaned against him, still shaking a little, but things were quieting down in one way. In another they were building up.
"He let one hand drift down over my tits, cupping it and playing with the nipple with his fingers while his other hand strayed along my leg, his fingers trailing along the inside of my thigh, creeping right up on my cunt but not quite touching it.
"I guess I was a little stiff up to then, but I really started to relax, after sort of tightening up. His hand on my leg made things very exciting and the one playing with my nipple didn't do much to make me want to get up and go home, either. I rested my cheek against Kirk's shoulder and just gave myself up to feeling. And the feeling was wonderful and getting better every minute.
"Kirk worked on my nipples like with a gentle mouth, every once in a while leaning over to actually suck one, which really got me both excited and dreamy. Excited inside, all stirred up, but still feeling almost drowsy with the gentleness of his hands playing over me.
"Once in a while his hand would drift down from my boobies to my stomach and one finger would trace the crease between my legs. His hand on my mound played a sort of open-shut game with my cunt until it just seemed to go on opening up and shutting all by itself. Every now and then a finger would slide right into my wet slit and hit my clitoris, which would make me hump up, getting real excited and impatient for him to start the real business of screwing me.
"He did it by easy stages. First he almost lifted me on to his lap, facing him. That made it easier for him to tongue my nipples and suck on my boobies. It also brought his dong right up against my slit, nearly driving me wild, even while his hands and mouth were-well, you couldn't say calming me down-having a very soothing effect His hands played up and down my back, fondling the cheeks of my rump and each time moving me just a tiny bit closer to him.
"I could feel his bulb tight up against my cunt and feel my cunt almost nibbling at it Breathing was getting a little difficult, since my chest felt so tight Even the muscles of my stomach seemed tight and tense.
"About then he pulled me real close, whispering, 'This is it, youngster. This is it.' And I felt his bulb stretch my cunt and then pop inside, while my cunt seemed to clamp down around his shaft. And everything suddenly started to happen all at once.
"I humped up tight against him, driving his bulb way up my cunt, until I could look down and see my slit right up against his hairy bush. He started bucking a little on the bench and I bucked right back. It was easy to get into rhythm with him. Or maybe he made it easy, getting into rhythm with me I honestly don't know.
"I just know I was getting a wonderful ride, bucking along with him, with his shaft reaming up my cunt and his bulb sliding back and forth, creating waves of excitement. I could feel the slide and slither of his shaft right down at the lips of my cunt and that long shaft and bulb driving up into me. With everything getting up real tight and exciting.
"He still played with my boobies, even pausing every now and then to suck and tongue them, all of which built things to a big climax. But big.
"He drew back, sliding his dong well down me, caught my rump with both hands and drove in, deep and hard, shivering and shuddering, with quick, short little humps that made me shake and shudder, too, and bear down as hard as I could, my little cunt practically chewing at his shaft. Then I felt his load swell in his shaft and go racing up me, to bust loose from his bulb. Everything I had seemed to come loose. All the tensions let go in one big splurge, in a big gush of goo, with me heaving my stomach and cunt at him and him bucking up at me.
"I think, when things let go, I'd have slid off his lap in sheer weakness and release if he hadn't hung on to me, murmuring things in my ear and kissing my neck and running his tongue down to my tits. I was just a limp rag in his arms, but a very happy, very satisfied limp rag, breathing in ragged gulps and letting go with some shivers and shudders, while I felt his pecker come sliding down my cunt and out, still quivering, though, and tapping at my cunt in a gradually slowing beat.
"I was sweaty and sticky with my own juices-and some of his that dribbled out, but I didn't care. I was happy just to rest-my head on his shoulder and let the shudders gradually quiet down. Then he picked me up and set me on the floor, but it seemed my legs didn't want to hold me. So he led me into the shower with his arms around me and we took a shower together.
"Not that I really remember the shower. I was still reliving those wonderful moments we'd had on the bench. Still the shower woke me some, particularly when Kirk started soaping my body and playing with my tits and swabbing my little cunt He even knelt and kissed it, almost sending me climbing up the water from the shower head.
"But it was all over. And Kirk was drying me off, very gently, with a big fluffy towel and telling me about 'next time,' which made me feel wonderful, just to think that there would be a next time. 'Next time,' he promised, 'I'll show you some real loving, with my mouth on your little cunt and my tongue inside. You'll love it.' I just nodded, because, if Kirk said so, I knew I would."
Jill W--- is one of the jet-set children, sons and daughters of the very rich who flit around the world in search of pleasure, new sensations, new thrills. These children are either left at home under paid companionship, rarely seeing their gaily whirling parents, or else, like Jill, occasionally travel the sunlit pleasure route with them.
Not all jet-setters are swingers by any means. That is, if we accept the general meaning of the term "swingers" as being sex oriented. Many swirl around the globe because it is the socially accepted way of life among their peers, no more-nor less-concerned with sex than stay-at-homes.
If we are to accept the categories of causes of sexual delinquency among the young as those outlined by administrators of youth rehabilitation centers, then Jill fits most readily into the frequently mentioned "sex as a way of life."
She certainly saw sex all around her, though not quite in the manner in which the administrators meant it originally, that is, because of crowded conditions and enforced intimacy among the very poor. Jill was at the other extreme, the very rich, but sex was on display all around her, so she was "neither shocked nor offended when it happened to her."
Jill can scarcely be said to fit well or readily into any of the categories of seeking identification, searching for peer group status, garnering affection, or "punishing parents." She knew quite well who she was, even though, occasionally the young girl may have felt lost and lonely. She belonged in and to one of the top peer groups and had no need to seek further approval. She may well have felt a need to "garner affection" which she seems to have felt she did not have from her parents, but she gives no specific indication of this. She may well have been seeking to "punish" her parents; however, if that is true, it is because of something that took place after her initial introduction to sex, and cannot be considered motivation toward sexual activities.
There is strong indication in her closing remarks that her swinging parents actually had left her in contact with "sex as a way of life" to engender in her a desire for their type of swinging, sex-free life.
Jill allowed her brother to seduce her, rather brutally, only after long exposure to sex and after an initial triggering mechanism of the man who eyed her lasciviously at the bathing pool. Not satisfied with her brother's initial seduction but feeling that there was "more to this swinging" than she had originally supposed, she actually sought out and, in essence, seduced the man who had been watching her in the pool.
That he proved both gentle and understanding was both her good fortune and her ruination. While on the one hand it introduced her to a new world of sex and sexual satisfaction with consideration and subtleties, that very introduction led her deeper into a morass of sexual activities seeking someone who would be as gentle and understanding with her in sexual matters. After Kirk, with her brutalizing brother and her insensitive and corrupt parents, Jill's search for sexual satisfaction appears to have degenerated into a search for new thrills rather than developing into a rich and rewarding sexual relationship, such as she might have found.
Kirk appears, from Jill's account, to have been quite experienced in sexual matters. He built Jill up slowly to sexual desires-probably more for his own sexual gratification than because of any real consideration for the girl-with what Karl Bernhardt, in Natural Sex Techniques, calls "the Electric Touch." This, Bernhardt explains, is "the light but firm use of fingertips to trace the lips, eyes, under the ears, the throat, the armpits, the breasts, the navel dimple and the sex organ itself." Elsewhere Bernhardt suggested that "the Electric Touch" can be even more effective if done with the tongue-as Kirk seems to have used it.
At their second assignation Kirk taught Jill some "new ways of making love" as he had promised her. This included cunnilingus and fellatio or mouth-genital contacts.
The famed Kinsey reports, covering cunnilingus and fellatio of a man with a young girl, says: "In about one percent of the cases, the male made oral contacts with the female genitalia, and in about the same percentage of cases the male persuaded the child to make oral contact with his genitalia." Admittedly this is a small percentage, but it must be remembered that it represents only cases of molestation, not free and willing sexual association, as in the case of Kirk and Jill.
In his book Sex Offenses, Manfred S. Guttmacher says that this form of sex, mouth-genital contact, is extremely common. "In many individuals these are the normal components of the sexual foreplay which precedes sexual intercourse and they are often indulged in sporadically by quite normal individuals as an end in themselves."
Kirk also introduced Jill to the pleasures and excitement of the joint shower, which Bernhardt recommends as a stimulus to sexual activity, saying: "A shared shower is particularly effective (in arousing desire far sex) since the warm water serves as a mild stimulus while the body-plays in the shower are definitely erotic." It should be pointed out that Bernhardt "recommends" this for marital sex, though it can be applied, as in the case, for sexual arousal quite aside from any marital relationship.
From Jill's account, Kirk also seems to have utilized a number of physical positions for varying the sex act. According to Bernhardt there are more than forty basic positions for coitus, with several minor variations under each category. In this section Berrt-hardt also quotes a noted authority on sexual matters, Th. H. Van de Velde as saying: "As the grade and locality of stimulation are different, according to the relative positions of the two partners to one another, so therefore the sensations arising from such stimulations vary also." Bernhardt interprets this in enlarging on Van de Veldt's statement: "Varying the positions is not merely a matter of novelty but one of actual change in the degree and type of stimulation." He goes on to say, of the female:
The vaginal duct or canal is not a fixed tube with a specific angle to her pelvis and vulva ... [it is] a semi-floating organ [which] can change that relationship as much as ten degrees ... Each of these changes alters the position of the clitoris, one of the prime triggers of the sexual climax [so] varying positions make it more or less accessible to stimulation.
Bernhardt and others in the field of sex psychology, generally agree that this "change of position" is desirable primarily to test each partner out for the most stimulating position or provide variety in the sex act that is itself stimulating. Jill scarcely needed "testing out" to discover the position most favorable to sexual stimulation. At that point in her life the mere act of sex was sufficient stimulation. Nor did she need variety. So Kirk must have been utilizing Jill and the varying positions to gratify his own jaded appetite rather than, as he maintained, to teach her new ways of sex.
As he moved out of her orbit, he left a young girl erotically aroused, so that she continued to offer herself to her crude brother while trying to teach him the refinements of sexual acts she had learned from Kirk. This in turn led her into incestuous relationships with both her father and her mother and into seeking sexual gratification wherever she could find it-which, in the atmosphere in which she lived, was all around her.
"Kirk really taught me a lot about sex-about how to enjoy it. He was a good teacher. Why not? He was a swinger, one of those who roam the world looking for new and more exciting thrills. Like my parents.
"I don't imagine I was such a new thrill to him. He had probably had young girls before. Maybe even a virgin or two-if they're such a thrill. Except maybe for a guy who likes to think he's the first to throw it into her. Which is strictly a one-shot deal. After that she's no longer a virgin.
"I think maybe he-just got an extra kick out of teaching me the things he'd learned-and they were many and potent Maybe he even got some sort of kick out of taking me along slow, teaching me something until I was really practiced, and then moving on to something new.
"I don't think I need to mention that I'm cute and pretty well stacked, with a real nice little figure, slim but all there. I have one of those faces that are nice to look at, wide-spaced, gray-blue eyes, a small, slightly retrousse, nose and a pouty under-lip, which is supposed to be indicative of high sexuality. I don't know that it really is. Back home I know a girl with that pouty underlip who is cold as a fish-or so the boys say. But I've got one, and in my case it reads right. I'm sexy. Right from the start. Even my brother Stan's animalistic treatment didn't fob me off sex. It just initiated me and made me want to try it with someone who really knew how. That turned out to be Kirk.
"We didn't use the cabana after that first time. It's rather public, since it faces right on the pool and anyone can see who goes in whose cabana. Not that it made any real difference at the club. That's what it's there for-for a real swinging, sexy good time.
"It did make a difference to me. I mean, I didn't want my parents learning that I was learning to be a swinger, screwing my brother and an older man. Also, I guess maybe I was still a little shy. Funny. I'd been screwed by two guys-my brother and Kirk-and even in that club atmosphere I was shy.
"Oh, I wasn't a bit shy about peeling out of my clothes and letting Kirk take me any way he wanted, some of them pretty far out. I was just shy about having other people know it, particularly my parents. As it turned out, I needn't have worried about them. But that came later.
"Kirk fixed it with the club steward to have the use of a room that just happened to be right near mine. With the club stewards you could probably fix up anything, short of murder. And in some of the clubs maybe that, too. I was always leery of the one in Marrakech. It seemed sinister, but probably that was only atmosphere. The same with the one in Macao, with all those Chinese slinking around and the Portuguese brooding like piratical slavers in all the main rooms. For all J know Chinese just happen to slink and Portuguese look like pirates even when they're strict family men. Not that that's likely in the personnel of one of the transit clubs.
"Those at the club in Marseilles, where all this started, were very French, very suave and, oh, so understanding. A man could order a steak dinner sent to his room-and a girl-and the steward would ask if he wanted his steak aged and his girl young. I understand they even had a sort of printed menu of girls, with pictures and specialties. But that may be an exaggeration. I never actually saw one. Not being a man, I wouldn't.
"The room Kirk had the steward arrange for him was the least sexy thing I've ever seen. I've seen schoolgirl's rooms that were just about as chaste. It was just a room, with a big daybed that looked comfortable, and was. And some chairs and a table. Just a room. I guess I had expected something like a harem room, with silk drapes and cushioned lounges and maybe a perfumed brazier going. With everything set up for a big seduction scene.
"Kirk said that would have been corny. And I can tell you, any of the jet-set would rather be de-balled than thought corny. He said the room was simple, but what went on there could be all the more exciting for that. Which may be true. It was certainly exciting to me.
"Kirk was already there, waiting, when I came in, a little hesitant because I still wasn't quite sure of myself or of Kirk for that matter. I mean, I've been around with swingers most of my life but just around them, not part of the swinging, so I'm not sophisticated. Not realty. Or wasn't then.
"I was wearing a kaftan I had gotten in Marrakech the season before, with about a zillion buttons down the front and nothing much under it. Moving in it gave me a breezy feeling around my legs, and knowing I was naked under it made me feel awfully daring and sexy. Which was pretty silly, really, since I'd already been screwed by Kirk and he knew what I looked like. But just moving in it, with that silk swishing around and creating breezes around my legs and hips and cunt, really did things to me. Or maybe knowing I was going to get laid was doing it.
"I know I was already a little breathless and choky when I stepped into the room. Seeing Kirk sitting there, smiling a little lopsided and nodding, as if he approved, calmed me down some. He stood up when I came in. I walked across to him, managing a shaky 'Hi, hello' or something equally inane. He took my hand and led me to a chair.
"When I was seated he smiled wider. 'I wasn't sure you'd come. I'm glad you did.'
"I tried a smile, but I suspect it was a bit shaky. 'But I promised I'd come.'
"Kirk dropped onto the arm of the chair, touching my hair. 'Girls often make promises they never intend to keep.'
"I grinned up at him. 'I've heard that about men, too.' And felt a lot easier, just making the joke. And Kirk was making things smoother by just being casual, waving to the table where there were drinks set up, including Cokes, but I didn't really want any. There were a couple of real creamy looking cakes that I meant to get around to later. Only I never did. In between I acquired a taste for something very different-a man's cock-that made creamy cakes just little-girl stuff.
"Kirk slid down into the chair, scooping me up as he came, and settling me in his lap, one arm around me and cupping a tit, interesting but not even very sexy. He sure knew the slow routine-and maybe all the others-but the slow routine worked with me. Not that I was scared or jittery or anything. But slow and easy, creeping up on sex gradually seems lots more interesting than just lunging at a cunt and doing some reaming. For both.
"Kirk's hand just barely moved on my tit but it was so warm, or I was, that it really started things working in me. While he was talking to me he was undoing some of those zillion or so buttons, and doing it so smooth I almost didn't notice-only, of course, I did. I mean, I knew a man was playing around with his hands. And when I felt one hand slide under the kaftan, right onto one of my boobies I knew exactly what was happening.
"Kirk just went on talking, saying nice easy things that didn't need much of an answer, and went on down the line of those buttons until that kaftan was wide open and I was as good as naked. And liking it.
"I liked the way his hands moved so slow and smooth over my tits and across my stomach and down at my cunt and then off, maybe across my thighs or around my ass. Once in a while he'd lean over and kiss one of my boobies and maybe run his tongue around my nipple. And I'd rear back to push it up to him.
"My legs were getting weak and opening up, which let his hand drift right up on my slit just sort of mooching idly, like it didn't really know it was on my cunt. He kissed my throat just as one finger slid in, rubbing gently all along the lips of my slit, not trying to ream in.
"It was all so easy and casual I-almost didn't know I was getting hot and breathless, wriggling to get more feel out of his finger. He kissed the corner of my mouth and teased it with his tongue, sliding his tongue around to that pulse in my throat and then down to one tit, swirling it around the nipple, which was now really hard and standing up.
"He was smooth all right. I could barely realize he'd slid my arms out of the kaftan and that I was all bare, down to my socks. I was like floating, not really knowing nor caring what was happening, so long as it went on happening.
"I knew when he slid one hand under my ass, because I had to hump up a little to let him. Then he was teasing my asshole, just real easy, and pushing his hand up between my legs to get at my slit from behind, until I could feel it slide back and forth against the open lips. That's when I realized my cunt had opened up and was wet.
"It was like I wasn't quite with it and yet knew everything that was happening and enjoying all of it. I knew his eyes were getting that hungry look and soon he'd be fucking me to a fare-thee-well. And I was all for it, without really understanding how I'd got there.
"Kirk picked me up with one hand under my ass and the other arm around my shoulders, with a hand on my boobie, not missing a beat in the gentle rhythm he'd set up with his finger in my slit. He carried me over to the big, broad daybed or couch and laid me down, sliding his arm-from under me and then kneeling beside the couch. He bent over and kissed my boobies, teasing my nipples. Then he ran his tongue down my stomach, swirling it in my navel, making things very tight inside me.
"He still kept one hand under ray ass, playing with the back end of my slit in a dreamy sort of way. Now he stiffened his tongue and traced out those creases between my legs and stomach, getting a little closer each time to my mound, until he touched the front of my slit, sliding his tongue down in. My legs were already slack and falling open and my cunt was wet and ready.
"He moved me around, until my legs were toward the wall and my head at the edge of the couch, which let him put his whole mouth down on my cunt, sucking and thrusting inside with his tongue, touching my clitoris and giving me the most delicious shivers. It was all so dreamy and easy-going I was just barely conscious he had slipped out of his shirt and dropped his trousers.
"His chest slithered over my tits and down me, that thatch of hair teasing my nipples into a sort of frenzy while his tongue worked deeper into my cunt I was humping and moaning and twisting without even knowing it. Until suddenly I was conscious of his dong gently tapping my cheek.
"Kirk humped up a little, until his dong and bulb were right over me. 'Open your mouth, darling, and take it.' He dropped down a little until his bulb just touched my lips.
"I stuck out my tongue and touched that shiny drop on his bulb. The drop slid into my mouth, salty and kind of sharp-tasting. I reached up with both hands to grab his dong, feeling it quiver and pulse. He thrust his tongue deep into my cunt, gave a deep suck, and then raised his head a little. 'Put it in your mouth, suck on it,' he said, then went back to sucking on my cunt so that I felt as if I was on fire.
"I don't think I even hesitated. I opened my mouth and took the bulb of his dong, sucking on it, while I held on to the shaft, squeezing it a little. And liking the feel of that big soft-hard stick in my mouth.
"Kirk began to pump with his pelvis, sliding his shaft in my hands and his bulb in my mouth. All the time he was working on my cunt with his mouth, sucking deep and yet finding opportunity to tease my clit with his stiffened tongue, until fires ran from one end to the other in me, right up to my throat, which was suddenly aching for the taste of him.
"I don't know how he managed, but he also slid one hand up to tease and fondle my tit while he humped and pumped at me, keeping up the tense, tight suck on my cunt, with his tongue reaming up inside, until I knew something had to give, I was so tense, so wound up inside.
"Kirk really clamped his mouth on my cunt and shot his tongue up me, twirling and twisting. At the same time he drove his dong deep in my mouth, nearly choking me, then it was past the choking point and going down my throat, thrusting and slithering. And swelling and bursting, so that I felt the swelling of his shaft and suddenly tasted the gush of his come deep in my throat.
"I let go with everything I had, all my juices pouring down so Kirk could lap them up, sucking greedily and scooping out cream with his tongue.
"His dong went down, but was still spurting small shots of come as it slid out of my mouth, with me licking hungrily at each little spurt. My throat was raw with the stretching it had had but the taste of Kirk deep in my mouth and throat was delicious. Wonderful.
"Kirk turned me a little, so I was lying lengthwise on the couch, and he lay beside me, his mouth still working on my cunt, lapping up juices. And I could reach his cock and lick at the come still dribbling out.
"Later he just turned end for end and lay beside me, one arm under me, his hand gently playing with a tit, so that it was soothing rather than exciting, a sort of fitting windup of a very fascinating and wonderful experience. The shivers died down and the quaking in my stomach slowed to almost nothing, just a nice twinge every now and then to remind me. And, of course, the taste of him still in my throat.
"It had been so subtle, such a casual-seeming buildup and so adroitly done that I was just beginning to realize what had happened. I had sucked a man's cock! And liked it! And a man had sucked me off!
"Well, Kirk had promised to teach me something about sex. He had certainly done it And made me like it. I wasn't even sure I wanted to go back to the regular way. But I found out different.
"Kirk lifted me up and took me with him into the shower, letting the water run over my throat and face, washing away the stickiness of his come while he washed my body very gently, at the same time managing to get me excited all over again. His body pressed close to mine in the shower from time to time so I could feel his dong, soft at first but getting up strength and stiffness-and making me very much interested in what was to come. And I knew there was more to come, just from the way he handled my body, brushing at my tits, caressing my mound and running his hand softly up the insides of my thighs.
"It was a regular screw that time. I mean, with his dong sliding into my cunt. Only the position was different. He laid me across the Couch, with my rump at the edge and legs hanging over, while he knelt between my legs.
"I didn't even need much of a work-up for that. The first sucking off and then the gentle suasion in the shower just about had me ready. Even so, Kirk didn't hurry it. He just eased his bulb into my slit and almost casually pushed it up and up, in funny little starts and half-withdrawals that had me clawing at his shoulders and then grabbing at his behind to get more-and more-and more. Until his bush was right up against my slit and his balls teasing the cheeks of my ass.
"Then that slow pump-pump that had me wriggling and squealing and aching far up inside, aching with the need to let go. Then it all happened at once.
"I could feel his pulse along his shaft and the swelling of his bulb just as he shot a hot load into me. And I pumped juices back at him, wiggling my rump and humping my pelvis to get more. The release was wonderful! With Kirk kissing my tits and licking his tongue across my stomach while his dong slid out and kept triggering new shivers and new releases, until I was limp. And very happy, very well satisfied.
"Oh, I might have taken another round. I guess I could have, if Kirk had given me another slow buildup. He didn't. I don't think it was because he wasn't capable. He still had some fire in him. But he was making things easy for me, making me ready to want more-but next time, not right now.
"Another shower-this one brisk and very nearly jolly, with teasing and laughter. And it was all over. Except that Kirk helped me into my kaftan and started, at the floor, working on those zillion buttons and kissing my legs and my mound and my stomach and then, just before he did up the final buttons, my tits. A sort of seal to today and a promise of times to come.
"There were several of those, each afternoon for the four days Kirk was staying at the club. And each just a little different. For instance, for sucking off we did it with me on top, kneeling over his face and him grabbing my ass and pulling himself up, so his mouth was right on my cunt. And I could play with his cock and bob my head back and forth or drive way down on it, so it went deep in my throat, just as his bulb exploded. Once we just screwed, with me riding down on his dick from kneeling over him and him controlling the rhythm with his hands on my hips. But somewhere along the line, either before or afterward, he always sucked on my cunt and reamed me with his tongue, whether I sucked him off or not. I think he really liked the taste of me, just as I liked the taste of him.
"After Kirk left I tried to teach Stan some of the things Kirk did but it wasn't the same. Stan was crude. He just liked the reaming and letting go his load. Subtlety wasn't for him.
"Maybe Stan and I weren't as careful as we might have been-I mean, about keeping the door locked. So my father walked in on us one evening just as Stan shot his wad.
"I thought sure he'd throw double duck fits and maybe beat the hell out of both of us, but he didn't He just stood there for a moment and then suddenly grinned. 'So we've got us a couple of real swingers! Who'd'a thought it!'
"Stan had scrambled off the bed on the opposite side and was sort of huddled down, scared. I was scared, too, but there wasn't any place for me to scramble to and hunch down. I was spread out where my father could see all of me, my tits with the nipples still hard and my cunt wide open and wet and my stomach sweaty.
"My father walked over to the bed, sort of studying me from head to toe, nodding. Then he said, 'That looks good. I think I'll have some.' And dropped his dressing gown. He was naked, and his dong was just beginning to shiver into life, coming up. He sat on the bed beside me and put his hand right on my mound, one finger sort of sliding in, testing.
"I was still scared, not knowing what he meant to do, slap the hell out of me or what. I certainly never thought he'd want to screw me. You just don't think things like that about your own father. But that's what he wanted-a good lay, a nice piece of tail. And he didn't care who from.
"I couldn't really give him much because I was still sort of scared. I couldn't loosen up, even after he had his dong in me and things were stirring. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, 'Loosen up, kid. You're tied in bow knots!' and went right on screwing me.
"After a while I got over thinking it was my father and just gave in to the feelings inside, and we did pretty good toward the finish. I gave him a royal ride there at the end, humping up and taking all of his dong, right to his bush, and managing to wiggle some to add to the excitement. After all, my father was a man, with the right equipment, and he had it reamed up me, so it was good. It wound up real good, with both of us just about pooped.
"My mother walked in about then and said, 'Stan told me ... ' and stopped, suddenly laughing. 'And I didn't believe him! I couldn't believe my prissy little daughter could really take on a man. Is she good, Will?'
"My father nodded. 'She's had a better teacher than Stan. I know that.'
"My mother came over and studied me, nodding, I didn't know what to think, really. Parents don't usually behave that way. Or I didn't think so then. My mother leaned over and touched one of my tits, nodding. 'She'll do. And I think I'll just have a taste.'
"My father waved languidly at me. 'Be my guest, Miriam. She's ready for a good suck. Fully loaded.'
"My mother grinned. 'You're bragging, Will. But with two loads in her-Stan got there first, I hear-she ought to be really ready.'
"My mother knelt by the bed and hauled me around by my legs-I was pretty limp from two screwings and from being sort of stunned by what was happening to me. She put one of my legs on each shoulder and went down on me, sucking and reaming with her tongue.
"I didn't know a woman would be interested. I mean, I'd heard about lesbians but I didn't know a woman who screwed men, the way I knew my mother did, would be interested in sucking off a girl.
"I just lay there at first, baffled by it, but my mother really went to work on me, until I was suddenly cooperating, I guess you'd call it. I know I moaned and thrashed around and pushed my cunt at her as well as I could, enjoying it, you understand, once I got over the first shock. And felt drained afterward, while my mother sat back wiping her lips and murmuring, 'Very nice. Very nice.' She turned to my father. 'I guess we've got us a real swinger in little Jill. Now, if Stan would only ... '
"Stan not only would, he did. He got into the act and the first thing you know, the four of us were daisy-chaining. I had my father's cock, sucking the hell out of it, with my brother Stan working on my cunt while my mother sucked him off and my father sucked on my mother. Then we'd swap around, with me working on Stan's dong, my father sucking me, and my mother working on him while Stan sucked her off.
"Or we'd do a round robin, which I found a little awkward for positions, with my father screwing me and Stan screwing my mother while the four of us played with each other, tits and rumps. Or sometimes we'd just screw, two to a bed, like regular. Or in some very odd positions my father dreamed up. And after I'd been screwed my mother always liked to suck the juices from me, whether they were my father's or my brother's-or maybe both.
"I tried going down on my mother after she'd been laid, but I never really could get into the spirit of it. Her muff always tickled me, no matter what position I got in. I didn't seem to mind my father's hairy bush, maybe because his dong stuck out of it, and I liked the taste of him. Stan didn't have much of a bush, and anyway, he wasn't always too keen on getting sucked off. He always wanted to throw his dong in a cunt.
"When we weren't having our own private party we'd pick other partners around the clubs. They were easy to get because that's what the people were there for-sex. I was able to get the younger men, mostly, though I did take on a couple of the older crowd, just for kicks, but those guys pooped out in one round. The made good on sucking off, though, which they could do without having to get a hard on.
"Along about a year or so later Stan got hooked up with this plastic hippie. A plastic hippie? That's one that's got money but goes the hippie routine, with shaggy hair, sloppy clothes and pot.
"That got him started on junk. Pot wasn't enough after a while, for either him or the girl, and they started on keef and hash. That was in Marrakech, where you can buy it right out in the market, the Jamaa el F'na. Other drugs, too, so I've heard. I never went in for drugs. I don't need to. I've got my kicks and I like what I've got Sex. All kinds-fucking, sucking, daisy-chaining. I've never tried asshole fucking but once. I didn't get enough of a kick out of it, but this old goat wanted it that way, so I let him. But once only. After that he was off my list. He pooped out, too, right after.
"So I know who hid the hash in my shoe. Three cakes! That wouldn't last Stan any time. So maybe he isn't really smuggling, just trying to get me into trouble-which he has, all right. We had a fight in Marrakeeh, over that plastic hippie and what she was doing to him. Oh, I don't mind her taking drugs if she wants to, if that's her hang-up, but she didn't have to start Stan on the stuff. I didn't like her. She's got dirty feet All the time. I don't think she bathes regularly, either.
"So Stan and I had this fight over her. Plus, I wouldn't screw him the last few times he asked. Yeah, Stan hid the stuff in my shoe. Or the girl, only I'm not sure she had the opportunity. It must have been Stan. Are you going to hold me? My father will get me out, pay any fine. He likes me free, so we can screw."
The case subject's candid revelation of the incestuous activity that she engaged in with her father, mother, and brother was instrumental in having her committed to a psychiatric clinic where she is undergoing extensive therapy. The other members of the family, having the wherewithal, managed to return to Marrakeeh before they could be apprehended. It is highly unlikely that they have changed their way of uninhibited life, just as it is highly unlikely that Jill will gain anything from psychotherapy; she has been too long exposed to the ways of life of her family, and as far as she is concerned, "there is nothing wrong with having fun at home."
CHAPTER FOUR
Alexis: A Desk-Top Affair-with Father
"I'm sorry, but I just can't understand what all the fuss is about. Oh, I can see why Mother is upset -in a way. But that's just vanity, as far as I can see. She and Dad broke up years ago, and I know she's been screwing half the neighborhood and a good bit of the French populace-male, of course- and even taken on a few Greeks and at least one Turk. So why should she care what Dad does? Or who he screws? Even if it's me. Or Carol, my sister.
"Incest? So it's incest. That makes it a big thing, does it? Fucking is illegal, unless you have a license for it, like a marriage license. So why is one kind of fucking more illegal than another kind? Is one cunt so different from another? Or one dong different from some other guy's prick?
"Hell, man! Mother's crowd goes in for wife-swapping, buggering-which I can't see is fun-fellatio, cunnilingus, you name it, they do it. If you name it, they will do it, just to show it can be done. So what's so different? I get laid by my father. So does Carol, I hear just now. I'm a little peeved that Dad was taking on Carol when he was laying me regular, but what the hell, I wasn't being exactly an angel between sessions with Dad.
"Area of responsibility. Yeah, I've heard that bit of jazz. So what's the difference in areas of responsibility between a guy laying his neighbor's kid and another guy laying his own? I ought to know, because I've been laid on both sides of that fence, and I don't see any difference. A dong is a dong is a dong is a big thrill when it's reamed up your twat. And jism is just as tasty whether it comes from a neighbor or from your pop.
"Sure I've sucked cocks. My dad's included. Some call it 'The Sport of Queens' and they don't mean Marie Antoinette. But even a girl can like it. I know I do. Not as a regular thing, maybe, but as a change. And I like to get sucked. Especially right after I've been fucked. Sort of cleans the pipes for another round.
"Why do I try to act and talk tough? I'm not trying. I'm doing. Because that's the way things are. You wouldn't really expect wide-eyed girlish wonder and do-babies-really-get-found-under-cabbage-leaves from someone who's been through the mill. And in my mother's set, you can bet your life you go through the mill, fast and young. Oh, my sister, Carol, does the wide-eyed wonder act very well. You wouldn't think she chalked up as may as eight lovers in a night-while eating peanuts. Or maybe it was cashews. Or macadamias. Carol sort of runs to the exotic, so it could even have been leblibbies. She learned to like them in Turkey. They're too dry and powdery for me.
"No, I'm not going into court and tell on my old man. He's in enough trouble. And all because my mother wanted a bigger bite out of his pie. He's made more millions since they broke up, and she can't stand not having part of them, even with all she gouged out of him the first time. Sure, that's just a suspicion of mine, but you forget-I've lived with my mother for sixteen years and know her like a book. She's greedy and she's stupid. So it's not a very nice book. Besides, she smudged a lot of those pages herself.
"As young as I am, I could have told her it wasn't smart to let a guy into her panties every time one made goo-goo eyes at her. That's no way to get 'a husband, especially a second husband. When and if I decide to go after a man, he isn't going to get to the Great Divide until there's a license to hang over the bed. Oh^ play him along sure. But don't let him in the Pearly Gates until he'd said 'I do.'
"That's cynical? Of course it's cynical. Our whole way of life is cynical. You heard only one side of it-how Mother has struggled to raise her two darling little girls on a paltry three thousand a month, and could barely make ends meet. She didn't happen to mention the Alfa-Romeo one guy have her, or the trip on another bird's yacht touring the Mediterranean, or the stock another one handed her. For what? You want to take three guesses?
"I've lived that life now for a long time. Oh, we're not quite jet-set. We don't get classed, money-wise, with the Kennedy and Shriver and Onassis crowd. Of course, mother would like to be up there and she's always angling for some man in or near that bracket. But I'm afraid it's a lost cause. She gives in too quick. Besides, there aren't too many men hanging around with that kind of money, and, let's face it, Mother is no longer young and dewy-eyed. Carol's seventeen and I'm sixteen. Even granting Mother was a child bride-which she wasn't-she must be well into her thirties. Add it up for yourself. My best estimate is that she's over forty. Not much, maybe, but edging the downhill side.
"I honestly can't figure why she pulled this raid on Dad. It had to be a setup, with Carol cooperating. Unless she just meant it for a shakedown, a farm of blackmail, and something went haywire. I know she had hinted to me that she'd like to get something on Dad, and did I know of anything, et cetera.
"You may not believe it, hearing me now, with my hair down, but I can put on a lots better innocent act than Carol gave. Maybe because I can remember what being innocent was like, and I don't think Carol was ever an innocent. She had hot pants at eleven or twelve and was laying anything that came along, including some of Mother's boyfriends, by the time she was thirteen or so. But of course, none of that came out. Not, I suppose, that there are mitigating circumstances in a case of incest. It either is or isn't. Only I don't happen to think it's as terrible as lots of people think. Maybe because I've been doing it, and liking it.
"When you live in a houseful of women-there was just Mother and the two of us girls, but that's a houseful-and with maids, there's something lacking. Maybe you don't realize it for a while. I know I didn't-not really-when I was younger, but it sort of built into something. There wasn't a man in our house. It's a lack that has to grow on you, this no-man bit.
"Oh, visitors, yes. And Mother's boyfriends. But there was a hole in my life you could throw a horse through-if you're the type to throw horses. I felt it and didn't know what it was I felt. Carol felt it and knew what it was, all right. But with her, lacking a man was something different from lacking a father, though I suppose, to be honest, if we'd had a father around the house, things would have been different with both of us. Different and quite possibly duller.
"As it was, Carol started remedying early. She was a little exhibitionist. She liked to have the men looking at her legs and, after she got boobs, to have them look at and, if she could arrange it, feel those. I don't know when she started letting them into her panties, but I do know that at thirteen she wangled a Palomino pony out of one of 'em. And at fifteen got a speedboat out of another-with other little trinkets along the way, like a diamond-studded wrist-watch and a lavaliere the original Madame de La Valier would have envied.
"Mother was always bringing new men around-men who could afford Palominos and speedboats and diamond-studded wristwatches-and telling us she was looking for a new 'father' for her girls. She wasn't. She was looking for a new man for herself-with bankroll attached. Only she was too obvious-and too quick to open her legs. She was getting panicky, I think. And maybe, having to buy a little cock off some of the beach boys and those that hang around the club, the three thousand a month wasn't stretching as well as it had once. Also, she wasn't getting the presents like she had been. I think that's when she began to edge up on the idea of putting the bee on Dad for some nice lump sum, running maybe to a couple of million.
"Dad wasn't having any. He and my mother .had split up years back, for reasons I don't know about, though I've heard at least five versions from Mother, up to and including the fact that she ditched him because he was a homosexual, which he definitely wasn't.
"In addition to the alimony he paid my mother, Dad also gave both us girls allowances, which went up as we got older. He made it a condition of the allowance that each of us collect it in person, since Mother never let him have visiting privileges, though the court said he could have them. Originally, when we were younger, we'd go down to his office-it was very grand and blandly modern-together. Later, when I was about twelve, I think, we went on different days. Just how that came about I'm not sure, but I thought I detected Carol's hand in it.
"I do know she was just as flirtatious with Dad as she was with Mother's boyfriends, even when I was along, sitting on his desk, right in front of him, and swinging her legs. Oh, I learned a lot from watching Carol, both at home and at the office. She knew how to show off her assets-and when I got enough to show, plus the urge to show 'em, I had a fine living example. Two, in fact, though I thought Mother was obvious.
"I was maybe thirteen, then, and the newer boyfriends were eyeing me, which got me excited. Excited, but not real twitchy in the twat. Just a little juicy and about ripe for experimenting. And I decided to experiment on Dad. Oh, I didn't really intend to get laid. Just to see if I was able to stir things up-and how I'd feel, doing the stirring.
"I wasn't just sure how I'd handle it, once I got to Dad's office. Usually I just sat and we talked. Dad was a good talker, interesting, because he didn't talk like he was talking to a kid, yet he could make a kid understand. I mean, he didn't talk over my head. Just gay and a little funny. Once in a while he'd take me out for a 'cocktail'-only it always turned out to be a soda or a sundae.
"Oh, he'd hug me and kiss me when I came in and when I was leaving. The last couple of times he had looked a little startled and said something about my growing up, getting to be a young lady. Almost all older men say things like that, as if it was flattering you to be told you were growing up. Hell, I knew I was. And couldn't have stopped it if I'd wanted to.
"Sometimes I almost wish I could have. I think I'd have stopped at twelve. That's the most exciting age, in some ways. Nothing has really happened but there are all kinds of promises, in the air, inside you. Not many of them come true, but the excitement's there, like for a kid at Christmas. Dreaming about it is the best part. You almost never get the present you wanted most and you do get lots of things you don't need and haven't any use for but have to write all those thank-you notes about.
"So anyway, that day I went to Dad's office, feeling sort of built up and exhilarated just from thinking about flaunting myself at Dad to see how he'd react. I put on some real open-work panties that belonged to Carol and wore one of my kid sweaters that had some loose buttons and was just a shade tight across my boobs-which, to be honest, weren't very big. I didn't wear a bra-I don't think I owned one, then-or a slip. So what tits I had really showed up. I remember, I got sort of embarrassed at the way the elevator boy looked at me: Embarrassed but excited. He had that sort of speculative look every girl recognizes, from seven to seventy.
"Dad's office was fabulous. Practically a whole floor, full of IBM's and tickers and clerks, busy as all get-out. But he had a special corner, a whole suite, to himself. And an ogre of a female who guarded it. And quiet! When he shut the door behind me-Dad always came out to meet us-you could hear a pin drop, if it didn't fall on that lush, dark-green carpet.
"Dad is tall and dark and sort of saturnine looking-if that means what I think it does, which is that he'd just as soon screw a girl as look at her and if she wouldn't, well, maybe he'd try rape. Oh, I guess it doesn't really mean that, but Dad has that sort of look, with a dash of deviltry thrown in. I never will figure out why Mother gave all that up for some of the pallid twerps she lets hang around. Of course, Dad wasn't as rich when they were divorced as he got to be later, so maybe that was it.
"Dad flung one arm around my shoulders, called over to the ogre that he wasn't to be disturbed unless the building burned down, the Russians landed or the market crashed, and shut us in that big, quiet room. With his arms around me, he walked me over to that desk of his that looks as big as a landing field for jets and is just as clear. I don't know how he ever does any work, because I never see papers around or doodles on his blotter, the way you do in lots of offices. Dad says he does it in his head and doesn't have records the government can check, but that's just a joke.
"On the way across that big, quiet room I started in on my campaign, feeling a little daring and just a bit scared. I caught Dad's hand and pulled it tighter around me, so he was resting it right on .my tit. He tried to pull it away but I hung on to it, babbling something girlish and getting a big kick out of feeling his hand squirm around on my boob. Actually, because my sweater was a little on the open-work side and stretched, he could feel my nipple. I know I could feel the roughness of his hand against it-and got hot duck-bumps. Which are quite different from cold duck-bumps that you get from being scared or a little chilled.
"Knowing Dad was working to get his hand free meant he knew what he was touching-my boob-and that set off some delicious shivers in me. I was really getting into the swing of this thing of luring a guy. At the desk Dad indicated a chair for me and pulled his hand away from my tit, but not without the faintest sort of grab at it, just for a feel, so I was sure he was noticing I had something, something worth grabbing a quick feel of.
"It was a funny kind of game we played, that first time. I was trying to see how much stirring up I could do to Dad. Dad was doing his best not to let me know he was getting hot rocks in his pants. I could tell, though, from the way he squirmed every now and then and got pink spots on his cheeks and his ears got red at the tip.
"I leaned over the edge of the desk, managing to catch a button of my sweater on the edge so it pulled the neck of the sweater pretty wide. Frankly, I had to hold on to the button to make it work. And Dad cooperated by very much not looking. I mean, he'd swivel his eyes off my boobies that were threatening to pop out of my sweater and then dart a quick look back and away, so I knew he was getting the scenery.
"I hadn't ever really tried to work on a man before. Oh, some of Mother's twerps had fondled a tit and given my legs the eye. But this time I was doing the routine-and getting reactions, from me, from Dad. Mostly, I was enjoying the excitement it was building up in me, seeing him getting wrought up and knowing it was all on account of my being female and doing very femalish things, like showing my boobs and wiggling them a bit.
"I know it was corny but I tried it I got real girlish and jumped up and sat on his desk, sliding my miniskirt up and letting one leg dangle, so he could see almost to my split infinitive. A la Die-trich. Then I brought my other leg up and wrapped my arms around it. By that time Dad must have been looking directly up the Little Biggest Tunnel, my cunt, seeing as I had worn Carol's open-mesh panties. And if he could tear his eyes off that, he could look up and see my boobs practically out in the open.
"He reacted, all right. His eyes were going practically like a metronome, from cunt to boobs-with his cheeks getting hotter looking and his ears redder. What I hadn't figured on was how I would react. It was real interesting. My cunt was getting the hots, and under my tits something started getting tighter and tighter, and hotter. And my belly began to want something-and it wasn't a chocolate double-dip malted with marshmallow topping, which I am partial to, mostly. It was prick I wanted, only I didn't really know it. Not yet.
"I knew I was really getting the hots, because I could feel my cunt getting slippery with juices, like it did when I played with myself sometimes, or let one of Mother's twerps get too close to home base when patting me. I slid over and swung around on the desk, with my legs open right in front of Dad. I guess I'd done it a hundred times, when I was a kid and it didn't mean anything. You know, Dad would pick me up and plop me on the desk, and I'd sit there like a spraddle-legged doll, watching him count out the nickels of my allowance.
"This time it meant something, even if I wasn't quite sure what. I mean, getting fucked is just words until it actually happens. So are all the others, seduction, screw, ream-all of 'em-just words. Then suddenly it's real. And you know you're going to get reamed, that a man's dong is going up your twat- but it still doesn't mean The Big Thing until that happens.
"I could almost feel Dad's eyes slithering up my skirt, peering up at my nice little hairless slit, ready and waiting. And that made it more ready and the waiting got almost impatient. I wanted something to happen, not just eyes bugging at me.
"Then it started to happen. Dad reached up a; shaky hand "and laid it on my leg, real light but firm. I could even feel it shaking and gradually growing steady as he rubbed the inside of my thigh, watching my face, I guess to see how I took it. I took it and hunched forward on the desk to make him go farther up my leg, to Where the Pot Was Boiling. And it was really boiling. I mean hot!
"I leaned my hands on the desk and rested on them, thrusting "my boobs up. They were really out of the sweater by then-or one was. Dad leaned forward to kiss it just as his hand hit The Open Switch, and I went and had my private Cape Canaveral. I threw back my head and moaned. Dad slid his mouth upward and started kissing my throat, just under the ear, with one hand playing in my Garden of Eden and the other working on one of my boobs, where the nipple was standing up, hard and firm.
"I reached with one arm and grabbed Dad around the neck, pulling myself toward him, so his hand on my twitchy twat was really working, one finger sliding up and down my slit and starting trains for Miami, Chicago, Denver and points West. I mean, I never knew anything like that could happen! I had meant to stir things up, sure, but I hadn't known I was using T.N.T, with a nuclear starter to stir.
"I just closed my eyes and hung on to Dad, feeling-and that's the word-feeling. I couldn't speak. I couldn't have said 'No!' if I had wanted to-and who wanted to?
"I could feel Dad slide his hand slowly along my leg, that soft, inner side of my thigh, moving up toward my cunt, making me feel as if there was a big balloon of hot air filling inside me, and then he touched my cunt lips, rubbed them softly, and the balloon went, up! But there was another right behind it, ready to go!
"Then feelings began to get a little confused. They were coming too fast for me to sort them out. Dad was kissing one of my boobs, running his tongue around the nipple, and then kissing my throat, and sliding back down to-the other boob. I've got a shaky notion I helped him undo my sweater. I know it was open and I was bare to my belly button. I know I had to help with that silly, ornamental crib pin that holds my wraparound miniskirt. But the in-between steps are hazy-and blazy, just hot flashes of feeling, some bits of seeing.
"I know I was lying flat on the desk, with my legs hanging over, and bare-assed naked, without knowing how I got that way. Nor caring. Though I do remember wondering vaguely what happened to Carol's panties. I know I didn't have 'em on any longer, because Dad was going down on my cunt, reaming with his tongue and sucking. And I was ramming my little twat right at him.
"He'd sort of swapped places, his face at my cunt and his hands playing squeeze bulb with my boobs. His cheeks were a little scratchy against my thighs, because it was late afternoon and he needed a shave, but even the scratchiness was part of the excitement. It sort of told me: There's a man down there. Not that I needed the information, because Dad's tongue up my twat was saying that louder and firmer.
"I was rocking my ass on the desk, grabbing off more feelings from his lips and mouth and trying my best to shove my twat right down his throat, only I couldn't get any real purchase with my hands on that desk top. Dad was running his hands over my boobs and diddling my nipples. Once in a while he'd trail his fingernails across my tummy, not really raking but getting the skin worked up, and down around my belly button and the creases between my legs and tummy.
"Gradually Dad sat back in his desk chair, sliding my ass along the desk top and sucking and tongue-reaming all the time, still playing with my boobs and nipples and doing his little fingernail raking along my sides and tummy.
"By then my ass was hanging just over the edge of the desk and my feet were resting on either side of Dad, in his chair, with his head up between my legs and his mouth sucking while his tongue twisted around my clitoris and his hands alternately played with my boobies and tugged me closer.
"Then he raised his head and said huskily, 'Sit up, Alex. Sit up.' I know I tried, but my body felt like it weighed a ton even while it felt like there was nothing inside but heat. So he helped me sit up. Honest, it was even hard for me to hold my head up. It just seemed to want to wobble loosely. And then I looked down!
"Dad wasn't wearing anything but his shirt, and that was unbuttoned. Somewhere along the line he'd shucked his pants and underpants. And the Real Mister Himself was standing up and taking bows. What a monster! That big, shiny blue-purple head all sparkly with dew-love dew-and his shaft standing up there, seeming as long as a broom handle, but bigger around.
"I don't even remember thinking I couldn't take all of that in my little twat. I just started shaking. I could even see the ripples of shivers on my stomach, all the time Dad was easing me off the desk and sliding me into his lap, with that enormous love-knot and shaft aimed right at my cunt. And I didn't have strength enough in my legs to push away. I just let my ass slip on down, right on to Dad's prick, while he held me by my hips, guiding me on to it.
"But he didn't punch it in right away. He just let me slide down until his Big Baton was resting up against my slit, letting me feel the quivering of it. And my twat did the rest. It practically nibbled at Dad's prick, the lips actually working. I could feel it, as if my cunt wanted to eat that huge thing.
"By that time all I could see of his love-stick was the shiny head, dribbling a little juice, poking over the edge of my mound, working slowly back and forth, peek-a-boo fashion, popping in and out between my legs. I could feel that pulsy shaft rubbing the side of my pussy and the nibble-nibble of my cunt lips against it. That wasn't any tame pussy down there, that was a hungry little tiger cat, ready to eat it up.
"Funny thing. My twitchy twat was active as hell, working on Dad's love-stick but the rest of me was limp. When one foot slipped off the chair seat, I just let it dangle. Yet I could feel. And feeling seemed magnified. I could have counted the scratchy hairs on his leg just from feeling them against my skin. And wherever he touched me with his hands, I could seemingly feel the roughness of his skin and maybe even his fingerprints.
"Everything was keyed up, bigger than life. Even I felt bigger. And yet lighter, sort of floating-the way you get with a fever. Maybe screwing is a kind of fever.
"Then Dad started maneuvering my hips and twisting himself, so that his dong was pushing that love-knot right at my cunt. Pushing hard. While he kept up a sort of running murmur against my boobs, running his tongue around my nipples. Once in a while he'd kiss my throat or run his tongue along that pulsing vein just under my ear, until it made a kind of roaring in my head, as if even my hearing was magnified, hearing the scrape of his tongue on my skin.
"Yet everything in me was concentrated on what was happening down at my twat. His love-knot, that big, purple head, was thrusting aside the lips of my cunt, stretching it until it hurt so much I gasped. It hurt, but I didn't want things to stop. And, weak as I felt, I thrust right back. I felt the big stretch, where my wet, hot cunt lips opened their widest-and the big love-knot slid in.
"Dad paused for a moment, once his big head was inside. That sort of gave me an opportunity to catch up on things. Hazily, maybe, but enough to know I was really getting fucked, and, despite the pain-and don't kid yourself, a tightly stretched cunt can hurt-liking what was going on, and wanting more. Not that I could imagine anything more. Then, at that moment, Dad's big love-knot in me was fucking. It was exciting, but there was still something lacking. It didn't finish anything off for me.
"Then Dad started working his pelvis back and forth, moving that hefty love-knot farther and farther up me. I didn't know where it was going, but I could feel each new movement, each new penetration. They hurt some-not as much as that first big stretch, but some; nothing, however, to compare with the heat they generated or the excitement they built up.
"I could look down and see Dad's love shaft-less and less of it as he reamed up me-and feel it moving on up inside me. I didn't think I could move-I felt too limp-or wanted to. But suddenly I did want to-I didn't decide it. My cunt and my insides decided it for me. And I was humping and moaning. And my cunt lips were chewing and milking at Dad's love muscle. He was humping at me, driving his shaft deep into me, until I was sitting hard down on his hairy bush.
"We were sitting in that big leather chair, humping at each other, with me clawing at Dad to get more of him up me, which wasn't really possible. And Dad was mouthing at my boobies and holding tight to me, just wiggling me a little and keeping the rhythm smooth.
"Suddenly he gripped me very tight, holding me rigid, while he pulled his joy-stick way, way back down my love tunnel-and we held it like that I knew this was the big moment-the real wow-but what it would be like I hadn't ever tried to figure out.
"Then I knew. Dad rammed his love-knot back up my tunnel so far it seemed to stretch my tunnel till it was ready to knock up against my diaphragm. My cunt lips felt it first, the surge and swell in his shaft, and on up, up, up my tunnel, until everything let go. I felt his hot come explode in me, really hot. And I tried to hold on to it, to hold that moment of intense excitement. And couldn't. Everything let go at once.
"I was gushing hot juices, one big splash and then lots of smaller ones, and slowly collapsing. Dad was leaning his head between my boobs and whimpering as if he might cry. He'd roll his head a little and then shudder, and a new load of jism would hit me, starting some new sensations for me, too.
"I could feel Dad's love-muscle subside, like it was shrinking, and come sliding out of my cunt. Like a plug out of a drain, it came out, with all our juices streaming behind it, leaving me shivering and shuddering.
"Dad revived some, then, and picked me up, setting me back on the desk, and went down on me, scooping out the juices with a rough, hungry tongue and starting things twanging inside me again. But that gradually subsided, too, until I was just a limp bundle of sweaty meat, but very, very satisfied, even if my experiment went a lot further than I had meant it to go. I had only started out to see if I could get a man stirred up-and I'd found out I could. My own dad. And I found out I liked both the stirring up and what came afterwards-the real nitty-gritty-getting fucked. But that was just the beginning."
Alexis S--- is bright, attractive, and brash. In another atmosphere she might have grown up to be a gay, happy young married, a social leader, and a splendid mother. The elements for all this existed in her. She has no false self-pity, makes no effort to shift the blame to where it really belongs, on her wealthy parents: a mother who lived a life where sex was almost a way of life and a father who had too little restraint.
While the life she lived does not necessarily mean a girl becomes a sexual delinquent, yet, with the liberties and economic freedom of the very rich, there is lacking many of the restraints-perhaps a bit puritanical-of our Western civilization and the great middle-class mores. By these, while we are not always willing to admit they are "middle class," most of us live, accepting even some of the puritanical restraints with only the mildest of protests, even though we may regard many of them as ob-surd.
Alexis remained loyal to her first lover-her father-even when he was being harangued and prosecuted for his amorous interests in her sister, Carol, who, by Alexis's account, was very much an opportunist, exploiting her sex. Alexis does not press the point of her sister's exploitation of sex. She simply states, as a fact that occasionally puzzled her, that Carol obtained expensive gifts in exchange for her sexual favors. Alexis, as her later statements show, does not seem to have considered the economics of sex at all. She accepted gifts from her wealthy father, but more because he was her father than because he was her lover. She made no attempt with her other lovers to work them for gifts. Alexis did not choose her lovers on a sound economic basis, as her mother and sister did. She often selected a relatively "poor" but attractive male in preference to one who could give her substantial rewards. In the milieu in which Alexis moved, there were, of course, no truly poor individuals.
Alexis, even though she was sexually precocious, appears to have retained for some time a curious ambivalence, that of a little girl operating within a maturing body. She still, after several sessions with her father, was more concerned with malteds and hamburgers than with the gifts he could have given hen as will be seen when her narrative is resumed. Nevertheless, she had considerable compulsion toward sex, having been aroused and inflamed by the society within which she moved. She set out deliberately to "stir up" her father-the closest available male. There can be little doubt that she was practicing a strong psychological tendency toward ambivalence in not allowing herself to recognize that this "stirring up" was to become sex. So that she had what Klein and Riviere, in their Love, Hate and Reparation, call "compulsion and dependence." She had the compulsion and yet she seemed to feel she could trust in her dependence on her father.
She was right. Except that she did not realize, or remained willfully blind to, the fact that her father was a strongly sexed male and that, since he saw little of his two daughters in their normal intra-familial relationship, he could not entirely regard her as a daughter or the act as incest.
Capri and Brenner, in Sexual Behavior: Psycho-Legal Aspects, blame the male's approach to very young girls, such as Alexis was at the time her father seduced her, on the fact that the male is "unable to achieve satisfactory heterosexual relationships due to psychic impotence" and therefore turns to children, rather than prostitutes "because of fear of humiliation were he to experience sexual failure."
There may be just a hint of truth in this about Alexis's father. He may have, during his marriage with her mother, suffered the "humiliation of sexual failure." Her mother told so many conflicting stories about the reasons for the divorce that Alexis was unable to sort out truth from fantasy.
Her father certainly, by Alexis's account, seemed virile and capable of repeated sexual acts. On the other hand, his two known paramours were his teenage daughters, with whom he may well have been sexually uninhibited.
From Alexis's account, she certainly provoked the sexual encounter with her father. There is every reason to believe that Carol was equally as aggressive if not more so. This sexual aggression among young girls is not unusual. Wilhelm Reich, in The Sexual Revolution, cites a study of 495 young girls of school age, among which he found 25 were pregnant, and the remainder had had some form of sexual experience but "managed to avoid pregnancy because of the knowledge of contraceptive methods." He also indicates that the majority of these young girls had had their initial sexual encounters in their own homes, that is, by incest, in which they were at least partially the aggressor. He says, with typical Germanic bluntness: "They knew what they were doing."
Alexis may not have fully realized what she was about when she sought to arouse her father but she certainly became very rapidly involved in the emotional situation she created. Later, she set about a rather spectacular approach-a striptease. It is an old and very effective "aphrodisiac," recognized even in Salome's time and among the .priest-kings of Ephesus. Karl Bernhardt, in Natural Sex Techniques, devotes a major portion of a chapter to this form of sexual arousal. He says: "The mildly aphrodisiac effect of ... music has already been outlined. Dancing to music is an even greater stimulus."
Alexis refused to play her mother's game and would not testify against her father, though Carol, caught in flagrant delicto, through her mother's deliberate planning, made an adequate case against the father.
"Dad has a private bathroom, with the grooviest gadgetry shower in it, a real space-age dingus. The water doesn't come from above but from rings all around, up and down, with temperature controls for the different rings and different sides of each ring. You practically need an engineering course just to get in it.
"In there together, he could make it cool for me and warm for him, or we could sort of dance around each other, getting warm and cool showers. But the real fun wasn't in the gadgetry. It was in being in there together, with Dad sponging me off with a big, squishy sponge. He also had some very bubbly soap that frothed way up, until we were practically to our knees in scented foam. Oh, I've seen bubble baths before, but never a bubble shower.
"Dad was very gentle with me, because I .still ached some from having his love-meat slammed into my cunt, sponging me very softly and slowly, sort of lingering a bit, as if he enjoyed it, too. Which I guess he did. Come to think of it, a man maybe gets as big a kick out of sex as a girl. Or there wouldn't be so much sex-and a lot less babies, and things would grind down to a halt, with no humans. I sure hadn't thought of that angle when I started on my big. experiment. A person doesn't. I mean, when you think about yourself and how you're going to act and react, you don't always figure the other person's responses.
"I know I had miscalculated Dad's. I was way off. And even about myself. I just intended to stir-things up a little, and watch Dad squirm and feel me get hot in the twat. I guess that's about what Nero said when he lit the match that started Rome burning-he just wanted to stir things up.
"I had lit my match-and I burnt my britches behind me and in front. And liked it. I'm not complaining one bit. Dad's love-muscle reaming up me was the most! And playing around in the shower afterwards came a close second. It was almost as good as a fuck. That warm sponge riding up between my legs, right on to my twat, was like a second ride on Dad's broomstick, almost.
"Dad left the sponge between my legs, so I could pump 'em a little and get spurts of warm water squirting up my cunt and watch the puffs of bubbles squeeze up around my mound. Fun! And Dad could give his whole attention to swabbing at my boobs and swishing the soft cloth around my nipples.
"Maybe the best part of it all was that I could see Dad's love-shaft, hanging out of his mat of wet hair, and dangling at first, reddish with knotty blue veins all through it. Gradually, as we played around in the shower, Dad working on my twat and then my nipples and boobs, sometimes kissing them and making faces on account of the taste of soap, his big baton got back into formation, swelling and standing up.
"I could bump against it every now and then, just pretending I hadn't noticed, and feel it quiver. A couple of times I turned my back and bent a little, so his love stick hobbled against the cheeks of my ass. Real fun stuff! And once I turned around and just let my hand rest on it, wrapping my fingers around that thrilling old, throbbing old shaft.
"Dad caught my hand under his own and squeezed down, so my hand, underneath, was squeezing on his cock. He grinned at me. 'Like it, kid?' I had to draw a deep breath, still holding his prick, to decide-and I did like it. So I nodded. Dad moved my hand up and down his shaft, playing with it, and watching me real close.
"He began to do some deep-breathing exercises of his own as he drew me closer in the shower. 'You like playing with your Dad's dong, don't you?' When I nodded, he said, 'How'd you like to taste it?' And waited.
"How did I know if I'd like to taste it? I never had. It's like asking somebody who's never had any how they like olives. So I told him, 'I don't know. Maybe I'd like it Maybe not. But I'm willing to try. And his joy stick did look like a big tasty stick of candy. Watching it, I found myself getting real interested.
"I'd been fucked, really reamed, and while the stuff we were doing in the shower was exciting and sort of building things up again inside me, I didn't want to go that route again. Things were still too tender down between my legs. My love tunnel needed to get used to that big stretch, good as it had felt. If there was another way of getting a thrill out of Dad's big baton I was willing to try.
"Dad hugged me in the shower. 'Try is all I ask, Alex.' He ran his hands up and down my wet back and cupped my little butt, pulling me up against his prick. 'Yes, baby, I think you'll like it. As much as you liked getting fucked.' He rinsed us off quick and then warm air swished out and dried us as we turned around in a kind of slow waltz, with Dad's dong riding between my legs and right up against the lips of my cunt, making things very, very exciting for me, along with my tits rubbing against his lower ribs.
"When we were dry-or pretty near-Dad picked me up. He had to, because I was limp from the lovemaking, the shower, and the new excitement building up. He carried me to that big desk of his and laid me across it, with my legs dangling off one side and my head just at the other. Almost like before, only he wasn't sitting facing my twitchy twat. He was standing at my head, bending down to kiss my mouth, with his face upside down.
"He went on from there, working his way slowly down my body, kissing and tonguing my throat, my boobies, giving my nipples an extra swirl, another in my belly button, down along those creases between legs and tummy, and on to my cunt, already opening and juicy, so he could ream his tongue right in, diddling my clit and then diving in.
"All the time he was sliding down my body, I was seeing his chest and hair that ran down into his belly button and out again to form that bush around his love shaft. And seeing it bug-eye close, so that each hair looked like a ten penny nail and his belly button like a pink, hairy crater.
"Then that love shaft! Wow! When that slid over my horizon! It looked like the front end of the The Super Chief! I couldn't have gotten that reamed up my twat! And yet I knew I had-and liked it. I couldn't possibly get that head in my mouth, but it smelled-oh, male. Very male. And on the very end, right on the tip, was a drop of crystal quivering.
"Besides, Dad was scouring out my love cave with his tongue and every now and then hitting my clit and diddling that until I was humping and bumping on his desk, trying to push my twat deeper onto his tongue. So I grabbed that love muscle with both hands and raised my head, sticking out my tongue to touch that crystal drop. It slid down my tongue, into my throat-and I tasted a man! Yummy-yummy! I raised my head farther and nibbled at that head with my lips, getting more juices and more taste, all of it part of the excitement going on down in my twitchy twat and farther up, inside my belly.
"About then, with my lips around his head, Dad really leaned into it, driving it deep into my mouth, nearly choking me. But I found I could breathe, and my tongue started sliding and slithering over all that lovely love-meat, getting tastes I had never imagined. "Oh, part of it was the excitement Dad was stirring up down at my twat, and by playing occasionally with my boobies or just rubbing his hairy stomach over them. I couldn't have taken his cock just cold. There had to be more to it-more happening to me, in me. And Dad knew how to make it happen. And I knew what I was doing and that it had a really ugly name-cocksucking-but I didn't care.
"Then Dad sucked real deep on my twat, reaming his tongue up and scooping up juices, enough to trigger me into giving more and really humping at him. That's when he drove his shaft with that big balloon of a head on it, way down my throat.
"I had to let go the shaft I was teasing and squeezing or maybe bite off my own fingers. In it went, down, making my throat awfully gulpy and not giving me any room to breathe. But it was only for a moment. I could feel my throat stretching, feel my throat muscles try to handle all that meat. And then it happened.
"My lips felt it first, the swell of Dad's come along his shaft and then on down my throat to burst out of his head in a hot, salty gush that damn near strangled me. But I took it. Gobbled it. And sucked at Dad's love-muscle as it went down and he pulled it out. I drank down all of his jism I could and licked my lips and cheeks for more, just as Dad was scooping up my juices and sucking for the last bit of taste of me.
"We weren't pretty when it was over, with our faces smeared and sweaty and our bodies dripping with sweat, but there was a sort of happy exultancy in me, so that I didn't care.
"Anyway, that gadgetry shower took care of washing us off. We didn't do much playing that time, because I didn't have enough left in me to play up to. Even Dad looked pooped, though he came around a bit toward the end of the shower and made a couple of very smooth passes. I suspected then they weren't for immediate consideration. Just a sort of bonus for what happened and a promise there'd be more and better the next time we got around to it.
"We dried off and went back to the office where Dad had a very nifty corner couch with one end that slid under a center table thing and pulled out and swung around, so we could lie there together, naked and cozy, and just murmur at each other. Or drift off.
"Then it was time for me to go. Dad and I usually went out for a chocolate double-dip malted with marshmallow topping-Dad stuck to bourbon and branch water-and it was later even than I thought I kind of skinned into my clothes; the open-mesh panties were ripped, so I'd had to get a new pair for Carol. Dad climbed into his and then stood, looking speculatively at me. 'How much allowance are you expecting this time?'
"I shrugged. 'Same as usual, Dad. Except, I'd like enough extra to replace these panties. They're French and sort of expensive, like fifteen dollars, I think. Could you go for that?'
"Dad sat down in his chair slowly, looking a little dazed. 'Fifteen dollars extra! For a pair of panties?' And he laughed suddenly and loud.
"I felt real mean. 'Is that too much? I've saved some of my allowance and next week I can get Carol another pair-'
"Dad shook his head, still laughing, but watching me. 'Fifteen dollars for a pair of panties I tore.' He sighed. 'That's rich. Really rich. Baby, come here.' I came over to stand by his chair, feeling a little funny, now that all the sex was over and the emotions mostly subsided.
"Dad put his arm around me and held me very gently, like he used to do when I was a real little girl. 'You're one in a million, Alex. Those two have corrupted you, all right, just living with them, living that kind of life. You're corrupted-or this afternoon would never have happened. Corrupted but not mercenary! You're a lovely child, Alex, lovely.' And he kissed my cheek. 'And it's all right about the panties. I expect we can run to fifteen dollars extra ... Now, what about something for yourself? Something you've wanted but haven't expected to get?'
"I've heard that line before. My mother is always using it when Christmas or my birthday is coming up. And I never, get what I ask for. Either my mother forgets or. it's too extravagant. So I looked at Dad, shaking my head.
"Dad frowned. 'Nothing? Not a gold-plated yacht or rocks off the moon or a diamond as big .as the Ritz? Young lady, there is something wrong with your wantery!'
"He made it such a joke I giggled. 'Well, there is something. Maybe it's kind of foolish and awfully extravagant. They cost over a hundred dollars. And yap.'
"Dad waved his hand, as if he had a wand that I would produce it right then and there. 'Name it, young lady.'
"I shook my head. 'My mother says it's stupid for a young girl to want such a watch. They're-a foolish waste of money.'
"Dad squeezed my shoulders. 'I suppose this watch has forty-three diamonds around the rim and diamond-studded hands.'
"I caught my breath, giggling. 'Of course not. That's for sillies like Carol. I want a real man-type watch, with electric works-because I do forget to wind mine. And this one has a sort of tuning fork thing in it that makes it very accurate.'
"Dad nodded. 'I know the watch. I think it's call an Acutron. But what does a young lady like you need with such a precision watch? Are your appointments that urgent?'
"I giggled again, because Dad was just being funny, I knew. 'No, so I can find out how late other people are. And when they say, "Just a minute," I'd like to time 'em.'
"Dad laughed. 'Young lady, you're unscrupulous. But you shall have your electric watch the next time you come.'
"I didn't think he meant it. Grown folks rarely keep their promises to kids. But the next time I came to get my allowance, he had the watch on his desk. Only, I was so excited about what we might be going to do, like fucking and cocksucking, I had almost forgotten it myself.
"The watch was almost as hard to believe as the feet that my father had actually reamed me only the week before. Except I still had evidence of that, some minor twinges down in my twat. I wasn't shocked, understand. After all, I had started it all, with my great experiment in being seductive. And I'd seen sex aplenty around our place and the places we wound up in for vacations. In fact, I was beginning to wonder why-that maybe there wasn't enough cunt to go around. Or maybe not enough cocks. So everybody grabbed what they could. That's what it seemed like. It wasn't that way with me.
"I had Dad, now that I'd really found him and found out about sex. Oh, I didn't kid myself-except maybe a little at first-that I was the only female in Dad's life, the only one he screwed. I didn't really get around to connecting up Carol and Dad for a long time. They'd been fucking for nearly a year, maybe more, when I came along, pushing my twat at Dad.
"I did it again that day-and not on account of the watch, which I didn't even open until I was leaving. Dad had said the watch was there, so I believed him. I didn't know it was the thousand-dollar model until later. It was just that Dad was one grown-up who had kept a promise. And I loved him for it. Oh, brother, did I love him for it-for keeping the promise, not for the watch. And I think he knew the difference. Mostly because I didn't grab the box and tear off the wrappings, I guess. I just patted it and put it aside-and got to the real nitty-gritty-the fucking.
"I did a sort of striptease for him, without music, but with plenty of oompahs of the pelvis.
"Dad sat back, enjoying the performance-which I must admit got a bit ragged in spots, especially toward the end, when I was real hot and thinking more of getting Dad's love meat into me than I was of the dance. But I could shake my tits, what there was of them, and roll my pelvis so my twat was literally twitching,
"When I'd done about all I could think of in the way of gyrations, I ran to Dad, knowing he was ready, willing, and able. I had been watching the bulge in his pants grow and twitch, so I knew. And knowing he was ready made me all the more excited.
"Dad caught me and held me close, with my knees in the chair and my boobs right where he could kiss and tease them. And did he ever! Like a hungry moose. And his hands played a concertina with my ass cheeks, while I twisted and wriggled, pushing my tits hard against his face.
"He stood me up and ran his tongue down me and into my love box, touching my clit and wiggling his tongue around it until I was shaking, really shaking. My very skin seemed to shake and twitch like a separate thing.
"Dad didn't screw me in the chair that time. He picked me up and carried me over to the couch and laid me out on it while I watched him skin out of his pants, eager for another look at his love-stick, quivering in anticipation. It was not as big as I remembered. I guess the first time a girl gets a dong in her it really seems huge. Oh, it was big enough and long enough to ream way up me-and did.
"Dad didn't waste much time throwing it into me. I guess the dance, crummy as it was, really had stirred things up in both of us. So we really rode up a storm, with Dad pumping a really hot load of jism in me and me giving him the Johnstown flood in juices.
"And then the nice, long lazy resting, side by side, warm and cozy. I could look down and see Dad's love-muscle all deflated and limp but still of respectable size. Well, maybe respectable isn't the right word. I could watch it slowly quiver and jerk itself back into life and feel my own body getting ready again for a second round.
"We took that one real easy. Not pushing, just letting things happen in a slow, almost leisurely way, right up to when things got lively. I felt his love-meat swelling, felt that long, hard thrust all the way up my cunt, and then-hot floods and hot flashes!
"Dad switched around so he could go down on me, sucking my juices and scooping out my cream, which was exciting all right. But he didn't seem to want me to suck him off that time. Maybe two turns pooped him a little and he didn't have enough to give for a good cock-suck, even though I was interested.
"We took our shower together and I had an opportunity to play with his love-shaft, but even that didn't really wake it up. I didn't know it then, but he'd had quite a session the day before with Carol, who can really fuck up a storm when she wants something-and she wanted a Lambretta out of Dad. I learned later she didn't even get a bicycle, but she did get her allowance upped.
"After our shower and the drying off, which was fun in a tingly sort of way, I looked at my watch. Su-per! The realest of real! One I never really expected to own. The top of the line. I hugged Dad and kissed him, because the watch was really out of this world.
"I was only afraid my mother would wonder how I got such a watch, but I might have known. My mother never really knows the value of anything unless she sees the price tag. Of course, Carol realized it was a super-duper and maybe gave a good guess as to how I got it, but since she was still working on Dad for that Lambretta-which she never did get-she kept quiet. It wasn't that Dad wasn't generous. He was willing to give me anything. And I guess Carol, too. He just didn't believe in motorcycles.
"Dad asked me again what I wanted, but I had my wants, right on my wrist, and I honestly couldn't think of anything else-except a chocolate double-dip malted with marshmallow topping. When I told Dad, he nearly busted a gut laughing, but that's what I wanted. After two love-meat sandwiches, two really swell screws, I was starved. I wanted a chocolate double-dip malted with marsh-mallow topping.
"Dad grinned at me. 'That you shall have, pun*kin. With .filet mignon topping if you want.' So we settled for the malted and two super burgers with onions and pickles and relish and a double order of potato chips. Dad watched me tackle that and shuddered. 'Some day, young lady, I hope you develop civilized taste buds. Then maybe we can dine out together graciously.'
"I don't know why grown people think it's so silly to like malteds and super burgers. Malteds are creamy and yummy and the super burgers are real luscious and oozy. And very filling. And after a girl's been screwed a couple of times, she needs something filling. Oh, I suppose Chateaubriand's all right, as a filler, but it takes so long to get there, a girl could starve. And anyway, at places where they serve Chateaubriand you have to eat daintily. You can't cram and chomp, which is the only good way to eat, especially when you're hungry. Which I usually am, especially after getting fucked, I've found.
"Dad had another present for me the next time I went to collect my allowance and get his Jove-shaft reamed up me. I don't really remember what it was, but something nice. An amethyst pendant, I think, set in platinum. Real nice. And we did a sixty-nine-sucking each other off first and then going into a fancy screw, with my lying on the desk and Dad standing up, reaming me while my legs dangled.
"That seemed especially good. I mean, I could watch his dong right from the moment he laid the head up against my cunt lips until he buried his shaft in me to his bushy mound, and all through the pumping and thrusting. I could even watch and see how I did with my little twat, moving it up and down and rolling it sideways. Plus, Dad's hands were free for roaming and they could get around- over my boobs, the fingers nibbling at my nipples, down along my sides, and under my ass, to get more motion. And his mouth was working right in tandem, sucking on my nipples, tonguing that jumpy vein under my ear, playing along the muscle from under my arm, which I didn't even know got a girl worked up but it does.
"I couldn't watch when the big bang came because I was almost out of play by that time, with my head thrown way back and moans coming out and me twisting in nine directions at once. Dad said afterwards it was like trying to screw an anaconda, but I don't think he'd ever really tried that. Lots of things but not that.
"Oh, I knew at the back of my head that Dad was screwing other females, but it didn't really penetrate until Carol let slip-intentionally, I think-that Dad was throwing his love-meat into her.
"That hurt. But I don't think it was the direct cause of my fucking one of Mother's new friends. I mean, I didn't just go out and say, 'Look here, kid, go get yourself humped. Any man that's handy will do.' It wasn't like that at all.
"I was sunbathing in the patio off the pool-and when I sunbathe I do it all over, and why not? Normally that patio is strictly private. Except maybe for a few guys a few stories up who can get goggle-eyed and nearly fall out their windows watching. Not that I can understand just wanting to watch. You can get a better view out of the centerfold of Playboy-if you pull the staple out of the navel.
"Anyway, there I was, showing I was every inch a female, when 'this character wandered out. I recognized him as one of my mother's better choices, even if he was a little young for her. I don't think he recognized me. Anyway, he wasn't paying that much attention to my face. He was taking in other territory, which was getting pretty well-developed by then.
"He started to back out, pretending he was a gentleman who didn't spy on naked females. I rolled over and grinned at him-not that he knew I was grinning, unless I'd done it with my cunt. Well, I can do lots with my cunt, but I never taught it to grin. But the rolling over brought my boobies into full view and gave an eye-probe of my cunt, which he was taking in.
"He only had on a pair of trunks, so he'd probably been using the pool-or meant to. He never got around to it. He moved out into the patio slowly, not seeming to mean to do a thing about a golden opportunity, so I shoved my sun cream jar at him. 'Make yourself useful as well as ornamental, and give my back a rub.'
"With that gambit who can miss. He was rubbing my back with sun cream-and letting his hands get off the beaten path-while I lay there, eyes shut and moaning softly, and wiggling. That's all it took.
"Craig-that was his name-played a nice game of hands from then on, until it got down to the facts of life and hands quit being so important. Craig was pretty good. Not as smooth as Dad, but good. Maybe he wasn't as smooth because he was a cat in strange territory, but he did all right. And we went for a dip in the pool afterwards, playing in the water, naked.
"Mother probably figured that having Craig wait around for a bit would whet his appetite. So she stayed away. He whet his appetite all right. I was his special chocolate double-dip malted with marshmallow topping, I don't think he ever got around to my mother. And I know Carol was furious. She had marked him as hers.
"After that we set up territorial rights, divvying up Mother's friends, both at home and abroad. On bellhops and chauffeurs arid such, we let the chips fall where they may. Not that Carol was much on screwing bellhops and the like, unless she was sort of desperate. She liked her men well stacked in the pocketbook. Me, I didn't care, as long as the love-meat was long, round, and stiff, everything was fine. Of course, abroad I missed Dad.
"It was when we got back-and my mother had had a rough season, the men weren't too cooperative -that my mother set up this blackmail-cum-badger-game with Carol to throw the harpoon into Dad. Instead, Dad socked the 'detective' my mother had hired ... Well, Dad's goose is cooked. And my mother won't get her alimony raised. Or a nice lump sum. And I lose my Dad for maybe five years. So I wouldn't testify against him. Why should I? I happen to love him-and the things he does to me."
Because of the milieu to which Alexis will return, the glitter and glamour of the very rich, where all too often "sex is a way of life," there appears to be little possibility of any re-channeling of her sex drive.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eddie: He Loved His Mother Too Well
"So Mother took an overdose of sleeping pills. I'm sorry. And I'm even sorrier about that stupid, goddamn note she left, telling everybody we were lovers.
"So it's true. Okay. I've been laying Mother for the past couple of years. Understand, it was her idea. And maybe a lot of people guessed. Now they know. And how am I going to face our crowd? Mother Darling-that's what she wanted me to call her-is out of it. I'm the one that has to face up to our crowd. A bunch of cynical rats, anyhow. I probably couldn't get an invitation to clean up someone's garbage how.
"When they could guess and gossip and point behind our backs, I was one helluva fine fellow. Some of the older crowd even tried to get me to let 'em in on a good thing. You know, get next to Mother Darling. In bed. Now that Mother Darling is gone and the story is out, fiat out, how'm I going to live?
"Oh, I don't mean money wise. There's pots full of that. Dad left us better than well off. No, we never were jet set, though probably there was more money in Mother Darling's account than lots of the jet setters ever see. It's just that Mother Darling loved luxury and comfort-and you can get those on the better cruise ships and don't in the jets.
"Mother Darling loved to dress up and swank around. You can't do that in a jet, either, though, of course, you get there faster and have time at the other end. But Mother Darling likes her swanking around practically continuous. And it's just possible she was a bit afraid of flying, though she never would have admitted it. 'It's rather vulgar-to be in such a hurry. Life should be leisured, gracious,' she'd say.
"Mother Darling should have been an Edwardian. She belonged to the velour period, among Turkish corners and lambrequins. That may have been another reason she preferred the luxury cruise ships, though I hadn't thought of it before. Most of them are faintly Edwardian. Even the modern ones carry a bit of that kind of swank. Probably because they're false. I mean, of course, that they're ships, not hotels, even though they try to appear that way-which is the essence of Edwardianism.
"Airplanes, on the other hand, have always been functional. They have to be, for the weight factor. So they haven't, as yet, got around to the flying hotel concept. And with them, when it comes, it's more likely to be flying Holiday Inns.
"Oh, I'm bright enough for eighteen. All right, I'm nearly eighteen. Okay, then, you with the charts, I 'm seventeen and three months. That's going on eighteen. Almost. And I've never had the slightest inclination to go hippie. Like Mother Darling, I prefer elegance. Oh, the hair is a trifle long, to be sure, but Mother Darling liked the Byronic look. I do have rather good features, strong enough to live up to the concept, gentle enough to be considered mildly poetic. Women like it.
"Oh, yes, other women besides my mother have-liked me. I have a certain charm. I dance well. I play an amiable game of bridge-by the rules but not rigid enough to confuse any of the boat crowd. Some of the old biddies are easily confused, you know. No, I don't include my mother in that category.
She was quite lively. You probably remember her. Seeing her on the screen, I mean. She did the young, wistful charmer bit very nicely. She was tiny, with an elfin face. No, not quite back to the silent days. She was quite popular even up to the late 50's when the young, wistful charmer sort of went out of style.
"Actually, you couldn't say she had much of a career-timewise, that is. Not more than five years, I'd say. Of course, I wasn't around then, but I think I have my facts straight. But in those five years Mother Darling did rather well. I believe the fan magazines spoke of her career as 'meteoric'-and still do when one of them does a reprise on some of the stars of the past.
"Of course, Mother Darling hated being thought of as one of 'the stars of the past' She even turned down offers to make a 'comeback' because she didn't want to risk being compared with Gloria Swanson, Janet Gaynor and others, as if she had been their contemporary. She wasn't, you know. She was less than forty when she died. Officially, that is. I think Mother Darling fudged a bit-not much, but a bit-on her age.
"She retired from the screen when she married my father. She must have been at least twenty, then. Five years as a star, you know. Even Shirley Temple grew up. Then I came along-and I'm nearly eighteen now. Just add it up. She must have been forty if not more when she wrote that stupid, stupid note and took those pills. I know her skin was getting-oh, just the teeniest bit creepy. I certainly had more than ample opportunity to inspect it.
"I've been her lover for the past couple of years, as that damnable note says. Father died about four or five years back. No, come to think of it, it's nearly eight years. Mother Darling and I flitted around the world on cruise ships. That started when I was about ten or so. It was always cruise ships. Now that I think of it, it is quite likely Mother Darling was looking for other men-and probably finding them.
"After all, she was a celebrated star and we were quite, quite wealthy so we made a splash. Quite possibly she stuck to cruise ships because on them she was a celebrity and on a jet she was just another passenger. Oh, very much V.I.P. but there's scarcely any opportunity to swank around and meet people, particularly men, as there is on a cruise ship. And, though Mother Darling was quite modern, she really should have been an Edwardian. The period suited her. Flamboyant.
"We never actually shared a cabin. Oh, possibly when I was ten or so. I don't really remember. I always had an adjoining cabin, if not part of a suite. We couldn't always book suites. Even with the kind of money Mother Darling had, suites weren't always available. You know, having separate cabins looked better, especially after we started having our affair.
"I think what really started it was that Mother Darling was piqued. We had booked this cruise-through the Mediterranean, which we had covered at least four or five times before-and Mother Darling hadn't met any satisfactory men. It was almost a senior citizen type thing, with elderly couples hobbling around together and being thrilled to be on such a big ship, at last For some it was a second honeymoon-for others a last honeymoon before the grave, I expect.
"None of them were very thrilling characters and mostly, like those in the Ark, hooked up two by two.
Not even a good entree, for a bridge set up. God, I think most of them played whist! And one old biddy took Mother Darling for some silent movie star and spread the word-which put Mother Darling in the dinosaur class, as far as she was concerned.
"I remember Mother Darling flounced in from the predinner cocktail hour-at which I wasn't allowed, being only fifteen. Oh, I could have passed for older. I was quite tall. But at that time Mother Darling was minimizing my age, so I was 'just a child.' Out of boredom-what's a fifteen-year-old kid going to do among the crutch-and-armchair set?-I was taking a shower.
"Mother Darling stalked into our suite and practically slammed the door-only you can't on that vessel; they have air checks. She was seething about the old biddy and being mistaken for somebody like Vilma Banky or Billie Dove. She started telling me about it through the bathroom door, getting herself ready for a predinner shower, really getting worked up.
"On the high note of 'Disgusting! And positively no men aboard!' Mother Darling charged into the bathroom, wearing a diaphanous peignoir and a frown, while I was just stepping out of the shower, thinking about-well, there was a cute babe back home I'd have made if we hadn't shot off on this cruise. So I had a hard on.
"I don't say I've got any record-breaking dong as for as size goes, but it was a right respectable hunk of love-meat, especially for a fifteen-year-old. There are girls back home-some in the debutramp age-who like what I've got. I've been laying some of 'em since I was thirteen or so. And if you think that's young, you don't know the kids in our set. Screwing is S.O.P.-Standard Operating Procedure or Share Our Pussy, I've seen some dolls of eleven getting it and liking it, or making out they do. Not that I've torn off any pieces that young. Twelve was the youngest, I'd guess-and she'd been at it a year or so then.
"So I wasn't even thinking about Mother Darling -as a female, that is. I didn't want her to see me with a hard on and realize I had ideas on sex. As far as I was concerned then, Mother Darling was just catching up to the under-the-cabbage-leaf school of thought. I tried to swivel so she wouldn't see that cunt-buster poking up-and wished maybe I'd done a little dong-beating so it would be down, not standing up like General Custer, alone on the field at Little Big Horn, with one shot in his pistol.
"Only I didn't figure on that damn wall mirror. So I'm standing there with my bare face hanging out and my pecker up like a flag on the Fourth of July. And Mother Darling is standing there looking right spang in the mirror-and seeing all. I can't even seem to maneuver a towel right, I've gotten so flustered.
"Mother Darling gets an entirely new look on her face-one I don't remember from any of her pictures as the young, wistful charmer. Or even around the house or on any of our cruises. It's-hungry. Avid.
"She licks her lips and says, 'Who said there were no men aboard this boat?' And catches my shoulder to turn me around. By that time her peignoir is wide .open and I have a view. You've seen Mother Darling on the screen, tiny, wistful. But she's not in the least wistful now. She's got a glaze in her eyes that really isn't seeing me. It's just focusing on my privates-my love-meat.
"She moves up on me, then, slow, her pelvis weaving and humping, until she is right up against me. And I mean that's woman up against me. She's got tits all right. They're small but firm, damn near hard when she pushes 'em against me. And wiggles 'em. And twitches her pelvis right up against my love-meat.
"I'm not saying I fought it, understand. I was already thinking cunt when this was slammed at me. On the other hand, I'm not claiming any Oedipus Rex business. I knew who she was, all right. My mother. It wasn't some emotional entanglement with psychological overtones, like the old Greek boy had it. Oedipus tore himself to pieces over it. But not me. And I didn't think it ate into Mother Darling any, either. It was just sex. Good old sex. Tearing off a piece of ass.
"She gave me a tug, pulling me toward her-and I went. Who wouldn't? There was a time when half the male population would have been happy to be in my shoes-except, of course, I wasn't wearing shoes. We did a sort of blind dance, with her moving backwards, to the bed in her cabin. And fell on to it. She reached down and grabbed my meat and rubbed it hard against her cunt, sighing and sort of moaning.
"We lay there, sidewise to each other, with one of her tits rubbing up against my chest. And I had eight hands and didn't know what to do with any of them. They just seemed to get in the way of each other. At first.
"Gradually I sort of forgot who I was in bed with-she got to be just a woman, but what a hunk of woman! Wow! So I could play around with my hands, getting them more or less coordinated, feeling those tight little tits and running my hands down her back and along her sides, while she moaned and wiggled, and kept tugging at my love-meat, punching at her snatch with it.
"She was a demon in bed, a real hot number. Now that I had a chance to think about it, I remember some of the gossip that had been around about her-that she was a man-eater, using her leading men between takes, and burning them up. Not that I'd had believed it. The very demure type often gets talked about more than the one playing the 'hot numbers'-mostly for contrast, I guess. In Hollywood, anyhow. And I figure, on a smaller scale, practically everywhere. If somebody doesn't know what the demure ones are doing, they speculate- with a dirty mind.
"In her case, I guess it was true. She sure went to town in bed, writhing, twisting, moaning and clutching at my dong till I thought she'd stretch it. Her pussy was hot as fire and wet and wide open! And chewing. Man, I could feel it nibble at my dong-head. I tried some of my better techniques-kissing her nipples and throat and running my hands over that nice, raunchy little rump. These weren't necessary. She just wanted meat in her.
"She kept wrestling at my shoulders to pull me on top of her, with her legs spread and that hot cunt like an open mouth in the bush of her pubic hair. I wanted to hold off a few minutes, like I usually do, getting a girl built up for the big climax, but she wanted it right then!
"And got it. I rolled over on that jouncy, tight little belly of hers and threw dong into her. Yipes! It was like sticking it in a wet furnace! And she could take plenty of it. Mostly, I have to hold back a little, so I won't ream a kid all the way to her hairdo. But not this time.
"In I went, right up to the balls, in one big whoosh. I could feel my rocks knocking against the cheeks of her ass, which was bouncing around like crazy, with her pelvis making Elvis look like a kid sucking a lollipop. She could twist it and twirl it and hump it all at the same time, it seems. And ripples seemed to run right up her stomach, rubbing against my belly. It felt like I imagine a warm snake might feel crawling up me. And all the time I could feel that snatch box with the hot lips working on my love-meat My juices seemed to get pulled out of me, like they were being sucked. And I was trying my damnedest to hold back. You know, so a girl can catch up with the screwing-they take longer, mostly. Not her. She wanted all the jism she could get-and wanted it delivered in one big, hot, lumpy package-right then!
"I drew back as far as I dared and then rammed my old dong as far up as I could, reaming it into her. And she wrapped her legs around me, kicking me in the ass, and grinding her cunt hard up against me.
"We came like that-right together. I shot a hot load up her cunt and she heaved way up, giving funny little yips, and threw everything she had into gear for the big moment. I know I could actually feel her come swelling inside her, and then I was bushed. Or thought I was.
"Not so. She wanted another round-and right then! She kept that old twitch going, even though my love-meat had wilted somewhat, but then it was back in business. Hard. Well, maybe not full on, but enough.
"This time it took a little longer for me to get to the point of squirting my hot hose into her, but in some ways it was more fun, because I could time things better-better for me, that is. Right up to the moment when I shot my load.
"She dug one heel into my ass, right at my asshole and ground down. I don't know how she managed to twist it, the position she was in, with her legs wide open and wrapped around me, but she managed to bear down on my asshole with one heel until I thought she'd give me an enema, which was all right with me, since it made things a lot hotter in the love-meat department and maybe gave me a bigger load to deliver.
"And I rammed it way up her, shot my wad-a really big gob of it-and felt her bust loose. And I was ready to sag down and take a rest. But not with that woman, you didn't. She was back in business and waving her twat before I had a chance to pull out and drain my hose.
"We were at it again-with her belly rippling and her tits writhing and that pelvis of hers getting in some real work on my love-muscle. We beat that mattress in some real rhythm, sweating and grunting and twisting. This time she clawed at the cheeks of my ass, digging in with her fingernails until I was sure I'd eat off a mantel for a week. She even rammed one finger up my brown hole and twisted it around.
"She knew every trick in the book for getting more come out of a guy-some she may have invented special-and used 'em. And I found I could take 'em up to a point. Oh, I liked everything that was happening. It was just that too much was happening all at once.
"I couldn't get up steam for a fourth round. I mean, the hose had a leak somewhere back up the line and just wouldn't fill up-went limp on me. I could feel it going down and sliding out of that hot trap it had been in.
"She could feel it, too, and sighed, relaxing her legs so they flopped away from my ass, and the ripples died down in her stomach and her pelvis, except for some minor twitches, went into retirement.
"I was beat. But beat. The most screwing I'd ever done before was two times, with time out in between. This nonstop stuff was new and hard on the system. I could have hollered quits right there. Hell, I could have hollered quits after the second round, only I discovered I could make it for the third.
"And then I found she had ideas about a fourth. She was fumbling around down at my love-muscle, which was a pretty flabby hunk of flesh right then. She started playing with it, but at that moment nothing short of a steel spine inside could have made it stand up. Or so I thought. After a few minutes of those hot little hands playing with it, it was beginning to show signs of life-feeble, but signs of life.
"Then she went down on me. She wriggled around on the bed until her head was right over my meat and she sucked on it, sliding her lips up and down my feeble little shaft until it was almost human again. They were hot lips-almost as hot as her cunt. I've had others on me since, but their lips were always a little coolish. Not hers. Real hot lips!
And they sucked on my love-muscle while her tongue went twisting around it, licking off the come and grabbing for more.
"I didn't think I had any left, but she managed to work me up to giving her a spurt I don't think it was anything like what I'd pushed into her cunt the first three times, but it made a fairish gush-and I felt like I'd shot my whole guts.
"After that I was really empty. It seemed to me I didn't even have blood left inside. And she was licking that old love-meat like she might eat it, and smearing her face and cheeks with my come. It was a pretty gruesome sight, I can tell you. I think she must have realized it, because suddenly she whisked off the bed and darted into the bathroom.
"I could hear the shower running and wanted to get in there and let hot water pour over me to revive me a little. But I had to content myself with a sort of spit-bath out of the basin, handling myself with unusual care. There were moments when I was afraid my love-meat might drop off. But I did begin to perk up a little. Not enough so I was thinking of a six-day bicycle race but enough so I felt I could make it down the corridor to the dining salon and maybe take aboard some nourishment.
"Just the idea of nourishment-and that boat fed well, let me tell you-did me worlds of good. I could even lift my head without my neck creaking. Of course, my balls were hanging low in the sack, looking like hazelnuts instead of walnuts, which I had thought they resembled, and I had a tendency to spread my legs and waddle instead of walking.
"Still and all, by the time I got into jockey shorts and a T-shirt, and was pulling on some slacks, I felt almost human again. At least, I wasn't ready to resign from the human race. Socks were a problem, because my balls ached so I couldn't get my leg up easily. However, I had them on by the time she came out of the bathroom.
"She had gone in ooze-smeared and blear-eyed, flushed and sweaty, and came out looking like the dew had just been brushed off. Her eyes were clear and bright. Bright? They were twinkling. Her mouth and cheeks were smooth and soft-looking, and she was back to being that wistful young charmer, cocking her head daintily and smiling at me. 'You'll have to hurry, Ed. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.'
"No mention of what had happened. Apparently no memory of it. And seemingly unaffected by it. Except maybe for a certain self-satisfied twitch to her rump as she sat down at the vanity to finish her makeup.
"I took one look at her and then went into the bathroom where I could duck my head in a basin of cool water and comb out the rat's-nest hairdo I was wearing. For once I almost wished I could use makeup. Maybe then I'd've looked like a functioning entity.
"Astonishingly enough, when I finally looked in the mirror I found I was presentable. Oh, weak inside, to the very guts, and ready for a foot-thick steak, if they came that thick, but as I said, functioning.
"We went in to dinner, with Mother Darling on my arm, which was shaking from sheer exhaustion. She could look around and smile and be the gracious lady all the way across that huge dining salon. And I was walking beside her a hollow person. I almost expected my guts to grumble when I smelled the hors d'oeuvres, which I tackled as if they might go out of style in the next few minutes. I also shoveled up the puree of pea soup with a fast metronome motion. I slowed a little on the fish course and could handle the entree-a steak only a little over an inch thick-with a degree of nonchalance. And even managed to toy with proper indolence at my dessert and fruit-and-cheese.
"The waiter grinned at me. We'd got to be pretty good buddies, since Mother Darling tipped exceptionally well, and he liked to see people eat-at which I had always been very obliging. A fifteen-year-old is likely to take on a lot of calories and fodder of one kind or another. This time, I was outdoing even a normal fifteen-year-old. But he didn't know why, and I was not going to tell him.
"I don't know how Mother Darling did it. She was just as cool and gracious, just exactly the wistful young charmer, eating as daintily as if she did it merely to satisfy the spectators, not for the nourishment. Of course, she was an actress. And, I realized, she had been putting on this calm, gracious act most of her life. The only difference was that, once or twice she reached over to pat my hand, which she hadn't done since I can remember, but she managed to make even that look wistful and little-girlish.
"We even had our coffee up in the forward salon, which I didn't usually get since that's presumably reserved for adults. And we danced to a waltzy sort of orchestra. Nothing jive. It wouldn't have fitted with the ship's passengers. The dancing was very demure. Mother Darling made it like that, and I was just as glad. I don't think I could have taken any pelvis grinding without breaking in half, and I didn't feel capable of doing any rock-'n'-roll, frug, or any of the kid stuff.
"Not that there was that kind of music, but they did have a pretty fair combo down in tourist, to which I'd sometimes wander. But I couldn't have made the scene that night. The kids down there would have to do without my delightful company -not that I suspect any of them grieved over it, though there was a cute chick who had possibilities, if I could ever have unlatched her from her parents, a couple of professor types, but knowing.
"After the dancing-Mother Darling and I did three numbers and she doddered around with a couple of the old fogies for a few more-we headed for our suite on the promenade deck, sauntering. Actually I was getting a little nervous. I mean, for just an afternoon session: three times for a fucking and once for a suck-off! Yipes! What would a night session be like?
"I needn't have worried. Mother Darling carried over the wistful young charmer act right into the cabin, not batting an eye or indicating in any way that there had been a rousing, fucking, bed-squirming good time for us that afternoon. She kissed my cheek for a good-night and wafted off on some dream cloud of her own, in her cabin.
"That left me feeling a little foolish, plus weak in the knees, some with relief, some because I was-well, I guess you'd say frustrated. I had sort of expected maybe there'd be a continuance of the afternoon-with some real rutting and grunting. Instead I was left with instructions to go to bed like a good little boy.
"Frankly, I don't suppose I'll ever understand Mother Darling. She's like two different people. Or maybe more. Yes, I think I could see at least a couple more layers down. She's the ex-movie star, smiling, grave, gracious. She's that same movie star doing her stuff as the wistful young charmer. She's a 'good sport,' in quotes, when it comes to fun and games. Nothing quite as strenuous as skiing, which I happen to like, and not too vigorous a game of tennis. But she's nimble on the court and manages to laugh a lot, so she sounds as if she's enjoying it.
"And then there's that woman I'd never have recognized-the she-devil in bed. A completely different person from any of the other faces she put on, yet maybe the realest of them all. I could begin to believe those gossips that had her a real man-eater off screen. I do know that she never had the same leading man in any two pictures, but I had always put that down to the fact that she was choosy and, as the star, could pick the men she wanted.
"In a way that may have been true but not in the way I had always thought of it. Maybe it was true she had wanted guys with long dongs or lots of stamina. And wore 'em out during the shooting of one picture. I do know most of 'em never did anything much after playing with her. Just faded out of the Hollywood scene.
"I hauled myself off to bed, weary everywhere, but taking most of the punishment from my nuts, which really ached. I got a shot at a good tub soak and that eased things up considerably. I was able to sleep. Able to sleep? I was almost asleep before I hit the bed.
"That was my first session with her. I guess maybe she had some consideration for me, seeing as who I was, but she really could use up love-meat Gobble it. And from there on in we had a ball-a whole series of balls. And I was using mine,"
Essentially this must necessarily be an analysis of Eddie M--:'s mother, rather than of Eddie. She was the aggressor in the incestuous relationship. It is quite possible-indeed, highly probable-that she was one of those unfortunate female phenomena, a true nympholept.
Eddie, a perhaps "over precious" young man, hints at this and implies perhaps that it is coupled with a form of schizophrenia, in that she could pass from one highly excited state into a completely different emotional strata without seeming to recognize the transition or the fact that she had been involved in another emotional area.
The woman he calls "Mother Darling" was an actress, a very successful actress in a specific type of rote, that of the wistful young charmer. She was accustomed to "putting on an act" in a very literal sense. It is also quite possible that she was putting on an act in a psychological sense.
Schizophrenia, split personality, is still a dark corner in psychiatric work. Subjects have been known to harbor as many as nine separate personalities in one corporeal body, each distinct, each un-known to the other. Most schizophrenic personalities, however, have some knowledge of their alter egos, even though the control of which personality shall be dominant at any given moment is not always possible.
Actresses and actors, in general, have a mild form of schizophrenia-what might be called self-induced schizophrenia-which enables them to shift personalities on the stage or screen to fit the role requirements. When it reaches the proportions which would appear to be the case with Eddie's mother, then there is, in all probability, a true mental split. There certainly was a strong emotional split.
There is a hint of transference, too, in Eddie's failure to call this woman "Mother Darling" when he describes the sexual activities of the two of them. This is a suggestion or hint of schizophrenia latent in Eddie, since he is compartmentalizing his own thinking about "Mother Darling" as his mother-an obvious affectation-and "Mother Darling" as his incestuous mistress.
However, it is not Eddie who calls for analysis. The aggressor was his mother, using her considerable sexual attractions, along with a very active aggression, to seduce her son. It is the act of aggression that primarily concerns us. According to hints and "old gossip" as Eddie recalls it, his mother had, for many years, been man-hungry, using up her leading men with her sensuality. In each case, apparently, she was the sexual aggressor.
In The Ability to Love, author Allan Fromme, notes this form of sexual aggression: "Sex, we all know, can become a channel for many unconscious forces that may have little connection, or perhaps none at all, with sex itself."
The woman here was certainly using sex as an aggressive act on the body of her son. She had seemingly been doing, so for many years with other males. The very intensity of the act and her apparent emotional split over each incident, in which she seems not to recall or else to very successfully bury the memory of the sex act, is indicative of some early traumatic shock. In this, apparently, her intense sexual activity is a reaction to the trauma instead of a true sexual activity stimulated by normal means. Since she is not available for analysis and cannot answer any questions that would lead to a specific clue to her trauma, one can only speculate as to original causations.
That the original cause of the trauma was sexual there can be little doubt. Since she seems to have had no emotional reaction to the act of incest with her son and had an immediate and seemingly complete amnesia of the incident, one can assume that her initial trauma developed out of some incestuous practice upon her. Perhaps her father or brother had originally seduced her.
Wilhelm Reich, in The Sexual Revolution, says of such early traumas: "They result immediately in antisocial impulses and perversions and often in social anxieties and moral depression." Certainly excessive sexual activity and incest can be considered "antisocial impulses" if not to the extent of perversions. The social anxieties and moral depression which Reich mentions could easily be the triggers of the amnesiac reaction to each sexual act for Eddie's mother, extending back to the original sex act of incest perpetrated upon her.
The woman desperately needed the physical gratification of sexual activity and yet, mentally, could not tolerate the actions she went through, wiping them out in a form of amnesia. Whether this amnesiac effect extended to actual schizophrenia one cannot be absolutely certain. However, from her son's quite frank account, one can assume that it did reach schizophrenic proportions, passing the bounds of mere amnesia.
The fact is, because of certain biological structures, a few young girls are almost medical anomalies, suffering from a constant-or constantly recurring-need for sex. These girls grow up to be nympholepts. Eddie's mother was obviously one of these. Apparently unable to face the facts of her own biological drives and the sexual acts these led her into, the woman developed the convenient emotional cover of amnesia which, as mentioned, probably extended into schizophrenia with time and repetition. In all probability this schizophrenia-if-it actually existed-was the result of the early trauma arising out of some very early sex act, possibly incest.
Eddie M--- is not an admirable character in himself. He is young, brash, and concerned primarily with what Freud calls "the hedonistic gratification of the sexual drive." He admits to having sexual relations with young girls from the time he was thirteen and, by his own account, he was quite willing to continue his activities among his peer group. In feet, on the first instant of his mother's incestuous attack on him-and it can only be called an attack-Eddie admits that he was considering having sex with a young girl aboard the cruise ship. He accepted this sexual attack by his mother and subsequently was completely bewildered by her reaction to it. Or rather by the lack of any outward manifestation indicating that she had any reaction, or indeed, any recollection of what, to the boy, must have been a devastating experience, no matter how sophisticated he thought himself to be.
In his own reactions over the next two years one can see a gradually developing antagonism, along with a slowly dawning recognition that his mother was deliberately fencing him off from more normal contacts, especially sexual contacts with those of his own age. The constant traveling was either a conscious effort or possibly an unconscious desire by his mother to eliminate opportunities for closer entanglement with girls, which might easily have happened in a more stable life pattern centered in a community.
How did Eddie feel about his mother as an incestuous partner? Obviously he enjoyed "the hedonistic gratification" but physically he was exhausted and emotionally ambivalent Eventually Eddie came to hate his mother; he turned on her, repulsing her advances and saying to her the one thing which would destroy her-the references to her aging, which in turn triggered her recognition of herself, a recognition that led to her subsequent suicide.
"Like I said, I don't suppose I ever did understand Mother Darling. She was Mother Darling and in top form as the gracious lady, to me and even to the fuddy-duddies on the cruise, for the next couple of days. Honest, I was sort of bewildered. I came damn close to thinking I'd dreamed all that stuff about her and me in bed, even if my nuts did ache somewhat Would they, if it was only a dream? Anyway, I had about decided to consult my psychiatrist when I got home. Sure, I have a psychiatrist Doesn't everybody?
"Anyway, I'd about reached the conclusion I really needed a couch session with a psychiatrist, when we hit Funchal. I happen to like Funchal. I dig those crazy streets with the picture signs laid in mosaic so the ignorant peasants who couldn't read would know how to go. And those pebbles-well, in the center of Funchal they've mostly cut out the skid-runners on carriages and wagons in favor of cars and trucks, but they still scoot you down the Monte in those big wicker chairs with the overlong skis.
"I know I took this babe from tourist up the Monte and we got two of those wicker deals and raced down the mountain, with our drivers riding the skis and hanging on to the leather straps. The kid from tourist had never seen anything like that-this was her first trip abroad, I think-and she was having a ball. Oh, so was I, because she was a cute chick with all her parts, assembled correctly, too.
"I think I could have made a successful pass after that, when we got back to the ship. I had her sort of loosened up and she wasn't making too much of it when I felt one of her tits. Only Mother Darling was in the Zocala when we got down into the town. She was sweet as pie to Anita-that's the kid from tourist-and took her with us shopping. Mother Darling was really wonderful to her, not letting her spend money on the junky stuff-and do they have it in the shops there!-trying to show Anita what was really good and worth taking home. Only I don't think Anita had that kind of dough. She really ought to have been buying maybe a few junky trinkets. I know the treatment sort of made me squirmy, even if Mother Darling was being gracious. It also sort of killed the glow Anita and I had for each other.
"I never was able to work it back up before Anita and her family got off at Barcelona. Mother Darling and I were going the whole route-Marseilles, Nice, Genoa, Naples, Palermo, Venice, and then by another boat to Dubrovnik, Phaleron, Istanbul and back through the Greek Islands. Once, when I was a kid, we'd made that trip, including Rhodes and Egypt, but Egypt's sort of out of the mainstream of tourism these days.
"I had said a sort of hurried good-bye to Anita- not even a kiss, with her family looking on-and promised to write. Only whoever does? And we left Barcelona. I know I went up to our suite and threw myself on the bed, trying to figure out how it had gone sour. I mean, between Anita and me.
"I know I was only fifteen, then, but I thought I knew my way around among the chicks. I'd made out all right back home, throwing enough love-meat around so I never had to worry about the well going dry. I'd had cunt and knew where more was available-back home. But I had had this sort of yen for Anita. Or maybe it was just the gonads working.
"Mother Darling came in and looked down at me. 'Really, Eddie, you'd be better off with a tepid shower. The weather ... I'm not sure I should have tried this trip at this time of the year ... Go on, Eddie, take a shower. You'll feel better.'
"Maybe I would. I mean, staring at the ceiling doesn't get you anything but a knowledge there's a crack in it. I crawled off the bed and kissed Mother Darling sort of absently-she liked to have me kiss her in passing, absently or not. I started peeling out of my shirt as I went. I heard her behind me, laughing, but kind of choky. 'You have nice shoulders ... '
"I was still getting the shower adjusted to just that temperature where it feels exactly right. You know, a real tricky balance between air temperature and your skin. That's when she came in, laughing and shedding her peignoir, stepping into the shower right along with me and kissing me on the neck. A real hungry-type kiss.
"That's when I knew it wasn't any crazy dream. It was real-and exciting as hell. She really knew how to get a guy worked up. A little finger-action along the spine and then down around the front. Nothing quite as crude as grabbing my love-meat, but little passes that made it sit up and take notice. Rubbing those tits against my back didn't do my dong any injury, either. She could really squirm 'em around and grind 'em in. And make a guy know what they were and why they were there.
"The first thing I knew I was swinging her around in the shower and grabbing a mouthful of tit and sucking. And maybe getting more shower water than sex, but it was still great. Mostly, because, I figure, when I turned around, my meat hit right at her cunt.
"She rode my love-meat, sliding it between her legs and working her twat back and forth on it, like a witch on a hot broomstick, moaning and whimpering all the time, her eyes half shut and her mouth working. Hell, her cunt was working, too. I could feel it twitching at my dong, lipping it, getting things worked up in the working area. And I was pumping, too, and sliding some in the shower, because I'd dropped the soap and it was underfoot.
"She led me out of the shower, drying us both off at once with one of her big fluffy towels and riding my private little old broomstick all the time she was wiping.
"She had a perfect little body, pint-sized, maybe, but all the parts were there. And whoever put together her particular jigsaw, did one fine job. I know I could run my hands down her back and grab that nice, raunchy rump, dig my fingers in and practically lift her on to my love-muscle. She dropped the towel along-about then and started clawing at my shoulders, doing a rumba rhythm right up against me and letting out little yips. She was practically gnawing on my collarbone, and all the time she was turning us both and moving back into her cabin. Don't ask me how she managed it I had my hands and mouth and face full of woman. And that was a woman I was holding. My love-muscle was moving to a beat of its own, right up against the hottest twat in Christendom, And one that wasn't just hot but worked at being a twat.
"Somehow she had backed me to the bed. I fell back across it and she climbed right on top of me, squatting her turbulent little cunt right over my dong, moving it around until things fit. And then she just sat down, ramming my prick up her twat until her pussy hairs seemed to come out of me instead of her.
"And she did the shimmy. Oh, I know that's an old dance, older even than her, but then, what she was doing was older still-from back in the early days of Time. She could swing her pelvis and twitch back and forth, all at the same time, and bounce up and down, so my love-muscle was riding up and down in her hot cunt and getting chewed by those hot cunt lips.
"I'd have said nobody could do all those things at once, but she would have made a liar out of me. Because she fucked the living daylights out of my love-muscle, going in all directions at once, and still managed to damn near claw my shoulders loose.
"Enjoy it?-I know I was having myself more excitement than if somebody had stuck a blender up my tail-running. But her? I don't know. She looked excited-wild-eyed, really-and had this funny, rigid sort of smile pasted on. But she also looked as if she might be hurting. Like it was something she had to do. Still, she was loving it You could tell.
"If I sound a little mixed up about it, it's because I am. And maybe I'm reading things into it that never were there. She liked love-meat up her twat. Loved it. But something-kind of like a strain- made her neck muscle stand out and pulled her mouth around. Her belly heaved, too, the whole time.
"It was sort of fascinating to watch. Me, lying there on the bed, while she rode my ramrod up and down, twisting and turning.
"I knew I wasn't going to be able to hold it any longer, not the way she was working on it. So I grabbed her hips and held her steady for a minute while I pumped a wad up her cunt. She just sat there, shaking and shivering-and pouring juices down on me.
"She slumped then, for maybe a minute, breathing heavy, her eyes glazed and her mouth working, the creepy wrinkles of her stomach showing up for the first time. Or anyhow, the first time I noticed 'em. Then she took a big gulp of air, straightened and came off my going-limp love-muscle. She turned around, backing up so her twat was right over my face.
"And she sat on it.
"I mean, she sat right down on my face, her hot, wet cunt right on my mouth. She wriggled a few times, getting it settled, and then grabbed my fading joy-stick with both hands, pumping it and milking it. Over her shoulder she just said, 'We'll sixty-nine it,' and jammed my head in her mouth, licking and sucking at the jism I had already shot, while her twat worked up and down on my mouth.
"The first thing you know I was liking it. The taste of her was terrific! And my tongue reamed up her twat, getting some of those juices all the time I was fitting my mouth around those hot cunt lips so I could get more suction, more taste. The pumping and tonguing and sucking she was giving my prick had already starred things going again, so my love-muscle was back in love position and getting bigger and harder. Her tits were just brushing my belly. I won't say they were actually hot, because if they'd been as hot as they felt I'd still have scar tissue from the burns, but they sure stirred my belly into wanting to pump harder, give more flavor to my love-banana, spurt more juice. I was even working my head back and forth, bobbing it up and down, trying to ream deeper into that hot, sweet cleft with its rich, hot juices, and sucking like mad.
"I could feel when I shot off my nuts. Feel? I thought I was pumping my guts out right along with the jism. And she let go my love-stump and dived on it, ramming it so far down her throat I was wondering if it might not come out her asshole and spit jism in my eye.
"She was giving out with juices, too, so I sort of lost track of how ..things were going down at the south forty while I was lapping up hot stuff up in my own neck of the woods.
"Then, with a funny kind of shiver from her, it was all over. My crankcase was drained and I was getting the last of her juices. After a few shivers and a shudder or two, she slid off my face and almost slithered off the bed. She headed for the bathroom, sort of sleepwalking-with funny kind of swimming motions with her hands, not even looking back at me.
"Not that I cared. I was so drained, so pooped, all I wanted was just to lie there, until maybe someone would come along and roll me up like a window shade. I let my lungs function for a long time without any help from me, just pumping, so I got oxygen enough for living purposes but not much to spare, and let the shakes run out of my legs, which they'd do in funny little quivers that seemed to wind up almost like a cramp in my belly.
"She came back from the shower and stared at me sprawled on the bed; 'Hadn't you better put something on, Eddie? And get your shower. There's even time for a nap before dinner.'
"It was so different from the way she'd left the room, except that she was still sort of unfocused, that I was surprised. I scrambled off the bed and hurried into the shower. This time I made it hot, to see if I could get me clean. It seemed to me I was kind of gummy from my face down to my knees. I took my shower, all right, and then wandered back to my cabin and fell on my bunk, facedown, and just lay there, letting the excitement drain away in slow waves. And I was asleep.
"I heard Mother Darling's laughter first. 'You silly boy. Are you going to sleep right through dinner? I've been up for cocktails and come back to find you still stretched out! Get up, Eddie, and dress for dinner.'
"Not a hint we've had a big session of fucking during the afternoon and no wonder I'm pooped. I can't understand how she could be so chipper, her eyes bright and her smile just the right degree of gay. I stumbled off for a cool wake-up shower and dressed -but slowly.
"Nevertheless, I made it for dinner. Not exactly the brightest, but then, in that crowd, who needs, to be particularly bright. Still, old Mrs. C--- noticed. 'You've had too much sun, boy. Mustn't overdo, lad. I've been coming on this cruise for over forty years and I still take precautions. Moderation, my boy. But it never does any good to tell the young to be moderate!' And she laughed at her own wisdom, or what she thought was wit.
"Mother Darling simply shrugged and led the way up to the salon after dinner for coffee and music. Fortunately for me it was music-type music. I mean, not dancing-type music. Because right then I felt I had three left feet and at least one broken leg that wasn't really painful, just not functioning. I know I wandered off to bed early and really slept.
"Even the next morning, when I woke up-with my balls aching and my prick, even deflated, feeling a little raw-I didn't get a peep our of Mother Darling about the afternoon sex roundup. It was all over and that seemed to be that. Understand, I was not complaining. Not then nor later. Well, that isn't exactly true. Later I did get kind of riled up. Pissed off, you might say.
"I couldn't complain. Who'd want to? I'd had tail many a man would have given his left testicle to lay. Excitement and fucking that doesn't often come to one guy. One of the most exciting women in the world in bed with me, and me reaming her. And did she like reaming!
"Sure, I know she was my mother. I was never confused on that point. Oh, maybe right in the middle of a rousing good fuck I might sort of lose track of who it was with me. I mean, like all cats are gray in the dark. But there was no mistaking that it was a real woman with plenty of sexy yen in her cunt in bed with me. Maybe too much woman for me to handle. I know I couldn't have handled it often.
"Even once in a while drained me. I mean, like after Barcelona we hit Marseilles-and I didn't get laid there. In fact, even though Marseilles is supposed to be quite a little village for sex-you can buy it anywhere along the waterfront-I wasn't even interested. Well, I wasn't much interested in museums, either. So Marseilles was kind of dull. Nice is supposed to be even hotter in the hot-pants department than Marseilles, but I still couldn't have raised a respectable hard with virgin pussy rubbing up against it.
"From Nice it's only a short run up to Monaco and the casinos of Monte Carlo. Sitting down all evening, even if it meant losing some shekels, appealed to me. So I found me a spot at the low-point roulette and pitched coins on the board. Mother Darling went off somewhere, to see if she could get in touch with Grace. I don't think she did. She and the Princess had never been friends in Hollywood, so why pick it up now.
"Anyway, after I'd lost two weeks' allowance at roulette I quit and wandered around the casino. In the high-stakes room I saw Mother Darling hunched over chemin de fer and a pile of chips, real avid looking. I left her at it and went on back to our hotel, peeled out and went to bed, cussing myself for losing two weeks' allowance.
"It must have been along about dawn when she came in, her eyes shining, and dumped a whole sackful of coins on my bed. It woke me up all right. Startled the hell out of me, waking up under a shower of coins and seeing her dancing around the room, humming happily to herself-and doing a striptease. She was flinging things right and left, until she was down to the buff, showing all of that marvelous little pint-sized figure.
"She could have given Little Egypt tips on how to shake boobies and twitch her navel. Ever seen a dame twitch her navel? I don't guess there are many that can. But I can tell you, it's exciting, even when you're only half awake, like I was. Hell, I'd have propped my eyelids up with toothpicks to watch that.
"And then she was all over me. I mean, I don't see how so small a female could cover so much territory all at once. She was nuzzling my neck and wrapping her legs around me and clawing at my shoulders and singing a sort of 'ummm-um-ummmm' thing to herself all the time. And hot! Her whole body was hot-and had me hot in about ten seconds flat I had a hard on before I really had my eyes unstuck and I was reaming right up her hot spot, with her legs wrapped tight around me and her pumping like her governor had broken down.
"Make no mistake, I was pumping right back at her and shot my wad well up her belly, hot and fall. And she kept right on with that hotrod rhythm of hers until I was all set to shoot another load-and did.
"I don't know how long we kept up that frenzy. I know there was a sixty-nine session in there somewhere and one straight fuck. I mean, with me on top of her, reaming away. And once she just sat there and jacked me off, watching and feeling my come pump through my love-muscle-and gobbling it up. After that, I don't know.
"I know it was getting light when she suddenly crawled out of bed and walked off, staggering a little, to her bathroom. The next thing I knew I was waking up, stiff, sore, aching in all my parts, particularly in my dong and balls. I felt I was a hundred years old. Plus I was sticky-dry with come and sweat. And I could feel a couple of coins stuck to my ass. There were a couple of others-on my back and one in my crotch.
"I flung back the covers, scattering coins all over the room, and practically crawled on all fours to the shower. When I'd had a good hot one and felt I might live, I turned on the cold-to find out if I really was alive. So I was pretty near human by the time I called down for breakfast.
"I had gathered up the coins-those I could spot -and they made quite a stack. I didn't bother to count them because there were some American half-dollars and Swiss francs and a couple of Moroccan dirhems and some Dutch florins and a flock of D-marks. It would have taken an accountant to figure it out in dollars, but it was a hunk of money. I gave a couple of florins to the waiter, not having any idea what they're worth. He was satisfied, even a little happy, so I probably over tipped.
"There must have been some more coins in bed because when the maid put on clean sheets I heard coins rattle and scatter and the maid came out on the balcony to say, 'Merci beaucoup!' and grin, showing three gold teeth. So I suspect she got a fat haul out of it, too. Not that I had meant to leave the coins for her, but what the hell.
"That was Mother Darling's attitude exactly when she came back from a swim at the beach. A swim! And just as chipper as if she'd had a good ten hours' sleep. She smiled at me, kissed the top of my head and plopped down in one of those wicker lounge chairs. I'll bet she's one of the few women in the world who could flop down like that and wind up looking demure and even prim; I had the stacks of coins out on the balcony, so I shoved them toward her. She smiled at me, shrugging. 'Keep it, Eddie. It's only winnings.' And breezed off to play tennis. Tennis! I couldn't have lifted a racket, let alone hit a ball. And she was all set for a game of tennis!
"It went on like that the rest of the cruise. Not often, but every few days-and then, wow! she could turn on the heat and fuck up a storm. I got so I could recognize the symptoms-her eyes would focus on me but somewhere behind my head or just above my hair and she'd start funny little cat-smiles-then whoosh-and she was flaming ready, real hot ready and grabbing for my love-muscle, moaning or humming a funny little tune.
"It went on like that after we got back home-a once-in-a-while thing, but both exciting and. exhausting, and picked up tempo a little on the Caribbean cruise and the one to Peru. It seemed we were always going someplace, but then, Mother Darling was restless, always wanting to see new places-or revisit old ones.
"A couple of years of that, and I got so J could predict fairly well when she'd come rampaging in, wanting a good reaming out. I was getting pretty good in the reaming department and the sessions weren't quite so exhausting though still hectic. Those session were also giving me ideas. I mean, if she liked screwing that much, maybe there were others. Earlier, I'd been sort of leery, not knowing if girls liked getting fucked or were just putting up with it.
"For practice I made a pass or so at some of the older babes-dolls still in their thirties, nothing really decrepit-and found out they liked it. Not like her, but liked it.
"All that's very nice. Getting pussy is fine, but I was beginning to want something besides just nooky. Sure, it's fine with older women, but I started dreaming about something more my stable-mate size, some chick around sixteen or eighteen, with real young tits, creamy skin, and a tight twat. Someone I was reaming, not someone out to have me ream 'em. Ever get that feeling? Even when you're on to what anybody would say was a good thing you're still looking around for just that particular chick.
"I found her on the cruise down to Dakar. She was an American, maybe just a touch hippie but as cute as a basket of kittens, traveling with an aunt who thought she was a dragon and spent most of her time asleep in a deck chair. So Clarissa-that's the chick-had considerable free time except on shore excursions, when the aunt got real eagle-eyed and suspicious of every Moroccan or Arab or Berber who happened to pass by.
"I didn't quite work the 'come take a look at my etchings' bit but I did suggest Clarissa might want to see some of my slides from other trips. Maybe she did like to look at slides-and maybe she had an inkling of what I wanted to look at. Her naked. Anyway we did a fair job of looking at slides for a while, until I got my hand on a tit. From then on it was a milk run.
"I don't think Clarissa had ever had a guy's hand on her before, in spite of pretending to be sophisticated and hippie. She just sort of melted, moaning. It was almost too quick for me. I hadn't yet figured out how to undo her blouse, but I worked it out quick enough and wriggled her out of those tight jeans she wore, till I had her naked and moaning, twisting on the bed and saying over and over, 'No! Please! No!' and not meaning it.
"She had cute, young tits, real fresh-looking, with small nipples and tiny pinkish-beige rings around 'em. There wasn't anything but real soft downy fuzz around her cunt-I mean, real young, and practically edible all over. She kept pulling my head down and kissing me, really grinding her mouth into mine-not good technique but very exciting.
"I played with her snatch, sliding my finger between the lips and teasing her clit and she just flung her arms and legs wide and lay there, staring at my face and saying, 'Please! No! Please!' I slid between her legs and threw my love-muscle up against her cunt-and she started crying. Not sobbing, just tears squeezing out of her eyes. But all the time humping up to take it. And she took it. All of my love-muscle. And worked her little twat-not very expertly, but that comes with practice-to help out, moaning and whimpering and clawing at my shoulders.
"When I shot my load into her she raised way off the bed and then dropped back, shuddering and hanging on to me, letting out soft little cries that didn't say anything and meant she'd loved every minute of it.
"Mother Darling walked in on us just about then, took a good, long slow look and backed out.
"Clarissa, her face flaming, hopped out of bed and started dressing hurriedly, crying a little and saying, 'What must she think of me! What must she think of me!'
"I tried to tell her that without her contact lenses Mother Darling couldn't tell whether it was; two seals in bed together. Which is true. And I knew her eyes had been giving her a little trouble so she wasn't wearing her contact lenses-and she's too vain to break out her glasses, which she does sometimes to read fine print on contracts and such, but always in private.
"I didn't convince Clarissa, who was still having the shakes when I walked her up to the bar for a limeade; Even so, she put on a good act for her aunt, who had been dozing all the time. So she was okay.
"I knew I wasn't, though. Mother Darling may not have been able to tell who was in that bed, but she sure knew one of them was me. And I was going to catch it.
"I managed to avoid Mother Darling until dinner time, knowing she wouldn't say anything at the table or in the salon afterward. It came after we went down to bed.
"I was in my cabin, knowing it was coming but not how. And she walked in, stark-naked and slinking over to the bed. I think it was the slink that gave her away. Normally she just went right after what she wanted-my love-muscle. So, if she was slinking, she was putting on an act. And she didn't know but one act-the young, wistful charmer. The rest was the real her. She was giving a bad imitation of Natalie Wood trying to do a Theda Bara vamp act.
"I just sat up and looked at her, astonished. You can't believe what a lousy actress she really is, outside her one role. I just shook my head at her. 'No, baby. We don't play tonight.' That would never have stopped her if she'd really been in the mood for a good hard fuck. Nothing stopped that. But what I said stopped her cold. She blinked at me and straightened out of that phony slink. 'It's that foolish, silly little girl! She's being giving you notions.'
"I nodded, mostly because that's how I had decided to play it, nonchalant and a trifle bored. 'Yes, that foolish, silly little girl gave me notions. Like I like 'em young. With nice firm young tits and smooth skin-without creepy, creepy wrinkles.'
"I didn't mean to hurt her. But she just stood there a moment, staring at me. Then she turned toward the mirror set in the door and walked over slowly, peering at herself, lifting first one breast and then the other and turning her head to look at her neck, and then down at the fine wrinkles across her belly. I guess that was the first time she'd taken a good look at herself in years.
"She didn't even turn toward me; she just walked slowly into her cabin, not even looking back. How'd I know she had those pills? And would take 'em-and write that goddamn, stupid note. As Mother Darling I loved her. As-that other-well, frankly I got to be scared of her in that mood, even if she was a hot number, even if we did have plenty of first-class fucking. I don't think I'll ever understand her. She was really two different people. One of them was Mother Darling, charming, gracious, even witty, and the other ... God, I don't know. I just don't know."
The prognosis for Eddie M---, in spite of the tragic ending that his mother encountered, is relatively optimistic, at least in the development of his sexual nature. It is highly unlikely that he has succumbed to any strong gerontophilic urges; it is doubtful that he had actually had any such urges even while he was having the affair with his mother.
The tragedy of Eddie's mother, clearly evident from the preceding narrative need not be expanded on any further. One can only say that it is unfortunate that she had not had the opportunity to question the nature of her life and the demons of mind and body before they drove her to oblivion.
CONCLUSION
Numerically the very poor produce the largest number of sexual delinquents, but then, of course, numerically, we have more very poor than we do the very rich. Statistically we have an even lower percentage of cases of delinquency in sexual matters from among the very rich than we do from among the very poor. So, it would seem, on the face .of it, that there is far less delinquency among the very rich than among the very poor, the two ends of our economic system.
This is only true when we consider cases-acts of delinquency that come to the attention of authorities. The very poof, in most instances, are under the vigilant eye of the whole series of social agencies, Social Security, Welfare, Child Guidance Programs, Aid to Dependent Children and so on. In this way the sex delinquent is detected. The very rich have no such check-up system and, in cases where sex delinquency results in disease or pregnancy, have private means for handling-and concealing-the delinquency.
Juvenile court officials have said that very few instances of sex delinquency originate as such, being generally detected after some other offense has been committed-car theft, vandalism, shoplifting, gang "rumbles" and the like-during which the minor is brought under scrutiny of a court or social agency and thus becomes a statistic. The number of delinquents among the rich who commit "other offenses" is relatively small, since these are acquisitive crimes-efforts to enrich themselves by theft, shoplifting and the like-for which the children of the very rich generally have no drive.
Those of the very rich who are apprehended for "other offenses" usually are instantly covered through attorneys and, unless the offense is major, often whisked out of the jurisdiction of the courts. Thus1 the social agencies have scant opportunity to study the individuals and to learn if there are also sex offenses involved.
Each of the five cases cited here became known for some special reason. Fay, the unhappy child of Chapter One came to the attention of the authorities through her mental breakdown. The "musical twins" became a matter of record when Jane herself applied for psychiatric help. Jill, the jet-set thrill girl, was brought to the attention of authorities when she was caught smuggling drugs (which she claimed her brother planted on her). Alexis, incestuously in love with her father, was never officially considered a delinquent, though she was indirectly involved through her sister's charges against the father. Eddie, "the boy who loved his mother too well," also was never officially a delinquent, since he was a minor and, so far as could be determined, the victim (though perhaps willingly) of his oversexed mother, whose suicide focused attention of the authorities on the case.
Maxwell Douglas, in The Documented Story of Sub-Teen Sex, in enquiring into what cause a young child, boy or girl, to become a sex delinquent before the usual biological urges take over, says:
In the first place, in this society of ours a healthy, emotionally sound environment is by no means universal. There are whole segments of our society that live in an emotional and moral environment little better than animalistic. It is this milieu, often of economic poverty, that produces our gangs and group delinquents and, of course, nymphets (youthful sex offenders) in quantity. And there are also, in financially stable areas and in high-income groups "pockets of moral poverty"-individual homes or even neighborhoods that have some fatal flaw in their emotional and moral makeup.
It is from such "pockets of moral poverty" among the very rich that suffer this "fatal flaw in their emotional and moral make-up" that the five cases presented here were drawn. Each, if one but looks closely at the record, reveals it own fatal flaw.
What can be done to alleviate this situation? From the standpoint of society as a whole, virtually nothing. This is not a problem of economic poverty, which a more judiciously administered welfare program might aid if not correct. It is one of a moral and emotional flaw that can only be corrected by individual effort in the specific home.
Only by a strong moral rearmament can such incidents as these be stopped. This, of course, is a long-range project, with little likelihood of any immediate reaction, even if it could be implemented. The prognosis is not good. The moral fiber is, if anything, weakening rather than developing the strength necessary to combat degeneration.
In the meantime these five cases are presented as examples of this moral degeneration, with the hope that they will serve as a warning of the several types of parental neglect or failure in guidance and will inspire fresh efforts to correct this very serious flaw in our social fabric.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Bernhardt, Karl. Natural Sex Techniques. Van Nuys: The Genell Corp., 1965.
Caprio, Frank S., and Brenner, Donald R. Sexual Behavior: Psycho-Legal Aspects. New York: Paperback Library, Inc., 1961.
Douglas, Maxwell. The Documented Story of Sub-Teen Sex. No. Hollywood, Calif.: Challenge Publications, 1966.
Fromme, Allan. Ability to Love. New York: Pocket Books, Inc., 1966.
