The study of History has shown us that whenever a culture begins to loosen traditional sexual customs, certain people within that culture will begin to experiment with the most perverse and intense erotic activities.
The purpose of this book is to show how one of these activities-the seduction of young working boys by mature women-has affected the participants.
But the case histories presented in this volume go far beyond the traditional genre. Here are the actual words of the women involved-actual and often frightening descriptions of the erotic perversities these women accomplished.
It is important to note that almost in every case, the woman was the seducer and it was she who used the body of the young boy as a musician would use an instrument. Furthermore, once the effort at child seduction was successful, the women seemed to explode their own sexuality, to attempt perversions and fantasies that must have lain in their unconscious since childhood.
Many sociologists have claimed that the sudden explosion of such relationships, visible in every social and economic class, are a direct result of the present accent on the "youth culture" and the desire of the mature women to somehow play a role in that culture through the bodies of their young lovers.
I find this to be an extremely simplistic theory and one that is not corroborated by the actual women who indulge. It goes far deeper than that. It goes to the very core of modern sexuality and the desire of these women to go beyond the "normal" activities of sex because those activities have not been able to provide gratification. Gratification, indeed, is the key word. When adult husbands, lovers and friends no longer excite or deepen-where can a woman go?
There is only one place and that is to the area of exotic love-making, with either children or members of their own sex. But lesbianism requires a deep change in the erotic psyche, while the seduction of young boys only requires a suspension of one's ethical norms.
Another key point in this syndrome is the fact of "polymorphous perversion." This is the normal activity of childhood, before the libido centers in the genital area. For many of these women, the possibility of returning to that state is almost unbearably sweet and they grasp any such opportunity.
In the case histories presented, I have not edited any of the incidents or language. Authenticity is necessary in order to understand their behavior. The only changes I have made is to alter the locales and substitute pseudonyms for the persons involved, lest they become the butt of community pressure and hatred. In spite of the vaunted "sexual revolution" most community leaders and, indeed, the man in the street, still will not accept such behavior as normal or desireable.
Similarly, I have changed the names of the young boys involved even though they were often willing partners. Most of the young men spoken about exist in that strange sub-culture of half-school and half-work. Perhaps it is because of their quasi-independence that they are open to the overtures of the women.
I firmly believe that only through the presentation of explicit and detailed memoirs by the people involved, will this syndrome yield its secrets. In addition, the solutions obtained from such studies can substantially stretch the frontiers of American psychology.
At the end of each case I have presented a brief, documented analysis of the case. I hope they will be helpful to the reader.
Elliot Parker, Ph.D.
CHAPTER 1
(Name: Ellen G. Age: Twenty-nine. Place of Residence: Boston, Mass. Occupation: Housewife.)
It started two years ago this winter. The snow had been falling for weeks-first slowly and then in blinding storms. A filthy white crust covered the ground. There was no place to go and nothing to do. The car stood snowbound in the garage.
As for the state of my marriage at the time; it was the same as it always had been-on the verge of breaking up. Night after night he would move over to my side of the bed and slip his hands between my legs, hoping for some feel of cunt. But I kept my legs shut like two iron bars.
His smell-his words-his face-everything about him nauseated me. When he realized my legs wouldn't relax, he kept begging me and telling me how much he loved me. He would take my hand and glide it around his erect cock, hoping the feel of that stiff flesh would make me relent.
Sometimes, I would take pity on him and let my fingers slide over the globes, squeezing and scratching his scrotum until he would lay back and purr like a contented cat. Then I knew it was too late, that I had already made the mistake of appearing interested and the only thing left was for me to slip my rounded mouth over his tip and let the cock move into my mouth. He would raise his ass and begin to pump it into me. I shut my eyes and accepted the thrusts, until the seed poured out and I would throw myself back on the pillow, weeping.
That winter, it seemed that all there was to do was weep. The snow never let up. I was in a prison. Most of my day was spent on the telephone with friends talking about the most stupid things in the world.
And then one day, after a specially heavy snow, the door bell rang late in the afternoon. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I went to the door and opened it half-way, making sure to keep the chain locked.
Standing in front of the door, holding a massive shovel in his hand, was a young man. Immediately I was struck by the innocence of his face. He was tall and slender and fair-his longish hair curling around his ears. He smiled:
"Do you need the snow shovelled?" he asked.
"I suppose so," I said, not really thinking about the snow but keeping my eyes fixed on his face.
"Five dollars," he said.
"For what?"
"For the whole house and the alley and the garage."
I just stood there thinking about it. For some strange reason I didn't want him to go away, I didn't want to lose that precious innocence.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
God, fourteen, it had been so long since I'd met someone that age. I slipped the chain off and opened the door so I could see his whole frame. He stood there without a hint of self-consciousness.
"You said five dollars?"
"Yes," he replied respectfully, shifting his weight to one side and leaning on the shovel.
"My name is Ellen," I whispered and then cleared my throat and spoke my name again. It seemed unfamiliar to me, as if I was saying something that had no relation to me. He was becoming uneasy. He wanted me to make a decision but was too polite to say so.
"Very well," I heard myself saying, and closed the door and walked to the living room where I sat on the sofa.
As I was sitting there, I realized that my hands were trembling and the insides were drenched with sweat. What had happened to me? From the outside I could hear the sound of the shovel against the caked snow. I had to look at the boy. I had to watch him.
Moving carefully to the window, I pulled the curtains back a little. He was leaning into the shovel, his whole body a poem of grace and discipline. Even from the window I could see the veins stretched taut on his neck and the red flush in the incredible white skin.
I knew he was a virgin. I could feel it deep down in my bones. I knew he had never touched a girl or had never known the glory of the thighs. I kept watching until my body became so weak that I had to sit down.
He was working his way slowly around the house and I knew when he stopped for a rest because then the shovel was silent. I was wearing only a robe and by accident the front opened and I stared down at my full breasts. They were the breasts of a mature woman-the nipples like two heavy ripe fruits.
The shovel started again. I closed my robe and buried my face in my hands. What was happening to me? Why was I suddenly falling apart.
Then the bell rang again. He was standing there, completely exhausted.
"Are you finished?"
"Yes," he said.
I opened the door and beckoned him in with my eyes. He walked inside, leaving the shovel leaning against the front door.
"I still don't know your name."
"Phil," he said, smiling.
Only a virgin smiles like that. Only a child who had never known penetration-who has never known the power in his own cock.
"Why don't you come into the living room while I get your money, I'll make you some hot chocolate to warm you up."
He nodded and followed me into the living room, sitting on the sofa.
My hand trembled as I prepared the drink. The five dollar bill was crumpled in my pocket. Finally, I brought the cup of steaming liquid into the living room and handed it to him, placing the rumpled five dollar bill on the table in front.
"Thanks," he said, grabbing the cup and holding it like a child in his hands.
For just a moment I saw the brilliant whiteness of his teeth. He drank it down and the warmth flooded back in his body. The sight of his lips on the cup made me tremble and the nipples inside the robe sung with desire. I closed my eyes, envisioning that virgin cock, lying gently between his thighs and the tiny, sweet globes hanging loosely.
"Do you want another one?" I asked.
"No thanks, I have to get home."
I suddenly felt that my life depended on his staying with me. I felt that something horrible-something beyond description-would happen to me the moment he stepped out the front door.
"Wait a few more moments."
He didn't understand. He didn't know what to say to me.
I sat down on the sofa beside him. His eyes stared down for a minute at the cleavage between my breasts and then he looked away.
My hands went to my robe and I pulled it open.
"Look, look," I whispered.
He seemed to know what I had done for his head turned reluctantly, almost as if it was a terrible strain.
"Hurry," I whispered.
His eyes were staring at my naked breasts, wide-eyed, almost unbelieving. I could see the beads of sweat standing on his virgin forehead. His arm was beginning to move up, slowly, until the fingertips touched my nipple. I closed my eyes and trembled as he grasped my breasts and began to play with them, and explore them as if they were the most wonderful new toy in the world.
Suddenly, I needed more than that and reaching across with both hands I grasped him by the back of his neck and pulled hard so that his face was buried between the twin mounds. He moaned but stayed there when I released his neck.
"Your mouth, your mouth," I begged. He was so innocent that he knew nothing, not even how to provide his own gratification.
I could feel him struggling in the tit-hollow, trying to understand what was happening. And then, as if by a miracle, his mouth opened and the saliva began to form around the lips. He moved back and went for my nipple.
"Yes, yes," I whispered to the child.
He licked the nipple with his tongue and then took it in his mouth. I began to weep and shiver and pushed the breast in. His mouth was like fire and ice, the velvet lining of the throat making my point erect.
"Suck, suck," I moaned.
His tongue was flicking back and forth at the tit, the saliva beginning to drool down my white flesh. Deeper and deeper I pushed it in until his mouth was filled with my love. His white teeth widened and then sunk into the quivering nipple. I screamed and ran my hands through his golden hair.
Then, suddenly, he pushed the breast out and stood up. He was shaking. There was a wild look on his face as if he was a cornered animal.
"Why did you stop?"
"I have to go, I have to go," he said, almost hysterical.
But his feet wouldn't move. His eyes roamed over the room as if searching for a spot to hide. I stood up and walked over to him.
"Please," he gasped.
What did I care for his pleas? I dropped the robe from my body so he could see my shimmering nakedness. He tried to keep his eyes averted, but like a magnet my crotch drew his stare. The eyes bore between my thighs, trying to see the cunt jewel, trying to see for the first time the object of men's love.
"I want to go."
"But where?" I asked.
He opened his palms and looked at them-they were wet with virgin dew.
I began to undress him, piece by piece. First his jacket and then his shirt. I kissed his bare chest and ran my tongue over his nipples and then under his arms, tasting the bittersweet fear.
He was stiff as a board, his muscles under shock. Then his pants and shoes until the only thing between my love and his virgin cock was a thin pair of underpants. His limbs were straight and pure. I took his hand and guided it over my ass until he pulled it away like my flesh was burning hot.
"Are you frightened?" I whispered.
"I don't know. I don't know anything."
Then, slowly, I peeled down the garment until I could see the shaft lying in that golden jungle and beneath it, the incredibly sweet globes.
I stepped back and stared at it. It was just beginning to come alive. The blood was beginning to pump through that shaft.
I kneeled down in front of that golden rod. I felt that I was experiencing something unique; that I was about to taste the most profound food of my life-a god's food. There were drops of sweat on the insides of his thighs, gliding down the legs.
My lips were coated with a film of passion and inside my throat there was a gurgling like that of a volcano. The cock-tip was beginning to jut out into the empty space of the room. How I loved his innocence at that moment. How I loved the sheer splendor of raw meat encased in a golden fluff.
"Don't move, don't speak," I whispered. His eyes were closed and he swayed slightly from side to side.
I kissed his globes gently. He shivered. I took both of them in my mouth and sucked at the scrotum. He leaned forward and began to moan.
There was an odor from his thighs, an odor of young vibrant maleness, an odor that made me dizzy as I drank it in.
"Please," he begged.
My mouth was hot on his globes and I brought them all the way into my mouth and let the saliva pour over them. Then they slid out. The shaft was growing by the second-its virgin length was feeling for the first time the closeness of a human mouth. I kissed the bottom of his cock-working my way up and down the shaft until the tip was red with lust. He didn't know what to do or how to respond. He just stood there, trembling so hard I thought his body was falling apart.
I moved back a bit and opened my mouth wide. The cock-tip was only inches away. I let my tongue flick from side to side, waiting for the entry. He was afraid to put it in-he was afraid to let his maleness slip in that cavern of love. I opened wider so he could see the pink roof of my mouth.
Each second that ticked by was excruciating for me, I needed that cock desperately. I needed it plunging in my mouth. He leaned forward just a bit. He was weakening. I knew I would have my virgin love.
The tip was at my lips-tasting of the fresh earth and his virgin innocence. There was none of the cracked, putrid odor of my husband's cock-the odor of being encased all in nervous sweat.
I opened the lips wide and it slowly slid in. He groaned and twisted as the wet cage of my mouth fastened around his maleness. He had never known that such feelings existed. He had never known that somewhere there was a female mouth that would send him into a different kind of heaven than the one they had taught to him in Sunday School.
Deeper and deeper it slid and I began to suck. His moans filled the room. I sucked the cock in deep to the roof of my mouth and then played with it. I let my teeth sink gently into the stiff stem until he wept.
Then it was all the way in-up to the base of the shaft-so deep that his golden crotch hairs tickled my nose. I gave him all my love. My tongue played lovingly along his instrument, taking care to coat every inch with the burning saliva of passion.
My hands were around his back, digging into his delicate but lean buttocks, spreading the cheeks and letting them move back again.
It was enough. I pulled my mouth off and he cried as I let him go. Standing away, I could see the hysterical cock coated with my own saliva, shimmering in the dim light of the afternoon. He held out his hands to me in a sign of supplication. He wanted me to lead him further.
"What do you want?" I asked, baiting him. "I don't know."
"You want this," I said, moving my legs apart and thrusting the bottom part of my body forward so he could see the juicy crotch.
"I don't know."
"You want this," I screamed.
I began to rub my crotch until it was festering with passion. Then, I reached down and spread my cunt lips for him so he could see, for the first time, the maw of existence. He tried to turn away but he couldn't.
"Do you see it?"
"Yes."
"I can't hear you. Do you see it?"
"Yes," he screamed.
He was a young man and I was a mature woman but I had absolute control over him. I was the strong one. His physical strength in the bloom of youth meant nothing. I was the power in his life. I was the one who would make him act. The cock was stretching out toward me, excited, poised for entry, a massive, manly piece of meat that had to be satisfied.
"Take it," I whispered, spreading my cunt all the way so he could see the juicy inside. "I can't."
He tried to turn away but the weight of his stiff cock kept him rooted to the ground.
I moved a little closer and began to gyrate my body so he could catch glimpse after glimpse of the waiting nest; so he could see the walls which would close around him, so he could smell the lusting cunt odors which wafted toward him.
"It's yours, take it."
He reached down to touch his cock as if to control it, as if to somehow lessen the desire he felt. But there was no way to stop it. There was no way to keep him from manhood.
"Take me."
"I'm frightened."
I turned around and, leaning over, spread my cheeks so he could see the dark splendor of my ass. Then I spun, and held out my breasts, squeezing them until the nipples danced.
"It's all yours," I whispered, "but you must take it."
"Leave me alone," he screamed.
I watched him stand there, torn by the needs of his adult cock and the childhood feelings of innocence which still polluted him. I was watching a child fall apart.
"It will be good ... I promise you ... it will be the most beautiful thing in your life. You will never forget it. I promise you."
The muscles in his neck tensed. He was making his decision. He would gamble soon.
I turned from him, walked over to the couch, and lay down, spreading my legs so that the crotch was in his line of vision.
He took a tentative step and then stopped-and then moved again.
"It waits for you," I whispered.
I could tell that each movement of his body was an agony for him-but the cock would not let him rest; it was pulling his body step by step to its own gratification.
He reached the edge of the sofa and sat down beside me. His cock was like some primeval lance, suspended between entry and withdrawal. He reached out his hand and touched my bush; then drew back as if he had been bumed.
"Yes, yes, touch it, feel it," I whispered.
The hand snaked out again and I felt his finger playing with the clitoral knob. He moved it down-down-until his thumb was drawing a circle around my cunt lips. His eyes were closed and he breathed heavily.
I spread my legs wider and pulled him over me. At first he fought but then his body relented. The weight of his young body drove me down in the sofa. I felt the cock searching for the nest, twitching with the unbearable agony of time. Holding it in both hands, I rammed the squirming muscle into my cunt. The boy screamed as my nest sucked him in.
He tried to thrash-to twist-to pull his maleness from the cunt clutches but it was too late-the red-tipped cock had taken charge.
"Drive," I begged.
I pushed my ass up off the sofa to pull it in deeper, to feel every inch of flesh.
And then, something in him, some hidden knowledge that runs through his blood, gave him the signal. In an instant, I felt the terrible thrust of his cock driving deep and I fell back to the sofa only to rise again. And again he drove, coiling and uncoiling his body like some primeveal coil.
I could feel the vibrating phallus, the blood pouring from tip to shaft-the crushing of my own cunt walls as it lanced me again and again. We became two animals, two berserk animals trying to destroy and then to bring to life.
The innocence slipped from his shaft with each plunge. His mouth was against mine and he forced his tongue inside, moving it with an hysterical abandon.
He was grinding the cock into me. His childhood was gone. My cunt sucked the shaft in, covering it with the juices beginning to form along the maw. I was being sent to hell by a virgin cock and begging for more.
Then he froze in me and it grew so large that my cunt walls screamed with pain. He was nailing me to the sofa. I heard him expel his breath like an engine and then he plunged with a fury-sending my body deep into the fabric-his seed pouring out in a hot, vibrant stream.
It was over. He rolled off me. His eyes stared at the ceiling in shock.
"But now me," I whispered.
Crawling over him, I straddled his face with my cunt and forced the tongue from his mouth until it had plunged deep into the maw-still wet with his own seed. He nicked his tongue in agony and a second later I went over the top.
All was quiet. I gazed at his thighs and the semen still dripping down. He was soiled-totally soiled-the once-virgin shaft was now ugly and brutal, without charm. It was the same ugly flesh as Karl.
Suddenly I felt disgust, total and complete disgust. I wanted him out of there, I wanted him out of my house. The young, golden virgin was no more.
"You'll have to leave," I said.
He sat up-shocked by the change in my voice, by the tremor of dislike.
"But why?"
"You have to go-now get out of here." He dressed and opened the door, staring at me and saying:
"Can I see you again?"
"No."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I-now get out."
The door closed and I heard the shovel scrape against the door as he picked it up.
I was terribly tired and I crawled up to my room and lay down on the bed. I couldn't understand what had happened to me-the sudden need for the virgin and then the massive disgust I felt once his innocence had been wrenched away from him by my own body.
When Karl came in I was fast asleep and didn't wake until the next morning.
I tried to forget the whole incident, to push it out of my consciousness, but from time to time it would appear and drove me screaming to my bed.
Then it snowed again-a driving, deep snow that covered the city like some obscene blanket. Once again I was a prisoner in my own house. Once again there was no where to go and nothing to do.
A week went by and the snow kept falling. I could see nothing outside my window. When that bell rang again during the afternoon, I began to shiver. I was afraid of who it would be. I was afraid there would be another young boy, another virgin cock that would seduce me.
"Excuse me, Miss, five dollars for your house."
This time he was dark haired and short. His body was compactly put together and he kept sweeping a long lock of hair out of his face.
Not again, I kept telling myself, not again. I turned away from him without answering. My underarms were wet with sweat. "You hear me, Miss?"
"Yes, I heard you," I muttered, still keeping my back toward him.
"Five dollars is a good price."
"I suppose it is."
"And your snow's pretty deep."
What had the other boy said? Did he use the same words? For the first time in my life I wished Karl was there; at least his presence would keep me honest.
"O.K., O.K.," I said, and closed the door quickly. It was happening all over again but I knew I had to fight it. I shut my hands over my ears to stop the sound of his working from reaching me.
I was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Where was he now? In the back? In the front? In the driveway? He looked like a young god, dark, mysterious, and above all there was that obvious innocence. For a moment I hallucinated that there was a conspiracy against me-to throw those virgin temptations on me.
It was no use. I walked into the kitchen and then used the side door to walk into the garage. It was freezing and I closed my robe tight. From one of the clear windows I could see the back of the child.
Banging on the glass, I caught his attention. I felt like some snake who had slithered up from the ground and was about to pluck a remarkable fruit. But with the snake's guile and courage was human guilt.
He stamped the snow off the shoes before he walked in the garage and then stood in front of me-a questioning look on his face.
"I didn't get your name."
"Bob."
"Hello, Bob," I said gently, and he flushed slight-ly.
"I have to finish up."
"No, wait," I said suddenly. "For what"
There was no time with this one. There was no time for the elaborate offerings I had given the other.
I was on my knees in front of him, digging at his pants. He cried out once but I savagely told him to shut up and before he could respond physically, I had his cock in my hand, his slim virgin cock-resting like a wounded bird in the palm of my hand.
"Be quiet, be quiet, my little bird," I whispered, almost hysterical with joy. I began to stroke it, to feel the globes and pinch the blood into the shaft until it was growing and pulsing from my caresses.
There was no time for anything but love. I worked his tender cock until it had reached the full bloom of manhood-until it was standing straight out-pointing toward the womb that I wanted it to enter. I opened my robe and stepped back so that my buttocks were crushed against the steel of the car. I held out to the child my hands and my cunt-squeezing the fig of life until it seemed to suck him in with the drops of moisture that were being pushed to the vaginal lips. He was walking toward me. All the virgins crumble before a juicy cunt. I pressed back against the fender and grinded my ass until he was close. The boy's face was a mask. Did he hate me or did he love me? Did he know what was happening to me?
The cock-tip was against my crotch and I spread the cunt lips with my fingers. He rammed it in, driving it deep with one thrust and pinning me to the car. I began to twist and his shaft followed my every move and he sent it cutting through the dripping cunt walls which surrounded the stiff flesh. It was good-it was so good and so beautiful. I took it all in and then began meeting his thrusts-driving forward until in protection he had to summon all of his strength and ram it to the depth of the womb. I was wounded and broken but a second later the orgasm rent my body and I soaked his seed up. When it was over, again that hatred for a virgin who had become tarnished. His body was filthy and ugly to me and I drove him from the garage without pay.
From then on there was no stopping my madness. And even now, even after all this time, I no longer know whether I am right or wrong or pathetic or psychotic. I only know that I must follow my lust.
* * *
R. D. Laing, the British psychoanalyst, has made one of the most important modern contributions to the theory of Schizophrenia. In his book THE DIVIDED SELF (Penguin Books, Baltimore, Maryland, 1965) he writes:
"The hysteric pretends that certain highly gratifying activities are just pretending, or do not mean anything, or have no special implications, or that he is merely doing such and such because he is being forced to, while secretly his own desires are being fulfilled in and through these activities." (p.96)
We must remember that statement while dealing with this case. Ellen continually tries to give the impression that she is acting under a demon, an uncontrollable urge. This, of course, is not the truth. Ellen is seducing virgin boys in order to obtain gratification-a gratification that has been thwarted her whole life.
Thus, her need for the children is a need for a cathartic gratification-an orgasm which will dispel certain unconscious thoughts that have been troubling her psyche. But why young virgins? This is a difficult problem and an exceedingly delicate one for the patient.
We can, however, make a beginning. It must have been at some point in her childhood when she suddenly felt the loss of both a spiritual and a sexual virginity. Undoubtedly, such fantasies of loss of virginity occur during the most intense phase of the Oedipal complex where the young girl actually wishes and sometimes believes that her father has raped her.
As a woman, with this unresolved conflict still in her psyche, she projected the loss of virginity into the young men. But she did more than project-she actually wished for a vengeance on her father for the mythical and hysterical rape of herself. She would rape the young boys, divert them of their virginity just as her father did to her.
Her poor relationship with her husband only fed fuel to her fantasy. Even her husband became a part of the conspiracy; of the phallus-father trying to re-assert his right to the hymen of the young daughter.
At the present, she is not actively seeking out such relationships. The phenomenon of cold winters provides her with fodder for her designs. But once she is willing to leave the house to actively solicit children on the street, there is no doubt that the authorities will eventually apprehend her and then she will be forced to receive adequate treatment.
CHAPTER 2
(Name: Rhoda L. Age: Thirty-two. Place of Residence: Baltimore, Md. Occupation: Department Store Packer.)
I often get a laugh when I read about the fancy ladies who complain about life; how it's so tough for them; how they can't find the right man or the right dress. I'd like to put them all where I am, in the basement of a department store, wrapping stinken packages until my fingers are bleeding.
Maybe I shouldn't complain. After all, I have my own strange kicks and I wouldn't trade them for all the money in the world.
What I mean is I wouldn't trade Jesse. He works in the packing department also only he works part-time because he goes to school in the morning. Me and Jesse are really close friends but it wasn't always like that.
I remember the first day I saw him. It was the summer time and they didn't have air conditioning then-only big fans that just circulated the hot air. I was working on some special shipments and the sweat was just dripping down my body.
Suddenly, this kid comes into the little alleyway where we work and he's holding a large toy-I think it was one of those teddy bears.
"Can you do me a favor?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Wrap this for me ... I was just hired and I don't know how to do it."
"Wrap it yourself," I said nastily.
Toys were the most difficult objects to wrap and they had crooked and sharp sides that ripped through the normal wrapping paper. And also-I didn't want some snot-nosed kid running for my help every time he didn't know what to do.
"Please," he whined.
I turned away from him and I could hear him shuffling away. There was a thousand things for me to do and I just went about my work.
An hour later he was back again, standing like a wounded animal, holding another toy.
"They'll fire me and I need this job."
I wanted to call him a stupid kid and say that we all needed the job. Why did he think I was working there? Because I liked the work?
"Look, I got my own work to do."
"Then just show me."
I ripped the toy out of his hand and put it on the table in front of me. "Watch carefully."
He stood there as I expertly wrapped the paper from the roll and slipped it over the object. Using my scissors, I trimmed the sides and then finished it off with a ribbon.
"The trick is never to get excited. Just take it slow and easy."
He nodded, took the package and went out. I went back to the massive pile of objects I had to wrap. About an hour later I went on my coffee break and I saw him standing off to one side, looking terribly lonely.
I was about to go over to him because he looked like a puppy who was caught doing something naughty on the floor-but then I caught myself because I had enough trouble without a kid hanging around.
It was too late. He saw me and his face lit up like a Xmas tree. He walked over.
"Have you been in this store for long?"
"Five years," I said.
"Wow!" was the only reply he could make. We both went back to work. About an hour later he was in the booth again, holding his finger. "I cut it," he said.
He placed his hand on the table in front of me and I could see the deep gash and the thick spurt of blood which oozed onto the wood of the table.
"It hurts, it hurts terribly."
I picked up the hand and for that one instant, I felt a terrible chill in my body. I felt as if I was holding a cock-a thin, young cock that had been gravely wounded. I broke out into a terrible sweat and then I caught hold of myself, dropping the hand like it was a burning ember.
"Go to the nurse," I hissed, "why are you bothering me with it?"
He walked away and I leaned against the wall, trying to steady myself.
"Leave me alone," I whispered.
The weekend came and I tried to forget him, but the image of that little kid kept coming back. Everywhere I went, I could see his little finger-the blood dripping out.
Monday came and I vowed to keep away from him, to stop quickly and once and for all this nonsense. He came in late in the afternoon, still carrying his school books. He passed my spot and poked his head in. I turned away and didn't answer his greetings.
Two hours later he was back again, standing beside me and holding a pot that had to be wrapped in his hand.
"Would you leave me alone? Would you stop bothering me?" I half-screamed at him.
He was trembling at my fury and he was unable to move. I had really frightened him.
Suddenly, without warning, without even thinking, I felt my hands move over next to him-resting on his shoulder-then they moved down his body until they rested between his legs, resting on the fabric over his crotch. The sweat beads stood out on my forehead. I knew what I was doing but I didn't have any vital control over my hands.
I kept my hand there-slowly beginning to stroke his thighs-feeling the movement of the small shaft beneath the pants. I wanted to scream out-to ask him to run-but the power in my finger tips was beginning to grow.
"Jesse," I whispered and he turned toward the sound of the voice. Was it my own voice? I don't know-it came from me-but it was from somewhere deep inside. It was the voice of my subconscious.
I heard the sound of his zipper as it opened and the grating noise made me shiver. It was open-completely open. I thrust my hand inside until I felt the hot glory of his cock and the cool form of his globes. He leaned forward, every muscle in his body straining.
"Don't move, Jesse," I begged.
The boy just stood there. I let the cock move between my fingers. It was beginning to grow. I felt that it was mine, that every inch of it belonged to me. I moved in front of him, and looking around swiftly to see that no one was looking, I bent down and kissed the tip. He moaned and moved forward. He was hard-hard as a man-the muscles and the blood rushing forward. I licked the trembling cock and then in one gasp opened my mouth and let it plunge deep.
When my lips slipped off, the trembling cock was coated with my saliva.
My eyes moved all around the store. It had been so long since I felt cock-since I discovered that joy of seeing the male shaft-standing straight up-trembling to penetrate. My body felt like a suction cup. I was expanding and contracting. I had to have solitude. I had to have the boy alone for a minute. He was also wild-eyed, not knowing what to do with his own maleness which hung out like a weapon.
The locker room-yes, the locker room-that smelly collection of shopping bags and make-up-where the employees change and leave whatever valuables they have.
"Follow me," I whispered.
We walked quickly into the room. It was empty. There was a musty smell there. I flicked off the light and we were plunged in darkness.
"Don't talk. Don't talk, Jesse," I pleaded.
The child just stood there. I let my hands go to his globes and played with them and fondled them until he began to moan. I opened my blouse and let him suck on the nipples until they were standing straight up and digging into his mouth.
I heard a sound outside the door. Was it an employee coming back to get something? I cursed under my breath and taking him by the hand pulled him back into the room-all the way back to the far wall. It had to be fast. I couldn't think-my mind kept reeling and every time I wanted to run I reached out and touched his smooth silky cock.
I had to be penetrated. My body was burning. I had a hole in my body; a burning hole that only one thing could fill. Something had to give. I pulled him to the corner and with one hand ripped my clothes from my body, pulling at my panties until they were shredded silk on the floor. I pulled Jesse's face down until it was smashed into my crotch and I could hear him gurgle as his teeth found the cunt lips.
It had to happen fast. I was trembling all over. I pushed him away and he stood up, the juices from my crotch still on his lips.
I pushed my both hands against the wall and showed him my ass. I don't know why I chose that; I don't know why I didn't lay down on the floor and spread my legs and let him drive that young cock into my nest.
But no-I waved my ass in front of him-and he could see the whiteness. I leaned over and holding my buttocks, spread them until he could see the dark core winking at him.
"Now, Jesse, now," I whispered, my arms aching as they kept the cheeks spread. He was frightened. He was scared to death. I cursed myself for having gotten involved, for having suddenly fallen for a kid's cock.
"Now, now, now," I kept muttering. I could feel the tip against my ass and then he pushed a little harder. Outside, I heard more noises. God, I thought, if they catch us, we're through. "Hurry."
It was cutting through. It was passing the anal gates. I could feel it slide through the buttocks, cutting through the flesh. I let go of my cheeks and pressed my hands against the wall, straining to feel every inch. Oh how I wanted it-oh, how I needed that penetration.
He was all the way inside. He was whimpering and crying because he didn't like being in there but he didn't know what to do. I pressed back against the penetrating cock and he moaned. It was all the way in. It was in the hot core of my anus.
"Pump, pump," I whispered.
He stood still. I wriggled my body more. He made a tentative move and then thrust with all of his might and I was nailed against the wall, his cock driving into the core, twisting and turning as if he had done it all his life.
It was all meat. The child was a man. I felt flashes of fire and ice. I felt the cock grow big. I felt my ass expand and then open all the way as if it was a tunnel waiting only for the magic word of entry.
My face was against the wall and I urged it on. I moaned and whimpered as he chewed my ass up, as "he dug it all the way and kept thrusting and driving. Then the kid screamed and a second later I felt his seed pour into my ass and he backed up against the wall, breathing heavily and staring down at his dripping cock.
"We have to get out of here," I whispered. I picked up my panties and slipped them on even though they were ripped.
"Wait five minutes after I leave and them come out."
A few moments later I was back in my booth, wrapping packages as if nothing had happened. Then I heard Jesse's steps and he stopped for a moment and looked in.
It was a look I will never forget. To him I had become the wicked mother, the lady who had helped him and rescued him and then seduced him. I could tell by the way he shuffled off that his penis hurt.
For the rest of the day we avoided each other. Then next day I decided not to go in and the next day. Should I quit? What could I do? Whenever I thought of the incident in the locker room, I almost died with shame. It was the first time in my life I had ever seduced a boy and the first time in my life I ever had anal sex. What the hell was happening to me?
I called a friend of mine and was about to tell her the whole story and ask her advice when suddenly I shut up. I couldn't bear, for anyone else to hear it.
Finally, there was a choice to make. Either I could go in and keep working ... or quit and look for another job.
I went in the next day but I vowed never to do anything with Jesse again. He, too, was keeping his distance. He, too, knew that we had done wrong.
But it wasn't the end because the disease started to come back. I would see him walking in the hall and my whole body would become hot and bothered. I would see him bending over the water fountain and the minute his tongue nicked out and I could see the pink shape I would catch my breath.
Once, just before closing time, I stood off to one side and watched him pack some housewares. He was working fast and he had learned all the ropes. His fingers were nimble and slid over the packages.
Suddenly, I had to be relieved. There was no one around. I moved deeper into the darkness and with my eyes glued on his movements slipped my hands down my crotch until I could feel the sweat growing and increasing along the insides of my thighs. I moaned as my fingers moved up and manipulated the clitoris, edging forward-always forward to the rhythm of his fingers on the paper and twine.
He stopped and rested but I could no longer rest. I spread the cunt lips apart with one hand and slipped an erect finger into the warm, moist maw. I slid it all the way up and my body shivered with the penetration. He started to work again-moving quickly, almost unconsciously. I was spearing the pools of juices which adhered to the cunt walls. In and out-deeper and deeper-I was my own savior.
What did I want? What was I doing? Was there any end to this madness? The finger was the answer, crooked and wise it slithered all the way up until it rested at the entrance to the womb-until it drove me almost insane with lust and I began to pump as if a cock was in me.
I leaned against the pole and a second later the explosion came and the juices covered my finger as it slid out of my own body.
I ran home that night and cried myself to sleep. Who was that demonic little devil? Who had sent him? Who had asked him to interfere in my life?
There was only one thing to do and I did it. I found a man. I walked into a sleazy bar and I picked up the first man who paid me the slightest attention. He was about fifty and he kept looking at me as we walked to his apartment. He was almost slavering at the mouth. We undressed and when I saw his old body, I remembered the firmness of Jesse and I almost started crying. He lay down on the bed, waiting for me. There was no place else to go. I dropped down beside him and felt his hand cup my breast and then play with my nipple. He spread my legs and started kissing my crotch until it was moist. I closed my eyes and lifted my ass off the bed to give him what he wanted.
The teeth were in my cunt like it was a ripe fig, chewing away the juices, sucking on it until my whole body shivered. I felt the tongue go in and I kept my teeth clenched and my fingers clawed at the sheets.
He was tonguing me all the way, sending it deep into the slit and then salivating and chewing my knob which was inflamed. He twisted it until I was half-crazy with desire and then pulled it out.
I could his his face lit up like a light bulb. I could see his chest heaving. He turned me over and bit me on the ass. Then he spun me around so fast I could hardly think and I felt his cock ram in my cunt-it was big-so big I felt pain-and it screwed its way in-all the way-pinning me to the bed. His breath was sour and he cursed me as he fucked, driving it all the way and doing me real proper. I kept the vision of Jesse's face in my mind as he worked and then I felt him shoot the seed and he pulled it out at the last minute and let the goo fall all over my body.
"You didn't reach it," he whispered.
"No," I said.
"I'll take care of you," he said and started to finger me but I just pushed him away. I didn't want any more.
"What's the matter, honey?"
"Nothing."
"Let me help you out."
"I want to go." He rolled away laughing. "It's a free country."
I dressed quickly and walked out into the street. I fled from that neighborhood, running toward my house, not really knowing where I was. I had to run. I felt the dirt in me and I had to find a way to get it out.
When I was home I just sat in the kitchen and stared in the darkness.
Finally I walked into my bedroom and lay down but it was useless to try to sleep. The sheets seemed to burn my ass, to twist up into the anus and remind me of that young cock plunging in. I tossed and turned and finally took a few pills.
The next day I went to work feeling like a bull dozer had run over me. When Jesse walked in, I refused to speak to him. This was the day I had to choose. I had to make the decision.
"Do you want me to quit?"
I whirled at the sound of his voice. He was standing there, nervously shifting his weight from side to side. I wanted to fasten my eyes between his legs, to suck the cock out with my eyeballs.
"I don't care what you do!" I replied.
He came closer and placed both hands on the table in front of me. I could see the childish lines in his fingers, still virgin from years of hard work-still innocent of the wrinkles and lines and pains that afflicted my hands.
"I'll go if you tell me. I'll quite. I'll do anything you tell me. I know you think I'm a stupid kid but I love you. Please don't laugh at me. Please don't."
I wasn't laughing. I wasn't doing anything but trembling. Before I could think, I had pressed my body against his arm.
"I don't know, Jesse-I don't know what to say or how to say it."
"O.K., I'm a kid. I'm fifteen. I don't know anything but you can teach me."
He was blushing and I took his hand and slipped it under my skirt. He started to get frightened but I slowly guided it into the warm crotch and he moaned as his fingers slid the cunt lips apart and began to make small circles in the nest. His fingers were desperate; they were pulling me apart. They were forcing entry, pushing me back.
"Not now, not now-later-during the coffee break-meet me in the locker room."
Jesse pulled his hands out and left. All the next hour I was tense, waiting for the moment of coffee break and yet hoping it would never come. Then the packers filed out and I moved slowly after them, slipping away to the locker room at the last instant. It was dark and I sat down on a bench. My body was wet with sweat and I was shaking. "Are you there?"
It was Jesse's voice. I didn't answer. "Are you there?" he asked again. "Yes."
He waited until his eyes were accustomed to the dark and then he found me, sitting down on the bench beside me.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said.
There was such a fresh smell about him, such a smell of young love and spring and all the things that I knew were lies and bullshit.
"But I'm here."
"I missed you."
"But you just saw me an hour ago," I protested, laughing.
"I missed you."
It was like talking to a petulant baby. He would say what he had to say no matter the truth of the matter. He reached out his hand and touched me on the face. I couldn't hide the need anymore. I could contain my own trembling. Slowly, I unbuttoned my blouse and his eyes grew wide as he saw the breasts tumble out.
"They're yours," I said.
He was frightened. He couldn't take them.
"They're yours."
Then I saw his hands move up, slowly, painfully, as if the touch of my breast would be fatal. He cupped one breast in his trembling fingers and I closed my eyes.
He held it like a wounded bird-gently.
"Kiss it," I moaned.
He bent forward and his hot young lips circled my straining nipple. It was beautiful-it was total.
I let the nipple go deeper and the moment his pink tongue touched the point I rammed my breast all the way into his mouth-deep in-until the white flesh was choking him and he had to suckle like a desperate babe to keep from choking.
The nipple slid out still covered with his saliva. I lay back on the bench and let his hands undress me-pulling at the unfamiliar clothes until I was naked on the wood. He stepped back and his eyes drank me in. He had his mouth open slightly as if he wanted to taste the delicacy that was waiting for him. I moved my body and he bent down and kissed my crotch, bowing his head into the jungle of moist hair and weeping there. I closed my thighs around his face until he was forced to go deeper and kiss the very center of my silken nest-the swollen clit which guarded the entrance to his paradise. His mouth became full and wet and I grabbed his hair and yanked him close until his mouth was circling my cunt lips.
I shook my ass a little and he slid the tongue in but I pushed him away. I wanted more than that. I wanted what I had before-that sudden terrible pain-that splitting apart of my whole body.
I turned over so that my stomach was pressed against the bench. He was standing beside me and I opened his pants carefully with my fingers.
The shaft leaped out. It pressed against my lips and I could feel the racing fire. I opened my mouth and let him cool it in the velvet of my throat, deeper and deeper until his cock was burning with my tongue and teeth. He slid it out-over the teeth-and he moaned from the pain and the joy.
Then I kissed his globes-holding them in my mouth and sucking on them. He moaned and began to sway back and forth. I chewed on the succulent scrotum, tasting the bittersweet sac and then let the globes out, to rest gently under the dancing cock.
"Take your pants off," I whispered.
He quickly slid out of his pants and I ran my hands along his thighs and then felt the power in his ass-the young muscular buttocks-so unlike mine.
"If you want me, take me," I whispered.
I could feel his eyes staring at my body. He placed his hands on my ass and began to knead the buttocks, spreading them and then letting them bounce back.
"Take me," I moaned.
He tried to lift me off the bench so he could ram his fingers in my cunt but all I gave him was a taste-and then my ass was in front of him again.
I felt his lips on my cheeks and then the pricks of his sharp teeth. I lifted myself up and pressed my ass in his face. He choked from the mass of white matter.
"Take me," I said again, this time my tone a desperate whine. It had to be soon. I moved on the bench so the wood splinters ate into my crotch.
He was straddling me and his young cock was just grazing my buns. I wriggled more so he could see the opening, so he could see my need. He squatted down lower and his hands slid under my front and grasped my breasts until I wanted to scream with pain. He squeezed them and released them-squeezed them and released them-fingering the nipples until they were singing with joy.
Bring it down, bring it down, I kept moaning to myself.
The burning tip was at the center of my back and gliding slowly toward the naked front. It was between my buttocks-just at the rim.
I moaned as the tip began to sink between the fleshy walls, as the buns spread and sucked the shaft down, always down toward the core.
I whimpered as he kept pushing. It was hard the first inch but each additional inch was softer-yielding more and more-opening wide for the fleshy torrent of youth-for the shaft tipped by the god of his love.
My ass was a flower, suddenly touched by the most fragrant stem. My ass was opening-spreading the wings of flesh and sucking the intruder in. As it penetrated it grew and increased in thrust. I began to twist on the wood-opening myself more, shivering as I heard his cries and soft moans as the stem of his cock pushed onward.
He was all the way in. He had opened me. He was riding his own fiery cock to the center of my bowels. Once inside the core he began to drive it home-to show me he was a man-to drive me again and again into the bench until I was a gasping hunk of flesh, until my ass was riveted to the wood and his fiery tip was taking me apart-thrust by thrust.
We were totally joined. We were joined beyond my wildest dreams. I was being splintered and I loved every minute of it. The pain and the joy were mixed in his muscle and we rode as if on a great wave-riding forward and backwards-up and down-until my core was lacerated and bleeding and I accepted the gift of his sperm as a cooling joy.
He rolled off me. I tried to get up but my back was badly wrenched. "Help me," I begged. "What can I do?"
"Help me off the bench."
His hands slid under my wet, warm armpits and I shivered again. "Help me stand."
I was up but the pain in my ass almost doubled me over. He was crying on my shoulder and asking me to forgive him.
"Get my clothes."
He picked up my clothes and tried to dress me but his hands shook too much. I kissed his fingers and began to weep-telling him to be calm-telling him that I loved him. His wet, limp cock brushed against my face and I kissed the semen from his globes.
Once dressed we walked out of the locker room, our hands entwined. It was a new dawn and there was nothing that would keep us apart-nothing that would keep the fires of passion from being stoked.
* * *
In the Winter, 1967 issue of the PSYCHOANALYTIC REVIEW, the distinguished psychoanalyst, Ruth-Jean Eisenbud discusses certain aspects of masochism in her article: MASOCHISM REVISITED. In this article, she states:
"The sexual masochist admits consciously seeking the experience of pain and being attracted to it. However, when the curtain rises on his partner, he plays the scene as if this was not the case. Whether it be hairpulling, or spanking, or vile, verbal abuse or a draft of urine that he needs for sexual delight, in the first act of the script he begs for love and kindness, he protests his submissive goodness, he tells his neediness."
It is obvious from the above that the subject, Rhoda, suffers from this syndrome. But what is the aetiology of her sexual masochism? Obviously, an unresolved conflict stemming from the anal phase of childhood. But why young boys? Here we have a very delicate problem. The Oedipal connection is readily apparent. She wants to be anally raped by her father but the guilt stemming from such subconscious desires is intolerable. Therefore, she resorts to the process known as "Tom Thumb projection." This means that the subject searches for the physical opposite of her true desires-particularly in the realm of size. Rather than admit the Oedipal need she fastens on a child.
What is the prognosis for the future? Statistics compiled at the leading mental health clinics in this country and abroad, have shown that severe cases of sexual masochism with anal overtones are almost impossible to cure unless caught extremely early.
However, the obvious ego strength of this woman and her long flirtation with the syndrome prior to actually indulging, may mean that there is a good chance for cure if caught within the next few years.
The young boys she seduces will, unfortunately, pay the price of her sickness with distorted perceptions of the true end of the erotic enterprise.
Anna Freud, the daughter of the founder of psychoanalysis and a distinguished practitioner in her own right, has speculated on the possible dangers of early exposure to non-diffuse sexual experiences. In a paper published in 1964, she went so far as to call for a rigorous program of erotic indoctrination for the sons and daughters of the middle-class.
While I cannot totally agree with such a position, and have argued against it elsewhere, I must say that cases such as the one we have just studied are eloquent justifications for such feelings.
CHAPTER 3
(Name: Felicia V. Age: Twenty-seven. Place of Residence: New York City. Occupation: Housewife.)
Just look around me. I have everything. A magnificent apartment with a view overlooking the river on three sides. A husband with more money than he knows what to do with. Maids, clothes, jewels, servants, cars, personal hairdressers, personal masseurs-yes, everything.
But everything really means nothing. Of course, only the rich really know what nothing is ... we can appreciate it. We are the ones who really rot away, who really feel the decay of our bodies.
When I was married five years ago I thought all the joy in my life would keep increasing. But it ended; it ended so quickly that it almost took my breath away. It ended that one particular night.
My husband and I had been to a party and we had been drinking heavily. It was late when we got home and I fell on the bed with my clothes still on.
"Why don't you get up and stop lying there like a drunken panhandler."
I thought he was joking but then I realized there was disgust in his voice. I realized for the first time that my husband had grown tired of me, that he kept me along only for the ride, only because it was too much trouble to divorce me. Suddenly, at that moment my whole world crumbled. I remember laying in bed that night and thinking. His soft breathing was audible. I wanted so much to remain loved, to somehow be wanted, to maintain the role of the wife. Lying there, unable to sleep, the tears falling down my cheeks, I became desperate. The need for happiness was like a cancer, eating all other cells. I slipped my hand over and rested it between his legs. He stirred but didn't wake. The flannel of his pajamas caressed my hand. I found the slit and my hand moved inside until it touched flesh ... until it touched the exquisite globes hanging just beneath the cock.
When I held him like that, he had to love me. When my fingers played with his globes, he had to know that the only way everything could be right in the world was to be loved by me. I spread the pajama bottoms wider and my face moved into the jungle of hair. He smelled gamy and beautiful. I licked the base of the cock and slowly began to work my way up, toward the tip. It was beginning to grow, to pound.
Suddenly, I felt a terrible pain at the back of my head and I was sent reeling away from him. When I gained my balance I found myself on all fours, staring dumbly toward him. Yes, he had struck me in a cold fury. He was sitting up:
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Doing? You're my husband."
"Just leave me alone."
With that he turned over and tried to fall asleep again. I found myself trembling, my whole body distraught with the idea that he had rejected my mouth. I crawled to him like a starving dog crawls to the master. I moved around the other side and bared my crotch against his face, hoping the delicate scents of my womanhood would overcome his hatred.
"Get away."
His voice was steel. His voice cut through me until I was unable to breathe.
I crouched in front of him, my hands on the in-sides of my thighs, rubbing the crotch line-spreading the cunt lips so he could see what was waiting for him ... so he could see that I was ready to give him all my love. My face was a mask of agony. I slipped a finger deep up my nest and twirled it about, driving myself upwards with a fury, fingering my own body to absorb the strength I needed to confront him.
"Don't throw me away like a piece of garbage."
"You're imagining things, Felicia, go to sleep."
I pulled my finger out and cupped my breasts so that the nipples were standing straight out toward him.
"Love me," I begged. "Go to sleep."
"Love me," I whimpered and my nipples were dancing and quivering in the air.
He turned away from me and buried his face in the pillow. I was right-he did think of me as garbage, as something that could be thrown away.
I went for him like a lioness, pulling back the covers and ripping his pajamas from his body. For a moment he took my attack without a word and then I felt his muscles tighten. He pushed me back and I rolled so that my legs were against the wall. I saw his cock-suddenly erect-suddenly waving in the dark night. He came toward me.
"You stinken bitch," he screamed.
I rolled away from him. He seemed to have gone berserk. I tried to get off the bed but he caught me and pulled me down and the next moment I felt his teeth digging into my white breast until it was covered with blood. He was like a crazed animal, chewing at the tit and then lacerating the nipples until I started to weep and begged him to stop.
Finally I pushed him off and I started to slide to the floor. He caught me while I was halfway down and pulled me back up. There were no preliminaries. He spread my legs apart and brutally rammed his cock in-sending it all the way-sending the tip deep into my nest. I struggled and squirmed but it only sent the giant shaft deeper. I had never known him like that. He was ripping me apart. I moaned and wept and cried out for him to stop but he pumped like a madman.
I could feel every ridge of the shaft, every muscle and vein and it slid up and down, growing larger and larger. My vaginal walls sucked it up no matter how hard I tried to fight. His face was twisted into a grotesque mask and I could hear the sound of his desperate breathing as he pumped. He was hurting me ... more than I have even been hurt in my life. Each thrust sent chills up and down my spine and opened my cunt until his thrusts were reaching the womb. I was being sent on a phallic journey to hell.
Then he stopped and it swelled inside of me. A second later his body convulsed and the seed ran through the shaft. But he pulled it out and in a gesture of contempt and hate, he let the cock spend its seed over my face, the liquid running down my eyes and mouth and throat.
"Bitch," he muttered hoarsely. Then he picked himself up and walked out of the room. I lay there ... almost collapsed. In that one night every dream I had was shattered. Every myth about happiness and my marriage were torn asunder in the terrible thrusting of his cock.
It was all over. The marriage was all over though we stayed together. So, as the days and months passed and I realized that in spite of my hurt I had to survive. I began to look for an alternative mode of life; one that would not revolve around him. I tried all the things ... all the hobbies ... but I grew bored with each one.
Painting, school, knitting, cooking-you name it and I tried it. But there was a void-a gap in my life and I couldn't fill it.
I knew my husband was having affairs with other women but when I tried to have an affair it ended disastrously. It seemed that everything I did, I did wrong.
Even the servants laughed at me and sometimes when I passed the maid's room I would hear her shaking her head and muttering as if I was the saddest example in the world. I began giving them extra days off because I couldn't stand to know that they were sitting around and pitying me.
When the maid and servants were gone I would take a perverse pleasure in cleaning up the house, in doing all the dirty chores. At least there was something intelligent in such acts; it was my house and I should clean it. I actually began looking forward to the days when I would send them away and the whole massive apartment was mine alone.
One afternoon, not more than a year ago, I was in one of those situations. Dressed like the lowliest maid, I was wearing a small smock and a dust rag around my head.
The buzzer rang. It was the downstairs doorman telling me that the delivery from the butcher had arrived.
"Send him up," I replied, trying hard to sound like the maid. I felt a tremendous excitement as if I had discovered a new game. The back door to the apartment faced the kitchen and I sat down at the kitchen table. About two minutes later there was a knock at the door. I opened it up and saw a young boy standing there, holding a large bag in his hand. He was very shy and he kept his eyes averted from me.
"What's that?" I asked. "Meat."
"But we didn't order meat," I said, trying to annoy him in a friendly manner.
"Look, lady, here's the slip and it has this apartment on it and this address. Ask the lady of the house."
He had fallen for it. He believed I was the maid. I almost started to laugh.
"But the lady of the house is out."
"You-want me to take it back?"
The boy was getting very impatient and shifting the bag from one hand to the other. "What's your name?" I asked. "Edward."
"Well, Edward, why don't you put the bag on the table and we can see what's inside."
"What you ordered is inside."
"You never know."
He sighed once as if he had dealt with crazy maids all his life and then placed the bag on the table and opened it. A healthy portion of raw chopped sirloin was resting in his hand.
"I love raw meat," I said, breaking off a chunk and eating it.
"You satisfied?"
"I suppose so."
"Then I'm going."
"But wait a minute, Edward, you have to taste some of the meat also ... or how will I know it is good?"
"You tasted some already."
"But I don't know meat. You work for a butcher. You know."
He kept squinting his eyes to see if he was really understanding what I had said. The boy probably thought I was crazy.
I broke off a piece of the raw meat suddenly and before he could protest any more I had pushed it against his mouth. He choked and spat. Laughing, I slowly peeled the shreds of meat from his mouth. When my finger touched his lips I felt a chill and I moved back. Something, in that instant had happened to me. It was no longer a game. He watched me with wide-opened eyes. There were a few more shreds of the meat on his lower lip but I dared not attempt to remove them. We both stood absolutely still and just stared at each other. Then he wiped the foreign matter away and started to the door. I felt open-totally open-as if he was something peering deep into my unconscious. It was crazy, I knew that, he was a stupid little delivery boy. I closed my eyes and shivered when I remembered the touch of his lips on my fingers.
"I have to go," he said.
"Then go," I snapped.
He still didn't open the door. I could see the beads of sweat and fear beginning to form on the back of his neck.
I was backed up against the kitchen wall.
"Turn the light switch off," I said. My voice came out in a whisper and I didn't know why or how I had said it. I just heard my own words coming out of the body. He flicked the switch and the kitchen was swathed in semi-darkness; only a few rays of the late-afternoon sun penetrating. I was shaking from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes. I held out my arms to some mythical savior but there was only a child. I ripped the stupid kerchief from my head and it fell to the floor.
"You can't go ... you mustn't go ... you must listen to every word I say," I whispered.
Slowly, in front of the child, I began to peel my clothes off. I don't know why-all I did know was that suddenly I felt I was strangling to death.
First the buttons on the front of the dress and I pushed my own naked breasts out and felt the currents of the air as they moved along the nipples. The boy was staring; I could see his lips move a bit when his eyes caught the ripe cherries suspended from the ends of my breasts.
The dress was off and then my undergarments and I felt my naked ass press against the wall. "Do you see how easy it is, Edward?" I asked. "What do you mean easy?" His voice was trembling and quiet.
"Pick up the raw meat and bring it to me." I saw his fingers grope toward the red, raw substance. And then the fingers and meat joined and he looked like he was holding the most terrible substance in the world.
"Bring it to me," I whispered. He began to walk across the room, stiff-legged. "Yes, keep coming."
He stopped about six inches away from me. I could see him straining to keep his eyes straight ahead, to avoid the naked female body that was beginning to squirm against the wall. My ass was hot from the plaster and each time I moved my cheeks spread just a bit.
"You may look at me," I smiled.
Suddenly, his eyes were all over me, boring into my flesh, digging and exploring. I could feel his eyes in my crotch and then over my breasts and then under my silky underarms.
"Do you like me?" I asked.
All he could do was shake his head. He had never seen the ripeness of maturity. He had never seen the full-bosomed nipples, choice and thrusting out.
He was trembling all over. I knew he couldn't wait. He leaned forward just a bit and the tip of his young tongue moved out like a snake and caught the tip of my nipple. I backed against the wall, moaning.
"I have to go," his voice trailed off.
Then his hand took some of the meat and spread it gently over the nipples. I winced and then felt myself being enveloped by the blood and the death. I closed my eyes. The raw meat was like some magical poultice which covered my breasts, bringing the love of the dead animal to me.
He sucked the raw meat off my tits and I threw myself against the wall, almost screaming with erotic desire. The feel of his tongue and teeth as it scraped the dead flesh from my own living point was almost too much to bear. "No," I moaned.
The raw meat was off. My nipples were covered with blood and saliva and I alternated between horror and the need for his childish mouth again. I needed all he could give me ... I needed every drop of saliva he could coat my nipples with.
Then his hands took another scoop of the meat and slipped it under my arms, entwining it in the downy hair. His tongue followed the meat and scooped it from my armpits and I felt myself falling from the touch. He was no longer a child-he was giving himself totally over to instinct. He was letting his organs direct him.
I slid along the wall, away from him, but he followed me like a ghost and my ass kept spreading as it moved along the plaster.
I stopped near the door and this time when I looked his hand was full with what was left of the meat. I spread my legs and something inside of me made me dance my ass against the wall, as if I was some primitive woman sacrificing myself to the young warrior. His eyes followed the movements of my body and when I turned to face the wall for a moment I felt his hand stroke my naked ass and probe between the cheeks.
Then I turned to him with wet and needy cunt, my crotch singing with his closeness. He slid one hand between my legs, the hand with the meat, and joined the raw steak with my nest, spreading it all along the cunt lips until I felt I had emerged straight from a slaughter house. He stepped back and his face was creased with doubt and fear.
"Hush-listen to me, Edward, you are doing what you have to do."
My fingers were around his neck forcing him down, forcing him to kneel. I heard him sob as he pushed his head between my legs. But he was still low down and I pulled him up until in one giant lunge he buried his face in my raw, hot crotch and he wiped his face with my crotch hairs and wept into the jungle of love. He kissed my cunt through the raw meat and then, slowly, with great love and great tenderness, began to suck the meat away. A piece at a time and as each piece went my whole body moaned and I closed my eyes and swayed.
I was being taken care of ... I was being fucked with a child's mouth. I whispered that I wanted his tongue but he kept sucking. I began to weep and moan until the child became a snake and it slipped out of his fiery mouth and impaled me against the wall. The tip was moving in ... all the way in ... probing toward the deepest area-toward the dark, juicy maw where eddies of juice play and wait to drown the alien object. My vaginal walls were dancing around his pink glory and my nails raked the back of his neck. His moans and cries of animal lust were lost in the echo of the juices which lapped around him.
I was reaching it-I was reaching the threshold-every thrust sent me closer and closer. Then, without warning, a sudden flash of lightning and I exploded on his mouth-going over the top in the most beautiful orgasm I had ever experienced. I fell to my knees and pushed his mouth away. But he was crying for more ... he was desperate for my taste ... the child was only beginning. As he lay there, I crawled to him and draped my juicy climaxed cunt over his face and let his tongue lick all the moisture away until he was satiated.
We were silent for a long while.
"Flick the light on," I finally said.
Once there was light, I could see the streaks of raw meat which dotted the area. He gazed at my nakedness in the full light of the kitchen and, opening his pants, tried to slip his cock between my cheeks, trying like a stupid little boy to obtain gratification in the only hole he saw. I closed my ass and bruised his shaft. He crept away to the door and crouched there like a wounded animal.
"You must go."
"No."
"Tomorrow ... come back tomorrow," I whispered. Half begging, half pushing, I finally let him leave, and our lips brushed just lightly and our tongues met for the briefest of moments.
It was over. That night, when my husband came home, I felt none of that desperate hurt and animosity. I felt nothing but contempt for myself that I had let him abuse me.
"You look good," he said.
"I feel good," I replied evenly. I wondered who his new mistress was but I no longer cared, I no longer would worry myself to sleep every night.
He wanted to talk; to throw me a few crumbs, but I turned my face away. My thoughts were on the delivery boy. My thoughts were on the taste and feel of his tongue as it had plunged past the silky jungle and into the raw, hot reality of a starved cunt.
"Really, I never saw you look so well. And I'm glad, because you looked lousy for the longest time."
His words made me laugh inside. How I yearned for the inarticulate child at the moment.
The next day I waited impatiently for him to leave for work and after he left there was still the maid. I told her to take the day off with pay but she protested because she had the day before off and she really didn't know what to do with herself. I ordered her out of the house and dressed in one of her outfits, except for an exotic silk scarf which I wrapped around my hair and which accentuated the brilliance of my eyes. Then I walked to the window and watched the river and tried to tune my body into the water.
The buzzer rang. Another meat delivery, the doorman said.
"Send him up," I said, between clenched teeth, desperately trying to mask the concern in my voice. I heard the knock at the door and I opened it quickly. He had barely taken a step inside when I grabbed his hand and shoved it under my plain skirt so he could feel the love I had for him, so he could feel the nakedness of my crotch and spread his fingered joy around my labia.
Then I pushed him back, and taking him by the hand, led him to the same wall I had stood in front of. I took the brilliant scarf off my hair and slipped it between his lips, letting him kiss the silk until it was hot.
"Do you have any meat today?" I laughed.
"No," he said.
"But I think you do."
Before he could protest I reached over and opened his pants, pulling the inert penis from the jail of fabric. He stared down at his own maleness.
"It is mine," I whispered.
"No," he retorted. He was worried over something which I couldn't understand.
I slipped the silk scarf from his lips and placed it under his cock, tieing a gentle knot around his globes. The brilliant scarf made a strange impression on the flesh-colored scrotum.
I gave the scarf a pull and the boy gasped ... another pull and the globes began to differentiate themselves from the scrotum, to stand out like ripe, twin apples, waiting for the man to pluck them. I bent close and kissed the globes through the scrotum and pulled at the loose flesh with little nibbles of the teeth until he was moaning and scratching against the wall. I licked his apples, making sure to cover them with saliva and then slid them into my mouth and out again. In and out until it was a fiery red and the cock above was beginning to perk. I moved very close and draped my silk scarf over the shaft-watching and feeling as the blood poured in and everything became hard. The scarf was around it like a banana skin.
Slowly, happily, more happily than I had ever done anything in my life, I peeled the scarf off and I could see every inch of that erect cock-every tiny vessel of blood-every muscle straining at the prison of skin.
The laughter and the joy died away and I started to weep and my tears fell on that naked cock. The boy closed his eyes and moaned.
I kissed the tip, my saliva mixing with his burning passion and then I let my tongue move all along its length-tasting, probing, covering it with a film of spit. He was weeping, as I was weeping. I unbuttoned his pants all the way and slipped them down so I could reach around and feel his ass. Then, as I kissed his cock without end, I began to push the silken scarf into his ass; inch by inch, ignoring his moans of protest. When it was halfway to his anus, I opened my mouth wide and let the cock slip in-deep and true-aiming toward the pink roof of my mouth. When it was all the way in-when its pulsing beauty was completely swallowed by me, I rammed the silk scarf all the way in and we were both impaled; me by his maleness and he by the subtle joy of silk fabric.
He was calling a name which I didn't recognize and I didn't care.
I started to slide my mouth back and forth, up and down, riding on the cock, getting every taste, every smell, every feel of the shivering flesh. He began to pump-to ram it all the way in my mouth-to bruise my gentle lips. It was growing and growing until I was choking as the red tip smashed against my teeth. His body tensed and I knew it was soon. I waited one more moment and then ripped the scarf from his anal core and his cock shot the seed deep into my mouth until I rolled on the floor in agony and glee.
"Are you all right?" he kept whispering, as he crawled about the floor searching for his pants. I caught him before he could hide his maleness and licked the semen from his globes. I wanted to remember that taste on my tongue forever.
"Why didn't we...." He stopped his question in the middle.
"What?"
"Why didn't we do it the regular way?" It was such a banal question that I laughed and it was such a cutting question that I turned away. "Are you unhappy?" I asked. "No."
"Then be thankful for what you have got."
"Aren't you going to undress?" he asked and his face couldn't hide the glee. "No."
"Please."
"What do you want?"
He was too shy to answer but I understood. I sat on the chair and opened my blouse and he came to me and fastened his loving mouth around my nipple until it burned with the passion of his saliva. He plucked it and played it and when his cock was hard again, in return, he let me slip down and fold my tongue over it until the seed came again, this time more slowly, but in a great white wave and I gathered it in my hands and rubbed it around my vaginal lips.
When I was wet there with his seed, he took the back of a spoon and slid it all the way up and then twisted until my cunt was on fire and I fell over the top-gasping all the way. When he walked out of the door, I embraced him and we kissed for a long time.
"Will I be back?" he asked. "Of course."
"Thank you."
I gave him one last suck on my nipple and then closed the door behind him. As I placed my breast back into the blouse I wondered if anyone had ever loved me like that; I wondered where the mouth would end.
* * *
One of Freud's most important essays was ON THE MECHANISM OF PARANOIA (Three Case Histories, Crowell Books, New York, 1963).
In this essay he writes:
"We may conclude then, that the process of repression proper consists in a detachment of the libido from things and people that were previously loved. It happens silently; we received no intelligence of it, but can only infer it from subsequent events. What forces itself so noisily upon our attention is the process of recovery, which undoes the work of repression and brings back the libido again on to the people it had abandoned." (p.174)
Many clues, coupled with the above paragraph, incline us toward Repressive Paranoia as the symptoms in this case. The subject's unrelenting Oral-ism can only be a repression of some severe dislocation in the oral stage of childhood. Hidden, all the years of her growth and during her marriage-one particularly difficult fight with her husband sends her back down the path toward the unresolved problem.
It is indicative of such paranoia that she eventually uses an object which can cause pain. Although fixated on the oral mode of love-making, she has also been drawn toward the silk scarf which she suddenly puts on without any reason except that it helps her accentuate her eyes. Naturally, there is a strong subconscious reason for such a decision and it has to do with her childhood fantasies, probably the wish to hang one or both parents. When she inserts the scarf slowly into the anus of the boy and then yanks it out while he achieved genital orgasm, she is recapitulating for herself the need to destroy her parents.
The reader will also remember the incident of the rew meat which is a classical syndrome for such paranoia. The meat takes on, in her mind, her own tortured body and soul. She begins to identify with the slaughtered beast and thus her act of redemption is to have the beast's flesh licked from her vagina.
No one can truly predict whether her paranoia will grow worse or somehow modify itself into a liveable neurosis. But the great weight of such a prediction falls on the choice of boys she will utilize for. her oral pleasures. If she chooses one boy, just one, who fulfills her paranoid beliefs-then she is well on her way to a hospital.
By "fulfill," I mean merely a cruel youngster who will express latent sado-masochistic fantasies which can be misinterpreted by her.
It is unfortunate that her husband is so disinterested, otherwise he could have been a key element in the safety of the subject. But the marriage seems to be beyond repair and the subject will not wait for connubial gratification.
One can see, in this case, how the wrong marriage can be a dramatic contributing factor to the casualty of nervous conditions, at all levels.
CHAPTER 4
(Name: Cynthia T. Age: Thirty-three. Place of Residence: Miami Beach. Occupation: Wealthy Divorcee.)
I was hungry for a man; so hungry that at night I would just lay in my bed and shiver. A soft breeze came in from the terrace and tormented my naked body. The crisp white sheets were like a million fingers, crawling over me ... calling forth a thousand memories.
I remember one night when the need for a cock was no longer bearable.
My hands were twisted into claws. I cupped my own breasts and felt the nipples responding. Squeezing them, the juices seemed to rise; to spread out in the white hillocks of my tits. I squeezed harder until the pain was a beautiful sensation. I tried desperately to suck my own point but a wave of shame came over me. I bit my pillow, trying to stop, but it was no use. My body was at the point of absolute need. It couldn't be stopped. The edge of the sheet was in my hand and I scraped it against the nipples. My body shivered. The sheet slid down my body until it covered my thighs. Taking the corner in one hand, I guided it along my cunt lips until my nest was warm and moist. Then I literally coated my finger with the fabric and slipped it in like some covered cock. I felt the joy of penetration.
The finger was sliding by, passing the limpid walls of my cunt, driving up toward the womb. I felt my trembling crotch close around the intruder.
"What is your name?" I asked my own finger and then pulled my legs up so that I was totally open.
Then the desperate plunge; the throwing away of any and all attempts at sophistication. I drove it deep, splintering the enforced abstinence. I drove it all the way, curling the finger like a talon and sending my cunt screeching to orgasm. Pulling my finger out, I gazed at the soiled fabric, wet with the evidence of my passion. And then I cried myself to sleep.
Something had to be done. I had to find some hobby, some physical activity which would satiate my body and dim the lust which was continually oppressing me. I had to find a substitute for the cock.
That was when I discovered the beach. I began to spend my whole day on the sand, lying still in the sun for about an hour and then plunging into the surf and swimming until I was totally exhausted. Gradually, a rhythm of swin and sun began to emerge and my body lost its desperate need. At the end of the day I was totally exhausted and I would fall into a deep sleep the moment I got home; not waking until the next morning.
My body became golden and healthy. I realized that I could live alone; that I needed neither companionship nor conversation. Other people became merely objects that I had to avoid. It was a strange time; a time of intense physical activity but with no feeling or need for the act of sex.
But then, one dismal afternoon, when the beach was swathed with clouds-I saw something which started me on my spiral to Hell; I saw something which splintered that false utopia of sun and sand and surf.
It was late and I had started home. But instead of the usual route, I elected to cut through a private beach, owned by a hotel, the boundaries clearly visible by two gigantic breakers-jagged stone formations which jutted out of the sand and run hundreds of feet to sea.
Suddenly, I heard a noise from the far side of one of the breakers. It sounded like a wounded animal. Stepping carefully, I walked toward the sound.
I saw two naked bodies pressed against the rock and I stopped short. The girl was on all fours, like a dog, her hair dancing in the wind and her body covered with the fine sea mist. The boy was sliding his cock into her and the girl moaned-the noise I had heard.
He was short and squat and his muscles on the back of the neck and shoulders stood out like ropes. He was a heartless young beast and he drove his cock deep-grinning wildly as the girl moaned and her body sucked the shaft in. He began to pump and I shivered as I saw the wet cock, in and out, plunging deep into the virgin cunt. It was the first time for the girl-I could tell that-I could tell that her body had never felt the shock of maleness.
His stubby fingers were spreading her buttocks and for a moment I thought he was going to withdraw and plunge it in her anus. But it was only a tease and he grinned to himself. Faster and faster the two bodies went until the cock was like a massive log and I heard him groan and they both came together-the girl falling on the rocks, her body wet with semen and salt water.
Then the animal turned to go and he saw me standing there. I could see his cock, still covered with juice, still pulsing slightly from the joys of her cunt.
"You want it too," he quipped.
I turned and ran, shaking all over, the sight of that shaft staying with me, burning into my consciousness. The game was over for me. That night, the old need came back, stronger and more desperate than ever. I kept seeing his young body, the pulsing muscles, the plunging, brutal shaft.
The next day I stayed away from the beach ... and the next day. But eventually I returned; as a victim not as a devotee of athletics. His name was Willie and he was sixteen years old. His job was to bring beach mats and chairs for the guests of the hotel. For hours I watched him; his strong body moving carelessly from one part of the beach to another and each movement ... each tensing of his legs and thighs and arms made me ache with need. Just watching him, my lips formed beads of sweat and deep in my crotch I felt the agony of my womanhood.
Finally, my chance came, when all the guests had left the sand and he was gathering the mats. I stood in front of the breakers and waited.
He looked up and saw me. I stared at him. He dropped a mat and walked toward me, naked except for a bathing brief. I felt that I was being stalked by a tiger; that I was being made the victim of some cruel beast that would know nothing but his own gratification.
I stepped back until I felt the rocks against my buttocks. He was ten feet away and then five feet and then he stood only six inches from my body. It was no time for talk. We both knew-we both felt.
He was the child-brute. The power came from his body in massive waves. I shivered and stripped off the top of my bathing suit and then the bottom. His eyes glowered into my crotch. I moved closer and inserted my thumbs in the top of his bathing suit and then pulled it down.
It was there in front of me; his vibrant shaft. I buried my face in his crotch, sucking desperately at his savage globes, licking the odor from his cock, nuzzling him until the shaft became erect. I rubbed my eyes over the cock tip and then let it play against my lips.
Then I stepped back. The whole world seemed to be reeling. His grin was like some demonic mask. Suddenly, I saw on the beach beside us, two large strands of sea weed-horribly knotted, grotesque strands. .
I reached down and picked the slimy ropes up. Then I lay down on the sand. Looking up, I could see the quivering weapon and my fingers crawled to his scrotum and pinched it until he moaned. He fell down on the sand beside me and his grinning mask plunged into my crotch. I screamed and then moaned as his lips parted my cunt and I felt the powerful thrust of his tongue, sucking me dry. I arched my back and opened wider and he was insatiable. The tongue went spinning in-violent-full-bodied.
His teeth were scraping my clitoris and my fingers clenched the rocks as if they were my salvation. Then he slid his tongue out and I just lay there, moaning, my nest a cauldron of fire and saliva.
What was he? Was he only a child? How had I seduced him? Who was he?
A thousand questions raced through my mind. But the reality of his body smashed them. I saw him open my fingers and take the sea weed ropes.
"Is this what you want" I heard him whisper.
What was he talking about? What did he mean? I don't know why I had picked up the ropes. I don't know why they had suddenly exerted such a strange fascination for me.
Suddenly I saw his muscular arm loom up in front of the sky and a second later I heard the horrid scream of the strands and then pain ... terrible, beautiful pain which covered my body and flowed through every part of me.
The ropes had landed on the soft inside of my thighs. I moaned and rolled over. The ropes screamed again and this time my buttocks were sliced by the thrust and I felt my own blood trickling from my white flesh.
Again and again that whistling agony and I rolled in the sand and the sea until my body was coated with the natural substances. And mixed with them was my own blood. With each blow, my need for his cock grew and I reached up and I begged for it. Between blows, he let me taste the tip, he let me slowly swallow it for just a moment and taste the divine joy-before pulling it out.
He dropped the ropes into the sea. I lay back and spread my legs wide. I begged him ... I pleaded for that moment of penetration.
Suddenly, I saw his massive shaft loom in front of me and a second later I felt it struggling to enter-forcing the willing cunt lips even wider. My ass was being dug into the sand, scraped by the rocks.
It took my breath away. My body opened for that cock in one spasm of joy. I sucked the cock in, my vaginal walls shivering like a wounded bird. The shaft plunged deep-a fiery tong.
He was on me. There was no longer any talk of sophistication. There was no longer any dreams of subtle and gentle manipulations. This was the penetration-inch after inch of cock which was grinding me down-into the sand. I opened my mouth to cry out but no sound came out.
As he drove; as the rhythm of love absorbed us, his fists and nails beat at my flanks. I wanted all the inches he could give me. I wanted all the pain his fingers could produce. We went faster and faster until the whole world seemed to be spinning and then he went so deep and his cock was so round and hard that I threw my body up as I climaxed, sucked the seed from him.
It was over. I felt as if I had been struck by a massive blunt instrument. My whole body seemed in shock. Then I saw him lying by my side and I saw the pearls of semen coating his quiet maleness. I crawled to him and licked the wetness from his shaft, reveling in each drop ... kissing the seed away and letting the particles of liquid roll on my tongue.
Then he stood up and stretched like a young stag. Suddenly, I hated that young beast. I hated my own weakness for having thrown myself in front of him.
"Good, huh," he muttered.
"You filthy nothing ... you arrogant animal," I spewed out.
"And what are you?" he asked.
"A fool."
"You're an old bitch," he said. I picked up my bathing suit and tried to put it on but my hands were shaking too violently. "Do you want me to help you?"
"Get away from me."
"Well, whenever you want Willie, you know where to find him and you know he'll take care of you."
Then he was gone. The arrogance of that young beast. He spoke of himself in the third person, as if he was Napoleon. I finally was able to dress and I hobbled home. My whole body was aching from the experience and I spent that whole night in the bath. From time to time the memory of what had happened would sink me into a deep depression.
The next day Oliver, my youngest brother, came down to visit me. Usually I enjoyed such visits immensely but all that day I was distracted.
"What's the matter?" he finally asked me, as we were sipping cocktails before dinner.
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him what had happened and about the sudden onslaught of my erotic insanity. But no matter how many times I tried-no matter how many times I began-the words froze in my throat. An hour later he was gone, profoundly disturbed but unable to help me. It was something that I had to resolve for myself.
That night the sound of his name, of Willie, beat against my consciousness. I was engaged in a profound struggle. My psyche was being ripped apart by the contradiction between my erotic needs and my conscience.
It was a night of hell. Every hour I would awake drenched with sweat.
My crotch was wet and hot. Just the touch of my fingers would start the cunt to shiver. When I closed my eyes I could see the grinning face of the beast; his white teeth, his young, muscular body.
I had seduced him but he was the more powerful. I had picked up the ropes of sea weed, but he had seemed to know what I wanted. How could I get his wisdom? How could I achieve a peace of mind that would enable him to choose-and me to reject his cock.
That morning-when the first glimmer of dawn snaked through my blinds-I knew that I had lost. I knew that I was caught in the prison of his thrusting maleness and that I had become a prisoner of my own seduction. There was nothing to do but wait for the afternoon; wait for the time when the shadows would be caressing the beach and I could offer myself to him again. All that day I stayed in the house with the shades and blinds drawn. I walked about naked, waiting, always waiting. I gazed at myself in the mirror from time to time, staring at my full nipples, moving close to examine the juicy red inner lips of my cunt. My whole body had become a mystery to me. I was a stranger to myself.
Then it was time. I slipped on only a robe, without a bathing suit, and made my way slowly toward the hotel beach. Even from a distance I could pick out his muscular body from the late bathers.
The beach was emptying quickly. I walked to the breakers and climbed up-then began to thread my way out into the surf, walking carefully to keep from cutting my feet on the jagged rocks. About half-way out I came to a small pool, a calm, natural cave. The water came up to my ankles and the rocks loomed up over me. But even from that spot I could see the beast. He was staring out toward the rocks; his eyes picking me out of the sun. He had his hands on his waist and his whole body had the arrogant thrust of a young bull. But I was no longer worried by his behavior. I was interested only in his body.
I watched him pile the beach mats up. Then he rested for a while, stretching like a young god. He was tormenting me, he was displaying his body for me to yearn for it. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. When I opened them, he was walking toward me.
I undid the belt on the robe and the front was open. My fingers touched my naked belly and I felt the excitement growing there. Reaching down, I scooped up some sea water and rubbed it into my crotch. The brine burned the cunt lips and I shivered from the delicious pain.
He was on the breakers-leaping up on them like a cat ... and beginning the slow walk toward me. His features became clearer and clearer-always wrapped in that demonic smile. How could a boy be so young and know so much. Was he really a child or was he an adult who had lodged in my mind and become a child-the product of an imagination I could no longer control.
"Hellow," he called out, so innocently, as if we were two children visiting an ice cream parlor. He leaped lightly into the pool beside me. I opened my robe wider and he saw my full breasts and his eyes were like two hungry flames.
"I was watching you all the time. From the minute you walked onto the beach. I watched you as I worked."
His words meant nothing to me. I was there and he was there and there was no need for conversation. My body was my testimony. I moved closer to him. Small beads of sweat and saliva had appeared on his lips and his nervous tongue tried to flick them away. For the first time, that simple gesture revealed his youth. For the first time since I had met him, it was I who was totally in command.
"I thought that maybe you wouldn't be here today ... that maybe you were sorry about what had happened."
As he said those words I could see past the barrier of his deep mouth and into the passageway of his throat. I cupped my hands under my breasts and held them up.
He stared and then he was silent. He took a step closer. I could see the muscles of his neck straining. I could see his powerful desires; the desires of a child-brute who had always triumphed.
"Who are you?" he suddenly asked.
But he couldn't wait for an answer to his strange question. He let his tongue exit and touch one nipple. I dropped my hands from my breasts and moaned. He nicked his tongue again and I felt my nipple growing, beginning to tense.
His mouth opened and slowly and beautifully he sucked the nipple past his lips and teeth until it was resting in his velvet cavern. I felt his burning spit coat the nipple. My point was churning with fury like a young cock. Suddenly, I could no longer stand the exquisite joy and I rammed my whole breast into his mouth. The mound of white flesh stuffed in until he was choking and biting and I screamed and moaned with joy.
"More, more," I whispered.
He sucked the whole breast in, chewing at the tender mound, ripping it and loving it until the blood from the lacerated nipple filled his mouth and mixed with his own saliva.
I pulled the breast out and squatted, blinding flashes of pain moving through my body. Without thinking-without knowing what I was doing-I slipped the belt from the robe and handed it to him. Then I stood and let-the robe drop from my body. I heard his sharp intake of breath as he saw my complete nakedness and I trembled as his powerful fingers stroked my naked ass and probed beyond my buttocks.
His teeth sliced the flesh of my ass and I was forced to kneel again and feel the sea water lapping at the doors of my cunt. Then he kissed my ass goodbye and slipped out of his bathing suit. His fingers were knotting the rope I had given him; the gentle belt of the rope which was being turned into the most horrible vehicle of torture.
A cold wind was beginning to blow and the waves became white necked as they broke against the beach. I could hear nothing but the smashing of the water and the echo of the rocks.
He held the knotted belt up to the sky and grinned; as if he was some ancient Trojan warrior holding aloft the severed head of an enemy.
"Not yet, not yet," I whispered.
I had seen it-large and bursting with the blood of his need. I had seen it leap from between his thighs and I felt the most powerful compulsion of my life. He had to let me taste it. He had to give it to me before he used that bizarre knotted weapon which hung over me. I crawled to it; my hands and feet scraping against the bottom, churning through the small waves.
It danced in front of my face. It tormented me. It was the cock I had already had in my dreams, it was the cock I had used to sleep, to break the terrible circle of enforced loneliness.
My mouth quivered and my lips were wet with anticipation. I let my tongue out and like an escaped serpent, it slid along the erect shaft, covering every inch, coating the bumps and the pulsing veins with the saliva of love. He stood absolutely still, accepting my caresses as if he were some sort of emperor, used to the gifts of women.
It was growing-it was bursting its bounds. I formed my mouth into a wet circle and slid it over the tip-and up-always up-until I had swallowed the beast and it was a lashing fury in the softness of my mouth. I hung on and sucked-giving it all my love-giving it everything my tongue and throat could give. Then, unable to stand the joy, I slipped my teeth over the tip and bit softly until his moans were like treasured music.
The pressure of his hands on my shoulders told me that he wanted to be released. I opened my mouth and the massive cock slid out. I kissed it as it left me.
"Thank you," I whispered, and held my hands out to him in the age old symbol of supplication.
He slid the knotted belt through the water so that it would be coated with brine.
"You know what you want," he said.
But did I know what I wanted? Did I know anything? Who had given him the belt? Who was to blame? I watched the wicked shape and I knew that I had to have it-I had to feel the slashing weapon-I had to open my body to it and give back all the blood it wanted.
I lay down in the water and raised my body up so that the crotch was pointed toward him. Supporting myself with shoulders and legs, I began to massage myself until the raw, red, inner lips of my cunt were visible. I squeezed it like it was a ripe piece of fruit-ready to yield up the most delicate pulp. The mere touch of my finger in that scarlet nest sent my whole body screaming. I kept working it more-thrusting it higher up. He waited ... he waited ... and then slowly he uncoiled the belt. I pushed up hard until my inflamed cunt was reaching toward the sky-a crimson flower of anguished erotic flesh. His face muscles became set.
A second later I heard the whistling sound but lost it in the sky. A sudden bolt of pain and the brine soaked robe cut into my waiting cunt-plucking the fruit-sucking out the burning juices. Then the belt was pulled off. I was trembling so hard I could hardly keep my position. I touched my wounded nest and stroked the clitoris and fingered the vaginal walls as if they were my wounded allies. Again that whistling and again the cunt fig was sliced into-the whip of Hell searing my whole crotch.
He laughed at me-a wild full-throated laugh that I could not understand. Then he just dangled the belt over me, letting it play against my cunt but no longer hitting me. I squirmed and moved until I was able to spread the vaginal lips and catch the tip-sucking it in like some surrogate cock. I was shaking with excitement as I absorbed the weapon and pulled it further up-further and further.
I closed my eyes and floated-as if in some erotic cave-the rope went deeper. It was crawling and being sucked to my womb. A second later that beauty was shattered as he jerked the rope from my crotch and I screamed with pain as it whistled out. He rolled it into a ball and flung it as far as he could into the ocean.
He was through with my games-I knew that. He wanted to play only his games now. He wanted to ease the need which hung so heavily between his legs.
"Stinken bitch," he snarled.
"Shut up," I screamed, unable to accept his curses, unable to accept anything that would spoil the moment.
"Whore, cunt, old bag from the sea," he muttered. I twisted my body as if to get away from him but he thrust me back with his foot. I felt the toenail dig into my cunt.
"Now I want something," he said.
I closed my thighs but he forced them open with his foot and began to squat, ready to mount me. I began to weep, begging him not to, begging him to leave me alone for a moment until the rawness of my cunt would be soothed. But there was nothing that could stop that young beast-nothing.
He squatted down further and his hands slid under my ass, pulling me up toward him. His fingers manipulated my buttocks, spreading them so that the rushing water flowed into the core of my anus.
His cock tip was at the gates of my cunt and the outer lips shrivelled with pain as the penetration began. His massive shaft brushed against the raw, bleeding cunt and I screamed. But it was no use. He began to push it in and as each inch vanished into the erotic maw-the pain grew and grew. It was as if he was ramming a white hot poker into my body. I felt that burning hands were ripping me apart. I pleaded, I begged, I moaned-but that iron cock slid deeper.
"No more, more ... yes and no ... let me die," I whispered a thousand nonsense words and phrases, for nothing could approximate my pain.
It was all the way in-drying up the juices along the cunt walls until my inside was like sandpaper. Then he spread my ass real wide with his fingers and brought me up sharply-and began to pump-great savage thrusts of his cock until I found myself losing consciousness. He screamed once and then I felt the seed lubricating me-pouring a warm stream of love along the burning and bruised vaginal maw.
He threw me to one side and scooping up sea water in his hand, washed himself like a young animal. There was a look of contempt on his face.
"Did you like that, bitch?"
I couldn't answer him. I wanted to drown myself in the surf; to move down to the bottom until all my memories were dissolved in one rush of water.
I watched him skip away along the rocks until his figure vanished in the afternoon haze. For the longest time I lay there-until the water and wind began to chill my body. Finally, when it was dark I crawled back to my apartment like a beaten animal. Burying my face in the pillow, I vowed never to indulge myself again; never to lose control-never to allow my psyche to exert its bizarre needs. I had to become strong-to learn to live with my problem. But, at least I knew what it was. I knew that I needed the lash and I needed it more badly than even food.
When I gathered my strength I began to pack my bags but half way through I realized that I could never escape. No matter where I went, it would always be there-lurking, waiting, almost overpowering in its ability to sweep away my normal feelings.
I unpacked and went to sleep. The next morning I felt fine, except for a bruised vagina which I soaked carefully in rose-water. I was in control and had only to wait for the next outburst.
* * *
In THALASSA: A THEORY OF GENITALITY (W. W. Norton & Company, New York, 1968) the distinguished Hungarian psychoanalyst and intimate friend of Freud, Sandor Ferenczi, writes:
"In the light of these considerations the modes of gratification of perverts and the symptoms of psychoneurotics receive a new illumination. The fixation of such individuals at a lower stage of sexual development would thus be only an incomplete attainment of the ultimate goal of the erotic reality function, the genital reestablishment of the intrauterine situation." (page 26)
Before we outline the crucial importance the above statement has to the resolution of this case-we must warn the reader that much of what the subject said was simply not true; that in order to truly understand her sexual problem, we must read between the lines. To give one example; her tremendous emphasis on the young boy's dominance must be discounted. Similarly, her attempt to give the impression that the boy was instrumental in suggesting the flagellation, probably has no basis in the facts. The subject seduced the boy and led him to her sexual pleasure-all else is fabrication.
Now-what was the aetiology of her perversion. From the above passage we see that many perversions have their roots in a desire to return to the womb. In this case, the desire was more than hidden; it became manifest. Her need to perform sexual acts on the beach, near and in the water, was an obvious attempt on the part of her subconscious to return to that primeval state.
But why the need for flagellation along with coitus ... and why the seduction of a young boy? Here it becomes a bit more complicated. The flagellation was the symbol of her father's penis, which was the rod which brought her from the womb; which fertilized the egg. To return, her unconscious needs to totally recapitulate the experience, including the moment of conception. The whipping is merely her own way of easing the guilt at wanting her father's penis. As she is penetrated-she is punished-and the pain cancels out the pleasure.
As for the young boy. She seduced a child rather than a man because she needed the illusion of innocence, even though the boy she seduced was obviously no innocent.
The reader can see that illusion after illusion are the building stones for her perversion. She will never reach back to the womb, even at the emotional level. And this failure, this irrevocable failure, is what will drive her into more and more bizarre situations. The need to be whipped will no longer satisfy her and she will try other things. The body will become like a sponge, trying desperately to survive the assault of the psyche.
Ultimately she will become addicted to pain and coitus will no longer have to accompany those acts. The future is not bright for a woman like her and unless she receives competent psychiatric care there is a good chance that she will eventually lose control.
Sadly, even if she receives help, cases like this are rarely cured because they are referred when it is too late; when the syndrome is too firmly ensconced to be rooted out.
CHAPTER 5
(Name: Elizabeth M. Age: Twenty-eight. Place of Residence: Madison, Wisconsin. Occupation: Clinical Psychologist.)
I had been temporarily attached to the University to conduct in-depth research among the women of rural Wisconsin. My main task was to find out exactly what they were thinking in the areas of erotic gratification. It was an important study because most surveys in this area concentrated upon the urban women and here was a chance to discover the extent of their alienation.
The project was going well. Contrary to popular belief the women were quite willing to make candid confessions in this area. They were, in fact, desperate to talk to anyone.
Then I met Toni. She was a beautiful woman, a widow of the Vietnam conflict. Her husband had been a career soldier and when he was killed she was left alone with a fifteen year old son, Paul.
Even during that first interview I knew that I was face to face with the most elemental woman I had ever met; a woman who was from the earth, whose whole life had been molded from a struggle with the soil. She was honest and explicit and her language was basic.
"I want to fuck and I can't find anyone. Do you understand that? Do you understand what it means to want to fuck all night and all day and not have a man?"
Those were her first words to me. As we talked, as the sessions continued, I probed deeper and deeper into her unconscious; I began to understand the needs of her body. Soon, I was looking forward to her visits and scheduling them as often as possible.
Finally, she brought her son to meet me. Paul was one of those silent brooding boys-strong, innocent, seemingly able to bear the worst hardships without a murmur.
"He never had a woman. His cock is still dry," Toni said, laughing at her young son. But he just stood there-without replying.
Suddenly I wanted to do something for that child, just as I was trying to do something for his mother. I felt a need to wrap myself into the arms of that family-to learn about them, to discover the meaning of their silences.
"I caught him once at night, doing all those bad things. I caught him right in the middle and he had his cock in his hand and he just looked at me. I wouldn't go away and a few more jerks with his hand and he shot his gun-all over the clean sheet."
The boy still didn't say anything; he merely listened to his mother's explanation of his masturbation as if the description really didn't matter.
Then I realized that there was a way I could help him. The University had given me a grant which included money for a research assistant who would correlate my findings. Why not the boy? It was mainly a clerical job and the boy could probably easily handle it.
"Would you like a job working for me?"
"Sure he would," Toni said.
"I asked him," I retorted angrily; the first time I had ever raised my voice to her.
"All he's good for is pulling his cock-he's scared of girls."
I ignored her comment and waited for the boy to answer. Then he nodded his head, ever so slightly, and I knew it was an affirmative answer.
"You start next Monday," I said, and a few minutes later both mother and son left.
He began to work and he was excellent. The forms which had to be filled out and the figures which had to be graphed turned out to be no problem. I was proud of my choice and I ticked off his talents to him every day in order to build up his ego strength.
But the moment he began to work for me, my relationship with Toni took a bizarre turn. She was no longer the cool, analytical woman. Instead, she seemed anxious to lay bare her emotional states; to draw me into the world of her fantasies and her desires.
Two weeks later she exploded. We were sitting quietly in my office talking about her childhood. She was wearing a sweater and a short skirt. She leaned forward and I could see the frown of anguish on her face.
"You don't care about me," she suddenly yelled, "you just care about your stinken research project. I'm just another number to you; just another hillbilly who has problems."
Very slowly, I began to explain that I did care about her and that was why I was spending so much time interviewing and meeting with her.
She sat back and before my astonished eyes, picked up her sweater. She was wearing nothing underneath. My mouth grew dry and hot as I saw her full breasts-the nipples hanging to the end like ripe cherries. I tensed but was unable to speak.
Toni reached across the desk and grasped my hand. She pulled it with a savage jerk until I found my hand on her breast. She closed her eyes and moaned, saying:
"I knew it from the first minute I saw you. I knew you wanted to feel my tits; to play with them. I knew you wanted to love me. Feel the nipples, feel how they jump. I knew you wanted them. I knew it."
Violently, I pulled my hand away. I was shaking all over. Nothing like that had ever happened to me. Her face was twisted in a furious mask and she then picked up her skirt and I could see the naked vulva, resting like a jewel in the jungle of her crotch.
"You want this too," she screamed, "you want to suck my cunt. I'm giving it to you. I'm telling you that it's here. Look ... look down between my legs. It's juicy and nice and you want to kiss it."
Her hands were spreading the lips and I could see the juices along the vaginal walls. I felt my body growing tense, so tense I found it difficult to breathe.
"What are you waiting for?" she screamed, and a second later she was behind my desk, her strong arms drawing my face down until I felt the heat and wetness; until I felt her thighs blot out the light and surround me in a rush of love.
"It's yours. My cunt is yours," she moaned and I felt my mouth pressed against her wet sex.
"Cunt ... cunt ... suck ... suck...." she kept moaning, as if in a trance.
The lips parted and I felt my tongue slowly crawling into the wet nest, slowly beginning to move up the passageway as the vaginal walls sucked me deeper.
Suddenly I broke free and ran from the room, into the other area where her son, Paul, was diligently working over some figures. I was in a state of total hysteria, trying to control my trembling body. I saw him look up and without thinking-I threw myself in his arms.
His young body just stood there and accepted the weight. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled his face forward, thrusting my tongue deep in his mouth. Then I stepped back, aghast. I felt that I was going crazy; that I had somehow become infected by my clients; that their bizarre feelings and fantasies had conquered me.
"I'm sorry."
It was a cool calm voice and I turned toward it. Toni was standing in the ante-room, completely clothed, dragging deeply on a cigarette. She watched me for the sign of forgiveness.
"Yes, yes," I said quickly.
"Can I come back tomorrow?"
"No, the next day."
A moment later she was gone. Paul went back to his work as if nothing had happened. My tongue was still wet from the entry into his mouth. He had a strange taste-half man and half boy.
That evening I tried to understand what had happened to me and Toni. I pored over the records trying to find some hint of lesbianism in her past but there was nothing. I found it difficult to sleep and spent the night pulsing and twisting; thinking of her body and her foul words. She al-way used the word "cunt" instead of the normal name and just the sound of those syllables made me uncomfortable.
For a week all went well and the madness seemed to have been forgotten; to have been only one of those strange and unexplained actions which suddenly surface during any therapy. And then the storm came again-only this time in a different form. We were discussing her late husband and I suddenly asked her the following question:
"Did you ever suck his cock?"
Immediately I blushed and wanted to crawl under the table. I had never asked such a question in my life and I have never used the slang word for penis before.
"Maybe you better go," I said.
But she just sat there-not saying a word-staring at me with a wisdom born of many years of suffering.
"I want you to go," I screamed.
She stood up and circled the desk until she was close to me. Her hands touched each side of my face and then slid down my body. She slipped one hand under my skirt until she had grasped my bare buttocks. She moaned and pushed me against the wall. I was too frightened to fight. I was too frightened to do anything. Her hand moved around toward the front until I felt her fingers stroking the inside of my thighs.
I was shivering and I closed my eyes. The finger was burrowing in my crotch and then it found my sex and I felt her prying my nest lips apart, until the finger slipped in and I caught my breath. She slipped it higher and I began to weep as I experienced those strange feelings. It was curling up through my core, kissing the wet passageway with its nails.
"Pull it out, let me go, pull it out," I moaned.
"No, no," she whispered and the finger dug deeper, churning up my insides, driving me crazy with a new desire, plunging and ripping and draining my will.
I broke loose-with one desperate lunge I broke loose and ran from the room. What happened next was so confused and so terrible that I can scarcely recall it completely.
Her son, Paul, was not at his desk. He was standing by the window and looking out. I ran to him and I held out my hands in a silent plea. He stared at me, as if he was an animal, not comprehending. I could hear the sound of his mother in the other room. I put my hands on him, around his throat, and for just a moment I thought I would choke him. Then my grip relaxed and in the same gesture his mother had used-I let my hands wander down his body. He was young and strong, without an ounce of fat. Just the touch of his body made me relax, made me lose the terrible tensions that was enveloping me.
"Paul," I suddenly shouted, "understand me," and then I was kneeling in front of him and my hands were at his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down.
He was open. My fevered fingers dug into his undergarments until the whole organ exposed. I bent over and kissed the globes-sucking at them until there was a fire in my body. I wanted to rip them from the scrotum and chew them and swallow them. The boy reached out and placed his hands on the window sill but otherwise there was no expression in his eyes or on his face.
I swallowed his globes and held them firmly in my velvet mouth. For the first time he responded, opening his lips and moaning. Then I let the round gems slip from my lips. There was something else for me. It was beginning to grow. It was beginning to wave and erect-the delicate membranes of the penis stretching and growing as the blood raced to it. My tongue nicked out and I tasted the tip. My whole body shivered and trembled. I knew then for the first time why they call it the cock. Academic words are too humdrum-it is the full throated cock-the primitive beauty of the phallic shaft.
I kissed every inch of it-letting my tongue deposit drops of saliva along its palpitating length. I wanted more-I wanted it to grow and grow-to smash through all my illusions. I forgot the woman in the other room and I forgot that only a moment ago she had her finger curved into my womanhood. I kissed that child's shaft until it was raw with my love. And then, unable to wait any longer, my body coiled in one erotic spring-I opened my mouth and the animal slipped in-inch after inch-crawling into my mouth-led by the red burning tip-driving toward the coolness of my throat. I was hysterical with joy. I felt free, freer than I had ever felt in my life. I felt beyond the realm of my boring life. He began to pump and I opened my mouth wide to suck as the shaft kept moving like a snake, in and out. In and out-the cock of my life-the blessed shaft which was burning into my mouth. I began to weep. I wanted more and more. His buttocks pounded and I accepted it deeper. My teeth nibbled on the veins and arteries as they pumped their precious power.
Suddenly-he stopped-and then one massive thrust and my mouth was filled with his wet love-the semen pouring into my lips and tongue.
I sucked it up-I swallowed the seed-I washed it around in my mouth-trying to taste every drop as if it was life itself. Then, exhausted, I stepped back.
Paul, satiated, was turned back toward the window, his face once again bearing the expressionless gaze.
"Are you finished?"
I whirled toward the words. Toni was standing there, her hands on her hips. I turned my eyes away from her.
"Did you hear me? ... I wanted to know if you were finished. I wanted to know if you enjoyed my son's cock."
I kept looking at Paul, hoping desperately that he would in some way come to my aid-hoping that he could deal with his mother because I was totally unable to cope with the situation. There was a long silence.
"Paul," his mother said.
"Yes," he answered.
"Tell, if you will, whether or not you like it."
Her voice had become cold and analytical-it was almost as if she had changed places with me. As if she was the woman in control and I was the woman who needed help. But she could get nothing further from her son. She smiled at me and then walked out of the door, coolly, as if nothing had happened. Just before the door closed, she called back:
"Next Monday as usual."
Paul and I were alone in the room. There was a sofa in the ante-room and I lay down and covered my eyes with my arms. I wanted to be dead.
For the next few days I stayed out of the office. I had to gain control of myself; to understand what had happened to me. One thing was clear-the whole situation had become intolerable. I was acting insanely; I was giving myself up to sexual practices that I had never thought possible. But the project had to be completed on time. There was no way for me to stop; to take a month off and go into the woods in order to regain mastery of my own body.
Three days after the incident I was back at work. Paul was there, hunched over the desk as if nothing had happened. After lunch, Toni came in for her regular appointment. My palms were wet with sweat as she sat down in front of me. I didn't know what she would say or do.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
I became furious. She was asking the question as if she was the interviewer and I was the subject. She was asking the question as if she was the cool, detached scientist and I was some raunchy woman who she had picked up off the street in order to help. Her tone of voice was strange-cold-almost analytical.
"You must take care of yourself better; you look haggard," she said, gazing at me with a maternal look.
"I feel quite well," I said.
"What shall we speak about?" she asked, again in her dominating tone.
"About you," I retorted sharply, "and why you are beginning to play this charade."
"What charade?"
"That you are the doctor."
She laughed and suddenly her face softened.
"But I am the doctor."
It was useless to argue with her fantasies and I pulled out a list of questions which I had compiled and began asking them, one by one. She answered carefully, trying to be as complete as possible. We worked for about an hour and then I saw she was becoming weary. We stopped for some coffee. It was strangely silent in the office as we sipped our liquids. From time to time she would look up at me and smile. It was one of those secret smiles and I despised her for it; as if she knew something desperate and criminal about my body. Perhaps she did, but it was foolish of her to be so blatant about it.
"Did you ever have a man?" she asked, softly. "Do you think I'm a virgin?" I retorted. "No, I didn't say that. I mean a real man ... a man who sent you around the world and back
... a man who thought of nothing else except to ram his cock into you, again and again, until you were a shivering piece of ass on the bed and you kept crying for more ... always more."
"If I did, it's really none of your business."
"Everything you do is my business now."
"Why?"
"Because of Paul."
I flushed and was silent. My hands were trembling so hard that the coffee was spilling over onto the desk. Quickly I put the cup down and wiped the desk clean with a soft tissue.
"Yes, because of Paul," she repeated.
I stood up and walked to the far wall. Paul was in the other room but he seemed close-very close. Suddenly, I heard her call her son's name and a second later the boy put his head through the door.
"Come in and close the door behind you."
The boy obeyed his mother and stood, silently, waiting but not really caring.
"Did you enjoy it, Paul?"
I knew what she was talking about and I flushed and my whole body trembled with shame. There was no sound from Paul but I turned away because I couldn't look into his face.
She got up, took him by the hand and led him to me as if he was a little child.
"Stand here," she ordered him.
My flesh was crawling. It was crawling with the need for the boy and with my own self-hatred for having that need. She was smiling and she enjoyed every moment of our dual misery.
Then she lifted up her hand and placed it along my face, rubbing the flesh slightly as if I was a statue and she was a blind person. Her hand moved to the back of my neck and then she pulled it away. I was trembling from the touch. What did it mean?
"She's lovely, Paul, isn't she?"
Paul didn't answer his mother's question. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and remained still. She was behind me, moving as quickly as a cat. I could feel her breath on my neck.
Her hands moved under my skirt and her fingers skillfully peeled my panties down. I watched Paul, almost desperate with my own shame and trying to convey to him with merely a look the fact that I was unable to withstand the erotic blandishments of his mother. She was fingering my ass and spreading my buttocks and letting them bounce back. She was exploring my cheeks, digging her nails in a subtle design along the plump flesh. Then she reached over and picked up the half-empty coffee cup. I could hear the liquid being poured into her hands and I shivered as she began to rub it into me ... to let the liquid seep into my anus. I started to mumble and moan. I wanted to scream ... to run from her ... to turn around and smash her evil face. But I just stood there-quivering-accepting every act.
"Look at Paul," she whispered, "look at how desirable he is. Do you remember the cock between his legs? Do you remember how it smelled; that strong, virile male odor?"
As she spoke, her hands were manipulating, forcing the liquid deeper-massaging the buttocks until the quivering cheeks self-pumped the liquid deep into my core.
Suddenly I screamed in horror and disgust, "But you are his mother!"
She laughed.
"Am I your mother, Paul?"
The child said nothing, staring off into space. Perhaps he didn't even know that his mother was perverting me, pulling me apart with her sexual wiles. I could no longer stand. Her manipulations of my ass had made me weak. When I tried to fall-she held me up.
"Come here, Paul," she said.
The boy moved behind me and I heard the sound of a zipper opening. A second later I felt the sweet point of his shaft grazing against my buttocks. I was filled with shame and hatred at his mother. But I couldn't move, and along with the shame was a desperate need. I leaned forward-to spread my cheeks, secretly yearning for that weapon.
"Do you feel it? You want it? Oh yes, I know you want it."
She was holding her own child's penis in her hand and guiding it into the blackness of my ass. She was pushing it in. I began to weep. My body was screaming with rage but I wanted the penetration. I wanted it to slide deeper and deeper into the lubricated core. There were beads of sweat on my forehead and my thighs were dripping with wetness-dripping and hot. I could feel it sinking in and heard her soft laughter.
"Be nice to her, Paul, be very nice to her."
She was a witch-a demonic witch who had splintered her illness by making me ill. I gasped as the phallus slid another inch-my anus giving way-sucking it in-quivering and erect.
"It's a cock ... do you understand ... a cock?"
Her words were like spikes being driven into my head. I turned and leaned against the wall-my fingers curled against the wood. He was pushing; the child was pushing.
In and in-the red fiery tip cutting through the anus-always seeking that one spot of total penetration. I closed my cheeks around his cock. Oh god, it was beautiful and terrible.
He began to pump, egged on by the insanity of his mother. I was being ripped apart and I loved every moment-I was being impaled against the wall as his virgin cock kept driving. Then, there was the total entry, that moment when his shaft found the center-the core of my anus and my whole body seemed to be splintering, to be melting. Then-calm-the cock tip unfolding inside of me.
Suddenly, she reached over and pulled her son away and as the pulsing maleness slid out I began to weep. I fell down against the wall and cried until I thought my chest would burst.
Toni kneeled beside me, her hands stroking the very spot where the penis had exited.
"Hush, hush," she crooned as if I was a child.
I tried to get away from her probing hand but it was futile. I turned a bit so I could look at Paul. His penis was still stiff-jutting from his pants like an oak branch. The moisture from my core was still wrapped around the tip and shaft.
He was my savior. I suddenly realized that. He was the man, the child, the cock that would save me from Toni. She was around the front, gently spreading my thighs, licking the sides of my legs and nibbling at the sanctuary. A second later she buried her face in my crotch and I held out my hands to Paul-but he would bring me no help.
"Paul, Paul," I whispered.
"Forget him," she suddenly snapped.
I gazed down at her and saw a passion that made my blood run cold. A second later her tongue was spreading my vaginal lips, and beginning its journey.
She was biting my nest as she moved it up. The organ shivered as she entered and her tongue made a funnel, to drain the juices from me. I felt myself trembling; I felt the vaginal passage opening and closing as the foreign snake wound its way to the womb. I was ripe for her plucking. I was wet and hot and she moaned as she slid back and forth, spearing the tiny pools of juice-spearing the organic fuzz which lined the cunt walls. I knew it was a cunt. I knew it was the cunt she had spoken of. All my pretensions of being a woman scientist were shattered at that precise moment. Her tongue was the winner-the font of wisdom-she was giving me what I had asked for-what my subconscious had been twisted 'into knots for.
Deep penetration-until every part of my body was like a fragile, vibrating weed.
Deep sucking until my mind was reeling-deep, twisting sucking until I opened completely-until the raw cunt was inverted and it displayed its wet plumage for the taking. Her tongue was on fire and she was piercing the wetness, eating up and drying out every spot of juice-every patch of lovely womanhood which persisted in displaying itself.
I moaned ... my hands covering my face from the joy. And then I felt her whole body tense and she rammed it home-so deep that I felt myself reeling back against the wall. It was that plunge which sobered me. It was that plunge which made me realize I had to break free.
From somewhere inside ... from some hidden reservoir-I gathered all my strength and pulled my crotch away. Her head snapped back and her glazed eyes asked for more.
I saw Paul again. I saw him waiting. My crotch was wet from his mother's love but I knew that he was waiting for me. He was an island of innocence and help-an island of escape. I crawled toward him, away from her grasping fingers and mouth.
The quivering phallus was dancing in front of my eyes. I reached up and licked the tip. For the first time he responded-his mouth opening in wonder and joy. I kissed the tip and licked around the pulsing front. She was crawling after me but I kicked her away. I pulled Paul down to the floor with me and in one moment of beautiful need-I sat heavily on his face and let him chew the cunt, still wet from the mouth of that strange woman. He gasped and chewed and then rammed the tongue deep inside. I wriggled on his face, crushing him, thrusting my jungle until his eyes and face were red.
It was enough. It was a taste and I wanted more. I rolled off him and lay back-opening my thighs all the way-opening them so he could see what he had tasted-so he could see the roaring sex-like a deep wound in some ivory nest.
"Paul," I begged.
He hesitated-turning to look back to his mother. Then he turned toward me.
"Take me, Paul," I begged.
"My son, my son," Toni moaned. I didn't understand what she wanted or what she cared for. I wasn't thinking of her. I was focussing on that swinging shaft-swollen with anticipation.
I won. He plunged it into the waiting, raw flower. He rammed me into the floor and screamed as my cunt wrapped around that pulsing cock. I was out of my filthy world, out of the world of manners and ritual. I was in a new dimension. I rose to greet his cock-to take the meat and suck it up-always up with love and gratitude. I could hear his mother sobbing but I laughed with joy as he began his rhythm-as the meat pumped and ground my flesh until in one moment of ecstatic joy my body opened and I went over the top-wave after wave of exquisite sensation-the orgasm I had always yearned for but deep in my heart thought was fantasy.
* * *
In the July, 1968 issue of THE PSYCHOANALYTIC REVIEW, the distinguished analyst Alexander Hartmann contributed an article titled THE ELECTRA COMPLEX AS A FACTOR IN LESBIANISM. In that article, he writes:
"The classical Freudian view of the Electra Complex as the desire of the female child to embrace the genitalia of the father is now open to doubt. Empirical studies seem to point toward an early lesbian attachment to the mother, which, if not solved, eventually becomes dominant."
The above words can help us to solve this perplexing case. My clinical analysis is as follows. The subject, Elizabeth, found herself interviewing a woman who exhibited enough behavior patterns to bring back the memory traces of her own mother. Those memory traces, in turn, activated the dark side of the Electra Complex-the hidden lesbian desires toward the mother. Her heterosexual feelings were suddenly buried in a blaze of lesbianism. The fact of her desires was thrust upon her so quickly and with such force that she needed a sub-the woman. Up to now it is fairly simple, but the stitute to guard against the blatant lesbianism of relationship with Paul becomes more complex. As she feels herself becoming more and more eroticised, witness her substitution of "cunt" for vagina-she begins to yearn for something that would re-enact the original family situation; the original situation of a young child wishing for the sexual attention of a parent. Paul was the substitute. By seducing him she could somehow recapitulate her original feelings in childhood. The mother was still looking on, only in this case it was Toni.
In her subconscious, Elizabeth was performing an incestuous activity. Paul was both her son and her father. Toni was both herself and a valid representative of her mother. The incredible burst of passion which she exhibited in her re-telling of the event shows the tremendous latent power that incestuous desires take and how, in spite of all cultural taboos, they re-appear and re-inforce themselves.
In cases such as these, little damage is done. The subject usually reverts back to the normal sexuality, often denying, in fact, that such an activity actually took place. But it will happen again and again until the root cause of the dilemma is solved through analysis or some other therapy.
CHAPTER 6
(Name: Anna F. Age: Thirty-two. Place of Residence: Trenton, New Jersey. Occupation: Dietician.)
I have a good job and I'm proud of it. About fifteen hundred men at a large Veteran's Hospital depend on me to keep them healthy. I make sure they eat right things at the right time. I make sure that the restaurant is run up to par and that every meal served contains enough vitamins and general nutrition. I guess a lot of people would think it's boring, but not to me-"you are what you eat"-as the old adage goes and I believe it.
Sure, I have plenty of problems but it's mainly because of the help in the cafeteria and restaurant. They're all drifters, all men who show up for a few weeks and then leave. I don't blame them; the pay isn't good-but it makes it hard to do my job.
I guess I've always been a little lonely and the men at the hospital sort of substituted for my family. I really want to help them. I really want to make them healthy.
Yes, it was a pretty good life. When I went home I slept soundly because I had done a day's work. As for my sex life, well I was never popular with the men. It's a fact of life and I just had to live with it. I suppose that like a lot of other women I always dreamed that one day my Prince Charming would come along. What I never realized was that when he came along he would be a sixteen year old boy who could hardly speak English-and our "love affair" would be filled with perversions that I never even dreamed I was capable of performing.
His name was Pedro and he came into the hospital looking for a job. Do you go to school. Who are your parents? They asked him a million questions but Pedro wouldn't answer. We needed people so desperately that they sent him to me and I hired him to help me in the kitchen.
He was small and very frail. He very rarely smiled but he was a willing worker. I used him to type out the menus and to check the meals, from soup to dessert. Weeks went by and we worked side by side without saying a word. Pedro had a knack of knowing exactly what I wanted him to do even before I told him and so I was really very happy that he had showed up. Whenever I asked him a question about his family or his background or why he wasn't in school, he would just smile and shake his head from side to side. Sometimes that made me so furious that I felt like smacking him across the face but then I would get control of myself and remember that he was only a boy.
Then, one day, after I had worked late and I was so goddamn tired I couldn't even think straight
-I walked out of the hospital to take a taxi home. It was a cold night and there was nothing moving on the street. Suddenly, I saw a shadow against the side wall of the hospital. I was scared out of my wits. Was it after me? I walked into the center of the street, still hoping for a cab, when I saw the shadow move ... and I could see that it was Pedro.
"Pedro, Pedro-is that you?"
No answer. I moved back to the sidewalk and stared at the figure. It was Pedro and there was something wrong with him. I walked quickly to him. He seemed drunk, standing against the wall and swaying slightly. I grabbed him and he didn't struggle. He wasn't drunk. There was no whiskey in his breath. Drugs! Of course, the boy was on something.
"What have you taken?" I asked, shaking him like a terrier shakes a rat.
"Hash," he whispered, and then I saw the needle marks just over his wrist. There are a lot of junkies in the hospital but I had never heard of taking Hashish by injection.
"You're going home, young man, and I'm going to have a talk with you," I said, furious at his stupidity.
"I go nowhere," he said, smiling.
Just then a cab passed and I hailed him. Half pulling, half dragging Pedro, I finally got him into the cab.
"Where do you live?"
He mumbled the address and the taxi moved off. It felt very strange sitting with that young boy in the back of the cab. He seemed almost to be absent-to be so thin that any breeze coming in from the window would blow him away.
It was an old dilapidated rooming house and he had a small room on the top floor. It consisted of a single chair, a small table and a bed. There was a sink in one corner but the bathroom was out in the hall.
He sat down at the edge of the bed and I could see he was still flying. I sat on the chair facing him.
"I didn't know you were this stupid. I thought you were a smart boy who was trying to go somewhere."
"I go to Hell," he said quietly, and suddenly I was afraid of the hatred and the strange wisdom he possessed.
"It's time for you to go to bed, Pedro," I said gently.
He was totally under the control of the drug and he stared straight ahead, his eyelids barely blinking. I pushed him back down and started to undress him. I had been a nurse and undressing difficult boys was easy for me.
But he wasn't difficult; he was cold. His body lay there like on a slab. His eyes were open but there was that coldness of death. Yes, a sudden fear came over me, that the child was dead. That I had let him die because I was unwilling to help. He was naked in front of me.
"Pedro, Pedro," I said suddenly, trembling that my fantasy would be realized. I could see a muscle in his jaw twitch, lightly, every so lightly, and I wondered whether I was imagining things.
He was such a child-such a young boy. I could feel the poison running through his body; I could feel the drugs tearing him apart.
I kneeled by the side of the bed and actually prayed for him-yes-I folded my hands like some stupid little kid and I prayed to whoever it is up there that Pedro live-and be happy-and conquer his need for the Hashish.
But still he didn't move; still he didn't even seem to be breathing. His naked flesh was crisscrossed with the veins and muscles of youth-throbbing lightly under the taut skin. There was not an ounce of flesh on his body that could be called fat. He was beautifully and finely built-like a dancer. Suddenly, when the prayer no longer seemed to help me, I buried my face near his armpit-where the arm hooks into the shoulder joint-and began to weep. Something else was beginning to come over me. Some other feeling, buried in my psyche and now leaping up. I could smell the tortured maleness of his armpits, the sweet, sour smell of his sex. I turned my head away and realized that my whole body was shaking.
My fingers touched his breasts and then slid down until they were resting gently on his belly. I would bring him back to life. I would bring him back to life with my own hands. It was the only way. It was the only way to rid him of the clodness and the drugs which were sucking the very life from his flesh.
I just stared at the sight of my fingers on his young body. His youth seemed to be transferring into mine and I remembered all the hatreds and fears and desires I had felt when I was his age.
My hands moved down his stomach and rested just above the quiet cock. It was lying between his legs, brown and warm, the tip sleeping like a bird. I could see the loose scrotum and the twin cherries in their repose. My fingers were burning-they had to go down further.
I touched him there and for the first time I felt a flow of life in his body. I felt something, something life-giving and beautiful beginning to affect him. I picked up the inert penis and held it gently between my palms, rolling it like a piece of fresh dough.
He began to stir and move. The cock was beginning to stiffen and I felt good and happy. It grew within my palms until it was a man's size-and he opened his eyes and stared at me. There was a look of fear on his face and a look of thanksgiving.
I bent down and pressed my lips against his young globes, tasting the strangeness of his scrotum, picking at the scrotum with my teeth until he actually moaned. Yes, I was curing him, I was bringing him life.
I nibbled at the sac until, looking up, I could see the red flaring tip of his cock. He was alive. He was not the silent, junkie Pedro-he was a young, virile man, with the whole promise of his life ahead of him. I swallowed both globes and sucked on them, delirious with joy. He turned away from me and I let the globes slip out-covered with my saliva. My mouth had gone berserk; it had taken over my will. It went after the shivering shaft and found it-the lips spreading wide and I was splintered with the most profound emotions as that magnificent brown cock slid past my tongue and went dancing toward the roof of my mouth. I closed my lips gently around it and began to suck. Pedro moaned. He was more than alive.
He thrashed about on the bed but my mouth was too velvet smooth and my tongue was too joyous with heat for him to take his cock out. He wanted my mouth-he wanted the drops of saliva which I lovingly coated his shaft with-he wanted anything that could save him from the drugs that had entered his soul.
But then I kissed the cock out-inch by inch-until its glaring tip was next to my eyes.
I jumped on the bed, fully clothed, more like a madwoman than a sober working dietician. He lay on his back and looked up. There was fear and anticipation in his inscrutable eyes.
My fingers slid my skirt off and then the panties. I let him gaze up between my legs so he could see the soft mound of hair which was his. I slowly spread my legs and wriggled so he could see the red splendor of the stretched cunt. I could see his chest heaving.
Very slowly I began to squat down. The pulsing tip touched the crack in my ass. I moved forward just a bit. Pedro moaned and lifted his body off the bed. He was totally alive-totally caught up in the moment.
The cock was grazing my crotch. I spun a little to hear him moan some more, to feel him starting to search for the nest.
The quivering cock was against my lips and I opened slowly for him-the tip and then the shaft slipping into my nest. I moaned and sat down more until the whole fat cock was engulfed by my vaginal walls. Pedro was murmuring but I couldn't understand what he was saying.
The frail, brown body suddenly came alive and started to pump upwards-ramming the cock deeper and using all his strength to grind the shaft in. I felt myself being driven upward-being spun around.
It was growing inside of me. I could see his arms stretched out on the bed. I could see his fingers clutching the bed spread in his moment of passion.
Thicker and thicker it grew inside and my cunt was tormented by the driving thrusts. I moved up and down-back and forth-bringing him all my love-showing him the juicy vaginal alternative to the poison he pumped into his arms.
And then a terrible foreign moan-and one desperate lunge. His cock threw the seed into me and I whirled on it like a dervish until I reached my orgasm and fell off the shaft. I rolled off the bed and onto the floor like some alley bitch that had been fucked.
A terrible and total shame came over me. I began to weep and grasping my undergarments ran from the room as quickly as possible. I felt like dying; I felt like throwing myself off the nearest building. What had I done? How had it happened? Why had that evil child been able to totally disarm me.
At the hospital the next day, I worked in a fog. Pedro didn't show up at all. For the next few days he was out but at the end of the week he showed up and said nothing. There was a strange calm between us-a lack of communication. It was as if we had both lived in a dream for that one night.
Then, a strange thing began to happen to me. I developed an insatiable need for food. I began to eat ten times my normal amount of food-stuffing bread and pastry and candy into my mouth whenever I had the chance. I was becoming as addicted as Pedro, only the drug was different.
It was so ludicrous-the women in charge of the nutritional health off thousands of men, sud denly forgetting everything, ignoring all the basic tents of healthy eating, and indulging in an orgy of food.
That was what it was; an orgy. I would sweat until I filled my mouth with the sticky chocolates and then and only then could I sit back and feel that I was filled.
One evening, the compulsions took a bizarre turn. It was late at night and I was unable to sleep. I walked into the living room and tried reading some magazines, stuffing my mouth with small, delicate candies.
But the magazine bored me. Everything bored me. From time to time the vision of Pedro's naked body on the bed; his brown succulent body, would suddenly appear and I would shiver until I thought I was falling apart.
I had a sudden desire to light the two grotesque candles on the dining room table. Applying the match, I watched the wick catch and then let myself be bathed in the eerie glow. I threw away one box of chocolates and took the other one which was unopened. That box was filled with ripe cherries covered with a dark, thick chocolate. I lay back on the sofa and stared at the candles and at the shadows the flames threw up on the ceiling.
Gradually, the flames flickered and died and the inevitability of death sort of overwhelmed me. I thought of Pedro sticking the needle in his arm-plunging that filthy thing into his flesh. The candies were rapidly being consumed and I couldn't stop my arm from going again and again into the box and pulling out another chocolate covered cherry-It was all so stupid-everything-my job, my life, my relationship with that strange child. I stood up and walked to the table. My fingers ran over the still hot wax of the candles. Some of the wax came off on my palm and I smelled it. It was the smell of burnt grass. Suddenly, without even thinking, I lifted one of the candles from the holder. It rested lightly in the palm of my hand.
There was another cherry in the box and I held the piece of candy to the side of the candle. Before my eyes, the chocolate began to peel off and slip over the wax. I found some more candy and applied it until the whole candy was dripping with the melted chocolate.
Suddenly, I picked the candle up and pressed it to my mouth, kissing the chocolate from the object. My forehead became covered with beads of sweat. The candle was beginning to change shape, to become fluid.
It was so hard and sweet-so warm from the flame, so sticky from the candy covering.
I held it toward the ceiling as if it was a religious object. I wanted to protrate myself before it. Oh, the madness was upon me.
My body was hot-too hot for the robe. I slipped it off until I stood naked and shivering in the room. The candle touched my breast. I felt the nipple being massaged by the candy and the hot wax. I twirled it against my point until it grew erect.
Before I knew what was happening, I was down on the floor. I felt strange, almost tormented. I felt that my body needed penetration as it had never needed anything in its life. My flesh was warm and quivering. I brought the candle down to my belly and it nestled in the navel.
It was time. I rolled on my back until the tufts from the carpet were digging into my ass. I held the candle with both hands and let it play against my crotch-darting in and out of the hairs-closing my legs around it. I began to curse Pedro
-to curse his drug habit-to curse the job I had always loved. I felt like a madwoman who was on the brink of hell.
I brought the candle one more time to my mouth and sucked the candied wick. It was so sweet and warm. I kissed its length and let my tongue loll on its cylinder.
Then I let it nestle deep in my crotch and the wick plucked at my cunt lips until they were wet and hot. I shifted my legs and they spread-they spread real wide as if they knew that I was evil. I let the wick move an inch-and then another inch
-and then gathering all of my strength I rammed the candle into my cunt and plunged it deep.
The scream came out of my chest and I rolled over and over on the floor. I wanted to take it out but my fingers were wrapped around the wax in a death grip.
It was too late. I sent it deeper and my whole downy cunt trembled. I was splintering myself; I was driving the object so deep that every part of me trembled. It began to spin in my nest until the heat drove me almost insane with rage and love. Then, kneeling like a beast-I closed my eyes and started the rhythm of love. I pumped the candle slowly in and out-driving deeper at the height of each plunge. My cunt sucked it in. How good it was! How beautiful was the movement!
There seemed to be no beginning and no end. I could feel the chocolate moving off the wax cock and melting inside my cunt walls-without a thought of my perversion. I was gasping and crawling about the room-trying to escape from the object-but trying to continue the ecstasy.
And then I felt my flower blossom-I felt the warm wax splitting my resistance. The cunt boiled over and in a fit of lust I flung the candle from me and quivered as my body achieved the most blessed orgasm in my life.
Immediately after, I showered, as if the dirt of my act could only be purged by burning water. Finally, satiated, I slept, and the night was full of the terrors of dreams.
It was time to go to work. There could be no further procrastination. I had to face the disease inside me. When I showed up that morning, Pedro was already there-performing the small tasks he was supposed to do. We nodded at each other and I began to work on the menu for the day.
"Do you hate me?"
I turned to his voice, almost shocked that he would begin a conversation-even if it was with a question.
"Why do you ask?"
"I think maybe you do."
"Why?"
"Because I am bad."
"But you are not bad."
"I'm a junkie."
I wanted to walk to him and take his brown face in my hands and kiss the black eyes-but I just stood there and stared at him.
"I don't hate you, Pedro, you must believe me."
He was holding a number of menus in his hand. They had just been run off the mimeograph machine and his hands were coated with the fresh ink.
"Thank, you," he said simply.
I turned and walked into the small pantry. I had to compose myself. He followed me in. What was he up to? What did he want?
He shut the door of the pantry behind him and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
"I have been clean for two days," he said, "but you must help me."
I didn't want to talk to him. I just wanted to bask near his body.
"I will try," I said.
My hands reached out for something-for anything that could give me calmness. There was a pound of butter that had to be unwrapped. I peeled off the top paper and began to cut it into little squares. He moved closer to me.
"I know what you do the other night. I know that you try and help me. I thank you."
He was feeling for the words-trying to make sure that everything he said was precise.
The butter was melting in my hand. The golden yellow substance was pouring over my skin. He was too close to me; he was too close. I could smell his young body and I remembered the odor of his naked flesh on that bed.
I felt trapped-unable to move-unable to understand his body.
"You are good, you are good," he kept saying. His face was an inch away. My finger was coated with the butter and I slipped it into his mouth. His eyes opened wide with shock but he just stood there-sucking on the finger. I slid it out-trembling and shaken.
"You must go away, Pedro."
He shook his head and there were tears in his eyes. I let the butter spread over my hand.
"You stupid little fool," I suddenly shouted, "open my blouse."
His young hands were travelling up my blouse until they came to the buttons and they undid them until my raw breasts tumbled out.
I massaged the butter into the nipples as he watched; as his eyes grew wide with fear and desire. He was too young to understand; he could only perceive the animal-the sudden pangs of lust. He was not able to understand my need for strange and beautiful sex.
I placed my hands by my side and the golden nipples twinkled in the darkened room. I thrust my chest forward so the white hillocks would be under his face. His lower lip was trembling and he tried to look away but there were the breasts. He could not avoid them. They were trembling in their warm coat of butter. He pursed his lips and took one of my nipples in his mouth. I started to weep and he sucked on it and sucked the butter off in gasps until only the raw nipple was left-the raw, dancing cherry which was darting in and out of his mouth-searching for his tongue. I rammed my whole breast in his mouth until he was full of my love. He spat the mound out and looked around-desperate and uncomprehending.
A second later my hands were ripping at my dress which I left a shattered rag on the floor. My fingers ripped the silk panties to pieces and then, grabbing a hunk of the melting butter, I plunged it into my crotch-thrusting the golden stuff over my black crotch hairs until the whole nest was dripping wet.
"Pedro, Pedro," I moaned.
He was crawling to me-making voiceless sounds. He licked the dripping butter from my crotch and then his tongue followed the drops until he was spearing the cunt juices-mixed with the butter.
"I want you-I want you-I want you," I kept moaning over and over and leaning against my table, used both my hands to open my cunt and give him the golden red flower.
A fastening of the mouth and then a shuddering suck and I felt like a thousand white hot prongs were ripping my cunt apart. My hands smashed him on the side of the head but his young tongue was all the way in-racing wildly along the vaginal walls-plucking and spearing the pools-driving upwards toward the womb.
I spread my legs so wide that the thigh muscles seemed to be falling apart-to be ripping by an invisible hand. I urged him on-calling for the tongue-forgetting everything except that sweet tip which was like some animal-strange and furry-discovering the love juices of my cunt for the first time.
My whole flower was quivering and the walls were sucking him higher until I heard him moan and gasp with the breath of desperation. It was too much for the child. The child wanted junk and poison and all I had given him was the slimy cunt-but the wetness was my own love and it was sweet as he plucked. He couldn't get it out. My thighs were like a vise-keeping his tongue there
-making him suck like a berserk funnel. Finally, I relaxed and let his mouth leave me. I was wild with passion. My hands went once again to the butter and holding a large hunk-opened his pants and desperately began to coat his cock which was menacing and erect-the veins pulsing against the taut flesh.
It was the golden cock and I stood back for a moment and there was a great calm over the both of us. He stared at his own penis and then looked at me-his face twisted into a mask and his young virgin lips coated with the juices of my vaginal flower.
There was a storm growing between us. He knew, I think, for the first time, that I was the only way to beat drugs, that my body was the only true drug-that his youth was to be fed by my love.
I kneeled and kissed the ground in front of him. Pedro closed his eyes. He was unable to fight anymore. He licked his lips and tasted my cunt love
-which still clung to his teeth and throat like dew. I crawled to him until the golden butter cock was only an inch from my face. My lips pursed and they wrapped around his pulsing tip. The whole child shuddered-the whole child was giving himself to me.
With open mouth-I let the smooth shaft sink in. Inch after inch I sucked until my whole being was filled with that brown shaft.
It was dancing in my mouth-it was thrashing back and forth, trying to suck all the juices. My tongue was like a burning cloth, covering it again and again with saliva. I wanted it to go all the way down my throat-to feel my whole body being taken apart by it.
"No, no, no," he kept moaning, unable to take my love any more.
But what did his cries mean to me? I was cock crazy; the butter was a divine kiss-a golden joy.
It slipped out with my blessing and I crouched, thrusting out my vulva. He was dancing on his toes-the child being destroyed by the need he felt. He ran toward me and plunged his erect shaft, coated with butter and spit, into my golden cunt. I was slammed up against the wall and he began to grind. My eyes filled with tears.
He was fucking me-as I had never been fucked before. The nutritionist-the creator of a thousand health hints was receiving an injection of young, brown, erect Vitamin Cock. I threw my old life away-that precise moment-when I was nailed against the wall.
Oh how I dreamed-even at the moment of orgasm-of all the young boys I would have.
* * *
One of Freud's most difficult but most fruitful essays was PSYCHOGENIC VISUAL DISTURBANCE ACCORDING TO PSYCHOANALYTICAL CONCEPTIONS (reprinted ifn CHARACTER AND CULTURE, Collier Books, New York, 1963).
In this essay, he writes:
"Speaking generally, the various organs and systems of organs are at the disposal of both sexual and ego-instincts. Sexual pleasure is not connected only with the function of the genitals; the mouth serves for kissing as well as for eating or speaking."
Most of our readers will, of course always be aware of this. But he goes on to say:
"This principle necessarily leads to pathological consequences when the two fundamental instincts are at variance, when a repression is set up on the part of the ego against the sexual-component in question....The ego has lost control of the organ...."
This last sentence is crucial to our case. The whole butter syndrome of Anna, which is merely an outgrowth of her perverted masturbatory act with the candle, is a prime example of what happens when the ego loses control of the organs, in this case both fingers and mouth.
She is using butter as the symbol of the freedom from the ego. And what is the repression she is encountering? Fingers and mouth are associated with the oral stage of childhood, with the moment when the child is clutching the breast and then taking it into her mouth. Clearly, Anna is experiencing a revival of her childhood traumas which were centered on that stage.
The butter wrapped around both the candle and then the young penis is the nipple which she has been unable to purge from her memory. The sucking in, with mouth and vagina, of the two objects, one natural and one unnatural, is her way to regressing to childhood in order to alleviate the unpleasantness of the repression. Why, after so many years, the need to alleviate the sympton has suddenly become paramount-is something we cannot answer because of the lack of concrete information.
There is a good reason why she seduces the boy.
The symbolism of drug addiction-the needle into the arm-is the same as the nipple into the mouth. The drug has always been considered a substitute mother; it is warm and pleasant and alleviates all woes-just like the warm, joyous nipple.
But the reader may legitimately ask, why not a mature drug addict? The child is the epitome of innocence and, as such, is not really associated with sexuality. The mature woman who seduces a boy is apt to feel that she is engaging in something pure-almost a religious rite-and this engagement lessens her guilt at both the seduction and the sexual act.
Even her profession-a nutritionist-reveals her dependence upon that childhood trauma. Nutrition was the prime fact of the nipple. Anna became such a professional worker in order to make sure that the nipple was available to all who wanted it; her desperate need for it made her believe that it was the universal palliative and that Nutrition, as a science, was, subconsciously of course, the analogue to that desire.
Without psychiatric care, this woman will fall apart. Each seduction, each young boy, will only bring the repressed material closer and closer to consciousness-until she will be unable to face the guilt.
CHAPTER 7
(Name: Jean W. Age: Twenty-six. Place of Residence: Chicago, Illinois. Occupation: Newspaper Editor.)
I wait for the summers. It is then that the newspaper becomes flooded with the young boys, sent to the paper by eager parents-hoping that during the two months of summer they will learn the newspaper trade-hoping that they will participate in the glamorous communications industry.
How funny and how pathetic! There is nothing glamorous in this business, nothing at all. It is hard work and low pay with little chance of advancement. But I say; let them keep coming, let the fourteen and fifteen year olds dash about the office during the summer, running copy and getting endless cups of coffee.
At first I hated them. I hated their innocence and their wide-eyed behavior. But, gradually, as I came to know the erotic situation-as I came to understand my own needs, the situation changed.
The first one was Peter. He was just seventeen years old and his uncle worked in the composing room. The next year he would go to college and he wanted a career in journalism. The editor called me into the office and told me he was assigning Peter to me. I fought against the move but when I saw that the editor was quite stubborn, I realized I would be saddled with him.
For the first few days he followed me like a ghost, butting in everywhere he didn't belong. I had to send him on ludicrous errands all over the city in order to keep him out of my hair. But always he returned, standing in front of my desk like a puppy dog, begging for more work, begging to be initiated into the mysteries of the paper.
Then, one hot afternoon, I was assigned to a murder case. In a moment of softness I asked Peter if he would like to come along. He was a thin boy and his whole body shook as he heard the good news. We grabbed a cab and went to the posh hotel where the murder had been committed. The police photographer was still taking pictures.
There were no clues but the victim had been a notorious high-priced call girl and she had a whole book full of suspects. Peter dogged me across the room-wherever I went-he was there.
When I had gathered all the information-I realized that it was really too hot to go back to the office. I knew a small cocktail lounge just around the corner from the hotel and I was sure it was air conditioned. But what to do with Peter. Finally, I decided to take him because if I let him go back to the paper they would ask him where I was and he was too stupid not to tell them. We sat in a small booth and I had a few martinis and he had a coke.
"Don't you drink?" I asked him, not even bothering to hide the contempt.
He was very ill-at-ease with a woman who drank and cursed and he just flushed and looked down.
"No," he whispered.
"What do you do, Peter?" I asked.
"Nothing much, I suppose."
"But you want to be a journalist?"
"More than anything else in the world," he said, with a fervor and dedication that almost made me vomit. How could they be so idealistic? Didn't they know the whole thing was a sham?
"Do you go out with girls?" I asked, knowing it would make him feel even more uncomfortable.
"I guess I don't."
"Don't you like girls?"
He flushed and wrapped his hands so tightly around the glass that I thought it would break. "Yes, but...."
He just couldn't answer the question. He murmured and stammered and then just gave up on it.
Suddenly a great fatigue came over me. I had to lie down, I had to get away from the whole bizarre world which I had joined-the screaming editors, the naive young children, the roar of the presses. My apartment was only a few blocks away. It was time for a nap-just an hour or two that would refresh me. But what to do with the young nitwit? Finally, I decided to drag him along, to keep his lips sealed. If my boss ever knew I was sleeping on Company time, he'd really have a nervous breakdown. Like a lap dog, Peter followed me to the apartment. I left him alone in the living room with some magazines and books and closed the door of the bedroom. Quickly I undressed and stood under an ice-cold shower. The pouring water was delicious. Then I slipped into a robe and lay down on the bed.
All the windows were open but it was so hot that in a few moments my whole body was covered with sweat. I felt as if I was choking to death from the heat.
From the living room I could hear the sound of the boy flipping the glossy pages of the magazine. I tossed and turned on the bed, trying to fall asleep, trying to find some position that would help me avoid the killing heat. But it was no use-no matter how hard I tried-I became more and more uncomfortable until I thought my skin would be shedded from my body.
I lay on my stomach and pressed my body into the mattress, almost searching for a sexual feeling, for the mattress as a man-anything to give me some comfort.
The heat was affecting my brain. I began to remember all the men in my life and all the dreams that had been shattered. I remembered the night I lost my virginity-in that car-with a cousin. He was much older than I and he was away at college. We were just sitting there-laughing-when suddenly he slipped his hand under my sweater and grabbed my breasts. I was so shocked that I couldn't say a word. I grew tense and stiff. He began to kiss my nipples until a warm feeling went through me and there was nothing I could do. He had somehow touched the center of a young virgin-he had rendered me powerless. I made one gesture to get out of the car but he slipped his finger into my thighs, into the crotch, and I found my legs spreading-spreading as if I wanted to have him; as if I had waited all my life for him. He kissed my crotch until it was wet and then he rammed his hungry young cock in-so fast that I didn't even know what was happening-all I knew was the pain and then the breakthrough ... the feeling as if my body was being sent on a trip.
I turned over on my back and forgot my cousin. That idiot in the living room was still thumbing the pages. Suddenly I felt a hatred for that young boy so powerful that my nails dug into the bedspread.
"Peter, Peter," I screamed.
The door opened and he stood uneasily, perplexed at my sudden cry.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
He wore that look of concern that made me nauseous. His white shirt was buttoned at the collar and his tie was straight. His white handkerchief was sticking out of his suit jacket like the little tin soldier that he was.
"Of course, I'm not all right-otherwise ... why would I call you?"
"Do you want something?"
"Get me a glass of water."
He went into the bathroom and I heard him letting the water run. Then he came back with a glass. I grabbed it from him and drained the water.
The boy stood watching me as if he had never seen a grown woman clad so scantily. I held the glass in my fingers and rubbed it along my cheek. It was cool.
"What are you looking at?" I snapped.
"Nothing, nothing," he said, trying to keep his eyes off my exposed legs.
"You were looking, you stupid little future executive."
He turned to go.
"Stay where you are," I shouted.
It is difficult to describe now my sudden virulent hatred of him and what I knew he would be in ten years time. I felt my fingers moving into a claw, as if by gouging his eyes I could rid myself of all the professional and personal disillusionments I had suffered.
My hatred was so great that the glass suddenly broke in my hand. At first there was no feeling but then a million barbs of pain shot through my fingers. I stared down at my hand and saw the blood oozing out, staining the white sheets of the bed-flowing as if there was nothing in the world that could stop it. I had the sudden sensation that I would die. I had the sudden revelation that my last minutes would be in that terrible heat, being stared at by a young fool.
"Come here," I hissed.
He came quickly to the side of my pain, trembling with the sight of my blood. I picked up the brutalized hand and pressed it against his white shirt-so that the red scar went from his buttons to his waist. Then, without thinking, I rammed my wounded hand into his young mouth and he gagged as the blood poured down his throat. A moment later-the bleeding stopped and I eased my hand out. He was pale and shaken. He kept staring down at his blood-soaked shirt. My hands became prey to a soft, throbbing pain.
With my good hand, I found the largest piece of glass, the edges jagged and wicked looking. I went berserk-quietly and slowly berserk. Slowly, I slid the glass along the inside of my thigh, first spreading the robe apart. The blood flowed-a thin line of redness, coming from between one thigh. The child and I began the macabre dance. I grabbed his tie and pulled his face between my legs. He seemed to know-to understand. His virgin lips pressed against the thigh wound. When he stopped the bleeding, I pushed him deeper, until his frightened child's mouth was buried in my crotch and I kept closing and opening my legs-keeping the pressure on him. He tried to escape but I was too strong. I pushed until his mouth was against the nest and a second later his whole body convulsed as the cunt lips opened. There was nothing for him to do but enter-there was no way out but penetration. I fastened my legs around his head and applied the jagged glass to his neck. A stifled moan and then I was impaled on the bed by his hysterical tongue.
Oh-in and in it went. The child knew nothing but penetration; his tongue knew nothing but awakening; and it wound its way up my wet juicy cunt until the passageway was alive with a thousand thrills-a thousand erotic chills.
He was still clothed and parts of his sleeve rubbed against my ass and I shivered even more. How deep would he go? How deep would the tongue carve and twist?
It was beautiful revenge. It was the wet joy of surrounding a male tongue with my most hallowed nest. I sucked him in. I sucked him in all the way until he could no longer breathe and his body convulsed.
Then, laughing with joy at his pain, I pushed his head away and he exited from the cunt like a shell-shocked man-unable to speak-unable to understand.
I threw my robe to one side of the bed. I arched my back so that my ass was against his face-so that the buttocks were slamming into his mouth and nose.
First, I ripped the buttons from the front of his pants and the strange young cock tumbled out. Then I ripped the glass against my white, quivering buttock and it poured out blood. He wanted me again-he wanted me but he didn't understand. Grabbing each cheek, the blood spurting into my hands, I spread my ass in front of him.
"You fool, you stupid little fool ... you disgusting, little ambitious ass-here's a real ass for you. Take it!"
The blood dripped from the cheek into the anus, winding its way down. His eyes followed each drop and then the shaft was full and pulsing. He was being overcome by his own maleness. He couldn't understand the feelings of need-of desperation. I wriggled so the blood flowed more and the white gates of my ass became too succulent to him. Fully clothed, he climbed up on the bed and with a deep sigh-ramming his child cock into the twisting ass of white flesh and blood, dancing in front of him. His shaft cleaved deep and I moaned and was thrown forward as it went burrowing into my anus-the strength of his repressed young body, driving it like a piston. As he fucked me-I let the glass cut again and again into my buttocks. The bed was drenched with blood. I screamed with each thrust and whimpered as the glass cut again.
He was in all the way-he was home. My ass was rent and splintered. The hot core was wrapped around his maleness and a second later-deep inside me-I felt the seed pour out. I felt a river of hot semen inside my ass. Then I fell forward and the whole room began to spin until it blacked out and all was calm.
"Please, please," I heard the voice say.
He was standing at the foot of the bed, still wearing the blood stained shirt.
"Speak, speak," he kept whispering.
Slowly my eyes began to focus. I could make out the color of the walls and the blood on the sheets. I tried to move and a thousand terrible pains shot through my bruised and cut body. My ass felt as if a red-hot poker had been rammed in, without mercy.
"I don't know what to do," the boy said and then he began to weep.
He sickened me. He sickened me deep down, at the level of everything that he represented. He would grow up to be part of the establishment and make love to his dowdy wife twice a week and probably get a prize for some idiotic journalistic coup and he would never curse like me and his wife would never take it in the ass like me.
"Get out of here," I said, my voice low like the strike of a cobra.
"But...."
"Get out ... and get out of the paper and if I ever see you at the office again, you'll never get a job for any paper."
His eyes were wide with fear. His computer brain was trying to tell him whether I could make the threat good. But he decided not to take the chance. His career came first.
"What did I do to you? Why do you hate me?" he asked, beginning to walk to the door.
"You'll never understand," I said, laughing and mocking him, until the tears began to flood my eyes and I realized there was another level of feeling. Peter was gone-gone from the paper and gone from my memory.
The summer was over and all the children left. What I had done no longer seemed significant to me; it was as if I had went on a bad drunk and did all the sloppy things that women do when they lose control. But the idea that I was wedded to a perversion-never dawned in my mind. Only one thing was peculiar that winter. I avoided sex. A number of old boy friends kept calling me but I wanted nothing to do with them. The idea of sleeping with a man was odious. Nor did I masturbate-it was a complete abstinence; I was like a hibernating animal, nursing some unknown but terrible wounds.
It was a cold winter but I felt a tremendous sense of calm. For the first time at the paper there wasn't the usual combat between myself and the editor. He liked all the copy I turned in and there was even talk of my being nominated for a national award because of a story on City Hall corruption which I researched and wrote.
Yes-it was one of those strange interludes in a person's life where the work become paramount-where everything that used to be annoying and petty suddenly turns around and becomes satisfying. The winter merged into spring and then to summer.
The change was dramatic and sudden. I walked into the office one morning and I saw a line of young boys and young girls standing in front of the door to the editor's office.
"There they are, all bright and dewy eyed," a fellow reporter said, sarcastically.
I had forgotten all about the summer help; I had forgotten Peter completely. When I sat down at my desk and began to type, I realized that my fingers were shaking and I kept hitting the wrong keys. Page after page of useless copy I ripped out and threw savagely into the waste basket. A few minutes later the editor called me into the office. He was smoking and sipping coffee from a soiled paper cup.
"Last summer you gave me a hard time. Let's play it nice and cool this time around. It's something we all have to contend with and there's no reason to make a bad thing worse."
He waited for an answer but I didn't say a word. Finally, he continued:
"I've assigned you the best boy who applied. His name is Harvey and his father is a State Senator. Needless to say, it wouldn't be wise if you abuse him."
"As long as he doesn't interfere."
"He won't. Just give him the chance to learn and let him write a few paragraphs so he can show his daddy how wonderful he is."
"When does he start?"
"Tomorrow."
He returned to the paper cup and I realized that the interview was over. I walked out of the office and returned to my desk. A million memories seemed to flood my mind; memories of pain and broken glass; of savage thrusts into the anus. I was drenched with sweat and trembling. But there was nothing to do.
The next morning he was standing in front of my desk. Harvey was tall and well-built and he tried to maintain a sophisticated front, too sophisticated for a sixteen year old boy.
"Look," I said, the words blurting out of my mouth in a torrent of hate and fear, "if you want to spend a pleasant summer, just listen to what I tell you and do it. You don't know anything and I'm a professional. Do you understand? As you can tell, I don't like temporary help and I particularly don't like starry-eyed young newspapermen."
He had probably never been spoken to like that before, much less from a woman and his calm, cool reserve was completely shattered. He picked up a paper clip from the desk and began, nervously, to play with it.
"I'll let you come on assignments with me and I'll let you do some writing, but I won't suckle you. If you want a tit, go home to your mommy."
He blushed furiously and turned away. I knew that he wished he had never applied for the job.
"Are you ready to work?"
"Yes," he said, quietly.
"Then go get me a container of coffee-black with no sugar."
He just stared at me as if he couldn't believe what I was saying. He couldn't accept the idea of fetching something for somebody, of being treated like a common house servant. I could see the conflict in him growing but then ... he turned swiftly on his heels and went for the coffee. I sat down at my desk and just stared straight ahead. I want-ed to die. Yes, that was the strength of my feeling; I wanted to be dead.
The drama began. Only it was I who was the huntress, and an unwilling one-fighting not against the environment but against my own psyche and conscience.
Each day was a struggle. I couldn't bear the sight of him. I couldn't bear the closeness of his body. His every move-his every word-was like a goad boring into my flesh.
Then, one blazing hot afternoon, the intense feelings expoded with a fury. We were alone in the archives room-sitting up in the sultry stacks of microfilms. We were researching an article on drugs in the City. I kept sending him with slip after slip to the files until he dragged his feet and began to mutter that he didn't come to work for a newspaper in order to be a messenger boy. I grew white with hatred. I tried to scream at him but the words choked back in my throat.
Suddenly I was standing on my feet next to him. He couldn't face my silent wrath and turned away. My hands were like claws. They went to his pants and pulled the zipper down. I didn't know what I was doing; I couldn't stop myself.
It was out of his pants-the whole organ-shimmering with the close heat of the day.
I was so furious that my neck muscles ached and my legs were horribly cramped. Kneeling in front of him, I took the scrotum in my mouth and sunk my teeth into his soft, pliant globes until an animal scream of pain came from his mouth. I tasted the blood and silky flesh-I kept the pressure up-lacerating the gentle scrotum-digging my teeth like a dog into the bone of his cock. Then I let him go and moved away-my whole body trembling-my lips quivering from the taste of his maleness and blood. I realized what I had done and I ran from the room and out of the building. The heat almost knocked me to the pavement. The swirling traffic blasted against my eardrums until I covered my ears, and screaming, ran until I dropped onto a park bench.
I don't remember how long I sat there. But when my wits were recovered-I took a cab home and flung myself on the bed. What could I do? How could I face him the next day. I ran to the sink and kept washing my mouth but the taste of his globes and the blood were forever there. No amount of water could destroy it.
All night I tossed and turned on the bed. My body was burning with a terrible fever. Finally, in the agony of near-insanity-I slipped my fingers in the wet center-into the pulsing cunt-and fingered myself to orgasm. After that I could sleep.
The next morning when I walked into the office, he was already at work. He said nothing and I understood what he was doing; he was playing the game that it never happened; he was trying to preserve his job.
"Get me some coffee, will you, Harvey?" I asked gently, not even taking my eyes from the paper.
Five minutes later he returned with the hot liquid but when he placed the container in front of me, his hand was trembling so hard that some of the liquid spilled over, onto the desk blotter.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly.
"For what?"
"For spilling it."
That simple gesture; that simple act of spilling the brown fluid in front of me-seemed to open the gates. I knew right there and then that it was futile to fight. I knew at that precise moment that I would have the boy in any way I could get him.
Late in the afternoon, when he was about to leave, I asked him to come to my apartment for a few moments, to do some extra work. He was quite willings.
Once within the four walls, once safely in my lair, I acted swiftly, as if every second counted. He was sitting in the living room, on a small divan, leafing through some papers I had given him. There was only a small light off to one side. When he looked up at a strange sound, he saw me half naked, my breasts pointing toward them-the white mounds capped by straining nipples. A second later I stepped out of my undergarments-trembling but assured. I turned round and round in front of him-as if displaying my wares. I spread my legs and squeezed my cunt until it was a flaring beacon. I could see him begin to fall under the spell. I knew he could not withstand me. Moving closer to him, our bodies apart but straining to fruition-I wiped his mouth and face with my tits until he was moaning and chewing.
Then I stepped back and picked up the table lighter. I flicked it and the flame burst into the semi-darkness. I handed him the lighter. His fingers were sweaty as he grasped it. In front of him, I began to undulate, until my rutting female odors wafted gently into his nostrils and I could see them sucking the air. I turned around and around in front of him-thrusting first my cunt into his face and then my ass and then my breasts. His eyes were glazed from the feasts of love. I could see the spittle drooling down his young mouth.
He knew what to do-he knew instinctively what to do. He pressed the lighter and the flame moved out. I stopped, eyes closed, facing him, my hands squeezing the base of my breasts so the nipples were like raw, virgin fruit, waiting to be plucked. The fire went close to my nipples; searing them, sealing the juices until I felt they would explode. He kept bringing the flame back and forth-from one to the other-until they were erect.
The flame went out and he stared at me. I positioned myself closer and my hands crept down to the inside of my thighs, and gently, I spread my cunt for him. I closed my eyes as I heard the lighter start and then the flame licked me raw. Oh God-the beautiful pain-the burning tongue which caressed every inch of my crotch-which crept up to my inner lips-which seared my clitoris until I felt I was entering hell.
I heard a sizzling and then I realized it was my own vaginal juices-my own love liquid meeting with the cock of fire. I pulled my hands away and gave a terrible scream of joy and agony. The lighter flicked off. I was trembling in a pool of my own sweat. I plucked the lighter from him. He stood up. His hands tore at his pants until the bird of love flew out-gross, massive, more like a pole than a young man's penis.
He was coming toward me. I was trembling with anticipation. I urged him on with gyrating ass. I hungered for entry. I hungered for pain and joy and to give him my crotch.
I led him step by step until we were close to the wall and I made my stand there.
I held his cock for just a moment in my hands and tongued it all over-tasting the excitement-tasting the pulsing flesh. Then I glided it into my burned and raw cunt. A moment of repose and then he rammed it all the way in-asserting his terrible need. I went against the wall and then bounced back. It went deep-so deep-thrusting and tearing at the wet tissues which wrapped around it in cunt love.
But I needed more-I needed pain. I needed the joys of the burning cock as well as the male phallus. My fingers nicked the lighter and the flames leaped to my ass. As he pumped, I spread my buttocks and let the flames creep in. There was a cock within and a burning shaft from the other side. He was growing with each desperate thrust-until I was lifted off my feet and I drove the burning lighter all the way in. A moment later I exploded-my body leaping with the joys of total orgasm. He pulled out, and, on my knees, I held the flame under his globes and sucked on the menacing, vibrating shaft of love until he filled my mouth with seed. Then and only then, did I lay back on the floor and weep.
* * *
In one of Sigmund Freud's most brilliant essays, FROM THE HISTORY OF AN INFANTILE NEUROSIS (Originally published in 1914, reprinted in THREE CASE HISTORIES, Collier Books, New York, 1963) he writes:
"I believe there can be no difficulty in substantiating the statement that infants only soil with their excrement people whom they know and are fond of; they do not consider strangers worthy of this distinction....I mentioned the very first purpose to which faeces are put-namely, the autoerotic stimulation of the intestinal mucous membranes. We now reach a further stage, at which a decisive part in the process of defaecation is played by the child's attitude to some object to whom it thus shows itself obedient or agreeable." (p.271)
This passage will play a crucial part in our analysis. But first we must lay bear the most important clue in the narrative. The breakthrough in the final relationship between Jean and Harvey occurred because of one simple act, as she herself relates; the spilling of the coffee. Her almost obsessive description of this event with her strange adjectival construction-the "brown fluid"-forces us to make the assumption that her subconscious mind was apprehending the spilled coffee as faeces.
Here is an important breakthrough for sadism and masochism are syndromes usually stemming from some imbalance or disturbance in the anal stage of childhood-that stage where the sexuality is centered on the bowel movements and the anus, itself.
Remembering Freud's dictum, quoted above, that the child gives his faeces only to those he or she loves-we come to a most perplexing part of the case. For, not only did Jean turn the pain onto herself, become the object of masochistic desires (with a few half-hearted sadistic actions upon the young boys), but she was actually bringing them the most precious gift she had as a child; her faeces.
Of course, the desire to give the fruits of her bowel movements was completely hidden-and subsumed under the masochistic delights. If not for that strange incident with the brown fluid, we would have no inkling of it at all.
Her future is not to be a happy one for the paradox of taking pain and giving erotic gifts is one of the most deadly and most painful in the whole lexicon of psychological ailments. She wants to be destroyed, to have the flames scorch her anus because of the hidden repressions from her anal stage. But she also wants to give her partner the most profound love she can muster; the faeces.
Her choice of young boys is a choice of necessity. She needs people who are close to the anal stage-who have not yet reached the peak of adulthood and thus remember, subconsciously, the needs of the anus for erotic stimulation-which are then transformed into genital and vaginal penetration. Jean does not indulge in perverse acts, except for the pain, simply because she cannot add another crushing burden to her psyche. She will not be able to maintain the slow tempo in her seductions. Now, it is only during the summer months when there is a goodly supply of young boys around. But soon it will be beyond the confines of her office and then all year round-and then she will throw everything she has over for one night with a child who will accept her peculiarities. The process is devouring and there is little hope of her escaping her destiny.
CHAPTER 8
(Name: Bonnie A. Age: Twenty-nine. Place of Residence: New York City. Occupation: Actress.)
Nothing turns out the way you want it to-or even a pale copy of childhood ambition. I yearned to become an actress and I became one. But what kind of actress am I? I make all my money acting in stupid little commercials-talking about deodorants and aspirin and automobiles. Sure, the money is very good but there isn't any artistry. Once in a while I get a part in some small off-Broadway show which lasts about five weeks.
I'm like a million other women; my whole life is lived around a fantasy. But in my case-the fantasy is sexual-and it puts me outside the fence-beyond the normal.
I used to hide it and be ashamed of it and go to shrinks and other doctors. But they couldn't cure me-and I know now that I'll never be cured.
It started when I was fifteen. Nothing complicated about it. I discovered the movies. I became obsessed with movies. I cut school day after day and snuck into all the movies in my neighborhood, sitting there for hours as the fantastic pictures of what Hollywood considered reality flashed by me. It was my religion and my life.
One afternoon-a Friday-there was a Western playing with Gary Cooper. I remember sitting way down front, my hands dipping into the butter soaked popcorn. My feet were, as usual, stretched on the seat in front of me. Halfway through the movie I heard somebody in the aisle beside me. It was the usher-a tall, young man.
"Take your feet off the seat," he said, menacingly, shining his flashlight into my face. I took my feet down but he didn't go away-instead-he sat down beside me. I didn't know what to do but then I began to watch the picture again and the closeness of him no longer mattered.
Suddenly, his fingers were on my knee. Tensing, I clutched the arms of the seat. His hands slid between my knees and pushed them apart. I was a virgin and I didn't know anything about sex.
He rubbed my silk panties until I felt myself become hot and wet.
"Go away," I begged, my eyes still on the screen in front of me.
His answer was the whole hand slipping into my panties, and then I felt a man's fingers graze at my vaginal lips, pinching me and stroking me until I began to squirm on the seat. I wanted to scream, to yell, to stand on my seat and shout it out to the people who sat with me in darkness.
Then the wet cunt lips spread and his finger slipped into the warm maw. I closed my eyes, blotting out the scream, and moaned.
It was going all the way in and I felt his nail scrape at the warm juices. There was something stopping him-something suddenly looming there-and then-a shiver of pain and his finger pierced my hymen. I was plucked-and I felt a tiny trickle of blood stain the silk undergarment. He slid his finger out and put his tongue into my ear.
My eyes were no longer accepting the images on the screen. I felt the breath of air in my ear and I twisted my face away from him. It had been so sudden. It had happened so fast and so expertly that I could still feel the finger-I could still sense the nail scraping.
Then his hand was around my neck. I tensed but felt my face being pulled down-and down-no matter how hard I struggled. It was dark, pitch dark, and my eyes were still half-blinded by the brilliant screen.
I felt something hard and alive against my cheek. I shivered. He pulled me down further and my lips touched it. I knew, deep inside me I knew. I felt my heart skip a beat and then his hands went away from my neck.
It was no use. Something inside of me was opening my lips. The tongue crept out and began to dance around the shaft. And then it touched-my tongue spread the saliva over the erect, quivering cock. I thrust my hands forward and dug into the darkness until I found his globes. They fell into my palms and I stroked them gently with my tongue, moving upwards, always upwards, until there was only the pulsing maleness-the cock of darkness-and I licked every violent inch.
I opened my mouth wide and let it sink into my virgin mouth. Gently, I closed my teeth over the shaft and I heard the stranger moan.
I had to suck ... without thinking ... a compulsion from inside of me. I sucked until he was pressed against his seat and it was a massive torch in my wet, willing mouth.
I could feel his blood pounding in his cock-I could feel every inch of it-alive-real. He rammed it deep into my mouth and lifted himself off the seat. I was choking but I held on.
Then the seed-warm, delicious, vital, and I threw my head back and laughed as the liquid caressed my throat. An instant later he was gone and the screen came back in all its splendor.
That was when I was fifteen years old. As a result of that incident-I didn't step into a movie house until I was twenty-five. Yes, almost ten years of abstinence from the screen. I remember the precise day I returned because it was also the day I began my strange trysts; the day that my needs became so strong and so perverse that I could no longer bottle them in.
By the age of twenty-five, only four years ago, I was already making money as an actress on a wide series of commercials. I was still desperate to get into the theatre and my mornings were spent auditioning for all kinds of roles. And each audition was more and more depressing.
On that fateful day, I had been auditioning for a role in an off-Broadway production of Hamlet. They needed an Ophelia and it had always been my lifelong ambition to act the role. There were literally hundreds of young actresses in the auditorium and the producers gave each of us a number as if it was a supermarket.
When my number was called, I walked to the stage and was handed a mimeographed script where certain parts were pencilled under. I began to read and about five minutes later I heard a voice in front of me call out:
"Thank you very much. We have your name and number and we'll let you know."
I realized there was no chance at all. Walking out in the street, my stomach felt sick and I was almost overwhelmed by depression. There seemed no end to those auditions, to those disappointments.
I started to walk uptown, feeling totally destroyed, feeling that I would be stuck forever in the ludicrous and demeaning world of TV commercials. Slowly, as my limbs stretched, I began to feel better. I began to feel the blood circulate and my legs and arms recover their spring. There would be other auditions, I realized, and there was no reason for despair.
Suddenly, I was in front of a movie that was playing two old Humphrey Bogart pictures. It was one of those arty movie houses, catering to film buffs. I stopped and felt myself shaking with the need to enter that dark womb-like structure again. It had been so long; ten years. I felt myself drawn to the small glass cage where the tickets were being sold, but I also felt a sense of doom-as if by going in I was returning to a portion of my life that was horrible.
Finally, I made my decision and walked inside. The darkness was overwhelming and I stood at the foot of the aisle waiting for my eyes to become used to the dark.
Gradually, I could make out the seats and the few people scattered in the aisles. I walked down and seated myself in the front, just as I used to do when I was a child. The movie began to seep into my consciousness, to dance in front of my eyes until I was lost in the magic of the screen.
Then, suddenly, I heard movement. I saw an usher walk down the aisle, flashlight in hand. The memory of that event ten years ago was overwhelming. I was a fifteen year old child again and the usher was a mature, thrusting male. Sweat stood out on my forehead. He came closer and closer and finally passed me by.
I started to laugh. He was just a boy, a young boy, and then I realized how stupid my fears were. I was twenty-five years old. I was the adult and he was the child. I relaxed in my seat and began to enjoy the movie.
But it was not that simple. A thousand conflicting memories and feelings were splintering me. I kept squirming on my seat, desperately trying to watch the movie, but also trying to control the strange states of mind and body that were becoming apparent to me.
The usher passed again-wearing those ludicrous long capes. I strained in the darkness to see his face; he was so young. And I remembered that usher only ten years ago-but he, too, had been young.
"Wait," I suddenly called out in the darkness and then bit my lip until it bled because I had wanted to remain silent.
The usher ambled over and stood by my seat. He had the smell of starched wool and used clothing and a musty sort of male odor. In the dark, smells are everything.
"What's the matter?" he asked, flashing the light on the floor in front of me.
"Nothing."
"Didn't you call out?"
"Yes."
He stood there, not knowing how to react. I closed my eyes and wished he could leave. But he just stood there and something inside of me was acting.
"Sit down for a moment," I whispered.
"I'm working."
"Just a moment-please."
He flicked off the light switch and eased himself into the chair next to me. On the screen, Bogart was speaking to his woman, that upper lip curled in erotic contempt. The boy was nervous and I could tell he was sorry he had sat down. The years seemed to fade away and I remembered that usher's finger and then the taste of his shaft as it had pounded in my mouth.
"I have to go," he said.
"No, wait."
My voice was desperate. The boy couldn't go. I had to hold him there, to keep him by my side. There was something about his nearness which I needed to expunge all those other memories.
Bogart spoke again and I shivered. My hands moved down into my lap, almost without thinking. As the actor spoke his lines, I felt my fingers crawling under my dress and then slipping the silk undergarment off my legs until it fluttered to the floor. I was aghast at what I had done but I couldn't retract the act. My warm ass slid back and forth over the leather seat. The boy knew something had happened but he wasn't sure. "Don't go," I whispered.
I took his hand and he fought me-but I brought it into my naked lap and I felt him shiver as he felt the jungle of my crotch.
"It's yours, it's yours," I whispered, suddenly and totally desperate for love-more desperate than I had ever been in my life. I needed that child-with his ludicrous cape and his flashlight.
He pulled his hand away and threw his eyes to the screen where Bogart was running through some alley, pursued by the villains.
"My alley, here is my alley," I whispered.
I was tense in my seat-grinding my buttocks against the leather seat-my whole body caught up in a frenzy of desire that I had never experienced before.
Suddenly, I remembered that incident ten years ago and the hands around the back of my neck-pulling me to the shaft. I reached over and slipped my hands around his neck. I could feel the boy tense his muscles.
Whispering to him with all the passion I could muster, I pulled his head slowly toward my wet, quivering crotch. He resisted but it was too late. He had caught the scent of my womanhood and he had touched the silken jungle.
The face kept coming-and coming-an inch at a time-an inch at a time toward the center of my being. I began to weep as he approached and the tears blinded Bogart from my sight.
Suddenly, the boy's face was buried in my crotch-his whole face-nose and eyes and ears and mouth caught up in the swirl of crotch hairs-the jungle of love which began to choke him and cover him with glory.
I lifted my buttocks off the seat-ever so slightly-and then I felt his mouth against my cunt lips-searching for the treasured opening.
I suppressed a moan and spread my thighs. He kissed my cunt and I felt myself losing consciousness. I fought to remain calm, to enjoy each waking moment.
He was burrowing like a young animal, grating my crotch with his desperate face. I closed my legs around the side of his head and a second later he slid his tongue into the open maw. I opened my mouth in shock. The walls of my cunt shuddered and forced the tongue to go deeper.
In the darkness, pierced only by the blazing screen, I felt the tipped fury drive deep. It was a virgin tongue and it was swollen with the shock of entry. He was driving deep-lancing the cunt walls-reveling and turning into the sudden beauty of the open maw.
I could feel his whole body shuddering. I could feel his face pushing into the crotch so that his tongue could go deeper and deeper. And then the thrusts stopped and the tongue began to twist and turn slowly until I was crying and moaning with joy. I was growing close to the end-my vaginal lips were palpitating and the juices were moving down.
A single thrust more and the tongue pierced home. I felt the orgasm flow over me in terrible but beautiful waves and then my naked ass slumped against the seat.
That evening I spent in carefully and honestly trying to understand what I had done. Of course, in the past I had engaged in mutual oral sex with men, but never had it been so beautiful and so compelling. But that fact paled before the fact of the child; it was a child I had seduced. It was a child who I had debauched. I remembered the thrill of his young tongue sliding in-always deeper, and even at night, hours after the act, I felt myself shivering with lust.
Keep away from the movies. Yes, that was the lesson I tried to teach myself. I had stayed away for ten years and then one weakening had hurt me-one weakening had opened up a strange and frightening spectacle concerning my sexuality.
Days, weeks, months passed and I kept my vow. Once again I threw myself into looking for a good acting assignment; at the same time doing better and better at the commercials. I was really making a lot of money for the first time in my life.
At acting class, one afternoon, I met a young actor who had come in from the coast. We went out for some drinks together and an hour later I was in his apartment. I wanted to be there-I wanted somehow to nip my growing pervision in the bud-to destroy the child syndrome and the movie syndrome with one injection of cock.
The actor didn't waste much time. I was sitting on the couch and sipping a drink when he slid beside me and began to unbutton the blouse. He laughed, dipped his tongue in the whiskey, and then kissed my naked nipples.
I placed the glass down and gave myself to him in a desperation borne of fear. I wanted to be purged. I thrust my whole breast into his mouth and squirmed as he bit. I pulled it out and my tongue followed his own tongue until they were dancing together in his mouth. On the sofa-stretched out-my whole body yearning to be penetrated.
He was thorough and experienced. He kissed me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head-licking and nibbling me everywhere until I was a trembling mass of willing flesh.
Then he straddled me and gave me his globes to lick. I desperately covered them with kisses, nibbling at the scrotum until he moaned. I had to be cured. I had to forget everything; to show myself that there was a bedrock of normalcy about me.
He pushed my mouth away. I could see the giant cock, shivering, every inch pulsing with blood, every muscle and artery dancing along the length.
He entered me brutally and furiously and I arched my body to receive the thrust. Silence for a moment as it slowly slid past the wet cunt gates and then it exploded in fury.
I was being driven into the fabric until I could feel the steel springs. I was being driven-scorched by the burning cock tip which was going for my womb. It happened too fast and too brutally and all I could do was hang on and lift my buttocks in his rhythm. He was muttering and cursing as he plucked my body and the cock swelled inside me until I felt myself bursting. Then he changed the rhythm and drove slow but deep-savoring each moment-fucking me as if I was the last body he would ever have. I was weeping and crying with joy as he continued and my body was opening like a flower; covering his shaft with my most intimate juices.
Then-a moment of pause-a moment where cock and cunt engaged in frictionless love-where I felt the silken walls of my nest wrap themselves trembling around the intruder.
A sudden violent thrust and the cock exploded-pouring the semen into me. He withdrew it and let the seed bubble from his tip onto my mouth and I sucked the fluid in; straining to absorb every drop.
"Well?" he asked, laughing.
"Well what?" I retorted, sharply.
"You didn't make it?"
"No, you came too soon."
He laughed again and then spread my legs and kissed my cunt into orgasm, sitting back and watching me as I went over the top.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"Much better."
"Now we can talk about acting."
So we spent the next few hours talking about our careers and our disappointments. He had gotten a lot of work in Hollywood but he found it sterile and wanted to get back to the legitimate stage.
"It isn't easy," I counseled him, remembering the hundred futile auditions.
"I'm good," he said, softly.
"And I, too," I retorted sharply.
We made love again and afterwards I went home. Two days later he called. He wanted to see me again. I had thought that just the sound of his voice would be enough to make me scurry over. But, I found myself saying no.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Didn't you like it?"
"Yes, I did."
"Then why?"
I couldn't answer his question. There was something which had made me stop-something in my subconscious that was making me avoid him.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he shouted at me over the phone.
"Don't yell at me," I pleaded. I was very close to tears and I was truly afraid of the strange turn my psyche had taken.
"Do you know what you are? You're a cock-teaser. A real old-fashioned cock-teaser."
He hung up the phone with a brutal thud. I was trembling all over as if I had made the most important journey of my life. Why had I refused him? Why had I refrained from rushing over? He had been a great lover and I had thought I wanted more-but when the moment came for me to accept-I had crept into my shell.
For a long time I sat by the phone, trying to muster the courage to call him again. But each time my hand went to the phone and picked it up, it felt like it was on fire. Finally, I crawled into bed and tried to sleep. But it was no use-even with three sleeping pills. My body was alive with a million vibrations and thoughts. Desperate for some peace of mind, I dressed and went down for a walk. It was not the hour to go walking alone-the streets were dark and deserted. But, strangely enough, I felt no fear-none at all. I needed the wildness, the danger, anything that would make things clear to me.
Once again, I found myself in front of a movie marquee-it was one of those movies with midnight shows. I huddled in one corner, trying desperately to stem the tide of desire that was flowing through me.
Why did it affect me like that? Why did just standing in front of a cinema make my body tremble and dance? I kept saying to myself, in desperate whispers that I would not go in-that I would withstand the blandishments.
How futile it was! How utterly and totally futile! I was a prisoner of my own desires, a slave to my physical and psychological needs. Never did I know in such certain terms that a human being cannot control the desires which have surfaced.
With trembling hands I paid the admission price and hesitated for just a moment as the doorman ripped my ticket in half and gave me my mutilated stub. In front of me was darkness and the flickering screen, and behind me, the lights of the city-the normal way. It was too late. I walked slowly into the cavernous darkness.
There was a war movie playing and the sounds of rifles and screams rent my eardrums. I stumbled into a rear seat and folded my arms about my body-suddenly chilled beyond belief. I closed my eyes to avoid the blood on the screen. I couldn't relax. I couldn't be comfortable in the seat.
Then I saw the boy. He was walking up and down the aisle, peering and probing with his flashlight to make sure that the assorted derelicts were not using the admission price to secure for themselves a cheap hotel-a place to sleep all night.
A second later the light flashed on me and held there until I turned my eyes away.
"Sorry," he said.
He started to walk away and I cried out desperately, "Water."
He turned back.
"Are you sick?"
"Yes, just a little water, will you please?"
He came back five minutes later and held the flashlight steady as I drained the cup.
"Are you better now?"
"My head, I have a splitting pain."
"Maybe you better go home. The manager will give you your money back."
"Home?" I sighed, and laughed.
He stood there-not knowing what to do-and the longer he stood the more excited I became. I could smell his maleness, his young joy, and closing my eyes, I could sense that weapon which lay quiet but crouching between his legs. A terrible noise of cannon firing came from the screen.
"Just stay for a moment," I begged.
How could I withstand him? How could I keep myself from assaulting him. The darkness of the movie was like a thousand joyous cocks-slithering through my body.
"I feel as if I'm going to die," I whispered.
It was so strange. Immediately I had been caught up in the same pattern. There had been no thinking or planning. I had just begun to ask his help-to exhibit my need. He couldn't resist me-that I could tell.
"You won't die, lady," he said.
"How do you know? What do you know about me? Please, sit by me. Hold my hand. I beg you."
He was torn by his innocent need to help and the knowledge that he could lose his job if he was caught sitting down.
"I can't, lady, please."
"For a moment-for only a moment."
My voice was pained and seductive. I heard him sigh once and I knew I had won.
"O.K.-but only for a minute-you'll be all right, you're just a little hysterical."
"Yes, hysterical," I muttered, parroting his words.
His nearness made my skin crawl. I closed my eyes and then opened them. On the screen were rifles; rifles pointed, rifles shooting. I wanted the rifle between his legs. A shudder spread through my body as I knew what I was about to do. My hand rested on his knee.
"Look, lady," he laughed nervously.
"Be quiet, I beg you, be quiet," I whispered, from the depths of my need.
He must have recognized something. He must have recognized some element in my voice that told him he should be still. Even a child knows the danger signals.
Quickly, before he could protest, I slipped down between his legs and nestled my body between his knees. He looked around with a mixture of fear and astonishment.
The pants opened and I reached in and pulled his flesh out with my trembling fingers-all his flesh-the limpid cock and the succulent young globes which pulsed in his scrotum. I licked him under the scrotum, tasting his sweat. His whole body trembled and I took both of his globes into my mouth and sucked. I couldn't get enough. I wanted to rip them from his body and chew them. I covered them with saliva and love and then let them slip out. The cock was beginning to pulse. He was moaning softly and squirming in his seat. I shaped my mouth round and slowly slid my lips over the tip. It travelled inside-not quickly-savoring each kiss-savoring each subtle manipulation of my mouth. I wanted every inch of that young cock. I wanted all he could give me. When it was all the way in-so far that it was grazing the beginning of my throat-I began to slide my lips back and forth over it-feeling the delicate play of the muscles-feeling the pounding flesh. Behind me, the screen exploded in a raging battle but I kept the gentleness of my love intact.
I began to nibble at the tip-to tweak the tight flesh-and his hands tightened around my neck. He was being shattered. His young manhood had never felt anything like the love I was giving him. My mouth was velvet and fire-soothing and exciting-letting the tongue drive him almost berserk with lust.
And then I let it slide out-slowly, so I could remember the exquisite taste of every inch.
"No more," he whispered, his voice trembling.
I laughed and buried my face under the cock, in the warm sweet scrotum, with the succulent globes bouncing against my face.
My fingers were ripping at my clothes, like a crouching animal trying to get out of a trap. My crotch was bare and I kicked the undergarments away.
Holding the cock with both hands, I crawled between his knees, half-standing and half-crouching-and then drove the living shaft into my cunt-deep and true. The darkness seemed to reel about me and the screen was exploding its images in my ear. I drove it all the way in and then let go. We were impaled together. I could see the fear in his eyes as my cunt sucked his maleness up and the walls began to lap at his shaft.
I began to grind on his shaft-to twist my body so that every inch of his splendor would be driven home. I was like a wildwoman-gyrating on his cock until he slipped down on the seat and slipped his hand under my ass-grabbing my naked buttocks and squeezing them as he was fucked. I couldn't stop-I was a demon on a burning brand-I was a velvet cunt being burned dry by the fire-tipped cock.
Faster and faster, his fingers spreading my buttocks as I whirled-and then-falling all the way so that I was in his lap and his cock was all the way in me, straight-up, to the womb.
I bent forward and kissed him softly on the lips and then I made one more try-lifting myself up and falling heavily to his cock-guarded lap. Deep and true the spear went and the seed exploded inside me. A second later I went over the top and I slipped off his lap onto the floor. All was darkness again and only the sound from the movie reached me. I heard him fumbling with his pants and then he was gone.
Moments later I was outside-running toward home-running toward safety. I fell onto the bed and cried for an hour. Then I dried my eyes and a hardness came over me. I had accepted my fate.
* * *
Dr. Peggy Ayer, one of the foremost scholars in the field of psycho-sexual disturbances among women, has stated in her brilliant monograph THE AETIOLOGY OF THE YOUNG BOY AS OBJECT CHOICE (Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass. 1957) that:
"Those women who intersperse their normal sexuality with the object-choice of an immature male ... are, almost always, the product of homes where one or both parents have been unable to achieve orgasm through normal genital means. Furthermore, in the now famous study conducted by the Michigan Social Service Center in 1951, it was found that such parents usually allowed the child to, at one time or another, witness the coital scene." (P-74)
We are unable to corroborate her finding using this case because we have no information about the subject's parents. Yet, Dr. Ayer's latter thought about witnessing the coital scene is an important peg in our analysis.
Bonnie's total commitment to darkness as the scene of her erotic acts, must have its source in her witnessing of the coital scene.
At one time in her life, in early childhood, she must have seen sexual acts between her parents. It disturbed her so deeply that the only way for her to have erotic pleasure in the future was in total darkness-hence her" obsession with the movies.
Her appetite for young boys who work in those movies is a direct result of having seen what Freud called "the primal scene."
It was impossible for her to have gratifying relationships with mature men for that would bring back the memory of her father copulating with her mother. Since the unresolved Oedipal complex-her own desire to sleep with her father-is the most powerful force in her life-the young boy, in the darkness, remains the surest and the most guilt free possibility for her.
As to the choice of the movies as the seat of erotic fancy-this is quite obscure-since there are many other areas which would ensure a comparable darkness. We cannot understand this unless we have further information as to her past.
