From my files I have selected eight rape cases in a bid to show what motivates a man, or a woman, to rape another person. As a subject, rape has often been treated with moral indignation, certainly more often than it has been explored with objectivity.
Since rape is endemic in many societies, it ought to be more seriously looked into. And, while I have not attempted to expound my own views on the subject, I think the following cases will go a long way in illustrating the causes underlying it.
Usually, insecurity and frustration are at the root of violent sex. Allen B., for example, became frustrated when a girl teased him too far. At first he felt guilty, until he realized she wasn't the little virgin she pretended to be, that she was, in fact, inviting rape for her own peculiar purposes. But then there are cases such as Joan TVs. She's afraid of sex, yet finds profound satisfaction when her husband rapes her one drunken evening, and then teases him into raping her again.
Sometimes men are the victims of women's while. Norman F., the shoe salesman, was driven to rape by his provocative customer. And Nola R., a lesbian, was compelled to do the same, though the girl who elicited this outburst was unaware of what she was doing. And, because this problem is so common in our society, I have included the case of Leroy S., a black man with a fixation on white women, which led him to rape out of sheer frustration and anger.
But there are others, men like Carl B., an insurance salesman, and Jonas B., the college drop out, who raped because of a personal vendetta against women, which, under analysis, turned out to be a form of self-hatred that found relief only in acts of sexual violence.
It is the considered opinion of myself and many of my colleagues that Jonas and Carl represent a real danger which, if unchecked, can do a great deal of harm to innocent women.
For that reason, I compiled this anthology, hoping that more people will realize that rape can be prevented, if the correct measures are taken.
CASE HISTORY ONE
Subject: Joan T.
Age: Twenty-three
INTERVIEW ONE
Joan T. was obviously nervous and unhappy when she first came to my office, with bags under her eyes, and hands that trembled as she lit yet another cigarette while trying to tell me what the problem was.
By means of casual conversation and a stiff drink, I managed to calm her down sufficiently to tell me the following story.
I'm a teacher and I tend to become very involved with my work. My husband, Ted, works as an executive in a bank, and he hates it there, so he does the minimum in his work, and demands the maximum at home. That's where the trouble started.
We've been married for two years now, and Ted is fifteen years older than I am. For the most part, he looks after my needs very well, but sex has always been a bone of contention between us. I just don't care for it so much. Not that he isn't a good lover. Far from it! He's often made me feel wonderful. But as I said, he hates his job, and so his energy goes into sex, while all mine is drained by my work.
And during the past month or two the problem grew more acute because I had the additional task of teaching night classes. I guess I put too much into it. Ted said I did. Every night I came home feeling wrecked, and there he'd be, having a drink, just waiting for me to come to bed with him. I'd beg him off, but he's so damned horny you literally have to turn a firehose on him!
In any case, he didn't succeed too often. There are so many ways a woman can turn a man off, and I used them all. On some nights I'd complain of cramps, on other nights I'd be stiff and unresponsive, or I'd just pretend to be asleep. Poor Ted, he'd get out of the bed after a while and hit the bottle some more.
Looking back on it, I can see how stupid I was to keep on refusing him. And it's just lucky that he didn't run into another woman at that time, because he would almost certainly have abandoned me for her.
The other night, I came home to find him drunker than usual, and as ardent as ever. I was bushed from long sessions at the school, moody and irritable, so I walked right past him and went into the bathroom to take a shower. He scared me a little by making a grab for me when I passed him by, and almost falling off the couch in the process. But I put it out of my mind.
I had a long, hot shower and felt ready to go right to sleep. Wrapping my robe about me, I walked into the bedroom, and while I walked through the corridor, he jumped me! He shocked me by his roughness, and I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was tired of his childish behavior. "Dammit, Ted!" I said, ticking him off like I might do one of my students, "don't you have any consideration for me at all! I'm dead tired and all you can think of is sex. Why don't you get yourself another hobby!"
He stepped back and glowered at me, a long, mean look that should have warned me. But I just turned my back to him and continued to walk towards the bedroom. Suddenly his arms were around my waist and he propelled me into the bedroom so fast that my feet never touched the ground!
Then he threw me onto the bed and ripped my robe off, leaving me to lie there naked and shocked. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. He took his clothes off slowly, still looking at me as though he had murder on his mind, and when the last item of his clothing fell to the floor I saw he had a raging erection.
"No, Ted," I said firmly, trying to get under the covers to protect myself. "Forget it! We'll do it some other night."
"Right now!" he growled. "You've kept me dangling enough, Joan, and now you're going to get your reward!"
The sound of his voice stopped me. It was harsh and nasty, not at all like the way he sounds normally. He came towards me and I cringed as he pulled his hand back to strike me. A hard slap resounded against my face, then another and another, till he had me crying and scurrying for cover.
No matter where I went, he was right there, that big stiff cock sticking out from his belly, and his hands hitting me wherever they could. Blows rained down all over my body and face, and I was crying hysterically, begging him to stop.
But he wouldn't. He got onto the bed and straddled me, still hitting me, and at the same time his knees were working down between my legs until he'd pried them open. It was a horrible feeling, Doctor. My pussy was exposed to his eyes, and I fell very self-conscious and vulnerable.
He stopped hitting me for a while, turning his attention to my cunt instead. I lay still, waiting for him to drop his guard, but then he began to finger my cunt roughly. He just shoved about three fingers up there and began to jam them up me as if he meant to rip my innards out!
It hurt like hell. I guess I was as dry as a bone, but he didn't care either way. Those bunched-up ringers just kept on reaming up me, with Ted bending over further and further to check my lips for moisture. Well, I fought him the only way I could, by freezing my natural desires. Not a drop of fluid would make it easier for him.
And when he noticed that, he just flipped his lid. He jumped up on the bed, cursing me out and kicking me, calling me the foulest names I'd ever heard. Then he got back down on top of me, beating me black and blue, his knees forcing my legs further apart, one hand pinning me down, and the other just lashing out wildly. He'd gone berserk, completely crazed with lust for me!
When that thought hit me, I felt something very strange occurring in my body. A raunchy kind of horniness sprang up deep in my loins, something I had never previously experienced. With each blow and each curse, this horniness grew. I was horrified! But then the time for reasoning was over, because he made me so hot and so wet that he had no trouble in slipping his big cock right inside me.
He fucked like a madman, sprinting the whole marathon fuck long. His big body kept mine squashed into the mattress, and his teeth sank into my flesh as his cock kept on ramming in and out. Suddenly I was no longer the assailed; I was being fucked! And suddenly, I loved it.
At the time I didn't have a moment for guilt or anything; that came afterwards. All I could feel was that cock of his pushing through my belly almost up to my throat, setting me on fire, and satisfying desires so secret even I didn't know about them!
Ted was like an animal. He didn't seem to notice that I was right there with him. Still cursing, though incoherently, he hunched over me like a bull in spring, thumping his weapon up my cunt so hard that the juices were splattering all over our thighs. He still had me pinned down, his strong hands holding my wrists tightly, and since it was impossible for me to lie still. He must have concluded that I was still trying to escape him.
That was so far from the truth it was almost ludicrous. I was having the time of my life! But he withdrew suddenly and told me to lie still or he'd kill me. My body was undulating restlessly, needing just a few more strokes to push me over the hill, but I tried to be as still as possible. He soon returned with ropes which he used to tie me to the bedposts in a spread-eagled position.
Fear once more bolted back into my heart as I realized he might have gone completely insane. If that was the case, it was curtains for me, because I'd never get out of that position without his help! The fear, however, mingled subtly with the pain and the helplessness and my acute sexual arousal, to produce a lust far greater to the one I'd been subjected to before!
Ted prowled around the bed, his long, greasy cock in his hand, masturbating with a gleam of malicious satisfaction in his eyes as he observed my total helplessness. He just kept walking around, now and then prying a finger up my cunt, or squeezing a tit, even fingering my asshole, which, by the way, he had never done before.
I guess he was just plumbing the depths of his own power over me. Whatever he was doing, it was driving me crazy. Had I been able to loosen my bonds at that moment, I would have raped him, nothing surer! My eyes kept devouring his big cock, and my imagination lodged it back up my cunt, where it belonged.
Finally Ted got on his knees between my legs and began working his whole hand up my cunt. His eyes were those of an animal, as though he had forgotten my existence as a person. The pain was excruciating and I begged him to stop that, just to fuck me. But he didn't seem to hear me!
Since my cunt was so wet, it was no real trick to get his hand up there. He worked slowly, methodically, giving out the impression of a time bomb about to go off. Everything about him was tense, coiled up, barely under control, and long shivers of fear ran up and down my spine as I watched him at work on my body.
When he was inside me to the wrist, his fingers began to titillate me wildly, touching parts of me only my doctor had known about. I couldn't help myself. I began to cry and tremble, doing everything to make him see how he had beaten me, that he could do anything he wanted with me, especially fuck me.
He was oblivious to everything, just staring at my outstretched cunt hole and worming his hand further up it. Suddenly he drew it out with a slurping sound and forced me to lick it clean. I did it without even thinking about it, though normally I would have spat in his eyes rather than comply.
And while I was feverishly licking my cunt juices off his hand, he plowed his cock inside me, setting off great explosions of unknown emotions in me. I couldn't do both things at once, so my head lolled back in the ecstasy of my orgasm. Ted pressed his cunt-smelling hand over my face so I could hardly breathe, and went right on fucking me.
Blow after blow thudded down on my cunt as he entered me from all angles to fill the gap he'd created. His pubic bone gnashed into mine and his other hand mauled my tits savagely, mindlessly. I was in raptures. I felt constricted, imprisoned, completely at his mercy, and I was loving it!
And then, just before he blew his wad, he turned around so that his cock poked hard into my mouth and buried his face between my legs to noisily suck up all of the juices that had accumulated there. He was choking me! That big rod of his went right down to my throat, fucking my face as though he'd mistaken it for a cunt, hard, long strokes that brought me close to gagging!
At last his sperm burst free and filled me up completely! I couldn't swallow because his cock was still in the way, and his hot cream kept blurting out into my head as though there was no end to his supplies. I felt as though I was drowning in his juices, and yet it felt great! His mouth had sucked my cunt flesh right inside it so that my clitoris chafed against his teeth and my body rocked with violent orgasms.
When he pulled his cock out, I swallowed his cream as best as I could, and wiped the remains off my chin to lick it from the back of my hand. I was still climaxing even though he'd already left me. He was still in some kind of a fury when he sat down in a chair in the corner of the room. Breathing heavily, he just sat there looking at me, and I wondered what else he had in mind for me.
But then his whole demeanor changed, and he became his usual sweet self. Apologetically, he untied the ropes that were binding me, and then went into the bathroom to take a long shower to clear his head. I just lay on the bed, my ecstasy slowly giving way to grave misgivings.
By the time he came back, we were both pretty down again, and he told me he would never do such a thing to me again, not as long as he lived. I couldn't talk. Horror and guilt welled up in me. How could I have enjoyed his animal lovemaking? What kind of a woman was I if that's what it took to satisfy me?
I was so upset by the whole thing that I took the next day off from school just to try and figure it all out. But I couldn't. The more I thought about the affair, the more upset I became. What does all this mean, Doctor? Am I to be fucked like an animal from now on to reach the same heights?
Of course, I should have talked it over with Ted, but he didn't seem to want to hear about it. I can't blame him, really. It was like temporary insanity, and I suppose a man would rather banish an episode like that from his mind. When he came home that night, nothing was said. We went to bed and slept at opposite sides of it, as if we were both trying to expunge our raucous lust that had manifested itself the night before.
But I can't ignore it, not to myself. It must mean something. None of my friends have ever confessed to having a similar experience, and I doubt very much if they would have reacted the way I did. I want the truth, Doctor. If I'm a slut deep down inside, I want you to give it to me straight. At least if I'm confronted with it, I can start to sort this mess out in my mind.
After long and cautious probing, I found that Joan's sex life before the rape had been rather tame. Her husband was a considerate lover, perhaps too much so, and this seemed to have produced an instinctive resentment in both parties. I pointed out to her that people shouldn't be ladies and gentlemen in bed, that they had to give way to their innermost impulses in order to maintain the delicate balance.
Since both she and her husband had ventured into the dubious land of rape, however, there was only one way to get out of it, and that was by embracing a sexuality totally free of good manners or any other preconceived notions. I advised her to talk with her husband about the matter at length, and to show him that she was open to anything that came to his mind.
As for her tiredness and listlessness, she would just have to find ways of cutting back on her workload until the dilemma was past. It was either that or placing their marriage in jeopardy.
INTERVIEW TWO
Joan T. was a much more self-confident woman when she returned to my office. There were still problems, to be sure, but it was obvious that part of their dilemma had been resolved. She wasted no time in relating the sequel 'to her story without prompting on my part.
I tried to talk to Ted about the matter, Doc. In fact, the moment he came home on the day I saw you, I was home and fixing him a drink to put him into a more agreeable mood. But he was reluctant to go into it. I got the impression that he was deeply ashamed of having made love to me so forcibly and degradingly, and that he was far more interested in making it up to me than facing the facts.
However, I saw clearly that I would be ill-advised to be too assertive with him, and so we tried it his way. After a few drinks and a little chat, he took my hand and led me into the bedroom. There, he took off all my clothes, kissing and caressing me, doing the whole gentle-but-firm bit just the way they recommend it in the marriage manuals.
When we were both naked, he got down on me and gave me a very commendable tonguing. By rights, I should have been very pleased, but instead the doldrums took over. He was down there far too long, and the harder he tried, the more distant I felt. It was as though I was watching a movie. His head was between my legs and moving around, while I lay back among the pillows and looked at him with distant curiosity.
He saw that his blandishments weren't getting him very far with me, so he shifted the center of his attention to my tits. They're normally very sensitive to his caresses, but this time they felt like stone. He sucked and kissed and mauled them but none of it did any good. I barely became wet enough for him to get his cock up me!
It was a peculiar sensation. I wanted so much for him to succeed in arousing me that it paralyzed me. And after a while, the whole thing turned into a comic tragedy, with Ted laboring over me, sweating and breathing hard, and there I was, cold as ice, hard as stone.
After some time, his cock gave out. It just wilted, and he wilted with it. I'd never seen him look so pathetic. Naturally I did my best to cheer him up, but words didn't count for very much in such situations. Finally both of us went to sleep, escaping from the situation the only way we knew how.
The next day, everything returned to my mind in astonishing clarity. The reasons for his wanting to make love had been all wrong, and so there was no chance of success. It had been doomed to failure from the moment he took my hand with that simpering young lover's look!
That's when the tumblers began to fall into place. The night Ted had raped me, he had, for the first time, confronted me with naked throbbing lust. That was all. Just crotchy, rock-hard lust. And my female instincts could no more resist that than any other burning manifestation of his need for me. He had wanted me so desperately that night, me and only me. It was my cunt that had incensed him to the point at which his mind had been pushed aside by violent desires, and they were my tits that burned a hole through his guts.
In short, that rape had been the finest compliment he'd ever paid to that aspect of me, the animal female. I needed to be loved that way if I was going to be loved at all. But there was Ted, bogged down in his own good breeding and guilt, unable to see the true meaning of the episode. How could I get him out of that? There had to be some way of prying him out of the bog and back into a fury of lust!
While I was thinking it over, I was absently watching our two cats playing together. One's a Tom, the other's a bitch on heat, and there was something extraordinary going on between them. She was lying on her back, rolling about with her paws up into the air, and he was glaring suspiciously at her from a distance. She jumped up and walked close by him, her tail pulled away from her ass till the tip of it almost touched her head, and then she rolled over again.
The Tomcat came closer, his nose twitching, stalking her on stiff legs, his whole body tense. And still the female cat rolled about, flashed her ass, meowed cooingly. But as soon as he shoved his nose up her ass, she leaped up and hissed, her paw flailing through the air to sink her claws into his nose. The Tom backed off, astonished and fearful. Pretty soon, though, he was right back up her ass, and this time he seized her neck between his teeth and his hips started to jerk back and forth till he had the little cock right inside her.
That gave me the clue on how to get Ted working again. As soon as he got home, I would give him the show of his life and drive him to rape once more. I prepared the house for the event, lowering the lights, setting the drinks up, bathing extensively and slipping into something that was as comfortable as it was revealing. Then I waited, worried that I might not be able to go through with it.
But when he came in, I just slipped into a routine so lascivious and convincing that I began to wonder about myself. I was all purrs and smiles as I helped him off with his coat, then floated over with a drink and asked him what kind of a day he'd had. He was surprised to see me acting this way, but after a while he fell for it.
At first he tried to come sit with me and do the gentle-but-firm bit again, but the moment he tried that I moved away and struck a very different note by reminding him of how he'd abused me not long ago. Ted looked like a beaten and confused man, so I cheered him up a little, making sure my dress was riding up my thighs so he could notice I wasn't wearing anything underneath it.
Whenever I brought him a drink, I leaned over so my tits hung before his eyes and the flesh bulged up at him to make his eyes sparkle. Each time he got excited, however, I cut him off sharply with a bitchy remark or a cold shoulder, gradually working him up into a state of acute frustration. I was enjoying myself immensely. It gave me a sense of danger, or brinkmanship, just the right additive to my mounting sexuality.
I kept striking a variety of poses, leaning over, crossing my legs, bending down with my back towards him so that the hem of my dress was about level with my cunt, and at one point I even stood with one leg up on the coffee table before him so that he had only to look straight ahead to get an eyeful of my cunt. He got more then an eyeful, I'll tell you that. He was fixated and his complexion got redder by the minute!
Once more he made a lunge for me, not gentle at all this time, and once more I dodged him with a giggle, the kind he hates. That broke his back. His eyes became hard and mean again, and he ran after me as I tried to escape. I headed straight for the bathroom, seriously afraid now, and tried to lock myself in. Luckily he was a little too quick for me. He put his shoulder to the door and almost plastered me up against the wall in the process.
Then he grabbed me and with one motion of his hand he ripped the dress off me. I protested, struggling with all my might to free myself from his arms. Finally he put his hand around my throat like a vise, and with the other he undid his clothes.
Somehow he managed to get undressed in this manner, and then he faced me menacingly. We were both naked, with me trembling in fear at the Frankenstein I had created, and him trembling with a furious lust. He slammed me up against the door and parted my thighs with his hands reaching down from behind. His big chest pinned me back, and I could only rake my nails down his back to try to dissuade him.
That big cock of his reamed up my cunt so hard that I thought it would rip me open. I was wet and horny as well as terrified, but it still hurt like crazy. He just shoved it right up my pussy without pausing for breath, and then started a rampage that demolished my insides, threw them out, and replaced them with- a .wild swirl of emotions that had me gasping for breath and crying for mercy.
While he fucked me, he forced me down onto the cold tile floor of the bathroom. And when my back made contact with it, he began to hump me like a bison, his long, thick cock going further and further into my body, his sweat and spit and everything mingling with mine to fuse us together into one humping unit.
It was just beautiful, Doctor, even better than the first time Ted had raped me. Everything hurt, my shoulder blades were either going to freeze off or crack, and every down thrust slammed my ass against the floor with a loud and painful slap. My head was getting bumped about, his dead weight was squashing me to a pulp, but all that faded into insignificance beside his violent pumping.
Once more I was his captive, his prisoner, and he was bullying me into the most exotic regions of ecstasy, bashing me deeper into pleasure, brutalizing one orgasm after another into existence. I could only scream, and after a while, I was too hoarse to emit another sound, so my mouth remained wide open in a soundless scream. My nails dug into his flesh to draw blood, but he didn't seem to notice, and our loins gnashed together as though they were trying to merge the hard way.
It was a consummate, terminal fuck, and when his hot geyser of sperm broke free inside me, it sent me spinning into a hot region of pleasure never before exploded. I must have lain on that cold bathroom floor for a half hour before the magic wore off and I was able to function again. By that time, Ted was already in the living room watching TV.
This time, though, he was much more communicative, without actually opening the subject up. He told me to get him a beer and to come watch TV with him. I protested that I had work to do, but one mean look from him sent me running to the fridge to do his bidding. The remainder of the evening' was spent together, talking about all kinds of things which I don't remember now. All I know was that I felt very happy and secure to be with him.
When it came time to go to bed, I didn't expect him to make another move towards me. Our lust had been spent in a blaze of action, and I figured he'd had enough for a week. But that's where I was wrong. As soon as I got into bed with him, he took me into a tight embrace, and kissed me squarely on the lips.
I began to protest out of habit, but he was kissing me in such a way that I couldn't say a word. His hands removed by nightie, and that's when I noticed he was already naked. He overpowered me utterly, and yet there was no hint of brutality or nastiness. He just went ahead and did precisely what he wanted to do.
And this time there was no question of aloofness either. Ted worked me up until I was seething with passion, his forceful caresses coaxing the beast in me back into the arena. He kept it up, kissing me fiercely, caressing me all over with his strong hands, until I was ripe. That's when he went down on me again, and I loved it. I loved every stroke of his tongue, every prying, exploring move it made. I loved the way he sucked at my clitoris, the way he took my labia between his lips and pressed them, everything he did sharpened my lust for him.
All I could do was lie there and take it. His cock was close to my face but I didn't have the necessary concentration to do it justice. Instead I closed my fist around it and began to jerk it slowly, absently, while he continued to create havoc with my cunt in his mouth.
There was none of that marriage manual bullshit this time. He loved me like a man should, utterly, following every one of his whims, going where his desire for me told him to go, whether it led him to my toes or my ears or right back into my cunt. I clutched to his big cock like a drowning woman clinging to a reed to save herself from drowning, willingly immersing myself in the slough of sensuality he was creating for the two of us.
I mustered up enough strength to suck on his cock for a little while, but since it didn't seem to affect him either way, I soon lapsed back into my wallow. He was making me burn and tingle all over, until I couldn't take it any more. I wrenched free and got down on my hands and knees, cocking my ass up at him the way the female cat had done to the Tom. And, like the Toms, he was on top of me in a flash, bashing his cock right into my soggy cunt to launch a fuck that still makes me weak in the knees whenever I think about it.
He was marvelous, masterful, guiding me from one erotic eddy to the next, his cock dipping deep, drawing back till only the knob of it had contact with my cunt, then slurping right back inside to inflame my passions to the point where I just burst into flames. And while I was ablaze, he kept pounding away, a persistent, heavy beat as primitive as the hills.
Long after it was over, the echoes of it resounded through my body, and I couldn't get close enough to his body to satisfy me when we went to sleep. My heart was bursting with love, and in the back of my mind I figured that even if he only managed to fuck me like that once a year, it would still be worth my while to stick with him.
The only real question I have for you now is: how often should I entice him into raping me? Will it be necessary to go to such extremes in the future, or do you think I'd be wasting my time? You see, I'd like to believe that Ted and I have struck the right balance now, but there's still this nagging doubt eating at me-what if he reverts to his marriage-manual self?
CONCLUSION
I assured Joan T. that she could safely leave the rest of their relationship in her husband's hands. Judging by what she'd told me, the balance seemed just right, and she would be wise not to try to tip it again.
Often a shock or a jolt can rectify a flagging relationship. In Joan T.'s case, at least, it certainly worked that way. Ted needed to discover his masculine role, a role often underplayed by today's sexologists and all the other people jumping on the advisory gravy train. Despite innovations into our society, a man is still a man, for as long as a woman is a woman.
The only advice I could give her was to keep on being alert. If she could keep enough time free from Ted, and manage to remain sensitive to his needs, I foresaw only happiness for them.
CASE HISTORY TWO
Subject: Allen B.
Age: Twenty-three
INTERVIEW ONE
Allen B. is a handsome, well-groomed man, smooth-talking and quick-thinking, hardly the type of man one would expect to be involved with rape. Yet, as his tale unfolded, I began to see how even the most gratified person can be drawn into violent, sudden sex if given the right amount of provocation.
I'm an account executive, one of the younger men in the business and, if I may say so myself, doing quite well. In my business I meet a lot of women, models, secretaries, wives and they keep me pretty busy. I enjoy sex, you understand. It's not just a hobby with me, it's a way of life. My apartment is geared for sex, and I've always got my eyes open for a stray piece of ass. .
Usually I don't have too much trouble. Women looking for a husband are especially attracted to me because I make good money and I seem to have a bright future ahead of me. I don't mind what they think as long as they come across. And if they aren't as cooperative as they might be, I just find somebody else more willing. Simple, isn't it?
But there's this girl who turned all that upside down. I used to see her a lot on the subway going home, admiring her from afar, so to speak. Actually, like most men when they have nothing to do, I look at girls and wonder what they're like underneath their finery and cool facade. It's free and it's fun. This girl, however, got under my skin.
She's tall and very beautiful, with raven hair, delicate features, big, wide open dark eyes, and she likes to wear short, white dresses that accentuate her fine tan and her luscious body. It's lowcut and high up at the hem, and her legs are long and slender, her breasts full and they bulge up out of her bra.
Most men on the subway flip when they see her. She's always alone, carrying a small handbag, and she always gets off at the same stop as I do, but then goes into a different direction. I guess this remote trysting went on for about a month before I decided to give her a try.
When she got off the subway on that particular night, I walked after her and asked her if she was doing anything that night. She smiled very pleasantly and said she wasn't, and what did I have in mind? I suggested dinner at my place, figuring I might as well go for broke while I was at it, and to my surprise she just nodded and went with me to my apartment.
Well, you can imagine how I felt! Here was the girl who had excited my imagination for all that time, a period in which I had either been too busy or too dubious to make a move. And now I was wheeling into the direction of my bed! I kept looking at her with some kind of disbelief. While she walked, the soft flesh of her breasts quivered a little, implying a sensational experience. Her firm, pressed together, buttocks undulated smoothly beneath the white material of her dress, and her long legs kept up with me effortlessly.
There was something unreal about her, a fata morgana of sorts, and this air of unreality permeated the evening. I cooked up a fairly mediocre dinner for us both, washed it down with a fine wine, and the conversation was both rarefied and fluent. I desired her immensely, a desire that kept on going up and up in the course of the evening until my cock came close to bursting out of my pants!
Like I said, Doc, I got enough to keep me placid, but Julie was something else. It was the kind of situation you tell your buddies about later and they all scoff at you for trying to pass a whopper for truth.
After dinner we settled down on the couch with our glasses and listened to some heady music. The time for making the first move came closer by the second. I wanted it all to be perfect, no rushing, no impatience, to mitigate the evening. She obviously liked me or else why would she have come to my apartment? It was getting late and yet she showed no signs of wanting to leave.
Finally I decided the moment had arrived. I put my glass down and put my arm around her shoulder to kiss her. She leaned into me and her full, sensuous lips met mine in a kiss of passion. Her tongue moved inside my mouth and licked at my palate in such a way as to excite every particle in my body, and her arms came around me to hold me as tightly as I was holding her.
Everything was going swimmingly. I caressed her smooth arms and her shoulders, getting closer and closer to those beautiful tits. The palms of my hands were already tingling in anticipation of their first contact with them, and I could hardly breathe! She was kissing me ardently, her hands lightly caressing my back, and running through my hair.
Then, just as I was about to slip my hand between her full breasts, she moved out of my embrace, straightened her dress, and told me she would have to be going home now. I laughed, thinking that she was kidding. How could anyone bear to break up a perfect evening in such a manner? But then she picked up her handbag and headed for the door.
Something snapped in me, Doctor, something that had never snapped before. I couldn't bear the idea of her leaving me, nor could I face the night after having had such a miniscule sampling of her flesh. Before I knew what was happening, I had jumped up and seized her roughly in my arms.
"Don't leave, Julie!" I heard myself saying in an unusually hoarse, desperate voice. "I love you. I must have you. Please don't go!"
"Now, Allen," she said, trying to free herself from my fierce embrace. "It's been a lovely evening, let's not spoil it now."
And then she tried to open the door again! I couldn't take it any more! I held her all the tighter and my hand reached down the front of her dress to take hold of those alluring orbs to maul them wildly.
She became very upset at this. With all of her strength, she pulled loose and glared at me. "Please don't do that, Allen," she said, sounding for all the world like a teacher admonishing a child. 'That's very rude, and I won't stand for it. Now open the door for me and let me go home."
I couldn't let go, not for the life of me. Her flesh was so warm and exciting, so pliant, that I just kept on squeezing her tits no matter which way she turned to get away from me. Her dress ripped, and with one mighty tug I tore it the rest of the way down. It fell off her body and she stood before me dressed only in a small bra and a skimpy pair of bikini panties.
She was mad, so mad she didn't know what to do. I looked at her for a moment, my back against the door, looking over her fluent curves, her soft, inviting skin, and the small indentation in the center of her crotch, and suddenly I felt a terrific sense of power.
Nothing like that had ever happened to me, Doctor. It just struck me how I had absolute power over this girl. Anything I wanted to do to her could be done. There was no "way she could escape me unless she happened to be a black belt karate expert; which she obviously wasn't.
I locked the door and advanced towards her slowly, meanwhile taking off my shirt and tie. She backed away, no longer angry now, just scared shitless. Then she tripped over the couch and I was on top of her in a flash, kissing her and ripping her bra off her body. Her full tits were revealed to me in all their splendor, bit and white and pink-tipped, a vision of loveliness that made my mouth water. I kissed them and sucked them, ignoring her screams of protest.
Her panties were, the last scrap of clothing on her body. I told her to lie very still or I would smash her face to a pulp. My voice had changed; it had a hoarse, mean quality, and she got the message. She lay back on the couch, her hands covering her full tits, as I got off her to undress the rest of the way.
When I was naked and my cock stuck out at her aggressively, like a weapon, I bent over slowly and eased my fingers under the elastic of her panties. Her eyes were moving from side to side as if looking for a way to escape this ordeal. There was no way out. With a sudden, ripping motion, I tore her panties off, and there she was, as naked as the day she was born.
I swallowed deeply. She was easily the most beautiful woman I had seen. Even in her panic, she managed to lie along my couch like a sex bomb, her long legs coming close together to hide her darkly-haired pussy from me, her hands on her breasts, her eyes wide open with fear. She was trembling and near tears, which only added fuel to my lust. She was at my mercy, frightened by the mighty weapon throbbing so close to her, a weapon which would soon be buried between her smooth thighs.
She put up a terrific fight when I tried to get it up her. Passiveness and cringing went away to be replaced by a hell of a struggle. She scratched, bit and screamed, wriggled to get out of my grip, and even tried to knee me in the balls.
But I had turned into an inexorable monster. My knees got in between her legs and pried them apart. I grabbed hold of her wrists and pinned her arms behind her back, at the same time lifting her ass a little and ramming my knob into her cunt. She was as dry as a bone, but I was as hard as one, too.
Thrust after thrust belted at the entrance of her cunt, clamoring to be admitted. She was doing her best to bite me and to wrench free, but my single-mindedness wouldn't allow her an inch. I just maintained my hold on her and continued to ram my cock into the soft, dry flesh of her cunt till it forced its way half an inch inside.
Her cunt lips and her hairs were following my knob inside, chafing against my cock and hurting me deliciously. I heard myself groaning as if from a long distance away, a bullish grunt, a rutting sound that spurred me on to slam my cock into her cunt and got it another inch up her. She was screaming and cursing, still fighting like a maniac, but I was making headway.
Further, pushing harder, working my cock into that moist channel as persistently as a terrier, short jabs that got me higher up her by the minute. But even when I had my whole dick in her, she wouldn't settle down. I slapped her and told her to shut up, but she kept on going.
It drove me wild, and the madder she made me, the harder I fucked. All of my fury found expression in sex. I plowed into her like a wild man, not caring about anything or anybody. I was just driven by a tremendous urge to fuck, to fuck till we were both in tatters.
Slowly she began to subside, and her cunt became wet, but it barely registered with me. I felt as though I was all alone, fighting rather than fucking, and fighting myself while she bore the brunt of the struggle. I don't have any idea about most of it. Everything is just a blank in my mind. But I do know that my consciousness returned to me soon after I'd blown my load up her, and it was like a nightmare to realize what I had done.
I jumped off her as though she was a hot stove, and began to apologize. She just lay there, crying softly. I picked up the remains of her clothing and tried to put it back on her to cover her tantalizing nakedness. Nothing fitted any more. They were just rags.
She went to the bathroom and spent a long time in there. In the meantime I found a pair of jeans and a shirt she could probably fit into, gave her a raincoat, and boiled up a big pot of coffee to try to calm her down. When she came out of the bathroom, she had a couple of cups and three cigarettes in quick succession, not listening to my apologies or anything else I had to say in defense of my inexcusable behavior.
I kept on asking why she had led me on so far. That was the most important question on my mind. Finally, after she had quieted down sufficiently to answer me, she said, "I won't press charges. You did me wrong, but I did you wrong, too. So we'll just leave it at that."
I kept pumping her, desperate to know what she'd had in mind when she came to my apartment and behaved as though she knew what it was all about. You see, it was necessary for me to find some sort of justification for my actions, and after a lot of questioning she told me she was from the country, new in town, and she had liked the looks of me.
"That's why I accepted your offer so readily," she said, looking down at the floor. "A girl gets lonely, and you're an attractive man. But where I come from, there's nothing wrong with kissing a little on the first date, only you don't go to extremes right away. I guess things are a little different in the city."
What could I say? I felt like a heel, and yet at that moment it seemed a lot less abnormal to me. After all, that first date routine went out of my life when I left high school. I tried to explain that to her, but she just waved her hand tiredly and told me to ring her a cab.
That's the last I've seen of her, Doctor. I don't know her last name. I don't know her address, and I'm pretty sure she'll be taking a different subway train from now on. And if I can't explain everything to her, I've got to get it off my chest somehow! That's why I'm here, to seek your advice. Do you think what happened will permanently affect me? I mean, there's no denying I enjoyed it. And if I saw her again, the temptation might arise again. I don't know what to do about this, Doc, but I've started to consider myself as- some kind of pervert!
It seemed that Allen B.'s case was one of the more typical rape stories. A variance in mores can often lead to the kind of misunderstanding that results in violence of one kind or another. I went through the symptoms with him once more, and assured him that I didn't think he was a psychopath or a rapist. He was just a man used to getting his way, too much so to be anything but confused when it didn't.
As for Julie, she would have to sort things out for herself, unless they met again, which I thought unlikely. It was unfortunate for her, especially if she failed to learn by her experience. On the other hand, it might well have equipped her for city living. Assuring him once more that he needn't expect any permanent side effects, I sent him on his way, not expecting to see him again.
INTERVIEW TWO
Allen B. returned to my office a month later, smiling broadly. He said he wasn't in my office to look for guidance, but he felt sure I'd want to hear the conclusion of his story.
We're engaged now, Doctor. You might find that hard to believe, but it's the truth. But I'll tell you about it from the beginning.
When I left your office, I was far from convinced that I wouldn't suffer from my inexcusable outburst. There had to be some way of finding Julie, some way of making up to her for what I'd done. So, instead of going back to the office, I hung out at the subway station. Sooner or later, she would have to come by, unless she had taken a cab or bus, of course, but that didn't occur to me at the time.
Sure enough, a little after her usual time of arrival, she came up the steps, dressed in white again, with a trail of men after her looking up her short skirt. She was ascending the stairs slowly, looking over her shoulder now and then as if to make sure she was getting enough attention, and that gave me the first clue. Then, just as she reached the top of the stairs, she dropped her handbag, and bent down to pick it up.
Well, you should have seen it, Doctor, you would have split your sides laughing. There was a crowd at the bottom of those steps big enough to fill Yankee Stadium! And all those guys were looking up her long legs, trying to see through her panties. She didn't even see me standing there, she was so busy with her fans.
In fact, Julie walked right past me, and I followed her all the way to her apartment building. I waited till she was inside, then went through the front door to where the mailboxes are. It was a lucky break for me that her first name was on her letterbox. Julie W., apartment number four. I waited a while till she was bound to be inside, then I pressed the buzzer.
A moment later the door buzzed open and I walked up the stairs. She must have been expecting company, because the door was wide open. I knocked and she said, "Come in!" So I did. When she saw me, her mouth dropped open and she turned white.
"Who did you think it was?" I asked, shutting the door behind me. "Did you think one of the guys on the subway followed you or something? Well, one of them did. Me! I saw that stunt you pulled with your little white dress, bending over for the whole world to see. Let me take a look, too."
She was so stunned that she didn't even resist when I took the skirt of her dress and lifted it. Just as I had suspected, she had no panties on that day! The jig was up and she knew it, but she tried to hold off for as long as she could. "I just took them off!" she cried, stamping her foot as if she had been mortally insulted. "Now get out of here before I call the police!"
"Why do you do things like that?" I asked calmly, sitting down in an easy chair and lighting a cigarette. "Is that how you get your kicks, flashing that hot little box in front of strangers?"
"And what if it is!" she shouted, angry again. "What's it to you, buster! You're just like all the rest, a brute! So why shouldn't I make all of you suffer a little. There's a lot I have to make up for yet!"
"Now, now, don't shout at Uncle Allen," I said. "You're a cock-teaser, and I want to know what it is you're taking revenge for."
Well, she launched into another tirade. "That's none of your business. I hate men. They're all pigs. All they're good for is taking you up and leaving you high and dry. Well, I've had enough of that! Now I'm taking them up there, and I'm the one who leaves 'em frustrated. Is that good enough? Or do you want the whole sob story of my miserable love life?"
"So you were just teasing me that night," I nodded, very calm and collected now. "And my raping you was fully justified. That makes me feel better. Of course I left you high and dry, right?"
"You're not kidding," she said, slowing down a little, even sitting down and accepting a cigarette. "I was so horny by the time you'd finished that I had to go jerk off in your bathroom."
"Is that what you were doing? And I thought you were blinking away little tears of shame! Man, I have to stop underestimating women," I said, shaking my head in astonishment. She just grinned and told me that wouldn't be a bad idea.
Meanwhile, she's sitting there facing me, her legs crossed so the lower part of her cunt lips is just visible, just a snatch of it, the dark hair obscuring the details and adding to my fascination. Dammit, for all my cool, her sexiness is getting through to me, no matter how I try to keep on looking at her face.
"Have you ever been fucked properly?" I asked.
"Never," she said, shaking her head firmly.
"Then how do you know you're missing out on anything?"
"Oh, come on, Allen," she said scornfully. "If a guy- fucks me and I'm still a ball of energy, gnashing my teeth, and feeling strongly inclined to spring around Central Park half a dozen times in the nude and in the deal of night, you know there has to be something missing!"
"You've got a point there. So how about we try and get you to where you want to go?"
"No, you can't do it. Nobody can. I've got my thing together and it suits me, so just go home and forget about it."
By that time I was hornier than a goat, and in no mood to listen to her protestations. That little dark bit of cunt kept beckoning me, as though it was a separate entity, and more aware of what she needed than Julie was herself. The same passion was rising in me, the same intense fires were blazing, but this time my determination was tempered with some sense of tactics.
"All right, I'll go," I said, taking a final drag on my cigarette and getting up to leave. "But if you change your mind you know where I live."
"Yes, yes," she said testily, "now just get your ass out of here, would you!"
When I got close enough to her, I made a sudden lunge at her and trapped her in her chair. She cried out in surprise and anger, but there was no stopping me. I got my body in between her legs so she couldn't close them on me, and held her arms with all my strength. With my face, I pushed her dress out of the way, and my tongue reached out for her hot little pussy.
Once again she was as dry as a bone. Struggling fiercely, she did her best to stop me, but my tongue moved into her cunt lips slowly and surely, headed right for her clitoris. Once I found that hard little button of love, I gave it the business. My tongue went round and round it, pushing at it, loving it, and then it ran the length of her cunt quickly, lingering for a moment at her cunt hole before returning to her clit.
At first I didn't think it would have any effect on her. Julie was cursing me as loudly and as vociferously as ever, her body tense and doing its best to reject me. But as my tongue kept on running along her slit, I found the juices were beginning to flow, a little drop here, a little drop there, until she was literally running over. And when her cunt was sopping wet, she began to calm down, too.
I worked my tongue way up inside her cunt to savor the warm, tender flesh there and to flick off the drops of fresh nectar oozing out of her at quite a clip. In spite of herself, she began to move her hips a little, sensuously undulating them so that her cunt slid along my nose and covered my face with a film of sticky oils.
After a while of this, I let go of her arms, and she tried once more to break free. But I gripped her thighs with both hands, clinging to her cunt like a leech and sucking and licking for my life! Julie subsided slowly, and this time her gyrations were for real.
My success inspired me. The tip of my tongue slithered along her cunt and down around her asshole, deftly reaming her until she was in rapture. I wouldn't let up, no matter how much my cock ached to fuck her. Her juices were delicious, creamy smooth and bittersweet, cascading down my throat like mead, and the more I drank, the more I craved.
I pushed my face hard into her cunt, nuzzling her all over going down so far that her ass cheeks parted to admit as much of me as would fit. My hands worked on her thighs and ass, massaging and squeezing, or just running lightly along her body to enjoy her firm softness.
Instead of demanding that I leave, she was now begging me to fuck her. But I wouldn't listen. The timing would have to be perfect, and so I stepped my sucking up to give her at least one orgasm before penetrating her. I opened my mouth as far as it would go and tried to swallow her pussy whole, my bottom lip forcing its way up her cunt hole, the top lip pushing hard against her clitoris, chewing and licking till she was going round the bend with pleasure.
Her body shook and trembled as the first orgasm passed through her. And still I wasn't satisfied. My tongue moved at lightning speed, at one moment licking her clit, at the next, down at her asshole, forcing its way up those nervously contracted muscles to taste of her sweet muskiness. My hands began to tear her dress off when they couldn't find the buttons. And she was in such a frenzy that she even helped!
After her second climax, I stood up and lit a cigarette. She was lying in the chair, breathless and sweating, her hips jerking spasmodically, fingering herself and pleading for me to fuck her. I took my time. In between puffs on my cigarette, I stripped, my eyes fixed on her runny cunt. The dark pubic hair was matted down with spit and juice, and she held her lips open so I could see through to the pink valley beneath. Her hole invited me inside, yearning for my cock to plug it.
She was moaning and groaning, masturbating vigorously now that she was out of control. It seemed to me as though she had forgotten I was there. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slack, and the sweat was pouring off her as one hand mauled her tits and the other rubbed her clit.
The time had come. I lifted her out of the chair and draped her over the table top. For a moment I let my hands rub along her buttocks, shaking her flesh and loosening her up a little before I plunged my aching cock right up her. And when I did, she let out a long, searing yell that could only mean one thing: fulfillment.
I took it up where she left off. Standing back a little, I withdrew my cock until only the knob of it was inside her, then began to tease her by working it round and round in the entrance, stirring up the juices and slowly bringing her back to life. She was limp, breathing heavily, her hands weakly clinging to the opposite edge of the table to stop herself from slipping down to the ground.
Then, she got back into the swing of it, I started to make longer strokes, my cock pushing in and out of her leisurely, but from the tip to the base of it. She was still weak, too weak to resist the heavy orgasms rolling through her like tidal waves, and finally she lost her grip on the table to begin sliding back. I propped her up, and maintained my relentless barrage of power strokes up her cunt, watching as my cock stretched her cunt hole to its limit each time the knob slipped past it.
I fucked her till she didn't know which way was up. And when I finally came, I waited till every bit of my sperm was deep inside her, then pulled out and got dressed. She lay on the floor, sleeping peacefully when I left.
That might have been the end of it. In my mind, the rape had been expunged, my honor vindicated, and I'd even managed to do a good deed. Several days went by without my so much as thinking about her. But then, one night when I had another girl in my apartment, with my hand up her dress and my teeth around her nipples, there was a knock on the door.
It was Julie. The moment she saw the other girl, she grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and threw her out, then closed the door and came into my arms. Funny thing, but the moment I saw her again, I knew there was more to our relationship than I had expected. The girl who'd been thrown out was already forgotten. Julie was all that mattered to me.
So, one thing led to another. She seemed to like me for myself, for the man I am rather than the future I have to offer and the security. That's unusual, Doctor, at least in my case. She really likes me! I still can't get over it. When we see each other after work, it's like the first date all over again. By that I mean that it's still fresh and sparkling, but not at all like the first date, if you know what I mean.
She broke through all of my defenses, threw over all my reservations, and finally I got down on my knees and proposed to her. Of course she accepted, and we're due to be married in a few months. Isn't that a strange turn of events? I can hardly believe she's the same girl as the one who teased men in order to get back at them.
As for our sex life, you wouldn't believe how good it is. We make love several times a night, and I never seem to get tired of her. To me, that's love.
CONCLUSION
Though I didn't say this to Allen, much of his affection for her stemmed from the fact that he had deflowered her, it not technically, certainly mentally. And many men, more than will admit to it, would prefer to marry a virgin, if only to have no competition.
Instead of confronting him with the bare facts, I merely congratulated him and wished him all the best for the future. His happiness convinced me that even the most objective of psychiatrists has to go along with conventional lies now and then.
CASE HISTORY THREE
Subject: Norman F.
Age: Thirty
INTERVIEW ONE
Norman F. is a regular-looking guy, neither handsome nor ugly. Tall, with a tendency to be self-effacing, he is nevertheless a man of many parts. As the interview progressed, I began to see in him a sensitive, intelligent man, one who knew what women were about even though he didn't have the confidence to apply much of his knowledge. He dressed sharply, and he smiled in a wolfish way, baring all his teeth. At such times he looked very debonair and persuasive, though it was obviously a trait he'd acquired before the mirror.
I'm a shoe salesman in a big store, Doctor, and have been ever since I left high school. It's a job, I guess, no better and no worse than most others. There are times when I feel like quitting to do something more meaningful, but then I realize it's all I know so I'd better stick to it. Besides, there's a future in it. The store where I work is a fashionable place and the manager has put me in charge of about a dozen salesman, with the prospect of becoming a branch manager in the near future.
The only problem is, well, I'm not too flashy with women. I mean, they seem to like me, all right, but usually I don't have the nerve to push through. So many of them come into the store, and so many leave without me doing anything about it that it drives me crazy. Dammit, they give me all sorts of hints and what have you, and I'm frozen inside with fear.
I guess I hate to be rejected. As a teenager, I wasn't very good-looking. I'm still not Errol Flynn, but there have been a lot of improvements since adolescence. And don't get me wrong, I make out now and then. It's just that my self-confidence wanes and waxes to extremes.
Anyway, I hadn't had a thing for a few months, and this lady walks into the store. You'd probably know her if I mentioned her name, but I'd rather not. Suffice it to say she's a high society woman who's always in the papers. Man, I'd had a crush on this lady for a long time. I'll call "her Betty for the sake of this interview, though that's not her real name.
She demanded to be served by the head man in the store, and that was me. I made her comfortable and asked her what kind of shoe she had in mind. Betty said it didn't matter, something brown and supple in a size six and a half. I got her a bunch of shoes and drew the curtains on the private fitting room. That's they way they like it, you know. The ladies think they might start a trend if they're seen choosing shoes, and they don't want their choice to become common too soon.
We were alone and the sweat was pouring out of my body. But I'm a professional, so I kept a cool front and squatted down in front of her to remove her own shoes, to bring the first of the new ones to her attention. Her leg was just beautiful, long and slender, no stocking to hide her fine skin from my touch and eyes. She had it crossed over the other, and watched as I fitted the new shoe to her foot.
From where I was sitting I could see most of her thighs, but no more. That was enough to make me dizzy, though. Her flesh was so smooth and firm, and the bottom of her thigh curved so nicely, with the wide slit of muscle running along the side of them most enticingly.
She didn't like the first shoe, so I tried the next one. To make sure if fitted right, she uncrossed her legs, and for a wild moment I was granted a full view of her panties. They were lime green and thin enough to give me a hint of the dark pubic bush beneath.
The second shoe didn't please her completely, but she said to leave them aside. Then, when the third shoe was on, she crossed her leg again to inspect the fit and cut. But this time she crossed her leg in such a way as to give me an untrammeled view of her panties. I couldn't take my eyes off her crotch. Her cunt was outlined very clearly this time, the firm lips pushing at the tight material of her panties, and there was some tiny tufts of hair poking out under the elastic, just enough to make my mind snap.
She must have noticed me staring but she made no move to put her leg down. In fact, she moved a little forward so that her panties tightened around her crotch, and the fold between her cunt lips was so clear now that there was little left to the imagination. I was sweating like a pig. Whether it was my imagination or what, I don't know, but I would still swear that I caught a whiff of her vaginal scent, a faint, womanly odor that made me sniff her like a dog.
And that's when she reprimanded me very sharply. "Please," she said in her aristocratic tone, "would you mind not gaping at my private parts! I shall have to report you to the manager if you go on in this manner."
I wrenched my eyes away from her cunt and fumbled around to come up with the fourth pair of shoes. Despite her reprimand, she made no move to conceal her cunt at all! She put her leg down, but they were far apart, and her skirt had moved right up her thighs so that I could plainly discern the heavy pubic bush.
And then, as if that wasn't enough, she bent down to feel the toe of her shoes in such a way as to show me her tits. They were small and firm, and her top was so lowcut that I could see right down to the nipples! That was the straw that snapped my back! I grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her right between the breasts!
She was mortified. The moment my lips touched down on her soft, pliant breasts, she drew herself upright and warned me in an icy voice that I was treading on thin ice. "One more such unwarranted outburst and I will report you!" That's what she said. I remember it clearly. Even now her words rankle through my brain. The interesting part of it is that I took no notice.
Before I knew what was happening, I had her down on the floor and my lips were crushing against hers. My cock was almost bursting out of my pants, and my hands were everywhere. Her breasts felt as beautiful as they had looked, and I mauled them savagely for a while before moving down to her cunt.
Betty was like a plank. She just lay there, trying to get her face away from mine. But I kissed her so fiercely that she couldn't say anything. My hand lifted her dress and slipped down past the elastic of her panties to fondle that cunt, the one that had incensed me beyond belief.
It was so warm and soft and so wet that my finger seemed to get sucked inside. There it was even wetter, her tender cunt flesh rippling along my finger, and from there throughout my body. Somehow, I managed to get my fly undone and my cock out. Without once taking my mouth off her lips, I rolled over on top of her and slipped my cock up her cunt, all the way.
She was still rigid and angry, but as our fuck progressed, she loosened up a little, enough to wrap her legs around me and for her loins to pound into mine every time my cock rushed inside her. It was just beautiful, Doctor. I felt like a real he-man, ravaging her with all of my might.
We rucked for a long time. Not once did my bps leave hers, because one scream could bring the whole of the store down on my head. It probably would have been safe by the time she wrapped her legs around me, but I couldn't take any chances.
She was bucking beneath me, giving as good as I was dealing out and my cock seemed to grow like Pinocchio's nose as we scaled the heights together. Her orgasms rippled through her one after the other, and each one of them contributed something to my already-terrible lust. Stroke after stroke thumped into her, my cock touching down on the very bottom of her channel of love, and still I kept growing.
Our pubic bones were gnashing together. I could feel her pubic hair meshing with mine, and in the back of my mind I went through all kinds of dizzying revelations. Here I was, a shoe salesman, fucking one of the most expensive cunts in the whole world, a woman for whom men had fought and died, amassed mighty fortunes, and spent them just to keep her! They had done everything apparently, but fuck her!
Well, I certainly did my best to make up for that. My body crushed against hers, undoing her dress as far as it would go and pulling her tits out of the bra to fondle them as my cock reamed up her snatch. The slurping noises were becoming louder as she became wetter, but I was beyond caring. For all I knew, our feet might have been sticking out under the curtain, and we might at that very moment be drawing a big crowd. But this was one fuck I had to finish. My hands came up under her ass, firm and rounded cheeks filling my palms, expensive cheeks, an ass pampered and kept in perfect shape with the fine food and the best masseurs, an ass which, for the moment, was mine to squeeze, to finger, and to dig my nails into.
I did everything that came to mind. Two fingers worked their way up her asshole so that I could feel my cock pumping in and out through the thin membrane separating one hole from the other. I fondled her tits and rubbed the nipples, toyed with her clitoris, even pushed a finger up her cunt along with my cock for a double-barreled fuck.
This was my one and only chance, so what else could I do? She was kissing me as passionately as I was kissing her, and her tongue snaked into my mouth to entwine with mine. We exchanged spit and warmth, and her arms held me tightly to her. At last I felt my sperm rising, and I stepped up my fucking to squeeze every last bit out of his fuck.
My cock reamed up her cunt like lightning, over and over, pushing her into one orgasm after another until my sperm burst forth and flooded her cunt. I kept going for as long as I had a hard-on, but then it fell out, limp and shrunken, and with it went her compliance.
She pushed me off and got to her feet. Without a word, she took a handkerchief out of her handbag and wiped the dripping sperm off her cunt, hitched her panties up and straightened her dress. "This is the last time I'll patronize this establishment," she hissed, "and you can think yourself damned lucky if you don't finish up in jail over this matter."
With that she made a beeline for the manager's office. I was pretty quick to react. I took her sperm-soaked handkerchief and dumped it, straightened myself up, combed my hair and washed up in the gent's. Then I packed the shoes up and began to replace them.
While I was busying myself, the manager came over to me with Betty in tow. He asked me if the charges were true, and believe me, Doctor, I did some play-acting that Brando would have admired. I told him it was all news to me, and if Betty wanted to call a doctor and have herself examined, that would be fine with me.
She didn't call my bluff. Instead of pushing her charges, she called me a bastard, turned on her heel and left. The manager shrugged and apologized for even suspecting me. We often get neurotic ladies in the store, women who would like nothing better to get themselves fucked, and he'd been in the business long enough to know that.
So it all blew over. But the very next customer I got was another very attractive woman, one who wanted to use the private fitting facilities again, and wouldn't you know it, this one was an even bigger exhibitionist than Betty! It almost became, too much for me.
She sat down with her legs open, white panties so sheer that her dark pubic hair showed right through. And she extended her leg to me without even asking for shoes. It wasn't till my leg was halfway up her thigh that I managed to get a hold on myself.
I rushed out of the private room and told another salesman to take over. Then I went back to the washroom and bathed my face with cold water. The manager might discount one charge, but two in one day, he'd never go for that!
Maybe it's the spring season that's doing it to these women, Doc, or maybe it's just affecting me that way. Whatever it is, I can't take it much longer. One way or another I seem to be running headlong into a series of perils of the same nature, and it's tearing me apart. Just holding their ankles and looking up their dresses makes my cock burn for the feel of their cunts, that sensation of tender flesh enveloping mine, and I know it's not going to stop.
Is there anything you can do about that? As I said, I don't want to leave the shoe business, not until I've got an alternative lined up anyway. Yet these rapist impulses keep on overwhelming my common sense, and it's not going to take much for me to crack up again. They might scream or fight, and then what would I do? You have to help me, Doctor, I just can't make it alone!
The first point I made was that he should have more self-confidence. Although he wasn't the most handsome man on earth, he had to be made to see that women don't car as much about good looks as do men. For a woman, a man's force is what matters. If he exudes self-confidence, and has an air of worldliness, more often that not, they'll yield to the temptations inherent in such a man.
So the obvious move for Norman was to improve his social life. Rape, especially in his situation, would put an end to his career. But if he had a regular girl friend, his sexual urges wouldn't get out of control.
He said he would do his best and thanked me for the boost I'd given his ego. I explained how most men have difficulties in that area, that he was by no means unique in that respect, but that a few scores could set everything straight.
INTERVIEW TWO
Norman F. was far from happy when he came back a month later. Though he was still employed his job was on the line due to the fact that a second charge had been lodged against him. I did my best to put him at his ease, and finally he was settled enough to begin his story.
Everything was going all right for a while. I decided to follow your advice, and straight after work I went to a singles bar, picked up a girl and took her home. She was a nice-looking girl, about eighteen, a secretary who thought it was only polite to fuck once you were inside a man's apartment.
Her name was Sue, a pretty little blonde with big tits and a little ass, big blue eyes, and no inhibitions at all. No sooner were we inside the door than she embraced me, and we kissed passionately. I guess that for a moment I was able to see a new day dawning. My loins ground into hers, and in that position we headed for the bedroom.
She couldn't wait for me to take her clothes off, so she jumped up on the bed and took them off herself. I took mine off, watching her the whole time. Bit by bit she revealed her body to me, those big tits came into view, the narrow hips with the rounded little buttocks, and the little triangle of blonde hair between her thighs. I thought she was lovely. My cock was up and I approached her slowly, my hands reaching out to caress her.
This girl, I decided as my hands closed around her big, springy tits, was going to cop all of my virility so that I wouldn't be bothered during my working hours. She apparently had the same notion. After sucking her tits for a while, I went down on her, eating her cunt up, and she slid around to take my cock into her mouth.
Locked in this tight, passionate embrace, we proceeded to bring each other undone. Her cunt was delicious, juicy, and the lips of it were firm with the hair as soft as down. But there was something missing, something indefinable, almost as though it lacked the element of creative tension.
I couldn't figure it out, but since everything was going along so nicely. I didn't trouble myself about it. My nose was between her small buttocks and my mouth covered her cunt hole, sucking up all the juices as soon as they welled up inside her. And she, bless her heart, was licking and sucking at my cock with such deftness and precision that my erection grew into a throbbing monster!
When she was hot enough, she got on top of me, fitting her cunt around my cock quickly. And once I was all the way up her she began to pound her loins down on me, working my knob around at the very bottom of her cunt. She was having a terrific time, Doctor, her face contorting with her passion, her hands resting on my chest, and her big tits dangling and quivering in front of my eyes. But I felt a little lame. She was doing all the work and I was just the tool!
However, all went well that first time. She came enough times to satisfy her, and when my sperm burst into her cunt, I felt warm and nice. It was her second onslaught that had me worried. I didn't feel like it! I really didn't. There she was, sucking on my cock, her cunt riding along my shin bone, and I just lay there wishing she would go home.
Sue wasn't too dumb to recognize indifference when she saw it. When my cock refused to stand up, she looked at me and sighed. I shrugged and said I'd been overdoing it lately. She said I could go blind from overdoing it, and left me. The next night I went to another bar, picked up a tall, willowy brunette, and took her home to see if that would work.
She was more of a challenge. First of all, she wanted all the lights off. Then she wouldn't let me touch her cunt, and when she made that concession after I'd mauled her tits black and blue, I wasn't allowed to go down on her. She wouldn't blow me, or touch my cock. She wouldn't do this, wouldn't do that, and suddenly I became so furious at her priggishness that I just stuck my cock up her cunt and fucked like a sprinter!
She didn't want that, either, and the more she protested, the more excited I became. The fuck turned into a struggle for power, and I beat the shit out of her with my pounding cock, elated and horny until I blew my wad.
That's when her complaint started to bore me, and I told her to get her ass out of my place. Once again I was left alone to think, and the conclusions I came up with didn't please me one bit. Sure I'd managed to score quickly and effectively, but when the chase was over, there was nothing more to do. Hell, as soon as the girl was in my apartment, the chase was over, and I didn't feel too strongly inclined to fuck her.
Of course it occurred to me that I was getting hold of the wrong type of girl. Sue had been too aggressive, the other one too stilted, but what were my chances of striking the happy medium? And besides, what did it mean for me to get most excited when I fucked women against their will?
I tried to think back over my childhood and adolescence, which provided me with ample reason to feel resentment towards women. They'd given me a hell of a hard time during those years, always tempting me, then rejecting me, so that I spent more time jerking off than anything else. There was little to be grateful for. The girls with whom I had scored hadn't exactly given it away. They'd put me through the hoops, made me do tricks, and successfully demeaned me before spreading their legs for a little unilateral pleasure.
No, dammit, they've turned me into a rapist! I'm getting ahead of myself. A few more days went by, which turned into weeks. At first it wasn't too hard because I'd gotten that load off my chest. But as the days wore on, and the women kept on getting me alone in the private fitting room, flashing their thighs and crotches, the old urges crept back into my mind and grew alarmingly.
Then Betty came back. She looked right through me and took one of the other salesmen into the private fitting room. That guy had no particular love for women, and pretty soon he emerged to ask me to take over. I did it because that's my job.
Well, Doctor, she was treating me like a piece of shit. I recalled the way women treated Japanese prisoners of war, undermining their sense of masculinity by having them sweep out their huts while they were changing clothes, and parading in front of those hapless fellows nude, as though they were just dogs. That's the treatment Betty was giving me.
We were through three pairs of shoes, first of all, and she was flashing her cunt at me with impunity. Her panties were a light yellow that day, just the right color to send me crazy. That pubic bush, the outline of her firm lips, and the little wet stain around her cunt hole, those firm, curvaceous thighs, and her nonchalant exhibitionism made me reel with lust, but I clung to my cool facade in spite of it all.
Then she sent me to get her a different kind of shoe. When I came back, I looked up her dress once more, only to find her cunt staring right back at me. The bitch had removed her panties! I couldn't believe it. But there it was, that chubby little cunt wreathed in brown pubic hair, open a little way so as to treat me to a flash of pinkness and a few drops of whitish ooze suspended in her hair.
There was no way I could resist her. I guess her iciness and her aloofness went a long way in setting my blood on fire, but that much is conjectural. The main point is that I felt myself drawn to that cunt as though it was sucking me towards it. My hands were busy trying to put the shoe on her foot, but my face moved against her thigh, kissing her warm, firm flesh and heading right for the center of my affection.
She did nothing. I kissed her thighs, moving closer and closer. My nose picked up the scent, and I was like a bloodhound on the trail. Nothing would turn me back. Then her pussy brushed against my face, and I pushed right in to lick her hole and her clit in quick succession.
It was so delicious, so overwhelming, and yet she made no move at all. It was as if I didn't exist for her. My hands moved her thighs apart and she didn't resist the pressure. I didn't care any more. There was that expensive cunt again, and this time I would eat it up! Her cunt lips parted wide and I licked along them greedily, noisily slurping up her nectar.
"When you're quite finished," she said, "would you mind showing me your range of ox blood platforms."
"Yeah, right," I muttered, getting up and wiping my face with my sleeve. "Ox blood platforms, is that what you want?"
"Why else would I come to a shoe store?" she inquired. A heap of shit would have received a more kindly look. In reply, I undid my trousers and dropped them so that my cock was just inches from her face. She didn't even look at it. Then I grabbed her head with both hands and shoved my cock into her mouth. Now that I think back over it, that was a terrible risk to take. Betty had only to snap her teeth down around it and it would have been all over.
However, though she made no effort, her teeth stayed out of the way, and the knob of my cock entered her warm, wet cavity to be regaled with all manner of pleasant sensations. I stepped out of my trousers and straddled her legs to get as much of it into her as would fit, then proceeded to fuck her face.
I lost all control. My cock thrust down her throat, and she gagged violently, but still made no move to draw back from my intruding member. Below me, partially obscured by my cock, lay her small, firm breasts, and I reached down to fondle them while I continued to fuck her in the mouth. There was nothing more I wanted from life, except for her to be totally naked.
Somehow or other I managed to unzip her dress and draw it down over her shoulders along with her bra. I pushed till her clothes were around her waist, and then I withdrew my cock for a moment to whip them out from under her ass. She sat naked, frozen, her mouth half open as though she herself couldn't believe what was being done to her.
I poked my cock back into her mouth and began to move my hips back and forth, leaning to one side so I could look at her body. She was in such trim form, those firm little breasts poking away from her chest pertly, the nipples hard and high, her belly flat, curving down into the tangle of dark hair between her open thighs. From where I stood, I could plainly see her cunt lips, and the temptation became too much for me.
I took my cock out of her mouth and let the knob draw a wet trail all over her face, down along her breasts, until it was hovering in front of her cunt hole. With a quick move, it shoved up inside her, going in easily because she was soaking wet. She leaned back and her ass moved further down the chair, then my body covered hers and I laid into her with all my remaining strength.
It was a glorious fuck, Doctor. Just glorious!
Even though Betty seemed determined not to display any feelings at all, I could feel her tensing up now and then, to relax again with a deep sigh. That was enough for me. I bashed my cock into her cunt so hard that her juices splattered over our thighs, my toes digging into the carpet for better support and harder thrusts.
I fucked her till every muscle in my body was screwing out in pain and exhaustion. Only then did I release my load, squirting weeks of frustration into her in a quick flurry of powerful gushes. As soon as it was over, the haze lifted from my mind, and I recalled her previous behavior. Just to make sure she wouldn't walk to the manager's office with sperm dripping out of her cunt, I took my own handkerchief and wiped her cunt clean, waiting now and then for more to come down the chute.
Betty sat there like a statue, her heavy breathing the only sign of life. I cleaned her cunt meticulously, then got dressed again and leaned against the wall waiting for her to make the next move.
She shook her head suddenly and observed her nakedness with an appraising glance. She looked up at me and nodded, saying that this time I had gone too far. I told her to do her worst, it had been well worth it. Betty said she would do just that. She took her dress and tore at it till the material came apart at the seams. I just smiled.
When she was dressed, she walked out of the fitting room yelling for the manager. He hurried over and guided her back into the room before other customers could see what was going on. Well, the three of us had quite a talk. He said it was a little too much for him to accept. Why would Betty lie twice? She had been a customer, a good customer for a number of years, how could it be that I was the only one she'd complained about?
I told him she had done her best to seduce me, and produced her panties from her handbag as evidence. The manager took that into account, but said he would have to weigh the matter in his own mind before he could make any sort of decision. No matter which way the decision goes, Doctor, I'm still in for it. If I stay with the same store, Betty will come again and haunt me. And if I'm fired, I'll only go to work in another place where the same terrible urges might overtake me.
You see, I no longer think my shyness with women is the cause of my problem. It's more insidious than that! I like women who like to be raped. But what if I rape a woman who doesn't want it? Oh, well, I guess there are so many possible consequences that it doesn't matter. The main point is that my sexual predictions are of the kind that put men in hot water at every turn. What do you think, Doctor. Can I be cured?
I assured Norman F. he had nothing to worry about. Obviously he and Betty shared the same sexual preference, only she was beset by guilt afterwards, and he wasn't. This being the case, she was the one who needed the treatment, not he.
As for his predilection, no doubt that could be traced back to his adolescence, but then all men get the rough end of the stick during that period of their lives. And most of them succeed in working their way out of the initially resentful reactions. Norma could, too, if he gave himself the chance.
In spite of his desire to keep the matter a secret, he gave me Betty's real name. I called her straight away for an appointment. She was reluctant at first, but finally yielded when I explained how she was jeopardizing a man's livelihood with her whims.
INTERVIEW THREE
Betty came to my office the next day. She was, as Norman had told me, an international personality, married to a fabulously rich industrialist, glamorous, the idol of many men and women. It was easy to see how Norman might have succumbed to her charms. Beautiful,, trim, aloof, yet sensual, she made herself comfortable in the chair facing my desk with much the same abandon that had bowled Norman over.
At first she was very reluctant to acknowledge the episode between herself and Norman, but after a good deal of probing she began to tell me the story.
It's true, all of it. Norman obviously is a very honest man and I'll certainly withdraw the charges against him. In a way, I'm glad this whole nasty business has come to something of a head. Norman is by no means the only man who's been put through this. I hardly dare think of the number.
Anyway, I must face up to the problem, so I'll try to give you as full an account as possible. My first and second husbands were both immensely busy men who put all their energies into running complex business empires. I was a showpiece to them, as indeed I am to my present and third husband. But I'm still a woman, in spite of my social obligations. That's the side of me my husbands have all ignored, and the public mustn't know about.
For years I put up with this existence as best as I could. I won't bore you with the details of those lonely nights of masturbation and fantasizing, Doctor. I'm sure you've heard similar laments. Let me begin with the first time I allowed myself to be raped by a stranger.
I was raised to have contempt for tradesmen, anyone not of my class. They were not people, I was told. They were just beasts of burden, put on earth to do the bidding of my class. That was fine with me. But the very concept of beastliness holds its own connotations, and it was those very connotations that became the substance of my fantasies.
The first time I provoked a man to rape was with the chauffeur. He had to drive me to a charity affair, and halfway there, along a deserted country road one of the tires blew out. While he was fixing it, I sat on the edge of the back seat, the door open, my legs crossed, knowing full well that the man was staring right up my dress.
He was a big, black man, servile on the surface, but a regular tiger underneath. And the more he looked at my crotch, the more excited I became. What if he were to rape me, I wondered. Of course that was unthinkable, but what if he did? The idea grew in my mind until it turned into an obsession, and I'm afraid I provoked him most vulgarly.
While he looked on, I spread my legs and moved closer to him. My cunt was so wet that it was bound to be staining up my panties. And, judging by the glint in his black eyes, he was enjoying the sight of that an awful lot. Suddenly I got up and said I would have to go relieve myself. He nodded and pretended to go back to work.
I went behind a bush, too sparse to give me much cover, but that was part of it. I dropped my panties down to around my knees and began to piss. The stream splashed down on the rocky ground noisily, and I could see him rising to his feet. I pissed harder, wanting him terribly.
His face appeared over the top of the bush, and the look in his eyes made me squirm inside. Was I really going to go through with this? But he was working class! Yet, as he took off his trousers, I couldn't help but stare at his enormous cock. I finished my leak and wiped my cunt with a handkerchief, which I immediately discarded. A sudden revulsion of the flesh made me change my mind, at least partially.
He came around and seized me roughly to drag me behind a big oak tree, where he laid me out in the grass and began to finger me. The only way I could salvage my dignity and superiority was to ignore him. So while my cunt grew wet and rapacious, I affected complete indifference.
The chauffeur came down on top of me, his big, muscular body pressing me into the grass until I felt like a squashed bug, and that ramrod of his barged into my cunt. It was hard for me to maintain my calmness, but somehow I managed, while inside I was boiling over with passion. It felt so good, so awfully good, to have a man on top of me for once, a real tiger, who slammed his cock into me and lit my fire till I was a conflagration!
And the very fact that I controlled my exterior so rigidly made it all the more intense and exciting. I can't begin to describe what was happening inside. It felt as though a million pieces of elaborate fireworks were going off, and at the same time hot, swirling fluids were coursing from one end of my body to the other. It was just all so wonderful!
When the chauffeur came, I kept my act up with tremendous difficulty. That warm douche of cream crossed the T's and dotted the I's, and I was soaring backwards into space. Then he got off me, and I could see by the look in his eyes that he was less than sure of himself. I got up, fixed my appearance, and went back to the car to sit inside while he changed the tire, after which he drove me to the charity affair.
I guess it must have been confusing to him, especially since we had occasion to go through it all again later, several times. But then my husband and I split up, and he took his chauffeur with him. That was my second husband. The period in between husbands was relatively brief, but I crammed my free time with a variety of young men, trying to store up satisfaction as it were before another tycoon eunuch took me into his care.
My third husband-provided me little in the way of sexual relief, directly or indirectly. That's when I started to look further afield. Of course I was careful not to confront myself with my sluttiness. In fact, I rarely allowed myself to think about the matter, or to plan too consciously. I merely waited till a situation presented itself, then did my best to trigger things off.
And, though this may surprise you, most of the -time I didn't try to do damage to my male assailants. They came and went like phantoms in the night. Only the ones who really stirred me up caught the brunt of my defensive ire. Now that you have me thinking about it, I look more and more like the praying mantis who eats her mate after he's made love to her.
In any case, Norman was one of the men who agitated me most deeply. I'd been to the store on a number of occasions, and each time I saw him, my loins tingled hotly. I don't know what it is about him. A kind of mixture, I suppose, of need and talent. He was receptive, responsive, and my body seemed to send him into total disarray, total except for his sexual faculties, which functioned best in a state of crisis.
On the first day that we made love, I really gave him the treatment. I don't know how much he has told you about that, but I'll just run through it again to make sure there are no misunderstandings. He was fitting the shoes to my feet, bent over them, stealing glances at my thighs the whole time, so I decided to give him the works, just to see how far he would go.
I blush to think how blatant my seduction was. The way my legs opened before him, and the way I sat forward so that my panties would stretch along my cunt, well, all I can say is that I wanted him terribly, if that's any defense. His eyes were burning a hole in my panties, and inside I was sizzling with passion. Then I leaned over so he could check out my tits. I don't know, Doctor, I really don't. What makes it so important to be admired?
When he finally broke and mangled my tits in his strong hands, I wanted to scream, to cry, and struggle with him, just to give a little vent to the terrible passions building up inside me. I loved the way he lusted for my body. No thought for my mind or my personality, it was just rapprochement on an animal level, harsh and horny, and he couldn't give me enough of it!
And when he made love to me, only the most astringent self-disciplinary measures restrained me from giving my all to him. His cock is so big and so hard, it touched all of my explosive centers, providing them with the spark they needed to trigger them off. Inside I was going crazy. Outside, I was the same old cucumber the world knows and loves because they, themselves, want to be so cool and self-possessed, so untouchable. If only they knew the real story!
Anyway, he made beautiful love to me, so beautiful that the quilt overwhelmed me and I straightaway lodged a complaint against him with the manager. The medical examination Norman suggested was a clever bluff. Any kind of an investigation would result in publicity, and the same public that had loved me for being cool would vindictively accept any rumor to the contrary, if only to make themselves feel less inferior. Besides which my husband would have grounds for cutting me off without alimony in the future, should such an exigency arise.
So I left the store, determined never to subject myself to Norman's passions again. But he had made more of an impression on me than I cared to acknowledge. The days went by slowly, I trudged along the treadmill of my parties and functions, my mind consumed by the burning memories of the passion he had stirred up in my body.
At last, after a night of feverish deliberation and masturbation, I went back to the shoe store, not so much to see Norman again as to tempt fate. I cut him, of course, and selected another salesman to attend to me, but soon dismissed him and told him to bring Norman in. The moment we were alone, my juices began to flow uncontrollably, and I wanted nothing more than to embrace him and kiss him and rape him!
Why can't I give way to such impulses, Doctor? Good heavens, the man was my kind of chemistry, why must I reject the obvious and settle for the obscure? But he was there, and I just slipped into my old routine again, flashing my panties, hoping he would notice how wet they were getting, and he was yielding in spite of himself.
I guess he told you about how I sent him out for a moment, and took my panties off in the meantime. You don't know what horniness is, Doctor, not until you've poked your cunt into a man's face and he's turned his face away. It was a shameless thing to do, but the very thought of leaving the shoe store without getting Norman's love was enough to drive me to do anything! If he hadn't succumbed to my naked cunt, I believe I would have pursued him along Fifth Avenue in the nude!
Luckily, he did succumb, kissing my thighs, his face headed straight for my cunt. I hugged myself in a bid to keep myself from falling apart with bliss, but my face managed its normal icy expression. That's training for you. It felt so good to have this man groveling at my feet, not in a servile manner you understand, but paying homage to my beauty, nuzzling my cunt and relishing my flesh with all his might, a full-bodied passion that almost sparked my own off into extra version.
He raped me again, but good. That big cock of his subjected my mouth and my cunt to a relentless barrage of stimuli, and yet all I could do was sit there like a stuffed mummy! I wanted to respond, I really did! My hands were aching to touch his heavy ball bag, his muscular ass, his hairy thighs, every part of him, to experience him fully. -But breeding won out.
No man had ever dared put his cock into my mouth. I wasn't the sucking kind, as a friend of mine once put it. But there was Norman jabbing his cock down my throat, not even caring when I gagged! I felt humiliated, beautifully humiliated, as though this is what I'd been after the whole time, for one man to treat me simply as a woman.
He fucked me properly later, doing such a fine job of it that I just rushed right over to the manager's office yelling for him. That's when Norman pulled my panties out of my purse, and I was neatly roped with my own string of lies. But people like me don't have to do much to get our case through. If I let it be known that the store was for 'out' people only, it would fold within a year.
In any case, that will be fully rectified. The problem now is, you've brought all this muck to the surface, and now what do I do? Since I last saw Norman, I've yearned for him day and night. I want him more than any man I know, and yet there is no way we two could meet with safety.
Then I also worry about meeting him on a plain boy and girl basis. Would it take the romance out of our lives? So many questions assail me. Perhaps it's the discipline involved that makes it so exciting. Oh, if only I could get him out of my mind, then I would probably slip back into my social role and forget all about it. But I can't! No matter how I try, I can't.
Just to show you how desperate I am, I tried to arouse some interest in my husband last night. He looked at me as though I'd gone crazy. Maybe I was, but there was no on else to turn to for the passion I needed. So I probably would have returned to the shoe store, just to be with Norman again, just to smell his manliness, watch his walk, anything, anything!
What do I do now, Doctor? I shouldn't have come here, it was impetuous of me. But now that I am here, you really must help me.
CONCLUSION
My advice to Betty was simple and straightforward. Arrange to meet Norman, incognito if need be, and try making it with him under more normal circumstances. Then, if that doesn't work, continue to meet under abnormal circumstances. Play games with each other, live dangerously, but stop short of dragging the authorities in.
I had to assure her of her own morality. Betty was still very much burdened by what she'd learned at her mother's knee, all those little golden rules and homilies that no longer apply to girls over six. She was a woman and she knew it. A woman has needs which must be met. And if Norman was the one who met them best, she had to stick with him for as long as he was valuable to her.
We talked for some time about the matter, a fruitful discussion which seemed to relieve her of many doubts, and, since I haven't seen either of them since that time, I can only guess it worked out.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
Subject: Nola R.
Age: Twenty-five
INTERVIEW ONE
Not all rape cases have to do with men attacking women. In my time as a practicing psychiatrist, several women have told me of ventures into the field of sexual violence. One such woman was Nola R.
Nola R. is a very attractive girl who has all the equipment of a woman, but not the mind of one. Her voice tends to be low, her mannerisms masculine, and she dresses in jeans and sweaters, wearing work boots out of preference.
I work at a large school as a guidance counselor, Doctor, a job which I love. Kids come to me with their problems, and I do my best to help them out. When it works out for them, it's one of the most satisfying jobs imaginable.
The reason I'm consulting you now, though, is very much tied in with my job. You see, I'm a lesbian, always have been as far as I know, from the time I was climbing trees with the boys, to high school when I fell in love with a girl in my class. Now I live with a woman a few years older than me, and we have what I regard as a high satisfactory relationship.
The trouble began with a girl called Janice. She's sixteen, a promising student, well developed for her age, and she came to me with rather an unusual problem. She said she was in love with a girl in her class.
That had never happened to me before. All the problems I'd had to contend with normally related to home life, studying, or adolescence. And here was this beautiful young girl telling me she thought she was in love with another girl! I tell you, Doctor, it gave my mind quite a spin.
I asked her to tell me about it, less out of professional concern than my own prurient interest, and Janice began at the beginning. She said that the girl was close to graduating high school, that she was very popular with the boys, and that they had become friends in the course of several years.
Apparently they went double-dating one night, one of those badly-arranged things that just didn't get off the ground. The boys drank too much beer and became ill. And Janice decided to spend the night with Irma, her girl friend, rather than go all the way home again.
Parents tend to be a little naive in these matters, naive enough to let the girls sleep in one bed, and there they had begun to discover the pleasures of each other's body. At first neither of them knew what to do, but pretty soon those two schoolgirls were naked together and making love like experts. She gave me all the details, right down to the last caress, and I was so clammy between the legs at the end of her story, that I didn't dare stand up to see her to the door in case she spotted the wet patch on my chair!
Of course I told her not to do it again, but I wasn't very convincing about it. So what if she became a lesbian, I thought. I went through with it and nobody ever bothered me, nor was my life impaired by it. Hell, I've seen a lot more lesbians happy together than straights, and that's enough for me.
The trouble was she had fired my imagination to a point at which I could no longer function. I kept thinking about the two of them in bed together, and a second's jealousy seared through me as I thought of Irma sampling Janice's supple young body. I wanted her myself, but there was Joan, my lover, to contend with there. Joan was-and is-possessive and careful; there wouldn't be too many ways of putting one over her.
I took the rest of the day off and went home to recuperate. Wild thoughts kept on crossing my mind at lightning speed. What if I had seized the girl and made love to her on the spot. Would she have informed on me? Or was she telling me this story just to arouse interest in herself? It could well be that she had a crush on me, but then no one knew I was a lesbian, so how could she have seen me in anything but a trusty ear to confide in?
The scene wouldn't leave my mind. I could see it all so vividly, those downy little cunts rubbing together, small hands on full, firm breasts, the hard breathing, the passionate sweatiness, the sharp climaxes, everything! I'd been through it myself often enough.
And Janice was so beautiful. In my mind I stripped her naked and explored the secret crevices of her body, tasting her, touching her, eating her out violently, and while this was going through my mind, my hand moved down to my own hairy pussy to begin stimulating my clitoris in a frenzy of lust. I wanted that girl so badly that I would have given anything for her at the moment.
Of course Joan was in quite the opposite mood when she came home. She's a swimming instructor at the local pool, and she'd had a rotten day. Too much chlorine in the water, the kids had fooled around, the lessons were interrupted by catcalling boys who had climbed up on the fence. In short, she was in a hell of a rotten mood.
But I had to have some kind of sexual satisfaction, and I didn't care how she felt about it. The moment I saw her, my lust for Janice was transferred to her. Joan, I must add, is an extremely desirable woman, tall and athletic, small-breasted and broad-shouldered and sort of supple-muscular like a panther when she moves around.
She sat down on the couch next to me with a beer and started to tell her about her lousy day, not noticing how distraught I was. Naturally, I'd withdrawn my finger from my cunt the moment I heard the front door open, and I was sort of licking the juices off it, hoping she would catch on to what was happening. Joan was so absorbed in her troubles, thought, that I could have kept on masturbating without her noticing it.
Finally I reached out and drew her down on me. She protested, saying we would make love later. But I insisted. My lust was completely out of control by this time, my cunt ached for her ministrations, I needed relief! So I embraced her with all my might and forced her to lie on top of me. Still she protested, irritable now, and tried to wrench free.
I got up off the couch and took my clothes off, ignoring her bad mood. When I was completely naked, she had fallen silent, observing me curiously. We normally didn't abandon ourselves to that extent. But I was horny so I didn't care.
My cunt poked out at her, both hands down there opening my cunt lips so that my pink inside flesh would arouse her beyond her ire. She didn't move, not even when I moved closer and pressed my box into her face. Joan waited till the last moment, apparently to see if I would go through with it, then pushed me back roughly and said, "When I tell you to wait, you wait, you hear!"
That only served to arouse me all the more. I fell on the carpet and began to finger myself in front of her, eyeing her lasciviously. My finger plunged in and out of the runny hole, the other hand mauled my tits and I kept on shuffling closer to her, begging her to make love to me.
Finally she sighed and said for me to hold on for a moment. Then she took off her clothes and fetched the strap-on dildo from the closer, girded it around her loins, and tiredly got into position. It felt wonderful to have her flesh pressing against mine, and my legs shot open to admit the dildo eagerly.
She slipped it up me and started to pound away, a little too mechanically for my liking. But for the time being I was content to get anything from her. The big dildo opened my cunt right up and moved in till it touched bottom, to begin reaming in and out of me.
Slowly my lust turned into pleasure, a gradual conversation that looked as though it could take care of my aroused desires. But Joan wasn't in the mood. When my needs grew too intense, she wouldn't speed up. She just kept pushing that plastic thing into me with about as much verve as a machine operator. And when I started to moan for her to fuck me into the ground, she made a sucking sound between her teeth, and got off me.
"Do it yourself, if you need it so badly," she said angrily, untying the dildo and throwing it down at me. "I'm not a fucking marital aid."
Of course she was quite right in doing that, but at the time it made me furious. There I was, only half-settled, with the remainder of my lust burning my guts up, and Joan wouldn't help me out. She turned her back to me and began to fix herself a drink, obviously no longer interested in my dilemma.
I lay there for a moment, watching her move, the long, slender muscles rippling in her legs and the way her hard buttocks flexed when she shifted her weight. And suddenly I grabbed the dildo, tying it on as I scrambled to my feet, to attack her with the roar of a lion.
She was completely caught off-guard. Nothing like this had ever happened in our years together. I seized her roughly, grabbing her in a half-Nelson, and bent over her till her cunt was in line with that plastic cock sticking out from my belly, then slammed it up her!
Joan didn't know what to do! She just stood there, twisted into position, while I pounded that dildo up her cunt with all my might. At one point she tried to throw me off, but I had the strength of ten men, and finally she yielded to me, be it unwillingly.
It felt terrific to be fucking her. My hips worked furiously, ramming that cock up her, the base of the dildo low down enough to give my clitoris plenty of the stimulation it needed so badly. And while I fucked the juices ran down my legs like a waterfall, draining me ever so slowly of the terrible lust loose within me. I imagined that she was Janice, and pounded her all the harder. Then I thought of Janice and Irma together, with me in between them, fantasizing as I fucked, bringing myself completely undone.
I labored for a long time even though my leg muscles were aching under the strain and I couldn't see anything for all the sweat pouring off my brow. My innards were burning, my loins working hard, and finally I climaxed so violently that I crashed to the floor, utterly spent.
Well, as you can imagine, I was high on Joan's shit list for the remainder of the evening. She wouldn't talk to me, spent much of the time soaking her abused box in the bathtub, and when it came to going to bed, she turned her back to me most vindictively.
The night was a restless one for me. Although forcing her had taken the edge off my lust, there was still plenty of it left to make my sleep an impossibility. I kept on fingering myself, working my body up to such a pitch that I had to sneak out of bed, down to the living room where I plied the dildo to my cunt and worked my frustrations off.
Next morning it felt as though my cunt was hanging down between my legs. I ached all over, a hectic pain that did nothing to assuage my aroused desires. Before school was due to begin, I stalked around the house, mindlessly prowling for some way of finding satisfaction, and in the end I put the strap-on dildo into my handbag to take it to school with me.
As it happened, Janice paid me another visit that day to tell me about her problem. Why couldn't she leave me alone! I sat behind my desk, drinking in what I could see of her body, wondering if I shouldn't whip my dildo out and give it to her but good. Something held me back. I guess I didn't want to ruin my career because of a momentary passion, and I wasn't sure that Janice would benefit by it.
But I was sorely tempted, Doctor, too much so to pass it off as a mere whim. I kept her talking for as long as I could, just to enjoy her presence, meanwhile feeling guilty and riddled with doubt. What would Joan think about this mental infidelity? That's the question that kept occurring to me right through the interview with her. But how would I get out of this mess without hurting me?
When Janice left my office, I told her to come see me as often as she thought necessary, and that between us we would sort her problem out. I told her all girls go through a stage of lesbianism, that in most cases it doesn't mean anything, and for her not to worry about it. As long as she had someone to talk it over with, it wouldn't do any damage. But I sure as hell stressed the importance of confiding in me.
It was a masochistic thing to do. She returned the next day with more juicy tales about how she and Irma had made love in the woods surrounding the school, and how she had enjoyed it more than she'd wanted to. Once again she treated me to blow by-blow description and my mind threatened to snap under the strain of my feverish imaginings.
And yet I kept hold of myself. The thing is, Doctor, if she comes again I just know I'm not going to be able to contain this growing passion for her girlish body. I want her so badly that I can think of nothing else. And to make it worse, Joan refuses to make love with me until I've got my head straight. I think she suspects there's some outside source at work, and she only wants to be loved for the right reasons.
We discussed the matter for some time. It seemed to me that her lust was not based merely on Janice's attraction, but on something far bigger. Her affair with Joan, I guessed, probably made her feel constricted, forcing her to suppress many desires which had been bottled up deep in her subconscious. It only needed a spark to set it off, and the spark was Janice.
I advised her to play around. Even though I cherish fidelity as much as the next man, when it comes unhealthy, it has to be yielded to or it will tear the person apart. If Janice seemed willing enough, she should try to arrange a private meeting with her and test her willingness. If not, perhaps there were other girls more willing to give in to her needs.
She was an attractive woman, the kind schoolgirls tend to get crushes on, and that made the matter a lot easier for her. It would be ideal if Joan could share her pursuits, of course, but if she refused, I told Nola that shouldn't stop her.
Nola R. returned to my office some weeks later. Her demeanor suggested confusion. She had trouble replying to my question and kept on fiddling with her hands, as though she was in the grip of distraction. After a great deal of coaxing she took up her account where she'd left off.
Even though your advice made sense to me, I couldn't bring myself to cheat on Joan. She's always been good to me, always faithful, though she has many more opportunities to cheat on me in her occupation. Every day she's confronted with dozens of naked girls in the changing room, yet she disciplines herself for my sake.
I decided to ignore the outside temptations, and channeled my energies into repairing our relationship. It took a few days and a lot of loving, but finally she began to return my love again, and for a while I was very happy. We confessed how bare the time of our separation had been, how we'd hated the iron curtain in our bed, and set to loving each other passionately.
It seemed to be working. For several days on end I was content again. And it helped that Janice didn't visit my office during that time. But just as I began to believe that everything had returned to normal and that my outburst of passion had merely been an abnormal excrescence, Janice came to my office again, and straight away I knew I'd been kidding myself.
She sat down in front of me, her short dress riding up her thighs, the buttons of her blouse undone far enough to treat me to generous glimpses of her young tits, and she shook me up till I felt like a baby's rattle! That's when I began to think about our discussion and your advice. You were right. I did need more than Joan was giving me.
And when that penny had dropped I began to think about ways of spiriting Janice away. It was such a hard subject to get started on. How do you say to a girl that you want to take her out on a date? I was a woman to her, someone to look up to, her guidance counselor!
But something would have to be done, and halfway through her latest lurid tale, I leaned over towards her and asked: "How do you feel about me, Janice?"
"Why you're very nice, if that's what you mean," she replied.
"But how do you feel towards me as a woman? Do I arouse you in any way?"
"I never really thought about it," she said, and I could see she was sincere. So that ruled out the notion she was trying to seduce me. I felt disappointed, but the dye had been cast, so I went on to say that I thought she was very beautiful, very personable and that I would be most grateful if she would have dinner with me on Saturday night.
Janice eyed me curiously, then nodded and said she would like that very much. With that matter settled, she picked up the thread of her story, and then left. I was in seventh heaven. This was the chance I'd been waiting for, and I had every intention of making the best of it. And, I reasoned, if she hadn't thought of me as a potential lover before, she could very well begin.
Saturday night arrived and I had everything in readiness for her. Though cooking has never been my forte, I had managed to do myself proud. A light wine accompanied the meal, the music was soft and vibrant, and the moment Janice entered the house she caught the mood of it. She seemed a little wary, but settled down quickly enough when I served the food and we had a very pleasant dinner conversation.
I felt pretty calm, aroused, but calm, thinking I was going to score no matter what happened. And so I was at my most charming, making her laugh and chatter. The dishes were cleared away and we settled down on the couch with our wine to talk some more.
My arm came around her shoulder, friendly, but not friendly enough to ward off her suspicions. Janice looked taken aback and moved away so that my arm dropped down. I couldn't figure it out. If I had grabbed her tits or something, I could understand, but this was downright rejection!
"What's the matter?" I said. "Don't you like me?"
"It's not that." She looked down at the carpet and fidgeted with her glass. "Irma and I decided last night that we shouldn't fool around with anyone else and I don't want to, either."
"Why should that stop you? I live with a woman, you know, but I'd still like to make love with you."
She looked shocked. The truth dawned on her, that I was out to get her! I was an out and out lesbian. She got up and started walking out. All evening I had been anticipating the feel of her young body and I couldn't let her go.
I jumped up and grabbed her to wrestle her down to the couch. My passion exploded inside me, compelling me to force my love upon her. She shrieked and tried to get away, but I was on top of her, my loins already working into hers, my hands on her breasts, kneading them savagely. My lust displaced my reason, and I kissed her while my hands began to undo her clothing.
Bit by bit, her buttons came undone. She wore a trainer bra which slipped down easily, and her firm breasts poked up at me. With a low moan I sank down over them, my mouth open wide to suck her flesh. It bulged into my mouth, hard and smooth, delighting me from head to toe, and yet my hands kept on working her over, stroking her thighs, a finger worming its way up her panties to caress her cunt.
She was outraged! I couldn't understand that, nor did I want to. But when I got up to remove the rest of her clothes she tried to escape. I slapped her and she fell back on the couch, her hand on the red mark. I told her not to move or I would punch her, and she lay there trembling.
My nudity failed to arouse her. She kept her eyes averted, little tears welling up, her body rigid. I didn't care. My eyes drank in her slender form, those rounded breasts quivering slightly, the narrow hips that formed such delightfully pert buttocks, her thighs, and most of all her little cunt, so chubby and enticing.
I sank down between her legs and took a mouthful of her cunt, sucking hard to try to get her sap moving. She was as dry as could be, but still delicious. Her tender flesh aroused all of my senses, and I dug in deeper, my tongue working its way up her cunt hole to get at her inner walls and directly stimulate her juices.
She kept on moaning, telling me not to do this to her, begging me! But her words made no impact. Her body was so soft, so young and smooth, her niggardly juices so fresh and tantalizing, that I just kept right on burrowing into her cunt and licking for more. My hands roved over her body, squeezing her firm tits and doing their utmost to transmit feelings through her nipples. But she wouldn't be seduced, absolutely refused to be no matter how hard I worked.
My anger rose. Was I so unattractive to this girl? Had I never featured in her fantasies? Well, I would make an impression on her that would stay with her the rest of her life! I rose over her and covered her body with mine, grinding my pubic bone against her and holding her tightly by the shoulders while I rubbed all of her sensitive parts with mine.
And when she still wouldn't thaw out I jumped off her and dragged her around the room by her hair, calling her names and slapping her. She fought as best she could. My anger fed back into my lust and I began to enjoy abusing her. I hit her harder, pulling at her hair and dragging her around until we both fell to the floor.
It seemed to have worked, though I still don't know how. Her barriers were down, smashed, and suddenly my ardent caresses found a more responsive body. When I fingered her cunt, it made wet little sounds, and when my teeth nibbled at her nipples, she began to move and moan. Encouraged, I put my all into stimulating her more.
And,, while she lay on the floor gasping, I hurriedly located the dildo and strapped it on. She didn't know what was happening. That big pink dildo shoved up her cunt and filled her full to bursting, and all she could do was look down to see what had happened!
But then she got the picture and relaxed as the massive strokes began to make themselves felt throughout her body. I was on top of her, my knees keeping her legs wide apart, my toes digging into the carpet for extra thrust, slamming that fake cock into her cunt so hard that each blow pushed her along the carpet.
It was a delicious sensation! She surrendered wholly to the wild fucking. While she soared, I was right there with her, just as if we were connected with some kind of an umbilical cord that made each climax a mutual event. Finally, after an eternity of exertion, I rolled off her and lay on my back to catch my breath.
Janice came towards me and undid the dildo to tie it around her hips, just to try it herself. I was more than willing to let her have her way. I just lay there, embracing her, while she worked to get the hang of the thing. And when she did, she fucked me as well as any woman could have done. It was glorious the way she put her heart and soul into doing me over.
When we were both exhausted, she took the dildo off and lay down on the couch. I was so bushed that I fell asleep right in the middle of the living room. It was hours later when Joan came home to find me in that position, the dildo lying next to me.
Lucky for me that Janice had gone home long before that. She must have decided that enough was enough, and split. If she hadn't, I think Joan would have beaten the shit out of me. As it was, she was just angry that I had taken to masturbating during her absence. She yelled and cried and threw the dildo into the garbage. While she was doing that, I got rid of the second wine glass, just to be sure her suspicions wouldn't be aroused.
Then she began to ask me all sorts of questions. Wasn't she enough for me? Was I a nymphomaniac? And didn't I have anything to do but jerk off while she was gone. Look at the house, look at the mess it's in. I was too groggy to give her a reasonable answer to any of her questions.
As usual, her anger was soon spent. And then she dissolved into tears, her arms around my neck, tears rolling down her cheeks, begging me to confide in her, to let her know what the trouble was in order that she might know how to go about repairing any damage she had done.
I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. We had a drink and then I began to explain the whole thing to her. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that. The truth hurt her; yet I kept on talking, doing my best to explain that she was the woman I truly loved, that girls like Janice were only there for the occasional fling. I argued that such impulses were as valid as our love, that they had to be taken heed of or our love would soon go under.
She listened right to the end, then began to talk very quickly. I had no right to cheat on her, I shouldn't have done this, I shouldn't have! The more she talked the angrier she got, and then she started to hit me. To my surprise, I didn't mind. I let her beat me and then, when she sank back down to the couch next to me, I threw myself into her arms.
We made love that early morning, the kind that satisfied the body all over and keeps it placid for many days afterwards. But I couldn't help wondering about the future. What if another Janice came along? What if I weakened again? What if I would yield to the temptation of violent sex for its own sake?
These are the questions that are troubling me most, and Joan isn't the kind of person to discuss them with. She's a pragmatist right down the line, it's all black and white to her,, but for me it's never been that simple. What do you think?
CONCLUSION
I told Nola that her progress was most gratifying. She had fulfilled her yearning for Janice, she had been brave enough to open up to Joan, and she had been able to plunge into love with her straight after. All that sounded like a healthy relationship to me.
As for the future, it wasn't so hard to foretell. There would no doubt be problems again, what with so many beautiful girls in the world. Perhaps Joan would be similarly tempted one day, who could say? What was clear to me, however, was their ability to deal with these crises as they occurred.
I ruled out any possibility of sadomasochism becoming a large part of her life, since that occurred mainly between people who were either terribly insecure or guilt ridden. She was neither, not anymore, and, except for a repetition of history, it wouldn't beckon her too strongly.
CASE HISTORY FIVE
Subject: Paul B.
Age: Twenty
INTERVIEW ONE
Ensign Paul B. was referred to me by a Naval psychiatrist, who said the man was obviously deeply troubled, but he hadn't been able to get a word out of him. That didn't surprise me. Officers have to cope with confidential reports on them for the duration of their career, and one bad psychiatric report can mean the end.
This was the rub, the Ensign told me later. He needed to talk with someone, but he didn't trust the Navy man one iota. I therefore assured him his identity would be protected at all costs, and invited him to speak freely.
I was with the Sixth Fleet as part of my training, which involved spending six months in the Mediterranean keeping a watch on political developments in those highly volatile countries. Due to one crisis or another, I wasn't able to get leave until the beginning of this month, when it was finally granted. I was overjoyed. My fianc�, Rita, and I had been exchanging letters for a long time, and neither of us could wait for me to get home so that we could get married.
The town I come from is pretty square. I guess I'm pretty square, too, or I used to think so. In any case, people don't believe in fooling around until it's legally wedded and housed, the curtains securely closed, and the neighbors are fast asleep. Of course, I learned a thing or two in the Navy.
So, by the time I was ready to go home, I was all fired up. I expected us to be married within days of my arrival, and you can imagine what that thought did to my system. Wet dreams, lover's balls, and a great deal of single-mindedness. Now, I love Rita as a person, as a woman, and all that, but the closer I got to home, the more my mind fixed on what she had between her legs.
The plane landed and there she was, wearing a yellow dress and standing up on her toes waving. I could see her thighs from the seat in the plane, and my mind just reeled at the thought that I would soon be between them. She looked just beautiful. But then she was always the prettiest girl in town.
Her hair is honey-blonde, her eyes big and brown, and she has a figure that ought to make headlines. I guess she looked especially good to me that first day. I don't believe in jerking off. While the other guys were beating a load off their minds I was writing letters to Rita.
I rushed down the Tarmac and took her in my arms; holding that sweet body against me. Every part of her came through to me. I could feel her breasts pressing into my chest, her pubic bone clamped against my belly, the softness of her skin, everything! And her perfume just drove me insane!
But Rita is a pretty square girl and so we just held hands on the way home. Her folks were with us and mine were waiting at the door. There was a party, with all my friends dropping in. All I wanted to do was be with her. And they weren't giving us a chance.
Still, I had it in the back of my mind that we would soon be married and then I'd be able to get my fill of her. Man, I couldn't wait! I just kept on looking at her, watching her walk and talk, and drinking in the way her flesh quivered under her dress. When she leaned down her milky-white tits showed.
Late in the evening her father took me aside and told me the wedding had been set for a week from that date. I asked him why the delay? It turned out that the church had been booked solid and Rita insisted on that particular place. That really knocked me out! A whole damn week!
There wasn't much to be done about it. Not on our first night back, at least. The following night was my chance. Our parents belonged to the Rotarians, and they were having a big banquet for all the members. I was over at her place having dinner with her folks, waiting for them to go. I felt sure Rita wouldn't mind giving me a little preview of the nuptials.
Finally, they left. As soon as the door closed I turned to her and took her in my arms. She went along with my petting, but then she wriggled free and slapped my wrist. "Wait, you impatient boy!" she giggled. "There'll be plenty of time for that on the wedding night."
"Come on, Rita," I said, following her around the room. "It can't hurt to be a little more loving than that! Hell, I'm going to marry you, but don't forget I've just spent six months at sea."
"And I've been home thinking about you," she said with a smile. "If I can wait so can you."
I used to like her cuteness, but right then it made me mad. "Listen," I said, "I don't want to go the whole way, I just want to get to know you better."
"Now," she said, clicking her tongue, "you know very well that one thing leads to another. Now you just be a good boy and I'll make us some tea and we'll have a nice chat."
With that she got up and went to the kitchen. I was torn between admiration for her beauty and the almost irresistible impulse to bash her face in! But I tried to collect myself, thinking that she was probably right.
It's been like that right throughout our relationship, Doctor, with me coming on strong and her repelling my attacks one by one. She is what you might call a pinnacle of virtue. But that night I couldn't take such a rosy view of things. What is she kept on doing that after we were married! She might be frigid or something. Certainly her mother didn't come across as a highly-sexed person.
That thought hit me like a thunderbolt. I viewed our past in an entirely different light and suddenly it seemed more than plausible to me. No girl can withstand the advances of the man she loves with such constancy unless there's a block of ice between her legs!
When she came back into the room with the tray, I decided I would find out once and for all. "Rita, listen to me," I said, placing my hand on her arm. She kept on pouring the tea and adding sugar and milk, pretty as a picture and twice as unresponsive.
"Yes, Paul, what's the matter?"
"Have you ever thought about sex? I mean, how do you feel about it? We have to talk this over, just to set my mind at ease."
"Now, Paul, you know very well that's not a fitting subject for conversation. After we're married, we might discuss it. But now I don't want you getting yourself over-excited."
"What do you mean? Do you think I'm some kind of raving lunatic about to explode or something? All I want is to talk to you about sex."
She shook her head and smiled. "You're making me most uncomfortable, Paul. Can't we change the subject?"
That did it. I grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face me. She was still smiling, but there was uncertainty in her eyes. There was a wild fire in my system, anger and lust blending into a fuel. Suddenly there were no obstacles between me and her body. I just stopped caring about her delicate feelings and took care of mine.
I slipped the shoulder straps of her dress down and pulled hard so that it came down to around her waist. She made a frenzied attempt to pull it back up, but it was too late. I ripped her bra off, and there they were! Soft, firm, and lovely. Her strawberry nipples were heaving up and down.
My hands closed around them, experiencing their pliancy almost reverently. She was protesting and crying, doing her utmost to get away from me, but it wasn't even registering in my mind.
I wanted to see all of her. She tried to run away, but I caught her with one arm while my other hand labored to get her dress off her body. It was stuck, and my patience ran low. With one quick jerk I tore it loose and let it fall to the floor. She was wearing a slip, to make sure the boys wouldn't see her thighs through her dress when the sun was on it.
Just her panties left. My cock was hard and I reached down and removed my pants. She watched with mounting horror, but looked away when I undid the belt. My cock reared up, ready for action. She was frozen to the spot, blushing and looking away. I took off my shirt and then grabbed her panties by the elastic and tore them off.
Her nakedness took my breath away. She was so perfect! I had pictured her in my dreams being like this. Her hips were firm with a small triangle of pubic hair nestling between her full thighs, and she was trying to cover all of her vital parts with her hands.
I wrenched them out of the way and caressed her, my breath shallow and fast, all my blood draining down into my cock as month of lust came to a head.
Once again I grabbed hold of her and pushed her down onto the couch, arranging her legs so that one of them was draped over the back, the other on the floor. She tried to resist but couldn't seem to coordinate herself. That gave me enough time to slip down between her legs, the knob of my dick pushing into her hairy cunt lips to get at her hole.
She was crying, but making no attempt to stop me. Her cunt was dry, so dry that I couldn't get it up her. With a curse I jumped up and rushed into the bathroom where I found a jar of facial cream. My finger dipped into the goo and slapped it around her cunt hole. Then I threw the jar aside and got on top of her again, this time shoving my cock up her without the slightest difficulty.
Rita screamed with pain as my cock burst through the final barrier, and that was the end of her virginity. At least I could take comfort in the fact that she hadn't been screwing around.
I couldn't describe to you how wonderful it felt to be inside her body. A multitude of feelings swirled up inside me, such a powerful barrage of sensations that I blew a gusher of sperm into her within the first minute of fucking. Because there was still so much left, my cock reared up once more and I fucked her hard and fast for a long time before I shot again, and my lust was spent.
As soon as I got off her she rushed into the bathroom, sobbing. I heard the shower running. If that was to be the pattern of our married bliss, I was better off leaving her at once. But I dressed and found a sponge in the kitchen with which to wipe the blood and sperm off the upholstery, then I took her torn clothing and put it into the incinerator.
When it had been burnt to ashes, I went back into the house and did my best to comfort her. Rita had changed clothes by now and to all appearances it looked as though nothing had happened. And the wedding took place as scheduled. Rita was a radiant bride, I was a handsome groom, and our folks were busting with pride.
Little did they know that the nuptial bed was a refrigerator that night. She won't forgive me, Doc, and she says she wouldn't have married me if she hadn't given her word so long ago. Rita doesn't like to lose face in front of friends.
And now she's about to come join me here at the base. I can't face it. Our honeymoon was hell on earth, and if that's what the rest of our marriage is going to be like, then I'm copping out. What can I do? I adore her, but as a human being she's turned into a real asshole. I blame myself, too. I keep thinking she might have been great but for my recklessness. Still, I want a woman for a wife, not a work of art!
First of all, Rita must have been terrified of sex long before he foisted it on her. Had she been half a woman, she would have understood you much better, and she might have either averted the incident, or brought it about and enjoyed it.
He had been reckless, so much was true, but I sympathized with his plight. The question now was how to get her to take a more open view of sex. That was tricky. All I could suggest was that he should take no notice of her rebuttals. She probably loved him as much as he loved her, and deep inside she had to be a woman. It was up to him to uncover it and nurture it to full bloom, no matter how much she might fight against him.
INTERVIEW TWO
Ensign Paul B. returned to my office some weeks later, looking less than pleased with the world. We talked for a while before he began his account, because he was edgy and not a little sullen. Finally, he shrugged and started to talk of his own free will.
The reason the Navy psychiatrist sent me to you was to see if you could cure me of my listlessness. You see, while I was waiting for Rita to finalize the move to the base, I couldn't get my mind off the problem. I was inattentive, sullen, and given to long sessions of introspection. He's sent me back now and for the same reasons.
X thought your advice was pretty sound, Doctor, but now I'm not so sure. Things have changed, but not nearly enough to make me feel pleased with my lot. Rita is here now, and we're making spine kind of home for ourselves. But our love nest has a lot of loose strands.
Anyway, I'll give you the story from the start to finish. As soon as she joined me at the base, I did my best to come on like Mr. Nice Guy. I told her how sorry I was about the slip I'd made before our wedding and she seemed to accept that. We talked about the whole thing for the first time, and she seemed to open up to me more.
But when I began to explain how her body was made for loving, she closed right back down again. I couldn't figure it out and it took a lot of cajoling to get her to tell me the reasons for her narrowness.
She had a long story about how her mother had always told her sex was filthy, how her parents had never enjoyed sex at any stage of their marriage, and so to her it was only normal that sex be kept way in the background. Rita talked for a long time, actually, which made her think maybe there was some hope for us yet.
At the end of her tale, I told her to come into the bedroom with me and to lie with me naked. She balked at first, but then I reminded her of her wifely duty, and so she came with me. I guess it was the old story of leading the horse to water all over.
When she was naked, I lay beside her, and began to point out the parts of our bodies that could give us both a great deal of pleasure if she would only relax. She tried, she really did, but it was hard for her. I told her about her nipples, and the way they would respond to caresses if she let them, about her breasts, and the various parts of her cunt that could make her feel good.
Rita was dubious, but listening. As I explained the function of the body to her, I shifted about until I was prone between her legs, just inches between my face and her little blonde cunt, looking at it closely, so closely that my attention wandered. Rita tried to close her legs and to cover her box with her hands, but I was firm. I wanted to explore it fully and in the process illustrate its possibilities for her.
My fingers moved in between her cunt lips and opened it right up till her pink insides bulged out towards me. She became very uneasy and tense, but her hands gripped hold of the bedclothes for support as though she was in the dentist's chair, and she managed to put up with it. I sort of lost touch with her discomfort as my tongue descended on her cunt.
Her tender flesh excited me immensely. I let it roam freely, slithering about her clitoris and down into her cunt hole, looking for drops of nectar in vain. Even that failed to avert me. I was just so pleased to finally be in a position to explore her beauty that the finer considerations went by the board.
I kissed her all over her thighs, around the perimeter of her chubby box, tugged at her pubic hair with my lips, and allowed my hands to slip up under her buttocks to squeeze them in time with my oral caresses. The whole world disappeared as her cunt loomed large on my consciousness. Above the hairline her breasts quivered, and that was all I could see; therefore, it was all that existed.
Perhaps my timing was too hasty, perhaps I should have started at the other end, I don't know. In any case, she burst out in tears again, just when most woman would have attained a great big climax. If I hadn't been so worked up I might have released her, at least until she calmed down. But I was .well past the point of no return, lusting for her flesh with my whole body.
Every part of her aroused only desire in me. Even her tears heated me up. My cock was so hard that it was plowing into the bedcovers in a desperate bid for relief of the ache burning inside it. My hands closed around her tits, delighting in their resilience. How could it be that every bit of her was so incredibly sensual, and that her mind wasn't!
Then she started to beg me to desist. "Later," she told me. "Try again later. I can't go through with this any more. It's dirty and filthy! Everything you do disgusts me!"
"Everything?" I said, raising my head from her cunt for a moment. "You mean to say you don't like any of this?"
"Really, Paul, I hate it. Please get away from my vagina. I'm sure it can't be any fun for you and it certainly isn't for me. Let's just take a nap or a cold shower or something. I'm sorry, but it's just as disgusting as mother told me it would be."
She meant it, all right. Her face was twisted up in disgust and she could hardly stand to look at me. That same angry, red lust boiled up in me, and I didn't do a thing to fight it. What the hell, she was my wife; rape was legal now, and she was going to get it whether she liked it or not!
To make it easier to enter her, I stuck a finger way up her cunt, grimacing viciously at her as she tried to squirm out of my grip. I hooked my finger deep into her cunt, and added another to it just for good measure. My cock stuck out like a lance, and each time she caught an eyeful of it, she increased her efforts to escape.
Even that added to my lust. No matter how she tried to get away, I just kept on fingering her, squatting between her legs like a fiend, working my fingers in and out of her box till it was at least relaxed enough to admit one.
Pushing extra hard, I managed to get a third finger up her cunt and stirred them round and round till I figured the time was right. She was yelling and crying, beating her fists against the bed in frustration and anger. And when my body came on top of hers, she started to lay into me, beating me wherever she could.
"Hold it!" I said nastily. "You hit me once more and I'm going to blacken both your eyes, you hear! I've had it with this virginity bit. You're "going to take what's coming to you, and I don't care if you don't enjoy it!"
Already my cock was at her cunt's entrance, barging its way inside in spite of her dryness. She began to sob as though her heart was breaking. I shoved extra hard, and my tool moved right up at her. Then I let her have it. One stroke followed the other, bashing into her cunt with a vengeance, taking out a month of unanswered demands.
Nothing was held back during that fuck. It was as though I realized this would be the last chance I'd have for uninhibited sex and I laid into her with everything I had. Her cunt flesh was hot and dry around my cock, making it hard for me to stop from blowing. I might as well have been fucking her ass! She was so tight, so unyielding, and yet during the fuck I was having the time of my life.
Only when it was over did misgivings assail me. We hadn't made one inch of progress since our wedding day. She was just as upset, just as quick to get under the shower, and I was just as frustrated as ever when you got right down to it. Hell, I don't ask for much from life, Doctor. Just a good woman while I'm home. The time would come when I'd have to set out for sea again, and then what?
The other sailors managed to make do with any girl they could find. When they came home their wives might proffer frozen asses, but at least they had their day elsewhere. I'm not that kind. I don't like to cheat. Rita's the girl for me, no matter what happens.
When she emerged from the bathroom she had her robe on and sat on the edge of the bed rubbing her hair dry. I waited for her to say something, but her lips were sealed. Finally I asked her what she thought of me.
"I love you, Paul," she said, and this time there wasn't a trace of cuteness in her voice. "And I realize I'll have to let you do this as often as you want to. Just don't ask any more of me, because I just can't give it."
"You can!" I shouted. "Dammit, Rita, I know you can! You're a woman all over. It's just your mind that's stopping you from enjoying your own body and mine."
"No, it's not that. I know people were meant to enjoy sex. You've just gone astray, but that will cure itself in time. And I'll wait for that time to come, that's all."
There was simply no point in trying to convince her otherwise. I talked myself blue in the face that night, and it all went over her head. Finally I threw my hands up in the air and dropped the matter. But when she fell asleep I got right back down on her, hoping to instill those feared feelings in her while she wasn't aware of anything.
You should have seen her face when she woke up. Actually her cunt had become quite moist for once, and I had her juices all over my face when she finally woke up to what was going on. She took one look and ran into the bathroom to throw up, then returned with a washcloth and wiped my face down.
A week went by, one of utter frustration. She let me make love to her every night, but it was like fucking a knot hole in a plank! She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, held her breath, and then waited dutifully while I took my pleasure out on her. When it was over, she disappeared into the bathroom and washed herself clean, then came back to bed and tried to make light conversation.
It was driving me crazy! All day I'd walk through the base muttering to myself. In class I was a write-off. Rita was on my mind no matter how much I tried to shrug the matter off. There had to be some way of breaking through. No woman could be such an impregnable fortress. But each time a good idea occurred to me, it failed when put into practice. She was immune to everything I could do for her.
In desperation, I took her to the movies one night without telling her what was playing. She walked into the theater only to be confronted by a couple fucking on the screen, in technicolor and stereo sound. They were balling up a storm, and she was so shocked that she just sat down and gaped at it with her mouth wide open.
It took her about half an hour to regain control of her faculties, and then she just about dragged me out of that place. She told me she had never seen anything so disgusting, and how could people do that, even for money! The film had excited me, though, so I cut another pound of her flesh off, in a manner of speaking.
I guess I should be grateful for small favors. We fuck regularly now, and she even gets moist now and then. The night of the movie was one of those happy nights. She even managed to relinquish her hold on the bedspread to embrace me, but then she must have caught herself at it, and released me as if I was a mangy dog.
The trouble is, Doctor, that the big breakthrough doesn't seem to be getting any closer. No matter how often I fuck her, no matter what I tell her or try to do with her, she just ignores everything! Lately I've taken to prowling around the base at night, to work off steam and in the hope of catching a glimpse of a nude woman in the barracks of the lady sailors. It's driving me around the bend. I stare at women intensely these days, something I had never done even before the wedding. My eyes burn through their clothing, and I reconstruct their naked bodies in my mind, which excites me, and then I end up rushing home to slip Rita a bit!
It's just a vicious cycle as far as I'm concerned. Every night I make love to her, doing everything that's humanly possible to excite her, and all I get as a reward is temporary relief and a little cunt juice now and then. If I try to get down on her she nearly throws a fit. I have to wait till she's in a dead sleep before I can get a taste of cunt, and where's that at?
As for her blowing me, forget it! I suggested to her once and she damn near gagged at the very idea. She thinks I'm perverted, and every night provides her with new evidence to support that suspicion. But what can I do? Is there some kind of sexual miracle that will pull her through her inhibitions and her mental blocks? If there is, I wish you'd tell me about them.
CONCLUSION
I told the Ensign that, in my opinion, he had made more progress than I had hoped for. During the first interview I'd experienced grave misgivings, but the very fact that she became a little moist after seeing other people apparently enjoying sex indicated to me that her frigidity was caused by ignorance rather than a complicated psychological condition.
There wasn't much he could do except plod on, I told him. Sexual breakthroughs did happen, usually after a trauma of some kind. But in most cases, love and patience worked to bring about a gradual conversion. To support this, I quoted him statistics on the average marriage, which showed that many women don't have climaxes until two years of married life had gone by.
Furthermore, her clitoris had to be sensitized. The best way to do that would be to induce her to masturbation and, if that proved impossible, to take advantage of her passiveness during the sexual act to do it himself. The more sensitive that little knob became, I assured him, the more willing she would be to make an effort herself.
He left my office looking less than optimistic, but at least willing to see it through.
However, he called me two weeks later. He reports considerable progress.
CASE HISTORY SIX
Subject: Leroy B.
Age: Twenty-six
INTERVIEW ONE
Leroy is a tall black man, a successful sports executive who came up the hard way. In the course of our preliminary talk, he told me how he'd worked two jobs, put himself through college and fought hard to get what he wanted. Now that he had most of it, and was well on the way towards the rest, all he had gained seemed in jeopardy.
I treat my women badly, Doc, there's no other way to describe it. They like me because I'm making it. I've got a lot of drive, and there's no way I'm going to sink down with my defeated brothers to bitch about the lot of the black man in this country. I'm out for the big stuff, and that's it. They respect that in a man.
In the year that I've been working for this company, I got a long way towards my goals. I guess they needed a token black at first, but I showed them I could do everything a white executive could do and eventually they took me out of my cushy dead-end job and put me in the task force.
The money I made went into a fine apartment with all the trimmings, and a lot of mean rags. The guys I went through high school with had that a long time ago when they got themselves into shit jobs, but then they blew it because they got frustrated about not getting any place. I learned from them, you might say, and I'm going all out to make up for the years lost, years when I was studying my ass off to make it.
At first I was just happy to get laid. But then, as one chick followed the next, I started to get a bit off hand about it. There's a shortage of men in the black community, you understand, and when I worked the odds out, I figured I could well afford to treat them any way I wanted to.
I started to fool around with them, looking for different ways of getting my rocks off. From a straight, energetic lover I began to turn into a kinky player, and from that I went into something more savage, more nasty, as though sex alone wasn't enough to satisfy me.
Now if things hadn't really got out of hand, I wouldn't be seeing you. The last date I had, however, got me worried enough to make the break. I need help, that's for damn sure. There's something nagging at my brain, and from what I can work out, it's the old story all over, the black man getting enough bread together to qualify for a white chick, and then he can't think about anything else.
But let me tell you about my last date. The chick's name is Mary, pretty, light, but black in her soul. I asked her out mainly because her skin was so light, so it really shocked me to find she was one of those tight on women. She insisted on eating in a soul food restaurant, and spent much of the evening bending my ear with her causes.
Now I'm as much for liberation as the next man, but not while I'm chasing ass. That's when I forget about the world, you understand. It's my cock that does the thinking for me. I couldn't make the chick see it, mainly because I was soft-shoeing my way into her heart, and arguing was the way to go about it.
When we got back to my apartment, though, she said something that really got my back up. I forget her exact words, but it was to the effect that white women don't know shit about fucking. The worst thing I could have done was to go against her on that point. Now that I think about it, the best reply would have been an affirmative nod, and the subject would have been dropped.
Hell, there we were, the music throbbing in the background, lights down low, drinking a glass of fine wine, and she just tossed this remark off as a lead-in to the reason why we were together. But I told her she was being a reactionary, and she promptly asked me if I'd ever fucked white. I said that I hadn't, but I sure as hell intended to one day soon.
Well, she launched into a long harangue on how black men ought to stick with black women, how too many blacks were copping out as soon as they were able, and about the struggle of black women to prop up their men's egos just to make them fit to compete in this nasty world.
Then, when she had delivered the finishing touches, she called me a few names and picked up her coat to leave. I said to her, "Hey, baby, ain't you forgetting something?"
"What's that, boy?" she said in a vicious tone of voice.
'There ain't too many studs about these days, and you're likely to go a long time without getting laid if you leave this pad now."
"You stick with them white bitches, honey," she said, putting her coat on. 'They'll take real good care of you."
Like I said, my sex life had taken a few peculiar turns lately, and I figured this was one more. I went over to her and shoved her away from the door, locked it securely, and wheeled her right into my bedroom. She gave me a dirty, cold look and told me I was out of my mind if I expected to get away with this.
I didn't say a word, just took her coat off and turned her around to undo the buttons on her dress. She broke loose and made a run for it, but I was too fast for her. This time I threw her down on the floor and put my knee on" her back while I finished undoing those buttons. Then I tugged at her dress till it was all the way down, and threw it into a corner.
"You'd better change your mind, black boy," she hissed when I let her up. "I ain't going to do you no good, so you might as well get your ass after some nice white tail right now. That's all you want, I can see it in your eyes, you've got white women on your mind, boy, so why don't you try for one?"
She kept on telling me this, and laughing, while I worked at getting her underwear off. The trouble was that I knew she was right. I didn't want her. Good-looking and well-built as she was, I couldn't even get a hard-on looking at her naked body.
That made me madder than hell! I'd never had trouble getting it up, never. And there was that bitch sassing me, giving me shit-it was her fault! I slapped her hard across the face, but she kept right on going, telling me all sorts of things about myself I didn't want to hear.
I took off my clothes, thinking that might make the difference. It didn't. And when she saw my cock dangling between my legs, limp as a pickle, she just poured it on. She began to laugh and point, telling me how those white women were really going to love that little piece of flesh to play with. For a while I tried to get it up by rubbing it and looking at her supple, naked body, but it was useless.
At that point I just lost control. I hit her once, twice, spinning her around the room with my blows, punching her and almost knocking her out. The strange part about it was that the more I hit her, the harder I got! Naturally I hit her even harder, splitting her lip and cutting her face open in the process. When I was my usual rock-hard self, I laid her out on the bed and shoved it right up her. She was only barely conscious of what was happening. Her face was covered in blood, she was moaning with pain, and certainly in no mood for loving.
But I let her have it, anyway. It wasn't one of my better fucks, that's for damn sure. Right then it didn't matter to me. I had to revenge myself on this bitch who'd dared to tell me the truth about myself. My cock pounded into her cunt, working it up till it was wet enough for long, smooth strokes, and she even forgot about the pain for the moment.
Then the reverse started to happen. As soon as it got through to me that she was enjoying herself, my cock started to flag. She was writhing with pleasure, her cunt dripping juice all over the place, and she even embraced me tightly-and my cock lost all of its spirit.
I figured if it worked once, it would work again, so I slapped her about some more. She soon got very pissed with the whole deal and tried to wriggle out from under me. But my cock was right back up there, and so I applied it with great vigor. This happened several times, and by the end of the fuck she was a complete wreck, neither in pain nor in ecstasy, just kind of hanging in between.
Once my sperm was out of me and in her, the fun was over. I rolled off her and told her to get the hell out of my pad, but she couldn't move. Her finger rubbed her clitoris rapidly, and her other hand was on her tit, mauling it as hard as she could, until she let out a deep breath. That's when she started to get the hell out of my piece, and just before she closed the door she called me a whitey lover.
I didn't give a shit. Disgust was the only emotion in my whole body. Of course, she'd told me the truth, even I knew it by that time. But what could I do about it? Whenever I thought of white women, my cock just stood up and my mind went into a dive. I just lay on my bed, trying not to think. Sleep wouldn't come because I was trying too hard.
In the end I got dressed and went to a porno live show, watching white women making out together on the stage. I shouldn't have done that. Instead of easing the pain, it made it a lot worse. I sat there watching their white breasts and their pink nipples, and their blonde-haired cunts, nice straight pubic hair with a little curl here and there, and my fantasies took me into a whole different world of sex.
The idea grew in my mind that white women would give me something I'd never had in my life. There was more to sex, and they would know how to show it to me. I got out of that theater only when the place closed down, having satisfied my visual lust, but fed my body's hunger for white flesh.
On the way home I checked them all out. They were different! Their asses were not as hard, as obtrusive, and their hips were wider. Their flesh quivered more, it was softer and more succulent, and their breasts didn't sag like those of the black women I'd known. No sir, those titties were firm and looked right up at the sky, and they had pink nipples just like those girls on the stage!
At one point I walked so close to a blonde girl with long hair that the wind blew it up into my face. It brushed along my skin like silk, so soft and sensual that only will power prevented me from grabbing it by the handful and burying my face into it.
The next day I woke up with a resolution on my mind. I was going to ask a white girl out. Some of them at work often looked at me in a special way, and previous to that I'd ignored it, thinking they weren't seeing me but the black myth. Now I no longer cared. They could mistake me for King Kong if that was their bag. All I wanted was a shot at their bodies.
There was one girl in particular, tall and slender and blonde. Her name is Lisa, and we had often rapped in the past. It took me all day to work up the nerve to ask her out, but just before it was time to go home I approached her and asked if she'd like to have dinner with me. She accepted with a broad smile that made me weak in the knees.
I met her later in the evening and took her to a nice place. It was hard for me to accept that I was finally on the way to realizing my dream. She sat opposite me at the table, talking and smiling, showing me that she liked me and everything. Only one problem-I became too nervous to do anything about it. It's all in the mind, of course, but I just couldn't see her accepting an invitation to come to bed.
So what happened? Well, after dinner we saw a movie together and then I put her on the subway. I could have killed myself when the train pulled out of the station. She liked me! Dammit, I know she liked me! But there was nothing I could do about it.
Now I know that if I go back to dating black women, my problems are just going to keep on getting worse and worse till I finally kill one of them, or she kills me. Besides, there's no feeling left for them in me. To take another black woman to bed would be like going to bed with a teddy bear when you're twenty-one.
I'm not saying anything against my people, certainly not the women. It's my problem, it's in my head, and that's that. Hell, they've always been good to me, and when I'm in a more reasonable frame of mind, I just know white women couldn't be any better than black women in bed, or out of bed for that matter. But it's a fixation, I can't just shrug it off and be done with it. So what's the answer, Doc, do I take a break from women altogether, or do I look for a black woman who can put up with the kind of shit I deal out?
After some thought, I suggested to Leroy that he go ahead with his quest for Lisa. Even though it might be hard in the beginning, he would soon find that his sense of inferiority was in his own mind, too. Apart from the fact that it had become something fashionable for a white girl to do at least once in her life, each day saw new ground being broken in race relations.
And even if he wasn't successful with Liza, it meant nothing. He was a good-looking man, intelligent and personable, all of them qualities which transcended the barriers of race. Obviously he had to keep moving forward in his life, especially now that he had committed himself to this course of action. I agreed with him that to turn back to the relative safety of black women would only result in more violent outbursts.
So I wished him luck and recommended he come back to see me if there were any more complications.
INTERVIEW TWO
Leroy was in better spirits when he returned to my office, though he seemed a little dubious about a number of matters. He began by asking me a series of questions, none of which I could answer until I had all the facts at my disposal.
Okay, Doc, I'll tell you what happened with Lisa. She turned out to be a real nice girl, real nice. I asked her out again shortly after I'd left you, and she accepted with that same broad smile. This time we went to my apartment. I promised her some cooking that would make her hair curl, and she said she couldn't wait to taste it.
She showed up right on time, wearing a pair of crotch-hugging jeans and a low-cut top under her thick coat. The moment I took it off, I was awe struck by her beauty. Those big white tits bulged up at me, promising me unheard of delights, and the way her ass moved as she walked over to a chair was enough to turn my head around a few times.
I still didn't feel too confident, though, so I got down to cooking a big meal. But her image burned a hole through me all the time I was busy in the kitchen. The way her full, plump buttocks had quivered under the faded denim especially got to me.
We ate and drank, both of us having a fine time, and later on we sat in front of an open fire I'd whipped for the occasion, feeling nice and mellow. The intimacy between us was growing by the minute, but there was still something holding me back. You were right when you said inferiority feelings exist only in the mind.
I must have been a bit too slow for her or something, because suddenly her hand was on my cock. And while I was trying to sort my brain out, she fondled it slowly, her eyes fixed on mine. Then she opened my trousers up and took it out. Well, it was long and hard, and she let out a little squeal of delight, then bent down over it and licked all the way around the knob of it.
Her long, silky hair brushed along my balls and made me shiver all over. I figured that since she was having such a nice time, I might as well let her go ahead. But to help her along a little, I slipped my pants off.
Lisa got down on my cock like she'd been hungering for it all night. Her mouth enveloped it and she took as much of it as she could inside till the knob bumped against her throat. Her white, slender fingers were caressing my thighs and feeling my balls, and those long blonde locks of hers just kept on titillating the hell out of me.
In a way, I felt as though I was the one getting raped here. I don't know why women complain about rape, it's a mighty nice feeling-but then I wanted it to happen, that's the difference. I waited for a long as I was able to restrain myself, then began to caress her hair, running my black fingers through it and marveling at the length and the texture of it. Never in my whole life had I felt anything as soft and beautiful.
Then I began to pull her top out of her pants, and over her head. She interrupted her sucking for a moment to let me get it off, and I discovered those tits were standing up all by themselves. No bra, nothing, just firm, rounded flesh with nipples that were hard and light pink. Once again, she sank her face way down over my cock and her nipples rested on my thigh. I could feel them right through my whole body!
I reached down and took one of her tits into the palm of my hand, rubbing it lightly for a while, just to get the feel of it. Firm, resilient and yet as soft as anything I'd ever known. Her tits made me want to squeeze her till her tit came off. And all the while her tongue kept spiraling about my cock, the wet friction of it sending bursts of hot and cold tingles through my loins.
Suddenly I wanted to see all of her. I helped her up gently, though she was still very much intent on eating my dick. She looked so beautiful in front of the open fire, slightly distracted and helpless, and she let me take her jeans off without taking her eyes off my cock. Her white skin was even whiter around her panties, so white it dazzled me.
Her panties were the last to go, and there was that blonde little cunt, nestled between her firm thighs, just waiting for me. Since she was so eager to go back down on me, we worked out a most agreeable compromise. We lay down on the bear skin in front of the fire, with me burying my face between her thighs while she put my cock back into her mouth and started to suck on it as though she wanted to extract my innards through it.
Her soft pubic hair caressed my face, and I was content just to rub my face against it. But then I got the whiff of her essence, and that compelled me to dip right in. She was tasty and tender, her cunt opening like a ripe fig at the merest touch of my tongue. I let it slither along her inner lips, picking up on whatever moisture had been gathered there, slowly working down to her cunt hole.
We remained in that position for a long time. There were moments when I could hardly hold my boiling sperm back, but I did it because I wanted to go the whole way with her. Not that I was worried about failing erections anymore. The way her body made me feel, I figured I could go half a dozen times without straining. But I wanted the first sexual experience with a white woman to be perfect and complete.
At last I pulled my cock out of her mouth and sat with my back resting against the couch. Then I held my arms out to her and she straddled me so that her cunt snaked over my cock. I watched her blonde lips part under the pressure my knob was putting on her hole. My -hands reached out and pulled those plump buttocks apart to widen the entrance. Then my cock slipped up inside her.
She moved up and down for a while to work the juices around the knob, then sat down on it with a deep sigh of satisfaction. Her big tits quivered sensually while she was doing that, and I leaned forward to catch one of her nipples between my lips, to suck on it fiercely while she completed her project.
When we were joined together, we rested for a while. I was bursting with happiness, and her eyes gleamed feverishly. Then I grabbed her by her firm hips and began to pump her up and down over my cock, using her whole body to provide me with the stimulation my body had been waiting for. At the same time I shook her about so that her cunt chafed against my pubic bone. That gave her clit a hell of a time, and her eyes rolled back in ecstasy as she climaxed.
From that point on we went at it hammer and tongs. We fucked in that position for a while, then I put her down on her back and mounted her to ram my cock into her from a long distance just to get the thrust I wanted. When it plunged up her blonde box, she let out a long whoop of delight, and I closed in on her so that our bodies were fused while my cock thumped deeper and deeper up her.
Her ass was in my hands, soft and yielding, a little flabby perhaps, but that only delighted me more. I kissed her tits, her neck, her lips, pounding away like I was grinding grain inside her cunt. And Lisa bounced from on orgasm to the next, lost in her pleasures.
I lasted for a long time, even though my system was at fever pitch. But then my sperm blew up her cunt, and slowly our fucking subsided into satisfied undulations. We were both grinning sheepishly, and I could hardly wait for the next one. That wasn't long in coming. A few minutes after I'd blown my wad, she was back down on my cock, and the night sped by as we fucked our way into the dawn.
We took a day off from work and made love until we dropped into a coma. As soon as we woke up we were at it again. This girl was wearing me down to a frazzle. But I loved every second of it. All my fantasies came true, I did everything to her that I'd wanted to do to a white woman. We fucked and sucked, bathed together only to start afresh, fingering, probing, licking, and fucking some more.
By the time she had to go home, I was almost glad to see her leave. I was bushed, man, there wasn't a reserve of energy in my body that hadn't bee tapped and exhausted. Luckily the weekend began the following day, or I wouldn't have made it to work for the second day in a row. I slept all Saturday, and on Sunday Lisa was knocking at my door again.
We did a lot of talking that day, though, in between screwing. She told me that I was the finest lover she'd ever had, and that I was the first black man she'd been to bed with. Her white lovers had been real drop-outs from the sound of it, and I felt pleased. Whitey might be good at a lot of things, but loving wasn't his bag apparently.
A week went by, a time of constant lovemaking. By the end of it, I was getting a bit tired of her. Hell, this girl never got enough! I tried some of my best performances on her, only to find her begging for more at the end of them. A man can only dish out so much, right? And I was scraping the bottom of my barrel to come up with more.
Also at this time I started to notice black women again. There was something about them, something very subtle, that started to work on me again. Their asses were so fine and firm, and rolled so smoothly as they walked, not like Lisa's which tended to fold in the middle. And so what if their breasts sagged? They were soft and succulent for all that.
I began to watch them more carefully, and I noticed how they talked, full of life, always with a beat running through them. Lisa, on the other hand, could get really monotonous when she became entangled in a rap of some kind. Her voice tended to stay at the same pitch, a lament for her wasted years of getting badly screwed, Perhaps I wouldn't have done anything about it if Mary hadn't crossed my path again. I was walking back home one evening after work, feeling the need to get a little exercise after a day of sitting down. There she was, in her dashiki and her turban, looking proud and beautiful, strutting along as if she was on her way to a coronation.
I stopped her, and she looked at me with disdain. "What's up, black boy?" she said unkindly. "Can't get yourself any white ass, is that what you're going to tell me? Well, take your problems somewhere else, because I ain't interested."
"Wait," I said, taking hold of her arm, "that's not why I stopped you. I feel badly about the other night, and I want to make up for it."
"Like I said," she said, "you can't get yourself a white lady, so now you're back down here slumming again."
"You're wrong! I've had so much white ass lately that it's coming out of my ears."
"Aha," she said triumphantly. "And it's not your thing, right? I could have told you that before you started. White women don't know what it's for except to piss out of."
"I wouldn't say that," I shrugged. "Actually she was damn good, but she couldn't get enough."
She stared at me for a moment, and I figured I'd said the wrong thing again. But then she laughed and agreed to have dinner with me. In the course of it I told her everything. Somehow I felt I could tell Mary what was on my mind because she was strong and understanding. If I had told Lisa the same things, she would have left me in a huff.
Mary understood, she really did. I got it all off my mind and then we went back to my place to see if the same malady still existed. I knew very well that it was gone, but it was as good an excuse as any to invite her home with me. And this time there were no problems.
She unwrapped her lithe body and tossed the dashiki aside, and displayed her body to me with obvious pleasure. I took my clothes off and together we walked into the bedroom to see how it was between us.
When my hand felt the familiar tight curls covering her cunt, it tingled with pleasure. Her soft big tits filled my mouth, and her hand closed around my cock, beating it off slowly as she moaned with pleasure. We made love that night, real love, fireworks and all, and there wasn't a thought in my mind about white women.
I guess that made all the difference. When you're happy with what you've got, you can really enjoy it. Now I'm not saying that I'd never touch a white woman again as along as I live. Far from it. Women are women, no matter what color they are and they're all beautiful, just as they're all pink inside.
The main point is, in Mary I found something that Lisa couldn't give me. And, going by what I know of the other white girls at the office, they couldn't give it either. They would wilt where Mary would rally. And they would give up where she would begin. I guess all the questions I had for you in the beginning have all been answered now that I've gone through the whole experience again.
You seem what confused me was why I should want to return to black women when I've had so many of them, and why I didn't strike out further into white territory. I couldn't figure out why Mary had drawn me so much, but all that is obvious now. It's not a matter of being with my own people or anything, just personal standards and aesthetics. What do you think, Doc?
CONCLUSION
I agreed with him wholeheartedly. His case, as it turned out, had been less of the classical racial dilemma, as a lesson about women. Leroy had learned that there were more than two kinds of women, that, in fact, they were all different. And these differences don't include racial differences. They're variations in personality, background, attitudes, and the rest.
All I could really do was congratulate him on discovering what most men never realize, that every woman has her own needs and her own talents.
CASE HISTORY SEVEN
Subject: Carl B.
Age: Thirty-four
INTERVIEW ONE
Carl is a handsome man, a smooth talker, very much the salesman in the way he dresses and conducts himself. Even though his problem was a serious one, he managed to project confidence, contentment, and �lan. It wasn't till halfway through the interview that he showed any signs of nervousness or conscience.
I'm a pretty successful guy, Doc, a beautiful wife, a bunch of kids, and a big income. They regard me as one of the best in my insurance company. I guess I sell more policies than the other salesmen, but then I put my heart into it where the others just fuck around.
My job is to go from door to door offering low-premium short-term policies to housewives. They sell like hot cakes, mainly because everyone can afford a few bucks a month on life insurance. So I could make a good living by just working normal hours. Only I'm out for all I can get. Consequently, I don't get to see my family very much, and when I do get home I have to relax completely, just to be fit enough to get into it the following day.
Just between you and me, my sex life tends to be at a low ebb at home. I make up for it on the beat. You'd be surprised how many policies I sell that way. Those lonely, bored housewives will do anything for a stray bit, and I'm just the boy to give it to them.
I could tell you stories that would make you quit this job and get into the same racket. But that's not what I'm here for and time is money, as they say. My problem is that I don't like to be rejected. Now that's not abnormal, is it? I mean, if a woman shows she wants to lay you, and then backs out, a man has every right to take her by force.
That's happened to me a few times now, and so far I've been lucky. The suburban women don't like to make a fuss. And since they're all on the pill just in case something like me comes along, they'd just as soon wipe the traces away and forget about it.
What worries me is that one of them might squawk. Some of them are hysterical enough to do it, you know what I mean? They might cry on hubby's shoulder and he'd run to the cops, and the next thing you know they're locking me up. I don't want that, no sir, I've got a brilliant future ahead of me. It pisses me off just to think that one of those sluts has the power to put me away.
Anyway, that's another matter, and we could talk about it all day without getting anywhere. The point is that I've been raping women in the past few months, and I don't really understand what's happening. Before they used to fall around my neck and beg me to come to bed. Perhaps I'm getting old, losing that youthful charm, what do you think? Do I look my age? I could still pass for twenty-five if I wanted to.
The last time I raped a woman was the other week. I came to her door and right off I could tell she had hot pants. You get to know these things after a few years on the beat. A certain gleam in their eyes, the way they smile and talk, and invite you in for a cup of coffee, that sort of thing. I call it body language, and believe me, those women can speak volumes just with a twitch of their hips or a wink.
So this lady invited me inside, saying I must be tired from walking around all day. She wore a simple dress, cut to emphasize her voluptuous figure, and since it had been some time since the last one, I figured I might as well fuck this one. Blonde and curvy, with plenty of tit showing, she chattered to me while she boiled the water, and I was just waiting for her to be through with the preliminaries so we could get down to business.
On that day I was a little behind in my quota. Time was pressing in on me. And the way that woman talked you'd think she'd been released from solitary. But I drank the coffee and told her about the policies. She bought a small one, offered me another cup, and when I said I'd had enough she got up to open the door for me.
Well, that really riled me. She had been telling me with her body how she couldn't wait to be screwed, and now she was playing hard to get. I just grabbed her around the waist, kicked the door closed, and dragged her over to the couch. She pretended to be surprised by my behavior, but I figure that all women mean yes when they say no, so I went right ahead and stripped her clothes off her.
She was a real dish, Doc, a honey. Whoever married her knew what he was doing. A thick pelt of dark hair covered her cunt, and her tits were white as snow, bright and ripe, just the kind I like to get my hands on. So I felt her up, nothing wrong with that, but she was kicking up a fuss like I was about to murder her.
I slapped her like she was hysterical, and she started to cry. That makes me mad, when women pull that sobbing stunt. Dammit, they know what's going on, and what can it cost them to put out once in a while, even if it is for charity? By that time I saw that I had figured her wrong, that she wasn't in the market for a screw. But her body was too good to pass up.
She began to scream, and this time I let fly with a couple of quick punches that knocked her out. She fainted on me. Well, that wasn't going to stop old Carl. I took my pants off and sat on the couch to finger her. Her cunt was such a delightful little pussy that I toyed with it for a long time before getting down to the real business.
When she came round, I was humping her like a maniac. I loved the way she had been lying still, offering me no resistance and letting me take all of her body for my own pleasure. But as soon as she realized what was happening, she started to scream the house down.
I covered her mouth with my hand and kept on pumping my cock up her cunt with all of my might. Her eyes were wide open and wild with fear, staring at me as though I was some kind of a diseased monster, and when she realized there was little she could do about the whole thing, she just lay there whimpering.
To tell you the truth, Doc, I felt sorry for her. Suddenly a lot of the pleasure went out of it for me. I had been wrong, dead wrong. This woman didn't want a cock up her at all. She probably loved her husband or something. And then another thought occurred to me-maybe I'm getting soft, you know, but I couldn't help but wonder how I'd feel if I found my wife getting humped by a stranger.
That almost killed my erection. I shoved the notion out of my mind and kept fucking her, looking at her luscious body and enjoying it for what it was. Besides, I told myself all women are sluts, they're always begging for it, and they can never get enough, no matter how hard a man works at it.
That led to more unpleasant thoughts, so I blew quickly and got the hell out of there. I couldn't stop thinking, though. As soon as I was clear of the neighborhood, I went into a bar and ordered a double shot to soothe myself with.
I have to make a clean breast of the matter, Doc, it's no point trying to pull the wool over your eyes. Here I am, paying you money to figure my mind out, yet I keep on talking to you like I'm trying to sell you on something. My wife, Sandra, gives me an awful time.
There, I've said it. That's how it is. She makes my life a misery for me. A long time ago, soon after we were first married, she began to make impossible demands on me. I couldn't make love to her nearly as much as she wanted me to. Once a night, maybe twice, that's fair enough. But she wanted it before and after meals, and twice when we went to bed.
I couldn't do it. No way! Finally I asked her what the hell the matter was with her, and she explained that I didn't satisfy her or something, that I was too quick to get in and out. Now I ask you, Doc, is that any way for a lady to talk to her man? What did she want me to do? Become a sexual gymnast? To make it worse she refused to suck my cock. She said if it wasn't good enough for me to go down on her, then she had no intention of going down on me.
From there on, our sex life grew less intense, to put it mildly. I didn't love her any the less, but I made sure I kept my distance. The housewives I fucked never complained. They thought I was terrific. I remember one time when I struck the same customer twice. She dragged me into bed, and begged me to do it to her again.
All those things went through my mind while I was taking a drink in that dingy bar. I occurred to me that my wife probably had herself a boyfriend some place, and that he made love with her while I was out slogging a beat to make a decent living for the family. The unfairness of it hit me square between the eyes. What right did she have to carry on while I was working my heart out?
And then my mind jumped the track, because I thought of the poor slobs who were doing the same thing while their wives were putting out for me. What a vicious world it is, Doc, when you get right down to it. Women have got it easy. Don't tell me about the weaker sex. All they do is hang about the house getting themselves screwed by every Tom, Dick, and Harry who passes by.
I had one more drink and went back out to work. A few houses and a few policies later, I was invited in once again, this time by a pretty little woman who said she knew what a drag it was to go from door to door. She made me feel at home and I watched her as she made a drink for us. Then she sat down opposite me and began to talk.
Confused as I was, there was no mistaking her intentions. She began to tell me about her husband, what a poor lover he was and how she could never seem to find satisfaction in bed. The story had a familiar ring to it, but nothing was connecting. All I could think about was the way her dress was high up on her thighs, and that she wore blue panties.
Then she came over and sat down beside me, asking me if I would be a better lover than her husband. Sure, I told her, I can make you see stars if that's what you want. She stood up and took her clothes off, to display her body for a while. And then she said for me to show her what I was made of.
I was pretty quick to react. My clothes came off in a hurry, and by the time I was naked she was already on her back, stretched along the couch like a cat purring after a good meal. At once I got on top of her and she was so wet inside that my cock slipped into her nice and easy. This girl was no virgin! Two of me could have fitted into her cunt without crowding each other.
But I did my best, fucking her with all my remaining strength. Two in a row is enough to put a strain on any man, right? All in all, I think I did pretty well. I lay my cock into her cunt like a piston, pumping it up and down until I blew my wad up her.
To my surprise she wasn't very pleased at all, nowhere as pleased as I was, that's for sure. She got up and spread her legs to let my sperm dribble down on the carpet, all the while looking at me with ice in her eyes. Then she said, "Is that the best you can do? Boy, my husband is a professional stud compared to you, buster."
Suddenly she turned into my wife. It wasn't an hallucination or anything weird like that but I could just hear Sandra telling some guy the same thing, and that made me furious. I drew my fist back and let her have it right in the face. "Don't you talk like that about your husband," I yelled, hitting her over and over. "You fucking women have nothing better to do than screw, but we men have to work till we drop, just so you can have it nice and easy, and then you expect us to be great lovers as well."
She ran to the other side of the room, cringing in a corner saying she didn't mean it that way, I was very good, excellent, the best she'd ever had. Of course, I knew she was bullshitting but I figured she'd learned her lesson. I got dressed and went back to work. It was a bad day for me. I didn't sell enough to satisfy me, and her words kept rankling through my mind.
I couldn't figure it out then, and I still can't. What did she have to get nasty for? I fucked her fair and square, she had no cause to complain. Tell me, Doc, what's the matter with those women-and me?
Much as I disliked Carl, I did my best to explain matters to him. First of all, I told him, you're an insufferable prick, though I couched this remark in professional language. I made it clear to him that he was at fault right down the line. He raped women because it assuaged his subconscious insecurity, he resented their apparently easy life because he hated his job, and he thought they were all sex crazy because he himself had proved inadequate in bed.
What he really ought to do is take a good look at himself, I advised. Read books about sex, talk with other men about how they satisfy their wives, and try experimenting. His wife was by no means a nymphomaniac if she was still with him. She was to be commended for her loyalty, and the least he could do to repay her was by learning how to become a consummate lover.
I followed this advice up with some hints on what a lover ought to be. It wasn't enough to whip it in, blow, and wipe it off. A man had to be sensitive to the woman's needs before he stood a chance of fulfilling her. And unless he did, he would slowly but surely wreck himself by trying to escape from himself.
Carl left my office with his tail between his legs, and I couldn't help but wonder if he had the guts to try to straighten his life up.
INTERVIEW TWO
Apparently I'd been too harsh in judging Carl. When he came back to my office, he looked much better. The bombast was gone and in its place there was the kind of self-assurance that can only be acquired on the battle field of the bedroom.
You really knocked me out of the ball park with your remarks, Doc, you really did. Everything suddenly came together for me, and I realized how I'd been blaming all my problems on other people, especially on Sandra. When all that clicked, I could hardly wait to get home, to begin making it up to her.
Sandra was hardly prepared for my ebullience, and she backed off when I began to make advances towards her. She thought I was drunk, you see. So I took the hint, retreating until a better time offered itself, and in the meantime I began to look at what had become of my family.
I noticed she looked a little worn, very unhappy, and that the kids avoided me as far as decently possible. Even though the surroundings were beautifully kept and luxuriously decked out, there was an empty atmosphere in the house. Something was lacking, and it didn't take wizard to figure out that something was me. I wondered why none of that had been evident to me before. But then I was too wrapped up in myself to see anything.
The more I saw, the more angry I became with myself. I couldn't stand myself anymore. Everything pointed to failure, and I won't buy failure, Doc, I'll have nothing to do with it. But it was all around me! The whole house closed in on me, all my faults, all my doings, just stifling me until I jumped up and walked quickly out of the house.
The night air freshened me up a little. I began to walk briskly down the tree lined streets of my suburb, breathing deeply on the way, jogging a little. I tried not to think about anything, but it was hard to stop those disturbing thoughts from breaking loose in my head. Nothing I did helped me very much. Frustrations and bitterness filled my heart.
Then I saw a young woman walking towards me. She was so pretty and soft and loving that I just wanted to sink my head between her breasts and rest a while. Nothing else. Just a small holiday from the troubles of the world, if you know what I mean. I was so distracted that it never occurred to me she mightn't feel up to it.
As she neared me, she began to get a little shifty eyed, but she kept on walking. I grabbed her by the shoulders and began to tell her everything, everything, and it wasn't making any sense to her. She tried to push me away, but I was addressing her big breasts. My hands moved inside her coat and reached for her blouse, taking the thin material in both hands and ripping it open.
The woman was scared stiff! She did her best to run away, but I put one arm around her back and held her close to me. Only her bra was in the way. I ripped it off her and slowly sank my face in between the two big orbs of flesh that proffered themselves to me. It felt so good, so soothing, so restful to have her tits pressing against either side of my face, and for my mouth to press against her breastbone.
She didn't see it that way. Even though I was just taking a break, she kept on yelling and struggling, until she made me good and mad. Then I looked up at her and punched her right in the middle of her face, and I punched her till she shut up. If she hadn't kept on yelling, I wouldn't have done this, but she had raised my hackles but good!
I tore her dress off and pushed her up against a tree, well away from the next puddle of light cast by the street lamps. She tried to keep her legs closed, and in that position it wasn't easy to keep them open with my knees. But I put my hand around her throat and threatened to choke her if she didn't relax.
My cock was hard as horn, and it pushed into her hairy pussy with quick, short jabs to work its way into her rapidly moistening love channel. She just whimpered now and then, but for the rest she was offering no resistance. I fucked her good and fast, suckling her tits while I shoved my cock up her. She was pretty tall for a girl, which helped.
I kept on fucking until I'd had enough. I don't even remember if I blew my load or not, it wasn't important at the time. What was important was her body, her femininity, her beg breasts and her pussy, all those havens for the weary. That's my problem, tiredness, bone weariness. But she didn't understand that, Doc, she thought I was just another guy out to cut a little ass off for myself!
I ended up in a bar that night, drinking heavily and muttering to myself about the state of the world. Even though the drinks went down fast, I couldn't make myself forget what you'd told me, that the things I hated most in life were in me, and I was just projecting them to make them go away. That thought scratched a deep rut into my brain that night, deep enough to survive my drunkenness.
The next day I called in sick and lay in bed while Sandra brought me coffee and aspirins. The kids were away at school, there was just the two of us, alone together for the first time in years, and suddenly I felt like telling her everything. I figured if I could tell you those things about myself, I could certainly tell her!
So I did. It was very hard at first, but I made it, and she surprised my by listening very carefully. At the end of my confession she shook her head and told me she'd had some idea of my problem for a long time, but I had been so unapproachable on the subject that she'd done her best to ignore it.
And then a strange thing happened. She took off her clothes and got into bed with me, nestling up to me so that her small, firm breasts were pushing against my skin, and her pussy moved softly along my thigh. Yet, for all that, it wasn't so much a sexual gesture as friendly reassurance, like I was a good dog and she was patting me.
Somehow it moved me to tears, and I buried my face between her breasts to let it all out. I cried for a long time, and it was as though I was being cleansed inside. Everything began to feel better to me, especially Sandra's body.
My hands came over her breasts and fondled them lightly, just experiencing their softness, and she kissed me on the lips, smiling now. I told her I wanted to be the greatest lover in the world for her, and she said we would both work at that. Then she started telling me about the pleasures the body held, for us both if we could just learn to enjoy them with an open mind.
Right then I was prepared to do anything. I looked down and saw her pubic bush, so familiar yet so new, and without thinking about it I slipped down till my face buried itself between her legs. To tell the truth, at first I wasn't too pleased with what I found there. It was hot and hairy down there, I didn't feel right about being down on a woman's piss hole.
But then a funny thing happened. My mouth pushed into her hairy lips and some moisture came to my tongue, a delicious tasting fluid that reminded me of mushrooms. It was heavy and tantalizing, and my tongue moved into her cunt a little way to see if there was anymore to be found there.
There was plenty! Sandra lay back with her legs wide apart, moaning softly as my tongue went to work on her, scooping up those big drops of fluid and swallowing them greedily. More of her cunt began to appeal to me. I pushed the tip of my tongue into that soft hole, deep into her mysterious passage, and she let out a squeal of pleasure. Then up to the top of her slit, right on to the love button, pressing it hard with my lips and sucking it into my mouth.
I was amazed at the effect that had on her. And I was no less amazed at what it did for me. My cock seemed to grow a few more inches while I was down on her, so thrilling was her cunt to me. I don't want to even think about all those years I denied myself the pleasure of her box now!
I made a real pig of myself down there, eating and slobbering, just burrowing into her cunt like I was trying to escape. And Sandra climaxed several times in a row, just because I was eating her ! That pleased me immensely, so much so that I decided to be really daring.
My tongue moved down a little way, brushing past the dense pubic hair till it arrived at her asshole. Her response was immediate and sharp. Her legs flew up into the air and her hands held her ass open so I could have free access to her last orifice. Gingerly at first, I tasted her asshole, and found it sweet and musky, warm and soft, and just plain delicious!
Without any further ado I eased the tip of my tongue inside, moving it in and out rapidly, and Sandra gave me a standing ovation for my troubles. Her enjoyment infected me somehow, and I just kept on doing it until my tongue felt numb.
Then her hands pulled me up by the shoulders. Her face was radiant, and she kissed me deeply, her tongue moving about inside my mouth to lick up what was left of her juices. In the meantime, my cock found its mark, hot and wide open, juicy as a good steak, and I just pushed it right up her. No vaseline necessary this time.
I guess that was the real test, though. Her climaxes had been big and frequent enough to satisfy her, but I wanted to be able to fuck her up there if only to prove to myself that it could be done. At first it was very hard. Her cunt felt so good around my cock, kind of snug and sensual, her entrance firmly closed around the base of my cock while I jabbed further up to touch bottom.
A few times I nearly blew before I was ready to. Sandra was close. Her breathing was harsh and shallow, her chest was heaving, and she was making funny, high-pitched sounds whenever my cock hit upon a nerve inside her cunt. I began to fuck harder, making sure that my pubic bone ground down on her cunt so as to make it easier for her.
At last she had her orgasm, and this time it was so powerful that she almost bucked me off her! I can't tell you how delighted I was. Years of unnecessary worry fell off my shoulders. There I'd been thinking she couldn't be satisfied by a mortal, and now I was fucking her inside out as easily as if we'd practiced for this one event for all of our married life!
When she was back on earth again, I continued to fuck her with long slow strokes, just savoring my own power. My cock was so hard and so long that it filled her entirely, and her cunt flesh vibrated along it ever so gently, making me go a little faster, pound a little harder, until I was in a frenzy of fucking!
We came together, with my cream blurting up in her cunt, and with her yelling and crying and hugging me tightly. It was profoundly satisfying. She was like a different woman, and Lowell, I could hardly bear to look back on what I had been. But all that was over. We talked all that day, finally discussing problems that had been pushed into the backs of our minds for so long, and resolving to take more care in the future.
Next day I went to work, and a strange thing happened. For one, the housewives did nothing for me anymore. They weren't signaling me or trying to seduce me, they were just women doing their best to get rid of the pesky insurance salesman without hurting his feelings, or women who felt like a chat. And when I failed to make a sale, it didn't matter to me, not in the least.
What the hell, I was happy and fulfilled! I walked from door to door, cheerful and careless, and if the people didn't want to buy, well that was their prerogative, wasn't it? That first day out on the road, I sold less than anyone, and the manager called me in.
It seemed he hadn't been altogether pleased with my performance of late, and he asked me if I didn't think it was time I settled down to an office job where the money was less, but at least it was steady and secure. I couldn't agree with him more. That bone tiredness I spoke of earlier, that was caused by the constant hassling I was doing, always trying to make people buy something they didn't want, always racing against the clock, always with my bank balance etched into my brain.
So now I'm manager of a sales team. They go out into the field and do their best, while I reprimand the slow boys, and praise the fast ones. It's not much of a job, I grant you, just sitting there all day coordinating and planning. But when I get home I'm as fresh as if I'd just stepped out of a cold shower. And Sandra and I lose no opportunity to take advantage of my new energies.
Everything's changing for the better, slowly but surely. The kids still regard me as something of an intruder, but for how long can they keep that up? Funny though-I used to think those hippies were really crazy with their half-assed philosophizing and their free love and everything. But right now I feel like a hippie in disguise. I just make the money I need, and for the rest of my wife and I are intent only on sex and personal happiness.
CONCLUSSION Patients like Carl are the most satisfying of them all. All a psychiatrist has to do is puncture them a little, and the rest takes care of itself. The breakthrough had been effected with a few sharp words, and from there on he'd bounced from one revelation to another.
There wasn't much I could say to him after this last interview. In my opinion he had the world by the tail, and I told him so. I also warned him not to become too over-confident, or to expect that everything in his future was bound to be terrific. There would be relapses of sorts, but if he kept the faith, they would be overcome one by one. I was sure he could do it.
CASE HISTORY EIGHT
Subject: Jonas L.
Age: Twenty-three.
INTERVIEW ONE
Jonas comes from a prominent family. His father is involved with the city politic, his mother holds a prestigious position in business, and Jonas is the college drop out son who just can't seem to make anything work for himself. Not an unusual story, except that Jonas retaliated with a series of vicious rapes for which his father had to pay a lot of indemnity.
He's a good looking kid with long, dark hair, startling blue eyes, dressed in casual clothes that look expensive, and he has a tendency to slouch whether he's sitting or standing. He didn't want to talk much, not until I got him warmed up to the subject of rape, and then his eyes glittered and he began to tell everything.
Ever since I dropped out of college, I've been at a loose end, Doc. You know how it is, there's nothing I want to do, and my parents are trying to be cool about it. They want to give me every chance, you know, do what you like, son, and when you make up your mind we'll pay for your college fees.
So I just hang out all day, do a little dope, listen to my music, and lounge around the apartment building where we live. I've got this hobby of noting down the movements of all the neighbors, it comes in handy to know just when they go and when they come back. But that's all I do. Of course my old man gets on my back for it, but he knows he's not going to change my mind.
There's this movie star living next door to us. She isn't big time yet, but getting there. She keep terrible hours, comes in any time she likes, goes out in the dead of night, and it took me a long time to figure out the pattern. Finally it hit me that at least one day a week she was home between six in the morning and midday.
You may wonder why her comings and goings should interest me so much. Perhaps if I describe her to you, you'll see my point. Her name is Delia and she has the looks of a real temptress. Raven hair that hangs low down her back, tall and regal looking, with fine features and shrewd black eyes. Her tits are small and she never wears a bra so each time I see her those big nipples of hers push out at me like an open invitation.
She has a way of walking that sends me crawling up walls. Her ass is firm and full, and it goes from side to side so smoothly that it makes your mouth water just to watch her. Everything about her exudes sex - and yet in her behavior towards me, she's as cold as ice.
Now maybe I might have made out with her if I'd persisted. Girls like me fine, and Delia was bound to have a few nights with nothing to do. But I don't like this business of going through all the motions just to get into a girl's pants. Either you're both honest about it and jump into the cot right off, or you try someone else, that's my feeling on the matter.
Besides, her snubbing me didn't rest easy with me, not at all. Who was she to be so high and mighty? Hell, if I wanted to I could make her jump through flaming hoops! One evening I bumped into her in the hallway, and I greeted her with a big smile. She looked me over carefully, then turned her head and I kept on walking. That's when I started to plan my attack.
There's a balcony outside the living room, and her balcony is only about six feet along the wall. Below that is a drop of some forty feet. But I'm not afraid of heights. The morning she normally spent at home, I waited for my folks to get out of the way, and then I took my surf board out of the closet to lay it on the edge of the balcony so that it formed a bridge to hers, and I walked along it easily.
As soon as I was on her balcony, I put the surfboard up against the wall and checked things out. There was no one in her living room. The door was partially open, so I snuck inside and made sure there was no one in any other room. Then I peeked into her bedroom.
Delia was nude. The bedclothes were half on the bed and half off, and she was lying there with abandon, fast asleep. A bottle and a glass stood on the chest of drawers next to the bed. Perfect. I took off my clothes, and found my erection in full bloom, ready to penetrate her beautiful body.
I stood there for a while, gazing at her. She was flat on her back, her legs wide open so I could see right up into her cunt. A little line of black hair ran down from her pubic bone to where her ass cheeks met, and the light of day lent a special tone to her skin that made it gleam sensuously.
Her small tits were high and firm, with nipples that were tiny and pink. The more I looked at her, the more ardent my desire became. This was the woman who had given me the cold shoulder. Well, now she was at my mercy, and I was going to ravage this snotty bitch!
She didn't wake up when I got on the bed with her. She just turned away from me, groaning as if she was having a bad dream. Her thighs concealed her cunt now, but I moved them apart again and cradled that pussy in the palm of my hand very gently. Funny how pubic hair makes women seem more mortal. It's then that you realize they're only people, they shit and piss and do all the other things we do. So how come they pass for goddesses during the day when they've got their clothes on?
I leaned over and licked around her nipples one by one, getting a dizzying sense of her flesh. I kept on kissing her all over, taking care not to wake her, not yet. I stroked the curves of her ass and felt down inside her furrow to savor her sweaty warmth and the little hairs growing down there. It was when my finger eased up her asshole that she began to wake up.
When she saw me, she was shocked and angry. "Get out of here, you little twerp!" she said in her icy, cutting voice. "Go play with your toys, and leave women to men!"
'Take it easy," I said, fingering her asshole with a smirk all over my face. "You're my toy, baby, and you'd better get to like it."
I was just waiting for her to give me more lip, and she didn't keep me waiting long. She rolled away from me and sat on her knees, trying to lift a sheet to cover her nakedness. "Go on, shoo!" she said, waving one hand at me. "I don't know how you got in here, but I sure as hell know that you're going out the quickest way there is!"
That's when I hit her. It felt beautiful, the way her flesh yielded at making contact with my fist. I hit her again, right in the face against the hard bone of her cheek, and she began to scream. That acted like a mating call on me. I chased her round the bedroom, punching her and laughing, my cock getting stiffer by the second as I watched the motion of her supple flesh. This girl was going to be fucked whether she liked it or not!
When I caught her, I landed a heavy blow on her jaw and put her out to it. Then I searched her apartment for rope. A clothesline in the bathroom suited my purposes admirably. I cut it into four lengths, and used each one to tie her limbs to the bed. After making sure she wouldn't be able to escape her bonds, I sat down between her legs, idly fingering her cunt, waiting for her to come to.
When she was conscious, I told her just what I thought of her and her high and mighty airs. She was no better than anybody, I told her, she just looked better. And when a guy said hello to her, the least she could do was return his greeting! Delia nodded weakly and agreed with me, but I didn't want that. I didn't want her to become nice all of a sudden, especially not now that I had her in my power!
So I slapped her about some more, working myself up into a frenzy of anger. It seemed as though every slap I delivered led to another one, as if it made me angry just to be hitting her! There was blood trickling from her nose and lip, and she was sobbing dry-eyed. I lay down on top of her and bludgeoned my cock up into her cunt, looking at her face the whole time it was struggling to get inside her.
Her face took on all sorts of expressions - fear, anger, pain, despair, the whole gamut, and she wasn't acting, either. I wanted to hurt her and debase her, and I was being more than successful! It felt good to be fucking her, to have her body at my disposal. Any whim, the most far-fetched impulse, could be put into practice right away, and I did my best not to skip any of them.
I fucked her cunt till it was red raw, and then I fucked her asshole. That really hurt her. She was screaming her head off, but I knew the apartments were fully sound-proofed, so I just enjoyed her agony. Maybe this sounds twisted to you, Doc, but you have to understand that she deserved it! No woman has the right to cut a man. I'm tired of the treatment they deal out when you're trying to get acquainted with them. They make you feel like a leper even when you only want the time of day from them!
And Delia was the worst of them all as far as I was concerned. She thought she was the Queen of Sheba, just because she was getting her ass into the movies! Well, it was up to me to show her that it didn't make a scrap of difference. She could still be hurt, she could still be fucked, even killed.
So I fucked her ass. Somehow my cock just kept on getting harder and no closer to blowing. Delia fainted a few times, and there was blood around my cock. That only spurred me on! I gave it to her in big doses, and when I did manage to blow, I waited around in her apartment , drinking from the bottle, till I was hard enough to give her another run for her money.
Before midday I released her from her bonds, picked up my clothes and surfboard, and went back, right back to my own apartment. Later in the day my old man came home in a hell of a temper. He's never hit me in his life, and I knew he wouldn't this time. But he gave me quite a talking to, and said if there was one more incident of this type, he would get the police on to the case. Then he wrote out a check and took it next door. That was the end of that.
Maybe I wouldn't have raped anyone else if circumstances hadn't favored it. The woman who lived right down the hall left her keys in the lock when she went out to get the paper. I happened to see them, and took the spare off the ring. Then I waited till it was past midnight, snuck out of our apartment and down the corridor.
I can't describe the excitement such a venture gives me, Doc. I can hardly breathe, my adrenaline is running straight into the blood stream, and I feel as though my life is on the line, a real adventure! It's as though rape is more real than anything else in my life. They could have caught me creeping down the corridor, there might have been a guy sleeping over in Mrs. Hardy's apartment the night I visited her, anything could have happened.
Nothing did, though. I opened the door and closed it behind me silently, then checked her apartment out. She was in bed with her cat, sleeping with the bed light on. Maybe she's afraid of the dark, I don't know. It made matters a lot easier for me. I followed the same pattern as before, undressing before I did anything else, then caressing her body till she woke up.
Mrs. Hardy is a good looking woman in her thirties, just divorced with a big settlement. I figured she might enjoy a little stab, but she was more terrified than Delia! So I just mounted her and began to fuck her. She put up a hell of a fight, and scratched" my face. Funny- now that I think about it, she only had to lie dead still and I wouldn't have wanted to go through with it. You see, the more she fought, the more I fucked, can you beat that?
She was a good piece of ass, was Mrs. Hardy. Finely built and finely preserved, with wide hips and a generous cunt, but quivering tits, the works. I had a nice time on top of her, but I didn't go for seconds. A man gets tired, too.
Anyway, the next day it was the same story, with Dad lecturing me, Mum in tears, another check, and dire warnings. That's when my mother decided it would be a good idea for me to see a head doctor. I guess she thinks I'm not all there. Well, I am. I know what I'm doing. There's nothing insane about it.
CONCLUSION
I left this case for last for obvious reasons. Rape is more often caused by frustration, and Jonas is a fine example of that. Where I couldn't help him, Tina could, giving him a sense of manhood that cleared away the psychic pimples of adolescence in one clean sweep.
There was little left for me to say at End of the interview, except to encourage him to take notice of what Tina and his parents were trying to do for him. He was a lucky fellow in that he had so many people caring about him, which should give him the incentive to justify their concern. Jonas just nodded, but didn't say anything. That, in itself, was a good sign. Had he bubbled over with good resolutions, I might have had doubts about his future. But since he was obviously giving the matter a great deal of thought, I felt he would in all probability succeed.
GENERAL CONCLUSION
We have seen the rapist at work in this series of case histories, and the first point that obviates itself is that they are all normal people. Of course, there are psychopaths loose in the streets, but I've avoided them in order to present a clearer picture of the average rapist.
No matter what else can be said about rape, it is a nasty business if the other party doesn't want it. There are women who provoke men to acts of sexual violence for the sake of their egos. In those cases, no moral judgments need to be made.
But where men or women impose their wills and bodies on strangers, heedless of the consequences, that's where the psychiatrist has to go to work. Rape, like boils, can be cured. A lance in the right place can pop the bubble of frustration, and give the person involved another chance at regulating his existence.
In most cases a ready ear was all these people needed, a chance to talk about the unthinkable. In the course of their confession, they often gained new insights, and realized that they were dealing with human beings, not sex organs on legs. But where the patient proved to be less tractable, an understanding woman took care of their seething anger and frustrations.
Too often problems such as violent rape are dealt with as things in themselves. But the causes are ignored, and that's where science and psychiatry must focus their attention. Poverty, harrowing jobs, aimlessness, inhibitions, all combine to form an explosive combination. Once the patient's sense of security has been restored, he often becomes a good and attentive lover.
The whole matter may be equated with that of pathological brutality.- The patient is stepped on by everyone, unable to defend himself, until his frustrations culminate into an act of mindless violence. But if that person is taught how to take care of himself, the balance is restored, and he is able to fit into society without a ruffle.
It is my hope in compiling these cases that more attention may be paid to the root causes of rape in the future. That's where cures may be effected, and that's where further violence may be nipped in the bud.
