Behavior which may appear bizarre, perverse or unthinkably unacceptable to some persons, and even to most persons, may have significance for other individuals because of the way in which they have been conditioned . . . In rare instances, some of the so-called aberrant types of behavior, meaning the less usual types of conditioned responses; may be definitely disadvantageous. But in most instances they are of no social concern.
The prominence given to classifications of behavior as normal or abnormal, and the long list of special terms used for classifying such behavior, usually represent moralistic classifications rather than any scientific attempt to discover the origins of such behavior, or to determine their real social significance . . .
-Alfred C. Kinsey
PREFACE
In some states, hospital youth volunteers are called "candy-stripers" because of their pink and white striped pinafores.
The hospital atmosphere is unique to all others. In no other environment is there amassed so much human misery and hope, so much awareness of life and death, so much involvement with physiological existence, involvement with the human body, body functions and urges, so much naked concentration on living and life-giving instincts. In no other environment can a young impressionable mind be exposed to so much human biology in one place at one time and so many sick minds as well as sick bodies.
The majority of patients are literally at the mercy of the hospital staff. Patients are nonfunctioning individuals with plenty of leisure time to concentrate on thoughts, indulge fantasies-sexual and otherwise-yet without normal means for venting their urges. The staff are aware of it, are involved in it-doctors, nurses, orderlies, aides, volunteers, young and old. They have accepted it, live with it, and often contribute to it. In some cases, abnormal sex desires are even the basis for becoming a member of the nursing profession or volunteering to assist in it. The result is that the atmosphere is sexually charged, continuously. The sterile atmosphere seems to belie it, but sexual awareness, desire hangs as heavy in the corridors as the smell of antiseptics.
What happens to young impressionable minds suddenly immersed in this atmosphere? And other volunteers, the sex-starved housewives, sublimating desires through women's club activities and social work, the ingenuous do-gooders whose ignorance of sexuality is matched only by the hypocrisy concerning their own urges, the socially forgotten women, man-less women, widows, spinsters, bachelorettes, and others who look upon volunteer efforts as the means to a socially rewarding existence,what about their reactions to hospital involvements?
Finally, what about student nurses, nurse's aides, and others on their initiation to hospital life? How do they develop inside the charged atmosphere in which they suddenly find themselves?
The great majority of hospital personnel, professional and volunteer, are sane, intelligent, contributing members of society, without aberration and without aberrant influence. To determine the extent of aberrant influence, which percentage is and is without aberration, would require extensive psychoanalysis of a large sample of medical and nursing personnel and is obviously impracticable. Evidence does exist, however, that a minority of individuals are drawn to the profession (and to the hospital atmosphere) because of their aberrations. And evidence exists that some individuals are more susceptible to sexually aberrant influence than others.
This work is not a statistical study, nor an in-depth evaluation of the extent of perverted influences and practices within the nursing and medical community. It is a survey of perverse sexual acts and attitudes born within, if not specifically attributable to, that community. The purpose of this work is to show that such acts and attitudes exist within it, and thereby prove that further study in this area is essential to the free associative development of young minds being introduced to nursing and medicine:
Diane Golden New York City
CHAPTER ONE
BIOLOGY LESSONS
The excited squeals and gasps of breath were muted, hardly audible outside the curtain drawn around the bed. The floor nurse, passing by the open door, noticed the curtain and stopped. Extending below the short length of it were two slender legs in white hose and shoes, feet apart beside the bed. The legs seemed to be wavering at the knees. The nurse had already reached for the curtain edge to pull it back when she first heard the sounds, mingled with a strained girl's voice, "Ohh . . . yes!" She hesitated an instant, then cautiously peered in.
The young girl (sixteen, the nurse found out later) wore the red and white candy-striped uniform of the teen-age volunteer auxiliary, the cap pinned in her hair at a jaunty angle.
She weaved ecstatically before the patient, a man of about thirty-five, an orthopedic patient with his right arm in traction and his leg in a cast. His free arm was up the front of the young girl's skirt. The girl clutched at the arm frantically, his hand obviously busy between her thighs. With her other hand she had pushed down the sheet that covered his body, exposing an erection. She grasped it fiercely, hanging on as she might grasp at a handhold on a roller coaster ride. Her head was dropped back on her shoulder. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets. Her pelvis danced to some impulsive and erratic beat. As the nurse looked on, the tempo increased.
The muted moans and squeals erupting from the young girl's throat swelled louder and louder, "Ohhh, yesss!"
Slowly the nurse, her face flushed, closed the curtain and retreated. Fifteen minutes later when the candy-striper emerged from the room, the nurse advised the young girl not to show up in the orthopedic wing again, or she would report the incident. She told the patient that if he wanted to screw around, to try it with the nurse's aides or the older women of the lady's auxiliary, not with the juvenile volunteers in the candy-striped uniforms-that if it happened again, she would see that he was charged officially with anything she could make stick, from corrupting the morals of a minor to statutory rape.
"It didn't shock me," she said, "You see everything in a hospital. It didn't even surprise me. And God knows, I'm not anti-sex or anything, but in orthopedics especially, we have patients wired up and stitched together with spit and glue-not to mention screws and nuts. That young girl is going to be screwing around regardless. I've seen a hundred of them, hot pants little do-gooders who suddenly see what life and death is all about. But, let her do it in a medical, not a surgical ward."
The impact of the hospital environment is devastating to many women who encounter it for the first time, from fresh student nurses to aides to volunteers under auxiliary programs similar to the "gray ladies" once sponsored by the Red Cross. The administrator of a volunteer program stated it, "In no other place can a woman get as quick an education in human biology. Hospitals with ripped and torn bodies and minds, with a constant awareness of what it means to be alive-or to die, it's an instant lesson in human strength and human frailty. The atmosphere is stark naked drama. Some woman can't take it. Some devote themselves to it. Every woman is changed by it, she can't help but alter her values in the face of it."
To the candy-stripers, still in their teens and impressionable and eager for life, the impact of the drama is sometimes calamitous.
A nursing supervisor in the same hospital said, "Entering the service of the hospital for the first time, young minds suddenly focus on the implications of human organs. Hearts pump blood, lungs breathe, intestines and genitals dispose of body waste. After a few days the initial blushes cease at the sight of a male patient's genitals, for example, flashing for a second as his surgical gown is adjusted. There is a beginning understanding of sexuality, too. Just because a man's liver is functioning poorly, or is slated for brain surgery, does not mean that his desires for sex have suddenly vanished. Erections are sometimes snickered at, but accepted as natural. Drawn curtains to give a husband and wife a little privacy (damned little!) are common, accompanied by noisy remonstrations from the bed, and that becomes accepted. The hospital atmosphere might appear antiseptic, but it's not celibate. Even the most naive young mind subjected to hospital life quickly grows more sophisticated about matters sexual."
In some instances young minds become not only sophisticated, but corrupted in the depravity of some of those drawn compulsively to the hospital environment.
Almost ignored (and sounding rather facetious), the most significant fact about a hospital is that it has a lot of sick people in it. That fact sometimes appears to be obscured by the virtue of the hospital cause, the purity of the healing image, and the charitable motivations of most of those connected with it. However, the fact that the cure is the purpose of the diseased congregation does not obviate the ill health of the environment. Cure comes only with a preoccupation with disease; focus is on the ill, not the well, of course. A concern with healthy bodies can take advantage of patients' vulnerabilities.
Patients can and sometimes do take advantage of their position as patients to pursue perverse interests with hospital personnel, and instances have been documented where a patient has used the volunteer's sympathy or pity as the basis for seduction. In the case of young or weak personalities, new to the hospital environment, the possibility of such persuasion always exists, and involvements between patients and staff members continually recurred throughout the interviews for this work.
Much more commonplace than tragically falling into depravity, however, are the simple excursions into sexuality initiated by the new awareness of human biology. Some of those instances are rich with pathos; others approach the rank and ludicrous.
The ultimate in such cases was related by Brenda, a former candy-striper, now an R.N. in a large metropolitan hospital, who told of the unusual events in her introduction to hospital life.
"My first week, this nurse and an intern, they were screwing! I blew my mind! I was so naive it was pitiful. I was standing at the counter waiting for the nurse, a patient had been buzzing her for ten minutes, and I kept hearing this big loud bump from the room behind, something hitting the wall, hitting it hard. I couldn't figure out what it could be. The sign on the door said no admittance except authorized personnel, but the bump was so strange I just had to see what it was.
"I walked around the counter, opened the door, and just as I opened it, the bump sounded again. There were giggles this time, and the nurse and an intern were screwing. They were screwing on top of this cart heaped up with dirty laundry, dirty sheets, and her skirt was up around her waist and her uniform was unbuttoned and her bra was unhooked and up around her neck. You could see her garter belt holding up the white hose, and the intern in whites was on top of her going like hell, and they were giggling because the cart kept rolling across the room. The intern would catch it from hitting the shelves with his feet and then propel it back toward the wall, and then it'd start rolling again.
"I blew my mind! You're not supposed to be able to open the door without the key, and the nurse had it, so they didn't expect anybody to bust in. But it hadn't closed all the way and the lock didn't catch. I opened the door and just stood there dumbfounded. They didn't see me at first, they were too involved, but when they did, you should have seen the panic. Unbelievable! The intern, his eyes bugged out of his head at me, rolled over off the girl, only there's no place to roll to, and he starts sliding sideways off the cart and he's fumbling and flailing, trying to hold onto something, but he's just pulling the laundry down with him. When the laundry starts to go, the nurse goes with it. There were shrieks coming from her as both of them-I never will forget the total resignation on their faces. They knew they were falling, and there was nothing they could do about it. They just fell with a kerplunk in a mass of dirty laundry. And as they went off, it propelled the cart toward me. I jumped back through the doorway, letting the door slam. Just as it closed, the cart banged into it on the other side. I didn't go back in. -But can you imagine? I was sixteen, and I'd never even been screwed myself, much less watch somebody else doing it. First time I ever saw a man's thing. I called a penis, in my mind, a man's thing. But even then I made up my mind it was beautiful! It blew my mind!
"I was so naive it was pitiful. Maybe I ought to tell you, my father was a minister. My mother was a joiner, like a professional joiner. She screwed everything in pants, incidentally, but I didn't find that out until I was almost seventeen. I was so sheltered. Like, sex back then in my sub-teens and real early teens, it was something the other girls tittered about, but not something that anybody really did and not something I could even imagine for me personally. I had a crush on a boy once and he put his hand on my breast. I went into hysterics, running to my mother crying, begging her forgiveness because I'd not only allowed it to happen but had actually and sinfully enjoyed it. And don't tell me it was silly, I know it, but I was so bad that way you couldn't believe.
"My mother headed a committee that administered the volunteer programs in a hospital associated with a medical school. That was her pet project. She had her office there, spent hours a day in it. In that hospital the teen-age volunteers wore candy-striped pinafores and sheer white aprons, starched so the bows in the back stood out. I remember I used to really think they were groovy. With those uniforms, I used to see myself as sort of a cross between Florence Nightingale and Alice in Wonderland. On my sixteenth birthday, I could join and my mother gave me a uniform as a birthday present. I went to work the next day, after school.
"My mother was a stunning woman-tall, statuesque, long red hair. And at sixteen, I was already beginning to look just like her. I mean I was more than just a well-developed kid. I had a woman's body. I was already wearing a C-cup, and I was already about five-six. I had hair to below my shoulder blades. It was lighter than now, flaming red. Really, I was a sexy looking kid, naive but sexy looking. But like then, I didn't even think about such things. Really, I had a child's mind in a woman's body.
"Most candy-stripers worked in pediatrics, playing games with the children, keeping them occupied, that sort of thing. But there were other things all over the hospital, helping with admissions, just going around the wards and talking to anybody who wanted to talk, pushing wheelchairs, and we ran errands for the patients, took magazines around, played cards with some of the patients, wrote letters, things like that.
"The whole thing was a joy, but it could be miserable, too. I remember pediatrics. I read stories to a little girl about seven. I can't remember her name, but she was such a sweet little girl, so weak and helpless and pitiful. I remember she said she wanted to grow up to be a nurse like me. I didn't tell her I wasn't a nurse. The next day I noticed she wasn't in the bed. I asked one of the aides where the girl was, and she just gave me a dirty look. Didn't say anything, just walked away. Later I asked the floor nurse, and she told me that the girl was a terminal patient, leukemia, that she had died during the night. I got sick, then cried for a while. I couldn't work after that, I went home. And that was the last time I'd ever work in pediatrics.
"But that sounds so depressing. Let me talk about sex. I got screwed the second week.
"Oh, I was in love, like with capital letters, with this intern, his name was Billy. Oh, I loved that boy-that man really. He was ten years older than I was. Oh Billy, I loved him so. He was tall and lanky and kind of lazy looking, sensuous looking, like his eyes were always kind of half open, and he was always smiling. He blew my mind, just looking at him!
"After I saw those two-I just couldn't get the idea of that man out of my mind-not Billy, that was later, I mean that intern, and his thing. I kept seeing that big thing shining at me so stiff and hard, I couldn't get it out of my mind.
"When I saw Billy, I didn't even know his name then. He looked at me. 'Hmmmm,' he said, and I lowered my eyes, blushing. I lowered my eyes to his pants. Well, there was a bulge. Even as I looked at it, it got bigger! Can you imagine? I just looked down and there was this thing. I looked down and there was this bulge-getting bigger. That was the first time I really ever thought about it, I mean not that I didn't know about what happens between a man and a woman. It's just that I never did think about it.
"It was the next day, I still hadn't gotten over the sight of the intern. I think I even dreamed about it that night, seeing it huge and glistening and alive all by itself. Anyway, I saw Bill again, and he smiled at me and I blushed again. I couldn't help it, every time he looked at me, I had to blush.
"Then later, it was about five o'clock, he said to me, 'Oh, Miss, will you help me here a moment ? '
"I went over there. He was holding the curtain aside around one of the beds in the ward, and I walked over inside the curtain and then I saw there was nobody in the bed. I turned around just as he took me in the fold of his arm, and then his mouth came down on mine. His lips, they were so soft and warm, so unbelievably enveloping. I'd been kissed before, but never like that. His tongue against mine was like touching my nerve ends, all over my body, I could feel his tongue all over me. I blew my ever-loving mind. He was so sweet, my Billy, so sweet. I loved him right then, I still love him even now. Not that we did anything then, of course. I think I stammered and pushed him away, but the way he looked at me, I didn't have to tell him anything. After that, it was just a matter of time. Of course, I didn't admit it even to myself. I fumbled around for the next few days. We seldom talked just kissed. He'd run his hands over my body, and I'd practically pass out. Then he began to fondle my breasts through my blouse and then feel up my legs and inside my panties. He knew just how to touch me to drive me crazy. Then came the weekend, and the day he was off, I almost cried because I didn't see him.
"That Monday night I told my mother I was going to the library. He snuck me up to the dorm in the service elevator. I felt like a fool kid. Several people saw us, and I just got leers like they knew what was happening. Like, how could they miss it. Funny thing, I saw a nurse, only wearing a shirt and slacks, coming out of a room on Billy's floor, and she gave me this big smile. Never will forget it. Like we had something in common. I hated her.
"Anyway, it was there on the upper bunk, a cot thing that squeaked so bad you could hear it for blocks, it seemed at the time. But after the first few minutes, it really didn't matter. I couldn't hear a thing, all I could do was feel. My first time, it was so . . . so beautiful! Not that I really knew what was happening, but it was just all so beautiful!
"Billy was sweet, so gentle with me. After he kissed me the first time, I just closed my eyes, just leaning into him, feeling him, loving him. I could open my eyes and see his, so warm and lazy and smiling, and feel his hands undressing me, feel his mouth on my neck, feel my breasts, the nipples churning in the cups of my bra, busting out as he unhooked it, then feeling the air on my skin as he slid the straps off my shoulders and down across flesh as his hand came up, grabbing me, squeezing me. Oh Billy, I can't forget the way he felt to me, his skin against mine, his mouth swallowing my breast. I loved Billy, unbelievably much.
"I wanted so much to touch his thing with my hand, but I just couldn't do it. I felt it against me, I rolled into it, feeling it, wanting it-not really knowing what to do with it, but wanting it. Then he put his hand between my thighs, pressing, his hand rubbing me all through. Then his hand came up, his finger found my clitoris-I didn't even know what to call it then-and then it slid down inside me. I loved it. I must have asked him if it would hurt when he put his thing inside me because he laughed and told me the slight twinge of pain would be nothing compared to the pleasure I would have. And then he helped me climb up in the top bunk. I look back on it now and it seemed so funny that we climbed on the top bunk, but I didn't care where we were, I didn't care about anything. I was too conscious of my body, of what I was feeling. And then minutes later, one hand squeezed my breasts, and the other guided him in to the place.
"The lamp on the desk beside the bunk was the only light in the room, and the shade on it made everything seem so soft and warm, mixing into the blacks of shadows. I remember looking up at Billy for reassurance, seeing his eyes reflecting the warm light, his face smiling softly at me. I've never felt much love for anybody as I did for Billy right then.
"I was feeling his thing as he moved it up and down through the crease. Exploring with his finger, he found the spot he was looking for and placed the head of his thing there, so gently, and then gradually, pressing a little then releasing, then pressing harder.
"The pain! It was terrible, but there was another feeling. It was so good! I can't explain. It wasn't just that it was my first time, I know. It was something else. It was a mixture of sweetness, of poignancy, of love, and pain, but there was this urgency, a swelling of emotion that's never been quite the same for me.
"And the squeaking springs, it was like musical accompaniment, it was so beautiful. I know now it just seems silly, but I loved every little squeak then. It was like the world was laughing with us, enjoying a happy time, everything together with Billy and me. Harmony.
"My arms flew around his neck and I pulled his mouth to me. My brain was reeling, my tongue was so thick and heavy in my mouth, and then his tongue was there with it, and I tasted his mouth rolling around with mine, his tongue stretching for my throat, his glorious thing stretching all the way to my womb!
"I was sucking his tongue, drawing it further inside my mouth, feeling as though my body were sucking his thing, drawing him further up inside me. The initial pain melted and was gone, but then there was a new pain, deep, where he was all the way inside, and for the first time with the sharpness of that new pain, I groaned, but then he withdrew just slightly, and it was gone and there was nothing but this overwhelming feeling of fullness, of every particle of want and need suddenly attended, cared for.
"Billy, oh how I loved that man! It turned out he was a bastard, but he was so sweet, so gentle and good. I still love him. That one week we had together, really, I was in love, I didn't pay any attention."
Brenda's first knowledge that her affection for the intern was not reciprocated came shortly after. It was soon obvious that he was more interested in recruiting for the dorm than in romantic involvement with a candy-striper.
"He kept telling me that he wanted me to grow sexually, that I should have sex with other men sometimes, that he loved me, but he wanted me to learn.
"It's my fault, I guess. I didn't really believe him. I was so involved, I thought he was either saying it test me or that it was some philosophical phase he was going through. I wouldn't admit to myself that the reason he wanted me to have sex with somebody else, if he really wanted me to, might be because he didn't love me. Consciously, that thought never entered my mind. I still don't know exactly what he was thinking.
"But that week, the week we spent, as soon as I'd get in he'd find me. He'd go to any lengths to get us alone, and he'd kiss me and run his hands over my body. Then later I'd sneak up to the dorm. It was so good those times, so unbelievably good, even if I didn't know what it was to reach a climax.
"Interns there worked five days and were off one-and-a-half, so the next Saturday and during the daytime Sunday, Billy was off and I didn't get to see him. He always said he had things to do. By Sunday I was frantic. Because of my father, I had to spend half the morning in church and then go back again for a couple of hours on Sunday night. The whole day was torture for me, but I planned to go to the hospital after church that night. At least I'd get to see Billy while he was working, but there was no way I could get out of the house. For the first time in my life I cut classes, the next morning. I spent almost all day in bed with Billy, until late that afternoon, when I showed up for work.
"I didn't see him until after six, and then he took me aside and asked me to meet him in his room in the dorm at eight. My mother went home without me again. At about five minutes 'til eight, I sneaked up the service elevator, just as I always did, not paying any attention to who saw me, and there were several who did -interns, orderlies. When I opened the door of his room, his roommate was there. Craig was his name. I recognized him. I had seen him around the hospital before, but I'd never encountered him with Billy because they worked opposing shifts. He said, 'Hi' and we talked meaningless talk, waiting for Billy. Then finally he came. He kissed me, warm and smiling, the way he always was.
"And then he said to me, I remember his exact words, 'Brenda, will you do me a favor?
"I said, 'Yes?'
"He said, 'Sex is good, you know that.'
He seemed to be fumbling in his mind for a moment. 'I wanted you to learn-to really enjoy it. With me or anybody. Any way!
"I just stammered, embarrassed in front of Craig.
" 'You know I love you.'
"All I could do was nod my head. I was already feeling it, I knew what he was leading up to. Craig shuffled, sitting on the bed, and the springs squeaked. The knot in my throat kept getting bigger, expanding, blocking off my eyes. I tried to swallow and couldn't.
"All the while his eyes were smiling that same lazy smile, his lips curling in that grin of his. I loved him so much, so much, and he wanted me to. . . .
"I don't remember too much after that except that Billy, my loving Billy was undressing me as he talked, his words rubbing against my skin like something cold-I even remember shivering-and then I was standing naked. I remember Craig coughed nervously. Billy's hands were moving all over my body, his mouth crushing against mine, his hands doing things, exploring places they'd never been before. I remember feeling all of a sudden so aroused, so wanting him, thinking about his mouth, his hands, especially his hands, thinking it felt more like four hands than two on my body and then I knew that there were four.
"I clutched Billy around his waist, crushing my naked body into his, so aware of his whites, the thick cloth between us, stretching my mouth up, feeling his on mine, first aware of the hands and then aware of naked flesh against mine. I wondered how could that be how I could be feeling naked flesh when I knew my Billy was fully clothed. Then the whites drew slightly away. There was a hand on my back, there was a hand on each of my breasts, there was a hand exploring between my thighs, toying with my anus and then the hand had my clitoris, massaging it gently, and I was blowing my mind, still choked, still hurt with my Billy, wanting to cry, but I got so hot, so fantastically hot, and the naked skin against mine pressed in tighter and tighter as the clothed body of my living Billy drew further and further away. And then there was a mouth on mine, a strange mouth-but a hot demanding mouth, as hot and demanding as my own, and I closed my eyes, refusing to see. I closed my mind refusing to think that it was not my loving, sweet wonderful Billy.
"After that there were dozens. I don't remember how many. It was always there in one of the rooms of the dorms. After the third week I never had sex with Billy again. I used to see him, and he'd smile at me and I'd still blow my mind over him. Sometimes he'd kiss me or just reach out and lovingly put his hand on my breast. I kept thinking about him, wondering when, but he never. . . .
"Everything was an arrangement. Somebody arranged for me to be in a certain room of the dorm, and Billy just never did arrange anything after that. I know, I look back now and I know I just got screwed, just screwed. My Billy just set me up. But I can't help it, I still love him even today. And, I didn't even have my first orgasm with him.
"It was almost compulsive-it was compulsive, those times. I just went, I didn't stop to think. Later, after I was pregnant, my father asked me if I felt guilt, and I told him no, that I really didn't think, period, after that. It blew his mind that I hadn't felt guilt.
"I got kind of lethargic about the whole thing after the first month, and I guess I got to be less of a thrill, not quite so new, for the interns. It slowed. There was always somebody wanting to make an arrangement, but not as many. A lot of times, unless there was something that seemed good about the way I was asked or something, or the guy was particularly attractive, I really don't know what made me decide whether I would or would not go any particular time, but sometimes I went out and sometimes I didn't, and as time went on there were fewer and fewer times.
"Until Charlie, I think his name was Charlie.
I'll call him Charlie. It was with Charlie I had my first honest-to-god climax, only not exactly with Charlie.
"I'm getting depressed again, and I didn't want to get depressed talking about it.
"Charlie wasn't depressing. Charlie was weird, but he wasn't depressing. He had the most stupid looking happy face, like he was surprised about everything, a crazy face, red and popeyed like he was absolutely amazed at everything, but blushing as if he thought he shouldn't be.
"I was in his room, they were all alike, those rooms-and I could see his face in the lamp, popeyed, him looking down at me. I was laying on the bunk, the bottom one. He was kneeling on the floor, bending over me, both hands grasping, one on each side squeezing, ballooning one of my breasts, his face looking at it like he was incredulous, his hands holding it, squeezing it, experimenting, and he whistled, his eyes bugging out, and he kept saying over and over, 'It's beautiful. It's fantastic!' and then he'd go to the other one, 'It's beautiful. It's fantastic!' and then he'd look at them both and say, 'They're both fantastic!' like he was blowing his mind, like he just couldn't control himself. And I got so tickled at him, I started laughing at him and laughing, and I couldn't stop!
"He finally climbed up on me, and I guided him in. He starts pumping at me, but the whole thing, it's still with this incredulity, like he can't believe me. And when he finally grunts his piece and rolls off me, he's still doing it, like I'm the greatest thing that's ever happened to him. 'You're fantastic!' he says, fondling again, and then he jumps up, 'I've got to tell-' and he mentioned some name, I've forgotten what it was. 'I've got to tell him!' and then he runs out of the room, still naked as a jaybird, and then he sticks his head back in the door, 'You don't mind, do you?' and he looked so plaintive, and I was so pleased I shook my head no, I didn't mind, and he runs off again.
"He comes back dragging this other guy with him, and I just stretch and loll around, both of them talking about me. Charlie saying, 'Isn't she fantastic!' and the other guy saying, 'Yeah man. She's fantastic!' He was really only humoring Charlie. He'd had me before, and both of us knew it. And all the time the guy is taking off his clothes. I'm still up, the way I always was from a man, after Charlie, and this guy climbs in the bunk, puts his thing in me, and he's like going away at it, and Charlie is still on the sidelines, 'You're fantastic, you're fantastic!' and he's getting a few little feels in at my breasts, even while this other guy is pumping me, and my head is turned sideways, watching Charlie, and I reach out and he's got an erection and I grab hold of it.
"Then I feel these crazy things happening in my body, this weird surging. I was already up as far as I knew. I mean I was on top of things as high as I could go, as high as I had ever been, and then in a brilliant flash of insight, I knew damned well it wasn't as high as
I could go because I was still climbing! And I was scared! This surging, it was like taking over my whole body, absorbing it, melting it down, and concentrating it all toward my vagina ! I kept seeing my whole body diminishing, stuffing itself in the hole, and then pulling the rim of the hole in on top of it! I was really scared! I flipped completely out, but even as the thought hits me, I'm still climbing and then suddenly there's the peak. I mean my whole body feels it, knows when it's coming, and then I felt this disintegration, this bursting up into a million particles, all in slow motion, and then all the little particles floating and floating, making this fog, sweeping through my senses, and then through this fog, feeling my face spreading into a wide grin, I heard Charlie yelling, felt him tugging at my arm, and then it dawned on me that my fingers were still wrapped around his thing except I was squeezing as hard as I could and my fingernails were turned in, digging into the flesh. I almost castrated him, but right at that moment I was so happy, so joyous, it just seemed so funny! I couldn't stop laughing.
"When I could move again I went wild. I was kissing them, both of them, all over, still laughing, tears of pure utter joy running down my neck. It was so funny.
"It was after that that I really got wild, when I just couldn't seem to get enough. I was ready after that, always ready, and no telling how many times I skipped school, and if nobody had seen me to make an arrangement, I made the arrangement, I just went up to the dorm and took potluck.
"I had two months of it before the breakdown, two great glorious months of it before I found out I was pregnant and just cracked up. It took another couple of weeks, I didn't do anything in that time incidentally, for it to really settle in, for me to really get the brunt of the situation, the full implications. I guess I was in a mild state of shock. I don't know what would have happened if my mother, if I hadn't seen. . . .
"It was finally getting through to me, the whole thing. Then one day, I'd gone back to school, I hadn't missed a day at school or the hospital in two weeks and I was tired, going home-it was this character named Don and another one, I can't remember his name, they were on the elevator, and they were telling me they wanted me to come up to the dorm, telling me they hadn't seen me in quite a while. The doors closed and the elevator started down. They just seemed to pounce on me. I tried to get away, but they kept mauling me, their hands all over me. One had my skirt up around my waist, his hand down inside my pants cupping my buttock, then the other one pinched one of my breasts. I started crying, fighting them off. My uniform got ripped, my hair got mussed. I looked pretty bad, when suddenly, the elevator stopped. It was on the second floor and there were several people standing around to get on, and the two had to stop, let me go, and I ran out, flailing through the people. I ran, tears streaming down my face, down the corridor to the stairs at the other end, and then more corridors, more stairs. Then finally I was outside my mother's office.
"It was locked, but I kept pounding on the door, bawling hysterically, and then the door opened and I fell into my mother's arms. It practically burst out of me, 'I'm pregnant, I'm pregnant.' Clinging to her, I wanted love, wanted understanding, wanted reassurance. I wanted to be told that it was all right, that it could have happened to anybody, that I wasn't all bad, something like that.
"Then my mother pushed me away, holding me at arms length, looking into my face, and I saw this spitefully deep censure, almost hatred 'You stupid fool!' she said, spitting at me.
"But at about the same time, I was aware of somebody else in the room. That was the first time I noticed he was there, one of the residents. Then I noticed something else.
"I couldn't believe my eyes! A wad of white silk, a pair of panties on the floor, just under the edge of the desk!
"I could just see my mother panicking with me at the door, pounding and shrieking the way I'd been, she and this doctor involved in no telling what position, and she so frantic that she couldn't find the things, or maybe just trying to kick them under the desk as she straightened herself out to open the door for me.
"The whole thing was just too much, just too ridiculous. My sweet, virgin mother;-to hear the way she talked you'd think I'd been born of immaculate conception, and here she was-it was just too much! I started laughing, the tears still rolling with the laughs, and I didn't stop until I just collapsed.
"The only saving grace if there is such a thing is that I miscarried. I spent almost a year in a mental hospital. It was that long before I could look my mother square in the face again.
"I went back to school for a couple of years, then to nursing school, and here I am."
Brenda's youthful affair with Billy is not strange considering her description of herself at that time. From her appearance presently, she is an extraordinarily beautiful, well-endowed woman. She would seem to have been attractive to any man.
Some of the girls see different things in the hospital atmosphere. Some see virgin puritan-ism or sterile idealism, others see what life is all about, and it includes sex. Sex is a biological urge, and there is frantic haste to demonstrate the lesson.
CHAPTER TWO
NURSING ANATOMY
The opening remarks in a Midwestern nursing school include some basic sex instruction, "If one of my girls goes out with boys, I want her to have either an IUD or be taking the Pill. A couple of years ago we lost so damned many girls due to pregnancy it got ridiculous. Four years ago I lost eleven percent of my girls the first year. Two years ago, of first-year girls, it was eighteen percent. Today I tell them, 'No excuses.' I don't care whether they're the most lily-whites that ever lived-those are the kind that get pregnant first. As a matter-of-fact, the girls who're already screwing around by the time they get here are the ones who know better. They don't need to be told.
"I tell them to especially look out for interns. Interns run around with a perpetual hard on. A bunch of kids straight out of medical school, getting their first taste of all those female bodies-and getting their first taste of all these hot-pants little girls going gaga-kneed over the big handsome romantic soon-to-be-making-it doctor, spelled with a capital G as in god."
Student nurses get a different kind of indoctrination in the wards, at least as far as the floor nurse in a medical ward of a large west coast hospital is concerned, "We use student nurses for a lot of jobs instead of orderlies and aides: running bedpans, bathing patients, turning patients, changing johnnies (the short hospital gowns), things of that sort as well as instruction in basic nursing functions. You'd think some of the little dears had never excreted or urinated before in their lives the way they act around a bedpan, and you'd have to take them by the hand and practically force them to give up their inhibitions about male organs. For some reason they think a penis is self-cleaning or something, at first. Later they get obsessed with it. You have to point out to the little ones that it's not nice to get the patient so goddamned excited his blood pressure jumps twenty points. 'Uh, dear? You're supposed to wash it, not pump it.' They like to watch it grow. You'd be surprised the number I have to tell that to."
Candy-stripers, on the other hand, get little if any instruction at all. The director of volunteer services in the same hospital, a stout matron of about fifty-five with a syrupy affected voice, said that she told her young girls, "Nothing really. Just smile, and be sweet."
But then, there are candy-stripers who need no instruction.
Cynthia became a candy-striper at seventeen, reluctantly. Her mother's ultimatum, after Cynthia was detained at five o'clock in the afternoon by the local police for drunken driving, was that she stop drinking and devote her afternoons to social work, or her sports car, an XKE, would be sold out from under her for scrap metal.
Her family was the elite in the small college town, at the peak of the social strata in both the academic community and mainline society. Cynthia's great-grandfather, a banker, had helped to found the college at which her mother was associate professor of languages, and her father professor of English, faculty advisor, and a member of the board of directors. He was also a member of the board of the local bank, as well as one of its largest depositors, just as the family had been for three generations.
Everything came easy to Cynthia-beauty, grades, friends. At seventeen she was already nearing the end of her freshman year in college, effortlessly making the dean's list. She was chased by every male on campus (caught by a large number), and liked by every female. She had no conception of what it would be like not to buy what she wanted when she wanted, often carrying as much as a couple of hundred dollars in her purse for pin money.
She'd never known a truly unhappy moment in her life and never had known more than a moment of boredom-when she got bored she did something to get unbored, something usually mischievous, often childish, but never vicious.
Sex to her was delightful, but then everything to her was delightful. At twelve, she was no longer a virgin, but could never remember which one of the playtimes she'd had with some of the boys that actually marked the difference. At thirteen, after she and several other girls were caught nude in an old vacant house with boys ranging in age from twelve to eighteen, not only in the room but with a line winding all through the house, her mother gave her a talking to and then giving up, marched her down to the family doctor for an IUD. The doctor could not prescribe one at the time because of the immature stage of the cervix, but a little less than a year later, one was inserted in her uterus.
The superintendent of nurses at the hospital that Cynthia entered told the story of the first day as a candy-striper, "She came in like an epidemic. She didn't just enter the place, she infested it. It wasn't enough that half the bedridden males got cricks in their necks every time she came within ogling distance, or that the ambulatory ones followed her around, snorting and pawing the floor, swishing their tails around after hers like a herd of bulls after an only cow. Things started happening behind her. A patient knocked his food tray off the stand, a seventy-year-old terminal cancer case fell out of his bed and broke his collarbone, cardio-signals flashed from sudden increases in blood pressure, things like that. All she had to do was walk the length of the ward and behind her, she'd leave utter chaos.
"She came in in a mini-length custom-tailored uniform. The girls have to furnish their own uniforms. If anybody ever had legs that should be covered up for national security, hers were them. Thick thighs and calves, long, shapely, athletic, but damned sexy. The way that uniform fit on top-the whole thing looked as if it'd been molded around her, clinging to every dimple and curve. It was disconcerting to say the least. Not only did it do the patients no good whatsoever, but it had some of the more susceptible members of the staff a little weakened, too. I don't know how she got onto the floor in the thing. The uniforms are supposed to be one inch above the knee. I've seen panties that covered more of a girl than that uniform did.
"When I first caught sight of her and dragged her out of the middle of that leering pack of pajama-clad wolves and into my office, I kept repeating, stammering it, over and over, 'Just what the hell do you think you're doing?'
"When I could finally come up with more words, I asked her, 'Whose idea was that costume? You look like a parlor maid in a French whorehouse!' I really gave her hell. I was madder, I think, than I've ever been at anyone on the job.
" 'Don't you like it?' she had the gall to ask me. 'I think it's kind of chic, myself. I designed it personally. Really, those things the other girls are wearing are absolutely antiquated. They look like something straight out of Susan B. Anthony. We should have them a little stylish, don't you think? Don't you think it'll help cheer up the patients, help them get well faster?'
" 'Get well, faster!' I was practically screaming at her, 'You're going to get them well enough to go straight out of medical and into a psycho ward!'
"Anyway, I sent her home and told her never to set foot in this hospital again until she comes up with the right uniform, to exact specifications lengthwise, and that it had better fit her more like a dress and less like a layer of skin. I would have raised even more hell with her, probably kicked her out for good, I don't know, but about that time the floor nurse came running in to tell me that one of those pajama-clad wolves that had been in Cynthia's pack had just had a stroke, and she couldn't get the pulmotor running. By the time that was over, Cynthia was gone.
"Every time I saw her after that she was dressed quite properly and acted like a very demure young lady. She worked hard and seemed very much interested in genuinely helping the patients. I didn't find out until almost two months later exactly how much she was helping them.
"In one of the semi-private rooms were two male patients. One, about forty-eight, was recuperating from stomach surgery; the other, about thirty-five, had a small tumor removed from his colon. Checking their chart duplicates, I found what looked to be a mix-up in the entries. The nurse on duty had her hands full with several calls, so I decided to check it out myself. The door to the room was closed, and pushing it open, the curtain was drawn around one of the beds. I swept it aside, and then I must have shrieked or something. There was Cynthia and the two patients. She was standing, bent over the older man, his penis deep down in her mouth, the sheet pushed down exposing the tops of his legs, his hospital gown, the Johnnie, pulled up above the bandage that covered the sewn-up incision on his abdomen. He was moaning, twisting his head forward, his eyes rolled back in his head. He had her head between his hands, holding it down on the shaft. But from the way she was going at it, she had no idea of letting it go. The younger one was up out of bed, after surgery only about four hours before, standing behind the girl, her skirt thrown up over her back, her buttocks standing out, the man weakly plummeting his body against her, ramming his penis again and again into her. A wild, obsessed expression was on his face. The man stared, leering at the curves of firm, rounded flesh he held onto, beating his own body against that part of hers with a resounding slap of flesh against flesh every time they met. "I know I shrieked-none of the three heard me, 'what are you-' I couldn't finish. All I could see in my mind were those two patients, their stitches bursting, blood beginning to flow from the opening incisions, perhaps collapsing, worn down from exertion when they should be having rest, total rest.
"The one standing, his penis gliding into view as his body drew away from Cynthia's buttocks, and then dived back inside her again to disappear completely as their bodies met with a slap of skin against skin. I grabbed his arm, jerking him away, jerking him around toward me. 'You can't--! ' I started, then his eyes turned full and weak in shocked surprise on me, and he let go of the girl's hips as if they were searing to the touch. His face was suddenly a pitiful mask of sorrow in resignation. He clasped at himself, trying to stop what he knew was impossible to stop!
"Instinctively I reached down toward him too, to help.
We stood there for what seemed an hour, both of us holding onto his penis.
"Vaguely I became aware that Cynthia and the other patients had paid no attention whatever to us. His moans were becoming louder, more frequent. Cynthia's head, bobbing up and down, her lips moving faster and faster along the shaft of him, her cheeks practically vibrating from her tongue moving around the head of him in her mouth. Then his hips began to arch into her, meeting the sound of his moans, his hands on the sides of her head almost violently moving with her, forcing himself deeper and deeper into her throat with each new bob of her head. For long moments the series of spasms racked his body, and Cynthia fiercely held on, still moving her mouth on the shaft of him, obviously draining him dry, sucking the depths of his passions to the surface.
"When at last his body lapsed into total exhaustion, Cynthia, still holding onto his penis, her bare white buttocks still protruding toward me, turned her head to look at me, smiling. Her eyes looked me up and down, her eyes taking in my grip on the patient's penis. The little bitch!
" 'Welcome to the party,' she said."
Cynthia's lack of inhibitions and total indulgence in sexual activity when the slightest opportunity presents itself was well established obviously before her involvement in the hospital environment. Her mischievous, if not animalistic attitude, and activities will continue long after her dismissal. Others, introduced into the environment change, some slightly, some drastically, some quickly, totally, some subtly over a long period of time. In some student nurse programs, it would seem as if Sexual Discovery 101 is a traditional class in the study schedule.
"We do have certain problems," a student administrator said, "when our girls are first introduced to the atmosphere. There's the usual teasing between the girls about erectile tissue, of course, and how it's difficult to get close to some of the more virile male patients without seeing the sheet rise ghostly from somewhere below his waistline. Bathing the patients is an extremely touchy problem with some girls. I know it sounds rather foolish, but we have a policy here that males bathe their own privates after the students or aides have bathed other parts of the body. Don't forget that some women are as embarrassed by the situation as the girls themselves. We don't insist that the girls wash a man all over, even suggest otherwise.
"But we have more of a problem probably with certain girls and women patients. The naivet� of some girls when they first come here about lesbianism is incredible. The girls have little if any compunction about women's privates, probably using the occasion to get familiar first with women to make it easier with the men, but at any rate, it's not so unusual to discover a woman in a high state of arousal with a young initiate student obliviously massaging the patient between the legs. Of course, in some cases the student is hardly oblivious to the woman's state of arousal."
Of possible interest here is an exchange that occurred in an interview with two R.N.'s whose Sapphic relationship began in their period as student nurses and has continued to the present.
Georgiana: All that talk about all that screwing going on in a hospital is a lot of crap. I didn't go near a man during my whole first year.
Sondra: Bragging or complaining, darling?
Georgiana: Just calling it as I saw it.
Sondra: You were too damned busy wetting your pants over me to even see what went on.
Georgiana: Who wet whose pants over who? I think you got it backwards, baby.
Interviewer: Are you suggesting that student nurses have more homosexual affairs than heterosexual ?
Georgiana: Yes, I think I am. Wouldn't you expect it?
Sondra: Darling, you think everybody in the world is gay.
Georgiana: Don't you think there's a freer attitude toward sex among student nurses than other students?
Sondra: Yes.
Georgiana: All types of sex? Sondra: Yes, I-
Georgiana: And isn't it a hell of a lot more convenient when you don't even have to go out of the dorm for sex?
Sondra: Yes, but-
Georgiana: Then why do you doubt it? Of course there's more gay action than straight. You know as well as I that something was happening every night. You could just about pick your own scene.
Sondra: Darling, do I get to say something now?
Georgiana: Darling, don't be a smart ass.
Sondra (to Interviewer): Who's the smart ass?
Interviewer: Don't get me in it.
Sondra: There were thirty-eight girls in the dorm at the beginning of the year, how many do you think were gay? Or rather, how many do you think participated in gay scenes?
Georgiana: Probably about a fourth, but that's not the point.
Sondra: One out of four! Come on now.
Georgiana: Okay, how about a fifth? That make you happy? But that's still not the point.
Sondra: What is the point?
Georgiana: The gay girls got it regularly.
Sondra: That's the point?
Georgiana: Look, say a fourth of the girls were virgins-I doubt it, but say it just for speculation. Another fourth were hung up on something and not getting anything regularly if they were getting it at all. A fourth were getting it straight. A fourth were getting it gay. But the opportunity, the happenings, that's the point. Like those scenes in Doris and Barbie's room. Sometimes six or seven heavenly, naked, hot boxes, all stacked and twining together.
Sondra: It was five, and five only a few times. Most of the time it was four.
Georgiana: Will you stop spoiling my fantasy? I'm entertaining myself. Besides, there were a few outsiders present on occasion. There were six at once.
Interviewer: A fourth of thirty-eight girls is nine or ten girls. Are you saying that half of the gay girls participated in group sex?
Georgiana: You don't believe it?
Interviewer: Just asking.
Sondra: Yes, about half. The others were hung up on the twosome scene.
Georgiana: A couple of couples played it like Abelard and Heloise, instead of a couple of queer broads hung up on each other, complete with tears and romantic abstinence. Hearts and flowers. Disgusting!
Sondra: Will you stop sounding as if we're a couple of perverts?
Interviewer: Georgiana, you said you didn't go near a man during your first year-
Sonda: Now we get down to disgusting!
Georgiana: I was a nice, clean-cut, red-blooded American girl who got corrupted by the dirty lesbian.
Sondra: She means me.
Georgiana: She turned me from a sweet innocent into a dirty pervert.
Sondra: Isn't she a fun girl?
Georgiana: I made up my mind when I got back to school that second year I was going out with boys, and I wasn't letting that filthy lesbian get her hot little hands on me ever again.
Sondra: Would you believe I'm getting pissed ?
Georgiana: You know I'm only joking. Sondra: Every sentence a punch line. Interviewer: But your heterosexual relations proved unsatisfactory?
Georgiana: Hell, I never had relations. I had experiences, but there was no relating to it. I never had sex with a man. Every goddamn one of them had sex with me, but I never did have it with them. And it seemed like such a great potential, getting stuck with something, feeling it force its way inside, filling me up, and it did feel good as far as it went. But every man I went out with he'd kiss me a couple of times, get hung up on my boobs, stick his finger in me and start undressing, then he'd ram it in me, haunch a couple of minutes, grunt a few times, and then just lay there exhausted, leaving me so goddamn frustrated I couldn't stand it. One of them asked me was it good one time, and I told him no. Crushed him, literally crushed him. Then he told me I was frigid. Me, frigid!
Sondra: But you kept going back for more, didn't you?
Georgiana: I kept telling myself that somewhere I'd find a man that would know what to do with me, how to handle my body to really make me feel it. I know they're around, there's bound to be one somewhere, I just never did run across one.
Interviewer: How long did you pursue heterosexual relations ?
Sondra: Oh, she tried enough men, that's for damned sure. Like dozens.
Georgiana: Damn it darling, that's a lot of crap. A dozen, maybe, over about two or three months. And, with the same man only twice.
Interviewer: You had no desire for a rematch except that once?
Georgiana: For what? It didn't take but once to find out they were ridiculous. No consideration whatsoever. The only time I made it twice with the same man was because he really tried to make it good for me, and it took a second time to discover that he just wasn't capable.
Sondra: That was when you raped me, right ?
Georgiana: Yeah, raped you. I came in and whispered 'Sondra,' thinking she might be asleep, and before I knew it, she had me stripped, in bed-sixty-nine, and holding my head in a scissors grip.
Sondra: Well, I was in the mood to get raped.
Interviewer: And you haven't had heterosexual relations since?
Georgiana: No. I finally realized I was fooling nobody but myself. Who the hell needs it?
Interviewer: You said that Sondra introduced you to sapphism, had you had sexual experiences with boys prior to your meeting with Sondra?
Sondra: She was so virgin her nipples were inverted and her clitoris was shriveled. It was a month before I could touch her without her fainting dead away.
Georgiana: And she was so goddamned sex-starved she was waiting to pounce on the first little girl she came in contact with.
Sondra; And you sure wanted me to pounce.
Georgiana: Aw, screw you.
Sondra: That's the best suggestion I've had all day.
Sondra was seven when her father was killed in the Korean War. Her mother, an R.N., has been a private nurse to a well-off-if-not-wealthy male invalid for the past eighteen years: Her mother, as did Sondra before she went away to school, lived in the house with the patient.
"I loved the house. It was old and worn and lived in. But the smell, that musty sick smell of someone who's just about given up, it permeated the house. There was no way to escape it. Of course, the old man, he's in his seventies now, will probably live to be a hundred. Probably outlive my mother and me.
"He insisted I call him Uncle Fred and was always trying to get me close to him to put his arm around me, so he could get his jollies feeling me up. It would always end with him pinching me on the rump, me biting my lip to keep from crying. My mother would just stand there with this big, stupid smile on her face.
"My mother used to be in his room with the door locked for hours, and I used to wonder what they did together. I know damned well what they did now. She's his only heir. I bet he put her through holy sexual hell for that.
"My mother had a magnificent body. We slept in twin beds back then, but I'd watch her undress and put on her gown, and I'd think that I'd never seen anything so beautiful as she was in all my life. My arms ached for her, and sometimes I'd climb in her bed and she'd let me sleep there cradled in her arms, my cheek feeling that lush feel of her breasts through the silk of her gown. Many nights I lay there, feeling this strange blushing warmth spreading from between my legs, spreading over my entire body . . . "
Sondra recognizes part of the basis for her homosexual inclinations. Her mother represented strength, idealism and warmth. The major males in her life, her father and Uncle Fred, represented the opposite: weakness, self-indulgence, and undependability. Her father committed the greatest sin against her in the act of dying-the final proof of weakness and undependability; Uncle Fred supported the association for all males.
Georgiana springs from a strait-laced, middle-classed family. Her father was an engineer, her mother was a bookkeeper for a finance company. The household was efficient, well-planned, and emotionless.
"I couldn't have a tantrum no matter what. And any display of affection, even a kiss on the cheek, was embarrassing. I love my parents, but to say they're cold is to understate it."
Georgiana's sexual awakening occurred in the relationship with Sondra. If a heterosexual interest that offered as much warmth had preceded, Georgiana would probably be straight today instead of gay. Preconditioned by Sondra to a specific nature of physiological response, technique and tempo-as complete a response to amatory interests from a male on only one or even a few occasions could not be expected to yield for Georgiana the sexual success of her previous homosexual experiences, which had become comfortable and uninhibited. The attempt to compare, to straighten up was no more than a rationalization, intended subconsciously to fully justify her homosexuality in her mind. Her "show me" attitude, plus previous experience, plus normal inhibitions, were unbeatable. It would have been an unusual male indeed who could have overcome the handicap set against him by Georgiana. Her second sex experience with the one male was probably prompted by the subconscious knowledge that he, of all the others, would be the last male in her experience who could in the most remote and unlikely circumstance have performed in a satisfactory manner.
Sondra's homosexuality is seated far deeper than Georgiana's. For Sondra, a love for woman is associated with beauty, strength, idealism and all things good. Georgiana's was the product of seduction through convenience and low inhibitory factors.
Strangely, both girls are not uncommon in the nursing profession. To Sondra, nursing offers especially warmth, strength, and security. Conversely, to Georgiana it offers sterility, unimpassioned involvement, and a familiar efficient and cold atmosphere, while at the same time providing ample evidence that another world exists, a world of joy and pain, a world that can be observed from the sidelines, enjoyed vicariously without necessarily becoming personally involved.
Any large gathering of girls under high exterior inhibitory factors of early curfews, restrictions against dating, etc.-is a conducive spot for the exploration of Sapphic practices. Girl loves girl relationships are extraordinarily appealing in situations where normal heterosexual outlets or means of romantic sublimation are restrained or totally absent.
CHAPTER THREE
AIDES TO SEX
The lights were off in the room. A hazy glow spread through the small glass window of the door over the man and woman, nude on the bed. Quick, laborious breathing blended with the low muted moans between the two were the only breaks with the early morning stillness. Then the whisper, "Oh, God!"-Then the breathing faster, harder, rising more violently between them, and then finally another, even more insistent, "Oh, God!"-and then the breathing resided and there was stillness on the bed.
Long moments passed, and then the woman, her naked breasts swaying with her movements, rose to one elbow, kissed the man lightly on the lips, and climbed out of bed. Hurriedly glancing toward the door, she donned white panty-hose and bra, stepped into the white uniform and buttoned it up to her neck. She took a comb from her pocket, fussed with her hair only a second; she again bent to kiss the man on the lips. He stirred only slightly, then fell deeper into an exhausted sleep. The girl grinned then, picked up the folded fifty-dollar bill lying on the bed stand, slipped it in her pocket, and then moved confidently out the door and down the corridor.
Julia, thirty-four, divorced, one child eight years old. She lives alone in a small apartment near the hospital. For almost all of the six years since her divorce, she has worked at the hospital as a nurse's aide-one long, tedious battle with bedpans, bottle washing, food serving, errand running, patient turning, and dressing and pampering, and anything else she's asked to do by the nurses on duty during her shift-and providing patients with "some sort of release while they're here," in exchange for money.
"Yes, damn it, it makes me a whore. I know that, but I see nothing wrong with that. See, I believe in sex. I believe that everybody should have the opportunity to have some sort of sex outlet. It's too beautiful, too nice a feeling to want to deprive anybody of it, and the hospital makes no arrangements whatsoever for it. Don't you see there's nothing wrong with it? It's all right. It's beautiful. I'm giving them something they'd get no other way. And my charging them for it is no more immoral than the hospital charging them for the services the hospital provides."
I asked her how she happened to start her service.
"It was little more than a month after I came to work here six years ago. There was this patient in orthopedics. He had the lower sections of his legs practically pulverized in a construction accident, and they'd been amputated just below the knees. He'd been hospitalized for a little over nine months. He was good-looking, strong chin-a strong man actually, but you could see what this had done to him. When a man-when he feels like, well, like he's less a man, when he not only feels it, but can look down at the lower part of his body and see plain as day that he's less a man, less a human being with visual evidence confronting him every day for the rest of his life-you can see how hard that would be on any man, but especially on one as active as he was, an outdoor man, one who couldn't stand to be inside for a minute. I never went into his room when he wasn't staring out the window, not that he could see anything even when he was sitting up except a smoke stack rising from the hospital maintenance building, and maybe an occasional bird flying by.
"He wasn't married. He had this girl friend -she was a beautiful woman, kind of hard around the edges, but a real knockout, really, who used to come in once in a while soon after I came to work. She'd been in regularly, I learned shortly after the accident happened, and then later she just couldn't face the idea of telling him it was all over. But, he knew it anyway, he knew. How could he not know? And how could anybody blame her. They hadn't set a date or anything, but he told me later it was just sort of understood that someday they would get married. But who can blame her for not wanting to be married to a cripple? Some men are cripple enough in the head, without taking on a crippled body to go along with it. It would be different if it had been another man, but he was too much a man, too active a man not to have this affect his mind-maybe even turn him into a vegetable, eventually. Who knows ? There are too many good. . . .
"Anyway, I joked with him, teased him, got him to laugh, which was difficult as hell. You very seldom even saw the slightest hint of a smile And we got to be friends. He'd tell me about hunting trips he'd taken a couple of years before when he bagged a deer, or talk about the time he went deep-sea fishing in Florida. He'd had an athletic scholarship to go to college, football, but he'd had to go to work instead to help out his family.
"And then later he got to talking about his legs, about what could he do? He couldn't go back on his job. He had some insurance that would give him a small income for the rest of his life, but what would it do to him to do nothing, live like a cripple. I tried to tell him there were other things, things he could do constructively. He could take a job in an office -there's no problem any more about artificial limbs. He could get artificial legs and get around almost as well as he could before the accident, but I could tell it was little use. There was just no way to get to him. And then he started talking one day about his girl friend, about being so much less a man. Like what woman would even want him now, like that, and how he didn't blame her for not wanting him.
"And then I realized-I'd been so lonely, and except for once with a total bastard shortly after my divorce, I hadn't had any sex with a man since my husband. I realized I wanted him. He was a damned handsome individual. It made no difference about his legs. He was a man, a real man. You don't meet many like him. And there I was telling him, letting him know that women would still find him attractive, that I found him exceedingly attractive. Then I don't know what happened, but I was sitting on the side of his bed talking to him, and then suddenly I was kissing him, really kissing him, feeling his tongue darting in between my lips, battling mine, and I could feel that tongue all the way down to my thighs. I don't know. It was too fast, too sudden. I couldn't think straight. I only knew that if I didn't get away from him then, no telling what I'd have done. So I got away.
"I could see the hurt in his eyes. I started to try to explain, but I knew it was no use.
"At nine o'clock the wing settles down for the night. Except for calls and scheduled medication, the night nurses seldom move around. I knew I could make it up the service stairs and into his room without being seen, and even if I was fairly sure the night nurse wouldn't turn me in, she's a pretty good egg, and so that's what I did.
"He was asleep when I sneaked in a little after eleven. He was lying on his back with his head turned toward the window. There was a little light coming through the blinds, shining on his face. His expression, even in sleep, was painfully resigned, or something. Really sad.
"I sat down on the bed beside him. He stirred, then opened his eyes. 'Hi,' I said, then I bent over and kissed him on the mouth. It was kind of like he didn't know what was happening at first, sort of unresponsive. Then his arms moved around me, crushing me to him, his hands moving up and down my back. And then he sort of rolled me over him on my back, and he raised above me on his elbow, his arm around my shoulders, his other hand moving over my stomach, up and down, under my breasts, then over one, cupping it gently, his mouth finding mine again. Then his hand tightened on my breasts.
"His fingers found the buttons of my uniform. I'd gone home and bathed and changed clothes and fed Sonny, my boy, and waited for the sitter, but I'd put on another uniform so I wouldn't look out of place wandering around the corridors of the hospital so late at night. His hand moved around inside, behind, and my lungs surged with air at the sudden release of the bra hooks, at his hand, moving in and under, brushing the cups up, over the globes, up to my neck, cupping my flesh in his hand, finding the nipple with his finger as he kissed me hard, and then moving his lips down my neck, over the bra, down the soft sensitive skin. His mouth, his tongue, he closed in around the nipple and then spread his lips, sucking me in, drawing me further and further inside his mouth until I thought he was going to swallow me.
"My own hands started searching down beneath the covers, the sudden touch of flesh, hard and stiff, there for me instead of having to grope for it. It was shocking to my senses, maybe in expectation, maybe in disbelief that it was really there, maybe just the idea of it suddenly there for me, knowing I'd soon feel it, the whole, huge, stiff, painfully joyous length of it, jammed into me. Oh, just the thought of it.
"His breath sucked in hard as I grabbed hold, squeezing it, feeling the steel-like hardness, the warmth of it in my palms. A moan ripped out of his throat as my hand moved down the shaft, taking the short foreskin with it. I could feel the moistness from the tip as the head of it brushed against my wrist. I got to feeling so exhilarated. I raised up from the waist and bent down over it, ran my tongue around it, his hand going with me, still holding onto my breast. I let the skin come forward, stretching it up on the head as far as it would go, dipping my tongue down, around the rim of it, and then pulled it back down moving it inside my mouth, deeper and deeper past my lips. I could feel him, almost touch his mind with my tongue, knowing how good it was for him. The moans coming from between his lips, the soft gentle words were almost superfluous somehow, like an intelligible purr. His hips were writhing uncontrollably beneath my head.
"But then he slid the top of my uniform off my shoulders, down on my arms. I switched hands, letting him draw the sleeves over my arms, the bra straps with it, and then I was completely naked from the waist up.
"I was really enjoying it, but then his hands on my shoulders pulled me away from it, pulled me back on the bed. His mouth groped for mine, finding it, pummeling my lips with his own, his hands busy pushing the uniform down over my hips. I helped, raised my hips off the bed, pushing with him, kicking it aside, and then my panties behind it.
"His hands explored between my legs, his hand gliding in, grasping tight, his fingers rode down over the mound, down through the crease finding the mouth waiting to suck him inside, to swallow his fingers-his whole hand the way I was feeling, but I didn't want his finger.
"I still held on to him, held on as if without it I'd fall straight through the whirling whorls of my feeling mind, and I practically groaned in a half whisper, 'This-this is what I want!' tugging on it, pulling at it as if I knew it would reach all the way inside me without either of us even shifting a muscle.
"Then I looked at his face. It was falling-falling over an interminable time from almost total exhilaration to total despair. And then I remembered. Dumb me! He couldn't turn, the two stubs of what had once been legs were in traction. I swung my leg over and raised up, stuffing him inside me, or trying to. He was so hung! It was so funny, he was still wet from my mouth, and I thought I could just gobble him up, big as I knew he was, just ram it in me. I raised up on one knee and moved the head of it into place then lowered my body, almost dropped my body on top of it, not thinking about it being so damned huge. Just the head of it went in, but oh, I felt as if I split in two! My eyes felt like they were coming out of my head, and it was a minute before I could get my breath, but then the hurt of it, some strange hurt blending with something else, the best feeling, the most beautiful feeling, the warmth spreading out from it, all over my body, it was so strange! I could feel my face going from shocked surprise to realization, to warmth and feeling so good, to smiling, so lazily and comfortably and beautifully.
"He must have seen every subtle change, even in the dim light, and he was grinning at me, a warm, knowing, silly, confident grin-a man's grin, all man, who knew precisely what it was to make a woman feel like a woman. I bent down and kissed him lazily, our lips wet and hot, feeling him take both my tits in his hands.
"I lowered myself carefully, then very slowly
-damn his eyes, mocking me. But it felt so good, so very, very good. It had been so long, so very, very long. I could feel it filling me up, completely filling me, and still all of it wasn't inside me, and I kept on lowering myself, feeling the hurt begin again, a different kind of hurt deep inside, but I couldn't stop forcing myself on it, inch by sweet painful beautiful inch, wanting it all, wanting every damned inch of it!
"And I did it, I took it all, feeling some kind of triumph, and I looked at him, knowing he knew what I was feeling, wanting to put it into words like 'Look, you're one hell of a goddamn man. I know it, but look at me, I'm a hell of a woman-you're not too goddamn much man for me.' But he knew it. His hands squeezed my tits, his head raised and kissed each of the nipples, then his arms went around me, pulling me down, his mouth moved from my lips over my neck, my shoulders, under my chin, back to my lips again. His lips were stirring under mine, still pressing against mine, feeling himself rammed all the way inside me, but anxious, wanting me, wanting to feel, crying with a need to erupt inside me, a violent eruption, spitting coals and hot lava.
"I ground my ass back at him, then slowly raised it up and away, slowly coming up the shaft, feeling that huge head being stopped by the sheer size of it inside the mouth of my vagina-the first time I've ever felt anything like that. And then I started down on it again, going all the way on it just like before, feeling it, pausing a minute, and then up the shaft again, all the way, and then down again very slowly, wanting to savor it, every second of it, every enthralling tingle of emotion of ecstasy it was capable of creating inside me. But then almost without realizing it, the tempo of my movements was increasing, building.
"And then the sensuousness, the emotion was surging upward, climbing too fast, too fast, and my whole body was melting, melting down into one large cavernous hole, filled with nerve ends dancing, going crazy! Oh god, thinking about it, with him inside me, that big goddamn prick, his whole hips, those two stumps like pricks themselves, his whole body and head and shoulders ramming the hole, splitting it, filling, splitting it wider, filling it fuller, building!
"He grunted once, and his body went wild, and I knew he was coming. With just the realization of it, I exploded, completely exploded. My mind, my whole body shattered. I knew I practically screamed. I couldn't help it.
Then I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember I was lying on my back, cradled in his arms, his mouth moving gently across my lips and my neck and my breasts. It was the most . . . there's no words to explain it, it was the most beautiful, most satisfying orgasm I'd ever had, or for that matter, that I've ever had since!"
At this point I interrupted the subject with a question regarding her sex life following her divorce and prior to the time she first had sex with a hospital patient. The verbatim exchange that followed is reproduced here.
Question: Because of the circumstances it was essential, you felt, to take the aggressive role with the amputee. The way you said it, I assume you didn't ordinarily take that role in sexual relations with the other men you'd dated up to-
Julia: I like that position, I like to be above the men I dated. That was the first time since thing about it, I wasn't too interested in dating anyone before then. I didn't date too many men up until then.
Question: What would you say was the frequency of your sexual relations up to that time?
Julia: Actually, I didn't date much at all.
Question: How often would you say? You've been divorced six years, have you been out with other men an average of once a month?
Julia: Nowhere near that. Much less.
Question: What would you say? Once every three months?
Julia: Actually, I'd gone out with men a couple of times-several, quite a few times, as a matter-of-fact.
Question: So, your sex life up to that time was infrequent?
Julia: I never had actual sex relations with the men I dated. That was the first time since almost a year before my divorce that I'd had relations. I just wasn't interested. I mean, enough. Some men turned me on, I mean some men were attractive to me, but for some reason I just never got around to it, to sex.
Question: That was the first time? In the hospital? And it happened just as you described it?
Julia: Yes.
Question: Had you assumed as actively an aggressive role in relations with your husband prior to your divorce.
Julia: No. Actually I'd thought about it many times, but my husband just wanted to crawl on and crawl off. He was a real bastard, no feeling whatsoever for what I wanted, which was really strange because he came off so unbelievably sensitive-even frail almost. It was only after I married him that I found out just what kind of a bastard he really was. He always had to be on top, always had to dominate me. . . . "
Julia is obviously an obsessive-compulsive personality, narcissistically oriented, with the need to dominate. The physical restraint, the weakness, the helplessness common to hospital patients and expected in the hospital environment, renders the atmosphere especially conducive, and the patients themselves naturally attractive to her desire for objects of domination. Part of her compulsion is undoubtedly priapically focused-her imagery during intercourse of the male as one large phallus, for example, is only one example of the trait. Possibly her first sexual involvement with a patient, the most satisfying single copulatory event in her entire conscious history, was considerably influenced by the fact that he was a double amputee, who was the perfect sex partner for her, not only because of his general helplessness and submissive state due to his accident and resistant feelings of inadequacy, but also because the traction rigs binding him were sadomasochistically inducive to her sexual satisfaction. All this, plus the fact that the patient was rather well-endowed physically, made him the epitome of perfection for Julia. Her husband, too, fit the evaluation, "so unbelievably sensitive-even frail almost," and her divorce from him after discovering he was not the submissive personality she had expected, further bears out the contention.
Question: That first time you had intercourse with a patient, the way you related it, I assume that your interest and the final culmination of the sex act between you was not for money ?
Julia: No, certainly not! I didn't even think about it. And then afterward, I really-really liked him. I think I even loved him. I didn't think about anybody else, about sex with anybody else. After that first time, I just wanted him. Funny, I wanted him all the time. And, he wanted me at first in the same way, every time we could be together. And we were together almost every night for a while. Then that stupid girl-
Question: What girl?
Julia: I don't really know. All I know is that his girl friend, the one that had practically deserted him before then, came in one afternoon while I was on duty. I recognized her, and I recognized too, that instead of staying five or ten minutes the way she usually did, the R.N. had to practically evict her long after visiting hours were over.
Question: Do you think possibly that your interest in him revived his interest in himself enough to reactivate her interest?
Julia: I don't know. I didn't give a damn at the time. The only thing I knew was that instead of me spending time with him, now it was two of us-and then later, he used to put me off. His legs hurt, or he was too tired. When he left the hospital, he got my address. I thought he wanted to reach me, wanted to be with me. You know what he did ? He sent me a check! Sent me a damned lousy check, a hundred bucks. Oh, a very nice note came with it, telling me that he knew what my circumstances were, how hard I had it, trying to support myself and my son with little more than the salary I drew from the hospital-God knows that bastard ex-husband of mine gives me little enough-and that I'd been so good to him, I'd done so much for him that he wanted to do something for me in return, and that he thought that more than anything else I might appreciate just a little something to help make it easier with the bills and things. And he added a postscript, 'Oh yes, I'm getting married next week,' or something like that, just about as blunt, and he hoped I wished him half as much happiness as he wished me.
Question: Up to that time you hadn't thought about taking money from a patient, about having sex with a patient for money?
Julia: Right. But after that it was all I could think of. I thought, well, a hundred bucks for a few rolls in the hay, not expecting anything at all, it was damned nice, windfall money. And I got to thinking, there are plenty of patients who need a sexual outlet, who would be more than happy to pay a few dollars, or a lot for that matter, for the privilege. After that, I got smart.
Question: Do you have a set charge for your services ?
Julia: No. I never talk money, as a matter-of-fact, I let a few patients know, those I'm particularly interested in, that I'm having a rather hard time of it financially, and that I'd do just about anything for money. I don't want to seem like a professional. I think I'd probably make less money if I did. The ones who slip me a ten or something, I let go. I don't press them for any more. Besides, I've drawn as much as two hundred dollars from an especially grateful old man for a lousy thirty-second blow job. He blew his rocks so fast I almost choked to death. But that was all right. That was why he gave me so damned much money, he felt guilty about it. He was so funny, he practically cried when I got mad at him. I don't know what he thought I was going to do, but he didn't have to worry I'd have eaten him alive for two hundred dollars.
Question: You said you'd never had sex with anybody outside the hospital before that first time with a patient. Have you ever had sex with anybody outside the hospital since?
Julia: Yes, several times, but it was always with somebody I'd met in the hospital. Usually, I don't mess around with anybody after they're discharged unless they're still really in a bad way. All of the men I've had sex with after they were discharged were still bed cases. It's different helping somebody out in the hospital. Outside, they can get anybody. It's just not the same.
Question: You have no desire to see anybody outside the hospital unless they're still recuperating?
Julia: That's right.
Question: Not even ex-patients that you've already had relations with and received money from?
Julia: That's right. I don't want any more to do with them after they get out. Oh, I've had plenty of chances to take money from men on the outside, men who were never in a hospital, but-it's so cold or something, so unhumanitarian. This way, I'm taking money but I'm really helping somebody. The other way-well, I'm just not that kind of a girl."
Prostitution among R.N.'s nurses aides and other personnel connected with hospitals is rare, but some cases have been discovered in recent years around the country.
A candy-striper in a Midwestern hospital was interrupted masturbating a patient. It was later discovered that she had been accepting money, five and ten dollars apiece for masturbating patients, men and women, for almost a year. Her parents had been giving her a two dollar weekly allowance, and after the scandal broke out, it was discovered that she had spent an inestimable amount of money on clothes and miscellaneous items and still had more than three thousand dollars in a personal bank account.
Two student nurses in a western hospital were exposed for having sexual relations with patients in exchange for money, twenty-five dollars per orgasm. The two girls took turns with patients, one earning the money while the the other acted as lookout.
Aides are more prone to hospital prostitution than women of other vocations within the environment. Aides are usually women in the lower socio-economic strata, with less education, less vocational training, and direr need for a job. Aide duties are composed of scut work, for the most part, and facing the problem squarely, with the exception of those who desire specifically the hospital environment, few women are interested in the job. Pay is exceedingly low, with aides usually receiving little more than a typical domestic or day servant wage. Though for many that apply there are other compensations in the job, the "Florence Nightingale" syndrome specifically, usually the outlook toward the job is with little enthusiasm and with few rewards.
CHAPTER FOUR
MEDICAL DOCTORATE: SEX LICENSE
Dr. Richard M. is a surgeon in a large southern California hospital. In his early forties, he has reached a plateau of success higher than most physicians dream. He's a handsome, distinguished looking man, hair beginning to gray at the temples, strong face, an easy boyish smile, a warm friendly personality, and is obviously an excellent catch for any woman. Many have tried to get their talons on him, but he inevitably gets more into them than they he, and what the women would like to get on a reasonably permanent full-time basis, usually ends up part-time, and all too temporary to suit them. He has, at any one time, at least one wife and one fairly steady mistress, plus screwing around sessions, usually no more than one per woman with half a dozen others. His first wife died years ago, leaving him with a son. He married his then-mistress, thereby relegating her to the seldom seen woman in his life, and moved one of the hospital staff, already one of his occasional girls, into a fairly steady role but that mistress has been replaced by twenty or thirty others since then.
Charlotte, early twenties, recently divorced, no children, a nurse's aide at the hospital. She saw the doctor and immediately decided she was madly in love with him. She had no hope, really, of the doctor ever paying any romantic attention to her. The whole hospital knew he was involved in a rather steady affair with one of the O.R. nurses, who let every other woman on the staff know that the doctor was hers. The fact that he had a wife meant nothing at all-and that everybody else had better damned well stay away from him. But because he was a surgeon, Charlotte went into training as an O.R. aide just to be near him in the operating room. She subsequently enrolled in a local college for two years in a nurses' training course and became an R.N. She despised floor nursing and remained in the O.R. as a scrub nurse, one who does the important surgical assisting. It was almost five years after Charlotte had first met the doctor that he looked at her one afternoon after a particularly exhaustive but rewarding operation on a child-a cardiac failure, open heart massage and then finally successful surgery. His greens were blood-spattered and he looked tired, but most importantly he was triumphant. He told Charlotte, "You're the best goddamn scrub nurse I've ever worked with!" She almost swooned with the words, so much so that she almost missed his next words, melting from the way he was staring at her. "Get dressed," he had said. "We've earned ourselves a couple of martinis."
She met him in the cocktail lounge across the street from the hospital, the same lounge she had seen other women practically run to after he asked them. She had changed into whites, her cap set at a jaunty angle. As her eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting, she saw him alone at a booth in a corner.
He stood up as she approached. He didn't say hello, just, "You were beautiful this afternoon. From now on, nobody but you is scrubbing for me."
The words sang round and round in her ears, the ultimate compliment for an O.R. nurse. She was shaking all over, unable to believe that she was there, much less hearing his words.
She dropped her eyes, staring at the olive in the martini he ordered for her before she'd arrived. She couldn't look at him. "There's nobody I'd rather scrub for," she told him. And then after a long moment of building her courage, her eyes, adoring, totally yielding, finally rose to his, "You were beautiful, too. You're always beautiful."
He stared at her for a long moment, the same way he had stared earlier in surgery as if he were seeing her for the first time.
Then without warning, with no discussion about it, he bent toward her, his mouth toward hers. She felt his lips touch hers easily, gently, and as if he controlled her completely, his lips opened wider, hers with his, then felt his tongue brush past her lips. The kiss grew more and more demanding, insistent, more and more committing.
Her whole body seemed to quake with longing, with warmth, spreading from her lips, down from her head, up from her toes, finding, lodging and growing hotter between her thighs. His mouth slowly withdrew from hers, and slowly, slowly, her head moved down to its normal position, her eyes slowly opened, the warmth finally centered itself in her vagina, and she could feel the hotness. She crossed her legs. The muscles in her buttocks, in her thighs, contracted, tied themselves in knots as if on their own accord. When the image of him finally focused dreamily in her mind, she found herself making a slow lazy noise in her throat, like a kitten purring, and her pulse beating was like some accompanying percussion with its rhythm totally wild and erratic. She lifted her glass and drank from it, practically drained it, not even tasting the gin, not able to take her eyes away from his, and then she just sat there hypnotized, not even setting the glass down, but staring across the rim of it at the man she'd loved for so long without hope.
He almost whispered the words, "Do you live alone?"
She nodded weakly.
He sipped one last time from his drink, slid from the booth and helped her up. There were no further words between then, none were needed.
She lay still, her eyes closed, lips curved in a smile, no sound in the room except the music, low and sentimental, from the radio beside her bed, and the sound of her own lazy pulse in her ears and the sighing rushes of air from her lungs. Her body still throbbed all over from the feel of him. She was so weak, so exhausted, so beautifully exhausted. She glowed as if from some inner kindling flame. She yawned and stretched, reaching with her toes, arching her back. She rolled over on her side and drew her knees up, clasping her hands together between her thighs. Dreamily, she could still feel him against her, inside her, around her, enveloping her. She'd wrapped her legs around his hips and met every thrust of his with the force of her own heaving pelvis, met the fierceness of his lovemaking with a determination that seemed near desperation. All the while, as his hands squeezed and kneaded the full sensuous mounds of her breasts, as his penis lunged inside her with the sweet hot precision of a piston on a maddening sex-driving cam, as his hot flesh melted and blended into hers, the pores of their body sucking each other, merging two bodies into one long continuing flux of sensuousness, as his mouth screwed hers with the same passion that his penis screwed in her vagina, as total ecstasy touched them, swept them up in its force, carried them with it, higher and higher, as they dove off the rim of blind ecstasy together, their minds reeling in, wasted with the tide, and then with her departing again as his hips began another rhythm of slow grinding washes of tide, in seconds bringing her to the peak again, then again and again, and finally she'd lost count, feeling the peak sustaining, draining her, sucking her strength with ecstasy and leaving total joy in its place, all the while she lived and felt.
When his lips came away from hers, her lips kept repeating over and over, never ending, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. . . . " She thought about it a minute, "I've always loved you."
The affair continued for several weeks, growing in intensity, the doctor spending increasingly more time with Charlotte. From that point events began to assume all the characteristics of a soap opera. The doctor's steady mistress grew increasingly vindictive toward her former lover and Charlotte. After a violent argument with Richard one afternoon, she paid a visit to his wife and told her about the doctor's affair with Charlotte. The wife drank herself into a stupor, and later that evening drove her car into a concrete block wall. Her face was cut up in the accident. There was no critical damage physically, but she suffered a severe emotional crackup and was hospitalized. Because of the scandal, Charlotte lost her job at the hospital.
Richard filed for divorce which caused even greater emotional stress for his wife. Then he bought a five-carat engagement ring and asked Charlotte to marry him. Using the full weight of his influence and prestige, he got her reinstated to the hospital staff. A few months later they were married, took an extensive honeymoon in Europe, and then resumed their routine.
Charlotte was ecstatic. Richard was hers, at work and at home. Of course, the after-hours calls he received grew more frequent a couple of months after they returned from the honeymoon, but Charlotte supposed that was the penalty she had to pay for being the wife of a prestigious surgeon. When he was near her, she couldn't keep her hands off him. All day at the hospital she thought of nothing else but getting him home to sit next to him, fondle him, arouse him. The need she felt for him was unbearable and most continuous. At first he responded with every bit of ardor she could ever hope for, then as time passed, he was less and less responsive.
A few weeks after they'd returned, he was relaxed in a chair, reading. She was sitting on the floor at his feet, leaning her head on his leg, fondling the inside of his leg. Stroking his penis gently through his pants, it took a little time before it began to stiffen and swell. Smiling, she unzipped his pants, reached in, feeling it big and hard, pulling it free. She squeezed it gently, marveling at the tool of her pleasure. Lovingly she held it in both her hands. She ran her tongue around the head of it, then slipped it slowly between her lips, into her mouth. Tasting it, she drew it in deeper, then out, then in again, going deeper each time, feeling it finally touching the back of her throat, wanting it, almost gagging on it, wanting to swallow it all the way down.
When she could stand it no longer, she looked up at him, taking it away from her lips, asking, "Can we go to bed for a while?" Waiting an interminable length of time, she looked at him.
Finally he took her hand, helped her up and they walked, holding each other close, to the bedroom. Feverishly Charlotte undressed, completely nude before he even had his pants off, helping him, practically ripping at his clothes.
Then he too was nude, and she clutched him to her, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. Then they were on the bed, railing at each other, feeling their passions build between them. Charlotte so aware of his hard masculinity ramming in thick and hot, gliding in and out between her thighs. Then all too soon it was over, she feeling her own climax there and then subsiding as she felt his building and then erupting inside her, his body surging, reaching in, stretching inside her, depositing his sperm in her.
He rolled off her, his chest heaving, his breath coming hot and heavy, almost rasping from his lungs. She swung up, bending over his frame, again taking his penis, now limp, into her mouth. She began working, trying to breathe life back into it, wanting him again, and again.
His voice was low, broken with his heavy breathing, a gentle but curiously exasperated voice, "Don't you . . . ever . . . get tired?" He might as well have slapped her in the face.
Richard began to spend less and less time at home. He persuaded Charlotte to quit her job at the hospital-it "didn't look right" for his wife to be working.
After six months, she practically never got to see him. She didn't need anybody to tell her, as they had her antecedent, that he was screwing around on the side (though somebody did eventually get around to it, for her own benefit) . To combat her loneliness, and to keep an eye on him, she joined the women's auxiliary at the hospital and became a five-day-a-week volunteer. The wealthy socialites who comprised the nucleus of this group never did accept her, neither did the close clique of other doctors' wives who had wallowed in their Dr. and Mrs. status for a long time.
A year and a half after the marriage, Charlotte filed for divorce. The settlement was comfortable. She went back to work in another hospital as a scrub nurse. She now has her eye on another doctor. As for Richard, it took little time for him to move another girl up in the ranks to take Charlotte's place.
The medical mystique provides the physician with an edge over laymen when it comes to seductive capability. He is the only individual in society other than a husband or lover that society permits to poke and fondle the most intimate parts of a woman's body. The poking and fondling is supposed to be objective, with a clear cut purpose.
Actually, physicians, according to recent studies in the area, are possibly the least qualified to even discuss sexual satisfaction. In the work conducted by Drs. Harold I. Lief, Katherine Young, Vann Spruiell, Robert Lancaster and Victor A. Lief, "A Psychodynamic Study of Medical Students and Their Adaptational Problems" (Journal of Medical Education, Volume 35, 1960), medical students, with few exceptions, were proven to be "over-controlled personalities," more subject to celibatic convention and prudishness than sexual knowledge. Fewer than one-third of graduating students could be classified as sexually mature. A surprising number of students in the survey were still virgins.
Nevertheless, it is not the facts but the myth of sexual knowledge, hence mythical prowess, that bears its influence on the public, creating a sex mystique quite enmeshed with, but definitely divorced from the professional mystique. Too, the doctor is in a unique position to evaluate the workings of the myth. He has the tools not only to observe increasing sexual excitement in a patient: increased heart, pulse, breathing rates, etc. during an examination with subtle moves toward deliberate arousal, but even to measure them if he so chooses.
CHAPTER FIVE
PRESCRIPTION FOR SEX
Naomi shrunk from behind the huge hulking nurse who led her into the examining room. Her soft soulful eyes, normally timid, search about fearfully as if looking for a chance to escape. The nurse, Naomi never knew her name, always referring to her as "Nurse Bigg," held hangers for her clothes, her white uniform stretched taut over the gigantic protrusions of mammaries under the cloth. The big-boned woman, fully five-ten, looking more like a drill sergeant than a nurse, peered out through emotionless eyes, but as usual Naomi felt as if a predatory beast loomed above her, ready to leap down and rip her body apart with its teeth. She shivered visibly at the thought, but a wild excitement accompanied the fear.
"A little chilly in here?" The nurse's voice was soft and shrill, little-girlish, an incongruous voice in so domineering a frame.
Naomi stepped out of her skirt. "No, no. It's . . . fine." She handed the skirt to Bigg, as she had her blouse, and stood a moment indecisively, dressed only in bra, panty-hose and heels.
Bigg carefully arranged the skirt on the hanger, hung it on the hook on the wall and turned back to the patient. She watched the tiny girl for a moment, and then seeing that Naomi made no move to continue undressing, she shifted toward her. "Here, can I help with those?"
Naomi starts nervously, "No!" And then embarrassed, she reaches behind her back, unhooks the bra catch and lets the straps fall off her shoulders. "No, that's all right. I'll do it."
Her breasts sway free, and self-consciously the girl stands erect, holding her shoulders back, thrusting her fleshy globes forward. Her face is already flushed, and as she hands the bra to Bigg, seeing the hulking woman looking at the full, firm contours in that one unguarded moment, watching the woman's tongue flit out over thin lips. The flush deepens as she feels the nipples, now with the air caressing the tips, tighten and extend, erecting, the flush spreading from them, feeling the goose bumps form, not only from the air but from the way she knows Bigg is staring at them.
Defiantly she sticks her thumbs in the waistband of the panty-hose and pushes them down, exposing the milk-white cheeks of rounded buttocks, the thick white thighs, the soft furry mound of pubic hair. Feeling her awkwardness, she stands on one leg, then the other, removing the thin sheer nylon, sliding it down each leg, off her feet. Bending forward, her breasts sway erratically with her movements, and she can feel Bigg's eyes scraping like sandpaper over her flesh.
As Bigg folds and places the last garment on the hanger, Naomi raises herself onto the examining table, sitting, then swings her legs around just as Bigg comes over to help. The big nurse lifts the leg supports, fits Naomi's legs into them, high, spreading them wide. She takes a sheet from the cabinet and spreads it over the girl, the white cloth like a hood over her legs, knowing that on the other side of it she is completely exposed.
"Comfy?" Bigg's little-girl voice again, appearing over the hood. Naomi ignores her, as Bigg, patting the inside of her thigh beneath the sheets, smiles, or more descriptively, leers and leaves the room.
In what seems little more than seconds, the door opens again and Dr. Jensen enters, followed by Bigg. Jensen is short, aggressive, breezy, his nose red, his whole body always veering slightly without pattern as if from too much alcohol. "And how are we today?"
Naomi mumbles incoherently. She is tempted to answer, I don't know how we are, but I'm sick just from hearing that line!
Jensen folds the sheet down from the top, down to Naomi's waist. He puts his stethoscope to his ears and places the cold metal tip to his patient's breast. "Take a deep breath. . . . " He moves the instrument around over both breasts as Bigg stands to the side, waiting. His free hand pushes gently here, moving there, the edge of his hands then his fingertips touching the nipple, moving around the areola, noting with satisfaction the stiffening of erectile flesh as he toys, moving to the other breast, his own breath beginning to grow heavier.
He removes the stethoscope, folds it, places it in the pocket of his lab jacket. Then with both hands he takes one of her breasts and begins to manipulate the flesh, gently, kneading it, working it like a lump of clay, holding it in his two hands, ballooning the flesh, his eyes growing larger, watching Naomi's face, her reaction, squeezing, kneading.
Naomi feels his hands like two huge sponges, the pores sucking at her own. She can feel her lungs growing in her chest, feeling the warmth of his hands spreading through her skin. She lies quietly, breathing heavily, her eyes closed, her lips parted slightly, her breath coming in rasps between her lips. She sucks in hard as his mouth hits the tender mound of flesh, as his tongue flicks hot around the dark tips of breast. He sucks it hard, his lips turned under, gnawing it, continuing to gnaw at it, knead it with his mouth, suck it, ballooning it between his hands, forcing more and more of the sensitive globe into his mouth. Then his hands move away, his mouth continues to work at the breast, but his hands move away to her other breast, beginning there as he had with the one before it, kneading, manipulating the soft plastic mound. Naomi moans loud, the sound breaking at the end with a gasp as the doctor's mouth moves to her other breast, the one he now holds in his hands.
Her eyes are still closed. She doesn't see the doctor's eyes going to Bigg, getting his attention, then motioning with a slight lilt of his head for her to join him. Naomi feels his hands, his mouth, move back to her other breast-then new hands, another mouth. Two mouths working at once, four hands on the vibrant, sensitive wells of her body. She feels the excitement rising within her, continuing to rise. Her head twists frantically from side to side, feeling the delicious enjoyment.
She feels a hand gliding slowly down, across her abdomen, fondling around her navel, then slide lower into the hair above her thighs, over the pubic mound, down through the creases of her vulva. Teasingly it dips down into her vagina, then back to her clitoris, toying with it gently, and then dipping down over the mouth of her vagina again, over her anus, on through the crease between her buttocks.
Still teasing, the hand glides up her thigh, pressing, squeezing the soft manipulative flesh, then down directly across the vulva again, and up her other thigh, then down again, back into the crease where her juices boil from the hot excitement coursing through her veins, back to her vagina, her clitoris.
Slowly, reluctantly, darting again and again back to it, the hand moves back up her body, back to her breast again. And then there is only one mouth, two hands, each of the hands at one of her breasts, fondling, squeezing, the mouth moving back and forth from one stiff tip across the valley between two globes to the other nipple.
Naomi's whole body begins to stiffen expectantly she knows what's coming, every gnawed nerve in her body stretching, waiting, knowing what is seconds away, every waving frantic nerve groping for it, wanting it.
And then it's there. "Oh goddamn it, yes, yes! Oohh!" She can feel it. She feels it, that hot, fat mouth licking her, exploring her. Her teeth gnash together. She struggles with the sheet, pulling at it, her head rises, her eyes bulge, straining toward the source of her pleasure. She pushes the doctor's head away. "I want to see," snatching at the fabric, jerking away the sheet.
Her legs are there, spread wide on the padded supports, the thick bobbing head between them, bobbing as the mouth moves in and out around her vulva, stopping at the clitoris, focusing all that sucking power there, then moving again, back again, dipping inside, back to the clitoris, building her emotions.
The doctor's head moves back to her breast, and Naomi cradles it in her arm, her other hand reaching down to the other head, the one between her thighs, grabbing on, holding, pressing the face tighter into her. Her lungs stop again, her breasts swell straining, lungs full of air straining for the climax she feels approaching at a wild, crazy speed.
Then it's on her, that blind profusion of sensations, colors battling, blending, exploding from the clitoral rib, the detonator, the blast electric, running through her conductor body, a flash of current, a blast of will, of pure emotion against the pressing powers of inhibitions.
She moans against clenched teeth, beads of sweat popping out on her forehead, her upper lip, her tongue struggling then breaking through her lips with the sounds, not a moan any longer but a wail, a delicious ecstatic wail reverberating through the room and through her mind. Her hand pulling at Bigg's head, forcing it tighter into her, her fingers entangled in hair, yanking, stuffing, jerking the head harder and harder. And then weaker, the strength seemingly dissipating from her fingers, from her body. Her mind soars free of it, free from the room, from her surroundings, from everything except the singular existence of feeling, of ecstasy.
Even as the ecstasy settles into the hot glow and fades to a lazy warm pleasure, Naomi feels new sensations between her thighs, rubbing through her vulva then concentrating at the mouth of her vagina. Her eyes open dully, her mind already beginning to soar again, again knowing what is to come, her body aware of it even as her mind begins to grasp it. She was not even aware of the switch, but Bigg is kissing her breasts, her neck, her shoulders. Jensen stands at the foot of the examining table, between her legs, still dressed in his whites, his fly open and an enormous penis, almost a monstrous apparition in his hand, moving the tip of it up and down through her vulva, pausing at the mouth of her vagina, guiding the head of it as if to enter her, testing, shifting his hips forward and then withdrawing again.
Naomi's hips writhe uncontrollably. The words start back deep in her brain. She repeats them to herself, hearing them, rolling them around in her mind. She repeats them again, listens to the words practically scream themselves back at her. She looks at Jensen, at his eyes bugged out, taking in the moist juncture between her thighs, moving up to her breasts, watching the big nurse sucking and playing around, kissing the vibrant flesh. Naomi's lips move again, then the words come, practically a whisper, but with a wistfully demanding vital need behind them, "Damn you, fuck meeee!"
Jensen's lips curl sadistically, the head of his penis set before the opening, the slightest pressure holding open the mouth to Naomi's cavernous desire.
She pleads now, her hips shifting and writhing to some unheard rhythm inside her, straining toward him.
Jensen speaks more to the room than to
Bigg, "I think she wants something." His mouth is leering.
Bigg giggles, a school-girlish noise. She lifts her face, it too leering, from Naomi's breast, "What do you suppose it can be?" She giggles again.
Jensen's voice, "What do you want, Naomi ? "
Her hips strain spastically. "You!
"What part of me do you want? My hand?" Jensen leering holds his hand out toward her. "My hand?" he nods toward her mockingly.
Naomi's eyes close, her throat constricts almost in the same rhythm as her pelvis, grinding towards the penis. She almost sobs the words. "I . . . want . . . that . . . prick! I want to . . . feel . . . that big thing . . . in my cunt!"
Jensen's eyes slit maliciously. His words drop, barely audible, "Like . . . this!"
Naomi cries out. The sudden splitting binding pain, the fierceness of that monstrous hulk rams into her, exploding inside her, making its own room. She can feel the sudden battering drive going in, hitting her cervix. She screams, and Bigg smothers her mouth with her own. The nurse's tongue batters its way through her lips, a huge tongue, and Naomi is stifled, feeling as stifled from the tongue, as split by it as she feels from that gigantic penis just thrust inside her from the other end. But the desire is if anything even stronger.
The pain is delicious to her, the feeling of being plundered, and torn by the very sexuality she feels so strongly trying to force its way outside her, pure animalistic sex, ramming into her with all its fierce masculinity, ramming her again and again, until there's just an unbelievable burning that continues to get hotter and hotter with each thrust of the thing inside her, battering her.
Jensen's eyes are those of a madman. He grasps her thighs, using them to propel himself toward her, trying to drive himself all the way through her. With each thrust he grunts, not in pleasure but in an animalistic sadism, the desire not to satisfy but to ravage, to plunder, to rape, to consume her womanhood. It is almost with disappointment that he sees her body rippling in front of him, not in pain but in obvious ecstasy. There's nothing his ramming, his taste for her pain instead of pleasure, can do about it. No matter how fiercely he batters her, it will continue to build the ecstasy before the pain, and it is almost with resolution that he feels his own body betray him. He feels his own orgasm approaching.
Interviewer: You met Jensen at the hospital?
Naomi: I was seventeen-I'd been in the auxiliary (a candy-striper) for about a year. My boyfriend kept talking about the Pill, how ridiculous it was to use a condom, and why didn't I go to a doctor. I just couldn't-couldn't stand. I was practically in tears, one afternoon at the hospital, talking to one of the nurses. I practically poured it out. Jensen came by. He's a gynecologist in private practice. The nurse stopped him and told him I needed a prescription for birth control pills. He said to come to his office the next day and that he'd give me a complete premarital physical and fix it up for me. I was ecstatic. Of course, I went.
Interviewer: You were having sex relations with the boy you were dating at the time? Naomi: Yes.
Interviewer: For how long?
Naomi: About a year.
Interviewer: He was the first?
Naomi: Yes. The first. And I was scared to death of getting pregnant.
Interviewer: How did he lead into that first sexual experience with you?
Naomi: He was very professional about the whole thing. We sat in his office, and he talked to me like a father, you know. Telling me that sex with the right man could be such a beautiful thing. That a woman, to really make it beautiful, should be able to take the initiative to really satisfy herself and satisfy her man.
Interviewer: Could be beautiful ?
Naomi: Yes, but there was really nothing wrong with the way he talked. It was really so professional.
Interviewer: Yes, so then what happened?
Naomi: Well, he rang for Bigg and had her take me back to an examining room and get undressed. She took a blood sample and had me give her a urine sample. Then Bigg left. They left me there for an awfully long time. Then the doctor came back, followed by Bigg. He put the sphygmomanometer on my arm and checked my blood pressure, and then he listened to my lungs and heart through the stethoscope-everything proper. Bigg helped him, very efficient, handing him things. He took a pap smear. He messed around with the implements down there. He put on a finger cot, one of the things like a little rubber, put a dab of vaseline on it and started messing around down there under the sheet. He ran it all the way up and down that crease, all the way from my spine way up past my clitoris. It's uncomfortable having a stranger poke at you, doctor or no doctor, embarrassing-but exciting too in a way. And that finger doing that-I was getting hot and bothered. But I just wished he'd hurry up and get through with what he had to do.
Interviewer: But he didn't stop messing around.
Naomi: Oh no, he stopped. Still very professional. He pulled the finger cot off and discarded it. He seemed to be thinking, very serious, like he was in deep thought. He walked around the room, not looking at me. I thought something must be wrong, that he must have found something. I was almost ready to scream at him, when he came around and leaned against the examining table, his arms folded across his chest and started talking to me.
Interviewer: Very professional.
Naomi: Yes, telling me that there was sometimes in a woman some little, subtle physical thing, too much fatty tissue, for example, around the clitoris area, or some slight hymenal restriction that hindered complete sexual enjoyment. He wouldn't suggest it with just any patient, but since I'd spent a lot of time around the hospital, even though just as a volunteer, that I was biologically more sophisticated than the average patient, and that if I wanted him to, he would check my emotional responses, and if there really was a physical problem as he suspected-
Interviewer: As he suspected?
Naomi: As he suspected, then he could remedy the situation with just a little bit of very minor surgery. Very minor surgery. That I wouldn't even have to go into the hospital for something that he could do right there.
Interviewer: He had you thinking then that there was possibly something really wrong with you physically.
Naomi: Scared to death! He was so serious about it, and the nurse was right there. He said that the easiest way to determine the extent of any physical hindrance was to measure my responses to simulated sex stimuli.
Interviewer: Simulated?
Naomi: That's what he said.
Interviewer: Only they weren't simulated.
Naomi: Bigg put the sphygmomanometer back on my arm and put the stethoscope to her ears. Jensen patted my hand and told me that he wanted me to close my eyes and to try very hard. He said he knew how difficult it was going to be for me, but that I should try very hard to imagine I was in bed with my lover and that he was ministering to my desires, that he was making love to me. That was the only way he could get an accurate response.
Interviewer: You hadn't, to this time, voiced any objections to what he was proposing?
Naomi: No. Oh something like, are you sure this is what I should do? He told me not to be embarrassed, that this was really essential to my future happiness. I didn't know anything. I was in a fog, really, concerned that there might be something wrong with me.
Interviewer: I see.
Naomi: And that was the way he started. I closed my eyes. I didn't know what was coming, but I knew it was something. I was tingling down there, knowing he was going to do something. I thought about him being Ronny, that it was Ronny there somewhere, waiting to touch me. Bigg was fooling around with the "sphyg," pumping air into it around my upper arm and holding the stethoscope inside my forearm as she let the air slowly out. And then I felt it. Just a brush of something wet and warm against me, down there. Then again, firmer this time, more insistent. It was like a dog licking me between the legs, and then I told myself, not like a puppy dog at all, but like Ronny-he'd never done that before, nobody had, but I told myself it was the way it would feel. I opened my eyes and looked down, but all I could see was the sheet spread up over my legs, dangling from the leg supports. Then
Bigg was staring at me, smiling this stupid smile. I knew she was just trying to reassure me, so I closed my eyes again, thought of Ronny again. The tongue got even more insistent. It wasn't just licking anymore. It wasn't just a tongue but a mouth on me, sucking me. It felt so good. It wasn't Jensen down there. It was Ronny. Then it got hold of my clitoris and sucked gently, slowly, and started to build in intensity, the rhythm increasing. Bigg kept on taking my blood pressure. I kept getting hotter and hotter. And then I didn't give a damn about anything except how good it felt, but I moaned, I know it was loud, and my head started shaking from side to side and they thought I wanted to stop! It was like pure panic with Bigg, the expression on her face, and she said something to the doctor. I couldn't hear what it was, but I know it was something to stop him because then his hand was there, still caressing my clitoris, but he had taken his mouth away and managed somehow to get his arm under the sheet from the topside of me. And still massaging my clitoris, he moved up alongside the table, and very professional again, he asked me-oh, it was so funny-his hand, his finger going like mad on me, asking if I was responding, was it sexually exciting me, that he was trying to ascertain whether I could reach a climax that way. And, me trying to figure out some way to tell him that he succeeded that I damned sure could reach an orgasm that way, but how to tell him so he wouldn't stop. It was so funny. I wanted him to stop, but I didn't want him to. I think I finally said something like I wasn't sure just yet. Something stupid, really stupid. And he knew it, too. There was some stupid leer on his face, and he moved back around the table, moved his mouth back between my legs, back on my cunt. He may be a lecherous old bastard, I was pretty sure by then that the son of a bitch was just getting his, but I was so damned hot by then it just didn't matter. Maybe after, but not then. And then with his mouth on me, that hot, wet, talented mouth, I just went wild. And Bigg started getting hers. She didn't take the sphyg off my arm, still had the stethoscope in her ears, but she started sucking my tits, and by then I didn't care, it was good, everything felt so damned good! It was only a couple of minutes maybe until I felt myself coming. I didn't even know what it was. I'd never had an orgasm before in my life.
Interviewer: That was the first time. You'd never reached a climax with your boyfriend?
Naomi: No, never. I was happy. I got hot as hell and squirmed and felt good, felt him shooting off in me, you know, just felt good all over -but never a climax. And I didn't know I was missing anything. So when I felt myself coming, I was scared, really scared. I didn't know what was happening to me. But it's like that old thing, anything so good must be bad, and so I was scared out of my wits that there was something bad happening. Then afterward, all I could do was just lay there. Like gassed. It was unbelievable what I'd felt. And I looked at those two like saints or something. I didn't, but I felt like I wanted to say thank you, over and over.
Interviewer: You didn't feel as if they'd taken advantage of you?
Naomi: The way I felt right then, they'd given me the greatest gift anybody ever had. It was like Christmas and Thanksgiving put together with St. Valentine's Day thrown in. And Jensen, afterwards, still playing the professional, talked to me for a long time, telling me that that's the feeling I'm always supposed to have, that the more I get familiar with the sex acts, the less inhibited I become, then the greater the potential for enjoyment. I believed him, and after all, it is true. He wrote me a prescription for Ovulen 20 and I left.
Interviewer: So you went back to Ronny, knowing fully what to expect from sex in terms of your own enjoyment?
Naomi: Yes. Just as Jensen said was the purpose of the thing in his office.
Interviewer: But you didn't stop going to Jensen ?
Naomi: Jensen made a follow-up appointment for two weeks after that first time anyway, but I would probably have called him to talk to him. Things just didn't work out that way with Ronny.
Interviewer: You mean your relationship with Ronny wasn't satisfactory even though you knew what to look for in a sexual relationship?
Naomi: I knew what to look for, knew what it was to be satisfied, but Ronny just didn't do it. Where before I'd been content just to let him do what he did, he played a lot and it felt" good and I'd get all excited, and then he'd put his prick in me and screw me, and I'd feel him come and that was nice, but after the first climax I had, I wanted to come, too. I didn't think it was fair of Ronny not to make me come. And I kept having this fantasy while he was playing with me, I wanted to feel his mouth on me, I wanted him to eat me. And during that next two weeks before seeing Jensen again, we must have made love a dozen times. There were a couple of times when he'd be kissing my body, my tits, and down my belly, and I'd try to push his head down further, but I couldn't just shove him down there, and he never would go. He'd just go down a little around the navel and back up again, and I'd get so damned frustrated.
Interviewer: You didn't have a climax at all with Ronny during those two weeks?
Naomi: No.
Interviewer: So what happened when you went back to Jensen?
Naomi: We didn't talk first, in his office, I mean. This time Bigg took me straight to the examining room, helped me undress, and had me get up on the table for a pelvic. Then Jensen came in, talking very fatherly about how was everything, and I told him it was just awful, that I'd made love with Ronny many times, but I couldn't get him to go down on me, and couldn't seem to have a climax any other way. I'd thought about it a lot. About being a lesbian maybe-I hadn't felt any big revulsion when Biggs was sucking my tits, for example, and Jensen's mouth-a mouth was a mouth, wasn't it? I mean, what difference did it make whether it was a man's mouth or a woman's? But Jensen told me not to worry about any of that, that the enjoyment of sex was what was foremost, and that I was a normal, healthy young girl with normal, healthy appetites. That sometimes some people just need a little help to find themselves. He said the fact that I could have a climax orally just proved that I was capable of easy climaxes, that I could just as easily have climax from a penis when I really became familiar with how it felt, how I had to attune my body to receive it. He asked me what preliminaries Ronny and I indulged it. And I tried to tell him that we kissed, and Ronny kissed and squeezed and sucked my tits. 'Like this?' he says, talking with his mouth still around my tit, and his hand starts creeping down. But it wasn't like that. Jensen goes over my cunt, over my ass, with just the slightest bit of pressure, and keeps on going, under me, coming up with a handful of my ass, squeezing, then the other cheek, and then his hand comes back down again, fiddling around, and then back to my cunt again, and he sticks his finger in. I didn't even bother trying to answer him, I just melted. His fingers moved up to my clitoris and started massaging it, wetting it with my own juice. He knew what the hell he was doing, that was obvious.
Interviewer: And the nurse is just standing there, taking it all in?
Naomi: At first, then Jensen is talking to me, asking have I ever held a man's penis in my hands, and I told him yes, that sometimes Ronny put my hand on his. He tells me he really wants me to get familiar with the penis, and he tells me that he's going to have me stimulated orally, but while it's happening, he wants me to hold a penis to really get the feel of it, to look at it and examine it, to really get to know it. Then he motions to Bigg, and she comes over and her head disappears under the sheet. He's unbuttoning the fly of his whites, reaching in his pants. And then it was so fast-the same time he had my hand, holding it with one hand, reaching in his pants with his other, and then her mouth hits my cunt and he plops that piece of meat in my hand! You wouldn't believe it. The enormity of it! The effect. That broad, her face buried in my cunt, that big prick suddenly in my hand. It was large! I could just barely touch the tips of my thumb and middle finger around only if I squeezed like hell. Over two inches thick, anyway. Ronny had seemed big inside me, but compared to Jensen, he had a nub. I couldn't imagine something the size of that thing ever going inside me-or anybody else, for that matter.
"I turned to look at it, or rather, gape at it. Jensen is short. He was standing on this little foot stool about six inches high, and even then that thing only came to the level of the table. And to see that enormous thing sticking out of his pants, the head was all red, the shaft kind of brownish except these huge purple veins sticking out. It must have been eight or ten inches long. He was never able to get it all the way inside me. I held it and squeezed it and fondled it. I really couldn't get over it! I reached inside his pants and pulled out his balls. He asked me something like, did I like it. I told him it was fantastic, and it was. I just kept looking at it, feeling it, feeling that mouth doing beautiful things to me between my legs. It felt so good, that monstrosity of a prick looked so good. I pulled it toward me, straining for it. I rubbed it against my cheek. I kissed it. And that was all I could think, all I could feel because of the happening between my legs. I felt myself coming! And I came, just like the time before, only even better than the time before."
Interviewer: Was your focal point directed toward Jensen's penis?
Naomi: What does that mean ?
Interviewer: Did an awareness of Jensen's masculinity, the presence of his sex organ before you-did the idea of that contribute to your orgasm, or was it strictly based on the clitoral stimulus from the nurse performing cunnilingus?
Naomi: It was both. I didn't identify what I was feeling between my legs with a personality, really. I mean, Bigg didn't even exist for me. The only thing that existed was the feeling in my cunt. But that giant prick existed! I couldn't believe it. And even after I came, I was burning inside, wanting to feel that thing in me, and at the same time, really scared, really scared of it, scared to try.
Interviewer: But you did try ?
Naomi: Jensen must have known what I was feeling. He was talking very gentle to me, about how it would feel. About becoming familiar with it, feel it, hug it, taste it with my tongue, get to know it. And how beautiful it could make me feel when I identified sex with it.
Interviewer: So he proposed intercourse?
Naomi: Yes, he proposed it all right, but we just couldn't make it. It really got funny there. He tried to stick it in me, he tried like hell and it hurt. I was practically ready to scream while he was trying to get it in. I was wet, still hot as hell, but it wasn't enough. He tried smearing vaseline all over it, and he still couldn't get it in. It was really funny. He was pushing like hell, trying to guide it into the hole with his hands, and the sheet got pushed down off my legs onto my stomach, so I was watching him between grimaces, and his nose, already lit up like a light bulb is getting redder, his whole face getting redder, his eyes bugged out, so frustrated-and then he lunges at me again, like one last effort, and he lets out this groan at the same time and starts shooting off. He grabs up the sheet and grabs himself with it, moaning and groaning. Then after a minute, still standing there holding onto himself in that sheet, he looks at me, then at Bigg, and he says, 'I guess that'll be about all for today.' I practically choked trying to keep from laughing, partly in relief. I wasn't ready yet to have that damned thing stuck in me.
Interviewer: And you made an appointment to see him later?
Naomi: In another two weeks.
Interviewer: Meanwhile, how were your relations with Ronny?
Naomi: They improved. That night, I got braver. I fondled his prick. I tried to jack it, but Ronny said I hurt him. I still hadn't learned how, at that time, without hurting him. He had practically no foreskin at all, not even as much as Jensen. But I kissed it, just kissed it, and touched my tongue to it. He liked that. I asked him would he kiss me down there. He did, and I moaned, and he kept mushing around down there, seeing that I obviously liked it. But he didn't know what he was doing. I tried to get him, trying to guide him with my hands, to concentrate on my clitoris, but I just couldn't get through to him.
Interviewer: You still hadn't reached an orgasm with Ronny by the end of that two weeks either ?
Naomi: No, but I did come closer to it than I ever had before. And Ronny improved, he really did.
Interviewer: So you went back to Jensen for the third time?
Naomi: Yes, and we went through a part of the same routine again. Bigg sucked me off while the doc kissed me and sucked my tits, and I fucked around with that unbelievable prick of his, and then they traded off and Bigg came up while the doc went down. I don't mean he went down on me, I mean he went down to the end of the table poking me with that prick of his again. I was ready for it this time. He pushed and I pushed, and he'd practically greased the silly thing with vaseline. The pain, damn it hurt! But I was determined to have it, to get it in me. And finally it went, like something busted, and it went in. I screamed. It wouldn't have surprised me if I could have been heard a block away. No telling what his other patients thought, probably that he was killing somebody, and I felt like it was me. He did split me. I bled, and was sore as hell later. But I had that prick in me, and he was right, the pain did go away after a while. And he just kept ramming me with it. Bigg back sucking my tits, and finally I did come. I came the most beautiful come I've probably ever had. I just lay there dazed for I don't know how long. I was already feeling sore, but still feeling the effects of the climax when I finally walked out of the place. I didn't feel as if I could fuck again for a month.
Interviewer: Did that affect your relationship with Ronny?
Naomi: It was really funny the way it worked out. I made up my mind I wouldn't let him in me. I told him I split when the doctor was giving me a pelvic, and I was sore. But we were playing around. I guided his finger to my clitoris, showed him how to stroke it, how it felt the best, and he really got carried away or something. He really loved it, and went down on me, and took it from the way I'd showed him with his finger that maybe he should do it kind of the same way with his mouth, just concentrating on the clitoris, and I came. He took a long while, but I came. It was really nice. And afterward, I felt so good. I was playing with him, and I started running my mouth around it, sucking him off, moving my tongue around it, jacking my head up and down on it, and it was only minutes until he came. I didn't like that part of it, but I've learned since it's not so bad, he likes it so damned much. And that was the night we decided to get married. Two weeks later, we were husband and wife.
Interviewer: So you didn't see Jensen for a while?
Naomi: I saw him the day after we were married. And I've been seeing him, on the average, once every two or three weeks ever since. That prick he's got between his legs makes Ronny's look like a pinky. I want it. It tears me up, but I want it, and I have it. I don't like him, I can't stand that damned Bigg, but they get to me. They make me feel it. I tell myself I won't go back, but every time, a couple of weeks after I've been there, I go. I'll probably always go. I love Ronny very much. Every time we go to bed together I reach an orgasm or two, always with his mouth. But he's just not enough for me sexually. If it wasn't for Jensen, I'd go crazy.
To say that Naomi was naive in the beginning of her relationship with her doctor and his nurse is putting it mildly. Either it is an unbelievable case of ingenuousness or Naomi, subconsciously recognizing the perversity of Jensen and Bigg, permitted her submissiveness to lead her to a desired culmination. It is difficult to determine whether her animalism was the result of Jensen's influence or pure naivet�, whether it was indeed fostered by it, nurtured into a full blown existence because of it, or whether it would have become extant in some way at some later time had it not been for the chance encounter with Jensen and her surrender to him. There is also the possibility that the encounter was not quite as chance an encounter as it appears on the surface. Her compulsion to continue the relationship might perhaps be taken as evidence that her own perversity existed in the suppressed state before the encounter. That Naomi is a very sick girl is obvious.
Jensen, of course, has violated the public trust of his office. Swearing under the Hippocratic oath, a physician promises to keep himself "from all intentional ill-doing and all seduction, and especially from the pleasures of love with women or with men, be they free or slaves." Contrary to popular opinion, the Hippocratic oath is not administered to physicians in the U.S., but the intent of the rule of ethics is accepted by the medical boards of every state in the Union, and a doctor can lose his license to practice for taking advantage of a female or male, for that matter, patient.
But, Naomi has no intention of bringing charges.
CHAPTER SIX
VOLUNTEERS
The tiny, round, perfectly featured face, the close-cropped red hair, she looks like a young girl, a mere child, through the windshield of the Cadillac. Though she can hardly see over the dashboard without straining her neck, she seems to drive the big machine with confidence, the low-pressure tires singing softly with the turn into the hospital lot, picking up speed in the lanes to the "Doctor's Only" section, swinging into the narrow parking space and braking. The M.D.-and-caduceus emblem on the license tag earns her the right to the spot, little enough compensation for the hell she puts up with being a doctor's wife.
"Darn," she mutters aloud as she opens the door, banging the side of the car in the adjacent space. She picks up a stack of books and her purse in the seat beside her, balancing them precariously, wiggles through the small opening, and tries to close the door with her foot. It fails to close all the way. She swings her hip into it, with no result. She struggles with the stack of books, decides it's safe enough, and tries to open the car door and slam it shut. Several books fall out of her arms. "Well darn!" she exclaims, more vehemently this time.
She stands silently for a minute, eyes closed, seething inwardly, then she walks to the rear of the car, sets the stack of books and her purse on the trunk lid, opens and slams the car door with finality, picks up the books, dusting each one off carefully, stacks them carefully with the others on the trunk lid, gathers them all up with a triumphant air, and heads for the hospital entrance.
Mickey is thirty, but she looks as if she could be any age from fourteen to twenty-five. She measures a petite, four-feet-ten, petite everywhere that is except in her bust line. Her measurements are a delicately balanced (strict exercise and diet) 34-18-32, but her ample breasts spill haphazardly out of her D-cup bras. Even in the severely cut uniform of the hospital auxiliary, her figure, combined perhaps with her diminutive size, draws envious glances from females, open-mouth stares from males. Her buttocks are two compact hard-rubber mounds of articulate action when she walks, balanced atop beautifully contoured, firmly striding legs, her back an easy ess, the breasts gently swaying in a lazy motion of their own, the whole effect like a magnificently designed model of a woman, scaled down slightly but perfect, a precision instrument, a miraculous product of engineering genius.
The model does not always function perfectly, it's true. It drops things (especially stacks of things like books when her breasts get in the way), it forgets things, bumps into things, says the wrong things at the wrong time. But, it means well. The consternation and self-abnegation are always with her. Why didn't she do it this way, or why couldn't she have said this instead of that. Nothing she does ever comes out right. Even her figure. She works so hard at it, too. Despite the lascivious stares of men who notice her bust line, she hates it. Her breasts, regardless of their symmetry, of their perfection in contour, of matchless complexion, and regardless of the mammary-consciousness of men and many women, she hates them. They are just too darned big.
She has many acquaintances, many civic obligations that she fulfills as the wife of a young gynecologist (who really somehow should have a model of a woman for a wife), many social functions to attend and sponsor, but nowhere and in no company does she feel confident, not even in bed. Anybody should be able to do that, for goodness sake, and she's had affairs, dozens of them in the six years she's been married -in which she was practically raped a few times, but she just couldn't say no with no regard for somebody's feelings. She tried to convince them that it was wrong that they shouldn't do it, but she couldn't come right out and tell them she didn't want them. What kind of a thing is that to say to somebody? When it was somebody that really needed her, like the boy in the same apartment building, coming over, talking, he had practically groaned from the pain in his testicles, it was killing him he said, he wanted her so badly, so she had to give herself to him, had to help him, even though she couldn't really be in love with him. That was another thing she got so confused about. She should be in love when she went to bed with somebody, and she did love then really, at least for that while, she felt so sorry for them, so happy she could be needed, and they should be in love with her to really want her as badly as they said they did. But even after they were in bed with her, even after they made love to her and climaxed and went on and on about what fantastic boobs she had (oh, she hated that word), and how tiny she was, and how tight she was and all that man-talk afterward, she could never be sure, never really be sure that she was really good to them. If she was so good in bed, why hadn't her husband made love to her more than two or three times in the last three years and then only when he was half-stoned? No, there was no place she could feel confident, except in the hospital. The patients need her. She warms to the thought, her whole body flushing. And not only the patients ; the nurses need her, the staff needs her. She enters the hospital joyously, signs in the time sheet (it's ten after ten, but she signs in at nine-thirty-it's almost true, she did stop at the library for patients on the way over), and makes her way up to medical, dropping books only twice again on the way. Several patients and several staff members have picked it up, call her "Big Red" instead of by name. She blushes at it now, but lolls in it, accepting it as a complimentary nickname. She couldn't decide at first if it was tagged on her because of her tiny stature (she heard enough jibes about that), because of her outsized breasts (she heard enough comments about that, too), or by a combination of both (which she decided was even more likely, after all, she wasn't exactly stupid), but then one day a patient, a good-looking man told her it was because of her big heart, and she believed him.
She worked her way leisurely but steadily through the ward, passing out the books, taking letters to mail, jotting down requests for items to pick up for patients-a book or an item from the commissary-puffing up a pillow here, straightening bedclothes, always trying to maintain her cheerfulness no matter how sad the patients seemed themselves, always trying to touch with her hands and her eyes, impart some token of human warmth and regard to the people in the ward.
Savoringly, she avoided one room until last, Travis' room, clutching the tiny book of verse to her bosom as she would a child, thinking of the man who requested it.
Only once did she hesitate or deviate in her thoughts-such a nice, young, beautiful man, just admitted that morning. He couldn't be more than twenty-five or six, such soulful eyes, eyes that couldn't stop roving over her body, looking deep inside her, eyes that were not trying to be forward or anything, just liking what they saw, it was so obvious, and even though she couldn't help but see the sheet rise slowly and steadily down there, he was obviously embarrassed by it, trying not to let her see it, almost tortured by her body. She knew he would really need her, but she couldn't think of that now. Later. Now, she clutched the slim volume tighter against her breasts, there was Travis.
He was asleep, the thin slats of sunlight coming through the blinds breaking his face into horizontal lines of light and shadow, a face so drawn it seemed to weep even in the middle of a smile. The strips of light gave it a fullness now, an artificial substance like a dress of horizontal stripes filling out the skinny figure of a woman. But even then the light made his complexion even whiter, even more emaciated-looking than what it normally appeared.
Mickey hesitated a moment, then raised herself up on the bed to sit beside him, to brush back the hair straggling across his forehead. He stirred in sleep, his mouth chewing some imaginary dish, his thin frame stretching slightly then relaxing. Mickey bent and kissed his cheek. He stirred again, nuzzling to the touch of her lips, then opened his eyes. He stretched again, long and languorously this time, then reached out his arms, drawing Mickey to him, burying his face in her neck. Mickey's whole body flushed, tingling. His hand moved up over her hip, her waist, then up under her breast, cupping then squeezing, the pressure in his hand gradually increasing. Mickey squirmed in his hand, feeling the delicious sensation spread over her. He needed her so much, she mused.
It was all she could do to stave him off, hold off his hands long enough to push herself off the bed, away to close the door. Her blouse, under the open jacket, was undone, still tucked in her skirt but bulging open now, exposing the white frilly bra and the massive cleavage squashed between the cups, the slightly be-freckled flesh spilling out above the lace.
She closed the door and locked it. It was so nice that this hospital had been provided with locks on the doors of private rooms. She smiled, shyly returning, confident enough that he needed her but still not too confident in the knowledge that she would fulfill his need. She let him draw the jacket off her shoulders, down her arms. She folded it and lay it on the table beside the bed, atop the book of verse. She let him pull the front of the blouse out of her skirt, unbutton the last two buttons and draw the blouse down on her arms as he had the jacket. She bent toward him, letting him reach behind her, unhook the bra and slide the straps down, releasing the mountainous globes that burst into full bounteous contour like two resilient sponge balls springing into shape again after being mashed in a tight grip.
She watched his eyes. How intense they were, how desperately clinging to her breasts. His tongue flicked across his lips, his hands shook, his whole body quivered.
The mounds had no sooner sprung up in front of his face from behind the wispy-but-strong nylon lace when his head jerked toward the closest one, his jaw dropped open adding an even more cadaverous look to his already skullishly emaciated face, and he practically lunged, taking as much of the out-thrust flesh in as his mouth could hold, gobbling at it, wanting more, a hungry beast devouring raw meat.
Mickey grimaced as his teeth racked across tender flesh, but she couldn't say anything, she couldn't bring herself to chide him simply because he needed her so desperately he was a little rough about it.
No sooner had the thoughts formed in her mind than she could feel the strength beginning to drain from his body, spill out like sand, his rib cage, the skin stretched tight over it, heaving a little just from the exertion expended in sitting up. In seconds his mouth grew slack, his hand at her breast, first squeezing tight, moving, massaging, digging fingers into rubbery flesh, now slacking, losing strength. His other hand, beneath her skirt fondling the inside of her thighs already limp, barely moving.
She cradled his head in her arms, holding her breast still carefully to his mouth. Bending over him, she lowered him gently as she would a child to the bed. She pulled away from him slowly. The veins were popping out on his forehead, his mouth was dry and he kept swallowing, his breath came in short raspy gasps for air.
She poured fresh water from the decanter beside the bed, held the bent glass straw to his mouth while he drank. He smiled feebly at her. She placed the glass back beside the bed. "Naughty boy!" she chided, "You're not supposed to exert yourself!"
She opened the zipper of her skirt and pushed it down over her hips, letting it fall to the floor. The half-slip followed it. She stepped out of them, picked them up, folded them carefully, and laid them aside. All the while she watched his feverish eyes, following her every move with increased if weakened excitement. She kicked off her heels and slid the lacy panties down over the garter belt, down her legs, and stepped out of them, placing them with her other clothes, and then stood before him awhile, smiling at him, at the way he seemed to cover her body with his eyes like a warm blanket.
Then, still wearing the black garter belt and hose, she drew the sheet down completely uncovering the frail male frame, a veritable skeleton, and climbed back on the bed.
Lazily, the same timid half-certain smile on her face, she straddled his waist and leaned forward, supporting herself with her hands at the side of his head, slowly and gently rubbing his face with her breasts, across his cheek, along his nose, down to the open mouth where the wet tongue waited, across the lips, the tongue, leaving a wet trail as it passed up his other cheek and across his eyes, his forehead, then the other breast. She buried his face in the sweet velvety smoothness between the two, and then slid slowly down his body, gliding the breasts across his shoulders, his chest with its sparse course hair and protruding ribs, across the abdomen, her mouth kissing his forehead, his closed eyes, his cheeks, his nose, his mouth, his chin, gliding down his neck, across his chest, her tongue tracing a line between the two dark patches of male nipple half hidden in the hair of his chest, down across taut, tired skin to his navel, pausing, her breasts sliding back and forth over his thighs then each one up, between, over his testicles to his penis lying flaccidly aside as if divorced from the excitement in his eyes and lungs and the set of his mouth.
Lazily, still with the half-smile, she worked her body down, took the limp penis in her hands and touched it to her lips in a light kiss, then turned her head, rubbing it gently along her cheek, her eyes closing lovingly, rubbing it over her face and kissing it, shooting occasional almost embarrassed glances up to his face, watching him watch her, so hungry for her, so needful of her. And then she gently took it into her mouth, tasting it, sucking it easily, feeling it limp and warm and smooth with her tongue.
She felt the muscle throb once, then again and again, and then it began to swell, lengthening, growing bigger inside her mouth. It strengthened and hardened, straightening into the roof of her mouth, and she relaxed her head, letting the growing hardness steadily push her head back, her lips moving up the shaft from the base or the erecting engorgement. The sensation was so strange to Mickey, so beautifully phenomenally strange, such a beautiful physical manifestation of his need.
She took it from her mouth, again caressing it with her cheek, then kissing it along the shaft, running her lips around it. She cupped his tightly constricted sac of testicles in one hand, holding the base of the penis in her other, gingerly massaging, her tongue traced the seam from the head down the underside of the shaft, along the sac, into the crease of his anus. He needed her love. She would give him love.
Her mouth moved back up the seam, her lips tracing steadily, moving faster this time, her tongue between them moving like wet fiery butterfly wings. She could feel the need in him building, building phantasamagorically, sweeping in on him on wings. She traced the veins, the popped out veins on the shaft, she ran her fluttering tongue over every miniscule spot of surface, then jammed her mouth down over the head, sucking hard, her tongue racing around the head of it, her whole hand now around the shaft, squeezing and flexing, manipulating the loose skin up and down onto the ridge of the head, the sensitive ridge of feeling, her tongue seeming to battle with it.
Her own need was crying out to her very soul for fulfillment. The merest touch of one silk-clad leg against the other bringing sparks of awareness, of need, her hot vulva panting with her need. She straddled his leg with hers, and half crouching, sucking him violently now, moved to where her writhing pelvis found some measure of temporary relief straining against his knee, lolling on it, using it against her clitoris. But it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough! She groaned. She couldn't stand it any longer, she leaped up astraddle his body, her massive breasts trembling with her urgency, blushing crimson. Guiding his penis into position, she lowered her body on it, her face, contorted with the ferocity of her need, easing, relieving, gathering the satisfaction, feeling it as she would cool butter on a fresh burn, lowering herself onto it, feeling the penis slide smoothly inside her, deep inside, deep into her waiting well-lubed vagina.
Her hips began a slow, automatic grinding motion as she fell forward against the sick man's frame. The top of her head was far short of his chin, and her mouth swept in one of the small nippled patches on his rapidly heaving chest, her pelvis beginning to pick up tempo to ease up and down the shaft smoothly, ecstatically, her need now matching his, the desire yielding, the sensations, the need for satiation, the approach of culmination building inside her, splashing around in her brain, filling it with one purpose, one oiled movement of function, one final immersion of feeling into one great pool of liquid ecstasy. She swam in on it, was swept up the rising crest of it, was almost to the top.
Then suddenly she could feel the strength flowing out of him, too soon, too soon, the force, his masculinity flowing out of his penis, not flowing inside her but back into him, into weakness!
She felt herself slowing, almost at the top of the crest, and stepped up her efforts, trying to move up, over, but then his tool, now weak and useless, slipped limply out! She sat up, back on his thighs and masturbated him furiously. Her other hand dropped on her thighs, to her clitoris, stroking herself with the same urgency she applied to him. Her head dropped again to suck him, to do it with her mouth, bring it up again, and it did grow again, in just seconds it seemed, almost as hard and erect as it was before.
Again she leaped on it, stuffing it inside her, and sitting up now, began to ride it, her breasts bounding wildly, her head dropped back on her shoulders, her fingers still moving in a blur against her clitoris. Again she felt the wave building, felt herself climbing up, being washed, pushed, floated up to the back side of it.
Again she felt him going limp. He needed her, she knew he needed her, but it was just too much, too much effort, the movement, the strain. But she couldn't stop, not then!
She grabbed the flaccid penis, trying to stuff it again inside her, her other hand not slowing not varying its rhythm at her clitoris, feeling the emotion, the pitch of her pleasure sustaining, not falling, possibly even increasing to build, slower now, but still toward the top. Her fingers, the hand she used trying to stuff his penis in, filling the mouth of her vagina, the fingers of her other hand on her clitoris. She dug the fingers deeper into her vagina, two of them, the flaccid male organ with them, pushing, pulling, flailing, frantically at her body, feeling the soaring touches of the ramming inside her, stretching, working frantically, building the approach to the crest.
And then she was there. She dove into it, immersed herself in its blurring oblivion, feeling it wash over her, through her, washing every anxiety, every frustration away, leaving her whole and pure, cleansed, comfortably satiated, fulfilled.
She sat comfortably still a long moment, her shoulders relaxed, her hands still on her body, her eyes closed, an easy dreamy expression around her mouth and eyes. Then she looked at her watch, smiled towards the face of the man looking up at her, the same feverish glint in his eyes, the same expression of wanting, the same lascivious cast of his eyes to her breasts, her trim waist, the narrow hips with the sharply jutting curvaceous buttocks. She lowered herself from the bed and began to dress hurriedly. The poor man-he still needed her. It was a shame he too hadn't had a climax. She could have sucked him until he came. She supposed he could probably have made it that way. But there would be another time, she was sure.
She kissed him perfunctorily on the cheek, placed the book of verse in the hands reaching out toward her, waved gaily goodbye from the door and left. She did, after all, have other patients to attend. There were many, many others who needed her.
"I'd heard the word lesbian, of course, but I didn't think of it. I certainly didn't think of myself as one. All I could think of was the feeling I had for her. I couldn't think of her at all without blushing, but not from shame, from glow, from love. Afterward I thought of it, after it finally dawned on me she'd set me up -then I was lesbian, slut, whore, bitch. You name it, I was it. Just like her."
Jeri is nineteen, presently a freshman in a student-nursing program at a small Midwestern college. The events that she describes here occurred a little more than three years ago during the summer following her sixteenth birthday when she enrolled as a candy-striper in a metropolitan hospital.
"Celeste was a striking woman, deeply tanned, long and graceful, the most beautiful skin. Men just fell all over her, but she was married and seemed unapproachable. She was head of the auxiliary program at the hospital. Her husband was a rich businessman, traveled a lot. She had a lovely body, all curves, subtle curves. But I think it was the way she moved, her body practically flowing, sulky and feline, and that low, confidently sexy voice she had that made her as attractive as she was, not just the physical thing, not just looks.
"And me, I was still gawky, just getting through that clumsy child stage, but beginning to grow up, not quite as awkward. My figure was filling out a little too much, I was probably a little bit heavier than I should have been, and I was almost as tall as I am now (about five-seven). Celeste was blonde, the perfect shade, like sunlight, almost golden-platinum, her natural color, the shade I wished mine was. But mine was darker, more of an ash blonde, and I wore it in a pony-tail most of the time, or dog-ears, with a ribbon, and Celeste used to tell me I was 'the perfect all-American Miss Teen-ager with the first blooms of womanhood in full blossom, ready for plucking.' She told me something like that every time I'd see her, I was a young deer, sleek and graceful in its first Spring, after winter as a fawn.
"There was a rapport between us. She'd hug me when we met, hold my hand when we talked. She'd advise me about makeup, tell me what it was like for her when she first became a woman. She told me about her first lover, things like that. All this in the first couple of weeks. She waited for me a couple of times at the hospital, and we'd take a drive together and then sit in the car at the park, listening to the radio and the sounds from the tennis courts and the children on the banks of the lake, everything so fresh and green and beautiful, so sweet-smelling, so alive.
"I could confide in her. I told her about the boys I'd dated, and how they all wanted me to do it, and how I really loved to be kissed and held, and how there'd been one boy especially, and how he'd get me so excited and would get his finger inside me, and how I'd always stopped him, and then we were at the movies one night, sitting in the balcony, and he was doing that, and then it was intermission and he went to get us a Coke, and then a couple of minutes later I decided I'd go to the lounge, and I went out and he was there in the lobby clowning with a couple of his friends telling them he was getting in and sticking his fingers up to their noses to smell. I told her I hadn't felt as if I could trust boys after that, that I hadn't dated anybody since, and it had been over a year.
"Celeste had her arm around my shoulders, and while I was telling her she was hugging me sympathetically, I had my head laying on her breast after a minute, feeling like a child talking to a mother, not anything else. And then afterward we sat that way for a long time with her stroking my hair. Then she asked me about girl friends, and I told her about a couple, and she asked me did we ever spend the night together, and I told her yes that I'd spent the night with several friends. I wasn't thinking, I guess, I didn't think anything about it. She told me how she and a close dear friend of hers had spent the night together often, and how they'd really discovered their bodies together, the true feeling in their bodies, and asked me if I'd ever done anything like that with my friends. I told her about one friend especially, who moved away shortly after, but we'd slept together in the same bed, and how we used to talk and look at each other's breasts -hers were bigger than mine at the time, and I envied her, I was fascinated by them-and how we'd touch each other and rub each other, and how once she'd used a hairbrush, and I never could bring myself to do anything like that. Then we got onto something else.
"When she drove me home, she met my father and really charmed him. She said that her husband would be out of town for a few days the following week and asked him if I could spend a couple of days with her. He said yes, of course.
"The next few days were rapturous for me. I was really captivated with the idea of what her house would be like, with the idea of staying with her, and Celeste herself, whenever we'd meet she'd hug me and kiss me, motherly-daughterly type kisses, and I suppose I did think of her as a sort of substitute mother. My own had been dead since I was eight and my father'd never remarried. I guess she was a combination mother-friend to me, only stronger than the words seem to imply.
"It was about then, too, that I first noticed Harbinger. I mean I'd seen him before, knew him, but I mean I noticed how he seemed to always be confiding in Celeste and she in him. I shuddered at the thought, put him out of mind-leering mouth, a thick brush moustache with red, blonde, and gray hairs mixed in with the dark, making it look funny somehow, tall, good-looking in a way I suppose, but I've never been able to think of him without my flesh crawling. And it really bothered me that he and Celeste seemed so close.
"The next Wednesday, Celeste waited for me and we left the hospital together. She drove me home to pick up my bag. I'd had it packed for days. My father mixed martinis for the two of them, and they sat and chatted like old friends. Driving out in the suburbs, we were like two giddy children laughing at nothing, touching each other. I believe, even after what happened, that she was really as happy and excited as I was.
"The house was in the hills, concrete and tan brick, with exotic shrubs and miniature trees, a landscaped oasis of green, with the house itself growing out of the rocks and pale green stubble of the hillside as if it had always been there, plant lights and all. She pushed the signal switch on the dash, and the garage doors opened for us and closed. We walked through a small portico, with green plants and cacti, into the game room-a bar, pool table, ping-pong table, card tables, dart board, comfortable chairs and sofas in seating arrangements, hook rugs, multi-colored over a polished red terra cotta floor, and through the sliding glass doors, a pool, shaped randomly, the water lights shimmering beneath the blue-green surface. We went through it to the living room, away from the bedrooms, with its long wall of glass facing the pool, but here deep blue carpeting, with sweeping deeply upholstered furniture and white tables and side pieces to match a grand piano and another bar. The bedrooms, down a wide corridor hung with paintings, jutted off from the garage entrance at an angle, the whole layout like a wide U with the pool in the middle. The master bedroom, like the game and living rooms, opened onto the pool.
"Celeste led the way, insisting on carrying my bag, in and out of the game room and the living room, keeping up a running diatribe like a tourist guide, and then out by the glass doors to the pool and around it to the entrance to the master bedroom. The bed was huge. It seemed larger than kingsize.
"She tossed my bag onto the loveseat at the foot of the bed. 'We can both sleep here.' she said, and I said something like it looked big enough to sleep an army. 'You want to have a swim before we grab a snack?' she asked. I told her I didn't bring a suit, but she laughed and started undressing and said it was private, that no one could see us, that she very seldom wore one. So I started undressing too, a little self-conscious about it. I hadn't been naked in front of anybody since I was a child. And when she got her clothes off, it was obvious that it was true, she did seldom wear a suit. She was a deep beautiful golden brown all over, just a slight shade lighter where a two-piece bikini would be worn. I marveled at how casual she was as she dropped the last stitch of clothing, walked out the door with something like, 'See you in the pool,' and took a running graceful dive, cutting the water smoothly, coming up in a lazy sprinting stroke to the opposite side end of the pool, into a racing turn and then back again, just as I managed to dive over her, copying her every move. By then I was completely at ease, there was no lasciviousness, no attempt to fondle me or anything like that, no surprises, just warmth and camaraderie. We tossed around a ball, splashed each other, laughed, took turns off the board, raced the length of the pool-she beat me by a dozen strokes.
"She climbed out, got a couple of beach towels from the cabana, and we dried each other off, rubbing each other down vigorously, drying our hair as best we could. She said something about what a beautiful young body I had, and I think I told her something like I wish I had a body as perfect as hers, and she laughed, said before long I'd outdo her there.
"I started to wrap the towel around me, but she threw hers aside as we went in through the game room entrance toward the kitchen, so I did the same. I was determined not to play the ingenue. So, naked, her deep all-over tan alongside my lighter tan with the two chalk-white strips, together we broiled steaks, baked potatoes, made a salad, set the table, lit candles. Celeste brought a bottle of Chateaneuf du Pape '59 from the wine cabinet, and we sat down, still nude, to eat, me giddy and giggling from the wine, warm and satiated with pleasure, Celeste witty and charming, both of us risqu�, making erotic allusions to every other line, toasting each other. It was probably the best moments I'd ever had.
"We left the dishes. Celeste had given the two servants the night off, but one, the cook, would be back the next morning.
We took our wine glasses into the game room to sit on the sofa there, switched on the television, looking at the colors, the scenes, more than trying to follow the script, talking, laughing to ourselves.
"I was huddled in the crook of her arm, she had her arm around my shoulders, her hand dangling above my breast. I was leaning into her, my forearm on her thigh, balancing the wine glass on my legs folded up behind me, my head back on her shoulder. And I remember noticing, I don't know how long she'd been doing it but her fingers were fondling my nipple, almost absentmindedly, and I was already flushed, the nipple sticking out hard, both my nipples were. I looked up at her. She looked down at me and smiled, reassuringly, at the same time dropping her hand down lower, cupping my breast in her hand and squeezing hugging me tighter to her in the same motion, the same air of reassurance about the movement.
"I turned back to the television set, but it was as if I couldn't see anything now, I could just feel her hand touching me, my shoulder leaning into her breast, my forearm along her thigh, my side touching hers. I wanted to move, to get away from her, to just not touch her at all, but not because I really wanted to but because I wanted to stay, afraid of what I might do myself! I wanted her to touch me, I wanted to touch her, to be able to reach up and touch her breasts. But I was afraid I might do the wrong thing, touch her in the wrong way. It was so warm and secure and happy beside her, touching her, but it was more than that, even I knew. My insides were churning, the eeriest sensations were running from my stomach down between my legs, I wanted to touch myself, I wanted her to touch me there, and I was aware of it in every pore, especially where my skin lay hot and flushed against hers.
"Then we were laughing about something, I don't remember what, but she swung her head around and kissed me at the base of my neck, gently, and then her head came up, her face in front of mine, still smiling, and then she kissed me on the mouth, her tongue going in between my lips. My head reeled. I dropped the wine glass on the floor, not even noticing it. Her hand moved up over my breasts. I strained into her mouth, into her hand. Her head dropped, her mouth on my breast, taking it in, her hand squeezing it into her mouth and then her hand dropped, moving slowly, teasingly, down, her fingers playing in the hairs, then down further still. I was swooning with emotion, my eyes rolled back in my head, my whole body alive, acting through instinct, feeling, undergoing sensations I'd never felt. She was expert. I wasn't thinking, I couldn't think, just feel, totally swallowed by feel.
"She lowered me to the couch, and my whole body hung there, suspended in feeling, as her hands and mouth, her body seemed to focus down, down, and her face was between my legs. I had one knee up, the other leg dangling off the couch, her mouth where they met, her tongue diving in, around, my skin crawling, deliciously. I couldn't believe it, it was so good, the first time for me, the first time-I was still even a virgin. I'd never even been screwed. And I was up so high. I'd had orgasms before, I knew what they were, I'd been masturbating since I was thirteen, but I'd never been involved like this before, never gotten that high. And then with her mouth sucking my clitoris, she rammed a finger inside. I almost passed out. And then she started working it slow, in and out, still sucking, and it was just seconds until I felt myself shooting out in space, crying, so beautiful I cried. And then when my senses started coming back, I kissed her, just kept kissing her face, her neck, her breasts, hugging her, crying with how good it felt, while she laughed and held onto me and stroked me as she would a child.
We noticed I'd put my foot in the wine I spilled and the bottom and side were stained, and we laughed about that.
"Later we took a shower together and went to bed. I felt so good, I was so happy to be with her, I loved her then, loved her like a mother, sister, friend and lover, all rolled into one, and laying in bed together, fondling each other. I wanted so much to give her just a little of the pleasure she was giving me. I took the initiative, doing just as she had done, loving the feel of her breasts in my palms, in my mouth, loving the feel of the hot flesh between her legs in my hand, her clitoris, and I worked my mouth down, began to suck her the way she had me, her holding my head, her body twisting as she half-laughed, half-moaned with pleasure. She never did reach a climax, but after a while she pulled me up toward her, loving me, hugging me, telling me how good it had felt to her.
"The next morning when I woke up, she was already gone to the hospital. She left a note telling me that the cook would prepare breakfast and lunch for me, to just lounge around and swim or whatever I liked, and she'd be back in the afternoon. I had a beautifully lazy day, laying in the sun, and then when she came back, it was perfect, just the way it had been the night before except we had to watch it when the cook was around. And when we went to bed that night, it was heavenly, my whole body reeling in climax after climax, for what seemed like hours.
"On the next morning I dressed in the clean uniform I'd brought with me and went in to the hospital with Celeste, even though I wasn't scheduled to go to work until afternoon. I sat in the office with Celeste while she made necessary changes in assignments because of people who hadn't shown up, saw a couple of women who wanted to volunteer, took a few inquiry calls, argued with Harbinger over the phone about the budget. She motioned me over to her while she was on the phone, and I kissed her silently. She ran her hands up my legs under my skirt and fondled me through the white panty-hose. I wished I'd worn something a little more convenient. And then when she got off the phone, she talked to her secretary over the intercom and told her she had to work on some figures for a while and that she didn't want to be disturbed. Then like something out of an old silent movie, the exaggerated movements and everything, me stifling back the laughter, she tiptoed over to the door and very carefully turned the lock, trying to keep it from making that clicking noise. It was all deliciously naughty, and then she swept back to me and we kissed, her hands lifting my skirt up to my waist and rubbing my buttocks through the panty-hose. Then we were at each other's buttocks-I wore the seersucker candy-striped uniform with white collar, pocket flaps, and cuffs on the short sleeves, a double row of buttons down the front where it overlapped, and she wore a dark blue linen skirt and jacket with a white blouse that buttoned down the front. She had her jacket off, and I unbuttoned her blouse while she undid the buttons and inside snaps from my uniform, and then I was standing there in just bra and panty-house, and she still with her skirt on, and then hugging each other, we removed each other's bras. We clung to each other for a minute, my breasts mashed in just below hers, feeling the heat of our bodies, and then she spread her legs apart as wide as she could, standing in the tight skirt, to lower her body to the level of mine. She was several inches taller. Then we slowly rubbed our breasts across each other's, turning our bodies, meeting each other, feeling the bulk of our flesh stroking each other, one breast along the side, over the nipple, down in the vale between the two mounds then up the side of the second, with the other breast rising up over the first as the one before it. And then she was tugging my panty-hose down over my hips, and I squirmed out of them, slipping them down my legs and throwing them aside, and she backed me to the desk, and I sat on it, my foot propped up in her chair, my other one over her shoulder, laying along her back, my ankle resting in the crack between her buttocks as her mouth came on me. For a long time she sucked and mouthed me, making me feel it. I was half-crazy with the feeling, half-dazed, coming to a climax.
"It really didn't reach me at first, I heard it in the back of my mind but it didn't register. The noise, somebody trying the door handle, then the key in the lock. The knob turning, the door opening! It was already swinging open when the realization burst into my consciousness, and then I panicked, froze, leaning backward, supporting myself on my arms stretched behind me-my head had been back, on my shoulders, and when I knew the door had opened, my head snapped up and around so fast I can remember my pony-tail brushing across my face-and Celeste, her head buried and busy between my legs, hadn't even heard it at all!
"And there was Harbinger, just standing there, the door open wide, this stupid aghast expression on his face, his jaw dropped and his mouth hanging slack under his moustache. We were looking at him, wanting to shrink into the floor, just wanting to be away from there, and Celeste still sucking between my legs. I remember I swung my leg off her back and sat up, pushing her away. A second had hardly passed really, and she came up with a curious half-smile on her face. And then she saw Harbinger.
"There was a fleeting look of fearful concern on her face, and in the same second, Harbinger recovered and quickly shut the door, looking out to see that no one else had seen.
" 'Don't you ever knock?' Celeste hissed at him.
"Harbinger stared at her, frowning, scorn written all over his face, and then he said something like, 'I don't owe you any explanation, but your secretary was gone, the door was locked, and I assumed the two of you had gone to lunch or were out attending to your duties. I wanted to see your changes on the budget.' And then his voice got almost gleeful, 'I have to report this, you know. Lesbians!' He spit the word out. 'We cannot have your kind on the staff of this hospital.' His words were like a slap to me already, but then he added directly to me, 'And, your parents will have to know. Maybe it's not too late for you to change.'
"I know I was already pale, still frozen, but I really must have blanched after that.
"Celeste all this while had still been crouched down, but then she stood up, naked from the waist up, just her earrings, but still wearing her skirt and heels. 'You can't do that to this child!' she said, or something like that, and then she tears into him, about what a lecher he is anyway, her hands on her hips, her breasts stuck out at him, and the longer he stood there, arguing with her, even I noticed, the more his eyes went to her breasts and roved over me, now sitting up on the desk, my legs dangling off, too frightened to move, my hands folded trying to cover my breasts. I don't think I heard half the words.
"But then I noticed her whole tack with him had changed. She was talking in a sultry voice, moving up, taking his lapels in her hands, rubbing them up and down, her breasts practically touching the coat of his suit. 'You've wanted me for a long time, Harv,' she said to him, 'Why don't you forget all about this today. I promise you, you won't be sorry.' And then her arms went around his neck, and she stretched up and kissed him.
"He was very stiff, he didn't put his arms around her or anything, but it was obvious she was getting to him.
"And when she let him go he nodded toward me. 'What about her?' he asked.
" 'What do you mean, what about her?' Celeste said, but she knew damned well what he meant. He walked over to me, and Celeste opened up on him again, 'You can't expect this child to go to bed with you, she's still a virgin for god's sake!'
"'Not to a lesbian she's not!' Harbinger countered.
"And it went on and on, ridiculously, with Harbinger threatening to walk out and Celeste threatening to tell that the only reason he reported it is because a poor little sixteen-year-old girl wouldn't let him screw her, and him saying he'd just deny it, that everybody would think they'd just made it up out of spite. And on and on.
"I was still so scared, so afraid my father would find out about it that I didn't hear most of it. I would have done anything. Then with the two of them standing there, Harbinger saying he's leaving but not going anywhere, Celeste unzipped his pants, reached in and pulled out his prick. It was hard, and she had to struggle to get it out of his shorts. Celeste was still cajoling, rubbing her breasts against his arm, laying with that stiff erection of his sticking out of his pants, and then Celeste looked at me sort of fearfully resigned.
"Celeste put my hand on him. He pawed my breasts and hers, slobbering all over me. Celeste got down on her knees and jacked him and sucked him off. I remember how he looked when he came in her mouth. And then afterwards he relaxed and was almost apologetic, and I remember thinking that he probably wasn't too bad a man, that he was fairly good-looking and except for this, he probably made his wife a good husband. I knew he was married.
"I went through the rest of the day in a daze. Late that afternoon Celeste drove me to an M.D. friend of hers and he installed an IUD. We went back to the house, her rapping away just as if nothing had happened. We swam, had dinner-lobster with a bottle of champagne-and sat nude in front of the television again, just as we had on that first night, except that about eight, Harbinger came over. I wasn't alarmed. I'd had three or four glasses of champagne by then and I just felt good, warm and bubbly.
"He took his clothes off right away. He was lean, and tanned, but from the white spot he must have gotten his in the more conventional way than Celeste. He had about a half hard on. She fixed him a drink, and he sat down on the couch beside me.
"He said one thing to me, and that was, 'I'll try to make it very good for you,' and that was it. He put his arm around my shoulders casually, but he didn't fondle me or anything, not then.
"Celeste sat down on the other side of him. He took a long drink from his glass and put it down on the coffee table, and then put his other arm around Celeste's shoulders, hugging her to him, playing with her breast. She started running her fingers along his thighs. His prick got big then, and she grabbed hold of it and started playing with it. Then he started on my breast. It was a strange scene, all three of us sitting there, staring toward the stupid television.
"Celeste went down on him, and his whole body stiffened. After a minute he shifted, bending around to kiss me. I let him, and then he was fondling my breasts, and then kissing up and told Celeste to stop, and they grinned them. And then after a minute he straightened at each other, and then Harbinger said why didn't we go find a bed.
"We piled on the bed, and then things just sort of happened. Harbinger was eating me for a while and Celeste was eating him, and then he had her stop, and he moved up over me, pulling my legs up on top of his shoulders, bending me double, and then he stuck it in me slowly, trying not to hurt me, and me feeling it, it did feel good, not hurting much at all. I was crying, just a little I remember, but not because it hurt. And Celeste was kissing me, kissing my mouth. I know she could taste my tears, and reaching in, fondling my breasts, sticking her head in there and sucking them, running her hands over my buttocks while Harbinger, supporting himself on his hands, my legs on his shoulders, banging away at me.
"He came in just a couple of minutes, and it felt so strange. And then things just seemed to happen. I remember at one point Harbinger being on the bottom and Celeste sitting on his prick, screwing him, and me sitting on his face, rubbing my cunt into him, wanting to stuff his throat, every once in a while getting away from his tongue, moving up to stick his nose inside me, Celeste's arms around my waist while she's screwing him, holding on and squeezing my breasts. That was the way we were when I had my first climax. With both Harbinger and Celeste going over me, I think I finally had six or eight. I think they did, too. Anyway, Harbinger enjoyed himself.
"The next day was Saturday, her husband was due in, but she asked me-could I stay another night and I called my dad and told him. I moved my clothes into another bedroom. Celeste had talked about her husband, his name was Cliff, about what a beautiful man he was, how good he was to her and about how she really deeply truthfully loved him, more than anything else in the world. She showed me a picture of him, and he was handsome, I knew of course he'd have to be to be married to Celeste. And when I finally met him, he was a beautiful man-charming, tall, his hair thick and dark, the creases in his deep-tanned face saying he laughed a lot. He just had a way to make everything humorous, beautifully funny. And we swam in the nude together that night, and sat around listening to records, and shooting pool, and playing ping-pong, and listening to him tell story after story about his trip, me laughing so hard I ached, and even Celeste, they'd been married for eight or ten years by then, laughing just as hard and hanging on his every word. She really did love him.
"And then later she got me aside and said what a shame it was that the two of us had given Harbinger such a beautiful time who didn't deserve it, and there was Cliff who did, who was such a beautiful man, and said she wished we could do the same for him, and why didn't we, and me saying okay. And her telling him to go turn out the lights and get into bed, that did we have a surprise for him!
"And then we went in, she crawling in on one side of the bed, me on the other. After a few minutes of playing and laughing, we turned the lights back on. It was just like it had been with Harbinger, only better. I enjoyed it, being with the two of them, I have to admit it. And Celeste sat back and watched for a long while as I got loved, not just poked as Harbinger had done, not just used, but really loved by a man for the first time. I had my first climax from a man's penis. There were a lot of firsts. It was the first time I'd ever gone down on a man, and I did and it was exciting, exciting as hell. Both of them were good to me. I seemed to have one climax after another until I finally fell asleep exhausted.
"It was in the next week Celeste mentioned to me at the hospital that she and Cliff were having a few people in that night and would I like to come over, leave with her from the hospital, she'd drive me home to pick up another dress. So I did. We had an early dinner, laughing, champagne again, and then Celeste told the servants they could go. They already had candy and nut dishes around and a table set up in the kitchen with hors d'oeuvres and sliced turkey and ham and all kinds of cold cuts and cheeses and pickles and things. Then we got dressed. I don't know why everybody came dressed, but pretty soon more and more people took off their clothes and dove in the pool or sat around it or just walked around nude.
I wandered around drinking champagne, getting steadily higher, and it finally dawned on me, I noticed couples kissing, not the people they'd come with but somebody else, and wandering back to the bedrooms. I recognized quite a few of the people there from the hospital-two or three nurses, a doctor, one of the people in X-ray, and one other candy-striper who came with a young intern, and then Harbinger came in with his wife. Both of them got nude right away, and before Harbinger even brought back the drinks, his wife was holding her breast out for a younger man to suck, and he had his finger working between her legs. Harbinger came back and, smiling, just sat the drink down on the coffee table for her and went out to the pool. His wife and the man with her got up a minute later and went off toward the bedrooms.
"I guess I was dense, but it didn't occur to me until a week or two later that the whole scene at the hospital, in Celeste's office, had been a put up job. She and Harbinger had played the scene so well for my benefit I just couldn't believe it.
"And by then, I didn't care any more."
The two histories above-Mickey, whose affairs with patients and others are spawned by a perverted need rationale, and Celeste, whose insatiable sex appetites are fed by initiates she involves from the hospital environment-do not cover the types of those who volunteer for hospital service and either find themselves in-twined in one sexual scene after another, or deliberately seek out the hospital because of a conscious awareness of the opportunities for jaded satiation to be found in the environment.
A hospital administrator stated, "The hospital is romance-young doctors and nurses, life and death struggles. There are all kinds of people in a hospital. Young virgin candy-stripers, nurses, those idealized women who are supposed to be on good terms with anatomy and human biology, tenderness, concern and sex, doctors, and we all are aware of the sex myth that enshrouds the physician, and patients of all kinds. A patient of course is the perfect 'docile' individual, the masochistic condition so favored by their sexual opposites, the sadists. It is natural that every known type of pervert is drawn to the environment: voyeurs, exhibitionists, sadists, masochists, nymphomaniacs, those sad creatures who get the sex kicks from body waste, those who are compulsively drawn to women with breasts bulging with milk for their babies, et cetera, et cetera. Every conceivable manner of perversion can logically be sought in a hospital. Understandably, the perverted too volunteer, along with the lonely housewife, the idle wealthy spinster, the sex-starved women who are trying to sublimate-or satiate their desires, deliberately, volunteering because of the romantic attraction. And of course a hospital is Shangri-La for drug addicts.
"I have had to terminate volunteers. One woman, in her late thirties, had a daughter almost grown, had accosted half the doctors on the staff and been taken up by a goodly percentage before I discovered it, fornicating in some vacant bed right here, I had no choice but to ask her to leave. And any time there is an indiscretion of that kind that is the only course we can take. At this moment I know of several 'affairs' that are taking place between women volunteers and staff members that I close my eyes to. At least those, however, to the best of my knowledge, are conducted away from the hospital in the privacy of some motel bedroom.
"But the problem is not as serious as it sounds. There are perverts to be found throughout the social strata, and generally they seek the security of relationships with their own kind, or with their opposites. Though liaisons between those of like nature might be made in the hospital, the execution of those natures occur elsewhere, except in those few isolated instances so seldom as to be immaterial. Candy-stripers are well supervised and seldom alone with any one person for more than a minute or two. The corruption of young minds that your subject suggests is not likely to be encountered."
Admittedly, few cases of actual involvement between perverted minds and the youthful volunteers come to light, but the number that are documented would suggest a far higher percentage than the administrator above is willing to concede, and the danger inherent in the atmosphere far greater, In the first of the two cases above, Mickey, who is not exactly bright to say the least and who obviously has some emotional problems that need the attentions of a psychiatrist, is not engineering the debauchery of teen-agers. However, her influence on young minds, the manner in which she could influence those on the staff with whom she comes in contact, is suspect. Not to mention that her antics could spread contagion, and possibly even kill a patient.
In the second of the cases, Celeste not only could corrupt young minds but did-and is continuing in her capacity at the hospital, and in her mate-swapping activities that include full-blown recruits for the circle.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ORGASMIC WHEEL
Siren screaming, beacon revolving, throwing the blue light in a swift arc of seeming flashes, the city ambulance speeds through the city streets, tires screeching on the turns, the red closed van body swaying top-heavily far to the side, then upright again as the vehicle straightens and picks up speed.
Felice's throat erupts continuously with a series of moans and groans, whimpers, sighs and cries, the sounds full and vibrant, bursting free from her throat as each new paroxysm of orgasm sweeps through her body like wave after wave of electric currents, building, breaking, crashing through her body. She lies flat on her back on the thick mattress of the wheeled carrier beneath Monk whose long violently stroking hips power the drive of his penis with the ferocity of a pneumatic hammer. Her naked legs, spread wide, up high and bent at the knees, bounce up and down with the dips and bumps in the street and the sway of the speeding ambulance, the naked skin of the pair, wet with sweat, shimmer like two strange exotic fish in a bowl beneath the bright lights inside the van. Her uniform hangs limply from a peg, her white hose and undergarments and shoes lay in a straggled heap with his white and shoes and socks and shorts. She still wears the white cap, pinned securely to her hair. She'd forgotten to remove it.
Again begins the series of sounds from deep in her throat-whimpering, and then the whimpers turn to moans. No need to hold her voice down, nobody can hear her from outside and if they did, she would just be taken as a poor wretched victim of catastrophe on her way to the hospital, there need be no restriction to her crying and yelling, even screaming if she wants to, caught up in the emotions inside her, needing to let them escape.
She feels Monk's thrust, grinding into her even harder, and knows from the broken rhythm of his gasping breath, from the anxious increase in tempo, from the heavier pounding, that he too is rapidly approaching a climax. Her body strains, muscles contracting, especially those in her vagina, wanting every erg of his power, feeling him pounding deep in her, feeling the cascade of emotion building her toward another orgasm, the excitement swelling, blending with the sound of the siren and the lurching motion of the speeding ambulance.
Then her larynx screams its cry, her voice a siren itself, careening off the walls inside the van with the same pitched screeching urgency as the vehicle's careening off the walls of the buildings outside. And then it resides, and then as quickly as her mind resumes its mooring, she is off again, caught in the sheer weight of Monk's, feeling his throbbing climactic thrusts into her welcoming hole of warmth, and she comes again, the whimpers, the moans, the groans, the cries to match in fever the cry of the ambulance itself, as he collapses in exhaustion on top of her.
They rest for a moment. Then Monk raises himself off her, grinning down at her. He takes some tissue from the dispenser, wipes himself dry and then opens the small sliding panel between the van and the driver. "Okay, Jack," he says. The ambulance turns a corner, slowing, and the driver cuts off the siren and coasts down to a slower speed. Monk waits, looking out into the path the headlights cut through a quiet residential street near a main thoroughfare. When the vehicle slows to the legal speed he asks the driver to pass back the bottle. He takes a long pull from the clear liquid, grimaces as the alcohol sears his throat on the way down, and then passes the bottle to Felice, sitting up on the side of the carrier, its chrome side rail dropped to the floor, the tiny white nurse's cap still secure in her hair even though her hair is messed. She lifts the bottle to her lips slowly. The smooth skin of her long neck ripples as she swallows and then goose flesh seems to flow outward from her neck across her shoulders, down the lilting curve of her breasts, across her body and down her legs to her toes. She shivers.
"Cold, baby?" Monk takes the bottle from her and drinks deeply.
"A little," she shivers again.
He laughs, "Give me another minute and I'll take over for Jack. Get old Jack back here on your little ass, get that siren going, feel this old crate shooting up and down like a Chinese rocket, you'll get hot again in a hurry."
He didn't have to say it, she knew it. That is all it takes. That was what it took.
Jack's face appears in profile at the panel looking sideways at the street ahead. "You 'bout ready back there?"
"Just about," Monk yells back at him.
"Well hurry up, goddamn it! It's horny as hell out tonight!"
Monk dresses, buttoning up his whites slowly, looking at Felice, at her firm breasts and hips, the tiny waist and slim legs, at the light fall of soft brown hair down to her shoulders and curved in just gently toward her cheeks. Aware of his gaze, she looks up at him. He smiles, "It's getting to be a little bit horny back here again, too."
The ambulance pulls over and stops. The rear door swings open and Jack crawls inside, already unbuttoning his whites, "Come on, you bastard, give somebody else a crack." He looks at Felice and grins, "No pun intended."
Monk and Felice both laughed happily. Monk swings reluctantly out of the van, Felice swings her legs back up on the carrier and stretches out, waiting, grinning at Jack.
He tosses aside his jacket and tee-shirt, sits down beside her, rips off his shoes and socks, and frantically pushes off his pants and shorts just as the ambulance takes off with a jarring lurch. He stands over her a second, his hungry erection, the tip of it gleaming with his own desires and staring its one eye as intently as the two in his head stare" at her body. "Get ready, baby, cause I'm going to shoot you so goddamn high you're never coming down without a parachute!" Felice laughs then again, as Jack practically bounds into the carrier on top of her, into her waiting arms and thighs.
"It was about five years ago, the first time. Not the first time I had sex, I'd been playing around since I was thirteen, but then I was a fifteen year old candy-striper, and I thought I was grown, you know? Adults smoked, I smoked; adults screwed, I screwed. I was an adult. I'd never had a climax with a man, but some of the older girls I ran around with said they hadn't either-some had, some hadn't, but the ones that had said not to sweat it, that it'd come, so I didn't sweat it. But I had hot pants all the time. I couldn't see somebody halfway good-looking without thinking about it. I had to change my panties about three times a day.
"The most beautiful man I'd ever seen was an ambulance driver on the four-to-ten. He had coal black hair and blue eyes, and the skinniest hips but broad shoulders, really good-looking. I practically drooled every time I got within ten feet of him. And then he started paying a little attention to me. The hospital kept four ambulances ready in the line, but two of them were only two crews, two men each, working each shift, and when something drastic happened they put interns on the other ambulances.
"Anyway, one night after he finished his shift Bob sneaked me out and into the back of his ambulance that went into reserve when he went off shift and another ambulance and crew took his and his partner's place. He undressed me slowly, and he kissed me and played with me, every inch of me, and he took his clothes off and we made love. I was so hot for him, I was feverish, and he felt so good inside me, and I kept thinking I was going to have a climax but I never did. He was good, he was the best I'd ever had and I loved it, but I still couldn't have a climax.
"Not that I let it bother me. I still wanted him, I still loved it, and it got so that just about every night when he went off shift we'd sneak out to his ambulance, get undressed and make love.
"One night we'd been at it quite a while, Bob was determined to make me come, only I hadn't, and then vaguely, not really paying attention to it, I hear the ambulance next to the one we were in, the motor churning over but not catching, then stopping and churning again. Then there's some four-letter words, and then the doors of the one we were in opened and slammed shut! The motor started and the ambulance pulled out with squealing tires, bumping and swaying, into the turn onto the street, and then the siren went on and I could feel it picking up speed.
"Bob mumbled something like, 'Good grief!' stopping, starting to get off me but I pulled him back. The whole thing, how to explain it, the involvement, like the siren howling for me, that the whole world was moving and screaming just for my body, or maybe it was just the excitement, charging through the streets with the sirens blazing, the excitement of that added to the excitement of sensations in my body, in my head.
"I just know that with that sudden sinking feeling, knowing what was happening, feeling Bob stop, start to get off me, and then something else start inside me, and I knew at that minute that in just seconds. I clung to him, my hips started bucking into him, not letting him stop, and he didn't stop, he saw what was happening to me, and he started sticking it to me again, fucking me harder than he'd ever done and it was so good, I felt myself rising, rising.
"And then I was coming! And I was floating down afterwards, and then I started coming again! And then again! And then Bob started coming, his body heaving, spitting into me, and I came again only this time, each one had been better, higher than the last, and that last time it was fantastic!
"Bob got off me then and turned on the light, and we started dressing, frantically, trying to get back into shape before the ambulance stopped, and just as we were both dressed and I straightened the sheet on the carrier the ambulance slowed down. The siren stopped and then the ambulance stopped with a jerk.
"Bob had meant to open the panel to the driver and say something so it wouldn't be such a shock, but we didn't have time, and the back door swung open and you should have seen the looks on those jockeys' faces. But they got it, and they and Bob mumbled something together, and Bob released the carrier and swung it out towards them, and then it just looked like the hospital had sent along three men and a candy-striper to help out instead of two men. It was an automobile accident. It was wet, a slight drizzle, and somebody had skidded through a red light and hit another car broadside and the woman sitting on that side was twisted up and her head was covered with blood, a gash and her nose was bleeding. They swung her inside and locked the carrier, the doors slammed back, and we started back to the hospital.
"Ever since that night I've been in the back of an ambulance, every chance I can get, which isn't very often, maybe once every two weeks average, and I've had sex under other conditions, but I've never reached a climax any other way. I don't know what it is. The excitement, the siren, I don't know what it is."
Felice's fixation is only a step removed from similar more familiar ones-the inability of a woman to achieve an orgasm with the lights on, or with the lights off, with the radio on or off, in certain positions that have psychological rather than physiological bases, etc. Her pathetic plight is no less ludicrous in light of this, however. And her use of ambulance and crew for her personal sex satisfaction is no stranger than the use of their position on the part of some crews for theirs.
Many hospitals with intern programs have the young training medics man ambulances; most hospitals hire ambulance crews from among the unskilled, giving them courses in first aid and then sending them out on calls. The public usually assumes that the men-in-white who man an ambulance are physicians so it is not difficult for drivers to take advantage of the situation.
A strikingly attractive woman with severe stomach cramps, undergoing a thorough physical examination in the emergency ward of a downtown hospital, asked the doctor did she have to go through this again-that the doctor in the ambulance had just given her a complete examination (even to examining the inside of her vagina with his fingers). In the subsequent investigation it was discovered that the two drivers had invested in the price of a stethoscope and took turns riding in the back with the more attractive female patients, exploring their bodies at will under the guise of being physicians. Their illicit entertainment had been continuing for more than ten years before the inadvertent words led to discovery.
A factory worker, a big-busted earthily attractive girl in her early twenties, had an arm severely mangled in an industrial accident. She was given a shot of morphine on the spot by one of the ambulance attendants, and was under strong sedation, but rousing in the emergency ward of the hospital she kept repeating, "Raped!" over and over. Her vagina was discovered to contain fresh semen. She stated that first one of the attendants raped her while the other drove, then they had switched places and she had been raped by the other. The drivers denied the charge, of course, but the evidence of fresh semen and the witnessed knowledge that she had been on the job for several hours prior to the accident was enough for the hospital administrators. They paid a huge settlement to the girl, not permitting it to come to court, and talked her out of preferring criminal charges against the two men, obviating the "nasty publicity" that would otherwise result. The two attendants were fired from their jobs, but both subsequently went to work at other hospitals. Ironically, one of the drivers was later again accused of rape of a sixty-year-old woman, brought to court and convicted. He is presently serving a prison term. The other driver is still at work, driving an ambulance for a hospital in the same city.
Felice can hardly be thought to have been corrupted by the hospital environment. In her own words, she had been "playing around since she was thirteen." At fifteen, after a year as a candy-striper, she was probably the half-teen-age girl, half-woman of the Lolita type syndrome, bent on her own physical pleasure with little concern for others around her, and not too concerned with appearances. At the same time, however, the hospital environment did contribute conditions and opportunity to further her debauchery, if it can be called such. There were obviously those on the staff of the hospital that were only too eager to pursue their own pleasures with the girl, regardless of her age-perhaps even because of it, with the desires of the quasi-pedophiles.
Felice is now twenty-one, a registered nurse. She is slight, with a younger appearance than her years, and it is altogether likely that five years ago she was still an undeveloped, physically as well as mentally, immature child, regardless of her "playing around" at thirteen. Too, she was playing around with boys her own age and slightly older, not men. Her affairs with grown men began with Bob, and then continued with others, beginning with the two ambulance attendants who were present during that first climactic ride. It is quite possible that Bob's interests were pedophilic, quite probable that they were, though the interests of later men may have been through the association with mature acts rather than the immaturity of the girl herself.
At any rate, the hospital did contribute to her stunted sexual developments-not only with its physical adjoinments, in the fact of the vehicle, the ambulance, and those involved in it, but in its provision for permissiveness and perversion on the part of those caught up in it. There are far more serious cases than Felice's, however.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AMBULATORY ECSTASY
There was a sensual aura about her movements. Kris penetrated the rubber diaphragm of the vial with the needle, drew the plunger out filling the syringe, then held it up to the light, squirting a little of the clear liquid out of the tip to remove the last air bubble, then she handed it to Gail to hold.
Fascinated, the younger girl, dressed in the pink-and-white striped pinafore, watched intently as Kris unbuttoned the cuff of her uniform, pushed up her sleeve, and deftly tied off the blood flow to her lower arm with a piece of rubber tubing just above the elbow.
Unhesitatingly, anxiously, Kris inserted the needle tip into a vein, there were the marks of many needles, and slowly pushed in the plunger releasing the fluid into her bloodstream. She pulled out the needle, untied the strip of hose around her upper arm, and then slowly let out her breath. Her face was ecstatic, almost as if she were in the throes of passion, of sexual abandon.
"Are you feeling it yet?" Gail's voice was subdued, almost whispered. Her eyes were wide, her small mouth with the full lush lips, was open, the upper lip arcing upward showing large white teeth in a constant quizzical expectant expression. The arcing lip and the slight space between her two front teeth had earned her the nickname "Rabbit" at school.
Kris' eyes were closed. Her breasts rose with the filling of air into her lungs. She let it out slowly. A wave of emotion passed over her features. "I'm feeling it," she said, matter-of-factly.
Then she opened her eyes, took a disposable needle packet out of the syringe case and replaced the needle on the syringe with a fresh one. She refilled the hypo from the vial. "You ready?"
A fleeting expression of fear swept over the younger girl's features. "I . . . don't know," she stammered. "Are you sure it'll be all right?"
Kris looked at her in amusement, "You want it or not?"
The needle in Kris' hand seemed to point menacingly toward her, and Gail's whole body seemed to be churning. She hesitated a long time, then said okay. "But not in my arm, okay?" Stephanie had told her not to get telltale marks on her arms.
Kris shrugged. "Lift up your skirt."
Gail complied, hurriedly lifting the skirt of the pinafore up to her waist, exposing her slim young hips and legs clad in white pantyhose. Now that the final decision had been made she was anxious to get it over with. She watched open-mouthed, hardly able to breathe but detached, as if she were really watching it happen to someone else.
Kris pushed the pantyhose down from the girl's waist, over the tiny patch of downy brown hair, the stark white of rounded firm buttocks, down her thighs almost to her knees. Her palms wanted to linger on the lovely smooth flesh, the sylph-like subtle curves, girl-child curves. But she forced her mind away reluctantly. She pinched a roll of skin in the young girl's upper thigh and adroitly, in the same motion, drove the needle in all the way. She forced the plunger in slowly, emptying the syringe, then she withdrew it quickly and wiped the spot with an alcohol-soaked swab of cotton. "Okay."
Slowly, as if dazed, Gail smoothed the pantyhose up her thighs, over hips and buttocks, hitching them up to her waist, and then smoothed down her skirt, waiting for the first reactions to hit her, waiting to feel something unusual to happen inside her body. "Will it take long?" she asked in that same subdued voice.
Kris had turned deliberately away from the girl while she readjusted her clothing. She took out another packet containing a disposable needle and fitted the new one to the syringe. "Few minutes that way. Don't worry, you'll know it when it hits you." She leaned against the supply table, her eyes piercingly alert, her features taunt-nostrils flared slightly, lips drawn tight, but her body at ease. She crossed one angle over the other, waiting. "Want to tell Steph to come in?"
Gail paused a moment, then turned for the door. She'd been gone about three steps when her gait seemed to shift in mid-stride. She faltered slightly putting her foot down. Then she stopped and turned slowly around.
Her eyes were wide, piercingly wide in the same way that Kris' were. Her brain had suddenly cleared as if from a fog, her sinuses seemed to drop gapingly open. Her mind began to soar, freely, and she was filled with the illusion that she was suddenly (as she was to relate it later) "alive"-feeling more alive and alert than she'd ever felt before. She was suddenly totally aware of the strength in her frail body, aware of the touch of the fabrics of the clothing she wore against her skin, aware of the taste and smell of the air moving in and out of her lungs. Her expression was that of amazement, mixed with a touch of the reverent.
Her voice echoed the look on her face. Slowly, drawing it out and rolling it off her tongue she said the one word: "Wow!"
Looking up at the girl, grinning at her naivet�, Kris answered, "Yeah. Wow."
Slowly, still absorbed in the first effects of the "speed," Gail turned, opened the door and went out it. The door swung open again almost immediately and Stephanie entered, looking back over her shoulder in the direction Gail had gone and grinning. She turned to face Kris, shaking her head. "Boy, she's really tripping!"
Kris filled the hypodermic the third time. "Ready for this?"
Stephanie pulled the tight straight skirt of the candy-striped pinafore up to her hips, propped her foot on one of the shelves and unfastened the two garter straps from the top of her hose. She pushed the white nylon down, uncovering her thigh. "Here." She reached for the syringe from Kris. "I'll do it."
Shrugging, Kris handed it to her, her eyes following from the brief swath of white silk panties at the joining of the girl's thighs, down the full contours of leg.
Holding the syringe, Stephanie rubbed vigorously at a spot on the inside of her thigh. Satisfied with the vein she'd raised, she penetrated the surface of the skin with the needle, trying to work the tip into the tough vessel wall. "Goddamn it!" she muttered, "missed it!" Holding the tip still under the outer flesh she tried to work it into the vein. "Slippery little bastard!" Breathing harder, her hand shaking, she withdrew the needle.
"Want me to?" Kris asked.
"No, I'll make it." Stephanie took a deep breath, and wincing, again stuck the needle into her flesh, at a point higher up in her thigh this time. Her breath hissed out between her teeth as again the vein rolled under the needle tip. But then on the next try the sharp metal caught. Steadily the girl forced the tip into the vessel and slowly worked the plunger, shooting the liquid crystals into her system. The syringe empty, she withdrew the needle and handed it to Kris. She took a deep breath and let it out heavily, relieved. Then she waited expectantly, her head erect, her hands on her naked thigh, the hose dangling down her calf from her knee.
Moments later, she smiled, closing her eyes, feeling the exhilaration swoop in on her. She made a soft, barely discernible noise behind her closed lips. "Hmmm . . . " She pulled the hose back up her leg, stretched the garter straps down and snapped them over her nylon and then smoothed down her skirt in the same motion Gail had used.
Kris stood by watching the other girl as the effects of the amphetamine took effect, watching the high up-turning prominent breasts, even more accentuated by the straps of the pinafore, the long short wildly curving line of her waist and flaring hips. Stephanie had the face and the demeanor in public of an angel, a virgin, a pure lily-white, an innocent. Only her figure, that astoundingly provocative body, there was nothing virginally or innocent about it, gave a clue to the real Stephanie, the wild, maniacally driven succubus behind that child's open face.
"Coming up to D later," Kris put it more as a statement than a question.
Stephanie grinned at her, closed the space between them and with exaggerated gestures tweaked the nipple of the older woman's breast through the front of her white uniform, and then reaching around behind her, patted her buttocks. Her voice dropped lower, mocking, a lazy drawl. "You bet yo' li'l sweet ass I am!" And she left the room, looking back over her shoulder, leaving Kris to stare after her.
The game had started with Gail, teasing the two orderlies unmercifully about "going together."
"Do either of you ever try girls?" she razzed, "instead of just each other?"
The pair did look strangely complementary: Pete was black, coal black skin contrasting against his whites; Sean was a deep blushing red, kept that way by the Irish in him, ethnic and alcoholic, his hair a brilliant orange, his complexion contrasting just as strongly against his white uniform.
Pete answered first, laughing at her, "Will they start passing around the juice at Brownie meetings?"
"Sounds like her good deed for the day," Sean added. "She wants to turn us poor queers on to what's happening in the world of the schoolgirl straights."
Stephanie joined in then, watching, curious about how far Gail's transformation from shy to brash would take her. "You planning to take them on together or just one at a time?"
Gail giggled, enjoying herself. "It'd take six of them apiece to make it worth it."
"You've got the right score, little girl, but your lineup's screwed up." That was Sean. "I know I got enough for six of you."
The lines had flown back and forth at length with Stephanie on the sidelines, watching Gail in a performance she'd never seen in her before. But then the verbal turned to physical. Gail kissed each of the two men passionately, "to see what they had to offer," progressing to further stages, they rubbing their hands over her young breasts and buttocks, she squirming her young body into theirs, and then rubbing the bulges in their pants with her hand while making appropriate chiding comments.
"It isn't much, is it?" she said to Sean. "Does it always just droop there?" to Pete.
Stephanie was quick to note that actually the bulges in both men's pants were quite prominent by that time. And it was getting too rough for her taste-too public, in the open corridor of the medical wing where a patient or nurse could amble on the scene or anybody could step out of the elevator anytime. She knew it was the effects of the speed. She also knew there was nothing she could do about it, that if she interfered Gail would get pensive, then angry, then even more adamant about doing what she pleased. The speed. Kris was all right, of course, she wouldn't say anything, but the other night nurse was square. And Stephanie didn't see why she should wig out and join them just because Gail had gone up for grabs. Besides, all Gail had to do was wait, play it cool. Gail knew about D-floor. She had said she would go up with them for the first time that night. All she had to do was wait.
Stephanie wandered down the corridor to the elevators. It was too early yet for D-floor. She'd drop down to the coffee shop. Maybe something was happening. To hell with Gail. Let her do her own thing.
Moments after Stephanie disappeared into the doors of the elevator, Gail and the two men, quieting now in an attempt to be more discreet after some unspoken agreement occurred and was recognized, wandered down the corridor to an empty room.
Gail waved at Kris, ta-taa, as she passed the desk. Her head was soaring. Never had she felt so acutely aware of everything. As if she now, for the first time, was truly conscious, and hers was the only consciousness. She knew that everybody else was only half alive, and she was all alive, every pore of her young body, every muscle and vein and sinew and curve of flesh sang with it. Hers was the only brain charged with super power, her mind faster than anybody else's. She raced ahead of her own conversation, like a chess game, using her own remark as a first move, evaluating all the possible replies to it and then leaping forward, through all the maze of possibilities and planning new responses to all the possible replies. She was uproariously happy in her power. It was omnipotence. She could do no wrong. She was God. She could use the mortals around her as she saw fit. And she would use them. For the first time she saw with absolute clarity that the young, vibrant urges circulating in her body, like steam bubbling through a hot spring, were there for a purpose: to move her into unknown realms of pleasures, into thought of freedoms of actions, into inexperienced stages of euphoric reality; to live, live to the fullest of sensual consciousness. And she'd start with Pete and Sean. It didn't matter at all to her that she'd never done it before, that she'd never progressed past the stage of "making out" and gropingly touching and being touched by the awkward young boys her own age. She saw in her state of omnipotence precisely what her body was designed for, remembered all the stories and innuendoes from the girls' lavatory and knew that there was nothing in human experience beyond her knowledge, her capacity and understanding. She was alive! She would live, she would feel.
Sean flicked the switch for the reading lamp, spraying the bed with light, leaving the rest of the room in vague outline, barely visible in the darkness.
Gail pulled Pete to her, her body straining into his, reaching her mouth up to be kissed-then his mouth was on hers, his hands roving over her barely developed young frame. She unzipped his pants and reached inside. His hands, one squeezing her breast, the other the tight yielding flesh of her buttocks, sent ripples of delicious sensations through her. She struggled with his erect penis, finally managed to get it clear of his pants, and marveling at the size of it, she held it in both hands, her hips straining toward it as if a magnetic force existed between it and she.
Then there were other hands on her body, one coming up under her skirt, between her thighs, rubbing her crotch through the thin cloth of the pantyhose.
Her mouth drew away from Pete's and she turned to find Sean's, and then it was there on hers. Still holding onto Pete's penis with one hand she struggled with the zipper of Sean's pants, wanting to hold it too, wanting to feel both of them hard and ready in her two palms.
She felt the buttons and zipper of her pinafore go slack, the straps sliding down her shoulders and the skirt pushed down over her hips. It fell to the floor, and she stepped out of it, kicking it aside; then the blouse came off, and then the bra unhooked and the straps pulled off her shoulders, and down her arms and then it was off, and the hands, the flesh of them touched her firm young naked budding breasts, her girl-child small breasts, and then mouths, two of them, each of the two men at her breast, sucking, their lips and tongues working on her senses, their hands roving, caressing her legs, her buttocks, the now-wet crease of delirium between her thighs.
She had let go of the two penises while they removed the pinafore and bra straps, and she wanted again to feel the male hardness, but she couldn't reach either of them, and her hands wandered over their backs, around their chests, back up fingering in their hair, touching their cheeks and necks and faces.
Hands tugged at the waistband of her pantyhose and drew them down over her hips, down her thighs. Sean pushed them down each leg, his hands moving lovingly over her bare legs. Pete, still sucking her breach, ran his hands down over her hips, then up between her thighs, into the wet warmth of her pleasure flesh.
Gail's knees buckled with the deliciousness of feeling that spread through her. The two men together picked her up and sat her on the side of the bed and sat down beside her, the two of them, four hands, ravaging her body, their mouths on her face, her neck, her breasts, and again, able to reach them now, she filled her hands with erect penises, sticking out of their pants, and stroked them, aware of her every pore stimulated, the touch of them, the feeling they were building in her.
Nothing had been said by either of them after they entered the room until now. Pete, his finger moving gently, expertly in the folds of Gail's vulva, asked Sean softly, "Do you want to flip to see who goes first, man?"
The words erupted from Gail's lips: "No! I want you both!"
She had them get out of their clothes, knowing what she wanted. Sean was first undressed, and Gail had scurried up on the bed lengthwise and spread her legs, both her hands clutching her, pressing into the flesh at her crotch, waiting for them, exhilarated with the warmth of feeling, and now she motioned him on top of her, grasping his penis as soon as it was in range, lifting her legs off the bed, guiding him, moving the head of his penis to the rim of her anxious hole, and as he pressed forward, feeling it enter her, feeling the searing flash of pain and then the gradual fading of it into a lunging, panting euphoria enveloping her and building into a sensitiveness that set every nerve end jangling and jangling.
Pete joined them on the bed, kneeling beside them, and Gail grasped his penis in her hand and squeezed and stroked gently. She was overwhelmed with emotion, with feeling, Sean's body against hers, his legs along the inside of her thighs, his organ enrapturingly coming and going inside here, Pete's hand running over her, moving Sean slightly aside so he could get his mouth on her breast, kiss her lips and neck and nipple, and gobble at the budding mound of her femininity; she was overcome with the scene, looking at it as if it were some other girl on the bed with the two men and not she, looking at the bed bathed in a spot of light in the center of darkness, the three bodies moving in independent rhythms of involvement but all bent on pleasure, mutual pleasure, Sean's body red as a lobster, red as a yesterday's sunburn, Pete's coal black, ebony glowing, and her own, milk white, as white as the sheet on which she lay.
She tugged at Pete's penis, pulling it toward her. He saw what she wanted and obliged, letting her pull it gradually toward her face, toward her mouth, gaping open and ready for it, her lips wet from her tongue and glistening in the light, her waiting mouth as soft and pink and warm and wet as her vagina, and she was aware, knew the intake of breath hard in his lungs as her lips closed around his shaft, her tongue, her warmth swallowing him, sucking him further and further, steadily into its pleasures, and she felt as well as heard the soft loving noises emanating from his throat as she sucked him.
And that was the position the three of them were in when the chief resident, a hospital administrator, the shift superintendent, the nursing supervisor and a night nurse, on an unscheduled night inspection tour, opened the door of the room.
Kris watched Gail and the two orderlies move down the corridor and open the door to an empty room. She shrugged, mumbling to herself that it was none of her business, that she didn't give a damn what the little virgin-slut did. She put it out of her mind.
Thirty minutes later when she was relieved for the shift she had forgotten all about the three. She didn't remember until she walked out of the freight elevator into the dimly lighted corridor of D-floor, and then she said to hell with it, that probably, knowing the room was supposed to be empty, the shift nurse wouldn't stick her head into it. And if she did, Kris knew her well, she would be shocked out of her cups maybe, but she wouldn't report it.
She walked past the door opposite the elevator-the only door and the only one of the elevators that came all the way to the top down the short distance to the ell and looked around the corner. The corridor stretched that way for more than a hundred yards, arching slightly, the overpass between the main building and the old nurse's dorm and the maintenance complex. Windows lined each side, and Kris could see the lights of the city on each side of it. Seeing none in the passageway she went back around the corner, noted by the indicator that the elevator was at one of the lower floors and still going down, and then knocked sharply at the door opposite-once, twice, then four times in quick succession. She waited a long moment and then the door swung open. She breezed past, nodding to the young freckled red-haired intern, who closed the door after her and locked it again.
The pungent smell of marijuana hit her nostrils; there were three or four "joints" being passed among the dozen or more people in the room (a few less women than men Kris noted with no satisfaction) lounging on and around the stacks of mattresses of varying heights aligned against one another. Sheets had been brought up from linen supply and thrown around haphazardly atop the stacks. Rows of bed-frames, folded, stood stacked and leaning against one wall. A portable FM was playing soft music; someone had brought a black light and taped a couple of psychedelic posters up on a wall, and the ghostly reflections and the light from a couple of small bed lamps lying on the floor and shaded against the wall were the only illumination. Most of the arrivals were still clothed, some wearing whites, some street clothes.
Kris raised herself up onto the first stack of mattresses alongside a bare-chested intern she recognized who was bending over kissing the upturned face of a blonde nurse she also knew, kicked off her shoes, unpinned the cap in her hair and put it and her bag down in the crack between the stacks of mattresses. Another young intern, one of the few that was completely nude, his body wiry and hairy, his penis hanging far down his leg in a sort of quasi-ready state, pulling deeply from a roll of marijuana, moved over beside her, and then talking strained, holding the air in his lungs, passed it to Kris. "Want some?" he asked. Kris took it, drew from it, filling her lungs with smoke and air, and then held it in, feeling it rush hard and tight against her throat. She passed it on to another intern, this one dressed in levis and a sweatshirt, and then she lay back on the mattress, her legs dangling over the side, closing her eyes, feeling her swelling lungs absorb the languor that began in the back recesses of her mind.
She was there like that for less than a minute when the first intern, the nude one, dropped down beside her. She opened her eyes to see him looking into her face, a smile on his lips.
He touched his mouth to hers, lightly, undemanding, and then drew away. "Can I help you with these?" he asked, and began to unbutton the front of her uniform.
Kris looked at him blankly a long while. Then, "Why not," she said dully.
His eyes never left hers as he moved his hands from one button to the next until it was open, and then he slowly drew the cloth aside, exposing her bra-clad breasts, the cleavage deep between them, and the white half-slip and pantyhose.
Kris' mind was racing, touching on a thousand things a second, until she caught it, minute after minute, forcing thought from her consciousness, aware of the feeling, the concentration of feeling within her body, bombarding her body with sensations, but she deliberately forced herself to be calm, to be cool, to be passive, to be unresponsive, whatever the scene around her.
He tugged at the waistband of her slip and she lifted her hips just enough for him to slide the garment down over her hips and legs. He folded it carefully and put it aside. He reached out his hand to her and she allowed herself to be raised to a sitting position while he reached around her, under the gaping white uniform to the hooks of her bra, and then he had her stand while he took the two garments off, folding them as he had done the slip. She stood unyielding, waiting as he pushed the pantyhose down off her hips, and then she sat back down on the bed while he lifted her legs and pulled them completely off. She watched his penis during the latter steps, watching it raise and stiffen, and arc upward, almost looking into her two eyes with its single one.
Another joint was passing around, and she filled her lungs to bursting, forcing them to hold it in, falling back on the mattress, again closing her eyes, as she was before. Completely nude now, forcing herself not to think, she lay there for what seemed an interminable length of time, and then she felt a mouth, his mouth, close over the nipple of her breast, and then his hands, touching her hips, sweeping up along her sides, and then each of them closing around a breast, the one in his mouth and the other. She lay there passive, not moving, as his hands and mouth moved, kissing, caressing, sweeping over her body, sweeping sensations through her senses like clouds of dust in a long-vacant room. Only once did she stir at all, and that was when his lips moved down across her belly finally to her vulva, when his tongue darted through the crease between her buttocks, over her anus and drove into her vagina, coming up to her clitoris, and her pelvis just subtly arched, an uncontrollable spasm of magnetism, drawing it closer to the source of its pleasure. He was standing between her legs, holding them up and spread wide, and then his lips were gone from her vulva and his penis replaced his mouth as he guided it to the hole and lunged it in her, supporting her legs on his shoulders, standing upright while he moved in in lunge after lunge of satisfying rhythm.
Kris was but dimly aware of the intermittent code knocks at the door, of it opening to admit new faces, new bodies, that entered and either lounged or talked quietly, laughingly-the sounds carrying over the music and the moans and the heavy breathing, noises that seemed to permeate the room more like a thick fog of something physical rather than waves of sound-or disrobed and quickly got involved with somebody, seeking only the pleasure of touch, the added excitement of the sporadic, the unusual, the meeting for sex with someone without hypocrisy, without limitations of emotion, without restriction on actions apart from the sexual, mutual sex, and the sheer enjoyment of ecstasy, regardless of its source or originator.
Kris lay still, blanking every thought from her mind, knowing nothing but feel, the feel of that long stiff prick in her vagina, absorbing the sensations, absorbing that strange prick, like a sponge, feeling the sensations soak in, knowing that in time they would satiate her capacity, fill her as if every pore was capable of a specific volume of ecstatic ration.
Stephanie sauntered along the busy corridors of Main, stopping to chat amiably with the older women of the Auxiliary ("Stephanie is an unbelievably bright, intelligent, clear-eyed child!") and other candy-stripers, nodding at the residents who smiled at her and the others, the ones who let their eyes rove over her pert young body and either leered openly or glanced sheepishly away as if caught with their hands in their mother's cookie jar. She stopped in the coffee shop, got a glass of milk and a piece of pie from the serving line, and sat at a table with several other candy-stripers who sat around gossiping about the hospital staff. Stephanie joined in as if she were just as shocked at some of the indiscretions as the others. She was seldom the subject of gossip herself. Not Stephanie.
A couple of young interns stopped by the table to make small talk, and then one of them bent over and whispered into Stephanie's ear, asking if she were coming up to D floor. She answered sedately, "We'll see. Maybe." And the two left. She led the other to believe that the intern had asked if he might ask her for a date sometime, but added demurely that she could never go out with an older man.
She took her time, loitering over the pie and milk, got a glass of water, and only after the last of the others wandered off did she leave. And then she made straight for the freight elevator. When the doors open she pushed the button for the next to the top floor. If nobody else got on on the way up she would then mash the button for D.
Almost simultaneously the down button was being pushed on another floor for another elevator by someone in the party that included Gail, the two orderlies and several hospital officials . . . .
The transformation would have been strange to anybody who had seen it. Outside the door Stephanie was the young innocent child who just happened to possess the extraordinarily provocative not-so-innocent-appearing body; passing into the room the corners of her mouth lifted in a impish grin, a demoniac half-leer, half-smile, her shoulders moved back slightly, jutting the already pertinent up-tilting breasts out even further, even more persistently daring, her hips, her pelvis, strutted out more, her hips swinging roundly in a wide arc, calling attention to their voluptuousness, and the change was complete, from young virgin to a subtly brash sex-mistress with the confidence of a lifetime in her few short years.
"Well, well," the freckled man at the door greeted her in a hushed voice, "if it isn't the Evil Princess."
"Well, well," she mocked him, "if it isn't the Good Fairy." She moved past him, muttering, "If I'm the evil princess, bow down to royalty, and while you're down there, kiss my ass."
Another male, overhearing, his eyes roving over her backside as she retreated, chuckled. "That's as good place to start as any."
By then there were twenty-five or thirty people in the room, almost two-thirds male. Stephanie scanned the scene. Most of the mattress area was covered with bodies, and standing at one end of the room, her teeth gleaming luminous blue in the reflection of the black-light, a nude girl stood, her mouth grimacing open in pleasure as a man bent sucking her breasts, one of his hands violently massaging the other one while his other hand worked feverishly between the girls legs. Three men, one of them clothed only in his shorts, the other two completely dressed, stood nearby, talking in low voices, casting long glances at the activity on the mattresses. On the mattresses Stephanie saw a man sitting up, leaning back on his hands while a girl-child Stephanie recognized as one of the newest candy-stripers sucked his penis, her head bobbing up and down on the shaft while the man kept repeating over and over, "That's right, baby, that's right!" A man behind the girl, up on his knees had hold of her hips and was sticking her dog-fashion as she sucked her mentor. Another male was flat on his back and one of the nurses was sitting on his haunches, his penis stuck deep inside her, she laughing excitedly as she moved rapidly up and down on him, fingering her clitoris at the same time, bringing herself to an orgasm. Others were making it, in couples, threesomes, foursomes, a collage of sex, of sensual enjoyment in a dozen or more ways. At one end of the line of mattresses, on and around the highest stack, several men had gathered in a group, most naked or just in shorts, passing around joint after joint of marijuana, talking, laughing among themselves, occasionally watching the mattress scenes. Stephanie strode toward them, kidded them after a couple called her "Princess" and turned down two offers of "Let's ball," saying she wanted to smoke first. Somebody passed her a roach and she filled her lungs, holding it between thumb and fingernails, watching the action on the mattresses with the others, taking her time when another joint came her way, feeling the effects of it working against the speed, leaving her euphoric but at the same time excited from the scene, with the desire building steadily in her pelvis, in her thighs, and acutely conscious of everything and everybody around her.
Then she saw Kris. She hadn't recognized her at first, her face buried in the muff of another nurse, but she knew that body, the perfectly formed breasts, hanging straight down, beautifully shapely, her back arched, her ass protruding invitingly up, and a doctor that Stephanie recognized from surgery, even while he was screwing the girl beneath him, was feeling up Kris' ass with his hand, marveling at it, and stretching his head sideways and up, his tongue stuck out, trying to reach that magnificent ass, trying to take up Kris' invitation. Stephanie grinned.
She started undressing, laying her clothes in a pile on the upturned bed frames with most of the others. One of the men on the stack of mattresses jumped down beside her. "Hey, you ready to ball, huh!"
Stephanie didn't look up. "Get lost, man." The grin was still there when she said it, but he knew she meant it. "I'm picking my own scene." Sighing resignedly she went through the same words on three more occasions even before she stepped out of her hose and lay the garter belt aside with the rest of her clothes.
Moving now, hands reached out for her crazily tilted breasts, the nipples sticking up at forty-five degree angles, anxious jut to touch, to feel their extraordinariness as they perceived them with their eyes; anonymous hands wandered over her buttocks, dipped between her wet thighs, tried to turn her toward them for a kiss and caresses, and she shook them all off, ambling through the group, climbing upon the stack of mattresses, picking her way over heaving bodies, hearing and feeling but not heeding the copped feels and the remarks about her body.
"Look at those fucking jugs, man."
"Have you ever seen."
"What an ass."
"She damned well knows what to do with it, too!" one comment after another receding behind her as she made her way over the mattresses to a spot just beyond Kris, where the doctor from surgery had climaxed and rolled off the girl that had been beneath him, and was now lying on his back, breathing heavily, the sweat glistening on his forehead, his penis too, laying in the joint of his leg to his torso, glistening from the blending of his and girl's juices.
Stephanie stepped one foot over his chest and stood there straddling him, looking down into his face, her lips curling mischievously. "Hi," she said to him.
"Hi," he replied quizzically, waiting, looking up at the fantastic curve of breasts and hips, at her big thighs, straight up between her legs and into the red meaty cleft in the soft hairs of her crotch.
She bent her knees slowly, sinking her body straight and slowly toward his face. 'Is this seat taken?" she asked, impishly mocking, lowering her body, bringing up her hands along the inside of her thighs, spreading aside the fine hairs, spreading the lips of her labia, her eyes flashing, watching him looking straight up her goddamn cunt, into her womb, licking his chops as if he was seeing a steak and he was starving, and then her knees were all the way to the mattress, straddling his head, and her vulva settled onto his open mouth.
She used his mouth as a tool for a while, moving her body up and back over his mouth, letting his tongue lick up across her anus and back to dart into her vagina, then let him suck her clitoris awhile, shifting her body slightly from side to side, feeling the edge of his teeth rigid but cushioned behind his upper lip, rubbing straight across the ridge of her clitoris, watching his eyes run up and down her body, feeling his hands squeezing into the soft flesh of the cheeks of her ass. She moved up one and used his nose, crushing it into her, sticking it into her hole, wishing she could get sucked and fucked at the same time. She leaned far back, reaching for his penis and then she had it in her hand. It was already hard again. The girl he had rolled off moments ago was lying there, amused, her head propped up on her elbow, watching the scene. Stephanie motioned toward her, catching the doctor's eye, and whispered down between her legs, and then she had his head in her hands crushing him into the soft flesh, rolling over on her back, his head coming with her, and he was still eating Stephanie with the other girl's body under him again, and her legs spread for him again, only this time instead of reaching for Kris he had his head buried in the wet warmth of Stephanie's languor,' and she was scurrying up and around, moving her head into position, face up, between Kris' legs, spreading them wider, and then she reached up and drew that waiting meat, soaked in the hot excitement of its own juices and no telling how many men's, reached up around those wide lovely contours of Kris' hips-Kris looked up from where her own head was buried to recognize and help her-feeling the smooth silken skin of thighs brushing against her cheeks as Kris' knees spread farther apart, as her body, her wet panting cunt, lowered onto Stephanie's gaping anxious needing mouth.
And then the blonde, the one Kris was eating, began to moan loudly, a pitch rising in tone and frequency, and then she practically screamed in ecstasy in her orgasmic furor. And moments later Kris sat up, kneeling in the same position above Stephanie's head that Stephanie had earlier been over the doctor's, looking down into her eyes, smiling lustily, knowingly.
And then, maybe it was the noise earlier from the blonde that brought them, there were many faces around, most of them male, and Stephanie felt somebody's hands and mouths on her breasts, on her body, more hands on the cheeks of her ass, even though the doctor's head was still buried in the muff of hair, still working, and then somebody, the doctor she guessed, stuck his finger in her vagina and began a slow and rhythmic in and out movement against the upper wall inside her, while he still sucked her clitoris, and in only moments Stephanie felt a climax racing toward her, wheeling in with skidding twists and turns of her mind and body, and she too, like the blonde, wanted to cry out with pleasure of her ecstasy, but her mouth, her lips, her tongue, as willed on their own, grew more feverishly involved with the soft hot yielding flesh before them, as if by their own motion on Kris' body they could bring about Stephanie's orgasm, as if in actuality she were sucking herself off. And then she was coming, and then suddenly along with the finger in her vagina, speeding like an engine, in strokes so fast she couldn't recognize them, another finger, up her ass! Her body, already soaring into orbit, seemed to burst away from her, explode, blast out of it, and she came like she had never done before, losing herself totally in the orgasm. For the first time since the needle had hours before pierced the vein in her thigh she had dropped consciousness, had sought and found her nirvana, a ecstatic oblivion of will and totality. And her mind floated away in a pleasure pool.
She hardly had her consciousness back, still sucking and mouthing and licking the vulva in her face, when somebody lifted her legs, she couldn't see who, put them atop a pair of shoulders and lifted her buttocks clear off the mattress, sticking a penis, a huge penis into her vagina. And then she saw the hands of whoever it was come around under Kris' arms, move up her sides and cup her breasts from the back, squeezing and kneading the big globe treasures, and the slow grinding of the pelvis behind the penis driving into her began, and then gradually picked up speed, and then force, and then it was like a ramrod, hard and stiff and steel-like, ramming, ramming, and Stephanie, already high, soaringly high from the last climax, was going higher, faster, faster, her mind, her body, climbing, reaching for the out-of-it, for sensual ecstatic oblivion.
Stephanie, nor Kris, feeling the mouth between her thighs bringing her own climactic orgasm, nor the young intern whose penis drove hard into Stephanie's vagina and whose hands cupped Kris' breasts, none of them nor none close to them were aware of the coded knock on the door, of the detectives from vice and narcotics squad-brought by Gail's tear-eyed confession and blame of her action on the "speed" given her by Kris-poised and ready, waiting for the door to open . . . .
