Although the major topic of this month's Human Encounter Edition is concerned with pedophilic behavior in adults and the seductiveness of children, we will wander from time to time into other case histories in order to investigate some aside issues associated with our topic. Therefore, it is not to be construed as a gross editorial deviation when our readers encounter case histories concerning mammary intercourse, oral sex as it is used in incestuous relationships, the youthful potential prostitute, and other subjects of a sub-topic nature.
Sexual relationships between adults and children, whether they develop by way of an adult's rape, a child's seductive behavior, or a mutually compatible arrangement, affronts the sensitivity of society. The mass media treats such experiences in a largely sensational style. Why, medical men sometimes wonder. Is it because there is some latent sensationalism for such affairs that tickles the curiosity, perhaps even the erotic nature, of the majority of people? We do not know. We have theories, but still we are not sure. But we are positive that communication of case histories concerning sexual relationships between youthful subjects and their mature partners can do much to provide extra insights for all who are interested in the human life around us.
And so this report contains a variety of pertinent cases. Some present adults as the true violators of youth; others show children as aggressors, sometimes sexual conspirators who deem it imperative to seduce an adult. And mature women are not excluded as subjects for investigation here, for just as men sometimes desire young girls, some women have definite desires for the sex of boys, and, in the case of lesbians, girls.
The Human Encounter physician-editors believe this text will add substantially to the literature of sex behavior patterns. We believe, too, that the new format of a case history text will make it easier for readers to gain understanding of complex problems.
The text of this month's report is comprised of contributions by lay authors, professional comment, and the physician-editors' research, review, and exposition.
Again, let us invite you to submit any questions you might have concerning sexual problems. We are prepared and anxious to answer your questions. Merely write to us at the following address and we will comply with a prompt answer to your question.
A king of ancient India, oppressed by the roughness of the earth upon soft human feet, proposed that his whole territory should be carpeted with skins. However, one of his wise men pointed out that the same result could be achieved far more simply by taking a single skin and cutting off small pieces to bind beneath the feet. The point of this story is not its obvious illustration of technical ingenuity. It is a parable of two different attitudes to the same problem, attitudes which correspond approximately to those of the moral issues which have faced mankind since the beginning of time. It shows how it is easier for man to adapt himself to nature than to adapt nature to himself.
The same can be said of sexual issues which face mankind today. As lawmakers have discovered, one cannot enact into law that which concerns the moral conduct of man. Laws can be made, of course, which deal with public abuses of morals or common decency, but, once behind closed doors, man insists on going his own way, or, as the younger generation describes it, "doing his thing."
The hue and cry today among those who advocate sexual freedom is that our laws were enacted to deal with a scene that has long since passed and are based on the social ethic, or morality, of a hundred years ago and are no longer in tune with the "new thinking" and the "new morality." While this is certainly valid, there are some very fundamental factors regarding basic human behavior involved. And these must be considered in any evaluation of contemporary sexual practices such as those to be reviewed in this report.
Deviations from what is considered "normal" sexual behavior take on such a variety of facets that any volume written can cover but one or two distinct portions of this deviate conduct. So, too, does the mind separate each particular act which, in the end, all lead to the same result: satisfaction through a stimulation of the nervous system to bring on an orgasm.
It is commonly felt that the mind can think only of one thing at a time, and the act of sexual stimulation is believed to follow this strategem. The sense of this common feeling is presumably that conscious thought is focused attention, and that such concentration of our awareness is difficult or impossible when the field of attention is too complex. Attention, therefore, requires selection. The field of awareness must be divided into relatively simple unities or wholes, so structured that their parts can be channeled into one final result. Therefore, the sexual acts must be indulged in one at a time, yet with a constant view toward the end result which is, of course, orgasm.
This is not to imply that minor diversions or side stimuli cannot be engaged in, but, rather, that only one sexual act can be satisfactorily performed at a time. The human mind is not such that full realization or satisfaction can be gained from two separate sexual stimuli at the same time. One is aware of the main or most important part of sex first, then the other, and the most important is that which gives the person the greatest personal satisfaction to his own person. What he or she is performing upon the sexual partner at the same time must always be considered secondary regardless of the depth of feeling, or urgency, or intensity of action.
Because concentrated attention is exclusive, selective, and divisive it is much easier for it to notice differences than unities. Therefore, it is not the sexual act per se that has drawn man's attention but the deviation from what are commonly referred to as normal sexual acts. And the normal sexual act, as man has steadfastly clung to because of early mal-imprinting, is the one basic reason for sexual activity between male and female, sexual intercourse is a truly procreative function, as has been dictated by a largely anti-sex society.
And even though we accept the fact that man has deviated from this so-called norm of sexual technique as far back as recorded history goes, there has always been a genuine reluctance to face the fact that variant behavior, particularly as applied to adult-adolescent affairs, existed, to really come to grips in a truly rational manner by discussing it, reading about it or, worst of all, studying about it. That is, until recently.
Krafft-Ebing and Sigmund Freud scratched the surface. They were ridiculed more than they were accepted. Others followed and met with the same fate. Kinsey made the first modern comprehensive study of sexual behavior, yet his works were read with tittering and whispered discussion as merely "sex books." Some learned from them, opening their minds to an area heretofore denied or forbidden to them. Others, however, learned nothing, dismissing the material so laboriously gathered as merely the study of a few "sex nuts" who liked to talk about sex. A pity.
Not too long ago it was virtually impossible to get anyone to talk about their private sex life. The average person felt guilty about the things he or she did in the privacy of their bed. The terms "sexual deviate" and "pervert" were bantered around to a point that everyone believed that anything other than normal intercourse was unnatural. Sexual research has changed this. People have learned that masturbation, oral sex, mammary intercourse, anal coitus, even flagellism, are practiced by many people. They understand the Freudian theory that sexual repression builds neurosis, and that a feeling of guilt about sexual behavior can bring about serious anti-social behavior.
And immediately we must clarify this statement lest there be those who would define it as an anything-goes type of behavior, and ask that if one gets his sexual satisfaction from the sight of blood is it perfectly all right to murder someone to satisfy this desire? Of course not. Some semblance of rationality must be maintained, some reasoning. Where basic reasoning begins is that any sexual act must be to the full satisfaction, pleasure and agreement with the partner with whom it is performed. This, of course, does not include acts with minors, such as are presented herein, for minors need protection and adults must be responsible.
In the past few years, people have been willing, and even anxious in many cases, to discuss in detail their most intimate sexual secrets. Some believe their revelations will be of some assistance in the study of sex, others simply have the desire to "talk about it" and oftentimes derive great pleasure from telling their story, thereby reliving a portion of their life that gave them sexual pleasure. Sometimes their stories are imaginary to a large extent, a sort of wishful thinking on the part of the subject, but whether fact or fantasy they offer valuable insights to the sex life around us.
With the invention of the tape recorder, researchers have been offered a machine that has opened the minds of many heretofore reticent subjects. The pre-recorder experience of a stenographer busily writing down words had the effect of not only embarrassing the subject, but also diverting his attention from the true issues that he had come to relate in the first place. (Today, the tape recorder is kept out of sight; the turning spools have caused some to "clam up" or freeze.) As the subject warms to the task, he soon forgets that his words are being recorded. (Naturally, he has been told of the recording of his words.) His mind is free and open. An experienced researcher can probe at the proper moments, ask pertinent questions, and bring out what is lurking in the dark recesses of the subject's mind.
And so it is interesting that much of the new knowledge of introspective matters has been gained by the mechanical creation, the tape recorder, which has been widely used for the compilation of the case histories found in this report. If anything promises greater knowledge, a continued investigation of sexual life, it is found in people's willingness to talk about their sex practices and the recorder's taking of testimony. Unquestionably, the study of sex practices will continue, will gain new dramatic insights, and will continue to be presented to you, the readers, for review, knowledge, and a new understanding of the society in which we live.
As we have previously stated, there is a wide range of case histories in this report, even as it labors under the discipline of its title: Pedophilic Men and Seductive Children. Yet, for identification purposes the majority of the male case subjects must be termed pedophilic to some degree. And there are degrees of intensity to his malady. One pedophile might be impotent except with a sexual partner of tender years; another may be only occasionally ineffective with adult women and thus seeks children at only varied times during his life; still another may have no desire at all for intercourse with a child, but is beset with desire to have the child by means of oral sex, anal coitus, mammary intercourse, or any one of a number of other sexual variations. And still others of the totally pleasure-directed may take a child as they would a mature woman; for the pleasure of a sexual experience, the stimulation of doing something "different."
But here, in this report, these subjects will be cast in the general category of pedophilia.
PART 1
A PERMISSIVE MOTHER THE MAMMARY EXPERIENCE SEEDS OF PROSTITUTION
The following three case histories offer insights to extremely interesting subjects:
1. The influence of a mother's permissiveness upon her young daughter's early sex life.
2. A fifteen-year-old girl's introduction to mammary intercourse by a 44-year-old man who is pedophilically inclined.
3. The fellatio and coital experiences of a thirteen-year-old girl as provocation for prostitution.
The physician-editors will comment briefly on each of these cases, here at the beginning, in order that the reader may move uninterruptedly from one case to the next, a reading style which we believe is most constructive for the assimilation of knowledge.
Tons of copy spot the pages of thousands of pages of socio-sexual literature. Much of it concerns permissiveness, that of mothers and fathers, teachers, school administrators, indeed, most of American Society. The first case history in this section has both overt and latent undertones of this permissiveness.
The Cameo physician-editors sometimes think too much is made of parental permissiveness. Often, it seems to us, parents take the rap for all the outlandish behavior of their young. In many instances, parents deserve this charge. The mother in this case history does, there is little doubt. But as it is reviewed, readers should keep in mind that young people in this decade of the 1970's are different from any who have preceded them. They are more independent, more detached, more a separate entity than a family member, and because we are today dealing with a new kind of youth, we must shortly come to terms with new motivations for their behavior.
The second case history which follows considers a less-publicized sexual variation: mammary intercourse. The female subject is fifteen. Her lover is forty-four. The girl becomes addicted to this kind of sex.
Why?
There are many possibilities. One might be the American emphasis upon "motherhood," and the "momism syndrome" that swept the nation during World War II. Isn't it possible that rejection of motherhood in an over-crowded world might take the form of a girl using her breasts for sexual pleasure rather than the suck ling of an infant? It should be considered as you review the case.
Our third case history in this section shows the opportunism of a girl named Wendy, and how an affair with her girl friend's father motivates an attitude favoring prostitution.
Each of the male case subjects in this section must be considered of a pedophilic inclination, for, after all, they do sexually unite with young female subjects, whether or not they fit the classic interpretation of the pedophile.
CASE HISTORY
Gina's father was a criminal. He robbed his way through an Eastern ghetto until he married a beautiful, red-haired girl of Irish background. For a time Gina's parents were happy. They were even elated at the birth of their daughter. But then something went wrong. Gina's father returned to his life of crime until he was sentenced to a prison term of twenty years. At the time Gina was ten. Her mother was twenty-nine, still a striking beauty who made men take second, longing looks as she passed by. She seemed to ooze sexuality in everything she did.
Gina had never been especially close to her father. He was always away from home, and for long periods of time. When he was at home there were constant quarrels with the mother.
Gina's mother secured a divorce, she became hyper-interested in sex, frequently dating men-most of them married-who worked with her in the insurance office where she was employed in the typing pool. She grew very vain, spent large amounts of money on clothes and at beauty parlors, and became abnormally intimate with her mirror. Her self-centered interests precluded emotional attachment for her child, except in those situations where motherhood enhanced her own attractiveness.
by the time Gina was twelve she was already well acquainted with sex. Her mother wanted it that way. Imagining herself an authority on psychology and feeling that "all sex is good and should be spoken of freely," she spent long hours discussing sex with her daughter. She spoke not of sexual love alone, but jabbered of deviations which confused and sickened her child. She discoursed at great length on the place cunnilingus and fellatio had in sexual relationships. She frequently referred to "sucking cock" and "cunt juice" and "asshole fucking" until Gina would run out of the room, upset, embarrassed and crying. And once-to Gina's shock-the mother attempted to show her child the location of a woman's clitoris. She disclosed her own to Gina; then, with the aid of a mirror, encouraged her daughter to hunt and find her "love button."
This memory lingered with Gina most of her life. A repetitive dream of terrifying dimensions, which Gina endured for half a decade, had found its origin the day her mother sought to bring sexual enlightenment to her daughter's life.
"I thought something was wrong with me," Gina told her therapist. "My mother was so casual about it and I felt so sick. I just knew that there was something the matter with me."
The psychiatrist who treated Gina at the mental hospital where she resided for more than three years was of the opinion that the mother's "education" of her daughter was instituted as an aphrodisiac for the mother herself. He found it regrettable that rather than presenting sex as a pleasant reality of life, the mother served only to confuse, misdirect, and maladjust.
Gina was not only allowed her first date at thirteen years of age, she was coerced into it by her mother. The boy was a neighbor. He was nineteen. He asked Gina for a date. She refused. Then the boy asked her mother who felt it her duty to insist that Gina accept the boy's invitation. Gina relented. She recalls how happily her mother glowed when the boy called at the house to pick up his date.
They attended a drive-in theater. Gina spent the first hour of the first film of a double-feature bill defending her virginity. The remainder of the show she spent in masturbatory play, manipulating the boy to a climax on two separate occasions. She didn't find it at all exciting. The boy forced the action at the beginning and Gina complied as a means of preventing intercourse. Although made familiar with sex by her mother, Gina was pathetically unprepared to handle the frightening aspects of all that was offered by an aggressive boy in a car.
Following her first date, Gina avoided all teenage boys. She even avoided boys of her own age, the same boys with whom she had once played. She became introverted and remote from her mother and her peers. And she demonstrated a very decided disinterest in her mother's long accounts of dates and men and sex which had once been routine in their household.
Gina's mother soon fell madly in love with a man of forty-six. It was the signal for her to become even more concerned that Gina was not dating, indeed, was not even communicating with the opposite sex. She acted as if a social stigma had been imposed upon them. Then her suitor called at the house, the mother spent intense moments explaining that "Gina used to date, but she's taking a little vacation from it-school work, you know."
At this same time a male neighbor in an adjacent apartment also became interested in Gina's mother. A shy man of forty-three, Russ W. often called, usually appearing at their door with a bottle of wine and the suggestion that it be shared. If Gina's mother was without a date with her new lover, she would accept an invitation, invite Russ into her home, and spend hours visiting with him. Usually Gina was included in the conversation. If Gina's mother had something better to do, however, she would act rejectively toward the man. These occasions always made Gina feel very sorry for Russ. She was embarrassed for her mother and wished that she might be able to ease the pain she knew Russ felt.
One evening Russ called just as Gina's mother was leaving to meet her paramour. She was impatient with the interruption and hurried past him, calling to Gina to "entertain Russ for a while." Gina and the forty-three-year-old Russ spent the evening watching television, visiting, and drinking gallons of soda pop. Gina liked Russ. She demonstrated it in several ways that evening. She talked disparagingly of her mother, trying by this means to soothe the hurt the mother so frequently affected. And Gina sat close to Russ on the couch, hoping, she later concluded, that the intimacy of her body might also offer Russ solace for her mother's rudeness. Once that evening Gina slid her hand under Russ's arm and remained cuddled close to him for a long time. Years later she reported at that moment she remembered how she had masturbated the nineteen-year-old boy of her first date, and she wondered if Russ expected that of her. She also wondered that if she did this for him, he might then be compensated for the indifference of her mother. But Gina did not make a move to initiate stimulation. Nor did Russ.
Approximately a week later, under similar circumstances, Russ stood at the door as Gina's mother dashed out of it. Her mother paused, looked at Russ, then at Gina, then at Russ again. "Why don't you do something for that child?" she declared. "Gina's so bored. She needs to be entertained. Why don't you try a show or something? "
They did not try a show. Instead they spent long hours in love-play, culminating in an intense act of coitus on the living room couch.
There was a difference in both Russ and Gina that night almost before the sound of her mother's tapping heels died at the end of the corridor. It was as if the mother herself had released them from some terrible taboo.
Russ drank nearly the entire bottle of wine he had brought. Gina laughed a lot. The merry sound encouraged Russ to tell her many funny stories, some of them with an erotic meaning. Gina laughed even harder when the stories were obviously smutty.
As they quieted and settled close together on the couch waiting for a late television movie to begin, Gina again slid her hand affectionately under Russ's arm. He responded to the intimacy by encircling Gina's waist with his arm. This action left Gina's hand with no place to rest except upon Russ's thigh.
They watched the late movie with little interest. Soon Russ invented a game which called for kisses and touches during the frequent and lengthy commercials. Gina giggled and participated in the play with great enthusiasm. Their play became prolonged, lapped over from the commercials and into the movie itself. Neither of them minded. The scenes they played were much more exciting than those being shown on the television screen.
It was Gina who made the touch that prompted intercourse.
During a long kiss, Gina's hand wandered from Russ's neck, trailed down his body, and stopped in his lap. Deliberately, she moved her hand and brought him to exposure, his hard penis standing proud and erect beneath her warm hand. Remembering the excitement she had created for her first date, she duplicated the action she had learned at the drive-in theater.
Russ gasped and clutched her to him. Then he undressed her, quieted her incessant hand, and forced her backward on the couch where he immediately dominated and penetrated her.
Their bodies churned together for a very short period. An hour later they again engaged in coitus, then Russ left for his own apartment.
Gina has therapeutically disclosed that she was horribly disappointed in her first act of sexual intercourse. Through her mother's seductiveness and over-interest in sex, and because of the long discussions regarding the glory of copulation, Gina had been led to expect more from physical love than she had received. She did not feel cheated, used, defiled, or "dirty," only very disappointed. The slight feeling of satisfaction she did achieve came not from any physical response to the act itself, but was derived instead from the gratification that she had given Russ, the gratification which he had wanted from her mother, but had never received.
For several days following the affair, Gina toyed with the idea of telling her mother about it. She wondered what the woman's reaction would be, if perhaps it would in some way make herself more acceptable as a daughter. But she did not. From the viewpoint of this case history it is unfortunate that the child denied her mother this confidence. It would be fundamentally important to the consideration of Gina's complex to gain the insight of the permissive mother's reaction to her daughter's coital experience, one which had, in effect, been mother-sponsored and approved.
Gina, thirteen, and Russ, forty-three, made love together regularly for almost six months. Gina's mother seemed quite pleased with the interest Russ took in her daughter. She even approved of the entertainment he offered Gina: dinners out, shows, swimming and horseback riding, and sometimes luncheons at downtown restaurants. It can be assumed that Gina's mother was happy that her daughter was at last "dating," that her child was not "different" from other girls her own age.
CASE HISTORY
Elayne T. had an uncommon preoccupation with her breasts. From the very first signs that her body was taking on the lines of womanliness, Elayne was intrigued with her breasts. At the age of nine she began to spend a good deal of time in front of her mirror judging whether or not her breasts had grown during the night. And she sought to help them along by kneading them, pulling the tiny nipples and massaging them.
The practice of breast massage was continued by Elayne when she entered her teens. Sometimes, while standing in front of her mirror and massaging her breasts, she fantasied that it was a lover's hands which held her and moved her so erotically. And she received some semblance of thrill from this act. Her body would heat and her breath would quicken. Her heart beat heavier and faster and she even noticed a pulsation that seemed to carry from her breasts clear down to her thighs. This seemed very odd to Elayne, very strange that a stimulation at one part of her body should cause reaction from another area. But she enjoyed it. And she enjoyed the fantasies she created, those of men and boys as her lovers, as males who could not resist her femininity and would, in the face of dangers and odds, defeat all to win her and know the love she had to give.
At the age of thirteen, Elayne started dating. She was more than ready for this adventure for she had had a preoccupation with boys and men since she was a small girl. And she knew that she was a valued date for any boy to have. Her breasts had grown large and the nipples were hard and usually erect so that they pinched tightly against the sweater or blouse she wore. She never wore a bra and she was happiest when attention was drawn to her breasts which were her great pride. Elayne was a very attractive girl. Her waist was small and her hips flared into good solid thighs and legs, but nothing delighted her quite so much as her breasts. They were for her the ultimate points of sensitivity that developed for Elayne a most unique sexual deviation.
On her very first date, Elayne allowed touches to her breasts. She resisted any touch at her thighs and all overtures the older boys made toward intercourse. She gave generously only of her breasts.
Elayne soon learned that older boys were not content with the mere touching of her. They wanted more, wanted that which she would not give. But she allowed them only her breasts, permitted any manner of caresses to be brought to them. The boys were fond of kissing her there, and sometimes Elayne became very excited when they mouthed her vigorously. Sometimes she became excited enough that she' would strike her hand out to grasp that hard knot of trouser material that thrusted at the boy's thighs. Sometimes. But not all the time. And when she did it was only after she had been brought to a peak of excitement because of the kisses and caresses that were lavished upon her nipples and breasts.
But it was not a boy but a man who was to bring Elayne to a sexual fulfillment by means of her breasts alone.
For many years Elayne had been without a father. One day he had gone to work and had never returned. His absence had been reported to the authorities but he had never been found. As a means of supplementing her inadequate income, Mrs. T. took in roomers in the big house that had been her home for eighteen years. Most of her roomers were transient factory workers who would stay for a few weeks or months depending upon the duration of their employment in the area. Elayne often found it exciting to flaunt her body around the men who seemed constantly to be coming and going in the house.
Most of them paid her the attention she wanted. They would sometimes bummp against her, knock the back of their hand against her large breasts, tangle with her by means of some flimsy excuse and generally pay homage to her body, particularly her breasts.
Mike G. had been a roomer at the T. home for over a month before Elayne really began to pay any attention to him. She had had sufficient dates, there were activities at school, and generally she had been quite busy in her social life. But a lull soon occurred. Elayne found herself in a period of inactivity. She began to put it to use by entertaining herself by flirting with Mike G., the forty-four-year-old roomer.
From the first time she saw Mike, Elayne sensed that there was something very different about him. He was a big man, strong and well-muscled, and while the other roomers usually appeared coarse, Mike was very gentle of speech and manner. This impressed Elayne a great deal. And it attracted her all the more to the middle-aged man. She soon found excuses to come into contact with him. Sometimes she even volunteered to help her mother with certain housework that would make Mike notice her, allow her to notice him, especially when he was alone in his room.
It was upon such an occasion as this that Elayne T. and the middle-aged man united in a sexual deviation.
While her mother was on a shopping trip that was to keep her away from the house for most of the day, Elayne volunteered to dust Mike's room. Mike watched amusedly as Elayne dusted in his room. He was dressed only in slacks but seemed quite without self-consciousness for his strong, naked chest that bulged out strongly from his trousers waistband. For a while, he said nothing, merely sat on his bed and watched Elayne's movements. She tried to make the most of this. She stretched high so that her bare thighs became exposed, bending over to dust under furniture in a way that allowed the full, hard lines of her buttocks to show against her skirt. And she jumped a little and made active little motions that brought attention to her breasts, attention that left no doubt that they were unencumbered by underclothing. From time to time, Elayne would glance at Mike to determine what effect the sight of her body was having on him. She was never disappointed by the look in his eyes. It was one of great appreciation, gross lust.
"My, but you're busy today, aren't you," Mike said when Elayne raised from where she had been dusting under a heavy dresser.
"Sure. There's always lots of work to do," she replied smiling.
"But you should be able to take a minute off to sit down and rest," he said. "Young girls need to rest a lot."
Elayne smiled. "Guess you're right." she looked around. Only the bed was available to her. Both the large chairs in the room were piled high with odds and ends of Mike's wardrobe.
"You can sit here-I won't bite you," he said, moving over on the bed a little.
"Of course you won't," Elayne said confidently.
She swayed across the room, then turned and plunked herself on the bed next to Mike.
Mike glanced at her, then said, "Bet you can't keep the boys away."
"Oh, I don't know," she parried.
"I do," he said.
"How? How do you know?"
"Oh, just by the way you are. The way you look. The way you float around all kind of puffy and desirable."
She almost blushed. But she was not prevented from saying, "Ah, go on-you're just trying to kid me."
"I am not," he insisted.
"You are, too," she insisted just as strongly.
"No, I'm not," he said again. "I know. I know all about girls like you."
Elayne leaned against him a bit, then smiled into his eyes and said, "What do you know about girls like me? What kind of a girl am I?"
"You don't really want to know, honey," Mike said.
"Sure I do."
"Nah-it might make you get a swelled head-or maybe it'll even embarrass you."
"Come on, stop teasing," she said, making a playful slap at his thigh.
"Well, I was just about to say that that's your quality, Elayne. That you're a cute little tease."
"I'm not a tease," she said explosively. The accusation had been made by boyfriends on other occasions. Elayne never liked it.
"Nothing wrong with that, baby," Mike said sympathetically.
"There is, too."
"What makes you think that?" he asked. "Hell, being a tease is part of being a young woman."
"It is?" she questioned enthusiastically.
"Sure it is.
"I never knew that."
"Well, it's the truth. I've known lots of women in my time-young girls, too, much the same as you, and I've always thought it was just right that a girl should have a bit of the tease in her."
"No kidding," she said, surprised. "Hell, all the boys seem to think that's the worst thing a girl can be."
"Well, that's because they're boys-not men. 'Course a girl should never be all tease-that's not fair-that puts a man in a terrible way."
"It does?"
"Sure. But you must know that."
"Yeah, I guess I do," she said, her eyes suddenly wandering over Mike's bare torso.
His eyes fastened to her breasts, peering intently at the puffy bulge under her blouse.
Elayne remained quiet for a few seconds, then laughed and turned away, saying, "Stop looking at my tits that way-it makes me feel funny."
Mike laughed, too, and said, "It makes me feel funny, too."
Elayne giggled again.
"Yeah, looking at you sure makes me feel real funny," Mike continued. He brought his arm around behind her and let his hand rest on the bed close to her hip but in a position that indicated his wish that it could rise and touch her.
Elayne made a slight movement, a little nudge against his body and at last Mike raised his hand, hooked it around her and closed his fingers over her young breast.
Elayne shivered. She wondered why. She had been touched by boys before, even touched beneath her garments upon bare flesh, even had that flesh consumed by sex-thirsty boys, but still she had never reacted to them as she did now to the simple touch of a middle-aged man. It was almost as if she knew that a greater thrill would be hers and brought both his hands to her shoulders.
"You're not a fucking kid," he said hoarsely. "I know damn well you're not, so, well-I can't help it. Come here."
He crushed her against his bare chest and bent his head to know her young lips. He clashed with her tongue, twisting with the fury of a serpent, plunging and rolling and striking at underlips. And then they parted for a second, to make room for the new attack that he issued, from that new, man-plunge of his tongue that offered something to grasp, to hold, to love and nibble and move from side to side as she slowly shook her head, breathing her breath into his mouth and feeling the choke and gasp of his as if it were her very own.
"Oh, Christ," Mike exclaimed, tearing his mouth from hers. "Oh, Christ, but you've been killing me these last few weeks. And you're killing me now, too."
Elayne felt taken with dramatics. "I know, I know," she said.
Mike bent her to the bed, held her suspended in a high arch for a moment, then let her collapse among the tangled sheets. Immediately, he was upon her again, recapturing her mouth as his body burrowed to keep her flat upon the bed. But she did not try to rise, did not seek to escape from the crush of his mature body. Instead, she arched to it, burrowed her own hips to his, brought the thrust of her young womanhood into contact with that hard lump of masculinity that surged forward, that pressed against his trousers in a passionate plea for greater closeness.
But it was not that area that Mike chose as his point of sexual contact. He did not desire a penetration at her thighs.
Expertly, he pulled Elayne's blouse from her body. Her breasts quivered then began their high rising and fast falling in accompaniment to her breathing. Mike stared at her naked flesh, the great size and firmness and the sharp pointed ends that jutted like rubies.
Elayne arched her breasts high. She felt the heat of them and a throb of ache that seemed to demand that they know contact in order to relieve the pain.
Mike lowered his mouth to her breasts and buried himself to them, moving from one to the other and back again, pressing constantly deeper as his lips pulled at her nipples, nibbled at her flesh and finally grew wide to know the full jam of her roundness.
Elayne grasped his head and pressured him close. And strangely, she did not think about the intercourse men seemed always to want. Instead, she considered the swell of her breasts and the way they made all her body glow in passionate heat, in desire for a greater taking of them, more manipulations, harder pulling, more of anything that Mike desired to do.
Mike's desire confused Elayne at first. He pulled away from her body, fumbled at his trousers, withdrew his erect penis and looked down at her breasts once again. Even his look excited her. It seemed to pinpoint all the delightful pain of her breasts. And then he said something very strange, something that confused her until she knew its full meaning.
"I want to fuck you, little girl. I'm going to fuck your little titties."
Elayne's brow began to furrow a frown but even before it came fully, Mike had hoisted himself high on the bed and turned his body to face Elayne's looming breasts. He smiled. He gripped one of her breasts lightly. Then he gripped himself and hoisted again so that he could bring the contact of his erect penis to her womanly softness.
Elayne felt the strike against her nipple first. And she thought her body would split from the thrill of it. Mike struck her delicately, very carefully so as not to frighten her away from the contact. But Elayne was not fearful of anything that was to come. Mike arched and moved himself more rapidly against a single nipple. Then he stopped. Then he stretched his fingers wide, grasped both her breasts, jammed them together so that they were like hills with a single, quite wide valley between them, and thrashed himself from side to side within that valley.
Elayne gasped, then began to pant as Mike increased the fury of his action, as he slashed himself hard in machine gun speed and he seemed to grow firmer and firmer and firmer because of the repetitive contact. And Elayne received him gratefully. She arched, sought to make her large breasts even larger, tried to consolidate her thoughts to some single point of feeling, to know if her thrill was for her breasts alone or because of the strange love-attention Mike was giving them. But she felt heat scorch all of her body, her thighs and breasts and arms and legs. It seemed that she would surely become aflame because of the heat, the lust and passion that was building within her.
Soon, Mike gasped, too, made a short, choked cry of impending release for the passion that had soared him as high as it was possible to go. And Elayne, sensing, perhaps feeling, the same close promise, cried out, too, actually growled an animal sound of pleasure.
And then orgasm was upon them, strong and flooding and sweeping their emotions to a climatic pleateau that caused them to yelp and jerk and twitch their bodies as if they had gone mad, as if insanity had claimed them.
Elayne felt Mike's depletion as if it were her own, as if she, too, descended with a physical evidence of it. They rolled together and let their breathing quiet without speaking, without either giving a sign to the other that they had just come in a display of mammary intercourse.
Elayne and Mike met often in their odd lovemaking during the several months he resided in Elayne's home. They took their sex as a matter of course. They did not talk of benefiting each other in a different way. Nor did Elayne care. She had found the outlet she desired, that which satisfied her beyond the comprehension of others.
When Mike left the rooming house and traveled on to his next job, Elayne turned her sexual lust toward high school boyfriends. Many she coaxed into the sexual performance she had learned from the middle-aged Mike. Others would not-or did not know how-to participate. But Elayne found her share of breast-centered lovers and with them she cohabited as frequently as it was possible, with them she continued until a nervous breakdown brought her to psychotherapy and the harsh terms of her sexual maladjustment.
CASE HISTORY
Wendy K. began her career as a prostitute at the age of thirteen. At the age of seventeen, she entered therapy, drained and drawn and seemingly crusted and hard within her personality. She told the story of how it had all started and the psychiatric investigator was reminded, he said later, "of a girl who could have been the child of any of us-a desperate, pathetic girl who broke my heart."
Wendy was the oldest child in a family of four. Her three younger brothers and she lived with their parents in a middle-class neighborhood of an Eastern city. There was not an abundance of discord in the family, nor was there much love either. The parents seemed emotionless with each other and with their children; they seemed, as Wendy described them, "people who are just waiting to die-not looking forward to anything-not having any hopes or dreams-just nothing-waiting, all the time just waiting and putting time in."
Mr. K. was a cook in a restaurant. He made good wages but he and his wife were poor managers and there seemed always to be a need of things, a delinquency in payments, and a financial struggle that was representative of their struggle with life and all its problems. All of the children, including Wendy, seemed smitten with the mood of their parents. They were desolate, somber in expression, and without the laughter and the ability at fun that is natural with most children. Wendy's mother was a constant picture of fatigue. Everything she did was a burden. She was a poor housekeeper and an indifferent mother. The residence, a rented frame house in a neighborhood that would soon know the disruption of urban renewal, was a shambles, outside and in.
Wendy's endeavors at school were never better than average. She had an unwillingness to concentrate and rarely did work that was required at home. She had only a few close friends and they were of similar mood and background. In appearance, however, Wendy had exceptional qualities. She was very fair, and her deep blue eyes had a magnetism about them. She wore her hair long and it was golden thick, reflecting shades of gold. From about the age of ten her body began to mature, making her slimness show womanly lines, especially at the hips where they swooped and glided charmingly. At eleven, too, her breasts began to develop shortly after she menstruated for the first time.
Wendy had little interplay with boys until she turned twelve. Previously, she was possessed of a distrustful attitude towards boys, men, too, it often appeared. She tended to doubt anything that a man said, even the utterances of the men teachers in her school. But at twelve her attitude changed, very likely because she began to become the subject of attention from boys. They liked her. Wendy sensed that their sudden attention had something to do with her developing body, for nothing else was different about her. But she liked the attention and even promoted it a bit by a more careful choice of clothing; shorter skirts, tighter sweaters without bras, dresses that clung to her figure and were a size too small. These were all garments intended to display her young body more enticingly.
Before she was thirteen, Wendy began to think of boys in terms of dates. Most of her girl friends had started dating. Wendy was asked frequently, especially by the older boys, but until her parents agreed to her dating, she remained aloof and directed her energy to group activities in the neighborhood and at school. And then her parents consented to her dating. When Gordon asked her to go to a movie with him, Wendy agreed. She had long wanted to be more friendly with Gordon and now the opportunity was hers. Wendy's parents treated her date without enthusiasm or conversation. It was treated in the unhappy way that everything in their household was treated.
Gordon and Wendy went out on a Saturday night. The boy had borrowed his father's car. They went to the local drive-in theater. Wendy sparked a bit alive as they waited for the show to start. She noticed that the theater lot was filled with young couples, many of them from her own school, and she had a feeling of belonging that was stronger than any emotion she had in school or in the neighborhood.
Gordon, who was seventeen, didn't seem to mind at all that Wendy was younger than most of the girls at the theater. It seemed sufficient for him that she was attractive and with him. Wendy had prepared for her date and looked exceptionally pretty. She wore a short pleated skirt and white blouse, beneath both of which her young body seemed tight and responsive; her breasts, unencumbered by a bra, quivered as she moved and at times their ends pointed hard against her blouse. Gordon looked at her a lot. When he did, Wendy shifted her position, aware of his eyes, and aware that she enjoyed being viewed in a sexual way. Once she deliberately curled her legs beneath her hips in order to expose her legs a great deal. She had seen the posture attained by other girls and knew that it was fetching.
The movie started. Gordon and Wendy watched it silently for a long time, then Gordon's hand found Wendy's and he held it, wrapping their fingers tightly together. And a little later they embraced, Wendy experiencing a kiss for the first time and knowing the excitement caused by the close contact of their bodies. And before the night was two hours old Wendy also learned that she had an effect on Gordon, probably on all boys, for she became aware of that hard, unmistakable sign of Gordon's risen passion.
Gordon even joked about it, saying, "Boy, Wendy, this is one hell of a hard-on I've got. Better get you home before I do something I can't help."
Wendy was still excited about her first date when Gordon drove her home. He asked for another date. She agreed. The time was set. They departed with a last, long, tongue-twisting kiss.
On her next date Wendy was introduced to the masturbation of a boy. After many hot embraces, their bodies drew a bit apart. Then they held hands. And then Wendy felt her hand, drawn by Gordon, placed atop his exposed penis. She pressured him and he reacted. She moved him a bit and learned that this was what he wanted. And then she manipulated him hard and fast until he ejaculated, was depleted, momentarily, of energy. Wendy felt very excited about the event. And when Gordon, as if to return the favor, exposed her breasts and buried his mouth to their taking, the excitement grew. During the second show of the double feature, Wendy masturbated Gordon again, and he attempted the same action upon her body, working his hand between her thighs and jabbing with his forefinger to the identical rhythm she made on his body. Wendy became very excited but did not experience a climax as did Gordon.
There is some evidence that Wendy began to feel guilt for her sex-play with the boy, Gordon. But it was not in sufficient amounts to make her reject his advances. She continued to date him and continued to share masturbatory play throughout her twelfth year. And then she turned thirteen. A few days following this birthday-one that was little recognized in her family-Wendy suffered an experience that pointed the way for future deviational patterns.
Wendy's closest girl friend was a neighbor. The girl, Joanne, was one whom Wendy considered among the luckier children of the world, not because of material possessions, but because of the girl's relationship with her father. They got along beautifully. For that matter, Wendy had always noticed that her friend's father got along well with all the children of the neighborhood, that he was well-liked and always willing to play with the children, drive them where they wanted, and generally make himself available to them for fun. It was in this mood that Wendy came together with the forty-two-year-old man. He invited her on a picnic with his family. Wendy was happy to go. A picnic was an agreeable outing.
They started at a park picnic area throughout the day, eating, playing, sitting by a bonfire and enjoying the companionship of each other; Wendy, her friend and the parents. During the day, the man drank a good deal of beer. Wendy knew he was quite drunk when darkness fell over the park. It was then that he suggested that he go to the refreshment stand to buy sodas for the girls. His wife was dozing by a tree. The man instructed Wendy's friend to remain and "watch the things," that he would "take Wendy along to help me carry the sodas."
They drove slowly around the park. They passed one refreshment stand that had long lines waiting to make purchases. They drove on, looking for another. And suddenly, he drove away from the winding main road, taking a dirt road that cut through woods and which was often used as a well-known lovers' lane. And then he parked the car within the shelter of some trees. He turned to Wendy.
"What are we doing here?" she recalls asking.
He smiled. "Thought we'd wait until the lines thinned out a little."
Wendy has reported to her therapist that she knew very well that that was not the reason for the man's parking in a lovers' lane.
"Have you had a good time, Wendy?" the man asked her.
"A wonderful time," she told him. She looked at him but could not see the expression on his face because of the darkness.
'very soon, the man shifted his position. He ran his hand along the back of the car seat until he reached Wendy's neck. He hooked his fingers there. She has said that she remembered Gordon of her dates and wondered if her friend's father wanted her to masturbate him. What he wanted at that moment, was to kiss her. He pulled her close. She willingly gave of her lips and tongue.
"I felt kind of proud about it," Wendy has stated. "It seemed real funny doing this with a man who was like my father-in age, I mean. And I felt a little 'strong' too, as if I had some upper hand."
When the kiss ended, Wendy became aware of a lowering zipper and she knew that the man had exposed himself. Then as he moved close to her again she felt the thrust of his penis. She wondered, she has said, if the man's organ was like the boy organ she had already known. She was to discover the similarity or difference in short order. The man kissed her again, then, turning his mouth from hers, he pressured her face down to the stretch of himself that he arched toward her mouth. Wendy gripped the man but did not take him in her mouth. She asked him what he wanted. He answered by pressuring her downward. Then she knew, then she took him and, guided by his hands upon her head, took and half-released him in an ever mounting rhythm until she knew the finale of surge and flood and a full giving of the man's passion.
Before they returned to the others, the man asked Wendy not to mention it, that he couldn't help himself because he liked her so much and that by doing this she had proved to him that they were "close friends." Wendy accepted this without question-and she accepted the handkerchief the man handed her for the physical repair of make-up that was necessary.
During the next month, Wendy K. and her friend's father came together frequently, usually in fellatio, and once in the sexual intercourse that marked the end of her official virginity. Wendy has stated that she felt "appreciated" and "appreciative" for the outings to which the man never failed to invite her.
Soon, Wendy began to yearn for some possessions. On her next meeting with her mature lover, she mentioned them to the man. He handed her a ten-dollar bill, then promptly forced her to fellate him. Wendy had taken her first pay for sex.
Wendy has claimed that she never experienced an orgasm through any sexual endeavors, but because of a number of emotional conflicts, she seemed, her psychiatrist claimed, to prefer fellatio over intercourse and has admitted "getting very excited at the end."
Wendy began dating new boys during a lull that came to her affair with her friend's father. His wife was getting suspicious, the man said, they had better lie low for a while. Wendy gave herself to the boys. And then she started charging them for the special attention of fellatio that she quickly learned the boys liked so well.
Wendy quit school at sixteen. She ran away from home at the same time, using the savings she had acquired from the prostitution with the high school boys. Wendy, she says, never thought about getting a job, that she never considered an income from any source but the giving of her sex. In a strange city she started soliciting on street corners, was encountered by a man with a plan and a business. He was a pimp. Wendy, after demonstrating her sexual abilities for him in a motel room, went to work for him. She became the "specialist" at fellatio among the dozen girls with whom she lived. She was especially sought by men because of her youth-she was the baby-whore of the group and this brought her great popularity. She was also popular, she explained, "because I didn't turn away at the end like some girls, but went right on with the sucking, swallowing all the come from those cocks until there wasn't anymore left in them."
PART 2
INCESTUOUS ORAL SEX LESBIAN ENCOUNTERS
Contrary to general thought, many people have their first sexual experience with an older person, frequently a blood relative, and it is usually played out within the oral sex pattern. Psychiatric interviews disclose an almost boresome repetition of the case of a young girl, seduced by an uncle, father, step-father, or other relative, who favors that his young subject perform fellatio. Although the reverse of this situation-the boy being enticed to cunnilingus by a mature female relative-is less frequently reported, professionals do encounter such cases much more often than might be believed. The first case history in this section concerns incestuous oral sex. It has been selected from the work of a lay author, previously unpublished. Its style is more detailed, both in language and in description, than other cases in this report, however, its inclusion here is intact, based upon the author's belief that his style is most representative of contemporary literature.
Lesbianism is considered in two case histories. One proceeds from the male viewpoint, showing the trauma a male might suffer upon learning that his sex competition is a woman.
CASE HISTORY
It was when Dave Hartman, age fifteen, discovered that his widowed mother, Emma, a big-breasted, brown-haired woman of thirty-six, took sleeping pills in quantity that he knew how he was going to do the one thing he wanted to do most-fuck her.
The way he was going to do it was simple. He would wait until she had taken her pills and would become, in effect, knocked out on her bed. He was quite sure he could then slip into her room and do things to her body, about which she would know nothing. While young Dave realized that this was not the fair-play kind of thing to do, his desires were far stronger than his sense of fair play or ethics. Fair play and ethics-he would not have used the word "ethics"-were fine in a class discussion at school, or as a theory that worked well in some practice, but when it came into confrontation with a boy's sexual urges it was as nothing.
It was a Friday night and he had refrained from going out with his friends as was his customary procedure on weekends. Instead, he stayed glued to the television set all evening long, taking due note of the several times his mother went to the bathroom. He knew she kept her sleeping pills there, and that she took them one at a time until she felt groggy enough to go to sleep. Then she would half-stagger up the stairs and go to bed. After she hit the bed he would hear no more sounds from her room. He had seen her going through this process so many times that he knew every move she made.
It was no different this night.
When she had mumbled good night to him and started up the stairs, he stayed in front of the TV set hardly daring to breathe. His heart beat picked up in tempo and his hands became slightly moist. His penis had been hard off and on for some time now and, as he watched her disappear up the stairs, it seemed to become harder than ever.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, "I'm flying." He meant he was extremely excited, sexually.
He waited for what appeared to be a very long period of time, but which, actually, was only forty-five minutes, and then got to his feet. He heard no noise from her room, which was directly overhead, and knew she was sleeping soundly; that she was, as usual, thoroughly knocked out. He went to the bathroom and emptied himself of fluid with difficulty. He was not sure why he did this but assumed it was because of his nervousness. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and was astonished to see the wild look of undisguised lust in his eyes.
"Hey, I'm really flying," he muttered. "Got to watch myself."
He left the bathroom, turning out lights in each room before going upstairs. His mother's bedroom had no door on it, only a curtain. When he arrived at the top of the stairs, his heart was hammering so loudly that he was obliged to stop in his tracks, lean against the wall in the darkness, and wait for it to slow down. It did slow down after a time but not to normality. However, he knew he could not wait any longer, for he was so filled with lustful desire that he would have done anything to gratify himself. Also, and even more importantly, he was fearful he might go off in his pants if he waited too long.
He entered his mother's bedroom and stood there in the dark listening to her deep breathing. He had done this before, so he knew when she was completely out from the pills. Her breathing had a certain sound to it when she was deeply asleep, which it did not have when she was sleeping lightly. There were times when she had obviously tried to cut down on the pills and, consequently, had slept fitfully. He was aware of this, having studied her for some time.
He sucked in his breath, held it, and let it out slowly trying to gain control over his turbulent emotions. "Christ," he whispered, "I'm flying like a bitch." He meant it. He wasn't sure if he would go off in his pants before climbing in bed with her or not. He fought himself like crazy and finally gained the upper hand. It was then, and only then, that he touched his mother's body. He was startled at how warm her flesh was and was astonished at the state that the touching of her skin put him in. Once more he fought himself to keep from going off in his pants, knowing he had never been this hot before and probably never would be again.
He pulled his hand away from his mother's skin and stood uncertainly listening to her drugged breathing. Then, suddenly, he acted. He removed his shoes and socks, his slacks and undershorts, without bothering to take off his shirt and undershirt. He got on the bed and under the covers beside her. Holding his breath, he put out his hand to feel her leg. When his hand came in contact with her hip instead, he was astonished and excited to discover she was wearing a shortie nightgown, but no panties. Her legs were completely bare, and God, what made them so infernally hot? Maybe it was the pills.
His penis was hurting him now. It was throbbing and aching. He had to give it the relief it needed. He turned his mother over carefully but not without some degree of effort, for she at first resisted his move. When she was flat on her back, he actually sobbed once as his hand stole between her soft thighs. God, she was soft and nice. What a beautiful idea this was-he could fuck her and she would never know about it. Would she?
He felt his penis and was astonished at the wetness of it. He could not recall going off but he must have. It must have been just a little because his urges were still running rampant. He shivered as he moved his hand down from her hips and touched the stiff bristles of her pubic hair. His penis squirted a little and he was fully conscious of it this time.
"God!" he sobbed. "Oh ... God...."
He grasped her leg, pulled it away from her other leg and threw himself down on top of her. She muttered in her sleep but, to his delight and gratification, spread her legs wider thus making it easier for him to stab his throbbing penis at her cunt. His penis stabbed her roughly, and he held his breath for fear she might wake up. She did not. He let his breath out, his heart hammering so hard now that he thought it might stop, and awkwardly stabbed at her cunt with his penis again.
Something between her legs or at the end of his prick was very, very wet.
He felt of his prick and his fingers indeed came away covered with moisture. He was certain it was not from his penis but from his mother. For some reason, perhaps because it seemed like such a hot thing to conjecture, he concluded definitely that it was from his mother's cunt, and that she was having a passionate dream even as his penis continued to poke unsuccessfully at her opening.
Dave was growing frantic.
"Open up your cunt, damn it," he muttered, but softly.
He thrust at her hole again and this time was rewarded by feeling the head of his penis slipping into her a short distance.
"Jesus," he mumbled. "I'm gonna die if I don't get it all the way in."
His mother stirred and moved her arms about, the back of her hand striking his face lightly. He became instantly tense and motionless until he was positive that she had not wakened. He then tried to push his penis into her farther, but something prevented it from going in.
"Ah...." his mother mumbled thickly. "Ah...."
He was startled and confused by what happened momentarily. His mother started an upward fucking motion and just as quickly as she had started it, stopped it.
"Jesus," he muttered. "Jesus Christ, that's hot!"
He went off in her a little. She stirred again and mumbled the word, "Dear."
"Open up your cunt, mother," he begged softly. "I can't get it all the way in."
His mother, however, had gone back into her drugged state of complete unawareness. Even when he grabbed one of her breasts and pulled on it hard out of sheer frustration, she did not move or make any sound other than that of breathing.
"I want to fuck you, mother," he said fiercely. "Can't you make your cunt bigger?"
She moved her body suddenly and violently, turning completely over and thrusting him off the bed to the floor. He landed on his side and it stung enough to cool down his desires for a time. He sat there for what seemed like an eternity before getting to his feet.
"Are you awake, mother?" he asked, speaking in a full voice.
The only response was a garbled sound.
"Did you say something?" he asked.
There was nothing except her deep breathing now.
"I'm going to fuck you, mother. You might as well open up your cunt." She snored.
He ground his teeth and climbed back into bed.
"Baby," she seemed to say, though he could not be sure of it.
He placed his hand on her cunt and felt the hot wetness of it. With his penis throbbing, he started to mount her again, but once more she twisted her body and sent him crashing to the floor on the opposite side of the bed.
"Sonofabitch," he cursed in the darkness. "Goddamned sonofabitch."
His mother groaned strangely. She sounded as if she were having trouble breathing properly. "Oh ... My God ... Baby!"
He climbed into bed gingerly, this time thoroughly aware that she might toss him out of bed at any moment. He now recognized that she was stronger than he. This amazed him for he had, as most young males have, the incorrect impression that men are far more powerful than women physically. He placed his hand on her leg and heard her mumbling again. His mother was an odd, strange woman, there was no doubt about this.
"I'm gonna fuck you, mother," he mumbled. "Oh...." she muttered thickly. "Oh ... my God."
He found one of her breasts and rubbed his hand over it. She stirred again and muttered something incoherent.
He had a hot thought. Moving down on the bed, he kissed her warm, fleshy thighs as a thrill ran through him. He moved his mouth higher and kissed her where the stiff hair was. He was breathing hard now for he knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to tongue his mother's cunt. His pulse racing, he lowered his head again and thrust his tongue through the hair finding the upper part of her opening. His mind in a wild state of urgency, he found himself obsessed with the thought of getting his tongue into her cunt. The trouble was she had closed her legs after heaving him out of the bed, and it was difficult to get her to separate them, though he pulled on them repeatedly. Then she did it for him unconsciously. She shifted her position in the bed and drew one leg up slightly which caused her thighs to separate. Dave felt her cunt with his hand for a moment, taking note of how moist it was. More excited than ever, he lowered his head to her crotch and thrust his tongue into her slit and licked it the entire length.
She stirred and mumbled something incoherent. At the same time, her hand came down over his shoulder and rested there. It was almost as if she had told him it was all right to fool around with her cunt. This was the way it seemed to Dave. He kissed her cunt over and over again, darting his tongue into it only a short distance. He realized that tonguing a cunt required some getting used to. Finally, however, he thrust it all the way into her and when he did, she raised her hips in a sort of fucking motion that did not last very long.
She knows there's something in her cunt and she likes it, he thought wildly.
She turned slightly on the bed, stopped her drugged breathing for a brief moment and then resumed it. "Ah...." she mumbled. "Ah----"
Dave had his tongue far up her cunt now, and she moved her legs farther apart while turning over flat on her back as if to help him tongue-fuck her.
"Ah...." she repeated. "Ah...."
He wiggled his tongue about in her cunt for several minutes and then, his penis threatening to explode, he moved up quickly and seizing it, thrust it into her cunt. He was pleasantly surprised at how easily it entered her hole, because the other time he had fucked her he had had a hard time getting even the head inside. Now, however, his cock slipped into her all the way to the hilt.
Dave lay there momentarily, savoring the feeling of having his cock captured and held by the cunt of his mother. God, she was hot and wet and wonderful inside. No wonder guys went half nuts trying to get fucked. A guy needed to be fucked, needed to fuck. Even if the person he fucked was his own mother, he needed it. Even now, as he lay quietly thinking about the sensation of it all, his penis began to spurt little driblets of gism into her wetness.
Dave began to fuck his mother slowly, carefully.
All during the time he sexed her, he was worrying about what he would do if she happened to wake up. What would she do? Would she holler and scream and beat hell out of him? His mother was no weak little woman, he had discovered. More than once she had belted him, and he had recognized there was considerable force in her beltings.
However, she did not awaken. She stirred considerably, mumbled a great deal. She shifted her body about on the bed and, finally, even placed both hands on his back as if unconsciously telling him again that it was okay for him to fuck her.
This set him up so much that he pumped faster and felt it happening. His penis became like a hot-water faucet, squirting out great streams of burning fluid. When this happened, he pumped his prick into her with all the speed and depth he could manage. Finally, his penis literally exploded in her cunt, and he filled her full of his young boy juice. There was so much of it that he felt it running out of her cunt and onto his balls.
He yanked it out of her, not even bothering to be cautious now, and, having done so, jumped off the bed, grabbed up his clothing and ran down the hall to his own room. He locked himself in and threw his exhausted body on his bed, nearly missing it in the darkness.
Dave was uneasy all the next day when around his mother, though she did not act any differently toward him than usual. Once he caught her looking at him with what he thought was suspicion, but he couldn't be certain of it. She said nothing at the time and a few minutes later sent him to the store after some groceries. Hence, he suspected that she had no awareness of what he had done to her in her drugged state the night before.
He was strongly tempted to try again when she went to bed about eleven o'clock, looking very groggy, as was customary with her. But he held himself in check and went to his own room and lay in bed, naked, thinking of the vast pleasure she had provided him.
The following night, however, he could not restrain himself, and when she mumbled good night to him as she went up the stairs, he knew he was going to shaft her again. He had to. His desires were running wild. His penis was so hard that it pained him, and it had been in this condition all day long. Listening to her moving about sluggishly in the room overhead, his ears caught the sound of shoes being carelessly dropped, even of clothing being removed. Dave got to his feet and began to pace the floor still listening for the eventual sound of her dropping on the bed to sleep. Finally, he heard the bedsprings squeaking. From that moment on, it became sheer torment for him to wait until she had passed off into her customary drugged state. He steeled himself to wait and succeeded in doing so. He knew he must wait at least forty-five minutes to be on the safe side, and, as a matter-of-fact, he restrained himself for fifty minutes. Then, carefully, quietly, he ascended the stairs in the dark. This time he didn't go directly to her room but to his, where he removed all of his clothes and threw them on the bed. Then, quietly and carefully, he walked down the hall to her room and entered.
He stood there silently and listened to her drugged breathing.
He knew it was okay to fuck her. Her breathing had that certain sound to it that told him she was all the way out.
He went to the bed and placed one knee on it, tentatively. She did not mutter or move, so he climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over him.
Dave received a definite shock then.
His mother was stark naked.
Had she left off her nightie on purpose, and, if so, did this mean she knew he had fucked her two nights before? Did it also mean that she wanted him to fuck her and was making it easier for him to get at her cunt? Dave's head was spinning. He, of course, had no real answers to these questions. He could do nothing but think about it. Well, there was something he could do, of course, and that was to fuck his mother again.
Merely thinking about it almost caused him to go off on the bed. "Have to watch that stuff," he murmured very softly.
He reached over and touched one of his mother's large, soft breasts. She stirred in her sleep and turned over so that she was facing him. He could feel her breath striking his face and it excited him strangely. Lowering his head to her breasts, he took one of them in his mouth carefully and lightly sucked it. His penis began to quiver, and he had to stop sucking the breast. There was something about it that was just too much for him. He knew if he continued to suck, he would definitely go off on the bed. Dave didn't want this to happen-he wanted his gism to squirt inside his mother's cunt.
"Ah...." The word escaped her lips quite loudly.
He stiffened and held his breath. Was she wakening? He didn't move for a solid minute but then, when he saw that she was still in her drugged sleep-state, he kissed each titty and went lower on her body, his lips seeking out many forbidden places. He even kissed her asshole and when he did, she grunted and threw out one arm which struck him on the head startling him.
He pulled her legs apart and got between them, holding his rigid penis in his right hand and aiming it at her cunt. He thrust forward and felt it slip into her a short distance.
She was wet and hot inside, just like the other time. How terrific it felt to have his cock in that warm, wet place.
"I'm going to fuck you, mother," he whispered.
He thrust harder and his penis slipped into her all the way, just as it had the other time. He followed the same procedure as before, lying still on top of her, his penis buried deeply in the wetness, his heart hammering furiously. Then, as before, he began to fuck her, using long, slow strokes and going into her cunt as far as the length of his penis would permit.
"I'm fucking you, mother," he felt impelled to murmur near her ear.
"Ah...." she mumbled thickly.
He stopped moving in her, fear entering him for the moment. He thought she might be awake but after a few moments of listening to her drugged breathing, he knew she was still out and would probably remain that way until morning. He began to move his penis in and out of her warm cunt again, chills passing up and down his spine as he felt the walls of her box trying to clutch at his tool.
"Oh, I like this ... this is the greatest," he whispered to himself as he fucked her.
His mother grunted and stirred considerably nearly throwing him off her again. He had to grab her shoulders to hang on. He certainly didn't want to end up on the floor as he had the other time. She grunted again and lay still, her legs spreading farther apart and making it easier for him to fuck.
Dave began to move quickly. The passion thing was with him, riding high and wide. His spine seemed to be afire with sensations and be fore he knew what was happening, his penis had released in one long, hot-shooting stream its entire contents. The gism poured from the opening of his penis into her cunt and, just as happened the other time, it ran out of her and dripped down onto his balls.
"Goddamn it," he mumbled, "I wanted it to last longer." Angrily, he yanked his prick out of her box and climbed off her, taking care to cover her up before leaving the room. He went to his bedroom, threw himself on his bed and beat his fists angrily against the mattress.
The next day he was extremely wary around her and spent much of his time avoiding her, though, of course, he could not avoid her at all times. Once while eating his supper, seated across the kitchen table from her, he caught her looking at him oddly, but the moment he saw her she averted her eyes and made a remark about something or other that had little meaning.
He left the house after eating and walked the streets for as long as he dared. His mother didn't want him to stay out very late, especially during the week, and so he went to great lengths to see to it she had nothing to bitch about. He didn't want her stirred up-she might not sleep as soundly.
When he returned home it was past nine o'clock, and he could tell by looking at her and listening to her speech that she had already taken at least two pills, probably more. Her eyes looked funny as they always did when she was knocked out. When she went to the bath room and stayed there for a long time, he suspected she was trying to gauge whether she had enough of the sleeping medicine inside her to last until morning. She had a horror, he knew, of waking up in the middle of the night and trying to get back to sleep. Usually she did not accomplish this, according to what she had told him in the past.
She came out of the bathroom, looked at him strangely, mumbled her good night and went up the stairs.
He waited the usual length of time and went up the stairs too, stark naked, his clothing in his hands. He was tempted to crawl on top of her and fuck her, just throwing clothes anywhere; but he restrained himself enough to carry them to his room and toss them in the general direction of his bed.
He returned to his mother's room and stood by her bed, his penis rigid and dripping, his ears listening intently to her rugged breathing.
He crawled in bed and was surprised to find her completely naked again, though he knew she had done a washing that day and presumably would have washed her nighties.
"Bet she's been dreaming about getting fucked and wants to be ready for it," he whispered to himself. "Something's going on in the back of her mind."
The first thing he did was to kiss her tits and run his tongue down her tummy to her crotch. He stuck his tongue in her cunt, and she sleepily obliged him by parting her legs and grunting at the same time. He lifted his head quickly and listened to her breathing. It was all right. She was out. He lowered his lips to her cunt and sucked it somewhat in the manner of-kids putting hickeys on other kids-applied suction.
She stirred, and lifting one leg brought it down over his shoulder. This startled him so much that he lay very still, afraid to breathe for fear of wakening her. However, after a moment, he decided she was still out and that the lifting of the leg had been a sleep-induced reaction.
When he returned to her cunt with his lips, however, he found it to be very wet. This shook him up considerably, so much so that he gently lifted her leg off his shoulder and got out of bed gingerly.
He knew that when a woman starts to lubricate, she has begun to feel passion.
He stood by the bed for what seemed to be an hour but which was, in reality, only a few minutes, before daring to climb back beside her. This time he placed his hand very carefully on her cunt and ... yes, it was extremely wet. It excited him. He wanted to throw himself on top of his mother and fuck her like an animal. Again, he was able to exercise restraint. After a long moment, he lowered his lips to her breasts and sucked each of them briefly. His penis was threatening to explode at any moment, and he knew he would have to be careful or he would lose it on the bed.
"I'm going to fuck you, mother," he whispered. He seemed to have a need for whispering this to her. "I'm going to fuck your wet, old cunt."
"Ah...." she breathed noisily.
Dave lay still for a long moment but then he felt of her cunt again, got his fingers very damp from it, sniffed his fingers for a brief moment liking the sensuousness of it. Uttering a little cry, he climbed on top of her and thrust his erection straight at her cunt. He was surprised and a bit frightened when she moved her body, spreading her legs just the right way to permit him easy entrance into her body. Was she awake and just pretending to be sleeping? This question crossed his mind twice, and he stopped any further action until he could reassure himself she was still breathing in that deep, drugged manner.
"I'm going to fuck you, mother. I'm going to fuck off in your cunt," he whispered. "You're fucking your son and you don't even know about it, you dumb bitch." He took some sort of wild satisfaction from this kind of talk-it seemed indicative of the power he had over her. "Get ready to take cock; it's coming in all the way." Saying this, he thrust hard and felt his rigidity entering her wetness all the way to the hilt.
Just as he had done before he lay still, savoring the feeling of having his inflamed cock surrounded by her moist, hot cunt.
"Jesus," he mumbled, "this is great!"
He moved in her and when he did she moved with him, which scared hell out of him momentarily. Was she fucking him, too? He waited several long moments before moving in her again and when he did, she did not move with him. He increased the speed of his fucking more quickly than he had the other times, and when he felt the peak hitting him in all its fury, he pumped fast and emptied himself with a great long cry tearing out of his dry throat as his gism entered his mother's wetness.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered quite loudly. "You certainly drained my prick that time, mama."
A second spasm hit him and he went off again in her cunt.
When this was done and finished, he continued to lay atop her, hoping his cock would give him another thrill but it did not. Finally, he withdrew his limp penis, climbed off the bed and went to his room just as he had on the other occasions. He lay down on the bed and soon fell into a deep sleep. He dreamed of fucking one woman after another and each time he fucked one, his cock became bigger until it was so large that he could crawl up it a la Jack-'n-the-Beanstalk and enter into another world.
The following day was precisely the same as all his previous days had been. His mother said nothing at all about his activities, because she knew nothing about them, he felt. Dave would have given anything he possessed to know what sort of dreams she thought she had been having. He wondered if she were ashamed of her dreams, provided she had had them. Was she asking herself if there was something wrong with her? Who could say? Perhaps some day she might tell him her unconscious feelings, if any.
He waited in front of the TV set as usual for her to make her frequent trips to the bathroom. He duly noted the thickness of her speech as she took the pills, presumably one at a time. At nine-thirty she went upstairs slowly, staggering somewhat, and he could not help noticing that she had omitted saying good night to him.
When he was certain that she was in her customary drugged state of sleep, he removed his clothing, carried it to his room and entered her bedroom just as he had done the other times. He stood just inside the door, breathing heavily, his penis rigid and dripping.
He could hear his mother's drugged breathing coming from the bed. He walked to the bed and reached out in the dark, his hand coming into contact with her naked breast. He felt of her body and discovered she had no nightie on this time either. Her body was warm, soft and enticing just as it always was, and, as his hands explored it, his penis dripped harder than before.
"I'm going to fuck you, mother," he whispered, just as he had the other times.
"Ah...." came the customary sound from her throat.
He leaned over her. "I wish you were awake so you could suck my cock, mother. That's what I need from you now-to have my cock sucked."
His mother only grunted.
"Have you ever sucked a cock, mother?" he asked, playing a little game with her unconscious self for his own enjoyment.
She grunted.
"Come on tell me. Have you ever had a cock stuffed in your mouth?"
There was, of course, no answer.
He climbed onto the bed and sat straddling his mother's body but not sitting down on it. To sit down on it might awaken her. Holding himself aloft for a while longer, he finally lowered himself between her widely spread legs, his rigidity aimed at her cunt. He felt of her cunt with his hand and noted with satisfaction how wet it was.
"You have a nice wet cunt, mother," he whispered. "It gets wetter every time I come to fuck it."
"Ah...." she moaned incoherently.
"Why don't you wake up so you can lick my balls, suck my asshole and gobble up my cock, mother?"
"Ah...." his mother moaned.
"Guess I'm going to have to cunt-fuck you again, mother."
No moan from her this time.
"God, I wish you could suck my prick, mother. That's what I want from you." He had become so obsessed with this, that he rolled off her and lay beside her actually groaning in some type of frustrated mental pain.
His mother just breathed loudly, deeply.
He turned and slapped her on the face hard. "Goddamn you, wake up and suck my cock, you old bitch." He waited with bated breath, as he felt a movement from her that she had never before made.
"Sit on my tits, son," she said, stirring and sounding very much awake now. "Sit on my tits, and I'll suck that prick of yours till it's ready to fall off. Come on, you dopey little squirt. Put your cock in mother's mouth where it belongs."
He could hardly breathe now, he was so caught up in his own befuddlement. "Have you...?" He stopped and stared again. "Have you ... been awake ... all this time, and did you hear everything I said-every time?"
"I have been awake each time you fucked me, boy. I knew all about your fucking and sucking. I liked it so much I didn't let on I was really awake. I was afraid you might not come to bed with me again."
"Mother," he cried flabbergasted, "you knew all the time?"
"Yes," she said, her speech only a trifle thick. "I may take sleeping pills, but there are no pills that are strong enough to prevent a woman from knowing when she is being sucked and fucked."
"Then it's all right? I can ... I mean, you will...?"
"Of course I will, boy. Like I told you, sit your ass up on my tits and stick your penis between my lips. I'll show you how an expert can suck a cock."
CASE HISTORY
Lois O. is the exceptional child of exceptional parents who have for years contributed to the welfare of their community and the culture of the state. Mr. O. a respected and world-renowned brain surgeon, is active in his service organization which specializes in the care and treatment of mentally retarded children. Mrs. O. is one of the community's most popular hostesses and has frequently entertained senators, members of the diplomatic corps and important Washington personalities. She has a high post in the administration of the city's cultural arts department and last year was one of the sponsors credited with saving the city's symphony orchestra which was headed for oblivion because of lack of money and support. Lois, at fifteen when she experienced her first lesbian relationship, was a top scholar in her well-accredited high school. She had a flair for languages, music, sports, the humanities, and she held offices in a number of clubs. She was also popular, especially with the boys who appreciated her overly mature body and sophisticated manner which was deliberate, she claimed, in order to entice them.
Lois started dating early and at the age of fourteen, just a few months prior to her lesbian relationship, she submitted to sexual intercourse with a seventeen-year-old boy. The act was not especially satisfying to her, for she was ingrained with deep fear of pregnancy, even when reassured by the contraceptive the boy had provided. But she liked the act for what she has termed "the experience and status that fucking gave me."
Lois kept her sexual giving to this single boy, coming together with him a total of about a half dozen times. Then she met a substitute teacher at her school who had been engaged for the duration of the term. The woman was in her thirties, quite attractive, had a reputation for tremendous intelligence, and took an immediate interest in Lois. Lois responded to the woman immediately, finding that they had many things in common. And, Lois accepted the woman's invitation to visit at her apartment on a Sunday afternoon.
(The lesbian teacher, it was determined, was of the type that is known as "the free-lance" variety, not attending her sexual interest to one subject alone, or at a time, but preferring to "play the field," and, as she told Lois, "know as many kicks as it's possible to know before I die.")
Kicks-this was the basis of Lois and the teacher coming together in a sexual affair on this Sunday afternoon. Lois has explained to her psychiatrist that she "felt a warmth and kind of love I never knew with anyone before." Lois admits a sexual feeling for the woman and allowing the seduction that took place with a minimum of effort and sexually adequate results for a fifteen-year-old. (The function of their act, as Lois described it, was of two varieties. The women, naked and in reversed positions, orally stimulated each other's clitoris and vagina until each had achieved a climax, the first such experience in Lois's life. Their second method of lesbian union was less satisfactory for Lois. They joined in positions similar to that of a man and woman making love in a normal posture, Lois taking the passive role, the teacher the aggressive partner and charged with the responsibility of igniting the girl's senses by the penetration of clitoris to vagina and the tight locking, or friction-contact of the two clitorises together as they made wild movements in the middle of the teacher's bed. Lois failed to realize a sexual climax by this method, but she claims that she "was close," and that it was obvious that "this was ... best and most satisfying a way of doing it."
Before Lois left the apartment that Sunday afternoon, the teacher and Lois agreed that they were like each other, that both of them were motivated to "do anything for kicks," and that they could be casual about their affair, which both of them had already decided would be renewed only upon the wish of both parties. And then the teacher gave Lois a card with a name and address imprinted on it.
"That's for when you want kicks, sweetie," the teacher said. "I go there myself sometimes."
"Oh," Lois said as she observed that the address was in her own, upper-class community.
"When you go there, you might be surprised to see some of your friends," the teacher laughed.
According to Lois, she knew very little distress or guilt because of this first affair with one of the same sex. If anything, she has claimed, she was tempted to further experimentation and was very curious about the card in her possession. She determined to investigate and chose a Saturday night for that event.
The house was one of the most beautiful on the street. The woman who answered the door in response to Lois's ring was beautiful, too. Lois displayed the card. The woman smiled and invited her into the foyer. Then she explained that her name was Annette and that she was the hostess of the establishment-the proprietor, really. Wouldn't she-Lois-like to come and sit down and talk a bit?
They moved into a small study. And there, Annette quickly explained the functions of her business. She ran a house of prostitution, one de signed for women exclusively, those who were either full-fledged lesbians or the casual type who liked to spice their life with a change. Lois nodded understandingly, trying for a poise that seemed appropriate-and achieving that result. Then Annette explained further.
"You see, I have a special branch of my business that includes girls like you, Lois."
"Like me? How?"
"Oh, pretty young things like kicks. I like to have a girl for every customer. Lately, I've been building a branch of teenagers to accommodate those women who prefer the young people. I could use a girl like you. And there's a good deal of money in it, too."
"I don't need money," Lois said.
"I'm sure you don't," Annette said, glancing over Lois's expensive clothing. "But neither do most of the girls who work for me. They do it for variety and kicks. The money is just a side issue, but a nice one. Most of the girls who work for me only do it on weekends or a few nights a week-or just whenever they feel like it. For girls inclined as we are it saves a lot of problems. We don't have to look for someone like ourselves-they're built-in, right here at my place, and at the same time they're serving my clients. What do you say, Lois?"
Lois didn't say anything, not at once, but after the woman had shown her through the place and had mentioned some names of clients that happened to be familiar-shockingly familiar-to Lois, she told Annette that she would try it. They set up a schedule. Lois went to work that very night, commingling with a woman who was astonished to see Lois as her love partner. The woman was a neighborhood acquaintance.
Lois O. was involved with Annette and her house of lesbian prostitution for nearly a year. Her association ended then because of a threatened police investigation and the fear of publicity that would befall her parents. The raid was accomplished by local police and officers from the state attorney's office, but Lois was not present at the time, nor was her name disclosed. Only then did Lois consider stopping her lesbian tendencies. Under the guise of being "nervous and upset," she sought and received permission from her parents to have a consultation with a psychoanalyst. It was granted. The parents knew how things were, how girls sometimes felt a need to talk to one outside the family, no matter how trifling the problem might be. Lois entered analysis and remained in treatment for almost two years, at which time she resolved the relationship, feeling that she had gained the insight necessary to curb the lesbian tendencies she had known.
CASE HISTORY
Charles W., a good-looking young man of 24, had a unique experience in his brief courting days which has embittered his attitude about women and his confidence in the marital relationship.
"When I first met Carla I thought I had found the ideal girl for me. She was pretty, had a nice figure and was a lot of fun to be with. She'd do anything I wanted and was never demanding about my time. I had her over to the house a lot and my folks liked her very much.
"I had gone with a few other girls before I met Carla. Nothing serious, though. With Carla it was. I could tell that from the way I felt about her. I had had sexual intercourse on a sort of on and off basis ever since I was fifteen. There wasn't much trouble getting it. Maybe you'd call it cheating, but when I met Carla I made up my mind that I wouldn't touch her, but would sneak out and get my nooky from one of the chicks I had laid before. That's what I did. The girls I went out with on the side lived way over on the other side of town where we had lived before we moved to this new neighborhood. There wasn't too much chance of getting caught. I sure didn't want that to happen because I thought too much of Carla and didn't want to lose her.
"Sometimes when we'd go to a drive-in movie we'd neck a little and sometimes I'd forget myself and put my hand on her titty. She didn't stop me, but that's as far as I went.
"We made all kinds of plans for the future. I was going to go to college and she was going to come and live in the same town and take a job. She wasn't interested in going to college, mainly, I think, because her parents couldn't afford it. Her father drank quite a bit and I suppose boozed up most of the money. It wasn't a happy home life for her. I guess that's one of the reasons she wanted to come along with me. She didn't have any use for her father, nor her mother for putting up with him.
"Sometimes strange things happen when you get away from your home town and they sure as hell happened to me. The first change I noticed was that I wanted to get in Carla's pants. I don't know why this suddenly meant so much to me. Maybe it was because the girls I had run around with were no longer available, maybe it was the fact that Carla and I were together in a strange town where nobody would know what we did.
"Carla didn't try to stop me when I went farther and farther. She let me feel her titties first, then let me go inside where I could feel the bareness and softness of them. Pretty soon I was taking them out and playing with them and kissing them. When I said she let me, that's about the size of it. She acted like she didn't care one way or another. She'd just lay back and let me suck on her nipples without wanting to do anything in return. Sometimes she'd put her hands on the back of my head, but most of the time she just kept them in her lap. At the time, I thought she was just too shocked to respond.
"Inasmuch as'we were planning to get married anyway, I didn't see too much wrong in what we were doing. Or, rather, what I was doing. The inevitable happened, of course.
"Carla had moved into a small apartment and she could have guests up if she wanted just as long as they didn't make a lot of noise. There were five other apartments in the building, single girls in four and the landlady in the fifth. But the old woman didn't bother anybody and people could come and go pretty much as they pleased. It was a long, one-story building so each apartment had an outside entrance.
"Anyway, I had gone over to her place that night and as was happening quite regularly lately, I started to undress Carla. That is, to the waist. So far, I had never even put my hand between her legs. This time was different. I mean, you can neck and fool around with titties just so long and then there has to be the next step. I took it. I put my hand on her leg, flipping the skirt up so I could feel bare skin. Carla didn't do a thing. I ran my hand higher until I could feel the hair on her pussy. She wasn't wearing panties.
"It was as simple as that. She lay there and offered herself to me without a word, just let me go ahead. I worked her skirt up over her hips and played with her a little, getting my finger in a little way.
"Suddenly, she hugged me real tight and whispered in my ear, 'Kiss it.'
"I was shocked. This was the first response I'd gotten out of her. 'lluh?' I said.
"'I want you to kiss me ... down there.'
"Now I knew what she meant. I had heard some of the boys talking about 'muff-diving' but we had all pretty much agreed we wouldn't care for it. I thought about it then, whether I should or shouldn't. Carla was all wet and soggy down there and when I pulled my hand away, the smell on my fingers nauseated me. I sure as hell didn't want to do what she'd asked.
"'Please ... darling,' she said. 'I want you to.' She put her hands on my head and started to push me down, opening her legs a little wider and raising her hips so I could get at her easier.
"'I'd rather do it the regular way,' I said. I undid my belt and pants and pulled them down over my legs. I pulled my rod out of my shorts and got between her legs. I was excited as hell by now. I wanted to plow into that little nest, wet as it was, in the worst way. I was a little afraid, too. I was pretty sure Carla was a virgin. I didn't want to hurt her. I had had one virgin before and it was a real mess.
"'D-Don't hurt me,' she murmured.
"'I won't. I'll take it real easy.'
"I spread her lips with one hand and steered the head of my hard-on into her. Then I took my hands away and put them around her and held her tight. I told her I loved her, to not be afraid. I eased into her a little. She didn't feel tight. In fact, she felt pretty loose. And she was wet as hell. Well, I thought, at least that would make it a lot easier to get into her. I pressed down, felt her warm pussy open for me as I slid into her. She didn't wince. She didn't say anything, or even moan a little. Nor did she move her hips the slightest.
"There's no use going into detail because that's about it. It didn't change. I reached a climax, got off, and put my pants back on. She merely pulled her skirt back down and sat there looking at me without saying anything. I mean, there should have been some conversation, but there wasn't.
"Later, maybe after about fifteen minutes, she said she was tired and would like to go to bed.
"'Are you mad about what happened?' I asked.
"'No ... just tired.'
"'I didn't hurt you, did I?' That was really a dumb question because I could tell she'd had it before.
"'No, you didn't hurt me. You should know that.'
"'Well, I didn't know ... ' " 'Of course you did,' she said. 'You're not that naive.'
"'So, all right. So I know this wasn't your first time. What difference does that make?'
"Then she told me about herself. She told me her uncle had got hold of her when she was only eleven or so and had torn her up pretty bad. She didn't know what to do, whether she should tell her parents or keep quiet about it. She said there was some blood but she managed to hide it from her mother. After she got over that first shock, she decided to keep quiet about it. She and her mother weren't too close anyway so she thought the best thing to do was just suffer in silence. But, she told me, from that day on she started to develop a deep fear of all men. Later, this fear turned to hatred. I asked her why she had allowed me to court her and she said she thought maybe by going with a boy she'd be able to get over her fear of them. The fact that I hadn't touched her for so long really helped. She began to regain her confidence in herself and to have some hope for the future.
"'But it's all so hopeless, Chuck. I can't tell you any more now. Please go. I feel so awfully tired. I want to rest and think.'
"When I got home that night I did a lot of thinking of my own. Carla had me puzzled. Her indifference to sex was a little more understandable now, but not completely. After all, what had happened had occurred a long time ago. She should be getting over it by now, she should have some feeling. She had wanted me to go down on her. That puzzled me, too. It was the only interest she had shown in the affair. Yet she hadn't seemed too disappointed when I didn't.
"From that point on, though, things began to change. I would call and she'd tell me she was tired or that she had a headache. If I wanted to come over, she'd tell me I'd better not. She was either going to bed or she told me the landlady had been watching the place pretty close and was raising hell about the girls having too many visitors. Once in a while we'd meet somewhere and go to a movie or maybe have a few beers. No, I never got in her pants again. For one thing, I didn't have the opportunity. For another, things had changed so much after our first session I was afraid another would mean the end for us.
"But, like all guys whose girl suddenly changes so drastically, I wanted to find out what the hell was going on. I was pretty sure there wasn't anybody else, yet I couldn't be real sure. If somebody else was dicking her, I wanted to know about it.
"The place where she lived was a long, narrow building like I said, and it had a little court running the full length of the building with trees and some chairs scattered around. You could sit out there in the dark and no one could see you unless they came right up to you. Well, one night I went over and sat in one of the chairs so I could watch Carla's door. I know it was a sort of childish thing to do, but I was so damned puzzled over her attitude I had to find out the reason. I got over there early-it must have been seven-thirty, maybe eight. I didn't have a phone where I was staying so she couldn't call me to see if I was home or not. I must have sat there an hour or more and had just about decided I was wasting my time when I saw a figure stop at Carla's door. I couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, but when she opened the door, I saw it was a girl.
"I was relieved. For a moment, I had thought another guy was calling on her.
"Carla swung the door open. The figure moved inside. I thought I'd just sit there a while longer and see what happened, but not knowing what the hell could happen. Carla was having one of her girl friends over, I figured. That's all.
"I must have sat there another half hour, when suddenly I saw the lights go out in Carla's apartment. Well, nothing wrong with that. Maybe whoever Carla was having over was going to spend the night. At least she wasn't shacking up with some guy. That was a relief. I was pretty well sold on Carla and it would have hurt like hell to have someone take her away from me. I got up, took one more look at Carla's place, then strolled out onto the sidewalk and went home.
"I didn't think any more about what I had done until I went to take my wallet out and put it on the dresser. It was gone. I knew I had it when I left because I had stopped to get some cigarettes on the way over to Carla's. The only place it could have dropped out was in the chair while I was sitting outside of Carla's place. I had no choice but to go back and see if I could find it. It was ten or twelve blocks from my place to hers and I had taken my time on the way home. In fact, it had taken me until almost ten to get home. Figuring the time I had spent at home, probably an hour, and the time to go back, it would be almost midnight when I got back there.
"Well, I thought, at least Carla wouldn't see me snooping around outside her place because she had gone to bed before I left. I went quietly to the chair I had been sitting in and started to feel around for the wallet. Sure enough, it had slipped out of my pocket while I was slouched in the chair and had fallen on the ground directly in back of it. Stuffing it back in my pocket, I started to leave when suddenly Carla's light went on. I stopped, then backed into the shadows. If anyone was going to come out I sure didn't want them to find me lurking around in the dark.
"The door opened slightly. I could hear female voices. Two figures moved together just inside the door. Their arms went around one another, their lips met. Carla and her girl friend! I was stunned. They clung to each other for a long time, hugging and kissing, talking softly to each other. Then they kissed each other once more and moved apart. The girl stepped out.
"'Goodnight, darling. Remember I love you,' she said.
"'Goodnight, sweetheart. Until tomorrow ... kisses for you,' Carla said.
"Then the girl turned and moved quickly down the narrow sidewalk and out of sight. Carla's door closed.
"I felt suddenly ice cold. I couldn't move. My head seemed to be roaring. I couldn't think. I felt like an explosion had gone off before my eyes and I was being blinded by the shock of it. I didn't know whether to go in and confront Carla, or just go home and try to think. I decided to go in and talk to Carla. If I went home I wouldn't be able to sleep or think straight until I found out what the hell this was all about.
"I walked up to her door and tapped lightly. Her light was still on so I knew I wouldn't be disturbing her.
"The door opened almost immediately and Carla said, 'Oh, darling, I'm so glad you came back. I was ... ' Then she stopped. The color drained from her face, her mouth had been open and it stayed that way. Her eyes were bigger than I'd ever seen them. 'Wh-what are you...? '
"'What am I doing here?' I finished for her. 'It looks like I'm finding out a few things, doesn't it?'
"But she didn't faint or anything after she got over that first shock of seeing me there instead of her girl friend. Suddenly, there was defiance in her eyes. She was glaring now and her mouth had formed into two tight lines where her lips should have been.
"'All right,' she said, 'so now you know. I was worried how long I could keep on fooling you. Yes, I'm glad you found out, Chuck.'
"I wanted to say something, but what the hell can you say in a situation like that? Ask her what a nice girl like her is doing playing around with another chick? Maybe you might say you understand, that you'll talk it over. But you can't think of a damn thing to say. It's not like catching her with another guy. That girl-and-girl bit is something entirely strange to me and I don't know how to handle it.
"There's nothing I can say because Carla is laughing now. You can't talk through laughter. At least, not something serious like this. Then she's talking again.
"'Yes, Chuck, I'm one of those. I'm queer, Chuck. Queer, queer, queer! Do you hear, Chuck? I'm queer for girls. I hate men just like I told you. I don't want any man! I don't want you! Go! Get out of here!'
"And you don't say a hell of a lot to a door because that's what I'm looking at now. She finished her little speech and slammed the door in my face. I never did get to say anything after those opening words. And that was the last I ever saw of Carla.
"Now, you ask me why I don't want to get married. Do you blame me after going through a deal like that with a girl I thought the world of? It's going to take a whole lot of time and a whole lot of thinking before I make with the 'I do' bit. No, I'll just stay single for awhile."
PART 3
SEXUAL FETISHES BETWEEN ADULTS AND YOUNGSTERS
Acknowledging the risk that is inherent by straying from our broad interpretations of sexual variations ("deviations," to many people), the physician-editors of this publication wish to qualify sexual fetishes as they are presented in this portion of this report.
All five cases of this section concern sexual fetishes. It is by no means all-inconclusive of the sexual fetishes that abound among us in this sexually oriented society. And we agree with the generalization that sexual practiceseven incredible fetishes-can be non-harmful to society, are a private matter of the subjects themselves. But still, we feel terribly sad for subjects who might be chained to the oddities of sexual nature. We cannot help feel that despite the gratifications that are claimed by fetishists, there are greater gratifications out of their reach because of their aberration. "Normalcy" is not necessarily a disqualification of pleasure. And so we review the plight of subjects who are addicted to fetish behavior with a good deal o compassion, and hope our readers will be moved in the same way, at the same time, perhaps, not only learning more about how others behave, but experiencing the blessings that are, or can be, our own.
CASE HISTORY
Kim L. was the daughter of a Japanese mother and an American father. She had grown up under the strong influence of her mother who had instilled in her a firm belief in blood loyalty. Kim had a charming accent and she was a unique addition to the student body at the high school of the suburban section of the large Eastern city where she lived. Her father was manager of a large discount department store and was able to provide his family with all the advantages of an upper-middle-class environment.
From her very first day in high school, Kim was popular with the boys. Most of the girls liked her, too, but because she was especially pretty and had the advantage of an accent that hinted at sexuality, many of them envied her and envy turned to distrust and some hostility. Nevertheless, she did well in her studies and participated in many school activities, including the debating team and the girls' gymnastic team. As an athlete, Kim was superior.
"I'm sure if she wanted to, Kim eventually would have developed into an Olympic champion," claims her coach.
But Kim was less interested in athletics than she was in the more satisfying sport of dating boys. She had many dates and it is reported that she was less promiscuous than the other girls of the school. She permitted kisses, but little more.
A change started to take place in Kim's personality when her uncle came from Japan to live with her parents. He was a large, heavy-set Oriental, very gruff appearing, and still unable to fluently communicate in English. But Kim knew a loyalty to him that she felt for all her mother's people. The same loyalty she felt towards her father's relatives. She was dutiful in her correspondence to uncles, aunts and grandparents. She was obedient to all the wishes of her parents, never for a moment questioning their severely strict discipline of her.
When Kim's uncle, John, arrived to take up residence in her home, the girl began to take a lesser part in school activities. And, after a conversation between uncle and parents, an edict about dating was issued: She was to be limited to a single date, every other week. Kim was con fused by this new restriction that was placed on her life. She couldn't understand why now, at fifteen, she was grounded in this manner. And when she inquired the reasons for it, her parents told her it was because John reminded them of Oriental customs and that society's principles-that America had made them forget that momentarily, that they intended to raise their child as they would if they were living in Japan.
Kim pondered this change in her life, but she did not resist her parents' orders. She complied. But on one occasion, at a time when she was alone with her Uncle John, she did ask him about it.
"It was my duty as your mother's oldest brother," he explained. "I had to bring to your parents' attention the fact that your behavior was not ladylike."
"And that's why I can't date anymore?" she asked.
"You are still seeing boys."
"But only once every two weeks," she complained.
"And that was a concession," he said. "I suggested that you not be allowed with the boys at all."
"But why, Uncle John?" His eyes turned hard looking. "Don't you know?"
"No."
"Have boys not already tried to-to fuck you?" he asked.
She flushed and turned away from his stare and did not answer. "Well?"
"Not really," she said.
"Not really-what is this 'not really' business?"
"I mean I haven't allowed any of the boys to-to fuck me-not even to try to do it," she said, her words indicating the pride she took in her self-imposed morality.
"And men. Have you not allowed men to take off your panties and kiss at your thighs?"
"Uncle!" she exclaimed.
"Don't be astonished. I know it's done."
"Not with me, it isn't," she said haughtily.
"Good." He chuckled, then said, "You are very much like my poor wife before she died-when she was very young. Haughty and proud and a little defiant. Yes, you are like her."
His eyes now roamed over her young body, as if he were still making the mental comparison, touching at her breasts and waist and legs in a kind of longing look. Then he looked into her eyes and said, "You are very beautiful, Kim, very beautiful indeed. I can see why the boys have been dating you so often. It's very obvious what you have to offer."
She lowered her eyes and looked shyly at the floor.
"And we must protect that beauty," Uncle John said. "We must protect your purity for you if you are not mature enough to protect it yourself."
In later conversations with her uncle, the man spent a good deal of time talking about virginity, the prize that it was, the way that it should be one gift for one man, and the way that Kim should possess it until the day she married a man of her family's choice. These conversations bothered Kim quite a little. The dialogue itself did not bother her, but she felt flushed and embarrassed because of her uncle's enthusiasm for the topic. And his expression as he talked about these sexual things with his niece was one that indicated luridness. Once, to Kim's amazement, she noticed that he was showing the phallic signs of arousal during their conversation. But John made no positive sexual advances toward his niece until the day he chose to demonstrate the use of a whip. Then, she was committed to her uncle's perverted desires.
Kim thought she was alone in the house and she chose this time to practice steps learned at her ballet class. She dressed in a short, tight and revealing ballet leotard and posed before a mirror in the family room-a room that was also used as a study and practice room for Kim's dancing lessons. She was posed high on her toes and beginning a series of pirouettes when she saw her uncle's reflection in the mirror. She turned, surprised.
"Don't let me disturb you," he said. He smiled, then leaned against the side of the partially opened door.
"But I can't practice when I'm being watched," Kim protested.
"Don't be silly. Of course you can."
"I can't."
"Then how do you expect to ever perform be fore an audience if you cannot practice with only one, old uncle watching you?" Kim laughed.
"What's so amusing?" John asked, smiling. "The way you called yourself an old uncle."
"And that's amusing?"
"Yes, because I never think of you as old. It sounded like a joke."
"Forty-nine years of age is not a joke, my child."
Kim smiled as her uncle moved into the room. And then her smile faded as she saw that a long, brownish whip trailed behind him like an obscene tail. His big hand clutched the thick handle and it tapered into a long line behind him.
"Why are you carrying a whip?" she asked.
The uncle raised the handle a bit, extending it toward Kim, then said, "It is a new one that your father and I designed. It is one we will soon be sending to novelty stores for sale."
"Novelty stores?" she questioned.
"Well, they're a little different than that," he said. "But there is a growing market for such items in this country. For whips and riding crops and all sorts of instruments of pain."
"Oh."
"Do not be dismayed, child," Uncle John said, stopping before her. "Pain is a subject that is as old as time-a subject that has benefited many people during their lives."
"Benefited them? You mean they like whips and things?"
"Of course. But here, let me show you."
He moved a few paces away from her and drew the whip far behind him. Kim stood in front of the three-sided mirror. Fear crossed her face.
"Don't be frightened, child," Uncle John said.
"But heavens-I don't want to be whipped," she protested.
"How do you know?"
"I just know, that's all."
John smiled in a way that discounted her words, then drew the whip back and very gently shot it forward. Tenderly, like a loving snake, it wrapped around Kim's waist. She straightened, but did not recoil from the contact.
"There-was that so bad?" her uncle asked.
"That was nothing-not even a whipping."
"True, child, very true."
John gave a slight tug on the whip and it unraveled from her body and fell to the tiled floor. Then he drew it far behind him again. Then he paused.
"Did you know that your aunt-my dear, lost wife-enjoyed being whipped?" he asked.
Kim was astonished. It seemed preposterous. "No," she answered. "I didn't know that."
"It's true," John said. "She loved it and she was a very beautiful, very sensual woman."
"I've heard that," Kim said.
"Yes. So, shall we try more of the whip?"
Kim hesitated, then said, "If you want, Uncle."
"I do," he said.
Again, he drew the whip far behind him and flicked it forward, a bit harder this time. It nipped at Kim's right breast, cutting the material in a slice exactly next to her nipple. Her body jerked, but she did not step back.
Kim was surprised that she did not feel pain. Then she corrected her thoughts about it and decided that she did feel pain, but that it was of a different kind than she had ever known. It bordered on something more than pain. It was sexual. And as she thought about it she created an image of her uncle, his beautiful wife, and the confession of her uncle that his wife had enjoyed the use of a whip upon her body.
John struck Kim again. This time the whip bit harder and lower, slicing her leotard across the waist, making it gape open and show her naked flesh.
Suddenly, Kim's body trembled in response. She tried not to show an expression of excitement upon her face, for some reason she wanted to conceal this from her uncle. But even as she tried to freeze herself to an expression of indifference, tiny pinpricks of thrill raced throughout her body, warming her and making her anxious for the whip's next lash.
And then it came upon her in a series of biting cuts. It struck at her hips and across both breasts repeatedly until the thin material of her leotard loosened and parted and showed her large breasts with their hardening nipples.
John brought the whip to a halt. He smiled. And when Kim's eyes raised to his, she could see that his face was crossed with an expression of great delight. She could see, too, that the delight had spread to another part of his body, that the groin of his trousers had lumped heavily with the sign of his passion.
"So, I can see that you like this," John said, breathing hard. "So quickly you have learned the thrill of this whip. It pleases me. You can see how it pleases me." He pointed to the tenting at his crotch and ran the fingers of his free hand over the steaming bulge. "My penis has become hard-my cock is pleased," he smiled.
Kim did not answer him. Now, her own body churned with impatience for words. Now, she wanted only to know more of the harsh cruelty of the whip's end.
She received it again. She could feel her breasts tear and welt and she felt the sticky oozing of blood. And then she felt the sting at that cherished place of her untouched womanhood. John stepped closer and struck her viciously here, again and again, up and down, sideways, constantly upon that point meant for love. Kim's garment shredded and tattered and fell open for a full exposure of her body. Her thighs trembled. She tried to stand straight but the thrill that was gathering like a storm within her prevented erectness, prevented even full consciousness, as it began its soar throughout her body, as it tingled her and flushed her and caused her to yelp out the sounds of reaction to great pleasure-pain.
As John rained the finale of his strikes against her body, Kim saw that he brought his free hand in front of his body to clutch at his penis. And then, when he struck her a final time and she cried climactically, John bent over, grasping himself harder while his face showed the signs of his release.
Although Kim felt considerable guilt for the perverted love scenes she played with her uncle, she continued them. Strong in her blood tie, loyal to her kinsmen, she did not refuse her uncle his desires. And they soon became her own desires, too.
At the age of nineteen, Kim married. She was still a virgin. Her husband was a young man who had been a long family friend. And strangely, he, as if perversity attracted new perversity, proved to be a man who enjoyed coitus to the fullest only after submitting his wife to physical beatings.
As Kim herself stated, "Before we could fuck, my husband had to beat me. He would pound my naked tits with his fists, and then he would kick me at my thighs. I found the pain to be exciting. And then he would take off his clothes and push his cock into me. Then we would fuck."
CASE HISTORY
Shirley Y. was a beautiful fifteen-year-old. She had a passion for her own hair. It was thick and hung to her hips where it bounced as she moved, adding more sexuality to the naturally sexual picture she made with large, bouncing breasts, always unencumbered by undergarments, and tight, shapely hips that quivered and moved and jiggled in a kind of beckoning manner.
The daughter of wealthy and busy parents, there was little of the material world that Shirley had not attained while still in her early teens. She had a stable of horses at her disposal for riding, private schools, and, when she was abroad with her parents, which was most of the time, she enjoyed the luxury of a tutor who was not too strict.
It was in Europe, during a summer vacation, that Shirley became fascinated by the activities of the older, jet-set society members.
Shirley's father traveled a great deal. He was an acclaimed symphony conductor and composer who often wrote background music for motion pictures. He was especially vulnerable to the aggressions of attractive singers and entertainment hopefuls, both male and female, all of whom, it seemed, were anxious to display their most fetching assets for his approval with the hope that he might sponsor them in their budding careers. Shirley, too, was exposed to these sexual sophisticates, and it was from them that she learned about sexual deviations.
Shirley met Roger on a beach in France. He was in his late thirties, tall, very fair, handsome, intelligent and ambitious. When he learned that Shirley was the daughter of the prominent Mr. Y., Roger became especially smitten with the astonishingly beautiful fifteen-year-old girl.
The day they met, Shirley was wearing a new bikini that had been created just for her by a French designer. The suit was guaranteed to be different than any that might be found on the foreign beaches. It was. The bottom dipped at a terrifying dive below her navel, not stopping until it threatened full exposure of her young womanhood. At her hips, the suit was held together by the frailest lines of thin mesh, making big gaps of flesh become part of the long line of her body. And the bra top of the suit was a delight to every male member of the beach crowd. It was a mere ribbon, barely covering her hard, erect nipples with goodly amounts of flesh rounding above and below it.
Shirley and Roger swam together that day and as she left the water, her long hair wet and stringing down her back, he seemed unable to keep his eyes off her. And it was difficult for Shirley to keep her eyes from wandering over Roger's body for he was strongly built and burned dark brown by the sun. He, too, wore a brief swimsuit; a man's bikini that cuddled his masculinity in very sharp lines.
After they had sunned themselves lazily, and as the sun was beginning to set, Shirley invited Roger to her father's villa for cocktails. He was delighted. Together, they climbed the hill at the back of the beach and, dressed only in robes over their swimming garb, walked to Mr. Y.'s luxurious residence.
A cocktail party was already in progress. Mr. and Mrs. Y., accustomed to their daughter's appearance with strangers, welcomed Roger to the gathering. In a corner, Shirley and Roger sipped at their cocktails and busied their eyes upon each other.
"You are very beautiful," Roger told her.
"Thank you."
"Your hair, it's especially beautiful," he said. "So few girls today know anything about the sensuality of hair."
"Sensuality?"
"Yes. You know, its part in lovemaking," he said very candidly.
"Oh," Shirley responded, trying to appear as worldly about this matter as she did most everything else.
"Have you any idea how sexual long hair is?" Roger asked.
Shirley breathed deeply, hoping that she struck the pose of a true insider of the jet-set. Then she said, "Of course. Hair, my own, that is, has always been an aphrodisiac for me."
Roger seemed surprised. He also seemed to bide his time the rest of the evening, developing Shirley as an intimate with words and flattery and candid looks at her body and hair.
That night, alone in her massive bedroom, Shirley viewed herself in the full-length mirror, trying to determine exactly what it was that Roger meant. She gave her head a vicious shake, then assisted the ends over one shoulder so that it hung over her right breast. She concentrated on hair, on the feel of it against her flesh. It felt very silken, very sensual. Soon, she lifted a few strands of it and played the ends against one nipple. She watched the nipple grow hard and cracked as if it were filling with sensation that needed a thundering outlet. Shirley separated several of the strands then, as if they were strings, she looped them around her nipple. She tightened them. And she felt her stomach muscles contract with a small spasm of pleasure.
Shirley did not indulge in any attempt at self-satisfaction this night. Instead, she retired and dreamed of her next encounter with the attractive and charming Roger.
Shirley was not a virgin. Since she was about fourteen, she had indulged in sexual intercourse. She also knew quite a bit about fellatio and cunnilingus. But none of the sex she had so far participated in gave her any great thrill or even came close to the excitement she had always anticipated from it. Shirley, although sexually built and seductive of nature, still had to realize a first experience with orgasm. And, the sudden appearance of Roger seemed to assure that it might soon be realized.
Two days following their first meeting, Roger invited Shirley to visit his house; a portion of an unused villa that had been converted into a large apartment. He called it his studio for he fancied himself a musician and had special interests in composing.
Shirley and Roger shared a cocktail. Then they sat close together on the couch. And very soon, Roger had turned the girl's face to his and kissed her rapturously.
Shirley responded to his kiss with extreme enthusiasm. She caught his tongue immediately and drew upon it. And she crushed her bikini-bra covered breasts against his bare chest, burrowing them to him as if she could not resist the contact, not that or the excitement it caused and the promise of greater thrills it offered.
While their tongues played together, Shirley remembered Roger's reference to hair and her own experience of a beginning thrill from it. She drew her lips away from Roger's, then reached behind her and lifted her heavy hair to the front where it streamed between their bod ies. Then she resumed their kiss, at the same time moving her breasts lightly from side to side against the man's chest, rubbing with them the long strands of black hair.
Roger grew very excited. He gasped and kissed her harder and began rubbing his chest tighter against her as if the hair itself was what he sought rather than her large, nipple-studded breasts.
'very soon, he drew back from her. He looked into her eyes. Then he brought both his hands up to lift her heavy hair, to caress and fondle it and rub it between his fingers as if he were testing the value of a rare material. Then he raised his hands higher and bunched her hair into his fists.
Shirley trembled, partly from pretense at thrill and partly because she did feel a small, sexual reaction to the adoration he gave her hair. To duplicate it, Shirley brought her own hands up to Roger's hair, which was cut long, and played it between her fingers.
After they had caressed each other's hair a long time, Roger drew back. Looking lovingly into her eyes, he smiled, then unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor. Then he did the same to the bottom of her bikini. He leaned far back and feasted his eyes over all her nudity. Then, very quickly and without the least bit of self-consciousness, he slipped his swim trunks from his body. Then he guided Shirley into a unique sexual involvement.
"Your hair, precious, trail your hair over me for a little bit," Roger said as he lowered on his back to the cushions of the couch.
Shirley hesitated a moment. She looked at the long view of him as he lay on his back on the couch. He was so dark brown, so slim and hard and long.
"Come to me, sweet girl," Roger coaxed. He held his arms out for her.
Shirley still did not quite know what he wanted. But she experimented by leaning far forward and over him until her breasts hung heavy and dangled above his hard chest. She started to lower them to him when he stopped her.
"No, darling, your hair first," he said, breathing harder.
He touched at her shoulders and urged her back until her hair dangled above his masculinity. Then, Shirley moved of her own accord.
Moving in a deep dip, she smothered him with her hair. Then she drew back, trailing the ends of it over the length of him.
He breathed dramatically and issued a low moan of pleasure. Then his hands reached out to encourage a renewal of the touch.
Shirley dipped again, moving from side to side, her breasts feeling heavy and stimulated, yet having to play a secondary role in the love scene because of her hair and Roger's passion for it, her passion for it, too, for she was beginning to feel a stimulation throughout her body that excited her thighs and made tremors of thrill race up and down her back.
Roger started to rise and lower in an effort to make a more intense contact with her hair. Lithe and lean, very muscular, he exerted tremendous strength for even the very slightest movement. And Shirley, watching his body twist and rise in passion to her hair, caught that passion as a more important part of herself.
After Roger had thrusted to a high pitch and Shirley found herself dipping lower and lower, making a longer and faster trail of her black hair against him, he called a sudden halt to the action.
"Oh, enough of that for now, little beauty," he exclaimed. "Now, we must play other ways."
Roger raised on the couch and urged Shirley to lie on her back, stretching her naked body before him. Then he, just as she had done, took a position above her. But his intention was a combination of new sensations from which he would know the ultimate in hair-oriented, sexual satisfaction.
Roger straddled Shirley with his knees, his knees on either side of her breasts. Then he raised a bit and arched his hips. He paused. Then he reached and caught all of Shirley's heavy hair in his hands. He held it at a place above her breasts, combing it with her breasts, actually making a soft, warm nest of flesh and hair. Then he cupped breasts and hair together, thrusted and ran himself through the silken, flesh-hair cradle that he had made to receive him. He drew back, then moved again. Then again, a bit faster.
Shirley, looking up at him, had the oddest sensation. It was as if a kind of mysticism had caught her up in a new adventure that promised the ultimate in excitement. And to increase it and enhance it, she arched in a manner that allowed her hair-draped breasts to provide a valley through which Roger's manhood sliced, back and forth, seeming to grow harder as he moved, but always constantly back and forth as if he were slicing some substance of life itself. And strangely, Shirley felt the sensation travel clear down to her thighs again, heating her there and making a pulsation develop like none she had ever known, not even when she had been engaged in intercourse with any number of handsome boys and men.
Roger seemed to grow more and more excited. He began running strands of Shirley's hair through his fingers as he moved, rubbing it back and forth between thumb and forefinger in signs of adoration. And all the time his breathing increased and his eyes strained, going oblong and pinching tightly at the corners as if they withheld the fury of all his emotions. And then they suddenly closed as he made a new, desperate arch forward, withdrew, and arched again.
Shirley, receiving him, threw her shoulders back and arched even higher. She, too, felt great excitement rumble within her, but for her there was a lack of contact that she still needed. She raised her knees, braced her feet, then flopped her thighs together and away in a tense stammer that was the signal of her desire.
Roger caught it at once. Without missing a stroke or lessening the forward and backwards whip of his body, he rearranged his position, bringing one knee from the outside of Shirley's hip and jamming it between her thighs.
"Ummmm," she mumbled in appreciation for the new contact.
Now, as Roger continued to work high upon her body, he brought the same motion to his knee, working it back and forth against her young womanhood, grinding it to her, and letting her clasp it tightly with each new contact.
Their mutual speed increased. Their breathing choked and whistled and burst forth in dry, hot expulsions. And then, as Shirley looked into the eyes of the laboring man above her, she knew that he was near his end. She knew, too, that it marked the end for herself for the feelings that were created at her hair-covered breasts merged with that thrust of Roger's knee against her vagina. And it burst upon her like a sudden fire, engulfing her, crowding her, creeping over her from toes to head at the very same moment that Roger groaned, jerked convulsively and lashed himself amid her hair and breasts like a madman-a madman who was knowing the hot, crazy release of deviational thrill.
Shirley caught it all. She could not help but cry out and move faster. And as she did so, she snapped her thighs together and clutched them desperately to Roger's knee, grinding herself against it in order to know the maximum of thrill.
Soon, they rested, re-engaged in the same manner, rested again, then parted.
Shirley became obsessed with her hair. She sought more and more ways to use it as a sexual inducement. She engaged in this manner with as many men and boys as she could. And she developed some highly complex methods of achieving orgasms without penetration. She followed this pattern all the time she socialized within the jet-set of foreign shores that made new sexual experimentation a part of their very existence.
CASE HISTORY
Heather M. was the product of a state orphanage. It was at the hands of one of the orphanage guards that Heather learned the relationship of pain to sexual pleasure.
When Heather was only three years old she was placed in an orphanage. Her mother and father had been killed in a tragic automobile accident and there were no relatives who would take care of Heather. Her life at the orphanage was unhappy. She hated the food, most of the other girls, the hopelessness of the environment, the shabby clothing, and the constant grind of boredom. Heather dreamed only of one day arriving at the age of eighteen and gaining release from the institutional home.
Until she was thirteen, Heather was never a discipline problem. But at this age, she began to find minor difficulties to claim her attention. Her psychiatrist has claimed that they were committed because of the boredom of her life as much as from any true desire for mischief or to cause trouble.
Stealing from the kitchen was one of the favorite pastimes of most of the young inmates of the home. There was a need for this stealing, they rationalized, for the three daily meals were unimaginative and usually inadequate for their vitality filled spirits and bodies. Heather joined in the stealing. And Heather got caught.
It was one of the older maintenance men of the orphanage who faced Heather as she sneaked from the kitchen with a half-eaten ham tucked under her arm. The man, who was on guard duty that night, pulled her to one side.
"Give me that, kid," he ordered.
Cowering at the end of the dark hall, Heather handed the old man the ham.
"Don't you move," he said.
Walking backwards, keeping his eyes keenly upon Heather, the old man moved back down the hall to the tray-window of the kitchen. He placed the ham on the sill, then moved forward toward Heather.
"Can't steal around here, kid," the old man said.
"I know-I'm-I'm sorry," Heather said, a note of plea in her tone.
"Think maybe you better learn right now that there ain't to be no stealing around here," the man said.
Heather started to duck as soon as she saw the man raise his fist to strike her. But she was neither quick enough nor strong enough to avoid the hard smash of his fist against her cheek. She crumbled to the floor, her head spinning, her mind a blank except for the dark form of a dream-figure giant who was in reality the maintenance-guard standing over her.
"Stand up, cunt, and get it again," the man growled.
Heather tried to stand, but could not.
The old man aided her. He grabbed her by her long, auburn hair and jerked her to her feet. Then he smashed his fist into the center of her right breast. As she fell, he struck her again upon the other small, budding breast.
"We'll just smash up those titties of yours, cunt. That'll teach you not to steal. Can't have no damn cunt thieves around this place."
Heather remained quiet on the floor, allowing the hate to gather within her, bubble and boil and grow as she tried to think how she could stop the pain that raced through her body. And then she was on her feet again with her back pinned to the wall while the old man measured her with his eyes for new blows. It was then that Heather decided to use her mind to alleviate the pain. It was then that she plotted to use pain as a feeling of pleasure so as not to know the reality of her aching body.
The old man rained several new blows upon her body; at her shoulders, her breasts again, at her small, round stomach, and finally at the point of her thighs' joining. And Heather steeled herself and thought of love and dream-men she would one day know. At every blow she thought of beauty, her own and how she hoped it would some day vamp every man upon whom she turned its vitality. When the old man's fists struck her breasts, she thought of caresses and kisses upon her small but pointing nipples. And when the hard impact of gnarled fists struck at the point of her young womanhood, Heather thought of love and penetration, of a man's naked body moving above her own nudity, pumping his penis to her in order to give her pleasure, make her light up with love and the sex that was the sign of love.
Heather slumped to the floor again, but this time there was no pain, only great, racing heat that seemed to be consuming her, heating her with love.
The old man jerked her upward again and slapped her hard upon the cheek. Her head spun, but she recaptured the mental images of love and sex and took the blow like a caress. And then the savage blows descended on her breasts again and the fire within Heather heated. And when they lowered and struck again at her thighs, the thirteen-year-old girl felt the sweep of that fire that she had turned from pain into symbols of love. It engulfed her. It sent her soaring.
Heather whimpered sounds of great, splitting emotion, then fell to the floor again. She twisted to her side and buried her face into the cross of her arms. The old man kicked her in the buttocks then, muttering, disappeared into the darkness of the hall.
When Heather finally raised from the floor and returned to her ward, she felt exalted. Her body did not ache, nor did she feel the results of the black-blue spots that covered her body. And her mind was not on pain. Instead, it lingered on the thrill she had known, the thrill she had created herself as an antidote for pain.
The dark, lonely hallway of the orphanage that provided the setting for Heather's first experience with pain as a sexual thrill, was the place that established the pattern for nearly a decade of Heather's life. She sought pain as others sought love. And within the cruel walls of the orphanage, she found it in abundant presence. Upon her release at the age of eighteen, she feared for the thrill she might no longer know. But very soon she found those men who could provide her sexual excitement because of their own sadistic make-up. She enjoyed it, and pursued it, until a mental collapse placed her in a mental institution where she met the effects of psychotherapy, resulting in the eventual resolvement of her peculiarly personal emotional problem.
CASE HISTORY
It was not surprising that Rita J. learned to swim when she was barely three years old. Her father and mother had both been champion swimmers and it was a matter of great family pride that Rita had followed in her parents' footsteps by winning many medals and trophies for her aquatic feats.
by the time she was sixteen, Rita was an addicted swimming buff and she liked nothing better than to languish on the beaches and in the water of the various pools she had occasion to visit while traveling with her parents. It was in California, during a lazy summer season that Rita became interested in skin diving.
She was alone when she donned the tight, rubber skin diving outfit for the first time. She observed herself in the mirror, thinking as she struggled into the costume that she looked as if she were turning from a human being into a strange sea serpent. When she had finally stuffed her well-formed body into the suit and viewed her image in the mirror, she felt a slight thrill, for it seemed that she had left the world, had moved from reality into the nether world of dreams and fantasies and incredible experiences by the very simple means of putting on the garb for underwater adventures.
Rita had a teacher for skin-diving, too. He was about forty, had a delightful accent, was muscular, and was extremely taken with the picture Rita made in her rubber suit. And well he should have been, for her breasts bulged against the rubber and the muscles of her stomach rippled beneath it causing it, too, to ripple like tiny waves upon a shore.
"Urn!" he exclaimed when he saw her in the rubber for the first time. "You will be the envy of every female fish and every male fish will fall in love with you."
"You're crazy, Lahrs," Rita laughed.
Rita's skin-diving lessons advanced quickly. Soon, she was moving around under the water with the ease of a mermaid. And Lahrs had become her constant companion. And the rubber suit that she wore had become an aphrodisiac to Rita.
The sixteen-year-old girl liked few things better than to stand in front of her mirror and watch her near nudity emerge from the rubber suit. It always seemed as if she were peeling off her skin, exposing herself in a dramatic way. She liked that. And she liked the cling of the rubber against her skin, the way it stuck to her and pulled at her body as she moved. Soon, Rita was wearing the costume, or parts of it, even when skin-diving was not on the agenda. And it didn't take her long to experiment with wearing it against her totally nude body. She quit the bikini she usually wore beneath it.
The first time Rita pulled the rubber suit over her bare body, she very nearly experienced an orgasm. It almost happened as she jerked the suit up tightly against the joining of her thighs. Then it nearly occurred when she jammed her big breasts within the suit and closed it up tight.
Rita was not unfamiliar with orgasm. She had pursued it, and achieved it often, since she had been thirteen and was seduced by a middle-aged friend of her mother. And she was so sophisticated, so much a going member of the now society, that she candidly told her parents that she had embarked upon the pursuit of sexual intercourse. Her parents were sophisticated, too. They took her to their physician and promptly had his prescription filled for birth-control pills.
It wasn't very long before Rita was completely intrigued with her rubber suit. It wasn't very long either before she knew the new excitement of bumping her body against Lahrs' when they were both dressed for diving. And in Lahrs, Rita noticed that sign that she already knew very well, that stretching against the hard rubber of his suit.
One late afternoon, Lahrs and Rita, exuberant because of some unusual discoveries they had made beneath the water, retired to his beach house to celebrate with a bottle of champagne. Rita was not unfamiliar with champagne either. She had sipped it with her parents since she had entered her teens.
Lahrs popped the cork from the bottle while they were both still dressed in their rubber suits. They shared the champagne while they talked of underwater adventures. And while they talked, each eyed the other's body; Rita seeing again the sign of Lahrs' passion against the rubber suit, he viewing her large breasts bloating against rubber, the young, firm thighs that rippled with strength, the crease that indented and sometimes pulsated the rubber at the upper part of her thighs.
When they finished the bottle of champagne, Lahrs placed some records on the stereo and soft, romantic music immediately coursed through the room. Rita smiled. She felt floaty and wonderful and strangely excited.
Her excitement began to bubble all the more when Lahrs, moving slowly toward her from across the room, told her how beautiful she was and that he wanted to kiss her.
Rita didn't object in the least. She raised her mouth for his mature kiss and found in it all the excitement she had anticipated. His tongue was wicked. She deemed to top his erotic movements and did indeed compete very favorably by the way she sharpened her tongue like a saber, stabbed it, pierced it, circled and explored and finally lashed deeply within his mouth until he caught it and clung to it as desperately as if his life depended upon it. And all the time their rubber-encased bodies moved against each other, cuddled and slid from side to side creating the friction of rubber upon rubber as it inflamed their nakedness beneath it.
When Lahrs finally gave up Rita's tongue, he turned his lips to attention at her ears. He jabbed one with his tongue, then mouthed all of it. And then his hands were pressing between their bodies and holding the outline of her breasts, pinching them and rolling them and feeling every part of them.
Rita had the desire to return his touch. She did. 'very delicately she finger-walked her right hand from his neck, over his shoulders, down his chest and to his waist where they paused for a moment. Rita felt her passion soar. Touching the rubber of Lahrs was, in a way, like touching herself, feeling all of her own body that she loved every bit as much as any man's, anything in the world.
Lahrs clutched her closer, shifting a bit and making a new outline of his body against hers, pressing at places that were previously untouched by him. And this gave cause for Rita's hand to become more adventuresome, to drop lower between their bodies until at last it pressed, palm open, toward the bulge in Lahrs' rubber suit. He pressed her closer and Rita closed her hand upon him, making a tremble rip through his body and causing a sound of passion to escape from his throat.
Exactly at the same moment that Rita opened and closed her hand upon him again, Lahrs snapped his hands behind her and gripped fiercely at her rubber-held buttocks. He pinched and kneaded, attuning his rhythm to that which she established at his front, that rhythm that squeezed him and ascended him to a high pitch of response. Soon, they were both gasping the sounds of their mounting eroticism and the sound gave every indication that a pitch was building from which neither of them could turn back.
Abruptly, Lahrs stopped the action on his body. He pushed Rita's hand down, then stepped back. But in the next instant his hands were upon her again, squeezing at her shoulder and forcing her to the floor. She went willingly, and almost as if she had already become so familiar with rubber and its call, she braced her feet upon the floor and spread her knees wide in that position of receiving a man for immediate intercourse.
Lahrs hurried to a position above her. He slid his rubbery body atop her, moving between her parted thighs with a side-to-side motion that made her utter an eerie call for the thrill of his rubber suit stuttering its upward progress against that sensitive place at the base of her parted thighs. Lahrs moved slowly, slithering from side to side like a snake, pressing hard against Rita and not stopping until his face was above hers and the hard lump of his rubber-held manhood was stuck and locked tightly to the stretched rubber crevices of her suit where it crinkled between her thighs. Only then did Lahrs pause.
Rita was not sure what was to happen next. But she was positive that it would be exciting and would at last raise her to that level of passion that surmounted any climatic experience she had yet had. And she was right, made that way apparently because of her intuitive response to rubber and the man beneath it.
Lahrs fought, and succeeded, in bringing the trembling of his body under control. When he did, he moved, pressing himself against the lift Rita made of her body. Then he withdrew and he moved again. And again and faster, constantly faster, so fast that the rubber of their suits stuck together, pulled, nipped at Rita's flesh beneath it with such force that she had the impression of a million vicious fish biting at her vagina, trying to devour it, nipping, and slicing, and always stickily pulling against it. And she loved it, adored it, could not, would not, not ever, give it up. She lurched and arched and whined sad/happy tones of pleasure. She thrust mightily, trying always with every rapid move that Lahrs made to come closer and tighter and more in contact with his concealed penis, that which was strong beneath rubber and puncturing at her until she could feel it beneath her suit, until the rubber of her suit had become a part of that constant pressure and indentation that plunged minutely, but with tremendous effect, within the font of her youth.
Lahrs' body began to quiver again and Rita knew that it had become uncontrollable, that it marked his ascension to a plateau of no return, a place that had to erupt and crush before there could be relief. Rita knew it. She knew it because it was akin to her own sensations that now boiled like a mad rapids at her thighs.
"Oh, God," Lahrs suddenly called.
"Ahh. Ohh!" she answered.
They moved to their final speed, rubbed the rubber of their sexuality to each other with such force that it seemed they would surely sear it, rip it open and expose them as the raw and frantic beings that they had become.
And then their cries of perverted pleasure mixed and they echoed their call throughout all the rooms as their bodies crashed together in a series of final contacts that released them with the power of a lava-spilling volcano.
When they had rested and Rita had returned to the privacy of her room, she stood in front of the mirror as she stripped the rubber diving suit from her body. When she looked at her body she saw that she had been rubbed raw, that she was marked with the signs of fury that were greater than any she had known when her young flesh had met the passions of men. She smiled. She was delighted. She knew that it was a sign that would be repeated many times throughout her life, that, from this point onward, she was dedicated to the dual thrill of rubber and the nakedness of a man beneath it, dedicated to that substance that so thrilled her at every touch to her own naked body.
In her own words, during a session of psychotherapy, which she entered when she was in her thirties, Rita said, "I couldn't just fuck with a man. I had to do it through the rubber. It gave me a strange feeling of excitement to be able to see the strong outlines of a hard cock beneath all that clinging and stretching rubber. My own pussy was getting juicy while I kept thinking of that hard cock and how it would feel rubbing over my cunt. Even though we never peeled off our diving suits, it was the greatest sort of fucking I had ever known. God, how it could turn me on!"
CASE HISTORY
Fourteen-year-old Vicky J. had been whipped regularly by her rough, tough, forty-eight-year-old father. He was less a disciplinarian than he was a drunk who seemed to take great delight in brutality, especially that which he issued to his daughter.
When Vicky was fifteen, she began resisting her father's beatings. She would fight him off, even run away if necessary. But he always caught her. Then, the beating was worse, harsher, more demonly invoked upon her body.
At a glance, or even at close observation, one would wonder why any man would wish to mar the body of such a daughter. Vicky was quite tall, almost five feet, seven inches, but her height was chastened by a large breasts and a narrow waist, by good, firm thighs and shapely legs. And all of her bodily beauty was topped by natural blond hair, blue-green eyes, and a spray of freckles around the bridge of her nose that made her seem younger and more innocent than the truth of her years.
Vicky was popular with her friends and did better than average work at the high school where she was a most popular student. Boys liked to date her because she was such fun. She was also quite sexually inclined. Upon favorite dates, she bestowed her breasts for their touch and her sharp tongue for their excited taking. Some, she even allowed to touch beneath her skirt at the silken smoothness of her thighs. But she allowed none of them the intercourse they all seemed so desperately to want.
One night when Vicky was still fifteen, her father, drunk and ill-tempered, confronted her with an accusation about her sexual conduct with the boys she had been dating. She denied promiscuity. Her father raged. He lashed his hand out and struck her hard against the left cheek. Vicky caught herself before she started to fall. When she Tightened her body, she turned and tried to flee. It was impossible. Her father caught her as she tried to lock herself in her bedroom.
"Don't hit me again, you-you, bastard," she warned angrily. He laughed.
"Don't-I mean it, you goddamn shit!"
"Christ, you're getting real uppity, ain't you," the father declared. "Well, guess it's time for me to take that uppitiness out of you. Guess I'll do it just like I did when you were a kid."
Vicky started to back away, but she was too slow. Her father caught her by both wrists, then wrestled her to the edge of the bed. He twisted her around and seated himself on the bed. He then forced her over his knee in that classic position of a child about to be whipped.
He struck her hard upon the double moons of her buttocks. Then he hit her again, harder, as she twisted to free herself. Her large breasts crushed his knees as she wiggled to be free. And her father struck her again and again and again. And then he paused. But the lull was not one that was meant to free her. It was intended to present more of her body for his striking hand. With a quick motion, he tore her panties downward to rest low on her legs. Then he hit her bare buttocks with all his might.
"Mmmm," he moaned, "what a cute ass you have there, kid. Didn't know you had such soft cheeks. Just real good and ripe for a fuck. Wonder how many boys you've let into your panties?" And then he laughed.
Vicky struggled for some moments and then she ceased her movements. She no longer wanted freedom. Instead, she wanted the continuation of her father's strong hand against her naked buttocks. And he applied it brutally. A glow crept through Vicky's body. Then she grew hot and tense as her flesh smarted beneath her father's hand. She felt the heat through her body, at her breasts where they crushed against her father's knees, at her buttocks and thighseverywhere.
Soon, as her father's hand reached a high peak of striking, Vicky felt the swell within herself that indicated the release of sexual emotions. She cried out, pretending that the sound had come from pain. But it had not. It came from the immense jam and scramble of her sexual climax.
Finally, her father released her. Vicky turned and flung herself on the bed, burying her face into the pillows as her father left the room. She could not understand what had happened to her, but she knew that it was akin to sexual release, that it was that sensation that the boys sought, that her girl friends pursued, that it was that climax that was meant for all humans.
Vicky began to seek that experience again, deliberately aggravating her father at every opportunity. She provoked his wrath by all manner and means, hoping for, and often receiving, the spanking that brought her relief.
Vicky continued dating boys. But with them, her love play took on a new endeavor. Now, she teased and provoked and tried to engage them in roughhouse play that might lead her to a climatic end. Often she was successful. When she was not, she was distraught and nervous. And then she devised a method of trade that provided her with the churning release she seemed always to need.
Sexual intercourse was foremost on the minds of all her dates. 'very candidly, she told them that she would permit it if they would first spank her. Although many of them thought this odd, none refused the barter. And Vicky was treated to a spanking-induced orgasm before she would turn and open herself to the sexual lust of her date. She received no thrill at all from intercourse. It was simply the gift she gave in order to know the more vital gift of her own release. She attained the reputation of "the girl who had to be spanked before she would fuck." And on one occasion much physical harm was caused her by an older boy who beat her so harshly and brutally that she required medical attention. As soon as her wounds were healed, Vicky returned to her patterns of blows before intercourse. It was the only means by which she could reach any sexual gratification.
PART 4
PROXIMITY OF SUBJECTS AND SEXUAL ENVIRONMENTS, including incest, seductions, overt pedophilia, hyper-seductiveness of children, and other behavioral encounters
Long before the environment was something that was blighted, to be saved, or booted as a political football, it was the subject of debate among behavorial scientists.
What was its effect upon human life?
Did it mould character and personality as much as heredity? More or less than heredity? The same? What consequences were in store for those raised within a proverty environment? What about the children of wealthy parents, a household filled with servants, frequent parental absenteeism because of business and social obligations? Were ethnic environments truly deprived of opportunity? And what about criminals? Were they the result of certain environ merits?
These questions, and many more, including the sexual patterns of individuals, became the subjects of banter among professional groups, and eventually evolved with a diversity of conclusions which were reached after ambitious studies were completed. Today, although the degrees of environ mental influences are still debated, it is generally concluded by all that the environment within which one is raised and lives is of significant importance to the development of the individual; his attitudes, opportunities, his prejudices, ethics, or lack of them, and also his sexual development.
Here, is this lengthy section of Pedophilic Men and Sexually Seductive Children, the cases will disclose the impact of certain environments upon the sexual experiences and lives of the case subjects. There is a strong strain of pedophilia lacing throughout these examples, and the reader should put it into perspective with the environ mental elements of the case history.
CASE HISTORY
Sammy T. was a hard worker, a good provider, a devoted husband, a regular churchgoer, and the seducer of his stepdaughter. He was immaculate in appearance and very fussy about the neatness of his home, his car and particularly his study. He was highly regarded in his neighborhood, was well thought of by his fellow employees in the aircraft assembly plant as well as his supervisors, by his pastor and by his wife. He was much loved and respected by his stepchildren: a boy, seven and the twelve-year-old little beauty whose hymen he ruptured in full view of her brother.
Sammy T. had stability. This was the principal characteristic that attracted his wife to him, then prompted her acceptance of his marriage proposal. Sammy was thirty-six when they married. His wife was two years younger, and her children were still babies at the time of the nuptials.
Eight years of marriage and family life passed quickly and pleasantly. They had economic security, most material desires were satisfied, and they enjoyed a morally aware life within the church of their choice. Their life was so undramatic that Mrs. T. was not the least concerned when, after five years of marriage, Sammy's sexual interest in her began to lag.
"I wasn't worried about it," Mrs. T. told a court-appointed psychiatrist. "Sammy works very hard, usually at least ten hours a day, sometimes more. He's under constant pressure and he believes in doing his job well. So, knowing how tired he could be, I didn't think much of it when he seemed to lose interest in me."
It was at this point that Mrs. T. should have become concerned. Forty-four may be a dangerous age for any man, but in the case of Sammy T. his lack of zeal for his wife was the first symptom which was to manifest itself in a sexual drive for his stepdaughter.
Sammy's wife noticed a first "strangeness" about him soon after her daughter's twelfth birthday. She awoke one night to find her husband absent from their double bed. For a moment she was frightened. Then she investigated, thinking that he had gone downstairs for a mid night snack, although this was not customary for Sammy.
Mrs. T. did not find her husband in the kitchen. She found him in bed with her daughter. Both slept soundly. She awakened her husband and asked what was worng.
"Nothing," Sammy replied sleepily. "Ellen was having a dream and crying. I came in to quiet her and fell asleep."
The explanation was logical to Mrs. T. She accepted it. Sammy returned with her to their own bed.
Upon mentioning the incident to Ellen the next morning, the child did not remember dreaming or crying. Nor did she recall the presence of her stepfather in her bed. Mrs. T., knowing the ways of children, especially their forgetfulness of night time dreams and events, disregarded the matter.
Four days later at an early morning hour Mrs. T. again found Sammy in the bed of her daughter. Again she awakened him. This time he had no explanation for his presence there, even seemed somewhat bewildered by his nocturnal activity. But, as he left the child and returned with his wife to their room, Mrs. T. noticed that he was in a state of erection. In bed together, Mrs. T. turned to him and offered her lips for a kiss, anticipating coitus as a result of the sign she had seen. She pressed against her husband's body. As she did so, she felt potency forsake him. Sammy kissed her platonically, then turned his back to his wife and gave himself to sleep once again.
The next day Mrs. T. suggested a vacation for the entire family. Sammy was working too hard. He needed a rest. They all needed to be together for a weekend at their mountain retreat. They should make more use of their cabin. Sammy agreed.
The first day of the weekend vacation was spent hiking in the forest of towering evergreens, chasing after squirrels and even fishing, then, in the evening, cooking an open-grill dinner of steaks and baked potatoes.
The family retired early, soon after it was dark.
When Mrs. T. awakened shortly after midnight, the moon was pouring its golden stream through the open window. She glanced around. Her husband was not in bed with her. She got up and walked to the other bedroom of the cabin. There in bed with Ellen was Sammy. Mrs. T. could discern movement from the figures on the bed.
It had been advanced that only Mrs. T.'s very personal psychology can explain her inaction at the obvious sexual matter that was taking place between her husband and her daughter. Mrs. T. herself is not sure why she remained quiet and did not interfere with whatever it was that was occurring.
"I don't know," Mrs. T. has sated. "I truly don't know. Maybe I was afraid of upsetting things, afraid of disturbing our life or discovering anything that might change things for us."
When the vibrations of her daughter's bed ceased simultaneously with a heavy groan from Sammy, Mrs. T. quickly went back to her own bed, awaiting her husband's return.
Mrs. T. was sure that Ellen had been asleep during Sammy's movement in her bed. She wondered how it was possible. The movement on the bed had been violent. Then she recalled the unfamiliar heavy outdoor play during the day and she knew that her child was indeed in a heavy slumber, oblivious to all, even the intruder in her bed.
Soon, Mrs. T. saw her husband return to their bedroom and walk to his side of the bed. Instinctively, she looked at his pajama pants. She recalled the posture of arousal she had sighted following Sammy's last visit to his stepdaughter's bed. She wondered if the same was true on this occasion. It was not. But, horrified, she observed that another symbol had taken its place. Sammy's pajama pants were dark-blotched, damp at the genital area.
Mrs. T. felt stricken. But she continued to pretend sleep as Sammy returned to the covers of his own cot. She remained awake the balance of the night, deep in thought, frightened, harassed, faced with the unbelievable evidence of some madness that had come to her husband, some vile thing that threatened her family's happiness.
Morning was normal for all except Mrs. T. She was hypersensitive to every sound, each word spoken by her daughter or husband, each smile or laugh or frown that passed between them.
When Sammy and her son headed for the road, saying they were going for a hike, Mrs. T. asked her daughter to remain behind and help with the chores. Then she made the opportunity to ask her daughter if she had been sleeping well, if she dreamed or suffered wakefulness during the night.
Ellen was spontaneously negative. "I didn't hear a sound all night, not even the crickets."
The realism of the morning-son happy and exhuberant, her husband a companion to him, the perfect family vacation setting, her daughter, subject of a preposterous midnight sequence, chipper and lively and unaware of the vilification that had come to her, made Mrs. T. question her own sanity, if only for a little while, even consider that it might have been herself involved in a dream, that her husband and daughter were only characters who had played monster roles in a hideous mental drama. She tried to convince herself of it. She might even have succeeded had not Ellen reactivated the previous night's episode.
"I need clean PJ's tonight, Mom," the girl told her mother. "I must have spilled something on them. They're all sticky."
She held them up for her mother's view, then looked more closely at the crinkled material herself.
Mrs. T. snatched them from Ellen's hands as if they burned.
"Mom-what's the matter?"
"Nothing-nothing, dear. I'll put them in the duffle bag. You go ahead and play now."
The girl picked up a corner of the pajamas Mrs. T. now held, then said, "How in the world did I spill something on the back of them?"
Mrs. T. rolled them into a tight ball. "It doesn't matter, Ellen. Please forget it and go out and play."
"Mom-?"
"What, Ellen?"
"You look so strange. Is it because of the pajamas? Do I have some kind of a discharge or something? Or am I going to be menstruating soon?
"Stop it," Mrs. T. screamed. Then, calmer, she said, "I'm sorry, dear. I'm irritable today, that's all. Run along to the lake."
Ellen obeyed. Mrs. T. waited until her daughter was safely out of view, then she went to the duffle bag. She rooted to the very bottom of it before she found her husband's pajama pants. She held them stretched out before her. Then she knew that her husband had indeed, as she had suspected, ejaculated the previous night. The pants were stained in a pattern similar to the stain on Ellen's. Mrs. T. rolled the garments of her daughter and husband together in a tangled knot, symbolically uniting them in erotic togetherness.
Mrs. T. could not bring herself to express her thoughts to her husband. She could not even express her sympathy for whatever terrible thing it was that had happened to him. She determined to speak to Sammy about it, but she could not thrust her own anxiety upon the frolicking weekend happiness of her family. Mrs. T. waited out the end of their vacation. She even entered into some of the gaiety with new abandon, much as if it represented the last happiness she was ever to know.
Monday morning, over coffee, and with the children on their way to the school term's final week of classes, Mrs. T. asked Sammy directly if he had been having some kind of sexual relations with their daughter.
"Are you crazy?" he exclamed.
"No, but, Sammy-darling-if something's wrong, if you're sick, tell me about it and we'll do what we have to do to make you well."
"You're making me ill," he said.
"Sammy-"
"I really think you believe it," he said. "I really think you do! You actually believe I've been fooling around with Ellen, don't you?"
"I-I saw you, Sammy."
"When?"
With this, Sammy T. made a significant slip of the tongue, according to psychiatrists who interviewed him. Sammy did not ask why, or for what reason Mrs. T. suspected him of masturbatory play. He asked when she saw him in the act, inadvertently asking her to choose from several incidents which he must have mentally recreated for himself at that very moment.
Mrs. T. told Sammy what she had observed on their camping trip. She told him of the soiled pajamas and of the similar evidence on Ellen's garment.
Sammy denied it, but his tone was less vehement. He left for work. Mrs. T. called her pastor and made an appointment to see him at once.
Always responsive to the call of a clergyman, Sammy did not hesitate to keep the appointment which had been set for that same night, established by Mrs. T. and the minister earlier in the day.
Within the quiet study of their pastor, Sammy and his wife presented themselves for counseling.
"Sammy, your wife saw me today and explained what had happened," the pastor said. "Now, we all know that there is a good deal of stress in our lives today, and I want you to know that I'm capable of understanding anything, absolutely anything, that may be troubling you. We all have problems. Some more than others. So why don't you tell me about it, Sammy?"
Sammy's hands were folded together in a prayerful pose. Later the minister said that he was sure Sammy was truly praying for decision at that moment.
"Well, Sammy?" the minister prompted.
For a few moments, Sammy continued to stare at the floor as if it was revealed to him over his clasped hands. Then he glanced at his wife, looked away, and raised his eyes to the pastor.
"May I speak to you alone?" Sammy asked.
It was like an admission. The pastor nodded. Mrs. T. jumped up, turned her strained face to her husband, then lightly kissed him on the cheek before she turned and left the room.
There followed a full confession of Sammy's secret life.
As a young man, about twenty-four, Sammy became attracted to three young nieces, daughters of his sister, who resided on a farm only a short distance from Sammy's residence. He adopted the practice of visiting his brother and family on Sundays, following church services. During his visit he would maneuver to be alone with one of his nieces. Usually he planned an excursion of some kind: a trip to town for a soda, a walk in the fields, or a swim. 'very soon Sammy began masturbating himself against a niece who was seven, concealing the reality of the action by elaborate games he coaxed her to play with him. With another niece, ten years old, Sammy did not feel it necessary to keep his purpose hidden. He boldly exposed himself and persuaded the girl to fondle him until he experienced a climax. Sammy did not attempt to sexually engage his third niece.
Sammy's erotic play with his nieces lasted for almost two years. When the girl who was ten at the time of Sammy's first encounter with her turned twelve, the child permitted it, even sought out coitus with much the same ardor a woman might seek it from a favorite lover.
The affair lasted until the girl was thirteen. At this time Sammy's sister gave up the farming life when her husband took a job as a seed salesman for a large firm. He moved his family to a small Eastern city. There was never any indication that Sammy's sexual interest and practices with his nieces was discovered.
Robbed of his sex subjects, Sammy turned to other children. Sometimes they were offsprings of friends. On many occasions he found them in the Sunday-school class of twelve and thirteen-year-olds he taught. And later he discovered an abundance of nymphets who were the young sisters of his fellow employees.
During his long compulsion for child-sex, practiced regularly through that period of years that preceded an introduction to his future wife, Sammy suffered only two experiences which threatened disclosure. A child of fourteen, taken with a sudden fit of guilt after having intercourse with Sammy in the basement of the church, screamed at him. "I'm gonna tell my daddy you fucked me. That's what you did. You fucked me! Your big ugly cock tore into me-you made me do it." She was almost hysterical. Sammy persuaded the girl not to inform, however. Another girl, thirteen years told, did reveal her sexual complicity with Sammy T. He was confronted by the parents. He was threatened. He was warned never to see the girl again. Sammy agreed. And the parents agreed not to make a police report.
Sammy met his future wife when she became a member of the church congregation. Sammy was one of its most influential members. She was the first mature woman Sammy had considered as a possible sex partner since the time of his first failure at adult copulation. Sammy has never been certain what it was that interested him in the widow with two dependent children. It has been suggested by a social case worker that Sammy might have sought marriage as an antidote for his unusual cravings. It is possible, too, and has been submitted by a court-associated sociologist, that Sammy may have felt "safe" with a wife, that marriage and family status offered him protection from the laws he was constantly breaking as he dabbled with his child lovers. But two psychiatrists connected with the case were of the opinion that Sammy anticipated erotic achievements with his future stepdaughter from the very beginning, and that it was this that provoked interest in the woman. They also contended that it was the child-image and his lust for the future reality of her that gave impetus to Sammy's virility when he went to his marriage bed and successfully consummated his first act of coitus with an adult woman.
Sammy, under interview conditions before his commitment proceedings, gave some validity to this theory.
Q. Were you sexually interested in the girl when you married her mother?
A. She was only seven years old.
Q. Yes, I know. Still, you had already enjoyed sexual liberties with children. Is it possible that you entertained desires for your stepdaughter from the beginning of your courtship of the child's mother?
A. Now understand, I'm trying to be as honest as possible, so I'll say, yes, it was a possibility. I used to think of Ellen a lot, even when she was still almost a baby and before I married her mother.
Q. How do you account for the fact that you were potent-that you were able to achieve an erection with your wife, where before you had failed in this respect?
A. Well, as I told my pastor-and I want you to know, too, that I'm aware that thoughts are as immoral as actions-but when I was making love to my wife I'd think of the little girls I had known, especially my little nieces and sometimes-quite a bit, in fact-I'd think of Ellen. And I'll say this, too. When I got married I wasn't sure I'd be able to-to do it, you know-have relations with my wife. I concentrated real hard on those little girls and on Ellen, and then I would be all right."
Sammy finished the sordid tale of his sex life with preadolescent and early adolescent girls with tears in his eyes. Then the pastor called Mrs. T. back into the room.
The minister told them both that something was obviously wrong, that Sammy might be undergoing a nervous breakdown. He advised an appointment with a psychiatrist. Then, in front of Sammy, the minister delicately explained the essence of Sammy's story. Mrs. T. tried hard not to register shock, but it was impossible. She was overwhelmed by the curse that had intruded into her calm life.
When they were ready to leave the minister's study, he asked to speak alone to Sammy once more. Then he asked if during his marriage Sammy had experienced any renewed sexual activity with young girls.
"No," Sammy replied. "But I'm fighting it."
Before dismissing them, the pastor led them in a long prayer, asking for understanding, patience, restraint, and forgiveness. As he said good night, the minister promised to make immediate arrangements for Sammy's psychiatric appointment.
And he did. Sammy was unable to keep it because of work. Another appointment was made. This one, too, was cancelled by Sammy, but he promised not to let anything interfere with a new date the doctor set for the following week. Sammy was unable to keep this one either. He was in the county jail, awaiting commitment proceedings meant to place him in a state mental institution.
On a Friday afternoon, not quite a week following the pastor-supervised conference, Sammy left work in the early afternoon and drove to his home for lunch, a most uncommon occurrence. Mrs. T. was absent. She did not expect her husband until evening. She had gone downtown to purchase some groceries. Ellen had been left to baby sit her brother. The boy played with marbles in the family room. Ellen was alone in her room, doing some reading.
Sammy went first to the kitchen where he drank two glasses of milk. Then he entered his stepdaughter's bedroom. He stood in the doorway and made small talk with her as she went about tidying her desk. When she bent over to wrestle a lower desk drawer loose, Sammy walked over to her. He helped her free the sticky drawer. Then he jerked her to him and kissed her hard upon the mouth.
Although surprised by the ardor of her stepfather's kiss, Ellen permitted it. But when she tried to turn her head and break the embrace, Sammy would not release her. She struggled. Then she struggled harder and kicked at Sammy's shins. He loosened his hold and the girl leaped backward, sprawling across the bed.
Sammy lunged toward her. He tried to pin her flat and recapture her mouth with his. She turned her head and screamed.
Sammy choked off her cries with a new, fervent kiss, at the same time ripping her clothes from her body as he held her flat and helpless. Within seconds the child was nearly nude, and Sammy was erected, exposed, and kneeling before her, ready to bring a searing end to her girlhood.
It was then that Sammy heard movement at the door behind him. He turned. His stepson stood there, frozen to the scene, his eyes round and frightened.
"Go away, go away!" shouted Sammy.
The boy did not move.
"Go away, damn you! For god's sake, go away!" Sammy cried again.
Still the boy did not move, not toward Sammy, nor away from the moment of his sister's violation.
"What are you going to do to Ellen?" the boy asked, bewildered.
"Shut your mouth-go away!" Sammy continued to scream at him.
Trembling in a kind of sexual agony, Sammy turned away from the young witness, then he thrusted himself hard to the twelve-year-old girl's thighs, ending her innocence forever.
The period of Sammy's intercourse with his stepdaughter has been estimated at less than a minute. When Sammy withdrew from his stepdaughter, her brother was still watching from the door. As the girl sobbed hysterically, Sammy grabbed up the loose ends of a sheet. Then, acting insanely, he dabbed at all the signs of the child's defloration. Then, rubbing desperately, he sought to erase the same signs from himself.
Sammy climbed out of the bed. He turned toward the boy. Then he extended his stained hands before him and stepped close to his stepson, as if presenting him a kind of pagan showing of the awful shame that was his.
The boy turned and fled the scene of his sister's sacrifice.
Mrs. T. was walking up the path to her front door as her son came bursting out of it. He screamed to his mother.
"It's Ellen-she's all bloody! Daddy did something terrible to her. He pushed between her legs. He ripped her open. There's blood all over." And then he broke out into racking sobs in his mother's arms.
Sammy was arrested within half an hour. He waited for the police locked in Ellen's room as she sobbed and cowered in a corner.
"Daddy, please don't touch me again," she cried to her stepfather. "Please don't push that into me again. Don't-don't-fuck me again!"
After several weeks' stay in the local county jail, Sammy was certified insane and committed to a state institution, sentenced to remain there until adjudged sane by a psychiatric board of re view, at which time he would be eligible for release if criminal charges were not brought against him.
CASE HISTORY
Thirteen-year-old Linda smiled as she paused at the open door of her teacher's office. It brightened her exceptional beauty. Linda was black, one of five such students in the school. Her presence at Donald F.'s office marked the moment of his sexual awakening.
"I'll never forget that day, or even that moment," thirty-eight-year-old Donald later reported. "It was like the most dramatic moment of a heavy drama-the part which answers the suspense that has been building up."
Donald's psychiatrist considered that moment in his patient's life of the utmost importance, too.
"Timeliness sometimes has much to do with a situation such as this," the therapist said. "Donald's mother, of whom he was inordinately fond, had died a short time before. The girl's appearance at this time of Donald's life-this time of indecision and loss and sorrow, maybe even relief-certainly prompts me to think that there was a psychic importance placed on the timing of these events. Donald probably would have become infatuated with young girls anyway, but we really do not know if it would have developed as it did had the girl, Linda, not appeared when she did."
Donald worked hard for his career as a teacher. So had his mother. And she never let her son forget the sacrifices she had made. She had sacrificed. Widowed when Donald was a baby, she worked all of her life at menial tasks to support and educate her son. But for her it was a labor of love which fed the cell of martyrdom within which she lived. Her constant verbalizations of self-sacrifice made Donald feel guilty for even living.
After college Donald began repaying his mother. She stopped working. Donald supported her. They lived together in a small apartment; then later, after several terms of summer teaching, Donald purchased a suburban home. There they lived a life void of drama, secure, routinely dull, a higher status repetition of their earlier and less affluent life.
As a child, Donald had not been allowed the play of boys; he was not permitted footballs, baseballs, mud, or girls when he arrived at an age for them. As a man, Donald's pattern continued. He avoided physical effort and all women except his mother. She had encouraged this throughout his life; on one occasion she feigned illness when he reported that he had a "date" that night with a school girl friend. He didn't keep the date. He stayed home and cared for his mother.
Donald can be suspected of feeling "relief" for his mother's death. It freed him of maternal bonds which had inhibited his manhood. And there is no doubt that he felt guilt for the "relief which had come to him. The two adverse feelings, merging with the total of his life's emotional experiences, sent him into a tumble of affection for the young and beautiful Linda.
The black girl was new to the school. When she presented herself at Donald's office it was to confer on a class change and credits. Donald was impressed with her concern for her schedule and with her determination to take the most difficult courses offered in the school. As a teacher and school counselor, many students entered Donald's office daily. None of them affected him as did the new girl. As she sat close to his desk, Donald felt a very genuine rumble of sexual desire for her.
Masturbation was Donald's only sexual outlet. He had practiced it for twenty-three years. The night of the day that he met Linda, his masturbation took on new impact, greater thrill, a more shuddering finish. He began making Linda the subject of all his masturbatory fantasies.
A few days following their first meeting, Linda again called at Donald's office. She needed counseling on a personal matter. Would he give it?
Donald was hesitant. He sensed that her problems were indeed personal. He sensed, too, that they would inflict him with new sexual yearning. He suggested a woman counselor. Linda declined.
"I really talk much better to men," she said. "Besides, I think only a man can advise me on my problem-it's kind of a man's problem, too, you see."
Donald told the child to continue.
She did. Shockingly, so.
Linda told Donald that for about a year she had been having an affair with a man who had once courted her divorced mother. Linda wanted to break off with the forty-year-old man. How could she do it without repercussions, without her mother knowing, without the man carrying out the many threats he had already made?
Submerged for decades in mother-domination, Donald's passion now surfaced. He understood Linda's discussion of her sex life as an inducement to himself. It terrified him. And thrilled him. And gave him courage, too.
With a calmness he did not feel, Donald questioned his young student. He questioned her about intimate details. She answered every question. After considering the problem, Donald suggested that Linda should be represented by another, that her lover should be banished from her life, made to do so, even threatened into it, if necessary, by a stranger.
"And you'd do that for me," Linda exuberated. "Yes," replied Donald.
He knew that it was absurd and unorthodox. He knew that it jeopardized his job. Still, he could not deny himself the chance to do something for this young girl who thrilled him so maddeningly.
Linda provided her lover's name and address. Donald asked Linda for directions to the unfamiliar part of the city.
"Oh, I'll just go with you and show you," she said. "I can wait in the car. Besides, I couldn't stand waiting to find out how everything went."
Donald hesitated, then agreed. Linda arranged a meeting for that same evening, then left the office.
"I felt like a boy on a first date," Donald has said of the night he waited to pick up Linda. "I was where I was to meet her a full hour early. I just drove around, waiting, and thinking about the girl and the man who had been her lover. And I thought about the things I had prepared to say to him. The whole thing seemed very incredible. I just couldn't believe a thirteen-year-old girl had actually made love to a man-it seemed preposterous, but I guess I felt happy about it, too. As if it offered me something I had never known."
Linda met Donald at the appointed hour. They drove to her lover's neighborhood and parked near his apartment building. Donald left the car and walked to the building, thinking not of the small drama he faced, but visualizing Linda, the miniskirt she wore, the tight sweater which revealed her full breasts, the nipple points pushing into the ribbed fabric. And he thought of his own delight in her presence.
Very soon Donald faced his student's paramour. He was a big man, black and rough-looking. But Donald felt courage and strength become a part of him, strangers made quickly into comfortable friends. He told the man in terse terms that his student, Linda, had reported her affair. And Donald told the man that it was to be ended at once, that if he caused Linda trouble, made a disturbance of any kind, that he, her teacher, would see that a criminal complaint was issued.
Linda's lover smiled almost sadistically as Donald spoke. "Sure, man," he said. "I understand you. You want to fuck her yourself. Well, be my guest. She was getting to be old meat anyway. You can have her, man. She's one hell of a good piece of ass, but you'll tire of her someday. In the meantime, have a ball."
Donald was bothered by the man's words, but he did engage in any further conversation with him. Linda's lover had agreed he would never see the child again. Nor would he cause her any difficulties.
Donald returned to his car bursting with pride.
When he told Linda that she had nothing to worry about anymore, she turned jubilant.
"Oh, you're just the finest man in the worldyou're the bravest, best teacher I've ever had," she cried.
Then, as Donald put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, Linda said, "Do we have to go home? Can't we stay out for a bit?"
He did not know how to answer. Donald's life offered no precedent for the moment. And he did not answer. Nor was it necessary. Linda gave Donald his destination.
"Come on-please, can't we drive around the park for a little while?" she begged.
Wordlessly, Donald headed toward the city park, love lair for youths' parked cars.
After they had circled the roadway which nestled close to a lake, Donald headed toward the highway which led from the park. It was then that Linda again delayed him.
"It's heavenly here," she said, stretching lazily. "Could we park?"
They could. And did.
Donald became a jelly of confusion. Part of him knew how the situation should be handled, how it should have been handled from the beginning. But the tickles of desire told him he was unsophisticated, cowardly, a slave of self-denial, a refuter of passion's opportunity. His logic died. Rationalization subdued all thoughts except those for the thirteen-year-old girl in the darkened car seat next to him. And Donald bloated with strength and confidence. He felt effective and wanted and masterful.
With the car silent and parked, Donald looked around at the darkness that sheltered his presence with Linda. He saw heads bob and come together in neighboring cars. He saw the crushed embrace of bodies, young bodies, he thought, and he realized that his own vacuum past had no history of this sensuality-not even enough upon which he could base his life's next moment.
It was Linda's few words which provided the aphrodisiac that ended Donald's sexual celibacy.
"I used to come here with him," she told Donald.
"That man?"
"Yes. But I couldn't anymore. That's why I had to break with him. I just couldn't stand fucking with him again."
Donald made no comment.
"Do you know why?" Linda asked.
"No."
"Because I stopped caring for him. Because I found somebody I love better. I'm like that. I can't fuck with just anyone. I can only do it with someone I love."
Donald looked at her darkened form and saw that she had shifted in the seat and faced him directly. Her legs were curled beneath her buttocks and her breasts pushed against her thin blouse.
"Do you know who I love now?" Linda asked. "No."
"I love you," she said, very plainly, very childlike.
It was a cue that called for action. She entered Donald's arms even before they were fully extended.
Donald has described their first kiss. "It was like the night. Everything was blacked-out for me. I just felt how soft she was and I couldn't believe that she was doing this with me. I couldn't believe that she wanted to kiss me."
And of Linda's active tongue, Donald related that, "I had never been kissed like that. It was very exciting to have her tongue stabbing around inside my mouth. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before."
Donald at first thought that kisses were to be the extent of his lovemaking with Linda. But soon she took his hand and guided it within her pullover. Then he took the initiative and fondled her and felt at more of her body.
"Oh, please touch my tits," she pleaded. "Please, play with them. Pull on my nipples. Oh, do that!"
Then suddenly Linda pushed away. Donald thought he was being rejected. Embarrassment and disappointment ripped him. But when she slipped lower in the seat, hiding her head beneath the car window, then braced her body and beckoned for him to come close, Donald felt a new flow of well-being. And it had been made all the more exciting because of the brief separation of their bodies.
Donald needed, and received a lot of assistance from Linda. She guided him, cautioned, encouraged, set his pace and forced his obedience to it.
While making love to Linda, Donald has said that his mind rampaged with warnings. He thought of contraceptives, police, consequences, his career, his mother, and even the outlandishness of himself joined sexually with a minor child. But when Linda gripped him tighter, forced him closer and demanded his mouth again, he had no consideration except for the pleasure of the sensual child beneath him.
Linda dominated their act of love. She experienced an orgasm. It terrified Donald.
"I didn't know quite what was happening. I thought she was hurt. I thought she was in pain!"
While Linda was whimpering the after-sounds of climax, Donald experienced his own. He was then prepared to join the child in any fate that awaited them.
When it was over, Linda did not make Donald feel inexperienced. Instead, she swamped him with flattery., "I never knew I could feel like that from just one fuck! You're the best man there is, I bet. I never had anything happen to me like this before. Oh, God, your cock is the greatest!"
After he had driven Linda home, guilt shook Donald. He vowed that their love scene would never be played again. But it was, repeatedly. They met regularly during the remainder of the school term, then continued their affair throughout the summer.
A week before the fall school term was to begin, Linda told Donald that her mother-an irresponsible woman-had decided on another geographical change. They were moving East.
Donald was beset with loneliness, premature, but strong. He couldn't bear to be without Linda. He loved her. She loved him. He thought of scores of plans to prevent the loss of his young mistress, even arranging for a friend to offer Linda's mother a high-paying job. It didn't work. The mother was determined to move.
Donald and Linda made love for the last time in a motel on the outskirts of town, the weekend preceding her departure from his life. There was a great deal of sex. And there were tears and emotional outbursts.
Linda exited from Donald's life.
After weeks of nervous unhappiness, Donald one Saturday night visited a bar. He picked up a girl. They drank together for a long time, then retired to her apartment where sex could be added to the night's entertainment. Sexual intercourse was extremely unsatisfactory for Donald-for the girl, too, he has reported. He was shaken and embarrassed. He left the girl as quickly as possible. He knew that only Linda had provided genuine gratification. It made him feel her loss with new pain.
Donald brooded for weeks, then, thinking that a new woman might help him recover some of what he had lost when Linda departed, he sought out a prostitute. With her, he was impotent. Donald paid and left, more distraught than ever.
Just prior to the school's Easter vacation, another girl entered Donald's office. She was fourteen. She, too, was beautiful and black. Donald considered her a reproduction of his first love. He was attentive to her and generous in the way of marks and credits. Finally, he arranged a sexual encounter. The girl was less willing than Linda, but fully as experienced.
And she was somewhat of a businesswoman. She thought lovemaking should have a commercial value placed on it. Donald readily agreed. The affair lasted for the remainder of the school year. When it ended, Donald was not upset. His sexual course was firm. He had only one destiny-nymphets. Black nymphets.
For more than four years Donald manifested his sexual impulses with the beautiful, young, black students he encountered. Some girls he found easily, others were difficult, and some were stubborn. A few were shocked and rejective. But there were more than a dozen with whom he cohabited before a pregnancy resulted in a fourteen-year-old girl who brought the clandestine teacher to the attention of his superiors and the police.
When Donald's case was publicized, everyone was aghast-fellow teachers, parents, students. They could not believe it was true; Donald was so refined, so shy, so quiet, so courteous and kind.
As one of his students put it, "Man, he may have been a whitey, but he sure knew how to fuck. He could turn me on like no other black cat had before. That white cock of his sure had staying power. He could fuck over and over again whenever we met. He just never seemed to get enough of my black pussy."
CASE HISTORY
Nancy B. came from a family with a long history of poverty. She was a dreamer. She learned it from her father. Marvin B. read a lot. He was well-informed on art, literature, music, drinking, sex, and the state of world affairs. He was a specialist in dreams-the eternal dreams of the blacks-dreams of getting out of their ghetto of damnation and making a place for themselves in the world, a respected, financially secure niche for themselves and their families. But despite his eternal optimism, Nancy's father lacked the stamina to make dreams become realities.
Nancy became her father's pet almost from birth. She was the oldest and blackest of three children. Her brothers were both younger. Their father hardly noticed them. It was Nancy who accompanied him to the baseball games, the football games, and the amusement park. It was his daughter who was his greatest love, his only dreamer-confidante.
Nancy's first memory is of her father reading to her. She could never remember the story, but she never forgot the soft, soothing, deep voice of her father or the authority with which he spoke.
When Marvin B. disappeared one day, never to be heard from again, the poorness of Nancy's life became a reality to her. She had thought herself rich. Marvin had made it seem that way because of his dreams, his constant glorious plans, and because of his enthusiasm for all the things of life he had shared with his daughter. Then, suddenly, her father was gone. Nancy's wealth disappeared. She was poor and was faced with the poverty of her life in the black ghetto of the steaming Eastern city. There had always been an absence of the material, but Nancy had never before noticed it. Her father's companionship had smothered her deprivation.
Nancy was six when her father vanished. She rarely smiled from that day until she was eleven. At that age she met a man who, with the same old familiar dreams, resurrected the full impact of a father in her life.
Nancy's mother always worked, even when her husband had been at home. Usually her employment was the only means of the family's support. After the loss of her husband, Mrs. B. merely continued a pattern that was already fa miliar; work, child rearing, housework, and chronic complaints for the dreary lot which was her life.
Mrs. B. never worried much about her daughter. Nancy was eleven, and residing in a low-income neighborhood where most children were on their own at an early age, she was left to shift for herself and to baby sit her brothers after school each day. Nancy suffered a dronesome life. Then she met a gentle middle-aged teacher who came to the same library she attended regularly.
These library attendances provided Nancy's only recreation, except for an occasional movie. 'very shy, she avoided even playmates her own age, and did not have even a single girl friend with whom she could play. Nancy spent a lot of time at the library. When the older white man began paying attention to her, Nancy turned happy. A lack in her life had been filled.
The man did not look at all like Nancy's father, but he had the same gentle voice and spoke knowledgeably about the world within which they lived. Nancy liked this. She would go out of her way to encounter Mr. A. And he seemed very interested in Nancy.
The neighborhood library branch stayed open until nine each week night. Nancy developed the habit of eating quickly, then hurrying to the library where she would remain until closing time.
One night, as she returned a book to a low shelf, Mr. A. detained her with a light touch at her shoulder. Nancy turned and smiled at him.
"Could you come to my car, dear? I have something I want to give you."
Nancy was somewhat surprised, but she accompanied the forty-five-year-old man to the parking lot. He opened the door of his car and nodded for her to climb in. She jumped inside and in moments the car moved forward.
He didn't drive far. He pulled around the corner of the library and parked on the darkened residential street. Then he gave Nancy the small gift he had purchased. It was a book of romantic poems. She was excited and somewhat embarrassed, and she felt very grateful.
The man explained that it was a minor gift, but one he thought she could like, that within the thin book, just as it was with all books, there was mystery and excitement, adventure, romance, and the fulfillment of all sorts of dreams.
Nancy examined the book carefully and thanked Mr. A. Then he asked if she'd like to go for a short ride. She did.
Mr. A. drove without any single destination. And as they moved along the city streets he talked to Nancy about life, asked questions about her mother, her father, the kind of life she lived. Nancy told him everything, and for the first time in many years she verbalized the loss she felt for her departed father. Mr. A. was very sympathetic. He was very understanding. His face seemed to sadden as Nancy told the story of her loss.
They spent less than an hour driving and talking that night. He delivered Nancy close to her house. Nancy instructed him to drop her in the middle of the block. Mr. A. complied.
A few nights later, Nancy again met with her teacher friend and again he brought diversion to her dull life by driving her about the city and talking of many exciting matters-everything very reminiscent of her earlier life's sharing with her father.
At this time Nancy became hostile to her mother. Mrs. B. began questioning her daughter about her tardy arrival home several nights a week-those nights Nancy spent with Mr. A. Nancy reacted violently, telling her mother that if she was old enough to take care of herself during the day, she could also take care of herself at night. She also told her mother that there was still hope for her own life to be something more than poverty and boredom.
Mrs. B. was never a disciplinarian. Her life was much too hard and she was much too tired to meet the frustrations caused by discipline. She retreated from her arguments with Nancy.
One Friday night Nancy met Mr. A. as usual. For some reason she felt overly excited and expectant this night. And Mr. A. appeared to be in the same high spirits. He was gay, an extraordinary mood for the serious and gentle teacher.
They drove through the park, then stopped at a small restaurant to eat. It was a new adventure for Nancy. She could not remember any similar experience.
When they finished their snack, they drove to the park again and Mr. A. halted the car at the edge of an incline, where they were afforded a sparkling view of the lighted city below. Feeling an urge to reward Mr. A. for the charm he had brought to her life, Nancy surprised him by reciting from memory many of the poems contained in the book which had been his first gift to her. He was astonished by her accomplishment. And he was obviously flattered that she had memorized those poems he had once indicated as his favorites. He cupped her chin and lightly kissed her. Nancy returned his kiss with more fervor than she had received. Mr. A. brought her body tight against his. They remained silent and close together for a long time, then Mr. A. guided Nancy's hand to his thigh, hesitated, then jammed it hard against his penis. Within seconds Nancy learned what it was she was expected to do. She did not hesitate.
When she brought him to his finish, Nancy knew what she had done. She was happy about it. It was a way that she could show her gratitude to the kindly man.
Nancy's masturbation of the middle-aged teacher became part of a pattern. They would meet two or three times a week, they would drive, they would stop and eat, drive to the park, exchange kisses, then participate in masturbatory play. This was the pattern for about three weeks. Then Mr. A. grew bolder and exposed himself. The nakedness of her lover excited Nancy. She began to demand attentions to her own body. She soon urged his hands to her bared breasts and other parts of her body. She reacted hotly to his touch and became more inventive in her own manipulations. To Nancy, it seemed ro mantic and exciting. It stilled for a little while the nothingness of her life, and it brought her a pleasure of giving and receiving once experienced in an emotional way a very long time ago.
It was four months from their first meeting before Mr. A. touched at the thighs of the almost twelve-year-old child. He continued to be gentle. He was also skilled. Nancy soon began to feel response to his delicate caresses. Soon she experienced climax brought about by his manual love. Their sexual commingling intensified, became more frequent, but continued to exclude sexual intercourse for five months. Then Mr. A., after first consulting Nancy, presented himself before Mrs. B. with a most remarkable proposal.
He asked that he be allowed to adopt Nancy!
Mrs. B. nearly fainted. When she was able to speak she had lost much of her passivity. She fumed. She howled and protested. She read sexuality into Mr. A.'s suggestion, and she accused her daughter of the sexual intercourse that she still had not experienced. Then Mrs. B. sent Mr. A. bounding from her home, threatening to consult police about possible criminal charges.
Nancy and her mother battled most of the night. Never before had Nancy felt so intense about anything as she did about becoming Mr. A.'s adopted daughter. Mrs. B., only assuming that there had been sexual activity between the couple, made wild accusations. Nancy denied them all. She faked tears and explained that she only wanted to be adopted as a way of alleviating her mother's economic pressures. Mrs. B. again mentioned the police. Nancy quieted. In a rare display of firmness, Mrs. B. made Nancy promise not to see Mr. A. again. She promised.
The next afternoon Nancy met her lover secretly at his apartment. There, they joined in the act of coitus they had for almost a year denied themselves. Nancy had only recently turned twelve. Mr. A. was forty-six.
They made love secretly for two years. During this period, it has been stated by a psychiatrist, Mrs. B. very possibly knew of the affair but chose to overlook it or "pretended it didn't exist." Nancy and her mother never talked of Mr. A. after their violent argument. And Nancy was discreet about meeting her lover.
Mr. A. and Nancy's mother did confer about her daughter once again, however. They met to resolve the difficulty of Nancy's pregnancy which had developed. Mrs. B. was willing to let Mr. A. handle everything. He had funds readily available for prenatal care, Nancy's confinement and convalescence, and he was happy to make arrangements himself for their baby's adoption through an agency.
After Nancy's return from an out-of-state maternity hospital, she added a flair which makes her case unique among those suffering similar complexes. She became the child-mistress of Mr. A. once again, eventually leaving her mother's home and taking up live-in status with her teacher lover. Even more extraordinary, when Nancy turned eighteen she married the likable, kindly Mr. A. and remained his wife until he died of a heart attack at the age of fifty-six.
CASE HISTORY
Gomez Sanchera was twenty-seven years old, the illegitimate son of a Mexican mother and a Japanese father. Gomez was a drifter. He had very little formal education. There had been few occasions to go to school. He lived with his mother until he was fifteen, moving from town to town with her, as she sought employment to support her six children. Gomez had been working since he was eleven, helping support the family. He had attended elementary school until that age. Gomez enjoyed working in the fields, and he roamed from farm to farm working sporadically for a meal and a place to sleep. During the seasons when farm work was not available, Gomez worked at gas stations, in restaurants washing dishes or as a packer in a cannery. By the time he was twenty-seven he had found almost steady employment with a seed farm in the South. Acres and acres of flowers were grown for seeds and Gomez was in charge of fertilization of the fields. He enjoyed his work. He was happy.
Gomez was an attractive man, tall, dark, the sort that girls seemed to quiver over, and Gomez was well aware of his good looks. He was pleased that the girls found him appealing. The daughter of his employer was no exception. She always found occasion to be near him, while he was working or while he was relaxing in the swimming pool used by the employees. Gomez first noticed the sexual stimulation he received from prepubescent girls while swimming with his employer's twelve-year-old daughter. Playing with the child, wrestling with her in the water in a gay and carefree manner, his hands touched her breasts, felt the small, budding mounds and he was jolted into an immediate state of erection. The girl seemed oblivious of his touch, continued her play as if nothing different had happened. Gomez grew bolder, touched her harder and more often, even gripped her about her young breasts with both hands and held her buttocks against his hardened penis as she squirmed and giggled, still ignoring the sexual turn their play had taken. The water play grew wilder. The girl's foot struck out once, pushing against Gomez's penis. Instantly he ejaculated, achieving what he later described as "the greatest feeling I had ever known from coming."
Gomez's swimming sessions with the little girl became a daily affair. His hands became more intimate, even slipping inside the girl's swimsuit to touch at her awakening breasts, at the young, flat stomach and the round, firm flesh of her buttocks. Always the play ended with Gomez's ejaculations, usually as he held her leg clamped tightly between his thighs. And always, the girl ignored-seemed not even to know-the action, remaining intent only upon the exterior game they were playing.
Sensing that there was something perverse in his response to the child, Gomez made an effort to keep away from sexual contact with her. On his Saturday nights in town he would drink heavily and visit houses of prostitution. Soon, attention of the whores proved not at all satisfying. It began to take him longer and longer to achieve a climax, and once reached, it lacked the fulfillment he sought. On a number of occasions Gomez became impotent and would return to the farm distraught, insecure and very restless. At such times he would retire to his bunk and masturbate, calling upon fantasies of himself and the twelve-year-old girl as means of stimulation.
Within a few short weeks Gomez's visits to the town prostitutes stopped altogether. He had become hopelessly impotent in spite of every effort from the women. Even thoughts of the little girl while he was with the prostitutes could not arouse him. And the satisfaction of masturbation began to wane. Orgasm became possible only after fantastic manipulating efforts and while he was in a state of only partial erection.
Gomez and the little girl resumed their swims together. Once again he knew the thrill of a full hard-on, the touch of the child's smooth skin, the young, popping breasts beneath his hands. And once again he experienced the convulsion of climax.
Because the twelve-year-old was friendly, liked him, sought him out for play, Gomez reasoned that she either did not know of the sexual aspects of their play or did not care. He grew more progressive. Where previously the only contact of his penis to the little girl was made through his swimming trunks, Gomez began to visualize the extra thrill of flesh contact. He started exposing himself beneath the water, bringing the full thrust of his penis into action against the girl's buttocks, her thighs and feet, sometimes her arms and the back of her hand. The orgasms he obtained in this advanced love play were so intense that he nearly cried out and several times came close to fainting.
Soon the most incredible thing happened. The little girl acknowledged what was happening. She grasped him and manipulated him. Gomez understood this to be a final acceptance of all that he had done to her, all that he still desired to do. The underwater, hidden sex action had come to the surface of recognition and acceptance. Gomez, with the help of the twelve-year-old's guiding hands, began to achieve his finish while actually thrusting himself against her parted thighs. The only step that remained was actual penetration.
It happened in the late afternoon in one of the dressing rooms in back of the swimming pool.
Coming from the water and their play-a period during which Gomez had carefully avoided phallic contact-the man and the child settled at the side of the pool on a towel Gomez had spread out. He initiated new play, wrestling with the girl and tickling her in a way that brought his body into contact with hers. Then he drew her up and guided her to one of the dressing rooms. He gently nudged her inside, bolting the door once they were both inside. He drew her down on the floor. Then, just as he had done in the water, Gomez exposed himself, brought the nakedness of his penis against her trembling thighs. He pushed apart her thighs and then he brought his fingers down to caress and part at her pussy lips. The girl received his actions casually, bringing her own hands into play upon his penis, much as she had done in the water. The only difference was in her eyes; they grew wide with curiosity.
Gomez rolled atop the girl, parted her thighs still further, then drove himself into her in a fury. The girl received him passively, almost as if she were still involved in a game, some new twist the game had taken. Her expression was one of amusement. And when at the end Gomez exploded and cried out in passion as his come seeped into her recesses, the girl giggled softly.
But when Gomez disentangled his body from hers and the girl pushed upright and saw the red smear upon her thighs, she screamed. Gomez tried to quiet her, explained that she was not hurt. But the girl continued screaming. Gomez grew angry, felt like slapping the girl out of her hysteria, felt like slapping her, too, because he felt betrayed, because she had led him to believe that she was fully conscious of the act they had committed, that she had even encouraged it.
She leaped up and ran out of the small dressing cabin and toward the main house. Gomez hurried into his clothes and, without returning for his possessions, ran to the main road, hitched a ride, and fled the area. It was the first step in a life of almost constant flight.
Gomez gave up the life of a commercial gardener. He arrived in a large Southwestern city and found employment at an amusement park. For a while he thought he had left his lust for girl-children behind him. But soon, as he helped boost little girls into the seats of the various rides, he noticed with longing their firm buttocks, lean legs, and slightly puffing breasts. He reacted with the same stabbing desire he had known for his first nymphet. Once, when a ten-year-old's foot slipped and struck him in the groin, Gomez experienced an orgasm.
Gomez's city employment ended when he lingered overly long with a young customer as he helped her from a parachute ride. The child's mother saw his hands clutch at her daughter's breasts. The woman whisked her child away from him and said she was going to report the incident. Gomez didn't wait to find out. He left the amusement park. Immediately.
Gomez restrained his impulses toward young girls for several months. It was a period of self-discipline and therapy. During this time Gomez tried to unite with mature women in a normal act of intercourse. He could not perform, however. In masturbation, he found some outlet but it did not quiet his now constant, gnawing desire for prepubescent girls.
He surrendered to his malady. From that point of his life onward Gomez became almost totally preoccupied with his search for young girls. His gross desire led him to seek employment in those places where young girls were a part of the surroundings: parks, playgrounds, libraries and especially elementary schools.
As if his desire could be conveyed wordlessly, sometimes without actions, to those girls who themselves had the oddity of seeking-either consciously or unconsciously-mature men as their lovers, Gomez found his share of love-subjects. He found them and had intercourse with them-behind playground bushes, in school equipment rooms, closets and deserted classrooms, at the beach, in park bushes, and in the alleys of the city. He had carnal knowledge of girls from the ages of ten to thirteen. He practiced cunnilingus, forced fellatio and sodomy. He was a frequent lover of prepubescent female flesh.
It must be assumed that of the dozens of girls with whom Gomez had relations, some must have reported the affair. It is assumed, too, that Gomez's fluidity of living, his practice of changing jobs and locales at the slightest hint of detection, was a huge factor which kept him from arrest.
At the age of forty-nine and after many years of such lovemaking, Gomez's luck ran low. He was arrested at night on the grounds of a library, while in the act of violating an eleven-year-old girl who was protesting loudly.
As a "first offender," Gomez served only a few years in the state prison. Three months following his parole he was arrested a second time for molesting the twelve-year-old daughter of a dentist. Gomez was incarcerated for ten years under a statutory-rape conviction.
At the age of sixty-four, Gomez had his last sexual experience with a female child. While walking with the eleven-year-old granddaughter of a rooming-house acquaintance, Gomez enticed her to pause in the park. Then he urged her into the bushes where he half disrobed her and forced her into coitus. The girl, frightened as Gomez steamed and thrust, sought to escape, but Gomez held her pinned to the ground as he continued to ravage her young body. It wasn't until seconds before Gomez's end that the girl managed to free her legs. She twisted and rolled to freedom. Gomez screamed out in anger for his unquenched desire. He leaped for the girl and caught her as she was scrambling from the bushes. He struck her with his fist, but she remained conscious and screaming. Gomez hit her again, this time with a rock. She rolled flat and dead upon the ground as Gomez raised himself to finish the act upon her lifeless body.
Gomez was sentenced to life in prison for the first-degree murder of his last protesting girl. At this writing he is still confined to a cell, shunned by his fellow convicts, for, with men of a prison there is no crime so repulsive as those committed against children. Gomez's future is a cell until death, his only pleasure, probably, the memories of the little girls with whom he had once made love. Gomez is often heard to lament, "Why the hell did I want to fuck those kids? Why? Why?"
