"My name is Arnold and I'm 51 years old. That's not a bad age to be, not really. If you keep your eyes open you can learn a hell of a lot by that time-about people, I mean, and about how they work and what they're like. That's the most important thing to learn as far as I'm concerned. Sure, it's important to learn other things, too-you have to have some profession or skill so you can make a living. But if you only know how to make a living and don't know much about people-well, there are people like that, and I can only feel sorry for them.
"It's funny, the more you learn, the less opportunity you have to apply it. When you're young and jazzy and don't know your ass from a hole in the ground, the broads flock to you. You may not know how to get in their pants, but you sure as hell have a lot of opportunities. But you get to be 51-and married for 25 years or soand you don't have many opportunities. The chicks look at you like you're a dirty old man, most of them. They avoid you like the plague. That's the young chicks, of course; you can almost always find a few your own age or thereabouts. Yeah, they're nice, too. But some guys-like me, for instance-get a hankering for young pussy. When I was in my twenties, age didn't mean a thing. A chick was a chick, whether she was 18 or 80; the only thing I wanted then was pussy. But as you get along in years, your tastes begin to narrow down, to get refined, and you begin looking for some quality in a chick. like maybe long blonde hair, or brown eyes, or maybe a certain look in the eyes or a shape to the mouth. It doesn't exactly make sense; I mean, the guy who has these preferences probably couldn't begin to tell you why this or that quality really turns him on, but it does, so that's what he looks for. It's just one of those things you fall into as you get along in years. And the older I get, the more I dig young chicks. There's something about that innocence, that youthful vitality, that fresh, healthy, young skin that really turns me on. So, that's what I usually look for-not that I ever get it.
"And that's why I resort to fantasy quite a bit of the time. Now, I don't think there's anything at all wrong with fantasy-as long as you don't prefer it to the real thing. Now, me, I'll take the real thing any time, or even something that isn't at all like my dream girls, provided she's female. But there isn't much chance of picking up a girl when you've been married as long as I have. Oh, sure, I've had the opportunities-and even gotten one here and there. But you can only tell so many little lies to your wife, and after that you'd better shape up and put her and the house and your duty first-unless you decide that a one-time fuck is worth losing all that. And I guess I just haven't run across the girl who I think is worth all that. So that's why I've come to develop my dream girls.
"I suppose every man has his favorite fantasy. It's the kind of thing you don't usually talk about. You hear guys saying, 'I dig a chick with big tits,' or maybe, 'I go for a girl with long legs,' and so on, and you can be pretty sure that when those men fantasize, that's the kind of chick they picture in their minds. Of course, there will be a lot more to it than just that, but they are sort of giving you a hint about what they imagine when they jack off or just just sit around thinking about chicks. When I'm really horny, and Carol-she's my wife-isn't about to give me a piece of ass, I must admit I do use fantasy to work me up so I can jack off, but a lot of times I just lie back and relax and dream about some chick that I've met or maybe just passed on the street, or maybe I'll just start from scratch and make up one.
"I used to buy those books and magazines with pictures of naked chicks. If I'm going to be honest about it-and what's the sense of telling all this if I'm not going to be honest-I must admit that I still go out and buy those books and magazines. And I've got a whole lot of them now, but I still enjoy finding one that's new and different-fresh, you might say. Well, I used to pick up one of those books when I was feeling horny and I'd look through it and find a picture that really turned me on-a chick that was more or less the type I really dig. And then I'd jack off while looking at her picture, and I'd think about her doing all kinds of sexy things to me. But I personally find it a distraction to use pictures like that. Okay, it turns me on to look at the picture of some sharp-looking naked chick, and it turns me on to see a sexy chick getting fucked by some guy, and it really turns me on to see a picture of two chicks balling each other. But, from there on, I'd rather let my imagination take over. I've met guys who say they dig looking at pictures like that when they shoot off, but I'd much rather close my eyes and let my own fantasies take over. I don't think one way is superior to the other, or that it necessarily indicates that one guy has no imagination, or something like that. It's just that different people have different ways of doing things, and what works for one guy leaves another guy cold.
"Anyway, over the years I've developed a couple of fantasies that I keep repeating over and over in my mind when I'm in the mood for fantasizing. I vary them a little bit here and there each time, but, in general, they are almost exactly the same every time. Now, I'm a married man, and I love my wife. Carol's been just about everything a man could hope for in a woman. Oh, we've had our disagreements, and we even got as far as thinking about getting divorced a couple of times, but we got together and worked things out, and we made a few concessions to each other-minor things, really, hardly worth mentioning, but they seemed awfully big and important at the time. We have two kids, a boy and a girl, and they're both grown-up and married and have kids of their own, now, and we see them now and then, but they have their own lives to live. So, what am I supposed to do-go out and get laid by some strange chick all the time, a different one each week, something like that? No, I don't think that's the way to keep a happy marriage.
"I'm not saying now that I've always been faithful to Carol, but I'm also not saying that I try to fuck every strange piece I run across. Still, being a man, and being human, the thought does cross my mind. And once in a while, everything seems to work out just right and I manage to get a stray piece of ass, and I think Carol suspects that I play around a bit here and there. And, if you must know, I suspect that she hasn't always stayed close to home, either. But we have both been very discreet about it. We don't throw it in each other's faces, you know. And I kind of like the 'creature comforts' which I get from my home life. We still ball occasionally-about once a week usually-but there are things that turn me on that I'd never think of asking Carol to do. And that's where my fantasies come in. The little girls I imagine are really experts at the things I dig, and they always do everything I want them to do without any hesitation. It's just not easy to find girls like that in real life-and if I did, what am I going to do with them? I can't bring them home with me, and I can't spend too much time away from home with them.
"So, I've developed my dream girls; there are two of them-two main ones, that is. Sometimes I'm in the mood for Trixie, and sometimes I'm in the mood for Sally. I've never tried getting them together at one time; I'm not even sure that would work. Sally has a friend named Betty who gets involved with us sometimes, but I just don't think Trixie and Sally would get along together. Anyway, I'll try to describe them.
"Trixie is sixteen-jail bait; and as long as she exists only in my fantasies, I don't have to worry about being arrested and sent up for contributing to the delinquency of minors, or some such charge. She's the cutest, foxiest little nymphet I've ever seen-except maybe for Sally, but we'll get to her later. As I say, she's sixteen and has long black hair that's natural-it's not a wig or anything. God, that hair is soft and silky, and it smells sweet and fresh-the warm smell of springtime. She's about five four and weighs about 120, 130 pounds. I have to guess at these things, of course. You might say I've often laid her but never weighed her.
"Trixie is built for comfort. You know, you've heard that a thin girl is built for speed, while a chubby girl is built for comfort. Well, Trixie isn't fat-not at all-but she's well padded. Her tits are kind of big, a real handful-a good mouthful, too. She's got a fairly slim waist and wide, round hips, and a full ass, and firm, soft thighs. And her pubic hair is soft and silky, just like the hair on her head. She's got green eyes-I dig green eyes, and you don't see them very often. And that sweet little pussy of hers--wow! It's got a grip on it like a vise. And I get all hung up on lapping at that sweet pussy. It's funny, in real life, I've never tried that. I'd never dare suggest it to Carol; she'd think I was depraved or a degenerate or something. Once or twice when we'd been out partying and had a little too much to drink, I got pretty close to it-I kissed her stomach and her thighs-but I've never had the nerve to take that final plunge. We've talked about eating pussy, sucking dick a few times, but she always says, "That's disgusting!' If I argue-which I have sometimes-she'll start talking about 'normal desires,' and she once said, 'No real man would ever think of such a thing.' So naturally I didn't push it. That's the way Carol feels. I don't agree with her at all. But, nobody has a perfect marriage, as far as I can see, and you just make the best of what you have. It's a good marriage, and why rock the boat. I personally feel that a real man with normal desires will just naturally want to kiss his wife's pussy at some time or other. And she will want to suck his prick. It's a way of expressing your deep feelings for each other; it's a way of really getting close to each other. At least, that's what I believe.
"But, in real life, I've never once sucked a pussy. When I was younger, before Carol and I were married, I had a couple of whores suck my dick, and let me tell you, that was a great feeling. Since they were whores and they'd been fucked by I don't know how many men, I just couldn't bring myself to lick their pussies. But, you see, with Trixie and Sally, I don't have to worry. I'm the only person that ever fucked either one of them, so I don't have to worry about them being dirty.
"Here's the way one of my typical fantasies goes with Trixie. I vary it a lot, depending on how I feel at the time, but this is more or less the way they all go. Carol goes off for the weekend to visit her mother or one of the kids or someone. It doesn't matter whom she visits-what's important is that she won't be back for a couple of days and I don't have to think up some lie about working late or having some place to go and all that. Anyway, I go out to take some clothes to the cleaners on Saturday afternoon, and, as I'm coming out of the cleaners, I see this foxy young chick strutting by in a miniskirt that sits on the crest of her ass. I do a double take, 'cause she's just so damned sexy looking. She probably would have passed me by and kept right on going, except that at just that moment, she dropped her purse. It fell open and all the junk in it flew out. She bent over to pick it up, and I nearly shit. Her pink ass was staring me right in the face; she didn't have a damned thing on under that miniskirt! It seemed like I stood there staring with my mouth open and prick on instant hard for a long time, but it couldn't have been more than a minute. Anyway, I rushed over and helped her pick up her stuff, and she was kind of embarrassed and apologetic, and I put her at ease right away by pretending that it was me who had been clumsy, and that I'd bumped into her and knocked her purse out of her hand.
"We both knew it wasn't true, but it made her laugh, and her green eyes sparkled. Anyway, next thing you know, I'd offered her a ride and she'd accepted. I introduced myself, and she told me her name was Trixie. She said she was on her way home, and I said, 'Well, it's better to ride, then, so you don't keep your family waiting.'
" 'Oh, I don't have any family,' she says. "That is, I live with my parents, but they're away for the week, so I'm all alone for a while.'
" 'Umm,' I muttered. 'Doesn't it get kind of lonely? A beautiful young girl like you living all alone?'
" 'It hasn't so far,' she smiled at me. 'My folks just left this morning. But I'm always glad of company.'
"About that time, we got to her apartment, and she started to get out, thanking me for the ride; then she turned to me and said, 'Couldn't I offer you a drink or something?'
" 'Sure. I'd love to,' I told her, 'but I don't want to interfere with any plans you might have for the afternoon.'
" 'Oh, I don't have anything planned,' she said. 'I could use the company. And you've been so nice to me, that's the least I could do.'
"So I parked the car and followed her into a neat little apartment. I sat on the couch and watched her sexy stride as she went to fix me a drink, and she came back with it and sat next to me, kind of sideways, with one thigh resting flat on the couch, her legs gapped open, with her miniskirt barely shading her silky little pussy. I tried to keep my mind on my drink, but with that furry pussy looking up at me-well, I'm only human.
"I needed that drink; my mouth was so dry I could hardly talk. I took a couple of stiff gulps, then I leaned over toward her and said, 'You're the most appealing girl I've seen in a long time.'
"She kind of giggled with that soft voice of hers, and her eyes were all asparkle. I could tell that she knew what she was doing to me with her legs spread apart like that, and it was obvious that she was loving every minute of it.
"I put my hand on her leg-the one that was crossways on the couch-and said, 'You have the smoothest, softest skin I've ever felt.'
"She just giggled again, and she kept her eyes on me, watching my face and the obvious effort I was having trying to keep from jumping on her and just raping the hell out of her. My hand slipped up her leg, and I started caressing her thigh. 'Gee,' she murmured, 'you have a gentle touch,' and she threw her head back and jerked her shoulders as if my caresses were really beginning to do things to her.
"I put down my drink then-that could wait-and, without taking my hand off her thigh, leaned over her and kissed her on the nose. I pulled back about an inch from it and whispered, 'I'm sorry. You're so beautiful, I just couldn't resist.'
" 'If it's too much for you, don't fight it,' she murmured, throwing her arms around my neck, and I leaned in and kissed her madly on the mouth.
"God, what a sexy mouth she had. So many girls have mouths that are kind of flat and prim looking. You have the feeling that they don't really enjoy sex, or even life. But not Trixie; just looking at that full, soft mouth of hers made you think of a big, soft bed with pink sheets and her gorgeous body lying there, almost begging to be fucked. And the way she kissed made my lips tingle. She flicked that nasty little tongue of hers back and forth across my lips, and it kept jabbing at them, and then darting away. I tried to follow it with my tongue, but she always managed to slip away and then flicked tantalizingly at another part of my mouth. I pushed my tongue between her lips and jabbed at her tongue and swabbed at the roof of her mouth. What a sweet-tasting mouth! No cigarette taste or the dull taste of liquor-just the wonderful taste of fresh young girl.
"Even then, with my tongue practically filling her sweet mouth, her tongue couldn't stay still. It wiggled and darted around as much as it could, tickling the underside of my tongue, as if she was so excited she just couldn't keep it still. My one hand was behind her neck, playing in that long, silky, black hair, and the other hand was feeling around at her thigh, getting closer and closer to her pussy, and it finally touched her pussy hair. It hit me almost like an electric shock. My whole body jerked, that's how turned on I was. And I began to run my fingers through that soft, curly pubic hair, feeling the puffy, soft lips of her pussy in all that silky hair. I pulled my mouth away from hers and let out a gasp. Everything I was doing felt so damned good.
"She pulled away then and said, 'Let's go in the bedroom.' "
What, and why, is fantasy?
An obscure Manchurian philosopher is reported to have been once overheard explaining to a nonexistent friend of his the reason for his indecision as to whether he should wear his threadbare and tattered bearskin overcoat to the "coronation" of Henry P'u-i--to which he had not been invited when the said ceremony took place ten years earlier-or whether he should patiently await the return of his chimerical finery from a fictional dry-cleaner. The sage's nonexistent friend was perplexed. He couldn't understand why the philosopher insisted on playing his fantasy game instead of simply deciding not to go to the festivities long past. "Why?" the philosopher repeated his friend's question. "Because fantasy is poor man's reality. It is a window that he can open to let in sunshine in the darkness of the night. It is a commission of deeds for which he never has to answer. It is a coffer of riches he never needs to lock. It is a warmth at his side in the loneliness of a cold winter. It is a refreshing rain from a cloudless sky that cools him in the scorching heat of summer. It is a hand that stays the dagger of despair. It is a bit of madness that keeps insanity at bay . ... "
There are a number of words often used interchangeably, and indiscriminately, that refer to mental experiences that appear realistic or believable but have, despite their vividness, no objective reality, or that refer to the mind's power to call up images, to picture or conceive things that are not actually before the eye or within the experience. Among these are delusion, fantasy, hallucination, illusion, imagination, and reverie.
Before agreeing or disagreeing with the unnamed Manchurian philosopher-unnamed, obviously, because those who are not born are never (except in one's imagination) baptized, christened, or cognominated-and before specifying what, and why, is sexual fantasy, it would be interesting to differentiate among the meanings of the aforementioned six terms, so that sexual imagination, for example, or sexual reverie, or any one of the other three "synonyms" to fantasy would not be confused with it, which is, generally speaking, the central theme of this work.
Essentially, the group of terms falls into two subgroups, one headed by delusion, the other by imagination. If one senses the inherent difference between those two terms, the distinction between any of the remaining terms should not be difficult. If the two groups are sequestered, and if each term within the group is defined, the gradients of meaning-extremely important within the context of this work-become relatively clear.
The delusion group-as suggested earlier-consists of words which refer to mental experiences that appear realistic or believable but have, despite their vividness, no objective reality. Delusion refers to the most extreme and inclusive form of this mental phenomenon, since it may combine complex notions and conceits with vivid sensory imagery; in a psychotic individual, such delusions are totally mistaken for reality and are not voluntarily called up. Fantasy generally refers to an imaginary scene, such as that in a daydream, which is called up voluntarily or not, and which is acted out mentally with vivid sensory imagery, but which is not, except in the mentally ill, mistaken for reality. Illusion refers either to an ideational cluster of notions that everyone experiences, voluntarily or not, but which do not correspond to any objective view of things, or to confused optical phenomena that trick the eye into seeing a situation as other than it is. Hallucination, which in its intensity approaches the believability of a delusion, is primarily restricted to vivid sensory experience that tends to occur involuntarily to any person under extreme circumstances, as in connection with some physical illnesses such as brain tumors, as during a long-term fever, during delirium tremens, or after heavy dosages of painkiller or other drugs.
Whereas the delusion group of mental experiences tends to possess a certain aura of pathology about it, the imagination group does not.
Again, as suggested earlier, this group consists of words that refer to the mind's power to call up images, to conceive or picture things that are not actually within the experience or before the eye. Imagination is the mind's power that applies to the creative faculty that creates a new form of reality, bodying forth things new or unknown by recombining the products of past experience, as well as vivid characters and situations that are true to life. Reverie is an undirected wandering of the mind wherein the mind is not actively fleeing reality but is simply unconscious of the world without. And, finally-again, though with a slightly different shade of meaning--fantasy, which in the imagination group is a vivid daydream directed by the mind like a drama but which, unlike reverie, bears a definite element of escapism.
Although to the layman the preceding differentiation of word meanings might appear to be an exercise in semantics that is, at best, peripheral to the theme of this work, the differentiation is, in fact, relevant if one wishes to distinguish between "a bit of madness" and "insanity." It is premature and, in a way, superfluous to say that the non-person quoted at the beginning of this commentary was not wrong in his prosaic "ode" to fantasy. His remarks will prove to be quite true as each case within this work is brought into focus. Let it suffice to say at this point that although he spoke of "fantasy" in general, a parallel to each of his statements could be drawn in reference to sexual fantasy in particular.
Without burdening the reader with a discussion on the differences between sexual delusion and sexual imagination (for those who care to make distinctions within these specific, i.e., sexual flights of imagine, the preceding material on general flights of imagine should serve as a workable guide), it can be said that within the context of this work sexual fantasy is used as a general term that includes the entire gradient of fantasy, from sexual imagination (a positive trait) to sexual delusion (usually, if not always, a psychopathological one). An example for each of the two "extremes," figuratively speaking, since imagination-any kind of imagination-should not be really considered an extreme, would be: !. A man, separated from his wife, or mistress, who brings forth in his mind (imagines) the naked body of his wife or mistress, and obtains self-gratification (through masturbation) by imagining, perhaps, never before attempted sexual activity with the image, is utilizing sexual imagination; 2. A man, separated from his wife, or mistress, who firmly believes that he is having intercourse with his wife or mistress while he is masturbating-and who, in fact, solemnly swears that he had intercourse with one or the other-is a victim of sexual delusion.
From the preceding, it may be safely stated that sexual fantasies are not isolated cases. Not only are they common (What adolescent or adult has not fantasized someone or some relationship while masturbating? What puritan has not fantasized someone or some relationship while resisting the urge to masturbate?) but they appear to be an inherent element in man's nature. Derek Freeman, in Warner Muensterberger's comprehensive anthology Man and His
Culture: Psychoanalytic Anthropology after Totem and Taboo, states:
Psychoanalytic research in recent years has indicated how intimately fantasy is related to instinctual drive [and there can be no denying that sex is such a drive], and how very varied, depending on situational factors, fantasies may be. These are findings consistent with the rich variation actually encountered in primitive myth and ritual.
But why is sexual fantasy? What purpose does it serve? Can it be damaging? Can it be beneficial? Should one guard against it? Should one give in to it?
To the first question one could answer that sexual fantasy is because Man's sexual hunger is so great that it can seldom be satisfied by reality. Fantasy could be called by the currently popular term "soul food." That there is a purpose to sexual fantasy can not be denied if one accepts the fact that were it not for sexual fantasy, the sexual urge would have to be satisfied with reality. And reality comes in different shades, from acceptably bright to criminally black. As an example, Robert E. Rothenberg, in his Medical Guide to Sex & Marriage, gives an example of a specific sexual fantasy which, undeniably, serves as a "pressure release" for unacceptable reality. More specifically, he writes:
...Fantasy Sadism. In this type of aberration, the individual reaches a climax merely from imagining that he is inflicting bodily harm upon a sex partner. Many of those afflicted by this type of perversity never actually carry out these fantasies.
There is no question that there are some modern free-thinkers who will rise in arms against Dr. Rothenberg, proclaiming that "a sadist and a complacent masochist 'doing their thing' " should not be ostracized, that as long as there is "mutual consent" it is no one's business how a pair of human beings attain sexual gratification, that "fantasy sadism" is a "repression" of natural urges, and that, consequently, fantasy is not a "pressure release valve" but a lid that contains an individual's desires and inhibits him. The only answer that can be offered such "Liberal-minded thinkers" is that a sadist, by definition, cannot be satisfied by a masochist; a sadist's primary urge consists of a combination of two desires-to inflict pain and to dominate (that is, inflict the pain on an unwilling victim). A masochist creates nothing more than frustration in the sadist since the latter cannot force his will upon a willing partner. "Liberal-minded thinkers" notwithstanding, the pressure-release mechanism of sexual fantasies-as several cases within this work will show-is indisputable, as long as those sexual fantasies are controlled.
Which brings one to face the question posed earlier: Can sexual fantasies be damaging? The answer might best be given in the words of Dr. Clara Thompson, presented by way of an example in her pioneering study of women On Women.
...Daydreaming is closely connected with masturbation . ... In general, the daydreams of adolescent girls are more predominately erotic than those of the adolescent boys . ...
When the daydreams tend to replace reality ... the situation is ... serious. When overcoming parental resistance is too difficult, the girl tends to fall back on a dream life. When a father fixation or a mother fixation already exists, fantasy life tends to supplant reality. We then have an important factor for the development of serious disorder, and the mental disorder of prime importance in adolescence is schizophrenia....
Dr. Thompson's statement should not be taken to mean that only adolescents succumb to fantasy. Fantasy is not an inherent quality of a chronological age; it is, rather, a byproduct of conditioning, environment, and circumstances. And the end result of sexual fantasies, taken in the broad sense, need not, and often does not, terminate in a psychotic reaction such as schizophrenia.
In the five cases presented in this study, it will be seen that sexual fantasies are as heterogeneous as are people. They range from the most innocuous and fleeting images to adhering, all-consuming, and reality-erasing delusions. They can be triggered by a vividly recalled sexual event or they can be filtered into a person's mind from the subconscious by an event long "forgotten" and "erased" from memory. They can be as varied as the speckled shading beneath a sunlit tree or they can be single-channeled toward any individual object or any individual act: one individual may fantasize a different sex partner every time he gets a sexual urge, another person may have fantasies of but one love object and only one type of sexual activity with that love object. They can be the result of suppressed reality or they can "boil over" and be allowed to be transformed into reality-as in the case of Evelyn B--.
The purpose of this work is, primarily, to bring into focus the ways of sexual fantasy, and, thereby, to illustrate what happens when Man gives in to more than "a bit of madness" and what happens when he controls that journey into the twilight zone of sex, the realm of sexual fantasy.
CHAPTER ONE
"Which One Is You, Ralph?"
"Ralph isn't a bad sort. But then again, he isn't exactly a good sort. What he is, is sort of boring. B-O-R-I-N-G!! !
"I remember when we first got married. I was an innocent kid, never been fucked before by anybody. So it was a really big thing when I saw Ralph naked the first time. You know, with all his muscles, and especially that long, thick one he had waving out from his lower belly.
"And the truth of the matter is that Ralph was, and is, a very good-looking man. He's got a body and cock that'd make almost any sex-hungry gal get goose bumps.
"For a year, he turned me on completely. No, it was longer than that. Almost two years. The first two years we were married, I was more than happy with the fucking I was getting. In fact, I remember our first night together like it was yesterday. That's how exciting and good it was for me.
"Ralph's always been a gentle man. Maybe that's one of his problems. He's too gentle. And unimaginative. But back when we were first married, all he had to do was touch me, and I'd wilt. That's how sexy-and imaginative-I thought he was.
"As I said, I was a virgin when we got married. I know that sounds corny and old-fashioned now, but you have to remember that I was very young, and a country girl, and the daughter of a minister. I guess that's hard to believe now, with the way I talk and everything, but it's the truth.
"We came to Los Angeles for our honeymoon, mainly because that's where we were going to live. I was so excited about everything that I almost passed out every time Ralph would look at me and smile.
"He didn't say anything at all when we started our first adventure in sex. He was stretched out naked, with his cock hard and rigid against his belly, when I came out of the bathroom. I remember standing there, almost numb with excitement, staring at him. He was lying on the bed, with his hands behind his head, smiling at me. His body was magnificent, but what I couldn't take my eyes off was his prick. It was huge. So huge. I couldn't imagine how he was going to get that entire thing in me. But I wanted him to do it. I really did.
"He got off the bed, finally, and slowly started to walk over to me. He took hold of me and pressed his body against mine. He had moved what I was wearing aside, and I could feel our bare skins moving against each other. I could feel his cock jabbing against my lower belly. It seemed to have a life of its own. And it was the first time I had ever pressed my naked body against anybody. It felt glorious.
"The next few hours were the most exciting of my life, and I loved Ralph so much for his consideration and patience, and eventually for the pleasure he gave me, that I almost burst. I was that enthralled with him-and sex.
"That first night, after our embrace by the bathroom door, Ralph picked me up and carried me to the bed. He put me down and sat down next to me. My nightgown was open and falling away from me and while he sat there, talking to me, he let his hands wander around on my body. On my tits, down my belly, to the dark hair of my pussy, then up again, in the cradle of my neck, down again to my pussy, brushing the lips of my cunt with his fingertips. Gently, tenderly. Slowly. And while he caressed me, he talked.
" We're going to make love,' he said. 'We're going to ... fuck.' When he said that, I closed my eyes, seemingly very embarrassed. But I wasn't. Hearing him say the actual word of what he was going to do to me only caused me excitement. I felt a slight lurch down in my cunt, in anticipation of his 'fuck.'
" 'It's going to be a mutual thing,' he continued. 'We're both going to enjoy it tremendously. But I guess you know that it might cause you a little pain at first. I guess your mother told you that.'
"I nodded. I was getting anxious. I appreciated all his talk, and the caresses, but I was anxious to get the talk over with and the pleasure started. I didn't care how much pain I had to go through first.
"Finally, after what seemed like an hour's lecture-during which I almost fell asleep-he got into bed with me. During the last few moments of his talking to me, his caresses of my pussy had turned into a fairly heated finger-fucking. He had just one finger up in me, moving it around gently. It excited me so much that I didn't even hear what he was saying. I knew that I was wet already, just from the touch of his hand. If only he'd realize that and can the talk and start the fuck!
"Almost as soon as he had lain down alongside me, he moved over on top of me. His weight felt heavenly. His body was so solid and strong, and I could feel his hard cock pressed between our two bodies. Let me tell you, I was ready for anything.
"He reached down and moved his cock from between our bellies. I felt the moistened head of his cock slide between my thighs. Ralph groaned. Very slightly. Just enough to excite me even more. I could feel the wetness of my pussy. My whole spine was tingling with excitement about what I knew was going to happen.
" 'We might as well get the painful part over fast,' Ralph said. 'Believe me, sweetheart, I don't want to hurt you, but I have to, in order for us both to have the greatest pleasure of our lives.'
"I nodded, trying to control my enthusiasm. I wanted to look at him, pull him into me, scream at him-'Fuck me. Fuck me hard!' But I didn't do any of those things. I was too embarrassed. All I did was nod and mentally wish that he would get the hell going. Fuck me. I wanted him to fuck me.
"Finally-FINALLY!-I felt the end of his prick pressing up against my pussy. I couldn't help myself. I moved toward it. I wanted my pussy to have hands, so I could reach for his prick and pull it inside. But my movements only brought another few seconds of lecture. Ralph was driving me insane. But then a thought occurred to me. Maybe this was his way of getting me excited. A perverse way of turning me on so much that I was literally ready to beg him to fuck me. Maybe that was what he was doing. But no. He was just being considerate.
" 'Let me do the moving,' Ralph said. I nodded my agreement. I would have agreed to anything, if only he'd put that prick pole of his up into me.
"Then, finally, I got my wish. I felt the knob of his cock slide into me. Just two inches. About that. It felt wonderful. Delicious. I wanted more.
" 'When you get used to that,' Ralph said, 'I'll put more inside you. Darling, we'll be really together.'
"I couldn't help myself. I wanted more of that prick and I wanted it right away. 'More!' I groaned. 'Please put more inside me!'
"Ralph slid maybe another two inches of his cock inside me. I felt nothing but pleasure. The greatest pleasure I'd ever felt in my life. And I wanted more. I already felt filled with prick, but I knew there was a lot more to go. And I wanted it all. But he was going so goddamned slow.
"Again, I couldn't help myself. I reached down and took hold of Ralph's ass with both my hands. I could feel the tensed muscles. I held on to him and then with one gigantic effort I jammed myself on his cock. I fucked myself on his cock. I felt the whole thing slide into me. His whole huge cock. I have to admit that for a short period, the exquisite pleasure I had been having turned into sharp, searing pain. But it was only for a very short time. And then slowly the pleasure-gigantic, wonderful pleasure started to flow back into my body.
"I had been subjected to an hour's lecture about a thirty-second span of pain. That should have been an indication of what I'd have to put up with in Ralph. But at the moment I was above all such thoughts. I was thinking only about one thing: the fuck.
"Apparently, after my short sharp pain, Ralph realized that I wasn't going to have the trouble he'd anticipated. And I guess the realization of what he was doing finally got to him, because all the lecturing ceased and he started to fuck like he was really enjoying it. He moved into me like a greased machine. In and out. Again and again and again. He moved down and took hold of me. I wrapped my legs around him tightly. Pulling him into me. He kissed me deeply, sticking his tongue so far into my mouth that I thought he'd never be able to take it back. I loved what he was doing to me so much that I wanted to tell him.
"When he stopped kissing me, I had to talk. 'Fuck me, darling,' I said. 'Fuck me all night.'
"When he heard that, he hesitated for a split second. I think he was shocked that I would even consider saying such things. But I wanted to, and, as I said, his hesitation only lasted for a few seconds. And then he started to fuck again. In fact, that split-second hesitation was the only pause we had. I remember that while he plowed into me, sliding, oozing, plunging, jamming, I reached the pleasure of an orgasm twice. Which I hear is pretty remarkable for a virgin's first night. But, of course, I was anxious not to be a virgin anymore.
"Finally, I guess, Ralph couldn't control himself anymore. 'I have to come,' he said, sounding almost as though he were sobbing. And then he bucked against me, shoving his prick even more deeply into me. His whole body shuddered as he remained rammed against me. I felt his cock stiffen even more and grow even larger. And then I felt-I honest-to-God felt him shoot his come inside me. One massive spurt after another. Soothing, caressing my in-sides. It was the most wonderful thing I'd ever felt in my life. And if his orgasm had lasted for just a few more seconds, I'm sure that I would have had my third for the evening.
"We had sex four times that night and each one seemed to be better than the former. I think
Ralph was surprised, and even a little shocked, that I had taken to fucking so well. And I had. Believe me, I had.
"For a long while after that first night, sex with Ralph was tremendously exciting. He seemed then to be imaginative and wonderful. He'd do crazy things, like come home early from work and start to make love to me wherever he found me. In the garage, in the basement. In the kitchen. Anywhere. But we always ended up in the bedroom, in the same position. With the same actions. And the same reactions. Of course, at first it was wonderful and exciting, but after a while, it became just a little boring.
"And then, when I discovered that I wasn't capable of having children, some of the enthusiasm for fucking seemed to go out of Ralph. He still went through the motions, but his heart didn't really seem to be in it.
"But it took us almost two years to reach that point. Up to then we'd been reasonably satisfied. Then something happened that made me completely unsatisfied with the sex I was getting at home. And it was a shocking realization. Almost as shocking as the experience that caused it.
"I don't think I've mentioned, despite all the talking I've done, what Ralph does for a living. No, I'm sure I didn't. Well anyway, he's an oil land lessor and troubleshooter for the oil companies. On a free-lance basis. A sometimes very lucrative job. And one I realize isn't too popular with the conservationists, but it's Ralph's way of making a living-and a good one, so I can't complain. It would be dumb if I did.
"And he worked his way up. He started in the oil fields themselves, as a driller. That's how he got his magnificent body. And that's where I met him.
"But anyway, part of Ralph's business was to do some entertaining. For clients and prospective clients. Sometimes this entertainment was just for the 'boys' and sometimes it included me. I always enjoyed meeting these people. They were rough and awfully crude, but fun. One night their 'fun' got out of hand.
"Actually, I guess it was a mistake for Ralph to take me along to this particular little party-it was held for a group of upstate drillers, sans women-but since the affair was being held in a suite of rooms at a very posh hotel, I guess he figured it was safe. Ralph has always been a little proud of me and liked to show me off in front of his business associates.
"Everything went glowingly. I was the hit of the party and, being the only woman there, I can honestly say that I've never received so much attention in my life. The cocktail party was fine, although the drinks flowed a little too fast for my tastes, and the dinner was exquisite. Everybody was feeling no pain, but still behaving themselves. And then the even heavier after-dinner drinking started.
"I should have had the sense to tell Ralph to take me home, but he was deep in conversation with a group of men. The conversation looked important, so I didn't want to interrupt. I should have.
"Some of the attention I was getting now wasn't as welcome as it formerly had been. In fact, some of the men were getting downright rude. I had hands on my tits, on my ass-everywhere. I tried to smile and ignore what was happening, but when it got beyond the point of ignoring, I started to look for a place to hide out in until Ralph was ready to take me home.
"I retired to the bathroom, but that wasn't a good spot to stay in for any length of time. After only a couple of minutes, people started to bang on the door, almost pleading with me to vacate.
"As I've said, the affair was being held in a suite of rooms, so I decided to explore and try to find some quiet place. It was during my explorations that I ran into an experience that I've never been able to forget. As hard as I've tried.
"There was a large bedroom, and a smaller bedroom off that. I retired to the smaller one, in the dark, and just looked out the window. I suppose all the food and drink I'd had got to me almost immediately, because I felt myself getting sleepier and sleepier. I had tucked myself into a chair in the corner, next to the window, and the chair was comfortable. Within seconds I had dozed off.
"I woke up I don't know how much later to the sound of loud and drunken voices. I was groggy and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. Then I took a look around. I almost fainted at what I saw.
"Obviously, the six men who were in the room hadn't seen me when they escorted their 'paid entertainment' into the bedroom. And by the time they had awakened me, they were well into their games. I just sat there in shock and stared at what was going on.
"A young girl-she couldn't have been more than twenty years old-was stripped completely nude. When I first saw her, she was on her knees in the middle of the room. She had just finished taking the clothes off one of the men before slipping to her knees. I sat there and stared at her as she reached over with her mouth and began sucking on the man's cock. Right in front of the other men. She got a cheer from the assembled group for that little bit of action.
"She didn't stay on her knees-or sucking-long. She got up and went to the second man. She began stripping off his clothes, too. And she used her tongue all the while she was doing it. She'd take off his shirt and then suck and lick his nipples for a few seconds before moving down. When his pants came off, she'd tongue his belly and even down his legs. And then, when he was completely nude, she'd slip to her knees and reach for his prick with her mouth. She'd suck for a short while-even pulling his balls into her mouth-before getting up and moving to the next man. She proceeded with this routine until she had all six men naked and obviously very excited. Believe me, it was the first time in my life I had ever seen six naked men, all with roaring hard ons. It was-well, mind boggling. And all I could think of was how much they must be paying that nice-looking young girl to be doing all that. Six of them. Imagine that.
"But, obviously, sucking cock was just the beginning of the girl's act. When all of them were naked, they lined up. All of their cocks were bone hard. She moved down the line, still on her knees. 'I want come,' she said in this very husky, sexual voice. And then she started to really work hard on all those cocks. She approached the first man and started to suck on his cock like it was the greatest thing in the world. like she was starving to death and his cock was the only food available. He stood there, arching his back, eventually putting his hands behind the girl's head and face-fucking her. I could see that he was getting close. He was groaning and moving faster and faster. She just knelt there, fondling his balls and letting him fuck her mouth. I couldn't help but stare.
"Then he shot. Massive spurts, which she swallowed with no trouble at all. She didn't even gag a little. And I can remember sucking on Ralph's cock and almost vomiting when he surprised me with a load of come down my throat.
"The girl moved from cock to cock, but only two more allowed her to suck them off to a come. The rest pulled out before they shot.
"After she had visited all six, the girl, of her own accord, got up and went to the bed. She stretched out on the bed and smiled lazily. She beckoned to one man, the youngest of the group-the one whose cock she had sucked first.
"He came right up to the bed, got between her legs and stuck his still-hard cock right up her pussy. With one shove. All the way in. The girl started to writhe and buck on the bed, fucking his cock as much as he was fucking her cunt.
"As the one man-his name was Carl something or other (I had met him earlier and recognized him immediately)-fucked her, other men walked up around the bed.
"Suddenly, as I was still sitting there and still staring in disbelief, the girl was completely taken over. I honestly had never even thought such things went on.
"A hard cock was pressed up against her lips and she immediately took it greedily in. Another one of the men managed to squeeze himself between the guy who was fucking her cunt and the one who was having his cock sucked. He straddled the girl's chest and stuck his amazingly long prick in between her tits. He reached down and squeezed her tits together. Then he got into the rhythm of the fuck. As the man behind him moved, he moved. He was using her tits as a cunt, just as the man in front of him was using her mouth for a cunt.
"Two other men stood alongside the bed, one on each side. She grabbed instantly for their cocks and started to jack them off. The girl was amazing. She was like a juggler. She managed to do everything at once. It was a tremendous performance.
"I watched while she was getting cock from all angles, and I continued to watch as suddenly all the men pulled out and away from her. She was by herself for only a split second before one of the men lifted her up and got her on her hands and knees.
"Immediately, her body was attacked again.
In the cunt. In the mouth. But when I heard them discussing how they'd like to fuck her ass while all the rest was happening, I couldn't take it. I managed to slip out of the room without being seen. I was out of the room, but the memory stayed with me for a long, long time."
The great majority of cases involving sexual fantasies require considerable psychoanalytic delving into the subjects' backgrounds-in some instances, as far back as their pre-pubertal developmental age-before the fantasy-triggering episode is revealed. The case of Maria Tis, however, almost immediately resolvable, as the fantasy episode of her narrative following this commentary will show. The combination of factors that are revealed by her up to this point in her narrative strongly indicate, presuppose even, either an overt venture into an orgy-type situation, or a covert, i.e., fantasized journey into same.
Maria's childhood and adolescence, as suggested by her revelation that she was a minister's daughter, were apparently quite rigidly controlled. Her outlook toward love, sex, and marriage was puritanically "proper." Her remarks about her marriage, regarding boredom, is more than likely a statement after the fact. This is to say that the chances that she had actually considered Ralph "boring," as she claims, before her witnessing the orgy at the hotel party, are rather slim. More than likely until that night she had thought her husband to be sexually satisfactory and satisfying. Obviously, having been brought up with narrow views on sexuality, she could not have expected more than she was getting from Ralph in the way of sexual pleasure. It was only when she was "shocked" to see the prostitute taking on six of her husband's coworkers at the hotel that she realized how much more there was to sex than she was aware of.
Curiosity, naturally, took over her mental faculties, and it was more than just a curiosity about something vague and unknown. It was rather a curiosity about how Maria herself would have felt if she had been in the prostitute's place, being made love to by six men. The recollection of the scene, indelibly imprinted on her memory screen, haunted her. Had her background been different, had she and Ralph been on more honest terms with each other, and had she felt that Ralph was a confidant of hers, a friend, rather than simply the man she lived with, Maria could have used a straightforward approach with her husband: she could have revealed to him what she had witnessed and how it had bothered her-or aroused her, which was more true to fact. As it was, however, she could not do anything of the sort.
It is more than likely that her subsequent attempt at sexual aggressiveness with Ralph was a means she thought of using to break down his puritanical front, which, once broken, she felt, would have brought them closer together on what might be termed "the gut level." When Ralph ridiculed and derided her for her aggressiveness, Maria had no choice but to try resolving the problem of her rabid curiosity herself. Here again, however, her upbringing stood in the way. It was simply "not proper" to dwell on the scene that kept materializing in her mind. Consequently, she tried sublimating it, as well as her sexual curiosity. The result--not an uncommon one-was that attempted sublimation was followed by a reemergence of the repressed memory of the orgy in her dreams and, finally, a delusory recreation of that same orgy-only with Maria now as the central character of the erotic tableau: in the solitude of her bedroom.
It might be argued that the reason for her final neurotic state-for the treatment of which she was referred to a psychoanalyst and out of which consultation this narrative was gathered-was the erotic activity she had accidentally been witness to at the hotel. The fact remains, however-as the following citation from Dr. David Abrahamsen's best seller The Road to Emotional Maturity suggests-that it was the repression of her aroused sexual curiosity that gradually pushed her to the vividly lived fantasies and the subsequent manic-depressive state.
The more we repress our wishes, fears, and anxieties, the more we are conflicted. The more conflicted we are, the more tense we become, and the less capable we are of living our lives to the fullest. Anxiety is the natural and inevitable result of a conflict. When this conflict remains, it threatens the ego-the personality, the self. Then, as new problems present themselves, they become greater and more involved because of past behavior patterns; our complexities grow until we find it more and more impossible to accomplish even our regular work and daily tasks to the best of our ability. This condition develops when we cling to old patterns; and as long as we cling to them, we shall not be able to work away our present problems.
Perhaps one of the most curious points about Maria's case is her fantasizing that she was being "violated" by a Negro. Her selection of a black dildo is not sufficient to explain the fantasy. Or, if it "explains" her fantasy, it does not answer why she selected that particular implement. One could venture a psychiatric guess and say that she was subconsciously wishing to degrade herself; coming from a relatively prejudiced family, her choice of "degrading" herself by imagining that she was being violated by a somewhat brutish black man is not surprising.
The dream portion of her fantasy is simply explained by citing Sigmund Freud's statement made in the first chapter of his Interpretation of Dreams, in which he wrote;
...Every dream reveals itself as a psychical structure which has a meaning and which can be inserted at an assignable point in the mental activities of a waking life . ...
And, of course, Maria's dreams were a direct result of the mental activities of her waking life: her waking life was almost continually-until the time when she attempted sublimating her sexual preoccupation-taken up with recalling the unbridled passion she had witnessed in the hotel bedroom where she retired to "hide out."
The remaining portion of her narrative quite clearly shows the progression of her conflicts up until the point where-consumed by feelings of guilt and fears of "insanity"-she decides to seek professional help.
"I couldn't bring myself to mention what I had seen in that hotel bedroom, even though Ralph asked me several times on the way home why I was so quiet. I wouldn't dare mention it because I didn't know what his reaction would be. He had been turning into such a puritan during the last year. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd gotten angry with me for seeing what I'd seen.
"Then, too, I was a little disconcerted about my own reaction. In the back of my mind, I knew I should have been totally disgusted by what I'd seen. I should have been outraged. But I wasn't. I was excited. I was excited seeing that girl being used by all those men. Excited by the fact that she was able to use six cocks.
"And also I was a little angry at myself for having left so early. I might have seen things that were even more interesting. But after that thought, I chided myself. My God, what was I turning into? A sex maniac? A pervert? Better to tell myself that the whole thing had disgusted me and then put it out of my mind.
"But I found during the next few weeks that I couldn't put the scene out of my mind. In fact, the more I tried, the more vivid the whole thing became. And the more exciting.
"I don't know if I've mentioned it, but sex with Ralph by this time had become at best a standard ritual, and at worst an obligation.
"Our sex lives had deteriorated into a routine. A boring routine. We fucked once a week. On Thursday. I'd get into bed, knowing and dreading what was coming because Ralph would spend more than his usual time in the bathroom. And that was another thing he was doing. Sure, I wanted him to be clean, but now when he came to bed on our 'fuck' nights, I could barely smell him at all. He didn't smell like a man; he smelled like a sterilized sheet.
"I also mentioned that I had sucked Ralph's cock once, but that had been early in our married life, and even then, I don't think Ralph was taken with the idea. It smacked, I think, to him of perversion.
"But after seeing that young girl taking prick in almost every conceivable hole, and with the added idea of wanting to spice up our sex life a little, one night instead of letting Ralph climb up on top of me, give me a few perfunctory kisses and then stick his cock inside, I tried to snuggle down along his body. He let me go until he caught on to what I was going to do. I was, simply speaking, going to suck him off.
"From his reaction you would have thought he thought I was the most depraved woman in the world. He actually let out a shocked gasp when he realized I was aiming my mouth for his cock. He pulled my head up-a little too roughly, if the truth be known-and literally bawled the hell out of me. In fact, he was so angry that he didn't even fuck me that night. And it was Thursday. I waited for him to fall asleep and then I fucked myself with my fingers until I had an orgasm. Isn't that too much?
"I got even with him a little. But just a little. One of Ralph's least favorite meals was meat loaf. So every Thursday, what do you think I served with all the flourish I could? You guessed it. Meat loaf.
"Unfortunately, he never said a word.
"About a month after that same party in the hotel, I started to dream about what I'd witnessed. I'd go through the whole thing again, only now I stayed longer than I actually had. I'd see them not only use her cunt and her tits and her hands and mouth, but everything she had. And I mean her ass-hole. One time-in my dream-they even managed to get two pricks up her cunt. At the same time. And another night, all six men fucked her right in succession. As soon as one pulled out, another took his place. It was ghastly, but when I woke up, my pussy was wet and twitching. I was really hot.
"That was the time I had to have cock or bust. Ralph, as usual, was soundly sleeping on his back. He always slept like he was dead.
"I trailed my hand down his chest and then inside the fly of his pajamas. By the way, that was another thing that bothered me. When we first got married, he never wore anything to bed. And a lot of times he'd walk or lounge naked around the house. Now he had all the modesty of a nun. He wore clothes all the time.
"But I got my hand inside his pajama bottoms, and grabbed hold of his prick. It wasn't exactly soft and not exactly hard. Just sort of rubbery. I knew it wasn't in any condition to do anything I wanted it to do, so I started to jack Ralph off. I was so upset and so hot by this time that I didn't care if he woke up or not. I knew if he did he'd be angry as hell, but quite frankly I didn't give a damn.
"His prick got hard in an amazingly short time. Apparently, there was nothing wrong physically with Ralph. So it must be his mental attitude toward sex that was ruining my life.
"I managed to get his hard cock, and his balls, outside his pajamas. As far as I could tell he was still asleep. And also as far as I could tell he was liking what I was doing to him.
"I reached down and stuck a finger inside my pussy. I was so wet that I was almost leaking. I thought I might jack him off at the same time I was fucking myself with my finger. At least I would be touching him. But after only a few seconds of that adolescent activity, I decided that I wasn't able to be satisfied with my own fingers. I wanted cock, and I wanted it hard and long. I wanted to be fucked until I was so sore that I couldn't move, couldn't take any more.
"I got up on my knees and very carefully straddled Ralph's body. His body was still great-looking. I just couldn't figure out why he wanted to keep it covered up so much of the time.
"I reached under me and angled his cock. I had it sticking straight up in the air. It was now or never. Quickly, I lowered myself on his cock. It felt bigger and harder now than it had in a long time. I felt my breath sighing out of my body as that long, hard cock slid up inside me. Deep inside me.
"I had just begun to move around on the cock, feeling it shove against the deepest parts of my pussy, when Ralph woke up.
"For a split second he smiled very lazily and even moved around a little, shoving his prick up into me on his own, but then he must have come fully awake and realized-God forbid!-that he was fucking his wife.
"At that point, though, I really didn't give a damn what he was thinking. All I knew was that I needed cock and I was going to get it.
"He moved his hands up and started to shove me off him. That got me so angry that all I could do was shout at him. 'Keep it in there, you ass-hole!' I yelled at him. 'I need it!'
"But neither my frantic efforts with my cunt, nor the insults I was yelling at him, kept Ralph from pushing me off his prick. I lay on the bed next to him, panting with frustration.
" 'What in the hell do you think you're doing?' he said. I looked at him. There was such a shocked look on his face that I couldn't bring myself to answer. All I could do was get up, out of bed, take a pillow and head for the guest room. He didn't follow me. And that made me even more angry.
"I lay on the bed in the guest room, totally naked, and spread my thighs. I shoved as much of my hand as I could up my pussy and I fucked myself that way until I came. But my orgasm did little except ease a little of my frustration. I wasn't in the least satisfied. I cried myself to sleep.
"The next morning I was really furious. Ralph came down to breakfast and acted as though nothing at all had happened. I know that sounds almost impossible, but it's the truth. He walked into the kitchen, aimed a kiss at my cheek, said, 'Good morning' in his aggravatingly happy early-morning voice, and sat down at the breakfast table and opened the paper. I almost hit him in the head with a skillet.
"I guess you're wondering why I put up with all this shit. Why didn't I simply get the hell out? Sometimes I ask myself the same question. After all, I'm still young and damned good-looking, even if I have to say so myself. I could find another man; somebody who'd love me and love to fuck. But I told you earlier that I'm the daughter of a minister. Of a very strict sect. And I just can't bring myself to divorce myself from the beliefs that I grew up with. If I left Ralph I would be denying the beliefs that my family-and I-have always held sacred. You go through hell, but you never get a divorce. I would have just been written off the books by my whole family.
"Ralph's maddening refusal to face reality lasted through breakfast. If I even tried to approach the subject, he'd look at me, smile softly and say something like, 'Let's just forget it.'
"Damn it. I didn't want to forget it.
"When Ralph finally left for work, I was totally exhausted. I went right back to bed. And sure enough, I had a dream to end all dreams. All the things I'd ever heard of were the things I dreamt about. The worst, the most depraved things in the world were what caused my pussy to be all wet and excited when I woke up. I was scared to death. What was I turning into?
"To get my mind off sex, I decided to go downtown and see a movie. Then I'd do some shopping and just generally lose myself in whatever women do to lose themselves.
"Unfortunately I picked a foreign film to see that had more fucking and bare skin in it than any other movie I'd ever even heard about. And this was a legitimate film in a legitimate theater.
"I left the movie theater feeling more excited, and more disgusted with myself, than I had when I went in.
"I was heading down the block from the theater to one of the large department stores when I passed a little establishment called Red's Book Shoppe. The spelling of the shop's name amused me and then I happened to look inside the window. The sun was shining at just the angle so that I could easily see the display they had in one of the front cases. My heart almost thudded to a stop.
"There were three rows of items included in the display. And I might as well come right out and tell you what they were. It's embarrassing, but I have to tell you some time.
"They were dildoes. Huge, rubber dildoes, some of which were so life-like that they made you look twice. And they were so large. Larger than any possible human counterpart. I frankly stood in the window and stared at them. I was especially entranced with one of them. It wasn't the biggest, but nearly. But it was the darkest. It was a representation of a Negro's cock. It must have been over a foot long, and even included veins in the simulation. It was so real looking-except for its size-that it was almost repulsive.
"Fifteen minutes later, I was walking down the street with a fourteen-inch, black dildo under my arm. The time I'd spent with the salesman had been the most embarrassing ten minutes of my life, but luckily he didn't make a federal case out of my being there, or even snicker when I stuttered something about taking ' ... the black one.'
"I made myself go into several stores, but I didn't buy anything. All I could think of was that package I had clutched under my arm. I was frightened to death that I'd have a fainting spell or something-I've never fainted in my life-and whoever found me would open that package. Or that I'd be stopped by the police on my way home and they'd insist I open all my packages. Looking for what, I haven't the slightest idea.
"I was so embarrassed and at the same time so intrigued by what I'd bought that eventually I couldn't maintain even the appearance of being interested in shopping, so I decided to go home.
"I stuck the package deep in the tire well in the trunk of the car, and when I finally got home, after judiciously avoiding even looking at any policemen who passed me on the way, I smuggled it inside the house under my raincoat. You would have thought I'd robbed a bank and was trying to hide the evidence.
"Finally, I got to the safety and privacy of the guest room. I threw all the other bundles on a chair and brought my special purchase to the bed. I unwrapped it and took it out of the box. I put it on the bed. If anything, it looked even more obscene when it was by itself. I mean, in the display case, at least it looked like it had the legitimacy of being sold, but here, it had only one obvious use. And I was damned determined to use it. No matter what the hell anybody thought! Although if anybody found out about it, I'd die.
"I took off my clothes as fast as I could and just dumped them on the floor. I considered taking a shower but then decided it wasn't really necessary to be clean for a dildo. I got up on the bed. I was so excited I could hear my heart beating.
"I got on my back and spread my legs, bending them at the knees. I felt around on the bed until my hand came across the dildo. I took hold of it. It felt like a sculptured hose. And it was cold! It was too cold! I got off the bed and went into the bathroom. I ran some water in the sink. Nice warm water. I added some skin cream to the water. Then I doused my dildo. And after a few dips, I pulled it out, dried it, and added some more of the skin cream with my hand.
"I almost skipped back to the bed. This was one of the most exciting adventures I'd ever had in my life. I got back into position.
"I pressed the huge knob of the dildo against my pussy. It felt like a fence post. I pulled it toward me. A couple of inches slid in, spreading my cunt something awful. And the damned thing didn't even feel good. But I was determined to use it.
"I pulled the thing even farther into me. It slid in. My pussy was wet from the excitement I'd felt, and the dildo was slightly greased. It went in without much trouble, only it didn't do anything to me. I had half the damned thing inside me-and it had cost a fortune-and all it did was make me feel fat.
"I tried one more pull and a little more went in me, but there was no thrill. Nothing at all. I pulled the thing out in disgust, but slowly. I didn't want to kill myself.
"I was just ready to put the thing back in the box and burn it when another idea hit me. Why not, I asked myself, play a little game? Okay, I answered. Why not?
"I put the dildo on the bed and went back into the bathroom. I pulled all my makeup out and started to go to work. I used everything, and within fifteen minutes I looked like the cheapest two-bit whore you could imagine.
"I went back to the bedroom and immediately started having a conversation with my trick. Or should I say tricks?
" 'Hey, ass-hole,' I said in my sexiest voice, 'you didn't tell me you were going to have a group.'
"My trick told me it was a little surprise. All for me.
"Before I could say anything else, I felt myself being led over to the bed. Hands were put on my shoulders and I was forced to fall to my knees. Almost instantly there was a huge prick pressing against my lips. A big, black prick. I struggled, but finally the man's strength overwhelmed me. 'No, no!' I shouted, but nothing I could say would stop them. They were too turned on by my body.
"I felt myself being forced to take in as much of that black prick as I could. Five inches maybe. I almost gagged.
"I felt a hand on my hand. It was led to my pussy and I was forced to stick two fingers up inside myself. 'Fuck yourself,' a hard, mean voice said. I did what I was told, terrified not to.
"I sucked on the cock until my head was pushed back. My pussy was on fire from the force they made me fuck myself with. I was wet and willing to take anything they had to give me.
"I found myself on the bed, on my back. My legs were forced apart. A monstrous head of a monstrous cock forced itself up against my pussy. With no thought of the pain that he might be causing me, the owner of the black cock rammed it inside me. Half of the huge prick in one savage lunge. It was terrible. It was awful. I shrieked out, half in pain and half in pleasure. The man knew he had me. He fucked me brutally, never for an instant stopping. And then I was surrounded by cocks. One was pressed up against my lips. I took it in. Sucking on it greedily. A body straddled my chest. A huge cock was shoved between my tits. Two more cocks brushed against my hands. I grabbed them ... and then I flooded into the greatest orgasm I ever had in my life.
"I'll probably be in a loony bin in about a month, but it'll be worth it."
The prognosis for Maria T-is very favorable. By having sought professional help, she had made a step toward learning that sexual activity is not to be shirked for reasons given in Victorian circles. A direct statement made by her psychoanalyst ("There is nothing wrong with being curious or desiring to experience as much of sexual activity as possible") had set her sufficiently at ease so that her guilt feelings were diminished almost to nonexistence.
The prognosis for Maria's marriage to Ralph, however, is much less optimistic. Ralph Trefuses to bend his rather hypocritical views, and such inflexibility can result in nothing less than an eventual separation between him and Maria. The chances are, however, that such a step might be better for Maria than any other alternative.
CHAPTER TWO
The Sexless Marriage
"I'm tired of living through the whole rotten mess of what has to be the most frustrating marriage on the face of the earth. I've had it up to here! My gut crawls every time I think about it-and I think about it often. Me, married eighteen years and I haven't had a night in bed with my wife for almost seven years. That's right-no sex! And it's been so long now that I can't even remember for sure why Marnie cut me off. I think, ridiculous as it may seem, that it might have had something to do with a remark I once made about her taking naps all day instead of doing housework. But I'm not even sure if that's the reason. All I know is that for the past seven years she's always kept herself bundled up and always makes an obvious point of keeping her legs clamped shut.
"Over and over I keep telling myself that I can't take it any longer, that I've got to break out. But she's got me over a financial barrel. With two kids, a heavy mortgage, and about fifty other bills, I can't even afford the price of a divorce. So I just live with it, day after day, dying a little bit every time I think of the mess that I've made out of my life.
"Do you know what it's like to spend seven years dreaming about sex, but never actually tasting it? I mean, do you really know? Well, I do. It's hell, brother, pure hell! About four or five times I've tried to get something started with other women, but they've all ended up being disasters. I'm pretty good at coaxing them into bed, but once we're there I freeze up and I always come out of it looking like a fool. There's something wrong with me upstairs. Why the hell should I freeze up? Why the hell should I feel guilty? That damned wife of mine has got her tits wrapped around my conscience so tight that I'm choking.
"I often wonder how she stands it, how she can go day after day without sex. I swear she must sneak off every now and then to jack off 'cause I know for sure that she didn't sleep with any other guy. In the early days she was always eager for sex, so I know that she can't go through the rest of her life without orgasms. I mean, she's got to have release!
"I pump off a lot. I'd go crazy if I didn't. Do you blame me? Am I justified?
"What really makes a bad situation worse is Marnie herself. When I married her she was a skinny little kid of seventeen. You should see her now. She's got a body that would turn on a eunuch. Lush, full, maddeningly desirable. Every night I have an urge to fling her on the bed and ravish her; and every night I end up dreaming about the way she used to be. It tears my heart out. Her tits and pussy were huge the last time she let me touch them. Of course, I expect her love hole has tightened up somewhat these past years, but even a tent couldn't cover up the size of those boobs.
"So how do I survive, you ask me. How the hell does any lifer survive? On fantasies-lots and lots of fantasies. It doesn't take much to set me off and when I do get going I have an imagination that runs wild. It's the best crutch a man like me could ask for-hell, it's the only crutch!
"Marnie would shit if she knew the things I was pulling off with her in my mind. I've been over every inch of her body hundreds of times, licking, sucking, fucking, biting, and even socking her around once in a while. I'm at my best when I'm fantasizing sex with her. The thoughts always come so easy. And I'm always the aggressive one, attacking her, forcing her into submission. She doesn't know it, but she's been responsible for well over a gallon of come that I've shot out in recent years. One of these days I'm going to throw that little tidbit of information right up into her face and laugh like hell as she gags.
"Although most of my dreams are about Marnie, I'm not limited strictly to her. I'm a bus driver and my day is loaded with the sight of comely young chicks. There's no contact, you understand-they get on the bus and they get off and I never see them again. However, it doesn't take long for some of them to leave their mark on me. In fact, I can check out legs, hips, and tits in the wink of an eye. And, if I'm turned on by someone in particular, I've got a way of adjusting the rear-view mirror so that I can peep at her during the ride. This kind of scene does have its bad moments, though. There are times when I can't even recall stopping at certain spots to pick up passengers; it's like my mind goes blank for several blocks. This usually happens after I've picked up a real special-lookin' doll and my thoughts start wandering, imagining how the air is between her legs.
"Another area that I touch upon for fantasies is my 'trips around the world.' I love to read, particularly novels with foreign settings. Almost any night you can come into my living room after Marnie and the kids have gone to bed ad find me sitting there, a paperback in one hand and my prick in the other. Hell, I've been the captain of a freighter with Iberian registry, an INTERPOL agent on a narcotics crackdown, the owner of a casino in Singapore, and a dozen other virile characters. And I always end up with at least two exotic beauties trying to drag me to bed. I figure it costs me about five handkerchiefs per novel.
"There are other areas of day-to-day living that I draw upon for my fantasies, but those are the basic three: my wife all the time, the chicks on the bus during the day, and my world adventures at night. But I'd give all three of them up for one real live toss in bed with my Marnie.
"Over and over I relive the last time I had sex with her. I can't really remember all the details, but my imagination helps out. I imagine that she was a little reluctant that night, but that my aggressiveness won out. I've been over this little scene at least a hundred times. Each time it's a little bit different, but the sensations are always the same.
" 'Honey,' she said, 'will you come over here and scratch my back?'
"We were in the living room. Marnie was stretched out on the couch and I was sitting in my rocking chair, reading a magazine. 'Sure,' I said, and I dropped the magazine and went to her.
"She was lying on her stomach, her back to me, her lovely brown hair cascading down over her shoulders. She was wearing a yellow nightgown that ordinarily stopped at her knees, but it was now gathered high up on her thighs, just below the bottom edge of her panties. Her hips and thighs looked full and sensuous. For that matter, her whole body looked delicious. I felt my prick stirring as I walked over to her.
" 'Sleepy, babe?' I asked as I sat on the edge of the couch and lightly patted her hair.
" 'No, not really. Just a little tired.' She yawned and crushed her body closer to the back of the couch, allowing me more room to sit.
"I placed a hand on her back and started scratching.
" 'No, no,' she said. 'Go underneath. It always feels so much better.'
"Why I'll be delighted! I thought lasciviously. I lifted the tail of her nightgown and slid my hand under it. I took just a second to run my hand over the fullness and smoothness of her ass. She squirmed and one leg crooked up, its heel brushing against my shoulder. I moved my hand to her back and started scratching. 'Ummm,' she sighed, 'that feels good. Ummm . ... '
"It was a typical back-scratching session. After a while she asked me to dig in harder and scratch faster. Then she started directing me to all areas of her back. First, her right shoulder blade, then her left, then the base of her neck, then up and down her spine. After a couple of minutes she heaved her back slightly and murmured, 'Oh, that's fine, honey. That's good enough.'
"But I wasn't ready to stop. With thoughts of sex on my horny mind, I began massaging her back, an activity that she loved. I began at the base of her neck and worked my way down her spine, gently kneading the smooth, tight skin. Then, using both hands, I moved up to her shoulders and massaged them. Then over to her shoulder blades and, finally, down to her sides, my fingers pressing teasingly against them. She squirmed and giggled. "That tickles!' she squealed and both her heels shot up and bounced off my shoulders.
"Grinning to myself, I ran my hands along her sides, then dipped them down a bit until I could feel the roundness of her crushed tits. My prick began to fizz. Marnie turned her head and looked at me. 'Hey,' she smiled, 'since when are those my back.'
" 'Oh, I'm terribly sorry,' I chortled. 'My hands must have slipped.' But then I forced my hands down even farther until the backs of them were pressed against the couch and the palms were cupping the soft boobs. Marnie stared co-quettishly at me. 'Got ideas?' she asked.
"I shook my head. 'Who? Me? Of course not.' She cocked an eyebrow and looked at the bulge between my legs. 'Do you have any ideas?' I asked.
"Her face screwed up a bit. 'Oh honey, I am tired.' I grinned wickedly at her. Hell, I wasn't tired; I was rarin' for action. I bent forward and sucked a hard kiss from her neck. 'Honneeee!' she cried. 'You'll give me a hickey.'
" "That's the idea,' I said.
"She sighed in resignation, then turned her body so that she was lying on her side, facing me. I left one hand under the nightgown to tease her nipples, and slipped my other hand inside the back of her panties. I pinched the taut little ass-cheeks, then ran my fingers down through the meaty groove. I poked at her ass-hole and she squirmed. The opening was clenched tight. I withdrew my hand and sucked on the forefinger, then, in one smooth maneuver, I slipped my hand back under her panties and drove the finger up into her rectum. 'Uhhh,' she groaned, her body buckling inward and her sphincter trapping my finger. "That feels weird.'
" 'Does it hurt?' I asked, slowly working the finger back and forth.
" 'No. It just feels ... well you know, weird.'
" 'Want me to stop?' , "She shook her head and smiled. 'No. It feels weird, but it feels good, too.'
"For several minutes I sat on the edge of the couch, my hands doing their damnedest to wake her up and make her hot. My right hand worked steadily on one of her lazy tits, squeezing the paunchy flesh and pinching the nipple up to erection. My left hand covered the bottom of her fanny, my forefinger driving in and out of her rectum. I was getting hornier by the second, wishing to hell that she'd hurry up and show me some response.
"Finally, things started warming up. Almost before I was aware of it, her hand had sneaked in between my legs and was massaging my throbbing lump. I looked at her eyes. They were just a trifle too glassy to be suffering from exhaustion and they were fixed on the erotic movements of her hand. 'Do you want to go into the bedroom?' she whispered, her eyes never leaving her work.
" 'We can do it all out here, babe,' I said, the excitement of anticipation creeping into my voice.
"I withdrew my hands from her rectum and boob and stood up. Quickly I shucked off my trousers and shorts, then knelt by the couch. I helped her off with her nightgown and panties, then stopped for a long moment to stare down and appreciate the lushness of her naked body. The couch had become a virtual altar-in front of which I knelt and on which Marnie lay. The thoughts and feelings that ran through me were obscene.
"Smiling at me and reaching up, she placed her hands at the back of my head and guided my face down towards hers. I sucked in her lips and chewed on them, occasionally darting my tongue between her teeth so she could nip on it. The familiar taste of her mouth slipped inside mine and I savored it, titillating myself with long-ago memories of how our best sex had always begun with lunging mouths. We exchanged lugs of saliva and both of us blew our pleasure between the other's lips.
"Her hands became more demanding at the back of my head and I responded by kissing her harder. Then I slipped away from her lips and went after the rest of her beautiful face. I sucked on her chin and on her cheeks; I pecked at her eyelids and ran my tongue slowly and wetly over her forehead; and then I sucked in her nose and she reacted the way she always did, pulling back and squealing and briskly wiping it with the back of her hand.
"My mouth swept over to her ears where I poked into the opening with my tongue and sucked in the fluffy-soft earlobes. Her head squirmed forcefully against my cheek and she kissed me quickly on the ear. Loving everything I was doing, she sighed out her pleasure and whispered, 'I love you.' Her words spurred me on. I washed out the tender spots of her neck, paying special attention to the tasty hollow just below her ears. She was breathing harder and I could tell by the restless squirming of her body that she wanted me to move faster. She amplified this by latching onto my free hand and depositing it between her legs. The hairy bush jacked up to meet and press against my palm.
"I dropped all calculated moves and went at her like an animal. While my hand worked fiercely on her box, my steaming lips devoured the sweetness of her titties. First one, then the other, always starting on the fat softness first, then working down and gobbling in the nipple. She helped me by steadying each tit with her hand, then ramming it into my mouth. My hand, meanwhile, was giving her cunt a hard massage, firmly pressing down as it worked the canyon route between her clitoris and her love-hole. The box ,vas squishy and when she opened her legs wide, I heard a soft sucking pop as the air broke through the thin layer of moisture.
"My mouth slipped from her boobs and flashed down to her belly. I lapped it thoroughly, sweeping up tiny beads of moisture that had formed there. My tongue dove into the depths of her belly button, digging out the erotic taste of it. And second later I was working on her brown bush, soaking it with spit and then chomping on it, dragging the squeaky hairs between my teeth. I widened my mouth and hauled in as much of her mound as possible, hair and all. And then, covered with sweat and exhausted, I rested my head on her arch for a moment, watching my fingers work on her cunt.
"I was finger-fucking her hole in the same manner in which I had finger-fucked her ass-hole. I was too damned hot to be considerate about it. Instead of the slow, sensuous caresses that I knew she wanted, I was whacking my finger in and out of her tunnel with piston-like velocity. She tried to correct it by reaching down and pressing on my humping finger, but I captured her finger, wrapped it around my own, and together we assaulted her huge box of goodies.
" 'Easy, Bob,' she whined down at me. 'Please go slower. You're hurting me.'
"I looked up and saw the pain on her face. 'Sorry, hon,' I said. I threw the finger-fucking into low gear. 'But this is what you get for being so beautiful and so goddamned sexy. You just drive me up the walls!' Impulsively, I turned my head and copped a nip of her mound with my teeth.
"She sighed and patted me on the head as I withdrew our fingers from her cunt. Then I knelt up beside the couch, gauging her body for newer and more wonderful thrills. Her hand took the opportunity to sneak in and take hold of my burning prick. I looked at my rod proudly; her hand barely covered its girth. Ah yes, it was up that night. It looked more like a bludgeon than a sex tool. It looked as though it could actually hurt someone.
"I rolled over on one knee so she could keep her grip on my cock, then dipped my head down into her twat. Oh sweet mercy, she smelled good! I intruded ny nose hard against the soft flesh between her pussy lips. Ah, that was Marnie, all right! That was the real Marnie! Sweet meat, my head was spinning with ecstasy! I wanted to let myself go and freak out, but the thought of wasting come in the palm of her hand was sharp enough to bring me back to my senses. My tongue squirted out between my lips and sampled the taste of her tender meat. Ummmm, pussy candy. Just suck, I reminded myself, for crissake's don't bite! Ahhh, this is where I want to come home every fucking night.
"Her hand was doing its best to pull on my meat while my mouth worked ravenously on her chasm of goodies, but the position was awkward and she wasn't able to get much speed up. It was probably just as good. As I said before, I didn't want to waste any of my precious come by spilling it into her hand. On one of her delightful moves, she slipped her hand all the way down my shaft and cupped my balls. Then she started scratching and tugging on them. For me, the sensation wasn't all that stimulating, but it was soothing and relaxing. It felt sooo good! I found myself halfheartedly wishing that the balls were in her mouth, but in order to pull that off we'd have to switch positions. And I wasn't about to give up the taste of this sweet meat-not yet, anyway.
"My tongue continued to cut along the furrow of her box, experiencing delicious taste sensations every inch of the way. No deodorants down there for my Marnie. This was the genuine stuff and I was enjoying it immensely.
"I worked on her hole for a little while longer, frigging it with my tongue and nibbling on its outer edges with my teeth. That portion of her cunt was alive with taste-a kind of strong vanilla. The moisture I lapped up had a syrupy texture to it and I drew it between my lips, testing its resiliency. My entire mouth was vibrating silently, reacting to the womanly taste of that adorable love-hole. I didn't want to ever let it go, but my prick was beginning to ache and I knew that Marnie had reached that point where she was eager to accept my thick seven inches well up into that well-lubricated tunnel of hers.
"Reluctantly, I pulled my mouth away from her cunt. I knelt up again and looked down at her body. Her belly and tits were heaving rapidly; it looked as though they had just completed a twenty-mile race. Her eyes, half-closed and smoky, were on my face. Her lips, full and sensuous, were half-parted; I could hear the spottiness of her breathing. Oh, baby, I thought, I've got you now.
"She started to protest as I tugged on her arm, indicating that I wanted her to come down on the floor with me. I caressed her and assured her that we'd have more room on the floor, that the couch was too narrow. She slid from the couch to the floor and positioned herself on her back, her legs spread wide. I looked below the hairy mat. The meat was beet-red and those fat pussy lips were pouting erotically.
"Without missing a beat, I quickly placed my knees between her legs, reached up and pulled a cushion off the couch, and slipped it under her ass. Her arms reached up towards me and I bent over and gave her a crushing kiss. Holding that position, I found my rod, hefted it, and slid it into her puckered and impatient love-hole.
"It was like being sucked into a fur-lined piece of pipe. Tight at first, and then, as I filled her completely, the tip of my rod could feel nothing. She was that deep. All the pressure, all the pleasure, was being experienced by the walls of my shaft. And Marnie was an expert when it came to this. She could work magic with those cunt muscles of hers. Press, release, press, release. If possible, I knew that my already engorged prick would fatten up even more each time she manipulated those sexy muscles. We were both so sopping wet that there was no need for adjusting. I fell into her all the way on the first try, and then I felt both our bodies tighten up in preparation for the fuck.
"My body completely covered hers, but I was careful to keep my weight from crushing her weaker frame. My forearms were pressed against the floor and my hands were cupping the back of her head. I favored this position above all others because it meant that we could kiss as we made love. It also meant that I could pull back, if I wished, and either watch her tits bounce while we humped or suck them into my mouth. The cock-cunt area of our bodies may have been the primary source of sensation, but I always got one hell of a charge out of bringing her face and tits into the action, too.
"At first, she laid still while I did most of the work. Slowly, I moved my prick back and forth along her tunnel, simultaneously kissing her lips, cheeks, and neck. I tried to extend the sensations, to make them last as long as possible, and I think I succeeded. Marnie moaned constantly, occasionally throwing her head back as the ecstasy became too much for her. Her fingers were kept busy tracing erotic circles over the goose pimples on my back, and her lips were busy, too, alternately chewing on my jaw and sucking on my lips. I could feel my rod getting fatter and fatter within her hole. I knew that before long it would be numb with excitement and that my load would come boiling out.
"And then, as I began to pick up the tempo, Marnie joined in. She began using the lower portion of her body, flinging it up so that our pubic areas slammed resoundingly together. And on each stroke, as I'd pile all the way into her, she'd make a little grinding motion with her hips and simultaneously flick her cunt muscles. That little action, done over and over, was more than enough to bring on my orgasm. As soon as I started to come she released the tautness from her body and experienced her own climax. It was a trick that she had learned during the first five years of our marriage. She could go all the way up to the brink of orgasm, and then, somehow, hold it until I was ready. And, in this instance, as on so many other occasions, we ripped off together.
"The instant I could no longer control my actions, the instant I began to come, she scissored her legs up over my back and started slamming her body against mine. 'Come on, honey. Oh yes, come on, come on. It feels soooo good. Keep it coming ... keep it coming!' And she kept up the talking, urging me to let go and let it all come out, all during our orgasms. I think the sound of her voice added to her own excitement, although she never would admit it to me. But that night I must have dumped a vialful of juice up into her bag. I thought I'd never stop. And all the time I'm spurting, she's talking to me, raking my back with her fingernails, chewing on my lips, and pile-driving her body against mine.
"The picture wasn't as one-sided as I appear to be painting it. In my mind, I can see Marnie thrashing out two whomping climaxes. The first one came during the height of my own explosion, and her second one came right on top of her first, following my last spurt of come. I'll never forget the way she looked just before that second one hit her. For a fraction of an instant it looked as though she had died. Her complexion was ashen, the pupils of her eyes had rolled back in their sockets and all but disappeared, her mouth was frozen open with no visible signs of breathing, and her entire body seemed to be captured in some kind of death-like stillness. But then, in one of those wonders of life, an enormous charge of energy poured back into her and she flew into a convulsive, floor-thrashing climax, all the while searing my lips with the heat of her own mouth. By the time she was through, we were both completely drained. We remained on the floor for a long time before either of us made a move.
"That's the way I remember it. Marnie might give you a different version, but I believe that mine would be the most accurate. After all, I'm the one who's been reliving it over and over again for almost seven years. And my version must be accurate; otherwise why do I always come in my handkerchief every time I think about it."
Bob I-'s case is a classic example of psychosis totally controlled and, perhaps because of that, totally irreversible. The term "totally controlled" is used because the subject is not susceptible to any psychiatric suggestions which would allow him to release his fantasies, or to accept them as such. Not the fantasies of sexual encounter with passengers on the bus, or the "travel fantasies" he mentions. These latter he is fully aware are fantasies. The fantasy-and there is one primary fantasy that controls all of his other delusions-which he refuses to accept as a fantasy, is the "puzzling" frigidity of his wife Marnie.
It is true that Bob had not had intercourse with Marnie for the past seven years as he claims. It is not true, however, that Marnie is frigid. Marnie is not frigid. Marnie is dead. She has been dead for the past seven years.
Although Bob I-'s total withdrawal might appear to be unusual, it is, in fact, not as uncommon as one might suspect, particularly when the traumatic experience is the death of a loved one.
In a quiz appearing in the June, 1972, issue of Cosmopolitan magazine, prepared by Dr. Ernest Dichter, the first question is:
...Someone in your family has died-your mother, father, husband, child. You had been close to each other. How would you react?
And the four answers are: a. You would refuse to be consoled or see anybody, and would try to deny the fact of the loss by holding on to all your memories. Only years later would you recover from the blow. b. Deeply shocked at first, you would nevertheless find that life soon resumes its normal course. c. You'd behave almost hysterically, blaming yourself, others, or even the deceased for the tragedy, and would remain inconsolable for a long time. d. You'd take stock, accept the fact of death as a painful but normal part of life, and make new plans for yourself, possibly involving a new life with someone else.
There can be no question as to the answer
Bob I-chose-unconsciously-upon the death of his wife, at a very young age. Nor can there be any question that he not only loved her very much while she was alive but that he loves her more now that she is dead. The psychopathology of the subject's situation needs hardly be questioned. Love can be thought much of; however, in Bob's case, the blind emotionalism with which he had bound himself to the memory of his deceased wife is romanticistically pathetic. Death did not part them.
Psychiatrically speaking, Bob I-, in spite of the pathos he generates through his narrative, is on a solid road of perversity. His masturbatory perversion, however, is not the type that repulses people. It is not criminal. Neither is it dangerous-except, possibly, to himself. He does not masturbate while exhibiting his genitals to anyone. He does not allow his children to be aware of his deep-seated problem, directly. Nor is he institutionalized. It has not been established whether in the presence of his children he admits to the fact that their mother is dead. It appears more than likely that he does, sliding immediately into believing that Marnie is alive only when the children are not in his presence or when they are not questioning him about their mother.
It is apparent from the subject's narrative that he refuses to consider remarriage. Something that the psychoanalyst is attempting to recognize-in the subject's past, perhaps something in his relationship with Marnie, blocks his natural sexual urges. Nothing could be further from Bob's mind than his being "unfaithful" to his frigid-deceased spouse. Even in his fantasies he does not permit himself to engage in coitus with his love-objects; he only performs cunnilingus on them and allows them to fellate him.
Glaringly apparent in the subject is his schizoid personality, a personality which J. P. Chaplin, in his Dictionary of Psychology, defines as one "which is withdrawn from others, which has difficulty expressing aggressive impulses in a direct manner and which engages in introverted, shut-in thinking." The extent of this introversion becomes almost frightening-as compared to the subject's description of his lovemaking to his wife-as his narrative is continued.
"There's one particular quirk to my fantasies which I think should be brought out here. You'll notice that when I fantasize sex with Marnie I can do just about anything sexually with her. But no matter how many different kinds of sex practices we enjoy, the night always ends up with me having intercourse with her. Not so in my other fantasies. Even in my mind I am unable to drop my semen in another girl's vagina. I can only bring myself to have oral sex with them. Now how the hell is that for a hang-up?
"The way it has been explained to me is that I am punishing myself. I am whipping everything that's alive inside me because of guilt. But what guilt? And why guilt? I've never been able to bring myself to fully cheat on my wife; my actions have only gone so far and then poof!-they're gone. I've been a good father; I take care of my kids. I even think, considering the circumstances, that I'm a pretty damned good husband. So what's this guilt? Something I said or did to Marnie? Getting after her because she took naps instead of doing the housework? I can't believe that. In fact, I'm not even positively sure that it was that remark which set off all this misery.
"I've even been told that I could financially handle a divorce if I really wanted one. How's that for a grabber? I've sat down and figured out that it's an impossibility-unless a relative suddenly pops off and leaves me rich-but here, people outside of my life tell me that I can do it if I really want to. What a bunch of horse-shit! They don't know what it's like. After all, they're not me!
"Anyway, I guess I'll be stuck in this marriage for a long time yet. I'll just have to make do with what I've got. I've got three square meals a day, a roof over my head, clean sheets on my bed, and two kids that love me. Most people would consider themselves very lucky to have such a setup. So maybe I'm not so bad off, after all.
"The hell I'm not! I can kid myself all I want to, but the fact remains that I'm still cut off from the one thing that I want most: Mar-nie's body. So I have to fantasize. I have to dream about other girls. I have to imagine that my tongue is on their cunts and their lips are around my prick. Yeah, that's where I give it to them-right in the old gullet. I don't want to give it to them where it might make babies. I just want them to swallow it and make me feel like a big man.
"I think sometimes that I'm mad-dreaming the kind of dreams I dream. like here is one I have quite often. I return from my tour of bus stops to my apartment, open the closet door, and find three naked chicks hanging on coat hooks. ... Smiling ... waiting for me....
"I also had a dandy experience a couple of weeks ago that led to one hell of a dream. This chick gets on the bus and the instant I see her my prick starts buzzin'. Lord knows, she doesn't have the greatest figure in the world. Her face is pinched in, her shoulders are stooped, her breasts are small, her legs are stocky, and she's got awfully big feet; in short, she's built like a jar of cooking oil. So what turns me on to her, you ask. Her hips! Man, she has got the widest hips that I've ever seen on a girl. And the first thought that comes to my mind is that she has got to have the widest cunt this side of the Nile.
"As if her build wasn't enough, she accents it by wearing a miniskirt. She could barely walk. I know I got to see more of this so I pull one of my stoplight tricks. I wait for the green light to turn red and then back to green again before I pull away from the curb. In the meantime I'm following this chick through the rear-view mirror. I watch her as she waddles down the aisle and takes an outside seat about ten rows back. I'm in luck. Sure enough, as heavy-hipped women are prone to do, she spreads her legs when she sits down. Only slightly, mind you, because that damned miniskirt won't let them spread any wider. But it's wide enough for me. I can see between her legs. She's wearing pink panties and there are tufts of hair poking out on either side of the panties. Wow! For the next ten stops everybody on that bus should have insurance. I mean, I got one eye between the chick's legs and the other on the road. And when you're driving a bus, you need two eyes.
"Anyway, we make it safely to the stop where she gets off. She's not even all the way down the steps when I start fantasizing. But this time I catch myself and force myself to knock it off. But I could hardly wait till that night. I promise myself that when Marnie and the kids go to bed I'm really going to have one hell of a jack-off session.
"But it doesn't work out that way. I end up getting into an argument with all three of them, all because Joey-that's my boy-bought an expensive stereo system through some mail order company without permission. That little scene led to another and that to another until I gave up and went to bed early. I was so damned angry that I couldn't go to sleep, so I ended up taking a sleeping pill. I had completely forgotten about the chick on the bus.
"Moments later I'm in a forest. Only it really isn't a forest. It's the hair from the chick's cunt. Here I am fighting my way through the forest. The growth is thick and springy and suddenly I am swinging a machete, cutting a path for myself as I move along. There is a heavy, pungent odor hanging in the air. It is the smell of cunt and this is the game that the big hunter is tracking. I am wearing a week-old beard; I am sweating up a storm; I am exhausted; and I am dying of thirst. But I am determined to capture my quarry, to corner and devour that cunt meat. Come hell or high water, I intend to keep going.
"Abruptly, with one final swipe of my machete, the crispy brush is gone. There is a small clearing and on the other side of it is a high pink wall. The odor of cunt is overpowering. I stare at the wall, noting its cuts and grooves. Looking at it from this angle, I can see that it's in the shape of a cunt. There is the clit, about forty feet up. About head-high off the ground is the bottom lip of the vagina. I fling my machete high up in the air and shriek out my joy. The big hunter has triumphed again!
"I look around cautiously, but, of course, there is no sign of life. I creep up to the wall and tap the lower edge of the vagina. Suddenly all hell breaks loose. The wall starts pulsing in and out, like it's breathing, and the air is filled with all kinds of agonized sounds. Layers of pink pussy lips close in around the vagina, sealing the entrance from my view. Then, after a few seconds, a blast of air from inside pushes the lips back and opens the cave to my view again. A few seconds later, the air dies down and the lips fold in again. This goes on and on until I realize that the thing is breathing. It's alive! What a catch!
"I look at the top of the wall, at the clit, and I see it turning all different colors of the rainbow. Pink, orange, yellow, blue, green, black, and back to pink again. Holy hell, a psychedelic clit! Suddenly a voice calls out to me. It comes from everywhere and from nowhere and it is full of pain. 'Help me, help me. . . ! ' it calls, its sound reverberating all about me. I am dumbstruck. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I look around for my machete. It's no longer on the ground. Instead, in its place, is a pink ladder made out of two huge phalluses with thick strands of cunt hairs for rungs. I look up at the wall. The lips around the vagina are flapping wildly now being sucked in and blown out at a frantic pace. The clit's colors are spinning out of control and the sight makes me dizzy. I fall down onto the ground, suddenly frightened. I take out my prick and begin jacking off.
' 'Can't you hear me?' the voice wails.
"I look at the wall and pump harder on my rod. 'I hear you!' I shout back. 'But I can't see you. Where are you?'
"There is about a two-second period of complete silence, and then I hear the voice let out a long loud groan of despair. It begins sobbing loudly. I feel a tremendous surge of remorse for tracking this miserable creature down. And then, gradually, the sobbing fades away and I hear a woman's voice whimpering.
" 'Please ... ! ' I call out. 'How can I help you?'
"Suddenly, except for the sound of those monstrous pussy lips breathing in and out, there is dead silence. No more sobbing. No more whimpering. I continue to jack on my rod.
" 'Hey, big boy, lookin' for somethin' sweet?'
"I back up against the edge of the forest, fear crawling over my body. 'Who's that?' I call out. 'Are you going to hurt me?'
" 'With a mouth like yours? Hell, baby, would a mouse bury a slice of cheese?'
" 'Where are you?'
" 'Right in front of you. C'mon, big boy, kiss my clit and I promise you-I promise you....'
" 'Promise me what?'
" 'Kiss my clit and I will tell.' , "Suddenly this new voice breaks into a spasm of giggles. I look up at the clit. The color wheel has stopped. It is now a steady pink. And as I watch, it too, like the vagina below it, begins to breathe. It is like watching a tremendous balloon being blown out and deflated-over and over again. I rush over to the ladder, prop it up against the wall, and begin climbing.
" "Tee-hee, tee-hee,' giggles the voice. 'Don't let my hole catch you. It'll gobble you up!'
"The in-and-out movements of the pussy lips have slowed considerably. I remain on the fifth rung of the ladder for several minutes, timing the movements of the lips. I can see into the blackness of the hole. It is frightening. I watch the lips carefully. At one point, when they have just closed over the opening, I make my move. Faster than I have ever moved in my life, I scurry up the ladder, barely avoiding the upper edges of the lips as they blow out. When I reach the top of the ladder, I am still too short.
" 'You'll have to help me,' I call out. 'I can't reach you.'
" 'Big man, big prick,' the voice squeals in delight. 'Kiss my clit and I promise you. Strong man, tasty prick. Tee-hee, tee-hee.'
"I am frantic. I've got to reach that clit. But before I can even work on the problem, the wall begins to tilt. I am terrified. I am going to fall to my death. I am going to be gobbled up by that enormous hole. But then I am aware that only the top part of the wall is tilting. The clit is caving down towards me. I reach up and touch it with my fingers as it nears me. "Tee-hee, kiss my clit,' I hear the voice giggle. Closer and closer it comes to my lips. I stretch my neck, trying to meet it with a kiss. Just a few inches more ... closer and closer ... closer and-ah! success!
"I am on the rear seat of the bus, my face buried between my passenger's legs. Her cunt is everything I imagined. Wide, hairy, thick-lipped, and juicy. I am tongue-jacking her clit, listening to her moans of pleasure. It sounds like she is near orgasm. I work my tongue faster.
"There is a strong suction on my prick. I look around. We are in a sixty-nine and that wonderful passenger is drawing the life from my rod. Suddenly I realize that my meat is pulsing and I can feel the spurts of come jetting from its head. It is a wonderful feeling, a fulfilling feeling. I say thank you to the woman's cunt. It has kept its promise.
"When I awoke the next morning, the dream was still fresh on my mind and my bedsheets were coated with sticky sperm. Hurriedly, I tore down the bed and got the sheets into the washer. Since I often got my laundry in the washer before going to work, I don't think that Marnie ever discovered the mess.
"Read what you will into that dream. To me, it's nothing. It's just one more fantasy in a lifeful of fantasies. Awake or asleep, they find me or I find them. And I know they'll always be with me, at least until Marnie and I make up-which could be never.
"My 'world travels' fantasies probably give me more satisfaction than any other kind. For here I can lose myself among strangers and do almost anything I want. I say 'almost' only because I am still unable to visualize myself having intercourse with a stranger. This, despite the exotic makeup of her body and despite the control that I have over any encounter I choose to enter.
"These fantasies, if they were to be dissected, could be broken down into two phases. During the first phase, I establish myself as a man among men, deliberately confronting danger and always overcoming it. These experiences always give my ego a tremendous life and prepare me for the rewards of phase two. In the latter phase I become a Don Juan and a Casanova all rolled up into one prick. Women find me irresistible and, gallantly, I do my best to satisfy them.
"Not too long ago, I had successfully completed a dangerous assignment for a South African diamond company and had decided to take a couple of days off to relax and recuperate on the sandy shores of southern Italy. As I lay on the beach nursing the bullet wound on my right side, two bikini-clad Italian beauties strode up.
" 'Would you mind settling an argument for us?' one asked in perfect English.
" 'If I can,' I answered politely, holding one hand aloft to cut down on the glare of the sun. I was to identify the slim one, the girl who had spoken to me, as Tina. The other, more bosomy chunk of flesh, was to be Anna.
" "The argument may seem rather silly to you,' said Anna, 'but it does mean something to us.'
"I bit down on the end of my cigar and stared openly at their bodies. Nice pieces, but too tanned, I thought. Marnie would never get that brown. 'Bad for the skin,' she would say. I waited patiently for the girls to deliver the question.
"Finally, Anna dropped to her knees before me. 'We have noticed you for the past couple of days,' she began. 'We have been admiring you. You know ... ? '
" 'I understand,' I said.
" 'Anyway,' Tina picked up, also falling to her knees, 'I say that your cock has been circumcised and Anna says that it has not. Can you tell us which one of us is correct?'
"I clamped down on my cigar and thought the question out carefully before answering. Finally, I looked up at them. 'Girls,' I said, 'I work in a tough business ... a rotten business. I don't trust anybody. Can't. My life is too valuable to be left up to trust. Y'understand ... ? '
"Both nodded and leaned forward expectantly.
" 'So I always gotta see things for myself. Never trust anybody's word. Got the picture ... ? '
" 'Yes,' Anna answered, her heavy bosom heaving excitedly. "Take it out so we can see it.'
"Now even in a fantasy I can't imagine myself exposing my prick on a public beach. So, conveniently, I transported the three of us to my hotel room. The two cunts are sitting on the edge of the bed; I am standing before them, wearing only my bathing trunks.
" 'Are you ready, girls?'
"They both nodded eagerly. Tina ran her hand down inside her bikini bottom and I could see a steady movement strike up right about where her clit would be. Anna, the heavy breather, cupped her tits in her hands and began squeezing them.
"Dramatically, I shoved my trunks down to my ankles. "There you are, girls. No foreskin. I've been circumcised. Tina wins!'
"Anna's face clouded as she looked at her companion. 'All right,' she glowered, 'you first!'
"I always like to have at least one poor sport in my foreign travels. I love to have women fight over me.
"Tina smiled brightly and moved her face to about one inch from my prick which, I might point out, was like a rock. 'Do you mind ... ? ' she asked.
" 'Of course not,' I said. 'Here ... I'll help you.'
"Gently, I placed my hands on her cheeks and guided her mouth onto my prick. Mamma mia! Her mouth was bottomless! She had gobbled in all seven inches of my lumber and my balls at the same time! Stunned, I looked over at Anna. She had removed her bikini top and was now going all out on her tits. She glared at Tina, then looked up at me. 'She is a pig!' she spat out.
"The world needs more pigs I mused to myself as Tina lathered up my prick and frigged herself off at the same time. It was an unusual experience. I had never had the top of my prick and the bottom of my balls chewed on at the same time. I reached down and patted her head. 'You're doing a lovely job, Tina. Just lovely.'
"I held off my ejaculation until she came. Now that was almost a disaster. When she did come, I thought for sure I was going to be castrated. Her teeth were that sharp. But then, after her orgasm had faded, the little darling used the roof of her mouth to apply friction to the top of my cock. I felt my balls expand against the softness of her tongue as I shot off. This was a new thrill for me, coming in someone's mouth with my prick and balls in there at the same time.
"When Tina was finished with her job, I turned to Anna. 'One moment, please.' I paced up and down the room for a few minutes, jacking my rod back up. When it was ready I walked up to Anna. 'You'll have to go some to top your friend,' I said pleasantly. I reached over and patted Tina on the head. She grabbed my hand and kissed it.
"Anna yanked my hand away and looked up at me imploringly. "Trust me,' she said.
"I smiled graciously down upon her and held my cock out in front of her mouth. But she brushed it away and fell to her knees in front of me. Moaning softly, she lifted her ponderous tits and crushed them around my rod. It was like being captured by two pillows. I was delighted at her maneuver. With the dispatch of a professional tit-woman, Anna massaged my prick with her sensual weapons. Before a minute was up, I felt the oncoming orgasm. I grunted and Anna caught the signal. Quickly, she dipped her head down and scooped the front half of my prick into her mouth while her tits continued to massage the bottom half. If possible, the load she got was even heavier than the one I gave Tina. She slurped out her pleasure as she took every ounce of juice that I could give her.
"Later, I serviced both women, going down on them for the pure joy of it. When Anna shoved her extra-large box in my face, she spread her cunt-hole wide and said that she would be delighted to receive my cock into it. I thanked her kindly, but told her that I would rather suck than fuck. She shrugged her shoulders indifferently, and then proceeded to whomp the hell out of my face when she came.
"These are my fantasies. These are the wild and weird sexual outlets I allow myself for years and years of physical denial. Marnie shows no signs of letting up on her crusade of 'punishing me,' if that is indeed what she is doing. I've been seeking professional help, trying to find some way out of my hell-hole. She thinks it's a waste of money and a waste of time. Sometimes I think that she doesn't believe that we have a problem. I can only hope that someday-when she's ready-she'll follow my example."
The prognosis for Bill I is extremely pessimistic. It is felt that only through some sort of "shock" will he accept the reality of his situation, and thereby return to the world that, in fact, needs sensitive men such as he. Only then will he be able to be the father to his motherless children-the father that they must desperately need.
CHAPTER THREE
A Night at the Movies
"I'd guess we got into our present kick from the very first time we made it together, Myrtle and I. We'd gone together a couple of months, if you can call coffee breaks and maybe a couple beers after the show 'going together.'
"We talked about things I guess all aspiring young actors talk about-how funny somebody's 'bit' was or how somebody was screwing up the blocking or the timing; did you see so-and-so in such-and-such, and that kind of thing. But the most important thing was that we liked each other's work. It can be difficult to get along with someone-not necessarily, but frequently-if you're putting them down about their talent or work.
"Myrtle, she was-well, with a name like that to start with, you'd almost have to be-she was a fine mimic in addition to being a good actress. I mean, she used a stage name and also a nickname that everyone called her: Marnie. So no one that I know of ever knew her real name. She gave me some song and dance about her parents having come over from their medieval fief-hold near the Marne River, and when she was a young kid in school and her class mates asked where she was from, she told them the Marne. But when she spelled it out for them, they pronounced it Marnie.
"Anyway, one night after the show we were sitting in a sleazy little bar at the end of Waverly Place in the Village, and she said, 'You know, nobody at the theater knows my real name,' grabbing a handful of pretzels to chomp, cocking an eyebrow at me.
"I'd been running off at the mouth about something and I stopped right in the middle of a sentence and said, 'Oh?' Wiping designs on the table with my glass. Fun. Miss Rheingold, all that.
" 'Yeah,' with this flat, brassy voice, clicking nonexistent gum with her teeth, 'it's Myrtle.'
"I broke out laughing, I mean I guffawed. Almost fell on the floor. Tears, the whole bit.
"When I calmed down, she said, looking at me levelly, 'You're the first one who's laughed when I told them my real name.'
"Well, I tried to keep a straight face as I told her my favorite aunt's name had been Myrtle. Which was the truth, but I'd always laughed at her name, too, behind her back.
"But Marnie smiled at me and said, 'Don't take it so seriously. What my parents had in mind was beautiful flowers and fragrant spices.' Giving me this Elaine May ingenue look. "There are worse names, you know. Hmm? " 'Oh,' earnestly. 'Myrtle is a very ... unique name.'
" 'My folks,' wide-eyed, 'just couldn't see calling me "Periwinkle" or "Moneywort." ' " 'Yes.'
"I was kind of numb for a moment. I hadn't yet caught on to her ways. Of course her name wasn't Myrtle, never had been. Marnie was just a name she liked to be called.
"I gave her my tight-lipped Humphrey Bogart 'Lissen, sweetheart,' and she decided I was Rick right there. 'Oh, Rick.' A very passable In-grid Bergman.
" 'What if my name was Murgatroyd?' I said. 'What would you say? ... Uh-nhi-ii, there, my name's Murgatroyd. What-'
" 'A noble name,' she shot back. 'Carried down from the Middle Ages by only a few honored descendants of the Knights of the Holy Rood of Murcat. When those staunch defenders returned to England, instead of making them Knights of the Round Table or the Garter, they were made Knights of the Murcatrood. The king was a cockney, though, and it came out "Murgatroyd." '
"That's the kind of wacky imagination she had. Before the night was over-after about a dozen beers-we were both a bit sloshed. We went back to her place and sacked out. Me on the floor. But it made things easier the next time we dropped in for a couple beers after the show. We split to her place to watch TV and save on the price of drinks.
"Now, I gotta set the scene. Sitting there in front of the TV, making snide comments about the late movies and the talk shows, drinking beer out of glasses no less, the two of us. Dim light in the kitchen-bathroom. Commode in a tiny closet all by itself. Typical Village-type New York apartment.
"Both of us sitting there on the couch-bed, the only real illumination coming from the eerie flicker of the idiot box. Our running commentary slowly losing steam. I think we were both becoming conscious of the other person sitting next to us on the couch. I know I was becoming acutely conscious of her. , "Marnie got up. 'I feel icky from all the grime in that theater.' Pouring the rest of her beer into my glass. 'But don't go 'way, Ricky-ticky-tin. I won't be a minute.'
"Well, it wasn't a minute. It was more like half an hour. But I spent the time profitably, divided between viewing the garbage on the idiot box and considering my incipiently new relationship with Marnie. It suddenly struck me that I might have a very good thing going here.
"I mean she was a real good-looking chick. I tried to visualize her without her old sweat shirt and baggy jeans that she usually wore. Her hair combed instead of hanging all around like a cross between Veronica Lake and Janis Joplin. I tried to conjure up a definitive vision of her face and couldn't do it. It kept sliding and melting and blurring out of focus. One minute: Raquel Welch, by God. The next: Brigitte Bar-dot. Then: Sophia Loren? When I think back, it was as much a comment on the power of my own imagination as it was on her talent for mimicry and makeup.
"But there is no doubt that, from that night on, she has been my fantasy queen. I mean, get this.
"I was sitting there watching this flick starring Rita Hayworth-this flick we'd both been digging. Now, Rita Hayworth was my original pubescent sex goddess. When I was pubescent, not her. I mean, the first time I felt a lustful tickle in my balls, it was when I caught a night-gowned, deep-decolletaged Rita Hayworth smiling sexily at me from the pages of Life. Instant lubricity. Gonads buzzing, hormones slavering.
"So. Half my mind getting turned on vicariously by Rita Hayworth, wanting to grab her thighs and lick her from the kneecaps up. The other half trying to capture the face, the figure, the voice, the form and pressure of Marnie and toying with the idea of grabbing her-preferably by her elusive ass-and doing the same thing to her.
"Slowly I became aware of a delightful scent wafting by me on the air. I felt, more than heard, someone approach behind me on the right. Perfume stronger, a growing aura. Ambient temperature up, barometer up. I heard a soft voice, husky close to my ear.
" 'Well, do you think...? ' I didn't hear all she said too clearly, but it was a dead ringer for the voice of Rita Hayworth.
"My mind clicked. She was right beside me
-the voice, the scent, I felt the warmth, heard her breathing.
"I turned and brushed warm lips with mine.
" 'Mmh-mhmmm-' Rita. I was kissing Rita Hayworth. Moist, warm mouth. Soft zephyrs, inhalations, Rita-scent. Pulse pounding in my ears, my fingers on her throbbing neck, soft. Soft liquid lips and tonguing, sucking. Stars whirling behind my eyes, the world inhaled into a warm kiss.
"Christ, my temples throbbed. I ran my tongue around her warm, trembling lips. Her mouth opened slightly and she nibbled tenderly on my lower lip. Her fingers brushed my cheek.
" 'Ga-a-a-a-a-a-a-awd.' I hadn't realized how horny I was until then. Half my head was tripping on Rita Hayworth and my senses tripping with this luscious, fragrant, soft and tender bit of pulchritude.
"Well, my head was into this double bag of Rita-fantasy and Marnie-live, flesh and blood. So when I drew back a bit and looked at her, I was mightily surprised at what I saw. Who should my eyes tell me I was kissing butJune Ally son.
"Remember her?-girl next door, husky, late-adolescence voice. Always remaining true to some poor man's Jimmy Stewart while he was in the army.
"Mind you, it was just a fleeting impression. The features coalesced for an instant and then scattered. But for one nostalgic, heart-fluttery moment I was gazing into the laughing eyes of everybody's 1940s' girl-next-door heartthrob. June Allyson-the girl whose pussy I most wanted to sniff when I was a teenybopper. Flower child that I was, I just knew it would smell like the lilac bush in my back yard. Clean, verdant, girl-next-door cunt.
" 'Say, there, fella,' still using a Rita Hay-worth voice, 'you're real easy.' It didn't fit the fleeting June Allyson image. Kind of fragmented her.
"Fragmented me, too, but not so much I was unable to reach out and pull her down on the bed with me.
" 'You wouldn't believe the deja vu I just had.' Cuddling her in my arms, the image of weep-a-minute June fresher than hump-a-min-ute Rita. 'For a while my gonads were convinced they had Rita Hayworth in their radar.'
" 'Oh, sir,' she said in a voice I couldn't immediately identify but later placed as coming from Mary Poppins, 'you do say the strangest things.' But there was a gentle, persistent rhythm of belly and groin on my leg. Suddenly she became-now get this-Jeanne Moreau, who has always grabbed me where it counts, and Gloria Steinem, who turns me on. I mean, I'll bet Gloria Steinem is great in bed. Imaginative. Articulate-in body English.
"I couldn't hold back these trippy sensations any longer and started to tell Marnie about them. About the fantasies she excited in me. She listened eagerly, squirming and humming with pleasure occasionally. Eating it up, she was. Then she stunned me.
" 'You know what I'd like to do?' looking at me with a 1949-vintage Margaret O'Brien look, for God's sake. 'I'd like to fuck Humphrey Bogart.'
" 'Play it again, Sam.' I was Bogey at his most irresistible. The damp towel she had wrapped around her fell away.
" 'I'm serious,' she said, looking at me for the first time with an expression that jelled as belonging to her, to Marnie. 'Do you think if you can see all those actresses in me, I can't see Humphrey Bogart in you? ... I ask you.' It was a good thing she didn't want to fuck Clark Gable.
"The body she had certainly wasn't that of a sub-teen Margaret O'Brien. Neither was it Anita Ekberg. But it was pretty astounding compared to some of the chicks I'd been picking up in the Village and the upper West side.
"As with her face and personality, she seemed able almost to change her physical qualities-one evening a svelte May Britt, the next a buxom Rosanna Podesta. So like a chameleon was she that I insisted once on taking her measurements just to fix things in my mind a little.
"Thirty-six-inch bust, a firm, comfortable handful of tit with large, stand-up nipples that never failed to erect proudly when I mouthed them. Twenty-two-inch waist, taut and well muscled as befits a dancer, but with the cutest, juiciest little bulge around the upper pubic area. A marvelously sexy belly button, from which I licked wine or whipped cream more than once. Her hips and ass had a beautiful can't to them and tapered into long, athletic thighs and well-shaped calves. Ass cheeks the size and firmness of Persian melons. God! how I loved to grab that ass of hers and knead it with my sweaty palms, feel the muscles flex under my hands, run my fingers into the long, deep cleft between the firm globes. Jesus, the smell of her ass cleft was pure ambrosia.
"Without her towel under the dim light from the TV, Marnie presented a fascinating sight. There was a sort of mysterious play of shadows on her face and body, forming vales and highlights.
" 'I'll just lie here,' she said, 'and think of Bogey. Just tell me who you'd like most to fuck right now.'
"I was beginning to get hard just listening to her voice as she carried on with that brazen talk. She felt my erection grow and started unbuttoning my pants with fast, eager fingers. Before I knew it she had my pants and shorts down around my ankles and was caressing my cock with a feather touch.
" 'Ohh, God, that stiff dick feels beautiful,' she said.
"I was out of my clothes in a flash.
"Slipping back onto the bed, I gave her a wet kiss, running my tongue around her mouth. She ran her hands up and down my body, lingering at my cock and balls, my nipples, my ass to squeeze and caress.
" 'Elizabeth Taylor,' I said.
" 'What about her?' with an edge to the question.
" "That's who I'd like to screw right now.' My eyes were closed and I was visualizing a rather, what shall I say, voluptuous Elizabeth Taylor, just a little on the heavy side. I'd been hot for her when I saw her in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Not grossly fat, mind you-not that. Just what they call saftig, round and firm and fully packed. I remember reading somewhere that Richard Burton had said Liz sometimes tended to a little heaviness in the thighs. Well, hell, I don't mind heavy thighs as long as they keep their muscle tone.
"Into my ear sifted soft words of endearment, while talented hands and fingers explored the textures of my skin. Down the small of my back, tap-tapping on my buttocks and into the crevice of my ass to my balls. An expert, feathery touch. Warm lips brushed my earlobes, and a wet tongue fluttered into my ear. Sturdy legs raised themselves along my flanks and squeezed around my waist with just enough pressure to force an appreciative sigh from me.
"But what really tingled and twisted my mind around a little bit was that the whisperings in my ear were those of Liz Taylor circa Butterfield 8. Or maybe the liquid cooings that she did in Suddenly Last Summer, where she absolutely turned me on in that read-through bathing suit. You know, that kind of material she wore you could almost see through but not quite.
"The bits of pubic hair that stuck out of her bathing suit-or maybe they didn't stick out, but just sat there under the sheer material-I seem to remember that vividly. And here, on this bed, by the light of the flickering TV screen, I had my arms around a body out of whose mouth was coming the voice of Liz, and under one hand was the warm, steamy thatch of soft, freshly washed pubic hair, which gave off a scent that turned me on and, strangely, seemed to be tuned in to the precise length of my brain waves in such a way that the picture of Liz Taylor became pulsatingly clear in my mind.
"That's only one example of the freaky ways she had of becoming, in my mind, somebody else. As I say, I don't know if that reflects on her fantastic ability as a mimic or on the power of my imagination. Imagine having your olfactory nerves provide the stimulus for visual hallucinations.
"Well, with this Liz Taylor voice in my ear and a Liz Taylor smell in my nose, the charade really began to envelop all my senses. The legs wrapped around my waist became Liz legs, the breasts firming up under my hand became Liz breasts. The pubic hair and plump cunt flesh I had my hand on began to take on the configuration, the very flesh and folds, I was convinced were Liz's. The belly pressed against mine took on the rounded firmness of Liz's.
"'Oh, you,' she said, 'cocksman! I was so jealous of Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca-' Deft fingers eased the head of my gorged dick into the crack between warm labia. '-and here she was willing to fuck you for a simple passport or visa-' Fingers dandled my balls lovingly while cunt lips nibbled the glans of my penis. '-and I would've fucked you for the sheer ecstatic joy-' The voice throbbed with passion.'-of getting your big dick and your hot, thick load!'
"I was into my fantasy so thoroughly that I couldn't for the life of me figure out what she was babbling about-what Liz was babbling about-all that about being jealous of Ingrid Bergman who wanted to fuck me for a passport. Then it hit me, of course-she was talking about the movie Casablanca, where Bergman comes to plead with Humphrey Bogart to help her and her husband get out of the clutches of the Vichy government in Morocco.
"Well, I was now in the clutches of thighs that were urging me toward imminent penetration of heated cunt lips. Preparing myself, lodging the pulsing tip of my dick firmly into the nibbling maw of Liz's cunt, I rasped in my best stiff-upper-lip style, 'Here's looking at you, kid.'
"That tired, hoarse line, that existentialist echo of Bogey's, triggered some switch that unleashed a torrent of passion. She pulled me into her with a force that, had she not been ready and lubricated, would've damn near torn her vagina. But I sank deep into a tight, seething pit where muscles grabbed my imprisoned rod and stroked it voluptuously. And always there was the voice of Liz cooing in my ear.
" 'Ooh, hot fuck!' she breathed, and her hands went to my ass to squeeze my buttocks and diddle around my ass-hole. Jesus, it felt like there was another pair of hands inside her cunt, squeezing and jacking me off. 'See if you can tell,' the throaty Liz voice asked me, 'which movie I'm in now.'
"With that, her legs whipped up and proceeded to wrap around me in a variety of ways. I found myself sort of cradled between her pneumatic thighs, while her calves and feet massaged and beat little tattoos around my back and sides. The way her goddam pussy was flexing its muscles it was as if it had a life of its own. I felt my hard on throb to greater length and girth, swell into mucous crevices and along pulsating walls.
" 'Ooh, lover,' she groaned, 'pump that big hot cock to me.' I grabbed on to her shoulders and pushed in an extra half inch until I felt the knob of my dick strain against the cartilaginous nubs of her cervix-exquisite pleasure! 'Great Caesar!' she yelled. The pulsing and flutterings of her body grew more agitated. Her nipples hardened against my chest. 'Sock it to me!' she shrieked in Liz's voice. Was it Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I wondered.
"She clutched and moaned and groaned, whipping her ass like a palsied viper. She shuddered. 'Annihilate me!' Her voice rasped, choked with lust.
" 'Cleopatra!' I shouted. That had to be it. My cock throbbed, my balls tingled with impending orgasm.
"The juices flowed from her cunt like soggy, thick paste. Our genitals mashed it around until our entire union was a marshy mass. 'No, silly,' she giggled. Her cunt lips trembled against the root of my flinty dick. With both hands gripping the globes of her ass, I could feel her anus begin to pucker so that the taut flesh around it jumped rhythmically.
"My hands flew over her body, squeezing her buttocks, caressing her flanks, caressing her breasts and calves. A thin sheen of sweat shone under the light from the television. Our bellies smacked together sweatily. I slowed the rhythm so I could plug her as deeply as my rigid cock would go.
"Her features, sodden with lust, gradually tightened; her eyes sparkled, glinting with a purplish fire, drilling into mine. 'What movie?' she demanded. 'Fuck me-deeper!' The voice was strangely, childishly petulant. It excited me.
" 'Oo-o-oh,' she trilled, 'fuck me-faster!' Her cunt clipped and her eyes brightened feverishly. 'What movie?' she hissed. Her heart pounded so strongly it drummed in my ears like the sound of the tide.
"Her hands seized my ass and pulled me to her with a sharply faster rhythm. In the depths of her cunt I felt the muscles grip the throbbing tip of my cock. The entire sheath then squeezed the length of the shaft.
" 'I ... I give up,' I whimpered, slamming my dick into her, rocking and humping to the frenzied pull of her hands. My chest tightened, my breath rasped, the muscles in my body spasmed. With a shout I felt the load in my nuts boil over.
"Her cunt gripped my shaft like a vise. Never before had I felt such a grip-sheer, oiled ecstasy. With a 'Hah!' I felt the muscles of my cock contract and spew out a long, searing rope of come. A pulse beat in the base of my skull.
"She bucked and twisted under me. Her cunt gripped my shaft from tip to root in tight, exquisite agony. Pneumatic thighs and flanks squeezed my body, urging spasm after spasm of electric jolts through my cock. Seized in the throes of thundering orgasm, our bodies leapt and vaulted.
"Her face glowed with a doll-like smile, and in a high-pitched, girlish sigh she gasped out, shuddering, 'National Velvet.'
Myrtle and Rick, the principals of this case history are not unique in their fantasy-playing where they pretend to be those whom they both admire the most and hate the most. The combination of this admiration-hate could be equated with professional jealousy, or envy, and the make-believe game of theirs could be compared to the juvenile games of cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, or-more specifically-the game of the Knights of the Round Table.
There is no pathology in the subject's fantasies. His fantasies, and Myrtle's fantasies, are not unlike the fantasies of innumerable men and women, husbands and wives, and precocious adolescents who "pretend" they are with their Silver Screen, TV, or radio idols. The only difference between Rick and Myrtle's game and the game of the majority of others is that in the case under discussion the subject and his friend volubly increase the arousal aspects of pretense by playing the roles of those they want each other to be.
Pin-up pictures of motion-picture stars and starlets-both male and female-to anyone who is not bound by inhibitions, are not bought and displayed by the masses (usually in their bedrooms, locker rooms, and other "intimate" areas) because of the esthetics of photography. There is definitely a sexual motivation for such possessions.
In the case under study, being gifted with the talent for mimicry, both Rick and Myrtle simply went a step further than the masses. Rather than fantasize in the closeted space of the bathroom-with the portrait of their idol before them-they chose to actually have intercourse as well as engage in various other sexual activities with those they had found "sexy" on the screen.
The arousal factor of such a situation cannot be minimized. Anyone who has had a matinee idol can understand the erotic value of such a situation. The question here is not so much the "what" or "why" of the fantasy as the "how much" of it. And the question, unfortunately, does not have an answer. The case was not obtained from a psychiatrist's private notebook or tapes; it was transcribed from a tape made by the case subject himself. There was no opportunity offered to have Rick interviewed, so the question of whether he and Myrtle engage in a "make-believe" sexual session every time they get together or not is moot.
Going on such an uncertainty, it can only be said that if the subject and his "costar" engage in mimicry only occasionally-to add variety to their lovemaking-then one can simply say that it is perfectly natural, considering their previously mentioned (and obvious) talents. If, however, they are unable to enjoy sexual congress without calling upon all the motion-picture greats of past and present; if, in other words, they-Rick and Myrtle-cannot attain gratification by being themselves, then their sexual lives could create obvious problems. A separation, for example, would eliminate any possibility of either one of their attaining the full enjoyment of the sexual act.
"We lay there for a while in the flickering light of the TV, getting our breath and letting the glow of our bodies, the heat and the sweat, radiate in the cool of the night. Most amazing was the metamorphosis of Marnie's body and features. I was still, uh, intromitted, and throbbing, and I gazed into her face and saw, I swear, the face of a very young Liz Taylor. The body felt ... late-adolescent blooming into womanhood. And as I watched, the face and body resumed the familiar attributes of Marnie. Fantastic.
" 'Play it, again, Sam,' she teased, bearing down with practiced muscles.
"But I was tired, drained for the moment, so I couldn't really respond. As a matter-of-fact, my whang fell out of her with a small plup sound. Along with it there came a miniature flood of thick, milky paste that shone softly in the dim light and made fascinating patterns against the red vulva and dark pubic hair.
" 'Ooh,' she crooned. 'I can feel a big, warm gob of come drooling all over my bohulideee.' With a slow, sensual movement, she reached between her legs and smeared the semen over her vulva and buttocks and insides of her thighs. She leered.
"My whang gave a couple of leaps at that. It stood out at half-mast and throbbed, but didn't have its heart in a full-fledged erection. It was pointed right at Marnie, though, and I think it was examining her with its one eye.
"I raised myself up momentarily and switched on a low, soft wall lamp. It gave a subdued light that filtered through the room and cast a warm glow on the couch where Marnie was stretched like a sylph. Still with the adolescent, nubile body of the young Liz-even the face suggestive of that lovely young visage from National Velvet. Amazing.
"It's really amazing how her hair, for example, can take on almost any hue from jet black to strawberry blonde. Without the benefit of a wig, although she has a couple of those. And her eyes can seem one moment the brightest blue and the next a deep, smoky brown, almost obsidian. I think probably the only person she couldn't convince me she was would be Ruby Dee in Raisin in the Sun. On the other hand, maybe she could. Hey, I'm gonna have to ask her to try that sometime. I find Ruby Dee very attractive.
"Anyway, we both stopped feeling horny for a while, so we decided to take a walk around the Village for a spell. We thought of dropping into a couple of coffee shops or pubs along Bleeker Street or Christopher Street. But all of a sudden we got sick and tired of stepping around the assorted freaks, dopers, prostitutes, and panhandlers. So we decided to take a subway uptown and drop in on a bar that used to be a neighborhood pub of mine. Congenial place, right near Columbia University on Broadway. Called The West End.
"Yeah, that's one reason Marnie and I both left New York a few years back. Slowly it changed for the worse. I mean, when we were both young and callow and in our salad days, New York was fun city, a summer festival and all that. The sight of all those dopers and hookers and freaks, the general atmosphere of paranoid madmen in a Kafka setting, finally brought home to us the fact that New York was really no longer fun city. That's when we first started thinking about splitting that scene and heading, maybe, to the Coast. That's what New Yorkers call Hollywood or Los Angeles-the Coast.
"So we figured we'd get out of the Kafka scene for a while by going up to this West End Bar, about 114th and Broadway. Waiting for the subway, we were aware of the station, dim, musty, smelling of months-old urine and puke. Murderers and rapists and strung-out heads seemed to lurk everywhere.
"On the subway train there were more drunks and madmen. Two homosexuals across the aisle were holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each other. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against gay people or gay power. But they just added to the total effect of bedlam.
"We got off at 116th Street, figuring we'd find a little sanity around the ivied halls of Columbia. I should have known what to expect when I heard somebody whistling what sounded like the Wieniawski Violin Concerto. I mean, can you imagine anybody trying to whistle the Wieniawski Violin Concerto. I don't see how anyone can play it on the violin.
"Sure enough, when we stepped out of the subway onto 116th, there was a scene of real bedlam going on. We'd walked into the middle of the Columbia demonstrations.
" 'Hi-de-ho,' whooped Marnie. 'We seem to have walked right into a scene from Marat-Sade.' I have to admit that, as we walked down Broadway, there seemed to be a lot of people that looked like they were inmates from the asylum at Charenton.
"But I sure as hell didn't feel like the Marquis de Sade, so we zipped into the cool of the West End as fast as we could. I mean,' the scene at Columbia was too much. Students running around, cops running around, lights flashing, people yelling and staggering around bloody or bandaged. Fun city.
"Of course the place was pretty packed. A lot of students in there, talking excitedly about the demonstrations, the busts. We got our beers and, just as we turned from the bar, I spied a young girl I hadn't seen for about three years. She must've just turned eighteen, because I remember feeling marvelously like a dirty old man when I used to stare at her when she was only fourteen. Yes, I used to get secret erections thinking about that girl's tight ass and fourteen-year-old cunt.
"She looked a little distraught, as though she might've been crying, so I told Marnie I knew her and let's go over and say hello. Marnie agreed with alacrity.
"So we walked over to where this young chick was sitting with her beer. 'Zinka,' I said-it was some kind of nickname I'd known her by and what everyone called her-'Zinka, you look a little bit the worse for wear.' She looked up with a wan smile and motioned for us to sit down. Miraculously, she had an entire booth to herself. I say 'miraculously' because not only was the place crowded, but it is notorious among those who know it as a place where a single girl excites the same response as a raw steak thrown into a shark tank. And Zinka, I was quick to note, had fulfilled breathtakingly the promise she'd held as a fourteen-year-old.
"We sat. I introduced Zinka and Marnie. 'You look down in the dumps,' I said to Zinka. Well, it turned out that her boyfriend had been a casualty of the demonstrations and had had to go to the infirmary. He was going to spend the night at home with his parents.
" 'Oh, you have to spend the night all by yourself,' Marnie said.
"Now I'd noticed right off the bat that there were some interesting vibes passing between Marnie and Zinka. And when I heard Marnie say that about Zinka shouldn't have to spend the night alone, I pricked up my ears. Is it possible, I thought, that there is a strain of AC-DC in Marnie? The thought really didn't shock me, but it offered a new insight. If you're in theater, you can't let homosexuality or bisexuality bother you.
" 'I have,' Marnie went on, 'a lovely little place in the Village, and Rick and I-' She's always called me Rick and when people ask why, we just tell them it's a pet name and so I've been Rick ever since we've been going together. '-Rick and I would be more than happy to take you there and see that you get a nice night's sleep.' Marnie turned to me. 'Wouldn't we?'
"I nodded. 'Yeah, sure.'
"Well, Zinka got this glowing, soft look on her tragic but cherubic face, and her eyes glistened gratefully. Or maybe I should say her eyes twinkled mischievously, because she said, 'Oh, that would be nice. And you'd both stay with me, would you?' And thereupon the little scamp smiled with a certain amount of saccharine pathos, furtively lifted a foot, and nuzzled my unsuspecting privates with her bare toes.
"I suppressed a buck-and-wing as Marnie answered, 'If you want us to,' with a motherly smile.
"Of course I began to erect instanter. Zinka, the imp, tweaked and twiddled with her toes, plied them under my balls, poked them against my perineum. Keeping my face as expressionless as possible under those difficult circumstances, I chanced a cautious peek under the table to see if the flurry of toes, or perhaps the gross bulge in my fly, was obvious to bystanders.
"A quick check told me that luckily it was fairly shadowed under the table, and the bystanders were too engrossed in their discussion of the day's events to notice anything. Then my glance slid to the right, toward the wall and away from the bystanders. What should my wondering eyes behold but Zinka's twinkle-toes busily twiddling the crotch in Marnie's jeans. What's more-and I'd thought that Marnie was playing a game of kneesies with me-Marnie had her thighs spread as far apart as she could and was sitting with her hips humped forward to give Zinka's little tootsies the whole field to play in.
"Marnie still wore her motherly smile, but now it had a slightly distant cast to it.
" ' ... won't we, Ricky, darling?' Marnie was saying, and I answered yes because I didn't know what the hell was going on.
" "Then it's all settled,' said Zinka, and she reached across the table and took Marnie's and my hands in hers. 'It would be nice to stay somewhere away from Columbia tonight.'
"Well, I figured, what the hell. If Zinka was playing twiddle-toes in the crotch with both of us, I might as well respond a little-you know, give her an idea that I wouldn't mind at all helping a young damsel in distress. Especially a damsel whose pussy I'd wanted to sink my tongue into since she was fourteen.
" 'We'll take care of you, sure,' I said, leaning forward reassuringly. As I did, I eased a hand under the table and planted it firmly, and I hope paternally, on her upper thigh. My fingers gloried in the sleek, well-toned young flesh and the fine down as I slid my hand under her dress, further up toward her hip. My hard on really bucked a couple times as I tested the tone and heft of her young, keen, teen thighs. And before I knew it, my hand was resting on her hipbone and caressing her firm little belly and quivering groin.
"If eyes could slaver, I'm afraid mine did. My vision blurred for a split second and when it cleared, my eyes felt hot and humid. The muscles in her thighs kept doing tiny flicks and shimmies. Her eyes, as she gazed into mine, were clear and unclouded, held nothing but innocence.
"In an overpowering rush of lust, I groped swiftly into the heated crevice where nestled the downy honey-pot my fingers craved. In one fell swoop I gained my prize and felt-a foot, bare-toed, sweaty, diddling a mile a minute at the firm, moist flesh. The toes, the foot-Marnie's, of course.
"We all kind of looked at each other, but innocent little Zinka was the only one cool enough to keep the sweet smile on her rosy face.
"After a moment Marnie said, 'Well, I guess we're all agreed.' There was a genuine pleasure in her voice that somehow communicated itself to Zinka and myself. So it was in ruttish high spirits that we all rose and trooped out when Marnie said, 'Shall we go?'
"We started toward the subway stop at 116th Street. When Zinka seemed oblivious, lost in her own thoughts, I whispered to Marnie, wondering whether we might be able to instruct Zinka in the ways of our little fantasy game. We agreed there were certain fantasies that she might be able to fulfill, but we weren't sure just how to broach the subject to her.
"When I think back now, I wonder why we should ever have been worried. Here I'd been thinking of 'innocent little Zinka,' and Marnie and I weren't all that old. I was twenty-six, Marnie was twenty-four, she said. And, God, the way kids grow up nowadays, some of them might as well be middled-aged by the time they're eighteen.
"Zinka placed herself between Marnie and me, taking both our arms. It was as if she were somehow taking charge of us, rather than the other way around.
" 'I feel devilish tonight,' she announced. 'Let's walk over to Riverside Drive first. Wanna?'
"Marnie and I agreed, so at 116th we turned left and walked to the drive. Then we turned uptown and walked toward Riverside Church, which was an awesome sight when I first saw it. It stands there taking up a whole city block, rising impressively, spire on Gothic spire, with its massive main door fronting on the drive. Made famous by Harry Emerson Fosdick. A fitting monument to man's indefatigable faith.
"We walked up the broad main steps and stood, surveying the broad street, the trees and the park, the vista of the Hudson with the lights of New Jersey across the river. There was a moment of almost saintly otherworldliness.
" 'Feel naughty?' Zinka asked, and I nodded tentatively.
"She dropped to her knees in the same instant my pants fell to my knees and, before my cock had sprung to full length, she gobbled it right to the base, applying exquisite pressure with her cheek muscles while the breath whistled through her nose. She fondled my balls expertly.
"I was so stunned I could feel nothing but the root of my cock pounding in my head. My eyes bugged and my knees turned to water.
"Marnie held out a steadying hand and whispered to me, "Think Margaret O'Brien.'
"Before I could gather my wits, Zinka rose, planting a juicy kiss on my mouth and laughing gaily. 'I've always wanted to do that.' A gust of wind off the Hudson chilled my cock. 'Always wanted,' she yelled, 'to bloiv somebody on the steps of a church.' She skipped off down the steps.
"Struggling to haul up my pants, I hurried after her, with Marnie close behind. I thanked God-although I'm not sure God was the one to be thanking after that little exhibition-that we were around the corner, now, on a side street and out of the glare of the streetlights.
"We hustled down the street until we were in front of Union Theological Seminary. Zinka was laughing quite loud and even Marnie emitted a few tee-hees. I mean, there were riots a block away and a thousand cops in the area, and I'm with two chicks who think it's fun to fornicate publicly on the steps of a church under bright lights. Fun city.
"Zinka hoisted herself up on a high wrought-iron fence-this with her back to the fence-and before I knew it she had both fragrant, athletic thighs draped over my shoulders. I was taken by surprise and completely helpless. With a slow, inexorable flex of her legs, she brought my face closer to her unpantied groin. The fine, blonde down on her tan thighs grazed my cheeks. I caught a clean smell of sea breeze and a glimpse of brown-blonde hair at the apex.
"To hell with the cops, I thought.
" "Think Shirley Temple,' said Marnie.
"I buried my face eagerly in the warm pussy and sank my tongue into it with as much relish as I'd ever sunk it into a cream puff. Marnie knew I felt like a dirty old man.
"I inhaled pure ambrosia. My tongue lapped vigorously at honey and glue, probed deeply between hot, wet labia. I seized firm basketball buttocks and kneaded them playfully.
" 'Oh!' sang Zinka, 'always I've wanted to be eaten like this!' She squirmed and twisted like a dolphin harpooned on my tongue. 'Really,' I heard her say, 'I don't see anything wrong with a little good healthy irreverence, do you?' If she was talking to me she didn't expect an answer.
"My rumination was suddenly interrupted.
" 'Jesus God!' Zinka yelled at the top of her voice.
"The hackles on my neck went up, but Zinka grabbed me with one hand and they went down. Christ, I damned near went down, because she was riding me like a bronc-buster.
" 'Eat my CUNT,' she called to the Jersey shore. 'LICK my TWAT till you RAISE BLISTERS!'
"I pulled my face from her crotch, my lips gluey and spluttering. Already half a dozen lights had gone in assorted monastic cells. I swept Zinka and Marnie up and, like some phantom of the opera, spirited them up the street. My neck was sore. They laughed.
""Think Shirley Temple, shit,' I blustered. Marnie gave a throaty laugh. I pressed on. "Think Zinka Milanov,' I said. 'If not Enrico Caruso shattering glass.' We almost bumped into a posse of peace officers rushing to see what the disturbance was.
"When we reached Broadway we slowed our pace a bit so we wouldn't be mistaken for any of the rioters. We reached the subway with no incident.
"The trip downtown was quick and, as we walked along the street, Marnie and I, in a few hurried asides, figured that Zinka, with her far-out sense of fun, might be the perfect player for our little screw-your-favorite-celebrity game. Zinka readily agreed to ponder who she would be and want.
"Marnie's apartment is a three-flight walk-up, so we were pretty hot by the time we'd climbed all those stairs. And Zinka, wearing a beige long-sleeved blouse and a wraparound skirt, was perspiring prettily-so prettily that I felt an almost irresistible desire to give her a juicy kiss and lick the glow off her upper lip.
"But Marnie, bless her heart-or damn her eyes, I'm not sure which, 'cause my reaction was ambivalent-Marnie put her arms around Zinka and said, 'You look hot, dear, why don't you take your things off,' and planted a big kiss on her. Zinka immediately caught the one button on her skirt with a thumb and forefinger, deftly undid it, and dropped her skirt to the floor.
"Jesus, did she ever present a beautiful obscene sight naked from the waist down. One thing that especially turns me on is good legs, and Zinka had the legs of a ballerina. Marvelously smooth, well-muscled calves that tapered into slender ankles. She'd come back from a week in Florida, and her thighs had a golden tan that set off a fine down of blonde hair. There was an erotic contrast between the tan of her thighs and the milk-white flesh of her groin and mons. I wanted those legs wrapped around me, that golden-haired mons pressed against me, in the worst way.
"I felt a pang of lust sweep my groin, and sat down weakly on the couch. I must've made an audible groan, because Zinka broke away from Marnie and, doffing her blouse to reveal perfect milk-white breasts tipped with bronze, erect nipples, approached me. When she was close enough that I could smell the perfume of her cunt, she smiled at me and said, 'I think I'll be Peggy Ann Garner.'
"Without another word she pressed my back on the couch and proceeded to sit on my face, spreading her luscious cunt all over my mouth and nose. I felt eager fingers undoing my fly and pushing my pants and shorts down to my ankles.
"Now I hadn't tried to get any picture in my mind about how Peggy Ann Garner might do it, but Zinka had an absolutely fantastic mouth on her, and a way of tonguing your cock that sent shudders of pleasure through my body. I sank my quivering tongue into her wet snatch, savoring the taste and the fresh smell.
"But I wasn't getting anywhere trying to visualize Peggy Ann Garner. I found it much easier, because of Zinka's lovely, fresh face, twinkly eyes, and voluptuous mouth, to think of the young Ingrid Bergman. All I had to do was imagine a sexy Scandinavian accent. As a matter-of-fact, when I did that, I got so turned on I just had to watch-had to watch that lovely mouth, those adoring eyes as she blew me.
"I pulled my face from her crotch, slipped my pants and shorts off my feet, and stood in front of her with my gorged whang inches from her devouring eyes. 'You're Ingrid Bergman,' I said. 'And you're a fantastic cocksucker.' With that, I grabbed her head with both hands and pulled her forward, trembling with exquisite ecstasy as her strong, wet lips took the head of my dick and slid up the entire length of my cock, till her breath fanned my pubes.
"Marnie, not to be left out, dropped on her knees at the edge of the couch, spread Zinka's tanned and trembling thighs, and pushed her greedy face against Zinka's pussy. I had a moment of sharp envy, but overcame it by slipping my hand between the cheeks of Marnie's ass and easing two fingers into her pulsing twat. Lustful squeals and moans rewarded me.
"Somehow I managed to lie on the couch and bring Marnie's ass over my face. Zinka, half standing, straddled me so Marnie could get a good angle to continue her licking. And I could view the frantic blow job Zinka was lovingly applying to my hot cock.
"Marnie dropped her ass insistently onto my face and gave it a couple lusty shakes. 'Guess who I am now,' she said, pulling her tongue from Zinka's cunt for an instant.
"I gave a few tentative licks at her parted wet labia and announced, 'Ava Gardner.'
" 'Right!' she squealed in joy, diving into Zinka's glistening muff.
"Zinka pulled her mouth off my throbbing joint, careful to wrap her hand around it and jerk in a happy rhythm. 'Hot fuck!' she crowed. 'Shit! Eat me! Yes!' She shimmied her ass bawdily in Marnie's face. Bless the dear child, she had the perfect accents of Ingrid Bergman.
"I felt my balls tingle and tighten, my cock fill to impossible hardness and pulse wildly. Moaning, I seized Marnie's ass and jammed my tongue into her pussy as deep as it would go.
"Marnie dug her face even more feverishly into Zinka's palpitating cunt and squealed in muffled delight. Zinka gave an explosive gasp, sighed, 'Oh, Rick!' and plunged her mouth onto my throbbing shaft.
"That did it. Knowing full well that one of my lifelong desires was to be blown by Ingrid Bergman, I bucked a few times and shot bolt after bolt of hot come into Zinka's sucking mouth. At the same instant, Marnie gave a squeal and settled her pulsing cunt heavily on my face and deluged me with creamy Ava Gardner come. We all enjoyed our charades hugely."
As was mentioned in the brief commentary to this case, there can be no prognosis to the two principals, or Zinka, who was drawn into the principals' make-believe games. Generally speaking, one should remember that actors and actresses are the masters of make-believe; Rick and Marnie-though no luminaries-are an actor and an actress playing roles. Perhaps the prognosis could be that which could be applied to any luminary (optimistic), except for the Othello of Double Life (pessimistic).
CHAPTER FOUR
Evelyn's Erotic Liberation
"Look, I'm just a born loser. All the way around. I just don't seem to have what it takes to do all those damn cliche things like 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps,' or 'cut the mustard,' or any of the rest of 'em. I'm just a weakling. An ordinary, everyday, household variety of all-around schmuck. I dutifully see Dr. H-twice a week, and I go to the A.A. meetings once a week ... all those things one is supposed to do if one wants to 'shape up.' Oh, I know what's expected of me, but I don't think I can do it. Not in this lifetime, not with my psyche. Was it Oscar Wilde or Shaw who said that he could resist anything but temptation? Well, whoever said that, it certainly applies to me!
"But one thing I'm reasonably sure about, and that is that if I'd never given in to myself in the first place, most of what's happened to me could have been avoided. That's why I consented to this interview. There must be thousands and thousands of housewives all over the country who are going through what I had to face, and I'd like to have this chance to tell them what happened to me, and then, maybe, they'll think twice before they make the same mistakes I did.
"You know, my best friend in high school was a Catholic girl and I can still remember asking her one day why Catholics went to confession. I'm not changing the subject, this all ties in. My friend told me that confession should be thought of like your neighborhood cleaners. She said to think of my soul as a brand-new white dress, that we're all born with brand-new white dresses. We're all very careful with something that's new and pretty, we try to take care of it, hang it up, keep it fresh and clean, crisp and ready to wear in front of company. But as she explained it, one day you accidentally spill something on your new dress. Well, if you took it to the cleaners right away, and got that spot out, you'd tend to try to be even more careful not to spill anything on it. Naturally, since we're human and don't live in a vaccuum, it'll get dirty again or we'll spill something again-but if each time you soil that dress you rush it to the cleaners, you continue to try to be careful. But, as she put it, if after that very first dirty spot on your dress you don't rush it to the cleaners, pretty soon there's another spot, and then another, and another, until you really don't care about that dress anymore-until you begin to think of it as not being worth the trouble to take it to the cleaners. And as you care less and less what happens to the dress, you begin to treat it like an old rag and pretty soon that's all it really is. Just a dirty old rag. She said that our souls are like the dress. If every time we commit a small sin-or even a big sin-we take it to the cleaners, or the confessional, we try to do better and not make the same mistakes. But if we commit sins and don't go to confession, then pretty soon we begin not to care until finally we decide there's no point in even trying to keep our souls free from sin.
"I remember thinking that her explanation was very interesting, that it had a lot of merit to it, but it didn't have anything to do with me since I wasn't a Catholic. But I've been thinking about that explanation quite a bit lately, about how it applies to my own life, everyone's life. I can't say for sure, naturally, but if I'd remembered her explanation before I first began my fantasizing, I'm pretty damned sure I'd never have found myself in this kind of a bind. It's too late now, much too late. I'm forty-one years old, and I can't change just like that! I've become too dependent upon my booze, too accustomed to bedding boys young enough to be my teenage son. Strangely enough, my husband Dick is having the most trouble adjusting to the scandal in our lives. My son and daughter were shocked, naturally, and for a while they really didn't know how to talk to me or what to say. But they're accepting the truth far better than Dick is. In a way, I think that if I only had to live with my kids, maybe I could kick my habits, but Dick is so obvious with his solicitude. His disapproval comes through his platitudes like sweat through makeup on a hot day. The kids have even begun to tease me, to laugh with me about my hang-ups-but not stoic Dick. My son will tell his sister to 'ask the nympho for the keys to the car' right in front of my face, or my daughter will pull a Coke bottle out of my hands and smell it to be sure there's no booze spiking it, and she'll say something like, 'Just checking up on the sly alkie of the family,' and stuff like that. I can live with the joking; I can't live with the disapproval.
"Dick is a subcontractor and he's built his business up from nothing. We moved out here in the mid-fifties, shortly after we were married--oh, maybe two or three years afterward. Janie, our daughter, was just an infant. Needless to say, there was still the postwar housing boom going on, and the Korean involvement seemed to spur people into building bigger and better. And, of course, Dick is a very conscientious fellow, hard worker, and all that, which meant that he worked forty-eight hours a day! At first, of course, I fully understood that his business required all his time, all his energy; and during those initial years, somehow Dick still found time to be with the baby and me. Not a lot of time, but enough to keep me aware of the fact that I had a husband. But gradually, as his business grew, he spent less and less time, even gave up vacations altogether. A couple of times, over the years, our family doctor has told Dick to take a vacation or risk a heart attack. When that happens, Dick does as he's told, but, for one reason or another, I've not been able to go with him. Either the children were in school and we just couldn't yank them out, or one time, I remember, my mother had just suffered a coronary and I had to be with her ... all very good reasons, but I ceased to see my husband. It was like living with a ghost who paid the bills. And at that time, I didn't have enough sense to realize how I resented his neglect. I was too busy living up to my image as the model wife, sacrificing and dutiful mother. Bullshit!
"At first, I used to be shocked by some of the notions that would pop into my head. I never considered myself a horny broad, and while I enjoyed Dick's lovemaking, it would never have entered my head to instigate a sexual liaison ... or, to be more blunt, I'd never go up to Dick and say, 'Let's fuck!' I never even used language like that; damn was the strongest word in my vocabulary in those days. I guess my white dress has got a lot of spills on it. ... And it was only about four years ago that I began to realize that my subconscious, or my libido, or whatever you call it, was on a different wavelength from the rest of me. I remember that first time very, very clearly-mostly because I shocked myself. A Western Union boy had come to the house and delivered a telegram. That's all he did. But for a split second, just before I closed the front door, I had the most overwhelming urge to call him back to the house, to invite him in ... and to seduce him!
"I can't tell you what prompted such a thought in my very conventional, square head. But there it was. Naturally, I dismissed the matter at first, but the mere fact that such a thing could even enter my mind was terribly disturbing. I felt hounded by guilt and a slow fear began to spread through me, as if I knew that it would happen again ... and that maybe I wouldn't be able to resist the impulse the next time. That I, a quiet unassuming housefrau, mother of two healthy children, and a woman in her late thirties, could ever even toy with such a notion, much less the deed, frightened me into a kind of bottled-up hysteria. And I admit that it was just about that time I began to drink to excess.
"There were more such moments, and they seemed to increase both in frequency and in intensity. The box boy at the supermarket, the paperboy, young elevator operators ... on and on and on. I was terribly naive about sex, I suppose. Being a married woman and a mother does not mean you know anything about sex; it only means that you've been fucked. Women's Liberation aside, proper women my age simply do not know about libertine things-and if they do know, they sure as hell don't talk about it. I'd give a great deal to be a teenager in today's world; it's freer and even though the kids make an awful lot of mistakes, it's more honest today. Why, do you know that drugstores nowadays sell condoms next to the cash register? Right out in the open for everyone to see? And you see signs about V.D. everywhere! This would never have been permitted when I was in my teens!
"Now, I'm drifting from the point of our interview. Let's see. I guess it was about seven or eight months after that Western Union episode that I really started to go off the deep end-both with the bottle and with my sexual fantasies. I've always tried to stay in shape, so I've made Jack LaLanne sort of a routine part of my life, exercising in front of the TV set every morning, listening to his godawful jokes and watching those dumb dogs of his trample the set. So even though my drinking habits were making any kind of exercise impossible, I somehow found myself sitting in front of the set in the mornings watching his show anyhow-usually with a cup of spiked coffee. And as only an alkie can, I began to deride him-talking back to the TV set, giving him the finger whenever he'd tell me to get out of my chair and join in on the exercises.
"One morning, I don't know quite why or how, but as he was explaining how a particular exercise would build up the thigh and belly muscles, I began to feel mine, to see just how bad they really were. And suddenly everything became unreal to me. It had been almost a year since Dick and I had fucked, I know that. I let my house robe fall open as I sat in the deep easy chair watching the set, and let my hands begin to roam over my body, touching my breasts, my vulva, grazing my clitoris-and all the while watching the TV set. I felt how hot and wet I was getting in my twat, my hand rubbing around my groin gently, the motion causing my whole vulva to come awake. My other hand crawled to my full heavy breast, kneading the not-so-firm flesh, my thumb teasing my nipple up and down and around, while my other hand continued to play with my body. I'd stare at the set not even fully aware of what was being said or done on the screen. But it was giving me some sort of terrific jag to be touching myself in front of the set-as if LaLanne could see what I was doing, but he couldn't touch. It was as if I had been mesmerized, I was someone other than good ol' Evelyn. My hand sneaked lower and lower, taunting my hungry and sensitive flesh until my thighs parted with a will of their own, allowing the hand to tease its way down to the tender flesh of my vulva. With delicious and lustful anticipation, I relished the slowly spreading awareness in my cunt, the feeling of engorgement, and the increasing tingling that warned of urgency, of my long neglected need. I pretended that it wasn't my hand that toyed with my clitoris or that pinched the lips of my vagina. It was like a form of madness, I guess, sort of like being possessed by some other spirit ... it's hard to describe. But it felt so good, so damned good and wicked! I wanted to celebrate this new experience; I'd never masturbated before ... frankly, it had never occurred to me. Nice ladies don't. So with one hand busily playing with my snatch and kneading my buttocks, I got up and fixed myself a stiff scotch with my free hand and then came back and sat down in front of the set-ready to do myself justice with a good drink and an audience that couldn't complain or ruin the atmosphere. It was like a geyser of strange new emotions were being let out of the dusty bottle, and I had no control over what I was doing. I massaged my slick wet cunt almost casually, savoring the wonderful sensations that soared through my limbs. Occasionally, I'd dip my index finger into my vagina, but it wasn't very satisfactory. So I got up again, and this time I took an ornamental candle I kept on the dining-room table and brought it back to the chair with me. It was about an inch and a half across and had spiraling ribs to it-not a hell of a big deal, but better than just my index finger. I slid down low in the chair, rested one foot against the coffee table, my knee bent, and let my other thigh rest across the arm of the chair so that my entire hairy cunt was exposed to the TV set. And I gradually inserted the candle up my cunt, feeling the ridges of it inside my hole and how easily it slipped in past my sphincter.
"I used my other hand to pull the lips of my vulva apart, to pull the area upward and expose it to the air. Glancing down, I could see my clitoris poking out at the center of my twat up at the top. It bobbed and twitched for attention. So I shifted the candle to my left hand, grinding my hips slowly with the pumping motion, and using the first and third fingers of my right hand, I kept my cunt spread open while my index finger gently massaged my clit. I'd never known such a delight before. I'd come once or twice with Dick's lovemaking-well, more often than that, but I couldn't count on it and I'd never been able to bring myself to confess when I hadn't orgasmed-but fucking myself with the candle while rubbing my clitoris was a terrific sensation! I suppose I could've been a sexpot if Dick had been a more knowledgeable lover, but as it turned out, I turned myself on. It was a fantastic experience-furtive or not, rebellious or not. And when I orgasmed, it was marvelous! I remember that I broke into the giggles as my vagina spasmed its release, and I watched the candle sticking out from my cunt, twitching and finally falling out. Later, when I washed it off to replace it in the holder, I noticed that the spiral ridges around the base of it had melted down. I hoped that my cunt wasn't encased in wax, and I hurried to the bathroom to douche, making a mental note to myself to replace the candle as soon as possible-and to buy a fatter one just for masturbatory purposes.
"And that was really the beginning. Fucking to the TV in the morning, getting drunker than a whore with clap! All hell seemed to be breaking loose after that. It was as if with that first defiant act I'd unleashed a wanton hellion within myself. Someone I had never met, didn't know, and certainly couldn't control-and she only emerged with a snootful of booze in her. It didn't take me very long to realize that this creature from the bottle lived independently from the real me. And I don't know how to divide up the responsibility. That is, if I didn't drink would this other me never show up? Or does she only come forth because I'm a boozer? No matter how you look at it, it's the bottle that's my biggest enemy. Dr. H-listens to me say that and he smirks; I'm glad that you don't think it's so all fucking funny! I've got a life to rebuild, and my sense of humor isn't up to such enigmatic responses from people. But as I had said, that seems to have been the beginning . ... "
The case of Evelyn B-is a rather complex, integrated set of circumstances. Her family life is, to say the least, not very fulfilling to her needs and expectations. The husband places more emphasis on and shows more interest in his work than in the family and its functions. The children, in Evelyn's eyes, appear to be disrespectful and unsympathetic to her problems and needs.
Within this framework, Evelyn has no place where she may find the relationships which are left unsatisfied, including any type of close sexual contact with her husband. Therefore, the only road left open to her is for the creation of her own world through fantasies.
It appears the neurosis displayed by the subject goes deeply into three problems: alcoholism, schizophrenia and fantasy.
The fundamental difference between the neurotic and the schizophrenic consists in the maintenance of the potential unity of the personality. Despite the fact consciousness can be split up into several personal consciousnesses, the unity of all the dissociated fragments is not only visible to the professional eye, but it can also be reestablished by means of hypnosis. "This is not the case with schizophrenia," contends C. G. Jung. He clarifies his statement in his work "On the Psychogenesis of Schizophrenia" as contained in The Basic Writings of C. G. Jung :
...in a schizophrenic patient the connection between the ego and certain complexes is more or less completely lost. The split is not relative, it is rather absolute . ... A neurosis, it is true, is characterized by a relative autonomy of its complexes, but in schizophrenia the complexes have become disjointed and autonomous fragments, which either do not reintegrate to the psychical totality, or, in the case of a remission, are unexpectedly joined together, as if nothing had happened before.
It can be seen that Evelyn's split-off figure assumes banal, somewhat grotesque or highly exaggerated character-often objectionable in some ways to her. It does not cooperate with Evelyn's consciousness. It is not tactful and obviously has no respect for sentimental values earlier expressed by the subject.
As revealed in the following narrative by the subject, there is a drama involved with her split-off figure, and it is certainly far beyond her understanding. The disorder may stem from several factors, any of which might be applied to Evelyn's case based upon the limited information contained herein: intoxication, fatigue, shocks, anemia, intense affects, primitive mentality or religious fanaticism.
Evelyn's fantasies evolve from a limited experience, usually with young men, and create sexual satisfaction by projecting to her conscious through masturbation her engaging in sexual acts with men. Although later she creates such fantasies which she regards as real, her earlier experiences are not recognized by her as reality. She realized she dreamed the sexual encounter with the young lumber-yard helper as well as with the cyclist.
She was able to invoke these fantasies, and through her masturbation, she was able to fulfill her sexual drives. She began by masturbating, then she was able to find a substitute for the male penis-replacing the absent husband's role in the sex act. This proved to be stimulating and satisfying for her, and it was only a short step to creating the situation through fantasy.
If at this point the family situation would have changed for the better, it is highly likely that Evelyn would have been able to drop her fantasy creations and learn to return to a very satisfying relationship with her husband. However, such was not the case, and her fantasy creations expanded into the type where the subject engages in fantasy to such an extent that such appears and is accepted as the real.
It is somewhat doubtful that her experience with the interior decorator is, therefore, factual. It can be assumed that this particular fantasy became so vivid to her that she was able to regard and believe it as reality.
Without getting into a detailed discussion of homosexuality, a simple statement can be made regarding the feasibility of Evelyn's contact sexually with the interior decorator Terence. In the first place, it is doubtful that a confirmed homosexual such as we are led to believe Terence is would consent to having any type of sexual relations with a female. For the homosexual (male as opposed to female, lesbian) women's genitals become phobic objects because they remind him too strongly of the danger of castration. Thus the possibility of being interested in them, curious about them, even of seeing them, let along having sexual intercourse with them, becomes firmly repressed. Homosexual objects (in most cases the penis) become the only safe ones, and the assertion of homosexual inclinations serves as a protective denial of the dangerous heterosexual ones.
Therefore, it may be concluded that Evelyn's experience with Terence (although an initial contact and business association could well have been real) was a fantasy-so strong she regarded it not as such, but rather as reality.
As all the facts surrounding her experience in the motel which resulted in a reported beating and robbery are not available at this writing, no assumption can be made as to its actually having happened, or if, in fact, this was a vivid creation of her fantasy, resulting in her partial physical participation in the fantasy, resulting in the beating being self-inflicted.
"You want specific examples? All right. I'll do the best I can. I soon found myself fantasizing about the most un likely people and in my boozed up state, I suppose you could call it something like self-hypnosis. I could have anyone I wanted merely by closing my eyes, letting go, and giving in totally to the fantasy. I'd make up the story or the situation as I'd go along. Or more accurately, she would ... that other me. I know that sounds buggy, but I don't know how else to describe why I was doing what I was. I certainly would never do such things, so it just has to be her. Anyhow, I became fascinated with the tough-guy types, the leather-motorcycle kind of guy. I certainly didn't know any, and they don't usually hang around middle-class suburbia. Maybe I got the idea from TV since there were so many movies or stories involving this lowbrow element. But I found these crude young men fascinating; they were the very antithesis of everything I'd ever known or been brought up to seek-and I turned to this type avidly, with wicked pleasure.
"I saw myself as a sort of tough Natalie Wood in my mind, saw myself working in a roadside cafe where all the truck drivers would come by ... and the motorcycle gangs. Even as my real body sank deeper and deeper into the chair, my imaginary self became lighter and lighter. Pounds rolled off of me, muscle replaced flab, sleek long black hair replaced gray split ends, and so on. I became that girl totally. There was nothing else in my life: no Dick, no kids, no split level in suburbia.
"I was clearing the counter, wiping off the crumbs with a damp and rather dirty cloth, when he walked in. He was tall and thin, unkempt, and with at least a day's beard stubble on his face. His black leather jacket had a picture of a lion roaring on his hind legs on the back of it, and underneath was printed the word: Rex. He threw one lean muscular leg over the stool and slouched over the counter, his hat pushed back on his head revealing dirty blonde hair. 'Coffee. Black,' he mumbled. I could tell you all the details of my fantasy, how I sauntered toward him and flirted, but that's not so terribly important. What is important is that I managed to get him to offer to buy me a beer after work-only we never got as far as the roadhouse, at least, not till later. I was too hot for that, and Rex knew it. I'd have fucked that bastard on top of his motorcycle, but instead we pulled off the road and walked his bike to where there was a great big tree and lots of cool grass. No sooner had we reached the spot and I was sitting down than I realized that Rex had his shoes and trousers off, that he was already climbing out of his shorts. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see that he was beautifully hung and already semi-rigid. Seeing that, I was too anxious to even bother with undressing and, instead, I pulled off my panties and hoisted my skirt so Rex could see my snatch.
"Rex took one look at my exposed cunt, grinned, and began feeling his meat, stroking it like a trusty pistol, and joined me on the grass. Even as I stretched out, I could feel Rex's thick meat pushing at my loins. I was going crazy waiting to have this coxman fuck me! And I just couldn't wait any longer. My cunt was sopping with my slick juices, wanting to get fucked, and this stud didn't strike me as the type who'd go in for all that foreplay shit. He had a ready cock and he needed a place to shove it. I had a burning box and couldn't see any point in wasting time.
"Even as he was positioning himself between my legs, I grabbed his cock and ran the fat head of it up and down my slick cunt, teasing my clit with it, and getting him really all up tight pushing my hard clit into the tiny hole of his glans.
" 'You know what it's for, don't you, baby?' Rex said, already breathing hard. And I didn't bother to say anything. Instead I took his prick firmly in my hand, and I guided it back down to my feverish vagina and began to insert it inside my hole. It was a nice thickness, and even a nicer length-and was hard as a handlebar. I got the head of his cock almost to my sphincter, then gave a great big shove with my hips, sinking his shaft into my canal for its entire length.
"Oh, wow, was it ever great to have fresh young meat up inside of me. To have a real man who was young and strong and virile! The size of his cock was stretching my vaginal walls enough to really enjoy some real male meat inside of me and it was really terrific. There's nothing quite so great as a big hard cock inside of a hungry cunt. I felt that rod of his hit my cervix and let out a groan of pleasure-I was going to get good and fucked by a healthy young stud.
"I guess Rex was pretty horny 'cause he started pumping as if he wanted to get his rocks off right away, but I told him to cool it, to take his time and really enjoy himself. So he slowed up, shoving that big thing up into me gradually so I could feel the way his cock thrust through my hot canal, pushing past the sphincter so that it could grab at his prick. I was so goddam grateful to the guy that I gave him the extra treat of snapping-letting his cock get the full benefit of my muscle control. I'll bet he thought his cock was caught by a revolving door the way I was snapping it. But it felt so damn good to me, so very hot-damn good. To have an all-male prick inside of me, shoving in and out, pulsing within me, pushing into me until I thought he was going to shove right out my ass. Rex was really okay!
"Before long, I was getting too close to coming to play any more games. I hoisted my legs up and held them against my shoulders with my arms, giving that savage full access to my steaming snatch. 'Fuck me, Rex, fuck me hard!' I shouted at him. And with deep, powerful lunges, Rex started slamming into me, really hard. His balls were bouncing off my ass as he thrust and retreated, shoved that meat in, then pulled back. Harder and harder, then faster and faster. It was sensational!
"And it was only a matter of seconds, then, for me to begin spasming. 'I'm coming, Rex, I'm coming ... shoot into me, let me feel your hot come shoot into me, come, baby, come ... now, Rex, now I'
"Rex grunted and pumped, slamming his cock into my cunt like he was trying to beat me to death, and I loved it. I wriggled my ass all over the grass, ruining my skirt but not caring. I was giving him a rotating movement he'd never forget, and even as I finally began to orgasm, to feel all my guts churning and clutching at his cock, I could feel his burning semen spurting up into me, playing paddle-ball against my womb. It was a terrific come for both of us and I knew Rex was pleased with me 'cause he could've just left me out there ... but he really did buy me a beer.
"That's how these fantasies go. They vary, but they're always culminated with orgasm. Yeah. I can really will myself to come. How about that! I just make myself comfortable in a chair, close my eyes, and let my mind go-then she takes over and does the rest. Of course, the more I've had to drink, the easier it is. Sometimes, when I'm drunk enough, I can really wipe out all my environs-the house could be on fire and I'd never know the difference. Weird, isn't it?
"One time, Dick had asked me to stop by a nearby lumber yard and leave off an invoice with the owner. He wasn't there, but he had a bronzed young helper who said he'd give the invoice to the owner when he got back. A really young boy ... maybe only seventeen. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just jeans, and his wonderfully smooth torso was magnificently tanned. So, of course, when I got home I couldn't get the boy out of my mind. He'd said his name was Vince, and I had no trouble at all getting Vince into my fantasy live.
"I'd asked him to drop by to pick up the invoice, instead of what really happened, and I'd met him at the door wearing a bikini that showed off my beautiful full figure. I was me ... but I was her. I could see that Vince was eyeing me whenever he thought I wasn't looking. I had to have the boy, and instantly; it was no time for polite games.
" 'like what you see?' I said to him, smiling, and catching him off guard with his blue eyes riveted to my tits. I'd not anticipated Vince's reaction and I was momentarily surprised when he reached forward and ripped the top of my suit off my body. And then we were off! It became a free-for-all. By the time Vince was naked, I could see that for a young kid he had a terrific hard on and it excited me wildly. Stark naked, like two wary animals, I wanted to be fucked right out of this world-and to do the same for young Vince, with the tanned torso and legs and milk-white loins. My God, what a beautiful young man he was!
"I threw myself at Vince, toppling us both to the rug, and wrapped my naked legs around his waist. Then I sank my teeth into his shoulder, my hands all over him raking his flesh with my ruby-red nails. For a youth, Vince was surprisingly knowledgeable about sex, and he'd slap my bare ass hard if I got too rough with my nails or teeth. I was excruciatingly hot for Vince's body and I could feel my cunt steaming to feel his rock-hard cock inside of it. With something like a war cry, I managed to roll him over on his back and threw myself astride his torso. Then I took his rigid cock and sank it into me from tip to balls! His prick slipped into my sopping cunt with ease, its thick burning shaft filling up my vaginal canal as if it had been meant for it. I wanted more and more of his cock in me, and I writhed and shoved, grunting to fill myself with him. We rolled on the rug, grappling with each other like gladiators, Vince fucking at me whenever he could manage to get on top of me, sweat pouring from our bodies as he tried to skewer me with his pecker, tried to fuck me senseless.
"When we finally orgasmed, it was one of the sweatiest comes I'd ever known. It was exhausting, but very satisfying. When I snapped out of it, I was drenched from head to foot in sweat. It had been a good come.
"Other fantasies came and went, depending upon who I might encounter that day or week. It didn't have to be someone I actually talked to; it could be someone I merely glimpsed but who captured my imagination. This went on and on and it seemed a harmless enough escape from reality-after all, no one was really doing anything. But she wasn't satisfied with just fantasy anymore; she wanted the excitement, the adventure, of the real thing. Since I very rarely drew any sober breaths, she was in control almost constantly.
"Looking back, of course, I can see where my children were growing away from me ... recall the patient sighs when they'd come home from school and find me already thick-tongued and wobbly on my feet. I look back and I begin to see when I saw less and less of my kids, when they began to withdraw from me, to consult me less ... when they began to take care of me. It's not a pretty memory. But I was as helpless against that turn of events as anyone is against the unknown elements of his nature. Fortunately, I was able to keep the truth of what I was to become from them. That's to say, I somehow managed never to let her bring home her disgusting tricks.
"As for Dick, I'm sure he knew that I'd become a lush. He'd almost have to know. You can't share a bedroom with someone and not smell liquor. In these past four years or so, since all this started, I don't think Dick has laid me even five times. Now, of course, it occurs to me to wonder whether or not he's been screwing some other dame ... but I doubt it. I truly believe that Dick has been working all that hard, every night. And no one who works that hard has much interest in sex. He's not a eunuch, or at least, he wasn't during our initial years of marriage. But Dick doesn't know how to hire executives and delegate authority-he thinks that if he doesn't handle everything, it's got to get loused up. So of course he's still working forty-eight hours a day. And with that kind of pressure and load, no man's very interested in sex. Not at our age, anyway. Maybe if I'd gotten a job instead of turning to the bottle I'd have been kept busy enough not to need all that fantasizing or the booze. But I didn't. No point in lamenting over the 'I should've this or that.' And whatever disapproving thoughts Dick may have had about my becoming a bottle baby, he never confronted me with them.
"But anyway, soon the fantasies gave way to realities. The first time was when I'd decided to have the house redecorated and I'd gone to one of those chic places that charge you an arm and a leg just to view the showroom. This young fellow, Terence, was put in charge of my account. A mincing, prancing lad of probably twenty-five who didn't look a day over eighteen. And he was working so hard at making me think he was straight that instead of revulsion toward his aberration, I felt sympathy. I began to realize that boys, too, can have harmful emotional experiences that incapacitate them for a normal life-usually, we only hear about what happens to girls. Things like rape, or brutality, and so on. But I'm sure that boys can be just as impressionable and just as easily warped during childhood. And I began to take Terence under my wing, to gain his confidence in me as a person and not just a gentler. It didn't take long for him to begin to open up around me, and even to comment freely about my drinking habits. And soon we became buddies, on the telephone constantly swapping gossip or talking about recipes or I'd drop by the store to see some new material he'd just gotten in that he thought would be 'A-DOR-a-ble' for the dining room. And Terence always wore very tight-fitting pants. I could see how well-endowed he was. Why is it that gay men never seem to wear pants with pockets? Shit! Every tiny bulge in their crotch shows! Well, one evening when I was over at the store and everyone else had gone on home, I asked Terence the big question: Was he really gay?
" 'Well I must say, Evelyn, that at least you're honest enough to come right out and ask! Most straight people are so furtive about the subject. Gay? Darling! If I were any more gay I'd be in paroxysms of perpetual laughter! Of course I'm gay.'
"And we got to talking about it-man to man, or woman to woman ... whatever you prefer to call it. And, of course, I was plying Terence with plenty of booze-he always kept a bottle on hand for when I was around, but that night he was matching me drink for drink. And one thing led to another-life stories, that sort of thing. As we talked, and as we drank, I knew I was losing ground to my other self. I found myself posing before Terence, showing my middle-aged cleavage, doing many small things that are the mark of a woman on the make. I suppose I'm as bad as straight men who think that all any lesbian needs to be normal is a good lay from a real man; I found myself thinking that if I could just give Terence a truly good lay he'd not need his faggot friends any more. And Terence was drunk enough, feeling sorry for himself enough, to want to give it a try. At least we did have respect for each other-that much, at least. So it wasn't as sordid as one might think just hearing about it. He wanted to please me, to try to have sexual intercourse with a woman-even though I was considerably older. And I desperately wanted to convince him that he could make it with women, that he didn't have to lead the guilty life he led, a social outcast.
"Knowing my own body was not that of a beautiful young girl, I asked Terence to turn off the lights ... so both of us 'would feel more comfortable' that way. As it was, there was enough light from the streetlamp to keep us from walking into furniture. After we'd both stripped down, rather bashfully and awkwardly, I lay down on the couch and watched Terence approach me. I remember being surprised that his mincing step had disappeared, that as he came toward me it was with considerable grace, but it was masculine-not feminine. His balls swayed gently with his movement and I could see that he already had a hard on.
"Silently, Terence positioned himself above me on the couch. I felt him entering me, shoving that magnificent shaft up inside of my hole. And as calmly as a surgeon, he brought my legs up and placed them around his waist so that all of my own weight was upon my shoulders on the couch while he was able to fuck me on his knees. To my amazement, and pleasure, Terence fucked beautifully ... despite his clinical detachment. It was as if he were working a puzzle. He had a hard on and I was the nearest hole. Slowly, leisurely, Terence slipped his rock-hard cock into my hole and then withdrew it calmly; but not all the way out, naturally. He kept this up for delicious moments until my entire body was alive and aflame with sensation. Terence fucked as if clocks didn't exist, shoving his prick into my slick hole, sliding out, shoving in-gradually, comfortingly, as if he fucked women every hour on the hour.
" 'Where the hell did you learn to fuck like that?' I asked him absently, not really caring as long as he kept it up.
" "Tell you later,' was all he said.
"By then I was absolutely beside myself with pleasure. This wasn't any self-induced fantasy-this was real. This time when I came, there'd be an honest-to-God cock inside of me. I don't think you can know the turmoil of emotions within me that first real act of infidelity. But my emotions had to play second fiddle to my sensations. I was too deliciously thrilled to be doing any thinking. And I gave myself over to simply enjoying the screwing I was getting. I felt Terence's hands cupping the fleshy folds of my cunt so that my clitoris was pulled downward and began to feel the friction of his cock upon it. He played with the soft flesh of my pussy while he rode in and out of me, first exposing my clitoris to the air and then folding it into its protective vulva, giving himself something like a private peep show without ever lessening his quiet fucking of my cunt. It was magnificently slow and I was very near to or-gasming. I guess Terence knew that too. He increased his tempo, sliding in and out of me; my cunt was making sopping sucky noises with his movements and I could no longer hold still but had to begin wriggling around. And before you could say jackrabbit I was coming all over the place, shouting and half-crying-something I never did in my fantasies.
"Gradually, Terence let my hips back down to the couch so I could rest, but I could feel his cock still inside of me. Not only just inside of me, but still hard!
" 'My turn, Evelyn ... don't go away now,' he said, then yanked his prick out of my hole and ran to the bathroom. I was still huffing and puffing when he came back, smelling of soap and water.
" 'You wanted to get laid, Evelyn, and I wanted to get sucked. Fair is fair, now.'
"Well, shit, I'd never sucked cock before. I didn't even know people did such things! But when I'm drunk, when she's taken over, I soon learned that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do as long as it was connected with sex. Terence had propped me up against a cushion so that I was nicely comfortable, and then he'd straddled my waist so that his poker-hard dong was right in front of my face.
" 'Don't be afraid, Evelyn. You'll enjoy this, I swear to you, you will.'
"So feeling inept but defiantly determined, I lifted Terence's penis to my mouth and began kissing it tentatively. It wasn't as bad as I had more or less expected. And I wondered if that's what was meant by being 'gay'? If they could only orgasm if they got sucked. And then, did that mean that lesbians did each other too? That seemed a very repulsive thought, indeed! But, as I said, I had a great deal to learn about sex. So I began to give Terence's cock tiny kisses all up and down the hard length of it, and down around his balls when he'd push my head down there. I didn't like being pushed like that; it made me feel as if I were being forced to suck him. Which wasn't true. I was curious. I was grateful for my first real live sex in God know's how long. I also wanted to please Terence, and if the only way he could get his rocks off was to be sucked, then I'd suck him. Gradually, I lost my revulsion at the idea of sucking him off and began to really sort of enjoy myself. I was getting hot again, and the notion stuck in my mind that if I sucked him well, maybe he'd suck me? Maybe? With that in mind, I started licking his dong, playing with his balls at the same time so he wouldn't have to push my head. And Terence really began to react to that.
"His prick seemed to be burning in my mouth and I don't know much about male anatomy, but I was certain that it had to be terribly painful for him to have remained that hard for so very long. I took the warm shaft in my hand and started to lick around the ridge at the head, darting the tip of my tongue in and out of the tiny little hole at the tip. And then Terence started to groan, began to writhe before my face, and tried to shove his cock all the way up into my mouth. I was very careful and took a little love-bite on the head of it. I thought Terence was going to jump right through the roof! Well, he grabbed my head by the ears and then really began to fuck my mouth. He slammed his rigid cock so hard that it was banging against my throat and gagging me. I got a little scared, but I hung in there. And anyway, I was so hot all over again that I'd have done just about anything to keep Terence happy enough for at least one more fuck ... unless I could talk him into sucking me. Finally, Terence was humping and pumping into my face frantically, saying over and over, 'Suck it, sweetie, suck it!' A few moments later he made one great big lunge into my mouth with his bulging cock and started shooting and shooting his thick come down my throat.
"It wasn't too bad. It was sort of like an over-salted white sauce ... but not bad. I thought to spit it out as he spewed it in, but that would have been not only impractical but rude. It was already going down my throat, why not just swallow it. And when he was through, Terence just slumped down across my torso, panting in rasping breaths.
" 'Your first time?' he asked me several moments later.
"I just nodded, but I was already frantically trying to maneuver my cunt toward his face.
" 'You've got a lot to learn, but you show promise, darling.'
" "Terence, I'm all hot again.'
" 'Oh, God! You women are disgusting! Look, luv, it's been interesting for a change, but let's not be piggy-piggy about it!'
""That's it, then? You're through for the night?'
" 'Well, darling Evelyn, with women I am. That's enough to hold me for at least another two or three years. Cunt will never ever replace ass-not in a million years of gay Sundays!'
"I didn't know what he meant-then. And Terence and I do see each other from time to time, but it's not the way it used to be before we'd laid each other. Now there's a sort of embarrassing atmosphere, as if we knew something about each other-for sure!-that in a way we wished we didn't know.
"And as I said, Terence was the first live one. After him, I guess I sort of went wild. There was a whole new world of fresh, young, willing, live meat out there, and it soon became apparent that my age didn't matter to these young ones. When they're hot, they're hot. They'd stick it in a piece of liver if it could wriggle back at their pricks! So I took my drinking habits to the bars-all kinds of bars. I've bedded just about anything walking in the past couple of years. Or to be more accurate, she has. If I'd been sober, I wouldn't have touched those people with a ten-foot sterilized pole!
"And, of course, you know about the last encounter. That pickup mugger who beat the living shit out of me, stole my money and my watch, and then left me to rot in a cheap motel room. I probably would have died from internal bleeding if the chambermaid hadn't been doing her rounds. And what could I tell Dick? That I'd been run over by a Mack truck while taking a cool siesta in a run-down motel? No. It was time to see the truth about myself, to come to terms with her and get her out of my life. I have children-I don't want them to remember me as the slut of our community.
"But Dick makes it so very hard. He's hurt, I know; but there's nothing I can do to undo that hurt unless he'll give me another chance. But all he does is sulk, or pretend to care about how I feel-and all the time he's got his eye on the liquor cabinet, watching me ... always watching me. He stays home quite a bit now, treating me like some kind of an invalid. He's driving me buggy . ... I don't think I can take much more of it. And inside the cabinet, right over there, is a quart of scotch, a fifth of gin, and whatever else Dick has locked up. It's right there ... all I have to do is pick the lock. Or, for that matter, I could walk into any bar. Any man'll buy a lady a drink. You see? It's really the booze I'm fighting-not the sex. Don't you see that? If I have to go to bed with a man as the price of a drink ... well, why not!"
Treatment for the subject Evelyn will have to be in the three areas mentioned before: schizophrenia, fantasy and alcoholism. Naturally, the first step will be to improve the home and family environment for the subject. She will, in addition, have to demonstrate a strong desire to be cured of her alcoholism, as well as to display a willingness to be treated for her fantasy and schizophrenia. Under these conditions, the outlook for Evelyn can be bright and hopeful.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dream Girls
"My name is Arnold and I'm 51 years old. That's not a bad age to be, not really. If you keep your eyes open you can learn a hell of a lot by that time-about people, I mean, and about how they work and what they're like. That's the most important thing to learn as far as I'm concerned. Sure, it's important to learn other things, too-you have to have some profession or skill so you can make a living. But if you only know how to make a living and don't know much about people-well, there are people like that, and I can only feel sorry for them.
"It's funny, the more you learn, the less opportunity you have to apply it. When you're young and jazzy and don't know your ass from a hole in the ground, the broads flock to you. You may not know how to get in their pants, but you sure as hell have a lot of opportunities. But you get to be 51-and married for 25 years or so-and you don't have many opportunities. The chicks look at you like you're a dirty old man, most of them. They avoid you like the plague. That's the young chicks, of course; you can almost always find a few your own age or thereabouts. Yeah, they're nice, too. But some guys-like me, for instance-get a hankering for young pussy. When I was in my twenties, age didn't mean a thing. A chick was a chick, whether she was 18 or 80; the only thing I wanted then was pussy. But as you get along in years, your tastes begin to narrow down, to get refined, and you begin looking for some quality in a chick. like maybe long blonde hair, or brown eyes, or maybe a certain look in the eyes or a shape to the mouth. It doesn't exactly make sense; I mean, the guy who has these preferences probably couldn't begin to tell you why this or that quality really turns him on, but it does, so that's what he looks for. It's just one of those things you fall into as you get along in years. And the older I get, the more I dig young chicks. There's something about that innocence, that youthful vitality, that fresh, healthy, young skin that really turns me on. So, that's what I usually look for-not that I ever get it.
"And that's why I resort to fantasy quite a bit of the time. Now, I don't think there's anything at all wrong with fantasy-as long as you don't prefer it to the real thing. Now, me, I'll take the real thing any time, or even something that isn't at all like my dream girls, provided she's female. But there isn't much chance of picking up a girl when you've been married as long as I have. Oh, sure, I've had the opportunities-and even gotten one here and there. But you can only tell so many little lies to your wife, and after that you'd better shape up and put her and the house and your duty first-unless you decide that a one-time fuck is worth losing all that. And I guess I just haven't run across the girl who I think is worth all that. So that's why I've come to develop my dream girls.
"I suppose every man has his favorite fantasy. It's the kind of thing you don't usually talk about. You hear guys saying, 'I dig a chick with big tits,' or maybe, 'I go for a girl with long legs,' and so on, and you can be pretty sure that when those men fantasize, that's the kind of chick they picture in their minds. Of. course, there will be a lot more to it than just that, but they are sort of giving you a hint about what they imagine when they jack off or just sit around thinking about chicks. When I'm really horny, and Carol-she's my wife-isn't about to give me a piece of ass, I must admit I do use fantasy to work me up so I can jack off, but a lot of times I just lie back and relax and dream about some chick that I've met or maybe just passed on the street, or maybe I'll just start from scratch and make up one.
"I used to buy those books and magazines with pictures of naked chicks. If I'm going to be honest about it-and what's the sense of telling all this if I'm not going to be honest-I must admit that I still go out and buy those books and magazines. And I've got a whole lot of them now, but I still enjoy finding one that's new and different-fresh, you might say. Well, I used to pick up one of those books when I was feeling horny and I'd look through it and find a picture that really turned me on-a chick that was more or less the type I really dig. And then I'd jack off while looking at her picture, and I'd think about her doing all kinds of sexy things to me. But I personally find it a distraction to use pictures like that. Okay, it turns me on to look at the picture of some sharp-looking naked chick, and it turns me on to see a sexy chick getting fucked by some guy, and it really turns me on to see a picture of two chicks balling each other. But, from there on, I'd rather let my imagination take over. I've met guys who say they dig looking at pictures like that when they shoot off, but I'd much rather close my eyes and let my own fantasies take over. I don't think one way is superior to the other, or that it necessarily indicates that one guy has no imagination, or something like that. It's just that different people have different ways of doing things, and what works for one guy leaves another guy cold.
"Anyway, over the years I've developed a couple of fantasies that I keep repeating over and over in my mind when I'm in the mood for fantasizing. I vary them a little bit here and there each time, but, in general, they are almost exactly the same every time. Now, I'm a married man, and I love my wife. Carol's been just about everything a man could hope for in a woman. Oh, we've had our disagreements, and we even got together and worked things out, and we made a few concessions to each other-minor things, really, hardly worth mentioning, but they seemed awfully big and important at the time. We have two kids, a boy and a girl, and they're both grown-up and married and have kids of their own, now, and we see them now and then, but they have their own lives to live. So, what am I supposed to do-go out and get laid by some strange chick all the time, a different one each week, something like that? No, I don't think that's the way to keep a happy marriage.
"I'm not saying now that I've always been faithful to Carol, but I'm also not saying that I try to fuck every strange piece I run across. Still, being a man, and being human, the thought does cross my mind. And once in a while, everything seems to work out just right and I manage to get a stray piece of ass, and I think Carol suspects that I play around a bit here and there. And, if you must know, I suspect that she hasn't always stayed close to home, either. But we have both been very discreet about it. We don't throw it in each other's faces, you know. And I kind of like the 'creature comforts' which I get from my home life. We still ball occasionally-about once a week usually-but there are things that turn me on that I'd never think of asking Carol to do. And that's where my fantasies come in. The little girls I imagine are really experts at the thing I dig, and they always do everything I want them to do without any hesitation. It's just not easy to find girls like that in real life-and if I did, what am I going to do with them? I can't bring them home with me, and I can't spend too much time away from home with them.
"So, I've developed my dream girls; there are two of them-two main ones, that is. Sometimes I'm in the mood for Trixie, and sometimes I'm in the mood for Sally. I've never tried getting them together at one time; I'm not even sure that would work. Sally has a friend named Betty who gets involved with us sometimes, but I just don't think Trixie and Sally would get along together. Anyway, I'll try to describe them.
"Trixie is sixteen-jail bait; and as long as she exists only in my fantasies, I don't have to worry about being arrested and sent up for contributing to the delinquency of minors, or some such charge. She's the cutest, foxiest little nymphet I've ever seen-except maybe for Sally, but we'll get to her later. As I say, she's sixteen and has long black hair that's natural-it's not a wig or anything. God, that hair is soft and silky, and it smells sweet and fresh-the warm smell of springtime. She's about five four and weighs about 120,130 pounds. I have to guess at these things, of course. You might say I've often laid her but never weighed her.
"Trixie is built for comfort. You know, you've heard that a thin girl is built for speed, while a chubby girl is built for comfort. Well, Trixie isn't fat-not at all-but she's well padded. Her tits are kind of big, a real handful-a good mouthful, too. She's got a fairly slim waist and wide, round hips, and a full ass, and firm, soft thighs. And her pubic hair is soft and silky, just like the hair on her head. She's got green eyes-I dig green eyes, and you don't see them very often. And that sweet little pussy of hers--wow! It's got a grip on it like a vise. And I get all hung up on lapping at that sweet pussy. It's funny, in real life, I've never tried that. I'd never dare suggest it to Carol; she'd think I was depraved or a degenerate or something. Once or twice when we'd been out partying and had a little too much to drink, I got pretty close to it-I kissed her stomach and her thighs-but I've never had the nerve to take that final plunge. We've talked about eating pussy, sucking dick a few times, but she always says, "That's disgusting!' If I argue-which I have sometimes-she'll start talking about 'normal desires,' and she once said, 'No real man would ever think of such a thing.' So naturally I didn't push it. That's the way Carol feels. I don't agree with her at all. But, nobody has a perfect marriage, as far as I can see, and you just make the best of what you have. It's a good marriage, and why rock the boat. I personally feel that a real man with normal desires will just naturally want to kiss his wife's pussy at sometime or other. And she will want to suck his prick. It's a way of expressing your deep feelings for each other; it's a way of really getting close to each other. At least, that's what I believe.
"But, in real life, I've never once sucked a pussy. When I was younger, before Carol and I were married, I had a couple of whores suck my dick, and let me tell you, that was a great feeling. Since they were whores and they'd been fucked by I don't know how many men, I just couldn't bring myself to lick their pussies. But, you see, with Trixie and Sally, I don't have to worry. I'm the only person that ever fucked either one of them, so I don't have to worry about them being dirty.
"Here's the way one of my typical fantasies goes with Trixie. I vary it a lot, depending on how I feel at the time, but this is more or less the way they all go. Carol goes off for the weekend to visit her mother or one of the kids or someone. It doesn't matter whom she visits-what's important is that she won't be back for a couple of days and I don't have to think up some lie about working late or having some place to go and all that. Anyway, I go out to take some clothes to the cleaners on Saturday afternoon, and, as I'm coming out of the cleaners, I see this foxy young chick strutting by in a miniskirt that sits on the crest of her ass. I do a double take, 'cause she's just so damned sexy looking. She probably would have passed me by and kept right on going, except that at just that moment, she dropped her purse. It fell open and all the junk in it flew out. She bent over to pick it up, and I nearly shit. Her pink ass was staring me right in the face; she didn't have a damned thing on under that miniskirt! It seemed like I stood there staring with my mouth open and prick on instant hard for a long time, but it couldn't have been more than a minute. Anyway, I rushed over and helped her pick up her stuff, and she was kind of embarrassed and apologetic, and I put her at ease right away by pretending that it was me who had been clumsy, and that I'd bumped into her and knocked her purse out of her hand.
"We both knew it wasn't true, but it made her laugh, and her green eyes sparkled. Anyway, next thing you know, I'd offered her a ride and she'd accepted. I introduced myself, and she told me her name was Trixie. She said she was on her way home, and I said, 'Well, it's better to ride, then, so you don't keep your family waiting.'
" 'Oh, I don't have any family,' she says. "That is, I live with my parents, but they're away for the week, so I'm all alone for a while.'
" 'Umm,' I muttered. 'Doesn't it get kind of lonely? A beautiful young girl like you living all alone?'
" 'It hasn't so far,' she smiled at me. 'My folks just left this morning. But I'm always glad of company.'
"About that time, we got to her apartment, and she started to get out, thanking me for the ride; then she turned to me and said, 'Couldn't I offer you a drink or something?'
"'Sure. I'd love to,' I told her, 'but I don't want to interfere with any plans you might have for the afternoon.'
" 'Oh, I don't have anything planned,' she said. 'I could use the company. And you've been so nice to me, that's the least I could do.'
"So I parked the car and followed her into a neat little apartment. I sat on the couch and watched her sexy stride as she went to fix me a drink, and she came back with it and sat next to me, kind of sideways, with one thigh resting flat on the couch, her legs gapped open, with her miniskirt barely shading her silky little pussy. I tried to keep my mind on my drink, but with that furry pussy looking up at me-well, I'm only human.
"I needed that drink; my mouth was so dry I could hardly talk. I took a couple of stiff gulps, then I leaned over toward her and said, 'You're the most appealing girl I've seen in a long time.'
"She kind of giggled with that soft voice of hers, and her eyes were all asparkle. I could tell that she knew what she was doing to me with her legs spread apart like that, and it was obvious that she was loving every minute of it.
"I put my hand on her leg-the one that was crossways on the couch-and said, 'You have the smoothest, softest skin I've ever felt.'
"She just giggled again, and she kept her eyes on me, watching my face and the obvious effort I was having trying to keep from jumping on her and just raping the hell out of her. My hand slipped up her leg, and I started caressing her thigh. 'Gee,' she murmured, 'you have a gentle touch,' and she threw her head back and jerked her shoulders as if my caresses were really beginning to do things to her.
"I put down my drink then-that could wait-and, without taking my hand off her thigh, leaned over her and kissed her on the nose. I pulled back about an inch from it and whispered, 'I'm sorry. You're so beautiful, I just couldn't resist.'
" 'If it's too much for you, don't fight it,' she murmured, throwing her arms around my neck, and I leaned in and kissed her madly on the mouth.
"God, what a sexy mouth she had. So many girls have mouths that are kind of flat and prim looking. You have the feeling that they don't really enjoy sex, or even life. But not Trixie; just looking at that full, soft mouth of hers made you think of a big, soft bed with pink sheets and her gorgeous body lying there, almost begging to be fucked. And the way she kissed made my lips tingle. She flicked that nasty little tongue of hers back and forth across my lips, and it kept jabbing at them, and then darting away. I tried to follow it with my tongue, but she always managed to slip away and then flicked tantalizingly at another part of my mouth. I pushed my tongue between her lips and jabbed at her tongue and swabbed at the roof of her mouth. What a sweet-tasting mouth! No cigarette taste or the dull taste of liquor-just the wonderful taste of fresh young girl.
"Even then, with my tongue practically filling her sweet mouth, her tongue couldn't stay still. It wiggled and darted around as much as it could, tickling the underside of my tongue, as if she was so excited she just couldn't keep it still. My one hand was behind her neck, playing in that long, silky, black hair, and the other hand was feeling around at her thigh, getting closer and closer to her pussy, and it finally touched her pussy hair. It hit me almost like an electric shock. My whole body jerked, that's how turned on I was. And I began to run my fingers through that soft, curly pubic hair, feeling the puffy, soft lips of her pussy in all that silky hair. I pulled my mouth away from hers and let out a gasp. Everything I was doing felt so damned good.
"She pulled away then and said, 'Let's go in the bedroom.'
"I was all for it; I needed that break, otherwise I'd have shot off in my pants. I was that excited. I started to undress and left a trail of clothes from the couch all the way to the bedroom. By the time we got to the bed, we were both stark naked. There was a lamp next to her bed, and she turned that on since the drapes were closed over the windows. And then she lay back. Her body seemed to glow in the soft, rosy glow from the lamp. It lay there on those pink sheets, and it seemed to be pleading for love and satisfaction from every pore. And I wasn't about to resist a plea like that.
"I stood there at the end of the bed with my prick standing straight out, aiming right at her pussy. Trixie lay back and smiled at me invitingly as I crawled up on the bed on top of her. She was so luscious, I didn't know which part of her to touch first. I lay on top of her, feeling her perky tits jammed against my chest, and my prick lay flat on her belly. God, her body was burning up. She was seething with lust. She grabbed my head and pulled my mouth toward her open lips and seemed to be trying to suck my lips all the way into her mouth. Then I pulled away and began to suck on one of her tits while I pinched and kneaded the other; she threw her head back and rolled from side to side with passion.
"Then I sat up with my knees in her armpits and aimed my prick at her mouth. She lunged for it and swallowed it down like she was starving and it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. It was wild to feel her tits jabbing into my ass while she sucked and gobbled on my prick. She started playing with my balls, handling them like they were some rare objects that needed the greatest delicacy of touch. At that point, I got so hot I just couldn't hold back any longer. I lurched forward and jammed my prick down her throat and let go with a flood of juice that just kept on spurting in one convulsive jerk after another. She gobbled it down like a cat licking up cream. But that didn't finish me-not by a long shot. Usually, when I fuck Carol, after I shoot off, all I want to do is climb off and fall asleep, but not with Trixie. She had me so worked up I felt I could keep going like that for another three or four more hours. Besides, I hadn't even gotten my finger in her pussy yet, let alone my prick or my tongue.
"When she'd sucked me dry, I pulled out, and my prick was still almost hard. Usually, after I come, it gets limp and it takes a lot of work to get it hard again, but not with Trixie. The whole scene had me so turned on, I knew it would be only a matter of a short time before I would be ready to go again.
"I rolled off and lay down next to her and couldn't keep my hands off her plump little titties. Then I got up on my knees and turned around so she could play with my prick, and she started licking my balls while she caressed my prick. I licked down her belly and began to lick that silky hair on her mound of Venus, like a cat licking its fur. But I knew that wasn't going to be enough, and I reached down and worked my shoulders in between her thighs, and I lifted them up so I could pin them back with my arms. Her whole pussy area was exposed to me then, and I plunged down and began to suck and lick it all over. As soon as my tongue hit her tiny clit, she began to shudder and moan, and I kept licking and nipping at her clit relentlessly until she was quivering all over and almost screaming with pleasure. I don't know how many times she came while I was doing that, but when I finally jabbed my tongue into her pussy, it was sopping wet, and I buried my whole face in her pussy and lapped up those juices and tongue-fucked her till I thought we'd both go out of our minds. I could feel her teeth nipping at the head of my prick, and the needle-like jabs really got me excited.
"I quit suddenly, and pulled my prick out of her mouth. I had a full hard on again, and I just had to shove it into her pussy. The whole maneuver of turning around went so smoothly and happened so quickly that it was as if we had merely stopped to take a breath, and I could feel the head of my prick pressing against her pussy. Her pussy was so hot and wet that it was all I could do to keep myself from shooting off right then and there. But I forced myself to calm down a little, and I then plunged it in. It just went in easy and natural with no need to guide it, and suddenly I could feel that hot little pussy of hers gripping my prick from all sides. Nothing in this world can ever replace that feeling.
"I kind of fell down on top of her, not letting my full weight rest on her, but just sort of relaxing against her. The only part of me that was still tense and rigid was my prick, which throbbed and pulsated inside that hot, tight pussy. I couldn't take much more of that; it was almost painful not to move my prick back and forth, and I had to do it. I began a slow push-pull, feeling that slippery little pouch rubbing and caressing every inch of my prick. It was maddening; I began clawing at her tits, then drew one of her hard little nipples into my mouth and started sucking and chewing on it, while my fingers clenched and unclenched on the other.
"And then my pelvic motions went out of control, and I lunged in and out, pounding the head of my prick back as far as it would go inside that hot, quivering pussy. I could feel my climax building, and I couldn't have stopped even if they'd dropped the A-bomb right on top of us. I plunged and ground and lunged for all I was worth, and then I thrust my prick forward till I could feel her warm flesh enveloping the head. I shot off, but her flesh was pressed hard against my hole and there was no place for my wild come juice to come out. I think I screamed with the agony and pleasure that was in that orgasm. It was frantic. I finally jerked back and flooded her pussy with my warm juice. I just kept right on fucking, without any semblance of rhythm left, just plunging and gasping and writhing erratically, and moaning at every little titillation of frenzied pleasure.
"When I finally calmed down and came to my senses again, I was still lying on top of Trixie with my prick still inside her, but I had my full weight on her this time. I just hadn't the strength to hold myself off her. But now I rolled off and lay next to her, holding her in my arms, feeling the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the pleasure of her closeness. And that's the way I fell asleep.
"Well, that's one of my favorite fantasies. Of course, I always hope that someday I'll run across some girl more or less like Trixie, but I don't think I ever will. When I was younger, I used to think that there was a possibility-and I suppose that there is always some chance-but I don't really count on it. I guess everybody has some ideas about his dream girl, and maybe a few of the more fortunate ones find her, but most of us just hold our dream to ourselves and make the best of what we can get."
Once again, it is seen where a family environment has contributed to the practice of fantasy. In this case, the subject Arnold is not able to continue a satisfactory sexual relationship with his wife. He obviously has an active sex drive even at the age of 51, which drive is left unsatisfied more often than not in his home.
The constraints of circumstance, time and social requirements set limits to the expression of inclination and interest. "It is in the realm of fantasy," says Robert W. White in his The Abnormal Personality, "that we can observe the balancing operations that help maintain the integration of personality in spite of these necessary limitations." He continues by saying:
It is also in the realm of fantasy that we find constant preparation for the future, the incubation of images and ideas on their way to become conscious plans. In a very real sense fantasy is the staging area for future operations.
For the most part, fantasy is prompted by unrelieved tensions of one kind or another. Its theme is the minor frustrations of the day and the major frustrations of the person's life as a whole. In so far as the fantasy merely wishes things around into a more pleasing shape, it might be regarded as a cheap substitute for actual achievement. Even though cheap, however, it is a substitute. Arnold is substituting the fantasy of sexual intercourse with young girls for the sexual intercourse with his wife.
The fantasy for Arnold helped him get used to the frustration of not having a satisfactory sexual relationship with his wife, while at the same time presented images of a more hopeful state of affairs for his future. Fantasies can be seen as a kind of balancing activity for the subject in which existing frustrations are made less painful and burdensome.
As long as Arnold recognizes his fantasies as such, there might never occur the possibility of schizophrenia. It appears he has no problem with his fantasies becoming reality to him. It is interesting to note, however, that Arnold has developed only two main fantasies, fantasies which he is able to summon at will, with each fantasy having a central character firmly defined in Arnold's imagination.
The subject is at an age (51) where some men find they have the tendency to seek younger companions, either men or women, or both. It appears Arnold is trying to relate to much younger women in an attempt to remain youthful, especially in the sexual aspect of human activity. However, as he says in his narration, he is unable to find these young girls with whom he may have sexual congress. It could possibly be that his moral instincts concerning fidelity to his wife are restraining him from seeking actual sexual relations with outside women.
He becomes frustrated for he believes these younger girls will look upon him as a "dirty old man," as he says himself. But in his fantasies, he is able to obtain both wishes. He finds companionship in younger girls, and is able to satisfy his sexual urges.
Arnold has used erotic pictures and books to stimulate his fantasies, but he seems to be able to control their usage to a certain extent. As he says, " ... I'd much rather close my eyes and let my own fantasies take over."
"I've told you about Trixie-I could go on and on with the many variations, but they're all more or less like what I've described. Even so, there are times when I'm just not in the mood for Trixie; maybe it's hard to believe, but I suspect that it is possible to have too much of a good thing, and besides men almost always prefer a little variety in their lovemaking-a variety of activities, as well as a certain amount of variety in their partners. It's a great spur to your physical drives to have a surprise now and then. And so I keep Sally in reserve; of course, once in a great while, I start from scratch and imagine an entirely new and different girl for a one-time quickie, so to speak. And that can be fun, too, but usually when I'm not in the mood for Trixie, I'm very much in the mood for Sally.
"Sally is not quite as young as Trixie, she's about 22-which is still young enough for my tastes. She's hardly an old woman, but she's not much like Trixie in looks. Where Trixie is built for comfort, Sally is built more for speed. She's very slender-not really skinny; she has plenty of meat on her bones, but she's not nearly as round and full-blown as Trixie. Also, she's a blonde, and her hair is fairly short-not real short, but it doesn't quite reach her shoulders. She has blue eyes and a full mouththat's important to me-and she has smaller titties than Trixie, but they're still plenty big enough. I mean that if she were to turn around suddenly, she could still poke your eye out with one of them.
"Sally is based on a real girl I saw one day.
I was leaving work one afternoon, rushing so I could get home and change clothes, since Carol and I had been invited out to dinner, and I knew Carol would be furious if I got home late. I walked out the door to go to my car in the lot across the street, when I see this beautiful hunk of femininity strutting by. She was dressed in a white dress which came to about the middle of her thighs, and she looked just about the way I've described Sally. Our eyes met as she passed, and they had the look in them of a girl who was ready. I stopped and watched her strut down the street, her ass gyrating in a way that you couldn't take your eyes off it. She went about thirty feet, paused, then casually turned around and stared at me. I looked across the street at my car and then looked back at her. Duty or desire? That's a hell of a decision to have to make. No matter which you choose, you kick yourself afterwards for not having made the other choice.
"I hesitated too long; she turned back and went on her way, and duty won out. I don't remember the dinner at all, but I've never forgotten that moment or that girl. That was maybe ten years ago, and shortly after that, I invented Sally. In real life, duty won out, but in my fantasies, nothing ever stands in the way of my desires. I usually start from that moment, with Sally about thirty feet away, turning to look back at me. Of course, in my fantasy, Carol has called and told me she won't be home until late. Something or other came up and she had to go out somewhere and won't be back until around midnight. So I don't have the problem of making the decision between Sally and duty.
"I walk toward Sally, and she stands waiting.
" 'Hi,' I say. 'My car is just across the street. Could I give you a lift?'
" 'I'd really appreciate that,' she replies. Her voice is one of those smooth, velvety ones that oozes sensuality.
"Anyway, I drive the car around and she hops in. 'Where to?' I ask, and she gives me her address. We introduce ourselves, and she tells me that she has seen me coming out of work many times before, watching from up the street, or passing by in a car. She feels almost as if she's known me for a long time.
" 'I would sure like to get to know you at least as well,' I tell her, and she smiles at me as if she can read my thoughts. We talk about this and that until we get to her place. Then she invites me in for a drink, suggesting that we could maybe get to know each other better. That's the kind of invitation you just don't turn down-especially not in a fantasy.
"She lives with another girl named Betty in a modern two-bedroom apartment. But Betty is out, so we have the place to ourselves. Sally closes the drapes and switches on some soft lights, puts a few records on the phonograph, and fixes us each a drink. She has me sit in a chair, and she sits down on the carpet by my feet. Her soft blonde hair is right at my fingertips, and I start to play with it and caress it. There's something about a girl's hair ... it's hard to say what I mean exactly, but a girl's hair somehow represents the essence of her femininity. When I see a pretty head of hair, I always have the urge to pet it-like you'd pet a cat, maybe-and on those rare occasions when I can give in to my impulse, I always expect the girl to purr. And that's essentially what Sally did when I caressed her soft blonde hair. She didn't purr out loud as a cat does, but I received the same sensation from it. Just by the way she held her head, and by the glow in her face, I could tell it was as much a pleasure to her as to me.
"She was sitting cross-legged at my feet and leaning back against the arm of my chair with my hand running up and down her hair. I could see her thighs, smooth and golden-brown from the sun (really it was leg makeup, but they still looked damned inviting), and I was eager to start petting them in the way I was petting her hair. We had finished our drinks, and I refused a refill-why waste time drinking when there are better things in the offing? Anyway, I bent over her slightly, and then I could see part way into the top of her dress-those mounds jutting out-and I can see the brown edge of one of her nipples. So I continue caressing her hair, but with the other hand, I reach down and begin to flex my fingers in a kind of scratching caress, rubbing around her tits and finally touching the tip of her nipple. She lets out a little moan of pleasure and leans her head farther back and lifts her breasts a little higher so I can reach them more easily.
"I was getting so hot from doing all that that my prick had gotten rock-hard, and I shifted in my seat so I could relieve the pressure of my clothes on it. She saw it then, and she reached over and began to rub it inside of my pants, and within a few minutes, she had unzipped my pants and held it in her hand. To show how much she loved it, she bent down and kissed the head of it. Feeling her hot lips on it, my prick throbbed and jumped, and she held it tight in her hand as if it would get away from her if she didn't.
"Then I reached down and began to hoist up her dress, raising it up over that round, sexy ass of hers, and pulling it on up until it rested on her tits. She raised her arms, and I pulled at it and got it off over her head. She shook her head and let her hair fly around and settle back where the dress had gotten it messed up. All she was wearing then were her brief panties and a pair of loafer-like tennis shoes. I couldn't see her tits because they were buried in the legs of my pants, but her back was smooth and golden-brown, just like her thighs. I began to rub her back and my hands slipped down under her arms and rested on her tits. They were a good handful, and I played with them and pinched and rubbed them; and I thrust my prick up at her face, and she buried her face in my crotch and began to lick and suck on my prick.
"Then she unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants and shorts. She began to lick all around my crotch area, mouthing my balls, and taking long lapping strokes on the sides of my prick. And suddenly she engulfed my whole prick in that hot mouth of hers. I groaned and felt gobs of my come juice spurt out against that rippling throat of hers. She swallowed it greedily and kept sucking and pumping for more, until she'd drained me of every drop. Then she finally let it slip out of her mouth, and I lay back in the chair, panting and gasping for breath. She looked up, smiled lasciviously, but didn't say anything. Then she got up and refilled our drinks; I needed one at that point.
"Even though I'd just come, I could still feel my prick throbbing and jerking as I watched her walk across the room dressed only in brief panties and flat canvas shoes. Her long tapering legs and her smooth back were enough to drive a man crazy; and when she returned with the drinks, she was even more unnerving, her firm breasts, her flat belly, and just a vague shadow of her pubic hair under her panties. I think half the thrill of making out with a girl is in feasting your eyes on her body. I've run across guys who think there's something disgusting and perverted about looking; they think the only way to fuck is in the dark where you can't see each other's bodies, and they act as if there were something evil and depraved about using your eyes to enhance your pleasure. Well, if that's the way they feel, okay. I'm not going to try to change them. I'm willing to let them live the way they want-but I demand the right to live the way I want, too. There's room for both of us in this world, and I'll be damned if I'll let people like that take over and force a society on me where the only pleasure you can have is looking at twenty-dollar bills or a new Cadillac. Of course, they're nice, too, I don't mean to knock money and big cars-but for sheer pleasure, I'll still take a gorgeous hunk of girl like Sally who isn't ashamed of strutting around in the nude and letting me feast my eyes on every little part of her sexy body.
"Anyway, by the time Sally got back with the drinks, I was all ready to start in all over again. That first orgasm had just been an appetizer. When she handed me my drink, she started to flop down at my feet again, but I set down my drink and made her stand up again till I worked her panties off over her rounded hips and pulled them down so she could step out of them. She took off her shoes, too, and stood there totally nude while I stared at her. Her pubic hair was blonde, just like the hair on her head. I guess she'd dyed it-though I suppose it could have been natural. It doesn't really matter, whether natural or not, it was breathtakingly beautiful and I felt I just wanted to bury my face in it and inhale the sweet feminine fragrances.
"She sensed my desires, for she moved toward me and stood with her legs slightly apart, right between my knees. I bent forward, grabbed her around the ass, and held on to one rounded buttock with each hand while I rubbed my face and nose all over her pubic area.
"I kneeled down at her feet and gave vent to my furious passion to nuzzle her. I could tell she loved it. She held her drink in one hand, having nowhere to put it down, but with the other she grasped the back of my head and held it close to her. I could hear her let out a sort of gasping moan. Then I began licking at her, and she slowly let her legs slip apart so I could work my tongue down between her legs. I was a glutton, slurping and sucking at every inch of her crotch area. Her smell was so sensual, so exhilarating, subtle, light, fresh, the personification of female. If you're going to have a woman, you might as well have all of her, not just the surface, the fringes.
"It was getting too much for her; she sort of staggered and leaned ever, then set down her drink, spilling half of it on the carpet-but neither of us could have stopped at that moment to clean it up. Then she leaned back more, thrusting her pubic area into my face and gyrating, rubbing it all over my face so that my eyes and nose and chin were all wet with her excited juices. My hands were like claws digging into her buttocks, and she had both hands on my head, now, crushing my head into her, as if she wanted to get it as far up into her pussy as she could.
"It was one of those frenzied moments when both of us were in a kind of awkward position, but neither one of us wanted to move or change our position in the slightest, since it would mean losing out on this glorious bit of excitement, and we were too frantically involved with every fiber of our beings. Suddenly she began to shake and quiver and jerk, and I could hear her gasping and panting and kind of sobbing, but I was merciless. I increased my pressure on her clit and ate and gobbled at her pussy till she released her hold on my head and fell back limply in my arms; I couldn't hold her and she toppled backwards onto the carpet. I fell on top of her, my mouth still buried in her pussy.
"At that point, I stopped for a breath, panting and wheezing. She lay still with her eyes closed, still emitting a little moan from time to time. I managed to get out of all of my clothes while catching my breath, then I lay over her and took her mouth in mine and kissed her long and passionately. She returned my kisses and licked her liquid from my lips. By that time, I was so excited, I couldn't wait any longer. I guided my throbbing prick into her pussy and began slowly to grind back and forth. I squeezed and kneaded her tits and jabbed my tongue into her mouth. I was working up to another climax-when the front door opened and in walked her roommate.
"We were all shocked and embarrassed for a moment. I had forgotten all about the fact that she had a roommate. But Sally recovered almost right away and introduced Betty to me about as casually as if we were all sitting around fully dressed.
"Betty was a very pretty girl: full breasts, round hips, full, sexy thighs, and a wonderful head of red hair with very pale, white skin. Her eyes were green and mischievous, and, embarrassed as I was, I couldn't help but feel how attractive she was. She played it very cool as soon as she recovered from her initial surprise. 'Don't let me stop you,' she said. 'Go ahead. I've got several things I have to do in the back.'
"She started to walk toward the bedrooms in the rear of the apartment, but Sally suggested, 'Unless you'd like to join us. ... You wouldn't mind, would you, Arnold?'
"Well, how does a guy say no to such an invitation? Sally and Betty kind of laughed together, and I gathered that they'd been in a menage a trois on previous occasions. That was something new to me, and, what the hell, since it was only a fantasy anyway, I might as well pull out all stops and enjoy it to the hilt, so to speak.
"It took Betty only a few minutes to throw her clothes off and stand before us in the nude. What a contrast she made to Sally, her pale skin so white and fragile looking compared to Sally's golden-brown coloring. Her pubic hair was red, too-not as red as her hair, but much redder than any I'd ever seen or imagined before. It was a turn-on. I reached up and began to stroke it. I had pulled my prick out of Sally as soon as Betty had entered, and now I squatted on the floor with my prick jerking and jumping, still dripping with Sally's pussy juices, and Sally lay full length in front of me, while Betty stood very close to me, her pussy only inches from my mouth. I knew I had to taste this one, too.
"But I kind of hesitated; it had all happened so suddenly. I had been concentrating on getting my rocks off with Sally, when all of a sudden--blam! It was as if someone had poured a jug of ice water on me. But Sally and Betty both seemed to understand my feelings, and Sally reached over and pushed Betty toward me. That's all the encouragement I needed, and I buried my face in her pubic hair, as I'd done with Sally earlier. I didn't waste time with preliminaries with Betty; I was already so hot it wouldn't take much to make me shoot off, so I got right down to the business of sucking her pussy. Her clit was almost twice as big as Sally's, and I licked and nibbled at it, trying to suck it into my mouth, without much success, but the sensations got to her, and she began to come almost right away. I'd never before known a girl who could come that quickly. She didn't quiver and shake nearly as much as Sally had, but she did kind of tremble, and she mouthed little gasps of, 'Oh! Oh!'
"Meanwhile, Sally scooted down between Betty's legs and brought her pussy right up to my prick. I leaned forward and shoved it in and began to rock back and forth on my knees, pushing my face into Betty's pussy and shoving my prick into Sally's pussy. It was a pretty wild scene, and it didn't take me long to build up to an orgasm. But my fucking was kind of a slow, easy motion instead of the pounding and lunging I was used to. It was kind of agonizing drawing that orgasm out of me. It was as if my prick was desensitized so that no matter what I did I could only get a minimum of feeling out of it, and I hung right at the edge of shooting off for what seemed an awful long time before it finally got to be too much. I suddenly began to pound and jerk with all my might. My body was all askew, and I couldn't seem to make it work right, but Sally understood my predicament. She began to gyrate and pound her ass against me, and as I finally felt my juice spurting out, I gasped and choked in Betty's pussy-but I didn't pull my face away; I wanted to feel my tongue jabbing and licking in her pussy, fucking her with my tongue while Sally was fucking my prick. Both Sally and Betty came at the same time, and it was a wild scene-none of us really knowing what we were doing, just all three climaxing at the same time, throwing our bodies around in a frantic effort to heighten the sensation, to prolong it.
"When we finally calmed down, Betty fixed herself a drink while Sally and I drank ours. We all needed to relax for a few minutes. After we'd sat around for a while and recovered our breaths, Betty suggested we retire to the bedroom. I hadn't thought much about it, but Sally and I agreed then that the carpet was a little too hard for the greatest of comfort. We fixed still another drink and kind of staggered to the bed and flopped down on it. I was no more than half through this drink, when I began to casually play with Betty's tits. And she started to fondle my prick-which was pretty limp at this point-and to caress my balls. By the time I'd drained my drink, my prick had begun to get hard again, and Betty's nipples had jutted up hard and hot. I had my big toe in Sally's pussy, wiggling it back and forth and feeling the warmth of her damp pussy on my toe. It was kind of weirdly exciting.
"Then we really started a three-way; Betty began to suck on my prick, while I was sucking on Sally's pussy, and she was sucking on Betty's. It's exciting as hell to see one girl sucking on another girl's pussy. I kept glancing over at Sally's pink tongue flicking away at Betty's pussy, while I was busy doing the same to Sally's, and feeling Betty's hot mouth on my prick and balls. It took me no time at all to get a hard on again, and I could tell by their little gasps and moans that both girls were well on their way to their own climaxes again. I really wanted to sink my prick in Betty's pussy and fill her with my come juice, but I decided that this was probably the best position for all three of us.
"Betty started coming first, as before-she was really a hot one! But Sally wasn't far behind ; her whole body began to shake and writhe while she jabbed her tongue at Betty's clit and sucked at the mouth of her pussy. I had two girls coming continuously for several minutes, while I kept concentrating on the sweet pussy I was sucking and on the exciting sensations Betty's mouth was imparting to my prick. The more she came, the more excited she got; she sucked and gobbled on my prick, and every once in a while, I could feel her teeth nipping me ever so gently-a sort of love bite, which was exciting as hell.
"Finally, Sally lay back exhausted, and I soon stopped licking at her pussy. Betty hadn't stopped sucking my prick for an instant, and when Sally had stopped sucking her, Betty's finger worked down and into her own pussy. She was sucking my prick and finger-fucking herself as fast as she could. I watched for a few minutes, then I pulled her up and began to suck and lick at her nipples. Finally, I pushed her down on her back and climbed on top of her; I nipped at her tits and guided my hard prick into her hot, tight pussy. It was really a struggle to get it in there; she wasn't nearly as big as Sally-and Sally's pussy was tight. But Betty had the pussy of a little girl-almost as if she'd never been fucked before. I had to work it in slowly, pushing it forward a fraction of an inch, then pulling it out a little, and gently pushing a little further in each time, until, finally, after what seemed a long time, I could feel my balls pressing against her ass. It fit tighter than any glove I'd ever worn-and it was so damned hot and moist and soft.
"I just lay there for a few minutes enjoying the hotness and the softness and the tightness. When you get into a pussy like that, you're kind of torn between just lying there and feeling that wonderful sensation and the overwhelming urge to fuck and pound until you get your rocks off. You can't do both, so what I do is lie quiet for a few minutes until the desire to come is just too much for me. Then I begin slowly to push back and forth, increasing the speed and force as I go along, until I'm thrusting and pounding with all my might. The area right above my prick was pounding into her clit, and that brought her to one orgasm after another. Her pussy was a hot, squishy hole by the time I finally shot off. I grabbed her tits and squeezed them as hard as I could, then I opened my mouth wide and planted it on hers. I was sucking and licking at her mouth, and kissing and tongue-fucking her when I finally felt my juice begin to boil up. It was just at that moment that I felt Sally reach up and tickle my balls and ass-hole with a touch like feathers. That almost drove me crazy, and if Betty had suddenly screamed to stop, that I was hurting her, I couldn't have done it. I was completely beyond any help at that point, out of my head with the wild pleasure of it all.
"When my come juice finally exploded into Betty's hot, tight pussy, I was bellowing and snarling with excitement. I slowly drifted back to my senses and lay on my back on the bed while Betty mopped my brow and got a towel and wiped my sweating body and my prick. She sort of gave me a gentle rubdown, which was very soothing, while Sally went and fixed us all another drink and some much-needed sandwiches.
"Well, these are a couple of the fantasies I indulge myself in. Of course, I don't go through with all the ramifications of these fantasies when I'm making it with Carol, but sometimes I imagine that she's really Sally or Betty or Trixie, and she's already sucked my prick and I've already licked her pussy, and the fucking we're doing is only the final step in a long sexual session. But these long, involved fantasies I use between the times I fuck Carol. She doesn't like to make it more than once or twice a week, but I could do it nearly every night. She tells me I'm oversexed and that it isn't 'nice' to have sex that often, but I don't think I'm oversexed. Even if I am, though, sex that often may not be 'nice,' but it sure is fun. And, so, in between the times I get to make it with Carol, I get off by myself and call on my dream girls-and we have a ball."
Arnold has since made, through the help of counseling, a very healthy and relaxed adjustment to living a real existence without the assistance of fantasies. His wife was brought into the counseling sessions, advised of Arnold's problem, and, after several sessions, developed a more aggressive attitude toward her sexual relations with Arnold. Both report a satisfactory sex life so far. If, however, this situation was to revert to its former state, Arnold could possibly return to his "dream girls."
CONCLUSION
The study of daydreams, fantasy productions and night dreams has shown the importance of the less rational levels of experience. All these forms of expression lie open to whatever bothers the individual in the way of unsolved personal problems and emotional tensions. A person may not find peace unless, for example, he wins back the esteem of parents and girl friends, or unless, like the subject Arnold, he is able to adjust to or reach a compromise with his wife's sexual desires-in other words, if some vital problem is pressing for solution, it constantly invades the less rational forms of behavior even when it must do so in disguise.
It may keep appearing in reverie, it may influence selective perception, or it may activate dreams and fantasy. And if left to its own development, fantasy can lead to serious mental, emotional and physical problems. The attitude toward fantasy is symptom rather than cause, as Robert H. White demonstrates in his The Abnormal Personality:
In view of the current fashion which considers fantasy merely as a maladjustive process it is important to call attention to what happens when fantasy is constricted and suppressed. A person in whom this has occurred wants everything to be realistic, concrete, and clearly structured. He shies from whatever is vague or poorly outlined, from anything that cannot be pinned down in unequivocal terms. He is apt to settle for a humdrum, routine way of life and appears to others to miss much of the experience that should be within his reach. Here again the attitude toward fantasy is symptom rather than cause: conflicts and anxieties lie behind the wariness of imagination. Such a personality, however, is the kind that is often referred to as impoverished, which fits the conception that the cut-off realm of fantasy is in many respects a source of riches.
Modern psychology has voiced the opinion that close study of a person's fantasy life (and it appears that many people considered "normal" experience some form of fantasy life) would tell a great deal about his personality. If it were possible to open a door and observe the free streaming of a person's reverie, many insights would be gained which could never be obtained through conversation or by observing the person's behavior from the outside.
Through counseling and the administration of some highly regarded tests, those who experience fantasies in whatever form, or degree they may appear are able to recover to their real world, throwing off the imaginative reality they have had to create for themselves.
However, tests within themselves cannot solve the problem or even necessarily cause it to be understood by the subjects. They do serve as a kind of practice toward new and better solutions of emotional problems, and they can throw light on the ceaseless struggle of humans to overcome difficulties.
No well-rounded conception of human behavior, normal or abnormal, can be achieved unless it is realized just how much of it takes place at a level that corresponds to reverie and imagination rather than to thinking and volition.
