Forced sex is in the broad term, simply nothing more than rape. Whether that rape is an older man of a young girl or an older woman of a young boy, one woman of another woman or a man of a male child, it is, nonetheless, rape. But society considers rape as such to be the forced act of an older man on a young girl.
The cases in this book are all of rape of one type or another. Only one of which is a classic case of a young girl being raped by a sex maniac.
Society also calls rape several conditions of sexual intercourse which are not strictly rape.
Any time that both partners voluntarily use sexual intercourse there is no rape involved, even though in many of these same instances, especially among young girls, rape is the term used. When one person forces his attention upon a person who has shown by every indication possibly that he does not want these attentions, that is rape. When one person grabs another person, unsuspectingly, and forces his attentions upon them, that is rape. But, what is often called rape but is not rape is when one person entices and seduces another person, and then at the last moment screams, 'no,' that is not rape. That is colloquially called, "getting what you asked for."
But according to the law of the land, even if a young teenage girl-under the age of fifteen or sixteen, no matter how well developed physically-deliberately and determinately flaunts her body in front of an older man, and this older man or woman as the case might be, loses control of himself and takes this young girl, it is called rape. Psychiatrically, on the other hand, it is not actually rape. The young girl knew what she wanted and went after it. It was only when she got more than she bargained for, as is many times the case, with the first initiation to the sex act, that she yelled "rape!" or allowed somebody to do it for her-usually the parents. This is also the case with many older women, as well as many homosexuals.
Such a person is most often despised by a vir ile male. They derogatorily are called, "prickteasers," so that while technically a prickteaser may be an innocent girl who is flaunting herself and can be raped-stripped of her virginity-by the initial act of copulation, she is not actually being raped. She is asking for what she is getting, and any person who cannot enter the sex act without being forced into it-voluntarily raped-is psychologically unbalanced in a sexual standing.
There are many cases on record of women, and a few of men, who desired sexual fulfillment, but for one reason or another, could not bring themselves to enter the act voluntarily. Instead, they forced their partners into raping them, thereby gaining the excuse that they were innocent of involvement because they were forced. That is only that-an excuse. But the cases in this book are all that of pure and simple forced sex. None of the patients in these cases volunteered or requested or wanted to have done to them what was done to them, even though some of them had had previous sex experiences. Therefore, they were, in the true sense of the word, raped.
CASE HISTORY NUMBER ONE
Name: Janet Radcliff Age: 12 Sex: Female
Educational Level: At the age of twelve Janet is a student in the sixth grade. She is one year behind because her birthday unfortunately fell after the local school board designated age limit for first-grade students. She makes average marks, maintaining a B average. And, until she was raped, she had had no psychological or emotional problems, and had not been in any particular way outstanding.
Within days after she was raped, she began to display qualities and traits of severe depression. She became fearful of people-of all strangers, especially of men. She screamed and grew hysterical when her father approached her and they were alarmed. She did not understand why, because she had suppressed the actual act itself.
Janet had not begun to menstruate at the time she was raped and her mother had not educated her in any of the ways of sex, sexuality or of copulation, so that Janet knew absolutely nothing insofar as a twelve-year-old child might know nothing about sex. What happened to her was totally alien and terribly frightening.
Janet's parents showed an unusually adult and mature attitude in that they did not blame her for what had happened, they did not hold it over her head when they realized that she was suffering from this traumatic experience. They decided to send her to a psychiatrist-one who was trained to help her to live with what had happened to her. And during the time of her psychiatric treatment they did their best to show love and comfort to their daughter and to obey the instructions of the psychiatrist.
Interview Number One
"How are you feeling today, Janet?" the doctor asked.
"I feel all right, thank you," she replied with a shrug. "I feel the same that I always feel."
"And how is that, Janet?"
"I feel nothing." She looked at the doctor and he saw that on her face there was no emotion, no registering of anything. The child's pixie-like face was framed with delicate curls of reddish brown, she had big blue eyes, with a smattering of freckles across her short, upturned nose. Her wide, almost sensual mouth, was registering nothing. Each feature was calm and composed. She neither smiled nor frowned, laughed nor cried. She sat in her chair, erect but not stiffly so, with her hands folded in her lap, her eyes looking right into the psychiatrist's eyes.
"Don't you feel like crying, Janet, or laughing? Don't you feel anything at all?"
"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I feel nothing!" She looked at him for a moment. "Am I supposed to, sir?"
The doctor decided to take a different tactic. "Janet, why did your parents want you to come and see a psychiatrist?"
"Because mommy and daddy said I'd been upset lately."
"What made you so upset, Janet? According to your parents you've always been a gentle and very obedient child."
"I ... I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to remember it."
"Well, apparently Janet," he said, "you are remembering it. You are reliving it, and reliving it, and reliving it. Wouldn't it be better if you got it out of your system and told somebody about it?"
"Oh, no, it's too horrible to even think about!"
"Janet," the psychiatrist said, "many times when a person thinks he is not thinking about something he is, but he is doing it subconsciously and if he would only open up and tell somebody, it would ease the burden that his mind is carrying. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"
"Yes, I think so," she said. "You mean, like if I tell you, it would make it easier for me to understand what happened?"
"Yes," he said, "and it would also let me know what did happen. If I know what happened, I shall be able to help you."
"Nobody can help me."
"You don't know, Janet, until you try."
"All right, sir," she sighed with melancholy depth. "I'll tell you, sir."
I was coming home late one night, not too terribly late, about ten o'clock. I went over to my girl friend's house and I had taken the bus home. It was only a short two blocks from where the bus let me off to where our house was. For most of the time mommy would come and meet me or someone would drive me home, but this time mommy and daddy weren't home and my girl friend's brother had borrowed the car for the evening, so I had to take the bus.
I was used to taking the bus, but earlier, be cause I took the same bus every day when I went to school. I was just walking along, it was kind of dark outside, even the stars and the moon weren't out because it was cloudy. The streetlights were few and far between, so there were long patches of darkness between one circle of light and the next. But I wasn't afraid, because we lived in a quiet street in a nice neighborhood. Things just didn't happen. There were things that I would read about in the paper that happened to other people in the not so nice places of the city, such as the slums. I never thought it would happen to me.
About ten steps after I got off the bus, I had this creepy feeling, like someone was watching me. But I thought ... well I was just a little bit nervous, because I'd never come home alone this late. So I dismissed it. But it wouldn't go away.
Every step I took, it got stronger until ... like I was shaking, I was so terrified. I wanted to run, run as fast as I could, but that was stupid. If anybody was following me, they'd only start running after me. And I am not a big girl, I can't run very fast.
So I continued walking normally, although I speeded up a little bit, and I guess I sort of hunched my shoulders because I felt cold all over.
It was like a cold feeling deep inside my stomach that rose up until it almost seemed to freeze my breathing. I started to gasp for breath.
I was shivering violently, even though it wasn't really chilly out. I had a coat on, but I still felt cold anyway.
Quick, short chills of fear were racing up and down my back, like needles being pushed through my skin in quick succession, thousands of them.
I took a deep shuddering breath, my eyes flitting back and forth, searching out every shadow. I just knew there was somebody watching me.
Then, I began to hear the footsteps. Every time I would stop, they would stop. They were like an echo of my own steps. Slightly heavier and more grating than my loafers made on the cement walk. It was almost as though I were walking through a tunnel. I was hearing the echo of my own footsteps but there was no hollow quality about these 'echos.' They were very real. The second time that I stopped, I stopped very quickly in midstride, and I distinctly heard the grating of steps behind me.
I was thoroughly convinced it was no echo.
I think that was when I panicked. Waves of terror just washed over my body and the next thing I knew I was running as fast as I could down the street, my arms flailing back and forth, kept hitting against my body. My coat billowed out behind me, slowing me down. My shoes thumped madly on the cement in quickening succession, as I ran, taking longer and longer strides. My heart thundered madly in my chest and seemed as though it was going to burst out through my frail body to lie thumping on the ground.
Because I was so thoroughly frightened, I went past where I lived, not realizing I had done it, until I got halfway down the block to the end of the street, where the empty lots began.
I turned around, twirling quickly to run back up the street when he grabbed me. He had been chasing me.
I never saw him before in my life, I don't know who he was, he didn't look familiar. And at the same time he scared me, shitless. I mean I was so frightened, I actually made a mess in my pants.
He was far stronger than I and knew how to apply his strength with the greatest utility. With one arm thrown around my head he covered my lips with his fingers, effectively gagging me.
Though I struggled and tried to scream, clawed at his eyes with my fingers, slapped and hit at him, it was to no avail. He picked me up bodily, carried me into the blackness of the empty lot that was at the end of our street. And then we were thoroughly surrounded with three-foot growth of weeds through which he waded almost to the center of the plot. And when we were far from any immediate help, and far enough away so that no one could hear me when I screamed. He dropped me down to my feet, grabbing ahold of me anew by the hair, so that I could not run away.
"Baby," he growled at me, low, "if you don't scream I'll take my hand away." He paused and looked at me. "But if you scream, if you yell, I will kill you very slowly, I will make you hurt very badly all over, and when your mommy and your daddy find you, they will turn away because you will be a very unpretty sight." He paused again, still looking at me. I could see the maniacal gleam from his eyes, even though it was very dark where we were. "Do you understand me?" he said.
As I couldn't say anything I nodded my head vigorously up and down, answering, yes, I understood him and that yes, I would obey him.
"You are a good girl. You are a very pretty girl. Now I make to you love, and you'll see how fuck is, how fun it is always," he continued with a bitter voice. "The virgin, she fear me, the fear make me happy. You fear me?"
Again, I nodded. He still had not taken his hand away from my mouth. I suppose he wanted to make his point very, very clear before he released me so I could scream. I guess he wanted to make me so afraid that I would not be able to scream.
"You fear me, you like better. I like you to like it. It's very good. It makes you woman."
I didn't understand what he meant. I only knew that I had heard vaguely about such things as women being 'kidnapped,' and 'seduced.' But I did not know really what the words meant. I had a picture in my mind of some seventeenth century buccaneer riding off into the sunset with a beautiful lady across his saddle, and that they always lived happily ever after. That sort of thing. It was sort of a vague dream mixed with a romantic spontaneity with the beginning tingles of a knowledge that I knew existed but to which I had not yet been introduced. I had always assumed that when the time was ripe, mother would tell me about it.
Well, unbeknown to either of us, the time was ripe and mother hadn't gotten around to introducing me to it yet, so I didn't know what he wanted of me. But I knew that it was something that was similar to what mommy and daddy did when they were alone at night. But I had the feeling that there would be no giggles, no light laughter, and no creaking of the bed, to the accompaniment of deep sighs of satisfaction.
And above all, I was scared. I was so frightened that my teeth were actually chattering behind his fingers, and if he hadn't been holding me by the hair, holding me erect, I should have fallen down into a heap of quaking jelly, shuddering in terror at his feet.
It had begun to rain just a little bit, a light drizzle was slanting down through the opaque murkiness of the louring clouds and I felt cold as the dampness crept under my skirt, along with his hand which he had just taken off my mouth.
I shivered now at the touch of his fingers rough and callused as they were, scraping across my tender flesh. I wanted to scream because he was approaching my cunt which my mother had always taught me was invaluable.
"Please," I whispered, desperate with fear, my body rigid with terror. "Please, leave me alone, please don't. You'll hurt me. Please, please, please!"
He said nothing, but his hands kept creeping upward, ever upward, until I felt one of his callused fingers stumble against my panties, feeling down in the crotch. His finger dug in sharply and I gasped, partially from the shock, partially from the actual pain from his stubby digit, as it shoved and pushed against the thin material of my panties.
"No, no, no!" I cried, still keeping my voice low because of the fear of his injunction, that if I did scream he would do horrible ... unmentionably horrible things to me.
"You no be afraid of this!" he murmured. "I'm gonna make you happy!"
What more could I say? I didn't dare scream because he would do terrible things to me, things I didn't understand, things that were horrible and disfiguring. So, from fear, from terror, sheer pure terror, I let him have his way with me.
Feeling around with his fingers, he found the edge of my panties. He hooked one finger over and around the elastic band around my leg and began to pull. I felt the panties, as they slipped smoothly down off my flesh, baring my rounded little ass and my un-haired, totally vulnerable little cunt. And then he began to stroke the flesh of my naked ass, running his callused fingers crudely back and forth across my behind.
I felt the flesh arch and pull against itself, forming into tiny little hobbles of tension as I reacted to the touch of his fingers.
"Oh you are so smooth. Your body is so fragile," he murmured, coarsely, as he let go of my hair and pulled me tightly against him. My face was muffled in his coat, against his shirt, against his smelly flesh.
Heavy odor of stale sweat emanated from his body, repulsed me completely, and I felt a great desire to vomit. Swallowing hastily, I kept my stomach in place, tried to turn my head away so that I didn't have to smell him so strongly. But his hand gripped the back of my head and held me so that my nose was buried directly against his abdomen.
"Relax," he murmured. "Take it easy, relax, and leave it all to me."
Well, I couldn't do the former, I could do the latter. So, tensely and stiffly I leaned against him as he pressed me into him, but I could not relax. I could only obey him to the best of my ability and let him do whatever he wished to me.
I felt his finger poke down into the crack between my ass cheeks and shivers of ice danced along my spine, spreading as they went across my whole back and up my neck, making my hair stand on end. In spite of the rain and the coldness and the dampness, my whole body felt hot except along my back. I knew I was sweating, which was unusual and startling, even startling how hot I felt.
I began to feel a restless urging within me, pushing at me, and forcing me to move, so that I wiggled back and forth instead of trembling. In fact I felt less afraid and more eager, anticipating something ... what, I don't know.
I felt great heat, like a furnace boiling between my legs, and up into my stomach. Itching-a terrible itching that I had to stop. It was getting worse and worse. I felt my hips in a sort of instinctive response beginning to clutch and pull at themselves; relax-clutch, and then pull again.
I felt desperately panicky, began to move faster so that my hips were in effect rotating. My thighs were rubbing up against each other. Then something strange began to happen to him.
As I was rotating back and forth across the front of him, I felt this ... thing beginning to bulge out in front of his pants. It was something similar to the way I sometimes saw daddy get when he would look at mommy in just that "special" way and soon they would disappear into the bedroom for awhile. No, I thought to myself, no. It was wrong. It was evil. It was like doing with daddy what mommy did with daddy, and that was wrong. That was very, very wrong, even though I felt a growing excitement.
My thin little body was shaking all over now with the heightening sense of anticipation that I felt boiling up within me. And his thing-that I later knew was a cock-his cock got larger and bigger and heavier and stuck further out, so that I was in effect now rubbing just his cock and not anything else.
His fingers pushed and pulled their way down between my asscheeks until they found the puckered little opening of my anus. Back and forth, slowly, he rubbed his fingers over my anus until I heard moans and groans, coming out of my throat. Little crying noises, like my little dog made when he was a puppy-when he was lonely or upset. I was filled with sheer terror and anticipation and with something else that I couldn't put a name to, because I didn't know what it was.
It was sort of like Christmas day; the waiting upstairs, that nameless thrill. Knowing that soon I would go down and find gifts under the tree, but I still would wait upstairs and let this thing inside of me build up and until I just couldn't stand it any longer then I would run downstairs to see what I'd gotten under the tree. It was the same thing-the same feeling, growing with much more intensity. It covered all my body. It made me tremble in every limb and the hair stand up on the back of my neck to the point where my flesh was actually covered with little goose bumps.
This very intense feeling inside of me frightened me. "Please," I cried. "Please make it go away ... make it leave. It frightens me. Please!"
"Okay," he said softly. "Okay, I make it go away. I make you feel better!"
The hand, the fingers that had been massaging my puckered little asshole flew out and he brought his hand slowly around the side of my thigh on the outside.
When his hand left my body, I thought that he was going to let me go, he was going to free me, but I was mistaken as I soon found out. Still holding me by the back of my neck, his fingers tangled in the mass of my long hair, he kept pulling my face against his sweaty body.
Half breathing, I continued to sort of choke against the odor he insisted on filling my nostrils with.
All the while his disengaged hand was maneuvering itself between my body and his stomach. His knuckles kept banging up against my diaphragm, sending little thrills and tingles across my body. I gasped even more than before and almost stopped breathing when I felt the whole back of his hand, those soft flesh. He was knuckles dig firmly into my soft flesh. He was unbuckling his belt!
He flipped his belt open. I felt the leather slide across the steel shaft of the buckle as he pulled his pants apart. In the next instant the bulge that had so puzzled me and so frightened me leaped forth from between his open pants fly. The tool slapped with luscious wetness against the dampness of my overcoat.
His cock was enormous. As dark as it was outside, I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. It seemed to cover my whole chest from one of my tiny little nipples to the other, and when it touched me my whole chest tingled, especially my little brown nipples. They felt as though there were a thousand and one needles pricking and stabbing, swiftly in and out, in and out.
With a vicious flex of his arm he pulled me against him hard, jamming my face into his chest and his prick against my chest. I moaned, as cold waves of pain ran across my body. I was frightened again.
"You spread your legs apart," he ordered me.
As I did, he knelt down, keeping his hand on my body, holding me to him. His face passed mine and I caught the heavy odor of stale whiskey and long-unbrushed teeth.
I choked and stopped breathing until his face had gone down below the level of my nose. Even though I could still smell the aftereffects and the taint of sour mash whiskey, mingled with the bitter-sweetness of rotting teeth.
Because of my panties still quite high on my thighs, I couldn't get my legs apart more than a few inches. One of his hands came down and, finding the problem, he gave a quick tug. I jumped involuntarily as my panties ripped, the elastic cutting across my flesh as they gave under the strain of his strong hand. I felt the rayon material slither down around one leg and partially float in the light current of air that wafted back and forth beneath the falling rain.
In the next instant both his hands were on my waist and he was picking me up.
"You spread your legs, you spread them wide!" he snarled.
I did as he told me, spreading my long, skinny legs as wide apart as I could get them and going lower and lower until our faces were on the level again. His hands tightened about my waist and I gasped as the ache from the pinching fingers shoved my tiny waist together.
Suddenly my feet left the ground and I was swinging through the air. He lifted me up and then began to bring me down over his enormous cock.
He brought me down quickly and then stopped just before my body touched his prick. I was so close, I could feel the heat of his quivering muscle, and the suddenness of the jolt jarred my body. I was on my knees astraddle his body. He thrust his hips forward slightly, bringing his cock-head in alignment with my twat, preparatory to fucking me. I shivered and bit my lip to keep myself from screaming.
I felt the tears well up in my eyes, because I realized that what he was doing to me was wrong and that I should be eternally damned because of it, but that there was nothing that I could do. If I screamed I knew he would hurt me terribly, more than if I obeyed him and did as he wished. Therefore, I bit my lip until I felt the blood run. At the same time I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks.
At this point the doctor was forced to interrupt his young patient because of the time factor. He sincerely wished that he could have continued on at that moment and listened to her entire story. But such as it was, he had other patients who had equal considerations. "I should like to see you again tomorrow at the same time!" he told her. "At that time I would appreciate it if you would continue from this point. Is that agreeable with you, Janet?"
Caught in the middle of her memory, and the emotions that it evoked, she was crying. The tears welled out of her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Nodding her head, that yes it would be agreeable to her.
Interview Number Two
The next day when Janet came to see her doctor she was just as quiet and just as composed as the day before, but there was just the trace of a sparkle in her eyes and the slightest coloring to her cheeks. The doctor surmised she must be feeling slightly better. At least she was talking to somebody, at least she was getting it out of her system, vocalizing it, to someone who was trained to listen and trained to understand what he was hearing.
"You know," she said, tremulously, "I told mommy arid I told daddy, but it's not quite the same thing." She looked at the doctor with big eyes that swam with unshed tears. "It's almost as though telling you makes it a lot easier. There is no shame involved, there is no horror. Really, it's like I'm telling a fairytale story type thing, but it's not as though anybody is going to be angry with me. I get the feeling, sir, that as far as anger or other such emotions, you don't have them with me. You listen, and then when I get done you'll be able to help me."
"I certainly hope so, Janet," he said smiling. "That's what I'm here for, that's what all the training that I went through years ago is based on. Just that I will listen and recommend."
"Sometimes," he continued gently, his eyes in a far-off vista looking across the room vacantly, "parents in their love for their children, and in wanting to help so badly, become too emotionally involved and they don't see things in a rational light. They mean well and your parents did the best they could, I'm sure, but very often the very facts that they are parents and that the little people who are telling them are their children, precludes any sensible conclusions-any valuable advice. So that's what psychiatrists are for, to help people; big people and little people, who can't seem to get around their problems."
"I'd like to tell you the rest of it," she said, spacing her words. "I want to get rid of all of it, and maybe the horrible things inside of me will go away!"
In the next instant he was plunging me down upon him. The heat of his prick became a horrible searing, burning pain that wracked across my whole body as his enormous cock thrust up into my body.
I couldn't help myself, I screamed. I screamed in terror and in agony. But he didn't do anything to stop my screaming. I think perhaps he knew that this was one scream that was not out of fright, but out of the pain he was causing me. And I think that he was enjoying my pain because....He laughed as he was thrusting me down over his monstrous prick, he threw back his head and laughed. The horrible, maniacal sound that erupted from his throat beat upon my eardrums. I closed my eyes, but the tears welled up from under my lashes as the searing agony continued to beat through my body.
His hands had never loosened their grip on my waist as now he began to lift and lowerd me on his cock, pushing me up and plunging me back down. The force of each downward plunge drove his monstrous weapon that much further into my body. I felt as though he were going to split me right up to the neck in two pieces and I knew that I was being torn up inside because I could feel the ripping flesh part against the pressure of his stiff prick.
Suddenly his hands clasped my waist so hard that I could not breathe. It felt as though he were squeezing me to death. The undeveloped and unhardened ribs in my chest creaked as they were shoved violently inward and his fingers left black marks on my flesh.
I felt inside of me the length of his penis shudder violently. It jerked just once, and then a horrible burning liquid came from him and smashed into my body, burning me up inside. It was an agonizing fear that brought spots and streaks dancing before my eyes and washed all the strength from my slender body. Quickly I lolled against him, more like a rag doll than a half-grown child. My legs fell down to the ground and just lay against the earth, unmotivated to do anything.
I felt the hot seepage of his come mingling with the blood of my torn flesh as it came out of my twat and dripped out across his groin. It mixed with the stench of his unwashed body and the overpowering sweetness of his unclean mouth came the acrid fecundity of male sperm and human blood.
He made a growling noise in his throat that sounded more like he was clearing out phlegm than anything else and took me off his member.
My eyes had so well adjusted to the darkness that when he stood me on my shaking feet, still holding me, I could see as well as smell the nauseous mixture on his prick. Grayish white scum and bright red blood, running and mixing in paler shades of dull pink across his quivering member.
by sudden uncontrollable force, my stomach heaved, spewing its contents unceremoniously across the front of his open coat and his shirt. As the waves of weakness shattered across my body, I collapsed onto the wet ground, uncaring of the drizzle that fell from the skies above.
I know my mouth was hanging open but I didn't care. I just lay there, thinking. From weakness, from fear-a simple reaction with complicated overtones.
Even though I wasn't exactly sure he had just gotten to me, I had no doubt in my mind that the definition of the word defiled suited me perfectly at this moment.
"You bitch, you terrible bitch, I'll make you pay," he snarled at me. "Yes, you'll get it now. You do this. You try to hurt me. I make you pay, yes, yes, yes!" As he cried those words in a soft-loud voice, he jumped to his feet and came across my body shadowing me from the dimness of the sky.
All I could see was the scum and blood-covered prick waving before my eyes. As it jerked around it spattered my face with tiny drops of vile-smelling come and acrid-flavored blood. I felt myself getting sick again.
But before I could vomit, he crashed down on his knees, straddling my body with one knee cap on the ground on each side of my shoulders and thrust his filthy member right down my throat.
Gagging and choking with the contents of my stomach-what was left of them-rising right up my throat, to meet the stiff head of his cock, I was forced to take it into my mouth and down my throat. Involuntarily my head arched back as the unyielding and unbending stiffness of his prick forced my mouth onto it.
I swallowed as hard as I could but it didn't do anything. I couldn't get rid of him. I could only try and swallow around the width and the thickness of his sausage.
With an unexpected grunt he began to thrust himself backward and forward over my face, leaning his cock back and shoving it into my throat at the completion of two strokes. Each time it struck across the pinging cleft of my soft palate which kept me gagging and choking with breathless terror, I was sure I was either going to suffocate because of the swill in my esophagus or the blockage of his prick on my windpipe.
Either way I began to pass out. I think my body instincts took over-survival. At any rate, all I know is that for one conscious second he was hung over me ready to come. In the next instant he had come. Not only that, he had filled my mouth, squirted all over my face, all over my dress and all over my coat.
He was also absolutely livid with rage. I could see a thin line of whiteness around his mouth, so I presume he must have been frothing at the mouth, he was so full of wrath.
"Bitch!" he screamed. "Slut!" He screamed, "Evil woman! Seductress! You will pay for this, you will surely pay for this, I will make you pay for this!"
I trembled with fear as I realized that I had horribly displeased him and he was going to take out his anger on my body. Then I thought for sure that he was going to tear me up, limb from limb. He grabbed me so hard.
Throwing my hands across my face, I huddled my body around as best as I could. He dragged me up by the ankles so that only my shoulders, my head and my arms were on the ground. Then suddenly he whipped me over.
My arms slashed down onto the ground, thumping into the wet, mushy soil, and splattering mud up between them onto my face. In one second my nose was clogged with mud, my eyes were caked with it and I know it was in my hair because I could feel the cold wetness weighing down on the back of my head and the tunnels of icy water that trickled down onto the collar of my coat, down onto the curve of my neck, to constantly drip, drip, drop off my body back onto the soggy ground.
I gasped and sighed, biting against the sleeve of my coat, as he tore my legs apart, while dragging me up. In a flash before I had been flipped over, I had peeped between my eyes at his prick and saw that it was still stiff, even after two ejaculations. Of course, I didn't know then that this was unusual, all I knew was that I had two holes down there. Which one, I wondered, which one?
I soon found out. Having flipped me over onto my belly and dragged me through the mud for a couple of feet, while spreading my legs wide apart, he aimed for my asshole.
I felt the heat coming closer and closer to my puckered pink hole and then he drove straight at me, missing the hole and hitting me between my vagina and my anus.
I screamed as the waves of pain rushed up my body from my tortured crotch and spasms of contracting muscles sluiced maddeningly down my thighs. I screamed aloud.
He pulled backward a bare fraction. I felt the tip of his prick drag over the crack between my ass cheeks until it stumbled across my puckered asshole.
I guess he must have felt it too, because he drove forward at that instant, brutally shoving his huge cock into my small anus and up my gut. He didn't even bother to pause to pull back or to give my small muscles a chance to stretch, but shoved with vicious finality all the way up to the hilt of his cock.
All the way up my backbone with one violent shove. At the same time knocking all the breath out of me. He split my ass flesh severely. I felt the trickles of blood come running down over my asscheeks. The titillation of that creeping wet life fluid sent shivers of pure horror racing down my back until I was shivering all over.
Screwing my head around I caught a glimpse of his face and his maniacally gleaming eyes just before he threw his head back and again that hideous laugh erupted from his throat.
While he was still laughing, he began to ride my ass with violent intensity. Establishing a quick rhythm, he speeded it up until he was thrusting in and out of me faster than I could believe. At the same time he was causing me an unending and unendurable constant wave of pain. It had no beginning and no end. I thought it would never stop. It felt as though it had always been. And yet it hurt, it ached, and I screamed. I screamed into the mud. Every time I took an intake of breath, I pulled mud and dirt and pieces of last summer's weeds into my mouth. When they were sucked down my throat I choked, still screaming as the hoarse cry broke from my lips.
Then I felt that distinctive and insurgent leap of his cock, the single exercise preliminary to his spouting come.
His load boiled up into my big intestine burning like a strong dose of acid. My whole body convulsed against the waves of pain that engulfed my consciousness.
The strength of my emotional rebellion-for at that moment, something came up inside of me and my mind said no more-was apparently more than his thrice-climaxed body could handle. Suddenly I was free!
The noose of his fingers let go of my ankles. I fell forward on my face. I was scrambling away from him into the darkness on hands and knees, crying and panting, sobbing hysterically with fear, hate, relief-all sorts of emotions tearing through my weakened body-I escaped.
Getting several feet away from him, I stopped. Crouching low, I turned about to look at him. I could see his tall form out-lined against the luminescence of the distant street light. I saw him passing back and forth, hunched over, trying to find me. He came quite close to me. Shuddering with fear, I lay in a tumbled heap, not daring even hardly to breathe.
But the darkness was so thick that even though he cast about with great diligence, he didn't seem to be able to come close enough to stumble over me, for which I was heartily thankful and gratefully relieved.
When he had moved several feet away and I assumed that he was far enough out of hearing that he wouldn't be able to pick up the slight sounds I might make, I began to crawl away from him.
At first I thought of trying to get closer to home, but realized that this was what he would think I would try to do. So, with a reversal of tactics, I went farther into the empty lot and farther away from my house. It did completely fool him and he didn't come back into the empty lot.
Eventually, muttering to himself, with his cock still hanging out of his pants in a half rut state, he wandered off, leaving me alone and wet and sick, huddled in the midst of desolation.
Again the doctor found that his patient's time had run out, so he made special note to keep the questions he had to ask her until the appointment which would be the next day.
She stood up, looked to him, and smiled. Then she held out her hand. Small and slender fingers, pale like her skin, trembling ever so slightly, were clasped in his large and blunt-ended fingers. Their eyes met and they exchanged smiles. When she looked down, blushing, she noticed how clean and well manicured his fingertips were, with their nails cut short and straight across and how even though he had callouses on his fingers that these callouses of cells, the hard ridges of dead skin, were scrupulously clean. In fact, she noted to herself that they even had a sort of scrubbed, sanitized look.
But that made her feel all the better toward this man, because he was so clean in comparison to the being who had foully raped her and had been so filthy of body and mouth.
And she told him so.
Interview Three
The third time that Janet saw the doctor, he noted that there was a sparkle to her eyes and a brisk liveliness to her step. She was not quite yet the picture of girlish spontaneity, but there was a definite improvement from the flagging listlessness of times before. And although the doctor was pleased, he could see that there were still things troubling her.
"How are you today, Janet," he asked, as she sat down.
She gave a little bounce from the chair and a quick smile before she answered, "I'm really ... I feel so much better," she said changing in mid-sentence. "I feel almost gay." And then her face clouded over.
"What's the problem, Janet?" he asked.
She sighed. "I don't know. I feel as though I really don't know."
"Tell me, Janet, how was your parents' reaction?"
"My parents' reaction? To me?"
"Yes."
"Well I ... I'm really very ... they're wonderful people," she said with an abrupt change of pace.
"Tell me specifically, Janet," he said, rephrasing himself. "What was their immediate reaction? What happened when you got home?"
"Oh! You mean that," she said. "Well...."
She stopped and thought.
When the horrible, evil person was gone, I started crawling across and through the weeds on my way home.
Home! I kept reminding myself that I do have a place. That I could go home. I didn't feel quite as though I should. But there was no place else for me to go.
Feeling horribly guilty, and in terrible pain, coming up to the back door I didn't want anyone to see or know what had happened. I didn't know how I could handle such a thing.
I really just felt horrible all over. I wanted to crawl into a corner somewhere and die. You know, like they say in school, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull the hole in after me. I was still crying. I just couldn't help myself; I couldn't stop. I wasn't sobbing, but the tears kept running down my cheeks.
At least I think that's what was happening. I'm really not sure. I was in such a mental fog. All I know is I was wrapped around with pain, and wet, and coldness. But it seemed as though it had always been and always would be this way. I had the feeling that I had done this before and that I always would do this and that it would never end, but it would go on and on forever.
The house was in darkness. Fortunately, the back door was not locked. I dragged my wounded and torn body through and over the sill, letting the door bang behind me. And then I passed out. At least I must have blacked out for a while because there seems to be-I'm not sure-but there seems to be a dead space in my memory.
It was still dark when I came to, although I sensed that it was much later. I couldn't hear anybody moving around the house. So I picked myself up off my stomach where I was lying, one arm totally numb having been under my stomach.
As I started to move again this arm-it was my right arm-was very sore and began to tingle with returning life. But I couldn't move it very well. So I used my left arm and hand and felt for the switch to turn on the light.
I was in the kitchen. In the hall, going into the living room, there's a mirror. As I turned on the light I happened to be looking straight into the mirror and saw myself reflected in it. I was a wreck. I screamed as I saw my own image.
I was shaking so hard that my thin limbed image trembled and shivered in the polished glass. My face was splattered with mud, come and blood. There were pieces of twigs sticking out of the corners of my mouth. A crumpled brown leaf adhered to the side of my neck.
While my coat hung open and my dress was crumpled up. It was plastered with mud, stuck around my waist revealing my naked and filthy vagina. My knees were brown and red, dirty and bloody from having crawled so far. My legs, my hands, my shoes and my feet were caked and coated with streaks of mud. Clumps of dried mud clung to different parts of me.
My hair alone was a total mess, being tangled and streaked with dirt. It hung with clumps of mud and in places was stiffly plastered with damp, shitty colored earth. One ear was totally inundated with a clump of brownish mud.
I reached up, absentmindedly, and began to pick the filth from around my face with equally dirty and streaked hands. My knuckles were black and there were rings of mud under my fingernails. Two of my longest nails were shredded off almost to the quick.
Even through the dirt I could see the bruises on my ankles and the black marks on my thighs. Across my belly were these big oval marks where he had grabbed me around the waist. I noticed especially the two largest ones, almost together, right above my navel. That's where his thumbs had been. They were black with blue and green tinges and purplish around them. There were marks on my face. My lip was split. My nose was definitely askew. And one eye was swelling up pretty fast.
Determined to take an accurate assessment of total damages, I turned around with my back to the mirror. I didn't have to lift my skirt because it was practically torn off, revealing my plump little ass completely covered with mud.
Slowly seeping through the widening cracks of the drying mud on my hind end was the bright redness of fresh blood. It came from my ass, ran down the backs of my thighs from my trunk. Very distinctly above my ass and the small of my back on each side of my slender backbone, I could see four dark oval prints. That was where his hands-his fingers-had been when he had held me by the waist.
Looking at myself and seeing physically what had happened, the tears started coming. I'd thought maybe there weren't any left to come. But they streaked down my cheeks, slowly cleaning away the dirt until I had tunnels of white between big plains of mud. Even my lashes had coatings of mud on them.
With all the dirt and the muck and the filth, I really couldn't tell how badly I had been hurt. All I knew was that I was in pain, and I was weak, and I felt sick all over. So I decided that the first thing I should do would be to get a few layers of this mucky filth off of me.
Trailing a splatter of dirty brown drops of mud mixed with water behind me, I tottered into the bathroom and spattered across the shining clean tile floor to the tub where I pulled the curtains across and started to run the water from the showerhead, making it hot and steamy.
While it ran and the hot water came, I stripped off all of my clothing and threw them into a pile in the middle of the floor, leaving them there. Then I stepped under the steaming hot water and let it continuously run across my flesh until the water streaming off me down the drain was clear again.
The bar of soap didn't look nearly large enough or strong enough to clean my body and antisepticize it. So I reached out from between the plastic shower curtains and opened my mother's laundry closet. Reaching in, I pulled out her detergent.
Stepping out of the water, I tilted the box up, pouring the flakes over my hair and body. Then I began to rub myself thoroughly, enjoying the harsh sting of the detergent on my flesh.
Whenever flakes washed into an abrasion or open cut or scratch, it burned horribly, and I screamed slightly, catching my breath in short, tight gasps. Yet this was what I wanted. As I made it into a lather on my scalp, it stung the sensitive skin under my hair. Again I whimpered from the pain, but I enjoyed it.
It was almost as though the more pain that this could cause me, the more it could scrub clean the pain that that filthy thing had caused earlier. From the pain itself came a surprising reaction.
My body began to react. It soon felt hot as my blood coursed through the veins underneath it. My heart was pounding. The quick breaths that were sucked in and forced out came more from the joy of discovering my own body than from the pain. I had never really thought about it before.
But now, after such a rude and horrid introduction to sex, I had discovered that I had a body and the body reacted and I enjoyed the reactions.
Little tingling thrills treaded single file up and down my backbone. Tiny shocks, like cold needles, pushed out from my back, crossed my chest and flesh so that my whole torso encompassed with the prickling sensations of burning cold. On the other hand, my flesh itself, felt hot.
My toes curled on themselves in the running water. I looked down watching the water squirt around them as it dashed down the drain carrying white, bubbly detergent lather.
At least, it's white. I may not be pure, but I can always pretend ... can't I?
When the soap got in my eyes and stung them terribly, burning them so that I cried again, I luxuriated in the terrible burning that encompassed that part of my face. I even enjoyed the temporary blindness it brought to me. My nose was running and I could hardly breathe through it. My throat felt dry, yet my mouth was salivating heavily, so heavily that, in fact, several times I rinsed my mouth out with clear running water, mingling saliva and spitting the mixture out and down the drain.
My knees felt weak and they were shaking, trembling awfully hard. So hard that they knocked together. I could feel the rhythmic clattering. I could even feel as well as hear my teeth chattering together. Yet the water that poured down over me was so hot that it turned my flesh red and the heat of it stung into the cuts before it-let the soap wash away. When I stuck my head back under the shower it burned my scalp, it was so very hot.
But I enjoyed it. I felt less hideously guilty.
I felt less of a monster when finally I stepped out from under that boiling water. I reached for the towel and let the water run to get the last of the soap and filth and the dirt and, hopefully, the memories. Let them wash down the drain and be gone forever.
After I turned off the water, I wrapped the towel around me. Normally, I pat my flesh dry because it is very tender and bruises easily as well as getting very rough and red when I do rub. But this time I rubbed, I rubbed as hard as I could. Again pain, again aching. A different kind. My skin broke into little blisters, appearing all over. My hair stood on end.
When I had thoroughly dried my skin, I picked up my mother's mirror and began to inspect myself very carefully from all angles, starting with my mouth. It was the least frightening aspect.
My lip was split. The corner of my mouth was split a fraction. But it had stopped bleeding and was forming a heavy scab. I reached for the medicine cabinet and got down all the different things that mother kept up there for our cuts and bruises and things and sorted them out.
I shook up the iodine bottle and opened it, dabbing it on the two cuts on my mouth. My breath hissed in as they stung in pain and the iodine bit my flesh. I shook so hard that the glass stem of the cap wavered and tiny bright dabs of red splattered all over the sink. I didn't really care. I just left them there.
When I had gained full control of myself, and put the stopper back into the bottle, I began to inspect the rest of me carefully. As I suspected, my back was badly scratched in places where I couldn't reach easily.
Picking up the hydrogen peroxide, I stepped back into the bathtub, took out the stopper and poured the whole bottle down over my back. With the other hand, I held the mirror and watched what I was doing. I could see it fizz when it hit a cut or an abrasion, so I felt fairly sure about that.
I threw the empty bottle away, stepped out of the bathtub, shook myself off, and went back to the sink. Cleaning off the mirror, I resumed my self-inspection.
My cunt and my ass, which I inspected separately as well as together, were still dripping blood. But I could see fairly clearly that while my cunt didn't show more obvious signs of damage it was bleeding much more heavily. This, I realized must be due to internal damage of some sort.
On the other hand, only the flesh surrounding my hole's entrance was torn, and then only slightly. Being surface wounds theybled more profusely than if they had been deeper wounds. So I dabbed them with iodine and held my breath while the pain sizzled across my ass.
But there wasn't much I could do about my cunt except to get one of my mother's sanitary pads out and push it up between my legs, hoping it would catch the flow of blood.
Just before I put the sanitary napkin between my legs I sniffed experimentally. It smelled funny. Musty and sort of old. I wondered if there were any caked blood up inside of me or dirt or some terrible thing like that. So I figured I'd better wash myself out.
Going back over to the tub, I ran the water from the lower set of nozzles until it was running quite hot and fast. Then I got down and crouching in the corner underneath the flowing water, I got my legs up onto the tiles on the wall, spread them and let the water drive, full-force, down into my twat.
For a second, there was a quick rush of reddish brown as the water jumped into my hole and then leaped back out again. Then quickly it changed to a small trickle, but the trickle persisted ... and to my eyesight, strained though it was at that time, it looked less scarlet and more brownish, tinged with pink.
I wondered about this, but there was nothing I could do. I didn't know anything about the after effects of such things, and so after getting out of the tub and turning off the water I just dried myself off.
Holding the napkin up in place with my fingers I scurried from the bathroom, leaving the mess behind me. In the bedroom I pulled out a pair of panties that I put on to hold the napkin in place.
When I had that done I put on some pajamas. I sighed deeply, for suddenly I felt very weak and very tired.
I looked over at my bed and I started to walk toward it. That's the last thing I remember until sometime the next day when my mother was waking me up.
I told her what happened. Everything. I know I didn't cry. I just spoke to her in a calm and level voice.
She was the one who cried. In fact, she screamed and then she began to weep. She got really upset.
"Mother," I said, "it's really nothing to get upset about. It's happened. I don't know why, but it has. And it's over with."
"Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh hell! Of all the most horrible things to happen in the world to my poor little baby!" She cried out. She wailed and moaned and carried on horribly ... only making me upset.
But I didn't cry with her. I just sat there and shook as though I had a fever. I felt hot and cold at the same time. My flesh seemed to be turning red and burning up. Yet, I still had goose bumps.
Finally, I lay my hand on her head where she had fallen over the bed. I stroked her hair tenderly, saying, "Please mother. Don't. You're making me feel very bad. I feel kind of achy already, and weird inside. Please don't, mother. Please."
She calmed down a little bit and then we talked a lot. She explained things to me that I had never known about. Things that I hadn't understood. All in all, she was very good to me about the whole thing. She didn't get mad. She didn't blame me for what had happened.
I only felt very guilty for what had happened. I suppose maybe I felt worse than if she had gotten mad because there was no way to react. I just sat there.
"I'm going to get your father. He's got to be told," she said.
And then I felt myself really reacting. I didn't want my father to know. That was the last thing in the world that I wanted to happen. I remember that I screamed. I screamed. "No! No! Don't tell him! I couldn't bear it!" And I yelled and cried some more.
I screamed until I got positively hysterical. My mother grabbed my by the shoulders and shook me until my teeth started to rattle. Through the streaming tears I could see that she, also, was still crying. And there was a puzzled look on her face.
I still don't know what she meant. She just looked at me, and this look of agonizing horror came over her face. She said, "It can't be, it can't be. I just don't feel ... Oh, what will I do if it is?"
And I guess it was the look on her face that snapped me out of it. For in a minute I'd stopped crying and the hysteria of moments ago was pretty well under control.
I just wanted to rest. So I told her so. She helped me to lie back down. Then she covered me up, kissed me on the forehead and walked out of the room. She really looked dejected. Her shoulders were slumped and her feet were dragging.
I slept for awhile and when I woke up she was sitting right beside me. Standing above her was father!
I took one look at his face and screamed.
... and I've been screaming ever since. I can't stand him to be near me. I get uncontrollably hysterical when he's in the same room.
"The identical thing happens when I'm alone in a room with another man. It doesn't even have to be a man ... even a boy!"
"But you aren't hysterical with me."
"No, sir, " she said. "It just occurred to me ... I haven't really been upset being with you. I was a little bit tense the first time, but now...."
"Perhaps you're getting over this," the doctor suggested. "What do you think?"
"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But even when I was home last night, I still couldn't stand to be with my father. When my Uncle Ted came over ... even though mother and dad and Uncle Ted and I were sitting in the same room, I couldn't stand it. I was barely able to control myself. And when mom got up and left the room for the kitchen, I started to scream. I ran out of the room, hysterical."
"Do you have any idea why? Do you think it might be because they were men?"
"I don't know, sir," she said. "All I know is that I can't stand men. I don't want to have anything to do with them. They're horrible creatures. Horrible!"
SUMMARY
Although Janet was able to reconcile the vicious act of rape which was performed upon her she has never been able to .bring herself to again be alone in the company of a man. She tried. Through the intervening years when she was under therapy up until she was eighteen years of age, she tried. Her doctor was the only man, except for men who were very old, that she was able to tolerate.
She tried hardest with her father but was never successful ... perhaps because he was something of an unusual person. He had understood. He did not grow to hate and resent her, as many fathers would have. He did not take her problem personally. Instead, he tried to help her in that he never came into her room. And when her mother was not at home, he would not be around Janet.
He did this for the purpose of keeping her from becoming hysterical; not as a form of punishment to her or to himself.
Though her parents are very sorry and regretful that this traumatic incident happened to their daughter, they have done their best as human beings to give their daughter all the love and understanding of which they are capable. This has helped immensely, in that she has almost completely adjusted to 'normal life,' but at this stage, unless she happens to meet a man whose attractive personality and also whose attraction to her can overpower the feeling of revulsion she has for men, she will be a lesbian ... for she will have little choice but to turn to other women for sexual gratification.
This is heartbreaking to her parents, but they don't condemn her for this. And as her father expressed for both he and his wife: "We would rather see her happily a lesbian than unhappily married to a man."
CASE HISTORY NUMBER TWO
Name: Gilbert Friars
Father's Name: Humphry Friars.
Patient's Age: Nine years ... and extending through ages ten, eleven, and twelve. Present age: fourteen.
Educational level of parent: Tenth grade. Parent's occupation: Day laborer on a construction team.
General outline of information about patient:
Gilbert has no previous psychiatric record; neither does his father. Both come from middle class American families. Chances are that Gilbert will not finish high school, although he makes exceptionally good grades.
At this point, he cannot live with his family due to his father.
Gilbert's father is a tyrant who rules his whole family with an iron hand. The boy's mother is a pale nonentity who obeys her spouse unquestioningly. Because of this combination, and also because of the fact that Humphrey Friars repeatedly raped his son, Gilbert has become a sexual monster who treats women as though they were dirt.
In fact, at the present time, the only difference between Gilbert and Humphrey Friars is that Gilbert refuses to sodomize other men. In addition to this, he actually dislikes males intensely. The boy prefers the company of women.
He is quite masculine in appearance but will not join any club or associate with men at all. He has several cats and three dogs, all of which are female; none of which has been altered and none of which has ever been mated while in his possession.
Interview Number One
"Why did you feel that you needed to see a psychiatrist, Gilbert," the doctor said.
"It was something one of the bitches said," he said slowly.
"What did this woman say?"
"Well, she said something to the effect that
'Why don't this guy screw in the cunt where he's supposed to instead of all the time screwin' in the asshole.' I guess it made me think a little. I suppose I hadn't really been doin' too much thinking before then."
"Explain what you mean ... think a little? Why do you prefer to fuck women in the asshole," the doctor asked.
"'Cause I like it. 'Cause it hurts. 'Cause it's demeaning. And all sluts should be treated like just what they are."
"You certainly are very hard on women, aren't you?"
"Why the fuck not? They 're nothing. They're all just like my mother. All they're good for is fucking ... shitting, screwing ... and most of them aren't very good at that."
"I see," said the doctor. "Would you like to be more explicit as to what turned you off toward treating women decently ... and why you think that they're no good?"
"Women are dirty, fucking bitches. They bleed once a month and that's filthy. They aren't clean. They aren't nice. And they enjoy being beaten up. They're weak. They're stupid. They can't make their minds up about anything!"
"When did you first begin to believe this about women?"
"I always have believed it," he stated emphatically. "My father was right. That's the way they are."
"So it was your father's point of view that you're holding," the doctor said. "What is your mother like?"
"She's a nothing. She never has been anything. She has no mind. She has no brains. She has no ... nothing! She can't even think for herself. She wasn't born with any brains. But that's typical of all women."
Something fell into place. Domineering father ... weak, spineless mother. But the doctor sensed there was something else. It needed an oblique approach.
"So you've never met a strong-willed woman?" the doctor asked.
"Yeah. My sister. But then, she's queer," he snarled, as he mentioned his sister. It seemed that he either hated her or feared her.
"Is your sister homosexual ... a lesbian?"
"That's right. The only ones that are strong-willed are lesbians ... dikes ... bull dikes."
"Then you've actually seen your sister making love to another woman," the psychiatrist asked, pressing the point.
"No, but I don't have to. I don't have to see her with another woman. I mean, it's only natural that if a weak woman would go for a man, then a strong woman couldn't be bothered. She couldn't conform the way other women do. She would have to get herself a weak woman."
"Do you believe in weak men?"
"There's no such thing, because men are built strong. Domineering. Forceful, Aggressive."
"Have you never heard of 'queens in drag'?"
"That's a fable. Some jealous bitch of a dike made that up ... just because she couldn't get herself a weak man, she has to invent such things. Then she can turn around and say she wouldn't want such a guy in the first place."
"Tell me about the first time you ever had sexual relations with anybody."
He looked at the doctor quizzically. "The first time I ever had sex with anybody?" His expression turned from questioning to wariness.
"Yes," the doctor repeated. "The very first sexual intercourse of any type that you ever had."
"The first sexual intercourse that I ever had was the time my father raped me. It was over some small thing or other that he was punishing me for. I don't remember what. It really isn't important.
What is important is that while he had me across his knees, beating me with his belt, he started to get an erection. My cock was right across his cock. I could feel the heat beating, like the strokes of the belt as he whacked me across my naked ass.
The excitement, the pain, everything, all drove me right up into a mad spiral of desire. I was nine and I'd never had a hard-on before. I had heard about things in school, of course ... you know the way kids talk ... so I kind of knew what was happening but not really, be cause I'd never experienced anything like it first hand before.
I got hot in the crotch and my belly began to tighten. I felt my little prick standing up higher and higher. It got all tight and tense. It felt like it was swelling.
My balls began to tingle and I felt myself break out into a sweat. I was beginning to enjoy this beating.
I'd never enjoyed one before, but this was different. It was starting to be a strange sort of fun.
The pain was helping me to get stiffer and stiffer. I liked this feeling of exultation that was sweeping across my body in long, slow pulses ... about one for each five strokes of the whip across my bare bottom.
I don't like to be beaten today, and I can't even get an erection if I do get beaten ... or if I beat women up. When I hit them I don't get stiff. I usually go limp. It's only when she cries for mercy or begs me to stop ... or some other weak and stupid thing, that I start to get a hard-on.
Anyway, the old man suddenly stopped.
"Filthy little pig!" he screamed. "You're enjoying this!"
He rolled me over onto the floor. My pants caught around the lower part of my legs, so that I lay on my bare ass on the cold, wooden floor with my little prick sticking right up into the air.
"Sex maniac!" he screamed. "I've sired me a damned, fucking sex maniac! Well, I'll take care of that once and for all!"
He threw the whip down on the floor. Standing up, he undid his pants, exposing his penis. Before my startled eyes, he began to rub his joint.
After a few strokes, his monstrous cock was as stiff as my little one. "Get around on your knees ... on your hands and knees. And spread you legs apart!"
"No!" I yelled. "You're not going to fuck my ass. You go fuck mother's ass. She's more your speed."
He kicked me. Hard. I doubled up, groaning. He didn't have to tell me to get over on my hands and knees a second time. I was already there ... by the time he was ready to launch the second attack. I knew full well that if I didn't obey him he'd probably stomp the hell out of me. I'd seen him do it to my mother, plenty of times.
Shuddering on my hands and knees, I crouched before him. I turned my head around and watched as he came close to me.
He got down on his knees and, holding his prick in one hand, he separated my ass cheeks, exposing my puckered pink asshole.
"Lie still," he snapped at me. And when I wouldn't quite make it, he chopped the side of his hand right down into my crack, hitting the base of my spine, I fell forward, flat on my face, screaming.
Waves of racking pain seared through my body.
"Get up, you filthy little brat," he snarled.
Arching my body back up, I rose to my hands and knees position again ... with my ass a few short inches away from his stiff prick.
With one hand, he guided his prick up to the entrance of my asshole, while he separated my cheeks again with his free hand. Quaking with fear, I held still.
Suddenly, I felt heat and pain ... blinding agony as he shoved himself right into me without so much as a pause or a bit of concern for my feelings. Just slam, and he was deep into me ... all the way.
He transferred his big hands to the outsides of my thighs, holding me against him. Then, he began to bounce up and down and thrust his hips, forcing his cock even further inside my channel. He pulled himself back, riding me, and plunged again and again and again.
He was a slow comer. He rode me, and rode me until I was screaming from the flaming pain that his huge tool made inside my asshole. And I felt the wetness of blood that was lubricating his flesh as it slid back and forth inside of my hole.
When he had fucked me dry, and I was so sore ... in such agony that I was whimpering, I heard her voice.
"What are you doing dear?" my mother asked timidly. "Should you be doing that?"
"Shut your mouth, you fucking bitch," he snarled at her.
She obeyed him. For a few minutes she stood watching him, and when he said, "Get your filthy nose out of here, you dirty minded slut," she nodded her head, backed out and closed the door behind her.
I was left alone with my father. He continued to fuck me, ripping my ass until after about twenty minutes, he finally shot a heavy load right up into my guts.
I screamed because his pulsations hurt the raw muscles of my shit tube. And besides, I had had a whole mess of hard shit right close down to my hole and his prick, shoving all the way up inside of me, had pushed it back into me, where it was crammed into one spot. It hurt like all hell!
Grunting now, with each thrust into my body, he rammed himself against me until he'd knocked me right down onto my face. Immediately, he grabbed my legs and pulled me back up into the kneeling position. When I screamed, he pinched my flesh horribly.
When finally he had rubbed my ass raw and flaming with horrible pain, he shot another load. The agony was so intense, that I blacked out temporarily. Going limp, I fell down to the floor. Even when he pulled me back up, my body just refused to function. He had to support me completely.
This made him so furious that he pulled his cock, which was still stiff out of me while it was still dribbling, and got hot come all over my naked ass. It dripped down onto the floor in big, wet globs. It dried on my flesh and got all over my clothes.
Grabbing me again, he pulled me around. His fingers ripped at my mouth. When he'd forced my jaws wide, he shoved his cock down my throat.
"Now suck it, you bloody little bastard," he snarled at me. "Clean me off. Clean all you shit off of me."
I felt degraded and dirty, but I still had some fight left in me. I clamped my teeth right down onto his prick, just as hard as I could.
The scream of agony that ripped through his throat was like music to my ears. I bit even harder, grinding my teeth as deeply as I could into his sensitive flesh.
He started to hit me in the face. He continued to beat me until I'd passed out completely. I guess my mouth must have gone limp while I was out cold, because when I came to, I was laying in a pool of my own come, and I could taste the remains of his orgasm on my tongue.
For two whole weeks, he didn't approach me, but he went around with a conspicuous bulge in the front of his pants ... which was his bandaged cock. Apparently, I didn't hurt him quite enough, because two weeks later he pulled my mother's skirts up and rammed into her, right in front of me. He fucked her ass until it was wide open.
She took the whole thing calmly and placidly, just like everything else. But the thing that shocked me was the way she seemed to turn into some kind of an animal when he really got going and got her worked up.
I stood there, watching as he brought his hands around to the front of her body and literally tore her dress from her tits. When her full breasts were exposed, he grabbed one in each hand and began to jerk on them like they were cow udders. She began to scream and writhe with pleasure.
"Fuck me, Humphry. Fuck me. Fuck me! Oh, hump me ... do it ... do it hard!" she cried, over and over again, falling into a rhythm that was in time with his stroking tool. Every time he blasted his rod into her, she screamed, "hump."
I watched my father thrust his hips forward, riding hard into her asshole. She, with equal vigor was gyrating her bottom, shoving backward against him. When they met with each thrust, the force of his driving energy would vibrate through her whole body.
And all this while, he was pulling madly at her naked tits ... so hard, that after it was over, when she stood bare-assed and bare-chested, I could see the bruises, red and raw at both ends of her body.
It was then that I noticed other marks ... greyish stripes ... obviously, remains of past abuses. Her ass was striped from beatings, apparently from times when he'd ridden her hole before.
"That," my father stated, panting from his recent exertions, "is what sluts are for."
"That's all the use you see for women?" the doctor asked.
"There isn't any other use. Sluts are sluts. I haven't met a woman yet who wasn't a dirty, rotten bitch. A cunt is a cunt ... and they're only good for fucking."
This patient was obviously disturbed and confused with regard to sexual roles; both of himself and his sex partners. He asked for another appointment, so I gave it to him ... realizing that he knew he was in trouble but couldn't quite perceive the depths of his problems.
Interview Number Two
At the time of his second interview, Gilbert was just as hateful of women as he had been before.
"I don't care what you or anybody else says," he snapped, "women are still fuckin' bitches. That's their only purpose in life. That's their only reason for existing. And as far as I'm concerned, that will be their only reason for being until someone proves differently to me. Why, even bitches ... dog bitches ... are no damned good!"
"Do you have sexual relations with your dogs?" the doctor asked.
"Sure I fuck them ... that's when I can't get human fuckin'. It's not quite as good but in a pinch, I get by. It keeps me going. I enjoy it. Nice for a change of pace, but I wouldn't want a steady diet of it."
"What about your mother ... did you ever have sexual relations with her?"
"No. She's no good. She wouldn't be anything between the sheets. Besides, she's my mother. That's incest."
"And being sodomized by your father is not incest?"
"Well ... I suppose it is," he said, after stopping to consider. Then, he resumed, "Aw, what the hell. I certainly wouldn't get pregnant, and neither would he. But if she got pregnant because I fucked her ... well, that could be against the law or something."
(The patient had built for himself an interpretation of the rules and regulations of sexual behavior according to what he wanted and what he considered to be the right course for him. But, obviously it was not working for him. His feelings were making him bitter and resentful and hateful. And the very fact that he sought treatment indicated that he wanted to change.)
"Have you ever had sexual relations with a woman in the "normal" way. In other words, have you ever thrust your penis into her vaginal passage?"
"Yeah ... I did it once. I got mad at my sister and fucked the hell out of her. You want to hear about it?"
"Yes. I think it might be helpful...."
"My sister was a dirty little bitch who always rebelled. She was queer from the moment she was born, always preferring girls to masculine company. She always ran away from my old man ... like maybe she was scared he was going to screw her or something.
But she shouldn't have been. He didn't want her. At least not so far as I could tell.
So I decided to make up for my old man's failure to fuck the hell out of his daughter.
She ate the last piece of chocolate cake one day and I wanted it. So when I found out what she'd done, I grabbed her and slapped her hard.
"You dirty little cunt," I screamed. "That was my piece of chocolate cake."
"Listen, brother dear," she snapped sarcastically, "I don't have to take any kind of shit from you. Besides, your name wasn't on that piece of cake."
At that point she slapped me back.
Well, that was the last straw. No fucking bitch was going to slap a man and get away with it. "You're going to get it, kid," I told her. "You're goin' to get your pussy fucked until it runs red and you beg me to stop. Hear that?" And I reached out and grabbed her, shaking her.
She looked at me and she grinned, broadly.
"Well, it sure has taken you a long time to get around to screwing my hole. I thought you'd never get around to it."
I was shocked for a minute. But then I realized that she'd probably just said that for effect, hoping that I really wouldn't fuck her cunt. Well, I was going to have a surprise for her!
My fingers closed around her shoulders where I had been holding her, bruising her deliberately. She continued to look at me with that brazen smile ... as though she thought I might just give up and not bother her. Well, I was going to show her who was boss!
Her eyes closed slowly. Her lips opened. "Oh, that feels so good," she said. "Do it more. Do it more."
"You bet your fucker I will," I snarled, and I dug my fingers even deeper into her flesh until she squealed and wiggled.
"See slut," I snapped at her, "see, I'm boss. And you hurt. You hurt because I make you hurt. I'm a man and don't you ever forget that!"
"I won't," she breathed. "I won't. Oh no. Not ever again." But that silly smile was still on her face.
"Wipe that grin off your face, slut," I snapped. And when she didn't, I slapped her hard.
Her head snapped back and forth from one side to the other as I kept hitting her. Once ... twice ... three times ... until the smile was wiped off her face and her features reshaped themselves into a mask of pain.
Still pressing my fingers deeply into her shoulder, I dug in again, close to the same spot as before. At the same time I began to shove her downward.
Slowly, she sank to the floor onto her knees. Then I shoved her back and moved down on top of her.
Her body was warm and her flesh was soft beneath her clothes. I found my prick was getting stiff with desire. My balls were throbbing and threatening to explode and swelling to unbelievable tightness.
Her tits were like soft mounds beneath my face as I began to rub my cheeks across her sweater. But I didn't like the harsh feeling of the wool.
Letting go of her shoulder with one hand, I reached for the bottom of her sweater and pulled it up, revealing her tits ... braless. Again I began to rub my face across her naked tits.
I could feel a humming in her throat as she purred with delight. She was really loving this ... just like my shitty mother.
Her flesh was yielding and white. Smooth and delicate ... the kind that bruised easily. I brought my hand back down from her shoulder, put it over one tit and squeezed as hard as I could.
She squealed and arched her body, rolling her head from side to side. Suddenly, placing the back of her skull firmly against the floor, she arched her entire body ... resting its weight on her ass and the back of her skull.
"Oh! Do it again," she screamed. "Do it again! More. I want more. Oh, that feels so good. It's terrific! More!"
So, the little slut wanted more, I thought. Okay, I'd give her something she wouldn't soon forget.
I squeezed again, this time capturing both of her nipples with the thumbs and forefingers of my hands, I squeezed the little pink lumps of flesh that jutted out from her small tits. At the same time, I twisted those nipples viciously.
"Again!" she screamed.
But this time, there was a difference. She was screaming for pain. Her face was flushed red, and her gaping mouth sagged upon. Her throat was vibrating from the tension she felt in the rest of her body.
Pain, I thought ... pain was the key. Pain and pain and more pain. I was going to give that slut so much agony she would beg me to stop.
Letting go of her tit with my right hand, I slapped her again, whipping her head back around and sideways. She continued to scream as I slapped her over and over again. I don't know exactly how many times I hit her, but I slapped her until she finally stopped yelling.
I could see the bruises starting to stand out on her flesh ... so I slapped her a couple of more times for good measure. I hit her as hard as I could.
She howled from the pain again ... arching herself once more toward me. As her body came up toward me I opened my mouth. I opened my lips and sucked a big rosy stiff nipple. She started to shiver. I sank my teeth into the stiff point of her breast.
She screamed again and I flicked my tongue back and forth across the hard little point of flesh ... irritating it with the quick, short abrasive strokes of my tongue. Then I smashed her back onto the floor, laughing to myself as I heard the air rush out of her lungs.
It felt good knowing that I had caused that rotten cunt to experience so much pain and discomfort. Knowing that she was such a dirty slut ... like all women ... I was sure that she must be loving everything I did to her.
Of course, I knew she must be queer ... since she was so bullheaded. But I felt sure she could be conquered. I tucked that little feeling into the back of my mind for the next time I ran across a fuckin' dike like my sister.
Now that I had her down on the floor, I would give her the one stroke that would teach her once and for all who was boss. Keeping her pinned down, I grasped her legs firmly, planting a thumb into the inside of each of her thighs. I pinched and pulled and hauled on her legs until they were spread apart. Then I ripped off the rest of her clothes and covered her body with my own.
I didn't bother to inspect her cunt to see if she was ready to be fucked. I didn't care what she wanted ... I was the only one who mattered. She was going to be my slave-my plaything.
My cock was so stiff that it ached. The blood pounded through it. Instinctively I pulled myself back until my prick was poised above her snatch. Then with a mighty swoop, I lunged.
As my cock-tip entered her slit I felt myself ram up against something hard. She screamed with agonizing pain. I felt slight waves and tremors run back through my cock all the way to my balls.
Suddenly she slithered to the side, removing her twat from my line of fire.
"You dirty bitch," I screamed. "Who said you were to move!"
I brought one hand up over my head and slapped her resoundingly across the face. "You'll pay for this," I snarled. "I'll show you who gives the orders around here!" I slapped her again, bringing my knuckles into sharp contact with her face ... bruising her cheek.
Her head was being whipped violently back and forth by the force of my slaps. Her hand trembled and she grunted with pain.
"Bitch!" I screamed. "I'll show you!"
This time I pulled myself back far enough so that I could inspect her cunt. Her pink slit was spread open, parted by the widespread position of her thighs. I could see the purplish flesh in between her lips and the blue veins that crossed her pussy and her thighs.
Her clit stood straight out from her hole, swollen and quivering with excitement. Then I took a finger and put it on the little knot.
She squealed with delight and her whole body shivered. She hit it again and thrilled at the repeated reaction.
My cock was screaming out at this point for attention. I could feel it throbbing straight out in front of me. My balls had pulled back up into my flesh as though trying to hide. This time I watched as I guided the head of my cock toward the gaping, quivering hole of her twat.
When I was firmly established with the prick head of my cock inside her hole, I stopped watching what I was doing and drove quickly up into her. My cock slammed against her tense body driving her muscles to one side or the other in one long vicious swoop as I closed with her.
She grunted and cried out low as my prick was momentarily retarded halfway up her passage by the snapping of her cherry. And as blood welled out of the wound, I found my way was well lubricated with the sticky substance. Slamming all the way into her, I drove my hips down upon her thighs, smashing my body against hers.
For an instant I paused inside of her before rearing myself out with a quick short motion. Poised like this, I drove back in riding all the way down the lane of her twat and establishing a long, steady, humping motion.
For better leverage I grabbed ahold of her small tits with the big nipples, one in each hand and squeezed hard. They reared up to meet me. She threw her back out, arching it over the floor and into my body. And each time I stroked out to come back in, her hips came off the floor.
We would meet halfway and then she would fall back to the floor with a loud thump with me right on top of her.
Suddenly I felt my prick jerk violently, and in the next instant blessed release came as my scum boiled down out through my tubes and tore up inside her body. I felt my prick ease off and slow down, going slightly limp. At the same time the sensitivity of the flesh on my penis picked up the tickling runnels of come mixed blood that was seeping back along her passage filled with my prick. In a few minutes I felt the warm stickiness of come spread across my crotch in ever-widening circles.
Completing my desire, I scrambled up off her body and turned my back on her as I stuffed my wet prick into my pants and fastened them up. Walking out of the room, I left her lying on the floor in a pool of blood.
I heard her crying softly behind me, and I thought to myself; hey bitch, you got just what you deserve. You bitch! But I didn't say anything because it really wasn't worth saying.
"You're married, aren't you? " the doctor asked.
"Yeah," the patient replied. "This damn bitch's old man, he says that she's pregnant, and I'm to blame. That's what he says his girl told him. But I know different, the little slut. She went out and slept with somebody she doesn't know anything about. And just because she hates me, that's why she tried to force this off on me.
"And you accepted it?" the doctor asked.
"There wasn't much else I could do, but I'll teach her. She'll learn that she got a bad bargain. She should have had the illegitimate child, the little bastard, and let it go at that. But oh no, not this one. She's got to have a husband, and she'll use any ways and means to get one. Okay, she got one-she'll find out what good it did her.
Interview Number Three
On his third visit to the psychiatrist, Gilbert Friar was very badly upset, and was quite incoherent for the first part of the interview. But finally the doctor was able to get him to make some sense out of his story. But only with judicious and persistent questioning, drawing the answers out one by one.
Leading in a series of questions and answers, tortured replies and the backtracking necessary to pick up loose threads, this is Gilbert's story.
My old man found out that I had taken care of my sister. He was very pleased, but he was very upset because of the mess on the floor that had been made. So for that he was going to punish me.
He dragged me away from the rest of the family at dinner that night and took me into the bedroom. It was upstairs. Locking the door, he turned around and faced me.
"I hope you taught that slut a lesson. She needed it. But you should have stuck around long enough to clean up the mess she made. She isn't responsible, like all females, for taking care of herself."
"What mess," I asked, puzzled.
"The blood, the puke and all the other stuff on the floor."
"Oh!" I said, realizing that little bitch had left it there just to get me in trouble. "She just tried to get me in trouble, that's all. She'd do that anyway. She probably went back and made another mess. I cleaned up the first mess." I said, deliberately lying, knowing it would be the only way to save myself. "I guess she must have gone back and made more mess."
"Even so," my father said, "You're still responsible. You should have realized she would try to do something like that. They're all bitches, they're all sluts, they're all two-faced and sly. You should have been on your toes." He looked at me up and down. A long look. Then he said, "Take off your pants."
I realized what he was going to do. I didn't want him to do it, but I didn't dare say that because he'd only be more hard on me than before. With trembling fingers I reached around to my belt buckle, unfastening it. I unsnapped my pants, unzipping the fly, I let go of them.
I felt them slither down over my slender hips and catch around my ankles. My father took a step toward me and I tripped over them as I took a step backward, not being able to hold myself steady. So great was my fear of him.
"Stand still," he growled at me, reaching out for me and grabbing me by the arm. It hurt and I cried out from the pain. "Stand still, damn you." he snapped pinching my arm until it hurt, until it left bruises.
Catching me in a hard grip, he whirled me around so that my back was toward him. Then he forced me to bend over so that my ass was up in the air, exposed and unprotected. His hand slid down my arm, over my waist and down to my thighs to be joined by the other hand. He held me, pulling my legs apart and arching my knees outward so that he could get himself close to me.
Still holding me by just one hand, he reached for his own belt with the other hand, unbuckled it and letting his pants drop. I heard them slither down to the floor and I felt the heat of his flesh as his penis leaped out. He was almost instantly stiff with desire.
Closer and closer the head of his cock came to my asshole. It was resting against the puckered flesh of that pink circle around my anus. I felt the pressure of his stiff and swollen member as it leaned against the resisting flesh in my hind end. But I had holed here once before, so I knew I had better relax or it would really hurt.
He hadn't spit on his prick, or used vaseline or lubricate himself in any way, so it was going to be rough enough as it was without adding my personal tension. Concentrating on my asshole, I forced myself to relax, widening the opening so that he could get in more easily.
And then a strange thing happened. As he pushed inside me my anus muscles began to grasp; to pull and suck on his prick, pulling it even further inside of me. The pain was awful because it was a dry run, like the first time. But I withstood it, and withstood the tension that kept building up inside because of the pain. I forced my muscles to relax and take it all easily.
Again he drove straight up into me, smashing his body against my body as he pulled himself into me and sounded bottom. I felt the hairs from his crotch rub up against and tickle my exposed ass flesh, even more so because I was bent over.
He groaned audibly as though he were greatly pleased by what he had done, and began to pull out of me. His fingers bit into my flesh as he shoved himself away from me. And then he paused and came crashing back into me, his fingers slashing themselves against my flesh as he pulled on me, hauling me up against him as much as he hauled himself against me.
Establishing himself in a vicious, quick, yet deep rhythm, he began to ram his prick up inside of me, making me grunt each time as he drove his thighs against my ass and the air from my lungs. Each time he whisked it out of me I felt an immense release, as the terrible pressure of his body against my back ended, and I felt the relaxation of my straining ass muscles as they were able to close all the way around nothing. Then he would be pushing back into me again and I would feel his body ram itself against mine, and I would gasp each time.
Now it seemed as though he was ramming me with persistent slowness, moving in and out of me with insolently great care, but it didn't stop the pain I kept feeling. It didn't make me feel any easier. And the slower he seemed to go the more pain he caused until I was nearly screaming from it.
Suddenly I felt his muscles tense as his prick stiffened into an ultra hardness which happens just that once; that instant before it ripples down the length of its base and his burning come shot into my ass and through guts, burning all the way.
Screaming, I writhed as I was impaled on him that way, and tried to wiggle off, but it did no good. He held me on to him. Finally, in exhaustion, for I was suddenly tired, my legs slipped out from under me and I fell down dragging him with me. Although he held himself pretty much upright, I came off his cock and fell down on the floor in a crumpled heap, moaning and wiggling my ass viciously, trying to get the horrible pain to go away.
Lying there whimpering, I suddenly heard the door shut behind me. I realized he had walked out and left me lying there, bare ass and aching. And in that moment I began to hate him, wishing I could hurt him in return. In fact, he sodomized me up until the age of twelve, when I found out through talking with some friends that not only was he trying to commit incest on me, and doing it, but also, it was a sin to be sodomized. I also found out what sodomy really was. And he had done this to me off and on since I was nine years old for punishment for so-called sins. And I began to figure the biggest sin of all was what I was letting him do to me. And that's when I decided it was time for it to stop. He was going to do it to me again when I had turned on him one day. At twelve I was a big boy. I had grown almost as big as my father.
When he told me to take down my pants and bend over, I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "No."
What the fuck do you mean, no?" he snarled.
"Just like I said, Daddy," I snapped back. "You're not going to stick your tool up my ass anymore. It's a sin, and you know it's wrong, and you've sinned twice over, it's ... it's...." I hesitated, stumbling for words.
"It's a what...." he snarled.
I found my tongue all of a sudden. "You're committing incest as well as sodomy, now you leave me alone. You know I don't have to have this done to me, and if you touch me again, so help me, I'll kill you. You're a real tyrannical sonofabitch, and my mother is a washed-out nothing, and never has been anything. And my sister is a little slut. I'm the only decent one in the bunch." I snarled at him.
"You dirty little pig," he snapped. "I'll teach you to be disrespectful to your elders," he grabbed me by the hair on the head.
I reacted violently, throwing him off me, slapping him a couple of times and knocking him down on the floor. As he started to get up, I kicked him. "Shut up," I screamed at him.
He started to crawl to his feet and I reached for him from behind, putting my hands around his waist. While he was still dazed and not sure what was going on, I had his jeans loosened and down over his ass.
"What!" he screamed. "Are you...?"
I didn't say anything, but I slipped his pants down over him as he struggled to his feet, and then giving him a nasty chop in the back of the head, I bent him over, exposing his ass.
I stood back from him and looked at his body as I never seen it before, he had a big ass, he was slightly overweight, and hidden in between, slightly winking occasionally was his puckered pink asshole. Gingerly, I stuck my finger on it to see what it felt like. It quivered under my hand. He gasped.
My prick began to get hard. I could feel it. It got stiff, and it itched slightly. And the stiffer it got, the more maddingly inviting his asshole was.
I had screwed my sister, and I had taken my wrath out on a couple of boys at school once or twice, but I'd never screwed my father or my mother. I don't really think my mother was worth screwing but my father was. He had screwed me enough, now I'd give him some of his own medicine.
Taking ahold of my stiff member-it had gotten really stiff-I put the head of it up against his asshole. And then, gripping him by the front of his thighs where his body was bent over, I took a deep shuddering breath and rammed into him.
I grunted as my thighs came up against his ass and my cock sank all the way to the hilt inside his asshole. I didn't wait for anything, but pulled back immediately and began to ram him rhythmically.
After about eight or ten strokes, my over zealous prick shot, and I creamed right up inside of him.
He screamed from the stinging pain that I'm sure it caused him, and twisted around reaching for me. So I reached up over his shoulder and gave him another nasty chop in the side of the neck that sent him back around, groaning slightly and feebly. But this time he stayed down realizing that I would only give him another chop.
When I was through, having running dry, I pulled out, shoving him down on the floor and leaving him in the bedroom alone in a quivering heap of sobbing, impassioned degradation.
At the door I paused and looked around at him. "Now you know," I said in a low and tense voice, "what it is to be sodomized. You sodomized me for three years ... no ... three and a half, going on four. Well that's over with now. From now on every time you stick your cock up my ass I'm going to turn around the next day and stick my cock up your ass. You run me dry, as you've done on many occasions, and I'll do the same to you. And I'm sure you will find out, just like I did after the first time, that you're going to have a hell of a time shooting for a while. I hope you remember this. And in the future you leave me alone."
I slammed the door hard, stopping down the hall to button my pants up.
My mother was standing outside the bathroom door, she looked at me and gasped. I stared straight at her. "Go about your business woman."
"What ... what ... what happened?" she asked in a meek voice. "Please tell me."
I looked her straight on and said, "You really want to know?" She nodded her head. "All right I screwed his ass for him, that's what I did. He's been doing it to me for three years, and now it's my turn to do it for him." She looked at me in surprise.
"Don't get that shocked look of innocence on your face, female. You know damn well he's been doing it at least two or three years. Well, now I did it back to him. And I don't think he'll ever want to do it to me again. At least not for a while. And don't you go being solicitous to him either. He's going to suffer the way he's let me suffer all those times before."
I saw the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as I brushed rudely by her, slamming the door almost in her face. She jumped back to keep from getting hit by the quick motion.
"How old are you today?" the doctor asked.
"I'm sixteen this year, married for a year. My wife miscarried three months after we were married. So we don't have any kids."
"I see," said the doctor. "Are you happily married?"
"Hell, no! I can't stand the shitting little bitch. But I married her, because that was what I was suppose to do. She's such a fuck ass little jack-ass, I really don't know what to make of her sometimes, except that she's just too disobedient at times so I have to discipline her."
"And you still feel that women are good for nothing? Why do you feel this way?" the doctor asked.
"Because they are good for nothing. They'll lie down and take just about anything from you-except, of course, the queers.
SUMMARY
Gilbert Friar, age sixteen at the time he came to the doctor for help, has been in psychotherapy for three years. Almost twenty now, still married, still hateful of his father, he still feels that a woman is good for nothing. And if she would stand up to a man, she's got to be queer. He can't think, or won't think to break out of the vicious circle of which he has encased himself in from childhood.
He looks on his mother as a weakling, and on his sister as a vicious bitch. He hates his father and he hates his wife. Furthermore, he also hates himslef. And although he won't let a man touch him or touch another man, besides the one time he sodomized his father, he still feels that men are the only worthy creatures in the world, and the women are built for them only.
In three years time Gilbert has come to recognize more the nature of his problem than anything else. And it is hopeful that in another five years, with intensive psychotherapy such as he is getting on an out-patient basis, that he will become more reasonable concerning the division and the purpose of the sexes. Basically, it is considered by the doctor, that if the patient can learn to like himself and respect himself for what he is, that most of his problems will automatically disappear. Because it has been noted that it is only in self-hatred that Gilbert Friar hates his mother, his sister and his father. And he hates none of them so much as he hates himself.
CASE HISTORY NUMBER THREE
Name: Ouiva Sambar Age: 34 Sex: female
Educational Level: Ouiva graduated from high school and was married that same summer to her present husband. She had never before had sexual contact or had practiced much in the way of petting or other teen-age diversions. She did not tell her husband about the single time that she was raped twice in one night two years before she was married.
General Outline of Information about the Patient: Ouiva has no previous record of psychiatric problems although she has had much illness in her physical life. She has been in and out of the hospital for several operations, among them: gall bladder, D&C after each child and after several miscarriages, and she has had severe ulcers and an appendectomy.
All these operations have occurred since she has been married, beginning with two consecutive miscarriages with a subsequent D&C following each. She and her husband apparently love each other very much. They also love their two children. Until last year, she never had any trouble with copulation and with sex. But suddenly she began to vomit. There was no physical reason for this reaction and so she was recommended for psychiatric observation.
Interview Number One
"I really don't understand what's happening, Doctor," Ouiva said, as she sat calmly in front of him. "All I know is that every time my husband and I have sex, I throw up afterward. Even if I haven't eaten for six hours. I'm still sick. My stomach heaves and I-I ... I don't hate sex or anything like that. We have two children. I-we would have had more except I've had several miscarriages. We've been married for sixteen years. We have two healthy children. We have a nice home. We take a vacation every year. Everything everybody else has. And still, every time we have sex, I vomit. I throw up. I get sick. My periods are all askew and I really feel very badly all the time. Sometimes I feel so badly I don't even want to have sex. I just feel bad. All the time."
"When did all this start, Ouiva?" the doctor asked.
"Well, about a year ago. It's just been progressively getting worse. It just started one night. I thought I was coming down with something. After Harry and I had sex I felt feverish and hot and sick and I went into the bathroom and threw up. And the next night the same thing. And then it went away for a while. But now it's every night. Every time we have sex I throw up. I vomit. Do something, Doctor. Make me well again."
"Well, that really depends on you, Ouiva," the doctor replied. "You see, chances are it's something psychological that's upsetting you to the point where your physical body is being rebellious. And, in a case like that, you're the only one who would really know."
"But, I don't understand. Do you suppose it's because I don't really want to have sex? Really?"
"Is that the reason?"
"No. I love sex. I enjoy it. I get a feeling of satisfaction out of it. And I think the time I love the best is when I'm lying there and I'm feeling I'm totally replete, relaxed, filled with joy, with happiness. I had no trouble delivering my children. My husband was most sensitive and most kind during my pregnancy. That's what I can't understand. He never reproached me once with the children that were lost. I never really felt guilty. I felt terrible because I had lost children, but I didn't feel like I had done something to lose them. You know what I mean."
"Yes, I think I know what you mean," the doctor said. "But sometimes we repress these things. We shove them into our subconscious mind so that we don't have to remember them and they react upon us in our physical body. I see from the medical records that you've had a lot of physical sickness. Has this ever made you feel guilty?"
"I don't think so," she replied. "At least I don't feel that it did."
"Were you a virgin when your husband married you?"
Ouiva sat very still and looked at me for a minute. She blushed and then turned deathly pale. "No," she whispered. "I wasn't a virgin. I was raped two years before that."
"Would you like to tell me about it?"
"No, I don't really want to tell you about it. But if you think that it might have something to do with me being sick then I will."
"Please do."
My mother and my real father were divorced when I was just a baby. So I never really knew my real father. But I had a procession of step fathers-at least three. They were all very nice, very kind, but they and my mother never seemed to be able to stay married very long before one thing or another would happen and everybody would be at everybody else's throat. So I got used to the idea of one stepfather after another and I didn't see my real father for years and years until, one day, he came back from a very long journey around the world that was part of his job and came to see me. Just for a while. I guess I was sixteen that year.
I'd started menstruating late. Only the year before. And my figure had developed late. But when it developed, it did so with a whammy. One year I was slender and slim and really skinny like a kid, a tomboy, and the next year I was blown out so far that none of my clothes fit me. I had to get all new clothes. So my mother took me out and bought me all these beautiful new clothes. At least they fit me. I was just a lucky young lady. All the fellows kept looking at me and whistling and I got very embarrassed because I couldn't help it that I was built so big, and so well developed, and it had happened in such a short time. It just happened and that's all.
So my real father finally came to visit me and he asked if he could take me down South with him for a couple of weeks. My mother agreed. She and my father were still on good terms and all that. She was between husbands anyway, and courting another one. I guess I'd always get under foot then, so she was kind of glad to get rid of me for a while.
So I packed up my things and I went with my father. We drove very hard all that day, heading south. At night, we stopped at this motel. He was kind of glad that we could only get a single room with a double bed. But it was only right. I mean, I hadn't seen my daddy in so long that it was good to be able to be with him for a while.
We went out to dinner and he treated me to a lot of fancy things that I had only had once or twice before in my life. You know, like lobster and cocktails and stuff. In fact, I did have my first cocktail that night with him. I was kind of tipsy when we went back to the room, and prepared to get ready for bed.
Well, I just started undressing, got into my nightgown and got into bed. I really didn't even notice that he was watching me the whole time until afterward. He had this funny look in his eye, but I didn't think anything of it. I just, you know, figured maybe he'd had too much to drink or something.
"You sure have changed, haven't you, babe?" he said, kind of casual like.
"Sure Dad, I grew up. It's like a long time since you saw me last. I was just a baby then, wasn't I?"
He laughed, his eyes kind of sparkling like. "Yeah, honey, it was a long time ago. But still, you sure have changed more than I ever thought you would."
"What do you mean, changed? Am I that different? Wouldn't you recognize me?"
"No baby, I sure wouldn't recognize you now. Cause you're sure no baby any more."
"Oh, you mean like I've kind of grown up a bit. Well, I guess it happens to all of us, Dad. I mean like, you know, last year I was like a small, skinny kid and all of a sudden I'm this way." I laughed. I felt kind of nervous. He was sort of making a point of the way I looked. I felt funny enough as it was with my big tits and my wide hips without him emphasizing it any more than he was doing.
I lay there in bed, all ready to go to sleep, watching him by the light of the dimly turned on lamp as he stripped down. I guess he was about thirty-five or forty. He sure was handsome. He had some gray in his hair right above his temples. It contrasted with the dark blackness of the rest of his hair. As he took off his shirt I could see the layers of well built muscles that rippled under his smooth skin.
I felt myself sort of tingling all over as I watched him slowly strip down. When he finally took off his pants and then his underpants, revealing his limp prick, I nearly sat straight up in bed, I was so surprised. I mean, I knew men had penises and all that, but somehow you just don't think of your father or stepfather as having one. Even though you know it's true. You know what I mean? Well, anyway I started to tingle all over and like itch like crazy in my cunt. And because I couldn't lie still, I started to wiggle in the bed.
He noticed it and he sort of smiled to himself. He knew that I knew. And I knew that he knew. So like, there was sort of a knowledge between us. His penis wasn't stiff yet, but it wasn't limp either. It was sort of half and half, standing in between away from his body, but yet not full and rigid. It was kind of jerking like, slowly up and down. Each time it went a little further up and not so far down.
Looking between his legs, I could see his balls peeping out from behind his cock. They were kind of darkish pink, with a brownish tinge on their wrinkled surface. They were bobbing back and forth, up and down with tiny jerks. I found myself fascinated by them, never having seen them on anybody before.
He stretched and yawned running his hand up across his belly and across his well-muscled chest and his shoulders to above his head, arching out and letting his muscles stretch. I smiled with great admiration because he was so well built. He made my heart flip with joy that this good-looking man was my father. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins. My flesh felt hot and tingly all at once. Still, at the same time, I felt shivers of cold.
I didn't understand it all. I just knew that I was reacting violently. And that the violence of the reaction was highly pleasant to me.
He walked across the room slowly, stark naked, and climbed into bed beside me.
"Sleep tight, little girl," he said grinning at me as he pulled the covers up over his groin. He leaned over to kiss me on the mouth.
I suppose fathers are supposed to kiss daughters on the mouth. I don't know. All I know is that his mouth opened up to receive mine and his tongue came down into my mouth and thrust around for a minute. The pleasant shock of it all made me jump and stiffen up for a minute. I wanted it even after it had stopped.
I lay awake for a long time thinking about the kiss with my lips tingling and feeling all hot. He lay down beside me and had rolled over so his back was toward me. He was sound asleep.
I was just about to fall asleep finally when his arm came over me as he rolled over against me. His hand came down over across my shoulder and cupped itself around one of my tits. It was kind of chilly out, so I rolled over toward him and he took me into his arms and kissed me again.
When his mouth touched mine I felt tingles run through my body and I arched up with a small cry against him. His arms came around me and clasped me to him, holding me tight, squeezing me ever so gently and pulling me closely into his arms against his strong, smooth muscles.
Wiggling all over with joy, sweating started to tingle all over and like itch like crazy in my cunt. And because I couldn't lie still, I started to wiggle in the bed.
He noticed it and he sort of smiled to himself. He knew that I knew. And I knew that he knew. So like, there was sort of a knowledge between us. His penis wasn't stiff yet, but it wasn't limp either. It was sort of half and half, standing in between away from his body, but yet not full and rigid. It was kind of jerking like, slowly up and down. Each time it went a little further up and not so far down.
Looking between his legs, I could see his balls peeping out from behind his cock. They were kind of darkish pink, with a brownish tinge on their wrinkled surface. They were bobbing back and forth, up and down with tiny jerks. I found myself fascinated by them, never having seen them on anybody before.
He stretched and yawned running his hand up across his belly and across his well-muscled chest and his shoulders to above his head, arching out and letting his muscles stretch. I smiled with great admiration because he was so well built. He made my heart flip with joy that this good-looking man was my father. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins. My flesh felt hot and tingly all at once. Still, at the same time, I felt shivers of cold.
I didn't understand it all. I just knew that I was reacting violently. And that the violence of the reaction was highly pleasant to me.
He walked across the room slowly, stark naked, and climbed into bed beside me.
"Sleep tight, little girl," he said grinning at me as he pulled the covers up over his groin. He leaned over to kiss me on the mouth.
I suppose fathers are supposed to kiss daughters on the mouth. I don't know. All I know is that his mouth opened up to receive mine and his tongue came down into my mouth and thrust around for a minute. The pleasant shock of it all made me jump and stiffen up for a minute. I wanted it even after it had stopped.
I lay awake for a long time thinking about the kiss with my lips tingling and feeling all hot. He lay down beside me and had rolled over so his back was toward me. He was sound asleep.
I was just about to fall asleep finally when his arm came over me as he rolled over against me. His hand came down over across my shoulder and cupped itself around one of my tits. It was kind of chilly out, so I rolled over toward him and he took me into his arms and kissed me again.
When his mouth touched mine I felt tingles run through my body and I arched up with a small cry against him. His arms came around me and clasped me to him, holding me tight, squeezing me ever so gently and pulling me closely into his arms against his strong, smooth muscles.
Wiggling all over with joy, sweating slightly with the heat and perspiration of this close contact, I moved myself more firmly into his grip, letting the length of my not so tall body press his tall length. I could feel his penis, stiff as it was. It lay against his belly and my thigh. It was throbbing slightly with an even pulsation that made me feel very excited.
His hands were running up and down my back, tickling and massaging my flesh. I felt the itching start between my legs and move into the depths of me. I felt my belly curl over on itself and the sensation that I couldn't explain, that I'd never had before, ran right up through my diaphragm and my chest, making my oversized tits heave and the little nipples on them turn stiff-rigid with unrealized desires.
He smelled good, especially in his armpits, and I stuck my head down, or rather, up to where his shoulder and his arms joined together just so I could smell the deep masculinity of his odor.
He had hair under his arms to my surprise. Lots of it. Black hair, fairly long, slender strands of curly hair grew all over his underarms. I think because of it he smelled better. He smelled absolutely delightful. I found myself getting more excited with each breath of his odor that I inhaled.
"Oh, Daddy," I breathed. "You're so big, so strong, so wonderful. How come I never knew you before?"
"I don't know, baby," he answered. "I guess maybe I've been so busy running around the world I haven't had a chance to find out about my favorite daughter."
I giggled at this lavish praise. He'd hardly known me and already I was his favorite daughter. I must be something very special to him. I moved up closer to him and felt the heat of his cock burning in my skin and I loved it, every minute of it.
"Oh, Daddy," I cried. "Make me love. Take me. Make me yours. Let me be with you forever."
"Okay, baby, maybe I will."
His partial affirmation that he might take me, make me his, and take me with him meant one thing to me, but I realized later that it meant something else to him. But then, I didn't know. Then I didn't know anything at all.
His fingers ran down my back finally and under my rounded ass-cheeks, pulling them and massaging them, digging his fingers into them. He also pulled me against him so that my thighs were locked against his as we both went on our sides. His prick, stiff as it was, was burning against my flesh. With slow, sinuous movements, he worked his way down, shoving me up at the same time, until his legs and my legs, our groins were even, his maybe just a little bit below mine. Then he kissed me again, his hands still on my thighs.
His tongue swept into my mouth, darting back and forth with quick, sharp strokes, hitting against my teeth and bulging out my cheeks.
Finally he swept it down my throat. I gagged slightly, but recovered and swallowed. It was instinctive for me to do this. I'd never been kissed before.
It felt great. He tasted so wonderful. There was just a faint aftertaste of the liqueur we'd had after dinner. Then his fingers came from behind, between my thighs. With a single motion he rolled me over and parted my legs at the same time.
He pulled himself back and up so that he was, in effect, crouching down over me, looking down at what was between my legs. He looked and he looked again and with one hand he brought his fingers around to the front and I could feel their stubby, callused ends probing and poking with delightful measure inside my twat.
"How's that feel, baby?" he asked, smiling.
I was so pleased I could only groan.
"Glad you like it, honey. Always figured it felt pretty good to a female."
Well, it did. It felt great. It was absolutely, positively marvelous.
His finger was probing in around where my piss always comes out, around my first hole. And he kept hitting the little knob in there that I didn't know hardly existed, except that every time he touched it, thrills of delight tore across my body and I shuddered all over.
Then, finally, his fingers began to move down, down closer to that hole that just this last year had started to do all that bleeding. And then his fingers were inside. I gasped with the shock of joy that ran through my body as his fingers touched inside that hole.
And then this strange thing. While his fingers were still there, he brought his mouth down, his whole face close down to my body. He began to lap at me, his strong tongue running abrasively across my soft, smooth, tender flesh.
Again and again his tongue rasped over my pussy lips and up through my muff until my whole vagina was coated with a layer of shiny saliva and I was so up in the air, man, I was arching right off the bed. At this point, it was sort of driving me out of my mind.
"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, do something!" I cried. "Oh, please, Daddy. Please. It's itching. Oh it's so bad. Please, Daddy, do something. Make it go away." I began to rotate my raised thighs around and around. At first it was a slow, languorous movement, but as I became more highly excited, the movements became sharper and faster until I spent more time in the air than I did on the mattress. All the time his face was riding right with me, licking and lapping, and tickling me until I thought for sure I would go mad with desire.
But when he stuck his fingers up my twat and began to wiggle them around, I got surcease from the terrible itching that burned through my body.
His fingers so good and cool. They made me feel like I was in heaven. Where I suppose at that point, I probably was.
Then his fingers were replaced by his tongue and if I thought I was in heaven before, I found I hadn't quite reached it. As nimble as his fingers were, they weren't quite the same thing, not quite the same softness and wetness as his tongue, which wafted back and forth, hitting different passes in the sides of my twat as well as lubricating it. His tongue rolled evenly over the sensitive flesh inside, giving more even contact, more constant contact that sent me thrilling right up through the roof.
I started to moan from the ecstasy of the whole thing, groaning louder and louder, rising on the bed, my whole body a muscular explosion. Then suddenly I felt a strange tightness in my belly.
It was like a little knot there, a tiny little knot that grew and began to push down and enlarge, each time a little bit further until it was down I guess where my uterus would be. And it spread all over my belly. My whole belly was just contorting madly.
I put my hand down on my stomach and felt the stiff rigidity it had pulled into. I felt the layers of muscle that pulled back and were hard now with desire.
I suddenly exploded. I felt the liquid pouring down through my hole and onto his tongue. He moaned. I felt the vibrations run through his tongue and into my flesh. Then I felt his tongue depress itself into the bottom of my twat as the waves of fluid flowed over it. He gulped my liquids into his mouth, swallowing them only after he had rolled them around on his extended tongue for a while.
I felt myself going totally limp, almost as though I had spent all my energy and must now rest, which is exactly what was happening. I felt those muscles inside me, which before had been convulsing, relax completely, growing flabby and soft for a few moments as I fell back against the mattress and sighed.
"Oh, Daddy," I said low. "Oh, Daddy. That was great. It was marvelous. It was wonderful." I was out of breath. I lay there smiling, panting beneath his face.
"So are you, honey," he smiled again, licking his lips with his long mobile tongue and I felt very pleased.
"Was that all the intercourse you were subjected to before you were married?" the doctor asked.
"Oh, no," she said slowly. "All that week, Daddy and I did something together. And the next week, too." She stopped and looked at the doctor, took a deep breath and launched herself again.
"For several nights, he just did that. Cunnilingus, I think it's called. Isn't it?"
"Yes," the doctor said, "it's called cunnilingus."
"Well anyway, it got to the point where I was doing cunnilingus on him as well."
"Would you like to tell me about it?"
"Well-I-it's rather a long story," she said, looking at her watch.
"Well, we'll save it for next time," the doctor said.
"All right," she agreed.
"See you next week."
"Yes. Good-bye."
Interview Number Two
She was just as calm as before the next time she came in. Sitting down, she started in talking immediately, calmly, lucidly, and with great feeling.
On the second and the third nights my father and I were on his trip, every night, he did cunnilingus on me, scraping out the inside of my twat and my vagina with his rough-hewn tongue until I reached the nadir of heights that I had never believed possible. Until I felt things that I had never thought any human being would feel at all.
On the fourth night, after he performed cunnilingus on me, even before he went to bed, he asked if I would return the same favor to him.
"It really feels great, doesn't it, baby?" he asked.
"Yes," I breathed. "Oh, it feels marvelous. It's just the best thing in the world."
"Will you, honey? Will you?" he asked.
"Sure, daddy," I said. "Sure. I'll be glad to. What do I do?"
He didn't tell me. He began to show me. Taking me by the hand, he led me over to the bed. As I lay down on it, he lay down on it too but so that his feet were at the head of the bed and my feet were at the foot of the bed-a sort of a head-to-tail position.
Propping himself up on one elbow so that he could look up and supervise my movements, he began to tell me what to do. I listened attentively to his instructions.
I could see his prick, as he spoke, was getting stiffer and stiffer. Reaching over, tenderly I touched it. I felt it quiver beneath me.
I was so surprised that I jumped back. I pulled my hand quickly away, my chest heaving with desire and with shock.
"It's straight out! It moved!"
"Of course it moved, silly," he laughed, "they always do."
"Oh," I said, in surprise. "What is it, anyway?"
"That's my manhood, honey."
So I looked down at his "manhood," and I found that I liked it. He had a big one all right. It was big and long and it was purplish in color, with blue veins. They ran back and forth, across the surface of his cock, pulsating slightly. The head of it was so swelled up that it was smooth as well as rigid, and shiny. His tiny slit was enlarged with lips on it, they were smooth and shiny too. I reached out my hand again, and this time when it leaped up to greet the heat of my palm that was descending on it, I didn't flinch back. I held myself grimly in place, wondering what it would really feel like.
Surprisingly it was dry and warm. In fact it was hot to the touch and pulsating madly. I could feel the beat of his heart in his prick. It intrigued me and I put my hand directly around it, enfolding part of his penis in my fingers and I closed them around it.
"Oh, baby," he moaned. "That feels so fuckin' good!"
I'm glad he was enjoying himself, because I sure was having a ball. I wouldn't want him to feel that I was enjoying myself and that he wasn't.
"Now, rub it up and down, babe," he said.
I began to move my encircled hand up and down over his penis. I watched, fascinated, as I saw the foreskin move up and down, and up and down. As it would come up it would close around his cockhead and it would disappear like under a collar. I would push my fingers down, and it would come erupting back out like a turtle coming out of its shell. Up and down, up and down I went, while he continued to moan and groan in ecstasy. I felt his cock get stiffer and stiffer until it was positively rigid and the veins stood out starkly from against his flesh. Even by his thighs, as hairy as they were, I could still see the blue veins standing out from his white flesh.
Instinctively I lowered my head and lapped my tongue across the tip of his cock. He moaned very loudly, with great desire, great ecstasy, so I put the tip of his cock inside my mouth, pushing my teeth aside, as I rightly assumed that if I didn't, it might hurt him.
He moaned all the louder, began to thrust his hips forward in my face, shoving his cock bit by bit further into my mouth. I accepted it, as I had accepted his tongue on those other nights, so I sort of knew what to expect. It just felt like a great big tongue with a hole in the center.
Slowly, ever so slowly but steadily, it moved down into my mouth, throbbing slightly from side to side. The further it moved down, the closer to the back of my throat it got and the more I felt like gagging. But I kept suppressing the desire to choke, realizing that I wouldn't be able to if his cock was in my mouth, besides I didn't want to disappoint him.
So I swallowed like mad, keeping my stomach just barely in place. While I had one hand around his prick slowly feeding it into my mouth, the other hand was running back and forth across his thighs and over his ass. Then when his prick was almost inside my mouth I had both hands free, one up and one down. I began to run my fingers across his flesh, caressing it gently.
I could feel the long bulges of smooth muscle underneath his silky skin and I wondered if he found my skin as smooth as I found his.
Almost to the time that I engulfed his entire prick, and he was riding it up and down in my mouth, I felt his fingers come near my twat. I spread my legs apart and twisted the upper leg up over so that it was resting across his shoulder, with one arm underneath it. With his hands spread apart, he brought them closer and closer to my vagina, spreading the lips with his fingers when he touched them.
I jumped as I felt the heat of his fingertips on my flesh, hot and dry and rough, because they were callused hands, blunt fingers with signs of having done manual labor at some time in his life. The calluses had never completely disappeared.
His fingers parted my vagina lips and probed gently inside with his thumbs, sort of pulling my flesh out and open so his tongue could reach more easily inside and get slithered down. I felt the moist heat of his tongue, as well as his abrasive upper side on my clitoris.
I jumped from the feeling that thrilled through my body at the touch of his tongue to my most sensitive sexual organ. I felt it stiffen and wiggle and waggle. I felt the spasms of delightful pain tearing back through my body with every small movement that he gave till I was in a cloud of delight.
Slowly his tongue moved down, down into the region closer to my clit. I felt the tickling itch that later, I knew, signified that the small muscles around the edge of this hole flurried madly.
I felt his hands now on my bums and from there they began to rove up over my back and down over my belly, and then back up to my tits, that flopped and jangled with each movement of my body. His fingers closed around one of my huge globes, the palm hitting up against my hard nipple, shoving it back into the yielding softness of my tit-flesh.
He squeezed, first gently then harder, twisting slightly as his fingers bore into my flesh.
His tongue was almost in my twat now. I could feel it moving down the ridges of flesh just inside, where my muff hair came down on the lips of my labia, like moustaches. His tongue was flicking rapidly back and forth, hitting first one lip and then the other, titillating me mightily so that I was in a constant state of anticipation.
Suddenly, I felt the thickness of his tongue as it reached my twat-hole and paused at the entrance. I trembled all over, wanting him to plunge in and engulf me and I felt this knot growing in my belly. Still, his hand was on my tit, rubbing it and massaging it, maneuvering it around, making me more and more excited.
I was writhing on the bed, my hips rising and weaving, falling back to the mattress with a thump each time. I think I arched a little bit more with each maneuver until I was taking everything but my shoulders and my heels right off the bed with each arch.
I felt as though I were in heaven, and as though anything less than maximum movement would be wrong and undeserving of such emotion, so I writhed madly all over the bed.
His face kept right with me, as though he had been expecting this and knew exactly what to do. His tongue up inside my twat felt marvelous. It was moving back and forth, up and down, around and around, slashing against all the different facets of my circular muscles. I felt thrills of ecstasy racing through my body.
Somehow I wanted more. I don't know what it was I wanted but I wanted it. The itching didn't stop, except right up there at the front. Up deep inside of me I was still itching, and I felt this knot growing inside of me again. I wanted relief.
Even though I had his penis down my throat and was enjoying it, I was still gagging a lot and swallowing hastily to keep myself from being sick, also to keep myself from choking.
I felt his cock jerk suddenly. At the same moment he lifted his face from my vagina.
"I'm coming, baby!" he said. "I'm coming!"
And at that instant, his prick stiffened again, jerking violently in my mouth, coming halfway out, and I felt a sudden emission of hot stickiness on my tongue. He was shooting into my mouth.
At first I didn't like the taste, then I began to notice a sort of spiciness about it and I found that I liked it. It had kind of a heavy aftertaste to it, but I found that I liked that too, once I got used to it. Then because my mouth was filling up, I began to swallow, wishing that I didn't have to swallow, but I didn't want to choke so ... I had to swallow the stuff to get it out of my mouth to make room for the rest that was coming in, flooding my mouth.
The knot in my stomach had grown and dropped down until, suddenly it exploded again into my twat, flooding over his tongue. I could feel the movement of his mouth as he ingested it, taking it into his mouth and then swallowing it.
Suddenly I felt very weak and just wanted to lie back and rest. So I did. I was lying there, hardly even breathing, with his limp cock in my mouth. And he did the same, just dropping his face down onto my crotch and leaving it there, breathing against me. The currents of warm air from his mouth hit up against my flesh, tickling it gently. It didn't really send me, or anything like that, it simply felt good.
So we lay there for the longest time. I was running my tongue over his cock, washing it off with slow deliberation and ease, not really caring whether I got it clean or not, just doing something for the moment.
Now that he had come, his prick was getting limp, and I could feel the wrinkled effect of it and the shrinking size against my mouth.
He never actually stuck my twat with his prick. I guess he didn't want to take my cherry. It was another time that I lost that and that was like really forced. It wasn't that I didn't know ... it was that somebody grabbed me and....
Well that's another story.
"You mean that you were raped on top of everything else?" the Doctor asked.
"Yes," she said. "I was ... well ... I think I'd better tell you this one the next time. It's like getting late."
"Yes it is," the Doctor said. Then he made another appointment for her for the next week so that she could come and tell him about the time she was raped.
Interview Number Three
The next week when the Doctor saw his patient, she was recovering from obvious agitation of one sort or another. She kept twisting her hands together in her lap as she sat in front of him, clearing her throat.
"You were going to tell me this week," the Doctor said, "about the time you were really raped."
"Yes," she said. "Ah ... I said last week I would but ... uh ... this week I'm not so sure. I really don't know."
"Well it won't do you any good not to say anything about it," the Doctor said. "You've already informed me of the fact that you were raped, or rather that something unpleasant happened to you. It can't be anything but help for you to relate the circumstances of this. It can only hurt if you refuse. And the one you hurt will be yourself."
The patient thought about this for awhile and the Doctor could almost see her turning it over and over in her mind. Finally, she took a deep breath, clasped her hands tightly together in her lap and launched herself into her rather remarkable tale.
My next stepfather was a fellow who wasn't particularly fond of children and he was a man who had some money. He suggested, therefore, to my mother that I would probably be much happier in a private school where I wouldn't have stepfather problems.
I found I was perfectly welcome to come home on vacations and during the summer. But during the remainder of the year I would get postcards from different parts of the world ... places like Capri, the Virgin Islands and so on. They spent most of their time traveling hither and yon and I suppose they thought I would have been a burden so I was sent to this private school.
It was up in New England. The Winthrop School for Girls. At first it was like going to any other school except there weren't any boys, just girls. We had all women teachers also.
Miss Curry was my math teacher. She was a remarkable woman in many ways. Physically she was large and, as far as femininity went, she wasn't feminine at all. She was just more masculine than feminine. She was a big woman who wore tailored suits all the time and not much jewelry ... just an occasional plain broach or maybe a small pin. But always something very plain.
In the confusion of being new at the school, I got lost my first day and was late for my math class.
At five minutes after the hour I walked up to the room, Room 403, and knocked quietly on the door. When I didn't hear anybody answer, I just walked in. I felt terribly embarrassed and I guess I must have blushed.
She was standing in front of the class on a slightly raised podium. She turned and stared at me, her very blue eyes boring right through me.
"And who are you?" she said in a cold voice.
"Ouiva Sambar, ma'am. I just transferred to this school."
"That is no excuse to be late, Miss Sambar. In the future, be on time." She pointed to a vacant chair immediately in the front row, in the center of the room, right within three feet of her.
I looked at her and looked at the chair and nodded my head and walked straight over to it. I sat down and I stayed put.
She went on with the class, ignoring my existence until the bell rang.
"Miss Sambar," she said, "please remain after class."
"Yes, ma'am," I said, remaining seated.
The rest of the kids got up and started to file out. In the confusion of so many students leaving, one of the girls walked right close by me and leaned over and whispered, "You're in for it now. She doesn't like people who are disobedient and anything to her is a disobedience."
That really scared me and I sat in my seat shivering because she was a formidable woman to begin with. I had been a little bit afraid of her before, but now I was terrified. As the students filed out, the last in line closed the door securely behind her.
I felt trapped and I was afraid. With the last of the students gone, also gone was any protection that I might have had. Now I was alone with this woman and I didn't know what might happen. Anything went!
"I believe you said, Miss Sambar," my math teacher said as she walked slowly toward me and stood barely a foot from me, "that you were new at this school."
"Yes, ma'am," I gulped. "I really am. Today was my first day and I got lost. I'm really sorry...."
"Excuses will get you nowhere." Her harsh voice cut across my voice, silencing me effectively. "You're here to learn mathematics, among other things, not to give excuses. Do you understand?"
I took a deep breath. "Yes, ma'am," I said and I didn't offer any more explanations.
Then, with a complete about-face, she stared me down and then she said, "Well, what's your excuse?"
I looked straight at her. "You said, ma'am, that there were no excuses allowed so I'll just say that I was late and that's it. You don't want to believe anything that happened and you don't want to accept any excuse. Therefore, I won't say anything."
"Don't get fresh," she said in even tones.
Now, I was getting mad. I had told her a reason why I was late. I had told her I was sorry I was late. And she didn't want to accept it and she told me as much. Then, she turns around and wants to know why I was late, all over again.
That made me mad.
She was being deliberately nasty. She knew it and I knew it. And I thought to myself, 'sister, you're in for it 'cause I don't take that sort of stuff from anybody.' But I just thought it, I didn't say it.
"Well...."
She put her hands on her hips. "I asked you for your excuse. What is it?"
I looked her straight in the eye, set my mouth shut.
"Well ... "
"No excuse, ma'am," I said, coming to attention and standing rigidly as I had seen it done in movies. I looked straight at her and straight through her, standing at the same time, stiffly erect with my hands at my sides and both my feet planted together. A completely military position. And again I repeated, with a poker face, "No excuse, ma'am."
In the next instant, her good right hand had smashed viciously across my face. And then she smashed it back again, grazing my cheek with her knuckles.
My face was sore and my eyes felt glazed and I know that my head was spinning from the violent treatment it had just received. But I stood my ground ... not giving an inch.
"I don't imagine," she said sarcastically, "that I will have much more trouble from you. But, just to make sure, I want to have a further talk with you. You come to my place tonight." She gave me the address of where she lived which was not too far off campus and told me a time.
I decided that I would be there and I would be very prompt. Then she dismissed me.
Like a little dog, I scurried out the door with my tail between my legs, carrying my books carelessly along under one arm. I didn't close the door behind me. I didn't even think about it as I tore madly down the hall, racing for my next classroom ... again, being late.
My next teacher, in French, didn't say anything to me. Maybe somebody from the class before (because I saw several faces that were familiar) had said something to her about why I would be late. At any rate, I slipped into the nearest vacant chair and just sat, scrunching up into myself ... making myself as inconspicuous as possible.
Seven o'clock that night, the time she had told me exactly, I knocked at her door. I waited. She let me wait for a full five minutes before she opened the door.
"You're late," she snapped, looking at me.
I looked at her straight on and asked, "How late am I?"
"You are exactly five minutes late."
"Did you mean I was supposed to be inside by exactly seven o'clock?"
"Don't you get fresh again," she snapped.
And with that she quickly hauled me inside, slamming the door. "Now," she said, "you and I are going to have a little talk. I don't like fresh, impudent girls. I won't put up with them at all. One more comment out of you, one more wise remark and I will see that you never forget it. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry ma'am."
I deliberately came to attention. The words were hardly out of my mouth before her hand smashed across my face ... once ... twice. Al most six times. Whirling my head back and forth, making me dizzy.
The pain had passed and had been replaced by an exotic type of tingling that ran from one end of my body to the other. I felt myself growing excited.
My cunt began to itch like mad and I felt the stabs of itching turn to burning pain that ran right up my belly. Fingers of desire crept across my flesh and wherever they went, I felt the goose-bumps follow after them.
Within a very few short seconds, it was as if my whole body were reacting for I trembled from head to foot. And beneath my thin blouse I felt my tits becoming hard and swelling as the nipples themselves pressed against the flimsy material of my blouse.
What amazed me most was the reaction I saw in her. She saw my reaction and I watched as her nipples began to get stiff, too. She had on a thin, tailored blouse and she had no bra on underneath it.
I could see her nipples pressed against the white linen of her sheer blouse and I watched the flush creep up across her throat and face, alternating quickly with extreme pallor.
My growing excitement made her grow excited which only increased my feeling of desire, so that actually, we were both being excited by each other. It was the strangest thing I had ever known in my life. Of course, strange wasn't the word for it. It was downright weird.
At any rate, weird or not, I felt myself becoming so aroused that I couldn't even stand still. My thighs were itching terribly and I began to rotate them without even thinking about it.
"Cunt!" she said low and hoarsely. "Give me your cunt."
In the next instant I found myself pulled roughly into her arms. Her mouth met mine. I was surprised at the reaction of my own body.
I felt my lips puckering up and parting slightly, in anticipation of her kiss.
Her mouth was soft on mine but not gentle. Her lips moved across my mouth in a quick succession of soft ripples that were still bruisingly hard against my flesh, and then as my lips parted a little bit more, she thrust her tongue harshly against them.
I moaned back in the depths of my throat as her tongue pushed its way between my lips and into the interior of my mouth.
As her tongue shoved into my mouth, feeling into the various corners and crevices, my lips closed around her tongue, and I began to suck on it, pulling it even further into my mouth. The rough hardness of her oral phallus aroused me even further. Willingly I rubbed my body against hers as her hands kept pulling me into her.
I felt her arms first on my shoulders, and then around my back. Her hands were running up and down my spine, going down a little bit further each time until they clasped, each one, over a cheek of my ass. She began to massage my cheeks through the tight fit of my skirt, pulling me into her all the more tightly at the same time.
Our bodies clung together, uniting into one body; our flesh coming together as tightly as possible considering that clothing intervened. Then I felt her fingers working at my ass-cheeks and at the same time they were slowly pulling my skirt up. As her tongue rammed its way down my throat she ended the kiss, allowing her lips to stray negligently across my cheek and into my hair at the side of my head.
As our bodies had come together, I had felt the hard nipples on her titties thrusting themselves against my chest, and even as she moved against my body I could feel them move slightly, their projecting hardnesses boring harshly into my yielding flesh.
At the same time, my own nipples were pushing at her flesh, and I could feel the hard firmness of her body resisting, so that my own nipples were thrust back into the softness of my overgrown tits.
I felt my cunt burning itself up with ecstatic desire, and I began to wiggle ferociously back and forth across her groin, exciting her all the more, undulating my body into hers voluntarily, exciting her to the point where she lost control of herself.
In the next instant, I felt my body being swooped up in her arms and unceremoniously she carried me across the living room from the entrance way and into the bedroom. Across the bed we fell in a tumbled heap of flailing arms and legs. Our desire for each other overcame any restraints we may have felt previously.
Just before my mind conked out, I thought to myself that I had always wondered how one woman let another woman know she wanted her, and I had always thought it was by some delicate sort of process. But now I knew that it was different. It was just a matter of one woman taking another woman.
So I gave myself up to her; not because I loved her, or because I hated her, but just simply because I wanted the sex, and because she was stronger than I was.
I don't remember how my clothes got off, but I know somehow they did, and she got her clothes off too. She was running her hands all over my body, touching me everywhere, exciting me almost into orgasm, and I was doing the same thing to her. Her skin was smooth and satiny. Her flesh beneath was hard like a rock, yet it was not tough. She was, to my mind, the way a man would be, yet not totally. She was still a woman-all woman.
Suddenly she got up off the bed. I opened my eyes. I followed her across the room with my eyes. She was naked and her huge tits stood out from her body, topped with their stiff, pointed, red nipples. She walked nonchalantly over to the dresser, opened a drawer and searched around in it for a moment, pawing through stacks of dainties. Finally, with a satisfied grunt, she pulled out a long phallic sort of instrument.
I had heard about dildoes but I had never seen one. I watched carefully as she threaded it into its strap and tied it about her body.
She was tall, and her hips were very slender for a woman. Hence, once it was on, had it not been for the straps, I would have thought that she was a man with tits. The dildo had a second piece that fitted behind it and hung down between her legs-balls.
If I hadn't been so fucking hot, I probably would have laughed at her, with her fake cock and her fake balls. As it was, I just thought she was nuts.
She came swaggering back across the room, swinging her wraparound cock so that it flew back and forth with short, delicate strokes.
"Take a real good look at it," she said in a hoarse voice, "I'm going to fuck you with this."
Obediently, I looked at it very carefully. Reaching out a hand, I closed my fingers around it and gasped from shock because it felt so real. It was covered with a soft chamois. Underneath, I think it was wood, and it was shaped in the form of a permanent erection.
"Yeah," she said again, "you're going to feel this, and you're going to like it."
I looked up, and our eyes met, and I knew she was going to fuck the living hell out of me, as well as take my cherry. But at that time, I didn't really care. I just wanted relief from all this pain and agony that was driving stab after stab up my body.
I was rolling on the bed now, groaning in the back of my throat, rotating my hips back and forth. With her cock strapped onto her body, she came onto the bed also, spreading her legs slightly. She grasped each of my legs at the thigh with her hands.
As I continued to roll, she slowly pried my legs apart, leaving bluish bruise marks on the inner sides of my smooth and delicately fleshed thighs.
I cried out from the pain which she caused me, which was almost as great as that which my body was causing myself, but it was different. This pain did not itch or burn; it just simply hurt.
When she had my legs apart, she moved herself up in between my naked thighs, running her fingers gently over the grooved, protruding swellings of my veins and coming in closer and closer onto my aching and burning cunt.
Taking hold of her pseudo-cock in one hand, she began to guide it up and down the inner lips of my pussy, wetting the head of her prick-lubricating it with drops of my sexual fluid.
Each time she came up across the opening to my bladder-my piss hole-she went on further, rubbing the tip of the chamois-covered prick up so that it hit against my clitoris. Each time she did that, chills of delight coursed across my cunt and up behind my bush, setting my hairs on end.
I was tumbling and writhing on the bed now, only staying put because she was literally holding me down. Her hand had slid quickly up above my thigh, across my belly, sending shivers up through my body. Her hands had reached my tits, and there she let them rest, each hand spread-fingered, grasping one of my monstrous boobs beneath its palm. She was alternately squashing and massaging them, making little turning motions from the wrist that twisted my flesh around, hurting it until I screamed with delighted accents of pain that kept twirling across my body. But I only wished she would hurry up and fuck me.
After about the fourth time that she whipped the head of her prick across my clitoris, I felt her dive down ... down against my deepening crevice, toward my ass, until her prick hit up against the quivering flesh that surrounded my twat.
The exact angles of our two bodies held her stuck there, and as she continued to thrust herself at my body, the lubricated head of her pseudo-cock began to sink into me, forcing the flesh apart. I screamed as the maddening pain rose up my body, heavier and heavier waves, the further she penetrated.
I could see the sweat pop out on her body-actually her face-appearing almost suddenly on her forehead and across her upper lip. Screaming from the intensity of the pain, I paused momentarily as I felt her pause, her prick caught on my cherry. But with a great groan and an extra shove, she was by it, snapping my hymen right in two!
I screamed out, the sharp pain coursing across my body, and the ripping still fresh in my awareness. Blood appeared on my thighs.
The one thrust had carried her beyond my virginity, and I felt the back of her pseudo-cock ram up against my twat with all the driving force of a battering ram.
I screamed as my body arched up off the bed. Ultimately, by the force of her thrusting, I was shoved again and again back into the resilient mattress.
Screaming incoherently and harshly, she drove her body again and again down onto mine, forcing her prick all the way up inside my twat. I thought she was going to split me in two with the strength of her thrusts. And I also wondered if I were going to bleed to death, because I felt as though my guts were being torn out.
Suddenly, I felt the knots growing in my belly. Bringing my hands down, I laid them across the tension of my stomach muscles, feeling beneath the palms and fingers of my hands the vibrating of my taut stomach. The knot grew and grew, expanding until it seemed to cover all of my stomach.
It moved down as it moved out, and soon it seemed to come directly into contact with the nerveless and perpetually numb end of her cock.
There was a resulting explosion inside of me, and I felt terrible tensions loosening, flowing out of me, and draining me at the same time. I felt myself fall back weak and replete.
Even though she couldn't feel the juices as they flowed and seeped down around the cock, she could tell from the greater ease with which she was able to thrust in and out of me that I had come and that the inside of my hole was flooded with juices. Then I was sure she could feel, as I felt, the spreading stickiness as my come went down our thighs, seeping out into larger and larger patches with each new and separate thrust.
My hands and arms fell back limp, and my legs, which I had clasped tightly around her thighs at the moment of come, grabbing at her, sucking on her, and pulling her into me, all fell down limp and boneless on the mattress. I lay gasping for breath, the blood pounding through my body. My heart beat so hard within my chest that my whole lung cavity vibrated.
As she was lying directly on top of me, almost impeding my own breathing, I felt sure she must feel the beating of my heart, just as I could feel the beating of her heart. It was almost as though our hearts were beating as one, so synchronized were they.
With a heave and a grunt, she came up off me, but left her prick deep within me. Riding above me, resting only on her elbows, she looked down at me. Our eyes met.
"You forgot to mention," she said, "that you were a virgin." Her light-colored eyes bored into my face accusingly.
I shrugged lightly. My breath was coming easier now that her weight was off my chest.
"You didn't ask," I whispered back.
"Oh, go fuck yourself," she snarled as she began moving the pseudo-prick sideways, rotating it around inside my hole.
"I wish I could, but you are filling up all the available space," I replied. "And with as little practice as I have had, I don't think I could manage two at the same time."
"You think you're cute, don't you," she snarled. "Well, maybe you are; I thought so too."
I smiled at her, and then my arms came up and circled around her neck. "But don't let's fight. We've really too much to do to worry about fighting."
She took me at my word, and began to fuck me again, her body rising and falling as she drove herself in and out of me rhythmically, penetrating me to the hilt each time.
Now as she came out, I could smell fresh blood because the puncturing of my virginity had stained her chamois-covered prick, and each time she pulled out of me, fresh "blood smeared a bit more across her dildo as well as some of my come.
Suddenly, in the midst of a stroke, she fluffed down into me and screamed, her whole body convulsing, and I realized that she was in the agony of coming at that instant. That even with her prick, unman-like her belly and her thighs were quivering and rotating madly about.
The motions that her thighs went through rammed her wooden phallus far up into me, as well as jabbing it back and forth and bruising my flesh. I could not help but scream because of the intense pain it was causing me.
And just as I thought for sure that I was going to pass out from the intensity of this pain, it began to melt away. In its place, warm fingers of delicious heat spread out across my stomach from up my vagina, and as they went, I felt my whole body relaxing from the tensions of exhaustion that had engulfed me a moment earlier.
I felt marvelous! My legs clamped up around her thighs, locking in back of her ass by the ankles. I held her inside of me.
Dotty was dripping with sweat. It poured off her in heavy streams and runnels. So I forced her to lie still for a few moments so she could regain some of her composure and so that I could enjoy some of the ecstasy of this moment.
"Did you have any more sessions with her?" the doctor asked his patient.
"Yes," the patient replied, "we had many in the next two years."
"Then you became her fluff?"
"Yes," she said, "I suppose so. At any rate, I never did anything like it again. I got married about as soon as I got out of that school."
"Does your husband know?" the doctor asked.
She looked at the doctor, and fear washed across her face. She took a deep breath, paused again, cleared her throat and shook her head in the negative.
"And it has been weighing on my conscience for a long time," she said.
"Then why don't you tell him?" the doctor suggested.
"Oh, no! Oh, no!" she screamed, "I couldn't do that. He would never love me again if I did. He would hate me and despise me."
"As you hate and despise yourself?"
At this point the patient broke down and began to cry hysterically. The doctor said, nothing until the patient was back under control. Again he suggested: "You should tell your husband. I insist!"
"You mean that if I don't tell him, you will?" she gasped.
"That's quite correct," said the doctor. "This is something your husband should be acquainted with, and by telling him, you will release your own fears and self-hatred."
"In other words," the patient stammered, "if I tell him, I would stop getting sick? But even so, I still take the risk of him divorcing me.
I...."
"You want your husband to disown you?"
"No. No, not at all!"
Again the doctor explained to the woman that so long as she kept this guilty secret inside her heart, she would continue to risk exactly what she was risking now-the sickness that had affected her sexual life, and hence her marriage; but if she were to go to her husband and make a full breast of the things that had happened to her before they were married, and why she had not told him earlier, then he felt, it was quite probable that the symptoms would vanish, and that she would be a happier and more well-adjusted person.
Finally, the patient agreed to do this and to come back for another appointment to tell the doctor what had happened.
SUMMARY
Ouiva Sambar, age 34, mother of two children, told her husband about all the sexual relationships that she had had before she was married to him. Her husband did not reject her. He did not throw her out. He did not in any way hate her.
It has now been three years since she first came for psychiatric help. In the course of that time, she has completely recovered from her physical revulsion to having sex, and has reconciled herself to the fact that what happened to her, happened to her, and that no amount of grieving will make it go away. But on the acceptance of what happened to her, she can look forward to a happy and well-rounded life, rather than to one of continued misery and anxiety.
She has in the course of this time worked out several other problems that were also bothering her and which contributed to her ultimate psychological fears of sex.
After three years, she is a fairly well-balanced and well-adjusted woman, a happily married wife, a good housekeeper and a loving mother.
CASE HISTORY NUMBER FOUR
Name: Michael Hanson Age: 18
Educational Level: High school and one semester of college
General Outline of Information about the Patient: Even though Michael had occasionally taken girls out to dances or to special school events, he could never understand what the group of boys in his clique saw in females that was so fascinating. He had formed several platonic relationships with several females of his class at school, but he never went into raptures over them.
On the other hand, he could not admit that he felt an almost overwhelming desire for David, his best friend and a football captain in his senior year at school. When these two boys, who had long been friends, went to local college after high school, they roomed together, and David found out about Michael's attraction to him. After sodomizing him once. David held a small party-a surprise party-for Michael, in which several of David's pals came over for smokes and beer-and a gang bang with Michael as the object.
Thrown completely out of balance, psychologically, by this traumatic event, Michael ran away from college, afraid of his parents, their retribution and what everyone in his hometown would say.
Interview Number One
The patient was a tall and slender young man, with long, and undeveloped muscles across his large boned frame. His red hair was cut straight across his shoulders in something comparable to the style of the day, and his nose was spattered, generously, with large and reddish-brown tinted freckles. His large blue eyes, framed in long dark red lashes, bored directly at the doctor. He was very nervous and yet very straight forward. His high state of excitement did not, in the last, detract from the direct re that he kept giving the doctor. "How long have you been on mescaline?" the doctor asked.
"I don't know. Ever since I started taking it I sort of lost track of time. I guess a few months, maybe."
"Why did you go on this drug in the first place?"
The patient shrugged. His blue eyes still never leaving the doctor's face.
"I don't know, really. I guess just to try it, and when I did try it, I preferred its world to the world around me. I guess that's just about all there is to it."
"Why mescaline? The record shows that you have not tried or used any other drugs before this."
The patient's face became hard and pale, the freckles standing out with even greater vividness than before. His blue eyes narrowed, but he continued to stare directly at the doctor.
"Like I said!" His voice became harsh and deeper. "I guess I just wanted to try it."
"You're lying!" the doctor said in a light tone. "You have a reason for trying mescaline, and for wanting to escape. What are you escaping from?"
"None of your fucking business," the patient snapped viciously, his eyes beginning to swivel back and forth as though in desperation, as though he were trying to escape. "And anyway, just so long as I wasn't bothering anybody else, which I wasn't," he added. "I don't think it's any of your business, or anybody else's what I do with my life, how I run it, whether or not I tell the truth, as long as I don't hurt anybody else."
"The police officer who hauled you in has listed in your record," the doctor said, continuing with his statement, "that you were picked up while prostituting yourself for homosexual purposes, and that ... "
"That's a fuckin' shitty lie!" The patient came up out of his chair, as both of his palms slammed harshly down onto the arms of the chair, trembling in every limb, he stood poised, half standing, half crouching before the doctor. "It's a lie! It's a lie, it's a shitty lie! It's a fuckin' untruth. I'm no queer. No I'm not, I'm no queer! I'm really not!"
As the doctor simply sat calmly, neither affirming nor denying the patient's hysterical crying, the patient himself sat back into the chair, crumpled up into a coiled position, hugging his stomach with his hands, rocking back and forth, crying over and over again, "I'm not, it's a lie! I'm not! I'm really not, it's a lie!"
"Then why don't you tell me what really did happen?" the doctor suggested, when the patient had calmed down.
I've always admired David very much. He was one of those guys who matured fast. He has broad shoulders and heavy muscles. All the girls went for him, which was fine by me, be cause I really wasn't interested in girls anyway. I always thought so much of David, that I was glad that he got what he wanted-namely girls.
As head of the football team, it was almost imperative that he be popular or one could say the other way around; that because he was head of the football team he was popular. That sort of went hand in hand at our school. At any rate, being such a close friend of his, I more or less always basked in the limelight that was on from him. So I was never without girls.
The only problem was I really couldn't see what the other guys saw in girls. There were several of them in my class that were really sweet kids, brainy and all that, and we were friends. There was Shirley, Janey and Daphne, and a couple of others. They were the brainy kids. And I liked them and they liked me. The whole bunch of us got along fine together. But they weren't the girls that David dated. They weren't the playgirls, or the popular girls. They were just the girls who made all the best marks. They were not the girls who had dates, except maybe for Beth. Beth had everything. She really wasn't interested in guys, not then anyway. I understand, a couple of years later she did all right, but that was only after she went to college.
David and I had always been close. What I really felt about him I didn't really understand until the year we went away to college after high school graduation. We both went to the same school and we registered together and we asked to be roommates because that's what we both wanted, and we got it. So I was like in seventh heaven because David was my roommate. David, the greatest guy in the world, my idol.
You really have to see David to believe it and I saw him, day in and day out. I used to lie in my bed at night to watch him disrobe. He was so handsome, I just couldn't keep my eyes off him. He was over six feet tall and he had these wide shoulders with bulging muscles, smooth, blond skin, darkened that fall by the amount of time he'd spent at the beach, except where his swimming trunks had come and there was a line of very white flesh.
But I think his cock had interested me more. I used to get all tight and hard inside and my prick would go stiff whenever I'd see his cock. It was huge!
I guess it must have been all of ten inches long and four ... maybe four-and-a-half inches around. Big thing. It was a real monster. I could always see his balls peeping out from behind it. Those big, beautiful, round, gorgeous balls in their pale sac. They always quivered slightly.
He would stand there in front of the mirror flexing his biceps and triceps. With his legs slightly apart, flexing them too. He would stand naked and admire himself. And me, I'd just lie back on the bed and admire him, because he was so damn good-looking and I wanted him so badly that I ached all over from wanting him.
As the days went on into weeks, I stopped trying to hide the fact that every time I saw him naked I got erect. Instead, little by little, I began to show him that he turned me on.
"Hey, Mike," he said, "what's wrong with you?"
"What do you mean, 'what's wrong with me,' Dave?" I questioned, looking up from the bed where I was lying watching him watch himself in the mirror. "Is my skin funny, or something?"
"No, man," he said, laughing. "But your cock's stiff. You got a girl friend that you're thinking about?"
I blushed. "No, I wasn't thinking about a girl, I really wasn't thinking about anything much," I said and my face turned from red to scarlet. I felt myself getting hot all over. Beneath the covers my cock was jerking away like mad and I felt myself building up into a terrific climax.
Groaning, I threw back the covers and headed for the bathroom to beat my meat.
"Hey, man," David called after me, still laughing, "The way you're acting you'd think I was turning you on."
I turned at the door and gave him one long look, expressing the agony of my frustrated love, before dashing into the bathroom and slamming the door. I left him alone to think about it for awhile.
Standing over the toilet, I forced my stiff prick down, so that it faced into the watery bowl and began to run my hand smoothly and evenly up and down my prick, encouraging it to shoot. I was just about to come, when the bathroom door opened and Dave stuck his head in.
"Hey, man," he said. "You're going about it all wrong."
I turned and looked at him. "What do you mean," I gasped, my breath coming in short, sharp staccato wheezes.
"Come here and I'll show you," he said as he moved over behind me. And in an instant his fingers had replaced mine, and he was massaging my prick for me. And while I didn't feel the sharp aching pain that I had been feeling when I was beating myself off, I did not come as quickly as I usually would.
His fingers were warm and firm on my flesh, and their soothing gentleness worked up and down over my uncircumcised foreskin, kneading the flap back and forth, slipping it up and over and down and over my cockhead.
He felt the slight tremor that my meat always gives just before it shoots, and in that instant he changed his grip, holding me steadily and firmly down into the toilet bowl.
In a fraction of a second I felt the long ripple of desire shake across my body and my load came squirting out the end of my cock to splash hissingly down into the toilet, making a sharp, deep groove in the still water in the bowl.
Astonished, I watched the cloudy whiteness as it slowly spread, mingling with the yellowish water in the toilet bowl. The opaque cloud spread all over the surface of the water before our eyes. I stirred it with my hand and pushed the flushing lever down.
I felt his body up against mine, hot and sweaty, with his cock getting stiff right up against the crack of my ass. And even though I had just shot, I wanted him so badly that I trembled all over. I steadied myself by holding on to the lever so that I wouldn't fall over on my side.
"You sure are weak!" he said, as his hands came up to my waist, his fingers encircling it and gripping into my flesh. "You're all right?"
"Yes, I'll be fine in a minute," I said, lying partially, knowing that I was all right now, but loving the touch of his fingers. "Yes, in a minute, I'll be fine." I took a deep breath and straightened up.
But he helped me back to the bed, keeping his hands on my waist all the while. I felt him adjust his grip, as he lay me down among the rumpled covers.
"Hey, babe," he said, nonchalantly, "you sure take these things hard." He stood up, releasing me, and I felt myself getting suddenly weak. "Look, just lie still," he added. "I'll be back in a minute."
Turning on his heel, he strode quickly into the bathroom. I heard the sound of running water in the sink, and the soft splashing of running water hitting a cloth. A couple of seconds later he came out with a damp soapy cloth, which he used to wipe off my sticky penis.
Lying back, relaxing and closing my eyes, I still knew that it was his hands and that they were his fingers that were clasped so firmly and yet so gently around my pecker. I felt myself going stiff again with the joy of knowing that he was handling me, him and no other.
"Hey, look Babe," he said with startlement in his voice. "This is going a little bit too far. First you get stiff for no reason at all, then you only jerk off when I'm there to hold you, and now you're getting stiff again. Look, what is it with you? You queer, or something?"
"Only over you," I said, making it a joke. Then I opened my eyes and looked straight into his eyes, not once veering away from his face. "I guess I'm just going through one of those times that we all seem to go through occasionally, when I just can't help but get stiff time after time, after time, after time. It really is rather a bore."
"Yeah," he said, agreeing with me, a peculiar looking smile on his face. "It does get to be rough at times, I know."
At this last phrase of "I know," his eyebrows went up, and his eyes locked with mine. It was almost as if he were trying to tell me some thing special; something like he knew what my feelings were toward him, but he wasn't going to come out directly and say so. At least that's the way I wanted to interpret it.
Even though he'd wiped my meat thoroughly clean by this time, he kept on rubbing the wet face cloth across and around my prick, until I was stiff again. I had closed my eyes, but opening them I glanced down at his crotch and saw his monster was standing straight up in the air, and quivered with desire. His balls had pulled themselves back into his ass.
"You know," he said, looking at me carefully, swinging his head and his body around as his eyes traveled down the length of me. "I never realized ... you are very pretty." His eyes came back to my face and held my eyes. The word pretty rang again and again in my ears. He had sort of hesitated before saying it as though it were unfamiliar for him to say it to someone like me-which I'm sure it was-he was used to calling girls pretty but not men.
"Do you want me?" I whispered, hoarsely. "You can have me if you want me. I'm yours."
He looked at me, quizzically, and he looked down the length of me again. Then his hand went to his crotch and began to massage himself gently.
"Are you serious?"
I nodded.
"Okay, roll over!" he said very business-like. As he tossed the towel down that he had been wiping me off with, I rolled over onto my stomach, spreading my legs slightly apart to make it easier for him to get up into my asshole.
I felt his eight shift on the bed and I felt the mattress protest as he brought all his weight down onto his knees and rested them between my slightly spread legs.
Sweating and groaning with anticipation, I lay on my belly trembling with delight that David, my hero, was going to be mine.
I had longed for this moment ... I had dreamed of it for almost two years. On one hand, I hadn't admitted to myself that I wanted him this way; on the other hand, in my most wild fantasies, I had had him many times. I hadn't thought of it quite in this manner, so calm and business-like. I was actually a little bit afraid. This was the first time for me.
I felt his big calloused hands. They felt very gentle on my ass. He parted my flesh, seeking my puckered round hole. When I felt his finger pressing against my anus, I nearly jumped for the shocking joy of it. The warth of his fingers and the delightful pressure created a small wave of titillation racing up my body and making it tremble even more.
Then I felt a growing heat and realized that his prick was a bare fraction of an inch away from my ass flesh. I turned my head around to watch, getting it as far cocked sideways as possible. But I couldn't see much because my own rounded ass was in the way.
The best I could do was to glance up over my tightly gathered and trembling bum to see the dark, quivering mass of his bush from which his prick emerged, tall and heavy and stiff.
Then, suddenly, I felt heat, a thousand times more than anything I ever felt, and pain, sharp, stabbing rushes of pain tore across my ass, and up my back. My spine shuddered ferociously under the harsh assault.
He was entering me! That was what told me. The blinding flashes, one right after another, so they seemed almost continuous but not quite, were the signs to me that he was entering my virgin asshole.
It wasn't that I hadn't had offers before, it was just that I had always turned them down, because it had always been David ... David ... David. I never had wanted anybody else, and now I was getting what I wanted.
Behind my ear I could hear the panting rasp of his short breath as he drove himself down into me. His desire mounting with each new short stroke that pushed him just that much further into my ass.
Luckily, when I slipped over onto my belly, I had grabbed ahold of my cock without realizing what I was doing, and rubbed it up across my belly so that when it began to get stiff again from his attention and the rubbing that his balls were doing against my balls, I wasn't stuck with my prick going down my leg. Instead it was up my belly and perfectly able to get stiff lying along that flesh.
Beneath my tense belly muscles I could feel my prick as it began to get stiff. Each time he drove himself that much deeper into me, its throbbing became that much more pronounced and it began to get stiffer all on its own. His huge cock was causing me delightful agony. Sharp pains continued to thrust their way right up my back and across my shoulders where his hands had grasped for support as well as leverage, and his fingers were digging into my muscles, piercing straight through to the bone. My whole body shook and writhed as he drove further and further into me, and I got stiffer and stiffer down below.
Finally, I was so fucking stiff that every time my cock jerked it forced my thighs up through the air. As I soared into rhythm with him, each time he would thrust my member would jerk.
Finally, with a massive groan, he imbedded his prick to the hilt and stayed upon me with all his weight, crushing me beneath his heavy body.
"Fuck, you!" he whispered coarsely in my ear, as his tongue began to oscillate in quick sideway strokes across the very bottom of my fleshy earlobe.
I squealed with delight and reared up my ass, lifting him off his knees.
Suddenly he sank his teeth gently into my lobe. I fell back down onto the bed, forcing myself down.
"Take it easy, Babe," he hissed in my ear. "There's only one of me and I won't do a fucking bit of good if I get clobbered in the middle."
He began to ride me now, rhythmically, coming up and down on me, pulling his prick out on the back stroke and slamming it down into my asshole, as he flopped back down on me. At first it hurt like hell, and then my flesh began to get used to it and I even began to like it, especially when I felt the muscles in my anus gathering as he pulled out and relaxing as he shoved in. The pain was less now ... the pleasure more.
I guess he must have ridden me fourteen, sixteen times before, suddenly, on an upstroke he stiffened. As he came plunging down into me, he smothered a cry in the back of my head against my long hair. I felt his cock jerk violently, the length being inside of me.
He shot! His stump tore into my unaccustomed flesh, burning at it. I opened my mouth to scream and forced my teeth shut onto the softness of the pillow, smothering the noise in the shapelessness of my bite with feathers.
In the next instant, my half-squashed cock practically flipped itself over madly and squirted. I felt its load of come wash warmly across my chest, and saturate the covers directly beneath the center of my stomach, At first it was warm, and then as the warmth subsided, it became kind of a cold and soggy feeling to my flesh, and instinctively I drew back my stomach, quivering at the very thought of touching that sticky mess.
His hands still on my shoulders, he lifted himself up, bracing his arms up stiff with a quick fluidity of subtle muscles that thrust me quivering against the mattress as he hauled himself off of me. I felt him back on his heels still up on the bed, and reached down over the side for the previously discarded towel.
With a grunt he heaved himself off the bed, as he wrapped the wetness around his limp penis and walked across the room without another word.
I lay stock still on the bed, feeling the pseudo numbness of relief and satisfaction wash across my whole body. It was a couple of seconds before the actual relief set in. I felt as though I were in heaven. And then I felt myself falling ... falling ... falling down almost into the mattress itself.
My limbs became limp and heavy, logged with exhaustion. Darkness closed slowly around me. Its soothing velvety dinginess wrapping quiet fingers across my body.
And thus, I slept deeply.
The next morning David was up and gone, even before I woke up and I didn't have a chance to think of it because I had overslept and spent the rest of the time between then when I woke and getting to class. It was a mad scramble to shave and dress and be in class on time. Furthermore, we had a full round of important classes that morning, and each one, it seemed had chosen that day for the professor to impart to us certain very grave and important facts from the class. I didn't think about it until I finally slowed down to grab a bit to eat sometime early in the afternoon.
What struck me as strange was the fact that David had left without even awaking me. It had never happened before. Coincidental was the fact that he had buggered my asshole just that night before and, also, coupled with the additional fact that he had-when I came really right down to looking at it in a rational light-buggered me as though he were ashamed of the very fact of what I was.
Why, I asked myself, what am I really. I didn't think I was a whore, or anything like that, but I had to face one fact, I did love David, very much, and I loved him in a totally sensual manner. I wanted him. I wanted him like I wanted him last night. I wanted him right at that instant, and as I thought about it, I saw my cock distending and growing hot with swelling gorges of blood. I felt the itching start, right in front of my balls, slowly making its way up my stiffening cock until the whole length of my prick was not only stiff, but itching madly with desire.
I wasn't hungry anymore, but I forced myself to swallow the rest of the hamburger, French fries and coke. It tasted the same, it all went down dry. All the time I sat there bolting it down, I felt my cock getting harder and harder.
As soon as I was finished, I grabbed my books and ran from the cafeteria, heading straight toward the door.
It was a good sprint, and by the time I made it to the side entrance I was doubled over and sharp pains were jabbing through my lungs. Spots were jumping before my eyes. I was breathless, I was windless and I was practically stumbling on my feet. But I prided myself that I had made it before I had shot.
I fumbled for the keys, unlocked the door and fell in as I turned the lock.
The room was jammed full of boys.
The patient stopped at this point, his mouth gaped open, working, but no sound came out. His very blue eyes still stared at the doctor, but for the moment they didn't see anything. He was still seeing into the past. In a couple of moments they focused. The patient looked at the doctor and then lowered his face. "I can't continue. I can't go on!" he said in a low voice. It's all just too horrible."
"You'll have to continue. But next time will be better perhaps. You'll have some time," the doctor said, "to pull yourself together."
The patient shuddered for a long moment, sat quiet and then nodded his head violently up and down, still keeping his face lowered and his eyes averted from the doctor's face. "All right," he whispered.
"Tomorrow, at the same time," the doctor said in an even measured tone. "Will that be all right with you?"
"Yes."
The patient visibly pulled himself together before rising and leaving the doctor's office.
Interview Number Two
Just as pale as before, with freckles standing out across his nose and his cheeks, his very blue eyes looking straight at the doctor. The patient was visibly keeping control of himself the next day at his appointment. There were circles under his eyes, and the veins inside of his eyes stood out in sharp relief. The lids themselves were swollen and reddish.
Sitting down, the patient slouched in the chair, licking his lips several times and clearing his throat. "This is gonna be awfully hard," he said, half mumbling and stuttering over his words.
"Just do the best you can," the doctor said keeping his voice calm and low. "And don't worry about if it's in disorder. Just tell it. Just get it out of your system."
In my shock, I tripped and ended up on my hands and knees. From that position I looked up and around the room. I couldn't believe what I had seen that first second. But looking again, I realized it was true. There were at least half a dozen of David's college friends sitting around the room with grins on their faces, that knowing look, the superior gazes down the ends of their nose. All of them staring at me. I knew I was in for a hell of a rough time. Just how rough I didn't yet know.
"What are you in such a fuckin' hurry for Mike," Dave asked as I came to my feet slowly.
I blushed, and then I grinned stupidly and shrugged my shoulders. "Oh, I don't know," I gasped. "I guess I just felt like running."
His gaze dropped down to my crotch, and I'm sure he realized what my haste had been. In fact, I know he realized why I had been in such a hurry because of the smile that spread slowly across his face. He chuckled.
"What is it, Dave?" I asked needlessly. I already knew what was probably going to happen.
He walked up to me. He put a hand on each side of my face, on my cheeks, and he wiggled my head back and forth. "Oh, baby," he said gloatingly. "So sincere, and yet such a glorious reputation."
My eyes locked with his. I felt myself getting very angry. "Thanks for the free advertising," I snapped.
He looked at me. His brown eyes widening with impish mock innocence. "Well, I thought, that's what you'd enjoy. You liked it so last night, that I thought you would want more-lots more of the same."
I cleared my eyes. My knees felt weak. I simply wanted to fall down on the floor and pass out. But I couldn't. A black cloud passed in front of my mind and I could think of nothing except: "Why Dave? Why are you doing this to me? I love you. I have always loved you. And I ... I...."
His brittle laughter cut across my words, and his hands left my cheeks. "You fucking fairy!" he said, snarling sarcastically. "Did you think I'd fall for anything so stupid as that? Do you think I'd want something like you? If I want sex, I'll get me a woman. A real woman."
"I see," I said, taking a slow deep breath. My eyes opened, staring straight at his. "Well, then, you will excuse me if I go somewhere else. And I'll thank you and your little playmates to be gone by the time I get back. Give me a couple of hours and I'll clear out my stuff."
He laughed. "Where the fuck do you think you're going, sweetheart," he snarled.
"I don't know, and I don't care," I retorted quickly. "But just to get away from you if that's the way you really feel, you and your friends." Behind me I felt for the knob. My hand wandering back and forth across thin air, searching for the roundness and the solidarity of the doorknob.
"Hey," one of the others in the group spoke up quickly. "You ain't gonna let this little fairy bitch go without fucking her ass off are you." The short speech was followed by a nasty laugh. And someone else put in; "Naw, we want to have a piece of her tail too, to find out how much more fun she claims it is than pussy."
I was really afraid now, and shrank back against the door. "Stay away from me," I yelled, my voice jumping about three octaves to a high girlish screech. "You just keep to yourselves, you damn bastards. I don't want anything to do with you. You're just a bunch of fuck-mad maniacs. You'll take anything on just to satisfy your animal instincts."
"Well," another one said, standing up, putting his hands on his hips. "We never said we were any different than you, we only state that we're normal; while you're as queer as a fuckin' three dollar bill."
"Well, I never thought," another one said, standing up, "never in a month of Sundays would I run across one of these things."
One by one they had stood up. Starting with Dave-their ringleader, and apparently the instigator of this little game-they began to circle around me. In one desperate lunge I tried to get the door open and back myself out before they could get ahold of me.
In the next instant, I was tackled and felled straight down to the floor as half of the freshman football squad jumped on me. The only thing I can say to their benefit was that it was probably the best and most coordinated tackle they'd ever made.
As hard as I could, I tried to fight them off. But there were seven of them and only one of me, and I was on the bottom at the moment. I fought. Very hard. I kicked, I bit, I scratched, I socked a couple of them in the gut. I know I knocked one of them out of the running when my boot landed right in the middle of his groin.
He doubled over, his face going purple, his hands clutching at the air in front of his broken prick, as he fell down in the corner stunned.
But the others realized what had happened to him, and became all the more infuriated with me, redoubled their effort.
In a few moments I was stripped naked of all my clothing and laid out spread-eagled on the floor on my belly. As I lay there panting and dripping with sweat from the violent exertion of a few moments before, I felt a pair of feet between my spread thighs.
"Watch as closely as you can, fellows," I heard David's voice saying. "I'll go first and show you what to do and how to do it. I mean, you know, it's basically the same man, like fucking a dame. But there are one or two fine points. Such as this one."
Behind me I heard him spit and I heard him rub the callused flesh of his palms together. Then, as he knelt, I knew he had at least lubricated his prick, by rubbing his wet palms across it. In the next instant I felt the sudden heat of onslaught as his lubricated cock came down and touched the entrance to my asshole.
He brought his fingers down too and spread my trembling cheeks apart; the better to drive straight into me.
I heard him take a deep breath and braced myself for what I knew was coming next.
Fire and ice combined shot across my asshole as he plunged in on the first stroke, to the hilt of his ten inches. Driving himself all the way up into me, he paused before yanking back.
I felt the burning heat of his cock as it plunged down the length of my asshole. And waves of masochistic pleasure shuddered across my body making me tremble in every limb. I groaned and tried to get my ass up off the floor. But the two heavy weights that were literally sitting on my legs did not budge, and I was not either strong enough, or in such a position that I could begin to dump them off my limbs.
The same was true of my two arms. And someone was holding my head as well, so that my nose was painfully being ground into the hard wood of the floor.
I think my tormentor was doing it deliberately. Because simply to have held my head would not have meant that he need to smash my face in as well. I think they had decided I wasn't going to enjoy this no matter how much I might want it. And therefore they were holding me down with undue verve.
In six quick strokes that burned all the way up my backbone and all the way along my gut, my hero David, brought himself to climax. My whole body tensed as I felt the ripple along his prick indicating his imminent ejaculation. And in the next instant he shot.
I felt the heat of his scum as it poured into me, rolling deep within my gut. I also felt the relief as he pulled out, almost immediately.
The muscles in my ass sagged down on themselves and relaxed, but only for an instant. He got up and was replaced by another one.
From here on I really don't know who it was each time who fucked me. All I know is that David was replaced by another member of the freshman team.
Two hands, large, callused and fairly brutal, forced my ass flesh apart. And two big round, bony knees slapped themselves quickly down and against the quivering flesh on my thighs, grinding into the slack of skin on the inside of my thighs, and smashing it bruisingly into the floor, tearing it slightly. A voice behind me grunted a couple of times. A deep soprano sound. Then I felt a cock that made David's feel positively puny.
This one had not bothered to lubricate himself. But it wasn't really necessary because of David's come, I was lubricated fortunately. So despite his size, and his deliberate ferocity, he slid quickly and smoothly into my gut, tearing my anus open as the heavy girth of the last fraction of his pecker bored straight into my body.
I screamed loudly; opening my mouth I let the wail of agony be torn easily from the base of my throat.
But as I drew breath to scream again, my head was whipped around sideways, and some wooly, soft material-I think the corner of a blanket-was ignominiously thrust into my mouth. So much of it in fact was shoved between my teeth that now, not only could I not close my mouth, but I was practically choked and smothered on the suffocating amount.
In fact, I'm quite sure that if I had suffocated and died, they wouldn't have cared. And they would have had a convincing alibi to cover their whereabouts at the time of my death.
But that's neither here nor there. At this very instant 'big prick' was having himself an absolute ball at my asshole.
Apparently, he was fairly experienced in the ways of women, and maybe even not so unexperienced in the ways of Greek fucking. Because he was doing a job on me that was sending me right through the roof. He knew exactly where to hit, and how hard to hit, and how much I could take before he switched positions, from a sideways wiggling motion, to a back and forth thrusting motion, to a circular gyration. Then he'd start again.
He drove in and out of me until I started to go numb. Suddenly he stopped, and while he was totally in me began to gyrate his hips sideways instead of thrusting.
Each time he hit one or the other of the sides of my anus, I split a fraction more, and waves of sharp stinging pain, alternating between the left and the right sides, smashed up my body. Then, suddenly he stopped again and began to smash up and down on my prick more or less rotating himself all the way around so that he was forcing my anal muscles to stretch beyond even their own capacity.
I think he fully well knew what I didn't know then, but realize now. The anal muscles of a man or a woman are not nearly so elastic as a woman's cunthole muscles. So while he was enjoying himself and having fun, he was tearing me up inside.
Pretty soon I felt his huge monster of a cock jerk. Instead of pressing himself down, he pulled himself almost all the way out, until only his cock head and his corona was still inside me.
When he shot, his scum, instead of going deep into me, squirted out around the edges and stung as it sank into the myriad splits and cuts in my overstretched asshole.
I tried to scream, but my voice was effectively muffled by the blanket that was stuffed so thoroughly in my mouth. All I could do was moan, and groan, and sort of whimper in the back of my throat. My mouth felt very dry, even though I knew my tongue was salivating madly. But it was all being absorbed by that fucking blanket. My throat was slowly drying out. I kept swallowing this lump in the back of it from pure, sheer dryness.
I felt him leave me, and my whole ring of muscle collapsed as waves of pain washed across my shuddering body. I felt blackness closing in around me. And faintly I heard a voice say; "The fucking little buggin' bastard fainted. What do you think we're going to do?"
"Throw a glass of cold water in her face," was the sarcastic reply. "There's four of us to go, yet."
And the next thing I actively remember was, the sharp sudden coldness of wet water landing on my face and head before it dribbled down the sides of my neck onto the floor. I gasped from the shock and came completely awake, blinking my eyes several times.
"She's awake, go ahead."
Suddenly, there was another pair of knees between my thighs. And another cock was shoved up my ass. This one wasn't so big as the one before, and didn't hurt as much. But unfortunately, 'big prick' had taken care of that very nicely. I was so damned sore that I couldn't have lain still if I had tried.
My whole body was writhing and turning underneath my tormentor, so that the four who held me down were actually having problems and I could hear their grunts and groans and I could feel the fingers of their hands as their short nails dug into my flesh on my arms and on my thighs. But I kept bucking as hard as I could.
I don't think I was really thinking now. I was just reacting. They had no right to do this. They weren't going to finish it. If they had to do it to me unconsciously that was something else again. As far as I was concerned, they weren't going to do it with me conscious.
My whole body threw itself spasmodically and violently around. My muscles were twisting and pulling torturously. I know I pulled several of them, driven nearly insane by the agony of the driving cock up my ass. I bucked until it went away.
I heard the crushing behind me and I felt the foot heel first come down on my spine.
My whole body arched convulsively as the hard plastic heeled shoe smashed into the small of my back.
After that, everything went black. I don't remember anything at all for several hours, when I woke up alone.
At first I thought I was dreaming. But as my eyes focused and adjusted, I realized I was still lying on the floor and it was nighttime. There was a faint light coming in through the window. But the door was closed. My mouth was still stuffed with the blanket.
Pawing feebly at my face, I managed to get the blanket out of my mouth, and took several deep gulps of air before attempting to move much further at all.
My back was screaming with wracks of pain and my arms were numb, as well as my legs, as well as my whole ass area, as well as-my nose.
I started to roll over onto my back so I could get to me feet and hardly begun the maneuver when I stopped dead as very live and active pains tore along my body. My whole belly and diaphragm went into sharp spasmodic convulsions.
What the fucking hell, I thought to myself. Have they broken my back for me? But I gritted my teeth and pulled my knees together, and then up under me, pushing at the same time with the palms of my hands against the floor. Slowly and agonizingly, I came up onto my hands and knees.
I felt the blackness falling back around me. But I gritted my teeth with even greater determination and held on until the waves of blinding pain subsided, and the blackness had left conscious forepart of my mind.
With slow and infinite caution, I came to my feet. Finding I could stand fairly erect, and that nothing fell to the floor and clattered, nothing pierced through anywhere, such as broken bones through torn flesh, there was nothing but a mass of aches and bruises, I began to feel a lot better.
I staggered quickly and quietly to the door, finding it locked, I slid the other bolt home so that nobody could come in. Turning around I checked the window and saw that the shade was pulled down so that no one could see in from the outside.
Then I reached over and turned on the light switch. The sudden blaze of the low watt bulb in the ceiling blinded me for a moment. And I sagged weakly against the door. But I forced myself altogether again and moved with slow, staggering, short paces across the room to the full-length mirror that was on the closet door.
Opening the door, I was prepared for anything. So I didn't faint from the shock of seeing my legs, my knees, my elbows, my face, all black and blue and purple from bruises and broken blood vessels.
Looking more closely at my face, I realized that from the angle it was perched out, that my nose itself was broken, And further down, I looked at my prick, which was beginning to hurt, with a deep pain, like it had been beaten. Sure enough, it was all shriveled and blue, and red, and sometimes even black where occasionally, the blood had broken through the surface of the skin and lay in small black patches between the glowing greens, blues, purples and reds that dotted and blunted across my whole prick, my balls, my groin and my ass.
I realized that after I had fallen unconscious they had all done the job on my sublime body. And then they had turned me over and someone had beaten me with a whip. Because there were welts all down in between my thighs. It could only come from either a belt or a whip.
And I saw those belts that had been used at that very instant, standing in the closet, hanging from a hook beside the mirror. I think I was meant to see them. They were so obviously placed. And there was still crusted blackened blood.
It was my belt. One of the most prized possessions that I owned. Because my father had given it to me. So this, I thought, this is the end of it. The end of David, the end of everything. And in that instant I wanted to lie down and cry.
But I knew I couldn't-I didn't have time-to succumb to the overwhelming emotions that threatened me at the moment. I didn't know what horrors my parents would think, when they found out. I only knew that they would reject me because of the way they were. They were very religious, and very honest. But very severe people.
I often think back to my uncle whom I had never really known except that I had seen him once when I was a small child. They had never spoken of him, to him, or about him in years. And all references to him in the family bible and the family portfolio album had been carefully removed. And I wondered what sin he had committed to have himself so thoroughly eradicated from the family tree. I wondered if his sin and my sin were the same.
I staggered over to the basin. I ran the water as hot as I could stand it. And picking up a towel off the rack I didn't care that it was David's. I just grabbed it. I doused it in the water and began to dribble the steaming hot water across my body.
Slowly, some of the swelling left. Some of the stiff muscles relaxed. And the clots of dried, blackened blood dissolved, leaving only the smallest scabs. Taking the bar in my hand, I bathed my body gently with the soap, running my fingers up and down over my sore and aching muscles. I was especially careful with the worst of the bruised sections. My elbows, my knees, my groin, and most of all I took great care of my nose.
One touch was enough to assure me that it was going to be sore for several days, but I could also feel the 'out of placement' of bone, and I knew that if it wasn't set straight it would heal crooked.
Gritting my teeth taking in a deep breath I shoved the bone back into place. With my other hand I grabbed the edge of the sink, to keep myself from fainting.
When I finally got my body cleaned up respectably and fairly decently, I patted myself dry with another towel. Then I began the task of clothing myself.
Once I had done that, I searched the room very carefully. I decided that I was going to take everything of value that I could carry. I didn't know where I would go, and I didn't care. But if David wanted to treat me this way, there were a few things that he would sacrifice in return. Like his gold cufflinks-the ones that he so highly prized because his mother gave them to him.
I found them in his drawer. Also a couple of hundred in bills I took. I also found his class ring. It was gold and set with other valuable stones too. I gathered up all of my scanty jewelry, I put on my boots and I went through the closet, taking out certain clothing. David and I were close to the same size, as far as slacks went, so I grabbed all the pairs of blue-jeans that were almost as disreputable as possible, plus, three or four pair of good slacks, and a couple of sports jackets. I took down his suitcase, which was a hell of a lot nicer than mine, and a hell of a lot bigger, and I started to pack.
And when I was done, I went back over the room again. I was very glad that I did. Because under the mattress I found the biggest supply of hash that I've ever seen. I think there was enough for four packs of cigarettes. That's a lot of hash. And I also found something else that I didn't like at all-horse.
But I took that as well. I knew I could sell it. And I knew I would probably need the money. Anyway, I figured, he'd get more, wherever it was that he got it. And eventually he'd get caught. Especially if he got hooked on that stuff. The syringe and the equipment, those I left. Those I didn't want. Those I didn't need. Those, he could have.
I checked to make sure that it was all clear. The time was about two o'clock in the morning. So I put out the light and I checked out the win dow, slowly and carefully, But there was no one around. We were up on the second floor, so making a rope out of just a sheet, I lowered the suitcases, both of his that I had packed with what I wanted to take.
And on the second thought, I went back to the closet, got two of his rather fancy leather belts, pulled the rest of the blankets up into sort of a back-pack, with his leather coat inside, and strapped them together. And then taking the rest of his four or five expensive belts, all leather, I dropped them out the window.
The last thing I did before I left, was to methodically slash the clothing I did not take. And to dump all his cologne out. And otherwise, take care of every piece of equipment except for school property. That included his books and mine.
Chuckling to myself, I left, locking the door after me. And then I slid the key back in under. I snuck out the building and I never went back there again.
* * *
"How long ago has that been," the doctor asked his freckled patient, who sat trembling in the chair before him.
"I guess it's about four or five months ago. I really don't know. I mean, I haven't kept track of the time. Yeah, I guess it was. Let's see, it was in October that I ... that all this happened.
And it's what, July now of the next year?"
The doctor nodded in the affirmative. "Yes," he stated.
"Then I guess it's been almost nine months. And so far as I know nobody tried to follow me or catch up to me. I don't even think they know where I've been or what name I might be using, or even if I look the same anymore. Frankly," he added, in a more sober tone of voice, and with more thought, "I don't think they really care."
"What makes you think," the doctor put forward, "that your family doesn't care?"
"I've given this a lot of thought. I mean, really, I have." He stared straight at the doctor. His blue eyes opened with wide honesty. "You see, if my sickness, my homosexuality, my queerness is the same thing that was wrong with my uncle, then I've simply been cast out of my parents' lives like he was. But if on the other hand, it wasn't the same thing, I'm sure-in fact, I'm so sure that I'll stake anything on it, that David concocted a story that not only held water, but brought him approval while he heaped more ashes on my head. And probably it was something that wouldn't lend itself to anybody chasing me. Or even wanting to chase me. Or even thinking I would be worth it. I don't know what he could possibly say, but I'm sure it was good. He was always good at that sort of thing. It was really one of the things I admired about him."
"What else has happened to you? Why then, did you go on mescaline? Surely not because of this."
"No, not really, although I don't know."
The patient stopped talking, licked his lips and looked down. "I guess you might say that's another story too."
"Why don't you tell me about it tomorrow," the doctor suggested.
"All right," Michael said. "I'll be glad to."
Interview Number Three
For his next interview the patient had kept himself under control, although the doctor could see this was fairly recent. The patient carried himself carefully across the room and deposited himself slowly into the chair. His face was absolutely dead white. His eyes were heavily swollen, ringed with red. And he was having difficulty breathing through his nose.
His face was so pale that his freckles stood out almost black across his cheeks. And though he held them as quietly as possible in his lap, his hands were trembling visibly.
"Where shall I begin?" he asked.
"Why don't you begin," the doctor stated finally, "where you left off yesterday."
The patient took a large breath, inhaling and exhaling with slow deliberation before he launched into his story without another hesitation.
"Even with all the money and stuff I had on me I figured the best thing I could do would be to just hop the first freight out of town. Nobody would think much of looking for me, and I doubt if anybody would see me. So that's what I did.
In the dawn hours the college town is almost dead, and by carefully avoiding the few patrol cars that I met, I made it down to the railroad station. There was a freight train that usually came through about five in the morning. I heard its whistle almost every morning. If I remembered correctly, it usually Went pretty slow. So hiding down among the tall dead weeds, I waited. I was afraid that I might have missed it.
But in about twenty minutes, maybe thirty, I realized that I was in the clear because I heard it coming. I heard the whistle and the rumble on the tracks not too far away from me.
It was rather late in the year, but it was starting to come dawn. Just barely. Everything was sort of fading and greying out. Which to my mind was better than either broad day light, or even early light or full night. Because this way, nobody could see worth a damn at any distance. Until the engine had passed, I stayed down and didn't move. And then I picked my head up and looked. Coming down in the line of cars was a single one with his doors open. I figured that had better be my bet, for right now anyway.
As it started to pull abreast of me, I jumped up and strapping the pack to my back, as I'd done earlier, I grabbed one suit case in each hand and began to run with the train. As it started to catch up with me-the freight car, I mean, the one I wanted-I threw the suit cases aboard, and with a painful leap grabbed ahold, pulling myself in.
I don't think the train was going more than fifteen miles an hour. It never seemed to do much more than that anyway. So I didn't do anything more than pull a couple more muscles in my back. And I guess I was lucky to have not hit my nose.
I was even luckier still. The freight car was empty. And I decided right then I didn't want any fellow passengers. So, when the train started to pick up speed and we were outside the city limits, I slid the doors shut so anybody passing by wouldn't be likely to notice.
It was a major effort. Because it was a heavy door, and I guess it had been stuck. But I managed to get it closed finally. It was only after I had closed it and heard a peculiar click, that I wondered if I was locked in. But it was too late then to worry about it. So I lay down and I slept.
I don't know how long I slept, I just know that when I woke up, I was hungry and thirsty. And it was awful dark in there. I tried to get the door open, and found out that I couldn't. So I felt my way over to one of the emergency escapes, or whatever they are through the ceiling.
by twisting and turning, and winding the knob around, I finally got the damn thing open, then realized that it fucking well was night out, but night of what day, I didn't know. We must have been going fifty miles an hour. Well, that alone detered me. So I pulled the hatch back down and locked it, and went back to sleep. When I woke again, it was daylight and we were stopped in a railroad yard. I propped up the hatch again and looked out. We were in a hell of a fucking railroad yard all right. It stretched on for miles. And seeing as there was no one near me, I scrambled painfully out and went around the car and sure enough the door had latched itself shut. So I unhooked the latch, rolled back the heavy door, and climbed back to begin throwing my stuff out.
I suppose I was lucky, because no one saw me. I snuck out of the railroad yard, coming out through a rather large junk field. I started to walk along a maze of super highways. I saw a sign that said: turn here for Newark.
As far as I know there is only one Newark. That's Newark, New Jersey. Half way across the country from where I'd started.
Well, I figured, it was nothing more than a hop, skip and a jump from New York. The City. And if anybody wants to get lost, that's the city to get lost in. Right away I began to have visions of me holding up somewhere in the village, and maybe getting hold of somebody who needed or wanted some grass, and selling it to them, and then getting rid of this damn 'horse'.
It was beginning to weigh on me. So I kept walking and scouted around until I got across the Hudson River, and then headed down for the village.
All total, I guess the whole journey from Newark to New York took a couple of days because now I was on foot and I didn't know my way. I suppose from the time that I left home, that is college, to the time I got to New York City and down into the Village, took about three ... four days. No, more like five, I would think. Anyway, I finally arrived. I didn't know anybody. I didn't want to know anybody. I just wanted to get me a place and hide out somewhere. I figured I had enough to start on. I had five hundred dollars in money, and I had at least double that in grass and dope.
SUMMARY
Michael Hanson had little difficulty accepting the facts of his homosexuality. With the help of a fellow gay, whom he met just after coming into New York City, and with whom he settled down to a stable life, he began a routine of adjustment to his situation and his environment.
Because of the attitude of his family-for it was, as he later learned-for the same "crime" that his uncle was stricken from the family records, he was unable to count on family backing. He has, subsequently, adjusted his attitudes toward families, and has been making a family with his lover.
With the money he received from the sale of his stolen heroin and most of his marijuana, he was able to make a good beginning in the city. He has gone on to finish his education and holds a responsible position in an architectual firm in Manhattan.
Also, under analysis, he was able to delve into the reasons he wanted revenge on David, and has given up his ideas because, as he feels they would only hurt him and reep him a whirlwind of hatred and self-destruction. He does not feel that David is worth all this attention.
CONCLUSIONS
In each of the cases presented, the patient had been forced into a sex act, initially against his or her will. In some of the cases, the patient became accustomed to sex, desiring it on a steady basis in some adjustable form. But, in some of the cases, the patient was unable to subconsciously adjust to the need and desire for sex and therefore developed nasty side effects which perverted his attitudes toward sex and sexual behavior.
Few, if any, cases of forced sex or rape on all levels are just so simple as to be a case of one person forcing his attentions on another. In most of the cases, it is a combination of traumatic events or confusions, such as subverted homosexuality, sadomasochism, and others of a less sexual origin, which culminate in the striking trauma of an incident of forced sex of some sort or another.
The four cases in this book are the final selection by the psychiatrist himself, from his extensive files on forced sex. Each of these cases presents a definite aspect of the general problem of forcing sex onto another individual, who in most aspects, is unprepared for its inception in or on his person.
As the reader can see from the variety of cases, forced sex may be a classic rape, or a homosexual gang-bang. It may affect the patient immediately, or it may have delayed repercussions which only appear in metaphoric form years later when some event brings their existence into the active subconscious of the subject.
If the person-and only if-is strong enough and intelligent enough and educated enough to understand, not only himself, but also his nature in the light of these facts and effects, he will be able to accept what has happened to him and go on from there to build himself a positive life. Furthermore, if he has the active and willing help of his family and closest friends, as well as a psychiatrist who will help him to help himself, he will be able to adjust. Otherwise, he may spend the rest of his life wondering what is wrong, knowing something is wrong, but wandering around in a mire of emotional fixation, unable to guide himself because he cannot be objective.