There are thousands of orphanages in the United States, but what takes place behind their walls rarely attracts public attention. Orphans are a forgotten minority. They have no advocates, no lobbyists for their rights. They are the victims of their environment. Without parents to look after their welfare, they are all too often mistreated by the callous keepers of these institutions.
However, their life in the orphanage is not without times of happiness and love-though such times are scarce.
The book, a collection of first-person accounts of young girls who have spent most of their lives in the institution, tells their story in their own poignant words.
Lisa: 15-years-old, was forced into sex with the headmaster under threat of being excluded from consideration for adoption.
Ursula: 16-years-old, abandoned by her Scandinavian logger father, she became a nymphomaniac out of a desperate need for love.
Michele: 14-years-old, a chronic masturbator, she describes one of the most important emotional outlets available to orphaned girls: onanism. Often, according to Michele, entire dormatory wards of girls will engage in masturbation at the same time.
Susan: 16-years-old, she becomes a lesbian in response to the rigid puritanism of her strict orphanage.
Paulette: 15-years-old, a beautiful girl from southern California, was gang-raped by three drunk maintenance men who dragged her from her dormitory bed late one weekend night, when most of the orphanage's staff was off-duty.
Caroline: 17-years-old, working part-time in her Vermont orphanage's administration office, falls in love with another orphan, 18-year-old George, and the two plan to marry one day.
Danielle: 15-years-old, had been repeatedly beaten by her alcoholic father, relied on masturbation to relieve the tensions and boredom of orphan life. However, her onanism was combined with exhibitionism: using a hand-made dildo, she masturbates in public places.
Pia: An inveterate liar, she alleges to have been raped by two orphans, but because of her doubtful credibility, her story is regarded as nothing more than another lie.
CASE HISTORY ONE
SUBJECT: Lisa AGE: Fifteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Dark-haired .and slim, Lisa walked into my office as if she were heading toward her execution. She looked down at the floor, tears filling her eyes, and would not respond to my initial questions. Obviously, she was hiding a painful story. Finally, after considerable prodding and reassurance, she disclosed her most intimate experiences. In the end, they poured out like a flood.
I've been in orphanages ever since I was born. So far, I've been in about five of them. You see, I started out in a state orphanage in Texas first, and that one was closed down after my seventh birthday. Then I was moved to another in the panhandle, stayed there a year, and was turned over to a system of orphanages run by a Protestant church organization. It's a tremendous system, this particular organization, but not so well run. I got transferred around a lot, until I ended up at Kennsington, Maryland.
That was two years ago, and ever since it's been nothing but hell.
I don't know why I've never been adopted. I mean I didn't know until a couple of weeks ago.
I consider myself a pretty girl, and I'm not stupid. I regularly get the highest marks in my classes, and I have a lot of friends.
You got to live in an orphanage to know what one is like. The only thing an orphan wants to do there, the only thing he or she ever thinks about, is getting out. You want to be adopted. It gets so that you don't even care who your parents are, because you are dying to get out of the clutches of the people who run the places.
You are dying to get out in the world and to be allowed to become what you want to be. It's hard to imagine parents who could be as callous and authoritative as the people who run orphanages. No matter how good-willed they are.
At least if you are out in the world, you can move into your own room, or share one with a brother or sister. You don't have to eat the institutional slop they feed you. You can have your own possessions without worrying about them getting stolen.
If your parents are no good, you can always run away. But at least with parents, you have a chance of getting some real affection for a change.
It can really make you wilt inside, not having any parents. Someone older to go to, to feel comfortable with.
Well, there I was in this orphanage in Maryland, not far from Annapolis. It is a very beautiful place, with red brick buildings that look nice from the outside, even if they are a little too much like a jail on the inside. The campus had over 40 acres, with rolling hills and tall oaks and a small stream that ran through it.
But that's only the appearance. Things often look nice on the outside but are truly rotten on the inside. I think I have accepted that as a general rule of life.
This orphanage was easily the prettiest I have ever seen. Even the jail-like interior was better than that at the other places. It was clean, for one thing.
I understand it was once a boy's reformatory, built with the idea that rehabilitation is the best cure for juvenile delinquents. Then a church group bought it for practically nothing from the state when it decided to consolidate its reformatory system. To make it into a prison-like thing with a couple of huge, isolated dorms.
I remember my first day at Kennsington. I met the headmaster, who was a very nice man named Johnson. Paul Johnson. He was old, even kind of senile, and when I first saw him I thought the chances were as good as not that he would suddenly keel over and die right smack in the middle of my interview.
A couple of months later, the poor man did die. He was replaced by an assistant who was much younger but who had been with Kennsington over a year.
It happened over a decade ago. This old headmaster, he never missed a day's work in his life, they say, and he ran the place pretty well.
His underling, Thomas Fryor, was in his late forties. A bachelor, Johnson was always in command, and he didn't like being number two. All he could do was wait until Johnson kicked off.
After waiting the respectable couple of weeks, he moved into Johnson's office. He stripped the place of every sign that it had been occupied for twenty years by the old man. He repainted it, had new furniture put in. He ordered the picture of Johnson removed from the antechamber. It had been put there by the secretaries. He did put a small bronze plaque on his door, commemorating the man.
Then he made a new tour of the facilities, inspecting everything, making a list of the changes. I know all this because of rumor. You know, there's a real grapevine in places like these, just like in prisons. Everyone knows everything.
He announced that he would personally meet with every orphan. There were about 200, half of them girls. It was interesting how he suddenly began paying so much attention to us. He never really seemed to care before. But then he didn't have to, because Johnson did it all.
When it was my turn to go down to the office, I was pretty anxious. I had never talked to him before. I wondered what he was like.
Well, he was very nice at first. But as we talked about myself, about my dreams, my problems, about getting me adopted by the "right" family (that was his word, by the way. All the officials in orphanages use it), I had the feeling he wasn't listening. He was just staring at me, crazily.
I got uncomfortable, but I just kept on talking. I thought he was tired.
But then I noticed that he was staring at my breasts. They were about the same size they are now, that is a 36C. Just a wee bit larger. I was pretty well on the road toward maturity at a quite early age. But they fluctuate slightly in size. I know it's odd, but it happens, you know. I think, though, that I had about the nicest pair on my hall. Which means out of about 30 girls.
Then he began to ask me sexual questions. About boys, about love, about frustration. He started off subtlely. He asked me about what I felt about the girls being so strictly separated from the boys. About whether there should be more socials. About what I felt about boys. About what the others felt about them. Most of the questions were impossible to answer.
Then he got more specific. Now he was plainly interested in my answers. I had the impression that he was going to do all sorts of revolutionary things to open up the relationships between the boys and girls. To make them more normal. But instead he began to ask me these direct questions about the girls on my hall, and if any of them had ever made any advances toward me. Whether there was lesbianism. Whether I ever saw anyone masturbate. Or if any of the girls sneak out at night to meet with the boys. I knew about lots of things like this, but I only gave him general comments. I didn't want to implicate anybody. I felt he was trying to get people.
Finally, he asked me about myself. Did I masturbate? Did I make love with other girls? All that crap. I got very nervous. But I was as polite as possible. You can really get screwed if you aren't nice.
Then he got up and walked to me. He was sweating heavily. He looked down and asked me if I was a virgin.
Well, I wasn't. But I didn't want to tell. He was acting like some sort of religious fanatic, and you got to remember that this was a religious institution. Sex didn't go over lightly. Us orphans were only slightly more liberated than the staff. I was one of them who had real guilt feelings about sex.
You see, I lost my virginity to an orphan a couple of months ago. We did it out in the woods one summer night. We both sneaked out of our halls and one thing, as they say, led to another, and we just balled the hell out of each other. But I was terrified while we did it, and I never climaxed. I felt horrible about it the next few weeks.
Well, when he asked me the question, I decided to lie. He was standing right over me.
He stared at me, and called me a liar. I said I had told him the truth.
Then things got out of hand. He called me a whore, and he said he knew all about me. That I was an "easy lay." That I had a reputation for sneaking out of the halls to meet boys.
I was in a real panic, and he knew it. I almost began to cry. He peppered away at me with accusation after accusation, and I denied every one. But there wasn't anything I could do.
Then my stomach fell to the floor. He said that he couldn't "honestly" let a couple adopt a "slut" like me. He said there was not hope for me, and he would recommend, that he would actually do it himself, put my name at the bottom of the adoption list. That I would be blacklisted, in effect. Which meant that if any couple showed an interest in me, they would be told that I was a problem child and that the orphanage highly recommended that I not be adopted.
I began to cry, to beg him not to do that to me. I protested my innocence, but he challenged me to prove it. I said I couldn't. How could I prove I was not a slut? How could I prove I didn't sneak out of the hall all the time to screw around with the boys?
People don't see you not do things.
Then he walked to the door and locked it softly, so the people on the other side wouldn't hear the bolt shut.
He pulled my chair around, and I looked directly into his face. I was pretty hysterical. He said that since I was a slut, I would be treated like one. And I would be expected to behave like one. He said something like, "If you're a slut, then that's because God wanted it that way. And we mustn't prevent God from carrying out his plans. He also said that sluts could be adopted too, that they had a right to parents, though less of a right than other people.
But I wouldn't have any rights, he said, unless I acted like a slut.
I was crying so much, my stomach was so nervous. I never felt worse in my life.
All of a sudden, he reached out and grabbed my shoulder. He pinched it hard. He ordered me to stand up.
He put his hands on my breasts. I was about to scream, when he placed his hand over my mouth and pulled me into him. I could feel his penis pressing into my vagina. He was very hard. His hand cupped my ass and he ground it into him.
He ran his lips all over my neck, slobbering on me. He called me a whore, a slut over and over again.
When I still tried to scream, when I actually began to fight back, he grabbed my hands, holding them together with only one of his, and released my mouth. But before I could get out an audible shout, he grasped my throat and began to choke me.
He squeezed harder and harder, until t finally began to faint. I fell to the floor, and he dragged me to the couch. There he began to take off my clothes.
As he undressed me, he threatened to never let me out of the orphanage if I said anything about what was going to happen to me. And it was pretty obvious what was going to happen.
He threatened to send me to one of the worst orphanages, where everybody is treated like shit.
What could I do? I gave in. He looked ready to kill me if I struggled anymore.
He undressed me pretty fast. It was like a high-class rape. He didn't tear any of my clothes. He didn't take off my knee socks and shoes. I was wearing long red socks that went past my knees, and brown loafers with pennies in them. I guess that kind of get-up turned him on. Or maybe he was just in too much of a hurry to bother with non-essentials.
Then he undressed, even faster. He took off everything.
He stood over me, his penis hard and huge, twice as large as my old boyfriend's, and he ordered me to suck him. When I didn't move, he slapped me twice. I started sobbing pretty loudly. But he grabbed my head, pulling me by the hair, and shoved my mouth against his prick. He forced my jaws open and told me he would kill me if I bit him.
So I swallowed it all. I almost choked. I could still feel his hand on my throat, even though he had removed it along time ago. I could still feel his nails digging into my skin. So while I was sucking him, it felt like his hand was on my neck, forcing me into it.
He moaned like some dying animal as I rode up and down his penis. The only sound that came from me was the slurp-slurp of my sucking, and sometimes of my gasping, as he pushed the thing into me. He was never satisfied.
I was horrified at the thought of him coming inside of me. I thought I would go to Hell for it. Even though it wasn't my fault. I thought I was really a whore.
. He ordered me to suck harder and harder. To take it all in every time I sucked. He accused me of deliberately not giving him a good blow-job because he "knew very well I was an expert at them."
This guy was obviously a real nut! He should be locked up. But I know that even if I went to the police, no one would believe he did this to me. Even if I took a lie detector test. But I wonder how many other girls he forced into having sex with him.
Then I felt it. I was terrified. I must have shook like a leaf. He was coming! I closed my eyes and tried not to think of it. His body vibrated as if he was being whipped, and then I felt this little bulge in his penis, felt his entire penis expand, as he shot his load into me. He just came and came, without end. I was drowning in his semen. I wanted to spit it out, but he held my head to his prick and wouldn't let me budge. Then the stuff ... well, I had to swallow it or choke.
At last he pulled out of me. I thought it was over. He seemed to turn around. But I realized he was only getting ready to fuck me. He went to his desk, you see, and opened a drawer. He took out a prophylactic and made me roll it on his penis, which was still hard".
He said he was taking the precaution, even though it meant less pleasure for him, because I was a slut and "probably infected."
He told me to turn over and present my ass to him. He was going to fuck me from behind.
INTERVIEW TWO
Suddenly, there was a knock on his door. I thought I was saved. I wanted to shout out, but he lifted his fist to my face. The expression on his face was that of a madman, as if he would kill me right then and there if it was the last thing he did. If it was the police ready to break in, he would still try to strangle me to death.
All I did then was cross my fingers and hope he would have to leave, for the person would try the door and see it was locked, and become suspicious.
But the person only knocked again. He calmed himself and asked what he wanted.
It was the janitor. He said there was a bad leak in one of the basement pipes, and he wanted him to come down and look at it as soon as possible. It was spewing water all over the place.
Well, Fryor told him he was having an important talk with one of the girls, and would be down in a minute. In the meantime, he said, the janitor should do whatever was necessary, including calling for emergency help.
That was it. He didn't even try the door. He answered a chipper, "Sure boss," and actually ran away. You could hear him bound down the hallway, his workboots pounding the wooden slats of the floor.
Then he turned to me. I knew that it would at least be a quick fuck. That was the only consolation I had. When you're in an orphanage, consolations tend to come in the negative. For example, you begin to consider yourself lucky that you weren't born deformed, or retarded. Or that you don't live in an inner city ghetto, though I'm not sure how much worse that would be. Of course, everybody does this, only orphans take the comparisons more seriously.
So my consolation was that it would be a short fuck. I thought so. I don't really know how much time passed. It seemed like a short fuck, but I lost track of time. I told myself, as he was pumping away at me, to check the clock when I left, but I forgot. I was just glad to get out of there.
First, he inserted his fingers into my vagina. To lubricate me. He enjoyed that all right, for he shoved his fingers in and out pretty brutally. He was in a hurry to get me wet.
At last, he inserted his penis. He was hard now, as hard as a stick. He didn't waste any time on me. He just plunged right in, all the way to the very rear of my vagina. Grabbing my ass, pulling it to his groin, he pumped away at me. Groaning like an animal.
He began to talk.
I couldn't help enjoy it, in some perverse way. Somehow, I talked myself into believing I deserved it. That I was really a piece of dirt that was meant to be treated like one. You know, there at the whim of another, who uses you as he sees fit. After all, that is the story of my life. No one does want me. No one knows I exist. I mean no one cares.
So, feeling this way about myself, I soon began to take pleasure out of this fuck.
I must admit that it was this as much as anything else that has really tortured my conscience. That I hated that man, that he did what he did to me with impunity, but that I enjoyed it. I guess it's the old mind-body conflict I read about in one of our English Lit readers the other day. My mind was against it, but my body could not be talked into ignoring the consequences of the physical act. A fuck is a fuck, and there is always some degree of pleasure in it. I guess so. I don't really know; it seems that way, sometimes.
His penis seemed to sink into me deeper and deeper every time he plunged into me. I got the feeling that there was some extra inches that stuck out, which he couldn't force inside. Because he rammed so hard, and I felt more and more go in.
Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you about his talking. He handed me the whole big "slut" routine over and over again. Just cursing at me. But then he mentioned this crap about him being appointed "to clean up the unholy mess at his orphanage." To get rid of the sluts like me by showing them, by "copulating" with them, to illustrate that they really enjoyed it, that therefore they were sluts. He put it this way, actually: "The bible says you got to fight fire with fire. A tooth for a tooth. For Job was punished by God in order to test his faith. And God gave me this orphanage in order to test me to see if I was up to fight the Devil using the Devil's own methods."
I know it's crazy, but I didn't say it. I just remember it, which I know is kind of odd; he said so many things to me. But you would remember it too, if you heard it. You don't forget things like this. Or at least I don't. I'll always remember everything that happened to me in that room.
So there he was pumping away at me. And I was beginning to come to an orgasm. Despite myself. His penis was so big, so thick that it was stimulating every nook and cranny of my vagina. I could feel the muscles inside me quivering, I could feel my clitoris getting hard as a rubber eraser as the tip of his penis rammed into the point inside my vagina directly in back of it.
I remember opening my mouth and groaning. First softly, then in loud spurts as he rammed into me. I would almost shout whenever he put all his weight into it.
I could feel my liquids run down my legs. I was sopping wet; my pubic hair, his pubic hair, everything was sopping wet.
Then, suddenly, he pulled out and ordered me to lie on my back. His abrupt exit left me kind of empty. It's hard to explain, maybe even impossible when you deal with experiences like sex, trying to discuss it with a member of the opposite sex, but it actually hurt. The vacuum. It hurt.
He spread my legs wide apart. He forced one of them on top of the back of the couch, and pressed the other down to the floor. I have to describe this, you know, because he made me do a split, and I had never done one before. I could feel the muscles in my thighs strain painfully.
Then he plunged in, falling right on top of me. He must have weighed twice as much as I did, and he was easily half a foot taller.
In this position, the penetration was even deeper. He held his hands under my ass, and forced my vagina up to meet his penis. I looked down at the action and saw that every centimeter of it was shoved up inside of me.
I remember my eyes rolling uncontrollably. I got very dizzy, and grabbed the couch for support. I felt the world sinking underneath me, as if in a spiral going downward, downward. I refused to touch him, so I had to twist my arms into some weird positions.
He was all over me now, kissing and sucking my tits, biting my neck, squeezing my stomach. All this as he pumped into me like some rabbit.
As he got hotter and hotter, he pulled my legs up and hooked them over his shoulder. Pressing down on me, he forced my vagina up to his penis. The penetration was unbelievable. I thought my insides were being ripped apart. My legs were pressing against the side of my body, my knees touching the cushions of the couch. I shook, vibrated as if an electric current were running through me.
I looked up at him and noticed he was slobbering. A thick gob of saliva was running down his chin, and I watched it, disgusted, as it fell to my stomach. More than anything, more than his cock inside of me, or his hands on my tits, I wanted to get rid of it. It was hot and gooey; it felt like an acid burning a hole in me.
Suddenly, he began pumping as fast as a car piston. An insertion or two a second. My body rocked on the cushions as if I were being flagellated.
He was getting ready to come.
His hands were all over me, squeezing and pinching my flesh. I felt as if I were being raped by a gang of sex-crazed men. Then his fingers began to probe by asshole, and I realized, as he ran his hand up and down my crack, that he wanted to finger me. My only concern was for the pain, for I had had enemas, and I didn't exactly like them.
He inserted a finger hard. He rammed it in and out. Then he put in another and then another.
They squirmed in me like worms, wriggling around without any concern about what would give me pleasure. He was acting on his own ideas of the subject, and I guess he was not especially interested in whether or not I enjoyed it. My asshole was just another vagina to him, there for his own pleasure.
At last he climaxed. It was a tremendous load. I felt it spurt into me, all hot and thick, like spoiled milk. I gasped out of both disgust as well as pleasure, for his orgasm had succeeded in nearly giving me one.
He slammed my vagina against his cock at least two dozen times in the short time he climaxed. I was sore, I was hurting. His penis was much too big for my vagina. His body was much too heavy, and with every violent insertion, I felt that another bone was broken.
As he slowed to a halt, he rammed my vagina against his groin less violently, less frequently. His penis quickly went flaccid, but he did not withdraw. His breathing was extraordinarily heavy, as if he had just ran several miles. A few times, it was irregular, and I actually found myself both worrying and hoping that he would have a heart attack.
Then I talked to him. I begged him to get off me. "Please pull out of me," I said. "You're hurting me. Please, please." Just like that, with lots of tears. I was really quite desperate, quite distraught.
He looked at me. First his expression was understanding, then it turned ugly. He accused me of being the Devil's weapon, on Earth to spread havoc and sin. As an agent of the Devil, he said, I had no right to ask him to obey my wishes. His only desire was to give me pain, to make my existance on Earth as uncomfortable as possible until I repented for my sins.
Well, that last remark of his gave me a clue as to what to do. I declared I was willing to repent if he were willing to accept my absolution. Of course, he was not in a position to offer absolution, which is a Catholic practice, anyway, but I hoped that by asking him to do it, I would flatter him.
It worked. He stood up and took my hands. He pulled me to my feet and told me to pray for forgiveness, while he went downstairs to the basement to check on the broken pipe.
So I got down on my knees, still completely naked except for my knee socks and one shoe (the other had fallen behind the couch) and did exactly that. Prayed. Like mad. As he dressed, he watched me approvingly. Before he left, he asked me to pray for him too, for, he said, "We are all tarnished in the eyes of the Lord. No one is not without need of prayer and forgiveness, for our sins are more numerous than all the numbers man can ever count."
Before leaving, he told me he would soon be back, and that he wanted to find me still praying. Then he would think about my request for absolution, and decide what to do.
He locked the door after him. I wondered if there were any staff workers in the anteroom, and whether they realized that I was still in there. When I was sure he was gone, I went to the door and peeked through a thin crack in the frame. No one was there, as far as I could see, and, listening for a while, I realized that if anyone was, he or she was asleep, which was unlikely. I was alone.
I sat down on the couch and collected my thoughts. I must say that the only word that came to my mind was "whore," and I wondered how I was to blame. In fact, I was sure I was to blame. I stopped my tears and listened for him.
Ten minutes later, he returned. I immediately assumed my position of prayer. When he opened the door, he looked at me suspiciously, no doubt not believing that I had been praying all the time.
But he asked me anyway, and I swore I had been. Then he said that he could only grant me a temporary absolution. It would cover me, he said, acting as if it were insurance, for only the next two weeks. Then I would have to return to him for an "inspection." He said he would ask the staff to pay particular attention to me.
Well, the two weeks went by and I did not hear from him. Another two weeks past, then a month. I thought I was home free.
But I received a note asking me to report to him again the following Friday, a few days later. For once, though, luck was on my side, for he was called away on business. He was gone for two weeks and when he returned, the orphanage was informed that because of his diligent work at our school, he had been asked by the supervising board of the church to head its regional orphanage system.
That was it. He packed his bags and left. His replacement was a woman.
I'll never get over the experience. I don't feel much attraction to boys or girls right now. Actually, my friends have accused me of being anti-social. I have nightmares occasionally. They are truly horrible, for I wake up in a sweat, screaming, with my hands grappled over my vagina, as if I was trying to cover it up.
CONCLUSION
Lisa was an exceptionally intelligent girl who acted much older than her 15 years. Though she had experienced a terribly traumatic experience, I doubted that the unfortunate aftereffects would last into her 20's. In three years, when she turned 18, she would be legally free of the orphanage, and I was certain that she would turn out to be a healthy, well-developed woman. However, I told her that while she may succeed in coming to terms with her rape, she should expect an occasional relapse. In any event, I recommended that if she ever entered in an intimate sexual relationship with a girl or boy, that she not conceal the experience. It would leave her partner in the dark about facets of her behavior it would unquestionably explain. Also, by sharing the story with others, if she wished, it could be washed out of her memory, made tame, even harmless.
CASE HISTORY TWO
SUBJECT: Ursula AGE: Sixteen
INTERVIEW ONE
A priest at Ursula's orphanage in upper New York State had caught her copulating with another orphan, a 17-year-old boy, on the cold concrete floor of the basement of one of the institution's service buildings. Naturally, the man regarded fornication not only as a criminal offense, but as a psychological aberration as well. Ursula, moreover, reinforced his conviction that she was deranged by refusing to admit she had sinned.
That man has got to be crazy if he thinks I'm going to apologize and say prayers for myself! He may enjoy celibacy, but I don't and I don't see a single, God damn reason why I should admit I sinned by making love to a boy!
I do it all the time, and unless I'm locked up, I'm going to continue to do it. I love to screw. It's my only enjoyment in this poor, lonely life of mine.
You got to picture what an orphanage can be like, especially if you're not a stunning or very talented or pleasant-looking person. You just don't get adopted, and you have to spend all your time rotting in the cold, institutional greyness of these places.
I get no affection. The people who work at this place are all cold, business-like people who think that all you have to do to be happy is put your faith in God! It's like the God damn middle ages, and the orphanage is like a God damn monastery.
But for some quirk that had something to do, I've been told, with an economic merger a couple of decades ago, my orphanage has two parts, a boy and a girl side. The two mix sometimes, under the careful, religious, puritanical supervision of the priests and nuns. No matter how hard they try, they can't keep us apart. They always find the boys sneaking into the girl's dorm, and vice versa, which really horrifies them. They think it's ten times more sinful for the girls to sneak into the boys dorm than the other way around. I know of one case, of a girl who had a boyfriend there whom she deeply loved, who was once caught making out with him outside the building in the winter, and they actually tried to exorcise her! It takes a pretty good imagination to picture what takes place in these people minds. But it must look like a Bosch painting (I know about him because there is a reproduction of "The Garden of Earthly Delights" in the foyer to the girl's orphanage).
You see, the priests and nuns make poor parental substitutes. They don't even try. They attempt to solve every orphan's emotional problem with a bible, a prayer and a ruler. In the end, they use the ruler much more than religion. You know, it's one of those Earthly compromises they are always talking about.
When you don't have parents, you have a tremendous number of problems most people never have. It means not only that you don't have someone who values and loves you above all else, who will do anything for you, but it also means that you don't have a home, a neighborhood, a room of your own.
It means you are stashed away by society in an institution somewhere where they don't have to look at you, or be reminded that you exist and that they have a moral debt to you.
That's why, to put it frankly, I have sex as often as I can. Sex that isn't abnormal. No, you can't accuse me of that. I don't masturbate, because I don't need to, and I don't make love with other girls, because that is just plain unnatural and it repels me.
I just love to make love and to be made love to. I am not especially particular about the place or the time, even the person I'm doing it with. When you live in an orphanage, when the life of an orphan is all you are familiar with, you cannot afford to be too picky about certain things.
That's really what happened when old man O'Donnelly caught me and Mike balling away on the basement floor.
Mike is a handsome, intelligent guy. I have always liked him. I swear, I can't really understand why he can't get adopted, even though he has been involved with the law over little things a couple of times. I can't understand how, in view of the fact that he is an attractive person, why couples don't overlook that. I guess they, will only settle for someone who is perfect.
Now me, for instance. I'm not too pretty or very intelligent. I was arrested once on a small charge of theft, as a shoplifter, when I was ten, and my aunt, who took care of me ever since my Mother died about ten years ago, decided I was becoming too much of a burden for her. I don't blame her, because she is a sickly lady, and will probably not live much longer. No one will ever adopt me, and I'm certain I'll be in this place until I reach 18, and they legally have to let me go. So naturally, I felt very happy that Mike was interested in me, and it didn't really matter that all he was after was my body. For sex is affection too.
Oh, it was so great. I can still feel the cold basement floor against my back. I imagine that is what a tombstone feels like.
We were out for a walk on the grounds. It was fraternization time, and that's what we were doing. To the hilt. And despite all the trouble I've gotten into, I'd do it again and again and again.
Mike came up to me and began to talk. As we walked, keeping our eyes out for the priests and nuns, we started moving toward the woods. It was getting dark, and soon the coed walk would be broken up. He rubbed up against me and as I looked down at his groin, I could see he had a hard-on. As for me, my nipples had become just as hard. My groin was itching at the thought of his prick inside of me. I couldn't wait to have my hands wrapped around his back, to be kissing him.
It's that closeness, the intimacy, that I want. I don't care how artificial it is. It's better than nothing, and when you live in an orphanage, nothing is exactly what you get.
He asked me if I wanted to cut out. He said he knew a place to go, a place where we would be safe. I was waiting for him to ask, because it was getting pretty close to the do-or-die moment. If he didn't say anything, I would have made the same suggestion. I had lots of hiding spots, where I had been with plenty of boys, and plenty of guts. I don't intend to let other people run my life. I have been pushed around and told what to do by people I can never respect for just too long.
Watching the priests and nuns, we finally saw a time when we could split without being caught. Of course, if we were not back in the dorms in another hour or two, our absence would certainly be noticed.
We took off through the woods, and finally came to a garden equipment shed. It had a basement, a small one where it looked like preserves or stuff like that were stored. I had never been in there before, because it was always kept locked, on account of the equipment. But Mike knew how to get in; the maintenance crew hid the key in a crack in the outside wall. I was feeling so fuckin' hot when we finally made our way past the equipment, down the stairs and were touching each other.
It had been a few weeks, maybe even a month, since I had last had sex. It was ecstasy when he pressed against me and covered my lips with his. We were standing up, and he pinned me against the cold basement wall. It was a little wet, water dripping down the stones, but that only heightened the sexiness of it all. It was so "illicit," as the Father would say.
His cock pushed against my slit. I wrapped my legs around his body and pulled him into me. I was clawing at his back, desperate to have that thing plunge into me. I couldn't wait. I must have been quite an animal, I must really have surprised him.
I writhed like a fuckin' eel, with my hands on his ass. I was grinding his cock into me. I don't know how loud I was, but I have a good idea that I was gasping like a tired athlete.
Finally, not being able to take it anymore, I pulled him down to the floor. I was tugging at his pants, trying to open them. But the belt was stuck.
I landed on my back. He sat astride me. I finally undid his belt and pulled down his pants. Reaching into his underwear, I pulled out his cock and started licking it.
That astonished him. He had never been sucked off before, but he had heard from some of the other guys in the dorm that I was one of the few girls that did that. Still, he was surprised how quickly I got down to brass tacks.
I propped my head up with his jacket, and crossed my legs. I like to cross my legs when I suck a guy off because I can rub my labia together, and sometimes I can manage to bring on an orgasm. In that case, it is invariably a great climax, because it is clittoral, not vaginal. I enjoy the clittoral ones much more.
First, I began licking the rim. My tongue teased him, circling and circling the slit on top. He asked me to stop and get to the meat of the matter. I thought that was funny, and I laughed hysterically.
When I'm having sex, I can really go overboard. I mean, I'll overreact to everything. Instead of laughing, I'll get hysterical. Instead of merely enjoying it and coming one or two times, I'll come three or four. Once it was even five. Instead of sucking a guy off once, and not even swallowing his stuff, I'll do it a few times and down all the scum. I love the taste of the stuff. If I can, I'll even try to keep it in my mouth for a while, swishing it around like a tasty aperitif.
Since he wanted it so badly, I stopped tonguing his prick and immediately inserted it in my mouth. All of it. All at once. It's one of my favorite sexual tricks. The suddeness of having your prick covered by some girl's warm and loving mouth really thrills guys. I do it all the time.
His shaft was long and meaty, and I felt lucky to have it in me. He was quite a catch.
And you know, as I was sucking him off, my loneliness slowly disappeared. It was strange, but I could feel it ebb out of me. I had something to do, something intimately involving another person, and I made the best use out of it. Oh, it was so much fun, this having a boy's prick in my mouth, filling it completely!
I pumped away at it as if my mouth were my cunt. I wanted him to come so badly, I couldn't wait. Beside, we just didn't have the time.
So I plunged a finger into his tight asshole, wiggling it around. That did it, for he soon rocketed his gism into my mouth.
What a delight! All that hot, thick stuff floating around, covering everything. I must admit that I came, that I really came. I think I enjoyed it more than he did.
Then he asked me to fuck. He said his dick was still hard and that we had better hurry up and do it. You remember, I said we didn't have much time. I was all too happy to oblige. I was wearing a skirt, just right for these sudden, unexpected sessions of love. I lifted it up and pulled down my panties.
First, he inserted a few fingers into my cunt. Driving them in and out, he nearly brought me to orgasm before he shoved in his cock. Oh, what a dream it was! I almost lost consciousness, if you can believe that. Well, maybe that is an exaggeration, but it felt like I was going to pass out.
It always feels that way.
He spread my legs far, pushing down on them. My cunt rose up to meet his prick.
He pressed the tip against my hole, then looked at me. He didn't have to say it, but he told me he loved me, that he really did, that he wasn't just saying it to make me feel good. I know he really did not mean it, for he hardly knew me, but it was nice nevertheless. I knew he liked me a lot. I didn't mind him fucking me, because I enjoyed it more than he did. I don't think there is a man alive who gets as much out of sex as me.
Then he heaved his cock into me. You should have heard me yell! God, was it heavenly! I scratched at him, and I think I ripped his shirt, as I kicked ferociously, trying to push his cock as deeply as possible into my hole.
My juices began to flow. I could feel my thighs getting sopping wet. I could feel a small patch of wetness accumulate on the concrete floor under my hole.
It was then that I heard a sound outside the shed. I thought it was an animal at first, but then I thought I heard the door open. But I wasn't sure. I thought it was probably my imagination. Knowing that I lost control of my senses in the heat of an orgasm, I ignored it. A second later, Mike, who had apparently not noticed anything, rammed into me almost violently. He was coming.
That got me going. I climaxed once, then twice, in quick succession. My eyes were closed, my ears inoperative.
When it was over, Mike fell on top of me, panting with exhaustion. It was then that the Father half-lost his wits and began to yell and curse at us.
Mike jumped to his feet. His pants were down, crumpled around his shoes, and his cock flaccid and wet, hanging down like a limp fish. I continued to lie on the floor, too tired to move, too shocked by his very sudden withdrawl. A quick pullout has always caused me actual physical pain.
Father ranted and raved at us. He struck Mike, but not too effectively; he is just an old man, smaller than Mike. He told me to get up. He called me a whore and a slut, and said I would be punished, that we would both be severely reprimanded for our behavior.
As we walked out of the shed, me leading the way, Father said how it was too bad that the medieval ages had disappeared, for there was nothing more he would like to do to us than exact "a strong measure of pain. When you have the Devil in you, that is the only thing to do."
I know it all sounds so insane, the way he talked to us. But it's true. I wonder if people realize what goes on behind the walls of these orphanages, especially the ones run by the Church and other religious organizations.
They seem nothing more than breeding grounds for fucked up kids who are not independent-minded enough to think for themselves. And they are havens for religious fanatics like Father O'Donnelly. I think he's the one who is insane, and should be here, not me.
INTERVIEW TWO
I don't really want to go through, in detail, what I was put through after being caught. Let me say that I was yelled at by the Father, a few others, the headmaster, the headmistress, the dorm attendents, and even a few girls, who thought I was ruining the female sex.
And then of course, I was punished by not being allowed to fraternize with the boys for a year, for an entire year. The same thing happened to Mike, except, being a boy, he wasn't chastized as severely as me. As a matter-of-fact, I understand that a lot of the non-ecclesiastical employees looked on him as a kind of hero. If anything, they made fun of him for doing it with a girl who has a reputation for being an easy lay.
Well, I've still got about 11 and a half months left before my sentence runs out. I guess I'm going to have to turn to masturbation, unless I can work out some way of sneaking out at night, to meet the boys.
I guess, when you come down to it, that there aren't many guys I wouldn't ball. I love them all.
I've figured it all out, thanks to one of the textbooks I've been reading. A sociology book that's a part of my social studies class.
According to the book, I'm a product of my environment. That's all too true. It would explain my boundless sexual needs as a response to the harsh unemotional atmosphere of the place. I am searching for the only kind of affection available to me, for I don't have the time to form deep friendships with the boys. We aren't allowed to. I just have the time for sex, and that's good enough for me. Also, the book would say that I am fucking around just as much out of a desire for attention from my superiors, because I want to be known as more than one of the bunch.
That explanation is all right as far as it goes. But the sociologists can't really explain why I've chosen this way to go about getting my emotional needs filled. In the end, I guess it always comes down to matters of individual idiosyncrasies.
Let me tell you about all my other exploits, because I am quite proud of them. I think I must have balled about twenty guys already. I can never get enough. Twenty guys and I have only been caught once.
Let me describe this one incredible week I had a few years ago, when I was at a state institution. This one had boys there too, but they were not as strict. We were allowed to visit often, the girls starting at 14, the boys at 15.
The orphanage had these common playing rooms, where we could go and mix. Play cards, records, watch TV, talk and talk and talk.
They had a lot of cute boys. But they were innocent guys who had never even seen a girl's body before. Me, I lost my virginity when I was 12, to this 16-year-old guy at another orphanage who practically forced me into it, until I saw how much fun it was.
The week started on Monday. First, I starts talking to this real cute, baby-faced boy who came from New York City. His parents had been killed in a car crash when he was little, and he had no relatives. By talking to him, I made him incredibly happy, for he didn't have much an opinion of himself.
We were sitting in an out of the way place when I steered the talk to sex. I asked him all sorts of questions, and he asked me almost the same ones. You know, the conversations where one side says, "How old are you?" and the other side, after answering, asks the same question.
The conversation got both of us pretty hot. Then I put my hand on his legs, making believe it was accidental. He blushed, but I left it there, squeezing his skin so he understood what I meant. Then I asked him if he wanted to make it with me. Just like that. Right out, because that's the kind of person I am. I find that instead of beating around the bush, you can save a lot of time and silly misunderstandings by simply getting to the heart of the matter as fast as you can. He got pretty excited, as you would imagine. I began to tingle inside, too. But he was scared. He didn't think it was possible to sneak out of the dorms. And he didn't want to risk getting caught.
But I knew a way. I told him about this back door few people know about, used mostly by the night staff when they want to go outside for a smoke. A boyfriend who had been adopted told me about it. All you have to do is stuff clothes in your bed to make it look as if someone was sleeping there, and get dressed and high-tail out of there. Once you got to the bottom floor, you walked down the corridors, which were deserted, and out the back door, making sure no one was around. And there was a big window there just for the purpose. I talked him into it. I would handle my end, and of course I was a pro at that sort of stuff. We would meet at 1 a.m. in the woods behind the girl's dorm.
I got there first. I waited until 1:30, cursing like hell, until he finally showed. He explained that he had fallen asleep.
I told him we didn't have much time. I wanted to get down to it with a minimum amount of talk and trouble. He was very nervous, and I guess I was acting too aggressively.
I forced him to the ground, I was so horny. I tugged at his pants, and told him to hurry because I wanted to get his prick inside of me and I didn't have any time. I just wanted it. God, when I get horny like that I can scarcely think about anything else. I just want sex, and the only thing in my mind is the thought of a guy's prick ramming into me.
He was quite hard. I was afraid to handle him too much because he might come. It's happened to me before, with guys, where I just touch them and they're suddenly spurting all over the place.
Well, I pulled down my panties and raised my skirt. I sat on top of him, holding his cock in my hands, and gently guided it inside. Oh, the delight was magnificent. He had a small prick, and it slipped in without any trouble. I was sopping wet, and I drowned his shaft in my juices.
We pumped away at each other for a few seconds-I swear it was no more than that when he came. It was a load he had been saving for his entire life, it seemed, for his ejaculation lasted several minutes. As I gyrated above him, I could feel the liquids pour out of my hole and wet us completely.
And then there was the smell, the scent of my delicious come filling the air around us. That's one thing about me. My cunt juice is probably the strongest feminine scent around. You would have to use a dozen cans of feminine deodorant to repress it.
That was it with him. He fucked me one more time, much more slowly, with me on my back. I can't say I enjoyed it too much, and the poor guy realized he was doing such a bad job. But he pumped away at me, if awkwardly, with his small cock as if the only thing he wanted to do was give me a good time.
It's hard to explain, but I didn't want to fuck him anymore. Sure he was cute, but there was something about him I have never been able to figure out, that I didn't like.
Pumping away at me, he came again, but I didn't. Almost, but not quite. His dick penetrated my hole much more deeply, since I was lying flat on my back with my legs spread as wide as they would go. But it wouldn't work.
The next day, I avoided him. He was very hurt. But I didn't want a personal relationship with him. I wanted sex. Good sex is the best sort of affection you can get.
I picked up someone else that night, and again the night after. Three in one week. And I'm nowhere as pretty as all the other girls around here, most of whom are still virgins.
CONCLUSION
Ursula was a classic case of nymphomania. Born of Scandinavian parents, she was abandoned by her father, a tree logger in New England, when she was seven. Her mother died during childbirth, which was overseen by a midwife ill-trained for emergencies. Her father was an alcoholic who beat her repeatedly, and may even have molested her sexually, though she denies it (perhaps to vigorously to be believed). Since I could not see anything unhealthy in her sexual lust, except the real possibility of pregnancy (I couldn't understand why she had yet to conceive, since she did not use contraceptives; she might very well have been infertile), I could not call her sick. In my mind, nymphomania is much more of a description than a category of psychological disease, with roots that are quite obvious. She was indeed, as she said, "a victim of her own environment."
Unfortunately, the priest and officials of her orphanage did not see it that way. They insisted upon punishing her, and planned to take her to other medical authorities until they found someone who agreed with their point of view.
If Ursula were in other hands, I would have predicted a healthy and pleasant future. But it was impossible to do so in her case.
CASE HISTORY THREE
SUBJECT: Michele AGE: Fourteen
INTERVIEW ONE
I had little idea what this wonderfully cute, freckle-faced girl would tell me. In fact, when she walked into my office, I thought that a girl as angelic-looking as her could not possibly have problems. It turned out, of course, that she did, for no one can be free of them. But they were not what she thought. They were the dilemmas created by the nature of the institution-the orphanage-in which she lived.
Boy, you have no idea how boring things are at this place. There's nothing to do except watch television, do your homework and play checkers or Scrabble or some other stupid game all day long. It's like a prison of a mental hospital.
Worst of all is that there are no boys. Some orphanages have boys' and girls' divisions, but not mine. I had the good luck to get stuck in one for girls only.
I am so sick of girls, you have no idea! It's not funny, either. It's not healthy to live in an atmosphere like that, and everyone knows it!
You got to imagine what are days are like. You see, if it's a weekday, we get up at 7:30. You gotta get up, unless you're sick. Everyday at 7:30. The dorm mothers come walking through the huge halls where we all sleep, and make sure we get up.
They are all very nice, but they are stern. You can fool around within limits, but those limits aren't too broad. It's a good thing, at least, that my orphanage is just run by ordinary people, and not the church or the state. It's private, and survives from contributions from all over the country.
It's really very nice, very pretty. One of the best. It really is.
Then after we fall out of bed (sometimes the acts we put on about it are absolutely hysterical!) we go shower or clean up or whatever. We have a half hour for this.
You gotta see the bathroom with everyone in it. On my hall, we have only one bathroom.
The others have two or three or even four. But they are for the older girls. Our bathroom has a row of 15 sinks along one side, eight toilet bowl stalls on the other, and eight showers in a room off to the side. And there are 20 girls on the hall, give or take a few.
So we all get up and run into the bathroom to use the toilets. It can get pretty raunchy in there after ten girls have used them, so it's always best to be first. It's terrible if you have to wait.
You can imagine the noise! All the girls, with high voices and curlers in their hair and anti-pimple shit on their faces, and ratty bathrobes and slippers all falling to pieces. When they all start brushing their teeth, you would think you were in a steel mill! What a noise! Sometimes the matrons come in and watch, because they get a big kick out of it. They think we're all so cute, but we think they're all so ugly, fat and stupid. But they are nice. They would never hit or yell at us. Sometimes, if you're lucky, you get adopted by one of them. But they all have these large families, filled to the brim with all the adopted kids they could handle.
They also make sure we brush our teeth correctly. Sometimes we have teeth brushing contests, but don't ask me to explain the rules.
They're too complicated and no one understands them anyway.
Let's see ... after that we run back into the dorm, which looks like a military barracks except all the colors are girly. You know, pink, yellow, baby blue. Real nauseating stuff for babies! I wish the headmistress would realize we're grown up!
We get dressed as fast as we can, because everyone gets some free time before breakfast, and we want to get all we can. Our clothes are usually laid out the night before. We put them on our chairs. Everyone has a chair, a bed, a large dresser that also contains a closet, a small desk that rolls around on wheels that always squeak like mice, and a screen that partially closes off your little area. It's semi-opaque, this screen, and you can see through it if the sunlight falls through the windows at the right angle.
Then we go to breakfast, sitting at these huge tables. And they feed us the usual slop. But at least we can eat all we want, and believe me, do we have some fat girls!
Then we go to school. The school is in a nearby building, and we have a half-hour before classes.
That's about it, then, for the rest of the day. It's school 'til four o'clock. It lasts that long because we are given time for a little nap in the middle of the day, if we want it. The headmistress thinks afternoon naps are very important. She went to Mexico and came back talking about nothing but the greatness of the siesta. I have to admit, that I like the idea very much, because I get very, very tired at that time of the day.
After school, we have some more free time. The older girls, 16 and 17, are allowed to leave the grounds, but they can't go far. The place is so isolated anyway, they could never run into any harm-or boys!
The afternoon is homework time, and we get a lot. My orphanage is known for sending a lot of girls to college. The people there try very hard to help us succeed in life. I guess we don't appreciate it enough now.
Well, that's about it. At around nine o'clock, everyone returns to the dorm, for curfew is at 10:30. All we do is hang around and talk, and fight and argue, and do whatever else a bunch of bored girls would do. It would take me years to tell it all.
I know you're especially interested in our sex lives. Wait 'til you hear what goes on!
See, you got to picture our lives. Pretty dull. No boys. Everyone living and sleeping together on a tremendous hall.
We masturbate! As far as I know, it's a dorm tradition. It's been there ever since I came to the place a few years ago.
You see, one of the old timers comes up to a new girl and sort of introduces her around. She talks about all sorts of crap, then subtlely lets on that there is some real neat goings on at night, and that the girl should not be surprised. That she shouldn't tell anyone about it, because it would only ruin it for all her new friends. Usually the new girl-I know I was gets frightened, not knowing what to expect. But no one squeals.
You see, after lights out, one or two of the matrons will hang around for a few minutes, maybe even an hour, at the desk at the end of the hall. To watch over us. But since nothing has ever happened up here, the headmistress gave them permission to go to bed at 11:30 or 12. They live in these small rooms off to the side, down a little corridor, so they are around in case anyone needs them.
Then it just happens. We start to masturbate. Everyone pulls down their pajama bottoms, and starts massaging themselves. It begins slowly, with some of the older girls leading the way, making the most noise.
It can be very funny, because there are these girls who like to give a running commentary on what they're doing to themselves. They also make believe they are sports announcers-there is this one girl who does a great imitation of Howard Cosell-and describe the action around the room.
For example, one of the girls, talking about herself, would say: "I'm massaging my clit, and oooohhhhhh, is it getting hard. I'm so horny! All day long I've been dreaming about Donny Osmond, making believe he was making love to me!"
Then everyone will crack up.
Or someone will narrate the action: "There's Louise, really going at it! I can see her finger plunging in and out of her cunt, her body writhing like a snake! But Susan is catching up. It's going to be a tight race folks, too difficult to call. Susan is thrusting both hands into her hole in a last ditch effort to pass Louise, but...."
Most nights, some of the girls, those who are too tired, will have fallen asleep. But often enough, everybody is up for it. Especially on Friday night when we like to celebrate the end of the school week.
Then the noise will be amazing. It's a wonder that the matrons don't wake up. Well, that's not true. We tested. A girl tiptoed down to their rooms and stood outside the door, to see how loud we were. Well, we thought we were loud, but the sound that reaches the rooms is not very great.
I've been masturbating for years now, and I've got the technique down pretty well.
First, I'll massage the general area of my cunt with my hands. Sometimes both of them. I'll spread my legs real wide, and rub my palms over them as if they were towels and I was drying myself after a shower.
Then I'll switch to only one hand, using it karate-style, rubbing my clit as if I were sawing it in half. This is one of the best stages, for it excites my clit to near-orgasm.
Now, as I'm doing that with one hand, I'll stick the other into my hole, and pump away slowly. Gradually, I'll get faster and faster as I feel my orgasm coming on.
I don't know how loudly I moan. I think it's pretty loud, but the girl next to me, Suzanne, said that she looked over once to watch, and scarcely heard a sound. I open my mouth wide and roll my eyes a lot, and my head will thrash the pillow, but all that comes out is a low groan.
We all watch each other. That's part of the fun. Sometimes we won't just stand up on our beds and look over the screens at the other person, but we'll walk out on the floor and look more closely.
You know the odd thing is that we never talk about it. It's a big secret, and we all feel kind of guilty about it. We just keep it to ourselves, trusting nobody. We'll only talk about it while we're doing it. The next morning, we act like nothing strange had happened.
As I was saying, I'll finger my cunt with one hand, and massage my clit with the other. It can get quite frenzied down there around my cunt, with all those fingers dancing around.
We all try to come at the same time, but it never works. A few times, we have faked it, and it was fun anyway. But we like to work on the real thing. Once we almost made it, though.
It was a late Saturday night. I think we spent most of that night masturbating. The first time was a pretty dismal failure. Everybody came at different times. Some girls took about 20 minutes.
Then we went at it again. This time one of the older girls, one who likes to narrate the action, walked onto the middle of the floor and orchestrated the show. You see she checked out everybody, saw how close they were coming, and directed them either to slow down or speed up.
This way she arranged things with military precision.
It's hard to imagine this thing happening, but it did. You had to be there to believe it.
This girl, Caroline, walked over to me, for instance, and said, "Slow down Michele, you're going too fast."
She had to repeat it twice before I heard. I had almost reached my orgasm.
A few minutes later, thinking that she had brought everyone to the line, she told us to open up and give it all we got!
I rubbed my hole like mad, liquid come oozing out of my little hole, sopping the bedsheet.
A low moan, like the rumbling of a volcano, rose up in the room, and soon everyone was coming all over the place. It lasted for about five minutes, with a few girls coming at the end, like the last notes of a song, finishing the tune.
But let me tell you about the time we almost got caught. Or the time we actually did get caught. Nothing came of it, so we don't know if the woman realized what was going on. Or whether she cared.
INTERVIEW TWO
It was a cold night, and we were shivering under our blankets. We were masturbating because we wanted to warm ourselves, as much as we wanted to have a good time.
This time, instead of lying flat on my back, I was doing it kneeling on my calves. The covers wrapped around me like a shawl.
There was this ice-cold breeze wafting through the room. It made me shiver, but it also increased my sexual appetite. The colder I felt, the more vigorously I masturbated.
Two girls had come to my bed, dressed in their flannel underwear, their blankets wrapped around their shoulders. They sat on the floor watching me.
I had never been so daring in my life. I didn't mind. I was really getting off on the exhibitionism. You should have seen their eyes as they looked up and me, watching me as I shoved my fingers in and out of my hole like a woman possessed. I was massaging my clit, hard and engorged, as red as a pencil eraser, and pumping almost my entire hand into my hole.
When I masturbate, feelings go mad in me.
They really do. They just wipe everything out of my mind, and I concentrate on just one thing. My cunt. My beautiful, beautiful cunt. I dream about all sorts of men, about my teachers, the janitors, everyone, putting it to me. I can picture their cocks gliding in and out of my luscious cunt, as my come bathes them in the most delicious of juices. A nectar.
This night, I remember very clearly, I was fantasizing about my math teacher. We all love him and dream about him. He is tall, very handsome, and very funny. I like funny people best.
I pictured him naked, lying on top of me, pumping into me again and again. My legs were wrapped around his beautiful body, and I was presenting my cunt to him, thrusting it up at him, as if there was nothing to me. Just cunt.
As I ran my hands over my body, I imagined they were his. I imagined that my fingers probing my cunt were his fingers, were his prick.
Thank God I have the guts to do what I do. My life would be pretty empty if I did not have this secret occupation, this secret life of sexual imagination where anything I want takes place.
One day, when I'm married and settled down, I'm going to tell my husband all about my life in the orphanage. It will all be in the past then, and I'll be able to indulge in the real thing. In real sex. I'll make him fuck me again and again. I want to marry a man who'll be as sexually tireless as me. Maybe I'll even masturbate for him, to show him how it's done. I bet it would really turn him on.
There I was, ready to explode with a great orgasm, along with half the dorm, with these two girls at my feet, watching me. They acted as if they were in a biology class, observing the teacher dissect a frog. They stared up my hole, commenting on the action. They compared the different methods. I really didn't hear very much, though, because I was too far gone.
Suddenly, as I'm coming, I make out these footsteps down the hallway. They don't sound like the matrons that live there. When they walk, no matter whether they are wearing slippers or heeled shoes, they sound like elephants against the thin wooden slats of the corridor.
I took a chance and let my orgasm come. I couldn't stop it, because I knew it was going to be a great one. The two girls really excited me. So I just kept on pumping and froze as the climax rose through my body.
Meanwhile, the two girls ran back to their beds. But the footsteps were already in the room. Whoever it was could certainly hear the moans and gasps, unless she was deaf, and could see me and a few of the other girls who had also sat up in their beds.
Suddenly, the footsteps came to a halt. Then I recognized the shoes. They were high heels, and the only person who wore them at the orphanage was this pretty young college girl who had come to the place to do some research. I think she was a grad student.
I fell back on the bed. I spotted her looking down the hallway, her face in a state of puzzlement, as if she was trying to decide whether what she heard and saw was what she thought.
She stood there for the longest time, listening and watching. She didn't say anything.
I was exhausted, but I didn't make a sound. I froze on the bed, huddling under the covers. Everyone else froze too. There wasn't a sound in the room.
After she left, no one said a word. We were afraid. We expected the headmistress to come charging in at any minute. Or at least that this girl would tell her that something odd was going on in the room and that it would be a good idea to post the matrons for the next few nights.
But nothing happened. In accordance with the unsaid rules, no one talked about it. We kept it all to ourselves, but it was obvious from our furtive glances that we were all very worried.
Especially people like myself.
I was scared shitless, actually, because my bed was not very far from the spot where she stood. She could easily have found out that it was me.
Of all the girls on the hall, I would say that I faced the greatest chance of detection that night.
But nothing happened. The girl continued to work at the orphanage, doing her research, and we continued to masturbate. The next couple of nights were subdued affairs, with only a few girls masturbating under the covers. Very quietly. Constantly on the lookout. I was sore, so I didn't participate.
The only thing that remains for me to tell you, I guess, is why I masturbate in public, with all the other girls. I don't have to if I don't want to. I could always go to the bathroom, or do it while I'm taking a shower.
Well, firstly, I do it because everyone else does. It's like this one big catharsis-a word I learned in English the other day-in which we all join together to get rid of our frustration. Our frustration, obviously, is not just sexual. It involves everything, every part of our lives. We are growing young girls, and we have no other outlets.
Secondly, I do it together with the other girls also because I live my entire life with them. Everything is done in front of them, with them. Masturbation is just another part of it, and I guess it is just as natural for me to do it with them as it is for me to eat with them, to go to school with them.
Oh, you know, it's so lonely in an orphanage, there really isn't anything else to our life. I bet that when we all grow up, we either remain chronic masturbators, turn to lesbianism, or just become outright sex-hungry whores. I don't mean the kind of women who fuck for money. I mean the type who is always hungry for sex. An easy lay.
I bet I turn out to be one of the easiest lays in the whole group.
Right now, if I had the chance, a boy wouldn't have to prod me too much to make me go to bed with him.
CONCLUSION
Michele is, it goes without saying, a remarkable girl. The whole room of girls must be one of the most remarkable collections of teenagers I have ever encountered. Masturbation, of course, is both normal and common among adolescents. But it is highly unusual for it to take place communally, as a rite, a ritual performed daily in the company of two dozen others. I decided that I would make an in-depth study of the situation, interviewing all the girls and relying on the taboo against discussion as protection against the disclosure of my intentions. In case they would mind, and I doubted they would. In addition to the prohibition against discussing their public rites of onanism, I was especially curious in the strict taboo against touching.
Lesbianism, in fact, was regarded as disgusting, and heterosexual values vaunted above all else. I hypothesized that lesbianism was probably quite rife among the older girls. I intended to pursue my study without informing the officials of the orphanage, who would undoubtedly react with horror to the idea of all their innocent girls masturbating together. There was, of course, absolutely nothing wrong with it that I could see. One of the things I looked forward to in my research was the concealing of microphones in the room to record the events. Of all the avenues of exploration, this promised to be the most rewarding. For the masturbatory rite of this orphanage had to be heard to believed.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
SUBJECT: Susan AGE: Sixteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Susan, an orphan at a religious institution in Florida, was a troubled girl given to long periods of depression. The nun who ran the orphanage asked me to talk to her, and if possible to treat her, for no matter what she or the other members of her staff did, the girl would not recount her problems. She remained locked up in an unbreakable shell. They became worried that her condition would only worsen. Interestingly, they reported that her condition vacillated, as she could sometimes be ebullient, almost hysterically happy. But she avoided the staff and only talked to a small circle of friends, her two roommates and another girl, during her best of times. During her worst, she supposedly did not even talk to her roommates.
She sounded like a textbook case of manic-depressive illness, but of course it is not wise to diagnose a patient from afar.
I don't really have any problems, Doctor. I appreciate your concern, but there is nothing wrong with me. Sometimes I don't feel like talking, and sometimes I do. It's nothing more serious or more mysterious than that.
The nuns are just like overprotective mothers. They see problems all over the place, when none really exists. If someone dosen't behave according to the typical pattern, they begin to suspect that she is troubled.
The want everybody to be happy, but only in a certain way. They want everybody to be an individual, to be themselves, but only in a certain way.
You have no idea how they subtlely fuck up everybody. Don't be surprised at my use of that word, because it really describes them. No wonder I get depressed all the time. I am not allowed to be what I want.
You see, my problem is mostly sexual. I am a lesbian. I don't feel anything for men, but I get super-turned on by women.
My roommates are also lesbian. I turned them onto it. They didn't even masturbate before I moved in. But I showed them all sorts of new worlds, and now we are all in love.
But a lot of things are still missing from it. I feel guilty, terribly, terribly guilty. It is my strict religious upbringing, having lived in boarding houses all the time. It's only natural. On the one hand, I have become a lesbian out of both sexual need and a stronger desire for real affection. On the other, I still can't get over the guilt feelings in my head, feelings planted there by the nuns.
You should hear them preach. The only thing they care about is sexual abstinence and praying to the Lord all the time. They don't give a shit about anything really human. They expect everybody to be like them, forgetting that this is the middle of the 20th Century. I don't want to be a nun and I don't want to live my entire life in a monastery. I want love and affection. I want to be kissed and to be held. And I want if from women, from girls.
I don't like the way men look, for one thing. They disgust me. I don't think the prettiest man is as good-looking as the prettiest woman. They are also all rotten. If not all, then most of them. The only thing they are really interested in is their egos.
I know all this from my father, who died when I was 12. He was a real bastard who drove my mother to her grave. He tortured her psychologically, always having to prove that he was the smartest, that he knew best, that she was nothing and entirely dependent upon him. She just kind of slowly went crazy. He was robbing her of her freedom to think, if you can understand what I'm saying. She had a nervous breakdown, and then sort of fell apart. She got all sorts of diseases, and finally cancer. Lung cancer. She smoked like an incinerator, mostly because she was so nervous. If she were healthier, if she weren't so nervous, she wouldn't have died. He gave her the breakdown, always threatening to leave her unless she developed more of a spine while at the same time he was the major cause she didn't have a spine. You know, he even beat her a few times. I saw it. Nothing really vicious, compared to what you read about in the papers, but bad enough to give her black and blue marks. And he wasn't even drunk. He just hit her because he felt like it.
He hit me a few times too, but my mother intervened. She threatened to kill him, literally, if she ever caught him touching me. She said she would get him if it was the last thing she did, if he hit me. And, too, she also threatened to come back from the grave to haunt him if he didn't treat me properly. When she said that, she wore an expression so serious, so devilish and determined, that it scared the wits out of my father. But he laughed in her face, after the few minutes it took for him to digest her threat, in a pitiful, frightful sort of way. He was scared, there was no denying that.
After she passed away, he began to treat me very, very nicely. He had never been that nice to me before. I was just there for his ego-gratification. No more. So I got suspicious. I couldn't figure out why he should be so afraid of my mother's threat that he would treat me like a doll. I couldn't ascribe a single decent emotion to him.
It was about this time, after my mother's death, that I became very withdrawn. I used to spend all my time locked in my room, reading. The classics. All of them. Three books a week.
Then, a couple of months after she died, my father was hit by a car as he was crossing a country road. It was a dangerous curve, and the driver, in a Porsche, was going much to fast. He couldn't see what was coming. Had he been going the speed limit, instead of 30 miles over it, he could probably have stopped.
And that was it. No relatives. Nothing. Not much money left to me. I became a ward of the state, and I was sent to this orphanage. It was decided that since I had some money, a portion of it should be used to pay for my care, and the rest saved for the time I reached eighteen.
Not long after I entered the orphanage, I was moved from a single room, a place they put new girls to introduce them to the institution, to a double room. My roommate was a year and a half older, and a very pretty, very tender girl who had had a childhood somewhat like mine. Divorced parents, the father hitting her and his wife. The mother died, her father vanished. As if he were killed or something.
Well, she was a lesbian. She had been in orphanages ever since she was nine, and had become so desperate for affection, that she decided not to resist anymore. You know, an orphanage is like a prison, with lots of homosexuals and lesbians always on the lookout for a new girl or a new man, for someone they could convert.
This girl was no different, except that she knew she had me over a barrel. She was my roommate. Sooner or later, she would get me. She didn't have any reason to be jealous at the advances of others.
I was kind of shocked. No, I was really shocked, really terrified. There were a lot of girls who seemed to be after me. They would sit extra-close to me at the dinner table, or in the library, or in school. They were all so interested, and seemed to be constantly making eyes at me.
If you could believe it, I was so innocent that I didn't even know what was going on. I just thought they were unusually friendly.
Well, after I had been there for several weeks, I suddenly became very lonely. I stopped talking. I was always depressed. Then, when I wasn't, I was overly ebullient.
One night, I began to cry in my bed. I started out softly, then broke out into sobs, then wails.
Alice left her bed and asked me what was the matter. She knelt on the rug in front of my bed and held my head in her hands, pressing it against her chest. She wasn't wearing a nightgown; she was completely naked, but I didn't care. I was letting it all hang out. She caressed my hair, wiped my tears. Gradually, I stopped crying. By this time, she had climbed into my bed and was holding my head on her lap. I could feel her warm body shuddering; I guess she was getting pretty excited, sexually.
I cuddled up against her. I saw her as my mother. It was frightening. I remember looking up at her, and seeing my mother's face. And she was also crying.
Then she made the first move, the first really physical step. She kissed my cheeks, licking up my tears. I let her; I wanted to be comforted by her. Then, all of a sudden, she kissed me on the lips. I recoiled, terribly frightened. But she held on to me tightly. I couldn't seem to get away. Then she begged me to give in, not to worry about anything because she would take care of me.
She kissed me again and again, but I struggled less and less. She slipped her hand under my pajama top, and felt my breasts. My nipples were very hard. At that time, I had tiny breasts. My nipples made up about all there was to it.
Slowly, caressing me while an occasional tear fell from my eyes, she undid my pajamas. The feel of her hot flesh against mine really turned me on, and I began to reciprocate.
I kissed her back, licking her all over. We caressed each other tenderly, exploring our bodies. She kissed my breasts, making her way down my body.
When she reached my vagina, I almost pulled back. I almost jumped out of bed. If I let her touch me there....
But she soothed me. She told me again and again not to worry, not to let my conscience bother me, because there was nothing wrong or unnatural about love between two people who really felt for each other, who really understood each other.
She was also forceful, like my mother reprimanding me. With love and with anger at the silliness of my ways. That may sound mushily poetic, but it's the truth.
She kissed my thighs, lightly running her tongue up to the perimeter of my cunt. I began to get quite excited, my legs stretching all over the place.
I reached for her head and led her mouth to my hole. I don't understand why I did that, but I did.
Without waiting for me to change my mind, she went after my hole. Her tongue licked my clit like a soft brush, rocking it back and forth. Every time her tongue came into contact with it, I felt I would go through the ceiling. She knew what gave pleasure, all right, she really knew.
She inserted a couple of fingers into my hole, and lazily began to pump me. From the very beginning, the action almost brought me to orgasm, and as she continued it, pumping and pumping, I began to moan loudly.
But our room was in a corner, and the walls pretty thick. I could moan to my hearts' desire, and no one would hear.
My legs wrapped around her head now, my hands pushing her mouth against my clit.
Her tongue wagged as fast, as strongly as a big dog's tail, if you can imagine that, and soon I was coming like all hell.
The next thing I knew, my head was hanging over the edge of the bed, and I was biting onto the end of the pillow. The electricity of the climax rocked my body. I had never felt anything like that. You got to remember that I was a very young girl, just turned a teenager, and I had no sexual experience aside from an occasional masturbation.
I suppose that if she had been a guy instead, I would never have become a lesbian.
No, that isn't true. That is my conscience talking. I would have probably have become one anyway, eventually, because thanks to my father, I hate men. But perhaps I would have become one of those hundreds of women who make love to men but never have an orgasm, who really can't stand it.
Who knows?
What I do know is that I am now a lesbian, and I can't, no matter what I do, come to terms with that. I hate myself for it. I feel like a sickie, like a pervert.
It may be hard to believe, but that's it. And it dosen't help any to know that there are girls all over the place who don't have the slightest feeling of guilt. They have just accepted it completely, and I don't think I could ever do that.
I've searched my past, but I can't come up with any sexual incident, anything my mother or father might have done or said, that would have laid such a strong foundation of guilt.
I can only blame it on religious school. My mother made me go starting when I was seven. I went once a week to Sunday School too. I stayed in private school for two years, until she died. No, for three years, about, then my father withdrew me and enrolled me in a public school.
But I was already set.
Worse of all, though, was that I was in an orphanage where the nuns, where the entire atmosphere, despite all the lesbianism, was directed toward the condemnation of any sort of sexuality. Heterosexual, masturbation. Any and all of it.
Every day, I was confronted with nuns warning of the danger of masturbation, of lesbianism. One nun frightened me to death by saying that lesbians all went to hell, where they were condemned forever. She said that I would disgrace my mother's memory if I engaged in any sex before I was married.
I don't know why she said this to me. It wasn't out of the blue, either. It wasn't even in the confessional. But it wasn't a relevant conversation either. You see what happened is that I asked her this question about sex in the Bible. It was so insignificant a question, that I don't even remember it, offhand.
In the confessional, I adopted a simple rule: lying. I lied about everything, because I couldn't face up to what I was doing. And that only compounded my guilt. Everywhere I went, whatever I thought about, the fact of my lesbianism returned to me.
And then the worse thing of all happened. Alice was adopted. The one person who served as any sort of anchor to me suddenly left. Her new parents came from New York, so there was never much of a chance I would get to see her. We wrote to each other for a few months, but then she slowly stopped writing.
And then I was moved into another room, with two older girls. They were also lesbians. But they were not the sort who were tender or particularly cared about me.
INTERVIEW TWO
I didn't get a very friendly reception. You see the girl who was there before me left because she was adopted, and they moved me out of my room because they had two sisters coming in. So I was made to feel like an intruder.
I missed Alice so much those first few weeks alone, I was always crying. I didn't talk to anyone. The girls knew why I was upset, but the nuns had no idea. If you can believe anyone being so unaware. The girls knew me as a person who was always half-depressed or half-happy, and sometimes just completely depressed or completely cheerful, but the nuns couldn't figure me out at all. As far as they were concerned, I was almost always in the dumps.
So these two girls, Dorothy and Sandy, just ignored me. They didn't even deign to talk to me, which is much worse, I believe, than being insulted. They treated me as if I wasn't even there. After the first few days, they gave up all pretenses and began to sleep together at night. I could here them make love, though they were pretty quiet, all night long. They were really horny girls, those two, for they would make love for an hour or two almost every night before going to bed, then wake up in the middle of the night and do it again, and then perhaps once more before they got up. Usually, you see, one of the girls would be feeling horny in the middle of the night, while the other would be asleep. And that girl would just help herself to her body while she slept.
About two weeks passed without either of them saying a word to me. The constant cold shoulder, that's what it was. Then one night, after the two had made love, they began talking about me. I guess they thought I was asleep. But the gist of it was that it was kind of cruel for them to ignore me, because it seemed to be really fucking me up. One of the nuns had talked to them, and asked them to be especially nice to me. It seems the nuns didn't even know Sandy and Dorothy weren't talking. They acted as if talking to me would be a real chore, but they decided to try.
In the morning, I was greeted with hellos. All of a sudden, the chill in the room was gone, and they tried to involve me in their conversation. But I wouldn't join. I don't need them. Besides, after spending two weeks in a small room with them, despite the fact that they weren't even nice enough to talk to me, I had learned enough to know that they weren't particularly nice people.
Now it was my turn. While they went through the trouble of trying to open me up, I paid no attention. I ignored them. I had conversations with myself.
The two girls gave up on me. Everything was back to silence, and I didn't care.
But one night, I woke up to find myself masturbating. The two girls were standing over my bed, watching. They were both naked. I had also been crying.
I was pretty embarrassed, but I didn't say anything. I glared at them, sort of accusing them of violating my privacy and telling them to leave me alone. But they wouldn't move. They began to talk about me.
Sandy said I was a sickie. Dorothy said that I was probably retarded. But they both agreed that I had a nice body, and they commented about my breasts, my vagina, my legs, everything. They were getting horny, and they wanted me.
Suddenly, Sandy said, "Let's get her!" They jumped on top of me and pinned me to the bed. I did not scream. I wanted it. I hated them for what they were doing, but I still wanted it.
Sandy sat on top of my face, driving her cunt into my mouth. She held my arms down with her legs, and pulled my hair in order to force me to eat her.
Dorothy fell between my legs, spreading them apart forcefully, and attacked my cunt. Her mouth sucked my hole, her tongue darting in and out. My juices, pent up for so long, seeped out slowly, then turned into a little river as her tongue teased my clit.
Both girls treated me like I was an object, there for their own gratification. I have to admit that I felt the same way. I didn't think I was worth very much, either.
Dorothy was really going at my vagina. She slipped several fingers into it, and was pumping at it like mad. My juices were wetting everything. Her tongue slithered up and down my vagina, teasing me to no end. I remember my hips rotating like a top, as I both battled and gave in to them. I shoved my vagina against her mouth, and I could feel her teeth scraping my tender flesh. It hurt but I didn't stop. I wanted to be hurt. To be hurt, to be killed even.
She caught onto the message, and began to bite me. At first she didn't have the courage to bite my vagina itself, so she settled to biting my thighs. Soon she was getting brutal, her teeth digging into my flesh. I was hoping she would draw blood, but she was too cautious. Her biting was hard enough, anyway, and I got off on it all right. Instead of quieting down, instead of becoming more submissive, I became even wilder.
Sandy didn't have to hold me down anymore. I slid my hands up her torso, and felt her breasts. They were large and firm, with tremendous nipples bigger than silver dollars. The nipples were bone-hard, and long, and I flicked them and pinched them, very much to her pleasure. Meanwhile, my tongue worked over her vagina in exactly the same way, in exactly the same step, as Dorothy labored on my vagina. When she licked my clit, I did the same to Sandy; when she sucked my slit, I did the same to my girl.
Dorothy spread my legs as far to the side as they would go, then pushed them down along my body. My knees nearly touched the mattress. My vagina was thrust up all the way against her face, stretched as wide as it would go. Her tongue dug into my hole as if it were searching for something inside. It went in as deep as her fingers, it seemed, and God, you should have seen all the juice it came up with.
Meanwhile, I was bringing Sandy to orgasm. She was moaning loudly, her hands pressing my head against her vagina. She was begging me to give her all I had, because she said she was reaching a great orgasm and didn't want to lose it. I tried my best but no matter what I did, she was not satisfied. She wanted more and more of it.
So I grabbed her hips and pulled them into my mouth. I gave her all I had. My tongue was working so quickly it actually felt as if it was getting a cramp. Then I stuck a finger into her asshole, and pumped away. It was the trick that did it. She cried like a cat in heat, her hands running all over her body, rubbing her nipples, pressing her flesh, squeezing every bit of lust out of it.
And then I began to come. Smothered by Sandy, I was turned on like all hell. Dorothy's action was finally bringing its results. My vagina became electrified; I could feel this current rocket up my body, tingling my flesh. The sensations shot up my spine, then rebounded throughout my body.
It was strange, but I remember dreaming about my mother again. Making love with Alice, I had been able to get rid of her, to dream about my lover, to dream about other girls. But now images of my Mom flooded my mind, and I began to cry.
I miss her so much, so so much!
I came three times. Dorothy was perfect. It was the combination of aggressiveness, of her lustfulness and expertise that did it, plus the the very pleasant fact that I was making love to another girl. Or that two girls were making love to me.
I'm sorry if I sound confused. I am. I don't think I know what is really happening to me, but that's not unusual is it? Look at all the changes my life has been going through.
That night was a long one. After Dorothy was through with me, she wanted to switch places with Sandy. Dorothy hadn't come, and she wanted me to eat her out.
She climbed on top of my face. Her ass hovered above me, her face turned toward Sandy. You see, Sandy was sitting on my stomach, with her fingers in my vagina and asshole, facing her lover. Dorothy likes to kiss and have her tits sucked. So Dorothy offered herself to Sandy.
It may strike you as odd, but I didn't like the way Dorothy smelled. Her cunt gave off an odor like a Polish sausage. It was gross, and I almost felt like vomiting. But there was really nothing I could do. I just tried to ignore it.
I licked her vigorously, concentrating most of my attention on her hole, saving her clit for the end. For the moment when she was just ready to come.
While we were doing all this, a dorm mother was walking up and down the hall. She's supposed to "guard" us, you know. But she is deaf as hell. Dorothy mashed her vagina into my face. I was barely able to breathe. Her juices were flowing like a river, bathing my mouth with its foul smell. I wanted to get out of there so badly.
But in a way, I like it. I felt that I deserved to drown in malodorous come, that this was my fate.
Dorothy, thank God, did not take long to come. Sandy was working at my vagina, pumping it like mad, and she had just taken her fingers out of my asshole. I liked having fingers both in my cunt and my asshole at the same time, and I missed it when she removed them from my asshole.
Dorothy came silently, but it was obvious she was climaxing. She froze, stiff, unable to move. Her cunt just hovered over my mouth, and I could see her come slowly seeping out of her hole, running down her legs and dripping onto my face.
The room's light was out, of course, but the lights in the hallway were strong, and they filtered through the crevices of the door. We were all bathed in this soft white light, and I thought it was quite a sexy scene.
The next day, I opened up a little more to the two girls, but it was obvious I didn't care about them very much. They thought I was meat, and that's what I thought of them. It's hard to explain, you know, why I felt that way about them, because what it comes down to is really a matter of chemistry.
I just closed up into myself.
Then they decided to get back at me. They hated me, that's for sure.
One night, while I was fast asleep, they crept up around my bed and pinned me down. They had rope, though I have no idea where they got it. While Sandy held me down, Dorothy tied my hands and feet to the bedpost. I didn't even fight back. I didn't have any energy. I wanted it. I hated it but wanted it, but felt I deserved it.
I wonder if other people have the same feelings, the same conflicting attitudes about everything. It's not discrimination, because I plainly can't discriminate. It's the product of the severest confusion. You know, most of the time I wonder whether I am making any sense talking to you.
They tied me tightly. I was perfectly silent, but horrified. I wondered what they would do.
Then Sandy asked me if I knew what a dildo was. I said no. I don't know, now, looking back on it, how I could have been so innocent, but I didn't.
She held up a piece of carved wood. It was light brown, but the color did not seem to come from the wood. It was long and thick. As she held it up, bringing it closer to my face, I realized what it was.
She pressed it against my vagina, teasing me with it. I could feel its hardness, its coldness as if there was nothing between my vagina and my brain, as if she were pressing the thing against my brain itself.
Then, while Dorothy watched breathlessly, she brutally shoved it inside of me. I gasped, and beat my head against the pillow. She began to pump me faster and faster, running her hands over my belly.
My legs were spread very far apart. Dorothy had placed a pillow under my ass, so my vagina was lifted upward. The dildo descended into me effortlessly, without any friction. It was perfectly carved, a long labor of love by Sandy.
Sandy then climbed up onto the bed and took the thing into her mouth. Biting down hard, she pushed it in and out. She would shove it in all the way, then, leaving it in there, tongue my clit and the labia around the dildo. She would then regrip the dildo, and pull it out, plunge it in and out a few more times, then stop and lick my vagina.
Dorothy sat on her bed, watching and masturbating with her hands. She was really enjoying herself. Her fingers ran into her cunt like a pump, and I could actually hear the slurp-slurp of her digits. Her legs whipped the air faster and faster as her orgasm approached. Dorothy never took very long to come.
When she climaxed, I felt mine coming on. Sandy was pumping me for all I was worth, as if trying to set me afire, literally. As I was about to climax, she mounted me, offering me her cunt. I lifted my head and sucked her clit as hard as I could, Once again images of my mother came to my mind. I tried to get rid of them, but they would not leave. I saw Sandy as my mother, and I was making love to her.
If you can believe that. It's lesbian incest, isn't it?
Well, I came twice that time. No sooner had I climaxed the first time than I came again, with Sandy pushing that dildo in and out of my hole.
Then Dorothy joined us. She took over at the helm of the dildo, inserting her fingers into my asshole to enhance the action. For some reason, Dorothy did not turn me on very much, perhaps because she was a tall and skinny girl, not very pretty, and her vagina smelled badly, and it took about a half-hour of continuous pumping before I even neared another orgasm. You see they had no intention of stopping that night. They kept up at me for hours and hours. When Dorothy got tired of pumping me, Sandy took over. When Sandy got tired of being eaten, Dorothy substituted. If I got any enjoyment out of it, that was only incidental.
It was always like that. They didn't make me have sex with them every night, but often enough. They didn't care whether I felt like joining in or not. They just got up and either tied me down, or held me down. They used force even though it had long been obvious that I wasn't very interesting in fighting.
A couple of months ago, I was moved once again. This time it was at my request. My roommate is this very pleasant, though not very pretty girl named Louise, and she is also a lesbian. But with her I can at least have a pleasant relationship. But I cannot, no matter what I do, get rid of the spectre of my mother. She haunts me, not my father. Whenever I make love to Louise, she comes back.
And the nuns wonder why I'm so troubled. I don't know what's going on. I feel like I'm on drugs sometimes.
CONCLUSION
I did not look forward to telling the nuns the nature of Susan's troubles, but they had made it clear that I was expected to provide them with a report.
Susan was also aware of it, and she begged me not to disclose the fact of her lesbianism, or of that of the other girls. Quite rightly, she argued that the nuns, totally unaware of the rampant sexuality at the orphanage, would respond like witch-hunters. I could only agree, and I promised that I would leave that side out of it.
Not much would be lost, for Susan's problem was not, as she originally thought, her lesbianism, and the guilt associated with it, as much as it was the death of her mother, whom she dearly loved. She would have to come to terms with it. I believed that the tremendous guilt she associated with her sexual proclivities was really guilt, however irrational, she felt for her mother's death. I assured her that her sexual activities would remain secret, but I urged her not to attempt to seduce a "straight" girl. Sex, I told her, is a private matter subject to pressures from no one, judicable by no one. I explained to her, as clearly as I could, the religious reasons behind the nuns indoctrination, attempting to make her understand the dogmatism of their viewpoint. In the end, I felt that her sexual needs would have the ironic effect of curing her sorrow for her mother, in a sort of rebound effect that would draw strength from the very strength of her sexual needs.
CASE HISTORY FIVE
SUBJECT: Paulette AGE: Fifteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Paulette had been gang-raped by three maintenance men late one weekend night at her California orphanage. According to this pretty 15-year-old, the men had "had it in for her because she seemed like a quiet girl who would not tell on them."
My orphanage is a huge one in southern California. It is run by the state, and it holds about 200 girls and about 300 boys. I think the difference in numbers comes from the fact that people prefer to adopt girls, thinking they'll be less of a problem.
Anyway, as a state-run orphanage, you can imagine the amount of incompetent administration. The supervision is terrible, and the place is very understaffed.
What's worse is that the people who work there were hired through the state civil service, and they don't particularly care about the fact that they are working in place with people, young girls and boys, who don't have parents. They aren't so dedicated to their jobs.
You wouldn't believe the maintenance men. There're all black or Chicano. I don't want to sound like a rascist, because I'm not, but they're all a pretty seedy bunch of people. When I mean seedy, boy, I'm pulling my punches, because they are really criminal. I can't stand them, actually. And why should I? Wait till you hear what some of them did to me.
I might as well get right down to the story. Those bastards! Those God damn fucking bastards! I hope they spend the rest of their days in jail. I have no compunction against testifying against them. They thought I was too shy, but boy, they didn't count on the experience changing me! If I have to tell the court every single little thing they did to me, I swear to God I will!
I might as well learn how to do it right now.
It happened on a weekend night, I guess, because they figured most of the staff would be off that night. First they went out behind the orphanage and got drunk. You see, two of the guys, the two blacks, lived on the grounds, and the Chicano only a few miles away. When he got off work, he joined them out back.
You see, I know they planned the whole thing from the way they had been staring at me for the last few weeks before. I know they had it in for me. The Chicano especially. You should have seen him leer at me whenever I went out for a walk or went out to play ball with my gym class. He always had his eye out for me, almost slobbering. I think he was the ringleader, I think he talked the two black guys into it.
Well, they got good and drunk that night, and then they decided to do it. I wonder if they ever did it to anyone else like that. I'll bet they did, because I'm under the impression that they never thought I would squeal on them.
You see, I sleep in this large dormitory in a tremendous hospital-like ward of about 25 girls. My bed is closest to the rear fire exit. We usually have an attendent, a matron, who sits at a table at the end of the hall and watches us all night long. A God damn guard. Half the time, though, she falls asleep.
It was about three in the morning when they came up to my floor. The Chicano must have crawled up to me, very, very carefully, for I didn't hear a thing until he put his hand over my mouth. I was dressed only in my pajamas. He cupped his hand hard over my mouth, and told me not to make a sound or struggle, or he would stab me to death.
The matron, as it turns out, didn't hear a thing. Naturally, she claims she was awake, but I don't believe her.
He told me to quietly get out of bed and come with him.
What could I do but obey.
You wouldn't believe the terror running through me. I knew what he was going to do the second he woke me. I knew it. What I didn't know was that he was going to be joined by his two black friends.
They were waiting outside.
When we reached the outside, he pushed me, dragged me along by my hair. He told me again and again that he would slit my throat in a second if I so much as made a sound. And this while he was pulling on my hair so painfully!
He dragged me to the woods. I could smell the liquor on his breath the moment he so much as turned his face toward me. It was terrible, terrible, and I don't think I'll ever forget it.
As we neared the woods, I made out the two other guys. They were standing in front of a tree, calling for him, telling him to hurry up.
I was crying, crying silently.
The blacks had these tremendous smiles. You know I could really make out their teeth long before I actually saw their faces. And in my mind I imagined that his accomplices would be just those two guys, because they had a reputation as real oglers at the orphanage. But it was thought that that was all they were, oglers.
When I finally reached them, my pajama pants were falling down, from my running. I had to held them up with my hands. I remember the black one, the one named Andy, saying that I wouldn't have to hold those up much longer.
Jose, the Chicano, said he had a nice and warm spot all prepared for me out in the woods. They led me, holding me tightly by the hands, to the spot, which was about 300 yards from the main orphanage building where I lived.
It was located in a little depression, behind a big rock and a stand of trees. Quite out of the way. You could barely make out the orphanage buildings, which aren't too tall, from it.
That's when I suddenly began to cry loudly. I hegged them to leave me alone. I begged them over and over again, but they didn't give a shit. The only thing that bothered them was who would go first.
Jose ordered me to strip and lie down on the blanket they had laid out. It was a woolen one, and it itched me like mad. The ground under it was covered with pine needles that sometimes stuck through the blanket like pins.
But I didn't move. The seond black, George, reached out and pulled my pajama top, ripping it. The buttons flew off; I didn't hear them fall.
Jose yelled at him for it, saying that it was stupid to rip my clothes, because then I would have to explain how it happened, if one of the matrons asked. And then she might notice something odd in my explanation. He went on and on about it, because he was so drunk.
Jose told me to take my pajamas off. If I didn't, he said, he would not be able to control Andy or George. So I did. I remember shivering as if it were winter, but not from the cold. It was a very warm night. I was shivering from fear.
Then they had this argument about who would go first. All this while I was lying there on the blanket, cuddled up, trying to cover my breasts and vagina.
Finally, Jose said that he was the one who had taken the biggest risk, so he should be the one to go first. He said he didn't want to argue about it. It was just too bad; it was the fairest thing to do. He said Andy and George should work out for themselves who should go next. Of course, he said, they could both go at the same time. Then I remember Andy saying that they should ask me who I wanted first. They all laughed at that.
I wish my father were still alive! He was a policeman, I know he would kill all those guys. He said that he couldn't understand why so few people took the law into their hands, especially when their loved ones were the victims of such serious crimes. He said that if ever any of his children or relatives-my mother died of cancer when I was very little were murdered or raped, he would show the culprit no mercy.
But he was killed by a robber, so he can't help me now. Boy, do I miss him. I loved him so much. He was such a good father to me.
George and Andy sat down on the ground to watch. They took out a bottle of liquor and passed it back and forth, as if rape was a spectator sport.
Jose pulled out his penis. It was erect, and very long. George and Andy called him a champion, saying he had the longest penis they had ever seen on a spic. Jose waved it at them, smiling. He said something in Spanish at them; it sounded as if he was bragging.
Then he told me to suck it.
Again I didn't move. So he reached down and grabbed my hair and forced me to do it. He told me to open my mouth and swallow him, to make believe I was sucking on a lollypop or something.
He looked down at me, smiling. It was the smile of a maniac, if you ask me. His breath was as heavy as steam.
But I still didn't move. He reached down and opened my jaws and just shoved his penis inside.
I gasped, suffocating. He told me that I had better not bite him, he told me to take it easy, to treat his penis like a banana and then "everything would be all right."
He made me put my hands on his balls, to rub them while I sucked.
At first, I was only able to take in the first three or four inches. I didn't know what to do with it, really. I just held in in my mouth, circling it with my tongue. But he showed me. He held my head and pushed it in and out.
I kept my eyes closed. Tears were falling out. My eyes were burning.
He was pretty impatient. He wanted me to swallow it all. So he just pushed my head against it. I finally managed to take most of him inside me. I figure, though, that there were still three inches I couldn't get inside.
I wasn't doing a very good job of sucking him off. I was trying, but I was too awkward for him. He wanted an expert. While I was sucking him off, he was talking to the blacks in Spanish, and they understood, answering him back in a little Spanish and a little English, mixed in, you know. He must have asked for the bottle, because I opened my eyes for a second, and saw that he was taking a big swig from it. When he was through with it, he tossed it into the woods. The black guys produced another ones, and he took a few more swigs. Then he pushed my head away, disgusted, and told me to spread my legs. He was going to fuck me.
Again I begged him to leave me alone. I was really crying now, but he ignored me completely.
He pulled down his pants, threw me back against the ground, and fell on top of me.
George and Andy cheered, real loud and drunken, if you know what I mean.
He began to kiss me all over. I just lay there, not moving at all, not reacting. Just crying.
Just shivering.
Begging him in a low voice to leave me alone.
He put a hand on my vagina and inserted a couple of fingers. I didn't feel anything. I mean, I felt his fingers inside of me, but I did not feel an ounce of pleasure. It was disgusting. I bet his fingers were as filthy as dirt.
Then he entered me. It hurt like hell. I felt my insides were coming apart, because his penis was so huge, and my vagina so small. I stood underneath him like a tiny doll. He was much bigger, much heavier, and I felt he was crushing me.
Then, as he was beginning to pump away at me, Andy told him to hurry up, because they didn't feel like waiting around for me all night.
He didn't need to be told. He was pumping like crazy, moaning in a low voice as if he were sick. I remember he pressed my legs far apart, pushing them down against my body. He went in very far. At the same time, he put his hands over my breasts, pressing down on them. He put so much pressure on my chest that I could hardly breathe.
I was sobbing now. He was ramming me with all the weight of his body, crushing me. I wanted to yell. The pain was almost unbearable. I don't know why it hurt so much. I know he was too big for me, I know he was brutal, but I'm not a virgin. I've masturbated a lot, and I've had sex with three boys so far, and one of them had a real big penis. Not as big as his, but big enough. Yet it didn't hurt.
There must be something psychological about it. Like anytime you have sex with someone you don't really like, or if you're raped, it's painful. Even if the guy has a small dick. I know that is true because Andy had a small dick.
When he finally climaxed, he groaned like an animal and just fell on top of me. George had to remind him that there were other people "waiting their turn."
INTERVIEW TWO
George and Andy had decided who would go first, all right: both of them.
While Jose got up and pulled up his pants, they stood up and pulled down their's.
George told me that he was going to teach me how to suck off a man if it was the last thing he did. He said I had hours to learn, but that if I didn't do it right that night, they would come and get me another time.
You know, it was that statement that really convinced me to tell the police. I figured that if I didn't report this, there was nothing to prevent them from doing it again and again.
George made me get up and knelt in front of him. Andy, meanwhile, knelt down in back and inserted his penis into my vagina.
George grabbed my head just as Jose had done, and told me to open my mouth as wide as I could. I did and he put his dick inside. At least it was much smaller than Jose's.
Then he told me to slowly close my mouth over it, and to be careful to keep my teeth back.
I guess I did a better job of it now. But I was terrified that he would come in my mouth. I knew he would and there was no way out of it, because he held onto my head.
In the meantime, Andy was working on my vagina. He had grabbed onto my ass, and was pumping into me really brutally. His nails scratched my flesh, and it felt like I was bleeding.
Jose, lying on the ground alongside us, gave this running commentary. He said things like, "Oh, you can't fuck to save your ass, you stupid nigger."
At least Andy's penis wasn't as big as Jose's. It hurt less, if that could mean anything in a rape, when anything that is done to you hurts, whether physically, or psychologically. It's almost always both, I guess.
Andy told George something like, "Hey, you know I really like this chick! She's got one hell of a pretty body, and a real, real nice ass! And her cunt is so small and tiny, it hugs me great, you know that man!"
George answered with a few grunts.
I felt as if I was coming apart. I saw myself dying, I saw those guys doing whatever they wanted to me and then, when they were tired, just slitting my throat.
You know, there are always people who runaway from the orphanage. Most of the time, they are caught by the police, hitching on the highway, or they come back themselves, after a week on the outside. But sometimes, they never find the runaway, and I wonder whether they never find them because they were kidnapped and murdered. In my case, if I was killed, I wonder if they would list me as a runaway, even if it would seem odd that I ran away in my pajamas. But they could never conclude that I was kidnapped from the dorm itself. That would be a much too outrageous idea.
For their stupid minds.
I suddenly began to feel everything that they were doing to me. I guess my terror momentarily left. When Jose was doing it to me, I was kind of insensible. But now, as Andy was pumping away at me and George was making me suck him off, I suddenly became extra-sensitive.
Andy's penis was big enough to fill up my entire vagina, without putting too much pressure or anything on it. My juices were flowing like mad now, dripping down my legs, wetting his penis so much that it glided in and out of my vagina without any effort.
George's penis was covered with my saliva. It too moved in and out of my mouth without any trouble.
Every time Andy rammed into me, the tip of his penis hit this spot right above my clitoris, and instead of giving me pleasure, hurt me badly.
George, in the effort to get as much out of me as he could, almost choked me a few times.
Then he came. George let out a low gasp, and his penis began to palpitate. Then his sperm shot into my mouth, filling it completely. I couldn't spill it out; I had to swallow it all. I almost threw up. But I know that if I did, he would kill me. I did my best to hold it back, and for one moment, I actually felt I couldn't. Then all my vomit somehow returned to my stomach.
Andy pumped into me for a few more minutes, and then he came. I could feel his sperm burning the inside of my vagina. George's stuff was still in my mouth. I didn't want to swallow it. Though he had removed his dick, I didn't want to risk the consequences of spitting it out. The animal! I would have loved to spit it into his face.
When they were through, I thought my ordeal had finally came to an end. But it wasn't even half over. All they did was switch places. They were still hard, and still dying to give it to me.
by this time, I felt like a piece of meat, pure and simple. I was just a machine, and I was willing to do whatever they wanted, just to put an end to it.
They screwed me again. But this time they took much more time.
Meanwhile, Jose was getting tired watching them. He said he was going off to take a piss, and when he got back, he wanted them to be ready to turn me over to him.
He seemed to be gone for a long time. Maybe even a half hour. I don't know what the hell happened to him. Either he got lost, or he was sick and went off somewhere to vomit.
But when he came back, my nightmare really began. He brought back an empty wine bottle from somewhere. It had a huge neck and was very thick, just like a penis.
He was as happy as a little boy when he came back. George and Andy had just come in me again, and were about to pull out. Jose held the bottle above his head, waving it back and forth, and said he had a great idea for some real fun.
The two black guys got up and examined the bottle. They wanted to make sure the thing did not break inside of me.
Jose was positive it wouldn't, but the two blackies weren't too sure.
He called them a "bunch of assholes," and said he would show them.
Now I got more scared than I had been throughout this entire thing. Suppose the neck broke inside of me? I could stay as still as a rock, but I couldn't do anything about Jose, who was so drunk now I doubted whether he could even find my vagina.
Again, crying, sobbing loudly, I begged him not to do it. I said I would fuck him, blow him, do anything he wanted, if he would only not do that to me. But the more I pleaded, the more he wanted to do it.
He made me lie down and spread my legs. He had to run his hands all over my body before he found my vagina, and then he poked at it with the bottle until he finally found the hole.
It fell right in. I screamed, but not too loudly. He tried to slap me in the face, but he missed. He ended up hitting me in the stomach. It hurt enough, all right.
He was really enjoying himself, the bastard! He pumped the thing into me slowly and carefully at first, but then seeing how well it was going, he increased his speed until he had the thing moving about as fast as anyone could humanly do it.
I didn't feel anything but pain. It was really making me sore. I felt like he was going to rip my vagina apart. It wasn't soft or warm like a penis. When you're being stuck with something as hard as that, being forced into it, it's pure hell.
But I couldn't cry anymore. I couldn't feel anything at all anymore.
You should have seen Jose. His mouth was open wide, his tongue wagging like a dog's in summertime. He was grinning like an idiot, having what looked like the greatest time of his life.
I guessed that he wouldn't stop until I had come, so I put on a big act about it, moaning and beating my head up and down against the ground. I think I convinced everybody.
At last he stopped. He sat down and took a few more swigs. Then he looked up at the sky and, seeing that it was nearing morning, mumbled that I would be able to leave soon. That he was through with me.
But George said he wasn't finished. He wanted to eat my "sweet little cunt." That's exactly what he said.
I just spread my legs, almost willingly, and let him do it. I just wanted to get out of there.
Drooling like a pig, he lowered his mouth to my vagina and literally ate me. He bit my flesh until I yelled, and then he stopped, contenting himself to merely sucking and licking it. He didn't even care (I don't think he remembered) that two other guys had come in my vagina, and that the liquid he was licking contained a lot of unpleasant stuff.
You know, as he was eating me, he beat his thighs against the blanket, trying to jerk himself off. I don't know if he did, though, because he moaned pretty loudly from the beginning.
When he was finally finished, he rolled over and burped. I think I saw some liquor gush out of his mouth.
Jose told me I could leave. But when, afraid that he would kill me, I picked up my clothes and started to walk away, he stood up and waved a knife at me, warning me to shut up, I ran.
I snuck up to my bed, thinking he was running after me. It was only a few minutes till reveille. The room was dead quiet. I jumped into my bed and squeezed my pillow. I cried for my father. First I was quiet, then I became louder and louder. When the morning bell rang, I didn't move, but clutched my pillow.
When I didn't leave my bed, the girls came up to me and asked what was a matter. Then they got the matron, who acted as if I was sick. She asked if I wanted a doctor.
Somehow, I spoke up, and said I wanted the police. I said, softly, so softly, that I had been raped. She didn't believe me, but got the headmistress, who did.
CONCLUSION
Paulette had raised a frightening question when she wondered whether Jose, George and Andy had raped other girls. The question is not only relevant with respect to this particular orphanage, but to all others. It is not a question of guarding the orphans, though extra protection cannot hurt provided it is not oppressive. It is more a matter of screening the staff. Normal standards of employment cannot apply to an institution filled with the helpless.
Paulette, once a quiet, restrained girl, turned into a much more aggressive individual. Violence had always been present in her life. As a policeman, her father had been shot once, then several years later, shot again and killed. More than anything, her father's death had accounted for her introversion, a shyness that had led the rapists to single her out as a safe bet. But the rape had reversed her personality, showing her that she had to be much more aggressive. Fortunately, the rape had not left her with feelings of guilt or with nightmares or an automatic fear of men. I found it impossible to predict the ultimate psychological outcome of the terrible incident, and therefore made arrangements to reinterview her.
CASE HISTORY SIX
SUBJECT: Caroline AGE: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
Caroline came to see me one pleasant spring afternoon, and her mood was every bit as sunny as the weather. I had known her for four years, ever since she first came to the Hampshire Orphanage in southern Vermont, always considered a well-balanced, intelligent girl who needed only one thing to make her life complete: a family.
I have the greatest news to tell you! I've been wanting to see you for weeks now, but I just couldn't find the time.
I'm exploding with happiness!
I think I'm in love! I know it must sound corny to you, because you are so much older than me and must have fallen in and out of love a half dozen times yourself, as well as heard of scores of people constantly engaged in the same process.
I bet you're really cynical.
Well, I'm not. I'm really in love. For the first time, after all these lonely, lonely years. It's got to be the best thing that has ever happened to me and you can bet your ass that I'n not going to let anything ruin it.
Instead of blurting out the name of the lucky guy, let me slowly lead you into the story.
You see, for the past six months, as one of the older girls at the orphanage, almost ready to go out into the real world, I have been assigned to work in the administration office. It's been a great break, a chance to leave the dullness of my usual afternoons at the orphanage, when I either do my homework or just hang around with the kids. I welcomed it as a great change.
But then I found out that George Paulson would be working there too. I don't know if you know who he is....
Ops, but I just gave away my lover's name.
Well, anyway, he's probably the most handsome boy in this whole crummy place. God, is he adorable. All the girls are in love with him, they just adore his looks and his personality too. Everybody loves him from afar, and he could easily have any girl in the place, if he wanted to. But for some reason and I know he isn't a homosexual-he stays away from relationships. He is friendly with everyone, but he just doesn't hook up with girls. And we've all long known that he isn't a homosexual.
God, were all the girls jealous. Jealous most of all because working with him is the best way to really get to know him.
During my first weeks, working in the office about ten hours a week, almost the exact same times as George, we didn't talk very much. We were always kept busy by the work. But as the weeks went on, we got more and more of a chance to get to talk.
And he wanted to talk to me! That thrilled me. I always imagined him to be somewhat haughty and protective, but he turned out to be pretty open. What was best of all, he was actually attracted to me. I know I'm not bad looking, but I never considered that I was especially good-looking, at least for a guy like him.
At first we just talked about our work. Mostly, it involved clerical crap, but there was a little psychological stuff, you know, looking through and examining the records and reports of the little kids. We had to collate the material. You see, one of the reasons we were both given the jobs was that the orphanage planned to send us to college. Well, actually, our grades were good enough to insure that we were going to get scholarships and to be able to go to school.
Then we began to talk about many more things. About our past lives, about the orphanages we had been to, about what our parents were like and what had happened to them. Then about the other kids at the orphanage, and who we liked and disliked.
Finally, we began to talk about our dreams. And that's when the dam just broke open and we, or should I say, I began to fall in love with him.
We just completely opened up to each other as if that was all we ever wanted to do. As if we had been saving it ever since we were born.
We would sit in the file room of the office and pretend to be doing our work, when in reality all we were really doing was talking and flirting.
At first, we just talked. You know, about how I wanted to be a teacher or a psychologist, and he wanted to be an engineer or a doctor. He is so smart, I'm sure he could become President of the United States if he wanted.
You know, his father was a doctor, so he feels that he should follow in his footsteps, because it is such a noble profession. I want him to be whatever he wants to be, as long as he is happy.
And he wants to have a family, a big family with lots of girls and boys. But especially girls, he said, because he likes girls more than boys.
I have the same dreams, too, you know, and I couldn't help telling them to him.
We also talked about our problems, but for once I want to talk about something else with you. I don't like to dote on problems. I feel people spend too much time nowadays looking at nothing but the bad side of things. So I am not going to talk about anything but my happiness.
Soon we were flirting. I mean he was rubbing up against me and all, and I was not only letting him do it, but I was helping him. Making it easy. And after a while, I started rubbing against him! Then he started goosing me. It was amazing, but we got pretty bold down in that office. He actually pinched me in the groin a few times, not to mention the breasts and the ass. And I would goose him back just as daringly. I even goosed him once in the penis, and you should have seen him hop.
Well, one afternoon we found ourselves in the office alone. The staff had gone out together to celebrate secretary's day at a local restaurant. We were left in charge, sort of. There wasn't really anything to be in charge of. We just sat around and talked.
I was feeling pretty hot, sexually. I mean, living in an orphanage, I don't have much time to be alone with a boy, or even a girl! You're always in a group, with adults around, and you can't do anything, even feel free, when they're there.
I have to admit I was quite eager to make out with him. I was hoping he would ask, but I didn't have the guts to hint he should. I mean, I think it's really the guy's job to do that.
And he did. He asked me to go to the file room with him. He stammered that there were some records he had to look up under Z. I knew what that meant, all right, because Z is farthest from the door and the place where we goose each other the most.
If anything, I agreed much too readily.
P walked ahead of him, nervously. I could almost feel his gorgeous eyes inspecting my body.
When we reached the back, he sat on the floor, and patted the spot next to him, indicating that I should sit there. I did, and our hips rubbed together. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into him. I let my head drop to his shoulder, and I just sat there, oh so satisfied. We didn't talk, we didn't move, we just breathed, each thinking about US.
He looked down at me and lifted my head. He closed his eyes and kissed me. His tongue went into my mouth, searching out my tongue, as he pressed his lips firmly against mine.
It wasn't the first time I had kissed a boy, of course, but I didn't have much experience with sex. But with the right guy, with someone like him, I was quite willing to do anything. To go all the way and all.
It was a long, breathless kiss. Real romantic for a first kiss. It sure made me pretty hot, and I guess I showed it. I kissed back hard, pressing my body against his. I wanted to feel his chest against mine.
As if reading my thoughts, he asked me to standup.
My back pressed against the cabinets, which were taller than both of us, so we were well hidden. I spread my legs and he stepped inside of my split. His penis was hard as a rock, and it turned me on like all hell to feel it push into my vagina. Every time the tip of his penis made contact with the opening of my vagina, I felt as if I was going to have an orgasm. You know, I was still a virgin then, though he wasn't, and it didn't take much to get me real excited. Just some pressure, just the thought, just having my arms around a good-looking guy was enough to really excite me. It had only happened to me once before, having a boyfriend that I really liked, but I was much too young to do anything serious.
I lifted a leg and coiled it around his body, pushing him into me.
He was kissing me all over my face, tonguing me, licking me. I ran my arms under his and grasped his shoulder. I moaned at the feel of his chest pressing against my breasts. My nipples were every bit as hard as his penis, and they were really sticking through my bra and shirt. It must have looked as if I wasn't even wearing a bra.
We kissed again and again. We were both getting super-hot. Oh, did I love it! I wished we were outdoors, lying on the cool grass. Nothing is really more fun, I think, than making love in the outdoors.
His mouth left my lips and clamped onto my throat. It sucked me hard. He was trying to give me a hicky, but I couldn't let him do that. Not in a place where everyone would see. That wouldn't go over too well with the staff at the orphanage, though it is a status symbol among the guys and gals.
So I told him he could bite my shoulder if he wanted. He asked me to open my shirt. I did. I opened all the buttons. I felt so good around him, I would have taken off all my clothes right there if he had asked. Well, that's not really true; I was only kidding.
His teeth dug into my flesh, biting hard. I groaned with the pain, which, you know, was really pleasure. I felt fantastic! I guess I love to be bitten.
He placed on hand on my breast as he bit. His hands squeezed it hard, palm pressing into the nipple. I wanted him to feel my tits, to squeeze his hands under the bra.
I wrapped my hands around his head, and pressed it against my shoulder. I asked him, in a soft whisper, not to stop, to bite as hard as he wanted, again and agian.
I don't even know if he heard. But he went ahead and did just that. I would show you my shoulder, but you wouldn't believe. You would probably take me to a doctor. It only looks bad.
Slowly, he slipped his hand under my bra. Cupping my tits, he pinched them, playing with the nipples between his fingers. My breasts are very hard and firm, and he said they felt like rubber balls. I liked that compliment, because that is the way I always wanted my breasts to be described.
He pushed my bra up. It hung around my neck like a kinky necklace. My breasts hung free-and proud. He stopped biting me for a second to look at them, so pretty did he find them. The nipples, small and perfectly round, without any extraneous hair, stuck out like pencil erasers.
I pushed his head down and he got the message. He began to suck on them.
Oh, was that magnificent! He was trying to get the entire breast into his mouth, and it was small enough to fit. I couldn't wait, so I shoved my chest into him.
You should have seen me writhing under him. My legs slithered up and down his, pulling him into me as hard as I could.
What I really wanted to do then was feel his penis.
I hooked my fingers on his belt, feeling his waist. I pressed him hard. He is so slim, it's a delight to look at him, not to mention what it is like to feel him.
I placed a hand over his ass, still on top of his dungarees, and pushed his ass against my groin. He was gyrating into me, and what I wanted to do was make his penis shove into me for all it was worth, to break the boundaries of the clothes and penetrate me.
It was already doing a little of that. Through his thick dungarees and underwear, and my pants and panties, his penis had pushed an inch into my vagina. I was seeping a lot of juice just from that, believe me.
I decided I just had to feel his ass. I slipped my hand down his pants. It was a real tight fit, for his pants hugged him perfectly. He had to unfasten the front button and unnotch his belt.
But it felt so, so good to have my hand on his cool flesh. I had never touched a boy's ass before, and God, was it firm, just like I expected. I was satisfied with that for awhile, but I knew that soon I would want to feel his penis.
I decided to ask him if it was OK. He was still sucking on my breasts. He couldn't talk. He just nodded his head, groaning an OK.
I slid my hand around to the front. Quickly. I hesitated before his groin, but then decided, what the hell, it can't kill me. I was so happy, feeling so lucky about everything!
I reached down and grabbed his penis. It was hot as toast, and hard. It was great. He groaned when I grabbed it, and he asked me, in a very mumbly way, to rub it up and down.
I went too fast at first, and I guess I hurt him. But I slowed down and then everything went perfectly. I was doing it just right, and he complimented me on it. I wanted to jerk him off, and he knew it. He just wanted me to make sure to catch all his cum in my hands, because otherwise it would be pretty messy.
He asked me to blow him, but I was too chicken for that. In the file room! Imagine that! But, of course, I would have done that to him if we were somewhere else.
You know, I have to tell you now, but all the other girls first teased me by saying all he was after was my body. I knew they were teasing me, and I just had to tell them that they were full of it. You can't analyze a relationship from afar. Only the two people in it really know what is going on.
There we were, really involved in an intense make-out session, forgetting what time it was. I was pumping at his penis like mad now, because I could tell that he was soon going to come, and he was sucking me hard, with his hand over my cunt. Not touching it, but on the dungarees. That was almost good enough.
All of a sudden, he started panting. I figured he was going to come. But he stopped sucking my breasts and just grabbed onto me. I cupped my hand in front of his penis, and collected all his gushing sperm. I also climaxed just doing that. It poured and poured into my hand. It was all so thick and gooey. I wondered what it tasted like, but I wasn't about to drink it. I didn't know what to do with it, to tell the truth.
Then it happened, I mean what I had expected. It was just our luck that almost as soon as he had finished coming, the secretaries were coming back. We could hear their heels clicking on the floor as they neared the door.
We panicked all right. We were both half undressed. In a second, we had pulled up our clothes and straightened out our hair. I had to do it all with one hand. The other was closed in a fist, holding a cupful of scum. Jesus, I was hoping I didn't have to swallow it, but all he did was look at me with an hysterical smile. He was daring me. And he knew there really wasn't much I could do. I could chance walking around for a few minutes with my fist clenched, and go to the bathroom. I thought I would do that.
But then he said I was blushing like all hell, and they would know something was up. Of course, I could have gone to the bathroom like that anyway, but then I thought, "What the hell!" and I just swallowed it. I held my hand up to my mouth and licked it all up. I didn't dislike or like it very much, to tell the truth.
He clapped his two hands together silently as I did it, then he walked over and kissed me on the forehead. He said I was "all right." I felt "all right," too. I felt like we had a secret pact.
INTERVIEW TWO
After that day, we got more and more intimate with each other in that room. I mean, I would bend down to put something in the file, and he would come over and slip his hand down my pants, actually fingering me. I loved it. The deeper he inserted his finger, the more I really wanted to make love to him.
And so did he.
Finally, we decided that it was stupid to wait any longer. We agreed to sneak out of the dorms one night and meet outside on the grounds. One thing about most orphanages, I know, is that they usually have their own private grounds, and that gives us "inmates" lots of space to get lost in.
We met one Friday night behind a huge oak tree. It was so thrilling. He had managed to get some prophylactics from the janitor, who is kind of the supplier for that sort of stuff, and booze, to the guys. No sooner did he hug me then he had pulled out the two packs of lubricated Trojans and show them to me. I wanted to open one right there and then to examine it, but he stopped me just as I was about to rip the packet open. I don't know why I did that. Just on impulse, I guess.
We walked, hand in hand, to this hideaway on the grounds we all knew about. It was behind the pond, in back of a large circle of bushes.
We started out slowly, but I couldn't wait. I started to run. He watched me, then zipped off past me.
I had to try to catch up to him. But he only went faster, then slowed down to tease me, then sped up. We reached the spot together, and he kind of tackled me. We rolled to the floor, leaves and twigs all over our clothes.
It wa a wonderful night. A full moon, stars, not a cloud in the sky. A little too chilly, but you can't have everything.
He started kissing me and pawing at my clothes. I felt as if he was being a little too animalistic, but I understood all right. I was pretty horny myself.
He asked if he could undress me. I said it was OK, as long as he let me undress him.
I sat up and he pulled up close to me. He unbuttoned my shirt slowly and then took off my bra. As he undressed me, he lazily, admiringly, ran his hands over my body. He cupped my breasts, holding them as if they were ripe apples, and occasionally lowered his head to kiss me. He licked my nipples and every time his hot tongue touched them, I moaned. I kept my eyes closed, concentrating on his touch.
I had brought a blanket, which we spread underneath us. When he had taken off my top, he asked me to lie back. Then he kissed my belly, running his hands over it, and undid my belt and dungaree clasps. Slowly, he pulled my pants down. Running his hands up and down my legs, he teased me with hints of what it would feel like once my panties were off. He slid his hands up to my vagina, pressing against my panties, poking his fingers into my hole.
He then took off my panties, then my shoes and socks. I was was so hot, so afire, I couldn't believe it was me. I thought the moon had something to do with it. I know that one of the things was the fact that I was completely naked, in the fresh air, and George was still dressed.
He lowered himself over me. The roughness of his clothes as he pressed into me was fantastic. I spread my legs and wrapped them around his body. I pulled them up pretty high, grabbing them by the insides of my insteps. If you can imagine the description. I actually had to have my vagina pressing against his penis so badly that I reached down and grabbed my feet and pulled them up. My vagina was thrust right up high, sort of drilling my back into the ground.
Oh, did it feel great! My labia was spread so wide. As he rubbed up and down me, my juices already began to flow. I could scarcely imagine what it would be like to have his penis inside of me, to have his naked body lying over mine.
The heat of two bodies coming together is one of the loveliest feelings in the world.
I can't imagine a more pleasureable one.
He kissed me all over. He sucked my nipples, my belly button, my nose, my ear lobes. It was funny and fantastic at the same time. He sucked my fingers, my eyes, my forehead, whatever he could get his mouth on.
When he was finished with one side, he turned me over and worked on the other. He sucked on my ass, my shoulder. He bit me all over, not hard, but tenderly, teasingly. I was getting very, very excited.
Then he turned over onto his back and asked me to undress him. I was looking forward to this part.
First I jumped on top of him, rubbing my vagina against his groin. I slithered all over him, slowly undoing a shirt button or pulling down his zipper fraction of an inch by fraction of an inch. I undid his shirt and played with his chest just as he had with mine. Then I took off his belt.
I made believe I was whipping him, and he liked it. But what he really enjoyed was when I wrapped the thing around my neck and offered myself to him, like an animal in a collar. He thought I looked really wild.
Pulling my mouth down to his, we kissed passionately again and again. He was very hot and kept on jerking his body up to mine. His penis was sticking out through his fly. He wasn't wearing underwear that night.
When he released me, I quickly took off the rest of his clothes.
Now we were completely naked. I lay down on top of him, my legs spread. His penis, palpitating, pushed against my vagina. It almost slipped in a few times, so horny were we. But we both decided that it wouldn't be much fun to go ahead and screw right away. The preliminaries were what we were after. We were going to play with each other bodies, kiss, eat and suck, until we couldn't take it anymore.
He was in charge, and I just gladly did whatever he asked.
First, we 69'd. Holding my ass over his face, I bent down and started licking his penis. I was so surprised, and so was he, how quickly, how uninhibitedly, I took to all this for a first timer. I just did, I guess, because I liked him and trusted him so much. And because he had such a pretty body.
I took his hard penis in my hands and rubbed them up and down. He really loved that, but I could tell that what he wanted most was for me to suck him.
I tongued the tip of his penis, wriggling my red muscle around and around it. Then I swallowed the first few inches, making sure to keep my teeth out of the way. He didn't tell me that; I figured that it could hardly be any fun to have your penis scraped by my teeth.
Slowly, I swallowed it all, bathing it in my saliva. So far, though, he hadn't touched my vagina. I was able to concentrate on his penis completely.
But then his fingers went into my hole. I gasped pretty loudly, because I had never had anything inside of me other than my own fingers.
He put in one finger first, then another and another. With three of them inside now, I was really occupied. He shoved them in and out faster and faster and I swear to God, I was going crazy.
I was literally diving on his penis, gulping it down. I took it all in, right down to the very base, and the more vigorously he worked at my vagina, the faster I worked on his penis. I didn't know whether he wanted to come into my mouth or whether he preferred to save his juice for screwing, but I went ahead as if I really wanted him to come in my mouth. I really did, because after swallowing his load I figured that learning to like the stuff was really an acquired taste.
Then he began to lick at my slit, and I really caught fire. I moved like lightning up and down his penis. I gripped his balls and slid my hands down the crack of his ass. He loved that, because he began to thrust his groin up against my face.
It didn't take long before I started to come. He was pumping away so fast, licking and sucking my clitoris, that I couldn't hold it in any longer. I started to moan, to squirm, and press my cunt down against his fingers, to drive them as deep as they would go.
Then he began to come. Oh, what a load did he have! It spurted into my mouth, filling it completely, and I swallowed it all, fast, getting it all out of the way so I could take the next spurt. It just poured out, spurt after spurt. I couldn't believe how much he had! It could have filled a balloon.
We relaxed right after that. I just kept my mouth over his penis, and he just kept his fingers in my hole. We didn't move but luxuriated in ourselves, in our love.
At that same time, a cool breeze blew in from the pond, and cooled our sweating bodies. We both loved that. We rolled over onto our sides, still holding onto each others organs, letting the wind cool every side of us.
Finally, George reached for the propyhlactics. Since I had wanted to open the packet so badly before, he let me have the first honors.
Stupidly, I opened the packet with my teeth, and all the gooey liquid inside dripped down my chin. George laughed uproariously. He figured that would happen, but thought it would be fun to see it. I slapped him playfully, then laughed along with him. I picked up his dungarees and wiped my face clean.
His penis was still hard when, following his instructions, I unfurled the bag. I left a little extra room at the top, even though there was a tiny built-in resevoir there. Then I smoothed it all out with my hands, kind of jerking him off.
The bag contained so much lubrication, it was obvious that his penis would slip in effortlessly. I lay down on my back, spreading my legs, and he lay down on top of me. He pressed his penis against my labia, and I jerked my thighs toward him. In a split second, he was deep inside.
The feeling was fantastic! It was kind of what I imagined, after having his fingers in my vagina already, only of course it was much, much better. I felt merged to him, as if we were one.
His slim body fit against mine as if we had been made for each other. My legs, spread wide, held him tightly, and my breasts seemed to provide these comfortable little cushions for him. My head just passed his shoulder; if he were a little bigger, I would have felt smothered.
At first, neither of us moved. We just lay there, feeling each other. I would move my vagina muscles a little, kind of practicing, and he would expand his penis. Whenever he did that, I gasped. It really felt good, just that tiny expansion and I was gasping.
Slowly, he started to pump at me. He had wrapped his arms around my back, lifting me up to him. Our heads were right next to each others, so we could kiss and lick whenever we wanted. It was so tender, so sexy, I thought. I thought we were the sexiest couple in the whole world.
My legs were locked around his back, my vagina raised to his penis. Then he started to really pump faster and faster, and God, you should have seen me go! My mouth opened wide as I moaned and moaned. His rammings got faster and faster. He plunged all the way into me. His penis was just the right length. It came to the very bottom of my vagina, and when it did, oh boy, did I go off like a firecracker. There was this one spot that was electrifying, and every time he touched it, I went off into a little paroxysm of scratching and biting and moaning. He slammed into me again and again and soon we were both climaxing. We were so hot! We gripped each other as tightly as possible, heads pressing together, and we climaxed with moans so loud I was sure I heard a dog howl with us from somewhere far off in the darkness.
We rested after that. George forgot to remove the prophylactic as soon as we finished, but it didn't break. There was sure as hell a lot of scum in it. I watched his every move with clinical curiosity as he removed it, wrapped it up in the aluminum wrapper, and threw it away.
We talked for a while about a lot of things. One of the best: mariage. He admited he loved me-for the first time-and I said I had been in love with him for weeks now. I told him that I was sure our marriage would work out, and that I accepted if he was asking. He told me he was. He said that as soon as I left the orphanage, and we were both in college-we would probably go to the same one-we would get engaged, and finally marry after we graduated.
In a little while, we both got horny again. We screwed for the longest time, in every conceivable position.
I think I found out then that I really preferred the doggie position next to the missionary one, because his penis seemed to rub this long line of highly sensitive spots along my vagina. Plus it allowed me the opportunity to gyrate around and around and play with my own clit.
So we ended up coming in that position, and my orgasm was a real blast.
I don't think we got back to the dorms until almost daylight. We were both utterly exhausted. I almost cried at the thought of sleeping alone. That one night together had hooked me for good on the beauty of sleeping with a boy. I don't think I can ever sleep well again, not as well as I did for that brief hour or two we slept together out there in the fresh air. Since that night, though, we have spent lots more together. The only trouble now, however, is that just about all the kids in the orphanage know about us, and we're afraid the staff may soon find out. The last thing I want to give up are our nights together.
Otherwise, I'm happier than I've ever been in my whole life.
CONCLUSION
And I was extremely happy for her. Provided she was telling the truth, Caroline was one of those few people lucky enough to fall in love, and to be loved in return, while still in her teens. Think how few people fall in love altogether, let alone at her age. Usually, one's first sexual experience occurs with a partner one regards as sexually attractive, or at least with one that is sexually available. Rarely does personality compatibility go along with it.
But what was most gratifying about Caroline and George was that they had broken out of the loveless, stultifying world of the orphanage, and given themselves something rarely found there.
CASE HISTORY SEVEN
SUBJECT: Danielle AGE: Fifteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Everything about Danielle betrayed her grotesque need for affection: her tearful, even pitiful expression; her enticing walk, exaggerated for a girl so young; her slovenly clothes; and above all, an indescribably clinging behavior. I had the impression that she would only leave my office if I threw her out.
Her story explained everything.
"My father was a real bastard. He used to beat me whenever he felt like. That means just about every day. He was a drunk, you know, and he was always full of beer or liquor. He was unemployed, and he used to go out drinking with his army buddies, and come home late at night and beat me and my mother.
That's not so unusual for people in orphanages. It seems to me that most of the girls, and a lot of the boys, had fathers that used to take advantage of them like that. I say "take advantage" instead of "beat," because a lot of the girls, and a few of the boys, were sexually abused by their fathers.
My Dad was the same way. He never raped me, I'll hand him that, but he came close a few times.
My mother was bedridden with cancer. She didn't have the energy to stop him, or the will. Toward the end, which lasted months for her, she didn't even have the mental awareness to do anything about it.
There was just me and my drunken father in the house, really, and he felt that if his wife wouldn't lay him, then it was his daughter's duty to take care of him.
Let me tell you about one night.
My mother was drugged into unconsciousness with all these pills. I think morphine. She was always in a lot of pain. My father had been out drinking and bowling, as usual, and he came back to the house, as usual, in a shitty mood. I figured I was going to get it.
He almost fell through the kitchen door, yelling for me. I stayed in my room, which did not have a lock; he wouldn't let me have one. And I was afraid to install one, too. He was screaming for me to come help him, but I stayed in my room, huddling on the bed. I was scared, I was always scared. But kind of used to it, if you can understand that.
I could hear him half-crawling, half-walking toward my door. Yelling all the time.
When he finally reached my room, my heart stopped beating. I swear I could hear him taking a swig on his bottle, hear the liquor gurgling down his mouth.
He leaned against the door, crying out my name. I remember begging him to go away and leave me alone, but I don't know whether he heard me, or whether, hearing me, he understood what I said.
His hands clawed at the wood, as if he were a mole. Moaning all the time. Slowly, his hands finally found the door knob, and he threw the door open.
He almost fell in with it.
He would try to talk to me soothingly, telling me all about the terrible pressure he was under owing to my Mother's dying, how he couldn't hold a job down because of the "deep pain" he was suffering inside. I can almost quote him word for word, because he had this prepared speech which he went through all the time.
After all this bullshit, after all my pleading got me nowhere, he stumbled to my bed and groped for me. I tried to get out of his way, but I couldn't. I know how strange it is, but when he came after me, all his instincts were suddenly aroused, and he began physically alert. Like a soldier, you know, like a soldier who suddenly wakes up to find himself under attack. He would catch me in nothing flat.
At first, when he started coming after me, I would hide in various parts of the house. We had a very big, old Victorian place in northern Pennsylvannia, with lots of place to hide. But he would find me and beat me all the harder for that. He was activated by the promise of sex, but he didn't like the idea of "my own daughter hiding from me."
When he caught me, he wrestled me to the floor. Sometimes, it would be by the hair, sometimes by twisting my arms. It always hurt. He liked this part best.
On this night, he grabbed me by the arms and almost broke them as he forced me to the floor. I bet he imagined I was some sort of prisoner of war.
You know, my old man had an Army record for prisoners of war during the Korean War. I think he held it for six months, before he was beaten out by another sergeant.
When he got me to the floor, he would kneel down next to me and, taking a few swigs on his bottle, he would dig his nails into me. He would run both hands up and down my body, as if I were a dog, a dog he was stroking. But he would do it painfully.
Since I couldn't help squirming underneath him, I always ended up getting a few slaps on my head for my "insubordination." Can you believe he would put it that way? He was a real war nut, gone really bananas from all that violence. He could never adjust to civilian life, if you ask me. To give him some credit as a human being, though, my Mother's coming down with cancer really screwed him up to. It happened soon after he got back from Korea.
You know, while I guess he was holding back during those slaps on the head, they could really hurt. Particularly when he slapped my ears. I could hear a loud whine in my ears for hours after one of his mighty smacks.
All the while, he would be talking to me. He would treat me as if I was his wife, then as if I were a streetwalker, then, finally, like the daughter I was. He would go in and out of this cycle as surely as the Earth goes around the Sun. You had to be there to believe it.
As he was talking, he would slip his hands down my clothes. He would feel my breasts, playing with my nipples, or the cheeks of my ass. He rarely stuck his hands down my groin. Don't ask me why, but he just didn't. Most of the time. I guess there was some sort of inhibition there that came out, triggered by I have no idea what. But he wouldn't do it. Usually.
On this night I'm telling you about, he did.
He put his hands down my pants, feeling the cheeks of my ass. I squirmed underneath him, crying. But he didn't even notice. He was fixated on what he was doing.
In order to get at my groin, he turned me on my side. First he turned me to the side facing him, but then, seemingly realizing something unpleasant, turned me to the other. At least that way I could cry in peace.
He unbuckled my dungaree waist button. I could feel his hand, wet and slippery with beer, inch down my skin. I closed my eyes and tried to. think about other things. I was really afraid of being aroused. Somehow, I felt guilty. He made me feel like a real slut.
His fingers entangled themselves in my pubic hair, slowly heading for my hole. I tried to keep my legs closed, scissor-tight, but his hand was so big, so groping, that he forced them apart.
He lay down on the floor next to me, cuddling up against my body. His touch gave me the chills and I tried to get away, but he only pulled me closer.
He started to kiss me and slip a hand onto my tits.
That is the way he would abuse me. His fingers would sometimes go into my hole, but he would never really finger me. It was more a testing of the perimeter.
You know, he was killed in a real fitting way, as far as I am concerned. He was stabbed in a barroom fight over a game of pool. He was stabbed three times by this other guy before he could even hit him. The man escaped. The police know who he is, but they have never located him.
My mother died a few weeks before. I became a ward of the state, there being no relatives who would take care of me, and that's how I ended up here.
The orphanage is really horrible. I've been in this one for years, and I can't stand it. It's driving me crazy. That's why I'm here, as you know all to well. Everybody thinks I'm stir crazy, only I don't! I might as well go over the version of what happened as I know it, not as everyone else said. After all, I was the star of the whole thing.
You see one night, just for a lark, on an urge I couldn't control, I had this great desire to go masturbate in a closet off one of the orphanage hallways.
I took this large, thick wax candle I use as a dildo, and slipped out of the room late one night. I was fully dressed.
God, did I feel horny that night! The people who run this place don't know what it feels like to be a young girl growing up completely without boys around. I just can't take it. I need some attention from the opposite sex. Not having it is one of the things that surely drives me insane here.
I didn't know exactly where I was going when I got out of bed that night, but I knew I was going to masturbate the shit out of myself. Usually, I do it in bed, but I have to admit that sometimes I get bored of that and head to these public spots. It makes it all the more exciting, and sometimes I can look out at someone who has no idea I'm there, and fantasize about him or her.
Yes, sometimes it's a her.
I opened the rear staircase door silently and tip-toed down the staircase. I went to the second floor, where the youngest girls live, and just walked out. Very quietly, of course. Then I spotted the closet, just down the hall, near the last row of beds.
The matron at the desk all the way at the end of the huge collective bedroom, was reading a book. She was so involved in it, she wouldn't hear me entering the closet.
I checked the girls, making sure they were all asleep. I moved to the closet and turned the knob. It creaked like hell, and I jumped back against the wall, in the dark. The matron didn't move, nor did the sleeping girls. I turned it again, and the door unlatched. I hoped that the hinges wouldn't creak loudly, and I was sure as hell glad they didn't.
I would have gone to another closet, but they're all like that here. This one was actually comfortable.
It was a maintenance man's closet, with a small sink and brooms, mops, pails and a few tools. I didn't turn on the light, of course, but waited until I got used to the darkness.
Then I sat in the sink. It was really far more comfortable than you would imagine.
I leaned against the back. Luckily, there was only one faucet, so by leaning to one side I could avoid it.
I hung my legs over the edge, pulling down my pants to the knees. I wasn't wearing underwear. I never did when I went out on excursions like this.
I started to massage my cunt with my hands. I put the wax dildo into my mouth and pretended it was a cock, and I sucked on it like mad. It didn't take me long to get wet all over.
You know, even though I would try to fixate on a handsome boy I had seen in a magazine somewhere, or in the newspapers or on TV, or just anywhere, my father's face would always intrude.
Often, that would come just before the climax.
I would see him leering at me, as he always did, while he molested me so disgustingly. I could almost smell his alcoholic breath on my face.
When I felt myself real hot, I would stick the dildo slowly into my cunt. One good thing about wax was that it was soft enough so that no matter how much I shoved it in and out of my hole, it wouldn't make me sore. It bent to the shape of my insides quickly enough.
The bad thing about wax, though, was that it could get too soft after a lot of pumping. Then it would be necessary to give it a rest, so to speak.
I pushed the tip inside, and oh ... did it feel good! The tip is very wide, and it fills me up quickly enough. I couldn't wait to have the entire thing inside, so I just shoved it in real fast. All of it. Of course, I gasped out loud, because who the hell wouldn't after being stuck with a thing like that? I guess that must have been the sound that frightened some of the little girls, the stupid babies!
But, as for me, I was having a great time, really getting off on the thought of what I was doing. It made me shiver, actually, really shiver. I thought masturbating right there with all those young, little girls sleeping so innocently down the hall was a fantastic turn-on! When you live in a dumb little orphanage like me, there aren't many things more exciting.
I pushed that fuckin' thing into me as hard as I could. I was really going like mad. The juice from my little hole was streaming down my legs, even dripping onto the sink. I slipped a hand under my shirt and cupped my tits. My nipples were hard as nails; I loved to catch them between my fingers and squeeze them hard, almost painfully. Showing them no mercy, if you know what I mean.
I only wish I had worn a skirt instead. Because with my dungarees all the way down my legs, they restrained me like handcuffs. But in a way I liked that, because it felt like I was being forcibly held down. I would pretend, despite all my will to the contrary, that my father was the one doing it, and I would fight with my legs, trying to get out of his grasp.
I thought I was moaning softly. I never really moaned really loud, but as it turned out I wasn't.
For while I was drilling myself with the wax shaft, some of the little girls had woken up and were sitting up in their beds, listening. You know, it's funny, but the thought that that was happening, that people could hear what I was doing, always turned me on. But they're not supposed to catch on to me.
Then this one girl, from the bed closest to the closet, got up and investigated. All the others were scared. She must have been super-quiet, or I must have been super-oblivious, because I didn't know anything was up until the matron arrived and opened the door.
In the meantime, though, I was coming. I was coming like all fuckin' hell. My legs were flying all over the place, almost ripping my dungarees apart as I struggled against them. I think I hit a couple of broom sticks, but I'm not sure.
I was pretty spaced out, I guess.
All of a sudden, I opened my eyes to find the matron staring at me, her face full of the most absurd shock. Behind her were about a dozen little girls, all dressed up in the silliest pink, blue and white pajamas and nightgowns. They all looked like little girls do when they are suddenly awakened in the middle of the night: bleary eyes, quizzical, on the verge of tears. In this case, they were also scared. But the matron was the best of all. She looked like she had seen a corpse, and almost fainted. It's hard to believe, but true nonetheless. She almost fainted.
I wonder how long they were there, watching me. Because I opened my eyes in response to a little girl's gasp. The matron just opened her mouth, and didn't say anything until a minute or two after I had opened mine.
Then she screamed, and some of the little girls ran to get "help." That is, the night superintendent.
You know, I had just finished my climax when I realized what was going on. So they probably caught me during my orgasm, only I was much too far gone to realize it. It must have been quite a sight.
First of all, there I was, slumped in this small white sink, half-naked. My shirt was around my neck like a necklace. My pants hung from my feet. My legs were spread wide, my hands holding onto the dildo. Now the dildo, about a foot long, protruded out of my cunt like some sort of white stick. I bet some of the little girls thought I was hurt. I know someone of them are old enought to not only know what I was doing, but to have masturbated themselves. But, of course, not with dildos.
That's the story. That's why I'm here.
In the morning, the headmistress interviewed me. She was nice, but it was obvious from her attitude that she thought I was a nut. She questioned me intensely for a couple of hours, and I finally admitted that I had been masturbating in public like that for a long time. I told her I didn't do it too often, only about once or twice or month when this inexplicable urge got over me, but she still thought that was crazy. She didn't even think girls should ever masturbate. She thought that was something for boys.
You should see her. You could tell just from looking at her that that's her attitude. She's this tall, grey-haired, skinny women, about 60 years old. She's single and will certainly die single. She's always nice, in that she dosen't yell, but she's as cold as they come. You can never get any real affection from her; touching her is like touching an icicle. Maybe even colder.
Everybody in this orphanage is like that. Maybe we kids just expect too much, or maybe something is wrong with us. We're the cold ones. But I doubt it. In state orphanages, I doubt if there is such a thing as an affectionate person. I hear that people are nice in the private ones, and sometimes in the religious ones too.
These people make us into what we are, if you want my opinion.
INTERVIEW TWO
I might as well tell you about some of the other times.
Let me make it clear again that I usually masturbate in my bed. But I do that every night and every morning without fail. I have been doing it that often ever since I turned eleven and discovered, riding a bicycle, how much fun my cunt could give me. It's been the only really happy thing in my life. I swear it.
When I do it in my bed, I have to be quiet, of course, since I live in a large bedroom with about 20 other girls. A matron is supposed to keep watch at night, but she always dozes off. Since we're the older girls, she trusts us.
My bed is separated from the others by a curtain of sorts, so I have some privacy. If I'm quiet, I can manipulate myself to my heart's content. I bet a lot of other girls in the room also masturbate all the time, but I have never seen or caught anyone. You know, that's pretty amazing, because in order to get up and go to the bathroom, most of the girls have to walk past the beds.
I don't think I have ever been caught, but then again, I wouldn't know.
Usually, in bed, I would not masturbate with the dildo. That excites me too much. Also, it could be seen, as this stick jutting out of my hole, making a little tent in the blankets.
I just use my fingers. And they are pretty well trained.
That way, I could assume any position I want. I could lie on my stomach and rub myself that way, pushing my ass up and down on my hand as I do it.
I also get pretty hot on the thought that if I just let myself go, the whole room would be onto what I was doing. But, since I have been doing it in the room for so, so long, it no longer gets me as hot as it used to, and I have to go out searching for new places.
You may not believe this, but I once did it in an office right off the main hall in the middle of the day! You should see how crowded the hall gets then, as kids are running around going to classes, eating lunch, just taking care of themselves. And the administrative staff are in their offices.
The room I did it in belongs to a teacher who also doubles as a counselor. She happened to be absent for the day. Knowing that, I stole into her room, which for some reason happened to be unlocked. I locked it, pulled the shades, and knelt down on the carpet, directly in front of the door, so I could look through the keyhole.
I was wearing a skirt. All I had to do was pull down my underwear and shove my hands into my hole.
I got off on the way I was dressed that day. I like the little girl image when it hides a whore underneath. And I was the epitome of the little girl that day, with green knee socks and brown suede shoes, a green skirt stopped five inches above my knees, and a cute white shirt. I was also wearing a bra.
If there were any men or boys around that day, I would probably have balled any and all of them.
As it was, I had only myself.
I positioned myself directly in front of the key hole, placing a couple of pillows from the room's small couch under my knees.
I looked through the keyhole, and immediately got off on the sight of all those people running around out there, sex the last thing on their minds, while I knelt behind the wooden door, pumping the shit out of myself.
At one time, I swear to God, I sucked on the brass door knob. I just had to suck on something, and the knob was the best thing available. I would have given anything for an actual dick to suck on.
You know I'm a virgin. If you can consider anyone who has been fondled by her father a virgin, I am one.
My mind is certainly not that of a virgin's, though. The only thing I think of is sex. All of the time. I wonder if all adolescents, whether girl or boy, think about sex that much. I hope they do, because then I wouldn't feel like such a God-awful freak.
I loved the way my little fingers slipped in and out of my hole. There is no resistance because no matter how many fingers I slip inside, there is always a lot of room. My fingers are small.
But the best thing about it is all the cunt juice that accumulates on them. It gets so unbelievably thick! I can't help licking my fingers. I love the taste of my cum. It's almost as thick as cheese.
Can you imagine bottling the stuff and selling it, like cheese! I bet you my stuff would be a best seller!
At one point, there must have been a hundred people in that hall, running back and forth, going about their business without the faintest idea that someone could be masturbating her brains out a few feet away.
Oh, it was so delicious, so erotic!
I think I came three times. And, behind that thick wooden door, I was able to moan all I wanted.
I slipped my fingers in and out of my hole , as if there were no tomorrow, and the juice just spilled out of my cunt. The room filled up with the sweet smell of my juice, and I imagined that it lingered there for hours.
Then one of the men teachers, one of the most handsome ones, passed by on his way to the dining room. All the teachers of the adjoining school have to eat with us, but this guy often cut out and ate off the campus. He stopped right in front of the door, only about ten feet away. He stood under a tall painting of the orphanage's founder, chatting with another teacher, this woman I don't particularly care for.
I watched him, imagined myself being fucked by him. He was tall, about six feet, and slim. I figured he would make a wonderful lay, and all I did was stare at his cock, picturing it plunging in and out of my hole. I saw it as a huge shaft, twice as big as my wax dildo. And I saw him as a brutal lover, who would rip me apart as I writhed underneath him like an eel.
I was getting so hot that I was actually crying. I experienced my first orgasm and no sooner went on to my second when all of a sudden, apparently breaking off the conversation, he walked toward the door.
I didn't freeze, but just increased my pace. The door was locked and I knew he couldn't get in. I suppose he could have noticed my eye peering through the keyhole, but that would have been pretty unlikely, especially from his angle. You would have to get down on your knees and look directly inside in order to see me. And I doubted that he picked up my moans, for there was just too much noise in the hall for that.
He was probably coming over to see whether the teacher was in.
But I loved it! It was fantastic, seeing this guy approach me, his waist swaying so sexily, while I jerked off like a rabbit in perfect secrecy.
I felt myself coming again as he turned the knob. Somehow, I had managed to calm down for a few seconds. He would certainly be able to hear me from right outside the door.
He tried the knob a few times, then told the woman that he just remembered the teacher had called in sick. Then they had this stupid, nauseating conversation for a few seconds right outside the door. They talked about the teacher, and how much they liked him, what a good guy he was. Then when that was out of the way, they dumped on him. But so subtlely and carefully, sort of testing each other to see how far the other would go.
I don't have much opportunity to hear adults talk, but I have to admit that I don't like what I hear. It's always so stupid, so inane. One would think that people were supposed to keep on growing mentally once they reach a certain physical size, but that never seems to happen. They all sound like arrested teenagers or something.
I feel much smarter than most of them.
My parents are an excellent example of real dodos.
I mean were. Sometimes I think of them as still living. It's very odd, but I do.
At last, exhausting their topic, they walked away. I let go, and just came and came a second and third time, in quick succession. It one of the best masturbation sessions I had ever had.
When it was finally over, I fell back on the carpet, breathing heavily, and just rested for about 30 minutes. I wondered whether I would be missed at the lunch table, and if I was, what sort of excuse I should give.
I rested my hands on my cunt. Occasionally, I thrust a finger into my hole. It's the vacuum that comes afterward that I hate.
I took a deep whiff of the room. The scent of my cum was pretty strong, and it thrilled me. It was all so illicit, so prohibited. If I was ever found, I remember thinking then, I would probably be locked up.
Well, that's about it. I've done it in classrooms, bathrooms, parks, toolsheds, barns, back seats of parked cars and trucks, in the alleyway behind the school, in bedrooms and in other offices. I received a real bad shock when I was caught that night, and I didn't have a desire to masturbate publicly for a long time. I never lost my desire to do it at night in my bed, though, and I still look forward to it.
I don't think it's wrong.
But then again, to be frank, I don't think it's very healthy. Suppose it becomes a life-time habit? Will I ignore men? I mean, it's so much fun, that I can't see ever giving it up. I guess I'll have to see how things turn out when I'm on my own or if someone ever adopts me. But I doubt that will happen. By law, they are supposed to inform the prospective couple about your behavior record and psychological problems.
But tell me one thing. You won't lock me up, will you?
CONCLUSION
Of course I assured her (though it took some doing) that she wouldn't be locked up. The headmistress of the orphanage believed she was mentally unbalanced, but I was much less certain. Unquestionably, she was an exhibitionist, a rare onanist who was female instead of male, but I believe that the evil of that crime is in the eye of the beholder. My norms of human conduct, after being molded by years of intimate experience with therapy, are much more generous. However, Danielle was obviously in need of affection, of a close, uncensuring friend, that I felt therapy could be helpful, and possible even allay her masturbatory compulsions. If they were "evil," it was only in a self-destructive sense, for Danielle was obviously incapable of going through a day without a masturbatory climax. It would be nice, from my point of view, if Danielle could achieve a peace of mind and strength of will that would make masturbation less necessary. It could make her stronger in many other ways.
CASE HISTORY EIGHT
SUBJECT: Pia AGE: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
Pia had cried wolf too many times. She claimed, in what may or may not be her latest lie, that she had been raped by two orphans who broke into her single dorm room late one weekday night. But the youth vehemently denied the accusation, though they could not produce witnesses to their alibis. The reason Pia was not believed is simple: she is an inveterate liar. She insisted upon a medical test, but the orphanage's officials felt that she was only carrying her lying to a more drastic extreme than usual.
I know I have a reputation for lying all the time. But this time I'm telling the truth. Why can't I make anyone believe me? Those two kids are obviously hoods. How can everybody accept their word over mine? The orphanage should have allowed me to get a medical examination. They'll all be sorry when they see my stomach rise, and it isn't going to be a laughing matter. I'll be pregnant then, and I'll be able to take an "I told you so position," and won't they all be embarrassed!
But, you know, I bet they say that all I'm doing is covering up for some love making.
That would be just like the stupid asses that run this run down place, just like them.
I can't understand how they think I could make up such an incredible story. I've got it all down to every tiny detail, and I used to be a virgin before this happened. How could I have suddenly concocted such an incredible tale, overnight, without any sex?
I know I'm working on the assumption I'm telling the truth. Of course, fromtheir point of view, I'm full of it from beginning to end.
I swear to God, I don't know what they all want from me! I admit to having lied about witnessing two guys steal the headmaster's car, or about the leopard that escaped from the local zoo being out back, on our grounds, or about all those other lies I told.
I can't help it if I have this compulsion to make up stories. It's just that I consider the world so boring, that I feel I have to make up these lies. My life could certainly use some fanciful elaboration. You see, I consider myself a painter of sorts, as one who embellishes an unpleasant, dull, stagnant reality. I liven up my life and everyone elses with tales of the possible, and how do I get treated in return? I don't have to answer that, because it's obvious.
Well, I know I have cried wolf too many times in the past, but this time, my God, this time, I'm telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth! I've trifled with it before, but this time I'm treating it with reverence. It has never been so important to me before. I still believe in embellishing, but it's nevertheless true that for the first time I recognize and admit the importance, the necessity of the truth. You see, if I wasn't telling the truth about my rape, would I dare risk my story by still contending that, philosophically, I still do not believe in the total, absolute prerogatives of the TRUTH? I'm only being honest. Everyone, at heart, feels the same way, and they all know it.
The night that it happened I was sitting alone in my room, way past the lights out period, reading a book by flashlight. I was lying in bed wearing my pajamas, reading "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes." I was so into the story that I couldn't put it down when lights out were called.
As you know, I've been living alone in my room, which is a double, for the last two months, as my former roommate has been adopted. I love my privacy, even after the trouble it has gotten me into. If those two bastards, Tom and Larry, have no alibis, I am also condemned to be without witnesses.
My door, of course, wasn't locked. It could be, however; there is a lock on it, but I never used it. There was never any need. From the day it happened, though, I have locked it every time I so much as entered the room for a second. Even in the daylight. I'm taking no chances, none at all. And I hope none of the other girls in the orphanage forget to lock their doors.
As I was reading, I thought I heard a sound outside my door. But since I live right next to the hall window, I discounted it. There's a large oak outside whose limbs rub against the wall and the glass, and during a strong wind, the noise can get pretty loud. I have often mistaken it for a robber, or a murderer. But I've gotten used to it.
I just kept on reading.
And reading.
And reading.
The next thing I knew, the rapists were upon me. My flashlight had fallen to the floor, the book was still on my lap. Tom reached for the flashlight, accidentally kicking the bed. That woke me up. But the light was on long enough for me to see who it was. And Tom, knowing that I had spotted him, gave up all pretense, and he and Larry started calling each other by name.
But the room was very dark. If it wasn't for that accident with the flashlight, the only way I would have know who my attackers were would have been by going around and listening to everyone's voices.
Tom was in charge. He reached up and put his hand around my mouth before I could shout. Larry, jumping on the bed after him, helped.
Tom told me in a terrible, fierce voice, that if I made a sound or resisted he would slit my throat. He sounded as if he meant business, too. I still can't believe that this orphanage could harbor such vicious, criminal people! Tom and Larry should be given the electric chair for what they did to me.
Once I had quieted down, Tom pulled a long scarf from his jacket and gagged me. He tied it very, very tight, and I couldn't make a sound. By this time, seeing how serious these animals were, I had frozen up, stiff as a corpse. I wasn't going to help them, to give them any excuses to beat me, or anything. I just wanted to make it as difficult as possible.
Tom next removed some rope from his pockets. He was going to tie me to the bed. Larry helped him and they got it down in a few minutes. Seeing that they were going to bind me completely, I decided to try to get away. It was either then or never. But Tom slapped me in the face a few times, and I quieted down.
They still hadn't taken off my pajamas. They just tied the rope around my wrists real hard, and then around my ankles. Then they tied me to the bedposts. Since I sleep in a double-decker, they were able to hoist my legs high.
I was compeletely at their mercy, and we all knew it. I was terribly, terribly frightened, but in control of myself in some weird way. I mean, I wasn't about to panic or cry or beg. I could take whatever they were going to give me.
When they finally felt I was tied securely, they undressed. I didn't expect that part. They took off all their clothes, dropping them in separate piles on opposite sides of the room..
Tom was first. He said he wanted me to suck him off, while Larry played with my vagina.
Since I had the gag on my mouth, he said he would have to hold his knife to my neck, until he was sure he could trust me. Slowly, he unwraped the knot. But at the same time, I felt his cold blade press against my skin.
Or at least I thought it was his knife blade. I dared not move my head.
His penis was erect when he touched it to my lips. I groaned and felt like vomiting when the tip of his penis made contact with my lips. I had never even seen a penis before!
And the fact that these two guys were black made it all the more revolting to me. It wasn't much of a help that the lights were out, either, because I couldn't forget what color they both were.
I opened my mouth and let him slip his penis inside. It felt tremendous, long and very thick, and I coughed when it touched the back of my neck. And I thought I would choke on it when he started moving it in and out, ordering me to suck it.
I'm afraid I nicked it with my teeth, and he threatened me real badly.
But then it just happened. I knew what was expected of me, and he saw that I knew. He took his knife away and just let me suck him.
What could I do? It was the most horrible experience in my life, and the only way I could get an equal revenge would be to see him and his friend castrated. That would equal things up and probably protect the entire feminine sex, because they can never be safe as long as these two guys walk the streets. And, you know what? They are due to be let out, as 18-year-olds, in just two months! That's partly why I'm so desperate to have my story believed. The police could at least give me or them a lie detector test, but the orphanage refuses to bother them. Can you believe that anyone would tell such a graphic, detailed story, would do so just for fun?
Suddenly, while Tom was making me suck him, Larry jumps on the bed and sticks his fingers into my vagina! Just like that! He just shoves them right in, and boy, did it hurt! I was dry. But he couldn't care less. I bet he didn't even realize that he was hurting me. With Tom's penis in my mouth, all I was able to do was gasp, but no one could have heard that.
Larry, lying across the bed, started pumping away at me for all he was worth. He giggled as he did it, the little animal. He thought it was great. Then he started biting my legs. Real hard. But not hard enough to leave scars. Just hard enought to get his rocks off. He really enjoyed the fact that I was tied down and he was free, and kind of in charge. Though he was only second in command.
Tom was getting ready to climax, and I almost stopped to beg him not to do it in my mouth. The thought of his stuff in my mouth disgusted me, and I was afraid I would throw up. He would really kill me for that, especially if my vomit landed on his penis. I could see him making me lick it up. In that case, swallowing his load was far more preferable.
He grabbed my head to make sure I didn't pull away. He ordered me to suck harder and harder. Suddenly, he gasped, his whole body vibrated, and his penis palpitated. Then his load coursed through his penis and spurted into my mouth.
I thought it would never end. He just kept on coming and coming, and all I could do was swallow it. I thought of keeping it in my mouth, accumulated, but that was even more repelling than swallowing it. At least that way, I would be getting rid of the stuff.
As you can see, I was stuck in a dilemma. That is, on the horns of a dilemma. There wasn't much I could do about my situation either way.
My only hope was that the matron, the night lady, would chance to walk by my door and hear them. But that wasn't very likely since the boys, all things considered, were pretty quiet. And then the matrons are never very energetic about their duties.
Larry giggled for the longest time at the sight of his friend coming into my mouth. He egged his friend on, telling him to spurt me in the face.
Tom would have obliged, but his friend's advice came to late. He was already, thank God, expended.
It was now Larry's turn for some fun. Tom sat on the floor while Larry knelt in between my legs and ate me out. (I don't know if that's the right term. Is it?)
Larry was a real fiend, a devil. He took his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue. He licked me up and down, sucking my clit, my vagina, furiously. Sometimes he even bit my clit, and that really hurt. I tried to tell him, but the second I opened my mouth, he ordered me to shut up. And Tom would add his own two cents too, telling me to shut up as well.
He said he was going to lick me until I came. But I wasn't about to, even if, under the wildest of circumstances, I could. I would never let on that I was enjoying it, for all they would do would be let me have more of it. They would never leave me. They would get more brutal.
As he sucked me, he stuck his fingers into my vagina again, pumping it. He held onto my legs as if they were wooden posts. They vibrated uncontrollably. From fear, from terror. And, I may as well admit it, from a little pleasure. I guess you just can't help it; sometimes it's just an automatic reaction. But I'm not sure if you can call that fun. He sucked and sucked me until I began to hurt down there. I was dying for him to stop. Finally, he did, but it was only to do something else to me.
INTERVIEW TWO
He fucked me, that's what that animal did! He fucked me while his friend looked on, silently cheering.
Larry, suddenly, without telling me, rose up and lowered his body onto mine. He was much taller than me, and so I felt kind of squashed. He had a tremendous penis, much larger than Tom, who was even taller than him.
He felt for my vagina with his hand. He put his fingers inside and guided his penis in.
Pressing the tip against the entrance, he shoved it inside. In a split-second, he was completely inside me.
Pumping away like hell, he caressed my body violently, pinching and squeezing me. He sucked my nipples and bit my tits. All very hard, very violently.
In the meantime, he was pumping at me with all the weight and strength of his body. His huge penis seemed to touch my stomach, and I swear to God that it really hurt me! It went in all the way.
And then you know what that bastard did! He rammed his fingers into my asshole, pumping them in and out as if it was another vagina.
That was painful, all right!
Tom was getting jealous. He wanted to get into me. He stood up and put his hand on Larry's ass, and shoved it in. When Larry wanted to withdraw, Tom wouldn't let him. Larry got pissed off, and Tom finally stopped, but he told him to hurry up.
Larry cursed him, and told him to go jerk off in the corner. He would take all the time he needed, he said.
And he was. He pumped me fast, but that seemed to be his normal speed. He certainly wasn't approaching orgasm fast, if it's OK to judge from the loudness of his gasps. He seemed to be able to hold back all he wanted.
But after awhile, with some more prodding from Tom, he let go. He rammed into me again and again, falling onto me with the full weight of his body, with all his strength. This time I'm not exaggerating. He really hurt me. He rammed into me again and again, and I began to moan loudly.
At last he came. I couldn't feel his stuff come into me, but I could tell from his expression all right that he had released his scum into me.
I was terribly frightened that I would become pregnant, and I told him as much. I told them both that they would pay for this, that they were crazy to think they could get away with this. But they both insisted they would, that no one would believe a well-known liar like me.
That that was why they had picked me.
And, suddenly, I knew they were right.
Who would believe me?
Larry rolled off, and Tom, just as hard, took his place. He too did not waste time on preliminaries. He too just plugged me and pumped away, not caring whether he hurt me or not.
Tom was a real drooler. He was infatuated with my body. He pawed me all over, just as fiercely as Larry had. But at the same time, he drooled all over me. He sucked my tits and left and huge mouthful of saliva on them. He licked my neck, licked my arms, my shoulders. I felt like throwing up now, and for a brief second, my stomach actually sent some of its contents toward my mouth. But I managed to choke it back.
Tom's pumping was much slower than Larry's. He too took his time, but his time was a slow pace, like that of a love song or something. I guess that's a stupid comparison, but that's what it seemed he was after.
He eased himself inside, then slowly withdrew. Every time he plunged inside, or every time he left, it felt like this long pole were slowly being shoved in and out of my vagina. He relished the plunge inward, and he would laugh every time he reached my bottom.
He rose over me, his arms holding him up. My head uncontrollably beat the pillow, my eyes rolling in their sockets. I didn't know what was coming over me, but I desperately wanted to scream, to get out of there. That room had become a Hell on Earth to me, with the hands of these disgusting creatures running up and down my body.
At this point, Larry, who had been watching, joined. He asked Tom if it would be all right if I sucked him off while he fucked me. Tom didn't mind. He just knelt back on his haunches, and made room for him.
He climbed on my body and positioned himself in front of my mouth. He grabbed my hair and thrust my head into his penis. Believe it or not, his penis poked my eyes before he finally placed it inside my mouth.
Again, I was stuck. What could I do? I just gave in. I was nothing but a piece of meat now, what I had been to people throughout my life. I just took it in and braced myself for the moment when they would both come inside my mouth and in my cunt.
Tom went even slower. He wanted to wait until Larry was about ready to come. And that would be a long time, since Larry had just ejaculated inside of me.
They just kept on pumping and pumping, pumping and pumping. That's what I remember most of all from that night of hell. The sensation of being pumped like I was a machine of some sort, a sex machine there for their brutal gratification.
At last, at long last, they, climaxed. Tom came first, and he made a lot of noise in the process.
Larry followed a few seconds later. His orgasm was absolutely silent.
I was the one who made the most noise. I felt horrible, horrible. Larry's scum tasted terrible, like smelly milk. And Tom rammed into me harder now than either of them had all night. He grabbed my legs and digging his nails into them, ran his hands up and down my skin. I felt like I was being scratched by a cat, it was so painful. And you know, miraculously, there weren't any scars left.
After they had climaxed, they fell off me and rested. I could hear them panting heavily. The room sounded like a gym after a track meet.
I thought it was over, but it soon turned out they had something more in store for me.
"What are we going to do with her next?" Larry asked. "We still have plenty of time."
"I think we should stick things in her cunt. That should be fun. I always wanted to do that to a girl."
"Me too," Larry answered. "Only what do we stick in them?"
Tom got up and showed him his knife. I suddenly became terribly frightened, because I thought he was going to stick the blade in me. So did Larry for a second, but then Tom grabbed the blade and gave him the handle.
"Yeah, that should fit in just right," Larry said.
The handle was long and thick, ribbed for a firm grip. But I feared that I would get cut. It's not exactly the safest thing in the world to have a knife sticking in your vagana, even if it is handle first. For once, I felt lucky that I was tied up. My legs were spread so wide apart that they couldn't possibly come into contact with the blade.
Tom took the knife back from Larry and approached me. He had a maniacal look on his face that seemed to say he could just as easily stick the blade into me as the handle, and I guess I believed him.
Tom waved the blade in front of my face, threatening me. That blade came pretty close to my nose, let me tell you. I thought he would cut it off, or at least give me a pretty bad nick.
I came closer to begging him to leave me alone right then than I did all night.
At last, he tired of the games and decided it was time to stick the thing inside me.
He placed the handle against my vagina, and turning it slowly, pushed it into my hole. First he inserted the first inch or so of it, then the next and so on, until the entire handle, about seven or eight inches of it, was all the way inside.
It was easily longer than their penises, and thicker. But it hurt because unlike their organs, it was hard and unbending. It's a good thing I was in a position where my vagina was spread as wide as possible, and my groin tilted upward, so the handle could be plunged directly into me without pressing against my sides. It was a straight fall.
Then Tom began turning it. My worry was that in his excitement, he would push the dildo too far into me, and the blade would cut my vagina. Anyway, as he turned the handle, the ribbing on it began to irritate my skin. But Tom and Larry only thought that the ribbing would make it much more fun for me. Tom even asked me if I liked it, and I'm afraid I had to say I did.
He put the handle in between his two hands and began turning it as if it was a stick and he was a boy scout trying to start a fire. Now the pain became pretty intense.
All the time, as he was doing it, he and Larry had a running conversation about it.
They really dug the sight, they said. "It looks brutal, real cool and brutal," Larry said. Than Tom offered to let him take his place.
Larry did, and the rapid turning of the thing continued. Meanwhile, Tom climbed on top of me and asked me to suck him off. He told me that he wanted to see whether I had "learned anything." since the first time I had sucked" him off.
He was soft, and the first thing I had to do, he said, was get him hard.
I took his penis into my mouth, all at once, and sucked on it as if it were the nipple of a bottle. My sucking, at first, wasn't good enough for him, and he asked me to suck harder.
I did, and he finally liked it.
Then he ordered me to insert a finger into his asshole. I found that repelling, and wondered whether the next thing he would make me do was to eat him there. I knew that I would refuse to do that, no matter what he did to me.
I did what he asked, though.' It was disgusting, because his asshole seemed to be caked with shit. When my finger pushed inside, it touched a turd. I swear to God! I almost vomited.
Well, by this time, his penis was hard, and it was pressing against the rear of my throat. No matter what I did, though, he seemed unhappy with my technique. For one thing, he held onto my head and forced it in and out over his penis. For another, he was constantly complaining that I wasn't sucking hard enough. Which wasn't true, because at times it felt as if my lungs were coming out.
Meanwhile, Larry was having hell of a good time with the knife. He was fascinated by the sight, and couldn't do it without talking. He kept up a running commentary. He got very excited when my vagina juices had finally coated the handle with a very thick layer of liquid. He asked Tom to turn around and look, but Tom was too busy and wouldn't. Finally, Tom had to tell him to shut up and leave him alone.
Larry then climbed up on the bed and began to lick me all around the handle. He sucked on my clitoris, all the while pumping the handle in and out.
He became pretty vicious, if you ask me. That handle was giving me a lot of pain, but I couldn't do anything to show it. I had to concentrate on Tom as if I was an expert prostitute or something.
Well, Tom's penis was pressing against the back of my throat, and I gagged on it a few times. Once, it even looked like I would choke.
Tom told Larry that he was going to come soon, and wanted to know whether he would like to fuck me at the same time. Once again. Because after that they would have to go.
Larry said he didn't know, because right then he was having such a good time pumping me with the handle that he wanted to continue. Tom said, "suit yourself, asshole."
That didn't bother Larry one bit.
Tom started pushing into me really fiercely, his body jerking up and down as if he were coming already. I expected his juices to flow into me, but they didn't. He was just building up to it.
Suddenly, the handle was pulled out of my vagina. I felt Larry leaning back on the bed, getting ready to put his penis into me. He pressed the tip against my labia, and it was quite hard. In a second, he was deep inside of me, and the entire bed was shaking back and forth to the beat of their combined tempo.
I felt so small underneath them. Tom towered over me, and Larry also. I was once again completely at their mercy, my body their receptacle for their lust.
They just pumped away at me.
Then Larry, in a move that really scared the shit, out of me, pressed the knife handle against my body. He slid it all over it. I thought he was going to stab me, to wait until he was coining and then let me have it.
Soon they both came. Just like the other times, every bit as vigorously, only this couldn't have lasted as long this time.
I remember muttering, even as Tom's penis was still in my mouth, my thanks to God that it was finally over.
-As soon as I had checked out the scene, making sure that I was really alive, that I hadn't been dreaming, I ran out and summoned the matron.
That's it. You know the rest of the story. I told my tale, for the first of what seems like a hundred times, to the headmistress that morning, but she seemed more amused than outraged. The headmaster was called and he reacted the same way. Finally, when I persisted, the two insisted that I ought to see you. Do you believe me?
CONCLUSION
Frankly, I did not know whether to believe her or not. On the one hand, she had a history of lying that went back to her first day at the orphanage. On the other, she insisted, more than at any other time, that her story was true. Her insistence might, for all I knew, be as much a product of her enlarging credibility gap as of the truth itself. I could speculate about her account to no end, for there were several inconsistencies, several rough spots that seemed to indicate she was toying with me. But there was really only one way to get to the bottom of the affair: a lie-detector test. However unreliable they are, they are the only tools available save for sodium pentathol, the so-called truth serum, which is a much more radical procedure. I thought of trying hypnosis, but since that would require the consultation of a specialist (I was a very poor hypnotist), the orphanage ruled that out as too great an expense. A lie detector test was easily arranged, at my recommendation, with the police. One was scheduled two weeks later.
GENERAL CONCLUSION
The problems of these eight subjects have common themes, some the result of their past, of the institution of the orphanage, and still others of their unique individuality.
However, the total weight of their accounts portrays the orphanage as a place where real affection is rare, and sex flourishes as a subsitute. We find entire dormitories engaging in public masturbation as a game, as a release, on the other hands, one girl who masturbates in public places, when and where she pleases, for like motives.
We find lesbianism which is real and natural, and lesbianism which is the product of coercion. We find rape by other orphans-if Pia's story is accepted-by orphanage staff, and by a headmaster himself (and there is more credibility to this story).
And despite the hardships, Caroline's interview proves that love can flourish in an orphanage as well, though the odds against it are great.
