Surveys within the field of psychology, as well as criminology, indicate that the most heinous offender in our society is, unquestionably, the child molester. To understand just how deep the roots of this conditioning reach within the collective consciousness, one need only observe the hysteria triggered by the public disclosure of a sexual approach made upon a preadolescent or adolescent. In response to this overwhelming public attitude, the legislatures in 30 states have proscribed the maximum penalty of death or life imprisonment for sexual intercourse with a female child.
Public concern seems to be focused on the immediate psychological damage inflicted upon the child, as well as the fear of future maladjustment in married life. Although this cultural view is not entirely unfounded, recent behavioral studies indicate that the problem is far more complex than previously supposed, involving profound psychological involvement of the sexually awakening child.
This important factor is stressed in Kinsey's Sexual Behavior in the Human Female:
There are as yet insufficient data, either in our own or in other studies, for reaching general conclusions on the significance of sexual contacts between children and adults. The females in the sample who had had pre-adolescent contacts with adults had been variously interested, curious, pleased, embarrassed, frightened, terrified, or disturbed with feelings of guilt. The adult contacts are a source of pleasure to some children, and sometimes may arouse the child erotically (5 percent) and bring it to orgasm (1 percent). The contacts had often involved considerable affection, and some of the older females in the sample felt that their pre-adolescent experience had contributed favorably to their later socio-sexual development.
Moreover, Kinsey points out that the strong cultural taboo attached to these child-adult relationships are in themselves often responsible for psychological trauma experienced by many children. In fact, children in our society are so thoroughly conditioned to anticipate sexual advances by adults that often genuine affection or accidental contact may trigger an emotional crisis for the child-sometimes with serious consequences-even though no real sexual motive is involved.
As Kinsey and his associates explored these relationships further, they discovered that a rather high percentage of the children involved were sexually approached by members of their own family or close relatives. Kinsey found this to be valid in at least 23 percent of all cases surveyed; Landis and his colleagues revealed 35 percent of the adults involved were relatives, while Bowman reports that the adult involved was a stranger in only 7 out of 46 cases, family friend or relative in the other instances.
These detailed investigations have done much in dispelling the stereotyped beliefs which are so deeply ingrained in our culture. Although there are a certain number of cases in which rape or other physical damage is done to the child, in a vast majority of the cases no appreciable harm resulted from such contacts. These findings do not, of course, imply that such relationships are "healthy," merely that they fall, clinically, within the normal pattern of sexual behavior. Dr. Kinsey cautions us to distinguish between the innocuous sexual contacts and those of a more serious nature; for, if the child is not hurt physically or psychologically by the contact itself, the parents' lack of understanding may very well affect the same undesirable result.
Clinical research in the field of psychology indicates that a rather wide range of sexual behavior is observable from early infancy onward. Moreover, the so-called normal behavior of an individual is directly related to the nature of sexual conditioning within any given society. As long as this conditioning prevails, a gap will necessarily exist between the actual sexual expression and the ideal which the society sets for itself at a given moment in time. This, in part, explains why society expresses rage when a female child is sexually approached.
In his study, Sexual Deviation, Anthony Storr takes this fear one step further:
Fortunately, cases of rape or of actual bodily harm are extremely rare, and the attention which such cases attract is out of all proportion because of the high value which society attaches to female virginity; that it is assaults upon girls which most shock the public. The seduction of boys, although deplored, and although often thoroughly reported in the Sunday newspapers, does not usually arouse such violent emotion. If it did so, the waiting lists for entry into public schools would hardly be so long as they now are.
Although many people would still maintain in spite of the above conclusions-that any sexual contact between child and adult is "sick,"
"degenerate," or even "criminal," the serious student must take such pseudo-moralistic reactions with a grain of salt, so to speak. In fact, one might accurately consider these irrational beliefs as part of the problem itself; that is, having been forced to repress childhood sexuality, the adult passes that conditioning on to the child. This, in turn, causes the child to repress his sexuality, i.e., to curb his sexual expression to conform to the ideal.
Given the tremendous conditioning against such acts, our question now is, what motivates an adult-male or female-to approach a child sexually?
According to Storr, the adult who engages in various forms of sexual activity with a child is acting out a need for gratification he cannot attain in a mature relationship. Along with this feeling of inadequacy, the adult male may suffer from fears of impotency. In some cases, homosexuality is the motivating factor. Pedophilia, as the sexual love of children is sometimes called, includes a variety of activities which do not always involve physical contact. Often the male needs only express affection to the child by giving presents, or by winning his love or admiration. The most frequent sexual advance, however, usually takes the form of a verbal approach or genital exhibition. Adult satisfaction is thereby achieved by shocking the child, which is, again, a form of admiration. There are a significant number of cases reported by Kinsey in which oral-genital contacts are made; although actual coitus between adults and children is considered quite rare by most authorities.
It is interesting to note that the subject of adult-child relations has occasionally appeared on film and in literature. One outstanding example is thatof Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita (which, incidentally, has given rise to the term "Lolita complex"). Sundays and Cybele, a film dealing with an adult love affair with a preadolescent girl, also delves rather deeply into the psychological motivation underlying this type of behavior. These two examples show the varying range of physical contact. While Lolita dealt strongly in sexual imagery involving a child seductress, the lovers of Sundays and Cybele act-ed out a platonic, completely nonphysical relationship.
Frequently, it is the child who initiates the contact with an adult; or, more often, it occurs through a mutually expressed desire either of an overt or covert nature.
In the child's early development, he becomes conscious not only of his feelings about himself, but also what other human beings are feeling about him-especially parents or others in authority. The child becomes aware of himself sexually through the exploration of his body and the touching of genitals; almost simultaneously, he becomes aware of the concern which adults express toward him regarding sexuality. It is the female child who feels this preoccupation with sex most intensely, especially as she is taught to cover her nakedness and otherwise guard her sexuality, protecting her virginity.
In Male and Female, Margaret Mead discusses this aspect of sexual behavior:
... Older boys and men find little girls of four and five definitely female and attractive, and that attractiveness must be masked and guarded just as the male eye must be protected from the attractiveness of their older sisters and mothers. It seems that the more completely women's feminity-as a positive point, not a negation of maleness-is recognized, the more they are taught to protect it. A small girl, chic and entrancing, is sufficiently a temptation to a grown man so that societies usually have devices to protect her, circumscribe her, teach her not to exhibit her sex, which she herself lacks the wisdom to moderate....
As the child emerges from preadolescence and into the adolescent stage of development, he reaches a period in which he must learn to adjust his sexual feelings toward the parent of the opposite sex. For, although the child is capable of experiencing a significant degree of sexual attachment and pleasure from older members of the opposite sex, he is discouraged from expressing this feeling and obtaining gratification by the various forms of incest taboos. It is during this period, also, that the child must learn to come to terms with his feelings of rivalry toward the parent of the same sex. This critical moment in a child's development, the gradual process of several years of "family romance," is known as the Oedipus complex.
To most people, the term has taken on a negative meaning, due, no doubt, to the fact that it is derived from the Greek, mythological figure, Oedipus, who killed his father and married his mother. Also, it is now rather widely accepted by the lay public that a child who grows into adulthood without resolving these oedipal strivings will encounter some serious psychological difficulties. Yet, as Dr. Mead observes, in a stable society and in a healthy family atmosphere, disastrous consequences need not result during the oedipal period. After all, by protecting the child, especially the female child, from advances of older men, the society is, in fact, attempting to maintain social order because society is built upon the stability of the family unit.
Although most of the examples of child-adult relations seem to indicate that the contacts were not, generally, harmful, and actually rather commonplace, there are occasions when these contacts proved deleterious to the child's sexual growth. Dr. Frank S. Caprio, in his study, Female Homosexuality, observed that a significant number of subjects reported a traumatic experience with an older man during the adolescent period. These experiences did not necessarily include forcible intercourse, but did, however, involve some form of repulsive sexual demand on the part of the man. When suddenly confronted with these demands, and, in conjunction with other conditioning factors, such as a weak or alcoholic father, dominating mother, etc., the subject did develop an early aversion to normal heterosexual relations leading to homosexuality in later life.
Thus, we see that the complex set of values involved in child-adult relationships, though structured for the benefit of the individual and society, sometimes go awry and defeat the purpose for which they were intended. A male child, for example, who does not fully resolve his oedipal strivings, may never develop a mature sexual response in adult life. Often the frustrations arising out of the Oedipus complex are partially released through aggression and domination, which may involve the acting out of incestuous relations with children.
Eric Berne, author of the bestseller Games People Play, has characterized the roles of the typical, domineering father or mother in what he calls the "uproar" game:
The classical game is played between domineering fathers and teen-age daughters, where there is a sexually inhibited mother. Father comes home from work and finds fault with daughter, who answers impudently; or daughter may make the first move by being impudent, whereupon father finds fault. Their voices rise, and the clash becomes more acute. The outcome depends on who has the initiative. There are three possibilities: (a) father retires to his bedroom and slams the door; (b) daughter retires to her bedroom and slams the door; (c) both retire to their respective bedrooms and slam the doors. "Uproar" offers a distressing but effective solution to the sexual problems that arise between fathers and teen-age daughters in certain households. Often, they can only live in the same house together if they are angry at each other, and the slamming of doors emphasize for each of them the fact that they have separate bedrooms.
If the child in question is the son or daughter or a close relative, these actions may be sublimated so as to stay within the bounds set by the incest taboo. If the child is not related to the adult, those inhibitions may be pushed somewhat in the background, and a more direct physical contact is likely to occur. It is primarily for this reason that great care is usually taken in the institutionalized selection of guardians for orphans and fatherless children.
Berne points out that, although the game of "uproar" can and often is played between mother and son (or even brother and sister) to diver the incestuous impulse, it is less frequent with the male child. Berne attributes this to the fact of greater mobility on the part of male children. In other words, if the game gets too rough, they can always walk out of the house, and, if need be, stay out. However, in more recent years, female children have greatly increased their mobility, as the high incidence of runaways attests. Perhaps it would be worthwhile to survey the important role played by the unresolved oedipal strivings in the current "youth rebellion."
CHAPTER ONE
Come Dream With Me
"Once, when I was a very little girl, I saw a picture of a slave market. Only the slave girls weren't captured princesses dressed in beautiful silks, their heads held high as Clark Gable bid against some rich sultan for them; these slave girls were mostly children wearing rags, with their eyes full of hunger and fear. It killed the Sunday morning movies on TV for me for a long time. A full five years passed before I experienced eyes like that, and when I did, they were my own.
"Actually, I'd glanced into the cracked hall mirror to avoid looking directly at our neighbor's frowning face as she spoke sharply into the telephone. I was too ashamed and frightened to face her or anyone just then. Too much had happened in too short a time.
"For the most part, a child's world is a fairly limited and vastly isolated existence, especially in this country where parents usually spend so much time 'protecting' the children from reality. As long as the child is fed, clothed, treated reasonably and shown a touch of tenderness from time to time, most kids center in on their small upsets and desires, oblivious to everything else.
"I was no different until my eleventh birthday. Until then, all I really wanted was a dog to play with and to pretend we lived someplace where there were trees instead of billboards. The only serious problem I had was my two brothers, one ten and the other nine. Both, I felt, were put on earth for the sole purpose of annoying me. Then Mom died in an automobile accident, and with her went my solid, secure universe. I guessed she'd actually been out getting me a birthday gift or picking up a few things for the party we were to have the next day.
"I don't know when Dad found out she was actually out with some other man. Because, once she was gone, we were forbidden to speak of her. There was a very decent funeral attended by a handful of friends and relatives. Then, after everyone had gone, Dad took the three of us to the grave while the workers unceremoniously shoveled in black earth. His mouth was a thin, white line when he finally spoke. I know I'll never live long enough to forget his words.
"'This is your mother,' he began. 'Women are no damn good! Your mother was no damn good! I don't ever want to hear any of you mention her again! Ever!' His cold, tearless eyes moved over us, remaining longest on me. In that moment I wished I had the courage to throw myself into the rapidly filling black pit and be done with it. Because I knew as surely as I knew I loved my mother that I was going to be a woman one day soon, and 'women were no damn good."
"From that day on, I did try-I really did. I attempted to take care of the boys, to keep the house in some kind of order, to fix meals, even to cheer up Dad as he sourly moved about the house. Inside me was the need to keep as much of my universe intact as I could, but the fight was lost before it began. Dad took to staying out more and more, the house and the three of us kids were becoming more and more disorganized until finally, one night, Dad didn't come home at all.
"The neighbor, Mrs. L-, found the note under her door the next morning. 'Have Susan call her aunt Helen about finding a place to stay. I'm not coming home anymore.' It wasn't even signed. One look at my terrified eyes and pinched white features and Mrs. L-decided to make the phone call herself. She was angry, and even her anger accentuated my great sense of shame. It was all my fault. Somehow I had messed everything up. I had failed miserably. First Mother, who might have been safely at home if it hadn't been for my greedy demands for a present and a party; then Dad, an even greater loss in a way, because I'd put all I had into making him comfortable and happy, and still had driven him away. Now I stared into the mirror at my eyes while the neighbor talked with an aunt whom I barely knew.
"'I'd take them in myself, if I didn't already have six of my own!' Mrs. L-emphasized on the phone. 'Either you get that family of yours together and decide what to do with these half-starved kids, or I go to the police! What? Yes, I can put them in a cab and have them at your house in an hour."
"The following days were filled with emotion and strangeness. Urgent calls were sent out across the country as Aunt Helen hustled like crazy trying to get us homes so she wouldn't mess up her plans to leave for Europe the next week. Finally, answers began dwindling in. Two distant relatives would take my youngest brother. Six, all of them farmers with more daughters than sons, were eager for the biggest boy. But no one wanted a half-grown city girl who couldn't contribute much but an appetite and a need to be dressed and cared for. I watched the last of my life leave me-first little Ray, then Greg. I tried not to cry and to be very unobtrusive as Aunt Helen stomped around the house in silent rage, convinced that she was very likely to get saddled with me. I wasn't all that surprised to find that no one wanted me, but I would have gone happily off with the devil himself if only to be out of Aunt Helen's graying hair.
"Then came the call from California and Uncle Merle. It was simple and to the point: Uncle Merle's ancient mother had passed away recently, and if 'the girl' was able to look after herself and cook a meal now and then, she could come live in the big old family home, if no one else would have her.
"I'd never even heard of an old Uncle Merle from California, who was actually my mother's uncle, but it wouldn't have mattered. I wasn't consulted about my future anyway. Aunt Helen was delighted. T visited there once when I was a little kid. It's a great big house and Uncle Merle kept sneaking candy into my dress pocket. I'm to send you out there on a plane, but first we have to get you some decent clothing. Uncle Merle's sending the money right away. The old boy must be pretty lonely to want to bother raising a kid at this point of his life. He must be near sixty now.' Aunt Helen was a little more relaxed now that she knew I'd soon be out of her life.
"We shopped the next day, then packed, and the next thing I knew I was on a plane headed for California, with Aunt Helen's words still ringing in my ears. 'Now remember, Susan, Uncle Merle is the only one in the family who would have you. You be good to him or you'll be out on the streets, hear? You'll have no one to blame but yourself if you end up in one of those orphan places. Now behave yourself."
"Her words did little to calm me down before my first meeting with this uncle of mine. I went into the little bathroom on the plane and looked hard at myself. What I saw encouraged me a little. The new outfit made me look a little older, and, out of sheer nervousness, I'd brushed my brown hair so much in the past few days it shined like glass. I wasn't even twelve, but my young, lean body was already beginning to curve in the right places. I wanted desperately for this old man, who held my life in his hands, to like me.
"He was waiting at the gate and spotted me immediately. 'I bet you're my little niece, Susan!'
"I looked up at the graying man, somewhat surprised at his appearance. I'd visualized an old, stooped man, but Uncle Merle turned out to be tall and slim, with tanned features-handsome, you might say in a dignified way. Sort of like some of those movie stars you see. The ones you know are old enough to be your grandfather but just don't hit you that way at all! Uncle Merle dressed much younger and he smelled of some expensive scent I liked very much. My heart was thudding away like mad as I nodded. If only he liked me.
"We ate lunch at the airport, watching the planes take off and land. It was an easy way to get to know each other a little. There really wasn't all that much to say to each other at first, so Uncle Merle invented a game for us to play.
"'Come dream with me,' he said, smiling as he picked at his salad. 'Where are all these people going? Where have they come from? An airport is an open doorway to all the world. That girl over there, the one with the baby. Where do you think they are off to?'
"I opened up haltingly as my imagination was tickled by the game, and together we guessed about people while we packed away a huge lunch. I was giggling like a little girl by the time Uncle Merle paid the check and steered me towards his car. He put a warm hand on my shoulder as we walked, and I felt a funny thrill pass through my body.
"Uncle Merle had a nice but oldish car, and I was too busy sneaking my first peeks at California to be more than dimly aware that I was being observed carefully by my new guardian. We drove to San Bernardino and finally stopped before a large, weathered but still lovely old house in the middle of a rather run-down neighborhood. I fell in love with the house at once, and with my big old-fashioned room. I especially adored the gigantic bed with a real canopy top! After Uncle Merle left me to put away my belongings, I sat down on the bed and hugged myself. I actually had a home! And what a home!
"Uncle Merle had some business to take care of until evening. He told me to stay home until he returned, to write down any phone messages. Planting a kiss on my forehead, he left and I was all alone.
"I spent a wonderful day in the house, exploring, bathing, watching TV-color at that-and nibbling on all kinds of delicious food in the kitchen. The house was very clean, but I did find a few dishes to do. Then, when it began to get dark, I thought I'd better get dressed in a clean outfit so I'd look nice for my uncle.
"He came home while I was still undressed, and I quickly slipped on a dress. He'd brought a bag full of steaming Chinese food, and the gathering of plates covered over any shyness we might have felt over being together again.
"Uncle Merle asked me to get ready for bed and then come to his study for a little talk after we'd tidied up the kitchen together. Happily I put on one of my new flannel nightgowns and a robe, taking great pains to put all my other things away properly. If I did the least thing wrong and Uncle Merle made me leave, well.... The thought of it was so awful, I pushed it aside at once.
"The 'little talk' was fairly confusing, but to the point. There were certain things expected of me, and the sooner we understood them, the better. For reasons I didn't understand, the neighborhood had fallen apart in the last years, and was beginning to overrun with 'inferior' types of people, not the sort of people 'we' socialized with. So Uncle Merle didn't want me to have anything to do with the local children. However, I might meet a few in the junior high school who would do, but Uncle would have to approve of them first. All of that meant very little to me, but if Uncle Merle didn't want me to pal around with the local kids, that was okay with me. I'd never gotten along with most kids my own age, anyway. I'd always been too shy, and too busy helping with my brothers.
"I was also expected to help around the house and be absolutely obedient. Uncle Merle explained he was not used to having children in the house, and the only reason he decided to take me in at all was because he'd been assured I'd be very, very obedient. I agreed eagerly. A thin net of perspiration began to break out on my forehead at the thought of letting this man down and having to leave this house. The world outside seemed big, very cold and threatening all of a sudden.
"Then he smiled, and our serious talk was over. We chatted about school and hobbies, and finally, about boys. I blushed all over when Uncle Merle asked me if I'd ever let a boy kiss me.
"I admitted shyly that once, after school, on the path behind the playground, one of the bigger boys had grabbed me. He'd forced his mouth to mine and done some other things, too-but I only told Uncle Merle about the kissing part.
"Actually, it had happened only a month earlier, and the whole thing was still vivid in my mind. I'd known that Jimmy F-was spending a lot of time lately looking at me, but I really didn't know why. Then he'd offered to walk me home. He was nearly fifteen, but he hung around the junior high a lot although he was a freshman. I just shrugged when he suggested walking me home. I'd had to stay after school to catch up on some work and it was pretty late.
"We walked in silence until we came to the path. Then Jimmy stopped me and told me to kiss him. I didn't even have a chance to refuse when he grabbed me. I lost my balance and we fell to the soft earth, Jimmy on top of me. His mouth closed over mine, and all of a sudden he was trying to dig into my mouth with his tongue. It was a funny sensation which I wasn't sure I liked. But a peculiar warmth spilled through my body as he kept kissing me and forcing his tongue on me.
"Once in a while, late at night in my bed when I couldn't sleep, I'd felt little tingly sensations pass through my limbs, causing my tiny, undeveloped nipples to tense. Sometimes, I'd sneak a hand to my little pussy and rub it, because that seemed to be where all the strange feeling was coming from. Usually, I'd force myself to roll over and go to sleep. Once in a while the whole thing would feel so nice and warm I'd continue playing with myself, and one time I even got so excited I pushed a finger into the juicy little pit down there. Now, with Jimmy's mouth on mine, his tongue lapping at my tongue, his heavy body stretched out alongside mine, I was once again feeling the way I had the night I'd poked a hot finger up my own slit.
"Jimmy began to move his hands over me, over the hint of fullness encircling my small nipples. It felt so good it left me confused and more than a little afraid. I knew we shouldn't be doing this, but at that moment I couldn't imagine why not. That made me all the more frightened, so I tried to make Jimmy stop, but he was like an animal, all hot and worked up beyond hearing me. Then I felt his fingers on my legs, moving rapidly upwards between them.
"'Just let me touch you, Susan,' he moaned. A peculiar hardness pressed against my thigh as his hands moved higher. Then he was touching my panties and a hand was slithering under the band of lace around my thigh. I tried to stop him, I really did, but I couldn't. Before I could do anything he was rubbing my hairless pussy, prying it open with his rough hand. I cried out, but that didn't stop him from digging into me with his finger. It was a lot bigger than my own, but instead of pain all I felt was a staggering shock of hot pleasure as his finger forced its way up my wet, hot virgin hole.
"I don't know how long he continued playing with me like that, but I wasn't fighting so much anymore by the time he stopped.
"'Look what you do to me. Susan. You're not like those other girls. They're babies. Look at what you do to me,' he repeated, unzipping his fly-
"I reacted instantly to the sound of his zipper opening. Looking down, I watched him pull out and hold his long, thin cock, only it looked different than my brother's looked. This one was very stiff, and the end was dark and had a drop of something on it. I really did try to fight Jimmy off when he forced me to take it into my hand. But once again he was too strong.
"He placed my fingers around it and began moving slowly back and forth. It felt strange, all hard and poundingly alive-more alive, somehow, than the boy himself. The drop at the end was gooey and warm. Then Jimmy began kissing me again and suddenly I didn't mind holding his prick. In fact, I began to move it on my own, and at once Jimmy's hand returned to my cunt.
"I know it was only a minute after that-but it was forever as far as I was concerned-he kissed me kind of fast, his tongue licking mine; my hand was working on his dick like we were in some kind of race. I don't know where I was-in some cloud somewhere, but all of a sudden Jimmy began to pant against my mouth. Then he sort of doubled over and shuddered, as if he had a really bad cold, and my hand was abruptly bathed in two quick spurts of thick cream. Much of what I'd heard from other girls or read in forbidden books suddenly made sense-Jimmy had come, he'd shot his sperm into my hand, and I was as much fascinated as repelled by what had just happened.
"He released me then, pulling his finger from my shameless hole which had welcomed it minutes before. I jumped to my feet instantly, ashamed and frightened. I grabbed a handful of leaves and wiped my hand, then turned on the boy with an anger I didn't quite feel. I told him my father would kill him if he ever touched me again, that I'd go to the school, the police, his parents, everyone, if he told anyone what we had just done. I really think I scared him.
"I took a hot bath as soon as I got home, but deep inside I still felt frightened. I knew what we had just done was terrible, yet I also suspected that part of the reason I was so upset was because we had stopped, not because of what we were doing. I hadn't ever wanted that nice feeling to go away, and in the bath I rubbed that part of my young body with special vehemence, as if to punish it for enjoying what had happened.
"I must have done a good job of convincing Jimmy that his life was over if he ever came near me again, because after that one incident, he kept his distance. But I'd thought of it more than once, and each time I worried a little less and concentrated instead on how wonderful it had felt.
"But I carefully told Uncle Merle only about the kissing part. Even as I talked, I experienced the same body hunger as when Jimmy had run his hands up my thighs. If Uncle Merle had any idea of how I'd acted, how much I'd liked what we'd done that day....Dad had been right. Women were no damned good. Somehow I had to keep Uncle Merle from finding out I was almost a woman.
"He was studying my face when I looked up after relating my altered story of how Jimmy had forced me to kiss him and how I hadn't liked it. His blue eyes seemed unusually bright and his smile was a little tired.
"'Poor little innocent,' he said finally, softly. He sat back in his big leather armchair. 'Poor frightened child. Here, come to your old uncle. Come sit on my lap, my sweet. Come dream with me, and I'll tell you about pretty little girls like yourself who like being kissed. Come dream with me, princess ... ' he offered, holding open his arms.
"Still flushed with excitement from thinking about that time with Jimmy, grateful that whatever I'd said somehow seemed to please him, I gladly crawled into the warm, welcoming cave of my uncle's waiting lap."
In the case of Susan, we see a subject who, at least in the early stages of her sexual development, is engrossed with symbolic fantasies resulting from the unhealthy influences of a domineering father. It is significant that Susan's earliest fantasy recollection involves a television program depicting the plight of young girls bought and sold in a slave market. Although the subject chose to interpret this experience as being a prophetic memory, a foreshadowing of her own future situation, it is clear that underlying this incidental recollection is the unconscious attempt to resolve her own incestuous feelings.
Susan clearly saw the relationship of the slave girls to her own situation even to the point of identifying the girls as being really children not unlike herself.
In developing his theory leading to primal therapy, Arthur Janov attempts to clarify the symbolic nature of sex by differentiating the sex act from the more comprehensive relationships involved with the sex experience. The sex experience, according to Dr. Janov, is really the deeper meaning behind the physical motions.
The author of The Primal Scream goes on to relate these factors to the overall sexual development of the individual:
It is the primal hypothesis that when needs are deprived and feelings are blocked early in life, they emerge in symbolic form. In sex this means that the act will be experienced (usually via the fantasy) as fulfilling the need.
Dr. Janov then describes an actual case in which the childhood fantasies are maintained during intercourse. Note the similarity of Susan's father to the one described in this case:
During sex, a woman fantasized being dominated, ordered about, and held against her will. The experience of the act was that of the helpless child, a victim of sex rather than an equal partner. This woman had a brutal and sadistic father who called her a "whore" when she was a young teen-ager. He refused to allow her to date and derided her use of makeup. She denied her want for father's love but during sex re-created herself as a helpless victim (of her father) in order to allow herself to feel anything.
Throughout her childhood, Susan became increasingly aware of the conflict between her mother and father, and, more acutely, her father's sexual frustrations resulting from that conflict. This awareness coincided with her own developing sexual consciousness, which, quite naturally, was directed toward achieving gratification with the father figure.
The environmental situation worsened due to her mother's frequent absences from the household. When it became evident that her mother was conducting extramarital affairs, the door was open for Susan to assume the role of substitute mother for her younger siblings, as well as a more active "wife" role with her father. It is quite possible that this latter role crept into her early sexual fantasies, as indicated somewhat obliquely, by her feelings of shame and fright experienced after the slave girl episode. However, because of her father's brutal feelings toward women in general, Susan was forced to suppress this budding sexual impulse. The death of her mother not only caused further estrangement with her father, but unfortunately deprived her of the one older person in the household capable of giving her the genuine affection she really needed.
Following the trauma caused by her father's abandonment, Susan experienced an initial period of depression and anxiety. However, this brief period of insecurity was more than compensated for by the removal of sexually neurotic influences detrimental to her future development. This heavy paternal conditioning was manifested chiefly in the area of sexual guilt, which Susan experienced in her first heterosexual contact. Had this influence been allowed to continue, it is quite possible her adult sex relations would have had homosexual overtones.
Dr. Frank Caprio considers this type of paternal influence to be one of the major factors contributing to sexual frigidity in women, as well as overt homosexuality. He comments on this in Female Homosexuality:
In latent homosexuality, we find many women who express a disinterest in the opposite sex and are unable to appreciate the fact that this heterosexual block is the result of an unconscious incestuous fixation to their father (Electra complex). This leaves them with the alternative of either resorting to self-gratification as an outlet, the repression of their sexual urges, or the seeking of a homosexual love relationship as a substitute for heterosexuality.
This tendency is clearly demonstrated in Susan's case, first by the initial aversion to her first heterosexual experience, after which she regarded herself, and especially her genitals, as having been made filthy by the contact; and, secondly, by her compulsive need to masturbate immediately afterward.
Susan's Electra complex was transferred to her foster father, Uncle Merle. This new father figure was not only attractive to her physically, but appeared to be free of the neurotic anxieties Susan grew to expect from her biological father. Her uncle did not regard all women as evil creatures, nor was he afraid to openly display his affection. Since Susan was already familiar with the role of wife substitute (though not, as yet, in a sexual capacity), it was predictable that she should find no difficulty in adjusting to her environment, and in fact, welcoming the prospect of serving a "new master." This corresponds to her childhood fantasy of the dashing hero who saves the poor slave girl from the evil sultan.
"It had been years since I'd sat on a man's lap, not since my dad used to hold me long ago, in happier days. I liked it a lot. Instead of talking to me, though, Uncle Merle was silent. I didn't mind. In fact, the long day suddenly took its toll, and I drifted off to a light sleep, aware but comforted by his arms around me. When I awoke it was with a start, as if something unusual had happened.
"'It's all right,' Uncle Merle comforted me.
"That was when I became aware that what had been a soft lap was now a seat of steel. It took me a few minutes to realize the hard rod I felt under my round little ass and aching young slit was my uncle's cock, stiffer, even, than Jimmie's had been. Immediately, I felt ashamed of myself. I had somehow managed to get it hard for him. I hadn't meant to, but somehow I'd done it anyway. The panic died quickly, though, when it seemed Uncle hadn't noticed anything unusual, and he certainly wasn't acting as if anything were wrong.
"I slid from his lap slowly, though, pleading tiredness. He agreed it was time to get to bed. He reached over and kissed me good-night, his hand accidentally slipping around my butt instead of my waist. I kissed him back, my wet mouth touching his dry lips briefly.
"Once more I cursed Jimmy as I got into the strange, big bed. If I wasn't so awed by the immaculate sheets and the fabulous bed, I knew I'd be digging my fingers into my little cunt again. And somehow sitting on my uncle's lap hadn't helped. Bathed in a nice, bubbly heat, I finally slid into a dreamless sleep.
"Time passed quickly. I attended the nearby school, formed no friendships because everyone I thought I might like ended up being rejected by Uncle Merle. But that was okay, too. We lived together very comfortably, with the only other figure in our lives being Mrs. C-, who cleaned and cooked for us twice a week.
"Uncle Merle seemed really happy with me, and I filled out and regained my good pink coloring under his attentions. Best of all, I liked the evenings when he would invite me upon his lap and tell me to come dream with him. Then he'd tell me stories of places he'd been and the beautiful young girls he'd known in faraway, exotic countries. Even though I was growing every day and filling out more and more, I loved it even more when that hard bar of his distended cock would appear as if by magic under my shifting hips. I began to find excuses to sit there longer once I'd feel it creeping to life under me, and soon, without either of us admitting it, these sessions existed only for the times when I could roll around on its hardness. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with what we were doing, only sometimes after such an evening, I'd find it impossible to sleep for long hours until finally, out of desperation, I'd run my hands all over my aching body. It wasn't until after I turned twelve, though, that I actually was able to finger myself enough to come.
"The first time was a surprise. I'd spent a good hour on Uncle's lap, his strong arm around me just under my growing tits.
"Uncle Merle had told me some story about a little girl in Japan he'd once known-a silly little story-but all the while his hand and cock were exciting me so much I didn't know what to do. I finally excused myself and went to bed. There I lifted the gown and began playing with my wet slit like crazy, rubbing the little stiff marble of flesh with one finger while I dipped a finger from my other hand in and out of my hole. A fierce building sensation began deep in me, and, almost before I knew it, I was somehow brimming over, trembling and moaning, overtaken with spasms that lifted my being to ecstasy and relaxed my clenching thighs. It was wonderful, and I fell into a deep sleep almost instantly.
"I soon got into the habit of finger-fucking myself that way after every session on Uncle Merle's lap. I never stopped to wonder what my uncle did after those same sessions. I'd asked him once about how come he'd never married, only to find out he had been married a long time ago to a beautiful young girl. But she'd left him, and he'd never remarried. He didn't seem to go out with women, but I don't think Uncle Merle's personal and sexual life existed in my mind. He was just there, dependable and warm. Somehow we always seemed to end up touching, and that was fine with me.
"Then one night, I had a horrible nightmare. I'd done a pretty good job of repressing all that about my parents and my brothers and my entire life before coming to live in California. But the dream had my father coming for me. He was slapping me hard and telling me how women were no good, and then I realized he had his pants open, and his cock was sticking out. Only it was enormous, and it was shooting great gobs of thick white come at me. I screamed, but he kept slapping me. Then arms were around me and I was blinking sleepily.
"'llncle Merle!' I gasped, relaxing against him. 'I had this awful dream....' I shivered.
"'It's all right. It was only a dream. Shhh....' He began to stroke my hair.
"It felt so good to have him hold me that I sighed deeply. 'I don't know if I can go back to sleep after that dream."
"He continued stroking me. 'Try. I'll stay here. Would you like that?'
"I nodded vigorously. 'Oh, yes! Sleep with me, please! Hold me, please.' I snuggled against him, suddenly very aware of how my thin nightgown was halfway up my thighs and that underneath I was completely naked. Feeling all cunt, ass and tits, I wriggled against him, dimly aware that I wanted him against me for many reasons.
"He climbed into bed, wearing only his silky pajamas. He was old, yes, and my uncle, yes. But my heart was racing as violently as if he had been Jimmy or some other young boy who would soon be fighting his way up my cunt. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to scare him away, so I pretended to sleep.
"I guess I actually did drift off to sleep in his arms, because I don't remember anything between the time he got into bed until I became aware of my uncle's hand covering one of my tits completely, squeezing gently. I didn't move, just let the good feeling wash over me. Soon I realized the bed was rocking in rhythmic waves and Uncle was breathing harshly. Finally, I felt him shudder against me. Then he moved around a little, sighed contentedly, pulled me even closer to himself and fell asleep.
"Before dawn, I awakened again. I'd twisted in my sleep, and discovered my gown had fallen open. My stiffening little nipple was pressed against my uncle's cheek, and it's hard tip was wet. Vastly excited, I realized Uncle Merle wasn't asleep but was only pretending, and that he had been sucking on my titties while I slept. I forced myself to breathe regularly and deeply. Soon I felt the old man stir, and, sure enough, he began to lick, then carefully suck my nipples, taking one after the other into his mouth. My hungry pussy felt as if it were on fire. But soon Uncle stopped and turned over.
"The next night I had my 'dream' again. Somehow I knew he wouldn't be able to sleep with me and ignore my hot pussy much longer. I was right.
"I'd played at sleeping for a long time, and finally Uncle Merle seemed to believe it. He began to stroke me, first as he did when I sat on his lap, touching my hair, my shoulders, my back. Finally, as if he couldn't stand it anymore, he started rubbing my legs. I twisted just enough to be a convincing sleeper while convieniently allowing my gown to tangle higher and higher around my thighs. When I felt the cool sheet under my naked ass I kept still and waited.
"His hand was soft and feathery on my inner thighs, and I hardly felt it at all as he carefully placed it on my lightly haired pussy. He touched the little lips lovingly, and his breathing shortened noticeably. After what seemed forever he began running his fingers into me where it really counted, not penetrating me exactly, but fondling and feeling, even prying the little cunt lips apart. But I was totally unprepared for what happened next. All of a sudden Uncle Merle twisted around, moved his head down my body. The next thing I knew, the old man was licking my pussy like crazy! His tongue was a hot bolt of fire as it lapped greedily on that knot of flesh I knew felt so wonderful from any kind of a touch. Then it shot into my hole deeply, and I cried out in such pleasure that I couldn't pretend sleep another instant.
""Oh! Ooh! Oh, Uncle Merle! That feels so ... so ... oh! Yes! Do it to me more! Lick me there again! Ooooh....' I sighed in wonder.
'You're licking me! You're sucking me!' I lifted my hips against his face rubbing my young pussy against his twisting tongue. Neither of us could help ourselves at that point. I could feel the bed rock as it had the other night, and I looked down to see his wrinkled hand tugging on a cock much bigger than Jimmy's. Quickly, I reached down for it. Remembering that night in the alley, I began working my small hand on his big knob while he licked me.
"In minutes I was panting and brimming over inside. I stopped jerking on Uncle Merle's dick only when it was spurting wildly in my cupped palm.
"Afterwards, he was very quiet. I didn't know what to say, either, so I kept very quiet. When Uncle Merle finally slipped out of my bed and wordlessly left the room I gave in to a moment of pure panic. Now he knew. I was no good! I had made him do all kinds of strange things! What if he was so shocked, so sickened he would send me away? Suddenly I was sure of it! He would send me away! He would make me go someplace where they kept girls who were bad, girls who didn't have anyone! I began to cry softly. Finally, by morning, I managed to cry myself back to sleep.
"We were like strangers for days after that. But since nothing was said about sending me anywhere I began to relax a little. Even more, I began to get hot again. I didn't like sleeping alone, either. One night I cautiously asked Uncle Merle if I could sit on his lap and talk. But he made an excuse of some kind and left the room. I honestly didn't know what to think.
"I couldn't sleep that night. Finally, after worrying and tossing for hours, I tiptoed to my uncle's room. He was asleep. Gingerly I reached out and began to play with his soft cock. It came alive in my hand almost at once. When it was hard, I pushed the covers away and looked at it. It was too dark to see much, so I bent over, getting a closer view. On impulse, I rubbed the hard, throbbing tool against my soft cheek. It was then Uncle Merle awakened with a groan. He twisted slightly, just enough so that the head of his prick was suddenly against my parted lips. Before I realized what I was doing I had opened my mouth and leaned closer. The thick, rubbery dome was in my mouth then, and like a little animal, I began sucking on him-sucking my uncle's cock like I'd been sucking cock all my life..
"Well, maybe I was no good. Maybe my dad was right. But everything that was supposed to be so awful felt so darn good it was hard to believe I was bad at that moment. I sucked more and more of it into my mouth, and before too long my groaning uncle was twisting around until I felt my gown being thrown up and my thighs forced apart. Then he was licking my pussy again, and we were sucking and licking on each other like neither of us would ever be able to stop.
"I came first, but that didn't stop us. By the time my uncle was jerking off against my face I was coming all over again. I was so caught up in that moment that I nearly gagged on the mouthful of heavy cream spurting down my willing throat. I kept sucking him until he was all soft and weak again. Then I let go of him, but Uncle Merle only tightened his hold on my legs and soon I felt his warm tongue again, a ferreting little animal, diving into the warm cave between my thighs.
"There was nothing to talk about after he'd made me come another time. We just couldn't help ourselves and there was no point in trying anymore. I told Uncle Merle about my father, and how women were no good, and how my mother was no good, and even what had really happened with Jimmy that day. It didn't pretend to be conversation. It was a release, and I felt better afterwards. Then Uncle Merle began to talk, and he explained that my father was wrong, women were good and the feelings I had were good, though I was very young to be feeling them. But he was concerned over what we were doing. Society would condemn us, he told me, if they knew. It was my turn to comfort him then. I assured him no one would ever know. Then I began to suck his cock all over again.
"After that we slept together every night. We licked, sucked and played with each other, and one night I asked him to fuck me. But he wouldn't. It was funny, kind of, but he wanted me to save that for a man my own age who would some day come along and take me away. I kept telling him it was his big cock I wanted in me, his hard shaft I needed to break through my little cherry. We argued, and finally I gave in when his agile tongue found and pushed into my tiny, puckered anus for the very first time.
"It became something of an obsession, though, after that. We celebrated my thirteenth birthday by playing in bed half the day and most of the night, but he still wouldn't fuck me. Finally, I got him to agree just to rub his hard cock against my wet slit, between my clenched thighs. I got on my hands and knees and he got behind me. I began to moan from the moment he shoved his dick between my thighs. Moving back and forth like that excited me wildly, and I moved faster and faster, wetting his shaft more and more with each stroke. It was only a scant inch from my pulsating slit, and I began to beg him to put it into me.
"'Oh, Uncle Merle, fuck me please! Please shove that big cock of yours up me! I want you to so much! Please fuck me! Please!' But he wouldn't, and that was when I first threatened him. I told him if he didn't fuck me, I'd find someone who would-I'd let the first boy or man who wanted to get inside me. But he didn't believe me.
"I had to wait a full week for the chance, but I was absolutely determined that Uncle Merle would give up his silly reluctance and give me what I wanted, what I needed.
"Bill worked down the street from us, on the lawn of the only other old house left in the neighborhood. I'd greet him sometimes when I'd come home from school, and I knew he was dying to get into me. He was an older man, not as old as Uncle Merle, but that didn't matter. What mattered was my timing, that was all.
"Surprised, he accepted my offer for a Coke one evening just as he was finishing the neighbor's yard. But once in the house he became nervous. I assured him my uncle wouldn't be home for hours, then I excused myself. When I returned with his Coke, I was wearing my shortest skirt, making it very obvious I wasn't wearing panties underneath.
"He barely touched the Coke. When I sat down on the couch giving him a good look at my naked little cunt, he got up quickly, came to the couch and rapidly pulled me to my feet and against him.
"'You little cock-tease! Look what you did to me, Susie, baby!' He reached into his baggy pants and pulled out a good-sized prick that was so hard it trembled in his hand. 'I want to fuck you, little girl. I want to fuck you bad!'
"I was gambling everything on timing. Nervously I glanced at the big front door. Was that the soft hum of the sedan pulling up to the garage? I had to chance it. 'I'll let you fuck me, Bill. I like you,' I said, figuring that, at worst, he would fuck me. From the size of his tool, that wouldn't be so bad, and then Uncle Merle wouldn't have any reason not to fuck me. But it was his, not Bill's cock I really wanted deep inside me. It was Uncle Merle I wanted fucking me!
"Bill pushed me down on the couch. He was too far gone to bother with anything except getting inside me as quickly as he possibly could.
"I let him arrange my thighs, one of them over the back of the high couch, the other up pointing at the ceiling. Then he lowered himself between my thighs, his hand going for his stiff cock. 'I never done it to a chick as young as you, baby. But I been watching that little ass of yours swinging down the street a long time now and I want it bad!'
"I felt the very tip of his cock brush against my defenseless, open lower lips and I knew I was about to be fucked by this stranger. A sudden disappointment filled me. I wanted it to be Uncle Merle! I wanted my guardian's prick taking care of me!
"Just then the key scratched in the lock, and, before Bill could absorb the meaning of that sound and move, the door opened and Uncle Merle was standing there, his face white and shocked.
"The scene that followed was a beauty. Bill never suspected that it was jealous rage rather than simple parental protectiveness that made Uncle Merle carry on like he did. Finally, Bill was sent away, warned to never set foot in the neighborhood again, and I got my very first spanking from my uncle. I didn't mind it at all, though. In fact, I kind of liked it in a way. He brought his hand down a dozen times on my red little butt, and I cried loudly until finally he let me up. I turned around to show him how red he'd made me, and instead of softening him up, it only made him more angry. He called me a bunch of names, told me if I was that hungry for a fuck, a fucking was just what I was going to get!
"He half-dragged and half-raced me to my bed. There he threw me back on the bed, dropped his pants to the floor, and climbed on the bed. His cock was enormously hard, and inwardly I gloated. Then its tip was pressing between my legs and I was gasping....
"First I felt pressure, then pain. Crying out, I forced my thighs open even more and held tightly, impaling myself on his big shaft. Then the pain turned into such pleasure I thought I'd pass out from it. All of my uncle's anger was in his prick, and he was breaking through my cherry like crazy, fucking me as I'd dreamed of being fucked for months.
"When he finally shot his load in me and rolled off my young body in exhaustion, I was glowing and happy. His anger as well as his come had been drained from him, and we hugged each other tightly.
"'Some guardian I've turned out to be,' he said sadly, after he could talk once again.
"I grinned up at him happily. 'I think I like my new guardian better,' I teased. 'I like the way he uses his gun."
"Uncle Merle playfully slapped my greedy hand away. Suddenly I was very glad I was so young. After all, I'd be needing a guardian for a long, long time."
The mutual attraction which engendered sexual contact between Susan and her guardian cannot, in many respects, be considered as true deviant behavior. It would be wishful thinking to suppose that an older man-even a foster father-would not be sexually aroused by an attractive young girl. And, as Susan's one earlier sexual experience with an older boy indicates, she, too, felt the need for sexual gratification. Perhaps, the only clearly defined distortion in Susan's initial sexual contact can be found in the sense of guilt fostered by her father's neurosis. Once this sense of guilt was removed with the help of Uncle Merle, Susan was well on her way toward experiencing healthy and mature relationships with males her own age. In fact, the subject exhibited a frank sexual approach throughout the interviews, and demonstrated a degree of maturity that exceeded her age.
In Sexual Freedom, Rene Guyon observes that it is, indeed, not uncommon for girls to manifest a strong sexual desire which often begins in the preadolescent period:
Sexual appetite arises very early in childhood. With few exceptions, little girls are sooner informed about the details of the sexual life than are little boys; are more ready than boys to take part in it, being inclined to tempt men's advances at an age when their brothers pay scant attention to women and are more prone to casual homosexual encounters. Speaking generally, the sexual appetite awakens earlier and subsides earlier in the human female than in the human male, and this gives us a valuable pointer for the sensible regulation of the sexual life.
CHAPTER TWO
Portrait of Marsha
"I don't know what to think anymore. In a way, maybe I don't even care what's right and what's wrong. So I've had a weirdo childhood-things have always been different for me. I'm just not like the other kids. And I never have been. Oh sure, maybe way back when I was five or six-maybe then I was like the other kids. But by the time my folks died, when I was eleven, everything changed.
"Things happen to you when you're an orphan. Some good things, some bad. I say what's done is done and leave it be. What's past is past. Forget it. Don't think about it. Now you come along and want me to tell you all about my background, all about being an orphan and what it's meant. Okay. Why not? But I hope you're not the type who shocks easily. It's not a pretty story. One thing I can tell you-to be a girl orphan is hell.
"To begin at the beginning, the first eleven years of my life were good years. My folks had money. They weren't wealthy, but we lived pretty good. Dad had been taking flying lessons and one day he suggested that all of us pile into his rented Cessna and he'd give us a ride over to Carson City. We'd make a day of it. Yes, I can still remember that whole incident; my mind's like a cassette tape about that period in my young life-I can play it over and over again, remember all the colors and smells, what my mom and dad said, and how I felt about it.
"It was going to be my first time up in a plane, any kind of plane, and of course I was very excited at the idea. To cut a long story short, Dad cracked up the Cessna. Wiped both my parents out. I was thrown clear of the wreckage, suffered a concussion and a broken leg, but that's all. No, that's not all! I suffered the loss of both my parents; I went through an experience frightening enough to scare the holy hell out of anybody. But on the record, it just says concussion and a broken leg. That's all.
"What's always seemed a bitter joke to me is that both of my parents were orphans, too. Orphans beget orphans. I've often wondered if there's some deep-rooted psychological compulsion for abandoned children to do the same thing to their children. My folks died when they were in their late thirties, and I've somehow always felt that I'd never live to see forty. I wonder if there isn't some kind of fixation that goes with a child's exposure to the shock of parental death; a feeling that the same thing will happen to the child, and subconsciously, he manages to have an accident or takes an overdose or something so that he, too, will die at about the same age as his parent-or parents. I wonder if that's why I don't expect to live to be forty years old.
"Anyway, when I was well enough to be released from the hospital, the question came up of where to send me. There wasn't much choice. I can't blame anybody. An orphan with no living relatives-not even a second-cousin off in Australia, nothing-has very little choice. So I was placed in St. Austine's, even though they knew I wasn't Catholic. The sisters were very nice to me, and made a lot of fuss over me. Mostly, I guess, because I was such a beautiful child. Mother had always said that I looked just like Liz Taylor when she was in National Velvet. I never saw the movie, so I don't know.
"Anyway, the sisters were very good to me, but after a while I sensed there was something wrong. We kept having an Open House when all sorts of people would wander into the visiting room and talk to all of us kids. They always made me feel like some used article in a thrift shop; some people would even pinch us sometimes, as if to be sure we were firm and ripe. It didn't take long for the word to get around-St. Austine's had been given a condemned-building notice. They didn't have the money to build a new orphanage, so all they could hope to do was find foster homes for all of us.
"I guess I'd been there about a year when I was sent to my first foster home. The Drews. I'll never forget the Drews. Mrs. Drew made it very clear, from the very first day, that she needed help with her twin babies and that they needed the extra money the state would pay them for taking me in. Talk about your slave labor! Mr. Drew paid very little attention to me. He was a short, tubby man, and always needed a shave. His breath smelled faintly of cheap whisky mixed with mint. I can still remember the way Mrs. Drew turned me around, feeling my arms and legs, looking at the insides of my eyelids like some cow on auction. 'Healthy kid, that's for sure.' She snorted. And the way Mr. Drew just grunted. 'Pretty enough, too.' That was that. If Sister Agnes had come in with a burning branding iron, I wouldn't have been surprised. I half expected to be carted out to their old car with bellowing calls of 'Ho!' like in the cattle drives in the movies.
"And Mrs. Drew hadn't been putting me on, either. The first day she showed me where everything was in their run-down clapboard house. It wasn't a dirty house, in the sense of people who just aren't clean, but dirty because it was obvious that Mrs. Drew couldn't cope with the raising of her twins-their laundry and ironing, the marketing-and keep her house immaculate as a hospital. Only the front parlor ever felt the vacuum-and even then, she never seemed to vacuum under the chairs, just around them. For weeks and weeks, I did just as I was told, moving mechanically, feeling very much like some alien princess in a nightmarish fairy story. They were not unkind to me, they merely treated me like some robot obeying their bidding.
"When the social worker came out on her routine visit, I calmly explained that I wasn't happy. She asked me about maltreatment, but I had to deny that. I just wasn't happy. Then she confided in me that I wasn't supposed to know all these things, and that maybe I was too young to fully understand, but the truth of the matter was simply that my father's estate was tied up. He had carried ample life insurance, but under the terms of his will, my mother was the only person who could be the executrix. Obviously, he'd never planned on both of them going at the same time. I would get the money, of course, but not before I was twenty-one. In the meantime, I was a ward of the state and there was nothing to be done about it. The social worker advised me to just hang in there, and that eventually I'd be independent and quite well fixed.
"Do you know how far away twenty-one sounds to a twelve-year-old? Have you any idea? It was life imprisonment! Cinderella never lifted a broom with a heavier sigh of bitter resignation!
"Then, about a couple of months later it happened. I suppose it was inevitable. Such things seem to be. It was a Saturday night and, as usual, Mr. Drew was plastered by six in the evening. What was not usual was that Mrs. Drew had gone to Denver to see her ailing sister, and wouldn't be back for three days. A girl of twelve is really quite mature emotionally; she knows her duties and responsibilities and is perfectly capable of performing them. That Saturday, I'd prepared Mr. Drew's dinner and we sat in silence eating our meal. The TV was on and he was watching the 9th inning of some old baseball game. When we'd finished, I cleared the table and began washing the dishes. I was lost in a world of my own, working out a special project for school in my mind, the kind of project I enjoyed most: drawing. We had been studying King Arthur and each of us had to come up with a drawing, in any medium, which we felt best represented the spirit of the story. I'd already decided to make a collage instead of just a crayon drawing, but choosing the right materials would be quite a problem-especially living with the Drews. They didn't even subscribe to a magazine! There was almost nothing at their house for me to work from. I must have been so preoccupied with this project that I didn't hear Mr. Drew come into the kitchen and stand very near to me-quietly leaning on the washing machine, watching me.
"'How's that busted leg of yours, kid? The one they said you'd busted when your folks committed suicide."
"I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of his voice, rasping and faintly contemptuous. 'My parents did not attempt suicide-the crash had been an accident, even the coroner had agreed to that.' My words were out before I realized what I had said. I suppose in a way I felt all my frustration and loneliness well up and spill over in a tidal wave of emotion. I dis tinctly recall that I couldn't see anything for what seemed to be an hour. The next thing I knew, I had hurled myself at him, beating him with my small fists, and screaming at him that he was a liar. I kicked and bit for all I was worth.
"He overpowered me almost at once. Reeking of cheap whiskey, he dragged my struggling body into his bedroom and tossed me onto the bed like a discarded rag. Before I could get my bearings-much less my wits-about me, Mr. Drew had taken four of his neckties from the closet and, despite all my efforts, had both of my wrists securely tied to the bedposts. Still laughing and mumbling to himself, he bound each of my ankles to the bedposts, leaving me very much like someone just placed on the rack for torture. I remember that I was crying, almost strangling in my rage, feeling helpless, lost and loathing this stupid nut who had bought me as his slave.
"I'd never felt such a murderous hate before. I remember that the exertion had left Mr. Drew huffing for breath, and I remember wishing he'd have a heart attack and drop dead! It would please me to know that he'd tied up the only person who could have gone for help.
"But I shouldn't have wasted my fantasies on the old fart. I stared in horror as he began to undo his pants, folding them neatly over the worn chair next to the twins' cribs.
"'Think you're smart, don't ya,' he snarled at me. 'Think cause you'll be rich someday that you're better'n us, huh?'
"I was too damned scared watching him undress to even consider answering his ignorant questions.
"'Got yourself a real pretty face, and a bunch of nice fancy manners-"Yes sir, Mr. Drew; no m'am, Mrs. Drew!"-and really think you're the Queen of Sheeba, huh? Well, I've got news for you, Miss Fancypants. My missus got you out of that poor folks' orphanage to help her out with the chores, but you ain't done nothin' for me yet! Nothin' at all!'
"While he was babbling all of this, he'd removed his trousers, undershorts, shoes and socks. His tubby, short body was completely naked from the waist down, exposing his bulging belly, his pasty white skin, and his flabby rounded short legs with fine black hairs covering them like an ape's. And, of course, his cock.
"There he stood. Yelling at me. Telling me off. Showing all his colors-and his fat cock. He'd been fondling it, giving himself a hard on, and telling me off all the while. I suppose I knew what he was going to do next. The animal in us, I guess, always knows about these things. I was terrified, but in an awful sort of way, I think that I was glad. Glad because what he was about to do would give me the ammunition to get away from the Drews and their nasty little Drews.
"Mr. Drew walked up to the side of the bed. Kneeling down, he belted me across the face with his chubby hand. I yelled, of course. He told me to shut up, belted me again, and I howled again. I don't know what the hell else he expected a kid to do after she's been struck-say thank you? Then he began pinching my body, hard. Ripping my frock off, he kept mumbling to himself that a girl my age should have some tits on her. But I had nothing, nothing at all. I was a late bloomer in the breast department and I was flat as a boy at that point in my life. This fact angered old Drew considerably, and he struck me again, as if I'd purposely denied him this joy. Then, sulking and muttering that at least I'd have to have a twat worth screwing, he yanked my panties from my body and his mouth worked strangely, twitching and bubbling, while he fixed his bleary eyes on my hairless young cunt.
"'You ain't even a woman yet, you dumb kid! Hardly worth the effort! Look at ya, look at what ya ain't got yet! No tits, no hair. What the fuck you good for?' Then he grinned dumbly. 'Yeah. Fuckin'; that's all!'
"Then he crawled across me and, kneeling between my outstretched legs, he began to wave his angry prick at me. 'See this, Miss Fancypants? I'm going to fuck the living shit out of that dumb baby cunt of yours 'cause that's all it's good for. I'm going to show you what it's all about, Miss Prissy."
"With that verbal foreplay, dumb Drew heaved his body over mine and began to jab at my virgin pussy with his burning cock. I could feel his hand around its shaft, trying to guide his short, fat and ugly dong into my young body. I could hear him muttering and cursing as he poked and shoved but couldn't quite manage to insert it into my vagina. His whiskey breath upon my face nearly made me vomit, and his weight upon my body nearly crushed me. But I endured his fumblings with as much dignity as I could muster. Obviously I had no choice. Tied up the way I was, old Drew was going to take my cherry and there wasn't a goddamned thing I could do about it!
"Then he pulled the lips of my cunt apart with his hands and wedged his cock between the folds to hold the area open. He took hold of his cock and pushed it into the entire length of my pussy until he found the hole, and then he shoved it in with a screech of animal lust. I screamed and began to sob loudly. The pain was incredible. If he'd taken a sharp stake and driven it into my pussy, it couldn't have been more painful. Pinned and tied as I was, I submitted helplessly as Mr. Drew began fucking me.
"Through my tears, I could see his naked, fat ass pumping at my cunt, smell the stale whiskey on his breath, felt his slimy body slipping across mine with dank sweat. Despite the agonizing pain he was putting me through, and the humiliation of suffering this lecherous drunk's assault, I kept telling myself over and over that it couldn't last very long and it would be the last time he ever bothered me again.
"'Gonna fuck Miss Prissy's cunt real good, gonna get my rocks off right up Miss Fancypants' snatch. Fuckin' her real good, ain't I, Marsha, fuckin' her real good."
"Disgusting old fart. It was bad enough he was doing it, but did he have to describe it as well? I felt his fat prick shoving up inside me, stretching my flesh beyond endurance, beyond its young capacity, and I knew that I was bleeding badly. I could feel a sticky hot puddle beneath my buttocks and I knew it was my own blood. Perhaps if I hadn't hated him so much, I could have puked all over him and been done with it. But instead, my hatred stopped me from passing out into a peaceful oblivion and I felt every merciless thrust of his stocky, fat body.
"Fortunately, he didn't last very long. Though it felt like hours of torture, I realize now it wasn't more than maybe three or four minutes at the most. He grunted savagely, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he shot his come into my cunt-his filthy degenerate sperm into a twelve-year-old girl's virgin body.
"He left me tied up that night. I cried myself to sleep more in humiliation and anger than anything else. Oh, I was in raw pain physically, but the rape was mental as well. I knew that the penalty in that state for rape was death. And I knew that I would never rest until I saw that creature's death certificate. I believe the death penalty should always be given to any man who rapes a girl under the age of twentyone ... or maybe there shouldn't even be an age limit at all-one rape, one death.
"As it was, however, I had to content myself with testifying against him and with the reading of his death in the newspaper. I remember I smiled when I read it, I experienced an enormous sense of relief that there was some kind of justice in this world after all. By that time, I'd already been placed in the home of new foster parents, the Putnams. They knew about my horrible experience, of course, and Mrs. Putnam was the sort of person who thought that if you didn't think about a thing, it never happened. Mr. Putnam was quite different, though."
The incestuous attachment which Marsha feels toward her current foster father is, perhaps, a necessary and, indeed, beneficial requisite to developing a mature adult sexual response. Prior to her relationship with Frank, this case history reveals a continuous flight from heterosexuality resulting from a series of traumatic experiences with previous foster fathers.
The most traumatic of these experiences occurred during her pre-adolescent period when she was assaulted and raped by her first foster father.
Texts dealing with psycho-analytical studies in criminal or deviant behavior, such as The Sexual Criminal by J. Paul de River, M.D. and Anthony Storr's Sexual Deviation, previously cited, stress the important fact that sexual violence toward children-especially rape-is, fortunately, quite rare. These acts are usually a result of severe mental disorders, brain damage, or alcoholism. The alcoholic syndrome was present in the account of Mr. Drew's brutal assault on Marsha; in addition to that, strong elements of sadism were also manifested. Our opinion that Marsha is lucky to have been spared a worse fate is echoed by criminal psychologists investigating the case. It would appear that Mr. Drew was quite capable of murder.
However, the psychological damage inflict-ed on Marsha is not to be underestimated. The years following this trauma were marked by long periods of severe depression amply illustrated through her artistic temperament by fantasies directed against the opposite sex.
Unfortunately, this trauma was not to be her last exposure to deviant male behavior. There is much truth to the observation that Marsha experienced more in her sixteen years than a great many women experience in a lifetime. It is, therefore, not improbable in this case that the subject would develop a strong aversion to heterosexual relations. Moreover, if it were not for the compensating factor of her artistic pursuits, this heterosexual aversion may easily have evolved into overt homosexuality.
Another extremely unfortunate aspect to this type of sexual contact with aberrant male individuals is that it conditions the child not only to expect the worst from all older men, but to regard gestures of affection as being of a sexual nature. As Anthony Storr points out, this type of conditioning can cause the child to have serious problems of adjustment in its post-adolescent life:
When one partner is in reality both larger and more dominant there is a strong risk that any erotic advance which he makes may seem to the child to be an assault rather than an expression of affection; and, even if the adult does not actively use force, the child may become frightened that he will do so. To small children, adults who are in any way uncontrolled are likely to be frightening, whether they are angry, drunk, or sexually excited. There is, therefore, a danger that, as a result of sexual contacts with adults, sex will become unnecessarily frightening to the child and may interfere with its capacity to enjoy lovemaking in later life. This is particularly likely to happen if the adult who makes the overture is the child's parent, and most psychiatrists will have seen cases of frigidity in women which resulted from an incestuous advance on the part of the father. It is not difficult to produce a condition in a girl in which any subsequent advance from a male is repudiated because it is regarded as an attack rather than an invitiation.
It is important to note some of the general attitudes adopted by the child as a result of her chaotic background and history of maltreatment. Marsha has failed to attach herself to many of the avant-garde social and political movements usually associated with persons of her temperament and her intellectual capacity.
Significant from the point of view of this analysis is her attitude toward the woman's liberation movement. At first she dismissed the cause as being worthless, stating that she valued art history over "sex history" because she already "knew everything" there is to know about the latter. Women, she believes, have always been dominated by men, and now the time has come for revenge and a reversal of roles. Women's lib would only free women to compete with men on an equal basis, and this conflicts with her stated aim, which is to dominate and control men. She describes herself, rather cynically, as a "feminine supremacist." This typifies her views on sexual matters in general.
Marsha believes that all men desire her physically, and that her prerogative to deny them sexual gratification is a source of personal power. In connection with this, we might also note her use of obscene language. Ferenczi points out that the use of obscenities among cultivated persons is more akin to a gesture, rather than merely a verbal image. Thus, Marsha's use of obscene words to describe sexual acts may represent her unconscious attempt to degrade what once were infantile objects of pleasure (the sexual organs), as well as her parents, with whom she associates that pleasure. In other words, the utterance of obscenities are, in some cases, an expression of repressed hostility directed toward the parental figures.
Although the theory is somewhat complex, it does correspond in Marsha's case to her feelings of "being let down" by her real parents who were killed. On another level,' she feels that her parents, who were also orphans, wanted to die, so as to beget another orphan. Ferenczi also notes that the use of obscenities often correspond to traumatic occurrences. Marsha suffered a double blow: first the loss of her parents, followed by a brutal rape.
From a societal standpoint, her relationship with her third foster father, which study follows, could be considered degenerate; from a clinical point of view, however, it would seem advantageous to encourage it. He is providing the first real guidance, sexual and otherwise, in a life marked by cruel and distorted behavior.
"Mr. Putnam was a dapper fellow and a stereotype reverse of old man Drew. Putnam was immaculate about his person, precise in manner, often complacent. He was the head teller in the payroll department of a leading industrial plant in our town, and awed with his own sense of responsibility. He left for work promptly at 7:45 every single morning of the week-not 7:43 or 7:47, but 7:45. He could kiss his wife farewell, straighten his garters, and glide through the front door of the house as if challenging an insurmountable blizzard. I found him very amusing the first week or two. For one thing, he was so unbelievable for a flesh-and-blood human being.
"During one of Mrs. Putnam's Saturday absences-she played bridge every Saturday afternoon-he summoned me into the parlor to have a serious chat. Really. There's no way of phrasing it; I was 'summoned' to 'chat.' Seat-ed across from him, Mr. Putnam cleared his throat and began his perverted Clarence Darrow interview. 'You've been with us for over a month now, Marsha, are you quite adjusted to our life and ways?'
"'Yes sir,' I answered demurely.
"'And what of the ordeal you suffered at your, ah, at your previous foster home? Are you quite over the shock of that?'
"I didn't know quite how to answer him. One can never be truly objective about such things, I suppose. When I failed to reply immediately, Mr. Putnam bent closer to me and peered intently into my eyes. 'That's to say, Marsha, have you overcome your terror of all men?'
"Well, I hadn't realized that I'd ever developed a terror of all men. Who was he to ascribe such a conclusion? But even then, I must have known subconsciously where to dot the i's and cross the t's. 'Men like Mr. Drew still frighten me,' I answered softly, a mounting dread growing inside my entire nervous system.
"'Yes, yes, I see,' Putnam affirmed needlessly. 'But not of men in general?'
"I shook my head. Frankly, it hadn't yet occurred to me to consider what old man Drew had done to me as typical of all men; why would it?
"'You realize, Marsha, that you are an extraordinarily beautiful girl, don't you? That all men will pursue you, want to have you physically?'
"'I hadn't thought about it, Mr. Putnam,' I replied and it was the truth, too.
"'Oh yes, m'dear. True, true. You have a remote quality that is absolutely irresistible to most men. Beauty and aloofness. An unbeatable combination in the game of love and conquest. Yes, yes. But there are all kinds of men, m'dear. All kinds. Drew was a fool. Rape is never really necessary. Do you know what a fetish is, m'dear?'
"'An obsession of some kind, isn't it?'
"'Hmm. In a way, in a way. Actually, it's a sexual aberration, a transference of sexual gratification from the standard preferences. Some men have a fetish for feet, for example, as opposed to the breasts or the vulva more commonly desired. Or ears, or hair, or even some article of clothing."
"He paused and emphasized that last bit significantly, and without knowing how or why, I knew that I was in for another Mr. Drew-a variation of the same theme. And sure enough, Mr. Putnam revealed it to me that afternoon. He had a thing about panties, about having someone watch him jack off, and on occasion, to be sucked off by a young girl. In this case, the young girl was me.
"As he explained his sexual preference to me, I saw that there was little recourse open to me. I could object and make my life a living hell, or I could cooperate and expect favorable treatment. Mr. Putnam made it perfectly clear that he was only approaching me because I'd already lost my cherry, that I was already a doomed person-I had nothing else to lose. He asked me to remove my panties-not demand or pull them off himself, but ask. I did. I watched him as he lifted the crotch to his nose, inhaled deeply, and saw the almost instant bulge in his pants.
"'Would you be so kind as to suck me off?' Mr. Putnam suggested.
"I can recall vividly how deliberately he undid his fly and brought forth his burgeoning cock. It was surprisingly large for so slender a man, and incredibly ugly with its angry inflammation and bulging veins. I experienced a moment of repulsion and terror, but that was replaced with a strange calm, a kind of life-saving resignation, and I knelt on the floor before his huge cock as if he was about to knight me.
"'Kiss it, Marsha, first with your lips and then with your tongue. Run your tongue all over it, the underside, the base, the head. Let me feel your sweet little fingers holding my shaft, cupping my balls. Yes, yes, m'dear, that's lovely, keep that up...."
"I gave myself over to the task with a whore's disinterest. My mind wandered to the books of art reproductions in our school library; to the analagous work of Grant Wood and Andrew Wyeth, to Cezanne's Mill at Pontoise-so serene and pastoral, yet busy with the forces of nature in juxtaposition with man's stubbornness to harness nature to his own will.
"I sucked Putnam's cock, listening to him breathe in the smell of my young pussy from my panties, and I envisioned him as Hogarth might have seen him....I felt his massive tool in my mouth, hot and rigid against my lips, and revelled in the fantasy world of Chagall, in the understatement of Modigliani. I knew that Mr. Putnam was about to shoot his sperm when he placed one hand at the back of my head and began to shove his cock into my mouth with a pumping motion which became more and more insistent with every pistoning stroke. I began to think of roaring trains in tunnels, of Olympic oil drills raping the earth's womb, and as his burning come began to spurt against my throat, I thought of pounding, deafening waterfalls.
"And it was over. Our little tete-a-tete was concluded. Mr. Putnam returned my panties to me; the crotch was sopping wet from his saliva and his teeth had punctured the material in several places, I was dismissed cordially, with almost a 'We must do this again soon' attitude. I had not been physically hurt, not trussed up like some captured animal. All I had to do was let him play with my panties from time to time, and suck his cock for him. After Drew, this seemed a very modest price to pay for peace and harmony in my life.
"In a way, Mr. Putnam was kind to me. He occasionally bought me little gifts-candy, or some inexpensive little bit of costume jewelry. I was with the Putnam's for quite a few months before Mrs. Putnam came home early from a bridge game and discovered us during one of our little 'sessions.' She went straight out of her head, berserk, and ultimately had to be commited. Of course, this meant a new foster home for me. I was almost sorry to have to leave the Putnams-they were so predictable that life had taken on something of a comfortable routine for me.
"After that, I was in several more foster homes. In all truthfulness and candor, in each and every one of those homes I was sexually molested by the husband or a son or some other older male in the family where I had no choice but to endure it. And by then, I had begun to feel that all men were the same. They wanted sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Sex was their reason for living and getting their rocks off was more important than world famine or wars. And I had learned that they cared precious little how they got their sex, just as long as they got it. I realized very quickly that the seat of the male intellect is in his balls. Now, I don't mean to belabor a point, but there again, I felt that there was no real disillusionment involved-I'd had the ultimate disillusion when my parents died. It was a fact, pure and simple. There it was. Like a mountain or an ocean-neither good or bad, just a fact. If I was to survive, I had to accept it.
"By the time I was fourteen, my passion for the world of art transcended all other considerations. I didn't think about boys as other girls my age did, or dates, or any other subject in school. In my school, ninth graders were permitted a few electives and, needless to say, I took art history and drawing. I spent hours and hours at the public library, studying paintings which the school library would not stock because of nudity or some other idiotic reason. I devoured Rubens, but felt nothing for Boucher except disdain. I went through a period of adoring Degas, but soon realized the superficiality of his mind by comparison to Gauguin or even Toulouse-Lautrec's posters; and I was captivated by the matter-of-fact Matisse. Utrillo's work held me for a short while, until I realized that his subject matter was romantic, not that he was. Braque, Leger, and Picasso-except in his pre-blue period-were of little interest to me. I have never felt that the purpose of art could be served by obscurity; art should help us to perceive with greater depth and understanding, not cloud the issue even more than it already is. Yes, looking back, I can see where Matisse and Modigliani had the greatest effect upon me-they were both capable of comment without censure.
"Also I began to read voluminously, primarily biographies of artists or other creative people. I needed to understand them, to put their lives into a framework wherein I could identify with them. I could not relate to the people I met in school or my foster families and their strange lusts to glorify ignobility. I studied hard at school to keep my other grades up, but I gave my soul to art. Knowing that one day I would have a goodly amount of money, I envisioned myself surrounded by beautiful art books and original canvasses-perhaps even a villa on the Spanish Riviera, beautiful enough for a monarch, rich with treasures from throughout the world. I would, by then, be a truly beautiful woman, with men throwing themselves at my feet, but denied my approval or my company. I'd paint myself in the nude over and over again so that all men could see the object of their desire and suffer because they could never possess me. I want to have my freedom, both as a woman and as a human being. The only way a woman can ever achieve that is to have money. I've seen too many households, watched too many female students overlooked in favor of the male. I want much more than that.
"Please don't make the mistake of thinking that I've been listening to too many women's liberationists. ... I've nothing in common with those people. They want equality. Let them have it. I want supremacy! Total, uncompromising supremacy and autonomy! Let others be content with equal pay or whatever it is they're yelling about; that's not what I want for myself. I can still remember, when I was living with the Zacharys, when Mrs. Zachary told me all about some old movie star. We'd watch all her old movies on TV and Mrs. Zachary would tell me all the movie magazine gossip that had revolved around her life at that time. Mrs. Zachary thought she was shameless and secretly basked in the movie star's antics. I, on the other hand, could quite understand what that movie star wanted-power, especially power over men.
"I think that maybe we're a little alike. I don't seek to destroy in revenge, but I'm perfectly willing to admit that I seek control, a status where never again will I ever have to submit to any man for anything. Even my father's lack of foresight in his will must be erased-because of it I've been raped and sexually humiliated over and over again. I doubt if any man can ever possibly know how a woman's mind works.
"Naturally, this era of adolescence was reflected in my art work at school. If we didn't have specific, assigned subjects to draw, I was invariably drawn to the morbid-to death and suffering, to line drawings of men's faces in physical or emotional anguish. It pleased me to dwell on this side of life, to use men to illustrate great pain and suffering. Now, of course, whenever I look at these early efforts, I laugh at how amateurish the work was. My anatomy left a great deal to be desired-which is one of the reasons I'm taking physiology now-and I had an excessively heavy hand with charcoal, almost as if I couldn't stand any blank spots on the paper.
"I became the object of considerable discussion at school. Apparently, my art teacher became concerned with my obsession with suffering and discussed it with the principal. In the meantime, one of the gifted children recruiters had visited our school and had thought my talents exceptional. Between them all, it was decided that my obsession was natural in view of what had happened to me in my life, and that if properly guided, I would outgrow it. It was also agreed that I had too much talent to be left in a public school. It was at this time once again that a new foster home was being sought for me.
And that's where Frank came into my life.
"Frank was vice president for our town's biggest bank, and active in local children's charities. The authorities felt he would make an ideal foster parent, so they decided that perhaps an exception to the foster home rules could be made if Frank would employ a live-in cook or other female employee. As Frank says, and I agree with him the more I think about it, the only reason they went to all that trouble was because they knew that I had a considerable amount of money coming to me eventually and hopefully I'd keep it flowing within the township limits.
"The first time I met Frank was like something out of The Seventh Veil. The brooding older bachelor and the talented young girl-except that I was not shy and Frank has never been such an inscrutable dictator. He's strict, yes, but he always explains his reasons to me. When all the arrangements were agreed upon, Frank moved from his bachelor apartment into a large house on the outskirts of town. lie employed a cook, a cleaning lady, and a female tutor, Miss Appleton, whom I quickly learned was his mistress. I rarely saw Frank in those first few months. And I immediately resented Miss Appleton-tutor, indeed!
"Frank kept me so busy I could hardly keep track of the time. I took private instruction in Italian as he wanted us to spend our summers in Florence, studying the great artists. Eventually he would send me there to further my career in art. Afterward, I would be sent to Paris.
"As the time sped by, I grew increasingly restless knowing that there was something wrong, but not quite sure of what. After all, I had everything I could possibly have wanted. My whole life was geared toward the study of art. By then, my body was busy with an art project of its own, converting the child into a woman, rounding me out generously. Then one chilly afternoon in the fall, I realized what was bothering me. Never once had Frank ever made any physical overtures toward me; he'd not even made any subtle verbal references! Nothing!
"Miss Appleton usually had weekends off where, I had surmised, Frank would join her for an outing together without me around. That following weekend, however, I played sick in order to keep him home. I'd never been sick in my life other than a common cold or some childhood disease, so when I said I felt ill, Frank was genuinely concerned. He cancelled his weekend plans, but Miss Appleton took her time off anyway.
"That evening, Frank brought me dinner on a tray in my bedroom, with cook following him carrying his dinner so he could keep me company. We talked-I mean really talked-like two human beings, not just master and pupil, or owner and slave. Later in the evening, he permitted me to join him in a brandy and taught me how to snip the end of his cigar-an aromatic panetella that enhanced his dark good looks.
"'Frank, I'd like to ask you something,' I began, a bit apprehensively but not truly shy.
"'Yes, Marsha?'
"'Why is it that you've never tried to fuck me?' It was out before I knew it and the scowl on his face spoke volumes.
"'Where'd you learn to use language like that?'
"'From my foster fathers. They always used that word, especially when they were having their orgasms."
"'Look, I know about Drew, about the rape and all that. But you've said "foster fathers" plural. Were there more rapes?'
"'Oh, not rape....at least, not like Drew. They all wanted to fuck me, or have me suck their cocks, or something else like that. I quickly learned that an orphan girl doesn't have much choice-it's either give in to them, or get raped again or maybe worse. But you've been, well, different from them, probably because of Miss Appleton...."
"'What?'
"Frank was doing everything in his power to remain calm and controlled, but I could see that he was deeply shocked. I told him then about old Putnam, and the others. I explained it very quietly, not wishing to upset him any further. When I'd finished, Frank poured us both fresh cognacs and sighed deeply. Slouched in the chair, he stared pensively out the window. Finally, he glanced at me and there was a new expression in his eyes, one I'd never seen before.
"'You're just barely fifteen and you've already gone through more than most people know about in their entire lives. No wonder your work leans so heavily on the macabre, is so brutally dark-that's all you've ever known. It also explains why you always choose men for your subjects. Do you hate men, Marsha?'
"'No,' I answered. 'I'm not sure quite how I' feel about them, but I don't hate them. In a funny sort of way, I think I almost pity them. That's all."
"Have you never known physical pleasure, Marsha? To want to have intercourse with a man? Have you ever had an orgasm of your own? Known the joys of your own body?'
"I shook my head and couldn't help a small smile. I'd never known that a girl was supposed to enjoy sex too. I thought it was just something that men had to do, but that it offered nothing for a girl but a husband to take care of her. I guess Frank sensed my surprise, because he smiled rather ruefully, then came to sit on the edge of my bed, his fingers toying with the bow at the top of my lounging top.
"'You know that you're a minor, and what the penalty is for an adult male to seduce a minor?'
"I nodded gravely, but already my stomach was tightening in anticipation.
"'And you know that you're a beautiful young woman, don't you? Well, Marsha, I've two choices and you must help me decide which is the right one. I can pretend you never confided in me and hope that eventually you'll meet a nice young man who'll erase all the rotten memories in your head. Or, I can reeducate you myself. But if you decide on me, you must be fully aware of the consequences if we're found out.
"'You could marry me,' I said only half kidding.
"'I could, but I don't want to even talk about it. If you want me, it will have to be understood that I may never marry you. I'm not about to make some sympathetic commitment to you. Either way, it does not reflect upon my love for you-only the quality of that love. Big brother, or husband, I still have learned to love you and nothing can change that. Nothing. If we have intercourse together, it's because we both want it-not because there's any price to pay or any obligation for either of us. Has it occurred to you that I could fall madly in love with you, but that you wouldn't want me as a husband? There can be no promises for either of us, Marsha."
"I wrapped my arms around Frank's neck and brought his face close to mine. While he'd been talking, I suddenly realized that I'd never been kissed by a man. I'd been raped, and I'd sucked cock, and fucked, but I'd never been kissed.
"Frank placed his full lips on mine and it sent thousands of tiny tingles through all my body. He kissed gently at first, then gradually slid his tongue across my lips and into my mouth, exploring that cavity methodically with his tongue while his hand undid my chemise and slipped underneath it to cup my breast. My body felt on fire from his touch! He massaged my breast tenderly, lovingly, teasing my nipple into a hardened knob with his thumb until my other breast was jealous.
"Gradually, he'd brought my breast into the open, away from my nightclothes, and breaking our kiss, he bent his head and began to kiss my nipple. I felt as if molten lava had been funneled from my nipple all down my spine. While he kissed and licked at my breast, I managed to squirm out of my nightclothes. When my body was free, I leaned back luxuriously and closed my eyes, giving myself up entirely to the wonderful sensations Frank was creating within me. Kneading the breast he was kissing, Frank played and toyed with the other one with his free hand, then shifted his hungry mouth from one nipple to the other, pushing my breasts toward each other as if they were part of a sacrificial offering to his mouth. I'd never known how exquisite my breasts could feel, how loved and wanted, or how hot I could get wanting a man to take my body.
"I kept trying to remind myself that I'd had, after all, two brandies-something to which I was totally unaccustomed-but there was no denying Frank's aptitude in lovemaking. His hands roamed across my body freely, touching my flesh softly but enough to give me chilling goose bumps. Occasionally, he'd let his mouth and tongue wander from my breasts and he'd nuzzle in the hollow of my shoulder, lavishing sweet wet kisses upon me there or on my neck. My ears, my lips, all of me ached to be kissed by Frank, to feel his mouth and his gently scratching beard upon my skin.
"Frank paused once to lean over and turn off the light by my bed, leaving the room in a soft glow of moonlight, and then he swiftly disrobed and got under the covers with me, instantly resuming his lovemaking. Only then I could feel his strong muscular body along mine, feel his arms around me, his chest with the fine hairs tickling my nipples, and his penis-which burned stiffly against my abdomen. Frank was ready. And so was I.
"But he had no intentions of just giving me a few kisses and a quick fuck; Frank was a lover. I attempted to take his throbbing cock in my hand at one point, but he wouldn't let me and whispered something about enjoying myself for a change.
"His mouth and hands never rested and I marvelled at his endurance-though I've since learned better. When he softly grasped my buttocks I felt like a peeled orange, ready and exposed for his cock, and wanting him to take me, to put his generous prick up inside of me and fuck me. But not Frank. Instead, he slowly massaged my cheeks, and kissed my abdomen, my belly button, my loins. My body arched and ached with wanting, and then I felt his hands gently pushing my legs apart. I opened my eyes briefly and saw his dark head nestled at my crotch, felt his lips grazing at the vee of my legs. Then, I closed my eyes, spreading my long white legs for him to do as he wished. I was his, totally his whenever he wanted me.
"His mouth showered tiny kisses on my thighs, on the flesh near my pussy and I thought I'd go insane from the intense heat he'd created inside my body. Then his lips surrounded my vulva and he began to tongue my pussy. I groaned loudly, both in fantastic pleasure and also in a feeling of tremendous relief, a feeling of being a woman having a man make love to her, not just fucking her. Frank's tongue never stopped working on my cunt, kissing the folds of my flesh, darting inside my vagina, dipping into my anal orifice, then lapping deliriously up to my clitoris. I was in agonizing joy, in excruciating pleasure! I'd never known anything like this could possibly exist. Tears gathered in my tightly closed eyes as wave after wave of beautiful sensation swept throughout my body.
"Twice Frank brought me to orgasm sucking my cunt. Two incredibily beautiful, intense, shuddering orgasms. At that point in time, I think I would have died for him-and I hated Miss Appleton beyond belief!
"Then Frank rolled over on his back, his rigid cock making a tent of the sheet he'd pulled over him while he had a cigarette. I'd snuggled up to his body with his arm beneath my head and I was so contented I could have purred. But there was his cock, waving in front of my eyes, and seeing it made me want him again, want him inside of me. To love me as tenderly with his cock as he had with his tongue, but inside of me, really up there all the way. I began to play with his penis, to tease it with my hand, 'Do you want me to suck it for you, Frank?'
"He smiled and said, 'No, darling. This is your night. Everything will be for your pleasure only. You can suck it some other time. Why don't you straddle me and use my cock as you wish? Anything that brings you pleasure."
"I was only too delighted to do just exactly that. I raised up and used the sheet as a mantilla across my shoulders at first. I let my legs fall on either side of his hips, and grazed his chest with my breasts, tickling him with my stiff little nipples. I could feel his hard cock pushing against my snatch, knocking to get in, but it felt so good just pressing against my pussy like that I waited a little while. Then, anxious as he undoubtedly was, I could no longer resist having that beautiful shaft up inside my cunt. I took it with my right hand and slowly began to push it up into my hole, at the same time lowering myself gradually down its length. I was amazed at how marvelous it felt, how powerful I felt to have such total control over his prick.
"I began to ride up and down his cock, leaning forward to kiss him or to push my breasts against his chest or to let him suckle them, yet all the while rotating my hips and feeling his hot member pushing in and out of my grasping cunt. How long we played like that, I'm not sure. Finally I felt all my blood rushing to my clitoris, felt the soles of my feet burning as if hot coals had been placed upon them, felt my stomach muscles begin to contract, and all of me seemed to explode in a blinding release of orgasm. And I felt Frank's cock bobbing within me, shooting gobs of come into me, expending his lust within my wanting body.
"I fell across his chest like a rag doll, completely sated, ready to adore this man who'd just made such a new woman out of me.
"Now, of course, our relationship is a little calmer. He has abandoned Miss Appleton-at least, as far as I know. But it's plain that no commitment will be made for quite some time. We make love frequently, but it is always at Frank's own good time-not when I want to. He must be the master in everything he does. Sometimes I hate him for it. But in bed, I adore him for it.
"Now that I'm sixteen I see things a little differently from those early days with old Drew and Putnam. I'm not sure what, if anything, will ever happen with Frank and me. But I do know that he holds my career above everything else in my life, and that nothing will interfere with that until I'm of age and have my own money. Perhaps what Frank needs is a little competition; a boyfriend to threaten his security. Maybe I'll meet someone interesting when we're in Florence this summer. We'll see. I'm not done with Frank yet."
Among the more bizarre sexual approaches which Marsha recalls occurred with her second foster father, who demonstrated a form of deviant behavior almost exclusively practiced by males, known as fetishism. Although this type of aberration contributed greatly to her distrust and fear of the opposite sex, it is not generally considered by authorities to be sadistic or harmful in nature. Marsha rather aptly portrayed the typical fetishist in her description of her foster father.
The word fetish, according to Storr, originally applied to magically endowed objects worshipped by primitive peoples. The word has since taken on a wider meaning and, according to the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, connotes "something irrationally reverenced."
Storr points out that most men are fetishists to one degree or another. The most obvious proof of this contention lies in the study of feminine fashion. Fashion depends upon the shifting of erotic focus from one point of the body to another. The part to which the masculine eye is first drawn is supposed to symbolize the totality of the woman desired. For a fetishist, however, the interest remains obsessively fixed. In the case of Marsha's relations to Mr. P., the erotic interest was centered in her undergarments, augmented by fellatio or masturbation. However, at no time were Marsha's genitals touched. This often occurs with fetishists who have a tendency to fear castration.
Following this series of sexual approaches by foster fathers, Marsha finally seems to have balanced some of her previous sexual attitudes through her relations with Frank. It is also interesting to note the arousal of her latent oedipal strivings with regard to Miss A., her tutor and maternal rival. In the initial stages of her relations with Frank, this emerging Electra complex posed a possible threat; but with Miss A. no longer in the picture, Marsha appears headed in the direction of normal adult relations indicated quite positively in her budding interest in boys her own age.
CHAPTER THREE
Clay's Theme
"I'm about as much an orphan as anyone can be. They tell me that I was found in a vacant room at the Claymore Hotel just hours after I had been born. Someone-my mother, I guess-had wrapped me in a bath towel and laid me between two pillows on a bed. Then she had written a note on a piece of cardboard saying there was an 'unattended' infant named Clay inside, hooked the note on the room's doorknob, and took off.
"Unfortunately, people must have been used to seeing notes hanging on hotel room doorknobs, because it was several hours before anybody took the time to read it and inform the manager. They tell me that another couple of hours and I would've died. Anyway, thanks to dear old mom, my first three months of life were spent in a hospital, throwing off one disease after another.
"I'm twenty-two now, and I really couldn't care less about how I was born, where I was born, or who was responsible. My feelings about the whole matter have been conditioned since my birth and, as a result, I'm thick-skinned about being a bastard. I don't hate my parents-whoever they are and wherever they may be. I'm sure they've given themselves enough punishment over the years, so why the hell would I want to add to it? The only time I do feel a little hurt is when I see my friends' families gather together for Thanksgiving, Christmas or some other holiday. And even then the hurt only lasts for a short while.
"Perhaps it was because I knew I was a bastard that I put out the effort to make something of myself. I'm an accountant now-a damn good one, too-and by the end of another five years I intend to own my own business consulting firm. I've set my mind on it and I'll make it-just like I've accomplished every goal I've ever set up for myself.
"The first seventeen years of my life were spent in a variety of orphanages and foster homes. I learned early how to take care of myself. I was what you might call a 'sneaky model child.' The difference between right and wrong was slapped into me before I ever reached kindergarten. Rarely did I do anything wrong, but when I did-crack!-right across the face. So I learned never to repeat a wrong act-or, if I did, I made damned sure I never got caught. It's a habit I've carried over to this day. You know what they say: 'Watch out for yourself, for sure as hell nobody else will."
"In school, I gave no one trouble, minded my own p's and q's, and studied hard. In fact, with the exception of my junior year in high school, I was a straight 'A' student all the way. During that one year, I slipped down to 'C grades, but there was good reason for it as I'll go into later.
"Sex was the one hang-up I never could shake until I reached seventeen. Until that time, it really frightened me. The reason for that was I didn't understand it-and nobody seemed to want to teach me about it. Oh, like everyone else, I heard stories about so-an-so, learned about the birds and the bees, and even saw some pictures of naked women. But I didn't know how to apply all this to real life. I used to try to avoid parties and dances because I was afraid someone might ask me to do something and I wouldn't know how to act. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's making a fool of myself.
"So even when I was in the orphanages, where all the parties were closely chaperoned, I used to either feign sickness or, if I did go, I'd make damned sure I was a first-class wallflower. I was helped somewhat by my looks. I wouldn't say I was an ugly kid, but I don't remember anyone saying I was good-looking, either.
"They sent me to my first foster home when I was seven. I was terrified. Mr. and Mrs. Porter had six kids, all older than me, with the exception of one. Danny was a month younger, and it didn't take me long to realize that I wasn't there because the Porters had fallen in love with me; I was there strictly as a playmate for Danny.
"Danny and I got along good, but the rest of the family treated me like I was some kind of stray dog. Oh, they'd feed me, clothe me, fix me up if I got hurt, but that was about it. Mrs. Porter was always clucking her tongue at me and telling me to go outside and play, and old man Porter was always complaining that I was underfoot. They never did anything to directly hurt me, but I still experienced a great deal of hurt those three years from their whispers and annoyed expressions.
"The person who hurt me most during that time was Melanie, Danny's sister. She was four years older than I, and a first-class, snotty bitch. Her greatest joy in life was teasing me and constantly putting me down. While all the other kids in the family hypocritically referred to me as 'brother,' Melanie chose to describe me as 'that stupid kid.' I'll never forget that smart-assed tongue of hers: 'That stupid kid is ugly'; 'That stupid kid is always taking my things'; 'When are we going to get rid of that stupid kid?'; and her favorite, 'I hate that stupid kid."
"I hated her guts. I thought of nothing but getting back at her. I wanted to pay her back for everything she had done to me or had said about me. It took almost three years, but on my tenth birthday I got my chance. And sex-the one thing that really scared me-was my weapon.
"Naturally, there had been no birthday party for me. The Porters, as they had done the two previous years, had apologized, saying that they were much too busy and perhaps next year they would be able to throw a party for me. So, when I came out for breakfast that morning, there on the kitchen table was my usual present: a cheap card and a small bag of rock candy. I thanked everyone for their wonderful generosity, then spent the rest of the day in my room, fantasizing about all the lavish parties I would give myself when I grew up and became rich.
"That evening, around seven o'clock, there was a knock on my bedroom door. It was Melanie and I could tell by the expression on her face that she was in a mood for some teasing.
"'Everyone's gone to the drive-in movie,' she said with that damned air of superiority. She swung her smart-assed butt up to my bed. 'Everyone but me that is. I've seen the picture."
"It cut me and Melanie knew it. Here it was my birthday and I hadn't even been asked if I wanted to go to the movies. I tried to keep an Idon't-give-a-damn attitude as I looked up at her face and said, 'I've got some work to do. Leave me alone."
"'You don't have any work to do,' she said sarcastically. 'All you want to do is just lie around and be lazy.' She paused for a moment, then tugged at my pants. 'Your pants are dirty, Clay. Don't you know where the hamper is. Why do you always walk around with dirty pants?'
"She was staring at my pants; more specifically, she was staring at my crotch. More and more in the past few weeks, I had noticed Melanie staring at my crotch. It didn't make any difference if I was outside in the yard playing or if I was in the living room watching television-I'd catch her sneaking looks at the front of my pants. It usually made me nervous, but I was too angry to be nervous tonight. So, without moving from the bed, I returned her look by staring dead ahead at the slight swell of her breasts.
"'Why should you care?' I asked.
"She knew damned well that I was staring at her tits and I was delighted when I saw that I was making her uneasy. But she swallowed hard and tugged lightly on my pants again. 'Because I don't want you disgracing the family,' she said with weak righteousness. 'Don't you think you'd better take them off and put them in the hamper?'
"A spurt of adrenalin shot through my body, but I did my damndest to keep cool. I wasn't sure what I was getting into. I heard stories about Melanie from the older boys at school and, if they were true, I knew that she knew a great deal more about sex than I did. That frightened me.
"'Now?' I asked cautiously. 'With you in the room?'
"She tried to look prim, authoritative, but she was breathing too hard to pull it off. 'Of course,' she said, 'It's all in the family."
"That dumb crack loosened my up. What a bunch of crap! I stood and fumbled with my belt. I knew that this was as good a time as any to pay Melanie back for some of the smarts she had given me. And, of course, I was a little excited, too. I had never 'played sex' with a girl before. But I also hated this particular girl, so I purposefully took my time with the belt, giving her enough rope to see if she would hang herself.
"'Oh, you're so slow, Clay,' she said impatiently. 'Here, let me do it.' She brushed my hand away from the belt and unbuckled it. Then she zipped down the fly and tugged the trousers down to my knees. I had a surprise for Melanie. I wasn't wearing any shorts. And even for a kid, I had a fairly thick, semi-hard prick. She stared and swallowed hard. 'Where are your shorts?' she asked, but her eyes never left my rod.
"The hate I was feeling for Melanie, plus the tingle of excitement that was leaping through my prick gave me all kinds of courage. 'Where do you think they are?' I snapped. 'They're in the hamper.' I paused for a few seconds while her eyeballs continued to measure my rod. I suddenly felt very daring. 'You can touch it, if you want,' I said, and I even forced a smile on her.
"Melanie hesitated, then slowly reached a shaking hand out. I brushed it away. 'Only if I can touch yours,' I said firmly. She looked up at me, a kind of strange, faraway look in her eyes. I smiled commandingly down at her. 'Is it true what I hear about you and those other boys at school?' I asked. She flinched, then stood up. 'Never mind that,' she said. 'You can touch me if you want."
"Swiftly, she hiked up her dress and dropped her panties to the floor. Then she lay down on the bed and spread her legs. 'Go ahead, Clay. Touch me.' And, as if to help me just a little, she slid her two hands down to the cunt I was gaping at and spread the lips for me.
"For a moment I lost courage. Here was a girl who really knew what she was doing-a real pro, and I didn't know the first thing about real live sex. I was ready to call the whole thing off when I heard the harsh bitchiness in her voice as she snapped, 'C'mon, you stupid kid. What're you waiting for? Don't you know anything!
"Now that really pissed me off and the courage roared back into my balls. This was more like the good old Melanie that I knew and hated so well. I reached forward and, for the first time in my life, I touched a girl's pussy. 'That's it,' she said huskily, 'right there. Keep touching it."
"The excitement of touching my first cunt filtered through my hate for the girl. My prick hardened. Of course, it didn't shoot out to any magnificent length of thickness, but it swelled to a firmness that I had never experienced before. Melanie reached down and took hold of it. 'Get up on the bed with me, Clay,' she whispered hotly.
"I was shaking a little as I climbed onto the bed and laid beside her. She positioned me so that my face was staring at her pussy and my prick was levelled in front of her mouth. I moved my head in closer to her box and I poked around her clit and hole with my fingers. Melanie needed a bath something awful that night-her cunt smelled like sour orange juice. It turned me off a little, just enough to remind me that I hated this girl.
"'You can kiss it, if you like,' she whispered down at me.
"I shook my head as I continued to play with her cunt. Oh, no, I wasn't about to put my head in there. 'Please, Clay,' she pleaded, 'you'll love it. All the other boys do.' Now that turned me off all the more. 'No,' I said aloud, 'I don't want to kiss it."
"'But it's easy,' she whined. 'Please, Clay.' She was begging me and I found that I was loving every minute of it. Smart-ass Melanie begging. Wow! 'No!' I said again, and I dug a finger into her hole for emphasis. She winced, but her breath was racing now. She was desperate to have me mouth her box.
"'Wait a minute, Clay,' she said hastily. 'Here, I'll show you how good it feels, then you'll want to do it.' And before I knew what was going on she had swept my prick into her mouth and was sucking furiously on it. She loved every minute of it. Her moans of pleasure rang against my ears, bringing back my excitement, turning me on again. I could feel all those tingly vibrations circling around my crotch and I knew that I was going to have a orgasm. She was right about one thing. It did feel good. It felt wonderful. And to add to all this, as she ate me and squeezed my little balls with one hand, her other hand slid down in front of my face and she began finger-fucking herself, all the time moaning like she was about to come herself.
"It took me about two minutes to reach my orgasm. A thin trickle of fluid pulsed from the head of my prick into her mouth. Quickly, she jumped from the bed and ran into the bathroom where I could hear her spitting my come into the toilet. A minute later she was back on the bed, her legs spread wide, whining, 'Now me. Please, Clay, now me. Eat me. Suck on my pussy!'
"I looked down on her and smiled. She was so hot that she was squirming all over the bed. 'Sure, Melanie,' I said, 'but first.' And without another word, I took hold of my limp prick, turned it toward her, and pissed all over her face and dress. By the time she had recovered, I was finished. Screaming like a madwoman, she leaped from the bed. I grinned at her as I watched my piss roll down her face and stain the collar of her dress. She began to blubber, then cry as she ran down the hallway to her room. I laughed loudly, yelling at her, telling her how funny, how foolish she looked, telling her that she made a great toilet bowl.
"Just before her door slammed shut, all the hate came pouring out of me as I shouted, 'Just think of it as a nice, wet present from that stupid kid!' I continued laughing as I walked back to the bed and fell on it, exhausted but very satisfied. It had been a helluva good birthday after all.
"Three months later I was back in the orphanage. I don't think it was because of what happened between Melanie and me. There was no way her parents could've found out unless Melanie told them, and I knew she didn't have the guts for that. I think I was sent back because Danny had made enough friends in the neighborhood and at school, so he really didn't need a live-in playmate.
"Although I've never seen any of that family since I was ten, would you believe that every birthday I still get a card from the Porters? There's usually a note scribbled at the bottom of the card saying something to the effect that I shouldn't forget the good old days. What a bunch of horse shit!
"For the next two and a half years, I didn't have any trouble with girls. That's because the orphanage kept the sexes segregated. The building was built in the shape of a three-story box, with two long long wings on either side. Boys and girls could go into the box section, which was called 'administration,' but they could not pass through it to get to the other wing. Anyone who tried and got caught was punished. Almost daily you could hear the screams of horny kids-particularly the older ones.
"I was nearly thirteen when they sent me to another foster home. My guardians this time were like out of a gothic novel. Mr. Gotham was in his seventies, Mrs. Gotham was thirty. The old man was a millionaire and therein probably lies the tale of the marriage.
"Mrs. Gotham was a gorgeous ex-model who reeked of sexuality. A five-year-old could have tabbed her. She balled more lovers the couple of years I was there than I could keep track of. She'd keep them around for a couple of weeks, then slip them a grand or so and send them on their way. No one-the housekeeper, cook, the butler, the chauffeur, or me-ever talked about her and 'her friends."
"But old Gotham talked about her. The old boy must have been a little out of adjustment, for every now and then he'd call me into his study and lay his troubles on my back like I was his father. The housekeeper used to tell me that he was senile and that I should play the little game with him. The next day everything would be back to normal. As I look back on it now, I don't think the old boy was senile, at all. I think he was just horny.
"One day, after swearing me to secrecy, he told me that his wife hated him and wanted to kill him. He said that they had been married only after he had agreed to certain stipulations. I particularly remember the stipulations regarding sex between the two of them, perhaps because he must have related them to me some thirty times. First, his wife was required to have sex with him only once a month, and she could select the time. Second, he could never kiss her on the lips. Third, he had to wear a contraceptive whenever they had intercourse. Fourth, she could remain passive during all sex activity, except when he requested masturbation. And fifth, the one that really goaded him, she could have other lovers.
"At the time I didn't understand all the implications of these rules. All I knew was that the old man was extremely unhappy because of his wife. He loved her dearly, and for this reason he would never divorce her. But he was convinced that she was out to get her freedom by murdering him. On one occasion he told me of several incidents-more like accidents-that had almost cost him his life. Later, I was to find out that most of these 'accidents' happened in his mind.
"Anyway, that gives you an idea of the type of environment that I was dumped into just as I was beginning my teen-age years. I had an oversexed 'mother' and a more than slightly paranoid 'father.' I'm surprised I came out of that place with my head on straight.
"You'd think that since I lived with a millionaire that it would be a kid's dream-life come true. Not so. We lived well out in the country and the only time I was actually with kids my own age was when I was attending school. Also, it was a major project to get out to a movie or a ball game. I had to check it out with everyone in the house before I could either get the chauffeur to drive me or get the housekeeper to come up with taxi fare. And even if I got that far, one of the servants had to accompany me-I was never allowed out alone.
"I got two important lessons out of my two years with the Gothams. First, when the old man was lucid, he taught me a great deal about business management. He owned a flock of factories, and, although he very rarely visited them in person, he actively managed them from his home and I would overhear conversations that fascinated me. All about debits, credits, expenditures, employee-employer relations, production schedules, and so on. He would throw parties at the house for important businessmen that would be corkers. I always had to keep out of the way, stay on the fringe of all these activities. But it didn't prevent me from learning. I think it's because of old Gotham that I'ma success in business today.
"The second important lesson I received was from Mrs. Gotham. Guess what the subject was. You bet your booties. And, she was an outstanding teacher. I suppose I always knew that something would happen before I got out of that house, but I never dreamed it would be so mind-blowing.
"First, I think I should give you a little background on our relationship. Although Mrs. Gotham was never anything but nice to me, I was completely intimidated by her presence. Whenever she would walk into a room where I was, or we would meet in the hallway, outside on the grounds or wherever, the sight of her would make me nervous. I mean, when she looked at me it was as if those beautiful blue eyes of hers were boring clear down to my balls. It was a sexual thing, no doubt, but it was merely a feeling-never anything put into words or actions, at least not until that night.
"It was a frigid December evening, about two weeks before Christmas. The old man had been tucked away hours earlier, the house staff had retired to their rooms, and I, unable to sleep, had made my way down to the kitchen for a midnight snack. As I was putting the finishing touches on a cold beef sandwich, I heard a commotion coming from the front of the house; raised voices and a lot of angry words being exchanged. Curious, I forgot about the sandwich and made my way to the study, just off the front hall foyer.
"It was Mrs. Gotham and her latest lover. They were both gassed. The man was waving a half-empty bottle of liquor in her face, using it to punctuate his statements. Quaint sayings, such as: 'You're nothing but a rich whore'; 'If you can go down on him, why can't you go down on me?'; T wouldn't sleep with you if you were a virgin'; and, 'I've got six fresh ones I can get any time I want; why the hell should I have to settle for seconds!'
"She countered with: 'I can suck off anyone I please at any time I please'; 'You took your own fucking time about getting there'; and, 'Go back to your cruddy little whore-what the hell do I care!'
"This went on for about ten minutes before the man finally ended it by flinging the bottle onto an expensive velvet chair, and storming out of the house. Mrs. Gotham sagged against a table, catching her breath, and staring daggers at the shut door. 'Bastard,' she muttered under her breath, 'bastard, bastard, bastard.' Finally, with a heavy sigh, she stood tall, turned, and started walking back to the study.
"She caught me before I could escape.
"'Clay, is that you?' she called.
"'Yes, ma'am,' I said, stopping dead in my tracks.
"I saw her framed in the doorway, the anger still on her face. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were rumpled, but she was absolutely gorgeous. She looked younger than thirty.
"'You know you should be in bed, she said evenly. 'Come on, I'll walk you up to your room."
"Dropping her mink on the nearest chair, she turned back into the foyer and headed for the stairs. I was at her heels in a matter of seconds. As she plodded heavily up the stairs, she glanced back at me. 'Did you hear all that?' I nodded. 'Well,' she began somewhat defensively, 'I hope when you're older you'll have more respect for a woman than that bastard does."
"'Yes, ma'am,' I mumbled, trying my damndest to see up the back of her dress. Mercy, her legs were gorgeous.
"When we reached my room, we both entered. I went directly to the bed and climbed onto it. As I began to pull the covers over me, she said, 'Wait a minute, Clay.' I stopped and looked up at her. 'I've got some news for you,' she said smiling down at me. 'What's that?' I asked. She walked up to the bed, reached down, and with the tip of a finger, touched my penis.
'Your fly's open, my dear, did you know that?'
"I was mortified. In front of her! How could I? I could feel the searing of a deep blush as it surged up to my face. I sneaked a glance at my pajama bottoms. Sure enough, there were two buttons opened and my prick was there in all its glory. And not only that, I had been so excited by the touch of her finger that my rod was growing, hardening out. She watched this happening and smiled. I grabbed the covers to pull them over me, but her hand stopped me. She gazed at my prick for a long time, a thin smile cracking her beautiful lips, then she looked up at me.
"'I was worried about you for a while,' she said. 'But I guess there was no need. You're as normal as the next one."
"With every breath I took, it felt as though I was being splashed by droplets of exotic perfume. I thought I was going to gag with ecstasy and I was praying like hell that she'd leave the room so I could jack off. Damn, I had to jack off.
"Then she did something really unexpected. She bent over and kissed me on the forehead. And, as she did so, that magnificent swell of breasts and that long dark corridor of meaty cleavage sagged close to my face. I thought I was going to shit. She drew back and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Oh, God! Her eyes, bright with alcohol-and something else-focused on my hardening prick. She touched it with her finger and her expression became tender; she looked like a little girl with a new puppy. 'Ooooo, how cute....' she cooed. Her lips remained puckered after the words were spoken.
"My temperature must have been 104, I swear! I had a fleeting urge to scream. I wanted to climb right out of that bed and leap through the window. I wanted to die!
"But-heaven help me-I also wanted her to continue. I wanted sex from her.
"'Cute,' she cooed again as her head suddenly swooped down and my rod was swept up into her mouth. I was as stiff as a sixty-day-old corpse. I couldn't have moved even if I had tried. As she sucked on my prick, her right forearm was pressing down hard on my stomach. What the fuck-there was nothing I could do. My body had taken over from my mind. She hadn't been mouthing me more than thirty seconds when I blew my wad. She took it easily and swallowed it down. I watched all of this pop-eyed, my senses reeling from one end of the room to the other. When she had gotten it all, my body sagged and flattened out on the bed. It was dead!
"Her head came up. She looked at me, her eyes glazed. 'Good,' she said simply. Then, wobbly, she rose to her feet, her hair cascading wildly down over her face. She reached down and patted my shriveled up prick. 'Don't go 'way,' she said. And then she turned and left the room.
"I finally got to speak. 'Wow,' I said, just loud enough for me to hear it.
"For the next hour or so I just lay on my bed, uncovered, and allowed my fantasies to run wild. The first trick my mind pulled was to reverse the sexual roles; I emerged as the aggressor, my sensual guardian as the naive and willing victim. I drove her wild with my manhood, and she begged time and time again to run away from this house, to take her to some faraway land where we would be free of the shackles of her marriage and where we could fuck and suck each other forever. We had just arrived at some secluded Utopia when my eyes focused back to reality and gaped at the vision wearing a purple baby-doll that had just entered my bedroom. Ohmygosh! I snapped out of dreamland and back to the world of reality.
"'Have you recovered, Clay?' she asked quietly as she moved to the edge of the bed. Then she glanced at my prick, which had suddenly blossomed into a tube of youthful steel, and she giggled. 'Oh my, I guess you have."
"She leaned forward and brushed my lips with hers. My breathing was irregular again and I was burning up. The situation was normal. 'Ever see a woman naked...? ' she blew into my ear. The thrill I experienced when her tongue followed the words were indescribable. I shook my head, still too shocked to speak. 'Want to?' she blew again. I licked my parched lips and tried to speak. I couldn't get a damn word out. Oh, those lovely hunk of tits! I nodded jerkily. 'That's my boy,' she said, pulling back from me and standing tall, her feet planted firmly on the carpet.
"Like Melanie was several years ago, sweet Mrs. Gotham was a teaser. However, the similarity ended right there. Melanie teased to hurt; Mrs. Gotham teased to arouse. Gracefully, she unhooked the top of the baby-doll and let it slip to the floor. She cupped her boobs-the largest handfuls of flesh I had yet seen-and squeezed them for me. She tilted her body forward slightly, so I could be sure to see them. Then she sensuously raised one tit high, then higher, then still higher, until she was able to suck the nipple into her mouth. Her lips worked languorously on it and theatrical moans slipped from the base of her throat. She was putting on a show for me and my rod.
"'Ummm, that's good,' she whispered, slipping the nipple from her mouth and leaning forward. 'Taste?' she asked, dropping the nipple down toward my mouth. Would a starving dog turn his tail on a bone? I practically leaped up at it, gobbling the delicious meat into my mouth. She murmured her approval and pressed my head hard against her tits. I sucked voraciously, feeling and thrilling to the hardness of the nipple as it bumped again and again against the flat of my tongue. 'Good boy,' she whispered. 'Good boy."
"I heard the pop of the snaps on the side of her baby-doll panties and knew that she had gotten rid of them. Then she slipped her hand over mine and guided it to an enormous clump of hair between her legs. I worked my fingers down through the hair until I made contact with the wetness of her cunt. The woman was sopping wet! She moaned, 'That's right, son, that's the place....' I pulled my mouth off her nipple for an instant, but she quickly pressed my head back. 'No, no, Clay ... don't stop. Keep sucking. Yes, that's it. Ohhhh, that feels wonderful, just wonderful!'
"I was wallowing in sex, maybe too much sex. I didn't know what to enjoy first: the taste of her heavy tits or the feel of her sopping cunt. I felt like I was on a train going in two different directions at the same time. I tried to organize my thoughts, but I couldn't. I was too charged-up, so I thought to hell with it.
"The fingers of my hand had worked their way down to her hole. They poked around at the entrance for a few seconds and then were sucked in. I swear! First, two fingers, then three, then four-all sucked into that huge cavern of raw flesh. I wiggled them, trying to touch the walls of her tunnel. She was breathing hotly into my ear. 'Get your hand in, Clay. I want your hand in.' My thumb slipped into her hole and I was in up to my knuckles. She reached down and took a firm hold on my wrist and, in a churning motion, pushed my hand forward. Slowly, my hand slid into the cunt hole, my fingernails cutting at some tender flesh deep in the tunnel. 'Good, good,' she husked. 'Keep it up. Don't stop."
"Her tit slipped from my mouth, but she quickly grabbed at it and thrust it back in. 'Suck, suck,' she ground into my ear. Meanwhile, my hand continued to slip in or be sucked into her vagina. And then it was all in. My wrist rested against the lips of her cunt. Her voice croaked as she let out a long, drawn out sigh of ecstasy. 'Now fuck me, Clay, fuck me."
"She began humping her hips, driving forward and then pulling back. Some instinct that I had never experienced before made me begin to pump my hand back and forth within her vagina. The tempo slowly picked up. I balled my hand into a fist and was punching away at the back wall of her hole. Back and forth, against and away, up and down, we smashed away at each other. Faster and faster we went as she tossed her head wildly, crushing her tit deep into my mouth. She squealed and cursed and I tasted the saltiness of her body as she broke out in a sweat. And then suddenly, she let out a low scream and her teeth clamped down on my ear. Her body shuddered, then went into a wild flurry of convulsions. Again and again it happened. My mouth was red raw from sucking on her tit, the arm that pumped my fist in and out of her cunt was exhausted. And she kept spitting into my ear, 'I love it, I love it. I've never had it this way. Oh God, it's wonderful ... glorious ... too much...."
"And then it was over and she fell back across the bed, over my body, and lay limp. 'Glorious,' she kept saying, 'just glorious.' After a few moments she guided my hand out of her cunt. It emerged with a loud, wet sucking-popping sound and she moaned happily. She turned her face up to me, kissed me long and fully on the lips, and whispered gratefully, 'That was the greatest climax I've ever hit. Thank you, son."
"And before another ten minutes passed on the clock, she had thanked me further by taking another mouthful of my spurting come."
In this case, three clearly defined psychological complexes emerge which tend to dominate the entire personality structure. Together they form a pattern which, if unchecked, could become the basis for future deviant behavior.
The first of these symptoms falls within the category of megalomania. Throughout the interview sessions, the one compelling, almost obsessive drive which motivated the subject was that of success. Clay often reiterated his desire for success whether it be in the form of scholastic achievement or the accumulation of wealth. Sandor Ferenczi, the famous disciple of Freud, describes this type of obsession in his classic work, Sex In Psycho-Analysis:
This almost incurable megalomania of mankind is only apparently contravened by these neurotics with whom behind the feverish search for success one at once comes across a feeling of inferiority (Adler), which is well-known to the patients themselves. An analysis that reaches to the depths reveals in all such cases that these feelings of inferiority are in no sense something final, an explanation of the neurosis, but are themselves the reactions to an exaggerated feeling of omnipotence, to which such patients have become "fixed" in their early childhood, and which has made it impossible for them to adjust themselves to any subsequent renunciation. The manifest seeking for greatness that these people have, however, is only a "return of the repressed," a hopeless attempt to reach once more, by means of changing the outer world, the omnipotence that originally was enjoyed without effort.
The feeling of inferiority referred to above is clearly evident in Clay's sexual frustrations. Although he excelled his peers in the academic area, he felt a tremendous sense of inadequacy in sexual-social matters. In fact, he confesses that the topic of sex actually frightened him, and he describes that aspect of his life as "the one hang-up" he couldn't shake.
In spite of his boast that he is now free of this sense of inferiority, Clay's current behavior as a high achiever indicates the pattern to be as firmly entrenched as ever. The origin of this neurotic symptom is traceable to his early childhood "training," involving a good deal of corporal punishment. This strict, authoritarian conditioning caused a fixation to occur in his omnipotent phase of development, and also served as the foundation for his autoerotic escapism.
The means by which Clay is attempting to achieve his highest success, both sexually and professionally, is in the accumulation of money, and this, quite naturally, brings us to the second complex, that of anal fixation. Ferenczi devotes considerable thought to the analysis of this behavior symptom:
As an individual-psychological phenomenon parallel with this fact Freud asserts that an intimate association exists between the strongly marked erogeneity of the anal zone in childhood and the character trait of miserliness that develops later....
In other words, Ferenczi and Freud develop the idea that extensive connections exist between the disparate complexes of defecation and interest in money. As the child develops, he takes objects from the earth, such as dirt, sand, clay, and transfers to them the special value he once gave to his own waste products. Soon after this, he enters into a period that Ferenczi calls the "infantile stone age": the collecting of pebbles, glass marbles, buttons and so on. However, the child's deep need to clean himself leads to the search for something purer to gather, and this is offered in the shining coins, later identified with paper money. At this point in his life, the child has not only gratified his need to accumulate and withhold feces-like material, but also the material itself-money contains the seductive possibilities of obtaining his greatest desires. In Clay's case, money is the means by which he hopes to buy the family life and sexual love denied him as an orphan child.
The third complex, inferiority, is closely related to the previous disorders and is often accompanied by the sadistic impulse. Clay recalls with considerable delight his experience of urinating on the face and clothing of Melanie immediately after his first heterosexual relationship with her.
In Sexual Deviation, Storr maintains that sadistic behavior is adopted by the individual in order to relieve his sense of inferiority. Furthermore, the sadist often goes beyond the point of giving pain, his real concern being that of complete sexual ascendency. Storr then relates this to sexual fulfillment:
By rendering his partner helpless, the sadist is creating a situation in which he feels free to do anything he likes to her, whether she wants him to or not. In other words, the sadist has no conception that his partner might invite or welcome his sexual activities. He cannot believe that anyone can really accept him sexually, and thus has to obtain by force what other more confident men expect to be given freely. It is only when he has established complete ascendency over his partner that the sadist can hope for sexual fulfillment; for it is only then that the partner is no longer frightening--
It is interesting to note that Clay's verbal imagery, especially the use of the "toilet bowl" allusion, most definitely relates to his anal fixation.
"Mrs. Gotham avoided me like the plague for the few remaining months I was to spend at her home. Then one day Mr. Gotham called me into the study and told me that for my best interests I was going to be sent back to the orphanage. He told me that he had been influenced by his wife. She had given him her opinion that this was not the correct environment for raising a teenager. Of course, I knew the real reason why she wanted to get rid of me; since our night together I had been a pain to her conscience. And now she was merely purging herself of that pain. Whatever the reason, back to the orphanage I went.
"For the next several years, the orphanage was merely a stopping-off point for me. I spent most of my time in various foster homes. The story was always the same; my material needs were taken care of, but I never really got the affection I was now beginning to crave. It's a void I'm still trying to fill.
"Putting into operation some of the business philosophy I'd absorbed from old man Gotham, I began to concentrate heavily on my schooling. I knew that if I was to be any kind of a success in life that I-a bastard orphan-would have to work my balls off for it. My goal was diplomas; to me they represented passports to success. Academically, I easily made the transition from grammar school to high school. Socially, I had a difficult time, a situation I created for myself. Because of my determination to be a scholastic standout, I became a virtual loner.
"But my plan seemed to be working. Whenever I'd get down on myself because of lack of friends, those A's that would show up on my report cards always gave me a boost. I kept thinking of the future, realizing that these difficult years would be easier later on in life. From the seventh grade onward, I worked for and made the honor roll each semester. Then I reached my junior year in high school and my world slipped down a few pegs.
"That summer I had been sent to a new foster home. The Newtons were from the South, God-fearing and strict. But they carried their convictions to senile extremes. Today they would be labelled as a couple of prime reasons for the generation gap-they still lived in the nineteenth century. Mr. Newton, in his late fifties, was a paragon of virtue. His occupation was carpentry and his main claim to fame was that he had built his house with his own two hands, a fact he never let me forget. He not only preached that work was good for the soul, mind and body, but he practiced it. The TV set was clicked off promptly at ten every night and everyone would rise at 5:30 a.m. ready for a full day of fulfilling work.
"Mrs. Newton was a rather slow-moving, plumpish woman in her middle forties. Strap a bonnet on her hair-bun and deposit her on the bucking seat of a Conestoga wagon and she would have been at home. She was a slave to the house, a twenty-four-hour-a-day cook and housekeeper-the type of woman who could invite you in to eat off her floor. My sloppy habits and her military-like mania for cleanliness clashed often during the year I was to be her 'tenant."
"I don't think the two of them had a sex life at all! He refused to go to the beach because of the nudity it perpetuated. So we sat in the bowels of the house all summer, broiling. Certain television shows never appeared on their set because of the reputation of the performers; and movies-well they were nothing more than vehicles of the devil. Their main entertainment appeared to be those wall-shaking lectures they'd subject me to about the promiscuity among today's youngsters. They knew the inside dope on sex, narcotics, hippies, and corrupt politicians, and spent a great deal of their time feeding it to me. All this information from people who refused to communicate with their next-door neighbors.
"But there was a link missing from their moralistic chain. Mrs. Newton was a hypocrite. Or perhaps it might be better to say that she was sexually starved. As I have already stated, the old man practiced what he preached. He preached that sex was a disease. So his wife suffered.
"From what I could gather from them, they had sacrificed all to help the lonely orphans of the world since the day they were married; that is, they were professional guardians. I was their 52nd child over the past twenty-two years, which should give you some idea of how long each ward lasted. I was exceptional; I was to hang around for a full twelve months.
"Mrs. Newton reached me one day, not long after I had arrived. After taking a shower I had discovered that I had left my clean clothes in my bedroom. Not wanting to embarrass the woman by strolling from the bathroom to the bedroom in my birthday suit, I called out to her and asked her if she would bring my clothes to me. When she arrived, I stood behind the bathroom door and opened it slightly, so she could slip in my clothes. Would you believe she shoved the door all the way open. She muttered something about 'No shame bein' connected with cleanliness,' and stood there, holding my clothes out, staring blankly at my naked body.
"I was flabbergasted. This scene wasn't right, at least, not in this house. I tried to keep my poise as I reached out for my clothes and mumbled a 'thank you.' I know for sure that my dick had all but shriveled up and disappeared somewhere behind my balls.
"'Didja wash good?' she asked, copping an eyeful of my nakedness. 'So many kids today ... they don't wash good."
"'Oh, yes,' I said flippantly. 'Clean as a whistle!'
"'Lemme see,' she said, dropping my clothes to the floor and tugging me forward by the shoulder. I was too stunned to react. I think I wanted to tell her to get the hell out of there and go mind her own fucking business; but I didn't. Instead, I became a zombie and let her examine me at her leisure.
"Those heavy-lidded, lazy eyes of hers moved slowly over my face; I thought of a bored butcher examining his one thousandth cut of sirloin for the day. 'Ears are 'portant,' she drawled, peering around and into them. She turned me around and tapped my back with her finger. 'Good ... good....' The finger ran slowly down my spine making me break out in a rash of goose pimples. It stopped at the tip of the crack of my ass, and then I could hear the starch in her dress crackle as she bent over. Her thumb and forefinger spread the cheeks and I knew she was looking up at my asshole. 'Bath might be better for down here. Ummm....Very 'portant."
"Her finger pierced my hole and I flinched. She withdrew it and I swung around. She was examining her forefinger. Thank heaven it was clean.
"I made a move to bend over and pick up my clothes, but she stopped that with a hand against my chest. Cocking her head from side to side, she gave my chest, sides, and stomach the once-over. 'Ummm. ... Good.' And then her hand drifted down and rested on the bush of hair just above my shriveled-up prick. I sucked in my breath, preparing for anything.
"Mrs. Newton's knees creaked loudly as they sagged to the damp bathroom rug. I watched her closely as she stared intently at my genitals, and I didn't miss the quick lick her tongue gave her lips. With her thumb and forefinger she took hold of my penis and stretched it out. She examined the top, bottom and sides minutely, from base to tip of the shaft minutely. I let out a long loud sigh of impatience. 'Jus' 'nother moment, son. Ummm ... good, clean babies....' Her hand cupped my balls, squeezing them gently. 'Still wet."
"I was about to damn everything and make my break when she did something extraordinary. This chubby woman opened her chubby lips and sucked my prick and my balls into her big fat warm and wonderful mouth. I couldn't believe it!!!
"But my rod did. It came to life and, like a fugitive snake, it grew out to a rock-hard six and one-half inches. Her head was forced back, but she gave a few good long, hard draws on my meat she could reach before letting it slip from her mouth. Then she looked up at me and smiled broadly, those lazy eyes now wide with a mixture of joy and lust. Guess what she said! 'Ummm ... good!'
"Then, with a swiftness I never knew she had in her, she rose to her feet, gripped me by the hand, led me into the bedroom, and brusquely sat me on the edge of the bed. Her hands flew about her dress and underthings until everything was scattered about the floor. It was like watching a white tornado. The woman's tits were enormous; fat and ponderous, they hung almost to her navel. She grabbed one tit, moved over to the bed, forced my mouth open, and made me swallow a mouthful.
"'Suck!' she commanded, and I was too frightened not to obey. Her nipple tasted like lime soap. I wanted to spit it out, but dared not.
"While I sucked, her fingers frigged furiously at her cunt. She kissed me on the top of the head. 'Good ... good....' she garbled. Dazedly, I watched her hand ravage her box. She rubbed it, pulled on it, twisted it, jammed her fingers well up into it, and pounded on it as though it were a drum. She was coming on like a madwoman, and the sounds that leaped from her throat were those of an animal in heat.
"Suddenly, she stopped and pulled her tit from my mouth. She grabbed and spread wide her cunt with her hands. Then she hunched up closer to the bed, closer to my face, and commanded again, 'Suck!' Again, out of fear because of the way she was acting, I did as I was told.
"Her meat was too flabby, too wet, too sour. But there was so much of it that going down on her actually turned me on. My prick, which had faded a little, now jutted again, and stabbed at one of her hefty thighs. The whole situation was ridiculous. How could I be doing this with Mrs. Newton? How the hell could the mistress of such a puritanical house attack a teen-age boy? I couldn't answer the questions, but perhaps it was because of the fact that they were there which made the atmosphere in the room so erotic. It wasn't long before I found myself actually participating in the act.
"Her next move was to smartly push my head away from her cunt, bend over, and kiss me fully on the lips. She sucked fiercely on my tongue, draining the saliva from my mouth. After several moments, she broke off and looked me dead in the eye. 'Ever do it with girls, son. You know, to make babies.' All this, and she was still hung up over the word 'fuck."
"I didn't lie to her. I shook my head, indicating 'no.' Her body shook with joy. She kissed me again, harshly, then abruptly slammed my body back onto the bed. Before I could move she was on top of me, pausing only long enough to suck on my hard on a few times, making sure it was good and wet. Then she knelt up, lumbered forward on her knees, until her cunt was straddling my waving pole. She grabbed my rod like you'd pick up a piece of silverware, and roughly jammed it up into her hole.
"My mouth dropped in amazement. You mean, this was it? This was what sexual intercourse was all about? No tenderness, no affection, just two chunks of meat slammed together? Why, she might just as well have blown me. There was nothing romantic about all this; I was her fucking prisoner. That woman had me pinned to the bed and she was using my rod for a fire-pole.
"Her eyes blazed wildly as she glared down on me, her tits flapping from one side of her chest to the other. 'Good ... huh?' she said over and over again, as if trying to prove something to herself. I nodded and then gave up. I decided to lay there, like the passive lump of meat I was, and let her do her thing. It took some doing but I was finally able to concentrate on the sex act itself and deposit my come up her raw box. As soon as I unloaded, she hopped off me, zipped to the bathroom and wiped her pussy with toilet paper. Then she came back to the room and jacked herself off to a floor-rattling climax while I sucked on her limey tits.
"Mrs. Newton sexually controlled me the entire school year, and my grades suffered because of it. She made so many demands on my body that it got to the point where I was afraid to come back to the house after school. I used to dawdle around until I knew that Mr. Newton had come home; then I'd go in. But I couldn't escape her all the time. And believe me, for a woman of such high morals-in front of her husband, anyway-this old gal knew every trick in the book. She taught me a lot, but I hated the lessons. If only there had been the smallest amount of affection.
"The following summer I turned eighteen and was free at last, free to control my own life, sexual or otherwise. I'll never have to submit to strangers again just because I was a bastard orphan. I'm going to be a smashing success in business, and before long I'm going to try and start my own family. I want to be a father."
Clay's relationships with subsequent foster families have served to intensify his feelings of alienation and sense of inferiority. His own description of himself as a "loner" is not far from the mark, and, in fact, sums up a whole set of complexes he prefers to keep concealed. His attitude during the interview sessions was considerably guarded. Unfortunately, rather than delve too deeply into the causes for his past and present difficulties, Clay has chosen to maintain a defense based on goal achievement.
This subject often connected his outer struggle for success with his inner drives toward sexual gratification. In so doing, he demonstrated a form of deviation in which the concept of sex is completely divorced from that of love.
Too often in our culture, the need for genuine affection is translated into sexual activity by old and young alike. The seduction of Clay by Mrs. Newton is typical of such behavior. In other words here is a case of a sexually starved, middle-aged woman seducing an affection-starved juvenile. This kind of maltreatment of a teenager is bound to produce serious, and sometimes permanent psychological scars.
CHAPTER FOUR
Little Boy Blew
"Looking back now, the orphanage wasn't really such a bad place. Sure, there were times when I got awfully lonesome, especially those last few years when I became the oldest boy and began to wonder why the people who wanted to adopt kids always picked the babies-like maybe I couldn't love them just as much, or might run away. It made me feel so bad, always being turned down, that once I even played sick to get more attention. But I had a lot of friends among the other kids and between my lonely spells we had some good fun together.
"One thing is for sure: It was a whole lot better than living with my mother. I was only five years old when my mother died, but I can still remember how drunk she was every day with all those men who came to the house, and how she used to kick me around, calling me a stinking little bastard. I guess I was just in the way when her friends were there hugging and kissing her and getting sloppy drunk with her. A lot of the time I was hungry for food, but most of the time I was hungry for somebody to love me.
"I guess the best part of living at the orphanage was Carl, the janitor. He became real friendly with me, sort of like a father, and on my tenth birthday he got permission to take me to his house for dinner with his family. Man, was that ever neat. I never felt so good in all my life, eating that home-made food with two helpings of dessert and playing with his oldest girl afterward. Ruthie-I guess she was about twelve years old-even took me into a closet and kissed me on the lips. She wanted to give me something to remember her by, she said. Even Carl's wife gave me a big hug and kiss before I went back to the orphanage.
"I liked it a whole lot when Ruthie and her mother kissed me-I think they were the first kisses I ever had, at least that I could rememher. But when I got back to the orphanage they sure made me feel terrible. I mean, they were so good that I felt extra terrible knowing that I couldn't have more. Funny, but all the rest of that night I ached way down deep, thinking how great it would be to have older girls loving and kissing me every day, not kicking and cussing me like my mother used to do.
"I might as well tell you the whole truth: I had to slip my pajamas off under the covers and play with myself for about an hour before I could get to sleep. I had gotten little hard ons before, but that was the first time in my whole life that I had really jacked off.
"It was the last time at the orphanage, too, because a few days later I was called to the office and introduced to an old man about forty named Charles and his wife about twenty-five named Marianne. The great day that I'd been hoping and praying for had finally come! They not only wanted to adopt a boy but also a ten-year-old to sort of make up for all the years they tried to have a baby of their own and couldn't. What's more, they wanted a curly-headed, fair-skinned blond-and that was me.
"'We'll take him!' Marianne said real happy. 'We'll be only too delighted to have little Billy as our very own, and you can be sure that we'll just love him to pieces!' To show how sincere she was, she pulled me over to her and planted a big, hot kiss right on my mouth. 'Mmmmmmmmm, you're such a precious boy,' she mumbled in my ear.
"'How about it, champ?' Charles said, setting me on his lap and flashing his false teeth at me. 'Wouldn't you like to come home with us? We have a nice big house with lots of room to play. You'll be very happy, I'm sure."
"Actually, the old geezer didn't have to say a word because I'd already made up my mind. It was Marianne's kiss that did it. Her kiss had been really great, ten times greater than Carl's wife and daughter. And already I was getting that same achy feeling, wanting more. The next second I was off Charles' lap and back to where Marianne was sitting, taking her by the arm.
"'I would like to leave here and live with you,' I said to Marianne. 'If you will let me live with you, I promise to be real good and never cause any trouble.' Which was all I needed to say to get myself another big kiss-and a brand-new home.
"Did I say home? What I really meant was mansion, because their place had ten rooms, not counting the servants' quarters. There was a big swimming pool, too, and a tennis court, with a big lawn that stretched for a whole block.
"I'll never forget that first day and night at their place. Of course, Charles and Marianne had to take me on a tour of everything as soon as we got there. Then they showed me my room with all kinds of toys and games in it. After that, Charles had to leave on some important business for a few hours, and Marianne decided that I should have a bath before dinner.
"I naturally figured that she'd let me bathe myself because, after all, I'd been doing it for several years without any help from anyone. But she had other ideas. 'All right, Billy dear,' she said after leading me into the bathroom next to my room, 'I'm going to help you undress and wash because I want to start off being a good mother to you right now.' And the next thing I knew she was on her knees, turning the water on in the tub and peeling off my clothes.
"Wow, was I ever embarrassed! I know I shouldn't have been with me so young and her a grown-up married woman, but it seemed like ages since a woman had seen me naked. Besides that, I could feel that I had a little bit of a hard on from her hugging and kissing me so much all afternoon. She didn't just peck when she kissed me; she held it for awhile and pressed hard, like she really wanted me to enjoy it as she did. Only she didn't realize how much I was enjoying it.
"Then, before I could count ten, Marianne had all my clothes off and was holding me off at arm's length, feasting her eyes on every square inch of me like I was a hundred-dollar bill. 'Oh, my, precious, what a beautiful little body you have!' she cried out. 'And your sweet little penis. I do believe it's getting hard! How marvelous. ... How positively marvelous!' Then she plopped me into the tub and, wearing a big, happy smile, began to soap me up real good, especially down around my rod, which only made it harder.
"But that's all she did-I swear. She didn't play with my hard on or get in the tub with me or anything like that. She acted like most mothers would, I guess, talking to me about other things, humming some happy tunes, then drying me off and laying out some clean clothes for me in my bedroom. When Charles got back, we all had a swell dinner together that was fit for a king. During the conversation, they both kept looking at me proudly and calling me 'son' making me feel greater than I ever had felt in my whole life.
"Man, was I ever happy, knowing that I was no longer an unwanted orphan but a kid with a family that really loved him. I mean, Charles and Marianne went all out to make me feel like one of the family. Especially Marianne. That first night after I'd gone to bed, she even came and got under the covers with me for a little while, hugging and kissing me and telling me about all the fun we were going to have picnicking and traveling. Her kissing gave me another hard on, I remember, but she didn't touch itjust hugged me all the tighter and giggled all the louder.
"And, that's about how it went for the next two years, with Marianne helping me bathe and hopping in bed with me often while old Charles did his best to act like a father by bringing me new toys. Marianne took me on a few picnics like she promised, and both she and Charles took me on a plane trip to Europe the first summer. But I think the most fun I had was the time I spied on them in their bedroom late one night.
"I really didn't mean to spy, it was just that I couldn't sleep and when I got up to get a drink of milk from the kitchen, I passed their bedroom and found their door open a couple of inches. I heard their voices, too, and couldn't resist the temptation to peek in and listen.
"Well, I sure saw and heard a lot, let me tell you. Marianne and Charles were both naked on top of the covers, with him on his back and her sitting beside him trying to jack him off. I say trying because he didn't have a hard on. I guess he just couldn't get a hard on. 'Damn it, Charles!' she was saying as she pumped and wiggled and stretched his limp little dick, 'how am I ever going to get any fucking if this thing won't get big and stiff?'
"'I'm awfully sorry, dear,' Charles moaned sadly. 'I've been taking vitamins until they're coming out my ears, but they just don't seem to be doing any good. I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid that I'm too old for a hard on. If you really need to be fucked tonight, my precious, I'll have to use either my finger or my tongue on you."
"'Oh shit!' she answered, getting kind of mad, 'I guess I'll have to settle for your tongue again! My pussy is so hot that I've got to have something alive and stiff in it or I'll go crazy!' Then she straddled his face with her big, beautiful rear and lowered her hairy pussy smack down on his mouth. 'Okay, Charles, now ram that tongue in deep, deep, deep!' she gasped, grabbing one of her big, cherry-tipped boobs in one hand and reaching down to rub the top part of her pussy with the other. 'Come in, baby, you can do better than that! I need your tongue in me deep, really deep!'
"Wow, what a sight! I couldn't help myself-I was getting so excited watching those two, especially Marianne with her big, delicious-looking tits. I shoved down my pajama bottoms and began to jack off as fast as I could, feeling my dick get as hard as a rock in no time at all.
"'Wait, raise up just a second, dear,' I heard Charles mumble faintly like he was in a tunnel. 'I can do better with my teeth out."
"So Marianne raised her butt up a few inches and Charles spit out his false teeth. The next second she was back down on his face, grinding her pussy on it like she was trying to engulf his whole face in her pussy. 'Ah, yes, that is better!' she groaned. 'Much better ... much better! Only, please, you're not pumping your tongue fast enough! Pump it, daddy, pump it! Fuck me good! I need it! Ohhhhhhhh, how I need it!'
"Then all of a sudden Marianne started puffing like a steam engine and squirming and moaning, making me think that maybe she was suffering terrible pains. I stopped jacking myself off and was about to barge in on them, feeling that I should ask if I could do something to help her. Then she gave a cry of joy and fell off to one side, all relaxed and contented.
"At least I thought she was contented, the way she looked and sounded. Actually, though, she was still a little mad at Charles as he stuffed his false teeth back in his mouth, his face dripping wet from her pussy juice. 'Well, anyway, you made me come,' she said, sprawled out on her back with her eyes closed. 'I'll give you credit for that, even if I did have to masturbate my clit and tits to help it along."
"Poor old Charles. All he could answer was a real sad, 'I'm sorry, dear. Maybe you should get yourself a younger man to fuck you, one who can get a big hard on. Like I've said before, I won't mind so long as you don't let it break up our marriage."
"Gee, that sure is big of Charles, I thought, letting go of my dick and pulling up my pajama bottoms. But Marianne didn't answer him. She just continued to lay there beside him, her eyes closed, deep in thought. Of course, I didn't know then what she was thinking, and it was a good thing, because if I had known, I probably would've been shocked clean out of my wits.
"The next four years with Marianne and Charles were beautiful. They sent me to a military academy, the most exclusive one in the whole city, and during my summer vacations they took me with them to Japan, Switzerland and Argentina where we really lived it up. Marianne wasn't very happy with Charles, I could tell, but she pretended to be, always treating him politely and letting him kiss her on the cheek whenever he wanted to show his love for her.
"The only times Marianne seemed to be really happy was when she and I were alone together. Of course, she had long ago stopped helping me with my bath, saying I was getting much too grown up for that, but she never stopped coming to my bedroom when I was home from the military academy and talking with me for long hours before kissing me goodnight. And her kisses never got any cooler; if anything, they got hotter. And always, as before, she would glance down to see if her kisses still had the same old effect on me-which they did.
"In fact, the effect was ten times stronger because I was much older with a cock at least three times bigger and a mind that was beginning to think of practically nothing but sex. I noticed the girls who were my age, sure, and when I saw one with a real sexy shape I usually got a hard on, thinking of how I'd like to get her alone and screw her. But mainly, I couldn't forget the sight of Marianne and Charles going at it that night in their bedroom. To me, there were no dames in the whole world as sexy-looking as Marianne was when I saw her completely naked, her big, pointed tits sticking straight out and her big, hairy pussy squashed down on Charles' face.
"I told her just that one day when I was about fifteen. 'Marianne,' I said, calling her by her first name because she didn't like me calling her mother for some reason, 'I think you've got the best shape of any woman in the whole world.' She'd been admiring the shape of some movie star and I felt it was a good time to let her know how I felt.
"'Oh, Billy, it's so nice of you to say that,' she answered, giving me a big hug and kiss. 'Really, darling, if you think I have a good figure, that's all that matters to me. You see, you are the most beautiful person in the world so far as I am concerned and so, naturally, I want you to think of me as attractive, too.' She said that like any loving mother would, except that she backed off a little afterward and sort of posed, showing off her curves for my total viewing.
"Then when I reached sixteen, Charles died. He was off on a business trip, attending a big meeting with the other executives of his company. He had a sudden heart attack that finished him off in just a minute or two. I was at school in the academy when the news came, but Marianne took me out and together we flew to the city where it happened and made all of the arrangements to bring Charles' body back home for burial.
"It was a tremendous funeral service they had for Charles because he had a lot of relations and friends. Everyone was real sad, especially Marianne and me because she really thought Charles had been a good husband, despite the great difference in their ages. And I really had grown to think of him as a sort of father, the only man who'd actually treated me as a son. In fact, it took Marianne and me a whole month to get over our sorrow, we missed Charles so much.
"At the end of that month, my next summer vacation came along and Marianne decided that it would probably be best if we took a little trip to the Bahamas where we could lay on the beach and plan our future. Naturally, I agreed that it was a great idea, and a couple of days later we were on our way by jet plane. We arrived in the Bahamas around midnight and went straight to the big, luxurious hotel where Marianne had made reservations.
"We weren't exactly tired from the trip, but, for some reason, Marianne wanted to fix herself a quick whiskey highball and go right to bed. We had a double-bedroom suite, so I figured that I would stay up awhile longer and sashay around the lobby and swimming pool, getting more familiar with the hotel's fabulous layout. 'No, please don't,' Marianne said when I told her of my plans. 'There's plenty of time tomorrow to see everything, and we'll enjoy it much more if we refresh ourselves with a good night's sleep."
"Well, that sort of made sense, so I had myself some fruit juice spiked with a little of Marianne's whiskey, and sat with her while she downed her highball. She'd already gotten into her flimsy little negligee and I'd stripped to my shorts, so we were real relaxed, sitting there together on the couch. At least I was relaxed. Marianne only looked that way I found out when she'd emptied her glass.
"'Oh, we're going to have great fun together from now on, Billy darling,' she said, reaching over to play her hand over my chest, then kissing me squarely on my lips. 'We're going to travel the whole, wide world together, not like mother and son, because we're really not mother and son, but like sweethearts ... like lovers. Tell me, what do you think of that? Dp you think I'm too old to be your sweetheart, your lover?'
"Wow, did that ever come as a surprise! I knew Marianne felt very close to me and even loved me in a way that wasn't exactly a mother's love-but sweethearts, well that was something else! She's got to be kidding, I thought.
So I pretended that it was all a joke. 'Hey, yeah, that would be great!' I answered. 'I'm pretty big for a sixteen-year-old and you're very young-looking for a thirty-year-old; we could fool a lot of people into thinking we are sweethearts."
"But Marianne definitely wasn't joking. I'd no sooner gotten the last word out when she started smothering me with hot kisses all over my mouth and chest, actually sucking a few seconds on my nipples. 'Oh, Billy darling,' she cried out softly, 'I do love you. I love you more than anyone I've ever known. This may sound terrible to you, but ever since I first saw you naked, I've wanted to make love to you. Your cock was very small, but it got hard when I kissed you, and it's gotten hard every time I've kissed you since. You and I both know that your beautiful cock wouldn't have reacted that way unless we had a. real, honest-to-goodness sexual attraction for each other-unless we were truly meant for each other."
"I could tell, Marianne was in the same excited mood she was in with Charles when I peeked in and saw them naked in bed. She needed to be fucked, needed it badly, and I was the only male around she felt she could have-a male who had proved to her many times that he could get a big hard on, very easily, with just a kiss. Sure, Marianne really did love me, I knew that, but right then it wasn't love that had taken hold of her-it was sex, hot, desperate sex!
"'Gee, Marianne, I don't know what to say,' I answered. 'I've gotta admit that you get me all excited when you kiss me and it's a feeling I like very much, but I've never thought of ... of screwing you or anything like that. Do you mean that you would really like me to fuck you?'
"'Oh, yes, my darling, please, let us pretend you are my husband. We love each other, don't we? That's all that matters. The world need never know that I'm your guardian instead of your wife. The important thing is that we love each other and need each other, sexually and in every other way."
"Marianne kissed me on the mouth then, in a way she had never kissed me before. I mean, she ran her tongue into my mouth and gathered up my tongue and sucked on it hungrily, at the same time hugging me tight and rubbing her tits all over my bare chest. Oh, wow! She felt so good, so exciting. I couldn't think anymore. It was like I was being wrapped in a blanket of beautiful, tingling electricity. All I wanted was more and more and more of what she was doing.
"Then Marianne moved her mouth to my chest and started sucking my nipples ten times hotter than before, while her hand started stroking all up and down the bulge of my tremendous, throbbing hard on. 'Yeah, yeah, I agree with you, Marianne. We are meant for each other. You're the most beautiful woman in the world and I don't care if I never have any other girl friends,' I told her.
"I know now that I should never have said that because it was all the encouragement Marianne needed to go further. Before I could hardly bat an eye, she had my shorts unsnapped and my dick sticking straight out. I looked down at it, and couldn't believe what I saw. It was the biggest hard on I'd ever had in my life, bigger at least by a half an inch! And the head-damn-was swollen up as round as a plum!!
"And Marianne was just as surprised as me. 'Oh, my darling, what a grand and glorious cock you have!' she cried happily. 'How big it has grown since I last saw you with a hard on.' Then she took my dick in her hand, petting and squeezing and sort of waving it around as she gawked at it. 'Ah, yes, it's just what the doctor ordered for me,' she purred. 'I can hardly wait to feel it way up deep inside my love-starved pussy.' "
A layman might ask this question regarding the persons involved in this case: "Where, from a psychological standpoint, does so-called normal behavior stop and deviant behavior begin and are the persons in this case true sexual deviants?" For assistance in finding the answer, we turn to Dr. Storr's comparison of the terms "normal" and "deviant" behavior:
The use of the term deviation implies the existence of a standard of normality from which deviation may take place; but no absolute standard can be found, for what is considered sexually normal varies widely both from country to country and epoch to epoch. A sexual practice which is considered acceptable in one time and place may be abhorred as a perversion in another; and even within the same culture, each individual may adhere to a different standard of sexual behavior, depending upon the interaction between his upbringing and the strength of his sexual needs. It is safe to assert that there is no sexual practice which has not somewhere been condemned, and none which has not elsewhere been accepted....
In other words, deviant behavior is relative to time, place and individual preferences. If the laws prohibiting fellatio and cunnilingus in some states were enforced, the majority of the population would be in jail. Needless to say, American standards regarding this form of lovemaking are by no means universal or absolute-especially here in America.
In Britain, masturbation was regarded for many years as not only an unnatural act, but was actually held responsible for certain forms of insanity. Such examples are, of course, endless. Perhaps Kinsey summed it up best when he said that the term normal simply means "what people do"-not what they should or should not do. Therefore, we must look at the individual case in point.
Billy confesses he often was overcome by an irresistible urge to masturbate. Are these activities to be considered normal or deviant? Dr. Kinsey points out that masturbation is universally practiced by over 90 percent of the total male population, and more than 62 percent of the female population. The psychological complexes which do arise regarding masturbation are caused mainly by social attitudes toward the practice which tend to create feelings of guilt. Psychologists and psychiatrists are well aware of the damage done to many persons as a result of being censured for the practice either by adults or peers at an early and particularly sensitive period of life.
The subject has described himself as a lonely child, deprived of the affection granted most children with a stable home environment. Therefore, it seems that resorting to the practice of masturbation, though not a solution to the problem, does seem a "normal" escape from the ache of loneliness. Later, in his adolescent period, there seems to be no indication that Billy preferred masturbation to normal coitus. As is often the case, few opportunities exist for a young boy to engage in normal sexual relations-especially, we night add, at a military academy. Suffice to say that masturbatory fantasies which he attached to his voluptuous foster mother, though probably of an oedipal nature, need not be considered abnormal under the circumstances and conditions of their relationship.
At one point during the interviews, Billy recalled an incident when he observed his foster parents attempting the act of coitus. Overcome by a feeling of passion, Billy begins to masturbate while he continues to watch. Certainly, one might say, this is a kind of deviant behavior known as voyeurism. But is it so in this case?
Storr maintains that the desire to see other people engaging in sexual activity "is so widespread that voyeurism cannot possibly be regarded as a sexual deviation unless it has become a main substitute for conventional methods of gratification." In Billy's case, voyeurism did not replace his desire for normal sexual relations. Given his background, we would be hard-pressed to find a reason why he wouldn't "eavesdrop" on his foster parents.
Finally, with regard to the question of deviant behavior, can the overt sexual approach made by Marianne be classified as pedophilia? Since the seduction took place over a long period of time (about five years) one can hardly call her actions "an assault" upon a child. However, pedophilia is defined, technically, as the sexual love of children, so we might, in a sense, call this deviant behavior without doing serious damage to the concept.
However, the fact that a thirty-year-old woman is sexually attracted to a sixteen-year-old boy, while it may appear as being, perhaps, bizarre, is certainly credible, and some cases have been reported. In dealing with this subject, Dr. Storr makes the following observation:
... There are some women who also prefer their lovers to be much younger than themselves, but it is uncommon for a woman to be accused of interfering sexually with children of either sex. In a recent case, however, a twenty-year-old wife was accused, though acquitted, of a sexual association with an eleven-year-old schoolboy; and, in law, a woman can be guilty of indecent assault on either male or female.
Storr concludes, as we must also, that truly compulsive deviant behavior in this area is practically a male prerogative.
"All of a sudden it dawned on me that Marianne wasn't just pretending we were sweethearts and lovers; she actually meant what she said about wanting my dick in her pussy. And she had other preliminary ideas, too, because she not only toyed with my dick as we sat there close together, she moved her face closer and closer until I could feel her hot breath on it. Then before I could think of what was really going on, she started kissing and licking it all over, from the tip of the head down to my balls!
"'Marianne, what are you doing?' I cried out, feeling my face turning red and my cock starting to throb like crazy, sort of catching on fire from the wild heat of her long, drooling tongue.
"'Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, I love this gorgeous cock of yours so much, my dearest,' she muttered happily as she reached down between my legs and gathered up my balls in one hand, licking my dick more and more hungrily. 'I've just got to kiss it all over and taste its delicious little-boy sweetness."
"Only she wasn't satisfied with just using her tongue for tasting. No, before I could stop her, she sank her whole mouth down around my towering hard on and began to suck for all she was worth, at the same time rolling my balls around in her hand greedily.
"'Marianne, please, it isn't right for you to be doing that!' I stammered. 'What the hell will people think if they find out? Oh, wow, I'm getting a funny feeling down there, a real hot and excited feeling! You'd better stop, Marianne! If you don't stop, I think I'm going to. ... to....oh, Marianne, I can't help it! I can't stop it! Oooooo-eeeeeee, you're making me do it!'
"Of course, I'd come several times before in the past few years in wet dreams and from jacking off, but was I ever embarrassed coming in Marianne's mouth! I tried not to. I begged her to stop her wild sucking, but it was no use; she was sort of out of her mind with passion and just couldn't stop, not even when I was shooting.
"Anyway, there wasn't any need for me to be embarrassed as far as Marianne was concerned, because, honestly, she really loved it-every drop. 'I'm sorry, my darling,' she muttered, lifting her mouth off my dick and looking at me lovingly. 'Your adorable cock was so magnificently hard and delicious that I just couldn't resist going down on it. Please, Billy, I hope you won't hate me for doing it."
"I don't know why but for some reason-maybe it was the wild passion in her expression-I'd never seen her looking more beautiful. 'I could never hate you, Marianne, no matter what,' I answered, surprised that my prick was still hard as a rock instead of wilting like it usually does after I come. 'I just don't understand, that's all. I just don't understand why you would want to suck my dick and drink up all of my come. It felt so good having you do that, but I just don't understand. I thought that all you wanted was to be fucked in your pussy."
"Then she told me why. All at once, I found out why she'd been so mad at Charles when I peeked in on them having sex, and why she'd been so extra loving toward me at times. It wasn't a long, drawn-out confession that she gave me, sitting beside me and gently stroking my dick; it was all told in a very few words.
"'Listen and please try to understand, Billy dear,' Marianne said softly. 'I'm a very passionate woman. Once a month without fail I get in such heat that I can hardly see straight. My pussy gets absolutely desperate for fucking. But fucking is not all there is to sex. There are a lot of very wonderful preliminaries that prepare a woman for fucking and make it a thousand times better. Like sucking a man's cock and fondling his balls. But I must have a nice, big, virile cock fucking me, and I must truly love the one who's doing it. That's my whole story in a nutshell; you're an extremely virile boy-I've noticed your big hard on many times-and, of course, I've learned to love you more and more until now you're the most precious thing in my whole life. From now on, all I want is to make love to you and let you make love to me, any way you want to."
"'Any way I want to, Marianne?'
"'Yes, my precious, any way you want to. You can fuck my cunt until the cows come home, and if you want to eat my cunt and tits, that's all right, too. Anything you do to me in the way of sex would be a great and ecstatic thrill to me."
"So then I knew why Marianne was the kind of woman she was, and I understood. In a way, I kind of felt sorry for her, craving sex all those years with old Charles and not getting very much, not even coming very often unless she jacked herself off or got Charles to screw her with his tongue. By way of telling her that I understood, and by way of telling her that I would make up for all those years of going without, I gave her a big, hot, long-lasting kiss on her mouth, hugging her tight.
"'Marianne, I love you,' I said after our kiss. 'I really want to be the most precious thing in your life. And I want always to be your sweetheart....your lover. I don't want any other girl as long as I live. Anything you want me to do, I'll do. I'll fuck you and suck your pussy and tits-anything to make you happy."
"'Oh, Billy, my own, if you only knew how happy I am just to hear you say that,' she said, bending down and sucking up the drop of juice that had bubbled up on the tip of my dick. 'I promise you that you'll never, never regret it. I promise to give you the very best fucking that you could ever, ever have. Because I know you, my precious darling; I know that you're as passionate as I am. After all, I've practically raised you, and if you want to know a little secret, I've raised you all for myself. Yes, it's true, I knew that Charles had a weak heart and wouldn't last very long, so I excited you with hot kisses to build your sexuality and prepare you for the day when we would have only each other, sexually and in every other way. Now, please, my darling, tell me, aren't you glad? Aren't you glad that I planned everything just for you and me?'
"My God, what a story! What a surprise! But for some reason I wasn't nearly as surprised as I probably should've been. It was almost as if I had suspected the truth all along but was afraid to admit it for fear of losing my security as an adopted kid who is loved for himself alone-more like a real flesh and blood son. Only now I was sixteen, almost grown up, and didn't need that feeling of security. I was old enough to strike out on my own, if I wanted to. I was old enough to need sex and to want a woman for no other reason than she was a woman.
"'Yeah, Marianne,' I answered sincerely, 'I am glad that you planned everything for just us. I used to think of you as my guardian and mother, but no more. From now on I can think of you only as my girl ... my sweetheart ... my wife."
"What more could I say? What more could she say? There was nothing more for Marianne and I to do then but get down to the business of sex. And that's exactly what we did. After giving my dong one more kiss, Marianne leaped off the divan and, standing close in front of me, peeled off her negligee so quickly it seemed like magic. 'Now, my precious, you can see everything I've been saving for you,' she said with a big, devilish smile. 'Now you can see me completely in the raw, just as I've often seen you when you were a little boy. Really, I've wanted you to see me naked ever since Charles passed away, but I just didn't have the nerve until now."
"Well, I'd seen Marianne naked before when I accidentally came upon her having sex with Charles that night, but now she was naked just for me and that made a big difference. For one thing, she was much closer to me, and for another thing she was much hotter. Her huge tits, almost the size of cantaloupes, seemed to stick out in more of a point, with longer, redder nipples. And her shapely long legs seemed to be farther apart, leaving a wide space in between which made her hairy pussy stand out a lot prettier. Also, I noticed that the hair on her fat pussy was glistening wet, like sparkling dewdrops on the early-morning grass.
"'Wow, Marianne, you sure do look beautiful without any clothes on!' I said, slipping out of my shorts to be completely naked like her. 'Honestly, you're the only girl or woman that I've ever seen naked, but I'll bet there's none in all the world better-looking than you."
"'Thank you, my darling,' she sort of gasped, beginning to pant louder and moving her pussy up closer to my face, her legs spreading wider to give me a fuller view of it. 'My naked body is all yours, you know. You can have anything you see, any way you like it. All you have to do is say what you want, my precious, and I'll only be too glad to deliver."
"For a second there I was tempted to stick my fingers in and have a feel of Marianne's pussy, but I figured that I'd better not be quite so bold right at the beginning. 'Your tits really look delicious,' I said, standing up so that my mouth came even with her long, hard nipples. 'I'd first like to suck in them and maybe get some of your milk to drink. Do you think I can get some milk out of them, Marianne, if I suck real hard?' Without waiting for her answer I took her left tit in both hands and sank my mouth hungrily around its long, candy-apple point.
"'My tits are full of delicious hot milk, dear one, and I've been saving it all for you,' she lied, grabbing hold of my dick with one hand and my balls with the other, then slipping the head of my dick inside the slit of her pussy. 'You can get it if you suck real hard; real, real hard. Ah, yes, that's perfect! Mmmmmmm, darling, it's just marvelous, having you nurse on my nipples, like you are truly my own baby and I am truly your mother. Oh, suck, suck, baby! Drink my hot mother's milk! It's so good for you and sooooooo good for me, too!'
"Well, I didn't get any milk but, let me tell you, I sure tried. I sucked until I was blue in the face, actually imagining that I was drawing something out, something warm and spicy. So what? It was great fun, anyway, and all the more fun because Marianne was keeping time with my sucking, bumping her big, hot pussyslit up against the head of my super-hard dick, sending a million volts of electricity racing through it.
"I mean, the head of my cock wasn't just bumping in between the hot, fat lips of Marianne's pussy; it was sliding back and forth in all that juice of hers, like her pussy-lips were jacking me off. Damn, was that ever turning me on!
"I guess I started to help it along by pushing my dick in rhythm with her humping, because very soon she decided that I was getting too excited in our standing position. 'Oh, Billy, we'd better stop this!' she groaned, pushing my head free of her tits and backing her pussy away. 'I'm afraid you're going to come and I don't want that to happen so soon, especially in this very awkward position. I want you to come fucking me and I want to come with you-at the very same time."
"'Okay, Marianne, I'll do whatever you say,' I muttered like a meek little slave, positive that she was then going to haul me off to her bedroom. Yeah, somehow in my dumbness I figured that screwing was never done anywhere but on a bed because that's where it was always done in the dirty stories the kids used to tell at the military academy.
"But was I ever in for a surprise. Instead of taking me to a bed, or even to the divan close by, Marianne gave me a real wild look, like she was in some kind of terrible, unbearable pain. Then she flopped smack down on her back, right there on the floor! Raising her knees way up high and spreading them as wide as possible, she sort of half moaned and half sobbed. 'Quick, darling, come down here and fuck me! I'm so terribly hot for you that I can't stand it anymore! Please, Billy, I've just got to have your beautiful hard cock in me now....this very minute!!!'
"Poor Marianne, I felt sorry for her, suffering like that. But still I couldn't bring myself to flop down between her legs right at that instant. I wanted to, believe me, but her pussy, close in front of me, was so....so spectacular, all opened up and sparkling pink, that I was hypnotized by it. I mean, I was really hypnotized! I couldn't take my eyes off it!
"After all, I'd never before seen the inside of a cold pussy, much less a boiling hot one, and I had to see everything there was to see. So I just stood there and stared, taking in Marianne's beautiful, juice-filled hole, the pretty little wings just above and the peanut-sized button near the top that was jumping up a storm, reminding me of a Mexican jumping bean in a red, hot frying pan.
"'Oh, please, darling, don't just stand there looking!' Marianne sobbed tearfully as she stretched her arms out to me. 'Can't you see how I'm suffering? Can't you see how desperate I am for you to fuck me?'
"That snapped me out of my trance-that and the throbbing in my long, rock-hard dick that was getting so painful I could barely stand it. All of a sudden I was as desperate to have my prick in Marianne's pussy as she was. Not wasting another second, I flopped down between her smooth, soft legs, laid my mouth down hard on hers as she quickly inserted my fired-up hard on into her pussy-hole, then began pumping up and down for all I was worth.
"Wow, what a feeling! It seemed like Marianne's pussy was swallowing me, balls and all! It seemed like my whole naked body was inside her belly, getting squeezed and stroked and sucked by those boiling hot inner muscles. It seemed like she had swallowed me in whole and was actually doing her darndest to digest me-as though I was a big hunk of steak!
"But I loved it, every split second of it, not only the way her pussy was gobbling up my dick, but also the way her tongue was shooting deep into my mouth and throat, sort of keeping time with the wild humping of her big butt. And what wild noises were coming out of her, both from her pussy and from way down deep in her throat. Her pussy sounded like the bubbling of lava at the bottom of a live volcano, which I guess it was, in a way; and the sounds from her throat were the sounds of a starved animal gorging itself of food.
"Finally, I felt myself beginning to explode. And I felt Marianne beginning to explode, too. I pumped faster and faster, harder and harder; she began twisting and squirming, meeting my harder thrusts with harder thrusts of her own. Then she started clawing my back and jerking her head from side to side so wildly that she lost my mouth.
"'Ohhhhhhh, sonovabitch ... damn ... shit!' she groaned. 'I'm coming, cooooomming! Oh, baby, it's so wonderful ... so marvelous ... so heavenly! Shoot, my precious darling, shoot.
Shoot, shoot your wonderful hot come in me!! Flood my cunt with your sweet, little-boy come!! I want it!! I've got to have it!!'
"Well, she didn't have to ask for it, because she was already getting it. I mean, I started unloading in her belly about the same time she popped off. Only I was too far out in orbit to do any talking like her. She must've known; she must've been crying out for me to come just to get more, as if that was possible.
"Anyway, she didn't cry out for more very long because she didn't have the strength. In a few seconds her voice got softer and softer, and she just sort of wilted like a wet rag with her eyes closed and her drooly mouth hanging half open. I got a little glimpse of her pretty face that way, then I collapsed and went to sleep on top of her, feeling like I had just run full speed in a hundred mile race. Never, but never in my whole life, had I felt so bushed-or so tingly good. Because, you see, I felt like I'd won that hundred mile race.
"I don't know how long I slept, but it was daylight when I woke up and Marianne was no longer on the floor with me. Somehow she had managed to wiggle out from under me and, after quietly dressing, had slipped out to do some shopping in the nifty little hotel boutiques. By the time I'd showered and dressed, she was back with an armfull of new duds for both of us, plus a couple of bottles of vitamins just for me.
"'Hell, Marianne, I don't need all those vitamins,' I told her. 'I'm plenty healthy and strong, you oughta know that after what we've been through already in such a short time.
"Her answer should've tipped me off to what kind of relationship she had in mind for us but it didn't. I guess I was just too dumb. 'Oh, yes, my darling, you are plenty healthy and strong right now but it isn't now that I'm concerned about; it's the future.' After saying that, she walked up to me real sexy-like and gave me a big hug and kiss, grinding her pussy up against my dick a little. 'We're going to have such a marvelous future together, you and I, aren't we, dear?' she added.
"'Yeah, sure, Marianne, we can't miss,' I said, thinking that maybe it wasn't so bad after all, having a mother and a common-law wife all wrapped into one. Then just to make Marianne happy, I let her drop several of those big vitamin capsules in my mouth.
"The next month was real ... well, peculiar. I mean, we stayed on in the Bahamas, enjoying the best climate and ocean surf in the world, fishing, taking in a few guided tours and all that stuff. But Marianne wasn't romantic hardly ever. Yeah, sure, she kissed me plenty and called me sweet names, but it didn't go any further than that. She didn't even come into the bathroom to see me when I was showering, or visit me in bed to talk and maybe sneak a little feel. Really, it was like old times before Charles passed away. The only difference was that we were together more, and she had me taking those damn vitamins every day.
"Then suddenly-pow!-Marianne was back in heat and I understood the whole routine, vitamins and all. She hadn't meant to be sexually cool and motherly toward me; she'd just been coasting along in between her monthly spells of red hot passion. She'd been building on my strength and saving it for the day that she really, desperately needed it. And that day had finally arrived.
"Man, I'll never forget it. There I was, laying in bed late one morning, completely nude and uncovered because of the warm, tropical air blowing in from the nearby window, wondering if Marianne would want to go swimming of fishing that day. The door opened and there she was, staring at me hungrily, as naked as I was. Only it was clear that she hadn't just gotten out of bed, because her face was made up with eye shadow and her hair was beautifully combed out, like she'd fixed herself up special just for me. And her tits-wowee!-I'd never seen them standing out so far and pointed, with nipples so long and red.
"'Hello, my darling,' she said softly when she noticed me looking at her with wide open, admiring eyes. 'It's nice to be naked on a morning like this, isn't it? Would you like to have some company? I've been thinking of you all night, and of how terribly much I love you. I just had to see you before we got dressed and started a new day of pretending that we are mother and son instead of lovers."
"'But, Marianne, I thought you had changed your mind about us being lovers,' I said. 'You've been so ... so motherly toward me the past month, I thought you were ashamed of letting me do what I did to you when we first got here."
"'Ashamed? Never!' she answered, coming toward me and sitting on the edge of my bed. 'How could I ever be ashamed of having sex with the only boy that I've ever truly loved, the only male that I've ever truly wanted? No, my precious, the sex we had last month was positively heavenly and I wouldn't have missed it for the whole world. You may not realize it, but every day since then I've been looking forward to the time when we'd be having sex again. The only fear I've had is that you might not want me again that way."
"I had an answer for her. I was going to tell her that maybe it was best that we didn't have any more sex together because sooner or later someone was bound to find out about us and maybe cause a lot of trouble. But she bent over me before I could say anything and pressed her lips against mine, at the same time running her hand down over my nipples and stomach until she reached my dick. The next instant, she was shooting her long, hot tongue deep into my mouth and working my dick into a tremendous hard on.
"Let me tell you, with Marianne's tongue dancing around in my mouth and her long, electric fingers racing all over my cock and balls, it took me a few seconds to get as hot as a furnace. 'Oh, Marianne, you sure know how to get me worked up, don't you?' I groaned, taking hold of one of her giant tits and milking the nipple with my fingers. 'If you don't be careful, you'll get me so worked up that I'll want to fuck your pussy again. Yeah, you've got such a nice big, sexy pussy, I think I could spend this whole day fucking it."
"It was then that Marianne let the cat out of the bag. 'No, my own precious baby,' she answered, her breath beginning to sound like a boiling steam engine, 'you're going to do more than fuck me today. You're going to let me eat you up completely and you're going to eat me up completely. We're going to do everything today, and I do mean everything. We're going to have all the sex that's possible between male and female, because only in that way can we prove our great love for each other."
"The next instant, Marianne straddled my hard on and lowered herself down on it, plunging it all the way into her pussy-hole. Then she just sat there, bouncing up and down like a cowboy on a bucking bronco while she held my hands to her hard, bouncing tits. 'Fuck, Billy, fuck!' she cried like a woman gone mad. 'Ram your beautiful little-boy hard on deep into my love-starved cunt . ... deeper, deeper, deeper!!'
"Maybe it was the vitamins I'd been taking or maybe it was Marianne's extra hot pussy, I don't know, but anyway I popped off real quick. And that was exactly what she wanted because it excited her all the more, making her come in a gigantic explosion almost at the same time.
"'Wow-eee!' she bellowed in ecstasy. 'How I needed that! Oh, how I needed that! You're so marvelous, my beloved, so virile and full of youthful passion! Please, please give me more of your passion! I've simply got to have more!'
"And so I gave her more, just as she wanted it. I screwed her again with me on top; then I washed and let her give my dick a good, hot sucking with her mouth; then she washed and I gave in to her tearful plea for my tongue licking and jabbing in her boiling pussy. I mean, I gave her so much sex that I didn't have any more to give. But still she demanded more and more!
"There was just no way, no way, that Marianne could get enough. And I knew that it would be the same when she was back in heat a month later-and every month from then on if I stayed with her. There was only one answer: I had to leave her or literally get loved to death! So I left her. My strength was practically drained to nothing, but that very same afternoon while Marianne was resting, I took some money from her purse, sneaked out of the hotel and never went back. I just disappeared right out of her life.
"I don't know, maybe I did wrong, running away from Marianne like that after she and Charles had rescued me from the orphanage and been so good to me. Every now and then I get little pangs of conscience over it. But, really, what else was I to do?"
The sexual appetite of Billy's foster mother appears abnormal at first glance. However, this view may be somewhat prejudiced by our puritanical background. Researching this phenomenon in his book Sexual Freedom, Rene Guyon makes some pertinent observations:
The fact is that woman's sexual appetite is usually very strong. The Bedouins declare that her senses are as inflammable as touchwood. Bauer declares it indisputable "that women were always on the look-out for a man who will gratify their sexual desire." And Norman Haire writes in Hymen: "Every sexologist is aware that the normal woman has as vigorous a sex-appetite as the normal man, and it is just as frequent for married women to complain of their husband's inadequacy as of his sexual excess."
We can't help but applaud Billy's decision to break away from his foster mother. Knowing how dependent such relationships can be, it must have required great strength of character. In fact, despite his many early handicaps and loneliness, Billy shows remarkable progress and seems well on his way to assuming a sexually mature adult role.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hazardous Houseplay
"There was something strange in the way he looked at me, his eyes piercing through my nightgown. I thought he was trying to be friendly, trying to make up for the love I'd missed. But his love wasn't the kind I expected.
"I turned my cheek for him to kiss me goodnight, but the first thing I knew, his mouth was planted fully and firmly upon mine, his tongue trying to part my lips. I squirmed reluctantly, but his grasp was strong and demanding.
"'No!' I managed to cry out. His relentless mouth hushed my protest, his lips bearing down hard on mine, twisting them and forcing them apart.
"No one had ever kissed me this way before. I knew that this was the secret that grown-ups tried to keep from us kids, that this was sex. At thirteen you dream about things like this, but you don't expect them to happen for real. And no matter how hard you try to imagine what lovemaking is really like, you don't know until it happens. And with me it happened with Jess, a man I wanted desperately to call 'father."
"There was no way on earth I could have stopped him. Kate, his bitchy wife, was gone for the evening and he was determined to have me right then and there. Sure, I knew tricks to use with a rapist. You push your fingers in their eyes or knee them in the balls. I couldn't do anything like that to Jess, though. I was too crazy about him even then.
"Had he guessed how I felt about him? That I thought he was the handsomest man I'd ever seen? That I sympathized every time his wife treated him lousy? Had I brought all this upon myself somehow? These things raced through my mind, then and afterwards, too. Well, if I'd really led him on, I couldn't blame him, could I? I'd have to keep my unspoken promises.
"It's true that I felt a tingle of attraction for him, even when the social worker was introducing us. Here was this tough, lean-looking guy, tall and brawny, with hands big enough to crush me. I knew as I looked at the pair of them standing there just what was up. His dumpy wife wanted to have a kid around to get even with him for something, maybe for not making her pregnant with a kid of her own. She was a mean one. She wouldn't have known how to mother a kitten or a puppy or be kind to a crippled, dying bird. And she hated Jess, probably because his big boots made marks on her floors. I knew her type, hustling and bustling around with the Ajax to keep herself from doing something really violent.
"Jess wasn't the meek sort, though, and I figured that he spent most of his time away from the house, probably taking refuge in drinking beer. And he didn't really want a kid around either, except maybe he thought that would give Kate something to occupy herself with.
"'I thought you meant a little kid,' he said to the social worker, as he looked me up and down.
"'Barbara's a little mature for her age. You'll find her bright and agreeable. She'll be a lot of help to your wife, too.' The social worker smiled cheerily.
"Hell, that social worker was either putting on a big show or else she was downright dumb. I knew more than she did about people from watching TV and movies and trying to imagine what real families were like.
"She was right about one thing, though, Kate put me to work, scrubbing and polishing, hardly giving me time off to do my homework. I felt like Cinderella, but there was no fairy godmother and no prince for me.
"Unless the prince was Jess. He was the only thing I liked about my life. School was awful; the kids treated me like dirt. Jess would joke with me and be nice to me. He liked me from the start, but I had no notion of the way he liked me. Really I didn't know it would come to this.
"That's what made it so difficult. I had a crush on Jess and I'd dreamed that someday he'd start being really sweet to me, the way a father should be. Well, I didn't know much about men, I'll admit. I thought it would be possible for him to just hold me gently, nothing more than that. I thought that's what love was with a father or a boyfriend or anybody.
"There was nothing gentle or loving about his advances. He wasn't the same person who'd told me about hunting and fishing a few hours earlier. He'd turned into a wild beast.
"As he pressed his lips down roughly against mine, his hands struggled to get inside my nightgown, ripping it in several places. That's how desperate he was. I could do nothing but surrender myself to him, for I was frightened, not sure what he'd do if I didn't give in.
"So I yielded, letting his tongue into my mouth where it swirled around, brushing my own tongue as well as my lips and my teeth. This gave me a strange sensation which I couldn't accept as pleasure. Not yet. It was too strange, too new. At the same time, his fingers dug into my breasts, first from outside the nightgown, then on the bare skin. I knew that's what had captivated him-my breasts which were big and heavy and made me look so much older. He plucked at them roughly, not caring if he hurt me, it seemed. He acted like an animal.
"I responded without realizing it at the time, but I remember now that my breath started coming in little gasps. My heart pounded hard and loud, partly from fear and partly from pleasure. Being afraid was really part of enjoying it. Even now, I'm not sure when the fear stopped and the enjoyment began. Chills shot up my spine as his hands grazed my naked skin, chills that might have been from fear or from pleasure or from both.
"Still kissing me brutally, he positioned himself over me, lowering his body to mine, his weight nearly crushing me. It was no use struggling. I knew I couldn't get away from him, and maybe I already didn't want to.
"His thick chest now weighed heavily on my tender breasts, flattening them beneath him. With his feet and legs, he was pushing the bedcovers back, all the while squirming against me. His knees then began to pry my legs apart.
"I trembled, totally helpless now. I could feel the bulge of his cock against my belly and there was no mistaking what he meant to do.
"'I'm going to have you, Barb, you little bitch,' he said, withdrawing his lips from mine at last. 'Whether you like it or not. But I think you'll like it. I think it's what you've been wantin' all along, isn't it?'
"'No, you're mistaken,' I whispered breathlessly, 'No, Jess, no."
"But even as I protested, I felt my body begin to melt under his. My legs now touched his, although his worn trousers still kept our bare skin from meeting. He moved against me in an up and down motion that was a preview of what he would soon do to me. I felt myself begin to sway under him. My body was turning to liquid. It seemed I was a quivering heap.
"I looked up at his face, gazing into the handsomeness mixed with harsh cruelty. So this was passion. It was wrong. God, I knew it was wrong, yet somewhere inside I was proud that I could bring a man to desire me as a woman.
"Again his lips came down on mine and this time I yielded my tongue to him, letting it twirl about his as his mouth twisted mine hungrily. At the same time, I opened my thighs wider, as though to tell him to go ahead and do whatever it was. I didn't expect to like it, yet I liked what was happening now. I felt cool then hot and kind of tingley. It was like something in a dream.
"Then he broke away from me and sat up. He was gloating. He'd made me hot and he was pleased with himself. 'Oh, Jess, does it have to be this way?' I wanted to cry out to him, but I couldn't.
"I watched as he took off his pants, his cock springing out as he lowered his pants and his shorts at the same time. I'd never seen a man's naked cock before and began to wonder if there was room for it all inside me. I knew that men's organs could be pretty big, but I had no idea that when they got hard they were tough enough to stand up by themselves. I was mystified and I wanted to explore that cock.
"He gave me my wish, for as soon as his pants were off, he guided my hand toward that enormous tool. I ran my fingertips over the surface, touching all its little veins and bumps. Then he took my small hand in his and showed me how to encircle it with my thumb and forefinger. Silently, he guided my hand up and down, watching me intently. I was too entranced to say anything. To think that men carried things like this inside their pants all the time! I found it hard to believe that men and girls were really so different.
"I guess he sensed my admiration. He smiled down at me, but it was a wicked smile. I was ashamed for letting myself get so carried away, but I couldn't help it.
"The next thing I knew he was pulling up my nightgown, exposing my naked skin, my spread thighs, my belly and at last my breasts. Finally, he undid the buttons at the neck and pulled it over my head. I didn't cooperate, but I didn't do anything to hinder him. I just lay there, letting him look at my tits. He waited like a wild beast about to spring.
"Then he was over me, his lips smothering me, leaving patches of dampness all over my face. His hands worked roughly at my breasts, pulling the nipples, squeezing them. His legs were neatly between mine and hanging over my mound was his rigid prick.
"This was my last chance to stop him, but instead I lay there gasping and quaking. My body spoke a language all its own, a language that Jess understood even if I didn't.
"His hand found its way to the damp mass of hair around my pussy and for several minutes he massaged the loose, tender flesh. I trembled at his touch, never having felt anything quite like it before. My head whirled dizzily. Soon his fingers were replaced by the head of his cock. He moved it up and down along the slippery surface of my cunt.
"Probably the hole wasn't all that easy to find. I didn't think I was a virgin, technically speaking, but I'd never been penetrated by anything bigger than one of my own fingers. Suddenly, his cock was prodding at the right spot. He applied pressure and stretched my cunt to let himself in. Slowly his enormous tool sank into me.
"'Oooooo,' I cried out, though I'm not sure if it was pleasure or pain I felt at first. More than anything, I was aware of the sensation of being filled to the brim. My slight body seemed to be nothing more than a thin sheath around his cock. That's how big it felt.
"My eyes were squeezed shut as he began to pump up and down, sliding his prick in and out and jostling my whole body as he did so. I was suddenly still. For just an instant, I was aware of what was happening. I was having intercourse, getting 'fucked,' and the man wasn't my husband or boyfriend but my foster father. It wasn't just a dream; it was really happening to me! I recoiled in horror, but the slow, sensuous rhythm of his cock invading me again and again numbed my mind, dimming everything but the strange new sensations that rose in my body and overwhelmed me. I gave way to the mysterious energy that flowed through my body. Soon I'd put my arms around him, pulling him even closer to me.
"He humped me slowly at first, then gradually increased his speed. I didn't move with him, but I was moving. I simply couldn't lie still. My hips sprang upward and swiveled beneath his powerful strokes. He drove his tool into me with more and more force, whipping it in and out so fiercely that I thought it would rip me to pieces. The softness of my body yielded completely and sometimes my pussy seemed to be sucking his cock into it. I really hadn't known I was capable of such things.
"How unbelievable it was, me lying there all soft and warm and wiggling, while Jess prodded that huge prick of his into me again and again, faster and faster. My body was like a raging fire with flames that leapt out from my pussy and heat that spread to every part of me. He was so beastly, so cruel as he rode me without caring what happened to me, and yet, for reasons beyond my understanding, I liked what he was doing to me.
"There was a slurp, slurp as his cock pushed into my wet cunt. Puddles of sweat seemed to glue our bodies together. There were unfamiliar smells, even the smell of our sweat was different. Nothing was like the real world where things are clean, cold and shiny. This was warm and soft and spicy, like maybe an opium dream.
"My sensations began to overtake me. I lost myself to the strange thrill of it all. Nothing mattered but what I felt deep inside me. I clung to Jess and my pussy rose toward him. I wanted more and more of him.
"At last he was moving so rapidly it was like the vibrations of an engine. His breath had turned to low, quick gasps as he prodded me with short, fast strokes. I felt myself growing softer and softer, warmer and warmer. His damp shoulder over my face cut off the air, and I was sure I was going to faint.
"Finally, I seemed to turn to jelly. Ripples of pleasure started in my cunt and spread through me. It was like music or maybe like an explosion, I don't know. I lost control of my body which jerked and bucked all on its own accord. I just let it happen. Again and again the waves of sensation hit me.
"All this time, of course, Jess was fucking me furiously. I was surprised, though, when he halted suddenly with no warning. Only moments later, when he pulled out his huge cock and I felt the gobs of liquid that trailed from it, did I realize that he'd come.
"It was over and I lay there whimpering. Jess picked up his clothes and left. I felt so alone. I've always been alone, of course, but never quite so alone as at that moment. One instant he was holding me to him, his beautifully big cock deep inside me, and the next minute, nothing. My body still heaved and trembled. The heaving soon turned to sobs.
"I could have screamed 'rape,' I suppose, but the thought didn't occur to me. I'd been part of it, Jess hadn't forced me, not all the way. I'd given in. I'd wanted it.
"Days passed and I longed for Kate to go away so Jess could make love to me again. Funny, I thought things would change, that Jess might start treating me differently, but he became rather distant after that night. He didn't make little jokes for my benefit or talk to me at the table anymore. I figured, though, that he was putting on a front for Kate so she wouldn't guess what had happened between us.
"I'd go to my room alone, try to focus on my homework and end up flopping on the bed, my body seething with desire which I thought only Jess could satisfy. I longed for him, ached for him. I didn't dare touch my pussy-it was so hot.
"At last we were alone again. I got undressed and lay nude between the sheets waiting for him. Time passed and he didn't come. Finally, I threw on a robe and went to the living room where he was watching TV.
"'What you doin' up?' he asked.
"'Just thought you might like some company,' I said.
"'Well, you better go back to bed,' he told me sternly.
"'Jess ... ' I began and I almost started to stutter. 'Couldn't it be like, you know, two weeks ago, when Kate was out? You remember, don't you?'
"He looked at me and I could see both hatred and passion in his eyes. He hadn't wanted me to bring that up.
"'Barb, whatever you think happened, you just imagined. You hear? It wasn't real. You dreamed it up. You dreamed the whole thing."
"I couldn't believe my ears. 'It did happen, Jess, I know it did!' I protested.
"'It didn't. Now, go to bed,' he yelled.
"I don't know why I let this confuse me, but I began to wonder whether I was sane. Now and then, I'd put things together and admit that it was real. Jess, of course, was trying to protect himself by pretending that it wasn't. But I needed some protection, too, so I'd tell myself that it wasn't real and that I was going mad. It was easier to think of myself as insane than admitting that I'd allowed this to happen.
"To make matters worse, I went to the counselor at school. When I told her I thought I was losing my mind, she kept asking why until I finally told her what there'd been between Jess and me. Then she, too, told me that I must have imagined it. I walked out of her office, deciding that it was best to let her think that."
The libidinous thoughts which Barbara expressed throughout the interviews, though vivid, detailed and extremely convincing, actually spring from a well of autoerotic fantasy. The case is unusual in that the subject is remarkably skillful in combining the real facts, such as her pregnancy, with her rich dream and imaginary worlds.
In other respects, the case is not unusual. In fact, cases such as Barbara's have been the cornerstone of psychiatric research from the earliest days. Indeed, Freud discovered around 1900 that some of the traumatic childhood experiences described by patients were actually fantasies. These discoveries opened a new field of psychiatric study, pertaining to early development of the child.
Freud wanted to find out why patients so frequently fantasized explicit scenes of sexual seduction, and it was through this research that he evolved his theory of the sexual development of man.
Perhaps there is no better intrepretation of the Freudian concept of childhood sexuality than Dr. Clara Thomson's Psycho-analysis. In this work, she describes how Freud was able to develop his theory of the Oedipus complex through the examination of fantasy.
As Freud observed through dream interpretation and the recollections of neurotics similar to the one in this case, the Oedipus complex manifested itself at a certain age when the child becomes sexually interested in the parent of the opposite sex, developing a feeling of rivalry and a wish to displace the parent of the same sex. Dr. Thomson elaborates further on the Freudian concept:
The problematical aspect of the Oedipus complex was thought to be due to the following. The boy child, for example, soon learns that sexual interest in the mother is taboo. Also, because of his erotic interest in his mother he feels hostile to his father, whom he considers a rival. But he loves his father at the same time, and this makes hostile feelings toward him a source of distress. Also, because of his hostile feelings for his mother he expects punishment, and the punishment which fits the crime is castration. Something similar happens to the little girl with the father as the center of erotic interest, but in her case the fear of castration plays little part in the conflict because she has no penis to lose. This early sexual interest in the parents, Freud believed, was the source of the adult neurotic fantasies "of seduction in childhood. The fantasies were the expression of a wish to have their "Oedipus" interests gratified without guilt.
This seems to describe the feminine oedipal component in Barbara's case. Unable to have actual sexual relations with the closest father figure, in this instance Jeff, the subject has created a safe, though neurotic fantasy life. However, this is not to say that her descriptions of sexual relations are totally contrived. She has had intercourse numerous times with older boys, and some have volunteered information regarding this case. Their feelings, generally, were that Barbara is sexually "hung-up," and often dependent. One of the boys described her as "a nymph." These latter interviews indicate that Barbara is attempting to act out her symbolic need for a father's love.
In this Freudian interpretation of Barbara's guilt motivated fantasies, we cannot fail to point out the subject's preoccupation with both oral and anal eroticism. Freud noted that three orifices of the body, the mouth, the anus and genitals, were the earliest sources of sexual pleasure for the child. Later this stage was divided into two primary parts characterized by sucking pleasure and, at a subsequent stage, biting. A close examination of Barbara's autoerotic fantasies indicate a strong fixation with this infantile form of satisfaction. Of special interest is her fascination with the imagined approaches to her anal region made by her foster father.
At this point, it is important to note that the sexual assaults described by the subject could not have occurred in "real life" because the foster father in this particular case history has been impotent for a number of years. This impotency, resulting from a war injury, has been a constant source of unresolved tensions with his wife, Kate. In fact, it was their inability to conceive children of their own, not a revenge motive as Barbara intimated, which prompted the couple to apply for an adopted child.
"'Suck it, ya little bitch. Curl your lips around your tongue and take it in your mouth and suck it dry.' It was Jess.
"Kate had gone to her sister's and Jess hadn't been able to stay away from me. He'd waited, though, till I'd gone to sleep, then he woke me up by playing with my pussy under the covers.
"At first I thought I was dreaming. I felt the pleasant touch of his fingers against my clitoris, rubbing it back and forth and around and around. The warmth spread and I opened my legs, only to have his fingers dive into my cunt.
"I opened my eyes at last and by the light of the little lamp by my bed, I could see that it was Jess, grinning in his cool way at me. He was stark naked and beautiful in the dim light, the hair on his chest all dark and soft-looking.
"I was infinitely happy that he'd come to me again, and I was ready to comply with whatever his wishes might be.
"'Suck my cock,' he said again, standing up. It was erect and pointing straight at me.
"I hadn't the slightest notion of what he was talking about. You see, oral sex wasn't something they mentioned in classes on reproduction, and I'd been shielded from sex books and marriage manuals.
"'C'mon. Don't tell me a hot little bitch like you doesn't know how to suck cock. Do it for Jess. Do it now."
"Since he pointed his prick at my mouth, I knew more or less what he wanted. I took it in my mouth but the sharp edges of my teeth grazed the tender flesh too roughly. He cried out, then he was telling me and showing me what to do.
"At first I thought I'd gag. I was scared of it and yet I didn't dare let go, even for an instant. I sat up in bed and his hands were under my head while he knelt in front of me on his knees. That way he could make my head bounce back and forth, but he also could plunge his cock deeply into my mouth. Each time it went in a little further than before.
"This must be one of the worst things in sex, I thought, that's why people don't talk about it. I'd heard the word perversion and I knew that people sometimes did really strange things. I wondered if he'd piss in my mouth or something. He wouldn't care; he'd do that sort of thing. But I didn't realize that at this moment he wasn't capable of pissing.
"In and out, in and out, he jerked it. I wasn't really sucking, I was just providing a hole for his cock. I felt hurt and humiliated. After all, he'd wakened me by caressing my cunt and now I had to do this awful thing. While it was going on, though, I couldn't help but be impressed by the power and masculine strength of that cock. It seemed even bigger now than when it had been in my pussy. It was huge, and keeping my mouth wide enough was a strain. My throat hurt and tears welled in my eyes. He either didn't see my tears or he didn't care. I didn't want to see his face.
"Then he held my head perfectly still and whipped it in and out with lightning speed. My jaws were paralyzed. I thought my neck would break. My God, he was fucking me in the mouth and he was going to finish that way, too, I was sure of it. I recognized the intensity of his motions, like what he did when he had his prick deep inside my cunt. Only now he wasn't sending any delightful sensations through me, just making me more and more frightened. For all I knew, this could kill me.
"It wasn't long, though, before one strangling thrust let me know that he was coming. He sighed loudly and at the same time the salty liquid shot into my mouth, filling it and overflowing at the corners. And then he was pulling his prick out. I held his stuff in my mouth, not knowing what to do.
"'Swallow, damn you, swallow it. Won't hurt you,' he said.
"I gulped and swallowed a couple of times. It was thick and sticky, and I had a hard time getting it down. It had a delicate taste, though, that I soon came to like.
"'Now you're a woman,' he said. 'A girl spits it out but a woman swallows it."
"That pleased me. I put my arms around him, cuddling my head against his thighs. He stroked my hair. He seemed to be grateful and he wasn't going to turn and leave me right away. That was something, at least, although I had no idea of what he meant to do next.
"He pushed me away just a little, then bent me backwards on the bed. Carefully he lifted my nightgown up over my head without making a tear or popping any buttons. The last nightgown I'd had to throw out and Kate had spent days looking for it.
"I lay before him, my plump breasts pointing toward the ceiling. I was hot, but I didn't know if he intended to do anything about it. After all, he'd got what he wanted.
"He began running his hands over my tits, not as roughly as before, but not tenderly either. He wasn't capable of sex without a bit of brutality, that's just the kind of guy he was.
"Then his hands traveled downward, over my taut belly, closer and closer to the tiny triangle of kinky hair. He ran his fingers through it, then opened my thighs. With the fingertips of one hand, he grazed my clitoris, the way he'd done as I was waking. I trembled with delight, hoping that he'd do more than just tease me. My cunt was as wet as it was hot so he'd know that I wanted it-really wanted it.
"My eyes met his for a brief instant. There was still that look of cruelty, but there was more. I knew he liked my body, that I turned him on and now he was looking at me as though he wanted to try something and wasn't quite sure about it.
"He sprawled out on the bed, his head between my knees. He was looking straight at my cunt and fingering it at the same time, exploring its hills and valleys with his fingertips. I wanted more and I wanted it so badly I could almost beg for it. He knew, of course, he knew, and he wanted to let me suffer, waiting for more and not getting quite enough. He knew how to make me so hot I could hardly stand it.
"His fingers rubbed along my clitoris for an endless time, then circled round it, teasingly, torturously, and finally he prodded two fingers into my cunt. He left them inside only an instant, then withdrew them, teasing me some more. My pussy was shaking, and he was able to see it as well as feel it, and probably smell the juices that flowed freely from my hungry cunt.
"I looked at him eyeing my pussy and licking his lips. Slowly he brought his head in closer and closer until his mouth and nose almost touched my cunt. I could hardly believe it. He was going to do to me what I'd done to himgive me sex with his mouth. I learned a lot that night.
"He was hesitant, as though not quite sure if he wanted to do it. Maybe he hadn't done it before. It was pretty hard to imagine him with Kate like this, but it was hard to imagine them in bed together anyway.
"Finally, he drew out his tongue and ran the very tip of it over my clitoris. His tongue was wet and slick and so was my clit. The two surfaces seemed to melt together. My hips bucked automatically and without even meaning to do so, I thrust my cunt into his face.
"This brought out the fury in him. He began chomping on my cunt with his teeth and lapping his tongue against me greedily. It didn't hurt me, though, not this time. I believe he wanted me to enjoy it, and I think he really liked doing it. He went at my juicy cunt like a hungry animal, gnawing at the slick, tender flesh mercilessly, all the while making crude, beast-like groans deep in his throat.
"The pleasure I felt was strange and wild, as though I were in the grips of some very dangerous, not quite human creature. I'd had no idea that lovemaking could be like this.
"One instant I'd feel the sharpness of his teeth and prickly beard, which sent little shocks like bolts of electricity through me. The next instant, I would be soothed and swooning at the soft touch of his lips and tongue. My clit was hard and bulging, though he was able to crush it down to the size of a button. For now, he ignored the hole, except for letting his rough chin brush against it. My juices oozed out his face and I trembled helplessly.
"He was torturing me and he knew it. What's more he enjoyed my agony. I was so close to coming, but not quite there. I didn't know what would make me come, but he did and he wasn't about to give it to me just yet.
"I felt the tugging of his hands under my buttocks as he cupped the firm flesh, then began to control slow, circular movements of the lower part of my body. He was grinding my cunt against his face, his teeth, his tongue. His nose now pushed against my clit as his tongue swept vigorously lower down, closer and closer to my slit. I waited breathlessly. I wanted my cunt to be filled. Even his tongue would do, but he denied me that for several more moments.
"He took one of his hands from under me and moistened his fingertips in the pools of liquid that lined my cunt, while being careful to avoid my eager hole. Downward his fingers traveled, past my slit and toward my ass. Oh, no, not my ass, I thought, that's too much. I didn't expect to like it, but as his fingers pried open this part of me, I was amazed at how much like my cunt it felt.
"Slowly he sank his forefinger in. Then another finger joined it, stretching and invading me, deeper and deeper.
"I felt a low scream rise and catch in my throat. My breathing turned to harsh panting and my cunt shook uncontrollably. I was trying to imagine his huge cock in my cunt, trying to pretend it was there now, when he curled his tongue, making the tip of it hard and pointed, and with this he dived frantically in and out of my cunt-hole. His fingers wiggled in my ass while his nose massaged my clit. The sensations were now coming from everywhere.
"I felt a sudden sharpness, I'm not sure where. Then suddenly, without warning, my pussy seemed to pucker and close up only to open again. Quivering and moaning, I let myself rise and fall in convulsions I could not control. Tremors shot through me with earthquake violence. The intensity of it seemed to subside, but it returned, more overwhelming than ever.
"At last the scream I'd held in my throat surfaced. 'Ooooo,' I yelled, not caring who heard me.
"Slowly his fingers retreated from my ass. He lapped at my quivering cunt a few more times with his tongue, then drew his face away. I finally opened my eyes.
"He grinned at me, then he broke into a laugh, a coarse, cruel laugh.
"'You got what you wanted, didn't you?' he gloated. 'Little bitch so hot for old Jess you can hardly stand it. Yeah, you got just what you had in mind, didn't you?'
"I lay there, still shaking weakly and said nothing. I wished that he could have been, well, more delicate.
"'Answer me, whore!' he yelled. 'That was what you wanted, wasn't it?'
"'Yes,' I said in a small voice.
"Then he chuckled. Even when he was mean like this, he was incredibly handsome. I forgave him for being cruel to me. It was just his way of doing things, I rationalized. He didn't know how to be any different. I didn't know how far that mean streak ran, though.
"'Let's play a little more tonight, since you're so hot for it,' he said. 'Suck me. Get me hard again."
"Without protesting, I lifted my still dizzy head from the pillow. His cock, I could see, had shrunken and lay limp. I took it between my hands where it stayed soft and pliable. I'd never seen it like that before and it was difficult to believe how much it was capable of changing.
"I lowered my mouth over it and extended my tongue to lick it. Under my touch, it began to grow larger. I swept my tongue over it a few more times then drew it into my mouth. There it rapidly swelled to the size I'd remembered it. I was about to stop, but he caught my head and wouldn't let me move away. I guess he wanted to make sure it would stay hard. He controlled the motions of my head with his hands, making me bob up and down as my lips gently grazed the loose outer layer of skin.
"'You want old Jess to fuck you, don't you, Barby girl?' he said.
"I was about to move to answer him, but he kept me where I was for a few more instants. Then, he jerked away and threw me over, face down on the bed and propped up my ass. I thought for a minute this was what he was aiming for, but he spread the lips of my pussy and prodded his huge prick at my cunt until it found the right direction and went in.
"I gave a little howl as he pierced me with that enormous instrument. Hot as I was and dripping wet, too, my cunt was still tight and inexperienced. His cock jabbed into me like a sharp knife.
"Once in me, he encircled my thighs with his arms and brought his fingers to rest near my clit. Then as he ploughed his cock into me, he moved his hands over the outer part of my pussy, jostling my clitoris.
"His motions were slow at first, though not really gentle. Jess was never gentle, only teasing. I soon got over being tired from the last time, and before I knew it, I was hot, my body all atingle. It was hard to believe the things this mean man could do to me. His prick filled me beautifully. Coming in from the rear like that made it seem even bigger. It really crushed the walls of my cunt
"He knew I was hot for it and began to pump me harder and faster, each stroke of his cock cruel and jabbing. I reached for something to hang onto and found the pillow, which I gripped desperately with my hands. I was dizzy and gasping for breath. My cunt felt as though it would be ripped apart or turned inside out from the violence of his fucking. The sensations were so sharp they were like pain, but I wouldn't have wanted him to go away for anything. I wanted him right there, churning away at my cunt from behind.
"His hands moved faster now, too, almost making my clit vibrate without really touching it, just moving it from the sides. Together we shook and swayed. I gave way to little groans, all the while holding the pillow tightly.
"His violence soon overtook me. He moved my body in rhythm with his and I was no longer sure whether the motions originated with him or deep inside me somewhere. Very slowly, I rose to a new peak of sensation. I let him carry me higher and higher until there was nowhere left to go. My body seemed to explode everywhere at once. I rocked and bolted against him, but he held me firmly and kept thrusting his cock into me. With every stroke, my pussy seemed to grab at his cock, but it darted away.
"I was whimpering and squealing as he finally blasted it into me. This was it, the one thrust that finished everything for him. But my pussy kept tugging at his cock which he held deep inside me for several moments.
"He pulled it out at last and gave me a slap on the ass.
"'Didn't want me to pull it out, huh?' he said, sensing the emptiness that I felt as I flopped down on the bed, still shaking and panting. 'Wanted old Jess's cock way inside, yeah, that's what you wanted."
"He often talked like that, sort of talking to himself, making me embarrassed and congratulating himself on what a good job he'd done. Well, he did do a good job, but I shouldn't have settled for anything so cold and cruel. I might have known that he'd betray me in the end.
"When I missed my period, I went to him and told him, saying that I thought I was pregnant and he'd better help me do something about it. I wanted an abortion. I didn't want to have a child who would end up living a life like mine, first in an orphanage and then in a foster home. It was an awful way to grow up and I realized it even then.
"At the news that I was pregnant, Jess put on his dumb act again, pretending that I'd imagined his coming to me in the night. In fact, he balled me out for messing around with the boys at school and told me he knew I was no good, that I'd have to go back to the orphanage.
"Jess was crazy, not me, I told myself. But not even that stopped me from letting him wake me and start making love to me a few nights later.
"He'd removed my nightgown and moistened my cunt with his lips, bringing me almost to a climax before he mounted me from above, sinking his big cock deep into me.
"Up and down we moved together. I spread my legs wide apart, then slung them around his back. He pumped me harder and faster, and with every stroke I gave out little moans of pleasure.
"Vaguely, somewhere in the house, I thought I heard a noise. Jess hadn't heard it though, for he kept fucking me furiously, totally involved with what he was doing. I figured it was nothing more than the floors creaking.
"Suddenly, though, the overhead light came on and Kate was standing over us. She began to take things from my desk and throw them at us, calling me a 'whore' several times, but it was Jess she hit squarely on the head with a book.
"I cringed and Jess pulled away. I hadn't known until then how awfully scared of Kate he was. He no longer looked strong and masculine. He looked meek and sheepish. " 'It's all her fault,' he said to Kate, looking down at me accusingly.
"'Of course, it's her fault,' Kate echoed.
"I started to cry. Then I remembered my suspicions about being pregnant.
"'I'm going to have Jess's baby,' I said.
"'So that's why you trapped him,' Kate yelled, 'so you could blame him. Well, you can start packing. I reckon they'll beat your hide when they get you back where you came from. Serves you right, too."
"I suppose Kate and Jess went on as before. I went back to the orphanage and had the baby, a little boy, and he's still there. They wouldn't let me be with him much, because they were afraid I'd get attached to him.
"The social workers believed Kate and Jess, who said I'd been running around with boys at school. I didn't bother to try to set them straight. For weeks I was in a horrible depression and even now it comes back. I can't think of myself as a normal young woman and picture ever having a good life for myself. And when I feel really bad, I tell myself, the way Jess told me, that it was all a dream, all something I imagined. Sometimes I actually believe that, too."
As is so often the case in studying deviant behavior, we can trace the origin of the disturbance to guilt formed by the neurotic response to the incest-taboo. In The Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud, the author comments:
The incest barrier probably belongs to the historical acquisitions of humanity and, like other moral taboos, it must be fixed in many individuals through organic heredity. Psychoanalytic studies show, however, how intensively the individual struggles with the incest temptations during his development and how frequently he puts them into fantasies and even into reality.
Thus, in a sense, through her fantasies and sexual promiscuity, Barbara continues to struggle with the problems which arose in early childhood.
Significantly, however, this case history does not point to a permanent fixation. During more recent conversations, the subject appears to be making a partial breakthrough in the area of self knowledge. Although still unwilling to acknowledge that the events she described to the interviewers are part of her fantasy world, she is at least beginning to incorporate the possibility that she "imagines" a great deal. With continued therapy, this father fixation need not continue into adult life.
CONCLUSION
A careful analysis of the preceding cases points to the overwhelming importance of the incest taboo in our culture. There is, perhaps no other single factor which explains so much of the prohibitive conditioning of our unconscious as well as conscious lives. Clellen Ford and Frank Beach summarize this phenomenon in their book, Patterns of Sexual Behavior:
It is clear that social rules against intercourse between close relatives reflect cultural rather than physiological or biological tendencies. Close genetic relationship is no barrier to erotic attractiveness. Analysis of the fantasy and dream lives of members of our own and many other societies often reveals strong sexual attraction between parents and offspring as well as between siblings. In the vast majority of cases such incestuous tendencies are not recognized by the individual because of the powerfully inhibiting effects of early training.
Although, technically speaking, sexual relations between foster parents and children are not incestuous from a physiological standpoint, they do, nevertheless, exert the same psychological influence on the individuals involved. As Freud and Ferenczi have shown, foster mothers and fathers, as well as wet nurses, older men, distant relatives, and friends of the family, often symbolize actual parental relationships in the minds of both the child and adult. In one case, involving psychical impotence, the foster mother was seen by Ferenczi as the symbolic agent for the sexual weakness in the son:
The libidinous thoughts repressed in childhood, which condition psychical impotence, need not refer to nearest relatives; it is enough that the infantile sexual object has been a so-called "respected person," demanding in one way or another high consideration.
According to classic psychoanalytic theory, the incest taboo in our culture gives rise to what Freud calls the Oedipus complex, functioning in both sexes. The way in which the individual comes to terms with this conditioning during his formative years may well determine his future happiness and mature sexual development. All of our subjects have in varying degrees struggled with the incest barrier. Some have overcome the problems and have already made the adjustments necessary for adult relationships. In other cases an unsuccessful struggle has resulted in neurosis.
In the case of Susan, we saw how a sexually frustrated father induced sexual guilt in his adolescent daughter by poisoning her mind against all women. Especially significant was her painful memory of his graveside pronouncement that her mother was "a whore," and that all women were sexually filthy. Traumatic experiences such as these often cause a flight from heterosexuality in adolescent girls. This kind of conditioning element can, in conjunction with other factors, bring about inversion with regard to sexual development. In other words, instead of seeking a normal heterosexual outlet, the child can be frightened into overt lesbianism, or, the equally disturbing problem of sexual frigidity.
In all the cases brought forth in this study, the element of fear has played an enormous part in the distortion of child-adult relations. This fear, whether it be of the incest taboo, or, as in the case history of Clay, a fear of authority, tends to prevent the attainment of a stable adult relationship, with sex merely an aspect. Unfortunately, the cycle, as we have seen, is ever repeating itself; for the fear of the child is soon to be passed on to the next generation.
In The Art Of Loving, Erich Fromm best sums up the problem of fear in human relationships, tracing its origins to those familiar but inscrutable childhood dilemmas:
The basic condition for neurotic love lies in the fact that one or both of the "lovers" have remained attached to the figure of a parent, and transfer the feelings, expectations and fear one once had toward father or mother to the loved person in adult life; the persons involved have never emerged from a pattern of infantile relatedness, and seek for this pattern in their affective demands in adult life. In these cases, the person has remained, affectively, a child of two, or of five, or of twelve, while intellectually and socially he is on the level of his chronological age. In the more severe cases, this emotional immaturity leads to disturbances in his social effectiveness; in the less severe ones, the conflict is limited to the sphere of intimate personal relationships.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Beach, Frank A., and Ford, Clellan S. Patterns of Sexual Behavior. New York: Ace Books, Inc., 1951.
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Ferenczi, Sandor. Sex in Psychoanalysis. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1956.
Freud, Sigmund. Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud. New York: Random House, Inc., 1938.
Fromm, Erich. The Art of Loving. New York: Harper & Row, Inc. 1956.
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