"... when Uncle Kent took me for a walk down his eyes, it was no tombstone path. Primrose lane, maybe; though I doubt if that's what he was seeing. He made me see what I wanted to see. That's why he was in control.
"It was jabbed up my ass to make me see it, but he did it in such a nice way there was no energy left to waste on arguments from my point-of-view.
"He sharpened up my focus on the strangest planes, but it was such a good spell he put me under, I probably would have thought we were fucking in a bed of roses when maybe he'd be giving it to me in a shithouse. Not that he ever had me do that, you understand. The only shit-house involved was my ass, and at least I didn't have to look at it. I just felt it, and tried not to think about it much.
"My favorite times were when they came up at the moment-like spontaneous, right? One day, one of his days off, we went out for a picnic. Well, as it turned out, my mother and father were along, so they ended up looking out for the kids while we took a walk before supper. Of course, the folks had no idea what was coming off, just thought we were taking a walk down nature's trail or some shit like that. So did I for that matter. Never thought Uncle Kent'd try and get one off that close to home. So we were just walking.
"We came to this little cluster of rocks after we'd been walking for a while and Uncle Kent and I decided to sit and catch our breath, just digging on the sun and trees and all that shit. So there I was, just sitting on this rock watching a crow bounce around some branches when I feel this hand sneaking up between my legs. I jumped about an inch or two, my mind being so preoccupied with the beautiful scene around me that I'd practically forgotten he was with me.
"'Gotcha, Miss Tuffett,' he smiled at me as I turned to him, reassured that no spider had jumped in my pudding. Then I realized that he was really as much a part of the setting as the sun and trees.
"His hand did all the rest of the talking for him, moving up to fondle my crotch and shut my mouth. Pretty soon, we're stretched out on the ground and going at it like high-school kids, feeling each other up by rubbing zippers. So he starts undoing the clothing, getting it down to the real facts, still rubbing his crotch against mine in a dry fuck.
"His hands are there and gone so fast that I can't tell just what's happening, but soon I feel my skin breaking out in goose pimples as the cold breeze touches it behind his deft unpeeling of my body. He pauses to twiddle at my nipples, making my tits jut up towards his chest real hard. Then he puts his tongue to them, rolling them around in circles, bobbing the buds in and out of their pillows, and nipping crisply at the very tips with his teeth.
"His mouth then trails down my stomach and I feel him breathing hot over my navel. In an automatic response, I lift my hips for his pulling hands that rip my shorts and panties down past my ankles. I unwind them from my feet, kicking them to the wind, as he follows his tongue down to my pubes.
"Screwing himself into the ground, he begins lapping gently at my cuntflesh, spreading the lips with his thumbs as he sinks his nose down onto my pubic bone and lets his mouth sink softly into my wet lips. I start pawing at the dirt around me with my hands and feet, trying to bury myself and escape from the head he's giving me. It was too good for me to be alive. But somehow I escaped the graveyard, even though my mind may have taken me there and back.
"I reach up and grab his head with one hand, rooting my fingers into his hairstrands to keep from sinking all the way into the earth, all the time squirming my box around and around, my ass cheeks working in a grinding fashion and imprinting themselves into this monument we'd leave behind for others to ponder. All this time he's keeping up with my every move, breathing hot swells of air through my pube patch like twin tornadoes as his mouth and tongue dip deeper into my cunt.
"And then he pulls his tongue out of my cunt and sucks my clit in between his lips. I get so crazy that I let out a bunch of farts, shouting and yelling for him to do it good. And he does. Real good.
"When he sucks down and clamps it real tight, twiddling at it ... man, he's flat sending me to the moon. I'm all hot and hollering, beating a tattoo into the dirt bed, while he keeps nose-diving down on my muff, slurping up all that good flesh I had to give. And then I'm getting all clenched up in the guts and tight and hot ... and I'm coming and coming and coming....
"He sucks up every last drop.
"So while I'm stargazing there in the middle of the afternoon, I hear a POP and a ZIIIIIIP and bring it back home again. My man is leaning over me, his hot nozzle all ready for the fire, the drill on my clit having given him the call. But just as I start licking my lips, all ready to reach up and swallow that sword of his, he gives me a quick pat on the hip, telling me that it's time to look at the dirt for a turn.
"I flip over, the 180 some-odd degrees whirling past in a paintbrush of colors. Brown and green in fulfillment of some rape's love dance. And I steady myself, elbows and knees to terra firma, the world's whirl taking a split second to catch up with my motion. And just as fast as my horizontal focuses into control, a jab from behind sets my vertical rolling.
"But soon it, too, is turned in as uncle's hands steady my waist and pull me back to his waiting rod. My ass spreads wide to accommodate his large flange-shaped head as it tests its pliant surface against the tight ring of my asshole. I feel a hand pull away from my side momentarily, hear him spit, then feel its return as it lubricates his cock head. With one finger, he neatly primes away at my sphincter, reaching down in my grotto for a fresh supply of my cunt-goop for further lubrication.
"I steel myself for the sharp pain, then feel his finger stretch the flap open ... then flaffff it snaps down around the large head of his cock like a thick rubber band. I lunge at the pain, but it is a backward push and only drives his shaft further home. The itchy-twitchy burning soon passes, though, as I begin letting my ass juices flow down around the invaded parts.
"It feels all sticky at first, his cock slicing through the tacky surfaces in slow in-and-out movements, but as soon as some of my shit lining comes down to smooth the path, we are able to move in a more harmonious fashion. I push with my hands down to the ground for better traction, my hair swinging into the periphery of my sight, as I grind my asshole high into his lunging prickstaff. His balls slap heavily against my buns as I open it all up to his full length, letting out little sighs of pleasure as he does me in.
"No matter how hard I tried, Uncle Kent just wouldn't let me get away. He kept jabbing that cock of his in me hard and fast, making me dip my head farther and farther down towards the ground in submission. With one hand, Uncle Kent reached around me and began rubbing my clit off with his finger. All the while, my face getting closer and closer to the ground framed by my arms and hair.
"Then I started quaking inside, his powerful thrusts too much for my delicate rectal tissues. At the same time, my knees and elbows began trembling, and I scraped them roughly through the dirt in a vain effort to match his strokes. But they became too unstable to control, my nerve fibers at the very end of their ability to endure, and I found my face being smashed into the dirt as his hot seed spilled into my guts.
"Of course, we had to clean up real good afterwards, walking back into our campsite as if nothing had happened. It was sort of hard to look across the checkerboard picnic table at Kent while I downed my beans and franks without making myself a dead-on giveaway.
"Of all the times we got it on, the most memorable was the time he told me that he was actually my father. I mean, he didn't come on in the middle of a fuck and yell, 'Hey, by the way, I'm really your father,' or anything like that. That would've fractured my buns for" good. No, it was over supper one night. He'd been feeling sort of moody-oh, I'll spare you the lurid details. Anyway, I was able to garner the facts from him, as to why he was feeling so down in the dumps and all. So I get him to spill out the real reason and I just about shit.
"Starts laying on about way back when ... and then ... and about my old lady and him getting it on while the old man's away. My old man hadn't been getting it on with her then-that's how they knew. The old man being such a wimp, he ends up thinking I'm his kid through some miraculous brain-twisting known only to an asshole like him. Course, no matter what he might have suspected, he never figured his brother.
"Anyhow, the whole thing sort of knocks me down for a while. I mean, shit-how many days do you get like that? But after the initial shock hits me, he starts soothing me-or more like we sort of cooled each other's nerves about it. From his reaction, I could tell that it must've been just as big a burden, him carrying the knowledge all that time and keeping it a secret, as much as it was a heavy thing the way it hit me.
"Somehow, we got beyond the consolation and mutual back-patting, and progressed along our usual ventures. Kids tucked safely in bed, we began to undress each other as we dressed our nerves, settling into the wonderful escape of going into each other. The way that heals....
"His fingers seemed more sensitive to my flesh this time, as they glided nearly tiptoe over the surface, often just brushing the tips of the hair to implant an eerie kiss of ice. Following his lead, I responded in kind, brushing my lips against his more tenderly than usual, my tongue dripping like honey into his mouth, our tongues blending into one.
"And the feeling grew as our hands sped over each other's skins, our lips and tongues following their paths to erase the shock of our new knowledge. And yet, perhaps due to my finding out about it, the making up for it seemed to provide more excitation than ever before. And too, there was this really heavy thought that thumped from the back of my head-knowing that Uncle Kent was really Daddy! I mean, if I'd have known it to start out, back before we'd gotten into the fucking scene, I might have called it off. But since we'd already found out what compatible lays we were, I was prepared for it. And somehow it was making the whole thing even more exciting. Like we were doing the ultimate sin or something like that.
"After we'd felt up and sucked up just about everything from elbow to appetite, we got on with the more serious business, our bodies already pounding from the goodness we were sharing. I found myself being positioned over the end of the couch as Uncleer-Kent-Daddy? Well, whatever-I still call him Uncle Kent just to keep the whole thing covered-he was having me kneel over the end of the couch so that he could mount me from the rear. And that, as you already know, is our favorite way of getting down to brass tacks.
"He eases down behind me and presses his cockhead up to my rear door. He guides it in with his hand, thrusting hard to get past my ring, making a sharp pain knife through my guts. But then it gets feeling pretty good as he settles down over me and begins humping me hard.
"I feel his sweaty belly slapping against my back as he hunkers down over me and runs a hand around me to play with my right tit. Then it spreads out like a fan and mashes both of my tits within its grip and rolls them round and round while he slaps the old meat to me.
"I move my hips back up to meet his, pivoting them as much as possible in this position, but the limitations of the movement can only go so far. He had to do most of the driving from this angle, so I did my best at just circling my ass around a bit while he pumped it to me.
"He was watching me sink down, but I guess I'd asked for it this way, so I just tried to hang on as best as I could to my falling senses with some sort of blind faith. Luckily, he pulled me through. Our fucking became more frantic then, an unmentioned telepath triggering the fires of our communion. Somehow the words of his disclosure earlier in the evening had become implanted in our flesh, pushing us on to greater emotions than either of us had experienced in our relationship before.
"And then he sent a shower of hot rocks spewing up my ass, making me yield to his violent demands. I crumpled under the assault, the combined emotion of committing such a taboo act along with the degradation I experienced as a result of it, breaking me apart into one of the greatest orgasms I'd ever let go. Jeeeeesusssss, how good it felt!
"'Jeeeeeeeeeeesssusssss!' I yelled.
"And before my flesh crumpled down against the sweat-spotted pad on the couch, my senses must have orbited the galaxy, or at least a sun or two.
"I wake up from my delirium and am confronted with a wide wedge of red and brown. Then I realize that I've been flipped over on my back and Daddy Kent is sitting on my chest, his big spade-shaped cockhead poised over my lips. Without thinking the whys and how comes, I open my lips, running my tongue tip over them in anticipation, then gape wide to take his shit-flecked cockhead into my mouth.
"Once past the preliminaries, I twirled my tongue around the tiny hole of his opening, a string of glue trickling down under my lapping tongue. Then he began to fuck my face, ramming the blue-veined glider of his down my throat, nearly causing me to choke. But I checked my gag reflex and took all he had, making my mouth into an up-front cunt complete with teeth. Teeth that raked and nipped at his flying dick to add to the pain of the occasion. A pain that had to feel good.
"He really had a big load left for me to gargle down-enough to keep me swallowing as fast as I could to keep breathing. His balls were covered with the saliva-come mixture that flowed from my mouth representing the overflow that I just couldn't swallow. All in all. it added up to the best evening we'd ever had, and the nights that followed were all the better. Our secret, made even closer by the fact that I knew we were father and daughter, only made it better."
There is an interesting, although seemingly farfetched, correlation between anal eroticism and the environment presented by baby-sitting, the term popularly given to the modern-day practice of having someone act as a surrogate parent for a child while the parents are away. The person left in charge of the given child may be a blood relative such as an older sister, or less-closely related individual such as an aunt, grandparent, etc. Or he or she may be someone from outside the conjugal unit such as a neighborhood friend, or even the more impersonal professional service offered by the individual or the agency specializing in catered childcare. Whatever the circumstances of this surrogate parenthood may be, one thing is obvious: the child, whatever age he or she may be, is left in the care of a more mature individual because the parent feels that the child has not reached a stage where it can care for itself. Beyond the most glaring general parallel between anal eroticism and baby-sitting, that being the connotative suggestion of diaper changing, we know that the anal personality (that is the individual with a definite preference for anal eroticism) has often been presented by many advocates of Sigmund Freud as an immature individual, one who has not adjusted to a total sharing of his or her feelings and become emotionally mature in these respects. We must make a differentiation: the so-called libertine who practices many sexual experimentations in his lovemaking, such as analism, must not be confused with what the old Viennese school of psychology called the anal personality, taking the term from their leader's (Freud) classification of stages to sexual maturity. Briefly, those stages involved a progression from anal, to oral, to phallic during the growing years of a child's sexual maturation. When an adult displays a chronic pattern of regression to the anal or oral stages, he is showing a neurotic tendency in his personality, i.e., a failure to have progressed along the normal lines of sexual maturation to the phallic stage of pleasure reception, the marked preference in the anal or oral states stunting his ability to act in a totally reciprocal relationship with others. Therefore, unlike the sexual libertine who has seen his way through the crunch of 19th-century rationalizations being so successfully marketed today, who has realized that he and everyone around him could be labeled neurotically normal and decided to share his experiences with others, the compulsively anal person is somewhat selfish in nature, carefully guarding himself from the adult sexual world, and defensively retreating to the safety of the less-threatening and more onanistic shelter of emotional childhood.
However weak the attempt to parallel the environmental factors presented by baby-sitting with those of anal eroticism, we did find an interesting enough topic to warrant further investigation. While the attempt to make a strict equation between these distinct phenomena would quite obviously be ludicrous, further research into the subject offered some criteria for collecting the data found into a volume. The manuscript resulting from these efforts in no way intends to suggest that all, or even a significant minority for that matter, of those involved in baby-sitting situations are of a nature akin to that of the anal personality.
What we did find, however, once we started investigating the field of sexuality found in the baby-sitting environment, was enough instances of the anal phenomenon to warrant a book upon the subject.
This is a time of change, a time where we find many of the standards regarding our sexuality, as well as many other related fields, being radically changed. The rationale presented by the older schools of psychoanalytical thought and their more current offshoots is merely paving the way toward a better understanding of our sensual heritage, allowing us to absorb the knowledge and hence to change our attitudes. While we may find it impossible to change our behavior per se, we find that knowledge of ourselves offers the insight that may allow us to accept our makeups, therefore allowing us to better choose what particular things suit us. For certain, the vast majority of young people in this country and other western countries alike, have rapidly absorbed the McLunacy, the great heap of images thrust upon them by the media, and have come to learn about sexual response at a much earlier age than their ancestors. At least, it seems, they have learned that there is a point one reaches when one must put learning to practical application. In an age where sex is no longer necessary for procreation, the great thrust of the changing attitudes toward sexuality is being heavily felt. While it may leave a great deal of their elders with a guilty conscience, which after all is the only thing that can really be taken or given, the youth will soon be running things, and it seems that a new form of romanticism has evolved. It is obvious that many teenagers and young adults have learned not to worry so much about the various labels that may be heaped upon them from textbook or neighbor alike, but have adjusted to the applied art of practicing pleasure in whatever form best suits them. Therefore, many of the old schools' rationalizations in the psychosexual field, while being applicable as an explanation for such behavior, do not really trouble the young. In fact, there seems to be evidenced a marked turn toward sexual exploration on their part as a sort of panacea for the many other ills that may worry them: overpopulation, nuclear war, pollution-just to name a few. The key seems to be found in their overall ability to feel the emotions more intensely than their elders, instead of simply knowing about them.
As the baby-sitting environment is often frequented by young people, it is hardly surprising that we find some new twists being added to the nursery. With the young more inclined to experiment in many different areas of sexuality, including anal eroticism, we have found a high incidence of sexual play going on in these surroundings.
In this volume, we will present case histories, factual first-person accounts taken recently from the files of various psychologists around the country who have become concerned with the incidence of anal eroticism being practiced by persons left in charge of youngsters. To get a fair cross-section, we have tried to present impartially detailed histories of subjects so involved, whether they be the girl from down the street, an older brother or sister, or the professional agency. We will find several types herein also: ranging from the more free-spirited youthful type, who may evidence a predilection for anal eroticism as a part of a more-or-less well-rounded sexual appetite, to the more rigidly defined, structured pattern of the person neurotically obsessed, perhaps fetishistically, with analism.
It is felt that such a work will help to show not only the loose parallel we are drawing between anal eroticism and the baby-sitting environment, but more importantly reach out to the greater generality, tracing some of the common factors found in all humans caught up in the rising tide of sexual change now being experienced around the world. By witnessing the actions of this subculture, then, we can somewhat mirror our own actions, relate them to our own idiosyncrasies, and, hopefully, complete the circle by relating our own experiences to the sometimes confusing state of rapid change we as Homo sapiens are presently undergoing.
Before launching into our case histories, it is important for us to understand something more about the nature of the subjects involved. Rather than spend much time with the practice of baby-sitting, something that we can find out about through our own everyday experiences, we will spend the bulk of our discussion with the development of the anal personality. If one wishes to gaze through history there are many references to the idea of child care and the relationship of the conjugal family available. Sociologically, we find many forms of surrogate, or temporary, parents being evidenced in our civilized history. It is interesting to note that among today's youth subculture there are to be found some groups that are reaching back to experiment with such practices as communal child rearing, a practice found by anthropologists to be among the earliest attempts by some of our ancestors at utilizing surrogate parents. That is, the child is put in the care of perhaps several woman during the day, along with other children of the community, while the child's mother goes off to perform some other tribal function.
Whatever forms of providing a surrogate parent to act in the stead of an absentee parent have been practiced throughout civilized history, we find that the roots of sexual instincts go back just as far in our biological evolvement. And even among the primates, we have witnessed sexual alternatives, such as analism, being carried out. Desmond Morris in The Naked Ape observed that we have come from a more sure basis than we neurotics may realize. Man's so-called deviations from what we call norm were around long before Freud came along to label them.
Morris found that among the more advanced primates there was often a predisposition toward anal play, and also, among certain monkeys, a tendency to play with the by-products of the anus. He noted that the baboon, for instance, mounts from the rear, spending much of the love-play concentrating upon the buttocks; perhaps it was the way man first performed intercourse.
Since Freud, we have come to understand the significance such acts as toilet training may have on the more complex human mind. A person who receives some great trauma during the anal period of his upbringing, may neurotically regress to the time of this trauma. Some later psychologists, such as Wilhelm Stekel, described such traumas as those that may lead, in more severe cases, to later fetishistic behavior. In true fetishism, however, the object replaces the sexual organs as a target for sex. In most cases of anal eroticism, even among those witnessing a strong preference for that form of love-making, we are more likely to find something more akin to partialism, which is, simply stated, an interest in anything that acts as a strong stimulus to sex, but which does not in fact replace totally the genitalia of the love partner as the love object.
Whatever theories there may be that may explain the reasoning behind a person's preference for such a phenomenon as anality, we do find a larger proportion of the population enjoying a wider variety of sexuality than ever before. Unlike the person who may indeed have suffered a near-crippling trauma, many individuals involved in anal sexual play today have fairly good insight into their own developments. Rather than spend their lives assuaged by guilt, they choose to play out their preferences rather than talk about them. Unlike their ancestors, who may not have been particularly aroused by the prospect of anal lovemaking, but rather used it as a form of contraception, the person who practices anal eroticism on a heterosexual basis today is more likely to be doing it for the sake of gratification.
So then, we have a rough equation between the environmental factors presented by baby-sitting, and the practice of analism, however loosely structured it may be.
The following case histories should document the phenomenon more clearly, and it is hoped will help put the subject into a brighter light as its similarities are tied in with the greater arena of total human sexual response. While we present only case histories involving contact between baby-sitter and visitors, this does not imply that such contacts between the sitter and sittee, as it were, do not exist. Herein, we were more interested in presenting the environment, as a possible element conducive to anal byplay. We hope that the data provided from these in-depth discussions will help provide the reader with a greater insight into his own psychosexual makeup and its relationship to the great period of change we all are going through.
CHAPTER ONE
Through a Rear-View Mirror, Darkly
"Alice would have really dug on the black holes popping around this side of the mirror-ain't something that you get with your eyes, though. Goes right up the ass. And out the mouth again and around again. You've got to sort of live with it and learn to adjust.
"Steve turned me on to the rear-garde method of entry, and it didn't take me long to learn how to really groove on it. Every single time we get it on now, in fact, I've just got to have that big bone of his up my ass. It's gotten so that I dig it more than the straight way to ball ... not that I don't get behind that, too, when I'm in the right hands.
"He shoves it in nice and slow to start out, usually smearing a gob of vaseline on the tip of that fat choker of his-especially if we haven't sweated it up with some other preliminaries beforehand. It hurts just a little bit at first, but I've gotten used to it by now and can give him help wrapping my asshole around his cock. Once past the ring, he begins slowly driving his shaft up the old crapshooter, making my colon go through all kinds of bean spasms as it adjusts to make room for those hot eight inches of his.
"Once the burning of the first few moments is over, he grabs on to whatever parts are available-like for instance, if he's doing it dog style, he'll maybe press his belly against my back and wrap his hands around and play with my boobs a lot while we're getting down to it-and lets it fly. I start giving in to his steady driving and begin pivoting my hips back against his groin, digging on the slapping of his heavy balls against my ass cheeks. After that, it's just 'hello,' 'good-bye,' and pushing and crashing until he drops a load in me.
"Until him, there wasn't much. But now I'm used to living with the Devil's thumb goosing my ass all the time: you just have to learn to try and dig it. But as long as you can find a witness that might have felt some of that hot breath down his neck, too, then you've at least got a two-ring circus for-well, maybe a blip or so, whatever kind of time you're on.
"At least you might get to feel there's somebody else out there, if you know what I mean.
Like, I figure you end up alone anyway, but too much of that in the time in between wherever we came from and are going to, if even that's what's happening like they say, gets you thinking way too much. It's like you go too far inside and something's gonna explode-or maybe implode-ending up with too many terms and not enough action. If you are going to get inside something, it makes it nice to have somebody along-somebody else to get inside for a while anyway. At least you get to feel it and stop thinking for a while. Feeling crazy is OK, but thinking crazy is just too sideways for me.
"I figure it's like this-I'd been spending too much time on the edge, and pretty soon it gets to surround you. All in black and white. Coming from somebody fifteen that sounds a little ahead of the time, but everything is so speeded up now that we all need some vacation time. A little color. So I ended up getting at least some of the gray in when I started getting it on with Steve. At least he showed me how to paint it brown.
"Over there at the J-s, when I was babysitting for their kid, Bobby, me and Steve ripped away at each other like a weasel and a mongoose. Not that we killed each other exactly, but it was a different sort of love, if you insist on throwing a label on it. Up till then, I'd been pretty blinded by spending too much time alone in my room. That can really space your head-make you end up making up your own judge and jury. And you never come up with nothing but a guilty verdict.
"My folks and all their ideas of what being proper meant is what got me there.
"'Pam, we don't think So-and-So is the right sort of boy for you.' 'Do this, do that.' Shit! It was driving me insane.
"But Steve was a different thing. Took me out of their time warp and landed me right in the present. Steve took me away from all that. My long-haired, handsome man, who I'd met while I was stumbling through the broken 7-Up bottles at Devonshire Downs. It had been a poor excuse for a rock concert and I was in the dumps. But he picked them up but good.
"Made me forget about the generation gap crap-that's inside somebody's head. My parents got so down on him that we ended up having to meet on the sly over at the J-s' where I was baby-sitting with Bobby. He was, the kid that is, upstairs asleep while me and Steve got to it downstairs. Just like the older Deb dance clubs, as long as some 'hep' sponsor was there to make sure we weren't getting too shaggy. Scrubbed like the Beatles and Barbie Dolls they wanted us to be. Leonard Bernstein had given it the A-Okay sign, so they figured they'd try and be real 'groovers' and understand. Shit! That understanding crap is what brought on all that generation gap garble that pushed the lies out like there was something called an underground. The only underground I know about is filled with bone boxes, worms, and moles.
"The gap was inside the head ... and it was making mine get filled with more and more lateral space from listening to all the air they pumped in it. So I finally got fed up with all that crap they tried to jam down my throat. It was choking me alive. Sure, the straights they dated me off with were OK for a laugh or two down at the Teen Canteen, but it left me stranded. Like too much garbage that was sent to the cleaners and returned. Nobody can dig that for long. And it gets longer and longer when the garbage isn't even a little dirty. Too many ups and downs ... and you're really going nowhere.
"So I met Steve. It was at this flaked-out excuse for another 'Woodstock' they had out at some dirt pig field they rent out for anything from auctions to funerals. I'd gotten into some new things by then, picked up on a few friends that were tired of the way our folks were cramming fifties into sixties and calling us by the outdated terms of hacks trying to be with it. We'd gotten into a few scenes with drugs and shit like that-nothing heavy, just some weed-maybe a little hit of mescaline, but it wasn't really doing much for my head-the drugs, I mean. Like it was just a new thing to be into, being around somebody else who'd had the same kind of boredom. I was going into myself too much and it was getting like too tight a circle, as if I was acting as judge, jury, and the lynch mob. Very, very crazy. Begin again. It was time.
"Too much thinking ... and no action. So when I met Steve out there stumbling through broken 7-Up bottles at Devonshire Downs, tripped on my first good taste of mescaline, it was like something straight out of Lewis Carroll-a Mad Hatter's Convention. This girl friend of mine, Rona, and I got separated in all the bodies, but I figured she'd take care of herself. She's the kind of girl that makes phones ring wherever she goes, so I just tried to take the whole thing in. But I was still sort of bummed out by all the people-all the heat and whatever-so I started making it back toward the gate, figuring I could hitch a ride back home and cool out.
"But like there was this total freak standing back by the fence passing out free hits. ... I guess he'd been selling it and had been dipping into his own stash while he was hawking his goods, and by this time, he was out of time and everything else. He looked so zonked and happy that I decided to take a try. His face spoke well for his product, and if he still was on the money trip he could have cleaned up. But he was cleaning up his way, and I just had to give it a shot. For free.
"So I dropped a tab-some blue dots-and before I knew what was happening, everything began to change. Like the other shit I'd had before wasn't there-maybe laced with speed or something. At least, that's what the dude told me when I bummed-tripped it-some counterfeit sunshine or something. The other time it had been some brown powder that we snorted, but I only had a couple of hits and it just got me to the edge-made everything real intense.
"So now here I am-not knowing where, just that it was NOW. It came on slow-nothing flashy like with the first time I tripped. I was just like wandering around through this place that I'd always been, but I'd never quite felt that way. Like I could taste the music, see through sounds-like another dimension that I'd never been aware of. I got this uncomfortable knot in my stomach, like a passing thing and all my senses seemed to cross. It's hard to describe, but it's something outside the range of words-like a brief step past the limits of a human. It makes you realize the forces of energy that exist beyond you. It just is something you can't question.
"So somewhere in the middle of this I get this big flash and there's this guy standing there, like right in the middle of all these people and all of them just like a border around him. Just like there's this tremendously bright aura around him. A golden glow like I'd never seen before. I know it sounds corny, but he practically made my heart melt, made me feel like I was about a step or two soft of forever.
"He was selling antacids of some kind-I'm not sure if he was on an equal time for the ants, or out of Thorazine-you know, to bring people off bad acid trips, but whatever he was selling, it sure was a good flash for me. And I didn't have to drop any of his idea of a joke to get there.
"We both hit it off good from the start. He turned me on to things I'd never been aware of the first few times we went out. The only problem was that my folks and him, Steve was his name, didn't hit it off at all. They thought I'd really freaked out-weren't used to a guy who came on strong the way he did. He wasn't one of their handpicked and socially acceptable ideas of a 'nice boy,' what with his long flowing blond hair, his deep tan, his matter-of-fact attitude.
"In fact, we didn't get to see each other much once my parents met him. And after my mom took me to see her gyno-just to see if I was getting it on. I mean, really-that's what they did. But once they found out that it was the Twentieth Century-shit, no more Steve. That's why having the thing come up with the J-s, the deal with me baby-sitting and all worked out great. 'Cause after they found out that me and Steve had been getting it on, they'd restricted me to my room for a month and had forbidden me to even see him. Pretty frustrating thing, trying to jack yourself off after having a load of meat like Steve's inside you.
"At least when I baby-sat for Bobby, I could get out of the house, away from the boredom of my parents. But as it turned out, I was able to work out a deal where Steve'd come over and we'd ball while the J-s did the town and Bobby did his crib bit. But I'm jumping the gun.
"I can't really describe what went on with us, except that he showed me more about my own body than I ever knew about it-you almost had to be there. Except there's no almost: you either are or you aren't. It just WAS ... only then, when it was really happening, it was NOW. No time for the mind to go and play all kinds of dirty tricks on you. Your body's too busy having a good time to worry about the trivial shit. You just have to try and work for those times, they don't come easy.
"Concentrating on thinking is just a waste at times like that. But Steve showed me how to let my thoughts just fly away. Like on that day at the beach. We didn't know that it would be our last time for a while then, that my folks would come down heavy on us later, but it didn't really matter. About the only thing we had in the way of an obstruction then was that fucking helicopter that patrols the beach. But after it passed over a few times, it left us alone.
"We went ahead and invented our own prize that day-didn't want to let something like that get in our way.
"We found this deserted place on the beach ... something pretty hard to do these days. Actually, it was a section of private beach belonging to some friend of a friend of his. He knew that it was okay to use it at certain times during the week, so the only thing we had to worry about were the occasional passes made by the police helicopters, the ones always patrolling the beach. The way the rock formations around the cove were situated, we had complete privacy from anyone's straying eyes.
"The first time we went down there was at night. I remember I fell partway down this little cliff above the cove and scraped my knees up, but Steve's attention to my wounds made them feel better pretty fast. After we downed a few beers, we stripped down and went skinny-dipping in the cove, but our timing wasn't the best-at least mine wasn't. The beer had made me sorta dizzy, and the tide was coming in. I'm not such a hot swimmer, and it wasn't long before the waves were pounding me up against the rocks, adding more scrapes to my already damaged bod. Shit, this was getting to be more like a course in first aid than one in anatomy appreciation.
"But just like on my accident ashore, Steve was soon there to rescue me from my aquatic misadventure, pulling me to the safety of the beach where he soon took my mind off the battering my body had undergone.
"It didn't take long for me to find out what was really going on. And it wasn't the kind of thing you could do looking over your shoulder. The helicopter had already made its rounds, so we would be able to proceed with the ministration of my first aid.
"After a quick kiss-away of my hurts, not to be in any way confused with a kiss off, Steve got down to more serious business. It was easy to spot the transition.
"'Let's get down to more serious business,' he had told me, and I could tell he meant it from the way his body was suiting the words to action.
"And before I knew what was happening, he was slamming his meat in and out of my box, not too subtle of a transition, but he was too horny to waste any time. I wrapped my hips up around his and got to it, the blanket not doing much in the way of keeping the sand out. But the combination of the evening's bruises, his roughness in taking me, plus the bite of the sand, seemed to add up to a sort of pleasure-pain. The sexual thrills I was getting from it took away the sharpness of my accidental hurts and sort of blended everything into a warm ache-but a good form of hurt, if you can dig it.
"I didn't have much to do with that ball from an active point of view. I just got to lay back and enjoy it. I mean, everything was happening so fast--he'd stuck that rod of his in me faster than I could think about it. It was all I could do to hang on and try and keep pace with his steady fucking. But somehow I managed to come through the whole thing.
"I just grabbed onto whatever I could and hung on for a good ride. Our mouths kept getting lost in the process, breaking away from frenching when we had to gasp for breath, then getting buried in each other's shoulders as we thumped away with our hips. Pretty soon I could feel my guts start clamping up and getting spasms, so I knew I wouldn't be riding this one long. I just grabbed on with my hands and rode it out there under the moon, my man shoving his cock into me faster and faster, sensing I was about to get my cookies.
"Then I felt him shooting his jism up inside me, washing those pussy walls of mine out real good. The jerking of his body under the pressure of his mighty release, along with the shock of his hot spurts splashing inside me, got me off. I just latched on as best as I could with my legs and arms, drifting way off past never-never land.
"But the time I remember best, as far as our beach hideout is concerned, was the first time he gave it to me up the ass. I can remember it especially well because of the fact that it was the last time we got it on together before my parents caught on to our act and restricted me. It wouldn't be until almost another month, when we set up the behind-their-backs action while I was baby-sitting for the J-kid, that I'd get to see him. Of course, that day on the beach with Steve, I had no way of telling that the whole thing was about to fall in on us. We were too busy having a good time to even worry about the possibility.
"That day after we'd stripped down in the relative privacy of our little cove, he dived down on me and started giving me head. I had the rag on, so in some mental way it made me feel all the better-like he really cared a lot for me by doing the rosy rag. But he didn't really fuck around with my tampon, just got the string out of the way and began doing my clit with his mouth. Actually, that's the main thing in giving head anyway, doing the clit. More guys should be hipped to that.
"So he gets me all hot with that tongue of his: rolling it around, clamping down gently with his teeth, sucking it between his puckered lips. Me, I'm going ape shit from the head I'm getting, squirming my ass down into the hot sand and pulling at his long hair with my fingers.
"And just about the time I'm about to go off, he starts blowing big hot gushes of air on it. Oeeee-I really came big that time! He just nosed right down there and lapped up whatever juices could get past my rag.
"I almost had to laugh when I looked up and caught the postreality of the BJ I'd just gotten. Steve was kneeling over me, his face all covered with sand. Or better-mud. Well, the cunt juice, his sweat and all-it didn't really mix that well, but the tiny pebbles looked like mud. I watched for a while, watching it drip off his chin. But I wasn't watching his face anymore. I was looking at his cock.
"But this ain't about a hero sandwich, we didn't have any lettuce, bread or even mayonnaise. Just meat. And that meat made him look like a hero to me.
"It didn't take me long to get back into what was going on. It was then I realized I had the rag on-or to put it more where it fits, in. I started to reach down and unplug myself, but Steve's hand blocked the way, his face registering a negative. 'Turn over,' he told me. Just like that. I turned over.
"It took us awhile, what with the sand and everything, but it wasn't too long before I was bent over on my hands and knees, my poontang waving up at the sky. The wind didn't get much chance to get at the old cooze though-Steve had his cock standing up to it in no time flat. Except he didn't put it to the hole I'd had in mind. No, he was rubbing it up against my asshole, something I'd only heard about up until then. No wonder he'd left my main drain plugged up.
"Not being too advanced in the various forms of balling, I was scared shitless, and I don't mean it as a pun, of him putting it to my asshole. From what observations I'd made on my own, I did know enough that my asshole was much smaller than my box. And the thought of that big pecker of his being crammed up there made me quiver all over. Not to mention the head of his cock right up there against the ring.
"He pushed hard against it, causing a sharp pain to shoot up my tailbone. 'Easy, baby,' he said, trying to reassure me that everything would work out fine. But I wasn't so sure, telling him how it hurt. If it wouldn't have been for his taking time then to explain the scene to me right then and there ... well, I don't know-but I doubt if I'd have stood for it. Up till then I'd never questioned anything he'd done to me. Like I was so flipped over him, plus the fact that he'd been so good with me in between the sheets, it never flashed on me for any questions to come up. But the old bone-up-the-ass routine, or attempt so far, was a jolt to me. Like I had to come up on him about it since it hurt. But he changed all that.
"He gently explained to me that he really dug giving it to a girl in the ass, tried to get me to see his point of view. But that wasn't the part that got to me. He told me that many girls were surprised at just how much pleasure they could get out of taking it up the poop chute. He cautioned me that I would feel some pain at first, but that it would be more than worth it once we got on with it. To put the frosting on the cake, he reassured me that if I found the scene unpleasant, he wouldn't make me do it again.
"Well, I wasn't really that sold on it-but what the fuck, I was his girl. Didn't want to blow the whole scene with him over one thing. Besides, his voice had help in winning the argument: his hands and lips were all over my body, gently persuading my flesh to take over my mind. So I decided to let him have a go at it.
"He wasn't quite so abrupt about it this time. He ran the head of his cock down into my pussy groove to get some lubricant, covering it with a nice gob of my juices I'd oozed out during his head-giving. Then he knelt down behind me again, using one hand to guide his shaft up to my sphincter, while he balanced his weight on my hip with the other. The lube helped some, but I was keeping a pretty tight asshole, so it took some patience and a lot of manpower on his part before he could push past the ring and shove it in.
"Shiiiiit! Smart? Whew, I'd never felt anything like it before. I mean I'd felt pain, but not in the middle of a sex scene. Needless to say, I winced some as he pushed his fat meat up that small hole. Once he was in, the initial sting passed though, and he began moving gently in, an inch or so at a time. It still burned, but I was surprised at how quickly my ass began to adjust to the whole thing. It really gave way fast-not as fast as my pussy, but somehow the rectal tissues seemed to mold to the shape of his cock better, fitting around it almost like a glove.
"The funny thing was the way the pain passed. Like there must've been some lapse of time there, but I don't really remember it too well. But before I knew it, Steve was moving that big cock of his full length in and out of my ass, and I was thrusting my butt up around it to match his timing. Somehow the pain had given way to a pleasurable sensation like I'd never felt before. Whatever it was, it was sure having an effect on the front hole-my pussy juices were flowing fast, threatening to dislodge my tampon.
"Then, just to add to the great rush of groovy feelings, he reached down with the hand he'd guided his cock in with and began to diddle my clit. Whew, when he did that, I practically felt like a sand castle about to be washed out to sea. Shit, this cornholing was all right with me!
"Well, this being my first time and all, it wasn't long before I was coming all over the beach. That cock of his made me feel all tight and good inside, almost the same as a regular fuck. And when that finger struck home on my clit, bouncing it all around like crazy-well, I couldn't hold back long. I came before him, in such a gusher that I had to reach back and unplug the dam, my blood and come running right down my leg to the sand.
"Steve sensed this and plowed away faster, making me fart as my tissues tried to keep pace with that pounding cock. Somehow, I'd triggered his own orgasm and when I felt that hot load of his squirting up inside my rectum, I had another nice bunch of come being dumped out myself. It was so strong that I felt my elbows giving way, my face nosing down into the sand for a perfect three-point landing.
"What had started out as an experiment had proved to be at least as interesting as a regular ball, and that's something I was always voting pro on. But it wasn't until I started seeing him over at the J-s', where I started sitting for their kid, Bobby, that I found out just how much there was to having your ass fucked. Steve and I actually preferred it that way, and after that did it every chance we could."
Pam's discovery of anal sex may seem a bit premature, especially to those who have lived two or three times her duration and have themselves never engaged in such activity. As we stated in the general introduction, however, many young people have come to find a great deal of satisfaction from anal sexual play, an activity usually used (by women) as a means of birth control during past generations. What with so many forms of contraception being utilized today, along with the accompanying wave of sexual permissiveness we find among the young and the more libertine segments of our population, we now find many forms of sexual experimentation, analism being one of the chief modes of such libidinal exercise, taking place for the sake of that Victorian unmentionable: pleasure.
The high incidence of such practices taking place in the baby-sitting environment and, in particular, the high amount of analism shown in this area has much interested the researchers. As it was stressed in the introduction, much sexual experimentation being practiced today is a result of the rebellion against standard mores. While their adventures into the various byways and subcultures have made certain proclivities more noticeable to the surface stratum of society (largely through the expanded power of the electronic media), it is important to note that, by and large, their explorations had tended to be on a more casual and spontaneous level than that of their elder advocates, whose ventures in attempting a more libertine approach to various beliefs is inclined to be of a more formal and rigid nature. Fortunately, many individuals, both young and old, are coming to find that the rationale behind any given action is merely a stepping-stone toward the shedding of guilt and associated feelings that lead to frustration. Finding the rationale is only a step in throwing off inhibitions that prevent enjoyment, not an entity in itself to become merely an all-encompassing attempt to put all your obsessions in one basket, so to speak, so often practiced by pretenders of liberal ideals who have yet to understand that it takes feeling to be liberated.
But whatever pros and cons we might encounter, we do find a definite trend toward a new form of spontaneity developing among the peoples of the Western world, particularly in areas pertaining to their sexuality. That is to say, there is a marked attempt on the part of many individuals to give something-whatever the activity that may be involved-a try before deciding upon whether or not it suits them, a trend contrary to the days of Victorian holdover when so many activities were prejudged and labeled by people never having experienced such things.
However freely a person may express himself in any given form of sexual behavior, there have been numerous rationales proposed by leading psychologists and other researchers concerning how someone may have come to chose any one particular mode of "acting out." In the case of analism, one often finds a form of alternate fantasy fulfillment, often to the point of bordering upon fetishism. From a purely biological standpoint, the anus is proximal to the chief erogenous zone-the genitals-in both the male and female. While in the male, as cited in cases of male homosexual anal intercourse, the prostate gland is directly stimulated by copulatory actions, it has been recently pointed out, in laboratory conditions such as those conducted by Masters and Johnson, that the female, too, can achieve enough stimulus from anal penetration to achieve orgasm.
Yet, in the majority of cases, there is generally a mental byplay involved in anal intercourse that helps exact sexual completion. While this condition does not always imply sexual fetishism, it most usually involves, at the very least, a form of partialism. While much discussion has been aired upon the subject, no exact degree of fantasy involvement has been agreed upon as to finding a cutoff line between the realms of deviation and so-called normalcy. Most authorities, however, tend to believe that any mutually agreeable act between consenting adults that culminates with some form of tactile, reciprocal orgasm (as opposed to, for instance, the clothing fetishist such as a clothesline thief who may masturbate into the object without need of a sexual partner) is generally considered to be an acceptable form of behavior.
While the earlier works of such authorities as Stekel and Krafft-Ebing are often documented with instances of analism-related deviations beyond the norm, Havelock Ellis, in his classic work, Psychology of Sex, came to recognize the important functionings such behavior may have in the normal sexual occurrences between an aggressive male and passive female. He states:
... Freud believes that retention of the contents of the bowels for the sake of pleasurable sexual sensations may occur in childhood; and it is certain that even later in life the contents of the bladder are sometimes retained for the same reason. Children not unusually believe that the sexual acts of their elders have some connection with urination and defecation, and the mystery with which the excretory acts are surrounded helps support this theory....Occasionally it persists in the adult sexual impulse; more commonly perhaps, there is a more or less forced repression of the infantile scatologic interests which may then play the part attributed to them by Freud.
While the more severe forms of such sexual repression revolving around the anal period of development may involve coprophilia, that is, the unnatural interest in the products of the anus, it has generally been assumed that such diversions as anal intercourse, when not actually precluding genital-genital contacts entirely, may be a normal part of the sexual intimacies shared by open-minded adults, and in fact may be, providing the subject is of mutual interest, a great enhancement to the total act.
In a case such as Pam's, there can be no doubt that the repression on the part of her parents had something to do with her being adaptable to having anal intercourse performed upon her. But it must be remembered that she, at an age of dawning sexual awareness, was at the point of openness to any particular form of sexual play, and that her boyfriend helped her foster this need.
"Like I was saying, it wasn't too long after the first time Steve gave it to me up the ass that my parents came down on me hard about him. My gyno snitched on me. I'd picked up a 'social disease,' and my folks were suddenly hipped to just how fast I'd grown up. So it was no more Steve, restriction-that sort of shit. So I just had to figure a way out of the mess. That's when I got lucky and hit on the baby-sitting deal. The J-s, some friends of my folks, had lost their regular baby-sitter, and offered me the job. Since they went out a lot, especially on weekends, they wanted someone they could trust to look after their three-year-old son, Bobby. It had been a few weeks since I'd had that heavy scene dropped on me, so by this time my folks, while still down on my case pretty hard, had relented a little. They figured to go along with the deal, saying that it would be a way for me to 'prove' that I could be trusted. Fuck, I don't have to prove shit for nobody. But I just bit my lip and went along with it. I mean, the idea didn't really make me cream my jeans-especially since most of my sitting would be on Friday and Saturday nights ... but what the fuck? I was restricted anyway. It beat fingering it off in my room. The folks even tried to stress the money thing to me ... saving it for college. Shit, that went out with fucking gas stamps, for chrissake.
"But I dutifully went along with it, figuring the more time I could get in away from home the better. I was getting pretty sick of their faces all the time. And horny. You see, after the first idea was laid on me about the baby-sitting trip, I had time to figure out the positive side. I would have dug that first, but what with the ban on Steve and restrictions that'd been laid on me, I was seeing things in a pretty negative light at first. But when the wheels got spinning again, I could see I was on the right track, heading for something good.
"I was thinking that it would be a good idea just to have Steve come over. It'd be no sweat to pack Bobby off to bed real quick like, and then we could get it on. I tested them out without trying Steve's role out the first time. And it looked like a winner. The J-s' idea of a good time was going out and playing bridge, and they went at it pretty late-like they did such a nightowl routine that they even fixed up a spare bedroom for me so I could sleep over on the nights I sat for them. So the time factor was cool. And my main worry turned out to be no sweat-little Bobby, that is. I was afraid he'd be one of those squalling brats that had to have a drink of water every ten minutes, but he turned out to be a charm: right to sleep, and not a murmur all night. And his folks? Shit, they were so dense that they never caught on to what was going on. Of course, my folks had never said anything about the deal with the gyn or anything. Like they were more interested in me presenting a good public image than in me for what I was. But the J-s' were easy to snow. They thought my head was back in the fifties where theirs was. They thought I was a 'nice well-behaved little lady,' that could do no wrong. So why the fuck spoil a good thing, I always say?
"So the second night they went out, I set it up for Steve to come over. Shit, I almost came the minute he walked in-it'd been a long time.
"I'd already tucked Bobby in and the J-s were going to be out late, so we were all set to let it rock. We didn't fuck around with the social amenities-didn't want to waste any potential balling time with that crap. We just got right down to it, just about tearing our clothes off each other in our rush to get at the skin game.
"The only thing in our way was our clothing. But they weren't there anymore. There we were ... just us. Nothing in the way. So here goes.
Right down to assholes and elbows. ... Some guy in the Navy told me about that one. Only there was a hold on the elbows. And just one asshole-at least one that was intended for the action to come. It was mine. I could hardly wait. But I had to wait for Steve to get hard.
"That item wasn't long in the making. Oh, his cock is long-almost nine inches when it's ready for duty. But it didn't take long for him to get a big hard-on. I mean, who wouldn't get all crazy looking at a bod like mine? Maybe even a fag would be turned on by me. But that's beside the point. And I can't even remember the point.
"Oh yeah, fucking. That's the point. And it helps for the guy to have a stiff cock. What my image in his eyes had already begun to accomplish was finished off by the touch of that body against his. Oh, Christ, it felt good to be in his arms again. It sure as fuck had been a long time.
"As I reached for him, I noticed my reflection in the big mirror above the couch and made a mental note to get out in the sun more. Compared to Steve, who was still a deep golden brown from spending everyday at the beach, I had faded to gray. Well, you could still tell I had a tan from the lines at my hips and boobs where my bikini went, but the long month of restriction had sure sucked up my reserve supply of Vitamin D. Oh well, just as long as my Vitamin E reserve was up. And the long period of forced absence from Steve had pretty well assured me of a surplus in that category. I was horny!
"But the frustration I'd been feeling was instantly a thing of the past as I reached out and touched Steve's large hand. Taking my eyes from the mirror, I quickly copped a look at his solid gold bod, his swelling cock demanding most of the attention, before he moved his mouth up to mine and took my eyes away. Which means I closed my eyes.
"My third eye was taking over.
"I got that itchy-twitchy nervous feeling all over ... running up and down my spine, making me all lumpy-throated, causing big goose bumps to break out on my arms and legs. His tongue raced into my parted mouth and we began a gentle tongue fight, curling our tongue tips as they met, then played hide-and-seek with each other, trying to hide in such places as teeth, gums, or the roofs of our mouths.
"Shit, I didn't know if I'd be able to hold on for the whole act what with the way Steve was ripping off my senses. I was going fucking ape: running my claws deep into his back, pumping my pussy up against his wang, doing all kinds of panting and moaning. Like it'd been long time no ball.
"Steve was getting a pretty fast turn on himself, probably following my lead. But we didn't have time for the usual preliminaries, we just sort of walked our way over to the couch, in sort of a clumsy fox-trot fuck-step, and fell down on it. No time out for tittie play, ass grab-none of that good shit. We were already ready for the real good shit. Or at least second best since we'd gotten used to the ass routine. Well, to be honest, at that time I really hadn't developed my preference for the rear-entry thing-I was so horny that a hot shower would've been enough to get me off.
"So anyway, this was to be a quickie ball. And quickies can be fun when you're both real hot for one. I don't mean the kind where a guy fucks you before you've even noticed he had it in you, then rolls off real quick. But like Steve and I were really hot to get after it after such a long layoff, so we both were ready for it. Like our bodies probably couldn't have stood a real long prelude or anything, we were so horny. Would've spilt all the milk on the sheets. Well, there weren't any sheets on the couch, but who cares? Really. I did, when I come to think of it.
Yeah, that's right. See, the J-s had one of those long Naugahyde-you know, the phony leather things-sort of couch and it was my first time on one in the altogether. Like you sort of stick to it, but it feels sort of groovy. Kind of adds to the balling.
"So anyhoo, Steve is on top of me and stuffing his pecker down my cunt. No time to even fool around trying to pry my asshole open-we were both too close to coming, what with the excitement of getting it on with each other again. We were saving the best part for dessert. That's what we sometimes call cornholing.
"I know that's an out-of-date term, but even at fifteen I'm an out-of-date chick. I'm really an old-fashioned girl at heart-I mean, what are kids coming to these days. I wouldn't be surprised if Bobby wasn't getting his rocks secretly watching us-training wheel sex. But I'm only kidding, old kidder me that I am. And that's the truth (I'm a liar).
"So Steve settles down right on top of me and gets after the old cooze with his pecker. Outstanding! He was ready to ride and it didn't take long to find the saddle. I almost shit when I felt that long slim slider of his slip into my berth, but decided to try and save those kind of trips for later. I wrapped my legs around his sides, my knees squeezing his kidneys, and hunkered my ass down around that cock-let 'er rip.
"And he did let fly-about ripped me a new asshole. Except he was in my cunt. About ripped me a new one of those. He did, he did. But like Steve always says, there's really no such thing as almost-you either do or you don't, so I still have the same cunt in good used condition. And what he did in that first time over there at little Bobby's was a big part of the conditioning. It was quick, but fun. Like our feelings were so intense that we packed a lot into that couple of minutes. I had a sore cunt the next day to vouch for it.
"As soon as I adjusted to the fast tempo, I curled up on my back, placing my head over his shoulder, and clawed up his back with my fingernails. It added to the rocking motions, but shortened my hip-pivoting potential. Didn't matter since we did it so fast, but even so, the small of my back got an ache in it from doing it that way. But the ache didn't last long-the swells of pleasure his swinging meat was giving me soon dissolved any other feelings and washed them ashore. It all was just adding up to one big tremendous rush of good feelings. We got sweated up real fast, too, and beneath the deep roar of our unstable breathing excercises I could hear the ripping sounds our bodies were making on that Leatherette couch. As I rocked back and forth, I could feel it, too, my skin sticking to it sometimes, making this stinking burn whenever I lifted off it. Once or twice, Steve's knees lost their positioning and made a fart-like sound as he moved them back up to rub into a new spot. But he never missed a beat, keeping all his cock prodding away at my pussy with each sure stroke. I had a good cunthold on him-my pussy was practically fluttering around his stiff bone, gasping to hold back the certain flood I was close to letting go of.
"From past experience, I was able to tell that Steve was about ready to blast loose himself. He slowed his pace a little, his body shuddering involuntarily like he does before he comes. Up till then you would've needed a slow-motion camera to capture our moves in regular motion, if you follow what I mean. But now, he changed the pace a little. He lifted his head and gave me a look that almost said 'I'm sorry,' his eyes all glazed and unfocused. But he caught my look and saw that I was going just as fast as he was, so he didn't feel so bad. Nothing wrong with coming early as long as baby gets to make it, too.
"So he went at it again, slamming that dick of his into me hard and heavy, using slightly shorter strokes than before. I just wrapped my arms and legs around him and shouted as much encouragement as I could-'Oh, fuck me, Steve!' and so forth-but they got lost in between my pants and moans as I gulped to keep breathing. And then I felt him letting go of his load, the hot splashes going way up inside my tummy. I got the hot flashes from those splashes and my mind went all gummy, giving way to my own nervous output.
"He slowed down again, pumping in his full cock till his balls flapped against my ass, holding it for several cockspurts, then pulling about three-fourths of the way out again before slamming it to me full shaft. I just about flooded him out though, my come washing against his spermspurts to mix and run back out on his outstrokes. My cunt was making a nice warm whoosh-whooshing sound as he mowed my grass, the sticky fluids running out with the vapors inside me, down my matted pussy to dribble in a tickling fashion across my butt to the surface of the Leatherette couch beneath me.
"That was about it for then. We just let it slide, kissing and talking small talk while we waited for his prick to get hard again. Like Steve can sometimes just keep a hard on forever, going through his nut a couple, maybe three times without losing it. Not all guys can do that. I've since found that out much to my displeasure. Usually, though, that happens the second time around, once he'd retained a bladder full of piss and got that old favorite-the piss hard-on.
"I'm not quite sure about the passage of time involved, but in a little while, maybe fifteen minutes or so, Steve leaned down and started revving the action up-tempo. I like that. Especially when he began hinting around about the time on the beach-that time right before my restriction when I'd had the rag on. And, most important of all, I found out that I had an asshole-or better, that it was for more than just shitting purposes. Back then.
"So he started hauling it to me, giving me one of the biggest charges I'd had in a long time. For at least fifteen minutes at any rate. So we fooled around a little more, which means that we fooled around. The details are sorta fuzzy in my mind now.
"The first thing I remember is when he started inching that big fuck-stick of his into my asshole. That was a feeling that's hard to describe, but I'll do my best. Like, I was looking forward to it, ever since that time on the beach. Well, this was bound to be a classic.
"He'd had me bend over the edge of the couch, my body from the waist up lying down on the cushions, the bottom half sticking right up in the air and ready for gang busters. Good as any way to get your ass shafted. And to stop my thinking, his subtle way of preparing me for that first sharp jolt when the cock rides through the ring, he began rubbing my back and leaning down to blow kisses on my hair. Made it real-well, romantic. To me, there's no more poetic and beautiful moment than the prelude to having a big hairy cock rammed up my ass. Just crammed full of all sorts of lyric possibilities.
"So there he is filling my head with sweet talk as he takes his job in hand and gets it ready for the match game. My fever was roused up and rising-no danger of me breaking down from some sorta terminal mediocrity, or anything like that. It was going to be some kinda earth-rumbling, I could feel it in my butt, and that's where my home is. And if my main home-you know, the old ticker-gave out during the house-quake ... well, it'd just be an accident. Nothing for me to worry about anyway. I mean, what a drag that'd be. Sitting back and letting somebody else have all the talking done for you, like all those people who say that 'this ain't good for you and that ain't good for you.' So afraid that having too much of a good time'll give you a heart attack or something. And then, if the ulcers don't slow their worrying down, they probably kick off from a coronary themselves. Like at least I've learned that we're all gonna come to that time anyway, so you might as well get your kicks for yourself and have a good time on the way. When you're dead, you'll be that way a long time.
"So after he's primed my mind with all the nice nothings, he gets set to pump the hose up my ass with everything. As I feel him guide that head of cock up to my spread asscheeks, I get an itchy-twitchy feeling, my asshole sputtering in a slight involuntary nerve remembrance, even if my mind is shutting out the possibility of pain.
"So he drove his bone up my ass. And it felt great-no pain. He had to push it a little, but somehow it just went in soooooo nice and EEEEEEZZZeeeeeee ... mmmmmmmm-mmmmmmmm good. Just maybe it was that my mind was focusing on the good possibilities, that I wasn't as scared as the first time. Something made it much smoother. Man, what can I tell you? It flat out put my cheeks in a chunk and my cheese in a cast.
"This time I hardly felt any pain at all. I'd had a bit of pain from my piles ... you dig, hemorrhoids? Runs in the family-the assholes! But anyhow, I'd gotten used to feeling a little bit of burning in the old cobhole just walking around doing my everyday things. So that weighed in. And Steve had all that good old gluey slime all over his peterhead from our first fuck-that helped the quick slip-into my lower berth. And really important-Steve had gotten a hard on again. That helped a whole bunch. An asshole will chew up and spit out a limp dick almost before you can get it in. All this, coupled with the fact that I'd learn how to loosen up, like unclench the old tight-ass, and maybe some more reasons I don't even know about-this got his cock up my ass and ready to ride.
"It's hard to think of all the reasons. Those are the kinds of things you do when you're all by your lonesome and have nothing better than to dine on the past and dream on the future. When it was actually happening, I didn't have much time to be doing all that thinking. I just had to accept the reality of it. I mean, when it's right there in you, and you're having a good time, what's to question? It just IS.
"Tack up that meat, sweets, and we'll be heading right out of here,' shouted Steve over my shoulder, and I could feel the smile of satisfaction shooting up from my tailbone. Shit, nothing had to be said. The main thing is that we were both feeling it, sharing it. We were gonna ride this one out to the station. And just hope to work it all out: a ball-buster for him; a big old poopshute-packing old ass-screwing for little old me. Soon, my ass walls wrapped round it and began to get accustomed to having that cock in me and began rocking back to deepen his thrusts. Me sticking my ass back with each of his forward thrusts; him doing vice versa. It ain't exactly balling the jack but it beats the bum's rush.
"Pretty soon, he was moving faster, driving that meat nearly full-shaft up my ass. He did some other things to make our little diversion go farther off the trolley tracks, like running his hand around and working over my tits, and leaning down every once in a while to plant a kiss on the back of my neck, or maybe pull my hair gently with his teeth.
"Neat stuff like that.
"I tried to reach back and grab at his balls with my hand, maybe to mash them real nice when he stuck that prickshaft fully in me, but I couldn't quite cut it. I really went for that ball-mashing, but it was a little out of my range considering my position and all. But at least I tried.
"As it was, we were pretty busy with the main point of action. Even though my clit was receiving only what friction it could get rubbing on the couch, which wasn't much to speak of, so I won't say much about it, I could feel my guts knotting up and feeling like I was going to come. Almost like I get fucking up front-only different. And even better. I know that crap about a man getting his prostate massaged through anal intercourse, but I'm not sure what part of me gets it since I don't have one of those. Somebody told me once that it was due to the proximity of the sexual parts anyway. Whatever they meant by that. Another person told me it was all in my head. I punched her in the mouth. It wasn't so much what she said, as it was that big dildo she was wearing over her cheerleader's skirt. I left the game in a hurry.
"Whatever it was, it felt really good! You can fuck up a lot of wet dreams by trying to heap them with meaning anyhow. It just felt right, so I used that as the rule of thumb. I could tell I'd be asking for lots of assaults from the rear in the future. But even that didn't happen until afterwards. Right then I didn't have my mind on the future. It may have been a step or two past perfect, but getting it in the ass was definitely becoming my thing. And you can't argue with logic like that. Nothink. It's a great state to be in.
"But even such states as that can't last forever. In fact, those states especially. But it got better before it got worse. All this time, my in-sides were churning and twisting, just building up my cunt juices. Me, I was letting cunt farts besides the regular variety, just trying to hold on as long as I could. Old Steve was getting close to dreamland himself from the way he was beginning to moan up there.
"Pretty soon, I felt him shoving real hard and fast, and I pumped my slippery hips back to bang his balls as hard as I could, about ready to get my nuts myself. Drawing me up to the edge, the very brink of ecstasy. Closer and closer. And then ... the firecrackers, the explosion-the whole ball of wax. My asshole started spurting and trembling, and then he hit me with a hot load that sent me farther out. He'd come, too. Not exactly in a clean style but it was our special way of fun.
"I even gave him head afterwards, just sure that this was my favorite road to have plowed. The nutty smell of his blood, sweat, and come-drenched box lunch added to the thrill of it all. And I swallowed it all down.
"It went on like that for a long time, but not long enough as far as we were concerned. My luck turned again when the J-s came home and caught us in the act. Folks just blew the whole thing again. Sent me to a headshrinker and the whole mess. I sure did miss Steve for a long time after that-got real tired of trying to beat the hot dogs to the slicer."
Pam's sexual discoveries may be premature and, to some, a bit off the standard script, but with psychiatric care she received she was able to piece together some of the blocks. As a part of her therapy, she had several sessions involving her parents, and while the case worker kept some of her more intimate confessions from her deeply moral parents, the basic rifts that divided the family were at least eased. At the present, she is still undergoing the final stages of her period of psychoanalysis, involved in a group of her peers which has helped the once isolated girl realize that her problems are not so unique, that there are others like her who have had difficulty coping with what seemed to be an alien world.
As far as her analistic preferences are concerned, she soon was able to find that her difficulties were not so much a symptom of a time warp into infantilism, but rather a matter of circumstance. Her meeting with a young man of such a partialistic nature at a time in her life when she had known practically nothing of the opposite sex had made her easy prey for nearly any form of warmth. Her prognosis, according to the group director, is highly favorable, as attested by her improved grades in school along with a newfound popularity among her classmates.
CHAPTER TWO
Up Yours, My Darling Daughter
"Taking it in the ass from my uncle Kent wasn't really that big a thing with me. I mean, I really dug it, especially the ass bit, but the incest thing never really hit me that hard. Not until we'd been getting it on for a few months. Not until I found out my uncle Kent was really my father.
"That one was pretty far out-even to me.
"I was already pretty experienced as far as sex goes by the time I got it on with the man I thought was my uncle. I'd had a cock in me just about every way you could figure it, and just about any place you could fit one. Jim, this guy I'd gone out with the summer before, had even done it to my belly button once. But usually I stuck with the big three-my cunt, my mouth, and my asshole, although I'll admit that the last hole mentioned received much less attention than the other two. About the only guy who'd done it regularly to me there was old Jimmy-boy again-a real pervert. Too bad that his family moved at the end of my sophomore year in high school. Otherwise, we might have discovered a few new ways.
"But I won't go into the main bouts I had with all my boyfriends. Just wanted to sketch a few facts for you, so as to show you I wasn't by any means a virgin when I came into the arms of Uncle Kent.
"So anyway, this is how it came down. Start of this summer-just after my sixteenth birthday, my aunt kicks the bucket. This leaves my uncle Kent with two kids to raise: Kent, Jr., a cute little kid who's eight; and his sister, Lora, two years younger. Since my uncle worked every day driving a bakery truck, he was left with the problem of getting someone to watch after the kids while he was away, what with it being summer vacation. So I up and volunteer for the job of looking after my motherless cousins. Besides, my uncle offered a good wage and there is nothing to do in Nebraska during the summer-at least not in this town.
"My mom goes along with the idea. She's a pretty good egg, me and her are pretty close, and she puts in a good word with my uncle. I'd had plenty of experience, what with looking after my brat brother when he was little. He was easy to take care of then, I'd just whack him one if he got out of line. Since he's thirteen now, and taller than me, though, I've worked out a truce with the brat. He's too big to have his diapers changed now anyway. Although I do wonder sometimes ... takes after my old man. Both of them are wimps. Me and the old lady get along pretty good though.
"I really didn't need her promo with Uncle Kent when it came down to it. He's always been my very favorite uncle. We only live a few blocks apart-have for years. I remember the way he always used to fill my Christmas stocking up when I was little. He stayed a bachelor until he was almost thirty, so he was always real generous with other kids. He'd been real good with his own kids, too....It was sorta rough seeing him all broken up this way. It always seems to happen to the good guys. I mean, why couldn't it have been my old man?
"So it goes.
"The job of looking out after Junior and Lorna turned out to be a breeze. They were pretty well-behaved kids for their age, a little on the subdued side, in fact, what with losing their mother. It was kind of tough trying to answer Lorna's questions about where mother had gone, but within a week or two, she'd put it in back of her thoughts.
"So I spent the days over there at Uncle Kent's, watching after the kids, cooking their lunch and all. Sorta nice for me-they had a color TV, something my cheap old man had been promising for years, but never produced. Sometimes I'd have a girl friend over, and we'd rap and all. An occasional boy. I didn't usually have my boyfriends over too much though. I mean, we wouldn't have been able to ball or anything with the kids around. So I saved that action for nights at the drive-in. Shit, I don't know how many times I've gone to see the same movie over again there-ending up missing the whole thing again while some guy sticks it to me in the back seat.
"Uncle Kent was really good to me. He's a great guy-even with the tragedy of my aunt's death so recent in his mind, he always managed a smile for me and the kids every afternoon when he came home from work, usually greeting me with something like, 'How's my favorite niece today?' He even took to giving me a big hug and kiss sometimes when he came home, just the way he had when I was real little.
"Somehow I'd get all melty inside when he'd do that. It was something special, nothing like the feelings I'd get when one of my boyfriends would put the same move on me. No, this was different-something surreal. Like you know how girls get a fantasy thing going with an older man sometimes? It was like that. Somehow Uncle Kent was my fantasy when I was younger. And, what with being thrown into closer contact with him, it seemed to give new life to the fantasy. Like it was all in my head. Just a fantasy thing that I'd pull the strings to sometimes when I was daydreaming. I guess lots of girls have them, maybe fantasying about going to bed with their favorite uncle, teacher-someone older like that. But I never really thought I'd ever get a chance to actualize these meanderings of my mind. I'd get feeling guilty about it even when I fantasied too hard about it. You know, they have words for things like that.
"But this strange thing was beginning to happen as time went on. I don't know exactly when it was that I began to have some suspicions that the feelings were reciprocal, but it began to dawn on me after a month or so of sitting with my little cousins that maybe, just maybe, my uncle had been having some of the same kind of fantasies about me.
"At first, I thought my uncle's little gestures were quite harmless, so to speak. Like he'd treat me real nice and have me stay for dinner, or maybe just sit around and talk. I got a few flashes for my fantasy to play with, thinking that maybe he was coming on to me, but I'd usually rationalize them away, figuring it was just me.
"But before I knew what was happening, we drifted past the fantasy to reality. Him shoving that cock of his up my asshole until I couldn't see up for down. Once we got past the barriers that stood in our way, we were able to get down to it.
"I can still feel the way he'd put those knuckles of his up my ass, priming me for the big show to come. His free hand manipulating my boobies, my neck, hair, thighs-getting me all sticky to receive his graveyard kiss. Then the burning shot as he pushed that hot prickhead through the rubber ring of fire, lunging forward till it like to split my guts in two. Me humping back my hips in effort to free myself from that big pole, but it keeps sawing, sawing ... steady in its purpose to follow me down to the blackest hole of my closet's corner.
"So he gets me into the ass route all the way. Smearing the white shots of his Big John the Conqueroo all over my insides like a spray gun. Then, sometimes, smearing the ooze that runs out after he uncorks it all over my buns with his hands.
"Or I'd suck him off, not caring about the craphouse double-seater we'd been sharing. 'Cause he made it all smell like roses to me.
"It did take us awhile though, like I said, to jump the first hurdle and run for the post. The situation in hand, awkwardly absurd, called for somebody to take control-and he did.
"But it wasn't long before he became more obvious. Oh, he started coming on with sort of harmless sayings-little off-the-cuff remarks with double meaning. He was starting to get his sense of humor back-the more time that separated him from the shock of Aunt Fritzi's passing, the more smiles I could draw out of him. Slowly but surely he was regaining his stride. And he was getting horny.
"It was one night about six weeks after I'd been sitting for him when it happened. I'd stayed late, a habit I was developing, especially on weeknights when I didn't have a date. It was sort of fun sitting there and rapping with Uncle Kent, me sort of beating off my fantasies all the while. But this night, I stayed later than usual, and Uncle Kent had tucked the kids in for the night.
"After he'd put the kids to bed, Uncle Kent had taken a quick shower. I was watching this show on TV when Uncle Kent comes padding in from the bathroom in his jockey shorts. I don't think too much about it. I'd seen him in his shorts before-you know, in the family and all. Besides, it's a pretty hot night.
"'It's a pretty hot night,' he tells me as he sits down beside me and opens a brew.
"But somehow, him sitting there in his briefs gets to me, makes me feel all for nosing that door.
"Instead, and I don't know just how, but my mind started floating way off high in space somewhere. But during this mind trip, my head seeming to swim away from the actuality of the situation, my uncle began to actualize a situation that seemed to surpass even my wildest fantasies-he was really interested in me the same way I was in him. And his sudden presentation of this reality, beginning with racy innuendos, then moving on to more direct requests, invaded my dreams with such force as to make me seek refuge in an out-of-control retreat-at least for long enough to let my nerves shift gears from unreal to real. During my hiatus, words spoken by my uncle Kent seemed jumbled like a jigsaw puzzle, the timing warped somehow by the distortions of my own reeling senses.
"'Suck your pussy?'
"'Like my weenie up your ass?'
"'Gee, you're swell."
"Like I couldn't seem to keep the sequential order together-his words hitting me with the weight of a judge's gavel as if I were hallucinating the whole thing, standing naked before my own dreams, guiltily invisible before him. I caught myself pinching my arm to make sure it was really happening, that I wasn't being overcome with my own fantasies and altering the situation as I sat there. But sure enough-he was actually doing it. Yet my brain still couldn't cope with this sudden materialization-all too good to be true. So I kept tripping away, my mouth somehow responding in a sleep-talking, automatic fashion to the reality he was creating, while my mind tried to deny it. Sort of a defense, I suppose. Like when you're offered something that good so suddenly, I guess you just put your hands behind your back until you can decide to believe the sincerity of the other party. Too bad that we're like that, but if you don't watch out sometimes, you'll get conned.
"This was no con, but still, while he created the advance at my reality, my mind tried to hide in a corner to gather its guts together.
"I just couldn't accept the fact that, like the law, the occasion was strictly arbitrary. 'Suck your cock?' I would catch myself saying during brief test-landings, touch-and-goes before I'd take off again for my unreal holding pattern that was crumbling into crazy-eights under his true beam from the control tower. I would choke during the next test swoop, my unreal buzzes flashing more violently turbulent as they do when close to being grounded.
"I tried to make him seem suddenly ugly to me, a pretty ridiculous possibility considering what a hot spot he is, yet I flashed on him as a slob, burping back the TV tube he'd just swallowed, while balancing a Dangerous Beer Can with his famous Regrettable Eyeball Toss.
"That may sound confusing. It is even to me now, but I was wigging out so far that all the realities were seeming to cross wires, to short-circuit my senses into scrambling what was going on. And then these crazy signs seemed to jump from the screen he'd just eaten: I Dig it Short; No Parking; Dirty Clean; On Tuesdays and October Onlies. I was really trying to deny the warmth he was sucking me into.
"Careful, kid, I tried to soothe myself under-breath. 'Cause none of that was happening. Except in my unreal head. None of it. That's the portly truth. I'm a liar-I oughta know.
"My eyes scattered away from his advancing flesh in a last-ditch fight with what I really wanted, getting slammed black and blue with newsprint until it was some weird foxtrot to the confessional booth-a Pulpy Mass. The kind of flipped-out shit that happens when your dreams jump up and scare you with NOW. Too many songs already written by cornered closet cowards. Gotta ride 'em as you finds 'em. So if your Braille fails you, better buy a watchdog. Or get a Braille eraser. His steady steamroller was about to flatten my mirrored LIE with a soft touch, but I still had to (who knows why?) go and fight it to the bitter end. And once it got beyond that, it wasn't better at all, but was something that couldn't have hurt me at all (I was doing that to myself)-something with the sweet taste of the bite out of that big Reality Sandwich.
"In one last loony-tune flight, my head bounced off the wall before falling to the fact that it wouldn't hurt me to try. It only seemed that way, but we were screened in two. It was us up there on the wall where the TV'd been tossed again. But just as the program cut to live coverage of the moon-the astronauts had gotten stranded halfway up Hadley Rill, I flashed into its place. Feeling like Pancho Clock, the time warden, had put me up there on the wall ... the hands of the dial kept coming around, and around ... and then CUCKOOOOO, the bird popped out.
"And I was there. I finally realized that, well-just somehow in my frantic flight from the reality of the situation, I'd stumbled right into the present perfect. Those two images I'd been seeing ... it was just me, looking at my reflection in Uncle Kent's eyes. No beer cans ... the television didn't matter over there in the background ... all those unreal things my head had been tricking down on me were all bullshit. There was just a bird. And it wasn't any wooden woodpecker doing time in solitary, getting sprung on the hour to cry his case and get slammed back in it again.
"I'm talking about the fact that Uncle Kent had rung my number up and jumped all the tangles of barbed wire to get it down to me and him.
"Touching.
"All the words in my mind had gotten in the way while my mind was tripping. Oh, he'd used words during the whole thing. Me, too. But he'd cut right through the bullshit and hit a bull's-eye. For it was the mood-he wasn't talking trash. He was coming through-call it FEELING. Talk is cheap unless you really mean what you're saying. The words carried us into the meaning, despite my futile attempt to deny my own frightened feelings. Words said in diced tongues, 'lonely too long,' and 'I've always felt close to you, but-' and 'I've wanted you,' and 'asshole.' And it all cut past the parts and had become a hole.
"My, my. What a hole it was. It was miiiiiine. Yiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee! I thought about it one last instant and got so scared shitless I almost came. But when I stopped thinking about it I found out. His bird was singing a song in my hole. And it wasn't the hole I'd gotten used to. I was singing along in harmony. Singing a new song.
"During the interval of my brain's flight, my uncle Kent had actualized my fantasy. Brought it all down home. He was a deliverer of dreams ... the main mover. I'd been fighting it off, weaving my own bed. That's the way it's supposed to be. He was all man, making me feel like all woman.
"How we'd lost our clothing, fallen to each other's hot gropes, worked our way to the Main Point-all that didn't matter anymore. It was surprising that I hadn't even felt the pain as he entered through the tight constricts of my ass door-he must've knocked softly, or I was so far out trying to hurt myself through the avoidance of the situation ... whatever. We were past the surprise now.
"He was pleasing me in a way I'd never known possible. Packing it up real tight-a good man giving me the straight line in the best way possible. We were lying in the usual old position: him on top, me on the bottom, but his selection of holes to plow changed the entire deal. I had to arch up a little more than normally, warping my back into a crescent like a cat's spine and clamping my legs high on his back, my knees folding into his armpits.
"I didn't even know if I'd be able to stand it much longer, the way Uncle Kent kept slamming that hammerhead of his in and out of me. Like a rocking, reeking roller-coaster ride: up and down, in and out, all around. Me pivoting my hips around as best as I could, trying to keep up with his experienced way of giving loving.
"There was a sort of dull pain to the whole thing, and soon it was spreading everywhere up inside my body, and even seeming to seep out of my mouth and across the entire room in a vapor. But the funny thing about this brownout was that I was really liking it. It was like it was the only thing I'd ever known. Only this was the first time-sorta opened up the door.
"I looked up to check out Kent's state. He looked down at me. The state of our union was fine. It was pure-pure shit. Stinking. Both of us digging on it. Right down to the corner of whatever it was we were. I didn't know or care. You'd have to ask my uncle about that.
"All I can speak from is my point of view, and from that end I can tell you that everything was fine. He shoved that meat of his up my old bean hole hard and heavy, me just humping away with my fat hips, trying to suck that mother, balls and all, clear up inside my guts. We were all sweaty and smelling funky, but that just added to the kicks I was getting out of this de-flowering of my back gate.
"It felt sort of strained to me at first-a sort of dull, aching pain spreading through my in-sides, but it was a good sort of pain. I was amazed at how my anal tissues gave way to his steady plowing. I'd always thought my asshole was too tight to take on something the size of his prick. But once it went past the tight ring, my tissues seemed to provide their own lubrication and felt like a glove around the thrusting of his stiff ramrod.
"Maybe I was born to take it in the ass. I don't know for sure, but it felt even better to me than the regular way.
"I was really straining to take that cock of his, my back arched up as far as it would go. My knees kept riding along his ribs, the steady slapping of sweaty skin matching time with the steady popping sound made by his cock as it pushed in and out of my rear hole. My asshole kept making little farting noises as he plopped it to me, and I could feel little trickles oozing down my cheeks.
"Then, just about as quickly as I'd gotten away from my mind trip and realized what was going on, my mind began drifting away again. Only this time it was triggered by the crazy way he was plowing my body, sending my mind on a trip controlled by my body-just the opposite of the way it had been before. My eyes started fogging up and doing tricks on me; my brain started swimming around and around; my lungs felt like they were filling up with helium and making me drift away-then, BLAMO-I came all over the place.
"And it didn't stop there. Old Uncle Kent kept kicking his dong around, pumping harder and faster into me, the wild contortions of my ass walls making it harder for him to hold on. And when he came, sending hot gushers of come juice shooting up my ass, it sent me farther and farther into a wild orgasmic state, practically ripping my nerves right out of my body.
"Just then, I passed out. Not really-just sort of drifted off for a while. Otherwise, my senses probably wouldn't have been able to hold on any longer. I mean, you reach a certain point, whether it's from too much pain or from too much pleasure, and the old body can only hold on for so long. And I can tell you that this time it was from pleasure.
"Uncle Kent let me relax for a while, just lying over me and kissing me gently so that I could ease down from the peak I'd hit. As soon as I regained my bearings, he looked down at me and we just sort of balled with our eyes for a while. No time for words and cheap rationalization at a time like this.
"Pretty soon, we both started getting horny again, so he padded out to the bathroom and got a washrag to wipe his cock. He must've had the intention of giving my pussy a good going over for dessert and didn't want to give me any infection or anything. Anyway, he bounces back real soon, his cock dangling between his hairy thighs all clean as a whistle and ready to go for the second round.
"Before long, I couldn't see that cock of his, because he was right on top of me and getting down to action. We were kissing, petting, rubbing at each other's body until we were both sufficiently excited to get on with the main action. I really dug the way he worked my tits over, massaging them gently in circular motions and pinching at the buds to make them real stiff.
"But it wasn't long before he got down to more serious business, grabbing onto his hardened cock to guide it up to my pussy. I spread my legs wide to help him drive it in, letting him put it in nice and easy. I let out a long oooooo of pure joy as he planted that cock in me, and wrapped my legs back up around his waist as it sank home.
"Then he just started slamming it to me, giving me everything he had. I just clawed at his back and hung on as tight as I could, while he gave me that meat hot and heavy. I pumped my hips real fast to keep pace with his tempo, grinding my clit up against his crotch to get as much friction as possible.
"We rode this one out as fast and hard as possible, our bodies too sensitized to the thrill of actually getting beyond the first barrier to be able and stand very much more. Uncle Kent was no mere amateur like the boys I'd fooled around with at the drive-ins, and it was all I could do to hold back my orgasm for any length of time. When it finally happened, I went all dizzy again, letting him take all the controls and just lying back and taking as much as I could stand. When I finally did regain my senses I knew that the best was yet to come-that this had only been the start of something really big."
Caprio and London, in their work on sexual deviations, define incest from its Latin origins, the cestum being the equivalent of the mother's girdle, or cervix. In classical terminology, to break the mother's girdle, or to enter it, when performed by a member of the family, constituted incest, one of the most universal taboo forms of sexual behavior.
Perhaps the most familiar form of this is the Oedipal complex coined by Freud after the Sophoclean tragedy involving Oedipus and Io-caste, his mother, and revolving around the sexual possession of the mother by the son. In popular psychological applications today, this feeling upon the part of the son is often suppressed, but when felt strongly enough it can lead to various forms of deviated behavior such as homosexuality and related acts of fetishism.
The opposite end of this spectrum is known as the Electra complex-that is, the desire upon the part of the daughter to have sexual relations with her father. While we don't often find such actions normally being realized, in the normal pattern of sexual growth an adult eventually replaces the parent as sexual object. There are, however, those who bridge the gap and partake of this so-called "forbidden fruit."
Most studies of incestuous behavior have found certain correlations to be true. One of these is that the activity most generally takes place outside the conjugal family; that is, most often we find that the incestuous relations that are consummated are those between more distantly related individuals than daughter and father or brother and sister. Rather, such sexual unions are between an uncle and a niece, or between, perhaps, cousins. The interesting point involved in this particular case history is that Penny, while fully aware that she was engaged in an incestuous act, did not realize just how close her blood tie with the individual was. At first, she believed her lover to be her uncle; later, she discovered that her uncle Kent was actually her father. We will see that the disclosure actually enhanced the experience for her. This reaction upon her part borders upon a form of behavior known as periculophilia, that is, any sexual excitation based upon the thrill of danger.
Actually, the idea of incest itself is a form of danger-loving, since such behavior is so widely socially unacceptable. Therefore, the participants in such a fantasy-fulfillment are, by the very nature of the act they are committing, challenging their moral fiber. In essence, the closer the relationship involved, the greater the potential excitation.
These studies have also illustrated a strong correlation between the socioeconomic positions and the incidence of incestuous activity. Sociologists have found that the chances of incestuous activity occuring among the poor is much greater than among the economically well-off. While factors such as race, religion, housing, and moral considerations can be taken into account, the individual reasons are of more concern to us here. Therefore, however important such factors may be in the overall picture of an incestual relationship, we must pass over them without involving them in detailed analysis.
Researchers have also found a much higher incidence of incestuous occurrence within crowded housing conditions, where a large family, generally for economic purposes, is forced to live in confined quarters. In the case history involved in this discussion, however, we must once again waive the sociological statistics and focus upon the more intricate individual developments.
When it comes to the correlation of analism and incest, we find that the case history just cited in this work ties in more strongly with the overall pattern of development. Inasmuch as incest often necessitates the practice of contraception, lest such activities be discovered through an accidental impregnation, anal intercourse has often been a chosen method of avoiding such an occurrence.
However, in the case of Penny and the man whom she believed to be her uncle, such phenomenon is only incidental. That is to say, the partners discovered anal sexuality to be a mutually enjoyable act more, and a method of contraception less. Penny, at an age of extreme emotional vulnerability, was so overwhelmed with the actualization of a childhood infatuation, that she might have proceeded to commit practically any act of sexuality her uncle might have presented her with, providing, of course, she found it pleasurable.
Kent, who in actuality was her father, had long been a practitioner of anal intercourse. His wife's recent death, coupled with his long-concealed knowledge that Penny was his daughter, compounded his strongly compulsive behavior. Yet he was long reluctant to disclose this information to his daughter, unsure of her potential reaction as we shall see in the continuation of Penny's narrative.
"The following weeks after Uncle Kent first hung it to me proved to be nothing but a gas, gas, gas. Mainly of the variety that came from my ass. He did all the pushing and I did all the taking. As much as he could push in me, I was more than ready to take.
"He'd give it to me, usually up the ass, in just about every place we could find, so long as it wasn't someplace the kids would find out about, and in just about every position but inside-out. During the next few weeks, I found myself bending over chairs, the TV, the kitchen stove, and hanging from the rafters, trees ... everything, as long as he had that cock of his somewhere around my main joints, if you follow what I'm saying.
"I don't know where he drew the energy from-me either, for that matter-but whatever it was, it seemed like we had such a great magnetism for each other that it got better and better the more we'd screw. It wasn't what I was used to with the punks I'd been balling at the drive-ins. Like they'd get pretty tired, not just physically, but tired to me-like boring. They just didn't have what it takes to turn the key. Didn't seem to know much outside of themselves and their own needs. Like it's okay to satisfy yourself-that's what it's all about-but you've got to make other people dig it, too. If you're selfish about it, then you're clear back in nowhere. It takes a man to know how to give and get satisfaction and still be in control. You might be able to lay a shuck on somebody for a while, but it doesn't take too long for somebody else to notice if that cat's a boy or a man. The boys, whether they're fifteen or fifty-well, you can tell if they're selfish or not, at least by the second or third time you're with them. If you're still going for it after that, then you'd better check your own head out. 'Cause people who can't make the other guy feel good must not be feeling too good about themselves. That's no shit.
"So as my dreams began slipping into reality I found the whole thing to be much better than my imagination had ever turned me on to, mainly because my uncle was in such good control that I was riding on his energy.
"So it comes down to just who's driving your plane. And if you're a chick, it's best to let a man handle the joy stick. That's just the way it is. The more you question it, the farther out you'll get.
"There were no questions in my mind at the time, 'cause Uncle Kent was in firm control. As long as he was showing me a good trip, I didn't care how much of his corner I got to see. It's those motherfuckers who don't let you know if they're coming or going that can get you down. They just keep showing you the negative sides until that's all you can see of yourself.
"But when Uncle Kent took me for a walk down his eyes, it was no tombstone path. Primrose lane, maybe; though I doubt if that's what he was seeing. He made me see what I wanted to see. That's why he was in control.
"It was jabbed up my ass to make me see it, but he did it in such a nice way there was no energy left to waste on arguments from my point-of-view.
"He sharpened up my focus on the strangest planes, but it was such a good spell he put me under, I probably would have thought we were fucking in a bed of roses when maybe he'd be giving it to me in a shithouse. Not that he ever had me do that, you understand. The only shithouse involved was my ass, and at least I didn't have to look at it. I just felt it, and tried not to think about it much.
"My favorite times were when they came up at the moment-like spontaneous, right? One day, one of his days off, we went out for a picnic. Well, as it turned out, my mother and father were along, so they ended up looking out for the kids while we took a walk before supper. Of course, the folks had no idea what was coming off, just thought we were taking a walk down nature's trail or some shit like that. So did I for that matter. Never thought Uncle Kent'd try and get one off that close to home. So we were just walking.
"We came to this little cluster of rocks after we'd been walking for a while and Uncle Kent and I decided to sit and catch our breath, just digging on the sun and trees and all that shit. So there I was, just sitting on this rock watching a crow bounce around some branches when I feel this hand sneaking up between my legs. I jumped about an inch or two, my mind being so preoccupied with the beautiful scene around me that I'd practically forgotten he was with me.
"'Gotcha, Miss Tuffett,' he smiled at me as I turned to him, reassured that no spider had jumped in my pudding. Then I realized that he was really as much a part of the setting as the sun and trees.
"His hand did all the rest of the talking for him, moving up to fondle my crotch and shut my mouth. Pretty soon, we're stretched out on the ground and going at it like high-school kids, feeling each other up by rubbing zippers. So he starts undoing the clothing, getting it down to the real facts, still rubbing his crotch against mine in a dry fuck.
"His hands are there and gone so fast that I can't tell just what's happening, but soon I feel my skin breaking out in goose pimples as the cold breeze touches it behind his deft unpeeling of my body. He pauses to twiddle at my nipples, making my tits jut up towards his chest real hard. Then he puts his tongue to them, rolling them around in circles, bobbing the buds in and out of their pillows, and nipping crisply at the very tips with his teeth.
"His mouth then trails down my stomach and I feel him breathing hot over my navel. In an automatic response, I lift my hips for his pulling hands that rip my shorts and panties down past my ankles. I unwind them from my feet, kicking them to the wind, as he follows his tongue down to my pubes.
"Screwing himself into the ground, he begins lapping gently at my cuntflesh, spreading the lips with his thumbs as he sinks his nose down onto my pubic bone and lets his mouth sink softly into my wet lips. I start pawing at the dirt around me with my hands and feet, trying to bury myself and escape from the head he's giving me. It was too good for me to be alive. But somehow I escaped the graveyard, even though my mind may have taken me there and back.
"I reach up and grab his head with one hand, rooting my fingers into his hairstrands to keep from sinking all the way into the earth, all the time squirming my box around and around, my ass cheeks working in a grinding fashion and imprinting themselves into this monument we'd leave behind for others to ponder. All this time he's keeping up with my every move, breathing hot swells of air through my pube patch like twin tornadoes as his mouth and tongue dip deeper into my cunt.
"And then he pulls his tongue out of my cunt and sucks my clit in between his lips. I get so crazy that I let out a bunch of farts, shouting and yelling for him to do it good. And he does. Real good.
"When he sucks down and clamps it real tight, twiddling at it ... man, he's flat sending me to the moon. I'm all hot and hollering, beating a tattoo into the dirt bed, while he keeps nose-diving down on my muff, slurping up all that good flesh I had to give. And then I'm getting all clenched up in the guts and tight and hot ... and I'm coming and coming and coming....
"He sucks up every last drop.
"So while I'm stargazing there in the middle of the afternoon, I hear a POP and a ZIIIIIIP and bring it back home again. My man is leaning over me, his hot nozzle all ready for the fire, the drill on my clit having given him the call. But just as I start licking my lips, all ready to reach up and swallow that sword of his, he gives me a quick pat on the hip, telling me that it's time to look at the dirt for a turn.
"I flip over, the 180 some-odd degrees whirling past in a paintbrush of colors. Brown and green in fulfillment of some rape's lovedance. And I steady myself, elbows and knees to terra firma, the world's whirl taking a split second to catch up with my motion. And just as fast as my horizontal focuses into control, a jab from behind sets my vertical rolling.
"But soon it, too, is turned in as uncle's hands steady my waist and pull me back to his waiting rod. My ass spreads wide to accommodate his large flange-shaped head as it tests its pliant surface against the tight ring of my asshole. I feel a hand pull away from my side momentarily, hear him spit, then feel its return as it lubricates his cock head. With one finger, he neatly primes away at my sphincter, reaching down in my grotto for a fresh supply of my cunt-goop for further lubrication.
"I steel myself for the sharp pain, then feel his finger stretch the flap open ... then flaffff it snaps down around the large head of his cock like a thick rubber band. I lunge at the pain, but it is a backward push and only drives his shaft further home. The itchy-twitchy burning soon passes, though, as I begin letting my ass juices flow down around the invaded parts.
"It feels all sticky at first, his cock slicing through the tacky surfaces in slow in-and-out movements, but as soon as some of my shit lining comes down to smooth the path, we are able to move in a more harmonious fashion. I push with my hands down to the ground for better traction, my hair swinging into the periphery of my sight, as I grind my asshole high into his lunging prickstaff. His balls slap heavily against my buns as I open it all up to his full length, letting out little sighs of pleasure as he does me in.
"No matter how hard I tried, Uncle Kent just wouldn't let me get away. He kept jabbing that cock of his in me hard and fast, making me dip my head farther and farther down towards the ground in submission. With one hand, Uncle Kent reached around me and began rubbing my clit off with his finger. All the while, my face getting closer and closer to the ground framed by my arms and hair.
"Then I started quaking inside, his powerful thrusts too much for my delicate rectal tissues. At the same time, my knees and elbows began trembling, and I scraped them roughly through the dirt in a vain effort to match his strokes. But they became too unstable to control, my nerve fibers at the very end of their ability to endure, and I found my face being smashed into the dirt as his hot seed spilled into my guts.
"Of course, we had to clean up real good afterwards, walking back into our campsite as if nothing had happened. It was sort of hard to look across the checkerboard picnic table at Kent while I downed my beans and franks without making myself a dead-on giveaway.
"Of all the times we got it on, the most memorable was the time he told me that he was actually my father. I mean, he didn't come on in the middle of a fuck and yell, 'Hey, by the way, I'm really your father,' or anything like that. That would've fractured my buns for good. No, it was over supper one night. He'd been feeling sort of moody-oh, I'll spare you the lurid details. Anyway, I was able to garner the facts from him, as to why he was feeling so down in the dumps and all. So I get him to spill out the real reason and I just about shit.
"Starts laying on about way back when ... and then ... and about my old lady and him getting it on while the old man's away. My old man hadn't been getting it on with her then-that's how they knew. The old man being such a wimp, he ends up thinking I'm his kid through some miraculous brain-twisting known only to an asshole like him. Course, no matter what he might have suspected, he never figured his brother.
"Anyhow, the whole thing sort of knocks me down for a while. I mean, shit-how many days do you get like that? But after the initial shock hits me, he starts soothing me-or more like we sort of cooled each other's nerves about it. From his reaction, I could tell that it must've been just as big a burden, him carrying the knowledge all that time and keeping it a secret, as much as it was a heavy thing the way it hit me.
"Somehow, we got beyond the consolation and mutual back-patting, and progressed along our usual ventures. Kids tucked safely in bed, we began to undress each other as we dressed our nerves, settling into the wonderful escape of going into each other. The way that heals....
"His fingers seemed more sensitive to my flesh this time, as they glided nearly tiptoe over the surface, often just brushing the tips of the hair to implant an eerie kiss of ice. Following his lead, I responded in kind, brushing my lips against his more tenderly than usual, my tongue dripping like honey into his mouth, our tongues blending into one.
"And the feeling grew as our hands sped over each other's skins, our lips and tongues following their paths to erase the shock of our new knowledge. And yet, perhaps due to my finding out about it, the making up for it seemed to provide more excitation than ever before. And too, there was this really heavy thought that thumped from the back of my head-knowing that Uncle Kent was really Daddy! I mean, if I'd have known it to start out, back before we'd gotten into the fucking scene, I might have called it off. But since we'd already found out what compatible lays we were, I was prepared for it. And somehow it was making the whole thing even more exciting. Like we were doing the ultimate sin or something like that.
"After we'd felt up and sucked up just about everything from elbow to appetite, we got on with the more serious business, our bodies already pounding from the goodness we were sharing. I found myself being positioned over the end of the couch as Uncleer-Kent-Daddy? Well, whatever-I still call him Uncle Kent just to keep the whole thing covered-he was having me kneel over the end of the couch so that he could mount me from the rear. And that, as you already know, is our favorite way of getting down to brass tacks.
"He eases down behind me and presses his cockhead up to my rear door. He guides it in with his hand, thrusting hard to get past my ring, making a sharp pain knife through my guts. But then it gets feeling pretty good as he settles down over me and begins humping me hard.
"I feel his sweaty belly slapping against my back as he hunkers down over me and runs a hand around me to play with my right tit. Then it spreads out like a fan and mashes both of my tits within its grip and rolls them round and round while he slaps the old meat to me.
"I move my hips back up to meet his, pivoting them as much as possible in this position, but the limitations of the movement can only go so far. He had to do most of the driving from this angle, so I did my best at just circling my ass around a bit while he pumped it to me.
"He was watching me sink down, but I guess I'd asked for it this way, so I just tried to hang on as best as I could to my falling senses with some sort of blind faith. Luckily, he pulled me through. Our fucking became more frantic then, an unmentioned telepath triggering the fires of our communion. Somehow the words of his disclosure earlier in the evening had become implanted in our flesh, pushing us on to greater emotions than either of us had experienced in our relationship before.
"And then he sent a shower of hot rocks spewing up my ass, making me yield to his violent demands. I crumpled under the assault, the combined emotion of committing such a taboo act along with the degradation I experienced as a result of it, breaking me apart into one of the greatest orgasms I'd ever let go. Jeeeeesusssss, how good it felt!
"'Jeeeeeeeeeeesssusssss!' I yelled.
"And before my flesh crumpled down against the sweat-spotted pad on the couch, my senses must have orbited the galaxy, or at least a sun or two.
"I wake up from my delirium and am confronted with a wide wedge of red and brown. Then I realize that I've been flipped over on my back and Daddy Kent is sitting on my chest, his big spade-shaped cockhead poised over my lips. Without thinking the whys and how comes, I open my lips, running my tongue tip over them in anticipation, then gape wide to take his shit-flecked cockhead into my mouth.
"Once past the preliminaries, I twirled my tongue around the tiny hole of his opening, a string of glue trickling down under my lapping tongue. Then he began to fuck my face, ramming the blue-veined glider of his down my throat, nearly causing me to choke. But I checked my gag reflex and took all he had, making my mouth into an up-front cunt complete with teeth. Teeth that raked and nipped at his flying dick to add to the pain of the occasion. A pain that had to feel good.
"He really had a big load left for me to gargle down-enough to keep me swallowing as fast as I could to keep breathing. His balls were covered with the saliva-come mixture that flowed from my mouth representing the overflow that I just couldn't swallow. All in all, it added up to the best evening we'd ever had, and the nights that followed were all the better. Our secret, made even closer by the fact that I knew we were father and daughter, only made it better."
While Penny's discovery of the extent of her incestuous involvement wove a rather strange spell over the anal affair, it left little lasting psychic scars upon her adult sexual attitudes. The incident never came to the attention of authorities, or other members of the family, but rather was discovered during a voluntary study conducted by the psychology department of her college several years later.
As both anal sex and incest may well have their foundations in undue guilt, apparently Penny, a girl who seemed capable of chosing her own attitudes, feels little or no remorse from her actions, but instead takes it all in stride, a thing of the past not to be weighed too heavily. As it has turned out, Penny prefers anal sexuality, having found that this mode of stimulation offers her the best response, and leads a fairly well-rounded sexual life, free from any shadows of the past.
CHAPTER THREE
A-Hole Lotta Shaking
"Loretta-that fucking bitch! I knew she'd be a big fucking pain-in-the-ass when I found out my parents were leaving her in charge of my sister while they were away on vacation. My cousin's always been like that. But when I caught her trying to scarf up on my sister's box-I'd come home from the service station where I work early and caught her trying to put the make on Donna-well, SHIT! Fucking pissed me off. I turned the whole show around on her and showed her what she was. Gave her a pain-in-the-ass like she'd never felt before.
"Yeah, when I caught that bitch putting the moves on my little sister that day, I just about blew it. LO-retta ... fuck. I made her pay-man, did I ever make her pay.
"The folks had taken off on a two-week vacation, leaving my cousin in charge of Donna, my twelve-year-old kid sister. Me, I was working at this gas station during the days so's I couldn't keep an eye on Donna. So my folks arrange it so that Loretta, my redheaded, no-brained cousin from 'cross town is to look after her while they are gone.
"I never have dug her too much. She was a good-looking redhead just a few months younger than me-let's see, yeah. I'd just had my seventeenth birthday and hers was a couple of months later. But she was a real bitch, a cock teaser who brought trouble with her everywhere she went.
"So this one day, just a few days after my folks split, I come home early from my job. And what the fuck do I see? That fucking bitch Loretta trying to put the make on my goddamned little sister. That really tightened my jaws. I knew she was a sneaky motherfucker, but doing this lez number on Donna-I mean, what can I say?
"She really hadn't gotten very far with her act, but later I found that she'd been scheming on it for a whileu But when I walked in on her and caught her sticky fingers trying to get the plum out of the pie she'd been baking in her mouth-I fucking about blew it. She was there in the kitchen, doing some phony den mother cookbook routine on Donna's head. But just the minute she went for a merit badge, her grabby fingers spinning the web by reaching up under Donna's apron to try and cook up the real menu on her mind, I come in.
"One shot and I cool her with the evil eye. Must've been real scary-she fucking about jumped right back to her mother's skin. Original package job. She didn't say a word, just drained white and shook like a bare wire. I quick caught control of the situation, otherwise I might have blown the bitch off for keeps right then. But before I put her ass on ice, I reined my temper down to a cold stop, just letting the evil eye keep her squirming.
"Sis-she don't know what's coming off. As far as she could tell, that nasty bogey bitch had just been reaching out to flick a fly off. ... Well, who the fuck knows but her? But that's my fucking sister she was messing with, and nobody pulls that shit off when I'm around. Dig-twelve years old, right? Yeah, sure, I was balling backseat then myself, but like with her it's different. Understand that.
"I got right enough in my head to set up a deal for Donna, having her get the okay to go over to a friend's down the block. All the time I'm on the phone, old Loretta is dying in the corner, sitting there in the chair where I told her to park her ass. After the okay is given, Donna goes out looking kinda mixed up, but taking it in stride since she didn't pick up on what was really going down in the first place.
"Now that the kid is covered, I go over and put the whammy on Loretta, just watching her wriggle around at the end of my line. After I feel the proper formula's been mixed, the silence so loud that Loretta's practically chewing on the air to fend off its screaming, I proceed with the mix to fix the bitch. I had to like get my shit together after that first flash of hate burned my head. Now I could give her all the rope she needed for a slow hanging. My tacks were all sharpened on the flintstone of my vengeance-but the silver dagger would be sheathed as my ace-in-the-hole. Only it would be her hole where I'd lay the trump card, tucked away behind my zipper.
"I waggled my finger, not saying a word, having her come over to me. It was my kitchen and she was just passing through. Now she'd have to sit down on it, pay the dues for hanging those big green eyes on my sister. Her fake was strictly highway forgery, but she'd pulled off the asphalt into my parking lot and tried to lay the wrong paper on the wrong dude.
"She was turning so many different ways as she flitted over to where I was standing, like a moth trapped between a cocoon and a flame, not knowing anything but plain fear. Man, her instincts were up her ass and she didn't know it-just shook herself sideways and snaky over to me, not knowing if it was start or finish, larva or moth dust.
"She pulled into the wrong station to be driving a runaway car. I was gonna fill her up with just what she'd asked for, no matter how much she might try and deny it. She wouldn't just drive away from here with a handful of stamps.
"I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, turning it away from the table. I lit a cigarette, feeling like a Nazi Superspy who'd just trapped a Deb Matta Hari leaving her den. As she stood in front of me, ghost-gray framed in red flames, I puffed coolly on my smoke, fingering it theatrically to help promote her paranoia.
"Then-ZZZZZOPPP! I reach out and grab one frail white hand, jerking her off balance, her jelly-puff knees viced in between my legs. I give her a quick peel with my eyes, knowing that I can put some color back into that drained body of hers-turn her gray freckles back into brown, her white skin back to pink. Pink like she'd never known.
"Her jaw starts rattling like a kid robbed of its first candy bar, her lips vainly sucking like wet tissue paper at each other trying to hide. But I knew that she couldn't get there from here. Not until I crammed her so full of cock that she'd have to shit sideways for a week.
"So I toy with her, drawing my cigarette prop close to the trembling hand I'm clamping down on, enjoying the way I've finally got the cunt who'd pushed me into the cesspool they'd been filling in over at the H-s clear back in the second grade or so. Now it was her turn to try and tread in the shit swamp and try and get air.
"This was all for show, you understand. Yeah, I was pissed and coming down heavy on her case-with JUSTIFICATION, sure. Not just the incident when we were kids, not just her false move on Donna. ... Just because she was fucking LO-retta: dirty, funky, low-down Loretta. Now I'd get a chance to show her how it felt, give her just a glimpse at what a drag she could be. But at the same time, I could savor the best of her-that juicy body that was shaking so nice underneath that delicate, thin cotton that was all between her and invisibility.
"I dipped the cigarette down at her nearly transparent hand, the glow of the tip threatening to singe the blue-veined leaf even from the several inches of space between the objects. I held it for a second, then jerked it away, stubbing it out in the ashtray, her eyes following it like vapor trails. But I was going to do more than smoke her out of her hole. It was time for the fire.
"Now was the fire, and she'd just have to find out you don't have to burn up in smoke while looking down at it. Time for her to find out that it really didn't have to hurt. That she was really human. C'mon down, Loretta, the boys are shaking your tree. And that fruit hanging from it isn't as rotten as you think.
"And a little hurt, too. Just so she could get through her phony imagination and see how it was to get it in person. I pull her down to her knees, applying just enough pressure with my hand and eye movements to guide her. She knows better than to cross me-her mouth still trying to clasp onto a voice, her eyes trying to fend off the scene with a negative. But she just knows that somebody's up-fronted her trip and's about to fill her in on all the details.
"I have this impulse to slap that pretty little birdface as it gazes up at me from its rightful place, but I hold back. Up front pain isn't my scene. Just showing her enough of her own so that when I ease it, she'll know just WHO did it. So I let go of her wrist, calmly wrap a lock of that flaming hair in my hands, give just a slight tug to get her attention. With my other hand I unzip my fly, pulling my pecker out and flopping it down on the edge of the chair. It's about half-hard-fitting reaction to a half-assed show. So far.
"'There it is LO-retta,' I tell her in the calmest manner possible. Cold enough to let her know that she's in the eye of the storm and if she didn't do just what I wanted she'd be hit by the biggest fucking tornado she'd ever felt. Minor league dust devil that she was.
"I pull her hair down so that her eyes bow to the object which I am calling out for her to lay her sacrifice upon. Which is, to bring it out of the TV set and into Live Color, a lot of bullshit ways of saying it was time for her to get down to sucking cock.
"She stares at it dumbly, watching it grow in her face. 'It ain't a vegetable, babe, so you'd better get it NOW. No second chances."
"Whether it was implied threat of my unspoken or else, or the nerve touched off inside her own wasted time vault, she moved to it. Rose-pink color filled her cheeks as she came alive and responded to her true function. Four hands, scrambling and whirling, were preparing the offering. Reaching through the grease of my uniform to get to the gun. Ripping at the thin top of her blouse, opening a new atmosphere, lifting the clouds. Importance and significance gave way to hot flesh touching hot flesh. The ice water flowing through our veins was as it always was ... blood. Warmed by the temporary comfort of getting beyond the point.
"Somebody had to keep control, so I left one channel open for thought ... the right thought-straight ahead. It leaped up into her mouth to free her from doing the uncomfortable task of filling her own empty tank. I led her to it, letting her lips pay tribute to my superiority-this bitch who'd had me down, playing it out right. Getting my head straight.
"She was a lizzard queen, bending down to flick a forking tongue at the tips of my nerves, all of them sent down the hard track of my growing meat. She fed at me like a leech: blood-sucking reptile surviving on my mammal flap. I teased at her, drawing back as she'd try to take too much into her jaws at once in her ignorance of natural time. She had to know that this was no dead carcass for vultures and jackals-this was the real thing. And no matter how hard she might try and deny it later, there was this moment-and she was really no vulture, no leech. This meat was live.
"I had to really pace her timing, 'cause she was coming on fast. Been in a cage too long. She ran her now-steady fingers up around the base of my cock, pulling at the hairs on my balls, then kneading against them like a kitten just weaned. I ran my hands down her shoulders, around her neck and ears, her temples. My touch became lighter with each visitation ... letting her know how to respond to my timing, and she slowly opened her windows and began to give into my demands.
"As the natural timing began to take over her urgency, she went into the automatic responses she'd lost. Her voice returned, purring and humming a tone poem on my cock, sending its song up through my spine. Her attentions became more respective of my needs, her fingers gliding more smoothly, then squeezing for a moment, then falling. Breathing. As simple as that.
"Now I could relax my thinking, having taught the pace to this bitch. Of course, there was always that other channel, the one that just is there if you've got balls. Unless you control your bitch, she'll eat you alive. But that instinct took over, letting me enjoy her submission to me, the knowledge that I had her in tow for now.
"Her tongue rolled around the tender underside of my head, her teeth nipping at the shaft. I grabbed the roots of her twirling hair to push her farther down over my cock. There was little to show her-the natch took over. The ugliness had been lost in the clearness of her actions. Breasts swaying beneath her, slapping against the insides of my thighs at the fulcrum of their sway. Eyes lidded to give her sight. Her neck muscles, the facial expressions, the way she breathed, were all in harmony as they began to synchronize.
"It wasn't so bad after all.
"Loretta, bitch that she was and ever will be, was caught in that moment of being a woman. Her cheeks puffed balloons around my thick shaft as she fucked her face on it, centering her shifting gravity on the base of my cock with her hand. She went through a series of fast motions, nearly gagging herself in her attempt to take it all down at once, reaching her toleration, then retreating to a slower pace, sliding down the circumference to the tip where she plied a subtler technique to the more tender receptors.
"The series continued, me sliding and bumping down towards the edge of the chair, her steady ministrations drawing the truth out of my own belly. I tried to fend it off, making her work for it, but my muscles were ripping apart between my mind's futility and my body's command. It was hurting too much to hold off that long. Shelter. And still the bitch sucked, completing the circle, drawing me down, down, down. Where? Earth.
"I'm clutching on, my knees knocking against her ribs, my hands tied onto her ears. And she's taking it all-swallowing and breathing, sucking every drop from me. What she couldn't or wouldn't take, poured down my spent prick, trickled through my hairs, down my thighs. And she had me.
"One quick flash from her eyes, just for that instant. The weakness was communicated. The weakness and the power forever. Past turned into meaningless ramblings. But for that one moment-no words. Satisfied.
"But then, her running hands crept gently around my waist and thighs, one big green eye looking up at me-looking, looking, looking until it was time to go again. And then it's in search of satisfaction again. Can't be satisfied. But might as well have another go at it, just to get to that point where no fucking logic prints its ad.
"So to avoid the same old record, we flipped it over to the other side. As long as it could get stuck in a groove, then we'd have something. First, I had to reacquaint Loretta with my identity. She was looking too smug down there, like a cat who had eyes for taking over my jungle. It was time to call out for the garbage can-only, I, ah, try to call it a honey barge. I'd rather not call it anything, but that look of hers, green cunt flecked in rust-well, shit. Ass-high's about as far as I can allow that to rise.
"So I just had to put it back to where it came from, motherfucker that I am. After all, she'd shared a lot of shit with me in the past-time to return the favor.
"Now that my strength was back, I didn't feel like fooling with the bitch. Not with the way she was looking so fucking fat about the situation. I just took in all the normal routes with my eyes-figuring my fingers could test out all that skin later. And those nice little titties of hers looked awful good-but, fuck her! She didn't deserve it. I still had cause and reason on my side. So before my mind flopped the other way, I had to put it to action. Tight asshole and all that other shit. I nodded with my head at her to get up and get ready, but she delayed-this smile coming out of her eye. Jesus Christ-I could've smacked her then. It wasn't funny. Instead, I reached down and pulled her head from its leaning post, pointing with my thumb at my chest.
"'See that, Loretta?' I told her, thumbing at my greasy uniform shirt. 'Right there above my pocket?' And the bitch is only faking the wide eyes now. 'Bill-right?' That was my name, I swear it was. It said so in red script, circled by blue-stitched mock borders. Ironed it right on. Got a patch on all my uniforms-all of them say Bill. Except once when I found Brad's in my drawer-a mixup, you understand. Gave it back right away-don't want to talk about it.
"She was getting wider-eyed and looking too fucking smug, so I'd just have to pull her off her goddamned ego trip. She had a lot of fucking nerve. So I grab her and jerk her to her feet, jumping up myself, and drag her over to the stove. I get a real good look at her body, now flecked with pink, broken only by those tight brown shorts.
"'Take those fucking clothes off,' I tell her. She takes those fucking clothes off. I had to leave mine on-at least my shirt, since that was all I had on anyway. But when I got a gawk at that cooze of hers I almost forgot who I was. But it was on my shirt-stitched right on there: Bill. That's me.
"Well? her eyes ask me, still laughing, mocking. Pisses me off. This wasn't Mother, May I? This was a real grown-up adult game. Balling the jack. Or one of those. Some people call it fucking.
"So before I got too far from what was happening, I have Loretta bend over the stove, her tits mashed down on the burners, ass waving up at me. Loretta goes along with everything without fighting it, but her attitude is real defiant.
"I didn't really want it to turn out this way, but I had the gottas and wanted-let's say, needed-to get this finished. If I didn't put this bitch down, I had the feeling I'd have to spend my life doing it over and over again.
"Loretta leaned her head over her shoulder, green-eyed, and stared right through me. Very antisocial child. So the same thing to her. Unbelievable. Okay, Loretta. If that's the way you want it-well, shit. I don't know what it means to you, bitch, but the nose KNOWS. Sideways bitch. I'd have to change my strategy. Put it up her ass.
"So I lined up the old pole and sighted in on that round prune above her furry crotch. I had her spread her legs a little and bent my legs so I had it positioned just right. My cock was nice and slippery from the head she'd given me, so I nudged it up to the tight ring of her asshole and began to rub it around, my hand stroking my shaft nice and hard.
"Moving my head against the hole, I tested it, allowing the spongy surface to give until the point of my hardness began to render her sphincter open. Loretta gave out a sharp cry when she felt me going in the backway, surprised that I was doing this to her. I could tell it was hurting her.
"'That HURTS!' she yelped, practically jumping on top of the stove.
"'You asked for it, bitch,' I tell her, pinioning her wriggling body down with my free arm, then snaring her on the end of my rod like a piece of paper on a spindle. I lunged hard, and the pressure gave way, the tight ring dilating under the power of my thrust.
"Once I was past the tight door, I slipped in nice and easy, my cock sheathed in her shitter nice and warm. The surface felt sort of tacky-like gritty. I don't like sloppy cunts-make me slide out too easy. Can get a better grip on an asshole.
"Loretta was finding out that it was right down to the wire now, flapping around like a fresh-caught fish on a pier. I just start moving in and out nice and slow, tearing away at her ass tissues while she squirms over the stove, beating her fists on the top-THUMP, THUMP.
"But as I keep up the steady tempo, increasing the speed as I build the length of my strokes, she begins to give in to the idea that this might be fun after all. I can feel her ass walls getting slick, giving her enough lube so that it doesn't hurt so much. She's thrashing her head all around and going crazy, but I don't see any of those smug green eyes flashing at me now. She's got them closed tight, moaning out all kinds of nice things like 'Bill,' and 'Ooooohhhhh, baby,' and 'Mmmmmmmmmmm, fuck me fuck me FUCK MEEEEEEE!'
"And did I ever. Slamming my cock in and out of her poopchute as hard and fast as I can, pulling out to the tip and then driving it home to the hilt, I give Loretta the ass-reaming of her life. I'm running my hands all up and down her sides, pinching and squeezing at her sides and hips, watching as her body flattens against the irregular contours of the stove.
"I really had her then. She just is nothing but a moaning animal now-paying her dues for having such big eyes. Her knees are knocking against the stove as she gives in to a nice big come. About then, I feel the tightness of my own guts giving out-my nuts swollen and aching, ready to let fly. I slow my stroke just a bit, making sure that Loretta knows who's in charge, then I ram home as hard and fast as I can, grabbing onto her sides and digging in with my hands to hold on-'cause here it comes. I let go with a big wad and another and another, until my own knees get quaking. But not enough that she knows. She knew who was boss for sure now."
Bill's testimony illustrates his rather narrow view of the female sexuality, the view that is so often debunked by the Women's Liberation movement. While the eternal male-female polarity is witnessed in his testimony, he does illustrate a basic naivete of human emotions and a rather jaundiced view that seems to exclude the feelings of others. While he did have motivation upon his side (Loretta's lesbian overtures towards his sister), he utilized it to justify his own behavior, showing a basic morality conflict that caused him to have to prove himself. His self-righteousness in dealing with others is merely a way of transfering his own guilt-feelings to another, a mode that is temporary at best, and must be reenforced.
To compound the situation of Bill's problem is the fact that Loretta is his cousin, adding to the potential guilt involved in his relationship. While not so closely involved as the incestuous relationship discussed in the preceding chapter, Bill and Loretta both display a more unsure and guilt-prone attitude, once again showing that to understand the factors involved in individual circumstances can alter the overall picture. While such generalizations are useful in drawing up a framework of reference for psychologists and other researchers into the field of human dynamics to effect a cure or alter any given pattern of behavior, the individual's own peculiar problems must be weighed more heavily.
Probably more closely associated to the pattern of Bill and his cousin's behavior is the factor of sadomasochistic tendencies displayed by both participants. While neither show overt sadomasochism, that is, there is no fetishistic substitution such as implements of flagellation for instance, the mental patterns of both represent something closely akin to such a phenomenon. While Bill's actions tend towards sadism and Loretta's towards masochism, researchers have found this form of inversion is often deceptive; that is the sadist, in classical form, must have some form of masochistic empathy towards his sexual object and vice versa.
Actually, Loretta shows a greater tendency towards masochism than Bill towards sadism. While she is not a true masochist in the strict sense of the word, women by nature having a traditionally passive role, her behavior shows traces of lesbianism, an inversion that develops along the same lines as sadomasochism. Yet, we must emphasize the participants' ages in our considerations here: neither one has reached a level of maturation.
Anal partialism, while not sadomasochistic in the majority of cases, can sometimes be linked to such an urge. While Bill's aggressive attempt to acertain his masculinity touches only upon the borderline of a mental form of sadism, and Loretta's pattern, too, is more psychic than physical, it may be interesting to develop the correlation of such a tendency and its relationship to analism. Wilhelm Stekel, in his classic study, Sadism and Masochism, offers some such insight:
The infantile character of the sadomasochist's performance is obvious from the fact that it is a game. The paraphilliac, whether substituting fetishistic matter or exhibiting such forms of behavior as sodomy, makes this game of fantasy a sexual goal. The meaning of the regression is, however: I am a child again and all life stands before me.
Regarding the association of homosexuality, which in itself often represents sodomy (such as analism), to sadomasochistic tendencies, he goes on:
It lies in the nature of bipolarity that there is no sadism without masochism and no masochism without sadism. All psychic manifestations depend upon this twofold capacity for reaction. The question therefore which force is primary would be superfluous. Nevertheless, it has certain significance. ... The nature of the bipolarity is such that all reactions in the love life must manifest themselves negatively and positively. Fear and desire, disgust and longing, hate and love, are the most familiar forms of expression. Bisexuality itself is the eloquent manifestation of bipolarity.
While we once again stress that Bill and Loretta's incestuous analism only borders upon sadomasochistic, the occasion giving much circumstantial foundation to the involvement, the mental aspects of their sexuality does represent a similar pattern to that of the more classic forms of sadism and masochism. After their initial sexual union, however, Bill does go on to continue his psychic dominance over Loretta. While she readily accepts her submissive role to his will, Bill's inner conflicts continue to vacillate, as his narrative indicates.
"After I got everything straight with Loretta, I decided to continue to string her out. My old man and old lady wouldn't be home for over a week, so I figured I could just play it out, keeping her towing the line for a while. The only thing that screwed the whole thing up was that my folks came back early, before I had a chance to decide how to put an end to it. That turned the entire scene around on me.
"After our first little get-together, I waited a couple of days before I put any moves on her again. I didn't even say anything to her, except of course to let her know what I'd do to her if she made any more moves on Donna. She knew better-I could tell just by looking at her that she was completely under my thumb. All I had to do was lay the old eveil eye on her and she would practically wilt under my gaze.
"As far as Donna was concerned, she really didn't know what was happening. I was keeping Loretta all strung out on anticipation, giving her a cold shot over the supper table, or little things like that, just to remind her that I had her life in my hands. She was really getting crazy behind the whole scene, wondering what I'd finally decide to do with her-if I'd slam it to her all of a sudden, or if I'd wait and cop out to her folks or mine. Pretty scary.
"But on the Friday night after everything had gone down, I put a little reminder on her. Well-it was more than just a little reminder. It put her straight, gave us a little relief of the situation, but still left her in suspense as to what I was going to do later on. Shit, I didn't even know myself then, so every single time she tried to bring it up, I'd shut her mouth in a hurry.
"Donna was in bed that night, and I decided to watch a little TV. Loretta'd been sleeping in, since it was such a long way to her house. She'd been washing the dishes, and when they were done, she came on out into the living room on her way to the bedroom.
"She had on a pair of short fucking shorts, and this loose shirt, the kind like a guy wears, that showed she had no bra on. Her neat little cone-shaped titties were just bobbing around so nice and inviting ... fuck, I forgot all about what was on television.
"'Loretta,' I called out, emphasizing the first syllable the way I used to when I'd taunt her back when we were kids. Now she knew that it meant she'd better jump. Her turn in the shit-house now. So she comes over and stands in front of me, all wide-eyed and expectant, wondering what the fuck is coming off.
"'Take your duds off, Lo,' I order.
"She hesitates for just a second, so I squint my left eye like some bad-assed movie hombre, and pin her big almond-shaped jade eyes right in the middle. ZOP-she gets the message, a big old little-girl pout suggested on her bottom lip, her brow furrowing as she arches her plucked eyebrows up towards her hairline.
"Shit, what a fucking gas. Sitting there watching Loretta put on a show for me. Felt like one of them sultans that runs one of them harems over there in pinko country, or wherever the fuck it is. Know what I mean?
"My mouth is just about drooling as I watch her strip off her shirt blouse, that nice soft pink skin rippling with brown-freckled fawn spots. Those nice firm little tits of hers jiggling firmly from her rib cage like two snow cones with a cherry on top.
"But it continues. She snags her thumbs into those tight shorts after unZIIIIIPPPing the fly, tugging at them hard, her hips swaying back and forth like a belly dancer as she sheds the tight cloth like a snake. As she bends over to wriggle them down past her knees, kicking them off her toes, I almost reach out and cop a feel at her tits, swaying down above the floor, heavily elongated by her struggles.
"No panties this time. Just the whiter than white soft covering of skinny fat of her lower belly and thighs. Her tight muscles ripple as she stands back up, the furry pad of her triangle centered nicely by her thighs. I suck in a deep breath of air and just STARE for a few seconds, her eyes inviting me to have some mercy.
"So it was time to show her some. I ripped my cock out of my pants, then ripped my pants off. Why I did it in that order I'll never tell. I'm just that kinda guy-name's just plain Bill. But it didn't say so on my shirt this time-didn't have one on. Down to basic flesh.
"And that's the part that's hard to understand, but so easy to do. If you're a doer.
"I flopped back down on the chair and told her to do the same. There was no room for her to come and sit by my side, so I had her sit in my lap. The coming would come later. At least that was the general idea.
"Same song, one-million and first verse. But if you're going to reopen an account, having a girl around's one of the best ways to do it, I always say. I always say a lot of things, though, so you'd better watch yourself.
"Little old Loretta, frozen by the suspense, was more than ready to thaw out her nerves. And other parts unmentionable in some areas. I'll mention those later, too. In fact, now-tits and ass ... and those other parts. I was in charge of one of the main 'other parts,' namely, my cock. It was about six inches high and rising hard. And I was about to part her right down the middle of her road.
"Split level.
"But this wasn't going to be any divided highway. We'd have to get it on in the same direction. A one-lane blacktop job paved in asphalt.
"So I edge forward on the chair, my cock rising faster than the mercury in a thermometer just taken out of a deep freeze in Death Valley. I have Loretta come up to me and turn around. I reach out and let my fingers trace over her hips as she turns them. Bitch that she is, she's sure got a fine little body on her. That pelvic bone jutting out like a jaw, those tiny hairs dancing over the tightly stretched skin between the bones, those nicely plump white asscheeks, tucked in clefts over the back of her thighs-shit, I was ready to explode my guts before she even sat on my pecker.
"Once she'd turned around, her head half-cocked over her shoulder to look down and get instructions from me, I clasp my hands around her hips and pull her closer to me, adjusting my body as far forward on the chair as possible. Before getting on with the ass-reaming, though, I can't resist pushing my face forward and sinking my nose in between those nice plump pillows, inhaling a deep whiff of her juicy ass and cunt vapors.
"'Wha-what'cha doooooing?' asks Loretta, her auburn hair flying across her shoulders as she jumps around under the tickling sensation my breathing is giving her pubic hairs. I don't answer stupid questions that are so obvious, just whiff in some more of the pungent damp air in her furrow. She's got a slick sheen of sweat on her body from doing the dishes, and it adds to the funky aroma.
"'Whatever's right,' I tell her, withdrawing my nose from her account. For I'd soon be making a deposit of another nature-one that'd make us both richer.
"Telling her to get ready for the main event, I have her spread her legs and lower herself slowly, real slowly, over my lap. For insurance, knowing the potential catastrophe if that bitch gets an idea of getting cute and slamming her fanny down hard on my cock, I keep a firm grip on her waist.
"But she wasn't looking to get silly with me-she knew who was in control and didn't want to push her luck. Besides, even if she didn't want to let me know it, I was aware that she was just as eager to get that cock rammed up her asshole as I was to give it to her. So she settled down nice and easy, her thighs pressing against my knees to cushion the support. Sitting right down on cousin Bill's lap, but I wouldn't be reading her any fairy tales or kid shit like that. Her tail was about to get crammed with something they don't put in those books. She was going to sit on my lap for a wild ride that'd have very little to do with Mother Goose. Or even storks.
"She was about to get goosed by my greasy glider. Throw out the books and kick out the jams. Loretta was about to get her jelly rolled in the best way possible. Through direct and instant contact.
"After some stunting around for positioning, Loretta was ready for further studies in the field of backyard philosophy. She'd hooked her legs around the sides of my legs, her weight now being balanced on the balls of her feet as well as her hands that she spread on my kneecaps. But the main place her weight would be resting was my flanged cockhead. Her asscheeks spread wide and thin as she lowered the cleft down over my waiting meat. I let her shift her weight so she could help me out, taking one hand from her hip to grab my cock to help guide it in.
"As I couldn't move too well in my sitting position, I merely let her back down to my dagger, my hand merely doing the more intricate movements necessary for a successful docking. It was a hot night and both of us were pretty sweaty, so there was no need for any vaseline. But just to make the going a little easier, especially since my cock and balls were the ones that'd suffer if we blew the entry, I ran a couple of fingers into her groove and smeared the moisture around the tip of my throbbing cockhead.
"And now, slowly and gently, I let her rear back down so that her tightly puckered little asshole was just touching my spongy meat. An electric spark sent shudders through our bodies, but we managed to hang on since we both wanted the windows to blow open.
"She held for a second, her weight pressing down harder on my rod, causing it to bend slightly to the left, but I was able to squirm my ass around enough to keep the pressure on that tight ring of hers. I'd decided to take this time out for recreation and intended to get my pencil sharpened, not broken. Easy does it, Lo!
"And finally, after several tentative lockings, her ass ring came spiraling open, letting my head sink in and get ready for the cocking I was going to give her. Once in, she sank down easily on my cock, the weight of her body helping to drive it home faster in this position. She let out a long satisfying aaaahhhhh as my meat slid into her stall, running clear down to the base of my cock. I let out a low moan myself as I felt the weight of her slippery assflesh press down on my balls, giving them a pleasant ache.
"I placed my hand back up on her waist and got ready to settle back in my easy chair and let her ride. She'd have to do most of the work in this position, my ass being pinned down to the chair by her. But she just sat there, hesitating, dumb cunt that she cane be sometimes. Sat there like a whole ream of papers on a spindle-so I had to prompt her out of the post position.
"'Giddeupppp, bitch!' I shouted at her, giving her a sharp pinch on the skin above her kidneys to spur her out of the gate. She responded, proving she was a seasoned jockey. She was just trying to play the part of a skittish mare, trying to test me. But when she started running, she ran like a full thoroughbred.
"She starts slow, checking her weight distribution,-then begins plopping up and down in my lap in a hard run for the wire. She really gets to working out, as I run my hands up and down her sleek flanks to stabilize her ride, pumping and jerking as my cock moves in and out of her channel. But Loretta gets a little rambunctious and bounces up to high, my cock popping out....
"FUCK-she comes down on my cock and bends it sideways! Oh, shit, does it hurt. The dumb bitch does a couple of more bounces on it, not realizing that she'd pulled free of my meat. Oh, you stupid bitch, I'm thinking. But all I can do is moan outwardly for a second.
"As soon as my aching and reeling head can get some of its strength back, I reach up around her rib cage and squeeze her right tit real hard between my thumb and forefinger.
"'Ouch, baby,' she pleads.
"'Dumb cunt,' is my comeback.
"But no further arguments. She knew where she'd fucked up-or more like it, unfucked-the situation, and both of us were too hot and heavy after our load dumpings to sit and argue over it. I just had her settle back down over my cock, plopped it in, then let her asshole smoothe away the wound. She went at it a little more gently this time, breaking her regular up-and-down gait at intervals to roll around in a circular motion like a corkscrew. It was no time at all before I forgot the pain of our little spill.
"Well, she just gets those hips of hers cranking up and down, playing at my shaft like a wildcat rig. Sucking me off like a brass pump. It isn't too long before I can feel my guts getting all hot and full of a real strike. And then the oil gets tapped, Loretta's ass milking my load off but good. Turns out to be a real wild fuck.
"There were lots of other times we got it together during the next few days while my parents were on vacation. I had that bitch humping for me, although, I'll have to admit, she gave me a pretty good go for my money. And yet, the day was drawing close when my folks would be back. I didn't want to cut off the good thing I had going, but if I didn't figure out just how I'd handle it, I just knew in the back of my mind that old Loretta might beat me to the punch. You know, turn everything around on me and get my ass in hot water.
"I let it pass though, not really sure what to do. It was the day before my folks'd get back, and I was getting in as much time as possible. Donna was out, so when I spotted Loretta coming out of the shower I decided to grab her and get off a quickie. Pulled her into the bedroom and got to it. Took her towel off and jumped on her bare ass.
"So we didn't waste any time with the first few steps-we'd already graduated. I just grabbed a big gob of goop out of the vaseline jar, dipped my cockhead in it, smeared the rest around her ring, had her bend over the end of the divan, then grabbed her around the waist, guided my cock up to said asshole with my hand, pressed hard, then, and then-she let a big fart that made her ass quiver around my quaking cock. I sneezed. In that order.
"But I wanted to blow my nose up her ass, so I didn't let a little broken wind run down my nose. I'd just suck back the snot and swallow it-see if I could make it shoot out of the end of my cock when I blew my load up her ass. Which I was now in, straining past her spitting sphincter. I didn't even get the usual resistance from her tacky ass walls. Her walls were slippery. But my cock just puffed out proud and got itself a good grip in that tight and hot tunnel.
"Just as I started moving and grooving it to her-I FEEL THIS COLD STEEL IN MY BACK. I turn around and see that it's Mom and Dad, Mom poking her umbrella tip sharply into my back, making a comeback for Women's Lib. Fuck! Back a day early from vacation.
"But the weird thing is that I was so close to coming I couldn't hold it back. The shock of seeing them might've even rushed it a bit. My cock pops out of Loretta's tight asshole and starts shooting off all over the place, come drops falling all over Loretta's pink body, the sheets-everywhere. All the time, my old lady's beating at my back with the umbrella and yelling some really hysterical shit. Sure blew a hole in my plans, that's no fucking shit!"
The abrupt end to Bill's semi-enslavement of his cousin came to a sudden end with the return of his parents. While his later disclosure to them concerning Loretta's attempted rape of Donna did soften their outrage somewhat, they did not feel it in any way condoned his later liberties taken with his cousin. They decided to enter him into psychotherapy, a decision also followed by Loretta's parents when they found of her involvement in the sexual ventures.
Therapy, thus far, has had a good effect upon Bill. He has been made to see some of the disparity between his so-called "self-righteousness" and his sexual indiscretions. By getting to the roots of his early guilt feelings, he has begun to rechannel his thinking and no longer holds the somewhat chauvinistic attitudes he previously displayed.
However, in Loretta's case therapy has been somewhat slower in accomplishing recovery. The girl, much more prone to a variety of sexual deviations, analism being only one of them, is much more structured in her thinking, thus providing more defense barriers to avoid getting at the real issue. Her case may take more time, if, indeed, she wishes to understand her problems and to effect a cure.
CHAPTER FOUR
Back-Door Boy
"I took a job baby-sitting for the B-s since it seemed to be a good place for me to hit the books-you know, for school and all. But the way everything turned out, or maybe around would be more like it, I ended up being the baby while this chick who lives next door to the B-s made herself into the sitter. Way it ended up was something I never learned in schoolbooks, and that's no shit. She turned me every way but out to the alley cats. And after the whole thing came back up the shitter, I was doing the baby-sitting. And it ain't for no kids.
"Maybe you'd like to be filled in.
"Marge did-she's the lady next door to the B-s. Lots of the guys from school used to hang around and cut her grass a lot-and just sorta stare at her. They TOLD me about it, but I didn't know what they were talking about. 'Who?' I'd say and they'd just give me those funny looks they used to give me, maybe laugh or some shit like that. Only it's not like that anymore. 'Cause when I finally ran into Marge, I ended up getting to do the things with her that those guys only dreamed about.
"'Oh, FUCK ME, baby-give it to me in the ass real good! Oh yes, YESSSSSSS!' I can still hear her giving me all that encouragement. You see, first she had to show me how to treat a bitch-I didn't know my asshole from my elbow when I met her. But she taught me right, and it wasn't too long before I'd learned more about cunts at fourteen than most dudes know on their way to their graves. And assholes, too. You see, this bitch really dug getting her ass reamed clean. In fact, she liked her back door swung even better than the front.
"That was one of those trips I'd only really even HEARD about once before! Some jerky guy was rapping about some other guy he knew, which was probably just a lot of bullshit to start off with, who was supposed to have spent hours shoving his cock up into some chick's asshole. In fact, I only remembered two things about it, really. The guy was really built and he was supposed to have had all kinds of trouble getting his cock into her at the start. Oh, an' also, jerk-off tells us that his buddy used, dig it, toothpaste, to lubricate the hole to push his dong up inside her! After that, nobody ever talked much about it, too weird or something, I guess. Everybody at school thinks that if you talk about something that means you're really into that trip.
"At my school, the image of a right-on Dude is that he knows about everything, never talks about chicks he's balled, and just doesn't do ANYTHING that's strange or 'weird' when it comes to chicks. There are really a lot of shit simple right-on'ers, which is my own expression for them, in school, and they make it hard as hell to be anything else but just like them! I used to think that high school was going to be one big fuck scene like they hint at on TV and everything, but it's really more like straight city that doesn't understand its own publicity! Everybody looks like a freaky longhair and they nod a lot to each other, but most of them still carry square metal lunch-boxes and think that waterbeds are either perverted or have something to do with hard-core bed wetters or softcore wet dreams. It took a neighbor's wife to show me the core of sex, and it was just as hard as it was soft!
"This chick wasn't playing any games, I can tell you that! But she taught me one hell of a lesson! How to fuck like crazy one-night orgy in intercourse! I found out about everything there is to feel and touch and get your rocks off over! From assholes to exhaustion, that broad gave me the complete trip! There were a million trips that I would never have to worry about again! She sucked my dick, played with my balls, got her fingers up into my asshole and my cock up into hers, and I loved it!
"She showed me and I felt it! The hot and moist tightness of her cunt and what it felt like to have my cock shoved up inside of that hotness and that vibration! She was so good! She turned my prick into a faucet of come that spit and shot and loaded and reloaded until I almost went crazy with the passion and the excitement of fucking her! I had a childish imagination that fantasied sex and now I had become a man who could really do it and wouldn't have to wonder about what it felt like, ever again. That round ass that gyrated in circles against my stomach so that my prick would almost puncture through the fibers of her asshole, that GREAT ASS had made a boy into a man and turned my curiosity into concentrated lust! I can get horny now, for Marge's ass and every other ass that I see in a hallway or on a beach or anywhere!
"I can even imagine, almost what it would look like no matter who the chick is that I am freaking over. Shit ... I watched myself in the big picture mirror over the fake fireplace, and fucked my head as well as my cock that night! Talk about baby-sitting!
"I was going like a crazy man, up and down and back and forth at the same time, fucking my neighbor's wife in the ass the same way that dogs fuck, while I was looking after another one of my neighbors' kids! The gray light from the TV made a perfect reflection for the picture mirror, and the action on the couch beat the hell out of the action on the TV. A sudden flashing image from the side of my eye gave me the trip and when I looked around to the mirror I got the whole shot. Fucking right up the middle!
"I was so surprised at seeing myself that I almost stopped moving! But there was no way in the world to stop! All I could do was keep on fuckin'! I knew I was getting a complete view of myself as I got my rocks off, inside a broad for real, for the first time!
"We were kneeling on the couch together, and she was facing away from me so that I could jam my rod up her hot little butt hole. She was on her hands and knees in front of me and I was kind of on my knees behind her, plumbing the works like I was trying to ventilate her system with a big flesh plunger. While I banged it to her ass, I was keeping my balance by holding onto her dangling breasts, my arms wrapped under her in order to keep the treasures in hand. I had lost track of all the individual feelings and when I saw the couple in the mirror I suddenly felt everything all over again! And I was getting feels, ALL OVER!
"Her breasts were like flesh baskets that hold passion juices, and I could massage them, it seemed, to all of the places that needed the lubrication! Her rounded ass felt like inflated butter balls! They kept my pubic toast good and covered with sweat, the kind that kept our legs shoved together and our hips locked up, tight! Everywhere we touched, it was damp and hot! Our bodies were both covered with drops of sweat from the frantic fucking!
"I leaned my head down and rested it on her shoulder blades, so that I was looking right into that wide-screen sex show on the mirror, and watched the incredible balling that was jacking our bent together bodies back and forth with such frantic force! It looked like a naked game of leapfrog that was never going to get past the first jump but was having one hell of a launch! That great little ass of hers was rolling around and bouncing against me with all of the short-circuit energy of hell! And if hell could be sweet that's what it would feel like! I kept my bone crammed into the center-fold just as deep as I could get it!
"And man ... was I gettin' it! The inside of her ass was like a furnace that was forging my prick into a permanently erect spear, and doing it by the friction of skin against skin! All of it, every place we touched, seemed to be raw and exposed, almost as if we were actually getting rubbed to a shine, or something. I watched myself in the mirror while I moved my hands to the polished globes of her ass. For a second I paused, holding my hands just above the plump cheeks that were gyrating around in little circles. Shit, man, every time she went one turn around she bent that hard driver even harder in and against the soft ridges of violated flesh.
"Even though I only hesitated for an instant, my hands, as I could see them reflected in that far-out mirror, were not hands at all. They were spiders, dangling over prey. I learned a few numbers in that moment! And Marge was the teacher. Her eyes flashed onto mine and held tight, forcing me to watch her every facial expression, making me see all the different looks and degrees of her pleasure at the moment each occurred.
"And I kept them coming, you can damn well bet! Her classroom ass was getting the examination of its life! I'd give her a burst of deep, lunging strokes, the kind that rammed their way up as far into the pulsating channel as they could get!....
"It had started out like this. There was this rapping at the back door where I was sitting the kid. Wasn't the Avon Lady standing there pressing the button--just couldn't have been, she was too fuckin' young!
"There I was, face hanging out, looking at the idol of the grass-cutters! The neighborhood sex-pot, leaning back against that screen door like she was annoyed as hell at having to wait so long. She was wearing these really tight shorts with suspenders that hitched those shorts up even deeper into her terrific-looking ass! Chicks that can get your pants warmin' up a little by wearing hot pants never miss a chance! She had this thin little blouse between the suspenders and I could see the soft skin of her back right through the damn material!
"In fact, it was all corrugated into tiny little squares by the screening in the door. That was kinda far out, but it was nothin' compared to the shot that screen was doin' that rounded hot pants ass of hers! The material was pale yellow, almost white, and it was knitted yet! That ass looked like twin marshmallows trying to squeeze through every one of those little square openings! I had this crazy urge to slip up to the door and grab a flesh-mallow in each hand ... right through the strainer!
"She was looking up at the sky and tapping her foot to this little transistor radio she was holding. Each tap sent the rounded half-moons bouncing against the screen with new patterns and shapes. She casually turned her head and looked me right in the fuckin' eyes. It was a dead bust. Like lookin' up a chick's dress under the table and then lookin' up a little more to see that she's watchin' you the whole damn time! Happens to me in the library all the time! But this wasn't the school library and it wasn't just some chick! It was her game from that minute on, but I sure learned how to play!
"She smiled right at me and turned up the music in her hand, bouncing her bottom even harder against the screen and laughing at the look on my face.
"'Like 'em?' she asked, never letting my eyes lose a second and bouncing her bottom even harder!
"Like 'em!? Man, I loved them! Cutting grass could turn into a way of life!
"'The pants, I mean! I just bought them! Hey ... let me in, willya? I'm out of smokes and having a regular nicotine fit!'
"Like an idiot in a trance, I fumbled the latch three times, trying to flip it open with one finger. There was no way I was going to be cool. I decided to give up and just see what the hell was going to happen. That was the first smart thing I managed. She bounced into the kitchen like it was her own, got a fresh pack of cigarettes from the first drawer she opened, lit one off the stove, and never stopped talking the whole damn time. She had us past the introductions to Karl and Marge over the student-housewife hump, and into a whole number about her old man workin' nights lately and what a drag it was having to go out with the girls or look at TV alone. MAN, she was a regular one-woman conversation! In fact, she was a conversation piece! She just kind of swung around to the top-forty background, chattering away with small talk and letting that fabulous body give off with a little 'communication' language all it's own! Before I knew what the hell was happening, she had flipped down the screen-door latch, with ONE flip of HER finger naturally, teased me into having a beer with her, and settled into the living-room couch.
"I was like an audience for her. I couldn't take my eyes off of that sensational body of hers! I'd been practically playing hide-and-go-seek like a little boy, and not only with the strictly incredible peekaboo blouse that she was obviously braless under, but with this sensational woman creature next to me. Actually, with the TV jumping from channel to channel as if punctuating her words, and the little transistor fighting her for the rest of the sound, I didn't have to say much! I just kept watching those great thighs shifting together at the perfect intersection of her legs and feeling the softness of her breath as she talked. Then, suddenly, almost like a nice slap of surprise in the face, I heard her voice drop and distinctly whisper to me in completely intimate clarity.
"'I think YOU are beautiful, too, Karl. I want to play with you ... with all of you."
"Then her fingers did something to the front of her teasing blouse and it began to pull apart, as if the secret clasp she had touched had suddenly caused it to pull away from the straining breasts, sorta like wispy movie curtains. I knew I was in for the show of my life.
"The two peaks of firmness pushed their way out into the artificial television light of the room and I just sat there like a junior zombi or something. MAN! I mean I've never been so surprised!
"I'd looked at Marge a few times myself, walking home from school from the bus stop or going down to the store for paper and stuff, and it wasn't exactly a case of not KNOWING she was one hell of a looker! It was more like a case of not wanting to drive myself crazy thinking about her the way the other guys, the corny grass-cutters, spent their days doing. I guess there's one broad in every neighborhood that looks like a movie star, but nobody ever really figures that they'll ever get to do anything about her but a lot of star in'! Suddenly that wasn't what I was figurin'! I hardly even knew what I was doing, but that didn't stop my hands! In a second I had those firm, luscious orbs against my palms and squeezing through my fingers, almost straining her breasts the way the screen door had done to the knit curve of her ass!
"I didn't know what the hell she was going to do and at that instant I couldn't have cared less! All I could think of was that I was FEELING-UP Marge! For real! Her breasts were sponge rubber-covered silk, like nothing I'd ever touched. I cupped them, pushing my palms against her nipples and felt them rise up almost instantly in my gentle grip.
"I'd touched girls before, but they had always been just, well ... girls! Their breasts had been tiny, beginning little buttons, or they had been kind of a baby-fat trip. The chicks in school that had great tits or a terrific ass were always hung up with a senior-class big shot or a football player, and you knew damn well they were out to use those bodies like only to get something in return! And they couldn't come close to Marge, not in any category! She had told me in the kitchen, earlier, that she was twenty-four! I used to think twenty-four was really old, but my hands were flesh-learning though, for the first time, and I KNEW that twenty-four is a trippy age for breasts! I was just fascinated by the firm reality! I rolled them in little circles, and watched every sculptured movement and shape the billowing flesh molded itself into under my caressing hands. I pressed my hands gently together and watched her hillocks roll together like twin pillows. They were rolling mountains of flesh that pushed into each other like beach balls of smoothness. The space between them could be opened and closed into a smooth plain of pinkness that glistened with a sheen of warmth from her labored breathing, or a tight thin shadow of a line that pushed the lubrication up through the billowed softness and made it flow down between her breasts in little drops. My hands were as damp as her breasts and they slipped and rolled over the bouncing orbs in the most exciting way! Now I was beginning to understand what the guys meant when they kidded around about having 'vegetable oil orgies'!
"The very idea of ALL of her fantastic body pressing and sliding around against me was like a bomb blast in my mind! In an instant the vision in front of me was transformed! As if a pair of beautifully full breasts billowed together by my exploring hands had magically become the total female image! Softly rounded pinkness that was always divided by a gentle shadow of warmth. The mystery, the damn fascination was in the depth of the shadows! The warm and exciting unknown that drew the eye no matter what else was exposed!
"Then she caught my eyes for the second time that night, and with one look killed the book-wormish kid for good! There was no shadowy mystery involved and we both knew it as we watched her reach across my lap and pull slowly down on my zipper! There was also no mystery about why the zipper itself seemed to have bulged up in one direction up the length of my pants! And there was no mystery at all in Marge's softly whispered reaction:
""GOOD GRIEF, KARL! YOU'RE SO DAMN BIG!'
"There was also no mystery about the way she wrapped both of her hands around my straining cock and said something to IT instead of me!
"'I want you in every opening in my body! I want you to fill me completely!'
"Her eyes came back up to mine.
"'I want to BALL you, Karl ... NOW! And I don't want you to say a word, not one word, till you blow a load UP INSIDE OF ME! RIGHT BETWEEN THE CHEEKS OF MY ... ASS!'
"It wasn't like an order or anything; it was more like a smiling and anxious way of telling me not to drive until I had been in a car! Then she shifted into high gear and we were off!
"The 'dues' of 'getting to know you' were over! It was as if nothing in the world counted except to touch, caress, feel, rub, wiggle, and pinch tenderly! To see and touch everything! To feel breasts rubbing their softly pointed nipples across my lips and cheeks and over my eyes, with an almost feathery, teasing lightness ... and then watch her take the heavy pink melons in her hands and roll them around my face as she captured my head in the cleavage between her incredible mountains of firmness! She pushed against them with her palms and let the rolling breasts rub every bit of my face and cheeks.
"I pulled her hands away, and replaced them with my own, sinking my fingers into the rubbery softness and rolling it around to feel even more. I let myself fall back on the couch, and she moved just enough to be almost kneeling above me, on the edge of the couch. My hands were wrapped around her breasts and I never loosened the grip; instead I let it pull her easily down over me as she bent forward at the waist. Her breasts seemed to spill out from her, blooming at the ends as they hung from her chest. Her nipples seemed to be the central blossoms, each reddened, straining for the warmth that I was blowing at them from pursed and aimed lips in a jet stream of hot air. And then she leaned down and took my stiffened rod in hand and blew me.
"I'll have to admit, that little skip in the action shocked even me. But if felt so good, squirming around at the end of her wide mouth as she dripped her lips all over my thumping cock. The only problem was-well, this being my first head job and all, I came real quick. Quicker than Marge was expecting anyway, 'cause she'd just pulled that pretty face of hers back when I let go with a load of goo that got her right in the puss! Even got some in her eye-ha-she was rubbing away at the corner of it, as it turned all spidery red. Me laying back and sputtering off like a water sprinkler.
"'HMMMMM, Karl,' she tells me as she wipes the glop from her eye. 'Just for that, no pussy tonight."
"'Just gimme the ass, baby!' I shot back at her, feeling for all the world like a big man, not realizing that my initial performance had barely put me above the age level, in Marge's spattered eye anyway, of the sleeping kid I was supposed to be sitting for. See, I was sitting for the B-s' kid, Jimmy, the neighbors on the other side of us, my folks and theirs out for the night. Thought it would be a good way to catch up on the books and everything. But this was turning out to be something else again.
"'Okay, kiddo. If that's what you want,' she tells me, a big old shit-eating grin spreading across her face. So before I know what the fuck's happening, she's up on the couch, all pink melons and pussy, the rest of her clothing trailing off on the floor. And she's surrounding me with her body-rubbing and pinching and stroking me all over, getting my dong up and ready for some more.
"Only this time, she stretches around me like , a big fat snake, and before I can catch on to what's going on, she's bending over the end of the sofa, her tight old asshole winking up at me, right from the top of that furry valley, sunk in between those nice round moons of her ass.
"'Stick it up my ass, Karl baby! Give it to me right in the ASS-that's the way I like it.' I later found out that she liked having a cock up her ass better than in her pussy, something her old man didn't really go for.
"So I crawl up behind her and slap my pigsticker to her. It's kinda like throwing it at a barn door for me, so she has to sort of guide me along. But after a couple of slippery attempts, my hardening cock almost getting bent in half on a couple of misses, I lunge in, sinking my cock into my very first shithole. Or any other kind of hole for that matter, except for the time I plugged a watermelon. Feels real nice and hot in there, old Marge just slapping time with her ass halves, knocking them back against my nuts as we go at it.
"She's yelling all kinds of encouragement at me, so I try and do better this time-holding on for a few minutes before I get all ready to explode. It's sorta hard, this being my first time and all, but I know one thing for sure-it sure beats the fucking radio and TV that are blaring in the background. Man, that chick and I'd have to do this more-this shit was no kid stuff at all."
Karl represents a form of McLuhan escapee. Media fed, he substituted real affection, his parents neglecting this need, for fantasy fulfillment, a futile attempt at escape. At his pubescent age, he was ready for anything-intellectually fully armed with pop culture but, at the same time, emotionally bankrupt. There was no real replacement for love, just temporary escapes. His induction into analism by Marge was easily accomplished as he had known little affection from his parents. Thus, he accepted the first offer.
Karl's father, a man well into his sixties, was devoted to one last push in a flagging business career in cleaning. His mother, married to a business career of her own, real-estate sales and development, had even less time for Karl. He became the neglected child whose substitute heroes were all antiestablishment (or antiauthority) figures. He was a very resentful child.
Enter the mother figure: the woman whose tragedy was that she could not conceive children herself, Marge C-. It was a natural situation. The sexuality that was generated between the two of them was an instinctual satisfaction of the basic frustrations of each of them.
It should be remembered that almost all forms of human behavior deal with some kind of a repressed emotional state of being which generates itself in some kind of an expressed action. It is this relationship between repression and expression that forms the key to understanding most of the peculiar manners in which the huge range of human sexuality can find itself expressed. As Havelock Ellis points out in his classic work, The Psychology of Sex:
We have always to remember that the whole art of living lies in a fine balance of expression and repression. For repression understood in the wide sense and not merely in the special sense given to it by psychoanalysts-is as central a fact of life as expression. We are constantly at the same time both repressing some impulses and expressing other impulses.
The common bond of similarity between the two partners here is that they both have developed a disdain for love as an expression of the resentment they feel at their own frustrated attempts at gleaning some actual love from having or being a parent. Anality, then, for each becomes an expressed avoidance of the love confrontation.
For Marge, the frustration of the coital act is that it has failed continually to fulfill its primary function for her: the conception of children. Thus anality becomes a way to find the needed love while avoiding the confrontation with the frustration inherent for her in the standard sex act. It is also a brand of lovemaking that requires more sheer sensuality than it does gentleness or love; thus it remains the perfect facade for the satisfaction of love frustration.
If these explanations are satisfactory for Marge, they become doubly satisfactory for Karl. Whereas it would be foolish for the observer to make a snap judgment about any form of behavior which would be all-inclusive in its conclusion, it is quite possible to see that Marge represents the mother figure Karl has longed for and, at the same time, hated for ignoring him. Repression to interpretation to expression: the need of love is repressed so that hostility develops, this hostility and love are both taken out on the mother/lover figure of Marge. Anality becomes the disguise or the camouflage that both of them use to gratify their need to vent their similar love/hate repressed fantasies and hostilities.
The very nature of the complexity, or the sophistication of the anal sexual act, holds the key to its attractiveness in these particular cases. It just simply does not seem to be what it is. It should not be misunderstood here by the serious student that the inference is that all forms of sexual behavior are compensations for love frustration, but it can be noted that sexuality is, after all, the beginning of all love. As such it is easy to observe the incredible variety of functions, depending on the individual life style and environment, that sexuality can have.
The age difference between Karl and Marge play an important part in their perception of reality as well. For Karl, at fourteen, the world is a stage of electric personalities which he can use as a continual cornucopia of media-provided identities-all of which serve to act as forms of avoidance to the real Karl, the child searching for sexual identification. For Marge, there is no real awareness of that myriad of characters in the boy's television-, book-and radio-fed head. She is only concerned with making love to the boy/man that she perceives him to be. Escape for her is a much more direct route, yet still leading to the same sexual ending, or anal ending in their case. The baby-sitting environment is somewhat coincidental to the situation, but in both partners' cases (Karl's in the sense of his being somewhat of a regressive anal personality; Marge's in that she has chosen it since she is unable to conceive children of her own) the factor helped to push them over the borders of normalcy.
"Man, after that first time with Marge, things really got interesting. Whether I was baby-sitting for the B-kid, either over at his house or mine, or even during times when I wasn't about to do anything but sit on my thumb-whatever chance it was that we got-I hung around with Marge a lot. And she showed me just about everything I know about sex-fucking and sucking, reaming and creaming.
"She taught me how to screw in the regular fashion, up her pussy hole, in a number of unfashionable positions. Showed me how to ream out an asshole with a tongue. All sorts of groovy stuff. But our favorite activity got to be when I shoved my cock up her ass.
"I remember one night in particular that stands out above all the rest. We were over at the B-s' house. I was sitting for Jimmy and he'd already been put to bed. So I get on the horn and call up Marge. Her old man was working the night shift like he usually did. She gives me that big old ;Yeah,' that means she'll be right over and soon be teaching me more about all there is to know.
"She comes in looking like a combination of gang busters and a toothpaste commercial. Since that first time, I'd learned to turn off the radio and television when she showed. Sorta lost my interest in all that shit, if you can dig it. And then we get it on for realsies.
"I can hardly wait to plug her hole. She's about falling out of the top of her knit blouse-fuck, those bazooms of hers were something else ... and those hot pants of hers snuggling up in her crotch. Almost looked like her snatch was about to swallow the material right up into that tight V. Couldn't hardly stand it. Started getting a big old pantsful of frogs just from fucking LOOKING!
"Marge, she's all sweated up. Been doing housework, slaving her tits over a hot stove-something or other. So she tells me that she was just about to climb into the shower and soap her ass down when I called. So I see my chance for getting us down to the bare essentials without having to go through all the trouble of undressing her. I mean, that stuff can be a gas all right, but you've gotta remember that I didn't know that much about it back then.
"'Take a shower,' I suggested in response to the situation, coolly giving myself a psychic slap on the back for adapting the transition so well.
"'Okay,' she snaps back, those boobs bouncing in her knit basket as she tries to beat me to the stairs.
"I poke my thumb up the crack in her yellow polka-dotted ass, goosing her up the second step.
"'OOOOeeee, BABY-BABY. That's not nice-but it'll do for a start,' she coos at me, the dialogue getting us to the bathroom at the top of the stairs where it belonged.
"I have her spit her gum in the shitter; then, as she strips off her tight top, freeing those bouncing pink apples of hers, I choke back my thoughts. That body of hers well, shit-I want it.
"'Oh, Karl, my little doll. I want you to soap me all down and give me a nice soapy screwing when we get in that neat old shower!' she tells me.
"Well, I start ripping off my T-shirt and Levi's, all the time keeping my eyes peeled on her fat tits as she goes about pulling down her bottoms. Mmmm-looked just as good the first time. For a chick that I thought was old, twenty-four being a ten year jump on me, this gal was real well preserved. Had it all.
"God, that pink and tingly looking skin made my own start to crawl from just thinking about how good it was going to be. I'd eat a mile of her shit just to sniff her asshole. Well, I'd just about do something like that. It was an old-time saying that she laid on me. Only there was nothing old-time about now. Us climbing into that big shower stall of the B-s. Her dainty birdfeet padding across the plush carpeting of yellow. I was already half-hard from just watching and thinking!
"I let Marge reach in and get the water going, me opening up the door and hanging on it, eye-balling those wiggling moons of her white ass as she struggles to get it just right. This chick was putting it right on. Making this kid something else again-anything but a 'right-on'er.' Just turned on. And that's an outasight way to be. If I'd had more teachers like Marge, I'd never think about dropping out.
"She turns back at me, big red lips spread over her made-up face, jugs swaying loosely under her armpits. The steam rolls out from the shower stall, making her skin get little beads of sweat all over it. All the time my eyes are taking it in, my heart sinking down to my legs, giving me a cockbeat that's all the time speeding up. I'd just have to see if I could get Marge to take my blood pressure. I knew she'd do it right.
"She did it right.
"She did it by making it rise even higher, my peter getting stiffer and more swollen-up red in an attempt to contain it. And she moves over and brushes her long white fingers, blood-red nail points safely tucked back to protect me, over my brow, flicking the sweat from it.
"'Well, loverboy?' she asks with a big pleading look that even a Trappist monk couldn't resist. 'How about a little shower-poo to get us all nice and clean?' She motions towards the steaming shower with her eyes, running her fingers down to pull gently at my arm.
"I didn't need any coaxing. Shit, my eyes were like magnets for that ass of hers-would've followed her to either pole and back again. She crooks a leg up over the tile base of the shower and steps inside, her eyes inviting me to do the same. As she hesitates, just to add to the drama of the situation, I get all mump-throated and have to admit to myself that the echoing hsssssssssst of the shower spray hitting those hollow tiles sounds pretty lonely. We'd have to fill it up with some nice fresh meat.
"So she bounds on in, her ass wobbling enticingly at my eyes, pulling me right in after her, divining rod pointing the way. But it wasn't after water. Marge didn't fuck around with a shower cap or anything, just leapt right under the sharp needles of the spray, letting it mat her hair down around her face and shoulders.
"About that time, I hit the path of the water myself and bumped into her, our feet nearly slipping on the tiles. Luckily they had those sticker things spread out along the bottom of the shower-you know, those things for footing? Anyway, when I slipped into Marge's bouncing arms, nearly falling flat on my ass, my heel caught one of those. I made a mental note that it was a good thing they had those things in their shower. Otherwise, what with the action we'd been giving it, we'd be bouncing our heads off the tile.
"The light yellow of the tiles made a nice framework for viewing Marge, her pinkness being reflected like an aura by the steady spray of the shower as it bounced from her skin. But what was good to look at felt better to feel, and I soon reached out to take her in my arms, pressing the wet smoothness of her to me, nearly squeezing steam out of her pores. She raised her moist, pliant lips up to mine, all puffed and red, so I leaned down and tried to swallow them up with my own.
"She snaked her arms around my body, making me feel even more tingly than the shower was making me, as we frenched with each other under the steady spray. The shower was pretty steamy when we jumped in, but I think we must've been adding some of our own. Fuck, sweat was pouring out of us-especially our foreheads. But we'd just dip down under the refreshing spray of that fucking shower and it'd wash away.
"After our initial warm-up, we decided we might as well do our unofficial business, that of showering, just to sanctify what we really intended to do. I reached over to the holder and took out the bar of soap, held it to the water, and lathered my hands. Handing the soap to her so that she could do the same, I began soaping her body down, running my hands carefully over her shoulders and back.
"And then she was lathering me, working at my shoulders while I relathered my hands for a return visit to her body, both of us smiling and laughing our fucking heads off as we did it. But we weren't laughing too hard. Both of us were working our nuts up too much for that. Just a fun kinda thing. So it went on like that, us lathering each other up, passing the soap back and forth, then jumping under the spray to wash off. I decided to give a turn to the hot-water dial to turn it down a little bit. We were making each other pretty fucking hot by doing the mutual soap thing, so we needed a little ventilation.
"The cooler water didn't in any way dampen our heated up spirits though. In fact, it improved it. But maybe it was the fact that we'd reached the time to soap down each other's crotches that helped us clean up our act. I'm not sure. But it was a good fucking thing, whatever it was.
"I just dipped my hands down there in the V of her basket and lathered it up real good. I reached around her slippery smooth side with my other hand and began going at it with my other, trapping her from both sides. But she didn't mind it a bit. I just kept jamming my hand deep into her foamy crack and kept working away. I had plenty of fucking good encouragement from her end of things to keep me interested, too. She was doing the same for me, concentrating some gentle circular latherings around my lower belly, thighs-and now, OH SHIT, my balls and cock. All soapy and nice. Felt too good for it to go down. My cock just pushed up through the soap as if to shout for more. And then, as I continued to wet-massage her pussy groove, she reached around with one hand and began to soap up my ass crack, still washing my balls and cock with the other.
"Shit-I don't know how long we went at it, but I do know that we spent enough time at each other's boxes for a week's worth of showers. But we didn't mind our extra bit at personal hygiene one bit. We weren't even thinking about it. We probably would've gone on and worn out the whole bar of soap if we hadn't dropped the soap. Which she did.
"I was quick to go down after it. I fell to my knees and groped around until I found it by the drain. I pulled myself back up to my knees and faced her crotch. So I decided to show what I've learned in school to date and began to dip my face into her snatch, intent on giving her some head. She'd showed me how to give real good head the last time we were together.
"But I blew it this time. Just as I dive my face in that soapy snatch, a bunch of soap flicks off into my eye. So there I am, like a fucking asshole, craning my neck around her fine thighs so I can get some of the shower spray in my face and get the fucking soap out of my eyes.
"As soon as I do, Marge laughing like a motherfucker up above me, I open up and-shit, what's this? I'm looking at the other end of operations. She's switched around and shoved her ass in my face. So, I decided to give her a nice rim job with my tongue-she'd taught me that one last time around, too. I nudge the nose up in her crack and begin to work my tongue up to her asshole. Using my finger as a guide, I center in on that tiny hole, then stick my tongue out, curl it up, and go after it. OhhhhooosheeeeelHIIT! I back off in one hell of a hurry. That smart-assed Marge is laughing her ass off. I mean, nobody'd told me about the soap. Sure, I was a dumb motherfucker to do that; after all, I was the one who'd soaped up her chute in the first place. But that was my first taste of soap in my mouth since my mother'd done it to me when I was a little kid. After all those years of seeing it on TV, I guess I'd forgotten the potential hazards. Kind of a rude way to get back to it.
"So I hold out an arm and the fucking laughing cunt helps pull me out, me struggling to my feet, still wiping soap out of my eyes and mouth. Never have been too much of a cleanliness freak. I mean, when some dude tells you to clean up your act, that's not always what he's telling you. Usually laying out that you're being too clean-need to get down and get it a little dirty. Like everybody else.
"Running right along, we jammed with the bar of soap for a little while longer, then, ooooops-Marge drops the soap again. Must've been trying to tell me something-that it was time to move on to the next event or some such shit. I start to dip down and get it again, but I flash on what happened the last time we ran this down. So I just pin Marge a real cold shot and she knows it's her turn to go fishing.
"She doesn't get down on her hands and knees like me, just bends over, waving that nice ass of hers up in my face. Shit-I know a target when I see it.
"I just -edged up to her, her ass giving me a great target in its bent-over position. Just as she reached for the soap, I nudged up against her, but before she could jump back up, I'd grabbed her around the waist and was slipping my cock into the slip. She began to rise up, giving out a cry of surprise, but I told her just to hold onto her knees and get ready and take all the hose I could give her.
"I really had a hard time getting past her ring-my cock kept slipping off the rubbery surface of her wet ass, but I finally managed it with a hard lunge. She gave out a big yell as I entered her, nearly knocking her head against the wall, but she clasped on to her knees with her hands and managed to hold her position.
"'Oooooeeeee, baby. That soap burns.' I held my stroke, having only plowed about midway up her ass. But evidently the burn from the soap against her tender mucous membranes finally gave way to pleasure, for she urged me on.
"'Never mind what I said, Karl. Now just give it to me good and hard. Fuck my ass good."
"I did. Holding onto her was like grabbing onto a greased pig, but I somehow managed, gripping her slithering sides as best I could while I dug into those grip things on the floor for traction. Then I began really putting it to her, grinding my meat up her rear passageway as hard and fast as I could. Since my footing was sort of unstable, to say the least, I found it kind of difficult to drive it all the way home, but Marge tried to help me out by pumping back in a rocking motion to ease things a little bit.
"It didn't take me long to really get into what I was doing. Marge kept urging me on, the needle-sharp spray of the shower sending piercing fingers up and down my skin to add to the pleasure. There were no other people around to make it tough for us, no weird characters out of Psycho about to come in and put a hatchet job on our ending.
"Just me and Marge; me in command; her bending over and taking it. The slapping of our bodies began to ring out against the walls, blending with the hissing of the shower. Underneath my feet, I could hear the gurgling of the drain, as I made a steady popping noise plowing my cock in and out of Marge's main drain.
"The whole thing made a steady cadence as I shoved it to her goodie hatch. I was getting a reeling charge deep inside my guts and was about ready to let go, so I slid one hand around Marge's slick hips and began to make circular motions around her lower belly, searching for her nest.
"I finally found it and began twiddling at her clit with my fingers to help her out. It wouldn't be much longer for me. That made everything go a lot faster for her. Me, I was already charging for the finish line. I just started running my hands all up and down her slippery body, getting a little clit here, a little tit there. I should say, big tits-she really had a set on her.
"Then I really let fly with a hot load of come, filling her ass with a lot more than soap. She went all weak in the knees under my assault, her asswalls losing their grip as she let go with a big come of her own. It was a hot one all right-made both of us get a reaction like we needed a laxative before, and had gotten it.
"Afterwards, we took time wiping each other off with a nice plush towel-me giving special attention to her tits and ass. But I ended up standing there in the bathroom fucking her face. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she gave me better head than usual, letting me pound away to completion, slamming my cock into her mouth as fast as I could. When I let fly with my come, she swallowed every drop. Man, that fucking chick just knocked me out. I'd never heard of anything like it, much less felt it. After that, we'd get together every chance we got, up till the time we moved. She taught me everything I know today-pulled me right away from the old tube and into life. And I never once had to mow her lawn-the one outdoors that is."
While no follow-up investigation was available on Marge, Karl did visit a psychologist sometime later, bringing forth this investigation. While his reason for visiting the psychologist did not directly relate to this specific problem, the visitation being arranged by his parents over other personal problems, the incident between him and Marge came up as part of that general probe into his past relationships-a method common in the caseworkers' attempt at getting to know the history of a patient.
The problem arose as a disparity between himself and his aging parents, and his induction into sexuality by his former neighbor had, as it turned out, played a heavy role in his later rift with them. He had become wise to the ways of the world beyond his years, and consequently had turned to the streets as a way of learning, like so many of today's younger generation, allowing his classroom work to drift. This was one of the primary reasons his parents had entered him into therapy.
Karl has responded well to therapy-the main problem was in convincing his parents that he was not unlike many of his peers. While his induction into sexuality by Marge had led him to prefer analism as a primary means of achieving satisfaction, he is widely versed in the other byways of sex. In other words, Karl is a lot better off than his parents might believe. In fact, had someone like Marge not come along, he may have continued his escapist ventures into books and the media to the point that it may have been more difficult for him to alter.
CHAPTER FIVE
We Bend Over Backwards for the Kids
"I was really dragged out when I thought about spending the summer at home, but I came up with this job at a summer day-care center and it turned out to be better than spending the summer south of the border where I wanted to go. That's mainly because I met Peter, another instructor at the center, and he showed me how to really dig the arts and crafts class we taught together. And he spent his summer going south of my border, giving me a vacation right at home. It's really a lot more comfortable that way.
"We both ended up running this arts and crafts class for this summer school thing they set up as a project at our local school. It was for kids of junior-high age. Peter was this guy from the same high school I go to, only I'd never been able to get close to him since he ran with a different crowd. Not that I hadn't wanted to get to know him. He was a really far-out guy-long blond hair that went to his shoulders, deep tan, about six-two. Had a real fine bod on him and he kept it in good condition by being on the gymnastics squad-sidehorse, I think it was. And still rings, too. All that sports stuff gets pretty confusing to me. Anyway, that summer Peter tutored me. I learned more about sex-I'd only made it with one guy before, and, well, let's just say I never knew it could be like that. With Albert it'd all been quickie type screws in the back seat of the car. Real straight stuff. But Peter taught me a lot of different ways-but mainly it was up the ass route, a way I learned to dig more than anything else.
"It started one day right after we'd dismissed the kids, maybe the third or fourth day of class. Peter and I were putting some of the crap back into the storeroom when he started hitting up on me. We were already past most of the usual shit ... him finding out that I'd be a junior next year, me finding out that he'd be a senior, who we knew-that sort of shit. Now it was getting down to establishing the main fact: that he had a cock; and I had a number of places to put it. Not the sort of thing I usually let a guy get to right away-if at all.
"Somehow though, Peter was different. He had this way ... I don't know just how to put it.
Maybe it was like he put this spell on me, the way he came on. But he was really getting to me, playing on my mind even before he laid that heavy on me in the storage room that day. I really was picking up on the good vibes he put down from the first. Not just with me, but with the easy way he handled the kids and all. I'd never have been able to run the class on my own. He had a real way of taking charge.
"So I'm putting the fingerpainting stuff away in the storeroom that day, washing some of the jars and things out over the sink. I'd just taken off my smock and was wearing just a blouse and jeans when I feel some hands grabbing me by the ass and squeezing real nice.
"'Now that'd be something worth fingerpainting,' I hear Peter say. I was kind of startled, so I look over my shoulder and there he is grinning that big 'shine-it-on' smile at me, still clutching firmly to my butt. I'm not used to that kind of come on, might've slapped him a good one if he was some other dude, but, well-there was nobody there to see if old hard-to-get June was caught out of her faking-it role or not. And more than that-it was Peter. My hero in the flesh.
"Corny stuff, but I'm-or used to be-one of those rare throwbacks: the I'm-not-that-kind-of-girl' girl. Raised on Mary,Poppins sort of stuff. So here I am caught with my graces down, this guy who's obviously seen through it all hanging onto my ass and making me feel all horny.
"Heavy stuff. I wasn't ready for it. First time a guy'd had me in this position.
"I start to try my bit on him-the BIG AVOIDER-but he cuts right through all that, wrapping his strong arms around my body, pinning me to the sink.
"'Don't try and hand me that, sister,' he tells me, going on to charm me right out of my pants. That's what he really did, somehow saying all the right words that talked me right into giving into him all the way. Did it with the sort of romance number, both with his lips and his hands, that went right to where my fantasies were at. Cut through all my usual defenses. Shit, this line he was laying down would've made me out a complete asshole if I refused. Just no logic to saying no, when somebody's got your body screaming yes.
"'It's sort of a waste putting all that stuff on paper,' I hear him telling me, 'when there's a body like yours to put it on.' He was referring to the fingerpaints, and his little reference left little doubt that he intended to put actions to words.
"Holy fuck! It was about then that I realized he'd unbuttoned my blouse, unsnapped my bra, and was working away at my tits. And he's kissing at me real nice and smooth, a real pro the way his tongue works at me, while he wedges his thigh up between my legs and is rubbing my pussy off through the material of my jeans and panties.
"I was trying to protest the best I knew how, but the way he was working my body was really getting to me. Any ideas of my resisting his attempts kept me from thinking too much about any possible consequences, though-he was just TOO FUCKING MUCH. Like far out. Is that how they say it?
"Anyway I was getting pretty hot for the idea of having him ram his meat up me ... stick it in my cunt, or even my ear for that matter. I could feel it when I rubbed up against his tight Levi's a couple of times, all hard and strong, being pinned down against his legs by the confining material.
"This sure beat fingering myself off, having a warm body next to me, building up to something I knew would happen. With old Albert, the wimpy way he came on, playing myself off was almost preferable. I'd never known it could feel this good, and we weren't even down to the main part.
"His talk is getting hard for me to follow, sounding more like singing and everything, tripping me off way beyond my wildest fantasies. His hands are all over, rubbing my tittie buds up to a real hard point, running little circles of craziness over my neck and shoulders, pinching sharply at my lower back while he blows hotly into my ear.
"And then, having my body already attuned to what's coming up, he strips off my blouse and bra, pressing his strong fingers against my bare flesh, working new thrills through my prickly skin. He keeps kneading away at my body, dipping his mouth down to suck on my titties, and working me up to a hot trot.
"But just as I'm wondering if I'll be able to hold on long enough to keep from creaming in my pants, he breaks away and follows up his early innuendos about finger painting. He tells me that he'd dig to do some experimental designs on my body, and I surprise myself by going along with it. Don't ask me why. I was just so tripped out on his head that I would've done anything he wanted.
"I find myself stripping down under his directions, my jeans and panties now puddled about my feet. Meanwhile, I see that Peter is stripping off his clothes-sort of shocking to me. I don't think that was the usual method of body painting, but then what the fuck did I know? Or care? As I eyed in a quick check of his body, I sure didn't have any quarrels with his methods. Like I said, he had a gymnast's build, and his clothing actually hid some of his attributes. Had that muscular kind of body with muscles that ripples and flowed, all connected to the other parts. Well coordinated. His cock was about half hard, his concentration now divided between me and finding some paints to mix up.
"I'm starting to shiver there in my altogether, real anxious to get his warm body up next to mine. I have to grab onto myself, running my hands up and down my nakedness to try and keep off the chill while I'm waiting for him.
"But it didn't take long for him to get ready. He's got the first color all mixed and is coming over to me. I lean back against the steel sink, and it feels real cold against my bare butt, so I practically jump right in his arms as he comes up to me. He nearly drops the paint, but he manages somehow to keep a grip.
"I sort of wondered why he hadn't mixed up any other colors yet, but it really didn't matter. This was really just a way of getting down to the basic fact that he wanted to screw me, and me him. He slaps some of the paint on my body, and it feels cold, too, especially the thin stream that's running down toward my belly button. But he puts his jar down and starts running his hands through the mixture, spreading it across my skin, and it warms up real fast.
"The color he was using was blue. Little did I know that he didn't plan on going on to any of the other primaries. Just a way of introduction. Painting my bod all blue. But that wasn't the way he made me feel.
"I felt red all over when he got through with me. And it felt fucking good.
"He starts out real nice and slow, spreading the gooey paint all over my belly and titties, weaving lines and crazy paterns across my body. Of course, I can't see what he's doing to well, but the way it feels is doing a lot more for my nervous system. It's really a funny kind of feeling, standing there bare-assed while Peter is using my body as a canvas, rubbing the paint in, in hard circular motions, then tracing long thin lines of blue lightly down my body. Those were the ones that really made my skin start crawling-especially the ones that angled down toward my pussy.
"After he'd fooled around with that number for a few moments, he reaches over to dip his hands in for a few more strokes. I can see that the body painting has had a good effect on the artist as well as the model-or canvas, or whatever the fuck I was. But his dick is all the proof of criticism anyone could ever hope to achieve. God, did he have a big one. And those balls of his, swollen with blood in his turned-on condition. They were as big as tennis balls-at least that's how they looked to me. He must've walked around feeling all cramped and bruised all day with those fucking nuts of his. But maybe that thick patch of hair matted them down some, kept him from having to cut a special hole.
"'Just a few final touches,' he tells me, moving up against me again, his hands dripping blue. I'm a bit puzzled by this, but I don't want to argue with the artist. Guess I'd just have to settle for blue this time around. This time he grabs one of my titties in each hand and starts really working out. I'm in pretty good shape up there myself-36-D-so I do have my own attractions to offer.
"They're already nice and hard from his former handiwork, but he keeps going at it real strong, making my buds stand up as hard as they ever had. He works his hands around the soft part real gently, massaging them firmly between his deft fingers, giving a little squeeze to the balls inside that make me jump every so often. He's real intent on his work, his eyes rivited to the two objects at hand. He surrounds the buds completely with blue, making them stand out even stronger against the background.
"I'm finding it hard to focus now, my cunt juices beginning to flow, aided by the fact that he rubs his hips against it every so often to give my mound a thrill. His fingers now dip back into the paint around my erect nipples, weaving some kind of pattern across them. You know, the way you do in finger painting. Like once the deeper color is laid down, you go back and run your fingers through it, drawing off some of the paint ... sort of thinning it out. Well, that's what he started doing, and it was driving me up the fucking wall. I could hardly wait for it to be finished-so he could hang me in a gallery, or better yet, give me the hose.
"Not the kind to wash me off. Externally anyway. If he douched me out internally with that huge cock of his though, there'd be no fighting from me.
"Just about then, he stands back and takes a gander at his work. His hands are all covered with blue, but I'm interested in getting beyond the hand painting. Want him to use that paint brush of his on me. Man was it ever a beaut-all red and throbbing. He'd even dripped a little of the paint right on top of the cockhead, making it look like it was just dipped in the easel and was ready to put to canvas. Mine preferably.
"He had some blue flecks on the rest of his body, making me even more eager to get some more polka dots on me. I wanted him to put that stretcher bar to me quick, before it dried. He nods to himself, a big smile spread across his face, but his eyes look a little beyond pure art-appreciation. He's ready to ram that peter of his to me. Sign his name to the piece.
"Finally, after what seemed like an awful long tour of his eyes, he felt we were ready to get onto even more artistic matters. He had me turn around toward the sink, and I about jumped out of my painted skin when I took a look in the soap-spattered mirror above the basin. I mean, it wasn't exactly what you'd call a masterpiece-the painting. I like to think of myself as one though. But it looked so weird seeing my body all covered with blue-at least from my tits on down to my navel. That's as much as I could see in the mirror. He hadn't done much work below that. But he was about to.
"He'd covered my titties all in blue, and the lines he'd drawn on them were shaped like the petals of a flower. My red buds sticking out from the middle added to it, making me look like a first-grader's crayon attempt at twin daisies. But there wasn't much time for digging the art circles. He was moving against me.
"'Like it?' he asks, pressing up against me.
"I make eye contact with him in the mirror and respond that it's A-OK with me. 'But how about getting down to the real painting?' I shoot back at him. He grins back in the mirror, satisfied that he's broken way past my usual defense system-like WOW, here I was asking for it. That was a switch.
"He was more than eager. He just wrapped his arms around me real slow, moving his chest up against my back for effect, then gently, guided by his eye's aim in the mirror, he tweaked each bud real nice, making my cooze flow again. He rubbed them in a stiff circle, each nipple being pinched between a thumb and forefinger, making them feel so good that they about went numb. Then he craned his neck down and began nipping gentle kisses at my neck and ears, tugging at my blonde hair with his teeth, still massaging invisible milk out of my dairies.
"But then he gets on with the show. Having me spread my legs real wide, he tells me to bend over the sink, splaying my arms out in the basin for support. I nod up at him one last time in the mirror, 'cause I disappear from view at this angle, my face practically nose to nose to nose with the soap dispenser. He begins telling me how much he wants to put his dick up me, making me frantic for it, as he rubs his hands around my body, nudging his cock up against my butt for emphasis. And I'm about to go right down the fucking drain if he doesn't plug me up pretty soon. I want that big fat cock of his rammed up me and quick!
"And then, I feel his hands running over my butt cheeks, massaging them real gently as he prepares to mount up and ride me ragged. I feel one of his hands leave my ass as he grabs his cock to get ready to plunge it in, so I stick my ass as far up as I can, ready for him to sink it into my pussy. Boy, did I get a surprise!
"I feel him pressing real hard with his cockhead against my asshole. I start to turn my head around and protest. Never had I imagined that was what he was going to do. But that's what he was after. My face ran right into his chin as he hunkered down over my back, his jaw moving to assure me that it would be fine, that after the initial shock that'd be the greatest thing that'd ever happened to me. So I go along with it, hardly in any position to argue. But his words reassure me, though I'll have to admit that I'm scared shitless for a few seconds. What with the way that cock is steadily pressing at the tight entrance to my tiny asshole. SHIT, was I scared!
"But he eases the tension a little, angling up just right and flattening his cockhead against my butthole. At the same time, he's running his other hand over my hips in a very gentle fashion, breathing words of assurance down to me.
"But my asshole is contracting and dilating like wild under the steady pressure of that fat cock knocking on the door. He uses his hand for leverage, but he really doesn't need it with that hard charger of his. He just keeps lunging against it, applying more and more pressure until-SHEEEEOOOOOWWWWEEEE!-it tears my ass apart with a mighty fucking push. I about leap out of the sink, but only succeed in rearing up enough to knock my noggin against the soap dispenser.
"Talk about burn! Man, I thought the entire Fifth Fleet had just landed on my beach. Bayonet first, the first ashore was ripping a new trail up inside me.
"Once inside, Peter gets a steady position, running both hands down to hold my hips down, pressing his chest against my back to hold me steady. Then he starts riding, still whispering words to steady his mount. 'Cause if I wasn't protesting before, I sure was now. He was ramming the starch right out of me. It burned like a motherfucking wildfire, and it didn't seem to fit.
"No matter how his hands worked at me, all I could feel was the fire in my asshole-like all my nerves were centered there all of a sudden. He pushed in and out, rubbing and bumping along the unsteady virgin walls of my sputtering ass. They just didn't seem like they could accommodate that big invader of his. But he kept at it, silencing my protests until I realized that there was this great glow spreading through me. Just the same as if he'd drilled it in the old cooze-only somehow it was even better.
"I guess my mind had centered on the initial pain, and it'd taken a few strokes of his huge prick to scatter the cobwebs and set me straight. He was going at it at this slow and easy pace, letting it linger for a while at different depths so that my ass tissues could get used to its size. By this time my shitter linings had sent down a fluid to mix around his cock, so it was sliding easier.
"But it was still a weird sort of feeling to me. It felt like I was being split in half by a big Polish sausage or something like that. But the tightness, the way it made me feel my guts were about to push right out of my mouth, in some crazy way was making me get a lot of pleasure out of it. That must've been how it was, 'cause I heard my voice screaming above the throbbing in my eardrums.
"'Oh, give me the meat, Peter. Ream me out gooooood. Fuck my ass ... FUCK MEEEEEEE!' "And he did.
"The throbbing spread from my eardrums clear down to my middle ear. All through my face, especially at my temples. It felt like the throbbing of his cock, pushed by his heartbeat. Like he'd pushed my own heart right out with that fuckstick of his and had planted his own in me.
"He kept up his steady assault on my rear, still running his hands all over my hips and sides. Then he started to increase the tempo, making me more aware of how stuffed I was. It was like somebody'd run a string up me and was pulling this long pole in and out. Thunk-he'd sink it in to the hilt, his balls slapping hard against my cheeks, and it'd feel like I was so stuffed that my liver'd split. Then, zwoooop-he'd pull it about three-fourths of the way out, making my ass walls suddenly empty and full of air as they closed behind his cock, but never fast enough to take away the vacuum.
"In and out, in and out. My pelvis was pounding against the sink under his steady fucking. The sharp pain had turned into a throbbing ache, but, baby, let me tell you, it felt soooooooo fuuuuucking GOOOOOOOD!
"Better than any regular fuck I'd ever had. And he made it feel even better by running his hand down my side and stabbing his index finger down into my fuzzy groove to find my clit. Wow-ee-that really drilled the message home loud and clear. I wanted even more of his cockwished that he had a two-footer. It was a painful situation, but the best I'd ever had. Like hurting so much it was great.
"His hand found my clit trigger and began playing a fast game of rushing roulette-it'd have to be fast the way my gears were spinning. His finger job on my clitoris was speeding up the action as I felt my orgasm building up inside my tummy, about ready to burst loose.
"Peter showed his stuff about this time, somehow sensing I was about to let go. He rolled his hips around in a circle, making the end of his poker hit a new wall of my furnace each time he thrust it in. And he changed the tempo: first a couple of fast slop shots that made a popping sound shake through my body; then a couple of real slow withdrawals that seemed to pull my guts out toward my asshole in a magnetic way.
"'Here it comes, Junie-pie!' he shouted. And just in time, too. He drilled some hot rivets right up my ass that practically jarred the jelly out of my linings. I let go with the biggest gullywasher I'd ever had, my body nearly collapsing over the sink.
"I'd been kind of reeling-sorta stoned out. As I came back to the aftermath, I saw the blue stains in the sink, the mixture left of his instant art that'd mixed with my sweat and dripped down the drain. In fact, blue was draining down my own shower drain for a couple of days. First time I'd ever had a blue asshole."
The subject involved in this case history is illustrative of yet another baby-sitting environment, that pf the institutionalized form of child care. Whether it be a nursery school, a day care center, a mothers' co-op, or a summer school program such as the one June was involved with, there are many forms of professional child care that differ from the home environment in that they generally take care of the child in a larger setting, one involving a number of children from different homes. The summer programs are often set up by school boards around this country to look after children, usually for working mothers, who would be in school during the regular school year.
Most generally, we find a lower incidence of sexual play, at least in the direct form, going on in the professional atmosphere, largely due to the structure of the institution. While we could easily alter the statistics by considering the home lives of the individuals involved, once away from the center, it would hardly be fair. It must be assumed that all individuals have some sex life in the privacy of their own homes. But as the other instances of baby-sitting presented in this work take place in the home environment, either that of the child being looked after or that of the sitter, we make this distinction as a matter of record.
While we do find incidents involving contact between an adult supervisor and a child within either the day care or nursery school setting, we have clearly stated that we do not wish to do a study on such pedophiliac practices in this work. Rather, we are interested in contact between two adults, more specifically anal sexuality, in, or as a result of, direct correlation of the baby-sitting environment.
The case of June is highly representative, if somewhat tragic, of such institutionalized child care involving anal contacts between staff members.
June had been brought up in a strict atmosphere, raised to be better-off than her parents. While not having the financial resources of many of their acquaintances, her parents had been able to reach a minor form of social importance in their small community. From an early age, June was entered into various activities designed to bring her to a form of social prominence, a practice which, while on the wane, is still prevalent in some areas of our country. However, such activities had clashed directly with the standards of the majority of her peers. Therefore, she was part of a very small and sheltered circle, one which, in its case, frowned upon sexual indiscretions.
Then she met Peter at the day-care center. Change. A dramatic change that prompted her long-hidden inner wants to take action in the reality he presented her. Unfortunately for her, it was merely his form of reality he was presenting her, one in which anal sex was nearly exclusive of all others. Peter was part of the media-fed, turned-on generation. He was wise ahead of his years to the ways of the world. Popular at high school, he centered his attentions upon the opposite sex, but found most girls unwilling to partake in such an activity with him. This disappointed him greatly, for at an earlier period of his life he had spent several years at a military academy where he had indulged in homosexual practices and developed his preference for anal intercourse.
Homosexuals often utilize anal intercourse as a method of copulation. In fact, contrary to popular opinion, namely Freudian psychology, homosexuals do not always exhibit an oral fixation and often show a regression that is more anal in its origins. In The Origins of Love and Hate, Ian D. Suttie argues against Freud's constructs concerning analism, stating:
These long-accepted constructs that date back to Freud, placing regressive patterns of behavior back into these steps of development (Anal, Oral, Genital) often overlook the fact of one important criterion: namely that the individual does not easily fit into categorization so easily as a representative symbol of his existence might. That is to say, it is easy from a broad sociological point of view to create various placements for ready identification by researchers, yet difficult to label the patient who confronts us in the flesh into such a convenient niche.
But to get back to the case of June and Peter, we find that Peter has more to do with the creation of the anal-oriented atmosphere than the general environment would indicate, especially since the children they are looking after are well beyond the stage involving any diaper changing. Peter, with his own strong convictions regarding anal intercourse, merely knew when he had "found a good thing." This was June, a girl unsophisticated in the ways of sex, hiding behind a facade of social finery. Being of strong will, he was easily able to persuade the weak-willed and sexually suppressed girl into performing his ritual. By capturing her fantasies, he was able to implant his own reality (merely a form of fantasy-fulfillment in this instance) upon June. While she reacted in a favorable manner to his attentions, accepting anal sex as a way of life, it had its unfortunate effects as we shall see.
"During the next few weeks, Peter and I got together in the storeroom as often as possible. But one thing began to puzzle me about him. We never did it any other way. Well, a couple of times when I'd ask him about it, he might ram his meat up my cunt. And then we'd fool around with other stuff as a sort of warm-up to getting it on. But most of the time, my main gonads got bypassed, him sticking it up my ass.
"Not that I didn't like it. I was finding that I dug it more than any other way. Sure, I'd put in my pitch for a bit of variety every now and again, but Peter had me so head-over-heels about the whole scene that I really didn't care that much. I liked having my asshole reamed better than just about anything. That's because it was his way. And I was thinking of myself as his girl.
"We were able to make things a little more comfortable than the first time by adding a little variety to our menu, and by the fact that we were able to make a suitable bed in the corner of the supply room by piling up the smocks the kids wore during class.
"Then, we added other ways of making variations--just the way we had with the fingerpainting routine. We tried out a clay dildo once-me working it in and out of my pussy while Peter planted me from the rear with his live model. Another time, when the class was working with papier-mache, I made a mold of his cock, and he made one out of my tits. Mine was fairly easy, but his fell apart. No construction paper, no matter what the base, nothing but steel, in my estimation, could hold a permanent cast of his impression.
"He really had lots of inventive ways of getting to the main point, but he'd usually take an alternate route when it came to getting the goodies. Not that I minded, you see. I was really learning how to get a big come from having that cock of his lodged up my ass.
"But the last time we got it on-say about a month after we'd been painting it brown-we had a fuck-up happen. A real big fuck-up that blew the whole thing for us.
"Right after class, we'd been cleaning up, putting all the crap into the storage room. By this time, we'd run the entire gamut as far as our teachings went. The kids were all involved in individual projects-whatever suited their likings. Little known to them, Peter and I were also involved in an individual project. Mutual would be more like it, but it was most assuredly suited to our likings.
"That day after we'd cleaned up the classroom, we jumped inside our little storeroom hideaway to take up our project. We left the door slightly ajar-helped the ventilation. Besides, no one ever came around-the janitors worked nights during summer and only came around once a week.
"So we stripped down for action-his body still looking every inch as good to me as it had the first time, and evidently the feeling was mutual. Otherwise he wouldn't have been there. Not with that hard on. That's a sure way to tell if a guy goes for you or not.
"At least I hope so.
"We reclined on our rather comfortable, but not exactly piss-elegant, bed of smocks in the corner after cleaning up and smoked a cigarette. We talked the usual small talk, passing the smoke back and forth as we took in each other's body to build up our interest.
"Finally, I crushed the butt out on one of the ceramic ashtrays made by one of our enterprising students and laid a fast look on Peter to let him know that I was ready to get on with it.
"He stared at me a long time, giving me that fucking double-eyed whammy that gets me right under his evil sway. I got charged up just looking into his eyes, digging on my reflection in the twin mirrors.
"Then I reached out and hooked my hand around the back of his neck, drawing his lips down against mine in a big soul kiss. Our lips parted and we started frenching, our tongues working like two fucking eels, flicking at each other and intertwining. I gaped wide so that he could trail the tip of his tongue over the roof of my mouth, getting a crazy sensation as it danced over the ridges.
"While our mouths were working out, pulling away intermittently to place love bites on each other's neck and ears, our hands reached down and began to explore the familiar flesh of our bodies. I had one arm hooked around his neck to keep his head within the distance of my lips. The other was exploring more interesting areas; running down his side to work at the flesh of his hips and ass; hooking onto his arm to scrape my fingernails against his strong biceps; or down to tease at his long cock, rolling and rubbing it to a bounding hardness-reaching farther down to maul his balls.
"While I made his cock long and his nuts all hot, his hands were doing some pretty fair exploration of their own-massaging at my breasts, making the buds all hard. He had a great way of pushing down on them to make them disappear, then letting them pop out like round pieces of toast fresh from the toaster.
"Then he was hooking an arm around my back to pull our bodies close for a real good rubbing, sort of a nude dry-fuck. And then down to dip into my pie, our gonads separated again, twirling my clit till I ended up biting down on his lips in reaction to his good lovemaking.
"Our throats were humming along with our bodies, saying things that made no sense except when played in harmony with our actions. Things like, 'Ohhhh, baby-shit, I want you in me,' and 'Fuck me, fuck me! Stick your cock up my ass and FUCK ME.' Those could generally be attributed to me. And then, 'Yeah, baby,' and 'That's it, kiddo-watch your speed.' Things that he was laying down. But the only thing that really made any sense at all was what we were doing. You lift it out of the framework, and somehow the timing, the setting, the whole thing gets thrown off. Vocally, about the most down-to-it real things we were saying were 'ooooos,' and 'ahhhhhhs,' and little moaned things.
"But we were building up to the main showdown, running hard for the wire. That's what the whole thing was all about. And our bodies were getting supercharged, the friction between us building up for a final bash at the poles. Like at once we were one ... just flesh together that sort of melds the minds. But humans that we are, that's not quite the case. If there wasn't me, all mother-milked tit and one-way pussy, and him, all prick and balls, magnificent implanter-well, then what would we have? Not something that I know about.
"So Peter slaps my tail to let me know it's time FOR IT. Me drooling out a thin rubber band of saliva as our lips part, all eager for getting to the flip side.
"I flip it over, crouching down on all fours, my face pressed tight to our smock mattress, sucking in breaths of oily leftovers. This leaves my butt waggling up high in the air, my knees spread out as far as they'll go to offer him a nice furry pup tent to drive his dog in.
"'Get it on and let 'er rip, Slim,' I tell him, using one of my nicknames.
"I don't have to wait long for him to jump up and put that red snapper to my hind end. I'd already made sure that it would be ready to come up spitting, from my handiwork I'd done while we were up front, just playing around.
"Now he was kneeling behind me, placing those hot hands of his on my flanks, getting ready to ride. Then it's SLAM-BAM an he'd sunk that dick of his right up my ass.
"We didn't have to fool around as much as before with those preliminaries. No, I'd gotten used to having my ass plowed, and I could get the tissues all ready for it. All he had to do was push once or twice, I'd wince a bit as the fiery ring got jumped through by his tiger, then ... sink it home.
"He started gliding in and out of me, putting all that good meat to me. Right down the line. I was all crumply and going melty behind his hot assault, twitching my hips up in the air as he did the work of priming my ass. I just shouted out a little encouragement, not itself so easy to do under the heavy pressure of Peter's ass-reaming that was sucking the breath out of my sides faster than I could suck it in.
"'FUCK MEEEE, DADDY!' I yelled out.
"Old Peter was flat-out giving my ass one hell of a good screwing. His hands were running up and down my sides as if they knew how hard my engine was running and they were trying to help me pump in some more air to the billows. I just bucked my ass up, and he let it fly. That poker of his felt like a red-hot ramrod on the way in, and like a pair of hot tongs, just pulling my coals out on the return trip.
"My rider was still giving me a good riding. First, he was all crouched down over me, running his chest and head down close to my back like he was riding a thoroughbred for the wire. Then he reared up so that his body was vertical, riding me like a bucking bronc, ramming at my saddle with his long spur, and slapping at my flanks with his hand.
"And I was still digging in the best I could. Shoving my crack back at his face in a sawing motion, sweat dripping from my belly to the smock pile. I tried to paw in for a good grip with my knees and feet, my elbows having given way to his rough ride, but they too were turning to jelly under his steady driving fuck.
"'Oh, baby-that's soooo GOOOOOD,' are about the last words I can remember shouting. Everything else was just running out of me like shit. And making about as much sense. Seems that he was packing my shit so hard that the gas in my guts had no place to go but up. And I was burping out fartwords that didn't sound like anything but what's come out the other end he'd got plugged up.
"'Damn right, it's good!' was what my cowboy shouted down to me. And I felt just about broke, my insides going through dying quivers that were taking over everything. And I could hardly move my lips to moan-it was that good. I mean, shit! It was good!
"Until I gazed out of my half-lidded eyes and saw this figure standing sideways in the doorway. Sort of reeling around, as my vision was cloudy, and then, I started up-
"'PETER!' but he'd seen him, too. He'd slowed the pace and looked over to recognize the figure of one of our students. I had a hard time telling from my position, face spread sideways on the mat.
"'Be right with you, Frankie,' he told the kid. And then I recognized him, too. One of the kids in our class, this thirteen-year-old fucker. Seems he'd either come back looking for one of us, or to try and cop some supplies-never came out just why he'd come back.
"But Peter, who was in total control of the situation, made the mistake of continuing the fuck, rather than breaking it up. It wasn't a mistake then, since I was so close to busting my load that I had to get relief. The shock of seeing Frankie there in the doorway had only smashed my body even closer to getting its rocks off.
"But it was a mistake for later-when the little rat spilled his fucking nose out to his old man. For the moment, Peter just invited him in-was too close to letting go to worry, and probably figured he'd be able to bully the kid into keeping his trap shut.
"But you know what that little rat went and did? I mean, besides squealing later on. He came in, unzipped his fly, flopped his dong out, grabbed it, and started pulling off while he watched us finish our fuck.
"I tried to cool the situation, but I wasn't able to find any words. Just more gas. So, with Peter in control, I was soon not able to run the gears of my mind. I just gave in to the total demand of that cock of his that was giving a steady reaming to my asshole. I think Peter must've been some kind of exhibitionist to let Frankie watch. Whatever it was, he seemed to have renewed vigor as he plowed that shaft to me with a steady plop-plop as his balls slapped against my ass.
"I watched Frankie as best as I could from my strained position, seeing that little fucker jump up and down like a goddamned monkey in heat, jerking his little pecker off as he watched. Looked like he was about to have a heat stroke. But as I felt the powerful thrusts of Peter's cock begin to take me away, my eyes blurred shut and I didn't have to watch that little asshole watch me get my asshole fucked.
"I just felt the good, the last GOOD COME I've had, sweep over me, prompted by the white-hot bullets that Peter's gun drilled up inside me. And I just collapsed in midair, letting my come roll out of me and my ass get reamed to the end-gliding off into some nowhere where I wish I could've stayed forever. 'Cause when I opened my eyes, that fucking Frankie had split, leaving only a splatter of his puny goop on the floor in his retreat. Big transition back to the heavy dues-little bastard blew it for us. I haven't had anything up my ass but my thumb since then."
The disclosure of June and Peter's sexual adventures sent Shockwaves through the small community, bringing down the wrath of the school board. June's parents hastily entered her into a mental institution for treatment, and to try and escape embarrassment. For a time it seemed that they were more concerned with their loss in social esteem, plus the lawsuits brought down upon them, than for the welfare of their daughter. However, the institution to which she was committed soon set up sessions with her parents in an attempt to bridge the gap left between the parents and their daughter.
Peter slipped quietly away from sight, entering the Navy, but the psychiatrist who was assigned to June was soon able to show her parents that she was simply victim to his sexual demands. The anal intercourse, while greatly enjoyed by June, then was more a part of Peter's sexual preferences than hers; she could more readily adapt to other forms of lovemaking than he.
Finishing high school at the private institute, June has since been released with a good bill of health and now attends an out-of-state school that, for now at least, is beyond the reach of her hometown's memory.
CONCLUSION
As stated in the introduction to this work, we did not set out to prove any particular hypothesis concerning the correlation of anal sexual practices and the institution of baby-sitting. Rather, we wished to illustrate one particular facet of contemporary sexual behavior in our society and reflect upon the dramatic changes that our recent media-induced seduction, the prime agent in effecting such rapid transitions as the "new morality," of the masses has wrought upon the individual.
As the great thrust of the so-called "sexual revolution" is powered by the young, it is no mean coincidence that we evidenced a marked increase in sexual experimentation taking place within the baby-sitting environment, a setting which has always employed a large number of young people, particularly teenaged girls, as it agents. Therefore, it comes as little surprise that so many varied forms of sexual discoveries are played out during baby-sitting assignments, in a place that offers some shelter for a curious teenager from such things as, for instance, parental scrutiny.
Analism is only one of many forms of sexual exploration that is taking place in the baby-sitting framework, and it is by no means an unpopular one. Yet, through our exhaustive research into the field, we have found that the factors behind anal sexuality, particularly when compared to other sexual variations, have changed during the past decade or so. This is largely attributed to the advent of modern birth-control techniques, such as the pill, a phenomenon that has sharply reduced the incidence of anal intercourse as an alternate form of sexual gratification during periods of the menstrual cycle when chances of impregnation are high. We now find that those who are turning to anal sexuality as a mode of lovemaking, generally do so because they have come to prefer it-that is to say, they have discovered anality to be a worthy enhancement to the total sexual expression, rather than an unpleasant alternative when all else fails.
Of course, we found instances when such practices held no regard for age-the teenagers by no means are the only ones affected by our changing sexual mores. What with the popular dissemination of facts that cut through many of our long-held myths concerning our sexuality, most members of society in general have become much more educated towards a better understanding of their own functions. The past decade has found many individuals, both young and old, throwing off certain beliefs that have, to one degree or another, previously inhibited their actions. Now we are finding an ever increasing throng of people learning to accept the tenets of their own emotional characteristics, the enlightenment provided by such forms of education as this work, which lead them to a more liberated feeling concerning their sexual attitudes and practices.
While the methods of researchers into the field of human psychology may vary greatly, the one thing they do seem to agree upon is the need for each individual within the society, now as never before, to better understand his own makeup-i.e., his drive, his motivations, etc. For, in a time where man can almost reproduce himself via computer and test tube, he is left with much time on his hands-time which has produced too many problems and not enough solutions. Therefore, man must find a way out of his alienated state, find a mode through which he can better channel his drives into a more reciprocal pattern of understanding. The young in particular, those who will be inheriting the world, are finding better ways of "getting back to the roots." Simply, the means is through pleasure shared with another. Whether it be through oral, anal, or genital-genital expressions, they seem to have a greater ability to free themselves from the dogma of the age and thus achieve better contact with their feelings, a quality often dulled and grayed in the reflections of the day. It is hoped that the information available today is producing a trend and more individuals follow the upsurge of the past decade and turn to pleasurable means of expressing their emotions, whether the means be anal or other--just as long as it is mutually acceptable.
