Children have told some hair raising tales of abuse they have received at the hands of those to whom we entrust their care-their teachers.
Billy Joe's English teacher beat his bare ass until she came.
Margaret, age 16. The school nurse, stripped her and forced her to submit to a humiliating enema.
Alexandria, age 14, a virginal child, was raped one Friday afternoon in the school basement.
Elizabeth Ann, age 14, was tied to the chair in the school dentist's office and was stripped and tortured.
These are just some of the school children forced to submit to the cruel depravities of the adult world.
CASE HISTORY ONE
Subject: Billy Joe R. Age: Fourteen
INTERVIEW ONE
The good-looking blond boy looked healthy enough when he first walked into my office. He was a typical fourteen year old, a little heavier then most boys his age, but that was the only thing that made him different. But, of course, he was obviously suffering from some sort of nervous condition.
Gee, doctor, I don't know where to start. I don't want to make trouble for anybody, but my mother says I should tell you what happened to me last Friday, just before school let out for the day.
You remember last Friday? It was the day of the big snow storm. All the traffic was tied up.
Even my father was late getting to his office, so I had a reason for being late.
Everybody was late that day.
How could you not be?
My mother says that they were even considering closing the schools for that day, but that the administrators were too stupid to make a decision fast enough to be on time.
She says that a lot of parents were real nervous because they didn't know if their kids were in school that day or not.
And the parents didn't know if their kids were getting lunch or if they were hungry or what.
Remember last year? The same thing happened.
That was when the school officials decided to close the school and hundreds of kids all over the city were turned away out of the nice, warm school, and some of them couldn't go home.
Or some of them couldn't even get home, because they were the ones who were picked up by their parents.
So it was a real mess, and I'm just telling you all this stuff because I want you to know that it wasn't my fault that I was late. I mean it really wasn't.
And, anyhow, I only got here fifteen minutes late.
That's because I left the house almost a half hour earlier than I do most of the time.
I like school. I'm one of the best students in the whole school. Everybody says so, all my teachers and everybody. Even Mr. Williamson, the principal, says that I'm number one at the top of my class.
So I get along real well, and this year I'm doing better than ever with my tests and grades.
So I sure didn't want to be late no matter how bad the weather was the day I was late.
But one of the teachers doesn't like me.
And that's Miss Johnson. Miss Johnson doesn't like me because the Coach doesn't like me.
You know the coach, don't you? Well, his name is Rockland Hartford.
And Mr. Rockland Hartford doesn't like me at all. In fact, I think he hates me.
And the reason for that is that he wants me to play football on the team and I don't want to.
But he says I'm big enough and that I should because I am bigger than most of the other kids my age.
But that shouldn't make any difference, should it? I mean, I'm the one who should make up my mind about if I want to play football or not, shouldn't I be the one.
After all, it is a free country. Isn't it?
But Mr. Hartford doesn't agree with that. My father says it's because he's ambitious and he wants to have the best football team in the state and he's having a hard time getting the best team together because our school isn't that big and he has trouble getting enough of the guys to play because he doens't have enough guys to choose from.
But is that my fault?
I don't think it is my fault and I don't think I should be punished for the coach.
But Miss Johnson doesn't agree with that.
Miss Johnson is Mr. Hartford's steady date. They're not engaged or anything like that.
But Miss Johnson and Mr. Hartford go out together a lot, and I know that's a fact, for sure.
And I know it because Miss Johnson talks about it all the time. She talks about it in all her classes.
I know that's true because all the kids in her other classes tell me about it and I hear her talking about her and Mr. Hartford when I go and sit her in English Literature class.
And that makes me angry, too.
Because I don't care about her and Mr. Hartford.
But that is all Miss Johnson talks about. It's Mr. Hartford this and Mr. Hartford that.
Heck, she spends so much time talking about her and her stupid Mr. Hartford we never get around to what we're supposed to be studying.
I know that's true because I talk with kids from other schools. I meet them when we get together for the debating contests, and they tell me where they are in their studies and we're way behind them.
Anyhow, Miss Johnson and Mr. Hartford are real buddies. My father says they're as thick as thieves.
And because Mr. Hartford hates me because I won't play on his stupid football team, Miss Johnson hates me, too.
Isn't that stupid? What kind of teacher is that who would hate one of her students just because one of the other teachers hates him.
And Mr. Hartland isn't even a teacher. He's just a stupid coach who can't even talk right.
He should be a guard in a prison or a drill sergeant in the Marines instead of being turned loose on a lot of kids.
Anyhow, there I was, late last Friday because of a snow storm that made almost everybody in the whole city late.
And what happened? Miss Johnson went crazy because of it!
You see, her class in English Literature is the first class I have in the morning on Fridays.
So, of course, when I got to school late, it was her stupid class that I was late for.
And she almost went crazy!
Like I said, I was only about fifteen minutes late, but that seemed to be the end of the world, as far as she was concerned.
When I walked into her class, I was as quiet as I could be, because I didn't want to disturb anything.
Not that there was anything important happening to disturb, there wasn't. There never is!
Because she was talking about Mr. Hartford, as usual, instead of what she's supposed to be talking about.
She and Mr. Hartford had gone to the movies the night before, and she had to tell us all about the pictures they saw. Boy, was it boring! She described both pictures in detail, and they were both John Wayne movies and they were both pictures none of the kids cared anything about.
But, of course, they were all sitting there listening to her stupid talk. What else could they do.
Anyhow, that's what I walked in on, her telling the kids about the stupid movies she and Mr. Hartford had seen.
So there I was, sitting in my desk before she even noticed me. I mean, she was so pleased and excited about Mr. Hartford paying any attention at all to her that she hadn't even noticed me coming in late.
But when she finally did notice me, she went crazy, absolutely bananas.
She said I was disrespectful of her and all the other students in my class. She said I had no regard for anybody but myself.
She said that if I weren't so selfish and did care about the other students and about the school that I would do everything I could do to be sure to do my share, like everybody else does.
Well, I just sat there listening to her stupid ideas. But what else could I do?
All I was thinking about was the reason for her being so angry and upset just because I came in a little bit late.
After all, the class was at least half empty. I mean, because of the snow storm, most of the kids hadn't even bothered trying to come in that day, and I had, snow or no snow.
So, actually, instead of getting angry with me and screaming at me, she should have been happy that I got there at all.
But no way!
She was bound and determined to work her frustrations out on me.
Still I didn't understand what it was about me that was making her so mean and nasty.
I knew for certain that it really couldn't have been the fact that I came in late.
She wasn't a good enough teacher to care about that one way or the other.
But still she went on and on and on about how terrible I was, and about how I wasn't loyal to the school.
Boy, she sounded like a broken record, repeating the same thing over and over and over again.
And all the time she was going on and on and one, I just sat there trying to figure it out.
I'm going to be a psychologist or a psychoanalyst when I grow up.
So, actually, her class was interesting for a change.
It was interesting to sit there and watch her getting angrier and angrier, louder and louder. He face had turned pink, then red, then almost purple as she worked herself up more and more.
And then she gave herself away!
She mentioned Mr. Hartford's name, and that was all it took to tell me the real reason for her going crazy the way she was.
It seems that after the two of them left the movies, they went to some bar or other they go to a lot and they ordered a large pizza with everything on it.
She even had to tell us that!
And they started drinking, too, first beers and then shots of whiskey with the beers. They're called boilermakers.
So I guess the two stupidest teachers in the school got drunk together, especially Mr. Hartland.
And, according to Miss Johnson, the more he drank the more he started talking and complaining about how he would never have the chance of winning a state championship as long as he stayed at our school, because he had no talent to work with, no players.
So what, right?!
Is it my fault our school isn't the biggest one in the city or the county or the state?
Is it my fault there aren't a lot of guys who have a real genius for sports in our school?
Anyhow, Mr. Hartford got more and more depressed and angrier and angrier as he talked.
And, of course, Miss Johnson was all ears and was feeling very, very sorry for her boy friend, or whatever he is.
So she sat there drinking her beers and whiskey with him as he got to feeling sorrier and sorrier for himself.
I guess she thought that if she showed a lot of sympathy for him, he would like her even more than he did, which can't be too much anyhow, right?
I mean, if he really liked her, he'd take her out more often, wouldn't he?
And to hear Miss Johnson tell it (and, boy, does she tell it!), he doesn't take her out very much. At least he doesn't take her out as much as she would like him to.
So, anyhow, it was at that point that Mr. Hartland started talking about his favorite subject.
Me!
It seems I'm number one on his list of bad guys.
I knew he didn't like me, of course. After all, I am the smartest kid in the whole school, small as it is.
But I didn't know how much he disliked me until that day of the snow storm when Miss Johnson told us in great detail about how poor Mr. Hartford was so unhappy and frustrated in his professional career because selfish, greed, unthoughtful kids like me didn't co-operate with him.
She was talking about the fact that I refuse to play football on his team for him.
But, boy, I didn't realize how much Mr. Hartford really disliked me until that day. He hates me!
Yes, he does! Mr. Hartford doesn't just dislike me. He hates me, totally and outright.
Crazy as it is, he holds me responsible for all the failures he's had in his stupid life.
And Miss Johnson is so stupid she actually believed him when he told her it was all my fault that he wasn't doing better than he was.
And then (now get this!), he told her that that was the reason why he couldn't marry her!
Can you imagine that?
He told her he couldn't marry her because he wasn't making enough money as a coach and that he'd never do better because I wouldn't play on his team for him, even though I am big for my age!
So, anyhow, Miss Johnson said I'd have to stay after school that day and that she would have to punish me, personally, for coming in late even though there was a snow storm.
Gosh, Doctor, look at the time! I've got to get going for my piano lessons, or I'll be late!
Good-bye!
And the young, blond boy rushed out of my office. Actually, I was very pleased with what he had told me so far, because I could see that his case wasn't going to be difficult, despite the fact that it was interesting. I found myself looking forward to the next session when he would tell me how Miss Johnson punished him!
INTERVIEW TWO
Of course, Billy Joe R. was prompt when the time came for our next session. That's the kind of boy he was. I noticed immediately that he was looking a lot better than he had the week before. No doubt the passage of time was already working its curative effect. I asked him to continue his story.
Well, Doctor, that same afternoon, just before school let out, Miss Johnson sent a note to me in Math 2 class. It said I should come to her room alone right after school let out.
And I did.
When I walked into her empty classroom, she locked the door behind me and dropped the key down the front of her dress.
Then, without saying a word, she grabbed me by the ear and twisted it hard. She dragged me across the front of the room and straight into the cloakroom in back of her desk!
She said that she was then going to find out how really smart I was.
Me, I was crying. She can really twist an ear hard! It really hurt me, the way she did it.
Why, I had to walk half bent over, she was twisting it so hard. And by the time she shoved me into the cloakroom I was already crying and so nervous I couldn't even talk.
After all, Miss Johnson is a big, strong woman. And she was just about as angry as a person could get.
I've never seen anybody that angry before, at least I've never seen a grownup adult that furious!
So I was really scared. I thought she might murder me or something. No, I'm not kidding!
It happens all the time, doesn't it? I mean, just read the papers every day. People go crazy and start killing people for no reason at all.
And I happened to know for a fact that Miss Johnson thought she had every reason in the world to hate me. Maybe it was unfair and all twisted up, but that is what she thought.
And there she was, standing in front of me, with a big wooden paddle in her hand.
It was about as long as a baseball bat, but the end of it was flat, like the paddle of a canoe.
But it was different in that it had a lot of little holes about the size of a quarter in the flat part of it.
It looked real evil and nasty, and I was hoping that she wouldn't spank me with it.
But that's exactly what she had in mind!
"Bend over and take the beating you've got coming to you like a man, Billy Joe," she screamed at me!
Boy, her face was so red and the muscles in her neck were all sticking out, and I hoped that somebody would hear her screaming so loud, but the school was already empty.
So I thought to myself, you'd better do what she tells you or she might really go crazy and do something really awful!
So I bent over like she told me to, but it wasn't good enough for her, not by a long shot!
"Take your pants off, you little brat!" she screamed again, "I can't spank you properly and in the manner you deserve if you're wearing those thick, wool pants of yours!"
"But...." I started to say, but she wouldn't hear a word of it!
"You keep your filthy mouth shut!" she screamed at me. "You just do what you're told, you terrible, evil, selfish, nasty, greedy, naughty, inconsiderate, brat! You think you're smart, don't you?!"
And then she hit me with the paddle!
But not on the bottom, like I thought she would, no. She hit me in the head with it, right behind the ear.
And, boy, did it ever hurt! I almost passed out with pain and fright.
I could see stars and the whole cloakroom was spinning around and around me like a ride at a carnival!
I was really scared and decided I'd better do exactly what she told me to do as fast as I could.
So I took my pants off. I didn't want to, it was real em harassing, but I did do it.
Then I bent over again, hoping it would be over with as soon as possible. Boy, was I ever praying that it would be!
But I should have saved my prayers!
"Not yet, you little wise guy! You're still wearing your underwear! Take it off, too!"
Now I was really embarrassed. I didn't want to get undressed in front of a woman, especially Miss Johnson.
Why, I don't even undress in front of my own mother anymore, not since ... well, I just don't anymore.
So, for the second time in less than a few minutes, I made the very serious mistake of not doing what I was told to do fast enough to suit the crazy teacher who had me locked up with her.
And she hit me with the paddle again. And this time it was even harder!
This time I fell to the floor, and for a second or two I really did pass out cold.
When I came to, Miss Johnson was pulling my underwear down off my bottom and down my legs.
I tried to grab them out of her hands and cover myself up again, but she started slapping me in the face, and when I put my hands up to protect myself she started screaming again, louder than ever!
"So! You're going to hit me, are you? You're going to strike a defenseless woman, are you? You're too cowardly to play football for poor, dear Mr. Hartford, but you're not too cowardly to hit a woman!"
And all the time she was screaming at me like a mad woman, she was slapping me in the face.
And, boy, could she hit hard! What kind of a defenseless woman was she, anyhow?
But I didn't dare point out the flaw in her logic, or she would have killed me for sure. I mean, even when you're right and you know you're right, how can you argue with the insane?
So she had her way with me, and she managed to pull my underwear off me, clean as a whistle.
"Now stand up! Stand up, you coward, and take the punishment you've got coming to you like a man instead of the selfish, cowardly, unthoughtful bully that you are!"
So I stood up. I had to hang on to the wall to keep from falling, but I did manage to do what she told me to.
"Look at that!" she screamed, pointing at the area in between my legs. "You're already a man! Why, you're even bigger than Mr. H....," but she caught herself in time, and she didn't finish what she was going to say about me being bigger 'there' than Mr. Hartford.
For that's who she had to be talking about, right? I mean, she had said the 'H' of his last name, didn't she, and-besides-who, else would she know about that way to be able to have such an opinion?
"Turn around!" Miss Johnson then said, or scream would be a better way of describing it.
I turned around and started to bend over, but she stopped me before I could do that.
She was running her hands all up and down, around and around my bottom. She did that for a long time.
She just wouldn't stop doing it, and I was real embarrassed, because ... well, after all, how would you like it if a big, tall woman like Miss Johnson was rubbing and squeezing and pinching your bottom?
I bet you wouldn't like it at all!
Well, neither did I!
But she kept it up for as long as she wanted to. She seemed to think that it was part of the punishment or something, but I think she was just going crazy in the plain, old-fashioned sense of the word.
"Look at that bottom of yours!" Miss Johnson said, not screaming for the first time since I had been pushed into the cloakroom by the big, frightening woman who hated me.
Of course, that was a stupid thing to say. How could I look at my own bottom, especially when she had it almost completely covered with both of her big hands, fingers and palms and all.
After all, I've got a small, round bottom, and Miss Johnson has big hands, hands more like a man's than a woman's.
"Please, Miss Johnson, I...." I started to say again, but she didn't want me saying anything, not a word.
And she started slapping me on the bottom with her open hand!
The shock of it almost made me jump!
I wasn't expecting that at all!
But there it was! She was slapping me with her open hands as hard as she could, and it really hurt, believe me!
Miss Johnson is a woman who really knows how to hurt a guy ... especially when she puts her mind to it, and she had really put her mind to it in my case, in particular.
"Miss Johnson!" I cried out.
And again it did nothing but drive her even crazier!
For then she stuck all ten of her long, hard, red-painted fingernails into the tender, white flesh of my poor, unprotected, defenseless bottom!
God, that time I really did jump!
But when that happened, it made it even worse because then her fingernails dug into me and scratched me!
I could feel that she had broken the tender skin on my bottom. I could feel little rivers of hot, sticky blood flowing out of the new cuts in my bottom and running down my legs and in between my legs!
I couldn't help but moaning!
But what puzzled me at that minute was that Miss Johnson was moaning, too, real loud.
I started to turn around to see what was happening and what was wrong with her. I mean, she was sounding like she was in pain or dying or something and I wanted to know what was going on.
But when I started to turn around, she hit me harder than she had ever hit me before!
And that time it was with her fist! Yes, with her fist! She hit me right in the side, around the area of the liver.
And the pain was incredible!
That's the only way to describe it!
It was so great, I had to bend over and hold myself in an effort to stay conscious.
And that was exactly what Miss Johnson wanted, it was exactly what she had planned all along!
She wanted me bent over like that!
"Just you stay the way you are, you terrible boy!" she shouted.
I could hear the glee and the awful satisfaction in her voice.
"That's just perfect for what you're going to get now! Because what's happened so far is a warming-up for the main event!"
So there I was!
Bent over and in incredible pain and my eyes so full of tears of hurt and embarrassment and humiliation that I couldn't see a thing.
Not even in front of my nose!
Then there was a long pause.
I thought I hear clothes being touched or opened or pulled down or something, but I don't really know what was happening or going on because, like I already said, I was bent over with my back to the big, angry woman and my eyes were full of tears.
And then the paddle came down ... hard!
I could hear Miss Johnson groan real long and hard when the paddle hit against my poor, tender, bleeding bottom!
And she paddled me ... oh, I don't remember how long or how many times.
Maybe ten or twelve times. I don't ... I can't really recall.
The pain was so great and all that everything about the whole event just sort of blurs together in my memory.
One great, big, nasty nightmare!
But I do know that the strokes were slow, very slow, in coming ... at first.
Then they started coming faster and faster and faster as the spanking went on and on and on!
Miss Johnson started groaning faster and faster, too.
Then, on top of it all, she started moaning, too!
Why, you'd think it was her, Miss Johnson, who was getting beat with that horrible paddle, not me!
The way she cried put and moaned and sobbed! It was disgusting, that's all I can say.
A whack with the paddle, and a big, long, low moan from miss Johnson. Another whack and then another long, big, deep moan!
It went on and on and on!
It seemed like it would never ever really come to an end.
Pretty soon I wasn't feeling much of anything anymore.
I guess the pain and the shock and the humiliation of the beating just sort of caused me to kind of pass out without really losing consciousness, or something like that must have been happening, anyhow.
I don't know, not really.
Maybe you can help me out on that point, Doctor. I mean, as one medical professional to another, so to speak.
As T told you, when I grow up, I, too, am going to be a psychologist or a psychoanalyst or something along that line.
CONCLUSION
Well, Bill Joe was an intelligent and mature person for his age, and I decided that perhaps I would discuss a bit of that point with him during the next session. And in the meantime, I told him he was doing very, very well and that, as much as I'd miss his visits, there probably wouldn't have to be very many more of them.
CASE HISTORY TWO
Subject: Margaret B. Age: 16
INTERVIEW ONE
Margaret B. Was a pretty enough girl, but there was something definitely lacking about her, and that was energy. She just didn't seem to have much of it, certainly none to spare. I wondered, immediately, if her problem was a physical or a psychological one, or both!
Well, Doctor, you know I'm only here because I have to be here, not because I want to be.
Well, maybe that's not the whole story! At least, I get out of some classes because of you. Are you really interested in me? Yeah?
Okay, then, I'll tell you what I know, and maybe you can make some sense of it.
I see you have some papers in front of you. That's a report on me, isn't it. No, don't bother to deny it. When you stepped out of the room for a minute, I leaned over your desk and took a look.
Now, don't you look shocked, Doctor! That isn't a very professional reaction, now is it?
Besides, why shouldn't I take a look? I'm the one who's here against her will, not you or any of those other fuddy-duddies who call themselves teachers. Teachers, shit! They so stupid they wouldn't know a bite on the ass from a hole in the ground.
But that's not what you want to hear, is it.
You want to hear all about the terrible things I had to endure at the hands of Nurse Sandra Malinowsky so you can get your jollies off.
Hey, you're looking shocked again! I'm gonna have to try to break you of that habit!
But, then, why should I do you any favors? You're probably as bad as all those other hypocrites at the school and at the church! You're all the same. Your shit doesn't stink to hear you tell about it, but when you come right down to it, you're as nasty thinking and sneaky as the devil himself! No, you can't tell me any better!
It's just lies, all lies. All you people lie through your teeth all the time! The only difference between you people and most common, ordinary, everyday liars is that you're professional liars.
You get paid for lying!
Well, I'm gonna tell you the truth.
I don't know what good it will do. It certainly never made any difference before when I told the truth.
So, listen! I may be just only sixteen, but a sixteen year old knows plenty, plenty!
And you just remember that!
And I certainly know enough to know that most so-called adults are liars and hypocrites and cheats.
And that's the best of them.
I sure do hope that by the time I grow up, I'm not as messed up as most of you people already are.
People say I don't have any energy.
Yeah, they say that because that's what I want them to say. That's what I want them to think.
My idea is the more you let people think you can do, the more the want you to do ... and usually for them, for their own good, not for your own!
So I go slow, as slow as I can.
Even when I feel like moving, I just take myself in hand and say, "Hold on there, Margaret girl, slow down! You start moving like you can actually move when you want to and people will want you to be moving and doing what they want you to do all the time. Then they'll have you right where they want you.
In their pockets!
By the balls!
Doc, if you could see the expression on your face! That's so funny! You have no cool at all, none!
I say 'balls' and your eyebrows go up about six inches.
Balls! See that? That's funny.
Yeah, yeah, I'll tell you what happened.
I was sitting around in Home Eco class, that's what we call it, Home Eco. And old lady Sullivan finally takes it in her fat, old head that she can't stand my listlessness any more.
Little does she realize that that so-called listlessness of mine took me years to develop.
Yeah, I used to catch myself letting my guard down and moving at the same 'normal' rate of speed everybody else does.
And then I would say to myself, "Margaret girl, you just slow down and go at your own pace."
Anyhow, old lady Sullivan can't stand it any more. I finally got to her.
We were making a cake, a chocolate cake, and the other girls already had their batter mixed, their pans greased, and their ovens hot.
Me, I still had all the basic ingredients sitting on the countertop, right where I'd put them at the beginning of class.
Oh, I was making progress. I had all the stuff divided up in piles arranged according to process. That's a fancy Home Eco way of saying what comes first comes first, what comes second comes second, and so forth.
Anyhow, all the other girls were way ahead of me in making their cakes, of course. They're always ahead of me.
Because that's how I want it.
Who wants to be first?
Not me! If you're first once, everybody expects you to be first twice, and twice means three times.
And from then on it's downhill all the way.
Oh, I know what I'm talking about, all right.
My father was a decent person, the only person I ever really liked at all, actually, A real nice guy!
And what happened to him?
He died when I was fourteen!
And you know why? He moved too fast. He got everybody used to expecting a lot from him, and boy did they ever!
People used him any way you can name how! You wanted something done, you just got my father to do it for you. So there I was, sitting by the big counter in Home Eco just staring at the ingredients that were supposed to be becoming a cake.
And old Miss Sullivan catches my eye by waving her bony old finger back and forth, back and forth in front of her crumby face.
She's got a face like a crumb cake that's been left to dry out in the pantry for six weeks! Did you know that? Well, she has.
Anyhow, she waves me over to her desk. Desk, ha! It's a hole-in-the-wall over by the big freezer.
So I ease myself up out of the chair and about five minutes later I get over to her desk.
She's all impatient and going crazy, of course. You'd be amazed how just moving slowly, real slowly, drives people crazy!
They can't stand it! They're so used to going at top speed, they just can't deal with someone who makes like a snail.
As far as they're concerned, moving slow is anti-American or something.
"I want you to go see the visiting nurse, Margaret," old lady Sullivan tells me, her false teeth clicking every time she says a word.
God, that makes me sick! I just hate standing near her when she talks. Click, click, click, that's all I get out of it.
"What for?" I ask her, taking about a minute and a half to get the two words out of my mouth.
"Well, Margaret, I think there's something wrong with you, something physically wrong. A nice looking young girl like you shouldn't be so listless and lifeless. Why, when I was your age, I was a regular ball of fire!"
"Yeah?" I tell her. "When you were my age? When was that, 1776?" Well, that did it!
She gave me a pass and sent me down to the nurse's office.
Of course, it took me almost two hours to get there. After all, the visiting nurse's office is at the other end of the school, and the school is almost a whole city block long.
But I finally wound up standing right outside the nurse's office. I just couldn't put it off any longer, no matter how slow I tried to go I had already missed my swimming, math and English Lit class just walking from the Home Eco kitchen! After all, I never miss an excuse to get out of class! Like I said, that's the only reason I'm bothering with you, Doc.
You aren't any different than the rest of them.
So, as I was saying, there I am, just about to knock on the door of the visiting nurse's office, and it opens all by itself!
And standing there is just about the most beautiful woman I think I've ever seen. She was like a movie star or a Greek goddess or something fantastic like that.
I could hardly believe my eyes.
It took a real effort on my part not to forget my self-training and I almost expressed some interest.
But I caught myself in time and managed to look completely unimpressed and uninterested, although I was for a change.
How could I not be, no?
There she was, a blond goddess! It's not every day you come across a person who looks that good.
Why, she was so good looking she even looked good in those silly uniforms nurses have to wear.
"I saw your shadow on the door," she explained. "My name is Sandra Malinowski. Nurse Malinowski, if you please. Come in."
So in I walked.
But if I had known what she was going to do to me, once she locked the door behind her, I would never have gone in.
You can bet on that.
Because no sooner did I get in the room, and she starts reading a report on me, just like you were doing an hour ago.
And then she says, "Well, Margaret, it seems you're chronically sluggish and characteristically listless. But don't you worry about it. I have just the thing to fix that up!"
And you know what it was she had for me?
Oh, god, she had an enema! An enema!
I was so shocked I didn't hardly know what to do!
But then I realized that the hour was up, and I had to gently cut Margaret short, which I regretted having to do. But when you have a practice as successful as mine, you can only give each patient the allotted time, or nothing would ever get done, and I do believe in helping as many as possible.
INTERVIEW TWO
The next session, Margaret got to the office ten minutes late. I explained to her, firmly but gently, that that was wrong, not only because the school was paying for her treatment, but also because it gave her less time to tell me her story, which was essential if I was to be able to help her.
So, who cares? Like I told you, Doc, there isn't anything wrong with me. That's just the impression I give to keep people off my back!
But I couldn't keep Nurse Malinowski off my back! No way! I couldn't even keep her out of my ass!
I tried resisting her. Who wants an enema? Not me, that's for sure.
Not only that, but I didn't like the look in Nurse Malinowski's eyes, if you get what I mean. She was just too anxious to give me that enema, I can tell you that much without any doubt.
She was too devoted to her work, if you follow me.
And I wasn't about to be helping some one get their rocks off, even if that someone was a beautiful, blond, Greek goddess!
So I turned around and was headed for the door. It was the first time in years I moved so fast.
And I would have made it out, too. In fact, I almost did. But I wasn't used to the lock on the door, and by the time I got through fiddling with it, she was up from behind her desk and on me.
And I mean on me!
She was like a tiger or something. I didn't have a chance with her, none!
She grabbed my arm and twisted it around in back of me. It's called a half-nelson or something.
But, anyway, there I was ... going nowhere fast.
And she wrestled me over to the table. I tried getting away from her, but she was definitely stronger than me and, after experiencing the way she handles me, I realize she was well-trained, too.
"There's really no use struggling," Nurse Malinowski whispered in my ear.
The feeling of her hot breath tickled my ear. It felt real good, to tell the truth. I liked it.
But like I said, I wasn't about to co-operate with anybody who was so willing and anxious to give me an enema!
"Let go, you creep!" I shouted at her, and I meant it, too, no matter how beautiful she was.
And that she didn't like. No, she didn't like that at all!
She twisted my arm so hard, I thought she broke it. The pain was awful, just awful, and as she twisted it, I could definitely hear a lot of bones cracking, cracking, cracking.
It reminded me of old lady Sullivan's false teeth clicking the way they do, and suddenly I was feeling sick to my stomach.
And all the fight went out of me.
So I just let go and went completely limp and loose.
Which is just what Nurse Malinowski wanted, after all!
Because when I did go limp, she just tightened her grip on me, but then she was pressing her body against mine, all over, as much as she possibly could.
That was when I was convinced that she was doing more than just going about her business and doing her nurse's job.
There was just too much body contact, a lot more than was absolutely necessary.
I was thinking about kicking her in the leg or something, but then I thought better of it. After all, she had already surprised me with her strength, and her training was just as obvious.
Yeah, if Nurse Sandra Malinowski ever decided to get out of the medical field, she could definitely go into professional wrestling. And I'm sure she'd do very, very well at it!
"You're a very pretty girl, Margaret. YouVe got a nice body on you, very nice, indeed. And it is a shame that you are listless the way you are. When I'm through with you, you'll thank me for it."
So she grabbed my under by breasts and around the waist and literally carried me over to the examination table, lifted me up, and laid me down on it, all of it as if I didn't weigh more than a pound or two.
I was really worried, not to mention em harassed and hating what she was going to do to me, like it or not.
Like I say, she liked her work more than she had to.
Why, she was taking my clothes off me by herself.
Yes, she didn't even ask me to take them off myself. She just started right in on me, unbuttoning and unzipping and stripping me naked as if she had done the same thing to other girls a million times before.
And I'm sure she did!
I'm sure that's why she got into nursing in the first place! I'm sure that's why she went out of her way to get a job working in the junior high school and the high schools in the first place.
So she'd have a lot of opportunity and a lot of chance to handle as many young girls as she wanted to handle.
No, Doctor, don't tell me that maybe I'm imagining the whole thing!
If you could have seen the look in her eyes as she was stripping me naked, you would know what I'm talking about, and you would know what I'm telling you is nothing less than the truth.
Because each time she took another piece of my clothing off, her eyes got bigger and bigger. It was as if she was feasting on my nakedness, like some kind of weird sci-fi monster or something.
And I was completely at her mercy!
She was the official representative of the school, and there was no way I could resist her without getting into trouble.
Finally, it was over. I was completely naked in front of her.
And she just stood there towering over me, taking in the sight of me like she had all the time in the world.
Twice I tried to cover myself with my hands, placing them ... well, you can imagine where I placed them.
But ever time I tried to do that, she just reached down, took my hands firmly in hers, and moved them aside.
What she was interested in was as obvious as a fire engine. It didn't take a genius to know what interested her most.
Then Nurse Malinowski said, "You know, Margaret, someday soon I think I'm going to have to give you a complete physical examination. A very, very complete and thorough and extensive examination."
I didn't say anything or move at all, not a hair or anything.
Like I said, I wasn't going to co-operate with her sneaky pleasure in any way at all, not if I could help it.
Then she sighed deeply. I think she was disappointed that I didn't somehow respond or anything.
Like I said, I know I'm good-looking. I've been told that a million times by a million different people. I'm what's known as very well developed for my age.
Just look at me! Look at the way I'm put together. Great, eh?
Well, my motto is: Let 'em suffer! And that includes you, too, Doc. So don't get any funny ideas in your head!
But where was I?
Oh, yeah, Nurse Malinowski was sighing over and over and over again. She had her crotch pressed up against my arm, so I moved it away, pulled it off the edge of the examination table and rested it across my waist.
And that must have annoyed her, because Nurse Malinowski then said, "Very well, then, Margaret. Well just have to proceed with the enema right here and now without any further ado."
Still I didn't move. Being totally passive is a very good way to make people have to come right out and be honest with themselves and have them say exactly what it is that's on their mind.
Being passive makes them have to face themselves without any kidding around. And that is what people hate about me and my method.
It forces them to face their own thoughts.
And they do not want to.
So Nurse Malinowski finally had to say it herself! Ha!
"Turn over, Margaret. Roll over on your stomach and let's see what we've got to work with."
So I rolled over like she said to, and I settled down on my stomach.
I didn't want to give her any more excuse for twisting my arm again. It still hurt like hell from the first twisting she gave it.
"Yes, very nice!" was all she said when she looked at my bare ass.
Very nice, ha! As if I didn't know it was very nice. I didn't need her to tell me that, no way.
In fact, it told me more about her than it did about me myself.
It told me that she was hot for my ass, that's what it told me!
And she wasted no time getting what she wanted.
She marched over to the supply cabinet like a WAC and she pulled a huge enema bag out of the place where it was stored.
The size of it shocked me. It looked like the feedbag for a horse or something.
"It's the family size," Nurse Malinowski said out loud, as if she was reading my mind.
I tell you she scared me!
Anyhow, she looked at her big, white wristwatch and she must have decided there was no more time to waste, because she did just what she had threatened to do and filled the big up with water.
Filled it up right to the top, too!
God, I was wondering how I'd ever be able to hold so much water inside me. There must have been four or five quarts of water filling up into that great, big enema big of hers.
Five quarts at least! Shit!
Then she added something else to the water, a liquid of some kind, I don't know what it was.
Next, she fastened the bag to a stand next to the examination table and lubricated the nozzle of the thing with some kind of clear looking grease or something. I don't know what, but you do, Doc, so I guess that makes no difference, does it.
"Spread your legs apart, Margaret. It will make matters easier for both of us," Nurse Malinowski said.
Even without looking at her, I could hear the pleasure and satisfaction in her voice when she talked.
But I did what she told me, anyhow. God, it was so embarrassing and humiliating, I almost died.
"No, Margaret," Nurse Malinowski said again. Boy, she really sounded happy then. I guess she was really getting off on it.
I hated giving her any pleasure at all, but what could I do about it? Boy, talk about being used!
"You have to spread you legs a lot wider than that!" she told me. And then she just reached down and grabbed my ankles in her big, strong hands and spread my legs apart as far as they would go!
And then she walked across the room, picked up a big, thick pillow, came back and shoved it underneath my crotch.
And you can imagine what I felt like and how I looked with my big, beautiful ass sticking way up in the air like that!
Boy, was she ever using me.
And, then, without any further ado, to use one of her favorite words, she stuck that nasty enema tip into me and I almost jumped off the table!
Oh, I hated the feeling of that thing as it was shoved into me!
I hated the feeling of it as she shoved it down deep into me as far as the darned thing could go!
I hated the way she wiggled it around and around and around as if she were trying to locate it properly, as if she were trying to place it just-so, if you know what I mean by that!
Yeah, well, I knew perfectly well that wiggling it around inside me like that, over and over and over again, was totally and completely unnecessary.
She was just doing that to get her own kicks!
I know! I know!
A sixteen year old can be plenty smart! And I'm about as smart as they come, Doctor. I can tell you that much!
I may be only sixteen, but I sure do know when I'm getting fucked in the ass, enema or no enema!
CONCLUSION
After speaking with Margaret for two office sessions, I concluded that I still didn't have enough facts to decide whether or not she was simply twisting facts around in her imagination or if, as she said, she had actually been abused.
I recommended that she come back and see me a week later so as to be able to determine the exact nature of her case.
CASE HISTORY THREE
Subject: Alexandria McB. Age: 14
INTERVIEW ONE
Alexandria McB was about as lovely and charming a young girl as a person could ever hope to meet. She was as delicate as a spring flower, and I felt personally sorry for her because of the terrible thing that she had had to endure as so young and impressionable an age.
Oh, Doctor, I ... I just don't know how to tell you about ... about what happened to me. But Mommie and Daddie and the Police said I should try and be brave and try to tell you what happened ... so I guess I will.
You ... you won't repeat this to anybody, will you?
Oh, I'm so glad, because I'd just die if everybody knew!
Mommie and Daddie and everybody who does know have been real nice and they've promised me not to say anything about it.
And so you can understand how I feel, but since you say you won't repeat anything either, well ... then I will tell you.
Yes, I will tell you all about it.
But, then ... then I never want to talk about it again, never.
And I won't.
I don't care who asks me.
Mommie and Daddy say I'll have to tell the lawyer and then the Judge and some other people about it, too.
Someday soon, they say.
But I won't!
I just won't, that's all!
And they can't make me, no they can't! I don't care who 'has' to know! I'm just not going to say another word about it to anybody ever again, and I don't care what anybody has to say.
And that includes Mommie and Daddy and you, too.
So! Well! It ... it all started last week, on Friday afternoon.
That was the day of the big snow storm. You remember that? Well, that was the afternoon it ... it happened.
School let out and the place was almost deserted.
Except for ... him!
He was still there!
But everybody else was gone! The school usually does empty out pretty fast when it closes, especially on a Friday.
Everybody is in a big hurry to get their weekend started.
Plus last Friday was the night of the big football game, so it was especially quiet that day.
You see, I know because I'm in charge of the chalk-art.
Oh, don't you know what that is?
Well, in Annie Bell's ... er, Miss Patterson's homeroom, there's a big blackboard on the side of the wall opposite the window.
And that blackboard is always used for the chalk-art. They're big murals that take up the whole board.
And that's what I'm in charge of, because I'm ... well, I'm the best artist in the class.
I really love art!
I like all kinds of art. Mommie and Daddy even let me have special art lessons three times a week.
I study with Mr. William J. Killengrew. He's got a lot of his work on display in museums and in galleries and in places like that.
He's already a real artist.
And I am his student. I'm the best student he has, he says.
And, well ... anyway, I'm in charge of drawing the weekly mural on the blackboard.
Every week we have a different theme, and I draw it.
There are certain holiday themes and special subject-matter themes, like space travel and undersea life and that sort of thing.
That Friday the theme was winter sports and I was really looking forward to doing the mural.
It was going to be my best, my absolute best so far.
Because Mommie and Daddy and I spent two weeks in Aspen the week before and I could still see the beautiful mountains and the beautiful snow and I was just so very, very inspired!
So I didn't mind that the school was empty and that I was the only one left in the place. In fact, it was all the better for me. That way no one would come around and distract me.
Art is very demanding, you know. And once the artist is interrupted, sometimes it's very, very hard for me to get started again.
So there I was, all alone and ready to begin.
I was so pleased and excited I was actually trembling.
You know how it is.
Sometimes happiness can be a thing that has to be endured, too.
Yes, I'm just fourteen. Why do you ask, Doctor.
Oh, you think I'm mature for my age?
Why, thank you! I guess maybe you're right. I am mature for my age.
So where was I? Oh, yes!
I was just getting ready to start the week's chalk-art mural.
The basic outline was already up on the board.
I had made a kind of basic sketch during the recess periods during the week.
Annie Bell ... er, Miss Patterson lets me do that.
She's real nice to me. She says she thinks I have talent, too, and she does everything she can to encourage me.
I love Miss Patterson.
I want to be just like her when I grow up. She's beautiful!
Anyhow, I was all ready to begin.
But then I noticed that there wasn't any chalk! None at all!
Usually, it's left right out on the ledge in front of the blackboard, all the colors and as much of it as I need.
But someone must have cleaned it up or something, I don't know, but it was certainly gone, all right.
And I needed it!
There was no way to work without it! How can you have chalk-art without chalk?
Well, when I couldn't find that chalk I was really disappointed.
Miss Patterson would be disappointed, too. And so would all the other kids in the class.
We all looked forward to the chalk-murals.
It had become a regular thing with everybody, and now-because the chalk was missing-everybody would just have to do with last week's mural staying on the blackboard for two weeks instead of the usual time!
I didn't know what to do.
So I looked through Miss Patterson's desk, hoping I'd find some chalk to work with.
But there wasn't any there either.
And I was just about ready to give up and call the whole thing off. What more was there to do?
And then Mr. MacDonald showed up. Honestly, he scared me. One minute I was alone in the room, and the next minute there he was, standing right there next to me.
He was as quiet as a cat!
All the kids were afraid of him, the way he stared at us was the reason why.
Yes, he had a terrible habit of just staring at you instead of looking at you like a normal, ordinary person.
I guess some of the kids had even complained about him, but the teachers and the principal and all the adults just ignored the complaints.
And I guess they were right.
After all, Mr. MacDonald didn't actually ever do anything to anybody.
He just made all of us nervous.
"What are you looking for, little Miss?" he asked me, staring like he always did in that sort of crazy way of his.
"Why, I ... I'm just looking for the colored chalk. I do the murals after school every week, and I can't find the chalk. It seems to have just disappeared," I told him.
I really didn't even want to talk with him.
But I couldn't very well just ignore Mr. MacDonald.
It wouldn't have been polite.
And then he said, "Yes, I know you stay after SGhool every Friday, don't you?"
That surprised me.
I had never noticed him around before, but I guess he was there all right.
It was only logical.
I mean, he was the janitor.
And the janitor would have to stay late in the school when everybody else was gone. It only made sense.
"And I like your pretty pictures," Mr. MacDonald then told me.
He was staring harder and stranger then he usually did.
He seemed to be getting worse and worse every year.
All the kids said so.
And now, thinking about it, I wish ... I wish they had fired him a long time ago, even if it would have been unfair.
Then ... then he wouldn't have ... have raped me!
Well, there it was! Poor, little Alexandria McB finally got around to actually saying what had happened to her. But, unfortunately, the hour was already up and I had to call her narrative to an end, much to my own grief. But there was no avoiding it. Other patients were waiting, and they had their problems, too.
INTERVIEW TWO
Of course, at the next session, Alexandria was on time. That didn't surprise me. But what did surprise me was that she was early! Not only that, but she seemed anxious to talk, to continue telling me her story. It was a promising change from the hesitation she had demonstrated the week before. I was very encouraged by her apparent change of heart.
Well, Doctor, I've been thinking a lot since we last met and talked.
And, of course, Mommie and Daddy and I have had a lot of talks, too.
And I've decided that I'll tell you my story in all the details I can think of and remember.
I want to tell you everything.
Now I want all the facts to come out.
You want to know why I've changed my mind? Well, I'll be more than glad to tell you.
It's Mr. MacDonald. I want the poor old man to get some professional help, just like I'm getting.
And one sure, good way to see to it that he gets the help he needs is to be sure he goes to jail for what he did to me!
Yes, to jail with him!
And I hope he stays there for a long, long, long time!
I mean, he deserves all the help he can get, doesn't he? He should definitely get what he's got coming to him. That's what both Mommie and Daddy say about it.
And I agree with them!
That way Mr. MacDonald won't do to other poor children what he did to me! He won't be able to.
Not if he's locked up good and tight and getting the proper medical attention he so richly deserves.
Doctor, it makes me happy to know that Mr. MacDonald is going to get what he deserves, yes it really makes me happy.
Because ... remember where I was last week with my story?
Well, it was just at about the point where I was ready to go and get my coat and go home when Mr. MacDonald suddenly told me that he had some chalk down in his workroom in the basement.
And he wanted me to go with him to go get it.
I said I didn't want to, Doctor! But he wouldn't accept that, no he wouldn't!
He said he was too busy to go down there and come back with the chalk, and that if I didn't want to bother to go with him and that if I was too lazy to make even that small an effort, then he wasn't about to make any effort for it either, because he was busier and older than I was.
So I went with him.
Oh, I wish I hadn't!
I should have known better, but ... but it was too late then.
Like Daddy says, ... there's no use crying over spilt milk! Oh, I wish he wouldn't say that!
I don't like being spilt milk!
No, no, Doctor ... it's ... it's all right! I'll stop crying.
Just give me a minute.
I know ... I know I can't cry and talk at the same time.
There! There, I'm better now.
Well, anyhow I went with Mr. McDonald out of Miss Patterson's room, down the hall, over to the exit door near the principal's office and down into the gloom and dark and funny smell of the basement.
Gee, it was really scarey and spooky.
But I decided to be brave and went on with him anyhow.
I really wanted that chalk.
At last we got to a part of the basement that was so dark, I couldn't see anything.
Not a thing. It was pitch black.
And Mr. MacDonald was gone!
He had just disappeared. Just like the chalk.
And then I was really scared!
Why, I wasn't even able to find my way back to the door that lead down into the basement, the door next to the principal's office.
I didn't know what to do.
So I just stood there ... trembling and scared out of my wits, not knowing what to do or where to turn or how to behave or anything.
It was awful!
It was just like a terrible, terrible nightmare. But it wasn't a nightmare, not at all. It was real!
Then I heard a frightful sound! It was laughter!
Someone was laughing in the dark! Yes!
Oh, I tell you, Doctor, the hair stood up on the back of my neck!
I almost fainted with shock and fear and the terrible thought that something awful was going to happen to me and there was no way I could get away or call for help or anything at all!
And then the laughing got louder and even stranger sounding than it had been!
"Mr. MacDonald! Mr. MacDonald! I remember crying out to him. "Please! I'm scared! Somebody turned the lights off and I can't see anything and we must have got separated or something? Won't you please come and get me and take me back up stairs now?"
But there was no answer to my pleas. Just that insane, quiet, intense laughing going madly on and on and on and on, over and over again like a broken record.
Or a broken mind!
And then his hands were on me!
Oh, it was awful, terrible!
"Now I've got you, little Miss!" he said to me!
I knew it was Mr. MacDonald because I could recognise his voice and the very definite sound of his accent.
"Please...." I cried out, almost out of my mind with fear and ... disgust.
Yes, disgust!
Because he was taking my clothes off! Not all of them, no. Just my skirt!
He had hooked his old, dirty fingers into the waistband of my skirt and was slowly, horribly pulling it down!
"Oh, please don't, Mr. MacDonald! Please don't do that! Let me go! Just let me go, won't you please! I won't tell anybody! I won't say a word, honest I won't! Just let me go and I'll never tell anybody! Never!
Nobody!"
But he didn't let me go!
He just laughed in my face!
Literally! He just laughed in my face!
And when he did that, I could smell his bad breath and I could smell the cheap wine on his breath and I could smell his rotten teeth!
Oh, it was so horrible and so disgusting!
I wished I was dead!
Or I wished he would die! Yes, I wished he would die! Oh!
And by then he had my skirt pulled completely off my body!
I don't know what he did with it. I guess he just threw it aside. As I told you, it was pitch dark in the basement and I couldn't see a thing, nothing at all.
Maybe I was lucky that way, I don't know!
Or maybe it made the whole thing even worse!
But by then he was pulling my panties off!
God, yes, he was pulling my panties off my body and laughing and giggling all the time he was doing it.
I wanted to scream then!
I wanted to strike out at him and beat him with my fists and scratch him with my fingernails and kick him and hurt him and make him ... make him ... force him to let me go!
But I couldn't move!
Oh, god, I was frozen stiff with fear and horror and disgust!
And that was frightening too, because I didn't know what was happening to me.
I imagined all sorts of things about that.
I thought maybe I was having a stroke or a heart attack or something.
I didn't know. I just didn't know, and that made it even worse. It added even more to the terrible things Mr. MacDonald was doing to me!
"Oh, that's a nice little miss!" Mr. MacDonald was saying.
He was saying it over and over and over again!
"Oh, that's a nice little miss!"
And all the time he kept repeating himself insanely, he was touching me ... touching me ... all over!
You know what I mean, Doctor?
He was touching me ... here ... in front!
He was touching me ... here ... in back!
Oh, I still remember his horrible, old hands touching me and pawing me like I was some kind of animal or ... some kind of unfeeling piece of meat or something!
And then ... and then ... I could ... f eel ... something ... ru bbing in between ... my legs!
It was Mr. MacDonald's ... it was his ... it ... oh, you know what it was, don't you?! Don't make me say it!
His ... penis! There! Yes, there! I said it! It was his horrible penis!
And he had it between my legs!
He was rubbing it back and forth, back and forth in between my legs, over and over and over again, just rubbing and rubbing and rubbing, mindlessly, insanely, stupidly, not caring that I was going crazy with fear and disgust.
Oh, god, it was terrible, Doctor!
If only it had stopped there!
That, in itself, was terrible and awful enough to have to endure!
But he didn't stop there!
No, he did even more, and now I WANT to tell you ALL about it, Doctor.
I want to tell you and the police and the judge and any and everybody else who will listen to it all about it, every single detail, because I want Mr. MacDonald to get to jail and suffer as much as possible!
I want him hurt!
I want him to hurt and suffer and be as unhappy as he made me!
I want dear, old, sweet, crazy Mr. MacDonald to spend the last years of his life in total and complete and unending suffering!
I want the rest of his disgusting life on the surface of this beautiful planet to be a horrible and disgusting thing for him!
I want him to be put in a big cage like the ugly, disgusting animal he is and I want him to rot there!
I want him to be put away and I want him to spend the rest of his days there!
And I hope he has a long, long, long, long life!
I hope he sets a new world's record for living, and I hope he spends each and ever one of his disgusting days in prison, were he belongs!
Then hell know what it's like to hurt!
Then hell know what it's like to be frightened out of your wits and be afraid that you'll never see the sun again, never feel the wind on your face again, never be free to walk around and enjoy nature when you feel like it!
I know that sounds vicious and mean, Doctor, but do you know what he did to me then?
Do you?
No? Well, then, I'll tell you, yes I will. I'll tell you all right.
Then, when Daddy and Mommie and I go to court, you can come with us and you can tell the judge and jury all about it, and maybe you can help make things worse for nasty old Mr.
MacDonald!
Well, okay, here it is!
After he took my panties off, he just laid me down on the ground, there in the basement.
There were some dirty old smelly rags or something like that on the ground. Maybe they were old newspapers, I don't know for sure.
But they smelled of gasoline and maybe cleaning fluids and filth.
And then, when he had me on that pile of evil-smelling filth, then he pulled my legs apart as far as they would go, and then he crawled between them!
Not ... not with his ... with his ... penis, no.
But with his head!
God, what a creep he was!
No, wait, that's wrong! What a creep he is!
Does a man like him deserve to live, Doctor?
I mean, shouldn't they Mil a man like that? I mean, a man who would do what he did to a girl ... shouldn't they just ... kill a man like that?
Electrocute him, maybe? Or hang him? Or maybe ... oh, how should I say it?
Maybe ... de-man him?
You know what I mean?
Shouldn't they take a filthy, evil, old man who does things like that and ... cut him up?
Shouldn't they fix him so he couldn't do things like that anymore?
Well, anyhow, there he was! With me laid out on the floor not able to move so much as a single muscle!
And then ... then he started ... licking me!
Down there! You know, down there!
In between my legs! That's where he started licking me with his filthy tongue.
He ran that horrible, disgusting, old tongue of his up and down, up and down in between my legs!
And then he ... then he rolled me over on my stomach!
Yes, he rolled me over on my stomach like some kind of nightmarish ragdoll!
And I lay there completely exposed and completely helpless!
And I could feel his hands touching my bottom.
He was rubbing my bottom with his hands, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing!
And then he was rubbing my bottom with his ... his penis!
I could feel the awful thing rubbing against my cheeks!
It was long and thick, I think, and it was hot and kind of silky feeling!
And he rubbed it all over my cheeks until my cheeks started getting all sticky with his ... his fluids!
His fluids were getting all over my cheeks!
I was all sticky and soaking wet with his disgusting fluids and I was going crazy!
And I screamed!
I screamed!
My voice came back to me suddenly and suddenly I could hear myself screaming and screaming and screaming!
And then, and then I ... I saw the lights going on!
And there was Mr. Custer, the school policeman. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and he just couldn't seem to believe his eyes!
And then Mr. Carver ran right up and hit Mr. MacDonald! And I was happy!
Oh, I was so happy that Mr. Carver was hitting Mr. MacDonald!
Yes! Yes!
"Hit him, Mr. Carver! Hit him! Kill him!"
And Mr. Carver heard me and he hit Mr. MacDonald with his big, heavy nightstick!
He hit him over and over and over again!
And Mr. MacDonald started bleeding!
The blood was pouring from his disgusting, filthy, old head and the blood was like a river, it was streaming out of him in hot jets.
And I was screaming, "Hit him! Hit him!"
CONCLUSION
Well, after that second session with Alexandria, I knew full well that we would definitely need many, many more of them. The violence of her hatred for the old man who abused her was all out of proportion to what actually happened. And I knew the going would be difficult because Alexandria's parents were encouraging her extreme judgment of a man who was not so much a diehard criminal as an old fool!
CASE HISTORY FOUR
Subject: Elizabeth Ann A. Age: 14
INTERVIEW ONE
Elizabeth Ann was a very pretty girl, fresh and wholesome looking. Her smile could melt the heart of a polar bear, so winning was it. That's why it struck me as rather ironical when she started telling me about the strange way she was treated by the dentist that visited her school and "worked" on her as a part of a special service-project sponsored in the system by the Federal Government!
Well, Doctor, my people don't have much money.
I guess you know from your experience that my school is in a poor neighborhood in the city.
So I can tell you how happy everybody in the family was when we found out that the government was going to use our school for a special project and that all us kids who were lucky enough to be going to that special school were going to get free dental work and everything!
And me, I got nice teeth.
I know I do. I take real good care of them, like Mr. Harness, our Body Care teacher, taught us .
See? Aren't my teeth nice? I told you they were!
Anyhow, Mr. Harness, the Body Care teacher, was always talking about how it was real important for the good health of teeth to have the care and attention of a real good dentist.
And on a regular basis, too!
But that left me and the rest of the kids right out there in the cold.
Because my parents could never in a million years afford to send any of us to the dentist for any kind of work or attention of any kind.
And on a regular basis was just a regular joke!
Why, it was like telling us a trip to the moon would be good for our geography lessons.
And just as impossible and out of the question.
Anyhow, that was all changed when that Federal program was brought to our school, and I was just as happy as a rich junkie behind that one!
I could hardly wait!
Not that I thought there was anything wrong with my teeth.
Or with my gums, for that matter.
But like Mr. Harness said ... it's better to be save than it is to be sorrowful!
He also said, "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure!"
Yes, Mr. Harness has a million of those kinds of sayings. And the amazing thing is they're all of them real good sayings!
I just can't imagine how he thinks all of them up! But, then, he's a real smart man.
But then he as to be, or he wouldn't be our Body Care teacher, would he!
Anyhow, the day for my very own appointment with the dentist was getting nearer and nearer and nearer.
He was already there in the school working.
But my turn wasn't due yet.
But I already had talked with some of the kids who had been sent down to see him, and I had already found out his name.
His name was Mr. Mazlow.
Or I should say his name is Mr. Mazlow. After all, he's still among the living!
Well, there I was, counting off the days in the calendar I got pasted to the back of my big notebook.
Four days left! I was getting jittery with waiting!
Three days left! I couldn't hardly sit still in my seat with looking forward to it!
Two days left! Mr. Harness said that if I didn't calm down and try to behave like a lady instead of a barn animal with ticks he'd have to tie me down in my chair and just leave me there.
Then just one day left!
I don't know how I ever got through that day! Mr. Harness actually got real mad at me for squirming around and being so jittery and all, but I just couldn't help it, Doctor, I just couldn't!
And then the day got there!
Oh, it was just like Christmas day or your birthday finally getting there after you've been waiting and waiting and waiting for it to come along and happen!
Wow! Was I ever excited!
But the long wait still wasn't over with!
Wasn't that just my luck? Sometimes I have the worst luck in the whole school, I just know that's true.
I'll tell you what I mean!
I mean, the kids in my particular Body Care class were supposed to go first that day, way ahead of everybody else in the school.
And I was to be the first in our particular class!
That meant I was gonna be the very first student in the whole school to get to go see the visiting Federal government dentist that day!
But for some reason, I don't know the reason and I don't know why and nobody every bothered to explain it to us ... but for some reason it was all changed around.
And was I wrecked!
Oh, I got so nervous!
After all the waiting and wanting to get on with it and everything! After all that, I still had to wait!
And it wasn't just wait that morning, either! No!
I had to wait all morning and all afternoon, too!
I sat there waiting from lunch time on, right through History and Math II and Civics and our afternoon Homeroom!
Yeah, I was really going crazy with waiting.
I thought my turn would never come!
Because I figured the dentist would take one look at my teeth and have nothing but good things to say about me.
And that would be real nice because, well, I'm just what you call an average student and I don't get many compliments in any of my classes.
Except in Body Care class.
That's the one thing I do real good in!
And so, you can see, I had all kinds of good reason for being anxious to go and see the visiting dentist.
And finally my Homeroom teacher, Miss Abigail Smith, she says, "Elizabeth Ann, I just got word for the office, and they say there's still time for the dentist to see one more student before he closes up the office for the day."
I just sat there in my seat hoping to hear some good word from Miss Smith. Of course, I knew she was on my side, but you know how messed up things can get in school.
Most of the teachers don't know what they're doing.
And sometimes even the one's who do have half a brain and really do want to help can't help because of some silly rule or other.
But Miss Smith went on and said, "So the note says the student from my class can wait and see the dentist tomorrow morning, first thing, or the student can go now, even though that might mean the student will probably wind up having to stay after the regular school hours for a little bit. That depends on the condition of the student's teeth and what the dentist has to do."
Sometimes the way Miss Smith talks just drives me crazy!
She takes all day to say the easiest thing, and she never calls you by your name, or almost never does, anyhow.
You know what I mean?
All that stuff about the student and, of course, she was talking about me, naturally!
She was looking right at me the whole time she was talking, after all!
And I've been in her Homeroom class for two whole years now!
Anyhow, Miss Smith finally said, "Well, Elizabeth Ann? What do you have to say about that. Would you like to wait until the first thing tomorrow morning to go for your initial visit with the visiting dentist, or would you rather just get up and go on ahead right now?"
"Now, Miss Smith!" I told her. "I'd rather go right now, if it's all right with you and everything."
"Well, it's all right with me," Miss Smith said. "But as I already explained, student who goes to the dentist now might well wind up staying a little after the regular school hours."
"I don't mind that!" I said, half going crazy with her slow, stupid way of stretching everything out when she talks.
"You don't mind that?" she says back to me?
You know, Doctor, sometimes you can even hate the people you like most of the time?
I think I was hating poor Miss Smith right then.
But, anyhow, I said, "No, Miss Smith, I don't mind!"
"Very well, then, Elizabeth Ann, you may be excused from the rest of Homeroom and go and see the dentist."
And I was off!
I put my books away, straightened up my desk, and was up and out of my seat and out the door all before you could say Linus Pauling for President!
All the way down the hall, I was skipping.
I felt just like a kid!
Lucky, classes were still in session and I don't think anybody saw me skipping down the hall like a ten year old!
Oh, that would have been embarrassing!
I mean, I'm a big girl for my age, don't you think so, Doctor?
Just look at me! Why, I've got the almost perfect shape for a woman, not a girl.
I guess, that's why I'm not the all-A type of student.
It really isn't that important for my future.
I mean, with a shape like the one I've already got at my age, there isn't going to be any problem with my getting married and settling down with some real, nice, groovy guy and living happily every after.
Yeah, I'm going to have six kids and a regular little cottage with a white picket fence with ivy growing all over it, just like in the movies.
So why should I break my head studying hard all the time?
A lot of real, nice guys don't care much for women who are too smart or bookish, anyhow.
So why turn them off even before you begin, get it?
All I have to do to get a man feeling good is to get him looking at me and then smile at him!
See? See how your face lighted all up when I smiled at you?
Okay, that's what I mean.
Anyhow, as I skipped down the hall and got closer and closer and closer to the dentist's office at the far end of Wing C of the High School, I noticed that the door to his office was open.
So I slowed down to about thirty miles an hour and zipped right on in through the door!
And I guess I scared the dentist, or something!
He had his back turned to me when I walked in and he seemed to be jumping around in an odd little way.
At first, I was shocked!
I mean, at first when I walked in that way I thought maybe he was ... well, you know ... 'playing with himself."
Gee, look at me! I'm blushing!
But you want me to tell you about it, don't you?
Okay, then, I'll go on.
It was like I said. You see, Doctor, I've got three little brother at home, so I know what boys do to themselves ... to feel good., that way.
But our father doesn't live at home with us, so I've never seen a grown up man doing ... that ... to himself.
And, besides, I wasn't even sure that that was what he was doing.
It just sort of seemed to me that that was what he was probably doing.
Anyhow, I didn't know what to do.
So I just stood there for a second or two and kind of waited for him to notice me standing there or something.
Or maybe he would just get tired of what he was doing and just stop doing it.
But he didn't get tired, not at all!
His head and elbow just kept bobbing up and down, up and down, back and forth, back and forth.
And so I ... coughed.
And, boy, did that get to him!
The dentist jumped about three feet in the air!
And even before his feet landed back on the ground, he had got himself zipped up again!
I know that because I heard the zipper when he slammed it shut.
Boy, I thought I was fast. I mean, I thought I moved fast, like when I walk or do something.
But he was like a greased pig, as the saying goes.
It was all over with in a second.
And then he turned to face me, as if nothing at all had happened.
I tell you, that dentist had nerves of steel, all right. He was a real, cool character of the first class. Then he said to me, "And who are you, may I ask?"
His smile was there on his face, all right, but it looked real fishy. Like he had just got away with something real sneaky and was proud to have got away with it, you know that kind of look; So I told him, "I'm Elizabeth Ann. Miss Smith told me to come down and see you, and that I would be your last student for the day, and that you might keep me tied up a little longer than the regular school hours.
"Yes, well that is right. That is quite right. You Miss Smith must be a mind reader. That's just what I'm going to do, Elizabeth Ann. Please come over here and sit in my chair!"
So I did. But I tell you straight out, Doctor, I sure wish I didn't.
I should have just turned around and walked right out!
But I didn't!
After all, he was the dentist. I thought all he was going to look at was my mouth. Boy, was I ever wrong about that one!
So there it was again! It happened often. Just as one of my young patients would get to the most interesting parts of their story, the hour would run out. Oh, well, the first session is important in that it helps the patient start to feel comfortable with me, comfortable enough to speak freely and frankly.
INTERVIEW TWO
A week later, and Elizabeth Ann was sitting in the chair she had occupied seven days earlier. Well, maybe 'sitting' isn't quite the right word. She was almost as hyperactive as she was young. And she was very, very young, despite her fully developed woman's body.
So there I was, Doctor, sitting in. the Dentist's chair, at last!
I was so happy I was almost busting with happiness.
And the dentist seemed to notice it.
"You squirm around a lot, Elizabeth Ann. Is there something wrong with you? Are you ill?"
"Oh, no, I feel fine," I told him. "In fact, I feel real, real good. You wouldn't believe how good I'm feeling!"
But that didn't seem to satisfy him good enough.
"Ah, Elizabeth Ann ... I don't know how to ask this, but ... maybe the best thing to do would to be direct. Do you mind if I ask you a rather direct question?
I said I didn't
"Ah, well, then," the dentist paused. "Do you have ... lice ... or anything like that on your body?"
"Lice? Oh, no, sir! We're a very clean family!"
"Then why do you wiggle and squirm so much, Elizabeth Ann? You're in constant motion, even while you're sitting. How do you explain that?"
"Why, Mr. ... gee, I don't know your name, Sir." I realized that and said it to him right out.
"Mazlow. Richard W. Mazlow," the dentist told me. He was carefully buttoning the long white, cotton coat he was wearing.
So then I answered his question about did I ever sit still. I said, "Did Marilyn Monroe ever sit? I mean, sit still?!"
"Maybe she did in the dentist's chair, Elizabeth Ann," Dr. Mazlow explained, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his long, white coat.
"Well, did you ever watch those old movies on television, Dr. Mazlow? Did Betty Hutton ever sit still?" I asked him.
"I don't think I can work on you with all that wiggling and squirming and twitching of yours," he said.
His hands were working furiously in the pockets of his long, white coat.
And I ... I was getting desperate!
"And what about Carmen Miranda?!" I almost shouted.
I wanted him to look and my teeth and work on them if they needed work, but how could I stop moving and sit still?
I can't! For me, that's impossible!
That's when the dentist said he could work on me only if he could tie me down into the chair.
"Tie me down?" I asked, really surprised.
I know I move around a lot, but the idea that he had to tie me down was pretty much. Too much, I thought.
But what could I do? I wanted him to look at my teeth so badly!
So I agreed that the dentist could tie me down.
And he jumped right to it!
In a flash, he reached into his big, leather bag of instruments and pulled out a big, fat roll of heavy twine.
He wrapped it around and around and around my forearms and tied them securely to the arms of the modern, dentist's chair.
Then he did the same thing with my feet. He wrapped the twine around and around until I couldn't move them at all!
And then he did the same thing with my neck!
He took the twine and tied my neck to that platform thing that holds the patient's head up. You know what it's like.
It's like the headrest in a car. That thing. Well, he tied me to it by the neck.
And it was then, Doctor, that I started getting worried!
After all, there I was, helpless as a kitten!
And school had already let out!
I knew that because as the dentist and I had been talking, the recess bells had rung and I heard the thousands of kids in the school rushing for the exits.
You know how much noise Junior High School kids make when the school day ends and they're all running off!
But what really got me worried was when the dentist walked over to the door of his office and locked it!
I mean, he locked it good and tight!
There were two locks on the door, and he used both of them. Then he put the chain across the door, too!
And then he turned the lights in the office off!
And I was really, really scared!
"Doctor Maslov...." I started to say, but I didn't get a chance to finish.
"Shut up, you twitching pest!" he shouted at me.
And he slapped me!
He slapped me hard, right in the face!
I started to cry, but he put his hands over my mouth, standing behind me.
He had my nostrils covered, too, and I couldn't breathe! I was choking on my own tears and lack of air!
And he said, "If you don't stop crying and keep your mouth shut good and tight, I'll get my instruments out and tear your god-damned tongue out of your fucking, god-damned mouth!"
And then he held my mouth and nostrils closed with just one hand, and with the other he reached down in front of me and started unbuttoning my blouse!
And pretty soon he had me completely unbuttoned and then he pulled the blouse open and he started playing with my ... with my titties!
At first, he just touched them, and it didn't feel too bad.
In fact, it felt good. His touch was like the touch of feathers, just a gentle, very brushing with the very tips of his fingers.
But then he started rubbing them harder and harder and harder.
By that time my nipples, which had started getting hard, were real hard.
They were standing straight out from my body. I knew that even though it was perfectly dark in the office.
I could feel that they were hard.
And then Dr. Mazlow said, "Let's put some light on this subject and see what the fuck we've got here!"
And he turned on that high-powered lamp the dentists use while working on their patients.
The light was so bright it was blinding.
It was so bright I couldn't see past it. Everything that was past and beyond the powerful bulb in the lamp couldn't been seen, that's all.
But the dentist could see me perfectly, of course.
That's why he turned the big, powerful lights on in the first place! So he could see me, but I wouldn't be able to see him.
And then ... then he started doing terrible things to my titties!
He started pinching the nipples real hard!
Of course, they were already hard and because of that they were very, very sensitive. Just the slightest touch would drive me crazy.
But he wasn't just touching me then, no he wasn't!
He was pinching both of them as hard as he could, both at the same time.
And I was squirming around in the chair because of the terrible pain he was causing me!
And that made him more and more excited.
I guess the more he hurt me, the more fun he got.
I had heard about people like him, people who get their kicks from hurting others.
But I never dreamed that about Dr. Mazlow! After all, he was a dentist!
He was devoted to medicine, to keeping people in good health and in good condition.
"Yeah, nice!" he say every once in a while.
But he didn't let up on hurting me, not even for a second. Every second I spent in that room with him, once he got me tied to that chair, was time spent hurting and in terrible pain!
I got to wishing I didn't have any titties, because if I didn't have any, he wouldn't be able to hurt me anymore!
And that's what made me the most angry with him. He got me to hating my own body for the first time in my life.
And what is that, anyhow? Imagine, hating your own body!
What an evil way that is to get somebody thinking about their own flesh and blood!
But he did it!
That's what he did to my head, to my idea about myself and my body.
And for that, I will never forgive him.
And I will never forget what he did to me. You can't just forget a thing like that!
So, Doctor, that's basically the story.
Oh, he did some other things to me. He used some horrible clamps on my titties, too.
He even leaned over the arm of the chair and started biting them!
And that was terrible, too!
I mean, to sit there tied to the chair and not be able to do anything about it!
It was awful sitting there and watching the back of his head bob up and down, up and down, around and around as he bit my titties all over and over and over again, until they were nothing but two globes of hurt and pain!
And I guess I'd still be there if it weren't for the guard, Mr. Morris.
By that time the dentist was playing with himself with one hand while he tortured me with the other.
He had opened his long, white gown and had unzipped his pants and was playing with himself as he tightened the clamps he put on my titties.
Of course, I couldn't see him doing those things, but I could hear what was going on.
I heard him zip his pants down!
I heard him playing with himself. I heard the slap of his hand against his flesh as he got more and more excited.
I could hear his groans, because he had started groaning, louder and louder.
At first, when Mr. Morris broke in on us and saved me, I thought maybe it had been the groaning that had caught his ear and get him suspicious.
But it wasn't.
No, he saw the glow of that bright dentists' lamp and he was just coming into the office to shut the lamp off.
It wasn't till he was just right outside the door that he realized that something was wrong.
And a good thing, too!
Or I'd still be tied to that chair, still hurting and still crying.
And the dentist, Mazlow, would still be standing there ... playing with himself!
CONCLUSION
Well, as a result of that last session with Elizabeth Ann, I decided that the basic crisis was already over. Elizabeth Ann was a realistic young girl and needed very little more than some moral support and the encouragement that time would soon erase whatever damage the cruel dentist might have inflicted upon her psyche!
CASE HISTORY FIVE
Subject: Georgianna D. Age: 15
INTERVIEW ONE
Georgianna was a young girl who was rather well-named in that she was a somewhat masculine person. Not in her psyche, mind you, but in her body-build. To look at her, with her thick, brown hair cut short and her flat, boyish body, one might well think she was male rather than female. And that, I'm afraid is what got poor, little Georgianna in the present position she started to relate.
At first she appeared to be a bit shy and was even truly reticent about revealing the degrading details of her subjugation and humiliation.
But with a kind encouraging word here and a warm, sympathetic smile she was able to divulge the following tale.
Well, Doctor, I guess my trouble started because I'm too much interested in sports.
This is supposed to be the day of women's liberation, but there's still a lot of prejudice about women doing things that only men are supposed to be doing, if you know what I mean.
My older sister, Yvonne, she's a student at the university, she talks about it all the time.
So I guess I know more about it then most girls my age.
It's what's called consciousness-raising. And my consciousness has already been raised.
Not only that but women doing what they want to do is more or less a tradition in my family.
We're originally from New England stock and women from that area are noted for their independence and stubbornness.
My mother, for example, played softball when she was a young woman.
She was the captain of the team.
And her team won a lot of state championships.
Once they even won the title for the entire northeast section of the country. They were national champions.
And my sister, Yvonne, is interested in athletics, too.
She's a runner. A long-distance runner.
So, as I was saying, it's only right, somehow, that I, too, should be interested in sports.
Of course, I'm a good student, too. That, too, is a part of the tradition in our family.
The girls and women in our family were always treated like equals with the men.
I don't know if that was because the men the women married were confident enough and secure enough in their own personalities to not feel threatened by women who wanted to achieve and had success in what they tried, or if the women just said to hell with it and went ahead and did what they wanted to do.
But for whatever the reason, that's how it is with us.
I'm not named Georgianna for nothing. That's why I came to you on my own accord.
I know most of the kids who come to see you come to you because someone is making them.
The school sends them or their parents make them come. But I'm not one of those kinds of people.
I'm here because I want to be. It's my idea that I should be here, not any one else's.
And I want to tell you right from the beginning that I don't think I'm sick or anything else.
I just need someone who is objective and trained to talk with.
And I know that, because of your professional standards and personal morals, you won't go repeating what I reveal to you.
Of course, if you want to use me as one of your case histories, that's all right with me.
Just don't use my last name, and everything will be just fine.
In fact, I sort of hope you do use my name because then maybe my story and history will help other young people facing the same sort of thing and maybe they'll have an easier time of it.
I don't "believe in unnecessary suffering.
I don't believe in experiencing pain unless it's absolutely necessary.
I believe in happiness and in working toward happiness as the one thing in life that's worth the most.
Nothing else interests me, not money, or career or whatever.
Of course, all those things are important, very important, but it doesn't seem to make sense to me to have money and success and, yes, maybe even fame if you aren't really happy.
So like I was saying, that's what I want ... happiness, and that's why I'm here.
But I guess I should get down to details or we'll be here forever and not get anywhere fast.
And I do want your opinions and ideas and advice on what's happening in my life.
Of course, I have to be completely honest and tell you that if what you eventually have to say doesn't make sense to me, real sense, I'm going to completely disregard what it is you suggest.
I don't believe in blindly following any one's advice except my own.
So if what you finally say makes sense, then I'll pay attention to it and act on your advice.
If what you have to say seems silly to me, or repressive, or somehow beside the point, then I'll simply have to disregard it.
What? Yes, Doctor, I'm only fifteen. Why do you ask?
Oh, because I seem old for my age? Well, I guess I do. I get that reaction a lot from people, from other kids my age and from adults, too.
They just don't expect a fifteen year old to have a brain as well-developed as mine, and it kind of shocks them and throws them off-guard when they first come across me.
But I don't let that worry me.
Or at least I try not to let it worry me.
Because if someone can't deal with the fact that, not only am I not an idiot, but that I am, as a matter-of-fact, totally and completely mature for my age ... well, that's their problem, not mine.
And one of my rules is that I do not accept the responsibility for the problems and hangups of others, be they older or younger than I am.
Everyone is basically responsible for themselves. Of course, we can all help each other, or at least try to.
But when you come right down to it, it's every man and woman and young person and child for him and herself!
I hope that doesn't shock you, Doctor.
I don't mean that to should harsh or cynical or cruel, but it is the truth, and anything else is just a lie or a cop-out!
And I don't believe in excuses for the things people do or don't do. Reasons, yes. Reasons I believe in and accept.
But excuses are just not acceptable.
When I say I believe in personal self-responsibility I mean that and exactly that and nothing more or less.
And as far as being fifteen and knowing so much, well there are reasons for that, too.
First, I was born in Paris. So was my sister, Yvonne.
Our father, who is dead now, was a journalist. He was reporter for the wire services, and a very good one, too.
My mother has huge scrapbooks filled with his writings, and all of us, Yvonne, mother, and I have read and reread his work.
God, he was brilliant.
The world really lost a lot when my father died.
Because, not only could he write, but he was a man who was gifted with an acute ability to see things exactly the way they were.
He understood the events that were talking place around him, and he was able to set them into a larger world context.
So that for him, nothing took place in a vacuum. He understood that everything affects and effects everything else. He called it his theory of the 'seamless universe' and it was a theory that has yet to be proved wrong.
Anyhow, we didn't move back to the United States until I was nine.
Yvonne was about sixteen at the time.
And the funny thing was that neither of us girls spoke English very well despite the fact that both of us are Americans.
And that means that we're especially mature for our ages because we were raised in the intellectual European tradition of being mature and adult and straight-thinking and self-responsible at a very early age.
In other words, we were never really children.
After all, the whole idea of the 'teenager' is an American invention.
The bobby-socker is something that didn't exist in the world until that era in American history when Frank Sinatra started doing his thing.
Until that time some one from the age of twelve to twenty wasn't considered any better or any worse or any different than the rest of the people in the world.
So, until that time, the teen-ager wasn't treated like some precious jewel and pampered and given special privileges and a license to act silly and stupid.
And you'll know what I'm talking about if you give it just the least little bit of thought.
I mean, until about 1935 in this country, so-called teen-agers were treated like adults, not like some kind of special category of human being that operated under rules and regulations that applied only during the teens.
How old was Juliet when she and Romeo first got together? About sixteen.
And how old was Mary when she gave birth to Jesus? About fourteen.
And there are dozens and dozens of queens and kings in history who took their thrones when they were teenagers and managed the affairs of their nations and countries as well as could be expected of anyone, no matter what their age.
A lot of great composers were writing operas when they were twelve or younger.
A lot of great thinkers already achieved major things by the time they were twenty.
Why, right up to this very day, the typical mathematician does his or her best work before the time they're thirty-two.
So I'm telling you all this just because I want you to fully understand that just because I'm 'only' fifteen doesn't mean I'm not already an adult.
I am an adult.
And my only real problem is that others won't accept me as such. They can't.
They're not trained to think that way and they can't deal with it intelligently.
They come across someone like me and they think I'm supposed to be fascinated with silly things like acid rock and proms and comic books and stuff like that.
Well, all those things are well and good. I don't put them down.
But I refuse, absolutely refuse, to be limited to a steady diet of that kind of silly stuff without having all the rest of it, too!
I just want to live!
I want to have my own way because my own way makes a whole lot more sense than not!
I want to be left alone to pursue my own way because I am not a child, I am not the typical American teen-ager and I refuse to turn my mind and body and feelings off just because of some stupid public attitude about "not being old enough."
Am I ever chattering on!
You have to excuse me, Doctor, but I seldom get the opportunity to talk so freely.
Usually I have to be on my guard all the time.
Usually I don't dare speak my real thoughts to bluntly and in such detail.
Because if I did, I would panic everybody around me and then they would have to start attacking me one way or the other because they would feel threatened by my obvious maturity as compared with their equally obvious immaturity.
That's just another way of saying it's hard being different.
It's hard being the smartest and most daring one in the crowd.
And it's dangerous, too.
Because if I let my light shine with it's full intensity, the weird adults who hate intelligence and creativity and vivacity go way out of their way to clamp down on me and make me less than I actually am and could be. They want to crush me.
They want to make me as stupid and banal and lead as pointless a life as the lives they lead.
And I won't let them! Or, at least, I will resist them! I resist them with all my strength and power and ability.
In the end, I may lose to them. That's always more than just a possibility.
After all, I'm just one person and, no matter how developed and mature I am for my age, there are still more of them than there are of me.
So, just in terms of numbers, the chances of them getting to me and destroying me are very, very great.
And then there's the fact that all those destructive, threatened, fearful people will overwhelm and destroy me because they have all the authority on their side.
They are the Establishment, not me.
And the Establishment hates me, because I am definitely not a part of it.
So that's what I mean when I say I don't usually talk to much or so freely.
I can't.
It would be giving my enemies too much information about me, and they do not hesitate to use that information against me and try to make me into yet another image of their vulgar, stupid, fearful, cowardly, colorless selves!
And I do not want to be like them! I am not like them!
And, even if it means my early death, I will not bow down to their second-rate ideas and moralities and so-called standards and ambitions!
What standards? What ambitions?
What they call a career is nothing more than a comfortable wasting of time!
What they call morality is nothing more than a poor excuse and cover up for their own cowardly, gutless fear!
What they call ambition is nothing more than a polite way of describing their sadism and their real need to hurt and destroy.
And why do they need to hurt and destroy?
"I'll tell you why!
Because they cannot create, that's why!
Because, in their littleness of heart and mind and soul, they have nothing really worthwhile to develop and contribute.
They sense, if they don't actually already know, that they take up more space and eat more food than they deserve.
So when they come across someone like me, someone who is fully alive and alert and contributes all out of proportion to what I consume, they are filled with envy and fear and disgust.
Instead of celebrating the fact that at least one of us has somehow managed to break through the heavy mud of our culture, they resent the fact that I'm not a robot or zombie like they are.
They are the dead, Doctor, and they resent the living.
They resent me!
Because I am not dead, and I will not make-believe and roll over and play dead for them.
So, anyhow, Doctor, I guess I'd better get back to the immediate point at hand.
And that's what's been happening at school.
Like I said earlier, not only are the women in my family independent and intellectual and free-thinking, but we're also very, very much interested in sports.
My mother played Softball and was the captain of a championship team. I already told you that she was very independent for her time and all that.
That's how my father first met mother. He was covering a story about her and the team when they met.
And my sister, Yvonne, she's interested in horses.
You know anything about competition riding, Doctor?
No? Oh. Well, if you did, you'd recognize my sister's name. She's already famous in those circles. A real champion if ever there was one.
So, in that regard, everyone was doing beautifully, my mother and my sister.
But not me!
And I was beginning to feel real bad about that.
And that was way back, years ago, before I was even twelve.
I was feeling bad about it even then.
After all, I was the only woman in the family without a sport she could call her own!
And it wasn't that I hadn't tried. I had tried, you can listen to that and take it for the absolute truth.
But nothing worked out the way I wanted it to work out.
And I had tried everything. You name it, and I had tried it. But nothing spoke to me, nothing made me sing out with happiness and pleasure.
Nothing in the world of sports caused me to want to push and endure and strive to achieve the heights.
And then came swimming!
I guess the thing that did it for me about swimming was finally reading an article about the Olympic swimming stars.
Did you know that most of them are young, very, very young?
Did you know that most of them are women? Girls, if you like?
Yes, they are!
And so that was the sport for me!
I plunged into swimming, so to speak and made a great splash right from the very beginning.
Excuse me for laughing, Doctor, but I seldom make puns.
Anyhow, I started swimming when I was twelve, almost thirteen, and the progress I made was nothing less than amazing.
Right now I'm competing for the Olympics myself, and the chances of my winning are very, very good.
In fact, I'm a favorite. If I don't make the team, it will come as a great surprise for everyone, especially me!
And I owe a lot of my success to my coach, Miss Patti Lee Star!
She's been helping me and inspiring me and encouraging me, and without her none of my success in swimming would have come about.
It was Patti Lee who first taught me how to put all of myself into my swimming and make the greatest effort possible!
It was Patti Lee who first pushed me over the edge of what I thought were the limits of my endurance!
It was Patti Lee who held me in her beautiful, strong womanly arms while I puked my guts out into the water, hardly able to breathe, and half blind with the tremendous effort championship swimming demands!
It was Patti Lee who first made clear to me that joy and a sense of wonder are to be attained through the struggle to excel in the art of swimming!
And it was Patti Lee I fell in love with!
There I said it!
I love Patti Lee Star and there's no denying it!
I didn't choose to fall in love with her. I didn't just sit down one day and casually say to myself, "Well, I think I'll fall in love with my swimming coach."
No, it just hit me! A bolt from the blue, like they say!
And there it was, my great love and respect and admiration for her all rolled up into one huge emotional crush!
But there was just one thing wrong with it!
Patti Lee Star didn't love me.
Patti Lee Star doesn't love me, and it's driving me crazy!
And now it's beginning to drive her crazy, too. Because, you see, Doctor, I don't just love her in a spiritual sense.
I love her sexually, too.
And Patti Lee can't accept that. She can't deal with it.
But she has to, you understand, because I make her deal with it. I make her face the fact that I want her ... all ways!
And I ... I ... well, I forced her into having sex with me! And now, I ... well, my poor Patti Lee is so stricken with guilt and shame ... I'm losing her!
And that, Doctor, I can't bear!
So I want to tell you all about our sex life, and then I want your advice so I can take the right action.
Before it's too late Before it's too late for me ... and for Patti Lee!
Well, of course, as I sat opposite the suffering young Georgianna, I wanted to hear all the details she felt were important. But the hour was up, and all I could suggest was that she try to modify her behavior toward her coach until she and I could get all the facts and then decide what, if anything, we could do about her situation.
INTERVIEW TWO
Well, the hour for Georgianna's next session came and went and there was no Georgianna. I was very worried about her not showing up, but didn't call her or try to contact her. I believe patients have to take the initiative in treatment. In any case, the next week Georgianna's hour came up once again ... and there she was! She looked like a new person.
Doctor, I have great news for you!
I wasn't able to meet your at the regular hour last week because something really doubly important came up.
Chuck Williams came into town. Now that may not mean much to you because you don't know much about the world of Olympic swimming.
But Chuck Williams is just about the best swimming coach in the country. He's at least one of the top three.
Very, very important. He's just the tops!
And he flew in all the way from Denver just to meet me and Patti Lee and get us into a three-day training program of the greatest intensity.
And did he ever have us working.
Both Patti Lee and I learned more in those few days than we ever learned before.
Things about technique and methods and attitudes. It was great, really great.
Church had us both swimming better than either of us ever swam in our lives. It was really wonderful.
And it was exhausting!
It left both of us happy and excited, yes, but totally and completely drained of energy and strength.
Because that's part of Chuck's training method.
He believes in taking his people and pushing them and pushing and pushing until you think you just can't swim another stroke!
And then, when you finally get to that point of absolute exhaustion and you feel like you're more dead than alive, you know what he does to you next?
Does he give you a rest?
Does he say, "Okay, good, now take a break?"
No, now way!
He gets you back in the water absolutely as soon as you can move and he makes you start swimming all over again!
Anyhow, that's what we did for three days, Patti Lee and I.
And that's all we did.
The rest of the world and the rest of the universe simply ceased to exist!
That's all we did, was swim and swim and swim and swim.
And when the last day of Chuck's training visit was finally over, Patti Lee and I were limp with exhaustion.
Chuck had to get on the plane and go back to Denver, but he wanted to get as much out of us as he could before he had to go, so he had us in the water right up to the last minute.
Then he left, heading straight out for the airport.
He left Patti Lee and us alone in the water in the pool at the school.
And it was great! We had the whole, beautiful pool to ourselves.
And that's when we had the best sex ever.
Patti Lee was so much more tired than I was. She's more the coach than the swimmer, and so it was harder for her than it was me.
Me, I was tired. Patti Lee, she was almost completely out of it.
She could hardly move, so I pulled her out of the water and literally dragged her to the showers in the next room.
Then I lifted her up and laid her out on one of the marble benches near the shower.
I then brought lots of buckets of hot, sudsy water out of the shower and over to the bench.
When I got back, Patti Lee hadn't moved a muscle. She was still where I put her, exactly the way she was when I put her there.
And, without saying a word, I took her bathing suit off her beautiful, adorable body and carefully, lovingly washed her with the hot, sudsy water.
She was moaning with pleasure and release.
And when the washing was over, I then gently poured bucket after bucket of clean, warm water over her body, from tip to toe and back again, until she was completely and thoroughly rinsed off.
I followed that with a massage!
A massage of heated baby oil and perfume.
I rubbed and stroked every inch of her body for what seemed like many, many hours.
Soon all the tension and strain was gone! She was completely relaxed, as limp as a rag doll.
And she had no strength left, none whatsoever, none at all!
She was, so to speak, completely and totally and beautifully at the mercy of my love and adoration for her and for her beautiful body.
So I started kissing her while I massaged her gently and sweetly.
I massaged her temples and kissed her ears while I was doing that. I stuck my warm, wet tongue into her ears and rubbed it around and around and around.
I kissed and licked her neck all over, including the shoulders and the base of the neck.
And my kisses were as gentle as feathers or as gently falling snow.
And I worked my way down her body with my lips and tongue and teeth, licking and kissing and sweetly biting her trembling flesh, frying to give her as much delightful pleasure as I was getting by doing what I was doing.
And, oh, it was so fine!
It was so beautiful!
It got to the point where her wonderful, firm, fleshy body was responding to every little thing I did in the most marvelous way!
She was completely sensitized!
She had become super-sensitive!
I guess, it was the combination of the tremendous energy we had put out while training so intensely with Chuck.
So there was that energy and the exhilaration of it, and there was the long warm bath I had given her, and the massage, and the oil and perfume, and the warm, wet marble bench she was stretched out on, and the moist, soothing clouds of steam that were seeping out of the shower room.
There was all that happening to her at one and the same time!
She was glorious!
She was so warm and real and responsive and loveable. She was so ... so alive!
Touching her and making love to her ... was life!
I was seeing reality clearly and joyfully, in the most delicious way ... for the first time my life!
It was as if a veil had been torn away from my eyes!
I beheld my beloved.
And she was beautiful to see!
And then Patti Lee opened her eyes (oh, how beautiful her eyes are!), and she smiled upon me!
And when I looked deeply and lovingly into her eyes for the first time, really, I could actually see into her soul!
Yes!
And she was clear and beautiful and open, like a pool.
And I plunged into her!
We swam each other, so to speak ... and to be able to say such a thing!
That is, in itself, a miracle!
How sweet love is, that it should so generously reveal all things with such delight!
Love is the great teacher and its method is none other than Patti Lee Star!
Oh, how wonderfully well-named my lover is!
Star!
Bright, serene and infinite is she! And we took each other, the one unto the other!
And each illuminated each!
Love is so terrible it is blinding!
Love is great and powerful beast, beautiful and dangerous, which may, even in innocence and play, move but a paw to lay waste!
I traveled her cunt with my tongue!
I introduced my how, wet, longing tongue into every recess and intimacy of her incredible cunt lips.
I gave my lover joy!
I sent my longing tongue searching for the thrilling lever of her incredible cave!
And when at last I discovered it, stretching with anticipation and longing, it, too, I tongue-embraced!
And her groans were symphonies of revelation!
She sang our ecstasies!
And I played on!
So you, see, Doctor, everything's all right now.
This is the last time I'll be seeing you, probably.
Unless you'd care to come and visit Patti Lee and me.
We'd be delighted to receive you. Thank you so much, Doctor, for listening to me.
You've been a very good ear!
CONCLUSION
Well, some cases just work themselves out naturally, and the Doctor isn't obligated to do anything to affect a cure. That patient, in effect, cures herself. For, ultimately, it is the nature of the disease to contain, even within itself, its opposite-its cure! Disease, after all else is said and done, is in no way the dominating potentiality in the living animal. No, that honor is reserved exclusively for health and health alone. True, there may be some few cases that are 'incurable.' But even that interpretation is an exaggeration and should be expressed only with the greatest caution!
CASE HISTORY SIX
Subject: Rockland B. D. Age: 13
INTERVIEW ONE
At thirteen, Rockland B. D. was a fully developed male, physiologically speaking, that is. The size of his sexual organ was, literally, astounding. His organ simply looked like a joke. Some women, for example, have breasts that are so shockingly large that they are not so much beautiful, but ... one hesitates to say 'freaky,' but one might, out of a sense of devotion and loyalty to style. Rockland's organ fell, heavily, into that category.
Well, Doc, my problem is that I've got this huge cock of mine to deal with.
And it's a real problem, believe me!
Everybody says they'd like a really huge cock, but they only say that because they don't have one, not because it's so great to have.
It isn't great.
I mean, it is in a way, of course.
I'd be lying if I didn't admit that much.
But, believe me, having a cock as huge as mine is can cause as much of a problem as not.
But what can you do about it?
What can you do about a thing like that?
You can't amputate a cock. There's no way to shorten it. There's no way to disguise it convincingly.
You matter how you cover it up when it's as big as mine, it still shows.
It still is an obviously huge cock.
And it really freaks some people out.
They get all involved with thinking about it and sometimes they even go farther than that.
And that's when the problems usually start.
And there's something that makes matters even worse!
You know what it is?
Doc, you know what it is?
I have a tendency for hard-ons.
Well, tendency may not be a fair way to describe it, maybe not, I guess.
I don't know.
It's more like a continually on-going event.
I mean, I have a hardon almost all the time. And it's not my fault!
I mean, I don't do anything to encourage it. I don't stare at people's bodies in any kind of lustful way.
I don't dwell on anything, really, that would cause my cock to be ... ah, stimulated ... my emotional triggers, you know, Doc, right?
I think my eternal hard-ons are more chemical than anything else.
It probably has to do with being thirteen.
Yes, I am just thirteen.
What do you mean what else do I do? You mean besides have hard-ons on the time? Oh, well, let me see.
I speak eight languages, for one thing. My grandmother is raising me, both my parents are dead. And is a teacher of languages, was for years. She taught at the University of Chicago. Sure she did! Didn't you know that?
Oh, yeah, granny taught there all right. As a matter-of-fact, she was the head of the department for almost twenty-three years.
So I do speak the languages. Habla Espenol? ue tal?
Bonjour?
Hjyyzvon?
Buon giorno?
Guten tag?
Well, there's always chess.
I began studying only about a year ago, but my professor is Emanuel Von Turgen, you know him?
I'll have to introduce you some time, if you like. The Professor likes Americans.
So it's not that I don't have other interests. I do.
Lots of them.
But I always have a hardon and with a cock as huge as mine, it makes life real difficult sometimes.
Everybody always wants to get to my cock.
I guess that's why I'm, here, Doctor. I'm hoping you can help me with my hard-ons.
At least if I didn't have hard-ons all the time, my cock wouldn't be so damned obvious through my clothes.
You know what I mean?
Here, I'll stand up so you can see for yourself what it is that I'm talking about. There! See?
A hard-on, right? Well, now what am I supposed to do about it? Really, it's distracting.
I mean, look at it! I can see by the way your eyes look that you've really never ever seen anything like it before in both your personal and professional life.
And I've got balls to match, too!
And, really, it's ridiculous. I mean, if I were going to grow up to be a huge guy, at least the sense of proportion would be a little bit better.
But I'm only going to get to six foot or so.
And I've just got an average frame. I wear a size fifteen and a half shirt. My pants are thirty-two in the waist and my length is just 34.
But I've got this huge cock all out of proportion to my medium build.
It was Miss Lincoln who pointed it out to me for the first time.
Miss Lincoln is my art teacher at Watterson High, out in the Pointe.
She's got a real eye for proportion and perspective and that sort of thing.
But that's no surprise, is it. After all she is an art teacher. She did take her masters from the University of Dallas, and that's a good school, very solid art department.
Hell, Blavatsky teaches there. And there's talk that Rowden might start teaching there in the fall.
So, like I said, it was Miss Lincoln was the first one to actually point out the face that my cock is unusually huge.
I mean, I know others have looked at it and thought as much. I can tell by the way they stare at it through my pants.
I mean, they really stare at it. It sort of hypnotizes some people the way a piper hypnotizes a cobra.
Except in this case, it's the cobra that's doing the hypnotizing!
But Miss Lincoln was the first person to stare at it and then actually come right out and say something about how huge it was.
And that kind of surprised me.
Firsts always do surprise me, sort of. Sometimes it's pleasant, most of the time. Oh, once in a while it can be disturbing, too.
That's what I'm hear to talk about, Doctor.
You've just got to do something with this terrible hardon of mine.
I mean, just think what you would do if you had a cock as huge as mine!
How would you like it?
Or who knows?
Maybe you would like it. Would you? Would you like to have a cock as huge as mine? I never thought about that. Maybe you would really, really get off on it! I mean, a cock this huge! And hard, no less! All the time, no less!
I mean, if that were you, how would you respond to it?
How would you like people staring at your cock all the time?
And I mean staring at it all the time. Not just sometime.
All the time. In church, even!
Christ, you can't even walk back from the communion rail with your hands folded in front of you without three hundred people staring at your crotch from behind their palms?
I'm the talk of the congregation, I'm sure!
Well, would you like that?
I don't dare shower in public places!
It's like taking my life in my hands!
Mr. Mallory, he's the principal, he gave me special permission to skip all the gym and swimming classes.
My cock upsets all the rest of the guys.
Especially in the showers.
And, of course, that's always that infernal hardon to make matters even worse.
People are afraid to get into the showers with me, not that I'd ever touch them, I wouldn't!
So when I want to work out in the gym or use the pool, I just wait till everybody is gone.
Mr. Mallory give me special permission for that, too.
He's been real nice about the whole thing.
Anyhow, it was Miss Lincoln who was the first to come right out and say anything about it, out loud and right to my face.
"Boy, Rockland, there's something I've been meaning to say to you for a long time, but just somehow haven't quite managed to get around to telling you about, for whatever reasons there may be, I don't know. But you have a huge cock, you know that, Rockland?"
"Yeah, I do," I told her. "I had noticed it myself, on occasion."
And then Miss Lincoln said, "Well, you know it's all out of proportion to the rest of your body, don't you?"
Well, of course, I told her that I thought so, too.
"Why, it's almost ... freakish!" she exclaimed, kind of ... well, sort of ... beside herself.
I was posing for her at the time, and she was painting a full-length portrait of me.
We were in her studio at the school and I was posing as a Greek spear-carrier.
You know, with my feet spread well and firmly apart, with one arm back and up high in the air, my whole body expectantly balanced, just at the very last moment before hurling the spear forward!
And I guess Miss Lincoln had gotten to the part where she was painting my crotch, and, well ... she couldn't help but noticing how huge my cock is, not with me costumed in a skin-tight black bathing suit.
Then she asked me if it were always that big.
And, boy, was that embarrassing.
Of course it wasn't always that big!
It's that big only when it's hard, not all the time. Well, a lot of the time, sure. Maybe even most of the time. Okay, most of the time, then.
What difference does it make?
How would you like it?
You know what I mean?
It gets to the point where you can't even have friends anymore.
How can you, when you don't think you can trust anybody?
And why should you, anyhow?
They don't trust you. Not when they take a look at your cock and realize how huge it is.
And, of course, they always take a look.
It's only natural to look, right?
Well, one look and a lot of people just don't trust you anymore.
Especially when you've got a hardon all the time.
They think you've got a hardon because they're staring at you, and then, naturally, you really do get a hardon.
Right?
And that makes matters even worse! Because now you do have a hard on because they're staring at you! You get what I mean? It's a vicious circle.
If someone were staring, just staring and staring and staring at your cock, wouldn't you get a hardon?
I bet you probably would.
Okay, so what do you say to people?
Once you reach that point, no matter what you say is bound to be beside the point, more or less.
So, then, what was I supposed to say to Miss Lincoln?
There she actually was, sitting there behind her canvas, asking me if my huge cock was always so huge, and I'm supposed to tell her, no, it's not always that big, but it is now because now I have my usual hardon?
Everything suddenly gets so complicated sometimes.
You don't know what to say.
So when that happens to me, I just don't say anything.
No, nothing, not a word.
I usually just smile?
You know, a real nice big smile. Like I'm smiling at you now. I mean, I want to reassure people. I like doing it, too. It comes natural to me.
And it sure beats talking about how huge your cock is when you can't really think of anything to say about it, anyhow.
So, then, the next thing I know, Miss Lincoln just puts her brushes down, gets up out of her seat and walks out from behind her canvas and comes right, straight up to me.
And then she says, "You know, Rockland, you're really amazing."
So I smile at her some more.
Everybody likes to think they're amazing.
Everybody is amazing, of course. We're all amazing.
But when people actually get around to talking about how amazing you are, suddenly you realize it more than you usually do.
And it's a trip, of course.
It's at least as good as smoke.
And I love marijuana!
And then Miss Lincoln says, "I mean, with that angel face of yours, Rockland. You look so perfectly innocent, like a Botticelli! And then there's that huge cock of yours! It's almost too much!"
Then she started to smile.
And it was such a good, natural smile.
Just like she couldn't help herself.
We were really smiling at each other a lot!
And then she said, "Rockland, we're friends, aren't we?"
And, of course, I said, "Sure we're friends, Miss Rockland. You're my favorite teacher of all time. Have I ever missed one of your classes? I'd be terribly hurt if I though you didn't think of me as your friend!"
"Well," Miss Lincoln said, "I'm glad to hear it," and she sighed, sort of deeply, and then her face got all serious. I guess mine did, too.
"Then do a friend a favor, Rockland," Miss Lincoln said, "and take your bathing suit off for me. I really want to take a long, good, hard look at that exceptional cock of yours, as an artist. You understand?"
And, of course, I understood!
And artist has to see everything there is to see.
It's part of being an artist.
If it's there to be seen, it's the artist's joy and duty to gaze upon it and take it in.
That's what Professor Blavatsky says, and he's an International Grand Master!
And granny agrees with him, too.
In eighteen languages.
So I took my bathing suit off so Miss Lincoln could appreciate my huge cock as an artist.
"Oh, I wish I were blind!" she then cried out.
And that one shocked me!
What did she mean she wished she was blind? And I asked her about it.
And see said that if she were blind she would have to touch it and feel it and squeeze it and pet it and pull it and play with it if she were going to see it.
So I said, "Well, why don't you, Miss Lincoln?"
And she said, "Well, but Rockland, I can see it so I don't have to do all those other things, too."
But I saw through that one right away!
So I said, "Yes, but Miss Lincoln, if you do touch it and play with it and feel it and squeeze it and whatever it, then you'll be seeing it all the better! Don't you think so?"
And that kind of touched something inside her.
Some people are just logical, that's all. And when you tell them something that makes sense, they really appreciate the fact that it does make sense, and then they take action right away.
Usually the right action, too!
So Miss Lincoln, she just reaches up to the platform, grabs my huge, hard cock, and somehow manages to actually get the whole head of the big thing right in her mouth!
And, boy, was that terrific!
Talk about a teacher/student relationship!
It's amazing how much a person can learn when they really want to.
Then Miss Lincoln reached up and cupped both of my huge balls in her hands.
She was licking my cockhead all over with her tongue.
I don't know how she did it.
And then she just sort of leaned forward and stood on her tiptoes and sucking the whole length of the thing into her mouth.
And I watched it going in! Talk about amazed!
That was me, all right! Mr. Amazement of Watterson High!
Oh, Christ! look at the clock, Doctor! I've got to get going!
Good-bye!
And with that, he was gone! One minute Rockland was sitting across from me, talking, and the next minute he was gone! It was really kind of amazing. I hadn't experienced anything quite like that before. As he talked, I seemed to have slipped off into some kind of trance or other as I listened. Yes. I even made a note of it in my personal diary.
INTERVIEW TWO
And, of course, at our next session, there he was again. I couldn't help but stare at his cock. Not only was it actually and genuinely huge, really exceptional, but that is all he was talking about, also. Luckily, when he walked into the room, he sat down almost immediately and went right back into his story, just where he'd left off the week before. Thank God, as is said, for little favors.
So, there she was, Doctor, sucking my cock way, deep into her mouth!
Her long, blond hair was tickling my balls, too!
And I just stood there kind of stupefied with amazement to watch her taking me into herself!
I mean, she must have had at least the first ten inches of it in her hot, wet, moist mouth!
And, I mean, I was really amazed that she had been able to even get the tip of it in her mouth at all!
It's so thick!
I didn't know anybody could open their mouth that wide!
But Miss Lincoln sure could!
And another six inches went in!
She just leaned forward and up a little bit more and took in another six inches of my hot, throbbing cock, just like that!
Uggh!
Oh, it makes my cock hard even just talking about it.
Ah, Doctor, you, ah ... say, being a Doctor of the soul and all, you wouldn't mind if I took my cock out and just sort of, well ... you know, right? ... just sort of, jacked off while I'm telling you about Miss Lincoln, okay?" Gee, thanks! Oh, yeah!
That's much better! Yeah, much, much better. That's a whole lot better, sure!
Okay, where were we?
Oh, yes! Sixteen inches so far!
Then she pulled her mouth off.
Just, pulled it off and left me hanging there, or pointing straight up as the case may be.
Because when she pulled her mouth off it, it just sort of swung up into the air and hit against my stomach.
Yeah, that makes me smile, just remembering that. When it hit, it made a slapping sound!
Oh, that feels good!
Sometimes a guy just as to jack off when he's talking about women.
That's why I want some advice from you.
Is there any such thing as too much jacking off?
I mean, can a person really jack off too much?
Or is it really better to have Miss Lincoln or somebody doing other things with you?
I mean, I know I won't go blind or get hair on my palms or any of that stuff, but like now, for instance.
Should I resist the impulse to be jacking off right now?
Ohhhh, but it does feel good, that you have to admit.
Right? You do admit it, don't you?
Okay, then! There you are!
So then Miss Lincoln says to me, all kind of out of breath, but real pleased with the whole situation, "You know, Rockland, I really like seeing your cock that way, but the trouble is I really want to see the whole thing, all of it, as much as I can. And I really don't believe I can get all of it in my mouth."
And I just hated seeing Miss Lincoln looking disappointed.
She's so beautiful.
And when a beautiful woman looks disappointed, it's almost just too much to bear.
It really is unbearable, in the true sense of the word.
So I just asked her if she had any suggestions to offer.
And she said, "Yes, I do," and she started taking her clothes off right then and there.
And the next thing I know, we've got the whole length of my huge, long, thick, hard cock stuffed all the way up her hot, throbbing pussy!
Oh, yeah, wow, wow!
That feels so good!
Arggh!
Oh, just taking about the way her hot, clinging pussy took to my cock ... it really freaks me out!
And Miss Lincoln shoved the whole length of her tongue down my throat.
Boy, does she have a tongue!
So I started pumping away at her!
And that's what she really wanted, so both of us were having a great time, I mean really great!
Oh, yeah!
That feels so good!
Arggh!
So there I am, pumping away like crazy, all the way in, all the way out, in and in and in and in!
Then all the way, all the way, all the way, all the way out again!
And, then, you know. In and out, in and out, in and out.
And each time in was different from the time before and the time before that and the time before that!
And the same thing the other way, too.
Except coming out and out and out and out, it's always different every time, too!
No two strokes are the same!
Oh, yeah!
It's always different! Arggh!
And viva la difference! Ohhhhhhh! Oh! Oh, oh, oh!
Oh!
Yes, well.
So you know what I mean? Doctor?
CONCLUSION
Well, of course, I knew what he meant! Then I sternly reminded him in no uncertain terms that his hour was more than well over. When he finally got himself stuffed back into his clothes and left, I was extremely thankful that Rockland was the last patient of the day, and that I could finally have a little time for myself for a change! Do you know what I mean?
CASE HISTORY SEVEN
Subject; Sally McD Age: 14
INTERVIEW ONE
Sally was just fourteen and as Irish as a shot. She had that look of the 'Little People' about her, as if she were bewitched and bemused. Her bright, blue eyes literally sparkled with mischievous and daring. She was obviously the kind of person who isn't happy unless something interesting is really going on and she's well into it!
Well, Doctor, I guess my trouble is that I bit off more than I can really chew.
It all began about six months ago, when school just got back after the summer vacation.
I had had a wonderful summer.
A trip to Ireland. Visiting parts of the family I had only just know about secondhand, but had never really met.
And it was wonderful!
And Irish Irish are so much fun! They really like people.
They even like tourists.
If you ever want to visit a country and be treated nicely instead of like a bum or a pest or a nasty, rich American, the place to go is Ireland.
There you'll be treated like a human being, if you treat others the same way.
Yes, I guess I like the Irish Irish a whole lot better than the American Irish.
You understand what I mean?
The American Irish, at least the people in my family and the people I hang around with, they're ... they're strange.
I mean, they're so Irish, the American Irish.
Let's see, what's that phrase that describes it so nicely?
Oh, yes!
The professional Irish.
Well, that's the typical Irish transplant living in American. They're professional Irish.
Well, the Irish Irish, they're just Irish naturally, without having to work at it, and that makes them so much pleasanter and nicer to be with and get to know and enjoy and hang around with.
Just folks, you know.
Well, anyhow, the summer ended and I had to come back to my mother and father and all their hang-ups and weird ideas about things.
And they're just terrible!
They're just terrible people, you know that?
I mean, they're so strict and unyielding about everything, just everything.
They're so religious!
And why is that? Who needs it? Who cares about most of what they care about?
And they care about it so much, too!
It's as if the things they think are important are the most important things in the whole world.
Which would be all right, if it were true and they were important.
But what they care about isn't important, so it isn't true.
So what can you do when you're a girl and you're my age?
You just ignore your parents, that's what you do.
That's what you have to do!
What else is there? If you go along with their program, you wind up being someone you really aren't.
Because their idea of who and what you are is all right.
They want you to be something and someone that you really are not.
And there's no way to resist them honestly.
I mean, you can't just come right out and tell them they're all wet, because they'd go crazy.
They'd go absolutely and totally and completely crazy!
And when my parents go crazy there's no stopping them.
In the name of the love they say they have for their children, they'd almost kill them so save them from themselves.
It's really awful.
And, of course, because they're so religious, they don't even feel bad when they get into their cruel act.
No, they thing they're doing the right thing.
In the name of their religious and their sense of what's right and wrong, they'd gladly cause you to suffer the torments of the damned.
Well, as far as I'm concerned, I'd rather be under the thumb of a good-natured, loving pagan than stuffy, dogmatic people like my parents.
Their religion and their religious ways are just excuses for their own nuttiness and lack of tolerance for people who don't agree with each and every word they have to say about just everything.
And yet they consider themselves very religious.
But they don't know anything about humility.
And they don't know anything about mercy.
And the don't know anything about loving their neighbors.
And they couldn't give a damn about giving to the poor and helping out those people who are less fortunate than themselves.
And they don't have any real respect for the person who is actually and really searching for some meaning in her life.
And they have no real respect for ideas like freedom for the individual and to each his own and things like that.
No, everything has to be one way and one way only.
And that's their way.
So it's real sick, no doubt about it, and I have to live with them. At least for now.
But, Doctor, I don't want you to think I'm making all this up. I'm not.
I'm not making any of it up.
My parents are just so stubborn about living according to their ideas of what's right and wrong, that they're not human about things.
Take my sister, Betty, for example.
Betty was a very pretty girl, full of life and energy and she just loved everybody she came across, like a puppy.
It was very becoming and sweet.
Well, now, Betty is my older sister, so when the time came for her to begin to investigate life, she bumped up against my parents' rigid attitudes before I did.
And it was terrible!
They just crushed Betty, that's all.
They didn't give her a chance.
What she wanted to do was innocent enough, just a little love story, that's all.
But they made her feelings for Jack, her boyfriend, seem like the worse sin in the history of the world.
And they came down on her ... hard.
They came down on her so hard that now Betty doesn't even live at home anymore, no she doesn't.
She lives in a sort of hospital in the country, poor thing.
She's a nervous wreck.
She's much too thin. She trembles all the time. She's shy and timid.
Just the opposite of the lively, young, loving, trusting girl Betty used to be before my parents started messing with her head.
You see, the problem with Betty's boy friend, Jack, was that Jack wasn't the same religion as my parents.
And that not only made him undesirable, but it made his and Betty's getting together a terrible, sinful thing.
A thing that could not be tolerated under any circumstances.
And my parents went to work on Betty until there was nothing healthy or sane left about her.
They didn't stop working on her till they very nearly destroyed her.
So now instead of having a beautiful, loving, loyal older daughter, they have a sick, nervous, angry, frustrated young woman who has to live in a country hospital just to survive.
Yes, if my 'religious' parents didn't kill Betty, they did the next closest thing.
They made a living, walking, talking zombie out of her.
They destroyed her.
And that's not an exaggeration. That's the plain and simple truth of the matter.
And do my parents feel sorry about it?
Do they feel bad because they destroyed a young life just as it was reaching its prime of joy and happiness and sanity?
No!
They don't feel bad about it at all. Oh, they say they do.
Sure they say they feel bad about it. And when they're talking with their thick-headed friends who are as creepy and weird as they are, they look all sad and depressed when the subject of Betty comes up.
But they're not really sad.
At least they're not sad about what they did to Betty.
And I know that because when they talk about it, they talk about how much they've had to suffer.
They talk about how much they've been put through.
They talk about how expensive the country hospital is for them, and how they have to keep Betty there because it's their duty.
They talk about how embarrassing the whole thing was for them, and how disappointed they are in Betty, and how they feel so sad because they did everything in their power to do the right thing by the girl and bring her up right.
But they never talk about Betty.
They never talk about how much Betty is suffering and hurting.
They never even mention the fact that if it weren't for them none of Betty's suffering and sickness would have come about in the first place.
They don't even think they've done anything at all wrong.
No, of course not!
How could my parents ever do anything wrong?
Why, that's impossible.
That's entirely out of the question.
They don't even realize that it's their narrowness and hypocrasy and stiffness that caused most of the problem in the first place.
They think they're the abused party, that they're all in the right, and that Betty is all in the wrong.
But the truth is, it's just the opposite.
They're the ones in the wrong, and Betty was in the right.
So I'm telling you all this, Doctor, because I want you to understand why I'm here talking with you instead of my parents.
I can't talk with them.
How can I?
They never listen! So how in the world can I talk with them?
Oh, they think they talk with me, but they think that only because they're so stupid they don't realize the truth.
They're so stupid and narrow that they never even realize that they're doing all the talking and I'm not telling them anything.
And what do I tell them?
I tell them exactly what they want to hear and nothing else.
No more and no less.
Just exactly and precisely what they want to hear, that's what they get from me when we talk.
Now that may be sneaky on my part, but it's the only way I can lead my own life against them.
I just don't tell them what I'm really thinking and really feeling and really doing, because if I did, they'd just turn around and do to me what they already went and did to my sister, Betty.
So when I got back from Ireland this summer and went back to school again, I didn't tell my parents what was going on.
Not one word about my falling in love.
How could I, right?
I mean, if I told them I was in love, they'd hit the ceiling and, when they came back to earth, it would just be to make life miserable and terrible for me.
So they don't know a thing about me and Richard Bennet.
That's Mr. Bennet, the history teacher.
He teaches the Introduction to World History, and the first minute I say him I fell in love with him.
It was love at first sight.
And he's ... on, he's about twenty-four.
He just graduated from Teachers' College last year. In fact, he graduated the same summer I spent in Ireland.
So he's real young, although in a way he's an older man, at least as far as I'm concerned.
I'm just thirteen remember.
Anyhow, it was love at first sight!
It was the real thing!
Why, every time I looked at him I just had hot flashes and everything.
I'd look at him and my hearing would go out. My vision would start to blur. The room would start to spin.
That blond hair of his and that creamy white skin, without a freckle on it.
And I love the shape of him, too.
He's all man, but he's gentle, too, and smart, not at all like my father.
Richard likes to hear both sides to a question and then decide what he feel about it based on the facts.
My father doesn't even want to hear both sides.
My father says that hearing both sides to a question just confuses the issues and makes matters muddy.
So there you are. No two men could be more unalike, and Richard is just as handsome and intelligent and loving as my father is plain and retarded and hateful.
Oh, I was so in love!
I'd get to Richard's class as early as I could every day, so I could look at him and listen to him as much as possible.
And I'd follow him around the school, at a distance, so I could be close to him and feel his vibrations as much as I could.
I'd sit two table away from him in the school cafeteria during lunchtime.
I'd try to sit near him during special school activities and stuff.
And at the basketball games and the football games and that sort of thing, there I'd be, as near as I could get to Richard.
Then, I found out he was interested in the debate team, and I joined that.
You know why.
And I worked real hard at learning how to debate.
And I worked even harder at studying history. For every assignment he gave the class, I read two and three and four times the amount of reference books required.
And at last Richard began to notice me.
And why shouldn't he after all that effort on my part?
After all, I was his star pupil!
And I was doing extremely well, which shouldn't come as a surprise, considering how motivated I was.
And Richard was real pleased with both me and with himself.
I guess it's pretty nice to come across such a wonderful student the first year out of college.
Some teachers spend a whole lifetime teaching before they come across one student who shows a lot of promise.
And was I ever showing a lot of promise.
I won a four-year scholarship for my essay on George Washington and the Colonial Loyalists for the contest sponsored by the Young People for American and Freedom committee that operates out of Dallas, Texas.
I won the top prize for debating in the state last December, and this spring I'm going to the tri-state finals, then probably to the regionals and on to the finals at Washington, D.C.
Everybody says I'll probably win.
Anyhow, it got to the point where Richard and I were spending a lot of time together, and that was just what I wanted most in the world.
Of course, at home I told my parents all about my good work in history and the debating team, and they were really pleased with me.
Naturally, I never even once mentioned Richard Bennet.
And they were too stupid and uncaring and thoughtless to ever even think of asking which teacher or teachers were inspiring me to reach the new heights I was reaching.
But that's my parents for you.
As ignorant and narrow as toads.
Anyhow, I was getting closer and closer to Mr. Bennet!
And then I started dropping little hints, hoping he'd pick up on them.
I'd lean against him as much as I could, for example.
When he'd be sitting at his desk, correcting one of my many, many papers done for extra credit, I'd lean over his shoulder, pretending to be looking at my paper, too.
And then I'd lean against him, press up to his warm, wonderful body.
And the bolts of electricity would go right through me!
It was so exciting I couldn't stand it, almost!
But, of course, I somehow managed.
After all, it was what I wanted. It was wanted most out of life.
And for a long time things went along pleasantly and well enough.
But then Mr. Bennet started getting suspicious of me and he started drawing away from my advances, subtle as they were!
And he tried to keep it subtle, too. But I could tell what he was doing.
Every time I closed in a little bit, he'd withdraw.
Several times, I caught him looking at me with what was almost suspicion in his beautiful, big, brown eyes.
And finally it happened!
I couldn't stand it anymore!
I couldn't stand being so in love with Richard Bennet and working so hard to have him admire and like me and spending so much time with him ... and him not responding to any of my shy, girlish advances.
And it was even worse than that!
Because, once he got suspicious, he wasn't merely cool.
He was definitely withdrawing from me!
I was losing him!
And the more I tried to get him to feel comfortable and relaxed with me, the more and more he withdrew from me.
And the more that happened, the more desperate and lonely and afraid of losing him completely I felt!
It was terrible!
I started losing weight just like Betty did before she got so terribly sick and had to be taken away to live in that dreadful, expensive country hospital.
I started getting nervous and shaky.
At nights, I found that I couldn't sleep, even on the nights when I was especially tired and exhausted!
I was falling apart with worry and fearfulness and a terrible sense of abandonment and aloneness in the world.
The man I loved wouldn't have me!
So, I decided to take some direct, desperate action.
If I couldn't have Richard Bennet of his own free will, I'd have him by any means available to me!
So, I plotted his rape. Well, obviously, Sally McP had a very serious problem to contend with. She didn't realize it, but she was using the very tactics she found so obnoxious in her parents to win the love of the person she loved. How strange it is that very often my patients are 'guilty' of the very things they most despise in others.
It is ironic but true that, in rejecting her parents, Sally adapted their methods to deal with her own problems.
But it isn't much of a surprise, after all. The parents are the single greatest influence in a child's life, and the lessons they teach are well-learned by their offspring, even if they are lessons in tyranny and cruelty!
INTERVIEW TWO
The next interview found Sally sitting across from me looking even worse than the first day we'd met. The sparkle in her eyes had turned into a burning glare of intensity. Her carefree manner had become negative, even threatening. She was in terrible turmoil, and seemed on the edge of hysteria!
Well, Doctor, as I was telling you before, I had decided to rape Richard Bennet, my history teacher and the man I loved.
There was nothing else I could do.
It was that or go completely crazy, as crazy as my parents.
I simply had to have him, one way or the other.
It made no difference, none whatsoever at all.
Or, at least, that's what I believed when I put my plan into action and took the first step!
It started on a Thursday, at lunch in the school cafeteria, Richard and I were sitting together in a corner of the big room talking quietly.
Nobody thought much of it or suspected anything odd was going on, because people had gotten used to seeing Richard with his prize student.
It was strictly a student/teacher relationship as far as the rest of the school population was concerned.
Oh, were they ever wrong!
Anyhow, according to my plan, I'd spent the whole lunch hour and even more telling Richard about how cruel and awful my father was.
Richard had met dad several times, at school functions around town, and he knew I wasn't kidding or exaggerating.
I mean, my father is so mean he can't even hide his meanness from others.
His hostility and hatred of decent things and nice people is so obvious, it just shows in his face like a sign were printed across it.
I mean, my father is just like a character, a heavy, right out of a sick play by Tennessee Williams!
And to make matters even heavier, my father is the Chief of Police in our town. Yes, he is!
And I was explaining to Richard how I hated my father because he never hesitated to use the power of his office and badge and gun to abuse people he didn't like.
And, believe me, a Chief of Police can make a person's life pretty miserable if he puts his mind to it.
And my father often put his mind to it!
He delighted in making life just awful for people he didn't like, like kids with long hair, or people who didn't hold steady jobs, or minority groups or people interested in anything but the Establishment.
And, of course, Richard was very, very sympathetic.
And he was very disturbed by what I was telling him, too!
He kept saying, "How unfair!" and "But that in itself is criminal!" as I talked on and on and told him about true case histories about the way my father had so gleefully and thoroughly misused the powers of his office!
I really put the fear of god into Richard!
Or rather, I put the fear of my father, the Chief of Police, into Richard!
He was all shook up!
His face was almost white, and when he picked up his coffee cup to sip from it, his hands were trembling.
I knew, then, for a fact that he was really and truly afraid of my father.
As well he might be!
And, then, I knew I had him!
After lunch, I could hardly wait for the afternoon to be over and finished with.
All my classes that afternoon are just like a dream. They hardly seemed real to me for that whole period.
If any of the teachers had called on me to recite, I wouldn't have been able to answer their questions, because my excited mind was at least three hundred million miles and dozens of light years away.
All I could think of was getting together in his empty classroom after school let out to rehearse my debate speech for the semi-final Regional that was coming up in just a couple weeks.
And at last the clock said three thirty, the school bells rang, and the building was cleared of almost everybody.
Slowly, my knees shaking with emotion, I walked down the hallway toward Richard's room, knowing that after today nothing would ever be the same again.
Not for me.
And not for Richard.
Hesitating, I quietly opened the door to Richard's classroom ... and there he was!
My heart almost stopped beating, but I struggled to take control of myself and somehow just managed to do so when he turned around and saw me standing there, staring at him in the late afternoon sun.
"Sally!" he called to me. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"
He walked quickly across the room, almost ran, and he helped me into a seat in front of the empty rows of seats.
Oh, the touch of him felt so good!
It made me feel even weaker and fainter!
And then I said, "Richard, I've got to talk to you in private."
"Yes, of course," he answered, his face all full of interest and sympathy and a willingness to be useful and helpful.
"But it has to be private! Real private!" I explained.
"Well, there's no one here," Richard said, indicating the empty room in which our words echoed.
"No," I said, "I want to talk in the cloakroom. That way no one will be able to hear what we have to say."
Well, he didn't like that much, but what could he do but agree with my request, as strange as it might seem.
So Richard locked the door that led from his classroom out into the hallway.
He did that because I told him to do it, that's why.
Then the two of us walked into the cloakroom that's located in front of the rows of desks, behind Richard's big desk.
We did that because that's what I wanted him to do.
And then I had Richard lock the door of the cloakroom, too.
A person who wasn't as kind and considerate and loving as Richard would never have put himself into that position in the first place.
After all, it was suspicious.
But when I suggested locking the cloakroom door, too, Richard did that, too.
We stood there in the semi-dark of the cloakroom for several long minutes, not moving, not saying anything.
There was a single, big window at the opposite end of the long, narrow cloakroom.
Through it, the late afternoon sun fell in a puddle on the floor, and the sounds of the kids shouting and playing out in the school's courtyard filtered in through the window.
I was still trembling with anticipation and wasn't yet able to say or do anything.
Richard was all sympathy and concern. He took a stack of books of a nearby stool and dragged the stool over for me to sit on.
I watched him closely as he moved to do so, loving the sight of his wonderful body, even through his clothes.
He fascinated me and I wanted him.
And I was going to have him no matter what.
It no longer made any difference to me what would happen to either of us.
The only important thing was that my desire and love for Richard should at last be allowed an expression.
At last he said, "Now what is it, Sally? What is it you want to talk about? "
"It's a secret and a surprise, Richard," I told him.
"Well, don't keep it too secret, Sally. After all, that's why both of us are here, to share your secrets."
"Well, here's one," I said, and without another minute's hesitation, I pulled my sweater off over my head.
According to plan, I wasn't wearing anything underneath it.
I had no bra on, no slip, nothing.
My firm, pretty, little tits popped free of the sweater when I jerked it up and off and over my head.
The nipples were already as hard as could possibly be, and they stood out from my breasts proudly and defiantly!
"Sally! What are you doing?!" Richard cried, almost backing away from me "in alarm and panic.
His face looked very, very worried and his eyes kept darting around the room, as if he were looking for an escape hatch.
But we were four stories up in the air, and there were two locked doors between us and the hallway.
So, saying nothing more, I unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor, beginning to step out of it even before it hit the hardwood.
Richard was now completely backed away from me, standing at the opposite end of the cloakroom, his right hand held out in front on him as if to ward me off by that slight and useless gesture.
He had no chance of getting away from me and my desires.
He had no chance at all!
I then kicked my shoes off and peeled my socks off, too.
I was then completely and gloriously naked, my young body revealed in all its splendor!
Why didn't Richard rush forward and take me in his arms?
Why didn't he grab me up and cover me with a million kisses as he had so often and beautifully done in my dreams?
Why wasn't he as pleased and happy with what was happening as I was?
Wasn't it all for him that this was happening?
Wasn't it for his pleasure and mine that the two of use were brought together by fate?
"Make love to me, Richard!" I cried.
"But, Sally...." Richard objected, his outstretched arm waving me off, waving me away.
"I want you to make love to me!" I shouted at him, stamping my bare foot on the cold, hardwood floor.
"But it isn't right, Sally!"
"Of course it's right! We're meant for each other. That's why we're here like this. Things like this don't happen if they're not meant to happen. Don't you see, Richard? We're fated for each other?"
"But you're my student, and I'm your teacher," Richard objected.
"What difference does that make?" I said, walking toward him with my bare arms stretched wide open to receive him.
"Professional ethics! Our differences in age! There are a million reasons, Sally, a million reasons!"
"Ah, but none of them are worth the time it takes to say them," I told him.
I then walked straight up to him and started fussing with his belt buckle.
I was thinking that if I could only just get his pants off, I could grab his sex and get him so excited that he'd forget his silly objections.
I could feel the juices in between my legs building and building in intensity.
God, I was so thrilled and happy and excited!
I got his belt unbuckled and started working on his zipper.
I had it pulled about half-way down when, suddenly, Richard took my hands in his....
... and pushed me away!
I couldn't believe that he had done that!
Richard Bennet, the man I loved most in the world, the only man I loved, had actually reached out, and instead of pulling me to him and covering me with kisses, had crudely, violently pushed me away!
"Richard! What does this mean?" I screamed, my face red with anger.
"I told you, Sally! I can't make love to you. There are reasons, believe me, there are good reasons!"
Then I was really angry. The whole world was falling apart!
"Oh, I get it!" I screamed at him. "Now I understand, Richard. Now it's all as clear as day!"
But Richard misunderstood the change in my tone of voice, and seemed to calm down a bit.
"Well," he sighed with relief, "I'm glad you do understand why this will never work, Sally."
"Oh, sure, I understand, all right, Richard. I understand. You don't want to make love to me because you're a fag!"
He blushed and looked terribly shocked.
"How can you, of all people, believe that of me?" he complained.
"Well, aren't you a fag?" I insisted.
"No! I am not!"
"Than why don't you take this chance to make love to me and make love to me?!" I screamed at him.
"Because I can't have sex without being in love with my partner!" he said, shouting back for the first time.
"Well!" I cried out. At last I had him!
He trapped himself.
Surely he loved me, that much was obvious! So the two of us would be together at last, at long last!
Richard looked very unhappy and miserable. "Sally," he said, his voice quiet and tender, "you see, the problem is ... I ... I don't love you." I was shocked!
"You don't ... love me?" I managed to say, my throat as dry as a desert.
"No, not that way," Richard said, his head hanging down. He looked awfully sad.
And I almost felt sorry for the big, good-looking man.
But not that sorry!
Not sorry enough for me to be cheated out of what I so desperately wanted after all my efforts!
"Well...." I said, quietly, deliberately letting my voice trail off into a nothingness that demanded a question.
Richard looked up at me, his eyes brimming with tears.
Christ, he was actually crying! What is that from a man?!
"Well, what?" he asked me, his voice full of concern and understanding.
But he didn't understand.
"Well," I explained, "it doesn't make any difference if you love me that way or not."
"No?" he asked. "You really think that it doesn't?"
I stared at him right in his crybaby face!
"No," I said loudly and firmly, "it doesn't. Not at all. I still want you to make love to me anyway!"
It was Richard's turn to look and be shocked. "You can't mean that, Sally!" he cried out, stunned with my daring.
"I want to fuck, Richard. And fuck we will!"
"I won't!" he said.
"Oh, but you will! You'll fuck me and you'll suck my tits and you'll eat my young, thirteen year old cunt out and you'll lick my asshole and you'll fuck me in the ass and I'll suck your cock or else!"
Richard just stood there staring at me. The look of shock on his face did nothing but make me madder and madder.
He was such an innocent! He was such a babe in the woods!
And he didn't say anything, so I said it for him!
"And if you don't get out of those clothes and start making love to me immediately, I start screaming, Richard! So help me I will! And I'll throw this stool through the glass of the window. And then, when everybody comes running up here, I'll say that you tried to rape me! Now get undressed and let me see that cock of yours!"
Richard just couldn't seem to believe what he was hearing.
He just stood there staring at me stupidly.
"I can't, Sally. It's against my principles."
"Isn't having your career ruined against your principles, too? Isn't going to jail against your principles? Isn't having my father on your back against your principles?"
"I won't touch you, Sally!"
"I warn you, Richard!"
"Sorry, Sally. I can't be blackmailed into loving a sick girl who only thinks she loves me."
"My father will have your balls!" I screamed at him.
"You won't do what you threatened, Sally. You're not that evil," Richard said, and he smiled gently at me.
"Now you just put your clothes on, and well forget all about this little episode. I'll wait for you in the classroom."
And with that, Richard turned, took his big ring of keys out of the pocket of his suit, and started walking toward the cloakroom door.
I picked up the stool I had been sitting on and hit him hard on the back of the head with it! He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes! Then I started screaming at the top of my voice and attacked him with all the great strength of my fury.
I clawed at his face and body!
I tore at his clothes, ripping them into shreds!
He tried to defend himself passively, but nothing he tried could save him from my sense of outrage!
Then I turned my claws upon myself!
I tore my own skin and hit my own face with my fists!
I knew my eye was black and my lips were terrible swollen.
Then, still screaming at the top of my voice, I took Richard's left hand in mine and hit it, knuckles down, as hard as I could on the hardwoon floor.
Next came my own clothes!
I tore them to shred, too!
By that time, Richard was slowly getting to his feet, leaning onto the hooks in the cloakroom to maintain his shaky balance.
But he was too late to make any difference!
I picked the big, wooden stool up, ran the length of the cloakroom at full speed, and hurled it through the big, closed window!
It crashed through with a huge noise, sending a shower of glass fragments falling heavily into the courtyard directly beneath us!
I leaned out the window screaming and screaming and screaming, making sure that I received many, many cuts from the broken window glass all over my arms and breasts and stomach!
CONCLUSION
Well, the hour was up and I was presented with two of the biggest problems in my medical career. First, there was Sally herself. The poor, young girl was one of the saddest cases I've ever had to deal with. I was moved to both pity and terror by her extremely sad story.
Second, there was the question of Richard Bennet. I knew he had been arrested and was still sitting in prison awaiting his trial date. Sally's father, the Chief of Police, had been successful in preventing Richard out on bond. The Chief was determined, as Sally had predicted, to "have Richard's balls!"
Of course, I cannot break my professional confidence, and reveal what I know to be the truth in a court of Law. But I have to do something! And my best chance seems to be to see Sally every day of the week, twice a day if necessary, in an attempt to get her to be brave and fair with herself ... and tell the truth.
CASE HISTORY EIGHT
Subject: Peggy Lee B. Age: 13
INTERVIEW ONE
My next patient, Peggy Lee B, was most interesting because the young girl who sat in front of me was an experienced drug taker of a most unusual sort.
At a mere age of thirteen, she had been taking massive doses of psychedelic drugs for almost five years. That doesn't surprise the informed medical practitioner.
The cases of child drug use may not be so numerous as the cases of child alcoholism, but it is common nevertheless.
But what is surprising about the case of Peggy Lee B is that, despite her love and use of powerful drugs, she is an amazingly healthy, intelligent, sensitive, loving young person.
It makes me wonder and causes me to have to rethink the whole question of drugs.
Well, Doctor, I'm going to level with you and tell you exactly how it is with me.
I like your face.
The thing is, I've been taking drugs for a long time now.
And I don't mean just once in a while or now and then, either.
I mean a lot of drugs.
I've been taking a lot of drugs for a long time now, and that's the truth.
It began with my older bother, Tommy.
When I was about six, almost seven, Tommy was seventeen and had, even by that early age, been dealing dope for about six years.
In other words, he'd been dealing dope since he was the age of twelve.
It started when he had a paper route.
A couple of the customers he had then were dealing pot and he started out by making a delivery for them every once in a while and, well, one thing led to another, and before you know it, my brother was making enough money to save a lot by the time he was seventeen.
In fact, he's now finishing his last year of law school at Loyola, and he paid for every penny of it by his dope-dealing.
We're all very proud of him.
So it was Tommy who first turned me on.
I had been smoking dope for about a year before he even knew about it, and when he found out I was doing it, he didn't go berserk or anything stupid like that.
He loved me. After all, I'm his baby sister.
Tommy and I are very close. We both love and respect each other tremendously.
Anyhow, when he found out I was already smoking on a regular basis, he just took me aside and explained the dope-facts-of-life to me.
And there's been no problem since then.
There never has been any problem whatsoever with dope and me, none.
And I'm a straight-A student. I sing in the church choir and I'm on the girls' basketball team. I like music, poetry, theatre, wilderness camping, school, friends, dancing, sports, and dope.
So it's nothing for me, nothing but a very nice, very beautiful part of my every day life.
Dope doesn't get in my way. It helps me.
I sincerely believe that I do a lot better taking dope than I would without it.
So there it is, believe it or not.
Anyhow, one day during History II class, I asked to be excused so I could go to the girls' John.
And, of course, I was excused. Straight-A students always get treated very nicely by the teachers.
So there I was, sitting on the can smoking a joint and thinking about my term paper. I had already puzzled out about half the outline for the whole paper in about ten minutes, when I heard the outer door to the John open.
Right away I though something funny was going on because the footfalls I heard coming toward me were much too heavy.
Either they were the footfalls of a very, very heavy and awkward woman, or the were the footfalls of a man!
So I started to throw the roach in the water and flush it away when, much to my shock, the door to the can was violently thrown open and there was standing the creepiest guy in the whole school!
Mr. George E. Morehard! Egh!
A fat, stupid, retired cop who was currently padding out his retirement pay and social security benefits by working part-time as the school disciplinarian!
"Aha!" he shouted, gloating, his fat, ugly face twitching with nasty pleasure, "I caught you red-handed! Give me that!"
Well, I was in such a state of shock, I didn't even resist when he rudely snatched the remains of the joint out of my hand!
"Get your panties up and come with me, young lady!" he snarled. "You're gonna get it now. I've been after your smart ass for a long time now. And you are definitely gonna be sorry!"
Well, Doctor, you can imagine how upset I was!
But if there's anything I am, it's self-possessed. I am a cool character. I leave panic for the General Custers in the world. They can have all of it there is to have!
Anyhow, I got my clothes pulled back up and stepped out of the stall.
And there was creepy Mr. Morehard. He was holding my purse and smiling in a very strange way!
He practically dragged me down the hall, half-pulling and half-shoving me all the way!
If I weren't such a cool person, I would have turned around and kicked him in the groin!
But, of course, that would have meant body contact, and I certainly didn't want to touch creepy Mr. Morehard! No way!
So he drags me down the hall and down into the second basement where he has his rats' nest of an office.
He shoves me into it, and locks the door behind him!
Then he starts with his big speech. Talk about Hicksville! I really believe Mr. Morehead has watched too many old cops and robber movies on television!
Anyhow, he threatens me with everything under the sun, including a lifetime on Devil's Island, deportation, and public exposure through the media.
Poor man, he didn't even seem to realize that my father is the richest and most powerful man in the whole south of the state. I had to struggle to keep from laughing right in Mr. Morehard's rodent-like pus!
I could just see my name and the story about me and my drugs on our local television and radio stations and the newspaper. Daddy would never permit that kind of ridiculous shit, and Daddy owns all that stuff!
So there's Mr. Morehard thinking I'm completely terrified, and there's me struggling to keep from laughing.
Then, he drops what he thinks is the big bomb!
He sneeringly informed me that he'd "let me get away with it" if I had sex with him, right then and there in his filthy office!
So I said, "Sure, Mr. Morehard! I'll do anything you say, but just don't tell Daddy on me and just don't make me drink any of that whiskey you're drinking from that vacuum jar of yours."
Well, of course, that's exactly what he wanted to hear, the creep!
So he says, "Just you wait here, you little dope fiend, and I'll go into the next office and get some more Four Roses. I drink nothing but the best!"
So he left me sitting there alone with his vacuum bottle.
And while he was gone, I opened my purse and took out what drugs I had with me.
There were fifteen hits of acid, about six hits of mesc and about a dozen hits of speed.
I reached over, dumped all the dope into his whiskey, and put the plastic top back on the vacuum jar!
Then I picked it up and shook it up good, a real good cocktail for a real bastard like ol' Morehard!
Well, I thought to myself, here's yet another 'case' in which the patient doesn't really need professional help so much as a willing ear. But that, in and of itself, is curative and I take pride in inspiring my self-helping patients by being a good listener.
I found myself looking forward to Peggy Lee's next visit with something almost like glee.
INTERVIEW TWO
It didn't at all surprise me when Peggy Lee sat herself down opposite my desk at exactly the right time. She was such a pert, charming young girl, one couldn't help but be favorably impressed by her charmingly mature attitudes toward life!
And yet she took a lot of drugs on a regular basis!
The paradox of the situation gave me a lot of nourishing food for thought!
Well, Doctor, there was Mr. Morehard, standing right next to me, with his bottle of Four Roses in hand.
Now with the other hand he was being very obscene.
Yes, that's right, he was fondling his organs with his dirty hands through the dirty filthy old pants he had had on every day for the past semester.
God! But it was gross. Yet in some way it was also very exciting.
You know. Watching this fat middle-aged man standing there playing with himself.
Well, you know, I've read about things like that, but here it was really happening.
Then he handed me, the cheap bottle of booze he was swilling, with the usual sneer on his caricature of a face.
I drank a big belt of it down without any trouble and without much effect.
However, I did remember to sputter and cough!
Then I said, "Oh, Mr. Morehard, you're not going to drink, too, are you? You're not going to make me drink from this bottle while you drink from your thermos, are you?"
And, as you realize, Doctor, that's exactly what he did, the ugly, raunchy pig. By now his cock was very hard and I must say looked fantastic in outline through his pants.
Doctor, it was huge. Positively huge.
Well, he drank all the shit in the thermos down, all at once!
That, of course, was to prove to me what a big man he was.
Christ! Doctor, it was getting positively obvious just how big he was. And that was very big.
Well, no sooner had that happened, when he started getting out of his clothes.
Doctor, he had a rather interesting body. I mean, I'm majoring in fine art and I'm really very interested in nudes, but, of course, I don't often get the opportunity to study the male nude.
And there was a very good example, of sorts, of the male nude right before.
When he unzipped his pants, since he had no underwear on, his big dong, popped right out and just stood out like some attachment. It looked so strange coming through his fly like that.
You know, no body, only this huge member. Beating to the pulse of his speeding up blood system, excited by the awareness that it was going to be soothed and have its anger removed by a very young and tender cunt.
Namely, mine.
Well, as far as I was concerned, sex was absolutely out of the question.
He, nevertheless, let his pants drop and stepped out of them and came toward me and started to stick his pole between my legs.
But, god, doctor, it smelled ripe. Or something like that, when it got close to me.
It had a very thick heavy foreskin, that was slowly receding over the huge swollen head of that monster.
It continued to do so until the entire plum sized head was completely exposed and giving off a odor you wouldn't believe.
I think it was because of the smegma around the ridge just behind the head of his gigantic cock.
I knew that it was there because I could see a fine yellowish-white circle up near the ridge head.
"Take it in your hand!" he commanded. "No," I shot back.
"You take it in your hand and play with it or I'll jerk it off all over your nice new clothes," he sneered, "and believe me, I will."
I was not a bit frightened, but I was fascinated by the size of his immense organ. So because of my curiosity, rather than from his threats, I put one hand under it as though trying to help support the weight of a cock so large.
It was thrilling to feel the pulsing heat of a fully mature man.
God! Doctor, I was really enjoying it.
Yes, fucking-sex was definitely out of the question.
But I did want to taste that swollen head. But I didn't want him to know that.
"Don't make me suck that thing, Mr. Morehard. Please. It will make me sick."
Naturally that's just what he ordered.
"Suck that fucking cock, slut. Get right down there and put that god-damned whoring mouth over the head of my big fat cock," he ordered in his most authoritarian voice.
I wanted to laugh out loud, but naturally I was unable to since it would have ruined the entire drama. But it really did seem so funny.
I mean here I was, my pussy getting moist and juicy at the thought of sucking the cock, that huge swollen, musk scented monster and yet at the same time the man this magnificent throbbing engine was attached to was a gross, ugly foul ball, you know a laughing stock.
It was almost too much for me to contain myself.
Anyway, I resisted as best as my acting ability could portray, but after another command from him, using his full authoritative voice, and I do mean nearly screaming, I decided that I just couldn't wait any longer to get that throbbing, excited dork between my lips and lick and suck and slurp away all those delicious flavors and work that piece of meat until it threw-up its thick supply of spunk so that I could swallow it.
So there I am, right down on my knees holding on to those elephant balls for balance while that great piece of bologna was just pounding in and out of my hot mouth.
God but it was delicious.
But the damned old bastard was so hot that he came after only about fifteen or twenty strokes. But Doctor what a load it was. And it was slightly bitter, you know like the taste of cocktail onions.
Well as soon as I got that load out of his swollen old nuts he leaned back and nearly lost his balance. Boy, doctor, was he stoned.
And then, like a flash, like turning a light on or like turning a water tap off, Mr. Morehard was absolutely stoned!
He was tripping his tits off, as they say in the dope underworld!
And he was mighty, mighty open to suggestion!
So I said, "Oh, Mr. Morehard, you aren't going to lie across the top of your desk on your back and jack off while I take all my clothes off, are you?"
Which is exactly what he did!
And no sooner was he settled down on the top of his desk as suggested, and I grabbed my purse and quietly slipped out the door of his office, careful not to make the slightest sound, careful not to close the door behind me.
The last I saw of Mr. Morehard, he was naked, on his back and jacking himself off with the greatest of pleasure.
He was totally lost in a seventh heaven of dope-sex-pleasure!
Then it was just a matter of walking into the central office and asking if I couldn't make an announcement to the school on the public address system.
It was almost the end of the school day and, as Class President, I often made such announcements. So there was no problem at all getting permission.
I turned the switches on and was soon broadcasting loudly and clearly into every room in the whole school, with the exception of Mr. Morehard's basement office.
Oh! Doctor, I was so filled with excitement.
He wasn't getting the message.
But he sure would ... in just a few minutes!
"Attention, attention, all teachers and faculty!" I announced, "This is Peggy Lee and I'm speaking for Mr. Morehard, our beloved school disciplinarian! Mr. Morehard has asked me to ask all of you to attend a meeting in his office immediately after classes are released. He said that, as this is the only meeting he plans on calling this year, he does sincerely hope that all teachers and staff members will be so kind as to attend and attend promptly. Mr. Morehard plans on taking attendance, and all teachers and staff members who are present at the meeting will have their names put on a list that will then be duplicated and given, not only to the principal but to all the members of the Board of Education, as well. Thank you for your time and attention."
And you know what, Doctor? Since then I've overheard some of the teachers whispering about that meeting.
One of the male faculty even fainted, it's said.
Yes, I said male faculty members!
I wonder what Mr. Morehard had on his mind when they all walked into his office?
Well, whatever it was, I'm sure it was something he could handle!
CONCLUSION
When Peggy Lee finally walked pertly out of my office, I couldn't help but admire her sense of justice and irony. A girl like that has every chance of doing, not only well in the world, but perhaps even exceptionally well!
I do wonder about the heavy, regular use of drugs, though.
Maybe I will 'drop' the hit of acid she gave me!
Or, again, maybe I won't! We'll see.
GENERAL CONCLUSION
In each of these eight cases, we saw a young student used and abused by various members of the school staff.
Shockingly enough, this sort of thing is not at all uncommon.
And, as you read through these striking case histories, you will notice that all of the abuse, with the exception of the lesbian cases, were 'crimes' that were inflicted upon the young students by heterosexual teachers and staff members.
So one of the points I want to make here is that all the fuss and loud noises made about the so-called evils of male homosexuals teaching young people is an extreme exaggeration of the whole student-teacher problem.
Sex 'crimes' can and do take place, but the fact is that it is not the exclusive domain of male homosexuals. Far from it. The vast majority of crimes against students are committed by heterosexual teachers and staff members.
Another point I'd like to make by way of a General Conclusion is the role that parents play in situations of this kind.
Frequently, all too frequently, when some unfortunate incident of this sort does occur (and they do occur, there's no avoiding or denying that), the parents of the used and abused young students do not make matters better.
They too often make them worse.
For instead of realistically accepting the facts for what they are and dealing with them in an adult, logical, compassionate and loving way, the confused parents make a bad situation worse, much worse, by blindly causing even more trouble and scandal!
So it is that the poor abused young students are not only abused and even raped by their teachers and staff members of the school, but they are even further abused by the ignorance and angry acting-out-of-guilt by the selfish, unthinking parents!
The parents are so often ego-centric in the worst possible way, that rather than help their children understand and forget the unfortunate things they've had to suffer at the hands of cruel adults, they seem to take an almost perverted delight in adding to the children's confusion and identity-crises!
So I offer one last word of brief advice.
When dealing with children in times of crisis in their lives, take the advice of Saint Augustine. It was many centuries when that wise man made the following statement, but the great and curative truth of it still applies ... today!
