We hope you will not be shocked or repulsed by the story Sharon Bower has to tell-the story of her own twisted sexual drive that stopped at nothing. Incest, fellatio, group sex, cunnilingus-every form of sexual expression was Sharon's particular way of rebelling. Yet, her rebellion did not separate her from certain conventional desires she needed. These contrasting poles of behavior seem, at this period of social evolution, peculiarly American, and Sharon's story is thus a case study which might be applied to any American sixteen-year-old girl. But we hope there aren't many young nymphomaniacs of Sharon's type who will continue undetected by their parents, or untreated by psychotherapy, for, such sexual behavior, unchecked, could split the society that has been so many generations evolving out of darkness.
Writing is a therapeutic endeavor for some people. It was for Sharon. This is why her psychotherapist encouraged her to "...put it all down on paper, make it like a confession." We are pleased that such a story was committed to paper, for now we are able to pass it along to our readers for the insights of erratic sexuality which may be gained.
We believe sixteen-year-old Sharon has provided one of the most unusual socio-sexual documents of the decade. There is much to be learned from her story, much to put in perspective with a new kind of society, in fact, a brand new kind of sexual life that has already become routine for millions of teenage Americans.
Read carefully. Sense the mood of Sharon. Feel her bursting sexual reactions. Then reflect on her story and give yourself to deep introspection about what our aims should be for our children.
CHAPTER 1
My name is Sharon Bower and I'm what you'd call a part-time rebel. I'm a really flexible chick, man, meaning I get damn good vibes with a swinging crowd; I can roll the weed and fuck and suck with the best of them, but I'm still only a part-time doer. I know where the action is, but I also know what I need and want. Baby, I may need a cock socko when I get an itchy puss, but I also need the co.. torts of bread, the security of four solid walls and clean sheets once in awhile. Sure, I run with the free love crowd, march in those protest deals, and I've even bedded with one of those cult-type families in the Santa Monica Mountains above Malibu. Now that nudist colony was one blast, man! We sure as hell had an integrated community that summer-those black studs can give a girl one fuck of a blow job! I still get the itches just thinking about them. But that sort of ride is only temporary with me. The rest of the time I'm a good little girl minding my P's and Q's and A's and B's in school and all that shit.
My psychoanalyst thought it was interesting that I was only devoting part of my time to my rebel causes. He wanted me to admit that it was because I was confused and couldn't decide whether to be good or bad. I wouldn't fall for that line. I know what I am. I'm bad, man, bad.
How did it start? By that you mean when did I split and get involved with the funky crowd, eh? That's easy. When you're talking about society dropouts, you're really talking about the young anti-establishment crowd, that not only advocates a new love, but a crowd that practices what it preaches. I've seen some groovy happenings, man, and when I was involved I really got with it. No halfway deal then. I really became a free spirit when the occasion arose, and I've moved with the sex crowd to satisfy my own internal cravings for excitement, and when I get that crotch throb there is only one way for liberation. That swinging hip crowd is my answer! It has been for as long as I can remember.
I was about twelve years old when I had my first fuck. The stud was an old guy in his forties. He was a friend of my father's. But maybe I should tell you something about my family first. They're involved. My father is an account executive for one of the largest advertising firms in Los Angeles. He's a sharp looker and dresser and on occasion I have even been tempted to offer him my pink cunny for a ramming. But I'm too much of a coward for that. I've been in a cold sweat for a daddy fuck, but I've always chickened out. My dad is a real hip sort, drinks and jokes a lot. He's not too bad, but every so often he gets a kind of righteous streak in him and starts to bear down on me. Real hard. You know, do this, you can't do that, nag, nag, nag-all the time. But that wouldn't be so bad if he'd stay with it. He doesn't. The next day or the next minute he might be giving his permission for me to do the very things he had just said he'd never agree to. My dad has a lot of friends, though, and he's pretty successful. He complains about bills a lot, but we've got it pretty good. Nice house-swimming pool-three cars-a cleaning woman who comes in regularly-that sort of jazz. We've even got a membership in a country club where they've got a pool and sauna baths, tennis courts, riding stables and even a golf course to keep the kids busy while their folks are drinking or maybe making-out with somebody else's wife. But it's nice. I liked it for a while. My mom's a real looker and I have an idea she was the real thing when she was a kid. Sometimes she still acts like a kid, especially when she's been drinking or when she gets mad at my dad. Then she reminds me of a kid. I've got a brother who's two years older than I am. Jeff's very handsome, tall and dark. Sure he wears his hair long and goes in for the faded jeans and worn-out sandals-but he's still a living doll. Sometimes I wish he weren't my brother. I'd love to get him in bed with me and show him I'm not as young as he may think. I made out all right as a little kid. Like in three easy lessons, and by then I was able to carry on all by myself. This friend of my father's was often around our house. His name was Carl and he was almost like one of the family. He was at all our parties and we often visited back and forth-things like that. But it was at his house when he laid me. Or maybe I made him. Anyway, this is the way it happened.
It was a Sunday afternoon and Carl had stopped by to have a drink with my father. I never paid too much attention to Carl, but I could tell he liked the girls. He had that gleam in his eye. My dad had often said he'd chase after anything resembling a female. But this day it was the first time that I noticed that he looked at me in a special way-me, just a twelve-year-old kid. It made me feel good, though. It kind of made up for how mad I had been at my father in the morning. I wanted to go to a show and he wouldn't let me. Not for any reason at all, he just wouldn't give in. I was so mad I could have screamed. Funny, but later I did scream. With Carl. I thought about how mad I had been while I was fucking'with Carl, and he made me scream. Man ... I'll never forget it. And I'll never forget that it really started-that I really knew Carl was after me-while we were talking for the first time. Right up until then a hello was about as much as I got out of him. But this time it was different.
It was real hot for late May, and when I got up in the morning, I put on a swimsuit-it was a real brief bikini I had used the year before. I guess I had grown 'cause, man, I filled it out but good. Not that I had a real shape at that time. I didn't. Later, Carl told me that was what he liked about me-youthful innocence, he called it. But when I looked at myself in that suit, I knew I was growing up. My tits were just starting to show up pretty good. They stuck out by about only an inch or two, I figured, and that sure wasn't much of a stake, especially when you compared me to some of my friends. They had it! But I liked the way my belly was real flat. I thought that was real sexy. And my hips rounded out a little, and I liked that, too. The way the swimsuit fitted me made a whole lot of flesh between the waistband of the suit and my navel. It looked great. That also made my legs look better-longer, more curves and with a lot of my hips showing because the suit was too small for me. Man, I looked bare. And Carl looked at me and started a genuine conversation.
I walked into the kitchen. My father and Carl were having a drink at the table and my father was standing up, just leaving for the garage, where he was going to get some fishing equipment for Carl to use. I just stood there. My dad left the room. He said, "Be a good girl, Sharon, and entertain Carl while I'm in the garage, eh, chick?"
"By all means," Carl said, kind of emphasizing the words, grinning at me at the same time.
I moved a little closer. I can't really remember but I think I did this to kind of tease him. When I was looking at myself in the mirror I kept thinking how I needed practice with men. I think I was practicing with Carl-teasing him, making him know that I was built.
"You look cool enough," Carl said to me. His eyes touched at my titties, then shot down to that wide space of skin between my bra and the bottom of the suit. His eyes looked happy, just like I felt when I looked at that same spot.
"I'm not cool, I'm hot," I said, remembering how I wanted to go to the show because it was air conditioned.
He grinned as I pulled out the chair that was next to him and sat down, swinging my legs around so that they faced him.
"You going to the club pool today?" Carl asked.
"It's not open yet."
"Oh, that's right. I forgot." His eyes played with me again. This time they seemed to fasten on my legs, especially at the way I looked all ripe and tempting between them because the suit was so tight. I didn't mind the way he looked at my cunt area. I liked it. I even parted my legs a little to give him a better view. My knee hit his and I could feel him tremble a little.
"Too bad about the pool," Carl said, taking his eyes off me and shutting them tight as if to block me out as he finished the gin and tonic my father had fixed him. "Too bad about your pool, also. Your dad told me about the crack that needed repair. It's a real shame on a hot day like this not to have a pool for cooling off."
When Carl put his glass down, it seemed as if he was trying to keep his eyes from looking at me. It was almost as if he was ashamed of something.
"Let me have some of your drink, please?" I asked him. "It's gone."
"Just the ice, I mean."
"Oh, sure, why not?" he said, handing me the empty glass.
Right then I started feeling pretty cocky. I knew that Carl was impressed with my bare body. Now, I wanted to get him really hot, really impress him. Just like that, I knew how to do it, too.
There were about three ice cubes in the glass and I really made a production out of sucking them. I tipped my head way back until there was a kind of strain on my neck. I could tell that that did things to my body. While I was holding the glass back like that, the ice cubes clung together for a moment. Then they plopped forward into my mouth. I took one of them, making my lips go all around it, and then I looked at Carl. He was watching me. I sucked the ice cubes a little further into my mouth, still watching Carl and his reaction to what I was doing. I raised my lips, kind of aiming them at Carl. Then I made some little noises as I sucked on the ice cube. Carl just stared. Then I laughed a little and pretended that my lips were getting too cold to hold the ice cube. I took it out of my mouth and held it in my fingers on a level with my lips. Then after a few seconds, I wiggled my tongue against it real hard, making my tongue pointed like I was spanking the ice cube. There was a sound like a short moan from Carl, and he shifted his position, bringing his lap under the table. Pretty soon I took the ice cube into my lips again, and I held it there for a few seconds before I finally hid it in my mouth and chewed it to bits, doing it real slowly while I stared at the man across the table from me. Oh, I knew I was teasing the hell out of Carl, but that's exactly what I wanted to do.
"You really give an ice cube a workout," Carl said. His voice sounded different.
"Sure I do," I said. "I like to do everything in a big way." My voice sounded different, too. Huskier and much older.
"It's a good way to live," Carl said. "Do everything right up to the hilt, I always say. Worry about consequences and problems later."
I smiled and nodded. Then my father came back into the kitchen carrying some fishing gear. It made me mad that he came in right at that time, because I was just collecting a whole bunch of cute things I wanted to say to Carl. Dad coming in right then kind of broke the spell. But I felt great, really great, because I realized that I had really excited Carl. That was pretty good for a kid of twelve, I figured, especially when you considered how old Carl was-just about my father's age.
My father made Carl a new drink and filled his own glass. Then he glanced at me and asked me if I wanted a Coke. I said, "Yes, with a lot of ice cubes."
Carl laughed real hard. My father looked at him a little strangely and said, "What's the joke?"
"Nothing," Carl replied, making me feel as if he was lying for me, or keeping the business about the ice cubes a secret just between the two of us.
"That's quite a laugh for nothing provoking it," my father said, turning back to the business of fixing my Coke.
"It just seemed funny to me the way Sharon was ordering her drink. You know, as if you were a waiter."
"Oh," my father said, sounding satisfied.
The men talked about the fishing gear my father was lending Carl, while I sipped my drink. I was tempted to play with the ice cubes again but didn't because it wouldn't be the same with my father there. In a few minutes I got pretty bored by all the talk of lures and test-line and bait and fish and rivers, so I drank my Coke down in one long swallow, then stood up.
"Where are you going?" Father asked. "Don't you want to hear fish talk?"
"You'd better believe it," I told him. I smiled at Carl, then turned and started to go.
"And I'll take the lady's exit as an excuse to find the John," Carl laughed, suddenly standing up.
"You know where it is," father told him.
"I should," Carl laughed. "I've been here often enough."
I had intended to go through the house and out to the front lawn, when I started to leave the room. But when Carl said he was going to the bathroom, I changed my mind. I don't know why, except that maybe it was a part of my plan to have Carl like me. Anyway, I decided to go upstairs to my room, a direction that would take me right past the bathroom where Carl was headed. I heard him following me. It made me feel good because I knew that Carl knew that we had a bathroom right off the breezeway by the garage. When he started following me, it could only mean that he wanted to be near me or walk behind me. I became very excited at this thought.
For a few moments I pretended not to notice that he was following me up the stairs. I tried to imagine what my body must look like to him from the rear. I hoped that my ass looked cute. I even gave a little extra wiggle to the natural movement I always seemed to make with my hips. When we were halfway up the stairs, I stopped, one foot raised on the next stair. I smiled at Carl. He smiled back, and suddenly I noticed the perspiration on his forehead. I thought I was the cause of his sweating.
"Oh, hell, you caught me," Carl said. "And here I hoped to follow you all the way to the top. I simply couldn't resist those cute back cheeks of yours-they're so inviting I got carried away."
"I knew you were there all the time," I laughed in what I hoped was a sophisticated tone.
"No doubt," he said. "Maybe you felt my steamy breath on your back, eh?"
I laughed. That steamy breath bit sounded good and grown-up, so I laughed in a way that let Carl think I knew exactly what he meant. Then before I could move, Carl came right up to the stair that my bottom foot rested on, and he bumped against me a little, right at my ass, kind of pushing at me with his thighs. At the same time he gripped my shoulders as if he were doing it for support. It gave me one hell of a hot, funny feeling. Carl's prick was pressed against me there, and I could tell that he had a good hard-on. Having a brother, I knew all about that sort of thing. At that time I thought boys and men only got that way because they wanted to-because they willed it. This pleased me. Carl got that way because he likes me, I thought.
For a few seconds we just stayed close together on the stairway. Then I looked over my shoulder at Carl and smiled. I hoped that it was, the kind of smile that would tell him that I knew what he was doing and that it was all right with me. Then I hurried up the stairs. I could feel Carl's eyes moving over my body, lingering at my tits and crotch. I just grew hot from the thought of knowing that he was inspecting me. A strange sort of throbbing came to my pussy as a wave of excitement rolled through me, bringing a tingling sensation clear to the end of my pointed titties.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Carl started to climb them. He seemed stiff and awkward. Then I looked at nis slacks, and I could see that big bulge there. I felt good. I had made him get that way-made him want to get that way because he liked me. He was big, too, and this sort of pleased me. But I didn't stare too long-just long enough to let Carl realize that I knew what was going on. Then I went to my bedroom just as Carl entered the bathroom. I knew then that this was the beginning of something very different and exciting.
It's very difficult to describe exactly what I felt at that moment. I was happy, but a little frightened, too. Not of Carl, but of my own feelings. I couldn't understand them. I was a hip kid, knew all the ins and outs of everything, I figured, but still this new feeling was strange to me. I was very excited. The feeling was all over me, but especially at my titties and thighs. Things seemed to tingle inside me and a wetness came between my legs unexpectedly. And again I wished that I had won my argument with my father and had convinced him that I should go to the theater and cool off. I was still kind of mad at him. And now I really needed cooling off! But I knew that a movie wouldn't help me at all.
It must have been about a half hour that I fooled around in my room, glancing through magazines, lying on my bed, doing a few exercises-things like that. And I didn't think too much about Carl am! h's hard-on. I just kind of blanked him out. But I thought about my father and how I was still mad at him.
I soon got bored with being alone. I get bored easily. There was nothing to do. My mother was shopping and my brother was off somewhere with his own friends. I guess I was lonely. Lonely and bored-a damn combination! I got up from my bed, went to the mirror over my vanity, adjusted my swimsuit a little, then went downstairs.
My father and Carl were still in the kitchen. They were laughing real hard. It was easy to tell by their voices that they were both pretty drunk. I've learned to be able to tell by sounds how people are. I walked toward the kitchen, planning to start up my little game with Carl again, but just as I was about to enter the room, Carl and my father came out.
"Ho, ho, look what we have here," my father said. "The water nymph herself. Minus water."
I gave him a nasty look as I remembered about how cool it would be in the show.
"And the nymph's still mad at her old man, too," father said, laughing.
"A nymph should never be out of the water," Carl added, chuckling real deep as if he had a private secret, which he no doubt did when you consider what happened between us.
"Damn shame the club pool isn't filled yet, and more of a damn shame about our own pool," Father said seriously.
"Yeah," Carl agreed. He brought his hand up and rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner for a short moment. Then, as if he was stricken with a good idea, he said, 'Tell you what. My next-door neighbors have their pool filled. I was going to take a dip when I got back. We've got carte blanche on their pool. "What do you say I take your little nymph here back with me and let her cool off?"
Carl said it to my father, not to me. He acted as if I had no say in the matter. And he acted as if he just assumed I wanted to go over to his place and swim. Of course, that was all right with me. I did want to go. Like crazy."
"Okay with me," father said easily. "She won't be in the way, will she? I hope your neighbors don't mind an extra guest."
"They're not even home," Carl said.
"How about your wife? She's pretty busy isn't she? Perhaps she won't appreciate an extra person around the house."
"My wife," Carl said dramatically, "is so damn busy every day she doesn't even know that I'm around. She won't even realize Sharon is there."
My father laughed and said, "I know what you mean. Shopping, P.T.A., the club-golf-name it, your wife and my wife do it."
"Right," Carl said.
"What about you, sugar? Want to go?"
"I'd love it," I told him.
He smiled rather kindly, then said, "Maybe this will make up for the business about the show, eh?"
"If I can go, it will," I said, blackmailing him a little.
"Run along then."
While my dad walked with Carl to where he" had parked his car in the driveway, I hurried upstairs to get some things. I put on some white sandals that laced high up my calves and got out a short, white terrycloth robe I always used for swimming. I loved that robe. It was real cool-came just below my hips a little and made me look real sexy. I threw everything, including some hot pants, a halter top, a large bath towel, hairbrush and cosmetics, into an overnight bag, then hurried back downstairs and out to the driveway. Carl had a low, red sports car-a powerful convertible that seemed designed for kids more than for middle-aged men.
"Ready?" Carl asked.
"I sure am," I said.
Carl opened the door for me and I jumped into the car. As I bent over to put my bag in the back, my father gave me a slap on the ass. He and Carl laughed real hard. I gave my father a look that could have killed, but he knew that I didn't mean it. He often slapped me across the buttocks playfully, and it was a regular game with us.
Carl drove quickly to his own neighborhood which was about twelve miles from ours. He seemed different. He didn't glower at me as he had in the kitchen. Instead, he seemed contented-as if things were all settled in his mind, or as if he had made up his mind about something important. It made me mad the way he seemed. I wanted him to still be looking at me, even touching me if he wanted. I wanted to cause his pants to bulge again with a hard-on. That was exciting-made me think I was really turning it on. That was what I had wanted-had, in fact, expected.
We talked a little as we moved along, but only about casual things: school, when the summer vacation starts-things like that.
I had never been to his house, although he was one of my father's oldest friends. I was very impressed with the place when we drove around the circular drive that made a half moon of the front lawn. The house was big enough and rich enough to deserve a swimming pool of its own. I told Carl that.
"I've thought about it," he said. "But it wouldn't really get much use. No kids, you know. And my wife's gone a good deal of the time and I'm equally busy. It's better to use my neighbor's pool for the amount of use I'd get out of one of my own."
"Is your wife home now?" I asked, thinking of it for the first time.
"Hell, no," he said, sounding a little unhappy. "Today it's a luncheon downtown, then a cocktail party at the art institute for some new, young artist, complete with beard, dirty jeans and B.O."
I laughed.
"Come on, nymph; let's hit the water."
We climbed out of the car. Carl let us in by the front entrance. We walked through the foyer and the other rooms until we came to a family room that was at the back of the house, looking out onto a huge yard. There was a high fence on all sides, making the whole area very private and cozy.
"The Wilsons live over there," Carl said, nodding to the left.
"Do we have to climb the fence?" I asked.
"No," he laughed. "We're such good neighbors that we had a door built into the fence."
"That's groovy," I said, also laughing.
There was a small bar in one corner of the family room, and Carl moved to. it as if he was in a hurry. I watched as he made himself a drink. I noticed that he poured three jiggers of liquor into the tall glass before adding seltzer water. I walked over to where he was behind the bar. As I moved toward him, I undid the robe I had decided to put on before we left my house. Then I kind of timed myself and pulled it away from my body just as I stopped in front of Carl. He gulped a little, and his eyes got that look again while he stared at how nearly naked I seemed. Then he raised his glass real quick and drank down about a third of the drink. Then he put his glass on the bar and sighed and looked at me.
Finally, he glanced away and asked me if I wanted something to drink.
"If you've got it," I said. I wished I could have asked for something stronger than a soft drink, but I wasn't brave enough to make that attempt.
Carl gave me a Pepsi. By the time I finished it, he had made and downed another tall drink. The beads of perspiration were back on his forehead, and I kept wondering if he had that cock bulge back in his trousers again. But he was behind the bar and I couldn't see his crotch. But then I forgot about it, because Carl suggested that we go for a swim.
I waited by the bar while he went upstairs to put on his swimming trunks. He was down in a few minutes. I was surprised that he looked younger in just shorts. He had a good build. Real hard and strong looking. But the hard-on wasn't there. At least I couldn't see it. I was decidedly disappointed.
"All right, Sharon, let's hit the water," Carl said.
"Great," I answered.
We went out the door of the family room. It opened onto a patio in the back yard. Walking across the grass, I could feel it tickle my toes between the straps of my sandals. It made me want to laugh.
When we reached the door in the fence, which was at the very rear of the yard, Carl held it open for me. I could feel his eyes on me as I bent to walk into the next yard. Then he shut the door and followed me.
The pool was great: large, oval shaped, and with a diving board.
"Oh, I love it," I exclaimed.
"And just what I need," Carl replied.
We walked to the edge of the pool. I looked around. Nobody seemed to be home at the Wilson's place. I wondered about them a little, especially whether or not they had any teen-aged boys in the family who might be coming into the pool. But then Carl dived right into the deep part of the pool, and I followed him.
For about a half hour Carl seemed to avoid me. When I'd dive in close to where he was in the water, he'd swim away. And he was careful to always stay clear of me in the pool. This told me something, although at that age I don't know how I could have understood it. But I did. I knew that Carl was avoiding me because he didn't trust himself with me. It made me feel important-very grown-up. But then I deliberately dived into the water right where he had ducked beneath the surface. As I scooted under water, I opened my eyes. I usually don't do that. Then I saw Carl gliding up to the surface right in front of me. I couldn't resist it-resist teasing him a little, I mean, so I swam right for his legs, which were a little bit apart. I swam between them, pushing his thighs apart with my hands. As I went between his legs, my head bumped his groin. He was hard again, yet kind of held in. I didn't mean to bump him like that, but I was glad I did because, when we both came to the surface, he was laughing and that old look was in his eyes again. I guessed that my deliberate contact with him had caused him to get the spark again because he changed-just like that. It was as if he had made up his mind about something-as if he wasn't arguing with himself anymore but had made a definite decision.
After that, Carl and I played in the water for a long time, maybe an hour. And I mean we played! There were lots of things we did to each other that were exciting. Carl would go under the water in the shallow part, then lift me up on his shoulders. I'd tighten my thighs around his neck, do it real hard so that he knew I was really there. And I was! I got a real funny feeling when I did that. It was as if I was squeezing something out of myself. Carl liked it a lot. I could tell by the way he grabbed my ankles and made them cross on his chest, making my thighs even tighter against his neck. When he did that, I really felt great. Sometimes he'd move them apart and together real rapidly, and that was very exciting. We did other things, too. When we were playing it was kind of natural that Carl's hands would go around my titties and that he'd bump against my buttocks a lot. That really got to me. He was hard again, and it was just like I was being stabbed ... in a nice way. And of course sometimes while I pretended to be fighting with him, my hand would hit him-hit him right where he had grown hard. Right at his crotch! I could feel the rigid cock as it strained at his bathing trunks. That really got him. I could tell. It got me, too. And something else was different then, too. It was the way Carl suddenly started talking to me. Suddenly he talked to me as if I was a woman. Real adult. He'd say things that were real personal, just between the two of us. And he was very flattering, too. As an example, while we were at the shallow end of the pool resting, Carl glanced over all my body and told me that I was pretty.
"Not as pretty as your wife," I corrected him.
"Much prettier, I think," he answered. "The way the sun plays with the ends of your blond hair makes it look like a halo."
I laughed and said, "You'll never find one of those on me." I don't know why I said that, either, because at that point I was a good girl.
"You get halos for different things," Carl said seriously. "Not just for being good."
"I'm mighty glad to hear that," I said, acting relieved and as if I was the naughtiest girl in the world.
Carl laughed, but right then I dived into the water again and struck out for the other end of the pool. I heard a splash behind me, and I knew that Carl was chasing me. I'm a good swimmer, and maybe I wasn't trying to win a race anyway, but .Carl caught me just as I reached for the end of the pool. He wrestled me beneath the water. I kicked and pretended to try and get away. He held me very tight, and his hands were on my tits again. Also, he locked his legs around mine, and that made me feel the hardness of his cock as he kept pressing against me. Then we surfaced and that was the end of the swim in the pool. I was bored with it, and Carl looked ready to leave, too, so we both walked away from the pool and through the door in the fence and up to Carl's house.
"You can change in any of the upstairs bedrooms," Carl said to me as soon as we entered the house.
"Can I shower, too?" I asked. It was impulsive. I hadn't even considered showering until then.
"Why, of course," he answered. "I'm sure you'll find everything that you'll need."
Carl walked to the foot of the stairs with me. For a moment I thought he was coming up, too. But he didn't.
"Just look around and you'll find the proper rooms," he said, nodding up the stairs.
I smiled at him. Then I went upstairs. I looked in all the rooms, guessing which one Carl occupied with his wife. There were quite a few, so I guessed that they must have house guests often. Then I went into the bathroom. It was quite large and there were stacks of towels piled in a closet, also a full-size vanity and mirror built into the tile. Bottles of bath salts and oils lined the sunken tub.
Carl was very much on my mind as I undressed. I continued thinking of him while I showered, making a big deal of soaping my body with a big, plushy sponge. When I turned the shower on full blast to rinse, my body tingled all over, and when I dried myself with a rough towel, I kind of glowed, got a little warm and just seemed to glow.
I had brought my little bag upstairs with me. I looked at the things I had brought along to change into and didn't like a thing. It was then that I got the idea of wearing nothing but my shortie robe. When I slipped it on, I felt very daring. It would be very exciting to really be naked beneath the robe while I was with Carl. He was going to take me home-had promised to deliver me by nine o'clock. It was hardly five. That left a lot of time for me to be in the company of Carl. It seemed like a great secret to be naked beneath the robe without him knowing it. I felt as brazen as anything.
I did wear my sandals downstairs-just the sandals and the short terrycloth robe. Carl seemed surprised to see me in the robe. He was still in his shorts, and he was sipping a tall drink in the family room. He was sitting on the edge of a chair, but when I came into the room he stood up. For a few seconds he just stared at me. Then he finished his drink in one long gulp and went immediately to the bar and started making a new one. I went to the chair where he had been sitting and kind of flopped into it. The hem of my robe flew up, showing a good part of my thighs, maybe enough to let Carl know that I didn't have anything on beneath it.
Carl drank some of the new highball before he left the bar. Then he walked directly toward me. Watching him, I got a funny feeling. He seemed real stern about something, as if maybe he was mad at me or at himself because of me. And then he really surprised me. He stopped by me, then sat down right next to me on the edge of the chair. But that wasn't all. He put his free hand around my waist, then raised it a bit and deliberately slid it inside the open bodice of my robe. I shivered when his hand found my bare tit and clutched it. But I tried to keep calm-tried to play the older woman role and let him know that I knew all the tricks.
"We're not playing in the water now, Sharon," Carl said, looking at me from one side.
"No," I answered, not moving from the hot touch of his fingers upon my tit. "Now we're just playing ... period."
"Do you mind?" he asked.
I didn't know what to say. But finally I mustered enough calmness to keep the big girl bit going, and I said, "Ah, hell, this doesn't mean anything to you. You don't even like me."
"On the contrary-I like you very much," he answered. As if to show what he liked about me, he let his hand go loose on my tit and started to tickle his fingers along the side until he came to my nipple, which he held between his thumb and forefinger while he pulled on it gently.
I turned my head away, looking clear across the room. But I didn't do anything to stop Carl from playing with my nipple. I didn't want to. It was one of the best feelings that I had ever had.
"You see, you're very young, but very wise and very beautiful," Carl said, slurring the words a little as if he had suddenly become very drunk. "And you're also very loyal, I'm sure, and that's very important."
"Yes, it is," I agreed.
When I turned to Carl this time, I knew that he was going to kiss me. He did. And how! And he wrapped both his arms around me and bent me back onto the cushions of the chair as he came over me a little bit-just enough to make me feel that hard bulge of his cock pressing against me. I could tell that my robe had parted, but I didn't know then that it had happened because I had opened my legs-opened them as if I was getting ready for Carl. And, oh, how he kissed me. I had been kissed before. A little bit. By boys. But this man went to my mouth as if it was going out of style. His tongue was real hard and pointed, and as it shot into my mouth, I kept thinking that it was hard like that other thing between his thighs. I don't know why I thought that, but I did. I was plenty excited and liked what he was doing to me. I caught his tongue with my mouth and pulled on it a little bit, not enough to hurt, but in a way that I hoped would make him feel good. It did, too, because he groaned a little, and the next thing I knew, his hands had moved from my back to my buttocks, and he was kneading my ass as he kept jerking up and down, making me strike against his protruding cock bulge. He kept doing it all the time he was kissing me. I helped him along a little. I opened my legs wider, not giving a damn about my robe, which was practically off of me by then. And I wound my arms real tight around his neck, at the same time still hanging on to his tongue and shaking my head a little from side to side as if what I had was just the greatest, most delicious thing in the world. And at that moment it was. But I didn't know anything about it then. What I got a few minutes later topped the whole damn world-blew me apart, sent me screaming, flying, roaring out of this world.
Carl stopped kissing me, and I turned my head to the side. His hands let loose of my bare buttocks, too. Then he drew away from me. And then his hands finished parting the robe from my naked body. I protested a little.
"What are you doing?"
"Undressing you," he answered, his voice sounding real thick.
"What for?" I knew what for, but it seemed that I had to ask anyway.
"You know why," heanswered. "You know and you don't care because you want me to give it to you-you really do, and I want to-my God, how I want to."
I raised a little while he pulled the robe from underneath me. I could feel the rough tufts of the material scrape against my back as if somebody was scratching me. It felt good. I arched a little so the robe could pull free from my buttocks. Carl pulled it away, then threw it to the side of the room. I watched it kind of swoop downward like a parachute that couldn't inflate. Then I turned and looked at Carl. He was rising. Then he was standing in front of me and untying the laces at the side of his trunks. While he was doing that, his eyes popped all over my naked body. Then he bent and pulled his trunks downward. I watched. When they went down to his knees, I saw his cock flip up and quiver-right at me. Then he pushed the trunks all the way down and kicked them to the side. He straightened for a moment before moving toward me again. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. Then he came to the chair and me again.
Carl pressed forward to kiss me again, but I stopped him. "Someone will come in-we'll get caught."
"Not a chance," he breathed right into my mouth, making me smell and taste the alcohol on his breath at the same time.
"But you're just saying that," I said, not pleading very hard because I already knew that I wanted Carl to make love to me.
He drew back a little, then said, "My wife won't be home until the wee hours of the morning. Besides-I don't give a damn, Sharon. I want to fuck you-you want me, too. I know it."
Now I felt like teasing him a little more. I smiled. "Why do you want to fuck me, Carl?
Because I'm young? Because you're some kind of a nut who goes for little kids? Or because you like me, really like me?"
He looked very serious, but very anxious, too. I could see all his muscles sort of straining towards me. Then he said, "I like you very much, Sharon. That's the truth. And I'm not a nut-Christ-I never imagined such a thing as this could happen to me. Never...."
I pushed up a bit and supported myself with my elbows, letting them rest in the chair while I hooked my hands at my waist. It seemed crazy-everything. And yet there was something about Carl that told me that he really liked me, that it was true that he wasn't a nut, although even if he was and had admitted it, I doubt that I would have cared. Somehow, I knew that Carl would never hurt me. That made me feel great. And it made me feel great to be naked with Carl, too. It was queer, but nice. There his naked man's body was next to me, and there I was, just a kid, but just as naked as Carl. It seemed like some kind of blending was about to take place. But I wasn't ready for it yet. First, I wanted to know that Carl really liked me-maybe even loved me. That was important. And it seemed important to make him say nice things to me, too. I needed his words to complete my inner excitement.
"What do you like about me, Carl?" I asked, trying to flirt the way I had seen older girls do it.
As his eyes glanced down the length of my naked body, he smiled. Then his eyes went real soft and kind of misty as he began to speak.
"You'd never believe what I like best about you," he said very quietly. "I like your wrinkles, especially that firm little wrinkle right there."
Carl pointed his finger right at me and touched that single line across my belly, just above my navel. It excited me that he liked that part of me. It seemed so ... simple, I guess. He could have liked my tits or mouth or my thighs, or even my cunt-anything else about me, but there he was telling me that he liked just a line on my body. It was strange. I liked that part of myself, too, and it seemed odd that we should both be so close in our preferences.
"Do you like anything else?" I asked, raising my hand and letting it rest on his shoulder, then pinching him there a little bit. I didn't feel bold or anything like that. I just felt like an honest-to-goodness woman. And even without knowing what sex was all about-even not knowing if I'd know how to let Carl fuck me, or what I should be doing once he started-I still felt very calm. And loving. And great. I was prepared for this older man's lovemaking-for the taking of my virginity.
"And I like your mouth and lips and tongue," Carl said, not so calm now, his body quivering again. "And your feet and toes and the bend of your knees and your titties-I adore your tits-and every inch of you."
For a moment I stared at him, then I lowered my eyes and looked direct ly at his cock, seeing it and knowing that it was meant for me, knowing, too, that Carl was going to be the first to take me, his steel prick was going to be the first lance my cunny had known.
"I like every inch of you, too, Carl," I said.
Quickly he moved forward, crushing me against the cushions of the chair and making me feel all of him on top of me. I clutched hard to his neck, turning my face toward his ear. At first, I just cuddled to him as his hands worked up and down my bare back. But suddenly I felt very excited, felt as if I just had to hurry and do what Carl wanted. I caught his ear in my mouth and began to suck on it. Then I shot my tongue inside, working it deep and all around in a manner that I hoped was similar to the way I had heard the older girls did with their boyfriends. It must have been right, because I felt his body stammer. Then I whispered to him, as I stroked lightly across his bare body.
"I don't ... I never have, Carl ... I'm afraid...."
"Don't be," he said. "I won't hurt you."
"I mean I'm afraid I won't know how to do it," I interrupted.
I could feel his face smiling against my cheek. "You will. I'll show you."
Right then we were both ready. Right then I knew that it didn't matter to Carl if his wife walked right in and caught us in the middle of a fuck. It didn't matter to me, either.
We kissed so hard with open mouths that our teeth clicked. But then we used our tongues to apologize. And all the time our hands were working. Carl touched me at every spot on my body: at my buttocks, which he manipulated a little, and at my tits, pulling and tugging at my taut nipples, and then at my thighs and the back of my neck, and then across that line of flesh about my navel that he said he liked so much. I touched him, too. But only at a few places. At his back, then straight downward until my hand found that hardness of him-that erect, pulsating cock that seemed to reach and strain for my touch. I closed my fingers around his hot prick and held him tightly. It thrilled me and I wondered if I would still feel that pumping beat when it was inside my cunt. And then I didn't have long to wonder.
Carl pulled away from me in a kind of desperate motion. Then he brought his hands to my thighs and gently pushed them apart. When he touched me, opening me a little, I thought I'd faint. I closed my eyes and leaned my head way back until I could feel my neck cords straining. Christ-it was like dying. Good dying! But then Carl adjusted his position a bit, came closer and brought himself right up close to me without entering. Then it wasn't like dying at all-it was living all over again. My hands shot out to each side of his waist, and I dug my fingernails into him as I tried to make him come closer.
Right then we had a little trouble. Carl groaned a miserable sound and thrusted himself forward. But he didn't get to me. Then he tried again, and still again, but still he couldn't make it. My cunt walls wouldn't give way to his penetration.
"Lift up a little, sweetheart," he said breathlessly.
I tried to but couldn't. Then Carl cradled my ass cheeks in his hands and arched me, showing me how he wanted me to do it. I went into the position that he wanted. Then Carl did things with my legs, brought them around his waist and up his back. It was a great, strong feeling that I had, and I made it better by locking my ankles together. Then Carl moved forward again. Still no success. Still his cock could not gain entry into my depths. We both began to feel desperate. Then he got into the act, because I couldn't wait any longer. I kept thinking that I had to hurry and experience this great thing before we were interrupted. And I kept thinking how horrible it would be for us if something happened that made us have to stop before we had finished our fuck. So then I reached out and gripped Carl and forced him closer to me. It worked ... a little. And then he raged forward and really made it. It was as if I was being cut wide open by his burning cock-and I loved it. And then he was in-all the way, and it felt as if I was being pushed out on all sides. Then Carl moved back and forward again. Now it seemed that he was driving clear through me. But only for a moment, and as he jammed himself to me, I raised and met him. It was the tightest feeling I had ever had. I kept thinking that I was like a nut that a screw joined.
"Oh, God," I sighed. "Don't stop-don't stop! Hurt me, Carl ... fuck me good!"
"Oh, baby," Carl murmured hotly into my ear. "You're such a baby ... baby pussy for a great fuck!"
I don't know how long it was that we moved together before I started to get that growing, crazy feeling of being lifted out of my skin.
Maybe it was a few minutes. Maybe it was an hour. I don't know. But it came upon me, and I hurried my motion at the same time that Carl moved faster. And the feeling really grew, bloated me up to that point where I felt I was about to burst. I didn't know if I should scream or cry. But I knew something beautiful was about to happen, something new and exciting and fulfilling.
And then I was ready and so was Carl. I could tell. By now I was dizzy and kind of crazy-crazy for Carl and what he was doing to me. I started to come. So did Carl. And right then the most horrible thing in the world happened. Carl started to leave me. He drew back further than he had at any time he was in me, and I knew he was going to pull back. I screamed, then ripped the fingernails of my left hand down his back while my right hand dived between us to grab him and keep him from leaving me. I barely touched him and that was what saved me. Then Carl couldn't withdraw. He jammed forward, moaning, and I was so happy, felt so great, that I couldn't prevent a long, crazy scream from bubbling out of my mouth-a scream that told of the feeling inside me that coursed all through my body. It was a tremendous feeling-one I had never experienced before.
Carl fell upon me. I could feel his cock going soft. My body also went limp. We held each other, lovingly and close. What we were feeling for each other at that moment was love. I knew it. I wanted to cry and cry I was so happy. I had never felt this way before.
Time blanked out for me again. I have no idea how long we rested together in the chair. But I knew when it was about to end. I could feel Carl's body grow taut again, and in a moment his cock was pressing against me again. It made me feel good that he wanted another fuck. I put my arms a little tighter around his neck to let him know that I liked it. Carl raised a bit and looked into my face.
"Again, sweetheart?" he asked. "Do you want another fuck?"
"Oh, yes, please!" I cried. This time Carl instructed me in a different position. I got on my hands and knees-on the floor. Carl came to me from behind, using his hands on my hips to spin me the way he wanted until I was able to pick up the motion myself. It didn't take long, because my orgasm started again ... almost immediately I began to explode ... and so did Carl. This time it was even better. This time I knew what I was doing and what was expected of me.
There didn't seem to be so much need for rest after this experience, maybe because we both came to the end so fast. And we had no sooner finished our fucking than I wanted it again. Fast. Right then. With Carl moving as hard as he could. Carl wanted it, too. And this time he moved me to still a new position, one that made it possible for me to move as fast and hard as I wanted.
Carl rolled on his back on the floor. Then he brought me above him. I did the rest. I gripped him, placed him, raised a little bit, then swooped downward with all the strength I had. Then we both moved. This time we changed rhythm, moved fast, then slow, then so fast that it seemed we wouldn't be able to stop. But we did. Then we moved real lazily for a while and kept at this pace until we were ready to make that last, mad dash to the finish line. We made it. In seconds. It was wild. At the end I could feel my small tits jumping, and it surprised me. I didn't know they were large enough to jump like that. Then I figured that they had grown because of making love to Carl.
I had always heard that girls were terribly upset when they lost their cherry. I wasn't. I was proud. When Carl and I worked together cleaning up the mess, I still didn't feel bad or hurt or dirty.
This is how it started with Carl. Right then I was his for as long as he wanted. Right then it seemed impossible that I should ever want to destroy him. But I did. And I succeeded. Carl was my first fuck, the very first step on my long road of promiscuity and deviation. Carl had taught the lesson well. I was hooked on sex-fucking and cock was on my mind from that day forward, and, man, I was now a woman! I began to look forward to many sessions of lovemaking with Carl-or with any other man who would have me. I had no feelings of regret or guilt. I had been turned on to the fucking tune and that's what I intended to be playing, man. Fucking was my kind of song, man!
CHAPTER 2
Within a matter of only seven month, I ruined Carl. I made him a washed-out, hopeless, beaten man, without a future and without much of a present either. I didn't exactly set out to do it-I didn't even know that I was doing it. But he made me. When he tried to break off his affair with me, I became desperate. I had to do something to keep him as my lover. That's what ruined him. It was awful. It's hard for me to tell about it, even now, but I will. But first I want to tell something about the other side of my life-that part that's not all sex, although I guess there is sex in that part, too. My psychiatrist said it was filled with sex and the signs of sex just as much as when I was making love to Carl, only I couldn't see it. So I want to tell about that part of my life.
In school I was only an average student, but I was popular enough and I didn't really dislike going to classes. Only sometimes, like when I didn't have my homework finished, I'd drop out of classes and take off the day. And my home life wasn't really bad, although I never did feel as if I was wanted. My parents were the kind who only wanted two children, one of each sex. But my older brother was really the only one they wanted. My mother and father used to joke about how I didn't seem to fit in. They really didn't go into details, but I got their message. They always had time for my brother Jeff, but I was left to cope on my own. I sometimes got the impression that my mother was jealous of my good looks, although she was a sharp-looking chick herself, but I still had this gnawing feeling that she didn't really accept me. She would kiss and hug my brother, while only patting me on the head, like one does to a puppy who is being silly. Both my parents raved about Jeff's grades in school and his athletic ability. My grades were certainly not worth raving abdut, and as for athletics-that was another big zero on my scoreboard.
From about the first grade onward, I did better school work when I had male teachers than if they were women. I liked men better. And, like most girls as they go through the grades, I had my share of crushes on men, usually teachers, although I had a big thing going for my uncle once-that was long before Carl came along.
I had friends in school and from my neighborhood. We spent as much time talking as we did playing, especially when we got to be around eight or nine years old. At that age we had something exciting to talk about. Boys. And parents, too, of course, but one way or another we always got back to boys. People might think that that's pretty young for girls to be thinking about boys, but it's not. It's about average, I would say. At least in my crowd it was. When I think of it now, it seems silly when I remember some of the impressions we had about boys. As an example, when I was eight years old, I still didn't know how babies were formed. I knew that it had something to do with a man and a woman, but I didn't know exactly what it was. In my childish mind, it had something to do with bed and a man and a woman being in it. Crazy! But that's what I believed. And of course I had it all wrong about a lot of things that concerned the boys. An older girl once told some girls and me that a boy had "French kissed" her. We laughed and said "golly," as if we knew what it was all about. I was a little off in the proper placement of the anatomy, but maybe not so far off, at that, for later I learned that there can be some mighty interesting kissing in that area.
Well, that's the way it went during my early days-during those years before I turned twelve and met Carl, then set about destroying him. I guess I was privileged as far as environment went, for my parents provided all the material things that a girl could want, and I got along pretty well with other youngsters of my age. That's good and average, I guess. But I'm not average when it comes to experience. When I was still practically a baby, I had some experiences that I still remember. And they weren't the ones that involved me and sex directly, either. One was, but the others didn't seem to have anything to do with sex attitudes or those elements that help to develop a girl's character and personality. When I think of them now, I realize that they did have quite a bit to do with some of the ideas I developed. And some of the ideas I had about other people.
When I was about ten years old, I had a chance to be outstanding in school. My English teacher was conducting a contest for the best composition by students in all the sixth grades throughout the school. I was very good in English that year, and I just felt that I could win that contest. And, oh, how I wanted to. My brother had won many different awards in school, and I wanted to win the certificate that was to be the first prize for the best composition. I chose to write about my first experience on a horse. It seemed like a good subject to me, because I remembered how frightened I was and I thought if I could put it all down on paper I'd surely win the contest. Every night for a whole week I worked on my composition. My parents were very amused by how hard I was working, but I could tell that their interest was the kind that didn't carry much hope that I could win the contest. It didn't bother me. I thought I could win, and I was determined to show my parents that I could.
Finally, I had my composition all down the way I wanted it. It was the very last night that I had to work on it because they were due to be turned in the following morning. I went over every word to make sure it was right; then I copied and re-copied to be sure that the penmanship was clear. In this contest, everything counted: penmanship, grammar, spelling, and of course how interesting the content of the composition was and how well it was presented. When I made the last copy, I knew I had a winner. I was very proud. It was right then that my father came and looked over my shoulder.
"Finished, Sharon?" he asked.
"Yes. And my composition's going to win, too." I felt very confident.
He smiled indulgently, then said, "Mind if I read the finished copy?"
I minded but I wouldn't say so. I handed him the several sheets of paper that were clipped together. Standing next to me my father read the composition. Then he handed it back to me.
"Do you like it, Daddy?" I asked. He hesitated, then said, "I'd like to make a few suggestions, Sharon."
I didn't answer. Suggestions I didn't want.
But I knew there was no stopping my father. At that age he had a tremendous influence on me.
"I think the story should be more exciting," Father said. "You know, give it some zip."
"But it's just a composition," I protested. "And besides, it has to be about a true experience-like what I wrote about-horseback riding."
"I know, but that doesn't mean you couldn't change it a little-just enough to add some excitement. You know what I mean."
"It has to be true. If I changed it, the story wouldn't be true."
"Look," my father said as if he didn't even hear me. "Suppose you were to fall off the horse? That's be exciting and it'd make your story all that much better. That would give it some zip."
My father could talk me into anything. I let him talk me into changing the story because I wanted to win so badly. So, I revised the whole composition and put in the lie about falling off the horse. It was more exciting than the way I had the original story. I really got carried away with falling off the horse. When my father read the new version, he was very pleased. I had the impression that my composition had begun to represent something to him personally-as if he was in the contest, too, and wanted to win as much as I did.
The next day I handed the composition in to my teacher. To all the classes, he restated the rules of the contest, then said there would be a decision on the winner on Monday. It was then Friday. I didn't know how I could live through the weekend. But I did. Then the winner was announced, and it wasn't me. I was crushed. But losing wasn't the worst part. When class was dismissed and we were leaving the room, the teacher called to me and asked me to remain behind. Then he told me the most crushing thing imaginable. He told me the truth.
"Your composition was very good, Sharon," he said. "As a matter-of-fact, it would have been the winner except for one thing."
He paused. I looked at him but did not speak. I could almost see the word form before he spoke them. I had the strangest feeling I knew what he was about to say to me, and I didn't really want to hear it.
"The judges doubted the honesty of the part about falling off the horse," my teacher said. "It's a common enough experience, but it was just a little too much for the rest of the story. If you had just told us how you felt riding a horse for the first time-there was some of that in it, and it was excellent, but we just couldn't accept the validity of the other part of the composition. I'm sorry, Sharon. You could have won."
He was sorry but I wanted to die. Losing was the biggest disappointment in my life, but to know that I could have won by leaving my story as I had had it in the first place made me want to die. Truly die, right there on the spot.
When I saw my father that evening, he asked me the results of the contest. He seemed abnormally eager about it. I just told him I lost without any explanation. Then he looked as crushed as I had earlier.
This may not seem like much of an experience for a girl, but it was to me. It has stayed with me all my life. Also, it made me have some very strange feelings about my father.
When I was younger, something else happened to me that has always stuck in my mind. I must have been about four or five. I woke up in the middle of the night, and my mother and father were arguing. It got worse and worse. I couldn't go to sleep. At different times I could make out their words, even if I didn't know what they meant. It seemed as if my father was accusing my mother of something terrible. He mentioned another man's name, and as I think of it now, I'm pretty sure that my father was saying that my mother was a "cheat." That word was used a lot, and when my father shouted it, my mother would cry and say that she was sorry. It made me feel awful. When the arguing had finally stopped and my mother and father were coming up the stairs to go to bed, I still couldn't sleep. It seemed certain that when I awoke in the morning either my mother or father wouldn't be there, or that maybe both of them would be gone. I was frightened. I knew that something was going to happen. People, just couldn't fight like that and still stay together.
It must have been nearly a half hour after my parents had gone into their room that I heard noises again. I thought they were fighting again. The noises were kind of harsh and wild, yet it seemed that they tried to subdue the sounds. I couldn't stand not knowing what was going on, so I got out of bed with the intention of going to the bathroom, hoping that the sound of me being awake would stop this new fight between my parents.
When I got into the hall, I noticed that my parents' bedroom door was open. I turned toward it. The sounds were still going on, and now they had increased quite a bit. My father was moaning and my mother was uttering little sobs. I knew that they were fighting again, but it seemed different. I strained a bit to see if I could see inside their room, but I couldn't. Then I walked closer to the open door. Now the sounds were really fierce and very loud. I looked inside the room and saw my parents. They were both naked and on top of the bed. My father was above my mother and he was doing what I thought then was beating her. His hips were lashing between her thighs, which she had wide apart and supported by her feet digging into the bed. And my mother was fighting back, throwing her thighs and hips up at my father every time he came down to beat upon her. And then I saw something else. I saw what it was my father was using as a weapon. He stuck out at that place between his thighs, and he was using that to stab my mother, doing it again and again as he raised back, then lunged forward. I couldn't understand why they didn't fight with some other parts of their bodies. But they didn't. It was just my father stabbing my mother and my mother fighting against it by raising and beating herself against him, only she wasn't succeeding, for my father stabbed within her every time, never missing. But sometimes it seemed my mother caught that thing of my father's and kind of strangled it, or hid it within her body before releasing him. When I saw that, I had the thought that my mother was fighting back in her own way. In the only way she could.
And then, suddenly, as I watched, the fight between my parents ended. They both cried out and their arms wrapped around each other as they moved faster than they haH yet. Then, when their cries ended, they both went limp and kissed, and I knew that it was over. Their fighting was over and they wouldn't moan and groan any longer that night. I seemed to be certain of that.
I turned and went to the bathroom, then to my own bed. It was nearly daylight before I finally fell asleep. It was a troubled sleep and I remember having all sorts of strange dreams that night, dreams about my mother and father and what they had been doing when I had watched them.
At breakfast the next morning there was certainly no sign that my parents had been fighting. Actually, they were sweeter with each other than at any time that I could remember. After my father left for the office, I asked my mother about it.
"You and Daddy had a fight last night, didn't you, Mommy?"
She seemed surprised, but then smiled and said, "A short one, darling. But we made up quickly, and everything's just fine now."
I wondered how everything could be all right after all the shouting, then the way they had fought each other on the bed while they were both naked. It seemed crazy to me and made no sense at all.
"You have to remember, dear," my mother continued, "that mommies and daddies often fight. It's part of life. But the fights don't last long and usually they aren't serious."
It had looked pretty serious to me. I didn't say anything more to my mother about that, though. I just changed the subject and left the breakfast table as fast as I could. I didn't want to talk any further on that subject.
I've only related two of my early experiences, but there were more. Some unusual, some pretty ordinary, and all of them, according to my therapist, "about the usual experiences that a girl has as she's growing up." Those were his words. And maybe it's true, too. The difference is probably what the experiences mean to the individual. Those are my psychiatrist's words, too. Anyway, these experiences and others, together with my general environment and the attitudes I developed, led me right up to my twelfth year and my sexual involvement with Carl, the middle-aged friend of my father's. Now I have to tell how I ruined that poor man, how I broke him down.
After that first evening, when Carl showed me everything about sex, we became, in a way, lovers. It may seem pretty ridiculous to think of a twelve-year-old girl and a forty-year-old man as being lovers. The law says it shouldn't be, at least not in this country, although Carl once told me that a long time ago in history it was pretty common for young girls to be the lovers of older men. But even if it wasn't so people could see, inside ourselves we considered that we were lovers, real, passionate lovers the same as if I was of age. But we were different than regular lovers, too. We had to be. Everything with us had to be a secret. Nobody could know that we even saw each other, except when circumstances set around my family permitted it. We both worked hard to find the chance to be together. The private swimming pool of Carl's neighbors helped a lot, and so did the swimming pool at the country club. Carl would arrange to be there when I was; then he'd offer to drive me home. We'd always stop by his house, outwardly using some excuse or another, but always knowing that it was so that we could have a few minutes in bed together. That was something that was different about our relationship, too. We always got together for just one thing: fucking. But that was the way we both wanted it. Carl always said that he wished that it could be different, that he could take me places and buy me gifts, that he wished that he could show me off. But he couldn't. All he could do was make love to me, fuck me, and that was all right with me, because it kept getting better and better. I learned a lot about lovemaking, and Carl really turned me on to many beautiful sexual things. But good. And I turned him on, too. There's no doubt about it; fucking was the biggest attraction we had for each other, although Carl said that he loved me, and I fancied myself in love with him. But it was sex-fucking-that great, coming end of sex that kept bringing us together. We both knew it: We both looked forward to every moment we could enjoy together, alone, naked, and enjoying each other's bodies.
After the first time, Carl was very careful about always using a contraceptive when we fucked. Both of us thought about the chances of my becoming pregnant. But Carl always took care of that. Except once or twice when I was in so much of a hurry I wouldn't give him a chance to get ready but made him come to me bare and immediately. On one occasion like that, he tried to withdraw his cock at the last moment before he squirted his milky syrup in my cunt. I couldn't stand that. It was as if I was being cheated. So when Carl rolled away, I leaped after him and climbed atop him and finished the action while he was on his back, moaning as if he was being tortured.
Carl taught me many things about sex-about how men and women fuck. I remember the first occasion that we did a sixty-nine. We had just come back from swimming at the club, and as usual Carl had driven me to his home. His wife was away for the day and was not expected back until very late that evening. We very conveniently had the entire house to ourselves and we could do as we pleased.
"Sharon," Carl asked softly, "are you in the mood for something different this time?"
I was a game twelve-year-old and replied, "Sure. Anything's fine with me as long as we get the usual results. Your cock in my little pussy, feeding it that lovely cock juice." I knew that Carl loved to hear me speak in this manner, and I was always anxious to please him. I continued, "What special thing do you have planned for us? Are you going to fuck me standing up?" I laughed.
"No," he answered rather solemnly. "We'll try that sometime, "but today I have something entirely different in mind. I know you'll love it."
"Well in that case, let's get with it. I'm dying to see what you have planned." I giggled somewhat at the excitement of trying something new and different with Carl, but I saw that he was very serious about the matter and quickly I cut off the chuckles.
"May I remove your clothing, dear?" Carl asked softly. "I want to see if your tits have grown any more since the last time I tasted their nipples. And has your cunt gotten more hair on it since the last time we fucked?"
I well remembered the last time we had fucked. It was in his car, parked on a lonely road. Yes, he had chewed for a long time on my nipples, until they were really sore and I had to tell him to cool it. But then he had examined my pussy and we had both laughed at the sparse hairs just starting to peek through my flesh. I was slow in getting hairy down there. Most of my girl friends already had thick bushes, but I seemed to be taking longer to develop a cunt muff.
Now Carl gently removed my shorts and brief midriff top, putting them aside carefully. I had not worn panties or bra beneath my clothes as I had expected a fucking session with Carl. I tossed off my sandals and now I was totally naked for my forty-year-old lover. Before we proceeded any further, I looked up lovingly at Carl and said, "Would you please remove your clothes, as well, Carl? I want you to be just as naked as I am."
Carl smiled as he took off his shirt and then slipped out of his trousers and underpants. He also was wearing sandals and he quickly stepped out of them, pushing them aside. We were both naked now, feasting our eyes upon each other's body. I could see that Carl's cock was beginning to grow and puff out as he merely stood there and looked at me.
Then he gently took my hand and led me to the sofa in the living room. He pushed me down upon the plush cushions and then leaned down and began to kiss my hair, then my eyes, cheeks and then my mouth. His hot tongue forced its way into my slippery mouth and lashed with my own tongue. He gasped deeply and then began to kiss and lick at my neck, working down my chest to my jutting titties and then to my cherry-red nipples. He chewed upon one and then the other as his hands caressed at other parts of my body. I could feel his hot breath raging upon my tits and then felt his saliva running down from one nipple-down over that tit and still further down my belly. He leaned further over my body, to come still lower as he licked up his own saliva from my flat belly. And then he was there! This I hadn't expected! He began to blow little wisps of hot air across my pussy as his hands kneaded at my tender titties. And then just air wasn't enough. He brought out his tongue and began to stroke at my navel, working his way down, down, down, coming to rest at my cunt. Here he kissed gently, softly, and then his tongue began a new stroking of my tender flesh. A licking and sucking-and then his fingers came to the aid of his lips as they parted my cunt lips. And then a fierce sensation came through me as I felt a stream of hot air being blown into my depths. God, how I trembled as he continued blowing into my slit, and then kissing and sucking at my puffy flesh, drawing juices from within my depths. My own baby juices of love were being licked up by his steamy tongue.
And then he made still another movement. He seemed to cover me with his naked body and then I could smell his thick, male scent about my face. He had brought his thighs across my upper body and there was his erect cock, directly in front of my lips. Now I knew what he wanted me to do. We had never before eaten each other and this was to be our new experience of lovemaking. I didn't quite know if I wanted to do it, but I knew I wanted to make Carl happy, just as he was making me happy, so I grasped his tense cock between my fingers and held it tightly while I brought my head down. I expected to be repulsed by what I was about to do, but on the contrary, I found that once I began licking and stroking my tongue against his knobby flesh, I found I liked it. I became bolder in my stroking and then I took just the slippery tip into my mouth and gently sucked. His cock head oozed forth an offering-a salty, sticky goo that seeped onto my tongue. I tasted it, smacked my lips audibly for his benefit, and then proceeded to eagerly suck on his cock. I no longer felt a novice at the trade and I desperately wanted to bring new sensations to my lover. While I licked and sucked and rolled his cock tip about in my mouth, Carl was working over my cunt. I trembled each time I felt a whiff of hot air, blowing into my tube and then my trembling increased in speed and grew into a rumbling orgasm that rolled through my being in fierce waves of passion. I erupted, moaning a soft whimper against his pulsating cock. Within seconds a new gushing poured out of his prick, down into my throat, almost gagging me with its intensity. I was not prepared for such a lavish feast of cock juice and most of it dribbled down my chin, onto my chest. But the feelings we experienced were intense! We shivered in passion and lashed against each other demanding even more of our love juices. It seemed as if Carl was erupting time and time again. I could no longer keep track of his spurtings. I just lay back and allowed my own orgasms to thunder through my body, quaking into release at my cunt at Carl furiously lapped at my slit. A few moments longer we lay in the position of oral lovemaking and then Carl gently got off me, rearranged his position and then began gently kissing my mouth. He leaned down and licked up his own come juices from my throat and chest, smiling in a new way at me. '
"Did you enjoy that, baby?" he asked softly.
I could only nod my head in assent. I was not capable of speaking at the moment. I shivered as Carl continued to gently caress with his tongue upon my bare body.
"Are you cold, baby?" he asked worriedly.
"No," I whispered. "I just feel so much sex at the moment that I can't explain it."
"Oh," he smiled. "Is that all?"
"No," I returned. "I can still feel your hard cock pressing against my belly, and now I want you to fuck my cunt, fuck me like you've never fucked before. I want you to hurt me. I feel so bad for doing what we just did. I need to be punished and I want you to punish me with your cock. That's the way I want to be hurt."
Carl looked startled and concerned. "Sharon, dear, do you really feel guilty about what we just did? It's really very normal. Most men and women do it and some people prefer it to the regular fucking techniques. Believe me, I don't want you to ever feel guilty about what we did. It's perfectly normal and a lovely experience. A lovely way to make love between a man and a woman."
"But I'm still a twelve-year-old and I feel dirty," I cried out, not really meaning it.
"Shouldn't I feel dirty after what I just did to you? Shouldn't I, Carl?"
I must have sounded almost hysterical to Carl, for he drew back and looked at me solemnly. "Sharon, baby, nothing that gives you so much satisfaction should ever make you feel dirty or bad. I know this is only a passing feeling. You'll get over it soon and then you'll want even more of what we just did. I know you will. Most women do."
"Oh, Carl," I sobbed. "Will I ever feel that way?"
"Sure you will, honey," he comforted gently.
That had been the first time we had experienced oral lovemaking together, but it certainly was not the last. Carl was quite correct when he had said that I would learn to enjoy fellatio-in fact, to this time I still get more turned on by sucking a cock than being fucked regularly. I often think back to my first experience at orality with Carl and wonder what would have happened if we had not gone oral that afternoon.
When I try to make an estimate now of the number of times Carl and I had sex together, it doesn't seem like very many interludes, at least in comparison to the affairs I have had since then. But we came together fairly often, maybe at least twice a week during that time that I moved from my twelfth birthday into my teens. For a kid, that's a lot of sex, I guess, but it was never enough to really satisfy me. Now I know that there was something wrong with me. I didn't know it then. I only knew that I'd no sooner be finished than I was ready to go again. I could have fucked Carl forever, it seemed. But he wasn't up to it. That's what started the trouble between us.
I began to notice a change in Carl. He became harried looking and he was terribly fearful that I might become pregnant. He talked about it all the time. He seemed to be obsessed with the possibility. And then there were the times we made oral sex in order to avoid any chance of my becoming pregnant. That was usually when Carl found himself out of contraceptives. Now, I think he only pretended to be without them so that we could do it the other ways, but I didn't even suspect that of him then. And then Carl started keeping track of my periods. It was like he was crazy about the subject, and if I was a day or so late, as I often was, he acted like he was going out of his head. He was more worried about my periods than he was about maybe getting caught by his wife or my parents. But what was even worse, he started avoiding having sexual relations with me. He'd find ways to take me to his house like he always did, and we'd be all ready for fucking; then he'd try to back out of it. He couldn't, he'd say, or he would plead that we had to stop our "insanity." Hell, sex wasn't insane to me. I'd fight with him, and always I wound up having my way: Carl thrusting into me until I broke loose and tore into the skies. Sometimes he'd spoil the aftermood by saying that it was the last time, that we had to break off before something happened to us, but usually I managed to calm ..un so that he was just quiet and thoughtful, or better still, loving enough for us to snatch another fling before he had to take me home. But I could always tell that, back of everything, Carl was worried that something would happen. Something terrible. It did.
Carl and I had been lovers for longer than half a year, and I had gone through a lot of changes that my family attributed to my "growing up" and entering my teen years. For one thing, I got much prettier. Everyone was aware of it and spoke about it. My blond hair was lighter, and people didn't have to guess whether or not it was natural. They knew it was. I wore it long, too, a decision I made shortly after my first fucking experience with Carl. My eyes are blue but during that period with Carl they seemed to get darker. Maybe it was knowledge that made them that way. Anyway, my eyes became much more attractive. And my body started to really become something. My tits developed, but I still had that little girl wrinkle of flesh above my navel that Carl loved so much. My legs got very shapely and were as pretty as my mother's. And I stopped being as awkward as I once was. I moved more gracefully. I don't know why. I just did. My months with Carl had seen a lot of changes occur in my life and in me physically, just as changes were occurring in Carl. But at the end of this time I had reason to believe that there were to be still more changes. Terrible ones, especially to my body, for I had missed two periods, and I was sure that I was pregnant. My tits even hurt a little, and I had heard that that was a sure sign of pregnancy. What a horrible gasser-a kid of thirteen pregnant by her father's friend! When I started to worry, I told Carl about it. We had a terrible scene. He blamed me. Completely. He remembered every time that he had attempted to withdraw his cock when he was without contraceptives, and he remembered how I had always forced him to finish inside me. So it was my fault. I thought he hated me. But he said that he'd try to think of something to do. That he had to, right away! After he said that, he started to take me home from his place, where we had stopped on the way to my home from the country club. I told him that we might as well take a few minutes for each other, and have a fuck. He made the usual excuse: no precautions handy. I said, what the hell, it's too late to worry anyway. He seemed amazed with me, then begged off again, saying that it'd be too risky, that I might not really be pregnant but could get that way now-that he didn't want that to happen. It made me damn mad that he didn't want me, that he was so damned worried about everything that he couldn't even fuck me anymore. I was so mad that I decided to make him take me, right then. I walked up to him, kissed him hard, with my tongue spinning all around his mouth, at the same time reaching between us to grab where his trousers tented up in front. It worked. He was ready. Man, he really went for me, pressed me right down on the floor of the foyer and took me in one fast ride that finished us both in about one minute. It was a wham, bam fuck that was worthy of rabbits. Then he started to worry again. He looked terrible.
The next day Carl gave me some medicine he had received from a druggist friend. It was supposed to bring on my period, or, if irregularity wasn't my problem and I was truly pregnant, then the medicine was supposed to abort me. It tasted awful. And I had to take a whole series of doses at certain intervals. We arranged it so that Carl could be with me during this time. He was very patient, even very sympathetic, even better than a father would be under the same circumstances. But when I finished with the medicine, nothing happened. We were both terribly dejected. Carl said that he felt "doomed." I didn't say it-I just felt it. I was equally upset. Hell, what was I going to do with a kid in my belly? I was only thirteen-and furthermore, how would I explain it to my parents?
When I awoke the next morning, much to my surprise and to my very definite relief, I was menstruating. The medicine had worked. Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe I wasn't even pregnant, only late and had started a period normally. But it didn't matter. Not a bit. I wasn't going to have a baby. I called Carl at his office and told him the good news. He was very happy. But when I told him that it would be all right for us to get together in about five days and started to tell him of the plan I had worked out, he seemed to be worried again. Finally, he agreed to meet me at the end of the week. He didn't sound happy at the prospects as he once did. But we made the arrangements, and I looked forward to our next meeting.
Following a different plan-one that almost exactly duplicated the circumstances surrounding the beginning of our affair-Carl called at my parents' home on Sunday afternoon, a time when both my parents were home, but without Carl's wife at his residence. After Carl had visited a bit, and drank a bit with my father and mother, I walked into the room and said, "Oh, great, Carl's here. Now he can take me swimming at his neighbor's pool. They have a terrific diving board that I've been dying to try out. Ours isn't nearly as high." Carl laughed with my mother and father at my boldness. Then he said that it was all right with him. My mother suggested that it was a "terrible imposition." Father thought so, too, but didn't pressure against it too much. So it worked out that I was able to leave with Carl, dressed in a swimsuit as I had been dressed that very first day when we had become lovers. That lovely day so many months back when I had given up my virginity to this forty-year-old man.
Carl was very quiet on the way to his house. I wasn't. I babbled incessantly.
"Oh, darling, I've missed you so," I said, sliding my hand onto his firm thigh. "It seems that it's been forever. We've had to wait before, but it's never been this way-never this hard on me. Hurry, Carl. Please hurry so I can get real close to you again. Naked and close. Everything's so wonderful-there's nothing to worry about now and we'll always be careful and-everything is just so great."
Everything was not so great. Instead of driving to his house where we were to have our sexual rendezvous, Carl pulled the car into a drive-in restaurant. Right then I knew something was terribly wrong.
"I want to talk to you, Sharon," he said very, very seriously.
I shifted in my seat to look at him. I did it in a way that I had learned pleased him very much, attaining a posture that allowed my tits to bulge outside of my knit top, while at the same time the rest of me kind of tightened like a spring. I curled my legs beneath my hips-this thrusted me at him, put me in a position that he had never been able to resist. And I pouted my mouth, too. I was doing my damnedest to look enticing and sexual for him. I would have even thrown off my clothing right there in the restaurant if I had thought it would arouse his passion.
Carl looked at me for a long time before he spoke. Then, just as he was ready to say something, the car-hop appeared at the side of the car, and we each ordered a soft drink. Neither of us talked then until after we had been served our drinks. Then I was the first one to break the spell of silence.
"All right, what do you want to talk about, Carl?" I asked.
"Us," Carl said. He paused, then launched into it as if he was afraid he'd forget the lines he had rehearsed, saying it all in a jam. "We have to stop this stupidity between us, Sharon. We have to stop it at once. We've been lucky-we're clear-you're not pregnant and we haven't been found out, and that's the way we're going to leave it-right now. No more. Never again for us, never. Never. Do you hear me? Do you? Do you understand that it's the only thing that we can do?"
I knew that he expected me to answer immediately, to protest, to do something that would get the end of our affair on the road. I didn't do anything that he expected, nothing that I expected, either. I turned my head and looked out the window on my side. I was very quiet, although I was boiling inside, boiling with anger, with hurt and shame and a hopelessness that Carl had all so suddenly given me.
"Sharon, for Christ's sake, say something!" he shouted.
I remained quiet.
Carl's hand suddenly touched my forearm. It was a strange touch, like one a parent might give to their child to offer comfort. It .wasn't a lover's touch. I turned and stared sharp daggers at Carl.
"Do you understand, Sharon?" he asked, a real note of pleading in his tone.
"No, damn you, I don't understand," I raged, shouting until I knew that everyone around us could hear. I didn't care who the hell heard what I was saying. I was damned upset and was set to show it.
"Shut up," Carl snapped.
I wouldn't. I raised my hands over my head and tightened my fists as if I was cursing God. "No, no, no," I shouted, chanting almost crazily.
Carl made a lunge for me as I started to leap out of the car. He missed. I fell when I scrambled through the door, skinning my legs. But I was up quickly, still shouting, yelling all kinds of crazy things and doing a mad dance around the car. Then I saw Carl coming for me. I jumped away and ran to the restaurant, collapsing against the carry-out window and sobbing horribly as I kept yelling, "No, no, no, no, NO!"
Carl raised me to my feet. I could see a group of people circled around me. Some of them asked questions: "What's wrong? Who is she? What did you do to her, mister? Is she hurt? What should we do? Call the police? Yes, I'll do it."
"No," shouted Carl. "She'll be all right-she's hysterical. She's had-some-very bad news. She'll be all right in just a moment."
"Who are you, anyway" a man's voice asked. "What are you doing with her?"
"I'm her ... uncle." He was moving me toward the car now as I continued to sob, leaning against him with my face buried in his shoulder.
"Sure you don't want the cops?" that same man's voice asked again.
"No. Thank you, anyway. I'll just ... take her home now."
He did, too. To his house. I guess there wasn't anything else he could do with me. I was calm by the time we got there.
There's something that I should explain. Part of my outburst was real; part was phony, something that I decided to use to punish Carl. But as I got into the hysterics, it became more real for me. I really was upset. Horribly. I couldn't stand facing the fact that Carl wanted to break off with me; I couldn't stand to be deserted. I wanted him, forever, or at least until I had him out of my system. You see, I needed him. I needed him physically. I needed his love juices to give me stamina and reason for being. I was beyond the point of being able to endure without the lovemaking that Carl gave me. So I had to do something to keep him. Hysterics became a part of that plan. Other details seemed to fall in place once I had started.
Wordlessly, Carl let me into his house. As we usually did, we went to the family room. But this time there was no quick, impulsive embrace before we got there. We merely went there, like two strangers about to have a polite conversation. There was no anticipation of a fucking session.
"Are you feeling better?" Carl asked me, sincere concern in his tone.
"Yes."
"Are you through screaming?"
I looked at him coldly. "If you're through lying to me."
"I'm not lying, Sharon," he said softly, the lines of his forehead furrowing and quivering like little waves on a lake.
"You are-you have to be," I said, raising my voice sharply.
"I'm not-we're ending this thing right now," Carl stated angrily.
I looked around as if I was seeking an escape. I could feel the scream start way low inside me, then rise and catch a little bit in my throat before it leaped out of my lips. When it echoed through the room, I broke into a run again, right for the foyer and out of the house. The scream was real, but my mind knew that Carl couldn't permit me running out of his house screaming as if I were an innocent virgin and had just been raped. He didn't permit it either.
He caught me just as I was turning the door knob. He jerked me back, then slapped me across the cheek. It wasn't a hard hit, but I fell anyway, then rolled to my back and looked up at Carl.
He stared at me and looked as if he was about to apologize. He looked surprised at himself, too. Very rapidly I formed an image of how I must look, lying there on the carpet, my bikini all askew and showing most of my young body. I knew Carl. Age doesn't matter; a girl knows a man after she's made love to him as often as I made love to Carl and I knew that it was hard for him to resist me. I decided to make it even more difficult.
"Make love to me, Carl-fuck me-now," I said, real low, my eyes going narrow in a way that I hoped told him how much I loved him.
"We-can't," he said. His words were very thick, and hesitating, as if he took great pains in arriving at an answer.
I raised my arms and opened them, at the same time planting my feet firmly into the carpeting.
"Please," I said. "Let's do it, then you won't think about ending it again. I need your cock juice so badly-I can't live without it, honestly I can't, Carl. Please believe me!"
Carl hesitated. I could tell how he was torn between two desires. Then it seemed as if he made his mind up to something I didn't understand. He had, too, but I wasn't to learn what it was for several days. Then he fell to his knees in front of me and rushed his hands to the removal of the bottom of my bikini.
Fucking there in the foyer was different, wild and exciting. At'the very moment that Carl's prick had stabbed inside me, I looked at the front door that was only a few feet away. Right then I knew that part of the excitement of making love to Carl was in the chance that we were taking. His wife could have come in that very door while we were grinding together. It was so risky. And I loved it. Years later, now that I look at it in another light, I realize that I liked the risk that was involved with making love to Carl in such a manner, and not so much the fact that we were fucking on the foyer floor.
When Carl and I finished in the foyer, he rejected the cuddly, relaxing period we always enjoyed after intercourse. He got up quickly, and I followed him, and within a few minutes we were out of his house and headed toward my own home, all thoughts of having a swim in the neighbor's pool as a cover for our meeting forgotten. Carl dropped me off in front of my house, then drove away. I watched him go. He looked back once, then turned and looked straight ahead as he sped off. It seemed like a strange ending to our lovemaking of a short time ago.
It was my practice to call Carl at his office and make the arrangements for our meetings. Carl was a partner in an architectural firm, one my father was associated 'with as a consultant, and he had a big office all his own and a good deal of privacy. So I'd call him there. In a few days, according to a schedule we had worked out months earlier, I called Carl to arrange our next meeting for love. His secretary answered. This was unusual. I called him on a special line that he always took himself. But his secretary answered and said that he wasn't in. I knew she was lying. I called later in the day and got the same reaction. But it wasn't until three days had passed that I finally realized that Carl was deliberately avoiding me. I knew how it went: if he couldn't get rid of me by reasoning, he'd take a chance on my making a scene. In the meantime, he'd avoid me at all costs. I decided that the cost would be mighty damn high for Carl-much higher than he could have ever anticipated. I began making plans of another nature. Vindictive plans. I felt a wronged woman and I craved revenge.
That night I called Carl at his home. His wife answered. Without identifying myself, I asked to speak to Carl. She seemed surprised but called him to the phone. I could detect a trace of curiosity in her voice.
"Listen, Carl, see me tomorrow night at the drive-in theater at eight o'clock, or I'll cause trouble," I said as soon as he spoke into the phone. The meeting place and the time were one of the alternate, more or less emergency plans we had worked out between us.
He mumbled something about business, pretending to his wife, I guessed, that the call was from one of the girls at his office.
I waited until nine o'clock the following night, but Carl didn't show up. Right then I knew that he'd never meet me again, that there was nothing I could do to entice him to me ever again, not as long as he lived. I felt as if I had been smashed into little pieces, each part of me wanting to dash in a different direction. I had never been able to visualize the end of our affair-to me it seemed that it would last forever. I never took into consideration the difference in our ages and the ultimate consequences. But now I had to face it. I'd never be able to make love with Carl again. I'd never be able to kiss and fondle his cock or feel his hot juices squirting into my pussy, or feel his slippery tongue lash within the depths of my mouth as we battled kisses of love. I'd never again feel the warmth of his hard body as he lay atop mine, forcing his prick deep into my vagina, bringing me to thundering orgasms of breathless beauty. It was as if a doctor had just told me that I had a deadly disease-a deadly communicable disease.
Sometime during the night as I tossed in my bed, I began to vow that I'd get even with Carl. I wanted to hurt him, to direct at him all of the hostility I felt for everyone in the world who I hated. And I guess I hated plenty, because I developed a program to ruin Carl.
The next day I called Carl's wife while he was at work. I told her, disguising my voice a bit because she knew me, that I happened to know that her husband was having an affair with another woman. I waited until I heard her gasp; then I hung up. I let that settle for a few days. Then, changing my voice again, I called Carl's home. He answered the call. I didn't say a word, just listened to him asking who it was and saying "hello" as if he had been disconnected. Then, just before I hung up, I made some sounds that were very close to the ones I made when Carl and I were fucking. It got very silent on the other end of the line. Then, just as I was afraid Carl was about to hang up, I made another sound that we both knew very well. I gurgled and screamed the way I always did while I was coming. Then a bang disconnected the line.
I kept the telephone bit up for almost two full weeks. Then I couldn't get through to Carl at home anymore. He had had his number changed, and it was unlisted. And when I tried to call him at the office, his secretary always answered. Obviously, she had been ordered by Carl to screen all calls coming in for him. Maybe he had even told her about me. It's not impossible. Men are supposed to share everything with their secretaries. Not being able to give out with my sex calls on the phone bothered me a little, but then I decided to go into a harder action.
My old composition days came back to me, and I began to write letters to Carl and his wife. In each letter I was very accurate. I'd cite the exact time and circumstances and settings of times when Carl and I had made love. I didn't use my name, and I wrote as if maybe I was one of the girls who worked in Carl's office. The main thing, however, was that I knew that Carl's wife would be able to figure out if she had been with him on the dates and times I listed. She'd certainly begin to wonder. But" pretty soon I got bored with the letters-remember, I wasn't good enough to win a contest-or, I should say that I had been good enough, but I got talked out of being good enough to win, if that makes any sense at all.
Once finished with the telephone calls and the poison-pen letters, I increased my campaign, went into the final stage of it, not even knowing why I did the things I did, except that I wanted to hurt Carl because he had hurt me. I didn't care what the process cost me or my family. Nothing mattered except making Carl regret the day he stopped being my lover.
There's little doubt that I was in a terrible state after a few weeks without Carl's lovemaking, without even the hope of ever having him again. If I had hope, I could have endured his absence, but he had cut me off so completely that I didn't even have a hint of that. And I needed Carl, really needed his fucking, for at night I couldn't sleep because of the desire that was inside me. I'd toss endlessly, all night long, remembering how great I had felt when Carl and I had had sex, and thinking that I just had to do something to take the place of this terrible gnawing desire that was now forever unsatisfied. It never once occurred to me that I might just find better sex with someone else. To me, it was only Carl who could provide it.
One Tuesday night I decided that I'd start stalking Carl, thinking that just the sight of him might relieve some of my need. So, I waited for hours outside of his office. When he came out the revolving doors, I was standing to one side. He saw me at once, then hurried in the opposite direction. I followed him. Finally, he lost me by cutting through the lobby of another building. Seeing him didn't help a bit. It only made me want him-and his fucking-all the more. My restless sexual spirit was unfulfilled, unsatisfied and in need of his loving.
For almost three weeks, I'd pop up on Carl at different places where I knew he'd be. He was easy enough to trace: my mother and father talked about him quite a bit around the house, even mentioned how odd it was that Carl didn't drop in as he once had done so casually. "Busy," my father said, and my mother agreed. I wanted to laugh. Little did my parents suspect the real reason for his absence. I kept thinking how much busier Carl had been during the time we were meeting for sex.
The matter of making Carl's life miserable came to a head for me about eight weeks after he deserted me, approximately seven months from the time we had first met sexually. I learned through listening to my parents that Carl, together with my parents, was going to attend a special party at the country club. Carl's wife, the way the story went, wouldn't be there because she was visiting her mother out of town. I had also heard through my parents that lately there had been a lot of rumors connected with Carl's domestic life. Even my family suspected that he was having some kind of problems, and they agreed with each other that Carl's wife's quite extended stay out of town indicated that they were separated, about to become separated, or were in the process of a divorce. My father, close as he was to Carl, could not bring himself to ask directly about the rumors. And Carl, apparently, was saying nothing to anyone. And so he would be at the country club alone, and so would I. This was an ideal situation taking place, exactly for my benefit.
When I decided to make this one final splurge toward revenge on Carl, I'm sure I was a little crazy. I had to be, because I was placing myself in such terrible danger. Normal people don't do that.
When the night of the country club party arrived, I made my plans carefully. My brother was busy-he had made some plans to spend the night with a friend across town. I was to be left home alone. That was fine with me. It gave me the freedom I needed, freedom to go to Carl and get my revenge, or, if I was lucky, get him to come back to me. I was making plans very carefully this time-I wanted nothing to go wrong.
When it was dark outside, I left the house. In the garage, I got on my bicycle. The country club was about six miles away, but I was a good rider. I didn't even have to hurry. I had until very late at night, until Carl left the party. I dressed in short shorts and a skinny-ribbed pullover. All I wore on my feet were the sandals that Carl had grown to like so much. I left my hair flowing free, and I imagined if someone saw me pedaling my bike to the country club, they'd think I looked like a pretty normal thirteen-year-old girl, not one who was bent upon the destruction of her middle-aged lover. Nobody ever knows people-really knows them-I always say, and people sure as hell wouldn't suspect me of the things I had been up to, and particularly, of the things I had now planned.
When I got to the country club, I avoided the front, well-lighted entrance. I knew my way around the place and pedaled to the third tee of the golf course, a spot that placed me directly behind the parking lot. That was the place that I wanted-that was the setting for my meeting with Carl, the meeting that I hoped would not be the last.
I hid my bike in the bushes alongside the road, then climbed through the fence to the third tee. I cut across the grass toward the parking lot. The turf was real spongy beneath my feet. It tickled my toes. Somehow, it made me feel very sensual, just the way I used to feel when I was meeting Carl for an interlude.
Looking for Carl's car was really something. The lot was packed. Also, some of the cars were occupied. Unofficially occupied, I should say. One car was jiggling as I walked by it. I looked inside and saw why. A man and a woman were really going at it. She was crouched way down in the back seat of the car, and the man was moving so hard that the car shook. They were middle-aged. I guessed that they weren't married, at least not to each other. I found the same thing going on in a few other cars, and a variation of fucking sessions was in progress in four other cars. It seemed that the whole world had gone mad for sex. It also seemed that I wasn't so bad, that there wasn't a heck of a lot of difference whether a kid or a grown-up was messing around.
At last, I found Carl's car. There were others like it, but I knew it was his because of a small window sticker on the back window. As usual, Carl hadn't locked it. I opened the door and climbed into the back seat. If I had had doubts about the car belonging to Carl, they disappeared when I entered it. Inside, it smelled like Carl. Nice. When a girl has been with a man like I had been with Carl, the smell of him becomes a part of her life. I could detect Carl by scent anywhere. I was a pretty good bloodhound.
When I curled into the back seat, I remembered the one time Carl and I had fucked there. It was in the country, far away from the nearest town. We had gone there to make love, and, man, we did what we set out to so, in royal style. Thinking about it while I was curled up there made me want him so badly I ached. Some people may say this is a hell of a lot of nonsense. They say that a kid has to be sick to make love to a mature man, and maybe that's right, but I can testify that a girl of twelve or thirteen can feel all of the desire for a man that a woman in her twenties or older can feel. It's not a matter of age-it's what a girl can feel, and I was very strong in that area. I thought of all this while I was curled into a tight ball in the back seat of Carl's car. Many past lovemaking episodes came to my mind as I relaxed there. The times we had sixty-nined. The times that Carl had corn-holed me. Even the occasions we had doggy-fucked. These were fond memories with me and I relished going over them in my mind. I lay there smiling, dreamily reliving our past fucking sessions.
The waiting was terrible, but I was prepared to stick it out until the next day if necessary, to wait for Carl until even my parents might get home and discover me missing. I'd wait forever. I simply had to see Carl. I had to feel his hard body next to mine. I had to fondle his cock once again. His lance would soon be thrust up my waiting love channel. Of this I was certain.
It was a few hours that I waited. It was very dark, not a star in the sky, not even a clouded moon, when I heard footsteps approaching the car. My heart pounded faster. I was sure that it was Carl. It was.
As the car door opened, I noticed a familiar scent about him, only it was stronger. Alcohol. I guessed that Carl had been drinking heavily at the party, drinking, I hoped, in an effort to forget me. Some of the desire for revenge went out of me right then. I hoped that Carl was drunk. That would make it easier to get him back with me, much easier to have him take me right there in his car. And he was drunk. He dropped his keys and cursed. Then he settled behind the steering wheel. And then I raised from the back seat and looked at the dark shadow that formed his face.
Carl turned, then actually jumped. While he was that upset, I shifted over the car seat and landed next to him. Then I smiled. Immediately, I scooted closer to him, figuring I'd give him no chance to be out of range of my body, just in case he wanted to kiss me at once. But he didn't. He made no intimate move toward me.
"For Christ's sake, get out of here," he shouted in a frightened voice. "For Christ's sake, haven't you caused me enough trouble already? What do you want from me now? Can't you see I don't want you around me-ever again!"
It didn't make sense. I couldn't figure that I had caused Carl trouble, at least not until he quit me. But even then it wasn't the kind of trouble he had caused me by dropping me, by making me sleepless and going around trying to win him back. It didn't make sense. Not at all.
"Get the hell out of here, Sharon," Carl said, opening his door.
I just stared at him, speechless. I couldn't believe that he was still rejecting me, not after I had gone to all the trouble of waiting for him. It was crazy, real crazy, like having a dream you know isn't true, yet being unable to shake it.
"Get out, damn you!" he repeated, nearly screaming at me.
"Don't," I said lamely. "Don't make me leave, Carl. Not yet. Not until you...."
Carl interrupted me by reaching out and gripping me by the bare shoulder. I guess it was that touch that set my original plan into motion. But I warned him first. I did give him fair warning.
"Don't make me leave, Carl," I said very softly, so softly that I heard my own words come back to me as if they were from some calm, crazy stranger. "Don't, Carl, or you'll be awfully sorry."
That didn't stop him. His fingers tightened on my shoulder and he started to drag me across the seat, past the steering wheel and out the door he had opened. It was easy to free myself, and I did so by twisting hard in the opposite direction. Then I threw open the other door and scrambled out of it, at the same time beginning to scream.
His fingers raked my back and hooked into the back of my pullover a bit as I made it through the door. The scratches hurt, but I loved it. Now, there, was a reason for screaming, and I cut loose as if monsters were chasing me. And then I stumbled and spilled onto the gravel. That added more cuts to my bare legs and elbows. I screamed louder, then scrambled to my feet and headed for the entrance of the country club. For a few seconds, I heard steps behind me. Then they stopped. I slowed a bit, then almost halted. I looked down at myself, then deliberately tore one side of my sweater so that it hung below my tit, just the fringe of the ripped portion rippling along the bottom of my nipple. Then I tore a long rip in my shorts, tearing them upward on one side. And then there was nothing to do but resume running and screaming to the country club.
I never got inside. Just as I was ready to dash through the open double door, I bumped into a group of four people just as they were leaving the club. I couldn't run past them, so I dashed into the arms of the nearest woman-it had to be a woman, I reasoned, because I had just been terrified by a man.
I sobbed into the woman's breast, at the same time blubbering out my name and telling everyone who was listening that a man had tried to rape me.
"Who, dear?" the woman demanded. "Do you know who it was?"
"Yes," I said, still sobbing.
"Tell us-we'll tell the police."
Then I shivered a little, hugged myself closer to the strange woman and told them Carl's name. They knew him. They were horrified.
"My God--Carl?" one of the men of the group who had gathered around me said, breathing the name with sharp disbelief.
"Why, Carl just left the club," one of the women said.
"And he was very drunk," added another.
Then they questioned me a little, demanding answers, but gently. Still crying, I told them that Carl was a friend of mine-of mine and my family's-and that he had telephoned and asked me to meet him at his car because he had something very important to tell me. I told them about pedaling my bike to the third tee of the golf course and about hiding it in the bushes as Carl had instructed me. Then I told them that I had just met Carl there and that he had tried to rape me.
I heard some of the group gasp. I blinked and saw that all of them were looking at my appearance, obviously in sympathy with me for the cuts and bruises and scratches I had obtained while protecting my innocence. They were all falling for my story, without exception.
"I'll call the police," a man said.
"No," another cautioned him. "First, let's call her parents. They left just before Carl did. Her parents should be the first to know."
"And where's Carl now?" a woman asked me.
"I don't know," I said. "He-ran away." I sobbed as I made my explanation.
My parents had just gotten home and had not yet discovered that I was missing when they got the telephone call from the club. They hurried right over. When I saw them, I started to sob hard again. Then they put me into the car, my father telling the others not to make a report about the incident until he had a chance to calm me and talk to me.
There was a lot of talking that night, believe me. I didn't backtrack on my story about the rape, but it seemed too inconsistent and out of character for a man such as Carl. So then I told them the whole story, not changing anything except why I was with Carl in his car: I insisted that Carl had called me to meet him and did not tell my parents that Carl had broken off with me.
"Then why was it a rape?" my father asked. "If you were already-already ... doing this with him, why would he have to ... to force himself upon you tonight? What was the real reason behind it?"
"Because I've been trying to break off with him," I explained, adding another lie.
"I think we had better reach Carl," my father said, turning to Mother.
"Yes-yes, do that, dear," she answered softly. My mother did not appear overly upset, but I knew that deep inside she was seething.
After I assured my mother that I was all right, that nothing had happened with Carl that night, I was sent to bed. As I left the shower and headed for my room, I heard my father talking to someone on the phone. I was sure that it was Carl. Then, much later, I heard someone arrive at the house. After that I didn't hear anything. My parents and their guest moved to the kitchen and out of earshot. Surprisingly, this night I fell asleep almost immediately. All the rolling and tossing and restlessness were gone.
It was the strangest thing meeting my family the next morning. Everything was different between us: everything had changed overnight. My father seemed embarrassed in my presence. My mother displayed signs of sympathy, but still she seemed suspicious of me and as embarrassed as my father did. My brother apparently did not know what had happened. He acted as if he knew that something was up, but still had to discover what it was. He knew it concerned me. Fortunately, he had something to do early in the morning and he left as soon as we finished breakfast. Then I was alone with my parents. I was a little frightened.
After the usual things as to how I was feeling and did I rest well enough, my father cleared his throat, and I knew that he was about to make a statement about Carl and me. He did, too, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. Also, it told me pretty much how they felt about the whole matter.
My father told me that everything was a terrible mess, that they had talked to Carl and felt that there were quite a few discrepancies in my story-they didn't disbelieve me, he said, it was just that everything was so terribly confused. He also said that they definitely were not going to bring the police into the case, that that would not solve anything. Too many people, my father claimed, were already involved, and we had to anticipate the worst kind of gossip. My mother shook her head, nearly crying, and said, "All those people at the club-oh, dear."
"So, we're going to try to forget the whole matter," my father said. "Or, if not forget it, at least put it in its proper place."
What was the proper place for a situation like ours? I wondered.
"We're not going to mention Carl around this house ever again," my father continued. "He's out of our lives. And we're going to carry on as if this-as if all this-never happened. Now, your mother and I are not going to pry-we're not going to keep bringing the matter up or ask for explanations about how this started, what you did and all that-no, we're not going to do that. But we are taking you to see someone to whom you can talk about it-someone who will keep your confidence and help you ... adjust. Someone who will understand how you feel."
"A doctor?" I asked.
"Yes, we're taking you to the doctor first. And this other person is a doctor, too, a psychiatrist who understands about matters such as this."
A head shrinker! For me! It seemed crazy! Crazy and impossible.
And that was the end of the conversation. We went ahead and entered our day as if nothing had happened, as much as it was possible to do that, anyway. It wasn't easy, especially with my mother. I guess it's a terrible thing for a mother to suddenly realize that her little child has had sex with a man-maybe it makes her lose some of her superiority over her daughter, keeps her from being top banana around the house. I don't know. But the looks that shot from my mother to me were pretty awful. They gave me the feeling that she was as curious as hell about my love affair with Carl. My fucking with the forty-year-old friend of the family's. She looked as if she wondered how I was in bed, whether I was sexual and could respond or not. At least that's the way it seemed to me.
During the next week I saw both our family physician and the psychiatrist. Our medic examined me and said that I was in great shape, just as if that was the only purpose in looking me over-just as if it was a routine physical exam. Now the psychiatrist, he was something else. That was my first bout with a shrinker, and it was far from being the last. He was real quiet and passive and tried to get me to do most of the talking. I did a little, too, but I wasn't what you'd call a really cooperative patient. Finally, it was set for me to see the psychiatrist twice weekly. I could guess what that was going to cost my father.
I lasted with the shrinker for about a month. Then I started missing appointments. My family was stricken: the psychiatrist charged them the same fee for the hour whether I was there or not. But I couldn't dig it. It was a bore, man, even when I talked about Carl and our lovemaking. It was a real bore just talking about it. I even tried to use all the four-letter words I knew in order to spice up my sex revelations, but that wore off in no time. It was like swearing at a blank wall. No response. No nothing. This shrinker would just sit there taking notes and sometimes running a tape recorder. I finally couldn't stand it any longer, and decided to stop seeing the psychiatrist altogether. My family eventually consented to my decision. So did the shrinker. He said there was no use continuing under the present conditions and that undoubtedly something in the future would take me back to therapy. He was right. Oh, man, how fucking right he was!
During the time that I was in treatment, a lot of things happened to Carl. We didn't discuss him around the house, but I learned of Carl's problems anyway. He had plenty of them. Apparently, Carl and I were the subject of conversation for everyone at the country club, everyone in the community, as far as I knew. Bits and pieces of information were put together, and there were all kinds of opinions about what really happened between Carl and me. Carl couldn't take it. Neither could his wife. She sued him for divorce, a condition that started way back with my letters and phone calls and the suspicion I aroused in his wife. And on top of that, Carl left his job, had to, as I understood it, because his partners didn't want any taint of any kind to be brought down upon the firm. They did a lot of governmental work, and scandal of any kind was disastrous. The divorce, I heard, cost Carl everything. His wife got the big house, the car, a boat he kept, all of his savings bonds, a few stocks, and the bulk of his savings. She cleaned him out-or maybe it was me who did that. Finally, Carl left town for new work, but everyone said that his difficulties would follow him the rest of his life, that he would always be making a losing fight to win back the material things and the status that he had once enjoyed. Situations like having a thirteen-year-old as a mistress, like pregnancies, don't just go away. They stick. And everybody always seems to learn about it. Those are difficult stigmas to run away from, especially for a man in Carl's position.
For awhile, the excitement and the sessions with the shrinker quieted my physical need for Carl. But soon it was on me again, strong as ever, perhaps even stronger than before. I thought I'd go crazy. It was then that I started to think in terms of finding a new lover. I had never thought of that before. Now, it seemed like the only way to go on living. But I had been spoiled by Carl-at least at that point I thought I had been spoiled-and my prospects, at thirteen, of finding a lover to satisfy me, one who was willing to take the chances that such an affair involved, were mighty, mighty slim. Also, my reputation in the neighborhood became such as to discourage even the most gallant of potential lovers. And so I had my problems along this line. I had them until I found a whole new way of life.
Recently, there's been an awful lot said about the young generation, the flower children, the new free-love cults, the youthful nomads who wander about from city to city, taking their kicks where they can get them. Their philosophy of life has been termed "immoral and loose." All right, so maybe they love more openly than their parents did. Maybe they haven't the hangups of their forefathers and don't follow the creeds and beliefs of their parents. But they are at least honest. They are true, lovely people, who have nothing to hide. Perhaps certain codes of society would find them immoral and loose, but who's to say which code is the best. I've made love every way that's known to man or woman, and I've done it with both the squares and the hippies-and some people who didn't fit into any category. Actually, I'm somewhat of an authority on sex-the fucking kind of sex-and I can speak from experience about the turned-on kind of life that I experienced with my own turned-on generation of beautiful people.
Although I was only thirteen, I listened to the rumblings of those about me. I was as dissatisfied as others with the state of affairs of our country, our town, and our own personal lives. I was prepared to do my bit in the protest demonstrations, the "sit-ins" that were called so frequently, the anti-establishment rallies that brought us forth in great numbers. We were a force that was going to be heard-a force that antiquated society would have to deal with in the very near future. I ran with the crowd and did what was expected of me. I even became a sexual pawn, going from one group leader to the other, offering my body as solace for the battle of youth and degenerate society. But as I stated earlier, I was only a part-time rebel for the cause. Beyond my own home boundaries I performed with a radical sense of awareness on a level with those with whom I was associated. But home was another story. I didn't want to antagonize my parents beyond the point of endurance, and although I always felt they were aware of my actions, I also felt that as long as I "behaved" while in their presence, nothing drastic would be done about my outside activities. ' I ran with a wild, sometimes unruly crowd, but home was a sort of haven for me, a haven to which I gave a respect and consideration outside the realm of my other life. I became highly promiscuous, several fucks with several different studs was nothing for me. I turned to fellatio for fulfillment of my pressing sexual desires and when even this fell short of expectations, I looked for newer and more exciting forms of sexual behavior that would pacify my raging other self.
CHAPTER 3
I was a restless thirteen-year-old kid, in need of a fucking cock almost constantly. The only damn thing wrong was that although my pussy was juicy and dripping for cock meat, there were times when just such action was impossible. I still had school to contend with, as well as my family. Mom and Dad kept me pretty much under their thumbs during this period, or at least they thought they were holding me down. But, man, no one could ever do that! There was a sex beast raging within me, and that beast had to be pacified. There was only one real way to do that. And when cock wasn't available, I turned to masturbation.
That sort of thing never really turned me on, but it was a last resort when I wasn't able to check out of the house and get the real thing. At times like that, I would lock myself in my room, strip down and start playing with myself. I'd usually start by pulling on my cunt lips gently and then rubbing across my steamy pussy with my fingertips. Then, when my passions were almost out of control, I would have to ram something into my twat. There was usually a soda bottle handy, or even a banana. I'd even resort to the handle of my bath brush which was a damn good twelve inches long! That would be the best. I'd push as far as I could and then I'd twist and turn the handle around, feeling my cunt flesh curling over the cold wood. Even while I kept ramming something into my cunt, my other hand would continue fingering at my clit, pulling and drawing upon the tender flesh until I was at the point of climax. I did reach orgasms in this manner, and although I always felt somewhat cheated, I was able to get some sort of relief, at least temporarily. Relief that would stop the pussy itch that was tearing me apart day after day.
The masturbation scene became especially necessary when I had the hots late at night and everyone was asleep. Where the hell would I get cock at one in the morning? My father was sleeping with Mom and my brother was too chicken to swing in that manner. I'd have to look for my own solution to the problem and whenever a cool shower didn't work, I'd have to look for a plug other than human.
One time I remember I was particularly upset after having been refused permission to go away for the weekend. I had made plans with a girl friend to have a ball and I guess my folks caught on. They raised a hell of a storm and refused to allow me out of their sight. The only privacy I could find was in my own bedroom-behind my locked door.
I was determined to get revenge on my folks and as I fumed in my bedroom, I thought up all manner of hideous things that I would do. I'd make them damn sorry they had grounded me. Sorry as hell! But the more I thought of it-the hotter I became, sexually. I kept thinking of seeing Dad in his swim trunks, working around the pool. His brown body, firm and appealing, wouldn't leave my mind. The soft bulge at his crotch was particularly appealing and I would have given just about anything to have had my dad to myself that afternoon. His cock would have been a good fit for my needs of that day. I'd have shown him what a real woman I was. He'd never forget the kind of blow job I could give. I was a damn good expert at fellatio!
But that was out. A real no-no. I wouldn't have cock for my pussy that afternoon, least of all, my dad's. There was a decided throbbing at my thighs, an increasing pressure that screamed for release. When I reached a feeling like that, I knew I'd have to ram something up my twat in order to settle my fierce desire. And ram it fast! Locked in my bedroom, standing naked in front of the full-length mirror, I examined myself. I poked two fingers up my cunt and moved them about excitedly. Then I pulled them out, took a good whiff of my fingertips and then licked them, slurping over them almost lovingly. I had tasted my own juices before, but today there was something different about it. Something far more exhilarating. Again I poked my fingers into my hole, moved them about desperately, and brought them out again to be licked clean by my snaking tongue. I lay down in front of the mirror, positioning myself so that I would be able to watch my own actions. This time I tugged at my sparse cunt hairs, opening my pussy lips, pulling and tugging upon the hot flesh, then moving to my clit, rubbing at the love knob, caressing and twirling at the fleshy button as it began to grow with my increasing passion. I could no longer stand being without a fuck tool. I glanced about the room quickly, looking for an appropriate instrument that would bring me relief. My body was twitching uncontrollably in heated anticipation as I desperately sought some form of relief. And then I saw it! I knew just what I would use.
I had been vacuuming my room earlier that same day and had left the vacuum cleaner near my closet. The long hose lay still, as if anticipating my needs. I struggled to remove the brush nozzle, tossed it aside, and quickly inserted another nozzle, a smaller, pointed one. One that would fit smoothly into my cunt hole. It would be like a blow job-a real blow job. I could feel the air already as it would suck into my cunt.
I know that I was shaking in great frenzy as I positioned the hose, turned on the current and then jammed it downward between my outstretched thighs as I lay on the carpet. It pushed between my clutching cunt lips with determination and I kept ramming it downward, downward and still further downward. My cunt seemed to gobble up the cold metal tubing, and as I glanced to the mirror and saw the mesh of cord and tubing curling over my bare belly, I could no longer restrain an outcry of passion and desire. I moaned, then bit my lips as I felt the air being pumped out of my cunt hole. The metal cock seemed to be sucking fiercely upon my inner cunt walls, drawing out my very passionate being in its fierce demand. I writhed about in agony on the rug, watching myself in the mirror as I danced with the giant hose sticking out of my cunt. It drew and drew, sweeping up my essence into its metal walls. And then it was upon me! I could no longer control the ultimate need for release. Sharp cries rocked through my body as I spasmed time and time again, the steel cock gobbling at my twat, tearing into my flesh as it puffed at my juicy flesh. It was a tremendous feeling that ripped through my body, out into the metal tube protruding from my pussy hole. And then I grasped at the metal, pulling it from my straining cunt lips even as the last waves of orgasm coursed through my being. I turned toward the mirror and lay back on the rug, legs outstretched widely as I allowed the cool breeze coming through my opened window to fan at my steamy cunt. The metal cock had satisfied me for that day. My burning sexual desires had been put out-for a while, at least.
There were many other ways that I masturbated and when I was forced to resort to such actions, I would always look for some new form of satisfaction, some different form to insert into my cunt hole. I had even purchased one of those electric vibrators and kept it hidden from my parents so that it would be where I wanted it, whenever I needed it. That was the damnedest thing-that funky vibrator was one of my best investments. It used to tickle hell out of my cunt and I would always come from using it. I even looked forward to sticking it up my hole, eager to obtain the release it always gave me. There was even a time I tried to stick it up my asshole, but that was one hell of a mess. A shitty mess! That deal didn't turn me on, so I kept to the regular fuck in the twat. I loved to run it over my naked titties, pressing at my erect nipples and then running it over my belly, down over my cunt mound and then slamming it fiercely into my wetness, sloshing it around in my juices. When I drew it free, I would usually lick all around it, cleaning off my sticky goo, smelling deeply of my own heady cunt scent, and then speeding the vibrator back into my pussy depths. The plastic cock was my lover for many weeks, until the novelty wore off and I looked for another imitation cock when I was unable to get the real thing.
This seemed to be a strange period in my life. I knew my parents were being extra watchful of my actions, and I didn't really want to make waves with them. In order to pacify their concern about my sexual behavior, I restorted strictly to self-masturbation during this period. But finally all these imitation cocks were no longer able to bring me to release. I couloVno longer reach an orgasm and then I knew I had to get out and find the real thing again. My throbbing cunt needed a real fucking-a real cock-and I had to begin new schemes in order to calm my raging sexuality.
At about that time Dad brought home a giant German Shepherd that some client had asked him to take care of for a few weeks. That dog was one hell of an animal. Large, devilish and ferocious. At first I was scared of even going near him, but after a few days I found I had a real need for him. I was going to put him to use. Cunt use.
I had read enough about girls and animals fucking and now I was going to try it out for real. I made elaborate plans and had to wait for just the right moment to spring the trap on the dog. His name was Rex and after a few days with our family, he was well oriented and almost amiable. But any sudden movement from anyone would have him barking like hell and we had to learn to move cautiously while Rex roomed with us. We certainly couldn't upset Rex in the least, for he belonged to one of Daddy's best clients and he was to be treated almost like a human guest. The second weekend that Rex was with us, Mom and Dad had a party to attend, one which they couldn't miss for very important social reasons. That particular weekend my brother was away with a friend, hiking in the mountains. I was to be sitter for Rex, keep him company, and this was just fine as far as I was concerned. I had thought out my seduction plans very carefully and I certainly didn't need an audience around when I put them into action. As soon as my folks had departed for their party, I locked all the doors, shut off most of the lights in the house and made a quick trip to the kitchen. When I returned I had a neat package tucked under one arm. Then I called out to Rex. He came running toward me, jumped up affectionately and began to sniff at my package and then licked at my face as I patted him fondly. I had to get this dog warmed up to me but good.
What I had planned for him was definitely not his usual fare of people-play. We were going to play all right, but Rex would have to do more than his usual share. I reached the doorway to my room and called to the dog to follow me. As soon as he was inside my territory, I slammed the door shut and locked it. Rex sniffed at the closed door, scratched at it with one paw and then looked at me almost inquisitively. Then I held out the package. He sniffed and licked at the paper happily.
"Oh, no, boy. Not just yet. I want to get undressed first and then we'll have some fun." I spoke to him softly, trying to be seductive, I suppose.
I quickly pulled off my clothes, throwing them carelessly to one side of the room, until I finally stood before the dog, naked and eager. If all my plans went right, I would be dog-fucked that night. Another first for my thirteen-year-old cunt.
I walked to the dresser and unwrapped the paper package. It was some hamburger meat. Fresh, red and juicy. I took a glob of the meat in my palm and walked toward the bed. I quickly lay down, spread open my thighs and plastered the meat at my cunt, pushing some deep into my cunt hole, squishing it down with my fingers. And then I pushed a glob of the meat into my asshole, smearing it around my puke hole quickly. The remaining bit of meat I placed on my nipples, wiping the palm of my hand across my small tits, getting as much off my palm as I could. And then I called to the dog.
He leaped unhesitatingly onto the bed, his nose bringing him right to my titties. His long, red tongue shot up and began to lick strongly at my nipples. Ah, it was wonderful feeling this wet pressure on my naked body. He straddled my belly as he continued to lap and lick at my flesh, drooling saliva down onto my quivering form. It was one hell of a turn-on! I lay back and mumbled encouragingly at the dog. He didn't need any encouragement. His nose brought him down further-right down to my quivering thighs. He sniffed, looked at me, sniffed again and then dove down, his tongue piercing at my downy cunt flesh. He lapped furiously, drooling all the while he worked over my cunt-burger. His tongue worked like a suction hose at my twat, drawing forth all traces of the meat smeared into my cunt depths. Then I rolled over onto my belly, offering him my asshole for tasting. I drew up onto my knees, sticking out my ass as best I could, while he beat at my flesh, seeking the last traces of his treat. But he had another treat in store for him. While he panted over my naked form, I saw that his dog cock had come out, red and ugly looking, ready for action. I maneuvered over him, placing myself in what I hoped would be a position for dog fucking. I could feel his wet cock stabbing against my naked flesh, bringing more throbbing to my cunt with each stab. I could hear his agitated panting and I felt his hot spit dropping onto my body. God, how I wanted fucking by this dog! It was almost evil, I thought. I was evil to have such desires, I thought, but I had to have this dog fucking me, or I was sure I'd die.
And then I knew he was about to get in. My cunt lips seemed to open up in greeting as his animal cock lanced out, lashing into me. I screamed at that point. That much I do remember. But that is all I remember. I must have blacked out-whether from the ecstasy of the moment, the shame and guilt I was feeling, or from the orgasm that rippled through my body as I was being dog-fucked. I remember nothing further of the action. When I finally came around, the dog was resting in a corner of the room, seemingly sound asleep. I touched at my cunt. It was sticky, gooey, my cunt hairs were matted and I was sore as all hell. That dog must have fucked like a demon. And now he was sleeping like a baby. I was suddenly aware of a terrible stench in the room. It was me! I smelled like a sewer. Painfully, I got up and stumbled to the door.
As soon as I had opened it, the dog leaped to his feet and ran out of the room. I got to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the stabbing spray. I stood under the cascading warm water, letting the stream cleanse my foul-smelling body. It seemed forever that I stood motionless under the water, thinking back to the events of the past few hours. I felt dirty, disgusted at my actions, but at the same time I no longer felt that great sexual need that had earlier gnawed at my being. I was at ease. I had been fucked by a live cock and that was what I had needed all along. Sure I felt like a real shit for what I had done, but it did give me favorable results, and after all that was what I had wanted in the first place. Wasn't it?
CHAPTER 4
The "In-Crowd" came into my life somewhat by accident. It's possible that I was really looking for them, though. I was looking for something. And I found it, but not until after I had committed two separate acts of one of society's most notorious crimes. After that the love people and I got together as if we were animals following each other's scent.
Shortly after I discontinued psychotherapy, my father became unbearable. During the first weeks after the Carl business my father wasn't so bad, he was even a little kind and understanding and sympathetic. But then, bang! he changed, started bitching at me all the time and about anything, and when he wasn't doing that, he was looking at me as if I was the cheapest whore on the streets. I felt like a whore, too, not just when my father looked at me but every time I sighted a man. I was hooked on sex, on fucking and men, and it was beginning to show. Maybe that's why my father was on me so much. Man, he wouldn't let up. He had to know everything I was doing, where I was doing it, with whom, and for how long. It was as if he had appointed himself my personal warden. He carried the key in his hip pocket and never pulled it out. It made me so mad that I wanted to kill him. It was when I was the very maddest, when I prowled the house like a caged animal, that my mother's cousin came to visit for a few days. I had never met him before. His name was Greg. He was kind of a drifter, a bachelor and the black-sheep of the family, and he had just come back to the United States after spending a few years in Australia. Greg was something-really something. I liked him at once: he was such a relief and so different from my father. Greg didn't give a damn about anything in the world except living his life the way that he wanted. And, man, according to the stories I had heard, he really lived it up. He sure as hell had some funky standards!
I won't go into all the preliminaries of how Greg and I got together, except to say that we became friends at once, that I admired him and found him attractive-maybe because he was about Carl's age-and that I began at once to think in terms of seducing him. I didn't have many doubts that such a seduction was possible, and it didn't bother me one shit that he was a blood relative. In a way, that made it even more exciting: You see, I was very mad at my father all the timet Having capers with Greg really appealed to me. It was abstract, I admit, but nevertheless it represented a way of getting even with my father for being so horrid to me all the time.
Interestingly enough, too, it happened in my parents' bedroom. Also, it was on a Sunday, the same day of the week that I had my first fucking with Carl. Maybe it was something astrological for me. It was something that I had anticipated and perhaps even subconsciously planned ever since I first met Greg.
This Sunday afternoon all my family was gone from the house, except Greg. I got very excited. I knew that my sexual abstinence was about to end. Greg made me feel that, too, for he started kidding around with me about boyfriends and talked of things that had a sexual tone to them. Also, I have some reason to believe that my parents might have told him about Carl and me. I hoped that they did. It'd make him know that I was easy, even if he might be a little fearful that I'd do him in as I did Carl. But, as I said, Greg didn't seem to give a damn about anything. He was a free-moving spirit that really got with it, man. And once he started, there was no stopping him. And once I got started, there was only one thing that would stop me. And that was one hard, long fuck!
Greg was coming down the upstairs hallway just as I, timing myself perfectly, came out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around my body. Greg didn't make any bones about it when he saw me. Neither did I. We looked at each other for a second, then moved together. When we broke our first embrace, Greg glanced around.
"In here," I said, taking his hand and leading him into my parents' bedroom.
"Why in there?" he asked. "Why can't we use your bedroom?"
"Oh, it's more exciting on my dad's bed. I've always wanted to have a fuck with Daddy, and I've dreamed of the day when I could have a hot rod stuck up my twat in that very room."
"Well, I'm not exactly your father," Greg laughed. "In fact, I'm much younger than he is."
"Oh, never mind the age bit, let's get with it, darling," I whispered, as I snaked my arms around Greg's neck, standing on tiptoes as I strained against him. I could feel the towel about my naked body loosen, and then gently slide down over my hips, falling to a heap at my ankles.
Greg laughed as he looked over my shoulder and then patted my bare rump lovingly. "Now that's what I like to see. A nice, clean ass just ready for some loving."
I giggled and lifted one foot, pushing aside the towel. Greg quickly stooped and lifted me in one sweep and walked toward the bed. He stopped at the foot of the bed, tightened his grip about my naked body, and then kissed me full on the lips. A hard, forceful kiss that brought his slippery tongue out to battle with my own. We lashed about in this manner for some time, his tongue striking against my inner cheeks, our teeth clashing in a love duel. And then he dropped me to the bed. I bounced. And then I laughed. We laughed together as I scrambled to my knees and began tugging at his clothing.
"Now just a minute, honey. We've got all afternoon. Your folks won't be back for some time, so let's just take it slow and easy. A slow fuck is the very best fuck. You should have learned that by now. We're going to play around a bit. I want you good and aroused before I sink my shaft into your slit."
"But I'm ready now!" I pleaded. "My cunt is already dripping love juices for you. I can't wait much longer for your tool. Please, Greg, let's do it now."
While I was speaking, Greg had removed his clothing, quickly and efficiently. He now stood before me in only his undershorts. He smiled at me. "Come on, baby, these are yours to remove."
I scampered off the bed and began to tug at his underpants. They had already tented visibly and I snickered playfully as I tugged the fabric over his hard-on.
"Looks as if you're more than ready, man,"
I said. "No need to warm you up for action. Your fire is already roaring."
"Yes, so it seems," he stated. "But I get turned-on by some foreplay. Will you kiss it for me?"
"Oh, man, will I!" I gently pushed him upon the bed and then lifted his legs upon the bed, bringing his knees up. His pole stood tall in greeting as I arranged him in exactly the position I wanted. When I leaned over his pulsating cock I made another arrangement. An arrangement of my own naked body. I lay across his stomach, breathing in his male scent and then brought my legs across his chest, opening them sufficiently to get across my message.
"Ah, so you want to sixty-nine?" Greg laughed. "You're sure one hell of a knowledgeable chick, Sharon. How did you get to be so expert in the art of fucking and sucking?"
"Ah, that's for me to know and you to find out," I answered laughingly.
"Well, let's get this show on the road," I cried out and then swooped down upon his erect cock, sinking my lips over the long shaft, drawing in his rock-hard flesh as far as it would go in my throat. I twisted and squirmed about, placing myself directly in position for a like ministering by Greg. I could feel a whiff of warm air about my thighs and knew that it was only a matter of seconds before I felt his steamy tongue lapping at my cunt. Then it happened. One giant slurping of his mouth and he had captured my cunt lips in a loving embrace. This caused me to bite down harder upon his cock and I could feel strengthening quivers of his body overtake his loins. He groaned and mumbled something incoherent. I kept on with the task at hand, never once letting up my tongue strokes and licks at his thick organ. His tongue reamed at my box in a manner not unlike that of my first lover, Carl. It brought great heaves of sighs and trembling groans to my own body, sounds which I could not restrain from escaping from my full lips, my cock-full lips. I knew that I would come quickly, I could not hold off for long. Emotions of release were already bubbling deep within me and each tongue kiss and drawing brought me closer to eruption. Greg was also on the verge of climax. I could feel the shudder and stiffening that preceded his release and before I could give it any further thought, it was upon me. The hot, milky goo shot forth from his cock, painting my mouth and throat with its male goodness. It trickled from the corners of my mouth as it forced its way out and into my waiting, eager mouth. I loved the taste of cock juice. I hadn't had some for so long a time, I was ravenous in my appetite. I continued sucking strongly upon his lance, long after he had subsided squirting, and then I knew I could release. I let flow the tremendous shattering of my own orgasm-let it rip through me as I could still feel the hot tongue working at my cunt walls, drawing on my clit, biting eagerly upon my pussy lips, slurping with wild abandon upon my female essence.
"Ah," I cried out. "How wonderful-it's been ... so ... long; I've waited ... so ... long ... just for a ... moment like ... this!"
"Oh, baby, you're the greatest," sobbed Greg as he twisted about and then lay by my side, one arm outstretched across my stomach.
"Oh, Greg, that was so lovely," I whispered. "You have no idea how long I've waited for a good suck. And now-do you think we can have a good fuck?"
He laughed. "God, baby, give me a minute to catch my breath. You sure as hell are one hot piece of ass, I'll tell you that. What have your parents been feeding you? Special vitamins or something?"
Again I giggled at his remarks. "Well I told you before that I was plenty hot already. I didn't need any wait at all. And now I'm going to get you back up again, your cock is gonna grow tall and straight and fit into my tight slit this time. I want a cock battering that I won't forget. Do you think you can oblige?"
"Baby, for you, I'll do anything. Just use your lips again and I'll be ready to go in no time."
I followed his instructions and began caressing his prick. I even rubbed my small tits across the head, poking my nipples into the eye. And then I felt the rise! The rise of cock power. I grasped him tightly and blew kisses at his cock, gentle love kisses meant to arouse his sleeping giant. And then he was ready. He climbed aboard, pressing against my naked, eager body. In seconds he had jutted his hips forward and his cock had found its target. He rammed and withdrew. I raised and lowered my hips, matching his rhythm, stroke for stroke. Relentlessly he slammed his cock into me, searing my flesh with his hotness, tearing at my cunt walls with a fierceness that alarmed me.
"Take it easy, Greg," I pleaded. "You'll tear me apart."
"Come on, baby, I thought you said you could take it. Are you chickening out?"
I couldn't answer. I could only cry out in passion. "Ah, Greg, I'm going ... to...."
It was impossible to complete my thoughts. A new wave of sensation was coursing through me. I was unable to control this onrushing.
I shuddered fiercely and then released. Within seconds of my warning, Greg moaned deeply, increased his battering speed wildly and then with one giant quivering, he followed my orgasm with one of his own. One that jetted into my cunt channel with the force of a rip tide, sloshing into my depths with a flooding of cock juice that seemed to rock my imprisoned body. We tightened our hold about each other's body and strained mightily as orgasm swept through our beings, raking our forms with an intense sensation that drained our very essence. We had reached the ultimate plateau of lovemaking and now we were descending in rippling waves of after-turbulence of our fucking storm.
"Oh, Greg," I whispered in his ear, "I love you. Honestly I do. I love what you did to me-for me-and I want you to know that I truly love you."
"No more thought of fucking Daddy?" he said smilingly. "Do I still remind you of your father?"
"Oh, Greg, of course not. You've just given me the best fuck ever-the very best fuck ever-and I know my father could never do that. Not the way you just did." Tears were streaming down my cheeks.
Greg leaned over and kissed my cheeks, gently licking up the salty rivulets. "Come on, Sharon, what's with the tears? I've never had a girl cry after a fuck before. It's sort of unnerving."
"Oh, but these are tears of joy," I interjected quickly. "You've made me feel so happy, so fulfilled, something I've needed for a long time."
"You really needed a fucking, didn't you, Sharon?" Greg asked somewhat concernedly. "I thought you were only kidding when you said that before. Really, I had no idea you were so serious."
"Now you know what I've been going through," I sobbed. "I never get enough loving and the little I manage to sneak around to getting only leaves me needing more and still more. I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Baby, if I were around I'd see to it personally that you got all the cock your little pussy needed. I'd even see that you got more than you could handle."
"Oh, Greg," I sobbed, "please never leave. Please stay with us always. I promise I'll always be here to give you anything you want. Anything."
I remember the way Greg laughed then. He didn't sound truthful at all. He sounded sadistic and suddenly very cruel.
"Well, baby, you'll have to live without this cock beauty of mine. I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon. Have to move on, you know. Greener pastures and all that jazz. I know you'll find someone to play around with. Someone that may even be as good as I am."
Now I hated him. I jumped off the bed and slapped him fiercely across the cheek. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me angrily. "Now what the fuck's the matter with you? Just because I'm leaving doesn't mean that you can go around slapping me. I gave you what you wanted-a good, damn fucking. You have no complaints to register. I know what I am and I also know what you are underneath that little-girl mask of yours. You may only be thirteen, but you're a whore of a bitch. A whore who can't get enough cock to satisfy her demon appetite. I'd hate to be around when you got much older. You'll be one hell of a fucking bitch."
I began clawing at his face, but Greg was quick to catch me before I had done any blood-drawing. I lashed and kicked out in anger against him, in hate and disappointment at finding out what a really low character he was. I hated him so intensely I could have torn him apart that afternoon. And then I felt two stinging slaps across my cheeks. I quickly regained control. Haughtily I freed myself from his hold and then bent to straightening the bed. I sauntered across the room, picked up the towel and then looked back at Greg. "Thanks for the fuck, Greg, I'll never forget this screw job."
He laughed loudly. He was still laughing when I closed my own bedroom door and threw myself across my own bed, sobbing desperately at having been such a fool.
CHAPTER 5
I was very disappointed after my session with Greg. To make matters even worse, my brother, Jeff, didn't help my situation a bit, either. But in a way I'm indebted to him for causing me to be so frustrated. That frustration sent me directly to the wild crowd of the love cultists.
Jeff and I had always gotten along pretty well. Two years difference isn't so bad when the girl's only thirteen. Emotionally, that difference made Jeff and me about equal, girls maturing earlier than boys as they do. My brother and I didn't have a lot in common, but we got along. We were reasonably close as brother and sister could be. But a strange thing happened between us after the family uproar about my affair with Carl. Some change came to our relationship. It was subtle, but there, nevertheless. I've always felt that Jeff learned about me and that this caused him to act differently with me. In a big-mouth family such as mine, I guess it would be hard not to know that something had gone on with me and Carl. Jeff knew, I was sure, but he never mentioned it. Not with words, that is. He did, however, start fooling around physically with me more than he had ever done before. He always wanted to wrestle with me, and when I went along with it, Jeff, like Carl and Greg, had been all hands, touching me all over my body. And Jeff, I learned, reacted the way Carl had always reacted. His cock rose hard and tall, ready for sex action.
The day after I let Greg make love to me, Jeff and I were alone in the house. My parents were at a regular Monday afternoon cocktail party that they never failed to attend. It was a tradition with them. Daddy would come home early from work and they'd be off in no time, Mother leaving a semi-prepared dinner for Jeff and me. Greg had left our house early that morning. The weather was miserable: rain, strong winds and quite cool. It was summer vacation time and I stayed dressed in my shortie nightie all day long. Television and hanging around were my lot for the day, strictly per my father's orders, for he had made me turn down an invitation to a girl friend's house. So I hung around, the shortie nightie with the bikini panties underneath making me look ready for bed when it was still afternoon. I didn't realize how sexy I looked until Jeff came into the living room with his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Jeff was very good looking and was already close to six feet tall. He was lean, too, and a pretty good athlete at high school. If he wasn't my brother, I would have considered him a catch, but after a bit that didn't even matter.
Jeff walked over to where I was sitting on the floor cross-legged watching TV. He looked down at me a moment. I looked up at him and gave him some nasty greeting. From where he stood, he could look directly down the front of my nightie without obstacles on the way to a clear view of my naked tits. That's what he was looking at, too. I looked at him again and thought how nice he looked dressed in his tight Levi's and a shirt that he had opened clear down to his waist.
After a few minutes, Jeff plunked next to me on the floor. He sat close enough so that our forearms touched. Then, out of the clear blue sky, he started talking about sex, asking me if I knew what it was all about, hinting that he did and that he had had affairs to prove it, and things like that. I answered him pretty brazenly, telling him that I knew everything he knew and more. He laughed. So did I. Then he started tickling me, and I made a big deal about tickling him back, rolling around the floor with him as if we were a couple of kittens. But we weren't kittens. He was a young stud-I was the alley cat on the prowl.
We were both breathing pretty hard by the time we had rolled to the other side of the room and stopped to rest. The position we ended up in was conducive to almost anything but rest. Jeff was lying half on top of me. His head was just above my titties, on a direct line with my jutting nipples, which were poking up provocatively beneath the flimsy fabric of my nightie. My blond hair was in a jumble, lying all around my head and face, kind of framing me, prettily, I hoped. And Jeff, poor, excited Jeff, was sweating, and I could also feel how hard he had gotten because of the position he had against my body. It was right then that I decided that I'd have my own brother. I was determined to fuck with Jeff, right there and then. I smiled at him. Then I raised my right hand and ran it gently through his thick hair, pulling and tugging playfully at the hair about his temples.
"Jeff?" I said sweetly.
"What?"
"Were you telling the truth about doing it with girls?"
He flushed a little. "I fibbed a little. I've never really gone all the way. But I've come close. I've come real damn close to having my cock rammed into a tight pussy. But the girl chickened out."
So he's come close, I thought. Poor dear. This time he was going to come more than just close.
"Why did you want to know?" Jeff asked. "I was curious."
"You've done it, haven't you?" he asked, looking directly into my eyes.
"Sure," I admitted.
"I thought so," he answered. Then, after pausing a moment, he asked, "What's it like, Sharon? Tell me how you felt while you were fucking."
"Great," I told him. Then it was my turn to pause before saying, "Do you want to find out, Jeff? Do you want to fuck me?"
His flush deepened. He didn't say anything.
I hiked up my hips a little, pressing myself against that hard jam he had tenting at his trousers.
"Come on," I said, temptingly.
"But-we shouldn't. It's ... wrong. I'm your brother and...."
I caught his left hand and pressed it against my tit. It felt good.
"Please," I said, begging him a little.
He looked around, then said, "Where?"
"Here," I told him.
I didn't give him a chance to change his mind. I rolled a little away from him and pushed my panties down to my ankles. Then I kicked them free. Jeff just watched me, a kind of shocked expression on his face.
"Get undressed," I told him.
He pushed back on his knees and stripped off his shirt. Then he got rid of his sandals and then, a little more slowly, he unzipped his trousers and let them drop. He stepped out of them. Then he was dressed only in jockey shorts. They stuck out-way out, his straining cock pushing at the fabric in determination.
"Come on, Jeff, hurry," I said.
"Why? The folks won't be back for hours," he answered.
"I know. But hurry anyway."
Finally, Jeff was naked and beside me. Quickly, I reached out and gripped him. His eyes went funny looking, and he told me to be careful, that he had done that bit all by himself. Then I let him slip my nightie over my head and sighed as he began to play with my tits. His hands felt good on my body, but by the way Jeff was all tense and kind of stammering, I knew that we couldn't wait too long. Besides, by now I was as anxious as he was.
I pushed Jeff's hands away from my tits. I considered kissing him a little, but then I decided that that wasn't the way it should go between a brother and sister. I rolled flat on my back and braced my legs. Then I reached my arms out to Jeff.
He stared at me for the longest time. He acted as if maybe he was going to change his mind. I circled my hands around his back and urged him to me. Slowly, he came close. Then he stopped.
"I-well, should I now?" he asked.
"Yes."
I did most of the placing. I guided his cock, then brought my hand away as he shot forward. For a moment I felt great. But only for a moment. Jeff started moving real fast, so fast that even when I told him to slow down-even when I hurried my own thumping up and down to meet him-he couldn't stop, couldn't do anything except explode within seconds after getting his cock into my slit. And for me there was nothing. Not a damn thing except that first good feeling that hadn't been allowed to grow.
Jeff had released his cock juices and now went limp immediately. I felt it happen. He withdrew his slobbery prick from me and I turned to the side and buried my face into the carpeting, feeling an impulse to strike my head on the floor in exasperation.
About a half hour later, when Jeff was ready again, we tried once more. It was the same. A miserable fucking. And completely frustrating for me. We separated, wordlessly, and dressed. Jeff looked very pathetic and if I wasn't feeling so rotten, I could have even felt sorry for him at that moment. Sorry for his failure at fucking.
"I'm ... sorry," he said real softly.
"So am I, you miserable little boy," I exclaimed angrily.
That was the way it was with Jeff. Nothing but frustration. After that we didn't talk about it. We never tried again. We both understood that it wasn't for us. But it was worse for me. I was experienced and I needed fucking regularly like I needed food. And a week later I found an outlet for all of this sexual energy that had been building up inside me since the end of my affair with Carl. A beautiful and satisfying way to get my release.
CHAPTER 6
Cheryl Wright was one of my very best girl friends. Someone with whom I could share my most intimate confidences. She knew all about my sexual experiences with Carl, with Greg and even with Jeff. We told each other secrets trustingly. One day we made plans to go downtown. Surprisingly, my parents consented. Cheryl was almost two years older than I was, but we were close friends anyway. Cheryl had somewhat of a reputation around the school as a fast, easy lay. She was pretty sophisticated. But so was I. We got along fine.
When we finished with the little bit of shopping that Cheryl had to do at one of the downtown department stores, she wasn't ready to return home. Neither was I. The number of times that I was allowed to do anything during the past months could be counted on one hand. It was great to be free of the boredom of the house and my parents. Just great, and I was going to get the most out of it that I could.
"Let's walk around the campus," Cheryl suggested suddenly.
The campus was part of the city university, and it was within walking distance of the downtown section of our city. Lately, it had become much publicized because of different demonstrations that the students had organized, that, and a few raids by police on apartments that were called marijuana dens. There was always something in the papers about the campus and the kids, both students and non-students, who hung around there. It had become quite the "in" place to be seen.
"Come on, there's always a blast of some kind on the campus," coaxed Cheryl.
"Okay," I said.
We strolled toward the university. Probably I had been in the area, but I didn't remember it. The buildings were large and modern, but they were unmistakably academic, and I wondered how in the world Cheryl expected to find any excitement there. There was action, all right, but it was mainly composed of boys and girls propped against trees or on benches with books open in their laps. That was what I had expected. But then Cheryl led me away from the buildings and toward an area that was residential, although unlike any that I had ever seen.
Someone should make a study of the disgraceful residences that exist around city colleges and universities. They're all crummy. The apartments and flats were of the flea-bag variety. Everything seemed dusty. There was no grass, as compared to the luscious lawns of the university buildings only a few blocks away. Every residence had broken windows. The city neglected the area, too, for the streets and sidewalks were a network of broken cement, some of it leaving such holes that people risked broken limbs by moving around after dark. And the anti-litter campaign had obviously never reached this area. Broken bottles, crumbled up newspapers, cigarette packages, and used, dried-up contraceptives were everywhere, the latter causing me a stab of memory for Carl, my first lover.
When we turned a corner, we moved down another ill-kept street, one that was filled with disgusting looking houses. Here, for the first time during our walk, there was a gathering of people-the strangest that I had ever encountered.
"This is a hippie area," explained Cheryl.
I had certainly heard of places like this, but I never expected to actually be in such a place, not with Cheryl and certainly not on that day. The people who were collected together in groups on porches and mud-caked yards were really different. They were a real rage. The boys and girls wore the most outlandish garb I had seen. Torn, ragged jeans and dirty T-shirts seemed to be the uniform of the day. Even the girls wore the dirty T-shirts hanging loosely over unencumbered tits, brief hot pants underneath. Most of the girls had long, straight hair, hanging over their blank faces. There were a lot of beards among the boys. It helped their rebel look tremendously. It was really strange walking down the street and seeing these kids as if they had come out of another world. Guitars were strumming, and there was a little folk singing among the different groups. Also, at some of the groups, poetry readings were going on. We didn't stop to listen to any of it, but I could tell that it was way-out.
At the end of the street we came to a building that was the largest in the block. It wasn't a flat or an apartment. Once, it had been a private residence and still looked like that. Here, the biggest group was gathered. Here there were segments of the main group broken into small gatherings of three or four people, all sprawled around the front yard, which was pure dirt without a blade of grass, not even a weed. There was a buzz of soft conversation and indifferent notes coming from guitars. There were boys and girls gathered together, not all especially young, though most were in their teens. They wore the standard equipment, old pants, old sweaters, dirty T-shirts, old jackets, crazy hats, beards, long hair, sad expressions, sandals or bare feet. Anything that was outlandish. They were almost funnny looking. But I slowed, causing Cheryl to do the same, as I drew close to this particular group. There was something about them ... something that caught me and further tickled that sexual feeling that had been rising within me, rising with little hope of fulfillment. There was a distant memory of my fucking situations with Carl and others, and sparks of all my life that seemed to ignite through the simple expedient of drawing closer to this collection of strangers.
Cheryl and I stopped at the outer rim of the circle one small group made. We looked at them and listened to a folk song they began to sing, starting it without any signal from a leader, even without any pre-knowledge that they were about to bring their voices together in song. The melody made me feel relaxed. And it made me feel good that none of these strangers seemed to give a damn about us watching them. They didn't care in the least, and I had the impression that if we were naked or walking around with our heads tucked under our arms, they would be the same. Uncaring, not giving one shit about anything except the quiet pleasure they seemed to have by being quiet and together and doing whatever their impulses demanded of them.
We stayed by the group for perhaps fifteen minutes before anyone said anything to us. And then it didn't come from the group but from a young man, dressed like the others and with a red beard, who came out of the house and slowly moved down the stairs. He looked at us and smiled. Then he walked over to us. The others seemed not to pay any attention at all. The man practically ignored Cheryl and looked straight at me.
"Are you on?" he asked. His voice was soft and lazy sounding.
"On what?" I asked.
"Turned on."
"Oh, I guess I am," I laughed.
"For us? Are you turned on for us?"
I glanced at the others, then looked at the red-bearded young man and said, "Yes, I think that I am turned on for you."
He grinned, then said, "Good. That's enough to make you one of us."
"Me, too?" asked Cheryl excitedly.
The young man gave her a cool glance, looking her up and down, then, speaking to her but talking to me, said, "Sure-you're included."
For several minutes the man just stood at my side looking at the others and listening to a new song they had started. It gave me a real good chance to look him over. He was taller than I had thought at first, probably close to six feet, and he was so thin that he looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal for many months. There was something about his eyes, too. They were-inspiring. That's the only way I can describe them. Deep brown, they seemed to kind of smoulder as they considered matters that were too deep for ordinary consumption. His hands, I noticed, were like those of an artist: long, thin, delicate but nimble, and making me wonder how they might feel if they should touch my body.
Finally, after one song ended and still another began, the red-beard turned to me. Carefully, he reached out and lifted the ends of my hair, bringing it way up above my head.
"Nice," he said.
"Thank you."
"It turns me on," he added.
I didn't answer.
"I love you," he said.
The words were different from the sexy "I love you," or the romantic use of the phrase. It was like a simple statement, a kind of statement of belief, like the enunciation of some very important philosophy that I should already understand.
He lowered my hair, did it slowly as if he didn't want to jostle me. Then he took my hand and straightened a little, looking at the others and not at me, yet at the same time making me feel as if he had taken me over, claimed possession of me.
As soon as this boy looked at the others as he was holding my hand, the song they were singing died. It made me think that he was a kind of leader. Everyone in the group turned to the red-beard.
Suddenly, he lifted my hand right out straight toward the others, kind of presenting me.
"Does she turn you on?" he asked, raising his voice quite a bit.
A mumble came from the others. I couldn't tell what the words were, but I knew that their answer to the red-beard was affirmative. Besides, some of them smiled and all of them seemed to like me. And a girl, one who was right at the side of me, said, "I love you," in that same, soft, impersonal tone that the man had used. It was odd. I wanted to say, "I love you," right back at her, like an answer to a greeting.
"Well, as long as we're turned on and tuned in, the soup, such as it is, is ready for the taking," the red-bearded young man said.
Slowly, everyone got to their feet. They trailed up the stairs and into the old house. Cheryl, standing at my side, nudged me, but I ignored her. I was intrigued with this group, with this strange person who held my hand as if he owned me.
As soon as the others had entered the house, the man squeezed my hand a bit, then urged me forward. I didn't protest. I went right along with him. At the stairs, he turned back to Cheryl.
"You can come to the celebration feast, too," he said. f
"Celebration?" Cheryl exclaimed. "Oh, great, I love parties."
The red-beard ignored her and started up the stairs, still holding my hand and taking me right along with him.
Finally, as we reached the entrance, I found my tongue.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"John," he replied.
"John what?" I inquired.
"Just John. Family names are usually hostile elements to conditions of peace."
I nodded, just as if I knew what he meant. Then I asked him if he lived in the house that we were about to enter.
"We all do," he said.
"All these people?"
"Yes. And you, too, if you want."
"Is it your house?"
"No. Unfortunately, it belongs to a landlord. We rent it. That is, when we have the rent."
"You all rent it?" I asked.
"It's a cooperative," he explained.
"What's that?" ' "A place where a lot of cool people live together. You know, share the burdens, the cost, the price, the jazz, the misery, and each other."
"Boys and girls live there?" I said, sounding a little astonished, I suddenly realized.
He looked at me. "Naturally. We're all the same children of love and peace."
It sounded nice. I smiled. Then John led me into the house, while Cheryl followed.
The house was large and amazing. There must have been at least a dozen rooms. There was very little furniture. It was obvious that the sleeping arrangements were casual, and communal. Sleeping bags were scattered everywhere. Some paintings were on a few of the walls, and more were stacked in a corner of the room along with an easel and a pallet and large tins of paints. There were a number of cushions around the floor, too. The little furniture that they had was broken. There was an upstairs to the house, but I didn't see that part of it except for the stairs that wound upward. A smell came from a room that had to be the kitchen. None of the downstairs had any light bulbs, and I thought that the electricity must have been turned off. Then I wondered how they cooked and soon learned that they did it with coals in an old-fashioned, pot-bellied stove which, believe me, must have been quite some neat trick.
One of the girls was passing out bowls of soup when John and I entered. She was a very pretty girl, with long, black hair, a loose blouse that allowed her tits to jiggle and a very short skirt. There was little doubt that she didn't have a thing on underneath that skirt. She handed Cheryl and me, then John, a bowl. There was no spoon distributed, however. John lifted the soup and smelled it. His face lit up happily.
We drank our soup. Spoons, or any silverware, were non-existent in the cooperative house of the hippies, I learned. The soup was very good, different from any I had ever tasted. It was a little sour and tasted like the smell of wine. When I asked John about it, he said that it was wine. Mostly. And with anything else that they could find to put in it.
Dinner was over when we finished our soup. Everyone finished about the same time. I made a mental count and estimated that at least twenty people must have lived in the co-op. What a crowd! And what a light dinner.
People began drifting around after the bowls were collected by the girl who must have been on kitchen duty. During the next hour I talked to a lot of the kids. Also, John showed me all through the house that had become their living quarters. Everything was very bare, including the atmosphere, yet the fact that they were a community seemed to make them very happy. They truly loved each other and frequently told each other so, using the same three-word phrase John had first said to me.
After an hour or so, I noticed that Cherryl had disappeared. I looked around and discovered her sitting in a corner on a sleeping bag with a stocky colored boy. They were sitting very close and seemed very intent upon their low conversation. Then I glanced at some of the others. Couples paired off and there were groups again, but now it was not for folk singing or poetry reading. Now, since it was night and dark outside, it seemed they gathered to express their often used phrase, "I love you."
In one corner of the large community room, a girl was undressing while her boy-not really that; he looked to be about thirty-five-watched her. I saw that he was already naked from the waist up. When the girl was naked, she flopped down next to him, settling on blankets that obviously marked their portion of the community residence. Quite casually, while others moved around, the couple kissed. Then they reclined on the blankets, wrapping their arms around each other as they lowered. Then I looked away. It was too much for me to view in the condition that I was in, the condition of being sexually excited for a long time without the benefit of any experiences that really helped much.
John led me to the opposite end of the room. Here, three couples were involved in undressing, and it looked to me as if they intended to sleep together on the floor. I glanced at John.
"What's the matter?" he asked, smiling.
"It seems so-public."
"Just for us," he answered. "With us, love is universal for anyone who can give it and accept it."
"Physical love, too?" I inquired.
John nodded. "Why not? Sometimes it takes the physical to express the emotional."
That made me feel very good. It made me feel as if I wasn't the slut my family thought I was. It made me feel that I had deep, serious feelings inside me and that I merely used sex-fucking-as a vehicle of expression. It made me love John for relieving some things that had been bothering me.
John and I sat down on the floor. Various sex orgies were beginning to unfold before my eyes, including one that involved my friend Cheryl and the Negro boy. And as I watched, it occurred to me that none of it was dirty-that dirt only came from people's minds; from outsiders.
During the next hour or so I witnessed a great deal of sex action, including some acts that I had never imagined. It excited me, but at the same time it calmed me, too. It's hard to explain. It was a little as if I didn't have to hurry-as if I had found a home and the people who should be in it and that this provided me with all the time in the world to do as I pleased.
Soon, John tucked his arm around my waist. He hugged me closer.
"Do you want to fuck?" he asked me.
"No," I answered. "Not just yet."
"All right," he nodded, not the least bit upset.
It was the first time I had ever refused a chance to fuck. I thought that it was a sure sign that I was maturing. But I also felt that I had found the people with whom I could have sex whenever I wanted, wherever I wanted and for as long as I wanted.
John and I watched a variety of sex acts going on all round us, much as if we were viewing a motion picture. But soon, not wanting to titillate myself beyond the point of this calmness that I felt, I stood up and told John that I was going home.
"You'll be back," he said, stating it, not asking a question.
"Yes," I told him simply.
"Look," John said, "if you can't make it all the time-you know, live-in with the crowd, weekends are great. I know how it is when you're young-it's hard to get away from the folks and all that."
I smiled. "I'll be here often, John."
He smiled, too. "I love you."
"I love you," I answered. It sounded as if I had just uttered the phrase that was mandatory to my initiation into the hippie cult.
I aroused Cheryl from her post-sex activities of snoozing with the colored boy. When she got dressed, we left the area, heading for our suburban homes, our square community and square families. But it was not an ending for me. It was only a beginning-a new wonderful beginning of freedom and sexual expression that I knew I would find with these people, these simple, unpretentious youths of my own generation.
CHAPTER 7
Now I became involved in a new scheme. It took a lot of lying, screaming, conniving, and even some cooperation from me, but I managed to make the arrangements that would give me weekends to myself. It was the most important thing in the world to me. I had to be free to join my new crowd, at least on weekends. If I had had the chance to be with them more often, I would have jumped at t, but even I knew that this was impossible. After all, I was only thirteen-there are limits to what I could accomplish. When I wasn't with my cool, new group, I lived a pretty normal life, including school, non-hippie friends, and my family, as much as I had to include them.
The very next time that I saw John-a time that also introduced me into the deviation-al ways of sex-I learned a good deal about the things that his group believed. Since then I've learned that people have misconceptions. It's easy to misunderstand them. For one thing, there are different groups following different patterns of philosophy. There are a lot of phonies within the love cult, too. This makes it difficult to say exactly what is or what is not a fake. But I satisfied the interpretations in my own mind, and maybe that's what everybody has to do.
My group was peaceful, anti-war and anti-violence of all kinds. They were also non-discriminating as regards race, color, creed, national origin and so forth. They hoped, through their passivity, to promote peace. They were passive demonstrators in the pursuit of peace and love. They believed in love. They also made love. A good deal has been said about their interest in grass, LSD and various sexual deviations. There is interest, too, but it stems from their belief that people should be allowed to do anything they want, as long as it doesn't violate or hurt the rights of others. So, if they felt like having a fuck at a given time, and if they felt like having sex differently from those acts which seem prescribed by society's conventions, they did it. They wouldn't stop anyone else from doing what they wanted to do-they didn't think others should stop or interfere with them.
About the variations within the love groups, I discovered that the differences were sometimes geographic. A cult on the West Coast might be different from a similar group in the Midwest or on the East Coast. The patterns they follow are different, too. There are the "Flower People" who appreciate beauty and are, indeed, as passive as a flower. But there are motorcyclist cults, too, and they aren't always passive. All, however, except for the part-time diggers like myself and the' intellectual inquirers, seem to share a universal aversion for work.
They resist it. Unemployment frees them for thought. And for each other.
I experienced all kinds of sexual acts, and they served to quiet my needs, at least temporarily. So, I'll have to relate my first experiences with the love crowd. It was an exciting new bag for me.
It was two weekends after Cheryl and I first met the gang before I was able to return to that campus area and John and his friends. I found them where I had the first time, in front of their co-op, singing, talking, discussing, or just quietly thinking.
John seemed glad to see me. The dark-haired girl who was hanging onto his arm, surprisingly, just moved away from him, much as if she sighted me as her successful rival and was relinquishing even a temporary claim on the leader of their cult.
I walked right over to John. He put his arm around my waist. We didn't give each other a greeting. Instead we just stood there and listened to the others. But when the songs ended, he turned to me and told me that he was "glad I could make the scene." I had the feeling that if fifty years had passed since I had last seen John, he would greet me exactly the same way.
Although the time of my arrival was in the evening, there was no dinner. John told me why.
"We're a little low on loot," he explained. "But we're going to take care of that tonight when we parade for the tourists."
I looked dumb, and then he explained that on Saturday nights the tourists went to certain sections of the campus area in order to "view" the hippies. The group, according to John, then put on a show, acted exactly the way that the tourists expected them to act, walking around with the Ben Franklin glasses, the big buttons proclaiming all sorts of funny things, the dirty jackets and generally acting like the weirdos that the tourists wanted them to be. John said that I was going to join them. I said that I certainly was. I looked forward to the experience.
In the co-op house we started getting ready for the rush of tourists. I was still curious as to how this Saturday night affair even would bring money into the group, and I asked John about it. He grinned and said I'd find out. The gang spent as much time dressing for the evening as a girl might for her graduation dance. The boys checked their beards, the non-harmony of their clothing, even checked to see if they looked "dirty enough." The girls made sure that their hair was straight and long and that there was no lipstick that showed. A few of them, the sexier ones, made sure that their skirts were short and tight and that the upper clothing they wore adequately revealed that their tits were not encumbered with underclothing. Then they were off. But first I wondered if I looked like one of them. I asked.
John looked me over, noting the very short skirt that I wore, the blouse that let my titties jiggle and show the points of my nipples, and decided to make some changes. He found me a pair of old-fashioned glasses to wear-the glass was plain, just for effect, not seeing-and he suggested that I kick off my sandals and go barefoot. I did. John said that I was ready.
We walked in a group to the streets in front of the university buildings. Then we kind of set up shop. One boy fixed up a sidewalk stand, selling buttons with the most incredible sayings, most of them sexually oriented. Another stand was set up to sell paintings, some of them done by John, I learned, and I was amazed at the prices that would be asked for the original work. Hundreds of dollars were asked for the paintings. It seemed preposterous. But John observed that they rarely sell any anyway, so they might as well ask the most, figuring that one square customer would make up for all the lack of sales at lesser prices. Many of the girls started walking up and down the street, and many of them sat down on the sidewalk, immediately attaining an expression that John said was what the tourists thought was "The Look."
Pretty soon the tourists began to arrive. They came in droves, laughing, curious, making ribald jokes and generally treating us as if we were freaks. But they bought the buttons. They bargained over the price of certain paintings. And they made passes at both the male and female hippies. A few of the girls took advantage of the amorous attentions. I saw two disappear with two convention delegates who were in town. When I asked John what was up, he told me that some of the girls didn't mind occasional prostitution in order to bring money into the general fund.
Certain things were required of us as the tourists moved along the sidewalks. We were to act as crazy as possible, sing a song and read poetry on a minute's notice, even without an audience. And we were to look tired, unhappy, bored with all of life. It was hard for me: I was having one hell of a blast.
Early in the morning the tourist traffic died down. That's when we called it quits. Upon a signal from John, we gathered up our things and headed for the co-op. Once there, we counted the loot: hundreds of crazy buttons had been sold, begging had produced a number of handouts, and the girls who had busied themselves with whoring had two hundred dollars to contribute to the general fund. Our evening's take was someplace around four hundred dollars. "Enough to pay the rent and keep us eating for months," John declared.
"But there'll be more," I offered. "Next week-."
"We only do the tourist bit when we're down to zero," he interrupted. "Christ-otherwise how could we stand such crud."
There was a party at the co-op that night. Wine flowed; I drank a little. And there was a real, honest-to-goodness meal, including meat and potatoes, all prepared in the non-modern, pot-bellied stove. Everybody wanted to have a ball. And they did. Especially me, for I learned that love didn't have to be a singular thing, that it could be shared in a single act by me and two others.
From the time I first saw him that evening, I knew that John and I were going to be fucking later. It was just a matter of time. Some subtle calmness had come to the rampage of sexual desire within me. I knew that I was going to find gratification, was certain that for the first time since Carl, I was going to be left completed. This secret knowledge made me very happy.
It was quite dark in the co-op by the time that John and I found ourselves in a corner of the room. Moon streaks came in the windows, giving the area an eerie look. There were some strange things going on, too, at least by the standards of the squares. Lovemaking seemed to be the order of the night. Couples were sprawled everywhere, and they were confined exclusively to partners of the opposite sex. When I saw some of the forms moving in fucking motions, the old excitement came over me again. After all, even the best kinds of calmness can't last forever.
Unceremoniously, John stretched long on a mat he had placed beneath us, then reached and pulled me down beside him.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you," I replied.
Our first kiss was cautious at the beginning, but grew wilder the longer we held it. Soon, our heads were shaking from side to side and our tongues were clashing inside the round channel we had made with our lips. Our hands moved, too: they knew how to make the kisses better. And then John removed my clothing. It was great being naked with a man again, and I was anxious for John to get bare, too. I tugged on his sweater. He removed it, baring a slim, muscled chest and an extremely narrow waist. When he removed the rest of his clothing, I discovered that he was nearly hipless. It excited me.
John, apparently, was in no hurry to begin fucking me. Or maybe he liked going slowly. Anyway, when I stretched out on my side, he raised a bit and hovered above me. We kissed again; then he brought his lips to my ears and neck and to my tits. He mouthed me there a long time. I liked it. It felt good, particularly the way he mouthed my nipples individually, pulling them back from the base while he rolled them between his lips. That was great. And it was even better when he tickled his tongue down the length of me and went directly to my thighs, which I could not help but make immediately available to him. And I couldn't help but gasp a little, either, as I felt his hot breath moving along my straining form, straining for his loving touches. "Oh, John," I cried.
He worked all the harder, appearing to enjoy the onesidedness of his giving. Then I decided to make it a two-way pleasure. I reached out and gripped his cock and started to beat him off. Without stopping eating my pussy, he pushed my hand away, fearing, I guessed, that I might cause him to come before he was ready. So then I contented myself by running my fingers through his dark hair.
It was while John and I were like this that I noticed someone standing very close to us. I looked up. First I saw the black, naked legs, then the rest of the naked torso of the Negro my friend, Cheryl, had fucked the first night we were at the co-op. His black face was bright with a smile as he looked down at us.
In a moment, John looked up. He grinned at the Negro. Then he said, "I love you."
The Negro answered in the same manner. Then he said, "Hey, man, I dig your chick."
"Thank you," John replied very politely, rolling clear away from me now.
"I thought we could three-it," said the black man.
John looked at me, then to the Negro and said, "Of course. I love you."
I wasn't sure that I liked being discussed, but John, stopping when he did at the appearance of the black stud, left me in a terrible way, and I was very anxious to get back with the business of fucking.
The Negro, who John introduced to me as Danny, squatted on his heels beside us. It was dark, but not so dark that I could not make out his body. He looked funny sitting on his haunches like that. He was very massive, very strong looking, and his erect cock was very obvious.
Both men came close to me. Danny kissed me on the lips; then John did the same thing. I went from one to the other as if I were in a delirium of sensuality, as indeed I was. Their kisses tasted different, but after awhile they seemed to blend into one long, eternal kiss that was made up of the best techniques of both John and Danny. And in a moment I learned something else about techniques, even my own. Something which I had been unaware of before.
John moved, then, with his hands gently on my shoulders, shifted me into a position on the mat that placed me on my knees and elbows. He scooted behind me, holding me gently at the hips. I knew how he was going to do it. I didn't mind a bit, for I was very excited. But when the Negro, Danny, shifted his position until he was seated directly in front of me, I wondered if what faced me would add, or detract, from the excitement of John at my back.
I felt John pulling open my ass cheeks, seeking entrance to my a-hole. He moved into me very gently, but excitingly enough to make my body shudder in response as I realized that it was about to be good again, about to be as it had once been with Carl. John moved to me strongly several times before there was any response from Danny. When there was, he merely hiked his hips at me a bit. That's one thing about the hippies-they're not demanding, not brutal or rapists or anything like that. Whatever a person does with them is not through force, but from their own free will. Danny indicated what his desire was. I could not refuse him. Besides, John was pounding his cock harder into my asshole and that old feeling was beginning to come over me, was beginning to grow, until I knew that there would be no stopping it. I began to ache terribly as I took John's ramming into my tender spot, but it was an ache of love, tender, giving love that was a satisfying emotion despite any discomfort being caused me in the process. Any discomfort was worth the enduring for what I knew would ultimately be mine. The goal of true sexual coming was to be mine. I was on the brink of the ultimate sensation of lovemaking.
I shifted my position a bit. Then I reached out and touched Danny. He jolted upward. I went down on him, hard and fast, spurred, it seemed, by a desire to show love, by a very genuine wish to let Danny, John, to let everybody share the great feeling that I was enjoying. And it grew and grew and grew, and it seemed the most remarkable thing to me that three of us could end at the same time, that altogether we could give and receive and benefit each other because we dared enough to love, to be unconventional in our lovemaking.
The asshole fucking I received from John was a new form of fulfillment for me, one I grew to love and demand on many occasions. This coupled with a fuck to my cunt was the ultimate of loving. I was battered by two, hot, love lances that erupted within my depths, rocking me with emotions of the moment as they spurted and lashed into my inner walls with their cock goo.
When it was over, I was delighted to find that I was not angry that John, whom I really went for, had shared me with another man. In fact, I was flattered. It meant that I was good enough for John to want to share me. And it meant that even with my part-time status, I was "in" with the crowd, one of them for as long as I wished or needed. I could now be considered truly accepted by the gang.
Later the same night, I went through a variation of the same act with Danny and another man, then later still, with John and a short, blond boy named Hank. I was really getting around.
I had come alone to the co-op. Cheryl was out of it as far as I was concerned. Besides, she had pretended indifference, although I knew that she felt bad that she had not been accepted by the hippies as readily as I had. Finally, it was Sunday night and time for me to go home. (I had made arrangements with a girl friend to lie about my spending the weekend at her house.) I felt very sad as I made my way back to life with my family in the suburbs. Leaving the co-op was like leaving a part of my life behind me. Complete sadness would have overtaken me if I was not already anticipating the next weekend and the new adventures that I might find with John, Danny and all the others.
I even began to make plans of my own for our next loving sessions. I had heard of some really deviational sexual behavior practiced by some groups, and I was determined to experiment with any such behavior that I thought might be beneficial to my intense feelings on lovemaking. It occurred to me that I had never seen a homosexual meeting in the commune. I wondered about this-wondered if perhaps this was a taboo within the group. Nothing had been mentioned on this subject during my stay with the group and now I began to dwell on the matter, thinking of the very attractive girls within the co-op, girls who I knew had looked me over very carefully. Would I be able to make love to any of them? I wondered. Would I want to? Yes, I thought, there were some girls with whom I would certainly like to play. I began to wonder how another female's flesh would taste. Could I manage what I had in mind? Would they let me? I wanted to do some female fucking and made up my mind that the very next weekend I would so some experimenting.
CHAPTER 8
It was late Friday night when I arrived. It was so hot that some of the girls had removed their tops and sat on the dusty porch with their titties jutting outward, the darkened nipples pressing upward from their creamy white mounds of female tit flesh.
"Hi, doll."
I turned about quickly. It was Danny. He was wearing only a pair of tattered shorts as he stood gleaming at me. His black chest shone in the early evening light, perspiration glistening on the sparse hairs across his broad torso. "Hello, Danny. Have anything special planned tonight?"
"Just the usual," he laughed. "A fuck and a suck for your thoughts."
I giggled and turned to go into the house, change my clothes and return to the crowd. As I passed between the kids, I felt loving pats across my bare legs, pinches at my ass cheeks and even some tweaks across my tits. These were loving caresses of my friends. It was nothing unusual. We did it all the time, simply a form of fond greeting between our loving group.
I laughed as I opened the door of a room, bringing in my overnight bag. As I turned around I heard a sharp gasp. There was a girl in the room already.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I thought this room was free."
"That's all right," she answered. "I was just putting some things away. In fact, I was just about to get rid of this hot pullover. It's been giving me the itches all afternoon. The other girls are getting comfortable so I'm joining them. How about you?"
I looked her over very carefully. I couldn't recall ever having seen her before in all my frequent weekend visits. "Yes, guess I'll do the same," I answered as I began to whisk off my clothing.
"My name is Tina."
"Well, hello, Tina," I replied as I tugged down my panties and threw them aside. "My name's Sharon. I don't suppose you have seen me before. I come by only on weekends. It's the only time I can get away from my draggy family. Someday I may move in completely, but for now I have to get my kicks as best I can." I struggled into the tight-fitting pants and stood before Tina, observing her reaction.
"God, Sharon, you sure as hell have a great body. Why your tits are even larger than mine. How old did you say you were?"
"I didn't-but I'm almost fourteen." I looked down at my upthrust tits, pulling on the nipples with thumb and forefinger. "Yes, I seem to have developed pretty much lately. Guess it's all this fucking and sucking that's doing it."
She came closer, flung her arms about me and pressed her own pointed titties neatly into mine, fitting our naked flesh together smoothly. Then she gave me a kiss full on the mouth-a wet, hot kiss that promised many things. There was a new stirring in the hot evening air, a sexual stirring that had me aroused already.
I brushed out my long hair quickly, flipped it over my shoulders and proceeded to find some action. My nose led me to the scent of food. I quickly became aware of the fact that most of the group had discarded all their clothing.
"Sharon, over here," I heard someone call softly. I turned around. There was Tina, sitting with none other than Danny.
I picked my way over some naked limbs and then dropped to the ground, crossing my legs in the process. Danny reached across Tina's bare legs and patted my thighs lovingly. "Glad you made it, doll," he said. At that point someone handed me a cigarette. Now I'm not a smoker, but most of the group seemed to be smoking, and not wanting to be a negative force, I accepted the outstretched cigarette. It was already lit, and I took several deep drags before I realized there was something wrong. This was not an ordinary cigarette. Tina took it from my fingers and took several deep drags, passing it on to Danny.
Danny placed his arms about Tina's shoulders and I had an impulse to follow his example. I curled one arm over his, tugging at Tina's right tit as I snaked my arm over Danny's.
"Oh," Tina cooed delightedly. "That's nice, real nice."
Danny tugged at her left tit, drawing out the dark pink nipple from its base of pale flesh and then letting it snap back into place. I couldn't resist moving closer to Tina, bringing my thighs up against her own naked ones. I rubbed against her hot flesh, burrowing my head into the softness of her long, flowing hair.
"Mmm, you smell good," I murmured. "Good enough to eat."
"What's stopping you?" she asked softly.
I looked up. Danny was no longer there. Our naked bodies glistened, droplets of perspiration forming on our heated flesh. I drew my head down again, my tongue seeking soft flesh. I licked my way down her upthrust tits, biting lovingly at her jutting nipples. My tongue became more forceful in its loving movements as I lapped and licked wetly at her delightful mounds of tittie flesh.
"Oh, Sharon," Tina moaned softly. "What are you doing to me? I feel ... so...."
I spread her waiting pussy lips, moist with her seeping juices and then I dropped down to her depths, inhaling her female scent with a reeling intensity. She was draining heavily and I licked from within her depths all her love juices. I drank with feverish intensity at her cunt well as she writhed beneath my fondling and passionate kissing.
"My ... God...." she gasped. "I'm ... going ... to ... burst!" She began a furious ministering upon my cunt lips with her own steamy tongue. We did battle with our tongues upon each other for many long moments and then I could feel Tina's body shiver and strain. I knew she was about to come, about to release still more love juices into my waiting mouth. I wanted to come with her, I wanted it to be a mutual experience of perfect timing. She bit at my protruding clit and as I cried out in pain and passion, I felt still another cry being brought to life within me. My orgasm was upon me at almost the same moment that Tina shot. We released together, draining into the mouths waiting at our cunt lips as juices poured forth from our depths.
"Oh, Sharon-that was so-wonderful."
Tina was interrupted by a voice-a deep, male voice. It was red-beard. John. He knelt down beside us and kissed first Tina gently on the lips and then me.
"Don't you understand?" he questioned almost in a fatherly tone. "This was something you both had to find out for yourselves. Nothing that's done with the consent of all partners is wrong. Nothing at all. It's beautiful to love another being, whether that being is male or female. It was meant to be that way. What you have just had is a discovery that very few people make in their lifetime. You've just proven how truly beautiful honest love can be."
"Oh, John," I turned to him. "I loved Tina, but now I know that I really love you more. I need your cock in me. Please fuck me. Please fuck me, now!"
Within seconds John was upon me, his rock-hard lance piercing into my tender pussy, tearing at the puffy lips of my cunt as he sought entrance to my love slit. We fucked with wild abandon that night, time and time again, climaxes racing through our bodies one after the other. We were beyond reality. We were in our own love world of the ultimate expression between man and woman. We continued battering each other with love blows long into that hot night, until we finally fell exhausted to the ground and slept in pools of our own love juices.
