"There we were, making out like crazy, and I could feel how hot he was--he licked my ear, my neck, then he pulled my blouse out of my jeans and started taking off my bra--I wanted to feel him sucking my tits, nipping at my nipples! I forgot everything I'd been told about being a bad girl if you liked sex and all but tore my jeans and panties off so he could ram his big, juicy cock into my wet, hungry pussy.
"Then it happened--I wanted to suck his penis. No matter how horny I was, no matter how safe I felt because I'd been on the Pill, I just wanted to suck him and suck him and suck him. So I bent my head down toward his pulsing penis and started licking and sucking him. He moaned and just sort of collapsed onto the couch.
"His response only made me wilder--I felt as though I had complete control over his body, as long as I had his cock in my mouth. I ran my tongue up and down the underside of his joint, savoring my newfound power. He wiggled and moaned some more. Then I got the idea that I wanted to fuck his cock with the tip of my tongue, so I did.
"I barely touched him for a minute, then I started pushing the tip of my tongue into his cock, into the little hole at the end there, and he got more excited than ever. I guess we went at it that way for about five minutes, then he wanted to get on top of me and fuck my pussy instead of my mouth.
"I didn't want to do it that way--I was really getting into licking his rod until he came in my mouth. Instead I wanted like everything to feel that hot, foamy come hitting the back of my throat, while his cock was still ramming in and out of my mouth. I pushed him back down on the couch and sucked him harder and harder until he didn't even try to get up--he just laid there, quivering and moaning while I tickled and teased and licked his big, rosy, velvety, rock-hard cock.
"Finally, my mouth felt exactly like it was my pussy, eating his penis, my labia slipping up and down his cock instead of my lips. It was then that my mouth just seemed to take over and began vibrating and pulsing, the same way my pussy does when I come. He started coming then, too, twisting and moving his body up to my face until, when he shot his hot load into me, my lower face was completely buried in his soft pubic fur.
"I had never sucked a man to climax before, and enjoyed it so much. Now, that's all I want to do. Oh, I let them put their cocks in my pussy for a little bit just so they don't think I'm some kind of a nut, but when my boyfriends come, I want to feel and taste every bit of it--every tiny twitch, every big plunge, every drop of that delicious life juice as it comes surging out. Nothing else has any real meaning for me as far as sex is concerned."
* * *
The above interview was part of the in-depth psychological therapy of a young woman who had gradually substituted oral eroticism (generally known as sixty-nine, sucking off, Frenching, French love, or by its proper name, fellatio) for what most laymen consider "normal" sex, i.e., man on top, face to face. She apparently was happy with her adjustment to life, but had begun having some problems in finding sex partners who were agreeable to doing nothing but oral sexual expression. The girl, whom we'll call Nancy X., was most attractive, well-educated, and except for being fixated on oral sex, was in harmony with her world.
Why should a girl of such well-balanced personality and promise have her entire sexuality fixed on fellatio, with not even a small interest in penile-vaginal intercourse? Perhaps the answers lie in her childhood conditioning. Her therapist reports: "Nancy was an only child, and because she was born two months prematurely and was thin and pale for all her early years, her mother fretted and fussed over her every move. 'Eat your oatmeal, darling... If you love Mommie, you'll eat your beans... Drink your milk, sweetheart--drink it for Daddy... Eat everything on your plate, Nancy, or you'll have to go straight to bed... Think of all the little children who are going to bed without their dinner tonight, Nancy. Now let's see how fast you can finish your nice carroty... Here's your ice cream, baby. You were such a good girl Mommie's going to reward you with a big dish of chocolate ice cream!' "As the years went by, Nancy remained in the first, or oral, stage of her emotional development.
Instead of proceeding naturally to the anal stage of her development, and then to the genital stage, Nancy stayed where she had been told it was most comfortable--right in the middle of her infantile-oral-erotic stage. And, as an orally-arrested female, when Nancy was ready for sexual relationships, she gradually eliminated all other sexual expression in favor of the one thing that reminded her of her warm, safe babyhood when all she had to do to feel really great was suck, suck, suck on a nipple and get a mouthful of nourishment. Except, for grown-up Nancy, the nipple was replaced by an erect penis, and the warm milk by hot seminal fluid. With a few months of psychotherapy, and with the dawning of understanding from Nancy herself that her life would be much happier were she to vary her sexual expression to include a number of different positions and attitudes, she emerged as a superbly adjusted young woman and is now happily married, with two healthy children to her credit and another on the way."
Not every man or woman who enjoys oral sexual expression is fixated on their infant oral stage, however. Aside from the very real pleasure of stimulation via the sucking and licking motions involved in fellatio and cunnilingus (male and female using their mouth and/or tongue to stimulate the other's genitals) there are other considerations in the practice of French love or sixty-nine. Obviously, if the girl hasn't taken any precautions against an unwanted pregnancy, and the man has no contraceptives handy, oral sex is the perfect answer to their experience, cunnilingus and fellatio is an excellent means of making a good thing even better. The most frequent objection to the practice of oral-genital lovemaking is the matter of sanitation, since the genital area also contains the evacuating ports for the bowels and urinary tract. With the modem methods of washing and douching, these areas are now, in many cases, more sanitary than the mouth of the average person.
As far as other objections to the practice of fellatio, such as the taboos that stem from religious strictures, we can explain by quoting Dr. John F. Trimble in his book Cunnilingus and Fellatio; "On much closer inspection, it will be discovered that many religious prohibitions on cunnilingus and fellatio, along with other extra-genital sexual intercourse, were based not wholly on moral grounds but on the so-called 'sin of Onan' or wasting of the seeds. During those former times it was considered a duty to procreate and proliferate the faith by producing as many offspring as possible. Any orgasm or ejaculation that did not serve this purpose was therefore a waste... The original intents of the taboo have long since served their purpose and are certainly not applicable in these days of concern over the population explosion, yet the 'moral' message that these acts are 'sinful' per se is still handed down to each new generation."
* * *
With these newer attitudes toward the actually ancient practices of cunnilingus and fellatio (see Arabian Nights, the Kama Sutra, or any of the hundreds of love manuals dating as far back as the written word) it seems unreasonable that any intelligent person living in this age could have more than a passing objection to fellatio and cunnilingus, but unfortunately, the old fears and tribal taboos still continue. Perhaps this book will help to dispel some of them for some readers.
CHAPTER ONE - Harry's Oral Conversion
"When I first let Harry make love to me, I was a virgin and a little proud of the fact that I hadn't laid down with any of the ten or twelve boys I'd dated before Harry and I started going steady. We had been going together for about a month and he was so gentle with me--not at all demanding, or trying to get my clothes off and maul me like the other boys did on the first or second date--that I was always ready to cuddle and neck with him.
"His kisses were very sweet until one night when we'd been making out for about an hour, then I realized how excited I was, and at the same time he moved so that I could feel his hard, long cock right against my crotch, right through my clothes. That did it--I wanted him so much, so fast, that I had all I could do to keep from tearing off both my clothes and his and going hog-wild right then and there. As it was, we did some heavy petting, then, and as Harry's hand slipped into my panties, I just quit fighting and laid back and let him finger my pussy all he wanted to.
"It felt like sheer heaven--all those years of virginity, I thought, and now I'm giving myself to a man I really love. Harry's hand was inside my pussy, stroking me so gently--he knew I was a virgin, and he had me so wet and ready for him inside of three minutes, that it didn't hurt at all when he took his wonderful, naked cock, which I'd been stroking, and pressed the tip of it into my cunt.
"I gasped with the excitement of it--the feeling I had was as though I was on a high, high diving board, ready to jump off, only instead of jumping into the water, I felt like I was going to jump into the air and go flying off into space. Then I couldn't stand it any longer--I didn't care if it was going to hurt or not--all I wanted to do was feel Harry's hot cock slamming into me.
"I helped him pull off my panties and we got the rest of our clothes off somehow and when I felt his flesh next to mine, his chest pressing my breasts flat, his belly rubbing against me, the long rod between his legs pressing further and further into me with each thrust, I wanted to go on doing it with him forever. The feeling of flying came back and I clutched at him, sobbing with relief--it had been so long that I'd wanted this with a man who loved me and wanted me. Then, just as I was flying higher and higher, Harry gave a moan and kissed me harder than he ever had. Then he stopped and just held me close and panted for a while.
"I didn't know what it was all about, but in a few minutes I felt something warm and juicy running out from my pussy, and I knew that Harry had come inside me. Knowing that I belonged to him completely was the biggest thrill I'd ever had in my life.
"We made love every chance we could get alone together after that, in the drive-in, at my folk's house if they went out for the evening, in motel rooms, in the park after everyone had gone. Once in the park we went behind some bushes and Harry sort of scooched down and stuffed his big rosy cock into my hungry pussy while we were standing there. It was all over in a minute, but it was so exciting! No matter how often we made love, Harry just couldn't get enough of me, and I wanted him all the time. We worried about pregnancy sometimes, but the more we made it with each other, the more we both wanted to. Then we got married and everything changed.
"Harry turned into a well-organized, twice-a-week-for-fifteen-minutes-each-time man. He even wanted to make love on the same two nights each week, as if there was no other time to make love. Once or twice I asked him right out if there was someone else, or if I did something to make him not want me as much, but he said, no, he was perfectly happy and he loved me more than ever. Then, one night after we came back from a neighborhood party, I wanted his cock inside me so badly I couldn't wait until the next night, which was one of our "regular" nights--so I all but raped him right there on the living room floor.
"I loved it, but Harry seemed sort of far away from what we were doing. I didn't care. As long as I got laid that night and not when Harry decided to allow me to use his body, it didn't matter.
"After that, it became a challenge to me to see if I could catch Harry off guard, make him horny and hard, and jump on top of him and screw his ears off. He always enjoyed it, but he seemed to enjoy it more if he was the one who started things going. We got along in all the ways a happily married couple does, but I was sure there was something missing in our sex life. Then, one night when I'd had a couple of drinks, I started fooling around with his cock, sort of tickling his balls and rubbing him so he got hard.
"But he didn't get hard right away. That made me a little mad, and I took his joint out of his pants and started to tickle him again. He just kept on watching TV like nothing was happening. So I did what I'd never done before--I sucked him. I put my lips down on the top of his velvety cap and touched him with the tip of my tongue and then gave him a good hard suck. That got his attention right away! He jumped out of his chair and tried to put his big hard cock back into his pants but I grabbed him and went right on sucking and licking until he sank back down into the chair and just sort of laid there, moaning, while I teased and sucked him and played with him until he begged me to let him fuck my pussy and come.
"I loved the feeling of power over him I had while I was sucking him--he reacted to everything I did, and he wasn't watching TV anymore, either. I just went on and on until my mouth was so tired I couldn't suck much more. Then I gave three long, hard sucks, making my mouth as tight as I could on the sides of his cock. He came all over my mouth, in a big hot flood of maleness. I didn't like the taste at first, but then I started thinking about it, that this was what had been going into my pussy all the time, and thinking about it made me excited all over again.
"Harry had gone off to bed, saying that he was so tired he might never wake up again, but I took a nice warm bath, used my sexiest bath oil and then got into bed with him, sliding down his body, using my tongue all the way. He had been sleeping, but when I started nibbling on his limp cock with my lips, feeling it get harder and harder, I started sucking him as if I couldn't get enough.
"Somehow my love for Harry and my dominance over him while I was licking his cock and balls and tickling his ass with my tongue and my lips got all mixed up with the way I enjoyed just the act of sucking and licking. I couldn't trace it all back and I didn't want to--all I cared about was that I finally was getting the satisfaction I had needed. Lovemaking the regular way didn't do it--the only thing that really satisfied me was having control over my husband's mind and body with my wicked tongue.
"He came again, and after we sort of settled down to sleep, he said something that sent me right out of our bed onto the couch. He said, 'You learned all that tongue shit somewhere, baby--and all the time I thought you were a virgin. You really had me fooled.' "I jumped out of bed and said, 'Harry, you know I was a virgin when we first made love--how can you say that?' " 'You may have been a virgin in your pussy, baby, but you sure weren't a virgin in your mouth. My mother warned me about you--and I'm beginning to think she was right.' " 'Your mother never had a good lay in her life because she's such a selfish bitch she wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of knowing she was satisfied!' I screamed.
"That got him up--he leaped out of bed and said, 'You did something just now. that was cheap and dirty and disgusting and my mother warned me when we were still engaged that you'd want to do it. I let you do it because I was weak--but I'll never let you help me sin again, you filthy bitch! After this, you listen to me, and when I want to fuck, we'll fuck, and at no other time, do you understand?' " 'Go blow yourself through a garden hose, you little mama's boy--after this, when you want to fuck you can go fuck your darling mother?' I yelled, and went to sleep on the couch.
"Since then, I've moved the Great Harry out of the bedroom and onto the couch permanently. Nobody tells me I'm dirty and disgusting, and then tells me his mother said I'd do nasty things to him! He was enjoying himself all over the place, but when he started telling me I was a bad girl and I fought back, the whole marriage went bang.
"I've filed for divorce, and I can't wait to find someone who understands a woman who wants to suck all the time and appreciates her for herself. As a matter of fact, about two weeks ago, a man came to fix the washing machine, and I found him so attractive that I blew him, right there in the basement. He was young and I could see through his Levi's that he was hung like a stud bull. He was friendly and handsome and I offered him coffee when he first came in, but he refused and went right to work on the washer.
"I sort of drifted downstairs after a few minutes, because I was so horny from four weeks of Harry and his fine principles on the couch and me and my hungry pussy in the bedroom that I wanted him more than I even wanted Harry. So I fixed a cup of coffee anyhow, sprayed myself with some sexy perfume and went downstairs. He was bending over the washer and I could see the way his shorts strained underneath his jeans. It excited me to think that I could have the same power over him as I had over Harry--and maybe his mother wasn't so freaked on prudishness as Harry's was.
"I walked over to where he was working on the washer and asked him if he'd changed his mind about coffee. He said, well, he'd like to have some now, sure, so I just handed it to him. He was surprised at the way I'd brought it down to him without asking, and then he started looking me over. I could tell he was interested by the way his eyes widened when he saw that I wasn't wearing a bra. I could almost feel his mouth on my nipples as he stared at me.
"I blushed all over and felt my nipples getting hard and pointy as he went on staring at me. Then he went back to working on the washer as if his life depended on it. I was so hot by this time that nothing could stop me. I didn't care if he was married or not, but I said, 'I'll bet your wife never has to worry about the washer breaking down, does she?' " 'I'm not married, ma'am, but I do keep the machinery at my mother's house running pretty good,' he said. He looked up at me--he was sitting on the floor--and his eyes went straight to my nipples again. I moved over closer to him and busied myself sorting laundry. 'It certainly does pile up when the washer's broken down,' I said, and he just mumbled, 'Yeah, I guess it does,' and went back to his fixing.
"I had no idea what I was going to do next, but he took care of that for me. 'I'm going to have to get another pump from the warehouse before I can finish this washer, ma'am,' he said, and got up from the floor. 'Will you be here this afternoon?' " 'I'm not going anywhere,' I said, as sexy as I could. He left then, and I decided that I would suck him off that afternoon if I had to tear his pants off. I wanted to do the sexiest thing I could, and since he was the only able-bodied man around, it was going to be with him. I put on some more makeup and made a pitcher of martinis and changed into tight shorts and a thinner shirt.
"Sure enough, about one o'clock he was back--with the pump, yet. So while he was working on the washer, I went down the cellar steps with a martini in my hand and just stood there, looking at him. Finally he looked up, and I guess I communicated the whole plan right from my mind to his, because he stood up, wiped off his hands, and said, 'Now that your washer is all fixed up, why don't you offer me a drink to celebrate the occasion?' " 'I was thinking you'd never ask,' said I, bold as brass. 'Why don't you come on upstairs where we can be comfortable?' Up we went, with me feeling every breath he let out, all the way up the stairs, he was that close behind me.
" 'Here's your drink, and there's the living room, and there's the couch, and why don't we sit down?' I said, all in one breath. I wanted to get the preliminaries out of the way and start to licking his cock. I knew from the way his pants bulged out around his fly that he had a nice big one. I could hardly wait to see it get bigger and bigger--under my tongue. We sat down, him at one end of the couch and my little twitching pussy planting itself right in the middle. We talked for a few minutes about one thing and another, and I got him another drink.
"When I came back into the living room with his second martini, he'd moved closer to where I'd been sitting, so when I sat down, we were right next to each other. I don't even know what he was saying, I was so excited by being near him. All at once I realized that he was telling me about how lonely he was. 'I guess I'm too shy around women,' he said. 'Well, you'll have to get over that,' I replied as I stroked his arm in what I thought was a sisterly way. 'You're too handsome and, uh, friendly to let yourself be held back by shyness. What you probably don't realize is that most girls would just love to make the first move, but they're so inhibited by the old rules about letting the boy make the first move that everybody just walks around lonely and frustrated while they're wondering when they're ever going to get any loving.' It was a long speech for me, but it made him sit up and listen.
" 'You know, I don't even know your name?' he said.
" 'I'm Lyn,' I replied, 'and who are you?' " 'Jeff's my name, Lyn. You know, this isn't a line or anything, but I feel as if I've known you for a long time.' " 'Maybe you have, and you don't even know it,' I answered.
" 'How do you mean, Lyn? I don't understand.' " 'Haven't you ever had a dream in which you thought you were getting some, uh, loving, and then woke up and couldn't remember the girl you'd been with? That's what I mean. That is, that's what I think I mean.' I giggled, because the gin was beginning to get to me.
" 'You're sure different, Lyn,' he said, and sort of put his arm around my shoulders. I snuggled right into him, murmuring something about how different he was, too. Then I told him I was suing my husband for divorce, and he said he was sorry, and I cried just a few tears, and when he raised my chin to wipe them away, we ended up in a kiss that felt better than anything had for a long, long time. When the kiss ended, I realized that his hands were on my breasts--I could feel how hot they were through the thin blouse I was wearing, and my nipples were high and hard.
"Then he said, 'I'm almost afraid to ask you, but do you and your husband, uh, that is, do you still sleep together?' " 'I haven't been to bed or anywhere else with my husband since I can't remember when,' I answered.
" 'I guess I came along just in time, then, Lyn baby,' he muttered into my neck, and before I knew it, his hands were unbuttoning my blouse--then I could feel the excitement of a strange man's hands caressing my bare breasts. He stroked them and cupped them in his hands and then he bent down and started sucking my nipples, taking whole mouthfuls of titty, flicking his tongue over and over my nipples, first one, then the other.
"I was so crazy to suck his rod that I began stroking his jeans, where the huge hard-on was bulging out on his fly. He helped me get his zipper down, and I didn't wait for a minute--I just went down on him and started licking and sucking and sucking and licking, running my tongue up and down the nerve underneath his great big, gorgeous organ, "Then I buried my tongue in the softness of his balls, sucking them in and out of my mouth very gently, tickling them with the tip of my tongue, making him moan and call my name, over and over again. 'Lyn, oh my God, Lyn, baby! You're incredible! You're absolutely out of this world!' he said.
"That was certainly a different attitude than the one my dear loving husband had had. It only made me go crazier and crazier over his cock, sucking him, fooling around with the nice velvety cap of his big prick for a minute, then suddenly sliding my mouth around it, sucking hard on the way up, bringing him closer and closer to coming, then letting up for a few minutes while he cooled off. All the time, he could say nothing but, 'Lyn, baby, oh, wow, Lyn!' "Knowing how much he was enjoying my Frenching him made it so great for me that I wanted to go on doing it and doing it all day. Then he said something that excited me even more than anything we'd done so far.
" 'You know how you were talking about sexy dreams, baby?' he asked.
" 'I guess so,' I said between mouthfuls of cock.
" 'Well, I've had a dream about you since I first saw you standing there in your cute little jeans and shirt--'
" 'Tell me what it is, Jeff,' I begged him.
" 'Well, I've fixed washers and dryers for a living for about two years now, and you're the first girl I've touched this way--the lady of the house sort of thing, you know? And I've always wondered what it would be like if--well, if a beautiful sexy girl came downstairs while I was working on a washer, and just came up to me and put her arms around me and started loving me and licking my ears, and kissing me and all, and then took my rod out of my pants and blew me off right there against the damn washer. I've always wondered what that would be like.' " 'We'll do it right now, Jeff, baby,' I responded eagerly. 'Let's get a little sip of martinisville and go right downstairs and I'll give you a dream-come-true that you'll never forget.' With that we got up off the couch, ran into the kitchen, grabbed a sip of gin and ran down the cellar steps and over to the washer where he sat down just like he'd been when he was working.
"I walked over to him and started fooling around with his ears, running my fingers through his curly black hair. Then, as he got up, I spread my legs apart and pulled my shorts over so that he could see my wet, pink pussy waiting for him to taste it. He did--he let his tongue go right into my little, furry hole. I could feel him pushing it farther and farther into me, licking my pussy lips and rubbing his nice, hungry tongue across my clitoris, and then I felt a wave of passion and delight that was so much more than I'd ever felt with Harry that I came, right then and there.
"It was the biggest climax I'd ever had, and it was really crazy. In the cellar, up against the washing machine, with a man I'd known for only four hours and didn't love at all. After I stopped trembling, he stood up the rest of the way, and I tasted the pussy juice on his mouth deeper and deeper, the way he'd tongued my pussy just minutes before.
"I wanted a repeat performance, so I knelt down and started sucking his hard, hot cock, which he'd left sticking out. He was even better than he'd been before--saying, 'Lyn, suck me, honey, suck my cock, oh, baby, suck suck suck!' And I did--I sucked and sucked and sucked, licking him all over his cock and sluicing my mouth all over his balls--giving him the kind of sucking love I'd wanted to give Harry, when good old Harry turned me off with his speech about dirty, filthy me. Here was dirty, filthy me making a man happier than he'd ever been before--so what was dirty?
"After I'd been closing my cheeks tighter and tighter on his cock, I finally did one long, wild, hard suck--and felt him start his climax, with his cock beginning to vibrate, then the salty-sweet, hot come rushed into my mouth for a few seconds longer, then I let him go.
" 'Lyn, I never knew how good it could be, having my dreams come true,' he said in a breathless, satisfied voice. 'When you get your divorce, please let me know, because I want to do everything with you--fucking and sucking and everything there is. You're like a dream, all right, Lyn baby, and I don't think I ever want to wake up.' "I held him close, and whispered, 'We don't have to wait for my divorce, Jeff. Just let me know about two days in advance and we'll do it all, right here. My husband doesn't care about loving me anymore--I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't already have a girl friend, and I don't even care.' " 'I don't want you to get in trouble, baby,' he said, "but if you say it's all right, I'll give you a call when I'm working nearby and we'll really do it all.' Then he kissed me, we got ourselves together, and he left. I went upstairs and looked at myself in the full-length mirror in my bathroom. There I was, a pretty girl, stark naked, with my own juice still smeared across my thighs where he'd been tonguing my starving pussy.
"I didn't look like a bad girl--I liked the way I looked, like a woman who'd been loved well and satisfyingly, without any big hang-ups about dirt and disgust and mother-told-me-what-you'd-be-like. I wondered how many people's minds and lives had been messed up by mothers or fathers or whoever, people who had every right to feel good about their bodies, but who were going through their lives hating themselves for what was a gift--the gift of enjoying sex, and love, and lovemaking. I silently cursed all the frightened, sick minds that were still turning out frightened, sick kids, and took my shower.
"Later, when Harry came home, I told him I'd be happier if I moved out of our house and found an apartment for myself, since I was serious about going through with the divorce. He just said, 'Okay, do what you want,' and went on eating his potatoes.
"Since then I've got a job as a secretary to an attorney, I see Jeff frequently, and I have what's beginning to be a good life. Maybe someday I'll marry again, but I'll be sure to have a long talk with the man before we tie the knot, about what's his idea of dirty and clean, and whether his mother told him I'd be a bad girl. There's so much more to marriage than sex, but when the sex side of your marriage is bad, the whole thing goes down the tubes.
"Why do people do those things to their kids? When they, themselves, are usually doing the very things they're telling their kids not to because it will send them straight to hell and damnation! Don't enjoy your bodies, kids, feel bad about feeling good--and, whatever you do, don't ever suck anybody off--especially if you think you might enjoy it, because enjoying sex is the worst kind of sin. I don't understand it, I just don't understand any of it. Harry and I would have been so happy together, if his poor sick mother hadn't 'warned' him against his terrible fiancee. She probably fixed his mind for all time, from when he was a little kid.
"And why? What did she have against sex and love? I never did a mean thing to that woman--and she was already 'warning' her son against me before she even knew me. What was that all about? I know I'll never do that to my kids--I'll let them love who they want, and marry who they want, and if I can't stand whoever it is they choose, I'll just stay away."
* * *
It's not likely that Lyn will let her children marry exactly whom they please, because she'd been taught by her own mother that the choices for marriage partner are, by example alone, limited to a certain age group, racial group, and geographical location. Although it's probable that, had she been stationed in Alaska with a troop of Army nurses, there might have been a better chance of her marrying an Eskimo, still, Lyn would probably have ended up with a young man quite similar to the one she did choose. And, possibly, she would have encountered the same set of problems about oral-sexual expression with her husband as she did with Harry. People tend to do very much what they're expected to do and to follow their parents' lead, no matter how unreasonable it may be--unless they go to the other extreme and rebel against their authority by marrying exactly the opposite of the sort of person their parents might have chosen for them. Either way, unless the young couple are extremely lucky, awful mischief is done all around.
In the case of Lyn and Harry, the obvious problem was that, as in so many cases, what was sexually appealing to one partner was utterly repulsive to the other one. If, for instance, Mary wants to make love with the lights out and Joe wants them on, there's no great problem--they leave a dim light burning in the bathroom or the hall. But if Mary wants to make love standing up in a hammock and Joe can't handle motion sickness, they're both in trouble from the beginning. Courtship doesn't count--everybody's on their best behavior, and if one or the other slips and appears as less than the Princess of Sheer Delight or the Knight in Shining Armor, it's still "cute" and rather like a come-as-you-are party, having very little to do with real life.
But one day, the couple wakes up and discovers that the free rides are over--they're stuck with each other, if not for life, at least for as long as they both can make it work. That is when the real challenge begins. How to salvage some excitement out of the smell of dirty diapers and a sink full of greasy dishes, not to mention a boss with a vulturous mind and a mother who keeps reminding you how sweet and peaceful and easy life was before you were saddled with all these yapping, hungry responsibilities? And there are the temptations: the man-who-fixes-the-washer, the girl-in-the-miniskirt-at-the-office, the neighbor's wife, the neighbor's husband, etc.
So the possibilities of a young couple making a good marriage out of a chance situation are most unlikely. And a young woman who wants to make oral love to her husband and finds herself in the midst of a tirade about hygiene and mother and clean living is not likely to be much interested in doing up an oral sex thing with that husband again in the very near future. And who's left?--the man-who-fixes-the-washer, the neighbor's husband, et al.
In Harry's case, his mother had taught him that sexual expression after marriage was only permissible on certain nights, in certain positions, and was to be fully enjoyed only if the male instigated the lovemaking. When Lyn insisted on love-making on different nights than Harry had unconsciously set down as "sex nights," it upset his sense of balance considerably. Then, when she not only made love to him on non-sex nights but began taking every opportunity to excite him so that he was virtually being seduced against his will by his own wife, Harry rebelled.
Harry's outburst on the subject of what a bad girl Lyn was had been building since the first time she'd insisted on making love to him when he wasn't expecting it. And, quite possibly, Harry sensed that Lyn used her ability to excite Harry as a means of controlling him, for it's not at all uncommon for orally arrested females to feel that they're gaining some of the "power" and virility of the male by fellating him, and then virtually consuming him via the practice of swallowing his sperm. Lyn hadn't, as yet, gotten around to spermaphagia, or consuming the seminal fluid, but projecting a little into the future, it's an easy guess that that will be the next step in her development of fixation on oral-genital sex play.
And what of the attitudes and beliefs bred into young Lyn by her parents, her background, and her early sexual experiences? She tells us that she had never made love with any of the boys she dated until Harry acted so gentle towards her that she felt comfortable and trusting when he advanced into more intense physical lovemaking. Then she couldn't wait to go "all the way" and have penile-vaginal relations with her lover. In all the heated pre-marital love play, however, we hear nothing about any oral-genital stimulation by either partner.
Why did Lyn feel threatened with her other boyfriends until Harry's lack of insistence on sexual intercourse right away allowed her to relax with him enough to continue until they were lovers? When asked about this part of her story, Lyn evaded the issue for as long as she could, then admitted that her father had been unusually harsh when he'd discovered her necking with one of her first dates. She'd received a mild thrashing with her father's belt, and a loud accusation that she was a bad girl, who'd probably disgrace the family by coming home pregnant without benefit of clergy.
Lyn's acceptance of this derogatory judgement by her father had simmered in the back of her mind for all the time she was married to Harry, until he unwittingly hit an exposed nerve by blurting out his mother's neurotic "warning" about Lyn's character, i.e., that she would tempt Harry into doing dirty and disgusting things for which Harry would be technically innocent, having been tempted into these misdeeds against his own fine judgement. Lyn then had the excuse she needed to dissolve the marriage and find other sex partners who would be more acquiescent to her need for oral eroticism.
The orally arrested female is generally a woman who has had her most satisfying moments in a sucking or licking situation. Nature, in her infinite wisdom, provides each infant in the class Mammalia (animals that feel their young by letting them suck breast milk) with a strong sucking instinct, for otherwise these babies would die from starvation. The sucking instinct is satisfied by the infant, whether it's a human baby or a pup or kitten or baby elephant, when sucking its mother's breast, or, more exactly, her nipple, until they've emptied the breast of nourishment and they're ready for play or sleep. The parallels are clear--in oral-genital love play, specifically fellation, the female (or male homosexual) fellator finds satisfaction for her (or his) sucking needs met quite well by having an erect penis in her mouth. The penis fills the mouth of the adult fellator the same as the mother's nipple once filled the mouth of the infant. And, as most babies are cuddled at least part of the time while they are nursing, even if they're "bottle babies," the assurance that strong sucking will of its own produce a response of cuddling and erotically stimulating stroking and petting for the fellator is sometimes reason enough for the deepening of the desire for oral-genital love play.
We are all lonely little children inside of our grown-up bodies, and for some of us, anything we can do to insure ourselves a portion of that perfect, unjudging love we remember getting at our mother's breast, we will do to stave off the inevitable loneliness and warm up the enveloping cold.
Lyn's therapy didn't end with her accepting her new life as a divorcee and going on and on to more and more sex partners who would unhesitatingly acquiesce to her incessant demands for oral-genital loveplay all the way to climax. Having been raised in a climate of one-mate-at-a-time monogamy, Lyn soon became overburdened with guilt and the tensions resulting from her guilt. Again, she sought the help of a psychiatrist to discover why what she thought was going to be an ideal life style was now not working out at all. When she came back to her therapist's office, she had an all-too-familiar story to tell.
* * *
"I don't usually have much trouble getting to sleep at night, doctor, but in the last six months I've had to take sleeping pills, tranquilizers, and alcohol in order to maintain any amount of mental balance at all. For the first six months after my divorce, I had a ball. I went out with so many men that I sometimes had a terrible time just remembering their names. I'd privately classify them as 'Roger the Hungarian' and 'Amaud the French Tailor' just to keep them straight in my mind. As it was, there was more than one time during a sex session when I simply couldn't bring myself to say the man's name, for fear it would be the wrong name.
"As the months of sucking cocks and licking balls went on, however, I just forgot about names altogether and called them all darling. Half the time I'd wake up in a strange room, in a strange bed, and lie there and pray for a few minutes before I could open my eyes, 'Dear God, just let it be somebody I know. "Then, one day, I ran into my ex-husband, Harry, and we had a few drinks together. He told me a few of the things he'd been doing--he'd gone back to school and was working on his master's degree, he had a girl friend with two little kids, his mother had cancer, and so on. I sat there, looking at him and wondering what it had been that got me so excited about him. Then it all came back to me--his gentleness, his not insisting on throwing me on my back and fucking me the first or second or twelfth time he took me out.
"When I thought back over my own life and how it had been going for the past half-year, I felt pretty bad. For a girl who'd been so particular about who she gave her cherry to, I'd become a woman who didn't know or care about the names of at least half the men she sucked off. Sometimes, not often, I'd get homy as hell in the middle of the day, and just take a long lunch hour, go to a bar and pick someone up, then find somewhere to blow him and be back at my desk inside of an hour and a half. Naturally, I almost never heard from any of my pick-ups again. After all, who wants to socialize with some broad who you can pick up, get a blow job from, and drop off again without so much as an hour or two of conversation beforehand?
"When Harry asked me what I'd been doing, I was tempted to tell him, 'I've made a hobby of blowing, sucking, licking and Frenching to climax every man I can get my hands on, Harry, except the ones who look too old or too diseased.' But something held me back. Even though I'd thought of him as a sexual cripple for having believed that pussy-licking and penis-sucking was filthy and disgusting, and even though he'd hurt me badly with his damned holier-than-thou attitude, I still wanted him to think well of me. And there was that girl friend of his, who he'd been telling me about and him really looking turned on as he talked about her. I sure wasn't going to look any worse that she did to him--and I knew as sure as God made green apples that he probably laid her the same two nights a week that he'd laid me, without ever kissing her pussy or having her so much as sniff the end of his cock.
"While I was doing all this heavy thinking, Harry had been telling me some story about the people who'd bought the house we'd lived in when we were married. Suddenly he said, 'Do you ever drive down the street in our old neighborhood and look at our little house? I go over there about once a month, just to see what's happening. We sure had some good times there, didn't we, honey?' "His sentimentality took me completely off guard. Here he was, telling me that he still drove down our old street, thinking about the good times we'd had together, and I was sitting there being jealous of his girl friend. I told him I hadn't been back to our old neighborhood since we'd sold the house and moved away--to separate apartments.
" 'The place has really changed, Lynnie--the lawns are all in and the Johnsons finally did something about that muddy driveway of theirs, and the Levys--well, I guess you're not much interested. I understand you spend a lot of time in more glamorous places now.' He got quiet then, and sat looking at his hands. 'It never really goes away, does it, baby? The feeling you have for someone you've been married to, I mean. I've been sitting here talking to you and all the time I've been wanting to just hold you one more time, because we had such a good thing going before we got all uptight over sex.' " 'Harry, I just can't--' I started out, but he got up quickly and paid for our drinks and said, 'I'd better get you home, you probably have a big date tonight,' and started walking out of the bar.
"I caught up with him and held onto his arm. 'You can't just dump me at my place without so much as a nice goodbye, grumpy,' I teased him--because, as he'd been talking about the good times of our marriage, the Johnsons and their damned lawn and all that stuff, I'd begun wondering if I couldn't have it all: marriage to a good man and oral loving. After all, I hadn't felt a thing for any of the other men I'd sucked off, except in one case which was a sort of mild friendship.
"I kept up with Harry as he left the bar, because he was walking pretty fast. 'Come on, Lyn, I'll take you to your apartment and let you get ready for your date. I know how you like to be on time,' he said angrily.
" 'Harry, for heavens' sake, will you stop fuming and listen to me for a minute?' He slowed down, and we walked to his car while I told him how I'd been too busy to miss anyone much, but that seeing him had brought back a lot of memories, and I wanted to sit and talk with him some more.
" 'You have a guy coming to pick you up for dinner or something, don't you?' he asked.
" 'If you'd asked me that before you took it for granted that I was going out tonight, I would have been glad to tell you that I wasn't busy this evening, and that I'd be glad to have you stay for dinner. I was even going to make my special spaghetti for you, you ass!' I replied, pretending to be angry with him.
" 'Well, if you're really not busy, sure, I'd love to come to dinner. Why don't you let me do the shopping for you?' Harry said. He'd always known just where to get the best meats, so off we went, arm in arm, to the Italian grocery. By the time we got to my apartment, we were laughing and carrying on like it was our first date, except there was something very sexy in Harry's eyes when he looked at me, that hadn't been there since before we were married, long ago.
"We got to my place and I started the spaghetti sauce, giggling and chattering, feeling good about being with a man who liked me for something more than sex. We sipped at the red wine we were using in the spaghetti sauce and after awhile, things got very, very cozy, with Harry putting his arm around my waist as I cooked and me snuggling in the least little bit--I still hadn't completely forgotten his you're-a-bad-girl speech. Just as the spaghetti pot came to a boil, so did Harry. He slid his hands all over my body and whispered, 'You're the only girl who's ever meant anything to me, Lyn--I wish every day that we could give it another try.' " 'Oh, Harry, I don't know,' I said, 'I can't take any more unhappiness or misunderstanding, not for a long time, anyway,' and I turned away and started stirring the sauce like it was my last act on earth.
" 'Lyn, baby, Lyn, let me love you again,' he said, and kissed me right down to my soul. His hands were all over me again--cupping my breasts, pulling my hips toward him, sliding up under my skirt to where my pussy was getting hotter and wetter, recalling our first few months together when all we did was feel each other and find ways to make love anywhere and everywhere. I could feel his rod getting harder and harder--he was pressing himself into me, right through my clothes. My thighs went loose and separated for his hands to feel my pussy and slip in and out of that juicy love nest--while I rubbed his cock through his pants, and moved back and forth against his hand as if it were a big, hard cock.
"We stood there, grinding our bellies together and taking off clothes for each other. Harry unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked my bra so he could get at my breasts, then he bent down and licked and sucked my titties until the nipples were straight up and my body was vibrating with desire for him. I'd taken his shirt off, and when he pulled me closer and closer to him, I could feel how hot and sexy his skin was against my bare breasts. While his tongue was plunging deeper and deeper into my mouth, his hands were taking off my skirt and pantyhose, and I was undoing his fly and pulling off his slacks and shorts.
"Then we were completely naked together, all but trying to crawl inside each other's skins. Harry's great cock was dripping with the sweet love juice that I loved to taste--and then I stopped everything, because I'd almost gone down on him to suck his cock, lick him and tongue him all the way to climax!
" 'What's wrong, baby? Why did you stop? Let's not wait for anything--let's fuck right now, right here in the kitchen!' he whispered, but I was so afraid I'd let myself go and start sucking him off that I moved away from him and started turning off the stove burners. 'What happened, Lyn? What turned you off?' he begged.
" 'I don't want to talk about it, Harry--we'll only start to fight, and I don't want to ruin our evening together,' I said.
" 'Is there someone else, Lyn--someone you haven't told me about? The least you can do is give me some clue about what put the brakes on. We were building something great when you just stopped cold.' " 'Harry--' I began, and then I just let it all come out. 'Look, Harry, I've loved you since we were first going steady, and I still do, but I'm not about to put myself in a position where you tell me ever again that I'm doing something dirty and disgusting when I want to kiss your penis and suck you until you come. I think that's the best part of making love, and you think it's dirty and your mother warned you about me, anyway, and I'm tired of my present life--but I'll never ever let anyone tell me I'm no good just because I like oral love. So let's put our clothes on and eat the spaghetti and forget that all this happened.' Then I pulled my blouse on, yanked up my skirt and got some dishes out of the closet and didn't even look at him.
"All of a sudden, I did look at him, and he was just standing there, his hard-on half gone, his eyes puzzled and pleading, saying, 'Is that what it takes to make you happy? Because if that's what it takes, I'll learn to do it better than any man you've ever had. If you want me to go to a shrink or counselor, I will; just don't turn me off and push me away again. I want you, Lynnie--and if my beliefs are wrong, I'll find new ones. Just don't turn me away, baby,' and he was close to me again, holding me tight, murmuring into my neck, caressing my bare hips under the skirt I'd just pulled on.
" 'I'm afraid, Harry--I want you, but I'm so afraid,' I cried. For an answer, his hands started gently pushing my head down, down toward his belly, toward his furry cock hair, toward where the velvety skin of his rod was beginning to stretch tight again over the hardness underneath. 'Here, Lynnie, suck me now--I love you girl! Don't you know that yet?' he said, and held his big cock up for my lips to kiss--and I did! I barely tasted the clear, salty drop on the tip of his penis that told me how ready he was for me, then I slowly, slowly closed my lips over just the very end of the fleshy cap he was holding out to me.
"I waited, half afraid he'd pull back, half afraid he'd say something that would hurt me again. Instead, he moved forward suddenly, so that half his cock was in my mouth--and I forgot about being afraid and started Frenching him as I'd never done to anyone before. Up and down his hot, stiff rod I went, sucking, licking all over his crotch, holding his balls in my mouth and tickling them with my tongue--keeping him from coming right away by moving more slowly, then surprising him into a shocked gasp by suddenly sucking hard and fast, harder and faster, until he finally came wildly into my mouth, his cock pulsing and driving deep into my throat.
"He finished coming, then I rose from where I'd been kneeling and went to the bathroom and cleaned up. When I came back to the kitchen, Harry had pulled on his pants and was pouring two more glasses of wine. He held out my glass and when I took it, he raised his glass in a toast and said, 'To Lyn and Harry--long may they love!' We touched glasses and drank the wine, but I couldn't hold back my happy tears. That was probably the most overcooked spaghetti I've ever made, but it tasted better than anything I'd eaten for a long, long time.
* * *
"Very seldom do I see a completely happy ending to any of my patients' therapy," reports Lyn's--and now Harry's--therapist. "They usually get to feeling just a little better about themselves as they begin to relate to the real world and cease feeling depressed, or suicidal, or whatever their major symptom has been. But in the case of Lyn and Harry, their discovery of how much happier they were together than they were apart, pursuing their own selfish ways, was a prime factor in one of the few true happy endings in my practice. They've been remarried and are living together in what appears to be complete harmony. At last report, they were expecting a baby in a few months, and Harry had begun reciprocating to Lyn's oral lovemaking with cunnilingus, without any more notions that oral-genital loving is dirty or disgusting. His early conditioning about sex and marriage has been all but totally reversed--and, as for Lyn, she's blooming. Her taste for fellation satisfied by Harry's cooperation, she now feels more relaxed about enjoying coital lovemaking as well as cunnilingus and fellatio. I can happily report that Lyn and Harry have one of those very rare and precious things--a truly compatible marriage."
CHAPTER TWO - Impressionable Dolores
"How I held out for so long I'll never know, but the idea itself was enough to make me want to vomit. I mean, I'm not a prude or anything like that--I love to make love, trying all sorts of crazy positions and angles, saying wild things to my husband to make it even sexier for him, getting it on in far-out places like in the shower or on the beach at night--but somehow, sucking Dick's penis made me actually sick to my tummy--really sick! I read all the books about how glorious it was to give your lover the best time you ever could, about how oral sex wasn't really dirty, and so on, but I just couldn't put my mouth on his cock, or even very near it, without having my lunch, dinner or whatever start churning around my insides.
"And I love the man so much; the whole thing got blown up out of proportion to the rest of our relationship. Every time we made love, I'd start getting tenser and tenser, waiting for the moment when he'd ask me to blow him. It got so that we made love less and less, not because that's all he wanted me to do, but because I knew he wanted it and I couldn't give it to him.
"I started getting very suspicious of his time away from home, examining his shorts for lipstick stains, calling his office frequently to be sure he was there, and once when he called home to say he'd be working late, I drove downtown to the building where he worked and watched his office window to be sure he was there, working, instead of getting blown by his secretary.
"It was going from bad to worse when we finally got around to just sitting down and talking about it. 'I want to know why you don't want to suck me, honey,' said my understanding husband. 'It's not so important to me that our marriage will break up if you never do it, but if we can get some of your objections out in the open we may be able to see them for exactly what they are.' " 'Oh, Dick, I don't even know. All I do know is that I've always had a fear of a man sticking his penis in my mouth and making me suck on it. And I also know that I was never molested when I was little, or even when I was in my teens.' " 'Well, then, why, honey, WHY?' " 'I told you, I don't know! It's just that the idea of people doing that to each other makes me sick to my stomach. I don't even think that jokes about it are funny.' " 'Maybe if you let me lick your pussy, baby, you might see that it's such a nice sensation that you'll someday want to do it for me,' he said.
"To please him, and because he was trying hard to understand me and help me over this hangup, I let him caress my back and tummy, then he slipped his hand down lower until he was stroking the soft fur on the lovenest he knew so well. I started wriggling and moaning then, the same as I did all the other times we made love. Dick turns me on just by looking at me--and when he touches me, I go to pieces. If only I would get this wonderful, tingly feeling when I sucked him, I thought--then I pushed the thought out of my mind, because I was getting turned off, thinking about it.
" 'Just let yourself go, baby, just let me do it all,' murmured my husband, and I did. He slowly pulled off my dress, kissing everything he uncovered--my neck, my back, my waist, the part of my tummy that showed above my sheer bikini panties. Then his hands gently slid down inside my bikinis and he cuddled my hips in his hands for a minute before he took off my panties. I don't usually wear a bra, so his next stop was at my breasts, and his tongue flicked back and forth over my nipples until I was ready to all but come that way.
"By this time, I was ready to feel out his hard rod, take it out and play with it, but he had other plans for me. As his tongue slipped wickedly over the skin around my nipples, and his hands played constantly with my hips and pussy-hair, I realized that he was deliberately taking me as high as he could without actually putting anything into my cunthole. We were in our living room, and he insistently pushed me back against the couch, bending his head toward my tummy and giving a lingering lick to my belly button, literally fucking it with his tongue. That didn't do too much for me, so he went lower and lower and suddenly I felt the tip of his tongue feeling around in my pubic fur, trying to find my little pink clit. By the time his tongue was doing that bit, I couldn't wait to feel it in my slit. I wriggled around until he found what he'd been looking for--the wet, juicy lips of my pussy.
"I know it seems strange, but in the six months of our marriage and the two months we were lovers before we got married, we'd never tried French love. I was always so marvelously satisfied with all the fantastic things Dick did to me with his cock and hands that I wanted nothing more than that. Yet, here he was introducing me to a phase of lovemaking that I'd always thought of as nasty--literally sickening--and I was loving every minute of it.
"Totally new sensations ran through my body, and without the big feel of being full of his prick, I could mentally explore the feelings that were going through my vagina, the excruciating teasing that was happening to the other parts of my cunt. Around and around my cunthole he went, the tip of his tongue stopping every so often to tickle my clitoris until I thought I'd scream, and that's when he'd instinctively go back to circling my pussy-lips with that wild, crazy tongue. I did as he said--I just lay back against the couch and let him lick me into heaven.
"He didn't seem to be getting tired, and, far from being sickened by the experience, I was going slowly mad with desire for his tongue to ram itself all the way up into my pussy, to feel the entry of that tongue into my wet, pulsing center. My hips started moving upward in short, sharp thrusts, almost without my knowing anything about it. I was fascinated by the whole scene--my mind going one way with all the thrilling new discoveries, my body going another and gradually taking over as I got closer and closer to coming.
"Then he stopped. Dick kept his face against my still-thrusting belly, but his tongue stopped its wild tripping around my pussy and his hands remained calm on my body. It took me a minute to slow down the gyrations I'd been going through, but slow down I did. 'Why did you stop, for God's sake?' I asked.
" 'Because we're going to start all over again in just a few minutes, Dolores, baby. From the bottom to the top. And you just rest easy and let me do it' Dick's muffled voice came from the lips he held close against the quivering cunt he'd lapped into a state of frenzy.
"I came down from the clouds in short slides as my breasts stopped heaving, my breathing slowed, my body collected itself and remembered it had arms and legs as well as a hungry cunt. Keeping his hand on my soft furry mound, Dick came up for air and we shared a cigarette and a sip of the wine we'd been tasting when the whole trip started.
"Then we started again, and Dick meant what he said--he began to lick me from the bottom to the top. He began with my toes, kissing them as though they were the most delicious, adorable part of my body, stroking my feet as he sucked my toes--my toes, for goodness' sake!--and I loved it! As his lips moved up my legs, nibbling a little here, licking a little there, I felt like a thermometer, with the mercury going up and up as the body got hotter and hotter.
"The backs of my knees were more sensitive than my toes had been, for when Dick started licking me there, a funny, sexy feeling gathered in the pit of my stomach, and by the time he reached the tops of my thighs, making circles with his tongue and sucking little mouthfuls of the flesh on the insides of my legs just next to my pussy, I was revolving my hips again, begging him with my body to put something--anything--into my aching pussy. 'You're going to learn a wild, wild lesson tonight, girl,' Dick whispered as he got closer and closer to the magic place, my clitoris, already erect and waiting for the first touch of his tongue.
"And, just as before, he brought all his skill to bear on my clit. Every time I'd raise my body to his mouth, his mouth would be ready with a thrust of that crazy tongue, going everywhere, sucking and licking as I climbed closer and closer to what was going to be the best climax of my young life. 'Oh darling darling, don't stop now, please don't stop now, fuck me, suck me, do something, but don't stop now!' "He stopped. I was about ready to cry with frustration. In all the time we'd been making love, Dick had never treated me this way. Always considerate, always letting me come, and as many times as he could, before he got his own satisfaction. Now he seemed like a different person--a cruel, selfish man who'd deliberately worked me up to the very brink of two climaxes, then deliberately stopped just as I was ready to fly. 'How can you be so mean, Dick? What kind of lesson are you teaching me? Are you getting your jollies from watching me suffer--is that what you really want? Because if it is, just watch!' And the tears of rage and frustration that I'd been holding back spilled out and I hit the cushions of the couch in my fury.
" 'Easy on me, baby. I told you you'd be learning some wild lessons tonight, and this is just one of them. Now maybe you have a slight idea of what it's like for me when I want you to suck my cock while we're making love and you can't bring yourself to do it. I know there's some reason for it socked away in your subconscious, because I'm clean and you know I'm clean; but this is a small part of the way it feels when you're built up for something special and you don't get it.' His eyes as he looked down at me were full of love, not spite; and as I looked up at him, I knew he was trying to do everything he could, including hurt me temporarily, to save our marriage.
"Relaxing, I let him wipe away the tears with a cool washcloth and we had another glass of wine. 'I'm sorry I yelled at you, darling, and I'm all ready for my next lesson,' I said as I cuddled into the curve of his strong arm. 'What does the professor have planned for this session?' He caught my laughing tone and announced, 'For the following lesson, the professor will need a volunteer from among the students. Young lady, would you mind very much standing up and helping your fellow students learn their lesson better?' " 'Certainly, oh great professor,' I said as I got to my feet. I was a bit unsteady from wine and loving, because I'd had a stronger kind of both than I'd been accustomed to. 'I hope the great professor will excuse my tipsy condition--they've put wine in all the drinking fountains in this school.' By this time, we were both giggling up a storm, with me standing before Dick as he sat on the couch, wineglass in his hand.
" 'That's quite all right, my dear young lady. In schools that have classes like this, you must learn to expect anything. Now, if you will turn around, the great professor will resume the lesson. Here, would you just hold this glass for me for one moment? That's good. Now hold still, while I consult my notes.' With that, he started touching his tongue to my hips in quick, tiny stabs, going all over my ass with his flicking, tickling tongue. Then, just as I thought he was going to turn me around and do the same thing to my tummy and thighs, he said, 'Now, young lady, if you'll drink the remaining wine in that glass, we'll get on with the lesson.' "Slightly mystified at what the wine had to do with anything, I drank it down and handed him the glass. 'Good girl, you take direction very well. Please to continue holding still now,' and he was off and running with that tongue again, licking and now and then nipping gently at my ass, making it feel more alive than it ever had. After a few minutes, when my ass was feeling like electric currents were running through it, he changed direction. Now the tongue was thrusting itself into the long crack at the center of my butt, and gradually his fingers spread that crack--and little by little, his tongue found its way right into my asshole.
"I'd had that asshole for all my years and never knew how marvelous it could feel. Somewhere, deep in my mind, was the knowledge that this was a very dirty thing to be doing and having done to me, but what Dick's tongue was doing blocked out any ideas of dirtiness and only the exquisite pleasure of an entirely new sensation came through. Again, I felt the gathering together of my body and soul, and knew I was ready to climax. At just the moment that my climax began, Dick turned me around, spread my legs wide and stuck his long tongue as far into my pussy as it would go.
"My climax shook my body like a hurricane shakes a tree. I held Dick's head in both my hands and bucked and reared against his face, feeling the hot muscle of his tongue dart in and out of my cunt like a silken snake. The sensation it gave was fantastic--there was no way to relate it to the kind of fucking we'd always done, the kind of fucking I'd been 'used' to.
"My vaginal muscles flexed and pulsed uncontrollably, sucking on his tongue the way my mouth sucked on it when we were French-kissing.
Even after the height of my climax had passed and I was floating in the liquid sort of space of my after-climax, I could still feel that educated tongue sliding in and out of my slit. I fell against my husband's body, gasping for air, gulping in the odor of my own juices, becoming nothing more than a long chain of reflexes reacting to everything he did, every movement he made.
"Dick's arms lowered me gently onto the couch, and then his hands were stroking my clit again, building toward another climax for me before I'd had time to come all the way down from the first one. 'Oh, no, darling, let me rest for a moment,' I pleaded, but the great professor hadn't quite finished our lesson for the night because he lowered his head again to the now dripping curls of my cunt hair and once more his tongue found its way to my half-erected clit. 'Dick, oh Dick, darling, I can't take any more,' I half cried in my ecstasy, but for an answer, he went on lapping, lapping at my clitoris, where I was so super-sensitive that the least touch would have set me off.
"Relentlessly he licked on, circling my clitoris with his lips, forming a little cunt-like opening with his mouth and then sucking up on my clitoris as though it was a man's tiny cock. That did it! It couldn't have been more than a minute from the time he began sucking hard on my clitoris that I felt the storm gathering inside my belly again, and this time my climax was so much more than I'd ever known that I lost every shred of control I'd ever had and screamed and groaned as I shoved my crotch into his face, and pulled his head tightly into me with my hands clasped around the back of his neck. I must have come that way for a full two minutes, but because my entire body was so sensitized by the tonguing it had been getting, I felt as though I'd been coming for hours and hours.
" 'Climax good for you, baby?' asked my unbelievable husband, lying down next to me on our velvet couch.
" 'There are no words for how good it was, lover. When we make love the other way it's wonderful, but what we've been doing tonight has opened doors for me that I never want to close again.' I ran my hands over his manly chest, kissed his cheek, limply wrapped my exhausted legs around one of his. 'I see what you've been teaching me--that loving with your entire body, your entire being, is above anything you could ever do with the person you love. Give me a few minutes rest and I'll try to do for you what you've just done for me.' "I believed in holding back nothing, now, and if that's the way it felt to get blown by someone who turns you on, I wanted to be the one to give my husband this experience. I was awfully thirsty, so Dick poured out two more glasses of wine and we lounged there like ancient Romans, sipping away and communicating with loving looks instead of with words.
"Presently the wine was all gone, and now it was my turn to suck and lick and give my husband the gift of all those fabulous sensations. I kissed his mouth for a minute or two, then ran my tongue down over his neck and chest, spending a few moments on sucking his nipples. Knowing how that turned me on, I figured he'd like it, too. My experiment was a great success--he arched his body and moaned, 'Oh, do that, Dee-dee, keep doing that! It feels so good!' "Encouraged by his reaction to my nipple-kissing, I moved on down to his belly area, and tongued his navel. He moved around as though he was undecided about whether he liked it, but then I went even lower and cautiously began licking the area just above his dark, soft patch of hair, which had growing from the middle of it the rosiest, biggest, hardest and sexiest cock I had ever seen.
"Gently holding his balls in my one hand, I poised my mouth over the end of this beautiful rod, and finally got up enough nerve to give a tiny lick to the very tip of it. It was sort of salty, and I noticed a bit of clear liquid oozing from the hole in the tip. Putting just the outside of my lips to the soft-skinned cap of Dick's penis, I lapped at it slightly, all the while trying to remember how great it had felt when he was lapping at my clit, circling my pussy-lips with his lips and stabbing my slit with a tongue that seemed to be almost as long as his rod.
"With these thoughts chasing through my mind, and getting braver every minute (probably the result of drinking most of a bottle of sherry wine), I made my first sucking motion on Dick's penis. As I went further down the shaft of his joystick, I tried to remember in every detail how he'd licked the tips of my pussy-lips, how he'd sucked off my own tiny prick, my clitoris, and how he'd gone through at least an hour of tonguing me without stopping. Another long suck on his prick, and he was moaning and twisting as he lay there on the couch.
"It pleased me to know that what I was doing was as exciting to him as his oral loving was to me. The idea of being sick went further and further from my mind and I licked and sucked him more enthusiastically with every passing second. I was afraid of hurting him with my teeth, but as he seemed to be getting closer and closer to his climax, I concentrated on giving him the best suck I possibly could. This isn't all that bad, I was thinking to myself--I wonder why I was so uptight about it for so long.
"Suddenly, his cock began to throb and before I knew it a huge glop of his come was choking me, running down my throat, slopping out of my mouth, nauseating me so that I barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. My belly heaved and heaved and everything I'd eaten for the past two days seemed to come splashing out of me. I've always hated vomiting more than anything, and I was not only sick, but furious with myself for messing up so badly.
" 'Honey, it's all right, it's all right,' Dick was saying, as he was trying to help me to the sink where he tenderly wiped my face with a cool cloth, and held me up while I rinsed out my mouth. 'Don't cry, Dee-dee, please don't cry. We won't do it ever again if you don't want to.' " 'Dick, darling, it isn't that I don't want to do it anymore, it's that I just can't. I want to thrill you all the ways you do me, but I just can't handle it!' and I weakly sat down on the edge of the tub and cried harder.
"That was two months ago, and even though Dick has done practically everything he could to make it pleasant for me, I still get sick as a pup when I even begin to suck his cock. One night he brought home a little package and told me it was a Dolores-and-Dick 'Care' package. He wouldn't let me open it until we'd finished dinner and then he said we were going to have dessert like we'd never had dessert before. We went into the bedroom and he handed me a small book with a picture of a woman and man making love on the front cover. It was a photograph, not a drawing, and it was such a close-up that I could actually see his rock-hard rod pushing into her gaping pussy. The color was very good--and as I looked through the rest of the book, there were pictures of people doing things to each other in couples, trios, quartets and whole piles of naked lovers fucking, eating, sucking; men and women, men and men, women and women and every possible combination imaginable. Pictures like that always excite me, but I didn't know how Dick knew that about me because we'd never discussed it.
"I couldn't take my eyes off one of the pictures, where a girl was licking the white, dripping come off her lover's still-stiff cock and had an expression on her face like she was enjoying every drop of the stuff. How do you develop a taste for come, I wondered. Is it like eating raw oysters, or some other weird food that you hate the first time you have it, then gradually come to think of it as a delicacy? While I was gulping down the pictures in that wild book, Dick was undressing and by the time I looked at him, he was rubbing himself with some kind of pink jelly that he was squeezing out of a tube.
" 'Come over here, baby. Daddy's got some dessert for you that will really turn you on to licking,' said my husband, and he held his huge prick up to me with both his hands. It was covered with the pink jelly, and it smelled sort of like strawberry or raspberry jam. 'Go ahead, Dee-dee, taste it--it's made to be eaten. Lick me, sweetheart--you don't have to let me come in your mouth--just lick my cock a little bit so I can feel your pretty tongue.' "How can you resist a man who tries so hard to make things easy for you? Especially when you love the guy? I bent over Dick's tan, muscular body and touched my tongue to the tip of his penis.
The jelly was delicious, and since he'd rubbed it all the way up and down the length of his cock, I naturally had to move my lips all around his joystick to lick off the rest of my 'dessert.' "Then I discovered that the sweet, fragrant jelly was on his balls, too, so I delicately licked them until they were so sensitive that Dick was moaning and moving frantically around on his back, trying to find my mouth with his hard cock, rubbing the tip of it into my face, telling me again and again how much he loved me and how much he loved what I was doing to him. Then, just as I was giving the first good, long suck to his peter, I started to heave, and it was back to the bathroom and there went my dinner and, of course, my 'dessert.' " 'Oh, shit!' was all I could say, between barfs. 'Oh, shit!' " 'It's all right, baby, we won't try it again--I never should have tried it again!' And he didn't, because one more of those sessions would be more than I could take. All I can say is that there's got to be something very wrong with my mind, because I don't usually throw up all that easily. Now I wonder every time we make love if Dick wants me to suck him, and still I simply can't bring myself to do it. I love the man more each day, but how long can this go on, with me feeling like a damn failure in bed and him feeling like he actually makes me sick? I'm not about to louse up a wonderful marriage just because I can't keep my cookies down when I suck off my husband. I want to find out what's making me behave this way and then fix it so it doesn't happen again."
* * *
Dolores' story, while not typical, recounts a frequent problem for women who've had very little, or no experience with oral-genital relationships. Somewhere they've picked up the attitude that oral sex is unsavory because of the nearness of the rectum and the bladder, both recognized as containing literally disgusting substances. In the extreme inversion of Dolores' problem, we find cases of both coprophagia (eating the feces of the sex partner) and urophagia (drinking the urine of the sex partner). Spermophagia--swallowing the seminal fluid of the male sex partner--is, however, a widespread practice, and in its usual forms it gives the consumer of the emission either great pleasure or the feeling that she (or he) will benefit in some way from ingesting the "strength" of their sex partners.
In their definitive treatise, Human Sexual Response, Drs. Masters and Johnson report the fact that:
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At the onset of the ejaculatory experience, the intact internal sphincter of the urinary bladder normally closes or remains sealed, thereby preventing seminal-fluid content from entering the bladder in a retrograde ejaculatory sequence. This specific internal-sphincter constriction also has the function of retaining any urinary content within the bladder and avoiding any intermingling of urine and seminal plasma.
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In lay terms, during ejaculation or "coming," the male does not eject urine along with his sperm containing seminal fluid. The opening, or urethra, through which urine escapes to the outside of the body remains blocked so that only seminal fluid is projected by the penis at the moments of orgasm. As for the feeling of being "flooded" by the semen, very few people, male and female alike, are aware that the average penile emission of semen consists of one to three (at most) tablespoons of viscous fluid that's designed by nature to cling to the walls of the vagina, not flood around and flow right back out. If some of the seminal mass does run out of the vagina, the major amount of it remains inside, releasing sperm which immediately begin their journey in search of the female's ovum, or egg, in order to fertilize it and complete their life's purpose.
So much for the notion that oral sexual expression can be disgusting or nauseating because there might be some urine in the male ejaculation, or because there's such a "flood" of seminal fluid rushing into her mouth that the female (or male homosexual) fellator might be choked by it. Certainly there's occasional mild choking during the course of an oral lovemaking session, but this is usually due to a pubic hair getting into the mouth, seldom because the semen or feminine secretions are of a distasteful nature. A culture that considers such foods as raw oysters, hot curries and fried locusts delicacies, cannot honestly pronounce the taste of the male ejaculation or the female "juices" as being of an unsavory flavor.
Dolores' conclusion that there was "something very wrong with my mind" was perhaps a bit strong, but she did seek psychiatric help in order to remove the emotional rubble of a lifetime; to uncover whatever childhood trauma were creating such havoc in her sexual relationship with her husband. During her first appointment with the hypnotherapist to whom she'd been recommended, Dolores was put into a light hypnotic trance to see if she could benefit from the practice of age-regressing a patient back through the years until the trauma that occurred during childhood is uncovered and the patient can vent his or her fears with the support of the therapist. After being brought out of trance, Dolores was agreeable to the use of hypnosis to shorten the time she would be in therapy. She also agreed to having her sessions in hypnoanalysis tape-recorded so that after she had been brought out of hypnosis, she could listen to herself recalling the events which traumatized her in childhood, and relate to them as the adult she had become. The following is a partial transcription of the taped hypnoanalysis sessions, edited for clarity and understandability. We hear Dolores' voice, after she has been placed into a hypnotic trance and age-regressed to her sixteenth year.
* * *
"I'm at home, in my room upstairs... I can hear them fighting again. It seems like never a night goes by that they don't have the same old fight... Mother's mad at him (Dolores' father) for coming home drunk again, and she's telling him to go to the whores if he wants to do that filthy thing again... I'm not sure just what it is he wants to do to her, but she keeps screaming that it's filthy, filthy and disgusting, and he'll make her a sick woman if he does it... I want to know what the filthy thing is, I'm so curious about it, but I don't dare ask her. Somehow I just know that it's one of the things that I can never talk to her about...
(Dolores is advanced one year in age while still in hypnosis.)
"Now I'm seventeen... Nothing has changed, except that now I know what the filthy thing is that he's wanted my mother to do all these years. He wants her to suck on his thing until he squirts all his come into her mouth... no wonder she's afraid of it. I'd feel sick, too, if I had to do that... it is filthy, filthy and disgusting... I found out from my girlfriend at school. Her mom and dad had the same fights for years until they were divorced. She says her stepmother probably likes to do the filthy thing, because she doesn't hear any more arguments about it... my girlfriend and her steady do the filthy thing all the time. She says she doesn't like it as much as she likes fucking with him, but that way she knows she won't get pregnant. I guess a lot of people do it and don't get sick, but I can't see how they manage to swallow the muck that comes out of a boy's thing. Ugh! Just the thought of it turns my stomach!
"My steady asked me to do the filthy thing once, but I told him if he wanted to do it, to go find some pig girl who'd do it with him, because I wasn't about to suck any boy's filthy cock and get my mouth full of that awful stuff... the way it came up was, well, one night we were petting pretty heavy and he got his hands into my panties, and pulled them all the way down my legs. I was afraid he'd rape me or something, and I started crying. He held me tight and told me he'd stop right then and there because he didn't want to hurt me at all, ever.
"After I stopped crying, we started making out again and before I knew it, I wanted his hand on my pussy, I wanted his fingers to go inside my cunt and slip around in there. I wiggled and stretched until I was pressing my naked pussy up against his fly, and I could feel his big, hard thing pushing through his jeans. Just feeling that much of him drove me half wild, but I was worried about getting pregnant and having to drop out of school to have the baby or having an abortion. All this was going through my mind as we were making out, but I was still excited enough to want him. Every time he tried to pull down his jeans I'd freeze, and then we'd start all over again. Finally he just pulled away from me and said I was nothing but a lousy prick-teaser and he was going to take me home and go find him a real woman.
"I got mad then and told him he'd better get started early, and if he was any kind of the big lover he thought he was, why couldn't he make me feel like doing it all the way with him? He said if I'd do just as he told me, we'd have a wonderful time and I wouldn't get pregnant... He started playing with my little clit, then, and sliding his fingers over and around it, just touching it lightly over and over... It felt so good, so good... I didn't know anything could feel so good... Oh, I want some more, more...
(Here Dolores undergoes a familiar phenomenon in hypnotherapy: she begins to re-live the experience as though she was living through it for the first time.)
"Now he's putting his finger into my pussyhole and he's... oh, wow, he's rubbing me so easy, so nice. It's the best feeling I've ever had, but I want more... I'm scared of being pregnant, my folks would kill me, but I want more, more... He's rubbing my clit again, and I feel like I've got a fire in my tummy, no down lower... I'm moving back and forth now, I don't even know why, but it feels even better this way... I'm taking his big hard cock out of his jeans, now... oh, how good it feels... I'm holding him in my hand now and he's moving back and forth, faster and faster... Oh, wow, I'm moving and he's moving--we're both going so fast and wild that I can't stand it any longer, I'm going to yell or something... Oh, oooh, please don't stop, don't stop... Mmmmmm, I love to do this, let's do this all the time now. Let's do it every time we can...
"I love the way he feels, I can't get enough of the way he rubs my pussy and sticks his fingers in and out of me... His other hand is playing with my nipples... first one; then the other... my blouse and bra are off, and the cold air feels sexy as hell on my skin... His hands are warm, so warm, they feel actually hot when he kisses me... Oh, god, now he's sucking my nipples and stroking my clit at the same time... I feel like I'm going to wet my panties, only my panties are off and I want to do everything now, everything, anything, just to keep doing this, to keep feeling this way... He's french-kissing me, his tongue is smashing in and out of my mouth exactly the same as his finger strokes in and out of my pussy-hole...
"I'm pulling on his cock like it was made of rubber, but then I push and pull and he groans and slides down in the seat and I put my face real close to his long, throbbing thing to see all I can see in the moonlight... I can feel his hand on the back of my neck, caressing me there... that feels good, so good, everything he does to me feels so good. Oh, wait... no, wait... don't... don't... I don't want to suck you... No, stop pushing my head down, I don't like it anymore... ugh, ugh, oh, how awful! (Here she gags and spits) Oh, good God, I have to throw up... (more gagging) I told you not to force me--I hate you, you bastard! It was getting so wonderful... Of course I didn't like it... you pumped all that rotten mess into my mouth... You were going to do it all the time, the rest of what we did was just to get me in the mood to suck you, wasn't it?... All right, take me home, I wish you would, I have to throw up, anyway... No, don't try to kiss me, just get me home so I can be sick... Don't call me. Just leave me alone. That's all, just leave me alone...
(Dolores is brought up to age eighteen while still in hypnosis.)
"I'm at college now, and I like it a lot... I have three boyfriends and I like all my classes and I even like my roommate... It's fun here, I don't have to answer to my parents for each little thing I want to do, and I don't always have to hear their stupid fights, either... I'm out in the car with my favorite boyfriend, and we're really making out, now... He never makes me do anything I don't want to do, so I can let myself go with him more than I can with anyone else... I just love to make him hard when we're dancing or just sitting and talking, then snuggle up to him and feel his red-hot cock through his pants... All I have to do is whisper to him about how gorgeous his cock is, and how much I like to feel it when it's hard, and he comes right up... "We're petting now, we like to just play with each other until we can't stand it any longer, then I let him put his naked cock between my legs and just when he's ready to come, I pull away and rub him good with my hand until he shoots his stuff into my hand... It's about the only way to make love and not get pregnant, because I can't get a prescription for the pill, and I'm afraid to get a diaphragm, the doctor would be sure to tell my parents or the Dean of Women, and then she'd tell them and I'd be in trouble again... Mmmmmmm, he's rubbing my clit again, that's what I really love... I'm grabbing his juicy joint through his pants, now I'm taking down his zipper... It's sticking a little bit, and now it's down, and now I pull his fleshy, hard cock out where I can see it and play with him until he's ready to jump out of his skin...
(Dolores is taken up in time to age eighteen and six months.)
"Bob's roommate is gone for a week of skiing and we have their apartment all to ourselves... It's wonderful to be alone, completely alone, with a locked door between you and your lover and the rest of the world... We're sipping wine and talking together while dinner's cooking... Now we're dancing to some nice slow records he has... Mmmmm, he's so sexy when we dance, he puts his legs in between mine all the time, then he holds me real close, so I can feel how hard he is, right through our clothes... My pussyhair is all wet from rubbing up against his cock... I want to go to bed with him, but I'm still so afraid of pregnancy... It would be perfect this weekend, because the Dean of Women thinks I'm spending the weekend with my roommate, and my folks do, too, so I have the whole weekend with Bob...
"I'm still a virgin, but the more we dance around this wonderful room with the locked door, and the more he pushes his legs and cock in between my legs, and rubs my pussy with his cock through our clothes, the more I want him to put his cock in and out of me the way he does with his fingers... Ooooh, he's stroking my back through my blouse, and now he's pulling my blouse out of my skirt and his hands are on my bare back and now his hands are sliding around to my breasts, and he's feeling my breasts through my sheer bra... I'm slipping the bra off so he can feel my breasts naked... he teases my nipples with his tongue and he nips them so lightly that they get hard as little rubies... Now I'm taking his sweater off, so I can do the same thing to his nipples that he's doing to mine... Mmm, that's good, his nipples really taste good and sexy, they're getting harder than mine...
"My pussy is just throbbing and begging for a big, hard cock going in and out of her now... I want him so... I mustn't do anything that will make me sick or pregnant... We're still dancing a little bit, while we take off the rest of our clothes... We're both completely naked now, dancing together, but this is the sexiest dancing I've ever done, rubbing my body up against a naked man... feeling his chest-hair and his hard nipples against my bare breasts... and feeling his huge cock muscle pushing its tip into the hair around my clitoris...
"We've stopped dancing and Bob is bending a little bit so he can rub my clit with his naked cock--just the tip of him is touching me... Now I spread the fur around my clit so we can get closer together, and he pushes his buck-naked cock all the way through my crotch--all the way up and down my pussy-place, where I'm so wet from his sexiness... I love this, it's the first time we've done it where we weren't in the car, where we didn't have to worry about being caught by the cops or anything...
"I want to go the distance tonight, I'm so horny from his rubbing and all this loving that it's making me so that I want to just fuck and fuck and fuck until tomorrow morning, then have breakfast and fuck again. I just finished my period, maybe I won't get pregnant... The hell with it, I'm going to do it--tonight so I'll know what it's like to be a woman at last... We're in the bedroom now, with just candles burning, making beautiful shadows on the ceiling... We're on the bed, and we're caressing each other and exploring each other as if it was the first time we'd ever made love... Well, it's the first time we'll go all the way... I can't wait, neither can Bob... He's mounting me, moving his legs so that he's over me, looking down at me with such tenderness and excitement... I can feel him reach down between us for his cock, and guide it into my cunthole...
"Oh, wow, he's taking it so easy that it doesn't even hurt! I love him! I love this--everything we're doing is so wild, so beautiful!... I can feel the hot, hard tip of his cock moving around and around my pussy, trying to find the way into my body--I can't control myself any longer--my body is arching up to meet him, to swallow his whole, huge cock with my pussymouth!... Oh, wow, no wonder people do everything they can to do this over and over again!... He's found the place to push into--he's in me a little bit, now he's waiting... I can't wait, darling, I can't wait! Take me, please, please take me!...
"He's moving farther into me, and it's feeling tight, but I'm so wild with sex and excitement that I don't care if he splits me wide open--I want him! I want him! There! He's all the way in now--Oh, now he's pulling it out again--no, stay inside me, darling, don't go!... Now he's thrusting back into me, farther than he did before... Now I'm moving, too, up and down, with his sexy, hard body on top of me and inside of me and coming in and out, in and out... Oooooh!... More, let's do it some more! Faster, let's go faster!... Now we're going so fast and hard that it's hurting me, but I don't care, don't care, take me, take me, take me now, I'm going crazy, ooooh, God, yes, yes, yes... "
* * *
In her next series of hypnoanalytic interviews, Dolores came closer to the trauma that threatened her marriage and the very balance of her sanity. She was age-regressed to her twentieth year and immediately began the revivifying process that is the preferred method for venting, or releasing, the pent-up emotion which is crippling the patient in his or her dealings with everyday life. She had been instructed to return to the experience that made her unhappy, more than any other experience, insofar as sexual expression was concerned. Dolores speaks:
* * *
"I was making out with the boy I dated, after we'd gone to a drive-in movie that was pretty sexy... We'd gone all the way several times before, but he just didn't satisfy me the way that Bob, the boy who got my cherry, did... I tried to force myself to a climax, but that only made it worse--it got to be more like work than lovemaking. This night I'm telling you about, we were both relaxed, yet horny and excited, and the weather was warm and soft--one of those spring nights when you can hear the crickets and a few night birds muttering to themselves.
"We rolled the car windows down and just sat there for a few minutes, kissing each other, not moving around much. He fooled with my breasts awhile, and then I took my blouse off and he unhooked my bra, which only relaxed me more. I played with his cock before he took it out of his pants. We weren't in any hurry or anything. It was almost like one of those slow-motion pictures--easy and fine, just touching and stroking, no pushing or wildness. Then, after he'd taken off his pants and his shorts and we were sitting there almost naked, instead of pulling me down so he could mount me, he lowered his head until his mouth was on my lower belly--the first time that had ever happened to me.
"I didn't know whether I'd like it or not, so I kept still and waited for his next move... He separated my legs and moved his head so that his mouth was right over the part of my pussy that held my clit between two shallow walls of wet, pulsing flesh. Then his tongue suddenly flicked out and touched my clit with a swift, darting motion that set my whole cunt area on fire. I gasped at the continuing flicks of his tongue as they set up a series of reactions in my body that soon had me twisting and grasping his head with both my hands, just to keep his mouth from moving an inch away from the incredible sensations he was giving me.
"Then just as I was going to climax, just as my life juices had gathered for the rush of passion that ends in glorious come, he stopped, grabbed my head, pushed me down toward his cock, and said: 'Suck it, baby--go ahead, suck it for me like I did for you!'... I didn't want to--I just wanted to go on feeling those delicious sensations that his pussylicking had given me--but I suddenly realized that if, after his having Frenched me, I refused to at least suck him a little, he'd think I was a prick-teaser of the worst kind...
"Swallowing hard to keep my dinner down, I started licking the tip of his cock, then the whole head went into my mouth and soon I was sucking up and down the length of his shaft, dribbling and slipping faster and faster in my desire to get it over with before I started throwing up... Just as I felt the beginning throbs of his come surging through his hot cock, I couldn't hold it down any longer--I had just enough time to open the car door and lean outside before everything I'd eaten for the past two days forced its way out of my stomach...
"I felt so rotten about the whole thing--not just about throwing up, but about not being able to French my boyfriend for even three or four minutes without throwing up. My boyfriend was mad, too--he didn't say anything, he just started the car and drove me back to the dorm. When we got there, he kissed me good-night like I was his cousin who he didn't like, and mumbled something about calling me in a couple days. I knew he wouldn't call, and he knew I knew he wouldn't, but I didn't care. I figured I was better off without a guy who would want me to French him, because throwing up was not my idea of the way to end a charming evening...
"I went over and over it in my mind, and I couldn't sort it out. I mean, I know that my attitudes towards sex were colored by my mother's attitudes about it--I learned that in Psychology I. But to the point of throwing up? To the point of not being able to do any kind of oral lovemaking at all? After a few weeks had gone by and I didn't see the boy I'd been with that night, I forgot about it, started studying hard, and got through the rest of the year with a high B average...
"During the summer vacation, I went home and met my husband-to-be who was a new resident in our town. About three months later, we were married, and except for the honeymoon, when Dick, my husband, asked me to suck him and I sweetly but firmly refused, the subject of cocksucking didn't rear its ugly head. He waited for several months to repeat his request--and that's when it all began again, and I was reminded more and more, every day, that I wasn't as much of a woman as I thought I was.
"Oh, Dick never put it into those many words, but I could tell that's what he was thinking... I want to do everything he wants as far as sex is concerned, doctor, but how can I get over this awful hang-up?... It seems the more I try to do it, the worse it gets...
(At this point in her therapy, Dolores was brought out of hypnosis and given an appointment for the following week. She was instructed, in the meantime, to do only what was most relaxing for her in the way of making love with her husband. Transcripts from her next age regression therapy begin here.)
"I'm fifteen and my mother is talking to me about boys and sex and all that. Ye gods, I knew about that stuff in sixth grade... She's going on and on about how I should always keep myself clean and how I should never ever let a boy or a man touch me down there until he married me. Ho hum, the same old stuff all the kids' mothers tell them... Do I have any questions? she wants to know. Yes, I sure do have some questions, like what's the filthy, sickening thing my dad wants you to do that makes you two fight all the time so I can't get to sleep before midnight half the time? Maybe I will ask her... She's giving me all this you-can-come-to-me-with-anything-dear talk... Okay, here goes: 'Mom, what is it that Dad wants you to do with him that you think is filthy and disgusting?... She's telling me it's too horrible to even discuss at this time... Good grief, what is it?...
(Dolores is brought up to age fifteen and three months at which point she continues her narrative.)
"Well, I finally found out what the filthy thing is--all he wants her to do is suck his cock. But then, a man's peter can be a pretty dirty thing, I guess, if he doesn't wash very often, and my dad doesn't bathe as often as he could... I asked my girl friend what she thought the filthy thing was and she said that it was probably the same thing her folks fought over... Why do the men want that so much, anyway? And why do the women think it's so sickening? I don't think I'd enjoy doing it, but if my husband washed real good, I don't think I'd consider it sickening...
(At this point in her therapy, Dolores was taken forward to the time when she first actually saw a male emission of seminal fluid.)
"I'm sixteen and I'm going home from the football game with my date... We're parking and now he wants to make out with me... I like to kiss him, but I don't like him well enough to do anything else--it's still kind of light out, and I'm afraid someone will see us... Oh, wow, he's fooling with my panties--it's getting a little darker, but I'm still afraid of being seen... now I can see his big hard-on right through his pants--it's crazy, but I'm getting excited from just looking at him... he's taking it out of his fly now, and showing me how big he is... I've felt boy's cocks before, but I've never seen one... He wants me to play with him, but I say wait until it gets darker... I want to touch him, and I do...
"I'm holding his hot cock in my hands now and he moves back and forth so I can see how it would look going in and out of my pussy... Ooh, it's so nice and hard, and the skin on it is soft and velvety... There's some wet stuff coming out of the little hole in the end of his thing... it feels so sexy, just holding him and rubbing him like this... now he's pulling my panties over to one side and I can feel his fingers on my naked pussy. He shows me how wet I am, after he rubs his fingers around my cunthair... It feels so good!... I hope no one can see us... My hand is going faster and faster on his cock--he's wiggling and moaning and telling me to go down on him, but I can't, I don't want to!...
"Now he's grabbing my hands and making them go even faster. 'Oh, baby!' he yells, and I look at his big cock, and just then a whole mess of stuff that looks like curdled milk shoots out into my hand--ugh, to think that women have to take that into their mouths sometimes... No wonder my mother hates to do it... I can't wipe this mess on my skirt--I lost my hankie--what am I going to do with it?... He's telling me I can always lick it off... I'm really mad, now--I make him take me home. I'm never going out with him again--he's really sickening... "
* * *
In continuing hypnoanalysis, Dolores was able to recount all her past trauma concerning the male sex organs and especially the repulsion she felt for the seminal fluid. She was correct in deducing that it was her mother's influence that set the pattern for her own attitudes toward sexual expression, other than the traditional "normal" sex position of man on top, woman beneath. Had she not been so thoroughly conditioned by her parents' nightly arguments over her mother's refusal to fellate her father to climax, Dolores would most likely have reached maturity with no more than the usual bagful of sex hang-ups. As it was, she was eventually able to overcome her nausea and vomiting with six more sessions in deep hypnotherapy. She was given the post-hypnotic suggestions that:
(1) She would not feel constrained to perform fellatio on her husband unless she was completely willing to do so and was completely relaxed about doing it.
(2) She would feel no guilt at performing oral loveplay with her husband and experience only positive feelings about this form of sexual expression.
(3) She would completely accept the fact that the seminal fluid of the male is not unclean so long as the male is not diseased; that, in fact, it is the other half of the pattern needed to provide the miracle of birth.
Her own deep need to be the best lover her husband could wish for, and her gratification at his delight when she was able to fellate him successfully, without nausea, were the two most important factors in Dolores' recovery from the trauma that had threatened her marriage. The lessening of tension in the area of sexual expression created a more positive feeling between Dolores and her husband in all their communications--both physical and non-physical.
No instant cure for emotional problems is yet available, but it has been observed and noted that in most cases where a competent hypnotherapist is treating the patient, much less time is necessary to find and vent those deeply buried trauma that so plague us in later years. By allowing the patient to dig up and air out old fears and hurts, the therapist can then help the patient to relate to those same fears and hurts as the adult he has become, and not as the impressionable, vulnerable child he once was. The negative attitudes then being out of the way, new, positive attitudes can be put in their place.
CHAPTER THREE - Three Is Not A Crowd
"I grew up in a neighborhood where you had to take a rock with you to throw at the rats when you went to take out the garbage. Before I was six years old I had decided that, whatever it took, I wasn't going to stay in that filthy dump any longer than I absolutely had to. My mother was a lovely woman who, through a series of sick choices, had first married, then had four children by a charming lazybones of a man--my father, the great love of her life. He was always full of plans and dreams about how he was going to make a million dollars and get us out of there. Then when the dreams didn't materialize and the plans fell through, he would go on a week-long drunk that would eat up whatever money my mother had scrounged from her household allowance, my father's last paycheck (he was always getting fired) and the contents of my piggybank, which I learned to hide away from all of them before too many years had passed.
"After my father had sobered up and went through another week of being hung over, swearing 'Never again!' and cursing his rotten luck, he would go back out into the world and get another job, no better than the last one, and begin dreaming his dreams all over again. My mother would wipe the tears from her face, heave a sigh, and go back to saving a few pennies here and there, hoping she'd be strong enough to keep them away from her charming, no-good husband when he was ready for his next drunk. And I would go back to feeding that piggybank for all I was worth--running errands, babysitting as soon as I was old enough, doing extra chores for the women who lived around us, making yarn dolls and doilies and placemats and whatever else I could create for nothing and sell at a profit of five, maybe even twenty-five cents.
"When I was twelve, I had my first menstrual period and decided that I was now a woman, and, as such, was ready to split that lousy slum we'd lived in for as long as I could remember. I broke my piggybank--by now I'd changed nickels and quarters into dollar bills before putting them in there--and discovered I had enough to pay for a one-way ticket to my maternal grandmother's home in Los Angeles.
"My mother cried and asked what she'd ever do without me, because I was the oldest kid and I helped her a lot. My father went out and got drunk because he knew I didn't want to live with them anymore, which made him realize all over again what a failure he was. My brothers and sister looked on with envy and longing in their eyes--they'd known what I was planning for two years, and they wanted out, too, even though they all loved my mother and dad.
"I had a few moments of thinking that maybe I ought to stay a little longer and help them struggle along for a few more years, but then the old man came home falling-down drunk and threw up all over the threadbare living room rug that was my mother's pride and joy. When I saw the poor woman down on her knees, trying to clean up the mess and crying because she didn't have the guts to leave the man she loved, I knew that it really was time for me to go--so I kissed everybody goodbye--my dad, too--and left.
"The trip west was exciting to me, even though I was seeing the country through the window of a Greyhound bus and living on peanut butter sandwiches half-way across the United States. I could hardly wait to get to glamorous Hollywood and make my fortune as a movie star. Grandma knew I was coming, and she met me at the bus stop with open arms.
"I didn't tell grandma about the nice man who'd been sitting next to me for the last four hundred miles and buying my food. He'd been buying my food because I didn't report him to the bus driver for putting his hand up my skirt and trying to feel my twelve-year-old pussy. When he first did it, I jumped--I hadn't any experience that way, as yet--but I knew instinctively that if I kept quiet and let him feel around a little before I moved away, he'd be willing to buy me something--maybe even give me some money for my new piggybank that was waiting at Grandma's house.
"Being hungry and broke all your young life teaches you some strange lessons. Pretending to be shocked, repelled by his advances, I let him have just a little feel of my sweet, young virgin creases that were just under the rosebud-printed panties I'd treated myself to, then I squirmed away and crossed my skinny kid legs really tight. That made him turn bright red all over his face and neck. I guess he was about thirty-five or so. He'd been telling me all about his little girl and how much he loved her, just before I felt his damned hand up under my plaid skirt. Your little girl better watch out, you bastard, I remember thinking as I waited for a split second before jumping away from his hand.
"But I didn't tell the bus driver; I didn't tell anyone, even though I was the pet of the other passengers, who'd sort of appointed themselves my family-in-transit. At the next lunch stop, I sat next to him and ordered the kind of meal I'd always dreamed of--steak and potatoes, salad and dessert. He knew I was living on pennies, and he knew what I wanted him to do. As I daintily wiped my mouth at the end of my first real feast, he quickly picked up my check and paid for my lunch at the cash register.
"From then on, all I had to do in order to eat like the Queen of the Lunch Counter was to let him feel me up once or twice an hour, and I had it made. I was never obvious about it--I'd just let him finger my pussy place for a few seconds, then move away, adjust my skirt like the properly brought up young lady that I was, and go on talking or reading or whatever. The other passengers didn't think it was strange that we sat together for the rest of the trip; they felt that he was lonesome for his daughter, and was trying to help me feel less homesick for my dear old Dad. If only they'd known! But they didn't and I got off that bus and ran into my Grandma's arms a good five pounds heavier than I'd been when I got on back in Pennsylvania. The only other change in me since the beginning of the bus trip was that I'd discovered a great new way to fill my piggybank while enjoying myself a lot--having SEX.
"Because I did enjoy what that dirty guy was doing to my little pink pussy. The touch of his hand through my cotton panties was very exciting to me, after the first shock, and although I felt nothing but disgust for him, I liked the feelings he was awakening in my virgin body. I'd never played with myself, and the few talks my mother had had time to give me on the subject of sex had been so vague that I hadn't really been impressed with them one way or the other. So here I was, being fingered ever so lightly on my little-girl cunt by a man not much younger than my father, almost in front of a bus full of smiling passengers who all thought the cute little girl and the nice fatherly man were having a heart-to-heart talk about the Girl Scouts, or something.
"By the end of that bus trip, I was turned on to sex and men and, incidentally, making both of them pay, pay, pay. I hadn't planned to be an actual hooker ever, but I began to see the advantages of being pretty, smelling good, and letting the guy who wanted into my cunt think he was getting a real lady--a girl who wouldn't ever let just anyone do horny things to her. There had been several times when my meal-ticket daddy had gotten his fingers just to the edge of my panty-crotch, and the thought of letting him go ahead and put his hand on my stark-naked pussyhole began to excite me so that I almost did it once or twice when the bus was speeding along through the desert darkness.
"The first time, I'd been sleeping against his shoulder, cuddled up real sweet, as if he was a lover and not a father-figure. I was half-awakened by the light touch of his hand on my budding breast--I hadn't started wearing a bra yet--and nothing was between his warm hand and my small, high titty but my nylon blouse. The unfamiliar feeling of my nipple going erect woke me completely, but by this time I wanted to be caressed and petted, and I went on 'sleeping' while I cuddled closer to him so that he was cupping my breast in his hand and giving it the faintest squeeze. Then, as my body began tingling under his touch, I felt his other hand slipping slowly, lightly, up my leg, under my skirt.
"I moved in my 'sleep' so that my legs were spread a bit, and cuddled even closer to him. His hand crept higher and higher on my leg, now slipping to the inside of my thigh, all the way to the edge of my panties, right next to my pussy. I moved again, still 'sleeping,' and now his hand was all the way over my pussy, pressing against it the least bit, but enough to let me know it could be harder if I wanted it to be. I wanted it. I didn't know what was giving me the feelings of delight that were racing all over my body, I just knew that I was in the darkness, being petted and cuddled the way my own father never had cuddled me, not even when I was a baby.
"I loved it, so I let my legs go even looser and sort of scooted up a bit on the bus seat--up enough to press my vibrating virgin cunt against the hand that was awakening it. He moved his fingers then, and I flew even higher in my first ecstasy, for one of those fingers had pressed against my love-but-ton, my clitoris, and an electric shock went through me. I think he knew by this time that I wasn't asleep any more, but I didn't open my eyes, I just went on moving slowly around, never letting my crotch get away from his hand. His hand that had been fondling my breast so lightly now squeezed harder; he tickled my tiny clit so that I began to experience the new thrill of beginning a climax. It was an unbelievable sensation.
"I could hear him breathing into my hair, feel him kissing softly the skin on my forehead, feel his hands playing my body as if it was a violin. Then just as I was ready to let his fingers slip underneath the cotton panties that were between his hand and my pussy, the bus stopped suddenly and the lights went on. 'Rest stop, everyone,' said the driver, and we quickly moved apart. It was turning day outside, the sunrise red over the desert, and that was the end of anything but those fleeting feelies that he kept stealing all day whenever he thought no one was looking.
"That night was the last night of the trip and I knew he was waiting for the sun to go down and the bus to get dark. As soon as the last reading light had gone out over the last sleepy passenger, I fell 'asleep' against his shoulder again, and those warm hands began their journey over my young, trembling body. Once more, it started with a faint touch on the small breast close to his hand, the hand that he was using to steady me against the swaying of the bus. In the close darkness of our seat, we both went into the same acting that we'd gone through the night before in order to realize our desires.
"As I 'slept,' he touched me, now on my leg, now my thigh, so that I wanted to feel him stroking me all over. But at first he only touched, sending tiny stabs of pleasure and a pin-pricking awareness of sex all over my skin. In my mind, I could see how his hands must look on my body--the short, soft hairs on the backs of those hands, the light tan that contrasted with the white shirt cuff that lay against his wrist. I especially liked his fingers, because they were long and gentle, and without the calluses that I'd known as the norm for a man's hands. Those fingers now began a delicate stroking of my thigh, and I eagerly spread my legs for him so that he would put his hand against my cloth-covered pussy again. He did, softly covering my pussy with his. hand, and then pressed harder and harder until, when his fingers started moving and rubbing me, I was ready to cry out with the wonderful feeling it gave me.
"This time there was no pretense--even though I kept my eyes closed, he knew I was awake, and he knew I wanted more than we'd had the night before. So he gave me all he could without actually putting his fingers inside my virgin cunt. As much as I scorned him for playing sex games with a twelve-year-old girl, I must, now that I think back, respect him for doing without the pleasure of fingerfucking my slit, because I was so turned on to him that I would have let him do anything he wanted with me.
"Some stirring of responsibility must have stopped him from taking my virginity with his fingers, for he only rubbed and pressed my pussy from the outside of the cotton panties. And he knew how to make love to a girl, he really did! Every time I was about to climax to the probing, stroking, rubbing of his fingers, he would transfer my attention to my breast by flicking his fingertips across my nipple, lightly squeezing my whole breast, then teasing me to agony by casually moving his hand across the fabric of my blouse so that the feeling of the nylon jersey being pulled around on my bare nipple had me ready to tear off my panties and beg him to take me. Then the hand that had been lying easily against the skin of my upper thigh would begin its pressure against the side of my leg where the panties left off and my pussy began, and we'd be off again, with him fucking my pussy through my panties, actually entering my vagina a little way. I moved more quickly now, excited past caution by his hands on my body. But he was older, much older, and much more experienced than I, and he kept his wits about him enough to slow me down so that the other passengers had no suspicion of what we were doing.
"At last he guided my hand to the huge, hard swelling that I'd noticed under the fly of his slacks whenever I peeked at his crotch during the day as he was feeling my pussy. I pulled my hand away, even though I was excited with what he'd been doing up until then. Patiently, he rubbed my pussy through my panties again until I was pressing up against his hand, and once more took my own hand in his and firmly placed it on his throbbing cock. I could feel every inch of him through the cloth of his slacks, and I now wanted to rub and squeeze him as he'd been doing to me.
"He had left a magazine lying across his lap when he turned out our reading light, and now I knew why he had left it there. Underneath the cover of that magazine, I was getting my first anatomy lesson concerning the erect cock of the adult male. No sexual experience could have ever been more exciting for a young girl than that one. That a man of thirty-five was having sex with a girl of twelve didn't matter to me then. All I knew was that I was enjoying myself more than I ever had in my life before.
"I instinctively did what he needed to come to his own climax. I held his rock-hard rod tightly in my hand and rubbed up and down, up and down, until he, too, was straining forward as much as he could without being too noticeable about it. I loved the feeling of satisfaction that I got when I saw how he responded to my hand on his joint. The magazine miraculously stayed put as he carefully unzipped his fly and put my hand inside his pants, inside his shorts. Now I could feel the warm, soft skin that covered his hardness, and I became more excited than I'd been before, even when he'd been slowly inserting his finger as far as he could through my panties and into my pussyhole. I felt the tip of his cock and it was all wet and sticky--he'd come in his shorts as I was feeling him the first time.
"The swaying of the bus as it went around a curve threw us together and he pulled me close to his side and put his hand against my now wet pussy, his fingers under the edge of my panties just enough to touch the side of my still-innocent labia. I arched my back toward him, at the same time keeping my hold on his hot cock. All of a sudden a feeling of strange delight began to gather in my body, and I rubbed him faster, not caring any more whether the other people on the bus saw us or not. Just as I reached my first climax, a stream of warm, thick come squirted out of the end of his big cock, and I felt in my hand the result of his teaching--a lesson I've never forgotten.
"The next morning, after we'd got our luggage together and I'd introduced him to my grandmother, he bent and kissed me very lightly on the lips. 'So long, sweetheart--keep smiling. Someday you may be a movie star. Just be careful who you talk to on buses and trains.' Then he walked away, and we went home to Grandma's house. My brand-new piggybank was waiting for me on top of the dresser that had been my mother's when she was a little girl. Piggy's first dinner from me was the ten-dollar bill that had been slipped into my hand by the man who'd taught my body how to make love, how to waken from girlhood, how to climax.
"In the years that followed, as I set one foot ahead of the other on my climb to wealth and security, I all but forgot the man on the cross-country bus. I was so busy learning--learning acting technique, stage movement, all the things I'd need to be the successful star my grandmother had always wanted to be.
"It had been her constant pushing to get my mother into acting lessons, casting offices and bit parts in motion pictures, that the girl who was to become that broken woman back East ran away and married the first man who told her he loved her--my father. The disappointment, of my mother's desertion of what she believed to be a promising career as an actress never left my grandmother's mind, and so when I wrote to her, begging to live with her instead of in the teeming slum that was the only place my father could keep us, she accepted me as another daughter, another chance to vicariously live the fame she'd never known.
"Years went by--busy years, happy years, years when I slowly perfected the technique of offering my body, or some part of it, as an exchange for whatever I most needed at the moment. My body bought me food, since the money that kept Grandma and me wasn't enough for even a sack lunch after we paid for the expensive lessons Grandma insisted I needed to become a star. There was always dinner at home, but if I wanted lunch, I knew I'd better find a likely male who had the price of it in his pockets, then butter him up without ever quite lying down with him.
By and by, as I became known in the different studios where I answered casting calls for extras, I found out who was--and wasn't--interested in semi-supporting a beautiful young woman who'd look very good on his arm at parties, premiers, and in the news shots and publicity photos that the studios are always sending out.
"One day I was walking through the old Metro lot, in costume as an Egyptian slave girl, when I felt a firm hand under my elbow, and a deep voice said, 'Don't panic--ole Pharaoh's not gonna eat you up. He just wants to see that you get a nice lunch.' I looked up, and the star of the film we were making was actually holding my arm, steering me toward the commissary, taking an interest in me, an unknown extra! Wow! I thought, I do believe this is it! We had lunch, and I skillfully drew the conversation around to his problems, his life, his looks--for anyone who's ever known an actor will tell you how easy it is to get them to talk about themselves!
"By the time he'd told me about himself for an hour, he was convinced I was the most interesting girl on the lot, maybe even in Hollywood. He was going through a divorce at the time--his second--and he wanted company, a shoulder to cry on. I readily supplied him with both. We were soon what the gossip columnists call an 'item' and in a matter of two months, I was living with him in his Bel Air mansion. My acting lessons continued, however, and I had Grandma as an almost live-in guest.
"Things were really looking up--for him, too. Somehow, getting rid of his wife had freed him of the tension that kept him from being the fine actor he was now becoming, and more and better parts started coming his way.
"Our sex life was wonderful. Joe was the perfect lover--passionate, considerate, affectionate. After six months of an exciting, glamorous affair, we were married in a little chapel in Acapulco, and I knew then that all the working and saving and conniving had been worthwhile--I was the wife of a dear, good man who just happened to be one of the world's up-and-coming motion picture stars, and was also quite comfortably wealthy as a result of having invested his earnings in California real estate. No more slums for this lady, ever. No more fighting the rats to get to the garbage can, no more hiding my piggybank from my drunken father, no more hearing my mother call the police when she thought we couldn't hear her and ask if there was any news of my dad's whereabouts, or if he was safely in jail again.
"Grandma was overjoyed, but she insisted on my continuing with the lessons for which we'd done without. 'You never know, Betsy--a woman should always have a trade in case she needs to earn her own way someday. Keep on learning and you'll never starve, with or without a husband.' I took her advice and enrolled in the finest drama academy on the West coast. Along with all the other things that Joe's money could buy, it brought my mother--my father had died three years ago as the result of a fall while he was on one of his drunken toots--and the two kids that were still at home to the West coast, and we installed them as proud homeowners in a comfortable house not far from where we lived. I thought I had everything.
"Then one day I called the phone number of a masseuse who had been recommended by a friend of mine. All the rich food I'd been gobbling since coming to live with Joe had begun to show in a very unattractive layer of fat, and I knew if I wanted to get even a second lead that I'd better stay slim. So I called Ilsa, and when she started rubbing my body, something about her strong, capable hands seemed so familiar that my heart quite literally turned over. I couldn't remember for the life of me who'd touched me that way, who'd stroked me into an awareness of my own body that I'd never known before. Even though Joe and I had a good sexual relationship, and even though I enjoyed myself tremendously in his arms, there had always been something missing--something I could never put my finger on, but that I wanted so much that I pushed it out of my mind because I thought I'd never have it.
"Now, the professional hands of a masseuse, a woman I'd only known for a half-hour, were reawakening memories that I'd buried under a landslide of need, an avalanche of ambition. Where did I know that touch? Who had stroked my body in just that way--firmly but lightly, rhythmically but capably? After a few minutes of puzzling over this half-forgotten sensation, I let my mind and body be lulled by Ilsa's expert touch and drifted into a hazy, half-waking state where impressions went slipping by like clouds across a summer sky. Suddenly I sat up on the massage table, my towel falling away, and I nearly shouted aloud, 'That's it! The man on the cross-country bus!' "Good sense kept my mouth shut and I explained my sudden movement to Ilsa as the result of a muscle twinge. We went on with the massage, but now I was tingling all over as my body remembered my first sexual experience, when the hands of a man in a dark bus taught me to climax. I knew that the worst thing I could do was tell Ilsa about this--and certainly, never ever could I talk about it to Joe. His frail actor's ego would never survive the blow that I would give it by telling him that I was more turned on by the hands of a masseuse than I was by the whole body of a gorgeous film star--who just happened to be my husband.
"So the days went by, with me tingling to the touch of my masseuse while still madly in love with my husband. It was a good thing that I'd become such a fine little actress--my training in that area was all that kept me from giving away the whole thing to both husband and masseuse. I hadn't been able to climax to Ilsa's touch as yet, because naturally, she was only massaging the areas of my body that needed it, in her opinion. Unfortunately, the part of me that needed her massage more than anywhere else was my hungry pussy, with my breasts running a close second. But how to get her to do it without having her think I was a roaring lesbian? I wasn't, at least not at that time. I just wanted Ilsa to rub my pussy, massage my clitoris, stroke my breasts the way the man in the bus had done. I wanted it so much that as weeks went by, I could think of nothing else.
"Everything went by the board, because I just couldn't stop myself from thinking about the man on the bus, about his hands, his touch, and how much better it had been then the loving my husband gave me, how much more exciting it had been than the different affairs I'd had before I was married. Even though I'd never had a lesbian experience, or even known a lesbian girl, I started fantasizing about Ilsa, about how I could get her to rub my pussy, maybe squeeze my breasts or even kiss my lips lightly, as the man on the bus had done so long ago.
"Unbelievable? Yes, it was unbelievable that a woman who had so much in material wealth, so much in married affection, so much in the way of a beginning career in films, should risk losing everything for the sake of reliving her first sex experience. But it had become an obsession--I had to experience once more the feelings that I'd first known in that cramped bus seat with the gentle lecher who had become in my memory, the man-on-the-bus.
"I began masturbating for the first time in my life, because I was so frustrated and confused. Joe made love to me three or four nights a week, and sometimes oftener. I was losing interest in our lovemaking because I wanted something different--I wanted those soft, gentle hands on my body--I wanted the forbidden-fruit situation of a little girl and an older man touching each other in the middle of a group of people who didn't know what they were doing. I wanted to feel naughty, to go back and do it all over again--but I couldn't and knowing I couldn't was turning me into a mooning neurotic.
"The days when Ilsa came to the house to give me a massage were red-letter days for me--I bathed, shaved my legs, douched, perfumed my skin, made up my face and did my hair as carefully as I once did for a lover. But except for the flush of passion that Ilsa's hands brought to my face and breasts, I couldn't bring myself to indicate in any way that I wanted her fingers in my pussy, on my breasts and hips. When she did massage my shoulders, I tried to move in such a way that her hands would have to rub over my breasts, but it didn't work--she was too professional to slip and perhaps offend a good customer. As I lay on the massage table, I planned things that I would do to force her to touch my cunt, rub my clit, maybe even kiss me. I never did any of them--I was too shy, too inexperienced to know how to begin. " In his book Cunnilingus and Fellatio, Dr. John F. Trimble devotes Chapter 6 to the childhood trauma or pleasure fixation. Trimble says, "The childhood trauma or pleasure fixation quite frequently involves an approach by an adult which ends in a completed sexual act." He then goes on to quote Kinsey's studies which show:
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... something like 24% (of female children) are sexually approached by adults in preadolescence, and that among these, 2% engage in either cunnilingus or fellatio with the adult... For those approached who are in a gentle and seductive manner, and for many of a precocious constitution who are approached by strangers, these prepubertal contacts with adults have the capacity for establishing a primary preference or fixation. Simply stated, if the experience produced pleasure or orgasm, the individual may be prompted to repeat it in later life When the developing child or adult does have an erotic heterosexual relationship, there can easily be a fixation of this form of expression. The roots may lie much farther back with the infantile urge for sucking, but the need becomes fixated and primary because of the drama, the trauma, of reacting to the living experience.
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Much the same as a child will subconsciously pattern itself after it's parent or parents, so it will frequently fix its sexuality on the first gratifying (or terrifying) sex act that it experiences. Thus will a girl of tender years find it impossible to become excited by a boy of her own age, and find it most titillating to be made love to by a man some twenty years her senior. Similarly, a boy who has been seduced by his neighbor's wife who is perhaps fat, slovenly and not too bright, will continually seek out women who remind him of the fat, slovenly type woman who first taught him to climax in a female body. Fortunately, not too many boys are seduced by fat, slovenly, stupid women, but enough people have had very early sex experiences that implanted in their minds either extreme pleasure or fright, and they then mate, time and time again, with love objects who fit most closely the description and/or personality of their very first sex partner. How many times have we said, upon observing an unlikely couple with an age difference of fifteen to twenty years, or some other unusual pairing situation, "I don't know what they see in each other!"
What people see in each other "that excites or stimulates them has everything to do with their choice of mates. The all-powerful subconscious mechanism which remembers everything we see, do, hear, and think records all the impulses, pleasant and unpleasant, that occur in the course of a lifetime. So it is that, against all reason and intelligent information, an individual will deliberately choose the one person in their acquaintance who makes them unhappy ("Mother taught me to be unhappy--she loved, to suffer") or happy ("I had a good childhood--ray parents both loved me.") or emotionally crippled ("Everything I do turns to shit--I just can't win!") or productive and well-balanced ("When you're down and out, pick up your head and shout--I'm down and out!"). With all this rolling around in our minds, is it any wonder that "good" marriages are so unusual as to be quite remarkable? How few of us overcome the negative patterning we received as children and take a positive stand in our life style? How many of us trot docilely along to the psychiatrists' couch and lay down our bodies and our money in an effort to change the things we want to change, and enhance the things that do go right in spite of it all? And how many of us find ourselves in the position of marrying two or three times--to two or three "different" people, all of whom look, act and react in the same way?
Betsy's case is, therefore, not at all unusual--it's perhaps a bit more dramatic than most, but still typical enough to be included in this study of fixated wives. She tells us that her sexual relationship with her husband, whom she loves, is satisfying until she encounters a "familiar" touch while her masseuse is giving her a massage. Then she suddenly remembers her early sex experience with the man on the bus and her world is no longer the pleasant place it once was--all because her first neural pattern having to do with sexual release was with a man she didn't know, for whom she had great scorn, whom she used as a meal ticket, and whom she's not seen from that day this. That the light, gentle touch belongs to the hands of a female is enough to make the attraction that much more exciting to Betsy, who now indulges in masturbatory homosexual fantasies, plots ways in which she can seduce the masseuse, and finally does have a homosexual affair with said masseuse as soon as her husband leaves town. She tells us the rest of her story:
* * *
"Then Joe signed a contract to make an important film in Italy and went away on location, with me planning to join him as soon as I could rent the house and pack my things for Rome. That took away the one source of sexual satisfaction I had and I increased my masturbation to three or four times a day, saying that I needed a nap, or was going to take a bath. On the days that Ilsa rubbed me, my own fingers got the hardest workout of all--I literally mashed my clitoris for an hour at a time trying to find relief from the awful sexual pressure that was building within me.
"In an effort to stop thinking about the whole thing, I took the car and drove around until I felt like shopping. After I'd parked, I realized that I didn't need anything, that I could do much better by waiting until I got to Rome and shopping there. But I was out and dressed and ready for something--anything--to happen.
"As I walked along the shopping center sidewalk, the display in the window of a bookstore caught my eye. It was a group of books that were all about the sexual revolution, about the sexual hangups that people had and how they got rid of them. That's for me, I thought. Before I got hungup over Ilsa and that damned man-on-the-bus, I was a happy girl. Maybe they have a book that will help mixed-up Betsy. I went in and asked for something that dealt with children who had been molested in their pre-teen years--I didn't know what else to ask for.
"The female clerk tactfully led the way to a large table with a display similar to the one in the window--book after book about sex, love and the weird hangups that people will have. I picked up one or two books until I found what I wanted, a psychological text on the results of early sex experience, and was ready to leave when I saw a magazine rack with some of the wildest magazines on it that you could ever imagine. I mean, I knew what pornography was, but I didn't know it could be actually beautiful.
"The photographs in those magazines were in color, and they were good. I bought one with a picture of two half-nude girls on the cover. They were gazing at each other like people in love, and one of them was fondling the other's breast, which was in full view outside her unbuttoned blouse. That picture turned me on almost as much as the thought of Ilsa doing the same thing to me.
"After buying a few bottles of wines and some rum for mixed drinks, I went on home. It was one of those hot, dry Southern California days when the santana winds blow in off the desert and make everyone feel sort of--strange and daring. At least, that was the way I felt when the santana blew in, and that's the way I was feeling now. I was so tense that I mixed myself a rum cooler and after I'd had that one and was halfway through the second, I decided to look at my new magazine.
"As I said, I had never thought of myself as a lesbian--or even as a girl with a healthy curiosity about making it with another girl. But as I looked at the beautiful female bodies in that magazine, and at what those girls were doing to each other, I began getting hotter than even the desert winds could make me. I had the maid bring me another rum cooler and went to the phone to call Ilsa. 'Ilsa, this stupid hot wind has my nerves on edge--do you have the time to come over and give me a fast rub to relax me?' I asked, knowing very well that Wednesday was her day off.
" 'Well, for you I'll make an exception, Betsy,' came Ilsa's lilting, accented voice. 'It's my day off, but I'm just sitting around the house and I'd like to get out. See you in fifteen minutes,' she said, and rung off.
"I could hardly contain myself--I had no idea of what I was going to do, if indeed I was going to do anything beside get another of those maddeningly sexy, yet unfulfilling massages. I gave the servants the afternoon off, told the answering ser vice to take all our calls and headed for my bedroom. When Ilsa let herself into the house I was already naked, perfumed with my most expensive scent, and quivering with anticipation.
"As she walked into my bedroom in her immaculate blue uniform, Ilsa looked like a Viking maiden--all golden hair and tawny skin and blue eyes that immediately saw that I'd been drinking. 'You shouldn't drink in the middle of the day, especially when you're drinking alone,' she chided.
" 'If you have a drink with me, I won't be drinking alone, will I?' I asked, and poured her a tall one from the pitcher I'd brought to my bedroom. Ilsa's blue eyes seemed to be looking through my skull, right into my mind.
" 'Thank you, Betsy,' she said, and sat down on the bed to enjoy her drink. Then she caught sight of the magazine I'd been reading and the blue eyes got quite wide 'Is this your magazine, Betsy?' she asked incredulously.
" 'Yes, I just bought it,' I said, as casually as I could. 'I think it's very interesting. Would you like to read it?' "Ilsa picked up the magazine very slowly, looking at me the whole time. 'I didn't know you were interested in such things,' she murmured as she glanced through the first few pages.
" 'They all have such good figures, don't you think?' I responded, being as detached about it as I could. My heart beat wildly as I saw how Ilsa's glance became a gaze, and the gaze turned into a long, long look at a picture of two girls who were clasped together so tightly that their naked breasts were almost flattened against each other.
" 'Yes, their bodies are very--exciting,' she agreed, and her choice of words gave me a sudden surge of hope. Could it be that Ilsa, my tall, beautiful masseuse, was getting turned on from the magazine? Did she, too, have a longing to be caressed and kissed by a woman? I told myself sternly that I was imagining things, and as she seemed to be finished with her drink and the magazine, I rolled over on the bed and said, 'I'm too lazy to get on the table today, Ilsa. Couldn't you just give me my massage here on the bed?' " 'I don't like to do that, Betsy--you won't have the right amount of tension and all you'll get will be a little stroking.' "Oh, God, if she only knew that was what I wanted! 'Please, Ilsa, all I want is to be relaxed today--I don't care if we take off any more inches for a while. Rub me on the bed.' "For her answer, Ilsa opened the small attache case she used to carry her supplies and spread a small towel on the bed under my hips. Then spreading a handful of lotion over my tummy, she started to massage away the tension. As she continued to rub my belly and waist, the relaxing muscle tension was replaced by another kind of tension--the tension in the air between two people who want to make love to each other. There was no mistaking it; I'd felt it too many times before with men who'd wanted my body to interpret it as something else.
"Sure enough, as she went on to my shoulders, her hands worked closer and closer to my breasts, and became gentler than they'd ever been before. This was no knead-off-the-fat, tone-up-the-muscles massage--this was the touch of a lover, the touch that had lived in my subconscious for thirteen years and was now flooding my mind with sensations I'd known were right under the surface of my skin.
"Ilsa's face came closer to my body as she bent over the bed to delicately massage the flesh all around my breasts, while deliberately avoiding any contact with the actual breasts themselves. 'If you're uncomfortable bending over like that, you might as well sit on the bed,' I said, hoping that her professional attitude would stay away and her desire for me would take over so that this tingling excitement would never end. She didn't answer, but she did sit down on the edge of the bed and, continuing to massage my waist and belly muscles, again bent close to my body, so close that I could feel her breath on my skin.
"Her hands were getting more and more like those of a lover--she slid them over and around my belly, up and down my waist, around and around my titties until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to say something to get her to caress my breasts, where the nipples were already erect and waiting for the sucking, tonguing kisses I wanted from this blonde beauty. The best I could come up with was, 'Do you think there's anything to the idea that regular massage will make the breasts fuller?' I could hardly get through that, I was so panting with desire.
" 'Some say yes, some say no. Don't you think your breasts are full enough, Betsy?' asked Ilsa as she went on circling my breasts with her strong, gentle hands.
" 'Does anyone under an E cup think her breasts are full enough?' I joked, and Ilsa giggled along with me.
"Then suddenly we weren't giggling anymore, because Ilsa's hands had finally found my round, quivering tits and she was kneading them, lightly brushing her palms over my nipples, and never taking her eyes off my face. I looked deeply into her eyes and saw the mixture of desire and lust I had dreamed of seeing there. A moan came from somewhere inside my soul, and I moved my body up, toward those marvelous hands that were now cupping and holding my breasts as though they had been made for just that.
"Ilsa's face was turning to a rosy blush, her breath was coming faster, and her mouth was open and making a sort of sucking motion. 'Oh, God, Ilsa, that feels so good!' I cried, wiggling uncontrollably under her hands. In the moving around, one of my hands found its way to her thigh, which was resting just beside it on the bed. Her flesh was firm and well-muscled without being actually masculine. As my hand felt her upper thigh through the fabric of her uniform I was reminded of the forbidden excitement of feeling the huge hard cock of my first lover--the man-on-the-bus.
"Without knowing how I did it, I started stroking Ilsa's thigh, going higher and higher with each stroke, closer and closer to her warm, sexy-smelling cunt. 'Betsy, Betsy, don't stop, please don't stop,' she begged in a whisper. So I was right; she did want me, maybe as much as I wanted her. I started my next stroke at her knee and as I ran my hand up her gorgeous leg, I made sure I went under her uniform skirt--on the way to her pussy.
"She gasped when she realized that I wasn't going to stop--not until we'd both had our fill of loving each other, of kissing. As my hand reached her furry lovenest, I found that she wasn't wearing a girdle--or even panties. There was nothing between me and my beautiful masseuse but the soft, damp baby curls around the entrance to her delicious cunt "Just as my fingers began irresistibly searching for the jewel of her clitoris, she unbuttoned her uniform and pulled open the top half of it. Her breasts were full and high, not even half covered by a bra of white lace. It must have been a push-up bra, because I could see the aureola around her rosy nipples, and I used my other hand to free one of those luscious breasts from the lacy bra. Ilsa bent closer to me and, taking the naked breast in her hand, she guided her large, erect nipple into my waiting mouth. At first I was so entranced with what I was doing to Ilsa that I hardly noticed what she was doing to me, but as I sucked on her nipple, flicking the tip of my tongue across it without letting that breast out of my hungry mouth, I realized that she had gathered me into her arms and was tenderly cradling me to her body as I sucked and tongued her breast "My hand had taken on a life of its own, for I could feel my fingers sliding along the lips of her vagina, seeking that elusive lovebutton, her clit. I found it, and now my fingers really began to fly across her pussy as I did to Ilsa what I'd been doing to my own starving pussy for so many weeks. She moaned, and held me tighter, squeezing my breasts and kissing my face with a hundred little kisses that somehow seemed sexier than all the big, hot kisses I'd had before. Then our mouths met in a kiss that went straight to my soul, past all the lonely years and hard work and even past the happy times with Joe--all the way back to my childhood.
"We clung together for what seemed like an eternity, our lips melting together, our tongues probing madly into each other's mouths, until there was just one body, one mouth, one tongue. Somehow I took off Ilsa's uniform and half slip and we were naked together, except for her bra. My fingers shook as I unhooked it--and then my face was surrounded by her breasts, by the ripe, sweet flesh that was Ilsa.
"I pulled her down on the bed with me and we started another kiss that went on and on until we were grinding our bellies together, our legs entwined so that I could feel her dripping cunt against my thigh and I knew she could feel mine against hers. Our legs began to loosen as our hips pushed us closer, then apart, then pressed together again in a movement that finally ended in our spreading wide apart and fitting our throbbing pussies together, clit to clit, slit to slit, our bodies arched toward each other so that we could get the most feeling out of each other's lower lips and now hard, pointing clits.
"In this mood of fulfillment and ecstasy we rubbed each other to climax after climax, using fingers, legs, hands and mouths. We licked each .other's skins as though the taste was more delicious than ambrosia. Ilsa touched the very tip of my clitoris with her fingers and I came so quickly that she didn't even have to move her hand; for I did all the moving, bucking, rearing, my body flying up and down on the bed, out of control, wanting only to continue forever this incredible joy for which I'd waited so long.
"My Ilsa was now madly thrusting, too, coming on my hand, which was ramming in and out of her dripping pussy with the speed of a jet-driven machine. I could feel the vibrations in her vagina as she started still another climax. Then it occurred to me that what I'd always wanted to see was a pussy in the middle of a climax, pulsing and sucking on whatever was inside it. Moving my body around, I positioned myself until I could see right into Ilsa's wild, clenching cunt.
"The flower-like thing that was the center of this exquisite woman was a deep rose-red, satiny and shiny from the secretions pouring out of it onto my hand. Her odor was utterly female, and maddeningly desirable. Just one taste--I'm not really a lesbian, I thought, but I must have just one taste of this woman. I touched my tongue to her clitoris, then sluiced it back and forth across her pussy, forgetting all my reservations about lesbianism, about everything, in my frenzy.
"As my tongue found its way into the smooth recesses of Ilsa's quivering cunt, she rolled around until she was right under me, her mouth just an inch or so away from my pussyhole. Then she reached up and pulled my hips down so that I was almost sitting on her face. In this position, we passionately sucked each other to yet more climaxes, working our tongues and lips over and around the throbbing cunt lips and clits we'd wanted so much.
"Finally, we were utterly exhausted, satiated with the realization of the needs we'd kept secret for months. Without even moving from the sixty-nine position we'd been in during our last eating of each other, we fell asleep, twined together like two vines, heavy with flowers, resting for the night.
" 'What the hell is this all about?' came a familiar voice out of a blinding light. Frantically, we leaped up from the bed, Ilsa trying to clutch her crumpled uniform to her naked body. My eyes grew accustomed to the light and then I knew who it was.
" 'Joe! You're supposed to be in Rome! Are you all right?' I was beside myself--how could I have hurt this man whom I loved so much, who had given me his trust?
" 'I'm just fine, Betsy, and I'm thrilled to see that you seem to be doing rather well, yourself,' he said. 'I had some crazy idea that you might be lonely for me, so while the crew was looking for new locations, I jumped on a jet and here I am--surprise, surprise!' "'Oh, darling, please don't be hurt! I couldn't help myself, ever since I started remembering the man-on-the-bus, and Ilsa's hands were so good, and I love only you, but I had to do this, I couldn't go on without doing it,' I babbled on in my need to make him understand. 'Understand me, lover, please understand why I did it,' I begged him, and went to weeping.
" 'It was my fault, Joe, I did it all, Betsy had nothing to do with any of it. I take the entire responsibility,' said my brave, loyal Ilsa.
"Joe said nothing at all for a long moment, then he pulled out his handkerchief and dried my tears. 'I've always wondered a lot about something, and maybe you girls can help me,' he said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. 'I've always wondered whether the rules that they made up for enjoying another person were all that fair. I mean, I've known some really great guys who were homosexual--gays who would give you everything they had if you asked them for help. And the lesbian girls I've known have been, generally speaking, a good lot of fine women who loved maybe once in a lifetime and stayed with it, gave the relationship all they could give, in the face of the most awful jeering criticism from established society. When I first came in, I'll admit I was shocked. But I knew something was bothering my little Betsy for the last couple of months, and I also knew somehow that I should come home and see if I could help her.' " 'Joe, oh Joe, darling, I love you so--do you understand just a little? I never meant to hurt you,' I said, ready to cry again.
" 'I didn't say hurt, Betsy, I said shocked, as in surprised, amazed,' Joe said calmly. 'I thought there was some other guy you were in love with, and finding you with Ilsa was, well, a surprise. I'm adjusting to it, now. It may be that I'm even turning on a bit to the way you two beauties looked together, lying there like two lovely statues asleep. Ilsa, I had no idea you were so tan all over. Are you a nudist, or do you just sunbathe on your roof?' Joe was looking at Ilsa appraisingly, appreciatively, as he spoke.
"Ilsa actually blushed all over her long, lithe body. 'I'm a nudist, Joe. It's a wonderful way of life.' " 'I can see that it agrees with you, Ilsa. Maybe we'll join you one weekend, if your group has visitors,' my husband said.
"Now it was my turn to be surprised, amazed. Instead of being the wronged husband, instead of turning me out of his house in disgrace, here was this fantastic person trying to relate intelligently to the whole thing. Life is full of wonders, I thought to myself.
"Joe was speaking again. 'If I may tell you girls a secret, one of my favorite fantasies is the one where I find myself in bed with two gorgeous, sexy girls, and we're all doing delicious things to each other. I really believe there should be no boundaries to love, and I'm willing to demonstrate the strength of my convictions right here and now.' So saying, Joe took off his sweater and unzipped his slacks. As he pulled down his shorts, we could see how strong his convictions were--his cock was fully erect, standing straight out from his groin, big and hot, with a drop of clear fluid at the end of it.
"I'm dreaming, I thought, having the sexiest dream I've ever had. But I woke up fast when I felt my husband's big rockhard cock pushing into me. He had mounted me as I sat there on the bed, and was pulling me closer to him when Ilsa sat down beside us and started stroking my nipples the way she had when we first started our lovemaking, hours--or was it lifetimes?--ago. Then she put her arms around both Joe and me as we moved together and apart, together and apart.
"Suddenly, I wanted to share my two loves with each other.
"Slipping out of Joe's arms, I pushed Ilsa gently into position to receive Joe's big, hard cock between her legs. Then with a few stroking motions, I moved Ilsa so that her legs were spread apart, her wet, sweet pussy glowing pink in the center of her body. This excited Joe, so much that he plunged his rod quickly into her cunt, and I could see the juice oozing out of her as his huge joint pressed the walls of her joybox to their limit. Then they were fucking and moaning and writhing, and as I watched them, I wanted to touch them, to touch the fury and energy of their loving. I worked my hands between their bodies and felt Joe's balls as they banged against Ilsa's ass. My fingers crept around to where Ilsa's clit was now erect and I massaged her until, between Joe's cock and my fingers, she cried out and began the uncontrollable motions of her climax. Higher and higher she went, flying, screaming softly in her moment of rapture.
"We all lay together then for hours, not speaking, sleeping a little, mostly just holding each other and kissing fondly, experiencing a warmth and communion of spirit that made our separate lives seem cold and lonely by comparison. Ilsa moved in with us the next day, and we now have frequent lovemaking sessions with Joe, myself, Ilsa and, now and then, one of our other friends who turns on to the same sharing. We don't see anything but good in what we do, but the rest of the world would probably call us filthy orgiasts. Truth is, our lives are greatly enriched and we're very happy--so the rest of the world can just mind its own business."
* * *
Lesbianism is as old as life itself. The notion of sexual expression being permissible only between opposite sexes is a fairly recent invention. Ancient civilizations, notably the pre-Pelleponesian Greek culture, thought it natural and normal to have a homosexual lover or two. Indeed, lesbians get their name from the Greek island of Lesbos, an island in the Aegean Sea that was populated only by women who had female lovers exclusively.
Religious statutes against homosexual love-making have their origins in the once-necessary duty to produce as many offspring as possible in order to create more and more little Jews, Christians, Mohammedans, etc. The terrible plagues that swept the world in ancient and medieval times also made it imperative that families have many more children than we do today--if three babies out of five lived to the age of twelve, the family was considered as very fortunate, indeed. Infant mortality rates, too, made it advisable to have as many children as one could so that when a baby quietly passed on after a brief two or three months in this life, next year's baby could be counted on to take some of the sting away from the death.
As the years went by, homosexuality, along with many other forbidden things, got a bad name. By Victorian times, the very mention of such matters as men loving men or women making love to other women was so risque that ladies had been known to "faint" at these words which indicated a "filthy perversion," as it was usually called.
"Filthy perversion" had, unfortunately, become a near-accurate misnomer for cunnilingus and fellatio, the two most popular methods of sexual expression between homosexual lovers--for as the centuries went by and the remnants of Imperial Rome went behind the thick walls of their stone-castles in order to escape the raids of the Goths, Piets, and other such fierce tribes, bathing became more inconvenient, and due to the harsher winters in northern Europe, downright dangerous to the health of the freezing bather. Hence, the accumulated dirt and sweat of a year at a time would quite naturally produce filthy genitalia.
Since filthy genitalia are hardly the most savory things to suck or lick, the term "filthy perversion" came to be used more and more. Even so, as late as Elizabethan times, there were few social sanctions against homosexuality, especially the male variety. The more explicit sonnets of William Shakespeare, for example, point unmistakably to his homosexual involvement with a young nobleman of the time, as well as to his heterosexual love affairs. The advent of good Queen Victoria changed a lot of things, and almost none for the best. Sex, as such, was considered dirty, sinful, a "wife's duty," never a delight for "nice girls," and the enjoyment of dirty sex was almost strictly the prerogative of men and "loose women."
Woefully inaccurate folk tales have come down to us through our forebears, and are still making endless mischief today in the lives of millions of people who, were it not for Victorian nonsense about "purity," "a wife's duty,"
"when in doubt, suffer" and "filthy perversion," would be generally happier, more productive and certainly in less need of all that therapy, all those tranquilizers and all that divorce. Indeed, it is now generally accepted that most marital conflicts either start or are indirectly caused by poor sexual relationships which have their root in old taboos.
How much less in the way of weeping wives and ex-wives, emotionally damaged children and impoverished and bitter husbands and ex-husbands would we have in our world if good Queen Victoria had taken off her stays and kicked up her heels a bit, instead of squatting on her stuffy backside and expecting everyone in the British Empire, in fact the world, to live according to the dictates of her own sick ideas about love, sex and life?
In our age of sexual enlightenment, we see more and more people experimenting with sexual situations that were once spoken of only in hushed tones, behind closed doors. Younger couples are flatly refusing to get married until they live together for awhile, to be sure they can make it together, instead of rushing to the altar because everyone expects them to get married. "Gays," or homosexual men, are coming out of the shadows and literally demanding equal rights as human beings--the right to marry each other, adopt children, be considered as sane by an armed forces medical evaluation, and even run for public office as a declared homosexual. Wife-swapping, singles orgies and bars that exist for the sole purpose of a man or woman being able to walk in, pick up a sex partner for the evening and not be considered a person of low morals are now accomplished facts. With all this happening, and with the people involved in it sustaining little or no emotional or social damage, it's no wonder individuals who find sexual expression more wonderful with three or even four or more in the "marriage" are coming into the open and saying "... our lives are greatly enriched and we're very happy--so the rest of the world can just mind its own business."
Sadly enough, the festering rags of Victorian morality are still being hoisted as banners of truth, and society is still bound to condemn most of the "new morality" as licentious, salacious and just plain dirty, low-down conduct. The inroads that have been made on the establishment attitudes are, however, most encouraging. A freer way of life has sifted into the strongholds of middle-class, middle-aged America, as well as into other Western countries, and now instead of the older folk calling the tune to which the young ones are expected to dance, things have changed radically. Now it's the kids who set the speed for their elders who, although hard put to change, are nevertheless delighted with themselves once they discover that change, instead of being vaguely evil, is actually fun!
Like most vital cultures and subcultures, our Western civilization is in the midst of social as well as scientific, industrial and religious upheavals. It follows that the individual people who live within this civilization, while resisting change for a time, eventually accept modified forms of those very changes that seemed so sinister and dangerous just a short while ago. And, as the wheel of custom comes full circle around, it may be that the group marriages we see as a threat to the roots of the family structure are a good solution to the problems of the loneliness of the young couples of today who are all but isolated from the big family situations of fifty years ago. Group marriage involving some six to twenty people might provide society with a more closely knit, loyal, sexually relaxed unit than the present one that shows us almost as much divorce as marriage, increasing alienation from peer and family groups, and all the evils connected with this alienation.
Betsy, Ilsa and Joe found the family situation in which they were happiest while remaining responsible, productive citizens. It's entirely possible for others to do the same thing, remembering that the grim ghost of good Queen Victoria is still lurking about, and that pioneers in any field are rarely understood by the general public. Pioneers forge into new frontiers, however, and that in itself is frequently reward enough for the possible scorn of society.
CHAPTER FOUR - The Brand of Seven Boys
"For the whole twenty-five years of my marriage to Herbie I was a faithful, affectionate wife--we had three fine kids, a nice home and the latest model Cadillac--but I was only marking time until my youngest child graduated from high school and was settled in college. A week after our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, I told Herbie that I'd done my duty by him and our children and that I wanted a divorce. He nearly had a heart attack, right then and there. I'd been very quiet about my dissatisfaction with our marriage, so when I told him it was time for me to live and I wanted out, he didn't even believe me. He actually thought that I'd gone a bit insane because of all the preparations and work that had gone into our Silver Anniversary celebration--we had 150 people to a dinner dance, and all our relations were there, cheering us on. I went through it all with a smile, because I knew that in a few months I'd be on my own again--the first time since I was a girl.
"I'd met Herbie when I was nineteen and recovering from a mild nervous breakdown. He was so patient and funny that I fell in love with him right away. And he didn't care anything about the nasty stories that were going around about me in the small town where we lived. Dear Herbie just came into my life and listened to his own mind, not to the vicious gossips who were trying to ruin mine.
"A year before, I'd been taking a solitary walk down by the river, which goes through some pretty woods. I'd had a fight with my steady boyfriend and I was upset and feeling very sorry for myself because there was no one else in whom I was interested. It looked like it was going to be a dull summer--so when I accidentally walked into an all-boy barbecue on the riverbank about two miles from town, I wasn't all that alarmed; I knew some of the boys from school, and I'd dated two of them. They asked me if I wanted a hot dog, and since I'd left home before dinner, I said yes.
"We sat around, drinking beer and kidding around until it got dark, then I said I'd better start home. 'Don't try to walk home now, Ruthie,' said Tom, who was one of the boys I'd dated in our junior year. 'We'll see that you get home safely. Just stay until the fire burns down and then we'll take you home in the car.' That seemed like a better idea than walking all the way back to my house, so we sat around a little longer and then one of the new boys--a friend of Tom's--got out a pint of whiskey and the boys started sipping from that. It wasn't long before things got very relaxed--so relaxed that I let Tom put his arm around me, and then we sort of lounged back on the blanket together.
" 'One of the things I remember best about you, sweet Ruthie, is the way you kiss. Give old buddy, Tom, a kiss, Ruthie baby,' said my old buddy, Tom. I didn't want to, but I was feeling bad about breaking up with my steady, so I kissed him. Then the other boy I'd dated said he was jealous, and I'd have to kiss him, too, or he'd jump in the river and drown. We all laughed and I kissed him, maybe for a little longer than I'd kissed Tom. Next was Bobby, a kid from the next town, and after him came a boy I didn't know, but who was the cutest one of the whole gang. I wasn't the kind of girl who went around kissing boys she didn't even know, but I'd had my eye on him, and I wanted to see him again, so I kissed him, too. He didn't want to stop kissing me after the first kiss, so I let him kiss me again.
"That was what started it--Tom said he should have another kiss, and the other boys insisted that they wouldn't take me home until I kissed each one of them at least twice. I tried to get away, then, and run home, but they insisted--to the point of Tom and the cute boy holding my arms while the other ones kissed me. I struggled for a minute or two, but then I started enjoying the situation. After all, I hadn't been the most popular girl in school, even though I had lots of friends and wasn't exactly a wallflower. But here I was, on a warm summer evening, beginning to feel the effects of my first drink of whiskey, and being kissed and cuddled by seven different boys, all of whom were telling me that they weren't going to hurt me--they just wanted to have one more little kiss.
"I was beginning to get uptight again when Tom 'accidentally' put his hand over one of my breasts. Maybe I didn't jump away as fast as I should have, but the boys then were ready to each take a good, long feel of my tits while I was being held by Tom and Bobby. Before the fourth boy was done feeling me, my blouse had come undone and was gaping wide open. I tried to get away again, but the fifth boy just put his arms around me and squeezed me up against him so hard that I couldn't move. All I could do was stand there, half-terrified, half-turned on, and let him do what he wanted to me. What he wanted was to feel my breasts through the nylon bra I was wearing and press his big, young hard-on against me while he French-kissed me until I stopped struggling.
"Then they really moved in. Bobby and Tom took my blouse off, the cute boy unhooked my bra, and they all had a good, long feel of my now naked tits, and a good long suck of my nipples. All of which gave me a wild, sexy feeling growing inside my pussy--a feeling I'd never had before, because I was a virgin who'd done nothing heavier than a little light petting with my steady.
"By the time the last boy had squeezed and sucked my naked breasts and each one had French-kissed me again for good measure, I didn't care if I ever got home. Even now, I can remember the feeling of being completely helpless, and knowing that if I ran, I wouldn't get very far before they caught up with me, so why even try to get away? Why not just stay there and let them do what they wanted to do, because they'd do it anyway. After all, hadn't I heard that if rape is inevitable, you should lie back and enjoy it? While my mind was going through all these rationalizations, the boys had taken out their cocks and were lining up around me so I could feel them up, too.
"That did it--I'd never had my hands on naked, rock-hard cock before. I had their big, stiff rods in each hand for what seemed like hours--feeling first one, then the other, then two at a time. The boys were jerking their bodies back and forth as I held onto their cocks, which made it even sexier. And they were crowding around me, holding their joints out to me, begging me to jack them off next, playing with their own peters while they watched me jerk off their friends.
"Somehow, while I was fascinated with grabbing one cock after another, Tom got his hand up my skirt and into my panties, then he was rubbing his fingers over my now throbbing, twitching pussy. It was wonderful--I was scared, but I was excited, too, more excited than I'd ever been in my life. There were two boys massaging and sucking my titties, two more with their cocks jabbing at my legs and ass, and two more with their hot joysticks riding back and forth in my hands. I was so excited that I didn't even struggle when a couple of the boys took off my skirt and slip. When I felt my panties being pulled down my legs, I raised first one foot, then the other, like an obedient child who is being undressed for bed. Come to think of it, that's pretty close to what was actually happening.
"The boys were more gentle, now, as they slid their hands over my nude, trembling body--with me responding all the way. What else could I do, with seven pairs of hands caressing my hips, sliding up and down my legs, cupping and squeezing my tingling breasts, stroking my back and kneading my belly until I felt like I was being held up and loved by an ocean made of hands and cocks? One of the boys--by now, I didn't know who was doing what to me--started nuzzling my neck while he pushed his hard dick into the folds of my pussy.
"The sensuousness of all those hands, squeezing, stroking, probing every nerve and muscle of my body made me spread my thighs open just a little bit--enough for him to slide his prick all the way between my lower lips, with the warm juices of my slippery pussy smeared from my clit back to my asshole. Being so ready for the feeling of a hard shaft pressing and slipping against my cunt, I was actually eager to have one of those huge, hard young cocks fuck its way into my body.
"The possibility of being hurt crossed my mind at a dead run, but I was too hot to care. A few of the phrases I'd had pounded into my head by mother, father, church and friends followed the information about being hurt, but they went by pretty fast, too. And then my mental decks were cleared for action--the kind of action that before I found myself being made love to by seven boys at once, had given me a little shiver up my spine.
"Rape! The one word in the language that had the fear and shame behind it to keep young girls from letting themselves in for things like this--the word that kept them to lighted streets, early hours, and behind locked doors--exploded in my mind. What my parents might think and do also skittered quickly through my chaotic mind--but now, in the grip of complete passion, I shoved all fear and restraint out of my mind and let the boys on either side of me pull my legs wide, wide apart, while the boys who had been stroking my back and breasts held me up and kept on stroking.
"The boy who'd pushed his cock between my legs had taken off all his clothes and, in the glow of the firelight, I could see the great size of it. Then he was sticking that thing into the hole in the center of my wet, quivering pussy. It hurt for just a second and then he was thrusting and moaning while he grabbed my ass with both hands and sucked and bit my neck like an animal that's mating. His violence was unbelievable.
"I couldn't move--I was just a mass of sex reactions, being filled and emptied and filled again, a thousand times a second, by his firm, shooting prick. Other cocks were pressing against me, boys' voices were begging me to let them into my pussy-hole, boys' hands were tickling my clitoris, mashing and bouncing my breasts, pushing me this way and that in their wild desire to be the next one to fuck me. I'm into it now, I remember thinking--there's no way back. I might as well have a great time because it's going to be a long time before anything like this happens again.
"As soon as I felt the heated, gushing shoot of the first boy's come rush into my cunt, I turned away from his body and threw my arms around Tom's neck and kissed him with all my strength. He immediately tore off his pants and pulled me into his arms. We French-kissed for a minute and then I could feel his big, stiff cock shoving its way into my pussy--my pussy that was still dripping and flowing with the pearly-white come of the first boy who had fucked me. Tom didn't wait for anything, and I didn't want him to. We stood there, Tom in a half-crouch and me with my feet planted a good ways apart so he would have lots of room for his cock and balls between my legs.
"He bucked and reared his way to a fast, furious climax, then held me close while he whispered into my cheek, 'Oh, baby, I didn't want it this way, I didn't want to hurt you, we all got so carried away.' " 'It doesn't matter, Tommy--we're into it, and we're here, and I want it all now,' I replied. If I get pregnant, you'll just have to take up a collection!' " 'Hey, if we're going to do this, let's keep on doing it!' said another boy, and, kissing Tom once more, I turned and gave myself to a boy I didn't know--but I wanted another cock in me, right away. I wanted all seven cocks in me, one after another, all night long. I wanted to kiss and be held and felt and fucked and desired by every boy and man in the whole world. What was going to happen tomorrow would have to happen--this was now, and I was no longer thinking about anything but fucking, fucking, fucking.
"The boys had a blanket with them and my third lover laid me down on it and mounted me, all in a minute. The other boys immediately got down on the blanket with us, still kissing my face and lips and hair, still jacking themselves off a little bit as they watched us fucking our young bodies back and forth in the frenzy of sex that this night had become. I found my hips thrusting up to meet the plunging peter of the boy whose weight on me was just another excitement to my inflamed mind and body.
"Vaguely I could hear the excited voices around me: 'Hey, Ruthie's getting sexy!... She fucking up a storm!... Ruthie, baby, me next, please me next!... Goddam, this is crazy!... I'm going to stick my cock in that pussy next if I have to kill somebody!... Come on, boy, what's taking you so long?... Yeah, man, you get off so we can get on!' " 'Take it easy, guys, we don't want to hurt our baby, do we? If we treat her nice there'll be enough for all of us, maybe for seconds!' Tom's voice came through the haze of sweat and pussy-juice and sex-daze in which I was moving up and down, up and down.
"Suddenly, the boy on top of me yelled and jerked wildly for a minute, then fell against me and moaned while he kissed my mouth. 'Wow, what a come!' Then another voice close by said: 'Come on, Ruthie, do it with me and I'll be easy with you--let me just put my cock into you a little ways and if it hurts I'll take it out right away!' And soon there was another one lowering his body onto me, begging me to let him fuck me, probing me with the tip of his cock and slipping it into my cunt so smoothly that I relaxed and lay back in the wreath of male arms that were still holding me, caressing me, pushing my body up and forward so the boy who was fucking me went deeper into me. Reacting to the thrust of his joint, I rose to pull his whole shaft deeper inside me than any of them had gone before. 'Oh, God, this is so good!' he groaned, and we started a rhythm that didn't stop until we were both gasping with ecstasy and he was exploding into me with all his young manhood leaping out through the tiny hole in the end of his prick.
" 'Now me, Ruthie, take me next, I've been wanting you since our first date,' came the voice of the other boy in the gang that I'd dated. Before he could mount my tired body, I got to a sitting position and said, 'I can't do it again, I just can't! I'm so sore, and I'm getting worried--my folks will be calling the police soon to come find me! Let's forget this and I'll just go home and not tell anyone, ever.' "There was a silence as the boys looked at each other and realized that if I didn't get home very soon the police would, indeed, be looking for me. Then one of the boys who hadn't fucked me yet said, 'Do you want to do any more fucking, Ruthie? Because if you do, we'll take you down the road to a phone booth and you can call your folks and tell them you're at the show and you'll be home after the end of the double feature. We'll even take you home before that if you want to go.' "I couldn't think clearly--my crotch was so sore, and my mind was still on the fantastic sensations I'd just been living through. 'I don't know--I want to, and I don't want to.' " 'Are you hurt or something?.' asked Tom, and because he was being kind and I believed that no one would ever know and I wanted to get back into that glorious sexy thing we'd all been doing, I said, 'Okay, let's go find a phone booth and then come back here for awhile.' I wanted to keep them wild for me, I wanted to go on being madly desired by all these boys at once.
"We put our clothes on and drove down the road to a phone booth. On the way to the telephone, I sat on one boy's lap and he took one of my tits out of my blouse and sucked and licked it while the boy beside us rubbed and tickled my clit as he was jerking his hand back and forth on his cock. We were in the back seat and it was dark, but in the glow of the passing street lights I could see that the other boys had taken their big rods out of their flys and were watching me getting more sucking and fingering while they played with themselves and bent over to watch the boy who was finger fucking my pussyhole go in and out of me.
"I loved it--being surrounded by oversexed boys who had forgotten every girl they ever knew and were only thinking about getting into my cunt, kissing me and sucking my nipples while the rest of them watched and begged to be next. We found a phone booth and I called my folks and told my lie and walked back to the car with a boy on either side of me, our arms around each other and my mind racing forward to the wonderful fucking I was going to get when we got back to the river-bank.
"I guess the boys in the car had been thinking about the same thing, because they got me into the back seat again and the set of naked, hard, waiting cocks all came pushing towards me, so that I ended up with one boy kneeling on the floor in front of me, his big joint shoving in and out of my pussy, and a boy on either side of me, their cocks flying in and out of my hands as they kept their eyes right on my wide-open pussy and the fucking it was getting. Another boy opened my blouse and pulled my bra down so that he could get at my breasts, then he went to licking and sucking them, so that there was no part of my body that wasn't being brought to a screaming, sexual frenzy.
"The fire was out when we got back to the river-bank, but the moon had risen and the whole area was in deep shadow, the grass under the trees soft and fragrant. We laid down on the blanket again, and a new boy, one who hadn't fucked me yet, started kissing my naked thighs, running his tongue up and down the insides of my legs and then flicking it across my clitoris again and again. This was completely new to me, something I'd heard about but never thought of as being exciting. Now I realized why it was the subject of so many girl-talk sessions and the subject of so many sexy jokes.
"Weird vibrations started going through me, beginning at my clit and traveling up my body from my cunthole all the way to the top of my head. My body, still so unfamiliar with fucking, demanded the feel of a cock all the way into my pussy--and got it. The boy who'd been tonguing my clit straddled my hips and stuck his dripping prick halfway into my grasping cunt, then gave in to the sexual force that was raging through all of us that night and pierced my hole with his joint again and again.
"The other boys, stimulated all over again by seeing me rearing up to catch as much cock as I could with each stroke, began taking off their clothes and lying, kneeling or snuggling up to me, rubbing the parts of me they could get to with their hot rods, licking and sucking every bit of me now, with all of us panting and moaning with lust. One after another, the boys laid down on top of my eager body and fucked me every way they could think of.
"After all of them had laid me at least once, Tom said he'd kiss my poor, sore little crotch until it felt better, then went to kissing my throbbing cunt lips, licking the come away, then putting his lips around my clitoris, sucking gently until I reared up, arching my back with still-un-sated desire. I climaxed for the first time that way, with my hands locked tightly around the back of Tom's neck, my snatch grinding into his face, my throat releasing a cry that must have been exactly the same as the mating cry of every woman who'd ever been fucked, sucked and eaten to satisfaction down through the ages.
"It started all over again, with each boy insisting on kissing my pussy better than the others, and each boy Frenching me so wildly that after the fourth one, all I could do was lie there and let them eat me. The last boy to go down into my pussy curls, searching for my now erect clit with his muscular tongue, got himself into a sixty-nine position, and as I turned my head, I found his firm, young cock right at my lips, with a drop of salty fluid at the very tip. I licked off the drop and then, experimentally, took the velvety cap of his cock-head into my mouth. He gasped and moved his hips so that he shoved more cock into my mouth than I'd been ready for.
"When the other boys saw this, they closed in to really watch every movement. I didn't know what to do, so I just lay still while he ate away at me and pushed his cock in and out of my mouth.
" 'You really were a virgin, weren't you, baby?' said one of the boys.
" 'Just because Ruthie doesn't know how to give a blow job, don't start teasing her. She's the sexiest girl in the whole world,' came Tom's voice again.
" 'Why don't you show her how to do it, Tommy baby?' jeered one of the older boys. 'That's right, Tom, I seem to remember that you're quite a Frenchman,' said another boy.
" 'You're so damned straight you probably don't even know that everyone in the world is bisexual, you moron,' answered Tom, and suddenly pulled my face away from the boy I'd been making it with. 'Here, let this be a lesson to you, Ruthie,' and Tom put his own mouth over the end of the boy's big cock and began moving his tongue up and down the stiff prick with what looked like an expert touch. The boy squirmed and said, 'Cut it out, you damned queer! Let her do it to me--did you hear me? Cut it out!' But the whole time he was trying to get Tom off his cock, he was bucking more and more frantically, forgetting all about eating me in the grip of this new sensation.
" 'My God, Tom's really going to suck him off!' whispered Bobby. 'You just never know who's a weirdo.' " 'Don't knock it till you've tried it. Here, let me show you how I do it,' came the voices, and then there were two pairs of male bodies on the ground, writhing and sucking each other's big, rosy cocks. I watched, fascinated to see their long, stiff joints going in and out of the mouths--mouths that began to look more and more like naked pussies.
" 'Come on, Ruthie, didn't you just get a lesson?' asked the cute boy whose name I didn't know. He stood up and held his erect thing out for me, and I dazedly started doing what I'd seen Tom do--flicking my tongue across the underside of the boy's penis, sucking him as hard as I could. It was one more wild new thing I was learning that night. The other two boys were already naked, and they stood up, too, and I was confronted with three joysticks, three huge, jabbing rods that danced right in front of my eyes in the moonlight I opened my mouth and sucked first one, then the other. The bodies that had been sucking each other on the ground on either side of me jerked convulsively and were still, yet I went on licking and tasting the rigid poles of live flesh that were held out to me. Then the first boy came in my mouth and, after the first surprised taste, I went ahead and sucked the other two to climax as quickly as I could. Then we all just lay there and looked at the sky and said nothing for about a half hour. It was very quiet on the riverbank, the crickets were softer than I'd ever heard them before.
" 'You better get your clothes on, Ruthie--the show must be letting out about now,' said Tom, and we all got up and stretched and sorted out our things and put them on. Someone folded the blanket and made a joke about how pregnant the next girl to so much as sit on it was going to get, and we straggled back to the car. When I got home, my house was dark except for a light in the kitchen. One of the boys had seen the double feature and told me the plots of the films on the way home, so I had a good story to cover the four hours that I'd been away from home.
" 'That you, Ruthie?' came my father's voice from the kitchen. 'It's me, Daddy. Are there any cookies left?' and I walked around my mother's kitchen as if I was still a most virginal virgin, the good girl in town, the girl who, if she wasn't actually the prettiest girl in school, was well-liked, had good grades and took an active part in student government.
" 'Be sure to put the milk in the icebox, honey,' said my father. 'Movie any good?' and without waiting for an answer he went on upstairs to go to bed with my mother, the woman to whom he'd been faithfully married to for almost twenty years.
"I wiped the cookie crumbs off the counter and put the milk away, then I took the sharpest knife we had out of its special box, climbed the stairs to my blue-and-white rosebud room, and said a childhood prayer as I looked out my window at the yard where I'd grown up. My old swing moved in the wind; our collie whined softly in his sleep; the neighbor's cat walked on top of the fence and disappeared into the shadows; the world around me was good and clean and regular.
"People grew up and fell in love and got married and had babies and raised them up and loved each other for most of their lives and died as quietly as they had lived. But not Ruthie--not me. Five hours ago I had walked out of this house and I had belonged to that world. Now I stood in my bedroom, knowing all about myself. There was no way to get around it--I was a sexual freak, one of those nympho-somethings I'd heard about, a girl who'd be doomed for the rest of her life to fucking every man she could get her hands on, eating the cock and come of men she didn't even know, letting any boy or man do anything he wanted to her because Ruthie loved sex. She just couldn't get enough of it, and she was going to kill herself fast before she broke her mother's heart and shamed her father into maybe suicide or, at the least, a heart attack or a stroke.
"Kneeling on the rug beside my bed, I slipped the knife from its case and quickly, before I could change my mind, I laid the edge of the shiny blade against my wrist and pulled hard, across and down. Pain flooded my mind, but it wasn't enough to blot out the memory of the exquisite torment that had turned me from a schoolgirl into something worse than a whore. Getting as good a grip on the now bloody knife handle as I could with the hand that was still connected, by some miracle, to the wrist I'd just sliced into, I did the same deliberate vein-slicing thing to my other wrist and, scarlet clouds of agony covering the chaos in my mind, weakly sank to the floor. My life's blood rushed hotly from my open veins; I felt the flow and was glad it was going to be fast. For a moment I regretted the things I hadn't done and now would never do, then I passed into a warm, dreamy state that didn't allow any more thought--or any more agony.
" 'Ruthie, I heard a funny sound, honey. Are you all right? Ruthie, oh my God, Ruthie--baby, speak to mother! Jack, Jack, call the doctor! Ruthie's cut her wrists open! Oh, no, God, don't take her away, she's just a little girl!' I could hear my mother crying from a long way off. The next thing I knew, I was in a white room in a white bed with thick bandages on both wrists and bound into bed so tightly that I couldn't move my legs. In a few more days I found out that I was still alive, and if I was lucky I'd have the use of my hands and fingers. The rest of my sickness would respond to rest and psychotherapy, I was told.
"Hope springs eternal, as they say, and I started believing that maybe I could be part of the normal world again. My belief must have helped a lot because I was home in three weeks, and my bandaged wrists created quite a stir in the neighborhood--because I wasn't going to hide away until they were all healed. The doctor in the hospital had explained to me that everyone, at one time or another, has feelings of suicide. Some people just have more depressing problems than others, and react to their problems with the escape mechanism of a suicide attempt. So I wore my bandages like a badge--a badge of membership in the human race.
"Unfortunately, some of our nosier, nastier neighbors asked my mother what had happened--was I in a car accident or something? Mother gave them the story we'd decided on--that I'd been badly depressed and had tried to kill myself, but that I was much better now. In those days, mental illness was still a big secret in most families that were affected by it, and instead of trying to be understanding, or at least decent, the good folks of our small town started gossip about me that was almost as bad as the truth had been--that I'd been pregnant, tried to kill myself and was now a 'fallen woman.' "Mother and daddy tried to put a stop to the rumors--they had no idea of what went on that night at the river--but for the rest of the summer and into the fall the lies went on. It seemed like the world I'd left behind only a month ago was receding into the fog; I would never belong, no matter how I tried. Instead of going to college in the fall, I stayed home and went on seeing my psychotherapist twice a week, and by Thanksgiving, the scars on my wrists had healed. If only the scars on my mind would fade, I might really begin to live again. Since the stories that had gone around town about me were still going strong, Mother and daddy decided that I'd be better off living with my aunt in another town about two hours' drive from us.
"Aunt Merry was wonderful--she'd always been one of my favorite relatives. She seemed to know more about my suicide try than she was saying, but we went through the days keeping busy with housekeeping and cooking, little trips into the country, and the usual things people do to keep from thinking about unhappy times. Naturally, Aunt Merry's neighbors didn't know anything about my horrible 'past' so I had a few dates with some of the kids from the town and was getting closer to what I'd begun to call The Good Life.
"Life was almost fun again. And to complete the picture, I met Herbie and started dating him just in time for the Christmas holidays. It's always more fun when you have a steady boyfriend--things seem to have more meaning. We'd only been going steady for two weeks when he asked me to wear his class ring, and on Christmas Day I found a bright red, felt stocking hanging on my doorknob. It had my name on it and it was filled with funny, silly presents that Herbie had bought me--and at the bottom of the stocking, tucked into the toe, was a small box with a diamond ring inside, and a brief note: 'Say yes.' "I ran to the phone and called Herbie's house. He must have been waiting by the phone, for it rang only once, and when he answered, I said, 'Yes.' That's all I had to say. He hung up and ten minutes later he was holding me and whispering what a wonderful life we were going to have together. We were married quietly six months later, and half my home town was at the wedding. It seemed that, by becoming a married lady, I was sort of forgiven for my 'past' and became a part of the good life, at last.
"If Herbie wasn't an inspiring lover, that didn't matter--he was good and dear and we had a fairly happy marriage until the day when I suddenly realized that my life was almost half over and I hadn't done very much with it but putter away as a housewife. My classes in literature at the university just didn't make up for all the living I hadn't done. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to get out there in the world and LIVE! And somehow, I didn't want to get out and live with Herbie; I wanted to be free of his dear, maddening fumbles, his well-meaning attempts at humor, his utter lack of any style at all. I didn't like myself for being tired of Herbie, but I couldn't get over my feeling that he'd slowed me down, cramped my style.
"What was even worse was the fact that even though Herbie and I were close in age, I'd stayed young-looking and he had sort of drifted into middle age, looking and thinking like a man of fifty. So after what must have been weeks of talking and trying to explain my need for more living and less marking time, I filed for divorce. Our friends and family were astounded. 'After twenty-five years of marriage!' they all exclaimed. 'Just goes to show that you never can tell what's going on inside people!' I let them all talk, knowing they'd talk anyway. Naturally, most people thought I had a boyfriend waiting for me to get my divorce, but when no lover showed, they grudgingly gave up and started talking about someone else.
"In a few more months, I was free--free to live. The good life that I had wanted so badly had been too safe, too dull for me. Now my idea of the good life was a place to grow and learn and maybe find the kind of love that I hadn't even missed for all the years that I'd been raising my family and doing my very best for Herbie.
"After I found a good job as the front-office nurse for a surgeon in the city near us, I moved into a small apartment and started taking night courses in medical stenography. Without trying, I started to lose weight--I hadn't been that much overweight, anyhow, but ten pounds off really helped me look younger. My boss, the surgeon, had told me one day that when I was ready, he'd do a small facelift on me and zap off ten more years. I hadn't been thinking along those lines but now I wondered how it would be to look ten years younger. I certainly didn't look my age as it was; ten years less than that would put me somewhere in my early thirties.
"About the same time, I started having recurrent dreams in which I relived the whole night that I spent with the boys on the riverbank. At first I woke up trembling and sweating, but after I'd had a few dreams like that, I began almost wishing for them. In my dream, the feelings especially were so real, so exciting, that I didn't need a real live lover--all the sexual thrills I wanted came from that; dream. Many mornings I'd awaken with my pussy wet and slippery from the feeling I had from the dream. I didn't masturbate very much--I hadn't had much sexual appetite since that night at the river--but now I began masturbating and thinking about the seven boys who'd given me the most thrilling time I'd ever had. Then, as suddenly as they'd begun, the dreams stopped.
"I was disappointed when, after two weeks, the riverbank dream didn't return, but I went on with my new life and gradually stopped waiting for the dream. The homework I had from night school kept me busy, and I'd started dating a man who lived in my building. He was a nice man, no great love, but pleasant enough to spend the evening with and get a few laughs.
"One night after dinner we went on talking and found, to our surprise, that we'd talked away half the night. Without much decision-making about it, we went to bed together and made love. I was excited but it still wasn't as thrilling as my dream had been. It was good for my morale, however, since he was eight years younger than I and had no idea that I was forty-five. I didn't tell him. I wasn't at all serious about him and I had decided that if I looked thirty-five, I wouldn't ruin the illusion by letting people know my real age.
"As time went on, I went to concerts, made some friends in the orchestra and became more active in the medical secretaries' organization. We had finals in night school and I passed with a very high average. Because I'd been wanting to have a really far-out apartment, I bought a few new things and redecorated my place so that it was the latest style in modem decor. What with one thing and another I was happy and busy--but still looking for love, a love that would thrill me the way I'd been thrilled at the riverbank. Even though I knew, intellectually, that it was unrealistic to expect from one man a repeat of the wild loving I'd had from seven boys at once, I still went on subconsciously searching for my dream lover.
"Eddie was one of doctor's patients who'd come to the office for plastic surgery to correct the awful results of a car accident in which he went through the windshield, face first. He was so shy that I started drawing him out about himself the second time he came to the office. The possibilities of being a handsome young man again got him all talkative about his proposed surgery and how he wanted to go on with his schooling to get his Master's degree in anthropology. We talked for a whole hour, since the doctor had an emergency and had put all his appointments ahead, after which Eddie said, 'I really dig talking with you, ma'am. I hope we don't have to wait for another emergency before we rap again.' " 'Why don't you just come in a little early for your next appointment, Eddie?' I replied, 'then we can talk some more. I've always been interested in anthropology and I'd like to hear more about it.' " 'Groovy, ma'am. Will do.' And off he went.
"The day of Eddie's surgery, I was concerned for him. Whether doctor's work would have a good result wasn't the question--he wasn't sure that there was enough cartilage left to give Eddie the kind of nose he'd be trying for. When doctor called in for his messages, I asked him about Eddie's new face. He said it was going to be just great--he'd been able to support the nose with a prosthetic bridge and Eddie would be better-looking than he'd been before the accident. I was so relieved that I started crying. I hadn't thought I'd become so attached to the boy.
"Next day, I had a moment off work so I ran over to the hospital to see my young friend. His face was still swathed in bandages, but his voice was strong and full of life. 'I can hardly wait to get these off! When the doctor throws me out of here, I'll buy you a drink to celebrate,' he said.
" 'Eddie, just coffee will be fine, and I'll be waiting to. see your new face,' I replied happily. 'Rest and get well, you hear?' I walked out of the hospital feeling a strange lightness inside--a lightness I couldn't identify. Certainly I wasn't falling in love with a man twenty-five years my junior. Of course not! Eddie thought of me as a nice older lady, nothing more.
"Life went on--Eddie got well, doctor took off the last bandages and he was an extremely handsome young man. He bought me the coffee he'd promised and said that he'd schedule his appointments for right around my coffee break so he could take me out for a bite to eat. On the day of his last appointment, Eddie seemed a bit moody. 'What's wrong, Eddie? I should think you'd be overjoyed today.' " 'Oh, sure, Ruth,' he said glumly. 'I'm really happy about the way I look now, but I'll miss you and the great rap sessions we've had.' " 'You can always come by to say hello when you're in the neighborhood, Eddie. I'll be right here.' " 'It won't be the same and you know it, Ruth. Why don't you give me your phone number and then I can call you some evening?' Then I gave the boy my number and that was the beginning of it.
"Every time he called, I'd tell myself that he was just a young friend, that I had a son older than he and that I was a foolish woman for even entertaining the idea of anything more than a casual friendship with him. It didn't work--inside of a month I found myself masturbating again, and thinking of how it would feel with Eddie's big, young cock surging in and out of my body. Then one night when I wasn't expecting anyone, my doorbell rang and when I opened the door there stood Eddie.
"He looked older than he had just a month before--some new maturity seemed to be coming to the surface, a maturity I'd seen before but not as strongly. 'I hope you don't mind my dropping in on you like this, Ruth, but I was nearby and I just had to talk to you without the phone between us.' My heart gave a jump. 'It's all right, Eddie--why don't you come in?' I asked over the weird pounding in my chest.
"We sat down in my kitchen while I waited for the coffee to perc. 'I need some advice, Ruth, and maybe you can give it to me. My Master's degree studies won't be complete until I've gone on a dig that's starting in South Africa. It would mean that I'd get to work with some of the top people in anthropology.' " 'Then you should go, Eddie. What's keeping you from your packing?' I replied with a heartiness I could hardly muster. South Africa! That was on the other side of the world! And there were bound to be lots of sexy young girls at the dig. I caught myself just in time. No more of this, Ruth, I told myself sternly. This kid is two years younger than your oldest child--what do you think could come of anything you might have with him? Do you really want to spend any more time feeling jealous of every girl of twenty or less, just because she could have an affair with Eddie and you can't?
"Lots of rationalizations went through my mind, while I was telling Eddie what a great chance this was. Strangely, he didn't look as excited about the trip as I thought he would. He looked miserable, as a matter of fact. 'Eddie, is something wrong? Are you in trouble?' " 'No, Ruthie, no trouble. It's just--well, it's just that I'll miss you. I won't be gone more than six months, but that's a long time. You might even be--married or something when I get back. Then we couldn't have our talks anymore.' " 'I don't plan on getting married at all, Eddie,' I replied, 'I want to live free for a while longer before even thinking of marriage.' " 'Well, I still haven't decided. It's two weeks until I turn in my application, so there's still time. Now where's that coffee?' "We drank coffee and nibbled on pastry, but neither of us was very happy about anything just then. There were so many things I wanted to say, and I couldn't say any of them. Finally he got up to go, and, casually draping his arm over my shoulders, he walked to my front door. 'I'll be in touch, Ruthie,' he said. 'Whatever my decision is, I'll let you know. Maybe we can have dinner together before I take off.' I resisted an impulse to snuggle into his body and said, 'All right, Eddie. I'll be looking forward to it.' "After he left I didn't even straighten up the kitchen--I went straight to bed and masturbated for an hour, letting my imagination run riot on the subject of Eddie making it with me. I was so much in love with him by that time that I didn't even try to reason with myself--I just let go and enjoyed myself, my mind going over every inch of his body, especially the seven inches of erect penis I'd caught him with on the one occasion I'd seen him undressed at the doctor's office. He had his shorts on but there's no way of hiding a dick that large, and thinking about how it would feel in me turned me on all over again. 'Oh, Eddie,' I moaned, and rubbed my clitoris .even harder than I had before. One climax followed another, each one stronger than the last.
"For the rest of the week I waited for Eddie's call. And I wasn't disappointed--he called just as I was getting into an early bed. 'Could I come over for just a minute, Ruthie? I'm just down the street at a phone booth,' he said.
" 'Of course, Eddie. I'll make coffee.' " 'Never mind the coffee, Ruth. I won't be there that long.' "What's up, I wondered. He sounded even more depressed than he had before. At the ring of the doorbell, I jumped up to let him in. I was still wearing my nightgown and robe--but I'd sprayed on some of my best perfume and put on a bit of makeup. Eddie looked at me for a long, long moment before he said, 'Hi, how are you?' I could feel my skin burning with desire for his beautiful young body, but I kept my voice light.
" 'I'm fine, Eddie. How are you?' " 'Uptight, Ruthie, very uptight. I can't seem to make a decision and stick to it.' " 'The dig again?' I asked, knowing that wasn't all that was bothering him.
" 'That's just part of it, Ruth. I've about decided to go ahead and go.' " 'Wonderful!' I enthused, not meaning a word of it. 'When are you leaving?' " 'In three weeks. They've accepted my application and it's pretty well settled.' " 'Well, it sounds as if you've made at least one decision that you're sticking with,' I said, wondering what else was bothering him. 'Is there anything else you wanted to tell me, Eddie? I'm listening.' " 'Oh, Ruthie, if I tell you this, you'll throw me out of the house. I might as well keep quiet and suffer in silence.' " 'Don't be silly, Eddie. Whatever it is, I'll try to understand. Now spit it out,' I commanded.
" 'Okay, here it is. I think I'm in love with you. Please don't get mad or anything, because I know all about the difference in our ages, but I can't help it. All I do every day is think of you and at night I dream about you--and I want you to know that no matter what happens, I'll always love you. That's what I really came here to tell you,' he concluded. 'I better be going now, Ruthie. I'm sorry, but I had to tell you. You did say you'd understand.' " 'I do understand, Eddie, perhaps better than you think I do.' And I went over to where he was standing and put my arms around his neck and kissed him long and lovingly. He was simply astonished.
" 'You mean--you, too? Is that what you mean? It's all too good to be true!' " 'I think so, too, Eddie--it is too good to be true. Now kiss me good-bye and go to Africa and make a name for yourself. I want you to be the most famous anthropologist in the world!' "Without another word, he pulled me closer to him and started kissing me, at first a little shyly, then with more confidence. Finally he was French kissing me, pushing his tongue into my mouth with the same stroke a man uses when he's plunging his cock in and out of a hot, wet pussy. I was magically back on the riverbank, kissing seven boys, not sure of what I was doing but enjoying it tremendously. I sucked his tongue as he shot it in and out of my mouth, and gave him my tongue in return.
"We must have stood there, kissing, for about ten minutes. I could feel every inch of him, all hard and sexy, pressing against my groin, nestling into my fur pie, making me as wet and aroused as if he'd actually been fucking me. Before I forgot myself and went any further with him, I sighed a bit and pushed him gently away from me. 'That was the kind of kiss a woman remembers all her life, Eddie. Come and see me when you get back from your digging.' And I pushed him toward the door.
" 'One more kiss, Ruthie, please,' he begged, and it sounded familiar--it was the same thing the boys had said on that sex-filled night at the river. 'Just once more, darling--let me hold you once more,' he whispered, and we were back together, clinging and kissing, straining together in our wild desire to make love.
"This time I didn't push him away. When Eddie's hands started to explore my robe for the way to unfasten it, I helped him by undoing the ties. 'My God, Ruth, what a gorgeous body you have! I couldn't tell when you were in your nursing uniform, but wow! Oh, wow!' and he went to grasping and kneading my breasts, hungrily cupping my ass in his hands and pressing me into his body so that I could feel his hard-on almost splitting his pants.
"We didn't speak much after that--there was nothing left to say. Bending down, he gathered me up as if I were a toy, and carried me into the bedroom. I stripped off my nightgown, Eddie tore off his clothes, and we made love all night long. His cock was every bit as big as I remembered it to be, and twice as exciting as any man's prick I'd ever felt. I abandoned myself to the marvelous feelings that were chasing around my mind and body. Eddie was so wonderful a lover, it was hard for me to remember that he was only twenty years old.
"We were together every night from then until he left for Africa. I never deluded myself about the relationship--I thought that after he came back, we'd no longer see each other. After all, at that age a young man is always falling in love with someone. So I lived each day as it came and didn't think ahead to when he would leave.
"Finally, it came--his debarkation day. I saw him off at the airport and then went home with a bottle of brandy; I was feeling depressed, to say the least, and I needed the comfort a glass of brandy could give me. Eddie wrote to me every day, sometimes a note, sometimes long letters, full of the details of what he was doing, laced through with reminders of our love affair and promises that when he got back, we were going to think about a life together. I'd saved a little money and one day I decided that the time had come for my face lift.
"The doctor did a great job--smoothed out the wrinkles, shortened my nose just a bit, and tightened up my chin muscles. It did take ten years off my age and everyone was amazed. Days turned into weeks, I started dating other men, and still Eddie's letters came, telling me of his work and his love for me. Never a day went by that I didn't, in some way, remember Eddie's lovemaking. It was so close to what I'd known at the riverbank that just the first thought of him would set me off.
"At last it was time for Eddie to come home, and he wrote me a long letter about how he was more in love with me than ever, and how he couldn't wait to get me in his arms. I walked around in a confused daze for a week after I got that letter. What if we did marry, wouldn't I be a subject ripe for ridicule, marrying a man younger than one of my sons? And, for that matter, how would my own children feel about it? My oldest son had married and I was shortly going to become a grandmother. A fine state of affairs, Ruthie, I scolded myself. Herbie would probably have a stroke, even though I heard he once planned to marry his secretary, a girl thirteen years younger than he.
"What could I do? The five different men with whom I'd made love during the time Eddie was in South Africa hadn't moved me at all--it was just so much nice exercise. It seemed that these thoughts chased themselves around my brain like a dog chasing its own tail. And I still hadn't been able to come to a decision when Eddie called from the airport. He'd been able to finish his reports and take a plane home three days earlier than planned.
" 'Ruthie, darling, come pick me up! I can't wait to see you! Hurry, hurry, hurry!' called my love. I ran to my car and raced to the airport. When I saw him, he was tanned and he looked five years older than he had when he left. Even though I felt some reluctance at kissing him like a lover in front of all those people, kiss him I did. Then we came back to my place and after a wild, daylong love-making session, we sat down and talked about the future. 'I want to marry you, Ruthie, sweetheart. I don't care what people think--we're not living our lives for other people. Marry me now and we'll go back to the dig for our honeymoon--I've just been given a grant to go back and complete the study we're making of our finds. Say yes, darling, please don't think of other people!' he implored me.
"It took me a week to make up my mind--a week of talking with my children, with one of my closest friends, and with a marriage counsellor to whom Eddie and I went for four visits to make absolutely sure of what we were doing. And what we were doing was good--we were so happy together that I could hardly believe it was all happening to me. Our wedding was small and lovely--my daughter was my attendant, Herbie didn't have a stroke, and Eddie and I were man and wife till-death-do-us-part.
"We went to Africa for our honeymoon and it was so wonderful for me to watch my young husband at work. He was able to command the respect of many older members of the team that was working to unearth the remains of what might prove to be the missing link between man and apes--a major breakthrough in the science of anthropology. The long African nights we spent in talking with team members, having a last quiet look at the stars and then sleeping, completely entwined, in our tent. Soon it was time to come home and write reports on what had been accomplished at the dig--reports that would shape the future of mankind. My pride in Eddie increased with every passing day as I typed his reports and helped him in every way I could.
"When the last report had been typed, Eddie bound all the neat pages together in a bundle and announced that it was high time we began seeing more people, having a social life. I was overjoyed--I'd missed being a hostess, entertaining my friends and showing off my home and husband. When the guest list for our first party was completed, it seemed that every one on it was under thirty. Boys and girls together, I thought wryly to myself as I went about the shopping and cooking for the bash. We had it on a Saturday night and it was a roaring success--I felt almost as if I were twenty-five again.
"As we lay near sleep later, Eddie gave me a hug and sighed contentedly. 'I know I'm dreaming, but I don't care. My wife is not only a great lover and a good cook, but she's the hostess with the mostess. I'm the luckiest man in the world!' and he made love to me so wildly, so completely, that I knew I was indeed the luckiest woman in the world.
"As the days passed, however, I found my mind returning again and again to that scene on the riverbank, the scene that had taken place twenty-six years before, but had never left my subconscious mind for a minute. Even Eddie's lovemaking couldn't displace my awakening hunger for a sex experience as close as possible to that orgy of my eighteenth year. Weird as it seems, I let my thoughts wander over all the ways I might make it happen--including walking down one of the streets of our slum area in the most provocative outfit I could dig up. After about three months of this I found that Eddie's virile loving was simply not enough for me--the more he made love to me, the more I wanted to be made love to by six or seven men at once--young men--boys about the same ages as the ones who'd taught me everything there was to learn about sex in one evening of wild, naked desire.
"I tried to put these thoughts out of my mind--tried with all my heart and soul. I told myself that my marvelous husband would drop me like a bad habit if he had any faint idea of what was going on in my mind. It didn't help--the more I tried, the worse it got. Until one day I discovered I was seriously thinking about how I could invite all of Eddie's young male friends---just his male friends--to a party, get them excited and have them all fuck me, one by one. It briefly occurred to me that that was some pretty sick thinking, but then I was too far along to care. I made out a very simple menu and a guest list, the same as I had for every other party I'd given, but the difference was that this time instead of just a party, what I was planning was a reincarnation of that night at the river, a thing that I finally had to admit to myself that I'd been waiting to do for a long, long time--a thing I'd been wanting to do for twenty-six years."
* * *
Here again, we see a definite pattern of an individual who has been programmed for a specific type of sexual expression and finding it difficult or impossible to erase that programming for a "normal" sexual adjustment. In Ruth's words, she had done nothing more than "heavy petting" with a steady boyfriend; for she was a virgin when the group of boys seduced her. Ruth's sexual needs were defined that night, to the extent that even after her dream of marrying Eddie and the realization of her other goals were reached, she still retained the memory of the orgy that colored and predicated all her conscious behavior. The actual problem area lay, not as Ruth had decided, with her desire for group intercourse, but within the confines of the tremendous guilt she felt for having enjoyed the orgy; her need to re-enact it more than a quarter of a century later was another expression of her desire to debase herself as completely as she could, so that she could abandon hope for herself as an inhabitant of the "good life" and go on enjoying orgy after orgy without the attendant guilt. Because if she was beyond redemption as an ethical being, then she was also beyond guilt. And since her guilt over the excitement she felt when remembering her seven lovers at age eighteen was now impelling her to ruin her life, any means of ridding herself of that guilt seemed attractive to her.
The literature on sexual aberrations in women is full of references to the attractiveness of the possibility of rape--the sudden opportunity to enjoy sex without immediate guilt because the rape victim cannot defend herself and so must "lie back and enjoy it" in order to save her life. A typical rationale along these lines may go: "Jack is so excited that if I stop him after more than a few tries, he'll only hurt me more and end up by raping me anyhow. I might as well relax and let him get it over with, because he will, no matter what I do." Girls who have been told by their mothers that men are after only one thing, that men are simply animals who will tell a woman anything in order to seduce her, and that they will most likely walk off and leave them (the girl) pregnant, are the young women who are most prone to rape fantasies. When, as in the case of Ruth, the fantasy is a reality, then real trouble develops.
Ruth's suicide attempt was a clear case of an attempt to alleviate the enormous guilts she had to deal with after her sex feast. Far from helping matters, her unsuccessful suicide try created even more guilt processes: i.e., a person who commits flagrant adultery and then very nearly commits suicide (both of which are considered mortal sins by most Christian churches) is to be considered a lost soul, indeed. Ruth's assumption that her neighbors were talking about her were, of course, correct. Her parents' decision to give their daughter a fresh start in a town far enough away to be out of the circle of gossip that was endangering Ruth's recovery from near-psychosis was sound. And the lucky meeting and subsequent romance with Herbie that resulted in marriage was the seal of approval on Ruth's return to the "good life" from the shadow world in which she had been living.
The twenty-five years of marriage with Herbie were significant of Ruth's determination to live the good life as best she could and to prevail over what she had obviously considered a hideous mal-formality of her sexual makeup--her clear knowledge that she enjoyed immensely the rape situation. Her faithfulness to her husband wasn't interrupted by anything more serious than a crush on her obstetrician, hardly an unusual attachment. Ruth's children enjoyed a pleasant childhood and grew to adulthood with few trauma, if any. Her incipient grandmotherhood did not seem to disturb her as much as the fact that life, as opposed to the good life, was passing her by. The "middle-aged" appearance of her husband did bother her, possibly because he hadn't for some years resembled the young men in her favorite memory-fantasy. Divorce, in this case, while not inevitable, was probably the best solution to a marriage gone stale with use and disuse.
Eddie and Ruth's marriage was, on the whole, quite successful simply because neither one of the partners came to the marriage with any illusions. Certainly, they both expected loving, considerate treatment from each other and a modicum of honesty. There lay the rub--Ruth could not, would not be honest with her husband about her sex fantasies and so began the whole guilt cycle that she had lived through in her late teens. Now, added to the great bag of guilts that Ruth dragged around was her guilt over her choice of husbands. She knew why she chose a man considerably younger than herself--she wanted to be young again, to be able to frolic about with no cares for the everyday world of restrictions and regulations. The night on the riverbank had left its mark--a syndrome of rape fantasy and the attendant total lack of responsibility of behavior that would do credit to a prehistoric fertility cult. So the world of marriage and parenthood became less attractive as the years went by, until so many rationalizations covered her original intent in marrying Herbie that the now-grown-older Ruth forgot her once burning desire for the good life and abandoned herself to another altogether different sort of life.
Many women experience shock when they discover that they do enjoy sexual intercourse. This shock usually dissipates after a short period of time. In some cases, however, the shock of discovery that they love to do something they've been told is very bad stays with women and creates a mental and emotional situation that is injurious to their well-being. Should this shock be coupled with the thrill of sexual release with several partners at once, the obvious complex reaction that results becomes most difficult to treat, even to find. A partial case history from a woman similarly afflicted may help us see Ruth's case in a more proportionate light:
* * *
"When I was about eleven years old, my neighbor's son came over to our house one day when my older brother was watching me and said my mother had sent him over to baby-sit for me, and that my brother could go to the movies if he wanted to. He, the neighbor's boy, even gave my brother the money to get into the movies. I guess he had it all planned, for soon as my brother had left, the boy--Steve--began asking me if my brother and I ever played 'doctor.' Not knowing exactly what he meant, I said no, but he went right on asking questions. Did I ever see my brother when he went to the bathroom? Did we ever take a bath together? Had we ever watched while our mother and father went to bed together? Did we ever read magazines that had pictures of naked people in them?
"After several minutes of these questions, with me answering no all the way, Steven took out his penis and began to rub it, gently at first and then harder and faster. A wild smile came over his face and he slowly moved over to where I had been sitting on the porch swing and put his free hand on the upper part of my thigh. I had been interested in seeing him do that to his cock, and when he put his hand on my leg I thought he was going to ask me to help him rub himself. Instead, he told me he could make me feel good all over if I would let him do as he wanted and not yell or carry on or anything.
"My mother's precautions about not allowing any boy to touch me hadn't extended to the familiar neighbor's son, so I agreed to be quiet while he 'helped' me to feel good all over. He slid his hand under the crotch of my panties and started rubbing his fingers over and around my pussy. It felt funny at first--like tickling. I wanted to laugh, but he said, 'You promised not to make any noise', and went on rubbing. By that time it did feel good so I let him continue. At the same time, he took his hand off his own cock and, holding my hand in his, he made me rub his big, hard peter while he rubbed away at my pussy-lips. That area of my body had never felt anything but a washcloth or toilet paper, and the new sensation was the best I'd ever had down there.
"Steve kept on rubbing my hand up and down the shaft of his cock, and pretty soon he began wiggling around, pushing his body up and down at me, rubbing me so hard that his fingers began going into my pussy, hurting a little but feeling good, just as he'd promised. All of a sudden he jumped up, took my hand and pulled me into the house. No one else was home, and we almost ran into the bathroom where he stood in front of the toilet and jerked off his cock so hard that his hand was a blur. Up and down his hand went until a moment later he groaned and grabbed my hand and put it over the end of his leaping cock--just in time for me to get a handful of his warm, gooey come. The way it came squirting out and the way he moaned with satisfaction made me want to feel the same way he did, but he said I was too young to really get the same feeling. I guess I looked disappointed because he said he'd promised to make me feel good all over and he was going to do it even if I was too young for anything but a blow job.
"He pulled off my panties and pushed me up against the wall--the wall opposite the full-length mirror by the tub. As I watched the mirror, fascinated, he got down on his knees on the bath mat and started kissing my pussy., 'You're so cherry you don't even have any hair yet, baby,' he said against my little cunt, and went on kissing me down there. I didn't feel one way or another about all his funny kissing and was about to tell him so when he started sticking his tongue in and out of the crease between my legs.
"Now I did start to feel good all over. A warm, tingly feeling spread all over my tummy and the area between my legs. I wanted to go on feeling that way, but I was scared, too--I knew, now that we were doing something I wasn't allowed to do and I also knew that if my parents caught us at it we'd really get punished. I tried to push Steve's head away but he licked even harder and faster and then I didn't want him to stop. I spread my legs apart so he could get his tongue farther into my cunt, and when I felt him entering it with the end of his tongue, my warm, tingly feeling went all over my body.
"It was almost the same as when I had to pee-pee--and then I was afraid that I would pee-pee right in his mouth, so I tried to push his head away again. I guess this excited him and he pulled me down on the bath mat with him and laid down over me so that his cock was right on my mouth as he went on licking me and sticking his tongue in and out of my pussy. Then he grabbed the back of my neck and shoved his prick all the way into my mouth!
"I didn't like it and started to struggle to get my mouth free so I could breathe. Maybe he was afraid of making me cry or something, because he let me go and went on licking and sucking me until his cock gave a jump and squirted more of the warm, whitish stuff all over my face. I'd stopped feeling so good when he scared me by shoving his cock in my mouth, but he made me feel better by wiping my face off with a washcloth and taking me in his arms and sort of cuddling me. 'You're so sweet and cherry, baby, and you're so sweet in your pussy--I won't ever hurt you, ever,' he kept whispering.
"We were together that way when we heard the screen door slam and my mother's voice down the hall, 'Susie, are you home? Where's brother?' Quickly, we got my panties on and my dress smoothed down, and he put his cock back into his fly and zipped up just in time for us to step out into the hall and tell my mother we were looking for one of our new kittens. She looked at Steve kind of funny, then she said, 'Oh, Steve, see if you can find Bobby for me, I want him to help unload the groceries,' and went on back to the kitchen. Steve and I just looked at each other. We didn't have to say anything--we both knew to keep super quiet about the whole thing.
"We only did it four times after that, then Steve started senior high school and got a steady girl friend. I used to look at her as they walked by our house and wonder if she did the same things with him as I'd done once. I was a little bit jealous, but I was busy with Girl Scouts and my bug collection so it didn't bother me for long. It wasn't until after I was married that I remembered those afternoons in the bathroom, and then I couldn't get enough of my husband's tongue. I learned to suck him so well that we hardly ever did anything else, but we were happy, so who cared? Funny thing, once or twice I got him to do it to me in the bathroom and it was ten times as exciting. After he was killed in Vietnam I had several lovers but I could never get up enough nerve to ask any of them to get down on the bathroom floor and lick my pussy, so I suppose I'll never feel 'good all over' again."
* * *
This woman's case is, again, typical of the neural patterning (programming of the sympathetic nerves that occurs the first several times an experience of any kind is observed by the brain) that creates life-long sexual habits and preferences. By no means an unusual phenomena, we have only to observe our own present sexual behavior and remember, in a relaxed way, some of our first sexual encounters. Perhaps some of the conclusions to which we come will be helpful in our establishing even more satisfactory love and sex experiences for ourselves and our partners.
Also of value here would be a casual note to the effect that the libido, or sexual appetite, of the pre-menopausal and menopausal female has been compared to the libido of the adolescent male--in most cases unfortunate for a genuinely successful mating between the peer groups, or contemporaries, of both. The prevailing public censure that follow marriages between these two age groups is finally receding, but for centuries a woman who took a lover, or a husband who was significantly younger than she, was ridiculed as a "cradle-robber" and a "sex maniac."
A sexual and/or romantic union between a man in his mid-to-late teens and a woman some fifteen to twenty years his senior is usually a happy, fulfilling one--until the woman begins comparing herself unfavorably with her paramour's female contemporaries. Then trouble may develop, unless the man in the case is perceptive enough and persuasive enough to convince the older woman that he does, indeed, prefer her more mature, more developed personality and her riper, more skilled body to that of a girl of his own age. In a privately printed and circulated pamphlet which developed from a series of letters written to his son, a well-known doctor said: "If there is any more delightful and satisfying experience than that of gently deflowering a virgin in such a way that she is forever in love with you, her first lover, it is that of re-awakening in the rich, warm breast of a woman of what the French call 'a certain age' the rush of lust, the swift beating of the heart that prefaces love. Into the midst of the busy life of this woman who is preoccupied with her family, perhaps about to become a grandmother, you inject the very spirit of Spring, the essence of life itself, and you, YOU, set her into her second and possibly far more beautiful blooming. Her eyes twinkle with a wonderful secret--YOU. Her skin glows with the desire for more and more of the incredible satisfaction that no one has given her since she was a girl. That glow is YOU. Her voice softens, and she suddenly is more understanding of her daughters' involvements, even of her husband's yearnings for far pastures, if she is still married. Ten thousand little surprises she will bring you, if you will but take them. She will spoil you with delicious food--so few young women really know how to cook. She will rub your back--or lower. She will not make a face when you indicate your desire for some sexual fantasy that no unschooled virgin could perform. She may become too possessive--but you can handle that with an explanation of how her influence has turned you into a creative genius and you must have free time in which to express all those hitherto unplumbed forces that SHE has just unleashed--with her understanding, her fire, her love. Do not try to deceive her, for she's heard all the excuses, the evasions, the lies. If and when your interest falters, realize that your woman has her own life waiting to reclaim her, and kiss her farewell with the knowledge that you have learned many precious things from one another--then STAY AWAY. For, should you long for her bosom, her huge heart, her comfortable acceptance of the world, you may very well find yourself marrying the woman, and there go your days of seducing every girl you can, for she will leave you just enough strength to get to and from your work. Then she will feed you vitamins and nag you about your rest." Since this excerpt is from a pamphlet no longer in print, we cannot footnote the publisher or the author, but we are very much in their debt for the insight and advantage it details.
* * *
To continue with the story of Ruth, we find Eddie seeking counseling after what seems to have been a disastrous experience. Eddie tells us: "When Ruth wanted to have another party, I thought it was a great idea. Our first party had gone so well with her cooking and keeping the guests happy that no one wanted to go home, so I was very anxious to start planning another one. She seemed really excited about this one--almost as if it was going to be a surprise party for someone. The night of the party rolled around and I realized what a surprise it really was.
"First off, she had done something with the invitations that had indicated there were to be no girls there--only her. I didn't realize until about nine that there was only one woman there--my wife, looking so wonderful and making everyone so happy that it didn't seem strange to have a roomful of guys and only one gal. Then, after a few drinks, somebody--maybe Ruth--got the conversation around to sexual abnormalities; from there it went to group sex. I didn't care--the way Ruth handled it, it was entirely non-smutty, if you know what I mean. She'd always been such a lady that she could discuss the raunchiest topic without anyone feeling like they were getting out of line. It was about then that I had to go out for more ice--the guys were drinking more than I thought they would.
"When I got back to the apartment the movie projector was set up and the living room had been arranged so that everybody had a front-row seat. 'What's happening, baby?' I asked Ruth as I made a fresh round of drinks. 'We just happened to have a few reels of film that show some of the sexual differences we've been talking about, Eddie. I thought the boys wouldn't mind seeing them,' she said. I had a funny feeling right then that things were getting a bit out of hand, but I didn't want to cramp Ruth's style as a hostess so I said 'Okay', and went on into the living room.
"The lights went out and the film started. I tell you, those were some of the wildest sex films I'd ever seen--full color, with close-ups so close you could almost see the girl's tonsils. By the time the third film was ready to roll there was a feeling in the air that was absolutely electric--even I felt it, felt the way the whole group was getting charged up. What the hell, I thought, there aren't any girls, so what can happen? That was my first mistake.
"By the time the fifth and final film had rolled, the guys were practically crawling around on all fours. When the lights were turned on, Ruth was sitting with one guy's head in her lap and another one's arm around her shoulders--and his hand getting very close to the neckline of the low-cut hostess gown she was wearing.
" 'All right, men let's talk about something else!' Ruth said laughingly.
" 'No way, Ruthie, let's just take up the discussion where it left off--do you think you could let someone make love to you with your husband watching?' " 'No, she couldn't,' I said. 'Ruth and I are old-fashioned, we have a one-to-one marriage!' There were ten guys there and they all looked at me as if I'd said something wrong.
" 'Cool it, Eddie. We're just talking about for instance. Nobody's going to rape your wife!' some guy said.
" 'I didn't think anyone was going to rape her, I just--'
" 'It's all right, darling, no harm done,' came Ruth's warm voice, and the talk continued.
" 'My girl and I switch all the time and it brings us closer together than anything we've ever done,' said my friend Dave, a guy who'd been on the African dig with me. 'We love each other so much we want to share this love with everyone,' he went on. 'If we weren't absolutely sure of our love for each other, we couldn't enjoy ourselves as much as we do.' As he finished his speech, my eyes met Ruth's and there was something there I had never seen before. It was a mixture of trust, love and challenge, all in one big look.
" 'Does anyone else dig orgies?' asked one of the other guys, and about four of them all spoke at once. 'Yeah, I've always wanted to be the star of a super-orgy but I'm afraid I'd peter out!' We all laughed at that one. 'I went to one once but I was so afraid I'd get the clap that I couldn't get a hard-on,' came another voice.
" 'At a properly organized orgy, no one should have to worry about catching the nasties,' said Ruth. More laughter. Then they were all talking at once, and things were getting hornier by the minute. Again, my eyes met Ruth's and I got that wild feeling that she was giving me a challenge that I couldn't afford to ignore. I walked over to her and put down my drink.
" 'Did you want to say something to me?' I asked.
" 'Nothing more than I'm already saying,' was the answer, and then Ruth had her arms around me and we were kissing like it was the first time it ever happened. Her tongue met mine and we just about fucked each other's mouths right there in front of everybody. I felt her magnificent body swell forward into my groin and her hands move down so she could pull me closer to her. It didn't matter that ten guys were watching every move we made--the fact that they were watching us made the kiss much more exciting. Finally we moved apart, but my fly was two inches out from my waistband and Ruth was breathing fast.
" 'Wow, they still turn each other on and they've been married almost a year! Look at the rod on Eddie, will you? Look at Ruthie blushing!' said one of the boys. I looked at her and she was blushing--and that look was still in her eyes. 'Come on, Eddie, share the wealth,' said Dave, and I heard myself telling him it was all right for him to kiss Ruth---just one little kiss. No sooner had Dave given her one little kiss when the other guys all filed by and gave Ruth one little kiss. I poured myself another drink.
" 'One little kiss isn't going to test Eddie's tolerance very much,' said one of the guys I hadn't really liked very much. 'Come on, Ruthie, let's experiment!' And he grabbed Ruth by the arm, pulled her down on the couch and kissed her while he felt her up, down and sideways. It was then that this weird thing happened--I got excited, standing there and watching my wife--my wife--kissing another guy. It was a crazy feeling, centered in my groin. When the kiss broke, there was Ruth looking at me with that same look again.
" 'Go ahead, baby, kiss 'em all!' I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. I had started to wonder what it would be like to see her getting fucked by someone else. Now I wondered if I could keep from killing whoever would be fucking her, because I knew somehow that she would be getting fucked by every man in that room.
"On it went. Every time one of them did something to her it inspired the other ones to do likewise. Pretty soon they had their hands down the loose neckline of that damned hostess gown, and I could see the outlines of their knuckles through the clinging jersey fabric. Her nipples were so hard they nearly put holes in her dress--and I loved it. I stood there and watched while my friends kissed, French-kissed and felt up my wife and I loved every minute of it. I felt like a collector who's showing off his rare whatevers--Ruth was mine, she was rare, and there was no way those guys would know just how rare she was until they'd fucked her.
"As the evening went on, I drank more and more. I wasn't interested in knocking myself out, it just happened that way. I'm not much of a drinker--so I only remember bits and pieces of the evening. I would wake up and see Ruth with one of the boys fucking her dog-fashion and another of the guys shoving his cock into her mouth--and then smile and go back to sleep on the couch. A few moments later I would wake up and look around and there would be beautiful Ruth getting her pussy licked by first one guy, then another, going back and forth like a curvy windshield wiper.
"Only once did I wake up so completely that I stayed awake for five whole minutes--and that was when I saw two of the most homo guys in the room down on the floor, sucking each other off. Ruth was standing over them like a queen at a tournament--remote, benign, smiling as if she was watching two champion dogs mate and had the pick of the litter. I smiled again and went back to sleep for the rest of the night.
"When I finally woke up, I could smell the great early-morning smell of fresh coffee and bacon frying. There was also the delicious odor of Ruth's pancakes. I got up off the couch and struggled into the kitchen.
"There she was, my beautiful wife, exquisitely gowned in a robe of pale blue satin trimmed with maribou--her blonde hair tied up neatly in a blue velvet ribbon. When she saw that I was up she came over and kissed me, then poured my coffee and loaded my plate with Sunday-morning goodies.
" 'How's the head, Eddie?' she asked.
" 'Not bad, considering,' I answered her, and that's all anybody said. There seemed to be a lot more bacon and sausage than there usually was, but I didn't care. I just sat there and stuffed my face and thought about how lucky I was to have Ruth for my wife.
"The whole thing didn't land on me until I was walking down the street the other day and I ran into one of the fellows who was at the party. 'How's Ruthie?' he asked. There was more than just polite inquiry in his voice. 'She's just fine, just fine,' I answered. Then I found myself wondering if he was the one who'd licked her clit until she came, and I had to hurry off before I hit him in the mouth.
"Things have been pretty good between Ruth and me, however--whenever we're making love, I think of the things I saw that night and I get so excited I can hardly hold back until Ruth has her climax. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm crazy, doctor. Ruth and I haven't done any switching or swinging since that night, and we didn't do any before that. But I get so excited just thinking about Ruth getting screwed and blown by my friends that I can hardly control myself. We've never discussed it, Ruth and I, but it's there, and I want to do something about it before our wonderful marriage is ruined. What can we do?"
* * *
In the case of Ruth and Eddie, they started counseling immediately over Ruth's objections that she felt the marriage was perfect and needed no such nonsense as family counseling. At their first interview, Eddie expressed the need to have Ruth tell him as much about her background as she felt comfortable in telling. In later sessions, this need extended itself to Ruth telling Eddie about the orgy on the riverbank that she had first been frightened by, then enjoyed to the point of reconstructing years later. Far from being shocked or revulsed by her confession, Eddie was relieved to learn that his wife's desire for an orgy experience with herself as the only female was based on adolescent trauma and not on perverted fixation.
Gradually each of the partners to this marriage came to terms with their own hidden needs: Eddie, with what appeared to be a latent voyeurism and Ruth with her rape fantasies. Their counselor explained to them that their sexual appetites were not abnormal; indeed, for a woman who had been traumatized as severely as Ruth had been, her adjustment to life was a most successful one. The number of years between them wasn't a cause for concern.
After approximately four months of counseling, Ruth reported less and less need to fantasize about the orgies, both the one some years ago and the one to which she had invited Eddie's young male friends. Eddie, in turn, found his memories of the vignettes he saw between alcoholic naps less exciting than they had been and understood his voyeurism to the point that he no longer resorted to it in order to find extra excitement when he made love to his wife. At last notice, the couple were still together and much happier than they had ever been; Eddie was planning another trip to the dig in Africa with no worry about what sort of "parties" Ruth would give on their return.
CHAPTER FIVE - Love Thy Neighbor
"It was probably the wildest blast we'd ever been to, and even though we've had other parties like it since, the impact just wasn't the same, if you follow me. I mean, is there anything sexier than seeing your neighbor's wife running around their backyard in her short shorts, bending over and all, and then suddenly see her taking off her cocktail dress? Not only that, but it seems that every one in our neighborhood was turned on by the idea of oral sex--but not especially with their husbands or wives. Not that sucking your wife's pussy isn't great, and having her lick your cock until you shoot your load right down her throat even greater; but finding the girl with the big, beautiful tits from down the street taking your cock out of your pants has got to be the biggest turn-on in the world."
* * *
The young medic speaking to his interviewer is Melvin, a general practitioner who lives in an upper-class suburban neighborhood with his wife and their two children. His practice is very much the same as his father's was, with one difference--where his father was a typical country doctor, sometimes taking a side of pork or four dozen eggs in trade for a house call or needed therapy, Melvin takes invitations to buffet dinners around the pool, or to cocktail parties at his patients' homes. His fees are high enough to support his household comfortably and low enough to insure his popularity as a good, solid general practitioner. That Melvin uses explicit, four-letter words to express himself is no surprise; out of their offices, professional men such as doctors and lawyers are frequently as down-to-earth as anyone else. Melvin was speaking of the first swapping party in his neighborhood; a party that didn't begin that way. There had been five couples involved; five couples who had what might have been considered happy marriages, but whose sex lives had gone more than a little stale.
* * *
"We had been getting together for things like barbecues and pool parties for three years, since the block of homes we lived in were finished. We all got along together--not even any cattiness among the girls. It was a good, warm family-type of neighborhood--and since that party, it's gotten even warmer. We'd decided to get together at Jerry and Donna's house because it was their turn to entertain. They both like to drink, so they threw a cocktail party--one of those kind that start at four in the afternoon and end at four in the morning. Donna's hors d'oeuvres are always so good and so plentiful that nobody bothers about dinner; we just keep drinking and nibbling until the wee small hours.
"At this particular party, the girls were wearing dresses instead of the slacks and sweaters everybody lives in out here. They all looked wonderful--sweet and sexy and more like strangers than like our wives, whom we see every day with hair in rollers, watering the lawn. I guess that was the first turn-on, the girls looking so unlike their everyday selves. One remark after another was made about how cute or elegant or whatever they looked, and they ate it up. There's too much informality these days--it's so much more fun to talk to a woman when she looks and smells and acts like a woman--but I'm getting ahead of my story.
"By the third round of drinks, the compliments were getting more and more flowery, and then they started getting downright raunchy. 'Why don't you step into my office and I'll balance your books for you, my dear?' leered Jerry, who's a CPA. Nancy, Ed's wife, giggled and said her books were nicely balanced just now, thank you, but she would like to have her checkbook fixed up so Ed wouldn't find the overdrafts. 'Very well, my dear, we'll have to work out a fee schedule so you can reimburse me for my professional, uh, bookkeeping,' continued Jerry, literally twirling his moustache like the villain in an old-time movie.
" 'Oh, sir, how could I ever repay you?' cried Nancy in mock despair. 'I have no money to pay you, however shall I show you my, uh, gratitude?' " 'We'll have to think of something,' went Jerry, still twirling his long moustache. And on it went, the remarks getting sillier and sexier and the laughs getting louder and longer.
"The kissing game started about eight o'clock, and we were having more fun than a gang of teenagers, playing--you guessed it--spin the bottle! There we were, down on the floor, giggling and sipping drinks and kissing our heads off. It wasn't too long before someone suggested a new game that was supposed to be the rage in the jet set. The idea of the game was that each player in turn was to tell which person in the group he or she would most like to make love with, and exactly what they would do once they got to a bed.
"At first some of the girls were too shy to play but after a few of us took our turn and told who. we wanted and what we wanted, everybody got right into the spirit of the thing and it was much more fun than spin-the-bottle. For instance, Larry said he wanted to take Beth, his next-door neighbor's wife, into the bushes and fuck her on the grass, out under the moon, and then suck her gorgeous titties until she came that way. Beth blushed and said that was fine with her--she'd been rubbing up against Larry in their pools all summer long and he felt pretty good.
"Then it was my turn and I chose Anne, the sexy redhead who lived across and down from me. 'I think I'll have Anne disrobe so I can really examine her, and then we'll do a little naked dancing, cheek to cheek and chest to breast,' I detailed, feeling good and silly. Anne didn't blush, she just looked at me long and cool and asked how I knew she'd been mad for a doctor's body for the past three years.
"So it went, with the game getting wilder all the time. Bill couldn't decide between Donna and Doris--and the girls were then called upon to tell him why he should take one of them and not the other. Donna won--she said she wanted to take Bill into the kitchen, spread whipped cream all over his cock, and lick it off, three times in a row. Doris allowed as how she had a weight problem and couldn't possibly eat that much whipped cream, so Bill ended up with Donna.
"That left Ed and Doris. Doris is my wife, and she was reluctant to say or do anything that would make me angry. We'd been having some trouble in our marriage ever since one of my patients--a young gal whose husband had beaten her, and who had considered me her dream of manhood ever since I'd treated her broken ribs--had been calling our house at all hours 'just to talk to my good doctor.' I wasn't interested in the girl as anything but a patient--I'm never sexually or romantically interested in my women patients--but Doris was suspicious over this one.
"I asked Ed if he thought he could handle a girl who liked lovemaking more than anything else in the world, and was probably the greatest lover who'd ever lived. That made Doris feel better, and she sat there and basked in the attention while Ed admitted that he'd been waiting for a long time to just hold her and kiss her. They're both very romantic people, my wife and my neighbor, Ed, and that sort of finished off the mating game we'd been playing, with everyone pleasantly tiddly on the big drinks our host had been building and the fun time they were having.
"For about another half-hour we all sat around and talked about the rumors that there were swapping activities going on in some of the wealthier neighborhoods around us--rumors that we all wanted to believe. What the hell, after ten or more years of marriage, no matter how much you love your wife, you get a craving to stick your cock into a different woman--or two or three or five different women. It's simply man's basic nature--impregnate as many females as possible. Without that basic drive the race would have died out millions of years ago; without that basic drive we'd have had no great novels, no fine buildings, no real anything that had gone before. Well, now I'm getting philosophical; I'll let my friend Ed tell you the rest. I have hospital rounds to make."
* * *
"Okay, Mel, but I don't know if I can do it justice. It was certainly the wildest night I'd lived through in that or any other neighborhood. Right after we'd talked about the swapping clubs in our town, one of the men said that it was no wonder people wanted to swap husbands and wives--the way he looked at it, the more loving there was in the world, the better the world was for it. Then one of the wives, I forget who, made the remark that if the men were more willing to make oral love to their wives at home, the wives wouldn't be so ready to have affairs with other men.
"Wow! That really did it! Everyone started talking at once--it seemed that oral sex was a subject that was the bone of contention in every marriage in the room. 'I'll gladly lick my husband's peter if he'll just learn how to do the same to my clitoris,' said Beth who's more outspoken than the rest.
"Bill, her husband, was dumbfounded. 'I never knew you wanted Frenching that much, honey,' he started.
" 'I tried to tell you at least a hundred million times, Bill darling, but you just weren't interested.' " 'Is there a problem like this in anyone else's house?' asked Melvin.
" 'You bet your sweet ass there is,' yelled Jerry, our host. 'I sometimes wonder if my wife will ever get enough licking and sucking on her pussy--and she doesn't want to give me any sucking until I come, for some reason. If it's going to be one-sided, the hell with it!' he announced, then sat down next to Nancy, Ed's wife, and started hugging her and nuzzling her neck. She giggled, but Jerry's wife was deep in a private discussion with Bill, so they just went on snuggling closer together.
"Anne went into the kitchen about then, and Mel followed her. At the height of the discussion, with one wife after another saying that she just didn't get enough French love at home, and the husbands being pretty much surprised about it, someone turned down the lights and turned on the stereo. Then Jerry went to the bar to make another round of drinks and found he was fresh out of vodka. Bill volunteered to go for more, saying he needed the fresh air, and Donna said he'd better take a navigator, meaning herself.
"By that time, two other couples had settled down in their own little comers for more comparing notes on how badly neglected they were in the oral sex department, and I noticed that Doris, Melvin's wife, was sitting alone, sort of quiet and a little sad. I went over and put my arm around her. 'Tell Uncle EM about it, baby,' I whispered, and she moved into my arm with a little sigh.
"Before I knew what was happening, I was kissing her, and the kiss was getting hotter with every second. Our tongues started searching for each other--Doris must have been hungrier for me than I thought she was, because she responded to my tongue as if she was starving to death. She sucked on it, tickled it with her lips, and just wouldn't let it go. When we finally came up for air, we just looked at each other for a long moment, got up from the couch and walked outside to the garden.
"As soon as I found a patch of deep shadow, we started kissing again, and this time we didn't stop at kissing. I'd wanted to feel the long-legged, tan body of this girl for so long--and here I was with my hands all over her. She moaned as we kissed harder and pressed into me so tightly that I could feel her nipples right through my shirt. That drove me wild, and I all but tore off her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra, so it was only a matter of seconds until we were naked chest to naked breasts.
"There was a chaise lounge out there, and I laid her back on that; she didn't even try to resist. The taste of her nipples was in my mouth--I couldn't get enough of sucking them, nipping them, taking whole mouthfuls of Doris' beautiful tits in my mouth and sucking like a hungry baby. Then I remembered that the other wives had complained about not getting enough oral lovemaking at home, so I slid my hands up under her skirt and down into her panties. She moved away for just a second, but I murmured into her neck, 'This is what we've wanted for years, baby--let's take it while we have the chance,' and she moved toward me.
"I lifted her hips so we could get her panties off, and put my head down and started to lick her belly. That must have really turned her on, because she raised her body until my face was pressed tight against her sweet, soft belly and her hands were around the back of my neck, pulling me even closer. Her odor beckoned me into her slit--it drove me nearly crazy! I found her clit right away. My tongue was running all by itself now, back and forth across that tiny, precious bit of flesh, making her cry out with pleasure. 'Oh, Ed, do that to me more, do it, do it, do it!' she moaned, and pressed her lower belly up into my face again.
"That was all I needed to really go wild. I ran my tongue around the wet, hot edges of her cunt, pushing the lips back and forth and dipping into the center of that cunt with the tip of my tongue until she was nearly sobbing with passion. I had a hard on that was fighting its way out of my pants, but I wanted to bring her to climax with my tongue alone, before I even took my pants off. All the talk about how husbands never do enough for their wives in the mouth-to-pussy department had made a big impression on me and I wanted to make things right before I even thought about my own climax.
"Suddenly she pulled harder on my head and started heaving violently up and down, moving in a mating rhythm that made it hard for me to keep track of her clit. So I stuck my whole tongue as far into her frantically moving pussy as I could and swirled it around and around the pulsing walls of her womanhood. 'Oooooh, now, now, now!' she whispered frantically, and then she lifted her body high off the chaise lounge and held it there for what seemed like an hour or so. Her pussy clenched and grabbed at my tongue as she came and came in a climax that must have touched the depths of her being.
"No sooner had Doris come down from the heights of her first climax than I was throwing caution to the winds and pulling off my pants so I could climb up over her body, spread her legs apart with my knee and fuck my way into her wet, white-hot pussyhole. The first contact of cock to pussy sent a shock of earthquake proportions through both of us--I'd been wanting her for years, and she knew it.
"Now we were finally coming closer and closer, my big prick forcing its way up the softness of her heated cunt--the same cunt I'd been fucking with my tongue not three minutes before. We moved together and apart on that damned chaise lounge, trying to be careful about noise, but if we'd crashed onto the grass I don't think anyone would have noticed--they were all doing their own things in the house and out in the cars.
"Faster we moved and faster, my cock beginning to feel like it was ten feet long and four feet wide, her pussy sucking on it all the way up and all the way down. I could feel my balls slamming against her ass, the hands she grabbed my ass with tipped with tiny nail points that would leave marks--but I didn't care. After ten years of marriage to a woman I loved, I was making it with our neighbor--making it more excitingly than I ever could have with my wife.
"Once more, she raised her whole body in that arc of desire, holding herself there for a long moment while she shuddered and gasped with her climax. My huge prick could feel every pulse that ran through her cunt--she was running with love juice, throbbing with come. Then, before she finished coming, I could feel the tingle in my balls that told me I was going to let go, filing her sucking cunt. It rushed through my cock, tore out of the end of my manhood and flooded Doris with all the semen in the world.
" 'Aaah, aaah, my God! Oooh, baby, how great you are!' I heard myself saying, while my body held even closer into her than I'd been before and the last drops of me drained into her pussyhole. As I came slowly down from wherever I'd been, I could hear again the soft sounds of the night around us and wondered with a small part of my mind if anyone had seen us; but I still didn't care. Somehow, in spite of all the things a monogamistic society had taught me, I felt entirely right lying on top of the body of this woman I had desired for years, feeling the easy relaxation of my balls against her body, hearing her murmuring about how wonderful I was.
" 'We'd better go inside soon, darling, I'm not sure what Mel would think about all this,' she said.
" 'Okay, baby, we'll go in, but I don't think Mel is going to be uptight about anything tonight,' I replied.
"We dressed slowly, kissing in the little pauses, then we walked back into the party, hand in hand, like two children coming home after a long run in a meadow. When we got inside, Mel was in the kitchen, talking to Anne, Larry's wife. They weren't patients of Melvin's, but he was feeling her forehead as if she had a fever.
"Alright, Mel, you take it from here."
* * *
"A fever might describe what I was checking for--yes, you might call it a fever, but nothing serious. After the party settled down into couples talking quietly with each other in dim corners of the room, I heard some noises from the kitchen, and I walked out there to see what was happening. Anne, who'd been drinking a lot more than usual, was going through the kitchen cabinets, looking for something she couldn't seem to find. She was a bit wobbly on her feet, so I put my arm around her waist to steady her and asked what she wanted.
" 'The Maalox, for heaven's sake, Melvin. I'm feeling so bad from all that stupid booze, and I think I'm going to throw up--' She clapped her hand over her mouth and I helped her to the powder room off the kitchen, where she emptied all the bad stuff out of her stomach and rinsed her mouth. 'I'm sorry to be such a rotten party-pooper, Mel, but all that talk about all of us doing switchies upset me. I'm just an old-fashioned girl, T guess, and I'll never be sophisticated enough to make it in this group.' "I sat her down at the kitchen table and found the Maalox in one of the cabinets. After I gave her a double dose of the stuff, I sat down beside her and said, 'You don't have to be a bad girl to keep up with these people, Anne. They're just like a lot of kids who're trying to convince each other that they're really grown up and are to be dealt with as adults. You stay just the way you are, I've always liked you that way.' " 'Mmmmmm, do you really like me, Mel?' she asked sleepily. 'I always thought of you as the busy doctor who hardly had time for his family, much less for thinking nice thoughts about his neighbor's wife,' and she let her head drop against my shoulder.
-- "I held her a little closer, not wanting her to think I was going to throw her on her back and rape her, but wanting her just the same. 'I do like you, Anne--more than just liking, I'm afraid. But you always seemed so happy with Larry--' " 'Happy? I seemed happy with Larry!' she said, as if I'd told her she seemed happy with a convicted child-molester. 'I'm so miserable that I've been thinking about getting a divorce for the last six months!' " 'I didn't know, what's wrong? Do you want to tell me about it?' Here I was, doing diagnostic interviewing at a party where everyone else was making out like crazy. Oh, well, I thought, that's what it is to be a doctor.
" 'What's wrong? Larry's cheating and he comes home and doesn't even try to hide anything--he has lipstick all over his shorts, long, black hair all over his sweaters, and a satisfied smirk on his face. And when he calls me to say he won't be home for dinner, he doesn't bother to make an excuse---just tells me he won't be home and not to expect him until I see him. About a week ago I confronted him with my suspicions and he just laughed and told me not to bother my pretty head with detective business--that everything was just fine and I should stop imagining things. But what kind of imagination does it take to put one and one together and come up with an unfaithful husband who doesn't care enough about me to even lie?' " 'Is that why the drinking tonight, Anne?' " 'I guess so--it just seems like everybody thinks it's cute and stylish to cheat and I don't. And these tummy cramps--that's what's really bad. I could handle the rest of it if my poor, sore tummy felt better.' "I had a pretty good idea that a combination of tension and sexual starvation was responsible for Anne's stomach condition and I said so.
" 'So what can I do about it?' She went on, 'Larry doesn't want me anymore and I'm too shy to go out and find a boyfriend--' Tears of self-pity welled up in her lovely blue eyes.
" 'You're a beautiful, desirable woman, Anne, and if Larry doesn't appreciate you, you shouldn't think that no one else does.' " 'I don't mean just liking me the way you do, Mel, I mean I need someone to sweep me off my feet and make me feel like--well, like I'm loved and cherished. You see the difference, don't you?' and her eyes searched mine for understanding.
" 'I see the difference, Anne. I feel the same way you do--but with me, it's the feeling that I'm just a medical robot on a round of work that won't stop until I'm falling over with a coronary. Doris loves me in her own way, but she isn't very demonstrative about it. I don't get all the appreciation that I need, either.' And we moved closer together, her head back on my shoulder, her silky, flame-colored hair tickling my cheek. The perfume she was wearing was a clean, jasmine sort of fragrance and it floated up into my nostrils like the spring haze from a flowerbed.
"My hands closed over her shoulders and I pulled her down until our bodies were almost lying together as we leaned back onto the bench that was set into the breakfast nook. She lifted her face to mine and I kissed her, softly and without any of the wildness that goes with raw sex-kisses. We cuddled comfortably together, our legs finding the hollows and spaces of each other's bodies almost automatically. I pillowed Anne's head on my arm and we drifted into a half-sleep that blotted out the sounds of the stereo and conversation two rooms away.
"It must have been thirty minutes later that I woke up and found her lips against mine, her legs twined into my groin and her body quivering with the desire that her waking mind wouldn't allow. Our mouths met in a kiss that lingered and turned into something I'd wanted for a long time: warmth, acceptance and sweetness. My wife is a great girl, but sweetness isn't her bag. I cupped my hands around Anne's bottom and drew her closer to me--she responded so swiftly that I knew my diagnosis had been right--she was sexually starved.
"Her sweetness was all around me, her arms folding me into her softness, her hair curtaining my face as she raised herself on one arm to kiss my eyes. We stroked and kissed and tasted each other for a few minutes, then Anne shuddered lightly and pulled away. 'Mel, I want to, but I can't. I just can't,' and she pressed her face against mine and lay still.
" 'We don't have to go any further, girl. Just relax and let doctor Melvin rub your back,' I answered as I passed my hands over her back and bottom, trying to help her relax with the rhythm of my massage.
"It wasn't long before she did relax, and we began kissing and touching again, all so softly that it seemed far removed from the steamy passion that we associate with two people who come together and start making love almost immediately. With a few more movements, I had her skirt up and my zipper down--she helped by wiggling out of her pantyhose. Since she wasn't wearing anything underneath them, it took about a half a second for me to slide my erect cock into her waiting pussy.
"She felt so good, so different--her vagina was slippery with her fluids and as we came together and moved apart she got even wetter and warmer. Our movements got swifter and swifter, and Anne was whispering into my ear, 'Take me, Mel, fill me with you! Don't wait for anything, Mel, I'm coming now!' "'Come, baby, come--I'm coming with you!' and we clung together and let the wave of passion ride over us, lift us together and sweep us far out, then wash us back, still clinging together.
"As we lay together, breathing quickly, Anne tried to speak, and couldn't. 'Relax, Anne baby, just follow doctor's orders and relax. Just be you,' and I wished for more and more time with this girl who brought me such excitement, such sweetness.
" 'I am relaxed, Mel--I just want to do something else and I don't know how to start.' " 'Whatever you want to do, Anne baby, is just fine with me. What did you have in mind?' "For an answer, Anne bent over me and blew gently on my now limp cock. She touched it lightly with her lips, licked the tip, then quickly took my whole cock into her mouth and started sucking, sucking me without a pause in her movements. I was tired from having climaxed minutes before, but her licking, swirling tongue and the irresistible pull of her mouth on my prick began another hard-on, and another facet of Anne's personality came through--she was a woman with an incredible talent for French love--for giving a man a blow job that equalled or surpassed any other sex I'd ever had, and I'd had a lot.
"Her head moved up and down, her hands flew over my balls, my ass, up under my shirt, to tease and rub my nipples, and all the while her mouth kept up its fabulous rhythm, her tongue flicking wildly back and forth over my throbbing prick. I moaned and twisted to try and hold on to the feeling that was welling up in my belly area--the feeling that I was going to come all over her rosy red mouth in about two seconds.
"I wanted all this sucking, licking heaven to continue--but if she didn't stop, it wouldn't. 'Anne, wait! I don't want to come just yet! Hold off for a minute!' But she didn't stop. Instead she increased the speed of her tongue and her mouth flew over my cock--exactly like a sex-starved pussy. The pressure of her mouth became a pulsing, pulling, living thing. My come rushed forward, spilling through my rod of beating flesh and filling her mouth with a foamy, salty froth.
"I could hardly believe that anyone who was married to this girl would ever want to be blown off by another woman, but there it was--Larry did.
What the hell, I thought--let it be. If we never make love again, this has been It. 'You are the most fantastic lover in the world, Anne baby. Never doubt your own worth--you're wonderful,' I told her.
"We rejoined the party, where almost everyone was conspicuous by their absence. It didn't matter--tonight everyone in that neighborhood was getting his or her rocks off with whoever had tempted them toward extra-marital sex for the last three years. The air was being cleared--and it was a great idea. Anne and I sat quietly together, holding hands, sipping Scotch, and watching the others straggle back into the room. There was an almost complete lack of guilty faces--no recriminations.
"I got the distinct impression that here was a group that would swing together again. I hadn't sorted out my feelings about that yet, but it didn't seem such a bad idea when I looked around at my neighbors and took a good long look at my wife, wondering how many other stomach cramps, migraine headaches and general irritability might be avoided by a little judicious wife-swapping now and then."
* * *
The attitudes toward wife-and-husband swapping have changed considerably in the past decade, since it first came to the attention of the general public that more than PTA meetings and bridge games were going on in the suburbs. As the rumors became fact and the fact became accepted custom in many areas, public shock slipped into titillation and then farther down the scale to an almost ho-hum attitude. Couple after couple reported better marital sexual relationships from the simple expedient of relieving the sometimes unbearable tension of living close to other men and women by just throwing up their hands, morally, and getting together for "parties" that turned into orgies--orgies that released all manner of frustrations between husbands and wives who were much enticed by the propinquity of attractive neighbors.
The practices of changing sex partners for short periods of time without resorting to clandestine affairs or divorce is hardly new to the human race. Most outstanding in the custom of wife-trading are the Eskimo tribes, who, when one man's wife is unable to travel with him on hunting trips, or is ill and unable to help around the settlement, find nothing immoral or even exciting about "borrowing" a tribe brother's wife for whatever period of time she is needed as a partner in work as well as bed. Other examples of polygamy and polyandry have been recorded all through history. Jewish law, at one time, allowed for a man to have as many wives and/or concubines as he could support well. However, the practice has pretty much fallen into disuse.
The other well-known proponents of polygamous marriage have been the Mormons of this country. At the time Joseph Smith passed the laws regarding polygamy down to his followers, they came as an unbelievable shock to the Victorians who believed that one man and one woman should remain not only married but scrupulously faithful for life. New ideas that had to do with sexual expression, even sexual expression within the sacred confines of marriage, were anathema to the good citizens of that era.
While still reverberating from the shock of the Mormons' polygamy, our Victorian ancestors were rattled even more deeply by the discoveries and theories of infantile and adult sexuality advanced by Sigmund Freud, who was then a young Viennese doctor just beginning his epic search through the murky reaches of the subconscious. The very idea that an individual might not only disobey the irrefutable laws set down by an untiringly observant God against coveting his neighbor's wife, overtly and covertly, but be an exponent for the steamy desires of premarital and extra-marital sex, was almost too much for our great-grandparents to bear.
The simple facts of the matter were that people had been merrily frolicking along since the dawn of time, fornicating here and there, willy-nilly, with or without the religious and social sanctions of the period or area in which they lived. To be sure, there were various restrictions set down by the various religious and civil authorities of the era and location, determined by one or the other godhead or governor. A man could have one wife and several concubines; a man could have several wives; a man could have a harem consisting of however many women his pocketbook could buy and support; a man could have his dead brother's widow, indeed, must have his dead brother's widow, like it or not (Judaic law's insurance that the family line would continue even after the death of one of the sons); a man may share his wife with several of his tribesmen; a man may not share his wife with anyone, anytime, anywhere.
It all became quite confusing and great sums of money, time and effort were spent in trying to enforce marital laws for the protection of the young nestlings while their elders were eyeing each other with plain and fancy sex in mind. No wonder that by the twentieth century such a muddled, awkward and utterly chaotic group attitude toward love and marriage had accumulated in the annals of human experience. Into this crowded arena came, slowly at first, then striding along like a young giant, the solution for at least some of the stresses of our present forms of monogamy--wife-trading, or swinging, or switchies.
In due course, whole neighborhoods left off their discussions of PTA affairs and turned their attention to far more interesting affairs--the methods and mannerisms of musical beds, known in less lenient circles as the orgy. Door keys were thrown into a hat and pulled out at random; whoever got his neighbor's latchkey also got his neighbor's wife--at least, for the night. In many instances, neighbors discovered that they wanted to make permanent the exchange, and divorces were asked and granted with both couples doing a marital do-si-do, husband A ending up with wife B, and vice versa.
Not until several spectacular murders and murder-suicides came to light as the result of these exchanges did the general public begin to realize the very real dangers of making abrupt changes in the marital customs of their forefathers, no matter how misguided their forefathers may have been. A prime example of this sort of mess is the following, with the names left out to protect the children involved: In one of our more affluent communities, there lived a group of people who espoused the theory that repression of one's sexual longings toward the neighbor's wife or husband was not good for one's innards. A vigorous sort of switch was evolved, in which everyone got a crack at everyone, sooner or later. Things progressed in a more and more relaxed manner until one of the couples involved had one of those discussions with which those of us who are fortunate enough to have been married for any length of time are too horribly familiar. Loud voices saying rude things, a little judicious pushing around, perhaps an injudicious right to the jaw, and then the firearms came out and there was one dead husband, one suicidal wife and three terrified, hysterical children. The lady who did the shooting and made an unsuccessful suicide attempt later told the law that she killed her husband because he told her that of all the ladies in the neighborhood, she was absolutely the worst lay he'd had. Whether he had been correctly quoted or not remains to be heard; the gentleman is quite dead.
A little farther down the street, not too long after that event, one of the husbands found one of the other husbands in bed, not with his wife, but with his fourteen-year-old daughter. Another killing, another ghastly mess, two more severely damaged children.
In the next block, shortly after, two wives who had experienced lesbianism for the first time at a group sex party, decided they much preferred it to heterosexual practices and announced to their husbands that they were going to remain lesbian indefinitely. After about six months of what seemed an idyllic relationship, lesbian wife A discovered her lover was having an affair with her husband. She took several handfuls of sleeping pills and was found dead of an overdose by her four-year-old son. Add three more damaged children to the inventory, since the four year old ran screaming to his brother and sister and they, too, ran to try and wake mommie--and mommie couldn't be wakened.
This is, perhaps, an extreme set of examples, but necessary to this narrative in that the author wants to illustrate all the advantages and disadvantages of the group sex experience. The only index of the effects of extra-legal and nonreligious sex practices is, of course, the individual reactions of the people involved in switching spouses. There are certainly many instances of healthy adjustments to an exchange or series of exchanges between husbands and wives.
One of the major premises of the fine novel Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlein is that the members of the group or "nest" who live by the examples set by their leader, Michael Valentine Smith, are totally happy with their group sex experience--no jealousies, no rivalries, no bad names or hitting-type discussions. In short, an unrealistic picture of what the human reaction to complete sharing of sex and love partners is like. On paper, it looks great. Everyone loves everyone, everyone is rid forever of those nagging doubts about one's attractiveness, because everyone has learned to think themselves beautiful. Everyone shares children, wives, husbands, mothers, fathers and for, that matter, in-laws. The group responsibility for all these people is also shared. Would that it could be so!
Unfortunately, we are still mired in a stage of our evolution where those insecurities and inequities arising from childhood trauma and religious conditioning make terrible mischief when brought up against the more permissive attitudes about sexual expression that are, thankfully, coming to the fore at present. It would appear that, slowly, our evolutionary wheel is coming full circle round in the matter of mating and marriage--not always, we should like to point out, the same type of thing. As an illustration, let us quote from Lederer and Johnson's excellent book The Mirages of Marriage: At the beginning of man's existence, over a million years ago, it seems that members of the human race procreated in the same random manner as almost all other animals do. A female and a male met by chance, and if both had a strong sexual drive, they copulated. After a short period of intimacy, the male wandered off to continue his usual activities--hunting and fighting. Several months later, the female perhaps noticed that she was pregnant. It is probable that for many millennia pregnancy was not associated with the sex act... The father was totally uninvolved and didn't know his own child... Gradually the females gathered together in groups, clustering their temporary homes near one another, and the first community developed. The male was still the hunter and the warrior, probably roaming wherever game was most plentiful during the spring and summer months, and during his wanderings copulating with any female he might happen to fancy. But the female, under the necessity of rearing children, accumulated food to last through the winter, developed skill at turning animal hides into protective clothing, maintained fires, and created shelters. It is probably, therefore, at least in the northern countries, that itinerant males migrated toward the communities of females sometime in the late autumn... Today we may see indiscriminate mating as immoral and crude, but it was necessary for the preservation of the species under primitive conditions of life. The larger the gene pool from which an offspring emerged, the more likely he was to possess adaptive potentialities... as their numbers increased, people found it necessary to develop tolerance for one another... A male and a female who became partners and had children normally had greater chances for survival and more advantages than they would have had had they stayed alone. The first young children were a survival liability, but as they grew up the original couple became a group--with all of its members participating in the survival activities. "Love" was not important.
We can draw an accurate corollary from the survival behavior of those first true humans to the survival behavior of present-day suburbanites. The women are pretty much in charge of the community during the week, and on the weekends, when the pressure to catch the train or bus, to get to the office or shop on time, is temporarily lifted, all hell breaks loose. After a fairly quiescent Friday evening, the Saturday shopping and chores are finished and the realization that everyone has actually made it through another entire week gives cause to celebrate. Children are left with sitters, corks are pulled, fires are kindled in fireplaces and, incidentally, in the various groin areas of the participating householders.
No small wonder that under the influence of a relaxed atmosphere and a bit of alcohol a little, or a lot, of wife and husband swapping goes on. After all, good old American advertising has conditioned us to the idea that the only thing in the world worth having is a sexual potential of gigantic proportions--exemplified by physical beauty, just enough brains to make the team, and the things that money can buy. No one can wallow pleasantly in mediocrity anymore--everyone must excel, be the best of everything.
Those who do as much as they deem necessary to exist happily and then do no more shortly find themselves wistfully straining their vision into a cloud of dust, left by the "beautiful people" who have just passed them by at a thunderous clip. These people wear the latest clothes, drive the latest cars, sit on the latest types of furniture, and drink the latest form of fermentation. Quite naturally, since we have been told that they are the only people worth mating with, they are the ones most frequently mated. The average, ordinary, nice folks who are not motivated to keep themselves surrounded by the latest things are left by the wayside, rocking on the porch while the parade goes glittering by. And not one of them is ever totally convincing when he or she tells us how much they prefer the porch swing to the parade of "winners." Thus does the habit of changing partners more and more frequently find acceptance in the socio-economic groups of America.
So far as the rest of the world is concerned, wife swapping is nothing new. For centuries, those countries under the direct influence of the Catholic Church (which censures those members who find one spouse intolerable and desire to change to another via divorce) have had "arrangements" accepted by both husbands and wives wherein the husband may take a mistress or two without seriously endangering the marriage. The wives in these countries frequently take lovers, but are necessarily more discreet about their extramarital liaisons, for it is considered unnatural for a woman to have very much of a sex drive. That is to say, it is publicly unnatural for a woman to have very much of a sex drive, most of the inhabitants of the European and Scandinavian countries being eminently practical in matters of the heart and libido. Privately, however, men and women are allowed to behave like men and women and not like some species of pre-programmed wooden puppet who responds only to those stimuli that are accepted by the Mother Church as "good."
Among the African tribes, notably the Nyamwezi, the Nkundo, the Xosa, Baneka, Kuba, Madi, Thonga, Tswana and Zulu, the incidence of polyandry and polygamy is very high, mostly because of the stricture against a husband having intercourse with his wife or wives within a certain period of time after the birth of a child. In such a case, another wife or husband takes over the sexual partnership for the duration of the period of sexual abstinence involving the new mother, and no serious sexual tensions develop. In most other parts of the world, the system of marriage and concubinage is realistic; therefore it is hoped that Americans will learn to live with their inner conflicts and, in so doing, bring up new generations of children who are free of the inelevant theories that surrounded the infantile conditioning of their parents and grandparents.
The party that gave rise to the practice of wife-swapping in the community under discussion in the earlier part of this chapter had one other interesting aspect: it brought the husbands up against the knowledge that, far from being repulsed or disgusted by the idea and actuality of oral-genital sex, their wives were, generally speaking, in more need of that particular stimulation than they had realized. Take the case of Bill, the fellow who had volunteered to go for more vodka and had taken Donna with him as "navigator." He and his wife had had a satisfactory sexual relationship for the seven years of their marriage, but the titillation of the discussion of suppressed desires concerning the neighbors and their wives had started him thinking about what it would be like to make love to his neighbors' wives.
Normally a timid man when it came to approaching the opposite sex, the influence of some ten ounces of alcohol mixed with very little water and ice had given Bill the courage to speak up during the discussion with a great deal more than his usual lack of bravado. Then, when it was discovered that there was a serious shortage of vodka in his host's bar, Bill announced that he would undertake to replenish the communal store of potato schnapps. Donna quickly volunteered as navigator through the uncharted reaches of the six blocks between their neighborhood and the nearest liquor store. They got into Bill's car in a fine spirit of adventure, with Bill's rather clumsy attempts at seductive wit being met by much contented giggling from his "navigator." When Donna moved over to the center of the driver's seat, closer to Bill so that she could "direct" him to the shopping center, her proximity inflamed him even further and he discovered that he had a huge erection that gave him some concern for his ability to walk into the liquor store without attracting some embarrassing attention and remarks.
* * *
"Here I was, trying to drive while a little under the influence, and Donna was rubbing her tit up against my elbow fall the way. No sooner would I remember which way to turn in order to get to the damned liquor store when she would upset me again by putting her hand on my thigh while she gave me 'directions.' By the time we got to the shopping center I didn't know how I was going to walk in a straight line, I was so damned excited. Somehow, we bought the ice and mixer and a couple bottles of vodka and got back into the car.
What with all the booze I'd drunk and Donna's horny rubbing up against me, I made a wrong turn on the way back to the party and we found ourselves in the middle of some kind of freeway construction. It was just as well--I wanted to kiss and fuck and lick Donna so badly by that time that if we hadn't stopped at the unfinished freeway we'd have stopped at a motel and never gone back to the damned party.
"We were already sitting practically on top of each other, so it was no problem for me to grab her and find her mouth and kiss her brains out. She pulled me even closer to her and started biting my ears and my neck--my wife never does that and it turned me on so much that I didn't bother with any more preliminaries. I just got out of the front seat and took her with me into the back of the car--we have a station wagon and the kids had left the deck down. I found some blankets back there and before there was any time for talk, we'd taken off our clothes and were lying naked together, belly to belly, tit to tit, heaving and panting like two animals in mating season. I lost no time in mounting her--she had her legs wide open for me before I even tried to shove my cock into her pussy.
"It was great--just grabbing this woman, kissing her, laying her down and mounting her--no talk, no serious discussion, just fucking like there was no tomorrow. I could feel how excited she was--her cunt was all soft and creamy inside, and my prick jumped in and out of her body like it was attached to a pile driver. There was nothing better than what we did--an old-fashioned, straightaway, wild-ass fuck. After we'd been bucking together for a few minutes my cock began to feel her snatch getting tighter and tighter and literally sucking my come out of me. I started to feel myself coming, and I quit the fucking just in time.
" 'What's wrong, Bill? Why did you stop?' she cried, pulling me back into her by grabbing my bare ass with both her hands.
" 'I can't believe I'm fucking a pussy, baby. You feel like a crazy sucking mouth down there,' I said.
"For an answer, she squirmed around under me and before I knew it she was sucking me with her mouth as fast and hard as she'd sucked my big cock with her cunt. It was unbelievable--I couldn't tell the difference. I don't know what she did with her teeth--I didn't feel anything but the licking, sucking satin of the inside of her mouth. Then as quickly as she'd switched positions on me before, she changed again and was on top of me, riding me like a winning jockey while my balls bounced up and down on the deck of that damned station wagon, her white ass flying up and down in the moonlight, her wonderful tits pounding my face so fast that I couldn't get a mouthful of them, couldn't do any more than take a quick lick at the large, dark nipples as they brushed and tickled my cheeks.
"I tried to keep from coming as long as I could--I'd never in my life had an elemental, cave-woman type fucking like that. But Donna was so hot that she didn't want to wait for anything--she just wanted to feel that fountain of hot come shooting up into her sucking cunt. We came together, her pussy sucking and pulsing and my cock throbbing all the way up and down my hard seven inches of rod. I came so much that it ran out of her snatch onto the blanket and I found myself lying in a warm pool of my own juice. She looked excited and even that was sexy--every move this woman made was the most fundamental sex thing anyone had ever done. There was no talk afterwards, either, for we couldn't talk, we were breathing too hard from the hundred-yard dash we'd just made together.
"By the time we dressed and found our way back to the party everyone was walking into the room like they'd just had the biggest and best rubdown in the world. I didn't see my own wife right away but I hoped she was getting just half the satisfaction I'd had with Donna. God, what a woman! Even now, when we say Hi or even catch each other's glance as we pass by, there's a look in her eye that I know means 'Come on over whenever you can, Bill baby, and we'll do some more of that crazy down-to-earth fucking we both like so much.' I haven't made it with her since then, but I think about it a lot and I'm sure that as soon as the opportunity presents itself we're going to have a repeat performance. Wow!"
* * *
The other sexual adventures of this particular group are typical of people who have been in a monogamous situation for a period of time and who find it confining, but more practical than actively seeking out new sex partners. The opportunity for sexual freedom within the intimacy of their neighborhood group released a lot of the inevitable tension that develops as a result of the scramble for a place in the suburban sun that occupies so much of the time of both men and women who are, by accident or choice, caught in the trap of conspicuous consumption.
Fortunately, no serious rifts evolved from the parties that followed this initial experiment in spouse-sharing, and at present there has been only one divorce in the group, that of Larry and Anne. Anne continues to live in the neighborhood and is still an active participant in the swapping parties, sometimes bringing in a man she's met and found sympathetic to the group's activities and sometimes coming to the parties alone. She never wants for partners.
CONCLUSION
The need for more and more freedom of sexual expression is being met by less and less restriction in the areas of love and marriage--but oral-genital sex is still, in many minds and in many communities, a taboo insofar as discussion and practice is concerned. Even though most "normal" people not only enjoy oral lovemaking but fantasize about it extensively, there is remaining that barrier we mentioned earlier on the incorrect assumption that any organs so near the evacuation areas of the body must be unclean and therefore, distasteful to "decent" people. This erroneous attitude has accounted for a great deal of the confusion surrounding the acceptance of oral-genital relations as normal, desirable and an integral part of a complete sexual experience. Indeed, we now consider an individual who has never experienced or wanted to experience oral sex as being a bit strange--but only in theory, seldom in conversation.
Our case history of Lyn and her husband, who was reluctant to the point of obsession to allow her to fellate him, is an extreme example of the individual who is so imbued with the attitude that sex itself is dirty and oral sex is unspeakably filthy that it actually ruined his otherwise excellent relationship with his wife. Only after he allowed himself to learn the true facts of oral expression and satisfaction of those sexual hungers that develop from infantile sucking needs did he become enough of a well-adjusted person to allow his marriage to mend and his life to improve immeasurably.
Dolores, who had a similar problem that interfered with her marriage, eventually sought hypnotherapy as a means to unlock the damaging childhood experiences that crippled her emotionally. Her mother's attitude toward oral sexual expression had so impressed her that she shut it out of her mind until one day it came back with such force that it literally made Dolores physically ill. After her therapy, Dolores was able to relate to her adult experiences as the adult she had become and not as the frightened child she once had been.
The third case history which we review here shows the extent to which infantile experience can go in imprinting indelibly on the mind of an impressionable child an initial sexual experience which then compels the individual to continually seek out, in later life, those partners and situations that are reminiscent of their first sexual gratification--or scarification. Betsy's lesbianism came directly from the fact that she had been all but seduced by a man old enough to be her father--in fact, he represented to her the hated figure of her father, a man who had failed Betsy time and time again. The resulting ambivalence she learned to live with so confused the girl that she turned toward a lesbian love affair rather than face her own fright at the thought of being possessed completely by a man, who still represented her father to her. That she was able to come to a working adjustment of her disability was most fortunate--not many people who make the choices Betsy inadvertently made are as lucky as she.
Ruth, our fourth protagonist, was the all-but-willing victim of a gang rape--a gang rape that, as it continued, she began to enjoy, thus getting a load of totally intolerable guilts along with the sexual gratification she experienced. Her attempted suicide was apprehended, and she received the therapy she so desperately needed in order to continue a sane existence. That she held the image of that gang rape in her subconscious through twenty-five years of marriage to a pleasant man whom she was fond of, and then found a means of acting it out without alienating her new husband, is testimony to the tenacity of the subconscious mind. The resolution of Ruth and Eddie's problem areas was helped along by a marriage counsellor and, of course, their own desire for a better marriage.
The wife and husband swapping party described and narrated in our fifth chapter is typical of other parties and orgy groups that presently meet in many of the suburban--and urban--neighborhoods of America. These groups are only what they're made of; if the individual participants in the orgy or swapping groups are well-adjusted, the results of the experiment will be less disastrous than if the people involved are basically unbalanced individuals. How the people who are the components of the group sex experience react and interreact is the only index we can have of the beneficent or malignant end product of spouse-swapping. In most of these experiences, the impending disaster does not occur; in some of them, however, the personal lives of the participants are blasted past all reclamation.
Marriage and our social patterns of courtship and monogamous living are changing so rapidly that by the time our children are ready for choosing more or less permanent mates there may be no such thing as marriage as we know it today. The old rules didn't work--they sounded good, they appealed to the inherent nesting and parental instincts of women, but the men never did accept them wholeheartedly, and a great many women previously spent their lives in pining for the love affair they felt life had cheated them of by saddling them with children and the responsibilities that raising a family bring.
Now, it may be possible for a young couple to live together honorably without the legal and emotional binds of traditional marriage ties. When--and if--they want children, they may then legalize their relationship. This seems a far more intelligent solution to the difficulty of living, full-time, with another person. Unfortunately for the legal and psychiatric communities, the newer arrangements may mean much less business, but they're always complaining about being overworked, so a more modern form of marriage will probably be a better way of life for everyone--especially for the children of marriages where they are really wanted, looked forward to and provided for, without the attendant divorce-induced crumbling away of most or all of their security when they need it most, during their formative years. To a better future.
