It is only in the past few years that the public has openly welcomed sex studies that frankly reveal the true acts of man when caught up in the powerful thrust of the oral sexual drive.
Authorities have pointed out that there is no part of the human body which has not, is not, or will not be used by someone for sexual gratification. Probably one of the most controversial combinations is a relatively direct and obvious one: mouth to genital contacts between persons of the same or different sex.
Looking at it in a purely objective manner, what could be more natural, one would think, than for an erogenous zone like the mouth, lips and tongue to be used to stimulate another erogenous zone, the male penis or the female vulva? Also, while the birds and the bees may not do it, many of the lower mammals, unrestricted by social convention, quite freely utilize oral stimulations among their inborn sexual techniques.
The formidable Krafft-Ebing, for example, was sternly moralistic in his nevertheless monumental sex study, Psychopathia Sexualis when he wrote: "These horrible sexual acts seem to be committed only by sensual persons who have become satiated or impotent from excessive indulgence in a normal way."
In the main, society's reaction to "strange" sex impulses was to pretend they didn't exist. Or, if exposed, to react in yet another manner: "-Perhaps if we don't say anything about it, or don't recognize it, perhaps it will go away." It won't. Not only does resistance to the presence of unwanted facts lower man's own estimate of his kind, but it further encourages even harsher actions in the future. It even goes further. If we refuse to recognize simple truth in sex, how then, can we seek truth in other aspects of life?
Oral love has been a motivating force in the sexual life of man since time began. Animals have no qualms about it. It is part and parcel of all their sex actions. Only man has hesitancy in acknowledging the role this vital impulse plays in his life. This reluctance to accept a continuing sexual action is best expressed in the various terms used to designate the performance itself: "Cocksucker,"
"Cunt Lapper," are the two most general terms to ridicule acts of fellatio and cunnilingus. Among those who are not quite so vitriolic about the impulse, more humorous forms of expression are found: "Box Lunch at the Y,"
"Clean Out the Kitchen,"
"Gobble the Goop,"
"Pearl Diver,"
"Yodel in the Canyon,"
"Sword Swallower," and "Pricknic Ream" are but a few.
CHAPTER ONE
It should be obvious to anyone who has ever watched an extremely young child that one of the first uses of his mouth is the examination of the world around him. In addition to seeking out and touching objects, he also places objects in his mouth to taste them and to suck on them. Some authorities relate this to a desire for nourishment, while many others believe the sucking response is an end in itself, apart from any need for gratification of the hunger urge.
One mother who consulted a doctor for help reported with obvious horror her discovery of her six month old twin boys, whom she had left naked and asleep in their crib one hot summer night, lying in a close sixty-nine position, eyes still closed, drowsily but enthusiastically sucking on each other's penis!
It was obviously a coincidental juxtaposition of their bodies which had caused them to react in their usual manner-which involved an exploration of the immediate area with their mouths. The mother's horror was augmented by the fact that the boy's organs were standing up erected like tiny pointing fingers and she immediately feared (presumptuously and illogically) that both her sons had been born homosexual.
It is, of course, easier for children to carry their oral explorations on if at least one member to the accidental act is a boy. Even so, the accidental aspect of any such situation precludes it from occurring very frequently. More often than not, whenever an extremely young child is involved in an act of oral sex, he or she is promoted into the act by someone who is older.
An unfortunate instance of this came to light in a psychiatrist's files on a thirty-five year old man who contacted the doctor in an effort to cure a habit which involved an incestuous form of oral sex.
The subject was obviously suffering from a severe guilt complex as a result of his compulsive behavior, and seemed almost eager at times to tell of his sins.
"Before getting married," he said, "I never did have much of a sex life. Oh, I dated a few girls in high school, but I was much too shy to do anything with them. A lot of times I never even got a good night kiss. In college I used to listen to the guys tell about their conquests, and I felt very envious of them because I was still a virgin.
"There was this one girl in college who was a real dog, but the fellows all said she put out if you were real desperate. Well, by that time I was real desperate, all right, so I asked for a date, and she said okay. I figured I could park in some dark spot, so I wouldn't have to look at her. At least it would be better than masturbating, I thought, and I wouldn't have to feel so damned immature for still being a virgin at twenty-one.
"So we went out. I took her to an art movie way over on the other side of town so no one would see us together, then to a dark bar for a couple of drinks where I could bolster my courage with some booze before embarking on my great adventure.
I guess I was pretty nervous before the bar closed. I guess I was pretty nervous about the whole thing, and I even thought about chucking the entire idea and taking her home. Then I realized it was now or never, so I drove as fast as I could up to a lovers' lane I knew about, where it was dark and you could see the lights of the city way down below. I cut the motor and lights, turned on the radio for some soft, romantic music, and reached out for her.
"I guess she'd been through the routine before, because she wasn't bashful. She didn't stop me when I unbuttoned her blouse and put my hand in, working the fingers under the bra to feel her tits. She had pretty good-sized boobies, all right, and I could feel the tip harden up against my palm. That wasn't all that was hardening, either. My prick was standing up firm and straight against my pants, and the idea that finally I was going to get laid didn't do me any harm in that department either.
"But when I reached down under her skirt, she stopped me by gripping my wrist with her hand. I figured she was just teasing, so I kept on, but the harder I tried to get my hand up between her legs, the more she fought me off. I asked her what in hell was the matter, and she said that she was sorry but she couldn't. She hadn't wanted to tell me when I'd asked her for a date, because she thought I wouldn't want to take her out.
"She was in the middle of her period!
"I was getting pretty frustrated by that time. I guessed Fate really had it in for me. My first real chance to get a piece of ass, and she has to have her period. It was probably why none of the other guys were dating her that weekend. I even wondered if maybe some of them had sort of conned me into dating her, as a practical joke, knowing this would happen.
"I muttered a few pretty choice curses and reached for the ignition key to get the hell out of here, but her hand stopped me. Her hand stopped me by moving down on my thigh, and palm spread, and then gliding over to the front of my pants, which was bulging out. She patted and stroked me down there, and she said that she didn't mean for me to get hung up, that she'd take care of me. She smiled in the darkness of the car, and I could see her teeth flash. Without any hesitation, she unzipped the front of my trousers, reached in and untangled my stiff dick from the underwear.
"I'd never had a girl hold me down there and I had to admit that the touch was pretty exciting, much more so than when I did it myself. I thought she was going to jerk me off, but she had something else in mind.
"She licked her lips and said that I looked good enough to eat. Then, before I realized what was happening, she bent her head into my lap and with one hand firmly holding my dick, she started kissing and licking the top of it. At first I could hardly believe what was happening. But in a moment the pleasure was so intense I believed it all right. Her mouth went all around the top of my dick, with that tongue of hers snaking in and out to just lightly touch the very top, and I could feel her teeth nipping low and then at the flesh.
"I swear I nearly went right through the roof. And then her whole mouth opened wide and moved down as though she wanted to swallow the whole thing at once. Then she moved her head back up, with the lips tightly gripping the shaft of my throbbing dick all the way. All I could see was the top of her head moving up and down, up and down, but I could feel everything she was doing down there-which was plenty.
"When I could feel myself coming, I took hold of her head and held it down over me, while I lifted up my hips to force my dick farther up into her mouth. She struggled and tried to make some sounds to tell me to let go of her. I guess she didn't want to have my orgasm in her mouth, but I was so worked up I didn't want her to get away. I just grabbed her hair, held onto it, and kept pumping my dick up and down in her mouth until I came.
"Wow, that was an experience. I'd never had an orgasm so great, and I was pretty sure that even straight screwing wouldn't be that great.
"After I took her home, I ran into a couple of guys who asked me what happened. I played it casual and shrugged and said that she'd sucked me off, what else? They were pretty envious, you can bet.
"After that, I had a few more dates with the girl. I even laid her in the back seat of the car one night. But it was uncomfortable back there, and I couldn't seem to arrange myself right, and-well, to tell the truth, it wasn't as much fun as I'd expected.
"When I was finished with college, I got this job with the engineering firm. I had a few dates with some of the girls in the office, but most of them working there seemed to be married or wanted to introduce me to their old maid sisters or cousins. And the ones I did go out with, even if they'd let me pet them or screw them, didn't go for the oral bit. Once I had one of them over at my apartment and we were on the bed naked and fooling around, and I wiggled around and thrust my stiff dick into her face. She got a funny look on her face and asked me what the hell I was doing. I told her I wanted her to kiss it, to suck on it, and to put it in her mouth and chew on it. Instead of doing any of that, she slapped my face, called me a god-damned pervert for wanting her to do a dirty thing like that-and she got up, put on her clothes, and never dated me again. It didn't matter so much about that, because I never really liked her very much, but I hated to lose a good piece of ass.
"I met my wife Rosa through some mutual friends. She was shy, like me, a couple of years younger than my thirty-four, and had never married either. We got along pretty well right from the start. She was quiet, like me, and not very demanding. We had sex-you know, the regular kind-a few times, after which she'd always sniffle and tell me how much she loved me. I began to think of getting married and settling down. I'd read marriage manuals that told that oral sex was perfectly normal, so I figured instead of pushing my luck before we got hitched, I'd wait until afterward and that it would be a natural thing for her to do to me. Besides, I was pretty bashful around her, and afraid that if I brought up a subject like that, she might get embarrassed and not do anything at all.
"Anyway, we got married-but the oral sex didn't just naturally come about as I expected it to do. After awhile, I finally got around to asking her to do it to me-and she refused. She said that was where I urinated, and she wasn't going to put her mouth on that, that she'd get germs, and that I was a beast to even mention it to her. I showed her the marriage manuals, but it didn't do any good. She said it might be okay for some people, but not her.
"So I had to be satisfied with doing it the regular way. But I kept remembering how good it had been when a girl went down on me, when her tongue reached out and licked the top of my cock and along the side; when her lips nibbled all up and down the side; and when her mouth took all of me and I shot off big and strong.
"Our sex life really wasn't so hot. We kept arguing all the time, not over sex particularly, but over the slightest thing. I never even bothered to mention the oral thing, because I knew that would really start off a whopping big argument. A couple of times when Rosa was asleep in bed with me, her mouth was open in a snore, and I wondered what would happen if I just eased up there with my dick in my hand and stuffed it into her mouth. Maybe I could sit on her chest, with my knees on her shoulders to hold her down, so she'd have to suck on it whether she wanted to or not. I always got hard just thinking about it, but I never attempted it because I knew there'd be hell to pay afterward.
"Then Rosa got pregnant with our little girl, Liz. After the child was born, we couldn't have any sex for awhile, until the stitches healed up, so I decided to go to a call girl. It was a number one of the guys in the engineering department gave me, and he said she was a real doll who would do anything and everything. I think it was that last statement that started me reminiscing about the good things in life I'd been missing.
"So I called her up and made an appointment and went over for a visit. She was quite pretty, with a good figure. She asked me if I wanted anything special, and I asked her what she did. It was my first time with a pro, and I was a little bit nervous. She had a nice apartment, and we sat and had a couple of drinks, while she ran down the list of things she did. You can imagine what particular thing I picked out, I guess. I wanted to have that gorgeous red-lipped mouth kiss me all over my dick and to open up and take me inside.
"Which is exactly what happened. I almost went out of my mind, it was so great. I'd nearly forgotten how good it was that way, and I decided I'd go to a pro at least once a week to have it done to me.
"It was a good plan, except with a new baby our bills were mounting up. Then Rosa had some female complications afterward, which cost some more money. I just couldn't afford to go, or if I did, I felt guilty. What I resented most was that I either had to go without or had to pay for it, when I had a wife who was supposed to do it to me.
"I was frustrated, annoyed, and angry with her. I certainly hoped our little girl Liz wouldn't grow up to be so selfish and narrow-minded. It was about Liz that I got this idea, you see. She was seven months old when I thought of it. It happened while Rosa was out someplace or other and I was babysitting at home. Liz was crying, for her bottle, I guess, and I had it heating while I went in to look at her in the crib. She was a cute kid, all right. When I looked at her, she stopped crying and started making sucking motions with her lips.
"I remember laughing and thinking how nice it would be if I could teach her mother to make motions like that-but not with a bottle nipple in her mouth. And that's when I got this crazy idea. If the mother wouldn't give me a little harmless pleasure, why not the daughter?
"I guess I must've talked myself into and out of it a half dozen times. Then I figured, what the hell, what would be the harm of it. Liz was too young to know what was happening. She wouldn't remember anything that I did to her, and she was sure as hell too young to tell anybody about it. The idea of having a young innocent sucking on me was pretty exciting, but I didn't feel quite right about it just the same, even though I knew there wasn't really anything bad that could come of it. After all, she was my daughter, and I remembered from some college courses that in some cultures around the world a father was expected to have sexual relations with his daughter.
"It was certainly better, I rationalized, than either of us going to strangers.
"Like I said before, just the idea of someone sucking my prick gets me very excited, and by the time I'd made up my mind about Liz I had a good stiff one, which made me all the more determined. I knew that Rosa wouldn't be back home for another hour, so I had plenty of time.
"So I took the kid out of her crib and put her on our bed where there'd be more room. She kept crying and making those sucking motions with her mouth and reaching out to get the bottle from me. I realized it was time to strike while the dick was hot, so I unzipped, took it out and got on the bed, leaning over her, so it dangled right over her face.
"Maybe she thought it was a new kind of bottle, or more likely a teething toy, because she reached out and grabbed the flesh with both hands and pulled it down to her mouth. She could only get the tip of it in her mouth, but she was filled with enthusiasm and kept moving her lips in that familiar suction movement. It wasn't only that she was sucking on it, but I think it was also that here I was doing something I'd never heard anybody doing before-having a baby do it to me-and I guess that made me all the more excited. I nearly had an orgasm right then and there.
"But I backed off instead and rested a moment. Liz started yelling for her new-found toy again. I guess she was enjoying what she was doing, and I knew sure as hell I was. You know that old saying about a stiff dick not having any conscience. Well, right then and there I wasn't worrying about whether this was right or wrong. I only knew it felt good, and I was going to do it again.
"So I moved right back into position again, with the same results. Except this time, I didn't back off. I stayed right in there, except just as I came, I turned my dick so it wouldn't spurt into her mouth. I guess it must have scared her, because she started crying even more. I got nervous then, because I figured with the kind of luck I had, Rosa would be outside parking the car at that instant and hear the kid yelling and come rushing in to find my stuff all over Liz's face. I got out some Kleenex and wiped her up so well I was sure my wife wouldn't suspect anything had happened.
"Rosa didn't. I was giving Liz a bottle when she came home. I knew that it had been fun and I'd gotten away with it completely. I felt guilty and ashamed about it, even though I tried to convince myself that there was no reason to be concerned over a little simple fun that wouldn't do any harm to anybody. After all, I reasoned, the only reason I did it, is because Rosa wouldn't do it to me, like she was supposed to.
"Besides, I told myself, it was just an experiment, and I didn't have to do it again." At this point, the subject smiled wanly and said, "At least, I thought I didn't have to do it again.
"But I kept thinking about how great it was. And there it was, ready, willing and available to me. It was sure better than going to a prostitute. This, at least, was keeping it in the family.
"Anyway, I couldn't resist doing it again, one time when my wife was out shopping. It was funny, the way I'd gotten to suggesting she-my wife, that is-get out more often. You know, go out to a movie or shopping or to the beauty parlor while I stayed home and babysat. Rosa was actually pleased that I was taking such an interest in our child. Of course I didn't tell her what kind of an interest I was taking, though I came close by saying that Liz and I had a lot of fun together.
"I suppose it was inevitable that I should get discovered. One afternoon, Rosa came home earlier than expected, while I was so busy letting Liz nibble on my dick I didn't hear her. It wasn't until I heard a shocked gasp from the bedroom doorway that I realized the child and I weren't alone. I looked up and was as startled as she was. I was pretty close to having an orgasm, and the sight of Rosa standing there with a shocked, white face made me lose all control and let go.
"I spurted right into Liz's mouth this time, and she started choking and gagging. Rosa came rushing up to take care of her while I backed away, zipping up my pants and wondering how in hell I was going to explain this away. There was obviously no way I could. Rosa came at me with venom in her eyes. She said I was a filthy, perverted animal, doing something like that to an innocent child, and I should be locked up in prison or an insane asylum.
"To tell the truth, I was embarrassed but I was pretty sore myself. I started shouting at her. I said it was her own fault because she wouldn't suck me off. Then I stormed out of the house and went to the nearest bar to get drunk.
Actually, I guess I just wanted to get out of the house so I wouldn't have to look at her accusing face. Even after a half dozen drinks, I knew that she was right and I was wrong. So I went back home and begged her to forgive me. I went through the whole bit, dragging in the marriage manuals to show that what I wanted from her was considered all right and wouldn't be so bad if she tried it. All the while, she gave me the silent treatment. I was pretty pooped by that time anyway, so I just got undressed and went to bed.
"I don't know what time it was, but it was still dark outside when I woke feeling very good. I could tell that I had a hard on, and in the darkness of the bedroom someone was mouthing my dick. I could tell it was Rosa. She didn't seem to enthusiastic about it, but at least she was trying. I'm generally a pretty heavy sleeper, and I guessed she was practicing on me, thinking I wouldn't wake up. So I pretended I was still asleep, because I was enjoying it and didn't want to get embarrassed and stop what she was doing.
"Right about then I was feeling no pain, that's for sure. I was thinking now that Rosa had started doing this to me, I'd really have myself a good sex life. Of course,. I knew she was probably only doing it to keep me away from the kid, but that was okay. I didn't care what her reasons were for doing it, just as long as she did it. And she was doing it now, not too well, but well enough. I could feel her warm lips, the hot cavity of her mouth as I slipped in and out, in and out, the tip of my dick touching her tongue each time it went in.
"When I started to come, she tried to move away, but I reached down and held her head. I could see her eyes widen and she pushed against me, trying to get free. But I held her tightly and thrust my dick deep into her mouth and came.
"Then I sighed relief and let go of her head. She got up off the bed, staggered out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, where she threw up into the toilet. I could hear her muttering curses and what a filthy pig I was, and then she gargled her mouth out about a dozen times.
I remembered thinking, just before I dropped off into a contented sleep, that I'd have to stop at the drug store and get lots of mouthwash.
"That's what I thought, but I was wrong. Sure, during the months that followed, she kept going down on me-but only when I really went after her and demanded it. And even then it wasn't as good as it should have been. What bothered me the most was that every time she did it, she kept gagging like she was going to throw up all over me, and afterward she did go into the bathroom and get sick. I started resenting her attitude, but I didn't know what I was going to do about it.
"That is, I didn't until one day when my wife Rosa was out visiting her mother. She'd decided that since she was making the big sacrifice, I'd leave little Liz alone. The kid was walking around now, and this time she stopped right in front of my spread legs where I was sitting, reached out to steady herself-and touched me in front. I could feel her warm palm move against my dick even through the cloth, and I couldn't help but wonder if she'd like a toy to play with that she hadn't seen for awhile .
"Before I could even think to talk myself out of it, I'd unzipped my fly and pulled my dick out. Liz was at just about the right height to examine it, which she did with both hands, turning it this way and that, squeezing it. I started getting hard right in her hands, and she seemed pleased with what was happening.
"And then she did with all her toys. She put it in her mouth...."
"I know a lot of people would think it was a rotten, dirty thing for me to do to an innocent child. But it was that very innocence which attracted me. My wife Rosa sucked me off, but didn't really know what it was all about, and that seemed for some to make it all the sexier.
"So I'd started in again. I let Rosa alone more often after that, and I guess that's what made her get suspicious. Now that Liz was older and couldn't mistake my stiff dick for her bottle nipple, her attention drifted from playing with the new toy. Besides that, the taste of it seemed unappetizing to her. What she did like, though, was grape jelly, which my wife used to spread on toast for her every morning. That's how I got the idea to take a knife and spread a little of the jelly over my dick and touch her lips with it. After that, I never had any trouble having her suck and lick it.
"And it was one afternoon when she was doing that, that Rosa come into the room and discovered us."
The subject then reported how his understandably irate wife grabbed up the knife he'd used to jelly his sex organ and tried to castrate him with it. She failed in the attempt, but she did institute divorce proceedings against the man, threatening to bring out the facts in court unless he sought competent psychological treatment. Aware of the social stigma inherent in the act he'd committed and criminal aspect of it, the subject readily agreed, and is currently undergoing analysis.
This may be an extreme case, but it does serve to illustrate the compulsive nature of many sex acts. While there is an obvious undercurrent of guilt and anxiety in the subject at present, he insists on rationalizing his behavior in that his wife refuses him, so he merely utilized a substitute. There is undoubtedly more to his motivations than this, e.g. his background, family life, sexual experiences and lack of them, etc. But delving into these matters is not our concern at this point and is more suitable for the psychiatrist's couch.
As mentioned, the case may be extreme, but it is not unique. Many other similar instances came to light, with variations on the same theme. For example, a reverse instance came during an interview when a young mother freely admitted that she kissed her infant son "all over," which included his testicles and penis, and eyen sucked on him because it pleased him. She regarded this activity, however, as a mere show of affection and not of any psychological significance.
If she is serious about this, there is certainly cultural precedence for it. There are known primitive societies existing today in which the people as a matter of course fondle, caress, and kiss the genitals of both male and female infants, apparently to instill in them a sexual confidence that may serve them in good stead during their later, pubescent years.
It is significant that the Kinsey Institute discovered that most sex offenders with very young children are not dirty old men lurking on dark street comers, but persons the children knows, often suppose-and of course this includes oral sex, which the individual may feel safer, since it does not involve rupturing a girl's hymen or otherwise injuring her in any way.
The male who desires getting his sexual kicks this way may, as in the instance cited in some detail, take advantage of a girl so young she doesn't realize the object of her affection is a part of the man. In later life, when some awareness does come, a man must use other subterfuges. One case which came to light was that of an uncle living with the family, which included a young couple and their six year old daughter.
The uncle was frequently left alone with the young girl, the parents taking advantage of their having a "built-in babysitter." Both the girl and the older man-he was in his early forties-seemed to like each other very much and got along very well.
The uncle got into the habit of insisting the girl take a bath before going to bed, and he'd even take the soap and lather her all over with it-all over, including up between her legs. The girl was used to being nude in front of him so she didn't mind him doing that, or him drying her with a towel, or putting her on the bed where he'd play little games with her. One of his favorite games was, "I'll kiss it better." The girl, being quite active, was constantly getting tiny bruises on her body, and the uncle would see these and sympathize by putting his mouth on the wound.
He'd pretend sometimes that a freckle was a sore spot, and he'd kiss it better. Sometimes he'd even imagine she had a bruise way up between her legs which she couldn't see, and he'd put his head between her legs and kiss the inside of her thighs. She thought it was funny when he kissed her navel so that it would heal up. Of course she was a little embarrassed when he spread open her legs and pointed to, as she later told authorities, "the place where I make water."
She went on, "He said that I'd had that cut up between my legs for a long time and it never healed up. He said he knew just what would do the trick, and before I could say anything he put his head down between my legs-I was on the bed at the time just after taking my bath, and he was kneeling on the floor beside the bed-and I started giggling because his beard scratched and tickled me.
"Then I felt him kiss me way up on my legs, and then he planted a real juicy one right on the place he said he would. It felt--well, sort of funny. I didn't mind it exactly, but then nobody had ever done that to me before, not even daddy or mommy. I thought he'd stop then, but he didn't. He kept kissing me there harder and harder, and then his tongue touched me right in the center and forced inside.
"I started getting a little nervous, so I told him that I was tired and mommy and daddy would be home pretty soon. Then he got up and smiled and told me not to tell my mommy and daddy about our little games together, because they wouldn't understand. I promised I wouldn't, and I didn't either."
Generally, sex offenders with children are caught because the children do tell, but in this instance the six year old girl treated it as a secret and didn't tell. The uncle's insistence on playing variations of the game, however, succeed in getting him caught.
One night when she was getting ready for bed, the uncle asked her if she remembered how he'd always kissed her in special spots to make it better, and when she said yes, he told her that he had a spot that needed kissing because it ached him something terrible.
The girl was instantly sympathetic and said she would, thinking it was a game he was playing. Then the uncle took off his trousers and underwear and stood there beside the bed in front of her. He pointed to the tip of his penis and said the reason it was so swollen at the top and so red-looking was because it hurt so much.
He moved even closer so it was right in front of her face, and he said, "Go on, honey, kiss it better."
The girl needed some convincing. She'd seen her father go to the bathroom, so she knew that part of the male anatomy, though certainly not well. Still, it embarrassed her, so she shook her head no.
"But you promised," the uncle said in a hurt tone of voice. "Look how sore it is. It's starting to throb."
The young girl realized he was right. It was not only throbbing, it was swelling up in size. Impulsively, she reached out, grasped his sex organ and planted her soft lips on the tip of it.
The uncle sighed and told her it felt so much better already. He urged her to keep kissing it, to make it better."
The girl reported that she didn't really like the taste, but the uncle seemed to feel so much better that she didn't want to disappoint him. So she held onto it with both hands and kept kissing it, not only on the tip but all over. Instead of the swelling going down, though, it increased, as did the throbbing. Then suddenly it began to shake and it started spurting all over.
It frightened her, but the uncle sat down on the bed, pulled her close and kissed her warmly, "See, he said a moment later, "you kissed it better."
The girl looked, and sure enough, the thing she'd kissed was now hanging limply between the uncle's legs. The next day, she was so proud of what she'd done and despite the uncle's warning, she told her mother of the good deed she'd done.
Needless to say, the shocked mother told an equally shocked father, and uncle's days of kissing anything better were soon a thing of the past.
The use of a child of either sex as an oral sex object, on the receiving or the giving end, by an older person or by one of his or her contemporaries is pretty far from the desired norm. The average person who is more interested in the total human rather than only the genitals and their manipulation by lips, mouth and tongue, has a difficult time in understanding the oral sex urge when it reaches such basic levels.
CHAPTER TWO
"I'm not really sure if there are other girls like me. For a long time I was so embarrassed about the way I am that I wouldn't even admit it to myself. But I suffered such shame and guilt that I'm willing to let my diary be published if it'll help just one girl to know she's not alone in the world. If there's another girl somewhere who has the same driving need to ... well, to do the nasty sex things I always wanted to do without admitting it-that girl needs all the moral support she can get."
So states the young female victim of an overpowering sexual perversion which to this day dominates her intimate sexual relationships. Gwenn Henderson, as we shall call her to protect her identity, is twenty-one years old at the time of this writing. She is a file clerk in an Encino bank where she has been employed for almost a year. With respect to these isolated facts, of course, Gwenn bears a resemblance to literally hundreds of other girls in Encino, and to thousands throughout the nation.
But in other respects, this young woman's life is radically different from the lives of her peers, particularly with regard to her personal sex practices. When her case was first brought to my attention I conducted a number of personal interviews in order to satisfy myself that her story was valid. During the course of these interviews, I recommended her to a psychiatrist. It soon became apparent that the girl's psychological problem was one which could be described as a "self perpetuating, traumatically induced erotic compulsion." In other words, although Gwenn's perversion originated as the result of an externally caused sexual episode which occurred during her childhood, it is now so thoroughly a part of her that she does not really want to change. Unconsciously, she desires to continue participating in precisely those acts which at an earlier time she had regarded with shameful guilt. At that time her claim was that she desired nothing more than to divest herself of her desire for her acts, although it has been now determined that on a much deeper level, Gwenn revelled in the satisfaction she received from them.
As to the perverse acts themselves, the intimate diary which follows is a more appropriate vehicle for such a revelation that is the more objective introduction which I am providing. Such personal details are much more effectively presented in Gwenn's own words, for only there can the whole story be told from the vantage point of the person who lived it.
Dear Diary
A girl in the savings department put a bug in my ear about a brand new sex kick today. At first I just laughed at her but then I found out that she was serious. She'd been dating a Negro, and she says he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. I never would have thought of dating a black person before, much less ... well, much less letting him put his black cock into my white pussy. I mean, I'm not prejudiced or anything, but, gee, the very idea of ... well, anyway, let me tell you what this girl told me. She said she'd dated a lot of guys in her life but her black boy-friend is the most exciting guy she's ever known. And when she said "known," she meant it.
She said that as far as she was concerned the old joke about Negroes having bigger dicks than white guys is no joke at all. She said her boyfriend had a cock on him that would choke a horse. Then she giggled and said there were a lot better things for him to do with it than that, and that she never wanted him to waste even one inch of it by doing anything so silly with it. The more she talked about it the more I considered that a nice big black cock might be just what I need to give me a new thrill.
Later, talking to the same girl ,she could see that I was interested, I guess. She asked me if I wanted her to fix me up with a date. I didn't give her an answer right away, but she was real nice about it and said I didn't have to tell her my answer right then.
I'm really thinking about doing it. A couple of nights after she first told me about how good Negroes were in bed I had a dream about a big black guy. I dreamed he was sitting across from me with a big smile on his face and his cock out of his pants. And I had my hands on it playing with it. What a monster it was-it was like running my hands up and down a rolling pin.
I hope she broaches the subject again. I don't want to be the one to bring it up, but if she asks me again I think I'll ask her to get me a date with one of her black boyfriend's buddies. Who knows? Maybe a giant black dick in my mouth is what I need to start my pussy jerking in the throes of an orgasm even better than I've had before.
One week later it was all set. She mentioned it again and I told her I was game. She said she was sure she could get me a date with a friend of her boyfriend's named Joe. And she said that she's met him before. He has a great build-a small waist and a set of shoulders like a prize fighter's. That's not all, either. She said she could see a big bulge in his pants while he was with her and her boyfriend.
I can hardly wait until I see him. I've completely gotten over any misgivings I may have had about dating a Negro. All I'm thinking about now is the big cock he's supposed to have. Goodbye for now. Tomorrow night I'll know.
I must admit, last night I saw what a real man looks like. Joe turned out to be pretty much like I'd expected. And that's saying a lot because from the way my girlfriend at the bank talked, I was expecting a lot.
Joe picked me up at my apartment early. It was about a half hour before he was supposed to be there when I heard a knock at the door. As soon as I had let him in and introduced myself I asked him if he knew he was so early.
He said, "Sure, Gwenn, I know I'm here before you expected me. But it's no accident. I wanted to be early to take advantage of the short time we're going to have together."
When I asked him what he meant he said, 'Honey, I have a hunch however much time we have together tonight won't be enough. You know what I mean?"
At first I was kind of taken aback by his being so familiar with me and calling me "Honey" before he hardly knew me, but something about the sparkle in his eye made me want him to be familiar.
And to top it all off, I wasn't even dressed when he knocked on my door. I had to answer it wearing only a robe. I made sure it was a thick chenille one though and not a thin, transparent one like I could have worn. His eyes immediately riveted onto my tits. They were far from being out in the open. But my thirty-nine inches look especially big over my small waist and they were both pooching out my robe like they do in a wool sweater.
I asked him to wait for just a few minutes and I'd be ready. Joe looked down at the top of my robe-he was a tall guy, six two or six three-and said, "No problem, baby. I'm willing to wait a long time for that."
The way he said it left no doubt that he was referring to my tits. For a brief second I was kind of disappointed. I'd hoped he would notice how my eyes looked after all the work I'd done on them-that he'd notice my face, not just my body. But then I sighed and realized that it has always been my body that men noticed. Why should it be any different just because this man happened to be black instead of white?
When I got all my clothes on I came back out and asked Joe what he had in mind for the evening. What I meant was a place he wanted to take me but that's not how he answered me.
"Honey, you don't want to hear what I have in mind, do you? Why not feel it instead of listening to me talk about it?"
Without directly answering his loaded question about whether I wanted to 'feel it instead of talk about it,' I said, "Where do you want to-do it?"
I didn't say what the "it" was. I just left that up to him to interpret any way he chose.
Joe said, "I thought we might just go straight up to my place, honey? I don't know about you, but I'm a pretty informal guy. I don't go out to the clubs very much. I don't think you'll be bored if we go to my place."
He was a man of action. I could tell that right away. He wasn't going to pussy-foot around wanting to get me in bed. That kind of thrilled me, and I felt a shiver of anticipation run down my spine. The way he was acting made me bolder than usual.
In my huskiest voice I said, "Joe, we don't even have to go all the way over to your place. I think we can do anything you have in mind right here at my place, without even making trip across town."
He picked right up on that offer. "I'm with you, baby," he said with a smile on his face.
I was feeling very coquettish by then. I knew he wanted to see me naked, and to do something good to my pussy. I became so bold that, looking back, I'm amazed at myself.
I stood in front of him and shamelessly allowed him to gaze at my body as though I was on an auction block. And I reveled in the heat of his burning eyes as he stepped closer to me and raised his hand to my shoulder.
"Joe," I asked him, "do you know me well enough to answer a very personal question?"
"Shoot, baby," he said.
"Is it true that Negroes have ... that their-"
He interrupted me and placed my hand on the front of his pants so that I could feel his pulsing manhood beneath the fabric of his pants.
"Don't be bashful, honey," he said. "If you want to know about my cock, just ask. You heard tales about a black man's cock being bigger than a white man's, right? Well, baby I'm not going to tell you anything about it. I'm going to let you find out for yourself-right now!"
Then he put his fingers on his zipper and forced them to pull it down. I felt my hand on a hard bone of flesh that felt like an end of a skin-covered rhinoceros horn. From that point on we cut out the shit of playing around with words and teasing each other, and got right down to the business of getting inside of each other's clothes.
I already had his giant pole in my hand as it stuck out through his fly but he wanted to get at me, too. He didn't ask, he just started doing it. He commanded me, by a firm pressure from his hand on my shoulder, to sit down on the couch. This put his big black cock on the same level as my eyes, and for a brief second I shuddered with a strange combination of revulsion and desire.
But then he knelt in front of me and the feeling subsided as his giant cock was moved farther away from my face.
"Baby, you got something I'm mighty interested in seeing. If I don't miss my guess them tits of yours are a pair of the biggest, best mother fuckers I ever laid eyes on. Shit, baby, I gotta get them out here in the light."
Then he reached over and drew me down onto the floor beside him, unbuttoning the first two buttons of my blouse almost in the same motion. I knew that when he saw the naked skin of my big jugs he'd go wild to slap his tool into my pussy, but I had a different idea. I wanted a big hot mouthful of his huge dick.
I lay on my back like a rag doll. I was determined to let him do anything he wanted to my body. He had my blouse off and his black fingers on the white, silky fabric of my brassiere in seconds.
"Jesus Christ, honey," he leered, "you got to feel my mouth on that fine pair."
He turned me over on my stomach and feverishly undid the strap that held my bursting tits in check. Then my bra was lying over in the corner and my titties were bobbing around on my chest.-He pulled me to a sitting position and sucked my nipples like a crazy man, first one then the other. I looked down at his black lips on my pink tipped tits and saw that underneath, in his lap, he had a monster hard-on. I found out right then that it was no bullshit about Negroes having more meat between their legs than white guys do. And I did something about it, too. I grabbed his big cock and began to jerk it up and down.
But he put his hand on mine and stopped me. "Baby, baby, take it easy on that thing unless you want a face full of come!" he yelled.
He slipped his hands down to my lap as he kept his lips busy on my tits, and I felt my thighs being freed from the hot confines of my skirt and petticoat. He went right on into my panties with his hands and I felt his fingers underneath the elastic band at the top. He pushed me down on my back and slipped my scanty underpants off over the soft part of my upper thighs, then I felt them pass over my knees and I knew it wouldn't be long until I felt the pressure of a nigger dick spreading my pussy lips apart. I kept my eyes closed partly out of habit and partly out of my growing concern to make sure I got what I needed from his fucking. I felt the nakedness of his skin against mine and I knew that he'd taken his shirt off, then I felt his naked knee separating my legs and I knew he had made himself naked all over. He had long since thrown my underclothes, petticoat, panties and all, over onto the couch and I lay under his muscular body without a stitch to cover myself.
He began to make grunting noises deep down in his throat and I knew he was really feeling it. I opened my eyes and saw him sweating above me as he let himself rub all over my front with his stomach and his crotch.
Then I felt the weight of his powerful prick on my stomach. It was so big I first thought that he'd jammed his leg up on me. But it only took a few strokes of the thing across my wet crotch for me to know what it was down there. I looked down at it and, I swear to God, it looked like the head of that thing was the size of my fist. I was afraid he'd split me open like a ripe tomato if he tried to poke that thing in me all the way.
"Joe, Joe," I cried, "you're--you're too big for my cunt. Let me stick it in my mouth." But he was too crazy-hot to hear me.
But he just kept moving it around. I'll give him credit where credit's due-he didn't just jam it all the way in without even giving me a chance to prepare for it. But, Diary, his love tool was so giant that it didn't make much difference. He played it around over my pussy lips and tickled my hairs with it for a long time trying to get my pussy to warm up enough to accept it but finally he just began to slowly force it into me. I lay there praying that this would be the kind of thing I needed to make me get my rocks off. It started to hurt and I began to make my hips hunch up and down against it in spite of the increasing pain in the hopes of starting the ball rolling toward that wonderful feeling. At last I felt the head of it pop into me like a plunger and I knew what it felt like to have my cave full of black meat.
After that I didn't have much control. I felt him start a slow, almost circular motion that seemed sure to split me open at the top and bottom of my tender pussy. I tried to move with him, but he soon began driving with such force that I felt like I was being raped. He was fucking my cunt like he owned it and grinding his entire body into the top of mine with the power of an army tank. He jammed his burning rod in and out of my smarting cunt then, abandoning the smooth, circular motion and letting himself go with no thought of anything but his own satisfaction. When he finally started making a low moan that grew louder and higher as he pumped faster and harder into my pussy I knew it couldn't be long. Then I heard him getting there.
"Lay it on me sweet baby, whip that white cunt on me. ... oooooh shit, ooaaaaahhhhh!"
That's when I jerked away from him, turned myself around on the bed and sucked his big black cock into my hot mouth. I knew he was just short of coming, so I didn't have to hold back my own reactions. I had my mouth so full of his prick that I felt a hot whirlwind inside my wet cunt and as he shot his white come into my mouth I was getting my cookies right along with him. We both screamed and then fell back in satiated exhaustion.
Then he collapsed his hulking body on me like a falling barn and I damned near had the wind knocked out of me. He rolled off me then and dragged me over on my side as he did so. The movement put my head on his stomach and I found myself staring right at his wilted cock. My eyes were only a few inches from it, and it was still plenty big even in its withered state.
I felt all over myself to make sure I was still in one piece. I thought that he must have knocked the wind out of me with all his thrashing around.
After he got his clothes on, he got a big drink of water from my refrigerator and before he went out the door he said, "Thanks for the action, pussycat. When you need a big dick in you again, get in touch with me. And thanks for the blow job, too. See you around."
I thought that was damned ungrateful of him, not to mention being unromantic as hell. But then, his actions weren't much different from what I'd more or less gotten used to from men. It seems like they're all the same, black or white. Well, it's true that this Negro had a giant cock on him and as it turned out, he was pretty damned good.
The hell of it is that I just know he'll call me back again whenever he gets horny. But I don't want it like that. I want to feel like something besides a pair of tits connected to a hairy cunt separated by a warm stomach. So I won't let him have any more. If he calls I'm just going to be very indifferent. A new thrill is what I'm after. I've already experienced all he had to offer.
And there's one small thing that's good. At least I did what I set out to dd. I wanted to see if I could come with a Negro cock and was it any better a mouthful than a white one and I found out. Even the answer was "No," I can at least say I tried it. And I can rule out one more scene in my attempt to achieve bigger and better orgasms. Experience is the best teacher, they say. And that's true even if it teaches you something you didn't want of know.
Good night, Diary.
Dear Diary, I haven't written to you for two or three days because I've been so busy at the office. Tonight when I got home there was a special delivery letter waiting for me from my mother. I was going to go back for a vacation in three weeks, but Mom asked in the letter if it would be possible for me to get my vacation moved up to now. A terrible thing has happened. Curt, my old boyfriend, has been killed in a car wreck and she wants to know if I can be there at the funeral. She thought I'd want to know about it and I appreciate her mentioning it.
Tomorrow I'm asking my boss if I can start my vacation immediately and I think I have a good chance of getting it. When I come home from work tomorrow I'll know. Bye for now. Dear Diary, The boss is letting me go. I'm going to pack tonight and leave on the 10:30 Denver flight, then transfer to another flight for Des Moines. From there I'll have to take a bus.
I hate to take a plane because it's so expensive. I can't really afford it but it's the least I can do, I figure, in memory of Curt. I thought an awfully lot of him, in spite of the way I felt toward him the time I let him go all the way. I'll write all about my trip and when I get back. I guess there won't be much to tell, since I'm going there now just because of Curt's funeral, but I'll report whatever happens. Bye for now. See you in a couple of weeks.
Dear Diary, Where do I start? So much happened to me while I was gone that it seems like it'll take me days to tell everything. I'll tell you right away that I had the wildest sex scene I've ever had in my life. Yes, even wilder than when I was in the park with the guy in the gray coat. I felt like I must be going crazy to have done what I did. And my mom and dad were mortified, not to say anything about what other people who found out about it thought.
But before all that even happened I had a rather unnerving experience on the plane. It was okay from here to Denver. Very uneventful. But from Denver to Des Moines it was a different story.
A guy sat down by me and tried to strike up a conversation. He was all right but I really didn't feel like being very sociable because of the funeral coming up and everything. He was thirty or so, and good-looking enough, but I just wasn't in the mood.
He introduced himself and then proceeded to give me all kinds of compliments. He kept trying to get me to open up and talk to him saying things about the way I looked.
"Have you ever been on TV?" he asked me. "You sure do look familiar."
And "If you haven't been on T-7, you should be. I guess you know you're an awfully attractive girl, don't you?" Stuff like that was what he kept saying.
Finally he quit bothering me and I went to sleep. About thirty minutes later I felt something touching me and I started waking up a little but I was still kind of groggy. This guy was taking advantage of me while I slept, but I was too far asleep to understand exactly what he was doing. Then I felt a hand on my blouse and I realized that this creep was working his hand around on my tit, copping a feel through my clothes. That really made me mad. I woke up and, lo and behold, this boy had his cock out in his hand and was playing with himself while his other hand was caressing my boob. I sat up straight and started to bawl him out good. When he saw that I had noticed what he had been doing, he increased the speed of his hand on his cock, got this real glassy-eyed look, and shot white come all over the back of the seat in front of him. Even though it was dark, one of the stewardesses happened to see him-she had probably heard him breathing hard like he was doing while he was playing with my boob-and she ran over and spoke sharply to him, then went up front and told the captain. When we landed a policeman was waiting for him and they asked me if I wanted to file a complaint. I would have done it but I realized I'd probably have to appear in court sometime and I knew I couldn't come back to Iowa just for that, so I told them that I didn't want to file a complaint, that I'd just let it go. But before I left them I gave the guy a dirty look that I hope showed him what a low down creep I thought he was for doing that to me while I was asleep.
When I arrived home I talked to Mom and Dad for a few minutes, then went to sleep. The next morning they took me to the funeral home where Curt's body was being held and I went in alone to view him.
Mom and Dad said they'd come back and pick me up on their way back from the store. The funeral wasn't going to be until the next day. When I first entered the building I was shown into the mortuary by an assistant of the funeral director. He pointed down to the room where Curt's body was lying and told me that I could "observe the deceased" for as long as I wanted. He was real nice. On the way down the hall by myself I passed by another hall that branched off. I looked down it and happened to see an attendant pushing a metal table with a corpse on it. But it wasn't like I would have expected it to be. This corpse didn't have any sheet over it or anything. And it was the corpse of a girl about my age, a girl who was very good-looking. I remember thinking if I died some stranger would get to look at me like that attendant was looking at that girl's body. And he sure was looking at her, too! He wasn't missing a thing. He was looking at the girl's body like he wanted to be on top of her doing it to her. I couldn't help wondering what he might do to her body once he wheeled it into a room where nobody could see him. The thought of him looking at her like he had made chills run down my spine.
Then I came to the room where they said Curt's body was. When I walked through that door, Diary, it was very eerie. Curt looked just like he was alive. The 7 had him all fixed up so that he looked like he was just sleeping. He was wearing a blue suit and tie, and white shirt, and his hair was combed just like he always did it in real life. It seemed like he might just open his eyes at any moment and start talking to me.
I walked right up to him and looked down into the casket at him. It was on a raised pedestal, so he was only slightly higher than if he had been lying on a bed. Bed. The word stopped me cold. I started remembering how Curt liked my body when I'd known him in high school, and how much he would have liked to get me in bed. True, I'd let him do it to me that day on the ground, but I knew he would have liked it better if we could have been in bed. Back then, I reflected, I was more or less in love with him. He was so popular in school and everything. Any girl would have been proud to marry him, and I had been no exception. That made me kind of start to consider how it might have been if I'd responded differently to Curt's lovemaking that time when I let him get into my pants.
I looked down at him and couldn't resist reaching to touch his hair. To my surprise it felt not much different than it had when he was alive. Or maybe it was just my imagination working over time. I was quite sure which it was. But it was when I touched his hair that I began to get this wild idea. I kept thinking about how much he liked seeing my naked body. The thought of him never getting to see another girl naked was very sad.
I decided I was going to honor his death in a very personal-if strange-way. I decided I was going to remove every stitch of clothing I had on. It would be like pretending that he could see me that way and enjoyed the way I looked.
I glanced behind me to make sure I was still alone. The door was still securely closed and I heard no noises outside. I stepped back and kicked my shoes off. I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it, tossing it on the floor in a heap. Next came my blouse. That left me standing next to his body wearing nothing but my panties, a garter belt, hose and my brassiere. I sat down on the floor and raised my leg into the air so I could remove my hose after unsnapping them one by one from my frilly garter belt. Then I drew each stocking off slowly and deliberately, just as though I was putting on a strip show for curt.
Then I just sat there on the floor in my skimpy panties and brassiere looking up at the coffin. I could see Curt's outline from where I sat-his hair, the lines of his nose and chin, ad the contours of the front of his body down to his shoes. I stretched my legs out in front of me and thought how much he would be turned on if only he could be watching me display myself before him. "If he were alive right now and looking at me do this in front of him, I'll bet he would have a hard-on by now," I thought to myself.
The thought of him lying there with a hard-on made me get a nice warm feeling between my legs just like I had gotten when he had played with my pussy back in school. I put my hand down between my legs and felt an involuntary quiver run through my body. I was beginning to become stimulated. First T only had my hand on my panties, right in the crotch where the mound of my pussy makes the material rise up between my legs. But then I slipped my hand inside them and began to feel around inside my pussy lips. When my fingertips came in contact with the soft skin on the interior of my pussy I found out that I was wet down there.
I began to massage myself there while looking up at Curt inside the coffin and imagine how he would react if he could see. The thought of that made me even hotter, so I put my other hand down and started skinning my panties down over my thighs. Then I got up on my knees and let them fall all the way down to the floor, feeling their silky smoothness caress my thighs as they slipped down. I kept my hand busy between my legs as I slowly continued to rub myself there, but I also reached up and turned my brassiere around so the hook would be in front and unhooked it. It fell onto the floor near where my skirt and blouse were.
I got up on my feet then and walked toward the coffin, allowing my panties to drop to my ankles and off onto the cold stone floor of the mortuary room. By this time, Diary, I was really getting caught up in what I was doing. I was just letting my thoughts be acted out without stopping to think what I was doing. I was doing just whatever I felt like doing.
By the time I reached the coffin I was stark naked. I saw my reflection in the highly polished floor and noted that I had an expression on my face that looked like I was in a dream, or walking in my sleep. But that's not all I noticed. I also noticed the part of me that all the guys always noticed-my big breasts and my long, curvy legs. My tits stuck out big and full and when I touched them to the side of the casket I didn't even notice the coldness of the thing. All that made any difference to me was that I was standing right next to Curt, my old love. I had kept my hand in my pussy all the time I had been walking and the motion of my legs moving back and forth had brought me to a somewhat higher plateau of excitement. Standing right up next to his coffin, I continued to play with myself. I even leaned over farther so my tits actually came into contact with the lifeless arm of Curt's corpse. I guess I must have been beginning to go off my rocker then because I didn't get the slightest bit of a cold feeling from his dead body. It even seemed to be a little warm, just as though he weren't dead at all. I know that sounds silly to say, Diary, and it seems silly to me too now that I'm back here in my apartment thinking and writing about it, but it didn't seem to be at all out of the ordinary at the time.
With my big soft tits spilling over the edge of the coffin and touching the arm of Curt's dead body, I stood there for what seemed like a long time looking at him and playing with myself. I laid my left arm across his chest and left my right arm hanging down in front of me. My right hand was still toying with my pussy. I had my arm directly between the coffin and my own body so that the weight pressing against my pussy was warm and exciting to me.
As I looked Curt in the face I turned over in my mind what we had been to each other at one time, how he had become so aroused at the sight of my naked body when I lay that day before him on the ground. I thought of his hands touching me and how his hard chest had felt when he pressed himself against the smooth softness of my tits and my stomach. Then I thought of how his cock was the first one I had ever sucked.
And then, somewhere between the past and the present, I saw myself performing the same exciting act. In my mind's eye I envisioned my head between his legs. My hand moved deeper and faster on my pussy and I felt the flow of my love juice cascade from my tender reddened pussy lips through the curled and tangled ringlets of hair that surrounds my secret little slit.
Then, with my hands and pussy all but forgotten, with my whole being caught up in the forbidden thrill of the lewd act I was about to carry out on the dead body of the boy who had once fucked me and needed my mouth on him, I stretched my arms across the side of the casket and yanked his belt open. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I wantonly thrust my hands into the fly of his pants and grasped his cold, flaccid cock. My breath was coming in gasps. I was losing all control. My pussy burned hot against the side of the casket. My forehead was covered with sweat. My eyes blurred out of focus and my heart lurched inside my chest as I fell against his body and covered his cold, dead prick with the hot wetness of my mouth.
I was lying fully on top of him with my pussy grinding into his lifeless face and my tongue furiously licking his cock. I was famished for love and starved for the feel of a man's cock in my mouth. ... I was beside myself with a crazed desire to suck the shit out of his prick until I had enclosed the whole thing within the confines of my licking lips.
Ripping his cock farther out of his pants like a mad woman, I stuffed his limp cock into my mouth and moaned like a banshee as I rocked my pussy against his face. Faster and faster I sucked his cock, harder and harder I thrust my busting pussy against his cold face ... hotter and hotter boiled a raging flame in my blood. I shouted at the top of my lungs, "Oh ... oh God ... I'm ... I'm gettin' it ... I'm come ... come ... COMING. Aiiiiieeeeee!!"
The aftermath was too much for my poor, sex-crazed brain to contend with. My cries brought a man to the door who looked in and gaped in astonishment. Then came the sound of his feet running down the long hall ... the door bursting open ... more men ... the room suddenly full of people ... the walls whirling as hands grabbed me, lifted me off the corpse and constrained my churning arms and legs ... the sight of my clothes lying on the floor ... the utter mess of the clothes of the corpse ... I was lifted, screaming, onto a white cot. The last thing I remember about that horrible afternoon was the sharp jab of a needle in my shoulder, then peace ... a dark, heavy sleep. Blackness.
For the next week I was kept in bed in a hospital. My parents came to see me but were very embarrassed and distant. I don't know what I said to them. I was kept under heavy sedation. At the end of the first week I got a break. A doctor said my actions had been caused by the strain of circumstances. He explained that the death of my close friend, together with the physical stress of my long trip, had temporarily deranged me. He made it sound much less serious than most people thought. The emotional strain of all this had rendered me irresponsible for my actions, he said. If it hadn't been for him I'd undoubtedly still be there in the hospital in Valley Springs, Iowa. Or worse still, in a psycho ward at the Iowa state sanitarium. I was really very fortunate.
As to the effect all this had on my parents, I don't like to even think about it. They didn't want me to leave, begged me to stay there, to be where they could look after me. But I succeeded in leaving town. All the shame is behind me now. Of course, I could never set foot in that town again in my life, but outside of that, I'm pretty well over the terror of it all.
If there was ever any doubt about it before, it should be plenty clear now-the only way I can have an orgasm is by having a man's prick in my mouth.
It's true. That's the way things are with me. The Negro, the young kid, taking on two guys at once. All that was just another warm body for me to work on with my mouth. I'm a girl who has to have a cock in my mouth. Unless I can get my lips around a hard, hot prick I'm no good in bed for myself or anyone else. Unless I'm sucking the love juice from some big cock, I'm not worth a damn. I'm not a woman at all, I'm just a big open mouth. It's the only way I can express my love.
SUMMARY
I felt that Gwenn's case might well be one the resolution of which could provide important insights into other cases. As such, I was able to have my psychologist friend interview Miss Henderson without accepting a fee. The meeting was arranged and he was able to speak at great length with her. During a series of interview and consultations with her, he was able not only to verify the validity of the actions which she had previously told me, but was presented with her diary as well. She indicated to him that she was willing to have me publish the diary in order to ease the minds of girls who may be suffering the same emotional problems as herself.
Although Gwenn's desire for the feeling of a male penis in her mouth may be somewhat stronger than usual, the act itself is not, of course, so unique. It is, after all, only a variation from the "standard" position usually assumed by human beings during the act of love. And that position is far from universal.
According to Maxine Davis, in her book, The Sexual Responsibility of Women, other cultures have decidedly different ideas about what is "standard."
She writes, "The most usual position in this country and in England is the man above and the woman beneath...." The author then adds that, "Many people have the impression that any other is abnormal if not an actual perversion. Nobody is certain just where that idea came from but it has been widespread for centuries." Contrasting this view with that of another culture, the author points out, "Some primitive people in the Southwest Pacific islands even think (the "standard" position) is comical and call it the "missionary position."
In a 1962 article in Sexology Magazine entitled "What is 'Normal' Sex Behavior?" Albert Ellis writes, "Normal sex behavior, from whatever point one views it, amounts, in the last analysis, to socially approved, sex behavior. For any group to state, therefore, that certain sex acts are 'abnormal,' 'immature,' or 'immoral,' or 'biologically unsound,' is for this group to make this act what it has been declared to be for most of the individuals living within the group who (consciously or unconsciously) are influenced by its statements."
Unfortunately for Gwenn, her mother obviously regarded the act of fellatio with such an attitude. And this feeling resulted in Gwenn's unusually strong desire for the act.
On one level, of course, we may view Gwenn as simply an extremely promiscuous young woman. But to dismiss her problem that perfunctorily would be an injustice not only to her, but to the precepts of psychiatry as well. We should not be concerned so much with labeling a person's psychological malady as with investigating the relevant underlying causes of it, and, hopefully, with correcting or curing it. Unfortunately, it proved impossible to actually cure Gwenn, for she suffered from a self-perpetuating, traumatically induced erotic compulsion. She did not really desire to behave differently, in other words.
She was at least able to consciously understand the motivation behind her sexual excesses, and this in itself was some comfort to her. Today she is as happy and productive as possible, under the circumstances, and she lives a relatively normal life in spite of her depraved erotic acts.
Although she allowed herself to be involved in many different kinds of sexual relationships with many partners, sometimes even enjoying coitus to some extent, the ultimate experience of a better and grander orgasm dangled in front of her like a carrot on a string-always desired but never attainable.
CHAPTER THREE
Dear Diary, The guy I have a date with is a swell looking guy who works in the loan department. His name is Larry and he's tall and dark, with the greatest eyes you've ever seen. When I told Lena and Sue about him they said he's nothing but a big wolf, but I think they're just jealous. I have to take some clothes to the cleaners. 'Bye for now.
Dear Diary, It's Thursday night. I can't wait 'till Saturday. Larry is taking me to dinner at some expensive restaurant. I saw him for a few minutes today and he was real nice to me. He couldn't keep his eyes off my body, even at the office. Well, it's guys like him who are welcome to look.
Dear Diary, It's Friday night. Larry just called to say there'd been a change in plans. What he has in mind now should be even more fun than the restaurant, though, so it's fine with me. He told me that he's a gourmet cook-isn't that exciting?-and that he wants to prepare dinner for us in his apartment.
He has the deepest, most masculine voice I've ever heard. And I've found out around the office that he's dated a lot of girls from there. It's really a compliment that he wants to date me after having so many other girls to choose from. I can't wait until tomorrow night rolls around. I don't know if he has any ideas about getting me in bed or not, but he's so good-looking that I just might let him if he's nice. Maybe he'll be a guy with the kind of cock I like.
I started taking birth control pills a month ago so I won't have to worry about that anymore. How I got through high school without getting myself pregnant is more than I know. For a long time I was so uninformed that I thought a girl couldn't have a baby unless she had a climax when she was fucking, but then I found out that was just a lot of bull crap.
But don't get me wrong, Diary. I'm not going to be easy for him, even if he does come on strong. If I like him I just might keep him interested with going all the way for a while. I think my body is exciting enough to do the trick.
And don't think I'm just a big braggart. I looked myself over carefully in the mirror last night after taking a bath and I know why all the guy's eyes follow me around the bank all the time. They just can't wait to watch me bend over so they can try to get a peek down into my blouse. Maybe I don't have the most beautiful face in the world but I more than make up for it with my body. When I was looking at myself in the mirror I thought about how all the guys whose eyes are on me all day would like to see as much of me as I saw in the mirror. My tits are finer and firmer than they ever were, and my legs look better in stockings than any other girl's in the office.
Wish me luck. Tomorrow's the night.
Dear Diary, It's Sunday morning but I've got to tell you about my date with Larry. I'm reading the Sunday funnies and sitting here in my bra and panties right now. Last night, though, I got down to less clothes than that at Larry's place. Let me tell you all the details and you'll know how hard it is to be a young girl in San Francisco ... especially a young girl who happens to have measurements on the order of mine, 39-24-37.
When Larry picked me up I was in real good spirits. And the way he looked me over made me know he was well pleased with what I was wearing. He looked just as good to me as I'm sure I did to him, too. He was wearing a European cut jacket with a great looking white turtleneck sweater.
I had on a light blue knit mini-dress that molded itself perfectly to my figure. And it was a little shorter than the ones I wear to the bank. Larry could see about five inches above my knees-but remember, I am a pretty tall girl so it wasn't an indecent length like some of the girls wear. Of course, when I knelt down or raised my leg to take a high step up stairs or onto a curb I guess Larry could see a little more.
In the car, Diary, it was so funny. It seemed like he couldn't decide where he wanted to keep , his eyes-on the road, on my legs, or on my chest. Well, I called it my "chest" where he was looking, but I'm sure that he thought of two big tits instead of a chest. In addition to being shorter than usual, my dress was also pretty low cut. And in a knit dress that's low cut, you can see what a girl's hiding in her brassiere awfully well. My dress had a V-shaped collar that dipped down far enough to let plenty of cleavage show. It was more than just cleavage, really. The way my tits swelled up out of the open space in my dress gave a good view of plenty of flesh, not just the usual separation of tits like plenty of girls have to be satisfied with. And the way Larry was looking at me, I knew he wasn't missing one little bit of what I had to offer.
On the way to his place we stopped by one of his friend's house to drop off a pair of skis. Larry was loaning them to his friend for the weekend. The thought of Larry flashing down some white, snow-covered hill on a pair of skis was a picture that fitted him very well because he had an athletic build. He was that kind of a guy-he looked like the kind of fellow you see sailing or horseback riding.
When we were giving his friend the skis Larry insisted that I come in. That kind of pleased me because I got the definite impression that he was showing me off. Larry introduced me briefly and I could see that his friend was looking me over as much as he had. Their interest moved me to display myself a little more. I sat down on the couch and automatically put my hand on the hem of my skirt to adjust it but it was shorter than usual and I wound up just touching my leg at first. I had to look down and consciously tug on it. Larry's friend was able to see quite a ways up my dress, I think, before I finally got myself covered properly.
Larry saw what I was doing and said jokingly, "Hey, Gwenn, we're among fiends. Give him a break, will you? Don't cover yourself up so much."
I just smiled and looked down into my lap. I knew I looked good to them but I didn't know how to joke like they were doing. Then they went into the kitchen for a moment before we left, and I heard them talking in low voices. Then Larry's friend laughed and slapped Larry on the back good-naturedly. I couldn't be sure what they were talking about but I had a pretty good idea it was me.
Back in the car Larry opened the door for me and made no bones about the fact that he was watching my legs as I lifted them into the car. I just smiled to myself and looked straight ahead through the windshield.
When we got to his place he immediately fixed me a drink and turned on his stereo. Then he invited me to just lie back on his couch while he worked in the kitchen, which was right next to his living room. I told him that I didn't drink much and wasn't sure if I'd like to. I drank a little beer in high school, but I had to sneak to do it so I'd never drank much. If my parents had known that I'd ever put alcohol to my lips they would have had a heart attack.
When Larry found out that I was a little queasy about drinking, he was real nice about it.
He said, "Well, worry no more. I've got just the thing for you."
Then he explained that drinking should be fun, He said that some girls tried to drink bourbon or scotch, couldn't stand the taste, and never tried anything else. He promised to concoct a drink that he guaranteed I'd like. Pretty soon he came in and put a tall glass in my hand that had a lemon sticking on the rim and a cherry floating on top. It was very cold, and had crushed ice.
"Try this," he beckoned me.
It tasted much better than I'd expected. Sort of a fruity taste. But there was enough strength to it that it was easy to tell it wasn't just soda pop. It was sort of a red color with a darker cast to the bottom of it.
"What is this, Larry?" I asked.
"It's called a 'bora-bora,' " he answered. "You see, I sort of have two hobbies. One is drinking and cooking, and the other is photography. The drink I made you is one like they serve in Polynesian restaurants. I put simple syrup in it to make it sweet."
Then he leaned over put his hand on my shoulder. My breast was only inches away, and he let his hand slide toward it as he said, "I thought the least I could do for a sweet girl is make her a sweet drink that she'd enjoy."
His attention was flattering. He was much more of a sweet-talker than the guys in high school. They had all wanted to either play with you nr leave you alone entirely. But Larry seemed genuinely interested in my comfort and this pleased me.
"Oh, thank you," I said, beginning to relax in his warm and comfortable presence.
As he puttered around in the kitchen I continued to drink. Before long I began to feel the effect of the alcohol. A warm, pleasant feeling began to flow through my body. Larry came over and took my glass even before I was quite through with it.
"Since we're going to have dinner soon," he said, "why don't you have another drink now? The food will take away some of the 'high,' you know, if you don't keep ahead of it."
I offered my glass. "Okay," I answered, "if you'll make me another drink that tastes just like that, I'd like another one right now before we eat."
Larry was pleased. He came back in seconds with a new drink of the strange, sweet stuff he called bora-bora. By the time we ate the excellent meal he prepared, I expected to be out from under the influence of the drink. But I was surprised to find that I could still feel its effect. I guess it was because I wasn't used to drinking much, combined with the fact that I could drink more of the bora-bora because of its pleasant taste.
Larry seemed like someone I could talk to, someone who was interested in more than just my body. I was warming up to him by this time quite a bit. I wanted to know more about him, to find out the things he liked and enjoyed doing.
"You said one of your hobbies was photography. Is that photo over there one that you took?" I asked, pointing to a large, framed black and white picture of the Golden Gate Bridge that hung in the center of the wall.
"Yes, it is," he answered, "now let me show you some more that I've taken."
He went into a smaller room and came back with two large albums. On the way back he fixed us both another drink.
"This one is of various sites around the city," he indicated, "and this one is of different girls. Someday I'd like to make my mark as a fashion photographer."
I glanced through the first album and began to look through the second one with great interest. His pictures were lovely. All the girls were very attractive and it appeared that he had photographed them all in a way that pointed up their best features. I began to wonder what pictures of me would look like. I was thinking that maybe I could get some pictures that showed more of my figure than of my face.
Larry anticipated my question. "How would you like to have some pictures of yourself?"
"Oh, could you?" I asked. I was excited at the prospect of seeing photographs of myself that might be as glossy and attractive as the ones in his albums.
"Why not?" he answered, "I've got all the equipment right here in the next room."
On the way into the room he made us both another drink. I was definitely feeling my drinks by this time, but I didn't care a bit, Diary. I was having a good time and I wanted to forget about my troubles and enjoy myself.
The room where he kept his photographic equipment turned out to be his bedroom. Maybe if I hadn't been drinking I would have wanted to avoid this particular room, but the way I was feeling made everything different.
"I'm glad you're interested in doing this, Gwenn," Larry said as he set up his equipment. "I guess you know what an attractive figure you have, don't you? I was going to ask you eventually if you would let me take a few shots of you anyway. It's great that you're interested in doing it."
I was shy at his flattering me so. I said, "Oh, gee, well thank you for the compliment. I've always been told that I have a pretty nice shape but I've never had a photographer tell me that."
Larry turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Believe me Gwen, you have much more than just a 'pretty' figure. You have one hell of a fine shape."
As he spoke to me he let his hand slide down off my shoulder and onto my back, where it continued to touch me gently all the way down to my buttocks. He was being so gentle in the way that he acted and spoke that I began to think sexy thoughts. I started to wonder if maybe he might be able to arouse me so that I could come. Then I suddenly realized with shame what I was letting my mind dwell on and I quickly shook off the thoughts and bit my lip in chastisement at such ideas.
"First of all, sit right over there on that chair," he said, as he stepped away from me and set his camera up on a metal, three-legged thing.
I sat down in the chair and he snapped four or five quick shots of me.
"Now go over and sit on the bed," he instructed.
I got up from the chair and almost stumbled as I made my way over to the bed. The bora-bora had made me pretty woozy. I sat down on the bed and waited for him to tell me what position to take. I was feeling so relaxed that my clothing was beginning to feel binding. I wished that I had been somewhere where I could have taken it off and just laid back on the bed but of course I could never do such a thing in the presence of a man.
I looked up and was surprised to find that Larry had left the room, but he soon returned-with two glasses in his hand.
"I made us some bora-bora since you like them so well," he said to me as he handed me one.
"Oh, Larry, I don't know if I ought-"
He interrupted me before I even finished talking and said, "Nonsense, Gwenn. Let yourself go. I know you like this stuff. Now go ahead and enjoy yourself."
I took the drink and smiled feebly as I put it to my lips. The stuff really did taste good, Diary, or I wouldn't have kept on drinking it. I wasn't just drinking the bora-boras to make myself get drunk! Deep down I guess I knew that I shouldn't be allowing myself to drink so much, especially since I had constricted in my clothes, but I kept tossing the stuff down all the same.
"Let's try a shot of you lying down, now," suggested Larry as he shifted his camera around.
"Oh, little 'cheesecake,' huh?" I said.
I must have really been loaded to say that to him, Diary, but I definitely remember saying it.
"No, no-what I'm going to take of you isn't cheesecake, baby," said Larry, getting more familiar. "If you want to see some cheesecake, just take a gander at these."
And he tossed a pile of black and white photos onto the bed beside me.
"Look at those while I get some shots of you, if you want to. You might find that some of them are a little 'raw,' but we're both adults, right?" he said with a little laugh that made me think maybe he wasn't quite the nice, clean-cut fellow that I had taken him to be all evening up 'til that time.
"Now, turn over on your left side," he told me, "and turn your head facing me. That's the way. Now stretch your right leg farther toward the edge of the bed."
I did as he asked.
"No farther," he said, "stretch your leg farther toward the edge so it'll make a more graceful geometric line."
I raised my head a little and looked down so that I could see my leg. It seemed to me that if I did as he asked I would be putting myself where he could look right up my dress. Since I was wearing a mini-dress, I also had on pantyhose, but I still didn't want Larry to be able to see all the way up to where the darker panty top covered my pussy.
When I told him the picture would look bad if I did as he asked he said, "No, listen, Gwenn. The female form is a beautiful thing. Just because I can see up underneath your dress for a little way doesn't ruin the picture. In fact, it will make it better. If you think you're showing me a lot, take a look at some of the pictures I just gave you to look at."
I said, "Well, okay. If you're sure I'll look okay with my legs like this."
Then I began to look at the pictures. Diary, I was amazed at what these pictures showed!
They were almost all of girls without their clothes on. A few of them showed girls with panties and brassieres on, but some of them showed girls with not a stitch on.
"Larry," I yelled, "these girls are ... are naked. Did you take these pictures? What kind of girls would let you take these kind of pictures of them."
Larry just went right on snapping pictures of me as he answered, "Just girls who are proud of the way they look Gwenn, that's all. Some are girls I've known but most are models who want to build up a portfolio, or the girlfriends of guys who are friends of mine and know that I can take good pictures. Surely the fact that some of them don't have any clothes on doesn't disturb a girl with your intelligence, does it?"
I guess his subtle flattery may have swayed me a little. I wasn't sure how to react.
"Oh ... well, I guess not," I answered. "If that's the way it is. I just ... uh ... never saw pictures like this before."
I looked back at the pile of snapshots.
"You ... you can even see their ... the hair between their legs," I said, not wanting to say 'pussies.' "Gee, I can see everything these girls have got."
Larry suddenly came over to where I was lying and started talking excitedly.
"Yes, and I want you to notice one thing about these pictures, Gwenn, every one of them," he said. "Not one of those girls is nearly as good looking as you are. Do you realize that? Look at them. You're better looking than any of them," he said.
I was kind of blushing by the time he finished, in spite of the fact that I was getting so drunk. I know because my face felt so hot and dry.
"Oh, no, Larry," I giggled, "lots of these girls are prettier than I am. Look at how pretty this girl here is," I said, pointing to one of the pictures.
Larry looked at the picture I held in my hand and said, "No, there's one important difference between this picture and you. All this one shows is the girl's face-but your body is much more attractive than this girl's was. That's why I took a close-up of only her face instead of her entire body."
I looked at the picture. True, it was just a close-up of the girl's face. I shuffled through the pile of pictures as Larry sat beside me on the bed. Finally I came to one that showed a blonde girl who had a pretty nice figure. I hated to use this one because the girl in the picture was entirely nude, but I wanted to find one that I could show Larry as an example of a good body.
"How about her," I pointed. "She has a ... uh ... nice figure."
"That girl doesn't even begin to have the breast development that you have, Gwenn. Can't you see that?" he said. Then he added, "I haven't seen you without , your clothes on, of course, but I can tell just from what I can see bursting through your blouse that you must have a fabulous pair. Admit it, now, Gwenn. Your breasts and legs are much more attractive than this girl's are."
Then Larry put his hand gingerly on my leg and began to slowly trace his finger from my ankle up toward my thigh as he spoke.
"See how your ankle is so slim here, and how the curve of your calf arches up to your knee in a perfect configuration?"
He was speaking so objectively, so clinically, that I looked down to where his hand was and listened to him as though he were some teacher and I was a student.
"And see how your leg continues on up from your knee in such a slim, trim way. Lots of girls have thighs that get very much thicker than they should starting right about here," he said, touching my leg well above my knee. Only the heel of his hand was visible. His fingers were out of sight under the hem of my dress.
I was feeling so relaxed and carefree from the bora-bora that I didn't do a thing but look at him and nod.
"Oh," I said, unsteadily, "really? Are most girls' legs fatter there?"
"Much fatter," he answered, beginning to stroke my thighs way up under my dress. He was touching me high up on the outside of my leg just below my hip bone. I knew I shouldn't be letting him do it, but it was beginning to feel good to me and deep down in my drunken mind I thought, "May I can do it with him. Maybe I can get the kind of wild new thrill I'm in need of. If I suck his cock for him."
Then I felt his fingers stealthily creep around to the inner side of my leg. It was right near the crotch of my pantyhose and if I'd been wearing regular panties instead of pantyhose he could have just slipped his finger under the elastic and I would have felt it playing in my hairs. As it was, he could only rub me across the tight material that covered my pussy and let me feel the pressure of his finger in the tight crack. And that's just what he did. Soon I was feeling a good solid warmth all around between my legs.
"Oh my God," I thought to myself. "If this keeps up I'm finally going to wind up getting myself screwed. And I'd much rather have his prick in my mouth than between my legs."
By this time Larry wasn't bothering to talk anymore, he was just giving my pussy the old once over through the thin, mesh material of pantyhose. It felt so good I didn't try to stop him at all. In fact, I began sliding up and down slowly on the bed in rhythm to the movements of his skillful fingers. When he felt me doing this he rolled over on his stomach and I heard his shoes hit the floor. I couldn't help what I did next, Diary. I was getting such a good feeling from his fingers that I let my legs out real wide apart so he could play with me better. When I did that he knew I was going to let him do more with me, and I guess he was hoping it would be a lot more. I wasn't consciously thinking at the time how far I would let him go, but I wasn't considering stopping him at any certain point, either. I just wanted to lie there and enjoy it as long as it kept feeling as good as it was.
I even stretched my foot down and pushed off my shoes, just as he had done. When Larry heard them hit the floor, he hunched up closer to me and reached his hand way up to where the top of my pantyhose were. He wriggled his finger underneath and started slipping them down. The elastic made them tight on me but he managed to get them pulled down below the part of my body he was most interested in and it didn't take him long to do it. Then he placed his finger right at the top of my crack and started fooling around with the little nubbin at the top. I was fifteen before I found out that was called the "clit," Diary, but it wouldn't have mattered whether I knew the name or not. When Larry touched me there I felt myself getting hotter between the legs than I could even remember for a long time. I guess it was because he was so soft and gentle about it.
Then I felt a hand go to work on my tits. First he just rubbed his hand all over the front of my dress and played with them a little bit by pinching them lightly through the material. Before long I felt the buttons of my dress being undone and I knew I was about to feel his fingers on my bare flesh. When he'd made me naked above the waist by completely opening my dress and letting it down to my waist, I thought, "Oh well, why not?" and I raised myself up off the bed and slipped my dress off over my head. That left me lying on my back below Larry with nothing on but my black net brassiere and my sheer black pantyhose, which were already down around my knees.
For a minute he raised up higher so he could get rid of his own clothes. Then I felt the touch of his nakedness on my stomach and legs. It was then that he started talking again.
"Oh, baby, I can't wait to see those giant tits of yours," he breathed. "I've got to get my hands on those big knobs before I go out of my mind."
I would rather he have kissed me some but he seemed so intent on having my tits uncovered that I let him have his way. He reached behind me and tugged feverishly for a few minutes. Once I heard him mutter under his breath, "How the hell does this damned catch work, anyway," but he soon discovered the answer and as a result I found myself staring up at him as he took in the sight of my whole body naked before him. The only thing left was my pantyhose hanging down from my knees. I reached down with my hands and tossed them off myself.
When he saw me do that he started talking like a mad man. If I'd been sober I might even have been afraid of him, I think.
"What a hell of a body you've got on you, honey. I'll bet you need fucking bad, don't you? How do you keep from thinking about anything besides screwing with a shape like that. Jesus Christ! I need a mouthful of something before I slip you the rail."
Then he darted his head down and filled his mouth with titty. He sucked on it and then started licking me all up and down my stomach. His tongue even touched my navel. But he was back up my front with his tongue on my other tit just a few seconds later. He sucked my nipples and licked me so much that it was like getting a bath. My body began to feel very turgid and heated. I put my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me. I could feel him all the way from his head to his feet. He was rubbing my legs in long, slow strokes with his feet while lie continued to slurp noisily on my tit
"What a set of knockers you've got on you, baby. Tits this size should be illegal!" he gasped between slurps:
By this time I was beginning to feel better than I ever had in a long time. Because he had taken his time with me and only gradually worked on my naked body, I was starting to feel a hot wetness between my legs that I hoped to God was the beginning of my first climax. But I knew I needed his prick in my mouth before I could come.
As he bounced his head from side to side, going from one tit to the other, I could feel the heavy weight of his cock beat down on my pussy mound. I was so drunk from his bora-bora and so hot from what his hands and lips had been doing to me that I reached up and whispered in his ear.
"Larry Larry, do it to me. Do it to me now.
Oh God, won't you stick that hard cock of yours into my pussy!"
He complied at once, but as soon as the head of it touched me betwen the legs I realized that I wasn't ready for it. I was hot all right, and I was even wet down there-but somehow I seemed tight. So tight that he couldn't seem to get it in at first. It wasn't how I thought it was going to feel how I'd hoped it might feel. But he kept prodding me with the tip of his tool until at last he was able to put it in. It split me between the legs like a chisel breaking a bag of rice. It wasn't exactly painful-just quick and deep. Too quick, I guess, for Larry, because he started pumping away like a jackhammer before I hardly had time to get my ass set solid on the bed.
Even at that, it felt damned good. I tried to show him that I wanted him move slower by gripping my arms around his back in slow, rhythmic hugs. It slowed him down a little but then I felt his tongue on my titties again and it seemed like he was getting so hot he might come off in me any minute. The worst part about it was that I was beginning to work up a good movement that I felt might be bringing me to the brink of a great orgasm.
Suddenly Larry seemed to know what I was doing. I was overjoyed. He slowed down his movements and I lay waiting for the feeling of climax to start building up in my pussy. I like it much better when I suck a guy off, but what the hell-experimenting around is fun.
Just then, Larry pulled himself up in bed a little to kiss me (I thought!) and all at once I felt his cock slip out of me as limp as a rag. The bastard had already come!
I couldn't believe it. He hadn't been pulling himself up to kiss me at all-he'd only been lifting himself off so he could take his soft, dripping dick out of action. And he did it just when I was beginning to think I might have one chance in hell of coming. I was frustrated, to say the least. I wanted his stiff dick in my mouth, and he had gone and shot off before I had the chance to suck it.
Larry realized what had happened.
Finally he spoke. He wasn't looking at me when he started talking, but I could hear him even though he was speaking in a real weak voice.
"What's the matter. Didn't you come?" he asked me.
I answered him, but not with words. I took his soft little cock in my hand and began slowly to work my fingers up and down the shortened length of its gleaming, come-covered shaft. It surprised him so much to see what I was doing that he started to say something but I was making his cock feel so good he forgot what he was going to say. I was in control then, and I knew it.
As my manipulations made his cock grow fatter and harder, I lowered my head towards it and fastened my eyes on it. When he realized what I was about to do, Larry gave a little moan of pleasure and wiggled his hips as he tried to put his straining prick closer to my face. But I didn't need any coaching. The sight of his hard peter made my mouth start to water at the thought of having it inside my mouth.
I dropped my face onto his tool and let his hot meat slide into my mouth. The big head of it almost choked me but it felt soo good I didn't give a damn. I felt the head of my cunt juices pouring out of my swollen slit and down my legs as I began to rock backward and forward. Both my hands were on the base of his cock and my tongue was busy sucking the love juice left from our previous fuck.
Then I felt my orgasm start to fill my crotch like a giant swelling. As Larry looked on in amazement I jerked my ass and sweat broke out on my brow as I got my rocks and yelled out loud in sheer excitement.
I hadn't bothered to wait until Larry shot off. I guess that kind of peeved him. As I lay on my back recuperating from my orgasm it was my turn to ask the questions.
"What's the matter? Didn't you come?" I asked.
Larry knew very well he had just asked me the same question not long before. He knew I had used his big cock to get what I wanted, and he seemed to resent it. He started arguing. I reminded him that he had used my pussy to come into without waiting for me to come too. Then he started yelling that I was a pervert.
"You little bitch, you aren't natural," he screamed. "You came just from sucking my cock. I wasn't even touching your twat. What kind of an oddball are you, anyway?"
"You mean you didn't like what I did to you?" I questioned.
I had him there, and he knew it. He was well aware of the fact that it felt great to have my mouth on his peter even if .I didn't do it as long as he wanted me to. I guess he must have thought then about he would like to have more of the same kind of loving in the future, because he started being nicer to me. He tried a new tack. I didn't care, though. I'd just got what I wanted from him, so I decided I'd just let him squirm.
In a softer voice, he asked me, "Listen, Gwenn, you still want those pictures. I wasn't kidding about them. I'll still take some shots of you."
But that was the last thing I wanted to do. I said, "No, Larry. Just take me home."
"Take you home, huh? Okay, I'll take you home. Okay."
It was obvious that he was mad at me for being what he considered to be a kook.
In the car he didn't say a word until got to my apartment. Then he said, "Listen, honey, you may have long legs and big tits, but you got something wrong with you. You ought to go see a shrink, you know it?"
Then he drove away.
It must have been three o'clock or so before I went to sleep.
I kept thinking about going down on guys. One day I'm going to meet a special guy, or else have a special thing happen to me. Then I'll discover what it is to have an even bigger thrill than I've ever had. I don't when, but it's got to happen.
One may conjecture that if Gwenn had never participated in the initial sexual stimulation with her uncle she would not have developed her mentally unhealthy attitude toward fellatio. It was Gwenn's uncle who taught her the art of oral love. It is equally true, however, that she would have been less disposed to develop the unhealthy attitude if her mother had not been so violently opposed to the act of fellatio. It was this facet of the case which resulted in the approach-avoidance reaction which was to characterize her subsequent feelings about the act.
In the one sense, Gwenn was "imprinted" with an unusually high desire for fellatio as the result of being presented with the impetus for the act by her uncle without being able to carry out that impetus to a satisfying conclusion. In another sense, she was unfortunately browbeaten into regarding the act as spectacularly degrading by an overly prudish mother. It is difficult, if not impossible, to separate these two elements of her early environment in terms of the effect that later ensued from them.
Today, although Gwenn still requires fellatio in order to reach climax, we may rest assured that she is able to live a relatively happy life.
CHAPTER FOUR
Thinking back, my mother was lovely, my father was a fuckin' drunken bum, in spite of this love was blind and mother adored him.
"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 lazy bones 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 pay check (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 saving a few pennies 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 it really was time for me to go-so I kissed everyone goodbye-and 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 but, 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 pussy bank 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 let ting 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 tit 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 insides of my thigh, all the way to the edge of my panties, right next to ply cunt. 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-button, 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 tit 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 bands 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 normal 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 hot pussy again. He did, softly covering my pussy with his hand, and then pressed harder and harder until, when his fingers starting 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 L 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. He moved my head down on his cock-it was new to me but I licked and sucked it. I felt the tip of his cock and it was all wet and sticky-he'd come in my mouth as I was sucking 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 a second time, 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 deserting 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 brought 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-old 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 problem, 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 wonder, Cabot, 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 daddy'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, Renee-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 Cabot'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 home owners 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 Cabot 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 Laureen, 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 Cabot 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 Laureen'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 Laureen 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 Laureen about this-and certainly, never ever could I talk about it to Cabot. 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 Laureen'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 Laureen 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 Laureen, 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. Cabot 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 Laureen 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 Laureen'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 complete sexual act." He then goes on to quote Kinsey's studies which show: 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 stranger, these pre-puberty 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.
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 un-likely 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-my 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, it is 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?
Renee'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 until this. That the light, gentle touch belongs to the hands of a female is enough to make the attraction that much more exciting to Renee, 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 Cabot 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 Laureen 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 hung up over Laureen and that damned man-on-the-bus, I was a happy girl. Maybe they have a book that will help mixed-up Renee. 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 Laureen 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 Santa Ana 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 Santa Ana 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 Laureen. 'Laureen, 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, Renee,' came Laureen'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 service to take all our calls and headed for my bedroom. When Laureen 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, Laureen 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. Laureen's blue eyes seemed to be looking through my skull, right into my mind.
"'Thank you, Renee,' 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, Renee?' 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?'
"Laureen 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 Laureen'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 Laureen, 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, Laureen Couldn't you just give me my massage here on the bed?'
"I don't like to do that, Renne-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 Laureen, 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, Laureen 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 gender 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.
"Laureen'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, Renee?' asked Laureen 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 Laureen giggled along with me.
"Then suddenly we weren't giggling anymore, because Laureen'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.
"Laureen'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, Laureen, 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 Laureen's thigh, going higher and higher with each stroke, closer and closer to her warm, sexy-smelling cunt. 'Renee, Renee, 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 love nest, 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 aureole around her rosy nipples, and I used my other hand to free on of those luscious breasts from the lacy bra. Laureen bent closer to me and, taking the naked breasts 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 Laureen 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 love button, her clit. I found it, and now my fingers really began to fly across her pussy as I did to Laureen 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 Cabot-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 Laureen'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 Laureen.
"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 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, pointed 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. Laureen 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 Laureen 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 Laureen'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 Laureen'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 do 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, Laureen trying to clutch her crumpled uniform to her naked body. My eyes grew accustomed to the light and then I knew who it was.
"'Cabot! 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, Renee, 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 Laureen'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. 'Understand me, lover, please understand why I did it,' I begged him and went to weeping.
"'It was my fault, Cabot, I did it all, Renee had nothing to do with any of it. I take the entire responsibility,' said my brave, loyal Laureen.
"Cabot 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 Renee for the last couple of months, and I also knew somehow that I should come home and see if I could help her."
"'Cabot, oh Cabot, 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, Renee, I said shocked, as in surprised, amazed,' Cabot said calmly. 'I thought there was some other guy you were in love with, and finding you with Laureen 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. Laureen, I had no idea you were so tan all over. Are you a nudist, or do just sunbathe on your roof?' Cabot was looking at Laureen appraisingly, appreciatively, as he spoke.
"Laureen actually blushed all over her long, lithe body. 'I'm a nudist, Cabot. It's a wonderful way to live."
"'I can see that it agrees with you, Laureen. 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.
Cabot 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, Cabot took off 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 Laureen 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 Cabot's arms, I pushed Laureen gently into position to receive Cabot's big, hard cock between her legs. Then with a few stroking motions, I moved Laureen so that her legs were spread apart, her wet, sweet pussy glowing pink in the center of her body. This excited Cabot, 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 joy box 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 Cabot's balls as they banged against Laureen's ass. My fingers crept around to where Laureen's clit was now erect and I massaged her until, between Cabot'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. Laureen moved in with us the next day, and we now have frequent lovemaking sessions with Cabot, myself, Laureen 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, notable the pre-Peloponnesian 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 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 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. In deed, 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. 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.
Renee, Laureen, and Cabot 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 FIVE
Oral love play, in aphrodisiac-geared practices breaks down nearly equally among the married and the un-married couples. The married partners are inclined to engage in it more frequently for the very simple reason that the chances for it are more prevalent in their own cases.
CASE HISTORY
Arthur was precisely what most of us would want our own sons to be. He was both handsome and intelligent. He was not sex-mad, yet he liked the girls well enough to conduct careful campaigns to bring them around to his desires. He went through a series of very pleasant affairs, managing to ease out of the situation when it began to get too demanding. Things were moving nicely for him up to the time he encountered Doris.
"That's for me," Arthur related. "From the moment Doris crossed my line of vision, I knew she had to be mine."
There was good cause for his conclusion. Doris was a most distinctive girl. She was only seventeen, but she had the bearing of a girl much older than her years. Equally important, she had the physical properties to go along with it. Doris had a lushly contoured body that went in and out at the right places. It not only went in and out, but it then went out again! Not too much, mind you. Just enough.
Doris shared Arthur's feelings over their first date. But she was careful not to let him know how interested she really was in him. She played her part coolly. But so did he. Each had definite plans in mind, unaware that the other was just as calculating on the matter.
They found their first date a pleasant experience. They had similar likes and dislikes. Like so many of the young people in our land today, they were keenly aware of the sex impulses within their young bodies.
The first kiss was rewarding. They sampled one another again. She found herself stirred at his nearness. She let her slim hands caress his head and shoulders. He returned her gesture by working his hands down to her full hips where he caressed and stroked her firm flesh.
She, emboldened, let her hands stray down to, his hips where she moved her fingers in suggestive moves around his buttocks. Their bodies began working up against each other in the motions of coitus itself. Both began to get inflamed at the emotional reactions they were eliciting by their movements.
Soon, the willing Doris was lying back against the car seat as he pressed himself down toward her. She put up a token show of resistance as his skilled fingers found her bra clasp and loosened it. But her hungry lips told another story and Arthur boldly caressed her bare breasts as he worked his hands up under her dress. Before too long, he had manipulated the dress up to the point where he could place his eager lips upon her enlarged nipples. Now, he began kissing and sucking at them with increased ardor.
The next stage was to slip her filmy panties off and now he caressed her smooth, naked buttocks. He managed to ease his firmer up toward her vulva as she parted her thighs for the gesture. This went on for several minutes and then he finally removed his penis and began easing it up toward her hot, womanly cleft. Only at this critical point did she rebel.
"No, no, please, don't...." she gasped into his ear. "I want it just as much as you do, but we mustn't let this go any further. I must save myself for the man I marry "
"Let that man be me," he gasped in passion. "But we hardly know each other!" She came up with the proper cliche at the proper moment.
"That'll all come after we're married," he panted. "Now, let's do what we both want to do fuck!"
And so they did just that. Doris spread her silky thighs wider so he could enter. His hard cock slid up and the throbbing head penetrated the hot pussy opening. Slowly, he worked his hips so that the lengthy dong slid in deeper and deeper. Soon, it was all the way up inside. Doris now clamped her lovely legs tightly around his buttocks and pulled him even tighter. They writhed and panted as they pounded at one another. Under this tremendous sexual excitement, it was a somewhat short-lived act. Arthur shot his fiery sperm into her receptive crotch as they both groaned and cried in ecstasy.
After this first night, they dated steadily. And they rarely parted company without engaging in sexual intercourse. Then, to Arthur's surprise, he discovered that despite all his care and the constant use of contraceptives, Doris was about to become a mother. Somehow, somewhere, his sperm had managed to penetrate enough to set up the inevitable chain.
"Don't let it even bother you for one second," Arthur kissed her worried face. "We'll get married right away and nobody's going to be any the wiser when the baby comes!"
The marriage took place one month later. Arthur was still in college, but that was no deterrent. Doris was to keep on working at her job until managed to graduate.
Doris's pregnancy caused several subtle changes in their lives. For one thing, the job would have to cease for at least four weeks before the time the baby was to be born. But they planned to cross that bridge when they came to it. The other most important change was that Doris began to lose her svelte loveliness "somewhat as her body thickened.
At this same point, she seemed to lose some of her fervor for sex. The actions that had so aroused her earlier now seemed a bit mechanical to her. Arthur sensed this lack of response and he did his best to rectify it. His renewed efforts met with less than signal success. Both the young people discussed it and worried over it. They even contemplated the thought that, perhaps, they were losing their love for one another. But this did not prove to be the case.
Doris loved Arthur and he loved her in return. But a young married man has great sexual impulses and he began to seek other outlets. He found one of the coeds who responded to his interest. Sandra was a solidly built young lady but there was no mistaking her femininity. She had breasts to match Doris's and hips to complement her upper development.
Late one day after classes, Arthur was strolling alone with Sandra. He had made it a habit to walk her part way home whenever the chance arose. This time he walked her all the way to the apartment. At the place, she hesitated, then asked if he would like to come in for a cup of coffee and he quickly accepted.
While she brewed the coffee, he wandered from the kitchen to the living room. The apartment was exactly like a dozen others he had seen. When she came out with the two cups of coffee, he took one and then wondered where her "work bench" was.
"Work bench?" Sandra was puzzled.
"Yeah you know, that's what they call the bed." He smiled. He eyed her boldly. He had learned enough about women to know that they responded to confidence. Sandra was no exception. She blushed and then pointed out the divan which she explained, opened into a bed.
After they had finished the coffee, Arthur headed for the door to leave. There, he suddenly stopped and Sandra bumped into him. She hastily excused herself.
"It felt good," Arthur smiled at her. "Do it again." He let his eyes drop to her rich breasts and then he drew her to him and lifted her face for his kiss. She let him make the contact and then, after a moment, she drew back. But he pulled her to him again. She could feel his hard manhood cock rising beneath his pants as it rubbed upward between her thighs.
"Arthur," she whispered, "you mustn't. You know ... you're married and all that."
"I'm married and it's not all that," he pulled her tighter and his hungry mouth clamped down over her lips. She again made token resistance but it didn't dampen his ardor. He left his hands caress her full hips and buttocks and then focus on the deep cleavage that led to her womanhood. He began working his tongue in between her open lips. She began to respond to his insinuating action and let his tongue move deep within her mouth. She went further than that. After awhile, she began to suck hard on his tongue and then she let her own tongue shove his back as she exchanged actions. They concentrated on this for some time. Their saliva merged and this spurred the two to further intimacies.
Arthur let his hand drop down to his fly which he unzipped and then he took out his fully erect prick and let it rock-hard six inches slither up between her silky thighs. Just as he had the great head establishing contact with her moist crotch, she drew back. He tried to pull her closer so he could achieve entry, but she was resolute. She successfully held him off. Finally, he drew away to glare at her. He waved his erect penis at her in some defiance.
"You scared I'll knock you up, is that it?" He waited for her answer which was forthcoming. She nodded assent. "Okay, okay. I'll run out to the drugstore and get some rubbers!"
"The nearest one is a half mile away," she pointed out. "And my sister is dropping by in less than an hour to bring me some books. We won't have time today...."
"Great," he groaned, holding his stiff poker helplessly in his hand. "And what am I supposed to do with this, huh?" Sandra stared at his manhood a moment, then, she studied his tense young features. She felt sorrow for him. She slowly dropped to her knees. She smiled up at him a moment, then, with infinite tenderness she lifted his penis in her hand and guided the head of it to her full lips. He tensed. He had never felt a woman's mouth upon his cock and the shock was over-powering. But only for the moment. Sandra began running her tongue over the tip of his prick and the thrill was of such magnitude that he shivered from the contact.
Sandra was not the greatest sucking expert by a long sight. She had only performed the act once before upon an older cousin who had forced her to it when she was fifteen. But she had never forgotten the episode and now it stood her in good stead. And as she kissed and sucked at Arthur's virility, she found herself enjoying the action. As he responded to her probing tongue and lips, so did she react. Even before he reached his climax, she had experienced the first orgasm of her life.
The young lovers enjoyed the oral experience so much that they spurned the "normal" way and concentrated on the safer more exciting method. They met on many occasions thereafter and rarely failed to engage in fellatio. They kept this up until the very week before Arthur's wife presented him with twins.
This unexpected bonus turned Arthur into an affectionate father and patient husband for several weeks. Then, he began disappearing at strange moments while Doris slowly regained her strength and ability to again engage in sex. Finally, Doris was all set for the renewal of sex. And by now, she was in the mood for it, herself.
The first sexual encounter between them was fairly satisfying to Doris, but to Arthur it was old hat. Even as he was hammering his penis into her vagina, he could not help but let his thoughts stray to the exciting young fellatist, Sandra. The second session was equally staid to Arthur.
On the fourth night, Doris received a shock. Arthur was sliding his hard organ in and out of her crotch. Suddenly, he withdrew. She was surprised. Soon, she learned the reason for his move. He lifted himself up and onto her bare breasts. Then, he shoved his hard dick directly at her mouth. She stiffened in shock. She had never done anything as "abnormal" as what he now had in mind. She avoided the big head as he tried to force his penis into her mouth. They tussled back and forth as he unsuccessfully attempted her to perform the exciting act he craved.
"Okay, baby, okay," he muttered as he gave up. "You win." He turned angrily over on his side and pretended to fall asleep while his young wife stared unhappily into the dark, trying to understand the sudden behaviour of her husband.
They made no reference to his act the following day and shortly after they resumed love-making the usual style. But this was not enough for Arthur. He couldn't forget the way Sandra's soft, moist lips sucked upon his hard prick, nor the way her darting tongue played round and round on the tip. After those delightful interludes; Doris's staid, conventional sex action was stultifying.
He picked up with Sandra once more and the mysterious disappearances began as earlier. Doris, now was suspicious. She followed him to Sandra's apartment. He was in there long enough to verify her fears. The second time she trailed him, she waited till he was in for a suitable time and then she crept up to the window that opened onto Sandra's living room. Doris found a narrow chink under the Venetian blind and managed to squint into the darkened room. At first, she could discern nothing. Then, she saw the shadowy form of Arthur. He was obviously nude as his penis stood free and clear in silhouette against the kitchen door.
Another shadowy figure moved to him and sank to its knees in front of Arthur. Again, even in the dark, Doris could make out the nude form of Sandra. It was then that Doris received the biggest shock. Sandra began hungrily sucking at Arthur's dick. Her arms wrapped around his naked loins as she sucked his full length into her eager young throat. That was enough for Doris. With, a muffled sob, she turned and ran homeward in the dark.
Later when Arthur returned to Doris he found a coldly determined wife. She wasted little time on preliminaries. She told him how she had followed him to Sandra's place and spied inside. She related how she had seen the two in the dark.
"And she was ... was " Doris floundered a moment, "well, she was doing it to you with her ... her mouth!"
"So what?" Arthur was furious at being discovered. "That's the way she always did it to me!"
"That makes it right?" Doris was kissing the words at him. "You, a married man with two children ... you running around with a dirty little ... little " she paused. Arthur finished the sentence for her.
"Cocksucker? Is that the word you're afraid to speak?"
Doris made him suffer for his actions. She refused all his attempts at sex and they lived in this vacuum-like condition for several months. Arthur, of course, had to have his release and he picked up with any girl who would go along with his plans. He avoided Sandra after that because it was too dangerous in case Doris decided to follow him again. But he made up for it with the rest of the young women who crossed his path.
Doris decided to take her own revenge in a different form. The very thought of fellatio was repugnant to her but she knew that this was the way to strike back at Arthur. She systematically performed fellatio on any man who would let her. And it must be admitted that she never encountered one who wouldn't permit this little intimacy. Before long, Doris had earned the dubious title of "the best little cocksucker in town."
The notoriety got to Arthur and he reacted violently. He accused Doris one night of being a cheap pervert and in direct reaction, she slapped him hard across the mouth. He lost his temper and beat her up savagely. The result was that she suffered severe head injuries and was hospitalized for three days. When she was released, she wasted little time in filing for divorce. Needless to relate, she was awarded the divorce and custody of the children.
Doris went home to her parents with the babies while Arthur quit school and left town.
CASE HISTORY
Helen was happily married to a man ten years her senior. Sy N. was what one would consider a success. He operated a car leasing agency and employed a staff of nine people. Business was good for the hard-working Sy and he established his family in a sixty thousand dollar home in the best part of town.
Helen found herself with too much time on her hands. Sy insisted she have a part-time maid and with present day conveniences in frozen foods and other prepared delicacies, cooking became a task that took a few hours per week at most.
Helen sought for some way to occupy her leisure. She joined the local charity groups, she belonged to the bridge club and she made it a point to attend as many cultural affairs as she could. But, still, time hung heavily for her.
Much against Sy's wishes, she insisted on "helping" at his office. Three times per week she would drive to work with him and then offer her services to any of the staff who needed' her aid. She was unable to type, so her help was restricted. The best outlet she could find was to assist in mundane chores such as filing letters and assisting in the mail campaigns that came up sporadically.
Actually, only one of the staff really welcomed her presence. That lone figure proved to be a young Spanish-American who functioned in a variety of roles. He had finished college and was a good accountant. But there wasn't enough to keep him busy with just that, so he would handle any job that needed doing. On occasion, he even delivered cars to the leasers when things were jammed up.
Sy said over and over that young Les was the single most valuable employee he had. The two men hit it off from the first and a great friendship built up between them. It was only natural that Helen started inviting Les over for dinners and little get togethers at her home. Of course, Sy was always on hand for these, too. Helen really had no ulterior motive in mind ... at first.
The thing that precipitated Helen's interest in the handsome young Latin was a special dinner she had planned for Les and Sy on a Friday evening. Helen busied herself in the kitchen all afternoon, preparing a fanciful tamale casserole she had discovered at a local Mexican dining spot. The chef had graciously given her the recipe and she was all excited at the idea of serving the specialty to her favorite guest.
Dinner was to be served promptly at six. The car agency usually locked its doors a little earlier on Friday to give the employees a chance to get to the bank which stayed open till six on that one evening each week.
At six sharp, the doorbell rang and Helen hurried to see who it could be. Sy would never ring, she knew, and inasmuch as Les was coming home with him at the same time, it had to be some other caller. She was surprised to open the door and find the handsome Les standing there. He hastily explained so she wouldn't worry over Sy's absence.
"Sy got trapped," Les said as he moved inside to politely shake hands with Helen as they always did upon meeting. "The big boss of the electronics plant flew in unexpectedly this afternoon and he insisted Sy go to cocktails with him to settle the deal on the fleet."
Helen's disappointment was compensated in some measure by the knowledge that the particular transaction under question was the single largest fleet negotiation her husband's firm had set up. It called for sixty brand new vehicles per year over a five year span. Needless to say, a dinner was a small penalty to pay for clinching such a bonanza.
Both Les and Helen decided they would wait at least an hour in hope that Sy might be able to break away from his client. To pass the time, Helen served cocktails and the two friends sat in the living room sipping their drinks and listening to a long-play Mexican record that Tony had presented her with some weeks earlier. The mood was pleasant and the two chatted in the easy fashion of people who like one another.
Shortly before seven o'clock, the phone rang. It was Sy. He was stuck with his client and they were going to a local steak house to have dinner while they threshed out the final details on the big transaction.
"Don't wait for me, hon," Sy said over the phone to Helen. "You and Les go ahead and eat. I'll get there sometime before midnight, I hope. Explain to Les how it is. And sure to tell him it's a lead-pipe cinch. The deal's as good as in the bag!"
Les was disappointed that his best friend was unable to eat with them but he was excited and happy over the fact that the all-vital contract was about to be sealed. They finished their drinks and then Helen served the dinner. She was an excellent cook and she had outdone herself in order to please Les. The tamale casserole was delicious and Les couldn't praise it enough. For dessert, Helen served chilled pineapple cubes in orange liquor and the entire thing was topped off with strong coffee.
Helen looked even more striking than usual. She was wearing a lot cut black gown that accented her full breasts. Her slightest move created an interesting action to the big, milky-white domes restrained by the tight-fitting fabric. Helen brought out yet another after-dinner drink. This was a brandy from Spain. It was amber-colored and thick. And potent. So potent that when Les took his first sip, he overdid it and had to gasp momentarily for air.
"Man!" he blinked at Helen. "That'll turn anybody on in a big rush, believe me!"
"Really?" Helen studied him. "You mean it affects you?"
"You can say that again," Les chuckled. "One of those and you feel like you want to start singing important documents!"
"Then, I'd better not give any to my Sy," Helen sighed. "That's all he seems to want out of life lately ... just a chance to engage in more business."
"You should be happy over it, Helen," Les said. "Look how nicely you're able to live because of Sy's business drive."
"Well, there's more to life than just business," Helen said slowly. "It's not everything ... money, that is."
"No, it isn't," Les agreed. "Good health is at least two percent of it, too!" He chuckled at his own little gag, but Helen's reaction was less.
"I sometimes wish my Les would take it a little easier in business and save some of his strength for me," she sat a little straighter so that her rich breasts looked even fuller. "I don't think he's made love to me for nearly two weeks now." Les wisely refrained from comment and Helen went on. "I miss romance. After all, I'm a woman...."
"I'll buy that," Les lifted his glass in admiring manner to her charms. He sipped the rest of the drink. Helen got up and poured his glass full despite his protests.
"I'm beginning to get an inferiority lately, the way Sy neglects me ... in bed, that is." She eyed Les. "Tell me, Les, does he have another girl on the string somewhere? Honestly, now?"
"Definitely not! Les leapt to defend his friend. "Sy's in love with you, and you alone. I'd be one of the first to know if he ever had other interests. We work together most of the time as you know. Rest easy, Helen. You've nothing to worry about!"
Helen moved over and sat close to him. She peered into his eyes with great intensity. She put her left hand gently on his knee and it was all he could do to pretend that it wasn't affecting him.
"Could it be me, Les?" she asked without taking her eyes from him.
Helen clarified. She was a little nearer and he could smell the fragrance of her perfume. Her great tits were almost touching his arm.
"Helen, if you had any more sex appeal, they'd have to put you behind a glass partition to keep the men away," Les said gallantly. "Take my word for it ... you've got everything! In spades!"
"You're just saying that to make me feel good," Helen shook her head. She lifted her lips to his and gently kissed him. He tensed, then held still. But he made no move to return the action. Helen drew back and sighed. "See ... even my kisses don't get a response!" She shook her head. "Let's face it, I'm all washed up."
"That's not so, Helen!" Les hastily jumped to ease the situation. "Believe me, I've got to fight hard to remember that you're married to my best friend!"
"Okay, Les, okay," Helen said softly. "You've proven that you're faithful to Sy. Now, prove that you can be faithful to me, too." She pressed her lips against his once more. Now, she slipped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him with more intent. Her tongue began insinuating its length into his mouth. He tried to clench his lips together tightly to avoid the act, but she worked swiftly and skillfully. She darted her tongue back and forth with remarkable force. Les did his best to end the contact, but she was relentless. She tightened her arms around him and her great breasts were forced upward as she drew him closer. Then, abruptly, she released him and Les thought it was over. Secretly, he was relieved. He didn't like the idea of cheating on his friend, Sy.
"Un-zip me, please," Helen had turned her back to Les and he stared at the creamy whiteness of her shoulders in a semi-dazed manner. She had never indicated any sexual interest in him prior to this moment and it was more than he could assimilate so swiftly. "Come on, slow-poke," she chided as she waited. Nothing happened. She took matters in her own hands. She deftly reached behind and un-zipped herself. Now, she turned to reveal her magnificent breasts over the semi-bra that helped hold them up. The bra did not cover the nipples and with her left hand she raised one of the massive breasts up toward Les's lips. "Try it for size," she whispered. He was still un-cooperative, so she placed the huge nipple directly against his mouth.
From here on, he was lost. He began kissing and sucking at the distended nipples while she pulled his head closer to her bosom. She alternated her breasts back and forth so he could suck each nipple to its fullest. Then, she pulled away and stood up to quickly work the gown down over her ankles and then stepped out, free of everything but her shoes and the semi-bra. She had a great swatch of hair at her loins and she created an impressive sight as she stood before her prospective sex partner.
Les was still the passive one, however, Helen un-zipped his trousers and pulled his prick out. To her chagrin, it was only partially erect. She wisely sensed that he was fighting to his fullest to keep from being too aroused. She began caressing and playing with his organ, but he resolutely managed to keep from an erection. She was determined in her own way. She played and toyed with his vital parts but none of it worked. Frustrated, she stared down at the limp penis. Then, her instinct came to the fore. She dropped her head down to his thighs and caught the head of his organ between her lips.
It became a test. She kissed and sucked at his manhood as he tried to fight down the lust that was building in his loins. He was resolute. But her warm, moist lips and insistent tongue began to win out. Slowly, slowly, his penis began to enlarge and stiffen. Then, he was lost. Her avid mouth worked round and round as she sucked in his full length. Helen sucked and licked at his organ until he could hold back no longer. In throbbing spurts, his fiery sperm shot forth to be engulfed and swallowed by her hungry mouth.
Afterward, as they were fully recovered, Les told her that they could never again engage in any sexual act whatsoever. She pleaded with him to be sensible about their relationship but he wisely pointed out that sooner or later, Sy would get wind of what they were up to and that would mean the end to a beautiful friendship.
"You can't do this to me now, Les," Helen argued. "You've only proven to me how inadequate sexually my Sy really is! Now, that I've seen what a man can do, it makes him look awfully weak!"
"It takes two to tango, Helen," Les said. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe you've been derelict in your sex life with Sy? That maybe you're letting too much of the burden fall on him?" He paused. "Did you ever French him?"
"Why, no," she said. "But he's sort of prudish about sex. I don't know how he'd react to such a move on my part."
"He'd react just like I did," Les said. "I wasn't going to let you get to me. I was determined not to be the one who cheated on his best friend. But once you got your mouth and lips on my sex organs, I was lost. Now, if you'll just turn those same luscious lips loose on your husband's penis, I promise you, he'll be the greatest lover you could want! You give it a try, that's all I ask."
The upshot of it was that Les proved to be completely accurate in his arguments. Once Helen began turning her oral skills upon Sy, she aroused him to heights he had never reached in all their married years. He wondered where she had learned the new techniques, but she played it casually and told him she had been reading some books on sexual activity and gotten the idea from there.
As Helen became more skillful with her oral love, Sy stopped wondering over it all and relaxed to become a capable sex partner. Helen never tried to entice him into performing cunnilingus upon her even though she secretly craved it. Her main concern was to see that he was thoroughly aroused and satisfied. Now, for the first time in nearly a dozen years of married life, the two partners found themselves blessed with a far more satisfying sex life. And all because of orality.
CHAPTER SIX
According to a report published by a research team from the Kinsey Institute For Sex Research headed by Paul H. Gebhard, many of our criminal sexual assaults are committed by persons who have developed compulsive habit patterns. Oftentimes, practices developed in early adolescence are difficult to break and are carried into adult years. While some of these people are able to rationally understand what they are doing, they seem neurotically drawn to their compulsive habit patterns and show signs of extreme stress when unable to indulge in their particular obsessions. A classic case was reported recently by a psychiatrist in Ohio concerning a nineteen-year-old boy who masturbated as often as seven or eight times a day. The strange part of it was that he was married to an extremely attractive girl. In his early teens, the young man had resorted to masturbation as an exclusive means of satisfying his sexual appetite (as do most young men), but he began to more and more rely upon the act to relieve various anxieties as he grew older. Finally, the psychiatrist was able to show him that a good deal of his anxieties were caused by the guilt feelings he associated with his masturbatory behavior.
While the subject of the case history we are concerned with in this chapter did not have any trouble in adapting to heterosexual contacts, the extreme fascination he developed for oral love-making could label him a compulsive oralist. It is extremely unusual to find one so young as he becoming so affixed to a particular aberration, but the circumstances from which he drew his earliest experiences had a large part in forming his later preferences.
CASE HISTORY: Clark R, Age 16.
"There's nothing more out of sight to a chick than getting head. I should know. I've had lots of chicks tell me that they'd rather get head from me than ball any ten guys. I guess I've got a tricky tongue or something."
All this from a fifteen-year-old entrepreneur of the erotic arts. But Clark has had more experience in the oral aspects of lovemaking than most people twice his age. He had an excellent instructress.
Clark lives in a low-middle income housing project with his father. The youngest of four children, he has been pretty much on his own since he was eleven, his mother having passed away several years before, and the last of his elder sisters leaving home to be married at that time. His father is a construction worker and away from home when Clark gets out of school, leaving the youngster several hours to himself.
It was from his next door neighbor that Clark received his early sex education. Marge was no mean novice when it came to seducing young boys: her husband had divorced her after a dispute that arouse from an incident involving a neighborhood youth. He had come home early from work one day and found his wife performing fellatio upon a thirteen-year-old boy. Subsequent to the divorce, Marge had undergone several years of intensive psychiatric care before she had come to reject her therapy sessions and had moved to another city to start afresh. Securing a job as an operator and renting a small home next door to Clark's, she went into a life of semi-seclusion. She dated infrequently, having little interest in men her own age. She preferred to spend her idle hours at her small home which she shared with her miniature poodle, Arnold.
But there was more to her non-working time than Arnold. One of the prime reasons she had taken the training to become a telephone operator was due to the fact that she could arrange her working hours so that she could often work nights, leaving her days free to participate in her favorite pastime-hunting out young boys to seduce. The urge had been too powerful for even her lengthy therapy to cure; the desire was as strong as ever. And, as any psychologist can tell you, the desire to change one's behavior must be present in order to effect a change.
This time, Marge was much more careful in her screening of applicants for her matronly attentions. Not wanting to risk another embarrassing situation as had developed in her home town, she was very cautious in her approach, trying to hint around with the various boys she engaged in conversations from time to time, trying to pry information from them. This way she was able to decide whether or not the boy had previous experiences in sexual matters, not wanting to take the chance of seducing a complete novice who might suddenly balk and wind up exposing her secret to a parent.
There had been Tommy. Tommy, the fourteen-year-old newsboy who proved to be not nearly as experienced as he had boasted, but then that's the way all teenaged boys were anyway ... men too, Marge concluded. But he had worked out pretty well, what with her expert training. Damned shame his folks had moved to another part of town just when she was getting him to be a cunning cunnilinguist, as she called those that qualified for one of her higher honors. The new newsboy was just too young ... maybe eight or nine. Anyway, he looked like an overly-plump Mouseketeer or something.
Then there was Eddie, the kid that cut her lawn once in a while. Too eager-getting to be like the older men that she disdained. All ego and no orgo. Demanding and rough. He still did in a pinch.
Other times, she had picked boys up in the park, offering them financial rewards for their endeavors. But on her tight income that came to be a little expensive. Besides, it was sort of risky where total strangers were involved.
What she really needed was a novice-that was the biggest kick, teaching an initiate all the facts. At least all the facts she wanted them to know. Marge had a specialty ... oral-ism.
There was nothing better than teaching a young boy the proper way to worship the female, how to adore her with his lips and tongue. But it was so risky with the unlearned ... where could she find someone to suit her purpose? Then she spotted Clark.
He was young, going on thirteen at the time. She had talked to him several times across the backyard fence and he sure seemed to be more interested in baseball than bosoms. Perfect! She could get him interested. But it had just been during the last few weeks that she had given him any consideration as far as sexual matters. He was at that early stage of adolescence where boys shoot up like weeds overnight. He was losing his baby fat in the process, retaining just enough to give him that childish appearance that she was crazy for. And that slob of an old man of his worked late ... it could be worked out just perfectly.
That is, if she could get Clark to see it that way.
As it is with the best laid plans, they usually work out better by chance. And just by chance one day, Arnold scampered out the front door and escaped as Marge was leaving to go to the market. And just by chance, Clark was walking up his driveway upon his return from school. As Clark tells it:
"I was walking up the driveway, coming back from school when that little dog came yapping up to me. Belonged to the lady next door-one of those Pygmy Poodles. Never liked those dogs. Prowler comes, and those damn dogs just run around in circles and piss all over themselves. Anyway, about that time the lady that owned the dog yells out for me to catch him, so I threw down my books and picked the little shit up ... yapping and pissing at me all the time. So I go on over to take him back to her. Man, I hadn't really noticed that chick before! Maybe it was just that I was just starting to get into digging broads, I'm not sure. Whatever ... she was really an out of sight old broad. She had on one of those knit jersey tops and her lungs would've broken right through it if she took a deep breath. She was a little heavy through the hips, but they were nice and curved. She had on shorts and I could see that she had some really neat pins. Knocked me out.
"So I handed her dog back, and she puts him inside and shuts the screen door on him and starts rapping with me. Now remember, this was a few years back-I didn't have too much experience then. Man, I must've been like twelve ... almost thirteen. I mean, I had heard a lot of stories from my friends, and once, when I was about nine or so, my cousin had dropped her drawers to let me see what it looked like. That wasn't too neat though-she was only around seven then. So the way this lady comes on ... well, I just sort of played into her hands since I didn't know too much about sex or anything.
"She started asking me about different things, like what a 'handsome young man like yourself did for kicks. So I guess I told her about baseball and a lot of stupid crap like that ... dunno for sure. Somehow we got to talking about school and I told her what a tough time I had with math. Well, she tells me that she knows all about math, that she was a whiz at it in her school days and asks me if I'd like a little help. Sounded like a pretty good idea to me-I hated math, and about the only help my old man ever gave me was to tell me that he'd beat the shit out of me if my grades didn't go up soon. I ran over to pick up the books I'd thrown down when I got her dog, and came back to her house and went inside.
"As I sat there on her living room couch, while she went to the kitchen to fix us some iced tea, I had a funny feeling come over me. Like I had some kind of a flash that she wanted more from me than just to help me with my homework. It was a little scary, since I didn't know one thing about doing it, yet I was kind of hoping she might want to show me what it all really adds up to, if you know what I mean.
"She came back into the living room with a big glass of tea for both of us, and sat down next to me on the couch. She crossed her legs and I couldn't help but suck in some air when I saw that skin close-up like that. She had a good tan-I'd seen her in her backyard sometimes in her swimsuit, with just a few blue veins showing through like older chicks get after a while. I don't know why, but seeing the veins under a chick's skin has gotten me all shaken up ever since then. Couple years later, I ate out this chick who had been knocked up by this friend of mine. She was about seven months gone, and those veins running across her swelled gut just about blew my mind.
"We didn't get down to the homework right away. We just sat and rapped. She told me she was divorced, where she worked-all that. I guess I was giving her just a little too much of the 'respect your elders' crap that my mom had taught me, 'cause she told me to quit calling her Ma 'am and to call her Marge. As time went on, I never could get her to tell me her exact age, but she was somewhere around thirty-five. She was real uptight about it.
"We finally got around to the homework. She took one look at the book and about shit-she didn't know it was the new math. Like to me, it's the same old lousy math, but to the old times it's new. I don't think she was too interested in helping me with my homework anyway-it was just an excuse to get me inside. What we ended up doing was the best homework I ever did.
"Then she started asking me some questions, kind of hinting around about things, you know. She asked me if I had any girl friends, and when I told her 'no' she really acted surprised. I'm not sure exactly how the conversation went, but the next thing I know we're talking about sex. She was rapping on about things I'd never heard of, but I pretended to be hip and just sort of nodded my head. She asked me if I ever had any. Well, the only thing I could think of was that time with my cousin when I was younger. Only I lied a little and told her that I got to feel my cousin up a bit ... that kind of stuff.
"Marge smiled and threw her head back in her amusement, and those giant tits popped out, liking to break right out of the material. She told me that it was obvious that I had a lot' of learning to do. I was pretty shy in those days, so I guess I must've blushed a little or something. Well, before I could tell what was happening, she reached over and hugged me up close to those big tits. I had expected them to be sort of hard, but they were nice and soft and springy. I get kind of confused about what happened next-I got too caught up with feeling those big jugs up against my face, but I know that she started coming on to me about how she could show me lots more than I knew-as long as I wouldn't squeal to my old man or anything. So I assured her that everything would be cool and she told me to follow her to her bedroom.
"When we got inside the bedroom, she started pulling her top up slowly, revealing those big tits. I never thought that nipples were so big, but she sure changed that idea in a hurry. She had the longest one's I'd ever seen-it looked to me that they were longer than an inch, but then a lot of that was due to my excitement at seeing them. I think the outside rims (areola) must've been bigger than most girls' tits. Just like eggs-sunny side up.
"She sat down on the bed, tits flopping down almost to her knees, and motioned me over. I think I tripped over my feet, I was so intense on those mothers of hers. When I got over to the bed, Marge reached out and grabbed my hands and pulled me down on her. Next thing I know, I'm staring straight into the front end of a Cadillac. Somehow I just started my tongue going-instinct or something, and right from there my famous mouth got its start. While I captured one of her tits in between my teeth, Marge started laughing to beat hell and said that she could tell I was a natural born lover.
"She let me have my way for a little while, just smothering my face in those big pink pillows, my tongue working overtime all around them. It was a real trip, the way they were soft and yet firm at the same time, sort of springy like.
"I could feel my prick getting stiff inside my jeans, and she must have sensed my arousal 'cause she pushed me back and I fell to my knees so that I was kneeling on the floor between her legs. She then hooked her thumbs in her shorts and started pushing them down slowly. Pretty soon, it was obvious that Marge wasn't wearing any panties. I about came in my jeans as I watched the white rolls of skin beneath the darker line where she was tanned appear. As my eyes came in contact with her silky dark pubes, I sniffed up the strong aroma of her cunt-a smell that has since driven me out of my gourd every time. From out of that pubic jungle stared her inviting pink lips. Marge didn't have to say a word. I just looked up to her and she nodded for me to continue. I didn't have to be told twice what to do.
"It was later that she told me how she liked to have her cunt scarfed. I just was continuing what I had already started upstairs. It never occurred to me how I was playing right into her hands. Or pussy. Whatever. It just seemed so natural anyway. Maybe if she had played me into whipping her or something like that I would've done that ... I'm not sure. This being my initiation, I was game for anything concerning sex. But I'm glad it worked out the way it did, 'cause I just came by eating snatch naturally and I've been hung up on it ever since. And it's something that practically every chick really craves, so it's worked out real well for me.
"She helped me, clasping her hands behind my head to guide my tongue to the target. I reached up to spread the lips of her twitching cunt as Marge instructed me to go to work on her trigger. Her clit was already stiff-I was fascinated by the sight of it and the big purple-pink fold underneath it. Her clit wasn't very big, but I really had nothing to compare it with at the time. One girl I met later, Eve, had a clit that was longer than some guys' pricks.
"I went to work around her trigger and soon Marge was yanking hard on my hair in her excitement. I was getting pretty excited myself and I knew I couldn't hold on much longer. A lot of guys I've talked to lately say that they don't get too turned on by eating a chick, but that they do it so that the chick can get her kicks. Me ... I don't even need any ass. Just as long as there's plenty of cunts around for me to scarf. Just doing that is enough for me to get my load. And most chicks I've talked to say that I can do the job better than anyone they know. I think it's for two reasons: I've got an extra long tongue that can practically tie itself in a knot; and I really enjoy my work.
"After I had worked Marge's clit for a couple of minutes, I suddenly felt her body tense. I pulled back a little, looking up between those mountains of hers. Her eyes were all glassy and her face was frozen into a weird grin. Just about as soon as she had stiffened up, her whole body slumped and I felt some hot liquid on the side of my face. Man, when old Marge came, she came in quarts! I've heard a lot of bullshit about how chicks don't shoot off like a guy.
That may be true, but I haven't found one broad yet that stayed dry long after my tongue went to work on her.
"Well, when I realized what I'd done-making that old chick turn on like that, I shot my load off in my pants. Now, I've heard a lot of talk about masochists and shit like that, and that a guy like me must be one. You know, the whole bit about being submissive and catering to the chick's whims. Well I don't happen to figure it that way. See, it's like this: what I do to a chick makes them go absolutely nuts, right? The chick digs it so much that she goes out of her way to please me ... some of them end up begging me to do it again. So the way I see it is that I have control over them, not the other way around. And that's what makes me make it. Every time has been like that first time with Marge, when I realize what I can do to a broad with my cute little old tongue. So once a broad is making it and going crazy ... I make it. That's the straight shit.
"Once we had both relaxed for a while, Marge hoisted me up and began to undo my pants. She started giggling when she saw my sticky shorts and saw that I had already made it. Then she reclined on the bed and pulled me on top of her, guiding me through my first lay. I was sort of disappointed that I hadn't been able to get my tongue up inside her cunt yet, but it was a trip balling her too. She showed me how to keep my mouth active while we were making it ... love bites, blowing in her ears, frenching. It wasn't long, her grinding those fat hips against my pounding balls, before we both made it again. This time, the build-up inside my guts were even stronger than the first time-almost like when you've got to piss real bad, and when I came I just kept going like a machine gun until I could hardly move. Since that was my first ball, it left me a little weak, so I just rolled off Marge and collapsed while she ran her hands gently up and down my body.
"I must've gone to sleep for a few minutes, 'cause the next thing I knew there was a tickling sensation around my balls. I looked up and saw that piss-ant dog sniffing around my balls and yipping like crazy. I looked over at Marge, and she was laughing her fucking brains out. Well, I didn't much go for that dwarf dog messing around my jewels, so I slowly raised up my leg and kicked him away. Marge gave me an angry look, and told me not to ever do that again. She cuddled the little mutt up against her tits, telling me that he was just cruising my box out of curiosity. She said he couldn't help acting that way 'cause she had taught him how. When I asked her what she meant, she gave me the damnedest demonstration I'd ever seen.
"Sitting up on the bed with her legs spread wide, Marge placed Arnold down on the bedspread between her thighs. For such a stupid looking dog, Arnold sure knew what to do next. He started sniffing and licking around Marge's cunt, wagging his tail and yipping all the while. Now it was my turn to crack up-it was one of the funniest things I'd ever seen. She'd actually taught that damned mutt how to give her kicks in case nobody else was around. Marge was giggling her ass off at first as it must have tickled, but before long Arnold's tongue had her panting and moaning. Man, I'd heard the story about the lady and her St. Bernard, but I never really thought it was possible! It was too bad that Arnold was such a little shit, otherwise he could have fucked her too.
"I kind of wonder if Arnold really knew what was going on. The way his ass was pivoting around it seemed like he might actually be turned on by the whole scene. Marge finally had to give him a little help, reaching down with her hands and spreading her lips a little so that his tongue could hit the button. Arnold dove in farther, yipping louder than ever. It wasn't long before Marge's eyes were bulging again, as her body started jumping from another Big O.
"Marge pushed Arnold away and fell back to the bed exhausted. Before I could make a move, the little son of a bitch was back over by my cock sniffing around. Well, I don't give a damn how old Marge got her kicks-I wasn't going for it. All his snorting and drooling for me was tickle. Besides, he might have taken a big nip out of my cock or something.
"Marge opened her eyes and saw that I wasn't going for it, so she crawled down and put her lips to my cock. That was more like it! It was a really fantastic feeling, much better than a regular ball. Her mouth seemed to be so much more maneuverable than her cunt. Her tongue sliding up and down my cock, tickling the sensitive skin at the base. Her lips forming around my head, tightening and relaxing. Her hot breath blowing, sucking.
"I could feel my guts tightening up fast. I grabbed at her hair, twisting it strongly in my fingers, and lay back as far as I could. Marge was an expert: using her fingers around my balls while she plunged her whole neck along my cock. I would have thought she would choke to death on it, but she told me later that the gag reflex is diminished during times of arousal and all. I'm sure glad I don't swing gay myself, 'cause in spite of what Marge says about it, I'm sure I would choke to death sucking a cock.
"When I made it this time, it was about ten times better than the other. I really blew my cookies. It kind of shocked me, the way Marge just kept sucking away. You know the dirty stories when you're just a kid about a girl who swallows come is about the raunchiest thing going? Well, up till then that's the way I had felt. But it was a really beautiful thing the way she did it. Made you feel really strong.
"After that first time, I was over at Marge's every chance I got. She taught me just about everything I know as far as sex goes. Arnold finally got into an act with me-it wasn't too bad after the tickling sensation was over, but he never got me to the point of blowing my cookies. Usually when Marge and I made it together, she would let him in on her box, though. The more I saw of it, the more I was convinced that he was getting some kind of a turn on out of it. Or whatever dogs get.
"The more times Marge and I got together, the less we balled. After a few weeks, we limited everything to our mouths. Marge told me about other boys she had done it with in the past, and confessed that I was the only one that she had given any head. She always preferred to be the taker instead of the giver. But she figured that I gave her so much it was only right to re turn the favor, I guess.
"As I grew older, I began to date other chicks, but I still returned to Marge from time to time for my regular lessons. Besides, she was a real convenience living right next door to me like that. I soon learned that the word got around about a cat who could give head like me. Wow, I've had chicks come up to me in places like the school cafeteria and try to play up to me. If they're built for action, I usually end up in the sack with them, and many have later told me that they were a friend of so-and-so's and that they had heard about my famous tongue.
"The only trouble I've ever run into was when chicks want a straight fuck and nothing else. Now usually I can change a chick's mind pretty fast once my tongue has gone to work, but there's been a couple of them who thought it was weird that I didn't want to ball them. One chick, after grooving behind the head I'd given her, was a real problem. Like once I've done a job on them, I sort of leave it up to them as to whether or not they want to go down on me. Like I said, I can get my rocks off just from scarfing the broad so it doesn't really matter if I get any more action or not. But this one chick practically insisted that I ball her. When I told her to go down on me instead, she refused saying that she didn't dig that. So, I climbed aboard, but the damnedest fucking thing happened-I couldn't get a hard-on. Like maybe it was because she had turned me off with all her arguments or something ... I don't really know. But the fact is, I don't really dig balling all that much anymore. Not when there's something so much better.
"The scene with that chick sort of bothered me for a while, but after a few days I just figured that it was her problem and not my own. Most chicks go completely wild over it. In fact, one chick got so excited about it that she shit right in my face while I was eating her. That turned me off real quick. Like I don't mind rimming a girl's asshole for her-I kind of dig it, but shit in the face is just a little too much, if you know what I mean.
"Besides that one chick, the only other problem I've had in the past couple of years happened last summer when my old man and I went on a vacation. My old man's idea of a really swell time is to go up north to a lake and sit in a boat with a fishing rod in his hands while he gets eaten alive by mosquitoes. I dig to get eaten, but not by mosquitoes! So he pulls me along with him every fucking year. Well, being stranded with my old man, I didn't have a chance to go out and find some scarfable chicks, and I was practically climbing the walls. Like if I don't have some box lunch at least a couple of times a week, I go practically nuts. As soon as I got home, I made a beeline to Marge's. I must've chowed down ten times that night. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have a box around to scarf. Probably wind up shooting myself."
COMMENT:
Clark R. came to our attention shortly after a situation in which a thirteen-year-old girl had balked at his sexual advances. She had hurried home when she tearfully reported the incident to her parents. The horrified parents notified the authorities and Clark was picked up. After questioning, the authorities decided to put him under the care of a court-appointed psychiatrist.
Despite Clark's statement to the contrary, his form of devotion to his female companions was a sign of some latent masochism on his part.. True, he was able to turn it around to his advantage in most instances, delighting in the way he was able to control the emotions of his lovers. What Clark wasn't able to realize was that his particular form of lovemaking was beginning to become an obsession with him and was, in a sense, his way of "getting even" with his mother. He subconsciously felt she had cheated him of her love when she had died. The psychiatrist was able to show him that his habit had begun to take on abnormal proportions when he started to narrow his sexual appetite to exclusive orality. Evidence of this fact has been his failure to achieve an erection for vaginal coitus with the one girl.
Although Clark began to understand his particular problem, as of this writing he has been unable to alter his habitual sexual pattern of orality. Psychiatrists today are finding their hands more than full when dealing with the new morality, especially among teenagers. Precocious children, such as Clark, find it hard to relate to people twice their age or older, many of whom have less pragmatic sexual experiences than their own. Perhaps the ultimate solution will come only after the laws are gradually changed to fit the morality shift.
As for Arnold? Little hope. He'll just have to be content with his particular doggie-style for the time being. The history of Mankind reveals that sexual deviations have been practiced through the ages. Oral love has ranked high in the various expressions of release. At one time oral love was considered to be "Immoral." Today, it is openly accepted and practiced. Not only that, but never and more exciting versions of this sexplay have been added to the original repertoire.
Due to the fact that oral love has become a more or less standard form of procedure in sex among both married and unmarried couples, some of the "forbidden" allure has vanished form the act. This has prompted a large percentage of its exponents to experiment with new and more exciting variations on the theme. The case histories that follow concern some of the more unusual of these practices and the couples who turned to them for even greater gratification.
CASE HISTORY
Ben H. had been a reserved lad most of his life. It wasn't until he was twenty-three that he really began to lose his shyness. With good reason. He met Sandy S., a lovely beauty contest winner and was tremendously attracted to her. Timidity, he realized, would not be of much value in catching the lovely Sandy's attention.
Sandy liked him. His sensitive approach appealed to her. As a matter-of-fact, had Ben behaved in the more aggressive fashion of most young men, she very well might have discouraged the relationship. By the time Ben had managed to lose much of his shyness, Sandy and he were good friends.
The two dated for several weeks before Ben made a real pass at the lovely object of desire. This was brought on by some remarks he had heard at the County Courthouse where he worked as a recording clerk for the claims department. There was a news photo of Sandy in her Bikini accepting the trophy as "Miss Lake County." The picture showed clearly why she was selected. Beneath the beautiful face an even more lovely figure bloomed. Sandy had breasts that measured thirty six inches with hips of precisely the same measurements. Her waist was a willowy twenty-one inches. But what set her just one more notch higher than the other candidates were her legs. They were her finest feature. Not the pole-like limbs of a "Twiggy." They were full and curved. Set off by black, high-heeled pumps, they could arouse a Franciscan Friar to passion.
"Now, that's real eating stuff," sighed one of the young men, ogling Sandy's charms. He and another co-worker were admiring the girl's beauty unaware that Ben was in the next row of file cases and within hearing distance.
"Yeah...." the other agreed. "Anybody who'd put his dick into Sandy S. oughta be given the electric chair!" He sighed. "I tried to date her a dozen times but she always stalled me!"
"Maybe she knew you wanted to eat her," the other taunted.
"I got news for you," the friend responded. "That wouldn't hold her back. I just happen to know a guy who muffed her! Not once, but a few times! But after a few times, she started brushing him."
Maybe the poor guy's tongue was taking too much of a licking!" They both laughed at this pun and moved out of the room where Ben still stood. Ben was shocked at the talk. He had the uncomfortable feeling that there was more truth than fantasy to what he had heard. Mingled with his reaction of shock was a strange feeling of excitement. The thought of his own lips pressed up to Sandy's lovely young vulva was not to be too lightly dismissed. He became fascinated with the idea of oral love and made a trip to a certain "art" store where books on the more fascinating elements of human behavior could be purchased. He found one on oral love that went into clinical detail on all aspects of the expression. Most of the reading proved to be a bit too scientific for Ben's satisfaction, but he did glean some tips that he hoped might stand him in good stead should he ever succeed in getting Sandy into the position of acceptance. He re-read these portions over and over to impress them in his mind. To further insure success, he practiced what the book outlines in the privacy of his bathroom. He did not have the beauteous Sandy there to indulge his talent upon, so he was forced to settle for a compromise: two large pieces of beef liver sewn into a plastic bag in two separate compartments. The opening that resulted from this handiwork closely paralleled a woman's vaginal opening. Now, Ben began practicing the art of cunnilingus, utilizing the "tricks" revealed in the volume he had purchased.
He dated Sandy during this interlude but never could quite muster up enough nerve to do more than kiss her good night. His first real chance came at his own place. He had invited Sandy to have a "home-cooked" dinner with him.
As usual, they got along famously. Sandy sincerely liked Ben and she knew how attractive he found her. The dinner proved to be a very fine one. Ben was a good cook and he had gone to special pains to produce a remarkable beef stroganoff main dish. After coffee, and as they were sipping brandy, Ben suddenly found the courage to express hiss true feelings about her. He told the girl that she meant more to him than any other person he had ever encountered.
"And I like you, too, Ben," she said.
"It's a lot more than liking, Sandy," he whispered. "A whole lot more. I want you to start thinking of me as a ... as a, well ... fiance!"
"But we hardly know each other" she was a little taken aback by this open declaration.
"I know all about you I need to know," he said. This, it proved, was truer than she suspected. "I want you for my own!"
Under his confession of love, and the warming effects of the brandy, Sandy mellowed. She told Ben that she was interested in him and she would continue dating him. Then, after a reasonable period of time she would be sure and in turn, he would be sure about her.
"But I'll go out of my mind in the meantime!" He shook his head. "Sandy, you don't know what you do to a guy! I don't think I can hold back that long!"
They chatted on and on. They sipped more brandy and it was then that Ben whispered his desire into the girl's ear. He confided that he wanted to kiss her body. Every inch of it.
"I'll start at your toes and work on up all the way to the top of your lovely head!"
"Ben!" she was startled to hear him talking like this, "I've never seen you behaving like this! What's come over you?"
"Your beauty," he whispered. "It's too much . ... please ... won't you slip off your clothes and let me have the pleasure of your loveliness...."
Sandy demurred, but not quite as positively as she might have if she hadn't had three glasses of brandy. It was at this stage that Ben took the initiative. He began slipping her dress down from her shoulders. Sandy resisted, but not too much. She was not wearing a bra and the next thing she knew, Ben's hungry lips were kissing her breasts. Soon, he was working his tongue around the nipples and they began growing tense and larger. Ben worked diligently away and next succeeded in slipping the dress off all the way. Her filmy panties were removed after this and Sandy found herself gently pushed back onto the divan. Then, she felt Ben's hot mouth searching out her vulva. After a few moments, she was surprised to find Ben withdrawing his tongue. He called back to her to not move. He would rejoin her in an instant. She had no idea what he was doing and after a few minutes he reappeared. He was bearing a small porcelain bowl which was half full of steaming brandy. He placed the container on the coffee table near them and then struck a match which he held to the hot brandy. Instantly, it caught fire and a deep, blue glow played over the liquid. He let it burn a few seconds, then snuffed the flame out. Now, he took the hot brandy and took a big mouthful. It was hot, but he bore the pain stoically. He did not swallow the potent fluid, but with silent gestures, motioned Sandy back in the proper position. Now, he placed his tightly closed mouth up firmly against her vaginal opening. Carefully, he worked his oral area further inside her moist, hot womanliness. He wiggled his face gently to form a solid seal between her vagina and his mouth. Then, and only then, did he begin spurting the fiery brandy, drop by drop into her quivering cavity. He would spurt and then suck back part of the exciting liquid. He repeated this with increased speed so that the hot brandy would not cool down too much. Long before he had depleted his supply of the stimulating liquid, Sandy underwent seven full orgasms.
From this point on, Ben used other fluids besides brandy. He experimented with wines, whiskeys and sweet liqueurs. He also learned that the hotter the liquid was, the greater the thrill for his lovely partner. As his tongue and mouth became more accustomed to the hot spirits he began to branch out. He was soon able to mouth hot rubbing alcohol which created a tremendous aphrodisiac effect upon Sandy. Ben learned that he had to exercise unusual care not to swallow any of the rubbing fluid. Even a few drops caused nausea and stomach pain. But the result was so electrifying upon his partner that he could not resist favoring this method.
It is interesting to note that the un-attainable Sandy married him shortly after this series of experiments. Most of the people who were acquainted with the two newlyweds were puzzled how a shy, retiring young man like Ben could captivate such a stunning, sought-after beauty.
Ben had a reply that revealed much more of his secret than one would suspect: "-You can get anything you want ... once you put yourself up to it!" He did not reveal what it was precisely that he put up ... nor to just what it was put up against.
CASE HISTORY
The Pettises were the average middle-aged American couple. Rick had married Jan when he was twenty-five and she was twenty-two. They had a girl baby one year after the wedding. After this, something went amiss and despite considerable efforts in the bedroom, Jan was unable to conceive again. They sought advice from specialists but nothing came from it. Reluctantly, they settled down to raise their daughter to be an "only child." Sharon turned out quite well despite the adulation from her parents. She had several good chances at marriage, but decided she wasn't ready. After graduation, she enlisted in the Peace Corps and spent two years in Peru.
During her absence, the Pettis found their love growing rather routine. They heard other couples hinting at oral love and at first, they dismissed the thought. But ultimately, the experimented and soon, it became the principal form of pleasure for them. By the time Rick was forty-two and Sharon thirty-nine, they had fairly well exhausted the varying methods of orality. Like ordinary sex, it had slowly begun to seem routine. Until one special night!
A combination of circumstances brought it all about. First, a violent and sudden electrical storm had arisen near midnight. Their six year old cocker spaniel, Rusty, was in terror of these storms and Sharon had permitted him to sleep at the foot of their bed instead of his usual spot in the kitchen. She let Rusty into their room and he cowered there during the storm. About two in the morning, Sharon got out of bed to open the windows because the storm had subsided and only a distant rumble of thunder could be heard as the wind died down. She stood at the window, stretching her arms upward and inhaling the fresh, rain-washed air. Suddenly, she felt Rick's arms stealing around her waist. He had gotten out of bed to quietly steal close. His hands roved and began to move toward her breasts. She had filled out considerably since her youth, but as far as Rick was concerned, it was all to the good. Soon, he had her negligee off and his own pajamas joined hers on the carpeted floor. His mouth expertly sought her nipples and he began sucking them. He dropped to his knees and now his lips were nibbling at her loins. He drew her down with him. He lay backward with Jan facing the direction of his feet. This was one of their favorite positions for oral love. As Rick sucked and kissed and worked his tongue in and out of her vagina, she bent down and began kissing his penis which was fully erect. Then, she worked her lips down and around the length of it. They had engaged in the pastime so often, that it seemed "old hat" and orgasm would be a long time arriving for both.
Suddenly, a new element was introduced. Jan felt something at her anus. At first she thought it was Rick using his finger, then, it dawned on her that it was Rusty, their dog. She felt his tongue licking at her anal opening. She was about to break the embrace with Rick and order the animal out but she hesitated. The long, wet tongue felt good as it licked at her rectum. She permitted the action to proceed. But then, Rick realized he had a partner sharing Jan's charms. He sat up and was about to command the pet to leave when Jan stopped him.
"-Don't Rick. It's not Rusty's fault." She added. "Besides, it felt good!" Suddenly, a strange thrill played up and down her spine. "Let's have a little fun with Rusty!"
Rick was aroused enough to agree to this. Now, Jan lay on her back and lifted her thighs. Rusty sniffed a bit and then moved in closer. As his tongue started licking her vaginal opening, she wrapped her legs around the dog's body and drew him closer. His long tongue played over her clitoris and she was aroused to sexual frenzy such as she had not experienced in many years. Jan worked away with the dog until her passion was at its greatest, then she pushed the animal away and had Rich take his place. Barely had Rick let his tongue slide into her vagina when orgasm occurred. It proved to be one of the most lasting and powerful ones she had undergone.
After that evening, Rusty was brought in for further oral love play. He soon learned to run his tongue over Rick's penis as well as into Jan's receptive loins. They also trained him to lick their respective anal openings for further excitement. Rusty's spot in the kitchen was soon a thing of the past. He slept at the foot of her bed every night where he was available for the enhancement of any sex activity that might come up. Oral love, without the excited Rusty to participate, seemed a bit dull to both people and they admitted it openly.
There is a fairly amusing aftermath to this particular case. Rusty succeeded in arousing such frenzy in his masters with his oral activities that they resorted to many unusual poses to attain greater gratification. Sometimes, they slipped far enough to have ordinary man-woman intercourse as the interested animal sniffed at the gyrating pair. On her fortieth birthday, Jan found herself pregnant! After all the years of frustration in having another baby, they finally attained their goal long after they were ready for it! Jan delivered a normal eight pound baby boy to the amazement of all her friends. But in her own words: "Better late than never!"
