Oral Lib
[aka 'A Wifely Blow Job']
by Musetta Cepri


INTRODUCTION 

"There we were, making out like crazy, and I could feel how hot he was--he 
licked my ear, my neck, then he pulled my blouse out of my jeans and started 
taking off my bra--I wanted to feel him sucking my tits, nipping at my 
nipples! I forgot everything I'd been told about being a bad girl if you 
liked sex and all but tore my jeans and panties off so he could ram his big, 
juicy cock into my wet, hungry pussy. 

"Then it happened--I wanted to suck his penis. No matter how horny I was, no 
matter how safe I felt because I'd been on the Pill, I just wanted to suck 
him and suck him and suck him. So I bent my head down toward his pulsing 
penis and started licking and sucking him. He moaned and just sort of 
collapsed onto the couch. 

"His response only made me wilder--I felt as though I had complete control 
over his body, as long as I had his cock in my mouth. I ran my tongue up and 
down the underside of his joint, savoring my newfound power. He wiggled and 
moaned some more. Then I got the idea that I wanted to fuck his cock with 
the tip of my tongue, so I did. 

"I barely touched him for a minute, then I started pushing the tip of my 
tongue into his cock, into the little hole at the end there, and he got more 
excited than ever. I guess we went at it that way for about five minutes, 
then he wanted to get on top of me and fuck my pussy instead of my mouth. 

"I didn't want to do it that way--I was really getting into licking his rod 
until he came in my mouth. Instead I wanted like everything to feel that 
hot, foamy come hitting the back of my throat, while his cock was still 
ramming in and out of my mouth. I pushed him back down on the couch and 
sucked him harder and harder until he didn't even try to get up--he just 
laid there, quivering and moaning while I tickled and teased and licked his 
big, rosy, velvety, rock-hard cock. 

"Finally, my mouth felt exactly like it was my pussy, eating his penis, my 
labia slipping up and down his cock instead of my lips. It was then that my 
mouth just seemed to take over and began vibrating and pulsing, the same way 
my pussy does when I come. He started coming then, too, twisting and moving 
his body up to my face until, when he shot his hot load into me, my lower 
face was completely buried in his soft pubic fur. 

"I had never sucked a man to climax before, and enjoyed it so much. Now, 
that's all I want to do. Oh, I let them put their cocks in my pussy for a 
little bit just so they don't think I'm some kind of a nut, but when my 
boyfriends come, I want to feel and taste every bit of it--every tiny 
twitch, every big plunge, every drop of that delicious life juice as it 
comes surging out. Nothing else has any real meaning for me as far as sex is 
concerned." 

* * * 

The above interview was part of the in-depth psychological therapy of a 
young woman who had gradually substituted oral eroticism (generally known as 
sixty-nine, sucking off, Frenching, French love, or by its proper name, 
fellatio) for what most laymen consider "normal" sex, i.e., man on top, face 
to face. She apparently was happy with her adjustment to life, but had begun 
having some problems in finding sex partners who were agreeable to doing 
nothing but oral sexual expression. The girl, whom we'll call Nancy X., was 
most attractive, well-educated, and except for being fixated on oral sex, 
was in harmony with her world. 

Why should a girl of such well-balanced personality and promise have her 
entire sexuality fixed on fellatio, with not even a small interest in 
penile-vaginal intercourse? Perhaps the answers lie in her childhood 
conditioning. Her therapist reports: "Nancy was an only child, and because 
she was born two months prematurely and was thin and pale for all her early 
years, her mother fretted and fussed over her every move. 'Eat your oatmeal, 
darling... If you love Mommie, you'll eat your beans... Drink your milk, 
sweetheart--drink it for Daddy... Eat everything on your plate, Nancy, or 
you'll have to go straight to bed... Think of all the little children who 
are going to bed without their dinner tonight, Nancy. Now let's see how fast 
you can finish your nice carroty... Here's your ice cream, baby. You were 
such a good girl Mommie's going to reward you with a big dish of chocolate 
ice cream!' "As the years went by, Nancy remained in the first, or oral, 
stage of her emotional development. 

Instead of proceeding naturally to the anal stage of her development, and 
then to the genital stage, Nancy stayed where she had been told it was most 
comfortable--right in the middle of her infantile-oral-erotic stage. And, as 
an orally-arrested female, when Nancy was ready for sexual relationships, 
she gradually eliminated all other sexual expression in favor of the one 
thing that reminded her of her warm, safe babyhood when all she had to do to 
feel really great was suck, suck, suck on a nipple and get a mouthful of 
nourishment. Except, for grown-up Nancy, the nipple was replaced by an erect 
penis, and the warm milk by hot seminal fluid. With a few months of 
psychotherapy, and with the dawning of understanding from Nancy herself that 
her life would be much happier were she to vary her sexual expression to 
include a number of different positions and attitudes, she emerged as a 
superbly adjusted young woman and is now happily married, with two healthy 
children to her credit and another on the way." 

Not every man or woman who enjoys oral sexual expression is fixated on their 
infant oral stage, however. Aside from the very real pleasure of stimulation 
via the sucking and licking motions involved in fellatio and cunnilingus 
(male and female using their mouth and/or tongue to stimulate the other's 
genitals) there are other considerations in the practice of French love or 
sixty-nine. Obviously, if the girl hasn't taken any precautions against an 
unwanted pregnancy, and the man has no contraceptives handy, oral sex is the 
perfect answer to their experience, cunnilingus and fellatio is an excellent 
means of making a good thing even better. The most frequent objection to the 
practice of oral-genital lovemaking is the matter of sanitation, since the 
genital area also contains the evacuating ports for the bowels and urinary 
tract. With the modem methods of washing and douching, these areas are now, 
in many cases, more sanitary than the mouth of the average person. 

As far as other objections to the practice of fellatio, such as the taboos 
that stem from religious strictures, we can explain by quoting Dr. John F. 
Trimble in his book Cunnilingus and Fellatio; "On much closer inspection, it 
will be discovered that many religious prohibitions on cunnilingus and 
fellatio, along with other extra-genital sexual intercourse, were based not 
wholly on moral grounds but on the so-called 'sin of Onan' or wasting of the 
seeds. During those former times it was considered a duty to procreate and 
proliferate the faith by producing as many offspring as possible. Any orgasm 
or ejaculation that did not serve this purpose was therefore a waste... The 
original intents of the taboo have long since served their purpose and are 
certainly not applicable in these days of concern over the population 
explosion, yet the 'moral' message that these acts are 'sinful' per se is 
still handed down to each new generation." 

* * * 

With these newer attitudes toward the actually ancient practices of 
cunnilingus and fellatio (see Arabian Nights, the Kama Sutra, or any of the 
hundreds of love manuals dating as far back as the written word) it seems 
unreasonable that any intelligent person living in this age could have more 
than a passing objection to fellatio and cunnilingus, but unfortunately, the 
old fears and tribal taboos still continue. Perhaps this book will help to 
dispel some of them for some readers. 

 CHAPTER ONE - Harry's Oral Conversion 

"When I first let Harry make love to me, I was a virgin and a little proud 
of the fact that I hadn't laid down with any of the ten or twelve boys I'd 
dated before Harry and I started going steady. We had been going together 
for about a month and he was so gentle with me--not at all demanding, or 
trying to get my clothes off and maul me like the other boys did on the 
first or second date--that I was always ready to cuddle and neck with him. 

"His kisses were very sweet until one night when we'd been making out for 
about an hour, then I realized how excited I was, and at the same time he 
moved so that I could feel his hard, long cock right against my crotch, 
right through my clothes. That did it--I wanted him so much, so fast, that I 
had all I could do to keep from tearing off both my clothes and his and 
going hog-wild right then and there. As it was, we did some heavy petting, 
then, and as Harry's hand slipped into my panties, I just quit fighting and 
laid back and let him finger my pussy all he wanted to. 

"It felt like sheer heaven--all those years of virginity, I thought, and now 
I'm giving myself to a man I really love. Harry's hand was inside my pussy, 
stroking me so gently--he knew I was a virgin, and he had me so wet and 
ready for him inside of three minutes, that it didn't hurt at all when he 
took his wonderful, naked cock, which I'd been stroking, and pressed the tip 
of it into my cunt. 

"I gasped with the excitement of it--the feeling I had was as though I was 
on a high, high diving board, ready to jump off, only instead of jumping 
into the water, I felt like I was going to jump into the air and go flying 
off into space. Then I couldn't stand it any longer--I didn't care if it was 
going to hurt or not--all I wanted to do was feel Harry's hot cock slamming 
into me. 

"I helped him pull off my panties and we got the rest of our clothes off 
somehow and when I felt his flesh next to mine, his chest pressing my 
breasts flat, his belly rubbing against me, the long rod between his legs 
pressing further and further into me with each thrust, I wanted to go on 
doing it with him forever. The feeling of flying came back and I clutched at 
him, sobbing with relief--it had been so long that I'd wanted this with a 
man who loved me and wanted me. Then, just as I was flying higher and 
higher, Harry gave a moan and kissed me harder than he ever had. Then he 
stopped and just held me close and panted for a while. 

"I didn't know what it was all about, but in a few minutes I felt something 
warm and juicy running out from my pussy, and I knew that Harry had come 
inside me. Knowing that I belonged to him completely was the biggest thrill 
I'd ever had in my life. 

"We made love every chance we could get alone together after that, in the 
drive-in, at my folk's house if they went out for the evening, in motel 
rooms, in the park after everyone had gone. Once in the park we went behind 
some bushes and Harry sort of scooched down and stuffed his big rosy cock 
into my hungry pussy while we were standing there. It was all over in a 
minute, but it was so exciting! No matter how often we made love, Harry just 
couldn't get enough of me, and I wanted him all the time. We worried about 
pregnancy sometimes, but the more we made it with each other, the more we 
both wanted to. Then we got married and everything changed. 

"Harry turned into a well-organized, 
twice-a-week-for-fifteen-minutes-each-time man. He even wanted to make love 
on the same two nights each week, as if there was no other time to make 
love. Once or twice I asked him right out if there was someone else, or if I 
did something to make him not want me as much, but he said, no, he was 
perfectly happy and he loved me more than ever. Then, one night after we 
came back from a neighborhood party, I wanted his cock inside me so badly I 
couldn't wait until the next night, which was one of our "regular" 
nights--so I all but raped him right there on the living room floor. 

"I loved it, but Harry seemed sort of far away from what we were doing. I 
didn't care. As long as I got laid that night and not when Harry decided to 
allow me to use his body, it didn't matter. 

"After that, it became a challenge to me to see if I could catch Harry off 
guard, make him horny and hard, and jump on top of him and screw his ears 
off. He always enjoyed it, but he seemed to enjoy it more if he was the one 
who started things going. We got along in all the ways a happily married 
couple does, but I was sure there was something missing in our sex life. 
Then, one night when I'd had a couple of drinks, I started fooling around 
with his cock, sort of tickling his balls and rubbing him so he got hard. 

"But he didn't get hard right away. That made me a little mad, and I took 
his joint out of his pants and started to tickle him again. He just kept on 
watching TV like nothing was happening. So I did what I'd never done 
before--I sucked him. I put my lips down on the top of his velvety cap and 
touched him with the tip of my tongue and then gave him a good hard suck. 
That got his attention right away! He jumped out of his chair and tried to 
put his big hard cock back into his pants but I grabbed him and went right 
on sucking and licking until he sank back down into the chair and just sort 
of laid there, moaning, while I teased and sucked him and played with him 
until he begged me to let him fuck my pussy and come. 

"I loved the feeling of power over him I had while I was sucking him--he 
reacted to everything I did, and he wasn't watching TV anymore, either. I 
just went on and on until my mouth was so tired I couldn't suck much more. 
Then I gave three long, hard sucks, making my mouth as tight as I could on 
the sides of his cock. He came all over my mouth, in a big hot flood of 
maleness. I didn't like the taste at first, but then I started thinking 
about it, that this was what had been going into my pussy all the time, and 
thinking about it made me excited all over again. 

"Harry had gone off to bed, saying that he was so tired he might never wake 
up again, but I took a nice warm bath, used my sexiest bath oil and then got 
into bed with him, sliding down his body, using my tongue all the way. He 
had been sleeping, but when I started nibbling on his limp cock with my 
lips, feeling it get harder and harder, I started sucking him as if I 
couldn't get enough. 

"Somehow my love for Harry and my dominance over him while I was licking his 
cock and balls and tickling his ass with my tongue and my lips got all mixed 
up with the way I enjoyed just the act of sucking and licking. I couldn't 
trace it all back and I didn't want to--all I cared about was that I finally 
was getting the satisfaction I had needed. Lovemaking the regular way didn't 
do it--the only thing that really satisfied me was having control over my 
husband's mind and body with my wicked tongue. 

"He came again, and after we sort of settled down to sleep, he said 
something that sent me right out of our bed onto the couch. He said, 'You 
learned all that tongue shit somewhere, baby--and all the time I thought you 
were a virgin. You really had me fooled.' "I jumped out of bed and said, 
'Harry, you know I was a virgin when we first made love--how can you say 
that?' " 'You may have been a virgin in your pussy, baby, but you sure 
weren't a virgin in your mouth. My mother warned me about you--and I'm 
beginning to think she was right.' " 'Your mother never had a good lay in 
her life because she's such a selfish bitch she wouldn't give anyone the 
satisfaction of knowing she was satisfied!' I screamed. 

"That got him up--he leaped out of bed and said, 'You did something just 
now. that was cheap and dirty and disgusting and my mother warned me when we 
were still engaged that you'd want to do it. I let you do it because I was 
weak--but I'll never let you help me sin again, you filthy bitch! After 
this, you listen to me, and when I want to fuck, we'll fuck, and at no other 
time, do you understand?' " 'Go blow yourself through a garden hose, you 
little mama's boy--after this, when you want to fuck you can go fuck your 
darling mother?' I yelled, and went to sleep on the couch. 

"Since then, I've moved the Great Harry out of the bedroom and onto the 
couch permanently. Nobody tells me I'm dirty and disgusting, and then tells 
me his mother said I'd do nasty things to him! He was enjoying himself all 
over the place, but when he started telling me I was a bad girl and I fought 
back, the whole marriage went bang. 

"I've filed for divorce, and I can't wait to find someone who understands a 
woman who wants to suck all the time and appreciates her for herself. As a 
matter of fact, about two weeks ago, a man came to fix the washing machine, 
and I found him so attractive that I blew him, right there in the basement. 
He was young and I could see through his Levi's that he was hung like a stud 
bull. He was friendly and handsome and I offered him coffee when he first 
came in, but he refused and went right to work on the washer. 

"I sort of drifted downstairs after a few minutes, because I was so horny 
from four weeks of Harry and his fine principles on the couch and me and my 
hungry pussy in the bedroom that I wanted him more than I even wanted Harry. 
So I fixed a cup of coffee anyhow, sprayed myself with some sexy perfume and 
went downstairs. He was bending over the washer and I could see the way his 
shorts strained underneath his jeans. It excited me to think that I could 
have the same power over him as I had over Harry--and maybe his mother 
wasn't so freaked on prudishness as Harry's was. 

"I walked over to where he was working on the washer and asked him if he'd 
changed his mind about coffee. He said, well, he'd like to have some now, 
sure, so I just handed it to him. He was surprised at the way I'd brought it 
down to him without asking, and then he started looking me over. I could 
tell he was interested by the way his eyes widened when he saw that I wasn't 
wearing a bra. I could almost feel his mouth on my nipples as he stared at 
me. 

"I blushed all over and felt my nipples getting hard and pointy as he went 
on staring at me. Then he went back to working on the washer as if his life 
depended on it. I was so hot by this time that nothing could stop me. I 
didn't care if he was married or not, but I said, 'I'll bet your wife never 
has to worry about the washer breaking down, does she?' " 'I'm not married, 
ma'am, but I do keep the machinery at my mother's house running pretty 
good,' he said. He looked up at me--he was sitting on the floor--and his 
eyes went straight to my nipples again. I moved over closer to him and 
busied myself sorting laundry. 'It certainly does pile up when the washer's 
broken down,' I said, and he just mumbled, 'Yeah, I guess it does,' and went 
back to his fixing. 

"I had no idea what I was going to do next, but he took care of that for me. 
'I'm going to have to get another pump from the warehouse before I can 
finish this washer, ma'am,' he said, and got up from the floor. 'Will you be 
here this afternoon?' " 'I'm not going anywhere,' I said, as sexy as I 
could. He left then, and I decided that I would suck him off that afternoon 
if I had to tear his pants off. I wanted to do the sexiest thing I could, 
and since he was the only able-bodied man around, it was going to be with 
him. I put on some more makeup and made a pitcher of martinis and changed 
into tight shorts and a thinner shirt. 

"Sure enough, about one o'clock he was back--with the pump, yet. So while he 
was working on the washer, I went down the cellar steps with a martini in my 
hand and just stood there, looking at him. Finally he looked up, and I guess 
I communicated the whole plan right from my mind to his, because he stood 
up, wiped off his hands, and said, 'Now that your washer is all fixed up, 
why don't you offer me a drink to celebrate the occasion?' " 'I was thinking 
you'd never ask,' said I, bold as brass. 'Why don't you come on upstairs 
where we can be comfortable?' Up we went, with me feeling every breath he 
let out, all the way up the stairs, he was that close behind me. 

" 'Here's your drink, and there's the living room, and there's the couch, 
and why don't we sit down?' I said, all in one breath. I wanted to get the 
preliminaries out of the way and start to licking his cock. I knew from the 
way his pants bulged out around his fly that he had a nice big one. I could 
hardly wait to see it get bigger and bigger--under my tongue. We sat down, 
him at one end of the couch and my little twitching pussy planting itself 
right in the middle. We talked for a few minutes about one thing and 
another, and I got him another drink. 

"When I came back into the living room with his second martini, he'd moved 
closer to where I'd been sitting, so when I sat down, we were right next to 
each other. I don't even know what he was saying, I was so excited by being 
near him. All at once I realized that he was telling me about how lonely he 
was. 'I guess I'm too shy around women,' he said. 'Well, you'll have to get 
over that,' I replied as I stroked his arm in what I thought was a sisterly 
way. 'You're too handsome and, uh, friendly to let yourself be held back by 
shyness. What you probably don't realize is that most girls would just love 
to make the first move, but they're so inhibited by the old rules about 
letting the boy make the first move that everybody just walks around lonely 
and frustrated while they're wondering when they're ever going to get any 
loving.' It was a long speech for me, but it made him sit up and listen. 

" 'You know, I don't even know your name?' he said. 

" 'I'm Lyn,' I replied, 'and who are you?' " 'Jeff's my name, Lyn. You know, 
this isn't a line or anything, but I feel as if I've known you for a long 
time.' " 'Maybe you have, and you don't even know it,' I answered. 

" 'How do you mean, Lyn? I don't understand.' " 'Haven't you ever had a 
dream in which you thought you were getting some, uh, loving, and then woke 
up and couldn't remember the girl you'd been with? That's what I mean. That 
is, that's what I think I mean.' I giggled, because the gin was beginning to 
get to me. 

" 'You're sure different, Lyn,' he said, and sort of put his arm around my 
shoulders. I snuggled right into him, murmuring something about how 
different he was, too. Then I told him I was suing my husband for divorce, 
and he said he was sorry, and I cried just a few tears, and when he raised 
my chin to wipe them away, we ended up in a kiss that felt better than 
anything had for a long, long time. When the kiss ended, I realized that his 
hands were on my breasts--I could feel how hot they were through the thin 
blouse I was wearing, and my nipples were high and hard. 

"Then he said, 'I'm almost afraid to ask you, but do you and your husband, 
uh, that is, do you still sleep together?' " 'I haven't been to bed or 
anywhere else with my husband since I can't remember when,' I answered. 

" 'I guess I came along just in time, then, Lyn baby,' he muttered into my 
neck, and before I knew it, his hands were unbuttoning my blouse--then I 
could feel the excitement of a strange man's hands caressing my bare 
breasts. He stroked them and cupped them in his hands and then he bent down 
and started sucking my nipples, taking whole mouthfuls of titty, flicking 
his tongue over and over my nipples, first one, then the other. 

"I was so crazy to suck his rod that I began stroking his jeans, where the 
huge hard-on was bulging out on his fly. He helped me get his zipper down, 
and I didn't wait for a minute--I just went down on him and started licking 
and sucking and sucking and licking, running my tongue up and down the nerve 
underneath his great big, gorgeous organ, "Then I buried my tongue in the 
softness of his balls, sucking them in and out of my mouth very gently, 
tickling them with the tip of my tongue, making him moan and call my name, 
over and over again. 'Lyn, oh my God, Lyn, baby! You're incredible! You're 
absolutely out of this world!' he said. 

"That was certainly a different attitude than the one my dear loving husband 
had had. It only made me go crazier and crazier over his cock, sucking him, 
fooling around with the nice velvety cap of his big prick for a minute, then 
suddenly sliding my mouth around it, sucking hard on the way up, bringing 
him closer and closer to coming, then letting up for a few minutes while he 
cooled off. All the time, he could say nothing but, 'Lyn, baby, oh, wow, 
Lyn!' "Knowing how much he was enjoying my Frenching him made it so great 
for me that I wanted to go on doing it and doing it all day. Then he said 
something that excited me even more than anything we'd done so far. 

" 'You know how you were talking about sexy dreams, baby?' he asked. 

" 'I guess so,' I said between mouthfuls of cock. 

" 'Well, I've had a dream about you since I first saw you standing there in 
your cute little jeans and shirt--' 

" 'Tell me what it is, Jeff,' I begged him. 

" 'Well, I've fixed washers and dryers for a living for about two years now, 
and you're the first girl I've touched this way--the lady of the house sort 
of thing, you know? And I've always wondered what it would be like if--well, 
if a beautiful sexy girl came downstairs while I was working on a washer, 
and just came up to me and put her arms around me and started loving me and 
licking my ears, and kissing me and all, and then took my rod out of my 
pants and blew me off right there against the damn washer. I've always 
wondered what that would be like.' " 'We'll do it right now, Jeff, baby,' I 
responded eagerly. 'Let's get a little sip of martinisville and go right 
downstairs and I'll give you a dream-come-true that you'll never forget.' 
With that we got up off the couch, ran into the kitchen, grabbed a sip of 
gin and ran down the cellar steps and over to the washer where he sat down 
just like he'd been when he was working. 

"I walked over to him and started fooling around with his ears, running my 
fingers through his curly black hair. Then, as he got up, I spread my legs 
apart and pulled my shorts over so that he could see my wet, pink pussy 
waiting for him to taste it. He did--he let his tongue go right into my 
little, furry hole. I could feel him pushing it farther and farther into me, 
licking my pussy lips and rubbing his nice, hungry tongue across my 
clitoris, and then I felt a wave of passion and delight that was so much 
more than I'd ever felt with Harry that I came, right then and there. 

"It was the biggest climax I'd ever had, and it was really crazy. In the 
cellar, up against the washing machine, with a man I'd known for only four 
hours and didn't love at all. After I stopped trembling, he stood up the 
rest of the way, and I tasted the pussy juice on his mouth deeper and 
deeper, the way he'd tongued my pussy just minutes before. 

"I wanted a repeat performance, so I knelt down and started sucking his 
hard, hot cock, which he'd left sticking out. He was even better than he'd 
been before--saying, 'Lyn, suck me, honey, suck my cock, oh, baby, suck suck 
suck!' And I did--I sucked and sucked and sucked, licking him all over his 
cock and sluicing my mouth all over his balls--giving him the kind of 
sucking love I'd wanted to give Harry, when good old Harry turned me off 
with his speech about dirty, filthy me. Here was dirty, filthy me making a 
man happier than he'd ever been before--so what was dirty? 

"After I'd been closing my cheeks tighter and tighter on his cock, I finally 
did one long, wild, hard suck--and felt him start his climax, with his cock 
beginning to vibrate, then the salty-sweet, hot come rushed into my mouth 
for a few seconds longer, then I let him go. 

" 'Lyn, I never knew how good it could be, having my dreams come true,' he 
said in a breathless, satisfied voice. 'When you get your divorce, please 
let me know, because I want to do everything with you--fucking and sucking 
and everything there is. You're like a dream, all right, Lyn baby, and I 
don't think I ever want to wake up.' "I held him close, and whispered, 'We 
don't have to wait for my divorce, Jeff. Just let me know about two days in 
advance and we'll do it all, right here. My husband doesn't care about 
loving me anymore--I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't already have a girl 
friend, and I don't even care.' " 'I don't want you to get in trouble, 
baby,' he said, "but if you say it's all right, I'll give you a call when 
I'm working nearby and we'll really do it all.' Then he kissed me, we got 
ourselves together, and he left. I went upstairs and looked at myself in the 
full-length mirror in my bathroom. There I was, a pretty girl, stark naked, 
with my own juice still smeared across my thighs where he'd been tonguing my 
starving pussy. 

"I didn't look like a bad girl--I liked the way I looked, like a woman who'd 
been loved well and satisfyingly, without any big hang-ups about dirt and 
disgust and mother-told-me-what-you'd-be-like. I wondered how many people's 
minds and lives had been messed up by mothers or fathers or whoever, people 
who had every right to feel good about their bodies, but who were going 
through their lives hating themselves for what was a gift--the gift of 
enjoying sex, and love, and lovemaking. I silently cursed all the 
frightened, sick minds that were still turning out frightened, sick kids, 
and took my shower. 

"Later, when Harry came home, I told him I'd be happier if I moved out of 
our house and found an apartment for myself, since I was serious about going 
through with the divorce. He just said, 'Okay, do what you want,' and went 
on eating his potatoes. 

"Since then I've got a job as a secretary to an attorney, I see Jeff 
frequently, and I have what's beginning to be a good life. Maybe someday 
I'll marry again, but I'll be sure to have a long talk with the man before 
we tie the knot, about what's his idea of dirty and clean, and whether his 
mother told him I'd be a bad girl. There's so much more to marriage than 
sex, but when the sex side of your marriage is bad, the whole thing goes 
down the tubes. 

"Why do people do those things to their kids? When they, themselves, are 
usually doing the very things they're telling their kids not to because it 
will send them straight to hell and damnation! Don't enjoy your bodies, 
kids, feel bad about feeling good--and, whatever you do, don't ever suck 
anybody off--especially if you think you might enjoy it, because enjoying 
sex is the worst kind of sin. I don't understand it, I just don't understand 
any of it. Harry and I would have been so happy together, if his poor sick 
mother hadn't 'warned' him against his terrible fiancee. She probably fixed 
his mind for all time, from when he was a little kid. 

"And why? What did she have against sex and love? I never did a mean thing 
to that woman--and she was already 'warning' her son against me before she 
even knew me. What was that all about? I know I'll never do that to my 
kids--I'll let them love who they want, and marry who they want, and if I 
can't stand whoever it is they choose, I'll just stay away." 

* * * 

It's not likely that Lyn will let her children marry exactly whom they 
please, because she'd been taught by her own mother that the choices for 
marriage partner are, by example alone, limited to a certain age group, 
racial group, and geographical location. Although it's probable that, had 
she been stationed in Alaska with a troop of Army nurses, there might have 
been a better chance of her marrying an Eskimo, still, Lyn would probably 
have ended up with a young man quite similar to the one she did choose. And, 
possibly, she would have encountered the same set of problems about 
oral-sexual expression with her husband as she did with Harry. People tend 
to do very much what they're expected to do and to follow their parents' 
lead, no matter how unreasonable it may be--unless they go to the other 
extreme and rebel against their authority by marrying exactly the opposite 
of the sort of person their parents might have chosen for them. Either way, 
unless the young couple are extremely lucky, awful mischief is done all 
around. 

In the case of Lyn and Harry, the obvious problem was that, as in so many 
cases, what was sexually appealing to one partner was utterly repulsive to 
the other one. If, for instance, Mary wants to make love with the lights out 
and Joe wants them on, there's no great problem--they leave a dim light 
burning in the bathroom or the hall. But if Mary wants to make love standing 
up in a hammock and Joe can't handle motion sickness, they're both in 
trouble from the beginning. Courtship doesn't count--everybody's on their 
best behavior, and if one or the other slips and appears as less than the 
Princess of Sheer Delight or the Knight in Shining Armor, it's still "cute" 
and rather like a come-as-you-are party, having very little to do with real 
life. 

But one day, the couple wakes up and discovers that the free rides are 
over--they're stuck with each other, if not for life, at least for as long 
as they both can make it work. That is when the real challenge begins. How 
to salvage some excitement out of the smell of dirty diapers and a sink full 
of greasy dishes, not to mention a boss with a vulturous mind and a mother 
who keeps reminding you how sweet and peaceful and easy life was before you 
were saddled with all these yapping, hungry responsibilities? And there are 
the temptations: the man-who-fixes-the-washer, the 
girl-in-the-miniskirt-at-the-office, the neighbor's wife, the neighbor's 
husband, etc. 

So the possibilities of a young couple making a good marriage out of a 
chance situation are most unlikely. And a young woman who wants to make oral 
love to her husband and finds herself in the midst of a tirade about hygiene 
and mother and clean living is not likely to be much interested in doing up 
an oral sex thing with that husband again in the very near future. And who's 
left?--the man-who-fixes-the-washer, the neighbor's husband, et al. 

In Harry's case, his mother had taught him that sexual expression after 
marriage was only permissible on certain nights, in certain positions, and 
was to be fully enjoyed only if the male instigated the lovemaking. When Lyn 
insisted on love-making on different nights than Harry had unconsciously set 
down as "sex nights," it upset his sense of balance considerably. Then, when 
she not only made love to him on non-sex nights but began taking every 
opportunity to excite him so that he was virtually being seduced against his 
will by his own wife, Harry rebelled. 

Harry's outburst on the subject of what a bad girl Lyn was had been building 
since the first time she'd insisted on making love to him when he wasn't 
expecting it. And, quite possibly, Harry sensed that Lyn used her ability to 
excite Harry as a means of controlling him, for it's not at all uncommon for 
orally arrested females to feel that they're gaining some of the "power" and 
virility of the male by fellating him, and then virtually consuming him via 
the practice of swallowing his sperm. Lyn hadn't, as yet, gotten around to 
spermaphagia, or consuming the seminal fluid, but projecting a little into 
the future, it's an easy guess that that will be the next step in her 
development of fixation on oral-genital sex play. 

And what of the attitudes and beliefs bred into young Lyn by her parents, 
her background, and her early sexual experiences? She tells us that she had 
never made love with any of the boys she dated until Harry acted so gentle 
towards her that she felt comfortable and trusting when he advanced into 
more intense physical lovemaking. Then she couldn't wait to go "all the way" 
and have penile-vaginal relations with her lover. In all the heated 
pre-marital love play, however, we hear nothing about any oral-genital 
stimulation by either partner. 

Why did Lyn feel threatened with her other boyfriends until Harry's lack of 
insistence on sexual intercourse right away allowed her to relax with him 
enough to continue until they were lovers? When asked about this part of her 
story, Lyn evaded the issue for as long as she could, then admitted that her 
father had been unusually harsh when he'd discovered her necking with one of 
her first dates. She'd received a mild thrashing with her father's belt, and 
a loud accusation that she was a bad girl, who'd probably disgrace the 
family by coming home pregnant without benefit of clergy. 

Lyn's acceptance of this derogatory judgement by her father had simmered in 
the back of her mind for all the time she was married to Harry, until he 
unwittingly hit an exposed nerve by blurting out his mother's neurotic 
"warning" about Lyn's character, i.e., that she would tempt Harry into doing 
dirty and disgusting things for which Harry would be technically innocent, 
having been tempted into these misdeeds against his own fine judgement. Lyn 
then had the excuse she needed to dissolve the marriage and find other sex 
partners who would be more acquiescent to her need for oral eroticism. 

The orally arrested female is generally a woman who has had her most 
satisfying moments in a sucking or licking situation. Nature, in her 
infinite wisdom, provides each infant in the class Mammalia (animals that 
feel their young by letting them suck breast milk) with a strong sucking 
instinct, for otherwise these babies would die from starvation. The sucking 
instinct is satisfied by the infant, whether it's a human baby or a pup or 
kitten or baby elephant, when sucking its mother's breast, or, more exactly, 
her nipple, until they've emptied the breast of nourishment and they're 
ready for play or sleep. The parallels are clear--in oral-genital love play, 
specifically fellation, the female (or male homosexual) fellator finds 
satisfaction for her (or his) sucking needs met quite well by having an 
erect penis in her mouth. The penis fills the mouth of the adult fellator 
the same as the mother's nipple once filled the mouth of the infant. And, as 
most babies are cuddled at least part of the time while they are nursing, 
even if they're "bottle babies," the assurance that strong sucking will of 
its own produce a response of cuddling and erotically stimulating stroking 
and petting for the fellator is sometimes reason enough for the deepening of 
the desire for oral-genital love play. 

We are all lonely little children inside of our grown-up bodies, and for 
some of us, anything we can do to insure ourselves a portion of that 
perfect, unjudging love we remember getting at our mother's breast, we will 
do to stave off the inevitable loneliness and warm up the enveloping cold. 

Lyn's therapy didn't end with her accepting her new life as a divorcee and 
going on and on to more and more sex partners who would unhesitatingly 
acquiesce to her incessant demands for oral-genital loveplay all the way to 
climax. Having been raised in a climate of one-mate-at-a-time monogamy, Lyn 
soon became overburdened with guilt and the tensions resulting from her 
guilt. Again, she sought the help of a psychiatrist to discover why what she 
thought was going to be an ideal life style was now not working out at all. 
When she came back to her therapist's office, she had an all-too-familiar 
story to tell. 

* * * 

"I don't usually have much trouble getting to sleep at night, doctor, but in 
the last six months I've had to take sleeping pills, tranquilizers, and 
alcohol in order to maintain any amount of mental balance at all. For the 
first six months after my divorce, I had a ball. I went out with so many men 
that I sometimes had a terrible time just remembering their names. I'd 
privately classify them as 'Roger the Hungarian' and 'Amaud the French 
Tailor' just to keep them straight in my mind. As it was, there was more 
than one time during a sex session when I simply couldn't bring myself to 
say the man's name, for fear it would be the wrong name. 

"As the months of sucking cocks and licking balls went on, however, I just 
forgot about names altogether and called them all darling. Half the time I'd 
wake up in a strange room, in a strange bed, and lie there and pray for a 
few minutes before I could open my eyes, 'Dear God, just let it be somebody 
I know. "Then, one day, I ran into my ex-husband, Harry, and we had a few 
drinks together. He told me a few of the things he'd been doing--he'd gone 
back to school and was working on his master's degree, he had a girl friend 
with two little kids, his mother had cancer, and so on. I sat there, looking 
at him and wondering what it had been that got me so excited about him. Then 
it all came back to me--his gentleness, his not insisting on throwing me on 
my back and fucking me the first or second or twelfth time he took me out. 

"When I thought back over my own life and how it had been going for the past 
half-year, I felt pretty bad. For a girl who'd been so particular about who 
she gave her cherry to, I'd become a woman who didn't know or care about the 
names of at least half the men she sucked off. Sometimes, not often, I'd get 
homy as hell in the middle of the day, and just take a long lunch hour, go 
to a bar and pick someone up, then find somewhere to blow him and be back at 
my desk inside of an hour and a half. Naturally, I almost never heard from 
any of my pick-ups again. After all, who wants to socialize with some broad 
who you can pick up, get a blow job from, and drop off again without so much 
as an hour or two of conversation beforehand? 

"When Harry asked me what I'd been doing, I was tempted to tell him, 'I've 
made a hobby of blowing, sucking, licking and Frenching to climax every man 
I can get my hands on, Harry, except the ones who look too old or too 
diseased.' But something held me back. Even though I'd thought of him as a 
sexual cripple for having believed that pussy-licking and penis-sucking was 
filthy and disgusting, and even though he'd hurt me badly with his damned 
holier-than-thou attitude, I still wanted him to think well of me. And there 
was that girl friend of his, who he'd been telling me about and him really 
looking turned on as he talked about her. I sure wasn't going to look any 
worse that she did to him--and I knew as sure as God made green apples that 
he probably laid her the same two nights a week that he'd laid me, without 
ever kissing her pussy or having her so much as sniff the end of his cock. 

"While I was doing all this heavy thinking, Harry had been telling me some 
story about the people who'd bought the house we'd lived in when we were 
married. Suddenly he said, 'Do you ever drive down the street in our old 
neighborhood and look at our little house? I go over there about once a 
month, just to see what's happening. We sure had some good times there, 
didn't we, honey?' "His sentimentality took me completely off guard. Here he 
was, telling me that he still drove down our old street, thinking about the 
good times we'd had together, and I was sitting there being jealous of his 
girl friend. I told him I hadn't been back to our old neighborhood since 
we'd sold the house and moved away--to separate apartments. 

" 'The place has really changed, Lynnie--the lawns are all in and the 
Johnsons finally did something about that muddy driveway of theirs, and the 
Levys--well, I guess you're not much interested. I understand you spend a 
lot of time in more glamorous places now.' He got quiet then, and sat 
looking at his hands. 'It never really goes away, does it, baby? The feeling 
you have for someone you've been married to, I mean. I've been sitting here 
talking to you and all the time I've been wanting to just hold you one more 
time, because we had such a good thing going before we got all uptight over 
sex.' " 'Harry, I just can't--' I started out, but he got up quickly and 
paid for our drinks and said, 'I'd better get you home, you probably have a 
big date tonight,' and started walking out of the bar. 

"I caught up with him and held onto his arm. 'You can't just dump me at my 
place without so much as a nice goodbye, grumpy,' I teased him--because, as 
he'd been talking about the good times of our marriage, the Johnsons and 
their damned lawn and all that stuff, I'd begun wondering if I couldn't have 
it all: marriage to a good man and oral loving. After all, I hadn't felt a 
thing for any of the other men I'd sucked off, except in one case which was 
a sort of mild friendship. 

"I kept up with Harry as he left the bar, because he was walking pretty 
fast. 'Come on, Lyn, I'll take you to your apartment and let you get ready 
for your date. I know how you like to be on time,' he said angrily. 

" 'Harry, for heavens' sake, will you stop fuming and listen to me for a 
minute?' He slowed down, and we walked to his car while I told him how I'd 
been too busy to miss anyone much, but that seeing him had brought back a 
lot of memories, and I wanted to sit and talk with him some more. 

" 'You have a guy coming to pick you up for dinner or something, don't you?' 
he asked. 

" 'If you'd asked me that before you took it for granted that I was going 
out tonight, I would have been glad to tell you that I wasn't busy this 
evening, and that I'd be glad to have you stay for dinner. I was even going 
to make my special spaghetti for you, you ass!' I replied, pretending to be 
angry with him. 

" 'Well, if you're really not busy, sure, I'd love to come to dinner. Why 
don't you let me do the shopping for you?' Harry said. He'd always known 
just where to get the best meats, so off we went, arm in arm, to the Italian 
grocery. By the time we got to my apartment, we were laughing and carrying 
on like it was our first date, except there was something very sexy in 
Harry's eyes when he looked at me, that hadn't been there since before we 
were married, long ago. 

"We got to my place and I started the spaghetti sauce, giggling and 
chattering, feeling good about being with a man who liked me for something 
more than sex. We sipped at the red wine we were using in the spaghetti 
sauce and after awhile, things got very, very cozy, with Harry putting his 
arm around my waist as I cooked and me snuggling in the least little bit--I 
still hadn't completely forgotten his you're-a-bad-girl speech. Just as the 
spaghetti pot came to a boil, so did Harry. He slid his hands all over my 
body and whispered, 'You're the only girl who's ever meant anything to me, 
Lyn--I wish every day that we could give it another try.' " 'Oh, Harry, I 
don't know,' I said, 'I can't take any more unhappiness or misunderstanding, 
not for a long time, anyway,' and I turned away and started stirring the 
sauce like it was my last act on earth. 

" 'Lyn, baby, Lyn, let me love you again,' he said, and kissed me right down 
to my soul. His hands were all over me again--cupping my breasts, pulling my 
hips toward him, sliding up under my skirt to where my pussy was getting 
hotter and wetter, recalling our first few months together when all we did 
was feel each other and find ways to make love anywhere and everywhere. I 
could feel his rod getting harder and harder--he was pressing himself into 
me, right through my clothes. My thighs went loose and separated for his 
hands to feel my pussy and slip in and out of that juicy love nest--while I 
rubbed his cock through his pants, and moved back and forth against his hand 
as if it were a big, hard cock. 

"We stood there, grinding our bellies together and taking off clothes for 
each other. Harry unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked my bra so he could get 
at my breasts, then he bent down and licked and sucked my titties until the 
nipples were straight up and my body was vibrating with desire for him. I'd 
taken his shirt off, and when he pulled me closer and closer to him, I could 
feel how hot and sexy his skin was against my bare breasts. While his tongue 
was plunging deeper and deeper into my mouth, his hands were taking off my 
skirt and pantyhose, and I was undoing his fly and pulling off his slacks 
and shorts. 

"Then we were completely naked together, all but trying to crawl inside each 
other's skins. Harry's great cock was dripping with the sweet love juice 
that I loved to taste--and then I stopped everything, because I'd almost 
gone down on him to suck his cock, lick him and tongue him all the way to 
climax! 

" 'What's wrong, baby? Why did you stop? Let's not wait for anything--let's 
fuck right now, right here in the kitchen!' he whispered, but I was so 
afraid I'd let myself go and start sucking him off that I moved away from 
him and started turning off the stove burners. 'What happened, Lyn? What 
turned you off?' he begged. 

" 'I don't want to talk about it, Harry--we'll only start to fight, and I 
don't want to ruin our evening together,' I said. 

" 'Is there someone else, Lyn--someone you haven't told me about? The least 
you can do is give me some clue about what put the brakes on. We were 
building something great when you just stopped cold.' " 'Harry--' I began, 
and then I just let it all come out. 'Look, Harry, I've loved you since we 
were first going steady, and I still do, but I'm not about to put myself in 
a position where you tell me ever again that I'm doing something dirty and 
disgusting when I want to kiss your penis and suck you until you come. I 
think that's the best part of making love, and you think it's dirty and your 
mother warned you about me, anyway, and I'm tired of my present life--but 
I'll never ever let anyone tell me I'm no good just because I like oral 
love. So let's put our clothes on and eat the spaghetti and forget that all 
this happened.' Then I pulled my blouse on, yanked up my skirt and got some 
dishes out of the closet and didn't even look at him. 

"All of a sudden, I did look at him, and he was just standing there, his 
hard-on half gone, his eyes puzzled and pleading, saying, 'Is that what it 
takes to make you happy? Because if that's what it takes, I'll learn to do 
it better than any man you've ever had. If you want me to go to a shrink or 
counselor, I will; just don't turn me off and push me away again. I want 
you, Lynnie--and if my beliefs are wrong, I'll find new ones. Just don't 
turn me away, baby,' and he was close to me again, holding me tight, 
murmuring into my neck, caressing my bare hips under the skirt I'd just 
pulled on. 

" 'I'm afraid, Harry--I want you, but I'm so afraid,' I cried. For an 
answer, his hands started gently pushing my head down, down toward his 
belly, toward his furry cock hair, toward where the velvety skin of his rod 
was beginning to stretch tight again over the hardness underneath. 'Here, 
Lynnie, suck me now--I love you girl! Don't you know that yet?' he said, and 
held his big cock up for my lips to kiss--and I did! I barely tasted the 
clear, salty drop on the tip of his penis that told me how ready he was for 
me, then I slowly, slowly closed my lips over just the very end of the 
fleshy cap he was holding out to me. 

"I waited, half afraid he'd pull back, half afraid he'd say something that 
would hurt me again. Instead, he moved forward suddenly, so that half his 
cock was in my mouth--and I forgot about being afraid and started Frenching 
him as I'd never done to anyone before. Up and down his hot, stiff rod I 
went, sucking, licking all over his crotch, holding his balls in my mouth 
and tickling them with my tongue--keeping him from coming right away by 
moving more slowly, then surprising him into a shocked gasp by suddenly 
sucking hard and fast, harder and faster, until he finally came wildly into 
my mouth, his cock pulsing and driving deep into my throat. 

"He finished coming, then I rose from where I'd been kneeling and went to 
the bathroom and cleaned up. When I came back to the kitchen, Harry had 
pulled on his pants and was pouring two more glasses of wine. He held out my 
glass and when I took it, he raised his glass in a toast and said, 'To Lyn 
and Harry--long may they love!' We touched glasses and drank the wine, but I 
couldn't hold back my happy tears. That was probably the most overcooked 
spaghetti I've ever made, but it tasted better than anything I'd eaten for a 
long, long time. 

* * * 

"Very seldom do I see a completely happy ending to any of my patients' 
therapy," reports Lyn's--and now Harry's--therapist. "They usually get to 
feeling just a little better about themselves as they begin to relate to the 
real world and cease feeling depressed, or suicidal, or whatever their major 
symptom has been. But in the case of Lyn and Harry, their discovery of how 
much happier they were together than they were apart, pursuing their own 
selfish ways, was a prime factor in one of the few true happy endings in my 
practice. They've been remarried and are living together in what appears to 
be complete harmony. At last report, they were expecting a baby in a few 
months, and Harry had begun reciprocating to Lyn's oral lovemaking with 
cunnilingus, without any more notions that oral-genital loving is dirty or 
disgusting. His early conditioning about sex and marriage has been all but 
totally reversed--and, as for Lyn, she's blooming. Her taste for fellation 
satisfied by Harry's cooperation, she now feels more relaxed about enjoying 
coital lovemaking as well as cunnilingus and fellatio. I can happily report 
that Lyn and Harry have one of those very rare and precious things--a truly 
compatible marriage." 

CHAPTER TWO - Impressionable Dolores 

"How I held out for so long I'll never know, but the idea itself was enough 
to make me want to vomit. I mean, I'm not a prude or anything like that--I 
love to make love, trying all sorts of crazy positions and angles, saying 
wild things to my husband to make it even sexier for him, getting it on in 
far-out places like in the shower or on the beach at night--but somehow, 
sucking Dick's penis made me actually sick to my tummy--really sick! I read 
all the books about how glorious it was to give your lover the best time you 
ever could, about how oral sex wasn't really dirty, and so on, but I just 
couldn't put my mouth on his cock, or even very near it, without having my 
lunch, dinner or whatever start churning around my insides. 

"And I love the man so much; the whole thing got blown up out of proportion 
to the rest of our relationship. Every time we made love, I'd start getting 
tenser and tenser, waiting for the moment when he'd ask me to blow him. It 
got so that we made love less and less, not because that's all he wanted me 
to do, but because I knew he wanted it and I couldn't give it to him. 

"I started getting very suspicious of his time away from home, examining his 
shorts for lipstick stains, calling his office frequently to be sure he was 
there, and once when he called home to say he'd be working late, I drove 
downtown to the building where he worked and watched his office window to be 
sure he was there, working, instead of getting blown by his secretary. 

"It was going from bad to worse when we finally got around to just sitting 
down and talking about it. 'I want to know why you don't want to suck me, 
honey,' said my understanding husband. 'It's not so important to me that our 
marriage will break up if you never do it, but if we can get some of your 
objections out in the open we may be able to see them for exactly what they 
are.' " 'Oh, Dick, I don't even know. All I do know is that I've always had 
a fear of a man sticking his penis in my mouth and making me suck on it. And 
I also know that I was never molested when I was little, or even when I was 
in my teens.' " 'Well, then, why, honey, WHY?' " 'I told you, I don't know! 
It's just that the idea of people doing that to each other makes me sick to 
my stomach. I don't even think that jokes about it are funny.' " 'Maybe if 
you let me lick your pussy, baby, you might see that it's such a nice 
sensation that you'll someday want to do it for me,' he said. 

"To please him, and because he was trying hard to understand me and help me 
over this hangup, I let him caress my back and tummy, then he slipped his 
hand down lower until he was stroking the soft fur on the lovenest he knew 
so well. I started wriggling and moaning then, the same as I did all the 
other times we made love. Dick turns me on just by looking at me--and when 
he touches me, I go to pieces. If only I would get this wonderful, tingly 
feeling when I sucked him, I thought--then I pushed the thought out of my 
mind, because I was getting turned off, thinking about it. 

" 'Just let yourself go, baby, just let me do it all,' murmured my husband, 
and I did. He slowly pulled off my dress, kissing everything he 
uncovered--my neck, my back, my waist, the part of my tummy that showed 
above my sheer bikini panties. Then his hands gently slid down inside my 
bikinis and he cuddled my hips in his hands for a minute before he took off 
my panties. I don't usually wear a bra, so his next stop was at my breasts, 
and his tongue flicked back and forth over my nipples until I was ready to 
all but come that way. 

"By this time, I was ready to feel out his hard rod, take it out and play 
with it, but he had other plans for me. As his tongue slipped wickedly over 
the skin around my nipples, and his hands played constantly with my hips and 
pussy-hair, I realized that he was deliberately taking me as high as he 
could without actually putting anything into my cunthole. We were in our 
living room, and he insistently pushed me back against the couch, bending 
his head toward my tummy and giving a lingering lick to my belly button, 
literally fucking it with his tongue. That didn't do too much for me, so he 
went lower and lower and suddenly I felt the tip of his tongue feeling 
around in my pubic fur, trying to find my little pink clit. By the time his 
tongue was doing that bit, I couldn't wait to feel it in my slit. I wriggled 
around until he found what he'd been looking for--the wet, juicy lips of my 
pussy. 

"I know it seems strange, but in the six months of our marriage and the two 
months we were lovers before we got married, we'd never tried French love. I 
was always so marvelously satisfied with all the fantastic things Dick did 
to me with his cock and hands that I wanted nothing more than that. Yet, 
here he was introducing me to a phase of lovemaking that I'd always thought 
of as nasty--literally sickening--and I was loving every minute of it. 

"Totally new sensations ran through my body, and without the big feel of 
being full of his prick, I could mentally explore the feelings that were 
going through my vagina, the excruciating teasing that was happening to the 
other parts of my cunt. Around and around my cunthole he went, the tip of 
his tongue stopping every so often to tickle my clitoris until I thought I'd 
scream, and that's when he'd instinctively go back to circling my pussy-lips 
with that wild, crazy tongue. I did as he said--I just lay back against the 
couch and let him lick me into heaven. 

"He didn't seem to be getting tired, and, far from being sickened by the 
experience, I was going slowly mad with desire for his tongue to ram itself 
all the way up into my pussy, to feel the entry of that tongue into my wet, 
pulsing center. My hips started moving upward in short, sharp thrusts, 
almost without my knowing anything about it. I was fascinated by the whole 
scene--my mind going one way with all the thrilling new discoveries, my body 
going another and gradually taking over as I got closer and closer to 
coming. 

"Then he stopped. Dick kept his face against my still-thrusting belly, but 
his tongue stopped its wild tripping around my pussy and his hands remained 
calm on my body. It took me a minute to slow down the gyrations I'd been 
going through, but slow down I did. 'Why did you stop, for God's sake?' I 
asked. 

" 'Because we're going to start all over again in just a few minutes, 
Dolores, baby. From the bottom to the top. And you just rest easy and let me 
do it' Dick's muffled voice came from the lips he held close against the 
quivering cunt he'd lapped into a state of frenzy. 

"I came down from the clouds in short slides as my breasts stopped heaving, 
my breathing slowed, my body collected itself and remembered it had arms and 
legs as well as a hungry cunt. Keeping his hand on my soft furry mound, Dick 
came up for air and we shared a cigarette and a sip of the wine we'd been 
tasting when the whole trip started. 

"Then we started again, and Dick meant what he said--he began to lick me 
from the bottom to the top. He began with my toes, kissing them as though 
they were the most delicious, adorable part of my body, stroking my feet as 
he sucked my toes--my toes, for goodness' sake!--and I loved it! As his lips 
moved up my legs, nibbling a little here, licking a little there, I felt 
like a thermometer, with the mercury going up and up as the body got hotter 
and hotter. 

"The backs of my knees were more sensitive than my toes had been, for when 
Dick started licking me there, a funny, sexy feeling gathered in the pit of 
my stomach, and by the time he reached the tops of my thighs, making circles 
with his tongue and sucking little mouthfuls of the flesh on the insides of 
my legs just next to my pussy, I was revolving my hips again, begging him 
with my body to put something--anything--into my aching pussy. 'You're going 
to learn a wild, wild lesson tonight, girl,' Dick whispered as he got closer 
and closer to the magic place, my clitoris, already erect and waiting for 
the first touch of his tongue. 

"And, just as before, he brought all his skill to bear on my clit. Every 
time I'd raise my body to his mouth, his mouth would be ready with a thrust 
of that crazy tongue, going everywhere, sucking and licking as I climbed 
closer and closer to what was going to be the best climax of my young life. 
'Oh darling darling, don't stop now, please don't stop now, fuck me, suck 
me, do something, but don't stop now!' "He stopped. I was about ready to cry 
with frustration. In all the time we'd been making love, Dick had never 
treated me this way. Always considerate, always letting me come, and as many 
times as he could, before he got his own satisfaction. Now he seemed like a 
different person--a cruel, selfish man who'd deliberately worked me up to 
the very brink of two climaxes, then deliberately stopped just as I was 
ready to fly. 'How can you be so mean, Dick? What kind of lesson are you 
teaching me? Are you getting your jollies from watching me suffer--is that 
what you really want? Because if it is, just watch!' And the tears of rage 
and frustration that I'd been holding back spilled out and I hit the 
cushions of the couch in my fury. 

" 'Easy on me, baby. I told you you'd be learning some wild lessons tonight, 
and this is just one of them. Now maybe you have a slight idea of what it's 
like for me when I want you to suck my cock while we're making love and you 
can't bring yourself to do it. I know there's some reason for it socked away 
in your subconscious, because I'm clean and you know I'm clean; but this is 
a small part of the way it feels when you're built up for something special 
and you don't get it.' His eyes as he looked down at me were full of love, 
not spite; and as I looked up at him, I knew he was trying to do everything 
he could, including hurt me temporarily, to save our marriage. 

"Relaxing, I let him wipe away the tears with a cool washcloth and we had 
another glass of wine. 'I'm sorry I yelled at you, darling, and I'm all 
ready for my next lesson,' I said as I cuddled into the curve of his strong 
arm. 'What does the professor have planned for this session?' He caught my 
laughing tone and announced, 'For the following lesson, the professor will 
need a volunteer from among the students. Young lady, would you mind very 
much standing up and helping your fellow students learn their lesson 
better?' " 'Certainly, oh great professor,' I said as I got to my feet. I 
was a bit unsteady from wine and loving, because I'd had a stronger kind of 
both than I'd been accustomed to. 'I hope the great professor will excuse my 
tipsy condition--they've put wine in all the drinking fountains in this 
school.' By this time, we were both giggling up a storm, with me standing 
before Dick as he sat on the couch, wineglass in his hand. 

" 'That's quite all right, my dear young lady. In schools that have classes 
like this, you must learn to expect anything. Now, if you will turn around, 
the great professor will resume the lesson. Here, would you just hold this 
glass for me for one moment? That's good. Now hold still, while I consult my 
notes.' With that, he started touching his tongue to my hips in quick, tiny 
stabs, going all over my ass with his flicking, tickling tongue. Then, just 
as I thought he was going to turn me around and do the same thing to my 
tummy and thighs, he said, 'Now, young lady, if you'll drink the remaining 
wine in that glass, we'll get on with the lesson.' "Slightly mystified at 
what the wine had to do with anything, I drank it down and handed him the 
glass. 'Good girl, you take direction very well. Please to continue holding 
still now,' and he was off and running with that tongue again, licking and 
now and then nipping gently at my ass, making it feel more alive than it 
ever had. After a few minutes, when my ass was feeling like electric 
currents were running through it, he changed direction. Now the tongue was 
thrusting itself into the long crack at the center of my butt, and gradually 
his fingers spread that crack--and little by little, his tongue found its 
way right into my asshole. 

"I'd had that asshole for all my years and never knew how marvelous it could 
feel. Somewhere, deep in my mind, was the knowledge that this was a very 
dirty thing to be doing and having done to me, but what Dick's tongue was 
doing blocked out any ideas of dirtiness and only the exquisite pleasure of 
an entirely new sensation came through. Again, I felt the gathering together 
of my body and soul, and knew I was ready to climax. At just the moment that 
my climax began, Dick turned me around, spread my legs wide and stuck his 
long tongue as far into my pussy as it would go. 

"My climax shook my body like a hurricane shakes a tree. I held Dick's head 
in both my hands and bucked and reared against his face, feeling the hot 
muscle of his tongue dart in and out of my cunt like a silken snake. The 
sensation it gave was fantastic--there was no way to relate it to the kind 
of fucking we'd always done, the kind of fucking I'd been 'used' to. 

"My vaginal muscles flexed and pulsed uncontrollably, sucking on his tongue 
the way my mouth sucked on it when we were French-kissing. 

Even after the height of my climax had passed and I was floating in the 
liquid sort of space of my after-climax, I could still feel that educated 
tongue sliding in and out of my slit. I fell against my husband's body, 
gasping for air, gulping in the odor of my own juices, becoming nothing more 
than a long chain of reflexes reacting to everything he did, every movement 
he made. 

"Dick's arms lowered me gently onto the couch, and then his hands were 
stroking my clit again, building toward another climax for me before I'd had 
time to come all the way down from the first one. 'Oh, no, darling, let me 
rest for a moment,' I pleaded, but the great professor hadn't quite finished 
our lesson for the night because he lowered his head again to the now 
dripping curls of my cunt hair and once more his tongue found its way to my 
half-erected clit. 'Dick, oh Dick, darling, I can't take any more,' I half 
cried in my ecstasy, but for an answer, he went on lapping, lapping at my 
clitoris, where I was so super-sensitive that the least touch would have set 
me off. 

"Relentlessly he licked on, circling my clitoris with his lips, forming a 
little cunt-like opening with his mouth and then sucking up on my clitoris 
as though it was a man's tiny cock. That did it! It couldn't have been more 
than a minute from the time he began sucking hard on my clitoris that I felt 
the storm gathering inside my belly again, and this time my climax was so 
much more than I'd ever known that I lost every shred of control I'd ever 
had and screamed and groaned as I shoved my crotch into his face, and pulled 
his head tightly into me with my hands clasped around the back of his neck. 
I must have come that way for a full two minutes, but because my entire body 
was so sensitized by the tonguing it had been getting, I felt as though I'd 
been coming for hours and hours. 

" 'Climax good for you, baby?' asked my unbelievable husband, lying down 
next to me on our velvet couch. 

" 'There are no words for how good it was, lover. When we make love the 
other way it's wonderful, but what we've been doing tonight has opened doors 
for me that I never want to close again.' I ran my hands over his manly 
chest, kissed his cheek, limply wrapped my exhausted legs around one of his. 
'I see what you've been teaching me--that loving with your entire body, your 
entire being, is above anything you could ever do with the person you love. 
Give me a few minutes rest and I'll try to do for you what you've just done 
for me.' "I believed in holding back nothing, now, and if that's the way it 
felt to get blown by someone who turns you on, I wanted to be the one to 
give my husband this experience. I was awfully thirsty, so Dick poured out 
two more glasses of wine and we lounged there like ancient Romans, sipping 
away and communicating with loving looks instead of with words. 

"Presently the wine was all gone, and now it was my turn to suck and lick 
and give my husband the gift of all those fabulous sensations. I kissed his 
mouth for a minute or two, then ran my tongue down over his neck and chest, 
spending a few moments on sucking his nipples. Knowing how that turned me 
on, I figured he'd like it, too. My experiment was a great success--he 
arched his body and moaned, 'Oh, do that, Dee-dee, keep doing that! It feels 
so good!' "Encouraged by his reaction to my nipple-kissing, I moved on down 
to his belly area, and tongued his navel. He moved around as though he was 
undecided about whether he liked it, but then I went even lower and 
cautiously began licking the area just above his dark, soft patch of hair, 
which had growing from the middle of it the rosiest, biggest, hardest and 
sexiest cock I had ever seen. 

"Gently holding his balls in my one hand, I poised my mouth over the end of 
this beautiful rod, and finally got up enough nerve to give a tiny lick to 
the very tip of it. It was sort of salty, and I noticed a bit of clear 
liquid oozing from the hole in the tip. Putting just the outside of my lips 
to the soft-skinned cap of Dick's penis, I lapped at it slightly, all the 
while trying to remember how great it had felt when he was lapping at my 
clit, circling my pussy-lips with his lips and stabbing my slit with a 
tongue that seemed to be almost as long as his rod. 

"With these thoughts chasing through my mind, and getting braver every 
minute (probably the result of drinking most of a bottle of sherry wine), I 
made my first sucking motion on Dick's penis. As I went further down the 
shaft of his joystick, I tried to remember in every detail how he'd licked 
the tips of my pussy-lips, how he'd sucked off my own tiny prick, my 
clitoris, and how he'd gone through at least an hour of tonguing me without 
stopping. Another long suck on his prick, and he was moaning and twisting as 
he lay there on the couch. 

"It pleased me to know that what I was doing was as exciting to him as his 
oral loving was to me. The idea of being sick went further and further from 
my mind and I licked and sucked him more enthusiastically with every passing 
second. I was afraid of hurting him with my teeth, but as he seemed to be 
getting closer and closer to his climax, I concentrated on giving him the 
best suck I possibly could. This isn't all that bad, I was thinking to 
myself--I wonder why I was so uptight about it for so long. 

"Suddenly, his cock began to throb and before I knew it a huge glop of his 
come was choking me, running down my throat, slopping out of my mouth, 
nauseating me so that I barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. My 
belly heaved and heaved and everything I'd eaten for the past two days 
seemed to come splashing out of me. I've always hated vomiting more than 
anything, and I was not only sick, but furious with myself for messing up so 
badly. 

" 'Honey, it's all right, it's all right,' Dick was saying, as he was trying 
to help me to the sink where he tenderly wiped my face with a cool cloth, 
and held me up while I rinsed out my mouth. 'Don't cry, Dee-dee, please 
don't cry. We won't do it ever again if you don't want to.' " 'Dick, 
darling, it isn't that I don't want to do it anymore, it's that I just 
can't. I want to thrill you all the ways you do me, but I just can't handle 
it!' and I weakly sat down on the edge of the tub and cried harder. 

"That was two months ago, and even though Dick has done practically 
everything he could to make it pleasant for me, I still get sick as a pup 
when I even begin to suck his cock. One night he brought home a little 
package and told me it was a Dolores-and-Dick 'Care' package. He wouldn't 
let me open it until we'd finished dinner and then he said we were going to 
have dessert like we'd never had dessert before. We went into the bedroom 
and he handed me a small book with a picture of a woman and man making love 
on the front cover. It was a photograph, not a drawing, and it was such a 
close-up that I could actually see his rock-hard rod pushing into her gaping 
pussy. The color was very good--and as I looked through the rest of the 
book, there were pictures of people doing things to each other in couples, 
trios, quartets and whole piles of naked lovers fucking, eating, sucking; 
men and women, men and men, women and women and every possible combination 
imaginable. Pictures like that always excite me, but I didn't know how Dick 
knew that about me because we'd never discussed it. 

"I couldn't take my eyes off one of the pictures, where a girl was licking 
the white, dripping come off her lover's still-stiff cock and had an 
expression on her face like she was enjoying every drop of the stuff. How do 
you develop a taste for come, I wondered. Is it like eating raw oysters, or 
some other weird food that you hate the first time you have it, then 
gradually come to think of it as a delicacy? While I was gulping down the 
pictures in that wild book, Dick was undressing and by the time I looked at 
him, he was rubbing himself with some kind of pink jelly that he was 
squeezing out of a tube. 

" 'Come over here, baby. Daddy's got some dessert for you that will really 
turn you on to licking,' said my husband, and he held his huge prick up to 
me with both his hands. It was covered with the pink jelly, and it smelled 
sort of like strawberry or raspberry jam. 'Go ahead, Dee-dee, taste it--it's 
made to be eaten. Lick me, sweetheart--you don't have to let me come in your 
mouth--just lick my cock a little bit so I can feel your pretty tongue.' 
"How can you resist a man who tries so hard to make things easy for you? 
Especially when you love the guy? I bent over Dick's tan, muscular body and 
touched my tongue to the tip of his penis. 

The jelly was delicious, and since he'd rubbed it all the way up and down 
the length of his cock, I naturally had to move my lips all around his 
joystick to lick off the rest of my 'dessert.' "Then I discovered that the 
sweet, fragrant jelly was on his balls, too, so I delicately licked them 
until they were so sensitive that Dick was moaning and moving frantically 
around on his back, trying to find my mouth with his hard cock, rubbing the 
tip of it into my face, telling me again and again how much he loved me and 
how much he loved what I was doing to him. Then, just as I was giving the 
first good, long suck to his peter, I started to heave, and it was back to 
the bathroom and there went my dinner and, of course, my 'dessert.' " 'Oh, 
shit!' was all I could say, between barfs. 'Oh, shit!' " 'It's all right, 
baby, we won't try it again--I never should have tried it again!' And he 
didn't, because one more of those sessions would be more than I could take. 
All I can say is that there's got to be something very wrong with my mind, 
because I don't usually throw up all that easily. Now I wonder every time we 
make love if Dick wants me to suck him, and still I simply can't bring 
myself to do it. I love the man more each day, but how long can this go on, 
with me feeling like a damn failure in bed and him feeling like he actually 
makes me sick? I'm not about to louse up a wonderful marriage just because I 
can't keep my cookies down when I suck off my husband. I want to find out 
what's making me behave this way and then fix it so it doesn't happen 
again." 

* * * 

Dolores' story, while not typical, recounts a frequent problem for women 
who've had very little, or no experience with oral-genital relationships. 
Somewhere they've picked up the attitude that oral sex is unsavory because 
of the nearness of the rectum and the bladder, both recognized as containing 
literally disgusting substances. In the extreme inversion of Dolores' 
problem, we find cases of both coprophagia (eating the feces of the sex 
partner) and urophagia (drinking the urine of the sex partner). 
Spermophagia--swallowing the seminal fluid of the male sex partner--is, 
however, a widespread practice, and in its usual forms it gives the consumer 
of the emission either great pleasure or the feeling that she (or he) will 
benefit in some way from ingesting the "strength" of their sex partners. 

In their definitive treatise, Human Sexual Response, Drs. Masters and 
Johnson report the fact that: 

--- 

At the onset of the ejaculatory experience, the intact internal sphincter of 
the urinary bladder normally closes or remains sealed, thereby preventing 
seminal-fluid content from entering the bladder in a retrograde ejaculatory 
sequence. This specific internal-sphincter constriction also has the 
function of retaining any urinary content within the bladder and avoiding 
any intermingling of urine and seminal plasma. 

--- 

In lay terms, during ejaculation or "coming," the male does not eject urine 
along with his sperm containing seminal fluid. The opening, or urethra, 
through which urine escapes to the outside of the body remains blocked so 
that only seminal fluid is projected by the penis at the moments of orgasm. 
As for the feeling of being "flooded" by the semen, very few people, male 
and female alike, are aware that the average penile emission of semen 
consists of one to three (at most) tablespoons of viscous fluid that's 
designed by nature to cling to the walls of the vagina, not flood around and 
flow right back out. If some of the seminal mass does run out of the vagina, 
the major amount of it remains inside, releasing sperm which immediately 
begin their journey in search of the female's ovum, or egg, in order to 
fertilize it and complete their life's purpose. 

So much for the notion that oral sexual expression can be disgusting or 
nauseating because there might be some urine in the male ejaculation, or 
because there's such a "flood" of seminal fluid rushing into her mouth that 
the female (or male homosexual) fellator might be choked by it. Certainly 
there's occasional mild choking during the course of an oral lovemaking 
session, but this is usually due to a pubic hair getting into the mouth, 
seldom because the semen or feminine secretions are of a distasteful nature. 
A culture that considers such foods as raw oysters, hot curries and fried 
locusts delicacies, cannot honestly pronounce the taste of the male 
ejaculation or the female "juices" as being of an unsavory flavor. 

Dolores' conclusion that there was "something very wrong with my mind" was 
perhaps a bit strong, but she did seek psychiatric help in order to remove 
the emotional rubble of a lifetime; to uncover whatever childhood trauma 
were creating such havoc in her sexual relationship with her husband. During 
her first appointment with the hypnotherapist to whom she'd been 
recommended, Dolores was put into a light hypnotic trance to see if she 
could benefit from the practice of age-regressing a patient back through the 
years until the trauma that occurred during childhood is uncovered and the 
patient can vent his or her fears with the support of the therapist. After 
being brought out of trance, Dolores was agreeable to the use of hypnosis to 
shorten the time she would be in therapy. She also agreed to having her 
sessions in hypnoanalysis tape-recorded so that after she had been brought 
out of hypnosis, she could listen to herself recalling the events which 
traumatized her in childhood, and relate to them as the adult she had 
become. The following is a partial transcription of the taped hypnoanalysis 
sessions, edited for clarity and understandability. We hear Dolores' voice, 
after she has been placed into a hypnotic trance and age-regressed to her 
sixteenth year. 

* * * 

"I'm at home, in my room upstairs... I can hear them fighting again. It 
seems like never a night goes by that they don't have the same old fight... 
Mother's mad at him (Dolores' father) for coming home drunk again, and she's 
telling him to go to the whores if he wants to do that filthy thing again... 
I'm not sure just what it is he wants to do to her, but she keeps screaming 
that it's filthy, filthy and disgusting, and he'll make her a sick woman if 
he does it... I want to know what the filthy thing is, I'm so curious about 
it, but I don't dare ask her. Somehow I just know that it's one of the 
things that I can never talk to her about... 

(Dolores is advanced one year in age while still in hypnosis.) 

"Now I'm seventeen... Nothing has changed, except that now I know what the 
filthy thing is that he's wanted my mother to do all these years. He wants 
her to suck on his thing until he squirts all his come into her mouth... no 
wonder she's afraid of it. I'd feel sick, too, if I had to do that... it is 
filthy, filthy and disgusting... I found out from my girlfriend at school. 
Her mom and dad had the same fights for years until they were divorced. She 
says her stepmother probably likes to do the filthy thing, because she 
doesn't hear any more arguments about it... my girlfriend and her steady do 
the filthy thing all the time. She says she doesn't like it as much as she 
likes fucking with him, but that way she knows she won't get pregnant. I 
guess a lot of people do it and don't get sick, but I can't see how they 
manage to swallow the muck that comes out of a boy's thing. Ugh! Just the 
thought of it turns my stomach! 

"My steady asked me to do the filthy thing once, but I told him if he wanted 
to do it, to go find some pig girl who'd do it with him, because I wasn't 
about to suck any boy's filthy cock and get my mouth full of that awful 
stuff... the way it came up was, well, one night we were petting pretty 
heavy and he got his hands into my panties, and pulled them all the way down 
my legs. I was afraid he'd rape me or something, and I started crying. He 
held me tight and told me he'd stop right then and there because he didn't 
want to hurt me at all, ever. 

"After I stopped crying, we started making out again and before I knew it, I 
wanted his hand on my pussy, I wanted his fingers to go inside my cunt and 
slip around in there. I wiggled and stretched until I was pressing my naked 
pussy up against his fly, and I could feel his big, hard thing pushing 
through his jeans. Just feeling that much of him drove me half wild, but I 
was worried about getting pregnant and having to drop out of school to have 
the baby or having an abortion. All this was going through my mind as we 
were making out, but I was still excited enough to want him. Every time he 
tried to pull down his jeans I'd freeze, and then we'd start all over again. 
Finally he just pulled away from me and said I was nothing but a lousy 
prick-teaser and he was going to take me home and go find him a real woman. 

"I got mad then and told him he'd better get started early, and if he was 
any kind of the big lover he thought he was, why couldn't he make me feel 
like doing it all the way with him? He said if I'd do just as he told me, 
we'd have a wonderful time and I wouldn't get pregnant... He started playing 
with my little clit, then, and sliding his fingers over and around it, just 
touching it lightly over and over... It felt so good, so good... I didn't 
know anything could feel so good... Oh, I want some more, more... 

(Here Dolores undergoes a familiar phenomenon in hypnotherapy: she begins to 
re-live the experience as though she was living through it for the first 
time.) 

"Now he's putting his finger into my pussyhole and he's... oh, wow, he's 
rubbing me so easy, so nice. It's the best feeling I've ever had, but I want 
more... I'm scared of being pregnant, my folks would kill me, but I want 
more, more... He's rubbing my clit again, and I feel like I've got a fire in 
my tummy, no down lower... I'm moving back and forth now, I don't even know 
why, but it feels even better this way... I'm taking his big hard cock out 
of his jeans, now... oh, how good it feels... I'm holding him in my hand now 
and he's moving back and forth, faster and faster... Oh, wow, I'm moving and 
he's moving--we're both going so fast and wild that I can't stand it any 
longer, I'm going to yell or something... Oh, oooh, please don't stop, don't 
stop... Mmmmmm, I love to do this, let's do this all the time now. Let's do 
it every time we can... 

"I love the way he feels, I can't get enough of the way he rubs my pussy and 
sticks his fingers in and out of me... His other hand is playing with my 
nipples... first one; then the other... my blouse and bra are off, and the 
cold air feels sexy as hell on my skin... His hands are warm, so warm, they 
feel actually hot when he kisses me... Oh, god, now he's sucking my nipples 
and stroking my clit at the same time... I feel like I'm going to wet my 
panties, only my panties are off and I want to do everything now, 
everything, anything, just to keep doing this, to keep feeling this way... 
He's french-kissing me, his tongue is smashing in and out of my mouth 
exactly the same as his finger strokes in and out of my pussy-hole... 

"I'm pulling on his cock like it was made of rubber, but then I push and 
pull and he groans and slides down in the seat and I put my face real close 
to his long, throbbing thing to see all I can see in the moonlight... I can 
feel his hand on the back of my neck, caressing me there... that feels good, 
so good, everything he does to me feels so good. Oh, wait... no, wait... 
don't... don't... I don't want to suck you... No, stop pushing my head down, 
I don't like it anymore... ugh, ugh, oh, how awful! (Here she gags and 
spits) Oh, good God, I have to throw up... (more gagging) I told you not to 
force me--I hate you, you bastard! It was getting so wonderful... Of course 
I didn't like it... you pumped all that rotten mess into my mouth... You 
were going to do it all the time, the rest of what we did was just to get me 
in the mood to suck you, wasn't it?... All right, take me home, I wish you 
would, I have to throw up, anyway... No, don't try to kiss me, just get me 
home so I can be sick... Don't call me. Just leave me alone. That's all, 
just leave me alone... 

(Dolores is brought up to age eighteen while still in hypnosis.) 

"I'm at college now, and I like it a lot... I have three boyfriends and I 
like all my classes and I even like my roommate... It's fun here, I don't 
have to answer to my parents for each little thing I want to do, and I don't 
always have to hear their stupid fights, either... I'm out in the car with 
my favorite boyfriend, and we're really making out, now... He never makes me 
do anything I don't want to do, so I can let myself go with him more than I 
can with anyone else... I just love to make him hard when we're dancing or 
just sitting and talking, then snuggle up to him and feel his red-hot cock 
through his pants... All I have to do is whisper to him about how gorgeous 
his cock is, and how much I like to feel it when it's hard, and he comes 
right up... "We're petting now, we like to just play with each other until 
we can't stand it any longer, then I let him put his naked cock between my 
legs and just when he's ready to come, I pull away and rub him good with my 
hand until he shoots his stuff into my hand... It's about the only way to 
make love and not get pregnant, because I can't get a prescription for the 
pill, and I'm afraid to get a diaphragm, the doctor would be sure to tell my 
parents or the Dean of Women, and then she'd tell them and I'd be in trouble 
again... Mmmmmmm, he's rubbing my clit again, that's what I really love... 
I'm grabbing his juicy joint through his pants, now I'm taking down his 
zipper... It's sticking a little bit, and now it's down, and now I pull his 
fleshy, hard cock out where I can see it and play with him until he's ready 
to jump out of his skin... 

(Dolores is taken up in time to age eighteen and six months.) 

"Bob's roommate is gone for a week of skiing and we have their apartment all 
to ourselves... It's wonderful to be alone, completely alone, with a locked 
door between you and your lover and the rest of the world... We're sipping 
wine and talking together while dinner's cooking... Now we're dancing to 
some nice slow records he has... Mmmmm, he's so sexy when we dance, he puts 
his legs in between mine all the time, then he holds me real close, so I can 
feel how hard he is, right through our clothes... My pussyhair is all wet 
from rubbing up against his cock... I want to go to bed with him, but I'm 
still so afraid of pregnancy... It would be perfect this weekend, because 
the Dean of Women thinks I'm spending the weekend with my roommate, and my 
folks do, too, so I have the whole weekend with Bob... 

"I'm still a virgin, but the more we dance around this wonderful room with 
the locked door, and the more he pushes his legs and cock in between my 
legs, and rubs my pussy with his cock through our clothes, the more I want 
him to put his cock in and out of me the way he does with his fingers... 
Ooooh, he's stroking my back through my blouse, and now he's pulling my 
blouse out of my skirt and his hands are on my bare back and now his hands 
are sliding around to my breasts, and he's feeling my breasts through my 
sheer bra... I'm slipping the bra off so he can feel my breasts naked... he 
teases my nipples with his tongue and he nips them so lightly that they get 
hard as little rubies... Now I'm taking his sweater off, so I can do the 
same thing to his nipples that he's doing to mine... Mmm, that's good, his 
nipples really taste good and sexy, they're getting harder than mine... 

"My pussy is just throbbing and begging for a big, hard cock going in and 
out of her now... I want him so... I mustn't do anything that will make me 
sick or pregnant... We're still dancing a little bit, while we take off the 
rest of our clothes... We're both completely naked now, dancing together, 
but this is the sexiest dancing I've ever done, rubbing my body up against a 
naked man... feeling his chest-hair and his hard nipples against my bare 
breasts... and feeling his huge cock muscle pushing its tip into the hair 
around my clitoris... 

"We've stopped dancing and Bob is bending a little bit so he can rub my clit 
with his naked cock--just the tip of him is touching me... Now I spread the 
fur around my clit so we can get closer together, and he pushes his 
buck-naked cock all the way through my crotch--all the way up and down my 
pussy-place, where I'm so wet from his sexiness... I love this, it's the 
first time we've done it where we weren't in the car, where we didn't have 
to worry about being caught by the cops or anything... 

"I want to go the distance tonight, I'm so horny from his rubbing and all 
this loving that it's making me so that I want to just fuck and fuck and 
fuck until tomorrow morning, then have breakfast and fuck again. I just 
finished my period, maybe I won't get pregnant... The hell with it, I'm 
going to do it--tonight so I'll know what it's like to be a woman at last... 
We're in the bedroom now, with just candles burning, making beautiful 
shadows on the ceiling... We're on the bed, and we're caressing each other 
and exploring each other as if it was the first time we'd ever made love... 
Well, it's the first time we'll go all the way... I can't wait, neither can 
Bob... He's mounting me, moving his legs so that he's over me, looking down 
at me with such tenderness and excitement... I can feel him reach down 
between us for his cock, and guide it into my cunthole... 

"Oh, wow, he's taking it so easy that it doesn't even hurt! I love him! I 
love this--everything we're doing is so wild, so beautiful!... I can feel 
the hot, hard tip of his cock moving around and around my pussy, trying to 
find the way into my body--I can't control myself any longer--my body is 
arching up to meet him, to swallow his whole, huge cock with my 
pussymouth!... Oh, wow, no wonder people do everything they can to do this 
over and over again!... He's found the place to push into--he's in me a 
little bit, now he's waiting... I can't wait, darling, I can't wait! Take 
me, please, please take me!... 

"He's moving farther into me, and it's feeling tight, but I'm so wild with 
sex and excitement that I don't care if he splits me wide open--I want him! 
I want him! There! He's all the way in now--Oh, now he's pulling it out 
again--no, stay inside me, darling, don't go!... Now he's thrusting back 
into me, farther than he did before... Now I'm moving, too, up and down, 
with his sexy, hard body on top of me and inside of me and coming in and 
out, in and out... Oooooh!... More, let's do it some more! Faster, let's go 
faster!... Now we're going so fast and hard that it's hurting me, but I 
don't care, don't care, take me, take me, take me now, I'm going crazy, 
ooooh, God, yes, yes, yes... " 

* * * 

In her next series of hypnoanalytic interviews, Dolores came closer to the 
trauma that threatened her marriage and the very balance of her sanity. She 
was age-regressed to her twentieth year and immediately began the 
revivifying process that is the preferred method for venting, or releasing, 
the pent-up emotion which is crippling the patient in his or her dealings 
with everyday life. She had been instructed to return to the experience that 
made her unhappy, more than any other experience, insofar as sexual 
expression was concerned. Dolores speaks: 

* * * 

"I was making out with the boy I dated, after we'd gone to a drive-in movie 
that was pretty sexy... We'd gone all the way several times before, but he 
just didn't satisfy me the way that Bob, the boy who got my cherry, did... I 
tried to force myself to a climax, but that only made it worse--it got to be 
more like work than lovemaking. This night I'm telling you about, we were 
both relaxed, yet horny and excited, and the weather was warm and soft--one 
of those spring nights when you can hear the crickets and a few night birds 
muttering to themselves. 

"We rolled the car windows down and just sat there for a few minutes, 
kissing each other, not moving around much. He fooled with my breasts 
awhile, and then I took my blouse off and he unhooked my bra, which only 
relaxed me more. I played with his cock before he took it out of his pants. 
We weren't in any hurry or anything. It was almost like one of those 
slow-motion pictures--easy and fine, just touching and stroking, no pushing 
or wildness. Then, after he'd taken off his pants and his shorts and we were 
sitting there almost naked, instead of pulling me down so he could mount me, 
he lowered his head until his mouth was on my lower belly--the first time 
that had ever happened to me. 

"I didn't know whether I'd like it or not, so I kept still and waited for 
his next move... He separated my legs and moved his head so that his mouth 
was right over the part of my pussy that held my clit between two shallow 
walls of wet, pulsing flesh. Then his tongue suddenly flicked out and 
touched my clit with a swift, darting motion that set my whole cunt area on 
fire. I gasped at the continuing flicks of his tongue as they set up a 
series of reactions in my body that soon had me twisting and grasping his 
head with both my hands, just to keep his mouth from moving an inch away 
from the incredible sensations he was giving me. 

"Then just as I was going to climax, just as my life juices had gathered for 
the rush of passion that ends in glorious come, he stopped, grabbed my head, 
pushed me down toward his cock, and said: 'Suck it, baby--go ahead, suck it 
for me like I did for you!'... I didn't want to--I just wanted to go on 
feeling those delicious sensations that his pussylicking had given me--but I 
suddenly realized that if, after his having Frenched me, I refused to at 
least suck him a little, he'd think I was a prick-teaser of the worst 
kind... 

"Swallowing hard to keep my dinner down, I started licking the tip of his 
cock, then the whole head went into my mouth and soon I was sucking up and 
down the length of his shaft, dribbling and slipping faster and faster in my 
desire to get it over with before I started throwing up... Just as I felt 
the beginning throbs of his come surging through his hot cock, I couldn't 
hold it down any longer--I had just enough time to open the car door and 
lean outside before everything I'd eaten for the past two days forced its 
way out of my stomach... 

"I felt so rotten about the whole thing--not just about throwing up, but 
about not being able to French my boyfriend for even three or four minutes 
without throwing up. My boyfriend was mad, too--he didn't say anything, he 
just started the car and drove me back to the dorm. When we got there, he 
kissed me good-night like I was his cousin who he didn't like, and mumbled 
something about calling me in a couple days. I knew he wouldn't call, and he 
knew I knew he wouldn't, but I didn't care. I figured I was better off 
without a guy who would want me to French him, because throwing up was not 
my idea of the way to end a charming evening... 

"I went over and over it in my mind, and I couldn't sort it out. I mean, I 
know that my attitudes towards sex were colored by my mother's attitudes 
about it--I learned that in Psychology I. But to the point of throwing up? 
To the point of not being able to do any kind of oral lovemaking at all? 
After a few weeks had gone by and I didn't see the boy I'd been with that 
night, I forgot about it, started studying hard, and got through the rest of 
the year with a high B average... 

"During the summer vacation, I went home and met my husband-to-be who was a 
new resident in our town. About three months later, we were married, and 
except for the honeymoon, when Dick, my husband, asked me to suck him and I 
sweetly but firmly refused, the subject of cocksucking didn't rear its ugly 
head. He waited for several months to repeat his request--and that's when it 
all began again, and I was reminded more and more, every day, that I wasn't 
as much of a woman as I thought I was. 

"Oh, Dick never put it into those many words, but I could tell that's what 
he was thinking... I want to do everything he wants as far as sex is 
concerned, doctor, but how can I get over this awful hang-up?... It seems 
the more I try to do it, the worse it gets... 

(At this point in her therapy, Dolores was brought out of hypnosis and given 
an appointment for the following week. She was instructed, in the meantime, 
to do only what was most relaxing for her in the way of making love with her 
husband. Transcripts from her next age regression therapy begin here.) 

"I'm fifteen and my mother is talking to me about boys and sex and all that. 
Ye gods, I knew about that stuff in sixth grade... She's going on and on 
about how I should always keep myself clean and how I should never ever let 
a boy or a man touch me down there until he married me. Ho hum, the same old 
stuff all the kids' mothers tell them... Do I have any questions? she wants 
to know. Yes, I sure do have some questions, like what's the filthy, 
sickening thing my dad wants you to do that makes you two fight all the time 
so I can't get to sleep before midnight half the time? Maybe I will ask 
her... She's giving me all this you-can-come-to-me-with-anything-dear 
talk... Okay, here goes: 'Mom, what is it that Dad wants you to do with him 
that you think is filthy and disgusting?... She's telling me it's too 
horrible to even discuss at this time... Good grief, what is it?... 

(Dolores is brought up to age fifteen and three months at which point she 
continues her narrative.) 

"Well, I finally found out what the filthy thing is--all he wants her to do 
is suck his cock. But then, a man's peter can be a pretty dirty thing, I 
guess, if he doesn't wash very often, and my dad doesn't bathe as often as 
he could... I asked my girl friend what she thought the filthy thing was and 
she said that it was probably the same thing her folks fought over... Why do 
the men want that so much, anyway? And why do the women think it's so 
sickening? I don't think I'd enjoy doing it, but if my husband washed real 
good, I don't think I'd consider it sickening... 

(At this point in her therapy, Dolores was taken forward to the time when 
she first actually saw a male emission of seminal fluid.) 

"I'm sixteen and I'm going home from the football game with my date... We're 
parking and now he wants to make out with me... I like to kiss him, but I 
don't like him well enough to do anything else--it's still kind of light 
out, and I'm afraid someone will see us... Oh, wow, he's fooling with my 
panties--it's getting a little darker, but I'm still afraid of being seen... 
now I can see his big hard-on right through his pants--it's crazy, but I'm 
getting excited from just looking at him... he's taking it out of his fly 
now, and showing me how big he is... I've felt boy's cocks before, but I've 
never seen one... He wants me to play with him, but I say wait until it gets 
darker... I want to touch him, and I do... 

"I'm holding his hot cock in my hands now and he moves back and forth so I 
can see how it would look going in and out of my pussy... Ooh, it's so nice 
and hard, and the skin on it is soft and velvety... There's some wet stuff 
coming out of the little hole in the end of his thing... it feels so sexy, 
just holding him and rubbing him like this... now he's pulling my panties 
over to one side and I can feel his fingers on my naked pussy. He shows me 
how wet I am, after he rubs his fingers around my cunthair... It feels so 
good!... I hope no one can see us... My hand is going faster and faster on 
his cock--he's wiggling and moaning and telling me to go down on him, but I 
can't, I don't want to!... 

"Now he's grabbing my hands and making them go even faster. 'Oh, baby!' he 
yells, and I look at his big cock, and just then a whole mess of stuff that 
looks like curdled milk shoots out into my hand--ugh, to think that women 
have to take that into their mouths sometimes... No wonder my mother hates 
to do it... I can't wipe this mess on my skirt--I lost my hankie--what am I 
going to do with it?... He's telling me I can always lick it off... I'm 
really mad, now--I make him take me home. I'm never going out with him 
again--he's really sickening... " 

* * * 

In continuing hypnoanalysis, Dolores was able to recount all her past trauma 
concerning the male sex organs and especially the repulsion she felt for the 
seminal fluid. She was correct in deducing that it was her mother's 
influence that set the pattern for her own attitudes toward sexual 
expression, other than the traditional "normal" sex position of man on top, 
woman beneath. Had she not been so thoroughly conditioned by her parents' 
nightly arguments over her mother's refusal to fellate her father to climax, 
Dolores would most likely have reached maturity with no more than the usual 
bagful of sex hang-ups. As it was, she was eventually able to overcome her 
nausea and vomiting with six more sessions in deep hypnotherapy. She was 
given the post-hypnotic suggestions that: 

(1) She would not feel constrained to perform fellatio on her husband unless 
she was completely willing to do so and was completely relaxed about doing 
it. 

(2) She would feel no guilt at performing oral loveplay with her husband and 
experience only positive feelings about this form of sexual expression. 

(3) She would completely accept the fact that the seminal fluid of the male 
is not unclean so long as the male is not diseased; that, in fact, it is the 
other half of the pattern needed to provide the miracle of birth. 

Her own deep need to be the best lover her husband could wish for, and her 
gratification at his delight when she was able to fellate him successfully, 
without nausea, were the two most important factors in Dolores' recovery 
from the trauma that had threatened her marriage. The lessening of tension 
in the area of sexual expression created a more positive feeling between 
Dolores and her husband in all their communications--both physical and 
non-physical. 

No instant cure for emotional problems is yet available, but it has been 
observed and noted that in most cases where a competent hypnotherapist is 
treating the patient, much less time is necessary to find and vent those 
deeply buried trauma that so plague us in later years. By allowing the 
patient to dig up and air out old fears and hurts, the therapist can then 
help the patient to relate to those same fears and hurts as the adult he has 
become, and not as the impressionable, vulnerable child he once was. The 
negative attitudes then being out of the way, new, positive attitudes can be 
put in their place. 

CHAPTER THREE - Three Is Not A Crowd 

"I grew up in a neighborhood where you had to take a rock with you to throw 
at the rats when you went to take out the garbage. Before I was six years 
old I had decided that, whatever it took, I wasn't going to stay in that 
filthy dump any longer than I absolutely had to. My mother was a lovely 
woman who, through a series of sick choices, had first married, then had 
four children by a charming lazybones of a man--my father, the great love of 
her life. He was always full of plans and dreams about how he was going to 
make a million dollars and get us out of there. Then when the dreams didn't 
materialize and the plans fell through, he would go on a week-long drunk 
that would eat up whatever money my mother had scrounged from her household 
allowance, my father's last paycheck (he was always getting fired) and the 
contents of my piggybank, which I learned to hide away from all of them 
before too many years had passed. 

"After my father had sobered up and went through another week of being hung 
over, swearing 'Never again!' and cursing his rotten luck, he would go back 
out into the world and get another job, no better than the last one, and 
begin dreaming his dreams all over again. My mother would wipe the tears 
from her face, heave a sigh, and go back to saving a few pennies here and 
there, hoping she'd be strong enough to keep them away from her charming, 
no-good husband when he was ready for his next drunk. And I would go back to 
feeding that piggybank for all I was worth--running errands, babysitting as 
soon as I was old enough, doing extra chores for the women who lived around 
us, making yarn dolls and doilies and placemats and whatever else I could 
create for nothing and sell at a profit of five, maybe even twenty-five 
cents. 

"When I was twelve, I had my first menstrual period and decided that I was 
now a woman, and, as such, was ready to split that lousy slum we'd lived in 
for as long as I could remember. I broke my piggybank--by now I'd changed 
nickels and quarters into dollar bills before putting them in there--and 
discovered I had enough to pay for a one-way ticket to my maternal 
grandmother's home in Los Angeles. 

"My mother cried and asked what she'd ever do without me, because I was the 
oldest kid and I helped her a lot. My father went out and got drunk because 
he knew I didn't want to live with them anymore, which made him realize all 
over again what a failure he was. My brothers and sister looked on with envy 
and longing in their eyes--they'd known what I was planning for two years, 
and they wanted out, too, even though they all loved my mother and dad. 

"I had a few moments of thinking that maybe I ought to stay a little longer 
and help them struggle along for a few more years, but then the old man came 
home falling-down drunk and threw up all over the threadbare living room rug 
that was my mother's pride and joy. When I saw the poor woman down on her 
knees, trying to clean up the mess and crying because she didn't have the 
guts to leave the man she loved, I knew that it really was time for me to 
go--so I kissed everybody goodbye--my dad, too--and left. 

"The trip west was exciting to me, even though I was seeing the country 
through the window of a Greyhound bus and living on peanut butter sandwiches 
half-way across the United States. I could hardly wait to get to glamorous 
Hollywood and make my fortune as a movie star. Grandma knew I was coming, 
and she met me at the bus stop with open arms. 

"I didn't tell grandma about the nice man who'd been sitting next to me for 
the last four hundred miles and buying my food. He'd been buying my food 
because I didn't report him to the bus driver for putting his hand up my 
skirt and trying to feel my twelve-year-old pussy. When he first did it, I 
jumped--I hadn't any experience that way, as yet--but I knew instinctively 
that if I kept quiet and let him feel around a little before I moved away, 
he'd be willing to buy me something--maybe even give me some money for my 
new piggybank that was waiting at Grandma's house. 

"Being hungry and broke all your young life teaches you some strange 
lessons. Pretending to be shocked, repelled by his advances, I let him have 
just a little feel of my sweet, young virgin creases that were just under 
the rosebud-printed panties I'd treated myself to, then I squirmed away and 
crossed my skinny kid legs really tight. That made him turn bright red all 
over his face and neck. I guess he was about thirty-five or so. He'd been 
telling me all about his little girl and how much he loved her, just before 
I felt his damned hand up under my plaid skirt. Your little girl better 
watch out, you bastard, I remember thinking as I waited for a split second 
before jumping away from his hand. 

"But I didn't tell the bus driver; I didn't tell anyone, even though I was 
the pet of the other passengers, who'd sort of appointed themselves my 
family-in-transit. At the next lunch stop, I sat next to him and ordered the 
kind of meal I'd always dreamed of--steak and potatoes, salad and dessert. 
He knew I was living on pennies, and he knew what I wanted him to do. As I 
daintily wiped my mouth at the end of my first real feast, he quickly picked 
up my check and paid for my lunch at the cash register. 

"From then on, all I had to do in order to eat like the Queen of the Lunch 
Counter was to let him feel me up once or twice an hour, and I had it made. 
I was never obvious about it--I'd just let him finger my pussy place for a 
few seconds, then move away, adjust my skirt like the properly brought up 
young lady that I was, and go on talking or reading or whatever. The other 
passengers didn't think it was strange that we sat together for the rest of 
the trip; they felt that he was lonesome for his daughter, and was trying to 
help me feel less homesick for my dear old Dad. If only they'd known! But 
they didn't and I got off that bus and ran into my Grandma's arms a good 
five pounds heavier than I'd been when I got on back in Pennsylvania. The 
only other change in me since the beginning of the bus trip was that I'd 
discovered a great new way to fill my piggybank while enjoying myself a 
lot--having SEX. 

"Because I did enjoy what that dirty guy was doing to my little pink pussy. 
The touch of his hand through my cotton panties was very exciting to me, 
after the first shock, and although I felt nothing but disgust for him, I 
liked the feelings he was awakening in my virgin body. I'd never played with 
myself, and the few talks my mother had had time to give me on the subject 
of sex had been so vague that I hadn't really been impressed with them one 
way or the other. So here I was, being fingered ever so lightly on my 
little-girl cunt by a man not much younger than my father, almost in front 
of a bus full of smiling passengers who all thought the cute little girl and 
the nice fatherly man were having a heart-to-heart talk about the Girl 
Scouts, or something. 

"By the end of that bus trip, I was turned on to sex and men and, 
incidentally, making both of them pay, pay, pay. I hadn't planned to be an 
actual hooker ever, but I began to see the advantages of being pretty, 
smelling good, and letting the guy who wanted into my cunt think he was 
getting a real lady--a girl who wouldn't ever let just anyone do horny 
things to her. There had been several times when my meal-ticket daddy had 
gotten his fingers just to the edge of my panty-crotch, and the thought of 
letting him go ahead and put his hand on my stark-naked pussyhole began to 
excite me so that I almost did it once or twice when the bus was speeding 
along through the desert darkness. 

"The first time, I'd been sleeping against his shoulder, cuddled up real 
sweet, as if he was a lover and not a father-figure. I was half-awakened by 
the light touch of his hand on my budding breast--I hadn't started wearing a 
bra yet--and nothing was between his warm hand and my small, high titty but 
my nylon blouse. The unfamiliar feeling of my nipple going erect woke me 
completely, but by this time I wanted to be caressed and petted, and I went 
on 'sleeping' while I cuddled closer to him so that he was cupping my breast 
in his hand and giving it the faintest squeeze. Then, as my body began 
tingling under his touch, I felt his other hand slipping slowly, lightly, up 
my leg, under my skirt. 

"I moved in my 'sleep' so that my legs were spread a bit, and cuddled even 
closer to him. His hand crept higher and higher on my leg, now slipping to 
the inside of my thigh, all the way to the edge of my panties, right next to 
my pussy. I moved again, still 'sleeping,' and now his hand was all the way 
over my pussy, pressing against it the least bit, but enough to let me know 
it could be harder if I wanted it to be. I wanted it. I didn't know what was 
giving me the feelings of delight that were racing all over my body, I just 
knew that I was in the darkness, being petted and cuddled the way my own 
father never had cuddled me, not even when I was a baby. 

"I loved it, so I let my legs go even looser and sort of scooted up a bit on 
the bus seat--up enough to press my vibrating virgin cunt against the hand 
that was awakening it. He moved his fingers then, and I flew even higher in 
my first ecstasy, for one of those fingers had pressed against my 
love-but-ton, my clitoris, and an electric shock went through me. I think he 
knew by this time that I wasn't asleep any more, but I didn't open my eyes, 
I just went on moving slowly around, never letting my crotch get away from 
his hand. His hand that had been fondling my breast so lightly now squeezed 
harder; he tickled my tiny clit so that I began to experience the new thrill 
of beginning a climax. It was an unbelievable sensation. 

"I could hear him breathing into my hair, feel him kissing softly the skin 
on my forehead, feel his hands playing my body as if it was a violin. Then 
just as I was ready to let his fingers slip underneath the cotton panties 
that were between his hand and my pussy, the bus stopped suddenly and the 
lights went on. 'Rest stop, everyone,' said the driver, and we quickly moved 
apart. It was turning day outside, the sunrise red over the desert, and that 
was the end of anything but those fleeting feelies that he kept stealing all 
day whenever he thought no one was looking. 

"That night was the last night of the trip and I knew he was waiting for the 
sun to go down and the bus to get dark. As soon as the last reading light 
had gone out over the last sleepy passenger, I fell 'asleep' against his 
shoulder again, and those warm hands began their journey over my young, 
trembling body. Once more, it started with a faint touch on the small breast 
close to his hand, the hand that he was using to steady me against the 
swaying of the bus. In the close darkness of our seat, we both went into the 
same acting that we'd gone through the night before in order to realize our 
desires. 

"As I 'slept,' he touched me, now on my leg, now my thigh, so that I wanted 
to feel him stroking me all over. But at first he only touched, sending tiny 
stabs of pleasure and a pin-pricking awareness of sex all over my skin. In 
my mind, I could see how his hands must look on my body--the short, soft 
hairs on the backs of those hands, the light tan that contrasted with the 
white shirt cuff that lay against his wrist. I especially liked his fingers, 
because they were long and gentle, and without the calluses that I'd known 
as the norm for a man's hands. Those fingers now began a delicate stroking 
of my thigh, and I eagerly spread my legs for him so that he would put his 
hand against my cloth-covered pussy again. He did, softly covering my pussy 
with his. hand, and then pressed harder and harder until, when his fingers 
started moving and rubbing me, I was ready to cry out with the wonderful 
feeling it gave me. 

"This time there was no pretense--even though I kept my eyes closed, he knew 
I was awake, and he knew I wanted more than we'd had the night before. So he 
gave me all he could without actually putting his fingers inside my virgin 
cunt. As much as I scorned him for playing sex games with a twelve-year-old 
girl, I must, now that I think back, respect him for doing without the 
pleasure of fingerfucking my slit, because I was so turned on to him that I 
would have let him do anything he wanted with me. 

"Some stirring of responsibility must have stopped him from taking my 
virginity with his fingers, for he only rubbed and pressed my pussy from the 
outside of the cotton panties. And he knew how to make love to a girl, he 
really did! Every time I was about to climax to the probing, stroking, 
rubbing of his fingers, he would transfer my attention to my breast by 
flicking his fingertips across my nipple, lightly squeezing my whole breast, 
then teasing me to agony by casually moving his hand across the fabric of my 
blouse so that the feeling of the nylon jersey being pulled around on my 
bare nipple had me ready to tear off my panties and beg him to take me. Then 
the hand that had been lying easily against the skin of my upper thigh would 
begin its pressure against the side of my leg where the panties left off and 
my pussy began, and we'd be off again, with him fucking my pussy through my 
panties, actually entering my vagina a little way. I moved more quickly now, 
excited past caution by his hands on my body. But he was older, much older, 
and much more experienced than I, and he kept his wits about him enough to 
slow me down so that the other passengers had no suspicion of what we were 
doing. 

"At last he guided my hand to the huge, hard swelling that I'd noticed under 
the fly of his slacks whenever I peeked at his crotch during the day as he 
was feeling my pussy. I pulled my hand away, even though I was excited with 
what he'd been doing up until then. Patiently, he rubbed my pussy through my 
panties again until I was pressing up against his hand, and once more took 
my own hand in his and firmly placed it on his throbbing cock. I could feel 
every inch of him through the cloth of his slacks, and I now wanted to rub 
and squeeze him as he'd been doing to me. 

"He had left a magazine lying across his lap when he turned out our reading 
light, and now I knew why he had left it there. Underneath the cover of that 
magazine, I was getting my first anatomy lesson concerning the erect cock of 
the adult male. No sexual experience could have ever been more exciting for 
a young girl than that one. That a man of thirty-five was having sex with a 
girl of twelve didn't matter to me then. All I knew was that I was enjoying 
myself more than I ever had in my life before. 

"I instinctively did what he needed to come to his own climax. I held his 
rock-hard rod tightly in my hand and rubbed up and down, up and down, until 
he, too, was straining forward as much as he could without being too 
noticeable about it. I loved the feeling of satisfaction that I got when I 
saw how he responded to my hand on his joint. The magazine miraculously 
stayed put as he carefully unzipped his fly and put my hand inside his 
pants, inside his shorts. Now I could feel the warm, soft skin that covered 
his hardness, and I became more excited than I'd been before, even when he'd 
been slowly inserting his finger as far as he could through my panties and 
into my pussyhole. I felt the tip of his cock and it was all wet and 
sticky--he'd come in his shorts as I was feeling him the first time. 

"The swaying of the bus as it went around a curve threw us together and he 
pulled me close to his side and put his hand against my now wet pussy, his 
fingers under the edge of my panties just enough to touch the side of my 
still-innocent labia. I arched my back toward him, at the same time keeping 
my hold on his hot cock. All of a sudden a feeling of strange delight began 
to gather in my body, and I rubbed him faster, not caring any more whether 
the other people on the bus saw us or not. Just as I reached my first 
climax, a stream of warm, thick come squirted out of the end of his big 
cock, and I felt in my hand the result of his teaching--a lesson I've never 
forgotten. 

"The next morning, after we'd got our luggage together and I'd introduced 
him to my grandmother, he bent and kissed me very lightly on the lips. 'So 
long, sweetheart--keep smiling. Someday you may be a movie star. Just be 
careful who you talk to on buses and trains.' Then he walked away, and we 
went home to Grandma's house. My brand-new piggybank was waiting for me on 
top of the dresser that had been my mother's when she was a little girl. 
Piggy's first dinner from me was the ten-dollar bill that had been slipped 
into my hand by the man who'd taught my body how to make love, how to waken 
from girlhood, how to climax. 

"In the years that followed, as I set one foot ahead of the other on my 
climb to wealth and security, I all but forgot the man on the cross-country 
bus. I was so busy learning--learning acting technique, stage movement, all 
the things I'd need to be the successful star my grandmother had always 
wanted to be. 

"It had been her constant pushing to get my mother into acting lessons, 
casting offices and bit parts in motion pictures, that the girl who was to 
become that broken woman back East ran away and married the first man who 
told her he loved her--my father. The disappointment, of my mother's 
desertion of what she believed to be a promising career as an actress never 
left my grandmother's mind, and so when I wrote to her, begging to live with 
her instead of in the teeming slum that was the only place my father could 
keep us, she accepted me as another daughter, another chance to vicariously 
live the fame she'd never known. 

"Years went by--busy years, happy years, years when I slowly perfected the 
technique of offering my body, or some part of it, as an exchange for 
whatever I most needed at the moment. My body bought me food, since the 
money that kept Grandma and me wasn't enough for even a sack lunch after we 
paid for the expensive lessons Grandma insisted I needed to become a star. 
There was always dinner at home, but if I wanted lunch, I knew I'd better 
find a likely male who had the price of it in his pockets, then butter him 
up without ever quite lying down with him. 

By and by, as I became known in the different studios where I answered 
casting calls for extras, I found out who was--and wasn't--interested in 
semi-supporting a beautiful young woman who'd look very good on his arm at 
parties, premiers, and in the news shots and publicity photos that the 
studios are always sending out. 

"One day I was walking through the old Metro lot, in costume as an Egyptian 
slave girl, when I felt a firm hand under my elbow, and a deep voice said, 
'Don't panic--ole Pharaoh's not gonna eat you up. He just wants to see that 
you get a nice lunch.' I looked up, and the star of the film we were making 
was actually holding my arm, steering me toward the commissary, taking an 
interest in me, an unknown extra! Wow! I thought, I do believe this is it! 
We had lunch, and I skillfully drew the conversation around to his problems, 
his life, his looks--for anyone who's ever known an actor will tell you how 
easy it is to get them to talk about themselves! 

"By the time he'd told me about himself for an hour, he was convinced I was 
the most interesting girl on the lot, maybe even in Hollywood. He was going 
through a divorce at the time--his second--and he wanted company, a shoulder 
to cry on. I readily supplied him with both. We were soon what the gossip 
columnists call an 'item' and in a matter of two months, I was living with 
him in his Bel Air mansion. My acting lessons continued, however, and I had 
Grandma as an almost live-in guest. 

"Things were really looking up--for him, too. Somehow, getting rid of his 
wife had freed him of the tension that kept him from being the fine actor he 
was now becoming, and more and better parts started coming his way. 

"Our sex life was wonderful. Joe was the perfect lover--passionate, 
considerate, affectionate. After six months of an exciting, glamorous 
affair, we were married in a little chapel in Acapulco, and I knew then that 
all the working and saving and conniving had been worthwhile--I was the wife 
of a dear, good man who just happened to be one of the world's up-and-coming 
motion picture stars, and was also quite comfortably wealthy as a result of 
having invested his earnings in California real estate. No more slums for 
this lady, ever. No more fighting the rats to get to the garbage can, no 
more hiding my piggybank from my drunken father, no more hearing my mother 
call the police when she thought we couldn't hear her and ask if there was 
any news of my dad's whereabouts, or if he was safely in jail again. 

"Grandma was overjoyed, but she insisted on my continuing with the lessons 
for which we'd done without. 'You never know, Betsy--a woman should always 
have a trade in case she needs to earn her own way someday. Keep on learning 
and you'll never starve, with or without a husband.' I took her advice and 
enrolled in the finest drama academy on the West coast. Along with all the 
other things that Joe's money could buy, it brought my mother--my father had 
died three years ago as the result of a fall while he was on one of his 
drunken toots--and the two kids that were still at home to the West coast, 
and we installed them as proud homeowners in a comfortable house not far 
from where we lived. I thought I had everything. 

"Then one day I called the phone number of a masseuse who had been 
recommended by a friend of mine. All the rich food I'd been gobbling since 
coming to live with Joe had begun to show in a very unattractive layer of 
fat, and I knew if I wanted to get even a second lead that I'd better stay 
slim. So I called Ilsa, and when she started rubbing my body, something 
about her strong, capable hands seemed so familiar that my heart quite 
literally turned over. I couldn't remember for the life of me who'd touched 
me that way, who'd stroked me into an awareness of my own body that I'd 
never known before. Even though Joe and I had a good sexual relationship, 
and even though I enjoyed myself tremendously in his arms, there had always 
been something missing--something I could never put my finger on, but that I 
wanted so much that I pushed it out of my mind because I thought I'd never 
have it. 

"Now, the professional hands of a masseuse, a woman I'd only known for a 
half-hour, were reawakening memories that I'd buried under a landslide of 
need, an avalanche of ambition. Where did I know that touch? Who had stroked 
my body in just that way--firmly but lightly, rhythmically but capably? 
After a few minutes of puzzling over this half-forgotten sensation, I let my 
mind and body be lulled by Ilsa's expert touch and drifted into a hazy, 
half-waking state where impressions went slipping by like clouds across a 
summer sky. Suddenly I sat up on the massage table, my towel falling away, 
and I nearly shouted aloud, 'That's it! The man on the cross-country bus!' 
"Good sense kept my mouth shut and I explained my sudden movement to Ilsa as 
the result of a muscle twinge. We went on with the massage, but now I was 
tingling all over as my body remembered my first sexual experience, when the 
hands of a man in a dark bus taught me to climax. I knew that the worst 
thing I could do was tell Ilsa about this--and certainly, never ever could I 
talk about it to Joe. His frail actor's ego would never survive the blow 
that I would give it by telling him that I was more turned on by the hands 
of a masseuse than I was by the whole body of a gorgeous film star--who just 
happened to be my husband. 

"So the days went by, with me tingling to the touch of my masseuse while 
still madly in love with my husband. It was a good thing that I'd become 
such a fine little actress--my training in that area was all that kept me 
from giving away the whole thing to both husband and masseuse. I hadn't been 
able to climax to Ilsa's touch as yet, because naturally, she was only 
massaging the areas of my body that needed it, in her opinion. 
Unfortunately, the part of me that needed her massage more than anywhere 
else was my hungry pussy, with my breasts running a close second. But how to 
get her to do it without having her think I was a roaring lesbian? I wasn't, 
at least not at that time. I just wanted Ilsa to rub my pussy, massage my 
clitoris, stroke my breasts the way the man in the bus had done. I wanted it 
so much that as weeks went by, I could think of nothing else. 

"Everything went by the board, because I just couldn't stop myself from 
thinking about the man on the bus, about his hands, his touch, and how much 
better it had been then the loving my husband gave me, how much more 
exciting it had been than the different affairs I'd had before I was 
married. Even though I'd never had a lesbian experience, or even known a 
lesbian girl, I started fantasizing about Ilsa, about how I could get her to 
rub my pussy, maybe squeeze my breasts or even kiss my lips lightly, as the 
man on the bus had done so long ago. 

"Unbelievable? Yes, it was unbelievable that a woman who had so much in 
material wealth, so much in married affection, so much in the way of a 
beginning career in films, should risk losing everything for the sake of 
reliving her first sex experience. But it had become an obsession--I had to 
experience once more the feelings that I'd first known in that cramped bus 
seat with the gentle lecher who had become in my memory, the man-on-the-bus. 

"I began masturbating for the first time in my life, because I was so 
frustrated and confused. Joe made love to me three or four nights a week, 
and sometimes oftener. I was losing interest in our lovemaking because I 
wanted something different--I wanted those soft, gentle hands on my body--I 
wanted the forbidden-fruit situation of a little girl and an older man 
touching each other in the middle of a group of people who didn't know what 
they were doing. I wanted to feel naughty, to go back and do it all over 
again--but I couldn't and knowing I couldn't was turning me into a mooning 
neurotic. 

"The days when Ilsa came to the house to give me a massage were red-letter 
days for me--I bathed, shaved my legs, douched, perfumed my skin, made up my 
face and did my hair as carefully as I once did for a lover. But except for 
the flush of passion that Ilsa's hands brought to my face and breasts, I 
couldn't bring myself to indicate in any way that I wanted her fingers in my 
pussy, on my breasts and hips. When she did massage my shoulders, I tried to 
move in such a way that her hands would have to rub over my breasts, but it 
didn't work--she was too professional to slip and perhaps offend a good 
customer. As I lay on the massage table, I planned things that I would do to 
force her to touch my cunt, rub my clit, maybe even kiss me. I never did any 
of them--I was too shy, too inexperienced to know how to begin. " In his 
book Cunnilingus and Fellatio, Dr. John F. Trimble devotes Chapter 6 to the 
childhood trauma or pleasure fixation. Trimble says, "The childhood trauma 
or pleasure fixation quite frequently involves an approach by an adult which 
ends in a completed sexual act." He then goes on to quote Kinsey's studies 
which show: 

--- 

... something like 24% (of female children) are sexually approached by 
adults in preadolescence, and that among these, 2% engage in either 
cunnilingus or fellatio with the adult... For those approached who are in a 
gentle and seductive manner, and for many of a precocious constitution who 
are approached by strangers, these prepubertal contacts with adults have the 
capacity for establishing a primary preference or fixation. Simply stated, 
if the experience produced pleasure or orgasm, the individual may be 
prompted to repeat it in later life When the developing child or adult does 
have an erotic heterosexual relationship, there can easily be a fixation of 
this form of expression. The roots may lie much farther back with the 
infantile urge for sucking, but the need becomes fixated and primary because 
of the drama, the trauma, of reacting to the living experience. 

--- 

Much the same as a child will subconsciously pattern itself after it's 
parent or parents, so it will frequently fix its sexuality on the first 
gratifying (or terrifying) sex act that it experiences. Thus will a girl of 
tender years find it impossible to become excited by a boy of her own age, 
and find it most titillating to be made love to by a man some twenty years 
her senior. Similarly, a boy who has been seduced by his neighbor's wife who 
is perhaps fat, slovenly and not too bright, will continually seek out women 
who remind him of the fat, slovenly type woman who first taught him to 
climax in a female body. Fortunately, not too many boys are seduced by fat, 
slovenly, stupid women, but enough people have had very early sex 
experiences that implanted in their minds either extreme pleasure or fright, 
and they then mate, time and time again, with love objects who fit most 
closely the description and/or personality of their very first sex partner. 
How many times have we said, upon observing an unlikely couple with an age 
difference of fifteen to twenty years, or some other unusual pairing 
situation, "I don't know what they see in each other!" 

What people see in each other "that excites or stimulates them has 
everything to do with their choice of mates. The all-powerful subconscious 
mechanism which remembers everything we see, do, hear, and think records all 
the impulses, pleasant and unpleasant, that occur in the course of a 
lifetime. So it is that, against all reason and intelligent information, an 
individual will deliberately choose the one person in their acquaintance who 
makes them unhappy ("Mother taught me to be unhappy--she loved, to suffer") 
or happy ("I had a good childhood--ray parents both loved me.") or 
emotionally crippled ("Everything I do turns to shit--I just can't win!") or 
productive and well-balanced ("When you're down and out, pick up your head 
and shout--I'm down and out!"). With all this rolling around in our minds, 
is it any wonder that "good" marriages are so unusual as to be quite 
remarkable? How few of us overcome the negative patterning we received as 
children and take a positive stand in our life style? How many of us trot 
docilely along to the psychiatrists' couch and lay down our bodies and our 
money in an effort to change the things we want to change, and enhance the 
things that do go right in spite of it all? And how many of us find 
ourselves in the position of marrying two or three times--to two or three 
"different" people, all of whom look, act and react in the same way? 

Betsy's case is, therefore, not at all unusual--it's perhaps a bit more 
dramatic than most, but still typical enough to be included in this study of 
fixated wives. She tells us that her sexual relationship with her husband, 
whom she loves, is satisfying until she encounters a "familiar" touch while 
her masseuse is giving her a massage. Then she suddenly remembers her early 
sex experience with the man on the bus and her world is no longer the 
pleasant place it once was--all because her first neural pattern having to 
do with sexual release was with a man she didn't know, for whom she had 
great scorn, whom she used as a meal ticket, and whom she's not seen from 
that day this. That the light, gentle touch belongs to the hands of a female 
is enough to make the attraction that much more exciting to Betsy, who now 
indulges in masturbatory homosexual fantasies, plots ways in which she can 
seduce the masseuse, and finally does have a homosexual affair with said 
masseuse as soon as her husband leaves town. She tells us the rest of her 
story: 

* * * 

"Then Joe signed a contract to make an important film in Italy and went away 
on location, with me planning to join him as soon as I could rent the house 
and pack my things for Rome. That took away the one source of sexual 
satisfaction I had and I increased my masturbation to three or four times a 
day, saying that I needed a nap, or was going to take a bath. On the days 
that Ilsa rubbed me, my own fingers got the hardest workout of all--I 
literally mashed my clitoris for an hour at a time trying to find relief 
from the awful sexual pressure that was building within me. 

"In an effort to stop thinking about the whole thing, I took the car and 
drove around until I felt like shopping. After I'd parked, I realized that I 
didn't need anything, that I could do much better by waiting until I got to 
Rome and shopping there. But I was out and dressed and ready for 
something--anything--to happen. 

"As I walked along the shopping center sidewalk, the display in the window 
of a bookstore caught my eye. It was a group of books that were all about 
the sexual revolution, about the sexual hangups that people had and how they 
got rid of them. That's for me, I thought. Before I got hungup over Ilsa and 
that damned man-on-the-bus, I was a happy girl. Maybe they have a book that 
will help mixed-up Betsy. I went in and asked for something that dealt with 
children who had been molested in their pre-teen years--I didn't know what 
else to ask for. 

"The female clerk tactfully led the way to a large table with a display 
similar to the one in the window--book after book about sex, love and the 
weird hangups that people will have. I picked up one or two books until I 
found what I wanted, a psychological text on the results of early sex 
experience, and was ready to leave when I saw a magazine rack with some of 
the wildest magazines on it that you could ever imagine. I mean, I knew what 
pornography was, but I didn't know it could be actually beautiful. 

"The photographs in those magazines were in color, and they were good. I 
bought one with a picture of two half-nude girls on the cover. They were 
gazing at each other like people in love, and one of them was fondling the 
other's breast, which was in full view outside her unbuttoned blouse. That 
picture turned me on almost as much as the thought of Ilsa doing the same 
thing to me. 

"After buying a few bottles of wines and some rum for mixed drinks, I went 
on home. It was one of those hot, dry Southern California days when the 
santana winds blow in off the desert and make everyone feel sort of--strange 
and daring. At least, that was the way I felt when the santana blew in, and 
that's the way I was feeling now. I was so tense that I mixed myself a rum 
cooler and after I'd had that one and was halfway through the second, I 
decided to look at my new magazine. 

"As I said, I had never thought of myself as a lesbian--or even as a girl 
with a healthy curiosity about making it with another girl. But as I looked 
at the beautiful female bodies in that magazine, and at what those girls 
were doing to each other, I began getting hotter than even the desert winds 
could make me. I had the maid bring me another rum cooler and went to the 
phone to call Ilsa. 'Ilsa, this stupid hot wind has my nerves on edge--do 
you have the time to come over and give me a fast rub to relax me?' I asked, 
knowing very well that Wednesday was her day off. 

" 'Well, for you I'll make an exception, Betsy,' came Ilsa's lilting, 
accented voice. 'It's my day off, but I'm just sitting around the house and 
I'd like to get out. See you in fifteen minutes,' she said, and rung off. 

"I could hardly contain myself--I had no idea of what I was going to do, if 
indeed I was going to do anything beside get another of those maddeningly 
sexy, yet unfulfilling massages. I gave the servants the afternoon off, told 
the answering ser vice to take all our calls and headed for my bedroom. When 
Ilsa let herself into the house I was already naked, perfumed with my most 
expensive scent, and quivering with anticipation. 

"As she walked into my bedroom in her immaculate blue uniform, Ilsa looked 
like a Viking maiden--all golden hair and tawny skin and blue eyes that 
immediately saw that I'd been drinking. 'You shouldn't drink in the middle 
of the day, especially when you're drinking alone,' she chided. 

" 'If you have a drink with me, I won't be drinking alone, will I?' I asked, 
and poured her a tall one from the pitcher I'd brought to my bedroom. Ilsa's 
blue eyes seemed to be looking through my skull, right into my mind. 

" 'Thank you, Betsy,' she said, and sat down on the bed to enjoy her drink. 
Then she caught sight of the magazine I'd been reading and the blue eyes got 
quite wide 'Is this your magazine, Betsy?' she asked incredulously. 

" 'Yes, I just bought it,' I said, as casually as I could. 'I think it's 
very interesting. Would you like to read it?' "Ilsa picked up the magazine 
very slowly, looking at me the whole time. 'I didn't know you were 
interested in such things,' she murmured as she glanced through the first 
few pages. 

" 'They all have such good figures, don't you think?' I responded, being as 
detached about it as I could. My heart beat wildly as I saw how Ilsa's 
glance became a gaze, and the gaze turned into a long, long look at a 
picture of two girls who were clasped together so tightly that their naked 
breasts were almost flattened against each other. 

" 'Yes, their bodies are very--exciting,' she agreed, and her choice of 
words gave me a sudden surge of hope. Could it be that Ilsa, my tall, 
beautiful masseuse, was getting turned on from the magazine? Did she, too, 
have a longing to be caressed and kissed by a woman? I told myself sternly 
that I was imagining things, and as she seemed to be finished with her drink 
and the magazine, I rolled over on the bed and said, 'I'm too lazy to get on 
the table today, Ilsa. Couldn't you just give me my massage here on the 
bed?' " 'I don't like to do that, Betsy--you won't have the right amount of 
tension and all you'll get will be a little stroking.' "Oh, God, if she only 
knew that was what I wanted! 'Please, Ilsa, all I want is to be relaxed 
today--I don't care if we take off any more inches for a while. Rub me on 
the bed.' "For her answer, Ilsa opened the small attache case she used to 
carry her supplies and spread a small towel on the bed under my hips. Then 
spreading a handful of lotion over my tummy, she started to massage away the 
tension. As she continued to rub my belly and waist, the relaxing muscle 
tension was replaced by another kind of tension--the tension in the air 
between two people who want to make love to each other. There was no 
mistaking it; I'd felt it too many times before with men who'd wanted my 
body to interpret it as something else. 

"Sure enough, as she went on to my shoulders, her hands worked closer and 
closer to my breasts, and became gentler than they'd ever been before. This 
was no knead-off-the-fat, tone-up-the-muscles massage--this was the touch of 
a lover, the touch that had lived in my subconscious for thirteen years and 
was now flooding my mind with sensations I'd known were right under the 
surface of my skin. 

"Ilsa's face came closer to my body as she bent over the bed to delicately 
massage the flesh all around my breasts, while deliberately avoiding any 
contact with the actual breasts themselves. 'If you're uncomfortable bending 
over like that, you might as well sit on the bed,' I said, hoping that her 
professional attitude would stay away and her desire for me would take over 
so that this tingling excitement would never end. She didn't answer, but she 
did sit down on the edge of the bed and, continuing to massage my waist and 
belly muscles, again bent close to my body, so close that I could feel her 
breath on my skin. 

"Her hands were getting more and more like those of a lover--she slid them 
over and around my belly, up and down my waist, around and around my titties 
until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to say something to get her to 
caress my breasts, where the nipples were already erect and waiting for the 
sucking, tonguing kisses I wanted from this blonde beauty. The best I could 
come up with was, 'Do you think there's anything to the idea that regular 
massage will make the breasts fuller?' I could hardly get through that, I 
was so panting with desire. 

" 'Some say yes, some say no. Don't you think your breasts are full enough, 
Betsy?' asked Ilsa as she went on circling my breasts with her strong, 
gentle hands. 

" 'Does anyone under an E cup think her breasts are full enough?' I joked, 
and Ilsa giggled along with me. 

"Then suddenly we weren't giggling anymore, because Ilsa's hands had finally 
found my round, quivering tits and she was kneading them, lightly brushing 
her palms over my nipples, and never taking her eyes off my face. I looked 
deeply into her eyes and saw the mixture of desire and lust I had dreamed of 
seeing there. A moan came from somewhere inside my soul, and I moved my body 
up, toward those marvelous hands that were now cupping and holding my 
breasts as though they had been made for just that. 

"Ilsa's face was turning to a rosy blush, her breath was coming faster, and 
her mouth was open and making a sort of sucking motion. 'Oh, God, Ilsa, that 
feels so good!' I cried, wiggling uncontrollably under her hands. In the 
moving around, one of my hands found its way to her thigh, which was resting 
just beside it on the bed. Her flesh was firm and well-muscled without being 
actually masculine. As my hand felt her upper thigh through the fabric of 
her uniform I was reminded of the forbidden excitement of feeling the huge 
hard cock of my first lover--the man-on-the-bus. 

"Without knowing how I did it, I started stroking Ilsa's thigh, going higher 
and higher with each stroke, closer and closer to her warm, sexy-smelling 
cunt. 'Betsy, Betsy, don't stop, please don't stop,' she begged in a 
whisper. So I was right; she did want me, maybe as much as I wanted her. I 
started my next stroke at her knee and as I ran my hand up her gorgeous leg, 
I made sure I went under her uniform skirt--on the way to her pussy. 

"She gasped when she realized that I wasn't going to stop--not until we'd 
both had our fill of loving each other, of kissing. As my hand reached her 
furry lovenest, I found that she wasn't wearing a girdle--or even panties. 
There was nothing between me and my beautiful masseuse but the soft, damp 
baby curls around the entrance to her delicious cunt "Just as my fingers 
began irresistibly searching for the jewel of her clitoris, she unbuttoned 
her uniform and pulled open the top half of it. Her breasts were full and 
high, not even half covered by a bra of white lace. It must have been a 
push-up bra, because I could see the aureola around her rosy nipples, and I 
used my other hand to free one of those luscious breasts from the lacy bra. 
Ilsa bent closer to me and, taking the naked breast in her hand, she guided 
her large, erect nipple into my waiting mouth. At first I was so entranced 
with what I was doing to Ilsa that I hardly noticed what she was doing to 
me, but as I sucked on her nipple, flicking the tip of my tongue across it 
without letting that breast out of my hungry mouth, I realized that she had 
gathered me into her arms and was tenderly cradling me to her body as I 
sucked and tongued her breast "My hand had taken on a life of its own, for I 
could feel my fingers sliding along the lips of her vagina, seeking that 
elusive lovebutton, her clit. I found it, and now my fingers really began to 
fly across her pussy as I did to Ilsa what I'd been doing to my own starving 
pussy for so many weeks. She moaned, and held me tighter, squeezing my 
breasts and kissing my face with a hundred little kisses that somehow seemed 
sexier than all the big, hot kisses I'd had before. Then our mouths met in a 
kiss that went straight to my soul, past all the lonely years and hard work 
and even past the happy times with Joe--all the way back to my childhood. 

"We clung together for what seemed like an eternity, our lips melting 
together, our tongues probing madly into each other's mouths, until there 
was just one body, one mouth, one tongue. Somehow I took off Ilsa's uniform 
and half slip and we were naked together, except for her bra. My fingers 
shook as I unhooked it--and then my face was surrounded by her breasts, by 
the ripe, sweet flesh that was Ilsa. 

"I pulled her down on the bed with me and we started another kiss that went 
on and on until we were grinding our bellies together, our legs entwined so 
that I could feel her dripping cunt against my thigh and I knew she could 
feel mine against hers. Our legs began to loosen as our hips pushed us 
closer, then apart, then pressed together again in a movement that finally 
ended in our spreading wide apart and fitting our throbbing pussies 
together, clit to clit, slit to slit, our bodies arched toward each other so 
that we could get the most feeling out of each other's lower lips and now 
hard, pointing clits. 

"In this mood of fulfillment and ecstasy we rubbed each other to climax 
after climax, using fingers, legs, hands and mouths. We licked each .other's 
skins as though the taste was more delicious than ambrosia. Ilsa touched the 
very tip of my clitoris with her fingers and I came so quickly that she 
didn't even have to move her hand; for I did all the moving, bucking, 
rearing, my body flying up and down on the bed, out of control, wanting only 
to continue forever this incredible joy for which I'd waited so long. 

"My Ilsa was now madly thrusting, too, coming on my hand, which was ramming 
in and out of her dripping pussy with the speed of a jet-driven machine. I 
could feel the vibrations in her vagina as she started still another climax. 
Then it occurred to me that what I'd always wanted to see was a pussy in the 
middle of a climax, pulsing and sucking on whatever was inside it. Moving my 
body around, I positioned myself until I could see right into Ilsa's wild, 
clenching cunt. 

"The flower-like thing that was the center of this exquisite woman was a 
deep rose-red, satiny and shiny from the secretions pouring out of it onto 
my hand. Her odor was utterly female, and maddeningly desirable. Just one 
taste--I'm not really a lesbian, I thought, but I must have just one taste 
of this woman. I touched my tongue to her clitoris, then sluiced it back and 
forth across her pussy, forgetting all my reservations about lesbianism, 
about everything, in my frenzy. 

"As my tongue found its way into the smooth recesses of Ilsa's quivering 
cunt, she rolled around until she was right under me, her mouth just an inch 
or so away from my pussyhole. Then she reached up and pulled my hips down so 
that I was almost sitting on her face. In this position, we passionately 
sucked each other to yet more climaxes, working our tongues and lips over 
and around the throbbing cunt lips and clits we'd wanted so much. 

"Finally, we were utterly exhausted, satiated with the realization of the 
needs we'd kept secret for months. Without even moving from the sixty-nine 
position we'd been in during our last eating of each other, we fell asleep, 
twined together like two vines, heavy with flowers, resting for the night. 

" 'What the hell is this all about?' came a familiar voice out of a blinding 
light. Frantically, we leaped up from the bed, Ilsa trying to clutch her 
crumpled uniform to her naked body. My eyes grew accustomed to the light and 
then I knew who it was. 

" 'Joe! You're supposed to be in Rome! Are you all right?' I was beside 
myself--how could I have hurt this man whom I loved so much, who had given 
me his trust? 

" 'I'm just fine, Betsy, and I'm thrilled to see that you seem to be doing 
rather well, yourself,' he said. 'I had some crazy idea that you might be 
lonely for me, so while the crew was looking for new locations, I jumped on 
a jet and here I am--surprise, surprise!' "'Oh, darling, please don't be 
hurt! I couldn't help myself, ever since I started remembering the 
man-on-the-bus, and Ilsa's hands were so good, and I love only you, but I 
had to do this, I couldn't go on without doing it,' I babbled on in my need 
to make him understand. 'Understand me, lover, please understand why I did 
it,' I begged him, and went to weeping. 

" 'It was my fault, Joe, I did it all, Betsy had nothing to do with any of 
it. I take the entire responsibility,' said my brave, loyal Ilsa. 

"Joe said nothing at all for a long moment, then he pulled out his 
handkerchief and dried my tears. 'I've always wondered a lot about 
something, and maybe you girls can help me,' he said in a quiet, thoughtful 
voice. 'I've always wondered whether the rules that they made up for 
enjoying another person were all that fair. I mean, I've known some really 
great guys who were homosexual--gays who would give you everything they had 
if you asked them for help. And the lesbian girls I've known have been, 
generally speaking, a good lot of fine women who loved maybe once in a 
lifetime and stayed with it, gave the relationship all they could give, in 
the face of the most awful jeering criticism from established society. When 
I first came in, I'll admit I was shocked. But I knew something was 
bothering my little Betsy for the last couple of months, and I also knew 
somehow that I should come home and see if I could help her.' " 'Joe, oh 
Joe, darling, I love you so--do you understand just a little? I never meant 
to hurt you,' I said, ready to cry again. 

" 'I didn't say hurt, Betsy, I said shocked, as in surprised, amazed,' Joe 
said calmly. 'I thought there was some other guy you were in love with, and 
finding you with Ilsa was, well, a surprise. I'm adjusting to it, now. It 
may be that I'm even turning on a bit to the way you two beauties looked 
together, lying there like two lovely statues asleep. Ilsa, I had no idea 
you were so tan all over. Are you a nudist, or do you just sunbathe on your 
roof?' Joe was looking at Ilsa appraisingly, appreciatively, as he spoke. 

"Ilsa actually blushed all over her long, lithe body. 'I'm a nudist, Joe. 
It's a wonderful way of life.' " 'I can see that it agrees with you, Ilsa. 
Maybe we'll join you one weekend, if your group has visitors,' my husband 
said. 

"Now it was my turn to be surprised, amazed. Instead of being the wronged 
husband, instead of turning me out of his house in disgrace, here was this 
fantastic person trying to relate intelligently to the whole thing. Life is 
full of wonders, I thought to myself. 

"Joe was speaking again. 'If I may tell you girls a secret, one of my 
favorite fantasies is the one where I find myself in bed with two gorgeous, 
sexy girls, and we're all doing delicious things to each other. I really 
believe there should be no boundaries to love, and I'm willing to 
demonstrate the strength of my convictions right here and now.' So saying, 
Joe took off his sweater and unzipped his slacks. As he pulled down his 
shorts, we could see how strong his convictions were--his cock was fully 
erect, standing straight out from his groin, big and hot, with a drop of 
clear fluid at the end of it. 

"I'm dreaming, I thought, having the sexiest dream I've ever had. But I woke 
up fast when I felt my husband's big rockhard cock pushing into me. He had 
mounted me as I sat there on the bed, and was pulling me closer to him when 
Ilsa sat down beside us and started stroking my nipples the way she had when 
we first started our lovemaking, hours--or was it lifetimes?--ago. Then she 
put her arms around both Joe and me as we moved together and apart, together 
and apart. 

"Suddenly, I wanted to share my two loves with each other. 

"Slipping out of Joe's arms, I pushed Ilsa gently into position to receive 
Joe's big, hard cock between her legs. Then with a few stroking motions, I 
moved Ilsa so that her legs were spread apart, her wet, sweet pussy glowing 
pink in the center of her body. This excited Joe, so much that he plunged 
his rod quickly into her cunt, and I could see the juice oozing out of her 
as his huge joint pressed the walls of her joybox to their limit. Then they 
were fucking and moaning and writhing, and as I watched them, I wanted to 
touch them, to touch the fury and energy of their loving. I worked my hands 
between their bodies and felt Joe's balls as they banged against Ilsa's ass. 
My fingers crept around to where Ilsa's clit was now erect and I massaged 
her until, between Joe's cock and my fingers, she cried out and began the 
uncontrollable motions of her climax. Higher and higher she went, flying, 
screaming softly in her moment of rapture. 

"We all lay together then for hours, not speaking, sleeping a little, mostly 
just holding each other and kissing fondly, experiencing a warmth and 
communion of spirit that made our separate lives seem cold and lonely by 
comparison. Ilsa moved in with us the next day, and we now have frequent 
lovemaking sessions with Joe, myself, Ilsa and, now and then, one of our 
other friends who turns on to the same sharing. We don't see anything but 
good in what we do, but the rest of the world would probably call us filthy 
orgiasts. Truth is, our lives are greatly enriched and we're very happy--so 
the rest of the world can just mind its own business." 

* * * 

Lesbianism is as old as life itself. The notion of sexual expression being 
permissible only between opposite sexes is a fairly recent invention. 
Ancient civilizations, notably the pre-Pelleponesian Greek culture, thought 
it natural and normal to have a homosexual lover or two. Indeed, lesbians 
get their name from the Greek island of Lesbos, an island in the Aegean Sea 
that was populated only by women who had female lovers exclusively. 

Religious statutes against homosexual love-making have their origins in the 
once-necessary duty to produce as many offspring as possible in order to 
create more and more little Jews, Christians, Mohammedans, etc. The terrible 
plagues that swept the world in ancient and medieval times also made it 
imperative that families have many more children than we do today--if three 
babies out of five lived to the age of twelve, the family was considered as 
very fortunate, indeed. Infant mortality rates, too, made it advisable to 
have as many children as one could so that when a baby quietly passed on 
after a brief two or three months in this life, next year's baby could be 
counted on to take some of the sting away from the death. 

As the years went by, homosexuality, along with many other forbidden things, 
got a bad name. By Victorian times, the very mention of such matters as men 
loving men or women making love to other women was so risque that ladies had 
been known to "faint" at these words which indicated a "filthy perversion," 
as it was usually called. 

"Filthy perversion" had, unfortunately, become a near-accurate misnomer for 
cunnilingus and fellatio, the two most popular methods of sexual expression 
between homosexual lovers--for as the centuries went by and the remnants of 
Imperial Rome went behind the thick walls of their stone-castles in order to 
escape the raids of the Goths, Piets, and other such fierce tribes, bathing 
became more inconvenient, and due to the harsher winters in northern Europe, 
downright dangerous to the health of the freezing bather. Hence, the 
accumulated dirt and sweat of a year at a time would quite naturally produce 
filthy genitalia. 

Since filthy genitalia are hardly the most savory things to suck or lick, 
the term "filthy perversion" came to be used more and more. Even so, as late 
as Elizabethan times, there were few social sanctions against homosexuality, 
especially the male variety. The more explicit sonnets of William 
Shakespeare, for example, point unmistakably to his homosexual involvement 
with a young nobleman of the time, as well as to his heterosexual love 
affairs. The advent of good Queen Victoria changed a lot of things, and 
almost none for the best. Sex, as such, was considered dirty, sinful, a 
"wife's duty," never a delight for "nice girls," and the enjoyment of dirty 
sex was almost strictly the prerogative of men and "loose women." 

Woefully inaccurate folk tales have come down to us through our forebears, 
and are still making endless mischief today in the lives of millions of 
people who, were it not for Victorian nonsense about "purity," "a wife's 
duty," "when in doubt, suffer" and "filthy perversion," would be generally 
happier, more productive and certainly in less need of all that therapy, all 
those tranquilizers and all that divorce. Indeed, it is now generally 
accepted that most marital conflicts either start or are indirectly caused 
by poor sexual relationships which have their root in old taboos. 

How much less in the way of weeping wives and ex-wives, emotionally damaged 
children and impoverished and bitter husbands and ex-husbands would we have 
in our world if good Queen Victoria had taken off her stays and kicked up 
her heels a bit, instead of squatting on her stuffy backside and expecting 
everyone in the British Empire, in fact the world, to live according to the 
dictates of her own sick ideas about love, sex and life? 

In our age of sexual enlightenment, we see more and more people 
experimenting with sexual situations that were once spoken of only in hushed 
tones, behind closed doors. Younger couples are flatly refusing to get 
married until they live together for awhile, to be sure they can make it 
together, instead of rushing to the altar because everyone expects them to 
get married. "Gays," or homosexual men, are coming out of the shadows and 
literally demanding equal rights as human beings--the right to marry each 
other, adopt children, be considered as sane by an armed forces medical 
evaluation, and even run for public office as a declared homosexual. 
Wife-swapping, singles orgies and bars that exist for the sole purpose of a 
man or woman being able to walk in, pick up a sex partner for the evening 
and not be considered a person of low morals are now accomplished facts. 
With all this happening, and with the people involved in it sustaining 
little or no emotional or social damage, it's no wonder individuals who find 
sexual expression more wonderful with three or even four or more in the 
"marriage" are coming into the open and saying "... our lives are greatly 
enriched and we're very happy--so the rest of the world can just mind its 
own business." 

Sadly enough, the festering rags of Victorian morality are still being 
hoisted as banners of truth, and society is still bound to condemn most of 
the "new morality" as licentious, salacious and just plain dirty, low-down 
conduct. The inroads that have been made on the establishment attitudes are, 
however, most encouraging. A freer way of life has sifted into the 
strongholds of middle-class, middle-aged America, as well as into other 
Western countries, and now instead of the older folk calling the tune to 
which the young ones are expected to dance, things have changed radically. 
Now it's the kids who set the speed for their elders who, although hard put 
to change, are nevertheless delighted with themselves once they discover 
that change, instead of being vaguely evil, is actually fun! 

Like most vital cultures and subcultures, our Western civilization is in the 
midst of social as well as scientific, industrial and religious upheavals. 
It follows that the individual people who live within this civilization, 
while resisting change for a time, eventually accept modified forms of those 
very changes that seemed so sinister and dangerous just a short while ago. 
And, as the wheel of custom comes full circle around, it may be that the 
group marriages we see as a threat to the roots of the family structure are 
a good solution to the problems of the loneliness of the young couples of 
today who are all but isolated from the big family situations of fifty years 
ago. Group marriage involving some six to twenty people might provide 
society with a more closely knit, loyal, sexually relaxed unit than the 
present one that shows us almost as much divorce as marriage, increasing 
alienation from peer and family groups, and all the evils connected with 
this alienation. 

Betsy, Ilsa and Joe found the family situation in which they were happiest 
while remaining responsible, productive citizens. It's entirely possible for 
others to do the same thing, remembering that the grim ghost of good Queen 
Victoria is still lurking about, and that pioneers in any field are rarely 
understood by the general public. Pioneers forge into new frontiers, 
however, and that in itself is frequently reward enough for the possible 
scorn of society. 

CHAPTER FOUR - The Brand of Seven Boys 

"For the whole twenty-five years of my marriage to Herbie I was a faithful, 
affectionate wife--we had three fine kids, a nice home and the latest model 
Cadillac--but I was only marking time until my youngest child graduated from 
high school and was settled in college. A week after our twenty-fifth 
wedding anniversary, I told Herbie that I'd done my duty by him and our 
children and that I wanted a divorce. He nearly had a heart attack, right 
then and there. I'd been very quiet about my dissatisfaction with our 
marriage, so when I told him it was time for me to live and I wanted out, he 
didn't even believe me. He actually thought that I'd gone a bit insane 
because of all the preparations and work that had gone into our Silver 
Anniversary celebration--we had 150 people to a dinner dance, and all our 
relations were there, cheering us on. I went through it all with a smile, 
because I knew that in a few months I'd be on my own again--the first time 
since I was a girl. 

"I'd met Herbie when I was nineteen and recovering from a mild nervous 
breakdown. He was so patient and funny that I fell in love with him right 
away. And he didn't care anything about the nasty stories that were going 
around about me in the small town where we lived. Dear Herbie just came into 
my life and listened to his own mind, not to the vicious gossips who were 
trying to ruin mine. 

"A year before, I'd been taking a solitary walk down by the river, which 
goes through some pretty woods. I'd had a fight with my steady boyfriend and 
I was upset and feeling very sorry for myself because there was no one else 
in whom I was interested. It looked like it was going to be a dull 
summer--so when I accidentally walked into an all-boy barbecue on the 
riverbank about two miles from town, I wasn't all that alarmed; I knew some 
of the boys from school, and I'd dated two of them. They asked me if I 
wanted a hot dog, and since I'd left home before dinner, I said yes. 

"We sat around, drinking beer and kidding around until it got dark, then I 
said I'd better start home. 'Don't try to walk home now, Ruthie,' said Tom, 
who was one of the boys I'd dated in our junior year. 'We'll see that you 
get home safely. Just stay until the fire burns down and then we'll take you 
home in the car.' That seemed like a better idea than walking all the way 
back to my house, so we sat around a little longer and then one of the new 
boys--a friend of Tom's--got out a pint of whiskey and the boys started 
sipping from that. It wasn't long before things got very relaxed--so relaxed 
that I let Tom put his arm around me, and then we sort of lounged back on 
the blanket together. 

" 'One of the things I remember best about you, sweet Ruthie, is the way you 
kiss. Give old buddy, Tom, a kiss, Ruthie baby,' said my old buddy, Tom. I 
didn't want to, but I was feeling bad about breaking up with my steady, so I 
kissed him. Then the other boy I'd dated said he was jealous, and I'd have 
to kiss him, too, or he'd jump in the river and drown. We all laughed and I 
kissed him, maybe for a little longer than I'd kissed Tom. Next was Bobby, a 
kid from the next town, and after him came a boy I didn't know, but who was 
the cutest one of the whole gang. I wasn't the kind of girl who went around 
kissing boys she didn't even know, but I'd had my eye on him, and I wanted 
to see him again, so I kissed him, too. He didn't want to stop kissing me 
after the first kiss, so I let him kiss me again. 

"That was what started it--Tom said he should have another kiss, and the 
other boys insisted that they wouldn't take me home until I kissed each one 
of them at least twice. I tried to get away, then, and run home, but they 
insisted--to the point of Tom and the cute boy holding my arms while the 
other ones kissed me. I struggled for a minute or two, but then I started 
enjoying the situation. After all, I hadn't been the most popular girl in 
school, even though I had lots of friends and wasn't exactly a wallflower. 
But here I was, on a warm summer evening, beginning to feel the effects of 
my first drink of whiskey, and being kissed and cuddled by seven different 
boys, all of whom were telling me that they weren't going to hurt me--they 
just wanted to have one more little kiss. 

"I was beginning to get uptight again when Tom 'accidentally' put his hand 
over one of my breasts. Maybe I didn't jump away as fast as I should have, 
but the boys then were ready to each take a good, long feel of my tits while 
I was being held by Tom and Bobby. Before the fourth boy was done feeling 
me, my blouse had come undone and was gaping wide open. I tried to get away 
again, but the fifth boy just put his arms around me and squeezed me up 
against him so hard that I couldn't move. All I could do was stand there, 
half-terrified, half-turned on, and let him do what he wanted to me. What he 
wanted was to feel my breasts through the nylon bra I was wearing and press 
his big, young hard-on against me while he French-kissed me until I stopped 
struggling. 

"Then they really moved in. Bobby and Tom took my blouse off, the cute boy 
unhooked my bra, and they all had a good, long feel of my now naked tits, 
and a good long suck of my nipples. All of which gave me a wild, sexy 
feeling growing inside my pussy--a feeling I'd never had before, because I 
was a virgin who'd done nothing heavier than a little light petting with my 
steady. 

"By the time the last boy had squeezed and sucked my naked breasts and each 
one had French-kissed me again for good measure, I didn't care if I ever got 
home. Even now, I can remember the feeling of being completely helpless, and 
knowing that if I ran, I wouldn't get very far before they caught up with 
me, so why even try to get away? Why not just stay there and let them do 
what they wanted to do, because they'd do it anyway. After all, hadn't I 
heard that if rape is inevitable, you should lie back and enjoy it? While my 
mind was going through all these rationalizations, the boys had taken out 
their cocks and were lining up around me so I could feel them up, too. 

"That did it--I'd never had my hands on naked, rock-hard cock before. I had 
their big, stiff rods in each hand for what seemed like hours--feeling first 
one, then the other, then two at a time. The boys were jerking their bodies 
back and forth as I held onto their cocks, which made it even sexier. And 
they were crowding around me, holding their joints out to me, begging me to 
jack them off next, playing with their own peters while they watched me jerk 
off their friends. 

"Somehow, while I was fascinated with grabbing one cock after another, Tom 
got his hand up my skirt and into my panties, then he was rubbing his 
fingers over my now throbbing, twitching pussy. It was wonderful--I was 
scared, but I was excited, too, more excited than I'd ever been in my life. 
There were two boys massaging and sucking my titties, two more with their 
cocks jabbing at my legs and ass, and two more with their hot joysticks 
riding back and forth in my hands. I was so excited that I didn't even 
struggle when a couple of the boys took off my skirt and slip. When I felt 
my panties being pulled down my legs, I raised first one foot, then the 
other, like an obedient child who is being undressed for bed. Come to think 
of it, that's pretty close to what was actually happening. 

"The boys were more gentle, now, as they slid their hands over my nude, 
trembling body--with me responding all the way. What else could I do, with 
seven pairs of hands caressing my hips, sliding up and down my legs, cupping 
and squeezing my tingling breasts, stroking my back and kneading my belly 
until I felt like I was being held up and loved by an ocean made of hands 
and cocks? One of the boys--by now, I didn't know who was doing what to 
me--started nuzzling my neck while he pushed his hard dick into the folds of 
my pussy. 

"The sensuousness of all those hands, squeezing, stroking, probing every 
nerve and muscle of my body made me spread my thighs open just a little 
bit--enough for him to slide his prick all the way between my lower lips, 
with the warm juices of my slippery pussy smeared from my clit back to my 
asshole. Being so ready for the feeling of a hard shaft pressing and 
slipping against my cunt, I was actually eager to have one of those huge, 
hard young cocks fuck its way into my body. 

"The possibility of being hurt crossed my mind at a dead run, but I was too 
hot to care. A few of the phrases I'd had pounded into my head by mother, 
father, church and friends followed the information about being hurt, but 
they went by pretty fast, too. And then my mental decks were cleared for 
action--the kind of action that before I found myself being made love to by 
seven boys at once, had given me a little shiver up my spine. 

"Rape! The one word in the language that had the fear and shame behind it to 
keep young girls from letting themselves in for things like this--the word 
that kept them to lighted streets, early hours, and behind locked 
doors--exploded in my mind. What my parents might think and do also 
skittered quickly through my chaotic mind--but now, in the grip of complete 
passion, I shoved all fear and restraint out of my mind and let the boys on 
either side of me pull my legs wide, wide apart, while the boys who had been 
stroking my back and breasts held me up and kept on stroking. 

"The boy who'd pushed his cock between my legs had taken off all his clothes 
and, in the glow of the firelight, I could see the great size of it. Then he 
was sticking that thing into the hole in the center of my wet, quivering 
pussy. It hurt for just a second and then he was thrusting and moaning while 
he grabbed my ass with both hands and sucked and bit my neck like an animal 
that's mating. His violence was unbelievable. 

"I couldn't move--I was just a mass of sex reactions, being filled and 
emptied and filled again, a thousand times a second, by his firm, shooting 
prick. Other cocks were pressing against me, boys' voices were begging me to 
let them into my pussy-hole, boys' hands were tickling my clitoris, mashing 
and bouncing my breasts, pushing me this way and that in their wild desire 
to be the next one to fuck me. I'm into it now, I remember thinking--there's 
no way back. I might as well have a great time because it's going to be a 
long time before anything like this happens again. 

"As soon as I felt the heated, gushing shoot of the first boy's come rush 
into my cunt, I turned away from his body and threw my arms around Tom's 
neck and kissed him with all my strength. He immediately tore off his pants 
and pulled me into his arms. We French-kissed for a minute and then I could 
feel his big, stiff cock shoving its way into my pussy--my pussy that was 
still dripping and flowing with the pearly-white come of the first boy who 
had fucked me. Tom didn't wait for anything, and I didn't want him to. We 
stood there, Tom in a half-crouch and me with my feet planted a good ways 
apart so he would have lots of room for his cock and balls between my legs. 

"He bucked and reared his way to a fast, furious climax, then held me close 
while he whispered into my cheek, 'Oh, baby, I didn't want it this way, I 
didn't want to hurt you, we all got so carried away.' " 'It doesn't matter, 
Tommy--we're into it, and we're here, and I want it all now,' I replied. If 
I get pregnant, you'll just have to take up a collection!' " 'Hey, if we're 
going to do this, let's keep on doing it!' said another boy, and, kissing 
Tom once more, I turned and gave myself to a boy I didn't know--but I wanted 
another cock in me, right away. I wanted all seven cocks in me, one after 
another, all night long. I wanted to kiss and be held and felt and fucked 
and desired by every boy and man in the whole world. What was going to 
happen tomorrow would have to happen--this was now, and I was no longer 
thinking about anything but fucking, fucking, fucking. 

"The boys had a blanket with them and my third lover laid me down on it and 
mounted me, all in a minute. The other boys immediately got down on the 
blanket with us, still kissing my face and lips and hair, still jacking 
themselves off a little bit as they watched us fucking our young bodies back 
and forth in the frenzy of sex that this night had become. I found my hips 
thrusting up to meet the plunging peter of the boy whose weight on me was 
just another excitement to my inflamed mind and body. 

"Vaguely I could hear the excited voices around me: 'Hey, Ruthie's getting 
sexy!... She fucking up a storm!... Ruthie, baby, me next, please me 
next!... Goddam, this is crazy!... I'm going to stick my cock in that pussy 
next if I have to kill somebody!... Come on, boy, what's taking you so 
long?... Yeah, man, you get off so we can get on!' " 'Take it easy, guys, we 
don't want to hurt our baby, do we? If we treat her nice there'll be enough 
for all of us, maybe for seconds!' Tom's voice came through the haze of 
sweat and pussy-juice and sex-daze in which I was moving up and down, up and 
down. 

"Suddenly, the boy on top of me yelled and jerked wildly for a minute, then 
fell against me and moaned while he kissed my mouth. 'Wow, what a come!' 
Then another voice close by said: 'Come on, Ruthie, do it with me and I'll 
be easy with you--let me just put my cock into you a little ways and if it 
hurts I'll take it out right away!' And soon there was another one lowering 
his body onto me, begging me to let him fuck me, probing me with the tip of 
his cock and slipping it into my cunt so smoothly that I relaxed and lay 
back in the wreath of male arms that were still holding me, caressing me, 
pushing my body up and forward so the boy who was fucking me went deeper 
into me. Reacting to the thrust of his joint, I rose to pull his whole shaft 
deeper inside me than any of them had gone before. 'Oh, God, this is so 
good!' he groaned, and we started a rhythm that didn't stop until we were 
both gasping with ecstasy and he was exploding into me with all his young 
manhood leaping out through the tiny hole in the end of his prick. 

" 'Now me, Ruthie, take me next, I've been wanting you since our first 
date,' came the voice of the other boy in the gang that I'd dated. Before he 
could mount my tired body, I got to a sitting position and said, 'I can't do 
it again, I just can't! I'm so sore, and I'm getting worried--my folks will 
be calling the police soon to come find me! Let's forget this and I'll just 
go home and not tell anyone, ever.' "There was a silence as the boys looked 
at each other and realized that if I didn't get home very soon the police 
would, indeed, be looking for me. Then one of the boys who hadn't fucked me 
yet said, 'Do you want to do any more fucking, Ruthie? Because if you do, 
we'll take you down the road to a phone booth and you can call your folks 
and tell them you're at the show and you'll be home after the end of the 
double feature. We'll even take you home before that if you want to go.' "I 
couldn't think clearly--my crotch was so sore, and my mind was still on the 
fantastic sensations I'd just been living through. 'I don't know--I want to, 
and I don't want to.' " 'Are you hurt or something?.' asked Tom, and because 
he was being kind and I believed that no one would ever know and I wanted to 
get back into that glorious sexy thing we'd all been doing, I said, 'Okay, 
let's go find a phone booth and then come back here for awhile.' I wanted to 
keep them wild for me, I wanted to go on being madly desired by all these 
boys at once. 

"We put our clothes on and drove down the road to a phone booth. On the way 
to the telephone, I sat on one boy's lap and he took one of my tits out of 
my blouse and sucked and licked it while the boy beside us rubbed and 
tickled my clit as he was jerking his hand back and forth on his cock. We 
were in the back seat and it was dark, but in the glow of the passing street 
lights I could see that the other boys had taken their big rods out of their 
flys and were watching me getting more sucking and fingering while they 
played with themselves and bent over to watch the boy who was finger fucking 
my pussyhole go in and out of me. 

"I loved it--being surrounded by oversexed boys who had forgotten every girl 
they ever knew and were only thinking about getting into my cunt, kissing me 
and sucking my nipples while the rest of them watched and begged to be next. 
We found a phone booth and I called my folks and told my lie and walked back 
to the car with a boy on either side of me, our arms around each other and 
my mind racing forward to the wonderful fucking I was going to get when we 
got back to the river-bank. 

"I guess the boys in the car had been thinking about the same thing, because 
they got me into the back seat again and the set of naked, hard, waiting 
cocks all came pushing towards me, so that I ended up with one boy kneeling 
on the floor in front of me, his big joint shoving in and out of my pussy, 
and a boy on either side of me, their cocks flying in and out of my hands as 
they kept their eyes right on my wide-open pussy and the fucking it was 
getting. Another boy opened my blouse and pulled my bra down so that he 
could get at my breasts, then he went to licking and sucking them, so that 
there was no part of my body that wasn't being brought to a screaming, 
sexual frenzy. 

"The fire was out when we got back to the river-bank, but the moon had risen 
and the whole area was in deep shadow, the grass under the trees soft and 
fragrant. We laid down on the blanket again, and a new boy, one who hadn't 
fucked me yet, started kissing my naked thighs, running his tongue up and 
down the insides of my legs and then flicking it across my clitoris again 
and again. This was completely new to me, something I'd heard about but 
never thought of as being exciting. Now I realized why it was the subject of 
so many girl-talk sessions and the subject of so many sexy jokes. 

"Weird vibrations started going through me, beginning at my clit and 
traveling up my body from my cunthole all the way to the top of my head. My 
body, still so unfamiliar with fucking, demanded the feel of a cock all the 
way into my pussy--and got it. The boy who'd been tonguing my clit straddled 
my hips and stuck his dripping prick halfway into my grasping cunt, then 
gave in to the sexual force that was raging through all of us that night and 
pierced my hole with his joint again and again. 

"The other boys, stimulated all over again by seeing me rearing up to catch 
as much cock as I could with each stroke, began taking off their clothes and 
lying, kneeling or snuggling up to me, rubbing the parts of me they could 
get to with their hot rods, licking and sucking every bit of me now, with 
all of us panting and moaning with lust. One after another, the boys laid 
down on top of my eager body and fucked me every way they could think of. 

"After all of them had laid me at least once, Tom said he'd kiss my poor, 
sore little crotch until it felt better, then went to kissing my throbbing 
cunt lips, licking the come away, then putting his lips around my clitoris, 
sucking gently until I reared up, arching my back with still-un-sated 
desire. I climaxed for the first time that way, with my hands locked tightly 
around the back of Tom's neck, my snatch grinding into his face, my throat 
releasing a cry that must have been exactly the same as the mating cry of 
every woman who'd ever been fucked, sucked and eaten to satisfaction down 
through the ages. 

"It started all over again, with each boy insisting on kissing my pussy 
better than the others, and each boy Frenching me so wildly that after the 
fourth one, all I could do was lie there and let them eat me. The last boy 
to go down into my pussy curls, searching for my now erect clit with his 
muscular tongue, got himself into a sixty-nine position, and as I turned my 
head, I found his firm, young cock right at my lips, with a drop of salty 
fluid at the very tip. I licked off the drop and then, experimentally, took 
the velvety cap of his cock-head into my mouth. He gasped and moved his hips 
so that he shoved more cock into my mouth than I'd been ready for. 

"When the other boys saw this, they closed in to really watch every 
movement. I didn't know what to do, so I just lay still while he ate away at 
me and pushed his cock in and out of my mouth. 

" 'You really were a virgin, weren't you, baby?' said one of the boys. 

" 'Just because Ruthie doesn't know how to give a blow job, don't start 
teasing her. She's the sexiest girl in the whole world,' came Tom's voice 
again. 

" 'Why don't you show her how to do it, Tommy baby?' jeered one of the older 
boys. 'That's right, Tom, I seem to remember that you're quite a Frenchman,' 
said another boy. 

" 'You're so damned straight you probably don't even know that everyone in 
the world is bisexual, you moron,' answered Tom, and suddenly pulled my face 
away from the boy I'd been making it with. 'Here, let this be a lesson to 
you, Ruthie,' and Tom put his own mouth over the end of the boy's big cock 
and began moving his tongue up and down the stiff prick with what looked 
like an expert touch. The boy squirmed and said, 'Cut it out, you damned 
queer! Let her do it to me--did you hear me? Cut it out!' But the whole time 
he was trying to get Tom off his cock, he was bucking more and more 
frantically, forgetting all about eating me in the grip of this new 
sensation. 

" 'My God, Tom's really going to suck him off!' whispered Bobby. 'You just 
never know who's a weirdo.' " 'Don't knock it till you've tried it. Here, 
let me show you how I do it,' came the voices, and then there were two pairs 
of male bodies on the ground, writhing and sucking each other's big, rosy 
cocks. I watched, fascinated to see their long, stiff joints going in and 
out of the mouths--mouths that began to look more and more like naked 
pussies. 

" 'Come on, Ruthie, didn't you just get a lesson?' asked the cute boy whose 
name I didn't know. He stood up and held his erect thing out for me, and I 
dazedly started doing what I'd seen Tom do--flicking my tongue across the 
underside of the boy's penis, sucking him as hard as I could. It was one 
more wild new thing I was learning that night. The other two boys were 
already naked, and they stood up, too, and I was confronted with three 
joysticks, three huge, jabbing rods that danced right in front of my eyes in 
the moonlight I opened my mouth and sucked first one, then the other. The 
bodies that had been sucking each other on the ground on either side of me 
jerked convulsively and were still, yet I went on licking and tasting the 
rigid poles of live flesh that were held out to me. Then the first boy came 
in my mouth and, after the first surprised taste, I went ahead and sucked 
the other two to climax as quickly as I could. Then we all just lay there 
and looked at the sky and said nothing for about a half hour. It was very 
quiet on the riverbank, the crickets were softer than I'd ever heard them 
before. 

" 'You better get your clothes on, Ruthie--the show must be letting out 
about now,' said Tom, and we all got up and stretched and sorted out our 
things and put them on. Someone folded the blanket and made a joke about how 
pregnant the next girl to so much as sit on it was going to get, and we 
straggled back to the car. When I got home, my house was dark except for a 
light in the kitchen. One of the boys had seen the double feature and told 
me the plots of the films on the way home, so I had a good story to cover 
the four hours that I'd been away from home. 

" 'That you, Ruthie?' came my father's voice from the kitchen. 'It's me, 
Daddy. Are there any cookies left?' and I walked around my mother's kitchen 
as if I was still a most virginal virgin, the good girl in town, the girl 
who, if she wasn't actually the prettiest girl in school, was well-liked, 
had good grades and took an active part in student government. 

" 'Be sure to put the milk in the icebox, honey,' said my father. 'Movie any 
good?' and without waiting for an answer he went on upstairs to go to bed 
with my mother, the woman to whom he'd been faithfully married to for almost 
twenty years. 

"I wiped the cookie crumbs off the counter and put the milk away, then I 
took the sharpest knife we had out of its special box, climbed the stairs to 
my blue-and-white rosebud room, and said a childhood prayer as I looked out 
my window at the yard where I'd grown up. My old swing moved in the wind; 
our collie whined softly in his sleep; the neighbor's cat walked on top of 
the fence and disappeared into the shadows; the world around me was good and 
clean and regular. 

"People grew up and fell in love and got married and had babies and raised 
them up and loved each other for most of their lives and died as quietly as 
they had lived. But not Ruthie--not me. Five hours ago I had walked out of 
this house and I had belonged to that world. Now I stood in my bedroom, 
knowing all about myself. There was no way to get around it--I was a sexual 
freak, one of those nympho-somethings I'd heard about, a girl who'd be 
doomed for the rest of her life to fucking every man she could get her hands 
on, eating the cock and come of men she didn't even know, letting any boy or 
man do anything he wanted to her because Ruthie loved sex. She just couldn't 
get enough of it, and she was going to kill herself fast before she broke 
her mother's heart and shamed her father into maybe suicide or, at the 
least, a heart attack or a stroke. 

"Kneeling on the rug beside my bed, I slipped the knife from its case and 
quickly, before I could change my mind, I laid the edge of the shiny blade 
against my wrist and pulled hard, across and down. Pain flooded my mind, but 
it wasn't enough to blot out the memory of the exquisite torment that had 
turned me from a schoolgirl into something worse than a whore. Getting as 
good a grip on the now bloody knife handle as I could with the hand that was 
still connected, by some miracle, to the wrist I'd just sliced into, I did 
the same deliberate vein-slicing thing to my other wrist and, scarlet clouds 
of agony covering the chaos in my mind, weakly sank to the floor. My life's 
blood rushed hotly from my open veins; I felt the flow and was glad it was 
going to be fast. For a moment I regretted the things I hadn't done and now 
would never do, then I passed into a warm, dreamy state that didn't allow 
any more thought--or any more agony. 

" 'Ruthie, I heard a funny sound, honey. Are you all right? Ruthie, oh my 
God, Ruthie--baby, speak to mother! Jack, Jack, call the doctor! Ruthie's 
cut her wrists open! Oh, no, God, don't take her away, she's just a little 
girl!' I could hear my mother crying from a long way off. The next thing I 
knew, I was in a white room in a white bed with thick bandages on both 
wrists and bound into bed so tightly that I couldn't move my legs. In a few 
more days I found out that I was still alive, and if I was lucky I'd have 
the use of my hands and fingers. The rest of my sickness would respond to 
rest and psychotherapy, I was told. 

"Hope springs eternal, as they say, and I started believing that maybe I 
could be part of the normal world again. My belief must have helped a lot 
because I was home in three weeks, and my bandaged wrists created quite a 
stir in the neighborhood--because I wasn't going to hide away until they 
were all healed. The doctor in the hospital had explained to me that 
everyone, at one time or another, has feelings of suicide. Some people just 
have more depressing problems than others, and react to their problems with 
the escape mechanism of a suicide attempt. So I wore my bandages like a 
badge--a badge of membership in the human race. 

"Unfortunately, some of our nosier, nastier neighbors asked my mother what 
had happened--was I in a car accident or something? Mother gave them the 
story we'd decided on--that I'd been badly depressed and had tried to kill 
myself, but that I was much better now. In those days, mental illness was 
still a big secret in most families that were affected by it, and instead of 
trying to be understanding, or at least decent, the good folks of our small 
town started gossip about me that was almost as bad as the truth had 
been--that I'd been pregnant, tried to kill myself and was now a 'fallen 
woman.' "Mother and daddy tried to put a stop to the rumors--they had no 
idea of what went on that night at the river--but for the rest of the summer 
and into the fall the lies went on. It seemed like the world I'd left behind 
only a month ago was receding into the fog; I would never belong, no matter 
how I tried. Instead of going to college in the fall, I stayed home and went 
on seeing my psychotherapist twice a week, and by Thanksgiving, the scars on 
my wrists had healed. If only the scars on my mind would fade, I might 
really begin to live again. Since the stories that had gone around town 
about me were still going strong, Mother and daddy decided that I'd be 
better off living with my aunt in another town about two hours' drive from 
us. 

"Aunt Merry was wonderful--she'd always been one of my favorite relatives. 
She seemed to know more about my suicide try than she was saying, but we 
went through the days keeping busy with housekeeping and cooking, little 
trips into the country, and the usual things people do to keep from thinking 
about unhappy times. Naturally, Aunt Merry's neighbors didn't know anything 
about my horrible 'past' so I had a few dates with some of the kids from the 
town and was getting closer to what I'd begun to call The Good Life. 

"Life was almost fun again. And to complete the picture, I met Herbie and 
started dating him just in time for the Christmas holidays. It's always more 
fun when you have a steady boyfriend--things seem to have more meaning. We'd 
only been going steady for two weeks when he asked me to wear his class 
ring, and on Christmas Day I found a bright red, felt stocking hanging on my 
doorknob. It had my name on it and it was filled with funny, silly presents 
that Herbie had bought me--and at the bottom of the stocking, tucked into 
the toe, was a small box with a diamond ring inside, and a brief note: 'Say 
yes.' "I ran to the phone and called Herbie's house. He must have been 
waiting by the phone, for it rang only once, and when he answered, I said, 
'Yes.' That's all I had to say. He hung up and ten minutes later he was 
holding me and whispering what a wonderful life we were going to have 
together. We were married quietly six months later, and half my home town 
was at the wedding. It seemed that, by becoming a married lady, I was sort 
of forgiven for my 'past' and became a part of the good life, at last. 

"If Herbie wasn't an inspiring lover, that didn't matter--he was good and 
dear and we had a fairly happy marriage until the day when I suddenly 
realized that my life was almost half over and I hadn't done very much with 
it but putter away as a housewife. My classes in literature at the 
university just didn't make up for all the living I hadn't done. The more I 
thought about it, the more I wanted to get out there in the world and LIVE! 
And somehow, I didn't want to get out and live with Herbie; I wanted to be 
free of his dear, maddening fumbles, his well-meaning attempts at humor, his 
utter lack of any style at all. I didn't like myself for being tired of 
Herbie, but I couldn't get over my feeling that he'd slowed me down, cramped 
my style. 

"What was even worse was the fact that even though Herbie and I were close 
in age, I'd stayed young-looking and he had sort of drifted into middle age, 
looking and thinking like a man of fifty. So after what must have been weeks 
of talking and trying to explain my need for more living and less marking 
time, I filed for divorce. Our friends and family were astounded. 'After 
twenty-five years of marriage!' they all exclaimed. 'Just goes to show that 
you never can tell what's going on inside people!' I let them all talk, 
knowing they'd talk anyway. Naturally, most people thought I had a boyfriend 
waiting for me to get my divorce, but when no lover showed, they grudgingly 
gave up and started talking about someone else. 

"In a few more months, I was free--free to live. The good life that I had 
wanted so badly had been too safe, too dull for me. Now my idea of the good 
life was a place to grow and learn and maybe find the kind of love that I 
hadn't even missed for all the years that I'd been raising my family and 
doing my very best for Herbie. 

"After I found a good job as the front-office nurse for a surgeon in the 
city near us, I moved into a small apartment and started taking night 
courses in medical stenography. Without trying, I started to lose weight--I 
hadn't been that much overweight, anyhow, but ten pounds off really helped 
me look younger. My boss, the surgeon, had told me one day that when I was 
ready, he'd do a small facelift on me and zap off ten more years. I hadn't 
been thinking along those lines but now I wondered how it would be to look 
ten years younger. I certainly didn't look my age as it was; ten years less 
than that would put me somewhere in my early thirties. 

"About the same time, I started having recurrent dreams in which I relived 
the whole night that I spent with the boys on the riverbank. At first I woke 
up trembling and sweating, but after I'd had a few dreams like that, I began 
almost wishing for them. In my dream, the feelings especially were so real, 
so exciting, that I didn't need a real live lover--all the sexual thrills I 
wanted came from that; dream. Many mornings I'd awaken with my pussy wet and 
slippery from the feeling I had from the dream. I didn't masturbate very 
much--I hadn't had much sexual appetite since that night at the river--but 
now I began masturbating and thinking about the seven boys who'd given me 
the most thrilling time I'd ever had. Then, as suddenly as they'd begun, the 
dreams stopped. 

"I was disappointed when, after two weeks, the riverbank dream didn't 
return, but I went on with my new life and gradually stopped waiting for the 
dream. The homework I had from night school kept me busy, and I'd started 
dating a man who lived in my building. He was a nice man, no great love, but 
pleasant enough to spend the evening with and get a few laughs. 

"One night after dinner we went on talking and found, to our surprise, that 
we'd talked away half the night. Without much decision-making about it, we 
went to bed together and made love. I was excited but it still wasn't as 
thrilling as my dream had been. It was good for my morale, however, since he 
was eight years younger than I and had no idea that I was forty-five. I 
didn't tell him. I wasn't at all serious about him and I had decided that if 
I looked thirty-five, I wouldn't ruin the illusion by letting people know my 
real age. 

"As time went on, I went to concerts, made some friends in the orchestra and 
became more active in the medical secretaries' organization. We had finals 
in night school and I passed with a very high average. Because I'd been 
wanting to have a really far-out apartment, I bought a few new things and 
redecorated my place so that it was the latest style in modem decor. What 
with one thing and another I was happy and busy--but still looking for love, 
a love that would thrill me the way I'd been thrilled at the riverbank. Even 
though I knew, intellectually, that it was unrealistic to expect from one 
man a repeat of the wild loving I'd had from seven boys at once, I still 
went on subconsciously searching for my dream lover. 

"Eddie was one of doctor's patients who'd come to the office for plastic 
surgery to correct the awful results of a car accident in which he went 
through the windshield, face first. He was so shy that I started drawing him 
out about himself the second time he came to the office. The possibilities 
of being a handsome young man again got him all talkative about his proposed 
surgery and how he wanted to go on with his schooling to get his Master's 
degree in anthropology. We talked for a whole hour, since the doctor had an 
emergency and had put all his appointments ahead, after which Eddie said, 'I 
really dig talking with you, ma'am. I hope we don't have to wait for another 
emergency before we rap again.' " 'Why don't you just come in a little early 
for your next appointment, Eddie?' I replied, 'then we can talk some more. 
I've always been interested in anthropology and I'd like to hear more about 
it.' " 'Groovy, ma'am. Will do.' And off he went. 

"The day of Eddie's surgery, I was concerned for him. Whether doctor's work 
would have a good result wasn't the question--he wasn't sure that there was 
enough cartilage left to give Eddie the kind of nose he'd be trying for. 
When doctor called in for his messages, I asked him about Eddie's new face. 
He said it was going to be just great--he'd been able to support the nose 
with a prosthetic bridge and Eddie would be better-looking than he'd been 
before the accident. I was so relieved that I started crying. I hadn't 
thought I'd become so attached to the boy. 

"Next day, I had a moment off work so I ran over to the hospital to see my 
young friend. His face was still swathed in bandages, but his voice was 
strong and full of life. 'I can hardly wait to get these off! When the 
doctor throws me out of here, I'll buy you a drink to celebrate,' he said. 

" 'Eddie, just coffee will be fine, and I'll be waiting to. see your new 
face,' I replied happily. 'Rest and get well, you hear?' I walked out of the 
hospital feeling a strange lightness inside--a lightness I couldn't 
identify. Certainly I wasn't falling in love with a man twenty-five years my 
junior. Of course not! Eddie thought of me as a nice older lady, nothing 
more. 

"Life went on--Eddie got well, doctor took off the last bandages and he was 
an extremely handsome young man. He bought me the coffee he'd promised and 
said that he'd schedule his appointments for right around my coffee break so 
he could take me out for a bite to eat. On the day of his last appointment, 
Eddie seemed a bit moody. 'What's wrong, Eddie? I should think you'd be 
overjoyed today.' " 'Oh, sure, Ruth,' he said glumly. 'I'm really happy 
about the way I look now, but I'll miss you and the great rap sessions we've 
had.' " 'You can always come by to say hello when you're in the 
neighborhood, Eddie. I'll be right here.' " 'It won't be the same and you 
know it, Ruth. Why don't you give me your phone number and then I can call 
you some evening?' Then I gave the boy my number and that was the beginning 
of it. 

"Every time he called, I'd tell myself that he was just a young friend, that 
I had a son older than he and that I was a foolish woman for even 
entertaining the idea of anything more than a casual friendship with him. It 
didn't work--inside of a month I found myself masturbating again, and 
thinking of how it would feel with Eddie's big, young cock surging in and 
out of my body. Then one night when I wasn't expecting anyone, my doorbell 
rang and when I opened the door there stood Eddie. 

"He looked older than he had just a month before--some new maturity seemed 
to be coming to the surface, a maturity I'd seen before but not as strongly. 
'I hope you don't mind my dropping in on you like this, Ruth, but I was 
nearby and I just had to talk to you without the phone between us.' My heart 
gave a jump. 'It's all right, Eddie--why don't you come in?' I asked over 
the weird pounding in my chest. 

"We sat down in my kitchen while I waited for the coffee to perc. 'I need 
some advice, Ruth, and maybe you can give it to me. My Master's degree 
studies won't be complete until I've gone on a dig that's starting in South 
Africa. It would mean that I'd get to work with some of the top people in 
anthropology.' " 'Then you should go, Eddie. What's keeping you from your 
packing?' I replied with a heartiness I could hardly muster. South Africa! 
That was on the other side of the world! And there were bound to be lots of 
sexy young girls at the dig. I caught myself just in time. No more of this, 
Ruth, I told myself sternly. This kid is two years younger than your oldest 
child--what do you think could come of anything you might have with him? Do 
you really want to spend any more time feeling jealous of every girl of 
twenty or less, just because she could have an affair with Eddie and you 
can't? 

"Lots of rationalizations went through my mind, while I was telling Eddie 
what a great chance this was. Strangely, he didn't look as excited about the 
trip as I thought he would. He looked miserable, as a matter of fact. 
'Eddie, is something wrong? Are you in trouble?' " 'No, Ruthie, no trouble. 
It's just--well, it's just that I'll miss you. I won't be gone more than six 
months, but that's a long time. You might even be--married or something when 
I get back. Then we couldn't have our talks anymore.' " 'I don't plan on 
getting married at all, Eddie,' I replied, 'I want to live free for a while 
longer before even thinking of marriage.' " 'Well, I still haven't decided. 
It's two weeks until I turn in my application, so there's still time. Now 
where's that coffee?' "We drank coffee and nibbled on pastry, but neither of 
us was very happy about anything just then. There were so many things I 
wanted to say, and I couldn't say any of them. Finally he got up to go, and, 
casually draping his arm over my shoulders, he walked to my front door. 
'I'll be in touch, Ruthie,' he said. 'Whatever my decision is, I'll let you 
know. Maybe we can have dinner together before I take off.' I resisted an 
impulse to snuggle into his body and said, 'All right, Eddie. I'll be 
looking forward to it.' "After he left I didn't even straighten up the 
kitchen--I went straight to bed and masturbated for an hour, letting my 
imagination run riot on the subject of Eddie making it with me. I was so 
much in love with him by that time that I didn't even try to reason with 
myself--I just let go and enjoyed myself, my mind going over every inch of 
his body, especially the seven inches of erect penis I'd caught him with on 
the one occasion I'd seen him undressed at the doctor's office. He had his 
shorts on but there's no way of hiding a dick that large, and thinking about 
how it would feel in me turned me on all over again. 'Oh, Eddie,' I moaned, 
and rubbed my clitoris .even harder than I had before. One climax followed 
another, each one stronger than the last. 

"For the rest of the week I waited for Eddie's call. And I wasn't 
disappointed--he called just as I was getting into an early bed. 'Could I 
come over for just a minute, Ruthie? I'm just down the street at a phone 
booth,' he said. 

" 'Of course, Eddie. I'll make coffee.' " 'Never mind the coffee, Ruth. I 
won't be there that long.' "What's up, I wondered. He sounded even more 
depressed than he had before. At the ring of the doorbell, I jumped up to 
let him in. I was still wearing my nightgown and robe--but I'd sprayed on 
some of my best perfume and put on a bit of makeup. Eddie looked at me for a 
long, long moment before he said, 'Hi, how are you?' I could feel my skin 
burning with desire for his beautiful young body, but I kept my voice light. 

" 'I'm fine, Eddie. How are you?' " 'Uptight, Ruthie, very uptight. I can't 
seem to make a decision and stick to it.' " 'The dig again?' I asked, 
knowing that wasn't all that was bothering him. 

" 'That's just part of it, Ruth. I've about decided to go ahead and go.' " 
'Wonderful!' I enthused, not meaning a word of it. 'When are you leaving?' " 
'In three weeks. They've accepted my application and it's pretty well 
settled.' " 'Well, it sounds as if you've made at least one decision that 
you're sticking with,' I said, wondering what else was bothering him. 'Is 
there anything else you wanted to tell me, Eddie? I'm listening.' " 'Oh, 
Ruthie, if I tell you this, you'll throw me out of the house. I might as 
well keep quiet and suffer in silence.' " 'Don't be silly, Eddie. Whatever 
it is, I'll try to understand. Now spit it out,' I commanded. 

" 'Okay, here it is. I think I'm in love with you. Please don't get mad or 
anything, because I know all about the difference in our ages, but I can't 
help it. All I do every day is think of you and at night I dream about 
you--and I want you to know that no matter what happens, I'll always love 
you. That's what I really came here to tell you,' he concluded. 'I better be 
going now, Ruthie. I'm sorry, but I had to tell you. You did say you'd 
understand.' " 'I do understand, Eddie, perhaps better than you think I do.' 
And I went over to where he was standing and put my arms around his neck and 
kissed him long and lovingly. He was simply astonished. 

" 'You mean--you, too? Is that what you mean? It's all too good to be true!' 
" 'I think so, too, Eddie--it is too good to be true. Now kiss me good-bye 
and go to Africa and make a name for yourself. I want you to be the most 
famous anthropologist in the world!' "Without another word, he pulled me 
closer to him and started kissing me, at first a little shyly, then with 
more confidence. Finally he was French kissing me, pushing his tongue into 
my mouth with the same stroke a man uses when he's plunging his cock in and 
out of a hot, wet pussy. I was magically back on the riverbank, kissing 
seven boys, not sure of what I was doing but enjoying it tremendously. I 
sucked his tongue as he shot it in and out of my mouth, and gave him my 
tongue in return. 

"We must have stood there, kissing, for about ten minutes. I could feel 
every inch of him, all hard and sexy, pressing against my groin, nestling 
into my fur pie, making me as wet and aroused as if he'd actually been 
fucking me. Before I forgot myself and went any further with him, I sighed a 
bit and pushed him gently away from me. 'That was the kind of kiss a woman 
remembers all her life, Eddie. Come and see me when you get back from your 
digging.' And I pushed him toward the door. 

" 'One more kiss, Ruthie, please,' he begged, and it sounded familiar--it 
was the same thing the boys had said on that sex-filled night at the river. 
'Just once more, darling--let me hold you once more,' he whispered, and we 
were back together, clinging and kissing, straining together in our wild 
desire to make love. 

"This time I didn't push him away. When Eddie's hands started to explore my 
robe for the way to unfasten it, I helped him by undoing the ties. 'My God, 
Ruth, what a gorgeous body you have! I couldn't tell when you were in your 
nursing uniform, but wow! Oh, wow!' and he went to grasping and kneading my 
breasts, hungrily cupping my ass in his hands and pressing me into his body 
so that I could feel his hard-on almost splitting his pants. 

"We didn't speak much after that--there was nothing left to say. Bending 
down, he gathered me up as if I were a toy, and carried me into the bedroom. 
I stripped off my nightgown, Eddie tore off his clothes, and we made love 
all night long. His cock was every bit as big as I remembered it to be, and 
twice as exciting as any man's prick I'd ever felt. I abandoned myself to 
the marvelous feelings that were chasing around my mind and body. Eddie was 
so wonderful a lover, it was hard for me to remember that he was only twenty 
years old. 

"We were together every night from then until he left for Africa. I never 
deluded myself about the relationship--I thought that after he came back, 
we'd no longer see each other. After all, at that age a young man is always 
falling in love with someone. So I lived each day as it came and didn't 
think ahead to when he would leave. 

"Finally, it came--his debarkation day. I saw him off at the airport and 
then went home with a bottle of brandy; I was feeling depressed, to say the 
least, and I needed the comfort a glass of brandy could give me. Eddie wrote 
to me every day, sometimes a note, sometimes long letters, full of the 
details of what he was doing, laced through with reminders of our love 
affair and promises that when he got back, we were going to think about a 
life together. I'd saved a little money and one day I decided that the time 
had come for my face lift. 

"The doctor did a great job--smoothed out the wrinkles, shortened my nose 
just a bit, and tightened up my chin muscles. It did take ten years off my 
age and everyone was amazed. Days turned into weeks, I started dating other 
men, and still Eddie's letters came, telling me of his work and his love for 
me. Never a day went by that I didn't, in some way, remember Eddie's 
lovemaking. It was so close to what I'd known at the riverbank that just the 
first thought of him would set me off. 

"At last it was time for Eddie to come home, and he wrote me a long letter 
about how he was more in love with me than ever, and how he couldn't wait to 
get me in his arms. I walked around in a confused daze for a week after I 
got that letter. What if we did marry, wouldn't I be a subject ripe for 
ridicule, marrying a man younger than one of my sons? And, for that matter, 
how would my own children feel about it? My oldest son had married and I was 
shortly going to become a grandmother. A fine state of affairs, Ruthie, I 
scolded myself. Herbie would probably have a stroke, even though I heard he 
once planned to marry his secretary, a girl thirteen years younger than he. 

"What could I do? The five different men with whom I'd made love during the 
time Eddie was in South Africa hadn't moved me at all--it was just so much 
nice exercise. It seemed that these thoughts chased themselves around my 
brain like a dog chasing its own tail. And I still hadn't been able to come 
to a decision when Eddie called from the airport. He'd been able to finish 
his reports and take a plane home three days earlier than planned. 

" 'Ruthie, darling, come pick me up! I can't wait to see you! Hurry, hurry, 
hurry!' called my love. I ran to my car and raced to the airport. When I saw 
him, he was tanned and he looked five years older than he had when he left. 
Even though I felt some reluctance at kissing him like a lover in front of 
all those people, kiss him I did. Then we came back to my place and after a 
wild, daylong love-making session, we sat down and talked about the future. 
'I want to marry you, Ruthie, sweetheart. I don't care what people 
think--we're not living our lives for other people. Marry me now and we'll 
go back to the dig for our honeymoon--I've just been given a grant to go 
back and complete the study we're making of our finds. Say yes, darling, 
please don't think of other people!' he implored me. 

"It took me a week to make up my mind--a week of talking with my children, 
with one of my closest friends, and with a marriage counsellor to whom Eddie 
and I went for four visits to make absolutely sure of what we were doing. 
And what we were doing was good--we were so happy together that I could 
hardly believe it was all happening to me. Our wedding was small and 
lovely--my daughter was my attendant, Herbie didn't have a stroke, and Eddie 
and I were man and wife till-death-do-us-part. 

"We went to Africa for our honeymoon and it was so wonderful for me to watch 
my young husband at work. He was able to command the respect of many older 
members of the team that was working to unearth the remains of what might 
prove to be the missing link between man and apes--a major breakthrough in 
the science of anthropology. The long African nights we spent in talking 
with team members, having a last quiet look at the stars and then sleeping, 
completely entwined, in our tent. Soon it was time to come home and write 
reports on what had been accomplished at the dig--reports that would shape 
the future of mankind. My pride in Eddie increased with every passing day as 
I typed his reports and helped him in every way I could. 

"When the last report had been typed, Eddie bound all the neat pages 
together in a bundle and announced that it was high time we began seeing 
more people, having a social life. I was overjoyed--I'd missed being a 
hostess, entertaining my friends and showing off my home and husband. When 
the guest list for our first party was completed, it seemed that every one 
on it was under thirty. Boys and girls together, I thought wryly to myself 
as I went about the shopping and cooking for the bash. We had it on a 
Saturday night and it was a roaring success--I felt almost as if I were 
twenty-five again. 

"As we lay near sleep later, Eddie gave me a hug and sighed contentedly. 'I 
know I'm dreaming, but I don't care. My wife is not only a great lover and a 
good cook, but she's the hostess with the mostess. I'm the luckiest man in 
the world!' and he made love to me so wildly, so completely, that I knew I 
was indeed the luckiest woman in the world. 

"As the days passed, however, I found my mind returning again and again to 
that scene on the riverbank, the scene that had taken place twenty-six years 
before, but had never left my subconscious mind for a minute. Even Eddie's 
lovemaking couldn't displace my awakening hunger for a sex experience as 
close as possible to that orgy of my eighteenth year. Weird as it seems, I 
let my thoughts wander over all the ways I might make it happen--including 
walking down one of the streets of our slum area in the most provocative 
outfit I could dig up. After about three months of this I found that Eddie's 
virile loving was simply not enough for me--the more he made love to me, the 
more I wanted to be made love to by six or seven men at once--young 
men--boys about the same ages as the ones who'd taught me everything there 
was to learn about sex in one evening of wild, naked desire. 

"I tried to put these thoughts out of my mind--tried with all my heart and 
soul. I told myself that my marvelous husband would drop me like a bad habit 
if he had any faint idea of what was going on in my mind. It didn't 
help--the more I tried, the worse it got. Until one day I discovered I was 
seriously thinking about how I could invite all of Eddie's young male 
friends---just his male friends--to a party, get them excited and have them 
all fuck me, one by one. It briefly occurred to me that that was some pretty 
sick thinking, but then I was too far along to care. I made out a very 
simple menu and a guest list, the same as I had for every other party I'd 
given, but the difference was that this time instead of just a party, what I 
was planning was a reincarnation of that night at the river, a thing that I 
finally had to admit to myself that I'd been waiting to do for a long, long 
time--a thing I'd been wanting to do for twenty-six years." 

* * * 

Here again, we see a definite pattern of an individual who has been 
programmed for a specific type of sexual expression and finding it difficult 
or impossible to erase that programming for a "normal" sexual adjustment. In 
Ruth's words, she had done nothing more than "heavy petting" with a steady 
boyfriend; for she was a virgin when the group of boys seduced her. Ruth's 
sexual needs were defined that night, to the extent that even after her 
dream of marrying Eddie and the realization of her other goals were reached, 
she still retained the memory of the orgy that colored and predicated all 
her conscious behavior. The actual problem area lay, not as Ruth had 
decided, with her desire for group intercourse, but within the confines of 
the tremendous guilt she felt for having enjoyed the orgy; her need to 
re-enact it more than a quarter of a century later was another expression of 
her desire to debase herself as completely as she could, so that she could 
abandon hope for herself as an inhabitant of the "good life" and go on 
enjoying orgy after orgy without the attendant guilt. Because if she was 
beyond redemption as an ethical being, then she was also beyond guilt. And 
since her guilt over the excitement she felt when remembering her seven 
lovers at age eighteen was now impelling her to ruin her life, any means of 
ridding herself of that guilt seemed attractive to her. 

The literature on sexual aberrations in women is full of references to the 
attractiveness of the possibility of rape--the sudden opportunity to enjoy 
sex without immediate guilt because the rape victim cannot defend herself 
and so must "lie back and enjoy it" in order to save her life. A typical 
rationale along these lines may go: "Jack is so excited that if I stop him 
after more than a few tries, he'll only hurt me more and end up by raping me 
anyhow. I might as well relax and let him get it over with, because he will, 
no matter what I do." Girls who have been told by their mothers that men are 
after only one thing, that men are simply animals who will tell a woman 
anything in order to seduce her, and that they will most likely walk off and 
leave them (the girl) pregnant, are the young women who are most prone to 
rape fantasies. When, as in the case of Ruth, the fantasy is a reality, then 
real trouble develops. 

Ruth's suicide attempt was a clear case of an attempt to alleviate the 
enormous guilts she had to deal with after her sex feast. Far from helping 
matters, her unsuccessful suicide try created even more guilt processes: 
i.e., a person who commits flagrant adultery and then very nearly commits 
suicide (both of which are considered mortal sins by most Christian 
churches) is to be considered a lost soul, indeed. Ruth's assumption that 
her neighbors were talking about her were, of course, correct. Her parents' 
decision to give their daughter a fresh start in a town far enough away to 
be out of the circle of gossip that was endangering Ruth's recovery from 
near-psychosis was sound. And the lucky meeting and subsequent romance with 
Herbie that resulted in marriage was the seal of approval on Ruth's return 
to the "good life" from the shadow world in which she had been living. 

The twenty-five years of marriage with Herbie were significant of Ruth's 
determination to live the good life as best she could and to prevail over 
what she had obviously considered a hideous mal-formality of her sexual 
makeup--her clear knowledge that she enjoyed immensely the rape situation. 
Her faithfulness to her husband wasn't interrupted by anything more serious 
than a crush on her obstetrician, hardly an unusual attachment. Ruth's 
children enjoyed a pleasant childhood and grew to adulthood with few trauma, 
if any. Her incipient grandmotherhood did not seem to disturb her as much as 
the fact that life, as opposed to the good life, was passing her by. The 
"middle-aged" appearance of her husband did bother her, possibly because he 
hadn't for some years resembled the young men in her favorite 
memory-fantasy. Divorce, in this case, while not inevitable, was probably 
the best solution to a marriage gone stale with use and disuse. 

Eddie and Ruth's marriage was, on the whole, quite successful simply because 
neither one of the partners came to the marriage with any illusions. 
Certainly, they both expected loving, considerate treatment from each other 
and a modicum of honesty. There lay the rub--Ruth could not, would not be 
honest with her husband about her sex fantasies and so began the whole guilt 
cycle that she had lived through in her late teens. Now, added to the great 
bag of guilts that Ruth dragged around was her guilt over her choice of 
husbands. She knew why she chose a man considerably younger than 
herself--she wanted to be young again, to be able to frolic about with no 
cares for the everyday world of restrictions and regulations. The night on 
the riverbank had left its mark--a syndrome of rape fantasy and the 
attendant total lack of responsibility of behavior that would do credit to a 
prehistoric fertility cult. So the world of marriage and parenthood became 
less attractive as the years went by, until so many rationalizations covered 
her original intent in marrying Herbie that the now-grown-older Ruth forgot 
her once burning desire for the good life and abandoned herself to another 
altogether different sort of life. 

Many women experience shock when they discover that they do enjoy sexual 
intercourse. This shock usually dissipates after a short period of time. In 
some cases, however, the shock of discovery that they love to do something 
they've been told is very bad stays with women and creates a mental and 
emotional situation that is injurious to their well-being. Should this shock 
be coupled with the thrill of sexual release with several partners at once, 
the obvious complex reaction that results becomes most difficult to treat, 
even to find. A partial case history from a woman similarly afflicted may 
help us see Ruth's case in a more proportionate light: 

* * * 

"When I was about eleven years old, my neighbor's son came over to our house 
one day when my older brother was watching me and said my mother had sent 
him over to baby-sit for me, and that my brother could go to the movies if 
he wanted to. He, the neighbor's boy, even gave my brother the money to get 
into the movies. I guess he had it all planned, for soon as my brother had 
left, the boy--Steve--began asking me if my brother and I ever played 
'doctor.' Not knowing exactly what he meant, I said no, but he went right on 
asking questions. Did I ever see my brother when he went to the bathroom? 
Did we ever take a bath together? Had we ever watched while our mother and 
father went to bed together? Did we ever read magazines that had pictures of 
naked people in them? 

"After several minutes of these questions, with me answering no all the way, 
Steven took out his penis and began to rub it, gently at first and then 
harder and faster. A wild smile came over his face and he slowly moved over 
to where I had been sitting on the porch swing and put his free hand on the 
upper part of my thigh. I had been interested in seeing him do that to his 
cock, and when he put his hand on my leg I thought he was going to ask me to 
help him rub himself. Instead, he told me he could make me feel good all 
over if I would let him do as he wanted and not yell or carry on or 
anything. 

"My mother's precautions about not allowing any boy to touch me hadn't 
extended to the familiar neighbor's son, so I agreed to be quiet while he 
'helped' me to feel good all over. He slid his hand under the crotch of my 
panties and started rubbing his fingers over and around my pussy. It felt 
funny at first--like tickling. I wanted to laugh, but he said, 'You promised 
not to make any noise', and went on rubbing. By that time it did feel good 
so I let him continue. At the same time, he took his hand off his own cock 
and, holding my hand in his, he made me rub his big, hard peter while he 
rubbed away at my pussy-lips. That area of my body had never felt anything 
but a washcloth or toilet paper, and the new sensation was the best I'd ever 
had down there. 

"Steve kept on rubbing my hand up and down the shaft of his cock, and pretty 
soon he began wiggling around, pushing his body up and down at me, rubbing 
me so hard that his fingers began going into my pussy, hurting a little but 
feeling good, just as he'd promised. All of a sudden he jumped up, took my 
hand and pulled me into the house. No one else was home, and we almost ran 
into the bathroom where he stood in front of the toilet and jerked off his 
cock so hard that his hand was a blur. Up and down his hand went until a 
moment later he groaned and grabbed my hand and put it over the end of his 
leaping cock--just in time for me to get a handful of his warm, gooey come. 
The way it came squirting out and the way he moaned with satisfaction made 
me want to feel the same way he did, but he said I was too young to really 
get the same feeling. I guess I looked disappointed because he said he'd 
promised to make me feel good all over and he was going to do it even if I 
was too young for anything but a blow job. 

"He pulled off my panties and pushed me up against the wall--the wall 
opposite the full-length mirror by the tub. As I watched the mirror, 
fascinated, he got down on his knees on the bath mat and started kissing my 
pussy., 'You're so cherry you don't even have any hair yet, baby,' he said 
against my little cunt, and went on kissing me down there. I didn't feel one 
way or another about all his funny kissing and was about to tell him so when 
he started sticking his tongue in and out of the crease between my legs. 

"Now I did start to feel good all over. A warm, tingly feeling spread all 
over my tummy and the area between my legs. I wanted to go on feeling that 
way, but I was scared, too--I knew, now that we were doing something I 
wasn't allowed to do and I also knew that if my parents caught us at it we'd 
really get punished. I tried to push Steve's head away but he licked even 
harder and faster and then I didn't want him to stop. I spread my legs apart 
so he could get his tongue farther into my cunt, and when I felt him 
entering it with the end of his tongue, my warm, tingly feeling went all 
over my body. 

"It was almost the same as when I had to pee-pee--and then I was afraid that 
I would pee-pee right in his mouth, so I tried to push his head away again. 
I guess this excited him and he pulled me down on the bath mat with him and 
laid down over me so that his cock was right on my mouth as he went on 
licking me and sticking his tongue in and out of my pussy. Then he grabbed 
the back of my neck and shoved his prick all the way into my mouth! 

"I didn't like it and started to struggle to get my mouth free so I could 
breathe. Maybe he was afraid of making me cry or something, because he let 
me go and went on licking and sucking me until his cock gave a jump and 
squirted more of the warm, whitish stuff all over my face. I'd stopped 
feeling so good when he scared me by shoving his cock in my mouth, but he 
made me feel better by wiping my face off with a washcloth and taking me in 
his arms and sort of cuddling me. 'You're so sweet and cherry, baby, and 
you're so sweet in your pussy--I won't ever hurt you, ever,' he kept 
whispering. 

"We were together that way when we heard the screen door slam and my 
mother's voice down the hall, 'Susie, are you home? Where's brother?' 
Quickly, we got my panties on and my dress smoothed down, and he put his 
cock back into his fly and zipped up just in time for us to step out into 
the hall and tell my mother we were looking for one of our new kittens. She 
looked at Steve kind of funny, then she said, 'Oh, Steve, see if you can 
find Bobby for me, I want him to help unload the groceries,' and went on 
back to the kitchen. Steve and I just looked at each other. We didn't have 
to say anything--we both knew to keep super quiet about the whole thing. 

"We only did it four times after that, then Steve started senior high school 
and got a steady girl friend. I used to look at her as they walked by our 
house and wonder if she did the same things with him as I'd done once. I was 
a little bit jealous, but I was busy with Girl Scouts and my bug collection 
so it didn't bother me for long. It wasn't until after I was married that I 
remembered those afternoons in the bathroom, and then I couldn't get enough 
of my husband's tongue. I learned to suck him so well that we hardly ever 
did anything else, but we were happy, so who cared? Funny thing, once or 
twice I got him to do it to me in the bathroom and it was ten times as 
exciting. After he was killed in Vietnam I had several lovers but I could 
never get up enough nerve to ask any of them to get down on the bathroom 
floor and lick my pussy, so I suppose I'll never feel 'good all over' 
again." 

* * * 

This woman's case is, again, typical of the neural patterning (programming 
of the sympathetic nerves that occurs the first several times an experience 
of any kind is observed by the brain) that creates life-long sexual habits 
and preferences. By no means an unusual phenomena, we have only to observe 
our own present sexual behavior and remember, in a relaxed way, some of our 
first sexual encounters. Perhaps some of the conclusions to which we come 
will be helpful in our establishing even more satisfactory love and sex 
experiences for ourselves and our partners. 

Also of value here would be a casual note to the effect that the libido, or 
sexual appetite, of the pre-menopausal and menopausal female has been 
compared to the libido of the adolescent male--in most cases unfortunate for 
a genuinely successful mating between the peer groups, or contemporaries, of 
both. The prevailing public censure that follow marriages between these two 
age groups is finally receding, but for centuries a woman who took a lover, 
or a husband who was significantly younger than she, was ridiculed as a 
"cradle-robber" and a "sex maniac." 

A sexual and/or romantic union between a man in his mid-to-late teens and a 
woman some fifteen to twenty years his senior is usually a happy, fulfilling 
one--until the woman begins comparing herself unfavorably with her 
paramour's female contemporaries. Then trouble may develop, unless the man 
in the case is perceptive enough and persuasive enough to convince the older 
woman that he does, indeed, prefer her more mature, more developed 
personality and her riper, more skilled body to that of a girl of his own 
age. In a privately printed and circulated pamphlet which developed from a 
series of letters written to his son, a well-known doctor said: "If there is 
any more delightful and satisfying experience than that of gently 
deflowering a virgin in such a way that she is forever in love with you, her 
first lover, it is that of re-awakening in the rich, warm breast of a woman 
of what the French call 'a certain age' the rush of lust, the swift beating 
of the heart that prefaces love. Into the midst of the busy life of this 
woman who is preoccupied with her family, perhaps about to become a 
grandmother, you inject the very spirit of Spring, the essence of life 
itself, and you, YOU, set her into her second and possibly far more 
beautiful blooming. Her eyes twinkle with a wonderful secret--YOU. Her skin 
glows with the desire for more and more of the incredible satisfaction that 
no one has given her since she was a girl. That glow is YOU. Her voice 
softens, and she suddenly is more understanding of her daughters' 
involvements, even of her husband's yearnings for far pastures, if she is 
still married. Ten thousand little surprises she will bring you, if you will 
but take them. She will spoil you with delicious food--so few young women 
really know how to cook. She will rub your back--or lower. She will not make 
a face when you indicate your desire for some sexual fantasy that no 
unschooled virgin could perform. She may become too possessive--but you can 
handle that with an explanation of how her influence has turned you into a 
creative genius and you must have free time in which to express all those 
hitherto unplumbed forces that SHE has just unleashed--with her 
understanding, her fire, her love. Do not try to deceive her, for she's 
heard all the excuses, the evasions, the lies. If and when your interest 
falters, realize that your woman has her own life waiting to reclaim her, 
and kiss her farewell with the knowledge that you have learned many precious 
things from one another--then STAY AWAY. For, should you long for her bosom, 
her huge heart, her comfortable acceptance of the world, you may very well 
find yourself marrying the woman, and there go your days of seducing every 
girl you can, for she will leave you just enough strength to get to and from 
your work. Then she will feed you vitamins and nag you about your rest." 
Since this excerpt is from a pamphlet no longer in print, we cannot footnote 
the publisher or the author, but we are very much in their debt for the 
insight and advantage it details. 

* * * 

To continue with the story of Ruth, we find Eddie seeking counseling after 
what seems to have been a disastrous experience. Eddie tells us: "When Ruth 
wanted to have another party, I thought it was a great idea. Our first party 
had gone so well with her cooking and keeping the guests happy that no one 
wanted to go home, so I was very anxious to start planning another one. She 
seemed really excited about this one--almost as if it was going to be a 
surprise party for someone. The night of the party rolled around and I 
realized what a surprise it really was. 

"First off, she had done something with the invitations that had indicated 
there were to be no girls there--only her. I didn't realize until about nine 
that there was only one woman there--my wife, looking so wonderful and 
making everyone so happy that it didn't seem strange to have a roomful of 
guys and only one gal. Then, after a few drinks, somebody--maybe Ruth--got 
the conversation around to sexual abnormalities; from there it went to group 
sex. I didn't care--the way Ruth handled it, it was entirely non-smutty, if 
you know what I mean. She'd always been such a lady that she could discuss 
the raunchiest topic without anyone feeling like they were getting out of 
line. It was about then that I had to go out for more ice--the guys were 
drinking more than I thought they would. 

"When I got back to the apartment the movie projector was set up and the 
living room had been arranged so that everybody had a front-row seat. 
'What's happening, baby?' I asked Ruth as I made a fresh round of drinks. 
'We just happened to have a few reels of film that show some of the sexual 
differences we've been talking about, Eddie. I thought the boys wouldn't 
mind seeing them,' she said. I had a funny feeling right then that things 
were getting a bit out of hand, but I didn't want to cramp Ruth's style as a 
hostess so I said 'Okay', and went on into the living room. 

"The lights went out and the film started. I tell you, those were some of 
the wildest sex films I'd ever seen--full color, with close-ups so close you 
could almost see the girl's tonsils. By the time the third film was ready to 
roll there was a feeling in the air that was absolutely electric--even I 
felt it, felt the way the whole group was getting charged up. What the hell, 
I thought, there aren't any girls, so what can happen? That was my first 
mistake. 

"By the time the fifth and final film had rolled, the guys were practically 
crawling around on all fours. When the lights were turned on, Ruth was 
sitting with one guy's head in her lap and another one's arm around her 
shoulders--and his hand getting very close to the neckline of the low-cut 
hostess gown she was wearing. 

" 'All right, men let's talk about something else!' Ruth said laughingly. 

" 'No way, Ruthie, let's just take up the discussion where it left off--do 
you think you could let someone make love to you with your husband 
watching?' " 'No, she couldn't,' I said. 'Ruth and I are old-fashioned, we 
have a one-to-one marriage!' There were ten guys there and they all looked 
at me as if I'd said something wrong. 

" 'Cool it, Eddie. We're just talking about for instance. Nobody's going to 
rape your wife!' some guy said. 

" 'I didn't think anyone was going to rape her, I just--' 

" 'It's all right, darling, no harm done,' came Ruth's warm voice, and the 
talk continued. 

" 'My girl and I switch all the time and it brings us closer together than 
anything we've ever done,' said my friend Dave, a guy who'd been on the 
African dig with me. 'We love each other so much we want to share this love 
with everyone,' he went on. 'If we weren't absolutely sure of our love for 
each other, we couldn't enjoy ourselves as much as we do.' As he finished 
his speech, my eyes met Ruth's and there was something there I had never 
seen before. It was a mixture of trust, love and challenge, all in one big 
look. 

" 'Does anyone else dig orgies?' asked one of the other guys, and about four 
of them all spoke at once. 'Yeah, I've always wanted to be the star of a 
super-orgy but I'm afraid I'd peter out!' We all laughed at that one. 'I 
went to one once but I was so afraid I'd get the clap that I couldn't get a 
hard-on,' came another voice. 

" 'At a properly organized orgy, no one should have to worry about catching 
the nasties,' said Ruth. More laughter. Then they were all talking at once, 
and things were getting hornier by the minute. Again, my eyes met Ruth's and 
I got that wild feeling that she was giving me a challenge that I couldn't 
afford to ignore. I walked over to her and put down my drink. 

" 'Did you want to say something to me?' I asked. 

" 'Nothing more than I'm already saying,' was the answer, and then Ruth had 
her arms around me and we were kissing like it was the first time it ever 
happened. Her tongue met mine and we just about fucked each other's mouths 
right there in front of everybody. I felt her magnificent body swell forward 
into my groin and her hands move down so she could pull me closer to her. It 
didn't matter that ten guys were watching every move we made--the fact that 
they were watching us made the kiss much more exciting. Finally we moved 
apart, but my fly was two inches out from my waistband and Ruth was 
breathing fast. 

" 'Wow, they still turn each other on and they've been married almost a 
year! Look at the rod on Eddie, will you? Look at Ruthie blushing!' said one 
of the boys. I looked at her and she was blushing--and that look was still 
in her eyes. 'Come on, Eddie, share the wealth,' said Dave, and I heard 
myself telling him it was all right for him to kiss Ruth---just one little 
kiss. No sooner had Dave given her one little kiss when the other guys all 
filed by and gave Ruth one little kiss. I poured myself another drink. 

" 'One little kiss isn't going to test Eddie's tolerance very much,' said 
one of the guys I hadn't really liked very much. 'Come on, Ruthie, let's 
experiment!' And he grabbed Ruth by the arm, pulled her down on the couch 
and kissed her while he felt her up, down and sideways. It was then that 
this weird thing happened--I got excited, standing there and watching my 
wife--my wife--kissing another guy. It was a crazy feeling, centered in my 
groin. When the kiss broke, there was Ruth looking at me with that same look 
again. 

" 'Go ahead, baby, kiss 'em all!' I said, trying to keep the excitement out 
of my voice. I had started to wonder what it would be like to see her 
getting fucked by someone else. Now I wondered if I could keep from killing 
whoever would be fucking her, because I knew somehow that she would be 
getting fucked by every man in that room. 

"On it went. Every time one of them did something to her it inspired the 
other ones to do likewise. Pretty soon they had their hands down the loose 
neckline of that damned hostess gown, and I could see the outlines of their 
knuckles through the clinging jersey fabric. Her nipples were so hard they 
nearly put holes in her dress--and I loved it. I stood there and watched 
while my friends kissed, French-kissed and felt up my wife and I loved every 
minute of it. I felt like a collector who's showing off his rare 
whatevers--Ruth was mine, she was rare, and there was no way those guys 
would know just how rare she was until they'd fucked her. 

"As the evening went on, I drank more and more. I wasn't interested in 
knocking myself out, it just happened that way. I'm not much of a 
drinker--so I only remember bits and pieces of the evening. I would wake up 
and see Ruth with one of the boys fucking her dog-fashion and another of the 
guys shoving his cock into her mouth--and then smile and go back to sleep on 
the couch. A few moments later I would wake up and look around and there 
would be beautiful Ruth getting her pussy licked by first one guy, then 
another, going back and forth like a curvy windshield wiper. 

"Only once did I wake up so completely that I stayed awake for five whole 
minutes--and that was when I saw two of the most homo guys in the room down 
on the floor, sucking each other off. Ruth was standing over them like a 
queen at a tournament--remote, benign, smiling as if she was watching two 
champion dogs mate and had the pick of the litter. I smiled again and went 
back to sleep for the rest of the night. 

"When I finally woke up, I could smell the great early-morning smell of 
fresh coffee and bacon frying. There was also the delicious odor of Ruth's 
pancakes. I got up off the couch and struggled into the kitchen. 

"There she was, my beautiful wife, exquisitely gowned in a robe of pale blue 
satin trimmed with maribou--her blonde hair tied up neatly in a blue velvet 
ribbon. When she saw that I was up she came over and kissed me, then poured 
my coffee and loaded my plate with Sunday-morning goodies. 

" 'How's the head, Eddie?' she asked. 

" 'Not bad, considering,' I answered her, and that's all anybody said. There 
seemed to be a lot more bacon and sausage than there usually was, but I 
didn't care. I just sat there and stuffed my face and thought about how 
lucky I was to have Ruth for my wife. 

"The whole thing didn't land on me until I was walking down the street the 
other day and I ran into one of the fellows who was at the party. 'How's 
Ruthie?' he asked. There was more than just polite inquiry in his voice. 
'She's just fine, just fine,' I answered. Then I found myself wondering if 
he was the one who'd licked her clit until she came, and I had to hurry off 
before I hit him in the mouth. 

"Things have been pretty good between Ruth and me, however--whenever we're 
making love, I think of the things I saw that night and I get so excited I 
can hardly hold back until Ruth has her climax. I'm beginning to wonder if 
I'm crazy, doctor. Ruth and I haven't done any switching or swinging since 
that night, and we didn't do any before that. But I get so excited just 
thinking about Ruth getting screwed and blown by my friends that I can 
hardly control myself. We've never discussed it, Ruth and I, but it's there, 
and I want to do something about it before our wonderful marriage is ruined. 
What can we do?" 

* * * 

In the case of Ruth and Eddie, they started counseling immediately over 
Ruth's objections that she felt the marriage was perfect and needed no such 
nonsense as family counseling. At their first interview, Eddie expressed the 
need to have Ruth tell him as much about her background as she felt 
comfortable in telling. In later sessions, this need extended itself to Ruth 
telling Eddie about the orgy on the riverbank that she had first been 
frightened by, then enjoyed to the point of reconstructing years later. Far 
from being shocked or revulsed by her confession, Eddie was relieved to 
learn that his wife's desire for an orgy experience with herself as the only 
female was based on adolescent trauma and not on perverted fixation. 

Gradually each of the partners to this marriage came to terms with their own 
hidden needs: Eddie, with what appeared to be a latent voyeurism and Ruth 
with her rape fantasies. Their counselor explained to them that their sexual 
appetites were not abnormal; indeed, for a woman who had been traumatized as 
severely as Ruth had been, her adjustment to life was a most successful one. 
The number of years between them wasn't a cause for concern. 

After approximately four months of counseling, Ruth reported less and less 
need to fantasize about the orgies, both the one some years ago and the one 
to which she had invited Eddie's young male friends. Eddie, in turn, found 
his memories of the vignettes he saw between alcoholic naps less exciting 
than they had been and understood his voyeurism to the point that he no 
longer resorted to it in order to find extra excitement when he made love to 
his wife. At last notice, the couple were still together and much happier 
than they had ever been; Eddie was planning another trip to the dig in 
Africa with no worry about what sort of "parties" Ruth would give on their 
return. 

CHAPTER FIVE - Love Thy Neighbor 

"It was probably the wildest blast we'd ever been to, and even though we've 
had other parties like it since, the impact just wasn't the same, if you 
follow me. I mean, is there anything sexier than seeing your neighbor's wife 
running around their backyard in her short shorts, bending over and all, and 
then suddenly see her taking off her cocktail dress? Not only that, but it 
seems that every one in our neighborhood was turned on by the idea of oral 
sex--but not especially with their husbands or wives. Not that sucking your 
wife's pussy isn't great, and having her lick your cock until you shoot your 
load right down her throat even greater; but finding the girl with the big, 
beautiful tits from down the street taking your cock out of your pants has 
got to be the biggest turn-on in the world." 

* * * 

The young medic speaking to his interviewer is Melvin, a general 
practitioner who lives in an upper-class suburban neighborhood with his wife 
and their two children. His practice is very much the same as his father's 
was, with one difference--where his father was a typical country doctor, 
sometimes taking a side of pork or four dozen eggs in trade for a house call 
or needed therapy, Melvin takes invitations to buffet dinners around the 
pool, or to cocktail parties at his patients' homes. His fees are high 
enough to support his household comfortably and low enough to insure his 
popularity as a good, solid general practitioner. That Melvin uses explicit, 
four-letter words to express himself is no surprise; out of their offices, 
professional men such as doctors and lawyers are frequently as down-to-earth 
as anyone else. Melvin was speaking of the first swapping party in his 
neighborhood; a party that didn't begin that way. There had been five 
couples involved; five couples who had what might have been considered happy 
marriages, but whose sex lives had gone more than a little stale. 

* * * 

"We had been getting together for things like barbecues and pool parties for 
three years, since the block of homes we lived in were finished. We all got 
along together--not even any cattiness among the girls. It was a good, warm 
family-type of neighborhood--and since that party, it's gotten even warmer. 
We'd decided to get together at Jerry and Donna's house because it was their 
turn to entertain. They both like to drink, so they threw a cocktail 
party--one of those kind that start at four in the afternoon and end at four 
in the morning. Donna's hors d'oeuvres are always so good and so plentiful 
that nobody bothers about dinner; we just keep drinking and nibbling until 
the wee small hours. 

"At this particular party, the girls were wearing dresses instead of the 
slacks and sweaters everybody lives in out here. They all looked 
wonderful--sweet and sexy and more like strangers than like our wives, whom 
we see every day with hair in rollers, watering the lawn. I guess that was 
the first turn-on, the girls looking so unlike their everyday selves. One 
remark after another was made about how cute or elegant or whatever they 
looked, and they ate it up. There's too much informality these days--it's so 
much more fun to talk to a woman when she looks and smells and acts like a 
woman--but I'm getting ahead of my story. 

"By the third round of drinks, the compliments were getting more and more 
flowery, and then they started getting downright raunchy. 'Why don't you 
step into my office and I'll balance your books for you, my dear?' leered 
Jerry, who's a CPA. Nancy, Ed's wife, giggled and said her books were nicely 
balanced just now, thank you, but she would like to have her checkbook fixed 
up so Ed wouldn't find the overdrafts. 'Very well, my dear, we'll have to 
work out a fee schedule so you can reimburse me for my professional, uh, 
bookkeeping,' continued Jerry, literally twirling his moustache like the 
villain in an old-time movie. 

" 'Oh, sir, how could I ever repay you?' cried Nancy in mock despair. 'I 
have no money to pay you, however shall I show you my, uh, gratitude?' " 
'We'll have to think of something,' went Jerry, still twirling his long 
moustache. And on it went, the remarks getting sillier and sexier and the 
laughs getting louder and longer. 

"The kissing game started about eight o'clock, and we were having more fun 
than a gang of teenagers, playing--you guessed it--spin the bottle! There we 
were, down on the floor, giggling and sipping drinks and kissing our heads 
off. It wasn't too long before someone suggested a new game that was 
supposed to be the rage in the jet set. The idea of the game was that each 
player in turn was to tell which person in the group he or she would most 
like to make love with, and exactly what they would do once they got to a 
bed. 

"At first some of the girls were too shy to play but after a few of us took 
our turn and told who. we wanted and what we wanted, everybody got right 
into the spirit of the thing and it was much more fun than spin-the-bottle. 
For instance, Larry said he wanted to take Beth, his next-door neighbor's 
wife, into the bushes and fuck her on the grass, out under the moon, and 
then suck her gorgeous titties until she came that way. Beth blushed and 
said that was fine with her--she'd been rubbing up against Larry in their 
pools all summer long and he felt pretty good. 

"Then it was my turn and I chose Anne, the sexy redhead who lived across and 
down from me. 'I think I'll have Anne disrobe so I can really examine her, 
and then we'll do a little naked dancing, cheek to cheek and chest to 
breast,' I detailed, feeling good and silly. Anne didn't blush, she just 
looked at me long and cool and asked how I knew she'd been mad for a 
doctor's body for the past three years. 

"So it went, with the game getting wilder all the time. Bill couldn't decide 
between Donna and Doris--and the girls were then called upon to tell him why 
he should take one of them and not the other. Donna won--she said she wanted 
to take Bill into the kitchen, spread whipped cream all over his cock, and 
lick it off, three times in a row. Doris allowed as how she had a weight 
problem and couldn't possibly eat that much whipped cream, so Bill ended up 
with Donna. 

"That left Ed and Doris. Doris is my wife, and she was reluctant to say or 
do anything that would make me angry. We'd been having some trouble in our 
marriage ever since one of my patients--a young gal whose husband had beaten 
her, and who had considered me her dream of manhood ever since I'd treated 
her broken ribs--had been calling our house at all hours 'just to talk to my 
good doctor.' I wasn't interested in the girl as anything but a patient--I'm 
never sexually or romantically interested in my women patients--but Doris 
was suspicious over this one. 

"I asked Ed if he thought he could handle a girl who liked lovemaking more 
than anything else in the world, and was probably the greatest lover who'd 
ever lived. That made Doris feel better, and she sat there and basked in the 
attention while Ed admitted that he'd been waiting for a long time to just 
hold her and kiss her. They're both very romantic people, my wife and my 
neighbor, Ed, and that sort of finished off the mating game we'd been 
playing, with everyone pleasantly tiddly on the big drinks our host had been 
building and the fun time they were having. 

"For about another half-hour we all sat around and talked about the rumors 
that there were swapping activities going on in some of the wealthier 
neighborhoods around us--rumors that we all wanted to believe. What the 
hell, after ten or more years of marriage, no matter how much you love your 
wife, you get a craving to stick your cock into a different woman--or two or 
three or five different women. It's simply man's basic nature--impregnate as 
many females as possible. Without that basic drive the race would have died 
out millions of years ago; without that basic drive we'd have had no great 
novels, no fine buildings, no real anything that had gone before. Well, now 
I'm getting philosophical; I'll let my friend Ed tell you the rest. I have 
hospital rounds to make." 

* * * 

"Okay, Mel, but I don't know if I can do it justice. It was certainly the 
wildest night I'd lived through in that or any other neighborhood. Right 
after we'd talked about the swapping clubs in our town, one of the men said 
that it was no wonder people wanted to swap husbands and wives--the way he 
looked at it, the more loving there was in the world, the better the world 
was for it. Then one of the wives, I forget who, made the remark that if the 
men were more willing to make oral love to their wives at home, the wives 
wouldn't be so ready to have affairs with other men. 

"Wow! That really did it! Everyone started talking at once--it seemed that 
oral sex was a subject that was the bone of contention in every marriage in 
the room. 'I'll gladly lick my husband's peter if he'll just learn how to do 
the same to my clitoris,' said Beth who's more outspoken than the rest. 

"Bill, her husband, was dumbfounded. 'I never knew you wanted Frenching that 
much, honey,' he started. 

" 'I tried to tell you at least a hundred million times, Bill darling, but 
you just weren't interested.' " 'Is there a problem like this in anyone 
else's house?' asked Melvin. 

" 'You bet your sweet ass there is,' yelled Jerry, our host. 'I sometimes 
wonder if my wife will ever get enough licking and sucking on her pussy--and 
she doesn't want to give me any sucking until I come, for some reason. If 
it's going to be one-sided, the hell with it!' he announced, then sat down 
next to Nancy, Ed's wife, and started hugging her and nuzzling her neck. She 
giggled, but Jerry's wife was deep in a private discussion with Bill, so 
they just went on snuggling closer together. 

"Anne went into the kitchen about then, and Mel followed her. At the height 
of the discussion, with one wife after another saying that she just didn't 
get enough French love at home, and the husbands being pretty much surprised 
about it, someone turned down the lights and turned on the stereo. Then 
Jerry went to the bar to make another round of drinks and found he was fresh 
out of vodka. Bill volunteered to go for more, saying he needed the fresh 
air, and Donna said he'd better take a navigator, meaning herself. 

"By that time, two other couples had settled down in their own little comers 
for more comparing notes on how badly neglected they were in the oral sex 
department, and I noticed that Doris, Melvin's wife, was sitting alone, sort 
of quiet and a little sad. I went over and put my arm around her. 'Tell 
Uncle EM about it, baby,' I whispered, and she moved into my arm with a 
little sigh. 

"Before I knew what was happening, I was kissing her, and the kiss was 
getting hotter with every second. Our tongues started searching for each 
other--Doris must have been hungrier for me than I thought she was, because 
she responded to my tongue as if she was starving to death. She sucked on 
it, tickled it with her lips, and just wouldn't let it go. When we finally 
came up for air, we just looked at each other for a long moment, got up from 
the couch and walked outside to the garden. 

"As soon as I found a patch of deep shadow, we started kissing again, and 
this time we didn't stop at kissing. I'd wanted to feel the long-legged, tan 
body of this girl for so long--and here I was with my hands all over her. 
She moaned as we kissed harder and pressed into me so tightly that I could 
feel her nipples right through my shirt. That drove me wild, and I all but 
tore off her blouse. She wasn't wearing a bra, so it was only a matter of 
seconds until we were naked chest to naked breasts. 

"There was a chaise lounge out there, and I laid her back on that; she 
didn't even try to resist. The taste of her nipples was in my mouth--I 
couldn't get enough of sucking them, nipping them, taking whole mouthfuls of 
Doris' beautiful tits in my mouth and sucking like a hungry baby. Then I 
remembered that the other wives had complained about not getting enough oral 
lovemaking at home, so I slid my hands up under her skirt and down into her 
panties. She moved away for just a second, but I murmured into her neck, 
'This is what we've wanted for years, baby--let's take it while we have the 
chance,' and she moved toward me. 

"I lifted her hips so we could get her panties off, and put my head down and 
started to lick her belly. That must have really turned her on, because she 
raised her body until my face was pressed tight against her sweet, soft 
belly and her hands were around the back of my neck, pulling me even closer. 
Her odor beckoned me into her slit--it drove me nearly crazy! I found her 
clit right away. My tongue was running all by itself now, back and forth 
across that tiny, precious bit of flesh, making her cry out with pleasure. 
'Oh, Ed, do that to me more, do it, do it, do it!' she moaned, and pressed 
her lower belly up into my face again. 

"That was all I needed to really go wild. I ran my tongue around the wet, 
hot edges of her cunt, pushing the lips back and forth and dipping into the 
center of that cunt with the tip of my tongue until she was nearly sobbing 
with passion. I had a hard on that was fighting its way out of my pants, but 
I wanted to bring her to climax with my tongue alone, before I even took my 
pants off. All the talk about how husbands never do enough for their wives 
in the mouth-to-pussy department had made a big impression on me and I 
wanted to make things right before I even thought about my own climax. 

"Suddenly she pulled harder on my head and started heaving violently up and 
down, moving in a mating rhythm that made it hard for me to keep track of 
her clit. So I stuck my whole tongue as far into her frantically moving 
pussy as I could and swirled it around and around the pulsing walls of her 
womanhood. 'Oooooh, now, now, now!' she whispered frantically, and then she 
lifted her body high off the chaise lounge and held it there for what seemed 
like an hour or so. Her pussy clenched and grabbed at my tongue as she came 
and came in a climax that must have touched the depths of her being. 

"No sooner had Doris come down from the heights of her first climax than I 
was throwing caution to the winds and pulling off my pants so I could climb 
up over her body, spread her legs apart with my knee and fuck my way into 
her wet, white-hot pussyhole. The first contact of cock to pussy sent a 
shock of earthquake proportions through both of us--I'd been wanting her for 
years, and she knew it. 

"Now we were finally coming closer and closer, my big prick forcing its way 
up the softness of her heated cunt--the same cunt I'd been fucking with my 
tongue not three minutes before. We moved together and apart on that damned 
chaise lounge, trying to be careful about noise, but if we'd crashed onto 
the grass I don't think anyone would have noticed--they were all doing their 
own things in the house and out in the cars. 

"Faster we moved and faster, my cock beginning to feel like it was ten feet 
long and four feet wide, her pussy sucking on it all the way up and all the 
way down. I could feel my balls slamming against her ass, the hands she 
grabbed my ass with tipped with tiny nail points that would leave marks--but 
I didn't care. After ten years of marriage to a woman I loved, I was making 
it with our neighbor--making it more excitingly than I ever could have with 
my wife. 

"Once more, she raised her whole body in that arc of desire, holding herself 
there for a long moment while she shuddered and gasped with her climax. My 
huge prick could feel every pulse that ran through her cunt--she was running 
with love juice, throbbing with come. Then, before she finished coming, I 
could feel the tingle in my balls that told me I was going to let go, filing 
her sucking cunt. It rushed through my cock, tore out of the end of my 
manhood and flooded Doris with all the semen in the world. 

" 'Aaah, aaah, my God! Oooh, baby, how great you are!' I heard myself 
saying, while my body held even closer into her than I'd been before and the 
last drops of me drained into her pussyhole. As I came slowly down from 
wherever I'd been, I could hear again the soft sounds of the night around us 
and wondered with a small part of my mind if anyone had seen us; but I still 
didn't care. Somehow, in spite of all the things a monogamistic society had 
taught me, I felt entirely right lying on top of the body of this woman I 
had desired for years, feeling the easy relaxation of my balls against her 
body, hearing her murmuring about how wonderful I was. 

" 'We'd better go inside soon, darling, I'm not sure what Mel would think 
about all this,' she said. 

" 'Okay, baby, we'll go in, but I don't think Mel is going to be uptight 
about anything tonight,' I replied. 

"We dressed slowly, kissing in the little pauses, then we walked back into 
the party, hand in hand, like two children coming home after a long run in a 
meadow. When we got inside, Mel was in the kitchen, talking to Anne, Larry's 
wife. They weren't patients of Melvin's, but he was feeling her forehead as 
if she had a fever. 

"Alright, Mel, you take it from here." 

* * * 

"A fever might describe what I was checking for--yes, you might call it a 
fever, but nothing serious. After the party settled down into couples 
talking quietly with each other in dim corners of the room, I heard some 
noises from the kitchen, and I walked out there to see what was happening. 
Anne, who'd been drinking a lot more than usual, was going through the 
kitchen cabinets, looking for something she couldn't seem to find. She was a 
bit wobbly on her feet, so I put my arm around her waist to steady her and 
asked what she wanted. 

" 'The Maalox, for heaven's sake, Melvin. I'm feeling so bad from all that 
stupid booze, and I think I'm going to throw up--' She clapped her hand over 
her mouth and I helped her to the powder room off the kitchen, where she 
emptied all the bad stuff out of her stomach and rinsed her mouth. 'I'm 
sorry to be such a rotten party-pooper, Mel, but all that talk about all of 
us doing switchies upset me. I'm just an old-fashioned girl, T guess, and 
I'll never be sophisticated enough to make it in this group.' "I sat her 
down at the kitchen table and found the Maalox in one of the cabinets. After 
I gave her a double dose of the stuff, I sat down beside her and said, 'You 
don't have to be a bad girl to keep up with these people, Anne. They're just 
like a lot of kids who're trying to convince each other that they're really 
grown up and are to be dealt with as adults. You stay just the way you are, 
I've always liked you that way.' " 'Mmmmmm, do you really like me, Mel?' she 
asked sleepily. 'I always thought of you as the busy doctor who hardly had 
time for his family, much less for thinking nice thoughts about his 
neighbor's wife,' and she let her head drop against my shoulder. 

-- "I held her a little closer, not wanting her to think I was going to 
throw her on her back and rape her, but wanting her just the same. 'I do 
like you, Anne--more than just liking, I'm afraid. But you always seemed so 
happy with Larry--' " 'Happy? I seemed happy with Larry!' she said, as if 
I'd told her she seemed happy with a convicted child-molester. 'I'm so 
miserable that I've been thinking about getting a divorce for the last six 
months!' " 'I didn't know, what's wrong? Do you want to tell me about it?' 
Here I was, doing diagnostic interviewing at a party where everyone else was 
making out like crazy. Oh, well, I thought, that's what it is to be a 
doctor. 

" 'What's wrong? Larry's cheating and he comes home and doesn't even try to 
hide anything--he has lipstick all over his shorts, long, black hair all 
over his sweaters, and a satisfied smirk on his face. And when he calls me 
to say he won't be home for dinner, he doesn't bother to make an 
excuse---just tells me he won't be home and not to expect him until I see 
him. About a week ago I confronted him with my suspicions and he just 
laughed and told me not to bother my pretty head with detective 
business--that everything was just fine and I should stop imagining things. 
But what kind of imagination does it take to put one and one together and 
come up with an unfaithful husband who doesn't care enough about me to even 
lie?' " 'Is that why the drinking tonight, Anne?' " 'I guess so--it just 
seems like everybody thinks it's cute and stylish to cheat and I don't. And 
these tummy cramps--that's what's really bad. I could handle the rest of it 
if my poor, sore tummy felt better.' "I had a pretty good idea that a 
combination of tension and sexual starvation was responsible for Anne's 
stomach condition and I said so. 

" 'So what can I do about it?' She went on, 'Larry doesn't want me anymore 
and I'm too shy to go out and find a boyfriend--' Tears of self-pity welled 
up in her lovely blue eyes. 

" 'You're a beautiful, desirable woman, Anne, and if Larry doesn't 
appreciate you, you shouldn't think that no one else does.' " 'I don't mean 
just liking me the way you do, Mel, I mean I need someone to sweep me off my 
feet and make me feel like--well, like I'm loved and cherished. You see the 
difference, don't you?' and her eyes searched mine for understanding. 

" 'I see the difference, Anne. I feel the same way you do--but with me, it's 
the feeling that I'm just a medical robot on a round of work that won't stop 
until I'm falling over with a coronary. Doris loves me in her own way, but 
she isn't very demonstrative about it. I don't get all the appreciation that 
I need, either.' And we moved closer together, her head back on my shoulder, 
her silky, flame-colored hair tickling my cheek. The perfume she was wearing 
was a clean, jasmine sort of fragrance and it floated up into my nostrils 
like the spring haze from a flowerbed. 

"My hands closed over her shoulders and I pulled her down until our bodies 
were almost lying together as we leaned back onto the bench that was set 
into the breakfast nook. She lifted her face to mine and I kissed her, 
softly and without any of the wildness that goes with raw sex-kisses. We 
cuddled comfortably together, our legs finding the hollows and spaces of 
each other's bodies almost automatically. I pillowed Anne's head on my arm 
and we drifted into a half-sleep that blotted out the sounds of the stereo 
and conversation two rooms away. 

"It must have been thirty minutes later that I woke up and found her lips 
against mine, her legs twined into my groin and her body quivering with the 
desire that her waking mind wouldn't allow. Our mouths met in a kiss that 
lingered and turned into something I'd wanted for a long time: warmth, 
acceptance and sweetness. My wife is a great girl, but sweetness isn't her 
bag. I cupped my hands around Anne's bottom and drew her closer to me--she 
responded so swiftly that I knew my diagnosis had been right--she was 
sexually starved. 

"Her sweetness was all around me, her arms folding me into her softness, her 
hair curtaining my face as she raised herself on one arm to kiss my eyes. We 
stroked and kissed and tasted each other for a few minutes, then Anne 
shuddered lightly and pulled away. 'Mel, I want to, but I can't. I just 
can't,' and she pressed her face against mine and lay still. 

" 'We don't have to go any further, girl. Just relax and let doctor Melvin 
rub your back,' I answered as I passed my hands over her back and bottom, 
trying to help her relax with the rhythm of my massage. 

"It wasn't long before she did relax, and we began kissing and touching 
again, all so softly that it seemed far removed from the steamy passion that 
we associate with two people who come together and start making love almost 
immediately. With a few more movements, I had her skirt up and my zipper 
down--she helped by wiggling out of her pantyhose. Since she wasn't wearing 
anything underneath them, it took about a half a second for me to slide my 
erect cock into her waiting pussy. 

"She felt so good, so different--her vagina was slippery with her fluids and 
as we came together and moved apart she got even wetter and warmer. Our 
movements got swifter and swifter, and Anne was whispering into my ear, 
'Take me, Mel, fill me with you! Don't wait for anything, Mel, I'm coming 
now!' "'Come, baby, come--I'm coming with you!' and we clung together and 
let the wave of passion ride over us, lift us together and sweep us far out, 
then wash us back, still clinging together. 

"As we lay together, breathing quickly, Anne tried to speak, and couldn't. 
'Relax, Anne baby, just follow doctor's orders and relax. Just be you,' and 
I wished for more and more time with this girl who brought me such 
excitement, such sweetness. 

" 'I am relaxed, Mel--I just want to do something else and I don't know how 
to start.' " 'Whatever you want to do, Anne baby, is just fine with me. What 
did you have in mind?' "For an answer, Anne bent over me and blew gently on 
my now limp cock. She touched it lightly with her lips, licked the tip, then 
quickly took my whole cock into her mouth and started sucking, sucking me 
without a pause in her movements. I was tired from having climaxed minutes 
before, but her licking, swirling tongue and the irresistible pull of her 
mouth on my prick began another hard-on, and another facet of Anne's 
personality came through--she was a woman with an incredible talent for 
French love--for giving a man a blow job that equalled or surpassed any 
other sex I'd ever had, and I'd had a lot. 

"Her head moved up and down, her hands flew over my balls, my ass, up under 
my shirt, to tease and rub my nipples, and all the while her mouth kept up 
its fabulous rhythm, her tongue flicking wildly back and forth over my 
throbbing prick. I moaned and twisted to try and hold on to the feeling that 
was welling up in my belly area--the feeling that I was going to come all 
over her rosy red mouth in about two seconds. 

"I wanted all this sucking, licking heaven to continue--but if she didn't 
stop, it wouldn't. 'Anne, wait! I don't want to come just yet! Hold off for 
a minute!' But she didn't stop. Instead she increased the speed of her 
tongue and her mouth flew over my cock--exactly like a sex-starved pussy. 
The pressure of her mouth became a pulsing, pulling, living thing. My come 
rushed forward, spilling through my rod of beating flesh and filling her 
mouth with a foamy, salty froth. 

"I could hardly believe that anyone who was married to this girl would ever 
want to be blown off by another woman, but there it was--Larry did. 

What the hell, I thought--let it be. If we never make love again, this has 
been It. 'You are the most fantastic lover in the world, Anne baby. Never 
doubt your own worth--you're wonderful,' I told her. 

"We rejoined the party, where almost everyone was conspicuous by their 
absence. It didn't matter--tonight everyone in that neighborhood was getting 
his or her rocks off with whoever had tempted them toward extra-marital sex 
for the last three years. The air was being cleared--and it was a great 
idea. Anne and I sat quietly together, holding hands, sipping Scotch, and 
watching the others straggle back into the room. There was an almost 
complete lack of guilty faces--no recriminations. 

"I got the distinct impression that here was a group that would swing 
together again. I hadn't sorted out my feelings about that yet, but it 
didn't seem such a bad idea when I looked around at my neighbors and took a 
good long look at my wife, wondering how many other stomach cramps, migraine 
headaches and general irritability might be avoided by a little judicious 
wife-swapping now and then." 

* * * 

The attitudes toward wife-and-husband swapping have changed considerably in 
the past decade, since it first came to the attention of the general public 
that more than PTA meetings and bridge games were going on in the suburbs. 
As the rumors became fact and the fact became accepted custom in many areas, 
public shock slipped into titillation and then farther down the scale to an 
almost ho-hum attitude. Couple after couple reported better marital sexual 
relationships from the simple expedient of relieving the sometimes 
unbearable tension of living close to other men and women by just throwing 
up their hands, morally, and getting together for "parties" that turned into 
orgies--orgies that released all manner of frustrations between husbands and 
wives who were much enticed by the propinquity of attractive neighbors. 

The practices of changing sex partners for short periods of time without 
resorting to clandestine affairs or divorce is hardly new to the human race. 
Most outstanding in the custom of wife-trading are the Eskimo tribes, who, 
when one man's wife is unable to travel with him on hunting trips, or is ill 
and unable to help around the settlement, find nothing immoral or even 
exciting about "borrowing" a tribe brother's wife for whatever period of 
time she is needed as a partner in work as well as bed. Other examples of 
polygamy and polyandry have been recorded all through history. Jewish law, 
at one time, allowed for a man to have as many wives and/or concubines as he 
could support well. However, the practice has pretty much fallen into 
disuse. 

The other well-known proponents of polygamous marriage have been the Mormons 
of this country. At the time Joseph Smith passed the laws regarding polygamy 
down to his followers, they came as an unbelievable shock to the Victorians 
who believed that one man and one woman should remain not only married but 
scrupulously faithful for life. New ideas that had to do with sexual 
expression, even sexual expression within the sacred confines of marriage, 
were anathema to the good citizens of that era. 

While still reverberating from the shock of the Mormons' polygamy, our 
Victorian ancestors were rattled even more deeply by the discoveries and 
theories of infantile and adult sexuality advanced by Sigmund Freud, who was 
then a young Viennese doctor just beginning his epic search through the 
murky reaches of the subconscious. The very idea that an individual might 
not only disobey the irrefutable laws set down by an untiringly observant 
God against coveting his neighbor's wife, overtly and covertly, but be an 
exponent for the steamy desires of premarital and extra-marital sex, was 
almost too much for our great-grandparents to bear. 

The simple facts of the matter were that people had been merrily frolicking 
along since the dawn of time, fornicating here and there, willy-nilly, with 
or without the religious and social sanctions of the period or area in which 
they lived. To be sure, there were various restrictions set down by the 
various religious and civil authorities of the era and location, determined 
by one or the other godhead or governor. A man could have one wife and 
several concubines; a man could have several wives; a man could have a harem 
consisting of however many women his pocketbook could buy and support; a man 
could have his dead brother's widow, indeed, must have his dead brother's 
widow, like it or not (Judaic law's insurance that the family line would 
continue even after the death of one of the sons); a man may share his wife 
with several of his tribesmen; a man may not share his wife with anyone, 
anytime, anywhere. 

It all became quite confusing and great sums of money, time and effort were 
spent in trying to enforce marital laws for the protection of the young 
nestlings while their elders were eyeing each other with plain and fancy sex 
in mind. No wonder that by the twentieth century such a muddled, awkward and 
utterly chaotic group attitude toward love and marriage had accumulated in 
the annals of human experience. Into this crowded arena came, slowly at 
first, then striding along like a young giant, the solution for at least 
some of the stresses of our present forms of monogamy--wife-trading, or 
swinging, or switchies. 

In due course, whole neighborhoods left off their discussions of PTA affairs 
and turned their attention to far more interesting affairs--the methods and 
mannerisms of musical beds, known in less lenient circles as the orgy. Door 
keys were thrown into a hat and pulled out at random; whoever got his 
neighbor's latchkey also got his neighbor's wife--at least, for the night. 
In many instances, neighbors discovered that they wanted to make permanent 
the exchange, and divorces were asked and granted with both couples doing a 
marital do-si-do, husband A ending up with wife B, and vice versa. 

Not until several spectacular murders and murder-suicides came to light as 
the result of these exchanges did the general public begin to realize the 
very real dangers of making abrupt changes in the marital customs of their 
forefathers, no matter how misguided their forefathers may have been. A 
prime example of this sort of mess is the following, with the names left out 
to protect the children involved: In one of our more affluent communities, 
there lived a group of people who espoused the theory that repression of 
one's sexual longings toward the neighbor's wife or husband was not good for 
one's innards. A vigorous sort of switch was evolved, in which everyone got 
a crack at everyone, sooner or later. Things progressed in a more and more 
relaxed manner until one of the couples involved had one of those 
discussions with which those of us who are fortunate enough to have been 
married for any length of time are too horribly familiar. Loud voices saying 
rude things, a little judicious pushing around, perhaps an injudicious right 
to the jaw, and then the firearms came out and there was one dead husband, 
one suicidal wife and three terrified, hysterical children. The lady who did 
the shooting and made an unsuccessful suicide attempt later told the law 
that she killed her husband because he told her that of all the ladies in 
the neighborhood, she was absolutely the worst lay he'd had. Whether he had 
been correctly quoted or not remains to be heard; the gentleman is quite 
dead. 

A little farther down the street, not too long after that event, one of the 
husbands found one of the other husbands in bed, not with his wife, but with 
his fourteen-year-old daughter. Another killing, another ghastly mess, two 
more severely damaged children. 

In the next block, shortly after, two wives who had experienced lesbianism 
for the first time at a group sex party, decided they much preferred it to 
heterosexual practices and announced to their husbands that they were going 
to remain lesbian indefinitely. After about six months of what seemed an 
idyllic relationship, lesbian wife A discovered her lover was having an 
affair with her husband. She took several handfuls of sleeping pills and was 
found dead of an overdose by her four-year-old son. Add three more damaged 
children to the inventory, since the four year old ran screaming to his 
brother and sister and they, too, ran to try and wake mommie--and mommie 
couldn't be wakened. 

This is, perhaps, an extreme set of examples, but necessary to this 
narrative in that the author wants to illustrate all the advantages and 
disadvantages of the group sex experience. The only index of the effects of 
extra-legal and nonreligious sex practices is, of course, the individual 
reactions of the people involved in switching spouses. There are certainly 
many instances of healthy adjustments to an exchange or series of exchanges 
between husbands and wives. 

One of the major premises of the fine novel Stranger in a Strange Land by 
Robert Heinlein is that the members of the group or "nest" who live by the 
examples set by their leader, Michael Valentine Smith, are totally happy 
with their group sex experience--no jealousies, no rivalries, no bad names 
or hitting-type discussions. In short, an unrealistic picture of what the 
human reaction to complete sharing of sex and love partners is like. On 
paper, it looks great. Everyone loves everyone, everyone is rid forever of 
those nagging doubts about one's attractiveness, because everyone has 
learned to think themselves beautiful. Everyone shares children, wives, 
husbands, mothers, fathers and for, that matter, in-laws. The group 
responsibility for all these people is also shared. Would that it could be 
so! 

Unfortunately, we are still mired in a stage of our evolution where those 
insecurities and inequities arising from childhood trauma and religious 
conditioning make terrible mischief when brought up against the more 
permissive attitudes about sexual expression that are, thankfully, coming to 
the fore at present. It would appear that, slowly, our evolutionary wheel is 
coming full circle round in the matter of mating and marriage--not always, 
we should like to point out, the same type of thing. As an illustration, let 
us quote from Lederer and Johnson's excellent book The Mirages of Marriage: 
At the beginning of man's existence, over a million years ago, it seems that 
members of the human race procreated in the same random manner as almost all 
other animals do. A female and a male met by chance, and if both had a 
strong sexual drive, they copulated. After a short period of intimacy, the 
male wandered off to continue his usual activities--hunting and fighting. 
Several months later, the female perhaps noticed that she was pregnant. It 
is probable that for many millennia pregnancy was not associated with the 
sex act... The father was totally uninvolved and didn't know his own 
child... Gradually the females gathered together in groups, clustering their 
temporary homes near one another, and the first community developed. The 
male was still the hunter and the warrior, probably roaming wherever game 
was most plentiful during the spring and summer months, and during his 
wanderings copulating with any female he might happen to fancy. But the 
female, under the necessity of rearing children, accumulated food to last 
through the winter, developed skill at turning animal hides into protective 
clothing, maintained fires, and created shelters. It is probably, therefore, 
at least in the northern countries, that itinerant males migrated toward the 
communities of females sometime in the late autumn... Today we may see 
indiscriminate mating as immoral and crude, but it was necessary for the 
preservation of the species under primitive conditions of life. The larger 
the gene pool from which an offspring emerged, the more likely he was to 
possess adaptive potentialities... as their numbers increased, people found 
it necessary to develop tolerance for one another... A male and a female who 
became partners and had children normally had greater chances for survival 
and more advantages than they would have had had they stayed alone. The 
first young children were a survival liability, but as they grew up the 
original couple became a group--with all of its members participating in the 
survival activities. "Love" was not important. 

We can draw an accurate corollary from the survival behavior of those first 
true humans to the survival behavior of present-day suburbanites. The women 
are pretty much in charge of the community during the week, and on the 
weekends, when the pressure to catch the train or bus, to get to the office 
or shop on time, is temporarily lifted, all hell breaks loose. After a 
fairly quiescent Friday evening, the Saturday shopping and chores are 
finished and the realization that everyone has actually made it through 
another entire week gives cause to celebrate. Children are left with 
sitters, corks are pulled, fires are kindled in fireplaces and, 
incidentally, in the various groin areas of the participating householders. 

No small wonder that under the influence of a relaxed atmosphere and a bit 
of alcohol a little, or a lot, of wife and husband swapping goes on. After 
all, good old American advertising has conditioned us to the idea that the 
only thing in the world worth having is a sexual potential of gigantic 
proportions--exemplified by physical beauty, just enough brains to make the 
team, and the things that money can buy. No one can wallow pleasantly in 
mediocrity anymore--everyone must excel, be the best of everything. 

Those who do as much as they deem necessary to exist happily and then do no 
more shortly find themselves wistfully straining their vision into a cloud 
of dust, left by the "beautiful people" who have just passed them by at a 
thunderous clip. These people wear the latest clothes, drive the latest 
cars, sit on the latest types of furniture, and drink the latest form of 
fermentation. Quite naturally, since we have been told that they are the 
only people worth mating with, they are the ones most frequently mated. The 
average, ordinary, nice folks who are not motivated to keep themselves 
surrounded by the latest things are left by the wayside, rocking on the 
porch while the parade goes glittering by. And not one of them is ever 
totally convincing when he or she tells us how much they prefer the porch 
swing to the parade of "winners." Thus does the habit of changing partners 
more and more frequently find acceptance in the socio-economic groups of 
America. 

So far as the rest of the world is concerned, wife swapping is nothing new. 
For centuries, those countries under the direct influence of the Catholic 
Church (which censures those members who find one spouse intolerable and 
desire to change to another via divorce) have had "arrangements" accepted by 
both husbands and wives wherein the husband may take a mistress or two 
without seriously endangering the marriage. The wives in these countries 
frequently take lovers, but are necessarily more discreet about their 
extramarital liaisons, for it is considered unnatural for a woman to have 
very much of a sex drive. That is to say, it is publicly unnatural for a 
woman to have very much of a sex drive, most of the inhabitants of the 
European and Scandinavian countries being eminently practical in matters of 
the heart and libido. Privately, however, men and women are allowed to 
behave like men and women and not like some species of pre-programmed wooden 
puppet who responds only to those stimuli that are accepted by the Mother 
Church as "good." 

Among the African tribes, notably the Nyamwezi, the Nkundo, the Xosa, 
Baneka, Kuba, Madi, Thonga, Tswana and Zulu, the incidence of polyandry and 
polygamy is very high, mostly because of the stricture against a husband 
having intercourse with his wife or wives within a certain period of time 
after the birth of a child. In such a case, another wife or husband takes 
over the sexual partnership for the duration of the period of sexual 
abstinence involving the new mother, and no serious sexual tensions develop. 
In most other parts of the world, the system of marriage and concubinage is 
realistic; therefore it is hoped that Americans will learn to live with 
their inner conflicts and, in so doing, bring up new generations of children 
who are free of the inelevant theories that surrounded the infantile 
conditioning of their parents and grandparents. 

The party that gave rise to the practice of wife-swapping in the community 
under discussion in the earlier part of this chapter had one other 
interesting aspect: it brought the husbands up against the knowledge that, 
far from being repulsed or disgusted by the idea and actuality of 
oral-genital sex, their wives were, generally speaking, in more need of that 
particular stimulation than they had realized. Take the case of Bill, the 
fellow who had volunteered to go for more vodka and had taken Donna with him 
as "navigator." He and his wife had had a satisfactory sexual relationship 
for the seven years of their marriage, but the titillation of the discussion 
of suppressed desires concerning the neighbors and their wives had started 
him thinking about what it would be like to make love to his neighbors' 
wives. 

Normally a timid man when it came to approaching the opposite sex, the 
influence of some ten ounces of alcohol mixed with very little water and ice 
had given Bill the courage to speak up during the discussion with a great 
deal more than his usual lack of bravado. Then, when it was discovered that 
there was a serious shortage of vodka in his host's bar, Bill announced that 
he would undertake to replenish the communal store of potato schnapps. Donna 
quickly volunteered as navigator through the uncharted reaches of the six 
blocks between their neighborhood and the nearest liquor store. They got 
into Bill's car in a fine spirit of adventure, with Bill's rather clumsy 
attempts at seductive wit being met by much contented giggling from his 
"navigator." When Donna moved over to the center of the driver's seat, 
closer to Bill so that she could "direct" him to the shopping center, her 
proximity inflamed him even further and he discovered that he had a huge 
erection that gave him some concern for his ability to walk into the liquor 
store without attracting some embarrassing attention and remarks. 

* * * 

"Here I was, trying to drive while a little under the influence, and Donna 
was rubbing her tit up against my elbow fall the way. No sooner would I 
remember which way to turn in order to get to the damned liquor store when 
she would upset me again by putting her hand on my thigh while she gave me 
'directions.' By the time we got to the shopping center I didn't know how I 
was going to walk in a straight line, I was so damned excited. Somehow, we 
bought the ice and mixer and a couple bottles of vodka and got back into the 
car. 

What with all the booze I'd drunk and Donna's horny rubbing up against me, I 
made a wrong turn on the way back to the party and we found ourselves in the 
middle of some kind of freeway construction. It was just as well--I wanted 
to kiss and fuck and lick Donna so badly by that time that if we hadn't 
stopped at the unfinished freeway we'd have stopped at a motel and never 
gone back to the damned party. 

"We were already sitting practically on top of each other, so it was no 
problem for me to grab her and find her mouth and kiss her brains out. She 
pulled me even closer to her and started biting my ears and my neck--my wife 
never does that and it turned me on so much that I didn't bother with any 
more preliminaries. I just got out of the front seat and took her with me 
into the back of the car--we have a station wagon and the kids had left the 
deck down. I found some blankets back there and before there was any time 
for talk, we'd taken off our clothes and were lying naked together, belly to 
belly, tit to tit, heaving and panting like two animals in mating season. I 
lost no time in mounting her--she had her legs wide open for me before I 
even tried to shove my cock into her pussy. 

"It was great--just grabbing this woman, kissing her, laying her down and 
mounting her--no talk, no serious discussion, just fucking like there was no 
tomorrow. I could feel how excited she was--her cunt was all soft and creamy 
inside, and my prick jumped in and out of her body like it was attached to a 
pile driver. There was nothing better than what we did--an old-fashioned, 
straightaway, wild-ass fuck. After we'd been bucking together for a few 
minutes my cock began to feel her snatch getting tighter and tighter and 
literally sucking my come out of me. I started to feel myself coming, and I 
quit the fucking just in time. 

" 'What's wrong, Bill? Why did you stop?' she cried, pulling me back into 
her by grabbing my bare ass with both her hands. 

" 'I can't believe I'm fucking a pussy, baby. You feel like a crazy sucking 
mouth down there,' I said. 

"For an answer, she squirmed around under me and before I knew it she was 
sucking me with her mouth as fast and hard as she'd sucked my big cock with 
her cunt. It was unbelievable--I couldn't tell the difference. I don't know 
what she did with her teeth--I didn't feel anything but the licking, sucking 
satin of the inside of her mouth. Then as quickly as she'd switched 
positions on me before, she changed again and was on top of me, riding me 
like a winning jockey while my balls bounced up and down on the deck of that 
damned station wagon, her white ass flying up and down in the moonlight, her 
wonderful tits pounding my face so fast that I couldn't get a mouthful of 
them, couldn't do any more than take a quick lick at the large, dark nipples 
as they brushed and tickled my cheeks. 

"I tried to keep from coming as long as I could--I'd never in my life had an 
elemental, cave-woman type fucking like that. But Donna was so hot that she 
didn't want to wait for anything--she just wanted to feel that fountain of 
hot come shooting up into her sucking cunt. We came together, her pussy 
sucking and pulsing and my cock throbbing all the way up and down my hard 
seven inches of rod. I came so much that it ran out of her snatch onto the 
blanket and I found myself lying in a warm pool of my own juice. She looked 
excited and even that was sexy--every move this woman made was the most 
fundamental sex thing anyone had ever done. There was no talk afterwards, 
either, for we couldn't talk, we were breathing too hard from the 
hundred-yard dash we'd just made together. 

"By the time we dressed and found our way back to the party everyone was 
walking into the room like they'd just had the biggest and best rubdown in 
the world. I didn't see my own wife right away but I hoped she was getting 
just half the satisfaction I'd had with Donna. God, what a woman! Even now, 
when we say Hi or even catch each other's glance as we pass by, there's a 
look in her eye that I know means 'Come on over whenever you can, Bill baby, 
and we'll do some more of that crazy down-to-earth fucking we both like so 
much.' I haven't made it with her since then, but I think about it a lot and 
I'm sure that as soon as the opportunity presents itself we're going to have 
a repeat performance. Wow!" 

* * * 

The other sexual adventures of this particular group are typical of people 
who have been in a monogamous situation for a period of time and who find it 
confining, but more practical than actively seeking out new sex partners. 
The opportunity for sexual freedom within the intimacy of their neighborhood 
group released a lot of the inevitable tension that develops as a result of 
the scramble for a place in the suburban sun that occupies so much of the 
time of both men and women who are, by accident or choice, caught in the 
trap of conspicuous consumption. 

Fortunately, no serious rifts evolved from the parties that followed this 
initial experiment in spouse-sharing, and at present there has been only one 
divorce in the group, that of Larry and Anne. Anne continues to live in the 
neighborhood and is still an active participant in the swapping parties, 
sometimes bringing in a man she's met and found sympathetic to the group's 
activities and sometimes coming to the parties alone. She never wants for 
partners. 

CONCLUSION 

The need for more and more freedom of sexual expression is being met by less 
and less restriction in the areas of love and marriage--but oral-genital sex 
is still, in many minds and in many communities, a taboo insofar as 
discussion and practice is concerned. Even though most "normal" people not 
only enjoy oral lovemaking but fantasize about it extensively, there is 
remaining that barrier we mentioned earlier on the incorrect assumption that 
any organs so near the evacuation areas of the body must be unclean and 
therefore, distasteful to "decent" people. This erroneous attitude has 
accounted for a great deal of the confusion surrounding the acceptance of 
oral-genital relations as normal, desirable and an integral part of a 
complete sexual experience. Indeed, we now consider an individual who has 
never experienced or wanted to experience oral sex as being a bit 
strange--but only in theory, seldom in conversation. 

Our case history of Lyn and her husband, who was reluctant to the point of 
obsession to allow her to fellate him, is an extreme example of the 
individual who is so imbued with the attitude that sex itself is dirty and 
oral sex is unspeakably filthy that it actually ruined his otherwise 
excellent relationship with his wife. Only after he allowed himself to learn 
the true facts of oral expression and satisfaction of those sexual hungers 
that develop from infantile sucking needs did he become enough of a 
well-adjusted person to allow his marriage to mend and his life to improve 
immeasurably. 

Dolores, who had a similar problem that interfered with her marriage, 
eventually sought hypnotherapy as a means to unlock the damaging childhood 
experiences that crippled her emotionally. Her mother's attitude toward oral 
sexual expression had so impressed her that she shut it out of her mind 
until one day it came back with such force that it literally made Dolores 
physically ill. After her therapy, Dolores was able to relate to her adult 
experiences as the adult she had become and not as the frightened child she 
once had been. 

The third case history which we review here shows the extent to which 
infantile experience can go in imprinting indelibly on the mind of an 
impressionable child an initial sexual experience which then compels the 
individual to continually seek out, in later life, those partners and 
situations that are reminiscent of their first sexual gratification--or 
scarification. Betsy's lesbianism came directly from the fact that she had 
been all but seduced by a man old enough to be her father--in fact, he 
represented to her the hated figure of her father, a man who had failed 
Betsy time and time again. The resulting ambivalence she learned to live 
with so confused the girl that she turned toward a lesbian love affair 
rather than face her own fright at the thought of being possessed completely 
by a man, who still represented her father to her. That she was able to come 
to a working adjustment of her disability was most fortunate--not many 
people who make the choices Betsy inadvertently made are as lucky as she. 

Ruth, our fourth protagonist, was the all-but-willing victim of a gang 
rape--a gang rape that, as it continued, she began to enjoy, thus getting a 
load of totally intolerable guilts along with the sexual gratification she 
experienced. Her attempted suicide was apprehended, and she received the 
therapy she so desperately needed in order to continue a sane existence. 
That she held the image of that gang rape in her subconscious through 
twenty-five years of marriage to a pleasant man whom she was fond of, and 
then found a means of acting it out without alienating her new husband, is 
testimony to the tenacity of the subconscious mind. The resolution of Ruth 
and Eddie's problem areas was helped along by a marriage counsellor and, of 
course, their own desire for a better marriage. 

The wife and husband swapping party described and narrated in our fifth 
chapter is typical of other parties and orgy groups that presently meet in 
many of the suburban--and urban--neighborhoods of America. These groups are 
only what they're made of; if the individual participants in the orgy or 
swapping groups are well-adjusted, the results of the experiment will be 
less disastrous than if the people involved are basically unbalanced 
individuals. How the people who are the components of the group sex 
experience react and interreact is the only index we can have of the 
beneficent or malignant end product of spouse-swapping. In most of these 
experiences, the impending disaster does not occur; in some of them, 
however, the personal lives of the participants are blasted past all 
reclamation. 

Marriage and our social patterns of courtship and monogamous living are 
changing so rapidly that by the time our children are ready for choosing 
more or less permanent mates there may be no such thing as marriage as we 
know it today. The old rules didn't work--they sounded good, they appealed 
to the inherent nesting and parental instincts of women, but the men never 
did accept them wholeheartedly, and a great many women previously spent 
their lives in pining for the love affair they felt life had cheated them of 
by saddling them with children and the responsibilities that raising a 
family bring. 

Now, it may be possible for a young couple to live together honorably 
without the legal and emotional binds of traditional marriage ties. 
When--and if--they want children, they may then legalize their relationship. 
This seems a far more intelligent solution to the difficulty of living, 
full-time, with another person. Unfortunately for the legal and psychiatric 
communities, the newer arrangements may mean much less business, but they're 
always complaining about being overworked, so a more modern form of marriage 
will probably be a better way of life for everyone--especially for the 
children of marriages where they are really wanted, looked forward to and 
provided for, without the attendant divorce-induced crumbling away of most 
or all of their security when they need it most, during their formative 
years. To a better future. 


THE END
