Child-Bangers
by Dean Challot 


INTRODUCTION 

Surveys within the field of psychology, as well as criminology, indicate 
that the most heinous offender in our society is, unquestionably, the child 
molester. To understand just how deep the roots of this conditioning reach 
within the collective consciousness, one need only observe the hysteria 
triggered by the public disclosure of a sexual approach made upon a 
pre-adolescent or adolescent. In response to this overwhelming public 
attitude, the legislatures in 30 states have proscribed the maximum penalty 
of death or life imprisonment for sexual intercourse with a female child. 

Public concern seems to be focused on the immediate psychological damage 
inflicted upon the child, as well as the fear of future maladjustment in 
married life. Although this cultural view is not entirely unfounded, recent 
behavioral studies indicate that the problem is far more complex than 
previously supposed, involving profound psychological involvement of the 
sexually awakening child. 

This important factor is stressed in Kinsey's Sexual Behavior in the Human 
Female: 

There are as yet insufficient data, either in our own or in other studies, 
for reaching general conclusions on the significance of sexual contacts 
between children and adults. The females in the sample who had had 
pre-adolescent contacts with adults had been variously interested, curious, 
pleased, embarrassed, frightened, terrified, or disturbed with feelings of 
guilt. The adult contacts are a source of pleasure to some children, and 
sometimes may arouse the child erotically (5 percent) and bring it to orgasm 
(I percent). The contacts had often involved considerable affection, and 
some of the older females in the sample felt that their pre-adolescent 
experience had contributed favorably to their later socio-sexual 
development. 

Moreover, Kinsey points out that the strong cultural taboo attached to these 
child-adult relationships are in themselves often responsible for 
psychological trauma experienced by many children. In fact, children in our 
society are so thoroughly conditioned to anticipate sexual advances by 
adults that often genuine affection or accidental contact may trigger an 
emotional crisis for the child-sometimes with serious consequences-even 
though no real sexual motive is involved. 

As Kinsey and his associates explored these relationships further, they 
discovered that a rather high percentage of the children involved were 
sexually approached by members of their own family or close relatives. 
Kinsey found this to be valid in at least 23 percent of all cases surveyed; 
Landis and his colleagues revealed 35 percent of the adults involved were 
relatives, while Bowman reports that the adult involved was a stranger in 
only 7 out of 46 cases, family friend or relative in the other instances. 

These detailed investigations have done much in dispelling the stereotyped 
beliefs which are so deeply ingrained in our culture. Although there are a 
certain number of cases in which rape or other physical damage is done to 
the child, in a vast majority of the cases no appreciable harm resulted from 
such contacts. These findings do not, of course, imply that such 
relationships are "healthy," merely that they fall, clinically, within the 
normal pattern of sexual behavior. Dr. Kinsey cautions us to distinguish 
between the innocuous sexual contacts and those of a more serious nature; 
for, if the child is not hurt physically or psychologically by the contact 
itself, the parents' lack of understanding may very well affect the same 
undesirable result. 

Clinical research in the field of psychology indicates that a rather wide 
range of sexual behavior is observable from early in imagine onward. 
Moreover, the so-called normal behavior of an individual is directly related 
to the nature of sexual conditioning within any given society. As long as 
this conditioning prevails, a gap will necessarily exist between the actual 
sexual expression and the ideal which the society sets for itself at a given 
moment in time. This, in part, explains why society expresses rage when a 
female child is sexually approached. 

In his study, Sexual Deviation, Anthony Storr takes this fear one step 
further: 

Fortunately, cases of rape or of actual bodily harm are extremely rare, and 
the attention which such cases attract is out of all proportion because of 
the high value which society attaches to female virginity; that it is 
assaults upon girls which most shock the public. The seduction of boys, 
although deplored, and although often thoroughly reported in the Sunday 
newspapers, does not usually arouse such violent emotion. If it did so, the 
waiting lists for entry into public schools would hardly be so long as they 
now are. 

Although many people would still maintain in spite of the above 
conclusions-that any sexual contact between child and adult is "sick." 

"degenerate," or even "criminal," the serious student must take such 
pseudo-moralistic reactions with a grain of salt, so to speak. In fact, one 
might accurately consider these irrational beliefs as part of the problem 
itself; that is, having been forced to repress childhood sexuality, the 
adult passes that conditioning on to the child. This, in turn, causes the 
child to repress his sexuality, i.e., to curb his sexual expression to 
conform to the ideal. 

Given the tremendous conditioning against such acts, our question now is, 
what motivates an adult-male or female-to approach a child sexually? 

According to Storr, the adult who engages in various forms of sexual 
activity with a child is acting out a need for gratification he cannot 
attain in a mature relationship. Along with this feeling of inadequacy, the 
adult male may suffer from fears of impotency. In some cases, homosexuality 
is the motivating factor. Pedophilia, as the sexual love of children is 
sometimes called, includes a variety of activities which do not always 
involve physical contact. Often the male needs only express affection to the 
child by giving presents, or by winning his love or admiration. The most 
frequent sexual advance, however, usually takes the form of a verbal 
approach or genital exhibition. Adult satisfaction is thereby achieved by 
shocking the child, which is, again, a form of admiration. There are a 
significant number of cases reported by Kinsey in which oral-genital 
contacts are made; although actual coitus between adults and children is 
considered quite rare by most authorities. 

It is interesting to note that the subject of adult-child relations has 
occasionally appeared on film and in literature. One outstanding example is 
that of Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita (which, incidentally, has given rise to 
the term "Lolita complex"). Sundays and Cybele, a film dealing with an adult 
love affair with a preadolescent girl, also delves rather deeply into the 
psychological motivation underlying this type of behavior. These two 
examples show the varying range of physical contact. While Lolita dealt 
strongly in sexual imagery involving a child seductress, the lovers of 
Sundays and Cybele acted out a platonic, completely nonphysical 
relationship. 

Frequently, it is the child who initiates the contact with an adult; or, 
more often, it occurs through a mutually expressed desire either of an overt 
or covert nature. 

In the child's early development, he becomes conscious not only of his 
feelings about himself, but also what other human beings are feeling about 
him-especially parents or others in authority. The child becomes aware of 
himself sexually through the exploration of his body and the touching of 
genitals; almost simultaneously, he becomes aware of the concern which 
adults express toward him regarding sexuality. It is the female child who 
feels this preoccupation with sex most intensely, especially as she is 
taught to cover her nakedness and otherwise guard her sexuality, protecting 
her virginity. 

In Male and Female, Margaret Mead discusses this aspect of sexual behavior: 

. . . Older boys and men find little girls of four and five definitely 
female and attractive, and that attractiveness must be masked and guarded 
just as the male eye must be protected from the attractiveness of their 
older sisters and mothers. It seems that the more completely women's 
femininity-as a positive point, not a negation of maleness-is recognized, 
the more they are taught to protect it. A small girl, chic and entrancing, 
is sufficiently a temptation to a grown man so that societies usually have 
devices to protect her, circumscribe her, teach her not to exhibit her sex, 
which she herself lacks the wisdom to moderate ... . 

As the child emerges from preadolescence and into the adolescent stage of 
development, he reaches a period in which he must learn to adjust his sexual 
feelings toward the parent of the opposite sex. For, although the child is 
capable of experiencing a significant degree of sexual attachment and 
pleasure from older members of the opposite sex, he is discouraged from 
expressing this feeling and obtaining gratification by the various forms of 
incest taboos. It is during this period, also, that the child must learn to 
come to terms with his feelings of rivalry toward the parent of the same 
sex. This critical moment in a child's development, the gradual process of 
several years of "family romance," is known as the Oedipus complex. 

To most people, the term has taken on a negative meaning, due, no doubt, to 
the fact that it is derived from the Greek, mythological figure, Oedipus, 
who killed his father and married his mother. Also, it is now rather widely 
accepted by the lay public that a child who grows into adulthood without 
resolving these oedipal strivings will encounter some serious psychological 
difficulties. Yet, as Dr. Mead observes, in a stable society and in a 
healthy family atmosphere, disastrous consequences need not result during 
the oedipal period. After all, by protecting the child, especially the 
female child, from advances of older men, the society is, in fact, 
attempting to maintain social order because society is built upon the 
stability of the family unit. 

Although most of the examples of child-adult relations seem to indicate that 
the contacts were not, generally, harmful, and actually rather commonplace, 
there are occasions when these contacts proved deleterious to the child's 
sexual growth. Dr. Frank S. Caprio, in his study, Female Homosexuality, 
observed that a significant number of subjects reported a traumatic 
experience with an older man during the adolescent period. These experiences 
did not necessarily include forcible intercourse, but did, however, involve 
some form of repulsive sexual demand on the part of the man. When suddenly 
confronted with these demands, and, in conjunction with other conditioning 
factors, such as a weak or alcoholic father, dominating mother, etc., the 
subject did develop an early aversion to normal heterosexual relations 
leading to homosexuality in later life. 

Thus, we see that the complex set of values involved in child-adult 
relationships, though structured for the benefit of the individual and 
society, sometimes go awry and defeat the purpose for which they were 
intended. A male child, for example, who does not fully resolve his oedipal 
strivings, may never develop a mature sexual response in adult life. Often 
the frustrations arising out of the Oedipus complex are partially released 
through aggression and domination, which may involve the acting out of 
incestuous relations with children. 

Eric Berne, author of the bestseller Games People Play, has characterized 
the roles of the typical, domineering father or mother in what he calls the 
"uproar" game: 

The classical game is played between domineering fathers and teen-age 
daughters, where there is a sexually inhibited mother. Father comes home 
from work and finds fault with daughter, who answers impudently; or daughter 
may make the first move by being impudent, whereupon father finds fault. 
Their voices rise, and the clash becomes more acute. The outcome depends on 
who has the initiative. There are three possibilities: (a) father retires to 
his bedroom and slams the door; (b) daughter retires to her bedroom and 
slams the door; (c) both retire to their respective bedrooms and slam the 
doors. "Uproar" offers a distressing but effective solution to the sexual 
problems that arise between fathers and teen-age daughters in certain 
households. Often, they can only live in the same house together if they are 
angry at each other, and the slamming of doors emphasize for each of them 
the fact that they have separate bedrooms. 

If the child in question is the son or daughter or a close relative, these 
actions may be sublimated so as to stay within the bounds set by the incest 
taboo. If the child is not related to the adult, those inhibitions may be 
pushed somewhat in the background, and a more direct physical contact 
is-likely to occur. It is primarily for this reason that great care is 
usually taken in the institutionalized selection of guardians for orphans 
and fatherless children. 

Berne points out that, although the game of "uproar" can and often is played 
between mother and son (or even brother and sister) to diver the incestuous 
impulse, it is less frequent with the male child. Berne attributes this to 
the fact of greater mobility on the part of male children. In other words, 
if the game gets too rough, they can always walk out of the house, and, if 
need be, stay out. However, in more recent years, female children have 
greatly increased their mobility, as the high incidence of runaways attests. 
Perhaps it would be worthwhile to survey the important role played by the 
unresolved oedipal strivings in the current "youth rebellion." 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Come Dream With Me 

"Once, when I was a very little girl, I saw a picture of a slave market. 
Only the slave girls weren't captured princesses dressed in beautiful silks, 
their heads held high as Clark Gable bid against some rich sultan for them; 
these slave girls were mostly children wearing rags, with their eyes full of 
hunger and fear. It killed the Sunday morning movies on TV for me for a long 
time. A full five years passed before I experienced eyes like that, and when 
I did, they were my own. 

"Actually, I'd glanced into the cracked hall mirror to avoid looking 
directly at our neighbor's frowning face as she spoke sharply into the 
telephone. I was too ashamed and frightened to face her or anyone just then. 
Too much had happened in too short a time. 

"For the most part, a child's world is a fairly limited and vastly isolated 
existence, especially in this country where parents usually spend so much 
time 'protecting' the children from reality. As long as the child is fed, 
clothed, treated reasonably and shown a touch of tenderness from time to 
time, most kids center in on their small upsets and desires, oblivious to 
everything else. 

"I was no different until my eleventh birthday. Until then, all I really 
wanted was a dog to play with and to pretend we lived someplace where there 
were trees instead of billboards. The only serious problem I had was my two 
brothers, one ten and the other nine. Both, I felt, were put on earth for 
the sole purpose of annoying me. Then Mom died in an automobile accident, 
and with her went my solid, secure universe. I guessed she'd actually been 
out getting me a birthday gift or picking up a few things for the party we 
were to have the next day. 

, "I don't know when Dad found out she was actually out with some other man. 
Because, once she was gone, we were forbidden to speak of her. There was a 
very decent funeral attended by a handful of friends and relatives. Then, 
after everyone had gone, Dad took the three of us to the grave while the 
workers unceremoniously shoveled in black earth. His mouth was a thin, white 
line when he finally spoke. I know I'll never live long enough to forget his 
words. 

" 'This is your mother,' he began. 'Women are no damn good! Your mother was 
no damn good! I don't ever want to hear any of you mention her again! Ever!' 
His cold, tearless eyes moved over us, remaining longest on me. In that 
moment I wished I had the courage to throw myself into the rapidly filling 
black pit and be done with it. Because I knew as surely as I knew I loved my 
mother that I was going to be a woman one day soon, and 'women were no damn 
good.' 

"From that day on, I did try-I really did. I attempted to take care of the 
boys, to keep the house in some kind of order, to fix meals, even to cheer 
up Dad as he sourly moved about the house. Inside me was the need to keep as 
much of my universe intact as I could, but the fight was lost before it 
began. Dad took to staying out more and more, the house and the three of us 
kids were becoming more and more disorganized until finally, one night, Dad 
didn't come home at all. 

"The neighbor, Mrs. L-, found the note under her door the next morning. 
'Have Susan call her aunt Helen about finding a place to stay. I'm not 
coming home anymore.' It wasn't even signed. One look at my terrified eyes 
and pinched white features and Mrs. L-decided to make the phone call 
herself. She was angry, and even her anger accentuated my great sense of 
shame. It was all my fault. Somehow I had messed everything up. I had failed 
miserably. First Mother, who might have been safely at home if it hadn't 
been for my greedy demands for a present and a party; then Dad, an even 
greater loss in a way, because I'd put all I had into making him comfortable 
and happy, and still had driven him away. Now I stared into the mirror at my 
eyes while the neighbor talked with an aunt whom I barely knew. 

" 'I'd take them in myself, if I didn't already have six of my own!' Mrs. 
L-emphasized on the phone. 'Either you get that family of yours together and 
decide what to do with these half-starved kids, or I go to the police! What? 
Yes, I can put them in a cab and have them at your house in an hour.' 

"The following days were filled with emotion and strangeness. Urgent calls 
were sent out across the country as Aunt Helen hustled like crazy trying to 
get us homes so she wouldn't mess up her plans to leave for Europe the next 
week. Finally, answers began dwindling in. Two distant relatives would take 
my youngest brother. Six, all of them farmers with more daughters than sons, 
were eager for the biggest boy. But no one wanted a half-grown city girl who 
couldn't contribute much but an appetite and a need to be dressed and cared 
for. I watched the last of my life leave me-first little Ray, then Greg. I 
tried not to cry and to be very unobtrusive as Aunt Helen stomped around the 
house in silent rage, convinced that she was very-likely to get saddled with 
me. I wasn't all that surprised to find that no one wanted me, but I would 
have gone happily off with the devil himself if only to be out of Aunt 
Helen's graying hair. 

"Then came the call from California and Uncle Merle. It was simple and to 
the point: Uncle Merle's ancient mother had passed away recently, and if the 
girl' was able to look after herself and cook a meal now and then, she could 
come live in the big old family home, if no one else would have her. 

"I'd never even heard of an old Uncle Merle from California, who was 
actually my mother's uncle, but it wouldn't have mattered. I wasn't 
consulted about my future anyway. Aunt Helen was delighted. 'I visited there 
once when I was a little kid. It's a great big house and Uncle Merle kept 
sneaking candy into my dress pocket. I'm to send you out there on a plane, 
but first we have to get you some decent clothing. Uncle Merle's sending the 
money right away. The old boy must be pretty lonely to want to bother 
raising a kid at this point of his life. He must be near sixty now.' Aunt 
Helen was a little more relaxed now that she knew I'd soon be out of her 
life. 

"We shopped the next day, then packed, and the next thing I knew I was on a 
plane headed for California, with Aunt Helen's words still ringing in my 
ears. 'Now remember, Susan, Uncle Merle is the only one in the family who 
would have you. You be good to him or you'll be out on the streets, hear? 
You'll have no one to blame but yourself if you end up in one of those 
orphan places. Now behave yourself.' 

"Her words did little to calm me down before my first meeting with this 
uncle of mine. I went into the little bathroom on the plane and looked hard 
at myself. What I saw encouraged me a little. The new outfit made me look a 
little older, and, out of sheer nervousness, I'd brushed my brown hair so 
much in the past few days it shined like glass. I wasn't even twelve, but my 
young, lean body was already beginning to curve in the right places. I 
wanted desperately for this old man, who held my life in his hands, to like 
me. 

"He was waiting at the gate and spotted me immediately. 'I bet you're my 
little niece, Susan!' 

"I looked up at the graying man, somewhat surprised at his appearance. I'd 
visualized an old, stooped man, but Uncle Merle turned out to be tall and 
slim, with tanned features-handsome, you might say in a dignified way. Sort 
of like some of those movie stars you see. The ones you know are old enough 
to be your grandfather but just don't hit you that way at all! Uncle Merle 
dressed much younger and he smelled of some expensive scent I liked very 
much. My heart was thudding away like mad as I nodded. If only he liked me. 

"We ate lunch at the airport, watching the planes take off and land. It was 
an easy way to get to know each other a little. There really wasn't all that 
much to say to each other at first, so Uncle Merle invented a game for us to 
play. 

" 'Come dream with me,' he said, smiling as he picked at his salad. 'Where 
are all these people going? Where have they come from? An airport is an open 
doorway to all the world. That girl over there, the one with the baby. Where 
do you think they are off to?' 

"I opened up haltingly as my imagination was tickled by the game, and 
together we guessed about people while we packed away a huge lunch. I was 
giggling like a little girl by the time Uncle Merle paid the check and 
steered me towards his car. He put a warm hand on my shoulder as we walked, 
and I felt a funny thrill pass through my body. 

"Uncle Merle had a nice but oldish car, and I was too busy sneaking my first 
peeks at California to be more than dimly aware that I was being observed 
carefully by my new guardian. We drove to San Bernardino and finally stopped 
before a large, weathered but still lovely old house in the middle of a 
rather run-down neighborhood. I fell in love with the house at once, and 
with my big old-fashioned room. I especially adored the gigantic bed with a 
real canopy top! After Uncle Merle left me to put away my belongings, I sat 
down on the bed and hugged myself. I actually had a home! And what a home! 

"Uncle Merle had some business to take care of until evening. He told me to 
stay home until he returned, to write down any phone messages. Planting a 
kiss on my forehead, he left and I was all alone. 

"I spent a wonderful day in the house, exploring, bathing, watching TV-color 
at that-and nibbling on all kinds of delicious food in the kitchen. The 
house was very clean, but I did find a few dishes to do. Then, when it began 
to get dark, I thought I'd better get dressed in a clean outfit so I'd look 
nice for my uncle. 

"He came home while I was still undressed, and I quickly slipped on a dress. 
He'd brought a bag full of steaming Chinese food, and the gathering of 
plates covered over any shyness we might have felt over being together 
again. 

"Uncle Merle asked me to get ready for bed and then come to his study for a 
little talk after we'd tidied up the kitchen together. Happily I put on one 
of my new flannel nightgowns and a robe, taking great pains to put all my 
other things away properly. If I did the least thing wrong and Uncle Merle 
made me leave, well.... 

The thought of it was so awful, I pushed it aside at once. 

"The 'little talk' was fairly confusing, but to the point. There were 
certain things expected of me, and the sooner we understood them, the 
better. For reasons I didn't understand, the neighborhood had fallen apart 
in the last years, and was beginning to overrun with 'inferior' types of 
people, not the sort of people 'we' socialized with. So Uncle Merle didn't 
want me to have anything to do with the local children. However, I might 
meet a few in the junior high school who would do, but Uncle would have to 
approve of them first. All of that meant very little to me, but if Uncle 
Merle didn't want me to pal around with the local kids, that was okay with 
me. I'd never gotten along with most kids my own age, anyway. I'd always 
been too shy, and too busy helping with my brothers. 

"I was also expected to help around the house and be absolutely obedient. 
Uncle Merle explained he was not used to having children in the house, and 
the only reason he decided to take me in at all was because he'd been 
assured I'd be very, very obedient. I agreed eagerly. A thin net of 
perspiration began to break out on my forehead at the thought of letting 
this man down and having to leave this house. The world outside seemed big, 
very cold and threatening all of a sudden. 

"Then he smiled, and our serious talk was over. We chatted about school and 
hobbies, and finally, about boys. I blushed all over when Uncle Merle asked 
me if I'd ever let a boy kiss me. 

"I admitted shyly that once, after school, on the path behind the 
playground, one of the bigger boys had grabbed me. He'd forced his mouth to 
mine and done some other things, too-but I only told Uncle Merle about the 
kissing part. 

"Actually, it had happened only a month earlier, and the whole thing was 
still vivid in my mind. I'd known that Jimmy F-was spending a lot of time 
lately looking at me, but I really didn't know why. Then he'd offered to 
walk me home. He was nearly fifteen, but he hung around the junior high a 
lot although he was a freshman. I just shrugged when he suggested walking me 
home. I'd had to stay after school to catch up on some work and it was 
pretty late. 

"We walked in silence until we came to the path. Then Jimmy stopped me and 
told me to kiss him. I didn't even have a chance to refuse when he grabbed 
me. I lost my balance and we fell to the soft earth, Jimmy on top of me. His 
mouth closed over mine, and all of a sudden he was trying to dig into my 
mouth with his tongue. It was a funny sensation which I wasn't sure I liked. 
But a peculiar warmth spilled through my body as he kept kissing me and 
forcing his tongue on me. 

"Once in a while, late at night in my bed when I couldn't sleep, I'd felt 
little tingly sensations pass through my limbs, causing my tiny, undeveloped 
nipples to tense. Sometimes, I'd sneak a hand to my little pussy and rub it, 
because that seemed to be where all the strange feeling was coming from. 
Usually, I'd force myself to roll over and go to sleep. Once in a while the 
whole thing would feel so nice and warm I'd continue playing with myself, 
and one time I even got so excited I pushed a finger into the juicy little 
pit down there. Now, with Jimmy's mouth on mine, his tongue lapping at my 
tongue, his heavy body stretched out alongside mine, I was once again 
feeling the way I had the night I'd poked a hot finger up my own slit. 

"Jimmy began to move his hands over me, over the hint of fullness circling 
my small nipples. It felt so good it left me confused and more than a little 
afraid. I knew we shouldn't be doing this, but at that moment I couldn't 
imagine why not. That made me all the more frightened, so I tried to make 
Jimmy stop, but he was like an animal, all hot and worked up beyond hearing 
me. Then I felt his fingers on my legs, moving rapidly upwards between them. 

" 'Just let me touch you, Susan,' he moaned. A peculiar hardness pressed 
against my thigh as his hands moved higher. Then he was touching my panties 
and a hand was slithering under the band of lace around my thigh. I tried to 
stop him, I really did, but I couldn't. Before I could do anything he was 
rubbing my hairless pussy, prying it open with his rough hand. I cried out, 
but that didn't stop him from digging into me with his finger. It was a lot 
bigger than my own, but instead of pain all I felt was a staggering shock of 
hot pleasure as his finger forced its way up my wet, hot virgin hole. 

"I don't know how long he continued playing with me like that, but I wasn't 
fighting so much anymore by the time he stopped. 

" 'Look what you do to me. Susan. You're not like those other girls. They're 
babies. Look at what you do to me,' he repeated, unzipping his fly- 

"I reacted instantly to the sound of his zipper opening. Looking down, I 
watched him pull out and hold his long, thin cock, only it looked different 
than my brother's looked. This one was very stiff, and the end was dark and 
had a drop of something on it. I really did try to fight Jimmy off when he 
forced me to take it into my hand. But once again he was too strong. 

"He placed my fingers around it and began moving slowly back and forth. It 
felt strange, all hard and poundingly alive-more alive, somehow, than the 
boy himself. The drop at the end was gooey and warm. Then Jimmy began 
kissing me again and suddenly I didn't mind holding his prick. In fact, I 
began to move it on my own, and at once Jimmy's hand returned to my cunt. 

"I know it was only a minute after that-but it was forever as far as I was 
concerned-he kissed me kind of fast, his tongue licking mine; my hand was 
working on his dick like we were in some kind of race. I don't know where I 
was-in some cloud somewhere, but all of a sudden Jimmy began to pant against 
my mouth. Then he sort of doubled over and shuddered, as if he had a really 
bad cold, and my hand was abruptly bathed in two quick spurts of thick 
cream. Much of what I'd heard from other girls or read in forbidden books 
suddenly made sense-Jimmy had come, he'd shot his sperm into my hand, and I 
was as much fascinated as repelled by what had just happened. 

"He released me then, pulling his finger from my shameless hole which had 
welcomed it minutes before. I jumped to my feet instantly, ashamed and 
frightened. I grabbed a handful of leaves and wiped my hand, then turned on 
the boy with an anger I didn't quite feel. I told him my father would kill 
him if he ever touched me again, that I'd go to the school, the police, his 
parents, everyone, if he told anyone what we had just done. I really think I 
scared him. 

"I took a hot bath as soon as I got home, but deep inside I still felt 
frightened. I knew what we had just done was terrible, yet I also suspected 
that part of the reason I was so upset was because we had stopped, not 
because of what we were doing. I hadn't ever wanted that nice feeling to go 
away, and in the bath I rubbed that part of my young body with special 
vehemence, as if to punish it for enjoying what had happened. 

"I must have done a good job of convincing Jimmy that his life was over if 
he ever came near me again, because after that one incident, he kept his 
distance. But I'd thought of it more than once, and each time I worried a 
little less and concentrated instead on how wonderful it had felt. 

"But I carefully told Uncle Merle only about the kissing part. Even as I 
talked, I experienced the same body hunger as when Jimmy had run his hands 
up my thighs. If Uncle Merle had any idea of how I'd acted, how much I'd 
liked what we'd done that day ... . Dad had been right. Women were no damned 
good. Somehow I had to keep Uncle Merle from finding out I was almost a 
woman. 

"He was studying my face when I looked up after relating my altered story of 
how Jimmy had forced me to kiss him and how I hadn't liked it. His blue eyes 
seemed unusually bright and his smile was a little tired. 

" 'Poor little innocent,' he said finally, softly. He sat back in his big 
leather armchair. 'Poor frightened child. Here, come to your old uncle. Come 
sit on my lap, my sweet. Come dream with me, and I'll tell you about pretty 
little girls like yourself who like being kissed. Come dream with me, 
princess..." he offered, holding open his arms. 

"Still flushed with excitement from thinking about that time with Jimmy, 
grateful that whatever I'd said somehow seemed to please him, I gladly 
crawled into the warm, welcoming cave of my uncle's waiting lap." 

In the case of Susan, we see a subject who, at least in the early stages of 
her sexual development, is engrossed with symbolic fantasies resulting from 
the unhealthy influences of a domineering father. It is significant that 
Susan's earliest fantasy recollection involves a television program 
depicting the plight of young girls bought and sold in a slave market. 
Although the subject chose to interpret this experience as being a prophetic 
memory, a foreshadowing of her own future situation, it is clear that 
underlying this incidental recollection is the unconscious attempt to 
resolve her own incestuous feelings. 

Susan clearly saw the relationship of the slave girls to her own situation 
even to the point of identifying the girls as being really children not 
unlike herself. 

In developing his theory leading to primal therapy, Arthur Janov attempts to 
clarify the symbolic nature of sex by differentiating the sex act from the 
more comprehensive relationships involved with the sex experience. The sex 
experience, according to Dr. Janov, is really the deeper meaning behind the 
physical motions. 

The author of The Primal Scream goes on to relate these factors to the 
overall sexual development of the individual: 

It is the primal hypothesis that when needs are deprived and feelings are 
blocked early in life, they emerge in symbolic form. In sex this means that 
the act will be experienced (usually via the fantasy) as fulfilling the 
need. 

Dr. Janov then describes an actual case in which the childhood fantasies are 
maintained during intercourse. Note the similarity of Susan's father to the 
one described in this case: 

During sex, a woman fantasized being dominated, ordered about, and held 
against her will. The experience of the act was that of the helpless child, 
a victim of sex rather than an equal partner. This woman had a brutal and 
sadistic father who called her a "whore" when she was a young teen-ager. He 
refused to allow her to date and derided her use of makeup. She denied her 
want for father's love but during sex re-created herself as a helpless 
victim (of her father) in order to allow herself to feel anything. 

Throughout her childhood, Susan became increasingly aware of the conflict 
between her mother and father, and, more acutely, her father's sexual 
frustrations resulting from that conflict. This awareness coincided with her 
own developing sexual consciousness, which, quite naturally, was directed 
toward achieving gratification with the father figure. 

The environmental situation worsened due to her mother's frequent absences 
from the household. When it became evident that her mother was conducting 
extramarital affairs, the door was open for Susan to assume the role of 
substitute mother for her younger siblings, as well as a more active "wife" 
role with her father. It is quite possible that this latter role crept into 
her early sexual fantasies, as indicated somewhat obliquely, by her feelings 
of shame and fright experienced after the slave girl episode. However, 
because of her father's brutal feelings toward women in general, Susan was 
forced to suppress this budding sexual impulse. The death of her mother not 
only caused further estrangement with her father, but unfortunately deprived 
her of the one older person in the household capable of giving her the 
genuine affection she really needed. 

Following the trauma caused by her father's abandonment, Susan experienced 
an initial period of depression and anxiety. However, this brief period of 
insecurity was more than compensated for by the removal of sexually neurotic 
influences detrimental to her future development. This heavy paternal 
conditioning was manifested chiefly in the area of sexual guilt, which Susan 
experienced in her first heterosexual contact. Had this influence been 
allowed to continue, it is quite possible her adult sex relations would have 
had homosexual overtones. 

Dr. Frank Caprio considers this type of paternal influence to be one of the 
major factors contributing to sexual frigidity in women, as well as overt 
homosexuality. He comments on this in 

Female Homosexuality: 

In latent homosexuality, we find many women who express a disinterest in the 
opposite sex and are unable to appreciate the fact that this heterosexual 
block is the result of an unconscious incestuous fixation to their father 
(Electra complex). This leaves them with the alternative of either resorting 
to self-gratification as an outlet, the repression of their sexual urges, or 
the seeking of a homosexual love relationship as a substitute for 
heterosexuality. 

This tendency is clearly demonstrated in Susan's case, first by the initial 
aversion to her first heterosexual experience, after which she regarded 
herself, and especially her genitals, as having been made filthy by the 
contact; and, secondly, by her compulsive need to masturbate immediately 
afterward. 

Susan's Electra complex was transferred to her foster father, Uncle Merle. 
This new father figure was not only attractive to her physically, but 
appeared to be free of the neurotic anxieties Susan grew to expect from her 
biological father. Her uncle did not regard all women as evil creatures, nor 
was he afraid to openly display his affection. Since Susan was already 
familiar with the role of wife substitute (though not, as yet, in a sexual 
capacity), it was predictable that she should find no difficulty in 
adjusting to her environment, and in fact, welcoming the prospect of serving 
a "new master." This corresponds to her childhood fantasy of the dashing 
hero who saves the poor slave girl from the evil sultan. 

"It had been years since I'd sat on a man's lap, not since my dad used to 
hold me long ago, in happier days. I liked it a lot. Instead of talking to 
me, though, Uncle Merle was silent. I didn't mind. In fact, the long day 
suddenly took its toll, and I drifted off to a light sleep, aware but 
comforted by his arms around me. When I awoke it was with a start, as if 
something unusual had happened. 

" 'It's all right,' Uncle Merle comforted me. 

"That was when I became aware that what had been a soft lap was now a seat 
of steel. It took me a few minutes to realize the hard rod I felt under my 
round little ass and aching young slit was my uncle's cock, stiffer, even, 
than Jimmie's had been. Immediately, I felt ashamed of myself. I had somehow 
managed to get it hard for him. I hadn't meant to, but somehow I'd done it 
anyway. The panic died quickly, though, when it seemed Uncle hadn't noticed 
anything unusual, and he certainly wasn't acting as if anything were wrong. 

"I slid from his lap slowly, though, pleading tiredness. He agreed it was 
time to get to bed. He reached over and kissed me good-night, his hand 
accidentally slipping around my butt instead of my waist. I kissed him back, 
my wet mouth touching his dry lips briefly. 

"Once more I cursed Jimmy as I got into the strange, big bed. If I wasn't so 
awed by the immaculate sheets and the fabulous bed, I knew I'd be digging my 
fingers into my little cunt again. And somehow sitting on my uncle's lap 
hadn't helped. Bathed in a nice, bubbly heat, I finally slid into a 
dreamless sleep. 

"Time passed quickly. I attended the nearby school, formed no friendships 
because everyone I thought I might like ended up being rejected by Uncle 
Merle. But that was okay, too. We lived together very comfortably, with the 
only other figure in our lives being Mrs. C-, who cleaned and cooked for us 
twice a week. 

"Uncle Merle seemed really happy with me, and I filled out and regained my 
good pink coloring under his attentions. Best of all, I liked the evenings 
when he would invite me upon his lap and tell me to come dream with him. 
Then he'd tell me stories of places he'd been and the beautiful young girls 
he'd known in faraway, exotic countries. Even though I was growing every day 
and filling out more and more, I loved it even more when that hard bar of 
his distended cock would appear as if by magic under my shifting hips. I 
began to find excuses to sit there longer once I'd feel it creeping to life 
under me, and soon, without either of us admitting it, these sessions 
existed only for the times when I could roll around on its hardness. There 
didn't seem to be anything wrong with what we were doing, only sometimes 
after such an evening, I'd find it impossible to sleep for long hours until 
finally, out of desperation, I'd run my hands all over my aching body. It 
wasn't until after I turned twelve, though, that I actually was able to 
finger myself enough to come. 

"The first time was a surprise. I'd spent a good hour on Uncle's lap, his 
strong arm around me just under my growing tits. 

"Uncle Merle had told me some story about a little girl in Japan he'd once 
known-a silly little story-but all the while his hand and cock were exciting 
me so much I didn't know what to do. I finally excused myself and went to 
bed. There I lifted the gown and began playing with my wet slit like crazy, 
rubbing the little stiff marble of flesh with one finger while I dipped a 
finger from my other hand in and out of my hole. A fierce building sensation 
began deep in me, and, almost before I knew it, I was somehow brimming over, 
trembling and moaning, overtaken with spasms that lifted my being to ecstasy 
and relaxed my clenching thighs. It was wonderful, and I fell into a deep 
sleep almost instantly. 

"I soon got into the habit of finger-fucking myself that way after every 
session on Uncle Merle's lap. I never stopped to wonder what my uncle did 
after those same sessions. I'd asked him once about how come he'd never 
married, only to find out he had been married a long time ago to a beautiful 
young girl. But she'd left him, and he'd never remarried. He didn't seem to 
go out with women, but I don't think Uncle 

Merle's personal and sexual life existed in my mind. He was just there, 
dependable and warm. Somehow we always seemed to end up touching, and that 
was fine with me. 

"Then one night, I had a horrible nightmare. I'd done a pretty good job of 
repressing all that about my parents and my brothers and my entire life 
before coming to live in California. But the dream had my father coming for 
me. He was slapping me hard and telling me how women were no good, and then 
I realized he had his pants open, and his cock was sticking out. Only it was 
enormous, and it was shooting great gobs of thick white come at me. I 
screamed, but he kept slapping me. Then arms were around me and I was 
blinking sleepily. 

" 'Uncle Merle!' I gasped, relaxing against him. 'I had this awful 
dream....'' I shivered. 

" 'It's all right. It was only a dream. Shhh ... . ' He began to stroke my 
hair. 

"It felt so good to have him hold me that I sighed deeply. 'I don't know if 
I can go back to sleep after that dream.' 

"He continued stroking me. Try. I'll stay here. Would you like that?' 

"I nodded vigorously. 'Oh, yes! Sleep with me, please! Hold me, please.' I 
snuggled against him, suddenly very aware of how my thin nightgown was 
halfway up my thighs and that underneath I was completely naked. Feeling all 
cunt, ass and tits, I wriggled against him, dimly aware that I wanted him 
against me for many reasons. 

"He climbed into bed, wearing only his silky pajamas. He was old, yes, and 
my uncle, yes. But my heart was racing as violently as if he had been Jimmy 
or some other young boy who would soon be fighting his way up my cunt. I 
didn't know what to do. I didn't want to scare him away, so I pretended to 
sleep. 

"I guess I actually did drift off to sleep in his arms, because I don't 
remember anything between the time he got into bed until I became aware of 
my uncle's hand covering one of my tits completely, squeezing gently. I 
didn't move, just let the good feeling wash over me. Soon I realized the bed 
was rocking in rhythmic waves and Uncle was breathing harshly. Finally, I 
felt him shudder against me. Then he moved around a little, sighed 
contentedly, pulled me even closer to himself and fell asleep. 

"Before dawn, I awakened again. I'd twisted in my sleep, and discovered my 
gown had fallen open. My stiffening little nipple was pressed against my 
uncle's cheek, and it's hard tip was wet. Vastly excited, I realized Uncle 
Merle wasn't asleep but was only pretending, and that he had been sucking on 
my titties while I slept. I forced myself to breathe regularly and deeply. 
Soon I felt the old man stir, and, sure enough, he began to lick, then 
carefully suck my nipples, taking one after the other into his mouth. My 
hungry pussy felt as if it were on fire. But soon Uncle stopped and turned 
over. 

"The next night I had my 'dream' again. Somehow I knew he wouldn't be able 
to sleep with me and ignore my hot pussy much longer. I was right. 

"I'd played at sleeping for a long time, and finally Uncle Merle seemed to 
believe it. He began to stroke me, first as he did when I sat on his lap, 
touching my hair, my shoulders, my back. Finally, as if he couldn't stand it 
anymore, he started rubbing my legs. I twisted just enough to be a 
convincing sleeper while conveniently allowing my gown to tangle higher and 
higher around my thighs. When I felt the cool sheet under my naked ass I 
kept still and waited. 

"His hand was soft and feathery on my inner thighs, and I hardly felt it at 
all as he carefully placed it on my lightly-haired pussy. He touched the 
little lips lovingly, and his breathing shortened noticeably. After what 
seemed forever he began running his fingers into me where it really counted, 
not penetrating me exactly, but fondling and feeling, even prying the little 
cunt lips apart. But I was totally unprepared for what happened next. All of 
a sudden Uncle Merle twisted around, moved his head down my body. The next 
thing I knew, the old man was licking my pussy like crazy! His tongue was a 
hot bolt of fire as it lapped greedily on that knot of flesh I knew felt so 
wonderful from any kind of a touch. Then it shot into my hole deeply, and I 
cried out in such pleasure that I couldn't pretend sleep another instant. 

'"Oh! Ooh! Oh, Uncle Merle! That feels so ... so ... oh! Yes! Do it to me 
more! Lick me there again! Ooooh ... . ' I sighed in wonder. 

'You're licking me! You're sucking me!' I lifted my hips against his face 
rubbing my young pussy against his twisting tongue. Neither of us could help 
ourselves at that point. I could feel the bed rock as it had the other 
night, and I looked down to see his wrinkled hand tugging on a cock much 
bigger than Jimmy's. Quickly, I reached down for it. Remembering that night 
in the alley, I began working my small hand on his big knob while he licked 
me. 

"In minutes I was panting and brimming over inside. I stopped jerking on 
Uncle Merle's dick only when it was spurting wildly in my cupped palm. 

"Afterwards, he was very quiet. I didn't know what to say, either, so I kept 
very quiet. When Uncle Merle finally slipped out of my bed and wordlessly 
left the room I gave in to a moment of pure panic. Now he knew. I was no 
good! I had made him do all kinds of strange things! What if he was so 
shocked, so sickened he would send me away? Suddenly I was sure of it! He 
would send me away! He would make me go someplace where they kept girls who 
were bad, girls who didn't have anyone! I began to cry softly. Finally, by 
morning, I managed to cry myself back to sleep. 

"We were like strangers for days after that. But since nothing was said 
about sending me anywhere I began to relax a little. Even more, I began to 
get hot again. I didn't like sleeping alone, either. One night I cautiously 
asked Uncle Merle if I could sit on his lap and talk. But he made an excuse 
of some kind and left the room. I honestly didn't know what to think. 

"I couldn't sleep that night. Finally, after worrying and tossing for hours, 
I tiptoed to my uncle's room. He was asleep. Gingerly I reached out and 
began to play with his soft cock. It came alive in my hand almost at once. 
When it was hard, I pushed the covers away and looked at it. It was too dark 
to see much, so I bent over, getting a closer view. On impulse, I rubbed the 
hard, throbbing tool against my soft cheek. It was then Uncle Merle awakened 
with a groan. He twisted slightly, just enough so that the head of his prick 
was suddenly against my parted lips. Before I realized what I was doing I 
had opened my mouth and leaned closer. The thick, rubbery dome was in my 
mouth then, and like a little animal, I began sucking on him-sucking my 
uncle's cock like I'd been sucking cock all my life. 

"Well, maybe I was no good. Maybe my dad was right. But everything that was 
supposed to be so awful felt so darn good it was hard to believe I was bad 
at that moment. I sucked more and more of it into my mouth, and before too 
long my groaning uncle was twisting around until I felt my gown being thrown 
up and my thighs forced apart. Then he was licking my pussy again, and we 
were sucking and licking on each other like neither of us would ever be able 
to stop. 

"I came first, but that didn't stop us. By the time my uncle was jerking off 
against my face I was coming all over again. I was so caught up in that 
moment that I nearly gagged on the mouthful of heavy cream spurting down my 
willing throat. I kept sucking him until he was all soft and weak again. 
Then I let go of him, but Uncle Merle only tightened his hold on my legs and 
soon I felt his warm tongue again, a ferreting little animal, diving into 
the warm cave between my thighs. 

"There was nothing to talk about after he'd made me come another time. We 
just couldn't help ourselves and there was no point in trying anymore. I 
told Uncle Merle about my father, and how women were no good, and how my 
mother was no good, and even what had really happened with Jimmy that day. 
It didn't pretend to be conversation. It was a release, and I felt better 
afterwards. Then Uncle Merle began to talk, and he explained that my father 
was wrong, women were good and the feelings I had were good, though I was 
very young to be feeling them. But he was concerned over what we were doing. 
Society would condemn us, he told me, if they knew. It was my turn to 
comfort him then. I assured him no one would ever know. Then I began to suck 
his cock all over again. 

"After that we slept together every night. We licked, sucked and played with 
each other, and one night I asked him to fuck me. But he wouldn't. It was 
funny, kind of, but he wanted me to save that for a man my own age who would 
some day come along and take me away. I kept telling him it was his big cock 
I wanted in me, his hard shaft I needed to break through my little cherry. 
We argued, and finally I gave in when his agile tongue found and pushed into 
my tiny, puckered anus for the very first time. 

"It became something of an obsession, though, after that. We celebrated my 
thirteenth birthday by playing in bed half the day and most of the night, 
but he still wouldn't fuck me. Finally, I got him to agree just to rub his 
hard cock against my wet slit, between my clenched thighs. I got on my hands 
and knees and he got behind me. I began to moan from the moment he shoved 
his dick between my thighs. Moving back and forth like that excited me 
wildly, and I moved faster and faster, wetting his shaft more and more with 
each stroke. It was only a scant inch from my pulsating slit, and I began to 
beg him to put it into me. 

" 'Oh, Uncle Merle, fuck me please! Please shove that big cock of yours up 
me! I want you to so much! Please fuck me! Please!' But he wouldn't, and 
that was when I first threatened him. I told him if he didn't fuck me, I'd 
find someone who would-I'd let the first boy or man who wanted to get inside 
me. But he didn't believe me. 

"I had to wait a full week for the chance, but I was absolutely determined 
that Uncle Merle would give up his silly reluctance and give me what I 
wanted, what I needed. 

"Bill worked down the street from us, on the lawn of the only other old 
house left in the neighborhood. I'd greet him sometimes when I'd come home 
from school, and I knew he was dying to get into me. He was an older man, 
not as old as Uncle Merle, but that didn't matter. What mattered was my 
timing, that was all. 

"Surprised, he accepted my offer for a Coke one evening just as he was 
finishing the neighbor's yard. But once in the house he became nervous. I 
assured him my uncle wouldn't be home for hours, then I excused myself. When 
I returned with his Coke, I was wearing my shortest skirt, making it very 
obvious I wasn't wearing panties underneath. 

"He barely touched the Coke. When I sat down on the couch giving him a good 
look at my naked little cunt, he got up quickly, came to the couch and 
rapidly pulled me to my feet and against-him. 

" 'You little cock-tease! Look what you did to me, Susie, baby!' He reached 
into his baggy pants and pulled out a good-sized prick that was so hard it 
trembled in his hand. 'I want to fuck you, little girl. I want to fuck you 
bad!' 

"I was gambling everything on timing. Nervously I glanced at the big front 
door. Was that the soft hum of the sedan pulling up to the garage? I had to 
chance it. 'I'll let you fuck me, Bill. I like you,' I said, figuring that, 
at worst, he would fuck me. From the size of his tool, that wouldn't be so 
bad, and then Uncle Merle wouldn't have any reason not to fuck me. But it 
was his, not Bill's cock I really wanted deep inside me. It was Uncle Merle 
I wanted fucking me! 

"Bill pushed me down on the couch. He was too far gone to bother with 
anything except getting inside me as quickly as he possibly could. 

"I let him arrange my thighs, one of them over the back of the high couch, 
the other up pointing at the ceiling. Then he lowered himself between my 
thighs, his hand going for his stiff cock. 'I never done it to a chick as 
young as you, baby. But I been watching that little ass of yours swinging 
down the street a long time now and I want it bad!' 

"I felt the very tip of his cock brush against my defenseless, open lower 
lips and I knew I was about to be fucked by this stranger. A sudden 
disappointment filled me. I wanted it to be Uncle Merle! I wanted my 
guardian's prick taking care of me! 

"Just then the key scratched in the lock, and, before Bill could absorb the 
meaning of that sound and move, the door opened and Uncle Merle was standing 
there, his face white and shocked. 

"The scene that followed was a beauty. Bill never suspected that it was 
jealous rage rather than simple parental protectiveness that made Uncle 
Merle carry on like he did. Finally, Bill was sent away, warned to never set 
foot in the neighborhood again, and I got my very first spanking from my 
uncle. I didn't mind it at all, though. In fact, I kind of liked it in a 
way. He brought his hand down a dozen times on my red little butt, and I 
cried loudly until finally he let me up. I turned around to show him how red 
he'd made me, and instead of softening him up, it only made him more angry. 
He called me a bunch of names, told me if I was that hungry for a fuck, a 
fucking was just what I was going to get! 

"He half-dragged and half-raced me to my bed. There he threw me back on the 
bed, dropped his pants to the floor, and climbed on the bed. His cock was 
enormously hard, and inwardly I gloated. Then its tip was pressing between 
my legs and I was gasping.... 

"First I felt pressure, then pain. Crying out, I forced my thighs open even 
more and held tightly, impaling myself on his big shaft. Then the pain 
turned into such pleasure I thought I'd pass out from it. All of my uncle's 
anger was in his prick, and he was breaking through my cherry like crazy, 
fucking me as I'd dreamed of being fucked for months. 

"When he finally shot his load in me and rolled off my young body in 
exhaustion, I was glowing and happy. His anger as well as his come had been 
drained from him, and we hugged each other tightly. 

" 'Some guardian I've turned out to be,' he said sadly, after he could talk 
once again. 

"I grinned up at him happily. 'I think I like my new guardian better,' I 
teased. 'I like the way he uses his gun.' 

"Uncle Merle playfully slapped my greedy hand away. Suddenly I was very glad 
I was so young. After all, I'd be needing a guardian for a long, long time." 

The mutual attraction which engentlered sexual contact between Susan and her 
guardian cannot, in many respects, be considered as true deviant behavior. 
It would be wishful thinking to suppose that an older man-even a foster 
father-would not be sexually aroused by an attractive young girl. And, as 
Susan's one earlier sexual experience with an older boy indicates, she, too, 
felt the need for sexual gratification. Perhaps, the only clearly defined 
distortion in Susan's initial sexual contact can be found in the sense of 
guilt fostered by her father's neurosis. Once this sense of guilt was 
removed with the help of Uncle Merle, Susan was well on her way toward 
experiencing healthy and mature relationships with males her own age. In 
fact, the subject exhibited a frank sexual approach throughout the 
interviews, and demonstrated a degree of maturity that exceeded her age. 

In Sexual Freedom, Rene Guyon observes that it is, indeed, not uncommon for 
girls to manifest a strong sexual desire which often begins in the 
preadolescent period: 

Sexual appetite arises very early in childhood. With few exceptions, little 
girls are sooner informed about the details of the sexual life than are 
little boys; are more ready than boys to take part in it, being inclined to 
tempt men's advances at an age when their brothers pay scant attention to 
women and are more prone to casual homosexual encounters. Speaking 
generally, the sexual appetite awakens earlier and subsides earlier in the 
human female than in the human male, and this gives us a valuable pointer 
for the sensible regulation of the sexual life. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Portrait of Marsha 

"I don't know what to think anymore. In a way, maybe I don't even care 
what's right and what's wrong. So I've had a weirdo childhood-things have 
always been different for me. I'm just not like the other kids. And I never 
have been. Oh sure, maybe way back when I was five or six-maybe then I was 
like the other kids. But by the time my folks died, when I was eleven, 
everything changed. 

"Things happen to you when you're an orphan. Some good things, some bad. I 
say what's done is done and leave it be. What's past is past. Forget it. 
Don't think about it. Now you come along and want me to tell you all about 
my background, all about being an orphan and what it's meant. Okay. Why not? 
But I hope you're not the type who shocks easily. It's not a pretty story. 
One thing I can tell you-to be a girl orphan is hell. 

"To begin at the beginning, the first eleven years of my life were good 
years. My folks had money. They weren't wealthy, but we lived pretty good. 
Dad had been taking flying lessons and one day he suggested that all of us 
pile into his rented Cessna and he'd give us a ride over to Carson City. 
We'd make a day of it. Yes, I can still remember that whole incident; my 
mind's like a cassette tape about that period in my young life-I can play it 
over and over again, remember all the colors and smells, what my mom and dad 
said, and how I felt about it. 

"It was going to be my first time up in a plane, any kind of plane, and of 
course I was very excited at the idea. To cut a long story short, Dad 
cracked up the Cessna. Wiped both my parents out. I was thrown clear of the 
wreckage, suffered a concussion and a broken leg, but that's all. No, that's 
not all! I suffered the loss of both my parents; I went through an 
experience frightening enough to scare the holy hell out of anybody. But on 
the record, it just says concussion and a broken leg. That's all. 

"What's always seemed a bitter joke to me is that both of my parents were 
orphans, too. Orphans beget orphans. I've often wondered if there's some 
deep-rooted psychological compulsion for abandoned children to do the same 
thing to their children. My folks died when they were in their late 
thirties, and I've somehow always felt that I'd never live to see forty. I 
wonder if there isn't some kind of fixation that goes with a child's 
exposure to the shock of parental death; a feeling that the same thing will 
happen to the child, and subconsciously, he manages to have an accident or 
takes an overdose or something so that he, too, will die at about the same 
age as his parent-or parents. I wonder if that's why I don't expect to live 
to be forty years old. 

"Anyway, when I was well enough to be released from the hospital, the 
question came up of where to send me. There wasn't much choice. I can't 
blame anybody. An orphan with no living relatives-not even a second-cousin 
off in Australia, nothing-has very little choice. So I was placed in St. 
Austine's, even though they knew I wasn't Catholic. The sisters were very 
nice to me, and made a lot of fuss over me. Mostly, I guess, because I was 
such a beautiful child. Mother had always said that I looked just like Liz 
Taylor when she was in National Velvet. I never saw the movie, so I don't 
know. 

"Anyway, the sisters were very good to me, but after a while I sensed there 
was something wrong. We kept having an Open House when all sorts of people 
would wander into the visiting room and talk to all of us kids. They always 
made me feel like some used article in a thrift shop; some people would even 
pinch us sometimes, as if to be sure we were firm and ripe. It didn't take 
long for the word to get around-St. Austine's had been given a 
condemned-building notice. They didn't have the money to build a new 
orphanage, so all they could hope to do was find foster homes for all of us. 

"I guess I'd been there about a year when I was sent to my first foster 
home. The Drews. I'll never forget the Drews. Mrs. Drew made it very clear, 
from the very first day, that she needed help with her twin babies and that 
they needed the extra money the state would pay them for taking me in. Talk 
about your slave labor! Mr. Drew paid very little attention to me. He was a 
short, tubby man, and always needed a shave. His breath smelled faintly of 
cheap whisky mixed with mint. I can still remember the way Mrs. Drew turned 
me around, feeling my arms and legs, looking at the insides of my eyelids 
like some cow on auction. 'Healthy kid, that's for sure.' She snorted. And 
the way Mr. Drew just grunted. 'Pretty enough, too.' That was that. If 
Sister Agnes had come in with a burning branding iron, I wouldn't have been 
surprised. I half expected to be carted out to their old car with bellowing 
calls of 'Ho!' like in the cattle drives in the movies. 

"And Mrs. Drew hadn't been putting me on, either. The first day she showed 
me where everything was in their run-down clapboard house. It wasn't a dirty 
house, in the sense of people who just aren't clean, but dirty because it 
was obvious that Mrs. Drew couldn't cope with the raising of her twins-their 
laundry and ironing, the marketing-and keep her house immaculate as a 
hospital. Only the front parlor ever felt the vacuum-and even then, she 
never seemed to vacuum under the chairs, just around them. For weeks and 
weeks, I did just as I was told, moving mechanically, feeling very much like 
some alien princess in a nightmarish fairy story. They were not unkind to 
me, they merely treated me like some robot obeying their bidding. 

"When the social worker came out on her routine visit, I calmly explained 
that I wasn't happy. She asked me about maltreatment, but I had to deny 
that. I just wasn't happy. Then she confided in me that I wasn't supposed to 
know all these things, and that maybe I was too young to fully understand, 
but the truth of the matter was simply that my father's estate was tied up. 
He had carried ample life insurance, but under the terms of his will, my 
mother was the only person who could be the executrix. Obviously, he'd never 
planned on both of them going at the same time. I would get the money, of 
course, but not before I was twenty-one. In the meantime, I was a ward of 
the state and there was nothing to be done about it. The social worker 
advised me to just hang in there, and that eventually I'd be independent and 
quite well fixed. 

"Do you know how far away twenty-one sounds to a twelve-year-old? Have you 
any idea? It was life imprisonment! Cinderella never lifted a broom with a 
heavier sigh of bitter resignation! 

Then, about a couple of months later it happened. I suppose it was 
inevitable. Such things seem to be. It was a Saturday night and, as usual, 
Mr. Drew was plastered by six in the evening. What was not usual was that 
Mrs. Drew had gone to Denver to see her ailing sister, and wouldn't be back 
for three days. A girl of twelve is really quite mature emotionally; she 
knows her duties and responsibilities and is perfectly capable of performing 
them. That Saturday, I'd prepared Mr. Drew's dinner and we sat in silence 
eating our meal. The TV was on and he was watching the 9th inning of some 
old baseball game. When we'd finished, I cleared the table and began washing 
the dishes. I was lost in a world of my own, working out a special project 
for school in my mind, the kind of project I enjoyed most: drawing. We had 
been studying King Arthur and each of us had to come up with a drawing, in 
any medium, which we felt best represented the spirit of the story. I'd 
already decided to make a collage instead of just a crayon drawing, but 
choosing the right materials would be quite a problem-especially living with 
the Drews. They didn't even subscribe to a magazine! There was almost 
nothing at their house for me to work from. I must have been so preoccupied 
with this project that I didn't hear Mr. Drew come into the kitchen and 
stand very near to me-quietly leaning on the washing machine, watching me. 

" 'How's that busted leg of yours, kid? The one they said you'd busted when 
your folks committed suicide.' 

"I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of his voice, rasping and 
faintly contemptuous. 'My parents did not attempt suicide-the crash had been 
an accident, even the coroner had agreed to that.' My words were out before 
I realized what I had said. I suppose in a way I felt all my frustration and 
loneliness well up and spill over in a tidal wave of emotion. I distinctly 
recall that I couldn't see anything for what seemed to be an hour. The next 
thing I knew, I had hurled myself at him, beating him with my small fists, 
and screaming at him that he was a liar. I kicked and bit for all I was 
worth. 

"He overpowered me almost at once. Reeking of cheap whiskey, he dragged my 
struggling body into his bedroom and tossed me onto the bed like a discarded 
rag. Before I could get my bearings-much less my wits-about me, Mr. Drew had 
taken four of his neckties from the closet and, despite all my efforts, had 
both of my wrists securely tied to the bedposts. Still laughing and mumbling 
to himself, he bound each of my ankles to the bedposts, leaving me very much 
like someone just placed on the rack for torture. I remember that I was 
crying, almost strangling in my rage, feeling helpless, lost and loathing 
this stupid nut who had bought me as his slave. 

"I'd never felt such a murderous hate before. I remember that the exertion 
had left Mr. Drew huffing for breath, and I remember wishing he'd have a 
heart attack and drop dead! It would please me to know that he'd tied up the 
only person who could have gone for help. 

"But I shouldn't have wasted my fantasies on the old fart. I stared in 
horror as he began to undo his pants, folding them neatly over the worn 
chair next to the twins' cribs. 

" 'Think you're smart, don't ya,' he snarled at me. 'Think cause you'll be 
rich someday that you're better'n us, huh?' 

"I was too damned scared watching him undress to even consider answering his 
ignorant questions. 

" 'Got yourself a real pretty face, and a bunch of nice imagine manners-"Yes 
sir, Mr. Drew; no ma'am, Mrs. Drew!"-and really think you're the Queen of 
Sheeba, huh? Well, I've got news for you, Miss Fancypants. My missus got you 
out of that poor folks' orphanage to help her out with the chores, but you 
ain't done nothin' for me yet! Nothin' at all!' 

"While he was babbling all of this, he'd removed his trousers, undershorts, 
shoes and socks. His tubby, short body was completely naked from the waist 
down, exposing his bulging belly, his pasty white skin, and his flabby 
rounded short legs with fine black hairs covering them like an ape's. And, 
of course, his cock. 

"There he stood. Yelling at me. Telling me off. Showing all his colors-and 
his fat cock. He'd been fondling it, giving himself a hard on, and telling 
me off all the while. I suppose I knew what he was going to do next. The 
animal in us, I guess, always knows about these things. I was terrified, but 
in an awful sort of way, I think that I was glad. Glad because what he was 
about to do would give me the ammunition to get away from the Drews and 
their nasty little Drews. 

"Mr. Drew walked up to the side of the bed. Kneeling down, he belted me 
across the face with his chubby hand. I yelled, of course. He told me to 
shut up, belted me again, and I howled again. I don't know what the hell 
else he expected a kid to do after she's been struck-say thank you? Then he 
began pinching my body, hard. Ripping my frock off, he kept mumbling to 
himself that a girl my age should have some tits on her. But I had nothing, 
nothing at all. I was a late bloomer in the breast department and I was flat 
as a boy at that point in my life. This fact angered old Drew considerably, 
and he struck me again, as if I'd purposely denied him this joy. Then, 
sulking and muttering that at least I'd have to have a twat worth screwing, 
he yanked my panties from my body and his mouth worked strangely, twitching 
and bubbling, while he fixed his bleary eyes on my hairless young cunt. 

" 'You ain't even a woman yet, you dumb kid! Hardly worth the effort! Look 
at ya, look at what ya ain't got yet! No tits, no hair. What the fuck you 
good for?' Then he grinned dumbly. 'Yeah. Fuckin'; that's all!' 

"Then he crawled across me and, kneeling between my outstretched legs, he 
began to wave his angry prick at me. 'See this, Miss Fancy-pants? I'm going 
to fuck the living shit out of that dumb baby cunt of yours 'cause that's 
all it's good for. I'm going to show you what it's all about, Miss Prissy.' 

"With that verbal foreplay, dumb Drew heaved his body over mine and began to 
jab at my virgin pussy with his burning cock. I could feel his hand around 
its shaft, trying to guide his short, fat and ugly dong into my young body. 
I could hear him muttering and cursing as he poked and shoved but couldn't 
quite manage to insert it into my vagina. His whiskey breath upon my face 
nearly made me vomit, and his weight upon my body nearly crushed me. But I 
endured his rumblings with as much dignity as I could muster. Obviously I 
had no choice. Tied up the way I was, old Drew was going to take my cherry 
and there wasn't a goddamned thing I could do about it! 

"Then he pulled the lips of my cunt apart with his hands and wedged his cock 
between the folds to hold the area open. He took hold of his cock and pushed 
it into the entire length of my pussy until he found the hole, and then he 
shoved it in with a screech of animal lust. I screamed and began to sob 
loudly. The pain was incredible. If he'd taken a sharp stake and driven it 
into my pussy, it couldn't have been more painful. Pinned and tied as I was, 
I submitted helplessly as Mr. Drew began fucking me. 

"Through my tears, I could see his naked, fat ass pumping at my cunt, smell 
the stale whiskey on his breath, felt his slimy body slipping across mine 
with dank sweat. Despite the agonizing pain he was putting me through, and 
the humiliation of suffering this lecherous drunk's assault, I kept telling 
myself over and over that it couldn't last very long and it would be the 
last time he ever bothered me again. 

" 'Gonna fuck Miss Prissy's cunt real good, gonna get my rocks off right up 
Miss Fancy-pants' snatch. Fuckin' her real good, ain't I, Marsha, fuckin' 
her real good.' 

"Disgusting old fart. It was bad enough he was doing it, but did he have to 
describe it as well? I felt his fat prick shoving up inside me, stretching 
my flesh beyond endurance, beyond its young capacity, and I knew that I was 
bleeding badly. I could feel a sticky hot puddle beneath my buttocks and I 
knew it was my own blood. Perhaps if I hadn't hated him so much, I could 
have puked all over him and been done with it. But instead, my hatred 
stopped me from passing out into a peaceful oblivion and I felt every 
merciless thrust of his stocky, fat body. 

"Fortunately, he didn't last very long. Though it felt like hours of 
torture, I realize now it wasn't more than maybe three or four minutes at 
the most. He grunted savagely, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he shot 
his come into my cunt-his filthy degenerate sperm into a twelve-year-old 
girl's virgin body. 

"He left me tied up that night. I cried myself to sleep more in humiliation 
and anger than anything else. Oh, I was in raw pain physically, but the rape 
was mental as well. I knew that the penalty in that state for rape was 
death. And I knew that I would never rest until I saw that creature's death 
certificate. I believe the death penalty should always be given to any man 
who rapes a girl under the age of twenty-one ... or maybe there shouldn't 
even be an age limit at all-one rape, one death. 

"As it was, however, I had to content myself with testifying against him and 
with the reading of his death in the newspaper. I remember I smiled when I 
read it, I experienced an enormous sense of relief that there was some kind 
of justice in this world after all. By that time, I'd already been placed in 
the home of new foster parents, the Putnams. They knew about my horrible 
experience, of course, and Mrs. Putnam was the sort of person who thought 
that if you didn't think about a thing, it never happened. Mr. Putnam was 
quite different, though." 

The incestuous attachment which Marsha feels toward her current foster 
father is, perhaps, a necessary and, indeed, beneficial requisite to 
developing a mature adult sexual response. Prior to her relationship with 
Frank, this case history reveals a continuous flight from heterosexuality 
resulting from a series of traumatic experiences with previous foster 
fathers. 

The most traumatic of these experiences occurred during her pre-adolescent 
period when she was assaulted and raped by her first foster father. 

Texts dealing with psycho-analytical studies in criminal or deviant 
behavior, such as The Sexual Criminal by J. Paul de River, M.D. and Anthony 
Storr's Sexual Deviation, previously cited, stress the important fact that 
sexual violence toward children-especially rape-is, fortunately, quite rare. 
These acts are usually a result of severe mental disorders, brain damage, or 
alcoholism. The alcoholic syndrome was present in the account of Mr. Drew's 
brutal assault on Marsha; in addition to that, strong elements of sadism 
were also manifested. Our opinion that Marsha is lucky to have been spared a 
worse fate is echoed by criminal psychologists investigating the case. It 
would appear that Mr. Drew was quite capable of murder. 

However, the psychological damage inflicted on Marsha is not to be 
underestimated. The years following this trauma were marked by long periods 
of severe depression amply illustrated through her artistic temperament by 
fantasies directed against the opposite sex. 

Unfortunately, this trauma was not to be her last exposure to deviant male 
behavior. There is much truth to the observation that Marsha experienced 
more in her sixteen years than a great many women experience in a lifetime. 
It is, therefore, not improbable in this case that the subject would develop 
a strong aversion to heterosexual relations. Moreover, if it were not for 
the compensating factor of her artistic pursuits, this heterosexual aversion 
may easily have involved into overt homosexuality. 

Another extremely unfortunate aspect to this type of sexual contact with 
aberrant male individuals is that it conditions the child not only to expect 
the worst from all older men, but to regard gestures of affection as being 
of a sexual nature. As Anthony Storr points out, this type of conditioning 
can cause the child to have serious problems of adjustment in its 
post-adolescent life: 

When one partner is in reality both larger and more dominant there is a 
strong risk that any erotic advance which he makes may seem to the child to 
be an assault rather than an expression of affection; and, even if the adult 
does not actively use force, the child may become frightened that he will do 
so. To small children, adults who are in any way uncontrolled are-likely to 
be frightening, whether they are angry, drunk, or sexually excited. There 
is, therefore, a danger that, as a result of sexual contacts with adults, 
sex will become unnecessarily frightening to the child and may interfere 
with its capacity to enjoy love-making in later life. This is 
particularly-likely to happen if the adult who makes the overture is the 
child's parent, and most psychiatrists will have seen cases of frigidity in 
women which resulted from an incestuous advance on the part of the father. 
It is not difficult to produce a condition in a girl in which any subsequent 
advance from a male is repudiated because it is regarded as an attack rather 
than an invitation. 

It is important to note some of the general attitudes adopted by the child 
as a result of her chaotic background and history of maltreatment. Marsha 
has failed to attach herself to many of the avant-garde social and political 
movements usually associated with persons of her temperament and her 
intellectual capacity. 

Significant from the point of view of this analysis is her attitude toward 
the woman's liberation movement. At first she dismissed the cause as being 
worthless, stating that she valued art history over "sex history" because 
she already "knew everything" there is to know about the latter. Women, she 
believes, have always been dominated by men, and now the time has come for 
revenge and a reversal of roles. Women's lib would only free women to 
compete with men on an equal basis, and this conflicts with her stated aim, 
which is to dominate and control men. She describes herself, rather 
cynically, as a "feminine supremacist." This typifies her views on sexual 
matters in general. 

Marsha believes that all men desire her physically, and that her prerogative 
to deny them sexual gratification is a source of personal power. In 
connection with this, we might also note her use of obscene language. 
Ferenczi points out that the use of obscenities among cultivated persons is 
more akin to a gesture, rather than merely a verbal image. Thus, Marsha's 
use of obscene words to describe sexual acts may represent her unconscious 
attempt to degrade what once were infantile objects of pleasure (the sexual 
organs), as well as her parents, with whom she associates that pleasure. In 
other words, the utterance of obscenities are, in some cases, an expression 
of repressed hostility directed toward the parental figures. 

Although the theory is somewhat complex, it does correspond in Marsha's case 
to her feelings of "being let down" by her real parents who were killed. On 
another level, she feels that her parents, who were also orphans, wanted to 
die, so as to beget another orphan. Ferenczi also notes that the use of 
obscenities often correspond to traumatic occurrences. Marsha suffered a 
double blow: first the loss of her parents, followed by a brutal rape. 

From a societal standpoint, her relationship with her third foster father, 
which study follows, could be considered degenerate; from a clinical point 
of view, however, it would seem advantageous to encourage it. He is 
providing the first real guidance, sexual and otherwise, in a life marked by 
cruel and distorted behavior. 

"Mr. Putnam was a dapper fellow and a stereotype reverse of old man Drew. 
Putnam was immaculate about his person, precise in manner, often complacent. 
He was the head teller in the payroll department of a leading industrial 
plant in our town, and awed with his own sense of responsibility. He left 
for work promptly at 7:45 every single morning of the week-not 7:43 or 7:47, 
but 7:45. He would kiss his wife farewell, straighten his shoulders, and 
glide through the front door of the house as if challenging an 
insurmountable blizzard. I found him very amusing the first week or two. For 
one thing, he was so unbelievable for a flesh-and-blood human being. 

"During one of Mrs. Putnam's Saturday absences-she played bridge every 
Saturday afternoon-he summoned me into the parlor to have a serious chat. 
Really. There's no way of phrasing it; I was 'summoned' to 'chat.' Seated 
across from him, Mr. Putnam cleared his throat and began his perverted 
Clarence Darrow interview. 'You've been with us for over a month now, 
Marsha, are you quite adjusted to our life and ways?' 

" 'Yes sir,' I answered demurely. 

" 'And what of the ordeal you suffered at your, ah, at your previous foster 
home? Are you quite over the shock of that?' 

"I didn't know quite how to answer him. One can never be truly objective 
about such things, I suppose. When I failed to reply immediately, Mr. Putnam 
bent closer to me and peered intently into my eyes. 'That's to say, Marsha, 
have you overcome your terror of all men?' 

"Well, I hadn't realized that I'd ever developed a terror of all men. Who 
was he to ascribe such a conclusion? But even then, I must have known 
subconsciously where to dot the i's and cross the t's. 'Men like Mr. Drew 
still frighten me,' I answered softly, a mounting dread growing inside my 
entire nervous system. 

" 'Yes, yes, I see,' Putnam affirmed needlessly. 'But not of men in 
general?' 

"I shook my head. Frankly, it hadn't yet occurred to me to consider what old 
man Drew had done to me as typical of all men; why would it? 

" 'You realize, Marsha, that you are an extraordinarily beautiful girl, 
don't you? That all men will pursue you, want to have you physically?' 

" 'I hadn't thought about it, Mr. Putnam,' I replied and it was the truth, 
too. 

" 'Oh yes, m'dear. True, true. You have a remote quality that is absolutely 
irresistible to most men. Beauty and aloofness. An unbeatable combination in 
the game of love and conquest. Yes, yes. But there are all kinds of men, 
m'dear. All kinds. Drew was a fool. Rape is never really necessary. Do you 
know what a fetish is, m'dear?' 

" 'An obsession of some kind, isn't it?' 

" 'Hmm. In a way, in a way. Actually, it's a sexual aberration, a 
transference of sexual gratification from the standard preferences. Some men 
have a fetish for feet, for example, as opposed to the breasts or the vulva 
more commonly desired. Or ears, or hair, or even some article of clothing.' 

"He paused and emphasized that last bit significantly, and without knowing 
how or why, I knew that I was in for another Mr. Drew-a variation of the 
same theme. And sure enough, Mr. Putnam revealed it to me that afternoon. He 
had a thing about panties, about having someone watch him jack off, and on 
occasion, to be sucked off by a young girl. In this case, the young girl was 
me. 

"As he explained his sexual preference to me, I saw that there was little 
recourse open to me. I could object and make my life a living hell, or I 
could cooperate and expect favorable treatment. Mr. Putnam made it perfectly 
clear that he was only approaching me because I'd already lost my cherry, 
that I was already a doomed person-I had nothing else to lose. He asked me 
to remove my panties-not demand or pull them off himself, but ask. I did. I 
watched him as he lifted the crotch to his nose, inhaled deeply, and saw the 
almost instant bulge in his pants. 

" 'Would you be so kind as to suck me off?' Mr. Putnam suggested. 

"I can recall vividly how deliberately he undid his fly and brought forth 
his burgeoning cock. It was surprisingly large for so slender a man, and 
incredibly ugly with its angry inflammation and bulging veins. I experienced 
a moment of repulsion and terror, but that was replaced with a strange calm, 
a kind of life-saving resignation, and I knelt on the floor before his huge 
cock as if he was about to knight me. 

" 'Kiss it, Marsha, first with your lips and then with your tongue. Run your 
tongue all over it, the underside, the base, the head. Let me feel your 
sweet little fingers holding my shaft, cupping my balls. Yes, yes, m'dear, 
that's lovely, keep that up ... . ' 

"I gave myself over to the task with a whore's disinterest. My mind wandered 
to the books of art reproductions in our school library; to the analogous 
work of Grant Wood and Andrew Wyeth, to Cezanne's Mill at Pontoise-so serene 
and pastoral, yet busy with the forces of nature in juxtaposition with man's 
stubbornness to harness nature to his own will. 

"I sucked Putnam's cock, listening to him breathe in the smell of my young 
pussy from my panties, and I envisioned him as Hogarth might have seen him. 
... I felt his massive tool in my mouth, hot and rigid against my lips, and 
reveled in the fantasy world of Chagall, in the understatement of 
Modigliani. I knew that Mr. Putnam was about to shoot his sperm when he 
placed one hand at the back of my head and began to shove his cock into my 
mouth with a pumping motion which became more and more insistent with every 
pistoning stroke. I began to think of roaring trains in tunnels, of Olympic 
oil drills raping the earth's womb, and as his burning come began to spurt 
against my throat, I thought of pounding, deafening waterfalls. 

"And it was over. Our little tete-a-tete was concluded. Mr. Putnam returned 
my panties to me; the crotch was sopping wet from his saliva and his teeth 
had punctured the material in several places. I was dismissed cordially, 
with almost a 'We must do this again soon' attitude. I had not been 
physically hurt, not trussed up like some captured animal. All I had to do 
was let him play with my panties from time to time, and suck his cock for 
him. After Drew, this seemed a very modest price to pay for peace and 
harmony in my life. 

"In a way, Mr. Putnam was kind to me. He occasionally bought me little 
gifts-candy, or some inexpensive little bit of costume jewelry. I was with 
the Putnam's for quite a few months before Mrs. Putnam came home early from 
a bridge game and discovered us during one of our little 'sessions.' She 
went straight out of her head, berserk, and ultimately had to be com-mited. 
Of course, this meant a new foster home for me. I was almost sorry to have 
to leave the Putnams-they were so predictable that life had taken on 
something of a comfortable routine for me. 

"After that, I was in several more foster homes. In all truthfulness and 
candor, in each and every one of those homes I was sexually molested by the 
husband or a son or some other older male in the family where I had no 
choice but to endure it. And by then, I had begun to feel that all men were 
the same. They wanted sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Sex was their reason 
for living and getting their rocks off was more important than world famine 
or wars. And I had learned that they cared precious little how they got 
their sex, just as long as they got it. I realized very quickly that the 
seat of the male intellect is in his balls. Now, I don't mean to belabor a 
point, but there again, I felt that there was no real disillusionment 
involved-I'd had the ultimate disillusion when my parents died. It was a 
fact, pure and simple. There it was. like a mountain or an ocean-neither 
good or bad, just a fact. If I was to survive, I had to accept it. 

"By the time I was fourteen, my passion for the world of art transcended all 
other considerations. I didn't think about boys as other girls my age did, 
or dates, or any other subject in school. In my school, ninth graders were 
permitted a few electives and, needless to say, I took art history and 
drawing. I spent hours and hours at the public library, studying paintings 
which the school library would not stock because of nudity or some other 
idiotic reason. I devoured Rubens, but felt nothing for Boucher except 
disdain. I went through a period of adoring Degas, but soon realized the 
superficiality of his mind by comparison to Gauguin or even 
Toulouse-Lautrec's posters; and I was captivated by the matter-of-fact 
Matisse. Utrillo's work held me for a short while, until I realized that his 
subject matter was romantic, not that he was. Braque, Leger, and 
Picasso-except in his pre-blue period-were of little interest to me. I have 
never felt that the purpose of art could be served by obscurity; art should 
help us to perceive with greater depth and understanding, not cloud the 
issue even more than it already is. Yes, looking back, I can see where 
Matisse and Modigliani had the greatest effect upon me-they were both 
capable of comment without censure. 

"Also I began to read voluminously, primarily biographies of artists or 
other creative people. I needed to understand them, to put their lives into 
a framework wherein I could identify with them. I could not relate to the 
people I met in school or my foster families and their strange lusts to 
glorify ignobility. I studied hard at school to keep my other grades up, but 
I gave my soul to art. Knowing that one day I would have a goodly amount of 
money, I envisioned myself surrounded by beautiful art books and original 
canvasses-perhaps even a villa on the Spanish Riviera, beautiful enough for 
a monarch, rich with treasures from throughout the world. I would, by then, 
be a truly beautiful woman, with men throwing themselves at my feet, but 
denied my approval or my company. I'd paint myself in the nude over and over 
again so that all men could see the object of their desire and suffer 
because they could never possess me. I want to have my freedom, both as a 
woman and as a human being. The only way a woman can ever achieve that is to 
have money. I've seen too many households, watched too many female students 
overlooked in favor of the male. I want much more than that. 

"Please don't make the mistake of thinking that I've been listening to too 
many women's liberationists ... . I've nothing in common with those people. 
They want equality. Let them have it. I want supremacy! Total, 
uncompromising supremacy and autonomy! Let others be content with equal pay 
or whatever it is they're yelling about; that's not what I want for myself. 
I can still remember, when I was living with the Zacharys, when Mrs. Zachary 
told me all about some old movie star. We'd watch all her old movies on TV 
and Mrs. Zachary would tell me all the movie magazine gossip that had 
revolved around her life at that time. Mrs. Zachary thought she was 
shameless and secretly basked in the movie star's antics. I, on the other 
hand, could quite understand what that movie star wanted-power, especially 
power over men. 

"I think that maybe we're a little alike. I don't seek to destroy in 
revenge, but I'm perfectly willing to admit that I seek control, a status 
where never again will I ever have to submit to any man for anything. Even 
my father's lack of foresight in his will must be erased-because of it I've 
been raped and sexually humiliated over and over again. I doubt if any man 
can ever possibly know how a woman's mind works. 

"Naturally, this era of adolescence was reflected in my art work at school. 
If we didn't have specific, assigned subjects to draw, I was invariably 
drawn to the morbid-to death and suffering, to line drawings of men's faces 
in physical or emotional anguish. It pleased me to dwell on this side of 
life, to use men to illustrate great pain and suffering. Now, of course, 
whenever I look at these early efforts, I laugh at how amateurish the work 
was. My anatomy left a great deal to be desired-which is one of the reasons 
I'm taking physiology now-and I had an excessively heavy hand with charcoal, 
almost as if I couldn't stand any blank spots on the paper. 

"I became the object of considerable discussion at school. Apparently, my 
art teacher became concerned with my obsession with suffering and discussed 
it with the principal. In the meantime, one of the gifted children 
recruiters had visited our school and had thought my talents exceptional. 
Between them all, it was decided that my obsession was natural in view of 
what had happened to me in my life, and that if properly guided, I would 
outgrow it. It was also agreed that I had too much talent to be left in a 
public school. It was at this time once again that a new foster home was 
being sought for me. 

And that's where Frank came into my life. 

"Frank was vice president for our town's biggest bank, and active in local 
children's charities. The authorities felt he would make an ideal foster 
parent, so they decided that perhaps an exception to the foster home rules 
could be made if Frank would employ a live-in cook or other female employee. 
As Frank says, and I agree with him the more I think about it, the only 
reason they went to all that trouble was because they knew that I had a 
considerable amount of money coming to me eventually and hopefully I'd keep 
it flowing within the township limits. 

"The first time I met Frank was like something out of The Seventh Veil. The 
brooding older bachelor and the talented young girl-except that I was not 
shy and Frank has never been such an inscrutable dictator. He's strict, yes, 
but he always explains his reasons to me. When all the arrangements were 
agreed upon, Frank moved from his bachelor apartment into a large house on 
the outskirts of town. He employed a cook, a cleaning lady, and a female 
tutor, Miss Appleton, whom I quickly learned was his mistress. I rarely saw 
Frank in those first few months. And I immediately resented Miss 
Appleton-tutor, indeed! 

"Frank kept me so busy I could hardly keep track of the time. I took private 
instruction in Italian as he wanted us to spend our summers in Florence, 
studying the great artists. Eventually he would send me there to further my 
career in art. Afterward, I would be sent to Paris. 

"As the time sped by, I grew increasingly restless knowing that there was 
something wrong, but not quite sure of what. After all, I had everything I 
could possibly have wanted. My whole life was geared toward the study.of 
art. By then, my body was busy with an art project of its own, converting 
the child into a woman, rounding me out generously. Then one chilly 
afternoon in the fall, I realized what was bothering me. Never once had 
Frank ever made any physical overtures toward me; he'd not even made any 
subtle verbal references! Nothing! 

"Miss Appleton usually had weekends off where, I had surmised, Frank would 
join her for an outing together without me around. That following weekend, 
however, I played sick in order to keep him home. I'd never been sick in my 
life other than a common cold or some childhood disease, so when I said I 
felt ill, Frank was genuinely concerned. He cancelled his weekend plans, but 
Miss Appleton took her time off anyway. 

"That evening, Frank brought me dinner on a tray in my bedroom, with cook 
following him carrying his dinner so he could keep me company. We talked-I 
mean really talked-like two human beings, not just master and pupil, or 
owner and slave. Later in the evening, he permitted me to join him in a 
brandy and taught me how to snip the end of his cigar-an aromatic panatela 
that enhanced his dark good looks. 

" 'Frank, I'd like to ask you something,' I began, a bit apprehensively but 
not truly shy. 

" 'Yes, Marsha?' 

" 'Why is it that you've never tried to fuck me?' It was out before I knew 
it and the scowl on his face spoke volumes. 

" 'Where'd you learn to use language like that?' 

" 'From my foster fathers. They always used that word, especially when they 
were having their orgasms.' 

" 'Look, I know about Drew, about the rape and all that. But you've said 
"foster fathers"--plural. Were there more rapes?' 

" 'Oh, not rape. ... at least, not like Drew. They all wanted to fuck me, or 
have me suck their cocks, or something else like that. I quickly learned 
that an orphan girl doesn't have much choice-it's either give in to them, or 
get raped again or maybe worse. But you've been, well, different from them, 
probably because of Miss Appleton....' 

" 'What?' 

"Frank was doing everything in his power to remain calm and controlled, but 
I could see that he was deeply shocked. I told him then about old Putnam, 
and the others. I explained it very quietly, not wishing to upset him any 
further. When I'd finished, Frank poured us both fresh cognacs and sighed 
deeply. Slouched in the chair, he stared pensively out the window. Finally, 
he glanced at me and there was a new expression in his eyes, one I'd never 
seen before. 

" 'You're just barely fifteen and you've already gone through more than most 
people know about in their entire lives. No wonder your work leans so 
heavily on the macabre, is so brutally dark-that's all you've ever known. It 
also explains why you always choose men for your subjects. Do you hate men, 
Marsha?' 

" 'No,' I answered. 'I'm not sure quite how I feel about them, but I don't 
hate them. In a funny sort of way, I think I almost pity them. That's all.' 

"Have you never known physical pleasure, Marsha? To want to have intercourse 
with a man? Have you ever had an orgasm of your own? Known the joys of your 
own body?' 

"I shook my head and couldn't help a small smile. I'd never known that a 
girl was supposed to enjoy sex too. I thought it was just something that men 
had to do, but that it offered nothing for a girl but a husband to take care 
of her. I guess Frank sensed my surprise, because he smiled rather ruefully, 
then came to sit on the edge of my bed, his fingers toying with the bow at 
the top of my lounging top. 

" 'You know that you're a minor, and what the penalty is for an adult male 
to seduce a minor?' 

"I nodded gravely, but already my stomach was tightening in anticipation. 

" 'And you know that you're a beautiful young woman, don't you? Well, 
Marsha, I've two choices and you must help me decide which is the right one. 
I can pretend you never confided in me and hope that eventually you'll meet 
a nice young man who'll erase all the rotten memories in your head. Or, I 
can reeducate you myself. But if you decide on me, you must be fully aware 
of the consequences if we're found out. 

" 'You could marry me,' I said only half kidding. 

" 'I could, but I don't want to even talk about it. If you want me, it will 
have to be understood that I may never marry you. I'm not about to make some 
sympathetic commitment to you. Either way, it does not reflect upon my love 
for you-only the quality of that love. Big brother, or husband, I still have 
learned to love you and nothing can change that. Nothing. If we have 
intercourse together, it's because we both want it-not because there's any 
price to pay or any obligation for either of us. Has it occurred to you that 
I could fall madly in love with you, but that you wouldn't want me as a 
husband? There can be no promises for either of us, Marsha.' 

"I wrapped my arms around Frank's neck and brought his face close to mine. 
While he'd been talking, I suddenly realized that I'd never been kissed by a 
man. I'd been raped, and I'd sucked cock, and fucked, but I'd never been 
kissed. 

"Frank placed his full lips on mine and it sent thousands of tiny tingles 
through all my body. He kissed gently at first, then gradually slid his 
tongue across my lips and into my mouth, exploring that cavity methodically 
with his tongue while his hand undid my chemise and slipped underneath it to 
cup my breast. My body felt on fire from his touch! He massaged my breast 
tenderly, lovingly, teasing my nipple into a hardened knob with his thumb 
until my other breast was jealous. 

"Gradually, he'd brought my breast into the open, away from my nightclothes, 
and breaking our kiss, he bent his head and began to kiss my nipple. I felt 
as if molten lava had been fun-neled from my nipple all down my spine. While 
he kissed and licked at my breast, I managed to squirm out of my 
nightclothes. When my body was free, I leaned back luxuriously and closed my 
eyes, giving myself up entirely to the wonderful sensations Frank was 
creating within me. Kneading the breast he was kissing, Frank played and 
toyed with the other one with his free hand, then shifted his hungry mouth 
from one nipple to the other, pushing my breasts toward each other as if 
they were part of a sacrificial offering to his mouth. I'd never known how 
exquisite my breasts could feel, how loved and wanted, or how hot I could 
get wanting a man to take my body. 

"I kept trying to remind myself that I'd had, after all, two 
brandies-something to which I was totally unaccustomed-but there was no 
denying Frank's aptitude in lovemaking. His hands roamed across my body 
freely, touching my flesh softly but enough to give me chilling goose bumps. 
Occasionally, he'd let his mouth and tongue wander from my breasts and he'd 
nuzzle in the hollow of my shoulder, lavishing sweet wet kisses upon me 
there or on my neck. My ears, my lips, all of me ached to be kissed by 
Frank, to feel his mouth and his gently scratching beard upon my skin. 

"Frank paused once to lean over and turn off the light by my bed, leaving 
the room in a soft glow of moonlight, and then he swiftly disrobed and got 
under the covers with me, instantly resuming his lovemaking. Only then I 
could feel his strong muscular body along mine, feel his arms around me, his 
chest with the fine hairs tickling my nipples, and his penis-which burned 
stiffly against my abdomen. Frank was ready. And so was I. 

"But he had no intentions of just giving me a few kisses and a quick fuck; 
Frank was a lover. I attempted to take his throbbing cock in my hand at one 
point, but he wouldn't let me and whispered something about enjoying myself 
for a change. 

"His mouth and hands never rested and I marveled at his endurance-though 
I've since learned better. When he softly grasped my buttocks I felt like a 
peeled orange, ready and exposed for his cock, and wanting him to take me, 
to put his generous prick up inside of me and fuck me. But not Frank. 
Instead, he slowly massaged my cheeks, and kissed my abdomen, my belly 
button, my loins. My body arched and ached with wanting, and then I felt his 
hands gently pushing my legs apart. I opened my eyes briefly and saw his 
dark head nestled at my crotch, felt his lips grazing at the vee of my legs. 
Then, I closed my eyes, spreading my long white legs for him to do as he 
wished. I was his, totally his whenever he wanted me. 

"His mouth showered tiny kisses on my thighs, on the flesh near my pussy and 
I thought I'd go insane from the intense heat he'd created inside my body. 
Then his lips surrounded my vulva and he began to tongue my pussy. I groaned 
loudly, both in fantastic pleasure and also in a feeling of tremendous 
relief, a feeling of being a woman having a man make love to her, not just 
fucking her. Frank's tongue never stopped working on my cunt, kissing the 
folds of my flesh, darting inside my vagina, dipping into my anal orifice, 
then lapping deliciously up to my clitoris. I was in agonizing joy, in 
excruciating pleasure! I'd never known anything like this could possibly 
exist. Tears gathered in my tightly closed eyes as wave after wave of 
beautiful sensation swept throughout my body. 

"Twice Frank brought me to orgasm sucking my cunt. Two incredibly beautiful, 
intense, shuddering orgasms. At that point in time, I think I would have 
died for him-and I hated Miss Appleton beyond belief! 

"Then Frank rolled over on his back, his rigid cock making a tent of the 
sheet he'd pulled over him while he had a cigarette. I'd snuggled up to his 
body with his arm beneath my head and I was so contented I could have 
purred. But there was his cock, waving in front of my eyes, and seeing it 
made me want him again, want him inside of me. To love me as tenderly with 
his cock as he had with his tongue, but inside of me, really up there all 
the way. I began to play with his penis, to tease it with my hand, 'Do you 
want me to suck it for you, Frank?' 

"He smiled and said, 'No, darling. This is your night. Everything will be 
for your pleasure only. You can suck it some other time. Why don't you 
straddle me and use my cock as you wish? Anything that brings you pleasure.' 

"I was only too delighted to do just exactly that. I raised up and used the 
sheet as a mantilla across my shoulders at first. I let my legs fall on 
either side of his hips, and grazed his chest with my breasts, tickling him 
with my stiff little nipples. I could feel his hard cock pushing against my 
snatch, knocking to get in, but it felt so good just pressing against my 
pussy like that I waited a little while. Then, anxious as he undoubtedly 
was, I could no longer resist having that beautiful shaft up inside my cunt. 
I took it with my right hand and slowly began to push it up into my hole, at 
the same time lowering myself gradually down its length. I was amazed at how 
marvelous it felt, how powerful I felt to have such total control over his 
prick. 

"I began to ride up and down his cock, leaning forward to kiss him or to 
push my breasts against his chest or to let him suckle them, yet all the 
while rotating my hips and feeling his hot member pushing in and out of my 
grasping cunt. How long we played like that, I'm not sure. Finally I felt 
all my blood rushing to my clitoris, felt the soles of my feet burning as if 
hot coals had been placed upon them, felt my stomach muscles begin to 
contract, and all of me seemed to explode in a blinding release of orgasm. 
And I felt Frank's cock bobbing within me, shooting gobs of come into me, 
expending his lust within my wanting body. 

"I fell across his chest like a rag doll, completely sated, ready to adore 
this man who'd just made such a new woman out of me. 

"Now, of course, our relationship is a little calmer. He has abandoned Miss 
Appleton-at least, as far as I know. But it's plain that no commitment will 
be made for quite some time. We make love frequently, but it is always at 
Frank's own good time-not when I want to. He must be the master in 
everything he does. Sometimes I hate him for it. But in bed, I adore him for 
it. 

"Now that I'm sixteen I see things a little differently from those early 
days with old Drew and Putnam. I'm not sure what, if anything, will ever 
happen with Frank and me. But I do know that he holds my career above 
everything else in my life, and that nothing will interfere with that until 
I'm of age and have my own money. Perhaps what Frank needs is a little 
competition; a boyfriend to threaten his security. Maybe I'll meet someone 
interesting when we're in Florence this summer. We'll see. I'm not done with 
Frank yet." 

Among the more bizarre sexual approaches which Marsha recalls occurred with 
her second foster father, who demonstrated a form of deviant behavior almost 
exclusively practiced by males, known as fetishism. Although this type of 
aberration contributed greatly to her distrust and fear of the opposite sex, 
it is not generally considered by authorities to be sadistic or harmful in 
nature. Marsha rather aptly portrayed the typical fetishist in her 
description of her foster father. 

The word fetish, according to Storr, originally applied to magically endowed 
objects worshipped by primitive peoples. The word has since taken on a wider 
meaning and, according to the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, connotes 
"something irrationally reverenced." 

Storr points out that most men are fetishists to one degree or another. The 
most obvious proof of this contention lies in the study of feminine fashion. 
Fashion depends upon the shifting of erotic focus from one point of the body 
to another. The part to which the masculine eye is first drawn is supposed 
to symbolize the totality of the woman desired. For a fetishist, however, 
the interest remains obsessively fixed. In the case of Marsha's relations to 
Mr. P., the erotic interest was centered in her undergarments, augmented by 
fellatio or masturbation. However, at no time were Marsha's genitals 
touched. This often occurs with fetishists who have a tendency to fear 
castration. 

Following this series of sexual approaches by foster fathers, Marsha finally 
seems to have balanced some of her previous sexual attitudes through her 
relations with Frank. It is also interesting to note the arousal of her 
latent oedipal strivings with regard to Miss A., her tutor and maternal 
rival. In the initial stages of her relations with Frank, this emerging 
Electra complex posed a possible threat; but with Miss A. no longer in the 
picture, Marsha appears headed in the direction of normal adult relations 
indicated quite positively in her budding interest in boys her own age. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Clay's Theme 

"I'm about as much an orphan as anyone can be. They tell me that I was found 
in a vacant room at the Claymore Hotel just hours after I had been born. 
Someone-my mother, I guess-had wrapped me in a bath towel and laid me 
between two pillows on a bed. Then she had written a note on a piece of 
cardboard saying there was an 'unattended' infant named Clay inside, hooked 
the note on the room's doorknob, and took off. 

"Unfortunately, people must have been used to seeing notes hanging on hotel 
room doorknobs, because it was several hours before anybody took the time to 
read it and inform the manager. They tell me that another couple of hours 
and I would've died. Anyway, thanks to dear old mom, my first three months 
of life were spent in a hospital, throwing off one disease after another. 

"I'm twenty-two now, and I really couldn't care less about how I was born, 
where I was born, or who was responsible. My feelings about the whole matter 
have been conditioned since my birth and, as a result, I'm thick-skinned 
about being a bastard. I don't hate my parents-whoever they are and wherever 
they may be. I'm sure they've given themselves enough punishment over the 
years, so why the hell would I want to add to it? The only time I do feel a 
little hurt is when I see my friends' families gather together for 
Thanksgiving, Christmas or some other holiday. And even then the hurt only 
lasts for a short while. 

"Perhaps it was because I knew I was a bastard that I put out the effort to 
make something of myself. I'm an accountant now-a damn good one, too-and by 
the end of another five years I intend to own my own business consulting 
firm. I've set my mind on it and I'll make it-just like I've accomplished 
every goal I've ever set up for myself. 

"The first seventeen years of my life were spent in a variety of orphanages 
and foster-homes. I learned early how to take care of myself. I was what you 
might call a 'sneaky model child.' The difference between right and wrong 
was slapped into me before I ever reached kindergarten. Rarely did I do 
anything wrong, but when I did-crack!-right across the face. So I learned 
never to repeat a wrong act-or, if I did, I made damned sure I never got 
caught. It's a habit I've carried over to this day. You know what they say: 
'Watch out for yourself, for sure as hell nobody else will.' 

"In school, I gave no one trouble, minded my own p's and q's, and studied 
hard. In fact, with the exception of my junior year in high school, I was a 
straight 'A' student all the way. During that one year, I slipped down to 'C 
grades, but there was good reason for it as I'll go into later. 

"Sex was the one hang-up I never could shake until I reached seventeen. 
Until that time, it really frightened me. The reason for that was I didn't 
understand it-and nobody seemed to want to teach me about it. Oh, like 
everyone else, I heard stories about so-an-so, learned about the birds and 
the bees, and even saw some pictures of naked women. But I didn't know how 
to apply all this to real life. I used to try to avoid parties and dances 
because I was afraid someone might ask me to do something and I wouldn't 
know how to act. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's making a fool 
of myself. 

"So even when I was in the orphanages, where all the parties were closely 
chaperoned, I used to either feign sickness or, if I did go, I'd make damned 
sure I was a first-class wallflower. I was helped somewhat by my looks. I 
wouldn't say I was an ugly kid, but I don't remember anyone saying I was 
good-looking, either. 

"They sent me to my first foster home when I was seven. I was terrified. Mr. 
and Mrs. Porter had six kids, all older than me, with the exception of one. 
Danny was a month younger, and it didn't take me long to realize that I 
wasn't there because the Porters had fallen in love with me; I was there 
strictly as a playmate for Danny. 

"Danny and I got along good, but the rest of the family treated me like I 
was some kind of stray dog. Oh, they'd feed me, clothe me, fix me up if I 
got hurt, but that was about it. Mrs. Porter was always clucking her tongue 
at me and telling me to go outside and play, and old man Porter was always 
complaining that I was underfoot. They never did anything to directly hurt 
me, but I still experienced a great deal of hurt those three years from 
their whispers and annoyed expressions. 

"The person who hurt me most during that time was Melanie, Danny's sister. 
She was four years older than I, and a first-class, snotty bitch. Her 
greatest joy in life was teasing me and constantly putting me down. While 
all the other kids in the family hypocritically referred to me as 'brother,' 
Melanie chose to describe me as 'that stupid kid.' I'll never forget that 
smart-assed tongue of hers: 'That stupid kid is ugly'; "That stupid kid is 
always taking my things'; 'When are we going to get rid of that stupid 
kid?'; and her favorite, 'I hate that stupid kid.' 

"I hated her guts. I thought of nothing but getting back at her. I wanted to 
pay her back for everything she had done to me or had said about me. It took 
almost three years, but on my tenth birthday I got my chance. And sex-the 
one thing that really scared me-was my weapon. 

"Naturally, there had been no birthday party for me. The Porters, as they 
had done the two previous years, had apologized, saying that they were much 
too busy and perhaps next year they would be able to throw a party for me. 
So, when I came out for breakfast that morning, there on the kitchen table 
was my usual present: a cheap card and a small bag of rock candy. I thanked 
everyone for their wonderful generosity, then spent the rest of the day in 
my room, fantasizing about all the lavish parties I would give myself when I 
grew up and became rich. 

"That evening, around seven o'clock, there was a knock on my bedroom door. 
It was Melanie and I could tell by the expression on her face that she was 
in a mood for some teasing. 

" 'Everyone's gone to the drive-in movie,' she said with that damned air of 
superiority. She swung her smart-assed butt up to my bed. 'Everyone but me 
that is. I've seen the picture.' 

"It cut me and Melanie knew it. Here it was my birthday and I hadn't even 
been asked if I wanted to go to the movies. I tried to keep an 
I-don't-give-a-damn attitude as I looked up at her face and said, 'I've got 
some work to do. Leave me alone.' 

" 'You don't have any work to do,' she said sarcastically. 'All you want to 
do is just lie around and be lazy.' She paused for a moment, then tugged at 
my pants. 'Your pants are dirty, Clay. Don't you know where the hamper is. 
Why do you always walk around with dirty pants?' 

"She was staring at my pants; more specifically, she was staring at my 
crotch. More and more in the past few weeks, I had noticed Melanie staring 
at my crotch. It didn't make any difference if I was outside in the yard 
playing or if I was in the living room watching television-I'd catch her 
sneaking looks at the front of my pants. It usually made me nervous, but I 
was too angry to be nervous tonight. So, without moving from the bed, I 
returned her look by staring dead ahead at the slight swell of her breasts. 

" 'Why should you care?' I asked. 

"She knew damned well that I was staring at her tits and I was delighted 
when I saw that I was making her uneasy. But she swallowed hard and tugged 
lightly on my pants again. 'Because I don't want you disgracing the family,' 
she said with weak righteousness. 'Don't you think you'd better take them 
off and put them in the hamper?' 

"A spurt of adrenalin shot through my body, but I did my damndest to keep 
cool. I wasn't sure what I was getting into. I heard stories about Melanie 
from the older boys at school and, if they were true, I knew that she knew a 
great deal more about sex than I did. That frightened me. 

" 'Now?' I asked cautiously. 'With you in the room?' 

"She tried to look prim, authoritative, but she was breathing too hard to 
pull it off. 'Of course,' she said, 'It's all in the family.' 

"That dumb crack loosened my up. What a bunch of crap! I stood and fumbled 
with my belt. I knew that this was as good a time as any to pay Melanie back 
for some of the smarts she had given me. And, of course, I was a little 
excited, too. I had never 'played sex' with a girl before. But I also hated 
this particular girl, so I purposefully took my time with the belt, giving 
her enough rope to see if she would hang herself. 

" 'Oh, you're so slow, Clay,' she said impatiently. 'Here, let me do it.' 
She brushed my hand away from the belt and unbuckled it. Then she zipped 
down the fly and tugged the trousers down to my knees. I had a surprise for 
Melanie. I wasn't wearing any shorts. And even for a kid, I had a fairly 
thick, semi-hard prick. She stared and swallowed hard. 'Where are your 
shorts?' she asked, but her eyes never left my rod. 

"The hate I was feeling for Melanie, plus the tingle of excitement that was 
leaping through my prick gave me all kinds of courage. 'Where do you think 
they are?' I snapped. 'They're in the hamper.' I paused for a few seconds 
while her eyeballs continued to measure my rod. I suddenly felt very daring. 
'You can touch it, if you want,' I said, and I even forced a smile on her. 

"Melanie hesitated, then slowly reached a shaking hand out. I brushed it 
away. 'Only if I can touch yours,' I said firmly. She looked up at me, a 
kind of strange, faraway look in her eyes. I smiled commandingly down at 
her. 'Is it true what I hear about you and those other boys at school?' I 
asked. She flinched, then stood up. 'Never mind that,' she said. 'You can 
touch me if you want.' 

"Swiftly, she hiked up her dress and dropped her panties to the floor. Then 
she lay down on the bed and spread her legs. 'Go ahead, Clay. Touch me.' 
And, as if to help me just a little, she slid her two hands down to the cunt 
I was gaping at and spread the lips for me. 

"For a moment I lost courage. Here was a girl who really knew what she was 
doing-a real pro, and I didn't know the first thing about real live sex. I 
was ready to call the whole thing off when I heard the harsh bitchiness in 
her voice as she snapped, 'C'mon, you stupid kid. What're you waiting for? 
Don't you know anything! 

"Now that really pissed me off and the courage roared back into my balls. 
This was more like the good old Melanie that I knew and hated so well. I 
reached forward and, for the first time in my life, I touched a girl's 
pussy. 'That's it,' she said huskily, 'right there. Keep touching it.' 

"The excitement of touching my first cunt filtered through my hate for the 
girl. My prick hardened. Of course, it didn't shoot out to any magnificent 
length of thickness, but it swelled to a firmness that I had never 
experienced before. Melanie reached down and took hold of it. 'Get up on the 
bed with me, Clay,' she whispered hotly. 

"I was shaking a little as I climbed onto the bed and laid beside her. She 
positioned me so that my face was staring at her pussy and my prick was 
levelled in front of her mouth. I moved my head in closer to her box and I 
poked around her clit and hole with my fingers. Melanie needed a bath 
something awful that night-her cunt smelled like sour orange juice. It 
turned me off a little, just enough to remind me that I hated this girl. 

" 'You can kiss it, if you like,' she whispered down at me. 

"I shook my head as I continued to play with her cunt. Oh, no, I wasn't 
about to put my head in there. 'Please, Clay,' she pleaded, 'you'll love it. 
All the other boys do.' Now that turned me off all the more. 'No,' I said 
aloud, 'I don't want to kiss it.' 

" 'But it's easy,' she whined. 'Please, Clay.' She was begging me and I 
found that I was loving every minute of it. Smart-ass Melanie begging. Wow! 
'No!' I said again, and I dug a finger into her hole for emphasis. She 
winced, but her breath was racing now. She was desperate to have me mouth 
her box. 

" 'Wait a minute, Clay,' she said hastily. 'Here, I'll show you how good it 
feels, then you'll want to do it.' And before I knew what was going on she 
had swept my prick into her mouth and was sucking furiously on it. She loved 
every minute of it. Her moans of pleasure rang against my ears, bringing 
back my excitement, turning me on again. I could feel all those tingly 
vibrations circling around my crotch and 

I knew that I was going to have a orgasm. She was right about one thing. It 
did feel good. It felt wonderful. And to add to all this, as she ate me and 
squeezed my little balls with one hand, her other hand slid down in front of 
my face and she began finger-fucking herself, all the time moaning like she 
was about to come herself. 

"It took me about two minutes to reach my orgasm. A thin trickle of fluid 
pulsed from the head of my prick into her mouth. Quickly, she jumped from 
the bed and ran into the bathroom where I could hear her spitting my come 
into the toilet. A minute later she was back on the bed, her legs spread 
wide, whining, 'Now me. Please, Clay, now me. Eat me. Suck on my pussy!' 

"I looked down on her and smiled. She was so hot that she was squirming all 
over the bed. 'Sure, Melanie,' I said, 'but first.' And without another 
word, I took hold of my limp prick, turned it toward her, and pissed all 
over her face and dress. By the time she had recovered, I was finished. 
Screaming like a madwoman, she leaped from the bed. I grinned at her as I 
watched my piss roll down her face and stain the collar of her dress. She 
began to blubber, then cry as she ran down the hallway to her room. I 
laughed loudly, yelling at her, telling her how funny, how foolish she 
looked, telling her that she made a great toilet bowl. 

"Just before her door slammed shut, all the hate came pouring out of me as I 
shouted, 'Just think of it as a nice, wet present from that stupid kid!' I 
continued laughing as I walked back to the bed and fell on it, exhausted but 
very satisfied. It had been a helluva good birthday after all. 

"Three months later I was back in the orphanage. I don't think it was 
because of what happened between Melanie and me. There was no way her 
parents could've found out unless Melanie told them, and I knew she didn't 
have the guts for that. I think I was sent back because Danny had made 
enough friends in the neighborhood and at school, so he really didn't need a 
live-in playmate. 

"Although I've never seen any of that family since I was ten, would you 
believe that every birthday I still get a card from the Porters? There's 
usually a note scribbled at the bottom of the card saying something to the 
effect that I shouldn't forget the good old days. What a bunch of horse 
shit! 

"For the next two and a half years, I didn't have any trouble with girls. 
That's because the orphanage kept the sexes segregated. The building was 
built in the shape of a three-story box, with two long wings on either side. 
Boys and girls could go into the box section, which was called 
'administration,' but they could not pass through it to get to the other 
wing. Anyone who tried and got caught was punished. Almost daily you could 
hear the screams of horny kids-particularly the older ones. 

"I was nearly thirteen when they sent me to another foster home. My 
guardians this time were like out of a gothic novel. Mr. Gotham was in his 
seventies, Mrs. Gotham was thirty. The old man was a millionaire and therein 
probably lies the tale of the marriage. 

"Mrs. Gotham was a gorgeous ex-model who reeked of sexuality. A 
five-year-old could have tabbed her. She balled more lovers the couple of 
years I was there than I could keep track of. She'd keep them around for a 
couple of weeks, then slip them a grand or so and send them on their way. No 
one-the housekeeper, cook, the butler, the chauffeur, or me-ever talked 
about her and 'her friends.' 

"But old Gotham talked about her. The old boy must have been a little out of 
adjustment, for every now and then he'd call me into his study and lay his 
troubles on my back like I was his father. The housekeeper used to tell me 
that he was senile and that I should play the little game with him. The next 
day everything would be back to normal. As I look back on it now, I don't 
think the old boy was senile, at all. I think he was just horny. 

"One day, after swearing me to secrecy, he told me that his wife hated him 
and wanted to kill him. He said that they had been married only after he had 
agreed to certain stipulations. I particularly remember the stipulations 
regarding sex between the two of them, perhaps because he must have related 
them to me some thirty times. First, his wife was required to have sex with 
him only once a month, and she could select the time. Second, he could never 
kiss her on the lips. Third, he had to wear a contraceptive whenever they 
had intercourse. Fourth, she could remain passive during all sex activity, 
except when he requested masturbation. And fifth, the one that really goaded 
him, she could have other lovers. 

"At the time I didn't understand all the implications of these rules. All I 
knew was that the old man was extremely unhappy because of his wife. He 
loved her dearly, and for this reason he would never divorce her. But he was 
convinced that she was out to get her freedom by murdering him. On one 
occasion he told me of several incidents-more like accidents-that had almost 
cost him his life. Later, I was to find out that most of these 'accidents' 
happened in his mind. 

"Anyway, that gives you an idea of the type of environment that I was dumped 
into just as I was beginning my teen-age years. I had an oversexed 'mother' 
and a more than slightly paranoid 'father.' I'm surprised I came out of that 
place with my head on straight, "You'd think that since I lived with a 
millionaire that it would be a kid's dream-life come true. Not so. We lived 
well out in the country and the only time I was actually with kids my own 
age was when I was attending school. Also, it was a major project to get out 
to a movie or a ball game. I had to check it out with everyone in the house 
before I could either get the chauffeur to drive me or get the housekeeper 
to come up with taxi fare. And even if I got that far, one of the servants 
had to accompany me-I was never allowed out alone. 

"I got two important lessons out of my two years with the Gothams. First, 
when the old man was lucid, he taught me a great deal about business 
management. He owned a flock of factories, and, although he very rarely 
visited them in person, he actively managed them from his home and I would 
overhear conversations that fascinated me. All about debits, credits, 
expenditures, employee-employer relations, production schedules, and so on. 
He would throw parties at the house for important businessmen that would be 
corkers. I always had to keep out of the way, stay on the fringe of all 
these activities. But it didn't prevent me from learning. I think it's 
because of old Gotham that I'm a success in business today. 

"The second important lesson I received was from Mrs. Gotham. Guess what the 
subject was. You bet your booties. And, she was an outstanding teacher. I 
suppose I always knew that something would happen before I got out of that 
house, but I never dreamed it would be so mind-blowing. 

"First, I think I should give you a little background on our relationship. 
Although Mrs. Gotham was never anything but nice to me, I was completely 
intimidated by her presence. Whenever she would walk into a room where I 
was, or we would meet in the hallway, outside on the grounds or wherever, 
the sight of her would make me nervous. I mean, when she looked at me it was 
as if those beautiful blue eyes of hers were boring clear down to my balls. 
It was a sexual thing, no doubt, but it was merely a feeling-never anything 
put into words or actions, at least not until that night. 

"It was a frigid December evening, about two weeks before Christmas. The old 
man had been tucked away hours earlier, the house staff had retired to their 
rooms, and I, unable to sleep, had made my way down to the kitchen for a 
midnight snack. As I was putting the finishing touches on a cold beef 
sandwich, I heard a commotion coming from the front of the house; raised 
voices and a lot of angry words being exchanged. Curious, I forgot about the 
sandwich and made my way to the study, just off the front hall foyer. 

"It was Mrs. Gotham and her latest lover. They were both gassed. The man was 
waving a half-empty bottle of liquor in her face, using it to punctuate his 
statements. Quaint sayings, such as: 'You're nothing but a rich whore'; 'If 
you can go down on him, why can't you go down on me?'; T wouldn't sleep with 
you if you were a virgin'; and, 'I've got six fresh ones I can get any time 
I want; why the hell should I have to settle for seconds!' 

"She countered with: 'I can suck off anyone I please at any time I please'; 
'You took your own fucking time about getting there'; and, 'Go back to your 
cruddy little whore-what the hell do I care!' 

"This went on for about ten minutes before the man finally ended it by 
flinging the bottle onto an expensive velvet chair, and storming out of the 
house. Mrs. Gotham sagged against a table, catching her breath, and staring 
daggers at the shut door. 'Bastard,' she muttered under her breath, 
'bastard, bastard, bastard.' Finally, with a heavy sigh, she stood tall, 
turned, and started walking back to the study. 

"She caught me before I could escape. 

" 'Clay, is that you?' she called. 

" 'Yes, ma'am,' I said, stopping dead in my tracks. 

"I saw her teamed in the doorway, the anger still on her face. Her hair was 
disheveled, and her clothes were rumpled, but she was absolutely gorgeous. 
She looked younger than thirty. 

" 'You know you should be in bed, she said evenly. 'Come on, I'll walk you 
up to your room.' 

"Dropping her mink on the nearest chair, she turned back into the foyer and 
headed for the stairs. I was at her heels in a matter of seconds. As she 
plodded heavily up the stairs, she glanced back at me. 'Did you hear all 
that?' I nodded. 'Well,' she began somewhat defensively, 'I hope when you're 
older you'll have more respect for a woman than that bastard does.' 

" 'Yes, ma'am,' I mumbled, trying my damndest to see up the back of her 
dress. Mercy, her legs were gorgeous. 

"When we reached my room, we both entered. I went directly to the bed and 
climbed onto it. As I began to pull the covers over me, she said, 'Wait a 
minute, Clay.' I stopped and looked up at her. 'I've got some news for you,' 
she said smiling down at me. What's that?' I asked. She walked up to the 
bed, reached down, and with the tip of a finger, touched my penis. 

'Your fly's open, my dear, did you know that?' 

"I was mortified. In front of her! How could I? I could feel the searing of 
a deep blush as it surged up to my face. I sneaked a glance at my pajama 
bottoms. Sure enough, there were two buttons opened and my prick was there 
in all its glory. And not only that, I had been so excited by the touch of 
her finger that my rod was growing, hardening out. She watched this 
happening and smiled. I grabbed the covers to pull them over me, but her 
hand stopped me. She gazed at my prick for a long time, a thin smile 
cracking her beautiful lips, then she looked up at me. 

" 'I was worried about you for a while,' she said. 'But I guess there was no 
need. You're as normal as the next one.' 

"With every breath I took, it felt as though I was being splashed by 
droplets of exotic perfume. I thought I was going to gag with ecstasy and I 
was praying like hell that she'd leave the room so I could jack off. Damn, I 
had to jack off. 

"Then she did something really unexpected. She bent over and kissed me on 
the forehead. And, as she did so, that magnificent swell of breasts and that 
long dark corridor of meaty cleavage sagged close to my face. I thought I 
was going to shit. She drew back and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Oh, 
God! Her eyes, bright with alcohol-and something else-focused on my 
hardening prick. She touched it with her finger and her expression became 
tender; she looked like a little girl with a new puppy. 'Ooooo, how cute ... 
. ' she cooed. Her lips remained puckered after the words were spoken. 

"My temperature must have been 104, I swear! I had a fleeting urge to 
scream. I wanted to climb right out of that bed and leap through the window. 
I wanted to die! 

"But-heaven help me-I also wanted her to continue. I wanted sex from her. 

" 'Cute,' she cooed again as her head suddenly swooped down and my rod was 
swept up into her mouth. I was as stiff as a sixty-day-old corpse. I 
couldn't have moved even if I had tried. As she sucked on my prick, her 
right forearm was pressing down hard on my stomach. What the fuck-there was 
nothing I could do. My body had taken over from my mind. She hadn't been 
mouthing me more than thirty seconds when I blew my wad. She took it easily 
and swallowed it down. I watched all of this pop-eyed, my senses reeling 
from one end of the room to the other. When she had gotten it all, my body 
sagged and flattened out on the bed. It was dead! 

"Her head came up. She looked at me, her eyes glazed. 'Good,' she said 
simply. Then, wobbly, she rose to her feet, her hair cascading wildly down 
over her face. She reached down and patted my shriveled up prick. 'Don't go 
'way,' she said. And then she turned and left the room. 

"I finally got to speak. 'Wow,' I said, just loud enough for me to hear it. 

"For the next hour or so I just lay on my bed, uncovered, and allowed my 
fantasies to run wild. The first trick my mind pulled was to reverse the 
sexual roles; I emerged as the aggressor, my sensual guardian as the naive 
and willing victim. I drove her wild with my manhood, and she begged time 
and time again to run away from this house, to take her to some faraway land 
where we would be free of the shackles of her marriage and where we could 
fuck and suck each other forever. We had just arrived at some secluded 
Utopia when my eyes focused back to reality and gaped at the vision wearing 
a purple baby-doll that had just entered my bedroom. Oh my gosh! I snapped 
out of dreamland and back to the world of reality. 

" 'Have you recovered, Clay?' she asked quietly as she moved to the edge of 
the bed. Then she glanced at my prick, which had suddenly blossomed into a 
tube of youthful steel, and she giggled. 'Oh my, I guess you have.' 

"She leaned forward and brushed my lips with hers. My breathing was 
irregular again and I was burning up. The situation was normal. 'Ever see a 
woman naked...? ' she blew into my ear. The thrill I experienced when her 
tongue followed the words were indescribable. I shook my head, still too 
shocked to speak. 'Want to?' she blew again. I licked my parched lips and 
tried to speak. I couldn't get a damn word out. Oh, those lovely hunk of 
tits! I nodded jerkily. 'That's my boy,' she said, pulling back from me and 
standing tall, her feet planted firmly on the carpet. 

"like Melanie was several years ago, sweet Mrs. Gotham was a teaser. 
However, the similarity ended right there. Melanie teased to hurt; Mrs. 
Gotham teased to arouse. Gracefully, she unhooked the top of the baby-doll 
and let it slip to the floor. She cupped her boobs-the largest handfuls of 
flesh I had yet seen-and squeezed them for me. She tilted her body forward 
slightly, so I could be sure to see them. Then she sensuously raised one tit 
high, then higher, then still higher, until she was able to suck the nipple 
into her mouth. Her lips worked languorously on it and theatrical moans 
slipped from the base of her throat. She was putting on a show for me and my 
rod. 

" 'Ummm, that's good,' she whispered, slipping the nipple from her mouth and 
leaning forward. 'Taste?' she asked, dropping the nipple down toward my 
mouth. Would a starving dog turn his tail on a bone? I practically leaped up 
at it, gobbling the delicious meat into my mouth. She murmured her approval 
and pressed my head hard against her tits. I sucked voraciously, feeling and 
thrilling to the hardness of the nipple as it bumped again and again against 
the flat of my tongue. 'Good boy,' she whispered. 'Good boy.' 

"I heard the pop of the snaps on the side of her baby-doll panties and knew 
that she had gotten rid of them. Then she slipped her hand over mine and 
guided it to an enormous clump of hair between her legs. I worked my fingers 
down through the hair until I made contact with the wetness of her cunt. The 
woman was sopping wet! She moaned, 'That's right, son, that's the place....' 
I pulled my mouth off her nipple for an instant, but she quickly pressed my 
head back. 'No, no, Clay ... don't stop. Keep sucking. Yes, that's it. 
Ohhhh, that feels wonderful, just wonderful!' 

"I was wallowing in sex, maybe too much sex. I didn't know what to enjoy 
first: the taste of her heavy tits or the feel of her sopping cunt. I felt 
like I was on a train going in two different directions at the same time. I 
tried to organize my thoughts, but I couldn't. I was too charged-up, so I 
thought to hell with it. 

"The fingers of my hand had worked their way down to her hole. They poked 
around at the entrance for a few seconds and then were sucked in. I swear! 
First, two fingers, then three, then four-all sucked into that huge cavern 
of raw flesh. I wiggled them, trying to touch the walls of her tunnel. She 
was breathing hotly into my ear. 'Get your hand in, Clay. I want your hand 
in.' My thumb slipped into her hole and I was in up to my knuckles. She 
reached down and took a firm hold on my wrist and, in a churning motion, 
pushed my hand forward. Slowly, my hand slid into the cunt hole, my 
fingernails cutting at some tender flesh deep in the tunnel. 'Good, good,' 
she husked. 'Keep it up. Don't stop.' 

"Her tit slipped from my mouth, but she quickly grabbed at it and thrust it 
back in. 'Suck, suck,' she ground into my ear. Meanwhile, my hand continued 
to slip in or be sucked into her vagina. And then it was all in. My wrist 
rested against the lips of her cunt. Her voice croaked as she let out a 
long, drawn out sigh of ecstasy. 'Now fuck me, Clay, fuck me.' 

"She began humping her hips, driving forward and then pulling back. Some 
instinct that I had never experienced before made me begin to pump my hand 
back and forth within her vagina. The tempo slowly picked up. I balled my 
hand into a fist and was punching away at the back wall of her hole. Back 
and forth, against and away, up and down, we smashed away at each other. 
Faster and faster we went as she tossed her head wildly, crushing her tit 
deep into my mouth. She squealed and cursed and I tasted the saltiness of 
her body as she broke out in a sweat. And then suddenly, she let out a low 
scream and her teeth clamped down on my ear. Her body shuddered, then went 
into a wild flurry of convulsions. Again and again it happened. My mouth was 
red raw from sucking on her tit, the arm that pumped my fist in and out of 
her cunt was exhausted. And she kept spitting into my ear, 'I love it, I 
love it. I've never had it this way. Oh God, it's wonderful ... glorious ... 
too much....' 

"And then it was over and she fell back across the bed, over my body, and 
lay limp. 'Glorious,' she kept saying, 'just glorious.' After a few moments 
she guided my hand out of her cunt. It emerged with a loud, wet 
sucking-popping sound and she moaned happily. She turned her face up to me, 
kissed me long and fully on the lips, and whispered gratefully, 'That was 
the greatest climax I've ever hit. Thank you, son.' 

"And before another ten minutes passed on the clock, she had thanked me 
further by taking another mouthful of my spurting come." 

In this case, three clearly defined psychological complexes emerge which 
tend to dominate the entire personality structure. Together they form a 
pattern which, if unchecked, could become the basis for future deviant 
behavior. 

The first of these symptoms falls within the category of megalomania. 
Throughout the interview sessions, the one compelling, almost obsessive 
drive which motivated the subject was that of success. Clay often reiterated 
his desire for success whether it be in the form of scholastic achievement 
or the accumulation of wealth. Sandor Ferenczi, the famous disciple of 
Freud, describes this type of obsession in his classic work, Sex In 
Psycho-Analysis: 

This almost incurable megalomania of mankind is only apparently contravened 
by these neurotics with whom behind the feverish search for success one at 
once comes across a feeling of inferiority (Adler), which is well-known to 
the patients themselves. An analysis that reaches to the depths reveals in 
all such cases that these feelings of inferiority are in no sense something 
final, an explanation of the neurosis, but are themselves the reactions to 
an exaggerated feeling of omnipotence, to which such patients have become 
"fixed" in their early childhood, and which has made it impossible for them 
to adjust themselves to any subsequent renunciation. The manifest seeking 
for greatness that these people have, however, is only a "return of the 
repressed," a hopeless attempt to reach once more, by means of changing the 
outer world, the omnipotence that originally was enjoyed without effort. 

The feeling of inferiority referred to above is clearly evident in Clay's 
sexual frustrations. Although he excelled his peers in the academic area, he 
felt a tremendous sense of inadequacy in sexual-social matters. In fact, he 
confesses that the topic of sex actually frightened him, and he describes 
that aspect of his life as "the one hang-up" he couldn't shake. 

In spite of his boast that he is now free of this sense of inferiority, 
Clay's current behavior as a high achiever indicates the pattern to be as 
firmly entrenched as ever. The origin of this neurotic symptom is traceable 
to his early childhood "training," involving a good deal of corporal 
punishment. This strict, authoritarian conditioning caused a fixation to 
occur in his omnipotent phase of development, and also served as the 
foundation for his autoerotic escapism. 

The means by which Clay is attempting to achieve his highest success, both 
sexually and professionally, is in the accumulation of money, and this, 
quite naturally, brings us to the second complex, that of anal fixation. 
Ferenczi devotes considerable thought to the analysis of this behavior 
symptom: 

As an individual-psychological phenomenon parallel with this fact Freud 
asserts that an intimate association exists between the strongly marked 
erogeneity of the anal zone in childhood and the character trait of 
miserliness that develops later.... 

In other words, Ferenczi and Freud develop the idea that extensive 
connections exist between the disparate complexes of defecation and interest 
in money. As the child develops, he takes objects from the earth, such as 
dirt, sand, clay, and transfers to them the special value he once gave to 
his own waste products. Soon after this, he enters into a period that 
Ferenczi calls the "infantile stone age": the collecting of pebbles, glass 
marbles, buttons and so on. However, the child's deep need to clean himself 
leads to the search for something purer to gather, and this is offered in 
the shining coins, later identified with paper money. At this point in his 
life, the child has not only gratified his need to accumulate and withhold 
feces-like material, but also the material itself-money contains the 
seductive possibilities of obtaining his greatest desires. In Clay's case, 
money is the means by which he hopes to buy the family life and sexual love 
denied him as an orphan child. 

The third complex, inferiority, is closely related to the previous disorders 
and is often accompanied by the sadistic impulse. Clay recalls with 
considerable delight his experience of urinating on the face and clothing of 
Melanie immediately after his first heterosexual relationship with her. 

In Sexual Deviation, Storr maintains that sadistic behavior is adopted by 
the individual in order to relieve his sense of inferiority. Furthermore, 
the sadist often goes beyond the point of giving pain, his real concern 
being that of complete sexual ascendancy. Storr then relates this to sexual 
fulfillment: 

By rendering his partner helpless, the sadist is creating a situation in 
which he feels free to do anything he-likes to her, whether she wants him to 
or not. In other words, the sadist has no conception that his partner might 
invite or welcome his sexual activities. He cannot believe that anyone can 
really accept him sexually, and thus has to obtain by force what other more 
confident men expect to be given freely. It is only when he has established 
complete ascendancy over his partner that the sadist can hope for sexual 
fulfillment; for it is only then that the partner is no longer 
frightening--- 

It is interesting to note that Clay's verbal imagery, especially the use of 
the "toilet bowl" allusion, most definitely relates to his anal fixation. 

"Mrs. Gotham avoided me like the plague for the few remaining months I was 
to spend at her home. Then one day Mr. Gotham called me into the study and 
told me that for my best interests I was going to be sent back to the 
orphanage. He told me that he had been influenced by his wife. She had given 
him her opinion that this was not the correct environment for raising a 
teenager. Of course, I knew the real reason why she wanted to get rid of me; 
since our night together I had been a pain to her conscience. And now she 
was merely purging herself of that pain. Whatever the reason, back to the 
orphanage I went. 

"For the next several years, the orphanage was merely a stopping-off point 
for me. I spent most of my time in various foster homes. The story was 
always the same; my material needs were taken care of, but I never really 
got the affection I was now beginning to crave. It's a void I'm still trying 
to fill. 

"Putting into operation some of the business philosophy I'd absorbed from 
old man Gotham, I began to concentrate heavily on my schooling. I knew that 
if I was to be any kind of a success in life that I-a bastard orphan-would 
have to work my balls off for it. My goal was diplomas; to me they 
represented passports to success. Academically, I easily made the transition 
from grammar school to high school. Socially, I had a difficult time, a 
situation I created for myself. Because of my determination to be a 
scholastic standout, I became a virtual loner. 

"But my plan seemed to be working. Whenever I'd get down on myself because 
of lack of friends, those A's that would show up on my report cards always 
gave me a boost. I kept thinking of the future, realizing that these 
difficult years would be easier later on in life. From the seventh grade 
onward, I worked for and made the honor roll each semester. Then I reached 
my junior year in high school and my world slipped down a few pegs. 

"That summer I had been sent to a new foster home. The Newtons were from the 
South, Godfearing and strict. But they carried their convictions to senile 
extremes. Today they would be labeled as a couple of prime reasons for the 
generation gap-they still lived in the nineteenth century. Mr. Newton, in 
his late fifties, was a paragon of virtue. His occupation was carpentry and 
his main claim to fame was that he had built his house with his own two 
hands, a fact he never let me forget. He not only preached that work was 
good for the soul, mind and body, but he practiced it. The TV set was 
clicked off promptly at ten every night and everyone would rise at 5:30 a.m. 
ready for a full day of fulfilling work. 

"Mrs. Newton was a rather slow-moving, plumpish woman in her middle forties. 
Strap a bonnet on her hair-bun and deposit her on the bucking seat of a 
Conestoga wagon and she would have been at home. She was a slave to the 
house, a twenty-four-hour-a-day cook and housekeeper-the type of woman who 
could invite you in to eat off her floor. My sloppy habits and her 
military-like mania for cleanliness clashed often during the year I was to 
be her 'tenant.' 

"I don't think the two of them had a sex life at all! He refused to go to 
the beach because of the nudity it perpetuated. So we sat in the bowels of 
the house all summer, broiling. Certain television shows never appeared on 
their set because of the reputation of the performers; and movies-well they 
were nothing more than vehicles of the devil. Their main entertainment 
appeared to be those wall-shaking lectures they'd subject me to about the 
promiscuity among today's youngsters. They knew the inside dope on sex, 
narcotics, hippies, and corrupt politicians, and spent a great deal of their 
time feeding it to me. All this information from people who refused to 
communicate with their next-door neighbors. 

"But there was a link missing from their moralistic chain. Mrs. Newton was a 
hypocrite. Or perhaps it might be better to say that she was sexually 
starved. As I have already stated, the old man practiced what he preached. 
He preached that sex was a disease. So his wife suffered. 

"From what I could gather from them, they had sacrificed all to help the 
lonely orphans of the world since the day they were married; that is, they 
were professional guardians. I was their 52nd child over the past twenty-two 
years, which should give you some idea of how long each ward lasted. I was 
exceptional; I was to hang around for a full twelve months. 

"Mrs. Newton reached me one day, not long after I had arrived. After taking 
a shower I had discovered that I had left my clean clothes in my bedroom. 
Not wanting to embarrass the woman by strolling from the bathroom to the 
bedroom in my birthday suit, I called out to her and asked her if she would 
bring my clothes to me. When she arrived, I stood behind the bathroom door 
and opened it slightly, so she could slip in my clothes. Would you believe 
she shoved the door all the way open. She muttered something about 'No shame 
bein' connected with cleanliness,' and stood there, holding my clothes out, 
staring blankly at my naked body. 

"I was flabbergasted. This scene wasn't right, at least, not in this house. 
I tried to keep my poise as I reached out for my clothes and mumbled a 
'thank you.' I know for sure that my dick had all but shriveled up and 
disappeared somewhere behind my balls. 

" 'Didja wash good?' she asked, copping an eyeful of my nakedness. 'So many 
kids today ... they don't wash good.' 

" 'Oh, yes,' I said flippantly. 'Clean as a whistle!' 

" 'Lemme see,' she said, dropping my clothes to the floor and tugging me 
forward by the shoulder. I was too stunned to react. I think I wanted to 
tell her to get the hell out of there and go mind her own fucking business; 
but I didn't. Instead, I became a zombie and let her examine me at her 
leisure. 

"Those heavy-lidded, lazy eyes of hers moved slowly over my face; I thought 
of a bored butcher examining his one thousandth cut of sirloin for the day. 
'Ears are 'portant,' she drawled, peering around and into them. She turned 
me around and tapped my back with her finger. 'Good ... good ... . ' The 
finger ran slowly down my spine making me break out in a rash of goose 
pimples. It stopped at the tip of the crack of my ass, and then I could hear 
the starch in her dress crackle as she bent over. Her thumb and forefinger 
spread the cheeks and I knew she was looking up at my asshole. 'Bath might 
be better for down here. Ummm.... Very 'portant.' 

"Her finger pierced my hole and I flinched. She withdrew it and I swung 
around. She was examining her forefinger. Thank heaven it was clean. 

"I made a move to bend over and pick up my clothes, but she stopped that 
with a hand against my chest. Cocking her head from side to side, she gave 
my chest, sides, and stomach the once-over. 'Ummm. ... Good.' And then her 
hand drifted down and rested on the bush of hair just above my shriveled-up 
prick. I sucked in my breath, preparing for anything. 

"Mrs. Newton's knees creaked loudly as they sagged to the damp bathroom rug. 
I watched her closely as she stared intently at my genitals, and I didn't 
miss the quick lick her tongue gave her lips. With her thumb and forefinger 
she took hold of my penis and stretched it out. She examined the top, bottom 
and sides minutely, from base to tip of the shaft minutely. I let out a long 
loud sigh of impatience. 'Jus' 'nother moment, son. Ummm ... good, clean 
babies....' Her hand cupped my balls, squeezing them gently. 'Still wet.' 

"I was about to damn everything and make my break when she did something 
extraordinary. This chubby woman opened her chubby lips and sucked my prick 
and my balls into her big fat warm and wonderful mouth. I couldn't believe 
it!! ! 

"But my rod did. It came to life and, like a fugitive snake, it grew out to 
a rock-hard six and one-half inches. Her head was forced back, but she gave 
a few good long, hard draws on my meat she could reach before letting it 
slip from her mouth. Then she looked up at me and smiled broadly, those lazy 
eyes now wide with a mixture of joy and lust. Guess what she said! 'Uramm 
... good!' 

"Then, with a swiftness I never knew she had in her, she rose to her feet, 
gripped me by the hand, led me into the bedroom, and brusquely sat me on the 
edge of the bed. Her hands flew about her dress and under things until 
everything was scattered about the floor. It was like watching a white 
tornado. The woman's tits were enormous; fat and ponderous, they hung almost 
to her navel. She grabbed one tit, moved over to the bed, forced my mouth 
open, and made me swallow a mouthful. 

"'Suck!' she commanded, and I was too frightened not to obey. Her nipple 
tasted like lime soap. I wanted to spit it out, but dared not. 

"While I sucked, her fingers frigged furiously at her cunt. She kissed me on 
the top of the head. 'Good ... good....' she garbled. Dazedly, I watched her 
hand ravage her box. She rubbed it, pulled on it, twisted it, jammed her 
fingers well up into it, and pounded on it as though it were a drum. She was 
coming on like a madwoman, and the sounds that leaped from her throat were 
those of an animal in heat. 

"Suddenly, she stopped and pulled her tit from my mouth. She grabbed and 
spread wide her cunt with her hands. Then she hunched up closer to the bed, 
closer to my face, and commanded again, 'Suck!' Again, out of fear because 
of the way she was acting, I did as I was told. 

"Her meat was too flabby, too wet, too sour. But there was so much of it 
that going down on her actually turned me on. My prick, which had faded a 
little, now jutted again, and stabbed at one of her hefty thighs. The whole 
situation was ridiculous. How could I be doing this with Mrs. Newton? How 
the hell could the mistress of such a puritanical house attack a teen-age 
boy? I couldn't answer the questions, but perhaps it was because of the fact 
that they were there which made the atmosphere in the room so erotic. It 
wasn't long before I found myself actually participating in the act. 

"Her next move was to smartly push my head away from her cunt, bend over, 
and kiss me fully on the lips. She sucked fiercely on my tongue, draining 
the saliva from my mouth. After several moments, she broke off and looked me 
dead in the eye. 'Ever do it with girls, son. You know, to make babies.' All 
this, and she was still hung up over the word 'fuck.' 

"I didn't lie to her. I shook my head, indicating 'no.' Her body shook with 
joy. She kissed me again, harshly, then abruptly slammed my body back onto 
the bed. Before I could move she was on top of me, pausing only long enough 
to suck on my hard on a few times, making sure it was good and wet. Then she 
knelt up, lumbered forward on her knees, until her cunt was straddling my 
waving pole. She grabbed my rod like you'd pick up a piece of silverware, 
and roughly jammed it up into her hole. 

"My mouth dropped in amazement. You mean, this was it? This was what sexual 
intercourse was all about? No tenderness, no affection, just two chunks of 
meat slammed together? Why, she might just as well have blown me. There was 
nothing romantic about all this; I was her fucking prisoner. That woman had 
me pinned to the bed and she was using my rod for a fire-pole. 

"Her eyes blazed wildly as she glared down on me, her tits flapping from one 
side of her chest to the other. 'Good ... huh?' she said over and over 
again, as if trying to prove something to herself. I nodded and then gave 
up. I decided to lay there, like the passive lump of meat I was, and let her 
do her thing. It took some doing but I was finally able to concentrate on 
the sex act itself and deposit my come up her raw box. As soon as I 
unloaded, she hopped off me, zipped to the bathroom and wiped her pussy with 
toilet paper. Then she came back to the room and jacked herself off to a 
floor-rattling climax while I sucked on her limey tits. 

"Mrs. Newton sexually controlled me the entire school year, and my grades 
suffered because of it. She made so many demands on my body that it got to 
the point where I was afraid to come back to the house after school. I used 
to dawdle around until I knew that Mr. Newton had come home; then I'd go in. 
But I couldn't escape her all the time. And believe me, for a woman of such 
high morals-in front of her husband, anyway-this old gal knew every trick in 
the book. She taught me a lot, but I hated the lessons. If only there had 
been the smallest amount of affection. 

"The following summer I turned eighteen and was free at last, free to 
control my own life, sexual or otherwise. I'll never have to submit to 
strangers again just because I was a bastard orphan. I'm going to be a 
smashing success in business, and before long I'm going to try and start my 
own family. I want to be a father." 

Clay's relationships with subsequent foster families have served to 
intensify his feelings of alienation and sense of inferiority. His own 
description of himself as a "loner" is not far from the mark, and, in fact, 
sums up a whole set of complexes he prefers to keep concealed. His attitude 
during the interview sessions was considerably guarded. Unfortunately, 
rather than delve too deeply into the causes for his past and present 
difficulties, Clay has chosen to maintain a defense based on goal 
achievement. 

This subject often connected his outer struggle for success with his inner 
drives toward sexual gratification. In so doing, he demonstrated a form of 
deviation in which the concept of sex is completely divorced from that of 
love. 

Too often in our culture, the need for genuine affection is translated into 
sexual activity by old and young alike. The seduction of Clay by 

Mrs. Newton is typical of such behavior. In other words here is a case of a 
sexually starved, middle-aged woman seducing an affection-starved juvenile. 
This kind of maltreatment of a teenager is bound to produce serious, and 
sometimes permanent psychological scars. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Little Boy Blew 

"Looking back now, the orphanage wasn't really such a bad place. Sure, there 
were times when I got awfully lonesome, especially those last few years when 
I became the oldest boy and began to wonder why the people who wanted to 
adopt kids always picked the babies-like maybe I couldn't love them just as 
much, or might run away. It made me feel so bad, always being turned down, 
that once I even played sick to get more attention. But I had a lot of 
friends among the other kids and between my lonely spells we had some good 
fun together. 

"One thing is for sure: It was a whole lot better than living with my 
mother. I was only five years old when my mother died, but I can still 
remember how drunk she was every day with all those men who came to the 
house, and how she used to kick me around, calling me a stinking little 
bastard. I guess I was just in the way when her friends were there hugging 
and kissing her and getting sloppy drunk with her. A lot of the time I was 
hungry for food, but most of the time I was hungry for somebody to love me. 

"I guess the best part of living at the orphanage was Carl, the janitor. He 
became real friendly with me, sort of like a father, and on my tenth 
birthday he got permission to take me to his house for dinner with his 
family. Man, was that ever neat. I never felt so good in all my life, eating 
that home-made food with two helpings of dessert and playing with his oldest 
girl afterward. Ruthie-I guess she was about twelve years old-even took me 
into a closet and kissed me on the lips. She wanted to give me something to 
remember her by, she said. Even Carl's wife gave me a big hug and kiss 
before I went back to the orphanage. 

"I liked it a whole lot when Ruthie and her mother kissed me-I think they 
were the first kisses I ever had, at least that I could remember. But when I 
got back to the orphanage they sure made me feel terrible. I mean, they were 
so good that I felt extra terrible knowing that I couldn't have more. Funny, 
but all the rest of that night I ached way down deep, thinking how great it 
would be to have older girls loving and kissing me every day, not kicking 
and cussing me like my mother used to do. 

"I might as well tell you the whole truth: I had to slip my pajamas off 
under the covers and play with myself for about an hour before I could get 
to sleep. I had gotten little hard ons before, but that was the first time 
in my whole life that I had really jacked off. 

"It was the last time at the orphanage, too, because a few days later I was 
called to the office and introduced to an old man about forty named Charles 
and his wife about twenty-five named Marianne. The great day that I'd been 
hoping and praying for had finally come! They not only wanted to adopt a boy 
but also a ten-year-old to sort of make up for all the years they tried to 
have a baby of their own and couldn't. What's more, they wanted a 
curly-headed, fair-skinned blonde-and that was me. 

" 'We'll take him!' Marianne said real happy. 'We'll be only too delighted 
to have little Billy as our very own, and you can be sure that we'll just 
love him to pieces!' To show how sincere she was, she pulled me over to her 
and planted a big, hot kiss right on my mouth. 'Mmmmmmmmm, you're such a 
precious boy,' she mumbled in my ear. 

" 'How about it, champ?' Charles said, setting me on his lap and flashing 
his false teeth at me. 'Wouldn't you like to come home with us? We have a 
nice big house with lots of room to play. You'll be very happy, I'm sure.' 

"Actually, the old geezer didn't have to say a word because I'd already made 
up my mind. It was Marianne's kiss that did it. Her kiss had been really 
great, ten times greater than Carl's wife and daughter. And already I was 
getting that same achy feeling, wanting more. The next second I was off 
Charles' lap and back to where Marianne was sitting, taking her by the arm. 

" 'I would like to leave here and live with you,' I said to Marianne. 'If 
you will let me live with you, I promise to be real good and never cause any 
trouble.' Which was all I needed to say to get myself another big kissand a 
brand-new home. 

"Did I say home? What I really meant was mansion, because their place had 
ten rooms, not counting the servants' quarters. There was a big swimming 
pool, too, and a tennis court, with a big lawn that stretched for a whole 
block. 

"I'll never forget that first day and night at their place. Of course, 
Charles and Marianne had to take me on a tour of everything as soon as we 
got there. Then they showed me my room with all kinds of toys and games in 
it. After that, Charles had to leave on some important business for a few 
hours, and Marianne decided that I should have a bath before dinner. 

"I naturally figured that she'd let me bathe myself because, after all, I'd 
been doing it for several years without any help from anyone. But she had 
other ideas. 'All right, Billy dear,' she said after leading me into the 
bathroom next to my room, 'I'm going to help you undress and wash because I 
want to start off being a good mother to you right now.' And the next thing 
I knew she was on her knees, turning the water on in the tub and peeling off 
my clothes. 

"Wow, was I ever embarrassed! I know I shouldn't have been with me so young 
and her a grown-up married woman, but it seemed like ages since a woman had 
seen me naked. Besides that, I could feel that I had a little bit of a hard 
on from her hugging and kissing me so much all afternoon. She didn't just 
peck when she kissed me; she held it for awhile and pressed hard, like she 
really wanted me to enjoy it as she did. Only she didn't realize how much I 
was enjoying it. 

"Then, before I could count ten, Marianne had all my clothes off and was 
holding me off at arm's length, feasting her eyes on every square inch of me 
like I was a hundred-dollar bill. 'Oh, my, precious, what a beautiful little 
body you have!' she cried out. 'And your sweet little penis. I do believe 
it's getting hard! How marvelous--How positively marvelous!' Then she 
plopped me into the tub and, wearing a big, happy smile, began to soap me up 
real good, especially down around my rod, which only made it harder. 

"But that's all she did-I swear. She didn't play with my hard on or get in 
the tub with me or anything like that. She acted like most mothers would, I 
guess, talking to me about other things, humming some happy tunes, then 
drying me off and laying out some clean clothes for me in my bedroom. When 
Charles got back, we all had a swell dinner together that was fit for a 
king. During the conversation, they both kept looking at me proudly and 
calling me 'son' making me feel greater than I ever had felt in my whole 
life. 

"Man, was I ever happy, knowing that I was no longer an unwanted orphan but 
a kid with a family that really loved him. I mean, Charles and Marianne went 
all out to make me feel like one of the family. Especially Marianne. That 
first night after I'd gone to bed, she even came and got under the covers 
with me for a little while, hugging and kissing me and telling me about all 
the fun we were going to have picnicking and traveling. Her kissing gave me 
another hard on, I remember, but she didn't touch it-just hugged me all the 
tighter and giggled all the louder. 

"And, that's about how it went for the next two years, with Marianne helping 
me bathe and hopping in bed with me often while old Charles did his best to 
act like a father by bringing me new toys. Marianne took me on a few picnics 
like she promised, and both she and Charles took me on a plane trip to 
Europe the first summer. But I think the most fun I had was the time I spied 
on them in their bedroom late one night. 

"I really didn't mean to spy, it was just that I couldn't sleep and when I 
got up to get a drink of milk from the kitchen, I passed their bedroom and 
found their door open a couple of inches. I heard their voices, too, and 
couldn't resist the temptation to peek in and listen. 

"Well, I sure saw and heard a lot, let me tell you. Marianne and Charles 
were both naked on top of the covers, with him on his back and her sitting 
beside him trying to jack him off. I say trying because he didn't have a 
hard on. I guess he just couldn't get a hard on. 'Damn it, Charles!' she was 
saying as she pumped and wiggled and stretched his limp little dick, 'how am 
I ever going to get any fucking if this thing won't get big and stiff?' 

" 'I'm awfully sorry, dear,' Charles moaned sadly. 'I've been taking 
vitamins until they're coming out my ears, but they just don't seem to be 
doing any good. I hate to admit it, but I'm afraid that I'm too old for a 
hard on. If you really need to be fucked tonight, my precious, I'll have to 
use either my finger or my tongue on you.' 

" 'Oh shit!' she answered, getting kind of mad, 'I guess I'll have to settle 
for your tongue again! My pussy is so hot that I've got to have something 
alive and stiff in it or I'll go crazy!' Then she straddled his face with 
her big, beautiful rear and lowered her hairy pussy smack down on his mouth. 
'Okay, Charles, now ram that tongue in deep, deep, deep!' she gasped, 
grabbing one of her big, cherry-tipped boobs in one hand and reaching down 
to rub the top part of her pussy with the other. 'Come in, baby, you can do 
better than that! I need your tongue in me deep, really deep!' 

"Wow, what a sight! I couldn't help myself-I was getting so excited watching 
those two, especially Marianne with her big, delicious-looking tits. I 
shoved down my pajama bottoms and began to jack off as fast as I could, 
feeling my dick get as hard as a rock in no time at all. 

" 'Wait, raise up just a second, dear,' I heard Charles mumble faintly like 
he was in a tunnel. 'I can do better with my teeth out.' 

"So Marianne raised her butt up a few inches and Charles spit out his false 
teeth. The next second she was back down on his face, grinding her pussy on 
it like she was trying to engulf his whole face in her pussy. 'Ah, yes, that 
is better!' she groaned. 'Much better ... much better! Only, please, you're 
not pumping your tongue fast enough! Pump it, daddy, pump it! Fuck me good! 
I need it! Ohhhhhhhh, how I need it!' 

"Then all of a sudden Marianne started puffing like a steam engine and 
squirming and moaning, making me think that maybe she was suffering terrible 
pains. I stopped jacking myself off and was about to barge in on them, 
feeling that I should ask if I could do something to help her. Then she gave 
a cry of joy and fell off to one side, all relaxed and contented. 

"At least I thought she was contented, the way she looked and sounded. 
Actually, though, she was still a little mad at Charles as he stuffed his 
false teeth back in his mouth, his face dripping wet from her pussy juice. 
'Well, anyway, you made me come,' she said, sprawled out on her back with 
her eyes closed. 'I'll give you credit for that, even if I did have to 
masturbate my clit and tits to help it along.' 

"Poor old Charles. All he could answer was a real sad, 'I'm sorry, dear. 
Maybe you should get yourself a younger man to fuck you, one who can get a 
big hard on. like I've said before, I won't mind so long as you don't let it 
break up our marriage.' 

"Gee, that sure is big of Charles, I thought, letting go of my dick and 
pulling up my pa-jama bottoms. But Marianne didn't answer him. She just 
continued to lay there beside him, her eyes closed, deep in thought. Of 
course, I didn't know then what she was thinking, and it was a good thing, 
because if I had known, I probably would've been shocked clean out of my 
wits. 

"The next four years with Marianne and Charles were beautiful. They sent me 
to a military academy, the most exclusive one in the whole city, and during 
my summer vacations they took me with them to Japan, Switzerland and 
Argentina where we really lived it up. Marianne wasn't very happy with 
Charles, I could tell, but she pretended to be, always treating him politely 
and letting him kiss her on the cheek whenever he wanted to show his love 
for her. 

"The only times Marianne seemed to be really happy was when she and I were 
alone together. Of course, she had long ago stopped helping me with my bath, 
saying I was getting much too grown up for that, but she never stopped 
coming to my bedroom when I was home from the military academy and talking 
with me for long hours before kissing me goodnight. And her kisses never got 
any cooler; if anything, they got hotter. And always, as before, she would 
glance down to see if her kisses still had the same old effect on me-which 
they did. 

"In fact, the effect was ten times stronger because I was much older with a 
cock at least three times bigger and a mind that was beginning to think of 
practically nothing but sex. I noticed the girls who were my age, sure, and 
when I saw one with a real sexy shape I usually got a hard on, thinking of 
how I'd like to get her alone and screw her. But mainly, I couldn't forget 
the sight of Marianne and Charles going at it that night in their bedroom. 
To me, there were no dames in the whole world as sexy-looking as Marianne 
was when I saw her completely naked, her big, pointed tits sticking straight 
out and her big, hairy pussy squashed down on Charles' face. 

"I told her just that one day when I was about fifteen. 'Marianne,' I said, 
calling her by her first name because she didn't like me calling her mother 
for some reason, 'I think you've got the best shape of any woman in the 
whole world.' She'd been admiring the shape of some movie star and I felt it 
was a good time to let her know how I felt. 

" 'Oh, Billy, it's so nice of you to say that,' she answered, giving me a 
big hug and kiss. 'Really, darling, if you think I have a good figure, 
that's all that matters to me. You see, you are the most beautiful person in 
the world so far as I am concerned and so, naturally, I want you to think of 
me as attractive, too.' She said that like any loving mother would, except 
that she backed off a little afterward and sort of posed, showing off her 
curves for my total viewing. 

"Then when I reached sixteen, Charles died. He was off on a business trip, 
attending a big meeting with the other executives of his company. He had a 
sudden heart attack that finished him off in just a minute or two. I was at 
school in the academy when the news came, but Marianne took me out and 
together we flew to the city where it happened and made all of the 
arrangements to bring Charles' body back home for burial. 

"It was a tremendous funeral service they had for Charles because he had a 
lot of relations and friends. Everyone was real sad, especially Marianne and 
me because she really thought Charles had been a good husband, despite the 
great difference in their ages. And I really had grown to think of him as a 
sort of father, the only man who'd actually treated me as a son. In fact, it 
took Marianne and me a whole month to get over our sorrow, we missed Charles 
so much. 

"At the end of that month, my next summer vacation came along and Marianne 
decided that it would probably be best if we took a little trip to the 
Bahamas where we could lay on the beach and plan our future. Naturally, I 
agreed that it was a great idea, and a couple of days later we were on our 
way by jet plane. We arrived in the Bahamas around midnight and went 
straight to the big, luxurious hotel where Marianne had made reservations. 

"We weren't exactly tired from the trip, but, for some reason, Marianne 
wanted to fix herself a quick whiskey highball and go right to bed. We had a 
double-bedroom suite, so I figured that I would stay up awhile longer and 
sashay around the lobby and swimming pool, getting more familiar with the 
hotel's fabulous layout. 'No, please don't,' Marianne said when I told her 
of my plans. 'There's plenty of time tomorrow to see everything, and we'll 
enjoy it much more if we refresh ourselves with a good night's sleep.' 

"Well, that sort of made sense, so I had myself some fruit juice spiked with 
a little of Marianne's whiskey, and sat with her while she downed her 
highball. She'd already gotten into her flimsy little negligee and I'd 
stripped to my shorts, so we were real relaxed, sitting there together on 
the couch. At least I was relaxed. Marianne only looked that way I found out 
when she'd emptied her glass. 

" 'Oh, we're going to have great fun together from now on, Billy darling,' 
she said, reaching over to play her hand over my chest, then kissing me 
squarely on my lips. 'We're going to travel the whole, wide world together, 
not like mother and son, because we're really not mother and son, but like 
sweethearts ... like lovers. Tell me, what do you think of that? Do you 
think I'm too old to be your sweetheart, your lover?' 

"Wow, did that ever come as a surprise! I knew Marianne felt very close to 
me and even loved me in a way that wasn't exactly a mother's love-but 
sweethearts, well that was something else! She's got to be kidding, I 
thought. 

So I pretended that it was all a joke. 'Hey, yeah, that would be great!' I 
answered. 'I'm pretty big for a sixteen-year-old and you're very 
young-looking for a thirty-year-old; we could fool a lot of people into 
thinking we are sweethearts.' 

"But Marianne definitely wasn't joking. I'd no sooner gotten the last word 
out when she started smothering me with hot kisses all over my mouth and 
chest, actually sucking a few seconds on my nipples. 'Oh, Billy darling,' 
she cried out softly, 'I do love you. I love you more than anyone I've ever 
known. This may sound terrible to you, but ever since I first saw you naked, 
I've wanted to make love to you. Your cock was very small, but it got hard 
when I kissed you, and it's gotten hard every time I've kissed you since. 
You and I both know that your beautiful cock wouldn't have reacted that way 
unless we had a real, honest-to-goodness sexual attraction for each 
other-unless we were truly meant for each other.' 

"I could tell, Marianne was in the same excited mood she was in with Charles 
when I peeked in and saw them naked in bed. She needed to be fucked, needed 
it badly, and I was the only male around she felt she could have-a male who 
had proved to her many times that he could get a big hard on, very easily, 
with just a kiss. Sure, Marianne really did love me, I knew that, but right 
then it wasn't love that had taken hold of her-it was sex, hot, desperate 
sex! 

" 'Gee, Marianne, I don't know what to say,' I answered. 'I've gotta admit 
that you get me all excited when you kiss me and it's a feeling I like very 
much, but I've never thought of ... of screwing you or anything like that. 
Do you mean that you would really like me to fuck you?' 

" 'Oh, yes, my darling, please, let us pretend you are my husband. We love 
each other, don't we? That's all that matters. The world need never know 
that I'm your guardian instead of your wife. The important thing is that we 
love each other and need each other, sexually and in every other way.' 

"Marianne kissed me on the mouth then, in a way she had never kissed me 
before. I mean, she ran her tongue into my mouth and gathered up my tongue 
and sucked on it hungrily, at the same time hugging me tight and rubbing her 
tits all over my bare chest. Oh, wow! She felt so good, so exciting. I 
couldn't think anymore. It was like I was being wrapped in a blanket of 
beautiful, tingling electricity. All I wanted was more and more and more of 
what she was doing. 

"Then Marianne moved her mouth to my chest and started sucking my nipples 
ten times hotter than before, while her hand started stroking all up and 
down the bulge of my tremendous, throbbing hard on. 'Yeah, yeah, I agree 
with you, Marianne. We are meant for each other. You're the most beautiful 
woman in the world and I don't care if I never have any other girl friends,' 
I told her. 

"I know now that I should never have said that because it was all the 
encouragement Marianne needed to go further. Before I could hardly bat an 
eye, she had my shorts unsnapped and my dick sticking straight out. I looked 
down at it, and couldn't believe what I saw. It was the biggest hard on I'd 
ever had in my life, bigger at least by a half an inch! And the 
head-damn-was swollen up as round as a plum!! 

"And Marianne was just as surprised as me. 'Oh, my darling, what a grand and 
glorious cock you have!' she cried happily. 'How big it has grown since I 
last saw you with a hard on.' Then she took my dick in her hand, petting and 
squeezing and sort of waving it around as she gawked at it. 'Ah, yes, it's 
just what the doctor ordered for me,' she purred. 'I can hardly wait to feel 
it way up deep inside my love-starved pussy.' " 

Alayman might ask this question regarding the persons involved in this case: 
"Where, from a psychological standpoint, does so-called normal behavior stop 
and deviant behavior begin and are the persons in this case true sexual 
deviants?" For assistance in finding the answer, we turn to Dr. Storr's 
comparison of the terms "normal" and "deviant" behavior: 

The use of the term deviation implies the existence of a standard of 
normality from which deviation may take place; but no absolute standard can 
be found, for what is considered sexually normal varies widely both from 
country to country and epoch to epoch. A sexual practice which is considered 
acceptable in one time and place may be abhorred as a perversion in another; 
and even within the same culture, each individual may adhere to a different 
standard of sexual behavior, depending upon the interaction between his 
upbringing and the strength of his sexual needs. It is safe to assert that 
there is no sexual practice which has not somewhere been condemned, and none 
which has not elsewhere been accepted.... 

In other words, deviant behavior is relative to time, place and individual 
preferences. If the laws prohibiting fellatio and cunnilingus in some states 
were enforced, the majority of the population would be in jail. Needless to 
say, American standards regarding this form of love-making are by no means 
universal or absolute-especially here in America. 

In Britain, masturbation was regarded for many years as not only an 
unnatural act, but was actually held responsible for certain forms of 
insanity. Such examples are, of course, endless. Perhaps Kinsey summed it up 
best when he said that the term normal simply means "what people do"-not 
what they should or should not do. Therefore, we must look at the individual 
case in point. 

Billy confesses he often was overcome by an irresistible urge to masturbate. 
Are these activities to be considered normal or deviant? Dr. Kinsey points 
out that masturbation is universally practiced by over 90 percent of the 
total male population, and more than 62 percent of the female population. 
The psychological complexes which do arise regarding masturbation are caused 
mainly by social attitudes toward the practice which tend to create feelings 
of guilt. Psychologists and psychiatrists are well aware of the damage done 
to many persons as a result of being censured for the practice either by 
adults or peers at an early and particularly sensitive period of life. 

The subject has described himself as a lonely child, deprived of the 
affection granted most children with a stable home environment. Therefore, 
it seems that resorting to the practice of masturbation, though not a 
solution to the problem, does seem a "normal" escape from the ache of 
loneliness. Later, in his adolescent period, there seems to be no indication 
that Billy preferred masturbation to normal coitus. As is often the case, 
few opportunities exist for a young boy to engage in normal sexual 
relations-especially, we night add, at a military academy. Suffice to say 
that masturbatory fantasies which he attached to his voluptuous foster 
mother, though probably of an oedipal nature, need not be considered 
abnormal under the circumstances and conditions of their relationship. 

At one point during the interviews, Billy recalled an incident when he 
observed his foster parents attempting the act of coitus. Overcome by a 
feeling of passion, Billy begins to masturbate while he continues to watch. 
Certainly, one might say, this is a kind of deviant behavior known as 
voyeurism. But is it so in this case? 

Storr maintains that the desire to see other people engaging in sexual 
activity "is so widespread that voyeurism cannot possibly be regarded as a 
sexual deviation unless it has become a main substitute for conventional 
methods of gratification." In Billy's case, voyeurism did not replace his 
desire for normal sexual relations. Given his background, we would be 
hard-pressed to find a reason why he wouldn't "eavesdrop" on his foster 
parents. 

Finally, with regard to the question of deviant behavior, can the overt 
sexual approach made by Marianne be classified as pedophilia? Since the 
seduction took place over a long period of time (about five years) one can 
hardly call her actions "an assault" upon a child. However, pedophilia is 
defined, technically, as the sexual love of children, so we might, in a 
sense, call this deviant behavior without doing serious damage to the 
concept. 

However, the fact that a thirty-year-old woman is sexually attracted to a 
sixteen-year-old boy, while it may appear as being, perhaps, bizarre, is 
certainly credible, and some cases have been reported. In dealing with this 
subject, Dr. Storr makes the following observation: 

. . . There are some women who also prefer their lovers to be much younger 
than themselves, but it is uncommon for a woman to be accused of interfering 
sexually with children of either sex. In a recent case, however, a 
twenty-year-old wife was accused, though acquitted, of a sexual association 
with an eleven-year-old schoolboy; and, in law, a woman can be guilty of 
indecent assault on either male or female. 

Storr concludes, as we must also, that truly compulsive deviant behavior in 
this area is practically a male prerogative. 

"All of a sudden it dawned on me that Marianne wasn't just pretending we 
were sweethearts and lovers; she actually meant what she said about wanting 
my dick in her pussy. And she had other preliminary ideas, too, because she 
not only toyed with my dick as we sat there close together, she moved her 
face closer and closer until I could feel her hot breath on it. Then before 
I could think of what was really going on, she started kissing and licking 
it all over, from the tip of the head down to my balls! 

" 'Marianne, what are you doing?' I cried out, feeling my face turning red 
and my cock starting to throb like crazy, sort of catching on fire from the 
wild heat of her long, drooling tongue. 

" 'Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, I love this gorgeous cock of yours so much, my dearest,' 
she muttered happily as she reached down between my legs and gathered up my 
balls in one hand, licking my dick more and more hungrily. 'I've just got to 
kiss it all over and taste its delicious little-boy sweetness.' 

"Only she wasn't satisfied with just using her tongue for tasting. No, 
before I could stop her, she sank her whole mouth down around my towering 
hard on and began to suck for all she was worth, at the same time rolling my 
balls around in her hand greedily. 

" 'Marianne, please, it isn't right for you to be doing that!' I stammered. 
What the hell will people think if they find out? Oh, wow, I'm getting a 
funny feeling down there, a real hot and excited feeling! You'd better stop, 
Marianne! If you don't stop, I think I'm going to ... . to ... .oh, 
Marianne, I can't help it! I can't stop-it! Oooooo-eeeeeee, you're making me 
do it!' 

"Of course, I'd come several times before in the past few years in wet 
dreams and from jacking off, but was I ever embarrassed coming in Marianne's 
mouth! I tried not to. I begged her to stop her wild sucking, but it was no 
use; she was sort of out of her mind with passion and just couldn't stop, 
not even when I was shooting. 

"Anyway, there wasn't any need for me to be embarrassed as far as Marianne 
was concerned, because, honestly, she really loved it-every drop. 'I'm 
sorry, my darling,' she muttered, lifting her mouth off my dick and looking 
at me lovingly. 'Your adorable cock was so magnificently hard and delicious 
that I just couldn't resist going down on it. Please, Billy, I hope you 
won't hate me for doing it.' 

"I don't know why but for some reason-maybe it was the wild passion in her 
expression-I'd never seen her looking more beautiful. 'I could never hate 
you, Marianne, no matter what,' I answered, surprised that my prick was 
still hard as a rock instead of wilting like it usually does after I come. 
'I just don't understand, that's all. I just don't understand why you would 
want to suck my dick and drink up all of my come. It felt so good having you 
do that, but I just don't understand. I thought that all you wanted was to 
be fucked in your pussy.' 

"Then she told me why. All at once, I found out why she'd been so mad at 
Charles when I peeked in on them having sex, and why she'd been so extra 
loving toward me at times. It wasn't a long, drawn-out confession that she 
gave me, sitting beside me and gently stroking my dick; it was all told in a 
very few words. 

" 'Listen and please try to understand, Billy dear,' Marianne said softly. 
'I'm a very passionate woman. Once a month without fail I get in such heat 
that I can hardly see straight. My pussy gets absolutely desperate for 
fucking. But fucking is not all there is to sex. There are a lot of very 
wonderful preliminaries that prepare a woman for fucking and make it a 
thousand times better. like sucking a man's cock and fondling his balls. But 
I must have a nice, big, virile cock fucking me, and I must truly love the 
one who's doing it. That's my whole story in a nutshell; you're an extremely 
virile boy-I've noticed your big hard on many times-and, of course, I've 
learned to love you more and more until now you're the most precious thing 
in my whole life. From now on, all I want is to make love to you and let you 
make love to me, any way you want to.' 

" 'Any way I want to, Marianne?' 

" 'Yes, my precious, any way you want to. You can fuck my cunt until the 
cows come home, and if you want to eat my cunt and tits, that's all right, 
too. Anything you do to me in the way of sex would be a great and ecstatic 
thrill to me.' 

"So then I knew why Marianne was the kind of woman she was, and I 
understood. In a way, I kind of felt sorry for her, craving sex all those 
years with old Charles and not getting very much, not even coming very often 
unless she jacked herself off or got Charles to screw her with his tongue. 
By way of telling her that I understood, and by way of telling her that I 
would make up for all those years of going without, I gave her a big, hot, 
long-lasting kiss on her mouth, hugging her tight. 

" 'Marianne, I love you,' I said after our kiss. 'I really want to be the 
most precious thing in your life. And I want always to be your sweetheart. 
... your lover. I don't want any other girl as long as I live. Anything you 
want me to do, I'll do. I'll fuck you and suck your pussy and tits-anything 
to make you happy.' 

" 'Oh, Billy, my own, if you only knew how happy I am just to hear you say 
that,' she said, bending down and sucking up the drop of juice that had 
bubbled up on the tip of my dick. 'I promise you that you'll never, never 
regret it. I promise to give you the very best fucking that you could ever, 
ever have. Because I know you, my precious darling; I know that you're as 
passionate as I am. After all, I've practically raised you, and if you want 
to know a little secret, I've raised you all for myself. Yes, it's true, I 
knew that Charles had a weak heart and wouldn't last very long, so I excited 
you with hot kisses to build your sexuality and prepare you for the day when 
we would have only each other, sexually and in every other way. Now, please, 
my darling, tell me, aren't you glad? Aren't you glad that I planned 
everything just for you and me?' 

"My God, what a story! What a surprise! But for some reason I wasn't nearly 
as surprised as I probably should've been. It was almost as if I had 
suspected the truth all along but was afraid to admit it for fear of losing 
my security as an adopted kid who is loved for himself alone-more like a 
real flesh and blood son. Only now I was sixteen, almost grown up, and 
didn't need that feeling of security. I was old enough to strike out on my 
own, if I wanted to. I was old enough to need sex and to want a woman for no 
other reason than she was a woman. 

" 'Yeah, Marianne,' I answered sincerely, 'I am glad that you planned 
everything for just us. I used to think of you as my guardian and mother, 
but no more. From now on I can think of you only as my girl ... my 
sweetheart ... my wife.' 

"What more could I say? What more could she say? There was nothing more for 
Marianne and I to do then but get down to the business of sex. And that's 
exactly what we did. After giving my dong one more kiss, Marianne leaped off 
the divan and, standing close in front of me, peeled off her negligee so 
quickly it seemed like magic. 'Now, my precious, you can see everything I've 
been saving for you,' she said with a big, devilish smile. 'Now you can see 
me completely in the raw, just as I've often seen you when you were a little 
boy. Really, I've wanted you to see me naked ever since Charles passed away, 
but I just didn't have the nerve until now.' 

"Well, I'd seen Marianne naked before when I accidentally came upon her 
having sex with Charles that night, but now she was naked just for me and 
that made a big difference. For one thing, she was much closer to me, and 
for another thing she was much hotter. Her huge tits, almost the size of 
cantaloupes, seemed to stick out in more of a point, with longer, redder 
nipples. And her shapely long legs seemed to be farther apart, leaving a 
wide space in between which made her hairy pussy stand out a lot prettier. 
Also, I noticed that the hair on her fat pussy was glistening wet, like 
sparkling dew-drops on the early-morning grass. 

" 'Wow, Marianne, you sure do look beautiful without any clothes on!' I 
said, slipping out of my shorts to be completely naked like her. 'Honestly, 
you're the only girl or woman that I've ever seen naked, but I'll bet 
there's none in all the world better-looking than you.' 

" 'Thank you, my darling,' she sort of gasped, beginning to pant louder and 
moving her pussy up closer to my face, her legs spreading wider to give me a 
fuller view of it. 'My naked body is all yours, you know. You can have 
anything you see, any way you like it. All you have to do is say what you 
want, my precious, and I'll only be too glad to deliver.' 

"For a second there I was tempted to stick my fingers in and have a feel of 
Marianne's pussy, but I figured that I'd better not be quite so bold right 
at the beginning. 'Your tits really look delicious,' I said, standing up so 
that my mouth came even with her long, hard nipples. 'I'd first like to suck 
in them and maybe get some of your milk to drink. Do you think I can get 
some milk out of them, Marianne, if I suck real hard?' Without waiting for 
her answer I took her left tit in both hands and sank my mouth hungrily 
around its long, candy-apple point. 

" 'My tits are full of delicious hot milk, dear one, and I've been saving it 
all for you,' she lied, grabbing hold of my dick with one hand and my balls 
with the other, then slipping the head of my dick inside the slit of her 
pussy. 'You can get it if you suck real hard; real, real hard. Ah, yes, 
that's perfect! Mmmmmmm, darling, it's just marvelous, having you nurse on 
my nipples, like you are truly my own baby and I am truly your mother. Oh, 
suck, suck, baby! Drink my hot mother's milk! It's so good for you and 
sooooooo good for me, too!' 

"Well, I didn't get any milk but, let me tell you, I sure tried. I sucked 
until I was blue in the face, actually imagining that I was drawing 
something out, something warm and spicy. So what? It was great fun, anyway, 
and all the more fun because Marianne was keeping time with my sucking, 
bumping her big, hot pussy-slit up against the head of my super-hard dick, 
sending a million volts of electricity racing through it. 

"I mean, the head of my cock wasn't just bumping in between the hot, fat 
lips of Marianne's pussy; it was sliding back and forth in all that juice of 
hers, like her pussy-lips were jacking me off. Damn, was that ever turning 
me on! 

"I guess I started to help it along by pushing my dick in rhythm with her 
humping, because very soon she decided that I was getting too excited in our 
standing position. 'Oh, Billy, we'd better stop this!' she groaned, pushing 
my head free of her tits and backing her pussy away. 'I'm afraid you're 
going to come and I don't want that to happen so soon, especially in this 
very awkward position. I want you to come fucking me and I want to come with 
you-at the very same time.' 

" 'Okay, Marianne, I'll do whatever you say,' I muttered like a meek little 
slave, positive that she was then going to haul me off to her bedroom. Yeah, 
somehow in my dumbness I figured that screwing was never done anywhere but 
on a bed because that's where it was always done in the dirty stories the 
kids used to tell at the military academy. 

"But was I ever in for a surprise. Instead of taking me to a bed, or even to 
the divan close by, Marianne gave me a real wild look, like she was in some 
kind of terrible, unbearable pain. Then she flopped smack down on her back, 
right there on the floor! Raising her knees way up high and spreading them 
as wide as possible, she sort of half moaned and half sobbed. 'Quick, 
darling, come down here and fuck me! I'm so terribly hot for you that I 
can't stand it anymore! Please, Billy, I've just got to have your beautiful 
hard cock in me now. ... this very minute!! ! ' 

"Poor Marianne, I felt sorry for her, suffering like that. But still I 
couldn't bring myself to flop down between her legs right at that instant. I 
wanted to, believe me, but her pussy, close in front of me, was so. ... so 
spectacular, all opened up and sparkling pink, that I was hypnotized by it. 
I mean, I was really hypnotized! I couldn't take my eyes off it! 

"After all, I'd never before seen the inside of a cold pussy, much less a 
boiling hot one, and I had to see everything there was to see. So I just 
stood there and stared, taking in Marianne's beautiful, juice-filled hole, 
the pretty little wings just above and the peanut-sized button near the top 
that was jumping up a storm, reminding me of a Mexican jumping bean in a 
red, hot frying pan. 

" 'Oh, please, darling, don't just stand there looking!' Marianne sobbed 
tearfully as she stretched her arms out to me. 'Can't you see how I'm 
suffering? Can't you see how desperate I am for you to fuck me?' 

"That snapped me out of my trance-that and the throbbing in my long, 
rock-hard dick that was getting so painful I could barely stand it. All of a 
sudden I was as desperate to have my prick in Marianne's pussy as she was. 
Not wasting another second, I flopped down between her smooth, soft legs, 
laid my mouth down hard on hers as she quickly inserted my fired-up hard on 
into her pussy-hole, then began pumping up and down for all I was worth. 

"Wow, what a feeling! It seemed like Marianne's pussy was swallowing me, 
balls and all! It seemed like my whole naked body was inside her belly, 
getting squeezed and stroked and sucked by those boiling hot inner muscles. 
It seemed like she had swallowed me in whole and was actually doing her 
darndest to digest me-as though I was a big hunk of steak! 

"But I loved it, every split second of it, not only the way her pussy was 
gobbling up my dick, but also the way her tongue was shooting deep into my 
mouth and throat, sort of keeping time with the wild humping of her big 
butt. And what wild noises were coming out of her, both from her pussy and 
from way down deep in her throat. Her pussy sounded like the bubbling of 
lava at the bottom of a live volcano, which I guess it was, in a way; and 
the sounds from her throat were the sounds of a starved animal gorging 
itself of food. 

"Finally, I felt myself beginning to explode. And I felt Marianne beginning 
to explode, too. I pumped faster and faster, harder and harder; she began 
twisting and squirming, meeting my harder thrusts with harder thrusts of her 
own. Then she started clawing my back and jerking her head from side to side 
so wildly that she lost my mouth. 

" 'Ohhhhhhh, sonovabitch ... damn ... shit!' she groaned. 'I'm coming, 
cooooomming! Oh, baby, it's so wonderful ... so marvelous ... so heavenly! 
Shoot, my precious darling, shoot. 

Shoot, shoot your wonderful hot come in me!! Flood my cunt with your sweet, 
little-boy come!! I want it!! I've got to have it!! ' 

"Well, she didn't have to ask for it, because she was already getting it. I 
mean, I started unloading in her belly about the same time she popped off. 
Only I was too far out in orbit to do any talking like her. She must've 
known; she must've been crying out for me to come just to get more, as if 
that was possible. 

"Anyway, she didn't cry out for more very long because she didn't have the 
strength. In a few seconds her voice got softer and softer, and she just 
sort of wilted like a wet rag with her eyes closed and her drooly mouth 
hanging half open. I got a little glimpse of her pretty face that way, then 
I collapsed and went to sleep on top of her, feeling like I had just run 
full speed in a hundred mile race. Never, but never in my whole life, had I 
felt so bushed-or so tingly good. Because, you see, I felt like I'd won that 
hundred mile race. 

"I don't know how long I slept, but it was daylight when I woke up and 
Marianne was no longer on the floor with me. Somehow she had managed to 
wiggle out from under me and, after quietly dressing, had slipped out to do 
some shopping in the nifty little hotel boutiques. By the time I'd showered 
and dressed, she was back with an armfull of new duds for both of us, plus a 
couple of bottles of vitamins just for me. 

" 'Hell, Marianne, I don't need all those vitamins,' I told her. 'I'm plenty 
healthy and strong, you oughta know that after what we've been through 
already in such a short time. 

"Her answer should've tipped me off to what kind of relationship she had in 
mind for us but it didn't. I guess I was just too dumb. 'Oh, yes, my 
darling, you are plenty healthy and strong right now but it isn't now that 
I'm concerned about; it's the future.' After saying that, she walked up to 
me real sexy-like and gave me a big hug and kiss, grinding her pussy up 
against my dick a little. 'We're going to have such a marvelous future 
together, you and I, aren't we, dear?' she added. 

" 'Yeah, sure, Marianne, we can't miss,' I said, thinking that maybe it 
wasn't so bad after all, having a mother and a common-law wife all wrapped 
into one. Then just to make Marianne happy, I let her drop several of those 
big vitamin capsules in my mouth. 

"The next month was real ... well, peculiar. I mean, we stayed on in the 
Bahamas, enjoying the best climate and ocean surf in the world, fishing, 
taking in a few guided tours and all that stuff. But Marianne wasn't 
romantic hardly ever. Yeah, sure, she kissed me plenty and called me sweet 
names, but it didn't go any further than that. She didn't even come into the 
bathroom to see me when I was showering, or visit me in bed to talk and 
maybe sneak a little feel. Really, it was like old times before Charles 
passed away. The only difference was that we were together more, and she had 
me taking those damn vitamins every day. 

"Then suddenly-pow!-Marianne was back in heat and I understood the whole 
routine, vitamins and all. She hadn't meant to be sexually cool and motherly 
toward me; she'd just been coasting along in between her monthly spells of 
red hot passion. She'd been building on my strength and saving it for the 
day that she really, desperately needed it. And that day had finally 
arrived. 

"Man, I'll never forget it. There I was, laying in bed late one morning, 
completely nude and uncovered because of the warm, tropical air blowing in 
from the nearby window, wondering if Marianne would want to go swimming of 
fishing that day. The door opened and there she was, staring at me hungrily, 
as naked as I was. Only it was clear that she hadn't just gotten out of bed, 
because her face was made up with eye shadow and her hair was beautifully 
combed out, like she'd fixed herself up special just for me. And her 
tits-wowee!-I'd never seen them standing out so far and pointed, with 
nipples so long and red. 

" 'Hello, my darling,' she said softly when she noticed me looking at her 
with wide open, admiring eyes. 'It's nice to be naked on a morning like 
this, isn't it? Would you like to have some company? I've been thinking of 
you all night, and of how terribly much I love you. I just had to see you 
before we got dressed and started a new day of pretending that we are mother 
and son instead of lovers.' 

" 'But, Marianne, I thought you had changed your mind about us being 
lovers,' I said. 'You've been so ... so motherly toward me the past month, I 
thought you were ashamed of letting me do what I did to you when we first 
got here.' 

" 'Ashamed? Never!' she answered, coming toward me and sitting on the edge 
of my bed. 'How could I ever be ashamed of having sex with the only boy that 
I've ever truly loved, the only male that I've ever truly wanted? No, my 
precious, the sex we had last month was positively heavenly and I wouldn't 
have missed it for the whole world. You may not realize it, but every day 
since then I've been looking forward to the time when we'd be having sex 
again. The only fear I've had is that you might not want me again that way.' 

"I had an answer for her. I was going to tell her that maybe it was best 
that we didn't have any more sex together because sooner or later someone 
was bound to find out about us and maybe cause a lot of trouble. But she 
bent over me before I could say anything and pressed her lips against mine, 
at the same time running her hand down over my nipples and stomach until she 
reached my dick. The next instant, she was shooting her long, hot tongue 
deep into my mouth and working my dick into a tremendous hard on. 

"Let me tell you, with Marianne's tongue dancing around in my mouth and her 
long, electric fingers racing all over my cock and balls, it took me a few 
seconds to get as hot as a furnace. 'Oh, Marianne, you sure know how to get 
me worked up, don't you?' I groaned, taking hold of one of her giant tits 
and milking the nipple with my fingers. 'If you don't be careful, you'll get 
me so worked up that I'll want to fuck your pussy again. Yeah, you've got 
such a nice big, sexy pussy, I think I could spend this whole day fucking 
it.' 

"It was then that Marianne let the cat out of the bag. 'No, my own precious 
baby,' she answered, her breath beginning to sound like a boiling steam 
engine, 'you're going to do more than fuck me today. You're going to let me 
eat you up completely and you're going to eat me up completely. We're going 
to do everything today, and I do mean everything. We're going to have all 
the sex that's possible between male and female, because only in that way 
can we prove our great love for each other.' 

"The next instant, Marianne straddled my hard on and lowered herself down on 
it, plunging it all the way into her pussy-hole. Then she just sat there, 
bouncing up and down like a cowboy on a bucking bronco while she held my 
hands to her hard, bouncing tits. 'Fuck, Billy, fuck!' she cried like a 
woman gone mad. 'Ram your beautiful little-boy hard on deep into my 
love-starved cunt ... . deeper, deeper, deeper!! ' 

"Maybe it was the vitamins I'd been taking or maybe it was Marianne's extra 
hot pussy, I don't know, but anyway I popped off real quick. And that was 
exactly what she wanted because it excited her all the more, making her come 
in a gigantic explosion almost at the same time. 

" 'Wow-eee!' she bellowed in ecstasy. 'How I needed that! Oh, how I needed 
that! You're so marvelous, my beloved, so virile and full of youthful 
passion! Please, please give me more of your passion! I've simply got to 
have more!' 

"And so I gave her more, just as she wanted it. I screwed her again with me 
on top; then I washed and let her give my dick a good, hot sucking with her 
mouth; then she washed and I gave in to her tearful plea for my tongue 
licking and jabbing in her boiling pussy. I mean, I gave her so much sex 
that I didn't have any more to give. But still she demanded more and more! 

"There was just no way, no way, that Marianne could get enough. And I knew 
that it would be the same when she was back in heat a month later-and every 
month from then on if I stayed with her. There was only one answer: I had, 
to leave her or literally get loved to death! So I left her. My strength was 
practically drained to nothing, but that very same afternoon while Marianne 
was resting, I took some money from her purse, sneaked out of the hotel and 
never went back. I just disappeared right out of her life. 

"I don't know, maybe I did wrong, running away from Marianne like that after 
she and Charles had rescued me from the orphanage and been so good to me. 
Every now and then I get little pangs of conscience over it. But, really, 
what else was I to do?" 

The sexual appetite of Billy's foster mother appears abnormal at first 
glance. However, this view may be somewhat prejudiced by our puritanical 
background. Researching this phenomenon in his book Sexual Freedom, Rene 
Guyon makes some pertinent observations: 

The fact is that woman's sexual appetite is usually very strong. The 
Bedouins declare that her senses are as inflammable as touchwood. Bauer 
declares it indisputable "that women were always on the look-out for a man 
who will gratify their sexual desire." And Norman Haire writes in Hymen: 
"Every sexologist is aware that the normal woman has as vigorous a 
sex-appetite as the normal man, and it is just as frequent for married women 
to complain of their husband's inadequacy as of his sexual excess." 

We can't help but applaud Billy's decision to break away from his foster 
mother. Knowing how dependent such relationships can be, it must have 
required great strength of character. In fact, despite his many early 
handicaps and loneliness, Billy shows remarkable progress and seems well on 
his way to assuming a sexually mature adult role. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Hazardous Houseplay 

"There was something strange in the way he looked at me, his eyes piercing 
through my nightgown. I thought he was trying to be friendly, trying to make 
up for the love I'd missed. But his love wasn't the kind I expected. 

"I turned my cheek for him to kiss me goodnight, but the first thing I knew, 
his mouth was planted fully and firmly upon mine, his tongue trying to part 
my lips. I squirmed reluctantly, but his grasp was strong and demanding. 

" 'No!' I managed to cry out. His relentless mouth hushed my protest, his 
lips bearing down hard on mine, twisting them and forcing them apart. 

"No one had ever kissed me this way before. I knew that this was the secret 
that grown-ups tried to keep from us kids, that this was sex. At thirteen 
you dream about things like this, but you don't expect them to happen for 
real. And no matter how hard you try to imagine what lovemaking is really 
like, you don't know until it happens. And with me it happened with Jess, a 
man I wanted desperately to call father.' 

"There was no way on earth I could have stopped him. Kate, his bitchy wife, 
was gone for the evening and he was determined to have me right then and 
there. Sure, I knew tricks to use with a rapist. You push your fingers in 
their eyes or knee them in the balls. I couldn't do anything like that to 
Jess, though. I was too crazy about him even then. 

"Had he guessed how I felt about him? That I thought he was the handsomest 
man I'd ever seen? That I sympathized every time his wife treated him lousy? 
Had I brought all this upon myself somehow? These things raced through my 
mind, then and afterwards, too. Well, if I'd really led him on, I couldn't 
blame him, could I? I'd have to keep my unspoken promises. 

"It's true that I felt a tingle of attraction for him, even when the social 
worker was introducing us. Here was this tough, lean-looking guy, tall and 
brawny, with hands big enough to crush me. I knew as I looked at the pair of 
them standing there just what was up. His dumpy wife wanted to have a kid 
around to get even with him for something, maybe for not making her pregnant 
with a kid of her own. She was a mean one. She wouldn't have known how to 
mother a kitten or a puppy or be kind to a crippled, dying bird. And she 
hated Jess, probably because his big boots made marks on her floors. I knew 
her type, hustling and bustling around with the Ajax to keep herself from 
doing something really violent. 

"Jess wasn't the meek sort, though, and I figured that he spent most of his 
time away from the house, probably taking refuge in drinking beer. And he 
didn't really want a kid around either, except maybe he thought that would 
give Kate something to occupy herself with. 

" 'I thought you meant a little kid,' he said to the social worker, as he 
looked me up and down. 

" 'Barbara's a little mature for her age. You'll find her bright and 
agreeable. She'll be a lot of help to your wife, too.' The social worker 
smiled cheerily. 

"Hell, that social worker was either putting on a big show or else she was 
downright dumb. I knew more than she did about people from watching TV and 
movies and trying to imagine what real families were like. 

"She was right about one thing, though, Kate put me to work, scrubbing and 
polishing, hardly giving me time off to do my homework. I felt like 
Cinderella, but there was no fairy godmother and no prince for me. 

"Unless the prince was Jess. He was the only thing I liked about my life. 
School was awful; the kids treated me like dirt. Jess would joke with me and 
be nice to me. He liked me from the start, but I had no notion of the way he 
liked me. Really I didn't know it would come to this. 

"That's what made it so difficult. I had a crush on Jess and I'd dreamed 
that someday he'd start being really sweet to me, the way a father should 
be. Well, I didn't know much about men, I'll admit. I thought it would be 
possible for him to just hold me gently, nothing more than that. I thought 
that's what love was with a father or a boyfriend or anybody. 

"There was nothing gentle or loving about his advances. He wasn't the same 
person who'd told me about hunting and fishing a few hours earlier. He'd 
turned into a wild beast. 

"As he pressed his lips down roughly against mine, his hands struggled to 
get inside my nightgown, ripping it in several places. That's how desperate 
he was. I could do nothing but surrender myself to him, for I was 
frightened, not sure what he'd do if I didn't give in. 

"So I yielded, letting his tongue into my mouth where it swirled around, 
brushing my own tongue as well as my lips and my teeth. This gave me a 
strange sensation which I couldn't accept as pleasure. Not yet. It was too 
strange, too new. At the same time, his fingers dug into my breasts, first 
from outside the nightgown, then on the bare skin. I knew that's what had 
captivated him-my breasts which were big and heavy and made me look so much 
older. He plucked at them roughly, not caring if he hurt me, it seemed. He 
acted like an animal. 

"I responded without realizing it at the time, but I remember now that my 
breath started coming in little gasps. My heart pounded hard and loud, 
partly from fear and partly from pleasure. Being afraid was really part of 
enjoying it. Even now, I'm not sure when the fear stopped and the enjoyment 
began. Chills shot up my spine as his hands grazed my naked skin, chills 
that might have been from fear or from pleasure or from both. 

"Still kissing me brutally, he positioned himself over me, lowering his body 
to mine, his weight nearly crushing me. It was no use struggling. I knew I 
couldn't get away from him, and maybe I already didn't want to. 

"His thick chest now weighed heavily on my tender breasts, flattening them 
beneath him. With his feet and legs, he was pushing the bedcovers back, all 
the while squirming against me. His knees then began to pry my legs apart. 

"I trembled, totally helpless now. I could feel the bulge of his cock 
against my belly and there was no mistaking what he meant to do. 

" 'I'm going to have you, Barb, you little bitch,' he said, withdrawing his 
lips from mine at last. 'Whether you like it or not. But I think you'll like 
it. I think it's what you've been wantin' all along, isn't it?' 

" 'No, you're mistaken,' I whispered breathlessly, 'No, Jess, no.' 

"But even as I protested, I felt my body begin to melt under his. My legs 
now touched his, although his worn trousers still kept our bare skin from 
meeting. He moved against me in an up and down motion that was a preview of 
what he would soon do to me. I felt myself begin to sway under him. My body 
was turning to liquid. It seemed I was a quivering heap. 

"I looked up at his face, gazing into the handsomeness mixed with harsh 
cruelty. So this was passion. It was wrong. God, I knew it was wrong, yet 
somewhere inside I was proud that I could bring a man to desire me as a 
woman. 

"Again his lips came down on mine and this time I yielded my tongue to him, 
letting it twirl about his as his mouth twisted mine hungrily. At the same 
time, I opened my thighs wider, as though to tell him to go ahead and do 
whatever it was. I didn't expect to like it, yet I liked what was happening 
now. I felt cool then hot and kind of tingly. It was like something in a 
dream. 

"Then he broke away from me and sat up. He was gloating. He'd made me hot 
and he was pleased with himself. 'Oh, Jess, does it have to be this way?' I 
wanted to cry out to him, but I couldn't. 

"I watched as he took off his pants, his cock springing out as he lowered 
his pants and his shorts at the same time. I'd never seen a man's naked cock 
before and began to wonder if there was room for it all inside me. I knew 
that men's organs could be pretty big, but I had no idea that when they got 
hard they were tough enough to stand up by themselves. I was mystified and I 
wanted to explore that cock. 

"He gave me my wish, for as soon as his pants were off, he guided my hand 
toward that enormous tool. I ran my fingertips over the surface, touching 
all its little veins and bumps. Then he took my small hand in his and showed 
me how to encircle it with my thumb and forefinger. Silently, he guided my 
hand up and down, watching me intently. I was too entranced to say anything. 
To think that men carried things like this inside their pants all the time! 
I found it hard to believe that men and girls were really so different. 

"I guess he sensed my admiration. He smiled down at me, but it was a wicked 
smile. I was ashamed for letting myself get so carried away, but I couldn't 
help it. 

"The next thing I knew he was pulling up my nightgown, exposing my naked 
skin, my spread thighs, my belly and at last my breasts. Finally, he undid 
the buttons at the neck and pulled it over my head. I didn't cooperate, but 
I didn't do anything to hinder him. I just lay there, letting him look at my 
tits. He waited like a wild beast about to spring. 

"Then he was over me, his lips smothering me, leaving patches of dampness 
all over my face. His hands worked roughly at my breasts, pulling the 
nipples, squeezing them. His legs were neatly between mine and hanging over 
my mound was his rigid prick. 

"This was my last chance to stop him, but instead I lay there gasping and 
quaking. My body spoke a language all its own, a language that Jess 
understood even if I didn't. 

"His hand found its way to the damp mass of hair around my pussy and for 
several minutes he massaged the loose, tender flesh. I trembled at his 
touch, never having felt anything quite like it before. My head whirled 
dizzily. Soon his fingers were replaced by the head of his cock. He moved it 
up and down along the slippery surface of my cunt. 

"Probably the hole wasn't all that easy to find. I didn't think I was a 
virgin, technically speaking, but I'd never been penetrated by anything 
bigger than one of my own fingers. Suddenly, his cock was prodding at the 
right spot. He applied pressure and stretched my cunt to let himself in. 
Slowly his enormous tool sank into me. 

" 'Oooooo,' I cried out, though I'm not sure if it was pleasure or pain I 
felt at first. More than anything, I was aware of the sensation of being 
filled to the brim. My slight body seemed to be nothing more than a thin 
sheath around his cock. That's how big it felt. 

"My eyes were squeezed shut as he began to pump up and down, sliding his 
prick in and out and jostling my whole body as he did so. I was suddenly 
still. For just an instant, I was aware of what was happening. I was having 
intercourse, getting 'fucked,' and the man wasn't my husband or boyfriend 
but my foster father. It wasn't just a dream; it was really happening to me! 
I recoiled in horror, but the slow, sensuous rhythm of his cock invading me 
again and again numbed my mind, dimming everything but the strange new 
sensations that rose in my body and overwhelmed me. I gave way to the 
mysterious energy that flowed through my body. Soon I'd put my arms around 
him, pulling him even closer to me. 

"He humped me slowly at first, then gradually increased his speed. I didn't 
move with him, but I was moving. I simply couldn't lie still. My hips sprang 
upward and swiveled beneath his powerful strokes. He drove his tool into me 
with more and more force, whipping it in and out so fiercely that I thought 
it would rip me to pieces. The softness of my body yielded completely and 
sometimes my pussy seemed to be sucking his cock into it. I really hadn't 
known I was capable of such things. 

"How unbelievable it was, me lying there all soft and warm and wiggling, 
while Jess prodded that huge prick of his into me again and again, faster 
and fasten My body was like a raging fire with flames that leapt out from my 
pussy and heat that spread to every part of me. He was so beastly, so cruel 
as he rode me without caring what happened to me, and yet, for reasons 
beyond my understanding, I liked what he was doing to me. 

"There was a slurp, slurp as his cock pushed into my wet cunt. Puddles of 
sweat seemed to glue our bodies together. There were unfamiliar smells, even 
the smell of our sweat was different. Nothing was like the real world where 
things are clean, cold and shiny. This was warm and soft and spicy, like 
maybe an opium dream. 

"My sensations began to overtake me. I lost myself to the strange thrill of 
it all. Nothing mattered but what I felt deep inside me. I clung to Jess and 
my pussy rose toward him. I wanted more and more of him. 

"At last he was moving so rapidly it was like the vibrations of an engine. 
His breath had turned to low, quick gasps as he prodded me with short, fast 
strokes. I felt myself growing softer and softer, warmer and warmer. His 
damp shoulder over my face cut off the air, and I was sure I was going to 
faint. 

"Finally, I seemed to turn to jelly. Ripples of pleasure started in my cunt 
and spread through me. It was like music or maybe like an explosion, I don't 
know. I lost control of my body which jerked and bucked all on its own 
accord. I just let it happen. Again and again the waves of sensation hit me. 

"All this time, of course, Jess was fucking me furiously. I was surprised, 
though, when he halted suddenly with no warning. Only moments later, when he 
pulled out his huge cock and I felt the gobs of liquid that trailed from it, 
did I realize that he'd come. 

"It was over and I lay there whimpering. Jess picked up his clothes and 
left. I felt so alone. I've always been alone, of course, but never quite so 
alone as at that moment. One instant he was holding me to him, his 
beautifully big cock deep inside me, and the next minute, nothing. My body 
still heaved and trembled. The heaving soon turned to sobs. 

"I could have screamed 'rape,' I suppose, but the thought didn't occur to 
me. I'd been part of it, Jess hadn't forced me, not all the way. I'd given 
in. I'd wanted it. 

"Days passed and I longed for Kate to go away so Jess could make love to me 
again. Funny, I thought things would change, that Jess might start treating 
me differently, but he became rather distant after that night. He didn't 
make little jokes for my benefit or talk to me at the table anymore. I 
figured, though, that he was putting on a front for Kate so she wouldn't 
guess what had happened between us. 

"I'd go to my room alone, try to focus on my homework and end up flopping on 
the bed, my body seething with desire which I thought only Jess could 
satisfy. I longed for him, ached for him. I didn't dare touch my pussy-it 
was so hot. 

"At last we were alone again. I got undressed and lay nude between the 
sheets waiting for him. Time passed and he didn't come. Finally, I threw on 
a robe and went to the living room where he was watching TV. 

" 'What you doin' up?' he asked. 

" 'Just thought you might like some company,' I said. 

" 'Well, you better go back to bed,' he told me sternly. 

" 'Jess...' I began and I almost started to stutter. 'Couldn't it be like, 
you know, two weeks ago, when Kate was out? You remember, don't you?' 

"He looked at me and I could see both hatred and passion in his eyes. He 
hadn't wanted me to bring that up. 

" 'Barb, whatever you think happened, you just imagined. You hear? It wasn't 
real. You dreamed it up. You dreamed the whole thing.' 

"I couldn't believe my ears. 'It did happen, Jess, I know it did!' I 
protested. 

" 'It didn't. Now, go to bed,' he yelled. 

"I don't know why I let this confuse me, but I began to wonder whether I was 
sane. Now and then, I'd put things together and admit that it was real. 
Jess, of course, was trying to protect himself by pretending that it wasn't. 
But I needed some protection, too, so I'd tell myself that it wasn't real 
and that I was going mad. It was easier to think of myself as insane than 
admitting that I'd allowed this to happen. 

"To make matters worse, I went to the counselor at school. When I told her I 
thought I was losing my mind, she kept asking why until I finally told her 
what there'd been between Jess and me. Then she, too, told me that I must 
have imagined it. I walked out of her office, deciding that it was best to 
let her think that." 

The libidinous thoughts which Barbara expressed throughout the interviews, 
though vivid, detailed and extremely convincing, actually spring from a well 
of autoerotic fantasy. The case is unusual in that the subject is remarkably 
skillful in combining the real facts, such as her pregnancy, with her rich 
dream and imaginary worlds. 

In other respects, the case is not unusual. In fact, cases such as Barbara's 
have been the cornerstone of psychiatric research from the earliest days. 
Indeed, Freud discovered around 1900 that some of the traumatic childhood 
experiences described by patients were actually fantasies. These discoveries 
opened a new field of psychiatric study, pertaining to early development of 
the child. 

Freud wanted to find out why patients so frequently fantasized explicit 
scenes of sexual seduction, and it was through this research that he evolved 
his theory of the sexual development of man. 

Perhaps there is no better interpretation of the Freudian concept of 
childhood sexuality than Dr. Clara Thomson's Psycho-analysis. In this work, 
she describes how Freud was able to develop his theory of the Oedipus 
complex through the examination of fantasy. 

As Freud observed through dream interpretation and the recollections of 
neurotics similar to the one in this case, the Oedipus complex manifested 
itself at a certain age when the child becomes sexually interested in the 
parent of the opposite sex, developing a feeling of rivalry and a wish to 
displace the parent of the same sex. Dr. Thomson elaborates further on the 
Freudian concept: 

The problematical aspect of the Oedipus complex was thought to be due to the 
following. The boy child, for example, soon learns that sexual interest in 
the mother is taboo. Also, because of his erotic interest in his mother he 
feels hostile to his father, whom he considers a rival. But he loves his 
father at the same time, and this makes hostile feelings toward him a source 
of distress. Also, because of his hostile feelings for his mother he expects 
punishment, and the punishment which fits the crime is castration. Something 
similar happens to the little girl with the father as the center of erotic 
interest, but in her case the fear of castration plays little part in the 
conflict because she has no penis to lose. This early sexual interest in the 
parents, Freud believed, was the source of the adult neurotic fantasies of 
seduction in childhood. The fantasies were the expression of a wish to have 
their "Oedipus" interests gratified without guilt. 

This seems to describe the feminine oedipal component in Barbara's case. 
Unable to have actual sexual relations with the closest father figure, in 
this instance Jeff, the subject has created a safe, though neurotic fantasy 
life. However, this is not to say that her descriptions of sexual relations 
are totally contrived. She has had intercourse numerous times with older 
boys, and some have volunteered information regarding this case. Their 
feelings, generally, were that Barbara is sexually "hung-up," and often 
dependent. One of the boys described her as "a nymph." These latter 
interviews indicate that Barbara is attempting to act out her symbolic need 
for a father's love. 

In this Freudian interpretation of Barbara's guilt motivated fantasies, we 
cannot fail to point out the subject's preoccupation with both oral and anal 
eroticism. Freud noted that three orifices of the body, the mouth, the anus 
and genitals, were the earliest sources of sexual pleasure for the child. 
Later this stage was divided into two primary parts characterized by sucking 
pleasure and, at a subsequent stage, biting. A close examination of 
Barbara's autoerotic fantasies indicate a strong fixation with this 
infantile form of satisfaction. Of special interest is her fascination with 
the imagined approaches to her anal region made by her foster father. 

At this point, it is important to note that the sexual assaults described by 
the subject could not have occurred in "real life" because the foster father 
in this particular case history has been impotent for a number of years. 
This impotency, resulting from a war injury, has been a constant source of 
unresolved tensions with his wife, Kate. In fact, it was their inability to 
conceive children of their own, not a revenge motive as Barbara intimated, 
which prompted the couple to apply for an adopted child. 

" 'Suck it, ya little bitch. Curl your lips around your tongue and take it 
in your mouth and suck it dry.' It was Jess. 

"Kate had gone to her sister's and Jess hadn't been able to stay away from 
me. He'd waited, though, till I'd gone to sleep, then he woke me up by 
playing with my pussy under the covers. 

"At first I thought I was dreaming. I felt the pleasant touch of his fingers 
against my clitoris, rubbing it back and forth and around and around. The 
warmth spread and I opened my legs, only to have his fingers dive into my 
cunt. 

"I opened my eyes at last and by the light of the little lamp by my bed, I 
could see that it was Jess, grinning in his cool way at me. He was stark 
naked and beautiful in the dim light, the hair on his chest all dark and 
soft-looking. 

"I was infinitely happy that he'd come to me again, and I was ready to 
comply with whatever his wishes might be. 

" 'Suck my cock,' he said again, standing up. It was erect and pointing 
straight at me. 

"I hadn't the slightest notion of what he was talking about. You see, oral 
sex wasn't something they mentioned in classes on reproduction, and I'd been 
shielded from sex books and marriage manuals. 

" 'C'mon. Don't tell me a hot little bitch like you doesn't know how to suck 
cock. Do it for Jess. Do it now.' 

"Since he pointed his prick at my mouth, I knew more or less what he wanted. 
I took it in my mouth but the sharp edges of my teeth grazed the tender 
flesh too roughly. He cried out, then he was telling me and showing me what 
to do. 

"At first I thought I'd gag. I was scared of it and yet I didn't dare let 
go, even for an instant. I sat up in bed and his hands were under my head 
while he knelt in front of me on his knees. That way he could make my head 
bounce back and forth, but he also could plunge his cock deeply into my 
mouth. Each time it went in a little further than before. 

"This must be one of the worst things in sex, I thought, that's why people 
don't talk about it. I'd heard the word perversion and I knew that people 
sometimes did really strange things. I wondered if he'd piss in my mouth or 
something. He wouldn't care; he'd do that sort of thing. But I didn't 
realize that at this moment he wasn't capable of pissing. 

"In and out, in and out, he jerked it. I wasn't really sucking, I was just 
providing a hole for his cock. I felt hurt and humiliated. After all, he'd 
wakened me by caressing my cunt and now I had to do this awful thing. While 
it was going on, though, I couldn't help but be impressed by the power and 
masculine strength of that cock. It seemed even bigger now than when it had 
been in my pussy. It was huge, and keeping my mouth wide enough was a 
strain. My throat hurt and tears welled in my eyes. He either didn't see my 
tears or he didn't care. I didn't want to see his face. 

"Then he held my head perfectly still and whipped it in and out with 
lightning speed. My jaws were paralyzed. I thought my neck would break. My 
God, he was fucking me in the mouth and he was going to finish that way, 
too, I was sure of it. I recognized the intensity of his motions, like what 
he did when he had his prick deep inside my cunt. Only now he wasn't sending 
any delightful sensations through me, just making me more and more 
frightened. For all I knew, this could kill me. 

"It wasn't long, though, before one strangling thrust let me know that he 
was coming. He sighed loudly and at the same time the salty liquid shot into 
my mouth, filling it and overflowing at the corners. And then he was pulling 
his prick out. I held his stuff in my mouth, not knowing what to do. 

" 'Swallow, damn you, swallow it. Won't hurt you,' he said. 

"I gulped and swallowed a couple of times. It was thick and sticky, and I 
had a hard time getting it down. It had a delicate taste, though, that I 
soon came to like. 

" 'Now you're a woman,' he said. 'A girl spits it out but a woman swallows 
it.' 

"That pleased me. I put my arms around him, cuddling my head against his 
thighs. He stroked my hair. He seemed to be grateful and he wasn't going to 
turn and leave me right away. That was something, at least, although I had 
no idea of what he meant to do next. 

"He pushed me away just a little, then bent me backwards on the bed. 
Carefully he lifted my nightgown up over my head without making a tear or 
popping any buttons. The last nightgown I'd had to throw out and Kate had 
spent days looking for it. 

"I lay before him, my plump breasts pointing toward the ceiling. I was hot, 
but I didn't know if he intended to do anything about it. After all, he'd 
got what he wanted. 

"He began running his hands over my tits, not as roughly as before, but not 
tenderly either. He wasn't capable of sex without a bit of brutality, that's 
just the kind of guy he was. 

"Then his hands traveled downward, over my taut belly, closer and closer to 
the tiny triangle of kinky hair. He ran his fingers through it, then opened 
my thighs. With the fingertips of one hand, he grazed my clitoris, the way 
he'd done as I was waking. I trembled with delight, hoping that he'd do more 
than just tease me. My cunt was as wet as it was hot so he'd know that I 
wanted it-really wanted it. 

"My eyes met his for a brief instant. There was still that look of cruelty, 
but there was more. I knew he liked my body, that I turned him on and now he 
was looking at me as though he wanted to try something and wasn't quite sure 
about it. 

"He sprawled out on the bed, his head between my knees. He was looking 
straight at my cunt and fingering it at the same time, exploring its hills 
and valleys with his fingertips. I wanted more and I wanted it so badly I 
could almost beg for it. He knew, of course, he knew, and he wanted to let 
me suffer, waiting for more and not getting quite enough. He knew how to 
make me so hot I could hardly stand it. 

"His fingers rubbed along my clitoris for an endless time, then circled 
round it, teasingly, torturously, and finally he prodded two fingers into my 
cunt. He left them inside only an instant, then withdrew them, teasing me 
some more. My pussy was shaking, and he was able to see it as well as feel 
it, and probably smell the juices that flowed freely from my hungry cunt. 

"I looked at him eyeing my pussy and licking his lips. Slowly he brought his 
head in closer and closer until his mouth and nose almost touched my cunt. I 
could hardly believe it. He was going to do to me what I'd done to him-give 
me sex with his mouth. I learned a lot that night. 

"He was hesitant, as though not quite sure if he wanted to do it. Maybe he 
hadn't done it before. It was pretty hard to imagine him with Kate like 
this, but it was hard to imagine them in bed together anyway. 

"Finally, he drew out his tongue and ran the very tip of it over my 
clitoris. His tongue was wet and slick and so was my clit. The two surfaces 
seemed to melt together. My hips bucked automatically and without even 
meaning to do so, I thrust my cunt into his face. 

"This brought out the fury in him. He began chomping on my cunt with his 
teeth and lapping his tongue against me greedily. It didn't hurt me, though, 
not this time. I believe he wanted me to enjoy it, and I think he really 
liked doing it. He went at my juicy cunt like a hungry animal, gnawing at 
the slick, tender flesh mercilessly, all the while making crude, beast-like 
groans deep in his throat. 

"The pleasure I felt was strange and wild, as though I were in the grips of 
some very dangerous, not quite human creature. I'd had no idea that 
lovemaking could be like this. 

"One instant I'd feel the sharpness ot his teeth and prickly beard, which 
sent little shocks like bolts of electricity through me. The next instant, I 
would be soothed and swooning at the soft touch of his lips and tongue. My 
clit was hard and bulging, though he was able to crush it down to the size 
of a button. For now, he ignored the hole, except for letting his rough chin 
brush against it. My juices oozed out his face and I trembled helplessly. 

"He was torturing me and he knew it. What's more he enjoyed my agony. I was 
so close to coming, but not quite there. I didn't know what would make me 
come, but he did and he wasn't about to give it to me just yet. 

"I felt the tugging of his hands under my buttocks as he cupped the firm 
flesh, then began to control slow, circular movements of the lower part of 
my body. He was grinding my cunt against his face, his teeth, his tongue. 
His nose now pushed against my clit as his tongue swept vigorously lower 
down, closer and closer to my slit. I waited breathlessly. I wanted my cunt 
to be filled. Even his tongue would do, but he denied me that for several 
more moments. 

"He took one of his hands from under me and moistened his fingertips in the 
pools of liquid that lined my cunt, while being careful to avoid my eager 
hole. Downward his fingers traveled, past my slit and toward my ass. Oh, no, 
not my ass, I thought, that's too much. I didn't expect to like it, but as 
his fingers pried open this part of me, I was amazed at how much like my 
cunt it felt. 

"Slowly he sank his forefinger in. Then another finger joined it, stretching 
and invading me, deeper and deeper. 

"I felt a low scream rise and catch in my throat. My breathing turned to 
harsh panting and my cunt shook uncontrollably. I was trying to imagine his 
huge cock in my cunt, trying to pretend it was there now, when he curled his 
tongue, making the tip of it hard and pointed, and with this he dived 
frantically in and out of my cunt-hole. His fingers wiggled in my ass while 
his nose massaged my clit. The sensations were now coming from everywhere. 

"I felt a sudden sharpness, I'm not sure where. Then suddenly, without 
warning, my pussy seemed to pucker and close up only to open again. 
Quivering and moaning, I let myself rise and fall in convulsions I could not 
control. Tremors shot through me with earthquake violence. The intensity of 
it seemed to subside, but it returned, more overwhelming than ever. 

"At last the scream I'd held in my throat surfaced. 'Ooooo,' I yelled, not 
caring who heard me. 

"Slowly his fingers retreated from my ass. He lapped at my quivering cunt a 
few more times with his tongue, then drew his face away. I finally opened my 
eyes. 

"He grinned at me, then he broke into a laugh, a coarse, cruel laugh. 

" 'You got what you wanted, didn't you?' he gloated. 'Little bitch so hot 
for old Jess you can hardly stand it. Yeah, you got just what you had in 
mind, didn't you?' 

"I lay there, still shaking weakly and said nothing. I wished that he could 
have been, well, more delicate. 

"'Answer me, whore!' he yelled. 'That was what you wanted, wasn't it?' 

" 'Yes,' I said in a small voice. 

"Then he chuckled. Even when he was mean like this, he was incredibly 
handsome. I forgave him for being cruel to me. It was just his way of doing 
things, I rationalized. He didn't know how to be any different. I didn't 
know how far that mean streak ran, though. 

" 'Let's play a little more tonight, since you're so hot for it,' he said. 
'Suck me. Get me hard again.' 

"Without protesting, I lifted my still dizzy head from the pillow. His cock, 
I could see, had shrunken and lay limp. I took it between my hands where it 
stayed soft and pliable. I'd never seen it like that before and it was 
difficult to believe how much it was capable of changing. 

"I lowered my mouth over it and extended my tongue to lick it. Under my 
touch, it began to grow larger. I swept my tongue over it a few more times 
then drew it into my mouth. There it rapidly swelled to the size I'd 
remembered it. I was about to stop, but he caught my head and wouldn't let 
me move away. I guess he wanted to make sure it would stay hard. He 
controlled the motions of my head with his hands, making me bob up and down 
as my lips gently grazed the loose outer layer of skin. 

" 'You want old Jess to fuck you, don't you, Barby girl?' he said. 

"I was about to move to answer him, but he kept me where I was for a few 
more instants. Then, he jerked away and threw me over, face down on the bed 
and propped up my ass. I thought for a minute this was what he was aiming 
for, but he spread the lips of my pussy and prodded his huge prick at my 
cunt until it found the right direction and went in. 

"I gave a little howl as he pierced me with that enormous instrument. Hot as 
I was and dripping wet, too, my cunt was still tight and inexperienced. His 
cock jabbed into me like a sharp knife. 

"Once in me, he encircled my thighs with his arms and brought his fingers to 
rest near my clit. Then as he plowed his cock into me, he moved his hands 
over the outer part of my pussy, jostling my clitoris. 

"His motions were slow at first, though not really gentle. Jess was never 
gentle, only teasing. I soon got over being tired from the last time, and 
before I knew it, I was hot, my body all atingle. It was hard to believe the 
things this mean man could do to me. His prick filled me beautifully. Coming 
in from the rear like that made it seem even bigger. It really crushed the 
walls of my cunt 

"He knew I was hot for it and began to pump me harder and faster, each 
stroke of his cock cruel and jabbing. I reached for something to hang onto 
and found the pillow, which I gripped desperately with my hands. I was dizzy 
and gasping for breath. My cunt felt as though it would be ripped apart or 
turned inside out from the violence of his fucking. The sensations were so 
sharp they were like pain, but I wouldn't have wanted him to go away for 
anything. I wanted him right there, churning away at my cunt from behind. 

"His hands moved faster now, too, almost making my clit vibrate without 
really touching it, just moving it from the sides. Together we shook and 
swayed. I gave way to little groans, all the while holding the pillow 
tightly. 

"His violence soon overtook me. He moved my body in rhythm with his and I 
was no longer sure whether the motions originated with him or deep inside me 
somewhere. Very slowly, I rose to a new peak of sensation. I let him carry 
me higher and higher until there was nowhere left to go. My body seemed to 
explode everywhere at once. I rocked and bolted against him, but he held me 
firmly and kept thrusting his cock into me. With every stroke, my pussy 
seemed to grab at his cock, but it darted away. 

"I was whimpering and squealing as he finally blasted it into me. This was 
it, the one thrust that finished everything for him. But my pussy kept 
tugging at his cock which he held deep inside me for several moments. 

"He pulled it out at last and gave me a slap on the ass. 

" 'Didn't want me to pull it out, huh?' he said, sensing the emptiness that 
I felt as I flopped down on the bed, still shaking and panting. 'Wanted old 
Jess's cock way inside, yeah, that's what you wanted.' 

"He often talked like that, sort of talking to himself, making me 
embarrassed and congratulating himself on what a good job he'd done. Well, 
he did do a good job, but I shouldn't have settled for anything so cold and 
cruel. I might have known that he'd betray me in the end. 

"When I missed my period, I went to him and told him, saying that I thought 
I was pregnant and he'd better help me do something about it. I wanted an 
abortion. I didn't want to have a child who would end up living a life like 
mine, first in an orphanage and then in a foster home. It was an awful way 
to grow up and I realized it even then. 

"At the news that I was pregnant, Jess put on his dumb act again, pretending 
that I'd imagined his coming to me in the night. In fact, he balled me out 
for messing around with the boys at school and told me he knew I was no 
good, that I'd have to go back to the orphanage. 

"Jess was crazy, not me, I told myself. But not even that stopped me from 
letting him wake me and start making love to me a few nights later. 

"He'd removed my nightgown and moistened my cunt with his lips, bringing me 
almost to a climax before he mounted me from above, sinking his big cock 
deep into me. 

"Up and down we moved together. I spread my legs wide apart, then slung them 
around his back. He pumped me harder and faster, and with every stroke I 
gave out little moans of pleasure. 

"Vaguely, somewhere in the house, I thought I heard a noise. Jess hadn't 
heard it though, for he kept fucking me furiously, totally involved with 
what he was doing. I figured it was nothing more than the floors creaking. 

"Suddenly, though, the overhead light came on and Kate was standing over us. 
She began to take things from my desk and throw them at us, calling me a 
'whore' several times, but it was 

Jess she hit squarely on the head with a book. 

"I cringed and Jess pulled away. I hadn't known until then how awfully 
scared of Kate he was. He no longer looked strong and masculine. He looked 
meek and sheepish. 

" 'It's all her fault,' he said to Kate, looking down at me accusingly. 

" 'Of course, it's her fault,' Kate echoed. 

"I started to cry. Then I remembered my suspicions about being pregnant. 

" 'I'm going to have Jess's baby,' I said. 

" 'So that's why you trapped him,' Kate yelled, 'so you could blame him. 
Well, you can start packing. I reckon they'll beat your hide when they get 
you back where you came from. Serves you right, too.' 

"I suppose Kate and Jess went on as before. I went back to the orphanage and 
had the baby, a little boy, and he's still there. They wouldn't let me be 
with him much, because they were afraid I'd get attached to him. 

"The social workers believed Kate and Jess, who said I'd been running around 
with boys at school. I didn't bother to try to set them straight. For weeks 
I was in a horrible depression and even now it comes back. I can't think of 
myself as a normal young woman and picture ever having a good life for 
myself. And when I feel really bad, I tell myself, the way Jess told me, 
that it was all a dream, all something I imagined. Sometimes I actually 
believe that, too." 

As is so often the case in studying deviant behavior, we can trace the 
origin of the disturbance to guilt formed by the neurotic response to the 
incest-taboo. In The Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud, the author comments: 

The incest barrier probably belongs to the historical acquisitions of 
humanity and, like other moral taboos, it must be fixed in many individuals 
through organic heredity. Psychoanalytic studies show, however, how 
intensively the individual struggles with the incest temptations during his 
development and how frequently he puts them into fantasies and even into 
reality. 

Thus, in a sense, through her fantasies and sexual promiscuity, Barbara 
continues to struggle with the problems which arose in early childhood. 

Significantly, however, this case history does not point to a permanent 
fixation. During more recent conversations, the subject appears to be making 
a partial breakthrough in the area of self knowledge. Although still 
unwilling to acknowledge that the events she described to the interviewers 
are part of her fantasy world, she is at least beginning to incorporate the 
possibility that she "imagines" a great deal. With continued therapy, this 
father fixation need not continue into adult life. 

CONCLUSION 

A careful analysis of the preceding cases points to the overwhelming 
importance of the incest taboo in our culture. There is, perhaps no other 
single factor which explains so much of the prohibitive conditioning of our 
unconscious as well as conscious lives. Clellen Ford and Frank Beach 
summarize this phenomenon in their book, Patterns of Sexual Behavior: 

It is clear that social rules against intercourse between close relatives 
reflect cultural rather than physiological or biological tendencies. Close 
genetic relationship is no barrier to erotic attractiveness. Analysis of the 
fantasy and dream lives of members of our own and many other societies often 
reveals strong sexual attraction between parents and offspring as well as 
between siblings. In the vast majority of cases such incestuous tendencies 
are not recognized by the individual because of the powerfully inhibiting 
effects of early training. 

Although, technically speaking, sexual relations between foster parents and 
children are not incestuous from a physiological standpoint, they do, 
nevertheless, exert the same psychological influence on the individuals 
involved. As Freud and Ferenczi have shown, foster mothers and fathers, as 
well as wet nurses, older men, distant relatives, and friends of the family, 
often symbolize actual parental relationships in the minds of both the child 
and adult. In one case, involving psychical impotence, the foster mother was 
seen by Ferenczi as the symbolic agent for the sexual weakness in the son: 

The libidinous thoughts repressed in childhood, which condition psychical 
impotence, need not refer to nearest relatives; it is enough that the 
infantile sexual object has been a so-called "respected person," demanding 
in one way or another high consideration. 

According to classic psychoanalytic theory, the incest taboo in our culture 
gives rise to what Freud calls the Oedipus complex, functioning in both 
sexes. The way in which the individual comes to terms with this conditioning 
during his formative years may well determine his future happiness and 
mature sexual development. All of our subjects have in varying degrees 
struggled with the incest barrier. Some have overcome the problems and have 
already made the adjustments necessary for adult relationships. In other 
cases an unsuccessful struggle has resulted in neurosis. 

In the case of Susan, we saw how a sexually frustrated father induced sexual 
guilt in his adolescent daughter by poisoning her mind against all women. 
Especially significant was her painful memory of his graveside pronouncement 
that her mother was "a whore," and that all women were sexually filthy. 
Traumatic experiences such as these often cause a flight from 
heterosexuality in adolescent girls. This kind of conditioning element can, 
in conjunction with other factors, bring about inversion with regard to 
sexual development. In other words, instead of seeking a normal heterosexual 
outlet, the child can be frightened into overt lesbianism, or, the equally 
disturbing problem of sexual frigidity. 

In all the cases brought forth in this study, the element of fear has played 
an enormous part in the distortion of child-adult relations. This fear, 
whether it be of the incest taboo, or, as in the case history of Clay, a 
fear of authority, tends to prevent the attainment of a stable adult 
relationship, with sex merely an aspect. Unfortunately, the cycle, as we 
have seen, is ever repeating itself; for the fear of the child is soon to be 
passed on to the next generation. 

In The Art Of Loving, Erich Fromm best sums up the problem of fear in human 
relationships, tracing its origins to those familiar but inscrutable 
childhood dilemmas: 

The basic condition for neurotic love lies in the fact that one or both of 
the "lovers" have remained attached to the figure of a parent, and transfer 
the feelings, expectations and fear one once had toward father or mother to 
the loved person in adult life; the persons involved have never emerged from 
a pattern of infantile relatedness, and seek for this pattern in their 
affective demands in adult life. In these cases, the person has remained, 
affectively, a child of two, or of five, or of twelve, while intellectually 
and socially he is on the level of his chronological age. In the more severe 
cases, this emotional immaturity leads to disturbances in his social 
effectiveness; in the less severe ones, the conflict is limited to the 
sphere of intimate personal relationships. 


THE END
