Aunts And Nephews
by James Warren


When daffodils begin to peer,
With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the 
year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,
With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, And summer songs for me and 
my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
Shakespeare, A Winter's Tale Act IV, Scene III


CONTENTS
Introduction
CHAPTER ONE The Circumstantial Seductress
CHAPTER TWO The Maiden Aunt
CHAPTER THREE 'I'll Bet You I Can.'
CHAPTER FOUR The High-Society Syndrome
CHAPTER FIVE 'Kid Sisters Can Ruin Everything'
Conclusion
Bibliography

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INTRODUCTION 

"I put my purse in the back seat and checked the other cars around us. It 
was utterly dark out, illuminated only by streams of flashing colored blocks 
of light from the projection booth. I couldn't see the other cars, much less 
into them, so it seemed un likely they could see us. 

"I slid over close to Don, close enough to touch. My dress rode up my 
thighs, which is exactly what I intended. I could feel him shudder and I 
wasn't surprised. I imagine very few boys in their teens have aunts who act 
the way I do. 

"The picture was starting-some lousy piece of crap; that was obvious from 
the first frame. 'I have a hunch this is going to be rotten,' I told Don. 

"He was so cute. He answered me without taking his eyes off the insipid 
picture, obviously nervous about our touching legs, my bare thighs, and the 
visible crotch of my pink panties. He said, 'Well, we can always leave.' 

" 'And we can stay, too,' I answered. 'Even if the picture's a bomb, we can 
always figure out something to do.' 

"He still didn't look at me. Nor did he answer. I decided to be a little 
bolder. After all, I had a bet on with my husband, and I had no intention of 
losing it. 

"I let my left hand drop in between his legs, up in the area where the 
thighs thicken, and almost immediately I could feel the fabric of his denims 
draw taut, a sure sign of a quick hardness. God, but these sixteen-year-old 
kids get hard fast when they are with a mature woman-especially if they've 
never fucked before. For a woman who digs a real, honest-to-God hard on with 
lots of vitality behind it, nothing in the world quite equals a teenager. 
And I should know. 

"I looked over to Don. His eyes were riveted to the screen. Maybe my husband 
had been right-maybe Don would be just plain too terrified because I was his 
aunt. How silly, I thought. What's wrong with keeping it in the family? 

"Well, I considered, maybe some stronger tactics were in order. I let my 
fingers drift upward a little and discovered that he was wearing button-down 
jeans and also that his prick was bolt-hard. 

"Don took a quick intake of breath and seemed to freeze. His whole body 
tightened, as in the grip of genuine fear. Apparently his mind was not 
accepting the circumstances, despite the obvious intention on my part. I 
decided to bring the whole thing out in the open so that he could not 
possibly misunderstand. At age sixteen, a kid like Don should be able to 
meet sex head on-even if that stick-in-the-mud sister of mine did bring him 
up. 

" 'Don,' I said, leaning close to his ear, 'you wear your pants awfully 
tight, don't you?' 

" "They feel okay, Aunt Miriam,' Don muttered, his voice seeming to crack. 

" 'But isn't it uncomfortable when your prick gets hard?' 

"I knew that would get him. My husband had earlier suggested it as a tactic 
if Don didn't react fast enough. He had told me that the effect of direct 
sexual words on the ears of the initiate teenager should do wonders. When I 
said 'prick,' Don seemed to sit up straighter, as if on cue. But he didn't 
answer me. But there was a real tension-a sexual tension-in the air and now 
I was certain that my husband had been correct. I pursued the matter 
further. 

" 'Didn't you hear me, Don? I asked you if it wasn't uncomfortable in those 
pants when your prick gets hard.' 

"He mumbled, 'I dunno. Never thought about it, I guess.' 

" 'Never thought about it!' I repeated, laughing heartily. 'Doesn't it 
usually get hard when you're here with your girl? Or didn't you think about 
it then either?' 

" "That's different,' he answered. 

"'Different? How? I'm a girl. A little older than you're used to, perhaps, 
but nevertheless a female. And your prick is as hard as a rock.' With that, 
I ran my fingers up and down the length of it, laying there against his 
stomach, sheathed in that impossible denim. Again, he bolted as if shocked 
by electricity. 

" 'See?' I added. 'It's good and hard. And just to be a good Samaritan, I'm 
going to help you get it out of your pants to make it feel better. You 
certainly wouldn't be able to enjoy the show like that, now would you, Don?' 

"I sensed that Don was extremely excited, and bewildered, and terribly 
self-conscious. Something deep within him wanted him to form the word 'stop' 
on his lips and then utter it, but the more opportunity nature's elements 
had to work on him, the better chance I had of gaining the upper hand. Time 
was on my side, if I could just stop that first word from being uttered. I 
rubbed up and down his cock some more and then began fiddling with the 
buttons, which were harder-than hell to get loose. Finally, I reached inside 
and then had to get inside his shorts, too, and, at last, after long minutes 
of fumbling, I felt my cool fingers come into contact with bare, hot, 
nervously excited, throbbing flesh. It was so hard; so painfully hard, I 
guessed, that I was very delicate and nimble-fingered as I fished the whole 
length of the thing out of his pants. Don was visibly trembling now. 

" 'Oh, God, Aunt Miriam,' he said in a shaky voice. He probably had 
something else he wanted to say; a protest, perhaps, for I definitely sensed 
that there were unspoken words hanging in the air. But nothing more came 
out, and I was absolutely certain now that this lovely nephew of mine would 
be putty in my hands from now on. Quickly, I contemplated all the lovely 
things we could do, already trying to stage the whole seduction in my mind. 

" 'You just relax, honey,' I soothed, as I began stroking his cock, paying 
particular attention to the sensitive skin on top. I only had two fingers-a 
thumb and forefinger, rather-working the stalk of it, slowly, in long, light 
strokes, all the way from his balls to the head. 'Feel better?' I asked. 

"He made an incoherent sound again, which just spurred me on. 

" 'Let me unbutton your pants all the way,' I said. 

"That way, I can play underneath your balls, too. You'll love that.' 

"He sat dead still a moment, neither acceding or rejecting, nor helping or 
resisting. I began with his belt. It seemed to me this was the crucial test, 
and when he did not resist, I knew everything was going to work out just 
fine. 

"I undid his top buttons and the pants came completely open. I opened his 
shorts all the way, too, and now, for the very first time, Don assisted me 
by first lifting and then sliding down in the seat a little, loosening the 
way his clothes hugged him, effectively taking his pants down a bit by 
rearranging his position. 

" 'Oh, that's nice,' I told him as my whole hand encircled his cock. 
'Beautiful. Oh, Don, tell me-how long is it?' 

" 'I dunno,' he muttered. 

" 'Have you ever fucked a girl with it?' 

Again a stammer, but not quite so pronounced, as he answered with a negative 
grunt. 

" 'Well, you should. Fucking is the greatest thing in the world.' 

"No answer. But no further resistance, either. 

"Now I was stroking him steadily with my whole hand, not fast, but with a 
deliberate tempo, and full strokes, too-the kind that I know from my 
experience with young boys they cannot stand for very long. I tightened my 
grip a bit and sped up the tempo just a bit. It only lasted a few minutes. 

" 'Oh, Aunty, you'd better stop,' he implored and drew away. 

" 'Why, honey?' I asked innocently. 

" 'I'm going to-' 

" 'Going to come?' I helped. 

" 'Yes, yesss-soon now ... don't ... you'd better....' 

"I stopped completely and I could see that he was torn between relief and 
anxiety. I didn't need to be told what to do. 

" 'Can you move the seat back?' I asked. 

" 'Sure,' he answered. 'Do you want me to?' 

" 'All the way,' I instructed in a happy voice. This is the moment I love so 
much in my relationships with young guys. Being the staging director of our 
own little production is a great kick. My husband tells me after I recount 
the experiences to him that I am satisfying a maternal urge when I do things 
like this, but he's no psychiatrist, so I sort of take it all tongue in 
cheek. 

"The seat was back now so that there was plenty of room between Don's groin 
area and the steering wheel. I lifted myself up a little so that I could 
slide my panties off, and as I did so, I could smell that wonderful, meaty, 
aromatic odor that I always emit when that cunt of mine gets worked up. I 
hadn't felt it yet, but I knew it was sopping wet. 

"Don continued looking at the stupid picture, as if transfixed. 'Are you 
really that interested in the picture?' I asked. 

"For the first time, he smiled easily and said, 'Sure. That's what we came 
for isn't it?' 

" 'Nope,' I answered clearly. 'I came for this,' and with that declaration I 
squeezed his cock again. Then I raised myself, disengaged my hand, and threw 
my right leg completely over him, straddling him in a perfect face-to-face 
position. With a deft move, I reached down and guided that wonderful 
engorged cock into that steaming cunt of mine. It slipped right in, all the 
way up to my kidneys, it felt like, and I could feel all of those wonderful 
juices of mine flowing everywhere up inside me. I had no intention of 
ruining things with needlessly precipitate moves at this point, so I just 
sat there a few seconds, savoring the marvelous feeling of another new young 
cock, this one all the better because it was my own nephew; and doubly fine 
beyond that because I had once again proven to my loving husband that I 
could accomplish anything sexual that I set out to. 

"Tenderly now, and as dispassionately as possible under the circumstances, I 
planted a nice aunt-like kiss on Don's lips, which I discovered to be dry. 
Poor kid. This must be quite a shock, if nothing else. I damned near felt 
contrition. But I knew better, actually. If all those books I'd read told 
the truth, young men hang on to and relive their first sexual experience 
with great ardor and passionate memory. That's exactly the way I wanted to 
be remembered. 

"He didn't really return the kiss. I think he was trying to work things in 
his mind and figure out just what it was that was happening to him, and just 
how that rigid trembling prick of his was feeling at this moment. Now I was 
certain he was a virgin. Just the thought of getting another virgin made my 
pussy even wetter, and I couldn't resist beginning a slight up-and-down 
fucking motion again. 

" 'Will you come too fast if I stroke a little bit-like this?' 

" 'I-think so.' 

" 'Well, we can't have that,' I told him. 'Why don't you look over my 
shoulder at the picture-maybe that'll take your mind off this.' 

" 'I don't want to take my mind off this.' 

" 'And I don't want you to shoot too fast.' 

" 'You don't?' 

" 'Not here. It's too messy.' 

" 'What then?' 

" 'Well, I'll tell you what. If I promise to make you feel real good right 
now, will you promise to take care of me when we get home?' 

" 'Home? Jesus-what about Uncle Harry?' 

" 'He sleeps like a log. Promise?' 

" 'I guess so. What're you going to do?' 

"I was already dismounting. Without a word of explanation I moved away a bit 
to give myself working room. Then I looked at Don and told him, 'Now you 
just watch the picture. Try to concentrate on it. I don't want this to be 
over too fast, either.' 

"With that, I leaned forward and ran the tip of my tongue up the shaft of 
his prick, starting way down on the balls-as far underneath them as space 
would permit, that is-and working my way up to the tip, employing a 
butterfly tongue technique as I approached the head. I did this two or three 
times, and although I usually like to keep this up awhile, I heard Don 
moaning above me and figured that he was probably close. I especially like 
to keep lapping at a cock that's already been in me a little like his had, 
because then it has my own cunt juice all over it. Anyway, I quit the 
preliminaries and worked my way to the one last time, and when I got there I 
popped the whole thing in my mouth and went all the way down in one thrust. 
Sometimes I like to do it like that, anyway, just to get things started 
quick. For one thing, when I'm blowing a kid, whose prick is usually smaller 
than a man's, I can take the whole thing in my mouth right up to my gullet 
with ease, which is a real good feeling. I like to feel the head of a cock 
butting against the back of my mouth, and I've learned to get my tongue 
wrapped around the bottom curvature of it in almost all positions. 

"Anyway, I took Don's whole prick in up to the hilt and then felt his fuzzy 
pubic hair tickling my cheeks. Then I began a good hard in-and-out sucking 
motion, all the while stroking in full, deliberate strokes-in to the tonsils 
on the downstroke, and out almost to the point of extraction on the 
upstroke. I also remembered my husband's advice about keeping my tongue in 
constant motion. 

"I heard a little groan just before it happened. I sped up the tempo until 
it was furious and then-I was rewarded. God, what a freaky feeling! I guess 
I love the taste of cum, especially from a young kid, more than anything in 
the world. It tastes a little different from every boy, but in another 
manner of speaking, it tastes the same, too-youngish. Don gave me shot after 
shot. I thought he'd never quit. But he'd never be able to deluge me. No one 
ever had. I could swallow it just as fast as they could give it to me. And 
then he was drained. I kept sucking a little bit, to get it all, but then I 
finally sat up. 

"Don didn't say a word. He seemed to actually be watching the picture. I 
asked him, 'How was it?' 

" 'Jesus,' was all he said. "I was tickled. I love to leave them satisfied. 
"And now I could concentrate on other things. My own satisfaction, for 
example." 

Women like Miriam abound in our society in more ways than one. First, there 
are a significant number of them who actually consummate their desires, such 
as Miriam, simply because they have come to terms with themselves and see 
little promise of fulfillment if they pursue only that which is historically 
or socially permissible. 

The other group, which comprises a far greater number of females, does not 
consummate its desires, but rather finds methods of sublimating, 
substituting, dissociating, and otherwise denying themselves the thing they 
actually crave: sexual contact with younger men, with family members, with 
symbols of virility. Restated, it can be said that a significant group of 
older women (especially American women) desire sexual liaison of a forbidden 
nature, but cannot, for any one of a number of reasons, realize this wish. 

In this writing, we are dealing with a phenomenon which contains several 
disparate elements. Sexual relationships between aunts and nephews are first 
of all incestuous since, by definition, they have a consanguineous base (we 
are not dealing here with non-blood ties), and secondly they are usually 
pedophiliac in makeup. In those very few cases where the aunt is younger (or 
in the same age bracket) as the nephew, a somewhat different set of 
emotional dynamics comes into play. 

Thirdly, it is a fair statement that liaisons between aunts and nephews 
cannot reach fruition unless someone initiates the congress. Further it 
stands to reason that it requires an unusual teenage boy to brazenly 
proposition his much-older aunt. Therefore, exceptions admitted, the aunt 
must be the aggressor and in many ways she must dominate. The boy need not 
be especially submissive, though this is usually the case during the first 
seduction. Altogether then, it can be assumed that aunts must provide the 
impetus for the relationship, and unless the incestuous longing is so severe 
as to be primary, and contains maternal overtones, the only logical 
motivation which can be assessed is hypersexuality. And, in fact, this 
happens to be a rather constant factor in such cases. 

As regards incest, it is not fair to assume that all aunts who seduce their 
nephews do so because of (1) emotional expiation for not having a son of 
their own, or (2) a sibling rivaltry of adult proportions with their 
sisters. It is very popular to take either or both of these views, but they 
are vastly unfair if they are made without benefit of extensive 
psychoanalysis. 

Aunt-nephew incest has an interesting history. 

Down through the ages, and especially in France during the Revolutionary 
period (and for a long while thereafter), it has often been a family habit 
to "farm" out budding young males to a favorite aunt for "social 
indoctrination," which term meant sexual instruction. While it is true these 
young men also learned to be socially adept in the drawing room and a 
thousand other niceties from these aunts, the principal academics involved 
were love-play, kissing, fondling, coitus, fellatio (received, of course), 
cunnilingus, and perhaps a few more daring things, such as anal sex, 
flagellation, etc. More often than not, the natural uncle was also in the 
home, but custom being what it was, he usually went along with the little 
game. Sometimes also, the "instruction" took on a troilistic tone if the 
uncle was so predisposed. Here was opened the door for homosexual 
instruction. Even today, in the United States, much pedophiliac-troilistic 
activity is initiated by an older man with an attractive wife who can be 
used as a decoy for unsuspecting young men. Only one other ingredient is 
needed to upgrade those relationships to our current topic. 

The history of incest gives us relatively few literary facts except on the 
mythological or symbolic levels. One might even say that the incest taboo 
extended to writing about it. There are some interesting references about 
the ancient Egyptian and Mongol cultures, but beyond that, any specifics 
would be conjectural. We do happen to know of the aura of incest from many 
cultures, but the reasons, attitudes, and application of the proscriptions 
would require, for rounded understanding, better data. 

In the tersest of terms, we can conclude that historical and cultural 
reasoning has given us this message: No act of man, with the possible 
exceptions of murder and the desecration of idols, carries a stronger taboo 
than incest. And taboos, according to Freud, exist only to prevent man from 
doing something which he both desires and fears. With such a provocative 
premise to lead us on, we should find this a fascinating topic. 

Of course, it should be realized that every prime reference to incest, be it 
historical or psychological, deals on the severest level with parental 
incest. Mother-son incest is regarded as the most psychologically 
destructive, with father-daughter incest running a poor second. Sibling 
incest takes a distant seat in terms of damage to the participants. In our 
summation of the psychologic components in the first case history 
(Martha-Dave), we will draw the obvious parallels between aunt-nephew and 
mother-son incest. Because the aunt is more often than not a 
mother-surrogate, the ties and nuances of interaction here become 
intriguing. 

This leads us to the obvious conclusion that there is a considerable 
psychodynamic difference between aunt-nephew incest of paternal descendancy 
(aunt being nephew's father's sister) and aunt-nephew incest of maternal 
descendancy (aunt being nephew's mother's sister). In the paternal 
construction, the boy can in no way identify the aunt with the mother, and 
therefore his blood guilt lies in the direction of the father and plays a 
distinct role in the formulation or resolution of any residual Oedipal 
questions. Let us suppose the boy is barely pubescent-age fourteen, say-and 
that psychologically he teeters on the brink of an Oedipal fixation; in 
other words, his leftover and fragmentary Oedipal complex inclinations are 
in a state of irresolution. A liaison with his aunt will serve to polarize 
all the fears and doubts he imagines concerning his relationship with his 
father. If other conditions are just right, and if the constellation of 
feelings and responses are in such disarray as to be totally influenced, it 
well might be that such a sexual experience will resolve the boy's questions 
for him. Sometimes homosexual tendencies are thus locked into place. 

On the other hand, the maternal construction of aunt-nephew incest can range 
in result. Sometimes, if the boy identifies strongly enough with his mother, 
especially if she is alive, he can become greatly disturbed-even to the 
point of total dissociation and loss of reality. But for this circumstance 
to prevail, the boy must first of all have had severe doubts of his mother's 
love for him, he must have great unresolved questions regarding his own 
worthiness, and he must identify fully with the aunt. Generally, the 
physical appearance of the aunt will have much to do with it. In the case of 
the aunt and mother being twins, chances of psychic damage are increased. 

Usually the aunt, in any construction, will be the younger sister of either 
the father or mother. Her own motives for promoting the relationship with 
the nephew will be several, but usually we find that she is not primarily 
motivated by family considerations; in other words, she has no pathological 
drive which forces her to identify in once-removed sexual terms with either 
her sister or brother. 

Her reasons usually relate to and are grounded in pedophilia and 
hypersexuality. 

Female pedophilia is sometimes referred to as the Jocasta complex (which 
term, like so many others, is drawn from the Oedipus Tyranmis of 
Sophocles-Jocasta being the wife of King Laius of Thebes and later the wife 
of Oedipus). Stated as simply as possible, pedophilia takes root in two 
principal forms and three or four ancillary forms. At root the female 
pedophile seeks to regain lost youth through sexual identification (or proof 
of desirability). Secondly, she tries to avoid the possible disparagement of 
older, more experienced men, for they will be sufficiently sophisticated to 
be able to criticize her performance. Obviously, these two motivations are a 
form of self-doubt, or, more correctly, what Harry Stack Sullivan has called 
"customarily-felt low self-esteem." 

As it happens, female pedophilia is also related to incest wishes. That is 
to say, it is related to thwarted incest wishes. The mature woman is quick 
to realize the forcefulness of the incest taboo, as regards herself and her 
son, and thus she curbs any desires which may become vitalized. Women who do 
not have sons (or any children at all), but who are heterosexual in makeup, 
understand and can intellectualize the incest prohibition, but they have no 
way to effectively internalize those feelings. She has no tent at hand. 
Unconsciously, she puts herself, time and again, into the imagined test 
position, but it is a fruitless pursuit, Finally, at a level approaching 
conscious thought, she reasons that she can determine her own worth by 
experimenting with quasi-incestuous sexual relationships. To do so, she must 
find someone who could realistically pass as her son. Thus the age brackets 
are established. 

Female hypersexuality is also related to self-doubt, although some other 
elements crop up. Hypersexuality should never be confused with nymphomania, 
which is an uncontrollable, compulsive, and. often confining aberration of 
severe proportions. Most men who dream of finding a beautiful "nympho," 
wouldn't want her if they actually found her. Hypersexuality, conversely, 
does not imply any of the "uncontrollable" elements of nymphomania, except 
perhaps that hypersexual women are a bit promiscuous. How else can they 
properly expose themselves? 

Hypersexuality is a result of the interesting phenomenon whereby a woman 
somehow purges herself of the need to kowtow to social convention. Its 
causes are pretty well established and seem to deal in general with the need 
to prove oneself, again and again. Just as a pompous, mesomorphic, 
extroverted salesman must prove himself again and again through the vehicle 
of sales, the woman who doubts her own worth will sometimes become oriented 
in such a way that sexual proofs exceed the worth of other types of proof. 
The woman who slaves from morning to late at night competing with men in the 
business world is not too much different from the hypersexual woman, except 
that her orientation is not sexual. 

Aunt-nephew relationships usually do not reach the courts. When they do, it 
is usually on a nominal charge such as "contributing to the delinquency of a 
minor," a misdemeanor. In most states consanguineous incest is a felony, and 
in states such as California (where Section 285 of the Penal Code carries a 
maximum of fifty years), a person so convicted might easily end up in a 
state hospital and legally adjudged to be a "mentally disordered sex 
offender," a situation requiring observation by state doctors for as long as 
they deem necessary. 

It is surmised today that aunt-nephew incest is not nearly so uncommon as 
one might suppose. One legal authority has told this writer privately that 
such cases "occur and are stuck away in every nook and cranny of the 
country." One naturally looks for such explanatory things as motivation when 
considering the phenomenon of sexual trends. If, for example, aunt-nephew 
incest is on the increase, could it have anything to do with the general 
relaxation of sexual views in America? 

One wonders if the easier discussions of sex, the burgeoning literature, the 
avant-garde theater, the revealing fashions-indeed, our whole approach to 
the "now" life-style-might in some way be acting as catalysts. 

If these conclusions and suppositions are false, then the search for the 
truth will be long and hard, and most likely unrewarding. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

THE CIRCUMSTANTIAL SEDUCTRESS 

"The room seemed dark and strange to me and I wondered how long it would 
take to get used to this new home-and to this new person, my aunt. It was 
such a peculiar feeling, being uprooted from one part of the country to 
another, almost overnight. But, as it had been explained to me, it was the 
only plausible solution after Mom's death. 

"Aunt Martha seemed to think it was a good solution, too. Judging by the way 
she talked, this enormous rambling house was just plain misery for her 
during the long months when her husband was out to sea. He was an 
oceanographic scientist and sometimes their surveys required trips lasting 
up to a year. And, according to Aunt Martha, a year's a long time to 
'rattle' around in a huge home alone. 

"Which sounded rather strange. Even to my fifteen-year-old ears, it was 
perfectly obvious that Aunt Martha needn't have been alone. It must have 
been by choice, or perhaps even untrue-or maybe this was one of those 
neighborhoods where people just were not able to do as they wished. But such 
thoughts saddened me. Even at fifteen, I was a free soul, fully convinced of 
such things as individual choice. 

"For reasons unexplainable, I was suddenly aware that something had changed 
during the last few minutes. The way the room was constructed, I could not 
be sure if the door had opened or not. No light had been evident, nor had 
there been any sound, yet I knew there was now another presence in the room. 
Realizing it could not very well be anyone except Aunt Martha, I was not 
especially apprehensive, but on the other hand, I could think of no reason 
why she should be so stealthy and secretive. I decided to play it dumb. I 
remained motionless. 

"She apparently was tiptoeing and practically upon me. I had tangible proof 
of her presence now, in the form of breathing. I could even feel it. She 
must have just then been bending low over my face to determine if I was 
asleep. I maintained my position and made sure to breathe evenly and deeply, 
just as sleeping people really do. 

"I felt a light touch upon my lips. I thought for a second it might be her 
fingers, but then I became aware of the odor of alcohol and I could just 
barely sense the washing of exhaled breath on my cheek. Then she kissed me a 
bit fuller, and I had to be careful not to respond. Her lips were soft, 
full, and warm, and the light stickiness of the lipstick seemed to fuse our 
skin together just a bit as she tried to withdraw. I laid there in rapt 
anticipation, wondering what she might do next. 

"The bed was depressed by a weight. She had lowered her body, as carefully 
as possible, into a sitting position very close to my head. Very gently, she 
began to touch me, first about the face, and then on the neck, all with the 
lightest of finger touches, almost as if it were her intention to awaken me 
by tickling. It was a delightful and most sensuously delicate way for a 
person to have his skin and contours explored, and even as I wondered what 
sort of move would be next, I could not help but conjure up a vision of this 
magnificent woman. I recalled the vision at dinner, how she towered in 
Junoesque grandness as she walked to and from the kitchen, her cinnamon hair 
flowing in drifts behind her, a strand or two even falling into the sharp 
cleft between her high, taut breasts. 

"I could feel the covers lightly being drawn down and then I could feel 
those same light fingers toying with my chest and as she did that she also 
leaned close to me and nuzzled against my ear, just grazing her teeth 
against the lobe and then letting her tongue dart two rapid swiping licks 
against the orifice, just enough so that a drift of warmish breath entered 
my ear and caused me to reflexively shudder. 

"She withdrew a bit, as if in fear of being discovered. But I immediately 
recovered from that one shudder and then continued on as before. Soon her 
confidence was restored. She approached my ear with that snaky tongue again, 
only this time she preceded her lick with a whisper. 'Are you awake, Dave?' 
she asked, the warm breath again almost causing an involuntary reaction, 
held back only by my forced resolve. She became more daring when I refused 
to answer. 

"She was unbuttoning my pajama top and then her deft fingers were exploring 
and toying with my midsection and belly button. It was as if she wanted to 
knead the stomach muscles, massage me, examine my structure completely, but 
that it was too soon and too dangerous. But I knew she was leading to 
something like that-I was certain something grand was about to happen. 

"Once again she touched my ear with her tongue, but this time not so 
tentatively. With a distinct lapping motion and with a. purposefully exhaled 
stream of hot breath directed into the ear itself, it seemed that her design 
was to wake me. Again she asked, 'Are you asleep, Dave?' Again, I feigned 
unconsciousness, although by this time I was curious beyond all description 
and-well, feeling feelings my fifteen-year-old virginal mind could not 
really define. My body was becoming liquid and jelly and hot and a lot of 
things.... 

"Her hand was now exploring my lower abdomen, kneading sometimes, playing, 
tickling, just barely touching-and yet all of these things with a sense of 
insistence. Then she leaned forward a bit, no longer interested in my wet 
ear, and applied light licking touches of her tongue about my rib cage and 
abdomen. As she did this, her hands crept ahead of her-lower-to the flat 
groin area where my sensitive lower abdominal area and upper thighs lay 
waiting. As she brushed her fingertips across these areas, she also allowed 
her straying fingers to brush briefly with nearly untouching touches against 
the upper sac of my balls and even a part of the lower stalk of my prick, 
which I only then discovered was metallically rigid. 

"It seemed to me she was only holding back for fear that I either had 
awakened or would awaken. Several times she stopped dead still from her 
kissing, licking, and fondling, and seemed to just listen in the air for 
signs of awareness from me. But I went on with my pretending. 

" 'Dave,' she said very softly, testing again, 'do you like what I'm doing 
to you right now with my tongue? Don't you think I've got a nice touch with 
my tongue?' It was one of those low sibilant whispers and I'm certain it 
wasn't intended for my ears, not really, and I very nearly answered her-out 
of curiosity more than anything else. I was burning to know what would 
happen if I were to 'wake up,' but I was even more curious to find out what 
would happen if I didn't. 

"Next her hands descended to my thighs, no longer tickling but actually 
massaging. When her hands struck the inner thighs, she added a slight 
pressure outward, as if to separate my legs. By reflex, I almost assisted, 
but caught myself in time. Now her nose was in the curling, patchy, wispy 
hairs above my prick which only short years ago had started to fill out. 

"She started lightly blowing into those same hairs at this point, while at 
the same time making another effort to get my legs spread wide apart. I 
wanted so much to help, and didn't quite know how to pull it off. And then a 
thought hit me-daringly, I rolled to one side imperceptibly and then coughed 
lightly while my legs fell apart, much as I imagined a sleeping person might 
actually have done it. At once her hands began again, now on the inner 
thighs and working their way up each thigh toward the underside of my balls. 
And even though I was expecting the feathery tapping feels by the time they 
actually touched the scrotal sac, I nevertheless came close to jumping out 
of my skin when those touches actually occurred. The sensation was intense, 
nearly electrifying, and I'm sure that's the point where I betrayed myself. 

" 'You're not fooling anybody now, Dave,' she said, no longer whispering in 
that low sibilance. 'You're awake and I know it. Pretending won't do any 
good any longer-and it won't do any harm either. I promise I won't quit.' 
Her voice was full of a chuckling-like undertone. She knew that I knew; and 
also she knew I knew she knew. The game was over. 

" 'Yes,' I acknowledged, and that simple word seemed to be enough. Even as 
the sound escaped my mouth, she was proceeding with her work-using ten 
teasing fingers on my balls, ranging in scope from up to the base of my cock 
and all the way down to my ass-hole. She seemed to enjoy running quick 
fingers across the bridge of my anus-across the rigid puckering. 

" 'Well,' she went on, 'if you're really awake, the least you can do is tell 
me how it feels-ever have your ass-hole strummed like a guitar before?' 

" 'No,' I answered, grinding my teeth together to keep from screaming. It 
was both maddening and delightful and when she attempted to insert a finger 
into my anus, my sphincter muscle spasmed into a tightly closed ring, almost 
as if clutching at the finger. She laughed at this, and for some reason her 
laughter transported my mind away from the intensity of the moment and 
helped me form another mental picture; one of Aunt Martha's perfectly formed 
white teeth partly covered, yet accentuated with fully stretched rose-lips. 

"Now she hooked her elbows under my knees and forced them wide apart, 
exposing my balls and ass-hole and the little wisps of fine hair that ran 
between them, and then she raised herself up quite high so as to give her 
head room to dip down low between my legs. As she did so, I could sense that 
she also moved her ass into position just above my face. I could see the 
vaguest outline of contours in the dark, draped, it seemed, in some kind of 
filmy material. Just as she was dipping her head low underneath my bails, I 
reached up a tentative hand to feel the inside of her thigh, which was 
textured like the skin of a baby and both cool-ish to the touch and lightly 
damp-but she seemed not to notice it. Her only reaction was to complete the 
motion she had begun, allowing her flickering tongue to finally come into 
light contact with my impossibly sensitive ass-hole. It was like an 
ice-water splash and an explosion and an electric shock all at once. I 
wanted to loosen my bowels and shit all over the bed and yet I had to 
tighten up as if to protect myself from more of this unbearable ecstasy. But 
I could do none of these things; her insistent tongue continued bathing my 
ass-hole, forcing a bit now and then as if to promote some kind of entry. 
Then she murmured, 'Why'd you stop feeling me, Dave? There's a nice warm 
cunt up there somewhere. It won't bite.' 

"I followed her advice and let my hand go to the inside of the damp-cool 
thigh again, this time going upward with confidence and anticipation. I 
didn't have the slightest idea what I was to really find, or how to make it 
good for her after I'd found it. Actually, my whole awareness was centered 
in the tonguing I was getting, and although I was curious to find out if 
Aunt Martha had one of those big bushy black things between her legs like 
I'd accidentally seen on Mom a couple of times, I was perfectly content to 
wait a while to find out. Somehow Aunt Martha sensed that it was becoming 
all but impossible for me to concentrate on anything other than what was 
happening down around my balls and ass-hole. 

" "That's all right, Dave. Let it wait a minute. I want you to put your 
whole mind on what I'm about to do. You might discover a brand new "biggest" 
thing in your life.' 

" 'Okay,' I responded. 'Go on; do whatever it is. Tongue my ass-hole some 
more. That's great. Do anything. It all feels great!' 

"She seemed to twist herself somehow and her head was now all the way down 
between my legs, so that if there had been light I know I would have seen 
her looking up at me. Then she applied that gorgeously talented fluttering 
tongue again, this time rapidly working it up from my balls to the base of 
my cock, around it somehow, and then she inched little-by-little upward, 
leaving warm spittle everywhere she licked, making my prick warm and slick 
and tingly. My prick was so hot and sensitive by now that I thought I could 
detect the spittle evaporating as soon as applied, but, of course, it was 
not, and anyway, she just kept giving it more and more, just as someone 
might swirl a brush around a barber pole while painting it. Then she began 
taking long, loving, vertical strokes, reapplying new moisture all the way 
from my balls to the head of my prick, but not quite engaging the head 
itself, as if it were a dessert to be saved for last. Frankly, I didn't care 
what she was doing, or was going to do, because my senses were by now only 
an extension of me, off somewhere else, floating up to the crests and down 
to the troughs of a sea of quicksand waves, tingling, pulsating to my toes. 

"She paused, as if for breath, but I could tell that her head was raised 
directly above the head of my prick. I knew from my limited experience in 
such matters that from the way my balls felt-so full and knotted into a 
funny ache-there was undoubtedly an accumulating pearl of white sticky stuff 
right on that slit that's on top of the head. She must have known that too, 
because I could feel her pull her arm forward, and wipe across the slit with 
her index finger. Then her arm moved again and I knew she was putting her 
finger to either her nose or mouth. 

" 'Smells wonderful,' she muttered to herself. Then there was another slight 
movement and I could hear the modest sound of lips and tongue going through 
tasting motions. 'Ummm! Tastes great, too.' Then she spoke louder and 
directed herself to me. "Think you'd mind giving me a whole mouthful of that 
wonderful stuff?' Then she sort of chuckled and tackled my waiting prick in 
earnest. 

" ' ... A hell of a piece of meat for such a young kid,' she mumbled to 
herself, and then I heard, 'and I'm going to get some beautiful fucking out 
of this thing, too.' She fixed a thumb and forefinger around the base and 
began s slight-up-and-down, very slow massage, and with the onset of that 
motion I was transfixed, even paralyzed, to attention. Already, I knew what 
was going to happen, and I was just hoping that my boyish inexperience 
wouldn't ruin it-for either of us. Already I could feel the welling load of 
sticky cum gathering in my full nuts, ready to explode upward and shoot out 
of my boiling cock. I was past caring or even wonder. At this point nothing 
else really mattered-I was melting from heat and wanted only to be hotter. 

"Again she approached my prick, this time with a low, almost inaudible moan 
coming from her throat. This was it. Serious business this, now that all the 
preliminaries were out of the way. I could even sense that it was all 
seriousness with her, too. Again she cupped my balls with gentle fingers and 
began a kneading massage. Again, her tongue made its way to the underside of 
my prick and then she accommodated the sides and back-ridge. Her earlier 
stimulation, plus this, had been so gradual, so complete and artistic, so 
fulfilling in a partial way, that I had by this time reached a point of 
excitation and anticipation far exceeding that normally required for orgasm, 
though at that time I didn't realize such things. Also, as I later found 
out, Aunt Martha was a master in such matters, and knew perfectly well what 
she was doing when she held me just barely in check, just below the level of 
explosion. 

"She reached the underfold of the glans where the smallish bundle of flesh 
from my circumcision scar formed a rounded ridge, and for a short moment she 
lingered there, toying with that particular flesh, salivating deliberately 
and delivering spittle to it, using her tongue like a trowel. Wetter and 
slimier my cock became, until the whole of it was sopping, dripping, very 
slippery, and hotly pulsing. Then she went on to the entire glans, applying 
saliva to the whole head. 

" 'You like?' she asked. 

" 'Oh, Jesus,' I cried. 'Go on, do more, do anything. But hurry!' 

" 'Don't be impatient, darling. You'll get it all. It's always best if you 
make it last.' 

"But as if to contradict herself, she now went forward with her plan. I 
guess she just wanted to let me know that I was in the hands of an artist, 
and that the best was always worth waiting for. Up to now, only her 
expertise had managed the withholding of my orgasm, but even though I was 
beside myself with ecstatic heat and burning concupiscence, I was fully 
aware that I was receiving a ministration utterly unique, an experience 
never to be relived, even with her, because there is something-so 
indefinably singular about the element of 'firstness.' 

"Now Aunt Martha left the minor leagues entirely. She raised her head again, 
hesitated, and then descended upon my prick, her mouth open, ready, perched; 
much as an albatross descends upon a hapless fish. Since I had many times 
before been told by the school coach and that guy down at the YMCA that I 
had a very large cock for a boy my age, it was very much to Aunt Martha's 
credit that I felt no teeth at all. Her tongue had been in flashing motion 
even before contact had been made. Just as she touched home and began 
inserting the whole of it into her mouth, she began a full, openmouthed, 
forced breathing which bathed my whole prick in gushes of warm air, bringing 
on another new sensation. I tensed to hold back the approaching surge. The 
throbbing of my cock and the new rhythmic puckering of my ass-hole had now 
become involuntary. My nerve ends were loosening just as Aunt Martha finally 
made full, deep, enveloping contact with that over warm and liquid mouth of 
hers and busily swirling tongue, and now I could not deny those vague inner 
juices which were rushing up, and to hold back these near-spasms I had to 
force myself into deep inner muscular contractions. I think I even clenched 
my teeth. 

"The insertion of my prick into her mouth became the primary thing at this 
point; the forced breathing stopped, the darting and playing tongue 
retreated deeply to its natural cavern and now became a loving trowel which 
swirled and teased and massaged the head of my prick, molding its contours 
to that same prick. She caressed with long, swallowing, deep strokes and 
alternately teased with quick short strokes. At the deepest insertion, she 
put her tongue into a circular bathing motion upon the glans, which was up 
deep into the tongue-bed, and then she added a munching kind of suction. 

"She emitted low murmuring sounds of contentment. I could visualize how 
there must now be streaks of lipstick up and down the whole of my cock. Her 
downstrokes now were bringing her lips and nose into full pressing contact 
with my pubic hairs and I'm certain that the main bulk of my bulbous head 
was lodging easily into her upper throat, and then it seemed to go even 
further. With great artistry, and defying all the explanations of 
measurement, she increased her downstroke and added great force so that she 
was taking absolutely all of it-and I had been told in school that 
eight-and-a-half inches was remarkable for a fifteen-year-old boy-which was 
proven by the strange feeling I got every time my cock brushed up into her 
hot throat, past her tonsils, flattening her vulva, and on into her 
receptive and waiting esophagus. 

"It required my whole will to resist culmination-I clenched together every 
set of muscles I owned, from eyelids to curling toes, but it was a losing 
battle. The inevitable approached. 

"She was taking it all. Now a new set of muscles was being brought into play 
and I didn't understand for a second. Then I caught on; she was taking the 
whole cock and as soon as it was firmly lodged in her throat she would stop 
momentarily and start swallowing-flutter-swallowing, actually-and they were 
rapid, reflexive, not-quite-gagging, fully muscular swallows. It was a 
milking-like suction and it was the strangest feeling in the world, and one 
I have never experienced again in the years and years of blow jobs that have 
followed. 

"She sensed how close I was. She increased both the tempo and the suction. 
Her head was now a piston, a blurred piston, and the strokes were full and 
hard and straining. I knew that had I been able to see her in the light, her 
hair would be flailing the air. 

"The first rush of spurting semen came up in a geyser gush. It was almost 
pure pain, but it also bordered on pure ecstasy, even rebirth. It hit the 
back of her throat and triggered an even more frenzied tempo of that 
pistoning head as well as a new and furious swallowing that was clearly 
audible as the hot gobs of sticky sperm lubricated the whole peristalsis 
mechanism-I could actually hear the contractions carrying the copious 
nutrient to her stomach. She would have taken any amount of cum I could have 
shot down her throat, even to the point of her not being able to move 
without producing an audible 'splash' from her abdomen. 

"She milked on and on even after I was totally drained and dry and tenderly 
limp. And even then, after it was decidedly over and done, and there was 
absolutely nothing left, she kept returning to my prick, time and time, 
saying that it had to be 'carefully cleaned off.' 

"And then, when at last she decided that the act was concluded, she lay down 
next to me and draped an arm over my chest, apparently as exhausted and 
drained as I was. It seemed she was purring. At length she asked, 'Dave, 
darling, are you still awake?' 

" 'llh-huh,' I grunted. 

" "Tell me, darling, did you like it?' 

" 'Oh, God yes! I've never known a feeling like that,' I replied, wanting 
even in my soporific state to sound enthusiastic. 

" 'Good. Wonderful. Just great.' 

"I waited for her to go on. I knew by her tone she had something to add to 
that. 

" 'Dave, I think you're going to make me the happiest woman in the world and 
from now on I don't care if my husband goes for ten years at a time. I'm 
going to put you to sleep with a good blow job every night, and I'm going to 
wake you up with an even better one in the morning-every morning. And school 
isn't very far away. You can come home for lunch every day and I can give 
you a proper sucking then, too. And I'm going to teach you to eat my cunt so 
good that you'll be the most sought-after man in town when you grow up. And 
then there's more.' " 'More? What?' 

" 'Fucking. Have you forgotten that?' she laughed. 

"I laughed too. 'Yeah, almost. When can we start teaching me that?' 

" 'Well, you're shot for now. Let's make it tomorrow.' 

"I was very agreeable to that. I grunted my approval. 

" 'But, Dave, I want you to know something in advance. I can be a little 
bitchy. Especially when I like a cock as much as I like that monster you've 
got. And especially when someone's cum tastes as great as yours does. It's 
both sweet and sour, a little like liquid aspirin, and tangy-God, but that 
was the greatest. And so much, too . ... ' 

"And I suppose she went on like that for a while. But I don't really know. 
About that time I fell asleep." 

The foregoing account sounds very much involved in psychodynamic elements 
above and beyond the obviously incestuous. A thoroughgoing delineation of 
this case, in fact, has presented fierce topical debate between the three 
men who finally became involved in it: the husband, the therapist, and the 
analyst who was brought in to mediate the whole thing. 

At first, this seemed to be a case that might reach the courts. Fortunately, 
it never got that far. 

As we continue with this taped narrative (all of which is in retrospect from 
a man now in law school and with a promising career in the offing), it will 
be seen that a wise choice was made by all parties, and that a stroke of 
luck entered the picture, too, in that farseeing medical authorities were 
able to circumvent a legal involvement. 

At root, we are dealing here in three planes: the incestuous, the 
pedophiliac, and the compulsively oral. The husband could not immediately 
see, of course, that multiple elemental psychodynamics were tugging Martha 
in several directions at once, and that not least among these was the 
age-old marriage-wrecker: forced role-reversal. When her husband was awav, 
Martha was forced to become the decider, the dominant force, the "rejected" 
(this term used in the grander sense), and finally, a woman who had to 
accept personal responsibility for "self-determination-within-marriage"-an 
unnatural condition. 

Martha's existence was one which promoted an overripe social and sexual 
want, and in time, her personal ideals were compromised in such a manner 
that she became sexually pliable, or, restated, she was in perfect stance 
and condition to yield to the fruition of her most basic desires. One might 
ask why a great many war widows (this term meaning women whose husbands are 
absent for military reasons for long periods of time) do not become 
pedophiliac or enter into incestuous liaisons. It would certainly seem that 
similar forces apply to those general cases as evidently apply to Martha's. 
The essential difference obviously does not lie in the structural or 
circumstantial domains, else incest and pedophilia would be rampant, which 
they are not (on the increase, yes; better understood, perhaps; rampant, 
no). By virtue of sheer mechanical subtraction, we arrive at the conclusions 
that the areas confronting us here are psychologic first, and all other 
things second. 

This was an instance of maternal-aunt incest. Generally, this is regarded as 
the more potentially traumatic of the two for the acceding male. Being 
Dave's mother's sister, Martha in some degree represented a 
mother-surrogate, and the identification was- likely as not physical as well 
as emotive-reactive. So then, Dave was symbolically performing maternal 
incest, which, by any standard one wishes to use, is the most catastrophic 
sexual incident which can be visited upon a barely pubescent male. (Further, 
as will be seen in our ongoing narrative, the ideas formulating in Dave's 
awareness during coitus with Martha become more and more oriented toward the 
understanding of the symbolism, and Martha therefore takes on the dimension 
of a "true" mother.) As for true maternal incest, those few documented 
histories in the medical archives dealing with actual consummation indicate 
that the males usually mature into psycho sexually inadequate persons who 
require extensive analysis. All too often these males never become able to 
cope with society. 

And yet, Dave prospers today and is a promising student of law on the brink 
of graduation. He gives every appearance of good adjustment and is engaged 
to a fine girl. Most importantly, he is able to speak openly and candidly of 
his experiences with Aunt Martha. 

How can all of this be? 

For the answers, we must retrace the steps of psychologic reasoning to their 
source. When one reads Freud's Totem and Taboo, he learns of the maniacal 
fear of close-breeding inherent in primitives. He learns that all 
consanguineous incest carried the death penalty because it was the first 
taboo in all primitive cultures, even though these cultures had radically 
different origins, were continents apart, and materialized in stages of 
periodicity measured in the thousands of years. 

It took a Freud to first postulate and then unravel the mystery of infantile 
sexuality. His work deals with the methods and reactions by which each of us 
garners and nurtures and then hopefully resolves an incestuous desire for 
the mother. Consider his words (from General Introduction to Psychoanalysis: 
A General Theory of the Neuroses, Lecture XXII): "The first choice of an 
object among human beings is regularly an incestuous one, in the man 
directed toward the mother and sister, and the most stringent laws are 
necessary to prevent this persisting infantile tendency from becoming 
active." 

If one is familiar with the later writings of Freud, he will be quick to 
wonder about the moralistic undertones implicit here, which are significant 
by their absence in his later writings. Freud in late life developed the 
aloof view that man is not necessarily well-equipped to govern himself. But 
whereas he came to disparage the legalistic community, he did retain his 
view that incest, consummated, was a blight upon the social institution and 
an especially dangerous private experiment-the eventual cost to the psyche 
being enormous. 

In what has been construed to be an antithetical statement, Freud later on 
tells us (from Sexuality and the Psychology of Love): "Whoever is to be 
really free and happy in love must have overcome his deference for women and 
come to terms with the idea of incest with mother or sister." 

In this context it becomes clear that Freud sees incest desire as a purely 
natural reaction to the growing and awareness-accumulation process, and that 
no truly adjusted person can ever come to grips with the adult concepts of 
male/female role-relationship until he or she has consciously dealt with the 
idea of incest. Usually, this is accomplished in therapy or analysis (if at 
all), and yet a certain inner resource seems to be lying dormant in each of 
us, which if activated can lead to transitional adjustments, by virtue alone 
of that catalyst we call intellect. Everything here seems to depend on how 
we approach the matter, how much of it we can dredge up from our unconscious 
without surpassing the psychic pain threshold by which we are generally 
protected. Restated, we can say that much depends on how honest we are with 
ourselves. 

Other writers have dealt at length with this subject (recall, we are here 
regarding aunt-nephew incest as being the same genre as maternal incest, 
removed only in surrogate terms), and, for the most part, these writers 
agree with Freud that consummated maternal incest is a psychologic killer. 
The major difference is that these other men consistently insist that incest 
is a moral problem first and a medical problem second. From Psychopathia 
Sexualis by Richard von Krafft-Ebing, we read: "The preservation of the 
moral purity of family life is a product of civilization: and feelings of 
intense displeasure arise in an ethically intact man at the thought of 
lustful feeling toward a member of the same family. Only great sensuality 
and defective ideas of law and morals can lead to incest." 

Whichever of these two viewpoints regarding the proper priority of the 
problem appeals to the reader's tastes is his option, yet we would have to 
question any scientific observation which assumes that everything that has 
gone before is correct on that strength alone. 

Returning to the contention that Martha was- likely a mother-surrogate for 
Dave, we then see how Freud's comments apply, but we are now also faced with 
a two-headed hydra; was Marsha acting out a repressed and unresolved 
incestuous longing for a son she never had, thus becoming the aggressive 
force? Or did Dave, by extension of earlier actions we know nothing of, 
subtly promote the liaison himself-and, if not, did he perform some manner 
of tricky mental transmutation whereby Aunt Martha became as a total 
stranger? We do know that Dave has apparently survived a normally traumatic 
experience without noticeable aftereffect. But to examine these 
possibilities further, we must add to our collection of knowledge and also 
consider the depth (or lack of it) of emotional interplay which enveloped 
this relationship. 

" 'Dave, get up. You'll be late for school.' 

"For a second, I wasn't sure where I was. And then I remembered everything. 
My God, I thought to myself, I must have fallen asleep right after that 
wonderful sucking. I guess I just shot that big hot load and immediately 
collapsed-maybe, I considered, it would always be that way. I had heard 
stories from other boys that it was not good for a guy to get too hot, 
because then when you do shoot your cum, you're ruined for anything else. 
Then another memory came rushing in. I recalled how dearly I had wanted to 
learn to fuck. Suddenly I was a bit angry with myself. 

" 'Last call,' came Aunt Martha's voice. 'Unless you're not going to 
school.' 

"She didn't have to say anymore. I called back to her, 'I've got a miserable 
headache. I don't think I'll go.' 

"She came in immediately, smiling, jaunty. 'My, my, what kind of a little 
man are you? One good blow job and you're shot-is that the way it is?' 

" 'Hell, no,' I arched. 'I just have a real honest-to-God headache. Is that 
so strange?' 

" 'Maybe I'd better give you a little massage.' 

" 'Okay,' I answered quickly, thinking she meant to lightly rub my temples, 
the way Mom used to do. Come to think of it, Mom used to do that a lot, and 
I can remember more than one occasion when she seemed to extend her 
ministrations lengthily and needlessly, after which she'd sort of collapse 
upon me, her long black hair falling and flowing over my face, infusing my 
nostrils with a subtle female fragrance. But, before last night, I had never 
considered those moments with Mom to be anything of special significance. 
Now, I'm not so sure. 

"But those thoughts were interrupted almost before they began. Aunt Martha 
did indeed apply one cool palm to my forehead, which again kindled thoughts 
of Mom, but with her other hand she cupped my balls and began stroking 
upward with light fingers, finally grasping my prick between a thumb and 
forefinger with a gingerness not unlike the loving obeisance an art lover 
would use in fondling a rarity, and then initiating a slow up-and-down 
stroking. 

" 'I just love this cock of yours, Dave. Last night I thought you'd never 
stop coming. You made my little tummy very happy.' 

" 'I'm glad,' I answered. 'I liked it too. But I'm unhappy with myself for 
falling asleep. I wanted to learn a few other things, too.' 

"'Well!' she answered devilishly, green eyes flashing. "This is supposed to 
be a regular school day for you. If you aren't going to learn something 
there, you might as well do it here.' 

" "That makes sense,' I told her, laughing also. 

" 'Of course. Now lay back and let me get this beautiful thing nice and 
hard. After that, we'll try to figure out what to do with it.' 

"With that, she swooped down and just took the whole thing deep into her 
mouth, no preliminaries or anything, none of those slow, gradual, teasing 
tricks of hers which had gotten me so explosively hot the previous night. 
She seemed to just gulp down the whole half-hard prick and immediately went 
into a furious sucking and piston-like up-and-down motion, all the while 
swirling her educated tongue everywhere. I closed my eyes and thought of the 
moment as a school class, since that's what it was substituting for, and 
wondered if this instruction period would last as long as the other. I was 
certain the lesson would be more lasting. 

"At a moment like that, time seems to speed up; that is, five or ten minutes 
goes awfully fast under the artful tongue of someone like Aunt Martha. One 
naturally wishes to suspend time, so that the thing goes on forever, and I 
suppose it's quite natural to sink into an unfathomable sexual reverie, as I 
always did whenever Aunt Martha sucked on my prick, and often as not I was 
not aware of time, or other duty, or even place and circumstance; and there 
was no alleviating that numbness of mind until I began shooting those spurts 
of cum down her throat. It may have been the exquisite orgasming that 
brought me to, but I rather think it was also the moaning, humming, gurgling 
happiness of sound which emitted from her every time the cum started. 

"But this time it stopped almost as soon as it had begun. She was apparently 
serious about teaching me something else. Aunt Martha sat up, face very 
happy, looking studiously at my now very hard and throbbing cock. 

" "That was just to say hello and get him in the right frame of mind. If I 
hadn't already had breakfast, I'd finish him off, but I think we should save 
it for something else.' 

" 'like what?' I asked, with an innocent tone. 

" 'Don't be coy with me, Dave. Whenever you and I are talking about sex, and 
you have a question to ask, say what you mean. Even if you haven't 
experienced it, you should know by instinct that a good suck should always 
be followed by a good fuck. That's what I had in mind last night, but I got 
carried away. But don't think it's going to be like that with all women. I 
happen to be one of those rare women who gets a terrific charge out of 
giving blow jobs, and especially out of drinking cum. There have been times, 
frankly, when it's been so good it's made me completely forget about 
fucking, or getting eaten, or anything else. 

" 'Yes, I did get the impression you like it.' 

" 'And how about you? Didn't you get much out of it?' 

" 'It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.' 

" 'Well, that can only mean that you're going to be in for a pleasant 
surprise.' Now, I want you to do everything I tell you, step by step.' 

" 'Sure, anything,' I responded. 'What do I do first?' 

" 'Well, first I want you to forget that we've already had a personal 
relationship. I want you to consider me as a girl you've just gotten into 
bed and more than anything you want to make me so hot that I can't resist 
that nice big prick of yours. Now, with that in mind, go to work on my 
breasts. Use your tongue with imagination, the way I did mine when I was 
sucking on your cock just now. Later, I'll teach you what to do with your 
teeth, but for now I just want you to lick and tongue my tits. Go hard, then 
easy, and so on.' 

"I bent my head to her right breast when she lay back down, kneading the 
other breast with a thumb and finger, and alternately, with my palm. With my 
mouth I licked up the sloping underside of the firm breast, which would have 
seemed more natural on a sixteen-year-old. Then I reached the areola, but 
did not linger upon it. I now tackled the top slope of the same breast, 
feeling its barely-yielding firmness beneath the alabaster skin. Then I 
began again toward the areola, and finally arriving, I brought it into my 
mouth with considerable suction and then flayed the tip of my tongue across 
the nipple in a fast, whipping fashion. 

" 'Oh, yes-God yes,' she moaned. 

"I kept this up awhile and then switched to the other breast where I began 
the same process. Sensing that one hand was free, she said, 'Dave, please, 
stick your finger in my cunt.' 

"I obeyed instantly. As I did so, it occurred to me that just the simple act 
of doing what Aunt Martha asked, regardless what her request might be, gave 
me a great deal of pleasure. In itself, act or no act, pleasing her pleased 
me. What a fine basis for a relationship! Right at that moment I could not 
conceive of not obeying her. I lowered my hand to that mysterious patch of 
hair and then let my fingers twirl through it for a moment, mesmerized by 
the feel of it; its silky curls, both fine and coarse. I knew that before 
long I would be even closer to the same hairs, and frankly, I didn't have 
any idea back in those days just where things were located-but Aunt Martha 
sort of got the idea across by lifting and twisting and spreading her legs 
wide, each of those moves at the proper moment and in perfect sync with my 
fumbling. Then, finally, I felt a bit of moisture, and parting the hairs at 
that point, I discovered a warm pool of it. God, but her cunt was wet! And 
warm! The hairs close to the opening were soaked, making some of the hairs 
long and stringy, even dripping, filaments. I dipped my middle finger into 
the well where it all seemed to be coming from and it seemed my finger was 
grabbed up and sucked in a little further. 

" 'Oh, Jesus, sweet Jesus,' she cried, squirming on the bed, "That's so 
good. Stick your finger way deep in my hole, Dave. Lower. Yes, oh yes, in 
hard now! Jam it in. Jam two fingers in! Oh, my Goddam your whole hand in!! 
' 

"I was following every instruction, even though Aunt Martha was by this time 
rolling and tossing furiously, making it very difficult to keep up. Somehow 
I managed to keep one finger, and sometimes two, going in and out of that 
liquid well, and usually with that hard, deep, fast speed she needed so 
badly. When she implored me to put my whole hand in, I tried, but that 
turned out to be just wishful thinking on her part. 

"Then she sat up, holding her legs together, letting me know it was time to 
stop. 'So much for that,' she said with forced calm, though her voice 
betrayed her passion, as did her seductive smile. 'Now, honey, get up here.' 
Then, after a quick glance at my raging prick, she seemed to have a second 
thought and added, 'No, wait!' She then bent over close to examine my prick 
for rigidity, though that condition seemed not in question. Then she 
murmured, 'Well, just to be sure ... ' and swooped right onto it, gulping it 
deep in one motion, and gave it about thirty seconds' worth of quick 
sucking. Afterwards, she commented, "There, that's going to be just fine,' 
and then she patted the head of my cock, as one might the head of a child. 
'Now, Dave, you can get up here-just lay on my stomach and I'll show you 
what to do.' 

"I turned toward her and she sort of helped me climb between her legs. It 
was a wonderful feeling with those pointed full breasts acting as pillars to 
hold me up in the air. My knees were implanted firmly between her upraised 
ones, and my prick was jutting straight forward, proudly, a single drop of 
gleaming cum riding on the tip. Aunt Martha lifted her head a bit and 
reached forward, grabbing my cock by the stalk and laying it lengthwise in 
her palm as one might aningot, to test the weight. Then she instructed me, 
'Just come forward now as I guide it. When it touches the hole, you'll feel 
it. I'll let go and then I want you to drive it all the way home with one 
hard lunge. Most women don't like that, but I do. Try your damndest to hurt 
me. Try to jam it all the way up to my heart!' 

"I lowered myself little by little and then, aided by unerring guidance, my 
prick touched the outer lips of her gaping, dripping cunt. She let go and I 
rammed the whole thing into her with all the strength I had. My groin hit 
hers and I could nearly sense that the two sets of pelvic bones had ground 
together. My balls had flown back, pendulum-like, just as my ass had begun 
its forward heaving, and then when the jolting stop came when my prick dug 
up into her cervix, certain laws of engineering and gravity took over and my 
balls arced down in a heavy swing and slapped audibly into the crevice of 
her ass. 

" 'Oh, yes-yes, now, yes! All the way out, Dave, so only the tip of the head 
is in me, and then jam it in me again-just as hard as you possibly can.' 

" 'I'll try,' I answered, almost reflexively, barely understanding her 
words. The feel of this wonderful boiling spongy cunt with its oiled, 
slippery muscles grabbing at my prick in a thousand ways was almost more 
than I could stand. 

Already my balls were beginning to recoil into a pair of bunched 
high-pressure receptacles, just waiting for my mind to turn the spigot and 
loose a damburst of frothing cream into my aunt's waiting cunt. My whole 
being was now in my sensitive, feeling, stabbing, proud, and regal cock. But 
Aunt Martha was saying something. 'What, Auntie?' I asked. 

" 'Do what I said, Dave. Pull it all the way out like you did the first 
time. You must keep the cycle going, darling. Pull it out so it's just 
barely touching the lips of my cunt and then shove it in hard. Hurt me if 
you can. And then do that whole thing over and over as fast as 
possible-please, Dave, please. I want a hard fuck so bad!!!! ' 

"My own passion made it difficult for me to comprehend the true need and 
entreaty in her voice, the imploring plea for release. But within my own 
limits, I did what she asked, though it was obvious I would not last long at 
that pace. And then a very funny thought crossed my mind: once, several 
years ago, when my father was away on business, I had heard my own mother 
from her bedroom one afternoon asking the very same thing of a young man she 
had with her. I remembered peeking in the door and seeing his hairy balls 
swinging up into the air as he prepared to drive his cock into her. Why did 
I recall that scene just now? And then, quickly, as if part of the same 
thought, I looked down at the writhing face of Aunt Martha, and even the cut 
of her brow reminded me of Mom's. So strange. Aunt Martha didn't really look 
much like ..... 

" 'Harder, faster, deeper,' she was insisting. Her voice was a hard but limp 
replay now; drained, near exhaustion, ebbing. 

"I realized that I had to pay more attention to what I was doing and so I 
pulled my ass up high so that I could just barely feel the edges of Aunt 
Martha's cunt lips licking at the head of my prick, and then I sent it into 
her with full force and with the same insertion characteristics as an Apollo 
spacecraft as it jabs into the void; having first gathered and set and 
bunched together every muscular strength available to me, and then allowing 
it all to fuse into one recoilless, catapulting, and volcanic thrust. This 
time everything hit at one: my cockhead against the bottom of her pussy, our 
pelvic structure and muscles, and my arcing balls against her ass-cheeks. 
She gave a loud but dull grunt and in a worn voice begged for a repeat. 
'Harder, you wonderful boy-hurt me, hurt my cunt; tear it apart!' 

"I had strangely cooled and gotten hotter at the same time. The great 
physical ness probably had something to do with this, but all of the impacts 
on my senses were now producing different responses. Oddly, it was now Mom 
lying under me. I could imagine her nice thick black bush of cunt hairs that 
she was so proud of when she paraded around the house. She thought I hadn't 
seen her . ... Then the idea of fucking Mom hard like this was suddenly 
intensely appealing. The huge load of foamy cum compressing in my nuts 
should be for her ..... 

"But Aunt Martha groaned or mumbled or something and I immediately found 
myself back in the here and now. A new heat was overtaking me and I knew I 
couldn't last much longer. That was fine. I felt very adequate already. By 
her reactions I knew I had passed my test, exceeded Aunt Martha's 
expectations. Such good feelings served to egg me on, too, and now, 
suddenly, I was back up to peak performance, jamming it into her at about 
one full deep-bore stroke per second, and, brother, I have since found out 
that's quite a pace to maintain. No wonder Aunt Martha was now actually 
screaming a sore scream and clawing at my back with delirious nails. 

" 'Oh, my sweet God in heaven, make it last,' she was murmuring, lowly, to 
herself. 'Let me die like this-fucking-forever-' 

"And then my balls tightened into clenched sacs in that way I have since 
learned to know signals the opening floodgates. As if in reflex, the gobs of 
pressured cum were released and propelled under painful force up the rifled 
shaft of my quivering prick. The first torrential spurt rushed up the tube 
and found freedom and dispersion in a waiting warmth; it was then I first 
understood the grandness of hot, releasing euphoria. Again my balls recoiled 
for the strike, another gush of hot egg-white splattered Aunt Martha's 
in-sides; once more I felt the trembling untensing of knotted, wanting 
nerves. 

"Further ejaculations of good strength hit and sprayed the whole interior 
wall structure of her vagina, mixing with the female juices already frothing 
in there. I kept the full-bore strokes going as hard and as fast as 
possible. 

"This time Aunt Martha's voice was a barely perceptible whisper. 'I can't 
believe it,' she exhaled, cloudily. I looked at her and saw that the long 
silken hair of her head was soaking wet. I ran combing fingers through it 
for her, stranded and fanned it so it would dry upon the pillows. Her face 
was flushed and her breathing shallow. I bent and gave a soft, lingering 
kiss. A smile tried to form. I laid down beside her and we joined in efforts 
to regain our strength. 

"We hadn't been like that for five minutes when the back doorbell rang. 

" 'Oh, my God,' Aunt Martha exclaimed. 'I completely forgot. It's the 
milkman.' 

"She got up hurriedly, then noticed the warm cum running down her inner 
thigh. Quickly grabbing a kleenex from a box, she wiped the sperm from the 
inner leg and then stuffed the tissue in between her legs and up into her 
cunt a little. Throwing on a robe, she started for the back door, but then 
had a second thought and came back to the bed. 

" 'Dave,' she exclaimed in a rush, T just had a brainstorm. There's still 
one thing you don't know how to do, and here's a chance for you to learn it 
by observation-if it's my regular milkman, that is. Get in the closet, 
quickly, and keep the door ajar just enough so you can hear and see. I'm not 
sure this will work out, but we can-try.' 

"Grumbling a little to myself because I was so damned spent, I nevertheless 
did as she had instructed. In the closet, all I could think of was laying 
down and sleeping. My eyes were heavy. 

"After a wait of several minutes, I heard voices. It seemed they were in the 
living room-she must have been having trouble getting to the guy. Then I 
heard Aunt Martha's voice clearly, 'I don't usually have a drink this early 
either, but I had a restless night, what with my husband away and all. How 
long have you been assigned to this route?' The milkman seemed to make some 
light reply, and then there was silence. Another heavy minute went by and 
then they were walking hand in hand into the bedroom. 

"He was a large man, perhaps in his thirties, clean-cut as they come, and 
wearing one of the standard white milkman uniforms. He had a smile-no, a 
part-leer-on his face, and I immediately knew that those few silent minutes 
in the living room had been both productive and decisive. As I later found, 
Aunt Martha was not the least backward when it came to sex. 

"Without a word, Aunt Martha stepped out of her robe and stood there proudly 
before the milkman. It seemed to me then from my peeking position, that that 
was the first time I had noticed what a fine, sturdy, thoroughbred body she 
had. Her breasts were firm and jutting, her stomach flat and her legs 
shapely and long. Her pubic bush was springy and full. It gave no indication 
of having been just fucked with good fervor, and I had to look a second time 
before I could locate the telltale corner of kleenex peeking out. 

"The milkman needed no more encouragement. He stepped toward her and kissed 
her, letting his mouth disengage and drop quickly to her breasts, which he 
hungrily slipped into his mouth, first one and then the other. He seemed to 
suck voraciously, then tenderly, and then only with small light licks. 
Whatever he was doing it must have been right, for Aunt Martha was 
responding visibly. She reached down and felt his cock through his pants. A 
small frown of disappointment registered on her face, and by the motion of 
her hand, I could tell that this hulk of a man actually had an inadequate 
prick. Later in life, I have found out how traumatic this can be to some 
men, and I really feel sorry for them. Anyway, I sensed that Aunt Martha had 
suddenly lost interest in fucking this guy, and probably in sucking him, 
too. Well, I didn't really have much idea of what else could happen, but I 
soon found out. 

"Aunt Martha pulled the milkman close to her, put one arm around his neck 
and pulled so that they both fell down upon the bed. As soon as they hit, 
Aunt Martha's free hand was busy digging the kleenex out of her cunt. Then 
she said, loud enough for me to hear, 'You know what I want, don't you?' 

" 'I think so,' he answered, and raised himself to unbuckle his pants. She 
immediately put a hand on his arm to stop him and said, 'Oh, no, I can't do 
a thing like that. It would be cheating. The only thing I would consider 
is-if-you wanted to kiss me a little-down there.' 

" 'Oh! Well, why didn't you say so? That's my specialty, baby.' 

"Aunt Martha was stretching out on her back now, with her knees up and apart 
and the milkman was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her cunt, 
which had recovered rapidly and now appeared to be fluffy, dry, unused, 
antiseptically clean, nearly virginal. 

"He began by kissing her knees and then progressed to one of her inner 
thighs; licking and kissing alternately, cupping a hand under each buttock, 
all the while rearranging his own body by stages so that finally he was 
lying prone before her, his legs dangling far over the bottom of the bed. 
Little by little he approached her cunt, still alternating between thighs, 
and occasionally dipping low to plant a light kiss at the juncture of 
thigh-back and buttock, scant inches from her ass-hole, which was now 
visible as Aunt Martha stretched her legs straight up high. Once when he 
moved his shoulder a bit, she looked down and caught my peeking eye and gave 
me a big wink. Also, her lips formed a message which I think was 'watch 
carefully.' 

"Now the milkman was blowing little gushes of breath into Aunt Martha's cunt 
hairs, laying them lightly apart, so that the pink slit lay there in what 
appeared to be waiting innocence. Looking at it, one would never suspect its 
recent workout, nor the copious load of cum it contained. Then as I watched, 
his head dove in further, blocking my view a bit even though Aunt Martha had 
positioned herself as favorably as possible. She must have realized that I 
could not see well, so she pretended to squirm a bit and finally I could see 
perfectly. The milkman's light licking and tonguing and kissing had now all 
blended into one action-a long lapping tonguing of the cunt hole itself. As 
he started this, Aunt Martha began beseeching him to 'lap me up,' all the 
while responding very ardently. Even as he was lapping her cunt in long 
swipes reaching from her ass-hole all the way to her clitoris, Aunt Martha 
sat up a bit, supporting herself on extended arms, enlisting gravity to help 
the cum run out of her cunt and into the unsuspecting mouth of the milkman. 
He seemed to pause and lick his lips once in a while, but he always resumed 
his work. Finally, Aunt Martha was applying pressure with the palm of her 
hand to her lower abdomen and then rubbing downward hard, squeezing out all 
the remaining cum. On and on he licked and lapped, thinking apparently that 
Aunt Martha might orgasm that way. 

"Aunt Martha played the game. After a suitable period had elapsed she began 
the 'throes' of orgasm. A few minutes later, the self-satisfied milkman was 
dressed and gone, still licking his lips in such a way that one would think 
his taste buds had been introduced to some unforgettable treat. 

"Aunt Martha called me out of the closet and beckoned me to take off the 
robe and join her on the bed. I snuggled up close. 

" 'Now that that's over, what would you like to do?' she giggled. 

" 'Anything,' I answered. 

" 'All right, Dave, anything it is.' 

"Which is precisely what we undertook to do: anything-and everything." 

The remaining history contains almost endless repeats of this and similar 
performances, and in the ten months which elapsed between Martha's first 
enjoying Dave and the return of her husband, the two had coitus two to three 
times a day plus countless acts of oral sex in-between. Martha developed the 
habit of fellating Dave to sleep each night and awakening him the same way 
each morning. One might suppose that Dave would have tired of such 
attentions, but the opposite is true. Dave later declared that he would 
never thereafter consider marrying a girl who did not emulate Aunt Martha in 
this respect. 

A very messy situation developed when the husband returned. He caught them, 
literally, just as Dave was depositing a quantity of semen into Aunt 
Martha's mouth. 

Thus ensued a problem, which, as stated, might have had to be resolved in 
court. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, therapists were called in, and 
finally an analyst's views were sought. In the long run, all charges were 
dropped, the divorce was granted, and Martha and Dave (through dangerous 
maneuvers and at great risk to Martha, who stood to be prosecuted for it) 
got together in another city, whereupon she put the boy through his 
remaining schooling. These days, as an honors candidate in a prominent law 
school, Dave is engaged to a fine girl and is making preparations for an 
early marriage. Very few people are aware (most especially his fiancee is 
not) of the keen anticipation with which Dave regards both the Easter and 
Christmas vacation periods, at which time he travels to an obscure town to 
spend the time with "a relative." 

 CHAPTER TWO 

THE MAIDEN AUNT 

"I certainly didn't think much of the place when we drove up to it. Bix, my 
brother, was sitting up front with Aunt Claudia, and he was as unimpressed 
as I, judging by his actions and the tone of his voice. I know that may 
sound like a close-minded comment, but that's the way Bix and I were about 
things. We were pissed to start with. Sending our real mother to jail on a 
trumped-up charge just to satisfy some sonofabitch's whim didn't sit very 
well with either of us boys. Little wonder we were suddenly cynical! Even 
dear old spinster Aunt Claudia could do no right in our eyes, even though 
she was trying hard, and was emotionally in the same corner as us, regarding 
Mom. 

"I don't know why I called her 'old spinster' Aunt Claudia. She was old only 
in the sense that she was a bit older than us boys. Bix was sixteen and I 
was seventeen, and I suppose that Aunt Claudia was something just under 
thirty. The mere fact that she was unmarried and supported herself by doing 
top-notch art-layout work in an ad agency in no way certified any hatred for 
men, which I think is implied in the word 'spinster.' On the contrary, it 
was known in the family that she was continually sought by men. She had told 
Mom that she simply wanted to 'cement' her career before settling down. 
Still, it was a curious circumstance, considering how attractive she was, 
and the whole business had been a matter of conjecture in our family for 
years. The upshot, of course, was that we considered Aunt Claudia a 'cold 
fish,' which as I came to know, was both unfair and a bald piece of 
misinformation. 

"Opening the car door after we'd stopped, Bix turned to me and asked, 'What 
do you think, Carl? Pretty nice, huh?' 

" 'Sure is,' I answered. 

" 'Well, I think you'll find there's plenty of room,' Aunt Claudia 
reassured, somehow sensing that Bix and I were still angry at the whole 
world for being uprooted from the home we knew so well. She was making quite 
an attempt at civility. I was well aware she was not overjoyed at the idea 
of having her home invaded by a pair of hell-raising young male relatives. I 
suppose it was our duty to try our best-this whole thing certainly wasn't 
Aunt Claudia's fault. I tried to be cheerful for the first time that day. 

" 'Well, if there isn't, I guess we'll just have to make sure it works 
anyway,' I answered. 

" 'Let's get everything inside,' Aunt Claudia said, almost smiling. 

"For the next hour or so we carted the possessions of a lifetime into Aunt 
Claudia's spacious house, a rambling modern place with an inviting pool in 
the back. Art-layout work must pay, I thought. There were separate bedrooms 
for each of us, and I grabbed the one adjacent to Aunt Claudia's, though I'm 
not sure what the immediate motive was. Being a rather horny seventeen, and 
certainly being the type to want as much freedom as possible, it didn't 
really make much sense to put myself under her eye that way. Considering the 
events that transpired later, I must have been a seer and didn't know it. 
Anyway, Bix took the room way down the hall in the back, right off the pool, 
and for the moment, we were each happy with our choices. 

"The next day or so went just like a day or so with a 'family' should go. 
Talk, talk, talk.' Arrangements, moving, settling, all that sort of thing. 
Then, after we'd gotten settled to the point that we could feel relaxed, and 
each had house keys and had been shown where all the 'goodies' were kept, 
Aunt Claudia went back to work-which apparently meant working around the 
clock. There was no evidence of any social life or anything besides her 
work; no phone calls, no pictures of men, not a clue. 

" 'Carl,' Aunt Claudia addressed me as she was leaving for work, 'you're the 
older. I expect this place to be safe in your hands. It's all I've got-treat 
it ... respectfully.' 

" 'Of course,' I answered, and meant it. 

"Since school was out, Bix and I were left with little to do. We got dressed 
and went out for long inspections of the nearby town and it turned out to be 
a dud. It was just too dreary a neighborhood; no public swimming pool, no 
bowling alleys, no nothing. We returned home, disgusted and restless. We 
went for a private swim, made some dinner, and then settled down to watch 
TV. After a while, Bix said, 'I'll bet she's got some booze hidden 
somewhere.' That was a thought; and although I didn't really care for the 
idea of snooping around, I didn't really object, either. 

"After a bit of searching, Bix found a bottle of something unfamiliar with 
foreign writing on the label-a big bottle with potent, semisweet contents. 
We each took a large slug which burned our virgin throats. Much more 
respectfully, we tried a second, and then, inured and fortified, a third. It 
was a pretty sporting way to act-for us beer drinkers. 

" 'Here's something else I found,' Bix said, extending a book for me to look 
at. Opening it, I found it was Aunt Claudia's private diary. 

" 'We shouldn't go into something like this-it's private,' I told my 
brother. 

" 'Oh, hell, Carl, don't be so damned proper-we've always wondered about 
her. Here's our chance to find out.' 

"We argued a bit, not that I'm a moralist, but fair's fair. Maybe I just 
wanted convincing, because, frankly, my curiosity was up a bit, too. We 
started flipping through the diary, which was neatly done up, and as easy to 
read as type. We ran into many references which pointed up the fact that 
Aunt Claudia was just as human as anyone, very much a female, and very much 
in doubt of herself. Then a series of entries indicated she was seeing a 
doctor about emotional problems. At one point she had written: 

Today the psychiatrist told me, 'You're simply afraid of men, basically 
because you feel your pursuit of success has put you out of touch with the 
world and therefore no social match for men. I'm not sure that isn't the 
tail wagging the dog. It would be good for you to be exposed to men and the 
things men do and think-maybe some of the seamier things, not so much for 
shock value, but simply to acquaint you with the clear reality of the life 
going on around you, and the clearer reality of sexual contact-related in 
personal terms. Nothing would be more beneficial. As Freud said, " ... the 
unknown becomes a sexual block, and any crystallization of those formless 
fears has a tendency to refix the patient's awareness...." ' 

"Well, I didn't really know what all that meant, except that it sounded like 
the doctor was trying to get Aunt Claudia to go get laid. Now, that didn't 
sound like too bad an idea, considering how she looked. I wondered, 
naturally, if the message between the lines said that Aunt Claudia was a 
virgin. That would have been pretty hard to swallow. Here I was only 
seventeen and I'd fucked a carload of girls, plus a few dozen ladies. And 
Bix wasn't far behind me. 

" "Think she's ever been screwed?' I asked my brother. 

" 'Probably. She's a doll from where I sit.' " 'I know, I know, but-let me 
see that diary again.' 

"The upshot is that Bix and I discussed that diary entry over and over. We 
tried to find some other meaning in it, but it kept coming up heads: the 
doctor was recommending that Aunt Claudia be 'shocked' into sexual 
awareness, and that the seamier the better. 

"Upon that interpretation, we laid our plans. 

"It was about nine when Aunt Claudia pulled into the carport. She turned her 
lights out, locked the car doors and walked into the house. All the house 
lights were out, except the one in my room, which was adjacent to hers. She 
could scarcely get to her room without passing mine, and since my door was 
wide open and the bed fully illuminated, she could not help but see what was 
going on. 

"Bix and I were on the bed, fully naked. We were in the classic 'sixty-nine' 
position, jacking each other off, tickling each other's balls, and generally 
moaning and groaning all over the place. When we heard the front door being 
opened we went into high gear, and Bix took my prick into his mouth and 
started sucking real hungrily and fast, putting on a good show. We could 
hear Aunt Claudia's voice calling for us, but we pretended not to notice and 
just stepped up the tempo. The idea was to be completely engrossed the 
moment she walked up. We did not have long to wait. 

'"GOOD GOD, WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?!!! ' 

"Looking up as innocently as possible, I answered, 'Why, we're just having 
sex-good clean sex. We don't know any girls around here yet, so we just have 
to blow each other instead. What's wrong with that?' 

"Predictably, Aunt Claudia threw her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, 
and then ran to her room. Bix and I got up immediately, winked at each 
other, and then followed her. 

We were both completely naked and our cocks were sticking straight out ahead 
of us, both dripping wet with saliva, and waving up and down in small arcs. 
We opened her door and walked right in. She was sitting on the edge of the 
bed, her face a chalky white held in tremulous fingers. 

"By prearrangement, Bix sat down beside her, close, with his strong young 
prick sticking straight up from his groin, proudly. At the same time, I 
stood right in front of her, my horny prick sticking out toward her face at 
eye-level. 

"She took her hands from her face and looked at each of us in turn-and then 
at our pricks, with special attention on mine, which was only inches from 
her mouth. Silently, but imploringly, her eyes seemed to ask, 'What are you 
two doing here?' 

"And, as if in answer, I said, 'Auntie, what's wrong? Are you ill?' 

" 'I've never been so appalled ... how could you ...? ' 

" 'Auntie, what the hell is it with you? Don't you know there's a great big 
world going on right around you?' (That had been my practiced line-I thought 
it sounded both adult and philosophically sound). 

" 'I've never seen anything like ... that ... what you were . ... ' I got 
the impression Aunt Claudia was close to tears. Only one thing, her 
occasional glance at the head of my cock, waving just under her nose, kept 
up my nerve. The way she was looking at it was not entirely clinical. 

" "There's proof right in front of you, Aunt Claudia. When kids like us get 
good hard-ons like this, we have to do something with them or else we get 
frustrated, and we've heard' (again, a carefully thought-out line) 'that if 
a person doesn't get natural release they can get sick and nervous and 
develop all sorts of hang-ups. That's why sex should always be thought of as 
being natural. It's good, and good for you. And all the preaching in the 
world won't make it bad.' 

"And then, after sufficient pause to let that sink in, I added, 'You 
certainly don't think sex is bad, do you, Aunt Claudia?' 

"She didn't answer. 

" 'Don't you admit,' I pressed, 'that actually having sex is much more 
desirable than just wishing for it? Or more desirable than just forcing 
yourself to forget about it?' 

"She was still not really a part of the conversation. My prick, waving up 
and down only inches from her face seemed to occupy her attention much more 
than my words. I stepped forward a bare inch. The drop of cum which had 
accumulated on the head was glistening and plainly visible to her, I'm sure. 
I stood in front of her like that for an extended minute. 

"Then, somehow, the forcefulness of the sight diminished in her awareness 
sufficiently so that she could reply. 

" 'My God,' she uttered in a shaken voice, 'do you expect a woman to lie 
down and do it every time she gets...? ' 

" 'What do you mean by 'do it'? ' I asked. " 'You know, when a man and woman 
join togeth-' 

" 'Dammit, Auntie, if you mean fuck, why don't you say so?' 

"Again her hand flew to her mouth and she turned her head away. 

" 'Say it, Aunt Claudia,' I insisted, feeling a new power now. 'It's easy. 
Say fuck. Just put your front teeth on your lower lip and blow out an 'f 
sound, and then just let the 'uk' come out naturally.' 

" 'No, no. I can't!' She squirmed. 

" 'Sure you can,' urged Bix. 'Watch my mouth.' Then Bix formed his lips in 
the necessary petulant-purse and gave her a soft, slowly aspirated 
'pppphhhhhh ... uh ... kkkkkk.' 

"Aunt Claudia's eyes had opened and were no longer forcibly withdrawn. She 
seemed to mentally pinch herself to make sure all this was really happening. 
Then, although it might require a leap into the absurd to believe it, Aunt 
Claudia seemed to just slump into a resigned relaxation, as if to say she 
had no alternative but to accept a bad situation. And out of the sheer 
madness which she must have then felt was close to engulfing her, she must 
have been able to persuade herself that our arguments had some logic after 
all. Of course, it should not be forgotten that she had earlier been told 
the same thing, in different words, by a psychiatrist. Perhaps those earlier 
words were now drifting back. I can't say as to that; however, I do know 
that her next statement was completely out of character and is hard to 
explain any other way. 

"She smiled, just a bit, and mostly inwardly, and then she let her lips do 
the thing Bix had just shown her. She forced a breath between her teeth and 
lips and the T sound was formed, almost inaudible, mostly sibilant, but 
recognizable. Then came the embarrassing 'uk' sound. She had to strain to 
get it. 

" "That's a start,' I encouraged. 'But more like this,' and I verbalized 
another demonstration. 

" 'Ffff ... uh ... kkkk,' she imitated, near perfectly. 

" 'Great, just great, Aunt Claudia,' Bix put in. 

" 'Call me Claudia,' she said, smiling proudly, if sheepishly. 

"I thought she looked just great now that she was smiling, and I determined 
to tell her so. 'Aunt Claudia-I mean Claudia; I just want to tell you that I 
think you're beautiful.' 

" 'I am?' she asked, giving much insight into her insecurity. That bit of 
simple ungraciousness surprised me and I have never forgotten it. I think 
that was the key to the whole thing. 

"Bix took it up. 'You sure are beautiful, Claudia-really. And I'll bet 
you're a wonderful fuck, too.' 

" 'Please,' she said, reverting to" her former self, 'don't talk like that. 
That's terrible. Even though I told you to call me Claudia, that doesn't 
change the fact that I'm your aunt. I'm a blood relative of yours.' 

"I ignored her argument and decided to play the advantage. I stepped even 
closer, so that my prick was a scant two inches from her mouth; then I asked 
her, 'Claudia, tell the truth. Have you ever been fucked?' 

" "That's none of your business...' she began, flustered all over again. 

" 'Why not?' questioned Bix. "That's what we're talking about, isn't it?' 

" 'Alright, alright!' she answered, on the verge of screaming again, as if 
this whole thing were just part of a bad dream that would disappear if she 
rushed through and got it over with. 'Once, when I was a girl in college, I 
was in love with a boy and we went to bed together. Just once. And then I 
never saw him again. I figured I had been betrayed and so I never wanted 
anything to do with sex again. At least not until I get married, if ever.' 

" 'My God,' I answered, 'didn't it occur to you that you might have just 
picked a bad apple-or that maybe you were just too inexperienced for him?' 

" "Too inexperienced? Why, inexperience is a virtue!' 

" 'Bullshit,' Bix told her. 

" 'I don't understand,' Claudia answered. 

" 'Well,' I put in, 'virtue means a lot of things, but for what we're 
talking about, I'd say you were way behind the times. Today, everyone is 
expected to be adult after a certain age, and free of hang-ups. From what I 
see, Claudia, you've got a helluva hang-up about sex. And that's really bad, 
considering how great sex can be.' 

"She looked as if she might be thinking about her analyst again. Then, 
choosing words carefully, she said, 'All of this being the case ... what 
would you recommend?' 

" 'Well, for starters, take your clothes off,' I said, with something of a 
command in my voice. I cannot deny that I felt very powerful at this point. 

"No one was more surprised than I was when Claudia actually began doing what 
I said. Without outward objection, but with visible self-consciousness she 
stood and unbuttoned her blouse. Then she looked at each of us, but not at 
our cocks anymore, and then she deftly slipped out of the blouse. I insisted 
once more and the brassiere came off. 

"Whereas Aunt Claudia had been earlier transfixed by the sight of two cocks, 
two cockhounds now stood transfixed in the presence of two girlish firm, 
untouched, virgin-like, unused, and nubile breasts. I had never before seen 
such magnificent springy tautness; those breasts were the color of 
translucent, off-white china; they had the resilience of youth; there was an 
unmuscular strength in their saucily upturned sloping-they were utterly 
gorgeous. I could do nothing other than step forward and plant light kisses 
on each of them. Then Bix did the same. Then we settled upon one apiece, 
each in our own fashion licking, sucking, nibbling, teasing, and otherwise 
worshipping those breasts. 

"I looked up at Claudia's face and saw that her eyes were shut and her 
breathing rapid and irregular. To add to her pleasure I began alternately 
rubbing softly and kneading roughly the length of her back and around down 
by the sides leading to her rib cage. Bix did the same on the other side and 
soon Claudia was really into the feeling of the thing, letting small gasps 
and moans escape from her mouth. 

I decided it would be better to just undress her than talk any more about 
the pros and cons of it. I knew that the whole business was pretty difficult 
for her and that she would likely have second thoughts about it the next day 
(already in my mind I was formulating a plan whereby I could help her 'come 
down' easily when she realized the significance of what had happened-it was 
the ability to plan such thoughts that had prompted one of my schoolteachers 
to comment that I had the makings of a great stud, as well as the heart of a 
sympathetic man; and this she told me while I was fucking her in the 
cloakroom at lunchtime). 

"Still attending the breast, I reached around until I found the button and 
zipper of her skit. Unloosing it, her garment fell to the floor, and then I 
reached down and slipped off the shoes, at the same time feeding the skirt 
under the feet. She had on a half-slip which I pulled down and off, and 
finally a garter belt and hosiery, also removed easily- 

"Only her diaphanous panties remained. Her heavy, dark, triangular crotch 
puffed through visibly. God, but it was pronounced, and proud, and some of 
the hairs were springy enough to poke cleanly through the fabric itself. 

"This was the big test and I knew it. Bix felt it too. I was unsure if she 
was fully comprehending at this point. There was something trance-like about 
this whole business-her eyes had not opened once since we began our 
breast-attentions. I decided it would be far better for me to fondle her 
cunt hairs a little to see how she reacted. Very tentatively, I laid my open 
palm upon her crotch, just a light, full-hand pat, sort of, with no attempt 
to 'grab' anything, nor to dig with a finger. She didn't seem to notice. Bix 
was working over both breasts now, one with his mouth, the other with a 
hand, and with his other hand he continued with the back-rub, constantly 
lowering it, and finally settling upon her ass-cheeks, which he kneaded with 
a pronounced roughness. She was obviously moved by this, for she was 
beginning a squirming motion not unlike slow dancing, and a low sound, like 
a combination of growling and music, was coming from her mouth. 

"Feeling now that my action was well-timed, I slipped a hand inside the 
elastic of her panties and worked them down, first on the sides and rear, 
and finally at the front. Inside the panties, my hand touched the topmost 
hairs of her cunt, and I hungrily ran my fingers through those fine strands, 
twirling them, sort of, and then dipping lower when I got no resistance 
(indeed, it seemed I received encouragement in the form of a jutting 
pelvis), my finger engaged the uppermost part of the cunt-opening itself. It 
was warmly lubricated with a syrupy stickiness. I couldn't help myself; I 
extracted my finger quickly and put it to my nose, to test its fragrance, 
which was intoxicating, and then into my mouth, where my tongue found it to 
be succulent, rich, and meaty. Never had I tasted a steamier, more 
smoked-fish taste than then. 

"By the way she was convulsing and gyrating, I knew that she wanted my 
finger back in there where it had been. I slipped my hand back into her 
panties and this time I went straight for the wet slit. After a few teasing 
circular motions about her clitoris, to which she responded very nicely, I 
lowered my middle finger into the main hole and jammed it up as far as it 
would go. 

"Claudia drew in her breath sharply and muttered something that was more an 
exhaling hiss than a true expression. But since it was clearly a sound of 
ecstasy and approval, I jammed a second finger in to join the first and then 
I fucked in and out with as much physical thrust and speed as I could, while 
with my free hand I finally inched those panties all the way off her body. 

"At this point Claudia gave me the greatest encouragement possible. When her 
panties hit the floor, she actually stepped out of them. In short, she was 
much more aware of what was happening than I had thought. Without any 
hesitation whatever, I knelt before her, pressed her legs apart a bit, 
parted her wispy but drenched cunt hairs, and then dove resolutely headfirst 
into that gorgeous cunt. Up from underneath-as far underneath as my head 
would reach, that is-I licked and jabbed my tongue, and tried every way in 
the world to get my tongue up into that cunt. 

"Bix was reading me well, and when he began suggesting with light pushes 
upon her hip, she willingly backed toward the bed. I followed with short 
shuffling movements on my knees, never once allowing that great-tasting cunt 
to part contact with my hungry mouth. Finally, the backs of her knees hit 
the bed, and she flopped down on her back with ease, and, to the best of my 
knowledge, without prompting-and, if not that, certainly without objection. 

"I immediately threw her legs fully apart and straight up in the air, so 
that her wet pink cunt was wide open and all mine...." 

Rarely do we encounter teenagers who are sufficiently precocious and 
perceptive (or is it foolhardy?) enough to assume the aggressive role in 
dealings with an older-woman, especially an older woman in a position of 
direct authority. It should be obvious to anyone that only a highly 
specialized set of circumstances will permit such a thing. 

Primarily, we are dealing here with two members of the "informed," the 
"now," the "do it" generation, which is a modern-day phenomenon un-equaled 
by anything in recorded history. The forces behind this societal upheaval 
are numerous, disparate, and diffuse, but it is enough for us to recognize 
that it exists, and probably was brought about by the actions of the older 
generations at least as much as by the actions of the younger factions. In 
direct reference to our story of Aunt Claudia, it is enough to simply allow 
that she became drawn to a "generational" understanding of sexual 
relationships that she might not otherwise ever have experienced. 

If we are to give unchallenged credence to Carl's narrative, then we are 
dealing with an unusual seventeen-year-old, in that he had bedded untold 
numbers of females-young, old, and in-between. Ordinarily, braggadocio 
itself discredits claims like these, however we are faced with the dilemma 
that he does, after all, make sense. His thought processes are plausible, 
his relating articulate. One is inclined to bend and flex just a bit.... 

Let him, therefore, be unusual. 

It would be of vast interest to find out why the natural mother was 
incarcerated. When we first played these tapes, we frankly sat in 
expectation from moment to moment, waiting for some reference to surface, 
some clue, some tie that would pattern this case into a clear-cut 
compensation for the maternal incest wish. However, since clinical accuracy 
is the first consideration, we may not even permit ourselves the conclusion 
that these boys came from a bad home. It is conceivable they even came from 
an advantaged, well-ordered, and mutually respectful home. 

Were we equipped with usable data, or even sufficient bits of it, to 
undertake the puzzle-building process and thus reconstruct a 
cause-and-effect precis, we would begin our investigations with the home, 
with attention first upon the mother, then the father (? ), then the 
community, and lastly the school and other pseudosocial environs. The 
reasons for omitting an investigation of the sibling relationship is that 
there appears to be no rivalry. Any two young men who can work in concert in 
a troilistic quest must certainly have resolved whatever jealousies and 
contempts they might ever have had for each other. 

As for other conclusions: Aunt Claudia affords us a somewhat clearer history 
than the boys, but only enough for highly generalized comment. It is 
immaterial whether we approve of her liaison with the boys. Further, it is 
shortsighted to demand that she be principally accountable on the grounds 
that she alone is an adult. That is the same brand of thinking that insists 
that all situations be inflexibly isolated into convenient slots labeled 
"right" and "wrong." There are no such divisions except in judgmental 
conclusions, which themselves depend upon the outlook of man. 

Conscience will allow us to make a few tongue-in-cheek observations 
regarding Aunt Claudia. We can assume that her thwarted sexual life, as well 
as her successful career, were the direct result of sublimation due to 
unexpressed and unrealized fears. Had they been expressed or realized, they 
likely would have ceased to exist. Whenever a person strives too hard for 
achievement in one area, at the expense of one or more other areas 
(especially emotional), there is high-likelihood that the imbalance is due 
to avoidance-wishes, which are learned rather than natural, and are adopted 
as protective cloaks against "probable failure." 

Aunt Claudia admits that her one sexual experience resulted in the male 
"flying the coop." Probably, she had been sexually withdrawn even before 
that event, but now she was in a position of "needing" to avoid a repeated 
failure. Hence, her work served her well. 

One might wonder if the boys themselves were not adepts in that favorite 
American pastime, Homebrew Psychology. It required considerable imagination, 
and then even more nerve, to extract the real meaning out of the diary entry 
and then formulate such a drastic plan based upon it. At this point, we must 
confess that homosexual contacts at ages sixteen and seventeen are difficult 
to dismiss as a prank, and yet the tone and texture of the narrative is 
decidedly offhand and casual regarding this event. Again, no usable 
conclusion is apparent. 

At root, one is inclined to fix clinical attention to the odd reactions 
exhibited by Aunt Claudia after the boys had made known their aggressive 
qualities. This inert acquiescence on her part very nearly defies the logic 
of human response, since few adults would willingly adopt submissive 
attitudes toward those entrusted to their care. Of course, the emphasis in 
such relationships is bound to change somewhat when the topic in question is 
something familiar to the minor and alien to the adult. For example, the 
aunt would not be likely to begin this new relationship by dictating a 
change of dress for the boys, simply because she would assume they knew more 
about boys' dress than she. Sex, of course, is an altogether different 
dimension of interrelationship than our example, yet some of the same 
thinking applies. Whenever any of us faces someone who (1) knows more about 
a subject than we do, and (2) reads our sense of frustration, we are at a 
decided disadvantage. If, added to this, we are dealing with a submissive 
person versus two relatively aggressive persons, it becomes less difficult 
to conceive of such a situation as developed between Aunt Claudia, Carl, and 
Bix. In the eyes of the boys, this whole thing was probably little more than 
a lark, an experiment, a ploy, a game; it is not likely the boys regarded 
this escapade in a ritualistic sense. 

We must, moreover, consider the incest implications, but in so doing, we are 
not duty bound to accept that the aunt was other than a captive. She 
obviously yielded out of a combination of stresses which served to both 
lower her instinctual resistances and raise her biological need. It is not 
reasonable to assume that the societal view of incest rubs off on each of us 
in equal dosage, thus it is not reasonable to think that each of us views 
incest with equal dread. The original incest dread formulated by primitives 
in the form of taboos was directed towards parents first, siblings second, 
and then the half-blood, or weaker, relationships. These last were 
correspondingly reduced in opprobrium, although special totem rituals were 
invented to prevent them. The endogamous possibility of the aunt and nephew 
was recognized, of course, since savages always assumed that any male and 
female (within reasonable age brackets) would commence sexual relations any 
time they were alone together. In most primitive cultures, elaborate 
prohibitions were established to prevent men from copulating with their 
mothers-in-law, and, as regarded aunts, Freud tells us (General 
Psychological Theories): 

The maternal aunt in effect is a group-sister of the mother-and thus, all 
mothers-and for this reason evokes a high avoidance command in the form of 
taboo. Today's social structure often demands of very young children that 
all adults be addressed as either "uncle" or "aunt" which confirms the need 
to find socially constant authority figures, evident not only in 
individuals, but in groups, and even in group-images. This is presumably to 
assist in structuring the child's symbolic awareness of the world about him 
to a highly functional level. 

Obviously, Freud is telling us that the maternal aunt represents a symbol of 
something other than merely a sister of the mother. She, as well as certain 
others in the parental authority ring, represents a tie-even a social 
bridging-between the omnipotence of the parents and the very probabilistic 
world outside. 

Putting these views into perspective with our history, we can then permit 
the conjecture that Carl and Bix likely came from a home of weakened 
authority fabric, discounting for the moment what we know of the boys' 
mother. She could have been incarcerated for any number of reasons having 
nothing to do with the quality of her motherhood. It is not reasonable to 
assume the boys witnessed sexual expression in their own home. It is rather 
common these days for young men to become sexually updated by means of the 
momentum supplied by their compeers, sometimes at astonishingly early ages. 

At this point in our history, it is impossible to guess the degree to which 
Aunt Claudia accepted this situation; indeed, we are suspended (in the 
story) at a time when she could hardly be expected to make any kind of a 
rational expression. For those who would condemn Claudia out of hand, let us 
remind them that it is possible under given circumstances for any human 
being to be drawn up and away from the bindings and limitations of any moral 
code. Everything depends upon the stimulus. Many a proper man has torn 
through the limits of his personal conscience and stolen food when his 
family was hungry. It has been often repeated that all men have their price. 
Perhaps, in Claudia, we are witnessing a woman whose emotional limits were 
on the line, and whose price had been readjusted. 

Regarding the two boys, we again refrain from conjecture. For the moment, it 
is just as well that we suppose the causal drives to be simply sexual, 
perhaps not much more than a prank. Such things have been going on for quite 
some time-consider, for example, the poetry of Harry Graham (1874-1936), 
from his Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes: 

Auntie, did you feel no pain Falling from the apple tree? 

Would you do it, please again? Cos my friend here didn't see. 

"As soon as Aunt Claudia's back hit the bed and I had'dived into her cunt, I 
was immediately too preoccupied to be aware of what Bix was doing. But a 
moment later I opened my eyes a crack and saw that he was completely naked 
and had one knee on the bed close to her shoulder and that his turgid prick 
was waving close to her mouth. I was unhappy-about this, for several 
reasons: first, I thought we were throwing new things at her too fast, and 
secondly, because I was jealous. Regarding the first, I wasn't even sure it 
would be a good idea to fuck her now, considering that we had to stay on and 
live with her afterwards and who could say what sort of resentments might 
build up if the whole business were not handled properly? Regarding my 
jealousy, it was patently silly and 

I recognized that fact as soon as I'd had a moment to reflect. One thing, 
though-Bix and I had usually had the unspoken arrangement that I came first 
in such matters, that if anybody's cock was to be waved under Claudia's 
nose, it would be mine first, and then his. Every time we'd balled the same 
chick, like that Mrs. A-we used to screw every time her husband went fishing 
on weekends, why, I was always the one who got his cock sucked first, always 
ate cunt first, always fucked her first; for that matter I had even been the 
one who fucked Mrs. A-in the ass first, while 

Bix was fucking her cunt. 

"But this was all silly. I loved Bix, didn't I? Further, I knew that Bix 
wouldn't go too far without being sure that the basic groundwork had been 
done properly and he usually looked to me for answers on things like that. 
That was the way his mind worked; I was the older, the more experienced, the 
leader. If it hadn't been for me, Bix wouldn't have fucked half the girls 
and women he had, and he knew it. I seemed to be the more sexually 
attractive and was always fixing him up with pussy. He wasn't about to spoil 
that. 

"I looked again, and it seemed that all Bix was intent on doing was having 
Claudia hold onto his prick while I ate her. So I went back to my project, 
which happens to be one I love dearly. 

"I think that one of the reasons I enjoy eating cunt so much is that I had 
one of the greatest instructors a boy could hope for, Mrs. S-, the young 
military wife who lived on the other side of town, who picked me up one day 
as I was walking home from school. 

"Mrs. S-loved to suck cock, and the minute 

I was in her car, she asked me straight out if I wanted to take a ride to 
the park. I asked her why (I was fifteen then and pretty innocent) and she 
said, 'I want to suck your prick.' I again asked why, since we could screw 
instead, and she answered, 'I don't fuck at all. I don't like it. I like to 
suck cock and get my cunt eaten.' Needless to add, I agreed. At that time, I 
had only had my cock sucked by teeny-boppers who didn't really know much 
about it. Anyway, to make a short story of it, Mrs. S-turned out to be an 
artist with a prick, knowing just exactly how to extract the highest 
pinnacle of pleasure from a touch, the highest tactile excitement with 
certain strokes of the tongue, and the highest sense of fulfillment from 
deep, fast strokes of a warm and willing mouth. 

"She was also something of a poet with words, and even now, as I was lightly 
making preparatory ministrations to Claudia's cunt, I was trying to recall 
the exact instructions Mrs. S-had given me in subsequent sex sessions, 
regarding the 'proper eating of a lady's cunt.' I knew that if I could 
remember those instructions exactly, I would be able to really impress 
Claudia and also bring myself to the brink of explosive passion. Up to now I 
had just wanted to fuck my aunt for selfish reasons-I did, after all, have a 
raging hard-on-but I was by no means beyond self-control. I knew from 
experience that if I ate this near-virginal pink cunt of my aunt's in the 
fashion dictated by Mrs. S-, not only would Claudia be greatly moved, but I, 
too, would be raised to a higher, fuller, different, and vastly more 
volatile kind of heat. 

"Mrs. S-'s first instruction had been, 'All approaches must be personal, 
guarded, slow!' Next, she had told me that all tactile advances should be 
very gradual. I put those two thoughts together and began feeling Claudia's 
legs and calves gently, and then, very guardedly, her thighs, having first 
removed my too-anxious mouth from her vaginal slit, and now using my mouth 
to plant kisses everywhere my hands had been. I looked up and saw that Bix 
was doing nothing other than watching me with a smile on his face. He knew 
perfectly well what I was doing; he'd witnessed it many times before when 
I'd eaten Mrs. 

S-, and also some of the girls and other ladies of our neighborhood. Knowing 
that I now had both a serious onlooker and a willing supplicant, I decided 
to give this aunt of mine the most accomplished and thoroughgoing eating I 
had ever given any female, Mrs. S-included (and she had been an exacting 
taskmistress)! 

"I noticed that there was now a visibly precipitate vaginal moisture 
gathering on the low outer lips of Aunt Claudia's cunt, a bead or two of 
which was running slowly into the area of her ass-hole. This is always a 
reliable barometer of success, and 

Mrs. S-had many times instructed me that I should never proceed beyond the 
flutter-tonguing of the thighs and upper leg crevices until I had this 
indication of response. She had told me that to consider a cunt as a purely 
biological organ to be quickly 'dived' into was the equivalent of regarding 
the female as a singularly sexual being, which she is not. A woman, Mrs. 
S-had told me, wanted more than anything to be given the opportunity to 
respond, provided she was with the right guy. 

"I now decided to proceed to step three of Mrs. 

S-'s instructions, but before I did so, I motioned to Bix to take up the 
same action at the other end. Every time we'd balled the same chick at the 
same time, we'd done it this way. Bix bent low and began the slow but 
necessary excitation of the higher erogenous zones: the mouth, the eyes, 
into and around the ears, the arms and armpits, all the while stranding his 
fingers comb-like through her hair. 

"Mrs. S-'s step three was words that I can recall verbatim to this day. 
'When addressing the pubic area,' she had said, in that pedantic tone of 
hers, 'all touches must be light, even feathery, at the outset. Kiss the 
high inner thighs lightly and then approach the pubic hair, still unparted, 
and press into them, withdrawing only with reluctance, and then blow lightly 
into them, next approaching with a light, slightly open kiss, and then 
finally nuzzle into them closely.' 

"I did all these things, still aware that Bix was giving her the same 
meticulous and well-gauged treatment topside. I knew from experience that 
this was the proper way to eat a cunt-to make love, if one might choose to 
call it that-and that any red-blooded female was bound to crumble under this 
sort of attention. My beliefs were strengthened and buttressed a moment 
later, when I detected a low, sort of gurgling sound emitting from Claudia's 
throat. She was now 'with it.' And, of course, so were Bix and I. 

"I proceeded to step four, which was: 'Very gradually, lick and blow the 
hairs apart. Next, separate the outer vaginal lips with gently pressing 
fingers and then apply a very light, almost untouching, lapping-like 
attention with the tongue-tip to the pink inner folds beneath, which 
surround the vaginal orifice.' 

"I did all these things, too, taking quite a lot of time. I had discovered 
some while ago that this was certainly not the time to rush. I was making 
inroads now, for Claudia was physically squirming on the bed. It was all I 
could do to hold her in place. 

"Anyway, I went on to the next step, which was essentially a series of 
repeats: "This first attention to the inner pink lips should last quite a 
whilelong minutes-and do not be afraid to withdraw, receding to the thighs 
and readdressing the pubic inner folds several times, all in preparation for 
the final advance to the seat of erotic pleasure.' This I did, extending the 
act as long as seemed appropriate, knowing that it accomplished its purpose 
by Claudia's heightened response and audible moans and physical thrashing 
about on the bed. At times I even had to contort myself to keep my flashing 
tongue from losing contact with her pussy. 

"The 'seat of erotic pleasure,' of course, was the clitoris. According to 
Mrs. S-the male should never actually make this final approach without first 
being guided by true indications of high physical response as are evident by 
vocal reactions, body movements, and changes in the respiration cycle. When 
it has been established the female is as fully aroused as she is likely to 
become, the male should then separate the labia minora with his fingers, 
pressing lightly a bit to force a protrusion and expose the clitoris, which 
will appear in the average woman as a small pink bud of flesh just below the 
top of the labia majora, and encased beneath the labia minora. 

"I knew my lessons well, and these last steps before the actual cunnilingual 
consummation were given much attention by me. I kept repeating the memorized 
instructions so that I would not fail to afford Claudia the finest eating a 
woman might expect from a nephew. I knew that the clitoris was the most 
sensitive thing a woman owns, and that I now had a responsibility to perform 
as I had never performed before I recalled Mrs. S-'s last bit of advice: 
'Approach the clitoris itself as if it were molten metal and you were 
determined to cool it with tentative licks of a cautious tongue. As your 
imagination tells you the temperature is dropping, lick it with more and 
more vigor, but never with roughness. Tantalize also with quick light 
touches of the teeth, but watch the woman well, for some do not like this. 
At the peak of your physicalness, your tongue should be a fluttering blur, 
bearing little more pressure than an excited butterfly's wing might. 
Occasionally recenter your attention to the vaginal opening itself, lapping 
up any excess fluid, but never reduce attention to the clitoris. It is also 
helpful to alternate the technique from moment to moment, even dipping low 
to the anus for a delicate stroke, perhaps even inserting the tongue-tip a 
bit if the lady is relaxed enough.' 

"All of this I did, and as Mrs. S-had so faithfully promised, the results 
were very satisfactory. Claudia, being artfully attended on the other end by 
Bix, seemed not of this world any longer, and I can barely describe the 
ecstasy that knowledge gave me. It is heady stuff for a boy of seventeen to 
be able to affect a grown woman like that. Especially one's aunt. 

"I had no idea how long I ate Claudia. I do know that she responded 
noticeably and that her body was beginning to spasm and convulse in small 
quivers, that her cunt was full of juices having nothing to do with saliva 
and that rivulets of these juices were running out of her and down around 
her ass-hole and that I could not lick them up fast enough. I also knew that 
she was approaching an orgasm-with experience a boy gets to be able to 
predict things like that. He can even predict the strength of the orgasm yet 
to come. Even women who only have little 'partial' comes are predictable. 
When you're eating a cunt, you sort of know these things, and in my case, I 
hate to waste too much effort when I know that the come is only going to be 
a 'hint' of the real thing. You sort of feel sorry for a woman like that. 

"But I knew Claudia wasn't like that at all. She was working up to an 
explosion-the texture and substance of her skin was becoming a jelly-like 
foundationless uncertainty, shaken now second by second by ever-closer 
subsurface tremors. Her heat was on her now, her whole body a cool-hot 
clamminess, her shudders closer together, her breathing all but suspended 
and the groan-purr of her voice more and more rhythmical, and inflected to 
match the surges of welling passion descending upon her. 

"Her cunt was ready, tender, a working crucible, dilating of its own accord 
and then deflating again to a relaxed slit, much as the gill-mouth of a 
reptile pained by the desert heat. 

"I looked up at Bix again and our eyes met in understanding. She was one 
with us now, the die was cast, and as she came to the brink of her rending 
orgasm, Bix knelt a knee beside her shoulder and gently laid the tip of his 
cock against her lips. This, Bix knew, was agreeable with me as opposed to 
the first attempt, because it was a part of a concerted effort to bring her 
to full compliance and because it was all 'team' now. She seemed not to 
notice. Bix massaged the head of his prick lightly against her slightly 
opened mouth, working the head into the unresisting cavity. But she really 
wasn't aware what was happening because she was on the verge of coming as I 
intensified the workings of my tongue on her clit. Dipping deeply into her 
vagina and wriggling my tongue as pointedly, strongly, and imaginatively as 
possible, I alternated between her clitoris, her open dripping slit, and her 
puckering and sensitive ass-hole. 

"Bix had worked the whole head of his prick into her mouth now, sort of at 
an angle. It's debatable whether she was aware of what was happening, but 
she soon would be. Bix scooted up a bit closer, so that his prick was 
encountering her mouth straight on, and now he was fitting more of it in 
between unresisting teeth and onto her tongue, preparing for the in-and-out 
fucking motions. I could see the sliminess of his prick where it had 
lubricated itself with droplets of translucent semen, and from experience I 
knew that Bix's cum had a bittersweet, slightly chlorinated taste which was 
noticeable to even the least discriminate sampler, and yet Claudia seemed to 
take no notice of the new taste sensation in her mouth. Ever, as I was 
furiously bringing on the main spasm of Claudia's orgasm, Bix was slowly 
pulling out of her mouth, and then refunneling the whole cock right up to 
the hilt, so that she could not possibly fail to know exactly what was 
happening. 

"She convulsed. It was a tumultuous, tearing, rending wave of whole-body 
seizure, muscle involuntarily pulling against one another, gripping and 
knotting and then accumulating in ground swells of muscular transfer to 
another region, and relaxing and regripping still another area, much as a 
turbulent surf plays from rock to rock. 

"She was now desperately trying to grab a deep breath, but even as she did, 
Bix jammed his prick fully and decisively into her mouth, and then on into 
her throat. Her body was just one big ball of shudders at this point. From 
my view from below, I could clearly see Bix's balls clump up tight to his 
cockshaft and I knew his first hot spurt of cum was on its way up his cock. 
It exploded in her mouth, some of it running out the sides, but most of it 
was forced into her throat. 

"But she didn't seem to really care, because her orgasm was still at peak, 
just now subsiding a bit. About the time she was returning to the here and 
now, Bix's second and third and fourth bombarding shots of thick, white 
cream were splashing with good force against her tonsils and she had no 
choice but to swallow, even as she was becoming aware and beginning to 
object. Then Bix gave one last full thrust, so hard that his balls hit 
against her chin with a slap! She was swallowing hard now, since there was 
no other way for her to get rid of the copious juices filling her mouth. 

"She was beginning to struggle, as if frantically out of breath. Bix's prick 
was still engorging her mouth. 

" 'Breathe through your nose, Auntie,' I called up to her. 

" "Take-t-oo-ut-ttt,' she was gasping, straining very hard to get air; 

"Bix apparently was finished and he let the softening slimy piece of meat 
slide out of her mouth. Immediately, she was hauling air in and out in 
pained gasps, and then, as soon as she was sufficiently recovered, she 
looked up at the grinning Bix and said, 'You rotten sonofabitch, you nearly 
killed me.' After a few more draughts of badly needed air, she added, 'For 
two cents, I'd-' 

"She never got a chance to finish, because I had climbed up upon her frame, 
and with a quick feel had placed my prick right at the still-open lips of 
her cunt. Just as she was getting ready to finish telling Bix what she was 
prepared to do for two cents, I rammed my whole cock into her, right through 
to the intestines, I think, and at the same time lowered my mouth to hers 
and kissed her with hard passion. 

"For a second she recoiled, then struggled, tried to disengage my mouth. 
Some kind of sound came from her, but I had it completely muffled. I pulled 
far out, and lunged again, giving every inch of cock I had with every ounce 
of power I had, and then I repeated the whole business again and again. 
After perhaps five or six of these thrusts, she seemed to relax a bit; her 
cunt even seemed to open into a relaxed cooperation. Naturally, I didn't 
expect someone as unfucked as Aunt Claudia to be able to use her vaginal 
muscles like a gripping fist, the way Mrs. S used to, and frankly, I was 
just as happy that she couldn't. Right about this point, I was more than 
happy to settle down to a lose, open, unresisting cuntwithout any of the 
trimmings. 

"I kept kissing her and jamming that cock of mine into her and pretty soon I 
felt her ass jerk a little bit, and then it raised up to meet one of my 
strokes, and a dozen thrusts later, she was lurching upward to meet me 
fuckstroke for fuckstroke. I gave it to her as hard as I could, and I was 
frankly surprised that a good-sized cock like mine couldn't hit bottom in 
this supposedly unused and unpracticed pussy. I wondered if Aunt Claudia 
could be one of those sexual frauds who like to pretend they are the purest 
of the pure-sticking candles up their cunts all the time, and what have you. 
I didn't dwell on the subject, though. It didn't really matter; maybe some 
women are just born with nice deep hot cunts and after one boring job, 
they're ready to take on any prick there is. 

"Besides, Bix was back in the act. Gently, he nudged me to roll onto my 
side, and immediately I knew what he had in mind. I pulled my arms around 
Claudia's back in a hug and then rolled to my left, taking Claudia with me. 
She had her legs raised and up around my ass, although she had not yet 
become enthusiastic enough to wrap them around my back, the way I really 
love it. So I had to reach my right arm down and pull her topmost leg high 
up on my back and still keep up a strong fuckstroke so she wouldn't be 
suspicious. 

"Bix was at her in a minute. He wet one of his fingers with a gob of spit 
and dabbed it quickly on her exposed ass-hole, and then scurried up to 
position. Positioning his prick at the puckered anus, he checked first for 
elasticity, and finding none, thrust home with a fierce lunge, burying his 
cock deep into her bowels. 

"Claudia reacted as though pierced with a molten spear. Her mouth tore from 
mine and her arms shot straight out and her legs unclamped from me and 
became rigid. 

"'OH, JESUS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!-YOU'RE KILLING ME-STOP IT-NOW-NOW!!!!! 
' 

"But there wasn't much chance of either of us stopping. I could feel Bix 
withdrawing a little and then hammering that cock of his up into her ass 
again. 

"Claudia remained rigid, as if paralyzed combination of fear and pain. She 
was still screaming curses at us, so I planted my mouth full on hers again. 
Then I held myself full into her and utterly still, my pulsing prick buried 
as far into her steaming cunt as it would go, while I waited to determine 
what Bix's motions were going to be. Soon I felt him withdraw a bit then 
sock it into that ass-hole again. Just as he was plunging inward, I 
withdrew. Then, on his out-stroke, I re-buried my member in her cunt again; 
after that we established a tempo, both using hard thrusts, timing ourselves 
perfectly, just as we had learned to do with Mrs. O-, the butcher's wife 
just down the block from our home. The only trouble was that Mrs. O-'s cunt 
and ass-hole were both much too loose, actually sloppy. 

"Claudia's pussy was delightfully tight, even if it didn't seem to have a 
bottom, and from the low mewling expressions escaping Bix's lips, her 
ass-hole must have been like a new glove. As Bix and I intensified our 
thrusts, despite Claudia's attempted screams and her occasional deep clawing 
of my back, it seemed that she was coming-just a bit-to accept this whole 
new thing. Finally, Bix and I worked our total motion into a precision 
disunison, a perfect offset pistoning, a complete and complementary 
thrusting of our pricks. As soon as we had perfected this seesawing 
technique, Claudia had become a sexual constant; that is, she had 
approximately the same amount of cock in her at all times. On each in-stroke 
and withdrawal, I could feel Bix's prick with my own through the thin 
separating membrane. 

"Despite all her attempts to not cooperate, I could sense that Claudia was 
approaching another-perhaps unwanted-climax. Her body was tensing in one 
sense and relaxing in another-her breathing was shorter and shallower. She 
kept trying to mutter something, but my pressing lips would not permit her 
to do so. To complicate things, I was the only one who had not yet come even 
once, and I was having a great deal of difficulty holding off any longer. 

"And then I heard Bix breathing hard. My God, the three of us were going to 
come together, or close to it! My balls were shriveled into two tight sacs 
of explosive, already fused and lighted. And then I felt Claudia begin to 
shudder, and then shudder harder as if in a serious chill, and then Bix 
exclaimed, 'Oh, Jesus-, ' and at the same time my own balls hunched together 
and then collectively catapulted a tearing glob of hot sticky white cum far 
up into her already soaked cunt. And then I could feel the second shot of 
gooey semen explode up into her rectum from Bix's continuing paroxysm, and 
then my second and third doses of cum, and another of his, and then- 

"-Claudia's, which was nothing short of volcanic, cataclysmic, the nova of a 
sunHer arms flew out, a sound caught in her throat, spittle collected at the 
corners of her mouth, her neck-cords stood out and shimmered in the rolling 
sweat. 

"And then it was over. All the rending, tearing, screaming, coming, fiery 
ripping of the soul was over. And collapsed. And sweet and warm and silent. 

"Later, over coffee, after Bix and I had made a half-hearted attempt to both 
explain and apologize, the whole day's efforts seemed to be capsul-ized into 
a quick, not unpleasant, memory. 

"I had, quite naturally, had second thoughts about what we had done, and how 
painful an aftermath it might all have if Claudia happened to see it only in 
society's light. As I explained earlier, I was not at all convinced that Bix 
and I had read her reactions properly. And if we had goofedwow!-the 
consequences were staggering to contemplate. 

"But it's funny how a few short words at the right time can set someone's 
fears at rest. Also, it's funny how those words can come about in the course 
of simple conversation. 

"As I said, we were drinking coffee, the three of us. Out of a clear blue 
sky, and apparently in an effort to open some new topic for conversation, 
Bix had said, 'Gee, this place is so far from school. That's going to be a 
problem.' 

"And Claudia had answered, after allowing a small smile to curl her lips, 
'Well, you can call it a problem if you want to, but I have a hunch things 
are going to work out just fine.' " 

We have chosen this particular history principally because of its 
reliability. It is based upon three histories, although only Carl 
accumulated a truly extensive file. His six years of therapy was initiated 
when he was unable to make a good adjustment to civilian life (upon 
discharge from the service) and to marriage. 

Unfortunately, we have no good insight into Bix's eventual adjustment to 
life. As for Claudia, it is known that she later married, twice, in fact. 
One might conclude that even if no other purpose was served, at least one 
case of spinsterhood was resolved. 

Carl, of course, is our narrator and also our main concern. Through the 
course of much therapy he has come to understand the true cost of his broken 
home and related sexual precociousness, compounded by the obviously 
polarizing influence of an aunt who submitted and, in effect, allowed 
herself to become the "managed" adult or, better, the "parent-pawn." If 
space had permitted we would have been able to exposit further with the 
tapes, showing that Carl and Bix actually became the governing influences in 
their new home. 

It can be shown in numerous instances that such a condition cannot exist 
unabated in any home without grave consequences. Even in those homes where 
this type of atmosphere prevails in nonsexual terms, the results are 
intolerable. 

Whenever a barely pubescent person strives for dominance or, worse, when he 
achieves it, the results can overwhelm the stability of the home. If that 
same dominance is sexual, the results are usually so negative as to destroy 
the very thing it seeks to preserve. The difference is that ordinary 
dominance, as is sought in the form of temper tantrums, etc., rarely is 
completely effective; that is, at some point along the way, the adult sees 
things for what they are and takes corrective measures. 

But sexual dominance is very effective. If a young person achieves this over 
an older, especially if those two are related, the configuration of "family" 
life, as we know it, simply ceases to exist. 

It is a credit to the whole endeavor of psychology that these three 
principals live reasonably normal lives today. Much of their various 
histories indicated that things would augur poorly. Especially the histories 
of the young men. 

For in the grand scheme of things, the growing-up process is necessary and 
cannot be bridged in a single leap to maturity. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

'I'LL BET YOU I CAN' 

"I put my purse in the back seat and checked the other cars around us. It 
was utterly dark out, illuminated only by streams of flashing colored blocks 
of light from the projection booth. I couldn't see the other cars, much less 
into them, so it seemed un likely they could see us. 

"I slid over close to Don, close enough to touch. My dress rode up my 
thighs, which is exactly what I intended. I could feel him shudder and I 
wasn't surprised. I imagine very few boys in their teens have aunts who act 
the way I do. 

"The picture was starting-some lousy piece of crap; that was obvious from 
the first frame. 'I have a hunch this is going to be rotten,' I told Don. 

"He was so cute. He answered me without taking his eyes off the insipid 
picture, obviously nervous about our touching legs, my bare thighs, and the 
visible crotch of my pink panties. He said, 'Well, we can always leave.' 

" 'And we can stay, too,' I answered. 'Even if the picture's a bomb, we can 
always figure out something to do.' 

"He still didn't look at me. Nor did he answer. I decided to be a little 
bolder. After all, I had a bet on with my husband, and I had no intention of 
losing it. 

"I let my left hand drop in between his legs, up in the area where the 
thighs thicken, and almost immediately I could feel the fabric of his denims 
draw taut, a sure sign of a quick hardness. God, but these sixteen-year-old 
kids get hard fast when they are with a mature woman-especially if they've 
never fucked before. For a woman who digs a real, honest-to-God hard on with 
lots of vitality behind it, nothing in the world quite equals a teenager. 
And I should know. 

"I looked over to Don. His eyes were riveted to the screen. Maybe my husband 
had been right-maybe Don would be just plain too terrified because I was his 
aunt. How silly, I thought. What's wrong with keeping it in the family? 

"Well, I considered, maybe some stronger tactics were in order. I let my 
fingers drift upward a little and discovered that he was wearing button-down 
jeans and also that his prick was bolt-hard. 

"Don took a quick intake of breath and seemed to freeze. His whole body 
tightened, as in the grip of genuine fear. Apparently his mind was not 
accepting the circumstances, despite the obvious intention on my part. I 
decided to bring the whole thing out in the open so that he could not 
possibly misunderstand. At age sixteen, a kid like Don should be able to 
meet sex head on-even if that stick-in-the-mud sister of mine did bring him 
up. 

" 'Don,' I said, leaning close to his ear, 'you wear your pants awfully 
tight, don't you?' 

" "They feel okay, Aunt Miriam,' Don muttered, his voice seeming to crack. 

" 'But isn't it uncomfortable when your prick gets hard?' 

"I knew that would get him. My husband had earlier suggested it as a tactic 
if Don didn't react fast enough. He had told me that the effect of direct 
sexual words on the ears of the initiate teenager should do wonders. When I 
said 'prick,' Don seemed to sit up straighter, as if on cue. But he didn't 
answer me. But there was a real tension-a sexual tension-in the air and now 
I was certain that my husband had been correct. I pursued the matter 
further. 

" 'Didn't you hear me, Don? I asked you if it wasn't uncomfortable in those 
pants when your prick gets hard.' 

"He mumbled, 'I dunno. Never thought about it, I guess.' 

" 'Never thought about it!' I repeated, laughing heartily. 'Doesn't it 
usually get hard when you're here with your girl? Or didn't you think about 
it then either?' 

" "That's different,' he answered. 

" 'Different? How? I'm a girl. A little older than you're used to, perhaps, 
but nevertheless a female. And your prick is as hard as a rock.' With that, 
I ran my fingers up and down the length of it, laying there against his 
stomach, sheathed in that impossible denim. Again, he bolted as if shocked 
by electricity. 

" 'See?' I added. 'It's good and hard. And just to be a good Samaritan, I'm 
going to help you get it out of your pants to make it feel better. You 
certainly wouldn't be able to enjoy the show like that, now would you, Don?' 

"I sensed that Don was extremely excited, and bewildered, and terribly 
self-conscious. Something deep within him wanted him to form the word 'stop' 
on his lips and then utter it, but the more opportunity nature's elements 
had to work on him, the better chance I had of gaining the upper hand. Time 
was on my side, if I could just stop that first word from being uttered. I 
rubbed up and down his cock some more and then began fiddling with the 
buttons, which were harder than hell to get loose. Finally, I reached inside 
and then had to get inside his shorts, too, and, at last, after long minutes 
of fumbling, I felt my cool fingers come into contact with bare, hot, 
nervously excited, throbbing flesh. It was so hard; so painfully hard, I 
guessed, that I was very delicate and nimble-fingered as I fished the whole 
length of the thing out of his pants. Don was visibly trembling now. 

" 'Oh, God, Aunt Miriam,' he said in a shaky voice. He probably had 
something else he wanted to say; a protest, perhaps, for I definitely sensed 
that there were unspoken words hanging in the air. But nothing more came 
out, and I was absolutely certain now that this lovely nephew of mine would 
be putty in my hands from now on. Quickly, I contemplated all the lovely 
things we could do, already trying to stage the whole seduction in my mind. 

" 'You just relax, honey,' I soothed, as I began stroking his cock, paying 
particular attention to the sensitive skin on top. I only had two fingers-a 
thumb and forefinger, rather-working the stalk of it, slowly, in long, light 
strokes, all the way from his balls to the head. 'Feel better?' I asked. 

"He made an incoherent sound again, which just spurred me on. 

" 'Let me unbutton your pants all the way,' I said. "That way, I can play 
underneath your balls, too. You'll love that.' 

"He sat dead still a moment, neither acceding or rejecting, nor helping or 
resisting. I began with his belt. It seemed to me this was the crucial test, 
and when he did not resist, I knew everything was going to work out just 
fine. 

"I undid his top buttons and the pants came completely open. I opened his 
shorts all the way, too, and now, for the very first time, Don assisted me 
by first lifting and then sliding down in the seat a little, loosening the 
way his clothes hugged him, effectively taking his pants down a bit by 
rearranging his position. 

" 'Oh, that's nice,' I told him as my whole hand encircled his cock. 
'Beautiful. Oh, Don, tell me-how long is it?' 

" 'I dunno,' he muttered. 

" 'Have you ever fucked a girl with it?' 

"Again a stammer, but not quite so pronounced, as he answered with a 
negative grunt. 

" 'Well, you should. Fucking is the greatest thing in the world.' 

"No answer. But no further resistance, either. 

"Now I was stroking him steadily with my whole hand, not fast, but with a 
deliberate tempo, and full strokes, too-the kind that I know from my 
experience with young boys they cannot stand for very long. I tightened my 
grip a bit and sped up the tempo just a bit. It only lasted a few minutes. 

" 'Oh, Aunty, you'd better stop,' he implored and drew away. 

" 'Why, honey?' I asked innocently. 

" 'I'm going to-' 

" 'Going to come?' I helped. 

" 'Yes, yesss-soon now ... don't ... you'd better....' 

"I stopped completely and I could see that he was torn between relief and 
anxiety. I didn't need to be told what to do. 

" 'Can you move the seat back?' I asked. 

" 'Sure,' he answered. 'Do you want me to?' 

" 'All the way,' I instructed in a happy voice. This is the moment I love so 
much in my relationships with young guys. Being the staging director of our 
own little production is a great kick. My husband tells me after I recount 
the experiences to him that I am satisfying a maternal urge when I do things 
like this, but he's no psychiatrist, so I sort of take it all tongue in 
cheek. 

"The seat was back now so that there was plenty of room between Don's groin 
area and the steering wheel. I lifted myself up a little so that I could 
slide my panties off, and as I did so, I could smell that wonderful, meaty, 
aromatic odor that I always emit when that cunt of mine gets worked up. I 
hadn't felt it yet, but I knew it was sopping wet. 

"Don continued looking at the stupid picture, as if transfixed. 'Are you 
really that interested in the picture?' I asked. 

"For the first time, he smiled easily and said, 'Sure. That's what we came 
for isn't it?' 

" 'Nope,' I answered clearly. 'I came for this,' and with that declaration I 
squeezed his cock again. Then I raised myself, disengaged my hand, and threw 
my right leg completely over him, straddling him in a perfect face-to-face 
position. With a deft move, I reached down and guided that wonderful 
engorged cock into that steaming cunt of mine. It slipped right in, all the 
way up to my kidneys, it felt like, and I could feel all of those wonderful 
juices of mine flowing everywhere up inside me. I had no intention of 
ruining things with needlessly precipitate moves at this point, so I just 
sat there a few seconds, savoring the marvelous feeling of another new young 
cock, this one all the better because it was my own nephew; and doubly fine 
beyond that because I had once again proven to my loving husband that I 
could accomplish anything sexual that I set out to. 

"Tenderly now, and as dispassionately as possible under the circumstances, I 
planted a nice aunt-like kiss on Don's lips, which I discovered to be dry. 
Poor kid. This must be quite a shock, if nothing else. I damned near felt 
contrition. But I knew better, actually. If all those books I'd read told 
the truth, young men hang on to and relive their first sexual experience 
with great ardor and passionate memory. That's exactly the way I wanted to 
be remembered. 

"He didn't really return the kiss. I think he was trying to work things in 
his mind and figure out just what it was that was happening to him, and just 
how that rigid trembling prick of his was feeling at this moment. Now I was 
certain he was a virgin. Just the thought of getting another virgin made my 
pussy even wetter, and I couldn't resist beginning a slight up-and-down 
fucking motion again. 

" 'Will you come too fast if I stroke a little bit-like this?' 

" 'I-think so.' " 

" 'Well, we can't have that,' I told him. 'Why don't you look over my 
shoulder at the picture-maybe that'll take your mind off this.' 

" 'I don't want to take my mind off this.' 

" 'And I don't want you to shoot too fast.' 

" 'You don't?' 

" 'Not here. It's too messy.' 

" 'What then?' 

" 'Well, I'll tell you what. If I promise to make you feel real good right 
now, will you promise to take care of me when we get home?' 

" 'Home? Jesus-what about Uncle Harry?' 

" 'He sleeps like a log. Promise?' 

" 'I guess so. What're you going to do?' 

"I was already dismounting. Without a word of explanation I moved away a bit 
to give myself working room. Then I looked at Don and told him, 'Now you 
just watch the picture. Try to concentrate on it. I don't want this to be 
over too fast, either.' 

"With that, I leaned forward and ran the tip of my tongue up the shaft of 
his prick, starting way down on the balls-as far underneath them as space 
would permit, that is-and working my way up to the tip, employing a 
butterfly tongue technique as I approached the head. I did this two or three 
times, and although I usually like to keep this up awhile, I heard Don 
moaning above me and figured that he was probably close. I especially like 
to keep lapping at a cock that's already been in me a little like his had, 
because then it has my own cunt juice all over it. Anyway, I quit the 
preliminaries and worked my way to the top one last time, and when I got 
there I popped the whole thing in my mouth and went all the way down in one 
thrust. Sometimes I like to do it like that, anyway, just to get things 
started quick. For one thing, when I'm blowing a kid, whose prick is usually 
smaller than a man's, I can take the whole thing in my mouth right up to my 
gullet with ease, which is a real good feeling. I like to feel the head of a 
cock butting against the back of my mouth, and I've learned to get my tongue 
wrapped around the bottom curvature of it in almost all positions. 

"Anyway, I took Don's whole prick in up to the hilt and then felt his fuzzy 
pubic hair tickling my cheeks. Then I began a good hard in-and-out sucking 
motion, all the while stroking in full, deliberate strokes-in to the tonsils 
on the downstroke, and out almost to the point of extraction on the 
upstroke. I also remembered my husband's advice about keeping my tongue in 
constant motion. 

"I heard a little groan just before it happened. I sped up the tempo until 
it was furious and then-I was rewarded. God, what a freaky feeling! I guess 
I love the taste of cum, especially from a young kid, more than anything in 
the world. It tastes a little different from every boy, but in another 
manner of speaking, it tastes the same, too-youngish. Don gave me shot after 
shot. I thought he'd never quit. But he'd never be able to deluge me. No one 
ever had. I could swallow it just as fast as they could give it to me. And 
then he was drained. I kept sucking a little bit, to get it all, but then I 
finally sat up. 

"Don didn't say a word. He seemed to actually be watching the picture. I 
asked him, 'How was it?' 

" 'Jesus,' was all he said. 

"I was tickled. I love to leave them satisfied. 

"And now I could concentrate on other things. My own satisfaction, for 
example. 

"We sat through the rest of the picture, which I actually looked at now, and 
I didn't do anything to try to get him started again. Oh, I held onto his 
prick, of course, just like any red-blooded woman would, but I didn't jack 
him off or even fondle him with much of a movement. There were other reasons 
for this, too, because I did have certain commitments to my husband. But 
I'll go into that later. 

"There was something especially delightful about Don. As it happened, we all 
lived in the same town, but we didn't get together much, simply because my 
sister and I didn't get on the way sisters should. For one thing, she was a 
much older woman, nearly fifteen years my senior, and we just belonged to 
different generations, almost. Actually, I was much closer in temperament 
and outlook to Don, her son, and since I had married a man of arts and 
letters whose view of life was very broad and loose, we couldn't really 
communicate at all with my sister and her husband, who worked in a foundry 
doing uninteresting things. The only reason I had Don with me now is that my 
sister's husband's father had passed on, and they had decided to travel 
cross-country for the funeral. I was to have Don for two weeks. And I 
planned to take every advantage of it. 

"I tried to put the pieces together in my mind. I had definitely promised 
Harry, my husband, to bring Don home in good condition. By that, he meant he 
didn't want the boy to be drained. Actually, I think I would have blown him 
again in the car except for that. His cum, like most boys' cum, had that 
tart, astringent, almost bitter taste that is so good and lingers on so long 
and makes one want to keep licking the lips. Anyway, back to the point: I 
had promised my husband that I would bring Don home in good condition and 
then we would go into our act, which always had worked out well before. I 
guess it pays to have an imaginative old man. 

"The picture concluded and I helped Don put his hard prick back in his 
pants. As a matter-of-fact, we had quite a struggle of it and finally he had 
to open the door a bit and straighten one leg before his cock could be 
squeezed in. As soon as this was done, I felt a little bad about it because 
my hand had gotten used to having his lovely piece of meat in it, but I was 
able to tolerate that, considering that it was only a twenty-minute ride 
home. Oddly, during those twenty minutes, Don did not seemed disposed to 
talk very much. I thought it would be most suitable if I talked about such 
things as the picture, but he wasn't having any. I could tell his mind was 
on sex, and that he didn't care for any interruptions into those thoughts. 
Not even a sexual interruption. I guess that he was really having a time 
with himself over this experience. I didn't know whether this was good or 
bad, although I've always been inclined to believe that kids come out best 
when they're taught to be straightforward and natural about sex. The worst 
experiences I have had have been with those young men whose families 
surround them with all kinds of prohibitions and weird ideas. 

"That's one thing about Harry and me; we've no stars in our eyes and we 
don't wear rose-colored glasses. We both accept what we are, what we do, and 
the fact that sex is a great thing in our lives. Harry has always told me 
that he doesn't regard the world as being wrong just because they don't 
believe or do as we do, just as he believes the rest of the world should 
give us the same latitude we give it. Now that strikes me as being sensible. 
We don't harm anyone; if a young boy doesn't respond to my suggestions I 
just leave him alone (there have only been a few like that, however). If the 
kid wants to fuck, though, what harm am I doing him? What's the difference 
if he learns to fuck at fourteen or fifteen instead of a few years later? A 
couple of centuries ago, girls were old maids if they hadn't married by that 
age. 

"We were halfway home when I suddenly discovered what was bugging Don. I 
should have guessed as much. 

" 'Aunt Miriam,' he began, 'how can you be sure Uncle Harry won't catch us 
if we do what you said?' 

" 'I told you, darling-leave it to me.' 

" 'But he could get mad and blow his top. I've read of people killing each 
other for less.' 

" 'Well, Harry's not like that at all. You'll just have to trust my word, 
darling. But consider the fact that I've been living with him for years, and 

I should know.' " 'Yes, you should.' 

" 'Alright then. In the morning you'll know more about it than you do right 
now, and believe me, it'll all make a lot more sense to you then.' 

"I wasn't sure if Don had picked up on the slight difference in what I had 
said just now and what I had suggested back at the drive-in. Earlier I left 
the impression that my husband wouldn't know-now I had implied that he just 
wouldn't cave. Good, that represented progress; all I really had to do was 
take care that my beautiful little nephew didn't bolt. If I was now deprived 
of this gorgeous young man's cock, I might have gone out and shot myself. 

"I suppose I felt that way because this was the first time I'd ever screwed 
a relative of any sort. Even my father had left me completely alone in that 
respect. It had something to do with incest, this great excitement I was 
feeling. I was probably hotter than I'd ever been. I could think of no other 
plausible reason. 

" 'Aunt Miriam,' Don said a minute later, 'why can't we just drive out in 
the countryside somewhere and get out and do it on the ground?' 

"My heart raced for a second and I almost agreed. That would have been so 
exciting! But no, I couldn't do that to Harry! Through the years of our 
marriage I'd never done a dirty thing like that. I said to Don, 'I hate it 
like that. I like it in a nice soft bed. And I wish you'd quit worrying 
about my husband. I've already told you that everything will be fine.' 

"Again, he seemed to accept the idea and we rode on in silence. Considering 
his doubts, I felt that I should put sex in his mind again just before we 
reached the house. And the best way I know to accomplish that is just to 
start talking about it. 

" 'Don,' I began, 'you seem to be so much in doubt about whether we should 
really do it when we get home. What's the matter? Didn't you enjoy the way I 
played with your prick and then sucked it off for you?' 

" 'Oh, yes,' he answered quickly, 'I loved it.' 

" 'Well, I should think you'd be anxious to get home and get in bed with me 
so you can stick it in my cunt.' 

" 'Yes, yes, lam!' 

" 'Well, so am I, honey. My cunt's dripping wet, I'm so hot. And if I know 
my husband, he won't be any good to me. So if you won't fuck my cunt for me, 
I'll probably just have to get dressed again and go out and find some other 
stud to fuck me.' 

" 'Oh, no, don't do that!' 

" 'Why, honey?' 

" 'Why? Well, because I don't want you to.' 

" 'But why? Would you get hot laying in bed alone, thinking about me out 
somewhere fucking some strange guy?' 

" 'Look!!! Just don't do it!! I'll take care of you.' And then, after 
simmering down a little bit, he added in a low voice, 'Oh boy, will I ever!' 

"Now then, I must admit that exchange left me a hotter pussy than ever. I 
had worked up his enthusiasm, and he was so hot I expected him to sizzle 
over the top of any second. And a hot guy makes me hot. 

" 'Can't you drive a little faster?' I asked. 

"We hit the driveway and the lights were out. We got into the garage without 
any noise and then sort of sneaked our way into the house and into the 
bedroom. I told him that Harry would probably be asleep in the den instead 
of the master bedroom, but Don insisted that we play it safe by going to the 
guest room, which we had given him. 

"As soon as we were in the bedroom, he turned to me and pulled me to him. 
Even with the lights out I was able to back him up until we hit the bed, 
where we fell, linked together. Immediately my hands were on his pants 
again, trying to get them off, and then I almost shouted with glee when I 
felt his hands on me also, running up my legs, anxious to get at my pussy. 
Then he whispered to me, 'I want to find out if this is as wet as you said 
it was.' 

" 'I can get my clothes off quicker by myself,' I answered. 

" 'No, I want to do it.' 

"So I kept on with his jeans, and he kept struggling with the unfamiliar 
women's garments. It seemed to take forever, but at last we were both down 
to our underwear. He could wait no longer. He took me in his arms and almost 
crushed the life out of me in his ardor. That's another thing I love about 
these young boys-that impatience which is theirs alone. 

"Even though I had not heard it-nor had Don, I am certain-I knew full well 
that the door behind us had slipped open and then been closed again, and 
that we were no longer alone. This part of it always excited me even more 
than the passion and heat of the young studs I loved so much to fuck and 
suck." 

This is one of those case histories which required very little editing or 
revision. The way it appears here is pretty much the way it was first heard 
by this writer. Further, it was received on one reel, without interruptions, 
indicating the therapist had elicited the entire story in one sitting. This 
in itself is odd, since most interviewees are not capable of sustained 
narrative dealing with a painful subject. 

This fact is revelatory, admitting, as it does, to the ease with which 
Miriam regarded the matter. To her, incest was little more than an 
excitative "extra," and, in this history, a decided novelty. 

Since this history again deals primarily with the concepts of female 
pedophilia and (half-blood) incest, it might be well to capsulate how the 
mental processes of the growing girl can develop just a bit off center and 
produce these inclinations. 

As a generalization it can be said that three psychological roots underlie 
pedophiliac tendencies: fear, guilt, and doubt. Interestingly enough, these 
three elements are usually also present in the circumstance of lesbianism. 
It would seem that the young female is subject to certain pressures which 
are not too well understood and which serve in the one instance to drive her 
into a flight from heterosexual confrontation and in another instance into a 
flight from the adult male. 

When that premise is reworded it becomes still more interesting. The same 
set of stresses (but not the same kind or degree of stress, of course), 
seems able to produce either a flight from men altogether, or simply a 
flight from the adult man. This is not to imply that female homosexuals just 
missed becoming pedophiliacs or vice versa, but it is psychologically sound 
to suggest that these women possess many of the same personality 
characteristics. In his book, Female Homosexuality, Dr. Frank S. Caprio 
says: 

Homosexuality-or as Ferenczi prefers, "homoerotism"-is a stage in the sexual 
development of every human being. It is not a biological anomaly and not due 
to an endocrinological disorder. There are no hereditary or hormonal factors 
involved. Endocrinology, to quote Dr. Edmund Bergler, "has nothing 
therapeutic to contribute to the problem of homosexuality." Lesbianism is 
environmentally determined. The concept of a "third" sex is a myth. It has 
no scientific basis. 

Female homosexuality is a form of cooperative or mutual masturbation at 
best. It represents an unconscious defense mechanism-a symptomatic 
expression of a neurotic personality-a disturbance in the infantile 
psychosexual development-a regression to narcissism-a manifestation of an 
emotional maladjustment, influenced by such factors as a girl identifying 
herself with her father or brother, instability of the parents, unpleasant 
sexual experiences in childhood or adolescence, feelings of inferiority, 
loneliness, fear of marriage, personality deficiencies, exposure to the 
advances of an older lesbian, etc. 

Considering what Caprio ascribes as primal causes for female homosexuality, 
one is compelled to identify this group of family and societal deficiencies 
with that same general group of deficits we usually find in the heterosexual 
female invert. 

Women who are wont to step far beyond the bounds of social restriction 
usually do so because they must. It may appear to general observers, 
friends, and the woman herself, that she is reacting as she does because she 
prefers to, yet it is axiomatic in psychology that psychosexual or 
aberrational behavior is invariably a compensatory device; that is, a device 
by which stress is relieved. It is principally in this framing of thought 
that the parallels are drawn between female homosexuality and pedophilia. 

In the instance of female homosexuality, there are so many types known that 
none can be said to be typical. Just within the framework of that type most 
resembling the pedophiliac (the butch), there are varying "general" traits 
and manners (and certainly, causes) that one is hard-pressed to settle upon 
any of them. Further, we do not imply that the butch-likes little boys, or 
that she is attracted to youth in general, or that she finds it difficult to 
compete with adults. The important similarity lies in a very general 
vein-she is an aggressive, sexual, self-determined, and driven, woman. 

It is this quality, sex-drivenness, which term is the coining of R.E.L. 
Masters (Sex-Driven People), that essentially separates all inverts from all 
non-aberrants. The single quality of being victim to the appetites, or of 
having to yield to uncontrollable pressures, is alone sufficient to render a 
person miserable. When that quality is raised a degree to the point of 
compulsiveness, that person's life can become a nightmare. It is rarely 
acceptable to the human to be slave to his impulses. 

And it is perfectly natural, or at least to be expected, that in the face of 
such pressures, the human mind will devise ways of relieving them. 

Masters, from the foregoing reference, tells us: 

When sex comes to dominate his or her life, a man or a woman is sex-driven. 
This ascendancy of the person's sexuality may result from an abnormal 
biological sex drive, from psychological craving, or from other factors. In 
the case of the transsexual, as noted, the life becomes sex-dominated as a 
consequence of the individual's feeling that his psychology and emotions are 
at fundamental odds with his anatomical sex. And all effeminate males and 
"masculine females" are likely to move in a climate of magnified sexuality 
for the reason that owing to their physical appearance and mannerisms other 
persons react to them primarily as sexual objects. The exceptionally 
beautiful woman also may be assigned the role of sexual object by most 
persons, at least of the opposite sex, so that she, too, becomes in her own 
mind primarily a "sexual being" and the sexuality then is magnified to the 
extent that in some way it comes to dominate her life. 

The method of transposing this comment into relevance to our case history is 
not very involved and requires only that the reader invest his imaginative 
energies in the area of compensations. It must be understood that human 
response is rarely in direct answer to that which provokes it. 

As in the case of Miriam, who is reacting to her sex-drivenness by a 
specific retreat to youth, for whatever reasons, the compensation becomes 
the leitmotiv of the person's activity. Such a person very often does become 
a victim and a slave to desires which are overwhelming. 

For the purposes of writing such as this, it should be understood that there 
are many constellations of sexual aberration that all stem from similar 
causes and from similar environments. One wonders just how it can be that so 
many different events can germinate and then exfoliate from beginnings we 
regard as common. 

Proceeding with our history, we are confronted with a new circumstance: that 
of voyeurism compounded by a specific male inversion. It might be noted that 
much of the foregoing applies in part to that phase of the narrative also. 

"We were on the bed and embraced. Poor Don was beside himself with heat and 
nervousness. He was grappling with me instead of feeling me up, although I 
certainly wasn't resisting. His inexperience was at once pleasing and 
annoying. I wanted very much to put him at ease. 

" "Try to relax, Don,' I told him. 'I'm not going anywhere.' 

" 'What's the matter? Was I hurting you?' 

" 'No, dear, not at all. I love it, but I want to make it as good as 
possible for you. If you relax, everything will be more enjoyable.' 

"He seemed to hear me, but right away he was back at my breasts, biting them 
too hard, and at my ribs and shoulders and arms, which he squeezed too hard. 
I suppose I liked it in a way. But he just kept it up too long. I wanted 
some action! 

" 'Goddammit, Don, take off my panties and play with my cunt.' 

" 'Alright,' he answered and stripped off my briefs. Oh God, but that felt 
good! There was a slight breeze coming in the window and I just spread my 
legs out as wide as they would go and let the cool air wash across my 
steaming cunt. 

" "Take yours off too, honey,' I told him. 

"Again he agreed and soon I had that strapping prick in my hand again. I 
toyed with the idea of sucking it a little bit, just to juice it up and make 
it nice and slick, but I was getting real horny again. 

" 'Feel me up, Don, sweetie. Just as if I was one of your little teenybopper 
girl friends. They let you play with their cunts, don't they?' 

" 'Maybe you better tell me if I do something wrong.' 

" 'Answer me, Don. Do you mean these high school girls aren't putting out 
these days?' " 'I didn't say that.' 

"I considered all this. It seemed to me that he was okay, but pretty damned 
defensive. I was pretty interested in finding out how far I could go with 
him. But no sense picking a fight right now. Besides, he was starting to 
play with my cunt and that always drives me out of my mind. All of a sudden, 
it was no longer important to pin him down and make him admit how 
inexperienced he was. My husband had many times before explained to me that 
putting the kids on the defensive would make things much easier later if 
there was a goof-up. 

"Oh, that felt good. He had a finger stuck tentatively up to about the 
second knuckle, and, hot as I was, it felt like a live telephone pole. I 
started jacking off his cock in seriousness. I wanted to get that prick in 
me as soon as possible, and I was just about to climb on top when I felt a 
familiar tap on my shoulder. I went into my act. 

" 'Don, lay on your back, quick.' 

" 'Lay on my back?' 

" 'Yes, please, hurry. I have to suck your cock again.' 

" 'Huh?' Don was querulous. 'I was just going to put it . ... ' 

" 'I know. On your back, sweetie, with your eyes closed, and put your hands 
back on the pillow. I don't want you to try to feel of me in any way.' 

"He grumbled a bit and then did what I said. Then, very slowly I did the 
thing I had practiced so carefully so many times. I slid off the bottom of 
the bed a little at a time, until I could feel the corresponding addition of 
weight coming onto the bed right next to me. The subtracted and added weight 
cancelled each other, so that no change was evident to someone lying prone. 

"Finally, I was standing and silently rubbing my sore cunt with my index 
finger. I let it slide up on my clitoris and gave it a few strokes too, but 
now I knew I had to hurry, so I added a last flick or two and then had to 
drop that activity. Too bad, I was now so hot I was shaking. 

" 'Ooooooh, Jesus, that's-so-good. Even better-than in the-theater.' 

"When I heard that I knew I had to hurry. First I found and turned on the 
special light switch that we had installed in each bedroom, and then I had 
to find my way to the dresser, where I knew I would find our special camera, 
which Harry had spent so damned much money on. It was there, right where it 
was supposed to be. 

" 'Oh, God, that's so great-keep it up-AAaahh, yeaahhh!!! ' 

"I had to hurry. It sounded as if Don would be coming any minute now if I 
didn't get these god-dammed pictures taken. He'd come awfully fast at the 
theater. But it was so hard to figure anything out in this completely 
blacked-out room. Sometimes when I got involved like this, I got frustrated 
enough to just want to throw this infrared camera out in the trash. Anyway, 
I couldn't get mad now. 

" 'Oh, ooohhhh, faster, Aunt Miriam, please, fssssst-eerrrrr.' 

"Yeah, I thought; faster, Aunt Miriam. I aimed the camera at the bed and 
took one picture, which was absolutely silent. I hit the film-change. 
Again,-no sound. Well, that's what Harry had paid for, wasn't it? Another 
picture. 

" 'Ohhhh, I'm getting close, Aunt Miriam, if you---' 

"Six, seven, film change, eight, a step to the right, new film, ten-I put 
the camera back on the dresser and knelt by the bottom of the bed and tapped 
Harry twice on the shoulder. 

" 'Oh, Aunt Miriam, don't-don't stop now--NOT NOW!!! ' 

"The transfer was swift. With my tongue now licking lightly on the head of 
Don's cock, I mumbled to him, 'Now I'm coming up,'-and then I practically 
leaped up on the bed next to him, rolled on my back, and all but screamed at 
him, 'Now hurry, baby, cram that joint of yours in my cunt-RIGHT NOW!! ' 

" 'Oh my God-I think I'm going to-' " 'Hurry-here-like this, baby, baby-get 
it in-in.' 

"It must have been saved at the last minute. With a last-second lunge, I 
hauled him onto me and with a desperate hand I luckily aimed him perfectly 
into me, and exactly at the moment of penetration I felt the first cupful of 
that hot stuff cream the inside of my cunt like a ladle of white sauce from 
a cannon. I lunged my body up at him to get the rest of it (and also to make 
the best possible pictures) and was ecstatic at the power and violence of 
his subsequent surges of recoiling cock and his enormous doses of cum which 
filled me to the brim. I considered his first cum at the movie-it hadn't 
been anything like this; I wondered what the difference could have been. 

"And then he quit me and rolled over, exhausted, with a sigh. My God, I 
thought, as my finger flew to my sopping wet cunt to try to finish it off. 
It felt so good-so almost good. I had to do something, anything. My finger 
was flying, but somehow it seemed inadequate. 

" 'Stay here, sweetie,' I told Don, trying to find his lips to give him a 
quick kiss. 

" 'Okay, Auntie,' he answered weakly, returning the kiss. 

"I scurried to the dresser and waved my hands in the dark trying to hit a 
familiar object. I needn't have bothered. Dear Harry had always been a mind 
reader, and he didn't fail me now. I felt familiar hands on my hips. I 
spread my legs, which were now drenched in leaping cum down to my knees, and 
Harry was into me immediately. I knew I would have to be absolutely silent, 
since Don was only a few feet away on the bed. I could only hope that this 
second strong come of his would put him to sleep right away. 

"Harry took one long swipe of the tongue from the inside of one knee right 
up to my still leaking cunt, and then from the other knee the same way; 
after that he pinned his attention to the well-worn slit instead of the 
clitoris, and he can't be blamed for that, considering that lots of the cum 
was still churning around inside and still nice and warm. Had he waited the 
semen might well have settled and even cooled a bit-and I have heard that it 
can become almost unpalatable under those conditions. But as it was, the 
stuff was still active and tasty. I spread wider and knelt a bit more so 
that Harry could lock his mouth on me like a suction cup and then, oh! what 
a glorious feeling. He started that rhythmic sucking he does so well and I 
felt the cum start a whirling splash down the walls of my cunt, and then 
finally, I could tell that the creamy liquid was cascading into my husband's 
mouth. 

"Harry, being a considerate person, did not dawdle with that particular 
function too much, though; he immediately went up to my clitoris and started 
tonguing it in that very special way he has perfected. He started with a few 
light stabs with a rigid tongue tip right on the clitoris, but he knows that 
doesn't do much except warm me-and I was already plenty warmed up-so he went 
quickly on to the thing that gets me pretty good: a circular chewing motion 
with very careful teeth all around the exposed and sucked-out clitoris. Now 
understand, my clitoris is not like a little girl's. I have pulled and 
flicked on it for some years now, and so have a great many men, and even a 
few women. Added to that, Harry has been sucking with extreme vigor on the 
whole body of the thing for some years also, and I guess the clitoris 
responds like any other muscle, or gland, or whatever it is. Anyway, the 
result is that I have a nice little body of flesh down there that becomes a 
sort of miniature prick and gathers a noticeable hardness when it's worked 
on. Right now it felt like it was hard as a rock, and Harry had it in his 
mouth, sucking up and down on it, pulling on it, pushing, licking, and 
everything else he could think of on it, and he was-bless him-performing 
miracles. I could feel the first small convulsions coming on, and the 
tremors, just the way they were forming in the rest of my body, were telling 
me that I was headed for a cataclysmic come. 

"Up and up I went, and the tremors became little mountains of jello, and 
then real quakes, and then it was washing over me and I just couldn't help 
it- 

" '-Ohhhhh, yess-' and then I remembered 

Don.... 

" 'Aunt Miriam! Is something wrong?' " 'OOOOooooh-uh-oh, no, Don. It's-just 
my stomach. I'll be alright.' " 'Can I help?' 

"The damn come was half-ruined anyway. I sprang back into bed and snuggled 
up to Don. I couldn't be mad at him or anything else. That's how he affected 
me. And besides, we had some other plans to implement-Harry would be furious 
if I let it be spoiled by impatience. 

"We lay in each other's arms awhile and then I began toying with that nice 
prick again. It was about time to get things started. I guessed it had been 
about thirty minutes-just about right. 

" 'Your prick sure does react nicely.' 

" 'I'm glad you like it, Aunt Miriam. You sure do make it feel good when you 
do that.' 

" 'Do you think it'll get just as hard as the last time?' 

" 'Sure! Why wouldn't it?' 

" 'Oh, you dear boy-just wait until you're older. Then you'll know what I 
mean!' 

"Then I casually informed Don why I was so interested in his cock getting 
another real good hard on. It just won't do what I want it to do if it isn't 
real hard.' 

" 'What? What is it supposed to do next?' 

" 'Something I just love. And you'll love it too, if you let me do what I 
want.' 

" 'I'd do anything for you, Aunt Miriam. You know that.' 

" 'Wonderful,' I answered, and rolled over and gave him a big kiss. Then 
whispering low, I told him, 'I want you to fuck me in the ass.' 

" 'What!!!? ' 

" 'Oh, don't act so astonished. Grown-ups do that all the time.' " "They 
do?' 

" 'Certainly. Listen, this is your Aunt Miriam talking to you, not some 
moralist. I'm telling you how it really is, not how some people want it.' 

"I guess I must have argued for ten minutes before Don began to relent. As 
soon as I thought he was ready, I jumped out of bed and ran to the light 
switch, turning it on, knowing that Harry would not be in the room until 
after this signal. I opened a bureau drawer and pulled out the planted 
dildo; quite a smallish, pink-colored, artificial prick with a hip-harness 
attached to it. Ijtook it to Don and showed it to him, explaining all the 
while how it worked and what I wanted to do. 

" ' ... and I don't know what it is about me, Don, but I just love pumping 
that thing into an ass-hole. 

It just turns me on more than I can tell you...' He started to object again, 
but I went right on, ' ... and besides, darling, you came too fast the last 
time and I didn't really get to come the way I need to-it's sort of like you 
should reciprocate. Come on, you stick yours in my ass first and just watch 
how much it does for me.' 

"A few minutes later, I felt this marvelous ballbat jamming up into that 
sensitive ass-hole of mine. As soon as he was in to the hilt and had started 
stroking, I began my muscular contractions, first trying to simulate forcing 
a turd out, and then simulating holding one back. A few strokes more and we 
were working in perfect sync, and the poor kid's prick just couldn't handle 
the action. I felt a flood of cum splatter around in my colon, and realized 
he was pretty close to exhaustion. The come had been good, but much weaker 
than the last. 

"Ten minutes later, I said to him, 'I want to turn the lights out again when 
I do it to you. That way I can imagine I'm doing it to a woman.' 

"There was another delay while I reconvinced him, and then, for effect if 
nothing else, I strapped the harness on me so that he could see how it 
looked, with its little pink cock standing right up straight. I even greased 
it with cold cream to help put his mind at ease. Then I said, 'Here's what I 
want you to do, lover: lay on your stomach with your legs spread apart as 
far as possible. You'll feel me climb on the bed and then I'll go into you 
as gently as possible, but you won't feel my body very much, since I feel 
better holding myself up in the air. Also, like I said, I like to go on an 
imagination trip when I'm doing this, so don't talk to me, because I won't 
answer. Also, don't move just because you feel a little pressure.' 

"And then he seemed to be about as prepared as he was going to get. I gave 
him a quick kiss and rolled him over and then spread his legs for him. Just 
for kicks, I planted a couple of nice wet kisses on his ass-hole, and then 
ran the spit in a little bit with a finger. That would help. 

"I got up, checked things one last time, and then went to the light switch 
and turned it off. Quickly I opened the hall door and felt Harry sweep past 
me in a hurry. His massive prick touched my leg as he passed, and I could 
feel it trembling with readiness. Sometimes I wondered about Harry-how he 
was able to hold his balance; things like that. 

"Anyway, I heard the bed depress. I had the newly loaded infrared camera 
aimed right at the center of the bed-at least I think I did-and I began 
snapping pictures, moving from side to side in the pitch dark as best I 
could. It was a minute or two before anything happened, and then-'Oh, 
Auntie, go easy. It feels big.' 

"Another few seconds, and then-'Oh, please, Auntie, just a little tonight, 
please. It feels ten times as big as it looked.' 

"Taking pictures quickly over the side of the bed, I leaned over the center 
of the top part of the bed, just about in the position my head should have 
been, and I whispered to Don, 'Dammit, Don, I asked you to be quiet. Now, 
relax as much as possible, and I'm going to get it all in. Don't worry about 
the size. It always feels bigger than it really is. And for GOD'S SAKE, 
DON'T TALK TOME ANYMORE.' 

"I got up from the bed very carefully, and began snapping pictures again. 
Then sounds began again. 

" 'OH ... OH ... OH NO, STOP! Ohh, that's better. Just let that much of it 
sit awhile. My God, that little thing feels like a watermelon in 
there-please don't put it in any more, Auntie; just the head in like that 
hurts like hellllll- OHHHHH, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, DON'T, DON'T, OH MY GOD, 
OOOEEEHHH!' 

"I could tell by the rhythm and pattern that Harry probably had the head 
part way in. This had happened before, and I knew that Harry was awfully hot 
and probably couldn't wait much longer before he- 

" WHATTT OOOOOOUUUUEEII STOP! STOP!! YOU'RE KILLING ME-I CAN'T-I CAN'T-I 
can't-I can't-I-ooooo.' 

"And then I heard a mild stroking begin. The bed was gently and peacefully 
rocking back and forth. It sounded as if Don was breathing easier now, 
although I'm not sure that he was fully conscious. I know that sometimes 
when Harry is too hot he can't help but give it to them all at once after 
he's worked the head of it in. 

"The stroking picked up tempo, and I definitely heard Don begin to whimper, 
something very close to a sob. I continued taking pictures. And then the 
stroking became really pronounced. 

"'Oh, Auntie, please stop, can't you, PLEASE?!!! ' and I knew how the poor 
kid felt. I only hoped that Harry wouldn't give him one of those real 
lunges. But, just as I was thinking the thought- 

" 'Please, Auntie, Auntie? Won't you say som-OOOUUUEEEH!!! ' 
OOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!f! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, YOU CAN'T!!!!! ' 

"And then, predictably, Don's protestations stopped altogether, and the 
stroking from the bed became regular and had a deep squishy sound. A few 
minutes of this and I sensed that Harry gave a final lunge and got rid of 
the scummy, filthy, huge load that had been rusting away in his nuts for 
weeks and weeks-ever since the last boy. These days that's the only way 
Harry ever-oh", hell, let's forget about that part of it. 

"Over breakfast the next morning, Harry was the picture of happiness and 
contentment. His appetite was robust for a change, and he chatted amiably. 
It was so good to have a happy husband. I suppose it's worth any price. 

" 'Call him again,' Harry suggested. 

" 'I don't think it's any use. I've tried a dozen times.' 

" 'Poor kid,' Harry answered. 'Sure hope he isn't coming down with 
something.' 

"If memory serves me correctly, I think we finished breakfast hurriedly and 
then left for the camera shop." 

If the reader will recall, we referred to a case of "male inversion" as well 
as "voyeurism" to be treated of in this final portion of the history of 
Miriam and Don. The inversion is explicitly spelled out here, but it should 
be noted that the voyeurism is only implicit. That is, the developed 
infrared photographs (which, as any camera buff knows, are quite 
unsatisfactory for purposes such as these-and extremely expensive in the 
bargain) served to satisfy Harry's urgings to see both his wife and himself 
in sexual contact with the boy. 

All things considered, this case offers limited possibility of therapeutic 
adjustment for Harry, but this is not relevant since he is not a true 
principal. On the other hand, Miriam separated from Harry roughly a year 
after this narrative concludes, and began treatment with a noted clinician 
shortly thereafter. Today she continues her treatment and all signs are 
suggestive of improvement. She has not been completely able to ignore young 
men, but she is aware of the larger meaning of such conduct and is beginning 
to make sincere efforts to develop relationships with adult men. 

But not adult men with bizarre purposes. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

THE HIGH-SOCIETY SYNDROME 

" 'Oh, Stanley,' I scolded. 'I know your parents are gone all the time, but 
that still doesn't mean you can come over here at just any hour of the day 
or night.' I glanced at my watch, and told him, 'It's after twelve!' 

"Stanley's eyes studied the carpet between his feet, and from the pained 
expression on his face I could see that my brusqueness had knocked the wind 
out of his sails. This realization saddened me momentarily because Stanley 
was such a bubbly kid around me. Since my sister and her husband were hardly 
ever at home, I had more and more become a mother to Stanley, and frankly, 
it had been mostly my own doing that the boy now relied on me so heavily. 

" 'Is it too late to come in now?' he asked. 

"I was still disgruntled, but I did my best to be friendly. 'My God, 
darling, I was asleep.' 

" 'I'm sorry, Aunt Francine,' Stanley answered, now squirming from foot to 
foot on my new hand-woven gamboge carpet. I know this was a new experience 
for him, for I never before failed to show real familial love-but then, he'd 
never come unannounced and uninvited at midnight, either. 

"Finally, I relented. 'Oh, Christ, come on in and make yourself at home.' 

"Stanley stepped forward into the main foyer. Now that my eyes were focusing 
a little better, I saw that my nephew seemed very different tonight: he 
seemed drained of his usual vitality and I thought I sensed a greater 
loneliness about him than usual. And that really got to me-the poor kid, or 
poor rich kid, rather, lived the most friendless, empty, oversupervised 
existence a person could imagine. Think of it, fifteen years old, and 
walking around with a heavy heart! I made up my mind. 

" 'Stanley, what did you tell that scarecrow governess of yours?' 

" 'I told her that you called me to come over. I guess I sort of lied.' 

" 'I'd better call the old bitch right now and straighten things out.' 

"I picked up the hall phone and dialed. Finally the butler answered and I 
asked him to get Helen, the governess. 

" 'Hello?' 

" 'Helen, this is Francine. I'll be keeping Stanley tonight.' 

"Just as I suspected, the old prune started right in, asking me things like, 
'Do you think it's wise?' I listened to a couple of more words and then hung 
up on her. Goddamned know-it-all servants. Thank 

God my own were off that night. 

" 'What was that all about?' Stanley asked. 

" "That bitch always forgets that I'm part of the family.' 

" 'You mean she questioned you? ' 

" "That's the way I heard it.' 

"Stanley looked at me in a funny way. I knew he could sense how I felt, and 
he was probably inwardly happy to know that another governess was about to 
bite the dust. That's right-that bitch would be out on her ass as soon as 
Stanley's parents returned. I wanted this boy to have only the best, but on 
the other hand, I wouldn't ever tolerate being questioned by the help. 

"Then Stanley said he had to go to the bathroom. Since he had me completely 
awake by this time, I told him to meet me in the kitchen for a cup of 
coffee. 

"Over the coffeepot, I tried to put things in perspective. During the past 
year, I'd seemed to have Stanley with me more and more. It was really 
senseless for him to have a governess, for that's essentially what I had 
become. And I have to confess that I was finding it agreeable. 

"He was a great kid, but so many things were missing from his life. That's 
probably why I had become so protective towards him. His mother had turned 
into a pureblood jet-setter and she and her husband spent all their time 
flitting from parties aboard yachts in the Mediterranean to lunches in the 
Bahamas-when they weren't on safari, that is. But I also knew the truth 
about that marriage and all its millions-and I just kept away from it. My 
sister had developed a whole new morality in the past few years and she was 
all the time telling me about these great parties where nobody kept track of 
who slept with whom. Beneath that well-bred exterior of hers, she had the 
morals of an alley cat, and her husband encouraged it. Well, I'm no prude, 
believe me, and I've slept around a bit myself since my husband died, but 
there's a limit to everything. I remember one time not more than a month ago 
when she and I were talking about her latest venture, and Stanley walked 
into the room to tell her something. She was in mid-sentence, telling me 
about the party, saw Stanley and acknowledged him with a nod, and then 
continued right on, saying, '-it was one of the best parties we've been to; 
two whole glorious weeks of continuous fucking, and I'll bet I went through 
every man there at least once, and a couple of them fucked me a dozen times. 
And then we had these pairs aboard who go for the troilism bit and I tried a 
few of them-' and she would have continued on with all the details of her 
troilistic fucking, too, but the phone rang. I remember looking up at 
Stanley to see how he had accepted all this, and I couldn't fathom him at 
all. For the most part, he pretended not to have heard anything, but when I 
glanced at his crotch, I saw that a good-sized bulge had appeared. This 
puzzled the hell out of me. Could Stanley have had a sexual thing for his 
own mother? I really had no way to assess that hard on of his, and had 
wondered about it many times since. To be perfectly frank, I had even 
dreamed about the damned thing once. 

"And, just as I wondered about Stanley, I think that he wondered about me. I 
know for a certainty that he was attracted to me, but I didn't know just 
what kind of attraction it was. Usually it seemed to be a parental thing, at 
other times it was a deep friendship; always it was a questionable thing in 
my eyes because Stanley was becoming a little man and his eyes always seemed 
to undress me just like adult men's did. Jesus, if Stanley ever found out 
about that kid-that beautiful olive-skinned musician-that I picked up in 
Mexico City a few months ago! He had been the same age as Stanley, even 
looked a little like him, and I just succumbed. There's no other word for 
it. That kid learned more about fucking and sucking from me in a week than 
he probably could have learned in five years otherwise. Anyway, what I'm 
getting at is that I have wondered repeatedly if I screwed that boy for some 
obscure and sublimated reason floating around somewhere in my unconscious. I 
have wondered again and again if it was actually the image of Stanley that I 
was blowing and fucking for a week straight, or just a nice Latin boy and no 
more. I do know one thing for certain. That was the first kid I've ever 
laid, but not my last. I discovered that I dig young kids more than anything 
in the world. 

"Just last week Stanley and I had gone up to the mountains for a Sunday 
picnic. It was a most innocent thing, but after we ate, I had stretched out 
with my head in his lap and fallen into a light sleep. But even in my sleep, 
I sensed that Stanley was greatly preoccupied with my body. I'm sure he had 
copped a feel or two of my legs, and when I awakened, he was stroking my 
hair and my forehead. 

"I guess I should just admit to myself that Stanley and I have had a strong 
attraction and attachment for each other, and that it might not be so 
innocent after all. 

"Anyway, the coffee was ready and Stanley had still not returned. One reason 
why this was so odd was that it had happened quite a few times lately. It 
seemed as if Stanley had developed the habit of taking a half hour in the 
bathroom each time he went. Out of curiosity, I decided to investigate. 

"I went first to the main bath off the master bedroom. Empty. Then I checked 
the two guest room baths, and they were dark and also empty. Except for the 
servants' quarters, the only other bathroom was out near the garage, 
adjacent to the laundry. As I approached it, I could see the light was out. 
Something told me to slip off my shoes, which I did. Then I approached 
slowly, sensing that Stanley was nearby. Tiptoeing up to the bathroom door, 
I discovered it, too, was empty, but about the same time I heard Stanley's 
voice, very low, muttering some unintelligible thing to himself. He was 
close, wherever he was, so I went to the next room, the laundry, and peeked 
around the doorjamb. What I saw petrified me. 

"The moonlight gave a slight relief to the darkness and I could see Stanley 
standing over one of the dirty-clothes baskets, from which he had taken a 
pair of my dirty panties, which he was holding to his nose. As a 
matter-of-fact he had them opened in such a way that the crotch was 
stretched fully over his nostrils just as if it were a chloroform mask. He 
was breathing in and out very deeply, and his tongue was also licking the 
fabric right where my cunt had soiled it the most. In his other hand lay his 
cock, and, Jesus, what a cock it was. Oh, I don't mean it was a monster or 
anything like that, but it was a nice fat six-to-seven-incher that lots of 
grown men would have been proud of. He wasn't really jacking off, it didn't 
look like; rather he was massaging it very slowly in long, full strokes. In 
the moonlight the head of it glistened as if it had been painted with 
acrylic lacquer. Obviously, droplets of come had been oozing out the head. I 
could tell by Stanley's motions and mutterings that he was attempting to 
hold off his come for as long as possible. 

"My recent thoughts all poured back in upon me all at once. I remembered 
everything again, and it all fused together, and all of a sudden I knew 
perfectly well what it was I wanted. 

"And then, I was galvanized into action. 

"For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to barge in on him and seduce him 
on the spot. Hot as I was-and brother, that slick hot goo was gushing and 
slushing around in my cunt about this time-I still had presence of mind 
enough to know that I wanted to seduce Stanley in some way where he'd feel 
as if he had something to do with it. Maybe I wanted to help him preserve 
his budding manhood or some such thing, I don't know. All I know is what I 
did. 

"Hurriedly, thinking all the time about him almost ready to come, and 
wanting desperately to prevent it because nothing turns me on so much as a 
good cuntful of the stuff, I rushed back up the corridor about twenty paces, 
turned around and began approaching him again. This time I was loud, and 
called his name. Just as I got back to the laundry room, Stanley was 
emerging from it. A good recovery, I thought-his pants were zipped, 
everything seemed in order, except for a telltale, leftover half-hard on, 
which I naturally noticed. 

"Instead of asking him why he was in the laundry room, I thought it would be 
best to dismiss it. Instead I said, T was getting worried about you. Come 
on, the coffee's ready.' 

" 'I was just washing my hands,' he offered lamely. 

" 'Oh,' I answered, letting him know it didn't matter. 

"In the kitchen, I decided to play it straight, but fast. I was so hot by 
now that I nearly just reached across the table and grabbed my poor nephew, 
but somehow I held back. I did do one thing, though, to make sure that 
Stanley wouldn't forget about sex. I still had on my pink peignoir with the 
little filmy satin panties, and while Stanley sat primly sipping coffee, I 
perched myself on the corner of the table, so that my darkly shadowed crotch 
was pointing right at him. 

" 'Stanley,' I began, glancing down at his bulging prick again and realizing 
that I actually had gotten him out of there with that initial load still in 
his balls, 'do you remember that nice afternoon in the mountains, where I 
fell asleep in your lap?' 

" 'Sure,' he answered. 

" 'Did you enjoy it?' 

" 'Yes, I did,' he answered, very seriously. " 'If I tell you something very 
confidentially, will you promise not to tell anyone?' " 'Of course.' 

" 'Well, Stanley,' I confided, now aware that his eyes could barely stay off 
my ass, 'I had a dream while I was asleep. I dreamed that you were running 
your hands all over me and, well, I got very excited. You know what I mean, 
don't you?' 

" 'I think so.' 

" 'What? What do I mean?' 

" 'Well, I think you mean you got ... hot.' 

" 'Right! Exactly right. I'm surprised you know about such things, Stanley. 
I mean, you're only fifteen. I'm proud of you.' 

" "Thanks, Aunt Francine, but ... is that all of it? Is that what you wanted 
to confide in me?' 

" 'Well, isn't that enough? I mean, after all, I am your aunt and you are my 
nephew. Those aren't exactly everyday thoughts for someone like us.' 

" 'Oh.' 

" 'But, to tell the truth, there was one other thing I wanted to say about 
that day. I discovered that I enjoyed sleeping with you. Very, very much. It 
was such a comfort, especially now that I seem to get so lonesome all the 
time.' 

" 'Hiked it too.' 

" 'Well, that's what I was getting to. Since you're going to sleep here 
anyway, and since we enjoy snuggling together so good, I was thinking maybe 
we could do it again, only this time in a real bed. I know I'd love it, but 
you'll have to promise to be good.' 

" 'I will, Aunt Francine; I certainly will. I'll do exactly as you say.' 

"I felt like a satisfied Persian cat. I hadn't gotten to him yet, but I 
could almost hear his young prick throbbing in his pants. I saw him look 
quickly at my snatch and his face seemed to flush a bit. That was the 
tip-off; I knew I was getting sopping wet down there, and I suppose a little 
of it was seeping through the satin. Just to check, I sniffed deeply, and, 
yes, there was a beginning cunt-smell in the air. I lifted my ass 
languorously off the table (and it was a good ass-once, years past, an 
artistic lover I had known in New York said that in tight panties, I had a 
'sculpturesque' ass) and I beckoned for Stanley to follow. He did, though 
with obvious trepidation. 

"In the bedroom, I was nearly frantic to get things going, but I knew a 
proper seduction would give him a memory to savor all of his life. Hot as I 
was, I was prepared to force myself to do it right. 

"Stanley stood near the bed, seemingly awaiting instructions. Poor kid. He 
was both terrified and beside himself with arousal. 

" 'Well, get your things off, honey, and hop in.' " 'Okay,' he answered, a 
light quaver in his voice. 

"I pulled the covers back and climbed in just as I was, peignoir and all. 
Stanley stripped to his shorts and climbed in, too. Just as might be 
expected, he turned his back to me and lay stiff as a board. I lay flat on 
my back and considered my next move. At length I said, 'Stanley?' 

" 'Yes?' 

" 'Stanley, there's one thing I must mention while I'm thinking of it. It 
has to do with our aunt-nephew relationship.' 

" 'Yes. What?' 

" 'Well, I'm going to have to ask you to make a promise. You're going to 
have to agree that you'll never tell a soul that we slept together.' 

" 'Sure, I promise-I understood that anyway.' 

" 'Yes, but do you really understand how important it is?' 

" 'Why, I think so.' 

" "That's not good enough.' As I said this, I reached over and touched his 
arm for emphasis, tugging just a bit to bring him to his back. Now talking, 
at least, would be easier. I leaned closer to him and added, 'Don't you 
realize what would happen if anyone found out? If the servants, for example, 
found out that we had slept together, they'd automatically assume that you 
had fucked me.' 

" 'What?' 

" 'You heard me. They'd think you were sticking your prick in me.' 

"I could tell that got him a little. He was stock still. I added, 'And 
that's called incest. Boys are not supposed to fuck their aunts.' 

"I rolled over toward him a little and whispered in his ear, 'So we'll just 
be sure and keep this our little secret, and then nobody'll be able to 
spread filthy stories about you sticking this...'-and at that point I ran my 
hand over the front of his shorts' ... prick of yours up in my cunt.' 

"I'm sure he shivered. I relaxed back into my previous position on my back 
and pretended to be dozing off. I could sense that Stanley was wide awake, 
probably staring at the dark air, and that he undoubtedly would love to have 
my hand back on his cock. But I was by now bound and determined to make this 
a lasting experience. After a few moments, I sat up and said, 'Damn, this 
thing is uncomfortable.' " 'Huh?' 

" 'Oh, I was just trying to get to feeling natural. Listen, Stanley, do you 
think it would be safe if I slept nude like I usually do?' 

" 'Why sure, I guess so.' 

" 'Are you sure?' 

" 'Sure, I'm sure, Aunt Francine.' 

" 'Well, okay,' I murmured, and sat up to slip off my things. Then, as if 
remembering something, I jumped up from the bed and went to the window and 
opened the drapes. The moonlight streamed in-the same moonlight that had 
outlined his gorgeous prick in the laundry room-and I made sure to slip out 
of my panties while still framed by that moonlight so that my whole body 
appeared to Stanley as a moving chiaroscuro. Then I hopped back into bed, 
making sure to get a little closer to the center, and then I asked him, 
'Aren't you going to take your shorts off, honey?' 

" 'Oh, well ... uh ... no, I guess not.' 

" 'You should, you know.' 

" 'I should? Why?' 

" 'Because that hard on will feel better if you let it spring out.' 

"I could hear him gulp. Poor Stanley. He was so hot the bed was trembling. 
But, I should talk ... my poor cunt was killing me by this time. 

" 'Here, I'll help you out of them,' I offered, and leaned down and snapped 
a thumb under the elastic on each side of his waist. Before he could think 
about it, I slipped his jock shorts down and off his feet. Then I came back 
up and let my fingers graze over the length of that marvelous prick, finally 
applying a few light touches at the base of his balls. 'Now, doesn't that 
feel much better? It can stick up in the air all night long and it won't get 
that strapped-up feeling.' 

"He groaned a little and my heart did a little flip. Finally, he had 
acknowledged what was happening. I got bolder. 

" 'Did that feel good?' I asked. 

" 'Oh, Jesus,' he moaned. 'Yesssss ... I never imagined....' 

" 'Want me to do it some more?' 

"Stanley gurgled out a weak 'yes,' and I felt a wave of new power sweep over 
me. Though I realized how mean I was being to extend this seduction like I 
was, I felt the strength of the universe flowing into my veins and I could 
not stop. I rolled over to my nephew to tease him some more. I actually 
grabbed his hot prick in my full hand this time and massaged it a little 
bit, talking to him again as I did so. 

" 'Stanley, I just thought of another problem we might have.' 

" 'What?' he answered, in a disinterested sigh. 

" 'Well, I toss and turn in my sleep. If I accidentally toss the wrong way, 
I might wake up and find this nice hard prick of yours jabbing way up high 
in my pussy. There sure wouldn't be anything to hinder it.' 

" 'What do you mean?' 

" 'Here. Give your finger and I'll show you.' I grabbed his hand, rolled him 
to me a bit-using his prick as a handle, sort of-and put his single middle 
finger right into my steaming hole. 

" 'Get the idea?' 

" 'God, that's wet. And hot.' 

" 'Sure it is, honey. That's what I mean. Your prick would just slide right 
in. Probably wouldn't even wake me up.' 

" "That's hard to believe,' Stanley said. 

" 'Well, it's the truth. And if you don't believe me, I'll prove it to you.' 

"He didn't answer, so I took my cue. In a quick move I got up on my knees 
and straddled him. 'Now you just watch how easy this goes in.' I reached 
down below me and finally did the thing I had been burning to do for the 
last fifteen minutes-I laid the tip of his glistening prick right into the 
sopping hole between the folds of my hungry cunt, and then I simply sat down 
on it! I guess I can't really describe adequately what a supreme and 
delicious delight that was, and for purposes of telling the story it will 
have to be sufficient to say that my nephew's prick was full and strong and 
fat and that my seething cunt needed it desperately. In one uninterrupted 
in-stroke of unbelievable ease and warmth, the boy's long, fat prick slid 
directly in up to the hilt, and it felt to me as if it must be a yard long 
and imbedded to my lungs, at least. It wasn't the biggest prick I've ever 
accommodated, but it was plenty big enough, and about twice as much as a 
woman would expect from a fifteen-year-old. 

"Settled down as far as I could get, I felt Stanley's balls snuggled against 
my ass-cheeks. They apparently were pulled up tightly against his cock-shaft 
like two fists, rather than hanging loosely. Those two balls, as well as my 
ass-cheeks, were heavily lubricated with the juices dripping out of my cunt, 
and even the mingling hairs of my cunt and his pubic regions were sopped and 
stringing together. Altogether, the whole area down there was as gooey and 
slippery as two old-time wrestlers swabbed down completely in warm 
axle-grease. 

"And to make it all the more marvelous, I could feel the head of my nephew's 
cock twitch every once in a while, giving full proof of its life and energy. 

"I sat absolutely still. That's all there had been, that one sitting-thrust. 
I wanted more than anything in the world to raise myself up and let my whole 
body fall into that hot prick again and again, but that would come in time. 
For now, I wanted to pursue my little game. 

" 'See?' I said. 'It just went right in. It's all the way in right up to 
your balls. Now what's to prevent that from happening accidentally?' 

"Stanley was trying to move his prick up and down a little inside of me. I 
sat down firmly to prevent any friction, and added, 'Stanley, didn't you 
hear me? You aren't answering.' 

" 'Oh, God, Aunt Francine. It feels so good!' 

" 'Sure it does-it feels just as good to me. But we can't actually do it 
with each other because ... well, because people just don't fuck their 
relatives.' i 

" 'But we are doing it!' 

" 'Oh no; this is just a demonstration to show you how dangerous it could be 
if we got careless. If we were really going to do it, I'd get on my back and 
let you sock your prick into me as hard as you wanted to, until you shot a 
big load of hot cum up inside me. That's the difference between actually 
fucking and just demonstrating, like this!' Even as I said this, my cunt 
made a large and surging involuntary gripping on his cock and almost 
betrayed me. For that matter, I was so hot I could feel an orgasm coming on, 
rising up to the skies, just while I was sitting there motionless! Somehow I 
held it back, because when it did come, I wanted the full thing, and I 
wanted it to be with Stanley. 

" 'Jesus, Aunt Francine, I'm starting to feel....' " 'Yes, yes, I know, 
darling. You want to come, don't you?' 

" 'Oh, God, more than anything!' 

"I don't know how I was holding back any longer. Sweat was stringing my hair 
and my breathing was rapid and shallow, and I'm sure my flesh was flushed 
and chilled at once. Now I had to hold off just a bit more, just another 
little bit-if I could. 

" 'Stanley, if I let you shoot your cum up in my cunt, are you absolutely 
certain you'll never tell a soul?' 

" 'Oh, yes, Auntie, yes, yes, yes!!! ' 

" 'And will you promise to do everything I tell you to do when it comes to 
sex?' 

" 'Anything-ANYTHING, just let me get on top of you!! ' 

" 'Absolute promise? Be sure, Stanley, before you say, because I might hold 
you to it the rest of your life.' 

" 'I PROMISE FOREVER!!! ' 

" 'Alright, darling, but you don't have to get on top. Just close your eyes 
and let me do it.' And then finally, after having agonized myself almost to 
the point of insanity, I raised my body so that his turgid, raging prick was 
almost out of it, and I then I slammed to the hilt, feeling that good young 
cockhead jam up into my cervix. Stanley groaned mindlessly. Up again to the 
point of near-withdrawal and down with all the power I possessed-and Stanley 
began to tense. Up again--DOWN; up again-DOWN-DOWN; up high this time-AND 
DOWN LIKE A PILE DRIVER!!! 

"And that's all it took, brother! About five or six strokes. That's how hot 
we both were. Stanley's body convulsed, and a half-stroke later, I felt my 
own insides tighten up like a clenched fist and then let go, as if the 
universe had exploded. Moist sounds then reached my ears, and at the same 
time I felt the hot spurt wash against my whole insides and come cascading 
down my vaginal walls to meet the new spurt and all the juices mixed 
together and the whole bed area under us was sopping and we were drenched in 
each other. My own orgasm matched Stanley's perfectly and we crested with 
each other and then collapsed together, my head nuzzled into the hollow of 
his neck." 

In order for the reader to understand the true nature of this case history, 
we must call upon certain additional ideas concerning sexuality. Up to this 
point, we have been dealing with the basic concepts of pedophilia and 
incestuous consummation of half-blood relationships. Now, for the first 
time, we have an example of all the foregoing, augmented by the stress form 
known as sadomasochistic response in the dominant female. Here, in all the 
glory of its day-to-day occurrence in every stratum of our society, we are 
confronted with an aggressive woman employing all the wiles and whimsy of 
the pursuing female, hi a relationship where it is patently unnecessary. 

Francine could have had Stanley on any terms she wished. She knew this. Nor 
did she have to invest weeks or months or years of playacting into this 
seduction; any indecision or torturing of self was a voluntary choice on her 
part (except in the final psychologic sense, where nothing is really 
voluntary). In truth, Francine had only to sort out a few items in her mind, 
at which point the die would be cast. Later, it will be seen that Stanley's 
scatologic performance in the laundry room did actually play a catalytic 
role in Francine's final decision to seduce the boy, but we believe that if 
it had not been that, it would have been something else, since the seeds of 
seduction had been present for quite some time. 

According to the interview, knowledge by both parties of Stanley's mother's 
promiscuity could have contributed (as an indirect motivation) to the 
awareness of the incestuous possibility in the minds of both Stanley and 
Francine. However, in all fairness, it must be mentioned that observable 
suggestions of this nature rarely act as prime triggers. Not every boy who 
sees or knows of his mother's promiscuity is so directed-for that matter, 
such observations more often drive the sons into a new and restrictive 
moralism, where, for reasons not quickly explainable, they attempt to atone 
for the "family sin." In the diverse world of psychology, there is very 
little direct emulation, even of parents. Emotive and psychical responses 
are usually once-removed (at the least) from the focal point. 

Allowing that pretty much the same motivational elements exist in this 
history as in those previous, we must mention two additional factors: the 
element of great wealth (Stanley's parents were coupon clippers and their 
stockbrokers had instructions to deal through management firms unless ten 
million or more was involved; Francine was on a similar level-having 
inherited the holdings of her husband's banking interests), and secondly, 
the element of Stanley's isolation from the world which resulted from all 
this wealth. Stanley could walk the three blocks from his parents' baronial 
mansion to Francine's rambling estate (there were no other houses in 
between) at will, since it had been established in both homes that Francine 
was essentially the final voice in Stanley's affairs. In effect, she was his 
mother. Given the earlier comments we have made regarding the 
mother-surrogate, it can be readily understood that the consummation 
depicted in the case history thus far did indeed have the symbolic value of 
maternal incest for the boy. 

We are left with the new element, the sadomasochistic quality of the first 
consummation. Francine was playing a game, one which caused both Stanley and 
herself relative discomfort. True, this is the game many women play with men 
in a day-to-day framing; when they tease a little and then stop short, they 
accomplish two things: (1) a power gratification which translates into both 
recognition and achievement, thereby affording the woman a method of 
relieving anxieties stemming from self-doubt, and (2) a release from 
accruing tensions having to do with sadomasochism. 

Sadomasochism is related most closely to what the eminent Harry Stack 
Sullivan has termed the malevolent transformation. In his book, The 
Interpersonal Theory of Psychiatry, he tells us: " ... one of the great 
social theories, you know, is that society is the only thing that prevents 
everybody from tearing everybody to bits; or that man is possessed of 
something wonderful called sadism...." 

Expanding on the theme that natural outlets prevent our steam from 
accumulating to the bursting point, one might indeed think of sadism as a 
blessing rather than a curse, but before it can be decided whether this is 
sophisticated reasoning or specious, one must inquire what we would have if 
we had no sadism. Presumably everyone would be under control until sanity 
left. 

In a less general sense, sadism is a stress-release function whereby an 
individual must now and again test his (suspected) powers in an act of 
dominance and superiority. To inflict pain is demonstrably equivalent to 
having one's own sense of worth reinforced. This is so because, for the 
moment, the sadist becomes ruling and omnipotent, from which perch immunity 
is guaranteed from criticism. We have read of a case where a sadist could 
not wield his whip hard enough to satisfy the masochist, and after receiving 
scathing criticism from the masochist, the sadist gave up and then simply 
sat down and cried. 

A telling example of sadism at work in its most simplistic form can be shown 
by the child who tortures the wings off flies or paints the cat. Here the 
child is saying, "See? I am omnipotent. I can do to you what my parents can 
do to me." Sadism is usually an exploitative displacement of a fear of 
self-worth, regardless of the form it takes and, oddly, masochism is much 
the same. Only the additional element of guilt is present to activate the 
masochist into something more (and more complicated) than the sadist. These 
two aberrations are sides of the same coin. 

The masochist, in the act of seeking and then accepting pain, is in effect 
saying, "I am not worth so much as those about me. This is because I am bad, 
and I am bad because I have done bad things and thought bad thoughts. My 
guilt is burdensome, and I can only wash it away if I am punished properly." 

As it happens, both sadism and masochism (or sadomasochism, if one prefers) 
are cumulative in stress value. Just as carbon monoxide accumulates in the 
body until finally it takes only a little bit more to kill, the stresses of 
sadomasochism (the feelings of guilt, of inadequacy, the need for 
omnipotence) accumulate little by little until a lethal dose resides in the 
host. Then he or she must act (or face great psychic consequences). Thus it 
is that acts of sadism and masochism are born. 

Sadomasochism exists, as does practically everything, in varying degrees. We 
have, for example, the "soft" sadisms and masochisms, as exemplified in our 
case history of Francine and Stanley. 

Francine is satisfied in a simple hurt (withholding herself from the same 
person in whom she has induced great arousal), and with simple self-hurt 
(the same denial); however, her meanness is more evident in the staging and 
scene-setting than in the acts themselves. She had a need to be as teasingly 
provocative as possible, and to be devious in the bargain. All of these 
things are the same ball of wax, psychologically speaking, and only help to 
substantiate what we have already observed. 

Further considerations become evident as we go on with the history. One 
eventually comes to wonder just what kind of a sibling relationship the 
sisters had when young. It becomes clear as we proceed, that certain highly 
advantaged people sometimes have difficulty in finding new ways to compete 
with one another. Finally, within the limits of the narrative, we shall 
attempt to deal somewhat with Stanley's scatological attraction and 
saliromania. 

" 'If you want the truth, Stanley, I really got turned on when I saw you in 
there in the laundry-room, sniffing the crotch of my panties.' 

" 'I've been doing that for a long time-over a year.' 

" 'Now you won't have to anymore.' " 'How's that?' 

" 'Well, wouldn't you rather get it from the source than secondhand?' 

" 'Gee, I never thought of that, Auntie.' 

"The sun was streaming in through the window, the servants were still gone, 
and I was laying next to the most wonderful nephew a woman could ever hope 
to have. My God, I thought, how could I have been passing up this kind of 
action? I should have introduced Stanley to the mysteries of life a year 
ago. And he was such a great sex student! 

That second fuck last night, with Stanley on top and my legs wrapped up 
around his shoulder blades; that was just the end of the world! And young 
kids like him seem to have so damned much stamina! Just fuck, fuck, fuck. 
Every time I asked him to give it to me harder, he did! Now what grown man 
would think of being like that? Every big-time stud I've been introduced to 
seemed to be interested in himself, his own satisfaction-maybe that's why 
I've gotten so turned off on these playboys and princes and dukes and actors 
that my sister's been bringing home for me. Well, she can have them. I'll 
take kids; and especially, I'll take Stanley. Jesus, what a doll! 

"I guess it would be wrong to say that we had a third fuck last night. And 
yet I'll bet Stanley came about five times and me about twice that number. 
The reason I say that we never had a third fuck is that he never took it 
out.'. '. ' And, if memory serves me properly, I don't think he even got 
soft until the end of it. My pussy was tingling so good, and so full of hot 
cum, that I'll never forget the feel of it. Stanley's last come frankly 
didn't amount to much, a couple of drops at most, and I thought I'd die 
laughing the way he sort of just rolled off me and collapsed. I'll bet he 
was asleep in three seconds. I was very proud of him-and myself-and I 
dropped off to sleep thinking of all the things Stanley and I could do. 
First, I would have to do something about the servants--that could be real 
danger. And then there was my sister to consider. And then there was nothing 
more to think about, so I rolled over and threw an arm over Stanley, 
grabbing his flaccid prick, now a little piece of worn meat not much larger 
than a Vienna sausage. 

"And then the sun was streaming in. I was in the same position and so was 
Stanley, and I still had a firm hold of his cock, only it was no longer a 
Vienna sausage. Now it was more like a plump knackwurst. It filled my hand 
so that I could barely close my fingers around it. 

"Slowly, very slowly, I began stroking it. Up to the top, down to the bottom 
where his nice tight balls didn't seem very small either. Touching those 
balls made me think of all the cum they had furnished for my hungry cunt, 
and the thought occurred to me that I should get up and douche before my 
cunt got real stinky and crusty. 

"I was actually on the verge of getting up and bathing, and then I happened 
to remember that Stanley had gotten some kind of sexual satisfaction while 
sniffing my dirty panties. Well, if that's what he liked, far be it from me 
to deprive him. I got the satin panties I had been wearing the night before 
off of the floor where I had thrown them, and then I took the crotch part 
and wiped my cunt with them. But the outside was kind of dry and flaky. I 
drove some of the crotch up into the hole with a finger and wiped it around, 
but most of the cum was up further and I couldn't really get to it. I tested 
the panties and they had a fairly cunt-like, dank odor, but it simply wasn't 
enough for someone like Stanley. 

"Then I had a thought. Obviously when Stanley had enjoyed my dirty panties 
the night before, those panties had had an accumulation of cunt odors in 
them, including, probably, a few drops of piss. I jumped out of bed and ran 
to the bathroom, panties in hand. After pissing, I wiped myself with the 
crotch of the panties instead of toilet paper, and that was just the added 
touch that was needed. I tested them again and they had a rich, deep, 
brackish-herring kind of aroma. I was very pleased. 

"Back at the bed, Stanley was supine, so I just laid the panties on his 
face, with the inside of the crotch area right over his nostrils. Then I 
waited. 

"After a few moments, Stanley seemed to start breathing deeper, as if he was 
having a bit of difficulty getting air through the fabric. Much more 
important, though, was what was happening to him down at the other end. I 
saw the covers begin to rise a little bit in the area of his prick, so I 
uncovered him completely, and I was greeted by the most gorgeous piece of 
meat a girl could hope for, and it was sticking straight up in the air, blue 
veins throbbing and the pink circumcised head greased and slick from 
droplets of cum. 

"Stanley's deep breathing continued. I decided to wake him up slowly and 
delightfully. First, I climbed down between his legs. His legs were 
together, so I had to spend valuable minutes getting them apart without 
waking him up. Then I crawled upward and started licking him under the balls 
and around the base of the cock. After a bit of that, I started making long 
stroking laps beginning underneath his balls and going all the way to the 
tip of his prick, just exactly the way a kid licks an ice-cream cone to keep 
the goodies from running off the cone itself. At length, I capped the top of 
it with my mouth and ran my tongue around the head, getting the whole thing 
good and wet. Then, as a final warm up, I took the whole thing in my mouth 
and went up and down on it a few times, just enough to coat it with saliva. 
Actually, I don't care much for sucking cock, and I've never done it any 
more than necessary to get a man good and ready. As far as letting a guy 
come in my mouth, no thanks! I know there are lots of women who love 
it-Stanley's mother is one of them-but it just doesn't turn me on. 

"Anyway, when Stanley's prick was ready-that it, when it was dripping wet 
and rigid as a pole-I came up for air and crawled up so that I was 
straddling just like I had been the night before, only this time I was very 
careful about waking him. I got up over him in such a way that no part of my 
body was touching his. It was quite a feat and I had to contort myself to 
keep my legs far enough apart and my cunt high enough so that I could get up 
to his midsection without any skin contact. Finally, I made it. My cunt was 
hovering over the head of his prick like a praying mantis over a victim. I 
reached beneath me and took his rigid prick in-between two fingers as 
gingerly as I could, and then I laid the head against my now well-lubricated 
cunt. 

"My nerves were on edge. I was trying so hard to do this right. I have no 
idea why it seemed so important for me not to wake him. It seemed at the 
time that I was drawn between two different feelings-first, I wanted to take 
advantage of him, and, second, I felt that this should be a-private ecstasy 
that I should share with no one. It would be almost like masturbating, but 
without any of the drawbacks, if I could pull it off. 

"Very gently, with the touch of a brain surgeon, I lowered my body. A tenth 
of an inch at a time, no more. I felt contact, and froze immediately. I 
watched his face, with the panties still bathing his nose, but he gave no 
signs of waking. Again I touched, and this time I reached down to open my 
cunt. When his prickhead touched, there was someplace for it to go, and now 
I allowed myself to settle down maybe a half-inch or so before I stopped. My 
whole body ached from the strain of perched motionlessness, but I wanted to 
keep checking his face for a response. By this time, I had gotten awfully 
hot, and besides the muscular strain, there was another reason why I wanted 
to sit all the way down. 

"Little by little I lowered myself. I had an almost irresistible urge to 
raise myself too, and make a stroking motion of it, but I suspected this 
kind of thing would wake Stanley. The way I was going at it, though, I was 
by now nearly crazy. I decided to get bolder; I lowered myself a whole inch, 
about, and it seemed for a worrisome second that Stanley had awakened. But 
he settled back to deep breathing. I lowered myself again, and by this time 
I must have had four or five inches of cock in me. 

"I couldn't stop descending this last time. I just kept going until I felt 
my inner legs brush against his hips. He was still asleep. I settled all the 
way down and felt his nice fat cockhead jam up tightly against my cervix. I 
felt overfull, like someone with too much turkey in him, but it was 
absolutely wonderful. I settled completely into a relaxed position and then 
leaned forward, so that my tits were brushing Stanley's chest. I checked one 
last time-he was still deeply asleep. 

"I went into my act. My husband-and others-had told me that I had the most 
educated pussy in the business. But those kinds of platitudes don't mean 
much when you know the guy is just trying to get you to lay down again. Just 
one more reason why I dig kids so much. They're artless, but they're 
sincere. Anyway, back to my act: I strained my stomach muscles, as if to 
pull in my gut to get into a new dress; then I let that contraction work 
lower, until the groin muscles were pulling together, much the same as when 
someone tries to pull their ass-cheeks together. Next I started a 
belly-dancer type of muscular roll between the lower intestine and the cunt. 
Little by little I could feel the normally unused muscles of my cunt 
limbering up, so that by now Stanley's prick was being gently jacked off by 
something that I had been told felt very much like a closing and opening 
fist. That's why my boyfriends called me a 'snapper.' I had, first of all, a 
natural talent for this sort of thing, and secondly, I had spent long hours 
of practice, developing those certain muscles as much as possible. 

"I stepped up both the tempo and the grip. Soon I was constricting and 
relaxing very rapidly, and I'm sure that Stanley's prick was being gripped 
very strongly. It shouldn't be too long before I had some results, I 
thought; a few contractions more should do it. I worked my little ass off. I 
gave it all I had. Faster and faster. 

"The first thing that happened was that my panties came flying off Stanley's 
nose. His hands were rubbing his eyes, and his very first waking motions 
coincided perfectly with a good hot spurt of cum, followed by a quick and 
even more copious second, and all of this was happening at the very instant 
he was regaining consciousness. That's got to be called 'coming' awake. By 
the time the third spurt of cream shot up in me, I had begun an 
honest-to-God physical up-and-down motion, and I furiously milked off the 
rest of his load. 

" 'Oh, God, yes, yes, YES!' he was groaning, as soon as he got his voice. 
Just about the time he was fully awake and comprehending, however, his come 
was just ending. Poor boy. It took some time for him to really understand 
the whole thing, however, and I had climbed completely off of him before he 
sensed that this was a beautiful way to wake up and that he might want some 
more of it. 

"Shortly after that, while I was lying there on my back with my eyes closed, 
savoring the wonderful warm feeling of a cuntful of young-boy cum, Stanley 
decided that he needed some answers to questions that were bugging him. 

" 'Francine?' 

" 'Yes, darling?' 

" 'Do adults do that every morning?' 

" 'Some do, most of them don't.' 

" "That was great. Jesus, that was super.' 

" 'Why, thank you, you beautiful boy. I'll tell you what, though, since you 
seem interested. If you were staying with me regularly, I'd wake you up that 
way every morning-every morning I woke up before you did, that is.' 

" 'God, I can't imagine anything better than that.' 

" 'Okay, it's a deal. But first, we have to get something settled about 
where you're going to live. It's going to require some thinking, believe 
me.' 

"Stanley seemed to savor that information, and then he thought of something 
else. 'Francine,' he asked, 'when I first woke up, wasn't there something on 
my face-a handkerchief or something like that?' 

" 'Yes, darling. A pair of my panties.' 

" 'Oh? How did they get on my face?' 

" 'I put them there.' 

" 'You did? Why would you do a thing like that?' 

"I turned to him and opened my eyes. 'I saw you in the laundry room last 
night....' 

"And that's the story of how Stanley and I got into our conversation that 
first morning. As I've mentioned earlier, I then told Stanley that I thought 
he would enjoy getting his odors and tastes from the source, and now the 
time had come for me to explain to him how that worked. I wanted to be sure 
not to do or say anything that might spoil things.... 

"After thinking this out for a few minutes, I said, 'Stanley, tell me, have 
you ever sniffed anyone's panties other than mine?' 

"He looked sheepish a minute and then answered softly, 'Yes.' " 'Whose?' " 
'Mom's.' 

"Somehow that shocked me a little bit, but after thinking about it another 
minute it didn't seem so awful after all. I asked him, 'Were hers as good as 
mine?' 

"He seemed to flush. In a very low voice he answered, 'I don't know.' 

" 'Well, were they different?' " 'Yeah, I guess so.' " 'How?' 

" 'Well, you know Mom goes on lots of trips and things, and when she gets 
home she's always got dozens of pairs of dirty panties. It seems like hers 
always have a variety of smells-every pair is different.' 

" 'Well, you know why, don't you?' 

" 'No, I don't think I do.' 

" 'Well, you know as well as I do that your mother gets a lot of strange 
fucking. I guess every man's come is different.' 

" 'I ... never thought of that.' 

" 'I could provide you with an assortment, just like she does.' 

" 'No, oh no, Aunt Francine, don't do that.' 

" 'Why? Don't you want me fucking other men?' 

"'Hell no. Oh, my God, no! I want you for myself. 

" 'Why, Stanley, that's about the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. You 
can't know how much I'm touched by it.' 

" 'Well, that's how I feel.' 

" 'Wonderful. And that's going to make this morning's lesson that much 
better.' " 'Lesson?' 

" 'Sure. Remember, you already said you'd be interested in getting closer to 
the source.' 

"And that's how I got Stanley started in the ancient and honorable art of 
cunt-eating. He took to it like a kitten to a saucer of milk. All I had to 
do was touch him and he sprang down between my legs, which I spread wide. 
Then I lay back languidly, shutting my eyes. There is absolutely nothing I 
like better than to have my cunt eaten. I've never said no to anyone who 
wanted to eat me, and I've even paid good sums of money to various people, 
mostly women, for a top-notch job on my cunt. So far as I'm concerned, an 
expert tongue-job is worth just about my sum of money. 

"But this was going to be different. Already, without Stanley even having 
touched my cunt, I was as hot or hotter than I had ever been, and I knew 
that even if Stanley did it clumsily, I would enjoy it immensely-just 
because it was him doing it. It was the idea of being eaten by my nephew 
which appealed to me first; the prospect of the thing feeling great was 
definitely secondary. 

"I instructed him, first of all, to take a good look at my cunt, to open it 
up and poke around inside, and then to examine all its parts with his 
fingers, too. Then I told him to lay his nose as far into the crack as 
possible and inhale real deeply. Then I asked him if that was as good as 
sniffing panties, but his reply was muffled, and I didn't repeat the 
question. 

"Next, I taught him all the usual things-about licking up to the cunt 
gradually, about blowing into it, and how to lick the lips apart. He 
especially loved exposing the pink insides, and when he ran into the oozing 
leftover cum rolling out in little streams into the crack of my ass and 
around my ass-hole, he began licking it up without having to be told. 

"We spent some time like that, because I didn't want to rush my lovely 
nephew. But nothing stands still, and I was anxious to get him star on the 
technique that tears me out of my skull. 

" 'Stanley,' I murmured, like a contented cat. 'Are you ready for some more 
instructions?' 

" 'Umm hmmmm,' he muttered. 

" 'Alright, now start running your tongue from my ass-hole all the way up to 
my clitoris.' 

"He did that. 

" 'Now, Stanley, this time when you get to the clitoris, stay on it about 
ten or fifteen seconds, then back off and go back to the ass-hole and start 
over.' 

"He did this, too, but he didn't linger long enough on my clit. 

" 'We're going to have to do it in rhythm, Stanley. Now do it like I tell 
you. I'm going to start counting, slowly, like this: one ... two ... and so 
on. Now start flutter-tonguing my ass-hole and do that until I reach the 
count of two. All during the three count, make the long, slow lap up along 
my cunt lips, dipping inside the hole with the tip of your tongue when you 
pass it; and then try to time it so that you reach my clitoris on the count 
of four. Start waving your tongue at it as fast as you can, but just barely 
touching it, and hold it just like that until the count of ten. And then 
we'll start over. Have you got that?' 

"He mumbled something else that sounded like a yes. Then before the start of 
this serious business, I propped my ass up on a pillow, so he'd have as 
fully exposed a cunt as possible. Then I threw my arms akimbo, shut my eyes, 
and told him to begin. I told him that I would count for him until he got 
the rhythm. He then rearranged himself so he'd be more comfortable and also 
so that he could cup a hand under each of my buttocks and sort of eat me 
like an open melon. Then, when he was ready, he let me know and I began 
counting. 

" 'One'-he give me about six or seven flutters on the ass-hole-Two'-he began 
the open-tongued lapping upward, then dipped quickly into the 
hole-"Three'-still going upward, timing perfect, he passed the flanges of 
the paper-thin, little red inner lips and landed on my clitoris right on the 
count of-'Four'-and when his tongue did hit, he had it going like a 
hummingbird's wings, and he held it just like that, a little harder, a 
little softer, but all of it just perfect, and it lasted-'Seven'-so nice and 
long, and-'Eight'-then he quickened the already beautiful fluttering-'Nine' 
and then altered the touch some more, and I was-"Ten'-just about coming!!! 

"He began again, and I knew I would make it this time. Jesus, I don't think 
anyone in the world had ever been as sizzling hot as I was just then. Again, 
he hit the ass-hole, and I began my count, then up to the slit:- 

"-and he stopped. 

"I opened my eyes to see what was happening. 

"Stanley was up on his knees and cum was running down his chin. He was 
looking towards the door, and just as I turned my head to see what it was, I 
heard Stanley say, 'MOM!!! , WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?' 

"I suppose that everyone faces things like this sometime or other in their 
lives. For me it was a funny moment, and my mind seemed to quickly rush over 
all the feelings I had for Clarice, Stanley's mother. We'd had good feelings 
for each other-and bad. She had some fine qualities, but, like all humans, 
she sometimes did some petty things. I guess I loved her in my way, but she 
had become something of a stranger these past few years. Her jet-setting had 
changed her drastically. I suppose that in the final analysis she was a good 
sister. I had no complaints. 

"But I was momentarily scared to death, and deathly embarrassed. How often 
had something like this happened in the history of humans? How liberal a 
view had jet-setting given Clarice? Why was she back so soon? Underneath, 
I'm sure I was trembling. 

"Stanley repeated, 'Mom, what are you doing here?' Then, ludicrously, he 
added, 'How long have you been there at the door?' as if it mattered, as if 
she hadn't seen enough just the way it was. 

" 'Hello, Clarice,' I said, still in the same spread-eagled position. 

"Hello, Francine,' Clarice answered, with neither a frown nor a smile. 

"Then Stanley lowered his head and voice both and added his hello. 

"There was yet another moment of pained silence, and then finally Clarice 
said, 'Looks like there's just as much going on around here as there is at 
those parties I've been going to.' 

"I smiled at her, as if to say she was perfectly correct. Clarice went on, 
'Well, that's all over anyway. I'm getting a divorce.' 

"Stanley and I both studied her. It had been such an out-of-place thing to 
say. Clarice had not so much as acknowledged that her son was eating her 
sister when she barged in. However, we had not long to wait to find out her 
true reaction. 

"Clarice stepped fully into the room, removed her coat, and came over to the 
bed where I still lay as open as ever, and where Stanley was trying vainly 
to hide his prick between his legs. She sat down beside him and reached 
down. She grappled with his clamped legs a minute or two, then finally 
extracted her hand with Stanley's still-rigid prick in it. 

" 'I can't believe it,' she said to herself. "The last time I saw this 
thing, it was about an inch long. Now look at it. Why, it's absolutely 
lovely.' 

" "That's how I felt about it,' I added. 

"Clarice was stroking it a little now. She was sitting on the bottom of the 
bed where Stanley was and could see directly into my cunt just like" he 
could. Glancing at my cunt and then back at the bolt-hard prick in her hand, 
she asked me, 'Has he fucked you with this yet?' 

" 'Yes, we fucked all last night, and then once this morning. I was just 
teaching him to eat me.' 

" 'Stanley,' his mother said, 'I think you had better listen very carefully 
to everything Aunt Francine tells you. If you learn properly, you could be a 
great stud. Why don't you let me see what you've learned so far?' 

"Stanley looked at her, and then at his prick still lodged in her hand, and 
then dipped low and once again began fluttering his tongue against my 
ass-hole. This time we did it without an audible count, but it was pretty 
much the same. When he lapped up the length of the slit this time, however, 
he had to stop long enough to swallow the cum, which had been sort of 
accumulating in drips right at the hole. When he got to the clitoris, he 
fluttered his tongue for about the same duration he had before, but when he 
tried to leave the area, Clarice bent down, pointed her finger, and said, 
'Give it to her right there a little longer, sweetheart.' 

" 'Yes, Mother,' Stanley mumbled. 

"I noticed that Clarice was stroking Stanley's cock gently as he was eating 
me. I could see the head of it glistening. And so could she-her eyes were 
glued on it. 

"Once again, twice again, Stanley performed the ritualistic cunt-lapping, 
and I began my come. It was building right from the start. He gained the 
ass-hole again and began his third ascent, and the top of my head was 
blowing off-'Oh my good Christ!' I screamed. 'Aaaaaaahhhhhh, ohhhhhh, oooo-' 
And then when he finished me off at the clitoris, the whole goddamned world 
came apart in shreds and I just sank into a warm ball of quivering, 
semi-human flesh. And then there was silence. 

"A very mysterious silence. I looked up. 

"It was such a tender scene. Stanley had laid back, and his mother, Clarice, 
was hunched down between his legs, and believe it or not, she had every inch 
of that beautiful cock imbedded deeply in her throat-so deeply that her lips 
were flush up to his pubic hairs. And the poor kid must have been hotter 
than ever. Even, as I watched, I saw Clarice's throat working, and I heard 
the faint sound of peristalsis, and I knew she was swallowing a goodly flow 
of liquid. 

"Later, that evening, after a full day of swimming and chatting, we all 
shared a good dinner followed by vintage wines. In the course of the 
conversation, we made plans for an around-the-world voyage by steamer-a 
year-long affair, maybe. Plans for the three of us, I might add. And then, 
we mused, maybe another year in a hideaway, somewhere-just the three of us." 

Unfortunately, we have had no opportunity to follow through the progress of 
this case history. Much of the data that would comprise valuable "fill-in" 
material is missing, and therefore any usable prognosis is not possible. 

In the course of early therapy and even earlier interviews, a somewhat 
functional profile of Francine was charted, and from that point the 
therapist was able to expressly formulate a plan which would have served to 
lessen the anxiety of her incestuous guilt. She discontinued her therapy at 
a most inopportune time, however, apparently piqued that the therapist had 
even suggested such a thing as "guilt." It is something of a commentary on 
human nature that each of us sees ourself as essentially guiltless, while at 
the same time our unconscious mind knows better. While there is little 
evidence in either this narrative or in the other interview material, there 
is good cause to believe that Francine is developing guilts of so serious a 
nature that her life may become unmanageable at a later date. 

The chief concern should be the teenage boy, but of him we know nothing 
beyond Francine's narrative. We know very little more of Clarice, the 
mother. Therefore, the most serious of the incest ties cannot be made a 
subject of serious comment. 

And yet, within the admitted limits of recreating this most interesting 
history, we feel we have accomplished the fundamental purpose of writings 
such as these-to inform a readership whose curiosity is helping to expand 
the awareness of all Americans. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

'KID SISTERS CAN RUIN EVERYTHING' 

"'Hey, Maxine!' Dad yelled, struggling through the airport mob to the 
luggage dock. I guess he had caught a glimpse of her somehows-he was 
supposedly tall and striking-but I don't know how; that mob was something 
else! I held my sister Alice's arm, just to keep her from being washed away 
in that sea of people. 

" 'He's seen her,' Alice said to me, and I nodded, still trying to inch 
closer so we'd stay close to Dad. Eventually, Dad did come back to us, and 
he had what appeared to be a Miss America, or Mrs. America, I guess, on his 
arm. He was beaming. 

" 'Kids,' he offered, as soon as we were where we could hear ourselves 
think, 'this is your aunt Maxine, my absolutely favorite sister.' Turning 
first to Alice, he added, 'My daughter Alice.' 

" 'What a pretty little niece,' Maxine said, 'and, look how you've grown! 
You must have been eight or nine when I saw you last. How old are you now?' 

" 'Fifteen, Aunt Maxine,' Alice answered, obviously pleased. 

" 'And this is Robert. He's just finishing high school.' 

"I extended my hand, though it seemed awkward with a woman. She stepped 
toward me and I to her, something like a friendly attraction, I suppose. Her 
hand grasped mine, lightly, and she said, 'Now, this is what I call a 
strapping boy. Hello, Robert.' 

"Something seemed to happen right then. I don't know if it was the way she 
looked at me, or the way her hand felt, but I do know that we each took a 
sort of special note of each other. I withdrew my hand, which seemed to have 
remained in hers just a split second too long, and said, 'Pleased to meet 
ya, ma'am,' and then immediately felt stupid. I sure could have said 
something better than that. 

" 'Well, this is really going to be an experience,' Aunt Maxine said, and 
she grabbed us two kids, one by each arm. 'Here I am, never had a child of 
my own, suddenly inheriting two of them, practically grown.' 

"She certainly had a dental-ad type smile and she was dressed in a beautiful 
red suit. It was all set off with one of those funny upswept hairdos. God, 
but she was built! I know she was taller than me, and those spiked heels 
just added to it. I know Dad's at least six-three, and she seemed to be 
looking at him at the same eye level. 

"After a few more of those gushy family things, like 'What have you been 
doing?' and 'How's the job going?' we wound our way to the parking lot, got 
in the car and went home. In the car, Maxine sat in front, and neither Alice 
nor I failed to note that she occasionally leaned over and whispered 
something in Dad's ear, after which they both laughed. It didn't really 
amount to anything much, but it did seem strange for a brother and sister 
who hadn't seen each other for years, and were for all practical purposes 
unknown to each other, to be acting so intimately. One would think they had 
been lovers instead of relatives. 

"At home, it was a wild mess. Luggage, rearranging things, squeezing in 
dinner, wow! I couldn't sneak off to bed fast enough. 

"It was about two hours later, and at about the usual time, that my door 
slipped open silently and Alice crept in, silhouetted by the dim hall light. 
Without a word, she crawled into bed with me, snuggled up close, and dropped 
her right hand to my. ready prick. As always, she locked her mouth onto my 
right ear and started sticking her tongue into it. At the same time, she 
began stroking my cock. 

"By this time, Alice knew exactly what I liked and what I didn't care for. 
She snuggled up close and began stroking my prick a little faster. I wanted 
to lay back and enjoy it, but, as usual, she started bugging me. 

" Tut your finger in my cunt,' she whispered. 

" 'Okay,' I whispered back. 'But don't squeal like you usually do-remember, 
we've got somebody new in the house tonight.' 

"Yes, anything you say-just hurry and get your finger in me.' 

"She turned around in the bed so I could get at her little slit better. 
Then, when I wasn't fast enough, she grabbed my hand, skinned one finger 
into her own hand, and jammed it into her pussy. This sister of mine was too 
much! And this had been going on over a year! It was a wonder I still had 
enough strength left to go to school. 

"Alice always squirmed around a lot and made so much noise that it was a 
minor miracle Dad hadn't discovered us up to now. This time was no 
different. My finger sank into her tight but finely oiled love hole and 
right away her ass came off the bed about a foot. Her gasping intake of 
breath was itself loud enough to be heard down the street. 

"'Please,' she gasped, 'Oh, yes, PLEASE--deeper, faster, HARDER!!! ' 

" 'Goddammit, Sis,' I growled, 'I'm going to stop altogether if you don't 
control yourself. What would you say if Dad walked in here right now?' 

" 'I don't care. Give it to me-give me something.' 

"I knew better than to talk about it anymore. Little Alice had one of those 
trigger-happy pussies that must have been lined with little pouches of 
'Instant Pussy Juice.' If I touched her arm at the dinner table, her pants 
would get soaked. And when this little sister of mine was like she was now, 
there was just nothing to do about it except spread her out and fuck her. 
Usually, I had to hold a hand over her mouth to keep the whole neighborhood 
from catching on, and even that was awfully difficult, because Alice liked 
to wriggle and squirm, and sometimes even flip around like a floundering 
fish, and that required the other hand to hold her. In other words, fucking 
my kid sister was one hell of an experience. 

"There was one real good thing about it, though; she was a top-notch piece 
of ass, and she wasn't fucking anybody else. Whenever she went on a date, 
the guy had to settle for a hand job, or nothing. That's the way she was. I 
guess I sort of loved her, in my way. 

" 'Now godammit, Alice,' I whispered to her, 'I'm going to put it in, but 
tonight it's very important that you don't squeal like a stuck hog like you 
usually do.' 

'"Oh, Robert, I'll try-I really will. But hurry. Oh God, but I need it bad.' 

"I rolled over into position and already the dumb brat was flipping around 
on the bed so much I couldn't have found her cunt if I'd been a top dart 
shooter. And she was moaning loud, too. And my prick wasn't even touching 
her. I made up my mind. I put one arm around behind her shoulders in a vise 
grip. Then I put my other hand tightly over her mouth. Then I told her to 
reach down and put it in. 

"She did. When my cockhead touched her warm moisture right at the clitoris, 
you'd have thought I had branded her with an iron. Her ass came forward and 
two pincer-like legs whipped up over my back. Then, holding me in that 
scissors as tight as a pro wrestler, she flung her whole body onto my cock, 
while at the same time pulling me into her with her leg lock. My cock sank 
in-the whole seven inches of it-right up to my balls, and I thought for a 
minute I had stuck my dick in a vat of hot oil full of little invisible 
mouths. 

"Then she started her regular thing: pumping, hunching, humping, and 
thumping-her ass worked like it was attached to a cam shaft, and she ground 
it from side to side and, on top of all that, she had all those little 
invisible interior mouths going at full speed. My little sister was 
something else! 

"Then my strength wasn't quite up to the job. I really wasn't holding her 
quite still enough, and sounds were coming through my clamped fingers over 
her mouth. I struggled harder and knew I had to get this over somehow. 

"I strained now to hurry my cum, and in seconds 

I could feel it welling up in my balls the same way the earth pushes up 
those bubbling mineral springs into actual waterspouts. And then the hot 
shots rifled out of me into that supersensitive cunt of Alice's, and I had 
to strain like a weightlifter to hold her in the bed at all. I guess she was 
climaxing-but I never really seemed to know about that; my baby sister 
appeared to be climaxing all the time. All the time she had a prick in her, 
anyway. 

"Finally, miraculously, I got her settled down a little and we were lying 
side by side on our backs. I wanted to get her back to her room as soon as 
possible. It seemed to me that we had been stretching our luck a lot lately. 

" 'Fuck me again, Robert. Please.' 

" 'Are you crazy? We just got through, and I still can't imagine how we 
didn't raise the whole house.' 

" 'But I'm so hot-my pussy feels like it's got-well-sort of like electricity 
in it.' 

" "That's too bad. Now I want you to get up and...' 

"Listen!' Alice interrupted. 

" 'What?' 

" 'Listen,' she repeated. 

"Sure enough, there were sounds coming from somewhere, and mighty peculiar 
sounds, too. Both of us got up and tiptoed out into the hall, and then, 
following our ears, neared the guest room where Aunt Maxine was staying. The 
sound we were hearing was a low moaning, something between a cry of pleasure 
and of pain, and we figured-at least I did-that she was either having a 
nightmare or else was playing with herself. And that second possibility 
really put me on fire. Just the idea of anyone so utterly and lushly 
feminine as Aunt Maxine with her finger up in her snatch and tossing on the 
bed was enough to make me shoot in my pants. 

"The door was shut. The sounds were continuing, but now that we were closer, 
it seemed they were sort of conversational sounds. I don't mean there was a 
conversation, but the sounds sometimes formed into words like 'yes' and 'oh, 
yes,' as if instruction or encouragement were being given. 

"Our curiosity was killing us. Alice was on her knees just ahead of me and I 
was leaning over her with my ear to the jamb. The sounds were indistinct, 
but they were continuing. I tried to remember if this door was one of those 
which squeaked, but I couldn't recall. I wanted to open it very much, and 
when Alice whispered up to me, 'Let's try to peek in,' it was all the 
encouragement I needed. 

"I grasped the door handle and turned it. So far so good. I pulled very 
lightly and it opened without a sound. I pushed a little further and a crack 
appeared and light streamed into the hallway! Whatever was happening, it was 
happening with all the lights on. 

"This time it was Alice who couldn't wait. She pushed the door and the damn 
thing opened a foot. We could both see in clearly. 

"My mouth fell open in surprise, for there was that gorgeous hunk of woman, 
spread out just as if Indians had staked her to the ground, her knees raised 
high; and between them, just finishing with her, but with his tongue still 
slurping, was Dad. 

"Aunt Maxine's back was arched up off the bed and her face was grimacing and 
twisted. Our angle was such that I could see the big hairy cunt, laid 
completely open; folds of pink, then brownish, and finally-toward the 
outside-brown-purplish lips, all waving and flapping and covered with 
stringy gooey spit and cunt juice ..... 

"Dad was apparently just cleaning up things. 

Aunt Maxine looked to be exhausted, perhaps collapsed, and Dad's licking now 
was certainly not designed to excite. It was more like a kindness. I don't 
know if he had already fucked her or not, but there was a big stream of 
shimmering liquid leaking out of her snatch, and Dad was troweling it up on 
his tongue before it could get onto the sheet. 

"Aunt Maxine was recovering now. She began talking. 

" 'Oh, Henry, that was just perfect-just glorious. You're just as great a 
stud as you were when we were kids. Except you didn't eat me then. You've 
come a long way.' 

" 'You too, Maxine,' answered Dad, finishing up with a last lick at her 
glistening cunt. 'You were my first fuck twenty-five years ago, and for my 
money, twenty-five years was too long to wait.' 

" 'Oh, yes, Henry, I feel that way, too. Now that we've got our marriages 
out of the way, we can do just about anything we feel like-maybe even....' 

" 'Maybe even what?' Dad asked. 

" 'Oh, it sounds so corny, but I was going to say that getting back together 
with your first lover is kind of like-well, regaining your youth.' 

" 'Nonsense, our youth is gone forever.' 

" 'I know, I know, but there's something around here to help us. Don't you 
know what I mean?' 

" 'I guess I don't. What?' 

" "The kids, silly. Haven't you ever taken a close look at your daughter? 
She's turning into a real doll.' 

" 'Yes, I had been thinking about that, but it seemed so . ... ' 

" 'Oh, don't be silly Henry. I'd fuck that beautiful nephew of mine without 
a second thought.' 

"My prick almost jumped out of my pants. It" was already rock hard just from 
watching Dad lick Aunt Maxine's huge, steaming hole. Alice, who was kneeling 
before me, guessed as much and reached back to test me for hardness. 
Pleased, she reached inside my robe and started jacking me off very slowly. 
It was all terribly exciting, especially when I heard the next bit of 
conversation. 

" 'Are you serious?' asked Dad. 'Would you really let Robert fuck you?' 

" 'Right in my hot snatch, brother dear. Right now.' 

" 'Well, well,' Dad answered, 'now that's what I would have to call an 
interesting thought. I'd certainly want to see it.' 

" 'And to be perfectly truthful with you, Henry, I would just love to see 
you sucking on that daughter of yours. I'll bet she's got the sweetest 
little cunt in the world.' 

" 'One thing at a time,' interrupted Dad. 'You mentioned Robert first.' 

" 'Well, I wasn't kidding. Where does he sleep? Show me.' 

"When I heard that, I was just about to turn and run back to my room, but 
then I heard, 'No, not tonight. You promised me a blow job, remember?' 

"Then I heard some more low murmurs which I couldn't decipher, but it 
sounded as if they were going to skip me for tonight. I was pretty put out 
about that, but I had to admit that I was also very interested in what was 
going on. The trouble was, my cock was about to explode and Alice's 
massaging hand wasn't helping things any. 

"And then it happened. Alice was trying to speed up her rhythm on my prick, 
and she was on her knees awkwardly in the first place, and she lost her 
balance. Falling against me a little, she let out a little 'Oh!! ' and that 
was it. 

" 'What's that?' I could hear Aunt Maxine ask. 

" 'I don't know. I'll see.' 

"I almost got away but Alice never had a chance, because she was sprawled on 
her ass, her robe open and displaying her wet little slit just as big as 
life when Dad stepped to the door. Maxine was right behind him, and as soon 
as they saw Alice they looked out in the hall and saw me attempting to sneak 
toward my room. 

" 'Well, looks like we've got a couple of curious kids out here. Maxine,' 
Dad said. 

" 'My, my,' she answered. 'How interesting! Maybe we'd better have a little 
talk with them, don't you think?' 

"A few moments later, Alice and I felt ridiculous standing before Maxine and 
Dad. We each had our robes on but they were just as naked as they had been 
while we were peeking. 

"They asked us a thousand questions, which we answered very truthfully, 
because that's the way it was in our house. Anyway, Dad soon knew that Alice 
and I had observed him in the act of eating Maxine and, most importantly, 
that we had overheard the plans they had for us kids. 

"Maxine asked, 'What went through your mind when you heard me say I'd like 
to fuck you, Robert?' 

" 'I thought it sounded great.' " 'And how about your father and Alice?' " 
"That sounds great, too,' Alice said, almost giggling. 

"Dad looked at Alice and laughed, then added, 'I have to agree, honey. Look 
how hard my cock got when Maxine said that.' 

"We all looked down at Dad's cock. It was a tremendous thing, kind of 
purplish on the head, with big, thick, blue veins running all up and down 
it. I know it was both longer and fatter than mine, which was nearly seven 
inches to the tip. 

" 'Well, I've seen your dad's already, Robert; 

I'd much rather look at yours. Why don't you take off your robe?' 

"For a moment I was embarrassed, but I knew there was no reason to be. I 
stood and took off my robe and my cock sprung out from captivity like a 
released spring. It stood straight out, proud and hard, and I felt very good 
about the appearance it made. 

" 'For a boy your age, that is marvelous!' Maxine exclaimed. 'Come over here 
and put it in my hand.' 

"I did as she asked, stepping over and then standing before her. She lay my 
prick in her open hand and then leaned forward to study it very closely. It 
seemed she read the veins as if they were roadmaps, then she pressed the 
head to make a little droplet of cum accumulate on the tip. Next, she 
squeezed my balls a little, as if to determine that they were full and 
ready, and then she looked up and asked, "This nice hard on-did you get it 
thinking about me?' 

" 'Yes, it got hard while I was watching Dad eating you.' 

"She eyed me suspiciously and then sent her examining eyes over to Alice. 
'Or could it be,' she asked, 'that someone else gave it to you?' 

"Dad picked up the insinuation at once. He was quick to grab at the idea. 
"Tell me the truth, Robert,' he asked, drilling the question at me, 'have 
you been fucking Alice?' 

"Well, like I said, we have always been a very truthful bunch in this house, 
and besides, I'd already heard Dad say that he planned to fuck Alice 
himself. So I simply answered, 'Yes, Dad, I've been fucking her for about a 
year.' 

" 'I'll be damned,' he said, and it was impossible for me to tell if he was 
angry, disappointed, or what. 

" 'What else have you kids been doing?' Maxine asked. 

" 'What do you mean, "What else"? ' put in Alice. 

" 'Oh, you know, dear. Things like sucking. Have you tried that?' 

" 'I've kissed Robert's cock a little, that's all.' 

"Dad interjected, 'Well, that's something you'll have to learn, young lady, 
if you're expecting to be a hit with your dad.' 

" 'Hey, I've got an idea,' Maxine interrupted, looking at each of us in 
turn. 'Anybody interested?' 

"Our expressions told her to go on. 'Okay,' she continued, 'now you kids 
heard your dad say that I had promised him a blow job, didn't you?' 

" 'Yes,' we said in unison. 

" 'So, why don't I do that little thing, and give you some instruction at 
the same time?' 

"She was addressing this last to Alice, of course, and she got just the 
reaction she wanted. 'Oh, I'd love that,' Alice answered enthusiastically. 
Then, more seriously, she added, 'But Aunt Maxine, will I be learning 
properly? Are you really an expert?' 

" 'All I can say is watch and listen, and make up your own mind.' " 

It doesn't require much acquaintanceship with life and reality to recognize 
that the bizarre story being recreated here is a very rare occurrence on the 
American or any other scene. Certain fragments from this case history 
actually vie in extremity with the incestuous orgies of Vedic India and 
ancient Egypt, and for pure licentiousness, with the Saturnalias of Rome. 

We deal here with several forms of incest: pedophilia (in general, and 
nymphophilia in particular); then, we are confronted with a peculiar form of 
sexual cross-connection spanning a generation of male/female pairs. This 
last facet would be of consuming interest even if the incestuous overtones 
were removed. 

Our dealings, which were only with the narrator, Robert, were lengthy, and 
we are gratified to be able to report that the consultations and referrals 
to others of higher medical competence did, in fact, reorder and restructure 
this young man's life to such a degree that it might be said that the worst 
of his scars are now disappearing. In brief, he functions well in society 
and does not exhibit any of the signs (brooding, misanthropism, withdrawal) 
which we look for in these cases. This writer has been told privately by one 
of the analysts who subsequently treated Robert that his adjustment was 
considered "amazing." 

Disposing of things one by one, we come first to a topic which seemingly is 
outside the sphere of the book. That topic is nymphophilia, the sexual 
attraction for a younger female by an older man. Technically, the female 
should be a "girl" or "nymphet" to qualify for this dubious distinction, yet 
Alice's age is close enough to compel the raising of the general question. 
The reason we used the word "seemingly" above is that nymphophilia is, in 
fact, little more than the obverse of pedophilia. Which is to say that many 
of the doubts and stresses which draw older women to young boys occur in 
equitably similar fashion in the older man and thus bring on nymphophilia, 
which may be considered a "collateral" aberration to pedophilia. 

But there are complicating factors if one carries the comparison further. 
Men, for example, face the-likelihood of impotence in declining years, and 
thus fear it. Women do not face this problem. 

Also, the nymphophiliac is often an exhibitionist, while the pedophiliac 
female is so much less often. We draw this parallel since exhibitionism 
itself indicates quite reliably the amount of fear which resides in the 
patient. The exposing of one's genitals to a child is usually just another 
way of seeking approval; the difference is that approval is asked of someone 
so young that they will not be experienced enough to disapprove. It's like 
hedging one's bet. 

Perhaps the most interesting and cogent summary of the forces involved here 
can be gleaned from R. E. L. Masters in his book, Sex-Driven People, wherein 
is stated: 

Probably the most commonly accepted theory as regards causation is the 
Freudian one which advances the notion of an unresolved Oedipus complex. 
Here, any mature female is equated with the mother. And, since coitus with 
such a woman thus would activate the unresolved conflict, the desires are 
fixed rather upon the children. Yet, once again, it would seem that at most 
we have an explanation only for rejection of the mature female as object of 
desire. The nymphophile's specific desire for the child still goes 
unexplained despite some attempted amplifications. Also, one wonders, were 
this theory valid, would the nymphophile, in so many instances, prefer a 
child whose breasts, though small, have started to develop; who has scant, 
but not entirely absent, pubic hair; and who, in other ways, gives evidence 
of approaching womanhood? Why would he not prefer a still younger child who 
exhibits even less evidence of her femaleness? Or does the nymphophile, 
possibly, seize upon these signs of the female because he does crave 
femaleness in the sex-object, but can tolerate only limited amounts of it? 
If that is the case, then might he acquire this deviation rather than, say, 
homosexuality for the reason that he is able to tolerate somewhat more of 
the feminine than can those homosexuals who also are in flight from woman 
and possibly from incest? 

In the opinion of this writer, the most interesting element for 
consideration in this history is that one which deals with the structural 
breakdown of the domestic unity to which most of us are drawn and which we 
cherish as a primal institution. Considering the losses versus the gains-in 
absolute terms-in any surrender of the framework of family unison, as 
happens, say, in divorce, one is prompted to accept the premise that the 
ties of the home are multifold and interdependent. When one element is 
subtracted or made ineffective, every other element is affected. In the case 
of simple domestic disharmony or even separation, it is often possible for 
the older members to intellectualize what has happened and to pass this 
rationale down to the younger members in such a way that it "sells." 

But these tactics only work where the "destructive" elements are 
controllable; that is, where they are not of a compulsive, degenerating, or 
greatly exploitative nature. It is one thing to explain to a ten-year-old 
that the father "won't be with us anymore"; it is quite another to redeem 
the father in the eyes of a daughter he has molested. Drawing upon our case 
history for direct translation of these differences, one is quick to see 
that the breakdown is not recognized by any of the principals, and that no 
visible disaffection has occurred. On the surface, one might hastily 
conclude that nothing much is psychologically amiss-which, of course, is 
contratextual to everything written on the topic. 

As we proceed with the narrative, it will be seen that something indeed is 
amiss. But to put this in proper perspective, it must be retained in the 
mind of the reader that since all humans are born plastic (psychologically) 
and as adults are simply the products of all their experiences, different 
people develop varying degrees of tolerance for stress. One man faints from 
fright at the sight of a weapon; another falls upon the bearer of the weapon 
and seizes it. Each was responding to stress, but one had thicker 
psychological armor. 

It is patently foolish to believe that newly pubescent males or females can 
ever regard the parent of the other sex as a viable sexual object (viable as 
opposed to unconscious) without some form of encouragement. That is why 
father-daughter incest is so much greater in frequency of occurrence than 
mother-son incest. The natural daughter is a budding sexual object in the 
biologic awareness of the father (and most often in his subawareness, too), 
but the mother's biologic awareness is keyed to many other things. The 
typical mother can see her son as being sexually attractive, but she does 
not permit him to become a sexual object. Hence, the matter of incentive 
becomes very important and answers the question of the lopsided ratio of 
occurrence. There is incentive for father-daughter incest; there is little, 
if any, for mother-son incest. And, as all of us know, there is no such 
thing as sex at all unless someone makes an initial move of some sort. 

The problem of incentive seems to have solved itself in our case history. 
But then, we should recall that we are dealing with what amounts to a rehash 
of an earlier incest (Maxine and Henry had engaged in sibling incest as 
young adults and probably resolved their consciences in some degree at that 
time-thus it would have been domestically acceptable to each of them to help 
promote an extension and enlargement of the happiness they seem to have 
enjoyed. The expansion and inclusion of others within the "clan" might be 
interpreted as proselytizing. 

These conjectures and others will doubtless cross the reader's mind as the 
story unravels. 

" 'You sit right over here, Robert, so you can see. And you, Alice, you get 
right here on the edge of the bed, because I want you to see everything up 
close-every tiny detail-and I also want you to be able to hear me very 
clearly.' 

" 'Hear you?' Alice asked. 'Why?' 

" 'Because I'm going to give you a very thorough lesson; one that I hope 
you'll never forget. I'm going to give you the benefit of experience that 
has taken me all my life to accumulate.' 

" 'Gee, that sounds super,' Alice answered, and then sat on the edge of the 
bed as she had been instructed. I was sitting pretty close myself, and when 
I heard Maxine explain what she was about to do, I scooted my chair even 
closer. As for Dad, he was lying naked on his back on the bed, looking for 
all the world like an interested spectator and little else. He had a pillow 
under his head, but he also had his hands folded in back of his head, all 
eyes and ears geared for the show. He reminded me of the guy relaxing on a 
Sunday afternoon watching TV from an outdoor hammock. The giveaway, of 
course, was his prick. That thing didn't look relaxed and clinical in the 
least. It was a miniature granite monument, complete with landscaped 
shrubbery at the base, and as for its readinesswell, I'll bet I could have 
counted Dad's pulse rate just by timing the expansion and contraction of one 
of those soda straw-sized blue veins running all over it. It was about the 
general size of a stick of dynamite, or maybe one of those fuses they use 
for flares at highway accidents, and gave the impression of being just as 
volatile as either. 

"Everyone was settled into place, with Alice, of course, being afforded the 
seat of honor, since it would be she who could gain the most from the 
instruction. There was one last thing bugging me, and so I made an effort to 
clear the air before the class commenced. I asked Aunt Maxine, 'Auntie, when 
we kids go to school and teachers tell us things, we usually have a pretty 
fair idea of that person's credentials simply because the school screens 
them. How can we be as sure that your credentials are top-notch?' 

" 'Well, you darling boy, I'll answer you in two ways. When I get through 
blowing him, ask your father if I have exaggerated my ability or knowledge. 
Secondly, I lay claim to two things: I have had wide exposure to a variety 
of pricks, and I have always been an apt pupil myself. You'll just have to 
accept that for now.' 

" 'For Christ's sake, let's start,' said Dad from the bed. 

" 'Don't get impatient, Henry. This is going to be something special.' 

" 'What do I get first, the blow job or the conversation?' 

" 'Both. I'm going to mix them up.' 

" 'Oh shit,' he groaned, 'that sounds like an exercise in frustration! What 
happens if I'm just starting to come and you decide at that moment you 
should make point seven a little clearer?' 

" 'Relax, sweet brother. I won't spill a drop. Wait and see.' 

"After another moment of friendly hassle like that, the first class in a new 
curriculum, Cocksucking 101, began. 

" 'First of all, Alice,' Aunt Maxine began, 'since you're such a young girl, 
I suppose I should begin with the fundamentals-right?' 

"Alice smiled, which was answer enough. I found myself fascinated by the 
situation and also by the spirited attitude of this voluptuous aunt of 
mine-and as for Dad, he was saying things like, 'For Christ's sake, let's 
get this show on the road!' 

" 'Alice,' Auntie continued, 'you should understand at the very outset that 
sucking a cock-fellatio is the proper name-is an acquired art. You have to 
learn it. This is because the mouth is not a natural cavity, if for no other 
reason than that it's got teeth in it. Another thing, try to remember that 
sucking cock is a fact of life, plain and simple. It's not new, it's not 
evil, it's not sick. The only things bad about it are those things imagined 
in the minds of people who are still captives of narrow-mindedness. It's 
absolutely necessary that you understand that we are talking about something 
natural, not something unnatural.' 

" 'Yes, I accept that,' Alice said, obviously intrigued by this unexpected 
approach. 

" 'All right. With that out of the way, I'll go on to the matter of 
technique.' At this point, Aunt Maxine was sitting between Dad's 
outstretched legs, facing his sinister-looking cock, which she now took 
between a thumb and forefinger, as if it were a laboratory specimen. 

" 'Now then, one gets the idea that you can just take this thing and plop it 
into your mouth like a peppermint stick, which is okay unless you believe as 
I do that anything worth doing is worth doing well. Now you will notice that 
your father has a pretty hefty prick and that it certainly isn't going to 
all fit in my mouth. The dimensions just won't work-which brings me to 
pricks in general. There are a few basics about them you should know.' 

" 'Goddammit, Maxine,' Dad interrupted, 'the least you can do is skin it 
back and forth a little while you're talking.' 

"Maxine began a light skinning to appease Dad and then continued, "The size 
and shape of a penis has a lot to do with how it should be sucked. For 
example, if it curves up like a cutlass when hard, the only lady who could 
accommodate it frontally would have to have either a harelip or a cleft 
palate. Obviously, this type of cock has to be approached in a prone 
position from the topside-you know, the "69" position-so that the curvature 
of the cock matches the natural curvature of the soft palate leading to the 
esophagus.' 

" "That makes sense,' Alice agreed. 

" 'But understand, the average penis curves neither up, down, nor markedly 
sideways. And believe me, the straight ones, like your father's here, are a 
joy to suck. It's best, however, if the size is moderate and the shape 
consistent. To be perfect, the head of it should be neither too bulbous, nor 
skinny and pointed, and the shaft of it should be uniformly cylindrical-that 
is, having the same diameter from tip to root.' 

" 'like mine?' I asked. 

" 'Yes, more or less,' answered my Aunt. 'Yours is quite nice. But back to 
the point. Before going on, I must explain something about the consistency 
of pricks in general, so that you won't be fooled by appearances, Alice. 
There is, first of all, the "half-hard" or "hanging" prick which makes a 
striking appearance and leads a lady to think she's going to be in for quite 
a battle of it. The hidden flaw in this machinery is that is doesn't get 
much larger; for instance, it might increase from six inches to 
six-and-a-half inches. Nor does it get much harder. The damned thing has a 
sort of India-rubber consistency under all conditions. 

" "The second kind, which is called either the "Accordion Cock," or the 
"Surprise Package," looks quite small when the man is unexcited, sometimes 
appearing to be little more than a swelling of the groin or a large pimple. 
It is, when fully flaccid, literally withdrawn. It would seem that this is 
not the most desired kind of prick for a man to have, but they don't call it 
a surprise package for nothing. Sometimes these little cocks erupt upon 
excitement into formidable pricks many times the original size, and of a 
hardness much greater than that achieved by the "half-hard" type cock. 

" 'So, don't draw premature conclusions, Alice. Appearances deceive and you 
really can't make a final judgment until you're actually right down there 
taking care of business. After a while, a girl develops a sort of "sixth 
sense" about these things and you can sort of judge on the basis of other 
things, like when you're dancing. Beware of guys who get a hard on too easy. 
They come too fast.' 

" 'I'm glad you brought that up,' moaned Dad, whose hands were no longer 
behind his head, but held straight down at his sides, fists clenched. 
'Either stop completely or else bring me off-I can't stand much more of 
this!! ' 

"Aunt Maxine chose to drop her hand from Dad's prick, and I guess Dad hadn't 
really meant so strong an ultimatum because his face looked stricken. 
Continuing, Maxine said, "The ideal prick for sucking should be just a 
fraction less than fully hard. To give it a top-notch blow job, it must have 
a little bit of resiliency and give. Remember, the mouth is not like a 
vagina; it has three surfaces which must be kept out of extended contact 
with a guy's cock: the teeth, the palate, and the underjaw-since they are 
all hard surfaces. The only really good contacts are with the lips, the 
tongue, the inner surfaces of the cheeks, and, best of all, the throat. Now 
then, I suppose I could sit here and explain all night long how these 
different kinds of contacts are both achieved and avoided, but it would be 
pointless. You'll only develop that kind of know-how by getting out in the 
world and sucking some cocks. You should start at home with your dad and 
brother. Try your best to learn from their comments; go so far as to seek 
criticism and inquire what techniques please them most. Become a student!! ' 

"'Oh, I will, Auntie; believe me, I will!! ' answered Alice, who was 
obviously caught up in the fervor of Aunt Maxine's enthusiasm. 'I can't wait 
to get started.' 

" 'Patience, darling; all things in time. For now, I want you to clearly 
understand that cock-sucking is like any other craft; excellence only comes 
from experience and application, plus whatever inner artistic resource one 
might draw upon.' 

"'Oh, I'll try, Auntie, I'll study hard and really try!' 

"I was understandably confused by Alice's spirit. Since I had been fucking 
her, she had indicated a definite reluctance to go down on me-for that 
matter, she didn't even care to have her cunt eaten. I guess this new 
outlook was all brought on by Aunt Maxine. Maybe some of Alice's true 
desires-things that other girls had been telling her were wrong-were just 
now coming to the surface. One thing I was sure of though-if Alice was 
serious about wanting to get in lots of practice, I'd work her into my tight 
schedule somehow. 

" "The idea of the whole thing, Alice, is to capture a sort of vacuum in 
your mouth. This is done by controlling the breath. When the prick enters, 
the control of this trapped pressure acts as a pump as the penis moves back 
and forth. At this point, the cheeks must maintain a certain flexible 
consistency so that an exciting pressure is sustained and level. You must 
also sustain a sort of resistance to both the pushing forward and moving 
backward of the prick, all the while making sure it touches only the lips, 
inner cheeks, tongue, and throat structure, so that if it were to be 
withdrawn unexpectedly, there would be a kind of soft, wet, pop!' 

" 'I don't think I understand, Auntie,' Alice said. 

" 'Well, let's see. I guess you could say it's the same kind of sliding 
with-and-against pressure that one experiences when she tries to free the 
cork from a bottle of champagne. You twist this way and that, pull it, push 
it, all within a small area and with relative ease, but then things become 
more difficult as you reach the mouth of the bottle. Then, all of a sudden, 
pop!' 

" 'Oh!' Alice remarked, as if comprehending. 

" 'You can try it on me, kiddo, if you're still in doubt,' put in Dad. 

" 'Or me,' I added. 

" 'No-not only no but hell no!!! ' countered Maxine, who was clearly caught 
up in her own kind of passion right now. She wanted to be sure that Alice 
understood everything before anything else happened. "That, essentially,' 
she continued, 'is the proper way to suck a cock, Alice. There are 
variations, of course, but I want first to get on to another very important 
part of the discussion which has to do with preparation. I said very 
important; what I really meant was-all-important. Truthfully, it should not 
even require discussion, and I regard it as a sad commentary on human 
sexuality for us to even need to spell it out. And yet it seems there are 
countless men and women both who just don't understand the importance of the 
warm-up.' 

" 'I'm warmed up,' said Dad. 'Right now, I understand it perfectly.' 

" 'Yes, I know,' answered Maxine, effectively ignoring him, 'but, Alice, 
take this seriously. It's the same for women as for men. What I mean is-you 
have to be fondled and caressed and played with a long time before you're 
ready to fuck, don't you?' 

" 'I do?' 

" 'Well ... most women do. Now try to remember that. A woman needs 
attentions, low speech, whispering even, and a lot of tender touches and 
caresses before her cunt actually gets good and soaked. Sucking a cock is 
like that. You have to touch and fondle, and tickle and kiss and lick the 
guy all up under the balls and around the ass-hole, maybe poke your finger 
in his ass-hole a little, and then you even have to do the same thing with 
the prick itself, little by little, making sure you get saliva on every part 
of it. Kissing and licking the stalk of the cock lubricates it good with 
spit and excites the guy into a raging hard on. But the thing to remember, 
and probably the most important thing of all, is that this kind of 
excitation is reciprocal. That means it works two ways. You can't possibly 
get the guy hot without getting yourself hot, too. And now, listen to this: 
when you do this thing right, this preparation, it will not only get you 
good and hot, too, but it will do something strange to your muscular 
responses. You will find that you are actually preparing yourself to take a 
prick down deep in your throat which is actually too large to fit into your 
throat! Not only can you take this oversized instrument way down, you'll 
discover that if you are properly prepared, there won't even be any 
discomfort or nausea. Here you'll be, with a piece of meat laying in your 
throat that would ordinarily strangle you, and you'll be completely at ease. 
I know a little housewife who slips out with me once in a while-her mouth is 
so small she can hardly get a cigarette into it, but I'd bet anything she 
could take all of your father's prick right down. It's because she knows 
what she's doing and loves it.' 

" I'm sold,' Dad cut in. 'Bring her.' 

" 'Oh, be quiet, Henry. I'm about through, and then we can have Alice get 
started. I only want to add one thing.' 

" 'What's that?' I asked. 

" 'I just want to say I believe everything I've told Alice, and that I'm 
willing to work with her until she perfects her own style. Somehow I've got 
the impression she's got the makings of an artiste. It's important that she 
be encouraged, because there are too few of us. Too many women are content 
to lay down and let a guy stick his prick in her and rattle it around like a 
spoon for a while and then go home. Men shouldn't have to accept this kind 
of treatment. For my part, there's a hell of a thrill knowing that I can get 
down on a guy's prick and balls and affect him to the point that he'll just 
lie back, eyes closed, and float off into a world of undersea languor where 
nothing else matters.' 

" 'You're beautiful, every way there is,' I told Maxine. 

" "Thanks, darling,' she answered, and then added, 'So much for the words. 
Now, Alice, get over here on the bed and place yourself in between your 
father's legs, and then do everything I tell you.' 

"Alice jumped up and moved into place between Dad's outstretched legs, 
positioned up tightly near the crotch. Then, unsatisfied, Aunt Maxine asked 
Dad to move over nearer the edge to make room for me. Now it all made more 
sense. I got up on the bed and lay down next to Dad. It was a good thing it 
was a king-sized bed or he and I would have been touching. 

" 'Now, watch me and don't do anything until I stop. I must observe you 
carefully or I can't really help you.' 

" 'Go ahead, Aunt Maxine, I'm watching,' Alice told her. 

"Well, the only report I can give has to do with things I felt. I could 
sense the bed sinking down as Aunt Maxine climbed between my legs, and then, 
after a few moments, I felt this light finger lay my cock back so that it 
was flat on my stomach, and then this warm bathing tickle started under my 
balls. I just lay back and savored it. I could hear female voices in the 
background, but I wasn't interested in anything they were saying. It went on 
and on, the talk back and forth, the explaining and demonstration, but all I 
was really aware of was the great tongue that ministered to me. It had done 
everything in the way of preparation, but it hadn't progressed beyond 
licking the balls and up and down the shaft. Now I had some idea what Maxine 
had been talking about-I was certainly prepared. 

"Then it stopped. And even as I was coming to out of my warm euphoria, I 
heard voices of instruction again, and knew that Alice was now going to try 
the same thing on Dad. This I had to see. I propped myself up to watch. 

"Little Alice apparently had been so hot just watching Maxine that she had 
started fingering herself, which Maxine made her stop, on the grounds that a 
schooling session shouldn't be interrupted by things like that. Alice 
stopped. Crouched down low between Dad's legs, she began imitating what 
Maxine had done to me. It actually seemed kind of nasty to see that young, 
innocent-appearing child's face descending down to and then underneath Dad's 
big hairy balls. When she let her tongue out and started flickering around 
his ass-hole, she reached up and laid Dad's enormous prick back on his 
stomach just as Maxine had done mine, and then she made her way from the 
ass-hole to the balls, and all around and on them, and then, perfect 
student, she progressed to the meat of the cock itself, working upward the 
whole circumference of the cylinder; almost, but not quite, working on the 
head. 

" 'Jesus, this is too much,' sighed Dad. "Then Alice quit, as instructed, 
and settled back to watch Maxine again. I leaned back and closed my eyes, 
waiting for the thing to begin. There was a delay as Maxine gave a few 
additional instructions, because, it seemed, she was going to finish me off 
all in one instruction period, and she wanted Alice to react properly when 
my cum hit the back of her throat. She warned Alice that she suspected Dad 
would come quite a lot, and that if it was too much for a first-timer, 
Maxine would be ready to help. 

"Anyway, I lay back again, and Maxine began on me. A few preparations to 
compensate for the time lapse, and then I felt this marvelously warm cavern 
descend upon my cockhead. It tasted and swirled a minute and then began its 
engulfment of my prick. Down, down, warm, warmer, and oh! so wet and 
slimy-slick. Her tongue remained active, bathing everything. Up a little, 
down a little further, up all the way-nearly out of her mouth, and then, 
down like a plunger, all the way to my balls. 

"And again and again. It was no wonder I just threw my head back and stopped 
fighting it. I had been so hot to start with that I knew I wasn't going to 
last long anyway. There it was! Jesus, it came up from my bowels, it felt 
like, enormous waves of it, one after the other, and dear Aunt Maxine 
handled it all without hesitation whatever; I could hear it going down her 
throat and I felt her sucking harder to get even more of it, and towards the 
last, her sucking on my spent penis became something very near to a pain. At 
length she raised herself, disengaging my prick, and I sort of just fell 
into another world of exhaustion and contentment. 

"But I didn't want to miss Alice's first try. I propped myself up again, and 
listened to the coach's last-minute prep talk, explaining what to expect 
now, and then Alice began. If I was any judge at all, Dad must have been 
twice as hot as I had been. 

"He was. That little-girl face warmed him up some more, then went up to the 
top and tried to get Dad's fat cockhead in between her lips. It was as if 
she were trying to put a fist in her mouth. But somehow she did it, and 
then, miracle of miracles, she even got about two inches of it into her 
mouth. Maxine was yelling in instructions from the bench, and Alice was 
trying her best to comply. Up she came, down again, gaining maybe a 
half-inch, and then again and again, and soon I could hear Dad sighing like 
a man caught in a small convulsion, and I could see Alice's progress by the 
wet spit on Dad's prick. Up and down she was going, faster and faster. Quite 
a pupil. 

"And, not too long after it had started, it was over. I knew Dad was awfully 
hot. First I heard an audible intake of breath, then I guess the first shot 
barreled up, next I heard Alice squealing from her throat, and I guess it 
was just too much. Alice flew off Dad's cock as Maxine pushed her away, and 
during the short second that Dad's cock was uncovered, just one spurt got 
away, but it was a beauty, coming within an inch or two of the ceil-'ing, 
then descending with a wet plop on the bed. 

"Maxine was on it immediately, capping the gusher. She went into high speed 
strokes, and believe it or not, she took that whole cock, all nine inches of 
it, blue veins and all, right up to the hilt in such a savage first stroke 
that I thought the momentum would grab up the balls, too. And she didn't 
stop-or even slow down-until Dad was writhing on the bed and begging her to 
stop. 

"But I was no longer interested. My eyes were heavy and my balls were 
drained. I fell off to sleep right there. 

"The following day broke bright and early for me, although Maxine and Dad 
seemed to be too cozy to get up. Alice, also, came springing out of her room 
like a jack-in-the-box, and the two of us were cheery and energetic as we 
went through the preparations for going to school. 

"Walking together to school (something we rarely did), I made it a point to 
feel her out, to see how she really felt about the previous night. No matter 
how I tried, I could not get a bad response out of her. 

" 'I can't wait to blow you, Robert,' she said. 

"And then, later, 'Robert, do you think Dad will want to fuck me tonight?' I 
told her I had no idea, but that I imagined he would be interested. 'You can 
help, you know, if you make sure Maxine is preoccupied.' 

" 'Anything for my kid sister,' I answered, and we both laughed. 

"That's roughly the way it worked out. When Aunt Maxine found out that night 
that Alice already knew most of the standard tricks having .to do with 
fucking, she just sort of dropped the 'instructor' bit, and we all 
concentrated on having fun. For my money, Aunt Maxine was a terrific fuck, 
except that her cunt was a little large. In the weeks and months that 
followed, I came to think of her as a blow job, and not much else. That 
doesn't mean I didn't appreciate her as a person, because I did-very much. 
She was considerate and knowledgeable and nothing was too much for us kids. 
Furthermore she brought the best out in Dad. He became a much more concerned 
parent, and our home life became the most important thing for all of us. We 
rarely went out partying. What happened at home was of first importance. 

"We used to trade around a night at a time, and then later, for a week at a 
time. I'm convinced that we all loved each other; in different ways, 
perhaps, but all of it very good. Alice especially loved to get one of Dad's 
hard, long-lasting fucks, for instance, but when my turn came, she was just 
as enthused. She learned to give superb head, and eventually Maxine even 
told her she had become an artist. That was quite a compliment, considering 
the source. 

"Then something very strange happened to us. I don't know what it was. Some 
kind of a rift developed between Maxine and Alice. I didn't take sides, 
because by this time my deepest affection had shifted from my sister to my 
aunt. I was, I think, even then falling in love with Maxine. Helping all 
this to come about was Alice's attitude-she was getting kind of uppity about 
her sexual ability. Maybe Dad praised her too much, I don't know. 

"One other thing it could have been was this: one night we asked Dad and 
Maxine how they got started in the first place when they were kids. Maxine 
confessed that their family used to have a big German shepherd watchdog 
(they lived on a ranch), and that one time Dad barged uninvited into 
Maxine's room and found the dog lapping at her cunt. That led to Dad and 
Maxine's first fooling around with each other, and a few hours later they 
were fucking and sucking, something they continued until they left home. 
Maxine, when questioned, also admitted that she had taught the dog to mount 
her-both ways, from the back and the front-and give her one of those furious 
dog-fucks. 

"Later, that same night the story had been told, Alice and I were wrapped in 
each other's arms and Alice confessed to me that the story had disgusted her 
and that she had lost all respect for Aunt Maxine. As I said, that could 
have been responsible for what happened, I don't really know. 

"What I do know is that I woke up one morning and discovered that I was 
living alone with Aunt Maxine. We found a note and some documents regarding 
money. They had apparently been preparing this for some time. They said they 
would visit once in a while, and send back for their things. The gist of the 
message was that they had decided to go somewhere" and pass themselves off 
as husband and wife. They declared their undying love for each other. 
Altogether, it was a touching note. 

"Anyway, that left Maxine and me together. At that time I was going on 
eighteen, and Maxine was pushing forty. Now we're each three years older, 
and we're still together, and I can't imagine what could happen to break us 
up. I can't imagine, for that matter, a happier existence. And I doubt that 
many people in this world enjoy as much quality sex as I do." 

The foregoing history obviously speaks for itself and stands by itself. It 
happens to be from a combination of tapes and written submissions from the 
subject, now a man of twenty-four who is currently under therapy. 

As is usual in such cases, the principals are not really so "gloriously" 
happy and free of "hang-ups" as they themselves seem to believe. If we were 
to choose the one single trait most prevalent among these interviewees, it 
would have to be their declarations of "happiness and adjustment," when, in 
fact, no such thing is in evidence. Underneath these stories, although space 
has not permitted a thoroughgoing exposition of all the data, there seems to 
be a universal self-doubt, an accruing fear of reprisal (from the heavens, 
possibly), and a tendency to avoid societal relations of a more common and 
healthy nature. 

Robert, the narrator, is not yet aware that he fears time and age will 
deprive him of his love. He feels, if anything, that it is not he who will 
sever the relationship, but Maxine, and that her motive will be altruistic, 
realizing that she no longer possesses the appearance and energy which 
originally helped attract the young man. Maxine is approaching fifty, a most 
difficult time for a woman, a time of doubt and much need for reassurances. 

Borrowing a term from the moneylenders and bullionists, we would presume 
that "on balance," the prognosis here is not encouraging. 

CONCLUSION 

For reasons which might not be readily apparent, case histories of incest, 
any kind of incest, are difficult to come by. 

First of all, we are dealing with acts which are condemned as criminal in 
practically every civilized country, and which are generally abhorred by the 
community conscience as well. It is not surprising that such cases rarely 
come to light except by way of the psychologic community, and only then when 
heavily cloaked in anonymity. It should be understood that the protection of 
the Hippocratic oath extends to psychoanalysts and psychiatrists who are 
medical doctors. It extends, in fact if not in oath, to therapists and 
counselors also. In short, the very people who are in a position to provide 
writers with notes and tapes of such cases are, for the most part, reluctant 
to do so, especially if the case at hand happens to be current. Even when 
the books are closed, or the patient deceased, there are still obstacles to 
be hurdled, for above all else the element of shadowy anonymity must be 
preserved. There are no cases which can be revealed de facto, since it is 
presumed that all persons have relatives, or at least intimate friends. 

For similar reasons, incest rarely comes to the attention of the 
authorities. Just as the medical community realizes the absolute need for 
honored confidence, the practicer of incest realizes the absolute need for 
personal secrecy. The only instances of incest coming to the attention of 
the law occur when another crime of some kind is committed and the incest is 
discovered accidentally. Or occasionally, a disenchanted partner may cause 
an uncommon amount of fuss. The third reason, mental breakdown and 
consequent hospitalization, is much more imagined than real. While it is 
widely stated that the practicer of incest is paving a road into a personal 
mental hell by his or her act, there is scant evidence to back up the point. 
The medical community is quick to tell us that close-tie (usually meant to 
mean parental) incest is a sure ticket to serious mental disorder, but there 
are a great many cases of sibling incest, for example, where both partners 
have simply melted into the community and become a part of it. 

To be effective in a report-such as this, one must cull and crib heavily 
from the available material. One of the histories examined here required 
that this writer edit more than twenty large-reel tapes. As in other things, 
it becomes a matter of what one must not report, rather than a matter of 
gathering more data. 

Incest in general is a peculiar psychosexual phenomenon. Talking about it 
can alone cause trauma. It is one of those terrible, flustering, 
overwhelming things which does not easily adapt to coffee-klatch 
conversation, and when it is discussed (nonclinically, at least), the 
listener is apt to fall quite silent or perhaps raise an eyebrow in 
quizzical fashion. The unvoiced question is almost audible-"Who, me?" or "Do 
such things really happen? " The idea of any kind of incest is repugnant to 
the social mind. It's as simple as that. 

So that is the hurdle. That is where we must inevitably begin before we can 
formulate the first sentence. 

The writer is a most fortunate person when he can make arrangements to use 
such precious documents as do exist. He is aware of this, and thus guards 
what he has much as if he were dealing in precious gems-which happens to be 
a pretty fair description of authentic tapes. 

Within these limitations we have attempted to compile a usable and 
interesting history. Moreover, we have refrained from offering ideas 
concerning the construction of the mind, or its aberration, or (most 
certainly) its predilections or the prognoses we might expect in any and all 
specific cases, except in those instances where we were encouraged to do so 
by the primary medical authority. By use of the word primary we mean to 
convey that we have not asked opinions of medical authorities who did not 
themselves personally treat the subject. 

Such has been the nature of our quest and the general kind of restriction we 
have imposed upon ourself. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY AND RECOMMENDED READING 

Caprio, Frank S. Female Homosexuality. New 

York: Citadel Press, 1954. Freud, Sigmund. Totem and Taboo. New York: 

Random House, 1946.--. General Introduction to Psychoanalysis. 

New York: Macmillan, 1958.--. Sexuality and the Psychology of Love. 

New York: Macmillan, 1970.--. General Psychological Theories. New 

York: Macmillan, 1970. Krafft-Ebing, Richard von. Psychopathia Sexualis. 

New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1965. Masters, R. E. L. Sex-Driven People. Los 
Angeles: 

Sherbourne Press, 1966. Sullivan, Harry Stack. The Interpersonal Theory of 
Psychiatry. New York: Norton & Co., 1953. Tannenbaum, E. E. Greek Tragedies. 
New York: 

New University Press, 1962. 

Note: Excerpts from the poetry of Harry Graham (1874-1936) are from his 
collected letters, entitled Appreciations, published by the Cambridge Reader 
Series, Cambridge, England, 1908, now in the public domain. 

Excerpts from William Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale exist in multiple 
printings and are in the public domain.
