Sex Fantasy-The Pleasure Madness
by Paul M. Schlitz


TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction
CHAPTER ONE "Which One Is You, Ralph?"
CHAPTER TWO The Sexless Marriage
CHAPTER THREE A Night at the Movies
CHAPTER FOUR Evelyn's Erotic Liberation
CHAPTER FIVE Dream Girls
Conclusion
Bibliography

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INTRODUCTION 

"My name is Arnold and I'm 51 years old. That's not a bad age to be, not 
really. If you keep your eyes open you can learn a hell of a lot by that 
time-about people, I mean, and about how they work and what they're like. 
That's the most important thing to learn as far as I'm concerned. Sure, it's 
important to learn other things, too-you have to have some profession or 
skill so you can make a living. But if you only know how to make a living 
and don't know much about people-well, there are people like that, and I can 
only feel sorry for them. 

"It's funny, the more you learn, the less opportunity you have to apply it. 
When you're young and jazzy and don't know your ass from a hole in the 
ground, the broads flock to you. You may not know how to get in their pants, 
but you sure as hell have a lot of opportunities. But you get to be 51-and 
married for 25 years or soand you don't have many opportunities. The chicks 
look at you like you're a dirty old man, most of them. They avoid you like 
the plague. That's the young chicks, of course; you can almost always find a 
few your own age or thereabouts. Yeah, they're nice, too. But some guys-like 
me, for instance-get a hankering for young pussy. When I was in my twenties, 
age didn't mean a thing. A chick was a chick, whether she was 18 or 80; the 
only thing I wanted then was pussy. But as you get along in years, your 
tastes begin to narrow down, to get refined, and you begin looking for some 
quality in a chick. like maybe long blonde hair, or brown eyes, or maybe a 
certain look in the eyes or a shape to the mouth. It doesn't exactly make 
sense; I mean, the guy who has these preferences probably couldn't begin to 
tell you why this or that quality really turns him on, but it does, so 
that's what he looks for. It's just one of those things you fall into as you 
get along in years. And the older I get, the more I dig young chicks. 
There's something about that innocence, that youthful vitality, that fresh, 
healthy, young skin that really turns me on. So, that's what I usually look 
for-not that I ever get it. 

"And that's why I resort to fantasy quite a bit of the time. Now, I don't 
think there's anything at all wrong with fantasy-as long as you don't prefer 
it to the real thing. Now, me, I'll take the real thing any time, or even 
something that isn't at all like my dream girls, provided she's female. But 
there isn't much chance of picking up a girl when you've been married as 
long as I have. Oh, sure, I've had the opportunities-and even gotten one 
here and there. But you can only tell so many little lies to your wife, and 
after that you'd better shape up and put her and the house and your duty 
first-unless you decide that a one-time fuck is worth losing all that. And I 
guess I just haven't run across the girl who I think is worth all that. So 
that's why I've come to develop my dream girls. 

"I suppose every man has his favorite fantasy. It's the kind of thing you 
don't usually talk about. You hear guys saying, 'I dig a chick with big 
tits,' or maybe, 'I go for a girl with long legs,' and so on, and you can be 
pretty sure that when those men fantasize, that's the kind of chick they 
picture in their minds. Of course, there will be a lot more to it than just 
that, but they are sort of giving you a hint about what they imagine when 
they jack off or just just sit around thinking about chicks. When I'm really 
horny, and Carol-she's my wife-isn't about to give me a piece of ass, I must 
admit I do use fantasy to work me up so I can jack off, but a lot of times I 
just lie back and relax and dream about some chick that I've met or maybe 
just passed on the street, or maybe I'll just start from scratch and make up 
one. 

"I used to buy those books and magazines with pictures of naked chicks. If 
I'm going to be honest about it-and what's the sense of telling all this if 
I'm not going to be honest-I must admit that I still go out and buy those 
books and magazines. And I've got a whole lot of them now, but I still enjoy 
finding one that's new and different-fresh, you might say. Well, I used to 
pick up one of those books when I was feeling horny and I'd look through it 
and find a picture that really turned me on-a chick that was more or less 
the type I really dig. And then I'd jack off while looking at her picture, 
and I'd think about her doing all kinds of sexy things to me. But I 
personally find it a distraction to use pictures like that. Okay, it turns 
me on to look at the picture of some sharp-looking naked chick, and it turns 
me on to see a sexy chick getting fucked by some guy, and it really turns me 
on to see a picture of two chicks balling each other. But, from there on, 
I'd rather let my imagination take over. I've met guys who say they dig 
looking at pictures like that when they shoot off, but I'd much rather close 
my eyes and let my own fantasies take over. I don't think one way is 
superior to the other, or that it necessarily indicates that one guy has no 
imagination, or something like that. It's just that different people have 
different ways of doing things, and what works for one guy leaves another 
guy cold. 

"Anyway, over the years I've developed a couple of fantasies that I keep 
repeating over and over in my mind when I'm in the mood for fantasizing. I 
vary them a little bit here and there each time, but, in general, they are 
almost exactly the same every time. Now, I'm a married man, and I love my 
wife. Carol's been just about everything a man could hope for in a woman. 
Oh, we've had our disagreements, and we even got as far as thinking about 
getting divorced a couple of times, but we got together and worked things 
out, and we made a few concessions to each other-minor things, really, 
hardly worth mentioning, but they seemed awfully big and important at the 
time. We have two kids, a boy and a girl, and they're both grown-up and 
married and have kids of their own, now, and we see them now and then, but 
they have their own lives to live. So, what am I supposed to do-go out and 
get laid by some strange chick all the time, a different one each week, 
something like that? No, I don't think that's the way to keep a happy 
marriage. 

"I'm not saying now that I've always been faithful to Carol, but I'm also 
not saying that I try to fuck every strange piece I run across. Still, being 
a man, and being human, the thought does cross my mind. And once in a while, 
everything seems to work out just right and I manage to get a stray piece of 
ass, and I think Carol suspects that I play around a bit here and there. 
And, if you must know, I suspect that she hasn't always stayed close to 
home, either. But we have both been very discreet about it. We don't throw 
it in each other's faces, you know. And I kind of like the 'creature 
comforts' which I get from my home life. We still ball occasionally-about 
once a week usually-but there are things that turn me on that I'd never 
think of asking Carol to do. And that's where my fantasies come in. The 
little girls I imagine are really experts at the things I dig, and they 
always do everything I want them to do without any hesitation. It's just not 
easy to find girls like that in real life-and if I did, what am I going to 
do with them? I can't bring them home with me, and I can't spend too much 
time away from home with them. 

"So, I've developed my dream girls; there are two of them-two main ones, 
that is. Sometimes I'm in the mood for Trixie, and sometimes I'm in the mood 
for Sally. I've never tried getting them together at one time; I'm not even 
sure that would work. Sally has a friend named Betty who gets involved with 
us sometimes, but I just don't think Trixie and Sally would get along 
together. Anyway, I'll try to describe them. 

"Trixie is sixteen-jail bait; and as long as she exists only in my 
fantasies, I don't have to worry about being arrested and sent up for 
contributing to the delinquency of minors, or some such charge. She's the 
cutest, foxiest little nymphet I've ever seen-except maybe for Sally, but 
we'll get to her later. As I say, she's sixteen and has long black hair 
that's natural-it's not a wig or anything. God, that hair is soft and silky, 
and it smells sweet and fresh-the warm smell of springtime. She's about five 
four and weighs about 120, 130 pounds. I have to guess at these things, of 
course. You might say I've often laid her but never weighed her. 

"Trixie is built for comfort. You know, you've heard that a thin girl is 
built for speed, while a chubby girl is built for comfort. Well, Trixie 
isn't fat-not at all-but she's well padded. Her tits are kind of big, a real 
handful-a good mouthful, too. She's got a fairly slim waist and wide, round 
hips, and a full ass, and firm, soft thighs. And her pubic hair is soft and 
silky, just like the hair on her head. She's got green eyes-I dig green 
eyes, and you don't see them very often. And that sweet little pussy of 
hers--wow! It's got a grip on it like a vise. And I get all hung up on 
lapping at that sweet pussy. It's funny, in real life, I've never tried 
that. I'd never dare suggest it to Carol; she'd think I was depraved or a 
degenerate or something. Once or twice when we'd been out partying and had a 
little too much to drink, I got pretty close to it-I kissed her stomach and 
her thighs-but I've never had the nerve to take that final plunge. We've 
talked about eating pussy, sucking dick a few times, but she always says, 
"That's disgusting!' If I argue-which I have sometimes-she'll start talking 
about 'normal desires,' and she once said, 'No real man would ever think of 
such a thing.' So naturally I didn't push it. That's the way Carol feels. I 
don't agree with her at all. But, nobody has a perfect marriage, as far as I 
can see, and you just make the best of what you have. It's a good marriage, 
and why rock the boat. I personally feel that a real man with normal desires 
will just naturally want to kiss his wife's pussy at some time or other. And 
she will want to suck his prick. It's a way of expressing your deep feelings 
for each other; it's a way of really getting close to each other. At least, 
that's what I believe. 

"But, in real life, I've never once sucked a pussy. When I was younger, 
before Carol and I were married, I had a couple of whores suck my dick, and 
let me tell you, that was a great feeling. Since they were whores and they'd 
been fucked by I don't know how many men, I just couldn't bring myself to 
lick their pussies. But, you see, with Trixie and Sally, I don't have to 
worry. I'm the only person that ever fucked either one of them, so I don't 
have to worry about them being dirty. 

"Here's the way one of my typical fantasies goes with Trixie. I vary it a 
lot, depending on how I feel at the time, but this is more or less the way 
they all go. Carol goes off for the weekend to visit her mother or one of 
the kids or someone. It doesn't matter whom she visits-what's important is 
that she won't be back for a couple of days and I don't have to think up 
some lie about working late or having some place to go and all that. Anyway, 
I go out to take some clothes to the cleaners on Saturday afternoon, and, as 
I'm coming out of the cleaners, I see this foxy young chick strutting by in 
a miniskirt that sits on the crest of her ass. I do a double take, 'cause 
she's just so damned sexy looking. She probably would have passed me by and 
kept right on going, except that at just that moment, she dropped her purse. 
It fell open and all the junk in it flew out. She bent over to pick it up, 
and I nearly shit. Her pink ass was staring me right in the face; she didn't 
have a damned thing on under that miniskirt! It seemed like I stood there 
staring with my mouth open and prick on instant hard for a long time, but it 
couldn't have been more than a minute. Anyway, I rushed over and helped her 
pick up her stuff, and she was kind of embarrassed and apologetic, and I put 
her at ease right away by pretending that it was me who had been clumsy, and 
that I'd bumped into her and knocked her purse out of her hand. 

"We both knew it wasn't true, but it made her laugh, and her green eyes 
sparkled. Anyway, next thing you know, I'd offered her a ride and she'd 
accepted. I introduced myself, and she told me her name was Trixie. She said 
she was on her way home, and I said, 'Well, it's better to ride, then, so 
you don't keep your family waiting.' 

" 'Oh, I don't have any family,' she says. "That is, I live with my parents, 
but they're away for the week, so I'm all alone for a while.' 

" 'Umm,' I muttered. 'Doesn't it get kind of lonely? A beautiful young girl 
like you living all alone?' 

" 'It hasn't so far,' she smiled at me. 'My folks just left this morning. 
But I'm always glad of company.' 

"About that time, we got to her apartment, and she started to get out, 
thanking me for the ride; then she turned to me and said, 'Couldn't I offer 
you a drink or something?' 

" 'Sure. I'd love to,' I told her, 'but I don't want to interfere with any 
plans you might have for the afternoon.' 

" 'Oh, I don't have anything planned,' she said. 'I could use the company. 
And you've been so nice to me, that's the least I could do.' 

"So I parked the car and followed her into a neat little apartment. I sat on 
the couch and watched her sexy stride as she went to fix me a drink, and she 
came back with it and sat next to me, kind of sideways, with one thigh 
resting flat on the couch, her legs gapped open, with her miniskirt barely 
shading her silky little pussy. I tried to keep my mind on my drink, but 
with that furry pussy looking up at me-well, I'm only human. 

"I needed that drink; my mouth was so dry I could hardly talk. I took a 
couple of stiff gulps, then I leaned over toward her and said, 'You're the 
most appealing girl I've seen in a long time.' 

"She kind of giggled with that soft voice of hers, and her eyes were all 
asparkle. I could tell that she knew what she was doing to me with her legs 
spread apart like that, and it was obvious that she was loving every minute 
of it. 

"I put my hand on her leg-the one that was crossways on the couch-and said, 
'You have the smoothest, softest skin I've ever felt.' 

"She just giggled again, and she kept her eyes on me, watching my face and 
the obvious effort I was having trying to keep from jumping on her and just 
raping the hell out of her. My hand slipped up her leg, and I started 
caressing her thigh. 'Gee,' she murmured, 'you have a gentle touch,' and she 
threw her head back and jerked her shoulders as if my caresses were really 
beginning to do things to her. 

"I put down my drink then-that could wait-and, without taking my hand off 
her thigh, leaned over her and kissed her on the nose. I pulled back about 
an inch from it and whispered, 'I'm sorry. You're so beautiful, I just 
couldn't resist.' 

" 'If it's too much for you, don't fight it,' she murmured, throwing her 
arms around my neck, and I leaned in and kissed her madly on the mouth. 

"God, what a sexy mouth she had. So many girls have mouths that are kind of 
flat and prim looking. You have the feeling that they don't really enjoy 
sex, or even life. But not Trixie; just looking at that full, soft mouth of 
hers made you think of a big, soft bed with pink sheets and her gorgeous 
body lying there, almost begging to be fucked. And the way she kissed made 
my lips tingle. She flicked that nasty little tongue of hers back and forth 
across my lips, and it kept jabbing at them, and then darting away. I tried 
to follow it with my tongue, but she always managed to slip away and then 
flicked tantalizingly at another part of my mouth. I pushed my tongue 
between her lips and jabbed at her tongue and swabbed at the roof of her 
mouth. What a sweet-tasting mouth! No cigarette taste or the dull taste of 
liquor-just the wonderful taste of fresh young girl. 

"Even then, with my tongue practically filling her sweet mouth, her tongue 
couldn't stay still. It wiggled and darted around as much as it could, 
tickling the underside of my tongue, as if she was so excited she just 
couldn't keep it still. My one hand was behind her neck, playing in that 
long, silky, black hair, and the other hand was feeling around at her thigh, 
getting closer and closer to her pussy, and it finally touched her pussy 
hair. It hit me almost like an electric shock. My whole body jerked, that's 
how turned on I was. And I began to run my fingers through that soft, curly 
pubic hair, feeling the puffy, soft lips of her pussy in all that silky 
hair. I pulled my mouth away from hers and let out a gasp. Everything I was 
doing felt so damned good. 

"She pulled away then and said, 'Let's go in the bedroom.' " 

What, and why, is fantasy? 

An obscure Manchurian philosopher is reported to have been once overheard 
explaining to a nonexistent friend of his the reason for his indecision as 
to whether he should wear his threadbare and tattered bearskin overcoat to 
the "coronation" of Henry P'u-i--to which he had not been invited when the 
said ceremony took place ten years earlier-or whether he should patiently 
await the return of his chimerical finery from a fictional dry-cleaner. The 
sage's nonexistent friend was perplexed. He couldn't understand why the 
philosopher insisted on playing his fantasy game instead of simply deciding 
not to go to the festivities long past. "Why?" the philosopher repeated his 
friend's question. "Because fantasy is poor man's reality. It is a window 
that he can open to let in sunshine in the darkness of the night. It is a 
commission of deeds for which he never has to answer. It is a coffer of 
riches he never needs to lock. It is a warmth at his side in the loneliness 
of a cold winter. It is a refreshing rain from a cloudless sky that cools 
him in the scorching heat of summer. It is a hand that stays the dagger of 
despair. It is a bit of madness that keeps insanity at bay . ... " 

There are a number of words often used interchangeably, and 
indiscriminately, that refer to mental experiences that appear realistic or 
believable but have, despite their vividness, no objective reality, or that 
refer to the mind's power to call up images, to picture or conceive things 
that are not actually before the eye or within the experience. Among these 
are delusion, fantasy, hallucination, illusion, imagination, and reverie. 

Before agreeing or disagreeing with the unnamed Manchurian 
philosopher-unnamed, obviously, because those who are not born are never 
(except in one's imagination) baptized, christened, or cognominated-and 
before specifying what, and why, is sexual fantasy, it would be interesting 
to differentiate among the meanings of the aforementioned six terms, so that 
sexual imagination, for example, or sexual reverie, or any one of the other 
three "synonyms" to fantasy would not be confused with it, which is, 
generally speaking, the central theme of this work. 

Essentially, the group of terms falls into two subgroups, one headed by 
delusion, the other by imagination. If one senses the inherent difference 
between those two terms, the distinction between any of the remaining terms 
should not be difficult. If the two groups are sequestered, and if each term 
within the group is defined, the gradients of meaning-extremely important 
within the context of this work-become relatively clear. 

The delusion group-as suggested earlier-consists of words which refer to 
mental experiences that appear realistic or believable but have, despite 
their vividness, no objective reality. Delusion refers to the most extreme 
and inclusive form of this mental phenomenon, since it may combine complex 
notions and conceits with vivid sensory imagery; in a psychotic individual, 
such delusions are totally mistaken for reality and are not voluntarily 
called up. Fantasy generally refers to an imaginary scene, such as that in a 
daydream, which is called up voluntarily or not, and which is acted out 
mentally with vivid sensory imagery, but which is not, except in the 
mentally ill, mistaken for reality. Illusion refers either to an ideational 
cluster of notions that everyone experiences, voluntarily or not, but which 
do not correspond to any objective view of things, or to confused optical 
phenomena that trick the eye into seeing a situation as other than it is. 
Hallucination, which in its intensity approaches the believability of a 
delusion, is primarily restricted to vivid sensory experience that tends to 
occur involuntarily to any person under extreme circumstances, as in 
connection with some physical illnesses such as brain tumors, as during a 
long-term fever, during delirium tremens, or after heavy dosages of 
painkiller or other drugs. 

Whereas the delusion group of mental experiences tends to possess a certain 
aura of pathology about it, the imagination group does not. 

Again, as suggested earlier, this group consists of words that refer to the 
mind's power to call up images, to conceive or picture things that are not 
actually within the experience or before the eye. Imagination is the mind's 
power that applies to the creative faculty that creates a new form of 
reality, bodying forth things new or unknown by recombining the products of 
past experience, as well as vivid characters and situations that are true to 
life. Reverie is an undirected wandering of the mind wherein the mind is not 
actively fleeing reality but is simply unconscious of the world without. 
And, finally-again, though with a slightly different shade of 
meaning--fantasy, which in the imagination group is a vivid daydream 
directed by the mind like a drama but which, unlike reverie, bears a 
definite element of escapism. 

Although to the layman the preceding differentiation of word meanings might 
appear to be an exercise in semantics that is, at best, peripheral to the 
theme of this work, the differentiation is, in fact, relevant if one wishes 
to distinguish between "a bit of madness" and "insanity." It is premature 
and, in a way, superfluous to say that the non-person quoted at the 
beginning of this commentary was not wrong in his prosaic "ode" to fantasy. 
His remarks will prove to be quite true as each case within this work is 
brought into focus. Let it suffice to say at this point that although he 
spoke of "fantasy" in general, a parallel to each of his statements could be 
drawn in reference to sexual fantasy in particular. 

Without burdening the reader with a discussion on the differences between 
sexual delusion and sexual imagination (for those who care to make 
distinctions within these specific, i.e., sexual flights of imagine, the 
preceding material on general flights of imagine should serve as a workable 
guide), it can be said that within the context of this work sexual fantasy 
is used as a general term that includes the entire gradient of fantasy, from 
sexual imagination (a positive trait) to sexual delusion (usually, if not 
always, a psychopathological one). An example for each of the two 
"extremes," figuratively speaking, since imagination-any kind of 
imagination-should not be really considered an extreme, would be: !. A man, 
separated from his wife, or mistress, who brings forth in his mind 
(imagines) the naked body of his wife or mistress, and obtains 
self-gratification (through masturbation) by imagining, perhaps, never 
before attempted sexual activity with the image, is utilizing sexual 
imagination; 2. A man, separated from his wife, or mistress, who firmly 
believes that he is having intercourse with his wife or mistress while he is 
masturbating-and who, in fact, solemnly swears that he had intercourse with 
one or the other-is a victim of sexual delusion. 

From the preceding, it may be safely stated that sexual fantasies are not 
isolated cases. Not only are they common (What adolescent or adult has not 
fantasized someone or some relationship while masturbating? What puritan has 
not fantasized someone or some relationship while resisting the urge to 
masturbate?) but they appear to be an inherent element in man's nature. 
Derek Freeman, in Warner Muensterberger's comprehensive anthology Man and 
His 

Culture: Psychoanalytic Anthropology after Totem and Taboo, states: 

Psychoanalytic research in recent years has indicated how intimately fantasy 
is related to instinctual drive [and there can be no denying that sex is 
such a drive], and how very varied, depending on situational factors, 
fantasies may be. These are findings consistent with the rich variation 
actually encountered in primitive myth and ritual. 

But why is sexual fantasy? What purpose does it serve? Can it be damaging? 
Can it be beneficial? Should one guard against it? Should one give in to it? 

To the first question one could answer that sexual fantasy is because Man's 
sexual hunger is so great that it can seldom be satisfied by reality. 
Fantasy could be called by the currently popular term "soul food." That 
there is a purpose to sexual fantasy can not be denied if one accepts the 
fact that were it not for sexual fantasy, the sexual urge would have to be 
satisfied with reality. And reality comes in different shades, from 
acceptably bright to criminally black. As an example, Robert E. Rothenberg, 
in his Medical Guide to Sex & Marriage, gives an example of a specific 
sexual fantasy which, undeniably, serves as a "pressure release" for 
unacceptable reality. More specifically, he writes: 

...Fantasy Sadism. In this type of aberration, the individual reaches a 
climax merely from imagining that he is inflicting bodily harm upon a sex 
partner. Many of those afflicted by this type of perversity never actually 
carry out these fantasies. 

There is no question that there are some modern free-thinkers who will rise 
in arms against Dr. Rothenberg, proclaiming that "a sadist and a complacent 
masochist 'doing their thing' " should not be ostracized, that as long as 
there is "mutual consent" it is no one's business how a pair of human beings 
attain sexual gratification, that "fantasy sadism" is a "repression" of 
natural urges, and that, consequently, fantasy is not a "pressure release 
valve" but a lid that contains an individual's desires and inhibits him. The 
only answer that can be offered such "Liberal-minded thinkers" is that a 
sadist, by definition, cannot be satisfied by a masochist; a sadist's 
primary urge consists of a combination of two desires-to inflict pain and to 
dominate (that is, inflict the pain on an unwilling victim). A masochist 
creates nothing more than frustration in the sadist since the latter cannot 
force his will upon a willing partner. "Liberal-minded thinkers" 
notwithstanding, the pressure-release mechanism of sexual fantasies-as 
several cases within this work will show-is indisputable, as long as those 
sexual fantasies are controlled. 

Which brings one to face the question posed earlier: Can sexual fantasies be 
damaging? The answer might best be given in the words of Dr. Clara Thompson, 
presented by way of an example in her pioneering study of women On Women. 

...Daydreaming is closely connected with masturbation . ... In general, the 
daydreams of adolescent girls are more predominately erotic than those of 
the adolescent boys . ... 

When the daydreams tend to replace reality ... the situation is ... serious. 
When overcoming parental resistance is too difficult, the girl tends to fall 
back on a dream life. When a father fixation or a mother fixation already 
exists, fantasy life tends to supplant reality. We then have an important 
factor for the development of serious disorder, and the mental disorder of 
prime importance in adolescence is schizophrenia.... 

Dr. Thompson's statement should not be taken to mean that only adolescents 
succumb to fantasy. Fantasy is not an inherent quality of a chronological 
age; it is, rather, a byproduct of conditioning, environment, and 
circumstances. And the end result of sexual fantasies, taken in the broad 
sense, need not, and often does not, terminate in a psychotic reaction such 
as schizophrenia. 

In the five cases presented in this study, it will be seen that sexual 
fantasies are as heterogeneous as are people. They range from the most 
innocuous and fleeting images to adhering, all-consuming, and 
reality-erasing delusions. They can be triggered by a vividly recalled 
sexual event or they can be filtered into a person's mind from the 
subconscious by an event long "forgotten" and "erased" from memory. They can 
be as varied as the speckled shading beneath a sunlit tree or they can be 
single-channeled toward any individual object or any individual act: one 
individual may fantasize a different sex partner every time he gets a sexual 
urge, another person may have fantasies of but one love object and only one 
type of sexual activity with that love object. They can be the result of 
suppressed reality or they can "boil over" and be allowed to be transformed 
into reality-as in the case of Evelyn B--. 

The purpose of this work is, primarily, to bring into focus the ways of 
sexual fantasy, and, thereby, to illustrate what happens when Man gives in 
to more than "a bit of madness" and what happens when he controls that 
journey into the twilight zone of sex, the realm of sexual fantasy. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

"Which One Is You, Ralph?" 

"Ralph isn't a bad sort. But then again, he isn't exactly a good sort. What 
he is, is sort of boring. B-O-R-I-N-G!! ! 

"I remember when we first got married. I was an innocent kid, never been 
fucked before by anybody. So it was a really big thing when I saw Ralph 
naked the first time. You know, with all his muscles, and especially that 
long, thick one he had waving out from his lower belly. 

"And the truth of the matter is that Ralph was, and is, a very good-looking 
man. He's got a body and cock that'd make almost any sex-hungry gal get 
goose bumps. 

"For a year, he turned me on completely. No, it was longer than that. Almost 
two years. The first two years we were married, I was more than happy with 
the fucking I was getting. In fact, I remember our first night together like 
it was yesterday. That's how exciting and good it was for me. 

"Ralph's always been a gentle man. Maybe that's one of his problems. He's 
too gentle. And unimaginative. But back when we were first married, all he 
had to do was touch me, and I'd wilt. That's how sexy-and imaginative-I 
thought he was. 

"As I said, I was a virgin when we got married. I know that sounds corny and 
old-fashioned now, but you have to remember that I was very young, and a 
country girl, and the daughter of a minister. I guess that's hard to believe 
now, with the way I talk and everything, but it's the truth. 

"We came to Los Angeles for our honeymoon, mainly because that's where we 
were going to live. I was so excited about everything that I almost passed 
out every time Ralph would look at me and smile. 

"He didn't say anything at all when we started our first adventure in sex. 
He was stretched out naked, with his cock hard and rigid against his belly, 
when I came out of the bathroom. I remember standing there, almost numb with 
excitement, staring at him. He was lying on the bed, with his hands behind 
his head, smiling at me. His body was magnificent, but what I couldn't take 
my eyes off was his prick. It was huge. So huge. I couldn't imagine how he 
was going to get that entire thing in me. But I wanted him to do it. I 
really did. 

"He got off the bed, finally, and slowly started to walk over to me. He took 
hold of me and pressed his body against mine. He had moved what I was 
wearing aside, and I could feel our bare skins moving against each other. I 
could feel his cock jabbing against my lower belly. It seemed to have a life 
of its own. And it was the first time I had ever pressed my naked body 
against anybody. It felt glorious. 

"The next few hours were the most exciting of my life, and I loved Ralph so 
much for his consideration and patience, and eventually for the pleasure he 
gave me, that I almost burst. I was that enthralled with him-and sex. 

"That first night, after our embrace by the bathroom door, Ralph picked me 
up and carried me to the bed. He put me down and sat down next to me. My 
nightgown was open and falling away from me and while he sat there, talking 
to me, he let his hands wander around on my body. On my tits, down my belly, 
to the dark hair of my pussy, then up again, in the cradle of my neck, down 
again to my pussy, brushing the lips of my cunt with his fingertips. Gently, 
tenderly. Slowly. And while he caressed me, he talked. 

" We're going to make love,' he said. 'We're going to ... fuck.' When he 
said that, I closed my eyes, seemingly very embarrassed. But I wasn't. 
Hearing him say the actual word of what he was going to do to me only caused 
me excitement. I felt a slight lurch down in my cunt, in anticipation of his 
'fuck.' 

" 'It's going to be a mutual thing,' he continued. 'We're both going to 
enjoy it tremendously. But I guess you know that it might cause you a little 
pain at first. I guess your mother told you that.' 

"I nodded. I was getting anxious. I appreciated all his talk, and the 
caresses, but I was anxious to get the talk over with and the pleasure 
started. I didn't care how much pain I had to go through first. 

"Finally, after what seemed like an hour's lecture-during which I almost 
fell asleep-he got into bed with me. During the last few moments of his 
talking to me, his caresses of my pussy had turned into a fairly heated 
finger-fucking. He had just one finger up in me, moving it around gently. It 
excited me so much that I didn't even hear what he was saying. I knew that I 
was wet already, just from the touch of his hand. If only he'd realize that 
and can the talk and start the fuck! 

"Almost as soon as he had lain down alongside me, he moved over on top of 
me. His weight felt heavenly. His body was so solid and strong, and I could 
feel his hard cock pressed between our two bodies. Let me tell you, I was 
ready for anything. 

"He reached down and moved his cock from between our bellies. I felt the 
moistened head of his cock slide between my thighs. Ralph groaned. Very 
slightly. Just enough to excite me even more. I could feel the wetness of my 
pussy. My whole spine was tingling with excitement about what I knew was 
going to happen. 

" 'We might as well get the painful part over fast,' Ralph said. 'Believe 
me, sweetheart, I don't want to hurt you, but I have to, in order for us 
both to have the greatest pleasure of our lives.' 

"I nodded, trying to control my enthusiasm. I wanted to look at him, pull 
him into me, scream at him-'Fuck me. Fuck me hard!' But I didn't do any of 
those things. I was too embarrassed. All I did was nod and mentally wish 
that he would get the hell going. Fuck me. I wanted him to fuck me. 

"Finally-FINALLY!-I felt the end of his prick pressing up against my pussy. 
I couldn't help myself. I moved toward it. I wanted my pussy to have hands, 
so I could reach for his prick and pull it inside. But my movements only 
brought another few seconds of lecture. Ralph was driving me insane. But 
then a thought occurred to me. Maybe this was his way of getting me excited. 
A perverse way of turning me on so much that I was literally ready to beg 
him to fuck me. Maybe that was what he was doing. But no. He was just being 
considerate. 

" 'Let me do the moving,' Ralph said. I nodded my agreement. I would have 
agreed to anything, if only he'd put that prick pole of his up into me. 

"Then, finally, I got my wish. I felt the knob of his cock slide into me. 
Just two inches. About that. It felt wonderful. Delicious. I wanted more. 

" 'When you get used to that,' Ralph said, 'I'll put more inside you. 
Darling, we'll be really together.' 

"I couldn't help myself. I wanted more of that prick and I wanted it right 
away. 'More!' I groaned. 'Please put more inside me!' 

"Ralph slid maybe another two inches of his cock inside me. I felt nothing 
but pleasure. The greatest pleasure I'd ever felt in my life. And I wanted 
more. I already felt filled with prick, but I knew there was a lot more to 
go. And I wanted it all. But he was going so goddamned slow. 

"Again, I couldn't help myself. I reached down and took hold of Ralph's ass 
with both my hands. I could feel the tensed muscles. I held on to him and 
then with one gigantic effort I jammed myself on his cock. I fucked myself 
on his cock. I felt the whole thing slide into me. His whole huge cock. I 
have to admit that for a short period, the exquisite pleasure I had been 
having turned into sharp, searing pain. But it was only for a very short 
time. And then slowly the pleasure-gigantic, wonderful pleasure started to 
flow back into my body. 

"I had been subjected to an hour's lecture about a thirty-second span of 
pain. That should have been an indication of what I'd have to put up with in 
Ralph. But at the moment I was above all such thoughts. I was thinking only 
about one thing: the fuck. 

"Apparently, after my short sharp pain, Ralph realized that I wasn't going 
to have the trouble he'd anticipated. And I guess the realization of what he 
was doing finally got to him, because all the lecturing ceased and he 
started to fuck like he was really enjoying it. He moved into me like a 
greased machine. In and out. Again and again and again. He moved down and 
took hold of me. I wrapped my legs around him tightly. Pulling him into me. 
He kissed me deeply, sticking his tongue so far into my mouth that I thought 
he'd never be able to take it back. I loved what he was doing to me so much 
that I wanted to tell him. 

"When he stopped kissing me, I had to talk. 'Fuck me, darling,' I said. 
'Fuck me all night.' 

"When he heard that, he hesitated for a split second. I think he was shocked 
that I would even consider saying such things. But I wanted to, and, as I 
said, his hesitation only lasted for a few seconds. And then he started to 
fuck again. In fact, that split-second hesitation was the only pause we had. 
I remember that while he plowed into me, sliding, oozing, plunging, jamming, 
I reached the pleasure of an orgasm twice. Which I hear is pretty remarkable 
for a virgin's first night. But, of course, I was anxious not to be a virgin 
anymore. 

"Finally, I guess, Ralph couldn't control himself anymore. 'I have to come,' 
he said, sounding almost as though he were sobbing. And then he bucked 
against me, shoving his prick even more deeply into me. His whole body 
shuddered as he remained rammed against me. I felt his cock stiffen even 
more and grow even larger. And then I felt-I honest-to-God felt him shoot 
his come inside me. One massive spurt after another. Soothing, caressing my 
in-sides. It was the most wonderful thing I'd ever felt in my life. And if 
his orgasm had lasted for just a few more seconds, I'm sure that I would 
have had my third for the evening. 

"We had sex four times that night and each one seemed to be better than the 
former. I think 

Ralph was surprised, and even a little shocked, that I had taken to fucking 
so well. And I had. Believe me, I had. 

"For a long while after that first night, sex with Ralph was tremendously 
exciting. He seemed then to be imaginative and wonderful. He'd do crazy 
things, like come home early from work and start to make love to me wherever 
he found me. In the garage, in the basement. In the kitchen. Anywhere. But 
we always ended up in the bedroom, in the same position. With the same 
actions. And the same reactions. Of course, at first it was wonderful and 
exciting, but after a while, it became just a little boring. 

"And then, when I discovered that I wasn't capable of having children, some 
of the enthusiasm for fucking seemed to go out of Ralph. He still went 
through the motions, but his heart didn't really seem to be in it. 

"But it took us almost two years to reach that point. Up to then we'd been 
reasonably satisfied. Then something happened that made me completely 
unsatisfied with the sex I was getting at home. And it was a shocking 
realization. Almost as shocking as the experience that caused it. 

"I don't think I've mentioned, despite all the talking I've done, what Ralph 
does for a living. No, I'm sure I didn't. Well anyway, he's an oil land 
lessor and troubleshooter for the oil companies. On a free-lance basis. A 
sometimes very lucrative job. And one I realize isn't too popular with the 
conservationists, but it's Ralph's way of making a living-and a good one, so 
I can't complain. It would be dumb if I did. 

"And he worked his way up. He started in the oil fields themselves, as a 
driller. That's how he got his magnificent body. And that's where I met him. 

"But anyway, part of Ralph's business was to do some entertaining. For 
clients and prospective clients. Sometimes this entertainment was just for 
the 'boys' and sometimes it included me. I always enjoyed meeting these 
people. They were rough and awfully crude, but fun. One night their 'fun' 
got out of hand. 

"Actually, I guess it was a mistake for Ralph to take me along to this 
particular little party-it was held for a group of upstate drillers, sans 
women-but since the affair was being held in a suite of rooms at a very posh 
hotel, I guess he figured it was safe. Ralph has always been a little proud 
of me and liked to show me off in front of his business associates. 

"Everything went glowingly. I was the hit of the party and, being the only 
woman there, I can honestly say that I've never received so much attention 
in my life. The cocktail party was fine, although the drinks flowed a little 
too fast for my tastes, and the dinner was exquisite. Everybody was feeling 
no pain, but still behaving themselves. And then the even heavier 
after-dinner drinking started. 

"I should have had the sense to tell Ralph to take me home, but he was deep 
in conversation with a group of men. The conversation looked important, so I 
didn't want to interrupt. I should have. 

"Some of the attention I was getting now wasn't as welcome as it formerly 
had been. In fact, some of the men were getting downright rude. I had hands 
on my tits, on my ass-everywhere. I tried to smile and ignore what was 
happening, but when it got beyond the point of ignoring, I started to look 
for a place to hide out in until Ralph was ready to take me home. 

"I retired to the bathroom, but that wasn't a good spot to stay in for any 
length of time. After only a couple of minutes, people started to bang on 
the door, almost pleading with me to vacate. 

"As I've said, the affair was being held in a suite of rooms, so I decided 
to explore and try to find some quiet place. It was during my explorations 
that I ran into an experience that I've never been able to forget. As hard 
as I've tried. 

"There was a large bedroom, and a smaller bedroom off that. I retired to the 
smaller one, in the dark, and just looked out the window. I suppose all the 
food and drink I'd had got to me almost immediately, because I felt myself 
getting sleepier and sleepier. I had tucked myself into a chair in the 
corner, next to the window, and the chair was comfortable. Within seconds I 
had dozed off. 

"I woke up I don't know how much later to the sound of loud and drunken 
voices. I was groggy and it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. 
Then I took a look around. I almost fainted at what I saw. 

"Obviously, the six men who were in the room hadn't seen me when they 
escorted their 'paid entertainment' into the bedroom. And by the time they 
had awakened me, they were well into their games. I just sat there in shock 
and stared at what was going on. 

"A young girl-she couldn't have been more than twenty years old-was stripped 
completely nude. When I first saw her, she was on her knees in the middle of 
the room. She had just finished taking the clothes off one of the men before 
slipping to her knees. I sat there and stared at her as she reached over 
with her mouth and began sucking on the man's cock. Right in front of the 
other men. She got a cheer from the assembled group for that little bit of 
action. 

"She didn't stay on her knees-or sucking-long. She got up and went to the 
second man. She began stripping off his clothes, too. And she used her 
tongue all the while she was doing it. She'd take off his shirt and then 
suck and lick his nipples for a few seconds before moving down. When his 
pants came off, she'd tongue his belly and even down his legs. And then, 
when he was completely nude, she'd slip to her knees and reach for his prick 
with her mouth. She'd suck for a short while-even pulling his balls into her 
mouth-before getting up and moving to the next man. She proceeded with this 
routine until she had all six men naked and obviously very excited. Believe 
me, it was the first time in my life I had ever seen six naked men, all with 
roaring hard ons. It was-well, mind boggling. And all I could think of was 
how much they must be paying that nice-looking young girl to be doing all 
that. Six of them. Imagine that. 

"But, obviously, sucking cock was just the beginning of the girl's act. When 
all of them were naked, they lined up. All of their cocks were bone hard. 
She moved down the line, still on her knees. 'I want come,' she said in this 
very husky, sexual voice. And then she started to really work hard on all 
those cocks. She approached the first man and started to suck on his cock 
like it was the greatest thing in the world. like she was starving to death 
and his cock was the only food available. He stood there, arching his back, 
eventually putting his hands behind the girl's head and face-fucking her. I 
could see that he was getting close. He was groaning and moving faster and 
faster. She just knelt there, fondling his balls and letting him fuck her 
mouth. I couldn't help but stare. 

"Then he shot. Massive spurts, which she swallowed with no trouble at all. 
She didn't even gag a little. And I can remember sucking on Ralph's cock and 
almost vomiting when he surprised me with a load of come down my throat. 

"The girl moved from cock to cock, but only two more allowed her to suck 
them off to a come. The rest pulled out before they shot. 

"After she had visited all six, the girl, of her own accord, got up and went 
to the bed. She stretched out on the bed and smiled lazily. She beckoned to 
one man, the youngest of the group-the one whose cock she had sucked first. 

"He came right up to the bed, got between her legs and stuck his still-hard 
cock right up her pussy. With one shove. All the way in. The girl started to 
writhe and buck on the bed, fucking his cock as much as he was fucking her 
cunt. 

"As the one man-his name was Carl something or other (I had met him earlier 
and recognized him immediately)-fucked her, other men walked up around the 
bed. 

"Suddenly, as I was still sitting there and still staring in disbelief, the 
girl was completely taken over. I honestly had never even thought such 
things went on. 

"A hard cock was pressed up against her lips and she immediately took it 
greedily in. Another one of the men managed to squeeze himself between the 
guy who was fucking her cunt and the one who was having his cock sucked. He 
straddled the girl's chest and stuck his amazingly long prick in between her 
tits. He reached down and squeezed her tits together. Then he got into the 
rhythm of the fuck. As the man behind him moved, he moved. He was using her 
tits as a cunt, just as the man in front of him was using her mouth for a 
cunt. 

"Two other men stood alongside the bed, one on each side. She grabbed 
instantly for their cocks and started to jack them off. The girl was 
amazing. She was like a juggler. She managed to do everything at once. It 
was a tremendous performance. 

"I watched while she was getting cock from all angles, and I continued to 
watch as suddenly all the men pulled out and away from her. She was by 
herself for only a split second before one of the men lifted her up and got 
her on her hands and knees. 

"Immediately, her body was attacked again. 

In the cunt. In the mouth. But when I heard them discussing how they'd like 
to fuck her ass while all the rest was happening, I couldn't take it. I 
managed to slip out of the room without being seen. I was out of the room, 
but the memory stayed with me for a long, long time." 

The great majority of cases involving sexual fantasies require considerable 
psychoanalytic delving into the subjects' backgrounds-in some instances, as 
far back as their pre-pubertal developmental age-before the 
fantasy-triggering episode is revealed. The case of Maria Tis, however, 
almost immediately resolvable, as the fantasy episode of her narrative 
following this commentary will show. The combination of factors that are 
revealed by her up to this point in her narrative strongly indicate, 
presuppose even, either an overt venture into an orgy-type situation, or a 
covert, i.e., fantasized journey into same. 

Maria's childhood and adolescence, as suggested by her revelation that she 
was a minister's daughter, were apparently quite rigidly controlled. Her 
outlook toward love, sex, and marriage was puritanically "proper." Her 
remarks about her marriage, regarding boredom, is more than likely a 
statement after the fact. This is to say that the chances that she had 
actually considered Ralph "boring," as she claims, before her witnessing the 
orgy at the hotel party, are rather slim. More than likely until that night 
she had thought her husband to be sexually satisfactory and satisfying. 
Obviously, having been brought up with narrow views on sexuality, she could 
not have expected more than she was getting from Ralph in the way of sexual 
pleasure. It was only when she was "shocked" to see the prostitute taking on 
six of her husband's coworkers at the hotel that she realized how much more 
there was to sex than she was aware of. 

Curiosity, naturally, took over her mental faculties, and it was more than 
just a curiosity about something vague and unknown. It was rather a 
curiosity about how Maria herself would have felt if she had been in the 
prostitute's place, being made love to by six men. The recollection of the 
scene, indelibly imprinted on her memory screen, haunted her. Had her 
background been different, had she and Ralph been on more honest terms with 
each other, and had she felt that Ralph was a confidant of hers, a friend, 
rather than simply the man she lived with, Maria could have used a 
straightforward approach with her husband: she could have revealed to him 
what she had witnessed and how it had bothered her-or aroused her, which was 
more true to fact. As it was, however, she could not do anything of the 
sort. 

It is more than likely that her subsequent attempt at sexual aggressiveness 
with Ralph was a means she thought of using to break down his puritanical 
front, which, once broken, she felt, would have brought them closer together 
on what might be termed "the gut level." When Ralph ridiculed and derided 
her for her aggressiveness, Maria had no choice but to try resolving the 
problem of her rabid curiosity herself. Here again, however, her upbringing 
stood in the way. It was simply "not proper" to dwell on the scene that kept 
materializing in her mind. Consequently, she tried sublimating it, as well 
as her sexual curiosity. The result--not an uncommon one-was that attempted 
sublimation was followed by a reemergence of the repressed memory of the 
orgy in her dreams and, finally, a delusory recreation of that same 
orgy-only with Maria now as the central character of the erotic tableau: in 
the solitude of her bedroom. 

It might be argued that the reason for her final neurotic state-for the 
treatment of which she was referred to a psychoanalyst and out of which 
consultation this narrative was gathered-was the erotic activity she had 
accidentally been witness to at the hotel. The fact remains, however-as the 
following citation from Dr. David Abrahamsen's best seller The Road to 
Emotional Maturity suggests-that it was the repression of her aroused sexual 
curiosity that gradually pushed her to the vividly lived fantasies and the 
subsequent manic-depressive state. 

The more we repress our wishes, fears, and anxieties, the more we are 
conflicted. The more conflicted we are, the more tense we become, and the 
less capable we are of living our lives to the fullest. Anxiety is the 
natural and inevitable result of a conflict. When this conflict remains, it 
threatens the ego-the personality, the self. Then, as new problems present 
themselves, they become greater and more involved because of past behavior 
patterns; our complexities grow until we find it more and more impossible to 
accomplish even our regular work and daily tasks to the best of our ability. 
This condition develops when we cling to old patterns; and as long as we 
cling to them, we shall not be able to work away our present problems. 

Perhaps one of the most curious points about Maria's case is her fantasizing 
that she was being "violated" by a Negro. Her selection of a black dildo is 
not sufficient to explain the fantasy. Or, if it "explains" her fantasy, it 
does not answer why she selected that particular implement. One could 
venture a psychiatric guess and say that she was subconsciously wishing to 
degrade herself; coming from a relatively prejudiced family, her choice of 
"degrading" herself by imagining that she was being violated by a somewhat 
brutish black man is not surprising. 

The dream portion of her fantasy is simply explained by citing Sigmund 
Freud's statement made in the first chapter of his Interpretation of Dreams, 
in which he wrote; 

...Every dream reveals itself as a psychical structure which has a meaning 
and which can be inserted at an assignable point in the mental activities of 
a waking life . ... 

And, of course, Maria's dreams were a direct result of the mental activities 
of her waking life: her waking life was almost continually-until the time 
when she attempted sublimating her sexual preoccupation-taken up with 
recalling the unbridled passion she had witnessed in the hotel bedroom where 
she retired to "hide out." 

The remaining portion of her narrative quite clearly shows the progression 
of her conflicts up until the point where-consumed by feelings of guilt and 
fears of "insanity"-she decides to seek professional help. 

"I couldn't bring myself to mention what I had seen in that hotel bedroom, 
even though Ralph asked me several times on the way home why I was so quiet. 
I wouldn't dare mention it because I didn't know what his reaction would be. 
He had been turning into such a puritan during the last year. I wouldn't 
have been surprised if he'd gotten angry with me for seeing what I'd seen. 

"Then, too, I was a little disconcerted about my own reaction. In the back 
of my mind, I knew I should have been totally disgusted by what I'd seen. I 
should have been outraged. But I wasn't. I was excited. I was excited seeing 
that girl being used by all those men. Excited by the fact that she was able 
to use six cocks. 

"And also I was a little angry at myself for having left so early. I might 
have seen things that were even more interesting. But after that thought, I 
chided myself. My God, what was I turning into? A sex maniac? A pervert? 
Better to tell myself that the whole thing had disgusted me and then put it 
out of my mind. 

"But I found during the next few weeks that I couldn't put the scene out of 
my mind. In fact, the more I tried, the more vivid the whole thing became. 
And the more exciting. 

"I don't know if I've mentioned it, but sex with Ralph by this time had 
become at best a standard ritual, and at worst an obligation. 

"Our sex lives had deteriorated into a routine. A boring routine. We fucked 
once a week. On Thursday. I'd get into bed, knowing and dreading what was 
coming because Ralph would spend more than his usual time in the bathroom. 
And that was another thing he was doing. Sure, I wanted him to be clean, but 
now when he came to bed on our 'fuck' nights, I could barely smell him at 
all. He didn't smell like a man; he smelled like a sterilized sheet. 

"I also mentioned that I had sucked Ralph's cock once, but that had been 
early in our married life, and even then, I don't think Ralph was taken with 
the idea. It smacked, I think, to him of perversion. 

"But after seeing that young girl taking prick in almost every conceivable 
hole, and with the added idea of wanting to spice up our sex life a little, 
one night instead of letting Ralph climb up on top of me, give me a few 
perfunctory kisses and then stick his cock inside, I tried to snuggle down 
along his body. He let me go until he caught on to what I was going to do. I 
was, simply speaking, going to suck him off. 

"From his reaction you would have thought he thought I was the most depraved 
woman in the world. He actually let out a shocked gasp when he realized I 
was aiming my mouth for his cock. He pulled my head up-a little too roughly, 
if the truth be known-and literally bawled the hell out of me. In fact, he 
was so angry that he didn't even fuck me that night. And it was Thursday. I 
waited for him to fall asleep and then I fucked myself with my fingers until 
I had an orgasm. Isn't that too much? 

"I got even with him a little. But just a little. One of Ralph's least 
favorite meals was meat loaf. So every Thursday, what do you think I served 
with all the flourish I could? You guessed it. Meat loaf. 

"Unfortunately, he never said a word. 

"About a month after that same party in the hotel, I started to dream about 
what I'd witnessed. I'd go through the whole thing again, only now I stayed 
longer than I actually had. I'd see them not only use her cunt and her tits 
and her hands and mouth, but everything she had. And I mean her ass-hole. 
One time-in my dream-they even managed to get two pricks up her cunt. At the 
same time. And another night, all six men fucked her right in succession. As 
soon as one pulled out, another took his place. It was ghastly, but when I 
woke up, my pussy was wet and twitching. I was really hot. 

"That was the time I had to have cock or bust. Ralph, as usual, was soundly 
sleeping on his back. He always slept like he was dead. 

"I trailed my hand down his chest and then inside the fly of his pajamas. By 
the way, that was another thing that bothered me. When we first got married, 
he never wore anything to bed. And a lot of times he'd walk or lounge naked 
around the house. Now he had all the modesty of a nun. He wore clothes all 
the time. 

"But I got my hand inside his pajama bottoms, and grabbed hold of his prick. 
It wasn't exactly soft and not exactly hard. Just sort of rubbery. I knew it 
wasn't in any condition to do anything I wanted it to do, so I started to 
jack Ralph off. I was so upset and so hot by this time that I didn't care if 
he woke up or not. I knew if he did he'd be angry as hell, but quite frankly 
I didn't give a damn. 

"His prick got hard in an amazingly short time. Apparently, there was 
nothing wrong physically with Ralph. So it must be his mental attitude 
toward sex that was ruining my life. 

"I managed to get his hard cock, and his balls, outside his pajamas. As far 
as I could tell he was still asleep. And also as far as I could tell he was 
liking what I was doing to him. 

"I reached down and stuck a finger inside my pussy. I was so wet that I was 
almost leaking. I thought I might jack him off at the same time I was 
fucking myself with my finger. At least I would be touching him. But after 
only a few seconds of that adolescent activity, I decided that I wasn't able 
to be satisfied with my own fingers. I wanted cock, and I wanted it hard and 
long. I wanted to be fucked until I was so sore that I couldn't move, 
couldn't take any more. 

"I got up on my knees and very carefully straddled Ralph's body. His body 
was still great-looking. I just couldn't figure out why he wanted to keep it 
covered up so much of the time. 

"I reached under me and angled his cock. I had it sticking straight up in 
the air. It was now or never. Quickly, I lowered myself on his cock. It felt 
bigger and harder now than it had in a long time. I felt my breath sighing 
out of my body as that long, hard cock slid up inside me. Deep inside me. 

"I had just begun to move around on the cock, feeling it shove against the 
deepest parts of my pussy, when Ralph woke up. 

"For a split second he smiled very lazily and even moved around a little, 
shoving his prick up into me on his own, but then he must have come fully 
awake and realized-God forbid!-that he was fucking his wife. 

"At that point, though, I really didn't give a damn what he was thinking. 
All I knew was that I needed cock and I was going to get it. 

"He moved his hands up and started to shove me off him. That got me so angry 
that all I could do was shout at him. 'Keep it in there, you ass-hole!' I 
yelled at him. 'I need it!' 

"But neither my frantic efforts with my cunt, nor the insults I was yelling 
at him, kept Ralph from pushing me off his prick. I lay on the bed next to 
him, panting with frustration. 

" 'What in the hell do you think you're doing?' he said. I looked at him. 
There was such a shocked look on his face that I couldn't bring myself to 
answer. All I could do was get up, out of bed, take a pillow and head for 
the guest room. He didn't follow me. And that made me even more angry. 

"I lay on the bed in the guest room, totally naked, and spread my thighs. I 
shoved as much of my hand as I could up my pussy and I fucked myself that 
way until I came. But my orgasm did little except ease a little of my 
frustration. I wasn't in the least satisfied. I cried myself to sleep. 

"The next morning I was really furious. Ralph came down to breakfast and 
acted as though nothing at all had happened. I know that sounds almost 
impossible, but it's the truth. He walked into the kitchen, aimed a kiss at 
my cheek, said, 'Good morning' in his aggravatingly happy early-morning 
voice, and sat down at the breakfast table and opened the paper. I almost 
hit him in the head with a skillet. 

"I guess you're wondering why I put up with all this shit. Why didn't I 
simply get the hell out? Sometimes I ask myself the same question. After 
all, I'm still young and damned good-looking, even if I have to say so 
myself. I could find another man; somebody who'd love me and love to fuck. 
But I told you earlier that I'm the daughter of a minister. Of a very strict 
sect. And I just can't bring myself to divorce myself from the beliefs that 
I grew up with. If I left Ralph I would be denying the beliefs that my 
family-and I-have always held sacred. You go through hell, but you never get 
a divorce. I would have just been written off the books by my whole family. 

"Ralph's maddening refusal to face reality lasted through breakfast. If I 
even tried to approach the subject, he'd look at me, smile softly and say 
something like, 'Let's just forget it.' 

"Damn it. I didn't want to forget it. 

"When Ralph finally left for work, I was totally exhausted. I went right 
back to bed. And sure enough, I had a dream to end all dreams. All the 
things I'd ever heard of were the things I dreamt about. The worst, the most 
depraved things in the world were what caused my pussy to be all wet and 
excited when I woke up. I was scared to death. What was I turning into? 

"To get my mind off sex, I decided to go downtown and see a movie. Then I'd 
do some shopping and just generally lose myself in whatever women do to lose 
themselves. 

"Unfortunately I picked a foreign film to see that had more fucking and bare 
skin in it than any other movie I'd ever even heard about. And this was a 
legitimate film in a legitimate theater. 

"I left the movie theater feeling more excited, and more disgusted with 
myself, than I had when I went in. 

"I was heading down the block from the theater to one of the large 
department stores when I passed a little establishment called Red's Book 
Shoppe. The spelling of the shop's name amused me and then I happened to 
look inside the window. The sun was shining at just the angle so that I 
could easily see the display they had in one of the front cases. My heart 
almost thudded to a stop. 

"There were three rows of items included in the display. And I might as well 
come right out and tell you what they were. It's embarrassing, but I have to 
tell you some time. 

"They were dildoes. Huge, rubber dildoes, some of which were so life-like 
that they made you look twice. And they were so large. Larger than any 
possible human counterpart. I frankly stood in the window and stared at 
them. I was especially entranced with one of them. It wasn't the biggest, 
but nearly. But it was the darkest. It was a representation of a Negro's 
cock. It must have been over a foot long, and even included veins in the 
simulation. It was so real looking-except for its size-that it was almost 
repulsive. 

"Fifteen minutes later, I was walking down the street with a fourteen-inch, 
black dildo under my arm. The time I'd spent with the salesman had been the 
most embarrassing ten minutes of my life, but luckily he didn't make a 
federal case out of my being there, or even snicker when I stuttered 
something about taking ' ... the black one.' 

"I made myself go into several stores, but I didn't buy anything. All I 
could think of was that package I had clutched under my arm. I was 
frightened to death that I'd have a fainting spell or something-I've never 
fainted in my life-and whoever found me would open that package. Or that I'd 
be stopped by the police on my way home and they'd insist I open all my 
packages. Looking for what, I haven't the slightest idea. 

"I was so embarrassed and at the same time so intrigued by what I'd bought 
that eventually I couldn't maintain even the appearance of being interested 
in shopping, so I decided to go home. 

"I stuck the package deep in the tire well in the trunk of the car, and when 
I finally got home, after judiciously avoiding even looking at any policemen 
who passed me on the way, I smuggled it inside the house under my raincoat. 
You would have thought I'd robbed a bank and was trying to hide the 
evidence. 

"Finally, I got to the safety and privacy of the guest room. I threw all the 
other bundles on a chair and brought my special purchase to the bed. I 
unwrapped it and took it out of the box. I put it on the bed. If anything, 
it looked even more obscene when it was by itself. I mean, in the display 
case, at least it looked like it had the legitimacy of being sold, but here, 
it had only one obvious use. And I was damned determined to use it. No 
matter what the hell anybody thought! Although if anybody found out about 
it, I'd die. 

"I took off my clothes as fast as I could and just dumped them on the floor. 
I considered taking a shower but then decided it wasn't really necessary to 
be clean for a dildo. I got up on the bed. I was so excited I could hear my 
heart beating. 

"I got on my back and spread my legs, bending them at the knees. I felt 
around on the bed until my hand came across the dildo. I took hold of it. It 
felt like a sculptured hose. And it was cold! It was too cold! I got off the 
bed and went into the bathroom. I ran some water in the sink. Nice warm 
water. I added some skin cream to the water. Then I doused my dildo. And 
after a few dips, I pulled it out, dried it, and added some more of the skin 
cream with my hand. 

"I almost skipped back to the bed. This was one of the most exciting 
adventures I'd ever had in my life. I got back into position. 

"I pressed the huge knob of the dildo against my pussy. It felt like a fence 
post. I pulled it toward me. A couple of inches slid in, spreading my cunt 
something awful. And the damned thing didn't even feel good. But I was 
determined to use it. 

"I pulled the thing even farther into me. It slid in. My pussy was wet from 
the excitement I'd felt, and the dildo was slightly greased. It went in 
without much trouble, only it didn't do anything to me. I had half the 
damned thing inside me-and it had cost a fortune-and all it did was make me 
feel fat. 

"I tried one more pull and a little more went in me, but there was no 
thrill. Nothing at all. I pulled the thing out in disgust, but slowly. I 
didn't want to kill myself. 

"I was just ready to put the thing back in the box and burn it when another 
idea hit me. Why not, I asked myself, play a little game? Okay, I answered. 
Why not? 

"I put the dildo on the bed and went back into the bathroom. I pulled all my 
makeup out and started to go to work. I used everything, and within fifteen 
minutes I looked like the cheapest two-bit whore you could imagine. 

"I went back to the bedroom and immediately started having a conversation 
with my trick. Or should I say tricks? 

" 'Hey, ass-hole,' I said in my sexiest voice, 'you didn't tell me you were 
going to have a group.' 

"My trick told me it was a little surprise. All for me. 

"Before I could say anything else, I felt myself being led over to the bed. 
Hands were put on my shoulders and I was forced to fall to my knees. Almost 
instantly there was a huge prick pressing against my lips. A big, black 
prick. I struggled, but finally the man's strength overwhelmed me. 'No, no!' 
I shouted, but nothing I could say would stop them. They were too turned on 
by my body. 

"I felt myself being forced to take in as much of that black prick as I 
could. Five inches maybe. I almost gagged. 

"I felt a hand on my hand. It was led to my pussy and I was forced to stick 
two fingers up inside myself. 'Fuck yourself,' a hard, mean voice said. I 
did what I was told, terrified not to. 

"I sucked on the cock until my head was pushed back. My pussy was on fire 
from the force they made me fuck myself with. I was wet and willing to take 
anything they had to give me. 

"I found myself on the bed, on my back. My legs were forced apart. A 
monstrous head of a monstrous cock forced itself up against my pussy. With 
no thought of the pain that he might be causing me, the owner of the black 
cock rammed it inside me. Half of the huge prick in one savage lunge. It was 
terrible. It was awful. I shrieked out, half in pain and half in pleasure. 
The man knew he had me. He fucked me brutally, never for an instant 
stopping. And then I was surrounded by cocks. One was pressed up against my 
lips. I took it in. Sucking on it greedily. A body straddled my chest. A 
huge cock was shoved between my tits. Two more cocks brushed against my 
hands. I grabbed them ... and then I flooded into the greatest orgasm I ever 
had in my life. 

"I'll probably be in a loony bin in about a month, but it'll be worth it." 

The prognosis for Maria T-is very favorable. By having sought professional 
help, she had made a step toward learning that sexual activity is not to be 
shirked for reasons given in Victorian circles. A direct statement made by 
her psychoanalyst ("There is nothing wrong with being curious or desiring to 
experience as much of sexual activity as possible") had set her sufficiently 
at ease so that her guilt feelings were diminished almost to nonexistence. 

The prognosis for Maria's marriage to Ralph, however, is much less 
optimistic. Ralph Trefuses to bend his rather hypocritical views, and such 
inflexibility can result in nothing less than an eventual separation between 
him and Maria. The chances are, however, that such a step might be better 
for Maria than any other alternative. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

The Sexless Marriage 

"I'm tired of living through the whole rotten mess of what has to be the 
most frustrating marriage on the face of the earth. I've had it up to here! 
My gut crawls every time I think about it-and I think about it often. Me, 
married eighteen years and I haven't had a night in bed with my wife for 
almost seven years. That's right-no sex! And it's been so long now that I 
can't even remember for sure why Marnie cut me off. I think, ridiculous as 
it may seem, that it might have had something to do with a remark I once 
made about her taking naps all day instead of doing housework. But I'm not 
even sure if that's the reason. All I know is that for the past seven years 
she's always kept herself bundled up and always makes an obvious point of 
keeping her legs clamped shut. 

"Over and over I keep telling myself that I can't take it any longer, that 
I've got to break out. But she's got me over a financial barrel. With two 
kids, a heavy mortgage, and about fifty other bills, I can't even afford the 
price of a divorce. So I just live with it, day after day, dying a little 
bit every time I think of the mess that I've made out of my life. 

"Do you know what it's like to spend seven years dreaming about sex, but 
never actually tasting it? I mean, do you really know? Well, I do. It's 
hell, brother, pure hell! About four or five times I've tried to get 
something started with other women, but they've all ended up being 
disasters. I'm pretty good at coaxing them into bed, but once we're there I 
freeze up and I always come out of it looking like a fool. There's something 
wrong with me upstairs. Why the hell should I freeze up? Why the hell should 
I feel guilty? That damned wife of mine has got her tits wrapped around my 
conscience so tight that I'm choking. 

"I often wonder how she stands it, how she can go day after day without sex. 
I swear she must sneak off every now and then to jack off 'cause I know for 
sure that she didn't sleep with any other guy. In the early days she was 
always eager for sex, so I know that she can't go through the rest of her 
life without orgasms. I mean, she's got to have release! 

"I pump off a lot. I'd go crazy if I didn't. Do you blame me? Am I 
justified? 

"What really makes a bad situation worse is Marnie herself. When I married 
her she was a skinny little kid of seventeen. You should see her now. She's 
got a body that would turn on a eunuch. Lush, full, maddeningly desirable. 
Every night I have an urge to fling her on the bed and ravish her; and every 
night I end up dreaming about the way she used to be. It tears my heart out. 
Her tits and pussy were huge the last time she let me touch them. Of course, 
I expect her love hole has tightened up somewhat these past years, but even 
a tent couldn't cover up the size of those boobs. 

"So how do I survive, you ask me. How the hell does any lifer survive? On 
fantasies-lots and lots of fantasies. It doesn't take much to set me off and 
when I do get going I have an imagination that runs wild. It's the best 
crutch a man like me could ask for-hell, it's the only crutch! 

"Marnie would shit if she knew the things I was pulling off with her in my 
mind. I've been over every inch of her body hundreds of times, licking, 
sucking, fucking, biting, and even socking her around once in a while. I'm 
at my best when I'm fantasizing sex with her. The thoughts always come so 
easy. And I'm always the aggressive one, attacking her, forcing her into 
submission. She doesn't know it, but she's been responsible for well over a 
gallon of come that I've shot out in recent years. One of these days I'm 
going to throw that little tidbit of information right up into her face and 
laugh like hell as she gags. 

"Although most of my dreams are about Marnie, I'm not limited strictly to 
her. I'm a bus driver and my day is loaded with the sight of comely young 
chicks. There's no contact, you understand-they get on the bus and they get 
off and I never see them again. However, it doesn't take long for some of 
them to leave their mark on me. In fact, I can check out legs, hips, and 
tits in the wink of an eye. And, if I'm turned on by someone in particular, 
I've got a way of adjusting the rear-view mirror so that I can peep at her 
during the ride. This kind of scene does have its bad moments, though. There 
are times when I can't even recall stopping at certain spots to pick up 
passengers; it's like my mind goes blank for several blocks. This usually 
happens after I've picked up a real special-lookin' doll and my thoughts 
start wandering, imagining how the air is between her legs. 

"Another area that I touch upon for fantasies is my 'trips around the 
world.' I love to read, particularly novels with foreign settings. Almost 
any night you can come into my living room after Marnie and the kids have 
gone to bed ad find me sitting there, a paperback in one hand and my prick 
in the other. Hell, I've been the captain of a freighter with Iberian 
registry, an INTERPOL agent on a narcotics crackdown, the owner of a casino 
in Singapore, and a dozen other virile characters. And I always end up with 
at least two exotic beauties trying to drag me to bed. I figure it costs me 
about five handkerchiefs per novel. 

"There are other areas of day-to-day living that I draw upon for my 
fantasies, but those are the basic three: my wife all the time, the chicks 
on the bus during the day, and my world adventures at night. But I'd give 
all three of them up for one real live toss in bed with my Marnie. 

"Over and over I relive the last time I had sex with her. I can't really 
remember all the details, but my imagination helps out. I imagine that she 
was a little reluctant that night, but that my aggressiveness won out. I've 
been over this little scene at least a hundred times. Each time it's a 
little bit different, but the sensations are always the same. 

" 'Honey,' she said, 'will you come over here and scratch my back?' 

"We were in the living room. Marnie was stretched out on the couch and I was 
sitting in my rocking chair, reading a magazine. 'Sure,' I said, and I 
dropped the magazine and went to her. 

"She was lying on her stomach, her back to me, her lovely brown hair 
cascading down over her shoulders. She was wearing a yellow nightgown that 
ordinarily stopped at her knees, but it was now gathered high up on her 
thighs, just below the bottom edge of her panties. Her hips and thighs 
looked full and sensuous. For that matter, her whole body looked delicious. 
I felt my prick stirring as I walked over to her. 

" 'Sleepy, babe?' I asked as I sat on the edge of the couch and lightly 
patted her hair. 

" 'No, not really. Just a little tired.' She yawned and crushed her body 
closer to the back of the couch, allowing me more room to sit. 

"I placed a hand on her back and started scratching. 

" 'No, no,' she said. 'Go underneath. It always feels so much better.' 

"Why I'll be delighted! I thought lasciviously. I lifted the tail of her 
nightgown and slid my hand under it. I took just a second to run my hand 
over the fullness and smoothness of her ass. She squirmed and one leg 
crooked up, its heel brushing against my shoulder. I moved my hand to her 
back and started scratching. 'Ummm,' she sighed, 'that feels good. Ummm . 
... ' 

"It was a typical back-scratching session. After a while she asked me to dig 
in harder and scratch faster. Then she started directing me to all areas of 
her back. First, her right shoulder blade, then her left, then the base of 
her neck, then up and down her spine. After a couple of minutes she heaved 
her back slightly and murmured, 'Oh, that's fine, honey. That's good 
enough.' 

"But I wasn't ready to stop. With thoughts of sex on my horny mind, I began 
massaging her back, an activity that she loved. I began at the base of her 
neck and worked my way down her spine, gently kneading the smooth, tight 
skin. Then, using both hands, I moved up to her shoulders and massaged them. 
Then over to her shoulder blades and, finally, down to her sides, my fingers 
pressing teasingly against them. She squirmed and giggled. "That tickles!' 
she squealed and both her heels shot up and bounced off my shoulders. 

"Grinning to myself, I ran my hands along her sides, then dipped them down a 
bit until I could feel the roundness of her crushed tits. My prick began to 
fizz. Marnie turned her head and looked at me. 'Hey,' she smiled, 'since 
when are those my back.' 

" 'Oh, I'm terribly sorry,' I chortled. 'My hands must have slipped.' But 
then I forced my hands down even farther until the backs of them were 
pressed against the couch and the palms were cupping the soft boobs. Marnie 
stared co-quettishly at me. 'Got ideas?' she asked. 

"I shook my head. 'Who? Me? Of course not.' She cocked an eyebrow and looked 
at the bulge between my legs. 'Do you have any ideas?' I asked. 

"Her face screwed up a bit. 'Oh honey, I am tired.' I grinned wickedly at 
her. Hell, I wasn't tired; I was rarin' for action. I bent forward and 
sucked a hard kiss from her neck. 'Honneeee!' she cried. 'You'll give me a 
hickey.' 

" "That's the idea,' I said. 

"She sighed in resignation, then turned her body so that she was lying on 
her side, facing me. I left one hand under the nightgown to tease her 
nipples, and slipped my other hand inside the back of her panties. I pinched 
the taut little ass-cheeks, then ran my fingers down through the meaty 
groove. I poked at her ass-hole and she squirmed. The opening was clenched 
tight. I withdrew my hand and sucked on the forefinger, then, in one smooth 
maneuver, I slipped my hand back under her panties and drove the finger up 
into her rectum. 'Uhhh,' she groaned, her body buckling inward and her 
sphincter trapping my finger. "That feels weird.' 

" 'Does it hurt?' I asked, slowly working the finger back and forth. 

" 'No. It just feels ... well you know, weird.' 

" 'Want me to stop?' , "She shook her head and smiled. 'No. It feels weird, 
but it feels good, too.' 

"For several minutes I sat on the edge of the couch, my hands doing their 
damnedest to wake her up and make her hot. My right hand worked steadily on 
one of her lazy tits, squeezing the paunchy flesh and pinching the nipple up 
to erection. My left hand covered the bottom of her fanny, my forefinger 
driving in and out of her rectum. I was getting hornier by the second, 
wishing to hell that she'd hurry up and show me some response. 

"Finally, things started warming up. Almost before I was aware of it, her 
hand had sneaked in between my legs and was massaging my throbbing lump. I 
looked at her eyes. They were just a trifle too glassy to be suffering from 
exhaustion and they were fixed on the erotic movements of her hand. 'Do you 
want to go into the bedroom?' she whispered, her eyes never leaving her 
work. 

" 'We can do it all out here, babe,' I said, the excitement of anticipation 
creeping into my voice. 

"I withdrew my hands from her rectum and boob and stood up. Quickly I 
shucked off my trousers and shorts, then knelt by the couch. I helped her 
off with her nightgown and panties, then stopped for a long moment to stare 
down and appreciate the lushness of her naked body. The couch had become a 
virtual altar-in front of which I knelt and on which Marnie lay. The 
thoughts and feelings that ran through me were obscene. 

"Smiling at me and reaching up, she placed her hands at the back of my head 
and guided my face down towards hers. I sucked in her lips and chewed on 
them, occasionally darting my tongue between her teeth so she could nip on 
it. The familiar taste of her mouth slipped inside mine and I savored it, 
titillating myself with long-ago memories of how our best sex had always 
begun with lunging mouths. We exchanged lugs of saliva and both of us blew 
our pleasure between the other's lips. 

"Her hands became more demanding at the back of my head and I responded by 
kissing her harder. Then I slipped away from her lips and went after the 
rest of her beautiful face. I sucked on her chin and on her cheeks; I pecked 
at her eyelids and ran my tongue slowly and wetly over her forehead; and 
then I sucked in her nose and she reacted the way she always did, pulling 
back and squealing and briskly wiping it with the back of her hand. 

"My mouth swept over to her ears where I poked into the opening with my 
tongue and sucked in the fluffy-soft earlobes. Her head squirmed forcefully 
against my cheek and she kissed me quickly on the ear. Loving everything I 
was doing, she sighed out her pleasure and whispered, 'I love you.' Her 
words spurred me on. I washed out the tender spots of her neck, paying 
special attention to the tasty hollow just below her ears. She was breathing 
harder and I could tell by the restless squirming of her body that she 
wanted me to move faster. She amplified this by latching onto my free hand 
and depositing it between her legs. The hairy bush jacked up to meet and 
press against my palm. 

"I dropped all calculated moves and went at her like an animal. While my 
hand worked fiercely on her box, my steaming lips devoured the sweetness of 
her titties. First one, then the other, always starting on the fat softness 
first, then working down and gobbling in the nipple. She helped me by 
steadying each tit with her hand, then ramming it into my mouth. My hand, 
meanwhile, was giving her cunt a hard massage, firmly pressing down as it 
worked the canyon route between her clitoris and her love-hole. The box ,vas 
squishy and when she opened her legs wide, I heard a soft sucking pop as the 
air broke through the thin layer of moisture. 

"My mouth slipped from her boobs and flashed down to her belly. I lapped it 
thoroughly, sweeping up tiny beads of moisture that had formed there. My 
tongue dove into the depths of her belly button, digging out the erotic 
taste of it. And second later I was working on her brown bush, soaking it 
with spit and then chomping on it, dragging the squeaky hairs between my 
teeth. I widened my mouth and hauled in as much of her mound as possible, 
hair and all. And then, covered with sweat and exhausted, I rested my head 
on her arch for a moment, watching my fingers work on her cunt. 

"I was finger-fucking her hole in the same manner in which I had 
finger-fucked her ass-hole. I was too damned hot to be considerate about it. 
Instead of the slow, sensuous caresses that I knew she wanted, I was 
whacking my finger in and out of her tunnel with piston-like velocity. She 
tried to correct it by reaching down and pressing on my humping finger, but 
I captured her finger, wrapped it around my own, and together we assaulted 
her huge box of goodies. 

" 'Easy, Bob,' she whined down at me. 'Please go slower. You're hurting me.' 

"I looked up and saw the pain on her face. 'Sorry, hon,' I said. I threw the 
finger-fucking into low gear. 'But this is what you get for being so 
beautiful and so goddamned sexy. You just drive me up the walls!' 
Impulsively, I turned my head and copped a nip of her mound with my teeth. 

"She sighed and patted me on the head as I withdrew our fingers from her 
cunt. Then I knelt up beside the couch, gauging her body for newer and more 
wonderful thrills. Her hand took the opportunity to sneak in and take hold 
of my burning prick. I looked at my rod proudly; her hand barely covered its 
girth. Ah yes, it was up that night. It looked more like a bludgeon than a 
sex tool. It looked as though it could actually hurt someone. 

"I rolled over on one knee so she could keep her grip on my cock, then 
dipped my head down into her twat. Oh sweet mercy, she smelled good! I 
intruded ny nose hard against the soft flesh between her pussy lips. Ah, 
that was Marnie, all right! That was the real Marnie! Sweet meat, my head 
was spinning with ecstasy! I wanted to let myself go and freak out, but the 
thought of wasting come in the palm of her hand was sharp enough to bring me 
back to my senses. My tongue squirted out between my lips and sampled the 
taste of her tender meat. Ummmm, pussy candy. Just suck, I reminded myself, 
for crissake's don't bite! Ahhh, this is where I want to come home every 
fucking night. 

"Her hand was doing its best to pull on my meat while my mouth worked 
ravenously on her chasm of goodies, but the position was awkward and she 
wasn't able to get much speed up. It was probably just as good. As I said 
before, I didn't want to waste any of my precious come by spilling it into 
her hand. On one of her delightful moves, she slipped her hand all the way 
down my shaft and cupped my balls. Then she started scratching and tugging 
on them. For me, the sensation wasn't all that stimulating, but it was 
soothing and relaxing. It felt sooo good! I found myself halfheartedly 
wishing that the balls were in her mouth, but in order to pull that off we'd 
have to switch positions. And I wasn't about to give up the taste of this 
sweet meat-not yet, anyway. 

"My tongue continued to cut along the furrow of her box, experiencing 
delicious taste sensations every inch of the way. No deodorants down there 
for my Marnie. This was the genuine stuff and I was enjoying it immensely. 

"I worked on her hole for a little while longer, frigging it with my tongue 
and nibbling on its outer edges with my teeth. That portion of her cunt was 
alive with taste-a kind of strong vanilla. The moisture I lapped up had a 
syrupy texture to it and I drew it between my lips, testing its resiliency. 
My entire mouth was vibrating silently, reacting to the womanly taste of 
that adorable love-hole. I didn't want to ever let it go, but my prick was 
beginning to ache and I knew that Marnie had reached that point where she 
was eager to accept my thick seven inches well up into that well-lubricated 
tunnel of hers. 

"Reluctantly, I pulled my mouth away from her cunt. I knelt up again and 
looked down at her body. Her belly and tits were heaving rapidly; it looked 
as though they had just completed a twenty-mile race. Her eyes, half-closed 
and smoky, were on my face. Her lips, full and sensuous, were half-parted; I 
could hear the spottiness of her breathing. Oh, baby, I thought, I've got 
you now. 

"She started to protest as I tugged on her arm, indicating that I wanted her 
to come down on the floor with me. I caressed her and assured her that we'd 
have more room on the floor, that the couch was too narrow. She slid from 
the couch to the floor and positioned herself on her back, her legs spread 
wide. I looked below the hairy mat. The meat was beet-red and those fat 
pussy lips were pouting erotically. 

"Without missing a beat, I quickly placed my knees between her legs, reached 
up and pulled a cushion off the couch, and slipped it under her ass. Her 
arms reached up towards me and I bent over and gave her a crushing kiss. 
Holding that position, I found my rod, hefted it, and slid it into her 
puckered and impatient love-hole. 

"It was like being sucked into a fur-lined piece of pipe. Tight at first, 
and then, as I filled her completely, the tip of my rod could feel nothing. 
She was that deep. All the pressure, all the pleasure, was being experienced 
by the walls of my shaft. And Marnie was an expert when it came to this. She 
could work magic with those cunt muscles of hers. Press, release, press, 
release. If possible, I knew that my already engorged prick would fatten up 
even more each time she manipulated those sexy muscles. We were both so 
sopping wet that there was no need for adjusting. I fell into her all the 
way on the first try, and then I felt both our bodies tighten up in 
preparation for the fuck. 

"My body completely covered hers, but I was careful to keep my weight from 
crushing her weaker frame. My forearms were pressed against the floor and my 
hands were cupping the back of her head. I favored this position above all 
others because it meant that we could kiss as we made love. It also meant 
that I could pull back, if I wished, and either watch her tits bounce while 
we humped or suck them into my mouth. The cock-cunt area of our bodies may 
have been the primary source of sensation, but I always got one hell of a 
charge out of bringing her face and tits into the action, too. 

"At first, she laid still while I did most of the work. Slowly, I moved my 
prick back and forth along her tunnel, simultaneously kissing her lips, 
cheeks, and neck. I tried to extend the sensations, to make them last as 
long as possible, and I think I succeeded. Marnie moaned constantly, 
occasionally throwing her head back as the ecstasy became too much for her. 
Her fingers were kept busy tracing erotic circles over the goose pimples on 
my back, and her lips were busy, too, alternately chewing on my jaw and 
sucking on my lips. I could feel my rod getting fatter and fatter within her 
hole. I knew that before long it would be numb with excitement and that my 
load would come boiling out. 

"And then, as I began to pick up the tempo, Marnie joined in. She began 
using the lower portion of her body, flinging it up so that our pubic areas 
slammed resoundingly together. And on each stroke, as I'd pile all the way 
into her, she'd make a little grinding motion with her hips and 
simultaneously flick her cunt muscles. That little action, done over and 
over, was more than enough to bring on my orgasm. As soon as I started to 
come she released the tautness from her body and experienced her own climax. 
It was a trick that she had learned during the first five years of our 
marriage. She could go all the way up to the brink of orgasm, and then, 
somehow, hold it until I was ready. And, in this instance, as on so many 
other occasions, we ripped off together. 

"The instant I could no longer control my actions, the instant I began to 
come, she scissored her legs up over my back and started slamming her body 
against mine. 'Come on, honey. Oh yes, come on, come on. It feels soooo 
good. Keep it coming ... keep it coming!' And she kept up the talking, 
urging me to let go and let it all come out, all during our orgasms. I think 
the sound of her voice added to her own excitement, although she never would 
admit it to me. But that night I must have dumped a vialful of juice up into 
her bag. I thought I'd never stop. And all the time I'm spurting, she's 
talking to me, raking my back with her fingernails, chewing on my lips, and 
pile-driving her body against mine. 

"The picture wasn't as one-sided as I appear to be painting it. In my mind, 
I can see Marnie thrashing out two whomping climaxes. The first one came 
during the height of my own explosion, and her second one came right on top 
of her first, following my last spurt of come. I'll never forget the way she 
looked just before that second one hit her. For a fraction of an instant it 
looked as though she had died. Her complexion was ashen, the pupils of her 
eyes had rolled back in their sockets and all but disappeared, her mouth was 
frozen open with no visible signs of breathing, and her entire body seemed 
to be captured in some kind of death-like stillness. But then, in one of 
those wonders of life, an enormous charge of energy poured back into her and 
she flew into a convulsive, floor-thrashing climax, all the while searing my 
lips with the heat of her own mouth. By the time she was through, we were 
both completely drained. We remained on the floor for a long time before 
either of us made a move. 

"That's the way I remember it. Marnie might give you a different version, 
but I believe that mine would be the most accurate. After all, I'm the one 
who's been reliving it over and over again for almost seven years. And my 
version must be accurate; otherwise why do I always come in my handkerchief 
every time I think about it." 

Bob I-'s case is a classic example of psychosis totally controlled and, 
perhaps because of that, totally irreversible. The term "totally controlled" 
is used because the subject is not susceptible to any psychiatric 
suggestions which would allow him to release his fantasies, or to accept 
them as such. Not the fantasies of sexual encounter with passengers on the 
bus, or the "travel fantasies" he mentions. These latter he is fully aware 
are fantasies. The fantasy-and there is one primary fantasy that controls 
all of his other delusions-which he refuses to accept as a fantasy, is the 
"puzzling" frigidity of his wife Marnie. 

It is true that Bob had not had intercourse with Marnie for the past seven 
years as he claims. It is not true, however, that Marnie is frigid. Marnie 
is not frigid. Marnie is dead. She has been dead for the past seven years. 

Although Bob I-'s total withdrawal might appear to be unusual, it is, in 
fact, not as uncommon as one might suspect, particularly when the traumatic 
experience is the death of a loved one. 

In a quiz appearing in the June, 1972, issue of Cosmopolitan magazine, 
prepared by Dr. Ernest Dichter, the first question is: 

...Someone in your family has died-your mother, father, husband, child. You 
had been close to each other. How would you react? 

And the four answers are: a. You would refuse to be consoled or see anybody, 
and would try to deny the fact of the loss by holding on to all your 
memories. Only years later would you recover from the blow. b. Deeply 
shocked at first, you would nevertheless find that life soon resumes its 
normal course. c. You'd behave almost hysterically, blaming yourself, 
others, or even the deceased for the tragedy, and would remain inconsolable 
for a long time. d. You'd take stock, accept the fact of death as a painful 
but normal part of life, and make new plans for yourself, possibly involving 
a new life with someone else. 

There can be no question as to the answer 

Bob I-chose-unconsciously-upon the death of his wife, at a very young age. 
Nor can there be any question that he not only loved her very much while she 
was alive but that he loves her more now that she is dead. The 
psychopathology of the subject's situation needs hardly be questioned. Love 
can be thought much of; however, in Bob's case, the blind emotionalism with 
which he had bound himself to the memory of his deceased wife is 
romanticistically pathetic. Death did not part them. 

Psychiatrically speaking, Bob I-, in spite of the pathos he generates 
through his narrative, is on a solid road of perversity. His masturbatory 
perversion, however, is not the type that repulses people. It is not 
criminal. Neither is it dangerous-except, possibly, to himself. He does not 
masturbate while exhibiting his genitals to anyone. He does not allow his 
children to be aware of his deep-seated problem, directly. Nor is he 
institutionalized. It has not been established whether in the presence of 
his children he admits to the fact that their mother is dead. It appears 
more than likely that he does, sliding immediately into believing that 
Marnie is alive only when the children are not in his presence or when they 
are not questioning him about their mother. 

It is apparent from the subject's narrative that he refuses to consider 
remarriage. Something that the psychoanalyst is attempting to recognize-in 
the subject's past, perhaps something in his relationship with Marnie, 
blocks his natural sexual urges. Nothing could be further from Bob's mind 
than his being "unfaithful" to his frigid-deceased spouse. Even in his 
fantasies he does not permit himself to engage in coitus with his 
love-objects; he only performs cunnilingus on them and allows them to 
fellate him. 

Glaringly apparent in the subject is his schizoid personality, a personality 
which J. P. Chaplin, in his Dictionary of Psychology, defines as one "which 
is withdrawn from others, which has difficulty expressing aggressive 
impulses in a direct manner and which engages in introverted, shut-in 
thinking." The extent of this introversion becomes almost frightening-as 
compared to the subject's description of his lovemaking to his wife-as his 
narrative is continued. 

"There's one particular quirk to my fantasies which I think should be 
brought out here. You'll notice that when I fantasize sex with Marnie I can 
do just about anything sexually with her. But no matter how many different 
kinds of sex practices we enjoy, the night always ends up with me having 
intercourse with her. Not so in my other fantasies. Even in my mind I am 
unable to drop my semen in another girl's vagina. I can only bring myself to 
have oral sex with them. Now how the hell is that for a hang-up? 

"The way it has been explained to me is that I am punishing myself. I am 
whipping everything that's alive inside me because of guilt. But what guilt? 
And why guilt? I've never been able to bring myself to fully cheat on my 
wife; my actions have only gone so far and then poof!-they're gone. I've 
been a good father; I take care of my kids. I even think, considering the 
circumstances, that I'm a pretty damned good husband. So what's this guilt? 
Something I said or did to Marnie? Getting after her because she took naps 
instead of doing the housework? I can't believe that. In fact, I'm not even 
positively sure that it was that remark which set off all this misery. 

"I've even been told that I could financially handle a divorce if I really 
wanted one. How's that for a grabber? I've sat down and figured out that 
it's an impossibility-unless a relative suddenly pops off and leaves me 
rich-but here, people outside of my life tell me that I can do it if I 
really want to. What a bunch of horse-shit! They don't know what it's like. 
After all, they're not me! 

"Anyway, I guess I'll be stuck in this marriage for a long time yet. I'll 
just have to make do with what I've got. I've got three square meals a day, 
a roof over my head, clean sheets on my bed, and two kids that love me. Most 
people would consider themselves very lucky to have such a setup. So maybe 
I'm not so bad off, after all. 

"The hell I'm not! I can kid myself all I want to, but the fact remains that 
I'm still cut off from the one thing that I want most: Mar-nie's body. So I 
have to fantasize. I have to dream about other girls. I have to imagine that 
my tongue is on their cunts and their lips are around my prick. Yeah, that's 
where I give it to them-right in the old gullet. I don't want to give it to 
them where it might make babies. I just want them to swallow it and make me 
feel like a big man. 

"I think sometimes that I'm mad-dreaming the kind of dreams I dream. like 
here is one I have quite often. I return from my tour of bus stops to my 
apartment, open the closet door, and find three naked chicks hanging on coat 
hooks. ... Smiling ... waiting for me.... 

"I also had a dandy experience a couple of weeks ago that led to one hell of 
a dream. This chick gets on the bus and the instant I see her my prick 
starts buzzin'. Lord knows, she doesn't have the greatest figure in the 
world. Her face is pinched in, her shoulders are stooped, her breasts are 
small, her legs are stocky, and she's got awfully big feet; in short, she's 
built like a jar of cooking oil. So what turns me on to her, you ask. Her 
hips! Man, she has got the widest hips that I've ever seen on a girl. And 
the first thought that comes to my mind is that she has got to have the 
widest cunt this side of the Nile. 

"As if her build wasn't enough, she accents it by wearing a miniskirt. She 
could barely walk. I know I got to see more of this so I pull one of my 
stoplight tricks. I wait for the green light to turn red and then back to 
green again before I pull away from the curb. In the meantime I'm following 
this chick through the rear-view mirror. I watch her as she waddles down the 
aisle and takes an outside seat about ten rows back. I'm in luck. Sure 
enough, as heavy-hipped women are prone to do, she spreads her legs when she 
sits down. Only slightly, mind you, because that damned miniskirt won't let 
them spread any wider. But it's wide enough for me. I can see between her 
legs. She's wearing pink panties and there are tufts of hair poking out on 
either side of the panties. Wow! For the next ten stops everybody on that 
bus should have insurance. I mean, I got one eye between the chick's legs 
and the other on the road. And when you're driving a bus, you need two eyes. 

"Anyway, we make it safely to the stop where she gets off. She's not even 
all the way down the steps when I start fantasizing. But this time I catch 
myself and force myself to knock it off. But I could hardly wait till that 
night. I promise myself that when Marnie and the kids go to bed I'm really 
going to have one hell of a jack-off session. 

"But it doesn't work out that way. I end up getting into an argument with 
all three of them, all because Joey-that's my boy-bought an expensive stereo 
system through some mail order company without permission. That little scene 
led to another and that to another until I gave up and went to bed early. I 
was so damned angry that I couldn't go to sleep, so I ended up taking a 
sleeping pill. I had completely forgotten about the chick on the bus. 

"Moments later I'm in a forest. Only it really isn't a forest. It's the hair 
from the chick's cunt. Here I am fighting my way through the forest. The 
growth is thick and springy and suddenly I am swinging a machete, cutting a 
path for myself as I move along. There is a heavy, pungent odor hanging in 
the air. It is the smell of cunt and this is the game that the big hunter is 
tracking. I am wearing a week-old beard; I am sweating up a storm; I am 
exhausted; and I am dying of thirst. But I am determined to capture my 
quarry, to corner and devour that cunt meat. Come hell or high water, I 
intend to keep going. 

"Abruptly, with one final swipe of my machete, the crispy brush is gone. 
There is a small clearing and on the other side of it is a high pink wall. 
The odor of cunt is overpowering. I stare at the wall, noting its cuts and 
grooves. Looking at it from this angle, I can see that it's in the shape of 
a cunt. There is the clit, about forty feet up. About head-high off the 
ground is the bottom lip of the vagina. I fling my machete high up in the 
air and shriek out my joy. The big hunter has triumphed again! 

"I look around cautiously, but, of course, there is no sign of life. I creep 
up to the wall and tap the lower edge of the vagina. Suddenly all hell 
breaks loose. The wall starts pulsing in and out, like it's breathing, and 
the air is filled with all kinds of agonized sounds. Layers of pink pussy 
lips close in around the vagina, sealing the entrance from my view. Then, 
after a few seconds, a blast of air from inside pushes the lips back and 
opens the cave to my view again. A few seconds later, the air dies down and 
the lips fold in again. This goes on and on until I realize that the thing 
is breathing. It's alive! What a catch! 

"I look at the top of the wall, at the clit, and I see it turning all 
different colors of the rainbow. Pink, orange, yellow, blue, green, black, 
and back to pink again. Holy hell, a psychedelic clit! Suddenly a voice 
calls out to me. It comes from everywhere and from nowhere and it is full of 
pain. 'Help me, help me. . . ! ' it calls, its sound reverberating all about 
me. I am dumbstruck. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I 
look around for my machete. It's no longer on the ground. Instead, in its 
place, is a pink ladder made out of two huge phalluses with thick strands of 
cunt hairs for rungs. I look up at the wall. The lips around the vagina are 
flapping wildly now being sucked in and blown out at a frantic pace. The 
clit's colors are spinning out of control and the sight makes me dizzy. I 
fall down onto the ground, suddenly frightened. I take out my prick and 
begin jacking off. 

' 'Can't you hear me?' the voice wails. 

"I look at the wall and pump harder on my rod. 'I hear you!' I shout back. 
'But I can't see you. Where are you?' 

"There is about a two-second period of complete silence, and then I hear the 
voice let out a long loud groan of despair. It begins sobbing loudly. I feel 
a tremendous surge of remorse for tracking this miserable creature down. And 
then, gradually, the sobbing fades away and I hear a woman's voice 
whimpering. 

" 'Please ... ! ' I call out. 'How can I help you?' 

"Suddenly, except for the sound of those monstrous pussy lips breathing in 
and out, there is dead silence. No more sobbing. No more whimpering. I 
continue to jack on my rod. 

" 'Hey, big boy, lookin' for somethin' sweet?' 

"I back up against the edge of the forest, fear crawling over my body. 
'Who's that?' I call out. 'Are you going to hurt me?' 

" 'With a mouth like yours? Hell, baby, would a mouse bury a slice of 
cheese?' 

" 'Where are you?' 

" 'Right in front of you. C'mon, big boy, kiss my clit and I promise you-I 
promise you....' 

" 'Promise me what?' 

" 'Kiss my clit and I will tell.' , "Suddenly this new voice breaks into a 
spasm of giggles. I look up at the clit. The color wheel has stopped. It is 
now a steady pink. And as I watch, it too, like the vagina below it, begins 
to breathe. It is like watching a tremendous balloon being blown out and 
deflated-over and over again. I rush over to the ladder, prop it up against 
the wall, and begin climbing. 

" "Tee-hee, tee-hee,' giggles the voice. 'Don't let my hole catch you. It'll 
gobble you up!' 

"The in-and-out movements of the pussy lips have slowed considerably. I 
remain on the fifth rung of the ladder for several minutes, timing the 
movements of the lips. I can see into the blackness of the hole. It is 
frightening. I watch the lips carefully. At one point, when they have just 
closed over the opening, I make my move. Faster than I have ever moved in my 
life, I scurry up the ladder, barely avoiding the upper edges of the lips as 
they blow out. When I reach the top of the ladder, I am still too short. 

" 'You'll have to help me,' I call out. 'I can't reach you.' 

" 'Big man, big prick,' the voice squeals in delight. 'Kiss my clit and I 
promise you. Strong man, tasty prick. Tee-hee, tee-hee.' 

"I am frantic. I've got to reach that clit. But before I can even work on 
the problem, the wall begins to tilt. I am terrified. I am going to fall to 
my death. I am going to be gobbled up by that enormous hole. But then I am 
aware that only the top part of the wall is tilting. The clit is caving down 
towards me. I reach up and touch it with my fingers as it nears me. 
"Tee-hee, kiss my clit,' I hear the voice giggle. Closer and closer it comes 
to my lips. I stretch my neck, trying to meet it with a kiss. Just a few 
inches more ... closer and closer ... closer and-ah! success! 

"I am on the rear seat of the bus, my face buried between my passenger's 
legs. Her cunt is everything I imagined. Wide, hairy, thick-lipped, and 
juicy. I am tongue-jacking her clit, listening to her moans of pleasure. It 
sounds like she is near orgasm. I work my tongue faster. 

"There is a strong suction on my prick. I look around. We are in a 
sixty-nine and that wonderful passenger is drawing the life from my rod. 
Suddenly I realize that my meat is pulsing and I can feel the spurts of come 
jetting from its head. It is a wonderful feeling, a fulfilling feeling. I 
say thank you to the woman's cunt. It has kept its promise. 

"When I awoke the next morning, the dream was still fresh on my mind and my 
bedsheets were coated with sticky sperm. Hurriedly, I tore down the bed and 
got the sheets into the washer. Since I often got my laundry in the washer 
before going to work, I don't think that Marnie ever discovered the mess. 

"Read what you will into that dream. To me, it's nothing. It's just one more 
fantasy in a lifeful of fantasies. Awake or asleep, they find me or I find 
them. And I know they'll always be with me, at least until Marnie and I make 
up-which could be never. 

"My 'world travels' fantasies probably give me more satisfaction than any 
other kind. For here I can lose myself among strangers and do almost 
anything I want. I say 'almost' only because I am still unable to visualize 
myself having intercourse with a stranger. This, despite the exotic makeup 
of her body and despite the control that I have over any encounter I choose 
to enter. 

"These fantasies, if they were to be dissected, could be broken down into 
two phases. During the first phase, I establish myself as a man among men, 
deliberately confronting danger and always overcoming it. These experiences 
always give my ego a tremendous life and prepare me for the rewards of phase 
two. In the latter phase I become a Don Juan and a Casanova all rolled up 
into one prick. Women find me irresistible and, gallantly, I do my best to 
satisfy them. 

"Not too long ago, I had successfully completed a dangerous assignment for a 
South African diamond company and had decided to take a couple of days off 
to relax and recuperate on the sandy shores of southern Italy. As I lay on 
the beach nursing the bullet wound on my right side, two bikini-clad Italian 
beauties strode up. 

" 'Would you mind settling an argument for us?' one asked in perfect 
English. 

" 'If I can,' I answered politely, holding one hand aloft to cut down on the 
glare of the sun. I was to identify the slim one, the girl who had spoken to 
me, as Tina. The other, more bosomy chunk of flesh, was to be Anna. 

" "The argument may seem rather silly to you,' said Anna, 'but it does mean 
something to us.' 

"I bit down on the end of my cigar and stared openly at their bodies. Nice 
pieces, but too tanned, I thought. Marnie would never get that brown. 'Bad 
for the skin,' she would say. I waited patiently for the girls to deliver 
the question. 

"Finally, Anna dropped to her knees before me. 'We have noticed you for the 
past couple of days,' she began. 'We have been admiring you. You know ... ? 
' 

" 'I understand,' I said. 

" 'Anyway,' Tina picked up, also falling to her knees, 'I say that your cock 
has been circumcised and Anna says that it has not. Can you tell us which 
one of us is correct?' 

"I clamped down on my cigar and thought the question out carefully before 
answering. Finally, I looked up at them. 'Girls,' I said, 'I work in a tough 
business ... a rotten business. I don't trust anybody. Can't. My life is too 
valuable to be left up to trust. Y'understand ... ? ' 

"Both nodded and leaned forward expectantly. 

" 'So I always gotta see things for myself. Never trust anybody's word. Got 
the picture ... ? ' 

" 'Yes,' Anna answered, her heavy bosom heaving excitedly. "Take it out so 
we can see it.' 

"Now even in a fantasy I can't imagine myself exposing my prick on a public 
beach. So, conveniently, I transported the three of us to my hotel room. The 
two cunts are sitting on the edge of the bed; I am standing before them, 
wearing only my bathing trunks. 

" 'Are you ready, girls?' 

"They both nodded eagerly. Tina ran her hand down inside her bikini bottom 
and I could see a steady movement strike up right about where her clit would 
be. Anna, the heavy breather, cupped her tits in her hands and began 
squeezing them. 

"Dramatically, I shoved my trunks down to my ankles. "There you are, girls. 
No foreskin. I've been circumcised. Tina wins!' 

"Anna's face clouded as she looked at her companion. 'All right,' she 
glowered, 'you first!' 

"I always like to have at least one poor sport in my foreign travels. I love 
to have women fight over me. 

"Tina smiled brightly and moved her face to about one inch from my prick 
which, I might point out, was like a rock. 'Do you mind ... ? ' she asked. 

" 'Of course not,' I said. 'Here ... I'll help you.' 

"Gently, I placed my hands on her cheeks and guided her mouth onto my prick. 
Mamma mia! Her mouth was bottomless! She had gobbled in all seven inches of 
my lumber and my balls at the same time! Stunned, I looked over at Anna. She 
had removed her bikini top and was now going all out on her tits. She glared 
at Tina, then looked up at me. 'She is a pig!' she spat out. 

"The world needs more pigs I mused to myself as Tina lathered up my prick 
and frigged herself off at the same time. It was an unusual experience. I 
had never had the top of my prick and the bottom of my balls chewed on at 
the same time. I reached down and patted her head. 'You're doing a lovely 
job, Tina. Just lovely.' 

"I held off my ejaculation until she came. Now that was almost a disaster. 
When she did come, I thought for sure I was going to be castrated. Her teeth 
were that sharp. But then, after her orgasm had faded, the little darling 
used the roof of her mouth to apply friction to the top of my cock. I felt 
my balls expand against the softness of her tongue as I shot off. This was a 
new thrill for me, coming in someone's mouth with my prick and balls in 
there at the same time. 

"When Tina was finished with her job, I turned to Anna. 'One moment, 
please.' I paced up and down the room for a few minutes, jacking my rod back 
up. When it was ready I walked up to Anna. 'You'll have to go some to top 
your friend,' I said pleasantly. I reached over and patted Tina on the head. 
She grabbed my hand and kissed it. 

"Anna yanked my hand away and looked up at me imploringly. "Trust me,' she 
said. 

"I smiled graciously down upon her and held my cock out in front of her 
mouth. But she brushed it away and fell to her knees in front of me. Moaning 
softly, she lifted her ponderous tits and crushed them around my rod. It was 
like being captured by two pillows. I was delighted at her maneuver. With 
the dispatch of a professional tit-woman, Anna massaged my prick with her 
sensual weapons. Before a minute was up, I felt the oncoming orgasm. I 
grunted and Anna caught the signal. Quickly, she dipped her head down and 
scooped the front half of my prick into her mouth while her tits continued 
to massage the bottom half. If possible, the load she got was even heavier 
than the one I gave Tina. She slurped out her pleasure as she took every 
ounce of juice that I could give her. 

"Later, I serviced both women, going down on them for the pure joy of it. 
When Anna shoved her extra-large box in my face, she spread her cunt-hole 
wide and said that she would be delighted to receive my cock into it. I 
thanked her kindly, but told her that I would rather suck than fuck. She 
shrugged her shoulders indifferently, and then proceeded to whomp the hell 
out of my face when she came. 

"These are my fantasies. These are the wild and weird sexual outlets I allow 
myself for years and years of physical denial. Marnie shows no signs of 
letting up on her crusade of 'punishing me,' if that is indeed what she is 
doing. I've been seeking professional help, trying to find some way out of 
my hell-hole. She thinks it's a waste of money and a waste of time. 
Sometimes I think that she doesn't believe that we have a problem. I can 
only hope that someday-when she's ready-she'll follow my example." 

The prognosis for Bill I is extremely pessimistic. It is felt that only 
through some sort of "shock" will he accept the reality of his situation, 
and thereby return to the world that, in fact, needs sensitive men such as 
he. Only then will he be able to be the father to his motherless 
children-the father that they must desperately need. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

A Night at the Movies 

"I'd guess we got into our present kick from the very first time we made it 
together, Myrtle and I. We'd gone together a couple of months, if you can 
call coffee breaks and maybe a couple beers after the show 'going together.' 

"We talked about things I guess all aspiring young actors talk about-how 
funny somebody's 'bit' was or how somebody was screwing up the blocking or 
the timing; did you see so-and-so in such-and-such, and that kind of thing. 
But the most important thing was that we liked each other's work. It can be 
difficult to get along with someone-not necessarily, but frequently-if 
you're putting them down about their talent or work. 

"Myrtle, she was-well, with a name like that to start with, you'd almost 
have to be-she was a fine mimic in addition to being a good actress. I mean, 
she used a stage name and also a nickname that everyone called her: Marnie. 
So no one that I know of ever knew her real name. She gave me some song and 
dance about her parents having come over from their medieval fief-hold near 
the Marne River, and when she was a young kid in school and her class mates 
asked where she was from, she told them the Marne. But when she spelled it 
out for them, they pronounced it Marnie. 

"Anyway, one night after the show we were sitting in a sleazy little bar at 
the end of Waverly Place in the Village, and she said, 'You know, nobody at 
the theater knows my real name,' grabbing a handful of pretzels to chomp, 
cocking an eyebrow at me. 

"I'd been running off at the mouth about something and I stopped right in 
the middle of a sentence and said, 'Oh?' Wiping designs on the table with my 
glass. Fun. Miss Rheingold, all that. 

" 'Yeah,' with this flat, brassy voice, clicking nonexistent gum with her 
teeth, 'it's Myrtle.' 

"I broke out laughing, I mean I guffawed. Almost fell on the floor. Tears, 
the whole bit. 

"When I calmed down, she said, looking at me levelly, 'You're the first one 
who's laughed when I told them my real name.' 

"Well, I tried to keep a straight face as I told her my favorite aunt's name 
had been Myrtle. Which was the truth, but I'd always laughed at her name, 
too, behind her back. 

"But Marnie smiled at me and said, 'Don't take it so seriously. What my 
parents had in mind was beautiful flowers and fragrant spices.' Giving me 
this Elaine May ingenue look. "There are worse names, you know. Hmm? " 'Oh,' 
earnestly. 'Myrtle is a very ... unique name.' 

" 'My folks,' wide-eyed, 'just couldn't see calling me "Periwinkle" or 
"Moneywort." ' " 'Yes.' 

"I was kind of numb for a moment. I hadn't yet caught on to her ways. Of 
course her name wasn't Myrtle, never had been. Marnie was just a name she 
liked to be called. 

"I gave her my tight-lipped Humphrey Bogart 'Lissen, sweetheart,' and she 
decided I was Rick right there. 'Oh, Rick.' A very passable In-grid Bergman. 

" 'What if my name was Murgatroyd?' I said. 'What would you say? ... 
Uh-nhi-ii, there, my name's Murgatroyd. What-' 

" 'A noble name,' she shot back. 'Carried down from the Middle Ages by only 
a few honored descendants of the Knights of the Holy Rood of Murcat. When 
those staunch defenders returned to England, instead of making them Knights 
of the Round Table or the Garter, they were made Knights of the Murcatrood. 
The king was a cockney, though, and it came out "Murgatroyd." ' 

"That's the kind of wacky imagination she had. Before the night was 
over-after about a dozen beers-we were both a bit sloshed. We went back to 
her place and sacked out. Me on the floor. But it made things easier the 
next time we dropped in for a couple beers after the show. We split to her 
place to watch TV and save on the price of drinks. 

"Now, I gotta set the scene. Sitting there in front of the TV, making snide 
comments about the late movies and the talk shows, drinking beer out of 
glasses no less, the two of us. Dim light in the kitchen-bathroom. Commode 
in a tiny closet all by itself. Typical Village-type New York apartment. 

"Both of us sitting there on the couch-bed, the only real illumination 
coming from the eerie flicker of the idiot box. Our running commentary 
slowly losing steam. I think we were both becoming conscious of the other 
person sitting next to us on the couch. I know I was becoming acutely 
conscious of her. , "Marnie got up. 'I feel icky from all the grime in that 
theater.' Pouring the rest of her beer into my glass. 'But don't go 'way, 
Ricky-ticky-tin. I won't be a minute.' 

"Well, it wasn't a minute. It was more like half an hour. But I spent the 
time profitably, divided between viewing the garbage on the idiot box and 
considering my incipiently new relationship with Marnie. It suddenly struck 
me that I might have a very good thing going here. 

"I mean she was a real good-looking chick. I tried to visualize her without 
her old sweat shirt and baggy jeans that she usually wore. Her hair combed 
instead of hanging all around like a cross between Veronica Lake and Janis 
Joplin. I tried to conjure up a definitive vision of her face and couldn't 
do it. It kept sliding and melting and blurring out of focus. One minute: 
Raquel Welch, by God. The next: Brigitte Bar-dot. Then: Sophia Loren? When I 
think back, it was as much a comment on the power of my own imagination as 
it was on her talent for mimicry and makeup. 

"But there is no doubt that, from that night on, she has been my fantasy 
queen. I mean, get this. 

"I was sitting there watching this flick starring Rita Hayworth-this flick 
we'd both been digging. Now, Rita Hayworth was my original pubescent sex 
goddess. When I was pubescent, not her. I mean, the first time I felt a 
lustful tickle in my balls, it was when I caught a night-gowned, 
deep-decolletaged Rita Hayworth smiling sexily at me from the pages of Life. 
Instant lubricity. Gonads buzzing, hormones slavering. 

"So. Half my mind getting turned on vicariously by Rita Hayworth, wanting to 
grab her thighs and lick her from the kneecaps up. The other half trying to 
capture the face, the figure, the voice, the form and pressure of Marnie and 
toying with the idea of grabbing her-preferably by her elusive ass-and doing 
the same thing to her. 

"Slowly I became aware of a delightful scent wafting by me on the air. I 
felt, more than heard, someone approach behind me on the right. Perfume 
stronger, a growing aura. Ambient temperature up, barometer up. I heard a 
soft voice, husky close to my ear. 

" 'Well, do you think...? ' I didn't hear all she said too clearly, but it 
was a dead ringer for the voice of Rita Hayworth. 

"My mind clicked. She was right beside me 

-the voice, the scent, I felt the warmth, heard her breathing. 

"I turned and brushed warm lips with mine. 

" 'Mmh-mhmmm-' Rita. I was kissing Rita Hayworth. Moist, warm mouth. Soft 
zephyrs, inhalations, Rita-scent. Pulse pounding in my ears, my fingers on 
her throbbing neck, soft. Soft liquid lips and tonguing, sucking. Stars 
whirling behind my eyes, the world inhaled into a warm kiss. 

"Christ, my temples throbbed. I ran my tongue around her warm, trembling 
lips. Her mouth opened slightly and she nibbled tenderly on my lower lip. 
Her fingers brushed my cheek. 

" 'Ga-a-a-a-a-a-a-awd.' I hadn't realized how horny I was until then. Half 
my head was tripping on Rita Hayworth and my senses tripping with this 
luscious, fragrant, soft and tender bit of pulchritude. 

"Well, my head was into this double bag of Rita-fantasy and Marnie-live, 
flesh and blood. So when I drew back a bit and looked at her, I was mightily 
surprised at what I saw. Who should my eyes tell me I was kissing butJune 
Ally son. 

"Remember her?-girl next door, husky, late-adolescence voice. Always 
remaining true to some poor man's Jimmy Stewart while he was in the army. 

"Mind you, it was just a fleeting impression. The features coalesced for an 
instant and then scattered. But for one nostalgic, heart-fluttery moment I 
was gazing into the laughing eyes of everybody's 1940s' girl-next-door 
heartthrob. June Allyson-the girl whose pussy I most wanted to sniff when I 
was a teenybopper. Flower child that I was, I just knew it would smell like 
the lilac bush in my back yard. Clean, verdant, girl-next-door cunt. 

" 'Say, there, fella,' still using a Rita Hay-worth voice, 'you're real 
easy.' It didn't fit the fleeting June Allyson image. Kind of fragmented 
her. 

"Fragmented me, too, but not so much I was unable to reach out and pull her 
down on the bed with me. 

" 'You wouldn't believe the deja vu I just had.' Cuddling her in my arms, 
the image of weep-a-minute June fresher than hump-a-min-ute Rita. 'For a 
while my gonads were convinced they had Rita Hayworth in their radar.' 

" 'Oh, sir,' she said in a voice I couldn't immediately identify but later 
placed as coming from Mary Poppins, 'you do say the strangest things.' But 
there was a gentle, persistent rhythm of belly and groin on my leg. Suddenly 
she became-now get this-Jeanne Moreau, who has always grabbed me where it 
counts, and Gloria Steinem, who turns me on. I mean, I'll bet Gloria Steinem 
is great in bed. Imaginative. Articulate-in body English. 

"I couldn't hold back these trippy sensations any longer and started to tell 
Marnie about them. About the fantasies she excited in me. She listened 
eagerly, squirming and humming with pleasure occasionally. Eating it up, she 
was. Then she stunned me. 

" 'You know what I'd like to do?' looking at me with a 1949-vintage Margaret 
O'Brien look, for God's sake. 'I'd like to fuck Humphrey Bogart.' 

" 'Play it again, Sam.' I was Bogey at his most irresistible. The damp towel 
she had wrapped around her fell away. 

" 'I'm serious,' she said, looking at me for the first time with an 
expression that jelled as belonging to her, to Marnie. 'Do you think if you 
can see all those actresses in me, I can't see Humphrey Bogart in you? ... I 
ask you.' It was a good thing she didn't want to fuck Clark Gable. 

"The body she had certainly wasn't that of a sub-teen Margaret O'Brien. 
Neither was it Anita Ekberg. But it was pretty astounding compared to some 
of the chicks I'd been picking up in the Village and the upper West side. 

"As with her face and personality, she seemed able almost to change her 
physical qualities-one evening a svelte May Britt, the next a buxom Rosanna 
Podesta. So like a chameleon was she that I insisted once on taking her 
measurements just to fix things in my mind a little. 

"Thirty-six-inch bust, a firm, comfortable handful of tit with large, 
stand-up nipples that never failed to erect proudly when I mouthed them. 
Twenty-two-inch waist, taut and well muscled as befits a dancer, but with 
the cutest, juiciest little bulge around the upper pubic area. A marvelously 
sexy belly button, from which I licked wine or whipped cream more than once. 
Her hips and ass had a beautiful can't to them and tapered into long, 
athletic thighs and well-shaped calves. Ass cheeks the size and firmness of 
Persian melons. God! how I loved to grab that ass of hers and knead it with 
my sweaty palms, feel the muscles flex under my hands, run my fingers into 
the long, deep cleft between the firm globes. Jesus, the smell of her ass 
cleft was pure ambrosia. 

"Without her towel under the dim light from the TV, Marnie presented a 
fascinating sight. There was a sort of mysterious play of shadows on her 
face and body, forming vales and highlights. 

" 'I'll just lie here,' she said, 'and think of Bogey. Just tell me who 
you'd like most to fuck right now.' 

"I was beginning to get hard just listening to her voice as she carried on 
with that brazen talk. She felt my erection grow and started unbuttoning my 
pants with fast, eager fingers. Before I knew it she had my pants and shorts 
down around my ankles and was caressing my cock with a feather touch. 

" 'Ohh, God, that stiff dick feels beautiful,' she said. 

"I was out of my clothes in a flash. 

"Slipping back onto the bed, I gave her a wet kiss, running my tongue around 
her mouth. She ran her hands up and down my body, lingering at my cock and 
balls, my nipples, my ass to squeeze and caress. 

" 'Elizabeth Taylor,' I said. 

" 'What about her?' with an edge to the question. 

" "That's who I'd like to screw right now.' My eyes were closed and I was 
visualizing a rather, what shall I say, voluptuous Elizabeth Taylor, just a 
little on the heavy side. I'd been hot for her when I saw her in Who's 
Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Not grossly fat, mind you-not that. Just what they 
call saftig, round and firm and fully packed. I remember reading somewhere 
that Richard Burton had said Liz sometimes tended to a little heaviness in 
the thighs. Well, hell, I don't mind heavy thighs as long as they keep their 
muscle tone. 

"Into my ear sifted soft words of endearment, while talented hands and 
fingers explored the textures of my skin. Down the small of my back, 
tap-tapping on my buttocks and into the crevice of my ass to my balls. An 
expert, feathery touch. Warm lips brushed my earlobes, and a wet tongue 
fluttered into my ear. Sturdy legs raised themselves along my flanks and 
squeezed around my waist with just enough pressure to force an appreciative 
sigh from me. 

"But what really tingled and twisted my mind around a little bit was that 
the whisperings in my ear were those of Liz Taylor circa Butterfield 8. Or 
maybe the liquid cooings that she did in Suddenly Last Summer, where she 
absolutely turned me on in that read-through bathing suit. You know, that 
kind of material she wore you could almost see through but not quite. 

"The bits of pubic hair that stuck out of her bathing suit-or maybe they 
didn't stick out, but just sat there under the sheer material-I seem to 
remember that vividly. And here, on this bed, by the light of the flickering 
TV screen, I had my arms around a body out of whose mouth was coming the 
voice of Liz, and under one hand was the warm, steamy thatch of soft, 
freshly washed pubic hair, which gave off a scent that turned me on and, 
strangely, seemed to be tuned in to the precise length of my brain waves in 
such a way that the picture of Liz Taylor became pulsatingly clear in my 
mind. 

"That's only one example of the freaky ways she had of becoming, in my mind, 
somebody else. As I say, I don't know if that reflects on her fantastic 
ability as a mimic or on the power of my imagination. Imagine having your 
olfactory nerves provide the stimulus for visual hallucinations. 

"Well, with this Liz Taylor voice in my ear and a Liz Taylor smell in my 
nose, the charade really began to envelop all my senses. The legs wrapped 
around my waist became Liz legs, the breasts firming up under my hand became 
Liz breasts. The pubic hair and plump cunt flesh I had my hand on began to 
take on the configuration, the very flesh and folds, I was convinced were 
Liz's. The belly pressed against mine took on the rounded firmness of Liz's. 

"'Oh, you,' she said, 'cocksman! I was so jealous of Ingrid Bergman in 
Casablanca-' Deft fingers eased the head of my gorged dick into the crack 
between warm labia. '-and here she was willing to fuck you for a simple 
passport or visa-' Fingers dandled my balls lovingly while cunt lips nibbled 
the glans of my penis. '-and I would've fucked you for the sheer ecstatic 
joy-' The voice throbbed with passion.'-of getting your big dick and your 
hot, thick load!' 

"I was into my fantasy so thoroughly that I couldn't for the life of me 
figure out what she was babbling about-what Liz was babbling about-all that 
about being jealous of Ingrid Bergman who wanted to fuck me for a passport. 
Then it hit me, of course-she was talking about the movie Casablanca, where 
Bergman comes to plead with Humphrey Bogart to help her and her husband get 
out of the clutches of the Vichy government in Morocco. 

"Well, I was now in the clutches of thighs that were urging me toward 
imminent penetration of heated cunt lips. Preparing myself, lodging the 
pulsing tip of my dick firmly into the nibbling maw of Liz's cunt, I rasped 
in my best stiff-upper-lip style, 'Here's looking at you, kid.' 

"That tired, hoarse line, that existentialist echo of Bogey's, triggered 
some switch that unleashed a torrent of passion. She pulled me into her with 
a force that, had she not been ready and lubricated, would've damn near torn 
her vagina. But I sank deep into a tight, seething pit where muscles grabbed 
my imprisoned rod and stroked it voluptuously. And always there was the 
voice of Liz cooing in my ear. 

" 'Ooh, hot fuck!' she breathed, and her hands went to my ass to squeeze my 
buttocks and diddle around my ass-hole. Jesus, it felt like there was 
another pair of hands inside her cunt, squeezing and jacking me off. 'See if 
you can tell,' the throaty Liz voice asked me, 'which movie I'm in now.' 

"With that, her legs whipped up and proceeded to wrap around me in a variety 
of ways. I found myself sort of cradled between her pneumatic thighs, while 
her calves and feet massaged and beat little tattoos around my back and 
sides. The way her goddam pussy was flexing its muscles it was as if it had 
a life of its own. I felt my hard on throb to greater length and girth, 
swell into mucous crevices and along pulsating walls. 

" 'Ooh, lover,' she groaned, 'pump that big hot cock to me.' I grabbed on to 
her shoulders and pushed in an extra half inch until I felt the knob of my 
dick strain against the cartilaginous nubs of her cervix-exquisite pleasure! 
'Great Caesar!' she yelled. The pulsing and flutterings of her body grew 
more agitated. Her nipples hardened against my chest. 'Sock it to me!' she 
shrieked in Liz's voice. Was it Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I wondered. 

"She clutched and moaned and groaned, whipping her ass like a palsied viper. 
She shuddered. 'Annihilate me!' Her voice rasped, choked with lust. 

" 'Cleopatra!' I shouted. That had to be it. My cock throbbed, my balls 
tingled with impending orgasm. 

"The juices flowed from her cunt like soggy, thick paste. Our genitals 
mashed it around until our entire union was a marshy mass. 'No, silly,' she 
giggled. Her cunt lips trembled against the root of my flinty dick. With 
both hands gripping the globes of her ass, I could feel her anus begin to 
pucker so that the taut flesh around it jumped rhythmically. 

"My hands flew over her body, squeezing her buttocks, caressing her flanks, 
caressing her breasts and calves. A thin sheen of sweat shone under the 
light from the television. Our bellies smacked together sweatily. I slowed 
the rhythm so I could plug her as deeply as my rigid cock would go. 

"Her features, sodden with lust, gradually tightened; her eyes sparkled, 
glinting with a purplish fire, drilling into mine. 'What movie?' she 
demanded. 'Fuck me-deeper!' The voice was strangely, childishly petulant. It 
excited me. 

" 'Oo-o-oh,' she trilled, 'fuck me-faster!' Her cunt clipped and her eyes 
brightened feverishly. 'What movie?' she hissed. Her heart pounded so 
strongly it drummed in my ears like the sound of the tide. 

"Her hands seized my ass and pulled me to her with a sharply faster rhythm. 
In the depths of her cunt I felt the muscles grip the throbbing tip of my 
cock. The entire sheath then squeezed the length of the shaft. 

" 'I ... I give up,' I whimpered, slamming my dick into her, rocking and 
humping to the frenzied pull of her hands. My chest tightened, my breath 
rasped, the muscles in my body spasmed. With a shout I felt the load in my 
nuts boil over. 

"Her cunt gripped my shaft like a vise. Never before had I felt such a 
grip-sheer, oiled ecstasy. With a 'Hah!' I felt the muscles of my cock 
contract and spew out a long, searing rope of come. A pulse beat in the base 
of my skull. 

"She bucked and twisted under me. Her cunt gripped my shaft from tip to root 
in tight, exquisite agony. Pneumatic thighs and flanks squeezed my body, 
urging spasm after spasm of electric jolts through my cock. Seized in the 
throes of thundering orgasm, our bodies leapt and vaulted. 

"Her face glowed with a doll-like smile, and in a high-pitched, girlish sigh 
she gasped out, shuddering, 'National Velvet.' 

Myrtle and Rick, the principals of this case history are not unique in their 
fantasy-playing where they pretend to be those whom they both admire the 
most and hate the most. The combination of this admiration-hate could be 
equated with professional jealousy, or envy, and the make-believe game of 
theirs could be compared to the juvenile games of cops and robbers, cowboys 
and Indians, or-more specifically-the game of the Knights of the Round 
Table. 

There is no pathology in the subject's fantasies. His fantasies, and 
Myrtle's fantasies, are not unlike the fantasies of innumerable men and 
women, husbands and wives, and precocious adolescents who "pretend" they are 
with their Silver Screen, TV, or radio idols. The only difference between 
Rick and Myrtle's game and the game of the majority of others is that in the 
case under discussion the subject and his friend volubly increase the 
arousal aspects of pretense by playing the roles of those they want each 
other to be. 

Pin-up pictures of motion-picture stars and starlets-both male and female-to 
anyone who is not bound by inhibitions, are not bought and displayed by the 
masses (usually in their bedrooms, locker rooms, and other "intimate" areas) 
because of the esthetics of photography. There is definitely a sexual 
motivation for such possessions. 

In the case under study, being gifted with the talent for mimicry, both Rick 
and Myrtle simply went a step further than the masses. Rather than fantasize 
in the closeted space of the bathroom-with the portrait of their idol before 
them-they chose to actually have intercourse as well as engage in various 
other sexual activities with those they had found "sexy" on the screen. 

The arousal factor of such a situation cannot be minimized. Anyone who has 
had a matinee idol can understand the erotic value of such a situation. The 
question here is not so much the "what" or "why" of the fantasy as the "how 
much" of it. And the question, unfortunately, does not have an answer. The 
case was not obtained from a psychiatrist's private notebook or tapes; it 
was transcribed from a tape made by the case subject himself. There was no 
opportunity offered to have Rick interviewed, so the question of whether he 
and Myrtle engage in a "make-believe" sexual session every time they get 
together or not is moot. 

Going on such an uncertainty, it can only be said that if the subject and 
his "costar" engage in mimicry only occasionally-to add variety to their 
lovemaking-then one can simply say that it is perfectly natural, considering 
their previously mentioned (and obvious) talents. If, however, they are 
unable to enjoy sexual congress without calling upon all the motion-picture 
greats of past and present; if, in other words, they-Rick and Myrtle-cannot 
attain gratification by being themselves, then their sexual lives could 
create obvious problems. A separation, for example, would eliminate any 
possibility of either one of their attaining the full enjoyment of the 
sexual act. 

"We lay there for a while in the flickering light of the TV, getting our 
breath and letting the glow of our bodies, the heat and the sweat, radiate 
in the cool of the night. Most amazing was the metamorphosis of Marnie's 
body and features. I was still, uh, intromitted, and throbbing, and I gazed 
into her face and saw, I swear, the face of a very young Liz Taylor. The 
body felt ... late-adolescent blooming into womanhood. And as I watched, the 
face and body resumed the familiar attributes of Marnie. Fantastic. 

" 'Play it, again, Sam,' she teased, bearing down with practiced muscles. 

"But I was tired, drained for the moment, so I couldn't really respond. As a 
matter-of-fact, my whang fell out of her with a small plup sound. Along with 
it there came a miniature flood of thick, milky paste that shone softly in 
the dim light and made fascinating patterns against the red vulva and dark 
pubic hair. 

" 'Ooh,' she crooned. 'I can feel a big, warm gob of come drooling all over 
my bohulideee.' With a slow, sensual movement, she reached between her legs 
and smeared the semen over her vulva and buttocks and insides of her thighs. 
She leered. 

"My whang gave a couple of leaps at that. It stood out at half-mast and 
throbbed, but didn't have its heart in a full-fledged erection. It was 
pointed right at Marnie, though, and I think it was examining her with its 
one eye. 

"I raised myself up momentarily and switched on a low, soft wall lamp. It 
gave a subdued light that filtered through the room and cast a warm glow on 
the couch where Marnie was stretched like a sylph. Still with the 
adolescent, nubile body of the young Liz-even the face suggestive of that 
lovely young visage from National Velvet. Amazing. 

"It's really amazing how her hair, for example, can take on almost any hue 
from jet black to strawberry blonde. Without the benefit of a wig, although 
she has a couple of those. And her eyes can seem one moment the brightest 
blue and the next a deep, smoky brown, almost obsidian. I think probably the 
only person she couldn't convince me she was would be Ruby Dee in Raisin in 
the Sun. On the other hand, maybe she could. Hey, I'm gonna have to ask her 
to try that sometime. I find Ruby Dee very attractive. 

"Anyway, we both stopped feeling horny for a while, so we decided to take a 
walk around the Village for a spell. We thought of dropping into a couple of 
coffee shops or pubs along Bleeker Street or Christopher Street. But all of 
a sudden we got sick and tired of stepping around the assorted freaks, 
dopers, prostitutes, and panhandlers. So we decided to take a subway uptown 
and drop in on a bar that used to be a neighborhood pub of mine. Congenial 
place, right near Columbia University on Broadway. Called The West End. 

"Yeah, that's one reason Marnie and I both left New York a few years back. 
Slowly it changed for the worse. I mean, when we were both young and callow 
and in our salad days, New York was fun city, a summer festival and all 
that. The sight of all those dopers and hookers and freaks, the general 
atmosphere of paranoid madmen in a Kafka setting, finally brought home to us 
the fact that New York was really no longer fun city. That's when we first 
started thinking about splitting that scene and heading, maybe, to the 
Coast. That's what New Yorkers call Hollywood or Los Angeles-the Coast. 

"So we figured we'd get out of the Kafka scene for a while by going up to 
this West End Bar, about 114th and Broadway. Waiting for the subway, we were 
aware of the station, dim, musty, smelling of months-old urine and puke. 
Murderers and rapists and strung-out heads seemed to lurk everywhere. 

"On the subway train there were more drunks and madmen. Two homosexuals 
across the aisle were holding hands and whispering sweet nothings to each 
other. Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against gay people or gay power. 
But they just added to the total effect of bedlam. 

"We got off at 116th Street, figuring we'd find a little sanity around the 
ivied halls of Columbia. I should have known what to expect when I heard 
somebody whistling what sounded like the Wieniawski Violin Concerto. I mean, 
can you imagine anybody trying to whistle the Wieniawski Violin Concerto. I 
don't see how anyone can play it on the violin. 

"Sure enough, when we stepped out of the subway onto 116th, there was a 
scene of real bedlam going on. We'd walked into the middle of the Columbia 
demonstrations. 

" 'Hi-de-ho,' whooped Marnie. 'We seem to have walked right into a scene 
from Marat-Sade.' I have to admit that, as we walked down Broadway, there 
seemed to be a lot of people that looked like they were inmates from the 
asylum at Charenton. 

"But I sure as hell didn't feel like the Marquis de Sade, so we zipped into 
the cool of the West End as fast as we could. I mean,' the scene at Columbia 
was too much. Students running around, cops running around, lights flashing, 
people yelling and staggering around bloody or bandaged. Fun city. 

"Of course the place was pretty packed. A lot of students in there, talking 
excitedly about the demonstrations, the busts. We got our beers and, just as 
we turned from the bar, I spied a young girl I hadn't seen for about three 
years. She must've just turned eighteen, because I remember feeling 
marvelously like a dirty old man when I used to stare at her when she was 
only fourteen. Yes, I used to get secret erections thinking about that 
girl's tight ass and fourteen-year-old cunt. 

"She looked a little distraught, as though she might've been crying, so I 
told Marnie I knew her and let's go over and say hello. Marnie agreed with 
alacrity. 

"So we walked over to where this young chick was sitting with her beer. 
'Zinka,' I said-it was some kind of nickname I'd known her by and what 
everyone called her-'Zinka, you look a little bit the worse for wear.' She 
looked up with a wan smile and motioned for us to sit down. Miraculously, 
she had an entire booth to herself. I say 'miraculously' because not only 
was the place crowded, but it is notorious among those who know it as a 
place where a single girl excites the same response as a raw steak thrown 
into a shark tank. And Zinka, I was quick to note, had fulfilled 
breathtakingly the promise she'd held as a fourteen-year-old. 

"We sat. I introduced Zinka and Marnie. 'You look down in the dumps,' I said 
to Zinka. Well, it turned out that her boyfriend had been a casualty of the 
demonstrations and had had to go to the infirmary. He was going to spend the 
night at home with his parents. 

" 'Oh, you have to spend the night all by yourself,' Marnie said. 

"Now I'd noticed right off the bat that there were some interesting vibes 
passing between Marnie and Zinka. And when I heard Marnie say that about 
Zinka shouldn't have to spend the night alone, I pricked up my ears. Is it 
possible, I thought, that there is a strain of AC-DC in Marnie? The thought 
really didn't shock me, but it offered a new insight. If you're in theater, 
you can't let homosexuality or bisexuality bother you. 

" 'I have,' Marnie went on, 'a lovely little place in the Village, and Rick 
and I-' She's always called me Rick and when people ask why, we just tell 
them it's a pet name and so I've been Rick ever since we've been going 
together. '-Rick and I would be more than happy to take you there and see 
that you get a nice night's sleep.' Marnie turned to me. 'Wouldn't we?' 

"I nodded. 'Yeah, sure.' 

"Well, Zinka got this glowing, soft look on her tragic but cherubic face, 
and her eyes glistened gratefully. Or maybe I should say her eyes twinkled 
mischievously, because she said, 'Oh, that would be nice. And you'd both 
stay with me, would you?' And thereupon the little scamp smiled with a 
certain amount of saccharine pathos, furtively lifted a foot, and nuzzled my 
unsuspecting privates with her bare toes. 

"I suppressed a buck-and-wing as Marnie answered, 'If you want us to,' with 
a motherly smile. 

"Of course I began to erect instanter. Zinka, the imp, tweaked and twiddled 
with her toes, plied them under my balls, poked them against my perineum. 
Keeping my face as expressionless as possible under those difficult 
circumstances, I chanced a cautious peek under the table to see if the 
flurry of toes, or perhaps the gross bulge in my fly, was obvious to 
bystanders. 

"A quick check told me that luckily it was fairly shadowed under the table, 
and the bystanders were too engrossed in their discussion of the day's 
events to notice anything. Then my glance slid to the right, toward the wall 
and away from the bystanders. What should my wondering eyes behold but 
Zinka's twinkle-toes busily twiddling the crotch in Marnie's jeans. What's 
more-and I'd thought that Marnie was playing a game of kneesies with 
me-Marnie had her thighs spread as far apart as she could and was sitting 
with her hips humped forward to give Zinka's little tootsies the whole field 
to play in. 

"Marnie still wore her motherly smile, but now it had a slightly distant 
cast to it. 

" ' ... won't we, Ricky, darling?' Marnie was saying, and I answered yes 
because I didn't know what the hell was going on. 

" "Then it's all settled,' said Zinka, and she reached across the table and 
took Marnie's and my hands in hers. 'It would be nice to stay somewhere away 
from Columbia tonight.' 

"Well, I figured, what the hell. If Zinka was playing twiddle-toes in the 
crotch with both of us, I might as well respond a little-you know, give her 
an idea that I wouldn't mind at all helping a young damsel in distress. 
Especially a damsel whose pussy I'd wanted to sink my tongue into since she 
was fourteen. 

" 'We'll take care of you, sure,' I said, leaning forward reassuringly. As I 
did, I eased a hand under the table and planted it firmly, and I hope 
paternally, on her upper thigh. My fingers gloried in the sleek, well-toned 
young flesh and the fine down as I slid my hand under her dress, further up 
toward her hip. My hard on really bucked a couple times as I tested the tone 
and heft of her young, keen, teen thighs. And before I knew it, my hand was 
resting on her hipbone and caressing her firm little belly and quivering 
groin. 

"If eyes could slaver, I'm afraid mine did. My vision blurred for a split 
second and when it cleared, my eyes felt hot and humid. The muscles in her 
thighs kept doing tiny flicks and shimmies. Her eyes, as she gazed into 
mine, were clear and unclouded, held nothing but innocence. 

"In an overpowering rush of lust, I groped swiftly into the heated crevice 
where nestled the downy honey-pot my fingers craved. In one fell swoop I 
gained my prize and felt-a foot, bare-toed, sweaty, diddling a mile a minute 
at the firm, moist flesh. The toes, the foot-Marnie's, of course. 

"We all kind of looked at each other, but innocent little Zinka was the only 
one cool enough to keep the sweet smile on her rosy face. 

"After a moment Marnie said, 'Well, I guess we're all agreed.' There was a 
genuine pleasure in her voice that somehow communicated itself to Zinka and 
myself. So it was in ruttish high spirits that we all rose and trooped out 
when Marnie said, 'Shall we go?' 

"We started toward the subway stop at 116th Street. When Zinka seemed 
oblivious, lost in her own thoughts, I whispered to Marnie, wondering 
whether we might be able to instruct Zinka in the ways of our little fantasy 
game. We agreed there were certain fantasies that she might be able to 
fulfill, but we weren't sure just how to broach the subject to her. 

"When I think back now, I wonder why we should ever have been worried. Here 
I'd been thinking of 'innocent little Zinka,' and Marnie and I weren't all 
that old. I was twenty-six, Marnie was twenty-four, she said. And, God, the 
way kids grow up nowadays, some of them might as well be middled-aged by the 
time they're eighteen. 

"Zinka placed herself between Marnie and me, taking both our arms. It was as 
if she were somehow taking charge of us, rather than the other way around. 

" 'I feel devilish tonight,' she announced. 'Let's walk over to Riverside 
Drive first. Wanna?' 

"Marnie and I agreed, so at 116th we turned left and walked to the drive. 
Then we turned uptown and walked toward Riverside Church, which was an 
awesome sight when I first saw it. It stands there taking up a whole city 
block, rising impressively, spire on Gothic spire, with its massive main 
door fronting on the drive. Made famous by Harry Emerson Fosdick. A fitting 
monument to man's indefatigable faith. 

"We walked up the broad main steps and stood, surveying the broad street, 
the trees and the park, the vista of the Hudson with the lights of New 
Jersey across the river. There was a moment of almost saintly 
otherworldliness. 

" 'Feel naughty?' Zinka asked, and I nodded tentatively. 

"She dropped to her knees in the same instant my pants fell to my knees and, 
before my cock had sprung to full length, she gobbled it right to the base, 
applying exquisite pressure with her cheek muscles while the breath whistled 
through her nose. She fondled my balls expertly. 

"I was so stunned I could feel nothing but the root of my cock pounding in 
my head. My eyes bugged and my knees turned to water. 

"Marnie held out a steadying hand and whispered to me, "Think Margaret 
O'Brien.' 

"Before I could gather my wits, Zinka rose, planting a juicy kiss on my 
mouth and laughing gaily. 'I've always wanted to do that.' A gust of wind 
off the Hudson chilled my cock. 'Always wanted,' she yelled, 'to bloiv 
somebody on the steps of a church.' She skipped off down the steps. 

"Struggling to haul up my pants, I hurried after her, with Marnie close 
behind. I thanked God-although I'm not sure God was the one to be thanking 
after that little exhibition-that we were around the corner, now, on a side 
street and out of the glare of the streetlights. 

"We hustled down the street until we were in front of Union Theological 
Seminary. Zinka was laughing quite loud and even Marnie emitted a few 
tee-hees. I mean, there were riots a block away and a thousand cops in the 
area, and I'm with two chicks who think it's fun to fornicate publicly on 
the steps of a church under bright lights. Fun city. 

"Zinka hoisted herself up on a high wrought-iron fence-this with her back to 
the fence-and before I knew it she had both fragrant, athletic thighs draped 
over my shoulders. I was taken by surprise and completely helpless. With a 
slow, inexorable flex of her legs, she brought my face closer to her 
unpantied groin. The fine, blonde down on her tan thighs grazed my cheeks. I 
caught a clean smell of sea breeze and a glimpse of brown-blonde hair at the 
apex. 

"To hell with the cops, I thought. 

" "Think Shirley Temple,' said Marnie. 

"I buried my face eagerly in the warm pussy and sank my tongue into it with 
as much relish as I'd ever sunk it into a cream puff. Marnie knew I felt 
like a dirty old man. 

"I inhaled pure ambrosia. My tongue lapped vigorously at honey and glue, 
probed deeply between hot, wet labia. I seized firm basketball buttocks and 
kneaded them playfully. 

" 'Oh!' sang Zinka, 'always I've wanted to be eaten like this!' She squirmed 
and twisted like a dolphin harpooned on my tongue. 'Really,' I heard her 
say, 'I don't see anything wrong with a little good healthy irreverence, do 
you?' If she was talking to me she didn't expect an answer. 

"My rumination was suddenly interrupted. 

" 'Jesus God!' Zinka yelled at the top of her voice. 

"The hackles on my neck went up, but Zinka grabbed me with one hand and they 
went down. Christ, I damned near went down, because she was riding me like a 
bronc-buster. 

" 'Eat my CUNT,' she called to the Jersey shore. 'LICK my TWAT till you 
RAISE BLISTERS!' 

"I pulled my face from her crotch, my lips gluey and spluttering. Already 
half a dozen lights had gone in assorted monastic cells. I swept Zinka and 
Marnie up and, like some phantom of the opera, spirited them up the street. 
My neck was sore. They laughed. 

""Think Shirley Temple, shit,' I blustered. Marnie gave a throaty laugh. I 
pressed on. "Think Zinka Milanov,' I said. 'If not Enrico Caruso shattering 
glass.' We almost bumped into a posse of peace officers rushing to see what 
the disturbance was. 

"When we reached Broadway we slowed our pace a bit so we wouldn't be 
mistaken for any of the rioters. We reached the subway with no incident. 

"The trip downtown was quick and, as we walked along the street, Marnie and 
I, in a few hurried asides, figured that Zinka, with her far-out sense of 
fun, might be the perfect player for our little 
screw-your-favorite-celebrity game. Zinka readily agreed to ponder who she 
would be and want. 

"Marnie's apartment is a three-flight walk-up, so we were pretty hot by the 
time we'd climbed all those stairs. And Zinka, wearing a beige long-sleeved 
blouse and a wraparound skirt, was perspiring prettily-so prettily that I 
felt an almost irresistible desire to give her a juicy kiss and lick the 
glow off her upper lip. 

"But Marnie, bless her heart-or damn her eyes, I'm not sure which, 'cause my 
reaction was ambivalent-Marnie put her arms around Zinka and said, 'You look 
hot, dear, why don't you take your things off,' and planted a big kiss on 
her. Zinka immediately caught the one button on her skirt with a thumb and 
forefinger, deftly undid it, and dropped her skirt to the floor. 

"Jesus, did she ever present a beautiful obscene sight naked from the waist 
down. One thing that especially turns me on is good legs, and Zinka had the 
legs of a ballerina. Marvelously smooth, well-muscled calves that tapered 
into slender ankles. She'd come back from a week in Florida, and her thighs 
had a golden tan that set off a fine down of blonde hair. There was an 
erotic contrast between the tan of her thighs and the milk-white flesh of 
her groin and mons. I wanted those legs wrapped around me, that 
golden-haired mons pressed against me, in the worst way. 

"I felt a pang of lust sweep my groin, and sat down weakly on the couch. I 
must've made an audible groan, because Zinka broke away from Marnie and, 
doffing her blouse to reveal perfect milk-white breasts tipped with bronze, 
erect nipples, approached me. When she was close enough that I could smell 
the perfume of her cunt, she smiled at me and said, 'I think I'll be Peggy 
Ann Garner.' 

"Without another word she pressed my back on the couch and proceeded to sit 
on my face, spreading her luscious cunt all over my mouth and nose. I felt 
eager fingers undoing my fly and pushing my pants and shorts down to my 
ankles. 

"Now I hadn't tried to get any picture in my mind about how Peggy Ann Garner 
might do it, but Zinka had an absolutely fantastic mouth on her, and a way 
of tonguing your cock that sent shudders of pleasure through my body. I sank 
my quivering tongue into her wet snatch, savoring the taste and the fresh 
smell. 

"But I wasn't getting anywhere trying to visualize Peggy Ann Garner. I found 
it much easier, because of Zinka's lovely, fresh face, twinkly eyes, and 
voluptuous mouth, to think of the young Ingrid Bergman. All I had to do was 
imagine a sexy Scandinavian accent. As a matter-of-fact, when I did that, I 
got so turned on I just had to watch-had to watch that lovely mouth, those 
adoring eyes as she blew me. 

"I pulled my face from her crotch, slipped my pants and shorts off my feet, 
and stood in front of her with my gorged whang inches from her devouring 
eyes. 'You're Ingrid Bergman,' I said. 'And you're a fantastic cocksucker.' 
With that, I grabbed her head with both hands and pulled her forward, 
trembling with exquisite ecstasy as her strong, wet lips took the head of my 
dick and slid up the entire length of my cock, till her breath fanned my 
pubes. 

"Marnie, not to be left out, dropped on her knees at the edge of the couch, 
spread Zinka's tanned and trembling thighs, and pushed her greedy face 
against Zinka's pussy. I had a moment of sharp envy, but overcame it by 
slipping my hand between the cheeks of Marnie's ass and easing two fingers 
into her pulsing twat. Lustful squeals and moans rewarded me. 

"Somehow I managed to lie on the couch and bring Marnie's ass over my face. 
Zinka, half standing, straddled me so Marnie could get a good angle to 
continue her licking. And I could view the frantic blow job Zinka was 
lovingly applying to my hot cock. 

"Marnie dropped her ass insistently onto my face and gave it a couple lusty 
shakes. 'Guess who I am now,' she said, pulling her tongue from Zinka's cunt 
for an instant. 

"I gave a few tentative licks at her parted wet labia and announced, 'Ava 
Gardner.' 

" 'Right!' she squealed in joy, diving into Zinka's glistening muff. 

"Zinka pulled her mouth off my throbbing joint, careful to wrap her hand 
around it and jerk in a happy rhythm. 'Hot fuck!' she crowed. 'Shit! Eat me! 
Yes!' She shimmied her ass bawdily in Marnie's face. Bless the dear child, 
she had the perfect accents of Ingrid Bergman. 

"I felt my balls tingle and tighten, my cock fill to impossible hardness and 
pulse wildly. Moaning, I seized Marnie's ass and jammed my tongue into her 
pussy as deep as it would go. 

"Marnie dug her face even more feverishly into Zinka's palpitating cunt and 
squealed in muffled delight. Zinka gave an explosive gasp, sighed, 'Oh, 
Rick!' and plunged her mouth onto my throbbing shaft. 

"That did it. Knowing full well that one of my lifelong desires was to be 
blown by Ingrid Bergman, I bucked a few times and shot bolt after bolt of 
hot come into Zinka's sucking mouth. At the same instant, Marnie gave a 
squeal and settled her pulsing cunt heavily on my face and deluged me with 
creamy Ava Gardner come. We all enjoyed our charades hugely." 

As was mentioned in the brief commentary to this case, there can be no 
prognosis to the two principals, or Zinka, who was drawn into the 
principals' make-believe games. Generally speaking, one should remember that 
actors and actresses are the masters of make-believe; Rick and Marnie-though 
no luminaries-are an actor and an actress playing roles. Perhaps the 
prognosis could be that which could be applied to any luminary (optimistic), 
except for the Othello of Double Life (pessimistic). 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Evelyn's Erotic Liberation 

"Look, I'm just a born loser. All the way around. I just don't seem to have 
what it takes to do all those damn cliche things like 'pull yourself up by 
your bootstraps,' or 'cut the mustard,' or any of the rest of 'em. I'm just 
a weakling. An ordinary, everyday, household variety of all-around schmuck. 
I dutifully see Dr. H-twice a week, and I go to the A.A. meetings once a 
week ... all those things one is supposed to do if one wants to 'shape up.' 
Oh, I know what's expected of me, but I don't think I can do it. Not in this 
lifetime, not with my psyche. Was it Oscar Wilde or Shaw who said that he 
could resist anything but temptation? Well, whoever said that, it certainly 
applies to me! 

"But one thing I'm reasonably sure about, and that is that if I'd never 
given in to myself in the first place, most of what's happened to me could 
have been avoided. That's why I consented to this interview. There must be 
thousands and thousands of housewives all over the country who are going 
through what I had to face, and I'd like to have this chance to tell them 
what happened to me, and then, maybe, they'll think twice before they make 
the same mistakes I did. 

"You know, my best friend in high school was a Catholic girl and I can still 
remember asking her one day why Catholics went to confession. I'm not 
changing the subject, this all ties in. My friend told me that confession 
should be thought of like your neighborhood cleaners. She said to think of 
my soul as a brand-new white dress, that we're all born with brand-new white 
dresses. We're all very careful with something that's new and pretty, we try 
to take care of it, hang it up, keep it fresh and clean, crisp and ready to 
wear in front of company. But as she explained it, one day you accidentally 
spill something on your new dress. Well, if you took it to the cleaners 
right away, and got that spot out, you'd tend to try to be even more careful 
not to spill anything on it. Naturally, since we're human and don't live in 
a vaccuum, it'll get dirty again or we'll spill something again-but if each 
time you soil that dress you rush it to the cleaners, you continue to try to 
be careful. But, as she put it, if after that very first dirty spot on your 
dress you don't rush it to the cleaners, pretty soon there's another spot, 
and then another, and another, until you really don't care about that dress 
anymore-until you begin to think of it as not being worth the trouble to 
take it to the cleaners. And as you care less and less what happens to the 
dress, you begin to treat it like an old rag and pretty soon that's all it 
really is. Just a dirty old rag. She said that our souls are like the dress. 
If every time we commit a small sin-or even a big sin-we take it to the 
cleaners, or the confessional, we try to do better and not make the same 
mistakes. But if we commit sins and don't go to confession, then pretty soon 
we begin not to care until finally we decide there's no point in even trying 
to keep our souls free from sin. 

"I remember thinking that her explanation was very interesting, that it had 
a lot of merit to it, but it didn't have anything to do with me since I 
wasn't a Catholic. But I've been thinking about that explanation quite a bit 
lately, about how it applies to my own life, everyone's life. I can't say 
for sure, naturally, but if I'd remembered her explanation before I first 
began my fantasizing, I'm pretty damned sure I'd never have found myself in 
this kind of a bind. It's too late now, much too late. I'm forty-one years 
old, and I can't change just like that! I've become too dependent upon my 
booze, too accustomed to bedding boys young enough to be my teenage son. 
Strangely enough, my husband Dick is having the most trouble adjusting to 
the scandal in our lives. My son and daughter were shocked, naturally, and 
for a while they really didn't know how to talk to me or what to say. But 
they're accepting the truth far better than Dick is. In a way, I think that 
if I only had to live with my kids, maybe I could kick my habits, but Dick 
is so obvious with his solicitude. His disapproval comes through his 
platitudes like sweat through makeup on a hot day. The kids have even begun 
to tease me, to laugh with me about my hang-ups-but not stoic Dick. My son 
will tell his sister to 'ask the nympho for the keys to the car' right in 
front of my face, or my daughter will pull a Coke bottle out of my hands and 
smell it to be sure there's no booze spiking it, and she'll say something 
like, 'Just checking up on the sly alkie of the family,' and stuff like 
that. I can live with the joking; I can't live with the disapproval. 

"Dick is a subcontractor and he's built his business up from nothing. We 
moved out here in the mid-fifties, shortly after we were married--oh, maybe 
two or three years afterward. Janie, our daughter, was just an infant. 
Needless to say, there was still the postwar housing boom going on, and the 
Korean involvement seemed to spur people into building bigger and better. 
And, of course, Dick is a very conscientious fellow, hard worker, and all 
that, which meant that he worked forty-eight hours a day! At first, of 
course, I fully understood that his business required all his time, all his 
energy; and during those initial years, somehow Dick still found time to be 
with the baby and me. Not a lot of time, but enough to keep me aware of the 
fact that I had a husband. But gradually, as his business grew, he spent 
less and less time, even gave up vacations altogether. A couple of times, 
over the years, our family doctor has told Dick to take a vacation or risk a 
heart attack. When that happens, Dick does as he's told, but, for one reason 
or another, I've not been able to go with him. Either the children were in 
school and we just couldn't yank them out, or one time, I remember, my 
mother had just suffered a coronary and I had to be with her ... all very 
good reasons, but I ceased to see my husband. It was like living with a 
ghost who paid the bills. And at that time, I didn't have enough sense to 
realize how I resented his neglect. I was too busy living up to my image as 
the model wife, sacrificing and dutiful mother. Bullshit! 

"At first, I used to be shocked by some of the notions that would pop into 
my head. I never considered myself a horny broad, and while I enjoyed Dick's 
lovemaking, it would never have entered my head to instigate a sexual 
liaison ... or, to be more blunt, I'd never go up to Dick and say, 'Let's 
fuck!' I never even used language like that; damn was the strongest word in 
my vocabulary in those days. I guess my white dress has got a lot of spills 
on it. ... And it was only about four years ago that I began to realize that 
my subconscious, or my libido, or whatever you call it, was on a different 
wavelength from the rest of me. I remember that first time very, very 
clearly-mostly because I shocked myself. A Western Union boy had come to the 
house and delivered a telegram. That's all he did. But for a split second, 
just before I closed the front door, I had the most overwhelming urge to 
call him back to the house, to invite him in ... and to seduce him! 

"I can't tell you what prompted such a thought in my very conventional, 
square head. But there it was. Naturally, I dismissed the matter at first, 
but the mere fact that such a thing could even enter my mind was terribly 
disturbing. I felt hounded by guilt and a slow fear began to spread through 
me, as if I knew that it would happen again ... and that maybe I wouldn't be 
able to resist the impulse the next time. That I, a quiet unassuming 
housefrau, mother of two healthy children, and a woman in her late thirties, 
could ever even toy with such a notion, much less the deed, frightened me 
into a kind of bottled-up hysteria. And I admit that it was just about that 
time I began to drink to excess. 

"There were more such moments, and they seemed to increase both in frequency 
and in intensity. The box boy at the supermarket, the paperboy, young 
elevator operators ... on and on and on. I was terribly naive about sex, I 
suppose. Being a married woman and a mother does not mean you know anything 
about sex; it only means that you've been fucked. Women's Liberation aside, 
proper women my age simply do not know about libertine things-and if they do 
know, they sure as hell don't talk about it. I'd give a great deal to be a 
teenager in today's world; it's freer and even though the kids make an awful 
lot of mistakes, it's more honest today. Why, do you know that drugstores 
nowadays sell condoms next to the cash register? Right out in the open for 
everyone to see? And you see signs about V.D. everywhere! This would never 
have been permitted when I was in my teens! 

"Now, I'm drifting from the point of our interview. Let's see. I guess it 
was about seven or eight months after that Western Union episode that I 
really started to go off the deep end-both with the bottle and with my 
sexual fantasies. I've always tried to stay in shape, so I've made Jack 
LaLanne sort of a routine part of my life, exercising in front of the TV set 
every morning, listening to his godawful jokes and watching those dumb dogs 
of his trample the set. So even though my drinking habits were making any 
kind of exercise impossible, I somehow found myself sitting in front of the 
set in the mornings watching his show anyhow-usually with a cup of spiked 
coffee. And as only an alkie can, I began to deride him-talking back to the 
TV set, giving him the finger whenever he'd tell me to get out of my chair 
and join in on the exercises. 

"One morning, I don't know quite why or how, but as he was explaining how a 
particular exercise would build up the thigh and belly muscles, I began to 
feel mine, to see just how bad they really were. And suddenly everything 
became unreal to me. It had been almost a year since Dick and I had fucked, 
I know that. I let my house robe fall open as I sat in the deep easy chair 
watching the set, and let my hands begin to roam over my body, touching my 
breasts, my vulva, grazing my clitoris-and all the while watching the TV 
set. I felt how hot and wet I was getting in my twat, my hand rubbing around 
my groin gently, the motion causing my whole vulva to come awake. My other 
hand crawled to my full heavy breast, kneading the not-so-firm flesh, my 
thumb teasing my nipple up and down and around, while my other hand 
continued to play with my body. I'd stare at the set not even fully aware of 
what was being said or done on the screen. But it was giving me some sort of 
terrific jag to be touching myself in front of the set-as if LaLanne could 
see what I was doing, but he couldn't touch. It was as if I had been 
mesmerized, I was someone other than good ol' Evelyn. My hand sneaked lower 
and lower, taunting my hungry and sensitive flesh until my thighs parted 
with a will of their own, allowing the hand to tease its way down to the 
tender flesh of my vulva. With delicious and lustful anticipation, I 
relished the slowly spreading awareness in my cunt, the feeling of 
engorgement, and the increasing tingling that warned of urgency, of my long 
neglected need. I pretended that it wasn't my hand that toyed with my 
clitoris or that pinched the lips of my vagina. It was like a form of 
madness, I guess, sort of like being possessed by some other spirit ... it's 
hard to describe. But it felt so good, so damned good and wicked! I wanted 
to celebrate this new experience; I'd never masturbated before ... frankly, 
it had never occurred to me. Nice ladies don't. So with one hand busily 
playing with my snatch and kneading my buttocks, I got up and fixed myself a 
stiff scotch with my free hand and then came back and sat down in front of 
the set-ready to do myself justice with a good drink and an audience that 
couldn't complain or ruin the atmosphere. It was like a geyser of strange 
new emotions were being let out of the dusty bottle, and I had no control 
over what I was doing. I massaged my slick wet cunt almost casually, 
savoring the wonderful sensations that soared through my limbs. 
Occasionally, I'd dip my index finger into my vagina, but it wasn't very 
satisfactory. So I got up again, and this time I took an ornamental candle I 
kept on the dining-room table and brought it back to the chair with me. It 
was about an inch and a half across and had spiraling ribs to it-not a hell 
of a big deal, but better than just my index finger. I slid down low in the 
chair, rested one foot against the coffee table, my knee bent, and let my 
other thigh rest across the arm of the chair so that my entire hairy cunt 
was exposed to the TV set. And I gradually inserted the candle up my cunt, 
feeling the ridges of it inside my hole and how easily it slipped in past my 
sphincter. 

"I used my other hand to pull the lips of my vulva apart, to pull the area 
upward and expose it to the air. Glancing down, I could see my clitoris 
poking out at the center of my twat up at the top. It bobbed and twitched 
for attention. So I shifted the candle to my left hand, grinding my hips 
slowly with the pumping motion, and using the first and third fingers of my 
right hand, I kept my cunt spread open while my index finger gently massaged 
my clit. I'd never known such a delight before. I'd come once or twice with 
Dick's lovemaking-well, more often than that, but I couldn't count on it and 
I'd never been able to bring myself to confess when I hadn't orgasmed-but 
fucking myself with the candle while rubbing my clitoris was a terrific 
sensation! I suppose I could've been a sexpot if Dick had been a more 
knowledgeable lover, but as it turned out, I turned myself on. It was a 
fantastic experience-furtive or not, rebellious or not. And when I orgasmed, 
it was marvelous! I remember that I broke into the giggles as my vagina 
spasmed its release, and I watched the candle sticking out from my cunt, 
twitching and finally falling out. Later, when I washed it off to replace it 
in the holder, I noticed that the spiral ridges around the base of it had 
melted down. I hoped that my cunt wasn't encased in wax, and I hurried to 
the bathroom to douche, making a mental note to myself to replace the candle 
as soon as possible-and to buy a fatter one just for masturbatory purposes. 

"And that was really the beginning. Fucking to the TV in the morning, 
getting drunker than a whore with clap! All hell seemed to be breaking loose 
after that. It was as if with that first defiant act I'd unleashed a wanton 
hellion within myself. Someone I had never met, didn't know, and certainly 
couldn't control-and she only emerged with a snootful of booze in her. It 
didn't take me very long to realize that this creature from the bottle lived 
independently from the real me. And I don't know how to divide up the 
responsibility. That is, if I didn't drink would this other me never show 
up? Or does she only come forth because I'm a boozer? No matter how you look 
at it, it's the bottle that's my biggest enemy. Dr. H-listens to me say that 
and he smirks; I'm glad that you don't think it's so all fucking funny! I've 
got a life to rebuild, and my sense of humor isn't up to such enigmatic 
responses from people. But as I had said, that seems to have been the 
beginning . ... " 

The case of Evelyn B-is a rather complex, integrated set of circumstances. 
Her family life is, to say the least, not very fulfilling to her needs and 
expectations. The husband places more emphasis on and shows more interest in 
his work than in the family and its functions. The children, in Evelyn's 
eyes, appear to be disrespectful and unsympathetic to her problems and 
needs. 

Within this framework, Evelyn has no place where she may find the 
relationships which are left unsatisfied, including any type of close sexual 
contact with her husband. Therefore, the only road left open to her is for 
the creation of her own world through fantasies. 

It appears the neurosis displayed by the subject goes deeply into three 
problems: alcoholism, schizophrenia and fantasy. 

The fundamental difference between the neurotic and the schizophrenic 
consists in the maintenance of the potential unity of the personality. 
Despite the fact consciousness can be split up into several personal 
consciousnesses, the unity of all the dissociated fragments is not only 
visible to the professional eye, but it can also be reestablished by means 
of hypnosis. "This is not the case with schizophrenia," contends C. G. Jung. 
He clarifies his statement in his work "On the Psychogenesis of 
Schizophrenia" as contained in The Basic Writings of C. G. Jung : 

...in a schizophrenic patient the connection between the ego and certain 
complexes is more or less completely lost. The split is not relative, it is 
rather absolute . ... A neurosis, it is true, is characterized by a relative 
autonomy of its complexes, but in schizophrenia the complexes have become 
disjointed and autonomous fragments, which either do not reintegrate to the 
psychical totality, or, in the case of a remission, are unexpectedly joined 
together, as if nothing had happened before. 

It can be seen that Evelyn's split-off figure assumes banal, somewhat 
grotesque or highly exaggerated character-often objectionable in some ways 
to her. It does not cooperate with Evelyn's consciousness. It is not tactful 
and obviously has no respect for sentimental values earlier expressed by the 
subject. 

As revealed in the following narrative by the subject, there is a drama 
involved with her split-off figure, and it is certainly far beyond her 
understanding. The disorder may stem from several factors, any of which 
might be applied to Evelyn's case based upon the limited information 
contained herein: intoxication, fatigue, shocks, anemia, intense affects, 
primitive mentality or religious fanaticism. 

Evelyn's fantasies evolve from a limited experience, usually with young men, 
and create sexual satisfaction by projecting to her conscious through 
masturbation her engaging in sexual acts with men. Although later she 
creates such fantasies which she regards as real, her earlier experiences 
are not recognized by her as reality. She realized she dreamed the sexual 
encounter with the young lumber-yard helper as well as with the cyclist. 

She was able to invoke these fantasies, and through her masturbation, she 
was able to fulfill her sexual drives. She began by masturbating, then she 
was able to find a substitute for the male penis-replacing the absent 
husband's role in the sex act. This proved to be stimulating and satisfying 
for her, and it was only a short step to creating the situation through 
fantasy. 

If at this point the family situation would have changed for the better, it 
is highly likely that Evelyn would have been able to drop her fantasy 
creations and learn to return to a very satisfying relationship with her 
husband. However, such was not the case, and her fantasy creations expanded 
into the type where the subject engages in fantasy to such an extent that 
such appears and is accepted as the real. 

It is somewhat doubtful that her experience with the interior decorator is, 
therefore, factual. It can be assumed that this particular fantasy became so 
vivid to her that she was able to regard and believe it as reality. 

Without getting into a detailed discussion of homosexuality, a simple 
statement can be made regarding the feasibility of Evelyn's contact sexually 
with the interior decorator Terence. In the first place, it is doubtful that 
a confirmed homosexual such as we are led to believe Terence is would 
consent to having any type of sexual relations with a female. For the 
homosexual (male as opposed to female, lesbian) women's genitals become 
phobic objects because they remind him too strongly of the danger of 
castration. Thus the possibility of being interested in them, curious about 
them, even of seeing them, let along having sexual intercourse with them, 
becomes firmly repressed. Homosexual objects (in most cases the penis) 
become the only safe ones, and the assertion of homosexual inclinations 
serves as a protective denial of the dangerous heterosexual ones. 

Therefore, it may be concluded that Evelyn's experience with Terence 
(although an initial contact and business association could well have been 
real) was a fantasy-so strong she regarded it not as such, but rather as 
reality. 

As all the facts surrounding her experience in the motel which resulted in a 
reported beating and robbery are not available at this writing, no 
assumption can be made as to its actually having happened, or if, in fact, 
this was a vivid creation of her fantasy, resulting in her partial physical 
participation in the fantasy, resulting in the beating being self-inflicted. 

"You want specific examples? All right. I'll do the best I can. I soon found 
myself fantasizing about the most un likely people and in my boozed up 
state, I suppose you could call it something like self-hypnosis. I could 
have anyone I wanted merely by closing my eyes, letting go, and giving in 
totally to the fantasy. I'd make up the story or the situation as I'd go 
along. Or more accurately, she would ... that other me. I know that sounds 
buggy, but I don't know how else to describe why I was doing what I was. I 
certainly would never do such things, so it just has to be her. Anyhow, I 
became fascinated with the tough-guy types, the leather-motorcycle kind of 
guy. I certainly didn't know any, and they don't usually hang around 
middle-class suburbia. Maybe I got the idea from TV since there were so many 
movies or stories involving this lowbrow element. But I found these crude 
young men fascinating; they were the very antithesis of everything I'd ever 
known or been brought up to seek-and I turned to this type avidly, with 
wicked pleasure. 

"I saw myself as a sort of tough Natalie Wood in my mind, saw myself working 
in a roadside cafe where all the truck drivers would come by ... and the 
motorcycle gangs. Even as my real body sank deeper and deeper into the 
chair, my imaginary self became lighter and lighter. Pounds rolled off of 
me, muscle replaced flab, sleek long black hair replaced gray split ends, 
and so on. I became that girl totally. There was nothing else in my life: no 
Dick, no kids, no split level in suburbia. 

"I was clearing the counter, wiping off the crumbs with a damp and rather 
dirty cloth, when he walked in. He was tall and thin, unkempt, and with at 
least a day's beard stubble on his face. His black leather jacket had a 
picture of a lion roaring on his hind legs on the back of it, and underneath 
was printed the word: Rex. He threw one lean muscular leg over the stool and 
slouched over the counter, his hat pushed back on his head revealing dirty 
blonde hair. 'Coffee. Black,' he mumbled. I could tell you all the details 
of my fantasy, how I sauntered toward him and flirted, but that's not so 
terribly important. What is important is that I managed to get him to offer 
to buy me a beer after work-only we never got as far as the roadhouse, at 
least, not till later. I was too hot for that, and Rex knew it. I'd have 
fucked that bastard on top of his motorcycle, but instead we pulled off the 
road and walked his bike to where there was a great big tree and lots of 
cool grass. No sooner had we reached the spot and I was sitting down than I 
realized that Rex had his shoes and trousers off, that he was already 
climbing out of his shorts. Even in the dim moonlight, I could see that he 
was beautifully hung and already semi-rigid. Seeing that, I was too anxious 
to even bother with undressing and, instead, I pulled off my panties and 
hoisted my skirt so Rex could see my snatch. 

"Rex took one look at my exposed cunt, grinned, and began feeling his meat, 
stroking it like a trusty pistol, and joined me on the grass. Even as I 
stretched out, I could feel Rex's thick meat pushing at my loins. I was 
going crazy waiting to have this coxman fuck me! And I just couldn't wait 
any longer. My cunt was sopping with my slick juices, wanting to get fucked, 
and this stud didn't strike me as the type who'd go in for all that foreplay 
shit. He had a ready cock and he needed a place to shove it. I had a burning 
box and couldn't see any point in wasting time. 

"Even as he was positioning himself between my legs, I grabbed his cock and 
ran the fat head of it up and down my slick cunt, teasing my clit with it, 
and getting him really all up tight pushing my hard clit into the tiny hole 
of his glans. 

" 'You know what it's for, don't you, baby?' Rex said, already breathing 
hard. And I didn't bother to say anything. Instead I took his prick firmly 
in my hand, and I guided it back down to my feverish vagina and began to 
insert it inside my hole. It was a nice thickness, and even a nicer 
length-and was hard as a handlebar. I got the head of his cock almost to my 
sphincter, then gave a great big shove with my hips, sinking his shaft into 
my canal for its entire length. 

"Oh, wow, was it ever great to have fresh young meat up inside of me. To 
have a real man who was young and strong and virile! The size of his cock 
was stretching my vaginal walls enough to really enjoy some real male meat 
inside of me and it was really terrific. There's nothing quite so great as a 
big hard cock inside of a hungry cunt. I felt that rod of his hit my cervix 
and let out a groan of pleasure-I was going to get good and fucked by a 
healthy young stud. 

"I guess Rex was pretty horny 'cause he started pumping as if he wanted to 
get his rocks off right away, but I told him to cool it, to take his time 
and really enjoy himself. So he slowed up, shoving that big thing up into me 
gradually so I could feel the way his cock thrust through my hot canal, 
pushing past the sphincter so that it could grab at his prick. I was so 
goddam grateful to the guy that I gave him the extra treat of 
snapping-letting his cock get the full benefit of my muscle control. I'll 
bet he thought his cock was caught by a revolving door the way I was 
snapping it. But it felt so damn good to me, so very hot-damn good. To have 
an all-male prick inside of me, shoving in and out, pulsing within me, 
pushing into me until I thought he was going to shove right out my ass. Rex 
was really okay! 

"Before long, I was getting too close to coming to play any more games. I 
hoisted my legs up and held them against my shoulders with my arms, giving 
that savage full access to my steaming snatch. 'Fuck me, Rex, fuck me hard!' 
I shouted at him. And with deep, powerful lunges, Rex started slamming into 
me, really hard. His balls were bouncing off my ass as he thrust and 
retreated, shoved that meat in, then pulled back. Harder and harder, then 
faster and faster. It was sensational! 

"And it was only a matter of seconds, then, for me to begin spasming. 'I'm 
coming, Rex, I'm coming ... shoot into me, let me feel your hot come shoot 
into me, come, baby, come ... now, Rex, now I' 

"Rex grunted and pumped, slamming his cock into my cunt like he was trying 
to beat me to death, and I loved it. I wriggled my ass all over the grass, 
ruining my skirt but not caring. I was giving him a rotating movement he'd 
never forget, and even as I finally began to orgasm, to feel all my guts 
churning and clutching at his cock, I could feel his burning semen spurting 
up into me, playing paddle-ball against my womb. It was a terrific come for 
both of us and I knew Rex was pleased with me 'cause he could've just left 
me out there ... but he really did buy me a beer. 

"That's how these fantasies go. They vary, but they're always culminated 
with orgasm. Yeah. I can really will myself to come. How about that! I just 
make myself comfortable in a chair, close my eyes, and let my mind go-then 
she takes over and does the rest. Of course, the more I've had to drink, the 
easier it is. Sometimes, when I'm drunk enough, I can really wipe out all my 
environs-the house could be on fire and I'd never know the difference. 
Weird, isn't it? 

"One time, Dick had asked me to stop by a nearby lumber yard and leave off 
an invoice with the owner. He wasn't there, but he had a bronzed young 
helper who said he'd give the invoice to the owner when he got back. A 
really young boy ... maybe only seventeen. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just 
jeans, and his wonderfully smooth torso was magnificently tanned. So, of 
course, when I got home I couldn't get the boy out of my mind. He'd said his 
name was Vince, and I had no trouble at all getting Vince into my fantasy 
live. 

"I'd asked him to drop by to pick up the invoice, instead of what really 
happened, and I'd met him at the door wearing a bikini that showed off my 
beautiful full figure. I was me ... but I was her. I could see that Vince 
was eyeing me whenever he thought I wasn't looking. I had to have the boy, 
and instantly; it was no time for polite games. 

" 'like what you see?' I said to him, smiling, and catching him off guard 
with his blue eyes riveted to my tits. I'd not anticipated Vince's reaction 
and I was momentarily surprised when he reached forward and ripped the top 
of my suit off my body. And then we were off! It became a free-for-all. By 
the time Vince was naked, I could see that for a young kid he had a terrific 
hard on and it excited me wildly. Stark naked, like two wary animals, I 
wanted to be fucked right out of this world-and to do the same for young 
Vince, with the tanned torso and legs and milk-white loins. My God, what a 
beautiful young man he was! 

"I threw myself at Vince, toppling us both to the rug, and wrapped my naked 
legs around his waist. Then I sank my teeth into his shoulder, my hands all 
over him raking his flesh with my ruby-red nails. For a youth, Vince was 
surprisingly knowledgeable about sex, and he'd slap my bare ass hard if I 
got too rough with my nails or teeth. I was excruciatingly hot for Vince's 
body and I could feel my cunt steaming to feel his rock-hard cock inside of 
it. With something like a war cry, I managed to roll him over on his back 
and threw myself astride his torso. Then I took his rigid cock and sank it 
into me from tip to balls! His prick slipped into my sopping cunt with ease, 
its thick burning shaft filling up my vaginal canal as if it had been meant 
for it. I wanted more and more of his cock in me, and I writhed and shoved, 
grunting to fill myself with him. We rolled on the rug, grappling with each 
other like gladiators, Vince fucking at me whenever he could manage to get 
on top of me, sweat pouring from our bodies as he tried to skewer me with 
his pecker, tried to fuck me senseless. 

"When we finally orgasmed, it was one of the sweatiest comes I'd ever known. 
It was exhausting, but very satisfying. When I snapped out of it, I was 
drenched from head to foot in sweat. It had been a good come. 

"Other fantasies came and went, depending upon who I might encounter that 
day or week. It didn't have to be someone I actually talked to; it could be 
someone I merely glimpsed but who captured my imagination. This went on and 
on and it seemed a harmless enough escape from reality-after all, no one was 
really doing anything. But she wasn't satisfied with just fantasy anymore; 
she wanted the excitement, the adventure, of the real thing. Since I very 
rarely drew any sober breaths, she was in control almost constantly. 

"Looking back, of course, I can see where my children were growing away from 
me ... recall the patient sighs when they'd come home from school and find 
me already thick-tongued and wobbly on my feet. I look back and I begin to 
see when I saw less and less of my kids, when they began to withdraw from 
me, to consult me less ... when they began to take care of me. It's not a 
pretty memory. But I was as helpless against that turn of events as anyone 
is against the unknown elements of his nature. Fortunately, I was able to 
keep the truth of what I was to become from them. That's to say, I somehow 
managed never to let her bring home her disgusting tricks. 

"As for Dick, I'm sure he knew that I'd become a lush. He'd almost have to 
know. You can't share a bedroom with someone and not smell liquor. In these 
past four years or so, since all this started, I don't think Dick has laid 
me even five times. Now, of course, it occurs to me to wonder whether or not 
he's been screwing some other dame ... but I doubt it. I truly believe that 
Dick has been working all that hard, every night. And no one who works that 
hard has much interest in sex. He's not a eunuch, or at least, he wasn't 
during our initial years of marriage. But Dick doesn't know how to hire 
executives and delegate authority-he thinks that if he doesn't handle 
everything, it's got to get loused up. So of course he's still working 
forty-eight hours a day. And with that kind of pressure and load, no man's 
very interested in sex. Not at our age, anyway. Maybe if I'd gotten a job 
instead of turning to the bottle I'd have been kept busy enough not to need 
all that fantasizing or the booze. But I didn't. No point in lamenting over 
the 'I should've this or that.' And whatever disapproving thoughts Dick may 
have had about my becoming a bottle baby, he never confronted me with them. 

"But anyway, soon the fantasies gave way to realities. The first time was 
when I'd decided to have the house redecorated and I'd gone to one of those 
chic places that charge you an arm and a leg just to view the showroom. This 
young fellow, Terence, was put in charge of my account. A mincing, prancing 
lad of probably twenty-five who didn't look a day over eighteen. And he was 
working so hard at making me think he was straight that instead of revulsion 
toward his aberration, I felt sympathy. I began to realize that boys, too, 
can have harmful emotional experiences that incapacitate them for a normal 
life-usually, we only hear about what happens to girls. Things like rape, or 
brutality, and so on. But I'm sure that boys can be just as impressionable 
and just as easily warped during childhood. And I began to take Terence 
under my wing, to gain his confidence in me as a person and not just a 
gentler. It didn't take long for him to begin to open up around me, and even 
to comment freely about my drinking habits. And soon we became buddies, on 
the telephone constantly swapping gossip or talking about recipes or I'd 
drop by the store to see some new material he'd just gotten in that he 
thought would be 'A-DOR-a-ble' for the dining room. And Terence always wore 
very tight-fitting pants. I could see how well-endowed he was. Why is it 
that gay men never seem to wear pants with pockets? Shit! Every tiny bulge 
in their crotch shows! Well, one evening when I was over at the store and 
everyone else had gone on home, I asked Terence the big question: Was he 
really gay? 

" 'Well I must say, Evelyn, that at least you're honest enough to come right 
out and ask! Most straight people are so furtive about the subject. Gay? 
Darling! If I were any more gay I'd be in paroxysms of perpetual laughter! 
Of course I'm gay.' 

"And we got to talking about it-man to man, or woman to woman ... whatever 
you prefer to call it. And, of course, I was plying Terence with plenty of 
booze-he always kept a bottle on hand for when I was around, but that night 
he was matching me drink for drink. And one thing led to another-life 
stories, that sort of thing. As we talked, and as we drank, I knew I was 
losing ground to my other self. I found myself posing before Terence, 
showing my middle-aged cleavage, doing many small things that are the mark 
of a woman on the make. I suppose I'm as bad as straight men who think that 
all any lesbian needs to be normal is a good lay from a real man; I found 
myself thinking that if I could just give Terence a truly good lay he'd not 
need his faggot friends any more. And Terence was drunk enough, feeling 
sorry for himself enough, to want to give it a try. At least we did have 
respect for each other-that much, at least. So it wasn't as sordid as one 
might think just hearing about it. He wanted to please me, to try to have 
sexual intercourse with a woman-even though I was considerably older. And I 
desperately wanted to convince him that he could make it with women, that he 
didn't have to lead the guilty life he led, a social outcast. 

"Knowing my own body was not that of a beautiful young girl, I asked Terence 
to turn off the lights ... so both of us 'would feel more comfortable' that 
way. As it was, there was enough light from the streetlamp to keep us from 
walking into furniture. After we'd both stripped down, rather bashfully and 
awkwardly, I lay down on the couch and watched Terence approach me. I 
remember being surprised that his mincing step had disappeared, that as he 
came toward me it was with considerable grace, but it was masculine-not 
feminine. His balls swayed gently with his movement and I could see that he 
already had a hard on. 

"Silently, Terence positioned himself above me on the couch. I felt him 
entering me, shoving that magnificent shaft up inside of my hole. And as 
calmly as a surgeon, he brought my legs up and placed them around his waist 
so that all of my own weight was upon my shoulders on the couch while he was 
able to fuck me on his knees. To my amazement, and pleasure, Terence fucked 
beautifully ... despite his clinical detachment. It was as if he were 
working a puzzle. He had a hard on and I was the nearest hole. Slowly, 
leisurely, Terence slipped his rock-hard cock into my hole and then withdrew 
it calmly; but not all the way out, naturally. He kept this up for delicious 
moments until my entire body was alive and aflame with sensation. Terence 
fucked as if clocks didn't exist, shoving his prick into my slick hole, 
sliding out, shoving in-gradually, comfortingly, as if he fucked women every 
hour on the hour. 

" 'Where the hell did you learn to fuck like that?' I asked him absently, 
not really caring as long as he kept it up. 

" "Tell you later,' was all he said. 

"By then I was absolutely beside myself with pleasure. This wasn't any 
self-induced fantasy-this was real. This time when I came, there'd be an 
honest-to-God cock inside of me. I don't think you can know the turmoil of 
emotions within me that first real act of infidelity. But my emotions had to 
play second fiddle to my sensations. I was too deliciously thrilled to be 
doing any thinking. And I gave myself over to simply enjoying the screwing I 
was getting. I felt Terence's hands cupping the fleshy folds of my cunt so 
that my clitoris was pulled downward and began to feel the friction of his 
cock upon it. He played with the soft flesh of my pussy while he rode in and 
out of me, first exposing my clitoris to the air and then folding it into 
its protective vulva, giving himself something like a private peep show 
without ever lessening his quiet fucking of my cunt. It was magnificently 
slow and I was very near to or-gasming. I guess Terence knew that too. He 
increased his tempo, sliding in and out of me; my cunt was making sopping 
sucky noises with his movements and I could no longer hold still but had to 
begin wriggling around. And before you could say jackrabbit I was coming all 
over the place, shouting and half-crying-something I never did in my 
fantasies. 

"Gradually, Terence let my hips back down to the couch so I could rest, but 
I could feel his cock still inside of me. Not only just inside of me, but 
still hard! 

" 'My turn, Evelyn ... don't go away now,' he said, then yanked his prick 
out of my hole and ran to the bathroom. I was still huffing and puffing when 
he came back, smelling of soap and water. 

" 'You wanted to get laid, Evelyn, and I wanted to get sucked. Fair is fair, 
now.' 

"Well, shit, I'd never sucked cock before. I didn't even know people did 
such things! But when I'm drunk, when she's taken over, I soon learned that 
there wasn't anything I wouldn't do as long as it was connected with sex. 
Terence had propped me up against a cushion so that I was nicely 
comfortable, and then he'd straddled my waist so that his poker-hard dong 
was right in front of my face. 

" 'Don't be afraid, Evelyn. You'll enjoy this, I swear to you, you will.' 

"So feeling inept but defiantly determined, I lifted Terence's penis to my 
mouth and began kissing it tentatively. It wasn't as bad as I had more or 
less expected. And I wondered if that's what was meant by being 'gay'? If 
they could only orgasm if they got sucked. And then, did that mean that 
lesbians did each other too? That seemed a very repulsive thought, indeed! 
But, as I said, I had a great deal to learn about sex. So I began to give 
Terence's cock tiny kisses all up and down the hard length of it, and down 
around his balls when he'd push my head down there. I didn't like being 
pushed like that; it made me feel as if I were being forced to suck him. 
Which wasn't true. I was curious. I was grateful for my first real live sex 
in God know's how long. I also wanted to please Terence, and if the only way 
he could get his rocks off was to be sucked, then I'd suck him. Gradually, I 
lost my revulsion at the idea of sucking him off and began to really sort of 
enjoy myself. I was getting hot again, and the notion stuck in my mind that 
if I sucked him well, maybe he'd suck me? Maybe? With that in mind, I 
started licking his dong, playing with his balls at the same time so he 
wouldn't have to push my head. And Terence really began to react to that. 

"His prick seemed to be burning in my mouth and I don't know much about male 
anatomy, but I was certain that it had to be terribly painful for him to 
have remained that hard for so very long. I took the warm shaft in my hand 
and started to lick around the ridge at the head, darting the tip of my 
tongue in and out of the tiny little hole at the tip. And then Terence 
started to groan, began to writhe before my face, and tried to shove his 
cock all the way up into my mouth. I was very careful and took a little 
love-bite on the head of it. I thought Terence was going to jump right 
through the roof! Well, he grabbed my head by the ears and then really began 
to fuck my mouth. He slammed his rigid cock so hard that it was banging 
against my throat and gagging me. I got a little scared, but I hung in 
there. And anyway, I was so hot all over again that I'd have done just about 
anything to keep Terence happy enough for at least one more fuck ... unless 
I could talk him into sucking me. Finally, Terence was humping and pumping 
into my face frantically, saying over and over, 'Suck it, sweetie, suck it!' 
A few moments later he made one great big lunge into my mouth with his 
bulging cock and started shooting and shooting his thick come down my 
throat. 

"It wasn't too bad. It was sort of like an over-salted white sauce ... but 
not bad. I thought to spit it out as he spewed it in, but that would have 
been not only impractical but rude. It was already going down my throat, why 
not just swallow it. And when he was through, Terence just slumped down 
across my torso, panting in rasping breaths. 

" 'Your first time?' he asked me several moments later. 

"I just nodded, but I was already frantically trying to maneuver my cunt 
toward his face. 

" 'You've got a lot to learn, but you show promise, darling.' 

" "Terence, I'm all hot again.' 

" 'Oh, God! You women are disgusting! Look, luv, it's been interesting for a 
change, but let's not be piggy-piggy about it!' 

""That's it, then? You're through for the night?' 

" 'Well, darling Evelyn, with women I am. That's enough to hold me for at 
least another two or three years. Cunt will never ever replace ass-not in a 
million years of gay Sundays!' 

"I didn't know what he meant-then. And Terence and I do see each other from 
time to time, but it's not the way it used to be before we'd laid each 
other. Now there's a sort of embarrassing atmosphere, as if we knew 
something about each other-for sure!-that in a way we wished we didn't know. 

"And as I said, Terence was the first live one. After him, I guess I sort of 
went wild. There was a whole new world of fresh, young, willing, live meat 
out there, and it soon became apparent that my age didn't matter to these 
young ones. When they're hot, they're hot. They'd stick it in a piece of 
liver if it could wriggle back at their pricks! So I took my drinking habits 
to the bars-all kinds of bars. I've bedded just about anything walking in 
the past couple of years. Or to be more accurate, she has. If I'd been 
sober, I wouldn't have touched those people with a ten-foot sterilized pole! 

"And, of course, you know about the last encounter. That pickup mugger who 
beat the living shit out of me, stole my money and my watch, and then left 
me to rot in a cheap motel room. I probably would have died from internal 
bleeding if the chambermaid hadn't been doing her rounds. And what could I 
tell Dick? That I'd been run over by a Mack truck while taking a cool siesta 
in a run-down motel? No. It was time to see the truth about myself, to come 
to terms with her and get her out of my life. I have children-I don't want 
them to remember me as the slut of our community. 

"But Dick makes it so very hard. He's hurt, I know; but there's nothing I 
can do to undo that hurt unless he'll give me another chance. But all he 
does is sulk, or pretend to care about how I feel-and all the time he's got 
his eye on the liquor cabinet, watching me ... always watching me. He stays 
home quite a bit now, treating me like some kind of an invalid. He's driving 
me buggy . ... I don't think I can take much more of it. And inside the 
cabinet, right over there, is a quart of scotch, a fifth of gin, and 
whatever else Dick has locked up. It's right there ... all I have to do is 
pick the lock. Or, for that matter, I could walk into any bar. Any man'll 
buy a lady a drink. You see? It's really the booze I'm fighting-not the sex. 
Don't you see that? If I have to go to bed with a man as the price of a 
drink ... well, why not!" 

Treatment for the subject Evelyn will have to be in the three areas 
mentioned before: schizophrenia, fantasy and alcoholism. Naturally, the 
first step will be to improve the home and family environment for the 
subject. She will, in addition, have to demonstrate a strong desire to be 
cured of her alcoholism, as well as to display a willingness to be treated 
for her fantasy and schizophrenia. Under these conditions, the outlook for 
Evelyn can be bright and hopeful. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Dream Girls 

"My name is Arnold and I'm 51 years old. That's not a bad age to be, not 
really. If you keep your eyes open you can learn a hell of a lot by that 
time-about people, I mean, and about how they work and what they're like. 
That's the most important thing to learn as far as I'm concerned. Sure, it's 
important to learn other things, too-you have to have some profession or 
skill so you can make a living. But if you only know how to make a living 
and don't know much about people-well, there are people like that, and I can 
only feel sorry for them. 

"It's funny, the more you learn, the less opportunity you have to apply it. 
When you're young and jazzy and don't know your ass from a hole in the 
ground, the broads flock to you. You may not know how to get in their pants, 
but you sure as hell have a lot of opportunities. But you get to be 51-and 
married for 25 years or so-and you don't have many opportunities. The chicks 
look at you like you're a dirty old man, most of them. They avoid you like 
the plague. That's the young chicks, of course; you can almost always find a 
few your own age or thereabouts. Yeah, they're nice, too. But some guys-like 
me, for instance-get a hankering for young pussy. When I was in my twenties, 
age didn't mean a thing. A chick was a chick, whether she was 18 or 80; the 
only thing I wanted then was pussy. But as you get along in years, your 
tastes begin to narrow down, to get refined, and you begin looking for some 
quality in a chick. like maybe long blonde hair, or brown eyes, or maybe a 
certain look in the eyes or a shape to the mouth. It doesn't exactly make 
sense; I mean, the guy who has these preferences probably couldn't begin to 
tell you why this or that quality really turns him on, but it does, so 
that's what he looks for. It's just one of those things you fall into as you 
get along in years. And the older I get, the more I dig young chicks. 
There's something about that innocence, that youthful vitality, that fresh, 
healthy, young skin that really turns me on. So, that's what I usually look 
for-not that I ever get it. 

"And that's why I resort to fantasy quite a bit of the time. Now, I don't 
think there's anything at all wrong with fantasy-as long as you don't prefer 
it to the real thing. Now, me, I'll take the real thing any time, or even 
something that isn't at all like my dream girls, provided she's female. But 
there isn't much chance of picking up a girl when you've been married as 
long as I have. Oh, sure, I've had the opportunities-and even gotten one 
here and there. But you can only tell so many little lies to your wife, and 
after that you'd better shape up and put her and the house and your duty 
first-unless you decide that a one-time fuck is worth losing all that. And I 
guess I just haven't run across the girl who I think is worth all that. So 
that's why I've come to develop my dream girls. 

"I suppose every man has his favorite fantasy. It's the kind of thing you 
don't usually talk about. You hear guys saying, 'I dig a chick with big 
tits,' or maybe, 'I go for a girl with long legs,' and so on, and you can be 
pretty sure that when those men fantasize, that's the kind of chick they 
picture in their minds. Of. course, there will be a lot more to it than just 
that, but they are sort of giving you a hint about what they imagine when 
they jack off or just sit around thinking about chicks. When I'm really 
horny, and Carol-she's my wife-isn't about to give me a piece of ass, I must 
admit I do use fantasy to work me up so I can jack off, but a lot of times I 
just lie back and relax and dream about some chick that I've met or maybe 
just passed on the street, or maybe I'll just start from scratch and make up 
one. 

"I used to buy those books and magazines with pictures of naked chicks. If 
I'm going to be honest about it-and what's the sense of telling all this if 
I'm not going to be honest-I must admit that I still go out and buy those 
books and magazines. And I've got a whole lot of them now, but I still enjoy 
finding one that's new and different-fresh, you might say. Well, I used to 
pick up one of those books when I was feeling horny and I'd look through it 
and find a picture that really turned me on-a chick that was more or less 
the type I really dig. And then I'd jack off while looking at her picture, 
and I'd think about her doing all kinds of sexy things to me. But I 
personally find it a distraction to use pictures like that. Okay, it turns 
me on to look at the picture of some sharp-looking naked chick, and it turns 
me on to see a sexy chick getting fucked by some guy, and it really turns me 
on to see a picture of two chicks balling each other. But, from there on, 
I'd rather let my imagination take over. I've met guys who say they dig 
looking at pictures like that when they shoot off, but I'd much rather close 
my eyes and let my own fantasies take over. I don't think one way is 
superior to the other, or that it necessarily indicates that one guy has no 
imagination, or something like that. It's just that different people have 
different ways of doing things, and what works for one guy leaves another 
guy cold. 

"Anyway, over the years I've developed a couple of fantasies that I keep 
repeating over and over in my mind when I'm in the mood for fantasizing. I 
vary them a little bit here and there each time, but, in general, they are 
almost exactly the same every time. Now, I'm a married man, and I love my 
wife. Carol's been just about everything a man could hope for in a woman. 
Oh, we've had our disagreements, and we even got together and worked things 
out, and we made a few concessions to each other-minor things, really, 
hardly worth mentioning, but they seemed awfully big and important at the 
time. We have two kids, a boy and a girl, and they're both grown-up and 
married and have kids of their own, now, and we see them now and then, but 
they have their own lives to live. So, what am I supposed to do-go out and 
get laid by some strange chick all the time, a different one each week, 
something like that? No, I don't think that's the way to keep a happy 
marriage. 

"I'm not saying now that I've always been faithful to Carol, but I'm also 
not saying that I try to fuck every strange piece I run across. Still, being 
a man, and being human, the thought does cross my mind. And once in a while, 
everything seems to work out just right and I manage to get a stray piece of 
ass, and I think Carol suspects that I play around a bit here and there. 
And, if you must know, I suspect that she hasn't always stayed close to 
home, either. But we have both been very discreet about it. We don't throw 
it in each other's faces, you know. And I kind of like the 'creature 
comforts' which I get from my home life. We still ball occasionally-about 
once a week usually-but there are things that turn me on that I'd never 
think of asking Carol to do. And that's where my fantasies come in. The 
little girls I imagine are really experts at the thing I dig, and they 
always do everything I want them to do without any hesitation. It's just not 
easy to find girls like that in real life-and if I did, what am I going to 
do with them? I can't bring them home with me, and I can't spend too much 
time away from home with them. 

"So, I've developed my dream girls; there are two of them-two main ones, 
that is. Sometimes I'm in the mood for Trixie, and sometimes I'm in the mood 
for Sally. I've never tried getting them together at one time; I'm not even 
sure that would work. Sally has a friend named Betty who gets involved with 
us sometimes, but I just don't think Trixie and Sally would get along 
together. Anyway, I'll try to describe them. 

"Trixie is sixteen-jail bait; and as long as she exists only in my 
fantasies, I don't have to worry about being arrested and sent up for 
contributing to the delinquency of minors, or some such charge. She's the 
cutest, foxiest little nymphet I've ever seen-except maybe for Sally, but 
we'll get to her later. As I say, she's sixteen and has long black hair 
that's natural-it's not a wig or anything. God, that hair is soft and silky, 
and it smells sweet and fresh-the warm smell of springtime. She's about five 
four and weighs about 120,130 pounds. I have to guess at these things, of 
course. You might say I've often laid her but never weighed her. 

"Trixie is built for comfort. You know, you've heard that a thin girl is 
built for speed, while a chubby girl is built for comfort. Well, Trixie 
isn't fat-not at all-but she's well padded. Her tits are kind of big, a real 
handful-a good mouthful, too. She's got a fairly slim waist and wide, round 
hips, and a full ass, and firm, soft thighs. And her pubic hair is soft and 
silky, just like the hair on her head. She's got green eyes-I dig green 
eyes, and you don't see them very often. And that sweet little pussy of 
hers--wow! It's got a grip on it like a vise. And I get all hung up on 
lapping at that sweet pussy. It's funny, in real life, I've never tried 
that. I'd never dare suggest it to Carol; she'd think I was depraved or a 
degenerate or something. Once or twice when we'd been out partying and had a 
little too much to drink, I got pretty close to it-I kissed her stomach and 
her thighs-but I've never had the nerve to take that final plunge. We've 
talked about eating pussy, sucking dick a few times, but she always says, 
"That's disgusting!' If I argue-which I have sometimes-she'll start talking 
about 'normal desires,' and she once said, 'No real man would ever think of 
such a thing.' So naturally I didn't push it. That's the way Carol feels. I 
don't agree with her at all. But, nobody has a perfect marriage, as far as I 
can see, and you just make the best of what you have. It's a good marriage, 
and why rock the boat. I personally feel that a real man with normal desires 
will just naturally want to kiss his wife's pussy at sometime or other. And 
she will want to suck his prick. It's a way of expressing your deep feelings 
for each other; it's a way of really getting close to each other. At least, 
that's what I believe. 

"But, in real life, I've never once sucked a pussy. When I was younger, 
before Carol and I were married, I had a couple of whores suck my dick, and 
let me tell you, that was a great feeling. Since they were whores and they'd 
been fucked by I don't know how many men, I just couldn't bring myself to 
lick their pussies. But, you see, with Trixie and Sally, I don't have to 
worry. I'm the only person that ever fucked either one of them, so I don't 
have to worry about them being dirty. 

"Here's the way one of my typical fantasies goes with Trixie. I vary it a 
lot, depending on how I feel at the time, but this is more or less the way 
they all go. Carol goes off for the weekend to visit her mother or one of 
the kids or someone. It doesn't matter whom she visits-what's important is 
that she won't be back for a couple of days and I don't have to think up 
some lie about working late or having some place to go and all that. Anyway, 
I go out to take some clothes to the cleaners on Saturday afternoon, and, as 
I'm coming out of the cleaners, I see this foxy young chick strutting by in 
a miniskirt that sits on the crest of her ass. I do a double take, 'cause 
she's just so damned sexy looking. She probably would have passed me by and 
kept right on going, except that at just that moment, she dropped her purse. 
It fell open and all the junk in it flew out. She bent over to pick it up, 
and I nearly shit. Her pink ass was staring me right in the face; she didn't 
have a damned thing on under that miniskirt! It seemed like I stood there 
staring with my mouth open and prick on instant hard for a long time, but it 
couldn't have been more than a minute. Anyway, I rushed over and helped her 
pick up her stuff, and she was kind of embarrassed and apologetic, and I put 
her at ease right away by pretending that it was me who had been clumsy, and 
that I'd bumped into her and knocked her purse out of her hand. 

"We both knew it wasn't true, but it made her laugh, and her green eyes 
sparkled. Anyway, next thing you know, I'd offered her a ride and she'd 
accepted. I introduced myself, and she told me her name was Trixie. She said 
she was on her way home, and I said, 'Well, it's better to ride, then, so 
you don't keep your family waiting.' 

" 'Oh, I don't have any family,' she says. "That is, I live with my parents, 
but they're away for the week, so I'm all alone for a while.' 

" 'Umm,' I muttered. 'Doesn't it get kind of lonely? A beautiful young girl 
like you living all alone?' 

" 'It hasn't so far,' she smiled at me. 'My folks just left this morning. 
But I'm always glad of company.' 

"About that time, we got to her apartment, and she started to get out, 
thanking me for the ride; then she turned to me and said, 'Couldn't I offer 
you a drink or something?' 

"'Sure. I'd love to,' I told her, 'but I don't want to interfere with any 
plans you might have for the afternoon.' 

" 'Oh, I don't have anything planned,' she said. 'I could use the company. 
And you've been so nice to me, that's the least I could do.' 

"So I parked the car and followed her into a neat little apartment. I sat on 
the couch and watched her sexy stride as she went to fix me a drink, and she 
came back with it and sat next to me, kind of sideways, with one thigh 
resting flat on the couch, her legs gapped open, with her miniskirt barely 
shading her silky little pussy. I tried to keep my mind on my drink, but 
with that furry pussy looking up at me-well, I'm only human. 

"I needed that drink; my mouth was so dry I could hardly talk. I took a 
couple of stiff gulps, then I leaned over toward her and said, 'You're the 
most appealing girl I've seen in a long time.' 

"She kind of giggled with that soft voice of hers, and her eyes were all 
asparkle. I could tell that she knew what she was doing to me with her legs 
spread apart like that, and it was obvious that she was loving every minute 
of it. 

"I put my hand on her leg-the one that was crossways on the couch-and said, 
'You have the smoothest, softest skin I've ever felt.' 

"She just giggled again, and she kept her eyes on me, watching my face and 
the obvious effort I was having trying to keep from jumping on her and just 
raping the hell out of her. My hand slipped up her leg, and I started 
caressing her thigh. 'Gee,' she murmured, 'you have a gentle touch,' and she 
threw her head back and jerked her shoulders as if my caresses were really 
beginning to do things to her. 

"I put down my drink then-that could wait-and, without taking my hand off 
her thigh, leaned over her and kissed her on the nose. I pulled back about 
an inch from it and whispered, 'I'm sorry. You're so beautiful, I just 
couldn't resist.' 

" 'If it's too much for you, don't fight it,' she murmured, throwing her 
arms around my neck, and I leaned in and kissed her madly on the mouth. 

"God, what a sexy mouth she had. So many girls have mouths that are kind of 
flat and prim looking. You have the feeling that they don't really enjoy 
sex, or even life. But not Trixie; just looking at that full, soft mouth of 
hers made you think of a big, soft bed with pink sheets and her gorgeous 
body lying there, almost begging to be fucked. And the way she kissed made 
my lips tingle. She flicked that nasty little tongue of hers back and forth 
across my lips, and it kept jabbing at them, and then darting away. I tried 
to follow it with my tongue, but she always managed to slip away and then 
flicked tantalizingly at another part of my mouth. I pushed my tongue 
between her lips and jabbed at her tongue and swabbed at the roof of her 
mouth. What a sweet-tasting mouth! No cigarette taste or the dull taste of 
liquor-just the wonderful taste of fresh young girl. 

"Even then, with my tongue practically filling her sweet mouth, her tongue 
couldn't stay still. It wiggled and darted around as much as it could, 
tickling the underside of my tongue, as if she was so excited she just 
couldn't keep it still. My one hand was behind her neck, playing in that 
long, silky, black hair, and the other hand was feeling around at her thigh, 
getting closer and closer to her pussy, and it finally touched her pussy 
hair. It hit me almost like an electric shock. My whole body jerked, that's 
how turned on I was. And I began to run my fingers through that soft, curly 
pubic hair, feeling the puffy, soft lips of her pussy in all that silky 
hair. I pulled my mouth away from hers and let out a gasp. Everything I was 
doing felt so damned good. 

"She pulled away then and said, 'Let's go in the bedroom.' 

"I was all for it; I needed that break, otherwise I'd have shot off in my 
pants. I was that excited. I started to undress and left a trail of clothes 
from the couch all the way to the bedroom. By the time we got to the bed, we 
were both stark naked. There was a lamp next to her bed, and she turned that 
on since the drapes were closed over the windows. And then she lay back. Her 
body seemed to glow in the soft, rosy glow from the lamp. It lay there on 
those pink sheets, and it seemed to be pleading for love and satisfaction 
from every pore. And I wasn't about to resist a plea like that. 

"I stood there at the end of the bed with my prick standing straight out, 
aiming right at her pussy. Trixie lay back and smiled at me invitingly as I 
crawled up on the bed on top of her. She was so luscious, I didn't know 
which part of her to touch first. I lay on top of her, feeling her perky 
tits jammed against my chest, and my prick lay flat on her belly. God, her 
body was burning up. She was seething with lust. She grabbed my head and 
pulled my mouth toward her open lips and seemed to be trying to suck my lips 
all the way into her mouth. Then I pulled away and began to suck on one of 
her tits while I pinched and kneaded the other; she threw her head back and 
rolled from side to side with passion. 

"Then I sat up with my knees in her armpits and aimed my prick at her mouth. 
She lunged for it and swallowed it down like she was starving and it was the 
best thing she'd ever tasted. It was wild to feel her tits jabbing into my 
ass while she sucked and gobbled on my prick. She started playing with my 
balls, handling them like they were some rare objects that needed the 
greatest delicacy of touch. At that point, I got so hot I just couldn't hold 
back any longer. I lurched forward and jammed my prick down her throat and 
let go with a flood of juice that just kept on spurting in one convulsive 
jerk after another. She gobbled it down like a cat licking up cream. But 
that didn't finish me-not by a long shot. Usually, when I fuck Carol, after 
I shoot off, all I want to do is climb off and fall asleep, but not with 
Trixie. She had me so worked up I felt I could keep going like that for 
another three or four more hours. Besides, I hadn't even gotten my finger in 
her pussy yet, let alone my prick or my tongue. 

"When she'd sucked me dry, I pulled out, and my prick was still almost hard. 
Usually, after I come, it gets limp and it takes a lot of work to get it 
hard again, but not with Trixie. The whole scene had me so turned on, I knew 
it would be only a matter of a short time before I would be ready to go 
again. 

"I rolled off and lay down next to her and couldn't keep my hands off her 
plump little titties. Then I got up on my knees and turned around so she 
could play with my prick, and she started licking my balls while she 
caressed my prick. I licked down her belly and began to lick that silky hair 
on her mound of Venus, like a cat licking its fur. But I knew that wasn't 
going to be enough, and I reached down and worked my shoulders in between 
her thighs, and I lifted them up so I could pin them back with my arms. Her 
whole pussy area was exposed to me then, and I plunged down and began to 
suck and lick it all over. As soon as my tongue hit her tiny clit, she began 
to shudder and moan, and I kept licking and nipping at her clit relentlessly 
until she was quivering all over and almost screaming with pleasure. I don't 
know how many times she came while I was doing that, but when I finally 
jabbed my tongue into her pussy, it was sopping wet, and I buried my whole 
face in her pussy and lapped up those juices and tongue-fucked her till I 
thought we'd both go out of our minds. I could feel her teeth nipping at the 
head of my prick, and the needle-like jabs really got me excited. 

"I quit suddenly, and pulled my prick out of her mouth. I had a full hard on 
again, and I just had to shove it into her pussy. The whole maneuver of 
turning around went so smoothly and happened so quickly that it was as if we 
had merely stopped to take a breath, and I could feel the head of my prick 
pressing against her pussy. Her pussy was so hot and wet that it was all I 
could do to keep myself from shooting off right then and there. But I forced 
myself to calm down a little, and I then plunged it in. It just went in easy 
and natural with no need to guide it, and suddenly I could feel that hot 
little pussy of hers gripping my prick from all sides. Nothing in this world 
can ever replace that feeling. 

"I kind of fell down on top of her, not letting my full weight rest on her, 
but just sort of relaxing against her. The only part of me that was still 
tense and rigid was my prick, which throbbed and pulsated inside that hot, 
tight pussy. I couldn't take much more of that; it was almost painful not to 
move my prick back and forth, and I had to do it. I began a slow push-pull, 
feeling that slippery little pouch rubbing and caressing every inch of my 
prick. It was maddening; I began clawing at her tits, then drew one of her 
hard little nipples into my mouth and started sucking and chewing on it, 
while my fingers clenched and unclenched on the other. 

"And then my pelvic motions went out of control, and I lunged in and out, 
pounding the head of my prick back as far as it would go inside that hot, 
quivering pussy. I could feel my climax building, and I couldn't have 
stopped even if they'd dropped the A-bomb right on top of us. I plunged and 
ground and lunged for all I was worth, and then I thrust my prick forward 
till I could feel her warm flesh enveloping the head. I shot off, but her 
flesh was pressed hard against my hole and there was no place for my wild 
come juice to come out. I think I screamed with the agony and pleasure that 
was in that orgasm. It was frantic. I finally jerked back and flooded her 
pussy with my warm juice. I just kept right on fucking, without any 
semblance of rhythm left, just plunging and gasping and writhing 
erratically, and moaning at every little titillation of frenzied pleasure. 

"When I finally calmed down and came to my senses again, I was still lying 
on top of Trixie with my prick still inside her, but I had my full weight on 
her this time. I just hadn't the strength to hold myself off her. But now I 
rolled off and lay next to her, holding her in my arms, feeling the warmth 
of her body, the softness of her skin, the pleasure of her closeness. And 
that's the way I fell asleep. 

"Well, that's one of my favorite fantasies. Of course, I always hope that 
someday I'll run across some girl more or less like Trixie, but I don't 
think I ever will. When I was younger, I used to think that there was a 
possibility-and I suppose that there is always some chance-but I don't 
really count on it. I guess everybody has some ideas about his dream girl, 
and maybe a few of the more fortunate ones find her, but most of us just 
hold our dream to ourselves and make the best of what we can get." 

Once again, it is seen where a family environment has contributed to the 
practice of fantasy. In this case, the subject Arnold is not able to 
continue a satisfactory sexual relationship with his wife. He obviously has 
an active sex drive even at the age of 51, which drive is left unsatisfied 
more often than not in his home. 

The constraints of circumstance, time and social requirements set limits to 
the expression of inclination and interest. "It is in the realm of fantasy," 
says Robert W. White in his The Abnormal Personality, "that we can observe 
the balancing operations that help maintain the integration of personality 
in spite of these necessary limitations." He continues by saying: 

It is also in the realm of fantasy that we find constant preparation for the 
future, the incubation of images and ideas on their way to become conscious 
plans. In a very real sense fantasy is the staging area for future 
operations. 

For the most part, fantasy is prompted by unrelieved tensions of one kind or 
another. Its theme is the minor frustrations of the day and the major 
frustrations of the person's life as a whole. In so far as the fantasy 
merely wishes things around into a more pleasing shape, it might be regarded 
as a cheap substitute for actual achievement. Even though cheap, however, it 
is a substitute. Arnold is substituting the fantasy of sexual intercourse 
with young girls for the sexual intercourse with his wife. 

The fantasy for Arnold helped him get used to the frustration of not having 
a satisfactory sexual relationship with his wife, while at the same time 
presented images of a more hopeful state of affairs for his future. 
Fantasies can be seen as a kind of balancing activity for the subject in 
which existing frustrations are made less painful and burdensome. 

As long as Arnold recognizes his fantasies as such, there might never occur 
the possibility of schizophrenia. It appears he has no problem with his 
fantasies becoming reality to him. It is interesting to note, however, that 
Arnold has developed only two main fantasies, fantasies which he is able to 
summon at will, with each fantasy having a central character firmly defined 
in Arnold's imagination. 

The subject is at an age (51) where some men find they have the tendency to 
seek younger companions, either men or women, or both. It appears Arnold is 
trying to relate to much younger women in an attempt to remain youthful, 
especially in the sexual aspect of human activity. However, as he says in 
his narration, he is unable to find these young girls with whom he may have 
sexual congress. It could possibly be that his moral instincts concerning 
fidelity to his wife are restraining him from seeking actual sexual 
relations with outside women. 

He becomes frustrated for he believes these younger girls will look upon him 
as a "dirty old man," as he says himself. But in his fantasies, he is able 
to obtain both wishes. He finds companionship in younger girls, and is able 
to satisfy his sexual urges. 

Arnold has used erotic pictures and books to stimulate his fantasies, but he 
seems to be able to control their usage to a certain extent. As he says, " 
... I'd much rather close my eyes and let my own fantasies take over." 

"I've told you about Trixie-I could go on and on with the many variations, 
but they're all more or less like what I've described. Even so, there are 
times when I'm just not in the mood for Trixie; maybe it's hard to believe, 
but I suspect that it is possible to have too much of a good thing, and 
besides men almost always prefer a little variety in their lovemaking-a 
variety of activities, as well as a certain amount of variety in their 
partners. It's a great spur to your physical drives to have a surprise now 
and then. And so I keep Sally in reserve; of course, once in a great while, 
I start from scratch and imagine an entirely new and different girl for a 
one-time quickie, so to speak. And that can be fun, too, but usually when 
I'm not in the mood for Trixie, I'm very much in the mood for Sally. 

"Sally is not quite as young as Trixie, she's about 22-which is still young 
enough for my tastes. She's hardly an old woman, but she's not much like 
Trixie in looks. Where Trixie is built for comfort, Sally is built more for 
speed. She's very slender-not really skinny; she has plenty of meat on her 
bones, but she's not nearly as round and full-blown as Trixie. Also, she's a 
blonde, and her hair is fairly short-not real short, but it doesn't quite 
reach her shoulders. She has blue eyes and a full mouththat's important to 
me-and she has smaller titties than Trixie, but they're still plenty big 
enough. I mean that if she were to turn around suddenly, she could still 
poke your eye out with one of them. 

"Sally is based on a real girl I saw one day. 

I was leaving work one afternoon, rushing so I could get home and change 
clothes, since Carol and I had been invited out to dinner, and I knew Carol 
would be furious if I got home late. I walked out the door to go to my car 
in the lot across the street, when I see this beautiful hunk of femininity 
strutting by. She was dressed in a white dress which came to about the 
middle of her thighs, and she looked just about the way I've described 
Sally. Our eyes met as she passed, and they had the look in them of a girl 
who was ready. I stopped and watched her strut down the street, her ass 
gyrating in a way that you couldn't take your eyes off it. She went about 
thirty feet, paused, then casually turned around and stared at me. I looked 
across the street at my car and then looked back at her. Duty or desire? 
That's a hell of a decision to have to make. No matter which you choose, you 
kick yourself afterwards for not having made the other choice. 

"I hesitated too long; she turned back and went on her way, and duty won 
out. I don't remember the dinner at all, but I've never forgotten that 
moment or that girl. That was maybe ten years ago, and shortly after that, I 
invented Sally. In real life, duty won out, but in my fantasies, nothing 
ever stands in the way of my desires. I usually start from that moment, with 
Sally about thirty feet away, turning to look back at me. Of course, in my 
fantasy, Carol has called and told me she won't be home until late. 
Something or other came up and she had to go out somewhere and won't be back 
until around midnight. So I don't have the problem of making the decision 
between Sally and duty. 

"I walk toward Sally, and she stands waiting. 

" 'Hi,' I say. 'My car is just across the street. Could I give you a lift?' 

" 'I'd really appreciate that,' she replies. Her voice is one of those 
smooth, velvety ones that oozes sensuality. 

"Anyway, I drive the car around and she hops in. 'Where to?' I ask, and she 
gives me her address. We introduce ourselves, and she tells me that she has 
seen me coming out of work many times before, watching from up the street, 
or passing by in a car. She feels almost as if she's known me for a long 
time. 

" 'I would sure like to get to know you at least as well,' I tell her, and 
she smiles at me as if she can read my thoughts. We talk about this and that 
until we get to her place. Then she invites me in for a drink, suggesting 
that we could maybe get to know each other better. That's the kind of 
invitation you just don't turn down-especially not in a fantasy. 

"She lives with another girl named Betty in a modern two-bedroom apartment. 
But Betty is out, so we have the place to ourselves. Sally closes the drapes 
and switches on some soft lights, puts a few records on the phonograph, and 
fixes us each a drink. She has me sit in a chair, and she sits down on the 
carpet by my feet. Her soft blonde hair is right at my fingertips, and I 
start to play with it and caress it. There's something about a girl's hair 
... it's hard to say what I mean exactly, but a girl's hair somehow 
represents the essence of her femininity. When I see a pretty head of hair, 
I always have the urge to pet it-like you'd pet a cat, maybe-and on those 
rare occasions when I can give in to my impulse, I always expect the girl to 
purr. And that's essentially what Sally did when I caressed her soft blonde 
hair. She didn't purr out loud as a cat does, but I received the same 
sensation from it. Just by the way she held her head, and by the glow in her 
face, I could tell it was as much a pleasure to her as to me. 

"She was sitting cross-legged at my feet and leaning back against the arm of 
my chair with my hand running up and down her hair. I could see her thighs, 
smooth and golden-brown from the sun (really it was leg makeup, but they 
still looked damned inviting), and I was eager to start petting them in the 
way I was petting her hair. We had finished our drinks, and I refused a 
refill-why waste time drinking when there are better things in the offing? 
Anyway, I bent over her slightly, and then I could see part way into the top 
of her dress-those mounds jutting out-and I can see the brown edge of one of 
her nipples. So I continue caressing her hair, but with the other hand, I 
reach down and begin to flex my fingers in a kind of scratching caress, 
rubbing around her tits and finally touching the tip of her nipple. She lets 
out a little moan of pleasure and leans her head farther back and lifts her 
breasts a little higher so I can reach them more easily. 

"I was getting so hot from doing all that that my prick had gotten 
rock-hard, and I shifted in my seat so I could relieve the pressure of my 
clothes on it. She saw it then, and she reached over and began to rub it 
inside of my pants, and within a few minutes, she had unzipped my pants and 
held it in her hand. To show how much she loved it, she bent down and kissed 
the head of it. Feeling her hot lips on it, my prick throbbed and jumped, 
and she held it tight in her hand as if it would get away from her if she 
didn't. 

"Then I reached down and began to hoist up her dress, raising it up over 
that round, sexy ass of hers, and pulling it on up until it rested on her 
tits. She raised her arms, and I pulled at it and got it off over her head. 
She shook her head and let her hair fly around and settle back where the 
dress had gotten it messed up. All she was wearing then were her brief 
panties and a pair of loafer-like tennis shoes. I couldn't see her tits 
because they were buried in the legs of my pants, but her back was smooth 
and golden-brown, just like her thighs. I began to rub her back and my hands 
slipped down under her arms and rested on her tits. They were a good 
handful, and I played with them and pinched and rubbed them; and I thrust my 
prick up at her face, and she buried her face in my crotch and began to lick 
and suck on my prick. 

"Then she unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants and shorts. She began 
to lick all around my crotch area, mouthing my balls, and taking long 
lapping strokes on the sides of my prick. And suddenly she engulfed my whole 
prick in that hot mouth of hers. I groaned and felt gobs of my come juice 
spurt out against that rippling throat of hers. She swallowed it greedily 
and kept sucking and pumping for more, until she'd drained me of every drop. 
Then she finally let it slip out of her mouth, and I lay back in the chair, 
panting and gasping for breath. She looked up, smiled lasciviously, but 
didn't say anything. Then she got up and refilled our drinks; I needed one 
at that point. 

"Even though I'd just come, I could still feel my prick throbbing and 
jerking as I watched her walk across the room dressed only in brief panties 
and flat canvas shoes. Her long tapering legs and her smooth back were 
enough to drive a man crazy; and when she returned with the drinks, she was 
even more unnerving, her firm breasts, her flat belly, and just a vague 
shadow of her pubic hair under her panties. I think half the thrill of 
making out with a girl is in feasting your eyes on her body. I've run across 
guys who think there's something disgusting and perverted about looking; 
they think the only way to fuck is in the dark where you can't see each 
other's bodies, and they act as if there were something evil and depraved 
about using your eyes to enhance your pleasure. Well, if that's the way they 
feel, okay. I'm not going to try to change them. I'm willing to let them 
live the way they want-but I demand the right to live the way I want, too. 
There's room for both of us in this world, and I'll be damned if I'll let 
people like that take over and force a society on me where the only pleasure 
you can have is looking at twenty-dollar bills or a new Cadillac. Of course, 
they're nice, too, I don't mean to knock money and big cars-but for sheer 
pleasure, I'll still take a gorgeous hunk of girl like Sally who isn't 
ashamed of strutting around in the nude and letting me feast my eyes on 
every little part of her sexy body. 

"Anyway, by the time Sally got back with the drinks, I was all ready to 
start in all over again. That first orgasm had just been an appetizer. When 
she handed me my drink, she started to flop down at my feet again, but I set 
down my drink and made her stand up again till I worked her panties off over 
her rounded hips and pulled them down so she could step out of them. She 
took off her shoes, too, and stood there totally nude while I stared at her. 
Her pubic hair was blonde, just like the hair on her head. I guess she'd 
dyed it-though I suppose it could have been natural. It doesn't really 
matter, whether natural or not, it was breathtakingly beautiful and I felt I 
just wanted to bury my face in it and inhale the sweet feminine fragrances. 

"She sensed my desires, for she moved toward me and stood with her legs 
slightly apart, right between my knees. I bent forward, grabbed her around 
the ass, and held on to one rounded buttock with each hand while I rubbed my 
face and nose all over her pubic area. 

"I kneeled down at her feet and gave vent to my furious passion to nuzzle 
her. I could tell she loved it. She held her drink in one hand, having 
nowhere to put it down, but with the other she grasped the back of my head 
and held it close to her. I could hear her let out a sort of gasping moan. 
Then I began licking at her, and she slowly let her legs slip apart so I 
could work my tongue down between her legs. I was a glutton, slurping and 
sucking at every inch of her crotch area. Her smell was so sensual, so 
exhilarating, subtle, light, fresh, the personification of female. If you're 
going to have a woman, you might as well have all of her, not just the 
surface, the fringes. 

"It was getting too much for her; she sort of staggered and leaned ever, 
then set down her drink, spilling half of it on the carpet-but neither of us 
could have stopped at that moment to clean it up. Then she leaned back more, 
thrusting her pubic area into my face and gyrating, rubbing it all over my 
face so that my eyes and nose and chin were all wet with her excited juices. 
My hands were like claws digging into her buttocks, and she had both hands 
on my head, now, crushing my head into her, as if she wanted to get it as 
far up into her pussy as she could. 

"It was one of those frenzied moments when both of us were in a kind of 
awkward position, but neither one of us wanted to move or change our 
position in the slightest, since it would mean losing out on this glorious 
bit of excitement, and we were too frantically involved with every fiber of 
our beings. Suddenly she began to shake and quiver and jerk, and I could 
hear her gasping and panting and kind of sobbing, but I was merciless. I 
increased my pressure on her clit and ate and gobbled at her pussy till she 
released her hold on my head and fell back limply in my arms; I couldn't 
hold her and she toppled backwards onto the carpet. I fell on top of her, my 
mouth still buried in her pussy. 

"At that point, I stopped for a breath, panting and wheezing. She lay still 
with her eyes closed, still emitting a little moan from time to time. I 
managed to get out of all of my clothes while catching my breath, then I lay 
over her and took her mouth in mine and kissed her long and passionately. 
She returned my kisses and licked her liquid from my lips. By that time, I 
was so excited, I couldn't wait any longer. I guided my throbbing prick into 
her pussy and began slowly to grind back and forth. I squeezed and kneaded 
her tits and jabbed my tongue into her mouth. I was working up to another 
climax-when the front door opened and in walked her roommate. 

"We were all shocked and embarrassed for a moment. I had forgotten all about 
the fact that she had a roommate. But Sally recovered almost right away and 
introduced Betty to me about as casually as if we were all sitting around 
fully dressed. 

"Betty was a very pretty girl: full breasts, round hips, full, sexy thighs, 
and a wonderful head of red hair with very pale, white skin. Her eyes were 
green and mischievous, and, embarrassed as I was, I couldn't help but feel 
how attractive she was. She played it very cool as soon as she recovered 
from her initial surprise. 'Don't let me stop you,' she said. 'Go ahead. 
I've got several things I have to do in the back.' 

"She started to walk toward the bedrooms in the rear of the apartment, but 
Sally suggested, 'Unless you'd like to join us. ... You wouldn't mind, would 
you, Arnold?' 

"Well, how does a guy say no to such an invitation? Sally and Betty kind of 
laughed together, and I gathered that they'd been in a menage a trois on 
previous occasions. That was something new to me, and, what the hell, since 
it was only a fantasy anyway, I might as well pull out all stops and enjoy 
it to the hilt, so to speak. 

"It took Betty only a few minutes to throw her clothes off and stand before 
us in the nude. What a contrast she made to Sally, her pale skin so white 
and fragile looking compared to Sally's golden-brown coloring. Her pubic 
hair was red, too-not as red as her hair, but much redder than any I'd ever 
seen or imagined before. It was a turn-on. I reached up and began to stroke 
it. I had pulled my prick out of Sally as soon as Betty had entered, and now 
I squatted on the floor with my prick jerking and jumping, still dripping 
with Sally's pussy juices, and Sally lay full length in front of me, while 
Betty stood very close to me, her pussy only inches from my mouth. I knew I 
had to taste this one, too. 

"But I kind of hesitated; it had all happened so suddenly. I had been 
concentrating on getting my rocks off with Sally, when all of a 
sudden--blam! It was as if someone had poured a jug of ice water on me. But 
Sally and Betty both seemed to understand my feelings, and Sally reached 
over and pushed Betty toward me. That's all the encouragement I needed, and 
I buried my face in her pubic hair, as I'd done with Sally earlier. I didn't 
waste time with preliminaries with Betty; I was already so hot it wouldn't 
take much to make me shoot off, so I got right down to the business of 
sucking her pussy. Her clit was almost twice as big as Sally's, and I licked 
and nibbled at it, trying to suck it into my mouth, without much success, 
but the sensations got to her, and she began to come almost right away. I'd 
never before known a girl who could come that quickly. She didn't quiver and 
shake nearly as much as Sally had, but she did kind of tremble, and she 
mouthed little gasps of, 'Oh! Oh!' 

"Meanwhile, Sally scooted down between Betty's legs and brought her pussy 
right up to my prick. I leaned forward and shoved it in and began to rock 
back and forth on my knees, pushing my face into Betty's pussy and shoving 
my prick into Sally's pussy. It was a pretty wild scene, and it didn't take 
me long to build up to an orgasm. But my fucking was kind of a slow, easy 
motion instead of the pounding and lunging I was used to. It was kind of 
agonizing drawing that orgasm out of me. It was as if my prick was 
desensitized so that no matter what I did I could only get a minimum of 
feeling out of it, and I hung right at the edge of shooting off for what 
seemed an awful long time before it finally got to be too much. I suddenly 
began to pound and jerk with all my might. My body was all askew, and I 
couldn't seem to make it work right, but Sally understood my predicament. 
She began to gyrate and pound her ass against me, and as I finally felt my 
juice spurting out, I gasped and choked in Betty's pussy-but I didn't pull 
my face away; I wanted to feel my tongue jabbing and licking in her pussy, 
fucking her with my tongue while Sally was fucking my prick. Both Sally and 
Betty came at the same time, and it was a wild scene-none of us really 
knowing what we were doing, just all three climaxing at the same time, 
throwing our bodies around in a frantic effort to heighten the sensation, to 
prolong it. 

"When we finally calmed down, Betty fixed herself a drink while Sally and I 
drank ours. We all needed to relax for a few minutes. After we'd sat around 
for a while and recovered our breaths, Betty suggested we retire to the 
bedroom. I hadn't thought much about it, but Sally and I agreed then that 
the carpet was a little too hard for the greatest of comfort. We fixed still 
another drink and kind of staggered to the bed and flopped down on it. I was 
no more than half through this drink, when I began to casually play with 
Betty's tits. And she started to fondle my prick-which was pretty limp at 
this point-and to caress my balls. By the time I'd drained my drink, my 
prick had begun to get hard again, and Betty's nipples had jutted up hard 
and hot. I had my big toe in Sally's pussy, wiggling it back and forth and 
feeling the warmth of her damp pussy on my toe. It was kind of weirdly 
exciting. 

"Then we really started a three-way; Betty began to suck on my prick, while 
I was sucking on Sally's pussy, and she was sucking on Betty's. It's 
exciting as hell to see one girl sucking on another girl's pussy. I kept 
glancing over at Sally's pink tongue flicking away at Betty's pussy, while I 
was busy doing the same to Sally's, and feeling Betty's hot mouth on my 
prick and balls. It took me no time at all to get a hard on again, and I 
could tell by their little gasps and moans that both girls were well on 
their way to their own climaxes again. I really wanted to sink my prick in 
Betty's pussy and fill her with my come juice, but I decided that this was 
probably the best position for all three of us. 

"Betty started coming first, as before-she was really a hot one! But Sally 
wasn't far behind ; her whole body began to shake and writhe while she 
jabbed her tongue at Betty's clit and sucked at the mouth of her pussy. I 
had two girls coming continuously for several minutes, while I kept 
concentrating on the sweet pussy I was sucking and on the exciting 
sensations Betty's mouth was imparting to my prick. The more she came, the 
more excited she got; she sucked and gobbled on my prick, and every once in 
a while, I could feel her teeth nipping me ever so gently-a sort of love 
bite, which was exciting as hell. 

"Finally, Sally lay back exhausted, and I soon stopped licking at her pussy. 
Betty hadn't stopped sucking my prick for an instant, and when Sally had 
stopped sucking her, Betty's finger worked down and into her own pussy. She 
was sucking my prick and finger-fucking herself as fast as she could. I 
watched for a few minutes, then I pulled her up and began to suck and lick 
at her nipples. Finally, I pushed her down on her back and climbed on top of 
her; I nipped at her tits and guided my hard prick into her hot, tight 
pussy. It was really a struggle to get it in there; she wasn't nearly as big 
as Sally-and Sally's pussy was tight. But Betty had the pussy of a little 
girl-almost as if she'd never been fucked before. I had to work it in 
slowly, pushing it forward a fraction of an inch, then pulling it out a 
little, and gently pushing a little further in each time, until, finally, 
after what seemed a long time, I could feel my balls pressing against her 
ass. It fit tighter than any glove I'd ever worn-and it was so damned hot 
and moist and soft. 

"I just lay there for a few minutes enjoying the hotness and the softness 
and the tightness. When you get into a pussy like that, you're kind of torn 
between just lying there and feeling that wonderful sensation and the 
overwhelming urge to fuck and pound until you get your rocks off. You can't 
do both, so what I do is lie quiet for a few minutes until the desire to 
come is just too much for me. Then I begin slowly to push back and forth, 
increasing the speed and force as I go along, until I'm thrusting and 
pounding with all my might. The area right above my prick was pounding into 
her clit, and that brought her to one orgasm after another. Her pussy was a 
hot, squishy hole by the time I finally shot off. I grabbed her tits and 
squeezed them as hard as I could, then I opened my mouth wide and planted it 
on hers. I was sucking and licking at her mouth, and kissing and 
tongue-fucking her when I finally felt my juice begin to boil up. It was 
just at that moment that I felt Sally reach up and tickle my balls and 
ass-hole with a touch like feathers. That almost drove me crazy, and if 
Betty had suddenly screamed to stop, that I was hurting her, I couldn't have 
done it. I was completely beyond any help at that point, out of my head with 
the wild pleasure of it all. 

"When my come juice finally exploded into Betty's hot, tight pussy, I was 
bellowing and snarling with excitement. I slowly drifted back to my senses 
and lay on my back on the bed while Betty mopped my brow and got a towel and 
wiped my sweating body and my prick. She sort of gave me a gentle rubdown, 
which was very soothing, while Sally went and fixed us all another drink and 
some much-needed sandwiches. 

"Well, these are a couple of the fantasies I indulge myself in. Of course, I 
don't go through with all the ramifications of these fantasies when I'm 
making it with Carol, but sometimes I imagine that she's really Sally or 
Betty or Trixie, and she's already sucked my prick and I've already licked 
her pussy, and the fucking we're doing is only the final step in a long 
sexual session. But these long, involved fantasies I use between the times I 
fuck Carol. She doesn't like to make it more than once or twice a week, but 
I could do it nearly every night. She tells me I'm oversexed and that it 
isn't 'nice' to have sex that often, but I don't think I'm oversexed. Even 
if I am, though, sex that often may not be 'nice,' but it sure is fun. And, 
so, in between the times I get to make it with Carol, I get off by myself 
and call on my dream girls-and we have a ball." 

Arnold has since made, through the help of counseling, a very healthy and 
relaxed adjustment to living a real existence without the assistance of 
fantasies. His wife was brought into the counseling sessions, advised of 
Arnold's problem, and, after several sessions, developed a more aggressive 
attitude toward her sexual relations with Arnold. Both report a satisfactory 
sex life so far. If, however, this situation was to revert to its former 
state, Arnold could possibly return to his "dream girls." 

CONCLUSION 

The study of daydreams, fantasy productions and night dreams has shown the 
importance of the less rational levels of experience. All these forms of 
expression lie open to whatever bothers the individual in the way of 
unsolved personal problems and emotional tensions. A person may not find 
peace unless, for example, he wins back the esteem of parents and girl 
friends, or unless, like the subject Arnold, he is able to adjust to or 
reach a compromise with his wife's sexual desires-in other words, if some 
vital problem is pressing for solution, it constantly invades the less 
rational forms of behavior even when it must do so in disguise. 

It may keep appearing in reverie, it may influence selective perception, or 
it may activate dreams and fantasy. And if left to its own development, 
fantasy can lead to serious mental, emotional and physical problems. The 
attitude toward fantasy is symptom rather than cause, as Robert H. White 
demonstrates in his The Abnormal Personality: 

In view of the current fashion which considers fantasy merely as a 
maladjustive process it is important to call attention to what happens when 
fantasy is constricted and suppressed. A person in whom this has occurred 
wants everything to be realistic, concrete, and clearly structured. He shies 
from whatever is vague or poorly outlined, from anything that cannot be 
pinned down in unequivocal terms. He is apt to settle for a humdrum, routine 
way of life and appears to others to miss much of the experience that should 
be within his reach. Here again the attitude toward fantasy is symptom 
rather than cause: conflicts and anxieties lie behind the wariness of 
imagination. Such a personality, however, is the kind that is often referred 
to as impoverished, which fits the conception that the cut-off realm of 
fantasy is in many respects a source of riches. 

Modern psychology has voiced the opinion that close study of a person's 
fantasy life (and it appears that many people considered "normal" experience 
some form of fantasy life) would tell a great deal about his personality. If 
it were possible to open a door and observe the free streaming of a person's 
reverie, many insights would be gained which could never be obtained through 
conversation or by observing the person's behavior from the outside. 

Through counseling and the administration of some highly regarded tests, 
those who experience fantasies in whatever form, or degree they may appear 
are able to recover to their real world, throwing off the imaginative 
reality they have had to create for themselves. 

However, tests within themselves cannot solve the problem or even 
necessarily cause it to be understood by the subjects. They do serve as a 
kind of practice toward new and better solutions of emotional problems, and 
they can throw light on the ceaseless struggle of humans to overcome 
difficulties. 

No well-rounded conception of human behavior, normal or abnormal, can be 
achieved unless it is realized just how much of it takes place at a level 
that corresponds to reverie and imagination rather than to thinking and 
volition. 


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Abrahamsen, David. The Road to Emotional Maturity. New York: Prentice-Hall, 
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Chaplin, J.P. Dictionary of Psychology. New York: Dell Publishing Co., Inc., 
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Dichter, Ernest. "Can You Cope with Adversity?" Cosmopolitan, June 1972. 

Freud, Sigmund. The Interpretation of Dreams. New York: Avon Books, 1965. 

Hayakawa, S. I., ed. Use the Right Word: A Modern Guide to Synonyms. New 
York: Funk & Wagnalls Co., Inc., 1968. 

Jung, C. G. "On the Psychogenesis of Schizophrenia." In The Basic Writings 
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Muensterberger, Warner, ed. Man and His Culture: Psychoanalytic Anthropology 
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Rothenberg, Robert E., ed. The Medical Guide to Sex & Marriage. New York: 
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Thompson, Clara M. On Women. New York: The New American Library, Inc., 1971. 

White, Robert W. The Abnormal Personality. New York: The Ronald Press Co., 
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