Wife On The Make
[aka 'Housewives Who Love, Honor And Stray']
by Stan Freeman


INTRODUCTION 

"Jack and a couple of the other guys came to see me while I was in the 
hospital, and they told me to hang tough, and when I had my chance, make a 
break for it. 

"But it didn't work out that way. In this home they put me in, while I was 
still on crutches, they sent social workers in to try to talk to the kids. 
That's where I met Steve. He was a fresh faced guy-I mean, he was 
half-hippie, half-establishment. He wore his hair long, to his shoulders, 
but no moustache or beard, and he dressed neat all the time. 

"He was twenty-two, had just graduated from a college in the East, and this 
was his first job. 

"I liked him a lot right away, but he was so goddamned polite and 
business-like that I was suspicious of him. I thought he was supposed to 
find out who I really was, then they'd ship me back home to my shitty 
parents. 

"But I finally began to feel that Steve was really interested in me as a 
person. He seemed to really care what was going to become of me. 

He talked different to me than any of the others that came to pry, and he 
was different from any of the guys I'd been living with. It finally dawned 
on me that maybe Steve was just square enough to be in love with me. 

"He arranged a foster home for me. I still hadn't told anyone anything else 
but that my name was Peggy, and like I said, my parents hadn't made any 
effort to find me, or even report me missing. 

"I didn't mind it too much at the foster home I was in. They had five other 
kids, all lots younger than me, and I sort of got a kick out of helping take 
care of them. The younger ones actually looked up to me and admired me, and 
that was a new thing for me. I actually felt protective, like a big 
sister-or even like a mother. 

"And my leg healed slowly. Although Steve was too busy to see me often, he 
did manage to get out at least once a week, but always in the daytime. 
Because I was only sixteen, the rules said that I couldn't have dates alone 
with a man, and the family I lived with went strictly by the book. They 
weren't unkind or bossy, but they had rules that all the kids had to live 
by. 

"It got pretty tame and boring after a while, especially when my leg was all 
healed and I felt like I was being cooped up." 

"I guess I'd come to care quite a bit for Steve, because when I knew I had 
to cut out, I felt I had to tell him that I'd had it. It seemed the fair 
thing to do, after all he'd done to help me. 

"The next time he visited, I walked outside with him to his car. He was 
happy to see how my leg had healed, and I saw his eyes running over my body. 
I had a nice shape, and it showed off well in the clothes I was wearing, and 
all at once I wished I could pay Steve back with a good fuck. He seemed so 
hungry for. me, and it meant so little to me to give a guy I liked any part 
of me he wanted. 

"I blurted out, "Steve, I'm going to leave here. I thought you'd want to 
know." 

"He was shocked. He shot a bunch of questions at me without stopping. "Why? 
Where? Have you heard from your parents? Aren't you being treated well?' 

"I told him that my parents were dead, and that I just had to get out of 
this setup. I told him it wasn't for me and I was beginning to climb the 
walls from boredom. 

"He was studying me, listening to me carefully, and I guess he saw that I 
was telling the truth. He seemed to accept the fact that I had to get away, 
but he didn't want me to just take off, with no money, no place to go. 

"He begged me to wait a little while, until he could figure something better 
for me. He promised he would help me, if only I'd wait a few days. He was so 
serious, so shook up, he forgot and took me in his arms and kissed me when I 
agreed to give him a chance! 

"He was embarrassed, but nobody had seen us, and nothing came of it. Except 
that it got me thinking a lot more about Steve than I had been. Up until 
that point, I guess I had really looked upon Steve as a part of the 
establishment ... sort of a respectable big brother. But I began to feel 
differently. I was now looking at Steve as a man, not just a friend or a 
social worker. 

"He came up with a plan that surprised me at first, but I guess I knew that 
he loved me, and it shouldn't have upset me. Steve asked me to marry him! 

"I told him he was crazy. He knew I was only 16. He was just starting his 
first job. Imagine me pointing out to him all the reasons he wouldn't be 
smart to take on a wild, pot-smoking kid as his wife-a kid to whom total 
freedom was more important than any laws or promises. 

"But he told me he didn't care about any of that. He loved me, and that was 
enough. He talked sensibly about me going back and finishing my schooling, 
and how much fun it would be learning to be a wife. 

"I almost panicked and took off anyhow, the thought frightened me so much. 
All I could think of was my parents. I didn't want any part of that. So I 
said to Steve, very calmly: "I'll just live with you. Or, I'll try to get a 
job and I'll sleep with you anytime you want." But that didn't do any good. 
He acted as if I had slapped him across the mouth. 

"I suppose I was tired of running, of having no anchor or goals to work for. 
Whatever it was, I finally agreed to marry Steve, and we didn't bother with 
the legal part of it. He insisted that we drive to Reno, Nevada, and we were 
married within twelve hours after he'd finally convinced me! 

"We had rigged it to look as if I had just run away, with Steve knowing 
nothing about it, and that's how we started our married life. We didn't take 
any honeymoon. Steve had a small apartment, and we went there. 

"I had told Steve that I wouldn't marry him unless he forgot about me going 
back to school. If I were going to be a wife, I insisted, then I would be 
just that-not a schoolgirl playing house. He agreed, and so I didn't have to 
do much but keep the house tidy and cook-something I was terrible at. 

"At first, it was fun. It was something different for me-to have a man who 
loved me first, and wanted me sexually second. I was used to being treated 
as just one of the group, with no special attention and no big buildup 
before fucking. 

"It was nice to have a man make over me, kiss my whole body as if it were 
something extra special, and be concerned with my having a good come, 
instead of being selfishly interested in only his own. For maybe a month, I 
guess it was good, but then I began to get bored. Bored with the routine of 
the apartment, and sex, and the lack of kids who wanted the same things I 
did and were free to go out and do them, f decided I needed some pot, some 
contact with my kind of world, and I went back to the old haunts where I'd 
stayed before. 

"I didn't let Steve know that I was seeing some of my old friends, and I 
didn't tell them that I was now married. They accepted me back happily, and 
seemed disappointed when I said I couldn't stay. We smoked some marijuana, 
and when one of the guys asked me to ball, I did, and it was good. I 
couldn't help but compare it to the tame fucking I'd been getting from 
Steve. 

"It was all so good. I felt I was back where I belonged, and I almost hated 
to go home. But I got some grass from the guys and made up my mind that I 
was going to smoke it when I wanted, and that Steve had to like it or else. 

"I had a joint before he got home, and I felt pretty relaxed when he came 
in. But he recognized the sweetish smell of it in the apartment and he 
really clouded up, ready to rain on my parade. He came right up to me, 
shoved his face close, and stormed, "I'm not going to have you smoking 
marihuana, Peg! That's final! You're not some stupid hippie kid-you're my 
wife!' 

"Yes," I snapped back, "but I'm not your goddamned slave! You don't own me. 
You never will. Don't preach to me. You knew what I was when you coaxed me 
to marry you, so don't get any big ideas about changing me into one of your 
prissy, silly wives!' 

"I came on strong and it set him back on his heels. But he slipped right 
back into character a moment later. He came over, looking like a whipped 
puppy, and put his arms around me. I held back, but he began to say how much 
he loved me, and how he wanted me to shed some of the harmful habits I'd 
picked up and grow into a fine, wonderful woman, just as he knew I really 
wanted to be and was, inside. 

"I straightened him out fast on that point. I told him that I didn't mind 
the sissy parts of marriage-the cooking and cleaning-but I liked myself the 
way I was, and I wasn't going to change. I told him I had to have freedom, 
or I'd just cut out on him! 

"He backed off for the time being, and when we went to bed that night, he 
tried to make up to me. He kissed my tits and played with my pussy until he 
almost drove me wild. He was like a goddamned queer, he was so goddamned 
careful not to use his fingernails on my pussy or his teeth on my nipples. I 
finally jumped up and told him what I wanted. I laid it out cold. I wanted a 
man who wanted a good fuck, not a pawing, weak, unexciting session with my 
body. 

"I surprised and hurt him, and almost as if he didn't realize he was doing 
it, he hit me! Not a slap. He punched me in the face, several times, and 
when I crumpled on the bed, half-unconscious, he climbed on me, straddled my 
ass and began to ram his cock up my asshole! He was savage, swearing, 
calling me a slut, and inside a minute he had shot a load up my asshole! 

"It so surprised me and turned me on that it brought me out of my stupor, 
and I mocked him, to show him that his beating hadn't backed me up one bit. 

"At least, you're a man!' I mocked. "You've acted like a goddamned queer 
playing with a china doll! Fuck me some more! Fuck me as hard as you can! I 
like it, I like it!' 

"It seemed to snap him back to reality, and instead of making him angrier it 
softened him up again. He began to whine in his guilt, apologizing for 
hitting me, saying he had been crazy, and promising that he never would 
again. 

"I felt disgust when I saw him like that. He was too spineless to ever 
change me, I knew, and I sure as hell wasn't going to become like him, a 
soft bag of shit! 

"Steve didn't say any more about the pot for several days, though I smoked 
it with the gang, and at home every day. He just sulked around the place and 
made no effort to do any kind of fucking, mild or otherwise. I was getting 
my kind of balling anytime I wanted it from the guys, so it didn't bother me 
a bit. But the goddamned monotony did. I knew I wasn't going to be able to 
hang on much longer with this pissy little character that called himself a 
husband. 

"I decided to force the issue, figuring that if he threw me out he wouldn't 
come looking for me, whereas if I just left, he'd probably sic the cops on 
me and get me and all the others in trouble. 

"One night, after a lousy supper I'd cooked, I calmly took out a joint and 
lit up. He just looked at-me, his eyes cold and hurt. I had had a couple 
that afternoon, and this one put the cap on for me. I got really high. I 
didn't care what the hell Steve did, I was floating. 

"He finally jumped up and grabbed the joint and threw it into the kitchen 
sink. Then he dumped my purse out and threw the rest of them in the sink. 

"If I smell that junk on your breath again, or find one of those weeds in my 
house, I'll throw your fucking little loose ass down the stairs for good!' 
he screamed. 

"I stood up, a little hazy, but I was smiling. I tried to be extra lady-like 
when I said, "You won't have to, my establishment friend. I'm gone!' I 
grabbed my purse and walked out. I guess he thought I'd come crawling back, 
because he didn't come after me-not then, or ever. 

"I didn't have to worry. I didn't need him. I went back with the gang and 
they welcomed me. I was back with my kind of people-the kind that knew what 
the fuck life and the living of it was all about. Fuck marriage. It was 
worse than the hospital and the foster home, where somebody was always 
making rules to bug you. I couldn't see myself throwing my life away for a 
silly apartment that was as bad as a prison and had more rules than a reform 
school. I was me! Peggy! I would always be me!" 

The sixties saw a growing surge of discontent among American women, married 
and single. One of the areas of great discontent was sex. In what we have 
come to accept as the Sexual Revolution, there is an ongoing and, to most, a 
startling change in the sexual patterns of American women. 

These changes manifest themselves in many ways: a rise in divorce figures; a 
growing throng of lesbian women; swap clubs, "touch therapy" groups, and a 
drop in marriage rates. They all signify that the American woman, and the 
married woman in particular, is not only throwing off the shackles of the 
"double standard" but is insisting that husbands accept it as being here to 
stay. 

Much psychological and sociological study concerning the reasons has been 
forthcoming. Learned social historians feel that Americans are once again 
entering what is termed a "matriarchal society," which means a society where 
the female is dominant. 

Most of the restrictive rules of sexual and social behavior that we have 
lived under for generations-even centuries-have been those of a patriarchal 
society. History shows that always, after a long period of patriarchal rule, 
the pendulum swings the other way, and we enter a matriarchal society. Such 
changes usually come about peacefully, as when a female ruler legitimately 
ascends to a position of power. Queens and empresses have often relaxed the 
sex and social conduct laws for females. At times even a powerful courtesan 
had been able to bring about sexual freedom for her sisters. 

In America, however, there has never been a self-generated revolution such 
as we are in the midst of today. From time to time, women suffragist 
movements had been instituted, but they had been connected with matters 
other than sex, such as the right to vote, better working conditions, and 
the right to work laws. 

Today's revolutionist hits right at the heart of her demands. She wants 
sexual equality (in many cases, superiority), and she is waging her war from 
her bedroom to the halls of state houses and the U.S. Senate. 

These battlers for sexual freedom come from all backgrounds and educational 
and ethnic groups. Although their major goal is the same, they take 
different routes and use different tactics to attain it. 

Some of the more successful tactics shall be looked at in this work, through 
case histories, and an attempt will be made to throw additional light on the 
conflict by citing some expert opinions from psychologists, sexologists, and 
psychiatric researchers. 

Various women seem to fall into certain categories in this new approach to 
sexual revolt. Some are militant and very vociferous, banding together for 
national attention and strength; others are disorganized, yet, they form a 
sisterhood of the bored. They are the pampered, well-off housewives of 
suburbia, who have too little attention from husbands and too much time on 
their hands, and they are doing something about both problems. 

There is another group, one that is utterly independent. Its members are 
capable of supporting themselves, and in many instances make more money than 
their husbands. They insist on complete freedom in all things, and refuse to 
recognize the bonds of marriage, ignoring all sexual and social obligations. 

Still another segment of revolutionary wives are those who are the product 
of the sixties. They are the semi-hippie type wives, who have grown up with 
a totally different concept of fidelity, sexual closeness, and marriage. 
They recognize sex only as a means of communication, and not as a cementing 
factor in a marital situation. Most do not even see marriage as the focal 
point of life, but rather, choose to live with whatever man appeals to them 
at the moment or provides for them in their nomadic madness. 

A large group of rebels is formed by the older married women who were at 
first bewildered when their husbands strayed. They took longer to join the 
revolt, but in their maturity, they seem even less able to cope with this 
new sexual pattern. They are the alcoholics, the part-time lesbians, the 
groping bar pickups, the "joiners" of swap clubs, the graspers at the last 
sexual straws, no matter where they find them. 

There are still others, of course, but an attempt shall be made to give the 
reader a hard look at these general types of women. They shall tell their 
case in their own words, thus allowing the reader to read between the lines 
and to make his own judgment As noted before, recognized experts in the 
field shall be quoted-men and women who have made a serious attempt at 
understanding the participants in this sexual upheaval, and who devoted 
their lives to providing self-understanding for any who sincerely seek it. 

Whether the reader agrees with any one segment of the revolutionaries or 
not, the fact remains that all of us must be interested. The very core of 
American life is being remolded. Marriage is being examined carefully and, 
in some cases, discarded as "unworkable." 

Men are frightened and bewildered by the changes in the family structure and 
in marriage, and they are joined by many sincere women who still believe 
that the old way is best. Both men and women are building new guilts, 
blaming one sex or the other for what is happening. Still another group sit 
back, studying the current trends, unsure whether to fight or to join. 

All media, from the press and magazines, to the living stage and films, are 
exploring this phenomenon. Each seems to have a different answer and 
approach. The sincere researchers have no answers as yet. They do see 
definite patterns taking shape, and they leave it to the people themselves 
to work out the possible answers. By and large, the "pro" revolutionaries 
are the learned women of the country. Quite expectedly, most of the critics 
of this new sexual upheaval are males. There are however, many unbiased 
researchers and students of behavior who take no stand. And it is a rational 
assumption that the final judgment, to be made by the people who make up 
society and who ultimately shape the lives by which they live. 

Even the serious students and experts are not in agreement on most facets. 
Dr. Ruth Moulton, psychoanalyst and former Director of Training at the 
William Alanson White Institute in New York, writing in Family Weekly (July 
2, 1972), points out the dangers involved. She says: 

* * * 

Although the movement has been exciting and meaningful for a lot of women, 
it has also caused an enormous amount of repressed anger, some of which is 
misdirected and undirected, and can do a great deal of harm. 

Many women have responded to the new sexual freedom movement by telling 
themselves they have been denied a wider world, and it gives her a means to 
vent her bitterness-but in a lot of cases, it is backfiring. Both sexes have 
tremendous weapons to use on the other, both utilizing revenge. I don't 
think this works well in resolving human conflicts. My method, as a mother 
who worked, first at home and then outside, was to achieve emancipation by 
quietly doing a good job, seeing that my home ran right, getting adequate 
and loving help for my children, and then "doing my thing." 

* * * 

Dr. Moulton believes the goal may be admirable, but the methods are wrong 
and dangerous. She says: "I have seen many women throw down the gauntlet and 
say, "I'm through with the kitchen-you do the shopping." You can't change a 
man or a culture that way or just that fast." 

As in any action involving the human psyche, fear plays a large part, as 
shall be seen later on, and as eminent psychiatrist Dr. Miltiades L. 
Zaphiropoulas puts so adequately. 

"To be equal does not mean that you are the same. Differences tend to 
frighten people. If people can accept differences in others and still accept 
them as human beings, they are mature." He goes on to say: "This 
revolutionary movement is causing a lot of confusion among younger women, 
who are being misguided as to what a woman should do for herself and what a 
man should offer to do for her." The result, he concludes, is that both the 
male and female in many marriages are utterly confused, and when both 
partners in a marriage walk about in a daze, anything can, and usually does, 
happen-but not to the benefit of the marriage or its partners. 

Some of the serious students of this situation feel that this is not 
actually a revolution per se but merely an emergence of sexual habits that 
have been prevalent for two generations, and are only now emerging in 
flagrant forms of indifferent attitudes toward society and the sexual laws. 

Most agree that the first to turn the spotlight on our sexual patterns was 
Dr. Alfred Kinsey, in the late forties. His studies into the sexual behavior 
of the American male and female raised eyebrows and were even disbelieved by 
many. Later studies, however, undertaken by the Institute for Sexual 
Research at Indiana University (Dr. Kinsey's home base), and by the eminent 
Masters and Johnson team, prove that Dr. Kinsey only scratched the surface. 

A more outspoken and daring researcher, Dr. Albert Ellis, in his many 
articles and books, has given further impetus to sexual research and an 
honest appraisal of our sex habits and appetites. 

Who can say which of these was most important? None makes such a claim. But 
all of these best-selling reports tend to show the vast interest of the 
average American in sexual matters. 

It became apparent quickly, that there was an appalling lack of sound sexual 
knowledge among Americans. We consider ourselves sophisticated, educated, 
and knowledgeable, when, in reality, we are babes in the woods when it comes 
to sexual education or understanding. We are still engaged in a bitter 
battle for better sex education than that provided by ignorant parents, 
church leaders, or "gutter" gatherings. Some recommend educating 
five-year-olds. Others feel college is the proper place for such delicate 
matter. Still others state bitterly that by the time the average boy or girl 
enters college he has already had many sexual experiences and has formed 
misconceptions and extreme ideas about sex. 

We have gone through a period where the young people have demonstrated 
openly "mind blowing" sexual acts, few of which are connected with love or 
even respect. This has given us a special type wife-one who was 
indoctrinated into the hippie concept of sex but who has stepped into the 
"establishment's" rules of marriage and sexual conduct. 

Our fiction writers have, like all writers throughout the ages, reflected 
the times in which we live. For this reason, our novels are mirrors of real 
people, sexually eager and innocent, and our films are larger-than-life 
reflections of the thinking (or the dreaming) of a large portion of society. 
If they were not, they would not flourish, for with the name of the game 
being "money," only that which appeals to the inner desires and beliefs of a 
society, will succeed. 

Group sex, wife swapping, three in a marriage bed, lesbianism and 
homosexuality, sex ads in newspapers-all are facts of today's living. We 
must live with them, and we must face the issues squarely. There is a sexual 
upheaval going on. It takes many different names, but basically, sexual 
themes underlie each. 

There is no lack of information concerning both viewpoints, the pro and the 
con. Our national women's magazines scream such headlines as: "Who Needs 
Motherhood!" or, "The Multiple Orgasm Myth." Other scholarly journals 
headline such articles as: "Does Technique Dehumanize Sex?" and, "Why not 
Technique Schools like the Masters-Johnson Clinic?" 

It can be confusing. It seems to be, like religion, a matter of individual 
choice. What works for one wife, is deadly to the well-being of another. 
What bolsters one marriage can wreck another. 

A great deal of thought and study must be given by a great many persons 
before any sensible sexual patterns can be adopted that will work for the 
majority. We are a society of "labels." We tend to group certain types into 
one of two categories, in the belief that there is only black or white, day 
or night. In reality, we are a nation of individuals in our sexual lives as 
well as in hundreds of other ways. We are a melting pot of nations, and that 
includes the ethnic teachings concerning religion and sex, and the influence 
of religion on our sexual laws and habits is tremendous. 

Perhaps the purpose of this work is best put in the words of Dr. Alexandra 
Symonds, Assistant Professor of Psychiatry, New York University School of 
Medicine, when she says (writing in Family Weekly): 

* * * 

A woman's ability to change her role in life is a matter of individual 
personality. The options have always been there for women who are 
emotionally and psychologically equipped to take advantage of them. Women's 
Lib, NOW, and other groups, do not speak for these women ... nor to them. 
What they do is to provide a framework, or a language, for these women to 
articulate their frustrations. The leaders are intelligent women, able to 
conceptualize the case for the women who are not verbal. But they go 
overboard, and do these women a disservice. 

Different kinds of women need different kinds of help ... and different 
outlets. These movements lump them all together as if they were all the 
same. 

* * * 

This then, is an attempt to sincerely show many different types of women, 
all with different desires and needs in the sexual part of their lives, and 
all trying different approaches to fulfill those needs. 

It is hoped that the reader will be allowed the sufficiency of coverage to 
permit him to make his own judgments, and ultimately to benefit from it. 

 CHAPTER ONE - The Malcontent 

"I'm glad to have a chance to talk about it. So much is being written, and 
it is being written by men who don't have the slightest idea of what they're 
writing about. 

"Of course sex is what it's all about! Most women have known all their lives 
that sex is the most important part of love and marriage. It's about time 
that the psychologists and doctors are speaking out about sex, because 
that's the name of the game. 

"My husband treated sex like a game, or like he treats his hobby. If he 
feels like going out to his workshop in the garage, he does. And if, when he 
does go there, he loses interest and just sits and dawdles or draws silly 
plans to build a boat, it still doesn't bother him. And he's the same way in 
bed. He wants it when he wants it, and his way. I'm like a whore that he's 
hired. Not expected to even have any desires. 

"I took that for nine years. And don't think I didn't try. At times, I felt 
like a cheap stripper. I've got a nice body. My breasts are still firm, 
uptilted and pretty, and I've always liked them fondled and the nipples 
kissed. And Tom always took care of me in that department. But that was it. 
You'd think I didn't have a pussy or an asshole or a navel. 

"He would climb into bed on the nights when he was half-interested in sex, 
feel my tits, massage them a little, suck on one of my nipples, and then 
climb aboard. He acted about as excited as if he were getting on a bus to go 
to work. 

"I tried to show him in a thousand ways that I wanted more. I wanted him to 
kiss my pussy, stick his tongue in my navel, turn me over and kiss my back, 
ending with my asshole. But he never even put his fingers in. 

"About four years ago, I knew I had to have some satisfying sex, and I went 
after it. Not the way you might be guessing-I didn't have affairs, not then. 
I concentrated on Tom. He was my husband, and when we were going together, 
he was an exciting man. He could turn me on with a kiss. 

"Then he fell into those sloppy sex habits-selfish habits would be a better 
term-and it was a rare occasion when I would come. Usually, it would only 
happen when we'd been at a party, and he had had too much to drink. Even 
then, I had to do most of the work. At other times, he would come within a 
couple of minutes, while I was hardly even warmed up. One night, when he had 
come, and I was a bundle of screaming nerves, I took his hand as he rolled 
off me, and shoved it between my legs. "For God's sake," I screeched, "use 
your goddamn fingers. Your tongue! Anything, but do something to make me 
come!' 

"You'd think he would have gotten the message, but not good old Tommy. He 
just snapped on the light-we always used to do it in the dark-and stood 
there staring at me, as if I'd flipped. 

"I was really hot, and I mean boiling. I don't know if I did it because I 
had to, or because I wanted to get the message across-maybe both-but I just 
shoved my fingers up inside my wet, slimy pussy, and I masturbated like I'd 
never done it before. God knows, I was good at it. I'd had to do it enough 
times after he'd left me high and dry. 

"I just lay there, my knees up, my legs spread, my fingers working away at 
my clitoris. I didn't look at him, but I knew he was staring wide-eyed at 
me. I took my time. I fantasized a strange way. I filled my mind with the 
thoughts of what Tom must be thinking, watching me play with my own pussy! I 
guess I got a vicious thrill out of the hope that I was shocking the shit 
out of him. And I was amazed at the extra kick I was getting out of 
masturbation with somebody watching! I moved about, bucking and rearing as I 
approached my orgasm, and when I came, I gasped and moaned. It wasn't for 
show-off purposes. I really had a full orgasm, better than I had ever had in 
my life while masturbating. 

"And when I turned and looked at Tom, I knew that I was never going to go 
that route again! Hell, I was thinking, if I have to give myself the sex 
thrills, who needs a man-or at least a husband! 

"Tom just stood there, looking like he almost hated me. I guess it was a big 
comedown to his ego, but I was riding high. I wanted to shock and hurt him, 
and I had done it! It was a funny sight, looking back on it. He stood there, 
his cock soft, with some of his come hanging on, drying up. And then, while 
he watched me finger-fuck myself, his cock had begun to rise again. Not big 
and hard, but at least the sight of me doing it to myself had aroused 
something in him, and that was a start. 

"I got up. He didn't move. He just stared at me, reddening, embarrassed, for 
both of us, I suppose. I put my hands on my hips, jutting out my pelvic 
area. "Well?" I said, just letting it hang in the air. 

"Tom just shook his head. I couldn't tell from his expression whether he was 
disgusted with me or himself. 

"I went into the bathroom and cleaned myself up. I had taken The Pill, so I 
was in no hurry. I felt good. I felt as if I'd won the opening round of a 
big battle-one that my stupid husband hadn't even been aware was going on. 
It felt good to feel that I was sort of independent of him. I had showed him 
that I could have a good come without him. Yet I felt a little sorry for him 
and for myself, too, because if he had taken the hint and reacted right, we 
could be in bed right then, sucking, fucking, fingering-getting all the 
things from sex and marriage that we should have had all along. 

"He went out and poured himself a cup of cold coffee. He was staring at the 
floor when I went into the kitchen, still naked, still ready for him if he 
caught on. But when I saw him sitting at the table, like a whipped puppy, I 
grew insanely angry at him! I had tried to show him what I needed-his 
fingers, cock or tongue-and there he sat, still out of it as far as sexual 
needs went. 

"I poured myself a scotch and water and sat down opposite him. He wouldn't 
meet my eyes, but I laid it on the line. I knew I'd never again pull any 
punches when it came to sex, with Tom or with any other man. It was more 
important to me than eating or sleeping, and I figured that if he couldn't 
get that through his head', I'd find others who would. 

"I started by telling him that he was a good man, a good provider-that I was 
proud to be his wife on all occasions. Except in bed. I told him he was a 
sexual nothing, a bumbling fool. I suppose the psychiatric term would be 
that I castrated him. I didn't want to castrate him-to tear his balls off! 
All I wanted was for him to Wake up to the fact that I was a healthy, sexy 
woman. 

"We're no dummies. Tom is an electronics engineer. He makes good money. He's 
interested in the world about him. He knows quite a bit about a lot of 
things, but the one arid spot in his mind " and senses has to be women. He 
knows nothing about what they want or need. To him, sex is a male 
prerogative ... an outlet that he pays for, like he pays the water and gas 
bill, so that when he turns on the tap, the stuff comes out. 

"But I need sex ... good sex. I loved Tom, and I wanted him to provide that 
good sex. I'm making the point that we weren't a couple of dumb kids in a 
marriage trap. We were intelligent beings, adult in all ways except in sex, 
and I was trying to goad him into learning something about me and my sexual 
desires and needs. I didn't want him to buy a bunch of sex manuals. I wanted 
the old "try it-you'll like it' method. I wanted us to try everything in the 
book, and see what fit us best. 

"But Tom sat there, acting as if he were in a daze and wasn't even hearing 
me. I grew more disgusted by the moment. I let him have it broadside. "Look, 
Tom," I told him, "I'm a good wife. I haven't screwed around ... yet. But if 
you don't wake up and do something for me in bed, I'm about to cut loose. I 
need fucking!' When I used that word, he shot a quick look at me, but then 
he lapsed back into his stupor again. We didn't use words like that, but I 
was desperate. 

"I need a man! I want to try all the other ways of fucking!' I told him. 
"And don't give me that old crap about you being just an old-fashioned guy 
who has to change gradually. You've had five years and more, and you're 
still as dead in bed as you were when we were first married. Worse, in fact, 
because then, at least you tried a couple of times a week!' 

"I was getting madder by the minute. He had that bewildered, hangdog look 
and he wasn't saying a word. 

"I mean it, Tom, I'm going to do something about it, and it won't be 
masturbating!' 

"He still wouldn't snap out of it, so I downed the drink and went into our 
room. I lay there, naked, thinking about the whole crummy situation, and I 
decided that I was going to really get into this new thing that was 
starting-the Women's Lib or National Organization of Women, or 
something-even if I had to start a local neighborhood revolt of my own. 

"I had a close friend that I suspected was a lesbian, although she did date 
men. I had worked for her for a couple of years after we were married, and 
I'd seen her name in the papers of late, as one of the more militant leaders 
in the WLM. 

"I think, at that time, I only wanted to shake Tom up. I didn't really know 
what the WLM was all about. What they wanted from society was a mystery to 
me and, in fact, I sometimes wondered if they weren't just a bunch of kooks. 
But, lying there in bed, proud of myself, yet hating myself in a sense, I 
wondered how many other women were in the same boat. What did I really want? 

"I convinced myself that I didn't want sexual domination over Tom, but I 
sure as hell wanted a say in what kind of sex we had, and when and how often 
we had it! 

"I knew that I had to talk to some other women, to find out if I was a 
freak, or if there was really something to what I felt. And when Tom came to 
bed, I still didn't get any response. I asked if he wanted to talk, and he 
just shook his head, kissed my lips lightly, and that was that. 

"I called Mildred next morning. She was a big wheel at an advertising 
agency, but she could come and go as she damn well pleased, so we set up a 
luncheon date. We didn't waste any time. I told her I wanted to get with it, 
to get more out of my life--especially my sex life --than I was settling 
for, and she was sympathetic, in a catlike way. 

"She told me that there was a meeting scheduled for Thursday night, and that 
she'd be glad to take me and see that I was prepped on what the thing was 
all about. She went even further. She asked me point-blank if I'd ever 
cheated on Tom. When I said I hadn't, but I might, Millie asked if I'd ever 
had a woman make love to me. 

I had, when I was about eleven, but I lied and said I hadn't. I added that I 
didn't want lesbian love, that I still wanted sex with a man--all kinds of 
sex. 

"Millie just smiled and patted my hand. 'You'll learn, Ruth,' she said, 
'that there are lots of different kinds of love and sex.' 

"She left it at that, but when I went to the meeting with her, I noticed 
several of the women there eyeing me up and down, with admiration showing, 
and, I admit, I got a little turned on. 

"There was a panel discussion that night, and when I heard all the women 
outlining their gripes and found that many of them were along the same lines 
as my own frustrations, I knew I wanted to join them. I wasn't interested in 
a lot of the things they were yelling for: political power, complete sexual 
freedom, that sort of drivel. I guess what I really wanted, even then, was 
to shock Tom out of his sexual lethargy and ignorance by telling him that I 
was part of an organized, intelligent movement of women. 

"The upshot was, I walked out with a whole chestful of confidence in the 
sexual power that any woman had over the man she loved and wanted to love 
her. I decided that I was going to take over the sex reins in the family, 
beginning that very night! 

"Tom and I had been like embarrassed strangers since he'd watched me 
masturbate, but I put on my best face and manner at dinner--we ate out, 
which we often did--and asked him not to drink more than two martinis. He 
obliged me, and when we got home we both felt more relaxed and warm toward 
each other. I wouldn't let him turn on the TV, but told him we had to talk. 
I got into my frilliest dressing gown, perfumed myself with his favorite 
scent, and we sat in the living room. I wanted some lights on. Tom was 
always shy, or whatever, and I had prepared a mental list of things that 
were bothering me. 

"I began by saying that I had joined the WLM. Tom showed mild surprise, but 
no real interest or alarm. I then told him that I was starting my own 
private rebellion, and that I wanted sex my way. 

"That sat him up a little, but he still didn't seem to see the change in my 
attitude. 

" 'I want to try all kinds of lovemaking,' I began. 'I want to be played 
with. I want my pussy fingered and sucked--all the way to orgasm ! I want to 
try different positions. I want to be fucked up the ass, even, just to see 
what it feels like! I want it from you, but if I don't get it, I'm going to 
try it with other men!' 

"The words popped out of Tom's mouth--'You wouldn't!' 

"I snapped back, 'Oh, wouldn't I? I'm not your mother or grandmother! I'm 
me! Ruth! Your wife--and a hell of a lot of woman! I want a thousand times 
more sex than you've ever offered. I want to be able to pick up a magazine 
and read an article about "liberated women," and laugh at them, knowing that 
it's all old hat for me. I want to know, without any doubt, that I'm living 
to the fullest capacity of my body, my mind, my sexual nature! Can't you get 
the message?' I suddenly remembered a phrase I had heard, over and over, and 
although I didn't like it, it came out of my mouth. 'You male chauvinist 
pig!' I snapped, but I felt it coming from deep inside of me where it had 
been bottled up for years. I felt empty, untouched, in the depths of my 
womanhood. I'd been married to a goddamn boy scout! 

" 'Why don't you want to try the things that other men do? Why not suck my 
pussy until I come? Why not let me suck you off? Why? Why? Why?' 

"Tom managed to stutter, 'I... I didn't know. I had no idea... "It sounded 
weak and lame, the way he looked, and I was growing more frustrated and 
disgusted by the second. I wondered why in hell he didn't take the 
challenge, pick me up and rape me? Or at least belt me across the mouth for 
being such a bitch. But not good old Tom. He'd been brainwashed by too many 
Sunday school teachers, too much mother and grandmother. He wasn't ready for 
me, and I wondered if he ever would be. 

"Know something funny? That's a hell of a point for a sexy woman to come to, 
where she wants a man to do all the things she's read about and dreamed 
about, and the man stands there, like a stupid little boy, afraid to even 
say the word 'fuck.' 

"I got up and shoved out my breasts and my pelvic area. I knew that he could 
see the whole bit through the thin material, and I wanted him to grab me... 
do something! Oh, God, how I wanted a man! 

"Tom made a silly gesture, waving his hand at me, turning his head, and 
said, 'I hate to see you this upset, Ruth.' 

"Upset? Jeezus, I was going out of my mind. I didn't want to go out and 
cheat on him, but I knew that if he didn't do something, then and there, I'd 
have to. I liked being married, for God's sake, but I didn't want to be 
married to a eunuch. I wanted some sex. He'd shown me in every other part of 
our life that he was a good man. Now I wanted a sexy, virile, uninhibited 
male. Not a husband--just a male who wanted to fuck and suck all night! 

"I suppose I shocked the shit out of Tom. I tore off my gown and tossed it 
in his face! I stood there like a common bitch, screaming: 'Do something, 
you goddamned asshole. Kiss my cunt! Fuck me! Bite me! Bend me over and 
shove your prick up my ass! Do something!' 

"All he did was stare blankly, shaking his head as if to say he was going to 
commit me to an asylum. 

"I began to bawl like a baby, and that only made me more angry and 
frustrated. I ran into the bedroom and began to get some clothes on. 

Tom came in, nervously, trying to figure out what to say to me. Finally, he 
managed in a weak voice: 'Ruth, please don't go out. You're too upset.' 

"I ignored him and finished dressing. Then, at the last moment, I decided to 
shock him some more. I took my panties off and threw them on the bed. 'I'm 
going out and get laid--my way!' I said in a cold, calm way. 

"All my screaming and foul language hadn't shaken him out of his stupor, but 
when he saw that I really meant what I said, he began to cry. He just stood 
there, looking at me, and the tears began to roll down his cheeks. 'I'll do 
anything,' he managed to sob out. 

"I can't describe my feelings. I was sorry for him, yet I detested him for 
his weakness. I knew I had driven him to this point, but I had wanted him to 
stand up and be a man, not a cry-baby. I really wanted him to belt me, or 
tear my clothes off and spank my ass, like I deserved. At the same time, I 
detested myself for doing this to him. But I couldn't take any more of the 
dull, monotonous lovemaking he offered. I really would have gone out and 
picked up a man, I'm sure, but when he began to cry, I backed off. 

"It was a strange scene. He was still sobbing as he got out of his clothes. 
I undressed, feeling cold inside. I wondered what I really wanted him to do, 
now that he had surrendered to me. I was afraid that he had given up too 
much of his manhood to be any good to me sexually. 

"Tom sat on the bed, watching me strip, as if he were seeing a woman naked 
for the first time. I stood beside the bed, pushing out my pelvis and being 
as wantonly sexy as I could. 

" 'What do you want me to do?' he asked. 

" 'How about whatever you've always wanted to do to a woman--any woman?' 

"Tom reddened. 'Like what?' 

" 'Oh, for God's sake, Tom!' I snapped. 'Whatever you want. Everybody has to 
have some secret desires about sex!' 

"I could see that he was fighting a battle within himself, and then he 
suddenly seemed to get some of his nerve back. 'Will you suck me off?' he 
blurted out, blushing. 

"I didn't even answer him. I just climbed on the bed, pushed him back and 
began to play with his cock and balls. I massaged his balls while I tickled 
the head of the shaft of his cock with my tongue. He began to get hard, and 
he propped himself up on his elbows so he could watch me. When I had him 
really going, I began to plunge his cock in and out of my mouth, sucking and 
nipping it with my teeth. I could feel him coming, and I sucked harder than 
ever, swallowing his come. Tom just collapsed with the pleasure of it, 
breathing deep and moaning. Without letting go of his cock, I squirmed 
around so I was straddling his face, then I lowered my pussy down to his 
mouth. 

"Believe it or not, in our years of marriage, we had never done that. Tom 
didn't like sucking pussy. He had done it a couple of times for me, but it 
had been awkward for me, knowing it was distasteful for him. And he had 
never had the nerve to ask me to suck his prick, although I'd have been 
happy to, if it would have given him some sexual nerve to try different 
things. 

"Now, he reached up, spread my pussy lips, and began to suck and nibble at 
my clitoris. He began to get his second hard on, and he grew wild with his 
mouth and fingers. I really let go, and we both ended up in a rolling, 
bucking, sucking orgasm, almost at the same time! 

"I was elated. My threats had worked. Now we would be able to go on from 
there to try all sorts of positions. I felt almost like a new bride. But I 
underestimated the old brainwashings that Tom had lived with all his life. 

"I started to suck his cock again, hoping he'd come back with another hard 
on, but he pushed me off him and away from his body. I was shocked and a 
little insulted. I sat up and stared at him, seeing that old hangdog look 
coming back to his face. 

" 'What's the matter?' I asked, feeling resentment again building inside me. 
Tom just shrugged and looked ill at ease. 'Didn't you like it?' I asked. 
'It's what you asked me to do.' 

" 'I know, Ruth,' he said in a whining tone, 'but it just isn't for me. All 
that kind of stuff just isn't for me.' 

" 'For you!' I snapped. 'What about me? Do you ever care about what I want? 
Don't you ever want some variety, something different than just plain old 
man-on-top fucking?' I was boiling again. 'How about me on top? Or trying it 
standing up, face to face?' 

"Tom shook his head in confusion. 'I... I just can't do those things, Ruth.' 

"I started to scream at him again, but I knew it was useless. I walked to 
the bathroom door and glared at him. He looked pathetic. I think that at 
that moment most of the love or desire that I had felt for him, left me for 
good. At that moment I wondered what in hell I had ever seen in him. Words 
ran through my head, like 'stable, hard-working, faithful,' but all of a 
sudden, none of them mattered. Hell, I could take care of myself 
financially. I didn't need a man for that part of my life! 

"Almost matter-of-factly, I said, calmly, 'I'm going to have to get some 
sexual satisfaction and excitement, Tom. And I'm going to do it with your 
knowledge. Any time that you wart to try it again with me, just say so... 
but it has to be my way... my kind of sex!' 

"I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. I felt shitty, in a way, 
but in another, better way I felt like a new woman. I had taken the first 
step to a new and exciting life!" 

* * * 

The account of Ruth W. is a typical one in that she uses the most commonly 
given reasons for becoming a militant, freewheeling sexual woman, who puts 
her sexual gratification above all other elements in her marriage to Tom. 

While most psychiatrists feel that much of the blame for the disintegration 
of a marriage such as Ruth's is the fault of husbands like Tom, a great deal 
of the blame must be shared by women who, like Ruth, expect and demand too 
much from the male. 

James E. DeBurger, Ph.D., writing in the May, 1972 issue of Sexual Behavior, 
reported the results of a careful analysis he had made of thousands of cases 
in which married couples had sought marriage counseling. He proved what most 
of his colleagues strongly feel, that the major cause of marital problems is 
the lack of sexual compatibility. Running a close second to sexual 
incompatibility, he finds, is a lack of affectional relations. 

Many couples can make up for a certain lack of sexual excitement and 
gratification by a deep warmth in their affectional relations, that is, they 
enjoy each other as persons, as companions and cosharers in many pleasures 
that have nothing to do with the sex act itself. They, in fact, become close 
friends. Later, if they are not adept at satisfying each other sexually, 
this warmth allows them to discount sexual failures and often provides a 
background for open discussion and further attempts. 

As in the case of Ruth and Tom, when both sexual and affectional rapport are 
lacking, the marriage inevitably disintegrates. This does not mean that it 
ends in divorce, for as Ruth typifies, the woman of today sometimes likes to 
"have her cake and eat it too." That is, she chooses to hang on to the 
security of marriage for financial and social reasons, while she leads a 
separate sex life of her own. Such women are usually the militant type, who 
dominate males with a "take it or leave it" attitude. 

Most militant women maintain that they are compelled to seek their own 
identity, and this has become an obvious central motivation in women, as 
Betty Friedan made clear in The Feminine Mystique. This has helped spawn the 
idea of equality of the sexes and the interchangeability of the sexual 
roles. This equality is clung to at the price of denying not only biological 
differences, which are basic, to say the least, between men and women, but 
emotional differences, from which comes much of the delight in the sexual 
act. 

Dr. Rollo May, psychoanalyst and author of Love and Will, writing in Family 
Weekly (July 2, 1972) states: 

* * * 

The self-contradiction here is that the compulsive need to prove you are 
identical with your partner means that you repress your own unique 
sensibilities, and this is exactly what undermines your own sense of 
identity. This contradiction contributes to the tendency in our society for 
us to become machines even in bed. 

* * * 

In the case we are dealing with, Dr. May's theory applies to Tom, the 
husband. He allowed himself to become a machine, a mechanical man, in bed, 
simply to maintain his own identity as a lily-white puritan in sex. 

Ruth, on the other hand, in seeking her own sexual identity, became almost 
vicious in her efforts at arousing Tom. She ultimately placed her marriage 
in jeopardy, as shall be seen when her narrative continues. Her methods, 
however, were far too harsh, according to most experts. 

Dr. John Briggs, a practicing psychoanalyst in Chicago, told a convention of 
psychologists recently (and was quoted in Family Weekly): 

* * * 

Since World War II, women have had real options between work and family. It 
only helps to perpetuate the myth of women's oppression to say that they 
haven't had those options. 

Where I part company with Woman's Lib is with this whole "blame syndrome," 
which I see as an exercise in futility. I believe that a woman with real 
understanding of herself takes a dim view of the blame factor and feels it 
is irrelevant. 

Men are frightened by Woman's Lib. Any change in the family structure 
threatens both men and women. No man is going to change by being beat over 
the head with blame. I think a man will change if he is persuaded 
intelligently that there is something that his wife wants to do that will 
make her a more fulfilled person. No one will change his thinking or 
personality if he is approached with hostility. The idea that a man's world 
is such a wonderful place is what we call in psychiatry an overcorrection. 
Any woman who has given some thought to this will recognize it as a myth. 

* * * 

It is obvious that Dr. Briggs has dealt with many women like Ruth, and has 
formed some sound conclusions. Certainly, her approach to her sexual 
problems with Tom was a hostile one, and from her account, no attempts at 
reasonable talks or understanding can be detected. 

Studies of faltering marriages show that a great many women today are taking 
the same approach to the sexual problem that Ruth did. They are hostile, 
demanding, and usually end up giving their husbands an ultimatum. 

* * * 

"I decided that night to really get into Women's Lib... to work at it. It 
became an outlet for me, and once I found my place in a world of women who 
felt like I did about most things, I began to ask myself what I really 
wanted from sexual contacts. 

"At first, I thought of taking a couple of half-hearted offers I'd had for 
clandestine dates from friends of our circle... married men who wanted a 
little cheating fling. But I knew that wasn't for me. I wanted somebody who 
was free to have wild sex and who wasn't afraid to have it with a married 
woman. That meant finding a man who was unmarried. But I was like a lot of 
other women who had been married for a number of years. I was out of it, as 
far as the swingers were concerned. I didn't even have an idea how to find a 
sexy date, but it didn't take me long to learn the ropes. The sexy ones came 
at me, but I didn't want it. I'm talking about the lesbians in the group. 

"They made a point of congratulating me on my 'liberation from slavery,' as 
they always called it, and two of them were quick to try to get me into bed. 
Alice and Claire ran a beauty salon, and both worked in the shop. I agreed 
to have my hair styled by Alice, after admiring her short, very becoming 
pigeon cut. 

"I didn't think at the time that I was adopting the almost universal symbol 
of the lesbian-- the short haircut, but it did become me. I'm average 
height, with big breasts and a nice, teenage set of legs and hips. The short 
hair style seemed to make me look years younger, which was what I wanted. I 
already felt years younger, since I'd made my decision to find my own kind 
of sex partner, and I didn't realize that the lesbians in the bunch would 
take the attitude that I had opted for their kind of lovemaking when I had 
my hair done to emulate their common style. 

"Alice and Claire invited me to their home. 

They lived together quite openly as lovers, which I was still naive enough 
to accept. But they came on too strong and frightened me. They actually made 
love to each other while I watched, after we'd had some cocktails. I was 
fascinated at first, but when they began to use vibrators on each other, I 
got fed up with it. I asked myself if that could be any more gratifying than 
ordinary masturbation, and when they insisted I give it a try before 
knocking it, I left with as much grace as I could. They were decent about 
it, there were no hard feelings, and it was through them that I met Hank. 

"Hank was the best hairdresser in the shop, and next time I went in for a 
shampoo and set, I chose to have him do me. He was tall, longhaired, 
handsome in a rugged, menacing way. Anyway, he asked me for a date. 

"Hank was dance-crazy, and hung around a lot of swinging places where the 
rock groups played and couples danced the wild new dances. I didn't let on 
that I didn't know the first thing about them, figuring he'd teach me what I 
didn't know. 

"We had a nice dinner. Incidentally, I told Tom that I was going out with a 
male date, although I didn't tell him Hank's name or where I'd met him. We 
went to a discotheque, where everyone seemed to know and like my date. I had 
already been aroused by Hank. I liked the way he let his hands linger on my 
body, the intimate way he treated me, as if I were something really special, 
and when he danced, I couldn't take my eyes off the bulging crotch of his 
tight pants. I just threw myself into the rhythms they played, like Hank 
told me to, and I did all right. Everybody seemed to just 'do their own 
thing,' as the saying goes, and my body was crying for some release. 

"By the time we were ready to take off for Hank's apartment, I was hot. I 
mean sexually hot. I had envisioned his big cock without any inhibiting 
clothes, and when he had kissed me with deep tonguing kisses on the dance 
floor, he really turned me on. 

"He lived in one of those 'swinging singles' places. I'd read about them, 
and his place lived up to everything I'd read. Anything went with the 
tenants and Hank said that there were always three or four 'balling' parties 
going on in the place, and, sure enough, there was one in progress across 
the hall from him. 

"The door was open, and several couples were dancing or necking--one couple 
was sprawled in a chair, and the girl's panties were off and the man was 
fingering her pussy while they sucked tongues. When they spotted us going 
into Hank's place, several of them called out an invitation to join them. 
Hank looked at me and I smiled. Might as well jump into the deep water, old 
girl, I thought, and really get a taste of swinging. 

"Somebody shoved a drink into my hand, and the hostess, a young, long-haired 
hippie-type girl, tried to give me some of the names as she waved a hand at 
her guests. It didn't matter. Hank took me to a pile of huge pillows in the 
corner, we sprawled out, and he began to make love, just as if we were 
alone. 

"I was aware of others watching, but somehow didn't mind. Hank was about ten 
years younger than I--I'm thirty-five--and I was flattered at the mild envy 
that I saw in some of the younger women's eyes. 

"When Hank began to fondle my breasts and started to take off my bra, I just 
went ape. I helped him off with it and relaxed while he kissed my nipples. 
By that time, two of the other girls were completely naked, and were being 
kissed all over. One was playing with the penis of a huge blond boy who 
looked like he was a wrestler, and I remember wondering how that monstrous 
cock would feel inside a woman. 

"I was getting drunk--not so much from the liquor as from the heady wine of 
sexual freedom, and when Hank took my panties off, I didn't care what he did 
or who might be watching. 

"Hank was a ham. He thrived on the attention he was getting from everyone 
else except the two couples who were already working into intercourse. One 
couple was doing it the old-fashioned way, except that the guy had the 
girl's ass in his hands, raising her high off the floor, and she had her 
legs locked tightly about his waist. They made me hotter than ever when I 
glanced over and saw them. And about that time, the other couple went into 
the bathroom, and a few seconds later, I heard the shower running. 

"But Hank was keeping me busy. He was down between my legs, spreading my 
pussy lips wide with his fingers, and stroking my clitoris with his tongue, 
using long, pressured strokes that started at my asshole and continued on 
until he ran his rigid tongue over my clit. 

"I grabbed his head and pushed it harder against my body. I was talking to 
him, but I hardly knew what I was saying. And I suddenly became aware that 
another man, my age, was standing beside us, his penis out, masturbating. It 
made me seethe. Almost without realizing I was doing it, I reached out and 
took it in my hand, stroking it. He sank to his knees so that it was right 
beside my face, and I took it in my mouth, sucking and licking it as if I 
were starved for it! 

"All the while, Hank was sucking and nibbling on my clitoris, and I came a 
half-dozen times, it seemed, each one better than the last. I remember 
vaguely wondering what Hank would say about my sucking another man off while 
he was working on me, but I needn't have worried. 

"Hank had taken his own penis out, and was playing with it, moaning and 
gasping as he brought me to orgasm time after time, and then, all at once, 
the man I was sucking shot his load into my mouth, grabbing my head and 
forcing his cock deep down my throat, so I had to swallow his come, almost 
choking as I did so. 

"And it only made me hotter! As the guy gently took his cock out of my 
mouth, Hank left off sucking my cunt and rolled me over. He urged me onto my 
knees with his hands, and I posed there on the cushions, buttocks and legs 
spread, ready for my first 'dog-fashion' fuck! 

"And dog-fashion it was. Not the way I expected, with Hank shoving his cock 
up my cunt from the rear-entry position. Instead, Hank began to shove it up 
my ass! It hurt at first, and it sure as hell surprised me, but I tried to 
cooperate by moving my hips. Soon Hank's cock was sliding in and out 
smoothly, and I was surprised at how much I was enjoying it. It wasn't like 
being screwed, but it stimulated my cunt a lot, and I began to play with my 
clitoris. Long before Hank came in my asshole, I had had a couple more 
orgasms, and 1 felt like I was on cloud nine! 

"That was my introduction to swinging, but there were a lot more surprises 
in store for me. What I didn't know then was that almost all of the couples 
at the party, and most who lived in the apartment building, were really 
bisexuals. I didn't find it out until later, though, because we left soon 
after my ass-fucking session and went to Hank's apartment. 

"His place was really something... mod, psychedelic colors and pictures... a 
way-out stereo... We stripped and took a shower together; then we just went 
at each other like animals. I couldn't get enough of him. I wanted his cock 
in me, in every opening I had, and I wanted to feel his coming a million 
times. I wanted to know that I was the one who was making him come, and that 
he was going to want me again in a few minutes! 

"I must have come a dozen times, before some of the kids from the party 
across the hall came over to Hank's place, and we just picked up where we 
left off. 

"The guy I had sucked off was really turned on for me, and we had a ball. It 
was a real orgy, with the guys and gals just going all out; it didn't matter 
whether it was a man or a woman --everybody just pitched in and did whatever 
he or she wanted to. 

"It was the first time that I went down on a woman, and I don't quite know 
how it happened. The first thing I knew, one of the guys was sucking my 
pussy, and there was Lori, the hostess of the party, kissing my mouth and 
then my breasts. When she stuck her tongue deep inside mine, it turned me 
on, and I began to kiss her back. Then, before I knew it, she pushed the guy 
away from my cunt and took over. What a difference I felt. 

"I got carried away, and then Lori just reversed positions so that we could 
suck each other at the same time, and I made her come. It just seemed 
natural to know the right spots to suck and nibble and use my fingers on, 
and she was moaning and half crying when she came. 

"Suddenly I began to sober up. I suppose, it was from seeing Hank with the 
big guy I'd sucked off. They were on the couch, where Hank and I had had 
such a ball, and they were making crazy love to each other. They jerked each 
other's cocks, sucked them, and then I watched while the big horse fucked 
Hank up the asshole ! And Hank loved it. 

"It was like somebody had thrown cold water on me. I sobered up in a couple 
of minutes. I looked around me at all the cheap, sordid sex- pots--weirdos, 
really--and I just about threw up. I got my clothes and left, and I doubt if 
anyone really missed me. By that time, nobody knew who was screwing or 
sucking who, and when I got out into the night air, I felt dirty-- really 
filthy dirty--inside and out. 

"I walked all the way home, and I knew then that that wasn't the kind of sex 
I'd wanted. I knew I wanted it from one man, a good man, a man I could 
respect and love. 

"I wanted to pour it all out to Tom, but I couldn't. I was too ashamed and 
disgusted with myself. I wished honestly that Tom could see inside me and 
beat the living shit out of me for the cheap filth I had been involved with. 

"I tried to talk to him, but he had been too hurt by my telling him I was 
going out with another man, and he had gone to bed in the guest room and 
locked the door. I knew he had heard me come in, and I heard him go to the 
bathroom off the guest room, but he didn't try to talk to me. 

"I was miserable, but I finally did get to sleep. Next day, I went out and 
found a job. I'm a good secretary--I'd even been office manager for a while 
before I married Tom--and I found a good job with a large firm of 
accountants. 

"I was in an in-between world. I didn't want to try to pull Tom my way; I 
couldn't go his way; but I also didn't want any more of the cheap, 
meaningless, animal sex that I'd had with Hank. I wasn't a bisexual. I was a 
woman who wanted good sex, and lots of it, but with one man. 

"I didn't want to divorce Tom, but I couldn't see any other way. We had 
nothing left. We hardly talked. He just acted like a whipped dog when I was 
around. I couldn't even bring myself to try talking to him, and at the same 
time I was dying for some sex--some good, satisfying sex. I even played with 
the idea of going to Alice and Claire, but I knew that would be making a big 
mistake. I wasn't a lesbian, and I didn't hate men. I needed a man, not a 
woman, to make love to me. 

"I finally had to go to a psychiatrist. I didn't know what was happening to 
me. But I went to a female psychiatrist. The girls at the WLM told me that 
part of the trouble with marriages was that almost all marriage counselors 
and psychiatrists are men, and they can only take the male viewpoint. Dr. 
Wilma K 

set me straight. She made me see after only a few sessions that marriage to 
Tom was an impossible affair for me. She made me see that the best thing for 
both of us was divorce, which would allow him to find his kind of draggy 
wife, and me to find the kind of man I needed. 

"I began to have dates with James, one of my bosses. He treats me with 
respect, but there are no strings. We have sex when both of us feel like it, 
and I date other men if I feel like it. James is a divorce, and he was 
married to a woman who must have been cast from the same mold that Tom was, 
from the things Jim says about her. 

"We have joined a group that spends weekends in sort of experimental sex. 
It's not 'swapping,' as much as it is communicating. We usually meet at one 
person's house and have a few drinks. Sometimes we take off our clothes and 
just sit around and talk about things--people--their intimate relationships. 

"One of the group members is a practicing psychologist, and he tries to keep 
the sessions on a sort of scientific plane. His belief is that we all put 
too much emphasis on sex and its meaning. He points out that animals lead 
uncomplicated lives because they just take sex as a natural function, and do 
not center their lives around it. 

"He gets a lot of argument from most of the group, but maybe he has a point. 
I've learned this: I know that I don't have to be 'ready' at every glance or 
every winning smile I get from a man. Playing it cool is always better when 
you finally do get around to doing it. Not like that crazy orgy I went to, 
where it becomes meaningless. 

"I still think that it's the men who have the most to learn and to change in 
sex attitudes. When we talk, I'm always astonished at how dumb men really 
are about what turns a woman on and keeps her coming back for more. 

"I read a lot, now, and I've formed my own opinions. I think Women's Lib is 
a meaningful thing for women. It gives us a voice, for the first time. And, 
once we stand up, shoulder to shoulder, and face the problems, it gives each 
of us more individual courage. 

"And, even if they don't know it, Women's Lib is doing a lot of good for 
men, too. At least, the relations between the sexes are more honest now, and 
if men don't want to learn from the women who are speaking out, and make 
some adjustments our way, then it's their fault, not ours; "But back to my 
own sex life. Strange, but I see men differently now. Take Jim, for example. 
He's good in bed, but he never pushes for sex. He likes it in all kinds of 
positions and settings, but he waits for me to start things going. He makes 
sure he is pleasing me first, and not himself. 

"We've talked about that at meetings with the group, and it makes me wonder 
just a little. The psychologist says he feels that we women are now creating 
puppets that are the very image of our former husbands... meek, servile, 
dull. I've thought about that a lot, and I really feel he's wrong. There's 
nothing wrong in a woman having her way in sex, nor in her picking the time 
and place to have it. But a couple of the men agree that they are being made 
into what one fellow called 'male whores.' 

"I'll give you an example. James and I went with a few others to a cabin in 
the mountains. It slept twelve persons, and we intended to engage in some 
sex--group sex--if you want to call it that. But it wasn't supposed to be an 
orgy. We were to discuss sex, then offer to be part of an experiment with 
another person of the opposite sex. While one couple engaged in an act, they 
were supposed to let their thoughts flow free and talk constantly about what 
they were feeling. 

"The rest were to watch and note carefully what was being said, and then, 
later, everyone discussed what occurred and what was said, trying to analyze 
whether the couple really had satisfied each other. 

"When it came to Jim's turn, he admitted that he had always wanted to screw 
a woman up the ass, but that in his heart, he felt it was all wrong. And he 
hinted in his talk about it that he wouldn't have any respect for any woman 
who would let him do it! Now, it's that crazy mixed-up kind of shit that 
makes men the stupid asses they are. 

"Anyhow, one of the women said that she actually enjoyed that kind of 
ass-fucking once in a while, and she offered to be Jim's partner. He wanted 
to back out, but the rest wouldn't let him, so they finally got set. 

"They got Vaseline, and after she had played with Jim's cock until it got 
hard enough, she rubbed it with the ointment, put a lot of it up inside her 
asshole, and then got on her hands and knees on the floor, ready for 
reaming. 

"She began to talk about how she felt--how it was exciting to feel a man's 
cock deep inside her body--deeper than he could go into her pussy, she said. 
She babbled on about how good it made her feel as a woman, to know that she 
could make a man come in a dozen ways, with many parts of her body. 

"Jim began to talk as he started to insert his cock into her asshole. He 
kept saying, almost to himself, 'I don't know why I'm even doing this --I 
feel like a damned queer.' 

"Nobody was supposed to say anything but the two that were doing the act, 
but I almost broke in and told Jim to stop the crap and enjoy himself. He 
was embarrassing me with all his talk about being, or feeling like, a queer. 

"But he couldn't finish it. At first, when he quit, the rest made fun of 
him, but then we remembered that we were honestly trying to learn something 
about sexual feelings and emotions, and we talked seriously about it. 

"It came out in the discussion that most of the men felt the same way, that 
if they had anal intercourse, even with a woman, they felt guilty because it 
was primarily a homosexual act. Yet, they all admitted to liking it, mostly 
because it provided a much tighter case for their penis, and more friction. 

"We have meetings fairly often, and I think we are learning what makes us 
sexual beings as well as emotional and physical humans. 

"I'm active in Women's Lib, and I think we're making some progress. By that, 
I mean, I think we are making a lot of men stop and think about what we are 
demanding. I said demanding, not asking. 

"I know what some males are saying, that we are paranoid, bordering on 
insane, wanting to attain the goals we have set. But we're not crazy, and we 
don't feel sorry for ourselves. As a matter of fact, I feel sorry for most 
men I know, like Tom. They don't ever learn what a woman can be, all the 
sexual dynamite that is packed inside her, waiting for the right man to 
unlock it. 

"Meanwhile, I'm having the time of my life. At last, I've found some men who 
aren't afraid of sex. They still have a lot to learn about women's sexuality 
and capability, but, if enough women get on the ball and stand up for their 
rights as women, the men will have to fall in line. If they don't, they're 
the losers, because we women are finding out that we can do without them... 
even in sex." 

* * * 

The prognosis for Ruth is not encouraging. As may be seen from her own 
words, she hasn't really learned anything from her adventures in sex. She 
admittedly doesn't want the wild sex orgies; neither does she feel that 
lesbianism holds any attraction for her. She says that she wants a variety 
of sex experiences with one man of her choosing, yet, from her own account, 
Ruth still insists on being the dominant factor in the relationship with her 
boss, James. 

Chances are, Ruth will end up as a bitter, promiscuous woman because she 
will find few males whom she can dominate as completely as she seems 
compelled to. Another possibility is that she will eventually become 
disenchanted with all males, for she is certain to clash with some who will 
doubtless use physical force to put her in her place. If this happens, she 
will, in all probability, turn to the lesbians who pervade her WLM chapter, 
in all sincerity believing that only a woman can provide the kind of sexual 
love she demands. 

Ruth's relationship with men is abnormal, whether she approaches them as 
friends, or as sexual partners. Some of her experiences have crippled her 
judgment of males, as well as of herself. She detests cowardly men, yet 
persists in attempting to domineer men, giving them a secondary role in the 
relationship. Her only hope for emotional and sexual satisfaction probably 
lies in seeking professional help, which judging from her own strong 
attitudes and opinions, Ruth will never feel the need for. The Drifter "I 
feel like a sexual castaway. I got married to have sex, good sex, lots of 
sex. Instead, marriage is, or was, keeping me from having sex of any kind. 

"Sex in my marriage, after the first couple of years, was all bad--what 
there was of it. I'm still a young woman. I'm only thirty-two, and I've been 
married for ten long years. I suppose that a lot of women would envy me a 
lot of things, but a nice home, security, money, as corny as it sounds, 
don't make a sexually starved woman happy. 

"Maybe I'd better start at the beginning, and you'll be able to understand a 
little more about my becoming what I am. I'm a sexual drifter--a tramp, in 
the eyes of a lot of people. I've had probably a hundred different men in 
the past three years, and I'll probably have hundreds more. 

"When Dave and I were going together, it was so different. We met in 
college. I was just fooling around, making believe I was studying sociology 
and psychology, but Dave was a serious student of engineering. And he was 
good. When we found we were in love, I quit school and took a job, and we 
lived together for his last year of college. I worked as a receptionist for 
a firm of engineering consultants, the same firm Dave is a partner in now. 

"Sex was wonderful then. It was like a game we played, trying to find new 
ways to please each other. Neither of us had any real hang-ups, although 
Dave was a little less daring than I was in most ways. 

"In fact, it was so wonderful that we knew our marriage was going to work. 
When we got married, it was like a trip to Las Vegas. We bet all our chips 
on marriage, knowing that it couldn't fail. But it did--for me, at least. 

"It's crazy, in a way. We had everything going for us, and yet, my marriage 
is a mess. I guess the real reason we did get married was because society 
approves of sex when the couple is married. We got a lot of static from our 
families and even some friends, when we just lived together. It didn't 
bother me. To hell with them. But Dave squirmed and talked about how it 
might hurt his chances of a good job when he got his degree. 

"My bosses met Dave, of course, and by the time he graduated, he had a job 
waiting. Nobody came right out and said it, but we both knew that the firm 
expected we would be married right away, and we were. 

"But let's get to the nitty-gritty. I like sex. I always have. I'm not one 
of those women who claim to have ten or twelve orgasms in one fuck. I like 
to be built up to it with a lot of playing around, sucking, tickling, 
biting, and then end in one big come. But I like that at least twice a day, 
and more, if it's possible. And don't call me a nymphomaniac. I've read 
enough to know that I'm sexually quite normal. I have beautiful orgasms. I 
can be completely satisfied, and in the beginning I wanted to be fucked, 
sucked, and satisfied by just one man--my husband. 

"I guess it started about the end of our first year of marriage. Dave was 
working hard, I know, putting in long hours, writing proposals, figuring 
costs of projects, but so do a lot of other men I know, who still produce in 
bed. 

"Anyhow, he began to be 'too tired' when we went to bed, or he had to 
'finish up a little more work.' I tried the old siren bit. I would walk 
around naked, kiss his neck, nibble his ears--do everything but carry a sign 
saying, 'I want to be fucked! "It's humiliating for a woman to offer herself 
to a man she wants and loves, and then be rejected. All at once, sex changed 
from something exciting and wonderful to an item about as interesting as a 
grocery list! It was bewildering to me at first, but then the anger began to 
gnaw at me. 

"All at once, I wasn't attractive to Dave, and my natural reaction was to 
wonder if I was attractive to any man. 

"I decided to find out, and I guess that's where it all started. I had quit 
work right after we were married. Dave was already on his way up in the 
firm, making good money, and we were buying a home. But our life was like a 
Greek sarcophagus... beautiful on the surface, but rotten inside. 

"I can't tell you how I ached inside for love. When I started roving, 
looking for it, so help me, there wasn't a tiny bit of revenge or anger 
involved. I was just starving for some exciting sex. Remember, I'd had a 
couple of years of just what I wanted: good sex, at least twice a day. It 
was like being rich and then suddenly becoming poor. My body just wouldn't 
adjust to the change. 

"Once I've faced a problem, I do something about it. I can't just sit back 
and feel sorry for myself. So, I began to go out in the daytime. I joined a 
couple of civic clubs, but that didn't work because I found that they were 
composed mostly of women who were as bored as I was, and the rest were 
retired old men. 

"The obvious answer was the bars. I'd always liked a few cocktails, and Dave 
did, too, up until he began to drown himself in ambition and work. 

"I felt uncomfortable at first, but then I found a cocktail lounge downtown 
where a lot of office people hung around, sneaked in for a quickie, or had 
long liquid lunch hours. They were my kind of people, and I had no trouble 
in getting the eye and drink offers from several men. 

"It did my ego good, and put me in the right mood to swing and flirt. Funny, 
but the first one wasn't one of the office bunch. It was the bartender, Mac. 

"He was a good-looking, wisecracking guy. He had a good rapport with every 
customer, male and female, and he was always there with a light for my 
cigarette and had a cute story to tell every ten minutes, it seemed. 

"Anyhow, one afternoon about two, when the place had pretty well cleared 
out, Mac got serious for the first time. It surprised me, because it had 
always been light between us, even though some of the jokes we made were 
pretty sexy. 

"He brought me a fresh drink and leaned on the bar, looking into my face 
soberly. "What's with you, Marge?" he began. "You're an attractive, 
intelligent woman. You're not a lush, nor a street tramp. What's the score?' 

"I had become turned on for him several times, but I didn't have the guts to 
throw myself at him, but here was my chance. 

"I'm just plain lonely," I told him. 

"He glanced at my left hand, where I wore my engagement and wedding rings. 
He didn't say a word, but I knew what his thoughts were. 

"Yes, I'm married," I said. "And that's the worst kind of loneliness in the 
world. I love my husband, and I think he loves me, but that's all there is 
anymore. Just love. No sex. No fun. No excitement. No happy times. Just ... 
just love." 

Mac was listening, nodding slightly, a sympathetic look on his face. He 
reached out and put his hand over mine. "Want to try me?" he said, still 
very serious. "No love, no involvement, just good sex and fun." 

"Once he'd said it, I was shocked by what I was doing, and by the cold, 
almost casual way it was being handled by both of us. But I recovered 
quickly, and smiled. "Your pad or mine?" I joked. 

"He gave me his crooked, sexy grin, and the air was cleared of any tension. 
"I'm off at four," he said, glancing at his wristwatch. "Like a matinee?' 

"The time we spent waiting for him to get off was fun. We were building 
toward something exciting, and it was a thrilling, provocative game for me. 
I felt alive again. I felt young and sexy and desirable. 

"Mac had a nice, modern apartment not too far from where I lived, and we 
drove both cars, that first time. Once we closed the door, Mac took me in 
his arms, then let his hands run up and down my body, stroking my ass, then 
cupping the cheeks and squeezing them, pulling my pussy close to his cock. 
When he began to kiss me, my eyes, my nose and neck, I almost came from just 
the feel of his mouth and the hard shape of his cock that was rubbing 
against my pussy. 

"I began to move my hips, rubbing my cunt against his hard on in a dry fuck, 
and while I clung to him that way, he began to undress me. 

"When I was naked, he broke away and looked at my titties and my cunt with 
admiration and hunger written all over his face. 

"He took his clothes off quickly, and when I saw his stiff, erect cock, 
standing almost up to his navel, I almost blew my top. I hadn't realized how 
terribly hungry I was to have a man make sexy love to me. 

"Mac came over and got down on his knees. He spread my pussy lips and began 
to lick my clitoris, while his fingers probed deeper inside it. 

"I began to shudder and feel weak. I pushed him, away. "I can't wait!' I 
said. "We'll do all that later. I love it, you'll see. But right now ... I 
want to be fucked!' 

"I lay down on the floor and spread my legs. Mac was ready, and I was 
already wet with my own juices and his saliva. He caught the mood I was in, 
and he wasn't gentle. He mounted me and shoved his cock in deep and hard. I 
locked my legs around his hips, he put his hands around my ass cheeks, and 
we just fucked like a couple of horny animals. I liked the way he kept away 
from my face, so that we could look into each other's eyes. 

"I saw raw lust in Mac's face, and I know mine must have shown the same. And 
he was wonderful. His cock was going deeper and deeper, rubbing my clit with 
every in-and-out stroke, and I came within a minute! 

"It was the brutal, dispassionate way Mac handled me that got to me. He 
seemed to be putting sex in its proper place. I didn't want love or romance 
... I just wanted plain fucking, and that's exactly what he gave me. 

"He was getting near his climax and he began to pull my ass closer to him, 
so his cock was going in deeper with every stroke. I matched him thrust for 
thrust, and before I felt him coming, I had at least three more orgasms. 

"He was a better man than I had thought. He kept on ramming me with his big 
cock, so that it never did go soft, and although it took a little longer for 
his second come, I wasn't complaining. I kept building toward another good 
orgasm, after a lot of little ones, and by the time he was ready to come the 
second time, we were sweating and gasping for breath. When he began to move 
real fast, and I knew he was coming, I used every muscle I had inside my 
cunt, knowing somehow that it was one of the best fucks Mac had ever had. 
And when he launched into the final series of fast thrusts, I exploded 
inside! I'd never thought that sex could be that penetrating physically. I 
mean, the good feel of an orgasm didn't just stay inside my cunt. It seemed 
to spread all over my body, making everything tingle and sing. 

"After a few moments, Mac got off me and did the most perfect thing he could 
have done. Like I said, I had wanted raw, hot sex, and he'd given it to me. 
Almost as if he didn't want to break the mood, he crawled down between my 
legs, reversed his body so that his come-covered cock was next to my mouth, 
and began to stick his tongue deep inside my cunt. At the same time, he 
lowered his pole into my waiting mouth, and when I caught a glimpse of it, 
covered with come juice, it drove me wild. I just gobbled it up. 

"I can't quite describe how I felt. Wanton isn't quite strong enough. 
Whorish? Completely female? Completely sexual? No other thought was in my 
mind but sex, and how good it was at that moment. I tried to take his cock 
so deep that I gagged, but I didn't stop sucking. I sucked and grabbed his 
balls and massaged them, guiding his lunges into my mouth. My jaws ached, 
but it was a good ache. I was paying him back the best I knew how for the 
best fucking I had ever had in my life. 

"All this time, he was digging at my clitoris with his fingers and his 
tongue, and when he shot his load into my mouth, I swallowed it and, at the 
same time, came again. 

"Mac rolled away then and just lay there on the floor, his chest heaving 
from his efforts. "Oh, God ... what a woman you are!' he gasped. "And you 
mean to tell me that your husband doesn't go after that every night? He must 
be the dumbest bastard on the face of the earth, believe me." 

"For some strange reason, that made me feel angry. Then it came to me that I 
really did love Dave. I wondered if I was a nymphomaniac, but I knew that 
couldn't be, because I'd read that nymphos never have good orgasms. I just 
wasn't getting the kind of sexual satisfaction I needed and wanted from the 
man I was married to. And I had to have it, even if it were to be with a 
relative stranger. In fact, I thought at the moment it was much better that 
way, without all the gooey lovemaking that actually amounted to only so many 
words. 

"When we dressed and I left Mac's place, it was without even a kiss! 
Instead, he patted me on the ass and grinned his crooked grin and said, 
"You're something else, baby. When do we do it again?' 

"I told him I'd let him know, and he seemed to think that would be soon, for 
he said, "Tomorrow is my day off. Want to try it on your home field?' 

"The thought intrigued me, and I gave him my address and told him to be 
there by nine-thirty. I knew that would give Dave plenty of time to clear 
the place, but, just in case, I took Mac's phone number. 

"I was still floating on air when I got home and, strangely enough, I was 
hot for some sex with Dave that night. It was as if I wanted him to prove to 
me that I didn't have to go out and have cheap sex with a man I didn't 
really care about. I tried all the tricks I knew-cuddled up, tongue-kissed 
him, rubbed my pussy against his cock ... all while I was naked, but it 
didn't work. In fact, for the first time, Dave lost his temper over my 
sexual advances. 

"He rolled away from me in bed and snapped, "For Chrissake, Marge ... is 
that all you ever think about? Getting screwed!' 

"It hurt my pride at first, but then it made me cold inside. I was glad I'd 
discovered that sex could be good with somebody else, and I didn't feel the 
slightest bit of guilt. And I decided that from now on I'd never again beg 
Dave for sex. To hell with that! If he wanted it from me, from that moment 
on, he'd have to really beg for it! 

"He tried to apologize next morning before he left, but I just acted cool. I 
guess I was thinking that I'd get my revenge in a few moments, and I almost 
wished he would be around to see it. If Mac had walked up to the door at 
that moment, I'd have invited him in and sucked his cock in front of Dave! 

"When Mac did arrive, I was sizzling. I don't know if psychiatrists have 
ever made any studies about anger and sex, but I was in the mood for some 
really raw sex when Mac got there. I practically tore his pants and shorts 
off-I was already naked when I opened the door. I had never been a great one 
for fantasizing, but every move I made to turn Mac on and to make him come, 
I imagined it was Dave, and I was saying to myself: "You cold-assed 
sonofabitch, you don't know what you're missing. It could all be yours!' 

"I began to jerk him off, while he dug his fingers into my cunt and my clit 
with his fingernails. I was letting my nails scratch the skin of his cock, 
too, and he seemed to turn on fast from the rougher treatment, just as I 
did. He used one hand to rake my breasts, and I remember thinking that I 
hoped Dave would see the marks and ask me about them. Would I ever tell him 
the truth! 

"When I wanted to have some real cock, I told Mac to lie down on the floor. 
He did and I squatted over him so I could take his stiff cock and insert it 
into my cunt. Then I lowered myself down on it. I'd read about this 
position, but I had never tried it. It was fantastic. I began to rock back 
and forth, controlling the penetration of Mac's cock completely. 

"He must have done it that way before, because he seemed to know exactly how 
to make it good for me. Another thing I liked about that position was the 
way I could look full into his face. I liked to see the animal look in his 
eyes. It's difficult to describe, but let's just say that he was interested 
only in fucking me. I didn't see any respect or even liking for me, and that 
was just what I wanted. 

"He was fantastic in sensing what I needed, and he said, "You're a terrific 
fuck, Marge. You're as good as any whore in the world." 

"That turned me on real high, and I began to rock forward so far that I 
could reach his face on the forward motion, and I would stick my tongue in 
his open mouth, then, as I withdrew it, he would bite it-I mean really hurt 
it! On the backward motion, Mac's cock penetrated deep into my cunt, and I 
don't care what some women say about that not mattering, that everything is 
the clitoris-for me, it was marvelous. 

"When I came, I was almost jumping up and down so that his cock was sliding 
along my clit and then burying itself in my cunt depths. Mac had put his 
hands on my hips and was helping me go straight up and down on that hard, 
good prick, and he was bumping his ass on the floor, trying to come also. I 
came, and it was that same all-over kind of come; it just took the energy 
out of me. 

"I could tell that Mac hadn't come, and that spoiled it a little bit, 
because, at the moment, I couldn't do any more. So I got off and went down 
on him. He seemed to appreciate that, and I really gave him a good blow job. 
I licked his shaft and his balls, nibbled the shaft and the head, tickled it 
with my tongue and then plunged it deep in my mouth, sucking and nibbling 
while I massaged his balls. He lay back, propping himself up with his hands 
so he could watch, and I liked his eyes pinned on me that way. 

"When he came, I deliberately held his come in my mouth, scrambled up on his 
body, and before he knew what I wanted to do, I spit the whole thing into 
his mouth! He was so surprised that he swallowed it! I held his mouth to 
mine, shoving my tongue in and out, our spit, tongues, and his semen all 
mingling together. I almost came again, just from the sensation of sharing a 
man's come with him in his own mouth! 

"After a minute, he rolled me off him. I could see he was angry, and his 
cock was soft. 

"Don't ever try that again!' he snapped. "I'm not a goddamned pig. If I want 
come in my mouth, I'll go suck a cock!' 

"Oh, come on, Mac," I coaxed. "We're just getting warmed up. A little come 
juice never hurt anyone." 

"Maybe not,'-he grumbled, "but I don't like that kind of shit." 

"Let's make up. I'm sorry." I really meant it. I didn't want to lose my 
little sex toy so soon after I'd found him. "What kind of fucking do you 
want? Anything ... any way at all." 

"But Mac had lost the mood. I could tell by the way he looked my body over, 
as if he were wondering what kind of a piece of garbage was wrapped in that 
nice outer covering. 

"He got dressed and said he'd call me later, or see me at the bar. He added 
the word "sometime," and I felt that my little love game had ended then and 
there. But I wasn't worried. I knew now that I could have all the sex I 
wanted and needed, and Mac was only the first of the ones I could get it 
from. There were a lot of other men around, probably as starved for wild, 
satisfying, thrilling sex, as I was. In a way, I was grateful to Mac for 
opening the door to that." 

* * * 

A great many respected psychiatrists and social scientists agree that sexual 
gratification, as the climax of an act of love, is the greatest emotional 
and physical experience a human couple can know. Without love, sex is seldom 
fulfilling. When it is reduced to the animal level, it loses a great deal. 
This is what happened to Marge S. 

In his excellent book Games People Play, Eric Berne says: 

* * * 

People tend to live their lives by consistently playing out certain "games" 
in their relationships. They play these games for a variety of reasons: to 
avoid confronting reality, to conceal ulterior motives, to rationalize their 
activities, or to avoid actual participation. 

These games, if they are not destructive, are both desirable and necessary. 

* * * 

It is already quite clear that the sex games that the subject of this case 
plays are destructive-to her marriage, to herself and to her husband. 

Marge and Dave S. were chosen for this study because they typify the average 
couple of comfortable circumstances who find themselves in sexual 
difficulties. The developmental pattern is a familiar one: the ambitious, 
hard-working husband who begins to neglect his wife's sexual and social 
needs and causes an ultimate severance of sexual relations altogether, and 
the wife who is too immature to do anything about it. What can one say about 
such a situation? 

The fact that the subject and her husband had relatively fine sexual 
relations before marriage is significant in this case, for Marge reacted to 
the cessation of sex by feeling cheated and neglected. She is a relatively 
intelligent woman, and she did make an attempt to arouse her husband to the 
fact of her sexual starvation. It is important to realize, however, that 
Marge took the wrong approach. 

Helen Colton, in Adults Need Sex Education Too, makes this point: 

* * * 

In their first flush of sexual freedom, many women mistake liberty for 
license. They go overboard in their efforts to dominate the male. In almost 
every case, the male rebels, and often, his rebellion takes the form of 
frigidity, or what can be worse, nonchalance. 

Both sexes today know that it is not difficult to find other sex partners, 
often without incurring the scorn of the community. This is dangerous. 

* * * 

Marge, in her desperation, became domineering and threatening. Although she 
did not initially threaten Dave with the possibility of having sexual 
encounters with other men, the thought was there, bolstering her confidence 
at all times. Her early successes in the sexual area with Dave, before and 
for a year or so after their marriage, shored up Marge's confidence as a 
capable, sexually, exciting woman. When Dave began to neglect her sexually, 
Marge either consciously or subconsciously began to question her sexual 
attractiveness. Of course, Dave's callous rejection of her overt sexual 
approaches only furthered her doubts. 

Once this doubt took root, it was only a question of time before Marge had 
to find out for herself whether or not she was still attractive to other 
men. And because sex was at the bottom of her fears, she went directly to 
the heart of the challenge, using her sexual personality to draw advances 
from men. 

Marge was not a swinger in the generally accepted sense of the word. That 
is, she did not want sex with many men, only good sex with one man who had 
no inhibitions, and, importantly, with a man who would put aside all other 
occupations or preoccupations and give himself to her completely. 

Marge made the common mistake of using the wrong weapons. She did not try to 
communicate, or even to discuss intelligently, presenting her needs to Dave. 
Most counselors and psychologists agree that lack of true communication is 
at the root of most marriage deteriorations and dissolutions. 

Discussions can be a healthy item in marriage, if they are constructive and 
two-sided, and are not mere diatribes by one or the other partner. 

In The Intimate Enemy, by Dr. George R. Bach and Peter Wyden, we find the 
following: 

* * * 

Verbal conflict between intimates is not only acceptable, especially between 
husbands and wives, it is constructive and highly desirable. Many people, 
including a few psychologists and psychiatrists, believe that this new 
scientific concept is an outrageous and even dangerous idea. We know 
otherwise, and we "an prove it. At our Institute of Group Psychotherapy in 
Beverly Hills, California, we have discovered that couples who fight 
together are couples who stay together-provided they know how to fight 
properly. 

The art of fighting right is exactly what we teach couples who come to us 
for marriage counseling. Our training methods require patience, good will, 
and the flexibility to adopt some challenging and unconventional ways for 
dealing with humanity's most personal drives-with sex being the strongest, 
we have found. Most of all, they demand hearts and minds that are open-open 
to reason and to change. 

* * * 

In studying the case of Marge and Dave S., it will be seen that both had 
these qualifications, but that Marge's overly threatening attitude precluded 
any mature, unemotional discussions outlining both partners' positions. 

Lack of money was not a factor in this case. Dave made a better-than-average 
salary and was moving up rapidly in his firm. Ambition has been the enemy of 
many a man's sexual life, and while hard work and the desire to move ahead 
are admirable qualities in most persons, they can, in instances such as 
Dave's, be severe barriers to a successful marriage relationship. 

Dave is responsible to a large degree for the lack of communication. He is 
an intelligent man, a college graduate and a member of a highly intellectual 
fraternity, but all this did not give him (nor does it a great many others) 
the proper qualifications to communicate with the woman he loved and to whom 
he was married. 

Words are important between married people. They should say exactly what is 
in the person's heart, as well as in his mind. 

In Sex in Human Loving, by Dr. Eric Berne, the author advises the use of 
sexual words in sexual arguments or discussions. As an example, he says: 

The words that people use for sex start with copjugation, which is what 
lower organisms do, and copulation, which is for higher animals. Sexual 
intercourse is for people. Sexual union is something you can talk about in 
any group, but, you cannot talk of sexual intercourse. Without using the 
correct words, communication with a sex partner is impossible. Just plain 
talk is my idea of communicating. 

A cynical friend of mine, Dr. Horseley, tells overeducated couples who are 
not getting along to stop communicating and start talking. 

* * * 

This unwillingness to talk or communicate on the part of Dave, and to some 
degree on the part of his wife also, almost caused the collapse of their 
marriage. It has already been seen that Marge was capable of reducing 
several sex acts to clearly understandable terms. She referred to sexual 
intercourse as "fucking," and to fellatio as a "blow job." Other studies of 
the use of words reveal that many men and women are extremely aroused 
sexually by the use of such "gutter terms," especially during foreplay or 
coitus. 

In a sense, Marge was indulging this desire in a somewhat different way when 
she insisted on assuming positions during sex acts that allowed her to look 
into the face and the eyes of her sex partner, Mac. Expressions and glances 
can communicate clearly the emotional and sexual reaction of a sex partner; 
thus, we see that Marge was capable of communicating (or as Dr. Berne 
advocated, "plain talking"), but made no effort with her husband to get down 
to the basics of their marital problem. 

Most modern women see nothing wrong in using basic four-letter words in 
sexual discussions, but psychologists find an astonishing number of them who 
do not use them at the right time-that is, to get their own needs and 
desires across to their mates! 

Emotions revealed are best shown in down-to-earth words. There is certainly 
a language of love, but most experts agree that after marriage that language 
should give way to a large degree to practical and effective language of 
sex. This is not to say that a married couple should not engage in the 
niceties of courtship, the flowery phrases that mean much to the emotional 
side of married partners; however, when the couple is in bed, naked, and 
engaged in the ultimate act of love, sex words are needed. 

Marge S. demonstrated this rather effectively when she described her 
feelings toward Mac. She didn't want the nice love phrases, the 
"buttering-up" language of lovers. She wanted sex, with only sex words used! 

Dr. Berne feels strongly, and his conclusions are based on hundreds of case 
histories of his patients, that the language of sex needs to be used and 
employed, particularly among sophisticated, highly educated married couples. 
He makes some strong points. 

* * * 

Lawyers have words of their own, such as cohabitation, adultery, and sexual 
relations. All have accusatory, unsavory connotations that help to give sex 
the importance of being a legal matter, instead of the personal matter that 
it is. Adultery, for instance, tells nothing about whether the intercourse 
involved was dreary, or the greatest thrill each had ever had. 

To further prove my point about proper sexual words, there is no such term 
in the language as "decent exposure," yet, for a wife to expose her genitals 
to her husband or he his, to her, is certainly not indecent exposure. 

Some of the biggest fights between lawyers are over the word obscenity, 
which is somewhat stupid, because what is thrilling to one person may seem 
obscene to another. The trouble with all of these words and phrases is that 
they evade the issue, which is lust and pleasure, and sexual intoxication. 

* * * 

As Marge's narrative is resumed, it will be seen that Dr. Berne's points are 
extremely important, for when people "talk" to each other, instead of trying 
to communicate in dry, sterile language, they can truly come together sex- 

* * * 

"I only saw Mac once after that. I suppose my pride was hurt. In his own 
way, he had scorned my sexual approach as much as my husband had. He didn't 
contact me the next few days, so I put him out of my mind. It wasn't easy, 
because he really was a stud and he'd given me some of my best sex kicks. 

"I was good for two weeks, and I even made a couple of halfhearted attempts 
at picking up some kind of sex relations with Dave, but I just couldn't 
accept his old "on-again, off-again' routine, and he didn't give any 
indication that he wanted anything more exciting or different. He made a 
couple of feeble attempts at feeling my pussy and tits, but, in spite of the 
fact that I loved him, I just didn't get turned on by him. It made me stop 
and think a little, though, and I wasn't so sure anymore that I wasn't a 
nympho. 

"I toyed with the idea of getting a job, just to involve myself with some 
men, but it made me feel cheap, and I knew that Dave wouldn't stand for 
that. Understand, I didn't want a divorce. I didn't want to be free to 
bounce from bed to bed. All the time, inside me, I wanted Dave to change. I 
wanted him to come over to my sexual way of thinking. I admit, I didn't give 
much thought to his side of it at all. Why should I? I wanted fucking, lots 
of different kinds of fucking, and he didn't. It was as simple as that. 

"I didn't realize it at the time, but I was beginning to feel guilt. I went 
back to the bar where Mac worked and had a couple of drinks. I was still 
sore, but if he'd have made a pitch, I would have taken him on. But Mac gave 
me a cold reception. He was polite enough-too polite. But two other men 
moved" in fast. Both of them had been at the place when I had been there 
before, and they were, in my estimation, just cheap wolves. Both were 
married, and one of them, George-something, was downright crude. 

"He didn't even offer to buy a drink, just moved up the bar and sat beside 
me. "Long time no see," he said. "Been shacking up with strangers?' 

"I frowned at him and told Mac, "Get this creep away from me." 

"Mac grinned his crooked grin and then motioned with his head to the guy to 
move out, and he did. He had no sooner moved away than another guy got up 
from a booth-he was with two other men-and came over to me. He stood beside 
me and ogled my breasts via the low-cut blouse I wore. He made me sick. He 
asked if I'd like to take a ride. Imagine, they were treating me like I was 
a common prostitute! He went on talking, saying he had to go to San Diego, 
and he'd like company, if I could make it for a couple of days! 

"I almost slapped him; instead, I got up and walked away. I turned and saw 
the smirk on Mac's face, and the other man cracked some joke I couldn't 
hear. It came to me suddenly what was going on. Big-mouth Mac had been 
spreading the word around that I was an easy lay, and, probably, that I was 
a good one. 

"I called out loud enough for everyone to hear, "You impotent pimp. I hope 
you never do manage to get it up!' Then I stalked out, figuring that that 
would cut him down in the eyes of his goddamned boozy friends! 

"That finished me with bar-hopping for sex. I had been a fool to pick some 
tramp out of a bar, where I had become a cheap tramp in their estimation. 
But all of this spinning my wheels wasn't doing anything to put out the fire 
in my pussy. I was still hungry for sex, and I was getting confused by my 
own feelings. I wanted to be a good wife, but I wanted to be a wife who got 
plenty of fucking from her husband. 

"I guess I panicked-inside, at least. I masturbated a lot, but I didn't 
fantasize about Dave or even Mac. I dreamed up characters-made them up out 
of composites of several men who had vaguely turned me on when I'd met them. 
One thing they all had in common, though, was a big, king-size cock! 

"I began to become introverted. I didn't want to go out of the house at all, 
and I grew sloppy about the housework and about my own appearance. I used to 
laugh to myself about one of the lines from "The Boys in the Band." One man 
is twitting the other about masturbating too much, and the other comes back: 
"One thing you can say good for masturbation: you don't have to dress for 
it." 

"I felt that way about myself, in a sick, sorry way. If all the sexual 
satisfaction or stimulation I was going to get was from finger-fucking 
myself, then why primp for it. Why even fix my hair or makeup. That didn't 
add anything to it. 

"I even bought a vibrator, but I discovered that that was a bunch of crap. A 
gimmick. It's just no good without a man's cock inside your cunt, no matter 
what else you stick up there and try to tell yourself is thrilling. 

"But, in a funny way, the vibrator turned out to be the best buy I ever made 
in my life. 

"I used it on myself a few times, figuring maybe I just had to get used to 
it for good results. I even fingered my clit while I used the vibrator up my 
asshole, but it wasn't any good. The frustration was worse than doing 
without anything at all. 

"One night I deliberately left it on my dresser hoping that Dave would see 
it and ask me about it. I was ready for a reply that would set him back on 
his heels. I would tell him that it was one hell of a lot better in my cunt 
than he'd ever been! 

"He didn't even notice it for two days, so I put it in his bathroom-we had 
two, and he seldom came into mine. 

"He went in to shower after coming home late and I was holding dinner for 
him. Evidently he didn't notice it at first, because I heard the shower run, 
then stop, and in a couple of minutes, Dave walked into the parlor, still 
partially undried, totally naked. That was something he had never done in 
his life! 

"He had a towel in one hand and the vibrator in the other. It was one of 
those cordless things, about an inch-and-a-half in diameter, and seven 
inches long, with ridges along the barrel of it. 

"Dave looked half stunned, half angry. He held out the vibrator to me, his 
whole face a question mark. "Is this what I think it is?' 

"If you think it's a vibrator, you are right." 

"I was playing it cool, waiting for him to walk into the trap so I could let 
his manhood have it right between the eyes. But he wasn't reacting the way I 
thought he would. He stood staring at it, and I saw his mouth droop. He 
actually looked like he was going to cry. 

"Have you used it?" he asked quietly, his eyes almost begging me to tell him 
I hadn't. 

"I suddenly didn't want to hurt him anymore. I saw that he was already 
deflated and his pride cut. "Yes," was all I said, and there wasn't any 
anger or vengefulness in my voice. I wanted to add: "But it wasn't any good. 
I need you." But I didn't. 

"He just stared at that damned thing, slowly shaking his head. When he did 
speak, his voice was soft and had a tone of shocked amazement in it. "That 
bad," he said, as if talking to himself more than to me. "I must be one hell 
of a mess." 

"He wasn't feeling sorry for himself. He was accusing himself harshly, as if 
finally aware of all his neglect and even gruffness to me in regard to sex. 
I somehow knew that this moment might never come again, if I let it get 
away, and all my love came sweeping back and gave me courage. 

"I left it there deliberately, David," I said. "I wanted to do something to 
hit you with the fact that I love you and I need you. I love you as a man, 
though, as a lover ... as a male. I want you sexually and I need you 
sexually, and if we don't talk this out, now, I'm afraid our marriage is 
headed for the trash." 

"Dave sat down in a chair, the water dripping off his hair. The sad look was 
leaving his face and his jaw began to set in the old determined look I loved 
to see there. Dave was a fighter, a driver, a tireless man in going after 
his goals. The only place he had become weak and careless was in his sex 
life. 

"And I love you and need you the same way," he said firmly. "You know that, 
don't you? Don't you think I miss the good times in bed? Don't you think I'm 
carrying a load of guilt around about all this? I want to, but "He shrugged 
helplessly. 

"I said, "You've got to more than want to, David. You've got to do it. It's 
the most important thing in the world to me. I mean it. More important than 
you making money and becoming a big shot in the firm. More than security, 
this home, bank accounts ... anything! Do you understand?' 

"But-' he started to object. I butted in. 

"I know all the cliches, Dave. We've got to stop letting things get in the 
way of two people who love each other. So you're too tired at night. Let's 
fuck in the morning, when we're both fresh!' I noticed the widening of his 
eyes when I used the word "fuck," and I decided that I might as well shock 
him even wider awake. "We've got to talk about what can and should be done, 
David, then do it ... or at least try it. And the first thing we have to do 
is to use plain language with each other. I want to talk plain words about 
what I want and need from you, and what I want to give. I want to call 
things by their right name. I want a cock to be a cock, and a cunt a cunt, 
and forget playing "doctor games' where it becomes a penis and a vagina." 

"I was really shaking him alert now, and I went right on. "I don't see 
anything wrong, if you really are tired, in my going down on your cock with 
my mouth. You know that I get a thrill from making you come that way, or at 
least in getting your prick hard so that you can fuck me. It worked before 
and it can work again. We had a wonderful sex life, and that's most of my 
problem. I resent being put on a sexual diet, fitting my cunt's needs to 
your sex schedule. I'm here all the time, and you can't be tired all the 
time." 

"He was looking at me as if seeing a different woman. "Do you realize," I 
said, pointing at his naked body, "that I haven't seen you naked in years, 
and never in anyplace but the bathroom? What the hell ever happened to these 
two crazy sexpot kids that used to play sex games naked, even on the beach. 
Hell, it seems only yesterday that neither of us could wait to get to the 
apartment and get our clothes off, bathe each other with hot kisses, suck, 
fuck, jerk off and finger-fuck. What happened? I still want-no, not still-I 
want those things now more than I ever did before. 

"There's a depth and an anchor to our love now. We have all the things we 
wanted, except the one thing that we wanted them for-to give us a marriage 
like no other couple on earth had ever known!' 

"Dave's face had softened. He looked young again, and there was something I 
hadn't seen for a long time: eagerness and interest in me, and in sex with 
me. 

"He got up, walked into the kitchen, calling to me to come out there. I 
walked into the kitchen and Dave was standing with the vibrator poised over 
the garbage pail. He had dropped the towel, and I could see that he was 
beginning to get a hard on. He managed his old-time smile, and his eyes 
began to twinkle. 

"If you'll get all those damned cunt-concealing clothes off, old lady," Dave 
said, "and let me play with your titties and your clit and your asshole 
until you beg me to fuck you so hard you'll shit yourself-" He dropped the 
vibrator in the trash and closed the lid. "I'll be such a fucking good lover 
that you'll never need one of those again until you're ninety. And even 
then, I'll use it on you, just to cool you down after our fifth fuck! How's 
that grab you?' 

"It grabbed me. We caught the game mood together. "If you want to suck my 
cunt or nibble my boobs," I mocked, "at least have the decency to rip my 
clothes off." 

"He walked over to me and did exactly that. And from that moment on, Dave 
and I could write a sex manual, if we had to. There was and is nothing in 
the book that we haven't tried sexually. We don't have to swing with the 
swappers, or try a third bed partner. Our sex is perfect, and we're going to 
keep on working at it-consciously working-to make it even better. Strangely 
enough, once Dave got back into the swing of it, he's not only become a 
better lover than ever, but he has more creative energy on his job! He's a 
full partner, and will one day have his own company. Best of all, he's 
engineered himself a swinging, loving, fucking, sucking, sexy wife, who will 
never again let either of us slip back into the sexual slums we lived in for 
too long." 

* * * 

The prognosis for this marriage is obviously good. It would seem that, 
perhaps, Dr. Berne has hit on the proper solution for many couples, 
particularly the sophisticated ones who are positive that they are in 
communication via the use of technical or clinical terms concerning their 
sex life. 

Plain talk provided the answer for David and Marge. It may well lead to the 
salvation of other couples who are bored, drifting, and seeking sexual 
unity. 

 CHAPTER THREE - The Swinger 

"I don't think that this sexual revolution is as new as a lot of people want 
to believe. At least, the real aims and desires of women aren't new. Women 
have always wanted to swing, to have more than one man, and any student of 
history can tell you that some of the women have always had them. The big 
difference today is that the so-called "common people' are swinging, where 
once it was confined only to the rich or the ruling class. Look at all the 
courtesans and bitches and mistresses who have actually changed history's 
course. And for every one that showed up in a history book or as an artist's 
subject, there must have been thousands who didn't get the publicity. 

"Women have always been thought of as the pawns of men, but has anyone 
bothered to think that maybe most of the women wanted to do the sexy things 
they were told to do? How about Salome, who seduced her father-in-law, 
Herod. 

She must have been a swinging bitch long before she ever heard of John the 
Baptist. And Delilah. Do you think that Samson was the only lover she ever 
took? Bathsheba? And how about Madame Pompadour? She was an expert 
cocksucker, and was proud of it. 

"Read the stories of modern madams, even great actresses, and you'll 
discover that these women weren't the victims of men. They fucked because 
they liked it, and they spread it around among dozens of men because that 
was the way they wanted it. 

"So I don't feel that I'm so different from most women. Only I do it, while 
a majority of those who want to swing just dream about it, then go and 
masturbate, or fantasize they are having some big movie-star stag when their 
husbands get around to fucking them. 

"I'm not too keen on the idea that husbands are to blame for all the 
swapping and swinging, either. My husband is fairly good in bed. He's no 
prude. But the fact is, no one man can keep me sexually happy forever. And I 
think there are millions of women who feel the same, whether or not they 
will admit it. 

"It has always been thought that man is the predatory creature, roving 
about, seeking sexual conquest. Well, I think that women have been doing the 
same thing, not for conquest, but for kicks and satisfaction. 

"I'm not talking about the whores. They have always been around, because men 
have always wanted some fucking on the side. And whores do it for money, 
while swingers do it for the fun of it. Fucking for fucking's sake, you 
might call it. 

"I had no quarrel with Art, my husband, about our sex life. We pretty well 
tried most of the stuff. We even tried anal intercourse one night, but Art 
was pretty drunk and it hurt me quite a bit, so we never tried it again, 
although I wouldn't mind, if we were both sober and used some sort of 
lubricant, like petroleum jelly. 

"But anyhow, after about eight years of marriage, and two kids, Art and I 
both knew that our sex life was pretty boring. We didn't talk about it, but 
we both knew it and knew the other felt the same way. 

"Art is a newspaperman. Not a reporter, a circulation manager. But he's 
pretty hep to what's going on in the community and the world. He's not too 
educated-one year of college, and I only finished high school, but what I'm 
trying to get across is: we both know what changes are taking place in all 
areas of life because we both read so much. 

"We both saw the start of the so-called swinging and swapping phenomenon in 
the late 1960s. The underground newspapers began to come out in the open 
then. In our city, you can get them on the newsstands now. But at first, 
they were hawked by college kids standing on corners-hippies with dirty 
beards, weird old men who wanted to pick up some extra money at their 
newsstands. 

"Anyhow, Art brought a couple home, and the shock value had an appeal at 
first. I mean, you just weren't used to seeing words like "fuck, shit, 
cunt," in print. You weren't used to seeing the president, God, big 
business, any target at all, attacked with words like that, and I got pretty 
fed up with them after a few issues. But the one part of those papers that 
fascinated me was the personal ads. Now, they're called the "fuck ads." I 
thought they were a put-on, but Art said he had talked to several reporters 
and writers who had investigated, and that most of them were for real. 

"I was reading on one night, and Art was watching TV-a thing he'd seldom 
done in the first years of our marriage. We used to bowl, play golf a lot, 
swim, even nightclub most weekends. But of late, Art had taken to watching 
TV until the eleven-o'clock news was over, then we'd go to bed and that was 
that. Some nights, we'd make a feeble attempt at getting each other aroused, 
but usually we'd fall asleep before my cunt was even wet or his cock hard. 

"That night I became fascinated by this ad. It read: WANTED: Middle-class 
couple, ages 30-40, for first-time swinging. We're in love, but bored. 
Desire to meet couple with same interests. Then it gave a phone number, 
which I knew must be within a few blocks of our place. I read the ad aloud 
to Art. For a couple of minutes we both just sat looking at each other. I 
guess we felt ashamed to admit that we'd let our sex life deteriorate to the 
point we needed outside help and kicks, but at the same time we knew it was 
true. 

"Art said sheepishly: "Probably a put-on. Some kooks who like whips and 
chains." He laughed nervously, then looked straight at me and said, "But if 
you want to try, Joy " 

"I saw what he was doing. Weaseling out so that I would have to be the one 
to suggest it. 

"What do you mean if I want to try?" I snapped back. "Let's be honest, Art. 
We've grown bored with each other, and, like the couple in the ad, we still 
love each other. So, what do we have to lose? All we need to do is talk 
about it. Can you stand to see another man balling me? Would I be jealous if 
I saw you sucking another woman's pussy? Can we still face each other for 
sex if we find that this other couple excite us more?' 

"We both thought about that quite awhile. We weren't ready to face the 
answers, and we went to bed. For the first time in weeks, I felt Art's hard 
on rubbing against my butt as he played with my titties and kissed my neck. 
Finally, he said, "Honey, do you ever fantasize, make believe, it's somebody 
else, when I'm having you or kissing your pussy?' 

"I told him that I did-often, the past couple of years. He continued: "Me 
too. I was just wondering if that makes it better for us, even a little more 
exciting. Do you really think that it might be worthwhile to answer that sex 
ad?' 

"I made up my mind in a second. I said yes. And I suggested we pick up the 
phone beside the bed and do it right then! I didn't want this mood to slip 
past, because I had already made up my mind that unless our sex got better, 
I was going to go out and find me some man who could really excite me in 
bed. 

"We called, right then, and the man and woman both talked to us, thanking us 
for the call, telling us that we sounded more like their kind of people than 
any others who had called. They were surprised and glad to discover that we 
lived only five blocks apart, and that we might have seen each other many 
times because we both patronized the same local restaurants and cocktail 
lounges. 

"We set up a date to meet at their place the following Saturday night, so if 
it worked out we could stay up as late as we pleased. They were going to 
send their ten-year-old daughter to her grandmother's for the weekend, and 
we were to get our regular baby-sitter to stay all night. 

"That night, after the call, I guess we both fantasized about the unknown 
couple and the things we would do for sex kicks, because Art and I had just 
a straight fuck, but it was one of the best both of us had had for years. He 
lasted over five minutes before he came, and in that time, I'd had at least 
three good orgasms. When we kissed good-night, we were more at peace than we 
had been in months. 

"We were like newlyweds for the next three nights, and when Saturday rolled 
around, it was as if we were preparing for another honeymoon. 

"We showered with each other, playing sexy little kissing and feeling games, 
like we used to do when we were first married, and we primped and preened 
and perfumed and lotioned ourselves all over. We both wore brand new 
underclothes, and at a couple of points we just broke out laughing at the 
eagerness of two thirty-five-year-old parents to get together to trade off 
the body of our mate. 

"The M's, Bill and Sue, had a lovely home, with a huge den, a small swimming 
pool, and three spacious bedrooms. The den had a wet bar, and we started off 
with martinis. We quickly decided that we had seen each other several times 
and pinned down two or three community affairs we had all attended. The 
atmosphere was a warm one, and I saw that Art eyed Sue's teen-age shape with 
actual lust. At the same time, I felt an electric thrill go over my body 
when Bill, a tall, graying athletic man, ogled my body with obvious 
admiration and desire. 

"Sue broke the ice. She said, smiling, gazing into Art's eyes: "I find it 
hard to believe that two such handsome people as you and Joy have any sex 
problems, Art." 

"Art leaped right in. "It's not exactly a problem, Sue. It's just that we've 
gone stale with each other." He looked at me and asked, "Doesn't that say it 
about right, Joy? Just no fire." 

I nodded and smiled, feeling warm as Sue and Bill smiled at us. I felt a 
little uncomfortable for a little while at the way Sue eyed my body, 
touching me with a gesture of delight at every opportunity. But she took the 
edge off it when she said sincerely, "I think I can approve of my Bill 
having sex with such a lovely creature as you, Joy." 

"Bill got to the nitty-gritty by saying: "Well, I'm new at this, but I'd 
like to have a good look at that lovely body of yours, Joy. How about you, 
Art? Sue?' 

"Without any further words, we undressed there in the huge den. It was fun, 
taking my clothes off and having three people eye me occasionally. I noticed 
that Sue looked at Art with bright eyes, and Art at her as she stripped to 
the buff and stood there proudly, naked. She had magnificently shaped 
breasts, and she fondled them proudly, saying-to my surprise that we could 
discuss mundane subjects while naked. I never nursed Rogella, my daughter. 
Bill says I have the nicest breasts in the world." 

Struck with the challenge of the statement, Art said proudly, "They're 
beautiful, but I'd have to argue that they may be only the second most 
beautiful pair in the world." He looked over at mine as he spoke, grinning 
at Bill, who was staring in stark admiration at my breasts. Both of us women 
had about 35-inch busts, but mine was also nicely shaped, uptilted as Sue's 
were, pert and youthful, in spite of the fact I'd breast-fed both my 
children. 

"I felt a bit embarrassed at the competition, and I nodded my head toward 
Bill, who was beginning to show signs of a hard on. "The male equipment 
seems quite adequate, too," I put in, noticing that Sue's attention had been 
drawn to Art, who was also getting an erection. 

"Bill and Sue seemed more at ease than Art and I, yet I was thrilled at the 
sight of all the naked bodies, and even Art's familiar body was arousing me 
more than it ever had. I was actually looking forward to watching him make 
love to Sue, and I was astounded that I felt not the slightest twinge of 
jealousy. She was a lovely woman, and it seemed quite proper for the four of 
us to be here. 

"We looked at one another in comical wonder, as if each were saying: "What 
do we do now?' 

"Bill made the first sensible suggestion. He walked to me, put his hand on 
my breast and said, "I've never wanted to kiss a woman's breasts in my life 
as badly as I want to kiss yours, Joy." 

"Fitting the action to the words, he bent and took one of' my nipples in his 
mouth, pinching and massaging the other with his hand. I hit the top in 
excitement. It was marvelous, having him kiss and massage them, while Art 
and Sue stared, obviously aroused by the sight. 

"Bill continued to suck my breast, but he stopped massaging the other and 
let his hand slide down to my cunt. He inserted a couple of fingers and 
began to manipulate my clitoris. Inside a couple of minutes I was on the 
verge of an orgasm. 

"I looked over and saw that Art had one of the best hard ons I'd ever seen. 
His cock was standing straight up, almost touching his navel. 

"Sue was as fascinated as Art. She walked over to him and pulled him down on 
a love seat, stroking his cock lovingly. As they sank into an embrace, Art's 
arms went about her, Sue's hand gripped his hard cock, moving up and down on 
it gently, and they engaged in an openmouthed, tongue-sucking kiss that sent 
thrills along my spine. 

"Art ... my husband ... was really something else as a lover, and still I 
wasn't jealous, because he wasn't giving Sue any more than he always had 
given me. And Sue's stroking of Art's cock was no more loving or exciting 
than mine had been. 

"They had a huge couch, and Bill picked me up and carried me to it, his hand 
still on my crotch. We ignored what Sue and Art were doing. I felt all 
atingle, like an anxious, somewhat fearful bride. I suppose I was wondering 
What weird form of perversion Bill wanted to perform, but I wasn't really 
afraid. And he simply went down on my pussy, just as Art often did. He 
spread my legs, using his fingers to open my cunt lips wide, digging into 
the soft, warm, wet walls of my cunt, while his tongue began to lick and 
stroke all around my clitoris. 

"I was positioned on a cushion so that I could watch what he was doing, and 
also catch glimpses of Sue and Art across the room. 

"Sue was down on her knees in front of Art, giving him a tremendous blow 
job. Knowing how Art loved oral sex, I didn't even have to look at the 
rapture on his face to know how it was thrilling him. I saw, too, that he 
was looking at Bill and me, and that sent an additional pang of ecstasy 
through my body. And Bill was doing a terrific job of getting me ready with 
his tongue, teeth, and fingers. 

He was probing deep inside with his tongue-something Art never did, for some 
reason. Art always concentrated his tonguing on my clit, but Bill was going 
deep, catching my clit on the first part of his tongue thrusts, then 
touching the inner walls of my cunt with the tip of his tongue. His nose 
buried itself deep inside the upper folds of my cunt, until I wondered how 
he could breathe. 

"When I had had a little come, Bill moved up on the couch from his awkward 
position on his knees. He shifted me so that my back and neck were leaning 
against the back of the couch, then he picked my ass up in his big hands and 
pulled me close to him. He held me with one hand while he inserted his prick 
into my wet slit; then he grabbed my ass in both hands and began to pump it 
into me. 

"It was wonderful. Thrilling. The height of sexual experience. He was able 
to look down into my face, and I know I was gasping, looking horny, showing 
how much he was filling me with ecstatic sexual fulfillment. It wasn't that 
his cock was any bigger or longer than Art's, I am sure, but Art had never 
tried that position. It might sound awkward, and it must have looked 
awkward, with Bill standing with bent knees, holding my ass, drawing it into 
him with each stroke of his cock and thrust of his ass, but he was shooting 
that pole of his so deep Into my cunt that I imagined I could feel it 
touching my heart! 

"It was marvelous. It caught my clit with a good stroke coming and going, 
and at the same time the climax of Bill's thrust touched the deep inner 
walls of my vagina, which, too, was something that Art seldom did. 

"I paced myself, waiting for Bill, but I did have a couple of minor orgasms 
while he was still building to his, and when I felt the first drops of his 
come enter my pussy, I let everything go. By the time he had hit the middle 
part of his orgasm, I was coming in a series of lightning like orgasms, each 
one building on the last, until, when I finally collapsed, I was breathless, 
almost numb with the delicious feeling of having been fucked to the hilt! 

"Bill rolled over so that his cock was still inside me, his hand on my 
breast, his teeth nipping at the skin of my shoulders and neck, and we lay 
in that beautiful afterglow of a good fuck and watched the bout between Sue 
and Art. 

"They had gotten down on the floor, and Art was On top of Sue, but they were 
in the sixty-nine position, so that each could suck the other off. And were 
they ever enjoying it! Sue's head was bobbing up and down like crazy, and 
Art was duplicating her movements as his tongue was going deep inside her 
cunt and his Angers were almost tearing at the soft folds of her sleek, wet 
cunt. 

"Bill squeezed me tenderly as we watched both of them come at about the same 
instant. Sue simply swallowed Art's load and kept on sucking and nibbling at 
his cock, and Art managed to keep his hard on. Ignoring us completely, 
almost as if we were not there, they swapped ends, Art climbed on Sue, put 
his cock inside her shiny pussy, she locked her legs about him, and they 
really went at it. We watched the rhythm speed up, the gasps and moans 
became quick and loud, and then Art's ass began to trigger machine-gun-like 
motions, which Sue matched with her up-thrusts. 

"It was obvious to Bill and me, locked in an embrace that let his cock 
nestle in the crack of my ass while his hand caressed and excited my 
breasts, that they came together. Afterwards, they lay still, with their 
mouths and genitals locked tightly, for at least three minutes. It had 
obviously been ecstasy for both of them. 

"Know something? I was happy. I was glad that all of us had had good comes. 
I had. I knew Bill had. And it was plain that Sue and Art had taken each 
other to cloud nine ... even beyond. 

"When they finally broke it up and sat beside each other on the love seat, 
Art's hand playing with Sue's breast, and her hand playing with his soft 
cock, squeezing, massaging his balls with gestures of love, it seemed like a 
new and better world we were in. 

"I felt at peace. I had thought previously that, being me, I would have to 
feel guilt, even shame, but I didn't. I felt just plain happy. 

"It surely didn't feel wrong, and I know that none of us felt that we were 
breaking any laws, either man-made or God-given. I've never been greatly 
religious, but I do have a strong belief in God as the Creator, with 
reservations about the divinity, but none about the goodness, of Jesus. Of 
course I knew that no church would approve of what we were doing, but it 
didn't seem to matter much. We were completely free in a way I had never 
known, and that we were happy, I had no doubts. 

"Bill was the first to break the spell of the afterglow of wonderful sex. He 
squeezed my breast affectionately, and said: "Well, darlings, what now?' 

"Let's talk about it," Sue said quickly. "After all, this is new to all of 
us, and we all have strong feelings about it. So let's talk frankly. Let's 
use the words that tell what has happened to us, how we felt then, how we 
feel now. I'll fix us more martinis." 

"She rose, bent and. kissed Art's mouth, then went to the bar and prepared 
martinis in a huge glass pitcher. While she did that, Art asked casually, 
"Was Joy good for you? As good as Sue was for me?' 

"Joy is one hell of a full, wonderful, sexy woman," Bill answered. "I'd have 
to say that I've never had better sex, even with Sue, and she's right there 
to hear it. How about you?' 

"I feel the same and, strangely," Art said, "I don't feel guilty about 
saying that Sue was as wonderful for me as Joy has ever been." 

"Then we were right in putting the ad in the paper, and lucky as hell to 
have two people like you-wonderful people-show up to test the theory we 
had." 

"Sue came in and set down four martinis, smiling as she said, "Do the women 
get a chance to comment? If so, then I agree with Bill. I've never had 
better fucking and sucking in my life, and that includes Bill. And I don't 
feel anything except-' She hesitated, looking skyward for the word, then 
said, "-good." 

"Art raised his martini in a toast. "Let's drink to a warm, wonderful 
relationship, without jealousy, without recriminations, without regrets ... 
ever." We all drank a sip in silent contemplation of his words, and I know 
that they agreed with all our thoughts. 

"Would it be in order to make love to our own wives, and then comment?" Bill 
asked. Art and I exchanged glances, and I saw a glow of pride on Sue's face 
as she looked at Bill. 

"I think so," Art said firmly. "I'd certainly be proud to have anyone see my 
wife making love to me, and vice versa." 

"Be a good host," Sue smiled; then, getting up from beside Art, she came 
over and sat at Bill's feet. She leaned over me and casually felt Bill's 
cock, which was semi soft now. "We'll take care of that problem, honey," Sue 
cooed, and at the same moment she leaned over and planted a kiss on the 
nipple of my right breast! 

"I confess that I thrilled to it. I had never had a lesbian contact. 

"Sue looked deep into my eyes as she said, "I don't blame Art for loving 
you. You are a lovely woman." 

"Looking back, it was a significant message, but at the time, it only 
embarrassed me. Sue rose, looking down at me, her martini in her hand. ,'If 
you'll allow us the space-' she said graciously. I arose, Bill's hand 
lingering on the crack of my ass as I stood up, and walked over to sit 
beside Art. 

"Sue finished her drink with one gulp, and Bill did the same. It was almost 
as if we were looking at two actors, too bored with their oft repeated roles 
to really give a good performance, and it struck me as being so typical of 
Art and me that I nudged him. He glanced at me and put his arm over my 
shoulder so his fingers could play with the nipple of my breast. He said in 
a whisper: "I get the message. Like you and me on many a night, right?" 

Art nestled my body into his, one hand on my breast, the other on my cunt, 
his fingers toying with it, one of them massaging my clit as we watched Bill 
and Sue go to work on each other. I was thinking that it was amazing that 
Bill could get a good hard on so quickly after all the good sex he and I had 
had, but it was an admiring evaluation, not a cynical one. 

"Sue got on her hands and knees on the floor, and Bill positioned himself 
behind her. He spread her ass cheeks with his hands and began to lick her 
asshole, sticking his tongue in and out as she began to gasp and move her 
ass in rhythm to his tongue thrusts. Then Bill reached underneath her and 
began to play with her clit with his fingers, all the while stroking her 
asshole with his tongue. 

"I could tell that the action was getting to Art, because his cock, under my 
hand, was getting hard, and I wasn't doing anything to excite him. 

"After a couple of minutes of this, Sue said, almost casually, "I like it up 
my ass, but Bill doesn't think it's much good. How do you two feel about 
it?' 

"Art and I looked quickly into each other's eyes, and I guess Art felt he 
had to be honest. 

"I want it that way, but it hurts Joy." 

"Want to trade places?" Bill volunteered. "Again, Art looked at me and I 
nodded. Bill got up, came over, and sat beside me. Art, his cock now in a 
state of excitement, his eyes riveted on the tight, wrinkled brown spot that 
Sue was presenting, positioned himself on his hands and knees behind Sue's 
beautiful, exposed butt, and began to jerk his cock to get it fully hard 
before inserting it into Sue's attractive asshole. He spit on his hand then, 
rubbed the saliva over the head of his cock and, without any other 
preliminaries, began to jab his cock into the brown spot of Sue's ass. 

"I can't speak for the others (although later, Art said it was exciting), 
but I began to get hot between the legs as I watched Art push in and pull 
out, gradually working the head of his cock deeper and deeper into Sue's 
asshole. I unconsciously began to stroke my clit, but Bill gently took my 
hand away from my cunt and substituted his own for it. He began going over 
my clit with one finger while two other fingers took care of the sensitive 
areas just to the sides of the clit. Not many men know those areas, but when 
the clit gets too worked up, it pulls back, and the areas to the left and 
right of it are the most sensitive. Bill knew it, and he worked on it. 

"I watched in fascination as Sue began to move her ass in rhythm to the 
in-and-out motions of Art's cock within her asshole. She enjoyed it, I could 
see, for she had a raw, lustful look on her face, and she began to balance 
herself on one hand, while she used the other to play with her clit. 

"Art had his hands on her hips, pulling and pushing to guide the movements, 
and he began to gasp for breath, sweating and moaning. 

"Evidently Sue knew exactly what she was doing, because her hand motions 
grew faster as Art speeded up the thrusting of his cock in and out of her 
asshole! 

"It may be hard for the average person to understand, but at that moment I 
was unaware of anything in the world other than my husband's happiness. I 
forgot the kids, myself, our world! We were just four people, so wrapped up 
in sexual ecstasy that nothing else mattered! 

"I was so carried away that I hardly noticed that Bill had laid me back on 
the sofa and had inserted his cock into my cunt, from the rear. I was aware 
of the thrilling, filling sensation of it, yet I was too enraptured by the 
scene of Art ass-fucking Sue to fully appreciate the effect of Bill's cock 
fucking me, deep and hard and steady. I liked the way Bill was doing it to 
me, demanding nothing, but making me respond with all the fibers in me as 
his cock went in and out of my cunt. I still can't say whether it was his 
approach that did it, or whether the sight of Art and Sue added to it, but 
about the time I saw Art launch into a quick series of thrusts, gasping, so 
I knew he was shooting his come load up Sue's ass, I had one of the most 
full orgasms of my life. Bill came just about when I did, and I felt his hot 
come flooding my cunt. I turned my head and stuck my tongue into his mouth, 
feeling a flood of love, respect, admiration, desire ... whatever the words 
are, only not for Bill, but for Art, too. 

"And that was the beginning of a year of wonderful, exciting sex with the 
M's. That it made Art's and my sex life better is beyond question. We had a 
wonderful, free relationship that is hard to describe to anyone who hasn't 
tried it. Of course, we were lucky, because we fit perfectly-all four 
personalities blended beautifully-and our sex appetites seemed to jell as if 
we were made for each other. 

"After a series of visits during which we exchanged partners, took Polaroid 
pictures, held open discussions, and all that, we settled into a routine of 
twice-weekly sex sessions that were truly marvelous. We only hit one snag: 
Sue wanted to go bi-that is, she wanted Art and Bill to have homosexual sex, 
while she and I had lesbian sex. But both Bill and Art objected strongly. We 
had some serious talks and finally agreed that there would be none of that. 

"But both men forgot that Sue and I had a lot of time to be together while 
they worked. Sue was hot for me by that time, and, to tell the truth, I was 
wide open to try some female sex loving. 

"Sue showed up at my place one morning about ten, and she Came right to the 
point. When I offered her some coffee, she said quickly: "I came over for 
sex with you, Joy. Let's find out once and for all if it's as good as all 
the women's lib lesbians say it is. Why miss out? If we don't like it, we'll 
drop it and go back to the old way. If we do like it, it's a bonus for both 
of us." 

"I looked at her luscious body. I had always thought, from the moment I saw 
her naked the first time, that she was one of the most desirable females God 
had ever made, and I admit that I had wondered many times what her cunt 
would taste like, how her nipples would fit into my mouth, although I kept 
reassuring myself that I was completely heterosexual, and had no lesbian 
inclinations. And all at once, I wanted her to suck and kiss my cunt, wanted 
to suck and kiss hers, and I didn't care what happened after that! 

"Let's go into the bedroom," I said, my body trembling as I walked ahead of 
her, conscious of her eyes on my moving buttocks. 

"Once in the bedroom, we didn't waste time. We both stripped quickly. I had 
seen her naked body a score of times, but never as a sex object for me. Now 
it took on a new attraction for me. I loved the way her hips curved into her 
thighs, the way her stomach shaped into her small-seeming cunt. I liked the 
way Sue had always kept her pubic hair trimmed so it was easy to see the 
outline of her cunt lips. 

"I was ready. No doubt about it. She had picked the perfect time. I sensed 
somehow that Sue had had other lesbian experiences, and I had to ask her. I 
blurted out: "You've done this before, haven't you?' 

"Sue smiled, moving close to my body so she could rub her pubic area against 
mine as she put her arms about me and buried her tongue in my receptive 
mouth. "Yes, darling," she answered. "I was supposed to become a nun. I 
thought you knew that. And when a hundred women and girls are cooped up, 
regardless of religious beliefs, there is sex. And it's good sex, darling, 
believe me." 

"Her tongue went deep into my open mouth as our cunts rubbed against each 
other. I won't say it was my greatest thrill from a kiss, but it was so 
different from anything I had ever felt it has to rate on a par with my 
greatest sex kick. 

"I lay down on the bed, feeling inadequate, wanting Sue to take the lead-and 
she did. She went, down on my pussy with fingers, teeth, tongue, and lips, 
and I confess that neither Art nor Bill, nor any of the boyfriends I'd ever 
known, had been able to open me up like Sue did. Orally, she was the 
greatest! I came within minutes after she first touched my cunt with her 
mouth and before she'd finished, I had at least four good, full orgasms! 

"We had built a rapport, and when she was certain I had come several times, 
Sue asked calmly: "my turn?' 

"I wanted to satisfy and thrill her so badly that I didn't even answer. I 
just moved her body so that she was on her back, her legs spread, her 
golden-haired cunt spread wide, and when I went in, I was wild. I bit, 
licked, sucked, and used my fingers, and I was exhilarated when I heard her 
moans of delight and looked up to see her blue eyes staring at me as I 
sucked her off. 

"After that, we tried everything: we would use the-nipples of our breasts to 
stimulate the clit of the other. We used fingers, vibrators, even large 
sausages, to bring each other to orgasm. The strange part was, it didn't 
affect our heterosexual sessions at all, except to pep them up, because we 
gradually showed the men that we were going both ways. 

"The climax came one night at our place, when Sue and I were just too hot 
for each other to deny it or hide it. 

"We'd had our cocktails, and we were ready to pair off, or go on a four-way 
binge. We had experimented in the possibilities of simultaneous sex, with 
some sucking, others fucking, and it had worked out fine, but always with 
the men fucking and sucking the women, and vice versa. 

"Sue and I hadn't had a chance to be with each other for over a week, 
however, and we were just too hot to handle. 

"Sue had a lot more courage than I did. She wanted to join Women's Lib, she 
was the type to take over, and she did that night. She stood up, naked, 
lovely, half-drunk, and faced Art and Bill. She said bluntly: "Joy and I 
have been finding another aspect of exciting sex. Yes-' She became 
emboldened by my smile. "-Joy and I have been having sex with each other at 
both our places while you've been at work. We don't apologize. It's been 
wonderful, and we want you two to see what it's all about." 

"And then we just went at each other. 

"By that time in our relationship, Sue and I had no embarrassment with 
lesbian sex, but I could see that Bill and Art were apprehensive and a bit 
angry. However, as Sue and I sucked each other's pussy, in the sixty-nine 
position, the two men became fascinated. I'd heard that most men are really 
turned on by watching lesbians work on one another, and it sure worked for 
our husbands. 

"When we had each come a couple of times, we got up and kissed each other 
with deep tongue kisses. Art was sitting in a chair and Bill on a love seat 
and both of them had magnificent hard ons! 

"For a long moment, nobody spoke. Then Sue smiled at Bill and said, "Well?' 

"I was proud of Art when he spoke. He had a silly grin on his face when he 
glanced at Bill and said, "Judging from our stiff cocks, I guess we found it 
pretty hot stuff, watching you two like that." 

"That melted the tension, because Bill smiled at his wife and then me, and 
when he walked over and took Sue in his arms and kissed her, his tongue 
going deep in her mouth, I knew that the men had accepted Sue's and my 
lesbian setup. 

"After that night, our sex with each other in the foursome was better than 
ever. Several times after that, the men actually asked Sue and me to make 
love while they watched. But neither of the men touched each other sexually, 
ever." 

* * * 

Inasmuch as statistics on swapping and swinging are available, Joy, Art, 
Sue, and Bill followed a somewhat typical pattern. They fit the picture of 
the average couples who engage in semiprivate swapping, in the way they 
began it, as well as in their economic and social status. 

Dr. Gilbert D. Bartell had done considerable research into this phenomenon 
that seemed to have begun in the mid-sixties and is still growing. Writing 
in the June, 1972 issue of Male, Bartell revealed some interesting results 
of his studies. He offers this breakdown of the standard group-sex addict: 

* * * 

Based on our data, 83 percent of organized group sex members are 
middle-class White suburbanites, ranging in age from 18 to 70. The average 
age for men is 32, and 28 for women. 

Average earnings are about $12,000 per year. Of the men, 42 percent are 
salesmen, with a sprinkling of lawyers, dentists, professors and engineers. 

A few of the women are career women, but 78 percent are housewives who stay 
home and look after the children. Although they do not generally consider 
themselves religious, swingers frequently send their children to Sunday 
school. 

In general, it has been found that female swingers generally dislike drugs, 
hippies, blacks and liberals. Most of the female swingers have few outside 
interests and when they begin to swing and swap, they become absorbed in it 
totally, developing what can be described as a condition akin to an 
addiction. 

* * * 

It is obvious from Joy I.'s account of her venture into sexual swinging that 
she did become almost addicted to it, and that Sue M. was a sex addict even 
before the married couples teamed up for group sex. Sue admittedly had had 
lesbian experiences, and, although Joy did not mention it, we suspect that 
both women had had at least a minor affair or two somewhere in their 
marriage. 

Although Joy's account revealed sexual suffering and frustration on her 
part, it did not reveal much about her husband's inner needs. He, like 
thousands of other men who are climbing to important positions in their 
work, doubtlessly substituted work for sex. This is probably the case in the 
70 percent of the females, cited by Dr. Bartell, who have few if any outside 
interests. Thus, this sexual frustration bubbles over and demands emendation 
in women much more than it does in men. 

Another interesting theory has developed in the past year concerning 
causative factors in adultery or swinging. The average male engages in some 
form of sport, such as bowling or golfing, and diverts his sexual energies 
into that sport. However, millions more substitute spectator sports for 
their vicarious thrills, and the press and magazines have made much of the 
fact that millions of men have become what one reporter calls "sexual 
dropouts" for about 25 weekends during the football season. They stay glued 
to the TV, watching it steadily, and several psychiatrists feel that this 
has the effect of diminishing their sexual drive and desire. 

There are many psychiatrists and counselors who feel that swinging can, and 
often does, save marriages that would otherwise end in divorce. 

In his excellent work The Sexual Wilderness, author Vance Packard has this 
to say: 

* * * 

People want warmth and love in their sexual relations, and this is true of 
the average swapper. It probably has a profound effect on smaller groups who 
build a more meaningful relationship with the other couples involved, and 
tends to make some groups limit themselves in membership to the original 
members, who then frequently remain as a static group for several years. 

* * * 

This would seem to be true in the case we are discussing, for none of the 
four wanted sexual adventures with strangers. They were content to have 
way-out sex with people they came to have a deep affection for. Vance 
Packard, however, further in his book points to the fact that there are also 
a strong group of psychologists and sociologists who believe that swinging 
can only lead to what they term "sexual anarchy." Others feel that the 
question of benefits versus detriments to a marriage is still debatable, 
for, there are too few guidelines upon which to base sound, statistical 
conclusions. 

One small faction of thinkers feels that if a marriage has been 
deteriorating relentlessly over a period of years, it will eventually 
explode, regardless of what the couple tries. They calmly view the large 
number of divorces that have resulted even after the couple has engaged in 
group sex, as inevitable merely because the couple had allowed a long period 
of sexual dissatisfaction to create ill-feelings and even hatred for the 
partner to such a degree that it could never be restored to love, or even 
respect or affection. 

Another fact that seems to be emerging is that all married couples fight, 
over one thing or another, but that the root basis of all their fights is 
sexual dissatisfaction and frustration. Researchers such as Masters and 
Johnson, and the group at the Institute for Sexual Research at Indiana 
University find that, although the couple may actually think they are 
fighting about money, personal habits, religion, politics or whatever, at 
the bottom of their emotions is a reaction to what they consider 
insufficient and unsatisfactory sex. 

An excellent book being recommended by many counselors for couples who are 
basically in love, but who are constantly quarreling, is The Intimate Enemy 
by George R. Bach and Peter Wyden. The premise of the book is: How to fight 
fair in love and marriage. 

This pair of marriage counselors feel that verbal conflict is not only 
acceptable in a marriage, but that if it is conducted on rules of respect 
and fairness it can be healthy. 

It is the contention of many psychiatrists that couples should delve deep 
into their hearts to discover just what is the basis of an argument with a 
mate, for often, even if a woman may gripe to her husband about being late 
for dinner, she is actually saying in her subconscious, " ... and you left 
me high and dry without an orgasm, you son of a bitch." 

A final disturbing sidelight of the swinging scene is the growing number of 
women who are becoming bisexuals as a result of contact with lesbians and 
women who are already bisexual in their sex lives. 

Few of the males involved in swinging groups practice homosexuality, yet at 
least half the women who have agreed to talk to writers and psychiatrists 
admit that they have become openly bisexual in their sex lives. Often, they 
engage in lesbian sex acts at group sessions, but most of them have lesbian 
affairs in their homes, while the husbands are at work. Perhaps not oddly, 
many swinging husbands have no objections to this, for, as it will be seen, 
in the final portion of Joy's account, the husband "benefits" by having two 
women to use for sexual enjoyment on a permanent basis, instead of just his 
own wife. 

* * * 

"After we had begun to really swing, Sue and I, I mean, we stepped out of 
our own group for the first time. We didn't let the men know about it at 
first, although I guess we both knew that they would find out sooner or 
later. 

"We answered an ad we found in one of the papers. It said: Forming new group 
to teach sexual responsiveness. It stated clearly that the group would only 
meet during the day, and it intrigued us. Although I suspected that it would 
be mostly women, I was stunned to find that it was all women. When we began 
to talk, we found that none of the women had been lesbians before they had 
joined swap clubs, but that all of them had now come to need lesbian sex as 
much as they needed fucking from males. 

"The upshot was that we formed what in essence was a lesbian swap club. That 
isn't the right name, however, for we were not lesbians, but bisexuals. We 
discovered that none of the women wanted to go completely lesbian. All 
wanted to keep on having sex with their husbands, and with some of the other 
males in their swap groups. 

"The idea was there, although nobody quite put it into words, that some of 
the women had been having lesbian sex with one or two other women, and that 
they were actually getting a little bored by having the same sex partner all 
the time. It made me do a little thinking on the matter, and I had to admit 
that perhaps I was growing tired of Sue for my only daytime sex partner. 

"There were twelve members when we finally formed the club, and we were 
invited by two women who had large homes and no children to use their homes 
for our meetings. 

"The first one was a real thrill. Althea was wealthy and bored, and she 
decided to throw a poolside party for us at her place. The instructions 
read: no bathing suits. We all knew what that meant. 

"It may be hard to believe, but the sight of eleven naked women, of all 
sizes and shapes, really turned me on. It was really exciting to compare the 
sizes and shapes of breasts, asses, and cunts, and to anticipate what it 
would be like to suck and kiss them, and to have some of those beautiful 
women make love to you! 

"We all went into the pool for a while, acting like a bunch of teen-agers, 
playing grab-ass and feeling pussies and titties as if it were the first 
time for any of us. I'd say the average age of the girls was 35. 

"I found myself strangely drawn to a woman named Jill, although she wasn't 
exactly pretty. 

She had the sexiest female body I'd ever imagined, and I was flattered when 
she seemed to pair off with me in the pool. I liked the way she touched me 
and let her eyes dwell on my cunt and my breasts. She was only 22, but she 
had been married twice. Her second marriage was still in effect, but she 
told me that it was falling apart at the seams and that her husband, who was 
45, just seemed to have no interest in sex any longer, after only a year of 
marriage. 

"Althea, our hostess, had told everyone that once we broke the ice with the 
swim and frolic in the pool, we were on our own, free to choose a partner 
and use any room in the large house. 

"We got out of the water, naked as the day we were born, and Jill took my 
hand and led me over to the pile of towels that Althea had provided. We 
dried each other off with slow, deliberate movements that allowed our hands 
to explore the feel of the other's breasts and cunts, and by the time we had 
finished, we were so turned on for each other that we weren't even aware of 
the others, who had also now paired off. Some had already disappeared, 
others were getting ready for some lovemaking-two couples were already 
engaged in kissing and fingering on the air cushions that surrounded the 
pool, oblivious to everything but each other's bodies. 

"We used one of the large bedrooms that wasn't occupied, and I was so 
excited when Jill's mouth covered my own, I was trembling. Her hands were 
like electricity on my body, and I think I actually had a minor orgasm when 
she began to kiss my nipples while stroking my cunt lips. 

"She must have felt the same way, because after a little feeling of each 
other's pussies, we assumed a sixty-nine position and began to massage, 
lick, and suck each other's cunts. I couldn't put my finger on exactly what 
made Jill's lovemaking so much more exciting than Sue's-or anyone else, for 
that matter-until just before I made her come. 

"While nibbling and sucking my clit, she began to move her cunt with quick 
jerks that told me she was coming, and she mumbled over and over, "I love 
you, Joy!' 

"As I launched into my deepest orgasm, I found myself saying into her cunt, 
"I love you, too, darling." And ... I meant it! 

"We lay in each other's arms a long time after that,, our cunts rubbing, our 
breasts flattened against each other's, and we kissed tenderly, wildly, in 
astonishment to find that it hadn't been just words. We did love each other! 

"It was a stunning realization for me, because I knew that I didn't love Art 
any the less, but I loved Jill with all the ardor and longing and need that 
I had ever felt for Art! I had liked and admired Sue, but I knew that I had 
never felt anything even remotely resembling the love-spiritual and 
emotional love-that I felt for Jill. 

"We must have been on the bed for at least two hours, when Althea knocked, 
opened the door, and said with a happy smile, "Come on, girls. How about 
sharing?' 

"It shocked both of us, and we looked at each other in dismay. We had lost 
all interest in the others. We wanted only each other. 

"Let's go to my place," Jill said. I nodded and we quickly got our clothes 
and dressed. 

"Althea was dismayed, but not angry, when we told her we were leaving. At 
the door, she kissed us both and said she understood, that she'd be in 
touch. We both knew that we would never attend another lesbian party. We had 
found each other, and we were enough. 

"Jill had a lovely home. Her rich husband indulged her every wish-except for 
sexual fulfillment-and for the balance of the afternoon we just grew deeper 
in love with every gesture, every kiss and glance. She was a gentle, but 
exciting lover, and that afternoon was the first time I had a vibrator 
really work. In her hands, while she kissed and caressed my ass or my 
breasts, it was almost as good as a man's cock. But I preferred her tongue, 
and her lovely mouth sucking huge clumps of my quivering cunt flesh into it. 
I was astonished at the steadiness of my responses. I just couldn't seem to 
get enough of her in my mouth, or of my cunt in her mouth, and both of us 
constantly kept reassuring the other that we truly did love, in the 
conventional, deep, spiritual sense of the word, as well as in the sexual 
way. 

"I found myself telling her, as I was leaving to go home, that I never 
wanted to leave her, that I truly wanted our love to find a fresh start, 
every day of my life. 

"That night, I was bursting with desire for her, and I wanted to blurt it 
out to Art. I tried to analyze my two loves, and I couldn't choose or find 
any real difference between them. 

"Sue called in the early evening, but I was in no mood for explanations to 
her. I told her I'd call her next day, but I knew in my heart that I'd never 
again have sex with her ... or with her husband. 

"Art was his usual bright, happy self. He'd changed so beautifully over the 
past year, and I was grateful to Sue and Bill for that. It had made a 
different person of Art, and we were truly closer and more in love than we 
had ever been in our lives. 

"When we went to bed, he let me know that he wanted some lovemaking. He 
kissed my breasts and played with my cunt; then he got down between my legs 
and started to suck my clit and shove his fingers inside my cunt. But I 
suddenly didn't want him to do that. It would spoil all the delicious things 
that Jill had done that afternoon. It may sound crazy, but that's how I felt 
at the moment. 

"I pushed Art's head away and rolled away from him. I was as gentle as I 
could be when I said, "I don't' want that tonight, honey. I just want a 
plain old, deep down fucking from the man I love." 

"My sincerity evidently took the sting off my refusal to have him suck my 
cunt, and it may have pleased him a bit to find that I still wanted his cock 
inside me, in spite of all the swinging we had done. 

"When he put his prick inside me, he sensed that I wanted all the maleness I 
could get, and he gave me what I call an animalistic fuck, concentrating on 
plunging his cock so deep into my cunt that it made me moan with the 
pain/pleasure of it as it slammed against the deepest walls of my pussy; 

"I had a tremendous orgasm, despite the fact that my cunt was a little sore 
from all the sucking and fingering I'd had from Jill. Art lay locked inside 
me for a few moments after we'd come, telling me how much he loved me. It 
was a sweet moment, and I hated to break it, but Jill was breaking into my 
thoughts and I just had to tell Art. 

"Art, dearest," I began, "we've found something very special, these past few 
months. We're able to please and thrill each other, and we're able to talk 
honestly, and that's most important. I want you to use all the understanding 
you have in you, for what I have to tell you. 

"I love you, Art, with all the love that any woman can give a man. I admire 
and respect you, and, almost as important, I like you. I like being your 
wife, and the mother of your children." 

"I took a deep breath, then got to the heart of the matter. "Today, I met a 
woman called Jill. I went to bed with her, Art, and we made love violently 
and tenderly, and-I'm so in love with her that it hurts me to be away from 
her, even for a few hours." 

"Art gasped and I put a hand gently over his mouth. "Hear me out. I love 
her, and I love you ... neither more than the other. I'm not selfish, but I 
can't live without both of you. Will you try to understand and work it out 
with me?' 

"My whole life seemed to hang on how Art would answer, and I was shaking 
inside. He sat up and looked deep into my eyes, letting his gaze go all over 
my body. 

"His face was soft with love as he said, "I love you so much, Joy, that I'd 
do anything, rather than lose you. I'd change my life to make you happy. 
I've already proved that. We'll work it out." 

"He leaned over and kissed me with all the tenderness in him, and I fell 
asleep in his arms with the world all turning pink and blue. 

"To make it short, within two months, Jill divorced her husband and came to 
live with us. None of us ever dreamed such happiness could exist, for Jill 
and Art get along beautifully. She actually told me that she thinks she's 
come to love him as much as she does me. Sexually, it's the most thrilling 
arrangement I'd ever imagined. It's exciting for me to watch Jill and Art 
making love, and sometimes both of us work on him in a variety of positions 
that involves fingers, mouths, asses, cunts, and cock. 

"And Art still gets excited when he watches us make love to each other. It's 
truly a threeway love affair, and I am the happiest person in the world. 

"There's only one minor problem I can seethe kids. They are getting bigger. 
So far, we've kept the sexual arrangement from them. They think that Jill is 
a young cousin of mine, and they adore her. 

"One day, of course, they're bound to ask questions or to discover that the 
three of us share our sex lives as well as our love. 

"Art thinks we should explain it to them. I'm not sure how to handle the 
problem when it arises, and Jill feels that we ought to consult with a child 
psychiatrist for advice. But whatever way it comes out, the three of us will 
stay together as long as love lasts, and I know it will last forever." 

This seemingly bizarre sexual situation is not as unusual as most persons 
imagine. The menage a trois (household of three) is being practiced by both 
singles and married couples. It is almost always the same pattern: two women 
sharing one man. What is unusual in Joy's situation is the presence of 
children. 

Although Jill's suggestion of talking with a child psychiatrist is an 
excellent idea, the statement made by Joy (" ... whatever way it comes out, 
the three of us will stay together....") casts a suggestion of fanatic 
determination on her part, which suggests that she is concerned more with 
her sex life than with the welfare of her children. As a result, the 
prognosis does not appear to be optimistic for the children. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - The New Breed 

"We're from a different world, in a way. What you people think about sex and 
mores is not what we believe in. We think the rules should be changed and we 
are going about changing them-by doing! You older people have proved that 
you cannot legislate sex mores or demand that sex fit into a mold of 
outdated silliness! Look at your divorce rates. Look at the number of kids 
who have rebelled against you by turning homosexual! You blew it-bad! Now, 
we're doing something about it. 

"Let me tell you how I came to feel this way. I didn't hear it from some 
wild college kids or other hippies! I learned firsthand what your kind of 
sex was all about. It's built on lies and cheating, on pretense and guilt 
feelings. Our kind of sex is honest and open. 

"By the time I was thirteen and had begun to get a tingle between my legs 
when a boy felt my tits or gave me a deep kiss, I began to realize what my 
mother and father were doing. 

"My mother was little better than a whore, picking up men at bars, taking 
them home ... even fucking them in cars. At the same time, my father was 
practically keeping another woman and her three kids, for the privilege of 
sneaking over to have a little ass a couple of times a week. 

"I'm supposed to respect the views of a couple of sneaks like that, on 
anything in life, and especially about sex? You're kidding yourself. You 
people don't have the right to lay down sex laws for anyone but your own 
individual self. And it's for damned sure that you're not getting anywhere 
trying to tell my generation what to do in bed or out! 

"Sure I'm militant. Sure I'm one of the free love bunch. What the fuck good 
is marriage in this fucked-up world? It's supposed to provide homes for 
kids. That's its only reason for being, and it fucks up bad in that 
department. All it teaches kids is that, for the privilege of food and 
clothes, you have to have your mind and soul filled with garbage about 
morals by a bunch of immoral, ignorant parents! 

"I found out that love and sex don't have to be tied into a big package of 
nothing. Fucking is good, whether you're married or not, and it can be just 
as good with a dozen guys rotating, as with one man, whether he's your 
husband or not. 

"In case you think I'm just mouthing what the others in my class are saying, 
forget it! I've been there. The marriage bit, the hippie commune bit, and 
the way I am now ... just playing the field, fucking or sucking whomever I 
want at the moment. 

"To go back to the beginning for me, I gave my first fuck when I was just a 
few days past my birthday ... I had just turned thirteen. And take note: I 
didn't say I "lost my cherry." I gave it away. I wanted it busted, and I 
picked the guy I wanted to have my first fuck with. 

"It was my uncle-my mother's older brother. He was thirty-two at the time, 
and he'd been fingering my pussy since I was old enough to remember. Now, 
how's that for a good start at believing in the establishment kind of sex? 
He was married and had two daughters of his own. In fact, it happened at his 
house while I was baby-sitting one night. He and my aunt came home from a 
party, loaded to the gills. She no sooner got home than she passed out cold 
and I had to help Dick get her into bed. 

"He took off all her clothes as she lay conked out, then began to laugh in a 
drunken way. "No nooky for Dicky," he giggled, "unless little pretty pussy 
Peggy wants to try it." 

"He'd always talked sexy around me, but this time he seemed to really fix on 
the idea. Usually, his hawk-eyed wife, Norma, kept an eye on him when he was 
around me, but here we were, the kids sleeping and Norma out like a light. 

"He'd felt my cunt and my tits often enough to know that he could turn me 
on, and he came over now and put his arms around me. He was a little 
unsteady, but as he felt my ass and I rubbed my cunt against his cock, I 
could feel it begin to stand up a little. 

"We went out into the living room and he took off my clothes. I knew there'd 
be one hell of a mess if we got caught, but in a way he deserved to have 
problems. And I was pretty curious by then as to what this fucking was all 
about and why everybody in the adult world made so much of it. 

"He got his own pants and shorts off, and his cock was only half stiff. I 
lay down on the big couch and he came over and stood beside me, skinning 
back the loose flesh on his cock, trying to get it up. "How about taking it 
in your mouth," Dick slobbered, jerking his cock harder and harder, without 
it getting much more erect. 

"He bent over me, holding it out, and I suddenly wanted to taste it and feel 
it inside my mouth. I raised myself up and took it in my mouth, sucking it 
and nibbling at the fat head of it with my teeth. It got hard real quick, 
and he began to crawl up over my face, shoving it down my throat and gagging 
me. 

"It scared me, and I pushed him off me as hard as I could. "Fuck me if 
you're going to," I snapped, "don't choke me to death." 

"You're a hot little fucker," Dick mumbled, flopping down on top of me, 
fumbling around to shove his prick up inside my cunt. I'd masturbated a lot, 
and when he finally got it in, it didn't hurt. It slid in pretty easily 
because I was juiced up. When Dick settled down to steady fucking, I began 
to have a whole bunch of little orgasms. He was just drunk enough that it 
took him a good ten minutes to come, and by that time I'd had at least five 
or six orgasms. 

"He gave me that old guilty shit when it was over. "You wouldn't tell 
anybody, would you?" he whined. "We'd both be in bad trouble." 

"I told him to forget it. I wasn't that proud of being fucked by my own 
uncle to go around bragging about it to anyone. I was a little brainwashed 
in those days, and I felt some of the guilt people said I should. I knew 
what incest was. And I felt a little guilty. I don't anymore, and I wouldn't 
if I'd fucked my own father. Fucking is fucking, love is love, and they have 
nothing to do with each other. 

"After that, though, I really began to live. I began to hang around with the 
kids from high school, and I began to smoke some pot and take a few pills. 
No hard stuff, though. I've never taken the heavy stuff. I don't need it. I 
can get as turned on by love or pot as I want. 

"It was easy to get grass. Most of the older guys had plenty, and, of 
course, they saw that their girls had it, too. 

"By the time I was fifteen, I knew all the tricks in the book about sucking 
and fucking, but-you know something? Plain old fucking is still my bag. I 
mean, no fancy positions or any of that shit. That's for the establishment, 
who don't know enough about real love to make out from just the plain old 
fucking. 

"My mother and father found out about the pot. I never did make any attempt 
to hide the fact I smoked up a storm, and I didn't deny it when they 
challenged me. 

"They knew about my fucking, too. At least, they knew I wasn't a virgin, 
because a couple of the older guys could get birth-control pills, and my 
nosey mother found a whole six-months' supply of them in my dresser drawer. 

"Know what their kind of parental love was like? Just a bunch of screaming 
lectures and punishment. They were so fucked up in their own sex life that 
they didn't have time to worry too much about me. They were just afraid that 
I'd get into trouble with the fuzz, and that would throw the spotlight on 
them. That was all they worried about, because when I stood up to them about 
the pot, they cooled it fast-especially my mother. She knew I knew all about 
her fucking men, and she knew I'd blast off about it if she got too mouthy 
with me. 

"But I still left when I was fifteen. I didn't "run away," as they say. I 
just walked away with a guy, and there wasn't any big stink about it. 
Actually, I think they were both glad when I left, because they didn't have 
any idea where I had gone or whether I was dead or alive, and they never 
turned in a report to the police. 

"Jack was going to junior college, but he was in a lot of trouble all the 
time-protest marches, sit-ins, that kind of thing. And when he was arrested 
on a narcotics charge, he was kicked out of school for good. I'd been out 
with him a lot of times. We balled real good together, and even though he 
used drugs he never tried to get me to. And he often settled for some pot. 

"He beat the narco rap by stating that he had been smoking pot, not taking 
drugs, and he got probation for that. Right after that, he drove to my 
school one day on his motorcycle and said he was taking off for San 
Francisco. He wanted me to go along. It took me just five minutes to make up 
my mind. 

"We went to my house and I just took my jeans and sweaters, tied them all up 
in a bundle, and took off. I took a few dollars from the family "sugar 
bowl," plus some I had stashed away. 

"We just bummed along easy for a few days. We slept out in fields, or in 
deserted buildings. It was a blast. It was my first real look at California 
countryside, and I loved it. It was wonderful to be free-free to stop and 
fuck, or, free to stop and walk through woods or a patch of grass. I knew it 
was the life for me, and to hell with what anybody else preached. 

"Jack was careful to stay away from towns where there had been rumbles 
between the cops and the motorcycle gangs. Jack was no Hell's Angel type. He 
was radical, all right, but only about busting down the laws about sex, the 
educational programs, all that stuff. I guess, looking back, he must have 
been a communist, but it didn't matter to me as long as we balled good and 
kept having the fun we were. 

"We finally got to Frisco. Jack knew quite a few hippies and yippies there, 
but we moved into a big old empty factory on the outskirts of Berkeley, and 
Jack worked along with a lot of the college kids that were raising hell on 
and off campus. He got a part-time job, so he could kick in on the community 
food and pot supply. We lived with about twelve other guys and girls, and it 
was like a sex circus. 

"It was there I found out that you don't have to have love or a marriage 
license to have real sex kicks. It was "Freesville" as far as sex went. 
Nobody was possessive or demanding. When you wanted to do it with someone, 
all you had to do was ask, and if they felt that way, you'd do it. We didn't 
try to own anybody else, like a lot of dating couples-and all married people 
do. We shared whatever we had. Our bodies, food, thoughts, pot, clothes, 
whatever. And we loved each other in a way that most people never do get to 
understand, unless they try it our way. 

"I learned that sex was no big thing. It's just something that everybody has 
to do. It doesn't need a big bunch of bullshit before you do it. As if 
saying "I love you' is going to make it holy or clean, and not saying it 
makes it dirty and illegal. Sex is like taking a shit or eating a meal. It's 
necessary, and it's no big deal. 

"All the guys I balled turned me on about the same when we fucked or when we 
sucked each other off. A cock was a cock. There was a little difference in 
the size, but that wasn't important, because any of them could make me have 
a whole string of orgasms with no trouble. And there was never any rough 
stuff. We respected each other's rights all the time. If I didn't feel like 
fucking, I just had to say so, and there were no hard feelings. 

"I lived there for over three months. Then I broke my leg. We were in a 
protest march and when the fuzz began to use tear gas, we ran like hell. I 
got a whiff of the damned stuff, it half blinded me, and I fell over a low 
chain fence and ended up in the hospital. 

"They took me to a charity place, and when I wouldn't give a name or 
address, they called in the juvenile authorities and I finally ended up in 
juvenile custody. 

"Jack and a couple of the other guys came to see me while I was in the 
hospital, and they told me to hang tough, and when I had my chance, make a 
break for it. 

"But it didn't work out that way. In this home they put me in, while I was 
still on crutches, they sent social workers in to try to talk to the kids. 
That's where I met Steve. He was a fresh-faced guy ... I mean, he was 
half-hippie, half-establishment. He wore his hair long to his shoulders, but 
no moustache or beard, and he dressed neat all the time. 

"He was twenty-two, had just graduated from a college in the East, and this 
was his first job. 

"I liked him a lot right away, but he was so goddamned polite and 
business-like that I was suspicious of him. I thought he was supposed to 
find out who I really was, then they'd ship me back home to my shitty 
parents. 

"But I finally began to feel that Steve was really-interested in me as a 
person. He seemed to really care what was going to become of me. He talked 
different to me than any of the others that came to pry, and he was 
different from any of the guys I'd been living with. It finally dawned on me 
that maybe Steve was just square enough to be in love with me. 

"He arranged a foster home for me. I still hadn't told anyone anything else 
but that my name was Peggy, and like I said, my parents hadn't made any 
effort to find me, or even report me missing. 

"I didn't mind it too much at the foster home I was in. They had five other 
kids, all lots younger than me, and I sort of got a kick out of helping take 
care of them. The younger ones actually looked up to me and admired me, and 
that was a new thing for me. I actually felt protective, like a big 
sister-or even like a mother. 

"And my leg healed slowly. Although Steve was too busy to see me often, he 
did manage to get out at least once a week, but always in the daytime. 
Because I was only sixteen, the rules said that I couldn't have dates alone 
with a man, and the family I lived with went strictly by the book. They 
weren't unkind or bossy, but they had rules that all the kids had to live 
by. 

"It got pretty tame and boring after a while, especially when my leg was all 
healed and I felt like I was being cooped up. 

"I guess I'd come to care quite a bit for Steve, because when I knew I had 
to cut out, I felt I had to tell him that I'd had it. It seemed the fair 
thing to do, after all he'd done to help me. 

"The next time he visited, I walked outside with him to his car. He was 
happy to see how my leg had healed, and I saw his eyes running over my body. 
I had a nice shape, and it showed off well in the clothes I was wearing, and 
all at once I wished I could pay Steve back with a good fuck. He seemed so 
hungry for me, and it meant so little to me to give a guy I liked any part 
of me he wanted. 

"I blurted out, "Steve, I'm going to leave here. I thought you'd want to 
know." 

"He was shocked. He shot a bunch of questions at me without stopping. "Why? 
Where? Have you heard from your parents? Aren't you being treated well?' 

"I told him that my parents were dead, and that I just had to get out of 
this setup. I told him it wasn't for me and I was beginning to climb the 
walls from boredom. 

"He was studying me, listening to me carefully, and I guess he saw that I 
was telling the truth. He seemed to accept the fact that I had to get away, 
but he didn't want me to just take off, with no money, no place to go. 

"He begged me to wait a little while, until he could figure something better 
for me. He promised he would help me, if only I'd wait a few days. He was so 
serious, so shook up, he forgot and took me in his arms and kissed me when I 
agreed to give him a chance! 

"He was embarrassed, but nobody had seen us, and nothing came of it. Except 
that it got me thinking a lot more about Steve than I had been. Up until 
that point, I guess I had really looked upon Steve as a part of the 
establishment ... sort of a respectable big brother. But I began to feel 
differently. I was now looking at Steve as a man, not just a friend or a 
social worker. 

"He came up with a plan that surprised me at first, but I guess I knew that 
he loved me, and it shouldn't have upset me. Steve asked me to marry him! 

"I told him he was crazy. He knew I was only 16. He was just starting his 
first job. Imagine me pointing out to him all the reasons he wouldn't be 
smart to take on a wild, pot-smoking kid as his wife-a kid to whom total 
freedom was more important than any laws or promises. 

"But he told me he didn't care about any of that. He loved me, and that was 
enough. He talked sensibly about me going back and finishing my schooling, 
and how much fun it would be learning to be a wife. 

"I almost panicked and took off anyhow, the thought frightened me so much. 
All I could think of was my parents. I didn't want any part of that. So I 
said to Steve, very calmly: "I'll just live with you. Or, I'll try to get a 
job and I'll sleep with you anytime you want." But that didn't do any good. 
He acted as if I had slapped him across the mouth. 

"I suppose I was tired of running, of having no anchor or goals to work for. 
Whatever it was, I finally agreed to marry Steve, and we didn't bother with 
the legal part of it. He insisted that we drive to Reno, Nevada, and we were 
married within twelve hours after he'd finally convinced me! 

"We had rigged it to look as if I had just run away, with Steve knowing 
nothing about it, and that's how we started our married life. We didn't take 
any honeymoon. Steve had a small apartment, and we went there. 

"I had told Steve that I wouldn't marry him unless he forgot about me going 
back to school. If I were going to be a wife, I insisted, then I would be 
just that-not a schoolgirl playing house. He agreed, and so I didn't have to 
do much but keep the house tidy and cook-something I was terrible at. 

"At first, it was fun. It was something different for me-to have a man who 
loved me first, and wanted me sexually second. I was used to being treated 
as just one of the group, with no special attention and no big buildup 
before fucking. 

"It was nice to have a man make over me, kiss my whole body as if it were 
something extra special, and be concerned with my having a good come, 
instead of being selfishly interested in only his own. For maybe a month, I 
guess it was good, but then I began to get bored. Bored with the routine of 
the apartment, and sex, and the lack of kids who wanted the same things I 
did and were free to go out and do them. I decided I needed some pot, some 
contact with my kind of world, and I went back to the old haunts where I'd 
stayed before. 

"I didn't let Steve know that I was seeing some of my old friends, and I 
didn't tell them that I was now married. They accepted me back happily, and 
seemed disappointed when I said I couldn't stay. We smoked some marijuana, 
and when one of the guys asked me to ball, I did, and it was good. I 
couldn't help but compare it to the tame fucking I'd been getting from 
Steve. 

"It was all so good. I felt I was back where I belonged, and I almost hated 
to go home. But I got some grass from the guys and made up my mind that I 
was going to smoke it when I wanted, and that Steve had to like it or else. 

"I had a joint before he got home, and I felt pretty relaxed when he came 
in. But he recognized the sweetish smell of it in the apartment and he 
really clouded up, ready to rain on my parade. He came right up to me, 
shoved his face close, and stormed, "I'm not going to have you smoking 
marijuana, Peg! That's final! You're not some stupid hippie kid-you're my 
wife!' 

"Yes," I snapped back, but I'm not your goddamned slave! You don't own me. 
You never will. Don't preach to me. You knew what I was when you coaxed me 
to marry you, so don't get any big ideas about changing me into one of your 
prissy, silly wives!' 

"I came on strong and it set him back on his heels. But he slipped right 
back into character a moment later. He came over, looking like a whipped 
puppy, and put his arms around me. I held back, but he began to say how much 
he loved me, and how he wanted me to shed some of the harmful habits I'd 
picked up and grow into a fine, wonderful woman, just as he knew I really 
wanted to be and was, inside. 

"I straightened him out fast on that point. I told him that I didn't mind 
the sissy parts of marriage-the cooking and cleaning-but I liked myself the 
way I was, and I wasn't going to change. I told him I had to have freedom, 
or I'd just cut out on him! 

"He backed off for the time being, and when we went to bed that night, he 
tried to make up to me. He kissed my tits and played with my pussy until he 
almost drove me wild. He was like a goddamned queer, he was so goddamned 
careful not to use his fingernails on my pussy or his teeth on my nipples. I 
finally jumped up and told him what I wanted. I laid it out cold. I wanted a 
man who wanted a good fuck, not a pawing, weak, unexciting session with my 
body. 

"I surprised and hurt him, and almost as if he didn't realize he was doing 
it, he hit me! Not a slap. He punched me in the face, several times, and 
when I crumpled on the bed, half-unconscious, he climbed on me, straddled my 
ass and began to ram his cock up my asshole! He was savage, swearing, 
calling me a slut, and inside a minute he had shot a load up my asshole! 

"It so surprised me and turned me on that it brought me out of my stupor, 
and I mocked him, to show him that his beating hadn't backed me up one bit. 

"At least, you're a man!' I mocked. "You've acted like a goddamned queer 
playing with a china doll! Fuck me some more! Fuck me as hard as you can! I 
like it, I like it!' 

"I seemed to snap him back to reality, and instead of making him angrier it 
softened him up again. He began to whine in his guilt, apologizing for 
hitting me, saying he had been crazy, and promising that he never would 
again. 

"I felt disgust when I saw him like that. He was too spineless to ever 
change me, I knew, and I sure as hell wasn't going to become like him, a 
soft bag of shit! 

"Steve didn't say any more about the pot for several days, though I smoked 
it with the gang, and at home every day. He just sulked around the place and 
made no effort to do any kind of fucking, mild or otherwise. I was getting 
my kind of balling anytime I wanted it from the guys, so it didn't bother me 
a bit. But the goddamned monotony did. I knew I wasn't going to be able to 
hang on much longer with this pissy little character that called himself a 
husband. 

"I decided to force the issue, figuring that if he threw me out he wouldn't 
come looking for me, whereas if I just left, he'd probably sic the cops on 
me and get me and all the others in trouble. 

"One night, after a lousy supper I'd cooked, I calmly took out a joint and 
lit-up. He just looked at me, his eyes cold and hurt. I had had a couple 
that afternoon, and this one put the cap on for me. I got really high. I 
didn't care what the hell Steve did, I was floating. 

"He finally jumped up and grabbed the joint and threw it into the kitchen 
sink. Then he dumped my purse out and threw the rest of them in the sink. 

"If I smell that junk on your breath again, or find one of those weeds in my 
house, I'll throw your fucking little loose ass down the stairs for good!' 
he creamed. 

"I stood up, a little hazy, but I was smiling. I tried to be extra lady-like 
when I said, "You won't have to, my establishment friend. I'm gone!' I 
grabbed my purse and walked out. I guess he thought I'd come crawling back, 
because he didn't come after me-not then, or ever. 

"I didn't have to worry. I didn't need him. I went back with the gang and 
they welcomed me. I was back with my kind of people-the kind that knew what 
the fuck life and the living of it was all about. Fuck marriage. It was 
worse than the hospital and the foster home, where somebody was always 
making rules to bug you. I couldn't see myself throwing my life away for a 
silly apartment that was as bad as a prison and had more rules than a reform 
school. I was me! Peggy! I would always be me!" 

* * * 

Peggy's case was chosen not only because of her wide range of sexual 
experiences as a hippie type, but because her words went deep into the 
psychology of most girls in a similar situation. Without realizing it, she 
laid bare the deeper feelings and needs that motivate thousands like her. 

The pattern is a simple one: the child is deprived of real love by careless 
or ignorant parents until she finally scorns it as something that makes one 
weak, as she considers the parents who withheld it to be. In the struggle to 
establish an identity, the hippie gravitates toward other free-thinking 
youths, and in an effort to cover the deep, gnawing hunger for love, the 
girl uses her body as a means of communication. She insists there be no love 
involved, that sex be treated like any other body function or necessity. 
Then, as in Peggy's case, she is confronted with an honest love, but having 
become such a stranger and even an enemy to it, she cannot cope with it. 
Consequently, she launches into an entirely lawless world, as Peggy did, 
where there is a wide choice of behavioral styles at her disposal, a 
noticeable absence of generally accepted guidelines, and a bewildering lack 
of counsel. 

In The Sexual Wilderness, Vance Packard covers a point that is often 
overlooked in this behavioral development, by almost all groups except those 
based on religious concepts. Specifically, the church and the home were once 
the roots of the community and the family. Today, churches are empty of 
young people, for the most part, except for recreational activities. And an 
alarming drop in the enrollment in seminaries is indicative that the church 
will not soon again resume its role as youth counselor. As one young girl 
told Packard: 

* * * 

"There are just no norms anymore. College is a training ground for revolt; 
the churches still produce guilt complexes, and the family is so tangled up 
in fighting both, they don't have time to lay down any norms. I feel there 
is danger in both situations, but from my own experience, I know that the 
greatest danger of all is a society that has no conventional norms." 

* * * 

Without realizing it, Peggy and her kind are seeking reasons for their 
existence. They have no sound solutions of their own, and none are offered 
by the conventional establishment. 

Dr. Robert S. De Ropp, writing in Sex Energy, points up this fact. He says: 

* * * 

Parents seem to be able, more and more, to shrug off their responsibility 
for the formless void that is our youthful society today. Their attitude is: 
"I tried. I failed. Where did I go wrong." This is exactly what the youth 
themselves are trying to discover. What is right? What is wrong? And from 
neither group do we hear sensible answers. 

Rebellion against repressive sex laws was bound to happen, but the 
frightening thing about it is that it is a rebellion against a vague threat, 
the boundaries of which are not known to any man, because each individual 
wants to set the limits of his own sexual deviation. 

* * * 

This can be seen in Peggy's case. She feels that she is sexually free, yet, 
she denies others (her husband, Steve) the right to set a lower limit to his 
sexual activities. When she did make one attempt to taunt him into greater, 
rougher sexual tactics, she did it in a manner that only further alienated 
him. 

To most youths like Peggy, sexual freedom seems simple. It means to them 
that they are free to perform any sexual act they choose, with whomever they 
choose, so long as no other person gets hurt. And there is the rub, for few 
acts can be performed on earth that do not affect others. 

What Peggy and others are really saying is that the parents, friends, 
husbands, and other children involved, such as their own, or brothers and 
sisters, pretend, they aren't hurt or humiliated," or else pretend that they 
didn't even see what took place. 

It is obvious from Peggy's own words, that Steve was severely hurt by her 
attitude during marriage, and by her simply walking out on him over the 
issue of sex and marihuana, both of which she considered as matters in which 
she alone had the say. 

Even in her distorted, love-starved viewpoint, she was convinced during her 
early relationship with Steve that he was different, better than her other 
friends. She became convinced that he loved her, respected her and wanted 
her, although it is significant that nowhere in her account of her marriage, 
does she state that she felt love for him. 

She calls her parents selfish, yet she emulated their attitudes exactly in 
her approach to marriage with Steve. 

It is a difficult task to lay down sexual behavior rules for an entire 
society. The complex problems boil down to one main issue: what restraints 
can be applied that will be acceptable to both young and old, of whatever 
religious persuasion, and from whatever ethnic or economical background? A 
perplexing issue, indeed. 

In Family Life and Sex Education, Esther D. Schulz and Sally R. Williams 
come up with what seems a sensible suggestion. Many professional students of 
sexual behavior agree with them. "The element of fair play is the principal 
and perhaps the only element that should be in a modern sex code." 

This makes sense. Peggy, for example, had she shown an inclination to play 
fair-to give and take in her relationship with Steve-might have found that 
the security of his love, the sense of belonging to a community that many 
wives feel, would have more than compensated for his (in her estimation) 
weak sexual lovemaking. And had she chosen to analyze her own desires more 
carefully in an effort at fair play, she would have ultimately noticed that 
she had stated that no man really turned her on more than any other. She 
might have discovered that the fault lay in her own blase views on sex, 
love, and marriage, and eventually have come to see that the element of love 
can also add spice to the element of sex. 

Many experts today are cautioning the sexually unchained youth that casual 
sex, or as some phrase it, "neat sex," the impersonal, uncommunicative kind, 
shrinks the soul. Sex with a history, on the other hand (a history of close, 
warm human relations along with sex, such as a marriage provides), requires 
the very involvement with another human being that many youths today think 
sex provides. Sex, as it affects them, is far from involvement. It is 
impersonal, given to one as freely as to another, in fleeting, meaningless 
encounters. 

Other experts have stated flatly, in advising youth, that their kind of 
impersonal sex is no better than that provided by whores to their customers, 
and, in fact, is less satisfying from a sexual standpoint. 

Many youths today are beginning to admit that they made the same mistake 
Peggy made. They are allowing sex to overwhelm all other elements in a 
relationship simply because they themselves make so much of the very 
casualness of it. 

The quality of any relationship should determine its rules, according to 
many counselors. If sexual fulfillment comes about as the result of other 
successful relationships, it will be only but a part of an even more 
meaningful relationship. 

* * * 

"After a while, I began to wonder if anybody in the group even knew my name. 
We were like a bunch of strangers, in a way. When a guy wanted sex, it 
didn't seem to matter who he had it with. No guy there singled me out any 
more than any of the other girls. I was one of four, and yet it almost 
seemed as if we had to just take our turn with them. Not that I lacked for 
quantify-sometimes, two or three of the guys would ball you the same day. 

"But I began to feel like a thing, not a person. I didn't know anything 
about them other than their first names, and that was all they knew about 
me. It got to be a weird thing, when I'd think about who I was, what I 
wanted, what I was getting or giving, and where I was going. 

"So, one day, I quietly took my little bundle of clothes and my purse, and 
hit the highway. I didn't much care which direction I went, east or south. I 
didn't want to go north, because the cold climates weren't for this southern 
California girl. 

"It took me two minutes to hitch a ride. An older man in the first nice car 
stopped and asked me how far I was going. I just answered: "To the end of 
the line." He said that was Los Angeles, and that was perfect for me. I had 
read a lot about the Sunset Strip hippies, and others who lived pretty good 
out in the hills of the San Fernando Valley and the Simi Valley, and that 
sounded like what I wanted. 

"We talked a lot-or he did, asking me all kinds of questions about myself 
and my family. I lied a lot. I told him I was an orphan, gave him a line of 
bullshit about having an older brother in L.A., and said that I'd married a 
man and he had run off and left me. I guess he believed I was a sad case, 
because he told me that when we got to Los Angeles he was sure he could get 
me a job. He said it wouldn't be much, but that he was part owner in three 
drive-in restaurants, and he'd see what he could do about getting me a job 
as a carhop in one of them. 

"The more I thought about it, the better I liked it. If the L.A. hippies 
were anything like the Frisco and San Bernardino ones, they hung around 
hamburger drive-ins like crazy. That way, I'd be able to get into a real 
bunch, right off the bat. And if I liked it and made some good tips, I told 
myself, I might even get myself a little pad and swing on my own. 

"I didn't know it then, but I guess I was fed up with the roaming and the 
uncertainty. I'd never really had a home that was all mine, where I could 
make the rules and live my own life. I was sick and tired of being just a 
nameless little fuck that some guys could grab, screw, and not even remember 
next day. I wanted more than that from life. 

"Old moneybags was as good as his word. He even gave me twenty bucks and 
told me to get a place to stay, and the square old fart never even made a 
pass at me! Never even put a hand on my leg. If he'd have asked, I'd have 
balled him in any motel along the way, especially after the job offer and 
the twenty. But he didn't. Some people are nuts, the way they toss dough 
around, but I guess if you've got it, it doesn't mean much. 

"As it turned out, the joint I went to work at was nothing like I'd pictured 
it. Although it was a take-out joint, it was located in a quiet, residential 
section of Burbank-the kind of joint where a station-wagon full of kids 
comes in, and daddy buys them all the double burgers and malts they can 
hold. There wasn't a goddamned young person that wasn't with his girl that 
showed up. 

"The only passes I got were mild ones, made by old bastards who would have 
fainted if I'd taken them up on it. 

"All but one. This guy ate in his car every night. He was about 40, very 
pleasant and polite, no smart cracks about how cute my ass was, no tricks to 
try to look down the low-cut blouse I wore-just a nice guy. 

"After a week, I got so I'd stop and gab a little with him. I found out he 
was divorced, and he had found that he didn't know how to look for a date 
anymore. He had a small apartment near where I worked, but he hated to cook, 
so he either ordered a meal from one of the delivery service places, like 
Chicken Delight, or he came over and ate in his car or at a little lunch 
place down the street a block or so. 

"I got to enjoy seeing him look at me with that hungry look on his face, and 
I knew he'd never have the nerve to ask me for a date. He probably didn't 
think a teen-age chick would go out with him. So I opened the door. 

"I casually remarked that I was new in town, and wondered if he knew a nice 
restaurant with some music or entertainment that he'd recommend. I added 
that I got so tired of eating the same old food, and that I was nuts about 
good lobster tails. 

"He took the bait and asked me if I'd have dinner with him at a nice place 
up in the hills, called The Castaways. We went up there that night, and it 
was one of the nicest nights I've ever had. The place is high in the hills 
overlooking Burbank and Glendale, and looking down at the millions of lights 
was something else. He ordered some fancy rum drinks where two used straws 
to drink out of one big bowl where some baby orchids were floating around on 
top. 

"It was all new to me. It was like a different world. It was like the 
Hollywood I'd seen in pictures, but which everybody said was a myth or had 
disappeared. I don't know if the drinks had a lot to do with it or not, but 
I warmed up to Douglas more by the minute. We had a delicious dinner, more 
drinks, and then we walked out on the big stone patios and looked at the 
city below us. 

"It wasn't like me, but somehow, I wanted all that hazy softness to 
continue. I liked it. It was so peaceful, after the hectic nights with the 
gang in Frisco. Doug didn't seem old at all. When I felt his arm go around 
me and his hand go to my breast, I admit that I got a thrill. A new thrill. 
A feeling that at least he noticed me. He wanted to be with me, not just any 
female body his hand happened to fall on, like the guys in the Frisco pad 
had been. 

"Then he kissed my ear. He didn't say a word, just kissed my ear and neck 
and hair. I turned my face to meet his kiss and said, Take me to your place, 
Doug. I want to." 

"He looked at me funny, startled. "If you're thinking that you're too old 
for me, or I'm too young for you to mess with, forget it," I told him. "I've 
been married, too." I hadn't told him that before, and it seemed to please 
him. "I'm lonely. I need some lovemaking," I added. 

"He wasted no more time. We drove to his place, a nice, man-smelling 
apartment, and without any big deal we both undressed and got into bed. He 
was just right for the mood I was in-not too quick or rough, but no 
namby-pamby like Steve. 

"He sucked my nipples a little, then moved down and used his tongue on my 
pussy, and he really began to make me feel warm and ready. Not excited, 
exactly, but ready for him. I really wanted him, and when he stuck his 
nice-sized cock into my cunt, I really moved all the muscles, and we worked 
on each other until we hit a perfect rhythm and came at the same time. That 
was unusual for me. I always had a lot of little ones, then sometimes was 
too late to enjoy it when the guy came. But Doug was perfect for me. 

"We live together now. No marriage. He's scared of it, and I am also. We 
don't date anyone else, but if someone came along that appealed to me, I'd 
ball him. Doug doesn't approve of the idea, but he's promised he'd go along 
with it, so long as I come back to him every time. 

"That's about it. Where do I go from here? I don't have any idea. I'll never 
marry Doug, but as long as it stays this nice, I'll live with him forever." 

* * * 

That Peggy will find anything but a transient form of happiness is doubtful. 
She is actually not happy, only content. She may always be in that tolerable 
state, because she does not equate happiness with her own usefulness to 
society, nor even with her worth to one individual. 

She lives in a world of self. The gratification of her sexual desires is her 
only interest. She has much to offer a man, but she refuses to tender 
herself in any relationship on a lasting, truly meaningful basis, where a 
love might grow that would one day reveal wonders in sex that she has never 
dreamed of. 

It would be interesting to follow her career in sexual freedom and 
promiscuity, if only to see what happens to today's hippie, when she becomes 
tomorrow's adult woman. Or to see if that transition is even possible, with 
a background of sexual chaos such as Peggy and countless sisters have 
founded their lives and dreams on. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - The Bewildered 

"It's about time that somebody is interested in the older wives. All the 
research seems to center on the very young, or the young marrieds. Few seem 
to know or care what happens to a woman of forty, no longer sexy or pretty 
but who still has strong sex drives and needs. 

"Society seems to be oriented towards the young, but that doesn't mean they 
know more about or need more sex. In fact, I feel that sex can become a 
habit-forming thing, like smoking or drugs. I had good sex for a lot of 
years, and when it was cut off, I began craving it, just like a drug addict 
wants drugs. I'm not just a horny old bitch, looking for young studs to 
bring back memories of my youth. I'm a grown woman who had a lot of 
boyfriends before I married, with a lot of sex. Even the first few years of 
my marriage were good sexually. 

"But I'm not pushy about anything. I mean I just can't go into a group of 
people and walk up to a man and ask him if he'd like to screw me. I'm 
actually shy, although I never play kittenish or coy once a man shows he's 
interested in me. I like sex too well to take any chances of losing out on 
it. 

"But it gets rough when you get to be forty-two. I've still got a nice body, 
and I know all the tricks in bed, but somehow even older men seem to think 
that women my age are either all fucked out or aren't interested in sex 
anymore. 

"And I'm not going back to masturbating, not even with the new vibrators 
they have today. I had enough of that when I was a teen-ager. In fact, I 
masturbated almost every day of my life from the time I was ten until I 
married, at age 22. Once you've had the real thing, an artificial cock 
doesn't do much for you. 

"Let me see if I can pick a logical starting point. I was true to Al for 
over fifteen years of our marriage, and I suppose he was also. But about 
five years ago, we began to be bored with each other-not only in bed, but in 
every part of our life. We went through the motions, but we never talked 
about trying some new and exciting position. Once in a while, if I got 
desperate enough for some fucking, I would suck Al's prick until it got hard 
enough for him to put it in my pussy, but I didn't get any bang out of that 
because he seldom ever sucked my cunt. He did when we were first married, 
but he never seemed to like it or get with it. He did like to have his cock 
sucked, though, but not until he came in my mouth. He felt guilty about the 
few times he had accidentally come while I sucked him off. 

"Then Al suddenly began to gamble. He'd always been a gambler-cards, 
football pools, shooting pool for money, and an occasional crap game at 
somebody's house. I've read a lot about the gambling urge, since Al became 
addicted to it, and I know now that he was substituting it for sex. 

"He began to stay out night after night, later and later, playing poker, and 
it not only cut out my sex life but cut our bank account to ribbons. It got 
so he would tumble into bed at three or so in the morning and barely 
struggle out of bed at 7:30 to make it to work. Al makes good money, but he 
works awfully hard for it. 

"It began to get bad, money-wise, and I had to take a job. I hadn't worked 
in over 18 years and had really lost my touch as a typist and secretary. And 
I found out fast that the good jobs went to the young chicks who eyed the 
boss and wore miniskirts. 

"So I took a job as a waitress in a cocktail lounge. I did it mostly because 
the tips were good and I could make twice as much money as they were 
offering me to start out as a typist. 

"But the more I made, the more Al gambled away, and the more frustrated I 
got-emotionally and sexually. To be blunt, I needed a damned good fucking! 

"I tried to joke with some of the customers, to act like a swinger, but I 
didn't get many passes. I can't hide the fact that I have lines on my face 
and wrinkles on my neck, but the thing that bugged me was that my body, once 
my clothes were off, looked as good as any woman's of 21! But you have to 
get a man to want to take your clothes off, before you can impress him with 
your nice breasts and legs, your nice ass and pussy. 

"The best I could do was to get an offer of a drink once in a while. No 
passes--just a guy being thoughtful. And I began to accept. When guys didn't 
offer often enough, I conned the bartenders into setting them up. Before I 
knew it, I needed that goddamned booze as bad as I wanted to be fucked. You 
don't keep boozing a secret, and I got fired. 

"When Al got way over his head in gambling debts, so that his paycheck was 
all gone before he got it, I began to dig into the savings that I had kept 
in a separate' account of my own over the years. I thought it was for a 
nest-egg surprise in our old age. I was going to surprise Al at my thrift. 

"I got so I was drinking almost two fifths of scotch a day, and even an 
out-of-it character like Al was bound to notice it. He asked me where I was 
getting the money to booze it up, when I didn't have any to help him play 
cards, and I tried to make him jealous enough to at least take me to bed for 
some sex. I told him that men bought it for me, or gave me the money to buy 
it. 

Al just called me a cheap slut and went out and borrowed more money. 

"I began to be a shrewd alcoholic. I decided I'd find some lonely men at 
Alcoholics Anonymous, so I joined. I played it cagey. I told them I was a 
widow and that I drank because I was just plain lonely. It worked. 

"Ben was about my age, maybe a little older, and he was a real widower. He 
was a shy guy, polite, always smiling, and I knew right away that he wanted 
another wife. All I wanted was some sex. 

"I accepted his offer to dinner, and I almost died without some booze before 
and after the meal, but I made it. He took me home. I knew "Al would be out 
until real late because it was payday and he never came home anymore when he 
had money in his pocket. 

"I got into a nice robe that showed a lot of tit and leg and sat on the 
couch beside Ben. I wanted to get right to it, so I asked casually if he 
missed sex or cooking most, since his wife had died. He was surprised, but 
happily surprised. "Show me a meal that can replace good lovemaking, " he 
grinned back. 

"I was getting hot for him-for any man, for that matter. I became serious. 
"I miss sex so much, Ben," I told him. "My husband was a good lover. Would 
you think I was cheap if I told you I want you now?' 

"For an answer, he slid his hand inside my robe and began to rub my pussy. I 
almost went wild. When he leaned over and began to nibble at my nipple, I 
thought I would come right then. 

"I opened his zipper and began to play with his cock. It got real hard, 
fast. I stripped off my robe and lay on the couch while he took off his 
pants and shorts. Then we went at it like the starved animals we both were! 
I could tell that he hadn't had any in a long time by the quick way he 
jabbed his cock home. I was afraid he'd come and leave me high and dry, so I 
slowed down the action. When I felt myself coming, I let go with everything, 
and when he shot his load into me, I had a come that almost made me faint, 
it was so wonderful! 

"We went two more times after I had sucked him off enough to get it up, and 
after my fourth or fifth come I was dying for a belt of booze. I didn't make 
any excuses to him. He was washing his cock in the bathroom and I just 
poured myself a stiff belt. When he came out and saw me with it, he scowled 
and tried to take it away from me. 

"I'm just starting at A. A., Ben," I said sternly. "After all, one drink 
instead of twenty or more a day isn't bad." 

"He looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he smiled and said, "Okay, 
Lois. I'd be a fool to give you up now, after what you just gave me. And 
anytime that I can replace the booze with myself-just whistle." 

"Before he left, I promised him another date after the next meeting, but I 
never made it. I met Marcia. 

"I was drawing unemployment, getting by, by applying for waitress jobs where 
I knew I was too old to be hired, and got to talking to this slim, 
model-type woman while waiting in line for my unemployment check. 

"Marcia was a man-hater. I knew it from the start by the way she made 
degrading remarks about several of the men in our line. 

"When I got my money, she was waiting at the door for me. I don't know if 
she knew I was dying for a drink-it was beginning to show in my face by 
then-but she said, "Let's have a cocktail, honey." 

"That was exactly what I had in mind, so I nodded and smiled. "Good idea. 
Where?' 

"How about my place?" she said, smiling that sexy smile. I have to admit, I 
didn't know much about lesbians, and I thought she was just a woman who was 
alone, had problems with her men, and wanted a talk session with another 
woman. 

"Got any scotch?' 

"Whatever," she said gaily. "I'm Marcia. I've got my car in the parking lot. 
Shall we go in mine?" I'd been riding buses, and she smiled when I told her 
I needed the ride. 

"She had a fancy place, all artsy-fartsy, busts, nude paintings, psychedelic 
art. I opened my eyes wide when I spotted two nude photographs of her in the 
bedroom, along with other poses she'd modeled for in swimsuits and sports 
outfits. 

"She poured a fast and heavy drink for me, but said she didn't feel like one 
so early in the day. She was an interesting talker, and before I realized it 
I had had four healthy glasses of booze and was beginning to feel out of it. 

"She told me to lie back on the couch and rest a little, and I did. I dozed 
off for a minute or two, and when I managed to open my eyes again, I was 
stark naked and Marcia was down between my legs, sucking my pussy! 

"And-I came alive with a bang. I'd never had a lesbian experience in my 
whole life, and here this tall, luscious hunk of woman was sucking away at 
my cunt, sticking some fingers deep inside it and using her other hand to 
massage my breast! 

"I grabbed her auburn hair and pulled her head closer, loving the feel of 
her tongue going inside my cunt, and her teeth rubbing against my throbbing 
clit! I think I came three times within a couple of minutes, and when she 
raised her mouth from my cunt and smiled at me, the only thing I was aware 
of was how badly I wanted to suck her cunt, to give her the same wild 
thrills she had given me. 

"She knew how I felt, for she urged me up to my feet, then lay on the couch, 
her legs spread, her nipples standing up hard. I moved slowly toward that 
naturally red-haired slit, and buried my mouth on it. I knew instinctively 
where my tongue and fingers belonged, and she began to buck and writhe like 
crazy with a series of moans that could have been heard a block away, I 
thought. 

"She came with a shudder, then rammed her pussy again and again against my 
mouth, my teeth raking her clit. Then she relaxed and lay with her eyes 
closed. She was still shivering a little, and then she surprised the hell 
out of me! 

"She opened her eyes, sat up, and pushed me away violently, so I almost fell 
on the floor! "Okay, you butch bitch," she grated. "Get your ass out of here 
before my boyfriend shows up and knocks your teeth out!" 

"I was half-drunk, and her words and attitude were making me even more 
fogged up. "What-what-?" I said stupidly. 

"I need one of your kind about every couple of months!' Marcia said, her 
face suddenly ugly with hate. "You had your kicks, too, so get the hell 
out!' 

"I was in a daze as I dressed and left. I didn't know if she'd been putting 
me on and really did need lesbian sex once in a while, or whether she was 
actually queer and had just been finding out if I was any good at her kind 
of sex. 

"It was a sobering experience, and I mean that literally. I took the next 
two days to look at myself, without a single drink. I came to the conclusion 
that I was on the wrong road and it would lead me to a nuthouse, or suicide. 
I knew I didn't find the answer in booze, and I simply knocked it off. As 
quick as that. I've always been able to discipline myself when I wanted to. 
I just hadn't wanted to, the past many months. I had liked the escape booze 
gave me, because when I did some stupid thing I could blame it on the booze. 

"I decided my problem was simply that I wanted to be married, but I wanted 
some sex and some attention and my bills paid by a man, and if Al wouldn't 
do it, then Al had to go. I wasn't about to waste my life working my ass off 
to supply Al with money to toss away. 

"I faced Al with my decision. I told him he had to get out, or I would. I 
tried to show him that if he stayed, he'd be tossed out on the street in a 
month, because he wasn't paying any bills or bringing any food-in the house. 
I at least could work and keep my head above water. 

"He cried and begged but finally agreed to get his own apartment. He 
promised to give me fifty a week toward my upkeep, but I guess I knew that 
he wouldn't. He couldn't. He couldn't even keep lunch money in his pocket. 
He was worse about gambling than any drinker is about booze. 

"He left, and I began to look for a job again. I got a selling job, house to 
house, but I didn't make a dime the first week, except for expenses of three 
bucks a day, so I quit. That same night, Al came back, begging me to let him 
stay. He hadn't been able to come up with the balance of the month's rent on 
his two-room apartment. He'd only put a small deposit down, promising the 
full amount on payday, and you can guess what he did with his pay. So he was 
locked out, and I let him stay. 

"I felt that I was weaker and more pitiful than he was. But, do you know 
something? I tried to get him to fuck me that night. He was so ashamed, and 
feeling so sorry for himself, that he slept on the couch. And I found out 
something that night-AJ's cock was as limp as a dishrag. I couldn't even get 
a tiny response from him. I had gone into the living room, naked, feeling 
debased, but knowing that my problem was a need of sex. I didn't care with 
whom, or what kind of sex. But he just stared at me sheep-eyed. 

"I took off his shorts, screaming at him: "You goddamned idiot! Did you even 
gamble away your balls?" Then I went down on his soft, little-boy cock with 
all the fury I was feeling inside. I sucked it, licked it, scratched it, and 
bit it, but it stayed as soft as the day he was born-and about as small! 

"He just lay there, as if I were whipping him-and I guess I was. He was a 
piece of shit, and he knew it and acted it. I guess I gave up, right then. I 
left him there, went into the bedroom, and masturbated the hell out of my 
cunt. But it was no good. I lay there in the dark wondering why I couldn't 
even make myself have a little orgasm, and it came to me like a cold bucket 
of ice water: I didn't know a man that I even wanted to fantasize was 
fucking me! The thought of Al being the one nauseated me. Ben? Marcia? 
Nothing. I felt nothing. 

"I finally fell asleep, feeling like some animal in a trap, knowing that 
tomorrow he'll still be there, with no way out. 

"Al was gone when I woke up. One thing I will say for the man, he always 
managed to drag himself to work. 

"But I was at THE END of my rope. I didn't know where to turn. I actually 
was afraid I was losing my mind and might do something to myself or to Al if 
I continued in this rat race. I suppose you've heard of the "Hotline' idea 
that a lot of big cities have? Well, I was at that point. 

"I dialed the number and a young woman answered. When she asked me how she 
could help, I screamed, "I need a fuck so bad, with some loving along with 
it, that if I don't get it, I'll cut my throat!' 

"Can you imagine a human being acting like that? But I'd tried the other 
things-booze, pickups, tricking men into bed with me. I'd even debased and 
degraded myself to try to get my husband-my husband of 20 years-to fuck me 
even if he didn't love me. Nothing had worked. 

"The pause at the other end told me that the young lady was stunned at what 
I'd screamed. Her voice was unsteady when she stammered "Are you putting me 
on, lady?' 

"No, I mean it!' I screeched. "Your ads say you'll help with any 
problem-well, that's mine!' 

"There was another silence, then she said in a flustered tone, "Please wait 
just a moment. We can help. I'll call someone else." 

"I felt stupid, standing there waiting for some voice on the phone to 
promise me a man who would fuck me. But I rationalized that it wasn't any 
more stupid than some of the other things I'd done. 

"A man's voice spoke. "Are you sober, miss?" I assured him in a loud voice 
that I was. He replied, with suspicion and apprehension: "Will you give me 
your name and address, so I can send a doctor?' 

"It struck me funny. They thought I was crazy. But I stopped laughing when 
it struck me that perhaps I was. 

"Yes," I said, trying to steel myself. I gave them my name and address-even 
my phone number-and they said I'd be contacted within 20 minutes. 

"After I hung up I almost panicked and ran, but I remembered some of the 
degrading things I had tried on my own to solve my sex problem, and I 
decided I had nothing to lose by waiting. I could always run afterward, if I 
decided to. 

"A couple of moments later, the phone rang, and when I picked it up the soft 
voice of a man said, "Lois? This is Dr. F. I'm with the Mental Health Clinic 
locally, and I'd appreciate it if you could come to my office right away. I 
will see you immediately, if you'll come." 

"He paused, while I thought over the import of what he'd said. They thought 
I was crazy. In a way, I couldn't blame them. What sane woman would call 
strangers and ask to be fucked? Maybe they were right, I told myself calmly. 
Maybe I do need attention from a psychiatrist 

"I told him I'd be there in less than an hour, and he reassured me I'd made 
a wise decision and that he'd be expecting me. 

"I got dressed, making sure I didn't over paint my face. I had decided I'd 
be honest in all respects with the psychiatrist. 

I was just ready to leave the house when the doorbell rang. I opened it to 
find two policemen standing there. I sensed something was wrong by their 
awkward manner and their sober faces. 

"Are you Mrs. Lois G.?" the older one asked. 

"I nodded. 

"I'm afraid we have some bad news," he said, dropping his eyes, then hurried 
on quickly: "Your husband has had an accident at the steel mill." 

"I knew before I asked what the answer would be. "Is he dead?" I was 
surprised at how calm I was. Both officers nodded in unison. "Sorry, ma'am," 
one said. 

"I just nodded and closed the door. I leaned against it, tears in my eyes. 
But I was astounded to realize that I was not crying because Al was dead. I 
was crying because I was free! 

"I know it sounds cold, but I felt as if Al's body had been weighing me down 
and driving me insane; now, it had been removed and I could move about 
again. 

"I didn't think about anything but that. It was at least three days later, 
after the funeral, that I remembered that he had some insurance. It was only 
ten thousand dollars, but the accidental death doubled that. His service and 
Social Security money almost paid for the funeral. I came out of my daze to 
discover that I was free to do as I wanted and that I had enough money to 
get hold of myself and chart a decent life course for myself. 

"I suppose any woman who has gone through all I had would be able to guess 
what happened. When the word got around the neighborhood where we'd lived 
for some 15 years, I found I had more "friends" than I ever knew. Some 
people were wanting to help-but most of them wanted a "helping loan." They 
wanted me to "invest" my money. 

"I spotted them all for what they were: all but Donald. He didn't know about 
my money, I was certain, because I met him at a local social club I had 
joined a couple of weeks after Al died. It was for persons over 35, and they 
had meetings with lunches, discussions of the problems of the lonely, and 
dances. 

"I hadn't danced since before I met Al. He never did like to, so we just 
avoided it. Don was just 35, and he was a handsome man. I don't know how it 
all happened, but the very first night I danced with him, he asked to see me 
home and I let him. He was so suave, so persuasive, and sex just oozed from 
every pore. 

"I invited him in, knowing he would make a pass because I'd felt his hard on 
rubbing against me when we danced. And he didn't disappoint me. He almost 
tore my clothes, getting at my breasts to kiss them and massage them, and I 
was so hot by the time he got my panties off and went down on my cunt, I was 
getting impatient for the feel of his hard cock inside me. 

"He made me come a little by kissing my cunt, but I wanted all of him, and I 
pushed him away and took off the rest of my clothes. 

"When he undressed, he was the handsomest man I'd ever seen! He was 
muscular, tanned, and had the biggest cock I'd ever even dreamed of seeing 
or feeling! I had to get him as excited as I was, so I just took it in my 
hand and began to suck it. I took it deep down my throat, getting more 
excited when I saw his black eyes watching every move of my mouth and my 
hand on his prick. He came in my mouth and I swallowed it. I just kept on 
sucking and nibbling so he wouldn't go soft, and soon it was hard as ever. 

"He raised me up, kissing my mouth and my eyes, and laid me on the couch. He 
positioned me so that he was sort of kneeling between my wide-spread legs, 
holding my ass in his hands, lifting my cunt so it was level with his cock, 
and then he began to fuck me! And, oh, how he could fuck. I'd never had a 
man go that deep inside me before, and I think I had my first Vaginal 
orgasm' that time, if there is such a thing. Anyhow, I had a terrific series 
of orgasms, until I was weak and gasping, and Don hadn't yet come once in my 
cunt. 

"He waited another ten minutes, kneading the soft flesh of my ass, pulling 
my cunt even closer to him so his cock went in deeper, until finally he 
began to mount his climax, and when he shot into me, I really went into a 
semi faint! 

"He was like no other man on earth. For the first time in many, many years, 
I felt I could love and adore a man. He had everything I'd ever dreamed of 
sexually. He was my man! 

"Afterward, we lay in each other's arms, naked, playing with each other's 
tender spots, and he told me he'd been married and divorced twice. He said 
both his former wives had been hare-brained schoolgirls, and that both had 
cheated on him from the day they got married. He told me that I had thrilled 
him with the kind of sexual performance he had dreamed about but never had 
from a woman. He told me that he needed a mature woman with common sense 
about marriage, fidelity, handling money-oh, he really came on strong with 
all the things he knew I wanted to hear. 

"He stayed all night, and we fucked in several different positions. His 
stamina was fantastic, and when his hard on finally refused to come up 
again, it was the first time in my entire life that I could truly say I'd 
had enough sex. 

"He had just come to our city a week before, and he hadn't found work as 
yet, so I told him he ought to stay with me until he found what he wanted. I 
told "him I was able to take care of any bills until he got going, and he 
was so grateful. 

"He'd been a bartender, he told me, most of his adult life, and, within a 
week, he had found a nice little bar that he could buy for fifteen thousand 
dollars down. 

"I was still in seventh heaven from his sexy body and his strong 
personality, I felt I was truly falling in love with him, but I wasn't 
foolish enough to just give him the money. I believed he could make a good 
living from the bar, and build it into much more than it was. 

"I told him he could have the money, but-it had to be a wedding gift. Don 
seemed overjoyed. He told me he hadn't the courage to ask such a wonderful 
woman as I was to marry a footloose wanderer like him, who had already 
messed up two marriages. 

"I tell you, life looked rosy to me. We were married within a week, and I 
had the sexiest lover on earth for a husband: we put the down payment on the 
bar, and we had a promising business going. I could settle down with a man I 
loved and just be the sexy, loving woman I'd always wanted to be. I could be 
a real wife, who would make Don so sexually fulfilled that he'd never look 
at another woman! Or so I thought " 

* * * 

Foolish as Lois T. might seem, authorities have thousands of verified cases 
to prove that she is quite typical of the aging, sexually deprived woman. 

The woman of today is admitting that her sexual needs are as great as or 
greater than those of the male. Lois is a fine case in point. She had been 
used to having adequate, if not fulfilling, sexual relations most of her 
adult life, and when Al became a victim of "gambler's fever," she felt 
sexually starved. 

This effect of gambling on the sexual drive of the male is another reason 
for selecting this case to study. Impotency is not uncommon in such 
situations, and even when the gambling husband can maintain an erection, 
psychiatrists believe he does this with an unconscious reluctance. He is 
suffering from a "death wish," which prompts him at least to debase himself, 
if not destroy himself. He becomes convinced that he is a loser, and he will 
go to extremes to prove this to himself. 

The gambling syndrome has enough fascinating ingredients for a series of 
books on it, but we shall not dwell much on it here. Suffice it to say that 
it did definitely affect Lois's sexual patterns. It forced her to seek work 
after years of idleness during which she felt the world had more or less 
passed her by. It also forced her to seek out other men and to venture into 
a near-fatal bout with alcohol. It brought her her first lesbian experience 
and, eventually, it was responsible for her marrying a man much younger than 
herself, merely because he was sexually exciting and virile. 

The pattern Lois followed in order to right her sexually ragged life is 
rather typical. National research shows that both she and her husband chose 
the most common avoidance paths taken when sexual frustration sets in. 

A startling number of chronic gamblers who have come to the attention of 
authorities and psychiatrists, have a compounding problem of sexual 
rejection or frustration. An equally large percentage of women who suffer 
sexual frustration turn to lesbianism, alcohol, or both. That Lois followed 
both and found neither to be the answer to her problem is also typical. 

Lois clearly fits the description provided by David Reuben in his latest 
book Any Woman Can! "Many girls get married in order to have sex," he says, 
"only to find that marriage is depriving them of sexual fulfillment." 

Expanding on this subject, Reuben goes on to explain the phenomenon of what 
he calls being "sexually marooned." In essence: A woman gets married, 
anticipating sexual excitement, happiness and fulfillment. Suddenly, her 
husband loses interest in her sexually, for any one of a variety of reasons, 
and she has no recourse to sexual fulfillment except through masturbation. 
She is marooned, left high and dry on an asexual desert island, for she 
feels that she wants to be true to her husband; she does not want to have 
affairs with other men, nor is she in a position to, if she is economically 
dependent on him, or if she has small children. Yet, the sexual desires 
within her gnaw away at her emotions and her mentality until she becomes an 
emotionally unbalanced person or goes out and seeks sexual relief from other 
men. 

We see a woman who is bewildered by her sex drive, unable to contain it or 
find an outlet that is compatible with her moral standards. 

Lois failed to realize that the sex act always involves more than the two 
persons who participate in it. Society is involved, and although she made no 
mention of fertility on her part, we may assume that the life of an unborn, 
unwanted child might have been involved. Most important, Lois was flirting 
with mental illness, as she had at one point admitted, and she did not take 
into consideration the fact that her actions were further adding to the 
causative factors of a mental breakdown. 

Lois discovered that what David Reuben states in Any Woman Can, is utterly 
and often bitterly true. He says: 

* * * 

Many women are dismayed to find that getting married isn't the final 
solution to their sexual problems. Unless they are constantly alert, they 
may be just substituting new problems for old familiar ones. 

* * * 

It is obvious that Reuben and other researchers are saying that much of the 
blame must be borne by the Loises of the world. They refuse to recognize the 
symptoms of a failing marriage, due to a deterioration of sex relations, and 
simply sit back with the same hope that it will somehow turn out well as 
they had when they anticipated marriage. 

Unfortunately, in this case, the deep-root beginnings of Lois's relationship 
with her husband are not known. It is not known for certain if they were 
ever sexually or emotionally compatible, and this makes prognosis difficult 
on the part of even the most highly trained experts. 

"Don was like a kid with a new toy, at first, and I was as enthusiastic as 
he was about the new venture. It wasn't a fancy place, but we cleared out 
some tables, hired a piano player, and business picked up. 

"But the better the bar was doing, the more time Don spent away from me. And 
when he did get down to some fucking, it wasn't the same. It was like he was 
doing me a favor, or performing a duty. The warmth and spontaneity had gone 
from all of the sex acts, from sucking pussy to straight fucking, and I 
realized after six months that I'd been taken. 

"I want to explain: I don't mean taken for money-I mean taken for my 
emotional and sexual self. 

"I thought he was putting too many hours into the place, and I tried to 
help--just by being there, sometimes, and even waiting on the tables and 
booths. But this made Don angry, and I began to notice that the young 
waitress, Dolly, with the round ass and the nice legs, was getting most of 
Don's attention. 

"Once I saw that, I began to check up. I soon found that she was getting 
most of his cock, also. 

"You don't quite know what it does to an older wife to find that her husband 
is bedding a young chick. It is the equivalent of emasculating a man-cutting 
his balls off. It's like cutting a woman's cunt off, so all she can offer a 
man is a blow job-and that was about all that Don seemed to want from me, 
after almost a year of marriage. 

"He was doing good-too good. He hired a day and a night bartender, and he 
became a man of leisure. I saw him only between four in the morning and 
noon-and then he was flat on his ass in bed, sleeping. 

"Sex? I had less than I had with Al, even though I had a healthy young stud 
in bed beside me night after night. But he'd blown his wad with some young 
chick, somewhere, and there was nothing left for the "old lady." And that 
began to bug me. He started introducing me as "my old lady," and he would 
smirk when he said it, as if to say: "And I'm not kidding, either." 

I began to hang around the bar. At first, I was just letting Don know I was 
available and lonely, and that I wanted him. But when he would disappear for 
two or three days at a stretch, and refuse to give me any explanation, I 
began to hang around the bar for another benefit-for another man. 

"I had the disadvantage of being "the boss's wife," but a few did notice me. 
I tried to make it obvious that I would be an easy lay, a pushover, and some 
of the older men got the message and began to buy me drinks. I warmed up 
fast, and two of them began to make suggestions about going to bed with me. 
But they were scared of Don-'the boss'-and backed off when I let them know I 
was available. 

"So I became "the boss." With Don gone, chasing and fucking the young stuff 
in the neighborhood, I had to take charge of the running of the joint, and I 
soon had the two young studs that tended bar jumping when I said "jump!' 

"I guess I get all the sex I need, but I wonder if it's good sex. Chuck, a 
young guy of 22, fucks me because he needs the job. Twenty-two years old, 
with three kids! And I have to steal his best fucking from his wife! 

"Vic is older, but he's a thief and a drinker, and he just fucks me because 
he's afraid I'll tell Don he steals from the till and drinks like a fish. 

"And Don? What am I supposed to do about him? When he wants to, which is 
seldom now, he can still fuck me to heaven. He cheats, but I have a home, a 
business, and, on occasion, a hell of a man in bed. 

"I still like and want and need sex. Lately, I seem to need it more than 
ever. I've thought about joining some of the swinging clubs, but I know it 
wouldn't help. 

"I want good sex, from one man. The others are just "stand-ins," taking the 
place of the real thing. They just let me get my rocks off-sexual relief is 
all it is. It doesn't mean anything. I'm blackmailing those two young studs. 
They know it and they resent it. That's why neither of them can go all out 
with me. There's no love-not even affection or respect. It's just fucking 
for fucking's sake, to have an orgasm. When one of them finishes coming, he 
just climbs off me. He doesn't ask or care to know whether I've come or not. 
He's doing a service, just like he gets paid for serving drinks at the bar. 
He "services' the boss's wife, and probably makes smart jokes about it to 
knowing customers. 

"When Don runs out of fresh stuff, I humiliate myself by letting him make 
love to me. Why not? At my age, and in my circumstances, a good fuck is a 
good fuck. When it comes right down to it-is love important? Does it really 
make a fuck more thrilling? Can a man saying, "I love you, Lois," make me 
come more times? 

"Of course I'm cynical, but I'm still open to suggestions. Life, for me, has 
become a series of fucks. There is no love involved--just the gratification 
of my needs, and I guess that makes me no better than a bitch in heat, 
doesn't it? 

"But I can't figure it out. I wanted marriage. I wanted sex with just one 
man-my husband. I'm willing and able to give a good flick or suck or even an 
ass-fuck to any man. So who's to blame? Am I? 

"I've given up the idea of finding a man who would really love me. There 
isn't anything except sex these days. 

"I sometimes remember my first date. This kid was 16-I was 14. He felt my 
tits, then my pussy, got a hard on, took my panties off, and shoved it in 
me. He pumped away, doing nothing for me, shot his load, panted and moaned a 
little, and then-when he had his pants back on, and was going out the 
door-lie blushed, walked back and kissed me for the first time and mumbled, 
"I love you, Lois." 

"I think most men are like that kid-I can't even remember his name, now. 
They need to fuck, but they forget or never know that a female is just like 
a male. She needs to be fucked-and if the guy happens to mean it-she'd like 
a little love, too!" 

* * * 

It seems obvious that Lois is much too embittered by her experiences with 
shallow men, including two husbands, to ever be able to recognize or respond 
to true love. She has become sexually blase, no longer equating the sex act 
with any form of love, devotion, respect or even affection. It has become a 
biological act with her, and because it has, she attracts and unknowingly 
seeks men who look upon sex in the same way. 

Chances are, in the estimation of several analysts, that Lois will become a 
"silver dollar," drifting from hand to hand until she literally wears out. 
Time is her great enemy. Unless she finds and actively courts a man of 
integrity and emotional honesty, she will become a "tramp wife." She may 
remain married to Don, or enter into a succession of marriages, but unless 
she herself feels the desire to become not just a sex partner but a wife and 
lover, sexual fulfillment will remain just a hazy dream. 

CONCLUSION 

The present work has investigated the personal lives of five different and 
distinct types of modern wives. Each has her own problem concerning her 
sexual appetites, mores, and methods, yet each is suffering from the same 
general problem. 

That sexual boredom and frustration is at the bottom of the sexual 
revolution we see taking place on all sides is undeniable. We tend to 
believe that there are answers to the wholesale problems, but they do call 
for each individual to take part personally in the effort at bolstering our 
shaky marital and sexual fulfillment premises. 

That love has been discarded as an important element in sexual delight and 
fulfillment is becoming more patent each day. Hedonism is rampant. Defiance 
of sexual laws is common. It is felt by many experts that the answer lies in 
men and women not flaunting the laws of man, which are ridiculous concerning 
sex, but in stopping the flaunting of the sexual laws that are dictated by 
their own bodies, their own emotions, and-most importantly-by their own 
reasons. 


THE END
