Sharon's Older Lovers
by H.R. Hooper


Publisher's Foreword 

We hope you will not be shocked or repulsed by the story Sharon Bower has to 
tell-the story of her own twisted sexual drive that stopped at nothing. 
Incest, fellatio, group sex, cunnilingus-every form of sexual expression was 
Sharon's particular way of rebelling. Yet, her rebellion did not separate 
her from certain conventional desires she needed. These contrasting poles of 
behavior seem, at this period of social evolution, peculiarly American, and 
Sharon's story is thus a case study which might be applied to any American 
sixteen-year-old girl. But we hope there aren't many young nymphomaniacs of 
Sharon's type who will continue undetected by their parents, or untreated by 
psychotherapy, for, such sexual behavior, unchecked, could split the society 
that has been so many generations evolving out of darkness. 

Writing is a therapeutic endeavor for some people. It was for Sharon. This 
is why her psychotherapist encouraged her to "...put it all down on paper, 
make it like a confession." We are pleased that such a story was committed 
to paper, for now we are able to pass it along to our readers for the 
insights of erratic sexuality which may be gained. 

We believe sixteen-year-old Sharon has provided one of the most unusual 
socio-sexual documents of the decade. There is much to be learned from her 
story, much to put in perspective with a new kind of society, in fact, a 
brand new kind of sexual life that has already become routine for millions 
of teenage Americans. 

Read carefully. Sense the mood of Sharon. Feel her bursting sexual 
reactions. Then reflect on her story and give yourself to deep introspection 
about what our aims should be for our children. 

 CHAPTER 1 

My name is Sharon Bower and I'm what you'd call a part-time rebel. I'm a 
really flexible chick, man, meaning I get damn good vibes with a swinging 
crowd; I can roll the weed and fuck and suck with the best of them, but I'm 
still only a part-time doer. I know where the action is, but I also know 
what I need and want. Baby, I may need a cock socko when I get an itchy 
puss, but I also need the co.. torts of bread, the security of four solid 
walls and clean sheets once in awhile. Sure, I run with the free love crowd, 
march in those protest deals, and I've even bedded with one of those 
cult-type families in the Santa Monica Mountains above Malibu. Now that 
nudist colony was one blast, man! We sure as hell had an integrated 
community that summer-those black studs can give a girl one fuck of a blow 
job! I still get the itches just thinking about them. But that sort of ride 
is only temporary with me. The rest of the time I'm a good little girl 
minding my P's and Q's and A's and B's in school and all that shit. 

My psychoanalyst thought it was interesting that I was only devoting part of 
my time to my rebel causes. He wanted me to admit that it was because I was 
confused and couldn't decide whether to be good or bad. I wouldn't fall for 
that line. I know what I am. I'm bad, man, bad. 

How did it start? By that you mean when did I split and get involved with 
the funky crowd, eh? That's easy. When you're talking about society 
dropouts, you're really talking about the young anti-establishment crowd, 
that not only advocates a new love, but a crowd that practices what it 
preaches. I've seen some groovy happenings, man, and when I was involved I 
really got with it. No halfway deal then. I really became a free spirit when 
the occasion arose, and I've moved with the sex crowd to satisfy my own 
internal cravings for excitement, and when I get that crotch throb there is 
only one way for liberation. That swinging hip crowd is my answer! It has 
been for as long as I can remember. 

I was about twelve years old when I had my first fuck. The stud was an old 
guy in his forties. He was a friend of my father's. But maybe I should tell 
you something about my family first. They're involved. My father is an 
account executive for one of the largest advertising firms in Los Angeles. 
He's a sharp looker and dresser and on occasion I have even been tempted to 
offer him my pink cunny for a ramming. But I'm too much of a coward for 
that. I've been in a cold sweat for a daddy fuck, but I've always chickened 
out. My dad is a real hip sort, drinks and jokes a lot. He's not too bad, 
but every so often he gets a kind of righteous streak in him and starts to 
bear down on me. Real hard. You know, do this, you can't do that, nag, nag, 
nag-all the time. But that wouldn't be so bad if he'd stay with it. He 
doesn't. The next day or the next minute he might be giving his permission 
for me to do the very things he had just said he'd never agree to. My dad 
has a lot of friends, though, and he's pretty successful. He complains about 
bills a lot, but we've got it pretty good. Nice house-swimming pool-three 
cars-a cleaning woman who comes in regularly-that sort of jazz. We've even 
got a membership in a country club where they've got a pool and sauna baths, 
tennis courts, riding stables and even a golf course to keep the kids busy 
while their folks are drinking or maybe making-out with somebody else's 
wife. But it's nice. I liked it for a while. My mom's a real looker and I 
have an idea she was the real thing when she was a kid. Sometimes she still 
acts like a kid, especially when she's been drinking or when she gets mad at 
my dad. Then she reminds me of a kid. I've got a brother who's two years 
older than I am. Jeff's very handsome, tall and dark. Sure he wears his hair 
long and goes in for the faded jeans and worn-out sandals-but he's still a 
living doll. Sometimes I wish he weren't my brother. I'd love to get him in 
bed with me and show him I'm not as young as he may think. I made out all 
right as a little kid. Like in three easy lessons, and by then I was able to 
carry on all by myself. This friend of my father's was often around our 
house. His name was Carl and he was almost like one of the family. He was at 
all our parties and we often visited back and forth-things like that. But it 
was at his house when he laid me. Or maybe I made him. Anyway, this is the 
way it happened. 

It was a Sunday afternoon and Carl had stopped by to have a drink with my 
father. I never paid too much attention to Carl, but I could tell he liked 
the girls. He had that gleam in his eye. My dad had often said he'd chase 
after anything resembling a female. But this day it was the first time that 
I noticed that he looked at me in a special way-me, just a twelve-year-old 
kid. It made me feel good, though. It kind of made up for how mad I had been 
at my father in the morning. I wanted to go to a show and he wouldn't let 
me. Not for any reason at all, he just wouldn't give in. I was so mad I 
could have screamed. Funny, but later I did scream. With Carl. I thought 
about how mad I had been while I was fucking'with Carl, and he made me 
scream. Man ... I'll never forget it. And I'll never forget that it really 
started-that I really knew Carl was after me-while we were talking for the 
first time. Right up until then a hello was about as much as I got out of 
him. But this time it was different. 

It was real hot for late May, and when I got up in the morning, I put on a 
swimsuit-it was a real brief bikini I had used the year before. I guess I 
had grown 'cause, man, I filled it out but good. Not that I had a real shape 
at that time. I didn't. Later, Carl told me that was what he liked about 
me-youthful innocence, he called it. But when I looked at myself in that 
suit, I knew I was growing up. My tits were just starting to show up pretty 
good. They stuck out by about only an inch or two, I figured, and that sure 
wasn't much of a stake, especially when you compared me to some of my 
friends. They had it! But I liked the way my belly was real flat. I thought 
that was real sexy. And my hips rounded out a little, and I liked that, too. 
The way the swimsuit fitted me made a whole lot of flesh between the 
waistband of the suit and my navel. It looked great. That also made my legs 
look better-longer, more curves and with a lot of my hips showing because 
the suit was too small for me. Man, I looked bare. And Carl looked at me and 
started a genuine conversation. 

I walked into the kitchen. My father and Carl were having a drink at the 
table and my father was standing up, just leaving for the garage, where he 
was going to get some fishing equipment for Carl to use. I just stood there. 
My dad left the room. He said, "Be a good girl, Sharon, and entertain Carl 
while I'm in the garage, eh, chick?" 

"By all means," Carl said, kind of emphasizing the words, grinning at me at 
the same time. 

I moved a little closer. I can't really remember but I think I did this to 
kind of tease him. When I was looking at myself in the mirror I kept 
thinking how I needed practice with men. I think I was practicing with 
Carl-teasing him, making him know that I was built. 

"You look cool enough," Carl said to me. His eyes touched at my titties, 
then shot down to that wide space of skin between my bra and the bottom of 
the suit. His eyes looked happy, just like I felt when I looked at that same 
spot. 

"I'm not cool, I'm hot," I said, remembering how I wanted to go to the show 
because it was air conditioned. 

He grinned as I pulled out the chair that was next to him and sat down, 
swinging my legs around so that they faced him. 

"You going to the club pool today?" Carl asked. 

"It's not open yet." 

"Oh, that's right. I forgot." His eyes played with me again. This time they 
seemed to fasten on my legs, especially at the way I looked all ripe and 
tempting between them because the suit was so tight. I didn't mind the way 
he looked at my cunt area. I liked it. I even parted my legs a little to 
give him a better view. My knee hit his and I could feel him tremble a 
little. 

"Too bad about the pool," Carl said, taking his eyes off me and shutting 
them tight as if to block me out as he finished the gin and tonic my father 
had fixed him. "Too bad about your pool, also. Your dad told me about the 
crack that needed repair. It's a real shame on a hot day like this not to 
have a pool for cooling off." 

When Carl put his glass down, it seemed as if he was trying to keep his eyes 
from looking at me. It was almost as if he was ashamed of something. 

"Let me have some of your drink, please?" I asked him. "It's gone." 

"Just the ice, I mean." 

"Oh, sure, why not?" he said, handing me the empty glass. 

Right then I started feeling pretty cocky. I knew that Carl was impressed 
with my bare body. Now, I wanted to get him really hot, really impress him. 
Just like that, I knew how to do it, too. 

There were about three ice cubes in the glass and I really made a production 
out of sucking them. I tipped my head way back until there was a kind of 
strain on my neck. I could tell that that did things to my body. While I was 
holding the glass back like that, the ice cubes clung together for a moment. 
Then they plopped forward into my mouth. I took one of them, making my lips 
go all around it, and then I looked at Carl. He was watching me. I sucked 
the ice cubes a little further into my mouth, still watching Carl and his 
reaction to what I was doing. I raised my lips, kind of aiming them at Carl. 
Then I made some little noises as I sucked on the ice cube. Carl just 
stared. Then I laughed a little and pretended that my lips were getting too 
cold to hold the ice cube. I took it out of my mouth and held it in my 
fingers on a level with my lips. Then after a few seconds, I wiggled my 
tongue against it real hard, making my tongue pointed like I was spanking 
the ice cube. There was a sound like a short moan from Carl, and he shifted 
his position, bringing his lap under the table. Pretty soon I took the ice 
cube into my lips again, and I held it there for a few seconds before I 
finally hid it in my mouth and chewed it to bits, doing it real slowly while 
I stared at the man across the table from me. Oh, I knew I was teasing the 
hell out of Carl, but that's exactly what I wanted to do. 

"You really give an ice cube a workout," Carl said. His voice sounded 
different. 

"Sure I do," I said. "I like to do everything in a big way." My voice 
sounded different, too. Huskier and much older. 

"It's a good way to live," Carl said. "Do everything right up to the hilt, I 
always say. Worry about consequences and problems later." 

I smiled and nodded. Then my father came back into the kitchen carrying some 
fishing gear. It made me mad that he came in right at that time, because I 
was just collecting a whole bunch of cute things I wanted to say to Carl. 
Dad coming in right then kind of broke the spell. But I felt great, really 
great, because I realized that I had really excited Carl. That was pretty 
good for a kid of twelve, I figured, especially when you considered how old 
Carl was-just about my father's age. 

My father made Carl a new drink and filled his own glass. Then he glanced at 
me and asked me if I wanted a Coke. I said, "Yes, with a lot of ice cubes." 

Carl laughed real hard. My father looked at him a little strangely and said, 
"What's the joke?" 

"Nothing," Carl replied, making me feel as if he was lying for me, or 
keeping the business about the ice cubes a secret just between the two of 
us. 

"That's quite a laugh for nothing provoking it," my father said, turning 
back to the business of fixing my Coke. 

"It just seemed funny to me the way Sharon was ordering her drink. You know, 
as if you were a waiter." 

"Oh," my father said, sounding satisfied. 

The men talked about the fishing gear my father was lending Carl, while I 
sipped my drink. I was tempted to play with the ice cubes again but didn't 
because it wouldn't be the same with my father there. In a few minutes I got 
pretty bored by all the talk of lures and test-line and bait and fish and 
rivers, so I drank my Coke down in one long swallow, then stood up. 

"Where are you going?" Father asked. "Don't you want to hear fish talk?" 

"You'd better believe it," I told him. I smiled at Carl, then turned and 
started to go. 

"And I'll take the lady's exit as an excuse to find the John," Carl laughed, 
suddenly standing up. 

"You know where it is," father told him. 

"I should," Carl laughed. "I've been here often enough." 

I had intended to go through the house and out to the front lawn, when I 
started to leave the room. But when Carl said he was going to the bathroom, 
I changed my mind. I don't know why, except that maybe it was a part of my 
plan to have Carl like me. Anyway, I decided to go upstairs to my room, a 
direction that would take me right past the bathroom where Carl was headed. 
I heard him following me. It made me feel good because I knew that Carl knew 
that we had a bathroom right off the breezeway by the garage. When he 
started following me, it could only mean that he wanted to be near me or 
walk behind me. I became very excited at this thought. 

For a few moments I pretended not to notice that he was following me up the 
stairs. I tried to imagine what my body must look like to him from the rear. 
I hoped that my ass looked cute. I even gave a little extra wiggle to the 
natural movement I always seemed to make with my hips. When we were halfway 
up the stairs, I stopped, one foot raised on the next stair. I smiled at 
Carl. He smiled back, and suddenly I noticed the perspiration on his 
forehead. I thought I was the cause of his sweating. 

"Oh, hell, you caught me," Carl said. "And here I hoped to follow you all 
the way to the top. I simply couldn't resist those cute back cheeks of 
yours-they're so inviting I got carried away." 

"I knew you were there all the time," I laughed in what I hoped was a 
sophisticated tone. 

"No doubt," he said. "Maybe you felt my steamy breath on your back, eh?" 

I laughed. That steamy breath bit sounded good and grown-up, so I laughed in 
a way that let Carl think I knew exactly what he meant. Then before I could 
move, Carl came right up to the stair that my bottom foot rested on, and he 
bumped against me a little, right at my ass, kind of pushing at me with his 
thighs. At the same time he gripped my shoulders as if he were doing it for 
support. It gave me one hell of a hot, funny feeling. Carl's prick was 
pressed against me there, and I could tell that he had a good hard-on. 
Having a brother, I knew all about that sort of thing. At that time I 
thought boys and men only got that way because they wanted to-because they 
willed it. This pleased me. Carl got that way because he likes me, I 
thought. 

For a few seconds we just stayed close together on the stairway. Then I 
looked over my shoulder at Carl and smiled. I hoped that it was, the kind of 
smile that would tell him that I knew what he was doing and that it was all 
right with me. Then I hurried up the stairs. I could feel Carl's eyes moving 
over my body, lingering at my tits and crotch. I just grew hot from the 
thought of knowing that he was inspecting me. A strange sort of throbbing 
came to my pussy as a wave of excitement rolled through me, bringing a 
tingling sensation clear to the end of my pointed titties. 

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, Carl started to climb them. He 
seemed stiff and awkward. Then I looked at nis slacks, and I could see that 
big bulge there. I felt good. I had made him get that way-made him want to 
get that way because he liked me. He was big, too, and this sort of pleased 
me. But I didn't stare too long-just long enough to let Carl realize that I 
knew what was going on. Then I went to my bedroom just as Carl entered the 
bathroom. I knew then that this was the beginning of something very 
different and exciting. 

It's very difficult to describe exactly what I felt at that moment. I was 
happy, but a little frightened, too. Not of Carl, but of my own feelings. I 
couldn't understand them. I was a hip kid, knew all the ins and outs of 
everything, I figured, but still this new feeling was strange to me. I was 
very excited. The feeling was all over me, but especially at my titties and 
thighs. Things seemed to tingle inside me and a wetness came between my legs 
unexpectedly. And again I wished that I had won my argument with my father 
and had convinced him that I should go to the theater and cool off. I was 
still kind of mad at him. And now I really needed cooling off! But I knew 
that a movie wouldn't help me at all. 

It must have been about a half hour that I fooled around in my room, 
glancing through magazines, lying on my bed, doing a few exercises-things 
like that. And I didn't think too much about Carl am! h's hard-on. I just 
kind of blanked him out. But I thought about my father and how I was still 
mad at him. 

I soon got bored with being alone. I get bored easily. There was nothing to 
do. My mother was shopping and my brother was off somewhere with his own 
friends. I guess I was lonely. Lonely and bored-a damn combination! I got up 
from my bed, went to the mirror over my vanity, adjusted my swimsuit a 
little, then went downstairs. 

My father and Carl were still in the kitchen. They were laughing real hard. 
It was easy to tell by their voices that they were both pretty drunk. I've 
learned to be able to tell by sounds how people are. I walked toward the 
kitchen, planning to start up my little game with Carl again, but just as I 
was about to enter the room, Carl and my father came out. 

"Ho, ho, look what we have here," my father said. "The water nymph herself. 
Minus water." 

I gave him a nasty look as I remembered about how cool it would be in the 
show. 

"And the nymph's still mad at her old man, too," father said, laughing. 

"A nymph should never be out of the water," Carl added, chuckling real deep 
as if he had a private secret, which he no doubt did when you consider what 
happened between us. 

"Damn shame the club pool isn't filled yet, and more of a damn shame about 
our own pool," Father said seriously. 

"Yeah," Carl agreed. He brought his hand up and rubbed his chin in a 
thoughtful manner for a short moment. Then, as if he was stricken with a 
good idea, he said, 'Tell you what. My next-door neighbors have their pool 
filled. I was going to take a dip when I got back. We've got carte blanche 
on their pool. "What do you say I take your little nymph here back with me 
and let her cool off?" 

Carl said it to my father, not to me. He acted as if I had no say in the 
matter. And he acted as if he just assumed I wanted to go over to his place 
and swim. Of course, that was all right with me. I did want to go. Like 
crazy." 

"Okay with me," father said easily. "She won't be in the way, will she? I 
hope your neighbors don't mind an extra guest." 

"They're not even home," Carl said. 

"How about your wife? She's pretty busy isn't she? Perhaps she won't 
appreciate an extra person around the house." 

"My wife," Carl said dramatically, "is so damn busy every day she doesn't 
even know that I'm around. She won't even realize Sharon is there." 

My father laughed and said, "I know what you mean. Shopping, P.T.A., the 
club-golf-name it, your wife and my wife do it." 

"Right," Carl said. 

"What about you, sugar? Want to go?" 

"I'd love it," I told him. 

He smiled rather kindly, then said, "Maybe this will make up for the 
business about the show, eh?" 

"If I can go, it will," I said, blackmailing him a little. 

"Run along then." 

While my dad walked with Carl to where he" had parked his car in the 
driveway, I hurried upstairs to get some things. I put on some white sandals 
that laced high up my calves and got out a short, white terrycloth robe I 
always used for swimming. I loved that robe. It was real cool-came just 
below my hips a little and made me look real sexy. I threw everything, 
including some hot pants, a halter top, a large bath towel, hairbrush and 
cosmetics, into an overnight bag, then hurried back downstairs and out to 
the driveway. Carl had a low, red sports car-a powerful convertible that 
seemed designed for kids more than for middle-aged men. 

"Ready?" Carl asked. 

"I sure am," I said. 

Carl opened the door for me and I jumped into the car. As I bent over to put 
my bag in the back, my father gave me a slap on the ass. He and Carl laughed 
real hard. I gave my father a look that could have killed, but he knew that 
I didn't mean it. He often slapped me across the buttocks playfully, and it 
was a regular game with us. 

Carl drove quickly to his own neighborhood which was about twelve miles from 
ours. He seemed different. He didn't glower at me as he had in the kitchen. 
Instead, he seemed contented-as if things were all settled in his mind, or 
as if he had made up his mind about something important. It made me mad the 
way he seemed. I wanted him to still be looking at me, even touching me if 
he wanted. I wanted to cause his pants to bulge again with a hard-on. That 
was exciting-made me think I was really turning it on. That was what I had 
wanted-had, in fact, expected. 

We talked a little as we moved along, but only about casual things: school, 
when the summer vacation starts-things like that. 

I had never been to his house, although he was one of my father's oldest 
friends. I was very impressed with the place when we drove around the 
circular drive that made a half moon of the front lawn. The house was big 
enough and rich enough to deserve a swimming pool of its own. I told Carl 
that. 

"I've thought about it," he said. "But it wouldn't really get much use. No 
kids, you know. And my wife's gone a good deal of the time and I'm equally 
busy. It's better to use my neighbor's pool for the amount of use I'd get 
out of one of my own." 

"Is your wife home now?" I asked, thinking of it for the first time. 

"Hell, no," he said, sounding a little unhappy. "Today it's a luncheon 
downtown, then a cocktail party at the art institute for some new, young 
artist, complete with beard, dirty jeans and B.O." 

I laughed. 

"Come on, nymph; let's hit the water." 

We climbed out of the car. Carl let us in by the front entrance. We walked 
through the foyer and the other rooms until we came to a family room that 
was at the back of the house, looking out onto a huge yard. There was a high 
fence on all sides, making the whole area very private and cozy. 

"The Wilsons live over there," Carl said, nodding to the left. 

"Do we have to climb the fence?" I asked. 

"No," he laughed. "We're such good neighbors that we had a door built into 
the fence." 

"That's groovy," I said, also laughing. 

There was a small bar in one corner of the family room, and Carl moved to. 
it as if he was in a hurry. I watched as he made himself a drink. I noticed 
that he poured three jiggers of liquor into the tall glass before adding 
seltzer water. I walked over to where he was behind the bar. As I moved 
toward him, I undid the robe I had decided to put on before we left my 
house. Then I kind of timed myself and pulled it away from my body just as I 
stopped in front of Carl. He gulped a little, and his eyes got that look 
again while he stared at how nearly naked I seemed. Then he raised his glass 
real quick and drank down about a third of the drink. Then he put his glass 
on the bar and sighed and looked at me. 

Finally, he glanced away and asked me if I wanted something to drink. 

"If you've got it," I said. I wished I could have asked for something 
stronger than a soft drink, but I wasn't brave enough to make that attempt. 

Carl gave me a Pepsi. By the time I finished it, he had made and downed 
another tall drink. The beads of perspiration were back on his forehead, and 
I kept wondering if he had that cock bulge back in his trousers again. But 
he was behind the bar and I couldn't see his crotch. But then I forgot about 
it, because Carl suggested that we go for a swim. 

I waited by the bar while he went upstairs to put on his swimming trunks. He 
was down in a few minutes. I was surprised that he looked younger in just 
shorts. He had a good build. Real hard and strong looking. But the hard-on 
wasn't there. At least I couldn't see it. I was decidedly disappointed. 

"All right, Sharon, let's hit the water," Carl said. 

"Great," I answered. 

We went out the door of the family room. It opened onto a patio in the back 
yard. Walking across the grass, I could feel it tickle my toes between the 
straps of my sandals. It made me want to laugh. 

When we reached the door in the fence, which was at the very rear of the 
yard, Carl held it open for me. I could feel his eyes on me as I bent to 
walk into the next yard. Then he shut the door and followed me. 

The pool was great: large, oval shaped, and with a diving board. 

"Oh, I love it," I exclaimed. 

"And just what I need," Carl replied. 

We walked to the edge of the pool. I looked around. Nobody seemed to be home 
at the Wilson's place. I wondered about them a little, especially whether or 
not they had any teen-aged boys in the family who might be coming into the 
pool. But then Carl dived right into the deep part of the pool, and I 
followed him. 

For about a half hour Carl seemed to avoid me. When I'd dive in close to 
where he was in the water, he'd swim away. And he was careful to always stay 
clear of me in the pool. This told me something, although at that age I 
don't know how I could have understood it. But I did. I knew that Carl was 
avoiding me because he didn't trust himself with me. It made me feel 
important-very grown-up. But then I deliberately dived into the water right 
where he had ducked beneath the surface. As I scooted under water, I opened 
my eyes. I usually don't do that. Then I saw Carl gliding up to the surface 
right in front of me. I couldn't resist it-resist teasing him a little, I 
mean, so I swam right for his legs, which were a little bit apart. I swam 
between them, pushing his thighs apart with my hands. As I went between his 
legs, my head bumped his groin. He was hard again, yet kind of held in. I 
didn't mean to bump him like that, but I was glad I did because, when we 
both came to the surface, he was laughing and that old look was in his eyes 
again. I guessed that my deliberate contact with him had caused him to get 
the spark again because he changed-just like that. It was as if he had made 
up his mind about something-as if he wasn't arguing with himself anymore but 
had made a definite decision. 

After that, Carl and I played in the water for a long time, maybe an hour. 
And I mean we played! There were lots of things we did to each other that 
were exciting. Carl would go under the water in the shallow part, then lift 
me up on his shoulders. I'd tighten my thighs around his neck, do it real 
hard so that he knew I was really there. And I was! I got a real funny 
feeling when I did that. It was as if I was squeezing something out of 
myself. Carl liked it a lot. I could tell by the way he grabbed my ankles 
and made them cross on his chest, making my thighs even tighter against his 
neck. When he did that, I really felt great. Sometimes he'd move them apart 
and together real rapidly, and that was very exciting. We did other things, 
too. When we were playing it was kind of natural that Carl's hands would go 
around my titties and that he'd bump against my buttocks a lot. That really 
got to me. He was hard again, and it was just like I was being stabbed ... 
in a nice way. And of course sometimes while I pretended to be fighting with 
him, my hand would hit him-hit him right where he had grown hard. Right at 
his crotch! I could feel the rigid cock as it strained at his bathing 
trunks. That really got him. I could tell. It got me, too. And something 
else was different then, too. It was the way Carl suddenly started talking 
to me. Suddenly he talked to me as if I was a woman. Real adult. He'd say 
things that were real personal, just between the two of us. And he was very 
flattering, too. As an example, while we were at the shallow end of the pool 
resting, Carl glanced over all my body and told me that I was pretty. 

"Not as pretty as your wife," I corrected him. 

"Much prettier, I think," he answered. "The way the sun plays with the ends 
of your blond hair makes it look like a halo." 

I laughed and said, "You'll never find one of those on me." I don't know why 
I said that, either, because at that point I was a good girl. 

"You get halos for different things," Carl said seriously. "Not just for 
being good." 

"I'm mighty glad to hear that," I said, acting relieved and as if I was the 
naughtiest girl in the world. 

Carl laughed, but right then I dived into the water again and struck out for 
the other end of the pool. I heard a splash behind me, and I knew that Carl 
was chasing me. I'm a good swimmer, and maybe I wasn't trying to win a race 
anyway, but .Carl caught me just as I reached for the end of the pool. He 
wrestled me beneath the water. I kicked and pretended to try and get away. 
He held me very tight, and his hands were on my tits again. Also, he locked 
his legs around mine, and that made me feel the hardness of his cock as he 
kept pressing against me. Then we surfaced and that was the end of the swim 
in the pool. I was bored with it, and Carl looked ready to leave, too, so we 
both walked away from the pool and through the door in the fence and up to 
Carl's house. 

"You can change in any of the upstairs bedrooms," Carl said to me as soon as 
we entered the house. 

"Can I shower, too?" I asked. It was impulsive. I hadn't even considered 
showering until then. 

"Why, of course," he answered. "I'm sure you'll find everything that you'll 
need." 

Carl walked to the foot of the stairs with me. For a moment I thought he was 
coming up, too. But he didn't. 

"Just look around and you'll find the proper rooms," he said, nodding up the 
stairs. 

I smiled at him. Then I went upstairs. I looked in all the rooms, guessing 
which one Carl occupied with his wife. There were quite a few, so I guessed 
that they must have house guests often. Then I went into the bathroom. It 
was quite large and there were stacks of towels piled in a closet, also a 
full-size vanity and mirror built into the tile. Bottles of bath salts and 
oils lined the sunken tub. 

Carl was very much on my mind as I undressed. I continued thinking of him 
while I showered, making a big deal of soaping my body with a big, plushy 
sponge. When I turned the shower on full blast to rinse, my body tingled all 
over, and when I dried myself with a rough towel, I kind of glowed, got a 
little warm and just seemed to glow. 

I had brought my little bag upstairs with me. I looked at the things I had 
brought along to change into and didn't like a thing. It was then that I got 
the idea of wearing nothing but my shortie robe. When I slipped it on, I 
felt very daring. It would be very exciting to really be naked beneath the 
robe while I was with Carl. He was going to take me home-had promised to 
deliver me by nine o'clock. It was hardly five. That left a lot of time for 
me to be in the company of Carl. It seemed like a great secret to be naked 
beneath the robe without him knowing it. I felt as brazen as anything. 

I did wear my sandals downstairs-just the sandals and the short terrycloth 
robe. Carl seemed surprised to see me in the robe. He was still in his 
shorts, and he was sipping a tall drink in the family room. He was sitting 
on the edge of a chair, but when I came into the room he stood up. For a few 
seconds he just stared at me. Then he finished his drink in one long gulp 
and went immediately to the bar and started making a new one. I went to the 
chair where he had been sitting and kind of flopped into it. The hem of my 
robe flew up, showing a good part of my thighs, maybe enough to let Carl 
know that I didn't have anything on beneath it. 

Carl drank some of the new highball before he left the bar. Then he walked 
directly toward me. Watching him, I got a funny feeling. He seemed real 
stern about something, as if maybe he was mad at me or at himself because of 
me. And then he really surprised me. He stopped by me, then sat down right 
next to me on the edge of the chair. But that wasn't all. He put his free 
hand around my waist, then raised it a bit and deliberately slid it inside 
the open bodice of my robe. I shivered when his hand found my bare tit and 
clutched it. But I tried to keep calm-tried to play the older woman role and 
let him know that I knew all the tricks. 

"We're not playing in the water now, Sharon," Carl said, looking at me from 
one side. 

"No," I answered, not moving from the hot touch of his fingers upon my tit. 
"Now we're just playing ... period." 

"Do you mind?" he asked. 

I didn't know what to say. But finally I mustered enough calmness to keep 
the big girl bit going, and I said, "Ah, hell, this doesn't mean anything to 
you. You don't even like me." 

"On the contrary-I like you very much," he answered. As if to show what he 
liked about me, he let his hand go loose on my tit and started to tickle his 
fingers along the side until he came to my nipple, which he held between his 
thumb and forefinger while he pulled on it gently. 

I turned my head away, looking clear across the room. But I didn't do 
anything to stop Carl from playing with my nipple. I didn't want to. It was 
one of the best feelings that I had ever had. 

"You see, you're very young, but very wise and very beautiful," Carl said, 
slurring the words a little as if he had suddenly become very drunk. "And 
you're also very loyal, I'm sure, and that's very important." 

"Yes, it is," I agreed. 

When I turned to Carl this time, I knew that he was going to kiss me. He 
did. And how! And he wrapped both his arms around me and bent me back onto 
the cushions of the chair as he came over me a little bit-just enough to 
make me feel that hard bulge of his cock pressing against me. I could tell 
that my robe had parted, but I didn't know then that it had happened because 
I had opened my legs-opened them as if I was getting ready for Carl. And, 
oh, how he kissed me. I had been kissed before. A little bit. By boys. But 
this man went to my mouth as if it was going out of style. His tongue was 
real hard and pointed, and as it shot into my mouth, I kept thinking that it 
was hard like that other thing between his thighs. I don't know why I 
thought that, but I did. I was plenty excited and liked what he was doing to 
me. I caught his tongue with my mouth and pulled on it a little bit, not 
enough to hurt, but in a way that I hoped would make him feel good. It did, 
too, because he groaned a little, and the next thing I knew, his hands had 
moved from my back to my buttocks, and he was kneading my ass as he kept 
jerking up and down, making me strike against his protruding cock bulge. He 
kept doing it all the time he was kissing me. I helped him along a little. I 
opened my legs wider, not giving a damn about my robe, which was practically 
off of me by then. And I wound my arms real tight around his neck, at the 
same time still hanging on to his tongue and shaking my head a little from 
side to side as if what I had was just the greatest, most delicious thing in 
the world. And at that moment it was. But I didn't know anything about it 
then. What I got a few minutes later topped the whole damn world-blew me 
apart, sent me screaming, flying, roaring out of this world. 

Carl stopped kissing me, and I turned my head to the side. His hands let 
loose of my bare buttocks, too. Then he drew away from me. And then his 
hands finished parting the robe from my naked body. I protested a little. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Undressing you," he answered, his voice sounding real thick. 

"What for?" I knew what for, but it seemed that I had to ask anyway. 

"You know why," heanswered. "You know and you don't care because you want me 
to give it to you-you really do, and I want to-my God, how I want to." 

I raised a little while he pulled the robe from underneath me. I could feel 
the rough tufts of the material scrape against my back as if somebody was 
scratching me. It felt good. I arched a little so the robe could pull free 
from my buttocks. Carl pulled it away, then threw it to the side of the 
room. I watched it kind of swoop downward like a parachute that couldn't 
inflate. Then I turned and looked at Carl. He was rising. Then he was 
standing in front of me and untying the laces at the side of his trunks. 
While he was doing that, his eyes popped all over my naked body. Then he 
bent and pulled his trunks downward. I watched. When they went down to his 
knees, I saw his cock flip up and quiver-right at me. Then he pushed the 
trunks all the way down and kicked them to the side. He straightened for a 
moment before moving toward me again. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. Then 
he came to the chair and me again. 

Carl pressed forward to kiss me again, but I stopped him. "Someone will come 
in-we'll get caught." 

"Not a chance," he breathed right into my mouth, making me smell and taste 
the alcohol on his breath at the same time. 

"But you're just saying that," I said, not pleading very hard because I 
already knew that I wanted Carl to make love to me. 

He drew back a little, then said, "My wife won't be home until the wee hours 
of the morning. Besides-I don't give a damn, Sharon. I want to fuck you-you 
want me, too. I know it." 

Now I felt like teasing him a little more. I smiled. "Why do you want to 
fuck me, Carl? 

Because I'm young? Because you're some kind of a nut who goes for little 
kids? Or because you like me, really like me?" 

He looked very serious, but very anxious, too. I could see all his muscles 
sort of straining towards me. Then he said, "I like you very much, Sharon. 
That's the truth. And I'm not a nut-Christ-I never imagined such a thing as 
this could happen to me. Never...." 

I pushed up a bit and supported myself with my elbows, letting them rest in 
the chair while I hooked my hands at my waist. It seemed crazy-everything. 
And yet there was something about Carl that told me that he really liked me, 
that it was true that he wasn't a nut, although even if he was and had 
admitted it, I doubt that I would have cared. Somehow, I knew that Carl 
would never hurt me. That made me feel great. And it made me feel great to 
be naked with Carl, too. It was queer, but nice. There his naked man's body 
was next to me, and there I was, just a kid, but just as naked as Carl. It 
seemed like some kind of blending was about to take place. But I wasn't 
ready for it yet. First, I wanted to know that Carl really liked me-maybe 
even loved me. That was important. And it seemed important to make him say 
nice things to me, too. I needed his words to complete my inner excitement. 

"What do you like about me, Carl?" I asked, trying to flirt the way I had 
seen older girls do it. 

As his eyes glanced down the length of my naked body, he smiled. Then his 
eyes went real soft and kind of misty as he began to speak. 

"You'd never believe what I like best about you," he said very quietly. "I 
like your wrinkles, especially that firm little wrinkle right there." 

Carl pointed his finger right at me and touched that single line across my 
belly, just above my navel. It excited me that he liked that part of me. It 
seemed so ... simple, I guess. He could have liked my tits or mouth or my 
thighs, or even my cunt-anything else about me, but there he was telling me 
that he liked just a line on my body. It was strange. I liked that part of 
myself, too, and it seemed odd that we should both be so close in our 
preferences. 

"Do you like anything else?" I asked, raising my hand and letting it rest on 
his shoulder, then pinching him there a little bit. I didn't feel bold or 
anything like that. I just felt like an honest-to-goodness woman. And even 
without knowing what sex was all about-even not knowing if I'd know how to 
let Carl fuck me, or what I should be doing once he started-I still felt 
very calm. And loving. And great. I was prepared for this older man's 
lovemaking-for the taking of my virginity. 

"And I like your mouth and lips and tongue," Carl said, not so calm now, his 
body quivering again. "And your feet and toes and the bend of your knees and 
your titties-I adore your tits-and every inch of you." 

For a moment I stared at him, then I lowered my eyes and looked direct ly at 
his cock, seeing it and knowing that it was meant for me, knowing, too, that 
Carl was going to be the first to take me, his steel prick was going to be 
the first lance my cunny had known. 

"I like every inch of you, too, Carl," I said. 

Quickly he moved forward, crushing me against the cushions of the chair and 
making me feel all of him on top of me. I clutched hard to his neck, turning 
my face toward his ear. At first, I just cuddled to him as his hands worked 
up and down my bare back. But suddenly I felt very excited, felt as if I 
just had to hurry and do what Carl wanted. I caught his ear in my mouth and 
began to suck on it. Then I shot my tongue inside, working it deep and all 
around in a manner that I hoped was similar to the way I had heard the older 
girls did with their boyfriends. It must have been right, because I felt his 
body stammer. Then I whispered to him, as I stroked lightly across his bare 
body. 

"I don't ... I never have, Carl ... I'm afraid...." 

"Don't be," he said. "I won't hurt you." 

"I mean I'm afraid I won't know how to do it," I interrupted. 

I could feel his face smiling against my cheek. "You will. I'll show you." 

Right then we were both ready. Right then I knew that it didn't matter to 
Carl if his wife walked right in and caught us in the middle of a fuck. It 
didn't matter to me, either. 

We kissed so hard with open mouths that our teeth clicked. But then we used 
our tongues to apologize. And all the time our hands were working. Carl 
touched me at every spot on my body: at my buttocks, which he manipulated a 
little, and at my tits, pulling and tugging at my taut nipples, and then at 
my thighs and the back of my neck, and then across that line of flesh about 
my navel that he said he liked so much. I touched him, too. But only at a 
few places. At his back, then straight downward until my hand found that 
hardness of him-that erect, pulsating cock that seemed to reach and strain 
for my touch. I closed my fingers around his hot prick and held him tightly. 
It thrilled me and I wondered if I would still feel that pumping beat when 
it was inside my cunt. And then I didn't have long to wonder. 

Carl pulled away from me in a kind of desperate motion. Then he brought his 
hands to my thighs and gently pushed them apart. When he touched me, opening 
me a little, I thought I'd faint. I closed my eyes and leaned my head way 
back until I could feel my neck cords straining. Christ-it was like dying. 
Good dying! But then Carl adjusted his position a bit, came closer and 
brought himself right up close to me without entering. Then it wasn't like 
dying at all-it was living all over again. My hands shot out to each side of 
his waist, and I dug my fingernails into him as I tried to make him come 
closer. 

Right then we had a little trouble. Carl groaned a miserable sound and 
thrusted himself forward. But he didn't get to me. Then he tried again, and 
still again, but still he couldn't make it. My cunt walls wouldn't give way 
to his penetration. 

"Lift up a little, sweetheart," he said breathlessly. 

I tried to but couldn't. Then Carl cradled my ass cheeks in his hands and 
arched me, showing me how he wanted me to do it. I went into the position 
that he wanted. Then Carl did things with my legs, brought them around his 
waist and up his back. It was a great, strong feeling that I had, and I made 
it better by locking my ankles together. Then Carl moved forward again. 
Still no success. Still his cock could not gain entry into my depths. We 
both began to feel desperate. Then he got into the act, because I couldn't 
wait any longer. I kept thinking that I had to hurry and experience this 
great thing before we were interrupted. And I kept thinking how horrible it 
would be for us if something happened that made us have to stop before we 
had finished our fuck. So then I reached out and gripped Carl and forced him 
closer to me. It worked ... a little. And then he raged forward and really 
made it. It was as if I was being cut wide open by his burning cock-and I 
loved it. And then he was in-all the way, and it felt as if I was being 
pushed out on all sides. Then Carl moved back and forward again. Now it 
seemed that he was driving clear through me. But only for a moment, and as 
he jammed himself to me, I raised and met him. It was the tightest feeling I 
had ever had. I kept thinking that I was like a nut that a screw joined. 

"Oh, God," I sighed. "Don't stop-don't stop! Hurt me, Carl ... fuck me 
good!" 

"Oh, baby," Carl murmured hotly into my ear. "You're such a baby ... baby 
pussy for a great fuck!" 

I don't know how long it was that we moved together before I started to get 
that growing, crazy feeling of being lifted out of my skin. 

Maybe it was a few minutes. Maybe it was an hour. I don't know. But it came 
upon me, and I hurried my motion at the same time that Carl moved faster. 
And the feeling really grew, bloated me up to that point where I felt I was 
about to burst. I didn't know if I should scream or cry. But I knew 
something beautiful was about to happen, something new and exciting and 
fulfilling. 

And then I was ready and so was Carl. I could tell. By now I was dizzy and 
kind of crazy-crazy for Carl and what he was doing to me. I started to come. 
So did Carl. And right then the most horrible thing in the world happened. 
Carl started to leave me. He drew back further than he had at any time he 
was in me, and I knew he was going to pull back. I screamed, then ripped the 
fingernails of my left hand down his back while my right hand dived between 
us to grab him and keep him from leaving me. I barely touched him and that 
was what saved me. Then Carl couldn't withdraw. He jammed forward, moaning, 
and I was so happy, felt so great, that I couldn't prevent a long, crazy 
scream from bubbling out of my mouth-a scream that told of the feeling 
inside me that coursed all through my body. It was a tremendous feeling-one 
I had never experienced before. 

Carl fell upon me. I could feel his cock going soft. My body also went limp. 
We held each other, lovingly and close. What we were feeling for each other 
at that moment was love. I knew it. I wanted to cry and cry I was so happy. 
I had never felt this way before. 

Time blanked out for me again. I have no idea how long we rested together in 
the chair. But I knew when it was about to end. I could feel Carl's body 
grow taut again, and in a moment his cock was pressing against me again. It 
made me feel good that he wanted another fuck. I put my arms a little 
tighter around his neck to let him know that I liked it. Carl raised a bit 
and looked into my face. 

"Again, sweetheart?" he asked. "Do you want another fuck?" 

"Oh, yes, please!" I cried. This time Carl instructed me in a different 
position. I got on my hands and knees-on the floor. Carl came to me from 
behind, using his hands on my hips to spin me the way he wanted until I was 
able to pick up the motion myself. It didn't take long, because my orgasm 
started again ... almost immediately I began to explode ... and so did Carl. 
This time it was even better. This time I knew what I was doing and what was 
expected of me. 

There didn't seem to be so much need for rest after this experience, maybe 
because we both came to the end so fast. And we had no sooner finished our 
fucking than I wanted it again. Fast. Right then. With Carl moving as hard 
as he could. Carl wanted it, too. And this time he moved me to still a new 
position, one that made it possible for me to move as fast and hard as I 
wanted. 

Carl rolled on his back on the floor. Then he brought me above him. I did 
the rest. I gripped him, placed him, raised a little bit, then swooped 
downward with all the strength I had. Then we both moved. This time we 
changed rhythm, moved fast, then slow, then so fast that it seemed we 
wouldn't be able to stop. But we did. Then we moved real lazily for a while 
and kept at this pace until we were ready to make that last, mad dash to the 
finish line. We made it. In seconds. It was wild. At the end I could feel my 
small tits jumping, and it surprised me. I didn't know they were large 
enough to jump like that. Then I figured that they had grown because of 
making love to Carl. 

I had always heard that girls were terribly upset when they lost their 
cherry. I wasn't. I was proud. When Carl and I worked together cleaning up 
the mess, I still didn't feel bad or hurt or dirty. 

This is how it started with Carl. Right then I was his for as long as he 
wanted. Right then it seemed impossible that I should ever want to destroy 
him. But I did. And I succeeded. Carl was my first fuck, the very first step 
on my long road of promiscuity and deviation. Carl had taught the lesson 
well. I was hooked on sex-fucking and cock was on my mind from that day 
forward, and, man, I was now a woman! I began to look forward to many 
sessions of lovemaking with Carl-or with any other man who would have me. I 
had no feelings of regret or guilt. I had been turned on to the fucking tune 
and that's what I intended to be playing, man. Fucking was my kind of song, 
man! 

 CHAPTER 2 

Within a matter of only seven month, I ruined Carl. I made him a washed-out, 
hopeless, beaten man, without a future and without much of a present either. 
I didn't exactly set out to do it-I didn't even know that I was doing it. 
But he made me. When he tried to break off his affair with me, I became 
desperate. I had to do something to keep him as my lover. That's what ruined 
him. It was awful. It's hard for me to tell about it, even now, but I will. 
But first I want to tell something about the other side of my life-that part 
that's not all sex, although I guess there is sex in that part, too. My 
psychiatrist said it was filled with sex and the signs of sex just as much 
as when I was making love to Carl, only I couldn't see it. So I want to tell 
about that part of my life. 

In school I was only an average student, but I was popular enough and I 
didn't really dislike going to classes. Only sometimes, like when I didn't 
have my homework finished, I'd drop out of classes and take off the day. And 
my home life wasn't really bad, although I never did feel as if I was 
wanted. My parents were the kind who only wanted two children, one of each 
sex. But my older brother was really the only one they wanted. My mother and 
father used to joke about how I didn't seem to fit in. They really didn't go 
into details, but I got their message. They always had time for my brother 
Jeff, but I was left to cope on my own. I sometimes got the impression that 
my mother was jealous of my good looks, although she was a sharp-looking 
chick herself, but I still had this gnawing feeling that she didn't really 
accept me. She would kiss and hug my brother, while only patting me on the 
head, like one does to a puppy who is being silly. Both my parents raved 
about Jeff's grades in school and his athletic ability. My grades were 
certainly not worth raving abdut, and as for athletics-that was another big 
zero on my scoreboard. 

From about the first grade onward, I did better school work when I had male 
teachers than if they were women. I liked men better. And, like most girls 
as they go through the grades, I had my share of crushes on men, usually 
teachers, although I had a big thing going for my uncle once-that was long 
before Carl came along. 

I had friends in school and from my neighborhood. We spent as much time 
talking as we did playing, especially when we got to be around eight or nine 
years old. At that age we had something exciting to talk about. Boys. And 
parents, too, of course, but one way or another we always got back to boys. 
People might think that that's pretty young for girls to be thinking about 
boys, but it's not. It's about average, I would say. At least in my crowd it 
was. When I think of it now, it seems silly when I remember some of the 
impressions we had about boys. As an example, when I was eight years old, I 
still didn't know how babies were formed. I knew that it had something to do 
with a man and a woman, but I didn't know exactly what it was. In my 
childish mind, it had something to do with bed and a man and a woman being 
in it. Crazy! But that's what I believed. And of course I had it all wrong 
about a lot of things that concerned the boys. An older girl once told some 
girls and me that a boy had "French kissed" her. We laughed and said 
"golly," as if we knew what it was all about. I was a little off in the 
proper placement of the anatomy, but maybe not so far off, at that, for 
later I learned that there can be some mighty interesting kissing in that 
area. 

Well, that's the way it went during my early days-during those years before 
I turned twelve and met Carl, then set about destroying him. I guess I was 
privileged as far as environment went, for my parents provided all the 
material things that a girl could want, and I got along pretty well with 
other youngsters of my age. That's good and average, I guess. But I'm not 
average when it comes to experience. When I was still practically a baby, I 
had some experiences that I still remember. And they weren't the ones that 
involved me and sex directly, either. One was, but the others didn't seem to 
have anything to do with sex attitudes or those elements that help to 
develop a girl's character and personality. When I think of them now, I 
realize that they did have quite a bit to do with some of the ideas I 
developed. And some of the ideas I had about other people. 

When I was about ten years old, I had a chance to be outstanding in school. 
My English teacher was conducting a contest for the best composition by 
students in all the sixth grades throughout the school. I was very good in 
English that year, and I just felt that I could win that contest. And, oh, 
how I wanted to. My brother had won many different awards in school, and I 
wanted to win the certificate that was to be the first prize for the best 
composition. I chose to write about my first experience on a horse. It 
seemed like a good subject to me, because I remembered how frightened I was 
and I thought if I could put it all down on paper I'd surely win the 
contest. Every night for a whole week I worked on my composition. My parents 
were very amused by how hard I was working, but I could tell that their 
interest was the kind that didn't carry much hope that I could win the 
contest. It didn't bother me. I thought I could win, and I was determined to 
show my parents that I could. 

Finally, I had my composition all down the way I wanted it. It was the very 
last night that I had to work on it because they were due to be turned in 
the following morning. I went over every word to make sure it was right; 
then I copied and re-copied to be sure that the penmanship was clear. In 
this contest, everything counted: penmanship, grammar, spelling, and of 
course how interesting the content of the composition was and how well it 
was presented. When I made the last copy, I knew I had a winner. I was very 
proud. It was right then that my father came and looked over my shoulder. 

"Finished, Sharon?" he asked. 

"Yes. And my composition's going to win, too." I felt very confident. 

He smiled indulgently, then said, "Mind if I read the finished copy?" 

I minded but I wouldn't say so. I handed him the several sheets of paper 
that were clipped together. Standing next to me my father read the 
composition. Then he handed it back to me. 

"Do you like it, Daddy?" I asked. He hesitated, then said, "I'd like to make 
a few suggestions, Sharon." 

I didn't answer. Suggestions I didn't want. 

But I knew there was no stopping my father. At that age he had a tremendous 
influence on me. 

"I think the story should be more exciting," Father said. "You know, give it 
some zip." 

"But it's just a composition," I protested. "And besides, it has to be about 
a true experience-like what I wrote about-horseback riding." 

"I know, but that doesn't mean you couldn't change it a little-just enough 
to add some excitement. You know what I mean." 

"It has to be true. If I changed it, the story wouldn't be true." 

"Look," my father said as if he didn't even hear me. "Suppose you were to 
fall off the horse? That's be exciting and it'd make your story all that 
much better. That would give it some zip." 

My father could talk me into anything. I let him talk me into changing the 
story because I wanted to win so badly. So, I revised the whole composition 
and put in the lie about falling off the horse. It was more exciting than 
the way I had the original story. I really got carried away with falling off 
the horse. When my father read the new version, he was very pleased. I had 
the impression that my composition had begun to represent something to him 
personally-as if he was in the contest, too, and wanted to win as much as I 
did. 

The next day I handed the composition in to my teacher. To all the classes, 
he restated the rules of the contest, then said there would be a decision on 
the winner on Monday. It was then Friday. I didn't know how I could live 
through the weekend. But I did. Then the winner was announced, and it wasn't 
me. I was crushed. But losing wasn't the worst part. When class was 
dismissed and we were leaving the room, the teacher called to me and asked 
me to remain behind. Then he told me the most crushing thing imaginable. He 
told me the truth. 

"Your composition was very good, Sharon," he said. "As a matter-of-fact, it 
would have been the winner except for one thing." 

He paused. I looked at him but did not speak. I could almost see the word 
form before he spoke them. I had the strangest feeling I knew what he was 
about to say to me, and I didn't really want to hear it. 

"The judges doubted the honesty of the part about falling off the horse," my 
teacher said. "It's a common enough experience, but it was just a little too 
much for the rest of the story. If you had just told us how you felt riding 
a horse for the first time-there was some of that in it, and it was 
excellent, but we just couldn't accept the validity of the other part of the 
composition. I'm sorry, Sharon. You could have won." 

He was sorry but I wanted to die. Losing was the biggest disappointment in 
my life, but to know that I could have won by leaving my story as I had had 
it in the first place made me want to die. Truly die, right there on the 
spot. 

When I saw my father that evening, he asked me the results of the contest. 
He seemed abnormally eager about it. I just told him I lost without any 
explanation. Then he looked as crushed as I had earlier. 

This may not seem like much of an experience for a girl, but it was to me. 
It has stayed with me all my life. Also, it made me have some very strange 
feelings about my father. 

When I was younger, something else happened to me that has always stuck in 
my mind. I must have been about four or five. I woke up in the middle of the 
night, and my mother and father were arguing. It got worse and worse. I 
couldn't go to sleep. At different times I could make out their words, even 
if I didn't know what they meant. It seemed as if my father was accusing my 
mother of something terrible. He mentioned another man's name, and as I 
think of it now, I'm pretty sure that my father was saying that my mother 
was a "cheat." That word was used a lot, and when my father shouted it, my 
mother would cry and say that she was sorry. It made me feel awful. When the 
arguing had finally stopped and my mother and father were coming up the 
stairs to go to bed, I still couldn't sleep. It seemed certain that when I 
awoke in the morning either my mother or father wouldn't be there, or that 
maybe both of them would be gone. I was frightened. I knew that something 
was going to happen. People, just couldn't fight like that and still stay 
together. 

It must have been nearly a half hour after my parents had gone into their 
room that I heard noises again. I thought they were fighting again. The 
noises were kind of harsh and wild, yet it seemed that they tried to subdue 
the sounds. I couldn't stand not knowing what was going on, so I got out of 
bed with the intention of going to the bathroom, hoping that the sound of me 
being awake would stop this new fight between my parents. 

When I got into the hall, I noticed that my parents' bedroom door was open. 
I turned toward it. The sounds were still going on, and now they had 
increased quite a bit. My father was moaning and my mother was uttering 
little sobs. I knew that they were fighting again, but it seemed different. 
I strained a bit to see if I could see inside their room, but I couldn't. 
Then I walked closer to the open door. Now the sounds were really fierce and 
very loud. I looked inside the room and saw my parents. They were both naked 
and on top of the bed. My father was above my mother and he was doing what I 
thought then was beating her. His hips were lashing between her thighs, 
which she had wide apart and supported by her feet digging into the bed. And 
my mother was fighting back, throwing her thighs and hips up at my father 
every time he came down to beat upon her. And then I saw something else. I 
saw what it was my father was using as a weapon. He stuck out at that place 
between his thighs, and he was using that to stab my mother, doing it again 
and again as he raised back, then lunged forward. I couldn't understand why 
they didn't fight with some other parts of their bodies. But they didn't. It 
was just my father stabbing my mother and my mother fighting against it by 
raising and beating herself against him, only she wasn't succeeding, for my 
father stabbed within her every time, never missing. But sometimes it seemed 
my mother caught that thing of my father's and kind of strangled it, or hid 
it within her body before releasing him. When I saw that, I had the thought 
that my mother was fighting back in her own way. In the only way she could. 

And then, suddenly, as I watched, the fight between my parents ended. They 
both cried out and their arms wrapped around each other as they moved faster 
than they haH yet. Then, when their cries ended, they both went limp and 
kissed, and I knew that it was over. Their fighting was over and they 
wouldn't moan and groan any longer that night. I seemed to be certain of 
that. 

I turned and went to the bathroom, then to my own bed. It was nearly 
daylight before I finally fell asleep. It was a troubled sleep and I 
remember having all sorts of strange dreams that night, dreams about my 
mother and father and what they had been doing when I had watched them. 

At breakfast the next morning there was certainly no sign that my parents 
had been fighting. Actually, they were sweeter with each other than at any 
time that I could remember. After my father left for the office, I asked my 
mother about it. 

"You and Daddy had a fight last night, didn't you, Mommy?" 

She seemed surprised, but then smiled and said, "A short one, darling. But 
we made up quickly, and everything's just fine now." 

I wondered how everything could be all right after all the shouting, then 
the way they had fought each other on the bed while they were both naked. It 
seemed crazy to me and made no sense at all. 

"You have to remember, dear," my mother continued, "that mommies and daddies 
often fight. It's part of life. But the fights don't last long and usually 
they aren't serious." 

It had looked pretty serious to me. I didn't say anything more to my mother 
about that, though. I just changed the subject and left the breakfast table 
as fast as I could. I didn't want to talk any further on that subject. 

I've only related two of my early experiences, but there were more. Some 
unusual, some pretty ordinary, and all of them, according to my therapist, 
"about the usual experiences that a girl has as she's growing up." Those 
were his words. And maybe it's true, too. The difference is probably what 
the experiences mean to the individual. Those are my psychiatrist's words, 
too. Anyway, these experiences and others, together with my general 
environment and the attitudes I developed, led me right up to my twelfth 
year and my sexual involvement with Carl, the middle-aged friend of my 
father's. Now I have to tell how I ruined that poor man, how I broke him 
down. 

After that first evening, when Carl showed me everything about sex, we 
became, in a way, lovers. It may seem pretty ridiculous to think of a 
twelve-year-old girl and a forty-year-old man as being lovers. The law says 
it shouldn't be, at least not in this country, although Carl once told me 
that a long time ago in history it was pretty common for young girls to be 
the lovers of older men. But even if it wasn't so people could see, inside 
ourselves we considered that we were lovers, real, passionate lovers the 
same as if I was of age. But we were different than regular lovers, too. We 
had to be. Everything with us had to be a secret. Nobody could know that we 
even saw each other, except when circumstances set around my family 
permitted it. We both worked hard to find the chance to be together. The 
private swimming pool of Carl's neighbors helped a lot, and so did the 
swimming pool at the country club. Carl would arrange to be there when I 
was; then he'd offer to drive me home. We'd always stop by his house, 
outwardly using some excuse or another, but always knowing that it was so 
that we could have a few minutes in bed together. That was something that 
was different about our relationship, too. We always got together for just 
one thing: fucking. But that was the way we both wanted it. Carl always said 
that he wished that it could be different, that he could take me places and 
buy me gifts, that he wished that he could show me off. But he couldn't. All 
he could do was make love to me, fuck me, and that was all right with me, 
because it kept getting better and better. I learned a lot about lovemaking, 
and Carl really turned me on to many beautiful sexual things. But good. And 
I turned him on, too. There's no doubt about it; fucking was the biggest 
attraction we had for each other, although Carl said that he loved me, and I 
fancied myself in love with him. But it was sex-fucking-that great, coming 
end of sex that kept bringing us together. We both knew it: We both looked 
forward to every moment we could enjoy together, alone, naked, and enjoying 
each other's bodies. 

After the first time, Carl was very careful about always using a 
contraceptive when we fucked. Both of us thought about the chances of my 
becoming pregnant. But Carl always took care of that. Except once or twice 
when I was in so much of a hurry I wouldn't give him a chance to get ready 
but made him come to me bare and immediately. On one occasion like that, he 
tried to withdraw his cock at the last moment before he squirted his milky 
syrup in my cunt. I couldn't stand that. It was as if I was being cheated. 
So when Carl rolled away, I leaped after him and climbed atop him and 
finished the action while he was on his back, moaning as if he was being 
tortured. 

Carl taught me many things about sex-about how men and women fuck. I 
remember the first occasion that we did a sixty-nine. We had just come back 
from swimming at the club, and as usual Carl had driven me to his home. His 
wife was away for the day and was not expected back until very late that 
evening. We very conveniently had the entire house to ourselves and we could 
do as we pleased. 

"Sharon," Carl asked softly, "are you in the mood for something different 
this time?" 

I was a game twelve-year-old and replied, "Sure. Anything's fine with me as 
long as we get the usual results. Your cock in my little pussy, feeding it 
that lovely cock juice." I knew that Carl loved to hear me speak in this 
manner, and I was always anxious to please him. I continued, "What special 
thing do you have planned for us? Are you going to fuck me standing up?" I 
laughed. 

"No," he answered rather solemnly. "We'll try that sometime, "but today I 
have something entirely different in mind. I know you'll love it." 

"Well in that case, let's get with it. I'm dying to see what you have 
planned." I giggled somewhat at the excitement of trying something new and 
different with Carl, but I saw that he was very serious about the matter and 
quickly I cut off the chuckles. 

"May I remove your clothing, dear?" Carl asked softly. "I want to see if 
your tits have grown any more since the last time I tasted their nipples. 
And has your cunt gotten more hair on it since the last time we fucked?" 

I well remembered the last time we had fucked. It was in his car, parked on 
a lonely road. Yes, he had chewed for a long time on my nipples, until they 
were really sore and I had to tell him to cool it. But then he had examined 
my pussy and we had both laughed at the sparse hairs just starting to peek 
through my flesh. I was slow in getting hairy down there. Most of my girl 
friends already had thick bushes, but I seemed to be taking longer to 
develop a cunt muff. 

Now Carl gently removed my shorts and brief midriff top, putting them aside 
carefully. I had not worn panties or bra beneath my clothes as I had 
expected a fucking session with Carl. I tossed off my sandals and now I was 
totally naked for my forty-year-old lover. Before we proceeded any further, 
I looked up lovingly at Carl and said, "Would you please remove your 
clothes, as well, Carl? I want you to be just as naked as I am." 

Carl smiled as he took off his shirt and then slipped out of his trousers 
and underpants. He also was wearing sandals and he quickly stepped out of 
them, pushing them aside. We were both naked now, feasting our eyes upon 
each other's body. I could see that Carl's cock was beginning to grow and 
puff out as he merely stood there and looked at me. 

Then he gently took my hand and led me to the sofa in the living room. He 
pushed me down upon the plush cushions and then leaned down and began to 
kiss my hair, then my eyes, cheeks and then my mouth. His hot tongue forced 
its way into my slippery mouth and lashed with my own tongue. He gasped 
deeply and then began to kiss and lick at my neck, working down my chest to 
my jutting titties and then to my cherry-red nipples. He chewed upon one and 
then the other as his hands caressed at other parts of my body. I could feel 
his hot breath raging upon my tits and then felt his saliva running down 
from one nipple-down over that tit and still further down my belly. He 
leaned further over my body, to come still lower as he licked up his own 
saliva from my flat belly. And then he was there! This I hadn't expected! He 
began to blow little wisps of hot air across my pussy as his hands kneaded 
at my tender titties. And then just air wasn't enough. He brought out his 
tongue and began to stroke at my navel, working his way down, down, down, 
coming to rest at my cunt. Here he kissed gently, softly, and then his 
tongue began a new stroking of my tender flesh. A licking and sucking-and 
then his fingers came to the aid of his lips as they parted my cunt lips. 
And then a fierce sensation came through me as I felt a stream of hot air 
being blown into my depths. God, how I trembled as he continued blowing into 
my slit, and then kissing and sucking at my puffy flesh, drawing juices from 
within my depths. My own baby juices of love were being licked up by his 
steamy tongue. 

And then he made still another movement. He seemed to cover me with his 
naked body and then I could smell his thick, male scent about my face. He 
had brought his thighs across my upper body and there was his erect cock, 
directly in front of my lips. Now I knew what he wanted me to do. We had 
never before eaten each other and this was to be our new experience of 
lovemaking. I didn't quite know if I wanted to do it, but I knew I wanted to 
make Carl happy, just as he was making me happy, so I grasped his tense cock 
between my fingers and held it tightly while I brought my head down. I 
expected to be repulsed by what I was about to do, but on the contrary, I 
found that once I began licking and stroking my tongue against his knobby 
flesh, I found I liked it. I became bolder in my stroking and then I took 
just the slippery tip into my mouth and gently sucked. His cock head oozed 
forth an offering-a salty, sticky goo that seeped onto my tongue. I tasted 
it, smacked my lips audibly for his benefit, and then proceeded to eagerly 
suck on his cock. I no longer felt a novice at the trade and I desperately 
wanted to bring new sensations to my lover. While I licked and sucked and 
rolled his cock tip about in my mouth, Carl was working over my cunt. I 
trembled each time I felt a whiff of hot air, blowing into my tube and then 
my trembling increased in speed and grew into a rumbling orgasm that rolled 
through my being in fierce waves of passion. I erupted, moaning a soft 
whimper against his pulsating cock. Within seconds a new gushing poured out 
of his prick, down into my throat, almost gagging me with its intensity. I 
was not prepared for such a lavish feast of cock juice and most of it 
dribbled down my chin, onto my chest. But the feelings we experienced were 
intense! We shivered in passion and lashed against each other demanding even 
more of our love juices. It seemed as if Carl was erupting time and time 
again. I could no longer keep track of his spurtings. I just lay back and 
allowed my own orgasms to thunder through my body, quaking into release at 
my cunt at Carl furiously lapped at my slit. A few moments longer we lay in 
the position of oral lovemaking and then Carl gently got off me, rearranged 
his position and then began gently kissing my mouth. He leaned down and 
licked up his own come juices from my throat and chest, smiling in a new way 
at me. ' 

"Did you enjoy that, baby?" he asked softly. 

I could only nod my head in assent. I was not capable of speaking at the 
moment. I shivered as Carl continued to gently caress with his tongue upon 
my bare body. 

"Are you cold, baby?" he asked worriedly. 

"No," I whispered. "I just feel so much sex at the moment that I can't 
explain it." 

"Oh," he smiled. "Is that all?" 

"No," I returned. "I can still feel your hard cock pressing against my 
belly, and now I want you to fuck my cunt, fuck me like you've never fucked 
before. I want you to hurt me. I feel so bad for doing what we just did. I 
need to be punished and I want you to punish me with your cock. That's the 
way I want to be hurt." 

Carl looked startled and concerned. "Sharon, dear, do you really feel guilty 
about what we just did? It's really very normal. Most men and women do it 
and some people prefer it to the regular fucking techniques. Believe me, I 
don't want you to ever feel guilty about what we did. It's perfectly normal 
and a lovely experience. A lovely way to make love between a man and a 
woman." 

"But I'm still a twelve-year-old and I feel dirty," I cried out, not really 
meaning it. 

"Shouldn't I feel dirty after what I just did to you? Shouldn't I, Carl?" 

I must have sounded almost hysterical to Carl, for he drew back and looked 
at me solemnly. "Sharon, baby, nothing that gives you so much satisfaction 
should ever make you feel dirty or bad. I know this is only a passing 
feeling. You'll get over it soon and then you'll want even more of what we 
just did. I know you will. Most women do." 

"Oh, Carl," I sobbed. "Will I ever feel that way?" 

"Sure you will, honey," he comforted gently. 

That had been the first time we had experienced oral lovemaking together, 
but it certainly was not the last. Carl was quite correct when he had said 
that I would learn to enjoy fellatio-in fact, to this time I still get more 
turned on by sucking a cock than being fucked regularly. I often think back 
to my first experience at orality with Carl and wonder what would have 
happened if we had not gone oral that afternoon. 

When I try to make an estimate now of the number of times Carl and I had sex 
together, it doesn't seem like very many interludes, at least in comparison 
to the affairs I have had since then. But we came together fairly often, 
maybe at least twice a week during that time that I moved from my twelfth 
birthday into my teens. For a kid, that's a lot of sex, I guess, but it was 
never enough to really satisfy me. Now I know that there was something wrong 
with me. I didn't know it then. I only knew that I'd no sooner be finished 
than I was ready to go again. I could have fucked Carl forever, it seemed. 
But he wasn't up to it. That's what started the trouble between us. 

I began to notice a change in Carl. He became harried looking and he was 
terribly fearful that I might become pregnant. He talked about it all the 
time. He seemed to be obsessed with the possibility. And then there were the 
times we made oral sex in order to avoid any chance of my becoming pregnant. 
That was usually when Carl found himself out of contraceptives. Now, I think 
he only pretended to be without them so that we could do it the other ways, 
but I didn't even suspect that of him then. And then Carl started keeping 
track of my periods. It was like he was crazy about the subject, and if I 
was a day or so late, as I often was, he acted like he was going out of his 
head. He was more worried about my periods than he was about maybe getting 
caught by his wife or my parents. But what was even worse, he started 
avoiding having sexual relations with me. He'd find ways to take me to his 
house like he always did, and we'd be all ready for fucking; then he'd try 
to back out of it. He couldn't, he'd say, or he would plead that we had to 
stop our "insanity." Hell, sex wasn't insane to me. I'd fight with him, and 
always I wound up having my way: Carl thrusting into me until I broke loose 
and tore into the skies. Sometimes he'd spoil the aftermood by saying that 
it was the last time, that we had to break off before something happened to 
us, but usually I managed to calm ..un so that he was just quiet and 
thoughtful, or better still, loving enough for us to snatch another fling 
before he had to take me home. But I could always tell that, back of 
everything, Carl was worried that something would happen. Something 
terrible. It did. 

Carl and I had been lovers for longer than half a year, and I had gone 
through a lot of changes that my family attributed to my "growing up" and 
entering my teen years. For one thing, I got much prettier. Everyone was 
aware of it and spoke about it. My blond hair was lighter, and people didn't 
have to guess whether or not it was natural. They knew it was. I wore it 
long, too, a decision I made shortly after my first fucking experience with 
Carl. My eyes are blue but during that period with Carl they seemed to get 
darker. Maybe it was knowledge that made them that way. Anyway, my eyes 
became much more attractive. And my body started to really become something. 
My tits developed, but I still had that little girl wrinkle of flesh above 
my navel that Carl loved so much. My legs got very shapely and were as 
pretty as my mother's. And I stopped being as awkward as I once was. I moved 
more gracefully. I don't know why. I just did. My months with Carl had seen 
a lot of changes occur in my life and in me physically, just as changes were 
occurring in Carl. But at the end of this time I had reason to believe that 
there were to be still more changes. Terrible ones, especially to my body, 
for I had missed two periods, and I was sure that I was pregnant. My tits 
even hurt a little, and I had heard that that was a sure sign of pregnancy. 
What a horrible gasser-a kid of thirteen pregnant by her father's friend! 
When I started to worry, I told Carl about it. We had a terrible scene. He 
blamed me. Completely. He remembered every time that he had attempted to 
withdraw his cock when he was without contraceptives, and he remembered how 
I had always forced him to finish inside me. So it was my fault. I thought 
he hated me. But he said that he'd try to think of something to do. That he 
had to, right away! After he said that, he started to take me home from his 
place, where we had stopped on the way to my home from the country club. I 
told him that we might as well take a few minutes for each other, and have a 
fuck. He made the usual excuse: no precautions handy. I said, what the hell, 
it's too late to worry anyway. He seemed amazed with me, then begged off 
again, saying that it'd be too risky, that I might not really be pregnant 
but could get that way now-that he didn't want that to happen. It made me 
damn mad that he didn't want me, that he was so damned worried about 
everything that he couldn't even fuck me anymore. I was so mad that I 
decided to make him take me, right then. I walked up to him, kissed him 
hard, with my tongue spinning all around his mouth, at the same time 
reaching between us to grab where his trousers tented up in front. It 
worked. He was ready. Man, he really went for me, pressed me right down on 
the floor of the foyer and took me in one fast ride that finished us both in 
about one minute. It was a wham, bam fuck that was worthy of rabbits. Then 
he started to worry again. He looked terrible. 

The next day Carl gave me some medicine he had received from a druggist 
friend. It was supposed to bring on my period, or, if irregularity wasn't my 
problem and I was truly pregnant, then the medicine was supposed to abort 
me. It tasted awful. And I had to take a whole series of doses at certain 
intervals. We arranged it so that Carl could be with me during this time. He 
was very patient, even very sympathetic, even better than a father would be 
under the same circumstances. But when I finished with the medicine, nothing 
happened. We were both terribly dejected. Carl said that he felt "doomed." I 
didn't say it-I just felt it. I was equally upset. Hell, what was I going to 
do with a kid in my belly? I was only thirteen-and furthermore, how would I 
explain it to my parents? 

When I awoke the next morning, much to my surprise and to my very definite 
relief, I was menstruating. The medicine had worked. Or maybe it hadn't. 
Maybe I wasn't even pregnant, only late and had started a period normally. 
But it didn't matter. Not a bit. I wasn't going to have a baby. I called 
Carl at his office and told him the good news. He was very happy. But when I 
told him that it would be all right for us to get together in about five 
days and started to tell him of the plan I had worked out, he seemed to be 
worried again. Finally, he agreed to meet me at the end of the week. He 
didn't sound happy at the prospects as he once did. But we made the 
arrangements, and I looked forward to our next meeting. 

Following a different plan-one that almost exactly duplicated the 
circumstances surrounding the beginning of our affair-Carl called at my 
parents' home on Sunday afternoon, a time when both my parents were home, 
but without Carl's wife at his residence. After Carl had visited a bit, and 
drank a bit with my father and mother, I walked into the room and said, "Oh, 
great, Carl's here. Now he can take me swimming at his neighbor's pool. They 
have a terrific diving board that I've been dying to try out. Ours isn't 
nearly as high." Carl laughed with my mother and father at my boldness. Then 
he said that it was all right with him. My mother suggested that it was a 
"terrible imposition." Father thought so, too, but didn't pressure against 
it too much. So it worked out that I was able to leave with Carl, dressed in 
a swimsuit as I had been dressed that very first day when we had become 
lovers. That lovely day so many months back when I had given up my virginity 
to this forty-year-old man. 

Carl was very quiet on the way to his house. I wasn't. I babbled 
incessantly. 

"Oh, darling, I've missed you so," I said, sliding my hand onto his firm 
thigh. "It seems that it's been forever. We've had to wait before, but it's 
never been this way-never this hard on me. Hurry, Carl. Please hurry so I 
can get real close to you again. Naked and close. Everything's so 
wonderful-there's nothing to worry about now and we'll always be careful 
and-everything is just so great." 

Everything was not so great. Instead of driving to his house where we were 
to have our sexual rendezvous, Carl pulled the car into a drive-in 
restaurant. Right then I knew something was terribly wrong. 

"I want to talk to you, Sharon," he said very, very seriously. 

I shifted in my seat to look at him. I did it in a way that I had learned 
pleased him very much, attaining a posture that allowed my tits to bulge 
outside of my knit top, while at the same time the rest of me kind of 
tightened like a spring. I curled my legs beneath my hips-this thrusted me 
at him, put me in a position that he had never been able to resist. And I 
pouted my mouth, too. I was doing my damnedest to look enticing and sexual 
for him. I would have even thrown off my clothing right there in the 
restaurant if I had thought it would arouse his passion. 

Carl looked at me for a long time before he spoke. Then, just as he was 
ready to say something, the car-hop appeared at the side of the car, and we 
each ordered a soft drink. Neither of us talked then until after we had been 
served our drinks. Then I was the first one to break the spell of silence. 

"All right, what do you want to talk about, Carl?" I asked. 

"Us," Carl said. He paused, then launched into it as if he was afraid he'd 
forget the lines he had rehearsed, saying it all in a jam. "We have to stop 
this stupidity between us, Sharon. We have to stop it at once. We've been 
lucky-we're clear-you're not pregnant and we haven't been found out, and 
that's the way we're going to leave it-right now. No more. Never again for 
us, never. Never. Do you hear me? Do you? Do you understand that it's the 
only thing that we can do?" 

I knew that he expected me to answer immediately, to protest, to do 
something that would get the end of our affair on the road. I didn't do 
anything that he expected, nothing that I expected, either. I turned my head 
and looked out the window on my side. I was very quiet, although I was 
boiling inside, boiling with anger, with hurt and shame and a hopelessness 
that Carl had all so suddenly given me. 

"Sharon, for Christ's sake, say something!" he shouted. 

I remained quiet. 

Carl's hand suddenly touched my forearm. It was a strange touch, like one a 
parent might give to their child to offer comfort. It .wasn't a lover's 
touch. I turned and stared sharp daggers at Carl. 

"Do you understand, Sharon?" he asked, a real note of pleading in his tone. 

"No, damn you, I don't understand," I raged, shouting until I knew that 
everyone around us could hear. I didn't care who the hell heard what I was 
saying. I was damned upset and was set to show it. 

"Shut up," Carl snapped. 

I wouldn't. I raised my hands over my head and tightened my fists as if I 
was cursing God. "No, no, no," I shouted, chanting almost crazily. 

Carl made a lunge for me as I started to leap out of the car. He missed. I 
fell when I scrambled through the door, skinning my legs. But I was up 
quickly, still shouting, yelling all kinds of crazy things and doing a mad 
dance around the car. Then I saw Carl coming for me. I jumped away and ran 
to the restaurant, collapsing against the carry-out window and sobbing 
horribly as I kept yelling, "No, no, no, no, NO!" 

Carl raised me to my feet. I could see a group of people circled around me. 
Some of them asked questions: "What's wrong? Who is she? What did you do to 
her, mister? Is she hurt? What should we do? Call the police? Yes, I'll do 
it." 

"No," shouted Carl. "She'll be all right-she's hysterical. She's 
had-some-very bad news. She'll be all right in just a moment." 

"Who are you, anyway" a man's voice asked. "What are you doing with her?" 

"I'm her ... uncle." He was moving me toward the car now as I continued to 
sob, leaning against him with my face buried in his shoulder. 

"Sure you don't want the cops?" that same man's voice asked again. 

"No. Thank you, anyway. I'll just ... take her home now." 

He did, too. To his house. I guess there wasn't anything else he could do 
with me. I was calm by the time we got there. 

There's something that I should explain. Part of my outburst was real; part 
was phony, something that I decided to use to punish Carl. But as I got into 
the hysterics, it became more real for me. I really was upset. Horribly. I 
couldn't stand facing the fact that Carl wanted to break off with me; I 
couldn't stand to be deserted. I wanted him, forever, or at least until I 
had him out of my system. You see, I needed him. I needed him physically. I 
needed his love juices to give me stamina and reason for being. I was beyond 
the point of being able to endure without the lovemaking that Carl gave me. 
So I had to do something to keep him. Hysterics became a part of that plan. 
Other details seemed to fall in place once I had started. 

Wordlessly, Carl let me into his house. As we usually did, we went to the 
family room. But this time there was no quick, impulsive embrace before we 
got there. We merely went there, like two strangers about to have a polite 
conversation. There was no anticipation of a fucking session. 

"Are you feeling better?" Carl asked me, sincere concern in his tone. 

"Yes." 

"Are you through screaming?" 

I looked at him coldly. "If you're through lying to me." 

"I'm not lying, Sharon," he said softly, the lines of his forehead furrowing 
and quivering like little waves on a lake. 

"You are-you have to be," I said, raising my voice sharply. 

"I'm not-we're ending this thing right now," Carl stated angrily. 

I looked around as if I was seeking an escape. I could feel the scream start 
way low inside me, then rise and catch a little bit in my throat before it 
leaped out of my lips. When it echoed through the room, I broke into a run 
again, right for the foyer and out of the house. The scream was real, but my 
mind knew that Carl couldn't permit me running out of his house screaming as 
if I were an innocent virgin and had just been raped. He didn't permit it 
either. 

He caught me just as I was turning the door knob. He jerked me back, then 
slapped me across the cheek. It wasn't a hard hit, but I fell anyway, then 
rolled to my back and looked up at Carl. 

He stared at me and looked as if he was about to apologize. He looked 
surprised at himself, too. Very rapidly I formed an image of how I must 
look, lying there on the carpet, my bikini all askew and showing most of my 
young body. I knew Carl. Age doesn't matter; a girl knows a man after she's 
made love to him as often as I made love to Carl and I knew that it was hard 
for him to resist me. I decided to make it even more difficult. 

"Make love to me, Carl-fuck me-now," I said, real low, my eyes going narrow 
in a way that I hoped told him how much I loved him. 

"We-can't," he said. His words were very thick, and hesitating, as if he 
took great pains in arriving at an answer. 

I raised my arms and opened them, at the same time planting my feet firmly 
into the carpeting. 

"Please," I said. "Let's do it, then you won't think about ending it again. 
I need your cock juice so badly-I can't live without it, honestly I can't, 
Carl. Please believe me!" 

Carl hesitated. I could tell how he was torn between two desires. Then it 
seemed as if he made his mind up to something I didn't understand. He had, 
too, but I wasn't to learn what it was for several days. Then he fell to his 
knees in front of me and rushed his hands to the removal of the bottom of my 
bikini. 

Fucking there in the foyer was different, wild and exciting. At'the very 
moment that Carl's prick had stabbed inside me, I looked at the front door 
that was only a few feet away. Right then I knew that part of the excitement 
of making love to Carl was in the chance that we were taking. His wife could 
have come in that very door while we were grinding together. It was so 
risky. And I loved it. Years later, now that I look at it in another light, 
I realize that I liked the risk that was involved with making love to Carl 
in such a manner, and not so much the fact that we were fucking on the foyer 
floor. 

When Carl and I finished in the foyer, he rejected the cuddly, relaxing 
period we always enjoyed after intercourse. He got up quickly, and I 
followed him, and within a few minutes we were out of his house and headed 
toward my own home, all thoughts of having a swim in the neighbor's pool as 
a cover for our meeting forgotten. Carl dropped me off in front of my house, 
then drove away. I watched him go. He looked back once, then turned and 
looked straight ahead as he sped off. It seemed like a strange ending to our 
lovemaking of a short time ago. 

It was my practice to call Carl at his office and make the arrangements for 
our meetings. Carl was a partner in an architectural firm, one my father was 
associated 'with as a consultant, and he had a big office all his own and a 
good deal of privacy. So I'd call him there. In a few days, according to a 
schedule we had worked out months earlier, I called Carl to arrange our next 
meeting for love. His secretary answered. This was unusual. I called him on 
a special line that he always took himself. But his secretary answered and 
said that he wasn't in. I knew she was lying. I called later in the day and 
got the same reaction. But it wasn't until three days had passed that I 
finally realized that Carl was deliberately avoiding me. I knew how it went: 
if he couldn't get rid of me by reasoning, he'd take a chance on my making a 
scene. In the meantime, he'd avoid me at all costs. I decided that the cost 
would be mighty damn high for Carl-much higher than he could have ever 
anticipated. I began making plans of another nature. Vindictive plans. I 
felt a wronged woman and I craved revenge. 

That night I called Carl at his home. His wife answered. Without identifying 
myself, I asked to speak to Carl. She seemed surprised but called him to the 
phone. I could detect a trace of curiosity in her voice. 

"Listen, Carl, see me tomorrow night at the drive-in theater at eight 
o'clock, or I'll cause trouble," I said as soon as he spoke into the phone. 
The meeting place and the time were one of the alternate, more or less 
emergency plans we had worked out between us. 

He mumbled something about business, pretending to his wife, I guessed, that 
the call was from one of the girls at his office. 

I waited until nine o'clock the following night, but Carl didn't show up. 
Right then I knew that he'd never meet me again, that there was nothing I 
could do to entice him to me ever again, not as long as he lived. I felt as 
if I had been smashed into little pieces, each part of me wanting to dash in 
a different direction. I had never been able to visualize the end of our 
affair-to me it seemed that it would last forever. I never took into 
consideration the difference in our ages and the ultimate consequences. But 
now I had to face it. I'd never be able to make love with Carl again. I'd 
never be able to kiss and fondle his cock or feel his hot juices squirting 
into my pussy, or feel his slippery tongue lash within the depths of my 
mouth as we battled kisses of love. I'd never again feel the warmth of his 
hard body as he lay atop mine, forcing his prick deep into my vagina, 
bringing me to thundering orgasms of breathless beauty. It was as if a 
doctor had just told me that I had a deadly disease-a deadly communicable 
disease. 

Sometime during the night as I tossed in my bed, I began to vow that I'd get 
even with Carl. I wanted to hurt him, to direct at him all of the hostility 
I felt for everyone in the world who I hated. And I guess I hated plenty, 
because I developed a program to ruin Carl. 

The next day I called Carl's wife while he was at work. I told her, 
disguising my voice a bit because she knew me, that I happened to know that 
her husband was having an affair with another woman. I waited until I heard 
her gasp; then I hung up. I let that settle for a few days. Then, changing 
my voice again, I called Carl's home. He answered the call. I didn't say a 
word, just listened to him asking who it was and saying "hello" as if he had 
been disconnected. Then, just before I hung up, I made some sounds that were 
very close to the ones I made when Carl and I were fucking. It got very 
silent on the other end of the line. Then, just as I was afraid Carl was 
about to hang up, I made another sound that we both knew very well. I 
gurgled and screamed the way I always did while I was coming. Then a bang 
disconnected the line. 

I kept the telephone bit up for almost two full weeks. Then I couldn't get 
through to Carl at home anymore. He had had his number changed, and it was 
unlisted. And when I tried to call him at the office, his secretary always 
answered. Obviously, she had been ordered by Carl to screen all calls coming 
in for him. Maybe he had even told her about me. It's not impossible. Men 
are supposed to share everything with their secretaries. Not being able to 
give out with my sex calls on the phone bothered me a little, but then I 
decided to go into a harder action. 

My old composition days came back to me, and I began to write letters to 
Carl and his wife. In each letter I was very accurate. I'd cite the exact 
time and circumstances and settings of times when Carl and I had made love. 
I didn't use my name, and I wrote as if maybe I was one of the girls who 
worked in Carl's office. The main thing, however, was that I knew that 
Carl's wife would be able to figure out if she had been with him on the 
dates and times I listed. She'd certainly begin to wonder. But" pretty soon 
I got bored with the letters-remember, I wasn't good enough to win a 
contest-or, I should say that I had been good enough, but I got talked out 
of being good enough to win, if that makes any sense at all. 

Once finished with the telephone calls and the poison-pen letters, I 
increased my campaign, went into the final stage of it, not even knowing why 
I did the things I did, except that I wanted to hurt Carl because he had 
hurt me. I didn't care what the process cost me or my family. Nothing 
mattered except making Carl regret the day he stopped being my lover. 

There's little doubt that I was in a terrible state after a few weeks 
without Carl's lovemaking, without even the hope of ever having him again. 
If I had hope, I could have endured his absence, but he had cut me off so 
completely that I didn't even have a hint of that. And I needed Carl, really 
needed his fucking, for at night I couldn't sleep because of the desire that 
was inside me. I'd toss endlessly, all night long, remembering how great I 
had felt when Carl and I had had sex, and thinking that I just had to do 
something to take the place of this terrible gnawing desire that was now 
forever unsatisfied. It never once occurred to me that I might just find 
better sex with someone else. To me, it was only Carl who could provide it. 

One Tuesday night I decided that I'd start stalking Carl, thinking that just 
the sight of him might relieve some of my need. So, I waited for hours 
outside of his office. When he came out the revolving doors, I was standing 
to one side. He saw me at once, then hurried in the opposite direction. I 
followed him. Finally, he lost me by cutting through the lobby of another 
building. Seeing him didn't help a bit. It only made me want him-and his 
fucking-all the more. My restless sexual spirit was unfulfilled, unsatisfied 
and in need of his loving. 

For almost three weeks, I'd pop up on Carl at different places where I knew 
he'd be. He was easy enough to trace: my mother and father talked about him 
quite a bit around the house, even mentioned how odd it was that Carl didn't 
drop in as he once had done so casually. "Busy," my father said, and my 
mother agreed. I wanted to laugh. Little did my parents suspect the real 
reason for his absence. I kept thinking how much busier Carl had been during 
the time we were meeting for sex. 

The matter of making Carl's life miserable came to a head for me about eight 
weeks after he deserted me, approximately seven months from the time we had 
first met sexually. I learned through listening to my parents that Carl, 
together with my parents, was going to attend a special party at the country 
club. Carl's wife, the way the story went, wouldn't be there because she was 
visiting her mother out of town. I had also heard through my parents that 
lately there had been a lot of rumors connected with Carl's domestic life. 
Even my family suspected that he was having some kind of problems, and they 
agreed with each other that Carl's wife's quite extended stay out of town 
indicated that they were separated, about to become separated, or were in 
the process of a divorce. My father, close as he was to Carl, could not 
bring himself to ask directly about the rumors. And Carl, apparently, was 
saying nothing to anyone. And so he would be at the country club alone, and 
so would I. This was an ideal situation taking place, exactly for my 
benefit. 

When I decided to make this one final splurge toward revenge on Carl, I'm 
sure I was a little crazy. I had to be, because I was placing myself in such 
terrible danger. Normal people don't do that. 

When the night of the country club party arrived, I made my plans carefully. 
My brother was busy-he had made some plans to spend the night with a friend 
across town. I was to be left home alone. That was fine with me. It gave me 
the freedom I needed, freedom to go to Carl and get my revenge, or, if I was 
lucky, get him to come back to me. I was making plans very carefully this 
time-I wanted nothing to go wrong. 

When it was dark outside, I left the house. In the garage, I got on my 
bicycle. The country club was about six miles away, but I was a good rider. 
I didn't even have to hurry. I had until very late at night, until Carl left 
the party. I dressed in short shorts and a skinny-ribbed pullover. All I 
wore on my feet were the sandals that Carl had grown to like so much. I left 
my hair flowing free, and I imagined if someone saw me pedaling my bike to 
the country club, they'd think I looked like a pretty normal 
thirteen-year-old girl, not one who was bent upon the destruction of her 
middle-aged lover. Nobody ever knows people-really knows them-I always say, 
and people sure as hell wouldn't suspect me of the things I had been up to, 
and particularly, of the things I had now planned. 

When I got to the country club, I avoided the front, well-lighted entrance. 
I knew my way around the place and pedaled to the third tee of the golf 
course, a spot that placed me directly behind the parking lot. That was the 
place that I wanted-that was the setting for my meeting with Carl, the 
meeting that I hoped would not be the last. 

I hid my bike in the bushes alongside the road, then climbed through the 
fence to the third tee. I cut across the grass toward the parking lot. The 
turf was real spongy beneath my feet. It tickled my toes. Somehow, it made 
me feel very sensual, just the way I used to feel when I was meeting Carl 
for an interlude. 

Looking for Carl's car was really something. The lot was packed. Also, some 
of the cars were occupied. Unofficially occupied, I should say. One car was 
jiggling as I walked by it. I looked inside and saw why. A man and a woman 
were really going at it. She was crouched way down in the back seat of the 
car, and the man was moving so hard that the car shook. They were 
middle-aged. I guessed that they weren't married, at least not to each 
other. I found the same thing going on in a few other cars, and a variation 
of fucking sessions was in progress in four other cars. It seemed that the 
whole world had gone mad for sex. It also seemed that I wasn't so bad, that 
there wasn't a heck of a lot of difference whether a kid or a grown-up was 
messing around. 

At last, I found Carl's car. There were others like it, but I knew it was 
his because of a small window sticker on the back window. As usual, Carl 
hadn't locked it. I opened the door and climbed into the back seat. If I had 
had doubts about the car belonging to Carl, they disappeared when I entered 
it. Inside, it smelled like Carl. Nice. When a girl has been with a man like 
I had been with Carl, the smell of him becomes a part of her life. I could 
detect Carl by scent anywhere. I was a pretty good bloodhound. 

When I curled into the back seat, I remembered the one time Carl and I had 
fucked there. It was in the country, far away from the nearest town. We had 
gone there to make love, and, man, we did what we set out to so, in royal 
style. Thinking about it while I was curled up there made me want him so 
badly I ached. Some people may say this is a hell of a lot of nonsense. They 
say that a kid has to be sick to make love to a mature man, and maybe that's 
right, but I can testify that a girl of twelve or thirteen can feel all of 
the desire for a man that a woman in her twenties or older can feel. It's 
not a matter of age-it's what a girl can feel, and I was very strong in that 
area. I thought of all this while I was curled into a tight ball in the back 
seat of Carl's car. Many past lovemaking episodes came to my mind as I 
relaxed there. The times we had sixty-nined. The times that Carl had 
corn-holed me. Even the occasions we had doggy-fucked. These were fond 
memories with me and I relished going over them in my mind. I lay there 
smiling, dreamily reliving our past fucking sessions. 

The waiting was terrible, but I was prepared to stick it out until the next 
day if necessary, to wait for Carl until even my parents might get home and 
discover me missing. I'd wait forever. I simply had to see Carl. I had to 
feel his hard body next to mine. I had to fondle his cock once again. His 
lance would soon be thrust up my waiting love channel. Of this I was 
certain. 

It was a few hours that I waited. It was very dark, not a star in the sky, 
not even a clouded moon, when I heard footsteps approaching the car. My 
heart pounded faster. I was sure that it was Carl. It was. 

As the car door opened, I noticed a familiar scent about him, only it was 
stronger. Alcohol. I guessed that Carl had been drinking heavily at the 
party, drinking, I hoped, in an effort to forget me. Some of the desire for 
revenge went out of me right then. I hoped that Carl was drunk. That would 
make it easier to get him back with me, much easier to have him take me 
right there in his car. And he was drunk. He dropped his keys and cursed. 
Then he settled behind the steering wheel. And then I raised from the back 
seat and looked at the dark shadow that formed his face. 

Carl turned, then actually jumped. While he was that upset, I shifted over 
the car seat and landed next to him. Then I smiled. Immediately, I scooted 
closer to him, figuring I'd give him no chance to be out of range of my 
body, just in case he wanted to kiss me at once. But he didn't. He made no 
intimate move toward me. 

"For Christ's sake, get out of here," he shouted in a frightened voice. "For 
Christ's sake, haven't you caused me enough trouble already? What do you 
want from me now? Can't you see I don't want you around me-ever again!" 

It didn't make sense. I couldn't figure that I had caused Carl trouble, at 
least not until he quit me. But even then it wasn't the kind of trouble he 
had caused me by dropping me, by making me sleepless and going around trying 
to win him back. It didn't make sense. Not at all. 

"Get the hell out of here, Sharon," Carl said, opening his door. 

I just stared at him, speechless. I couldn't believe that he was still 
rejecting me, not after I had gone to all the trouble of waiting for him. It 
was crazy, real crazy, like having a dream you know isn't true, yet being 
unable to shake it. 

"Get out, damn you!" he repeated, nearly screaming at me. 

"Don't," I said lamely. "Don't make me leave, Carl. Not yet. Not until 
you...." 

Carl interrupted me by reaching out and gripping me by the bare shoulder. I 
guess it was that touch that set my original plan into motion. But I warned 
him first. I did give him fair warning. 

"Don't make me leave, Carl," I said very softly, so softly that I heard my 
own words come back to me as if they were from some calm, crazy stranger. 
"Don't, Carl, or you'll be awfully sorry." 

That didn't stop him. His fingers tightened on my shoulder and he started to 
drag me across the seat, past the steering wheel and out the door he had 
opened. It was easy to free myself, and I did so by twisting hard in the 
opposite direction. Then I threw open the other door and scrambled out of 
it, at the same time beginning to scream. 

His fingers raked my back and hooked into the back of my pullover a bit as I 
made it through the door. The scratches hurt, but I loved it. Now, there, 
was a reason for screaming, and I cut loose as if monsters were chasing me. 
And then I stumbled and spilled onto the gravel. That added more cuts to my 
bare legs and elbows. I screamed louder, then scrambled to my feet and 
headed for the entrance of the country club. For a few seconds, I heard 
steps behind me. Then they stopped. I slowed a bit, then almost halted. I 
looked down at myself, then deliberately tore one side of my sweater so that 
it hung below my tit, just the fringe of the ripped portion rippling along 
the bottom of my nipple. Then I tore a long rip in my shorts, tearing them 
upward on one side. And then there was nothing to do but resume running and 
screaming to the country club. 

I never got inside. Just as I was ready to dash through the open double 
door, I bumped into a group of four people just as they were leaving the 
club. I couldn't run past them, so I dashed into the arms of the nearest 
woman-it had to be a woman, I reasoned, because I had just been terrified by 
a man. 

I sobbed into the woman's breast, at the same time blubbering out my name 
and telling everyone who was listening that a man had tried to rape me. 

"Who, dear?" the woman demanded. "Do you know who it was?" 

"Yes," I said, still sobbing. 

"Tell us-we'll tell the police." 

Then I shivered a little, hugged myself closer to the strange woman and told 
them Carl's name. They knew him. They were horrified. 

"My God--Carl?" one of the men of the group who had gathered around me said, 
breathing the name with sharp disbelief. 

"Why, Carl just left the club," one of the women said. 

"And he was very drunk," added another. 

Then they questioned me a little, demanding answers, but gently. Still 
crying, I told them that Carl was a friend of mine-of mine and my 
family's-and that he had telephoned and asked me to meet him at his car 
because he had something very important to tell me. I told them about 
pedaling my bike to the third tee of the golf course and about hiding it in 
the bushes as Carl had instructed me. Then I told them that I had just met 
Carl there and that he had tried to rape me. 

I heard some of the group gasp. I blinked and saw that all of them were 
looking at my appearance, obviously in sympathy with me for the cuts and 
bruises and scratches I had obtained while protecting my innocence. They 
were all falling for my story, without exception. 

"I'll call the police," a man said. 

"No," another cautioned him. "First, let's call her parents. They left just 
before Carl did. Her parents should be the first to know." 

"And where's Carl now?" a woman asked me. 

"I don't know," I said. "He-ran away." I sobbed as I made my explanation. 

My parents had just gotten home and had not yet discovered that I was 
missing when they got the telephone call from the club. They hurried right 
over. When I saw them, I started to sob hard again. Then they put me into 
the car, my father telling the others not to make a report about the 
incident until he had a chance to calm me and talk to me. 

There was a lot of talking that night, believe me. I didn't backtrack on my 
story about the rape, but it seemed too inconsistent and out of character 
for a man such as Carl. So then I told them the whole story, not changing 
anything except why I was with Carl in his car: I insisted that Carl had 
called me to meet him and did not tell my parents that Carl had broken off 
with me. 

"Then why was it a rape?" my father asked. "If you were already-already ... 
doing this with him, why would he have to ... to force himself upon you 
tonight? What was the real reason behind it?" 

"Because I've been trying to break off with him," I explained, adding 
another lie. 

"I think we had better reach Carl," my father said, turning to Mother. 

"Yes-yes, do that, dear," she answered softly. My mother did not appear 
overly upset, but I knew that deep inside she was seething. 

After I assured my mother that I was all right, that nothing had happened 
with Carl that night, I was sent to bed. As I left the shower and headed for 
my room, I heard my father talking to someone on the phone. I was sure that 
it was Carl. Then, much later, I heard someone arrive at the house. After 
that I didn't hear anything. My parents and their guest moved to the kitchen 
and out of earshot. Surprisingly, this night I fell asleep almost 
immediately. All the rolling and tossing and restlessness were gone. 

It was the strangest thing meeting my family the next morning. Everything 
was different between us: everything had changed overnight. My father seemed 
embarrassed in my presence. My mother displayed signs of sympathy, but still 
she seemed suspicious of me and as embarrassed as my father did. My brother 
apparently did not know what had happened. He acted as if he knew that 
something was up, but still had to discover what it was. He knew it 
concerned me. Fortunately, he had something to do early in the morning and 
he left as soon as we finished breakfast. Then I was alone with my parents. 
I was a little frightened. 

After the usual things as to how I was feeling and did I rest well enough, 
my father cleared his throat, and I knew that he was about to make a 
statement about Carl and me. He did, too, and it wasn't as bad as I thought 
it might be. Also, it told me pretty much how they felt about the whole 
matter. 

My father told me that everything was a terrible mess, that they had talked 
to Carl and felt that there were quite a few discrepancies in my story-they 
didn't disbelieve me, he said, it was just that everything was so terribly 
confused. He also said that they definitely were not going to bring the 
police into the case, that that would not solve anything. Too many people, 
my father claimed, were already involved, and we had to anticipate the worst 
kind of gossip. My mother shook her head, nearly crying, and said, "All 
those people at the club-oh, dear." 

"So, we're going to try to forget the whole matter," my father said. "Or, if 
not forget it, at least put it in its proper place." 

What was the proper place for a situation like ours? I wondered. 

"We're not going to mention Carl around this house ever again," my father 
continued. "He's out of our lives. And we're going to carry on as if this-as 
if all this-never happened. Now, your mother and I are not going to 
pry-we're not going to keep bringing the matter up or ask for explanations 
about how this started, what you did and all that-no, we're not going to do 
that. But we are taking you to see someone to whom you can talk about 
it-someone who will keep your confidence and help you ... adjust. Someone 
who will understand how you feel." 

"A doctor?" I asked. 

"Yes, we're taking you to the doctor first. And this other person is a 
doctor, too, a psychiatrist who understands about matters such as this." 

A head shrinker! For me! It seemed crazy! Crazy and impossible. 

And that was the end of the conversation. We went ahead and entered our day 
as if nothing had happened, as much as it was possible to do that, anyway. 
It wasn't easy, especially with my mother. I guess it's a terrible thing for 
a mother to suddenly realize that her little child has had sex with a 
man-maybe it makes her lose some of her superiority over her daughter, keeps 
her from being top banana around the house. I don't know. But the looks that 
shot from my mother to me were pretty awful. They gave me the feeling that 
she was as curious as hell about my love affair with Carl. My fucking with 
the forty-year-old friend of the family's. She looked as if she wondered how 
I was in bed, whether I was sexual and could respond or not. At least that's 
the way it seemed to me. 

During the next week I saw both our family physician and the psychiatrist. 
Our medic examined me and said that I was in great shape, just as if that 
was the only purpose in looking me over-just as if it was a routine physical 
exam. Now the psychiatrist, he was something else. That was my first bout 
with a shrinker, and it was far from being the last. He was real quiet and 
passive and tried to get me to do most of the talking. I did a little, too, 
but I wasn't what you'd call a really cooperative patient. Finally, it was 
set for me to see the psychiatrist twice weekly. I could guess what that was 
going to cost my father. 

I lasted with the shrinker for about a month. Then I started missing 
appointments. My family was stricken: the psychiatrist charged them the same 
fee for the hour whether I was there or not. But I couldn't dig it. It was a 
bore, man, even when I talked about Carl and our lovemaking. It was a real 
bore just talking about it. I even tried to use all the four-letter words I 
knew in order to spice up my sex revelations, but that wore off in no time. 
It was like swearing at a blank wall. No response. No nothing. This shrinker 
would just sit there taking notes and sometimes running a tape recorder. I 
finally couldn't stand it any longer, and decided to stop seeing the 
psychiatrist altogether. My family eventually consented to my decision. So 
did the shrinker. He said there was no use continuing under the present 
conditions and that undoubtedly something in the future would take me back 
to therapy. He was right. Oh, man, how fucking right he was! 

During the time that I was in treatment, a lot of things happened to Carl. 
We didn't discuss him around the house, but I learned of Carl's problems 
anyway. He had plenty of them. Apparently, Carl and I were the subject of 
conversation for everyone at the country club, everyone in the community, as 
far as I knew. Bits and pieces of information were put together, and there 
were all kinds of opinions about what really happened between Carl and me. 
Carl couldn't take it. Neither could his wife. She sued him for divorce, a 
condition that started way back with my letters and phone calls and the 
suspicion I aroused in his wife. And on top of that, Carl left his job, had 
to, as I understood it, because his partners didn't want any taint of any 
kind to be brought down upon the firm. They did a lot of governmental work, 
and scandal of any kind was disastrous. The divorce, I heard, cost Carl 
everything. His wife got the big house, the car, a boat he kept, all of his 
savings bonds, a few stocks, and the bulk of his savings. She cleaned him 
out-or maybe it was me who did that. Finally, Carl left town for new work, 
but everyone said that his difficulties would follow him the rest of his 
life, that he would always be making a losing fight to win back the material 
things and the status that he had once enjoyed. Situations like having a 
thirteen-year-old as a mistress, like pregnancies, don't just go away. They 
stick. And everybody always seems to learn about it. Those are difficult 
stigmas to run away from, especially for a man in Carl's position. 

For awhile, the excitement and the sessions with the shrinker quieted my 
physical need for Carl. But soon it was on me again, strong as ever, perhaps 
even stronger than before. I thought I'd go crazy. It was then that I 
started to think in terms of finding a new lover. I had never thought of 
that before. Now, it seemed like the only way to go on living. But I had 
been spoiled by Carl-at least at that point I thought I had been spoiled-and 
my prospects, at thirteen, of finding a lover to satisfy me, one who was 
willing to take the chances that such an affair involved, were mighty, 
mighty slim. Also, my reputation in the neighborhood became such as to 
discourage even the most gallant of potential lovers. And so I had my 
problems along this line. I had them until I found a whole new way of life. 

Recently, there's been an awful lot said about the young generation, the 
flower children, the new free-love cults, the youthful nomads who wander 
about from city to city, taking their kicks where they can get them. Their 
philosophy of life has been termed "immoral and loose." All right, so maybe 
they love more openly than their parents did. Maybe they haven't the hangups 
of their forefathers and don't follow the creeds and beliefs of their 
parents. But they are at least honest. They are true, lovely people, who 
have nothing to hide. Perhaps certain codes of society would find them 
immoral and loose, but who's to say which code is the best. I've made love 
every way that's known to man or woman, and I've done it with both the 
squares and the hippies-and some people who didn't fit into any category. 
Actually, I'm somewhat of an authority on sex-the fucking kind of sex-and I 
can speak from experience about the turned-on kind of life that I 
experienced with my own turned-on generation of beautiful people. 

Although I was only thirteen, I listened to the rumblings of those about me. 
I was as dissatisfied as others with the state of affairs of our country, 
our town, and our own personal lives. I was prepared to do my bit in the 
protest demonstrations, the "sit-ins" that were called so frequently, the 
anti-establishment rallies that brought us forth in great numbers. We were a 
force that was going to be heard-a force that antiquated society would have 
to deal with in the very near future. I ran with the crowd and did what was 
expected of me. I even became a sexual pawn, going from one group leader to 
the other, offering my body as solace for the battle of youth and degenerate 
society. But as I stated earlier, I was only a part-time rebel for the 
cause. Beyond my own home boundaries I performed with a radical sense of 
awareness on a level with those with whom I was associated. But home was 
another story. I didn't want to antagonize my parents beyond the point of 
endurance, and although I always felt they were aware of my actions, I also 
felt that as long as I "behaved" while in their presence, nothing drastic 
would be done about my outside activities. ' I ran with a wild, sometimes 
unruly crowd, but home was a sort of haven for me, a haven to which I gave a 
respect and consideration outside the realm of my other life. I became 
highly promiscuous, several fucks with several different studs was nothing 
for me. I turned to fellatio for fulfillment of my pressing sexual desires 
and when even this fell short of expectations, I looked for newer and more 
exciting forms of sexual behavior that would pacify my raging other self. 

 CHAPTER 3 

I was a restless thirteen-year-old kid, in need of a fucking cock almost 
constantly. The only damn thing wrong was that although my pussy was juicy 
and dripping for cock meat, there were times when just such action was 
impossible. I still had school to contend with, as well as my family. Mom 
and Dad kept me pretty much under their thumbs during this period, or at 
least they thought they were holding me down. But, man, no one could ever do 
that! There was a sex beast raging within me, and that beast had to be 
pacified. There was only one real way to do that. And when cock wasn't 
available, I turned to masturbation. 

That sort of thing never really turned me on, but it was a last resort when 
I wasn't able to check out of the house and get the real thing. At times 
like that, I would lock myself in my room, strip down and start playing with 
myself. I'd usually start by pulling on my cunt lips gently and then rubbing 
across my steamy pussy with my fingertips. Then, when my passions were 
almost out of control, I would have to ram something into my twat. There was 
usually a soda bottle handy, or even a banana. I'd even resort to the handle 
of my bath brush which was a damn good twelve inches long! That would be the 
best. I'd push as far as I could and then I'd twist and turn the handle 
around, feeling my cunt flesh curling over the cold wood. Even while I kept 
ramming something into my cunt, my other hand would continue fingering at my 
clit, pulling and drawing upon the tender flesh until I was at the point of 
climax. I did reach orgasms in this manner, and although I always felt 
somewhat cheated, I was able to get some sort of relief, at least 
temporarily. Relief that would stop the pussy itch that was tearing me apart 
day after day. 

The masturbation scene became especially necessary when I had the hots late 
at night and everyone was asleep. Where the hell would I get cock at one in 
the morning? My father was sleeping with Mom and my brother was too chicken 
to swing in that manner. I'd have to look for my own solution to the problem 
and whenever a cool shower didn't work, I'd have to look for a plug other 
than human. 

One time I remember I was particularly upset after having been refused 
permission to go away for the weekend. I had made plans with a girl friend 
to have a ball and I guess my folks caught on. They raised a hell of a storm 
and refused to allow me out of their sight. The only privacy I could find 
was in my own bedroom-behind my locked door. 

I was determined to get revenge on my folks and as I fumed in my bedroom, I 
thought up all manner of hideous things that I would do. I'd make them damn 
sorry they had grounded me. Sorry as hell! But the more I thought of it-the 
hotter I became, sexually. I kept thinking of seeing Dad in his swim trunks, 
working around the pool. His brown body, firm and appealing, wouldn't leave 
my mind. The soft bulge at his crotch was particularly appealing and I would 
have given just about anything to have had my dad to myself that afternoon. 
His cock would have been a good fit for my needs of that day. I'd have shown 
him what a real woman I was. He'd never forget the kind of blow job I could 
give. I was a damn good expert at fellatio! 

But that was out. A real no-no. I wouldn't have cock for my pussy that 
afternoon, least of all, my dad's. There was a decided throbbing at my 
thighs, an increasing pressure that screamed for release. When I reached a 
feeling like that, I knew I'd have to ram something up my twat in order to 
settle my fierce desire. And ram it fast! Locked in my bedroom, standing 
naked in front of the full-length mirror, I examined myself. I poked two 
fingers up my cunt and moved them about excitedly. Then I pulled them out, 
took a good whiff of my fingertips and then licked them, slurping over them 
almost lovingly. I had tasted my own juices before, but today there was 
something different about it. Something far more exhilarating. Again I poked 
my fingers into my hole, moved them about desperately, and brought them out 
again to be licked clean by my snaking tongue. I lay down in front of the 
mirror, positioning myself so that I would be able to watch my own actions. 
This time I tugged at my sparse cunt hairs, opening my pussy lips, pulling 
and tugging upon the hot flesh, then moving to my clit, rubbing at the love 
knob, caressing and twirling at the fleshy button as it began to grow with 
my increasing passion. I could no longer stand being without a fuck tool. I 
glanced about the room quickly, looking for an appropriate instrument that 
would bring me relief. My body was twitching uncontrollably in heated 
anticipation as I desperately sought some form of relief. And then I saw it! 
I knew just what I would use. 

I had been vacuuming my room earlier that same day and had left the vacuum 
cleaner near my closet. The long hose lay still, as if anticipating my 
needs. I struggled to remove the brush nozzle, tossed it aside, and quickly 
inserted another nozzle, a smaller, pointed one. One that would fit smoothly 
into my cunt hole. It would be like a blow job-a real blow job. I could feel 
the air already as it would suck into my cunt. 

I know that I was shaking in great frenzy as I positioned the hose, turned 
on the current and then jammed it downward between my outstretched thighs as 
I lay on the carpet. It pushed between my clutching cunt lips with 
determination and I kept ramming it downward, downward and still further 
downward. My cunt seemed to gobble up the cold metal tubing, and as I 
glanced to the mirror and saw the mesh of cord and tubing curling over my 
bare belly, I could no longer restrain an outcry of passion and desire. I 
moaned, then bit my lips as I felt the air being pumped out of my cunt hole. 
The metal cock seemed to be sucking fiercely upon my inner cunt walls, 
drawing out my very passionate being in its fierce demand. I writhed about 
in agony on the rug, watching myself in the mirror as I danced with the 
giant hose sticking out of my cunt. It drew and drew, sweeping up my essence 
into its metal walls. And then it was upon me! I could no longer control the 
ultimate need for release. Sharp cries rocked through my body as I spasmed 
time and time again, the steel cock gobbling at my twat, tearing into my 
flesh as it puffed at my juicy flesh. It was a tremendous feeling that 
ripped through my body, out into the metal tube protruding from my pussy 
hole. And then I grasped at the metal, pulling it from my straining cunt 
lips even as the last waves of orgasm coursed through my being. I turned 
toward the mirror and lay back on the rug, legs outstretched widely as I 
allowed the cool breeze coming through my opened window to fan at my steamy 
cunt. The metal cock had satisfied me for that day. My burning sexual 
desires had been put out-for a while, at least. 

There were many other ways that I masturbated and when I was forced to 
resort to such actions, I would always look for some new form of 
satisfaction, some different form to insert into my cunt hole. I had even 
purchased one of those electric vibrators and kept it hidden from my parents 
so that it would be where I wanted it, whenever I needed it. That was the 
damnedest thing-that funky vibrator was one of my best investments. It used 
to tickle hell out of my cunt and I would always come from using it. I even 
looked forward to sticking it up my hole, eager to obtain the release it 
always gave me. There was even a time I tried to stick it up my asshole, but 
that was one hell of a mess. A shitty mess! That deal didn't turn me on, so 
I kept to the regular fuck in the twat. I loved to run it over my naked 
titties, pressing at my erect nipples and then running it over my belly, 
down over my cunt mound and then slamming it fiercely into my wetness, 
sloshing it around in my juices. When I drew it free, I would usually lick 
all around it, cleaning off my sticky goo, smelling deeply of my own heady 
cunt scent, and then speeding the vibrator back into my pussy depths. The 
plastic cock was my lover for many weeks, until the novelty wore off and I 
looked for another imitation cock when I was unable to get the real thing. 

This seemed to be a strange period in my life. I knew my parents were being 
extra watchful of my actions, and I didn't really want to make waves with 
them. In order to pacify their concern about my sexual behavior, I restorted 
strictly to self-masturbation during this period. But finally all these 
imitation cocks were no longer able to bring me to release. I couloVno 
longer reach an orgasm and then I knew I had to get out and find the real 
thing again. My throbbing cunt needed a real fucking-a real cock-and I had 
to begin new schemes in order to calm my raging sexuality. 

At about that time Dad brought home a giant German Shepherd that some client 
had asked him to take care of for a few weeks. That dog was one hell of an 
animal. Large, devilish and ferocious. At first I was scared of even going 
near him, but after a few days I found I had a real need for him. I was 
going to put him to use. Cunt use. 

I had read enough about girls and animals fucking and now I was going to try 
it out for real. I made elaborate plans and had to wait for just the right 
moment to spring the trap on the dog. His name was Rex and after a few days 
with our family, he was well oriented and almost amiable. But any sudden 
movement from anyone would have him barking like hell and we had to learn to 
move cautiously while Rex roomed with us. We certainly couldn't upset Rex in 
the least, for he belonged to one of Daddy's best clients and he was to be 
treated almost like a human guest. The second weekend that Rex was with us, 
Mom and Dad had a party to attend, one which they couldn't miss for very 
important social reasons. That particular weekend my brother was away with a 
friend, hiking in the mountains. I was to be sitter for Rex, keep him 
company, and this was just fine as far as I was concerned. I had thought out 
my seduction plans very carefully and I certainly didn't need an audience 
around when I put them into action. As soon as my folks had departed for 
their party, I locked all the doors, shut off most of the lights in the 
house and made a quick trip to the kitchen. When I returned I had a neat 
package tucked under one arm. Then I called out to Rex. He came running 
toward me, jumped up affectionately and began to sniff at my package and 
then licked at my face as I patted him fondly. I had to get this dog warmed 
up to me but good. 

What I had planned for him was definitely not his usual fare of people-play. 
We were going to play all right, but Rex would have to do more than his 
usual share. I reached the doorway to my room and called to the dog to 
follow me. As soon as he was inside my territory, I slammed the door shut 
and locked it. Rex sniffed at the closed door, scratched at it with one paw 
and then looked at me almost inquisitively. Then I held out the package. He 
sniffed and licked at the paper happily. 

"Oh, no, boy. Not just yet. I want to get undressed first and then we'll 
have some fun." I spoke to him softly, trying to be seductive, I suppose. 

I quickly pulled off my clothes, throwing them carelessly to one side of the 
room, until I finally stood before the dog, naked and eager. If all my plans 
went right, I would be dog-fucked that night. Another first for my 
thirteen-year-old cunt. 

I walked to the dresser and unwrapped the paper package. It was some 
hamburger meat. Fresh, red and juicy. I took a glob of the meat in my palm 
and walked toward the bed. I quickly lay down, spread open my thighs and 
plastered the meat at my cunt, pushing some deep into my cunt hole, 
squishing it down with my fingers. And then I pushed a glob of the meat into 
my asshole, smearing it around my puke hole quickly. The remaining bit of 
meat I placed on my nipples, wiping the palm of my hand across my small 
tits, getting as much off my palm as I could. And then I called to the dog. 

He leaped unhesitatingly onto the bed, his nose bringing him right to my 
titties. His long, red tongue shot up and began to lick strongly at my 
nipples. Ah, it was wonderful feeling this wet pressure on my naked body. He 
straddled my belly as he continued to lap and lick at my flesh, drooling 
saliva down onto my quivering form. It was one hell of a turn-on! I lay back 
and mumbled encouragingly at the dog. He didn't need any encouragement. His 
nose brought him down further-right down to my quivering thighs. He sniffed, 
looked at me, sniffed again and then dove down, his tongue piercing at my 
downy cunt flesh. He lapped furiously, drooling all the while he worked over 
my cunt-burger. His tongue worked like a suction hose at my twat, drawing 
forth all traces of the meat smeared into my cunt depths. Then I rolled over 
onto my belly, offering him my asshole for tasting. I drew up onto my knees, 
sticking out my ass as best I could, while he beat at my flesh, seeking the 
last traces of his treat. But he had another treat in store for him. While 
he panted over my naked form, I saw that his dog cock had come out, red and 
ugly looking, ready for action. I maneuvered over him, placing myself in 
what I hoped would be a position for dog fucking. I could feel his wet cock 
stabbing against my naked flesh, bringing more throbbing to my cunt with 
each stab. I could hear his agitated panting and I felt his hot spit 
dropping onto my body. God, how I wanted fucking by this dog! It was almost 
evil, I thought. I was evil to have such desires, I thought, but I had to 
have this dog fucking me, or I was sure I'd die. 

And then I knew he was about to get in. My cunt lips seemed to open up in 
greeting as his animal cock lanced out, lashing into me. I screamed at that 
point. That much I do remember. But that is all I remember. I must have 
blacked out-whether from the ecstasy of the moment, the shame and guilt I 
was feeling, or from the orgasm that rippled through my body as I was being 
dog-fucked. I remember nothing further of the action. When I finally came 
around, the dog was resting in a corner of the room, seemingly sound asleep. 
I touched at my cunt. It was sticky, gooey, my cunt hairs were matted and I 
was sore as all hell. That dog must have fucked like a demon. And now he was 
sleeping like a baby. I was suddenly aware of a terrible stench in the room. 
It was me! I smelled like a sewer. Painfully, I got up and stumbled to the 
door. 

As soon as I had opened it, the dog leaped to his feet and ran out of the 
room. I got to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the 
stabbing spray. I stood under the cascading warm water, letting the stream 
cleanse my foul-smelling body. It seemed forever that I stood motionless 
under the water, thinking back to the events of the past few hours. I felt 
dirty, disgusted at my actions, but at the same time I no longer felt that 
great sexual need that had earlier gnawed at my being. I was at ease. I had 
been fucked by a live cock and that was what I had needed all along. Sure I 
felt like a real shit for what I had done, but it did give me favorable 
results, and after all that was what I had wanted in the first place. Wasn't 
it? 

 CHAPTER 4 

The "In-Crowd" came into my life somewhat by accident. It's possible that I 
was really looking for them, though. I was looking for something. And I 
found it, but not until after I had committed two separate acts of one of 
society's most notorious crimes. After that the love people and I got 
together as if we were animals following each other's scent. 

Shortly after I discontinued psychotherapy, my father became unbearable. 
During the first weeks after the Carl business my father wasn't so bad, he 
was even a little kind and understanding and sympathetic. But then, bang! he 
changed, started bitching at me all the time and about anything, and when he 
wasn't doing that, he was looking at me as if I was the cheapest whore on 
the streets. I felt like a whore, too, not just when my father looked at me 
but every time I sighted a man. I was hooked on sex, on fucking and men, and 
it was beginning to show. Maybe that's why my father was on me so much. Man, 
he wouldn't let up. He had to know everything I was doing, where I was doing 
it, with whom, and for how long. It was as if he had appointed himself my 
personal warden. He carried the key in his hip pocket and never pulled it 
out. It made me so mad that I wanted to kill him. It was when I was the very 
maddest, when I prowled the house like a caged animal, that my mother's 
cousin came to visit for a few days. I had never met him before. His name 
was Greg. He was kind of a drifter, a bachelor and the black-sheep of the 
family, and he had just come back to the United States after spending a few 
years in Australia. Greg was something-really something. I liked him at 
once: he was such a relief and so different from my father. Greg didn't give 
a damn about anything in the world except living his life the way that he 
wanted. And, man, according to the stories I had heard, he really lived it 
up. He sure as hell had some funky standards! 

I won't go into all the preliminaries of how Greg and I got together, except 
to say that we became friends at once, that I admired him and found him 
attractive-maybe because he was about Carl's age-and that I began at once to 
think in terms of seducing him. I didn't have many doubts that such a 
seduction was possible, and it didn't bother me one shit that he was a blood 
relative. In a way, that made it even more exciting: You see, I was very mad 
at my father all the timet Having capers with Greg really appealed to me. It 
was abstract, I admit, but nevertheless it represented a way of getting even 
with my father for being so horrid to me all the time. 

Interestingly enough, too, it happened in my parents' bedroom. Also, it was 
on a Sunday, the same day of the week that I had my first fucking with Carl. 
Maybe it was something astrological for me. It was something that I had 
anticipated and perhaps even subconsciously planned ever since I first met 
Greg. 

This Sunday afternoon all my family was gone from the house, except Greg. I 
got very excited. I knew that my sexual abstinence was about to end. Greg 
made me feel that, too, for he started kidding around with me about 
boyfriends and talked of things that had a sexual tone to them. Also, I have 
some reason to believe that my parents might have told him about Carl and 
me. I hoped that they did. It'd make him know that I was easy, even if he 
might be a little fearful that I'd do him in as I did Carl. But, as I said, 
Greg didn't seem to give a damn about anything. He was a free-moving spirit 
that really got with it, man. And once he started, there was no stopping 
him. And once I got started, there was only one thing that would stop me. 
And that was one hard, long fuck! 

Greg was coming down the upstairs hallway just as I, timing myself 
perfectly, came out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around 
my body. Greg didn't make any bones about it when he saw me. Neither did I. 
We looked at each other for a second, then moved together. When we broke our 
first embrace, Greg glanced around. 

"In here," I said, taking his hand and leading him into my parents' bedroom. 

"Why in there?" he asked. "Why can't we use your bedroom?" 

"Oh, it's more exciting on my dad's bed. I've always wanted to have a fuck 
with Daddy, and I've dreamed of the day when I could have a hot rod stuck up 
my twat in that very room." 

"Well, I'm not exactly your father," Greg laughed. "In fact, I'm much 
younger than he is." 

"Oh, never mind the age bit, let's get with it, darling," I whispered, as I 
snaked my arms around Greg's neck, standing on tiptoes as I strained against 
him. I could feel the towel about my naked body loosen, and then gently 
slide down over my hips, falling to a heap at my ankles. 

Greg laughed as he looked over my shoulder and then patted my bare rump 
lovingly. "Now that's what I like to see. A nice, clean ass just ready for 
some loving." 

I giggled and lifted one foot, pushing aside the towel. Greg quickly stooped 
and lifted me in one sweep and walked toward the bed. He stopped at the foot 
of the bed, tightened his grip about my naked body, and then kissed me full 
on the lips. A hard, forceful kiss that brought his slippery tongue out to 
battle with my own. We lashed about in this manner for some time, his tongue 
striking against my inner cheeks, our teeth clashing in a love duel. And 
then he dropped me to the bed. I bounced. And then I laughed. We laughed 
together as I scrambled to my knees and began tugging at his clothing. 

"Now just a minute, honey. We've got all afternoon. Your folks won't be back 
for some time, so let's just take it slow and easy. A slow fuck is the very 
best fuck. You should have learned that by now. We're going to play around a 
bit. I want you good and aroused before I sink my shaft into your slit." 

"But I'm ready now!" I pleaded. "My cunt is already dripping love juices for 
you. I can't wait much longer for your tool. Please, Greg, let's do it now." 

While I was speaking, Greg had removed his clothing, quickly and 
efficiently. He now stood before me in only his undershorts. He smiled at 
me. "Come on, baby, these are yours to remove." 

I scampered off the bed and began to tug at his underpants. They had already 
tented visibly and I snickered playfully as I tugged the fabric over his 
hard-on. 

"Looks as if you're more than ready, man," 

I said. "No need to warm you up for action. Your fire is already roaring." 

"Yes, so it seems," he stated. "But I get turned-on by some foreplay. Will 
you kiss it for me?" 

"Oh, man, will I!" I gently pushed him upon the bed and then lifted his legs 
upon the bed, bringing his knees up. His pole stood tall in greeting as I 
arranged him in exactly the position I wanted. When I leaned over his 
pulsating cock I made another arrangement. An arrangement of my own naked 
body. I lay across his stomach, breathing in his male scent and then brought 
my legs across his chest, opening them sufficiently to get across my 
message. 

"Ah, so you want to sixty-nine?" Greg laughed. "You're sure one hell of a 
knowledgeable chick, Sharon. How did you get to be so expert in the art of 
fucking and sucking?" 

"Ah, that's for me to know and you to find out," I answered laughingly. 

"Well, let's get this show on the road," I cried out and then swooped down 
upon his erect cock, sinking my lips over the long shaft, drawing in his 
rock-hard flesh as far as it would go in my throat. I twisted and squirmed 
about, placing myself directly in position for a like ministering by Greg. I 
could feel a whiff of warm air about my thighs and knew that it was only a 
matter of seconds before I felt his steamy tongue lapping at my cunt. Then 
it happened. One giant slurping of his mouth and he had captured my cunt 
lips in a loving embrace. This caused me to bite down harder upon his cock 
and I could feel strengthening quivers of his body overtake his loins. He 
groaned and mumbled something incoherent. I kept on with the task at hand, 
never once letting up my tongue strokes and licks at his thick organ. His 
tongue reamed at my box in a manner not unlike that of my first lover, Carl. 
It brought great heaves of sighs and trembling groans to my own body, sounds 
which I could not restrain from escaping from my full lips, my cock-full 
lips. I knew that I would come quickly, I could not hold off for long. 
Emotions of release were already bubbling deep within me and each tongue 
kiss and drawing brought me closer to eruption. Greg was also on the verge 
of climax. I could feel the shudder and stiffening that preceded his release 
and before I could give it any further thought, it was upon me. The hot, 
milky goo shot forth from his cock, painting my mouth and throat with its 
male goodness. It trickled from the corners of my mouth as it forced its way 
out and into my waiting, eager mouth. I loved the taste of cock juice. I 
hadn't had some for so long a time, I was ravenous in my appetite. I 
continued sucking strongly upon his lance, long after he had subsided 
squirting, and then I knew I could release. I let flow the tremendous 
shattering of my own orgasm-let it rip through me as I could still feel the 
hot tongue working at my cunt walls, drawing on my clit, biting eagerly upon 
my pussy lips, slurping with wild abandon upon my female essence. 

"Ah," I cried out. "How wonderful-it's been ... so ... long; I've waited ... 
so ... long ... just for a ... moment like ... this!" 

"Oh, baby, you're the greatest," sobbed Greg as he twisted about and then 
lay by my side, one arm outstretched across my stomach. 

"Oh, Greg, that was so lovely," I whispered. "You have no idea how long I've 
waited for a good suck. And now-do you think we can have a good fuck?" 

He laughed. "God, baby, give me a minute to catch my breath. You sure as 
hell are one hot piece of ass, I'll tell you that. What have your parents 
been feeding you? Special vitamins or something?" 

Again I giggled at his remarks. "Well I told you before that I was plenty 
hot already. I didn't need any wait at all. And now I'm going to get you 
back up again, your cock is gonna grow tall and straight and fit into my 
tight slit this time. I want a cock battering that I won't forget. Do you 
think you can oblige?" 

"Baby, for you, I'll do anything. Just use your lips again and I'll be ready 
to go in no time." 

I followed his instructions and began caressing his prick. I even rubbed my 
small tits across the head, poking my nipples into the eye. And then I felt 
the rise! The rise of cock power. I grasped him tightly and blew kisses at 
his cock, gentle love kisses meant to arouse his sleeping giant. And then he 
was ready. He climbed aboard, pressing against my naked, eager body. In 
seconds he had jutted his hips forward and his cock had found its target. He 
rammed and withdrew. I raised and lowered my hips, matching his rhythm, 
stroke for stroke. Relentlessly he slammed his cock into me, searing my 
flesh with his hotness, tearing at my cunt walls with a fierceness that 
alarmed me. 

"Take it easy, Greg," I pleaded. "You'll tear me apart." 

"Come on, baby, I thought you said you could take it. Are you chickening 
out?" 

I couldn't answer. I could only cry out in passion. "Ah, Greg, I'm going ... 
to...." 

It was impossible to complete my thoughts. A new wave of sensation was 
coursing through me. I was unable to control this onrushing. 

I shuddered fiercely and then released. Within seconds of my warning, Greg 
moaned deeply, increased his battering speed wildly and then with one giant 
quivering, he followed my orgasm with one of his own. One that jetted into 
my cunt channel with the force of a rip tide, sloshing into my depths with a 
flooding of cock juice that seemed to rock my imprisoned body. We tightened 
our hold about each other's body and strained mightily as orgasm swept 
through our beings, raking our forms with an intense sensation that drained 
our very essence. We had reached the ultimate plateau of lovemaking and now 
we were descending in rippling waves of after-turbulence of our fucking 
storm. 

"Oh, Greg," I whispered in his ear, "I love you. Honestly I do. I love what 
you did to me-for me-and I want you to know that I truly love you." 

"No more thought of fucking Daddy?" he said smilingly. "Do I still remind 
you of your father?" 

"Oh, Greg, of course not. You've just given me the best fuck ever-the very 
best fuck ever-and I know my father could never do that. Not the way you 
just did." Tears were streaming down my cheeks. 

Greg leaned over and kissed my cheeks, gently licking up the salty rivulets. 
"Come on, Sharon, what's with the tears? I've never had a girl cry after a 
fuck before. It's sort of unnerving." 

"Oh, but these are tears of joy," I interjected quickly. "You've made me 
feel so happy, so fulfilled, something I've needed for a long time." 

"You really needed a fucking, didn't you, Sharon?" Greg asked somewhat 
concernedly. "I thought you were only kidding when you said that before. 
Really, I had no idea you were so serious." 

"Now you know what I've been going through," I sobbed. "I never get enough 
loving and the little I manage to sneak around to getting only leaves me 
needing more and still more. I don't know what I'm going to do." 

"Baby, if I were around I'd see to it personally that you got all the cock 
your little pussy needed. I'd even see that you got more than you could 
handle." 

"Oh, Greg," I sobbed, "please never leave. Please stay with us always. I 
promise I'll always be here to give you anything you want. Anything." 

I remember the way Greg laughed then. He didn't sound truthful at all. He 
sounded sadistic and suddenly very cruel. 

"Well, baby, you'll have to live without this cock beauty of mine. I'm 
leaving tomorrow afternoon. Have to move on, you know. Greener pastures and 
all that jazz. I know you'll find someone to play around with. Someone that 
may even be as good as I am." 

Now I hated him. I jumped off the bed and slapped him fiercely across the 
cheek. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me angrily. "Now what the 
fuck's the matter with you? Just because I'm leaving doesn't mean that you 
can go around slapping me. I gave you what you wanted-a good, damn fucking. 
You have no complaints to register. I know what I am and I also know what 
you are underneath that little-girl mask of yours. You may only be thirteen, 
but you're a whore of a bitch. A whore who can't get enough cock to satisfy 
her demon appetite. I'd hate to be around when you got much older. You'll be 
one hell of a fucking bitch." 

I began clawing at his face, but Greg was quick to catch me before I had 
done any blood-drawing. I lashed and kicked out in anger against him, in 
hate and disappointment at finding out what a really low character he was. I 
hated him so intensely I could have torn him apart that afternoon. And then 
I felt two stinging slaps across my cheeks. I quickly regained control. 
Haughtily I freed myself from his hold and then bent to straightening the 
bed. I sauntered across the room, picked up the towel and then looked back 
at Greg. "Thanks for the fuck, Greg, I'll never forget this screw job." 

He laughed loudly. He was still laughing when I closed my own bedroom door 
and threw myself across my own bed, sobbing desperately at having been such 
a fool. 

 CHAPTER 5 

I was very disappointed after my session with Greg. To make matters even 
worse, my brother, Jeff, didn't help my situation a bit, either. But in a 
way I'm indebted to him for causing me to be so frustrated. That frustration 
sent me directly to the wild crowd of the love cultists. 

Jeff and I had always gotten along pretty well. Two years difference isn't 
so bad when the girl's only thirteen. Emotionally, that difference made Jeff 
and me about equal, girls maturing earlier than boys as they do. My brother 
and I didn't have a lot in common, but we got along. We were reasonably 
close as brother and sister could be. But a strange thing happened between 
us after the family uproar about my affair with Carl. Some change came to 
our relationship. It was subtle, but there, nevertheless. I've always felt 
that Jeff learned about me and that this caused him to act differently with 
me. In a big-mouth family such as mine, I guess it would be hard not to know 
that something had gone on with me and Carl. Jeff knew, I was sure, but he 
never mentioned it. Not with words, that is. He did, however, start fooling 
around physically with me more than he had ever done before. He always 
wanted to wrestle with me, and when I went along with it, Jeff, like Carl 
and Greg, had been all hands, touching me all over my body. And Jeff, I 
learned, reacted the way Carl had always reacted. His cock rose hard and 
tall, ready for sex action. 

The day after I let Greg make love to me, Jeff and I were alone in the 
house. My parents were at a regular Monday afternoon cocktail party that 
they never failed to attend. It was a tradition with them. Daddy would come 
home early from work and they'd be off in no time, Mother leaving a 
semi-prepared dinner for Jeff and me. Greg had left our house early that 
morning. The weather was miserable: rain, strong winds and quite cool. It 
was summer vacation time and I stayed dressed in my shortie nightie all day 
long. Television and hanging around were my lot for the day, strictly per my 
father's orders, for he had made me turn down an invitation to a girl 
friend's house. So I hung around, the shortie nightie with the bikini 
panties underneath making me look ready for bed when it was still afternoon. 
I didn't realize how sexy I looked until Jeff came into the living room with 
his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. Jeff was very good looking and was 
already close to six feet tall. He was lean, too, and a pretty good athlete 
at high school. If he wasn't my brother, I would have considered him a 
catch, but after a bit that didn't even matter. 

Jeff walked over to where I was sitting on the floor cross-legged watching 
TV. He looked down at me a moment. I looked up at him and gave him some 
nasty greeting. From where he stood, he could look directly down the front 
of my nightie without obstacles on the way to a clear view of my naked tits. 
That's what he was looking at, too. I looked at him again and thought how 
nice he looked dressed in his tight Levi's and a shirt that he had opened 
clear down to his waist. 

After a few minutes, Jeff plunked next to me on the floor. He sat close 
enough so that our forearms touched. Then, out of the clear blue sky, he 
started talking about sex, asking me if I knew what it was all about, 
hinting that he did and that he had had affairs to prove it, and things like 
that. I answered him pretty brazenly, telling him that I knew everything he 
knew and more. He laughed. So did I. Then he started tickling me, and I made 
a big deal about tickling him back, rolling around the floor with him as if 
we were a couple of kittens. But we weren't kittens. He was a young stud-I 
was the alley cat on the prowl. 

We were both breathing pretty hard by the time we had rolled to the other 
side of the room and stopped to rest. The position we ended up in was 
conducive to almost anything but rest. Jeff was lying half on top of me. His 
head was just above my titties, on a direct line with my jutting nipples, 
which were poking up provocatively beneath the flimsy fabric of my nightie. 
My blond hair was in a jumble, lying all around my head and face, kind of 
framing me, prettily, I hoped. And Jeff, poor, excited Jeff, was sweating, 
and I could also feel how hard he had gotten because of the position he had 
against my body. It was right then that I decided that I'd have my own 
brother. I was determined to fuck with Jeff, right there and then. I smiled 
at him. Then I raised my right hand and ran it gently through his thick 
hair, pulling and tugging playfully at the hair about his temples. 

"Jeff?" I said sweetly. 

"What?" 

"Were you telling the truth about doing it with girls?" 

He flushed a little. "I fibbed a little. I've never really gone all the way. 
But I've come close. I've come real damn close to having my cock rammed into 
a tight pussy. But the girl chickened out." 

So he's come close, I thought. Poor dear. This time he was going to come 
more than just close. 

"Why did you want to know?" Jeff asked. "I was curious." 

"You've done it, haven't you?" he asked, looking directly into my eyes. 

"Sure," I admitted. 

"I thought so," he answered. Then, after pausing a moment, he asked, "What's 
it like, Sharon? Tell me how you felt while you were fucking." 

"Great," I told him. Then it was my turn to pause before saying, "Do you 
want to find out, Jeff? Do you want to fuck me?" 

His flush deepened. He didn't say anything. 

I hiked up my hips a little, pressing myself against that hard jam he had 
tenting at his trousers. 

"Come on," I said, temptingly. 

"But-we shouldn't. It's ... wrong. I'm your brother and...." 

I caught his left hand and pressed it against my tit. It felt good. 

"Please," I said, begging him a little. 

He looked around, then said, "Where?" 

"Here," I told him. 

I didn't give him a chance to change his mind. I rolled a little away from 
him and pushed my panties down to my ankles. Then I kicked them free. Jeff 
just watched me, a kind of shocked expression on his face. 

"Get undressed," I told him. 

He pushed back on his knees and stripped off his shirt. Then he got rid of 
his sandals and then, a little more slowly, he unzipped his trousers and let 
them drop. He stepped out of them. Then he was dressed only in jockey 
shorts. They stuck out-way out, his straining cock pushing at the fabric in 
determination. 

"Come on, Jeff, hurry," I said. 

"Why? The folks won't be back for hours," he answered. 

"I know. But hurry anyway." 

Finally, Jeff was naked and beside me. Quickly, I reached out and gripped 
him. His eyes went funny looking, and he told me to be careful, that he had 
done that bit all by himself. Then I let him slip my nightie over my head 
and sighed as he began to play with my tits. His hands felt good on my body, 
but by the way Jeff was all tense and kind of stammering, I knew that we 
couldn't wait too long. Besides, by now I was as anxious as he was. 

I pushed Jeff's hands away from my tits. I considered kissing him a little, 
but then I decided that that wasn't the way it should go between a brother 
and sister. I rolled flat on my back and braced my legs. Then I reached my 
arms out to Jeff. 

He stared at me for the longest time. He acted as if maybe he was going to 
change his mind. I circled my hands around his back and urged him to me. 
Slowly, he came close. Then he stopped. 

"I-well, should I now?" he asked. 

"Yes." 

I did most of the placing. I guided his cock, then brought my hand away as 
he shot forward. For a moment I felt great. But only for a moment. Jeff 
started moving real fast, so fast that even when I told him to slow 
down-even when I hurried my own thumping up and down to meet him-he couldn't 
stop, couldn't do anything except explode within seconds after getting his 
cock into my slit. And for me there was nothing. Not a damn thing except 
that first good feeling that hadn't been allowed to grow. 

Jeff had released his cock juices and now went limp immediately. I felt it 
happen. He withdrew his slobbery prick from me and I turned to the side and 
buried my face into the carpeting, feeling an impulse to strike my head on 
the floor in exasperation. 

About a half hour later, when Jeff was ready again, we tried once more. It 
was the same. A miserable fucking. And completely frustrating for me. We 
separated, wordlessly, and dressed. Jeff looked very pathetic and if I 
wasn't feeling so rotten, I could have even felt sorry for him at that 
moment. Sorry for his failure at fucking. 

"I'm ... sorry," he said real softly. 

"So am I, you miserable little boy," I exclaimed angrily. 

That was the way it was with Jeff. Nothing but frustration. After that we 
didn't talk about it. We never tried again. We both understood that it 
wasn't for us. But it was worse for me. I was experienced and I needed 
fucking regularly like I needed food. And a week later I found an outlet for 
all of this sexual energy that had been building up inside me since the end 
of my affair with Carl. A beautiful and satisfying way to get my release. 

 CHAPTER 6 

Cheryl Wright was one of my very best girl friends. Someone with whom I 
could share my most intimate confidences. She knew all about my sexual 
experiences with Carl, with Greg and even with Jeff. We told each other 
secrets trustingly. One day we made plans to go downtown. Surprisingly, my 
parents consented. Cheryl was almost two years older than I was, but we were 
close friends anyway. Cheryl had somewhat of a reputation around the school 
as a fast, easy lay. She was pretty sophisticated. But so was I. We got 
along fine. 

When we finished with the little bit of shopping that Cheryl had to do at 
one of the downtown department stores, she wasn't ready to return home. 
Neither was I. The number of times that I was allowed to do anything during 
the past months could be counted on one hand. It was great to be free of the 
boredom of the house and my parents. Just great, and I was going to get the 
most out of it that I could. 

"Let's walk around the campus," Cheryl suggested suddenly. 

The campus was part of the city university, and it was within walking 
distance of the downtown section of our city. Lately, it had become much 
publicized because of different demonstrations that the students had 
organized, that, and a few raids by police on apartments that were called 
marijuana dens. There was always something in the papers about the campus 
and the kids, both students and non-students, who hung around there. It had 
become quite the "in" place to be seen. 

"Come on, there's always a blast of some kind on the campus," coaxed Cheryl. 

"Okay," I said. 

We strolled toward the university. Probably I had been in the area, but I 
didn't remember it. The buildings were large and modern, but they were 
unmistakably academic, and I wondered how in the world Cheryl expected to 
find any excitement there. There was action, all right, but it was mainly 
composed of boys and girls propped against trees or on benches with books 
open in their laps. That was what I had expected. But then Cheryl led me 
away from the buildings and toward an area that was residential, although 
unlike any that I had ever seen. 

Someone should make a study of the disgraceful residences that exist around 
city colleges and universities. They're all crummy. The apartments and flats 
were of the flea-bag variety. Everything seemed dusty. There was no grass, 
as compared to the luscious lawns of the university buildings only a few 
blocks away. Every residence had broken windows. The city neglected the 
area, too, for the streets and sidewalks were a network of broken cement, 
some of it leaving such holes that people risked broken limbs by moving 
around after dark. And the anti-litter campaign had obviously never reached 
this area. Broken bottles, crumbled up newspapers, cigarette packages, and 
used, dried-up contraceptives were everywhere, the latter causing me a stab 
of memory for Carl, my first lover. 

When we turned a corner, we moved down another ill-kept street, one that was 
filled with disgusting looking houses. Here, for the first time during our 
walk, there was a gathering of people-the strangest that I had ever 
encountered. 

"This is a hippie area," explained Cheryl. 

I had certainly heard of places like this, but I never expected to actually 
be in such a place, not with Cheryl and certainly not on that day. The 
people who were collected together in groups on porches and mud-caked yards 
were really different. They were a real rage. The boys and girls wore the 
most outlandish garb I had seen. Torn, ragged jeans and dirty T-shirts 
seemed to be the uniform of the day. Even the girls wore the dirty T-shirts 
hanging loosely over unencumbered tits, brief hot pants underneath. Most of 
the girls had long, straight hair, hanging over their blank faces. There 
were a lot of beards among the boys. It helped their rebel look 
tremendously. It was really strange walking down the street and seeing these 
kids as if they had come out of another world. Guitars were strumming, and 
there was a little folk singing among the different groups. Also, at some of 
the groups, poetry readings were going on. We didn't stop to listen to any 
of it, but I could tell that it was way-out. 

At the end of the street we came to a building that was the largest in the 
block. It wasn't a flat or an apartment. Once, it had been a private 
residence and still looked like that. Here, the biggest group was gathered. 
Here there were segments of the main group broken into small gatherings of 
three or four people, all sprawled around the front yard, which was pure 
dirt without a blade of grass, not even a weed. There was a buzz of soft 
conversation and indifferent notes coming from guitars. There were boys and 
girls gathered together, not all especially young, though most were in their 
teens. They wore the standard equipment, old pants, old sweaters, dirty 
T-shirts, old jackets, crazy hats, beards, long hair, sad expressions, 
sandals or bare feet. Anything that was outlandish. They were almost funnny 
looking. But I slowed, causing Cheryl to do the same, as I drew close to 
this particular group. There was something about them ... something that 
caught me and further tickled that sexual feeling that had been rising 
within me, rising with little hope of fulfillment. There was a distant 
memory of my fucking situations with Carl and others, and sparks of all my 
life that seemed to ignite through the simple expedient of drawing closer to 
this collection of strangers. 

Cheryl and I stopped at the outer rim of the circle one small group made. We 
looked at them and listened to a folk song they began to sing, starting it 
without any signal from a leader, even without any pre-knowledge that they 
were about to bring their voices together in song. The melody made me feel 
relaxed. And it made me feel good that none of these strangers seemed to 
give a damn about us watching them. They didn't care in the least, and I had 
the impression that if we were naked or walking around with our heads tucked 
under our arms, they would be the same. Uncaring, not giving one shit about 
anything except the quiet pleasure they seemed to have by being quiet and 
together and doing whatever their impulses demanded of them. 

We stayed by the group for perhaps fifteen minutes before anyone said 
anything to us. And then it didn't come from the group but from a young man, 
dressed like the others and with a red beard, who came out of the house and 
slowly moved down the stairs. He looked at us and smiled. Then he walked 
over to us. The others seemed not to pay any attention at all. The man 
practically ignored Cheryl and looked straight at me. 

"Are you on?" he asked. His voice was soft and lazy sounding. 

"On what?" I asked. 

"Turned on." 

"Oh, I guess I am," I laughed. 

"For us? Are you turned on for us?" 

I glanced at the others, then looked at the red-bearded young man and said, 
"Yes, I think that I am turned on for you." 

He grinned, then said, "Good. That's enough to make you one of us." 

"Me, too?" asked Cheryl excitedly. 

The young man gave her a cool glance, looking her up and down, then, 
speaking to her but talking to me, said, "Sure-you're included." 

For several minutes the man just stood at my side looking at the others and 
listening to a new song they had started. It gave me a real good chance to 
look him over. He was taller than I had thought at first, probably close to 
six feet, and he was so thin that he looked as if he hadn't had a decent 
meal for many months. There was something about his eyes, too. They 
were-inspiring. That's the only way I can describe them. Deep brown, they 
seemed to kind of smoulder as they considered matters that were too deep for 
ordinary consumption. His hands, I noticed, were like those of an artist: 
long, thin, delicate but nimble, and making me wonder how they might feel if 
they should touch my body. 

Finally, after one song ended and still another began, the red-beard turned 
to me. Carefully, he reached out and lifted the ends of my hair, bringing it 
way up above my head. 

"Nice," he said. 

"Thank you." 

"It turns me on," he added. 

I didn't answer. 

"I love you," he said. 

The words were different from the sexy "I love you," or the romantic use of 
the phrase. It was like a simple statement, a kind of statement of belief, 
like the enunciation of some very important philosophy that I should already 
understand. 

He lowered my hair, did it slowly as if he didn't want to jostle me. Then he 
took my hand and straightened a little, looking at the others and not at me, 
yet at the same time making me feel as if he had taken me over, claimed 
possession of me. 

As soon as this boy looked at the others as he was holding my hand, the song 
they were singing died. It made me think that he was a kind of leader. 
Everyone in the group turned to the red-beard. 

Suddenly, he lifted my hand right out straight toward the others, kind of 
presenting me. 

"Does she turn you on?" he asked, raising his voice quite a bit. 

A mumble came from the others. I couldn't tell what the words were, but I 
knew that their answer to the red-beard was affirmative. Besides, some of 
them smiled and all of them seemed to like me. And a girl, one who was right 
at the side of me, said, "I love you," in that same, soft, impersonal tone 
that the man had used. It was odd. I wanted to say, "I love you," right back 
at her, like an answer to a greeting. 

"Well, as long as we're turned on and tuned in, the soup, such as it is, is 
ready for the taking," the red-bearded young man said. 

Slowly, everyone got to their feet. They trailed up the stairs and into the 
old house. Cheryl, standing at my side, nudged me, but I ignored her. I was 
intrigued with this group, with this strange person who held my hand as if 
he owned me. 

As soon as the others had entered the house, the man squeezed my hand a bit, 
then urged me forward. I didn't protest. I went right along with him. At the 
stairs, he turned back to Cheryl. 

"You can come to the celebration feast, too," he said. f 

"Celebration?" Cheryl exclaimed. "Oh, great, I love parties." 

The red-beard ignored her and started up the stairs, still holding my hand 
and taking me right along with him. 

Finally, as we reached the entrance, I found my tongue. 

"What's your name?" I asked. 

"John," he replied. 

"John what?" I inquired. 

"Just John. Family names are usually hostile elements to conditions of 
peace." 

I nodded, just as if I knew what he meant. Then I asked him if he lived in 
the house that we were about to enter. 

"We all do," he said. 

"All these people?" 

"Yes. And you, too, if you want." 

"Is it your house?" 

"No. Unfortunately, it belongs to a landlord. We rent it. That is, when we 
have the rent." 

"You all rent it?" I asked. 

"It's a cooperative," he explained. 

"What's that?" ' "A place where a lot of cool people live together. You 
know, share the burdens, the cost, the price, the jazz, the misery, and each 
other." 

"Boys and girls live there?" I said, sounding a little astonished, I 
suddenly realized. 

He looked at me. "Naturally. We're all the same children of love and peace." 

It sounded nice. I smiled. Then John led me into the house, while Cheryl 
followed. 

The house was large and amazing. There must have been at least a dozen 
rooms. There was very little furniture. It was obvious that the sleeping 
arrangements were casual, and communal. Sleeping bags were scattered 
everywhere. Some paintings were on a few of the walls, and more were stacked 
in a corner of the room along with an easel and a pallet and large tins of 
paints. There were a number of cushions around the floor, too. The little 
furniture that they had was broken. There was an upstairs to the house, but 
I didn't see that part of it except for the stairs that wound upward. A 
smell came from a room that had to be the kitchen. None of the downstairs 
had any light bulbs, and I thought that the electricity must have been 
turned off. Then I wondered how they cooked and soon learned that they did 
it with coals in an old-fashioned, pot-bellied stove which, believe me, must 
have been quite some neat trick. 

One of the girls was passing out bowls of soup when John and I entered. She 
was a very pretty girl, with long, black hair, a loose blouse that allowed 
her tits to jiggle and a very short skirt. There was little doubt that she 
didn't have a thing on underneath that skirt. She handed Cheryl and me, then 
John, a bowl. There was no spoon distributed, however. John lifted the soup 
and smelled it. His face lit up happily. 

We drank our soup. Spoons, or any silverware, were non-existent in the 
cooperative house of the hippies, I learned. The soup was very good, 
different from any I had ever tasted. It was a little sour and tasted like 
the smell of wine. When I asked John about it, he said that it was wine. 
Mostly. And with anything else that they could find to put in it. 

Dinner was over when we finished our soup. Everyone finished about the same 
time. I made a mental count and estimated that at least twenty people must 
have lived in the co-op. What a crowd! And what a light dinner. 

People began drifting around after the bowls were collected by the girl who 
must have been on kitchen duty. During the next hour I talked to a lot of 
the kids. Also, John showed me all through the house that had become their 
living quarters. Everything was very bare, including the atmosphere, yet the 
fact that they were a community seemed to make them very happy. They truly 
loved each other and frequently told each other so, using the same 
three-word phrase John had first said to me. 

After an hour or so, I noticed that Cherryl had disappeared. I looked around 
and discovered her sitting in a corner on a sleeping bag with a stocky 
colored boy. They were sitting very close and seemed very intent upon their 
low conversation. Then I glanced at some of the others. Couples paired off 
and there were groups again, but now it was not for folk singing or poetry 
reading. Now, since it was night and dark outside, it seemed they gathered 
to express their often used phrase, "I love you." 

In one corner of the large community room, a girl was undressing while her 
boy-not really that; he looked to be about thirty-five-watched her. I saw 
that he was already naked from the waist up. When the girl was naked, she 
flopped down next to him, settling on blankets that obviously marked their 
portion of the community residence. Quite casually, while others moved 
around, the couple kissed. Then they reclined on the blankets, wrapping 
their arms around each other as they lowered. Then I looked away. It was too 
much for me to view in the condition that I was in, the condition of being 
sexually excited for a long time without the benefit of any experiences that 
really helped much. 

John led me to the opposite end of the room. Here, three couples were 
involved in undressing, and it looked to me as if they intended to sleep 
together on the floor. I glanced at John. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, smiling. 

"It seems so-public." 

"Just for us," he answered. "With us, love is universal for anyone who can 
give it and accept it." 

"Physical love, too?" I inquired. 

John nodded. "Why not? Sometimes it takes the physical to express the 
emotional." 

That made me feel very good. It made me feel as if I wasn't the slut my 
family thought I was. It made me feel that I had deep, serious feelings 
inside me and that I merely used sex-fucking-as a vehicle of expression. It 
made me love John for relieving some things that had been bothering me. 

John and I sat down on the floor. Various sex orgies were beginning to 
unfold before my eyes, including one that involved my friend Cheryl and the 
Negro boy. And as I watched, it occurred to me that none of it was 
dirty-that dirt only came from people's minds; from outsiders. 

During the next hour or so I witnessed a great deal of sex action, including 
some acts that I had never imagined. It excited me, but at the same time it 
calmed me, too. It's hard to explain. It was a little as if I didn't have to 
hurry-as if I had found a home and the people who should be in it and that 
this provided me with all the time in the world to do as I pleased. 

Soon, John tucked his arm around my waist. He hugged me closer. 

"Do you want to fuck?" he asked me. 

"No," I answered. "Not just yet." 

"All right," he nodded, not the least bit upset. 

It was the first time I had ever refused a chance to fuck. I thought that it 
was a sure sign that I was maturing. But I also felt that I had found the 
people with whom I could have sex whenever I wanted, wherever I wanted and 
for as long as I wanted. 

John and I watched a variety of sex acts going on all round us, much as if 
we were viewing a motion picture. But soon, not wanting to titillate myself 
beyond the point of this calmness that I felt, I stood up and told John that 
I was going home. 

"You'll be back," he said, stating it, not asking a question. 

"Yes," I told him simply. 

"Look," John said, "if you can't make it all the time-you know, live-in with 
the crowd, weekends are great. I know how it is when you're young-it's hard 
to get away from the folks and all that." 

I smiled. "I'll be here often, John." 

He smiled, too. "I love you." 

"I love you," I answered. It sounded as if I had just uttered the phrase 
that was mandatory to my initiation into the hippie cult. 

I aroused Cheryl from her post-sex activities of snoozing with the colored 
boy. When she got dressed, we left the area, heading for our suburban homes, 
our square community and square families. But it was not an ending for me. 
It was only a beginning-a new wonderful beginning of freedom and sexual 
expression that I knew I would find with these people, these simple, 
unpretentious youths of my own generation. 

 CHAPTER 7 

Now I became involved in a new scheme. It took a lot of lying, screaming, 
conniving, and even some cooperation from me, but I managed to make the 
arrangements that would give me weekends to myself. It was the most 
important thing in the world to me. I had to be free to join my new crowd, 
at least on weekends. If I had had the chance to be with them more often, I 
would have jumped at t, but even I knew that this was impossible. After all, 
I was only thirteen-there are limits to what I could accomplish. When I 
wasn't with my cool, new group, I lived a pretty normal life, including 
school, non-hippie friends, and my family, as much as I had to include them. 

The very next time that I saw John-a time that also introduced me into the 
deviation-al ways of sex-I learned a good deal about the things that his 
group believed. Since then I've learned that people have misconceptions. 
It's easy to misunderstand them. For one thing, there are different groups 
following different patterns of philosophy. There are a lot of phonies 
within the love cult, too. This makes it difficult to say exactly what is or 
what is not a fake. But I satisfied the interpretations in my own mind, and 
maybe that's what everybody has to do. 

My group was peaceful, anti-war and anti-violence of all kinds. They were 
also non-discriminating as regards race, color, creed, national origin and 
so forth. They hoped, through their passivity, to promote peace. They were 
passive demonstrators in the pursuit of peace and love. They believed in 
love. They also made love. A good deal has been said about their interest in 
grass, LSD and various sexual deviations. There is interest, too, but it 
stems from their belief that people should be allowed to do anything they 
want, as long as it doesn't violate or hurt the rights of others. So, if 
they felt like having a fuck at a given time, and if they felt like having 
sex differently from those acts which seem prescribed by society's 
conventions, they did it. They wouldn't stop anyone else from doing what 
they wanted to do-they didn't think others should stop or interfere with 
them. 

About the variations within the love groups, I discovered that the 
differences were sometimes geographic. A cult on the West Coast might be 
different from a similar group in the Midwest or on the East Coast. The 
patterns they follow are different, too. There are the "Flower People" who 
appreciate beauty and are, indeed, as passive as a flower. But there are 
motorcyclist cults, too, and they aren't always passive. All, however, 
except for the part-time diggers like myself and the' intellectual 
inquirers, seem to share a universal aversion for work. 

They resist it. Unemployment frees them for thought. And for each other. 

I experienced all kinds of sexual acts, and they served to quiet my needs, 
at least temporarily. So, I'll have to relate my first experiences with the 
love crowd. It was an exciting new bag for me. 

It was two weekends after Cheryl and I first met the gang before I was able 
to return to that campus area and John and his friends. I found them where I 
had the first time, in front of their co-op, singing, talking, discussing, 
or just quietly thinking. 

John seemed glad to see me. The dark-haired girl who was hanging onto his 
arm, surprisingly, just moved away from him, much as if she sighted me as 
her successful rival and was relinquishing even a temporary claim on the 
leader of their cult. 

I walked right over to John. He put his arm around my waist. We didn't give 
each other a greeting. Instead we just stood there and listened to the 
others. But when the songs ended, he turned to me and told me that he was 
"glad I could make the scene." I had the feeling that if fifty years had 
passed since I had last seen John, he would greet me exactly the same way. 

Although the time of my arrival was in the evening, there was no dinner. 
John told me why. 

"We're a little low on loot," he explained. "But we're going to take care of 
that tonight when we parade for the tourists." 

I looked dumb, and then he explained that on Saturday nights the tourists 
went to certain sections of the campus area in order to "view" the hippies. 
The group, according to John, then put on a show, acted exactly the way that 
the tourists expected them to act, walking around with the Ben Franklin 
glasses, the big buttons proclaiming all sorts of funny things, the dirty 
jackets and generally acting like the weirdos that the tourists wanted them 
to be. John said that I was going to join them. I said that I certainly was. 
I looked forward to the experience. 

In the co-op house we started getting ready for the rush of tourists. I was 
still curious as to how this Saturday night affair even would bring money 
into the group, and I asked John about it. He grinned and said I'd find out. 
The gang spent as much time dressing for the evening as a girl might for her 
graduation dance. The boys checked their beards, the non-harmony of their 
clothing, even checked to see if they looked "dirty enough." The girls made 
sure that their hair was straight and long and that there was no lipstick 
that showed. A few of them, the sexier ones, made sure that their skirts 
were short and tight and that the upper clothing they wore adequately 
revealed that their tits were not encumbered with underclothing. Then they 
were off. But first I wondered if I looked like one of them. I asked. 

John looked me over, noting the very short skirt that I wore, the blouse 
that let my titties jiggle and show the points of my nipples, and decided to 
make some changes. He found me a pair of old-fashioned glasses to wear-the 
glass was plain, just for effect, not seeing-and he suggested that I kick 
off my sandals and go barefoot. I did. John said that I was ready. 

We walked in a group to the streets in front of the university buildings. 
Then we kind of set up shop. One boy fixed up a sidewalk stand, selling 
buttons with the most incredible sayings, most of them sexually oriented. 
Another stand was set up to sell paintings, some of them done by John, I 
learned, and I was amazed at the prices that would be asked for the original 
work. Hundreds of dollars were asked for the paintings. It seemed 
preposterous. But John observed that they rarely sell any anyway, so they 
might as well ask the most, figuring that one square customer would make up 
for all the lack of sales at lesser prices. Many of the girls started 
walking up and down the street, and many of them sat down on the sidewalk, 
immediately attaining an expression that John said was what the tourists 
thought was "The Look." 

Pretty soon the tourists began to arrive. They came in droves, laughing, 
curious, making ribald jokes and generally treating us as if we were freaks. 
But they bought the buttons. They bargained over the price of certain 
paintings. And they made passes at both the male and female hippies. A few 
of the girls took advantage of the amorous attentions. I saw two disappear 
with two convention delegates who were in town. When I asked John what was 
up, he told me that some of the girls didn't mind occasional prostitution in 
order to bring money into the general fund. 

Certain things were required of us as the tourists moved along the 
sidewalks. We were to act as crazy as possible, sing a song and read poetry 
on a minute's notice, even without an audience. And we were to look tired, 
unhappy, bored with all of life. It was hard for me: I was having one hell 
of a blast. 

Early in the morning the tourist traffic died down. That's when we called it 
quits. Upon a signal from John, we gathered up our things and headed for the 
co-op. Once there, we counted the loot: hundreds of crazy buttons had been 
sold, begging had produced a number of handouts, and the girls who had 
busied themselves with whoring had two hundred dollars to contribute to the 
general fund. Our evening's take was someplace around four hundred dollars. 
"Enough to pay the rent and keep us eating for months," John declared. 

"But there'll be more," I offered. "Next week-." 

"We only do the tourist bit when we're down to zero," he interrupted. 
"Christ-otherwise how could we stand such crud." 

There was a party at the co-op that night. Wine flowed; I drank a little. 
And there was a real, honest-to-goodness meal, including meat and potatoes, 
all prepared in the non-modern, pot-bellied stove. Everybody wanted to have 
a ball. And they did. Especially me, for I learned that love didn't have to 
be a singular thing, that it could be shared in a single act by me and two 
others. 

From the time I first saw him that evening, I knew that John and I were 
going to be fucking later. It was just a matter of time. Some subtle 
calmness had come to the rampage of sexual desire within me. I knew that I 
was going to find gratification, was certain that for the first time since 
Carl, I was going to be left completed. This secret knowledge made me very 
happy. 

It was quite dark in the co-op by the time that John and I found ourselves 
in a corner of the room. Moon streaks came in the windows, giving the area 
an eerie look. There were some strange things going on, too, at least by the 
standards of the squares. Lovemaking seemed to be the order of the night. 
Couples were sprawled everywhere, and they were confined exclusively to 
partners of the opposite sex. When I saw some of the forms moving in fucking 
motions, the old excitement came over me again. After all, even the best 
kinds of calmness can't last forever. 

Unceremoniously, John stretched long on a mat he had placed beneath us, then 
reached and pulled me down beside him. 

"I love you," he said. 

"I love you," I replied. 

Our first kiss was cautious at the beginning, but grew wilder the longer we 
held it. Soon, our heads were shaking from side to side and our tongues were 
clashing inside the round channel we had made with our lips. Our hands 
moved, too: they knew how to make the kisses better. And then John removed 
my clothing. It was great being naked with a man again, and I was anxious 
for John to get bare, too. I tugged on his sweater. He removed it, baring a 
slim, muscled chest and an extremely narrow waist. When he removed the rest 
of his clothing, I discovered that he was nearly hipless. It excited me. 

John, apparently, was in no hurry to begin fucking me. Or maybe he liked 
going slowly. Anyway, when I stretched out on my side, he raised a bit and 
hovered above me. We kissed again; then he brought his lips to my ears and 
neck and to my tits. He mouthed me there a long time. I liked it. It felt 
good, particularly the way he mouthed my nipples individually, pulling them 
back from the base while he rolled them between his lips. That was great. 
And it was even better when he tickled his tongue down the length of me and 
went directly to my thighs, which I could not help but make immediately 
available to him. And I couldn't help but gasp a little, either, as I felt 
his hot breath moving along my straining form, straining for his loving 
touches. "Oh, John," I cried. 

He worked all the harder, appearing to enjoy the onesidedness of his giving. 
Then I decided to make it a two-way pleasure. I reached out and gripped his 
cock and started to beat him off. Without stopping eating my pussy, he 
pushed my hand away, fearing, I guessed, that I might cause him to come 
before he was ready. So then I contented myself by running my fingers 
through his dark hair. 

It was while John and I were like this that I noticed someone standing very 
close to us. I looked up. First I saw the black, naked legs, then the rest 
of the naked torso of the Negro my friend, Cheryl, had fucked the first 
night we were at the co-op. His black face was bright with a smile as he 
looked down at us. 

In a moment, John looked up. He grinned at the Negro. Then he said, "I love 
you." 

The Negro answered in the same manner. Then he said, "Hey, man, I dig your 
chick." 

"Thank you," John replied very politely, rolling clear away from me now. 

"I thought we could three-it," said the black man. 

John looked at me, then to the Negro and said, "Of course. I love you." 

I wasn't sure that I liked being discussed, but John, stopping when he did 
at the appearance of the black stud, left me in a terrible way, and I was 
very anxious to get back with the business of fucking. 

The Negro, who John introduced to me as Danny, squatted on his heels beside 
us. It was dark, but not so dark that I could not make out his body. He 
looked funny sitting on his haunches like that. He was very massive, very 
strong looking, and his erect cock was very obvious. 

Both men came close to me. Danny kissed me on the lips; then John did the 
same thing. I went from one to the other as if I were in a delirium of 
sensuality, as indeed I was. Their kisses tasted different, but after awhile 
they seemed to blend into one long, eternal kiss that was made up of the 
best techniques of both John and Danny. And in a moment I learned something 
else about techniques, even my own. Something which I had been unaware of 
before. 

John moved, then, with his hands gently on my shoulders, shifted me into a 
position on the mat that placed me on my knees and elbows. He scooted behind 
me, holding me gently at the hips. I knew how he was going to do it. I 
didn't mind a bit, for I was very excited. But when the Negro, Danny, 
shifted his position until he was seated directly in front of me, I wondered 
if what faced me would add, or detract, from the excitement of John at my 
back. 

I felt John pulling open my ass cheeks, seeking entrance to my a-hole. He 
moved into me very gently, but excitingly enough to make my body shudder in 
response as I realized that it was about to be good again, about to be as it 
had once been with Carl. John moved to me strongly several times before 
there was any response from Danny. When there was, he merely hiked his hips 
at me a bit. That's one thing about the hippies-they're not demanding, not 
brutal or rapists or anything like that. Whatever a person does with them is 
not through force, but from their own free will. Danny indicated what his 
desire was. I could not refuse him. Besides, John was pounding his cock 
harder into my asshole and that old feeling was beginning to come over me, 
was beginning to grow, until I knew that there would be no stopping it. I 
began to ache terribly as I took John's ramming into my tender spot, but it 
was an ache of love, tender, giving love that was a satisfying emotion 
despite any discomfort being caused me in the process. Any discomfort was 
worth the enduring for what I knew would ultimately be mine. The goal of 
true sexual coming was to be mine. I was on the brink of the ultimate 
sensation of lovemaking. 

I shifted my position a bit. Then I reached out and touched Danny. He jolted 
upward. I went down on him, hard and fast, spurred, it seemed, by a desire 
to show love, by a very genuine wish to let Danny, John, to let everybody 
share the great feeling that I was enjoying. And it grew and grew and grew, 
and it seemed the most remarkable thing to me that three of us could end at 
the same time, that altogether we could give and receive and benefit each 
other because we dared enough to love, to be unconventional in our 
lovemaking. 

The asshole fucking I received from John was a new form of fulfillment for 
me, one I grew to love and demand on many occasions. This coupled with a 
fuck to my cunt was the ultimate of loving. I was battered by two, hot, love 
lances that erupted within my depths, rocking me with emotions of the moment 
as they spurted and lashed into my inner walls with their cock goo. 

When it was over, I was delighted to find that I was not angry that John, 
whom I really went for, had shared me with another man. In fact, I was 
flattered. It meant that I was good enough for John to want to share me. And 
it meant that even with my part-time status, I was "in" with the crowd, one 
of them for as long as I wished or needed. I could now be considered truly 
accepted by the gang. 

Later the same night, I went through a variation of the same act with Danny 
and another man, then later still, with John and a short, blond boy named 
Hank. I was really getting around. 

I had come alone to the co-op. Cheryl was out of it as far as I was 
concerned. Besides, she had pretended indifference, although I knew that she 
felt bad that she had not been accepted by the hippies as readily as I had. 
Finally, it was Sunday night and time for me to go home. (I had made 
arrangements with a girl friend to lie about my spending the weekend at her 
house.) I felt very sad as I made my way back to life with my family in the 
suburbs. Leaving the co-op was like leaving a part of my life behind me. 
Complete sadness would have overtaken me if I was not already anticipating 
the next weekend and the new adventures that I might find with John, Danny 
and all the others. 

I even began to make plans of my own for our next loving sessions. I had 
heard of some really deviational sexual behavior practiced by some groups, 
and I was determined to experiment with any such behavior that I thought 
might be beneficial to my intense feelings on lovemaking. It occurred to me 
that I had never seen a homosexual meeting in the commune. I wondered about 
this-wondered if perhaps this was a taboo within the group. Nothing had been 
mentioned on this subject during my stay with the group and now I began to 
dwell on the matter, thinking of the very attractive girls within the co-op, 
girls who I knew had looked me over very carefully. Would I be able to make 
love to any of them? I wondered. Would I want to? Yes, I thought, there were 
some girls with whom I would certainly like to play. I began to wonder how 
another female's flesh would taste. Could I manage what I had in mind? Would 
they let me? I wanted to do some female fucking and made up my mind that the 
very next weekend I would so some experimenting. 

 CHAPTER 8 

It was late Friday night when I arrived. It was so hot that some of the 
girls had removed their tops and sat on the dusty porch with their titties 
jutting outward, the darkened nipples pressing upward from their creamy 
white mounds of female tit flesh. 

"Hi, doll." 

I turned about quickly. It was Danny. He was wearing only a pair of tattered 
shorts as he stood gleaming at me. His black chest shone in the early 
evening light, perspiration glistening on the sparse hairs across his broad 
torso. "Hello, Danny. Have anything special planned tonight?" 

"Just the usual," he laughed. "A fuck and a suck for your thoughts." 

I giggled and turned to go into the house, change my clothes and return to 
the crowd. As I passed between the kids, I felt loving pats across my bare 
legs, pinches at my ass cheeks and even some tweaks across my tits. These 
were loving caresses of my friends. It was nothing unusual. We did it all 
the time, simply a form of fond greeting between our loving group. 

I laughed as I opened the door of a room, bringing in my overnight bag. As I 
turned around I heard a sharp gasp. There was a girl in the room already. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I thought this room was free." 

"That's all right," she answered. "I was just putting some things away. In 
fact, I was just about to get rid of this hot pullover. It's been giving me 
the itches all afternoon. The other girls are getting comfortable so I'm 
joining them. How about you?" 

I looked her over very carefully. I couldn't recall ever having seen her 
before in all my frequent weekend visits. "Yes, guess I'll do the same," I 
answered as I began to whisk off my clothing. 

"My name is Tina." 

"Well, hello, Tina," I replied as I tugged down my panties and threw them 
aside. "My name's Sharon. I don't suppose you have seen me before. I come by 
only on weekends. It's the only time I can get away from my draggy family. 
Someday I may move in completely, but for now I have to get my kicks as best 
I can." I struggled into the tight-fitting pants and stood before Tina, 
observing her reaction. 

"God, Sharon, you sure as hell have a great body. Why your tits are even 
larger than mine. How old did you say you were?" 

"I didn't-but I'm almost fourteen." I looked down at my upthrust tits, 
pulling on the nipples with thumb and forefinger. "Yes, I seem to have 
developed pretty much lately. Guess it's all this fucking and sucking that's 
doing it." 

She came closer, flung her arms about me and pressed her own pointed titties 
neatly into mine, fitting our naked flesh together smoothly. Then she gave 
me a kiss full on the mouth-a wet, hot kiss that promised many things. There 
was a new stirring in the hot evening air, a sexual stirring that had me 
aroused already. 

I brushed out my long hair quickly, flipped it over my shoulders and 
proceeded to find some action. My nose led me to the scent of food. I 
quickly became aware of the fact that most of the group had discarded all 
their clothing. 

"Sharon, over here," I heard someone call softly. I turned around. There was 
Tina, sitting with none other than Danny. 

I picked my way over some naked limbs and then dropped to the ground, 
crossing my legs in the process. Danny reached across Tina's bare legs and 
patted my thighs lovingly. "Glad you made it, doll," he said. At that point 
someone handed me a cigarette. Now I'm not a smoker, but most of the group 
seemed to be smoking, and not wanting to be a negative force, I accepted the 
outstretched cigarette. It was already lit, and I took several deep drags 
before I realized there was something wrong. This was not an ordinary 
cigarette. Tina took it from my fingers and took several deep drags, passing 
it on to Danny. 

Danny placed his arms about Tina's shoulders and I had an impulse to follow 
his example. I curled one arm over his, tugging at Tina's right tit as I 
snaked my arm over Danny's. 

"Oh," Tina cooed delightedly. "That's nice, real nice." 

Danny tugged at her left tit, drawing out the dark pink nipple from its base 
of pale flesh and then letting it snap back into place. I couldn't resist 
moving closer to Tina, bringing my thighs up against her own naked ones. I 
rubbed against her hot flesh, burrowing my head into the softness of her 
long, flowing hair. 

"Mmm, you smell good," I murmured. "Good enough to eat." 

"What's stopping you?" she asked softly. 

I looked up. Danny was no longer there. Our naked bodies glistened, droplets 
of perspiration forming on our heated flesh. I drew my head down again, my 
tongue seeking soft flesh. I licked my way down her upthrust tits, biting 
lovingly at her jutting nipples. My tongue became more forceful in its 
loving movements as I lapped and licked wetly at her delightful mounds of 
tittie flesh. 

"Oh, Sharon," Tina moaned softly. "What are you doing to me? I feel ... 
so...." 

I spread her waiting pussy lips, moist with her seeping juices and then I 
dropped down to her depths, inhaling her female scent with a reeling 
intensity. She was draining heavily and I licked from within her depths all 
her love juices. I drank with feverish intensity at her cunt well as she 
writhed beneath my fondling and passionate kissing. 

"My ... God...." she gasped. "I'm ... going ... to ... burst!" She began a 
furious ministering upon my cunt lips with her own steamy tongue. We did 
battle with our tongues upon each other for many long moments and then I 
could feel Tina's body shiver and strain. I knew she was about to come, 
about to release still more love juices into my waiting mouth. I wanted to 
come with her, I wanted it to be a mutual experience of perfect timing. She 
bit at my protruding clit and as I cried out in pain and passion, I felt 
still another cry being brought to life within me. My orgasm was upon me at 
almost the same moment that Tina shot. We released together, draining into 
the mouths waiting at our cunt lips as juices poured forth from our depths. 

"Oh, Sharon-that was so-wonderful." 

Tina was interrupted by a voice-a deep, male voice. It was red-beard. John. 
He knelt down beside us and kissed first Tina gently on the lips and then 
me. 

"Don't you understand?" he questioned almost in a fatherly tone. "This was 
something you both had to find out for yourselves. Nothing that's done with 
the consent of all partners is wrong. Nothing at all. It's beautiful to love 
another being, whether that being is male or female. It was meant to be that 
way. What you have just had is a discovery that very few people make in 
their lifetime. You've just proven how truly beautiful honest love can be." 

"Oh, John," I turned to him. "I loved Tina, but now I know that I really 
love you more. I need your cock in me. Please fuck me. Please fuck me, now!" 

Within seconds John was upon me, his rock-hard lance piercing into my tender 
pussy, tearing at the puffy lips of my cunt as he sought entrance to my love 
slit. We fucked with wild abandon that night, time and time again, climaxes 
racing through our bodies one after the other. We were beyond reality. We 
were in our own love world of the ultimate expression between man and woman. 
We continued battering each other with love blows long into that hot night, 
until we finally fell exhausted to the ground and slept in pools of our own 
love juices. 


THE END
