I refused to accept the idea that Cindy's problem had any connection with my own, and she was nice enough not to press it. She did think it might help me to pay a visit to her psychiatrist, but I was more scared than ever now to find out about myself.
Instead, I took readily to her advice about picking up my life where I had left it when Bob came along. I devised what I called a work-pleasure ratio, relegating certain hours to school and the attendant responsibilities that went with it, the rest of the time to pleasure. And to whoring.
Bill Britten became a regular customer again, playing out the little half-hour dramas with me as I let him look up my dress and play with myself once a week for thirty dollars. One of my best clients was a 50-year-old preacher who came by every Monday and Thursday afternoon at four. I could set my watch by him.
He was not unfriendly, but certainly not interested in conversation. He was always in a hurry, and one time left his motor running in the car while he rushed in to have me go down on him. He only paid ten dollars, but he was never there longer than five or ten minutes.
The performance was always the same. I would meet him at the door in a bikini or just briefs and bra. He would look me over and denounce me as a contemptuous harlot in about one or two sentences. Sitting down on the couch, he would unzip his trousers to release his erect penis, and I would kneel on the floor and go down on him, taking every last bit of his ejaculation. After that, he couldn't get out of the house fast enough and I was often afraid that a neighbor might see him zipping up his trousers on the way out.
Most of my clients were married and interested in more or less normal sessions of intercourse or oral sex. Some would drop by for an hour or more in an evening, others would take me out to dinner and then to their place or a hotel. There were weeks when I had as many as a dozen dates, and there were those times when I had only my two or three regulars.
I wanted to be satisfied by my commercial dates. I wanted them to go down on me or have intercourse until I had orgasms too. However, there were few of them who ever stayed that long. When I am making love for pleasure, I like to be worked on for a long time. There are few men who could ever really satisfy me.
One such man was Arthur, a fellow about 30 who owned a pretty large business in town and always stayed with me an hour or two. He was the only customer I ever allowed to spend, the night. Arthur was a great lover, a tall and athletic man with black curly hair and a handsome face. But when I say that he was a great lover, I don't mean in exactly the conventional way. Arthur was completely impotent!
His greatest satisfaction came from going down on me for great long periods of time, and usually in front of a mirror. He would sometimes spend an hour down there with his mouth and tongue keeping me in a high state of delirious stimulation. He knew precisely where to hit and how to agitate. I would often become almost numb on my clitoris after he would work on me for an hour.
Arthur's orgasm, if you could call it that, could only come after one of these very long sessions of going down on me. It would be weak, very weak, and accomplished without any erection, but with a great deal of effort, a lot of grunting and groaning. He always paid me a hundred dollars.
It was at the swinging swap parties that I became involved with the real offbeat and perverted practices. I went to these for my own pleasure (or was it torment), or at least there was nothing commercial about it. Bill took me to some, and Cindy introduced me to some men she thought I would like and also to some married couples who ran in the sex party crowd and who liked threesomes.
Joe and Martha Layton were the strangest couple I met during this time, although not necessarily the type that usually attracted me. They intrigued me at first, particularly Joe, because he was the most completely sexual person I had ever met. I wanted to try out everything, to learn about everything, and Joe had once told me at a party, “Baby, there's not anything in this world I haven't done with man, beast or machine.”
Joe was a slim and even fragile looking man of about 35 with very neat hair and neat clothes. He was a neat man all around. Not a handsome man. Not a pansy. Just neat. His face seemed dirty and yet interesting. He had definitely the attractiveness of evil about him.
“I'll bet you've never screwed a mouse,” I smart-talked back to him that first time he was bragging about all that he'd done.
“No, but I screwed a St. Bernard when I was in the Air Force in Germany,” he told me with that dirty laugh of his, the degenerate gleam in his eye as he continued with obvious enjoyment, “Yeah… we was on guard duty at this damn place up in the mountains, this A.C. amp; W. Station. Hell, I used to get that dog in there when my buddy was out, and she loved it right up there. I think that dog had the schnitzel from some of the krauts around there too.”
“Where were all the sexy frauleins?” I asked him curiously, noticing Martha walk up behind him. “I thought you guys always had plenty of women over there.”
“Women… yeah, they were a dime a dozen,” he scoffed. “You could get yourself a little girl 12 or 13 over there for ten bucks. Crap, this was different, gal. You don't many times find a good dog you can screw heh-heh… heh-heh-heh…”
I thought Joe was pulling my leg at first, although there was the dirty look I mentioned that told me he might enjoy the idea, even if he hadn't actually done it. But Martha was even more of an enigma to me at that point. For a swinging wife, she seemed so possessive or jealous of Joe.
Martha was a couple of years older than he, a pretty enough girl with almost no breasts and a real “butch” look. She was cute all right, with her short and straight black hair and a youthful dress and appearance that made her look as young as I did. Because of her small build, she had even been mistaken for a teenager a couple of times.
“How do you live with him?” I asked jokingly when she came up behind us there at the party, “Does he tell you about the St. Bernards he's made when you're in bed at night?”
“Not usually… my dear,” Martha replied very stiffly, eyeing me, looking me over as if she wanted to find some terrible flaw. “No, my dear, he usually regales me with the stories about how many high school boys' asses he's felt that day, or how many nice cocks he's played with. He's going to end up in jail some day and then I can go out and marry me a human being.”
“Shi… yet!” Joe snarled at her, brazenly rubbing the front of his trousers until his penis pressed out in relief against the material. “You think you're some damn saint, baby? Is that why you come to these parties and bird-dog these gals so you can kiss their ass when they go to the bathroom? Damn, you got a hell of a lot of room to talk. Yeah! Yeah, Denise. I ain't kiddin'. You seen her go in the bathroom at the party last week with Eleanor and Ginnie..
“I don't do it with animals or little boys.”
“Oh, hell, honey,” he cooled his temper suddenly, smiled broadly, and threw an arm around Martha. “We're both queer and perverted as hell. That's why we love each other. Say, this party hasn't even started swingin' yet. You ditch that crazy Bill Britten an' come over to our place, huh!”
I could say that I was sure they were kidding about all those things and that was why I went with them. But the real reason was that I was so evilly intrigued by it all, that I went because of the idea that it might just all be true. It was cold that night, and I remember being so disappointed when I saw their apartment-a cheap old place with bleak furnishings in the living room and a veneer bedroom suit in limed oak that was peeling badly.
We had a drink and sat around the bed talking. Joe had only a high school education, had been in the Air Force a number of years, and worked now as an X-Ray technician for the county health department. He used his job as an entree sometimes to seducing young boys and girls when he traveled around to the schools with the mobile-unit.
They had not been kidding. Joe delighted in explaining how he would grasp the children by their hips or buttock to line them up in the front of the machine:
These little gals… hell, with them short skirts they wear, I just reach under and grab their ass and get so damn hot I can cream in my pants, and if there's a kid I think likes for men to play with him, I get him at the end of the line so he'll be in there alone with me, then I tell him it's better if he drops his britches for the X-ray. I mess around a little bit and if it gets hard, I start playin' with it…”
Beside Joe, Martha was a real doll. As I said before, she was a genuinely cute girl. And she also had two years of college and a job as a medical secretary. She was sharp and displayed a great deal of personality as well as an interest and knowledge of so many subjects other than sex. However, Joe had not been lying about her having an array of sexual quirks that, while they did not equal his, certainly tended toward the truly bizarre.
We had advanced to the stage of mutual nudity and feeling and groping around on the bed, when Martha began to open up:
“That party tonight would have been a damn drag, Denise. Most of those people are so square they look at a girl funny if she starts playing with assholes. Last week was so damn much better. Those people were real swingers, and that Ginnie… jee-whizz! You look at her bent over from the rear and you've got something, Denise. I got my middle finger all the way up her butt and she can come when I wiggle it just right. Can you do that, hon? Oh, I'm getting so damn hot, Denise. Tell me when you've got to go…”
I was drinking straight shots of scotch form the bottle. Not the way I usually like to drink, but it was all they offered. Joe was rubbing my clit about then. I was lying on my back listening to them talk, and I was getting very much in the mood for just about anything. Yes, I meant anything. These kind of things were not really to my interest. I never had thought about them before. Yet with the drinks, the dim lights, the two warm bodies, the excited way they talked, it was getting to me.
“You think you could make me come that way?” I turned over to Martha and asked her, my passion building suddenly. “I… I've never had a woman put her finger up there before.”
“Yeah… yeah, baby,” it was Joe who spoke up immediately, helping me to get on my arms and knees, “Come on, Martha. I'll get the vaseline…”
“No, wait,” she told him. “Get back… just watch, honey. Let me do it. Tell me if it hurts, hon.”
I felt Martha's long fingers pull my cheeks aside, and then the liquid wetness of her tongue bathe and penetrate my anal regions. One hand then went beneath and began to agitate my vulva until I was highly lubricated. Her tongue probed deeply.
“See how this feels, hon,” she said softly.
Her finger slid from front to back and the penetration began. The only unpleasant part in all of it was that first passage. The rest was clearly a sensual, sexual feeling. She moved her finger in and completely and I felt my breathing pick up. From the corner of my eye, I could see Joe perched at the edge of the bed watching as he muttered the most explicit obscenities and began to talk about things he had done in the most vivid detail.
I could not reach orgasm that way. I did try, but it was impossible. I was definitely stimulated, and Joe explained that with practice I could probably have anal climaxes as readily as I did vaginal ones. So we ended that particular act by his lying under me and giving me oral contact at my clitoris, while I went down on him, and Martha used her tongue and fingers on my behind while masturbating herself.
Although they had little furniture, Martha and Joe did have a movie projector and a whole cedar chest full of sex films. They set it up and we watched the movies all night long while we continued to relieve each other. I, think Martha was pretty much of a Lesbian, as her only interest was in going down on me, front and rear, and having me go down on her, which I did without finding it too distasteful.
After breakfast the next morning, she received her other wish too. I found the idea of what she did to me in the bathroom disgusting, yet I will have to admit that the psychological and physical sensations were interesting. It gave me a sense of superiority to an even greater degree than Cindy provided during our occasional meetings. And if there was one thing I needed, it was to feel superior, or at least to have some tangible evidence that I was not an inferior person.
The thing that spoiled what could have been just a way-out fling with a try at some new sex gimmicks, was the conversation that took place as we were lying on the bed later that morning. Martha was just lazily loving me while Joe looked on. It was a quietly satisfying kind of thing with nothing frantic and hurried.
Martha would suck my nipple a while and finger me. I would play with Joe's penis. We would all three huddle together and kiss and feel. This kind of thing often happened in threesomes or foursomes after an exhausting night of sex. We were stimulated, but there nothing immediate and urgent.
“You're lucky to have a good looking daughter, baby,” Joe started out, and I almost froze because I knew what was coming. “I bet you play around with her titties a lot and kiss 'em when she's home, don'tcha?”
“I'm not involved at all with my daughter,” I told him brusquely.
“Aw… come on, baby,” he leered ghoulishly, rubbing his penis against my buttock. “You got a sweet little gal like that you can see naked and play around with… don't tell me a Lessie like you don't like to muff that young stuff once in a while…”
“You're a filthy bastard!” I shouted at him, yet I hedged just enough so as not to break off completely and dissolve our acquaintanceship right on the spot. “Just leave my daughter out of this, all right?”
“Jeez… fourteen years old,” he kept on, rubbing against me faster, “Jeez! Baby, you must feel her every…”
That's enough, dammit!” Martha took over for me, jumping up from the bed and grabbing me by the arm, “Come on, honey, we'll go downstairs and dress.”
Martha could tell that I was both mystified and upset, so she attempted to explain things to me as we dressed. I wished she hadn't, because her words went something like this:
“You've got to forgive Joe, honey. If you only knew his background, it's a wonder he's able to get by as well as he does. His mother seduced him when he was about 13 and waited for him in bed naked every day when he came from school. He still says she's the best piece he ever had. And me? Well, I guess we really are two birds of a feather… only I try to act more decent. My mother was a whore and a Lesbian, Denise… and a drunk. When she got drunk, she used to kiss me all over, and…”
I tried to forget about Joe and Martha the rest of the year and concentrate on my more normal friends. I did see them at a couple of parties and we swung a little there. I think Martha had managed to tone him down some. One time he did nothing but have intercourse with me and mention nothing more unusual than, “Damn, baby, you're as tight as that St. Bernard I use to get over in Germany.” For Joe that was pretty straight stuff.
The school year seemed to just whizz by me with all the activity of swinging and part-time whoring sandwiched in between the duties of my job. I tried to separate the two lives completely, but I noticed that more and more I began to look upon some of my students, both male and female, as potential sex objects. I carried on a few mild flirtations with some of the bigger senior boys and fancied that at least one of my quite talented girl students was interested in me as something more than a teacher.
Nothing developed, as I was determined to keep my two lives separate and distinct. And suddenly, it was June. School was out. The week of finalizing plans for the next school year was over. It was time for Kathy, 15 now, to spend another three months with her mother.