Thinking back, my mother was lovely, my father was a fuckin' drunken bum, in spite of this love was blind and mother adored him.
"I grew up in a neighborhood where you had to take a rock with you to throw at the rats when you went to take out the garbage. Before I was six years old I had decided that, whatever it took, I wasn't going to stay in that filthy dump any longer than I absolutely had to. My mother was a lovely woman who, through a series of sick choices, had first married, then had four children by a charming lazy bones a man-my father, the great love of her life. He was always full of plans and dreams about how he was going to make a million dollars and get us out of there. Then when the dreams didn't materialize and the plans fell through, he would go on a week-long drunk that would eat up whatever money my mother had scrounged from her household allowance, my father's last paycheck (he was always getting fired) and the contents of my piggybank, which I learned to hide away from all of them before too many years had passed.
"After my father had sobered up and went through another week of being hung over, swearing 'Never again!' and cursing his rotten luck, he would go back out into the world and get another job, no better than the last one, and begin dreaming his dreams all over again. My mother would wipe the tears from her face, heave a sigh, and go back to saving a few pennies here and there, hoping she'd be saving a few pennies she'd be strong enough to keep them away from her charming, no-good husband when he was ready for his next drunk. And I would go back to feeding that piggybank for all I was worth running errands, babysitting as soon as I was old enough, doing extra chores for the women who lived around us, making yarn dolls and doilies and placemats and whatever else I could create for nothing and sell at a profit of five, maybe even twenty-five cents.
"When I was twelve, I had my first menstrual period and decided that I was now a woman, and, as such, was ready to split that lousy slum we'd lived in for as long as I could remember. I broke my piggybank-by now I'd changed nickels and quarters into dollar bills before putting them in there-and discovered I had enough to pay for a one-way ticket to my maternal grandmother's home in!.DB Angeles.
"My mother cried and asked what she'd ever do without me, because I was the oldest kid and I helped her a lot. My father went out and got drunk because he knew I didn't want to live with them anymore, which made him realize all over' again what a failure.he was. My brothers and sister looked on with envy and longing in their eyes-they'd known what I was planning for two years, and they wanted out, too, even though they all loved my mother and dad.
"I bad a few moments of thinking that maybe I ought to stay a little longer and help them struggle along for a few more years, but then the old man came home falling-
down drunk and threw up all over the threadbare living room rug that was my mother's pride and joy. When I saw the poor woman down on her knees, trying to clean up the mess and crying because she didn't have the guts to leave the man she loved. I knew it really was time for me to go-so I kissed everyone, goodbye-and my dad, too-and left.
"The trip west was exciting to me, even though I was seeing the country through the window of a Greyhound bus and living on peanut butter sandwiches half-way across the United States. I could hardly wait to get to glamorous Hollywood and make my fortune as a movie star. Grandma knew I was coming, and she met me at the bus stop with open arms.
"I didn't tell grandma about the nice man who'd been sitting next to me for the last foul' hundred miles and buying my food. He'd been buying my food because I didn't report him to the bus driver for putting his hand up my skirt and trying to feel my twelve-year-old pussy. When he first did it, I jumped-I hadn't any experience that way, as yet-but I knew instinctively that if I kept quiet and let him feel around a little before I moved away, he'd be willing to buy me something-maybe even give me some money for my new piggybank that was waiting at Grandma's house.
"Being hungry and broke all your young life teaches you some strange lessons. Pretending to be shocked, repelled by his advances, I let him have just a little feel of my sweet, young virgin creases that were just under the rosebud-printed panties I'd treated myself to, then I squirmed away and crossed my skinny kid legs really tight. That made him turn bright red all over his face and neck. I guess he was about thirty-five or so. He'd been telling me all about his little girl and how much he loved her, just before I felt his damned hand up under my plaid skirt. Your little girl better watch out; you bastard, I remember thinking as I waited for a split second before jumping away from his hand.
"But I didn't tell the bus driver; I didn't tell anyone, even though I was the pet of the other passengers, who'd sort of appointed themselves my family-in-transit. At the next lunch stop, I sat next to him and ordered the kind of meal I'd always dreamed of-steak and potatoes, salad and dessert. He knew I was living on pennies, and he knew what I wanted him to do. As I daintily wiped my mouth at the end of my first real feast, he quickly picked up my check and paid for my lunch at the cash register.
"From then on, all I had to do in order to eat like the Queen of the Lunch Counter was to let him feel me up once or twice an hour, and I had it made. I was never obvious about it-I'd just let him finger my pussy place for a few seconds, then move away, adjust my skirt like the properly brought up young lady that I was, and go on talking or reading or whatever. The other passengers didn't think it was strange that we sat together for the rest of the trip; they felt that he was lonesome for his daughter, and was trying to help me feel less homesick for my dear old Dad. If only they'd known! But they didn't and I got off that bus and ran into my Grandma's arms a good five pounds heavier than I'd been when I got on back in Pennsylvania. The
only other change in me since the beginning of the bus trip was that I'd discovered a great new way to fill my pussybank while enjoying myself a lot-having SEX.
"Because I did enjoy what that dirty guy was doing to my little pink pussy. The touch of his hand through my cotton panties was very exciting to me, after the first shock, and although I felt nothing but disgust for him, I liked the feelings he was awakening in my virgin body. I'd never played with myself, and the few talks my mother had had time to give me on the subject of sex had been so vague that I hadn't really been impressed with them one way or the other. So here I was, being fingered ever so lightly on my little-girl cunt by a man not much younger than my father, almost in front of a bus full of smiling passengers who all thought the cute little girl and the nice fatherly man were having a heart-to-heart talk about the Girl Scouts, or something.
"By the end of that bus trip, I was turned on to sex and men and, incidentally, making both of them pay, pay, pay. I hadn't planned to be an actual hooker ever, but I began to see the advantages of being pretty, smelling good, and letting the guy who wanted into my cunt think he was getting a real lady-a girl who wouldn't ever let just anyone do horny things to her. There had been several times when my meal-ticket daddy had gotten his fingers just to the edge of my panty-crotch, and the thought of letting him go ahead and put his hand on my stark-naked pussyhole began to excite me so that I almost did it once or twice when the bus was speeing along through the desert darkness.
"The first time, I'd been sleeping against his shoulder, cuddled up real sweet, as if he was a lover and not, a father-figure. I was half-awakened by the light touch of his hand on my budding breast-I hadn't started wearing a bra yet-and nothing was between his warm hand and my small, high titty but my nylon blouse. The unfamiliar feeling of my nipple going erect woke me completely, but by this time I wanted to be caressed and petted, and I went on 'sleeping' while I cuddled closer to him so that he was cupping my tit in his hand and giving it the faintest squeeze. Then, as my body began tingling under his touch, I felt his other hand slipping slowly, lightly, up my leg, under my skirt.
"I moved in my 'sleep' so that my legs were spread a bit, and cuddled even closer to him. His hand crept higher and higher on my leg, now slipping to the insides of my thigh, all the way to the edge of my panties, right next to my cunt. I moved again, still 'sleeping', and now his hand was an the way over my pussy, pressing against it the least bit, but enough to let me know it could be harder if I wanted it to be. I wanted it. I didn't know what was giving me the feelings of delight that were racing all over my body, I just knew that I was in the darkness, being petted and cuddled the way my own father never had cuddled me, not even when I was a baby.
"I loved it, so I let my legs go even looser and sort of scooted up a bit on the bus seat-up enough to press my vibrating virgin cunt against the hand that was awakening it. He moved his fingers then, and I flew even higher in my first ecstasy, for one of those fingers had pressed against my love-button, my clitoris, and an
electric shock went through me. I think he knew by this time that I wasn't asleep any more, but I didn't open my eyes, I Just went on moving slowly around, never letting my crotch get away from his hand. His hand that had been fondling my tit so lightly now squeezed harder; he tickled my tiny clit so that I began to experience the new thrill of beginning a climax. It was an unbelievable sensation.
"I could hear him breathing into my hair, feel him kissing softly the skin on my forehead, feel his hands playing my body as if it was a violin. Then just as I was ready to let his fingers slip underneath the cotton panties that were between his hand and my pussy, the bus stopped suddenly and the lights went on. 'Rest stop, everyone,' said the driver, and we quickly moved apart. It was turning day outside, the sunrise red over the desert, and that was the end of anything but those fleeting feelies that he kept stealing all day whenever he thought no one was looking.
"That night was the last night of the trip and I knew he was waiting for the sun to go down and the bus to get dark. As soon as the last reading light had gone out over the last sleepy passenger, I fell 'asleep' against his shoulder again, and those warm hands began their journey over my young, trembling body. Once more, it started with a faint touch on the small breast close to his hand, the hand that he was using to steady me against the swaying of the bus. In the close darkness of our seat, we both went into the same acting that we'd gone through the night before in order to realize our desire-s.
"As I 'slept,' he touched me, now on my leg, now my thigh, so that I wanted to feel him stroking me all over. But at first he only touched, sending tiny stabs of pleasure and a pin-pricking awareness of sex all over my skin. In my mind, I could see how his hands must look on my body-the short, soft hairs on the backs of those hands, the light tan that contrasted with the white shirt cuff that lay against his wrist. I especially liked his fingers, because they were long and gentle, and without the calluses that I'd known as normal for a man's hands. Those fingers now began a delicate stroking of my thigh, and I eagerly spread my legs for him so that he would put his hand against my cloth-covered hot pussy again. He did, softly covering my pussy with his hand, and then pressed harder and harder until, when his fingers starting moving and rubbing me, I was ready to cry out with the wonderful feeling it gave me.
"This time there was no pretense-even though I kept my eyes closed, he knew I was awake, and he knew I wanted more than we'd had the night before. So he gave me all he could without actually putting his fingers inside my virgin cunt. As much as I scorned him for playing sex games with a twelve-year-old girl, I must now that I think back, respect him for doing without the pleasure of fingerfucking my slit, because I was so turned on to him that I would have let him do anything he wanted with me.
"Some stirring of responsibility must have stopped him from taking my virginity with his fingers, for he only rubbed and pressed my pussy from the outside of the cotton panties. And he knew how to make love to a girl, he really did! Every time I was
about to climax to the probing, stroking, rubbing of his fingers, he would transfer my attention to my breast by flicking his fingertips across my nipple, lightly squeezing my whole breast, then teasing me to agony by casually moving his hand across the fabric of my blouse so that the feeling of the nylon jersey being pulled around on my bare nipple had me ready to tear off my panties and beg him to take me. Then the hand that had been lying easily against the skin of my upper thigh would begin its pressure against the side of my leg where the panties left off and my pussy began, and we'd be off again, with him fucking my pussy through my panties, actually entering my vagina a little way. I moved more quickly now, excited past caution by his hands on my body. But he was older, much older, and much more experienced than I, and he kept his wits about him enough to slow me down so that the other passengers had no suspicion of what we were doing.
"At last he guided my hand to the huge, hard swelling that I'd noticed under the fly of his slacks whenever I peeked at his crotch during the day as he was feeling my pussy. I pulled my hand away, even though I was excited with what he'd been doing up until then. Patiently, he rubbed my pussy through my panties again until I was pressing up against his hand, and once more took my own hand in his and firmly placed it on his throbbing cock. I could feel every inch of him through the cloth of his slacks, and I now wanted to rub and squeeze him as he'd been doing to me.
"He had left a magazine lying across his lap when he turned out our reading light, and now I knew why he had left it there. Underneath the cover of that magazine, I was getting my first anatomy lesson concerning the erect cock of the adult male. No sexual experience could have ever been more exciting for a young girl than that one. That a man of thirty-five was having sex with a girl of twelve didn't matter to me then. All I knew was that I was enjoying myself more than I ever had in my life before.
"I instinctively did what he needed to come to his own climax. I held his rock-hard rod tightly in my hand and rubbed up and down, up and down, until he, too, was straining forward as much as he could without being too noticeable about it. I loved the feeling of satisfaction that I got when I saw how he responded to my hand on his joint. The magazine miraculously stayed put as he carefully unzipped his fly and put my hand inside his pants, inside his shorts. Now I could feel the warm, soft skin that covered his hardness, and I became more excited than I'd been before, even when he'd been slowly inserting his finger as far as he could through my panties and into my pussyhole. He moved my head down on his cock-it was new to me but I licked and sucked it. I felt the tip of his cock and it was all wet and sticky-he'd come in my mouth as I was sucking him the first time.
"The swaying of the bus as it went around a curve threw us together and he pulled me close to his side and put his hand against my now wet pussy his fingers under the edge of my panties just enough to touch the side of my still-innocent labia. I arched my back toward him, at the same, time keeping my hold on his hot cock. All of a sudden a feeling of strange delight began to gather in my body, and I rubbed him faster, not caring any more whether the other people on the bus saw us or not.
Just as I reached my first climax a stream of warm, thick come squirted out of the end of his big cock a second time, and I felt in my hand the result of his teaching-a lesson I've never forgotten.
"The next morning, after we'd got our luggage together and I'd introduced him to my grandmother, he bent and kissed me very lightly on the lips. 'So long, sweetheart-keep smiling. Someday you may be a movie star. Just be careful who you talk to on buses and trams. Then he walked away, and we went home to Grandma's house. My brand-new piggybank was waiting for me on top of the dresser that had been my mother's when she was a little girl. Piggy's first dinner from me was the ten-dollar bill that had been slipped into my hand by the man who'd taught my body how to make love, how to waken from girlhood, how to climax.
"In the years that followed, as I set one foot ahead of the other on my climb to wealth and security, I all but forgot the man on the cross-country bus. I was so busy learning-learning acting technique, stage movement, all the things I'd need to be the successful star my grandmother had always wanted to be.
"It had been her constant pushing to get my mother into acting lessons, casting offices and bit parts in motion pictures, that the girl who was to become that broken woman back East ran away and married the first man who told her he loved her-my father. The disappointment of my mother's desert in of what she believed to be a promising career as an actress never left my grandmother's mind, and so when I wrote to her, begging to live with her instead of in the teeming slum that was the only place my father could keep us, she accepted me as another daughter, another chance to vicariously live the fame she'd never known.
"Years went by-busy years, happy years, years when I slowly perfected the technique of offering my body, or some part of it, as an exchange for whatever I most needed at the moment. My body brought me food, since the money that kept Grandma and me wasn't enough for even a sack lunch after we paid for the expensive lessons Grandma insisted I needed to become a star. There was always dinner at home, but if I wanted lunch, I knew I'd better find a likely male who had the price of it in his pockets, then butter him up without ever quite lying down with him.
By and by, as I became known in the different studios where I answered casting calls for extras, I found out who was-and wasn't-interested in semi-supporting a beautiful young woman who'd look very good on his arm at parties, premiers, and in the news shots and publicity photos that the studios are always sending out"
"One day! was walking through the old Metro lot, in costume as an Egyptian slave girl, when I felt a firm hand under my elbow, and a deep voice said, 'Don't panic-old Pharaoh's not gonna eat you up. He just wants to see that you get a nice lunch.' I looked up, and the star of the film we were making was actually holding my arm, steering me toward the commissary, taking an interest in me, an unknown extra! Wow! I thought, I do believe this is it! We had lunch, and I skillfully drew the
conversation around to his problem, his life, his looks-for anyone who's ever known an actor will ten you how easy it is to get them to talk about themselves!
"By the time he'd told me about himself for an hour, he was convinced I was the most interesting girl on the lot, maybe even in Hollywood. He was going through a divorce at the time-his second-and he wanted company, a shoulder to cry on. I readily supplied him with both. We were soon what the gossip columnists call an 'item' and in a matter of two months, I was living with him in his Bel Air mansion. My acting lessons continued, however, and I had Grandma as an almost live-in guest.
Things were really looking up-for him, too. Somehow, getting rid of his wife had freed him of the tension that kept him from being the fine actor he was now becoming, and more and better parts started coming his way.
"Our sex life was wonder, Cabot, was the perfect lover-passionate, considerate, affectionate. After six months of an exciting, glamorous affair, we were married in a little chapel in Acapulco, and I knew then that all the working and saving and conniving had been worthwhile-I was the wife of a dear, good man who just happened to be one of the world's up-and-coming motion picture stars, and was also quite comfortably wealthy as a result of having invested his earnings in California real estate. No more slums for this lady, ever. No more fighting the rats to get to the garbage can, no more hiding my piggybank from my drunken father, no more hearing my mother call the police when she thought we couldn't hear her and ask if there was any news of my daddy's whereabouts, or if he was safely in jail again.
"Grandma was overjoyed, but she insisted on my continuing with the lessons for which we'd done without. 'You never know, Renee-a woman should always have a trade in case she needs to earn her own way someday. Keep on learning and you'll never starve, with or without a husband.' I took her advice and enrolled in the finest drama academy on the West coast. Along with all the other things that Cabot's money could buy, it brought my mother-my father had died three years ago as the result of a fall while he was on one of his drunken toots, and the two kids that were still at home to the West coast, and we installed them As proud home owners in a comfortable house not far from where we lived. I thought I had everything.
"Then one day I called the phone number of a masseuse who had been recommended by a friend of mine. All the rich food I'd been gobbling since coming to live with. Cabot had begun to show in a very unattractive layer of fat, and I knew if I wanted to get even a second lead that I'd better stay slim. So I called Laureen, and when she started robbing my body, something about her strong, capable hands seemed so familiar that my heart quite literally turned over. I couldn't remember for the life of me who'd touched me that way, who'd stroked me into an awareness of my own body that I'd never known before. Even though Cabot and I had a good sexual relationship, and even though I enjoyed myself tremendously in his arms, there had always been something missing-something I could never put my finger on, but that I wanted so much that I pushed it out of my mind because I thought I'd never have it.
"Now, the professional hands of a masseuse, a woman I'd only known for a half-hour, were reawakening memories.that I'd buried under a landslide of need, an avalanche of ambition. Where did I know that touch? Who had stroked my body in just that way-firmly but lightly, rhythmically but capably? After a few minutes of puzzling over this half-forgotten sensation, I let my mind and body be lulled by Laureen's expert touch and drifted into a hazy, half-waking state where impressions went slipping by like clouds across a summer sky. Suddenly I sat up on the massage table, my towel falling away, and I nearly shouted aloud, 'That's it! the man on the cross-country bus!'
"Good sense kept my mouth shut and I explained my sudden movement to Laureen as the result of a muscle twinge. We went on with the massage, but now I was tingling all over as my body remembered my first sexual experience, when the hands of a man in a dark bus taught me to climax. I knew that the worst thing I could do was tell Laureen about this-and certainly, never ever could I talk about it to Cabot. His frail actor's ego would never survive the blow that I would give it by telling him that I was more turned on by the hands of a masseuse than I was by the whole body of a gorgeous film star-who just happened to be my husband.
"So the days went by, with me tingling to touch of my masseuse while still madly in love with my husband. It was a good thing that I'd become such a fine little actress-my training in. that area was all that kept me from giving away the whole thing to both husband and masseuse. I hadn't been able to climax to Laureen's touch as yet, because naturally, she was only massaging the areas of my body that needed it, in her opinion. Unfortunately, the part of me that needed her massage more than anywhere else was my hungry pussy, with my breasts running a dose second. But how to get her to do it without having her think I was a roaring lesbian? I wasn't, at least not at that time. I just wanted Laureen to rob my pussy, massage my clitoris, stroke my breasts the way the man in the bus had done, I wanted it so much that as weeks went by, I could think of nothing else.
"Everything went by the board, because I just couldn't stop myself from thinking about the man on the bus, about his hands, his touch, and how much better it had been then the loving my husband gave me, how much more exciting it had been than the different affairs I'd had before I was married. Even though I'd never had a lesbian experience, or even known a lesbian girl, K started fantasizing about Laureen, about how K could get her to rub my pussy, maybe squeeze my breasts or even kiss my lips lightly, as the man on the bus had done so long ago.
"Unbelievable? Yes, it was unbelievable that a woman who had so much in material wealth, so much in married affection, so much in the way of a beginning career in films, should risk losing everything for the sake of reliving her first sex experience. But it had become an obsession-I had to experience once more the feelings that I'd first known in that cramped bus seat with the gentle lecher who had become in my memory, the man-on-the-bus.
"I began masturbating for the first time in my life, because I was so frustrated and confused. Cabot made love to me three or four nights a week, and sometimes oftener. I was losing interest in our lovemaking because I wanted something different-I wanted those soft, gentle hands on my body-I wanted the forbidden-fruit situation of a little girl and an older man touching each other in the middle of a group of people who didn't know what they were doing. I wanted to feel naughty, to go back and do it all over again-but I couldn't and knowing I couldn't was turning me into a mooning neurotic.
"The days when Laureen came to the house to give me a massage were red-letter days for me-I bathed, shaved my legs, douched, perfumed my skin, made up my face and did my hair as carefully as I once did for a lover. But except for the flush of passion that Laureen's hands brought to my face and breasts, I couldn't bring myself to indicate in any way that I wanted her fingers in my pussy, on my breasts and hips. When she did massage my shoulders, I tried to move in such a way that her hands would have to rub over my breasts, but it didn't work-she was too professional to slip and. perhaps offend a good customer. As I lay on the massage table, I planned things that I would do to force her to touch my cunt, rub my clit, maybe even kiss me. I never did any of them-I was too shy, too inexperienced to know how to begin."
In his book Cunnilingus and Fellatio, Dr. John F. Trimble devotes chapter 6 to the childhood trauma or pleasure fixation. Trimble says, "The childhood trauma or pleasure fixation quite frequently involves an approach by an adult which ends in a complete sexual act." He then goes on to quote Kinsey's studies which show:
… something like 24% (of female children) are sexually approached by adults in preadolescence, and that among these, 2% engage in either cunnilingus or fellatio with the adult… " For those approached who are in a gentle and seductive manner, and for many of a precocious constitution who are approached by stranger, these prepubertal contacts with adults have the capacity for establishing a primary preference or fixation. Simply stated, if the experience produced pleasure or orgasm, the individual may be prompted to repeat it in later life… When the developing child or adult does have an erotic heterosexual relationship, there can easily be a fixation of this form of expression. The roots may lie much farther back with the infantile urge for sucking, but the need becomes fixated and primary because of the drama, the trauma, of reacting to the living experience.
Much the same as a child will subconsciously pattern itself after it's parent or parents so it will frequently fix its sexuality on the first gratifying (or terrifying) sex act that It experiences. Thus will a girl of tender years find it impossible to become excited by a boy of her own age, and find it most titillating to be made love to by a man some twenty years her senior. Similarly, a boy who has been seduced by his neighbor's wife who is perhaps fat, slovenly and not too bright, will continually seek out women who remind him of the fat, slovenly type woman who first taught him to climax in a female body. Fortunately, not too many boys are seduced by fat, slovenly, stupid
women, but enough people have had very early sex experiences that implanted in their minds either extreme pleasure or fright, and they then mate, time and time again, with love objects who fit most closely the description and/or personality of their very first sex partner. How many times have we said, upon observing an unlikely couple with an age difference of fifteen twenty years, or some other unusual pairing situation, "I don't know what they see in each other!"
What people see in each other that excites or stimulates them has everything to do with their choice of mates. The all-powerful subconscious mechanism which remembers everything we see, do, hear, and think records all the impulses, pleasant and unpleasant, that occur in the course of a lifetime. So it is that, against all reason and intelligent information, an individual will deliberately choose the one person in their acquaintance who makes them unhappy ("Mother taught me to be unhappy-she loved to suffer") or happy ("I had a good childhood-my parents both loved me. ") or emotionally cripple ("Everything I do turns to shit-I just can't win!") or productive and well-balanced ("When you're down and out, pick up your head and shout-I'm down
and out!").
With all this rolling around in our minds, it is any wonder that "good" marriages are so unusual as to be quite remarkable? How few of us overcome the negative patterning we received as children and take a positive stand in our life style? How many of us trot docilely along to the psychiatrists' couch and lay down our bodies and our money in an effort to change the things we want to change, and enhance the things that do go right in spite of it all? And how many of us find ourselves in the position of marrying two or three times-to two or three "different" people, all of whom look, act and react in the same way?
Renee's case is, therefore, not at all unusual-it's perhaps a bit more dramatic than most, but still typical enough to be included in this study of fixated wives. She tells us that her sexual relationship with her husband, whom she loves, is satisfying until she encounters a "familiar" touch while her masseuse is giving her a massage. Then she suddenly remembers her early sex experience with the man on the bus and her world is no longer the pleasant place it once was-all because her first neural pattern having to do with sexual release was with a man she didn't know, for whom she had great scorn, whom she used as a meal ticket, and whom she's not seen from that day until this. That the light, gentle touch belongs to the hands of a female is enough to make the attraction that much more exciting to Renee, who now indulges in masturbatory homosexual fantasies, plots ways in which she can seduce the masseuse, and finally does have a homosexual affair with said masseuse as soon as her husband leaves town. She tells us the rest of her story:
"Then Cabot signed a contract to make an important film in Italy and went away on location, with me planning to join him as soon as I could rent the house and pack my things for Rome. That took away the one source of sexual satisfaction I had and I increased my masturbation to three or four times a day, saying that I needed a nap, or was going to take a bath. On the days that Laureen rubbed me, my own fingers
got the hardest workout of all-I literally mashed my clitoris for an hour at a time trying to find relief from the awful sexual pressure that was building within me.
"In an effort to stop thinking about the whole thing, I took the car and drove around until I felt like shopping. After I'd parked, I realized that I didn't need anything, that I could do much better by waiting until I got to Rome and shopping there. But I was out and dressed and ready for something-anything-to happen.
"As I walked along the shopping center sidewalk, the display in the window of a bookstore caught my eye. It was a group of books that were all about the sexual revolution, about the sexual hangups that people had and how they got rid of them. That's for me, I thought. Before I got hungup over Laureen and that damned man-on-the-bus, I was a happy girl. Maybe they have a book that will help mixed-up Renee. I went in and asked for something that dealt with children who had been molested in their preteen years-I didn't know what else to ask for.
"The female clerk tactfully led the way to a large table with a display similar to the one in the window-book after book about sex, love and the weird hangups that people will have. I picked up one or two books until I found what I wanted, a psychological text on the results of early sex experience, and was ready to leave when I saw a magazine rack with some of the wildest magazines on it that you could ever imagine. I mean, I knew what pornography was, but I didn't know it could be actually beautiful.
"The photographs in those magazines were in color, and they were good. I bought one with a picture of two half-nude girls on the cover. They were gazing at each other like people in love, and one of them was fondling the other's breast, which was in full view outside her unbuttoned blouse. That picture turned me on almost as much as the thought of Laureen doing the same thing to me.
"After buying a few bottles of wines and some rum for mixed drinks, I went on home. It was one of those hot, dry Southern California days when the santana winds blow in off the desert and make everyone feel sort of-strange and daring. At least, that was the way I felt when the santana blew in, and that's the way I was feeling now. I was so tense that I mixed myself a rum cooler and after I'd had that one and was halfway through the second, I decided to look at my new magazine.
"As I said, I had never thought of myself as a lesbian-or even as a girl with a healthy curiosity about making it with another girl. But as I looked at the beautiful female bodies in that magazine, and at what those girls were doing to each other, I began getting hotter than even the desert winds could make me. I had the maid bring me another rum cooler and went to the phone to call Laureen. 'Laureen, this stupid hot wind has my nerves on edge-do you have the time to come over and give me a fast rub to relax me?' I asked, knowing very well that Wednesday was her day off.
" 'Well, for you I'll make an exception, Renee,' came Laureen's lilting, accented voice. 'It's my day off, but I'm just sitting around the house and I'd like to get out. See you in fifteen minutes,' she said, and rung off.
"I could hardly contain myself-I had no idea of what I was going to do, if indeed I was going to do anything beside get another of those maddeningly sexy, yet unfulfilling massages. I gave the servants the afternoon off, told the answering service to take all our calls and headed for my bedroom. When Laureen let herself into the house I was already naked, perfumed with my most expensive scent, and quivering with anticipation…
"As she walked into my bedroom in her immaculate blue uniform, Laureen looked like a Viking maiden-all golden hair and tawny skin and blue eyes that immediately saw that I'd been drinking. 'You shouldn't drink in the middle of the day, especially when you're drinking alone,' she chided.
" 'If you have a drink with me, I won't be drinking alone, will I?' I asked, and poured her a tall one from the pitcher I'd brought to my bedroom. Laureen's blue eyes seemed to be looking through my skull, right into my mind.
" 'Thank you, Renee,' she said, and sat down on the bed to enjoy her drink. Then she caught sight of the magazine I'd been reading and the blue eyes got quite wide. 'Is this your magazine; Renee?' she asked incredulously.
" 'Yes, I just bought it,' I said, as casually as I could. 'I think it's very interesting. Would you like to read it?'
"Laureen picked up the magazine very slowly, looking at me the whole time. 'I didn't know you were interested in such things,' she murmured as she glanced through the first few pages.
" 'They all have such good figures, don't you think?' I responded, being as detached about it as I could. My heart beat wildly as I saw how Laureen's glance became a gaze, and the gaze turned into a long, long look at a picture of two girls who were clasped together so tightly that their naked breasts were almost flattened against each other.
" 'Yea, their bodies are very-exciting,' she agreed, and her choice of words gave me a sudden surge of hope. Could it be that Laureen, my tall, beautiful masseuse, was getting turned on from the magazine? Did she too, have a longing to be caressed and kissed by a woman? I told myself sternly that I was imagining things, and as she seemed to be finished with her drink and the magazine, I rolled over on the bed and said, 'I'm too lazy to get on the table today, Laureen Couldn't you just give me my massage here on the bed?'
" 'I don't like to do that, Renne-you won't have the right amount of tension and all you'll get will be a little stroking.'
"Oh, God, if she only knew that was what I wanted! 'Please Laureen, all I want is to be relaxed today-I don't care if we take off any more inches for a while. Rub me on
the bed.'
"For her answer, Laureen opened the small attache case she used to carry her supplies and spread a small towel on the bed under my hips. Then spreading-a handful of lotion over my tummy, she started to massage away the tension. As she continued to rub my belly and waist, the relaxing muscle tension was replaced by another kind of tension-the tension in the air between two people who want to make love to each other. There was no mistaking it; I'd felt it too many times before with men who'd wanted my body to interpret it as something else.
"Sure enough, as she went on to my shoulders her hands worked closer and closer to my breasts, and became gentler than they'd ever been before. This was no knead-off-the-fat, tone-up-the-muscles massage-this was the touch of a lover, the touch that had lived in my subconscious for thirteen years and was now flooding my mind with sensations I'd known were right under the surface of my skin..
"Laureen's face came closer to my body as she bent over the bed to delicately massage the flesh all around my breasts, while deliberately avoiding any contact with the actual breasts themselves. 'If you're uncomfortable bending over like that, you might as well sit on the bed: I said, hoping that her professional attitude would stay away and her desire for me would take over so that this tingling excitement would never end. She didn't answer, but she did sit down on the edge of the bed and, continuing to massage my waist and belly muscles, again bent close to my body, so close that I could feel her breath on my skin.
"Her hands were getting more and more like those of a lover-she slid them over and around my belly, up and down my waist around and around my titties until I couldn't stand it any longer. I had to say something to get her to caress my breasts, where the nipples were already erect and waiting for the sucking, tonguing kisses I wanted from this blonde beauty. The best I could come up with was, 'Do you think there's anything to the idea that regular massage will make the breasts fuller?' I could hardly get through that, I was so panting with desire.
" 'Some say yes, some say no. Don't you think your breasts are full enough, Renee?' asked Laureen as she went on circling my breasts with her strong, gentle hands.
"'Does anyone under an E cup think her breasts are full enough?' I joked, and Laureen giggled along with me.
"Then suddenly we weren't giggling anymore, because Laureen's hands had finally found my round, quivering tits and she was kneading them, lightly brushing her
palms over my nipples, and never taking her eyes off my face. I looked deeply into her eyes and saw the mixture of desire and lust I had dreamed of seeing there. A moan came from somewhere inside my soul, and I moved my body up, toward those marvelous hands that were now cupping and holding my breasts as though they had been made for just that.
"Laureen's face was turning to a rosy blush, her breath was coming faster, and her mouth was open' and making a sort of sucking motion. 'Oh God, Laureen, that feels so good!' I cried wiggling uncontrollably under her hands. In the moving around, one of my hands found its way to her thigh, which was resting just beside it on the bed. Her flesh was firm and well-muscled without being actually masculine. As my hand felt her upper thigh through the fabric of her uniform I was reminded of the forbidden excitement of feeling the huge hard cock of my first lover-the man-on-the-bus.
"Without knowing how I did it, I started stroking Laureen's thigh, going higher and higher with each stroke, closer and closer to her warm, sexy-smelling cunt. 'Renee, Renee, don't stop, please don't stop,' she begged in a whisper. So I was right; she did want me, maybe as much as I wanted her. I started my next stroke at her knee and as I ran my hand up her gorgeous leg, I made sure I went under her uniform skirt-on the way to her pussy.
"She gasped when she realized that I wasn't going to stop-not until we'd both had our fill of loving each other, of kissing. As my hand reached her furry lovenest, I found that she wasn't wearing a girdle-or even panties. There was nothing between me and my beautiful masseuse but the soft, damp baby curls around the entrance to her delicious cunt.
"Just as my fingers began irresistibly searching for the jewel of her clitoris, she unbuttoned her uniform and pulled open the top half of it. Her breasts were full and high, not even half covered by a bra of white lace. It must have been a push-up bra, because I could see the aureola around her rosy nipples, and I used my other hand to free on of those luscious breasts from the lacy bra. Laureen bent closer to me and, taking the naked breasts in her hand, she guided her large, erect nipple into my waiting mouth. At first I was so entranced with what I was doing to Laureen that I hardly noticed what she was doing to me, but as I sucked on her nipple, flicking the tip of my tongue across it without letting that breast out of my hungry mouth, I realized that she had gathered me into her arms and was tenderly cradling me to her body as I sucked and tongued her breast.
"My hand had taken on a life of its own, for I could feel my fingers sliding along the lips of her vagina, seeking that elusive love button, her clit. I found it, and now my fingers really began to fly across her pussy as I did to Laureen what I'd been doing to my own starving pussy for so many weeks. She moaned, and held me tighter, squeezing my breasts and kissing my face with a hundred little kisses that somehow seemed sexier than all the big, hot kisses!I'd had before. Then our mouths met in a
kiss that went straight to my soul, past all the lonely years and hard work and even past the happy times with Cabot-all the way back to my childhood.
"We clung together for what seemed like an eternity, our lips melting together, our tongues probing madly into each other's mouths, until there was just one body, one mouth, one tongue. Somehow I took off Laureen's uniform and half slip and we were naked together, except for her bra. My fingers shook as I unhooked it-and then my face was surrounded by her breasts, by the ripe, sweet flesh that was Laureen.
"I pulled her down on the bed with me and we started another kiss that went on and on until we were grinding our bellies together, our legs entwined so that I could feel mine against hers. Our legs began to loosen as our hips pushed us closer, then apart, then pressed together again in a movement that finally ended in our spreading wide apart and fitting our throbbing pussies together, clit to clit, slit to slit, our bodies arched toward each other so that we could get the most feeling out of each other's lower lips and now hard, pointed clits.
"In this mood of fulfillment and ectasy we rubbed each other to climax after climax, using fingers, legs,.hands and mouths. We licked each other's skins as though the taste was more delicious than amrosia. Laureen touched the very tip of my clitoris with her fingers and I came so quickly that she didn't even have to move her hand; for I did all the moving, bucking, rearing, my body flying up and down on the bed, out of control, wanting only to continue forever this incredible joy for which I'd waited so long.
"My Laureen was now madly thrusting, too, coming on my hand, which was ramming in and out of her dripping pussy with the speed of a jet-driven machine. I could feel the vibrations in her vagina as she started still another climax. Then it occurred to me that what I'd always wanted to see was a pussy in the middle of a climax, pulsing and sucking on whatever was inside it. Moving my body around, I positioned myself until I could see right into Laureen's wild, clenching cunt.
"The flower-like thing that was the center of this exquisite woman was a deep rose-red, satiny and shiny from the secretions pouring out of it onto my hand. Her odor was utterly female, and maddeningly desirable. Just one taste-I'm not really a lesbian, I thought, but I must have just one taste of this woman. I touched my tongue to her clitoris, then sluiced it back and forth across her pussy, forgetting all my reservations about lesbianism, about everything, in my frenzy.
"As my tongue found its way into the smooth recesses of Laureen's quivering cunt, she rolled around until she was right under me, her mouth just an inch or so away from my pussyhole. Then she reached up and pulled my hips down so that I was almost sitting on her face. In this position, we passionately sucked each other to yet more climaxes, working our tongues and lips over and around the throbbing cunt lips and clits we'd wanted do much.
"Finally, we were utterly exhausted, satiated with the realization of the needs we'd kept secret for months. Without even moving from the sixty-nine position we'd been in during our last eating of each other, we fell asleep, twined together like two vines, heavy with flowers, resting for the night.
" 'What the hell is this all about?' came a familiar voice out of a blinding light. Frantically, we leaped up from the bed, Laureen trying to clutch her crumpled uniform to her naked body. My eyes grew accustomed to the light and then I knew who it was.
" 'Cabot! You're supposed to be in Rome! Are you all right?' I was beside myself-how could I have hurt this man whom I loved so much, who had given me his trust?
" 'I'm just fine, Renee, and I'm thrilled to see that you seem to be doing rather well, yourself,' he said. 'I had some crazy idea that you might be lonely for me, so while the crew was looking for new locations, I jumped on a jet and here I am-surprise, surprise!"
" 'Oh, darling, please don't be hurt! I couldn't help myself, ever since I started remembering the man-on-the-bus, and Laureen's hands were so good, and I love only you, but I had to do this, I couldn't go on without doing it,' I babbled on in my need to make him understand. 'Understand me, lover, please understand. 'Understand me, lover, please understand why I did it,' I begged him and went to weeping.
" 'It was my fault, Cabot, I did it all, Renee had nothing to do with any of it. I take the entire responsibility: said my brave, loyal Laureen.
"Cabot said nothing at an for a long moment, then he pulled out his handkerchief and dried my tears. 'I've always wondered a lot about something, and maybe you girls can help me,' he said in a quiet, thoughtful voice. 'I've always wondered whether the rules that they made up for enjoying another person were all that fair. I mean, I've known some really great guys who were homosexual-gays who would give you everything they had if you asked them for help. And the lesbian girls I've known have been, generally speaking a good lot of fine women who loved maybe once in a lifetime and stayed with it, gave the relationship all they could give, in the face of the most awful jeering criticism from established society. When I first came in, I'll admit I was shocked. But I knew something was bothering my little Renee for the last couple of months, and I also knew somehow that I should come home and see if I could help her.'
" 'Cabot, oh Cabot, darling. I love you so-do you understand just a little? I never meant to hurt you,' I said, ready to cry again.
" 'I didn't say hurt, Renee, I said shocked, as in surprised, amazed,' Cabot said calmly. 'I thought there was some other guy you were in love with, and finding you
with Laureen was, well, a surprise. I'm adjusting to it, now. It may be that I'm even turning on a bit to the way you two beauties looked together, lying there like two lovely statues asleep. Laureen, I had no idea you were so tan all over. Are you a nudist, or do just sunbathe on your roof?' Cabot was looking at Laureen appraisingly, appreciatively, as he spoke.
"Laureen actually blushed all over her long, lithe body. 'I'm a nudist, Cabot. It's a wonderful way to live.'
" 'I can see that it agrees with you, Laureen. Maybe we'll join you one weekend, if your group bas visitors,' my husband said.
"Now it was my turn to be surprised, amazed. Instead of being the wronged husband, instead of turning me out of his house in disgrace, here was this fantastic person trying to relate intelligently to the whole thing. Life is full of wonders, I thought to myself.
Cabot was speaking again. 'If I may tell you girls a secret, one of my favorite fantasies is the one where I find myself in bed with two gorgeous, sexy girls, and we're all doing delicious things to each other. I really believe there should be no boundaries to love, and I'm willing to demonstrate the strength of my convictions right here and now!' So saying, Cabot took off his shorts, we could see how strong his convictions were-his cock was fully erect, standing straight out from his groin, big and hot, with a drop of clear fluid at the end of it.
"I'm dreaming, I thought, having the sexiest dream I've ever had. But I woke up fast when I felt my husband's big rockhard cock pushing into me. He had mounted me as I sat there on the bed, and was pulling me closer to him when Laureen sat down beside us and started stroking my nipples the way she had when we first started our lovemaking, hours-or was it lifetimes?-ago. Then she put her arms around both Joe and me as we moved together and apart, together and apart.
"Suddenly, I wanted to share my two loves with each other.
"Slipping out of Cabot's arms, I pushed Laureen gently into position to receive Cabot's big, hard cock between her legs. Then with a few stroking motions, I moved Laureen so that her legs were spread apart, her wet, sweet pussy glowing pink in the center of her body. This excited Cabot, so much that he plunged his rod quickly into her cunt, and I could see the juice oozing out of her as his huge joint pressed the walls of her joybox to their limit. Then they were fucking and moaning and writhing, and as I watched them, I wanted to touch them, to touch the fury and energy of their loving. I worked my hands between their bodies and felt Cabot's balls as they banged against Laureen's ass. My fingers crept around to where Laureen's clit was now erect and I massaged her until, between Cabot's cock and my fingers, she cried out and began the uncontrollable motions of her climax. Higher and higher she went, flying, screaming softly in her moment of rapture.
"We all lay together then for hours, not speaking, sleeping a little, mostly just holding each other and kissing fondly, experiencing a warmth and communion of spirit that made our separate lives seem cold and lonely by comparison. Laureen moved in with us the next day, and we now have frequent lovemaking sessions with Cabot, myself, Laureen and, now and then, one of our other friends who turns on to the same sharing. We don't see anything but good in what we do, but the rest of the world would probably call us filthy orgiasts. Truth is, our lives are greatly enriched and we're very happy-so the rest of the world can just mind its own business."
Lesbianism is as old as life itself. The notion of sexual expression being permissible only between opposite sexes is a fairly recent invention. Ancient civilizations, notable the pre-Pelleponesian Greek culture. thought it natural and normal to have a homosexual lover or two. Indeed. lesbians get their name from the Greek island of Lesbos, an island in the Aegean Sea that was populated only by women who had female lovers exclusively.
Religious statutes against homosexual lovemaking have their origins in the once-necessary duty to produce as many offspring as possible to create more and more little Jews, Christians, Mohammedans, etc. The terrible plagues that swept the world in ancient and medieval times also made it imperative that families have many more children than we do today-if three babies out of five lived to the age of twelve, the family was considered as very fortunate, indeed. Infant mortality rates, too, made it advisable to have as many children as one could so that when a baby quietly passed on after a brief two. or three months in this life, next year's baby could be counted on to take some of the sting away from the death.
As the years went by, homosexuality, along with many other forbidden things, got a bad name. By Victorian times, the very mention of such matters as men loving men or women making love to other women was so risque that ladies had been known to "faint" at these words which indicated a "filthy perversion,' as it was usually called.
"Filthy perversion" had, unfortunately, come a near-accurate misnomer for cunnilingus and fellatio the two most popular methods sexual expression between homosexual lovers-for as the centuries went by and the remnants of Imperial Rome went behind the thick walls of their stone castles in order to escape the raids of the Goths, Picts, and other such fierce tribes, bathing became more inconvient, and due to the harsher winters in northern Europe, downright dangerous to the health of the freezing bather. Hence, the accumulated dirt and sweat of a year at a time would quite naturally produce filthy genitalia.
Since filthy genitalia are hardly the most savory things to suck or lick, the term "filthy perversion" came to be used more and more. Even so, as late as Elizabethan times, there were few social sanctions against homosexuality, especially the male variety. The more explicit sonnets of William Shakespeare, for example, point unmistakably to his homosexuality, especially the male variety. The more explicit sonnets of
William Shakespeare, for example, point unmistakably to his homosexual involvement with a young nobleman of the time, as well as to his heterosexual love affairs. The advent of good Queen Victoria changed a lot of things, and almost none for the best. Sex, as such, was considered dirty, sinful, a "wife's duty," never a delight for "nice girls," and the enjoyment of dirty sex was almost strictly the prerogative of men and "loose women."
Woefully inaccurate folk tales have come down to us through our forebears, and are still making endless mischief today in the lives of millions of people who, were it not for Victorian nonsense about "purity," "a wife's duty," "when in doubt, suffer" and "filthy perversion," would be generally happier, more productive and certainly in less need of all that therapy, all those tranquilizers and all that divorce. Indeed, it is now generally accepted that most marital conflicts either start or are indirectly caused by poor sexual relationships which have their root in old taboos.
How much less in the way of weeping wives and ex-wives, emotionally damaged children and impoverished and bitter husbands and ex-husbands would we have in our world if good Queen Victoria had taken off her stays and kicked up her heels a bit, instead of squatting on her stuffy backside and expecting everyone in the British Empire, in fact the world, to live according to the dictates of her own sick ideas about love, sex and life?
In our age of sexual enlightenment, we see more and more people experimenting with sexual situations that were once spoken of only in hushed tones, behind closed doors. Younger couples are flatly refusing to get married until they live together for awhile, to be sure they can make it together, instead of rushing to the altar because everyone expects them to get married. "Gays," or homosexual men, are coming out of the shadows and literally demanding equal rights as human beings-the right to marry each other, adopt children, be considered as sane by an armed forces medical evaluation, and even run for public office as a declared homosexual. Wife-swapping, singles orgies and bars that exist for the sole purpose of a man or woman being able to walk ir., pick up a sex partner for the evening and not be considered a person of low morals are now accomplished facts. With all this happening, and with the people involved in it sustaining little or no emotional or social damage, it's no wonder individuals who find sexual expression more wonderful with three or even four or more in the "marriage" are coming into the open and saying"… our lives are greatly enriched and we're very happy-so the rest of the world can just mind its own business."
Sadly enough, the festering rags of Victorian morality are still being hoisted as banners of truth, and society is still bound to condemn most of the "new morality" as licentious, salacious and just plain dirty, low-down conduct. The inroads that have been made on the establishment attitudes are, however, most encouraging. A freer way of life has sifted into the strongholds of middle-class, middle-aged America, as well as into other Western countries, and now instead of the older folk calling the tune to which the young ones are expected to dance, things have changed radically.
Now it's the kids who set the speed for their elders who, although hard put to change, are nevertheless delighted with themselves once they discover that change, instead of being vaguely evil, is actually fun!
Like most vital cultures and subcultures, our Western civilization is in the midst of social as well as scientific, industrial and religious upheavals. It follows that the individual people who live within this civilization, while resisting change for a time, eventually accept modified forms of those very changes that seemed so sinister and dangerous just a short while ago. Group marriage involving some six to twenty people might provide society with a more closely knit, loyal, sexually relaxed unit than the present one that shows us almost as much divorce as marriage, increasing alienation from peer and family groups, and all the evils connected with this alienation.
Renee, Laureen, and Cabot found the family situation in which they were happiest while remaining responsible, productive citizens. It's entirely possible for others to do the same thing, remembering that the grim ghost of good Queen Victoria is still lurking about, and that pioneers in any field are rarely understood by the general public. Pioneers forge into new frontiers, however, and that in itself is frequently reward enough for the possible scorn of society.