When daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy, over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, And summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay. Shakespeare, A Winter's Tale Act IV, Scene III
CONTENTS Introduction CHAPTER ONE The Circumstantial Seductress CHAPTER TWO The Maiden Aunt CHAPTER THREE 'I'll Bet You I Can.' CHAPTER FOUR The High-Society Syndrome CHAPTER FIVE 'Kid Sisters Can Ruin Everything' Conclusion Bibliography
-------------------
INTRODUCTION
"I put my purse in the back seat and checked the other cars around us. It was utterly dark out, illuminated only by streams of flashing colored blocks of light from the projection booth. I couldn't see the other cars, much less into them, so it seemed un likely they could see us.
"I slid over close to Don, close enough to touch. My dress rode up my thighs, which is exactly what I intended. I could feel him shudder and I wasn't surprised. I imagine very few boys in their teens have aunts who act the way I do.
"The picture was starting-some lousy piece of crap; that was obvious from the first frame. 'I have a hunch this is going to be rotten,' I told Don.
"He was so cute. He answered me without taking his eyes off the insipid picture, obviously nervous about our touching legs, my bare thighs, and the visible crotch of my pink panties. He said, 'Well, we can always leave.'
" 'And we can stay, too,' I answered. 'Even if the picture's a bomb, we can always figure out something to do.'
"He still didn't look at me. Nor did he answer. I decided to be a little bolder. After all, I had a bet on with my husband, and I had no intention of losing it.
"I let my left hand drop in between his legs, up in the area where the thighs thicken, and almost immediately I could feel the fabric of his denims draw taut, a sure sign of a quick hardness. God, but these sixteen-year-old kids get hard fast when they are with a mature woman-especially if they've never fucked before. For a woman who digs a real, honest-to-God hard on with lots of vitality behind it, nothing in the world quite equals a teenager. And I should know.
"I looked over to Don. His eyes were riveted to the screen. Maybe my husband had been right-maybe Don would be just plain too terrified because I was his aunt. How silly, I thought. What's wrong with keeping it in the family?
"Well, I considered, maybe some stronger tactics were in order. I let my fingers drift upward a little and discovered that he was wearing button-down jeans and also that his prick was bolt-hard.
"Don took a quick intake of breath and seemed to freeze. His whole body tightened, as in the grip of genuine fear. Apparently his mind was not accepting the circumstances, despite the obvious intention on my part. I decided to bring the whole thing out in the open so that he could not possibly misunderstand. At age sixteen, a kid like Don should be able to meet sex head on-even if that stick-in-the-mud sister of mine did bring him up.
" 'Don,' I said, leaning close to his ear, 'you wear your pants awfully tight, don't you?'
" "They feel okay, Aunt Miriam,' Don muttered, his voice seeming to crack.
" 'But isn't it uncomfortable when your prick gets hard?'
"I knew that would get him. My husband had earlier suggested it as a tactic if Don didn't react fast enough. He had told me that the effect of direct sexual words on the ears of the initiate teenager should do wonders. When I said 'prick,' Don seemed to sit up straighter, as if on cue. But he didn't answer me. But there was a real tension-a sexual tension-in the air and now I was certain that my husband had been correct. I pursued the matter further.
" 'Didn't you hear me, Don? I asked you if it wasn't uncomfortable in those pants when your prick gets hard.'
"He mumbled, 'I dunno. Never thought about it, I guess.'
" 'Never thought about it!' I repeated, laughing heartily. 'Doesn't it usually get hard when you're here with your girl? Or didn't you think about it then either?'
" "That's different,' he answered.
"'Different? How? I'm a girl. A little older than you're used to, perhaps, but nevertheless a female. And your prick is as hard as a rock.' With that, I ran my fingers up and down the length of it, laying there against his stomach, sheathed in that impossible denim. Again, he bolted as if shocked by electricity.
" 'See?' I added. 'It's good and hard. And just to be a good Samaritan, I'm going to help you get it out of your pants to make it feel better. You certainly wouldn't be able to enjoy the show like that, now would you, Don?'
"I sensed that Don was extremely excited, and bewildered, and terribly self-conscious. Something deep within him wanted him to form the word 'stop' on his lips and then utter it, but the more opportunity nature's elements had to work on him, the better chance I had of gaining the upper hand. Time was on my side, if I could just stop that first word from being uttered. I rubbed up and down his cock some more and then began fiddling with the buttons, which were harder-than hell to get loose. Finally, I reached inside and then had to get inside his shorts, too, and, at last, after long minutes of fumbling, I felt my cool fingers come into contact with bare, hot, nervously excited, throbbing flesh. It was so hard; so painfully hard, I guessed, that I was very delicate and nimble-fingered as I fished the whole length of the thing out of his pants. Don was visibly trembling now.
" 'Oh, God, Aunt Miriam,' he said in a shaky voice. He probably had something else he wanted to say; a protest, perhaps, for I definitely sensed that there were unspoken words hanging in the air. But nothing more came out, and I was absolutely certain now that this lovely nephew of mine would be putty in my hands from now on. Quickly, I contemplated all the lovely things we could do, already trying to stage the whole seduction in my mind.
" 'You just relax, honey,' I soothed, as I began stroking his cock, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin on top. I only had two fingers-a thumb and forefinger, rather-working the stalk of it, slowly, in long, light strokes, all the way from his balls to the head. 'Feel better?' I asked.
"He made an incoherent sound again, which just spurred me on.
" 'Let me unbutton your pants all the way,' I said.
"That way, I can play underneath your balls, too. You'll love that.'
"He sat dead still a moment, neither acceding or rejecting, nor helping or resisting. I began with his belt. It seemed to me this was the crucial test, and when he did not resist, I knew everything was going to work out just fine.
"I undid his top buttons and the pants came completely open. I opened his shorts all the way, too, and now, for the very first time, Don assisted me by first lifting and then sliding down in the seat a little, loosening the way his clothes hugged him, effectively taking his pants down a bit by rearranging his position.
" 'Oh, that's nice,' I told him as my whole hand encircled his cock. 'Beautiful. Oh, Don, tell me-how long is it?'
" 'I dunno,' he muttered.
" 'Have you ever fucked a girl with it?'
Again a stammer, but not quite so pronounced, as he answered with a negative grunt.
" 'Well, you should. Fucking is the greatest thing in the world.'
"No answer. But no further resistance, either.
"Now I was stroking him steadily with my whole hand, not fast, but with a deliberate tempo, and full strokes, too-the kind that I know from my experience with young boys they cannot stand for very long. I tightened my grip a bit and sped up the tempo just a bit. It only lasted a few minutes.
" 'Oh, Aunty, you'd better stop,' he implored and drew away.
" 'Why, honey?' I asked innocently.
" 'I'm going to-'
" 'Going to come?' I helped.
" 'Yes, yesss-soon now ... don't ... you'd better....'
"I stopped completely and I could see that he was torn between relief and anxiety. I didn't need to be told what to do.
" 'Can you move the seat back?' I asked.
" 'Sure,' he answered. 'Do you want me to?'
" 'All the way,' I instructed in a happy voice. This is the moment I love so much in my relationships with young guys. Being the staging director of our own little production is a great kick. My husband tells me after I recount the experiences to him that I am satisfying a maternal urge when I do things like this, but he's no psychiatrist, so I sort of take it all tongue in cheek.
"The seat was back now so that there was plenty of room between Don's groin area and the steering wheel. I lifted myself up a little so that I could slide my panties off, and as I did so, I could smell that wonderful, meaty, aromatic odor that I always emit when that cunt of mine gets worked up. I hadn't felt it yet, but I knew it was sopping wet.
"Don continued looking at the stupid picture, as if transfixed. 'Are you really that interested in the picture?' I asked.
"For the first time, he smiled easily and said, 'Sure. That's what we came for isn't it?'
" 'Nope,' I answered clearly. 'I came for this,' and with that declaration I squeezed his cock again. Then I raised myself, disengaged my hand, and threw my right leg completely over him, straddling him in a perfect face-to-face position. With a deft move, I reached down and guided that wonderful engorged cock into that steaming cunt of mine. It slipped right in, all the way up to my kidneys, it felt like, and I could feel all of those wonderful juices of mine flowing everywhere up inside me. I had no intention of ruining things with needlessly precipitate moves at this point, so I just sat there a few seconds, savoring the marvelous feeling of another new young cock, this one all the better because it was my own nephew; and doubly fine beyond that because I had once again proven to my loving husband that I could accomplish anything sexual that I set out to.
"Tenderly now, and as dispassionately as possible under the circumstances, I planted a nice aunt-like kiss on Don's lips, which I discovered to be dry. Poor kid. This must be quite a shock, if nothing else. I damned near felt contrition. But I knew better, actually. If all those books I'd read told the truth, young men hang on to and relive their first sexual experience with great ardor and passionate memory. That's exactly the way I wanted to be remembered.
"He didn't really return the kiss. I think he was trying to work things in his mind and figure out just what it was that was happening to him, and just how that rigid trembling prick of his was feeling at this moment. Now I was certain he was a virgin. Just the thought of getting another virgin made my pussy even wetter, and I couldn't resist beginning a slight up-and-down fucking motion again.
" 'Will you come too fast if I stroke a little bit-like this?'
" 'I-think so.'
" 'Well, we can't have that,' I told him. 'Why don't you look over my shoulder at the picture-maybe that'll take your mind off this.'
" 'I don't want to take my mind off this.'
" 'And I don't want you to shoot too fast.'
" 'You don't?'
" 'Not here. It's too messy.'
" 'What then?'
" 'Well, I'll tell you what. If I promise to make you feel real good right now, will you promise to take care of me when we get home?'
" 'Home? Jesus-what about Uncle Harry?'
" 'He sleeps like a log. Promise?'
" 'I guess so. What're you going to do?'
"I was already dismounting. Without a word of explanation I moved away a bit to give myself working room. Then I looked at Don and told him, 'Now you just watch the picture. Try to concentrate on it. I don't want this to be over too fast, either.'
"With that, I leaned forward and ran the tip of my tongue up the shaft of his prick, starting way down on the balls-as far underneath them as space would permit, that is-and working my way up to the tip, employing a butterfly tongue technique as I approached the head. I did this two or three times, and although I usually like to keep this up awhile, I heard Don moaning above me and figured that he was probably close. I especially like to keep lapping at a cock that's already been in me a little like his had, because then it has my own cunt juice all over it. Anyway, I quit the preliminaries and worked my way to the one last time, and when I got there I popped the whole thing in my mouth and went all the way down in one thrust. Sometimes I like to do it like that, anyway, just to get things started quick. For one thing, when I'm blowing a kid, whose prick is usually smaller than a man's, I can take the whole thing in my mouth right up to my gullet with ease, which is a real good feeling. I like to feel the head of a cock butting against the back of my mouth, and I've learned to get my tongue wrapped around the bottom curvature of it in almost all positions.
"Anyway, I took Don's whole prick in up to the hilt and then felt his fuzzy pubic hair tickling my cheeks. Then I began a good hard in-and-out sucking motion, all the while stroking in full, deliberate strokes-in to the tonsils on the downstroke, and out almost to the point of extraction on the upstroke. I also remembered my husband's advice about keeping my tongue in constant motion.
"I heard a little groan just before it happened. I sped up the tempo until it was furious and then-I was rewarded. God, what a freaky feeling! I guess I love the taste of cum, especially from a young kid, more than anything in the world. It tastes a little different from every boy, but in another manner of speaking, it tastes the same, too-youngish. Don gave me shot after shot. I thought he'd never quit. But he'd never be able to deluge me. No one ever had. I could swallow it just as fast as they could give it to me. And then he was drained. I kept sucking a little bit, to get it all, but then I finally sat up.
"Don didn't say a word. He seemed to actually be watching the picture. I asked him, 'How was it?'
" 'Jesus,' was all he said. "I was tickled. I love to leave them satisfied. "And now I could concentrate on other things. My own satisfaction, for example."
Women like Miriam abound in our society in more ways than one. First, there are a significant number of them who actually consummate their desires, such as Miriam, simply because they have come to terms with themselves and see little promise of fulfillment if they pursue only that which is historically or socially permissible.
The other group, which comprises a far greater number of females, does not consummate its desires, but rather finds methods of sublimating, substituting, dissociating, and otherwise denying themselves the thing they actually crave: sexual contact with younger men, with family members, with symbols of virility. Restated, it can be said that a significant group of older women (especially American women) desire sexual liaison of a forbidden nature, but cannot, for any one of a number of reasons, realize this wish.
In this writing, we are dealing with a phenomenon which contains several disparate elements. Sexual relationships between aunts and nephews are first of all incestuous since, by definition, they have a consanguineous base (we are not dealing here with non-blood ties), and secondly they are usually pedophiliac in makeup. In those very few cases where the aunt is younger (or in the same age bracket) as the nephew, a somewhat different set of emotional dynamics comes into play.
Thirdly, it is a fair statement that liaisons between aunts and nephews cannot reach fruition unless someone initiates the congress. Further it stands to reason that it requires an unusual teenage boy to brazenly proposition his much-older aunt. Therefore, exceptions admitted, the aunt must be the aggressor and in many ways she must dominate. The boy need not be especially submissive, though this is usually the case during the first seduction. Altogether then, it can be assumed that aunts must provide the impetus for the relationship, and unless the incestuous longing is so severe as to be primary, and contains maternal overtones, the only logical motivation which can be assessed is hypersexuality. And, in fact, this happens to be a rather constant factor in such cases.
As regards incest, it is not fair to assume that all aunts who seduce their nephews do so because of (1) emotional expiation for not having a son of their own, or (2) a sibling rivaltry of adult proportions with their sisters. It is very popular to take either or both of these views, but they are vastly unfair if they are made without benefit of extensive psychoanalysis.
Aunt-nephew incest has an interesting history.
Down through the ages, and especially in France during the Revolutionary period (and for a long while thereafter), it has often been a family habit to "farm" out budding young males to a favorite aunt for "social indoctrination," which term meant sexual instruction. While it is true these young men also learned to be socially adept in the drawing room and a thousand other niceties from these aunts, the principal academics involved were love-play, kissing, fondling, coitus, fellatio (received, of course), cunnilingus, and perhaps a few more daring things, such as anal sex, flagellation, etc. More often than not, the natural uncle was also in the home, but custom being what it was, he usually went along with the little game. Sometimes also, the "instruction" took on a troilistic tone if the uncle was so predisposed. Here was opened the door for homosexual instruction. Even today, in the United States, much pedophiliac-troilistic activity is initiated by an older man with an attractive wife who can be used as a decoy for unsuspecting young men. Only one other ingredient is needed to upgrade those relationships to our current topic.
The history of incest gives us relatively few literary facts except on the mythological or symbolic levels. One might even say that the incest taboo extended to writing about it. There are some interesting references about the ancient Egyptian and Mongol cultures, but beyond that, any specifics would be conjectural. We do happen to know of the aura of incest from many cultures, but the reasons, attitudes, and application of the proscriptions would require, for rounded understanding, better data.
In the tersest of terms, we can conclude that historical and cultural reasoning has given us this message: No act of man, with the possible exceptions of murder and the desecration of idols, carries a stronger taboo than incest. And taboos, according to Freud, exist only to prevent man from doing something which he both desires and fears. With such a provocative premise to lead us on, we should find this a fascinating topic.
Of course, it should be realized that every prime reference to incest, be it historical or psychological, deals on the severest level with parental incest. Mother-son incest is regarded as the most psychologically destructive, with father-daughter incest running a poor second. Sibling incest takes a distant seat in terms of damage to the participants. In our summation of the psychologic components in the first case history (Martha-Dave), we will draw the obvious parallels between aunt-nephew and mother-son incest. Because the aunt is more often than not a mother-surrogate, the ties and nuances of interaction here become intriguing.
This leads us to the obvious conclusion that there is a considerable psychodynamic difference between aunt-nephew incest of paternal descendancy (aunt being nephew's father's sister) and aunt-nephew incest of maternal descendancy (aunt being nephew's mother's sister). In the paternal construction, the boy can in no way identify the aunt with the mother, and therefore his blood guilt lies in the direction of the father and plays a distinct role in the formulation or resolution of any residual Oedipal questions. Let us suppose the boy is barely pubescent-age fourteen, say-and that psychologically he teeters on the brink of an Oedipal fixation; in other words, his leftover and fragmentary Oedipal complex inclinations are in a state of irresolution. A liaison with his aunt will serve to polarize all the fears and doubts he imagines concerning his relationship with his father. If other conditions are just right, and if the constellation of feelings and responses are in such disarray as to be totally influenced, it well might be that such a sexual experience will resolve the boy's questions for him. Sometimes homosexual tendencies are thus locked into place.
On the other hand, the maternal construction of aunt-nephew incest can range in result. Sometimes, if the boy identifies strongly enough with his mother, especially if she is alive, he can become greatly disturbed-even to the point of total dissociation and loss of reality. But for this circumstance to prevail, the boy must first of all have had severe doubts of his mother's love for him, he must have great unresolved questions regarding his own worthiness, and he must identify fully with the aunt. Generally, the physical appearance of the aunt will have much to do with it. In the case of the aunt and mother being twins, chances of psychic damage are increased.
Usually the aunt, in any construction, will be the younger sister of either the father or mother. Her own motives for promoting the relationship with the nephew will be several, but usually we find that she is not primarily motivated by family considerations; in other words, she has no pathological drive which forces her to identify in once-removed sexual terms with either her sister or brother.
Her reasons usually relate to and are grounded in pedophilia and hypersexuality.
Female pedophilia is sometimes referred to as the Jocasta complex (which term, like so many others, is drawn from the Oedipus Tyranmis of Sophocles-Jocasta being the wife of King Laius of Thebes and later the wife of Oedipus). Stated as simply as possible, pedophilia takes root in two principal forms and three or four ancillary forms. At root the female pedophile seeks to regain lost youth through sexual identification (or proof of desirability). Secondly, she tries to avoid the possible disparagement of older, more experienced men, for they will be sufficiently sophisticated to be able to criticize her performance. Obviously, these two motivations are a form of self-doubt, or, more correctly, what Harry Stack Sullivan has called "customarily-felt low self-esteem."
As it happens, female pedophilia is also related to incest wishes. That is to say, it is related to thwarted incest wishes. The mature woman is quick to realize the forcefulness of the incest taboo, as regards herself and her son, and thus she curbs any desires which may become vitalized. Women who do not have sons (or any children at all), but who are heterosexual in makeup, understand and can intellectualize the incest prohibition, but they have no way to effectively internalize those feelings. She has no tent at hand. Unconsciously, she puts herself, time and again, into the imagined test position, but it is a fruitless pursuit, Finally, at a level approaching conscious thought, she reasons that she can determine her own worth by experimenting with quasi-incestuous sexual relationships. To do so, she must find someone who could realistically pass as her son. Thus the age brackets are established.
Female hypersexuality is also related to self-doubt, although some other elements crop up. Hypersexuality should never be confused with nymphomania, which is an uncontrollable, compulsive, and. often confining aberration of severe proportions. Most men who dream of finding a beautiful "nympho," wouldn't want her if they actually found her. Hypersexuality, conversely, does not imply any of the "uncontrollable" elements of nymphomania, except perhaps that hypersexual women are a bit promiscuous. How else can they properly expose themselves?
Hypersexuality is a result of the interesting phenomenon whereby a woman somehow purges herself of the need to kowtow to social convention. Its causes are pretty well established and seem to deal in general with the need to prove oneself, again and again. Just as a pompous, mesomorphic, extroverted salesman must prove himself again and again through the vehicle of sales, the woman who doubts her own worth will sometimes become oriented in such a way that sexual proofs exceed the worth of other types of proof. The woman who slaves from morning to late at night competing with men in the business world is not too much different from the hypersexual woman, except that her orientation is not sexual.
Aunt-nephew relationships usually do not reach the courts. When they do, it is usually on a nominal charge such as "contributing to the delinquency of a minor," a misdemeanor. In most states consanguineous incest is a felony, and in states such as California (where Section 285 of the Penal Code carries a maximum of fifty years), a person so convicted might easily end up in a state hospital and legally adjudged to be a "mentally disordered sex offender," a situation requiring observation by state doctors for as long as they deem necessary.
It is surmised today that aunt-nephew incest is not nearly so uncommon as one might suppose. One legal authority has told this writer privately that such cases "occur and are stuck away in every nook and cranny of the country." One naturally looks for such explanatory things as motivation when considering the phenomenon of sexual trends. If, for example, aunt-nephew incest is on the increase, could it have anything to do with the general relaxation of sexual views in America?
One wonders if the easier discussions of sex, the burgeoning literature, the avant-garde theater, the revealing fashions-indeed, our whole approach to the "now" life-style-might in some way be acting as catalysts.
If these conclusions and suppositions are false, then the search for the truth will be long and hard, and most likely unrewarding.
CHAPTER ONE
THE CIRCUMSTANTIAL SEDUCTRESS
"The room seemed dark and strange to me and I wondered how long it would take to get used to this new home-and to this new person, my aunt. It was such a peculiar feeling, being uprooted from one part of the country to another, almost overnight. But, as it had been explained to me, it was the only plausible solution after Mom's death.
"Aunt Martha seemed to think it was a good solution, too. Judging by the way she talked, this enormous rambling house was just plain misery for her during the long months when her husband was out to sea. He was an oceanographic scientist and sometimes their surveys required trips lasting up to a year. And, according to Aunt Martha, a year's a long time to 'rattle' around in a huge home alone.
"Which sounded rather strange. Even to my fifteen-year-old ears, it was perfectly obvious that Aunt Martha needn't have been alone. It must have been by choice, or perhaps even untrue-or maybe this was one of those neighborhoods where people just were not able to do as they wished. But such thoughts saddened me. Even at fifteen, I was a free soul, fully convinced of such things as individual choice.
"For reasons unexplainable, I was suddenly aware that something had changed during the last few minutes. The way the room was constructed, I could not be sure if the door had opened or not. No light had been evident, nor had there been any sound, yet I knew there was now another presence in the room. Realizing it could not very well be anyone except Aunt Martha, I was not especially apprehensive, but on the other hand, I could think of no reason why she should be so stealthy and secretive. I decided to play it dumb. I remained motionless.
"She apparently was tiptoeing and practically upon me. I had tangible proof of her presence now, in the form of breathing. I could even feel it. She must have just then been bending low over my face to determine if I was asleep. I maintained my position and made sure to breathe evenly and deeply, just as sleeping people really do.
"I felt a light touch upon my lips. I thought for a second it might be her fingers, but then I became aware of the odor of alcohol and I could just barely sense the washing of exhaled breath on my cheek. Then she kissed me a bit fuller, and I had to be careful not to respond. Her lips were soft, full, and warm, and the light stickiness of the lipstick seemed to fuse our skin together just a bit as she tried to withdraw. I laid there in rapt anticipation, wondering what she might do next.
"The bed was depressed by a weight. She had lowered her body, as carefully as possible, into a sitting position very close to my head. Very gently, she began to touch me, first about the face, and then on the neck, all with the lightest of finger touches, almost as if it were her intention to awaken me by tickling. It was a delightful and most sensuously delicate way for a person to have his skin and contours explored, and even as I wondered what sort of move would be next, I could not help but conjure up a vision of this magnificent woman. I recalled the vision at dinner, how she towered in Junoesque grandness as she walked to and from the kitchen, her cinnamon hair flowing in drifts behind her, a strand or two even falling into the sharp cleft between her high, taut breasts.
"I could feel the covers lightly being drawn down and then I could feel those same light fingers toying with my chest and as she did that she also leaned close to me and nuzzled against my ear, just grazing her teeth against the lobe and then letting her tongue dart two rapid swiping licks against the orifice, just enough so that a drift of warmish breath entered my ear and caused me to reflexively shudder.
"She withdrew a bit, as if in fear of being discovered. But I immediately recovered from that one shudder and then continued on as before. Soon her confidence was restored. She approached my ear with that snaky tongue again, only this time she preceded her lick with a whisper. 'Are you awake, Dave?' she asked, the warm breath again almost causing an involuntary reaction, held back only by my forced resolve. She became more daring when I refused to answer.
"She was unbuttoning my pajama top and then her deft fingers were exploring and toying with my midsection and belly button. It was as if she wanted to knead the stomach muscles, massage me, examine my structure completely, but that it was too soon and too dangerous. But I knew she was leading to something like that-I was certain something grand was about to happen.
"Once again she touched my ear with her tongue, but this time not so tentatively. With a distinct lapping motion and with a. purposefully exhaled stream of hot breath directed into the ear itself, it seemed that her design was to wake me. Again she asked, 'Are you asleep, Dave?' Again, I feigned unconsciousness, although by this time I was curious beyond all description and-well, feeling feelings my fifteen-year-old virginal mind could not really define. My body was becoming liquid and jelly and hot and a lot of things....
"Her hand was now exploring my lower abdomen, kneading sometimes, playing, tickling, just barely touching-and yet all of these things with a sense of insistence. Then she leaned forward a bit, no longer interested in my wet ear, and applied light licking touches of her tongue about my rib cage and abdomen. As she did this, her hands crept ahead of her-lower-to the flat groin area where my sensitive lower abdominal area and upper thighs lay waiting. As she brushed her fingertips across these areas, she also allowed her straying fingers to brush briefly with nearly untouching touches against the upper sac of my balls and even a part of the lower stalk of my prick, which I only then discovered was metallically rigid.
"It seemed to me she was only holding back for fear that I either had awakened or would awaken. Several times she stopped dead still from her kissing, licking, and fondling, and seemed to just listen in the air for signs of awareness from me. But I went on with my pretending.
" 'Dave,' she said very softly, testing again, 'do you like what I'm doing to you right now with my tongue? Don't you think I've got a nice touch with my tongue?' It was one of those low sibilant whispers and I'm certain it wasn't intended for my ears, not really, and I very nearly answered her-out of curiosity more than anything else. I was burning to know what would happen if I were to 'wake up,' but I was even more curious to find out what would happen if I didn't.
"Next her hands descended to my thighs, no longer tickling but actually massaging. When her hands struck the inner thighs, she added a slight pressure outward, as if to separate my legs. By reflex, I almost assisted, but caught myself in time. Now her nose was in the curling, patchy, wispy hairs above my prick which only short years ago had started to fill out.
"She started lightly blowing into those same hairs at this point, while at the same time making another effort to get my legs spread wide apart. I wanted so much to help, and didn't quite know how to pull it off. And then a thought hit me-daringly, I rolled to one side imperceptibly and then coughed lightly while my legs fell apart, much as I imagined a sleeping person might actually have done it. At once her hands began again, now on the inner thighs and working their way up each thigh toward the underside of my balls. And even though I was expecting the feathery tapping feels by the time they actually touched the scrotal sac, I nevertheless came close to jumping out of my skin when those touches actually occurred. The sensation was intense, nearly electrifying, and I'm sure that's the point where I betrayed myself.
" 'You're not fooling anybody now, Dave,' she said, no longer whispering in that low sibilance. 'You're awake and I know it. Pretending won't do any good any longer-and it won't do any harm either. I promise I won't quit.' Her voice was full of a chuckling-like undertone. She knew that I knew; and also she knew I knew she knew. The game was over.
" 'Yes,' I acknowledged, and that simple word seemed to be enough. Even as the sound escaped my mouth, she was proceeding with her work-using ten teasing fingers on my balls, ranging in scope from up to the base of my cock and all the way down to my ass-hole. She seemed to enjoy running quick fingers across the bridge of my anus-across the rigid puckering.
" 'Well,' she went on, 'if you're really awake, the least you can do is tell me how it feels-ever have your ass-hole strummed like a guitar before?'
" 'No,' I answered, grinding my teeth together to keep from screaming. It was both maddening and delightful and when she attempted to insert a finger into my anus, my sphincter muscle spasmed into a tightly closed ring, almost as if clutching at the finger. She laughed at this, and for some reason her laughter transported my mind away from the intensity of the moment and helped me form another mental picture; one of Aunt Martha's perfectly formed white teeth partly covered, yet accentuated with fully stretched rose-lips.
"Now she hooked her elbows under my knees and forced them wide apart, exposing my balls and ass-hole and the little wisps of fine hair that ran between them, and then she raised herself up quite high so as to give her head room to dip down low between my legs. As she did so, I could sense that she also moved her ass into position just above my face. I could see the vaguest outline of contours in the dark, draped, it seemed, in some kind of filmy material. Just as she was dipping her head low underneath my bails, I reached up a tentative hand to feel the inside of her thigh, which was textured like the skin of a baby and both cool-ish to the touch and lightly damp-but she seemed not to notice it. Her only reaction was to complete the motion she had begun, allowing her flickering tongue to finally come into light contact with my impossibly sensitive ass-hole. It was like an ice-water splash and an explosion and an electric shock all at once. I wanted to loosen my bowels and shit all over the bed and yet I had to tighten up as if to protect myself from more of this unbearable ecstasy. But I could do none of these things; her insistent tongue continued bathing my ass-hole, forcing a bit now and then as if to promote some kind of entry. Then she murmured, 'Why'd you stop feeling me, Dave? There's a nice warm cunt up there somewhere. It won't bite.'
"I followed her advice and let my hand go to the inside of the damp-cool thigh again, this time going upward with confidence and anticipation. I didn't have the slightest idea what I was to really find, or how to make it good for her after I'd found it. Actually, my whole awareness was centered in the tonguing I was getting, and although I was curious to find out if Aunt Martha had one of those big bushy black things between her legs like I'd accidentally seen on Mom a couple of times, I was perfectly content to wait a while to find out. Somehow Aunt Martha sensed that it was becoming all but impossible for me to concentrate on anything other than what was happening down around my balls and ass-hole.
" "That's all right, Dave. Let it wait a minute. I want you to put your whole mind on what I'm about to do. You might discover a brand new "biggest" thing in your life.'
" 'Okay,' I responded. 'Go on; do whatever it is. Tongue my ass-hole some more. That's great. Do anything. It all feels great!'
"She seemed to twist herself somehow and her head was now all the way down between my legs, so that if there had been light I know I would have seen her looking up at me. Then she applied that gorgeously talented fluttering tongue again, this time rapidly working it up from my balls to the base of my cock, around it somehow, and then she inched little-by-little upward, leaving warm spittle everywhere she licked, making my prick warm and slick and tingly. My prick was so hot and sensitive by now that I thought I could detect the spittle evaporating as soon as applied, but, of course, it was not, and anyway, she just kept giving it more and more, just as someone might swirl a brush around a barber pole while painting it. Then she began taking long, loving, vertical strokes, reapplying new moisture all the way from my balls to the head of my prick, but not quite engaging the head itself, as if it were a dessert to be saved for last. Frankly, I didn't care what she was doing, or was going to do, because my senses were by now only an extension of me, off somewhere else, floating up to the crests and down to the troughs of a sea of quicksand waves, tingling, pulsating to my toes.
"She paused, as if for breath, but I could tell that her head was raised directly above the head of my prick. I knew from my limited experience in such matters that from the way my balls felt-so full and knotted into a funny ache-there was undoubtedly an accumulating pearl of white sticky stuff right on that slit that's on top of the head. She must have known that too, because I could feel her pull her arm forward, and wipe across the slit with her index finger. Then her arm moved again and I knew she was putting her finger to either her nose or mouth.
" 'Smells wonderful,' she muttered to herself. Then there was another slight movement and I could hear the modest sound of lips and tongue going through tasting motions. 'Ummm! Tastes great, too.' Then she spoke louder and directed herself to me. "Think you'd mind giving me a whole mouthful of that wonderful stuff?' Then she sort of chuckled and tackled my waiting prick in earnest.
" ' ... A hell of a piece of meat for such a young kid,' she mumbled to herself, and then I heard, 'and I'm going to get some beautiful fucking out of this thing, too.' She fixed a thumb and forefinger around the base and began s slight-up-and-down, very slow massage, and with the onset of that motion I was transfixed, even paralyzed, to attention. Already, I knew what was going to happen, and I was just hoping that my boyish inexperience wouldn't ruin it-for either of us. Already I could feel the welling load of sticky cum gathering in my full nuts, ready to explode upward and shoot out of my boiling cock. I was past caring or even wonder. At this point nothing else really mattered-I was melting from heat and wanted only to be hotter.
"Again she approached my prick, this time with a low, almost inaudible moan coming from her throat. This was it. Serious business this, now that all the preliminaries were out of the way. I could even sense that it was all seriousness with her, too. Again she cupped my balls with gentle fingers and began a kneading massage. Again, her tongue made its way to the underside of my prick and then she accommodated the sides and back-ridge. Her earlier stimulation, plus this, had been so gradual, so complete and artistic, so fulfilling in a partial way, that I had by this time reached a point of excitation and anticipation far exceeding that normally required for orgasm, though at that time I didn't realize such things. Also, as I later found out, Aunt Martha was a master in such matters, and knew perfectly well what she was doing when she held me just barely in check, just below the level of explosion.
"She reached the underfold of the glans where the smallish bundle of flesh from my circumcision scar formed a rounded ridge, and for a short moment she lingered there, toying with that particular flesh, salivating deliberately and delivering spittle to it, using her tongue like a trowel. Wetter and slimier my cock became, until the whole of it was sopping, dripping, very slippery, and hotly pulsing. Then she went on to the entire glans, applying saliva to the whole head.
" 'You like?' she asked.
" 'Oh, Jesus,' I cried. 'Go on, do more, do anything. But hurry!'
" 'Don't be impatient, darling. You'll get it all. It's always best if you make it last.'
"But as if to contradict herself, she now went forward with her plan. I guess she just wanted to let me know that I was in the hands of an artist, and that the best was always worth waiting for. Up to now, only her expertise had managed the withholding of my orgasm, but even though I was beside myself with ecstatic heat and burning concupiscence, I was fully aware that I was receiving a ministration utterly unique, an experience never to be relived, even with her, because there is something-so indefinably singular about the element of 'firstness.'
"Now Aunt Martha left the minor leagues entirely. She raised her head again, hesitated, and then descended upon my prick, her mouth open, ready, perched; much as an albatross descends upon a hapless fish. Since I had many times before been told by the school coach and that guy down at the YMCA that I had a very large cock for a boy my age, it was very much to Aunt Martha's credit that I felt no teeth at all. Her tongue had been in flashing motion even before contact had been made. Just as she touched home and began inserting the whole of it into her mouth, she began a full, openmouthed, forced breathing which bathed my whole prick in gushes of warm air, bringing on another new sensation. I tensed to hold back the approaching surge. The throbbing of my cock and the new rhythmic puckering of my ass-hole had now become involuntary. My nerve ends were loosening just as Aunt Martha finally made full, deep, enveloping contact with that over warm and liquid mouth of hers and busily swirling tongue, and now I could not deny those vague inner juices which were rushing up, and to hold back these near-spasms I had to force myself into deep inner muscular contractions. I think I even clenched my teeth.
"The insertion of my prick into her mouth became the primary thing at this point; the forced breathing stopped, the darting and playing tongue retreated deeply to its natural cavern and now became a loving trowel which swirled and teased and massaged the head of my prick, molding its contours to that same prick. She caressed with long, swallowing, deep strokes and alternately teased with quick short strokes. At the deepest insertion, she put her tongue into a circular bathing motion upon the glans, which was up deep into the tongue-bed, and then she added a munching kind of suction.
"She emitted low murmuring sounds of contentment. I could visualize how there must now be streaks of lipstick up and down the whole of my cock. Her downstrokes now were bringing her lips and nose into full pressing contact with my pubic hairs and I'm certain that the main bulk of my bulbous head was lodging easily into her upper throat, and then it seemed to go even further. With great artistry, and defying all the explanations of measurement, she increased her downstroke and added great force so that she was taking absolutely all of it-and I had been told in school that eight-and-a-half inches was remarkable for a fifteen-year-old boy-which was proven by the strange feeling I got every time my cock brushed up into her hot throat, past her tonsils, flattening her vulva, and on into her receptive and waiting esophagus.
"It required my whole will to resist culmination-I clenched together every set of muscles I owned, from eyelids to curling toes, but it was a losing battle. The inevitable approached.
"She was taking it all. Now a new set of muscles was being brought into play and I didn't understand for a second. Then I caught on; she was taking the whole cock and as soon as it was firmly lodged in her throat she would stop momentarily and start swallowing-flutter-swallowing, actually-and they were rapid, reflexive, not-quite-gagging, fully muscular swallows. It was a milking-like suction and it was the strangest feeling in the world, and one I have never experienced again in the years and years of blow jobs that have followed.
"She sensed how close I was. She increased both the tempo and the suction. Her head was now a piston, a blurred piston, and the strokes were full and hard and straining. I knew that had I been able to see her in the light, her hair would be flailing the air.
"The first rush of spurting semen came up in a geyser gush. It was almost pure pain, but it also bordered on pure ecstasy, even rebirth. It hit the back of her throat and triggered an even more frenzied tempo of that pistoning head as well as a new and furious swallowing that was clearly audible as the hot gobs of sticky sperm lubricated the whole peristalsis mechanism-I could actually hear the contractions carrying the copious nutrient to her stomach. She would have taken any amount of cum I could have shot down her throat, even to the point of her not being able to move without producing an audible 'splash' from her abdomen.
"She milked on and on even after I was totally drained and dry and tenderly limp. And even then, after it was decidedly over and done, and there was absolutely nothing left, she kept returning to my prick, time and time, saying that it had to be 'carefully cleaned off.'
"And then, when at last she decided that the act was concluded, she lay down next to me and draped an arm over my chest, apparently as exhausted and drained as I was. It seemed she was purring. At length she asked, 'Dave, darling, are you still awake?'
" 'llh-huh,' I grunted.
" "Tell me, darling, did you like it?'
" 'Oh, God yes! I've never known a feeling like that,' I replied, wanting even in my soporific state to sound enthusiastic.
" 'Good. Wonderful. Just great.'
"I waited for her to go on. I knew by her tone she had something to add to that.
" 'Dave, I think you're going to make me the happiest woman in the world and from now on I don't care if my husband goes for ten years at a time. I'm going to put you to sleep with a good blow job every night, and I'm going to wake you up with an even better one in the morning-every morning. And school isn't very far away. You can come home for lunch every day and I can give you a proper sucking then, too. And I'm going to teach you to eat my cunt so good that you'll be the most sought-after man in town when you grow up. And then there's more.' " 'More? What?'
" 'Fucking. Have you forgotten that?' she laughed.
"I laughed too. 'Yeah, almost. When can we start teaching me that?'
" 'Well, you're shot for now. Let's make it tomorrow.'
"I was very agreeable to that. I grunted my approval.
" 'But, Dave, I want you to know something in advance. I can be a little bitchy. Especially when I like a cock as much as I like that monster you've got. And especially when someone's cum tastes as great as yours does. It's both sweet and sour, a little like liquid aspirin, and tangy-God, but that was the greatest. And so much, too . ... '
"And I suppose she went on like that for a while. But I don't really know. About that time I fell asleep."
The foregoing account sounds very much involved in psychodynamic elements above and beyond the obviously incestuous. A thoroughgoing delineation of this case, in fact, has presented fierce topical debate between the three men who finally became involved in it: the husband, the therapist, and the analyst who was brought in to mediate the whole thing.
At first, this seemed to be a case that might reach the courts. Fortunately, it never got that far.
As we continue with this taped narrative (all of which is in retrospect from a man now in law school and with a promising career in the offing), it will be seen that a wise choice was made by all parties, and that a stroke of luck entered the picture, too, in that farseeing medical authorities were able to circumvent a legal involvement.
At root, we are dealing here in three planes: the incestuous, the pedophiliac, and the compulsively oral. The husband could not immediately see, of course, that multiple elemental psychodynamics were tugging Martha in several directions at once, and that not least among these was the age-old marriage-wrecker: forced role-reversal. When her husband was awav, Martha was forced to become the decider, the dominant force, the "rejected" (this term used in the grander sense), and finally, a woman who had to accept personal responsibility for "self-determination-within-marriage"-an unnatural condition.
Martha's existence was one which promoted an overripe social and sexual want, and in time, her personal ideals were compromised in such a manner that she became sexually pliable, or, restated, she was in perfect stance and condition to yield to the fruition of her most basic desires. One might ask why a great many war widows (this term meaning women whose husbands are absent for military reasons for long periods of time) do not become pedophiliac or enter into incestuous liaisons. It would certainly seem that similar forces apply to those general cases as evidently apply to Martha's. The essential difference obviously does not lie in the structural or circumstantial domains, else incest and pedophilia would be rampant, which they are not (on the increase, yes; better understood, perhaps; rampant, no). By virtue of sheer mechanical subtraction, we arrive at the conclusions that the areas confronting us here are psychologic first, and all other things second.
This was an instance of maternal-aunt incest. Generally, this is regarded as the more potentially traumatic of the two for the acceding male. Being Dave's mother's sister, Martha in some degree represented a mother-surrogate, and the identification was- likely as not physical as well as emotive-reactive. So then, Dave was symbolically performing maternal incest, which, by any standard one wishes to use, is the most catastrophic sexual incident which can be visited upon a barely pubescent male. (Further, as will be seen in our ongoing narrative, the ideas formulating in Dave's awareness during coitus with Martha become more and more oriented toward the understanding of the symbolism, and Martha therefore takes on the dimension of a "true" mother.) As for true maternal incest, those few documented histories in the medical archives dealing with actual consummation indicate that the males usually mature into psycho sexually inadequate persons who require extensive analysis. All too often these males never become able to cope with society.
And yet, Dave prospers today and is a promising student of law on the brink of graduation. He gives every appearance of good adjustment and is engaged to a fine girl. Most importantly, he is able to speak openly and candidly of his experiences with Aunt Martha.
How can all of this be?
For the answers, we must retrace the steps of psychologic reasoning to their source. When one reads Freud's Totem and Taboo, he learns of the maniacal fear of close-breeding inherent in primitives. He learns that all consanguineous incest carried the death penalty because it was the first taboo in all primitive cultures, even though these cultures had radically different origins, were continents apart, and materialized in stages of periodicity measured in the thousands of years.
It took a Freud to first postulate and then unravel the mystery of infantile sexuality. His work deals with the methods and reactions by which each of us garners and nurtures and then hopefully resolves an incestuous desire for the mother. Consider his words (from General Introduction to Psychoanalysis: A General Theory of the Neuroses, Lecture XXII): "The first choice of an object among human beings is regularly an incestuous one, in the man directed toward the mother and sister, and the most stringent laws are necessary to prevent this persisting infantile tendency from becoming active."
If one is familiar with the later writings of Freud, he will be quick to wonder about the moralistic undertones implicit here, which are significant by their absence in his later writings. Freud in late life developed the aloof view that man is not necessarily well-equipped to govern himself. But whereas he came to disparage the legalistic community, he did retain his view that incest, consummated, was a blight upon the social institution and an especially dangerous private experiment-the eventual cost to the psyche being enormous.
In what has been construed to be an antithetical statement, Freud later on tells us (from Sexuality and the Psychology of Love): "Whoever is to be really free and happy in love must have overcome his deference for women and come to terms with the idea of incest with mother or sister."
In this context it becomes clear that Freud sees incest desire as a purely natural reaction to the growing and awareness-accumulation process, and that no truly adjusted person can ever come to grips with the adult concepts of male/female role-relationship until he or she has consciously dealt with the idea of incest. Usually, this is accomplished in therapy or analysis (if at all), and yet a certain inner resource seems to be lying dormant in each of us, which if activated can lead to transitional adjustments, by virtue alone of that catalyst we call intellect. Everything here seems to depend on how we approach the matter, how much of it we can dredge up from our unconscious without surpassing the psychic pain threshold by which we are generally protected. Restated, we can say that much depends on how honest we are with ourselves.
Other writers have dealt at length with this subject (recall, we are here regarding aunt-nephew incest as being the same genre as maternal incest, removed only in surrogate terms), and, for the most part, these writers agree with Freud that consummated maternal incest is a psychologic killer. The major difference is that these other men consistently insist that incest is a moral problem first and a medical problem second. From Psychopathia Sexualis by Richard von Krafft-Ebing, we read: "The preservation of the moral purity of family life is a product of civilization: and feelings of intense displeasure arise in an ethically intact man at the thought of lustful feeling toward a member of the same family. Only great sensuality and defective ideas of law and morals can lead to incest."
Whichever of these two viewpoints regarding the proper priority of the problem appeals to the reader's tastes is his option, yet we would have to question any scientific observation which assumes that everything that has gone before is correct on that strength alone.
Returning to the contention that Martha was- likely a mother-surrogate for Dave, we then see how Freud's comments apply, but we are now also faced with a two-headed hydra; was Marsha acting out a repressed and unresolved incestuous longing for a son she never had, thus becoming the aggressive force? Or did Dave, by extension of earlier actions we know nothing of, subtly promote the liaison himself-and, if not, did he perform some manner of tricky mental transmutation whereby Aunt Martha became as a total stranger? We do know that Dave has apparently survived a normally traumatic experience without noticeable aftereffect. But to examine these possibilities further, we must add to our collection of knowledge and also consider the depth (or lack of it) of emotional interplay which enveloped this relationship.
" 'Dave, get up. You'll be late for school.'
"For a second, I wasn't sure where I was. And then I remembered everything. My God, I thought to myself, I must have fallen asleep right after that wonderful sucking. I guess I just shot that big hot load and immediately collapsed-maybe, I considered, it would always be that way. I had heard stories from other boys that it was not good for a guy to get too hot, because then when you do shoot your cum, you're ruined for anything else. Then another memory came rushing in. I recalled how dearly I had wanted to learn to fuck. Suddenly I was a bit angry with myself.
" 'Last call,' came Aunt Martha's voice. 'Unless you're not going to school.'
"She didn't have to say anymore. I called back to her, 'I've got a miserable headache. I don't think I'll go.'
"She came in immediately, smiling, jaunty. 'My, my, what kind of a little man are you? One good blow job and you're shot-is that the way it is?'
" 'Hell, no,' I arched. 'I just have a real honest-to-God headache. Is that so strange?'
" 'Maybe I'd better give you a little massage.'
" 'Okay,' I answered quickly, thinking she meant to lightly rub my temples, the way Mom used to do. Come to think of it, Mom used to do that a lot, and I can remember more than one occasion when she seemed to extend her ministrations lengthily and needlessly, after which she'd sort of collapse upon me, her long black hair falling and flowing over my face, infusing my nostrils with a subtle female fragrance. But, before last night, I had never considered those moments with Mom to be anything of special significance. Now, I'm not so sure.
"But those thoughts were interrupted almost before they began. Aunt Martha did indeed apply one cool palm to my forehead, which again kindled thoughts of Mom, but with her other hand she cupped my balls and began stroking upward with light fingers, finally grasping my prick between a thumb and forefinger with a gingerness not unlike the loving obeisance an art lover would use in fondling a rarity, and then initiating a slow up-and-down stroking.
" 'I just love this cock of yours, Dave. Last night I thought you'd never stop coming. You made my little tummy very happy.'
" 'I'm glad,' I answered. 'I liked it too. But I'm unhappy with myself for falling asleep. I wanted to learn a few other things, too.'
"'Well!' she answered devilishly, green eyes flashing. "This is supposed to be a regular school day for you. If you aren't going to learn something there, you might as well do it here.'
" "That makes sense,' I told her, laughing also.
" 'Of course. Now lay back and let me get this beautiful thing nice and hard. After that, we'll try to figure out what to do with it.'
"With that, she swooped down and just took the whole thing deep into her mouth, no preliminaries or anything, none of those slow, gradual, teasing tricks of hers which had gotten me so explosively hot the previous night. She seemed to just gulp down the whole half-hard prick and immediately went into a furious sucking and piston-like up-and-down motion, all the while swirling her educated tongue everywhere. I closed my eyes and thought of the moment as a school class, since that's what it was substituting for, and wondered if this instruction period would last as long as the other. I was certain the lesson would be more lasting.
"At a moment like that, time seems to speed up; that is, five or ten minutes goes awfully fast under the artful tongue of someone like Aunt Martha. One naturally wishes to suspend time, so that the thing goes on forever, and I suppose it's quite natural to sink into an unfathomable sexual reverie, as I always did whenever Aunt Martha sucked on my prick, and often as not I was not aware of time, or other duty, or even place and circumstance; and there was no alleviating that numbness of mind until I began shooting those spurts of cum down her throat. It may have been the exquisite orgasming that brought me to, but I rather think it was also the moaning, humming, gurgling happiness of sound which emitted from her every time the cum started.
"But this time it stopped almost as soon as it had begun. She was apparently serious about teaching me something else. Aunt Martha sat up, face very happy, looking studiously at my now very hard and throbbing cock.
" "That was just to say hello and get him in the right frame of mind. If I hadn't already had breakfast, I'd finish him off, but I think we should save it for something else.'
" 'like what?' I asked, with an innocent tone.
" 'Don't be coy with me, Dave. Whenever you and I are talking about sex, and you have a question to ask, say what you mean. Even if you haven't experienced it, you should know by instinct that a good suck should always be followed by a good fuck. That's what I had in mind last night, but I got carried away. But don't think it's going to be like that with all women. I happen to be one of those rare women who gets a terrific charge out of giving blow jobs, and especially out of drinking cum. There have been times, frankly, when it's been so good it's made me completely forget about fucking, or getting eaten, or anything else.
" 'Yes, I did get the impression you like it.'
" 'And how about you? Didn't you get much out of it?'
" 'It was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.'
" 'Well, that can only mean that you're going to be in for a pleasant surprise.' Now, I want you to do everything I tell you, step by step.'
" 'Sure, anything,' I responded. 'What do I do first?'
" 'Well, first I want you to forget that we've already had a personal relationship. I want you to consider me as a girl you've just gotten into bed and more than anything you want to make me so hot that I can't resist that nice big prick of yours. Now, with that in mind, go to work on my breasts. Use your tongue with imagination, the way I did mine when I was sucking on your cock just now. Later, I'll teach you what to do with your teeth, but for now I just want you to lick and tongue my tits. Go hard, then easy, and so on.'
"I bent my head to her right breast when she lay back down, kneading the other breast with a thumb and finger, and alternately, with my palm. With my mouth I licked up the sloping underside of the firm breast, which would have seemed more natural on a sixteen-year-old. Then I reached the areola, but did not linger upon it. I now tackled the top slope of the same breast, feeling its barely-yielding firmness beneath the alabaster skin. Then I began again toward the areola, and finally arriving, I brought it into my mouth with considerable suction and then flayed the tip of my tongue across the nipple in a fast, whipping fashion.
" 'Oh, yes-God yes,' she moaned.
"I kept this up awhile and then switched to the other breast where I began the same process. Sensing that one hand was free, she said, 'Dave, please, stick your finger in my cunt.'
"I obeyed instantly. As I did so, it occurred to me that just the simple act of doing what Aunt Martha asked, regardless what her request might be, gave me a great deal of pleasure. In itself, act or no act, pleasing her pleased me. What a fine basis for a relationship! Right at that moment I could not conceive of not obeying her. I lowered my hand to that mysterious patch of hair and then let my fingers twirl through it for a moment, mesmerized by the feel of it; its silky curls, both fine and coarse. I knew that before long I would be even closer to the same hairs, and frankly, I didn't have any idea back in those days just where things were located-but Aunt Martha sort of got the idea across by lifting and twisting and spreading her legs wide, each of those moves at the proper moment and in perfect sync with my fumbling. Then, finally, I felt a bit of moisture, and parting the hairs at that point, I discovered a warm pool of it. God, but her cunt was wet! And warm! The hairs close to the opening were soaked, making some of the hairs long and stringy, even dripping, filaments. I dipped my middle finger into the well where it all seemed to be coming from and it seemed my finger was grabbed up and sucked in a little further.
" 'Oh, Jesus, sweet Jesus,' she cried, squirming on the bed, "That's so good. Stick your finger way deep in my hole, Dave. Lower. Yes, oh yes, in hard now! Jam it in. Jam two fingers in! Oh, my Goddam your whole hand in!! '
"I was following every instruction, even though Aunt Martha was by this time rolling and tossing furiously, making it very difficult to keep up. Somehow I managed to keep one finger, and sometimes two, going in and out of that liquid well, and usually with that hard, deep, fast speed she needed so badly. When she implored me to put my whole hand in, I tried, but that turned out to be just wishful thinking on her part.
"Then she sat up, holding her legs together, letting me know it was time to stop. 'So much for that,' she said with forced calm, though her voice betrayed her passion, as did her seductive smile. 'Now, honey, get up here.' Then, after a quick glance at my raging prick, she seemed to have a second thought and added, 'No, wait!' She then bent over close to examine my prick for rigidity, though that condition seemed not in question. Then she murmured, 'Well, just to be sure ... ' and swooped right onto it, gulping it deep in one motion, and gave it about thirty seconds' worth of quick sucking. Afterwards, she commented, "There, that's going to be just fine,' and then she patted the head of my cock, as one might the head of a child. 'Now, Dave, you can get up here-just lay on my stomach and I'll show you what to do.'
"I turned toward her and she sort of helped me climb between her legs. It was a wonderful feeling with those pointed full breasts acting as pillars to hold me up in the air. My knees were implanted firmly between her upraised ones, and my prick was jutting straight forward, proudly, a single drop of gleaming cum riding on the tip. Aunt Martha lifted her head a bit and reached forward, grabbing my cock by the stalk and laying it lengthwise in her palm as one might aningot, to test the weight. Then she instructed me, 'Just come forward now as I guide it. When it touches the hole, you'll feel it. I'll let go and then I want you to drive it all the way home with one hard lunge. Most women don't like that, but I do. Try your damndest to hurt me. Try to jam it all the way up to my heart!'
"I lowered myself little by little and then, aided by unerring guidance, my prick touched the outer lips of her gaping, dripping cunt. She let go and I rammed the whole thing into her with all the strength I had. My groin hit hers and I could nearly sense that the two sets of pelvic bones had ground together. My balls had flown back, pendulum-like, just as my ass had begun its forward heaving, and then when the jolting stop came when my prick dug up into her cervix, certain laws of engineering and gravity took over and my balls arced down in a heavy swing and slapped audibly into the crevice of her ass.
" 'Oh, yes-yes, now, yes! All the way out, Dave, so only the tip of the head is in me, and then jam it in me again-just as hard as you possibly can.'
" 'I'll try,' I answered, almost reflexively, barely understanding her words. The feel of this wonderful boiling spongy cunt with its oiled, slippery muscles grabbing at my prick in a thousand ways was almost more than I could stand.
Already my balls were beginning to recoil into a pair of bunched high-pressure receptacles, just waiting for my mind to turn the spigot and loose a damburst of frothing cream into my aunt's waiting cunt. My whole being was now in my sensitive, feeling, stabbing, proud, and regal cock. But Aunt Martha was saying something. 'What, Auntie?' I asked.
" 'Do what I said, Dave. Pull it all the way out like you did the first time. You must keep the cycle going, darling. Pull it out so it's just barely touching the lips of my cunt and then shove it in hard. Hurt me if you can. And then do that whole thing over and over as fast as possible-please, Dave, please. I want a hard fuck so bad!!!! '
"My own passion made it difficult for me to comprehend the true need and entreaty in her voice, the imploring plea for release. But within my own limits, I did what she asked, though it was obvious I would not last long at that pace. And then a very funny thought crossed my mind: once, several years ago, when my father was away on business, I had heard my own mother from her bedroom one afternoon asking the very same thing of a young man she had with her. I remembered peeking in the door and seeing his hairy balls swinging up into the air as he prepared to drive his cock into her. Why did I recall that scene just now? And then, quickly, as if part of the same thought, I looked down at the writhing face of Aunt Martha, and even the cut of her brow reminded me of Mom's. So strange. Aunt Martha didn't really look much like .....
" 'Harder, faster, deeper,' she was insisting. Her voice was a hard but limp replay now; drained, near exhaustion, ebbing.
"I realized that I had to pay more attention to what I was doing and so I pulled my ass up high so that I could just barely feel the edges of Aunt Martha's cunt lips licking at the head of my prick, and then I sent it into her with full force and with the same insertion characteristics as an Apollo spacecraft as it jabs into the void; having first gathered and set and bunched together every muscular strength available to me, and then allowing it all to fuse into one recoilless, catapulting, and volcanic thrust. This time everything hit at one: my cockhead against the bottom of her pussy, our pelvic structure and muscles, and my arcing balls against her ass-cheeks. She gave a loud but dull grunt and in a worn voice begged for a repeat. 'Harder, you wonderful boy-hurt me, hurt my cunt; tear it apart!'
"I had strangely cooled and gotten hotter at the same time. The great physical ness probably had something to do with this, but all of the impacts on my senses were now producing different responses. Oddly, it was now Mom lying under me. I could imagine her nice thick black bush of cunt hairs that she was so proud of when she paraded around the house. She thought I hadn't seen her . ... Then the idea of fucking Mom hard like this was suddenly intensely appealing. The huge load of foamy cum compressing in my nuts should be for her .....
"But Aunt Martha groaned or mumbled or something and I immediately found myself back in the here and now. A new heat was overtaking me and I knew I couldn't last much longer. That was fine. I felt very adequate already. By her reactions I knew I had passed my test, exceeded Aunt Martha's expectations. Such good feelings served to egg me on, too, and now, suddenly, I was back up to peak performance, jamming it into her at about one full deep-bore stroke per second, and, brother, I have since found out that's quite a pace to maintain. No wonder Aunt Martha was now actually screaming a sore scream and clawing at my back with delirious nails.
" 'Oh, my sweet God in heaven, make it last,' she was murmuring, lowly, to herself. 'Let me die like this-fucking-forever-'
"And then my balls tightened into clenched sacs in that way I have since learned to know signals the opening floodgates. As if in reflex, the gobs of pressured cum were released and propelled under painful force up the rifled shaft of my quivering prick. The first torrential spurt rushed up the tube and found freedom and dispersion in a waiting warmth; it was then I first understood the grandness of hot, releasing euphoria. Again my balls recoiled for the strike, another gush of hot egg-white splattered Aunt Martha's in-sides; once more I felt the trembling untensing of knotted, wanting nerves.
"Further ejaculations of good strength hit and sprayed the whole interior wall structure of her vagina, mixing with the female juices already frothing in there. I kept the full-bore strokes going as hard and as fast as possible.
"This time Aunt Martha's voice was a barely perceptible whisper. 'I can't believe it,' she exhaled, cloudily. I looked at her and saw that the long silken hair of her head was soaking wet. I ran combing fingers through it for her, stranded and fanned it so it would dry upon the pillows. Her face was flushed and her breathing shallow. I bent and gave a soft, lingering kiss. A smile tried to form. I laid down beside her and we joined in efforts to regain our strength.
"We hadn't been like that for five minutes when the back doorbell rang.
" 'Oh, my God,' Aunt Martha exclaimed. 'I completely forgot. It's the milkman.'
"She got up hurriedly, then noticed the warm cum running down her inner thigh. Quickly grabbing a kleenex from a box, she wiped the sperm from the inner leg and then stuffed the tissue in between her legs and up into her cunt a little. Throwing on a robe, she started for the back door, but then had a second thought and came back to the bed.
" 'Dave,' she exclaimed in a rush, T just had a brainstorm. There's still one thing you don't know how to do, and here's a chance for you to learn it by observation-if it's my regular milkman, that is. Get in the closet, quickly, and keep the door ajar just enough so you can hear and see. I'm not sure this will work out, but we can-try.'
"Grumbling a little to myself because I was so damned spent, I nevertheless did as she had instructed. In the closet, all I could think of was laying down and sleeping. My eyes were heavy.
"After a wait of several minutes, I heard voices. It seemed they were in the living room-she must have been having trouble getting to the guy. Then I heard Aunt Martha's voice clearly, 'I don't usually have a drink this early either, but I had a restless night, what with my husband away and all. How long have you been assigned to this route?' The milkman seemed to make some light reply, and then there was silence. Another heavy minute went by and then they were walking hand in hand into the bedroom.
"He was a large man, perhaps in his thirties, clean-cut as they come, and wearing one of the standard white milkman uniforms. He had a smile-no, a part-leer-on his face, and I immediately knew that those few silent minutes in the living room had been both productive and decisive. As I later found, Aunt Martha was not the least backward when it came to sex.
"Without a word, Aunt Martha stepped out of her robe and stood there proudly before the milkman. It seemed to me then from my peeking position, that that was the first time I had noticed what a fine, sturdy, thoroughbred body she had. Her breasts were firm and jutting, her stomach flat and her legs shapely and long. Her pubic bush was springy and full. It gave no indication of having been just fucked with good fervor, and I had to look a second time before I could locate the telltale corner of kleenex peeking out.
"The milkman needed no more encouragement. He stepped toward her and kissed her, letting his mouth disengage and drop quickly to her breasts, which he hungrily slipped into his mouth, first one and then the other. He seemed to suck voraciously, then tenderly, and then only with small light licks. Whatever he was doing it must have been right, for Aunt Martha was responding visibly. She reached down and felt his cock through his pants. A small frown of disappointment registered on her face, and by the motion of her hand, I could tell that this hulk of a man actually had an inadequate prick. Later in life, I have found out how traumatic this can be to some men, and I really feel sorry for them. Anyway, I sensed that Aunt Martha had suddenly lost interest in fucking this guy, and probably in sucking him, too. Well, I didn't really have much idea of what else could happen, but I soon found out.
"Aunt Martha pulled the milkman close to her, put one arm around his neck and pulled so that they both fell down upon the bed. As soon as they hit, Aunt Martha's free hand was busy digging the kleenex out of her cunt. Then she said, loud enough for me to hear, 'You know what I want, don't you?'
" 'I think so,' he answered, and raised himself to unbuckle his pants. She immediately put a hand on his arm to stop him and said, 'Oh, no, I can't do a thing like that. It would be cheating. The only thing I would consider is-if-you wanted to kiss me a little-down there.'
" 'Oh! Well, why didn't you say so? That's my specialty, baby.'
"Aunt Martha was stretching out on her back now, with her knees up and apart and the milkman was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her cunt, which had recovered rapidly and now appeared to be fluffy, dry, unused, antiseptically clean, nearly virginal.
"He began by kissing her knees and then progressed to one of her inner thighs; licking and kissing alternately, cupping a hand under each buttock, all the while rearranging his own body by stages so that finally he was lying prone before her, his legs dangling far over the bottom of the bed. Little by little he approached her cunt, still alternating between thighs, and occasionally dipping low to plant a light kiss at the juncture of thigh-back and buttock, scant inches from her ass-hole, which was now visible as Aunt Martha stretched her legs straight up high. Once when he moved his shoulder a bit, she looked down and caught my peeking eye and gave me a big wink. Also, her lips formed a message which I think was 'watch carefully.'
"Now the milkman was blowing little gushes of breath into Aunt Martha's cunt hairs, laying them lightly apart, so that the pink slit lay there in what appeared to be waiting innocence. Looking at it, one would never suspect its recent workout, nor the copious load of cum it contained. Then as I watched, his head dove in further, blocking my view a bit even though Aunt Martha had positioned herself as favorably as possible. She must have realized that I could not see well, so she pretended to squirm a bit and finally I could see perfectly. The milkman's light licking and tonguing and kissing had now all blended into one action-a long lapping tonguing of the cunt hole itself. As he started this, Aunt Martha began beseeching him to 'lap me up,' all the while responding very ardently. Even as he was lapping her cunt in long swipes reaching from her ass-hole all the way to her clitoris, Aunt Martha sat up a bit, supporting herself on extended arms, enlisting gravity to help the cum run out of her cunt and into the unsuspecting mouth of the milkman. He seemed to pause and lick his lips once in a while, but he always resumed his work. Finally, Aunt Martha was applying pressure with the palm of her hand to her lower abdomen and then rubbing downward hard, squeezing out all the remaining cum. On and on he licked and lapped, thinking apparently that Aunt Martha might orgasm that way.
"Aunt Martha played the game. After a suitable period had elapsed she began the 'throes' of orgasm. A few minutes later, the self-satisfied milkman was dressed and gone, still licking his lips in such a way that one would think his taste buds had been introduced to some unforgettable treat.
"Aunt Martha called me out of the closet and beckoned me to take off the robe and join her on the bed. I snuggled up close.
" 'Now that that's over, what would you like to do?' she giggled.
" 'Anything,' I answered.
" 'All right, Dave, anything it is.'
"Which is precisely what we undertook to do: anything-and everything."
The remaining history contains almost endless repeats of this and similar performances, and in the ten months which elapsed between Martha's first enjoying Dave and the return of her husband, the two had coitus two to three times a day plus countless acts of oral sex in-between. Martha developed the habit of fellating Dave to sleep each night and awakening him the same way each morning. One might suppose that Dave would have tired of such attentions, but the opposite is true. Dave later declared that he would never thereafter consider marrying a girl who did not emulate Aunt Martha in this respect.
A very messy situation developed when the husband returned. He caught them, literally, just as Dave was depositing a quantity of semen into Aunt Martha's mouth.
Thus ensued a problem, which, as stated, might have had to be resolved in court. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, therapists were called in, and finally an analyst's views were sought. In the long run, all charges were dropped, the divorce was granted, and Martha and Dave (through dangerous maneuvers and at great risk to Martha, who stood to be prosecuted for it) got together in another city, whereupon she put the boy through his remaining schooling. These days, as an honors candidate in a prominent law school, Dave is engaged to a fine girl and is making preparations for an early marriage. Very few people are aware (most especially his fiancee is not) of the keen anticipation with which Dave regards both the Easter and Christmas vacation periods, at which time he travels to an obscure town to spend the time with "a relative."
CHAPTER TWO
THE MAIDEN AUNT
"I certainly didn't think much of the place when we drove up to it. Bix, my brother, was sitting up front with Aunt Claudia, and he was as unimpressed as I, judging by his actions and the tone of his voice. I know that may sound like a close-minded comment, but that's the way Bix and I were about things. We were pissed to start with. Sending our real mother to jail on a trumped-up charge just to satisfy some sonofabitch's whim didn't sit very well with either of us boys. Little wonder we were suddenly cynical! Even dear old spinster Aunt Claudia could do no right in our eyes, even though she was trying hard, and was emotionally in the same corner as us, regarding Mom.
"I don't know why I called her 'old spinster' Aunt Claudia. She was old only in the sense that she was a bit older than us boys. Bix was sixteen and I was seventeen, and I suppose that Aunt Claudia was something just under thirty. The mere fact that she was unmarried and supported herself by doing top-notch art-layout work in an ad agency in no way certified any hatred for men, which I think is implied in the word 'spinster.' On the contrary, it was known in the family that she was continually sought by men. She had told Mom that she simply wanted to 'cement' her career before settling down. Still, it was a curious circumstance, considering how attractive she was, and the whole business had been a matter of conjecture in our family for years. The upshot, of course, was that we considered Aunt Claudia a 'cold fish,' which as I came to know, was both unfair and a bald piece of misinformation.
"Opening the car door after we'd stopped, Bix turned to me and asked, 'What do you think, Carl? Pretty nice, huh?'
" 'Sure is,' I answered.
" 'Well, I think you'll find there's plenty of room,' Aunt Claudia reassured, somehow sensing that Bix and I were still angry at the whole world for being uprooted from the home we knew so well. She was making quite an attempt at civility. I was well aware she was not overjoyed at the idea of having her home invaded by a pair of hell-raising young male relatives. I suppose it was our duty to try our best-this whole thing certainly wasn't Aunt Claudia's fault. I tried to be cheerful for the first time that day.
" 'Well, if there isn't, I guess we'll just have to make sure it works anyway,' I answered.
" 'Let's get everything inside,' Aunt Claudia said, almost smiling.
"For the next hour or so we carted the possessions of a lifetime into Aunt Claudia's spacious house, a rambling modern place with an inviting pool in the back. Art-layout work must pay, I thought. There were separate bedrooms for each of us, and I grabbed the one adjacent to Aunt Claudia's, though I'm not sure what the immediate motive was. Being a rather horny seventeen, and certainly being the type to want as much freedom as possible, it didn't really make much sense to put myself under her eye that way. Considering the events that transpired later, I must have been a seer and didn't know it. Anyway, Bix took the room way down the hall in the back, right off the pool, and for the moment, we were each happy with our choices.
"The next day or so went just like a day or so with a 'family' should go. Talk, talk, talk.' Arrangements, moving, settling, all that sort of thing. Then, after we'd gotten settled to the point that we could feel relaxed, and each had house keys and had been shown where all the 'goodies' were kept, Aunt Claudia went back to work-which apparently meant working around the clock. There was no evidence of any social life or anything besides her work; no phone calls, no pictures of men, not a clue.
" 'Carl,' Aunt Claudia addressed me as she was leaving for work, 'you're the older. I expect this place to be safe in your hands. It's all I've got-treat it ... respectfully.'
" 'Of course,' I answered, and meant it.
"Since school was out, Bix and I were left with little to do. We got dressed and went out for long inspections of the nearby town and it turned out to be a dud. It was just too dreary a neighborhood; no public swimming pool, no bowling alleys, no nothing. We returned home, disgusted and restless. We went for a private swim, made some dinner, and then settled down to watch TV. After a while, Bix said, 'I'll bet she's got some booze hidden somewhere.' That was a thought; and although I didn't really care for the idea of snooping around, I didn't really object, either.
"After a bit of searching, Bix found a bottle of something unfamiliar with foreign writing on the label-a big bottle with potent, semisweet contents. We each took a large slug which burned our virgin throats. Much more respectfully, we tried a second, and then, inured and fortified, a third. It was a pretty sporting way to act-for us beer drinkers.
" 'Here's something else I found,' Bix said, extending a book for me to look at. Opening it, I found it was Aunt Claudia's private diary.
" 'We shouldn't go into something like this-it's private,' I told my brother.
" 'Oh, hell, Carl, don't be so damned proper-we've always wondered about her. Here's our chance to find out.'
"We argued a bit, not that I'm a moralist, but fair's fair. Maybe I just wanted convincing, because, frankly, my curiosity was up a bit, too. We started flipping through the diary, which was neatly done up, and as easy to read as type. We ran into many references which pointed up the fact that Aunt Claudia was just as human as anyone, very much a female, and very much in doubt of herself. Then a series of entries indicated she was seeing a doctor about emotional problems. At one point she had written:
Today the psychiatrist told me, 'You're simply afraid of men, basically because you feel your pursuit of success has put you out of touch with the world and therefore no social match for men. I'm not sure that isn't the tail wagging the dog. It would be good for you to be exposed to men and the things men do and think-maybe some of the seamier things, not so much for shock value, but simply to acquaint you with the clear reality of the life going on around you, and the clearer reality of sexual contact-related in personal terms. Nothing would be more beneficial. As Freud said, " ... the unknown becomes a sexual block, and any crystallization of those formless fears has a tendency to refix the patient's awareness...." '
"Well, I didn't really know what all that meant, except that it sounded like the doctor was trying to get Aunt Claudia to go get laid. Now, that didn't sound like too bad an idea, considering how she looked. I wondered, naturally, if the message between the lines said that Aunt Claudia was a virgin. That would have been pretty hard to swallow. Here I was only seventeen and I'd fucked a carload of girls, plus a few dozen ladies. And Bix wasn't far behind me.
" "Think she's ever been screwed?' I asked my brother.
" 'Probably. She's a doll from where I sit.' " 'I know, I know, but-let me see that diary again.'
"The upshot is that Bix and I discussed that diary entry over and over. We tried to find some other meaning in it, but it kept coming up heads: the doctor was recommending that Aunt Claudia be 'shocked' into sexual awareness, and that the seamier the better.
"Upon that interpretation, we laid our plans.
"It was about nine when Aunt Claudia pulled into the carport. She turned her lights out, locked the car doors and walked into the house. All the house lights were out, except the one in my room, which was adjacent to hers. She could scarcely get to her room without passing mine, and since my door was wide open and the bed fully illuminated, she could not help but see what was going on.
"Bix and I were on the bed, fully naked. We were in the classic 'sixty-nine' position, jacking each other off, tickling each other's balls, and generally moaning and groaning all over the place. When we heard the front door being opened we went into high gear, and Bix took my prick into his mouth and started sucking real hungrily and fast, putting on a good show. We could hear Aunt Claudia's voice calling for us, but we pretended not to notice and just stepped up the tempo. The idea was to be completely engrossed the moment she walked up. We did not have long to wait.
'"GOOD GOD, WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?!!! '
"Looking up as innocently as possible, I answered, 'Why, we're just having sex-good clean sex. We don't know any girls around here yet, so we just have to blow each other instead. What's wrong with that?'
"Predictably, Aunt Claudia threw her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, and then ran to her room. Bix and I got up immediately, winked at each other, and then followed her.
We were both completely naked and our cocks were sticking straight out ahead of us, both dripping wet with saliva, and waving up and down in small arcs. We opened her door and walked right in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her face a chalky white held in tremulous fingers.
"By prearrangement, Bix sat down beside her, close, with his strong young prick sticking straight up from his groin, proudly. At the same time, I stood right in front of her, my horny prick sticking out toward her face at eye-level.
"She took her hands from her face and looked at each of us in turn-and then at our pricks, with special attention on mine, which was only inches from her mouth. Silently, but imploringly, her eyes seemed to ask, 'What are you two doing here?'
"And, as if in answer, I said, 'Auntie, what's wrong? Are you ill?'
" 'I've never been so appalled ... how could you ...? '
" 'Auntie, what the hell is it with you? Don't you know there's a great big world going on right around you?' (That had been my practiced line-I thought it sounded both adult and philosophically sound).
" 'I've never seen anything like ... that ... what you were . ... ' I got the impression Aunt Claudia was close to tears. Only one thing, her occasional glance at the head of my cock, waving just under her nose, kept up my nerve. The way she was looking at it was not entirely clinical.
" "There's proof right in front of you, Aunt Claudia. When kids like us get good hard-ons like this, we have to do something with them or else we get frustrated, and we've heard' (again, a carefully thought-out line) 'that if a person doesn't get natural release they can get sick and nervous and develop all sorts of hang-ups. That's why sex should always be thought of as being natural. It's good, and good for you. And all the preaching in the world won't make it bad.'
"And then, after sufficient pause to let that sink in, I added, 'You certainly don't think sex is bad, do you, Aunt Claudia?'
"She didn't answer.
" 'Don't you admit,' I pressed, 'that actually having sex is much more desirable than just wishing for it? Or more desirable than just forcing yourself to forget about it?'
"She was still not really a part of the conversation. My prick, waving up and down only inches from her face seemed to occupy her attention much more than my words. I stepped forward a bare inch. The drop of cum which had accumulated on the head was glistening and plainly visible to her, I'm sure. I stood in front of her like that for an extended minute.
"Then, somehow, the forcefulness of the sight diminished in her awareness sufficiently so that she could reply.
" 'My God,' she uttered in a shaken voice, 'do you expect a woman to lie down and do it every time she gets...? '
" 'What do you mean by 'do it'? ' I asked. " 'You know, when a man and woman join togeth-'
" 'Dammit, Auntie, if you mean fuck, why don't you say so?'
"Again her hand flew to her mouth and she turned her head away.
" 'Say it, Aunt Claudia,' I insisted, feeling a new power now. 'It's easy. Say fuck. Just put your front teeth on your lower lip and blow out an 'f sound, and then just let the 'uk' come out naturally.'
" 'No, no. I can't!' She squirmed.
" 'Sure you can,' urged Bix. 'Watch my mouth.' Then Bix formed his lips in the necessary petulant-purse and gave her a soft, slowly aspirated 'pppphhhhhh ... uh ... kkkkkk.'
"Aunt Claudia's eyes had opened and were no longer forcibly withdrawn. She seemed to mentally pinch herself to make sure all this was really happening. Then, although it might require a leap into the absurd to believe it, Aunt Claudia seemed to just slump into a resigned relaxation, as if to say she had no alternative but to accept a bad situation. And out of the sheer madness which she must have then felt was close to engulfing her, she must have been able to persuade herself that our arguments had some logic after all. Of course, it should not be forgotten that she had earlier been told the same thing, in different words, by a psychiatrist. Perhaps those earlier words were now drifting back. I can't say as to that; however, I do know that her next statement was completely out of character and is hard to explain any other way.
"She smiled, just a bit, and mostly inwardly, and then she let her lips do the thing Bix had just shown her. She forced a breath between her teeth and lips and the T sound was formed, almost inaudible, mostly sibilant, but recognizable. Then came the embarrassing 'uk' sound. She had to strain to get it.
" "That's a start,' I encouraged. 'But more like this,' and I verbalized another demonstration.
" 'Ffff ... uh ... kkkk,' she imitated, near perfectly.
" 'Great, just great, Aunt Claudia,' Bix put in.
" 'Call me Claudia,' she said, smiling proudly, if sheepishly.
"I thought she looked just great now that she was smiling, and I determined to tell her so. 'Aunt Claudia-I mean Claudia; I just want to tell you that I think you're beautiful.'
" 'I am?' she asked, giving much insight into her insecurity. That bit of simple ungraciousness surprised me and I have never forgotten it. I think that was the key to the whole thing.
"Bix took it up. 'You sure are beautiful, Claudia-really. And I'll bet you're a wonderful fuck, too.'
" 'Please,' she said, reverting to" her former self, 'don't talk like that. That's terrible. Even though I told you to call me Claudia, that doesn't change the fact that I'm your aunt. I'm a blood relative of yours.'
"I ignored her argument and decided to play the advantage. I stepped even closer, so that my prick was a scant two inches from her mouth; then I asked her, 'Claudia, tell the truth. Have you ever been fucked?'
" "That's none of your business...' she began, flustered all over again.
" 'Alright, alright!' she answered, on the verge of screaming again, as if this whole thing were just part of a bad dream that would disappear if she rushed through and got it over with. 'Once, when I was a girl in college, I was in love with a boy and we went to bed together. Just once. And then I never saw him again. I figured I had been betrayed and so I never wanted anything to do with sex again. At least not until I get married, if ever.'
" 'My God,' I answered, 'didn't it occur to you that you might have just picked a bad apple-or that maybe you were just too inexperienced for him?'
" "Too inexperienced? Why, inexperience is a virtue!'
" 'Bullshit,' Bix told her.
" 'I don't understand,' Claudia answered.
" 'Well,' I put in, 'virtue means a lot of things, but for what we're talking about, I'd say you were way behind the times. Today, everyone is expected to be adult after a certain age, and free of hang-ups. From what I see, Claudia, you've got a helluva hang-up about sex. And that's really bad, considering how great sex can be.'
"She looked as if she might be thinking about her analyst again. Then, choosing words carefully, she said, 'All of this being the case ... what would you recommend?'
" 'Well, for starters, take your clothes off,' I said, with something of a command in my voice. I cannot deny that I felt very powerful at this point.
"No one was more surprised than I was when Claudia actually began doing what I said. Without outward objection, but with visible self-consciousness she stood and unbuttoned her blouse. Then she looked at each of us, but not at our cocks anymore, and then she deftly slipped out of the blouse. I insisted once more and the brassiere came off.
"Whereas Aunt Claudia had been earlier transfixed by the sight of two cocks, two cockhounds now stood transfixed in the presence of two girlish firm, untouched, virgin-like, unused, and nubile breasts. I had never before seen such magnificent springy tautness; those breasts were the color of translucent, off-white china; they had the resilience of youth; there was an unmuscular strength in their saucily upturned sloping-they were utterly gorgeous. I could do nothing other than step forward and plant light kisses on each of them. Then Bix did the same. Then we settled upon one apiece, each in our own fashion licking, sucking, nibbling, teasing, and otherwise worshipping those breasts.
"I looked up at Claudia's face and saw that her eyes were shut and her breathing rapid and irregular. To add to her pleasure I began alternately rubbing softly and kneading roughly the length of her back and around down by the sides leading to her rib cage. Bix did the same on the other side and soon Claudia was really into the feeling of the thing, letting small gasps and moans escape from her mouth.
I decided it would be better to just undress her than talk any more about the pros and cons of it. I knew that the whole business was pretty difficult for her and that she would likely have second thoughts about it the next day (already in my mind I was formulating a plan whereby I could help her 'come down' easily when she realized the significance of what had happened-it was the ability to plan such thoughts that had prompted one of my schoolteachers to comment that I had the makings of a great stud, as well as the heart of a sympathetic man; and this she told me while I was fucking her in the cloakroom at lunchtime).
"Still attending the breast, I reached around until I found the button and zipper of her skit. Unloosing it, her garment fell to the floor, and then I reached down and slipped off the shoes, at the same time feeding the skirt under the feet. She had on a half-slip which I pulled down and off, and finally a garter belt and hosiery, also removed easily-
"Only her diaphanous panties remained. Her heavy, dark, triangular crotch puffed through visibly. God, but it was pronounced, and proud, and some of the hairs were springy enough to poke cleanly through the fabric itself.
"This was the big test and I knew it. Bix felt it too. I was unsure if she was fully comprehending at this point. There was something trance-like about this whole business-her eyes had not opened once since we began our breast-attentions. I decided it would be far better for me to fondle her cunt hairs a little to see how she reacted. Very tentatively, I laid my open palm upon her crotch, just a light, full-hand pat, sort of, with no attempt to 'grab' anything, nor to dig with a finger. She didn't seem to notice. Bix was working over both breasts now, one with his mouth, the other with a hand, and with his other hand he continued with the back-rub, constantly lowering it, and finally settling upon her ass-cheeks, which he kneaded with a pronounced roughness. She was obviously moved by this, for she was beginning a squirming motion not unlike slow dancing, and a low sound, like a combination of growling and music, was coming from her mouth.
"Feeling now that my action was well-timed, I slipped a hand inside the elastic of her panties and worked them down, first on the sides and rear, and finally at the front. Inside the panties, my hand touched the topmost hairs of her cunt, and I hungrily ran my fingers through those fine strands, twirling them, sort of, and then dipping lower when I got no resistance (indeed, it seemed I received encouragement in the form of a jutting pelvis), my finger engaged the uppermost part of the cunt-opening itself. It was warmly lubricated with a syrupy stickiness. I couldn't help myself; I extracted my finger quickly and put it to my nose, to test its fragrance, which was intoxicating, and then into my mouth, where my tongue found it to be succulent, rich, and meaty. Never had I tasted a steamier, more smoked-fish taste than then.
"By the way she was convulsing and gyrating, I knew that she wanted my finger back in there where it had been. I slipped my hand back into her panties and this time I went straight for the wet slit. After a few teasing circular motions about her clitoris, to which she responded very nicely, I lowered my middle finger into the main hole and jammed it up as far as it would go.
"Claudia drew in her breath sharply and muttered something that was more an exhaling hiss than a true expression. But since it was clearly a sound of ecstasy and approval, I jammed a second finger in to join the first and then I fucked in and out with as much physical thrust and speed as I could, while with my free hand I finally inched those panties all the way off her body.
"At this point Claudia gave me the greatest encouragement possible. When her panties hit the floor, she actually stepped out of them. In short, she was much more aware of what was happening than I had thought. Without any hesitation whatever, I knelt before her, pressed her legs apart a bit, parted her wispy but drenched cunt hairs, and then dove resolutely headfirst into that gorgeous cunt. Up from underneath-as far underneath as my head would reach, that is-I licked and jabbed my tongue, and tried every way in the world to get my tongue up into that cunt.
"Bix was reading me well, and when he began suggesting with light pushes upon her hip, she willingly backed toward the bed. I followed with short shuffling movements on my knees, never once allowing that great-tasting cunt to part contact with my hungry mouth. Finally, the backs of her knees hit the bed, and she flopped down on her back with ease, and, to the best of my knowledge, without prompting-and, if not that, certainly without objection.
"I immediately threw her legs fully apart and straight up in the air, so that her wet pink cunt was wide open and all mine...."
Rarely do we encounter teenagers who are sufficiently precocious and perceptive (or is it foolhardy?) enough to assume the aggressive role in dealings with an older-woman, especially an older woman in a position of direct authority. It should be obvious to anyone that only a highly specialized set of circumstances will permit such a thing.
Primarily, we are dealing here with two members of the "informed," the "now," the "do it" generation, which is a modern-day phenomenon un-equaled by anything in recorded history. The forces behind this societal upheaval are numerous, disparate, and diffuse, but it is enough for us to recognize that it exists, and probably was brought about by the actions of the older generations at least as much as by the actions of the younger factions. In direct reference to our story of Aunt Claudia, it is enough to simply allow that she became drawn to a "generational" understanding of sexual relationships that she might not otherwise ever have experienced.
If we are to give unchallenged credence to Carl's narrative, then we are dealing with an unusual seventeen-year-old, in that he had bedded untold numbers of females-young, old, and in-between. Ordinarily, braggadocio itself discredits claims like these, however we are faced with the dilemma that he does, after all, make sense. His thought processes are plausible, his relating articulate. One is inclined to bend and flex just a bit....
Let him, therefore, be unusual.
It would be of vast interest to find out why the natural mother was incarcerated. When we first played these tapes, we frankly sat in expectation from moment to moment, waiting for some reference to surface, some clue, some tie that would pattern this case into a clear-cut compensation for the maternal incest wish. However, since clinical accuracy is the first consideration, we may not even permit ourselves the conclusion that these boys came from a bad home. It is conceivable they even came from an advantaged, well-ordered, and mutually respectful home.
Were we equipped with usable data, or even sufficient bits of it, to undertake the puzzle-building process and thus reconstruct a cause-and-effect precis, we would begin our investigations with the home, with attention first upon the mother, then the father (? ), then the community, and lastly the school and other pseudosocial environs. The reasons for omitting an investigation of the sibling relationship is that there appears to be no rivalry. Any two young men who can work in concert in a troilistic quest must certainly have resolved whatever jealousies and contempts they might ever have had for each other.
As for other conclusions: Aunt Claudia affords us a somewhat clearer history than the boys, but only enough for highly generalized comment. It is immaterial whether we approve of her liaison with the boys. Further, it is shortsighted to demand that she be principally accountable on the grounds that she alone is an adult. That is the same brand of thinking that insists that all situations be inflexibly isolated into convenient slots labeled "right" and "wrong." There are no such divisions except in judgmental conclusions, which themselves depend upon the outlook of man.
Conscience will allow us to make a few tongue-in-cheek observations regarding Aunt Claudia. We can assume that her thwarted sexual life, as well as her successful career, were the direct result of sublimation due to unexpressed and unrealized fears. Had they been expressed or realized, they likely would have ceased to exist. Whenever a person strives too hard for achievement in one area, at the expense of one or more other areas (especially emotional), there is high-likelihood that the imbalance is due to avoidance-wishes, which are learned rather than natural, and are adopted as protective cloaks against "probable failure."
Aunt Claudia admits that her one sexual experience resulted in the male "flying the coop." Probably, she had been sexually withdrawn even before that event, but now she was in a position of "needing" to avoid a repeated failure. Hence, her work served her well.
One might wonder if the boys themselves were not adepts in that favorite American pastime, Homebrew Psychology. It required considerable imagination, and then even more nerve, to extract the real meaning out of the diary entry and then formulate such a drastic plan based upon it. At this point, we must confess that homosexual contacts at ages sixteen and seventeen are difficult to dismiss as a prank, and yet the tone and texture of the narrative is decidedly offhand and casual regarding this event. Again, no usable conclusion is apparent.
At root, one is inclined to fix clinical attention to the odd reactions exhibited by Aunt Claudia after the boys had made known their aggressive qualities. This inert acquiescence on her part very nearly defies the logic of human response, since few adults would willingly adopt submissive attitudes toward those entrusted to their care. Of course, the emphasis in such relationships is bound to change somewhat when the topic in question is something familiar to the minor and alien to the adult. For example, the aunt would not be likely to begin this new relationship by dictating a change of dress for the boys, simply because she would assume they knew more about boys' dress than she. Sex, of course, is an altogether different dimension of interrelationship than our example, yet some of the same thinking applies. Whenever any of us faces someone who (1) knows more about a subject than we do, and (2) reads our sense of frustration, we are at a decided disadvantage. If, added to this, we are dealing with a submissive person versus two relatively aggressive persons, it becomes less difficult to conceive of such a situation as developed between Aunt Claudia, Carl, and Bix. In the eyes of the boys, this whole thing was probably little more than a lark, an experiment, a ploy, a game; it is not likely the boys regarded this escapade in a ritualistic sense.
We must, moreover, consider the incest implications, but in so doing, we are not duty bound to accept that the aunt was other than a captive. She obviously yielded out of a combination of stresses which served to both lower her instinctual resistances and raise her biological need. It is not reasonable to assume that the societal view of incest rubs off on each of us in equal dosage, thus it is not reasonable to think that each of us views incest with equal dread. The original incest dread formulated by primitives in the form of taboos was directed towards parents first, siblings second, and then the half-blood, or weaker, relationships. These last were correspondingly reduced in opprobrium, although special totem rituals were invented to prevent them. The endogamous possibility of the aunt and nephew was recognized, of course, since savages always assumed that any male and female (within reasonable age brackets) would commence sexual relations any time they were alone together. In most primitive cultures, elaborate prohibitions were established to prevent men from copulating with their mothers-in-law, and, as regarded aunts, Freud tells us (General Psychological Theories):
The maternal aunt in effect is a group-sister of the mother-and thus, all mothers-and for this reason evokes a high avoidance command in the form of taboo. Today's social structure often demands of very young children that all adults be addressed as either "uncle" or "aunt" which confirms the need to find socially constant authority figures, evident not only in individuals, but in groups, and even in group-images. This is presumably to assist in structuring the child's symbolic awareness of the world about him to a highly functional level.
Obviously, Freud is telling us that the maternal aunt represents a symbol of something other than merely a sister of the mother. She, as well as certain others in the parental authority ring, represents a tie-even a social bridging-between the omnipotence of the parents and the very probabilistic world outside.
Putting these views into perspective with our history, we can then permit the conjecture that Carl and Bix likely came from a home of weakened authority fabric, discounting for the moment what we know of the boys' mother. She could have been incarcerated for any number of reasons having nothing to do with the quality of her motherhood. It is not reasonable to assume the boys witnessed sexual expression in their own home. It is rather common these days for young men to become sexually updated by means of the momentum supplied by their compeers, sometimes at astonishingly early ages.
At this point in our history, it is impossible to guess the degree to which Aunt Claudia accepted this situation; indeed, we are suspended (in the story) at a time when she could hardly be expected to make any kind of a rational expression. For those who would condemn Claudia out of hand, let us remind them that it is possible under given circumstances for any human being to be drawn up and away from the bindings and limitations of any moral code. Everything depends upon the stimulus. Many a proper man has torn through the limits of his personal conscience and stolen food when his family was hungry. It has been often repeated that all men have their price. Perhaps, in Claudia, we are witnessing a woman whose emotional limits were on the line, and whose price had been readjusted.
Regarding the two boys, we again refrain from conjecture. For the moment, it is just as well that we suppose the causal drives to be simply sexual, perhaps not much more than a prank. Such things have been going on for quite some time-consider, for example, the poetry of Harry Graham (1874-1936), from his Ruthless Rhymes for Heartless Homes:
Auntie, did you feel no pain Falling from the apple tree?
Would you do it, please again? Cos my friend here didn't see.
"As soon as Aunt Claudia's back hit the bed and I had'dived into her cunt, I was immediately too preoccupied to be aware of what Bix was doing. But a moment later I opened my eyes a crack and saw that he was completely naked and had one knee on the bed close to her shoulder and that his turgid prick was waving close to her mouth. I was unhappy-about this, for several reasons: first, I thought we were throwing new things at her too fast, and secondly, because I was jealous. Regarding the first, I wasn't even sure it would be a good idea to fuck her now, considering that we had to stay on and live with her afterwards and who could say what sort of resentments might build up if the whole business were not handled properly? Regarding my jealousy, it was patently silly and
I recognized that fact as soon as I'd had a moment to reflect. One thing, though-Bix and I had usually had the unspoken arrangement that I came first in such matters, that if anybody's cock was to be waved under Claudia's nose, it would be mine first, and then his. Every time we'd balled the same chick, like that Mrs. A-we used to screw every time her husband went fishing on weekends, why, I was always the one who got his cock sucked first, always ate cunt first, always fucked her first; for that matter I had even been the one who fucked Mrs. A-in the ass first, while
Bix was fucking her cunt.
"But this was all silly. I loved Bix, didn't I? Further, I knew that Bix wouldn't go too far without being sure that the basic groundwork had been done properly and he usually looked to me for answers on things like that. That was the way his mind worked; I was the older, the more experienced, the leader. If it hadn't been for me, Bix wouldn't have fucked half the girls and women he had, and he knew it. I seemed to be the more sexually attractive and was always fixing him up with pussy. He wasn't about to spoil that.
"I looked again, and it seemed that all Bix was intent on doing was having Claudia hold onto his prick while I ate her. So I went back to my project, which happens to be one I love dearly.
"I think that one of the reasons I enjoy eating cunt so much is that I had one of the greatest instructors a boy could hope for, Mrs. S-, the young military wife who lived on the other side of town, who picked me up one day as I was walking home from school.
"Mrs. S-loved to suck cock, and the minute
I was in her car, she asked me straight out if I wanted to take a ride to the park. I asked her why (I was fifteen then and pretty innocent) and she said, 'I want to suck your prick.' I again asked why, since we could screw instead, and she answered, 'I don't fuck at all. I don't like it. I like to suck cock and get my cunt eaten.' Needless to add, I agreed. At that time, I had only had my cock sucked by teeny-boppers who didn't really know much about it. Anyway, to make a short story of it, Mrs. S-turned out to be an artist with a prick, knowing just exactly how to extract the highest pinnacle of pleasure from a touch, the highest tactile excitement with certain strokes of the tongue, and the highest sense of fulfillment from deep, fast strokes of a warm and willing mouth.
"She was also something of a poet with words, and even now, as I was lightly making preparatory ministrations to Claudia's cunt, I was trying to recall the exact instructions Mrs. S-had given me in subsequent sex sessions, regarding the 'proper eating of a lady's cunt.' I knew that if I could remember those instructions exactly, I would be able to really impress Claudia and also bring myself to the brink of explosive passion. Up to now I had just wanted to fuck my aunt for selfish reasons-I did, after all, have a raging hard-on-but I was by no means beyond self-control. I knew from experience that if I ate this near-virginal pink cunt of my aunt's in the fashion dictated by Mrs. S-, not only would Claudia be greatly moved, but I, too, would be raised to a higher, fuller, different, and vastly more volatile kind of heat.
"Mrs. S-'s first instruction had been, 'All approaches must be personal, guarded, slow!' Next, she had told me that all tactile advances should be very gradual. I put those two thoughts together and began feeling Claudia's legs and calves gently, and then, very guardedly, her thighs, having first removed my too-anxious mouth from her vaginal slit, and now using my mouth to plant kisses everywhere my hands had been. I looked up and saw that Bix was doing nothing other than watching me with a smile on his face. He knew perfectly well what I was doing; he'd witnessed it many times before when I'd eaten Mrs.
S-, and also some of the girls and other ladies of our neighborhood. Knowing that I now had both a serious onlooker and a willing supplicant, I decided to give this aunt of mine the most accomplished and thoroughgoing eating I had ever given any female, Mrs. S-included (and she had been an exacting taskmistress)!
"I noticed that there was now a visibly precipitate vaginal moisture gathering on the low outer lips of Aunt Claudia's cunt, a bead or two of which was running slowly into the area of her ass-hole. This is always a reliable barometer of success, and
Mrs. S-had many times instructed me that I should never proceed beyond the flutter-tonguing of the thighs and upper leg crevices until I had this indication of response. She had told me that to consider a cunt as a purely biological organ to be quickly 'dived' into was the equivalent of regarding the female as a singularly sexual being, which she is not. A woman, Mrs. S-had told me, wanted more than anything to be given the opportunity to respond, provided she was with the right guy.
"I now decided to proceed to step three of Mrs.
S-'s instructions, but before I did so, I motioned to Bix to take up the same action at the other end. Every time we'd balled the same chick at the same time, we'd done it this way. Bix bent low and began the slow but necessary excitation of the higher erogenous zones: the mouth, the eyes, into and around the ears, the arms and armpits, all the while stranding his fingers comb-like through her hair.
"Mrs. S-'s step three was words that I can recall verbatim to this day. 'When addressing the pubic area,' she had said, in that pedantic tone of hers, 'all touches must be light, even feathery, at the outset. Kiss the high inner thighs lightly and then approach the pubic hair, still unparted, and press into them, withdrawing only with reluctance, and then blow lightly into them, next approaching with a light, slightly open kiss, and then finally nuzzle into them closely.'
"I did all these things, still aware that Bix was giving her the same meticulous and well-gauged treatment topside. I knew from experience that this was the proper way to eat a cunt-to make love, if one might choose to call it that-and that any red-blooded female was bound to crumble under this sort of attention. My beliefs were strengthened and buttressed a moment later, when I detected a low, sort of gurgling sound emitting from Claudia's throat. She was now 'with it.' And, of course, so were Bix and I.
"I proceeded to step four, which was: 'Very gradually, lick and blow the hairs apart. Next, separate the outer vaginal lips with gently pressing fingers and then apply a very light, almost untouching, lapping-like attention with the tongue-tip to the pink inner folds beneath, which surround the vaginal orifice.'
"I did all these things, too, taking quite a lot of time. I had discovered some while ago that this was certainly not the time to rush. I was making inroads now, for Claudia was physically squirming on the bed. It was all I could do to hold her in place.
"Anyway, I went on to the next step, which was essentially a series of repeats: "This first attention to the inner pink lips should last quite a whilelong minutes-and do not be afraid to withdraw, receding to the thighs and readdressing the pubic inner folds several times, all in preparation for the final advance to the seat of erotic pleasure.' This I did, extending the act as long as seemed appropriate, knowing that it accomplished its purpose by Claudia's heightened response and audible moans and physical thrashing about on the bed. At times I even had to contort myself to keep my flashing tongue from losing contact with her pussy.
"The 'seat of erotic pleasure,' of course, was the clitoris. According to Mrs. S-the male should never actually make this final approach without first being guided by true indications of high physical response as are evident by vocal reactions, body movements, and changes in the respiration cycle. When it has been established the female is as fully aroused as she is likely to become, the male should then separate the labia minora with his fingers, pressing lightly a bit to force a protrusion and expose the clitoris, which will appear in the average woman as a small pink bud of flesh just below the top of the labia majora, and encased beneath the labia minora.
"I knew my lessons well, and these last steps before the actual cunnilingual consummation were given much attention by me. I kept repeating the memorized instructions so that I would not fail to afford Claudia the finest eating a woman might expect from a nephew. I knew that the clitoris was the most sensitive thing a woman owns, and that I now had a responsibility to perform as I had never performed before I recalled Mrs. S-'s last bit of advice: 'Approach the clitoris itself as if it were molten metal and you were determined to cool it with tentative licks of a cautious tongue. As your imagination tells you the temperature is dropping, lick it with more and more vigor, but never with roughness. Tantalize also with quick light touches of the teeth, but watch the woman well, for some do not like this. At the peak of your physicalness, your tongue should be a fluttering blur, bearing little more pressure than an excited butterfly's wing might. Occasionally recenter your attention to the vaginal opening itself, lapping up any excess fluid, but never reduce attention to the clitoris. It is also helpful to alternate the technique from moment to moment, even dipping low to the anus for a delicate stroke, perhaps even inserting the tongue-tip a bit if the lady is relaxed enough.'
"All of this I did, and as Mrs. S-had so faithfully promised, the results were very satisfactory. Claudia, being artfully attended on the other end by Bix, seemed not of this world any longer, and I can barely describe the ecstasy that knowledge gave me. It is heady stuff for a boy of seventeen to be able to affect a grown woman like that. Especially one's aunt.
"I had no idea how long I ate Claudia. I do know that she responded noticeably and that her body was beginning to spasm and convulse in small quivers, that her cunt was full of juices having nothing to do with saliva and that rivulets of these juices were running out of her and down around her ass-hole and that I could not lick them up fast enough. I also knew that she was approaching an orgasm-with experience a boy gets to be able to predict things like that. He can even predict the strength of the orgasm yet to come. Even women who only have little 'partial' comes are predictable. When you're eating a cunt, you sort of know these things, and in my case, I hate to waste too much effort when I know that the come is only going to be a 'hint' of the real thing. You sort of feel sorry for a woman like that.
"But I knew Claudia wasn't like that at all. She was working up to an explosion-the texture and substance of her skin was becoming a jelly-like foundationless uncertainty, shaken now second by second by ever-closer subsurface tremors. Her heat was on her now, her whole body a cool-hot clamminess, her shudders closer together, her breathing all but suspended and the groan-purr of her voice more and more rhythmical, and inflected to match the surges of welling passion descending upon her.
"Her cunt was ready, tender, a working crucible, dilating of its own accord and then deflating again to a relaxed slit, much as the gill-mouth of a reptile pained by the desert heat.
"I looked up at Bix again and our eyes met in understanding. She was one with us now, the die was cast, and as she came to the brink of her rending orgasm, Bix knelt a knee beside her shoulder and gently laid the tip of his cock against her lips. This, Bix knew, was agreeable with me as opposed to the first attempt, because it was a part of a concerted effort to bring her to full compliance and because it was all 'team' now. She seemed not to notice. Bix massaged the head of his prick lightly against her slightly opened mouth, working the head into the unresisting cavity. But she really wasn't aware what was happening because she was on the verge of coming as I intensified the workings of my tongue on her clit. Dipping deeply into her vagina and wriggling my tongue as pointedly, strongly, and imaginatively as possible, I alternated between her clitoris, her open dripping slit, and her puckering and sensitive ass-hole.
"Bix had worked the whole head of his prick into her mouth now, sort of at an angle. It's debatable whether she was aware of what was happening, but she soon would be. Bix scooted up a bit closer, so that his prick was encountering her mouth straight on, and now he was fitting more of it in between unresisting teeth and onto her tongue, preparing for the in-and-out fucking motions. I could see the sliminess of his prick where it had lubricated itself with droplets of translucent semen, and from experience I knew that Bix's cum had a bittersweet, slightly chlorinated taste which was noticeable to even the least discriminate sampler, and yet Claudia seemed to take no notice of the new taste sensation in her mouth. Ever, as I was furiously bringing on the main spasm of Claudia's orgasm, Bix was slowly pulling out of her mouth, and then refunneling the whole cock right up to the hilt, so that she could not possibly fail to know exactly what was happening.
"She convulsed. It was a tumultuous, tearing, rending wave of whole-body seizure, muscle involuntarily pulling against one another, gripping and knotting and then accumulating in ground swells of muscular transfer to another region, and relaxing and regripping still another area, much as a turbulent surf plays from rock to rock.
"She was now desperately trying to grab a deep breath, but even as she did, Bix jammed his prick fully and decisively into her mouth, and then on into her throat. Her body was just one big ball of shudders at this point. From my view from below, I could clearly see Bix's balls clump up tight to his cockshaft and I knew his first hot spurt of cum was on its way up his cock. It exploded in her mouth, some of it running out the sides, but most of it was forced into her throat.
"But she didn't seem to really care, because her orgasm was still at peak, just now subsiding a bit. About the time she was returning to the here and now, Bix's second and third and fourth bombarding shots of thick, white cream were splashing with good force against her tonsils and she had no choice but to swallow, even as she was becoming aware and beginning to object. Then Bix gave one last full thrust, so hard that his balls hit against her chin with a slap! She was swallowing hard now, since there was no other way for her to get rid of the copious juices filling her mouth.
"She was beginning to struggle, as if frantically out of breath. Bix's prick was still engorging her mouth.
" 'Breathe through your nose, Auntie,' I called up to her.
" "Take-t-oo-ut-ttt,' she was gasping, straining very hard to get air;
"Bix apparently was finished and he let the softening slimy piece of meat slide out of her mouth. Immediately, she was hauling air in and out in pained gasps, and then, as soon as she was sufficiently recovered, she looked up at the grinning Bix and said, 'You rotten sonofabitch, you nearly killed me.' After a few more draughts of badly needed air, she added, 'For two cents, I'd-'
"She never got a chance to finish, because I had climbed up upon her frame, and with a quick feel had placed my prick right at the still-open lips of her cunt. Just as she was getting ready to finish telling Bix what she was prepared to do for two cents, I rammed my whole cock into her, right through to the intestines, I think, and at the same time lowered my mouth to hers and kissed her with hard passion.
"For a second she recoiled, then struggled, tried to disengage my mouth. Some kind of sound came from her, but I had it completely muffled. I pulled far out, and lunged again, giving every inch of cock I had with every ounce of power I had, and then I repeated the whole business again and again. After perhaps five or six of these thrusts, she seemed to relax a bit; her cunt even seemed to open into a relaxed cooperation. Naturally, I didn't expect someone as unfucked as Aunt Claudia to be able to use her vaginal muscles like a gripping fist, the way Mrs. S used to, and frankly, I was just as happy that she couldn't. Right about this point, I was more than happy to settle down to a lose, open, unresisting cuntwithout any of the trimmings.
"I kept kissing her and jamming that cock of mine into her and pretty soon I felt her ass jerk a little bit, and then it raised up to meet one of my strokes, and a dozen thrusts later, she was lurching upward to meet me fuckstroke for fuckstroke. I gave it to her as hard as I could, and I was frankly surprised that a good-sized cock like mine couldn't hit bottom in this supposedly unused and unpracticed pussy. I wondered if Aunt Claudia could be one of those sexual frauds who like to pretend they are the purest of the pure-sticking candles up their cunts all the time, and what have you. I didn't dwell on the subject, though. It didn't really matter; maybe some women are just born with nice deep hot cunts and after one boring job, they're ready to take on any prick there is.
"Besides, Bix was back in the act. Gently, he nudged me to roll onto my side, and immediately I knew what he had in mind. I pulled my arms around Claudia's back in a hug and then rolled to my left, taking Claudia with me. She had her legs raised and up around my ass, although she had not yet become enthusiastic enough to wrap them around my back, the way I really love it. So I had to reach my right arm down and pull her topmost leg high up on my back and still keep up a strong fuckstroke so she wouldn't be suspicious.
"Bix was at her in a minute. He wet one of his fingers with a gob of spit and dabbed it quickly on her exposed ass-hole, and then scurried up to position. Positioning his prick at the puckered anus, he checked first for elasticity, and finding none, thrust home with a fierce lunge, burying his cock deep into her bowels.
"Claudia reacted as though pierced with a molten spear. Her mouth tore from mine and her arms shot straight out and her legs unclamped from me and became rigid.
"'OH, JESUS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!!!-YOU'RE KILLING ME-STOP IT-NOW-NOW!!!!! '
"But there wasn't much chance of either of us stopping. I could feel Bix withdrawing a little and then hammering that cock of his up into her ass again.
"Claudia remained rigid, as if paralyzed combination of fear and pain. She was still screaming curses at us, so I planted my mouth full on hers again. Then I held myself full into her and utterly still, my pulsing prick buried as far into her steaming cunt as it would go, while I waited to determine what Bix's motions were going to be. Soon I felt him withdraw a bit then sock it into that ass-hole again. Just as he was plunging inward, I withdrew. Then, on his out-stroke, I re-buried my member in her cunt again; after that we established a tempo, both using hard thrusts, timing ourselves perfectly, just as we had learned to do with Mrs. O-, the butcher's wife just down the block from our home. The only trouble was that Mrs. O-'s cunt and ass-hole were both much too loose, actually sloppy.
"Claudia's pussy was delightfully tight, even if it didn't seem to have a bottom, and from the low mewling expressions escaping Bix's lips, her ass-hole must have been like a new glove. As Bix and I intensified our thrusts, despite Claudia's attempted screams and her occasional deep clawing of my back, it seemed that she was coming-just a bit-to accept this whole new thing. Finally, Bix and I worked our total motion into a precision disunison, a perfect offset pistoning, a complete and complementary thrusting of our pricks. As soon as we had perfected this seesawing technique, Claudia had become a sexual constant; that is, she had approximately the same amount of cock in her at all times. On each in-stroke and withdrawal, I could feel Bix's prick with my own through the thin separating membrane.
"Despite all her attempts to not cooperate, I could sense that Claudia was approaching another-perhaps unwanted-climax. Her body was tensing in one sense and relaxing in another-her breathing was shorter and shallower. She kept trying to mutter something, but my pressing lips would not permit her to do so. To complicate things, I was the only one who had not yet come even once, and I was having a great deal of difficulty holding off any longer.
"And then I heard Bix breathing hard. My God, the three of us were going to come together, or close to it! My balls were shriveled into two tight sacs of explosive, already fused and lighted. And then I felt Claudia begin to shudder, and then shudder harder as if in a serious chill, and then Bix exclaimed, 'Oh, Jesus-, ' and at the same time my own balls hunched together and then collectively catapulted a tearing glob of hot sticky white cum far up into her already soaked cunt. And then I could feel the second shot of gooey semen explode up into her rectum from Bix's continuing paroxysm, and then my second and third doses of cum, and another of his, and then-
"-Claudia's, which was nothing short of volcanic, cataclysmic, the nova of a sunHer arms flew out, a sound caught in her throat, spittle collected at the corners of her mouth, her neck-cords stood out and shimmered in the rolling sweat.
"And then it was over. All the rending, tearing, screaming, coming, fiery ripping of the soul was over. And collapsed. And sweet and warm and silent.
"Later, over coffee, after Bix and I had made a half-hearted attempt to both explain and apologize, the whole day's efforts seemed to be capsul-ized into a quick, not unpleasant, memory.
"I had, quite naturally, had second thoughts about what we had done, and how painful an aftermath it might all have if Claudia happened to see it only in society's light. As I explained earlier, I was not at all convinced that Bix and I had read her reactions properly. And if we had goofedwow!-the consequences were staggering to contemplate.
"But it's funny how a few short words at the right time can set someone's fears at rest. Also, it's funny how those words can come about in the course of simple conversation.
"As I said, we were drinking coffee, the three of us. Out of a clear blue sky, and apparently in an effort to open some new topic for conversation, Bix had said, 'Gee, this place is so far from school. That's going to be a problem.'
"And Claudia had answered, after allowing a small smile to curl her lips, 'Well, you can call it a problem if you want to, but I have a hunch things are going to work out just fine.' "
We have chosen this particular history principally because of its reliability. It is based upon three histories, although only Carl accumulated a truly extensive file. His six years of therapy was initiated when he was unable to make a good adjustment to civilian life (upon discharge from the service) and to marriage.
Unfortunately, we have no good insight into Bix's eventual adjustment to life. As for Claudia, it is known that she later married, twice, in fact. One might conclude that even if no other purpose was served, at least one case of spinsterhood was resolved.
Carl, of course, is our narrator and also our main concern. Through the course of much therapy he has come to understand the true cost of his broken home and related sexual precociousness, compounded by the obviously polarizing influence of an aunt who submitted and, in effect, allowed herself to become the "managed" adult or, better, the "parent-pawn." If space had permitted we would have been able to exposit further with the tapes, showing that Carl and Bix actually became the governing influences in their new home.
It can be shown in numerous instances that such a condition cannot exist unabated in any home without grave consequences. Even in those homes where this type of atmosphere prevails in nonsexual terms, the results are intolerable.
Whenever a barely pubescent person strives for dominance or, worse, when he achieves it, the results can overwhelm the stability of the home. If that same dominance is sexual, the results are usually so negative as to destroy the very thing it seeks to preserve. The difference is that ordinary dominance, as is sought in the form of temper tantrums, etc., rarely is completely effective; that is, at some point along the way, the adult sees things for what they are and takes corrective measures.
But sexual dominance is very effective. If a young person achieves this over an older, especially if those two are related, the configuration of "family" life, as we know it, simply ceases to exist.
It is a credit to the whole endeavor of psychology that these three principals live reasonably normal lives today. Much of their various histories indicated that things would augur poorly. Especially the histories of the young men.
For in the grand scheme of things, the growing-up process is necessary and cannot be bridged in a single leap to maturity.
CHAPTER THREE
'I'LL BET YOU I CAN'
"I put my purse in the back seat and checked the other cars around us. It was utterly dark out, illuminated only by streams of flashing colored blocks of light from the projection booth. I couldn't see the other cars, much less into them, so it seemed un likely they could see us.
"I slid over close to Don, close enough to touch. My dress rode up my thighs, which is exactly what I intended. I could feel him shudder and I wasn't surprised. I imagine very few boys in their teens have aunts who act the way I do.
"The picture was starting-some lousy piece of crap; that was obvious from the first frame. 'I have a hunch this is going to be rotten,' I told Don.
"He was so cute. He answered me without taking his eyes off the insipid picture, obviously nervous about our touching legs, my bare thighs, and the visible crotch of my pink panties. He said, 'Well, we can always leave.'
" 'And we can stay, too,' I answered. 'Even if the picture's a bomb, we can always figure out something to do.'
"He still didn't look at me. Nor did he answer. I decided to be a little bolder. After all, I had a bet on with my husband, and I had no intention of losing it.
"I let my left hand drop in between his legs, up in the area where the thighs thicken, and almost immediately I could feel the fabric of his denims draw taut, a sure sign of a quick hardness. God, but these sixteen-year-old kids get hard fast when they are with a mature woman-especially if they've never fucked before. For a woman who digs a real, honest-to-God hard on with lots of vitality behind it, nothing in the world quite equals a teenager. And I should know.
"I looked over to Don. His eyes were riveted to the screen. Maybe my husband had been right-maybe Don would be just plain too terrified because I was his aunt. How silly, I thought. What's wrong with keeping it in the family?
"Well, I considered, maybe some stronger tactics were in order. I let my fingers drift upward a little and discovered that he was wearing button-down jeans and also that his prick was bolt-hard.
"Don took a quick intake of breath and seemed to freeze. His whole body tightened, as in the grip of genuine fear. Apparently his mind was not accepting the circumstances, despite the obvious intention on my part. I decided to bring the whole thing out in the open so that he could not possibly misunderstand. At age sixteen, a kid like Don should be able to meet sex head on-even if that stick-in-the-mud sister of mine did bring him up.
" 'Don,' I said, leaning close to his ear, 'you wear your pants awfully tight, don't you?'
" "They feel okay, Aunt Miriam,' Don muttered, his voice seeming to crack.
" 'But isn't it uncomfortable when your prick gets hard?'
"I knew that would get him. My husband had earlier suggested it as a tactic if Don didn't react fast enough. He had told me that the effect of direct sexual words on the ears of the initiate teenager should do wonders. When I said 'prick,' Don seemed to sit up straighter, as if on cue. But he didn't answer me. But there was a real tension-a sexual tension-in the air and now I was certain that my husband had been correct. I pursued the matter further.
" 'Didn't you hear me, Don? I asked you if it wasn't uncomfortable in those pants when your prick gets hard.'
"He mumbled, 'I dunno. Never thought about it, I guess.'
" 'Never thought about it!' I repeated, laughing heartily. 'Doesn't it usually get hard when you're here with your girl? Or didn't you think about it then either?'
" "That's different,' he answered.
" 'Different? How? I'm a girl. A little older than you're used to, perhaps, but nevertheless a female. And your prick is as hard as a rock.' With that, I ran my fingers up and down the length of it, laying there against his stomach, sheathed in that impossible denim. Again, he bolted as if shocked by electricity.
" 'See?' I added. 'It's good and hard. And just to be a good Samaritan, I'm going to help you get it out of your pants to make it feel better. You certainly wouldn't be able to enjoy the show like that, now would you, Don?'
"I sensed that Don was extremely excited, and bewildered, and terribly self-conscious. Something deep within him wanted him to form the word 'stop' on his lips and then utter it, but the more opportunity nature's elements had to work on him, the better chance I had of gaining the upper hand. Time was on my side, if I could just stop that first word from being uttered. I rubbed up and down his cock some more and then began fiddling with the buttons, which were harder than hell to get loose. Finally, I reached inside and then had to get inside his shorts, too, and, at last, after long minutes of fumbling, I felt my cool fingers come into contact with bare, hot, nervously excited, throbbing flesh. It was so hard; so painfully hard, I guessed, that I was very delicate and nimble-fingered as I fished the whole length of the thing out of his pants. Don was visibly trembling now.
" 'Oh, God, Aunt Miriam,' he said in a shaky voice. He probably had something else he wanted to say; a protest, perhaps, for I definitely sensed that there were unspoken words hanging in the air. But nothing more came out, and I was absolutely certain now that this lovely nephew of mine would be putty in my hands from now on. Quickly, I contemplated all the lovely things we could do, already trying to stage the whole seduction in my mind.
" 'You just relax, honey,' I soothed, as I began stroking his cock, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin on top. I only had two fingers-a thumb and forefinger, rather-working the stalk of it, slowly, in long, light strokes, all the way from his balls to the head. 'Feel better?' I asked.
"He made an incoherent sound again, which just spurred me on.
" 'Let me unbutton your pants all the way,' I said. "That way, I can play underneath your balls, too. You'll love that.'
"He sat dead still a moment, neither acceding or rejecting, nor helping or resisting. I began with his belt. It seemed to me this was the crucial test, and when he did not resist, I knew everything was going to work out just fine.
"I undid his top buttons and the pants came completely open. I opened his shorts all the way, too, and now, for the very first time, Don assisted me by first lifting and then sliding down in the seat a little, loosening the way his clothes hugged him, effectively taking his pants down a bit by rearranging his position.
" 'Oh, that's nice,' I told him as my whole hand encircled his cock. 'Beautiful. Oh, Don, tell me-how long is it?'
" 'I dunno,' he muttered.
" 'Have you ever fucked a girl with it?'
"Again a stammer, but not quite so pronounced, as he answered with a negative grunt.
" 'Well, you should. Fucking is the greatest thing in the world.'
"No answer. But no further resistance, either.
"Now I was stroking him steadily with my whole hand, not fast, but with a deliberate tempo, and full strokes, too-the kind that I know from my experience with young boys they cannot stand for very long. I tightened my grip a bit and sped up the tempo just a bit. It only lasted a few minutes.
" 'Oh, Aunty, you'd better stop,' he implored and drew away.
" 'Why, honey?' I asked innocently.
" 'I'm going to-'
" 'Going to come?' I helped.
" 'Yes, yesss-soon now ... don't ... you'd better....'
"I stopped completely and I could see that he was torn between relief and anxiety. I didn't need to be told what to do.
" 'Can you move the seat back?' I asked.
" 'Sure,' he answered. 'Do you want me to?'
" 'All the way,' I instructed in a happy voice. This is the moment I love so much in my relationships with young guys. Being the staging director of our own little production is a great kick. My husband tells me after I recount the experiences to him that I am satisfying a maternal urge when I do things like this, but he's no psychiatrist, so I sort of take it all tongue in cheek.
"The seat was back now so that there was plenty of room between Don's groin area and the steering wheel. I lifted myself up a little so that I could slide my panties off, and as I did so, I could smell that wonderful, meaty, aromatic odor that I always emit when that cunt of mine gets worked up. I hadn't felt it yet, but I knew it was sopping wet.
"Don continued looking at the stupid picture, as if transfixed. 'Are you really that interested in the picture?' I asked.
"For the first time, he smiled easily and said, 'Sure. That's what we came for isn't it?'
" 'Nope,' I answered clearly. 'I came for this,' and with that declaration I squeezed his cock again. Then I raised myself, disengaged my hand, and threw my right leg completely over him, straddling him in a perfect face-to-face position. With a deft move, I reached down and guided that wonderful engorged cock into that steaming cunt of mine. It slipped right in, all the way up to my kidneys, it felt like, and I could feel all of those wonderful juices of mine flowing everywhere up inside me. I had no intention of ruining things with needlessly precipitate moves at this point, so I just sat there a few seconds, savoring the marvelous feeling of another new young cock, this one all the better because it was my own nephew; and doubly fine beyond that because I had once again proven to my loving husband that I could accomplish anything sexual that I set out to.
"Tenderly now, and as dispassionately as possible under the circumstances, I planted a nice aunt-like kiss on Don's lips, which I discovered to be dry. Poor kid. This must be quite a shock, if nothing else. I damned near felt contrition. But I knew better, actually. If all those books I'd read told the truth, young men hang on to and relive their first sexual experience with great ardor and passionate memory. That's exactly the way I wanted to be remembered.
"He didn't really return the kiss. I think he was trying to work things in his mind and figure out just what it was that was happening to him, and just how that rigid trembling prick of his was feeling at this moment. Now I was certain he was a virgin. Just the thought of getting another virgin made my pussy even wetter, and I couldn't resist beginning a slight up-and-down fucking motion again.
" 'Will you come too fast if I stroke a little bit-like this?'
" 'I-think so.' "
" 'Well, we can't have that,' I told him. 'Why don't you look over my shoulder at the picture-maybe that'll take your mind off this.'
" 'I don't want to take my mind off this.'
" 'And I don't want you to shoot too fast.'
" 'You don't?'
" 'Not here. It's too messy.'
" 'What then?'
" 'Well, I'll tell you what. If I promise to make you feel real good right now, will you promise to take care of me when we get home?'
" 'Home? Jesus-what about Uncle Harry?'
" 'He sleeps like a log. Promise?'
" 'I guess so. What're you going to do?'
"I was already dismounting. Without a word of explanation I moved away a bit to give myself working room. Then I looked at Don and told him, 'Now you just watch the picture. Try to concentrate on it. I don't want this to be over too fast, either.'
"With that, I leaned forward and ran the tip of my tongue up the shaft of his prick, starting way down on the balls-as far underneath them as space would permit, that is-and working my way up to the tip, employing a butterfly tongue technique as I approached the head. I did this two or three times, and although I usually like to keep this up awhile, I heard Don moaning above me and figured that he was probably close. I especially like to keep lapping at a cock that's already been in me a little like his had, because then it has my own cunt juice all over it. Anyway, I quit the preliminaries and worked my way to the top one last time, and when I got there I popped the whole thing in my mouth and went all the way down in one thrust. Sometimes I like to do it like that, anyway, just to get things started quick. For one thing, when I'm blowing a kid, whose prick is usually smaller than a man's, I can take the whole thing in my mouth right up to my gullet with ease, which is a real good feeling. I like to feel the head of a cock butting against the back of my mouth, and I've learned to get my tongue wrapped around the bottom curvature of it in almost all positions.
"Anyway, I took Don's whole prick in up to the hilt and then felt his fuzzy pubic hair tickling my cheeks. Then I began a good hard in-and-out sucking motion, all the while stroking in full, deliberate strokes-in to the tonsils on the downstroke, and out almost to the point of extraction on the upstroke. I also remembered my husband's advice about keeping my tongue in constant motion.
"I heard a little groan just before it happened. I sped up the tempo until it was furious and then-I was rewarded. God, what a freaky feeling! I guess I love the taste of cum, especially from a young kid, more than anything in the world. It tastes a little different from every boy, but in another manner of speaking, it tastes the same, too-youngish. Don gave me shot after shot. I thought he'd never quit. But he'd never be able to deluge me. No one ever had. I could swallow it just as fast as they could give it to me. And then he was drained. I kept sucking a little bit, to get it all, but then I finally sat up.
"Don didn't say a word. He seemed to actually be watching the picture. I asked him, 'How was it?'
" 'Jesus,' was all he said.
"I was tickled. I love to leave them satisfied.
"And now I could concentrate on other things. My own satisfaction, for example.
"We sat through the rest of the picture, which I actually looked at now, and I didn't do anything to try to get him started again. Oh, I held onto his prick, of course, just like any red-blooded woman would, but I didn't jack him off or even fondle him with much of a movement. There were other reasons for this, too, because I did have certain commitments to my husband. But I'll go into that later.
"There was something especially delightful about Don. As it happened, we all lived in the same town, but we didn't get together much, simply because my sister and I didn't get on the way sisters should. For one thing, she was a much older woman, nearly fifteen years my senior, and we just belonged to different generations, almost. Actually, I was much closer in temperament and outlook to Don, her son, and since I had married a man of arts and letters whose view of life was very broad and loose, we couldn't really communicate at all with my sister and her husband, who worked in a foundry doing uninteresting things. The only reason I had Don with me now is that my sister's husband's father had passed on, and they had decided to travel cross-country for the funeral. I was to have Don for two weeks. And I planned to take every advantage of it.
"I tried to put the pieces together in my mind. I had definitely promised Harry, my husband, to bring Don home in good condition. By that, he meant he didn't want the boy to be drained. Actually, I think I would have blown him again in the car except for that. His cum, like most boys' cum, had that tart, astringent, almost bitter taste that is so good and lingers on so long and makes one want to keep licking the lips. Anyway, back to the point: I had promised my husband that I would bring Don home in good condition and then we would go into our act, which always had worked out well before. I guess it pays to have an imaginative old man.
"The picture concluded and I helped Don put his hard prick back in his pants. As a matter-of-fact, we had quite a struggle of it and finally he had to open the door a bit and straighten one leg before his cock could be squeezed in. As soon as this was done, I felt a little bad about it because my hand had gotten used to having his lovely piece of meat in it, but I was able to tolerate that, considering that it was only a twenty-minute ride home. Oddly, during those twenty minutes, Don did not seemed disposed to talk very much. I thought it would be most suitable if I talked about such things as the picture, but he wasn't having any. I could tell his mind was on sex, and that he didn't care for any interruptions into those thoughts. Not even a sexual interruption. I guess that he was really having a time with himself over this experience. I didn't know whether this was good or bad, although I've always been inclined to believe that kids come out best when they're taught to be straightforward and natural about sex. The worst experiences I have had have been with those young men whose families surround them with all kinds of prohibitions and weird ideas.
"That's one thing about Harry and me; we've no stars in our eyes and we don't wear rose-colored glasses. We both accept what we are, what we do, and the fact that sex is a great thing in our lives. Harry has always told me that he doesn't regard the world as being wrong just because they don't believe or do as we do, just as he believes the rest of the world should give us the same latitude we give it. Now that strikes me as being sensible. We don't harm anyone; if a young boy doesn't respond to my suggestions I just leave him alone (there have only been a few like that, however). If the kid wants to fuck, though, what harm am I doing him? What's the difference if he learns to fuck at fourteen or fifteen instead of a few years later? A couple of centuries ago, girls were old maids if they hadn't married by that age.
"We were halfway home when I suddenly discovered what was bugging Don. I should have guessed as much.
" 'Aunt Miriam,' he began, 'how can you be sure Uncle Harry won't catch us if we do what you said?'
" 'I told you, darling-leave it to me.'
" 'But he could get mad and blow his top. I've read of people killing each other for less.'
" 'Well, Harry's not like that at all. You'll just have to trust my word, darling. But consider the fact that I've been living with him for years, and
I should know.' " 'Yes, you should.'
" 'Alright then. In the morning you'll know more about it than you do right now, and believe me, it'll all make a lot more sense to you then.'
"I wasn't sure if Don had picked up on the slight difference in what I had said just now and what I had suggested back at the drive-in. Earlier I left the impression that my husband wouldn't know-now I had implied that he just wouldn't cave. Good, that represented progress; all I really had to do was take care that my beautiful little nephew didn't bolt. If I was now deprived of this gorgeous young man's cock, I might have gone out and shot myself.
"I suppose I felt that way because this was the first time I'd ever screwed a relative of any sort. Even my father had left me completely alone in that respect. It had something to do with incest, this great excitement I was feeling. I was probably hotter than I'd ever been. I could think of no other plausible reason.
" 'Aunt Miriam,' Don said a minute later, 'why can't we just drive out in the countryside somewhere and get out and do it on the ground?'
"My heart raced for a second and I almost agreed. That would have been so exciting! But no, I couldn't do that to Harry! Through the years of our marriage I'd never done a dirty thing like that. I said to Don, 'I hate it like that. I like it in a nice soft bed. And I wish you'd quit worrying about my husband. I've already told you that everything will be fine.'
"Again, he seemed to accept the idea and we rode on in silence. Considering his doubts, I felt that I should put sex in his mind again just before we reached the house. And the best way I know to accomplish that is just to start talking about it.
" 'Don,' I began, 'you seem to be so much in doubt about whether we should really do it when we get home. What's the matter? Didn't you enjoy the way I played with your prick and then sucked it off for you?'
" 'Oh, yes,' he answered quickly, 'I loved it.'
" 'Well, I should think you'd be anxious to get home and get in bed with me so you can stick it in my cunt.'
" 'Yes, yes, lam!'
" 'Well, so am I, honey. My cunt's dripping wet, I'm so hot. And if I know my husband, he won't be any good to me. So if you won't fuck my cunt for me, I'll probably just have to get dressed again and go out and find some other stud to fuck me.'
" 'Oh, no, don't do that!'
" 'Why, honey?'
" 'Why? Well, because I don't want you to.'
" 'But why? Would you get hot laying in bed alone, thinking about me out somewhere fucking some strange guy?'
" 'Look!!! Just don't do it!! I'll take care of you.' And then, after simmering down a little bit, he added in a low voice, 'Oh boy, will I ever!'
"Now then, I must admit that exchange left me a hotter pussy than ever. I had worked up his enthusiasm, and he was so hot I expected him to sizzle over the top of any second. And a hot guy makes me hot.
" 'Can't you drive a little faster?' I asked.
"We hit the driveway and the lights were out. We got into the garage without any noise and then sort of sneaked our way into the house and into the bedroom. I told him that Harry would probably be asleep in the den instead of the master bedroom, but Don insisted that we play it safe by going to the guest room, which we had given him.
"As soon as we were in the bedroom, he turned to me and pulled me to him. Even with the lights out I was able to back him up until we hit the bed, where we fell, linked together. Immediately my hands were on his pants again, trying to get them off, and then I almost shouted with glee when I felt his hands on me also, running up my legs, anxious to get at my pussy. Then he whispered to me, 'I want to find out if this is as wet as you said it was.'
" 'I can get my clothes off quicker by myself,' I answered.
" 'No, I want to do it.'
"So I kept on with his jeans, and he kept struggling with the unfamiliar women's garments. It seemed to take forever, but at last we were both down to our underwear. He could wait no longer. He took me in his arms and almost crushed the life out of me in his ardor. That's another thing I love about these young boys-that impatience which is theirs alone.
"Even though I had not heard it-nor had Don, I am certain-I knew full well that the door behind us had slipped open and then been closed again, and that we were no longer alone. This part of it always excited me even more than the passion and heat of the young studs I loved so much to fuck and suck."
This is one of those case histories which required very little editing or revision. The way it appears here is pretty much the way it was first heard by this writer. Further, it was received on one reel, without interruptions, indicating the therapist had elicited the entire story in one sitting. This in itself is odd, since most interviewees are not capable of sustained narrative dealing with a painful subject.
This fact is revelatory, admitting, as it does, to the ease with which Miriam regarded the matter. To her, incest was little more than an excitative "extra," and, in this history, a decided novelty.
Since this history again deals primarily with the concepts of female pedophilia and (half-blood) incest, it might be well to capsulate how the mental processes of the growing girl can develop just a bit off center and produce these inclinations.
As a generalization it can be said that three psychological roots underlie pedophiliac tendencies: fear, guilt, and doubt. Interestingly enough, these three elements are usually also present in the circumstance of lesbianism. It would seem that the young female is subject to certain pressures which are not too well understood and which serve in the one instance to drive her into a flight from heterosexual confrontation and in another instance into a flight from the adult male.
When that premise is reworded it becomes still more interesting. The same set of stresses (but not the same kind or degree of stress, of course), seems able to produce either a flight from men altogether, or simply a flight from the adult man. This is not to imply that female homosexuals just missed becoming pedophiliacs or vice versa, but it is psychologically sound to suggest that these women possess many of the same personality characteristics. In his book, Female Homosexuality, Dr. Frank S. Caprio says:
Homosexuality-or as Ferenczi prefers, "homoerotism"-is a stage in the sexual development of every human being. It is not a biological anomaly and not due to an endocrinological disorder. There are no hereditary or hormonal factors involved. Endocrinology, to quote Dr. Edmund Bergler, "has nothing therapeutic to contribute to the problem of homosexuality." Lesbianism is environmentally determined. The concept of a "third" sex is a myth. It has no scientific basis.
Female homosexuality is a form of cooperative or mutual masturbation at best. It represents an unconscious defense mechanism-a symptomatic expression of a neurotic personality-a disturbance in the infantile psychosexual development-a regression to narcissism-a manifestation of an emotional maladjustment, influenced by such factors as a girl identifying herself with her father or brother, instability of the parents, unpleasant sexual experiences in childhood or adolescence, feelings of inferiority, loneliness, fear of marriage, personality deficiencies, exposure to the advances of an older lesbian, etc.
Considering what Caprio ascribes as primal causes for female homosexuality, one is compelled to identify this group of family and societal deficiencies with that same general group of deficits we usually find in the heterosexual female invert.
Women who are wont to step far beyond the bounds of social restriction usually do so because they must. It may appear to general observers, friends, and the woman herself, that she is reacting as she does because she prefers to, yet it is axiomatic in psychology that psychosexual or aberrational behavior is invariably a compensatory device; that is, a device by which stress is relieved. It is principally in this framing of thought that the parallels are drawn between female homosexuality and pedophilia.
In the instance of female homosexuality, there are so many types known that none can be said to be typical. Just within the framework of that type most resembling the pedophiliac (the butch), there are varying "general" traits and manners (and certainly, causes) that one is hard-pressed to settle upon any of them. Further, we do not imply that the butch-likes little boys, or that she is attracted to youth in general, or that she finds it difficult to compete with adults. The important similarity lies in a very general vein-she is an aggressive, sexual, self-determined, and driven, woman.
It is this quality, sex-drivenness, which term is the coining of R.E.L. Masters (Sex-Driven People), that essentially separates all inverts from all non-aberrants. The single quality of being victim to the appetites, or of having to yield to uncontrollable pressures, is alone sufficient to render a person miserable. When that quality is raised a degree to the point of compulsiveness, that person's life can become a nightmare. It is rarely acceptable to the human to be slave to his impulses.
And it is perfectly natural, or at least to be expected, that in the face of such pressures, the human mind will devise ways of relieving them.
Masters, from the foregoing reference, tells us:
When sex comes to dominate his or her life, a man or a woman is sex-driven. This ascendancy of the person's sexuality may result from an abnormal biological sex drive, from psychological craving, or from other factors. In the case of the transsexual, as noted, the life becomes sex-dominated as a consequence of the individual's feeling that his psychology and emotions are at fundamental odds with his anatomical sex. And all effeminate males and "masculine females" are likely to move in a climate of magnified sexuality for the reason that owing to their physical appearance and mannerisms other persons react to them primarily as sexual objects. The exceptionally beautiful woman also may be assigned the role of sexual object by most persons, at least of the opposite sex, so that she, too, becomes in her own mind primarily a "sexual being" and the sexuality then is magnified to the extent that in some way it comes to dominate her life.
The method of transposing this comment into relevance to our case history is not very involved and requires only that the reader invest his imaginative energies in the area of compensations. It must be understood that human response is rarely in direct answer to that which provokes it.
As in the case of Miriam, who is reacting to her sex-drivenness by a specific retreat to youth, for whatever reasons, the compensation becomes the leitmotiv of the person's activity. Such a person very often does become a victim and a slave to desires which are overwhelming.
For the purposes of writing such as this, it should be understood that there are many constellations of sexual aberration that all stem from similar causes and from similar environments. One wonders just how it can be that so many different events can germinate and then exfoliate from beginnings we regard as common.
Proceeding with our history, we are confronted with a new circumstance: that of voyeurism compounded by a specific male inversion. It might be noted that much of the foregoing applies in part to that phase of the narrative also.
"We were on the bed and embraced. Poor Don was beside himself with heat and nervousness. He was grappling with me instead of feeling me up, although I certainly wasn't resisting. His inexperience was at once pleasing and annoying. I wanted very much to put him at ease.
" "Try to relax, Don,' I told him. 'I'm not going anywhere.'
" 'What's the matter? Was I hurting you?'
" 'No, dear, not at all. I love it, but I want to make it as good as possible for you. If you relax, everything will be more enjoyable.'
"He seemed to hear me, but right away he was back at my breasts, biting them too hard, and at my ribs and shoulders and arms, which he squeezed too hard. I suppose I liked it in a way. But he just kept it up too long. I wanted some action!
" 'Goddammit, Don, take off my panties and play with my cunt.'
" 'Alright,' he answered and stripped off my briefs. Oh God, but that felt good! There was a slight breeze coming in the window and I just spread my legs out as wide as they would go and let the cool air wash across my steaming cunt.
" "Take yours off too, honey,' I told him.
"Again he agreed and soon I had that strapping prick in my hand again. I toyed with the idea of sucking it a little bit, just to juice it up and make it nice and slick, but I was getting real horny again.
" 'Feel me up, Don, sweetie. Just as if I was one of your little teenybopper girl friends. They let you play with their cunts, don't they?'
" 'Maybe you better tell me if I do something wrong.'
" 'Answer me, Don. Do you mean these high school girls aren't putting out these days?' " 'I didn't say that.'
"I considered all this. It seemed to me that he was okay, but pretty damned defensive. I was pretty interested in finding out how far I could go with him. But no sense picking a fight right now. Besides, he was starting to play with my cunt and that always drives me out of my mind. All of a sudden, it was no longer important to pin him down and make him admit how inexperienced he was. My husband had many times before explained to me that putting the kids on the defensive would make things much easier later if there was a goof-up.
"Oh, that felt good. He had a finger stuck tentatively up to about the second knuckle, and, hot as I was, it felt like a live telephone pole. I started jacking off his cock in seriousness. I wanted to get that prick in me as soon as possible, and I was just about to climb on top when I felt a familiar tap on my shoulder. I went into my act.
" 'Don, lay on your back, quick.'
" 'Lay on my back?'
" 'Yes, please, hurry. I have to suck your cock again.'
" 'Huh?' Don was querulous. 'I was just going to put it . ... '
" 'I know. On your back, sweetie, with your eyes closed, and put your hands back on the pillow. I don't want you to try to feel of me in any way.'
"He grumbled a bit and then did what I said. Then, very slowly I did the thing I had practiced so carefully so many times. I slid off the bottom of the bed a little at a time, until I could feel the corresponding addition of weight coming onto the bed right next to me. The subtracted and added weight cancelled each other, so that no change was evident to someone lying prone.
"Finally, I was standing and silently rubbing my sore cunt with my index finger. I let it slide up on my clitoris and gave it a few strokes too, but now I knew I had to hurry, so I added a last flick or two and then had to drop that activity. Too bad, I was now so hot I was shaking.
" 'Ooooooh, Jesus, that's-so-good. Even better-than in the-theater.'
"When I heard that I knew I had to hurry. First I found and turned on the special light switch that we had installed in each bedroom, and then I had to find my way to the dresser, where I knew I would find our special camera, which Harry had spent so damned much money on. It was there, right where it was supposed to be.
" 'Oh, God, that's so great-keep it up-AAaahh, yeaahhh!!! '
"I had to hurry. It sounded as if Don would be coming any minute now if I didn't get these god-dammed pictures taken. He'd come awfully fast at the theater. But it was so hard to figure anything out in this completely blacked-out room. Sometimes when I got involved like this, I got frustrated enough to just want to throw this infrared camera out in the trash. Anyway, I couldn't get mad now.
"Yeah, I thought; faster, Aunt Miriam. I aimed the camera at the bed and took one picture, which was absolutely silent. I hit the film-change. Again,-no sound. Well, that's what Harry had paid for, wasn't it? Another picture.
" 'Ohhhh, I'm getting close, Aunt Miriam, if you---'
"Six, seven, film change, eight, a step to the right, new film, ten-I put the camera back on the dresser and knelt by the bottom of the bed and tapped Harry twice on the shoulder.
"The transfer was swift. With my tongue now licking lightly on the head of Don's cock, I mumbled to him, 'Now I'm coming up,'-and then I practically leaped up on the bed next to him, rolled on my back, and all but screamed at him, 'Now hurry, baby, cram that joint of yours in my cunt-RIGHT NOW!! '
" 'Oh my God-I think I'm going to-' " 'Hurry-here-like this, baby, baby-get it in-in.'
"It must have been saved at the last minute. With a last-second lunge, I hauled him onto me and with a desperate hand I luckily aimed him perfectly into me, and exactly at the moment of penetration I felt the first cupful of that hot stuff cream the inside of my cunt like a ladle of white sauce from a cannon. I lunged my body up at him to get the rest of it (and also to make the best possible pictures) and was ecstatic at the power and violence of his subsequent surges of recoiling cock and his enormous doses of cum which filled me to the brim. I considered his first cum at the movie-it hadn't been anything like this; I wondered what the difference could have been.
"And then he quit me and rolled over, exhausted, with a sigh. My God, I thought, as my finger flew to my sopping wet cunt to try to finish it off. It felt so good-so almost good. I had to do something, anything. My finger was flying, but somehow it seemed inadequate.
" 'Stay here, sweetie,' I told Don, trying to find his lips to give him a quick kiss.
" 'Okay, Auntie,' he answered weakly, returning the kiss.
"I scurried to the dresser and waved my hands in the dark trying to hit a familiar object. I needn't have bothered. Dear Harry had always been a mind reader, and he didn't fail me now. I felt familiar hands on my hips. I spread my legs, which were now drenched in leaping cum down to my knees, and Harry was into me immediately. I knew I would have to be absolutely silent, since Don was only a few feet away on the bed. I could only hope that this second strong come of his would put him to sleep right away.
"Harry took one long swipe of the tongue from the inside of one knee right up to my still leaking cunt, and then from the other knee the same way; after that he pinned his attention to the well-worn slit instead of the clitoris, and he can't be blamed for that, considering that lots of the cum was still churning around inside and still nice and warm. Had he waited the semen might well have settled and even cooled a bit-and I have heard that it can become almost unpalatable under those conditions. But as it was, the stuff was still active and tasty. I spread wider and knelt a bit more so that Harry could lock his mouth on me like a suction cup and then, oh! what a glorious feeling. He started that rhythmic sucking he does so well and I felt the cum start a whirling splash down the walls of my cunt, and then finally, I could tell that the creamy liquid was cascading into my husband's mouth.
"Harry, being a considerate person, did not dawdle with that particular function too much, though; he immediately went up to my clitoris and started tonguing it in that very special way he has perfected. He started with a few light stabs with a rigid tongue tip right on the clitoris, but he knows that doesn't do much except warm me-and I was already plenty warmed up-so he went quickly on to the thing that gets me pretty good: a circular chewing motion with very careful teeth all around the exposed and sucked-out clitoris. Now understand, my clitoris is not like a little girl's. I have pulled and flicked on it for some years now, and so have a great many men, and even a few women. Added to that, Harry has been sucking with extreme vigor on the whole body of the thing for some years also, and I guess the clitoris responds like any other muscle, or gland, or whatever it is. Anyway, the result is that I have a nice little body of flesh down there that becomes a sort of miniature prick and gathers a noticeable hardness when it's worked on. Right now it felt like it was hard as a rock, and Harry had it in his mouth, sucking up and down on it, pulling on it, pushing, licking, and everything else he could think of on it, and he was-bless him-performing miracles. I could feel the first small convulsions coming on, and the tremors, just the way they were forming in the rest of my body, were telling me that I was headed for a cataclysmic come.
"Up and up I went, and the tremors became little mountains of jello, and then real quakes, and then it was washing over me and I just couldn't help it-
" '-Ohhhhh, yess-' and then I remembered
Don....
" 'Aunt Miriam! Is something wrong?' " 'OOOOooooh-uh-oh, no, Don. It's-just my stomach. I'll be alright.' " 'Can I help?'
"The damn come was half-ruined anyway. I sprang back into bed and snuggled up to Don. I couldn't be mad at him or anything else. That's how he affected me. And besides, we had some other plans to implement-Harry would be furious if I let it be spoiled by impatience.
"We lay in each other's arms awhile and then I began toying with that nice prick again. It was about time to get things started. I guessed it had been about thirty minutes-just about right.
" 'Your prick sure does react nicely.'
" 'I'm glad you like it, Aunt Miriam. You sure do make it feel good when you do that.'
" 'Do you think it'll get just as hard as the last time?'
" 'Sure! Why wouldn't it?'
" 'Oh, you dear boy-just wait until you're older. Then you'll know what I mean!'
"Then I casually informed Don why I was so interested in his cock getting another real good hard on. It just won't do what I want it to do if it isn't real hard.'
" 'What? What is it supposed to do next?'
" 'Something I just love. And you'll love it too, if you let me do what I want.'
" 'I'd do anything for you, Aunt Miriam. You know that.'
" 'Wonderful,' I answered, and rolled over and gave him a big kiss. Then whispering low, I told him, 'I want you to fuck me in the ass.'
" 'What!!!? '
" 'Oh, don't act so astonished. Grown-ups do that all the time.' " "They do?'
" 'Certainly. Listen, this is your Aunt Miriam talking to you, not some moralist. I'm telling you how it really is, not how some people want it.'
"I guess I must have argued for ten minutes before Don began to relent. As soon as I thought he was ready, I jumped out of bed and ran to the light switch, turning it on, knowing that Harry would not be in the room until after this signal. I opened a bureau drawer and pulled out the planted dildo; quite a smallish, pink-colored, artificial prick with a hip-harness attached to it. Ijtook it to Don and showed it to him, explaining all the while how it worked and what I wanted to do.
" ' ... and I don't know what it is about me, Don, but I just love pumping that thing into an ass-hole.
It just turns me on more than I can tell you...' He started to object again, but I went right on, ' ... and besides, darling, you came too fast the last time and I didn't really get to come the way I need to-it's sort of like you should reciprocate. Come on, you stick yours in my ass first and just watch how much it does for me.'
"A few minutes later, I felt this marvelous ballbat jamming up into that sensitive ass-hole of mine. As soon as he was in to the hilt and had started stroking, I began my muscular contractions, first trying to simulate forcing a turd out, and then simulating holding one back. A few strokes more and we were working in perfect sync, and the poor kid's prick just couldn't handle the action. I felt a flood of cum splatter around in my colon, and realized he was pretty close to exhaustion. The come had been good, but much weaker than the last.
"Ten minutes later, I said to him, 'I want to turn the lights out again when I do it to you. That way I can imagine I'm doing it to a woman.'
"There was another delay while I reconvinced him, and then, for effect if nothing else, I strapped the harness on me so that he could see how it looked, with its little pink cock standing right up straight. I even greased it with cold cream to help put his mind at ease. Then I said, 'Here's what I want you to do, lover: lay on your stomach with your legs spread apart as far as possible. You'll feel me climb on the bed and then I'll go into you as gently as possible, but you won't feel my body very much, since I feel better holding myself up in the air. Also, like I said, I like to go on an imagination trip when I'm doing this, so don't talk to me, because I won't answer. Also, don't move just because you feel a little pressure.'
"And then he seemed to be about as prepared as he was going to get. I gave him a quick kiss and rolled him over and then spread his legs for him. Just for kicks, I planted a couple of nice wet kisses on his ass-hole, and then ran the spit in a little bit with a finger. That would help.
"I got up, checked things one last time, and then went to the light switch and turned it off. Quickly I opened the hall door and felt Harry sweep past me in a hurry. His massive prick touched my leg as he passed, and I could feel it trembling with readiness. Sometimes I wondered about Harry-how he was able to hold his balance; things like that.
"Anyway, I heard the bed depress. I had the newly loaded infrared camera aimed right at the center of the bed-at least I think I did-and I began snapping pictures, moving from side to side in the pitch dark as best I could. It was a minute or two before anything happened, and then-'Oh, Auntie, go easy. It feels big.'
"Another few seconds, and then-'Oh, please, Auntie, just a little tonight, please. It feels ten times as big as it looked.'
"Taking pictures quickly over the side of the bed, I leaned over the center of the top part of the bed, just about in the position my head should have been, and I whispered to Don, 'Dammit, Don, I asked you to be quiet. Now, relax as much as possible, and I'm going to get it all in. Don't worry about the size. It always feels bigger than it really is. And for GOD'S SAKE, DON'T TALK TOME ANYMORE.'
"I got up from the bed very carefully, and began snapping pictures again. Then sounds began again.
" 'OH ... OH ... OH NO, STOP! Ohh, that's better. Just let that much of it sit awhile. My God, that little thing feels like a watermelon in there-please don't put it in any more, Auntie; just the head in like that hurts like hellllll- OHHHHH, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, DON'T, DON'T, OH MY GOD, OOOEEEHHH!'
"I could tell by the rhythm and pattern that Harry probably had the head part way in. This had happened before, and I knew that Harry was awfully hot and probably couldn't wait much longer before he-
"And then I heard a mild stroking begin. The bed was gently and peacefully rocking back and forth. It sounded as if Don was breathing easier now, although I'm not sure that he was fully conscious. I know that sometimes when Harry is too hot he can't help but give it to them all at once after he's worked the head of it in.
"The stroking picked up tempo, and I definitely heard Don begin to whimper, something very close to a sob. I continued taking pictures. And then the stroking became really pronounced.
"'Oh, Auntie, please stop, can't you, PLEASE?!!! ' and I knew how the poor kid felt. I only hoped that Harry wouldn't give him one of those real lunges. But, just as I was thinking the thought-
" 'Please, Auntie, Auntie? Won't you say som-OOOUUUEEEH!!! ' OOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!f! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, YOU CAN'T!!!!! '
"And then, predictably, Don's protestations stopped altogether, and the stroking from the bed became regular and had a deep squishy sound. A few minutes of this and I sensed that Harry gave a final lunge and got rid of the scummy, filthy, huge load that had been rusting away in his nuts for weeks and weeks-ever since the last boy. These days that's the only way Harry ever-oh", hell, let's forget about that part of it.
"Over breakfast the next morning, Harry was the picture of happiness and contentment. His appetite was robust for a change, and he chatted amiably. It was so good to have a happy husband. I suppose it's worth any price.
" 'Call him again,' Harry suggested.
" 'I don't think it's any use. I've tried a dozen times.'
" 'Poor kid,' Harry answered. 'Sure hope he isn't coming down with something.'
"If memory serves me correctly, I think we finished breakfast hurriedly and then left for the camera shop."
If the reader will recall, we referred to a case of "male inversion" as well as "voyeurism" to be treated of in this final portion of the history of Miriam and Don. The inversion is explicitly spelled out here, but it should be noted that the voyeurism is only implicit. That is, the developed infrared photographs (which, as any camera buff knows, are quite unsatisfactory for purposes such as these-and extremely expensive in the bargain) served to satisfy Harry's urgings to see both his wife and himself in sexual contact with the boy.
All things considered, this case offers limited possibility of therapeutic adjustment for Harry, but this is not relevant since he is not a true principal. On the other hand, Miriam separated from Harry roughly a year after this narrative concludes, and began treatment with a noted clinician shortly thereafter. Today she continues her treatment and all signs are suggestive of improvement. She has not been completely able to ignore young men, but she is aware of the larger meaning of such conduct and is beginning to make sincere efforts to develop relationships with adult men.
But not adult men with bizarre purposes.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HIGH-SOCIETY SYNDROME
" 'Oh, Stanley,' I scolded. 'I know your parents are gone all the time, but that still doesn't mean you can come over here at just any hour of the day or night.' I glanced at my watch, and told him, 'It's after twelve!'
"Stanley's eyes studied the carpet between his feet, and from the pained expression on his face I could see that my brusqueness had knocked the wind out of his sails. This realization saddened me momentarily because Stanley was such a bubbly kid around me. Since my sister and her husband were hardly ever at home, I had more and more become a mother to Stanley, and frankly, it had been mostly my own doing that the boy now relied on me so heavily.
" 'Is it too late to come in now?' he asked.
"I was still disgruntled, but I did my best to be friendly. 'My God, darling, I was asleep.'
" 'I'm sorry, Aunt Francine,' Stanley answered, now squirming from foot to foot on my new hand-woven gamboge carpet. I know this was a new experience for him, for I never before failed to show real familial love-but then, he'd never come unannounced and uninvited at midnight, either.
"Finally, I relented. 'Oh, Christ, come on in and make yourself at home.'
"Stanley stepped forward into the main foyer. Now that my eyes were focusing a little better, I saw that my nephew seemed very different tonight: he seemed drained of his usual vitality and I thought I sensed a greater loneliness about him than usual. And that really got to me-the poor kid, or poor rich kid, rather, lived the most friendless, empty, oversupervised existence a person could imagine. Think of it, fifteen years old, and walking around with a heavy heart! I made up my mind.
" 'Stanley, what did you tell that scarecrow governess of yours?'
" 'I told her that you called me to come over. I guess I sort of lied.'
" 'I'd better call the old bitch right now and straighten things out.'
"I picked up the hall phone and dialed. Finally the butler answered and I asked him to get Helen, the governess.
" 'Hello?'
" 'Helen, this is Francine. I'll be keeping Stanley tonight.'
"Just as I suspected, the old prune started right in, asking me things like, 'Do you think it's wise?' I listened to a couple of more words and then hung up on her. Goddamned know-it-all servants. Thank
God my own were off that night.
" 'What was that all about?' Stanley asked.
" "That bitch always forgets that I'm part of the family.'
" 'You mean she questioned you? '
" "That's the way I heard it.'
"Stanley looked at me in a funny way. I knew he could sense how I felt, and he was probably inwardly happy to know that another governess was about to bite the dust. That's right-that bitch would be out on her ass as soon as Stanley's parents returned. I wanted this boy to have only the best, but on the other hand, I wouldn't ever tolerate being questioned by the help.
"Then Stanley said he had to go to the bathroom. Since he had me completely awake by this time, I told him to meet me in the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
"Over the coffeepot, I tried to put things in perspective. During the past year, I'd seemed to have Stanley with me more and more. It was really senseless for him to have a governess, for that's essentially what I had become. And I have to confess that I was finding it agreeable.
"He was a great kid, but so many things were missing from his life. That's probably why I had become so protective towards him. His mother had turned into a pureblood jet-setter and she and her husband spent all their time flitting from parties aboard yachts in the Mediterranean to lunches in the Bahamas-when they weren't on safari, that is. But I also knew the truth about that marriage and all its millions-and I just kept away from it. My sister had developed a whole new morality in the past few years and she was all the time telling me about these great parties where nobody kept track of who slept with whom. Beneath that well-bred exterior of hers, she had the morals of an alley cat, and her husband encouraged it. Well, I'm no prude, believe me, and I've slept around a bit myself since my husband died, but there's a limit to everything. I remember one time not more than a month ago when she and I were talking about her latest venture, and Stanley walked into the room to tell her something. She was in mid-sentence, telling me about the party, saw Stanley and acknowledged him with a nod, and then continued right on, saying, '-it was one of the best parties we've been to; two whole glorious weeks of continuous fucking, and I'll bet I went through every man there at least once, and a couple of them fucked me a dozen times. And then we had these pairs aboard who go for the troilism bit and I tried a few of them-' and she would have continued on with all the details of her troilistic fucking, too, but the phone rang. I remember looking up at Stanley to see how he had accepted all this, and I couldn't fathom him at all. For the most part, he pretended not to have heard anything, but when I glanced at his crotch, I saw that a good-sized bulge had appeared. This puzzled the hell out of me. Could Stanley have had a sexual thing for his own mother? I really had no way to assess that hard on of his, and had wondered about it many times since. To be perfectly frank, I had even dreamed about the damned thing once.
"And, just as I wondered about Stanley, I think that he wondered about me. I know for a certainty that he was attracted to me, but I didn't know just what kind of attraction it was. Usually it seemed to be a parental thing, at other times it was a deep friendship; always it was a questionable thing in my eyes because Stanley was becoming a little man and his eyes always seemed to undress me just like adult men's did. Jesus, if Stanley ever found out about that kid-that beautiful olive-skinned musician-that I picked up in Mexico City a few months ago! He had been the same age as Stanley, even looked a little like him, and I just succumbed. There's no other word for it. That kid learned more about fucking and sucking from me in a week than he probably could have learned in five years otherwise. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that I have wondered repeatedly if I screwed that boy for some obscure and sublimated reason floating around somewhere in my unconscious. I have wondered again and again if it was actually the image of Stanley that I was blowing and fucking for a week straight, or just a nice Latin boy and no more. I do know one thing for certain. That was the first kid I've ever laid, but not my last. I discovered that I dig young kids more than anything in the world.
"Just last week Stanley and I had gone up to the mountains for a Sunday picnic. It was a most innocent thing, but after we ate, I had stretched out with my head in his lap and fallen into a light sleep. But even in my sleep, I sensed that Stanley was greatly preoccupied with my body. I'm sure he had copped a feel or two of my legs, and when I awakened, he was stroking my hair and my forehead.
"I guess I should just admit to myself that Stanley and I have had a strong attraction and attachment for each other, and that it might not be so innocent after all.
"Anyway, the coffee was ready and Stanley had still not returned. One reason why this was so odd was that it had happened quite a few times lately. It seemed as if Stanley had developed the habit of taking a half hour in the bathroom each time he went. Out of curiosity, I decided to investigate.
"I went first to the main bath off the master bedroom. Empty. Then I checked the two guest room baths, and they were dark and also empty. Except for the servants' quarters, the only other bathroom was out near the garage, adjacent to the laundry. As I approached it, I could see the light was out. Something told me to slip off my shoes, which I did. Then I approached slowly, sensing that Stanley was nearby. Tiptoeing up to the bathroom door, I discovered it, too, was empty, but about the same time I heard Stanley's voice, very low, muttering some unintelligible thing to himself. He was close, wherever he was, so I went to the next room, the laundry, and peeked around the doorjamb. What I saw petrified me.
"The moonlight gave a slight relief to the darkness and I could see Stanley standing over one of the dirty-clothes baskets, from which he had taken a pair of my dirty panties, which he was holding to his nose. As a matter-of-fact he had them opened in such a way that the crotch was stretched fully over his nostrils just as if it were a chloroform mask. He was breathing in and out very deeply, and his tongue was also licking the fabric right where my cunt had soiled it the most. In his other hand lay his cock, and, Jesus, what a cock it was. Oh, I don't mean it was a monster or anything like that, but it was a nice fat six-to-seven-incher that lots of grown men would have been proud of. He wasn't really jacking off, it didn't look like; rather he was massaging it very slowly in long, full strokes. In the moonlight the head of it glistened as if it had been painted with acrylic lacquer. Obviously, droplets of come had been oozing out the head. I could tell by Stanley's motions and mutterings that he was attempting to hold off his come for as long as possible.
"My recent thoughts all poured back in upon me all at once. I remembered everything again, and it all fused together, and all of a sudden I knew perfectly well what it was I wanted.
"And then, I was galvanized into action.
"For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to barge in on him and seduce him on the spot. Hot as I was-and brother, that slick hot goo was gushing and slushing around in my cunt about this time-I still had presence of mind enough to know that I wanted to seduce Stanley in some way where he'd feel as if he had something to do with it. Maybe I wanted to help him preserve his budding manhood or some such thing, I don't know. All I know is what I did.
"Hurriedly, thinking all the time about him almost ready to come, and wanting desperately to prevent it because nothing turns me on so much as a good cuntful of the stuff, I rushed back up the corridor about twenty paces, turned around and began approaching him again. This time I was loud, and called his name. Just as I got back to the laundry room, Stanley was emerging from it. A good recovery, I thought-his pants were zipped, everything seemed in order, except for a telltale, leftover half-hard on, which I naturally noticed.
"Instead of asking him why he was in the laundry room, I thought it would be best to dismiss it. Instead I said, T was getting worried about you. Come on, the coffee's ready.'
" 'I was just washing my hands,' he offered lamely.
" 'Oh,' I answered, letting him know it didn't matter.
"In the kitchen, I decided to play it straight, but fast. I was so hot by now that I nearly just reached across the table and grabbed my poor nephew, but somehow I held back. I did do one thing, though, to make sure that Stanley wouldn't forget about sex. I still had on my pink peignoir with the little filmy satin panties, and while Stanley sat primly sipping coffee, I perched myself on the corner of the table, so that my darkly shadowed crotch was pointing right at him.
" 'Stanley,' I began, glancing down at his bulging prick again and realizing that I actually had gotten him out of there with that initial load still in his balls, 'do you remember that nice afternoon in the mountains, where I fell asleep in your lap?'
" 'Sure,' he answered.
" 'Did you enjoy it?'
" 'Yes, I did,' he answered, very seriously. " 'If I tell you something very confidentially, will you promise not to tell anyone?' " 'Of course.'
" 'Well, Stanley,' I confided, now aware that his eyes could barely stay off my ass, 'I had a dream while I was asleep. I dreamed that you were running your hands all over me and, well, I got very excited. You know what I mean, don't you?'
" 'I think so.'
" 'What? What do I mean?'
" 'Well, I think you mean you got ... hot.'
" 'Right! Exactly right. I'm surprised you know about such things, Stanley. I mean, you're only fifteen. I'm proud of you.'
" "Thanks, Aunt Francine, but ... is that all of it? Is that what you wanted to confide in me?'
" 'Well, isn't that enough? I mean, after all, I am your aunt and you are my nephew. Those aren't exactly everyday thoughts for someone like us.'
" 'Oh.'
" 'But, to tell the truth, there was one other thing I wanted to say about that day. I discovered that I enjoyed sleeping with you. Very, very much. It was such a comfort, especially now that I seem to get so lonesome all the time.'
" 'Hiked it too.'
" 'Well, that's what I was getting to. Since you're going to sleep here anyway, and since we enjoy snuggling together so good, I was thinking maybe we could do it again, only this time in a real bed. I know I'd love it, but you'll have to promise to be good.'
" 'I will, Aunt Francine; I certainly will. I'll do exactly as you say.'
"I felt like a satisfied Persian cat. I hadn't gotten to him yet, but I could almost hear his young prick throbbing in his pants. I saw him look quickly at my snatch and his face seemed to flush a bit. That was the tip-off; I knew I was getting sopping wet down there, and I suppose a little of it was seeping through the satin. Just to check, I sniffed deeply, and, yes, there was a beginning cunt-smell in the air. I lifted my ass languorously off the table (and it was a good ass-once, years past, an artistic lover I had known in New York said that in tight panties, I had a 'sculpturesque' ass) and I beckoned for Stanley to follow. He did, though with obvious trepidation.
"In the bedroom, I was nearly frantic to get things going, but I knew a proper seduction would give him a memory to savor all of his life. Hot as I was, I was prepared to force myself to do it right.
"Stanley stood near the bed, seemingly awaiting instructions. Poor kid. He was both terrified and beside himself with arousal.
" 'Well, get your things off, honey, and hop in.' " 'Okay,' he answered, a light quaver in his voice.
"I pulled the covers back and climbed in just as I was, peignoir and all. Stanley stripped to his shorts and climbed in, too. Just as might be expected, he turned his back to me and lay stiff as a board. I lay flat on my back and considered my next move. At length I said, 'Stanley?'
" 'Yes?'
" 'Stanley, there's one thing I must mention while I'm thinking of it. It has to do with our aunt-nephew relationship.'
" 'Yes. What?'
" 'Well, I'm going to have to ask you to make a promise. You're going to have to agree that you'll never tell a soul that we slept together.'
" 'Sure, I promise-I understood that anyway.'
" 'Yes, but do you really understand how important it is?'
" 'Why, I think so.'
" "That's not good enough.' As I said this, I reached over and touched his arm for emphasis, tugging just a bit to bring him to his back. Now talking, at least, would be easier. I leaned closer to him and added, 'Don't you realize what would happen if anyone found out? If the servants, for example, found out that we had slept together, they'd automatically assume that you had fucked me.'
" 'What?'
" 'You heard me. They'd think you were sticking your prick in me.'
"I could tell that got him a little. He was stock still. I added, 'And that's called incest. Boys are not supposed to fuck their aunts.'
"I rolled over toward him a little and whispered in his ear, 'So we'll just be sure and keep this our little secret, and then nobody'll be able to spread filthy stories about you sticking this...'-and at that point I ran my hand over the front of his shorts' ... prick of yours up in my cunt.'
"I'm sure he shivered. I relaxed back into my previous position on my back and pretended to be dozing off. I could sense that Stanley was wide awake, probably staring at the dark air, and that he undoubtedly would love to have my hand back on his cock. But I was by now bound and determined to make this a lasting experience. After a few moments, I sat up and said, 'Damn, this thing is uncomfortable.' " 'Huh?'
" 'Oh, I was just trying to get to feeling natural. Listen, Stanley, do you think it would be safe if I slept nude like I usually do?'
" 'Why sure, I guess so.'
" 'Are you sure?'
" 'Sure, I'm sure, Aunt Francine.'
" 'Well, okay,' I murmured, and sat up to slip off my things. Then, as if remembering something, I jumped up from the bed and went to the window and opened the drapes. The moonlight streamed in-the same moonlight that had outlined his gorgeous prick in the laundry room-and I made sure to slip out of my panties while still framed by that moonlight so that my whole body appeared to Stanley as a moving chiaroscuro. Then I hopped back into bed, making sure to get a little closer to the center, and then I asked him, 'Aren't you going to take your shorts off, honey?'
" 'Oh, well ... uh ... no, I guess not.'
" 'You should, you know.'
" 'I should? Why?'
" 'Because that hard on will feel better if you let it spring out.'
"I could hear him gulp. Poor Stanley. He was so hot the bed was trembling. But, I should talk ... my poor cunt was killing me by this time.
" 'Here, I'll help you out of them,' I offered, and leaned down and snapped a thumb under the elastic on each side of his waist. Before he could think about it, I slipped his jock shorts down and off his feet. Then I came back up and let my fingers graze over the length of that marvelous prick, finally applying a few light touches at the base of his balls. 'Now, doesn't that feel much better? It can stick up in the air all night long and it won't get that strapped-up feeling.'
"He groaned a little and my heart did a little flip. Finally, he had acknowledged what was happening. I got bolder.
" 'Did that feel good?' I asked.
" 'Oh, Jesus,' he moaned. 'Yesssss ... I never imagined....'
" 'Want me to do it some more?'
"Stanley gurgled out a weak 'yes,' and I felt a wave of new power sweep over me. Though I realized how mean I was being to extend this seduction like I was, I felt the strength of the universe flowing into my veins and I could not stop. I rolled over to my nephew to tease him some more. I actually grabbed his hot prick in my full hand this time and massaged it a little bit, talking to him again as I did so.
" 'Stanley, I just thought of another problem we might have.'
" 'What?' he answered, in a disinterested sigh.
" 'Well, I toss and turn in my sleep. If I accidentally toss the wrong way, I might wake up and find this nice hard prick of yours jabbing way up high in my pussy. There sure wouldn't be anything to hinder it.'
" 'What do you mean?'
" 'Here. Give your finger and I'll show you.' I grabbed his hand, rolled him to me a bit-using his prick as a handle, sort of-and put his single middle finger right into my steaming hole.
" 'Get the idea?'
" 'God, that's wet. And hot.'
" 'Sure it is, honey. That's what I mean. Your prick would just slide right in. Probably wouldn't even wake me up.'
" "That's hard to believe,' Stanley said.
" 'Well, it's the truth. And if you don't believe me, I'll prove it to you.'
"He didn't answer, so I took my cue. In a quick move I got up on my knees and straddled him. 'Now you just watch how easy this goes in.' I reached down below me and finally did the thing I had been burning to do for the last fifteen minutes-I laid the tip of his glistening prick right into the sopping hole between the folds of my hungry cunt, and then I simply sat down on it! I guess I can't really describe adequately what a supreme and delicious delight that was, and for purposes of telling the story it will have to be sufficient to say that my nephew's prick was full and strong and fat and that my seething cunt needed it desperately. In one uninterrupted in-stroke of unbelievable ease and warmth, the boy's long, fat prick slid directly in up to the hilt, and it felt to me as if it must be a yard long and imbedded to my lungs, at least. It wasn't the biggest prick I've ever accommodated, but it was plenty big enough, and about twice as much as a woman would expect from a fifteen-year-old.
"Settled down as far as I could get, I felt Stanley's balls snuggled against my ass-cheeks. They apparently were pulled up tightly against his cock-shaft like two fists, rather than hanging loosely. Those two balls, as well as my ass-cheeks, were heavily lubricated with the juices dripping out of my cunt, and even the mingling hairs of my cunt and his pubic regions were sopped and stringing together. Altogether, the whole area down there was as gooey and slippery as two old-time wrestlers swabbed down completely in warm axle-grease.
"And to make it all the more marvelous, I could feel the head of my nephew's cock twitch every once in a while, giving full proof of its life and energy.
"I sat absolutely still. That's all there had been, that one sitting-thrust. I wanted more than anything in the world to raise myself up and let my whole body fall into that hot prick again and again, but that would come in time. For now, I wanted to pursue my little game.
" 'See?' I said. 'It just went right in. It's all the way in right up to your balls. Now what's to prevent that from happening accidentally?'
"Stanley was trying to move his prick up and down a little inside of me. I sat down firmly to prevent any friction, and added, 'Stanley, didn't you hear me? You aren't answering.'
" 'Oh, God, Aunt Francine. It feels so good!'
" 'Sure it does-it feels just as good to me. But we can't actually do it with each other because ... well, because people just don't fuck their relatives.' i
" 'But we are doing it!'
" 'Oh no; this is just a demonstration to show you how dangerous it could be if we got careless. If we were really going to do it, I'd get on my back and let you sock your prick into me as hard as you wanted to, until you shot a big load of hot cum up inside me. That's the difference between actually fucking and just demonstrating, like this!' Even as I said this, my cunt made a large and surging involuntary gripping on his cock and almost betrayed me. For that matter, I was so hot I could feel an orgasm coming on, rising up to the skies, just while I was sitting there motionless! Somehow I held it back, because when it did come, I wanted the full thing, and I wanted it to be with Stanley.
" 'Jesus, Aunt Francine, I'm starting to feel....' " 'Yes, yes, I know, darling. You want to come, don't you?'
" 'Oh, God, more than anything!'
"I don't know how I was holding back any longer. Sweat was stringing my hair and my breathing was rapid and shallow, and I'm sure my flesh was flushed and chilled at once. Now I had to hold off just a bit more, just another little bit-if I could.
" 'Stanley, if I let you shoot your cum up in my cunt, are you absolutely certain you'll never tell a soul?'
" 'Oh, yes, Auntie, yes, yes, yes!!! '
" 'And will you promise to do everything I tell you to do when it comes to sex?'
" 'Anything-ANYTHING, just let me get on top of you!! '
" 'Absolute promise? Be sure, Stanley, before you say, because I might hold you to it the rest of your life.'
" 'I PROMISE FOREVER!!! '
" 'Alright, darling, but you don't have to get on top. Just close your eyes and let me do it.' And then finally, after having agonized myself almost to the point of insanity, I raised my body so that his turgid, raging prick was almost out of it, and I then I slammed to the hilt, feeling that good young cockhead jam up into my cervix. Stanley groaned mindlessly. Up again to the point of near-withdrawal and down with all the power I possessed-and Stanley began to tense. Up again--DOWN; up again-DOWN-DOWN; up high this time-AND DOWN LIKE A PILE DRIVER!!!
"And that's all it took, brother! About five or six strokes. That's how hot we both were. Stanley's body convulsed, and a half-stroke later, I felt my own insides tighten up like a clenched fist and then let go, as if the universe had exploded. Moist sounds then reached my ears, and at the same time I felt the hot spurt wash against my whole insides and come cascading down my vaginal walls to meet the new spurt and all the juices mixed together and the whole bed area under us was sopping and we were drenched in each other. My own orgasm matched Stanley's perfectly and we crested with each other and then collapsed together, my head nuzzled into the hollow of his neck."
In order for the reader to understand the true nature of this case history, we must call upon certain additional ideas concerning sexuality. Up to this point, we have been dealing with the basic concepts of pedophilia and incestuous consummation of half-blood relationships. Now, for the first time, we have an example of all the foregoing, augmented by the stress form known as sadomasochistic response in the dominant female. Here, in all the glory of its day-to-day occurrence in every stratum of our society, we are confronted with an aggressive woman employing all the wiles and whimsy of the pursuing female, hi a relationship where it is patently unnecessary.
Francine could have had Stanley on any terms she wished. She knew this. Nor did she have to invest weeks or months or years of playacting into this seduction; any indecision or torturing of self was a voluntary choice on her part (except in the final psychologic sense, where nothing is really voluntary). In truth, Francine had only to sort out a few items in her mind, at which point the die would be cast. Later, it will be seen that Stanley's scatologic performance in the laundry room did actually play a catalytic role in Francine's final decision to seduce the boy, but we believe that if it had not been that, it would have been something else, since the seeds of seduction had been present for quite some time.
According to the interview, knowledge by both parties of Stanley's mother's promiscuity could have contributed (as an indirect motivation) to the awareness of the incestuous possibility in the minds of both Stanley and Francine. However, in all fairness, it must be mentioned that observable suggestions of this nature rarely act as prime triggers. Not every boy who sees or knows of his mother's promiscuity is so directed-for that matter, such observations more often drive the sons into a new and restrictive moralism, where, for reasons not quickly explainable, they attempt to atone for the "family sin." In the diverse world of psychology, there is very little direct emulation, even of parents. Emotive and psychical responses are usually once-removed (at the least) from the focal point.
Allowing that pretty much the same motivational elements exist in this history as in those previous, we must mention two additional factors: the element of great wealth (Stanley's parents were coupon clippers and their stockbrokers had instructions to deal through management firms unless ten million or more was involved; Francine was on a similar level-having inherited the holdings of her husband's banking interests), and secondly, the element of Stanley's isolation from the world which resulted from all this wealth. Stanley could walk the three blocks from his parents' baronial mansion to Francine's rambling estate (there were no other houses in between) at will, since it had been established in both homes that Francine was essentially the final voice in Stanley's affairs. In effect, she was his mother. Given the earlier comments we have made regarding the mother-surrogate, it can be readily understood that the consummation depicted in the case history thus far did indeed have the symbolic value of maternal incest for the boy.
We are left with the new element, the sadomasochistic quality of the first consummation. Francine was playing a game, one which caused both Stanley and herself relative discomfort. True, this is the game many women play with men in a day-to-day framing; when they tease a little and then stop short, they accomplish two things: (1) a power gratification which translates into both recognition and achievement, thereby affording the woman a method of relieving anxieties stemming from self-doubt, and (2) a release from accruing tensions having to do with sadomasochism.
Sadomasochism is related most closely to what the eminent Harry Stack Sullivan has termed the malevolent transformation. In his book, The Interpersonal Theory of Psychiatry, he tells us: " ... one of the great social theories, you know, is that society is the only thing that prevents everybody from tearing everybody to bits; or that man is possessed of something wonderful called sadism...."
Expanding on the theme that natural outlets prevent our steam from accumulating to the bursting point, one might indeed think of sadism as a blessing rather than a curse, but before it can be decided whether this is sophisticated reasoning or specious, one must inquire what we would have if we had no sadism. Presumably everyone would be under control until sanity left.
In a less general sense, sadism is a stress-release function whereby an individual must now and again test his (suspected) powers in an act of dominance and superiority. To inflict pain is demonstrably equivalent to having one's own sense of worth reinforced. This is so because, for the moment, the sadist becomes ruling and omnipotent, from which perch immunity is guaranteed from criticism. We have read of a case where a sadist could not wield his whip hard enough to satisfy the masochist, and after receiving scathing criticism from the masochist, the sadist gave up and then simply sat down and cried.
A telling example of sadism at work in its most simplistic form can be shown by the child who tortures the wings off flies or paints the cat. Here the child is saying, "See? I am omnipotent. I can do to you what my parents can do to me." Sadism is usually an exploitative displacement of a fear of self-worth, regardless of the form it takes and, oddly, masochism is much the same. Only the additional element of guilt is present to activate the masochist into something more (and more complicated) than the sadist. These two aberrations are sides of the same coin.
The masochist, in the act of seeking and then accepting pain, is in effect saying, "I am not worth so much as those about me. This is because I am bad, and I am bad because I have done bad things and thought bad thoughts. My guilt is burdensome, and I can only wash it away if I am punished properly."
As it happens, both sadism and masochism (or sadomasochism, if one prefers) are cumulative in stress value. Just as carbon monoxide accumulates in the body until finally it takes only a little bit more to kill, the stresses of sadomasochism (the feelings of guilt, of inadequacy, the need for omnipotence) accumulate little by little until a lethal dose resides in the host. Then he or she must act (or face great psychic consequences). Thus it is that acts of sadism and masochism are born.
Sadomasochism exists, as does practically everything, in varying degrees. We have, for example, the "soft" sadisms and masochisms, as exemplified in our case history of Francine and Stanley.
Francine is satisfied in a simple hurt (withholding herself from the same person in whom she has induced great arousal), and with simple self-hurt (the same denial); however, her meanness is more evident in the staging and scene-setting than in the acts themselves. She had a need to be as teasingly provocative as possible, and to be devious in the bargain. All of these things are the same ball of wax, psychologically speaking, and only help to substantiate what we have already observed.
Further considerations become evident as we go on with the history. One eventually comes to wonder just what kind of a sibling relationship the sisters had when young. It becomes clear as we proceed, that certain highly advantaged people sometimes have difficulty in finding new ways to compete with one another. Finally, within the limits of the narrative, we shall attempt to deal somewhat with Stanley's scatological attraction and saliromania.
" 'If you want the truth, Stanley, I really got turned on when I saw you in there in the laundry-room, sniffing the crotch of my panties.'
" 'I've been doing that for a long time-over a year.'
" 'Now you won't have to anymore.' " 'How's that?'
" 'Well, wouldn't you rather get it from the source than secondhand?'
" 'Gee, I never thought of that, Auntie.'
"The sun was streaming in through the window, the servants were still gone, and I was laying next to the most wonderful nephew a woman could ever hope to have. My God, I thought, how could I have been passing up this kind of action? I should have introduced Stanley to the mysteries of life a year ago. And he was such a great sex student!
That second fuck last night, with Stanley on top and my legs wrapped up around his shoulder blades; that was just the end of the world! And young kids like him seem to have so damned much stamina! Just fuck, fuck, fuck. Every time I asked him to give it to me harder, he did! Now what grown man would think of being like that? Every big-time stud I've been introduced to seemed to be interested in himself, his own satisfaction-maybe that's why I've gotten so turned off on these playboys and princes and dukes and actors that my sister's been bringing home for me. Well, she can have them. I'll take kids; and especially, I'll take Stanley. Jesus, what a doll!
"I guess it would be wrong to say that we had a third fuck last night. And yet I'll bet Stanley came about five times and me about twice that number. The reason I say that we never had a third fuck is that he never took it out.'. '. ' And, if memory serves me properly, I don't think he even got soft until the end of it. My pussy was tingling so good, and so full of hot cum, that I'll never forget the feel of it. Stanley's last come frankly didn't amount to much, a couple of drops at most, and I thought I'd die laughing the way he sort of just rolled off me and collapsed. I'll bet he was asleep in three seconds. I was very proud of him-and myself-and I dropped off to sleep thinking of all the things Stanley and I could do. First, I would have to do something about the servants--that could be real danger. And then there was my sister to consider. And then there was nothing more to think about, so I rolled over and threw an arm over Stanley, grabbing his flaccid prick, now a little piece of worn meat not much larger than a Vienna sausage.
"And then the sun was streaming in. I was in the same position and so was Stanley, and I still had a firm hold of his cock, only it was no longer a Vienna sausage. Now it was more like a plump knackwurst. It filled my hand so that I could barely close my fingers around it.
"Slowly, very slowly, I began stroking it. Up to the top, down to the bottom where his nice tight balls didn't seem very small either. Touching those balls made me think of all the cum they had furnished for my hungry cunt, and the thought occurred to me that I should get up and douche before my cunt got real stinky and crusty.
"I was actually on the verge of getting up and bathing, and then I happened to remember that Stanley had gotten some kind of sexual satisfaction while sniffing my dirty panties. Well, if that's what he liked, far be it from me to deprive him. I got the satin panties I had been wearing the night before off of the floor where I had thrown them, and then I took the crotch part and wiped my cunt with them. But the outside was kind of dry and flaky. I drove some of the crotch up into the hole with a finger and wiped it around, but most of the cum was up further and I couldn't really get to it. I tested the panties and they had a fairly cunt-like, dank odor, but it simply wasn't enough for someone like Stanley.
"Then I had a thought. Obviously when Stanley had enjoyed my dirty panties the night before, those panties had had an accumulation of cunt odors in them, including, probably, a few drops of piss. I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, panties in hand. After pissing, I wiped myself with the crotch of the panties instead of toilet paper, and that was just the added touch that was needed. I tested them again and they had a rich, deep, brackish-herring kind of aroma. I was very pleased.
"Back at the bed, Stanley was supine, so I just laid the panties on his face, with the inside of the crotch area right over his nostrils. Then I waited.
"After a few moments, Stanley seemed to start breathing deeper, as if he was having a bit of difficulty getting air through the fabric. Much more important, though, was what was happening to him down at the other end. I saw the covers begin to rise a little bit in the area of his prick, so I uncovered him completely, and I was greeted by the most gorgeous piece of meat a girl could hope for, and it was sticking straight up in the air, blue veins throbbing and the pink circumcised head greased and slick from droplets of cum.
"Stanley's deep breathing continued. I decided to wake him up slowly and delightfully. First, I climbed down between his legs. His legs were together, so I had to spend valuable minutes getting them apart without waking him up. Then I crawled upward and started licking him under the balls and around the base of the cock. After a bit of that, I started making long stroking laps beginning underneath his balls and going all the way to the tip of his prick, just exactly the way a kid licks an ice-cream cone to keep the goodies from running off the cone itself. At length, I capped the top of it with my mouth and ran my tongue around the head, getting the whole thing good and wet. Then, as a final warm up, I took the whole thing in my mouth and went up and down on it a few times, just enough to coat it with saliva. Actually, I don't care much for sucking cock, and I've never done it any more than necessary to get a man good and ready. As far as letting a guy come in my mouth, no thanks! I know there are lots of women who love it-Stanley's mother is one of them-but it just doesn't turn me on.
"Anyway, when Stanley's prick was ready-that it, when it was dripping wet and rigid as a pole-I came up for air and crawled up so that I was straddling just like I had been the night before, only this time I was very careful about waking him. I got up over him in such a way that no part of my body was touching his. It was quite a feat and I had to contort myself to keep my legs far enough apart and my cunt high enough so that I could get up to his midsection without any skin contact. Finally, I made it. My cunt was hovering over the head of his prick like a praying mantis over a victim. I reached beneath me and took his rigid prick in-between two fingers as gingerly as I could, and then I laid the head against my now well-lubricated cunt.
"My nerves were on edge. I was trying so hard to do this right. I have no idea why it seemed so important for me not to wake him. It seemed at the time that I was drawn between two different feelings-first, I wanted to take advantage of him, and, second, I felt that this should be a-private ecstasy that I should share with no one. It would be almost like masturbating, but without any of the drawbacks, if I could pull it off.
"Very gently, with the touch of a brain surgeon, I lowered my body. A tenth of an inch at a time, no more. I felt contact, and froze immediately. I watched his face, with the panties still bathing his nose, but he gave no signs of waking. Again I touched, and this time I reached down to open my cunt. When his prickhead touched, there was someplace for it to go, and now I allowed myself to settle down maybe a half-inch or so before I stopped. My whole body ached from the strain of perched motionlessness, but I wanted to keep checking his face for a response. By this time, I had gotten awfully hot, and besides the muscular strain, there was another reason why I wanted to sit all the way down.
"Little by little I lowered myself. I had an almost irresistible urge to raise myself too, and make a stroking motion of it, but I suspected this kind of thing would wake Stanley. The way I was going at it, though, I was by now nearly crazy. I decided to get bolder; I lowered myself a whole inch, about, and it seemed for a worrisome second that Stanley had awakened. But he settled back to deep breathing. I lowered myself again, and by this time I must have had four or five inches of cock in me.
"I couldn't stop descending this last time. I just kept going until I felt my inner legs brush against his hips. He was still asleep. I settled all the way down and felt his nice fat cockhead jam up tightly against my cervix. I felt overfull, like someone with too much turkey in him, but it was absolutely wonderful. I settled completely into a relaxed position and then leaned forward, so that my tits were brushing Stanley's chest. I checked one last time-he was still deeply asleep.
"I went into my act. My husband-and others-had told me that I had the most educated pussy in the business. But those kinds of platitudes don't mean much when you know the guy is just trying to get you to lay down again. Just one more reason why I dig kids so much. They're artless, but they're sincere. Anyway, back to my act: I strained my stomach muscles, as if to pull in my gut to get into a new dress; then I let that contraction work lower, until the groin muscles were pulling together, much the same as when someone tries to pull their ass-cheeks together. Next I started a belly-dancer type of muscular roll between the lower intestine and the cunt. Little by little I could feel the normally unused muscles of my cunt limbering up, so that by now Stanley's prick was being gently jacked off by something that I had been told felt very much like a closing and opening fist. That's why my boyfriends called me a 'snapper.' I had, first of all, a natural talent for this sort of thing, and secondly, I had spent long hours of practice, developing those certain muscles as much as possible.
"I stepped up both the tempo and the grip. Soon I was constricting and relaxing very rapidly, and I'm sure that Stanley's prick was being gripped very strongly. It shouldn't be too long before I had some results, I thought; a few contractions more should do it. I worked my little ass off. I gave it all I had. Faster and faster.
"The first thing that happened was that my panties came flying off Stanley's nose. His hands were rubbing his eyes, and his very first waking motions coincided perfectly with a good hot spurt of cum, followed by a quick and even more copious second, and all of this was happening at the very instant he was regaining consciousness. That's got to be called 'coming' awake. By the time the third spurt of cream shot up in me, I had begun an honest-to-God physical up-and-down motion, and I furiously milked off the rest of his load.
" 'Oh, God, yes, yes, YES!' he was groaning, as soon as he got his voice. Just about the time he was fully awake and comprehending, however, his come was just ending. Poor boy. It took some time for him to really understand the whole thing, however, and I had climbed completely off of him before he sensed that this was a beautiful way to wake up and that he might want some more of it.
"Shortly after that, while I was lying there on my back with my eyes closed, savoring the wonderful warm feeling of a cuntful of young-boy cum, Stanley decided that he needed some answers to questions that were bugging him.
" 'Francine?'
" 'Yes, darling?'
" 'Do adults do that every morning?'
" 'Some do, most of them don't.'
" "That was great. Jesus, that was super.'
" 'Why, thank you, you beautiful boy. I'll tell you what, though, since you seem interested. If you were staying with me regularly, I'd wake you up that way every morning-every morning I woke up before you did, that is.'
" 'God, I can't imagine anything better than that.'
" 'Okay, it's a deal. But first, we have to get something settled about where you're going to live. It's going to require some thinking, believe me.'
"Stanley seemed to savor that information, and then he thought of something else. 'Francine,' he asked, 'when I first woke up, wasn't there something on my face-a handkerchief or something like that?'
" 'Yes, darling. A pair of my panties.'
" 'Oh? How did they get on my face?'
" 'I put them there.'
" 'You did? Why would you do a thing like that?'
"I turned to him and opened my eyes. 'I saw you in the laundry room last night....'
"And that's the story of how Stanley and I got into our conversation that first morning. As I've mentioned earlier, I then told Stanley that I thought he would enjoy getting his odors and tastes from the source, and now the time had come for me to explain to him how that worked. I wanted to be sure not to do or say anything that might spoil things....
"After thinking this out for a few minutes, I said, 'Stanley, tell me, have you ever sniffed anyone's panties other than mine?'
"He looked sheepish a minute and then answered softly, 'Yes.' " 'Whose?' " 'Mom's.'
"Somehow that shocked me a little bit, but after thinking about it another minute it didn't seem so awful after all. I asked him, 'Were hers as good as mine?'
"He seemed to flush. In a very low voice he answered, 'I don't know.'
" 'Well, were they different?' " 'Yeah, I guess so.' " 'How?'
" 'Well, you know Mom goes on lots of trips and things, and when she gets home she's always got dozens of pairs of dirty panties. It seems like hers always have a variety of smells-every pair is different.'
" 'Well, you know why, don't you?'
" 'No, I don't think I do.'
" 'Well, you know as well as I do that your mother gets a lot of strange fucking. I guess every man's come is different.'
" 'I ... never thought of that.'
" 'I could provide you with an assortment, just like she does.'
" 'No, oh no, Aunt Francine, don't do that.'
" 'Why? Don't you want me fucking other men?'
"'Hell no. Oh, my God, no! I want you for myself.
" 'Why, Stanley, that's about the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. You can't know how much I'm touched by it.'
" 'Well, that's how I feel.'
" 'Wonderful. And that's going to make this morning's lesson that much better.' " 'Lesson?'
" 'Sure. Remember, you already said you'd be interested in getting closer to the source.'
"And that's how I got Stanley started in the ancient and honorable art of cunt-eating. He took to it like a kitten to a saucer of milk. All I had to do was touch him and he sprang down between my legs, which I spread wide. Then I lay back languidly, shutting my eyes. There is absolutely nothing I like better than to have my cunt eaten. I've never said no to anyone who wanted to eat me, and I've even paid good sums of money to various people, mostly women, for a top-notch job on my cunt. So far as I'm concerned, an expert tongue-job is worth just about my sum of money.
"But this was going to be different. Already, without Stanley even having touched my cunt, I was as hot or hotter than I had ever been, and I knew that even if Stanley did it clumsily, I would enjoy it immensely-just because it was him doing it. It was the idea of being eaten by my nephew which appealed to me first; the prospect of the thing feeling great was definitely secondary.
"I instructed him, first of all, to take a good look at my cunt, to open it up and poke around inside, and then to examine all its parts with his fingers, too. Then I told him to lay his nose as far into the crack as possible and inhale real deeply. Then I asked him if that was as good as sniffing panties, but his reply was muffled, and I didn't repeat the question.
"Next, I taught him all the usual things-about licking up to the cunt gradually, about blowing into it, and how to lick the lips apart. He especially loved exposing the pink insides, and when he ran into the oozing leftover cum rolling out in little streams into the crack of my ass and around my ass-hole, he began licking it up without having to be told.
"We spent some time like that, because I didn't want to rush my lovely nephew. But nothing stands still, and I was anxious to get him star on the technique that tears me out of my skull.
" 'Stanley,' I murmured, like a contented cat. 'Are you ready for some more instructions?'
" 'Umm hmmmm,' he muttered.
" 'Alright, now start running your tongue from my ass-hole all the way up to my clitoris.'
"He did that.
" 'Now, Stanley, this time when you get to the clitoris, stay on it about ten or fifteen seconds, then back off and go back to the ass-hole and start over.'
"He did this, too, but he didn't linger long enough on my clit.
" 'We're going to have to do it in rhythm, Stanley. Now do it like I tell you. I'm going to start counting, slowly, like this: one ... two ... and so on. Now start flutter-tonguing my ass-hole and do that until I reach the count of two. All during the three count, make the long, slow lap up along my cunt lips, dipping inside the hole with the tip of your tongue when you pass it; and then try to time it so that you reach my clitoris on the count of four. Start waving your tongue at it as fast as you can, but just barely touching it, and hold it just like that until the count of ten. And then we'll start over. Have you got that?'
"He mumbled something else that sounded like a yes. Then before the start of this serious business, I propped my ass up on a pillow, so he'd have as fully exposed a cunt as possible. Then I threw my arms akimbo, shut my eyes, and told him to begin. I told him that I would count for him until he got the rhythm. He then rearranged himself so he'd be more comfortable and also so that he could cup a hand under each of my buttocks and sort of eat me like an open melon. Then, when he was ready, he let me know and I began counting.
" 'One'-he give me about six or seven flutters on the ass-hole-Two'-he began the open-tongued lapping upward, then dipped quickly into the hole-"Three'-still going upward, timing perfect, he passed the flanges of the paper-thin, little red inner lips and landed on my clitoris right on the count of-'Four'-and when his tongue did hit, he had it going like a hummingbird's wings, and he held it just like that, a little harder, a little softer, but all of it just perfect, and it lasted-'Seven'-so nice and long, and-'Eight'-then he quickened the already beautiful fluttering-'Nine' and then altered the touch some more, and I was-"Ten'-just about coming!!!
"He began again, and I knew I would make it this time. Jesus, I don't think anyone in the world had ever been as sizzling hot as I was just then. Again, he hit the ass-hole, and I began my count, then up to the slit:-
"-and he stopped.
"I opened my eyes to see what was happening.
"Stanley was up on his knees and cum was running down his chin. He was looking towards the door, and just as I turned my head to see what it was, I heard Stanley say, 'MOM!!! , WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?'
"I suppose that everyone faces things like this sometime or other in their lives. For me it was a funny moment, and my mind seemed to quickly rush over all the feelings I had for Clarice, Stanley's mother. We'd had good feelings for each other-and bad. She had some fine qualities, but, like all humans, she sometimes did some petty things. I guess I loved her in my way, but she had become something of a stranger these past few years. Her jet-setting had changed her drastically. I suppose that in the final analysis she was a good sister. I had no complaints.
"But I was momentarily scared to death, and deathly embarrassed. How often had something like this happened in the history of humans? How liberal a view had jet-setting given Clarice? Why was she back so soon? Underneath, I'm sure I was trembling.
"Stanley repeated, 'Mom, what are you doing here?' Then, ludicrously, he added, 'How long have you been there at the door?' as if it mattered, as if she hadn't seen enough just the way it was.
" 'Hello, Clarice,' I said, still in the same spread-eagled position.
"Hello, Francine,' Clarice answered, with neither a frown nor a smile.
"Then Stanley lowered his head and voice both and added his hello.
"There was yet another moment of pained silence, and then finally Clarice said, 'Looks like there's just as much going on around here as there is at those parties I've been going to.'
"I smiled at her, as if to say she was perfectly correct. Clarice went on, 'Well, that's all over anyway. I'm getting a divorce.'
"Stanley and I both studied her. It had been such an out-of-place thing to say. Clarice had not so much as acknowledged that her son was eating her sister when she barged in. However, we had not long to wait to find out her true reaction.
"Clarice stepped fully into the room, removed her coat, and came over to the bed where I still lay as open as ever, and where Stanley was trying vainly to hide his prick between his legs. She sat down beside him and reached down. She grappled with his clamped legs a minute or two, then finally extracted her hand with Stanley's still-rigid prick in it.
" 'I can't believe it,' she said to herself. "The last time I saw this thing, it was about an inch long. Now look at it. Why, it's absolutely lovely.'
" "That's how I felt about it,' I added.
"Clarice was stroking it a little now. She was sitting on the bottom of the bed where Stanley was and could see directly into my cunt just like" he could. Glancing at my cunt and then back at the bolt-hard prick in her hand, she asked me, 'Has he fucked you with this yet?'
" 'Yes, we fucked all last night, and then once this morning. I was just teaching him to eat me.'
" 'Stanley,' his mother said, 'I think you had better listen very carefully to everything Aunt Francine tells you. If you learn properly, you could be a great stud. Why don't you let me see what you've learned so far?'
"Stanley looked at her, and then at his prick still lodged in her hand, and then dipped low and once again began fluttering his tongue against my ass-hole. This time we did it without an audible count, but it was pretty much the same. When he lapped up the length of the slit this time, however, he had to stop long enough to swallow the cum, which had been sort of accumulating in drips right at the hole. When he got to the clitoris, he fluttered his tongue for about the same duration he had before, but when he tried to leave the area, Clarice bent down, pointed her finger, and said, 'Give it to her right there a little longer, sweetheart.'
" 'Yes, Mother,' Stanley mumbled.
"I noticed that Clarice was stroking Stanley's cock gently as he was eating me. I could see the head of it glistening. And so could she-her eyes were glued on it.
"Once again, twice again, Stanley performed the ritualistic cunt-lapping, and I began my come. It was building right from the start. He gained the ass-hole again and began his third ascent, and the top of my head was blowing off-'Oh my good Christ!' I screamed. 'Aaaaaaahhhhhh, ohhhhhh, oooo-' And then when he finished me off at the clitoris, the whole goddamned world came apart in shreds and I just sank into a warm ball of quivering, semi-human flesh. And then there was silence.
"A very mysterious silence. I looked up.
"It was such a tender scene. Stanley had laid back, and his mother, Clarice, was hunched down between his legs, and believe it or not, she had every inch of that beautiful cock imbedded deeply in her throat-so deeply that her lips were flush up to his pubic hairs. And the poor kid must have been hotter than ever. Even, as I watched, I saw Clarice's throat working, and I heard the faint sound of peristalsis, and I knew she was swallowing a goodly flow of liquid.
"Later, that evening, after a full day of swimming and chatting, we all shared a good dinner followed by vintage wines. In the course of the conversation, we made plans for an around-the-world voyage by steamer-a year-long affair, maybe. Plans for the three of us, I might add. And then, we mused, maybe another year in a hideaway, somewhere-just the three of us."
Unfortunately, we have had no opportunity to follow through the progress of this case history. Much of the data that would comprise valuable "fill-in" material is missing, and therefore any usable prognosis is not possible.
In the course of early therapy and even earlier interviews, a somewhat functional profile of Francine was charted, and from that point the therapist was able to expressly formulate a plan which would have served to lessen the anxiety of her incestuous guilt. She discontinued her therapy at a most inopportune time, however, apparently piqued that the therapist had even suggested such a thing as "guilt." It is something of a commentary on human nature that each of us sees ourself as essentially guiltless, while at the same time our unconscious mind knows better. While there is little evidence in either this narrative or in the other interview material, there is good cause to believe that Francine is developing guilts of so serious a nature that her life may become unmanageable at a later date.
The chief concern should be the teenage boy, but of him we know nothing beyond Francine's narrative. We know very little more of Clarice, the mother. Therefore, the most serious of the incest ties cannot be made a subject of serious comment.
And yet, within the admitted limits of recreating this most interesting history, we feel we have accomplished the fundamental purpose of writings such as these-to inform a readership whose curiosity is helping to expand the awareness of all Americans.
CHAPTER FIVE
'KID SISTERS CAN RUIN EVERYTHING'
"'Hey, Maxine!' Dad yelled, struggling through the airport mob to the luggage dock. I guess he had caught a glimpse of her somehows-he was supposedly tall and striking-but I don't know how; that mob was something else! I held my sister Alice's arm, just to keep her from being washed away in that sea of people.
" 'He's seen her,' Alice said to me, and I nodded, still trying to inch closer so we'd stay close to Dad. Eventually, Dad did come back to us, and he had what appeared to be a Miss America, or Mrs. America, I guess, on his arm. He was beaming.
" 'Kids,' he offered, as soon as we were where we could hear ourselves think, 'this is your aunt Maxine, my absolutely favorite sister.' Turning first to Alice, he added, 'My daughter Alice.'
" 'What a pretty little niece,' Maxine said, 'and, look how you've grown! You must have been eight or nine when I saw you last. How old are you now?'
" 'Fifteen, Aunt Maxine,' Alice answered, obviously pleased.
" 'And this is Robert. He's just finishing high school.'
"I extended my hand, though it seemed awkward with a woman. She stepped toward me and I to her, something like a friendly attraction, I suppose. Her hand grasped mine, lightly, and she said, 'Now, this is what I call a strapping boy. Hello, Robert.'
"Something seemed to happen right then. I don't know if it was the way she looked at me, or the way her hand felt, but I do know that we each took a sort of special note of each other. I withdrew my hand, which seemed to have remained in hers just a split second too long, and said, 'Pleased to meet ya, ma'am,' and then immediately felt stupid. I sure could have said something better than that.
" 'Well, this is really going to be an experience,' Aunt Maxine said, and she grabbed us two kids, one by each arm. 'Here I am, never had a child of my own, suddenly inheriting two of them, practically grown.'
"She certainly had a dental-ad type smile and she was dressed in a beautiful red suit. It was all set off with one of those funny upswept hairdos. God, but she was built! I know she was taller than me, and those spiked heels just added to it. I know Dad's at least six-three, and she seemed to be looking at him at the same eye level.
"After a few more of those gushy family things, like 'What have you been doing?' and 'How's the job going?' we wound our way to the parking lot, got in the car and went home. In the car, Maxine sat in front, and neither Alice nor I failed to note that she occasionally leaned over and whispered something in Dad's ear, after which they both laughed. It didn't really amount to anything much, but it did seem strange for a brother and sister who hadn't seen each other for years, and were for all practical purposes unknown to each other, to be acting so intimately. One would think they had been lovers instead of relatives.
"At home, it was a wild mess. Luggage, rearranging things, squeezing in dinner, wow! I couldn't sneak off to bed fast enough.
"It was about two hours later, and at about the usual time, that my door slipped open silently and Alice crept in, silhouetted by the dim hall light. Without a word, she crawled into bed with me, snuggled up close, and dropped her right hand to my. ready prick. As always, she locked her mouth onto my right ear and started sticking her tongue into it. At the same time, she began stroking my cock.
"By this time, Alice knew exactly what I liked and what I didn't care for. She snuggled up close and began stroking my prick a little faster. I wanted to lay back and enjoy it, but, as usual, she started bugging me.
" Tut your finger in my cunt,' she whispered.
" 'Okay,' I whispered back. 'But don't squeal like you usually do-remember, we've got somebody new in the house tonight.'
"Yes, anything you say-just hurry and get your finger in me.'
"She turned around in the bed so I could get at her little slit better. Then, when I wasn't fast enough, she grabbed my hand, skinned one finger into her own hand, and jammed it into her pussy. This sister of mine was too much! And this had been going on over a year! It was a wonder I still had enough strength left to go to school.
"Alice always squirmed around a lot and made so much noise that it was a minor miracle Dad hadn't discovered us up to now. This time was no different. My finger sank into her tight but finely oiled love hole and right away her ass came off the bed about a foot. Her gasping intake of breath was itself loud enough to be heard down the street.
"'Please,' she gasped, 'Oh, yes, PLEASE--deeper, faster, HARDER!!! '
" 'Goddammit, Sis,' I growled, 'I'm going to stop altogether if you don't control yourself. What would you say if Dad walked in here right now?'
" 'I don't care. Give it to me-give me something.'
"I knew better than to talk about it anymore. Little Alice had one of those trigger-happy pussies that must have been lined with little pouches of 'Instant Pussy Juice.' If I touched her arm at the dinner table, her pants would get soaked. And when this little sister of mine was like she was now, there was just nothing to do about it except spread her out and fuck her. Usually, I had to hold a hand over her mouth to keep the whole neighborhood from catching on, and even that was awfully difficult, because Alice liked to wriggle and squirm, and sometimes even flip around like a floundering fish, and that required the other hand to hold her. In other words, fucking my kid sister was one hell of an experience.
"There was one real good thing about it, though; she was a top-notch piece of ass, and she wasn't fucking anybody else. Whenever she went on a date, the guy had to settle for a hand job, or nothing. That's the way she was. I guess I sort of loved her, in my way.
" 'Now godammit, Alice,' I whispered to her, 'I'm going to put it in, but tonight it's very important that you don't squeal like a stuck hog like you usually do.'
'"Oh, Robert, I'll try-I really will. But hurry. Oh God, but I need it bad.'
"I rolled over into position and already the dumb brat was flipping around on the bed so much I couldn't have found her cunt if I'd been a top dart shooter. And she was moaning loud, too. And my prick wasn't even touching her. I made up my mind. I put one arm around behind her shoulders in a vise grip. Then I put my other hand tightly over her mouth. Then I told her to reach down and put it in.
"She did. When my cockhead touched her warm moisture right at the clitoris, you'd have thought I had branded her with an iron. Her ass came forward and two pincer-like legs whipped up over my back. Then, holding me in that scissors as tight as a pro wrestler, she flung her whole body onto my cock, while at the same time pulling me into her with her leg lock. My cock sank in-the whole seven inches of it-right up to my balls, and I thought for a minute I had stuck my dick in a vat of hot oil full of little invisible mouths.
"Then she started her regular thing: pumping, hunching, humping, and thumping-her ass worked like it was attached to a cam shaft, and she ground it from side to side and, on top of all that, she had all those little invisible interior mouths going at full speed. My little sister was something else!
"Then my strength wasn't quite up to the job. I really wasn't holding her quite still enough, and sounds were coming through my clamped fingers over her mouth. I struggled harder and knew I had to get this over somehow.
"I strained now to hurry my cum, and in seconds
I could feel it welling up in my balls the same way the earth pushes up those bubbling mineral springs into actual waterspouts. And then the hot shots rifled out of me into that supersensitive cunt of Alice's, and I had to strain like a weightlifter to hold her in the bed at all. I guess she was climaxing-but I never really seemed to know about that; my baby sister appeared to be climaxing all the time. All the time she had a prick in her, anyway.
"Finally, miraculously, I got her settled down a little and we were lying side by side on our backs. I wanted to get her back to her room as soon as possible. It seemed to me that we had been stretching our luck a lot lately.
" 'Fuck me again, Robert. Please.'
" 'Are you crazy? We just got through, and I still can't imagine how we didn't raise the whole house.'
" 'But I'm so hot-my pussy feels like it's got-well-sort of like electricity in it.'
" "That's too bad. Now I want you to get up and...'
"Listen!' Alice interrupted.
" 'What?'
" 'Listen,' she repeated.
"Sure enough, there were sounds coming from somewhere, and mighty peculiar sounds, too. Both of us got up and tiptoed out into the hall, and then, following our ears, neared the guest room where Aunt Maxine was staying. The sound we were hearing was a low moaning, something between a cry of pleasure and of pain, and we figured-at least I did-that she was either having a nightmare or else was playing with herself. And that second possibility really put me on fire. Just the idea of anyone so utterly and lushly feminine as Aunt Maxine with her finger up in her snatch and tossing on the bed was enough to make me shoot in my pants.
"The door was shut. The sounds were continuing, but now that we were closer, it seemed they were sort of conversational sounds. I don't mean there was a conversation, but the sounds sometimes formed into words like 'yes' and 'oh, yes,' as if instruction or encouragement were being given.
"Our curiosity was killing us. Alice was on her knees just ahead of me and I was leaning over her with my ear to the jamb. The sounds were indistinct, but they were continuing. I tried to remember if this door was one of those which squeaked, but I couldn't recall. I wanted to open it very much, and when Alice whispered up to me, 'Let's try to peek in,' it was all the encouragement I needed.
"I grasped the door handle and turned it. So far so good. I pulled very lightly and it opened without a sound. I pushed a little further and a crack appeared and light streamed into the hallway! Whatever was happening, it was happening with all the lights on.
"This time it was Alice who couldn't wait. She pushed the door and the damn thing opened a foot. We could both see in clearly.
"My mouth fell open in surprise, for there was that gorgeous hunk of woman, spread out just as if Indians had staked her to the ground, her knees raised high; and between them, just finishing with her, but with his tongue still slurping, was Dad.
"Aunt Maxine's back was arched up off the bed and her face was grimacing and twisted. Our angle was such that I could see the big hairy cunt, laid completely open; folds of pink, then brownish, and finally-toward the outside-brown-purplish lips, all waving and flapping and covered with stringy gooey spit and cunt juice .....
"Dad was apparently just cleaning up things.
Aunt Maxine looked to be exhausted, perhaps collapsed, and Dad's licking now was certainly not designed to excite. It was more like a kindness. I don't know if he had already fucked her or not, but there was a big stream of shimmering liquid leaking out of her snatch, and Dad was troweling it up on his tongue before it could get onto the sheet.
"Aunt Maxine was recovering now. She began talking.
" 'Oh, Henry, that was just perfect-just glorious. You're just as great a stud as you were when we were kids. Except you didn't eat me then. You've come a long way.'
" 'You too, Maxine,' answered Dad, finishing up with a last lick at her glistening cunt. 'You were my first fuck twenty-five years ago, and for my money, twenty-five years was too long to wait.'
" 'Oh, yes, Henry, I feel that way, too. Now that we've got our marriages out of the way, we can do just about anything we feel like-maybe even....'
" 'Maybe even what?' Dad asked.
" 'Oh, it sounds so corny, but I was going to say that getting back together with your first lover is kind of like-well, regaining your youth.'
" 'Nonsense, our youth is gone forever.'
" 'I know, I know, but there's something around here to help us. Don't you know what I mean?'
" 'I guess I don't. What?'
" "The kids, silly. Haven't you ever taken a close look at your daughter? She's turning into a real doll.'
" 'Yes, I had been thinking about that, but it seemed so . ... '
" 'Oh, don't be silly Henry. I'd fuck that beautiful nephew of mine without a second thought.'
"My prick almost jumped out of my pants. It" was already rock hard just from watching Dad lick Aunt Maxine's huge, steaming hole. Alice, who was kneeling before me, guessed as much and reached back to test me for hardness. Pleased, she reached inside my robe and started jacking me off very slowly. It was all terribly exciting, especially when I heard the next bit of conversation.
" 'Are you serious?' asked Dad. 'Would you really let Robert fuck you?'
" 'Right in my hot snatch, brother dear. Right now.'
" 'Well, well,' Dad answered, 'now that's what I would have to call an interesting thought. I'd certainly want to see it.'
" 'And to be perfectly truthful with you, Henry, I would just love to see you sucking on that daughter of yours. I'll bet she's got the sweetest little cunt in the world.'
" 'One thing at a time,' interrupted Dad. 'You mentioned Robert first.'
" 'Well, I wasn't kidding. Where does he sleep? Show me.'
"When I heard that, I was just about to turn and run back to my room, but then I heard, 'No, not tonight. You promised me a blow job, remember?'
"Then I heard some more low murmurs which I couldn't decipher, but it sounded as if they were going to skip me for tonight. I was pretty put out about that, but I had to admit that I was also very interested in what was going on. The trouble was, my cock was about to explode and Alice's massaging hand wasn't helping things any.
"And then it happened. Alice was trying to speed up her rhythm on my prick, and she was on her knees awkwardly in the first place, and she lost her balance. Falling against me a little, she let out a little 'Oh!! ' and that was it.
" 'What's that?' I could hear Aunt Maxine ask.
" 'I don't know. I'll see.'
"I almost got away but Alice never had a chance, because she was sprawled on her ass, her robe open and displaying her wet little slit just as big as life when Dad stepped to the door. Maxine was right behind him, and as soon as they saw Alice they looked out in the hall and saw me attempting to sneak toward my room.
" 'Well, looks like we've got a couple of curious kids out here. Maxine,' Dad said.
" 'My, my,' she answered. 'How interesting! Maybe we'd better have a little talk with them, don't you think?'
"A few moments later, Alice and I felt ridiculous standing before Maxine and Dad. We each had our robes on but they were just as naked as they had been while we were peeking.
"They asked us a thousand questions, which we answered very truthfully, because that's the way it was in our house. Anyway, Dad soon knew that Alice and I had observed him in the act of eating Maxine and, most importantly, that we had overheard the plans they had for us kids.
"Maxine asked, 'What went through your mind when you heard me say I'd like to fuck you, Robert?'
" 'I thought it sounded great.' " 'And how about your father and Alice?' " "That sounds great, too,' Alice said, almost giggling.
"Dad looked at Alice and laughed, then added, 'I have to agree, honey. Look how hard my cock got when Maxine said that.'
"We all looked down at Dad's cock. It was a tremendous thing, kind of purplish on the head, with big, thick, blue veins running all up and down it. I know it was both longer and fatter than mine, which was nearly seven inches to the tip.
" 'Well, I've seen your dad's already, Robert;
I'd much rather look at yours. Why don't you take off your robe?'
"For a moment I was embarrassed, but I knew there was no reason to be. I stood and took off my robe and my cock sprung out from captivity like a released spring. It stood straight out, proud and hard, and I felt very good about the appearance it made.
" 'For a boy your age, that is marvelous!' Maxine exclaimed. 'Come over here and put it in my hand.'
"I did as she asked, stepping over and then standing before her. She lay my prick in her open hand and then leaned forward to study it very closely. It seemed she read the veins as if they were roadmaps, then she pressed the head to make a little droplet of cum accumulate on the tip. Next, she squeezed my balls a little, as if to determine that they were full and ready, and then she looked up and asked, "This nice hard on-did you get it thinking about me?'
" 'Yes, it got hard while I was watching Dad eating you.'
"She eyed me suspiciously and then sent her examining eyes over to Alice. 'Or could it be,' she asked, 'that someone else gave it to you?'
"Dad picked up the insinuation at once. He was quick to grab at the idea. "Tell me the truth, Robert,' he asked, drilling the question at me, 'have you been fucking Alice?'
"Well, like I said, we have always been a very truthful bunch in this house, and besides, I'd already heard Dad say that he planned to fuck Alice himself. So I simply answered, 'Yes, Dad, I've been fucking her for about a year.'
" 'I'll be damned,' he said, and it was impossible for me to tell if he was angry, disappointed, or what.
" 'What else have you kids been doing?' Maxine asked.
" 'What do you mean, "What else"? ' put in Alice.
" 'Oh, you know, dear. Things like sucking. Have you tried that?'
" 'I've kissed Robert's cock a little, that's all.'
"Dad interjected, 'Well, that's something you'll have to learn, young lady, if you're expecting to be a hit with your dad.'
" 'Hey, I've got an idea,' Maxine interrupted, looking at each of us in turn. 'Anybody interested?'
"Our expressions told her to go on. 'Okay,' she continued, 'now you kids heard your dad say that I had promised him a blow job, didn't you?'
" 'Yes,' we said in unison.
" 'So, why don't I do that little thing, and give you some instruction at the same time?'
"She was addressing this last to Alice, of course, and she got just the reaction she wanted. 'Oh, I'd love that,' Alice answered enthusiastically. Then, more seriously, she added, 'But Aunt Maxine, will I be learning properly? Are you really an expert?'
" 'All I can say is watch and listen, and make up your own mind.' "
It doesn't require much acquaintanceship with life and reality to recognize that the bizarre story being recreated here is a very rare occurrence on the American or any other scene. Certain fragments from this case history actually vie in extremity with the incestuous orgies of Vedic India and ancient Egypt, and for pure licentiousness, with the Saturnalias of Rome.
We deal here with several forms of incest: pedophilia (in general, and nymphophilia in particular); then, we are confronted with a peculiar form of sexual cross-connection spanning a generation of male/female pairs. This last facet would be of consuming interest even if the incestuous overtones were removed.
Our dealings, which were only with the narrator, Robert, were lengthy, and we are gratified to be able to report that the consultations and referrals to others of higher medical competence did, in fact, reorder and restructure this young man's life to such a degree that it might be said that the worst of his scars are now disappearing. In brief, he functions well in society and does not exhibit any of the signs (brooding, misanthropism, withdrawal) which we look for in these cases. This writer has been told privately by one of the analysts who subsequently treated Robert that his adjustment was considered "amazing."
Disposing of things one by one, we come first to a topic which seemingly is outside the sphere of the book. That topic is nymphophilia, the sexual attraction for a younger female by an older man. Technically, the female should be a "girl" or "nymphet" to qualify for this dubious distinction, yet Alice's age is close enough to compel the raising of the general question. The reason we used the word "seemingly" above is that nymphophilia is, in fact, little more than the obverse of pedophilia. Which is to say that many of the doubts and stresses which draw older women to young boys occur in equitably similar fashion in the older man and thus bring on nymphophilia, which may be considered a "collateral" aberration to pedophilia.
But there are complicating factors if one carries the comparison further. Men, for example, face the-likelihood of impotence in declining years, and thus fear it. Women do not face this problem.
Also, the nymphophiliac is often an exhibitionist, while the pedophiliac female is so much less often. We draw this parallel since exhibitionism itself indicates quite reliably the amount of fear which resides in the patient. The exposing of one's genitals to a child is usually just another way of seeking approval; the difference is that approval is asked of someone so young that they will not be experienced enough to disapprove. It's like hedging one's bet.
Perhaps the most interesting and cogent summary of the forces involved here can be gleaned from R. E. L. Masters in his book, Sex-Driven People, wherein is stated:
Probably the most commonly accepted theory as regards causation is the Freudian one which advances the notion of an unresolved Oedipus complex. Here, any mature female is equated with the mother. And, since coitus with such a woman thus would activate the unresolved conflict, the desires are fixed rather upon the children. Yet, once again, it would seem that at most we have an explanation only for rejection of the mature female as object of desire. The nymphophile's specific desire for the child still goes unexplained despite some attempted amplifications. Also, one wonders, were this theory valid, would the nymphophile, in so many instances, prefer a child whose breasts, though small, have started to develop; who has scant, but not entirely absent, pubic hair; and who, in other ways, gives evidence of approaching womanhood? Why would he not prefer a still younger child who exhibits even less evidence of her femaleness? Or does the nymphophile, possibly, seize upon these signs of the female because he does crave femaleness in the sex-object, but can tolerate only limited amounts of it? If that is the case, then might he acquire this deviation rather than, say, homosexuality for the reason that he is able to tolerate somewhat more of the feminine than can those homosexuals who also are in flight from woman and possibly from incest?
In the opinion of this writer, the most interesting element for consideration in this history is that one which deals with the structural breakdown of the domestic unity to which most of us are drawn and which we cherish as a primal institution. Considering the losses versus the gains-in absolute terms-in any surrender of the framework of family unison, as happens, say, in divorce, one is prompted to accept the premise that the ties of the home are multifold and interdependent. When one element is subtracted or made ineffective, every other element is affected. In the case of simple domestic disharmony or even separation, it is often possible for the older members to intellectualize what has happened and to pass this rationale down to the younger members in such a way that it "sells."
But these tactics only work where the "destructive" elements are controllable; that is, where they are not of a compulsive, degenerating, or greatly exploitative nature. It is one thing to explain to a ten-year-old that the father "won't be with us anymore"; it is quite another to redeem the father in the eyes of a daughter he has molested. Drawing upon our case history for direct translation of these differences, one is quick to see that the breakdown is not recognized by any of the principals, and that no visible disaffection has occurred. On the surface, one might hastily conclude that nothing much is psychologically amiss-which, of course, is contratextual to everything written on the topic.
As we proceed with the narrative, it will be seen that something indeed is amiss. But to put this in proper perspective, it must be retained in the mind of the reader that since all humans are born plastic (psychologically) and as adults are simply the products of all their experiences, different people develop varying degrees of tolerance for stress. One man faints from fright at the sight of a weapon; another falls upon the bearer of the weapon and seizes it. Each was responding to stress, but one had thicker psychological armor.
It is patently foolish to believe that newly pubescent males or females can ever regard the parent of the other sex as a viable sexual object (viable as opposed to unconscious) without some form of encouragement. That is why father-daughter incest is so much greater in frequency of occurrence than mother-son incest. The natural daughter is a budding sexual object in the biologic awareness of the father (and most often in his subawareness, too), but the mother's biologic awareness is keyed to many other things. The typical mother can see her son as being sexually attractive, but she does not permit him to become a sexual object. Hence, the matter of incentive becomes very important and answers the question of the lopsided ratio of occurrence. There is incentive for father-daughter incest; there is little, if any, for mother-son incest. And, as all of us know, there is no such thing as sex at all unless someone makes an initial move of some sort.
The problem of incentive seems to have solved itself in our case history. But then, we should recall that we are dealing with what amounts to a rehash of an earlier incest (Maxine and Henry had engaged in sibling incest as young adults and probably resolved their consciences in some degree at that time-thus it would have been domestically acceptable to each of them to help promote an extension and enlargement of the happiness they seem to have enjoyed. The expansion and inclusion of others within the "clan" might be interpreted as proselytizing.
These conjectures and others will doubtless cross the reader's mind as the story unravels.
" 'You sit right over here, Robert, so you can see. And you, Alice, you get right here on the edge of the bed, because I want you to see everything up close-every tiny detail-and I also want you to be able to hear me very clearly.'
" 'Hear you?' Alice asked. 'Why?'
" 'Because I'm going to give you a very thorough lesson; one that I hope you'll never forget. I'm going to give you the benefit of experience that has taken me all my life to accumulate.'
" 'Gee, that sounds super,' Alice answered, and then sat on the edge of the bed as she had been instructed. I was sitting pretty close myself, and when I heard Maxine explain what she was about to do, I scooted my chair even closer. As for Dad, he was lying naked on his back on the bed, looking for all the world like an interested spectator and little else. He had a pillow under his head, but he also had his hands folded in back of his head, all eyes and ears geared for the show. He reminded me of the guy relaxing on a Sunday afternoon watching TV from an outdoor hammock. The giveaway, of course, was his prick. That thing didn't look relaxed and clinical in the least. It was a miniature granite monument, complete with landscaped shrubbery at the base, and as for its readinesswell, I'll bet I could have counted Dad's pulse rate just by timing the expansion and contraction of one of those soda straw-sized blue veins running all over it. It was about the general size of a stick of dynamite, or maybe one of those fuses they use for flares at highway accidents, and gave the impression of being just as volatile as either.
"Everyone was settled into place, with Alice, of course, being afforded the seat of honor, since it would be she who could gain the most from the instruction. There was one last thing bugging me, and so I made an effort to clear the air before the class commenced. I asked Aunt Maxine, 'Auntie, when we kids go to school and teachers tell us things, we usually have a pretty fair idea of that person's credentials simply because the school screens them. How can we be as sure that your credentials are top-notch?'
" 'Well, you darling boy, I'll answer you in two ways. When I get through blowing him, ask your father if I have exaggerated my ability or knowledge. Secondly, I lay claim to two things: I have had wide exposure to a variety of pricks, and I have always been an apt pupil myself. You'll just have to accept that for now.'
" 'For Christ's sake, let's start,' said Dad from the bed.
" 'Don't get impatient, Henry. This is going to be something special.'
" 'What do I get first, the blow job or the conversation?'
" 'Both. I'm going to mix them up.'
" 'Oh shit,' he groaned, 'that sounds like an exercise in frustration! What happens if I'm just starting to come and you decide at that moment you should make point seven a little clearer?'
" 'Relax, sweet brother. I won't spill a drop. Wait and see.'
"After another moment of friendly hassle like that, the first class in a new curriculum, Cocksucking 101, began.
" 'First of all, Alice,' Aunt Maxine began, 'since you're such a young girl, I suppose I should begin with the fundamentals-right?'
"Alice smiled, which was answer enough. I found myself fascinated by the situation and also by the spirited attitude of this voluptuous aunt of mine-and as for Dad, he was saying things like, 'For Christ's sake, let's get this show on the road!'
" 'Alice,' Auntie continued, 'you should understand at the very outset that sucking a cock-fellatio is the proper name-is an acquired art. You have to learn it. This is because the mouth is not a natural cavity, if for no other reason than that it's got teeth in it. Another thing, try to remember that sucking cock is a fact of life, plain and simple. It's not new, it's not evil, it's not sick. The only things bad about it are those things imagined in the minds of people who are still captives of narrow-mindedness. It's absolutely necessary that you understand that we are talking about something natural, not something unnatural.'
" 'Yes, I accept that,' Alice said, obviously intrigued by this unexpected approach.
" 'All right. With that out of the way, I'll go on to the matter of technique.' At this point, Aunt Maxine was sitting between Dad's outstretched legs, facing his sinister-looking cock, which she now took between a thumb and forefinger, as if it were a laboratory specimen.
" 'Now then, one gets the idea that you can just take this thing and plop it into your mouth like a peppermint stick, which is okay unless you believe as I do that anything worth doing is worth doing well. Now you will notice that your father has a pretty hefty prick and that it certainly isn't going to all fit in my mouth. The dimensions just won't work-which brings me to pricks in general. There are a few basics about them you should know.'
" 'Goddammit, Maxine,' Dad interrupted, 'the least you can do is skin it back and forth a little while you're talking.'
"Maxine began a light skinning to appease Dad and then continued, "The size and shape of a penis has a lot to do with how it should be sucked. For example, if it curves up like a cutlass when hard, the only lady who could accommodate it frontally would have to have either a harelip or a cleft palate. Obviously, this type of cock has to be approached in a prone position from the topside-you know, the "69" position-so that the curvature of the cock matches the natural curvature of the soft palate leading to the esophagus.'
" "That makes sense,' Alice agreed.
" 'But understand, the average penis curves neither up, down, nor markedly sideways. And believe me, the straight ones, like your father's here, are a joy to suck. It's best, however, if the size is moderate and the shape consistent. To be perfect, the head of it should be neither too bulbous, nor skinny and pointed, and the shaft of it should be uniformly cylindrical-that is, having the same diameter from tip to root.'
" 'like mine?' I asked.
" 'Yes, more or less,' answered my Aunt. 'Yours is quite nice. But back to the point. Before going on, I must explain something about the consistency of pricks in general, so that you won't be fooled by appearances, Alice. There is, first of all, the "half-hard" or "hanging" prick which makes a striking appearance and leads a lady to think she's going to be in for quite a battle of it. The hidden flaw in this machinery is that is doesn't get much larger; for instance, it might increase from six inches to six-and-a-half inches. Nor does it get much harder. The damned thing has a sort of India-rubber consistency under all conditions.
" "The second kind, which is called either the "Accordion Cock," or the "Surprise Package," looks quite small when the man is unexcited, sometimes appearing to be little more than a swelling of the groin or a large pimple. It is, when fully flaccid, literally withdrawn. It would seem that this is not the most desired kind of prick for a man to have, but they don't call it a surprise package for nothing. Sometimes these little cocks erupt upon excitement into formidable pricks many times the original size, and of a hardness much greater than that achieved by the "half-hard" type cock.
" 'So, don't draw premature conclusions, Alice. Appearances deceive and you really can't make a final judgment until you're actually right down there taking care of business. After a while, a girl develops a sort of "sixth sense" about these things and you can sort of judge on the basis of other things, like when you're dancing. Beware of guys who get a hard on too easy. They come too fast.'
" 'I'm glad you brought that up,' moaned Dad, whose hands were no longer behind his head, but held straight down at his sides, fists clenched. 'Either stop completely or else bring me off-I can't stand much more of this!! '
"Aunt Maxine chose to drop her hand from Dad's prick, and I guess Dad hadn't really meant so strong an ultimatum because his face looked stricken. Continuing, Maxine said, "The ideal prick for sucking should be just a fraction less than fully hard. To give it a top-notch blow job, it must have a little bit of resiliency and give. Remember, the mouth is not like a vagina; it has three surfaces which must be kept out of extended contact with a guy's cock: the teeth, the palate, and the underjaw-since they are all hard surfaces. The only really good contacts are with the lips, the tongue, the inner surfaces of the cheeks, and, best of all, the throat. Now then, I suppose I could sit here and explain all night long how these different kinds of contacts are both achieved and avoided, but it would be pointless. You'll only develop that kind of know-how by getting out in the world and sucking some cocks. You should start at home with your dad and brother. Try your best to learn from their comments; go so far as to seek criticism and inquire what techniques please them most. Become a student!! '
"'Oh, I will, Auntie; believe me, I will!! ' answered Alice, who was obviously caught up in the fervor of Aunt Maxine's enthusiasm. 'I can't wait to get started.'
" 'Patience, darling; all things in time. For now, I want you to clearly understand that cock-sucking is like any other craft; excellence only comes from experience and application, plus whatever inner artistic resource one might draw upon.'
"'Oh, I'll try, Auntie, I'll study hard and really try!'
"I was understandably confused by Alice's spirit. Since I had been fucking her, she had indicated a definite reluctance to go down on me-for that matter, she didn't even care to have her cunt eaten. I guess this new outlook was all brought on by Aunt Maxine. Maybe some of Alice's true desires-things that other girls had been telling her were wrong-were just now coming to the surface. One thing I was sure of though-if Alice was serious about wanting to get in lots of practice, I'd work her into my tight schedule somehow.
" "The idea of the whole thing, Alice, is to capture a sort of vacuum in your mouth. This is done by controlling the breath. When the prick enters, the control of this trapped pressure acts as a pump as the penis moves back and forth. At this point, the cheeks must maintain a certain flexible consistency so that an exciting pressure is sustained and level. You must also sustain a sort of resistance to both the pushing forward and moving backward of the prick, all the while making sure it touches only the lips, inner cheeks, tongue, and throat structure, so that if it were to be withdrawn unexpectedly, there would be a kind of soft, wet, pop!'
" 'I don't think I understand, Auntie,' Alice said.
" 'Well, let's see. I guess you could say it's the same kind of sliding with-and-against pressure that one experiences when she tries to free the cork from a bottle of champagne. You twist this way and that, pull it, push it, all within a small area and with relative ease, but then things become more difficult as you reach the mouth of the bottle. Then, all of a sudden, pop!'
" 'Oh!' Alice remarked, as if comprehending.
" 'You can try it on me, kiddo, if you're still in doubt,' put in Dad.
" 'Or me,' I added.
" 'No-not only no but hell no!!! ' countered Maxine, who was clearly caught up in her own kind of passion right now. She wanted to be sure that Alice understood everything before anything else happened. "That, essentially,' she continued, 'is the proper way to suck a cock, Alice. There are variations, of course, but I want first to get on to another very important part of the discussion which has to do with preparation. I said very important; what I really meant was-all-important. Truthfully, it should not even require discussion, and I regard it as a sad commentary on human sexuality for us to even need to spell it out. And yet it seems there are countless men and women both who just don't understand the importance of the warm-up.'
" 'I'm warmed up,' said Dad. 'Right now, I understand it perfectly.'
" 'Yes, I know,' answered Maxine, effectively ignoring him, 'but, Alice, take this seriously. It's the same for women as for men. What I mean is-you have to be fondled and caressed and played with a long time before you're ready to fuck, don't you?'
" 'I do?'
" 'Well ... most women do. Now try to remember that. A woman needs attentions, low speech, whispering even, and a lot of tender touches and caresses before her cunt actually gets good and soaked. Sucking a cock is like that. You have to touch and fondle, and tickle and kiss and lick the guy all up under the balls and around the ass-hole, maybe poke your finger in his ass-hole a little, and then you even have to do the same thing with the prick itself, little by little, making sure you get saliva on every part of it. Kissing and licking the stalk of the cock lubricates it good with spit and excites the guy into a raging hard on. But the thing to remember, and probably the most important thing of all, is that this kind of excitation is reciprocal. That means it works two ways. You can't possibly get the guy hot without getting yourself hot, too. And now, listen to this: when you do this thing right, this preparation, it will not only get you good and hot, too, but it will do something strange to your muscular responses. You will find that you are actually preparing yourself to take a prick down deep in your throat which is actually too large to fit into your throat! Not only can you take this oversized instrument way down, you'll discover that if you are properly prepared, there won't even be any discomfort or nausea. Here you'll be, with a piece of meat laying in your throat that would ordinarily strangle you, and you'll be completely at ease. I know a little housewife who slips out with me once in a while-her mouth is so small she can hardly get a cigarette into it, but I'd bet anything she could take all of your father's prick right down. It's because she knows what she's doing and loves it.'
" I'm sold,' Dad cut in. 'Bring her.'
" 'Oh, be quiet, Henry. I'm about through, and then we can have Alice get started. I only want to add one thing.'
" 'What's that?' I asked.
" 'I just want to say I believe everything I've told Alice, and that I'm willing to work with her until she perfects her own style. Somehow I've got the impression she's got the makings of an artiste. It's important that she be encouraged, because there are too few of us. Too many women are content to lay down and let a guy stick his prick in her and rattle it around like a spoon for a while and then go home. Men shouldn't have to accept this kind of treatment. For my part, there's a hell of a thrill knowing that I can get down on a guy's prick and balls and affect him to the point that he'll just lie back, eyes closed, and float off into a world of undersea languor where nothing else matters.'
" 'You're beautiful, every way there is,' I told Maxine.
" "Thanks, darling,' she answered, and then added, 'So much for the words. Now, Alice, get over here on the bed and place yourself in between your father's legs, and then do everything I tell you.'
"Alice jumped up and moved into place between Dad's outstretched legs, positioned up tightly near the crotch. Then, unsatisfied, Aunt Maxine asked Dad to move over nearer the edge to make room for me. Now it all made more sense. I got up on the bed and lay down next to Dad. It was a good thing it was a king-sized bed or he and I would have been touching.
" 'Now, watch me and don't do anything until I stop. I must observe you carefully or I can't really help you.'
" 'Go ahead, Aunt Maxine, I'm watching,' Alice told her.
"Well, the only report I can give has to do with things I felt. I could sense the bed sinking down as Aunt Maxine climbed between my legs, and then, after a few moments, I felt this light finger lay my cock back so that it was flat on my stomach, and then this warm bathing tickle started under my balls. I just lay back and savored it. I could hear female voices in the background, but I wasn't interested in anything they were saying. It went on and on, the talk back and forth, the explaining and demonstration, but all I was really aware of was the great tongue that ministered to me. It had done everything in the way of preparation, but it hadn't progressed beyond licking the balls and up and down the shaft. Now I had some idea what Maxine had been talking about-I was certainly prepared.
"Then it stopped. And even as I was coming to out of my warm euphoria, I heard voices of instruction again, and knew that Alice was now going to try the same thing on Dad. This I had to see. I propped myself up to watch.
"Little Alice apparently had been so hot just watching Maxine that she had started fingering herself, which Maxine made her stop, on the grounds that a schooling session shouldn't be interrupted by things like that. Alice stopped. Crouched down low between Dad's legs, she began imitating what Maxine had done to me. It actually seemed kind of nasty to see that young, innocent-appearing child's face descending down to and then underneath Dad's big hairy balls. When she let her tongue out and started flickering around his ass-hole, she reached up and laid Dad's enormous prick back on his stomach just as Maxine had done mine, and then she made her way from the ass-hole to the balls, and all around and on them, and then, perfect student, she progressed to the meat of the cock itself, working upward the whole circumference of the cylinder; almost, but not quite, working on the head.
" 'Jesus, this is too much,' sighed Dad. "Then Alice quit, as instructed, and settled back to watch Maxine again. I leaned back and closed my eyes, waiting for the thing to begin. There was a delay as Maxine gave a few additional instructions, because, it seemed, she was going to finish me off all in one instruction period, and she wanted Alice to react properly when my cum hit the back of her throat. She warned Alice that she suspected Dad would come quite a lot, and that if it was too much for a first-timer, Maxine would be ready to help.
"Anyway, I lay back again, and Maxine began on me. A few preparations to compensate for the time lapse, and then I felt this marvelously warm cavern descend upon my cockhead. It tasted and swirled a minute and then began its engulfment of my prick. Down, down, warm, warmer, and oh! so wet and slimy-slick. Her tongue remained active, bathing everything. Up a little, down a little further, up all the way-nearly out of her mouth, and then, down like a plunger, all the way to my balls.
"And again and again. It was no wonder I just threw my head back and stopped fighting it. I had been so hot to start with that I knew I wasn't going to last long anyway. There it was! Jesus, it came up from my bowels, it felt like, enormous waves of it, one after the other, and dear Aunt Maxine handled it all without hesitation whatever; I could hear it going down her throat and I felt her sucking harder to get even more of it, and towards the last, her sucking on my spent penis became something very near to a pain. At length she raised herself, disengaging my prick, and I sort of just fell into another world of exhaustion and contentment.
"But I didn't want to miss Alice's first try. I propped myself up again, and listened to the coach's last-minute prep talk, explaining what to expect now, and then Alice began. If I was any judge at all, Dad must have been twice as hot as I had been.
"He was. That little-girl face warmed him up some more, then went up to the top and tried to get Dad's fat cockhead in between her lips. It was as if she were trying to put a fist in her mouth. But somehow she did it, and then, miracle of miracles, she even got about two inches of it into her mouth. Maxine was yelling in instructions from the bench, and Alice was trying her best to comply. Up she came, down again, gaining maybe a half-inch, and then again and again, and soon I could hear Dad sighing like a man caught in a small convulsion, and I could see Alice's progress by the wet spit on Dad's prick. Up and down she was going, faster and faster. Quite a pupil.
"And, not too long after it had started, it was over. I knew Dad was awfully hot. First I heard an audible intake of breath, then I guess the first shot barreled up, next I heard Alice squealing from her throat, and I guess it was just too much. Alice flew off Dad's cock as Maxine pushed her away, and during the short second that Dad's cock was uncovered, just one spurt got away, but it was a beauty, coming within an inch or two of the ceil-'ing, then descending with a wet plop on the bed.
"Maxine was on it immediately, capping the gusher. She went into high speed strokes, and believe it or not, she took that whole cock, all nine inches of it, blue veins and all, right up to the hilt in such a savage first stroke that I thought the momentum would grab up the balls, too. And she didn't stop-or even slow down-until Dad was writhing on the bed and begging her to stop.
"But I was no longer interested. My eyes were heavy and my balls were drained. I fell off to sleep right there.
"The following day broke bright and early for me, although Maxine and Dad seemed to be too cozy to get up. Alice, also, came springing out of her room like a jack-in-the-box, and the two of us were cheery and energetic as we went through the preparations for going to school.
"Walking together to school (something we rarely did), I made it a point to feel her out, to see how she really felt about the previous night. No matter how I tried, I could not get a bad response out of her.
" 'I can't wait to blow you, Robert,' she said.
"And then, later, 'Robert, do you think Dad will want to fuck me tonight?' I told her I had no idea, but that I imagined he would be interested. 'You can help, you know, if you make sure Maxine is preoccupied.'
" 'Anything for my kid sister,' I answered, and we both laughed.
"That's roughly the way it worked out. When Aunt Maxine found out that night that Alice already knew most of the standard tricks having .to do with fucking, she just sort of dropped the 'instructor' bit, and we all concentrated on having fun. For my money, Aunt Maxine was a terrific fuck, except that her cunt was a little large. In the weeks and months that followed, I came to think of her as a blow job, and not much else. That doesn't mean I didn't appreciate her as a person, because I did-very much. She was considerate and knowledgeable and nothing was too much for us kids. Furthermore she brought the best out in Dad. He became a much more concerned parent, and our home life became the most important thing for all of us. We rarely went out partying. What happened at home was of first importance.
"We used to trade around a night at a time, and then later, for a week at a time. I'm convinced that we all loved each other; in different ways, perhaps, but all of it very good. Alice especially loved to get one of Dad's hard, long-lasting fucks, for instance, but when my turn came, she was just as enthused. She learned to give superb head, and eventually Maxine even told her she had become an artist. That was quite a compliment, considering the source.
"Then something very strange happened to us. I don't know what it was. Some kind of a rift developed between Maxine and Alice. I didn't take sides, because by this time my deepest affection had shifted from my sister to my aunt. I was, I think, even then falling in love with Maxine. Helping all this to come about was Alice's attitude-she was getting kind of uppity about her sexual ability. Maybe Dad praised her too much, I don't know.
"One other thing it could have been was this: one night we asked Dad and Maxine how they got started in the first place when they were kids. Maxine confessed that their family used to have a big German shepherd watchdog (they lived on a ranch), and that one time Dad barged uninvited into Maxine's room and found the dog lapping at her cunt. That led to Dad and Maxine's first fooling around with each other, and a few hours later they were fucking and sucking, something they continued until they left home. Maxine, when questioned, also admitted that she had taught the dog to mount her-both ways, from the back and the front-and give her one of those furious dog-fucks.
"Later, that same night the story had been told, Alice and I were wrapped in each other's arms and Alice confessed to me that the story had disgusted her and that she had lost all respect for Aunt Maxine. As I said, that could have been responsible for what happened, I don't really know.
"What I do know is that I woke up one morning and discovered that I was living alone with Aunt Maxine. We found a note and some documents regarding money. They had apparently been preparing this for some time. They said they would visit once in a while, and send back for their things. The gist of the message was that they had decided to go somewhere" and pass themselves off as husband and wife. They declared their undying love for each other. Altogether, it was a touching note.
"Anyway, that left Maxine and me together. At that time I was going on eighteen, and Maxine was pushing forty. Now we're each three years older, and we're still together, and I can't imagine what could happen to break us up. I can't imagine, for that matter, a happier existence. And I doubt that many people in this world enjoy as much quality sex as I do."
The foregoing history obviously speaks for itself and stands by itself. It happens to be from a combination of tapes and written submissions from the subject, now a man of twenty-four who is currently under therapy.
As is usual in such cases, the principals are not really so "gloriously" happy and free of "hang-ups" as they themselves seem to believe. If we were to choose the one single trait most prevalent among these interviewees, it would have to be their declarations of "happiness and adjustment," when, in fact, no such thing is in evidence. Underneath these stories, although space has not permitted a thoroughgoing exposition of all the data, there seems to be a universal self-doubt, an accruing fear of reprisal (from the heavens, possibly), and a tendency to avoid societal relations of a more common and healthy nature.
Robert, the narrator, is not yet aware that he fears time and age will deprive him of his love. He feels, if anything, that it is not he who will sever the relationship, but Maxine, and that her motive will be altruistic, realizing that she no longer possesses the appearance and energy which originally helped attract the young man. Maxine is approaching fifty, a most difficult time for a woman, a time of doubt and much need for reassurances.
Borrowing a term from the moneylenders and bullionists, we would presume that "on balance," the prognosis here is not encouraging.
CONCLUSION
For reasons which might not be readily apparent, case histories of incest, any kind of incest, are difficult to come by.
First of all, we are dealing with acts which are condemned as criminal in practically every civilized country, and which are generally abhorred by the community conscience as well. It is not surprising that such cases rarely come to light except by way of the psychologic community, and only then when heavily cloaked in anonymity. It should be understood that the protection of the Hippocratic oath extends to psychoanalysts and psychiatrists who are medical doctors. It extends, in fact if not in oath, to therapists and counselors also. In short, the very people who are in a position to provide writers with notes and tapes of such cases are, for the most part, reluctant to do so, especially if the case at hand happens to be current. Even when the books are closed, or the patient deceased, there are still obstacles to be hurdled, for above all else the element of shadowy anonymity must be preserved. There are no cases which can be revealed de facto, since it is presumed that all persons have relatives, or at least intimate friends.
For similar reasons, incest rarely comes to the attention of the authorities. Just as the medical community realizes the absolute need for honored confidence, the practicer of incest realizes the absolute need for personal secrecy. The only instances of incest coming to the attention of the law occur when another crime of some kind is committed and the incest is discovered accidentally. Or occasionally, a disenchanted partner may cause an uncommon amount of fuss. The third reason, mental breakdown and consequent hospitalization, is much more imagined than real. While it is widely stated that the practicer of incest is paving a road into a personal mental hell by his or her act, there is scant evidence to back up the point. The medical community is quick to tell us that close-tie (usually meant to mean parental) incest is a sure ticket to serious mental disorder, but there are a great many cases of sibling incest, for example, where both partners have simply melted into the community and become a part of it.
To be effective in a report-such as this, one must cull and crib heavily from the available material. One of the histories examined here required that this writer edit more than twenty large-reel tapes. As in other things, it becomes a matter of what one must not report, rather than a matter of gathering more data.
Incest in general is a peculiar psychosexual phenomenon. Talking about it can alone cause trauma. It is one of those terrible, flustering, overwhelming things which does not easily adapt to coffee-klatch conversation, and when it is discussed (nonclinically, at least), the listener is apt to fall quite silent or perhaps raise an eyebrow in quizzical fashion. The unvoiced question is almost audible-"Who, me?" or "Do such things really happen? " The idea of any kind of incest is repugnant to the social mind. It's as simple as that.
So that is the hurdle. That is where we must inevitably begin before we can formulate the first sentence.
The writer is a most fortunate person when he can make arrangements to use such precious documents as do exist. He is aware of this, and thus guards what he has much as if he were dealing in precious gems-which happens to be a pretty fair description of authentic tapes.
Within these limitations we have attempted to compile a usable and interesting history. Moreover, we have refrained from offering ideas concerning the construction of the mind, or its aberration, or (most certainly) its predilections or the prognoses we might expect in any and all specific cases, except in those instances where we were encouraged to do so by the primary medical authority. By use of the word primary we mean to convey that we have not asked opinions of medical authorities who did not themselves personally treat the subject.
Such has been the nature of our quest and the general kind of restriction we have imposed upon ourself.
BIBLIOGRAPHY AND RECOMMENDED READING
Caprio, Frank S. Female Homosexuality. New
York: Citadel Press, 1954. Freud, Sigmund. Totem and Taboo. New York:
Random House, 1946.--. General Introduction to Psychoanalysis.
New York: Macmillan, 1958.--. Sexuality and the Psychology of Love.
New York: Macmillan, 1970.--. General Psychological Theories. New
York: Macmillan, 1970. Krafft-Ebing, Richard von. Psychopathia Sexualis.
New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1965. Masters, R. E. L. Sex-Driven People. Los Angeles:
Sherbourne Press, 1966. Sullivan, Harry Stack. The Interpersonal Theory of Psychiatry. New York: Norton & Co., 1953. Tannenbaum, E. E. Greek Tragedies. New York:
New University Press, 1962.
Note: Excerpts from the poetry of Harry Graham (1874-1936) are from his collected letters, entitled Appreciations, published by the Cambridge Reader Series, Cambridge, England, 1908, now in the public domain.
Excerpts from William Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale exist in multiple printings and are in the public domain.
