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Mother and Daughter

Mother and Daughter

Denise Bryant Mother and Daughter

Chapter One


    The question posed by the title of this chapter is the same one that confronts almost any emotionally disturbed person under therapy. But it is a question that the patient must “discover” for himself with, of course, the professionally expert guidance of the psychiatrist or psychologist.
    This was the vital question that faced Denise Bryant, a very attractive and personable 37 year old high school drama teacher the first day she sat down in my office. The story of Denise and how she found the answer to that question is presented here in approximately her own words:

    He stayed locked in the bedroom with her all night long. My 45-year-old boyfriend, Bob, was dressed only in a thin pair of summer pajamas. My lovely 14-year-old daughter, Kathy, had on a pair of sheer blue baby-dolls. How could I, an intelligent woman with over five years of college education, believe that nothing happened?
    It seems incredible when I look back on that night over four years ago, that I could have been so completely mesmerized, hypnotically influenced to such an extent by a man so profoundly evil as Bob. Yet Bob was neither the first nor last use at his will and for whatever perverted desires he wanted. My life story is one of strange passions. I say that I have been used by others- both male and female-to satisfy their evil lusts. But my own twisted needs of the flesh are equally to blame.
    Where did it all start? Where did it begin? Why?
    These are questions that have yet to be completely answered. And only recently have I begun to realize, through analysis, the important parts that my early environment and childhood relationships played in all of this. I have always been a strange person in many ways, a moody and emotional individual of changing moods. Deep involvement in sex has offered me an escape from responsibilities, escape from problems, an escape from life. That is why I have frequently shown all the outward indications of being a true nymphomaniac, insatiable while making love to several people, both at the same time and in turn.
    When I first married at the age of 19, it was to flee from something I could not understand, the smothering love and overpowering influence of my dominating and beautiful mother. I was not pregnant when I was married. That happened sometime during the first week. I think I must have driven my husband crazy with my demands. He lost over ten pounds.
    He was ready to leave me before Kathy was born. But he was basically a very good and responsible man. And he was also very much in love with me. His main problem was that he hated to see me suffer. It tortured him to watch me bring myself too climax time and again after he was exhausted, temporarily exhausted from three orgasms within two hours.
    I prayed to have a son. I had no idea why at the time. I only knew that I wanted a son more than a daughter. The fear was there, but I could not recognize it until Kathy was born. When they told me I had a healthy seven pound little girl, I passed out. I was terrified. When I woke up, I had alternate chills and fever.
    Mai, my husband, lasted with me for six years. The details of that period are hazy in my memory. He was a devoted father, but I felt that I loved Kathy more. She was such a beautiful little girl. I let her brown hair grow long and I spent hours combing it. I bathed her in scented soaps and doted over her as if she were the very reason for my existence.
    At the same time, my demands upon Mai for more sex than any normal man can handle remained constant. I had to have it. I had the feeling that this was the only thing he owed me when we were alone together. Yet it was I who had the nervous breakdown when he left me. I went to some old family doctor who gave me pills and prescribed a rest.
    My parents took care of both me and Kathy. Mai provided well for us with a monthly check. My mother adored Kathy, and my own crying need for love from a man, sexual love, began to be more important to me than my affection for my daughter. The old doctor was not a psychiatrist, but his advice was probably sound. He advised me to go back to college and get my degree. I had always wanted to study drama and then teach it in high school. My own drama teacher had been my ideal.
    I was older than most of the other students, but the younger men pursued me as much as they did girls many years younger. I was also attractive because I was a divorcee, because I had money and a car and my own apartment, and if I like a young man he could come and live with me for a while… until I wore him out.
    My main attraction, however has always been my looks and my sensuous personality. I don't think any person who needs sex and love as much as I always have can hide that desire. I can spot it in other people instantly, and I am sure that almost any virile male, and some special females, can detect it in me upon sight.
    At 37 years of age, I do not look much different than I did in my twenties. This is not boasting necessarily, as I can prove it by photographs, some of them nude and in quite demonstrative postures. I have never posed commercially. These were all taken by men with whom I had serious affairs. I suppose I have been fortunate in that only once has anyone who knows me only as a “respectable” schoolteacher ever seen any of my nudes. And he was quite understanding when he approached me on the subject. The man was a ranking school board official, eager to take off my clothes and see for himself.
    I am a little taller than the average woman, I think-five feet and five inches. My measurements are now 36-26-37, a couple of inches more in the waist and hips than when I was 25. And I weigh 125 now, as opposed to 119. My hair is very black and I wear it long usually, but sometimes in a stylish coif atop my head. One of the little things about my body that men find intriguing is the inverted shape of my nipples. My breasts are large and still quite firm, the areola surrounding the nipples large and projecting. Yet the nipples themselves are inverted and must be sucked on quite strongly before they will come out erect. This drives both me and my love partner into a sexual frenzy.
    During those five years of college, I would spend summertime at home with my parents and Kathy, which curtailed a great deal of my sexual activity, but at the same time prepared me for the double life I would have to lead as a schoolteacher. I spent the extra year in study in order to earn a master's degree, almost a prerequisite to landing a position as a drama teacher in a good high school.
    It was when I was almost through with that final year that Mai remarried and sought to gain custody of Kathy, who heretofore had been visiting him at Christmas time and for a month each summer. Kathy was ten and already showing signs of moodiness and restlessness in the strict environment of my parents, and particularly under the dominating influence of my mother, whose authority she openly rejected. The frictions at home had developed to a high degree.
    I met Mai's wife and found her to be quite charming. We seemed to accept each other readily, each in our own role, I the ex-wife, she the quite proper wife and homemaker. I had a terrible fight with my mother over the decision, but I finally agreed to a custody arrangement with Mai. Kathy would live with him and his wife each school year from September to July, and spend two or three months of the summer with me.
    I welcomed the new freedom I found, away from my parents, away from Kathy. My job was at a large high school in a good suburban neighborhood of a major metropolitan area in the East. At 29, I was still young, beautiful and sharply attractive, yet I created a facade of serious respectability at my work and for the countless social and professional affairs that demanded my attendance.
    Work satisfied me intellectually far more than study. I revolutionized the school's drama department, introducing the study and performance of some of the most modern and contemporary playwrights, alongside Shakespeare and the other classic writers. I talked the school board into the highest drama budget they had ever allowed, and completely redesigned and renovated the backstage and stage of the auditorium.
    It was only a matter of time, however, until I realized that work could never completely satisfy me. I went without an interpersonal sex relation for three months, although I masturbated an average of once a week, usually on the weekend, and sometimes for hours on end. At those times, I would become absolutely frantic for a lover, and it was all that I could do to resist the temptation to go downtown to a bar or restaurant and pick up someone for a night of sex.
    That three months was the longest I ever had to wait. After that, it was never necessary that I even think about going out to look for sex. Sex had a way of finding me, and a great deal of this had to do with the personality that I spoke of earlier. After I met Bill Britten, nothing was ever quite the same.

    Bill was a singularly handsome young man in his late twenties, perhaps two to three years younger than I. He was tall and clean-cut, a veritable prototype of the decent young American man. I noticed him right away as he sat at the table across from me that Saturday morning at the public library where I was doing some research on Eugene O'Neill's plays for possible inclusion in the spring semester curriculum.
    He was obviously looking at my legs, which intrigued me greatly. Yet in my newly acquired role of respectable schoolteacher, I instinctively reached down to be certain that my skirt was not revealing too much. Bill frowned, and when I did so, I realized that he had no idea who I was. The public library in the heart of the metropolis was a world removed from the fashionable suburb of Hollins Meadows.-
    I crossed my legs and smiled, but I maintained just enough reserve to appear intrigued yet untouchable. I was unsure how to handle such a situation, while my body cried out at the same time to me to take advantage of this rare opportunity.
    Suddenly, Bill closed the book he was reading, stood up, and walked toward me. His eyes scouted the reading room to be sure no one was watching. I was holding my breath with excitement, and not a little bit of trepidation, when he was almost upon me. But then to my great surprise and consternation, he walked right on by without so much as looking at me. I was so astonished that I was not even aware at first that he had dropped a folded piece of paper into the open book of O'Neill's MOON OF THE CARRIBBEES AND OTHER PLAYS OF THE SEA, which I had been reading.
    When I read the neatly typewritten note, I was more amazed and even intrigued, than alarmed or fearful. It was the first real contact I made with the strange and offbeat element of the sexual underworld that was to rule my life for so long and through so much ecstasy and torment. His message read:
    “Dear Miss or Madame: “Please do not be offended. If you have no interest in my offer, I hope you will destroy this note and forget about it.
    “I think you have exceptionally beautiful legs. I would like to see more of them. I will give you thirty dollars cash if you will set across from me for about 15 minutes, wearing no pants or girdle, and allow me to feast my eyes upon your private charms. You would be fully dressed otherwise, and I would not touch or molest you in any way.
    “I am an educated man from a good family. You can trust me. If you are interested, please meet me in the Rondelet Bar at 5:30 P.M. today.”
    “Very sincerely,

    The name of the bar and the time were written in ink, and the typewritten message itself had been duplicated. What a very strange man, I thought? How bizarre and unusual an approach. Yet for a person of my make-up, starved for sex, how compelling an invitation. In a purely sexual way, I was just as entranced by the promise of this invitation as a romantic high school girl would be if she were invited out for the prom by the boy of her dreams.
    I went home and took a very long and relaxing bath, feeling most wonderful as I luxuriated in a sea of warm water and thick scented suds. I almost gasped for breath when I let my hands slide over my breasts and titillate and agitate my nipples.
    While toweling off, I felt that it would be the most natural thing in the world to allow my fingers the free reign they cried out for, to let them caress, press and manipulate the little feminine folds between my thighs, the risen tip of my stimulated clitoris. I held back, however, as I was determined to save every last minute of my sexual energy for this strange and good-looking young man.
    While leisurely dressing, I tried on several different skirts and dresses, practicing the art of exposure as I sat down in front of a full-length mirror. The flared cocktail skirt was too awkward.
    My blue sheath was so clinging that nothing but raising it to my hips would reveal the deep blackness of my thick triangle.
    Ultimately, I settled on a green knit dress that clung lusciously to my breasts and derriere, also displaying a good amount of cleavage from the proper angle with its scoop neck, but with enough flare to the skirt that I could control the exposure of my stockinged thighs and privates most beautifully. I wore no pants or girdle, and attached my stockings to a lace-and-ribbon garter belt that left my buttocks delightfully nude. I felt sure, from what he had written, this would please him greatly.
    I was terribly excited, but not nervous. Bill, on the other hand, was a totally nervous wreck when I met him at a small rear booth in the Rondelet Bar at 5:30.
    “Oh… have a seat… I… I was wondering if,” he mumbled in a breathless stutter, gulping for air, ”… you'd show up. I thought… well, I thought the way you looked at me, you… you might be the passionate type…”
    “Your approach is quite unique, Bill,” I told him with a certain smile, projecting my tightly clad bosom as I sat across from him, “I'll have a scotch and plain water, by the way… And now, let's hear all about you and your exciting life. You look like a man who's done everything.”
    “Yeah… uh…,” he continued to mumble uneasily after the waitress took our order, his eyes looking around questioningly, “Uh, let me give you the thirty now, so you'll know I'm on the level..
    “Bill! I'm not a prostitute!” I protested with a degree of defensiveness, yet I took the money he offered in order to avoid making a scene. “I didn't come down to meet you just to make thirty dollars.”
    “Well… it's better this way,” he insisted, his eyes brightening as he seemed to be gauging the path from the men's room to our booth, “Say… look, honey, I'm going to go back and wash my hands. Now… when I come back, see… I'll be approaching the table so that you'll be facing me. No one else will be facing you, as long there's nobody else walking along by me. So… when you see me coming back, you spread your legs and… fix your skirt or something. I want to see nearly everything… nearly everything, but not quite… okay?”
    Before I could answer him, Bill had left the table and was on his way to the men's room. While he was gone, the waitress served our drinks. I then sat so that my legs were almost facing out of the booth, then put my right leg aside as I saw him coming back. I placed both hands on my thighs and raised the skirt. I was absolutely fascinated by all this.
    Bill walked toward me very slowly. I could actually see his trousers move with excitement. The situation aroused me terribly and I could feel the rumblings of my own passions deep within my body. This was so strange, so very, very strange to be doing this in a public place with people all around. I know that I felt the excitement and danger of it in somewhat the same way that he did.
    “Oh… oh, damn, honey… oh… oh… o-o-oh!” he cried out, muffling his voice with one hand, while his other was on his lap, '©h, honey… whew! You sure can do it. You are good… oh, you are good.”
    We both opened up a bit as we sipped our drinks. I was astonished to learn that Bill had played with himself in the men's room and put on a rubber prophylactic. He had become so excited from looking at my legs as he walked back to the table, that he merely stroked his shielded penis to ejaculation through his trousers as he sat down.
    But this was hardly the end of our episode. After another drink, he took me to a hotel room, where we had more to drink and talked some more. I was so fascinated by all this, that it tended to partially relieve my building frustrations just to listen to this man talk. Of course, I really wanted sex with him, but I assumed that would follow.
    Bill rubbed his trousers and I could see the bulge of his penis, as he talked to me. He had absolutely no qualms about telling me the most sordid aspects of his sex life, and I can recall as if it were today, how his rambling voice sounded, the words he used, and nervous gestures and facial expressions.
    “When I was stationed in Korea… oh, that was nice,” he began to go into great detail, his features wrinkling as he took on a somewhat anguished look, “See, I like little girls, and I like young guys too, sometimes, so I pay a hundred bucks a month to this old geek and he lets me sleep with his two girls and his son anytime I want. They were pretty little things about ten or twelve, and their brother was fifteen. He could take it in the rear or go down… and he had a cute little thing on him… yeah…
    “I always go to the libraries now, see. I sit at a table across from young girls or women with sexy legs like you, then I drop something on the floor and get down to pick it up. These kids… these girls nine or ten or even thirteen… they wear such short skirts you can see everything…
    “Yeah… I been caught a couple of times when I get so hot I play with myself… I can't help it. I become obvious then, and they call a cop, but they can't do a damn thing except hold me and talk to me and threaten to get me locked up in a mental institution. Hell, they won't do that because Dad knows the right people… and I'm an A-plus student at the university…”
    Bill's parents were socially prominent. I recognized their name right away when he told me. Also, I recalled hearing that they had a son in his late twenties, who was a perpetual student with degrees in about five different majors. Bill was actually an expert on the Russian language and customs and gave speeches at various organizations. Yet in talking to him on a personal and intimate basis, I would never have realized he was so well educated.
    “Now… I'm ready again, honey,” he finally explained, unzipping his trousers and producing his half-erect penis, “You just sit right there… right there, Denise. Now… act like I'm not here, see. You're restless, You keep crossing your legs one way and then the other… let the skirt creep up… you didn't wear pants, did you? Good. Just let the dress work up… then spread your legs when…”
    I think I must have been as passionate as he was. The sight of his big penis really affected me. It was so terribly long and slim and young looking.
    In the bright light of the room, the shaft appeared to have a shine to it, while the head was soft looking and yielding to his touch. His fingers worked it up and down. He seemed to be milking it, then caressing it in different places. He stroked the penis, then his testicles, then fingered himself beneath it.
    I was rolling with passion, moving my hips and thighs in a slight rhythmic motion as I let my skirt creep up. When I could look down and see that it was well over the tops of my stockings, I leaned back and spread my thighs widely apart. I was rolling my head from side to side and I was saying things and gasping. I finally touched myself.
    “Oh, Bill,” I cried out in utter despair at last, “aren't you ever going to screw me!”
    “Who-o-o… E-e-e-e!” he shouted like a maniac suddenly, and he was ejaculating all over his hand and onto the floor, “Oh… oh-oh, that did it… damn! You are the hottest thing, honey. Every… every Saturday, you've got yourself thirty bucks. Say… is… can you give me your phone number? Sometimes I get where I have to… I mean really have to look up a girl's dress or I'll go crazy… or do something anti-social. Thirty bucks any time I call and need to look…”
    Never in my life had I had to beg a man for sex in a situation like that. Yet no amount of begging could bring Bill to allowing more than a kiss upon his penis or buttocks. He spread his cheeks and told me I could lick him there, but I was not that sick… not yet. He absolutely refused to touch me otherwise, and I felt as if I were going mad until he pretended to suddenly hit upon an idea.
    “I'll call my buddy, Luke!” he said with a snap of his fingers, going to the phone, “Luke will screw you till you'll beg him to stop. Luke is the best cocksman I know, and he'll pay thirty bucks too. Luke always likes something fresh and good like you, honey. And I'll watch. Damn, I love too watch Luke go at a girl…”
    “No… I don't need the money, really,” I began to object, “And who is Luke? He may be some sex maniac or something…”
    “Ha-ha… ha-ha-ha!” Bill burst into gales of ribald laughter as he dialed a number, “Luke just likes to screw and eat, honey. I'm the sex maniac. Ha-ha… ha-ha-ha!”
    Could this be me? I just sat there and laughed with him. Naturally I was no angel. Sex had played a very strong role in my life. I realized that I was unable to control my urges, had always been searching and seeking for more than just a marital relation or boy-girl romance. I had done a lot of things with a lot of men. But I was not a whore. I was not a pervert.
    Or was I?
    The idea of Luke excited me, what with the terribly passionate mood I was in. I didn't really care what he looked like or what he did, so long as he used my body and brought me to orgasm time after time. Nor did I completely reject the idea of the money. I had never been able to save because I spent far too lavishly for my nice clothes, my expensive apartment, my late model car. I was used to luxury and constantly sought loans from my indulgent mother, who knew they would never be paid back. She had spoiled me that way all her life and father had never objected. Now that he could, really. My mother dominated him completely.
    Luke was a big man in every way. He was almost burly. When he arrived, he was half drunk and needed a shave. Bill had me sitting in the chair facing the door, my dress to my hips and legs spread.
    “She looks like yer type, kid… heh-heh,” Luke drooled his words as his hard, steely eyes unglued me with their basic erotic appeal, “She's a good bargain for thirty bucks, I'm thinking. Looks like she might enjoy a bit, eh? Heh-heh…”
    Luke tossed three ten dollar bills on the dresser and dragged me out of the chair. He was a strong and virile man of about 45, and as rough as he looked. His coarse beard ground into my face and his tongue scorched my mouth with its rapacious thrusts. My body burned with desire. I wanted this man to enter me, and I reached down to envelope the largest penis I had ever felt. It was ramrod stiff and it throbbed hard.
    “I… I want it… hard,” I said exactly what I felt.
    “Baby… you are going to get the schnitzel! Heh-heh…,” he laughed crudely.
    His laugh was the only thing I didn't like. His hands were amazingly gentle as he undressed me. I writhed across the bed and touched myself while I watched him undress, observed the thickness of his penis. That was the primary feature of his build, not the length, but the thickness. I wanted it, yet I wondered about the penetration.
    I screamed when he first entered me, but that did not last long. I was thoroughly lubricated. In fact, my dress was wet from where I had been sitting. I have always secreted profusely, so much so that I sometimes wear a sanitary napkin if I feel that I am going to be unduly aroused without having a chance to remove my clothes. Some men like this characteristic a great deal, particularly those who enjoy going down on me. More about all of that later.
    I clung hungrily to Luke and worked my pelvis against him in frantic thrusts, thus starting my series of multiple orgasms. At last, I was in the blessed world of interpersonal sex for which I hungered. The three months of my sexual hermitage was over. I was living again.

    And thus began the phase of my life that was utterly devoted to erotic pleasures of every shading, deviation and variation that the human animal can envisage. Bill directed me to a hundred or more intrigues over the next few years, and he was always good for at least one appearance each week or month for us to play our charade of the girl exposing herself so he could look up the dress. There were a thousand variations, yet his reaction and masturbation remained almost the same no matter what little drama I acted out.
    I was, in effect, a part-time whore. My income from this enterprise ran as high as two hundred dollars a week on occasion. I moved into a lovely town house, and when Kathy came to spend the summer, I was able to treat her as a veritable fairy princess, buying her all kinds of expensive clothes, jewelry and other gifts and lavishing her with a big allowance and a savings account.
    It was sometimes difficult to keep her from finding out about the double-life her sexy mother led, what with her there all the time during the summer. I did, however, think that I was quite successful at this. I never had any of my paying clients in the house while she was there.
    Even my “quickie” dates, like the man who stayed only five or ten minutes while I went down on him for ten dollars, were not allowed in the house during the summer. Anyone with whom I was involved sexually, whether for money or my own enjoyment, had to provide the place for lovemaking when Kathy was at home.
    Among my activities of those years were flings at every kind of perversion and variation known to man. The men Bill had introduced me to, introduced me to others in turn. I could have all the sex I wanted of any kind, and at any time. I became a veritable nymphomaniac.
    Some of my dates took me to swap parties, to stag parties. I experienced many threesomes, including one with a man and his German Shepherd. At some of the swinging parties, I discovered that I had an amazing capability for bi-sexuality. I realized that my admiration of a nicely shaped female body was not altogether esthetic. The first time I went down on a man's wife, I was drunk and I loved it. The next time, I was sober, and I loved it more.
    I became involved in what was almost a real love affair with one of the most beautiful girls in this city, Cindy Warwick. Cindy was 24 when I first met her, a full-time call girl who catered to afternoon and early evening rendezvous with some of the richest men in town and from out of town. I suppose one reason I was so intensely attracted to Cindy was that she also led a very strange double life.
    Cindy had two darling children and a nice home with a wonderful old woman for a housekeeper. She was a perfect mother, absolutely wonderful with her children. To them and the neighbors, she was a professional freelance writer with an office downtown. The “office” consisted of a lovely one-bedroom apartment where she entertained men for up to a hundred dollars an hour.
    It was easy to see how she could command such fees. Cindy was tall, blonde and beautiful. Her figure measured 38-26-38. She loved sex in such a natural and affectionate way with either a man or a woman that there was nothing ever dirty about it with her. She loved everyone, she loved people, and sex was a part of love. I envied her greatly.
    I think she fell in love with me about the second time I ever saw her. We had put on a show for this big advertising executive from New York whom Bill had sent over to Cindy's. He had told her he would pay two hundred dollars to watch her go down on a girl. She called me, and we went through the whole business for him. When he left, Cindy looked at me with the sweetest and most touching expression I had ever seen on another girl's face.
    “Denise…,” she said, smiling so sweetly as she pushed aside her long blonde hair and sat back down on the bed beside me, “I want to do it for love now… can I?”
    I was overwhelmed-that is the only way I can describe it. I opened my legs for her and held her head right between them and I began to have wonderful, wonderful orgasms when I felt her wonderful, soft tongue licking every spot just right, her lips caressing and sucking.
    We saw each other quite often after that. It was never involved. We never professed a serious or deep love until much later. But there was more there than merely the superficial aspects of the sexual relationship. We have remained very close to each other.
    The fact is that I never became close to anyone during that first four years of my life as a teacher and part-time professional. I lived a full sex life and a full life in my work. The bizarre and unusual became so routine that I suppose I was ripe for some sort of a change when Bob came along.
    And when I think of the over-all aspects of the strange mother and daughter element that ran as an undercurrent and more during the next four years, I often wonder if it began when I met Bill in the library and became a wanton, or when I met Bob at a party one night and almost let him take over both my daughter and myself?

Chapter Two


    The first time I ever saw Bob he was stripped naked and having sex relations with a 19-year-old blonde at a swap party. I had gone to the party with Bill, but most of the other couples there were married. When Bill and I arrived about 9:30, the group had formed a circle in the living room and were all watching Bob with this girl.
    She was a newcomer to the crowd, the wife of a young man who worked as a salesman for the company headed by the host of that particular party. They had played some sort of game to determine whom she should swap with first, and the rules were that she must be initiated in front of everyone.
    Bob Morgan was not a conventionally good-looking man. He was 45, a little fat and with graying hair cut very short in a military style. His face was rugged and very virile, with several scars or cuts still showing. He was a retired colonel who had worked in very clandestine military intelligence operations and he was somehow still involved with quite secret work that required him to just “disappear” for weeks or months at a time.
    Of course, I did not know all of this as I perched on the edge of a chair and allowed the host to agitate my clitoris with his fingers while we all watched the performance entranced. All I knew was that I had never before seen a man who so compelled me to watch him. The novelty of watching and being watched in sexual acts had long ago worn off. I still enjoyed it immensely, but never to this extent.
    The blonde girl was lying on her back on a mat, her legs wrapped up around Bob's back as he hovered over her, his long penis penetrating her in the most beautifully timed and rhythmic strokes I had ever seen. It was so obvious that he was controlling the entire thing. The girl was his slave, her body and emotions reacting to his direction as music from a trained orchestra reacts to the director's baton.
    I had never in my life seen a man capable of such a cool and controlled performance with a completely new girl under pressure like this. The girl was a darling, her figure perfect and youthful, yet I watched the eyes of the others in the room and discovered that they too were following each move that Bob made, while the girl's movements and occasional outcries of “Faster! Faster!” were all but ignored.
    I empathized strongly with her, knowing the feelings she must be experiencing. Bob was playing with her, teasing her with his slow and measured strokes, denying her the speed-up so that she could reach her climax. She was such a young girl, probably incapable of multiple climaxes, but Bob was endearing himself to her by his very denial.
    Yet his control over her was so complete that she could not hurry the process herself. As our host continued to finger me to climax, I felt irresistibly drawn to this man. I stood up and began to undress. Nobody noticed except our host and that was because he had to move to keep his fingers working on me.
    When I was nude, I walked out to join Bob and the girl in a way that I had done many times at parties. I lay with my head just against her buttocks so that I could bring my lips and mouth into contact with their union. My whole body was aflame.
    “Get her out! Dammit… get her out of the way!” Bob screamed angrily, while he never missed a stroke, never made a move of his body or limbs that was not directly concerned with what he was doing.
    “He's a funny one,” our host whispered to me as he helped me up from the floor, my feelings shattered, “That's Bob Morgan. Quite a guy though. He's here with Suzy tonight… just got back from some super-secret job in Viet Nam.
    And that was when I learned all about Bob Morgan, from my host, a man whose name I can't even remember, while I continued to watch the spectacle in front of me. Bob began to go faster now and the blonde became flooded with ecstatic wriggles, twists and a frantic pumping motion of her body. When their mutual climax came a few moments later, it was almost possible to see her inner muscles working on him. With each outward stroke, he seemed to bring part of her insides out with him. I don't think anyone there had ever seen anything like it before.
    Into the evening and through the small morning hours, things broke up into small groups, twosomes, threesomes and so forth. I desperately wanted to connect with Bob, but he always was occupied by one or two other women, and usually off in a bedroom with them. As for myself, I was certainly not bored. Our host went down on me for a solid half hour, and then I was taken by two men from California who were visiting.
    Eleanor, the host's wife, introduced me to a new girl from Texas who was bi, and the two of us went into a bedroom for a session, and then were joined by her husband and Luke. I think it must have been almost daylight when I had gone to take a douche in the small bathroom off the foyer, that I got a chance to see Bob again.
    It certainly wasn't a romantic setting, but then swingers are used to anything. He walked right in on me as I sat there douching. I was surprised, but not shocked. I could meet him on his own terms. If he was bizarre enough to stay there after he came in, I was weird enough to go right ahead with what I was doing.
    “How nice. I had hoped to have the opportunity to talk with you privately,” Bob commented, looking me over very straightforwardly, even stepping back to get a good look between my legs. “I must apologize for upsetting you when you had the urge to join us last evening, but you must realize that the concentration I had to use precluded a trio. You almost ruined the whole business.”
    Bob seemed pleased at what he saw, smiled, and then busied himself at the lavatory, washing his hands and face, then searching through the medicine cabinet for a razor and shaving cream.
    “You made me feel rather like an ass,” I told him with a weak laugh, “and this isn't exactly my idea of a place… or situation… in which to get acquainted.”
    “You'll get over those remaining inhibitions,” he said casually, shooting pressurized cream on his face and smoothing it around. “I've decided take you under my wing and make a real woman of you. These parties will be off limits from now on. You are single, aren't you?”
    “I am divorced,” I stated, absolutely fascinated by his amazing self-assurance and domination, yet determined to put up an expected protest. “I am divorced… but my 14-year-old daughter is spending the summer with me. She stays with me every summer…”
    “Do you have a picture of her?”
    “Yes… in my purse there, but…”
    “Will you show it to me, please?” Bob asked, and there was no element of doubt in voice but that I would comply.
    I felt peculiar, but in a wonderful way. Of course, I am odd, and my whole being at that time was completely unorthodox. But in looking back on this, even I am shocked at myself. There I was taking a douche in the bathroom with almost a total stranger who, as he was shaving, announced that he was going to “take over” my life, and I cut off the flow in the douche bag to retrieve a picture of Kathy from my purse.
    “Very nice…,” he commented upon looking it the wallet-size, junior-high picture Kathy had it me last year. “She has a sensual face. Is she a virgin?”
    “I should hope so!” I said with a note of protest. “She… well, had a tendency to be a bit wild and stay out late… God knows where she meets some of these creeps she shows up with, but… you ask the damnedest questions…”
    “You both need a male influence in the home,” Bob observed sharply, turning his attention back to his shaving. “I've been staying at the Riverside Motel since I came back to the States. I think it would be best if I moved in with you tomorrow.”
    “Oh, wait a minute now!” I exploded, angered by his presumptuousness as I stood up and wiped myself off, “You're clever enough to know that I like you… that I think you're sexy as hell… if I got down there and tried to lick you and that girl. But this is ridiculous. Just because you're some CIA character…”
    “Who told you that?” he literally screamed at me, dropping his razor in the hot water and grabbing me by the neck, “Who told you that?”
    “Ow… awk… you're hurting me!” I objected, fruitlessly struggling against his iron grip, “I… I was just told that you were… used to be in military intelligence or something…”
    “That's all they told you?” he demanded, relaxing his grip just enough to let me know that those strong hands could strangle me to death in an instant if he so desired.
    “They… said you still spooked or something… it was very vague…”
    “All right,” he said, letting me go and returning to his shaving as if nothing had happened. “It's no secret that I was an intelligence officer. I still travel occasionally on classified work. I may be gone sometimes for indefinite periods. You must not question this. Now, what size quarters do you have?”
    “Look… if you think you're going to move in on me,” I started again as he splashed water over his face and toweled it off, ”… you've got another guess coming…
    “You need a man. You need constant companionship. The presence of a man is essential to your physical and mental well-being,” he rattled off at me, turning to face me and gathered me in his arms with those strong hands, “If you allow yourself to keep going to these parties, having boyfriends and girlfriends all over the place, you'll become much more of a tramp than you are now. Think of yourself ten years from now. Think of your daughter.”
    “I… I am thinking of my daughter,” I told him nervously, overawed by the strength of his presence, the hypnotic influence he seemed to be wielding over me, “I've never had a man in the house… except as a very proper visitor… while she's at home.”
    “Do you have an extra bedroom?”
    “Yes… we use it as a den downstairs…”
    “Don't you think I could take care of your physical needs?”
    “Yes… but…”
    Bob pressed his massive body to me and I think I must have succumbed totally, body and soul. It was as if I was no longer capable of self control. I had become weak and lifeless, dependent upon him for strength, for sustenance. I was no longer my own master.
    Ridiculous? Yes, in looking back on it all. But when we looked in the bathroom mirror at ourselves then, Bob in only his shorts and I mother naked, I felt that it was the most thrilling moment of my life. I was electric with excitement. Nor was the excitement totally a thing of passion, as I had been thoroughly satisfied from a physical standpoint by so many others that night. This was something very different, very personal. I had the distinct feeling that I needed this man, that he could protect me. But from what?
    “My name is Bob Morgan. You probably know that already,” he announced after a very warm and free kiss that I enjoyed thoroughly, “What's yours?”

    Bob and I went out to breakfast at his motel. It was a beautiful place way out at the edge of town with an open dining patio that looked down to a valley below, It seemed strange that I felt so inordinately relaxed, so tranquil, so at peace with the world. I had turned over everything to Bob. I no longer had responsibilities and, consequently, no fears or worries. At least that was the way I felt at that moment.
    Over coffee, we discussed a plan for explaining his presence in the house to Kathy. We discarded any attempt to explain our relationship as platonic, because a 14-year-old girl would be too observant to believe it. Since I was a free agent and obviously did have romantic affairs, it was decided that I would simply tell Kathy that Bob was a very old and dear friend who had been overseas for a while and just come back rather unexpectedly. We would imply that we were close to a point of becoming engaged, picking up our serious romance at the point it had left off.
    So far as the neighbors were concerned, the fact that Bob would become a member of the household while Kathy was there would give the situation an air of legitimacy. We even discussed how in casual conversation with the neighbors we would slip in mentions of “his room downstairs.”
    It was nine in the morning, when I was in Bob's room at the motel helping him pack, that I decided to call Kathy and prepare her. At the same time, of course, I had to explain my all-night absence, since I usually sneaked in just before dawn from parties and she never knew the difference… I thought.
    “Darling! The most wonderful thing has happened!” I told her with bubbling enthusiasm. “When Bill took me out last night, he told me he had a surprise for me-Bill and I are just good friends, you know-and the party was a surprise celebration and reunion for Bob and me. Who is Bob? Oh, goodness, I must have told you about Bob! He's mother's really very dearest friend, but he's been overseas so long I almost thought he would never come back. Well, dear, Bob is coming to stay with us for a while… until they send him back overseas or somewhere. Oh, Kathy, we danced all night and had the most wonderful reunion…”
    Bob had three suitcases of clothes and papers. The rest of his belongings were in a huge trunk at the express office and he telephoned them to deliver it to the house. I was feeling the most wonderful I had felt in years as I handed him over the keys to my car and we breezed along the freeway out to the suburbs on the other side of town.
    I had a man of my own, a powerful and strong man, yet one who was on my same level of emotional complications. Perhaps, really, we needed each other. Bob would be my tower of strength, but I could also provide him, the wandering global secret agent, with an element of much needed stability. Perhaps… we might really get married? Some day.
    And yet, as soon as we walked in the door of my house and Kathy strolled out in the living room from the den to meet us, I knew instinctively that Bob was not all mine. I tried to deny it to myself, and I succeeded for the time being. I deluded myself into not seeing it just as deliberately as Kathy had chosen to wear a fantastically sheer set of yellow baby-dolls to meet her mother's boyfriend.
    I blushed when I saw the budding young breasts and the tiny nipples peeping right through the gauzy fabric, and I scolded her about coming out half-nude like that. Bob's clever eyes took in each detail of her lovely young body very quickly, then he laughed off my concern and shook hands with Kathy in a way I can only describe as paternal.
    My daughter was and is a very beautiful girl. At 14, her figure was almost totally developed as to a completely feminine configuration, although her breasts were to grow to 36-C's from the 34-B she was then. Kathy's hair is long and a beautiful light brown color, with marvelously silky texture. I remember how I used to just adore running my fingers through the strands when I rolled it. Her face is darling. Most men call her I cute and cuddly, and I tend to feel the same way.
    “Oh, Mother!” she responded to my chiding of her for being so revealingly dressed, “I go ” around like this in front of Daddy all the time at home. And Bob's going to be staying with us, so he might as well get used to me.”
    I wondered if she flirted and moved herself about like that in front of her father? I had never thought too much about it before, but she was always provocative like that, even around me. I enjoyed it, of course, because I looked on her as being my own product, a very attractive girl whom males would admire and worship. However, I became very conscious of her suggestive behavior around Bob.
    The first few days we spent in fixing up the den for Bob and arranging his trunkload of things. There were two attache cases that he told us in no uncertain terms we were never to touch. It seems that I hung onto Bob those first days as if I were literally attached to him physically. I had a secret fear of his being alone with Kathy. However, our being together as a kind of pseudo-family unit seemed to grow on me, and somewhere along the line I discarded my fears, at least on the surface and consciously.
    The worst part of that first week was Kathy's constant presence preventing Bob and me from having sex. I kept telling him that I would sneak down to his room after Kathy went to sleep. I explained that it would be perfectly safe because even if Kathy should get up and realize we were together down there, we could just be looking at T-V. But Bob said we should present a very proper image at first, let Kathy have time to do all the snooping she liked, and find nothing.
    One evening as the three of us sat looking at T-V, I whispered to Bob that I wanted him so bad, why didn't we tell Kathy we were going to a movie, and then get a motel room for a few hours. He looked at me and frowned, then he seemed to brighten up a moment.
    “Turn off the T-V, Kathy,” he directed in his authoritarian manner that we had come to expect. “I think it's time the three of us had a serious talk.”
    “Oh… no…” I gasped aloud, not really knowing what it was I expected.
    “Gonna tell me about the birds and bees, Bob?” Kathy teased him as she swiveled over to turn off the set. “Dad's already done that, but I like the way the boys tell you better.”
    “Don't be such a smart-ass!” Bob blared at Kathy angrily, popping her terribly hard on the buttocks with his hand. “You're a very mature girl for your age and I see no reason to carry on some kind of act around you. You must realize that your mother and I are adults, entitled to adult pleasures, and that we are involved in a serious love affair.”
    “Ha-ha!” Kathy burst into laughter as she plopped down in the big chair, her breasts moving about so very noticeably underneath the pink baby-dolls, “I don't think you two are having a serious affair. You haven't slept together the whole time you've been here.”
    “Kathy… I ought to punish you for that kind of talk!” I screamed at her.
    “Oh, Mother!” she pouted, “Kids aren't dumb! I don't care what you and Bob do. Don't let me stop you.”
    “But your father, Kathy. He wouldn't…”
    “Mother! Do you think I tell Daddy all my secrets either? We women have to stick together. Besides, I'm going to the drive-in with Chillie tonight, and we may be aw-ful-ly late. You and Bob can move up to your bedroom and make love all night for all I care.”
    “Chillie!” I exclaimed, and I was really upset because I had forbidden her to see that awful boy again. “I told you not to go with that idiot… that beatnik again. He's 20 years old and you're only 14, Kathy. What will you be doing all nightlong?”
    “Probably not as much as you and Bob are doing. Well, gotta hurry now and get dressed. See ya later… lovers…”
    I knew immediately that Kathy had only used Bob's statement of policy to her own advantage. I heard her on the phone as soon as she went to her room. Undoubtedly, she was calling this Chillie creature to tell him the good news. Nor was Bob at all pleased with the results.
    “Her father and stepmother undoubtedly have no control over the girl and neither do you,” he stated quite perceptively. “I may have to take over the job of disciplining her, if you can't do better. Do you think she's still a virgin?”
    “Why… of course!” I replied immediately, if somewhat hesitant and defensive, then I broke down and confessed, “Oh, I… I don't know, Bob. A mother worries so much. I've thought about it, worried about it, a hundred times… a thousand times. I know that character, Chillie, must have tried. I think he'd try me if he thought he could make it.”
    “Have you ever made love with one of your students, Denise?” Bob asked suddenly, fixing me with a stare that I could not avoid.
    “Yes… once,” I admitted, almost having forgotten it, almost laughing as I recalled it, “This boy was a senior about 19. He was a terrible student, really. One afternoon he just dropped by the apartment I was living in, and asked if I could give him some help. You might say we had carried on a mild flirtation in the classroom. He was quite handsome and knew how to arouse a girl.
    “I was in the mood that afternoon, terribly in the mood. I had him go through the practice piece from THE CURTAIN RISES, you know, where Franz comes in and teaches Elsa how to breathe, placing his hands at her diaphragm and back. He took the part of Franz, and I placed my hands over his and led his right hand up to my breasts. He got the message instantly. He was awkward, but beautiful. He made love to me twice and then we sat in bed and smoked cigarettes and told dirty jokes. I got him to go down on me before he left. I don't think he had ever done that before. It embarrassed him terribly, and I never had any more problems with him. It was all he could do to look at me after that.”
    “You've led a rather sordid life, haven't you?” Bob commented, still staring at me. “I suppose you've done just about everything a morally corrupt woman can do. Have you ever whored?”
    I refused to answer. I had never been so degraded and humiliated in my life. I put my head in my hands and bit my lip to keep from crying… or from screaming out. I didn't need to admit it in so many words, Bob could read me like a book.
    “And look at you now,” he went on, “so sex-crazed that you can't wait for Kathy to get out of the house… so sex crazed that you were desperate to rent a motel room to relieve your lust. You're a very evil woman, Denise. I hope I can cure you.”
    Bob's methods of cure were as bizarre as everything else about him. When Kathy went out, he came and sat by me on the couch. We kissed and embraced more hungrily than we ever had before, and I realized again that I had actually never had sex relations with Bob. Three weeks since we had met, and lived in the same house, and never a sex relation.
    He loosed my gown and sucked my nipples, pulling on them until they came out full, and then raking them with the surface of his tongue until I felt mad with desire. I groped for his trousers and tried to pull down the zipper only to have him push my hand brusquely away.
    “Oh, Bob… I want you inside me, darling,” I whined like the wanton I was. “Oh, Bob… I almost came when you sucked my nipples… oh, Bob…”
    I got out of my clothes and lay on the couch, my eyes closed. I moved my body restlessly and snaked my hands up my sides, cupping my breasts in the way that drove most men to distraction. Slowly, I moved my hands over my stomach and twisted my fingers around in the top of my pubic hair.
    “Go ahead, Denise. Relieve yourself, if you have to,” Bob told me, and I opened my eyes to find him sitting across from me, his eyes watching every move.
    “Don't you… want me?” I asked him almost in tears.
    “Of course, I do, Denise. But I'm not an animal. I have to practice constant restraint to keep me alert, deny myself the greatest of needs. You know how I enjoy sex. You've seen me enjoy it, as you shall enjoy it with me some day. For now, I must test myself against anything you can do to provoke me. Go ahead. It's very arousing for a man to watch a woman play with herself.”
    I brought up my legs and spread them, giving my fingers full reign of my crotch. I let go and teased the insides of my thighs with my nails, thumbing my soaked vaginal lips and probing for my clitoris. Then, I parted the lips and rubbed freely the insides, working gradually back up to my clitoris and bringing on a flood of orgasms.
    One after another they came. I called out to Bob. I cried. I whined. I begged him every way I knew how. Why? Oh, why, did the men who seemed to appeal to me strongest, always torture me this way? But then a strange feeling came over me. I worked on myself harder, finding a new kind of enjoyment in knowing that somehow this was, after all, an interpersonal act, and that in some way Bob was enjoying it.
    “Oh… oh, Bob… I'm exhausted… oh,” I finally confessed aloud, laying back and closing my eyes, “At least you can come over and kiss me now. I feel so relaxed… so wonderful.”
    “Don't you feel ashamed of yourself?” he asked gruffly, shattering every offbeat illusion and satisfaction I had gained. “I would think you would feel cheap and dirty after that orgy of masturbation you just performed. You don't think a normal woman would feel comfortable after such a depraved exhibition, do you?”
    I was so exhausted, so confused, so humiliated and shamed, that I got up and started to put my clothes back on in a trance. The couch cushion was soaked where I had secreted so much, and Bob chided me about that too. I seemed to move around mechanically, taking orders from Bob. We moved everything of his up to my room and re-arranged the den like it had been before, pushing the single Hollywood bed back in the corner, putting the thick cover over it, then making a sofa out of it with the big cushions.
    I was terribly tired, tired and frustrated, when we finished. Bob took a pair of pajamas from the drawer and started to undress. I felt so peculiar about the idea of going to bed with him. I felt physically and mentally unclean, as if I might tarnish him with my presence and closeness. I realized then that I was pretty dirty and did need a bath. I had been perspiring heavily with all the work, and I was messy otherwise too.
    The shower refreshed me a great deal, a hot bath with scented soap always does. It seems to clean away both kinds of dirt, mental and the physical. It never did a complete job, but it helped immensely. I know whenever I had that feeling after a bath, I recalled Lady Macbeth's line that “will not all the perfumes of Arabia wipe out this damned spot?”
    I walked back in the bedroom naked to find Bob lying in bed in the same manner. His penis was already erect and he announced to me, and I do mean announced, “Denise, I am going to make a woman of you. Come here.”
    Immediately, I became alive again. It was the most amazing thing. I lay on the bed beside him and melted in his naked embrace. It was absolutely wonderful!
    I suppressed my impulse to go down on him. The sight of his thick organ recalled so vividly that scene at the party. I was tensed up and frantic, so anxious for him to make love to me.
    My wait was relatively short, considering the three weeks of anxiety and the awful suspense of the hours before. Bob turned over on his back and I straddled him. I yelled for joy at the feel of him entering me. I think it was the most wonderful entrance I have ever enjoyed. I care not what the experts say about the vaginal orgasm or that it is all psychological, the feel of a man's penis inside. The experts have never been entered. They are all men and they don't know what they are talking about.
    I knew not to hurry Bob, so I luxuriated in the slow rhythm of moving myself up and down, crying out for joy at the feel of him going in and out of me. I seemed to be lifted with each upward movement to absolutely dizzying heights. I was in a world where humans had no right to be.
    My joy and ecstasy in that role was short-lived. In looking back, I think Bob deliberately wanted to prevent me from becoming too satisfied at that moment. He put his hands at my buttocks and lifted me from his shiny wet organ. He crawled out from under me, keeping a hand on my buttocks, to indicate that I was to stay substantially in the same position, going down on all fours.
    When I felt his hands on my buttocks from the rear, I tensed with anticipation until I felt the tip of his penis entering me again. I suppose I had been afraid for a moment that he was going to do the other. I was in no mood for that. I wanted to be satisfied.
    My orgasms began almost at once. It was such a beautiful feeling. I can't really put it into words. I know I wiggled my bottom. I did all the appropriate things and made all the right noises, and they came from my true feelings. I was delirious with pleasure and I never wanted it to stop.
    And that was when it did stop, of course. Bob pulled out and remained on his knees there, asking me to turn around and lie on my back. And then, he did the unexpected, really. He entered me again in the regular position and began too make love so beautifully. He held me tight and brought me to more wonderful climaxes, controlling my body with his magnetic attraction, his hypnotic pull. I knew then what the blonde girl on the floor was experiencing that night.
    The most unexpected part was what he said. He was so tender and soft in his caresses, his voice was affectionate, more so than I had ever imagined was possible. I remember his words vividly.
    “I want you to listen… Denise,” he told me with measured pauses that showed me the quality and degree of control he maintained over every organism in his body, “I may never tell you this… again. I love you. I love you… in a way that no other man ever has. I love you and you are mine…”
    “Oh, Bob… I love you, Bob,” I told him with all the true feeling I had. “I don't want you to leave me… ever.”
    “I will have to leave you… sometimes,” he told me, our bodies in such a beautiful motion, our organs thrilling each other so wonderfully with their friction. “You will remain mine and you will remain faithful. Do you understand?”
    “Yes… yes-yes-yes!” I promised, knowing I would have promised anything at that moment.
    “When I come,” he began again, pausing, “I am going to say some things you may not like. You must understand…”
    We came together so beautifully that I could not understand what he said. I think he was so similarly affected that what he did say was an almost incoherent babble. But the word that stuck with me, although I was not sure that I heard it, was-“Kathy!”

Chapter Three


    There was so much that happened that summer, I have tried desperately to think of some way to condense it all without writing an entire book within a book. Bob, of course, took over the household completely. He used my car as if it were his own, driving me each noon to the little private summer school where I taught drama in the afternoon.
    What he did during those times I never questioned.
    I understood that he had business around town or that he was working on some “business deal” with a bunch of stockbrokers and lending companies that would allow him to retire in five years as a millionaire. All of his money, over a hundred thousand dollars, he claimed, was tied up either in this venture or in overseas banks where he could not draw it out.
    His financial demands grew as time went on. At first, it was twenty dollars every once in a while. And then it was a hundred for “a deposit on a surprise,” and a thousand to “make a fast trip to Europe to see if I can get some of my funds released.” I had to dip mightily into my meagre savings and get a new loan on the car, as my hundred dollar a week fee for part-time time teaching was my only income during the summer.
    In retrospect, I am utterly amazed that I never once objected, never questioned Bob about a single thing that he took or “borrowed” from me. I was an absolute slave, desperate for the love that he avoided giving me until I became a nervous wreck, yet willing to put up with any deprivation so that I could be assured that love was mine to have.
    There were so many things that I tolerated, yet there were three basic acts or themes that troubled and distressed me the most, and all of them had to do with Kathy.

    First, there was the continuing presence of Kathy in conversations when Bob and I were making love or preparing to do so. This would occur in various ways, but the one incident I remember clearly, was fairly typical of them all. On this particular evening, Kathy had paraded around in front of us in her baby-dolls more than usual, and would sit looking at TV with her legs purposefully pushed apart, the fuzz of her nymphet mound visible at the loosely fitted crotch.
    On another occasion, Bob had invited some friend of his over to watch Kathy strut around and model her new bikini, and she did such a provocative job of twisting and contorting in front of them that I (and she too) had no doubt of their arousal.
    But on the specific evening I remember so well, I saw Bob pretend to be half asleep while his eyes remained open just enough to observe each move and twitch of Kathy's lovely flesh as she twisted around in her seat. My eyes were trained too, trained on his trousers. I saw it rise from limpid flatness until there was the clear outline of his erect penis beneath the trousers that were tightly stretched from the position in which he was sitting. It was so clear, in fact, that the head and ridge was completely discernible.
    An hour later, as we lay together on the bed, Bob began to stare at me with a peculiar expression. He kissed me hard on the mouth, tasting and nibbling at my lips, then moving back to look at me again.
    “Your mouth is very much like Kathy's,” he commented with a certain huskiness that was not usually there. “And your breasts, they're still inverted… the nipples, I mean. So are hers. Here… kiss.”
    Bob pushed me down to his belly and I began to lick his hairy flesh, then envelope his stout manliness with my lips. I knew what he was thinking, and yet I fought to deny it. I was not Denise. I was Kathy. I was Denise in presence, but I was Kathy in his mind.
    “Have you ever had a doctor check her to be sure she's still a virgin?” he asked me later as we fingered each other and kissed.
    “I don't see what good that would do,” I tried to get rid of the subject quickly. “If she's not a virgin, there's nothing a doctor can do to make her one.”
    “I wouldn't worry so much about the boys, Denise. Have you ever noticed how she stays locked in her room with her girlfriend, this Mary Clauson?”
    “She spends the night with her,” I said indignantly, pulling away from him. “All girls spend the night with their friends. So what?”
    “I wonder what they do together?” Bob seemed to muse pleasurably, licking my nipples and using his fingers on me in both places, “I wonder if they play with each other… naked together… in bed…”
    “Bob, please… oh, darling… darling,” I objected, moving my hips to the rhythm of sensuousness he elicited from me. “Can't you talk about something else when you do that… I'm… o-o-oh, I'm just about to come, darling. Please… talk about something else…”
    And when I looked down at his penis, I saw that he had already had a climax. I immediately confronted him, accusing him of using me to get so worked up about Kathy he couldn't control himself.
    But would you believe it? That man actually talked me out of it, made me seem like a dirty minded slut, while he denied any such thoughts himself.
    “You must understand,” he explained to me with such conviction. “In my work, the mind is trained to disassociate itself from the body, from the purely physical pleasures of the flesh. I was talking and thinking about Kathy with sincere concern, while the physical closeness with you and the manipulation of our sex parts caused me to come to orgasm. There was no connection, Denise. Any connection was only in your mind, not in mine.”
    When it would happen the next time, he would always have another excuse, and the end result was always that it was my fault for having these ideas. Yes, I really believed at the time that I was to blame. It never occurred to me that we could both be somehow a part of the same evil thing.

    The second event of the summer that had me really torn apart was the episode with the “spy-scope.” Bob kept insisting that something was going on between Kathy and Mary Clauson, the cute little blonde who double-dated with her and was her almost constant companion.
    One evening when Mary was spending the night with Kathy, Bob signaled me to follow him up the stairs after they had gone up to Kathy's bedroom. He took me with him into the big storage closet in the hallway and turned on his flashlight.
    “See the two little scopes there,” he whispered, indicating two objects that seemed imbedded into the back wall of the closet and looked like miniature telescopes or jeweler's devices for viewing gems.
    “I installed them this afternoon when Kathy was at the movies. I use them in my work all the time. They consist of wide-angle photographic lenses with a viewer. The front lens is miniaturized. It sticks out in the bedroom like the head of a small pin, unnoticeable. Here… look through this one.”
    As I put my eye up to the device nearest me, Bob peered through the other one. Almost the entire bedroom was completely visible to us. Kathy was taking off her bra, while Mary sat on the edge of the bed in her bra and panties.
    “Bob… you must be mad!” I said almost aloud.
    “Sh-sh!” he shushed me up, his strong hand squeezing my forearm until I thought it would break. “I didn't set this up for our amusement, you know. I'm seriously concerned about the abnormal sex habits of your daughter.”
    I was terrified. I was terrified and uncomfortable. I felt like the vilest mother in the world as I realized Bob was watching my own daughter peel her panties down seductively as Mary said something to her that caused both girls to laugh. We could only catch a word every now and then. One thing I was sure that I heard was, “Bob flips… do this,” from Kathy.
    She paraded all around the room stripped naked, projecting her growing breasts, wiggling her torso so that they bounced and quivered, so that her buttocks and thighs fairly danced with the obscene undulations of a strip artist or go-go girl.
    “Bob… we can't do this,” I whispered to him.
    “Sh-sh,” he responded again, this time slipping his arm around my waist and drawing me close to his side, “See what they're doing? I told you there was something to this.”
    “Oh, Bob,” I objected, keeping my voice low, “they're just kidding around. I understand men do more than that in the shower room when they're joking or something.”
    “You should know. Look.”
    Mary stood up from her perch on the bed and removed her bra. Her breasts were smaller than Kathy's and the nipples quite large. I recall frowning at the unattractiveness in comparison.
    The two girls stood together in front of the mirror, admiring themselves, then Kathy reached over and slipped a finger beneath the elastic waistband of Mary's pants.
    “Oh… no,” I moaned under my breath, and I felt Bob's grip around my waist tighten.
    They were both smiling at each other in the mirror, almost laughing. Kathy tugged downward at the pants until Mary's light blonde triangle was exposed. I caught my breath and I felt like I was going to faint dead away. My hand brushed past Bob's trousers.
    “Bob… why…?”
    He had exposed himself in the dark there and he was totally aroused. But I quickly looked back into the bedroom, torn between two terrible concerns. When I looked back through the scope, I felt like laughing out for sheer joy. What an evil person I was, we both were, for letting our minds imagine so much. Kathy and Mary did a quick dance in front of the mirror, laughing and giggling, then put on their baby-dolls and lay on the bed to read some pop music magazines.
    “Why… why did you have it out like that?” I confronted Bob as soon as we got into our own bedroom a few minutes later, “You were about to… you were bursting with passion, Bob. I think…”
    “Yes, I can imagine what your dirty little mind was thinking,” he popped back at me, pulling off his shirt and throwing it in a corner. “I can't understand how such an attractive woman as you, such an irresistibly erotic woman as you, can have so little self-confidence. You seem to be incapable of realizing your own attractiveness to the male.”
    “Me?” I puzzled genuinely, taking off my blouse. “I'm talking about you getting so excited watching Kathy and Mary… your own private little peep-show to watch my daughter my dress…”
    “Oh, good Lord!” Bob exploded. “Not that again. You have this morbid fixation, this ingrained idea that I am interested sexually in Kathy. You can't seem to realize, you refuse to realize that it is you who arouses me. You, Denise! I had my arm around your waist, correct?”
    You're wearing no girdle tonight, and no bra?”
    “Then don't you think that your presence was what excited me, Denise?” he asked, as if I were the densest person in the world. “You were so worried about things that were not even involved, I don't suppose you were conscious of the fact that my hands were caressing your buttocks, my fingers were feeling the yielding flesh of the underside of your breasts. Denise! You are a sexy woman, an erotic woman! When I am close to you, feeling your flesh like that teasing my hands beneath a minimum of clothing, I get passionate! Why do you keep torturing yourself and denying your sexuality? Why? Why? I want to make love to you, Denise. Yes! All week you have wanted to make love. Is it so strange, am I some kind of pervert because tonight, I want to make love to you?”
    “No… no, darling… love me…”
    And he did, more violently and satisfying than ever before.

    The third incident of that summer was not so easy for me to put aside. I had rejected the others, relegating them at least to my subconscious where they boiled from within to tear me apart without my quite knowing or understanding what it was.
    But this time it was different. We had been drinking quite heavily. Kathy had been staying out until all hours and acting very peculiar. She would often knock on our door after Bob and I had gone to bed, as if deliberately trying to keep us from making love.
    And on that particular night when I had been drinking far too much, Kathy came in about one in the morning acting giddy and foolish. I knew she had been drinking too, but I was too ashamed of my own condition to mention it. We said a few words and then she went up to her bed.
    Bob helped me upstairs, and I remember passing out almost as soon as I hit the bed. I woke up, still in a daze, about four o'clock. I needed to go to the bathroom. Bob was not there! I walked into the hall and saw his trousers and shirt across the railing at the top of the steps. I could hear voices somewhere and the sound of Kathy's radio.
    I started toward her door, then I suddenly stopped in my tracks. I was shaking all over. I reached out to grab the doorknob, determined to break right into her room.
    But I could not do it!
    I froze right there, still trembling and chilled all over. There was a breeze coming through the hallway. But was it really that cold? The goosepimples stood out all over me, and only then did I realize that I was naked. I turned and went down to the bathroom. It was all I could do to function, my body was so tense, twisted up inside.
    On the way back to my room, I seemed to hear voices from everywhere, the sound of a bed moving, little titters of laughters and pleasant sighs… and the music from the radio. I even thought I heard the refrigerator door close down in the kitchen.
    I became dizzy and unable to stand up right. I was losing my balance. And the strangest thing was that I was so afraid to risk facing the truth, that hay biggest concern was that I might make some noise that would give me away. Carefully, I groped my way back into the bedroom, and seem to recall seeing Bob's blue silk pajamas lying across the foot of the bed just as they had been all day.
    I awoke with a terrible start at 8:30. I don't know what awakened me. I seemed to hear the sound of a door closing, Kathy's door. But I could not be sure. I immediately jumped out of bed and put on my robe. My head seemed amazingly clear. I was not dizzy anymore. I was determined to have it out, to go right into Kathy's room and have it out. I was going to find out the truth, find out whether everything that I suspected was true, or whether I was out of my mind.
    I stopped short when I opened the door to the stall. Bob was sitting at the top of the stairs, smoking a cigarette and wearing his blue silk pajamas. His blue silk pajamas! My mind seemed to snap, and I walked toward him wagging an accusing finger.
    “Where have you been?” I demanded.
    “Be quiet, dear. You'll wake Kathy,” he stated with amazing calm and aplomb, patting a place beside him for me to sit down. “I've spent a rather hectic night, but I think it's all for the best…”
    “You… were in Kathy's bedroom?” I accused him outright, ”… in your underwear…”
    “For God's sake keep your voice down!” he whispered sharply, grabbing my arm. “Kathy had been drinking. Chillie got her drunk and almost raped her. She was terribly upset. I could tell that when she came in. As soon as you passed out, I went in and talked to her.”
    “But your clothes… I saw your clothes over the railing there when I got up to go to the bathroom at four.”
    “So you did,” he agreed without hesitation. “I talked to her first until about two-thirty, and then I came in here to get my pajamas. I told Kathy I would sleep in the den so that if she needed me she could come get me without disturbing you. She was still quite upset. I changed clothes here in the hallway so I wouldn't have to leave my clothes downstairs.”
    “No… no you didn't,” I said stiffly, determined to have it out, “Your… pajamas were still on the bed when I was up at four.”
    “Oh? How were you feeling then? Was everything clear? No effects from your drinking?”
    “Yes!” I blurted out, then I felt an awful headache coming on, “No-I was dizzy-”
    “Blue pajamas-blue vertigo,” he commented, shrugging his shoulders and smiling at me, “It can happen to anyone. Probably fixated in your mind from the night before when they were there.”
    “But you were-in Kathy's room-”
    “Yes,” he said without hesitation, “I stayed with Kathy most of the night, with the exception of about an hour when I was in the den, twenty minutes fixing something to eat in the kitchen. I even lay beside her in the bed and let her cuddle close to me, put her arm around me. The girl needed it. She needed her father. Her mother was drunk!”
    The last word seared through me like a hot branding iron. I turned away from him and wanted to cry. How could I believe it? How could I believe it, knowing what had gone on before, knowing that he had the means to watch her alone in her bedroom at any time through that spy device?
    “Yes, Bob.”
    “The door was unlocked. Why didn't you come in and see for yourself when you were up at four?”
    “I–I don't know. I wasn't feeling good.”
    “You could have peeked in through the scope in the closet, Denise. If you were so worried, why didn't you do that?”
    “Oh-I don't know Bob. I'm so-so mixed up about everything-”
    “Denise, look at me. Look at me right square in the eye, and tell me you honestly believe I was making love to your daughter.”
    “I can't-,” I admitted tearfully, about to go to pieces inside, but afraid to.
    “I'll tell you another reason I stayed in there nearly all night with Kathy,” Bob announced, looking at me very seriously. “I wanted to see how deeply this phobia goes. You claim to love me, Denise. But you don't trust me at all. How can you say you love me when you don't trust me?”
    How could I not believe him?

    UNTIL Kathy left to return to her father three weeks later, I was in a state of emotional turmoil. One day, I would believe it was all in my imagination. The next day, Kathy or Bob would do or say something that brought it all back.
    I went to the doctor complaining of nerves and he tried to get me to talk about the thing that was bothering me. Naturally, I refused, because I refused to recognize it myself. He prescribed some tranquilizers, but they only made me so sleepy that I fought hard to stay awake in the daytime and was even more nervous and restless when it was time to go to bed.
    I drank excessively too.
    “I love you so much, darling,” I told Kathy at the airport as she was about to go through the gate to her plane. “Please be a real good girl. You're such a fine looking girl. I want you to always remember how much I love you-”
    I would almost choke on my words. I felt like bursting into tears one minute, and getting angry the next. My head was dizzy, and for some strange and inexplicable reason, I was terribly afraid to kiss my own daughter goodbye. Finally, I could contain myself no longer as I realized she was going and that I wouldn't see her again for nine months-if ever.
    “You've got to tell me, Kathy!” I blurted out too loud, at least glad that Bob had been unable to come along with us. “This has been torturing me for three weeks. I–I've worried about the times you were alone with Bob so much. I–I love him, of course. But you are such a-an attractive girl-and the way you dress. And that night he was with you-all night. I want to know-what happened-”
    “I hate to hurt you, mother dear,” Kathy told me with a flip, smarty attitude, gesturing provocatively and thrusting out her breasts. “But I suppose it's for the best since all this seems to be bugging you so. Bob's been screwing me the whole time! And he's very good at it. One hell of a lot better than Chillie, and so much cooler than those silly kids back home. Goodbye, Mother-”
    I couldn't believe that I had heard correctly. I stood there in a trance watching her run out to the plane, her lovely legs attracting so much attention in the little short skirt she was wearing. Somehow, I managed to find my way to the bar and order a large double of scotch.

Chapter Four


    I don't know how I got home that afternoon. It was a good thing Bob had the car that day because I would certainly have killed myself if I was driving, and probably others too. That was the first time in my life I had ever felt like I might commit suicide.
    I remember that, as I was sipping my scotch in the bar, the idea occurred of walking over to the airport drugstore and getting a bottle of iodine to pour in my drink. And on the taxi ride back home when we were doing 60 on the freeway and the traffic was still passing us in the left lane, I thought of opening the door and forcing myself out.
    When I arrived home, I poured myself a whole glass of scotch and literally fled from the kitchen and the sight of the knife rack on the wall. There was a. 32 pistol in the bedroom upstairs, and there was also Bob's spare. 45 too. So, I sat curled up in a chair in the den, afraid to move.
    I have no way of knowing how long I sat there like that. Kathy's plane had departed at three, and it was long, long after dark when I heard my car enter the driveway and then Bob coming through the front door and into the den.
    “I knew you'd be upset about Kathy's leaving,” he remarked with his usual air of complete self confidence and superiority. “But I see no reason for you to collapse into a blue funk like this.”
    He calmly mixed himself a drink and then sat down on the bed-sofa across from me, his eyes searching me out, feeling me out. I wanted to scream and I wanted to cry. I wanted to go crazy and throw a fit. This was the man who had carried me to the heights of lovemaking I had never dreamed of, who had made me his virtual slave, tormented me with his teasing, and made me lead a life that kept me at home and away from other men and women for the first time in years.
    And he was also the man who had violated my own daughter.
    “You-and Kathy,” was all that I was capable of saying at first, and that only by forcing the words out one by one. “You've been deceiving me-all summer. Was that-why you couldn't make love to me when I wanted you-?”
    “I was afraid she might make up some lie like that,” Bob reacted with complete equanimity, standing up and walking over to the window. “The girl is highly neurotic. She needs professional care. All summer long she tried to devise a way to seduce me, or make it appear that we had been intimate. I was afraid she might use that instance when I tried to help her and be a father to her, to claim that we had been intimate.”
    “You're the liar, Bob!” I found sudden strength and lashed out at him, shaking as I stood up to face him for the first time. “You've done an excellent job of brainwashing! That's your specialty, isn't it? Brainwashing people and practicing your psychological warfare on the side like this for personal kicks! Haven't you done enough overseas? How many people have you driven insane over there?”
    As I continued to lash out at him, Bob casually walked into the kitchen and poured me another drink. I watched his slow, even pace, his calm gestures, as if he were in complete control of himself. There was no indication that the man was capable of a human emotion himself, only of evoking these emotions from others to the point of madness.
    “I should feel very hurt-and I do,” he said with a tone of resignation after I had exhausted myself with my verbal blasts at him. “I have wasted my whole summer trying to make a normal woman of you. I have taken you away from the depraved life of the wife-swap and swinging crowd, the promiscuous debauchery of gang-bangs and Lesbian love. I have tried to help your emotionally unstable daughter by providing her with a proper authoritarian father image, by listening to her problems. Denise, I have given you everything of me this summer. I have devoted almost three months to helping you, to loving you. And what have you done? You have accused me of one of the most terrible things you can imagine-of having sexual relations with your 14-year-old daughter! You are sick, Denise! You are morbidly sick!”
    “No-no!” I screamed at him, grabbing at my hair and wanting to tear it out. “You-I mean, I can't-I don't know what to believe. I feel like I'm going mad or something. Oh, Bob, you've got to help me-”
    “Yes, that's what I intend to do,” he said, nodding his head as he headed toward the stairway. “It's obvious that my presence upsets you, that you are using me as a whipping boy, a place to put the blame for your own insane suspicions and perverted desires. I'm leaving, Denise. I'm packing now and leaving. I have some business in Hong Kong I can attend to-”
    I followed him upstairs and helped him pack, crying and trying to keep from saying anything. I knew that if I begged and pleaded it would only make matters worse. I think I knew then, even in that upset and irrational state, that Bob had planned all along to leave me then. He had been out that very day finalizing some kind of “deal.” I even had imagined that it had something to do with Kathy's leaving, that I was no longer of use to him without Kathy. I, the beautiful mother, was only useful and attractive so long as I could provide an entree to me even more beautiful and far younger daughter.
    “You're in no condition to drive,” Bob began his last words to me, “I'll park your car in the lot at the airport and you can pick it up. Goodbye, Denise. I hope you'll see a good doctor…”

    My doctor continued to lead me with tranquilizers and fatherly advice, urging that I let him refer me to a psychiatrist. This, I absolutely refused to do because of my teaching job. Regular visits to a psychiatrist are hard to hide from colleagues and the people on the board and administration. I had known of more than one teacher who had gone to a psychiatrist, become suspect, and eventually been eased out or forced to resign.
    They say that mental illness should cause no more of a stigma than a physical illness or disability. Perhaps it should not, but it does. I was determined to have nothing to do with a psychiatrist.
    With the help of the tranquilizers and loading myself up with new projects at school, I managed to get by the next few weeks. But I was a woman alone. All of my former contacts were afraid of me, I found out, because whenever they had called during the summer, Bob had threatened them, warned them never to call me again.
    Most of the men I had known as clients were married and I had no way to get in touch with them. One of the couples I called hung up in my face after saying they did not want any trouble. That left only Bill Britten, and I did not want to see him. I needed a man to love me, to do something to me, not just to sit down and look up my dress or watch me masturbate.
    Not that I didn't do plenty of that myself. I tried to make it a purely mechanical thing, denying fantasies and performing on a rigid schedule only as a way to keep from thinking about sex. When I arose in the morning with the slightest feeling of passion or thoughts of lovemaking, I quickly masturbated while still in bed until I had several orgasms.
    Often at night, it was the same thing. And it seemed to work for a while until I realized that I could not suppress the fantasies. They loomed so vividly during the times I would lie in bed or sit in the bathroom manipulating myself, that they would then linger. I found that I was more and more prone to admire myself in the mirror as I masturbated, awkwardly sucking my own nipples and nibbling on them until they turned a fiery red.
    I remembered hearing about things women used as penis substitutes. I tried a carrot, a smoked sausage, a cucumber, a candle, and even a flashlight. For the most part, they were crude and uncomfortable. I wished that I could find one of the dildoes like I had seen at a party and in the sex movies. I wanted a vibrator with a penis attachment. But I had no idea where to get one.
    It was during one of my weekend masturbatory orgies in front of my dresser mirror that I thought of Cindy. Strange I had not thought about her before in my lonely time of need. Obviously, I had rejected the idea for some reason. Lesbian relations had been pounded into me so much as being abnormal during Bob's visit that I had tried to direct all of my fantasy interest toward men.
    But when I finally extended my area of fantasy, undoubtedly as a result of a narcissistic interest in myself from enjoying looking at my own body while I masturbated, I became suddenly filled with a very warm and glorious feeling. Cindy, the gorgeous young blonde who led a double life as a very high-priced call girl, was the one person to whom I could turn for both sex and affection.
    Cindy had befriended me before when I was in need of help and companionship. She probably understood me more than anyone else. At least she could sympathize with my plight.
    Unfortunately, Cindy was only at her downtown apartment where she entertained men at certain hours during the day. I did not have her home number, as she kept her life with her two small children completely separate and distinct from her business and even from most of her other sexual activity. So I had to wait until Monday afternoon when I arrived home from school to call her.
    I was the most excited and happiest I had been in months. Perhaps I expected too much. After all, it had been a long time since I had seen Cindy. Many things could have happened. Her feelings toward me could have been only temporary and transient. She could have moved. Maybe she had married.
    My fingers were trembling when I dialed her number and waited through three interminable rings before her soft and mellow voice with that indescribable quality of deep emotion and passion greeted me.
    “Hel-lo…Cindy filled the phone with her warmth.
    “Cindy… this is Denise,” I said falteringly, “I… I've got to see you… talk to you.”
    “Oh?” she said with a question mark, and my heart almost fell, “I understood that your… boyfriend… objected to your former acquaintances.”
    “That's over… oh, it's all over Cindy,” I told her in rapid-fire speech, so afraid that all hopes were lost, “He's in Hong Kong or somewhere. He's a… a beast… a maniac. He's just about ruined my whole life, Cindy. I don't know what to do. I need…
    “Darling,” she interrupted me, her beautifully soft voice even lower now.
    “I have company at this moment,” she informed me quietly, but with a new intimacy. “Why don't you drive on down? He'll be gone by the time you get here. I'd love to see you again, Denise… I've wanted to see you again… darling.”
    She hung up quickly after that. It didn't matter. I could tell by her voice that I was welcome and that my siege of loneliness was on the way to being in the past tense.

Chapter Five


    It was 4:30 when I arrived at Cindy's apartment. I don't recall whether it was a feeling of affectionate nostalgia or passion that ran through me when I first saw her. She was such a tall beautiful blonde with a figure that was absolutely unbelievably gorgeous. She stood there in the door smiling at me a moment, dressed in tight stretch slacks and a low neck blouse.
    “Hi, darling,” she said, broadening her smile and looking me over so nicely that I got goose-pimples, “Come in and unload your problems. I knew you'd need me some day. Remember what I told you.”
    I honestly had not remembered all that she had told me that night we had spent together. I was quite high and quite sleepy, and I only remembered that she had made love to me and told me how much she liked me. But she had also stressed that she did not believe in involved love affairs. I had remembered that part, and I suppose it had contributed to my reluctance to call her those past two weeks.
    “I know that I need a friend and… I'm desperate for sex, Cindy,” I became resignedly frank as I sat down uneasily on the sofa, “If you… well, if you want me to be a customer, I can… pay…”
    “You silly darling,” Cindy laughed gaily in that soft and melodious voice I loved. “I could eat you all afternoon and love it. Fact is-why don't we take care of that little detail first, and then you'll feel more relaxed and we can have a drink?”
    “Oh, Cindy-oh, Cindy, you're so wonderful,” I cried, breaking into tears.
    She sat beside me a moment and we embraced, very tightly and very longingly. There was as much normal affection and feminine longing to it as there was sex. At least for a few moments Cindy rubbed her cheek against mine, reaching up to brush aside her long blonde hair. My arms were around her waist, while one of her arms encircled me at my midriff and the other one was over my shoulder.
    I felt her warmth so strongly through our clothes, the delicate scent of her body as if her very flesh were a kind of smoldering and heady incense with an aphrodisiac quality. My breathing became faster when she bared my breasts and cupped one of them in her hand.
    “Denise, darling… you've got the craziest breasts,” she said with a warm smile, enjoying the feel of me in her hand, “Oh, hell, I've missed you, honey. I don't know who needs who most… mm-mmmm.”
    Suddenly her whole mouth was over my nipple and sucking on it with a pleasant kind of violence. She made loud noises and deep groans. She would lose suction and there would be loud liquid pops and little frustrated gasps as she sought to retrieve it and pull it deep into her mouth again. I rolled my head back and forth in delirious ecstasy and spread my legs so that I could lead her fingers to my crotch.
    “Oh, how I've missed you, Denise,” Cindy told me with a fiery hot intenseness, giving vent to the uninhibited outspokenness I had remembered before, “Oh, I've wanted you again a hundred times, darling. Crazy… you know me, I let go with everything when I have something I like-but I don't get involved. Can you remember that, sweetheart? Be my friend. Be my special one. Just don't fall in love, okay?”
    “Okay, Cindy,” I readily agreed with a smile, and we walked hand in hand into the bedroom and undressed.
    I lay down on my back and Cindy came up beside me, both of us naked. Her breasts were bigger than mine, and I reached down to toy with them as she began to lick my tummy and go down. The feel of her tongue exploring my pubic area was wonderful, a beautiful prelude to the touch of her lips on my inner thighs, the soft kisses that advanced slowly until her whole mouth was on my crotch.
    “Oh, Cindy… don't stop… don't ever, ever stop!” I shouted with pure unadulterated joy when her tongue began playing over my clitoris.
    My orgasms began almost at once. I was arching my hips to press my vulva as tight as possible against her lips. In a moment, she stopped me from moving around so much and placed her mouth full on me again, then began to suck and suck and suck. It was a feeling I had not experienced before, not a direct stimulation but a wonderful tease and titillation.
    The rest of Cindy's body was right alongside me, slightly raised as she rested on her knees. I enjoyed smoothing my hands over her nice flesh, around the orbs of her buttocks, her long thighs and right up to her clipped nest of pubic hair. I smiled when I remembered that she told me one time she kept them trimmed because some of her clients were always complaining that they got caught in their teeth otherwise.
    “Cindy… oh, darling, you have no idea what you're doing for me…,” I half moaned in ecstasy.
    I just had the most wonderful, the most languorous feeling, that I felt I had to do something in return. I wanted to do something in return. I had never been fond of going down on a girl, although I had done it at parties. But this wasn't just any girl out for kicks. This was Cindy, who was doing so very much for me.
    Working very easily, and in just a wonderfully relaxed mood of continued stimulation, I pulled Cindy's left leg over my head and then put my arms around her buttocks, bringing her crotch down to my face. I had the feeling that I would enjoy this. It was not a hot, dirty, violently passionate feeling, but something akin to affection or maybe even love. I know that I felt a great desire to reciprocate.
    “No… no, honey,” she objected when my tongue tried to enter her, “You… you don't understand how I feel about you.”
    “But why?” I asked her, warming so wonderfully to her embrace as she came back up to lay beside me, feeling my own warmth from her lips that kissed me hard. “I want to make you feel happy too.
    “Denise, this may sound funny as hell to you,” Cindy said, holding my face in her hands and looking at me in the tenderest and most loving way, “I have a funny thing about you… about any woman I've ever liked. I don't need reciprocation… not that way. Denise, I've been a dyke before. I put in a whole year in the one hundred percent gay crowd. I went through the whole bit-the nervous breakdown, the psychiatrist, all that jazz. I'm cured. I don't need women anymore. Only there's a little bit left over you never can get rid of. If you need me, honey, I can need you. Understand?”
    “No… I don't think so,” I answered her honestly, “What… or how, do you get your pleasure if you just go down on me?”
    “Oh, hell, I can't explain it, Denise,” she threw up a hand in a gesture of resignation, then took two cigarettes from a pack on the night table and lit them. “I guess… I know how much you need it, because I've been down that road before. I know what loneliness is. I know what it means to be had by people and have your whole life torn apart because men have used you. We're pretty much alike in a lot of ways. The only difference is I've found a way to beat it and you haven't.”
    I tried to think this over, parting my lips briefly for her to insert the lighted cigarette. Was she implying that I was really a Lesbian? I was afraid to delve into the subject further, but I was really interested in knowing what she had found out about herself with this psychoanalysis.
    “Do you think I'm really a Lesbian, Cindy?” I decided to ask her outright.
    “Darling, we all have a homosexual component to our personality,” she answered me in a way that was designed to casually placate my fears. “With some of us, it's greater than with others. If you worry about the thing, you can get a lot worse hang up than if you just give in to the urge when it comes along. What I mean is, don't go out looking for a girl to screw. But if it comes along, and you like it, then have all the kicks you can get.”
    “Oh, great,” I commented with a nervous laugh, welcoming her kiss on my forehead. “You mean, I'm the nut because I came to you looking for it. You… you're all right since you didn't go hunting for a girl.”
    “Denise, darling, I don't say that either one of us is right or wrong,” Cindy said seriously, propping up on an elbow to look at me with an admiring smile. “You needed some loving because you were starved for it, and I was the most available thing. I gave you an open invitation a long time ago. And I like you, honey. I like you too damn much, but I'm smart enough now to get the most out of a good thing and not get a hang up.”
    “Why… why don't you want me to reciprocate?”
    “I don't know!” she raised her voice a moment, then smiled apologetically and lifted one of my breasts to her mouth for a kiss, “I guess it's a hang-up with me. I know I just adore eating you and I could stay down between your legs all day. In fact, I can think of some more comfortable positions. I think we should stay here and sleep together, and I'll go to sleep with my head right down there and if you wake up and need me, you just hit my butt a couple of times and I'll suck you off again. Yeah, I think it sounds crazy too, Denise, only that's the way I feel.”
    “You only want to please me… make me have orgasms? You don't even want me to finger you?”
    “Not particularly,” Cindy confessed frankly. “I get so much satisfaction you wouldn't believe it, when I eat you or get you off some other way. I mean, I really want to do it, honey. I dunno. I like you, I guess. But I wouldn't want it to get serious.”
    “Well… who do you get serious with, Cindy?” I asked, still puzzled, “How do you get your kicks?”
    “With my boyfriend,” she replied, hugging me so that our breasts pressed against each other and rolled around. “He eats me a lot and he screws me a lot. Some of the clowns who come in for their 50 dollar sessions can make me go off too… sometimes. With you… I just like doing it to you. Want some more?”
    “Later maybe,” I answered so naturally, stretching my arms and feeling so good.
    “Okay, so we'll have a drink and talk now. Oh, hell! There goes the door, honey. It's this guy from New York, he wants about a ten minute blow-job. I'll do it in the living room. You wait here.”
    When Cindy had finished her business with the man in the living room, I had taken a quick shower and was sitting on the edge of the bed in just my slip. She brought in two tall frosted Collins and I chatted with her briefly while she showered too. She told me she had cancelled her other dates for the afternoon and we could have supper out together and then come back here.
    It was really a wonderful evening, and I got absolutely everything off my chest that was bothering me. Cindy agreed that Bob had taken me for a nice ride the past summer, but there was a doubt in her mind that he had actually had a sex relation with Kathy. It could have been her way of showing resentment, by telling me she had been with him since she knew that I suspected it.
    We stayed up talking until midnight, plotting my new course of getting back into the mainstream of life. Cindy felt that the best thing for me to do was to pick right up where I had left off and start swinging and seeing men as clients on a part-time basis again. She promised to put me in touch with the right people as a starter and invited me to two good parties that upcoming weekend.
    “What was it the psychiatrist told you, Cindy?” I asked as it was getting so late I knew I had to be going. “Did he discover why you were the way you were?”
    “Everybody's different, only I guess we do have a lot in common. Sometimes you don't even like to admit or talk about the things from so far back.”
    “But tell me, Cindy! You're making it sound horrible… filling me with suspense,” I pleaded with her. “You think you know what my trouble might be, don't you? You know why I'm this way…”
    “When was the last time you saw your mother?”
    “My mother?” I questioned her seriously, “Why… almost a year, I guess. I've never told her any of my problems. She wouldn't understand. I was a spoiled brat. You know what I mean-her darling sweet baby-doll and all that.”
    “Did your mother ever try to eat you when you were very young?”
    “Oh… oh, Cindy!” I almost shrieked back in pure disgust, “What an awful thing to say. Of course not.”
    “Mine did,” she offered as a casual explanation, shrugging her shoulders as if resigned to whatever it was. “When I was three years old, she used to eat me every night when she gave me a bath.”
    “Cindy… no! How… how could you even remember what happened when you were three?”
    “I never did… until I was psychoanalyzed.”

Chapter Six


    I refused to accept the idea that Cindy's problem had any connection with my own, and she was nice enough not to press it. She did think it might help me to pay a visit to her psychiatrist, but I was more scared than ever now to find out about myself.
    Instead, I took readily to her advice about picking up my life where I had left it when Bob came along. I devised what I called a work-pleasure ratio, relegating certain hours to school and the attendant responsibilities that went with it, the rest of the time to pleasure. And to whoring.
    Bill Britten became a regular customer again, playing out the little half-hour dramas with me as I let him look up my dress and play with myself once a week for thirty dollars. One of my best clients was a 50-year-old preacher who came by every Monday and Thursday afternoon at four. I could set my watch by him.
    He was not unfriendly, but certainly not interested in conversation. He was always in a hurry, and one time left his motor running in the car while he rushed in to have me go down on him. He only paid ten dollars, but he was never there longer than five or ten minutes.
    The performance was always the same. I would meet him at the door in a bikini or just briefs and bra. He would look me over and denounce me as a contemptuous harlot in about one or two sentences. Sitting down on the couch, he would unzip his trousers to release his erect penis, and I would kneel on the floor and go down on him, taking every last bit of his ejaculation. After that, he couldn't get out of the house fast enough and I was often afraid that a neighbor might see him zipping up his trousers on the way out.
    Most of my clients were married and interested in more or less normal sessions of intercourse or oral sex. Some would drop by for an hour or more in an evening, others would take me out to dinner and then to their place or a hotel. There were weeks when I had as many as a dozen dates, and there were those times when I had only my two or three regulars.
    I wanted to be satisfied by my commercial dates. I wanted them to go down on me or have intercourse until I had orgasms too. However, there were few of them who ever stayed that long. When I am making love for pleasure, I like to be worked on for a long time. There are few men who could ever really satisfy me.
    One such man was Arthur, a fellow about 30 who owned a pretty large business in town and always stayed with me an hour or two. He was the only customer I ever allowed to spend, the night. Arthur was a great lover, a tall and athletic man with black curly hair and a handsome face. But when I say that he was a great lover, I don't mean in exactly the conventional way. Arthur was completely impotent!
    His greatest satisfaction came from going down on me for great long periods of time, and usually in front of a mirror. He would sometimes spend an hour down there with his mouth and tongue keeping me in a high state of delirious stimulation. He knew precisely where to hit and how to agitate. I would often become almost numb on my clitoris after he would work on me for an hour.
    Arthur's orgasm, if you could call it that, could only come after one of these very long sessions of going down on me. It would be weak, very weak, and accomplished without any erection, but with a great deal of effort, a lot of grunting and groaning. He always paid me a hundred dollars.

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

    I tried to forget about Joe and Martha the rest of the year and concentrate on my more normal friends. I did see them at a couple of parties and we swung a little there. I think Martha had managed to tone him down some. One time he did nothing but have intercourse with me and mention nothing more unusual than, “Damn, baby, you're as tight as that St. Bernard I use to get over in Germany.” For Joe that was pretty straight stuff.
    The school year seemed to just whizz by me with all the activity of swinging and part-time whoring sandwiched in between the duties of my job. I tried to separate the two lives completely, but I noticed that more and more I began to look upon some of my students, both male and female, as potential sex objects. I carried on a few mild flirtations with some of the bigger senior boys and fancied that at least one of my quite talented girl students was interested in me as something more than a teacher.
    Nothing developed, as I was determined to keep my two lives separate and distinct. And suddenly, it was June. School was out. The week of finalizing plans for the next school year was over. It was time for Kathy, 15 now, to spend another three months with her mother.

Chapter Seven


    It was the very day before Kathy arrived that Bob called again. He wanted to return from out of nowhere and pick up exactly where things had left off.
    “I think the only thing you can do,” he tried to influence me with that cold and indisputable logic of his, “is face up to this. I want to confront Kathy with it and prove to you that she is a lying little wench.”
    “No,” I said coldly, flatly, angered also that he had called me collect from California, and angry at myself for having accepted the call.
    “Denise, you must be reasonable,” he continued. “You owe it to yourself, and you certainly owe it to me after I spent a whole summer trying to help you. Well… perhaps I am being a little selfish and evasive. The truth is, Denise, that I just got back from the Far East. I've missed you. I've thought about you more than I should. I want to see you again… to love you…”
    I quietly hung up the phone. It was the only thing I could do. If I had listened, I would have given in. If I had talked back or tried to argue, he would know that he could keep me in conversation. And if he did that, he probably knew that I would eventually agree to what he wanted.
    And then I thought about tomorrow. I could hang up the phone easily enough, but what would I do if he came knocking on the door tomorrow or the next day… or next week? Kathy would be arriving the very next morning at 9:30, and I was determined not to let Bob intrude on our lives this summer.
    Quickly, I looked through my telephone pad and found Mai's number. Mai was my first husband, and Kathy, of course, lived with him and his wife. I was so intent on what I was doing, it never occurred to me to be nervous or hesitant about calling Mai, although I had not talked to him in years. His wife answered the phone and I immediately told her, “This is Denise Bryant. I'd like to speak to Kathy's father, please.”
    I tried not to sound too desperate. I mentioned nothing about Bob or any fears of Kathy's misbehavior in any way. Instead, I told him that I would like to take Kathy to the beach to spend the summer, and I asked if he could possibly send me a little extra to take care of her expenses. Mai was the nicest I had ever known him to be. He told me that he thought it was a wonderful idea and would send along an extra check with Kathy that would be enough to cover both our expenses.
    I packed that night and put everything in the car. When I picked up Kathy at the airport, we were on our way to Florida.
    Our reunion was highly strained at first. Neither of us said very much of anything. After we turned off the beltway and were 40 miles down the turnpike, I told Kathy I had packed some lunch for us and that there was a thermos of cold tea in the back.
    “How's Bob?” she asked me out of the blue when she finished eating and poured both of us a paper cup of iced tea.
    “I haven't seen him since you left last September,” I answered quite honestly, welcoming the opportunity to clear the air, “and I can't say that I'm sorry.”
    “Was it about me?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well… about what I said when I left on the plane that day.” She obviously wanted to talk about it too. “Was that why you broke up?”
    “That certainly played a part in it,” I admitted, lighting a cigarette and finding it difficult to concentrate on my driving. “He denied it, of course.”
    “Mother… I have a terrible confession to make,” she stated with what seemed genuine feeling, “I lied to you about Bob. He never did it to me. Never.”
    “Who am I to believe, Kathy?” I asked her point blank, moving to the right lane so I could drive slower. “I was in love with Bob. And I love you. That's a pretty terrible decision to make.”
    “The decision you made means you love me more.” Kathy analyzed with amazing perspective, “If you had loved him more, you wouldn't have kicked him out.”
    “Why did you do it, Kathy?” I demanded to know, not about to tell her the details of Bob's departure, “Why did you deliberately tell me you had been having sex relations all summer with Bob?”
    “I'm very sorry, mother,” she replied, suddenly wanting to avoid discussion. “It was very mean and very nasty of me. I do things like that sometimes and it bugs Father and Mother Nancy so much. He says I'm a very moody and unpredictable person. I do have problems sometimes. I can't talk with them about it. They wouldn't understand. You're different, Mother. You're young and alive, and you've got boyfriend problems too… you were so wrapped up with Bob last summer… I couldn't ever talk to you. Not like I wanted to.”
    “Kathy… Kathy, you poor darling,” I said with a feeling of very deep and sincere affection, putting my arm around her and pulling her close, almost crying, “Kathy… I know why you told me that horrible thing now. You were jealous. Every summer before, we've had so much time alone together. I was never involved with one man… never someone at the house with us all the time.”
    “Oh, Mother… Mother I've wanted to talk, to you so much like a close friend… like a girlfriend who's hip and been around and can take care of herself. Will you let me? Will you be my friend, and my Mother too. Oh, Mother, we can have such a blast at the beach together. I can see us walking along together in bikinis and we won't know whether the boys are whistling at you or me. We can double on dates, and…”
    I think I must have been the happiest and most relaxed I had been in years. Instead of stopping for the night, we drove straight on through and got to the beach early the next morning. Kathy had slept in the car, of course, and I was very tired. Yet I was so invigorated. I felt so wonderful. We had not talked too much more about the real personal things that were concerning Kathy. But the barriers had been pushed aside. The prospects for a happy time looked very good indeed.
    We found a beautiful new motel with private beach and pool, and set up housekeeping for the summer. We had one huge room with sofa beds and a kitchenette, beautifully furnished and air-conditioned. We went grocery shopping that afternoon, and I enjoyed every minute of even the most routine things like that with Kathy. It was wonderful to see how she had matured, knew how to shop and to plan meals. Of course, Kathy had matured in other ways.
    She would be fifteen in a week. Her body is fuller and more developed. We wore very close to the same size clothes, and I discovered quite to my surprise that my bras fit her perfectly. We tried on bikinis together the next day at one of the beach stores, and we took exactly the same size. We bought three between us and had a lot of fun arguing over who would wear which and on what day.
    Back at the motel, we modeled them together and just had a wonderful time. I marveled at my daughter's striking beauty, her long hair, the darling and lovable face, and her perfect figure. I suppose that in the back of my mind, the many things that had been said before and the many strange ideas implanted in my neurotic head, did trouble me some. But at the time, I felt that my feeling toward Kathy was the truly wonderful emotion that it should be. The problems of the previous summer were forgotten and it was to be a fun time together. And, of course, there would be those serious mother-daughter discussions that she had asked for.
    The problem that first confronted me however, was men. We both seemed to be the center of attraction, and the men who were attracted by us were usually too young for me and too old for Kathy. I was not concerned for myself, of course. I adored the attention from younger men that my daughter's presence helped stimulate. The problem was that I was concerned about my 15-year-old daughter running around with men from 20 to 30, and about my own lack of privacy to carry on an affair.
    The idea of double-dating had sounded fine when she first mentioned it, but I could hardly “swing” together in the same room with my own daughter and her date.
    Sam and Colby were our two favorites of the summer. Sam was 27 and in his last year of medicine, a sandy haired darling from a pretty wealthy family in Massachusetts. His buddy Colby was 29, a good-looking blond who was in the process of getting a divorce and was waiting out a three month's residency requirement in Florida.
    As things would happen, Sam attached himself to me, and Colby was absolutely mad about Kathy. I had gone along with her lie about being 18, but I felt decidedly uncomfortable about the situation. To be sure, Colby acted a lot younger, and both he and Sam had plenty of interests besides sex. Yet when two men on the loose meet two girls in bikinis at the beach, things are bound to happen if nature takes its course.
    Sam and I would go out dancing and drinking quite frequently, while Colby and Kathy said they were going to a movie or a walk or over to the amusement park. It was on the second night that we split up like this that Sam took me to the motel where he and Cindy shared an apartment.
    It was then that I realized for the first time what a relatively inexperienced young man he was.
    “What's the matter, darling? Too much to drink?” I asked him as we lay in bed naked and he could not get-an erection.
    “No… it's…” he sputtered frustratedly, then blurted, “Hell, I'm just nervous, Denise, that's all. I… I'm not much of a cock hound like… like a lot of guys. This is the first summer I've had off in years. I study all the damn time… flunk a course or two and go to summer school I think… well, Dad would disown me if I didn't become a doctor. But I don't do much of anything but study.”
    I was terribly hot. I wanted him to make love with me. His body was so pleasant and nice and young. I began to kiss his chest and his nipples, sucking on them like they were a woman's. I licked his stomach and worked the tip of my tongue in his navel, and then slid it over his belly until I was kissing his testicles and around the base of his organ. I experienced a decided feeling of accomplishment when I could feel it stiffening and rising, and I trailed my tongue up the side and then enveloped it with my lips and went down.
    “Denise… Denise, honey… oh hell, honey,” he became wildly enraptured, running his fingers in my hair and moving his hips, “I… I knew you'd do that. I… I don't mean anything bad by it. I just knew… you'd been married and been around a lot. I knew you'd do that. Hell… I beat off twice last night after we were out dancing… and I thought about you doing that.”
    “Do you want me to finish you this way?” I stopped long enough to ask, feeling like I was giving lessons or hustling again.
    “Would you?” he asked incredibly, “Oh… oh, Denise. Quick! Quick! Do it again… I'm coming!”
    I went right back down on him and I realized for the first time, I think, what Cindy was saying about receiving enjoyment from oral sex without being stimulated yourself. The feel and taste of his young penis exploding, the texture of his flesh and the warm flood of his vital liquid gave me a beautiful clean thrill I had not noticed before.
    I stayed with him long enough for me to work him up again and do a repeat performance. I wanted to stay with him all night, but I couldn't.
    Sam was not the only man I had sex with that summer. As usual, the offbeat element seemed drawn to me like a magnet. The man who owned the bar we usually went to in the daytime was married to a shrew of a jealous old bitch. They were both Italian and in their fifties. He flirted with me every chance he could.
    One morning when I was drinking a beer there Tony asked me if I'd like to go out in his cabin cruiser with him for a while. His wife had gone to Tampa for the day, he explained. I welcomed the opportunity because I thought it would be nice to have sex with a more mature and experienced man for a change. It turned out that his main interest was in masochism.
    Tony had me tie him to the bed and beat his buttocks with a long cane until he could hardly stand it, Otherwise, he was impotent. The big mistake I made in going out with Tony, however, was to let him know that I was interested in, or would at least participate in, offbeat sex. A couple of weekends later, he introduced me to these two gamblers from New York, who insisted that I go into Miami with them that night.
    I must have wanted to go, because I was not forced. I only like to pretend I just can't help myself. But these men were really quite persuasive as well as being very sexy and good-looking. So, I told Kathy and Sam and Colby that I had a date with an old friend I had run into. Steve and Greg were in their forties, both dark men of Italian or Greek descent. They had an air-conditioned Cadillac limousine complete with a chauffeur. During the long drive to Miami, I sat in between them, we had a couple of drinks, and one thing led to another. I went down on both of them, and they enjoyed it very much. While I did it to Steve, Greg would finger me and feel my bottom and thighs. When I did it to Greg, Steve would insert his fingers at both places and call me names in Greek.
    I felt like I was right back home in the swing of things. I was with my kind of people again, not with college kids or impotent old men. I asked where we were going and they both smiled at each other and told me it would be a new experience… maybe.
    They took me to a private club first and introduced me to everyone as “The Suckstress.” This was always followed by delighted looks from the men and both frowns and smiles from the women. Steve and Greg gave me some chips to play the tables for a while, and I was having a wonderful time, when an attendant came over and said that Steve wanted to see me upstairs.
    I was ushered into one of the most elegant offices I had ever seen. Steve and Greg were seated on a big leather couch and a gray haired man was behind a kidney-shaped desk. He was introduced as “Mr. Salikas.”
    I was pretty much unflappable when it came to sex, but I did do a double take at the girl who was sitting on top of the desk. She was Cuban, they explained, a Cuban refugee whom “Mr. Salikas” had adopted. She couldn't have been more than 11 or 12 years old, a very beautiful young thing with a pretty shape and long black hair.
    She was totally naked, and the gray haired man played with various parts of her body as she giggled and muttered words in Spanish. “Mr. Salikas” looked from me to the girl, then back to the girl. The deal was that I was to teach the girl Lesbian love. When I refused, Steve got up and came over toward me like he was going to use some kind of force. But “Mr. Salikas” stopped him and told him to get rid of me immediately, complaining that he wanted a younger girl anyway.
    I was sent back to my motel in a taxi.
    It was after midnight when I got back. Kathy was out, and I found myself very restless and concerned. I realized that what had started out to be a very wonderful summer of getting to know my daughter had developed into pretty much her going her way while I went mine. I think that a great deal of my sexual desire had been the result of my trying to escape reality and the real fear that haunted me-was Kathy having sex relations with Colby?
    As I sat there nursing a scotch and water, I realized for the first time what a bizarre situation this had actually become. Here we were, a 15-year-old girl and her 34-year-old mother keeping company with two men. And Colby was not even divorced yet. My 15-year-old daughter was dating a married man twice her age! How could I have let it happen?
    I began to wonder what Sam and Colby really thought of us. Would they go back to Massachusetts to tell all their buddies how they spent the summer “screwing this good-looking broad and her kid daughter”?
    And why should I delude myself with the idea that Colby was not having relations with Kathy? They were alone almost every night. There was the car for them to do it in. There was our room at the motel. Why else would a 29-year-old man continue dating a 15-year-old girl… even if he did think she was 18?
    Eighteen! Of course. That even made it plainer. And it made me feel a little bit better about what they might think of us. Funny, that I should be as concerned over that as my daughter's virginity. It was then that I determined to stay up until Kathy arrived so that we could have that talk before the summer was over.
    I had nearly gone off to sleep sitting up in a chair when I heard her coming in at 4:15 in the morning. She looked so lovely as she walked over to give me a kiss. Her face was radiant and the lack of any make-up pointed up her natural beauty as she knelt there beneath the lamp and looked up at me.
    “I've been proposed to, Mother,” she stated with a tone of pride in her voice, then danced across the floor and tossed her purse on the bed. “How did you make out? Did you get a proposal too? Did you have a good time with your old friend?”
    “Proposed to?” I questioned, ignoring her queries as I sat up straight and took a sip from my watered down scotch with no more ice in it. “How can you be proposed to by a married man?”
    “Oh, he'll be unmarried next month,” she told me with the assurance of gullible youth, “and we can have a honeymoon in Europe and live in a big house up on Massachusetts Bay. Oh, Mother, think how everyone would talk about me back at school… Kathy Bryant married a rich man from Massachusetts and she's having a honeymoon in Europe and…”
    “Have you told him you are fifteen years old?” I demanded, standing up and yelling at her, my face contorting angrily as I raved on at her. “Have you told him? Does he know that I could call the police and have him arrested for staying out all night with a minor child and doing… doing things that are called statutory rape in a court of law?”
    “Mother…?” Kathy said questioningly, looking at me with an absolutely genuine expression of deep hurt. “You don't think that I did anything that…”
    “Oh, Kathy!” I stormed at her, lighting a cigarette, “I'm not dumb. I'm not a stupid woman. Why would a 29-year-old married man be going around with you all summer? Why was Chillie, that delinquent drop-out goon last summer, after you all the time? I don't think you've been holding hands on the beach until four o'clock in the morning, Kathy?”
    “Why would Colby date me all summer long?” she came back at me in tears, her arms outstretched, “Mother, this is why I wanted to talk to you. I know… I know why Colby sticks with me. I want to think that he likes me or loves me or really wants to get married. I want to think that. But I know the real reason he keeps going with me is because he thinks, every night, that the next night is going to be the night he can do it to me!
    Mother! I'm still a virgin! You may not believe it and nobody else may believe it. But I know that I'm still a virgin! Oh… sure. I talk up a good screw. That's what they say at school. I can talk like a tramp and people think I'm doing everything with every guy I date. I don't care! I know I'm not!”
    “Kathy…” I tried to stop her, wanting to talk about it more rationally, wanting to listen and believe her, “Let's…”
    “Let me finish first… please,” she requested, kneeling on the floor and looking up at me.
    “Mother… I have had boys make me so turned on I could taste them. Oh, I've wanted to get laid in the worst kind of way. When Colby had me over at their place tonight alone, I was fighting… I was fighting the most I ever had. He's a lover, Mother… a real lover. He had his finger… in me! I've let guys at home do that before, I let Chillie do it last summer… but Colby knows how to do it so you just feel so crazy and jazzy you'll do anything!
    “But I didn't do it! Mother, I want to be a virgin until I get married… Mother? You… you don't believe I'm a virgin…”
    “Kathy… Kathy, darling,” I tried to quiet her, feeling like an absolute heel, reaching down and drawing her close to me. “I think I've been a terrible…”
    “No!” she screamed, pulling away from me and standing up, taking off her clothes hurriedly. “You won't believe what I saw. You have to believe me now. Here… you're a woman. Feel! Here… feel!”
    Kathy lay sprawled across the bed naked with her legs apart. She spread the lips of her vulva and repeated her request so very urgently. Something seemed to click in my mind about bathing her as a baby, but then I remembered what Cindy had told me about her mother, and I was briefly aware of the idea that I might be just torturing myself unduly, trying to imagine all kinds of terrible things that were not even involved.
    “Kathy, honey,” I told her with a nervous and very insecure laugh. “I'm… not even sure I could tell. How… would I know…?”
    “You should know? You're a woman,” she said, very convinced, “Colby says he can tell by putting his finger way up there. Here…”
    I did it. I tried to throw all my fears aside. I sat right down on the bed beside her and I did it. I don't know whether I could really feel the hymen or not, but it didn't take any medical knowledge to convince me how wrong I'd been. It was impossible to get two fingers inside her very far at all. And my index finger went in very tightly and seemed to be obstructed by something as I tried to push it in its full length.
    It surprised me that she was still so lubricated, but then I assumed that she and Colby had been kissing and stimulating each other out in the car right up until the time she had come in.
    “Mother… oh… what am I supposed to do?” she asked me as I withdrew my finger. “How can you keep holding out? There must be something…”
    “Will you forgive me, darling?” I interrupted, almost breaking into tears as I embraced her very closely, pushing the hair back from her eyes and pressing my lips to hers briefly. “Will you forgive me for being such a fool, having so many doubts, not trusting you… my only daughter whom I love so dearly?”
    “Of course, I will,” Kathy said at once, putting her arm around me, “1 know part of it's my fault because I'm such a tease and I like to turn people on. Everybody thinks I'm giving out like everything, but I'm not. I go right up to a point and then I turn off because I have to. But how do you keep on doing that? Two girls in my class are pregnant already because they went one step farther.”
    “Maybe you shouldn't let the boys go so far,” I advised, finding myself admiring her nakedness, but uncertain of my emotions. “Maybe you should go only so far as a kiss or two and stop then, before you get so excited.”
    “I tried that, and I went without a date for eight weeks one time,” she told me, standing up to admire herself in the mirror. “The nicey-nice boys, the ones I'm not really wild about anyway because they're too goody and not any fun, they won't date me now anyway. Big deal. No great loss for me, I can tell you that. So that leaves only the guys who are going to try to get in your pants no matter what. The only trick is to keep them interested and be able to say no when the thing gets there… keep your legs so tight together they can't get it in.”
    “You've gone that far?”
    “Oh, Mother!” she said exasperatedly, plopping on the bed again, “I thought you were going to talk to me, and understand, and try to help me. Please don't be a stupid parent. Be my friend.”
    “Well… I'll try, darling,” I attempted to assure her, becoming strangely curious and setting on the bed beside her, “Just… how often do you get into one of these situations where you… where your date has his penis out and tries to… enter you?”
    “Oh… I dunno,” she shrugged, propping up on an elbow to look at me as if she felt genuinely glad she was able to have this talk. “With Colby it's been every night nearly. Back home, it's once or twice a week.”
    “Have you ever… touched the boy there?” I asked hesitantly, not quite sure why I was asking, ”… ever played with it?”
    “Yes…” she answered, looking away, “I've jerked off several guys, Colby too. I know that's one way to stop them… and keep them interested too.”
    “Have you ever… done anything else?”
    “What do you mean? I've let them play with my breasts and kiss them. Oh, gosh, I've done that since I was eleven or twelve.”
    “That's all?”
    “Oh, Mother, you're a riot!” Kathy suddenly broke out into laughter. “Now, I dig what you're getting at. No, I've never played 69, but I've come pretty close to it. That's dirty, isn't it?”
    “Yes,” I answered very quickly and positively.
    “Haven't you ever done it?”
    “Well… when I was married to your father…”
    “No, I don't mean that,” she shook her head and demanded a truthful answer. “Mother, I know you've been having sex with Sam nearly every night. I've even seen your douche bag hanging over there in their bathroom, so don't tell me you haven't. I want to know… have you ever gone down on him?”
    I stood up and turned away, walking over to put some ice in my glass and pour in some Scotch right on the rocks. This had gone way too far. This wasn't the way a mother and daughter talked to each other. There should be an image, and I had failed.
    “Mother? Are you going to answer me?”
    “Yes… yes, Kathy,” I replied, realizing I had no choice at this point. “I have gone down on Sam, and I have done it with other men. You must realize, darling, that I am a 34-year-old woman who has been married, and that's a lot different from being a 15-year-old virgin. My need is… different, more established… more adult.”
    “Oh, I didn't mean that,” she said, appearing to be laughing at me again. “I'm not going to do that… yee-uk! That would be awful. I just wondered if it was normal, if adults like you or Father… you know-decent people-if they did that. That's all.”
    A great flood of relief swept over me. I began to laugh with Kathy, and I mixed her a very light Scotch and water. We chatted a while about some new clothes I wanted to buy her for her fall wardrobe, and then when the sun came up and I began to yawn, we agreed it was time to go to bed.
    I began to undress over by the closet as Kathy put on her baby-dolls. As I took off my bra and panties, I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched, only to glance in the mirror on the door and notice Kathy. She was sitting on the side of the bed with one leg tucked under her, and her hand right between her legs.
    She was looking right at me as I stood there naked, her eyes seeming to dance all over my body. I tightened up inside and could not seem to catch my breath. My head was dizzy and goosepimples sprung out all over me. I think my hands were beginning to perspire because I recall rubbing the palms of my hands with my fingers in my restlessness.
    “Mother?” her voice beckoned to me ever so softly, and I thought I detected a tremor of it, a kind of subdued breathlessness “Yes…?” I replied. “Turn around a minute so I can see you.”
    “Kathy… why…?” I mumbled under my breath, almost losing control, wishing I could pass out before it was too late.
    “Oh, gosh, Mother,” she said with a bubbly lift to her voice, her eyes taking me in with a warm smile, “I sure hope I have a body like you when I'm 34. You're super!”

Chapter Eight


    The next year at home was much like the one before. I was back in the swing this time with no trouble at all. The men, the parties, the couples, the swingers and, of course, Cindy, were all glad to see me.
    I completely forgot about that one traumatic moment with Kathy until I was with Cindy one night and she asked me so very pointedly about how I enjoyed the summer alone with my daughter. It seemed as if she were probing me for something dirty and evil. And I remembered so very vividly what she had told me about her own mother.
    Strange, I thought to myself while alone sometimes, that the relationship with my own mother seemed to elude me so completely. She seemed almost a non-person to me, a dim memory from the past of something natural and routine, but with no emotional involvement. I did not, however, dwell on such subjects of potential morbidity for any great time. I was too busy having fun.
    In fact, I was so busy having fun that I had apparently slipped up in some small respect in my careful attempts to keep my two lives completely separate. I learned this to my great surprise one Thursday evening in April after submitting my new budget for the drama department to the members of the school board.
    Charley Riggs was 55 years old and a pillar of the community. He was a fat and jolly old man, and quite a flirt. I always played up to him at budget time, and I usually got what I wanted. He had tried to date me on the sly at least a dozen times, but always indirectly, with such ruses as offering me a ride somewhere, or dropping by the apartment to leave some papers for me to take to the administration office for him the next day. I had always played it very straight until that night in April.
    I really did need a ride home then because my car was in the shop. And when he told me that he wanted to talk to me about something that might involve my career, I could tell that he wasn't just looking for an excuse to come inside. I fixed him a cup of coffee as we chatted about the drama projects for the year and he told me that his daughter was going to be in my class next term. And then he took on that serious look when we sat down, and I knew the purpose of his visit.
    “I'm not going to mince any words, Mrs. Bryant.” He came right out with it, frowning as if the whole thing displeased him very much. “I was told something by Jim Bannon after last week's P.T.A. meeting that shocked me very much. He showed me a picture he took of you two. You've been moonlighting as a prostitute, haven't you?”
    The small, beady eyes in his round and usually jovial face had lost their smile. They looked directly at me, dropping briefly to my exposure of cleavage provided by a scoop-neck blouse. Intuitively, I clutched at the neckline with my hand, as if that would somehow assure him of my modesty and virtue. But his eyes demanded an honest answer.
    “Is… Jim Bannon the man who owns the hardware store on Leek Street?” I asked, swallowing my last word.
    “Yes. And he has two boys in our school,” Mr. Riggs answered with a nod, clearing his throat as I crossed my legs and carefully pulled down at my skirt. “Jim recognized you at the P.T.A. meeting when the faculty was introduced, and… uh, he told me at the club the next day that he had… he and other men too… had been seeing you by appointment for thirty dollars.”
    “It's true, of course,” I decided to be perfectly honest, wanting a stiff drink much more than the hot coffee. “Everyone has his… his secret life, Mr. Riggs. I have tried to be very, very careful. I have tried to keep the two lives completely segregated, separate. I dare say this is the only complaint you've heard against me in the time I've been at the school.”
    “You're a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Bryant!” he insisted, gesturing with his hands. “Of course, there have been the usual jealous accusations from some of the female teachers because of your youth, your attractiveness, your sex appeal, your way with the students. But this is absolutely intolerable. I wish I could do something, Mrs. Bryant. I would love to be able to help you. You know… I find you quite an attractive woman too. What can I do though? If the word gets around that you're a prostitute…?”
    “Are you a close friend of Mr. Bannon's?”
    “Close men friends have a way of confiding these things, don't they?”
    “Yes, but…
    “Mr. Bannon is married, isn't he?”
    “Well then I don't really think there's much danger that Mr. Bannon would ever say a single word about this to anyone who matters… do you?”
    “No… of course not.”
    “There are three women on the school board, Mr. Riggs. If I am to be dismissed, there will have to be some better reason than that Mr. Bannon, a married man, paid thirty dollars to have sex with me.”
    I was so proud of myself for being clever. I thought I had everything figured out and that I was absolutely covered. I sat back smugly and lit a cigarette, letting my skirt creep up a few inches and not bothering to adjust it.
    “Mrs. Bryant…” he said rather softly, looking at me as if he were the great white father and I was some foolish child. “Prostitution is against the law in this state. I'm sure that if I were to tell Lt. Hawkins of the vice bureau that we had reason to believe you were running a bawdy house and accepting dates for pay, it would be no problem at all to have your house watched, your movements checked, your… uh, visitors questioned. As soon as your name ended up on a police blotter, the board would automatically release you. The publicity would be ruinous.”
    “Well… what is it you want?”
    “I want your resignation, Mrs. Bryant,” he spoke firmly, pulling a sheaf of papers from his pocket. “I have everything typed up for you to sign. You're leaving because of a better job offer…”
    “Mr. Riggs… you're not serious?” I questioned with utter disbelief, unable to believe that my whole life was suddenly crumbling just like that. “My… my record as a teacher is perfect. My private life is… quite discreet. I'm not a common whore… I just… Why, Mr. Riggs! You yourself have let me know many times that your personal interests in me were not purely as a teacher. Certainly, you recall the time last December that…”
    “I guess I should have offered you thirty dollars and everything would have been fine!” he bellowed angrily, banging his cup down in the saucer. “Well, let me tell you something, Mrs. Bryant. If I had had any idea you were a professional prostitute, I would not have been interested. I was interested in you as something more than just a… a sex companion. My interests are more than flesh deep. You are truly a good teacher, an educated woman with a warm personality. I had thought… Well, no bother what I thought. I want you out of the school by next Friday.”
    “Please… don't discard me just like that, Mr. Riggs,” I asked him contritely, walking over to pour myself a brandy and downing it straight, then sitting in the small chair right at his side, “I know… you can only look at this from a man's viewpoint. Try to think of me for a moment-a woman alone, a divorcee, a woman who has known love and can't live and function as a normal human being without love.
    “What am I to do, Mr. Riggs? If I date normally, I am restricted to social activities, movies, dances. Even then, you know how rumors fly about a teacher who is a divorcee. And if I do make love with my so-called regular or normal boyfriends, I would gain a reputation as a tramp and be fired for that.
    “If I… had dated you… allowed you to make love with me… how was I to know that it would not be just another tawdry affair for you? I… I had no way of knowing how deep and sincere your interest was. If I… just went around with a married administrator or board member, I could get fired too. Don't you see, I had no choice? The only way to have a life that filled me with the love I needed, was to be selectively and secretly promiscuous.
    “I'm not a prostitute, Mr. Riggs. There were one or two married men who offered me a few dollars because they knew I… I have a daughter to support. It became a… a habit, I suppose. If I… I could find one man that I was capable of loving and who really loved me, I wouldn't care if he was married or not I need that kind of love. But it… it's impossible to find…”
    “Do you mean you'd give up running around?” he asked, as I leaned toward him slowly and let my scoop-neck gape open, “You could… give up the money?”
    “How much is it? Thirty dollars once a week… twice a week,” I scoffed, shaking my head and then swallowing hard, and realizing I was only hall acting. “No, Mr. Riggs, I'm not just interested in sex either… but it's a pretty important part of living. And with the right man, the sharing of sex is… is wonderful… wonderful…”
    I let my head fall deliberately on his shoulder and I sobbed. There were real tears because I had worked myself into a highly emotional state when I realized that my whole future could very well depend upon what happened tonight. I was, however, unsure of myself in this particular situation. If I overplayed my hand or emphasized sex too much, I would spoil it. I desperately waited for some reaction from him before I could make my next move.
    “I wish I could… believe,” he started to say, patting my head very gently, his voice unsteady, ”… that you meant this. I have… well, I'm not a very young man anymore, and I think you have excited and interested me more than any woman I have met in years. Mrs… Riggs is not interested in love, sex, whatever it is about a man and a woman that makes their association exciting. That went long ago. Her clubs, her church work, these all occupy her time.
    “It may surprise you to know, Mrs. Bryant… Denise… that I have not had a relation with my wife in seven years. I have had no sex relation with any woman in seven years. When I… thought of you in this context, it has made me very, very intrigued. I can't tell you just how it has… affected me.”
    “Why don't you take off your coat and try, Mr. Riggs?” I said softly, standing up and walking toward the bar, “Would you like some scotch… or bourbon? Brandy?”
    “Scotch, please,” he requested, removing his overcoat and jacket and loosening his tie. “And call me, Charley, Denise. I may just be an old fool and doing the wrong… stupid thing, but I haven't had anyone to talk to in years. I want to tell you everything, Denise. Can I?”
    “Of course, you can,” I told him, bringing over our drinks, “Do you mind if I get into something more comfortable?”
    I ran upstairs and took off my blouse, skirt and half slip, then put on a robe and slippers, coming back down immediately to find that Charley had drained his glass and was just staring off into space. He was a lonely man and I felt genuinely sorry for him. After I fixed him another drink and sat curled up at his feet, he began to talk and talk and talk, running his fingers through my hair tenderly as he did so.
    It was a most unusual monologue, a confessional as much as anything else. The personal intimacy of it was certainly not conducive to normal romantic aims, but I guess he had picked the right person to tell it to. I can recall just about every word he said after he got over the sometimes boring preliminaries of his childhood and first years of marriage:
    “Lucille is a good woman, I suppose. But how can a 'good' woman be a good sex partner? She was never that, Denise. My most pleasurable sex experiences have been when I thought about you… and masturbated.
    “Seven years, Denise. That's a long time for a man to go without sex. I often wondered what I would do, how I would act, had you been more… friendly, say invited me in and allowed me to do more than just kiss you. I would worry about it, wondering if I could… would be so afraid and the experience so strange, that I might be potent.
    “I'm 55 years old, Denise. I realize I have little to offer a woman in return. Money is out of the question. It would spoil the relationship.
    “I… I've not had a sex relation in seven years, and only before that with a frigid piece of ice… what can I offer a woman who has sex with different men all the time, with young men who are virile lovers?”
    “Sex… isn't everything, Charley,” I said very slowly and affectionately, looking up into is eyes.
    “Oh… you misunderstood me before, Denise,” he looked down at me rather pitifully, eyes searching for understanding. “Sex… is very important… very important to me. I only meant that there had to be more than just a body for me to admire. The most physically perfect female in the world can be sexless. There must be a personality, a human and lovable and warm person behind it. And there is that one element that begs for an explanation, that of attraction. I am… attracted to you, Denise… always have been. How foolish for me to dream when I have nothing to offer you. I want to love you. I want to love you sexually, but I have nothing to offer you.”
    “Are you afraid of being impotent?” I asked him softly, but frankly.
    “Yes… very much so,” he admitted, hiding his face in his hands, “I should be very… very aroused here with you like this. I can't..
    “And you still want to make love with me?”
    “Yes… very much so.”
    “Charley?” I said with a question mark, letting my robe fall open, “I think you're trying to tell me something. You know you can't shock me. Tell me… how do you want to make love with me?”
    “Something… I want to do; I've never done before, Denise,” he explained, clearing his throat loudly, his hands trembling as he drained his glass for the third time. “Denise, I want to suck your vagina! Yes! I want to put my head in between your legs and lick and suck your organs. I know… I know I can't bring you pleasure any other way. But that's not it… no. Since… the first time I saw you, this has been my vision, my ideal dream…
    “I have masturbated so many… many times imagining that I am sucking your vagina. Oh, and not only your vagina, Denise. Now… I know that these things are not supposed to be normal, but I have read… much about them. I think, maybe you can understand, Denise…”
    “Yes… yes, Charley,” I assured him, putting up one leg so that my robe fell away to expose my crotch in only the sheer nylon briefs, “Oh, I understand so perfectly well and if you think you don't have anything to offer me, darling, you are so wrong. I… I am very hot, Charley… very hot just listening to you.”
    “I want to suck your… you all over,” he blurted out with some difficulty, and then he could contain himself no longer.
    The pent up lust of a lifetime was suddenly and violently unleashed. Charley's big body fell to the floor beside me with a thud and he pushed his head blindly between my legs, licking and sucking at my crotch through the panties as best he could. His hands reached for breasts and tore the straps of my bra. He held the breasts in his hand, squeezing them.
    His movements were cumbersome and totally unsophisticated. He was satisfying himself and nothing more. Of course, I let him have free reign. I tore open the crotch of my panties and felt his mouth and tongue slobbering at my vulva. He was like a man possessed, straining to get his mouth all over me down there, grunting, whining, groaning, and muttering almost unintelligible words.
    And then it began working on me too. The fact that Charley was going almost out of his mind because of his sexual obsession with me tended to fuel my own passions. I began to work at his clothes to get them off. I was curious about his impotency. I had an intense desire to see him naked, although I knew he was fat and certainly not ideally attractive.
    Charley had a big belly and his flesh was slick and flabby. But I enjoyed feeling it. I lay back on the floor and let him kiss my body all over. He licked my legs and belly, and his mouth closed over my nipples and sucked so hard it was almost too much to bear. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure.
    It got better and better for me, yet I wanted more of a direct contact with my clitoris. He was too sloppy and awkward to bring me the climaxes I wanted. But that should be the least of my worries, I realized. The important thing was to please him and let him have access to me in whatever way he wished.
    I saw his penis for the first time when he turned me back over and began to go down on me again. He was completely impotent. I managed to get it in my mouth and went to work, sucking it hard until I could feel its length stretch in my mouth. I threw my arm around his buttocks to steady him, and I began to suck harder.
    Suddenly, I became aware that I was on the verge of orgasm. He had hit the right spot, and I paused in my own manipulations long enough to tell him to keep doing it right there. At almost the same time, as it became obvious to him that I was having orgasms, his penis began to swell.
    I continued to work on him, hoping to bring it up to full erection, but he started to come before either of us were ready. I took it all from him before he rolled off of me and came up to hold me in his arms. He was out of breath, but he had to talk to me.
    “Denise… oh, damn, Denise! I… I knew I couldn't do it. I wanted to do it right so very much. I wanted to have a great big hard on and give it to you like a young man… but… I'm not a young man… any more…”
    “It's been a long time, Charley… a long time,” I told him, patting his head and shoulders, “You'll do better. I'll make you do better. We have a long time to practice. How often can you see me, Charlie? I need a lot of loving…!”
    “My… kind of loving?”
    “Yes, Charley,” I whispered in his ear, pressing my breasts into him, “I like it when you suck me… you satisfy me completely…”

    Charley became a real problem after that. Within two months, his lovemaking had returned to normal and he was as active as a man 20 years younger, at least. But he was possessive, and he was madly in love with me, insanely jealous. Charley bought me hundreds of dollars worth of clothes and jewelry. At the beginning of summer, he bought me a brand new convertible and said that he wanted Kathy and me to really enjoy it when she came for her visit.
    The real crisis arrived when he told me one night that he had asked his wife for a divorce so he could marry me. I almost panicked. Charley was certainly not the kind of man I would ever want to be married to. He was capable of satisfying me, but no one man could ever keep me satisfied for long. The very idea of it was ridiculous. I had only been seeing him once every week or two, and the reason for that was obvious — so I could keep my job. No job, however, would have been worth a marriage to Charley Riggs.
    I really felt sorry for the man. He was such a pitiful sight as his big fat body lay naked in the bed next to mine, and he talked so happily and animatedly about his plans, and how he had broken it to his wife:
    “She took it pretty hard, naturally. The unity of the family means so very much to her. It means a lot to me too… but the children are old enough to understand now. Lucille will leave for Florida next week and we can be married by the end of the summer. I'm leaving her the cars, the house, the beach house, one third of the stock in my grain business, and all of the insurance agency. That's the price I had to pay.
    “I thought… well, it will cause quite a scandal our getting married right after the divorce… so I thought you and I could settle up at the lake cottage. That's close to my canning company, and I could drop into the office there once or twice a week.
    “Just think, Denise… you'll be a free woman. No work, no worries, just you and I at the cottage with nothing to do but live and love. Denise, I'm a young man again with so very much to live for. You have no idea what you've done for me…”
    The shock of this turn of events was almost paralyzing. I could not think what I would do. The idea of living in a lake cottage with Charley Riggs was about the most awful future I could think of. Although I had kept it quite secret from Charley, and made him believe he was the only man in my life, I had been sneaking out to parties and seeing Cindy as well as some of my other lovers the whole time he had been going with me. This was the life I loved, and I was determined not to let it go.

Chapter Nine


    Charley had brought over two bottles of Champagne to celebrate that night that he broke the news, but I celebrated all by myself long into the night after he left. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get drunk. I think I wanted to just pass on into oblivion.
    I was so sick the next morning, and so tired from the little sleep I was able to get, that I called in sick for only the second time in my teaching career. I wanted to get drunk again and stay drunk forever, but I did manage the good sense to do some work around the house after several little naps.
    At four o'clock, I had just showered and washed my hair and was lying down on the sofa-bed to watch a TV program, when the door chimes sounded. I slipped a robe over the baby-dolls I was wearing before I went to answer it. I fully expected it to be Charley. I was quite surprised, and even a little pleased, when it turned out to be young Ricky Conover, a not-too-bright sophomore of about 15 or 16, who was in my “introduction to Drama” class, and had shown obvious signs of having a crush on me.
    Ricky had bought me a box of candy and said he wanted to drop by and see how I was. I told him I was feeling much better and invited him into the den where I lay back down on the sofa-bed. Under ordinary circumstances, I would have been very formal about everything, even though I might liked to have become more involved personally. But with the turn of events, I just didn't seem to give a damn.
    I had often thought of Ricky and wondered if his crush was purely affectionate, or if there might not be more to it. He was a big boy for his age and had the reputation of having stolen several “cherries” from girls whose reputations had previously been impeccable. Ricky was a tall and relaxed type youth of quite good looks. His hair was unwieldy and blonde, yet not so long as many of the boys wore theirs.
    “I like your place, Mrs. Bryant… and I sure like that outfit too,” he said, emitting a flirtatious whistle as he ogled me.
    I had deliberately let one half of the robe slip to the floor as I lay on the sofa. That was the kind of mood I was in. I recalled the time I had seduced another student a few years back, but Ricky was a different breed. I didn't quite know what to do next.
    “Are you looking at the outfit, Ricky… or my bare leg?” I asked him very straightforwardly, making no attempt to pull up the robe.
    “Gee, I'd sure like to see you at the pool in a bikini, Mrs. Bryant,” he fell to the repartee quite easily, his eyes really devouring my legs in a way that stirred me somewhat. “You could probably show some of these girls at school what a real body looks like.”
    “Well… thank you very much, Ricky,” I smiled, bending my leg slightly at the knee. “I suppose I could go rummage through my wardrobe and find one to model for you.”
    “You… you mean it?” he said, his face breaking into a broad smile as he gave a long wolf whistle, “Say, I've always thought you were…”
    Ricky blushed profusely and began to grope for words. He realized he had almost made a faux pas. I just lay there with a knowing, questioning grin on my face and stared at him. I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
    “Go on, Ricky… you doll,” I said with a laugh, bringing up my other leg so that the left half of the robe fell away. “You've stuck your foot in your mouth, I'm afraid. What was it you were going to say? That you always thought I was a hot one? That I must be pretty wild in bed? What was it, Ricky?”
    “Well…,” he began hesitantly, his eyes taking in my exposed legs eagerly. “I didn't mean any harm by it, Mrs. Bryant. But everybody says you're the sexiest teacher in the school and you've got a better figure than Miss Lyons, the girl's gym teacher. I dunno… I like you, Miss Bryant. You give me ideas. You get me shook.”
    “Still want me to model that bikini?”
    I was having a glorious time with Ricky. The whole episode became absolutely exhilarating once I had decided to go through with it and to hell with the consequences. I wouldn't have a job anyway, I figured, if I had to turn down old Charley Riggs, and I wasn't about to let him go through with that crazy divorce of his.
    The bikini wasn't really hard to find, as one of my paying clients liked to watch me walk around in one. It was a real darling of an outfit-an underwired uplift top that practically pushed my breasts out until the nipples peeked from it, and the barest of mini-pants that tied at either side.
    When I walked back downstairs into the den, I thought Ricky was suddenly paralyzed. The shock was so great that he couldn't whistle or even make a remark. The only evidence that he was emotionally stimulated was the expression in his eyes. The opened so wide and remained that way, I thought they would fall out of his head.
    “Mrs. Bryant…?” he finally managed to get out, gulping and looking very white, then flushed again. “I… I've got this crazy idea in the back of my head that if I… if I walked right over to you and kissed you… and put my arms around you… you wouldn't get mad, you'd let me do that, and… Now, wait! Don't get me wrong. I said I just had this crazy idea. I didn't mean any harm or anything wrong, Mrs. Bryant…”
    “You'd expect a lot from me if I let you do that, wouldn't you, Ricky?” I asked him.
    “No… nothing else.”
    “Oh, I don't mean that,” I laughed at the slight misunderstanding, “I mean at school. Wouldn't it spoil the pupil-teacher relationship? How could I be Mrs. Bryant in the classroom if I had been… Denise to you here?”
    “You… well, I'm not a guy who would mess things up for you, Mrs. Bryant,” he promised, taking a step forward as his eyes danced across my near-nakedness, “I know… how important it would be to say nothing. Nobody even knows I came over to see you…”
    “Ricky, be perfectly honest with me. Why did you come over here?”
    “Because I like you… you're my favorite.”
    When he stepped closer, I put a hand back behind my neck and tossed my freshly washed hair to the side. With my other hand, I began to draw small designs, using my fingers, over the exposed tops of my breasts. It felt good. I was thoroughly enjoying the sensations as well as the eager and desperate stares that Ricky bestowed on my body. I giggled a little and felt deliciously evil and sexy.
    “Mrs. Bryant…”
    “Call me Denise,” I whispered when he came up so very close to me.
    “Den-ise… oh, Denise…”
    He suddenly threw his arms around me, his fingers digging into my buttocks beneath the mini-pants, his mouth covering mine and his lips pressing to my mouth with the artistry of one who has kissed for a long time in the heat of passion. I opened my lips to admit his tongue and I made pleasant noises as mine meshed with his and I pressed my pelvis against a very hard penis.
    “Ricky?” I asked him point blank, pulling away to look him right in the eye, “Do you want me?”
    “Oh… oh… damn!” he exploded, trembling nervously as I helped him guide me to the sofa, “Oh, Mrs. Bryan… Denise…”
    I unhooked the bra top and took it off as I lay down, then untied the briefs at each side. Poor Ricky was beside himself, struggling to get out of his clothes. I particularly liked the way his hard penis got caught on the waistband of his shorts and vibrated up and down when he pulled them off. He had a small penis, but the pencil-stiffness of it absolutely fascinated me.
    Ricky was nervous and clumsy as he mounted me. I fully expected him to go off like a rabbit, and I was anticipating how I would revive him. I already had visions of sucking him back up to erection, and the idea pleased me. But what pleased me more was his performance. To my great surprise, Ricky did not go off like a rabbit.
    To my great surprise and pleasure, once he had put his organ inside me and begun the movements, the measured thrusts at just the right angle so that my clitoris contacted his shaft on each downward stroke, the nervousness went away. He brought me to orgasm within less than a minute the first time, and then my multiples started. He lasted with me a full ten or fifteen minutes and our rapport was such that I had no trouble in gauging my best climax to coincide with his ejaculation.
    I found myself in a particularly relaxed and gay mood then and, unlike so many of my male friends of older age and more experience, Ricky seemed to know that a girl liked to be hugged and kissed and caressed long after the climax. In a matter of minutes he had revived my interest sufficiently, so that I was eager to revive his.
    “Have you ever been with a woman before, Ricky?' I asked curiously, licking his nipples and his belly.
    “Not… exactly,” he told me, reaching down to feel my breasts. “When I had a paper route…I guess I was 14, almost 15, this woman asked me inside when I was collecting one night. She only had on panties. She scared me, I'll tell you. Her husband was there too, see, and they wanted to both play around. He sucked me off and she kissed me and all, and then she taught me how to have intercourse.”
    “You've got a nice tool, darling,” I said working it up and down between my fingers. “Did you like it when he sucked you?”
    “Oh, I'm not a sissy… but I went of!” he said, breathing heavier in anticipation. “It's better if a girl does it.”
    “Have you ever had a girl do it?”
    “Once… only once,” he said, rubbing my back up toward my shoulders so that my head was gently pushed down farther, “You remember Ellie Warren, that got kicked out of school? That little broad used to suck off guys for a dollar at lunch period in the janitor's closet near the gym. Ha… I got her for nothing because I'd send other guys to her.”
    “Ricky… I'm going to suck you off,” I announced very boldly, in a manner befitting my mood.
    I could actually feel it stiffen between my fingers when I said that, it excited him so. As I mentioned, he had a small one, larger than a pencil, of course, yet that is what it reminded me of. I enjoyed the feel of it, and inside my mouth it was like nothing I had had before. He made a few noises as he came, but it was nothing like the more powerful and grateful passion of an adult male.
    I couldn't help but enjoy myself with Ricky, however. It was an experiment, a new and different kind of experience, and I wanted to make the best of it. I had him stay for supper and let him drink two beers, and I had just a very pleasant and wonderful time with him. It was so intriguing to be with a youth like this in and adult situation.
    Later in the evening, I made him excited again by letting him play with my breasts and kiss them. I had a very strong urge for him to have rectal intercourse with me. The size of his penis would have been just right. The idea absolutely fascinated me. Yet there was something within my strange conscience somewhere that forbade me to do it. I don't know why I should have drawn the line there, but I did.
    I went down on him again and he seemed to try to hold off. When I asked him why, he said he wanted to have regular intercourse to orgasm. We did and I enjoyed it even more this time, although it was nothing really special. I would have preferred to suck him until he came and swallow his discharge. There was something about doing that to Ricky that gave me a great deal of psychological as well as physical pleasure. I was at a loss to explain why at the time.
    “I want… well, I'd like to know that I can come visit you again like this,” Ricky asked me as he was leaving, “Maybe in the afternoons sometime when we both need a little, huh?”
    “Ricky, this could become a problem if we're not very careful,” I began talking realistically, evidently not recalling that I was probably on my way out anyway. “We'll have to be very careful. In addition to everything else, I have a jealous boyfriend, and my daughter… will be home for the summer very soon. You can call me sometime… as if you wanted to come over about the school drama club. If it's all right, I'll tell you to come over.”
    “I love you, Mrs. Bryant,” he told me in a nervous whisper, then kissed me on the cheek and left.
    I sat around thinking about Ricky for quite a while, dreaming idiotic dreams about how nice it would be to take a boy like him and make him into a really satisfying lover, train him to please me in every way as often as I liked. I toyed with the idea very pleasurably for some time and came up with some pretty wild fantasies.
    We were alone together driving the freeways and stopping at motels and staying at beach resorts. Whenever I felt in the mood, I would take off my clothes and say, “Ricky, I want you to go down on me.” or “Ricky… backside… in easy now.” I fancied myself as using him as a Virtual slave to my passions and reveling in his adoration of me as a basically sexual animal.
    It was during this reverie that the telephone began to ring and brought me back to my senses. My first thought, of course, was that it would be Charley wanting to come over and make love. I was definitely not in the mood for that. What I wanted to do was take a long perfumed bath and then a drink or two and go quietly to bed and purr to myself with impossible thoughts of Ricky. Not that I was serious about him. The ideas just seemed to be pleasant and comfortable.
    “I'll be in town there most of the summer,” were the words that came over the phone as soon as I answered, “I want you to prepare for my staying with you. I mean, tell the neighbors and the boyfriends that your real lover has returned.”
    “Bob?” I said with a touch of surprise and shock when I realized who it was, “You… you've got nerve you haven't even used yet. I'm sorry, lover, you'll have to try your routine on one of your other shack jobs.”
    “Denise, I have had a very rough two years,” he lowered his voice and began to speak with that pseudo-sincerity of his. “This comes straight from the heart, Denise. You have never been out of my thoughts. I think by now that Kathy must have confessed to her preposterous lie. She's a much more mature girl now, and I would hope that you have also reconsidered and are more appreciative of what I tried to do for you that summer.”
    “I'm getting mar…,” I started to tell him, planning to say that I was really going to marry Charley, but then I cut my speech short as a brilliant idea suddenly occurred to me, “Bob… you've had to play roles, do a lot of acting and all in your work, haven't you?”
    “My dear, I have been posing as fatuous and stupid American tourist in the East for two years!” he yelled at me. “Of course I do a lot of acting. Now, what is this sudden professional interest in my acting ability?”
    “Bob, could you pose as my ex-husband…?” I asked him, very excited by the plan that was forming in my mind. “Bob, I have a problem with this man. I can't afford to just ditch him. He's an important man locally, and the chairman of the school board. The idiot wants to divorce his wife and marry me. But… if you could pretend to be my ex-husband…”
    “Very well… very well,” he answered before I had finished, exasperation coming through in his voice, “Yes, I'll bail you out of this mess. Of course, I can play the part. Just you don't forget that my name is Bob 'Bryant'… or does he know your husband's name was Mai?”
    “No… that's fine. You'll be Bob Bryant,” I agreed readily, feeling so wonderfully relieved of a monstrous burden. “That's good, isn't it. I mean, so long as I can call you Bob… I'm not likely to slip up.”
    “Well, of course, you stupid bitch!” he railed at me unpleasantly, realizing I was at his mercy now, that I needed him desperately, more than he needed me, “Do you have a pencil and paper?”
    “Well… yes…”
    “All right, take down this address,” he ordered me, “Lincolnia Motel Courts and Golf Club, Paso Delta, California. Wire me three hundred dollars first thing tomorrow, and I'll be there tomorrow night.”
    “Three hundred dollars?” I shouted, “Bob… my bank account is probably overdrawn now… and I've got less than forty dollars in the house…”
    “You'll get it,” he snapped. “Just don't take too long.”
    And with that, he was off the phone. I thought of asking Charley for the money, but that would have been too much. I mentioned before that I do have a conscience. I don't know how it figures in, but there are some things I can't do. That was one of them.
    In desperation, I called up Bill Britten and he came right over. He seemed sympathetic to my problem, and provided thirty dollars of it right on the spot to watch me sit down and expose myself, then masturbate with a vaginal vibrator he had brought with him. I had used vibrators before, but this was something different. It had a self contained battery and motor inside a plastic dildo. It took a long time for it to work me up enough to orgasm, but the sensations were enough to orgasm, but the sensations were terrific.
    Bill said he knew of a stag party that was going on at a lodge out in the country. He thought I might be able to get three hundred from the men there, if I would agree to anything and everything. He called them up, but they told him there would have to be two girls along for that kind of money. I didn't know what to do, until Bill suggested Cindy.
    She was willing to help me out so long as I would come see her more often, or if I would pay her back two hundred dollars. It was the first time she had ever been so businesslike with me, and I knew why. It had been my fault for ignoring her practically except when I was lonesome or had a problem.
    The stag party was a pretty awful experience. There were about ten men there, and when we arrived they had just finished looking at some sex films. They fought over who would be first, and more than once, just as I was beginning to enjoy intercourse with a man, someone else pulled him off. When things quieted down I sometimes had as many as three or four men working on me at once.
    For Cindy, it was all work, as I am convinced that her only real pleasure came from being with a girl, no matter what she said. For me, however, I must admit that the attack by several men at the same time was wonderful, although sometimes awkward and difficult.
    I recall lying on the bed while one man had regular intercourse with me and another got on his hands and knees over my face and put his huge penis in my mouth. As the others gathered around, I took two of their penises in my hand. A big fat character then suggested that I could also accommodate a man backside.
    I lay on my back atop this skinny fellow named Andy. He had a wart on the end of his penis that was the subject of much joking, but it was long and slim, was the reason for his choice of the back position. I straddled him to begin with, while my anus and his penis were thoroughly greased with some kind of cream they had. We had to work at it a few moments before he could gain penetration.
    “Ow… no!” I recall screaming as he inserted very deeply. But in a few moments, the pain and shock subsided and I lay back a little, supporting myself by putting my hands down on the bed beside me. Another man then came up between my legs and attempted to put his penis in my vagina. At the same time, the big fat man stood on the bed straddling us and I put his penis in my mouth and began to suck it.
    There was a problem with the man who was trying to put it in my vagina. The man under me moved down farther so that I could lean back more. Finally, I received both of the men in the adjacent entrances between my legs. However, the positions were so uncomfortable that intercourse was next to impossible. The fat one was the only man satisfied in that three ring circus.
    Cindy and I Were asked to make love as they watched. No sooner did we start, than the men were crawling on the bed with us. I was on top, so I received one of the men from the rear. I also had competition with going down on Cindy as two other mouths fought for the same goal. What I found most enjoyable in that was the sensation of receiving the man in my vagina from behind as Cindy licked around us.
    This was one of the most disgusting and yet memorable episodes of my naughty, naughty life. I only remember Andy by name, but if I ever see one of the others again, I shall have no trouble recognizing him.

    When I attempted to tell Bob the next evening at the airport how I had managed to get the money together, he merely snapped, “I don't want to hear it!” I presume that he had an idea of what I might have been through and he did not want to admit to himself that it was he who had been responsible for it.
    We were both dead tired that night, so I was not too unhappy that he seemed in no mood to make love to me. Psychologically, it would have given me a lift, but I did not need sex. Instead, we spent most of the time talking about how we would work our little plot on Charley.
    The next day was Saturday, and when Charley came to see me at two in the afternoon, we were ready. I played the role of the confused woman to the hilt, while Bob acted the part of the slightly peeved ex-husband. Poor Charley. He actually broke down and cried. There was no problem with him, really. He bowed out gracefully and muttered something about hoping his wife would take him back.
    The confrontation with Kathy was fairly smooth too. She apologized to Bob for the lie she had told me, but what really hurt was the look in her eyes that she directed to me. We talked about it the next day when Bob was out on one of his mysterious “business” trips.
    “I'm afraid of him, mother,” she insisted with dramatic seriousness. “He just gives me the creeps, and after all you told me he had taken you for… why did you let him come back?”
    “Please believe that I had a very good reason, dear,” I asked her, noticing with pride how more beautiful and lovely she looked than last year even. “I don't think there's anything for you to worry about, dear. You admitted yourself that he never really did anything to you.”
    “Oh, yeah… but you could tell he would have liked to,” Kathy said with a feigned shudder. “I know that look in a man's eyes when he wants to have sex with me. Like… I was riding the subway last December when we were in New York. This funny looking little man with real squinty eyes kept pushing against me until I could feel his thing get hard, Mother. I looked around and his eyes glowed with rape just like Bob's do sometimes when I'm in baby-dolls or shorts.”
    “What happened after that… on the subway?”
    “Eee-yuk!” she spat distastefully. “The creep licked his lips and pushed up closer to me in the crowd and then zip! He ducked out the door just as the subway was ready to pull out of the station.”
    “Bob would never do anything like that,” I told her, and I believed it.
    “No… not exactly,” she agreed, but added, “He does other things though, like in the bathroom. He left the door open when he was shaving and I was sitting on the stairway talking to Mary yesterday. I could look right in and see him. That was gross, Mother. Honestly. He was shaving so calmly, using both hands… and this thing came out of his shorts just like a snake, I swear. It flopped out and then it started growing and lifting up… zoo-oom! Oh, I thought it was a riot…”
    “When was that? Yesterday morning?” I demanded, suddenly outraged. “Was he looking at you? Tell me?”
    “Well… no. He wasn't exactly looking at me,” Kathy admitted, more in a laughing mood about than anything else. “But he knew I was there. He could hear every word I was saying to Mary. I had even said 'Hi' to him when I sat down to phone…”
    I felt worse than some cheap whore. Bob had been making love to my daughter by proxy. This time, I knew it. There was no doubt in my mind. I remembered only too well that I had been making up the bed in our room when Bob finished shaving the day before, and he came in with an erection and took me by surprise, telling me that he was suddenly inspired to make love. It had been a wonderful session… until I found out the reason why.
    “You still have this fixated idea, don't you?” was his reaction when I confronted him with it that night when Kathy had gone out, “You still have this incurable inferiority complex, this idea that you are incapable of arousing me while your daughter is.”
    “Don't… don't try to fool me anymore, Bob,” I protested, shaking my head as I sat on the side of the bed and watched him casually begin to undress. “You let Kathy sit there and watch you get a hard on! You were excited BECAUSE she was watching you! Maybe what she was saying on the phone to Mary excited you I too! Bob, you…”
    “Shut up and listen to me!” he almost lost control of his temper, grabbing me by the shoulders. “When I walked out of this bedroom to go in there and shave, I carried with me the vivid memory of your naked body in bed next to mine. Two minutes before, you had taken my penis in your hand, kissed it, and looked at me with that lustful expression of yours and said, 'Mm-mmm, I like him. Don't keep him away from me too long,' isn't that correct?”
    “Yes,” I had to admit.
    “And before that… when we first woke up, Denise, you had taken my hand and placed it between your thighs to show me how wet you were! Right?”
    “Yes, of course, but…”
    “I'm a man. And like all men, I have a hard on when I get up, but I need to go urinate, right?”
    “So I went to the bathroom and did just that… WITH THE DOOR CLOSED!” he emphasized, releasing his grip on my shoulders and walking over to the dresser. “After that, if I may acquaint you with a few biological facts of the male, I was not erect, because I had to de-tu-mesce in order to urinate. Now… I put my organ back into my shorts and I opened the door while I was shaving. It has been common practice for me to do this, right?”
    “Yes… we've become like a family… Kathy sees you in your shorts…”
    “Kathy spoke to me as she walked by or something,” Bob went on, lighting a cigarette. “It was early morning. I was hardly even aware of her. My mind was much more taken with what I had just left in the bed-you! You do recall that you have expressed a desire that I shave prior to intercourse?”
    “That was the reason I chose to shave, my dear,” he brought his point dramatically home, “My entire mental concentration was on you. I was thinking of coming back into the bedroom here and making love with you… that, my dear Denise, is why my penis erected while I was shaving! Why… why do you punish yourself like this? Why? Denise, you are a very sexy woman!”
    “Will you… forgive me, Bob?”

    How can I describe the rest of the summer except to say that it was a series of similar incidents? In looking back, it appears that these things came in regular cycles. Bob would make love to me on night or one day until I was literally exhausted. His staying powers were almost superhuman, it seemed. This would be followed by a period of deprivation, and I would think that he was never going to make love to me again. There would be the flirtations with Kathy too, and I realized more and more how two-sided they were. One night, I walked in on them unexpectedly while they were watching T-V in the den. They were sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, but Kathy had one of her breasts out the front of her baby dolls and it looked as if she was rubbing the nipple. I know Bob was watching, although he denied it. I felt his erection as soon as I sat down.
    Before I knew it though, summer was over and Kathy was gone. I felt more confused than ever. It was almost as if the continual crises presented by the Bob-Kathy problem had been a way of life, a kind of replacement for the hectic swinging and part-time prostituting that kept me going before.
    But Bob managed to introduce other intrigues. He would be gone for days or weeks at a time, then suddenly reappear in the middle of the night from out of nowhere. He took my car on most of these trips and ruined it in a wreck in Georgia that March. I saw the accident report listing a 29-year-old woman and a 14-year-old girl as occupants of the car. “The family of one of our men killed by the Commies,” he explained. And at the time, he made me believe it. When I was away for the state teacher's convention in April, I thought it would be Tuesday before I returned. We adjourned a day early, and I found a woman's suitcase and clothing in our bedroom when I arrived at the house. I didn't know what to do. I was actually afraid to stay there and face it when they both came back. Instead, I stayed overnight in a motel.
    “Yes… I slept with a woman while you were gone,” Bob admitted without batting an eye, when I told him what I had seen. “Denise, I think this is something that you can understand… please listen. You may remember that I told you I was dispatched to Georgia to break the news of my best friend's death to his widow. It was a tragic thing. Her husband was fine boy… both of them from the country… code of the hills type people… married when she
    was 14 or 15.
    “While you were gone, the poor woman came up here and contacted me. Denise, I have never known a more natural and sincere woman. I knew her husband as a courageous young man who died at the hands of Communist torturers and murderers. She… she came up here and contacted me for one reason, Denise. I was Ed's best friend. I was not a part of their life together in that small Georgia village. But the woman was headed toward a nervous breakdown unless she had sex. I was her only trusted point of contact. The woman could not just go out and pick up any man. It had to be me, because I was a part of the secret life that no one else knew of. Her husband was a covert agent, you understand.
    “Yes, Denise, I had intercourse with her seven times during the 18 hours she was here. It was not by my choice, but a humanitarian thing that I did. You know what it is to be lonely and starved for love, Denise. Don't you?”
    “Yes, Bob. You… did the right thing,” I found myself saying. “I'm glad you did…”
    My life became a cat and mouse game. I too began to stray when Bob would be gone for long periods of time. I was afraid to see anyone at the house, but I met Ricky sometimes at a motel on the other side of town, and Bill arranged paying dates for me with men in the hotels occasionally. He also took me to more swinging parties and bought me an entire wardrobe of exotic lingerie from that famous place in Hollywood.
    One night, he took me to a neighborhood bar he frequented. I wore no pants, as he had instructed, and I would allow generous views of my thighs and crotch to men at the tables as I sat at the bar stool. Bill would go over and talk with the men he knew, telling them I had on no pants and asking them to watch when I turned to face them.
    Later, we went up to one of the men's apartments and they all took turns with me. Again, I enjoyed the situation very much, particularly since none of the men were averse to kissing and licking my body. Sometimes, there were four or five working at the at the same time.
    While we were sitting around drinking and just leisurely feeling each other, the man whose apartment we were at brought out a set of photographs for us to look at. Actually, there were several groups of pictures, each in a separate envelope. The first set were of the two girls and a man doing just about everything. Another group contained two girls together, there were some of twin sisters and their pet collie, and another of a girl using a vibrator and various kinds of dildoes on herself.
    “There here are the greatest,” the man announced with pride, spreading the set out in front of everyone. “I took these myself when I was stationed over in Germany after the war. See? This gal here is the mother and this is her teenage daughter. For a carton of cigarettes, I got them while the other watched. The mother helped me get it all the way…”
    I excused myself and went to the bathroom and threw up, refusing to recognize the reason why. Kathy was due to arrive the following Monday for her summer vacation.

Chapter Ten


    I noticed a difference in Kathy the moment she arrived. But I was at a loss to figure out exactly what it was. I thought it might be a kind of annoyance at finding Bob still with me, but her attitude toward him seemed closer and warmer than before.
    My old fears were renewed and amplified because of this new closeness, in fact. Instead of acting more mature around Bob, Kathy seemed to enjoy playing the role of “little girl lost,” talking baby-talk to him, cuddling in his lap and throwing her arms around him. Whenever she needed advice or an answer to a question, she inevitably went to him.
    It also became quite obvious that on those nights when Kathy would sit on his lap and bounce around, Bob was much more in a mood to make love with me. When I could stand it no longer, when the suspense and worry had built up in me until I could keep quiet no longer, I burst out at Bob one evening just before he was about to start intercourse with me.
    “What do you and Kathy do when I'm out teaching at the Institute in the afternoon?” I blurted, turning my pelvis away from him. “She gets you so excited right in front of me at nights… what do you do when you're alone with her? What?”
    “Oh, Lord. I suppose it had to come sooner or later,” he sighed resignedly, rolling over beside me and reaching for a cigarette. “You must won't let it lie, will you, Denise… this idea that I am having sex with your daughter? What a… a corrupt and evil mind you have. Usually, I am not even here in the afternoon. When I leave you at the Institute, I go on some business calls, check in with my confidential contact. Only once a week, do I ever come back here. And let's see… last Monday, I played tennis with Kathy at the town courts. Would you like to check with the groundskeeper there?”
    “I want to know what your relation is with my daughter?” I screamed, getting a cigarette for myself and lighting it. “Have you ever screwed my daughter?”
    “Denise,” he stated calmly, looking at me as if I were a child or a patient or something. “Every time Kathy gets in one of her little moods and squirms in my lap… who is it I come in here and have intercourse with? It's you, Denise, not her!”
    “You… you admit it!” I jumped at him, wagging my finger like an old shrew. “You admit that she gets you aroused… sexed up, sitting in your lap and kissing you and going on with all that baby talk trash!”
    “My dear, Denise, I admit it most readily,” Bob announced, gesturing with a wide swing of his arms. “Be logical. Kathy is a fully developed young woman in a physical sense. She is 17 years old. She measures 36-23-36 in all the right places. She is a sexually desirable human being! Any normal male would be excited if she was sitting in his lap in a pair of those nothing pajamas and wiggling her delightfully configurated buttocks around. For an adult male, this is a normal reaction.”
    “And you allow it! You let her get you all excited and work yourselves up into a heat of lust!”
    “Oh, Denise… Denise, you have a perverted mind,” he began to lecture me again. “It is a normal reaction for me to become aroused. But to Kathy, I am an authoritarian father image. To her, this is a thing of familial affection. Evidently, her own father lacks something. She finds it impossible to communicate with him and gain a proper rapport.”
    “You… you'd love to screw her… wouldn't you? I asked him outright, trying to stare back at him with the same degree of searching that his eyes imparted to me. “You'd dearly love to have your hands all over those breasts… her naked body beneath you. Oh, Bob, how can you think I'm such a fool. You and your logic. You want her in bed, Bob. Admit it!”
    “I admit it,” he said immediately, turning me over on my back again and entering me as he continued to talk. “She is a very desirable female and I would thoroughly enjoy breaking her in to the arts of sexual love. This is true, Denise. It is also true that I achieve erection while she moves about on my lap. I try to conceal my excitement from her and she probably doesn't even notice it. Yes, Denise, I would really enjoy sex with Kathy. But… I have enough good sense about me not to dwell on the idea and become morbid about it. The trouble with you is, that you must realize Kathy is not a little girl anymore in physical build…”
    I felt so strange and dirty talking about Kathy in this way at the very moment Bob was making love to me. It seemed that when he spoke of her body or that she was sexually attractive, I could actually feel his penis get harder, his thrust more forceful. It was terribly upsetting, and I had a great deal of difficulty in coming.

    THE following Monday, my car was in the shop, so I went downtown that morning to do some shopping on the bus, and told Bob and Kathy that I would go directly from there to the Institute. I had actually chosen that day to have the car worked on because there was no school at the Institute. It was closed for some carpentry work that had to be done on the stage. But Bob and Kathy were not aware of that.
    At two o'clock, I got off the bus a block away from the house, walking down the alleyway and slipping in the back door. I heard nothing from the kitchen. The house seemed unusually quiet and still. The whole downstairs was vacant, no sign of anything, no sound.
    And then I heard Kathy's voice!
    “… crazy darling… oh, crazy darling…”
    It came from her room, accompanied by the muffled and unintelligible words of a man. My first impulse was to dash right up to her bedroom and fling open the door! I wanted to claw at Bob with my bare hands, call him every kind of rotten and cheating liar I could think of!
    But I paused. I grabbed hold of the banister by the stairway and squeezed it with all my might. I tried to think of what to do, what a rational person would do. Yes! They were in Kathy's bedroom! The spy-scopes Bob had put in three summers before were still in the hall closet! I would see for myself. I would see with my own eyes, and then all of Bob Morgan's powerful brainwashing would not convince me that it was only my imagination. I would see it for myself!
    I gained amazing control and crept up the stairs stealthily in my stocking feet. I opened the closet door very slowly, anticipating the slightest squeek and stopping short, pushing up or pulling down to correct it. Parting the hanging clothes very quietly, I was soon up against the back wall of the closet, felling along in front of me for the spy-scopes.
    I When I found the one to the right, I stopped dead in my movements. I realized that I was shaking all over. I had been so intent on what I was doing, that I had not listened to the words that were occasionally audible to me.
    “… darling oh, crazy, darling,” Kathy was carrying on like before, “Do it more… that way… oh, crazy darling…”
    The blood flushed through me like I had just yanked the handle of a toilet. And that was how filthy and dirty I felt too. Like a toilet. Bob was in bed making love to Kathy! I was trembling all over, filled with rage. Yet I still had to see it with my own eyes. I did not want to look. But I had to be one hundred percent sure!
    I put both hands flat against the wall on either side of the spy-scope. I leaned forward and let my right eye come to rest against it. The vision was blurred, obscured, there was dirt and dust all over the lens. I pushed myself away and began to breathe, realizing that I had been holding my breath. With my finger, I brushed away the dirt from the lens, and I immediately pressed my eye to it again.
    The view was crystal clear this time. Kathy was lying on the bed totally naked, her legs raised in the air and spread apart, her arms wrapped around him, her hips pumping away like mad in a frenzy of lovemaking. It was horrible! I could see his penis stroking as it entered and withdrew from my own daughter in a patterned rhythm and technique that I had taught him.
    Ricky was making love to Kathy!
    Was it a shock wave of relief I felt, or just a surprise, when I saw that it was Ricky who was making love to my daughter? I don't really know. The confusion and questions welled up in me and I couldn't think straight. Why Ricky? How did he ever get to know Kathy? Why hadn't she told me she knew him? Why? How? Why? How?
    I threw reason and logic to the winds when I heard Kathy say, “Oh, Ricky! I'm coming… screw me harder!” I charged through the rack of clothes and out into the hall. When I found the door to Kathy's room locked, I began kicking, screaming and beating on it. I went delirious, hysterical. I was a virtual mad woman!
    Within seconds, it seemed, Kathy opened the door and tried to come outside. I pushed her away and entered the room, going straight for the closet door and pulling it open. The sight of Ricky, cowering behind the rack of Kathy's dresses, so idiotically trying to cover his penis with his hands, sobered me more than anything else. For a second, I had the impulse to burst into crazed laughter at the spectacle he presented, but I reached in to grab him by the shoulder and drag him out. He flopped onto the bed when I let go, and quickly covered himself with a sheet.
    Kathy had managed to get on a robe before she unlocked the door. There was something so bizarre about this, I thought. Ricky, the boy who I had taught to make love like a man, who I had been naked with in bed for hours at a time, covering himself up like some Victorian prude. But it was not a funny situation. Not when my daughter was involved.
    “Denise… let me explain something about…” Ricky tried to speak up like a man.
    “Mrs. Bryant!” I shouted him down, glaring at Kathy, who had maintained more composure than he and was standing by the foot of the bed. “What have… how did you meet my daughter?”
    “Mrs. Bryant,” he addressed me most courteously, still scared out of his wits, “I… called you last month… about helping me… giving me some extra help in drama before school starts, Kathy… Kathy answered, and we just got to talking, and… well, she invited me over to see her…”
    “How long has this been going on? I demanded, looking at Kathy.
    “Mother, I am 17-year-old girl now,” she stated, walking up to me as if to challenge my maternal authority, assuming an attitude of pseudomaturity, “I am not that confused little teenager you talked with two years ago… the last time I had a chance to talk with you privately about things a girl needs to talk with her mother about!”
    “Ricky… get your clothes and leave,” I managed to say, hiding my face in my hands as I collapsed into a chair.
    “Mrs. Bryant… I want to say…”
    “Just go…” I insisted, not saying anything or moving until I heard him walking down the steps.
    Slowly, I took my hands away from my face and opened my eyes too look at Kathy. She was standing there facing me, the strangest look on her face. I think she was trying to decide, which way to react. At one moment, I was sure she was going to get very angry and strike out for her “rights” and independence. In the next instant, she seemed as if on the verge of tears.
    “Oh, Mother! Mother! Help me! Help me-ee!” she cried out suddenly, dropping to her knees and clutching my legs, her eyes searching mine so soulfully. “Mother… I can't help… it. I can't help it, Mother…”
    “My darling, beautiful Kathy,” was all I could come up with, as I ran my fingers through her long brown hair and pressed her cheek against my knee. “I never… knew you had such problems… I guess. Oh, I don't know what I'm saying, Kathy. I love you, precious. I've never been able to be much of a… a good mother, even when we're together. How… when did it first happen…?”
    “Last fall,” she told me immediately, realizing at once what I meant, “I tried, Mother, but it was no good. This guy I was crazy about… he never gave me a chance when he was in school. Then he dropped out and went in the Army. When he was home on leave, I met him at a dance… and we got, oh, I don't know how it happened. We were dancing, and I just knew that was it. We both got so turned on it was embarrassing for us to stay there in public. He ditched his date and I ditched mine and we went to a motel.”
    “Did it… hurt, Kathy?” I asked, feeling very helpless and inadequate, trying to smile when she looked up at me and shook her head.
    “No… I liked it,” she admitted to me with such a fresh and innocent honesty. “Mother, I… I think I'm a nymphomaniac! I don't know what to do, honest. When I get with a boy and he starts in, I can't say no! I'm a nympho, Mother!”
    “Don't be silly, precious,” I consoled her, trying to believe it was just not so. “You're 17 years old. My goodness! How many 17 year old girls are still virgins these days? The only thing you have to worry about, young lady, is getting pregnant You… you're not… you haven't…?”
    “Oh, of course not. I take the pill,” she said, acting as if I were terribly old fashioned, “Bobo knows a druggist who sells them to him without a prescription for about five times what they cost if you go to a doctor.”
    “Who's Bobo?”
    “He's my… regular boyfriend,” Kathy answered, seeming more at ease and relaxed, standing up and shaking out her hair, “He's nice. We don't have a big hang-up or anything serious… just fun and all.”
    “And your father… your stepmother… they know nothing about any of this?”
    “You better believe they don't,” she assured me with a shudder, “You can't talk to them like a human being, Mother. They think they know it all and that kids ought to do this or that, and that's it. I wanted to talk to you about it last summer… this summer. I could scream sometimes when Bob was here all the time and I couldn't talk to you.”
    “Bob… yes, I thought he might be here today,” I said, wondering where he was.
    “Oh, who cares about Bob?” Kathy commented, but I thought I detected her trying to avoid the subject a little too vigorously. “Oh… I know he's your boyfriend, Mother. But he's the reason I never get to talk to you alone or do anything. And at night, I go…”
    “Yes?” I questioned when she suddenly broke off in mid-sentence.
    “Tell me. Kathy. It was you who stressed that there was a lack of communication between us.”
    “Mother… is Bob a good lover?”
    “Why… whatever in the world made you ask that? I don't really think it's a proper subject for discussion.”
    “I think it is,” Kathy insisted, and she seemed the most serious I had ever seen her, “Mother, if anyone can understand about me, I know you can. At night… I can't sleep when I hear you and Bob in the bed together. I can't sleep and it… I know it's wrong, Mother, but it turns me on. Oh, gee, I've heard you getting kicks in there with him, and I can't sleep!
    “That's why… well, I didn't know any kids here this summer, and when Ricky called for you last month… I pretended I was you on the telephone.”
    “You what?” I exploded, clamping my hand up to my mouth, not knowing what to say.
    “Yes, Mother,” Kathy said with a nod, a slightly triumphant and knowing smile trying to show itself, “He thought I was you to start with because when I answered, he said 'Denise?' in such a sexy voice. And I just felt like changing my voice a little and making it low like yours, and I said, 'Yes, darling.'
    “So, that's how it started. You can imagine some of the things he said, and I just kept saying, 'Yes, darling.' It was a riot, Mother. Oh, I know I shouldn't be joking about it. I know that, Mother, and I'm not joking about it. You have no idea how close it made me feel to you..
    “How close?” I questioned, so beside myself with shock I was hardly conscious of everything she was saying. “How could it?”
    “Mother, don't you understand?” she asked, kneeling beside me once again with a look in her eyes that bespoke a genuine kind of love. “I know! You don't have to try to hide anything from me. I'm not ashamed of you. I know that you're like me, Mother. You have to have it too. When Ricky… started telling me on the phone how he wanted you to do things to him… how you ate him raw and everything… oo-oo-oh, I just got so jazzy!”
    “But how… did you meet him, if… he thought you were me?” I asked bewilderedly.
    “Oh… ha-ha… that took some doing,” she said with a funny laugh that I seemed to remember from more innocent times. “I was afraid to talk too much, or he would know it wasn't you. I told him that 'my daughter' was visiting me and just dying to meet him. The rest was easy. I had him come by in the afternoons when you weren't here and when Bob was gone too.”
    “So… you think your mother's a nymphomaniac?” I found myself saying blankly, too numbed to think or plan what I was saying, “You think your mother's a tramp, and you can be a tramp too. Yes… I suppose you would think that-shacking up with a man here at the house like this seducing schoolboys on the side. Would you like me to tell you the rest, Kathy? Surely, you want to hear about the man who pays mother thirty dollars to watch me pull up my dress and masturbate? Or the married man who likes for me to spank his bare bottom? Or the preacher who runs in for a quick… kiss on the penis and pays me ten dollars. Oh, if you think… think you're such a nymphomaniac… maybe you'd like to try five men at once! I have, Kathy! What do you think of that?”
    “Oh, Mother! Mother! I love you!” she screamed, in tears as she threw her arms around me and hugged me so very tight. “I don't care what you've done, Mother. Don't you understand… that I understand? Can't you understand me now? I love you and I need you, Mother. I don't… have anybody else…”
    Kathy crawled up on my lap and held my head close to hers. Her warm lips pressed on my cheeks, and I was overwhelmed with her love. We both cried our fill, and then stayed there in each others' arms for several minutes. I couldn't think of anything to say. The dirty feeling was not as bad as it was, but I kept thinking of Ricky. He had made love to both mother and daughter. The thought kept running through my mind and it would not go away.
    Bob did not come home that night, and at about one in the morning, Kathy knocked on my bedroom door and asked if she could get in bed with me. We talked for a while about several things there in the darkness, our arms sometimes around each other, or our hands entwined.
    “Mother… it's not wrong or… or perverted to do that is it?” she asked about going down on a man. “You do it, don't you?”
    “It's not wrong,” I assured her, but realized that I couldn't just outwardly condone complete promiscuity. “It's something… well, like any kind of sex. You should be in love. You should find a boy you deeply love and discover a spiritual oneness with.”
    “No… I'm not like that,” she admitted, kissing my forehead. “I've even thought of having sex with Bob. He can turn me on sometimes… like when I hear him making love with you, or see him kissing you. I peeped in the den one night and saw him kissing your breasts. I was so turned on I… I made it myself that night.”
    “How many times have you and Ricky… made love?”
    “Three times,” she told me readily, adding, “and he's the only boy I've ever eaten raw…”
    “Kathy! Where in the world did you get that expression?”
    “Oh… that,” she laughed at my tone of voice, “The kids say it at school. Like if you want to tell a guy to get lost, you say, 'Aw… eat me raw.' Everybody knows what it means.”
    “And… have any boys done that to you?” I found myself inquiring.
    “No… no boys,” she said, seeming to emphasize the last word, then deciding to tell me all, “but there was a man… a real beautiful man. Oh, I know it sounds terrible, but it really wasn't. Joby Clark, he's the big disc jockey back home. I used to call him up in the afternoons and talk and yak, and so he asked me for a date.
    “I… I kind of knew he was married. But Joby Clark! My gosh, Mother, any girl would die to have a date with Joby Clark. I met him down at the station that afternoon when he signed oft the lights, and I was dancing there in the dark with Joby Clark.
    “He told me what a pretty girl he thought I was. Oh, Mother, the music was just all over the studio. It was super! And when he said how he liked my legs… his hands were on my legs. I… I couldn't see what he was doing until I felt him kissing my legs, up, up, up… and then zoo-oom! Oo-oh, I just about flipped!”
    “Well, I think that's enough for tonight,” I stopped her, feeling very uneasy and frustrated, “Let's try to go to sleep now, and we can talk some more about it tomorrow.”
    “Mother… are you going to make love with Ricky again?”
    “Of course not,” I answered sharply, really upset by any talk of the idea. “1 don't think he'll be coming around here again. You… the two of you never talked about me, did you?”
    “No,” Kathy replied, “But I wish he had told me more about you on the phone.”
    “I'd like to know how good a lover you really are…”

    When I told Bob what had happened the next day, he was furious. He called me all kinds filthy names for having had an affair with one of my students. But I realize now that the main point of his anger was caused by jealousy. It absolutely infuriated him that some other male, and particularly “some little punk schoolkid,” had been the first to enjoy both mother and daughter.
    I should have realized then that there would be trouble. I should never have told Bob at all about the situation with Kathy. But I too had to have someone to talk with. And I was afraid to confide too many of my fears and problems to Kathy.
    In the back of my mind, the suspicions grew every time I was out and there was a possibility that Bob and Kathy were alone together. I found myself watching each one closely for any change of attitude toward me, or each other. The only thing I could detect was that Kathy felt closer to me now. She talked to me more openly each time we were together.
    One morning when Bob was out, she told me about her new boyfriend that she had met at the tennis court. I knew who he was, a very popular senior, and I was pleased that she was dating him. When she insisted upon giving me the intimate details of their activities the night before, I listened, but I felt strange about it. There was something morbid in a daughter feeling so compelled to tell her mother just everything.
    “Mother, he just went wild over my tits!” she exclaimed, and I also wished she would use less slang. “He said they were the biggest and most beautiful he'd ever seen and that included some of these movie stars that pose in the nude for the men's magazines. I'd never liked doing it in the car before, but he knew this crazy, crazy way where I sat on his legs facing him with my knees up in the seat and boy did that have pz-zazz!”
    “Kathy… you can't just continue to go around having relations with every boy you date,” I had finally had enough, and I was ready to speak out. “Nobody will have any respect for you. How can you expect to find a decent man to fall in love with, to marry… if you have relations with every man or boy you date?”
    “What difference will it make?” she threw her arms out in a gesture of uncaring. “I'm not going to marry anyone from high school. Father's going to send me to college or to business school, whichever I want. I'll meet new people there and take it a little slower. Besides, in college, or if you're working, it's not like you're a kid anymore. They expect you to have a love life…”
    And that was the way it went. If anything, Kathy seemed to mature more in her relationship with Bob. She was not constantly provoking him or sitting in his lap like she did before. And I credited this to her more open relationship with me, as well as, I am afraid, her outside interests with the boy she was dating.
    I knew that I was sitting on a powder keg that was bound to explode, but I did not know when, where or how. I found myself drinking so much more, particularly that following weekend. Bob and I were sitting in the den looking at T-V. He was calm and casual, concentrating on the program.
    I was tied in knots. I wanted him to make love to me, but I knew that if I asked him outright or even acted like I wanted him to, he would enjoy teasing me to distraction without giving me satisfaction. Kathy was not there to inspire him. She was out on a date with Wayne again.
    It was after midnight when the door chimes sounded. I know it was that late because I had looked at the clock when I frantically thought I had finished the last bottle of scotch a few minutes earlier. Fortunately, I found that I had two more in the supply closet.
    Bob answered the door and I heard him say, “No, officer, I'm not. But the girl's mother is here.”
    “What is it… is it Kathy? Has something happened?” I asked in fright, struggling up from seat and stumbling over the ottoman as I made my way unsteadily toward the door. “Where is my daughter?”
    “She's right here, ma'am,” a young town policeman announced, and then I saw Kathy standing sheepishly beside him. “It is my duty to tell you that we found your daughter parked in a car with one Wayne Hoffman out by Barney's Lake. At the time I flashed my light inside, they were disrobed from the waist down. Both my partner and I can testify that a sexual connection was taking place…
    “Oh… oh, no!” I was genuinely shocked at the news coming to me in this form, although I knew what had been going on between them. “What… are you going to do?”
    “Well, ma'am,” the officer remarked less formally now, motioning me to step outside with him where Kathy could not hear. “The Hoffman boy is 18 and your daughter is 17, Mrs. Bryant. If you wanted to press the matter, I'm sure Judge Farnsworth would take our testimony.”
    “And… if I don't?” I asked him uncertainly.
    “It's up to you, ma'am. They're both youngsters, really. Maybe it's the best things for the parents to handle it.”
    “Yes… I believe I can take care of this,” I told him with a smile. “And… I want to thank you so very much.”

    “I hope you realize, Kathy… just how much of a child you are!” Bob was lecturing her sternly as she sat cowed on the sofa in the den. “I have tried to be a father to you while you are here with your mother. I have given you the love and affection that a child expects from a parent. Is this not true, Kathy?”
    “Yes… yes, you've been wonderful to me,” she sobbed, looking at me as if to ask if I approved of Bob exerting authority like this. “You and Mother… have been very good to me.”
    “Perhaps we have been too good,” he stated, standing before her with hands on hips. “I think it is not too late to take some disciplinary measures.”
    I cringed when I heard him say that. I wanted to cry out and ask him to leave it all to me. I knew that talking to Kathy was the only thing that could do any good now. But I felt so powerless. I was still reeling from all the scotch I had consumed, and I felt like downing more. When I saw Bob unbuckle his belt and whip it out of his trousers, I finally did speak out. “No… no, Bob!” I screamed, grabbing him y the arm. “You can't whip a 17-year-old girl, Bob. Leave her alone!”
    “She's been left alone too much, Denise! That's the trouble. Sit down!”
    Bob pushed me down in the chair as he brought his belt across Kathy's legs hard. She screamed and jumped up as I sat there too dumbfounded to speak or do anything. Suddenly jerking her to him by the arm, Bob turned her around, grabbed her around the waist and slumped her across my legs.
    Kathy seemed too terrified to cry out anymore. As for myself, I merely watched in horror while Bob yanked her skirt and slip to her waist and literally tore her panties off, laying bare her buttocks. She jumped and whined at the first crack of the belt across her flesh, then screamed and cried out in pain as the blows continued, pressing and twisting her body against my thighs, grabbing on to my ankle and begging for mercy.
    “Oh, please, Bob… please stop it,” I begged him in tears. “Bob, don't do this to her… it's… killing me…”
    “Not as much as if she were sent to a home for delinquents,” he told me between lashes, slowing down. “Discipline and punishment within the home would save a lot of girls from ruin… a lot of parents from scandal.”
    Kathy's poor little behind was streaked with red marks before Bob finally let up. Perhaps she was numb to the pain any longer, because when he picked her up, she was only sobbing and trying to hide her face. I immediately reached for my drink and drained the glass. When I put it down, Bob was sitting beside Kathy on the sofa, holding her in his arms.
    “I wouldn't have done this,” he was telling her, “unless I loved you almost as a father. The love between us all is still there, Kathy. Your mother loves you, and I love you. But when you behave in the way that you did tonight, you must be punished. You are still a minor child. You heard the policeman tell your mother that tonight. She did not press charges against the boy for your sake. Do you understand all of this, Kathy?”
    “Yes… yes,” she sobbed, and I noticed that she clung to Bob so desperately. “I guess I did need it… know you love me…”
    “Now, you run up to bed and try to get a good rest,” Bob instructed her paternally, kissing her on the cheek. “You'll probably feel much better tomorrow. I think you've needed that spanking for a long time. Remember that your mother and I are here with you. We'll be in the room next to you. We love you.”
    I poured myself another drink and brushed the hair away from my eyes. I tried to focus, but I couldn't. The reason I was trying to focus was to determine whether it was just my imagination, or if I really did see a big spot on the front of Bob's trousers. I recalled how people sometimes had orgasms from spanking people. I had read about it somewhere. They were sadists. And Bob was a sadist.
    “You're drunk as a lord!” I remember him saying, “I'd better get you up to bed too.”
    “You don't want to screw me tonight?” I remember asking him with a sarcastic laugh. “Or did you get your kicks beating my daughter's butt?”
    I think I wanted him to slap me. I think I was really asking him, in my own way, to give me the same beating he had administered to Kathy. But he only helped me up the stairs, undressed me, and put me to bed naked.
    It was difficult to separate fact from dreams for those next few hours. I was groggy with the Scotch and exhausted from the tension and need of sleep. I seem to remember talking with Kathy, lying next to her and being embraced to her, listening to her tell me why she couldn't go to sleep.
    But dreams like this had become common. They had haunted me for so long, I assumed it was all just that-I was dreaming that Kathy had crawled in bed with us and was clinging to my naked body, while Bob lay pressed against me from behind and joined in our conversation.
    There was nothing sexy about this part necessarily, except that Bob and I were both naked and I could feel his hard penis probing me gently against the buttocks.
    I was not too much aware of Kathy's body. She had on her baby dolls and she was close to me. I was not apparently bothered that I was nude myself. It seemed that the primary thing was that she was upset and couldn't sleep and had crawled in bed with us. We were trying to comfort her.
    That dream went away in time, and I thought I must have slept or dozed off for perhaps an hour or more. It was just beginning to get light outside when I realized I was at least partially awake again. This time, I was filled with passion. I was breathing heavily. And while I recalled the previous episode as being a dream, this was more real. There was a heaviness pressing in on me and someone else was breathing heavily too.
    And then suddenly, I was more than aware that Bob was on me. His penis was in me, and he was using the slow, measured strokes that always evoked the most longing response from me. I reached up and put my arms around him. I was moving my hips and working toward my first orgasm.
    “Oh, Bob… faster, darling… tear me apart!” I called out, moving more frantically now, clawing at his back, oh, Bob! I'm coming!”
    He said nothing, continuing the slow rhythm of his stout piston in and out of my well oiled chamber, as I screamed obscenities and cried out in whines and groans of pure joy with each successive orgasm.
    “Isn't it beautiful… beautiful…?” Bob was asking, the strangest glow in his eyes as he looked off to the side.
    “Bob… what?” I asked, not understanding until I reached out beside me and felt Kathy's body right next to us.
    “Oh, Mother… Mother, darling!” she cried out breathlessly, putting her hands up to my face, “Mother, I couldn't help it… couldn't stay asleep… couldn't…”
    I pushed her away violently and she fell off the side of the bed. With all the strength it was possible for me to muster in one surprise heave, I lifted Bob's huge body up and deposited him on the floor at the other side of the bed. At that moment, there was only one thought in my mind. I was going to the dresser and get the gun. I was going to kill him!
    I grabbed the gun and whirled around to look at Bob, still sprawled on the floor. For the first time ever, I saw fear in his eyes. I saw his body trembling. And when he opened his mouth and tried to speak, the words refused to come. My finger, which had already begun to squeeze the trigger, suddenly released its tension.
    In that one flash instant, I changed from a potential murderess to a hysterical woman, hysterical with laughter. I dropped the gun on the floor and kicked it beneath the dresser. I had never felt so powerful in my entire life. Bob Morgan in that one sweep second of mortal weakness had lost the powerful hold in which he had contained me for so long.
    “You coward… you miserable little coward,” I managed to say through my wild laughter. “I don't know what you really do… you couldn't be a spy… if you are, God help us all…”
    “Denise… I think you need to calm down,” he tried to say with authority, but his voice was cracking. “Last night… this has all been a terrible shock to you, my dear.”
    “If you take more than ten minutes to get out of this house, I'll call the police!” I tore into him with a marvelously exhilarated feeling of power and purpose. “I can have you put in jail, Bob. I don't care about my reputation, and Kathy's age will keep her name out of it. I mean it, Bob. You get your stuff out of here and go… for good.”
    “Well, look… cart I borrow the car to ”
    “I'll call you a cab, Bob,” I said more calmly, going for the phone. “And in nine minutes, I'll call the police, if you're not gone.”
    Bob knew that I meant it. His moment of weakness had emasculated him. He wasted no time at all in throwing his things into a suitcase, and telling me he would have the express company pick up his trunk. He was ready to leave when the cab came.
    Bob Morgan had gone out of our lives forever. But the scars he left were deep and festering.

Chapter Eleven


    Kathy and I drank coffee, napped, and talked about it all day. The earlier episode, I discovered, had not really been all a dream. She had come into the bedroom to talk to us because she was not able to sleep. Bob had told her to crawl in beside me.
    She was aware that we were both naked, she told me. But at first, she thought nothing of it because she was so concerned with her own problems. She would doze off for a while, and then wake up again. She realized that I was almost passed out from so much drinking, and she was quite groggy herself from the strain of the day's and evening's events.
    “I guess it must have been around daybreak, Mother,” she began to tell me of the time when the change in her feelings occurred. “I woke up and the sheets were off you and Bob. My baby-dolls were up to my neck, and I thought… well, maybe I had just been so restless and moving around, they had gotten twisted up that way, only Bob was wide awake and looking at both of us. He would look at your body and then over at me. I felt all crazy inside. It made me feel… jazzy, I guess. I dunno, I was half asleep, and I guess I was dreaming something sexy.”
    “He must have pulled up your baby-dolls when you were asleep,” I broke in to comment, sipping my coffee and feeling absolutely drained of every vitality. “Weren't you… didn't you mind his looking at your naked breasts?”
    “I wasn't even… gosh, I was half asleep,” Kathy tried to explain. “And Bob saw me in the baby-dolls all the time. They don't exactly hide them, you know. I think I just started feeling jazzy and curious before I had time to… well, think about things too much.
    “I saw Bob's hand on his thing and it was so damn big and everything. He just lay there and worked it up and down real slow with his fingers, and the way he looked at me… oo-ooh! Mother, you know that man has a way of turning you on just by looking at you. He never took his eyes off mine, and he started kissing your breasts and your tummy. He could see I was so… shook, he knew I wouldn't say anything, and he moved over between your legs and… well, he started putting it in you.
    “I… I was petrified, turned to stone! I couldn't move. I was so… gosh, just fascinated and shook, and I was scared to move, because I was afraid when you woke up, you would really raise hell.”
    “Kathy?” I said with a question mark, pausing a moment to think. “How could you… or, how did you feel when you heard your mother… enjoying it so?”
    “Oh, I got all shook then,” she admitted with that misdirected innocence of hers. “Mother, you're so beautiful and sexy! And Bob was… he was doing it to you so… so beautiful. I think I must have said 'beautiful' or something, because he repeated it and asked me if I didn't think it was beautiful, and I…”
    “Did he touch you, Kathy?” I demanded suddenly, stiffening in anticipation of her reply.
    “Yes…,” she admitted after a long pause, then swallowed noticeably before continuing, “He was fingering me off… while he was doing it to…you…”
    “Oh, God… no!” I cried out, pounding the breakfast table with my fist, “God, what have I done? Kathy… this is all my fault as much as it is Bob's. How could I let this happen to you?”
    “Gosh, how can it be your fault just because we're both nympho, huh? I didn't…”
    “Don't say that, Kathy!” I bellowed at her angrily, then apologized, “I'm sorry, honey. It all seems like some nightmare to me.”
    “I wish I didn't have to go back and leave you alone,” Kathy told me so very sweetly, coming over to sit in my lap just like she did when she was a little girl, putting her arms about my neck. “I wish I could stay here with you. Oh, Mother, we could have so much fun together, going out on double dates or meeting guys, like we did that summer at the beach. Oh, that would be super, just like this girl I know named Nancy Dean at school. Her mother's young and beautiful like you and they do just everything together. They used to date these two guys from the radio station, and Nancy was dating Ken and her mother was dating Phil. In a couple of weeks, they switched and Nancy was dating Phil. She told me about the parties they had at their house… all night long on the weekends. Oh, they were fab, Mother!”
    “I think it's best for you to go back, Kathy,” I told her seriously, squeezing her hand and feeling very uncomfortable about her sitting in my lap like this, both of us almost nude. “It's your last year at school. You have your friends there…”
    “But what will you do without Bob?” she asked me with some concern, frowning. “You've been going with him for two years now.”
    “Don't you worry about that,” I told her, getting up and forcing her to jump off my lap. “Your mother has plenty of other friends, nice friends. I think I'll call up Cindy right now and tell her I'm back in circulation. She knows plenty of… interesting men.”

    Cindy was busy when I called, but I invited her over for lunch the next day and asked her if she'd like to go along later in the afternoon when I took Kathy to the airport. I was glad to see Cindy again, even though the conversation had to be toned down somewhat while Kathy was with us. I had a large salad and some spiced shrimp, rolls and iced tea. We ate out on the patio. Kathy was all dressed up for her trip, and I was so very proud of her.
    “Denise, darling,” Cindy remarked when we were driving back to town from the airport, “I knew you had a daughter, but I never realized what a monumental beauty you had for a daughter. Oh, you'd better keep that gorgeous darling away from the men, my love.”
    “You don't know the half of it, darling,” I said, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it, “Let's stop for a drink somewhere and I'll tell you the whole miserable story.”
    We went up to Cindy's apartment and she turned off her phone so that we wouldn't be disturbed. I apologized for cutting her out of so much business, and she said she'd forgive me if I agreed to go out on a stag party date with her the following weekend and let her keep the money. I was only too happy to agree.
    It took me at least two hours to unwind and tell her the whole story. We sat there on the couch holding hands the entire time, sipping from our drinks, watching it get dark outside.
    “Hungry?” Cindy asked when I finished, and I nodded my head negatively. “I'm not either, darling… not for food. I'm going to eat you instead…”
    With that, Cindy went to the floor between my legs, which I spread for her very readily, but without any great surge of passion. It was a quiet kind of feeling that I always experienced with her. I pushed my hips toward the front of the cushion, then lifted them so she could remove my panties. Her lips were warm and soft on the insides of my thighs and her tongue was hard when the tip of it entered me.
    “Cindy, darling… I love you,” I told her with rising passion. “Oh, I've wanted that from you for so long… so very long…”
    I writhed and twisted in a slow and languorous rhythm as the tempo of our passions increased. She was making the most of it after so long a separation. She was licking me up and down with her tongue, and the very sound of my wetness mingling with her mouth set me on fire.
    This was all merely a prelude to the long and protracted session on my clitoris, the hard sucking of it in between her lips, the tongue that would lap it back and forth ceaselessly until I could not even strain with all my powers and gain another orgasm.
    “May I sleep with you, darling?” she asked me in a soft whisper, and I nodded my head in very pleased and happy assent.

    CINDY and I became lovers after that night. She all but deserted her children and spent three or four nights of every week with me. We became inseparable. We partied together, went on paying dates together, even joined the gay world of Lesbos once every week or two by putting in an appearance at a very exclusive Lesbian bar uptown.
    Although I would have been the first to deny it if accused, all of the evidence pointed to the fact that I was cut out to be a Lesbian. Many of my tensions and fears seemed to vanish. Men became more of a means of extracting money than a source of emotional involvement or even orgasm. There were still some who could arouse me, but these were mainly the ones who would go down on me for long periods of time and who knew what they were doing.
    So many of the men I met professionally were impotent or else they were just looking for their own satisfaction, that I was seldom stimulated to climax by normal intercourse. I still attended some of the swinging parties, yet I realized that my main interest in this was that it provided me an opportunity to have another girl without undue problems with Cindy. Even then, she became extremely jealous or pouty every time I went out to a party, and refused to come along when I invited her.
    “Darling, I can bear it to see you with other men, because that's business and money in our pockets,” she told me, “but if I saw you eating another woman, I'd go crazy.”
    And still, Cindy never wanted me to go down on her while the desire in me to do this to her became stronger and stronger. I looked forward so very much to the times we were hired together for a party or just for one man's enjoyment. Then, I could go down on her to my heart's content, and I loved it. I wanted to do it to her, and I only wished it could be the same between us when we were alone.
    Cindy had a very large vulva with big thick lips. Her inner lips were elongated and one of them protruded. Her clitoris was big, although not pointed or projecting. It was just like a big mashed pea that would swell up hard after I tongued her a minute or two. I genuinely liked the taste of her, the pungent taste of her natural self mixed with the sweetness of her scented soap or the splash of cologne she used before going on a date.
    One of the ways we quietly made love sometimes in front of the fireplace at my house was to lie away from each other and side by side, sucking on each other's nipples. Hers were big and almost always hard and dark whether agitated or not.
    “I'm going to bite it off,” I would say sometimes when we had been sucking each other's for a while, “I'm going to bite it off and chew it up… I'm going to chew you, darling.”
    “I don't care what you do, darling… just never stop loving me,” she would say.
    “You were the girl who was never going to fall in love or become involved again,” I would remind her.
    “That was before I had eaten you, my pet,” she would say, “May I… eat you?”
    And then she would crawl down and I would lie on my back and ascend to the dizzying heights again.

Chapter Twelve


    All year long it was the same. Cindy and I, the parties, the men, and our own personal love affair.
    It was shortly before Kathy was due to arrive for the summer again that I woke up by myself one morning with a bad case of the chills or something. I was on the verge of going to see the doctor, when I realized that the trouble might be psychological. How was I going to face my daughter?
    Would it be possible to hide the fact that I was having an affair with Cindy when she slept with me several nights a week? Could I give up Cindy for three months? Was I really a genuine Lesbian now? What would the future hold? What would Kathy's future hold?
    I began the day with a double of scotch that shot me off into another plane of escape. The tranquility of the past nine months was suddenly snatched way from me and I needed to escape somewhere else. It was then that I probably half-way realized that the journey to Lesbos itself was just another form of escape, albeit a pleasant and satisfying one.
    By noontime, I had killed half the bottle, and I called Cindy at her home. It was Saturday, a day that she ordinarily did not go to work at her downtown apartment, but spent at home with her children. Thank goodness for Cindy, I heaved a sigh of relief after I hung up. She was always coming to my rescue in times of need. She had told me she would meet me at the apartment in half an hour.
    “Maybe it's a good thing you're half loaded,” she said, taking off her dress and walking around in her slip. “You know… I've learned a lot about you in the past year, darling. I think it's time I gave you a psychoanalysis.”
    “A psychoanalysis?” I questioned with a laugh, going for the bottle of scotch, “Are you a psychiatrist very suddenly, dear?”
    “Any hustler's a psychologist when it comes to sex problems, honey,” Cindy said with logical conviction. “And I learned a lot more during my own psychoanalysis. You and I are birds of a feather, Denise. I know you almost as well as I know myself.”
    Cindy pulled all the drapes closed until the bedroom was almost as dark as the inside of a movie theatre. I slipped out of my dress and lay on the bed, making sure the bottle of scotch was on the table right beside me. I closed my eyes and propped up on leg. I was smiling, still not taking all of this very seriously.
    “Are you ready, doctor?” I asked.
    “Denise…,” she stated my name, and I could hear her padding around on the rug beside me, “the things I'm going to ask you… talk to you about… will not be exactly pleasant. You may become very angered at me, in fact. You may be hurt and filled with disbelief. But you will have to answer me. Do you understand?”
    “Oh, my goodness!” I exclaimed, sitting up in the bed and opening my eyes. “You do mean business, don't you?”
    “Yes darling,” she said more softly, sitting down beside me and kissing my ear, “When did you first realize you were a real Lesbian, Denise? You are, you know.”
    “No! I…” I started to protest, then realized I could not deny it. “When I… was with you. That's all.”
    “You've had desires toward other girls,” she stated as a fact rather than a question, “You've been with other girls at parties and you loved it. You can't deny that, darling. I know you can't, because I've been through the same thing.”
    “And when you were a child, Denise, how did you get along with your mother?”
    “Oh, please, Cindy,” I objected, recalling what she had told me once. “Just because your mother went down on you when you were a child, doesn't mean that it happened to me too.”
    “Well, something happened, my love,” she insisted, rubbing my forehead very gently and talking low. “How did you feel about your mother?”
    “I don't know,” I admitted, thinking I was throwing her off by telling the truth. “So much of that part of my life is a blank… a noting. Mother pampered me, took up for me, adored me, loved me more than she should have.”
    “Aha!” Cindy brightened. “You don't want to remember it, because you are afraid to remember it, afraid to recognize the truth. How abut this being loved too much by your mother? Did you take baths with her until you were five or six years old?”
    “Until I was ten almost. We used to have loads of fun…,” I burst out, and then suddenly checked myself, clamping my hand to my mouth.
    I remembered it like it was yesterday, or not more than the day before. How old was I? Seven? Eight? Nine? Ten? I know we had just bought the big new house out near the edge of town. Mother and I had been cleaning out the rooms and arranging furniture all day. Father was away on a trip somewhere.
    The master bathroom had one of those oversize tubs built diagonally within a square mold. Mother said it was like a Roman bath, and that she would bathe me like she was my personal servant, and that I could then bathe her. She told me about always bathing well between my legs.
    I remember looking down and watching her hand disappear in the mountain of suds between my legs. The only sensation I experienced when her fingers touched me was a ticklish feeling. I laughed about it and told her to stop. When I was bathing her that way, she laughed too. At least… I thought she was laughing. But it was such a strange way to laugh, and she was shaking and moving or something.
    “… but I never thought of it as sex,” I was explaining to Cindy, who had removed all her clothes and was sitting beside me. “To her, it could have been that… all that loving and kissing and the way she absolutely squeezes the life out of me when we meet or part, or at any other excuse. I guess that's one of the reasons I avoid seeing her now even. I thought it was because I didn't want to be babied so much…
    “It's so warm in here,” Cindy commented, helping me off with my slip and things.
    “And besides… you want to make love with me ” I laughed, feeling so very comfortable and relaxed in spite of this evident discovery. “I didn't think your psychoanalysis would last very long.”
    “On the contrary, my love,” Cindy said with a shake of her head, cuddling beside me. “This is part of the therapy, I want you to close your eyes and use your imagination. I mean it now. No matter how much your conscious mind rejects the idea, I want you to close your eyes and imagine that I am Kathy…”
    “No! Have you gone mad?” I accused her, pulling away. “I think that's taking it a little too far.”
    “Have you forgotten how it felt to have Kathy in bed with you and Bob?” Cindy asked, turning me around to face her. “I know it must be a terrible thing for you to realize, but the sooner you do, the sooner you can accept it and be relieved of the terrible frustrations it causes, the conflicts and tensions within you.”
    “I'll try,” I told her, draining my glass and working up close to her again. “I'll try to abandon myself completely just to show you how wrong you are.”
    “Now imagine… let your fantasy take over,” Cindy spoke in the low intoxicating whisper that could almost hypnotize me, her fingers gently playing on my body, “The soft, smooth skin, the long hair, the breasts almost as large as mine… I'm here with you, Mother. I want to kiss you, Mother. Mm-mmmm…”
    Cindy continued her gentle caresses and kisses down to my breasts, my belly, and below. At first, it was impossible for me to think of her as Kathy. But then, the longer I kept my eyes closed and tried to envision it, thinking particularly of that night in bed with Bob and her, I began to gain a mental picture of Kathy. When Cindy came back up my body and embraced me, I put my hand on her breasts, and it was like I was fondling Kathy. My hands roamed her body, and they were roaming Kathy's body. It was weird and awful, but I felt myself becoming abandoned to the fantasy.
    “Darling… darling,” I moaned, becoming more excited and holding her tightly. “Oh, darling…”
    My hand grazed her sloping belly and my fingers twisted through the fibers of her lower hair until they contacted the moist lips and searched out the thick clitoris. I felt her lips on my breasts, sucking for dear life, for the food of life she needed, and pulling out the nipple to erection.
    “Oh, God help me… no!” I screamed, pulling away suddenly. “I must be sick… sick… sick!”
    “No, my darling… you can't help it,” Cindy tried to comfort me, moving very close and pushing the hair from my face to look at me. “And Kathy can't help it either. She's a very warm girl. She wants to be with you. If she can't have you, she will go out and be promiscuous with every boy she can find. She's running away from what she really wants. This is the way it is, Denise! I know!
    “Don't let it torture you and run both your lives, darling. Give in to it. Enjoy it…”
    “No… no, I love you, Cindy,” I protested, clinging to her. “All right… I accept that I may be a Lesbian… even that Kathy may be a Lesbian… but I can't make love with my own daughter… I love you!”
    “And I love you too, darling,” she said with a soft kiss to my lips, her fingers gently manipulating my clitoris. “Why couldn't… oh, darling, Kathy is such a beautiful young girl… such a perfect body and lovely face. Why couldn't the three of us live together? I've heard of the case where mother, daughter and lover have lived together in a beautiful menage a trois… so wonderful. The whole world went on its crazy way, but in their own world they had the beauty of love that mere men would have sacrificed kingdoms for.
    “The three of us together, Denise… think of it. Three beautiful feminine bodies in bed together. Our kissing. Our loving. Oh, darling, you and Kathy would have more love than you ever dreamed of. I would worship both of you, work for you, do anything, to have that beautiful girl to love. Oh… oh, Denise… I've got to have Kathy…”

    I did not get angry as I had with Bob. I simply got up from the bed, put on my clothes, and walked out.
    Where did it all start? With Bill Britten that day in the library? Or with Bob, the first of several to try to get to my daughter through me? I still don't know where it started. But it ended that day in Cindy's apartment.
    I knew I was primarily a Lesbian. I knew that the relationship with my mother had contributed to this. I knew that I lusted after my own daughter. I knew that if I tried there would be no barrier to my seducing her. Kathy had asked for it several times, whether she realized it or not.
    There was only one sensible course open to me, and that was to seek a change or cure through analysis and therapy, and, with my ex-husband's help, to try to persuade Kathy to do the same.


    While Denise Bryant's own true case history is a rarity among the population as a whole, it can be considered as a typical one among those of women who find themselves Lesbian oriented.
    It is quite noticeable that Denise hardly mention her father at all. The father was apparently shoved into the background by the mother. There is the distinct possibility that in doing so, the mother tended to alienate Denise from all men, and that because of this she stood in awe of them. The ease with which she was seduced by so many men seems to reveal this.
    Unlike many Lesbians, Denise did not appear to have a deep fear of men. But at the same time, she became involved with many men who would be fearful to a female with more emotional stability. One of the most common roots of Lesbianism, a fear of and distaste for men, may well be revealed by this tendency to seek out only the most fearful men as a means of fighting off this very fear.
    The classic causes are all there to some degree in Denise's story. And her neuroses kept building with each step of her erratically sex-active life. She constantly sought new thrills, more bizarre forms of expression with men. She was much like the latently homosexual Don Juan type who must have new female conquests each night, avoiding marriage or serious romance because it would be too similar to satisfaction of the incest wish. The only difference here is that Denise was afraid of having a daughter, and once Kathy was born, she spent the rest of her life up to a point, in trying to flee from this reincarnation of a situation she had fled from before in her own childhood.
    In the case of her daughter, Kathy, it may well be that Denise is not to blame at all for any latent homosexual or incest-wish. It may be recalled that Denise's mother took care of Kathy from about the age of six to ten, very formative and impressionable years in a young girl's life. The possibility of a trauma between grandmother and granddaughter is not at all impossible.
    It is fortunate for both Linda and Kathy that she sought professional help when she did. Many cases like this have been allowed to go on to fruition of the incest-wish with resultant tragedy for all concerned.