Chapter 17
CASE HISTORY
Melanie's father was stern. Her mother was hard working. As a child, Melanie played with dolls and played at being a wife and mother, all of which delighted her mother very much. "It's nice today to think little girls still want to be like their mothers," she would say.
In high school, Melanie was considered somewhat wild. She was great pals with her brother, who was only a year her senior. Through him she met many boys, some good and some bad. Melanie seemed fondest of the so-called bad boys. Something about them attracted her to them. According to a statement Melanie made to her therapist, she used to dream of herself as a reformer who would rehabilitate a bad boy, then marry him, and live a life of happiness with a houseful of children.
Melanie met Gus through her brother, Frank. He was a perfect subject for rehabilitation. At seventeen he had already served time at a boys' reformatory on two separate occasions. Car theft was the crime. Gus was belligerent and wild, ready and willing to do anything that impulse suggested. And impulse suggested a great deal: breaking and entering, purse snatching, car thefts, gang fights—almost anything to break the monotony of a high school drop-outs life.
Melanie was fifteen when she met Gus. She was overwhelmed by his dark good looks and tall, strong body, but it was his wildness that attracted her the most. She felt that she must look after the boy, keep him from crime and harm, make him socially acceptable, and one day make him her husband. She fell deeply in love and did not hide it from anyone, not even her police officer father.
"You're not to see that kid again," her father told her one day. "Jeez, what would people think if they knew my daughter went with one of the town's worst hoods?"
"I don't care, Dad," Melanie said honestly. "I intend to see Gus whether you want me to or not."
"But why?" the father exclaimed. "What in the hell has he got that decent boys don't have?"
"Gus needs me," she explained. "If it wasn't for me he'd be in worse trouble right now."
"Don't see him!" the father commanded.
"I won't promise that," she countered. "Not ever!"
Melanie's father grounded her. She was not allowed out of the house except for school and church for a solid two weeks. Melanie took her punishment without protest. She also disobeyed it. Working through her brother, Frank, always sympathetic to anyone's punishment because he had known so much of it himself, Melanie arranged for Gus to be waiting in his car at the corner of the street at midnight each night. Her father was working a night shift, and escape was a simple matter. After using pillows to simulate her sleeping form beneath the covers, Melanie simply went out the ground floor window of her bedroom, hurried to the corner, climbed into Gus's car, then zoomed off with him for hours of conversation.
There is some evidence that Melanie actually did have a good effect on Gus. He got a job, bought a car, kept away from crime. He even talked of returning to school for night courses. It would seem that Melanie's mother instincts had some influence. What their total results would have been we do not know, for the young people were separated permanently by an event caused by themselves.
It was especially interesting to her therapist that Melanie's first sexual experience with Gus occurred immediately after an evening when her mother instincts had been particularly strong. It occurred, too, during the period when she was believed to be sleeping in her bedroom, still grounded by the edict of her father. Here are the circumstances of that evening as Melanie recalled them for a caseworker at a large city facility for unwed mothers:
Gus swung the car door open for Melanie and she climbed in.
"Any trouble?" he asked, grinning.
"Naw. Scratched myself on the bushes though." Melanie raised the skirt of her dress and looked at the long surface scars on her thighs. Gus looked too, still grinning, his dark eyes wild and anxious.
"You're a good chick," he said. "Come on, let's take off."
"Where to?" Melanie asked.
"How about the lake? Nobody will disturb us there."
"Great," she replied, boosting over to sit very close to the boy.
They parked beneath the shelter of trees when they arrived at the lake. It was very dark. It was also a mild, lovely night, and it made Melanie dreamy and filled with deep things she did not quite understand, except that they concerned Gus and her love for him.
As they sat in the car, sometimes smoking, the car radio's volume turned down so that music issued softly, Melanie talked to Gus of his plans for the future. She asked if he had made arrangements for night school yet. He had not.
"But you have to darling," she said. "If you don't you'll be a bum."
"What's wrong with being a bum?" he asked, bringing his hand behind her neck and drawing her face very close to his.
She smiled, then said, "Nothing, I guess, as long as you're my bum."
"I am."
They kissed. There was something urgent about their kisses this night; something was bursting with energy and made up of fantasies of a life that was to come.
"Promise you'll see about it tomorrow," Melanie asked, breaking away.
"All right, chickie. For you, I'll promise."
"I'll go with you," she said. "Meet me right after school, and I'll take you down to the office where you can talk to a counselor about the courses you should take."
"All right, all right," he said kiddingly. "Here you go, hen-pecking already and we ain't even—."
"Even what?" she asked a little breathlessly.
"Never mind," he said.
Gus gripped Melanie harder, bringing her close to his hard, young body and making her breasts crush against his chest. Now, their kisses became intensified. Soon, Gus's hands were on Melanie's breasts. They kneaded madly at her sweater, bunching it upward. And then they were beneath the sweater and inside her bra, touching at flesh, tantalizing at the young nipples that grew and hardened beneath his touch.
Melanie sighed and sighed as Gus caressed her breasts. She moved her mouth from his, then buried her lips into his neck. And then she raised them and mouthed furiously at his ear, catching the whole of it within her mouth and holding it as she shot her piercing tongue deep. And her hands implored at the young maleness of his body. She caught him fully with her hands. She held him. She squeezed, released, and squeezed again, and soon Gus's moans matched her own. And soon there was no place to go except toward ultimate gratification.
Gus forced Melanie back on the car seat. His hands jammed her sweater up to her neck, and then they moved behind her to unhook her bra. He pulled it from her and dropped it on the floor of the car. And then he dove forward, catching one breast in his mouth and working furiously at the hard, waving nipple. Melanie's hands shot to his head. Her fingers curled into his thick, wavy hair. She pressed him close, then closer, then gently swayed his head from side to side, from one breast to the other, aiding his quest, aiding her own quest, too, and feeling her passions grow and grow and grow, just as the boy's sign of his passion had grown. Melanie's hands moved over his body and gripped him again. And again she brought the excitement of her manipulating fingers to the seventeen-year-old boy. Gus groaned. He raised. He stretched back and made an adjustment of his clothing. Then he leaned forward and again caught Melanie's breasts in his mouth as she felt the heat of male flesh pressing at her hand. She did not hesitate. She gripped him and manipulated him.
Soon, Gus was moved to provide a greater sign of his love for the fifteen-year-old girl. He pulled back from her moist, gleaming breasts. He stretched her next to him, made her legs dangle on the floor. And then he brought his hand slowly upward on the inner sides of those legs, caressing as they moved until they arrived at the place that had been created for more intense caresses. He provided them. Abundantly. And the action upon her body moved Melanie to greater effort. Now her hand was like a machine that would not stop. Now she circled and pulled and yanked and jammed and relaxed before starting the entire action over again. And all the time she knew the penetration of Gus's giving—knew that miniature action conceived by children to show what they could expect when they came together in a blazing act of love. And soon it was determined that they would come together. Immediately.
Breathing hard, Gus stilled Melanie's speeding hand. He stopped the action of his own. And then he was half lying, half kneeling, above the fifteen-year-old girl, posing himself where they were determined that he should tread.
Melanie helped with the complications of their first sexual joining. She clutched him, then arched and received him. And then she raised and lifted and withdrew in a steady, thumping rhythm of sexual intercourse. She felt her passion rise, reach a peak, then scatter into a million pieces of separate feelings, each as intense as the other, each trying to outdo the other in the sensations they provided.
Melanie and Gus came together twice more that night. It was nearly dawn when Melanie crawled back inside her bedroom.
Regularly, they met at night. Regularly, they made intense love, without caution, without regard for anything except the closeness and thrill that they could achieve together. They achieved a great deal. More than some adults. Their bodies became attuned to each other's, and soon they had gone through enough refinements of their act of love to draw from each other the same thrill at exactly the same time.
Within three months Melanie discovered that she was pregnant. She told Gus. He reacted nobly, but frightened. Then he stole a car, was arrested and sentenced to a two-year sentence at a boys' prison camp. And then Melanie told her parents of her pregnancy. After the initial shock, arrangements were made for her confinement at an unwed mothers' home, out-of-state and out-of-sight.
CASE HISTORY
Wilma was eight years old when she decided to investigate the party noises in the downstairs rooms. Her mother and father, well-to-do and popular, entertained a lot. This particular night the noise seemed especially high to young Wilma. She crawled from her bed to secretly view the activity.
Wilma didn't see much. But what she did see, her psychiatrist later claimed, formed a distorted pattern of what sex was, how it was conveyed from male to female, and the meaningfulness of love.
When she reached the bend of the carpeted stairs, Wilma crouched down and settled at a point that allowed her a partial view of the activities in the living room. Everyone she looked at appeared to be drunk. This didn't shock Wilma. Her family and their friends always drank a lot. But what she couldn't understand was that most of the men and women were only half-dressed. Nudity was for bedtime and bath time! She couldn't understand it. But as she watched the four couples displaced equally around two card tables, she noticed that their loss of clothing had something to do with the cards they played. After a series of cards being dealt out, there would be much laughter, and those who were apparently the losers would discard another item of clothing. Soon nearly everyone was completely nude. Wilma wondered what would happen next.
First there was more drinking, then someone placed records on the stereo. Couples moved together to dance. Wilma wanted to laugh. The people looked so ridiculous dancing without clothes, especially the men and ladies who were fatter than average. But she did not laugh. She decided that it was time to return to her bedroom.
Later that night, Wilma was awakened again. This time by strange noises coming from her parents' room across the hallway. Quietly, she moved from her bed to the hall. She paused. The noises sounded stronger. She was compelled to continue on, enter the room and investigate the strange sounds, at the same time that something cautioned her, told her to ignore them and return to her own bed.
Wilma crept across the hallway. The door of her parents' room was open a crack. Wilma pushed it open another few inches and looked inside.
Moonlight sliced through the room. It framed her parents and their activity. Lying crosswise on the bed and in opposite directions, their heads bobbed and shook and moved as if they were dogs burrowing a bone. Wilma couldn't understand what it was that they did. She knew that it had something to do with sex and the party that had been held downstairs. She knew, too, that it had something to do with nudity. But she could not understand her parents' role in this strange night drama. It was confusing and a little disconcerting, as if this scene made certain demands upon herself—demands that were equally confusing. Wilma continued to watch her parents in their love activity. The sounds that issued from both her mother and father confused her, too. But soon, fearful that she would be discovered, Wilma returned to her own room. She crawled into bed. After a while, she fell asleep.
This was the extent of Wilma's spying upon "forbidden sex." She was not persuaded again to view her parents' parties or their own secret activities in bed. Actually, her views of sexual distortions were briefer than those of many children; however, the experience explains a pattern that makes one wonder if Wilma, as a younger child, might not have viewed the same, or greater, sexual activities, especially during the early, subconscious-forming years of her life.
Wilma began dating when she was fourteen. Unlike many of her girl friends, she was not boy-love bitten. She was not beside herself with joy at the prospects of dating. And she did not particularly enjoy herself when she did go out with boys. But she did comply with the conventions of her young society. She permitted her date a maximum of petting without "going all the way." She did not experience any arousal within herself. That was to come through the unique means of an older man and a sexual deviation.
As Wilma arrived at her early teen years, her parents began to include her in some of their adult activities. She was always in attendance at the Sunday afternoon cocktail parties that had become a custom for her parents. She didn't especially like the events; however, one middle-aged man who was always in attendance paid her a lot of attention. Soon Wilma began to look forward to seeing the distinguished-looking man named Bentley. And for the first time she felt the ripple of emotions that told of a "crush."
There is every indication that Bentley sought to encourage the fourteen-year-old girl's affection for him. He brought her small gifts and treated her as a man who courts a woman. The others of the Sunday afternoon party group, including Wilma's parents, thought the situation was charming, often commenting on it in the presence of Bentley and Wilma, saying such things as, "You two really are steadies, aren't you?" and "Better watch out, Wilma—I can see the glint in Bentley's eye."
Bentley did indeed have a glint in his eye. It was for the girl, and was made up of those complexities that sometimes will cast a man of midlife with a girl of early teens, or even younger. And the glint in his eye told of ambitions. It told, too, of opportunities he would soon create wherein his ambitions would be fulfilled.
Bentley made the opportunity during a weekend party at his own summer house. The usual Sunday afternoon cocktail party crowd attended, including several small children and Wilma. She was the in-between-age member of the group, too old for the other children, too young for the drinking adults.
(It is interesting that Wilma's parents prided themselves on including her in so many of their social activities. Their motivation for this should not have produced pride, a psychiatrist said. Instead, the parents should have recognized their inadequacies as parents, for the inclusion of their daughter in adult, seductive-permissive parties, planted the seeds for their child's seduction, and for the distorted pattern it followed. Their entire life, in fact, worked toward making their child a follower of sexual deviations.)
By early evening of the Saturday that initiated the weekend party, everyone, including Wilma's parents, was quite drunk. It was then that Bentley invited the child to explore the land around his summer home. "Who knows what we might find?" he said.
Wilma has admitted being thrilled at the prospects of an adventure with the handsome Bentley. She has stated, too, that she had no pre-sense that the adventure would include her introduction to a sexual act.
Hand in hand, Bentley and Wilma explored the woods adjacent to his property. Within the woods, it was dark. During their wanderings, Bentley maintained an easy banter with the girl. And she responded in like fashion. Soon they arrived at a clearing. Bentley suggested they stop and rest. Wilma agreed.
The first sign that Wilma had that Bentley entertained a sexual desire for her—and for this day—came from his eyes. They could not leave her young body. Constantly, they roamed—from the dip of her bra top, to the tightness of the bottom of her playsuit, to her long, bare legs.
Wilma was not particularly surprised when Bentley initiated a conversation that hinted at the sexual, when he referred to her beauty, and when his body came into close proximity with her own. She was surprised that he kissed her so arduously, however. She had expected hesitation. There was none. He pressed her close to him and plunged his tongue again and again into her fresh, young mouth. And soon his hands were upon her breasts, teasing them into greater fullness and making the ends hard and hurtful, and alive with passion.
Wilma does not recall the exact circumstances that brought about a change in their postures, but suddenly she found herself fully stretched upon the ground and lying crosswise at Bentley's lap. He held her tightly, was bent over and kissing her hard, but when the embrace ended Wilma became aware of something else: Bentley had begun to remove his clothes, and she saw his naked body.
Slowly, gently, Bentley urged the child toward his taking. She did not protest. Something deep within her young body told her that this was the thing to do, that this, fellatio, was the medium of love that she must learn.
Under the guidance of Bentley's hands curled into her hair, Wilma, within minutes, became a proficient fellatrice. Bentley uttered animal sounds and writhed beneath the fury of her young, hot lips. But it was Wilma herself who made the act beneficial to herself. Near the end of her frantic motions, she shifted and wrapped her thighs around Bentley's leg. She squeezed hard and in motion with her bobbing, shaking head. And at the end when Bentley groaned and gave up all that had been churning and pent-up, Wilma created a mad scissors-grip and experienced the reality of a sexual climax: Somehow, amid a distorted combination of her growth and experience, the fourteen-year-old girl had combined orality with friction-pleasure release.
The next day, Wilma and Bentley met for another sexual episode. This time the man attempted to have sexual intercourse with her. Although she allowed herself to be undressed and lay nude with her middle-aged lover, she refused him entrance and insisted upon repeating her fellatio endeavors that had been learned only the day before.
And fellatio became the child's pattern. Through the years, with Bentley, other men and a few boys. Wilma obligingly committed fellatio, while continuing to reject sexual intercourse. At nineteen, she suffered a nervous breakdown which required hospitalization for over a year. During the year, she participated in sessions of psychotherapy from which her problems were somewhat resolved.
After the patient's release from the hospital, her therapist stated, "Wilma, like many young people today, seem to grow up with distorted ideas of the sex act. For some, this becomes the prime means of sexual gratification, often causing deeply seated problems to come alive and erupt in the form of emotional stress, a nervous breakdown, or outright insanity."
CASE HISTORY
A beach, when it was dark and deserted by the other swimmers, provided the setting for Cheryl and Bert to develop their method of petting to a climax, to a very high, very sophisticated level.
Cheryl wore a very brief swim suit. The sun, round and hot, but setting fast, blazed her body in an orange color that added wantonness to her expression. And Bert, tall, strong, hard-muscled, looked like an athlete from a Greek arena as the sun touched him over all of his bare body, imploring at his hard, narrow waist, his strong, wide shoulders, his firm thighs and lean legs and long, anxious fingers that seemed that they could tear life from the sand itself.
The day had been spent picnicking, swimming, roasting beneath the sun, and trading casual kisses and touches and pressures from their bodies. But as the brightness of the sun faded, as the young couple braced their backs against the coolness of a sand dune, the time for casualness had passed. The time for love had arrived.
Bert and Cheryl had known each other since childhood and had, only the previous year, begun to go steady. Each of them professed love for the other. Both were ambitious about Bert's future career as a physician; both knew they had a long time to wait before they could enjoy the luxury of each other's body. And, both of them had been indoctrinated with a strong church background that forbade sexuality outside the bonds of matrimony.
"You're looking pretty somber," Cheryl said. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he answered in a tone that implied that everything was wrong.
"There is too, come on and tell me," Cheryl said. She scooted her half-naked body a little closer to him.
"It's nothing—or everything—or maybe just the same old thing," Bert said, glancing at her large breasts that strained against her bra top.
"I know," she said. She reached up and stroked his cheek, then added, "Poor baby."
"Don't touch me," he said, brushing her hand aside.
"What a grouch," she said, laughing.
"Right. That's exactly what I am. A grouch. And stupid, too."
"You're not stupid," she told him.
"I sure as hell am," he declared. "If I wasn't stupid, I wouldn't give in to all your silly ideas."
"Silly ideas? Like what?"
"Like waiting until we get married," he said sourly.
"That's not silly," she said. "That's right. Right and proper and the way it's going to be."
"I know," he said, shaking his head.
"But we've got lots of other things," Cheryl said cheerfully.
"Like what?" he asked.
"Like being together a lot. Like having at least a few kisses and—and things."
"That's a lot of good," he said demeaningly.
"Better than nothing," she exclaimed. "A lot better."
He could not subdue the smile that came to his face, the smile that came in amusement for the girl, his love for her, and her lightness for almost every subject.
"Yeah, I suppose it is better than nothing," he said. "So, come 'ere, give me some of that stuff that's better than nothing."
She laughed and cuddled within his arms. She gave him her lips, her tongue, her breasts pressing against his hard, bare chest. And she gave him the stimulation of her arms around his neck, then slipping them lower until they gently massaged at the small of his back, at that delightful place of sensation that was a line across the top of his swim trunks and just above the beginning curvature of his slim, hard buttocks.
And he gave much of himself to her, too. He gave his hard chest grinding against her warm breasts, he gave his hands in caresses at her back, at her buttocks, then in front where they cupped and pinched her breasts, made them hot with the titillation of his fingers, with the way they kneaded and implored and adored.
When they separated their clinging mouths, they both gasped hard and tightened their arms around the other. Then they rolled lengthwise upon the beach. They re-embraced, kissed anew, knowing the new thrill of their bodies side by side and stretching, then touching stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh, knees bumping, feet kissing, fighting to entwine yet not quite making that move for fear of what it might cause.
And then Bert snorted like a bull and rolled atop his love. Cheryl grasped him harder, brought her hands to the small of his back and pressured him close while at the same time she arched slightly and opened her knees, making a cradle for him.
Bert thrust himself forward. Cheryl arched and caught him, pushed against him and burrowed hot and tight as he did the same. And then they withdrew from each other. For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Then Bert's face descended over her, paused, then captured her mouth. And then he lowered himself and his trunks ground against the skimpy bottom of her swimsuit. They parted, they came together again, then again and again in faster motion, mounting passion, harder and harder contacts of the sex of each to that of the other.
Their bodies stiffened as they moved, grew more rigid, more enthralled with the dynamic turn their love play had taken. They caught hold of each other's tongue, bit, released, caught again while all the time their bodies moved in that position of intercourse that was not that vehicle for their release.
Suddenly, Cheryl cried out and tore her mouth away from Bert's lips. He choked out a cry too. Then they both moved faster, and faster still, hard and slapping together as if they were truly combatants, not lovers, as if they were truly joined and feeling the capture of each by the other's body.
"Oh. Oh, Bert!" Cheryl squealed.
He did not answer. He merely groaned and struck himself harder and harder against the girl's rising, pounding womanhood.
It ended for both of them at the same time. They pounded, then collapsed. They rolled together and bestowed upon each other the sweet, frail kisses of thrill's great denouement.
And so, upon this lonely, deserted beach, the pattern of substitute love was established for two who had to wait.
CASE HISTORY
Meg L. learned the relationship of pain to sexual pleasure as the victim of an orphanage keeper's hard hands.
Meg was placed in an orphanage—one of church origin and support—when she was only nine and upon the event of her widowed mother's death. She hated the food, most of the other girls, the hopelessness of the environment, the shabby clothing, and the constant grind of boredom. Meg dreamed only of one day: arriving at the age of eighteen and gaining release from the institutional home.
Until she was fourteen, Meg was never a discipline problem. But at this age, she began to find minor difficulties to claim her attention. They were committed, her psychiatrist once claimed, because of the boredom of her life as much as from any true desire for mischief or to cause trouble.
Stealing from the kitchen was one of the favorite pastimes of most of the young inmates of the home. There was a need for this stealing, they rationalized, for the three daily meals were unimaginative and usually inadequate for their vitality-filled spirits and bodies. Meg joined in the stealing. And Meg got caught.
It was the elderly maintenance man of the orphanage who faced Meg as she sneaked from the kitchen with a half-eaten ham tucked under her arm.
"Give me that, kid," he ordered.
Cowering at the end of the desolate hall, Meg handed the old man the ham.
"Don't you move," he said.
Walking backwards, keeping his eyes keenly upon Meg, the old man moved back down the hall to the tray window of the kitchen. He placed the ham on the sill, then moved forward toward Meg.
"Can't steal around here, kid," the old man said.
"I know—I'm—I'm sorry," Meg said, a note of plea in her tone.
"Think maybe you better learn right now that there ain't to be no stealing around here," the man said.
Meg started to duck as soon as she saw the man raise his fist to strike her. But she was neither quick enough or strong enough to avoid the hard smash of his fist against her cheekbone. She crumbled to the floor, her head spinning, her mind a blank except for the dark form of a dream-figure giant who was in reality the maintenance man standing over her.
"Stand up and get it again, kid," the man growled.
Meg tried to stand, but could not.
The old man aided her. He grabbed her by her long, black hair and jerked her to her feet. Then he smashed his fist into the center of her right breast. As she fell, he struck her again upon the other small, budding breast.
Meg remained quiet on the floor, allowing the hate to gather within her, bubble and boil and grow as she tried to think how she could stop the pain that raced through her body. And then she was on her feet again with her back pinned to the wall while the old man measured her with his eyes for new blows. It was then that Meg decided to use her mind to alleviate the pain. It was then that she plotted to use pain as a feeling of pleasure so as not to know the reality of her aching body.
The old man rained several new blows upon her body; at her shoulders, her breasts again, at her small, round stomach, and finally at the point of her thighs' joining. And Meg steeled herself and thought of love and dream-men she would one day know. At every blow she thought of beauty, her own and how she hoped it would someday vamp every man upon whom she turned its vitality. When the old man's fists struck her breasts, she thought of caresses and kisses upon her small but pointing nipples. And when the hard impact of gnarled fists struck at the point of her young womanhood, Meg thought of love and penetration, of a man's naked body moving above her own nudity, pumping himself to her in order to give her pleasure, make her light up with love and the sex that was the sign of love.
Meg slumped to the floor again, but this time there was no pain, only great, racing heat that seemed to be consuming her, heating her with love.
The old man jerked her upward again and slapped her hard upon the cheek. Her head spun, but she recaptured the mental images of love and sex and took the blow like a caress. And then the savage blows descended on her breasts again and the fire within Meg heated. And when they lowered and struck again at her thighs, the fourteen-year-old girl felt the sweep of that fire that she had turned from pain into symbols of love. It engulfed her. It sent her soaring.
Meg whimpered sounds of great, splitting emotion, then fell to the floor again. She twisted to her side and buried her face into the cross of her arms. The old man kicked her in the buttocks then, muttering, disappeared.
When Meg finally raised from the floor and returned to her ward, she felt exalted. Her body did not ache, nor did she feel the results of the black-blue spots that covered her body. And her mind was not on pain. Instead, it lingered on the thrill she had known, the thrill she had created herself as an antidote for pain.
The dark, lonely hallway of the orphanage that provided the setting for Meg's first experience with pain as a sexual thrill, was the place that established the pattern for nearly a decade of Meg's life. She sought pain as others sought love. And within the cruel walls of the orphanage, she found it in abundant presence. Upon her release at the age of eighteen, she feared for the thrill she might no longer know. But very soon she found those men who could provide her sexual excitement because of their own sadistic makeup. She enjoyed it, and pursued it, until a mental collapse placed her in a mental institution where she met the effects of psychotherapy, resulting in the eventual resolvement of her peculiarly personal emotional problem.