Chapter 8

BABY-SITTING AND DADDY-DIDDLING

Affluence, more leisure time, status, and social ambitions, have created a new type of seductress who has entered the American home. The Baby-Sitter has become indispensable to the average American family. She is well-paid, pampered, sought after, competed for, and welcomed like a family friend. She often becomes a regular "member of the family." She has intimate knowledge of her employers. She is a "second mother" to the children. And sometimes, when the Baby-Sitter is also sexually-centered, she becomes a substitute wife or baby mistress to the man of the house.

The case histories which follow are those of Baby-Sitters who sexually desired the fathers of those children entrusted to their case. Their predatory method ignored the unhappiness they might cause, ignored the dangers that might engulf innocent children, ignored everything, in fact, except their own sexual desires.

CASE HISTORY

Mona, aged fourteen, used words and their suggestiveness as much as she used her body as a way of arousing desire in the mature men she wished to tempt into a sexual encounter. She loved to watch their faces as she told them of some intimate sexual secrets of her life. Mona was very verbal, and her tone had an intensity to it that could hardly help but make the blood rush faster through the veins of mature men. Usually, she chose that time when she was alone with her employer, being driven home after her night of Baby-Sitter chores.

The following is a reproduced dialogue between Mona and a man of forty-two. A week following this conversation the two had sexual intercourse in the back seat of the man's car, initiating an affair that was to last many months before it ended tragically.

"I like working for you better than any of my other people," Mona said, shifting her position in the car seat so as to face the man directly.

"That's nice to hear," said Tim B. "We're pleased to have you sit for us."

She laughed lightly and hugged herself with her arms as if she were a little girl cuddling a doll.

He laughed, too. He turned and looked at her, then said, "You do that often, don't you?"

"What?"

"You know, squeeze yourself."

"I guess I do," she admitted.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't know," she laughed, then added, "Maybe I just like myself."

"You should."

"Why?" she asked, shifting her position a bit in a manner that caused her short skirt to hike above her knees and reveal a patch of white thigh.

"Because you're attractive and bright and dependable with children. So, you see you have many qualities that you should be proud of."

"You're kidding," she said.

"No, I'm not."

She twisted her shoulders toward him. Her blouse stretched at the shoulders, causing the V of it to part more fully and show the full roundness of her young breasts, dotted in their middles by taut little nipples.

Mona was silent for several moments. When she spoke again, the tone of her voice had changed. It had gone low and confidential, a little hesitant, and husky with sensual meaning.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can," he said, glancing at her then turning to look straight ahead at the road again.

"About anything? Can I ask you about almost anything?"

"Certainly," he said; "You can ask me about anything in the world."

"Really?"

She turned and stared out the window on her side of the car and said, "It might not sound very nice."

"That doesn't matter," Tim said. Then he turned and looked at her and asked, "Is something really bothering you?"

"Not really," she said in a very low tone that hinted that her words were a lie.

"Well, come on," he said firmly. "If something's bothering you, maybe I can help. But you have to tell me what it is first."

"Well, all right." She turned and settled facing him again. She curled her legs beneath her, causing her body to arch slightly in his direction, causing, too, a new display of flesh at her thighs. Mona stretched her arm along the back of the seat, stopping her hand to a resting place only inches from his shoulder. For a moment she played her fingers up and down upon the seat. They seemed anxious and yearning to reach across that short distance and tap their tune upon the man's neck.

"Do you think it's all right for a girl to let a boy touch her?" she asked finally.

There was silence for a full five seconds. His voice quivered a bit when he said, "Just how do you mean?"

"You know - touch."

"You mean intimately?"

"Uh huh."

"Very intimately, eh?"

"Yeah, you know, like inside her sweater or blouse or whatever she's wearing at the time."

He cleared his throat, then, rather seriously said, "Well, I suppose it really depends upon the girl's principles, whether she wants to allow it or not."

"What if she likes him to touch her? Does that make it all right?"

"I think that depends on what's considered 'right'," he said soberly. "Things that were considered very wrong a few years ago aren't considered quite so wrong today."

"Then it's all right for me to like being touched," she said, her voice lilting high and the tone becoming cheerful. "It really is all right, isn't it?"

"I didn't say that," he answered, dimming her enthusiasm. "What's important is what it leads to. Now, it's perfectly natural for a girl to like being touched, for her to even encourage the touches of a boy because -"

"It's really natural then," she interrupted. "Oh, I'm so glad. I thought maybe I was weird or something."

"No, I'm sure you're not the least bit odd," he replied. "But as I say, the danger lies in where the touches might lead."

"You mean a girl might be kind of tempted to go further - to go all the way with a boy once she lets him touch her?"

"Yes."

"I can understand that," she mused, setting her face into an expression that was a cross between delight and contrived bafflement.

"Now, of course, some kinds of touches are much more provocative than others," he said, speaking as if he now wished to keep the topic alive.

"I can understand that, too," Mona responded. "You mean like kisses - you know, real hot kisses - kind of lead to touching each other and then that kind of leads to something else - maybe even the real thing."

"Exactly."

"But you're sure it's all right -that it's natural - for a girl to like all that, eh?"

"It's natural," he said.

Mona sneaked her fingers down from the seat and let them rest on his shoulder. She pressured them slightly and said, "You make me feel so good, not freaky like I was beginning to feel."

He braked the car at a stop sign, then turned and stared at her. He was silent. Mona used it to her advantage by again shifting her position, boosting herself a little closer to Tim, so close that her knee gently bumped at his thigh.

"Now let me ask you something," he said.

"Sure. Anything."

"Do you do much - well, I mean - are you - do you get pretty involved with the boys you go out with?"

"You won't get mad if I tell you?"

"Certainly not."

"And you won't fire me from my job -you know, maybe think I'm not the kind of girl you want watching your kids?"

"This has nothing to do with it," he assured her.

"Well, I get pretty involved sometimes," she confessed. "I just can't help it."

"How far do you go - how far have you gone with the boys?"

"Pretty far."

"How far?"

"I let them touch me."

"How? Where?"

She pressured his shoulder as if she sought it for support in confessing her secrets. "Well, I let them touch me here." She pointed to her breasts, pressing her hand between them as if she were pressuring a flower to her body.

"What else?" Tim asked gently.

"I let them touch me bare. Sometimes I even open my blouse. And sometimes I - I -"

"Yes?"

"Sometimes I let them kiss me there, too."

"Is that all?"

"No."

He waited silently for her to continue.

"Sometimes I let them touch me under my skirt. Even - even - right on it."

"And you like that, don't you?"

"Yes. I won't lie. I like it. I want that to happen every time I'm with a boy - or - or with a man."

"A man?" he questioned.

"Especially a man," she said with emphasis.

"What kind of men?"

"Men like you."

He sighed, then said, "Then you really mean that because you're with me now - because we're alone - that you'd like me to touch you, too?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed passionately. "I want that more than anything and I'm not afraid to admit it to you because you're the most wonderful man - the very greatest - and I just know that you're not going to be mad at me for telling you this. I'm glad I did. Really glad. It's been building up inside me for weeks - months, really - and now, well, now at least I've gotten it out."

He turned back to the road ahead. He shot the car forward, barreling it like a hot-rodder. And Mona, sensing that the speed he brought to the car in some way demonstrated his own racing feelings, tried to enjoy all the great emotions that must be boiling within him.

She boosted all the way over in the seat, crushed her body to his side, gripped his forearm with both her arms, burrowed her breasts to him, then smothered her face into that crook between his neck and shoulder. Then, after sighing deliciously as if she had found her haven, she lowered one hand to his thigh and let it rest there, only fractions of an inch from that sudden extension of hard flesh that popped his trousers high and outward.

Remembering the circumstances of this night for her psychiatrist some years later, Mona related that she had deliberately centered her conversation on sex, and that she had done this in order to arouse Tim upon whom she had had an enduring and intense "crush." She said, too, that she had often used this method of sexually suggestive verbalization to excite boy friends, that it never failed with them and that she had been sure that in no time at all Tim would also fall victim to her seductive charms.

He did. It happened only a week later.

Tim and his wife, upper-middle class social climbers, spent a lot of time away from their home. They both entertained and were entertained. They attended the theatre, hockey games, card parties, night clubs, cocktail parties and many other social events. Mona was much in demand as a Baby-Sitter. A week following the intimate conversation between Tim and Mona, Tim and his wife returned to their home at an unusually late hour. Mona had fallen asleep on the couch. She did not hear them enter the house. She jumped with alarm when Tim, bending over her, gently shook her shoulder in an effort to awaken her.

"Oh," Mona exclaimed, jumping to a sitting position on the couch. She looked around, then asked, "Where's your wife?"

"On her way to bed," he explained. "She's beat. Come on, I'll take you home."

Mona could tell by the slur of his words that Tim was drunk. She sparked awake. The odor of alcohol upon his breath gave her confidence. She was sure that this was the night she would know the sexual attention of this man for whom she had such a schoolgirl crush.

As always, he held the car door open for her to enter. But he weaved unsteadily as he walked around the car and entered it on the driver's side. His driving was unsteady, too. But Mona was not a bit afraid. She was delighted. When they were midway to her home, she cuddled close to him and, as she had done a week earlier, rested her hand on his thigh, very near his cock.

"Better not do that," he cautioned.

"But I want to."

"Do you really?"

"Ummmm, yes."

"You like to cuddle up to an old man like me, eh?"

"You're not old," she protested. "Why, you're just about the youngest man I know."

He thought that was very funny. He laughed.

"Years don't count," Mona told him. "You're young by the way you act - how you feel."

"So you think I feel young, do you?" he said.

"Sure." She squeezed his thigh, inching her fingers toward his stiffened penis. "This feels young," she said.

"Better be careful," he warned.

"Why?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "Because I might stop this car and do some of that touching and kissing that you were telling me about last week."

"Let's," she whispered. "Let's do more than just touch and kiss. Let's fuck."

The tone of his voice was cooler as he said, "You shouldn't talk that way. It doesn't sound nice, coming from a young girl like you."

"Don't worry," she said softly. "I wouldn't talk that way in front of your kids. Or -" she added pointedly, "- in front of your wife."

He understood what she was telling him - that she would never tell his wife of anything that might happen between them.

"Do you -" He hesitated, "- fuck with your boy friends when you're out with them?"

"Oh, some," she said.

"Aren't you afraid you might get pregnant?"

"Oh no," she said. "I'm on the Pill. My mother sees to that!"

Her hand was more boldly caressing his thigh now. Her fingers cupped and pressured his penis. His body throbbed in urgent response. Almost against his will, he reached a hand out and grasped one of her breasts.

Mona cuddled more closely to him. "Why don't we drive up to View Point?" she whispered.

Tim changed the direction of his driving, and drove instead to the lovers' lane area she had suggested. He parked in a spot that was well away from the other cars already parked there.

As soon as Tim cut off his lights and turned off the ignition key, Mona flung herself completely into his arms. She whispered passionate, sexual words into his ear, and, once again, her words as well as her actions, acted as an aphrodisiac upon Tim. He covered her mouth with his own, and immediately her lips opened and closed upon his tongue the instant after he gave it. And her one hand continued to work furiously as their tongues blazed new paths of sensuality. And in a moment, Tim's hands moved, too; one inside her blouse to clutch her large breast, the other ruffling her skirt upward until it was well above her thighs.

Tim brought his mouth away from Mona's even as his fingers explored, then caressed. She moaned and edged a bit downward in the seat. And she brought her hand up and quickly unbuttoned the front of her blouse. Then she arched, presenting her breasts to him in all their glorious nakedness. He bent his lips to her nipples and mouthed them madly, working in greater and greater intensity as her hand upon his penis moved in more rapid excitation. Then, suddenly, she made him moan again as her thumb and forefinger moved to his zipper tab and lowered it.

Gently, but urgently, she bared his penis. Now he did not moan. He cried out his plea of desire. And her fingers answered it with new caresses, a faster twisting.

And then she halted the action.

"Come on," she whispered. "We need room."

She unlocked Tim from his hold upon her. Then she got into the back seat. By the time Tim had clambered over the seat and joined her, she was already hunched upon the seat, her head jammed beneath the arm rest, one leg bent high, the other crooked and resting on the back of the front seat.

Mona reached out a guiding hand. She placed him and urged him closer.

His body writhed madly as he plunged his penis where she directed it. And as they moved together, it seemed that Mona was the more mature, he the more adolescent, and the swing of her hips, the hike of her buttocks, the grasp and clutch of her arms around his neck caused his body to pound and hammer with the urgent lust-speed of the young.

Tim groaned a passionate call and thrust like lightning. Mona answered him with the comforting sounds of her own sexual knowledge. And when their peak arrived, they reached their end at the same time, they rocked the car, sent it lurching back and forth in a crazy kind of rhythm that matched their own.

Mona's affair with Tim continued for nearly two years. During this period she continued to work as Baby-Sitter for Tim and his wife. Almost always, when her night's chores were ended, Mona would delay Tim as he drove her back home, detouring by way of a city park, a hastily rented motel room, or the beach, to enjoy once more the sexual subjugation which she had imposed upon Tim.

The affair ended when, at an early morning hour, upon leaving a motel room, Tim, still feeling the euphoria of Mona's love-making, did not see a speeding car. The crash cost him his life and sent Mona into months of analysis, during which she had the opportunity to reflect upon her life.

CASE HISTORY

If Bess had not been a black girl, and had she not known deep, hurtful prejudice most of her young life, it is doubtful that she ever would have entered into the life of promiscuity she finally accepted.

Bess, was twelve, a beautiful girl, light-skinned, and hostile to the entire white race when she moved to the North. One of six children, she had known only poverty in the small Southern town of her birth. The North was not much better. Her unskilled father was unemployed most of the time. Her mother worked as a domestic, and received little pay. Bess was the one who decided that she herself should go to work. There was little that she was qualified to do. She decided upon Baby-Sitting as a means of supplementing the family income. Soon, calls for her services came regularly.

Bess did not enjoy the upper-middle class homes where she served as Baby-Sitter. For some members of the poorer classes, Baby-Sitting comes as a relief from the squalor and poverty of their own homes. Not so with Bess. The television sets, the nice furniture and full refrigerators served only to infuriate her. She steamed hate for the materiality of the white race. And she wondered angrily why she and her family could not have the same.

It was a month after her first Baby-Sitting appointment before Bess noticed that many of the men looked at her young body. Some reacted to it. And from this her hostility began to grow, and point toward an outlet that was made available by means of her sex.

She was not at all surprised when during the ride home one night the husband of one of her regular customers placed his hand upon her thigh. She did not recoil from the contact. Instead, she encouraged it, smiled, half-closed her eyes, and generally acted seductively, a quality Bess herself did not know that she possessed. That night the action did not reach any climax. The man seemed content to bide his time, await a true opportunity. He was handsome, in his early thirties, and had a strong, well-built body. Bess felt sure that she would enjoy, both sexually as well as emotionally, her planned seduction of the young man.

That night, Bess laughed to herself as she recalled the sex-hungry look the man had given her. As she fell asleep, she began to look forward to her next contact with the man. It seemed very funny to Bess. She knew the man wanted her. And what was even funnier was that he was married, rich, and white. It seemed a truly supreme reversal of the attitudes of prejudice that she had known. And she thought how much funnier it would be when she finally seduced the attractive husband of her employer.

Upon her next visit to Baby-Sit at the man's home, Bess dressed carefully. All of her clothes were cheap, but some could be made to reveal her young body in all its ripeness. She rearranged the buttons on a white blouse and chose her very tightest and shortest skirt. She decided against wearing any undergarments. When she viewed herself in the mirror, she was surprised that she looked so well, so mature and ready for love.

When the man, Mr. H. picked Bess up at her house she could tell that he noticed a difference in her appearance. His eyes darted like magnets that could not keep away from the sight of her body. Bess made the most of it. She shifted her position from time to time, allowing her tight skirt to show the firm lines of her buttocks, allowing it, too, to creep high above her knees to show the smooth, brown flesh of her thighs. She turned her shoulders toward him often, too. The several buttons she had removed from her blouse allowed the V of it to dip below her breasts and show the hard outline of them. Bess made excuses to lean forward often. When she did, her breasts pressed hard against the thin material of the blouse where the hard, brownish-pink nipples peeked into view before thrusting an outline against the material.

When she got out of the car, Bess bumped her young breasts against Mr. H.'s forearm. He nearly jumped away from the contact, unable to conceal his reaction to it.

Watching the children that night was a game of anticipation for Bess. She could not wait until Mr. and Mrs. H. arrived home. She only hoped that, as always, Mr. H. would drive her home - not send her home in a taxi or have the woman of the family drive her, as some of her customers did. She knew that given the opportunity Mr. H. could not help but succumb to her sexuality.

It was 2 a.m. when the couple returned home. The man said he would drive Bess home. Bess was delighted. Mr. H. acting carefree put his arm around her shoulders and pushed her toward the door. Outside, he held the car door open for her as she climbed inside. Bess nearly giggled. She liked the experience of being waited upon by a white employer.

This night Mr. H. turned talkative. He talked of himself, his success, how hard he had worked for it. Bess listened attentively, her breasts thrusting and facing the middle-aged man. And he even talked of race relations and boasted of being a liberal, for Civil Rights, a friend of all colored people. Bess nearly snickered. She knew what it was leading up to. She was right.

By the time they were halfway to her house, Mr. H. had become so enthusiastic about Civil Rights and his great liberality that his hand was resting just above her bare knees, the fingers tucked between them. Bess had accommodated the touch by shifting her body close to the man and breathing heavily so that her breast patted against his arm, leaving no doubt that she believed all that he said, that she knew he was a friend of her race, and that she would not object when the sexual pass was finally made.

Soon his hand crept higher. Bess breathed deeply once, then grasped it and raised it to her breasts where she immediately burrowed it inside her blouse to grasp at the warm roundness.

Mr. H. choked back a cry of pleasure. Then he veered the car to the curb and braked it.

His hand kneaded her breasts. His eyes stared into hers. Then he said, "What about it? You want some white meat up your little slit?"

"Drive to the park," she said, holding his hand tighter against her breasts.

He zoomed the car away from the curb. He found the park, and the most secluded part of it, without the slightest difficulty. He parked, cut the lights and motor, then turned toward Bess.

She moved upon him at once. She was like a maniac in her anxious pursuit of his body. She crushed her breasts against his chest, half-crawled into his lap, shot her tongue into his mouth and began at once to fumble with one hand for the sign of passion her own sexuality had caused. She found it. And exposed it. She fondled him for only a few moments, then curled higher into his lap.

He was breathing hard, seemed almost incapable of waiting another moment before knowing the downward thrust of her young body. But he waited long enough to shift the car seat as far backward as it would go. Then he circled her waist with one hand, moving it beneath her skirt and lifting it high, and brought his other hand to himself. Bess did not hesitate. She made an adjustment of her own, hunched forward, clasped both hands about his neck, lifted her hips high, then brought them downward in a steady glide that stung and heated and did not stop until she had latched herself excruciatingly tight to the waiting, and throbbing man. They remained quiet for a moment. Then they moved, he upward, raising her, she taking the ride and holding high for an instant at the very point of his giving before slashing downward in new fury. They bounded and thrust and ran the heady race of passion. Bess was a tigress. Mr. H. was her nearly passive victim. But this passivity soon turned to shouts of great joy and immeasurable pleasure as she whipped upon him so hard that he could no longer contain the expression of his pleasure.

They remained with their bodies glued together for only a few moments, then, very business-like, Bess crawled away from him, adjusted her clothing and settled into the car seat, ready to be driven home. She felt a rumble of excitement within her that was different from any sexual excitement she had ever before known. Her thrill was in her successful seduction of the rich, handsome white man whom she had chosen as the victim of her hostility. By forcing and luring him to her taking, she received a measure of some twisted justice in return-a justice that had been a long time coming.

Bess continued the pattern of seduction of her white employers for several years. She never experienced a climax. But the man's reaction was always enough for her. Somehow it evened matters a little, gave her the satisfaction of ultimate acceptance at the same time that it told of her hate. When she was sixteen, Bess became pregnant. She received money from the white father of her unborn child. She committed herself to an Un-Wed Mothers' Home, had the child, placed it with an adoption agency, then with neither friends nor skills, turned to prostitution.

CASE HISTORY

The poverty of her home, the drunkenness of her father and the promiscuity of her mother, all joined to give Fay a single objective. She liked money. She wanted it. She determined to have it at any cost. And she found the way. Fay combined baby-sitting with prostitution to supply her with the material needs of a sixteen-year-old girl.

Her pattern was simple. She would flirt audaciously. She would contrive to be alone with the man of the house. She would lure him to an encounter. When it was over, she demanded money. If he did not pay, she would expose him to his wife and family, she threatened. The man always paid. When the money was safely tucked inside her bra, Fay would make another demand. Her baby-sitting chores could not be cut. If, because of the sexual episode, the man might be inclined to influence his wife for Fay's dismissal as a Baby-Sitter, she would also inform upon him, Fay would tell her customer-men. They usually agreed. And they usually availed themselves of her sexual services upon every occasion of her baby-sitting in their home. This method enabled Fay to double her income, triple it on some nights.

When Fay was finally hospitalized because of a mental breakdown, she was interviewed first by a psychiatric case worker, then a psychiatrist. She engaged in both group therapy and individual psycho-therapy from which she gained much insight into her confused life. From these sessions Fay recreated the circumstances of the results of one of her seductions. It was not an ordinary seduction. It brought her something new in the way of sex - something she had not anticipated.

Fay had made six baby-sitting visits to the home of Mr. and Mrs. O. Fay was intrigued by Mr. O. for he was tall, about thirty-six, had striking good looks, was lean and muscular, and he reacted at once to the flirting Fay imposed upon him at every opportunity. She could tell that he was sexually attracted to her. It was only a matter of time.

The time occurred on a Friday afternoon. Mrs. O. had engaged Fay to care for the infant son. Mrs. O. had a luncheon to attend - a long social one. Fay was delighted. Mrs. O. left for the afternoon. Fay was alone only a few minutes when Mr. O. returned home early from his office.

From the moment he entered the house, Fay knew that he planned a sexual session with her. She knew, too, that he was aware of his wife's absence, that he would have all the time he wanted. Her heart fluttered with urgency. She even trembled a bit. Especially when Mr. O. who had gone upstairs called for her to join him.

Fay tried to appear casual as she ascended the carpeted stairs to the second floor of the house. But her calmness disappeared when Mr. O. stepped out of the bathroom with nothing to cover his body except a turkish towel which was wrapped around his slim waist.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Haven't you ever seen a man this naked before?"

Fay looked at all of his body, trying to make her eyes do to his body what Mr. O.'s eyes had so often done to hers - touch at all the spots of bareness, at the bulges and crannies of flesh. Her eyes paused - could not keep from pausing - at the front of the towel. She had expected to see a jam of desire under the towel material. She did not. She was very disappointed. Mr. O.'s lack of response seemed almost like an insult to the desirability of her body. Her face turned solemn.

"What's the matter? You seem unhappy," Mr. O. said.

"Why did you call me up here?"

"Don't you know?"

"No," she lied.

"Well, I want you to do something for me," Mr. O. explained.

"What?"

"Don't you know?" he asked again.

Fay took a step closer to the nearly nude man. Then she said, "Well, maybe I do."

"Sure you do," he laughed. "After all, you are a big girl - not a kid like so many sixteen-year-olds. Isn't that right?"

"That's right," she said, narrowing her eyes and inhaling so that her breasts would puff out at him.

"And besides," he continued, "you haven't been flirting all this time for nothing, sure as hell."

She moved so close that her breasts nearly brushed at his chest. "I never do anything for nothing, and you'd better believe it."

"I believe it," he said.

He brought one arm around her waist and jerked her close to his body. He kissed her. And Fay was surprised by the feel of his mouth upon hers. It was different from any kiss she had yet received. It was as if Mr. O. kissed without true passion, more as if he did it dutifully, or as part of a pattern, than from any real desire. And when they broke their embrace and Fay casually dropped her hand. between them, brushing it against the towel, she was surprised and a little hurt that there was still no sign of arousal of his penis. It seemed weird. It made her even more anxious to accompany Mr. O. to the bedroom where she could put a more emphatic test to her body.

Wordlessly, they entered the master bedroom. They embraced once more, then Fay, taking the initiative, stepped back and hurriedly disrobed. Mr. O.'s eyes were intent upon her as she shed blouse and bra, skirt, half-slip, panties, and shoes. And his . eyes bugged when she straightened before him, presenting all of her young nudity for his pleasure.

It was a body that could indeed give pleasure. Built large, Fay had mighty breasts with dainty, rounded nipples dotting the moulds of flesh. Her stomach was flat. Her navel indented with her quickened breathing. Her hips flared outward, showing the comfort and maturity that could cradle any man into the haven of sexual abandon. Her legs were fine. Her thighs firm and joined in a tight line that hinted at abundant sexuality.

Mr. O. stared at her body, then whisked the towel away from his own body and let it drop to the floor. Again, Fay stared at his penis. Again, she was vastly disappointed. Mr. O., even naked and with her nakedness before him, remained passive, utterly unresponsive.

As if he were reading her mind - or perhaps because he saw the expression of shock she registered - he smiled and said, "Don't be upset. It'll be all right. In just a moment everything will be all right for us - for you."

Fay looked puzzled when he turned from her and walked to the closet at the end of the room. Then she looked even more puzzled when he returned to her carrying an assortment of woman's clothing in his arms.

He dropped the clothes at his feet, then said, "Now, if you'll just help me, well, then everything will be just fine."

Fay felt a kind of jam of anxiety when she stooped to investigate the clothing.

"Those first," Mr. O. said, indicating the underclothing Fay held.

She held the arm straps of the bra out to Mr. O. He slowly stuck his arms through the openings, then frog-legged his arms to fasten the snap at the back. When it was secure, he shivered delightedly.

Fay thought he looked ridiculous. But she sensed that this was serious business with him. She did not laugh. She picked up the silk panties and extended them to Mr. O.

"You hold them," he told her, his voice shaking a bit.

Fay separated the leg holes and held them low and open. Mr. O. placed one foot within them, then the other. Then Fay raised up and saw him pull the band of the panties high upon his thigh. And then she observed that which she had awaited - the sudden, virile and excited hardening of his penis.

Mr. O. cupped his hands beneath his empty bra and strutted around the room, undulating his hips, walking daintily. Only the hard extension of himself which jammed the silk panties outward made a fraud of the womanly figure. Soon, he had walked enough. The aphrodisiac effect of a woman's apparel, exhibitionism, and the waiting, nude Fay, had prepared him with full effect. He was ready.

Fay Stood perfectly still. Mr. O. approached her, halted, then reached his hands out and fondled her large breasts. Then his entire body trembled. He seemed almost in a convulsion of climax. But it was not so. He looped his arm about her waist and led her to the bed. She reclined on her back and stretched her arms outward in a wide V of welcome. Mr. O. crawled upon the bed, moved to her, paused long enough to shift the woman's panties to one side, then lunged forward with the strength and drive of the most rugged type of masculinity.

And Fay forgot the oddity of their love-making, the strange motivation behind it, even the bra which scratched against her breasts as Mr. O. burrowed closer and closer, drove forever harder, sending her hips to whirling and bouncing and her thighs to clutching and releasing at every taking of her body.

Fay has reported to her psychiatrist that she never in her entire life of sexual promiscuity experienced such a fierce, hard taking of her sex; that she was overwhelmed at the power the transvestite had. She has reported, too, that at the very end, when Mr. O. twisted his final volley to her, she responded greatly, crying out, uttering obscenities of passion, and clutching and digging at the man's flesh in an effort to encourage the climax for both of them.

When the two of them had showered, and dressed, Fay recited her threats and asked for money for her sexual giving. Mr. O. did not hesitate. Instead, he seemed pleased that money should pass between them. He gave her a twenty-dollar bill. It was the first of many she earned from Mr. O. for helping him to indulge in his unusual sexual desires.

Many teen-aged girls pursue the job of Baby-Sitting sometime during their young lives. Although tens of thousands perform their tasks without a sexual involvement with the man of the house, some, like the girls of the preceding case histories, look to their chore as a means of enjoying sexual relations. It is not surprising that the seductive Baby-Sitter so often succeeds in her efforts. The environment, the proximity, coupled with the stimulation of mass media and the conditioning of a now generation, are all extremely conducive to the satisfaction of her intentions.