Chapter 1
Who are the "Baby-Pro's"?
The much revered American teenager; the frugging, affluent, advertising-centered subject of the "Pepsi Generation" has gone into prostitution. Youthful sexuality is getting the hard sell, and it's a seller's market in a society that has established sex and youth as a status worthy of any endeavor. Today, girls of thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen, operate as full time prostitutes under the sponsorship of huge, criminal syndicates that have named their wards "The Baby-Pros." Many more girls of similar years operate as "independents," selling their audacious bodies to high school boy classmates at their place of secondary education. Some sparkling teenagers work with an accomplice; a pimp, usually her boy friend or adult male lover. And still others consider money as only casual importance; rationalization for the promiscuous, sensual lives they long to live. But for all of the early teenaged girls who have learned to take pay for play, there is always the lure of sex, the excitement of a male who wants her, the mystery of darkened motel rooms as a naked, moist, male body first yearns then churns to her own anxious, and very, very sexual youthfulness.
Every big city police force is well acquainted with the Baby-Pros. And even hardened and sexually sophisticated police officials feel shock and frustration for the young delinquents who show up on the desk sergeant's blotter. Some, like Ernest Hapke, a former Assistant Attorney General now in private law practice, express their concern for the spiraling incidence of early teenaged prostitution.
"If every teenaged girl who operates as a prostitute was arrested and tried if such a thing was possible the criminal court dockets would be so jammed that it'd take a decade to hear all the cases," said Mr. Hapke recently. "I don't know where these kids are coming from, why this has developed, or any of the psychological motivations behind it, but I do know that some place, some time, some way, it has to be stopped. It can't continue as it is. If it does-well, it must be a sign that the world is crumbling into ruin."
Another man familiar with the activities of the Baby-Pros is Lt. Calvin Waldron, recently of the Detroit Police Department. More than any other emotion, Lt. Waldron felt frustration for the lewd lives of the Baby-Pros.
"You have no idea what some of these little kids are doing," Lt. Waldron said when interviewed for this report. "I've seen 13 year old girls having sexual intercourse with men of 60. I've caught them naked in the back seats of cars, at motels and hotels, under the bushes in the parks-everywhere. And it's not just intercourse that these little girls are involved in, either. They sell every type of deviation imaginable. Some are even specialists in certain fetishes. And you know, I just have the feeling that for most of them money is not the big factor-that there's some other reason behind it."
A Midwest psychiatrist believes that there is something more behind it, too. Writing in a Psychiatric Journal recently, the doctor cited "hostility" as the motivation behind the early sexual experience of all girls not just the Baby-Pros.
"A boy may steal a car or strip one or break into a drug store or get drunk, or do any number of things to express the subconscious hostility he feels for parents or perhaps even all of adulthood," the psychiatrist stated. "But this not true of girls. Girls, almost always, express their hostility by the means of sex. The girls who are delinquent are almost always sexual delinquents, too. And it is hostility that drives them."
While agreeing that hostility is a strong force in the early display of a girl's sex, other psychiatrists, sociologists, and clinical psychologists, feel that other factors such as The Electra Complex, The Castration Wish, Penis Envy, and pure material desires, also contribute to the development of a Baby-Pro.
But, regardless of motivations and the pressures of a high-pressured society, all of the professionals agree that the evidence points to an ever-increasing incidence of Baby-Pro sex. All of them deplore it. And most feel little hope that the situation will be changed, at least not in the very near future.
Today's Baby-Pros are not unique. Early aged girls have served as prostitutes throughout history. Some European nations accorded teenage courtesans special privileges and wealth because they served noblemen and kings. Many 17th Century treasures felt the pinch of supporting their monarch's baby-mistresses and the expensive network of pimps and procuresses needed for the procurement of the land's most delightful early teenagers. And some far lands, such as India, considered the early pubescent and prepubescent female the legal and natural chattel for any use by the man who she lived only to serve.
India and the sexual mutilations, obscenities, and deviations practiced upon this country's young, is worthy of special note in this report.
The young girls of India were committed to a sexual life at an incredibly early age. It was not uncommon for girls as young as 5 to be forced into a sexual union. Girls of 9 and 10 were given in marriage-given to the lust of their husbands at an age that still found their physical ability for cohabitation undeveloped.
In some parts of the country among the Hindus, parents sought special favor from the gods by presenting their girl children to the temple for service as a prostitute. Such a child would be delivered to the temple and put in the care of temple women, those who had once entered the temple at a similar child-age. These women would teach her singing and dancing, teach her the charms that most pleased men. Then, often by the age of 5-an age considered most desirable by Hindus-the child would become the priests' own prostitute.
If the child survives the lustful aggressions of her master, she may in later life become a singer or dancer and serve in this capacity. As such she is held always ready, at a price, for the use of men pilgrims during their devotional sojourns in the temple. She is given jewels and leads an active life until her charm fades. Then she is turned out of the temple upon the public with a small allowance and the right to earn a beggar's livelihood. Girls of India who became prostitutes of the temple come from varied economic classes and from every "caste." Indian society and the girl's parents, consider the proceedings and the child's servitude as a whore entirely reputable.
The Baby-Pros are of today. But, because of their youthfulness it is also significant to this report to enunciate some of the sexual brutalities inflicted upon the young of India. Today's child whores have known some of the same abuse, have submitted to some of the sexual aberrations for a fee. The ages vary, but only by a few years, so, properly, we can ask ourselves how far removed we are from the customs of nations less sophisticated and advanced as our own. It would seem that man's lust knows no boundaries of normalcy.
The following is from a medical report citing the abuses of child mistresses and brides in India. It is representative of the types of cases seen regularly by the medical profession.
I. Girl, aged 9. Examined day following her marriage. Left femur dislocated, pelvis crushed out of shape, flesh hanging in shreds.
2. Girl, aged 10. Unable to stand, bleeding profusely, flesh badly lacerated.
3. Aged 9. Girl so completely ravished as to be almost beyond surgical repair. Her husband had two other living wives, spoke perfect English, and was considered well educated.
4. Aged 10. A girl, unusually small for her age and entirely undeveloped physically, bleeding to death from the rectum. Her master was a man of about forty years, weighing not less than 154 pounds. He had accomplished his desire in an unnatural way.
5. Aged about 9. Lower limbs completely paralyzed.
6. 12 years old. Laceration of the perineum extending through the sphincter ani.
7. Aged about 10. Very weak from loss of blood. Stated that great violence had been done her in an unnatural way; sexual intercourse through the anus.
8. Aged about 12. Pregnant, delivered by craniotomy with great difficulty on account of the immature state of the pelvis and maternal passage.
9. Aged 7. Died in great agony after three days of marriage.
10. Aged about 10. After one day in the hospital where she was treated for profuse bleeding and vaginal lacerations, the child was demanded by her husband for his "lawful" use.
ll. Will be a cripple for life because of great violence done her person. About ll years old, this child will never again know the use of her lower extremities.
12. About 10 years old. Crawled to hospital on her hands and knees. Has never been able to stand erect since her marriage. Most sexual incidences were accomplished by her husband through his bride's anus.
Servitude, injury, abnormalities, and sometimes death, has been the plight of the young girls in India. Sexual abuse is the one certainty of their lives. They live for the satisfaction of men's sexual desires. And, it should be restated that the child-brides and prostitutes of India come forth from every station of life.
America's Baby-Pros come from every socio-economic group, too. As the case histories of this report are reviewed it will become evident that not economic condition, education, I.Q., or social background, is either an inducement or a deterrent for Baby-Proism once a girl eyes prostitution as her goal.
The following two case histories are examples of young girls from opposite stations of life who followed the same path to young aged prostitution and some of the deviations it offered.
CASE HISTORY
When Millie Y was eleven years old her family relocated from the slum neighborhood where she was born to another section of the large city. This was not progress. It was more of the same. Poverty had been Millie's lot from the day of her birth. Poverty continued to imprison her. So did her father; a drunk, a molester of children, a beater of his wife, a non-worker who saw fit to lounge in his home while his wife worked as a cleaning woman to support Millie and her two sisters and three brothers.
Millie was 12 when she first discovered that her father had a sexual reaction to her youthful, still not fully developed body.
Millie and her father were alone in the four-family flat that was their home. It was winter and very cold outside. But this had not stopped Millie from collecting discarded pop bottles and beer bottles which she intended to return to the corner grocery store for their deposit value. She had worked hard, wandering the streets and alleys of her neighborhood from the time school had been dismissed. She had collected a lot of bottles, enough to finance an excursion to a theatre for herself and nearest-aged sister.
Mr. Y, dressed in only shorts and tee-shirt, was in a vile mood when Millie entered the flat. He was without beer or funds, and the television had chosen this time for the picture to go dead.
Millie left the wagon filled with bags of bottles in front of the flat, then went inside to seek her father's help.
"Where the hell you been, kid?" he growled at her when she entered the cluttered living room.
"Collecting bottles," Millie answered. She took a step closer to the big, strongly built man, then asked, "Daddy-will you take the bottles back to the store for me?"
"Do it yourself," he said. "You collected 'em, you return 'em."
"But I can't," Millie protested. "Most of them are beer bottles and they won't let kids return them at the store."
The magic word-beer-caused Mr. Y's eyebrows to rise in interest.
"How many you got?" he asked. "About a hundred-maybe a few more."
"Where are they?"
"In front in the wagon." She moved still closer, then said, "Please take them back for me."
He paused, then said, "Okay, kid. Wait until I get my pants on."
Millie thanked him then went to the bath room where she undressed and made ready to take a bath. Once in the tub with the water hot and covering her to the waist, Millie noticed that her breasts seemed nearly fully developed, that they were round and enjoyed a perfection of nipples in their middles. And, to her amazement, the nipples were hard. As she observed them, then touched them with her fingers in order to test their firmness, Millie felt a stirring at her thighs.
Millie has stated to the psychiatrist with whom she pursued three years of intense psychotherapy that she felt there was something special about this moment in her life, that some combination of circumstances, her father, the bottles and their return, her anticipation of attending the theatre the next day, her bath and the opportunity it offered for a new evaluation of her approaching maturity, and the conditions that found her alone in the house with her father, all contributed to some sexual awareness that she had not previously experienced.
When she left the bath room, Millie went into the bedroom she shared with her sisters. She wore only a towel wrapped around her body as she moved from the one room to the other. Inside her bedroom, Millie toweled herself while standing in front of the full length mirror on the closet door. And again she became sensually aware of her body, of her hips that flaired, the good lines of her legs, her breasts and their nipples, and the total rosy pinkness of her body. She toweled her back with the towel, holding each end of it and shifting it from side to side, at the same time thrusting her breasts outward at her reflection in the mirror. Then she dried the front of her body. When she reached her thighs, she moved the towel more slowly, enjoying the new sensation of thrill that she felt. She felt heat soar through her body and she sensed that it came from more then the temperature of the water she had just left.
Finished with her toweling, Millie donned a shortie nightie, her favorite article of clothing, given to her as a gift by an aunt. The nightie was of a very transparent material, allowing a view of much of her body.
Millie returned to the living room at the same moment that her father entered the front door. He carried a grocery store bag. Instinctively, Millie knew that it contained beer-purchased by her father with the deposits collected from her hard after-school search. She burned with anger.
"Where's my money?" she asked, looking at the man from across the room.
"In my pocket," her father replied.
"What's in the bag?"
"Beer."
"Where did you get it?" she probed. "At the grocery store, for Christ's sake, where do you suppose I'd buy beer?"
"What did you use for money."
"Oh-I had some."
She walked across the room and stopped directly in front of him. "like hell you had any money. You used mine, that's what you did. Give me the rest of my money-give it to me now-right now-it's mine, I earned it-give it to me, goddamn it."
Mr. Y laughed, then said, "Christ but you're an uppity kid."
He pushed past her and walked into the kitchen.
Millie, fuming, waited until he returned. When he did, he was again dressed in his underwear and he carried an open bottle of beer.
Millie began where she left off. "Give me the money that's left, give it to me right now or I'll tell Mom when she gets home."
"Tell her," Mr. Y snorted as he moved toward a big chair.
When he turned, ready to seat himself, Millie dashed for the kitchen. She entered the room and saw her father's trousers draped over a straight back chair. She dove at them, then jammed her hand first in one pocket, then the other until finally she clutched a collection of coins. She gathered them in her hand, turned and hurried to the door, then stopped dead still as her father barred her passage down the hall.
"I'll teach you to snitch out of my pockets," Mr. Y said, turning red and exploding the words like hot coals.
"It's mine," Millie protested. "You've got your crummy beer-this is mine, leave it alone, you don't need it now."
"I might. Later," he replied.
Millie attempted to dash past him and down the hall so that she could attain the security of her room which had a lock on the door. She was unsuccessful. Six foot, Mr. Y, swooped down upon her like a vulture. He grabbed at her clinched hand but missed as she pressured forward. But he did manage to grip her hard around the waist.
Millie kicked hard as her father lifted her off her feet, but she was unable to keep him from half-carrying, half-dragging her back into the living room.
When they arrived there, Mr. Y made another attempt for the money, and succeeded. He pinched his thumb hard into the underside of Millie's wrist, then when her fingers loosened, he snatched the money from her hand. Millie started to curse and cry. Above these sounds she heard her father's gruff laughter. Then it stopped. Then Millie noticed something else. Although he had achieved the money that he wanted, Mr. Y did not release his hold about his daughter's waist. He increased the pressure of it and his hands moved upward until they cupped at her breasts. Still playing at the struggle between them, Mr. Y worked his hands upon Millie's young breasts, kneading at them, even fingering at the hard, thrusting tips. Then, as Millie increased the fury of her combat, he cupped one breast hard as his other hand moved downward and jammed between her thighs. Millie kicked a few more times, then slackened her efforts. Her thighs, moving against her father's hand, had excited the most exquisite sensation Millie had ever known. It frightened her, even as it gave her a thrill.
"You're a regular little spitfire, aren't you?" Mr. Y said. "I like spitfires-the kind that fight-kids like you who don't give a damn about anything."
His words moved Millie to a greater effort to free herself from his hold. And again, as she kicked and struggled she felt a growing feeling of passion course itself throughout her body; at her thighs, especially there, and at her breasts, particularly the one that was still held tightly by Mr. Y's big hand.
Finally, Millie's right hand shot free. She thrashed to the side and behind her, attempting to strike her father. And she did. But in the most erotic way. Mr. Y had shifted his position a bit and stood partially to the side of Millie. Most of his front was free for hitting. And Millie struck hard. The first contact told her that she greatly excited her father for his manhood had erected and thrust sharply outward, pushing the light material of his shorts ahead of him like a small tent. Millie struck again, the full flatness of her palm striking against Mr. Y's masculinity this time. She felt its hardness. It was like nothing she had ever imagined, although, at 12, Millie considered herself a sexual sophisticate. And then as she continued to reach to the side and swat her hand at the immense stretch that had become her target, Millie noticed something else. Her father was breathing hard. The tone was different, lower, thicker, more intense as if it represented his person on the verge of some crisis. And now, Mr. Y's hands began to move. But they moved in a way that was not meant for punishment, but for love. His hand that had held firmly to her breast had crept inside her nightie and now held the full roundness of her young-girl flesh and the thumb and forefinger bitterly molested the nipple. And his other hand which had been jammed at her thighs had turned delicate and was gently massaging the undersides with long, loving strokes, strokes that carried downward to her knee, then rose to where her thighs were joined and even beyond this area and into the sparse forest of her young womanhood.
Millie, psychotherapeutically recalling the incident has expressed how she felt at this moment of her incestuously oriented sexual awakening.
"I thought I was going to faint," Millie has related to her psychiatrist. "I felt all hot and kind of woozy, like I was going to pass out, go limp in my father's arms. And this feeling just seemed to swamp me, go all over me like a million ants. I thought I knew all about boys and sex and everything. You can't help hear about things like that when you're a kid-especially living in the neighborhoods where I lived. But
I'll tell you, I had no idea that I'd get such a feeling out of it-I thought sex was always for the man, but of course I don't think I really knew that I was involved in sex at this moment of my fight with my father."
But, Millie did not faint. Nor did she reach any true sexual climax as a result of the caressing her father imposed upon her body.
The fight ended suddenly, and not at all as Millie had anticipated. With all the signs of considerable effort, Mr. Y finally withdrew the thrust of himself from the path of Millie's swatting hand. And he removed his hands from her breasts and released her.
"All right, kid," he said. "You've earned your dough, I guess."
He stooped and picked up the coins he had dropped to the floor. Then he handed them to Millie.
She stared at him, hardly believing that he was actually giving her the money. And she could hardly believe the great length that pushed against his under-shorts. It seemed truly unbelievable to Millie, yet she felt a glow of satisfaction for she knew that she had caused this to happen to him, that it had been her body that had taken him with such excitement.
"If there ain't enough money there for whatever it is you want, kid," Mr. Y said, "I'll scrape some bottles myself tomorrow and give you what I used of your dough."
Millie felt stricken. These were the first words of kindness her father had ever spoken to her. And she knew that she had earned them, that he bestowed them as a prize for the touch of her nearly naked body, for the touch she herself had imparted to his soaring passion.
Mr. Y left the room. When he returned, he was fully clothed. He slumped in a chair, picked up the paper and settled to read it as he gulped from his beer bottle.
A week passed before Millie again had a sexual encounter with her father. It was a week that found Millie grown wise in the way of men and the inducements of her own body. She knew that the use of her body could provide her with many things from her father. She intended to exploit it to its fullest advantages.
"Do you have a dollar, Daddy?" Millie asked her father at a time that found them both alone in the house again.
"Yeah, I just happen to have. Why?"
"Can I have it?"
"Huh-you out of your mind or something."
"No, I want to buy a purse that's up at the store," she said. "It's only a dollar."
"A dollar buys a six-pack, girl."
"I know."
"But you still want my only dollar, eh."
"Yip."
He laughed and sat forward in the big chair where he had been resting as he finished off a can of beer. Mr. Y had been drinking heavily all during the day, celebrating the event of a better-than-ordinary pay day achieved by his wife.
"You're a real hell-cat," he laughed. He finished the beer, placed the empty can on the table next to him, then hunched even more forward in the chair.
Millie stepped closer and very deliberately looked in the direction of her father's groin, trying to ascertain if her presence alone was enough to induce him to a sexual state of readiness.
"What you looking at, kid?" Mr. Y asked, looking straight into her eyes.
"Nothing," she said.
"The hell you're looking at nothing, kid," he said. "You're a wise one, you don't fool me. You know what in the hell's going on in the world. I can tell."
"Can you?" she said. She walked to a position directly in front of him.
"Yeah. You and that little innocent expression you carry around with you like a dress. Hell-it's a phony act-you know what's going on, all right."
Millie smiled. Again she looked into her father's lap. This time her inquisitiveness was rewarded by the sight of a huge, knotted bulge at the crotch of her father's trousers. She felt a rage of heat and considered herself as very, very competent in the business of raising the excitement of a male. She decided to pursue her advantage.
Mr. Y recoiled for an instant when Millie boosted herself upon his lap. But he recovered quickly and even put one arm around her waist. He achieved a position that allowed the upper part of his hand to nudge gently at the bottom of one breast.
Millie dropped one hand in his lap, then, boldly, coupling her father's drunkenness with the knowledge of her ability to arouse him, she spoke of that which she had thought of nearly constantly for a week.
"Do I make that happen to you, Daddy?" she asked, moving her hand across his lap to rest atop the bulge that pointed upward.
For a moment, Mr. Y did not answer. His breath jerked to a short stop, then wheezed long and longingly from his massive chest.
"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that you do it to me, baby.'
"Is it nice?"
"How do you mean?" he asked.
"Does it feel good. You know, does it make you feel good to be like that?"
He laughed and raised his hand to cover her breast, then he said, "Well, it all depends. It-feels all right, but-well, hell, it only feels real good if I know it's not going to last."
"Not going to last?" she asked, cocking her head.
"Yeah."
"How do you keep it from lasting?"
"Goddamn it, there you go, acting all innocent and everything," he said, raising his voice and pinching at the hard nipple of her breast.
"But I really don't know," she insisted.
"The hell you don't."
"I don't."
"Bull!"
She gripped the bunched material of his trousers fully in her hand. Then she relaxed her grip and raised two fingers to the zipper tab. She lowered it.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" he hissed.
"I want to see," she said. "You won't tell me anything so I have to see for myself."
Mr. Y leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes as Millie lifted him to exposure, then gasped, then gasped again.
But when Millie began a light caress and manipulation of him, Mr. Y jerked forward, grasped her hard and forced her to his side in the big chair. Instinctively, Millie's legs parted to receive him, but as Mr. Y rose, a stricken look crossed his face and he paused.
After a second, he said, "Oh, no, you little bitch, you're not going to hang something like this on your old man. Oh, no, you're not that smart."
Millie raised her head. Then she felt her body being moved away from her father, out of the chair and before him, then forced to her knees at his feet as he moved closer to the edge of the chair.
Millie has stated that she did not know exactly what it was that her father expected of her. She has stated, too, that she did not know fear, or even any special desire at this point, that her only concern was enticing her father out of the dollar he had in his pocket. But she learned quickly what it was that Mr. Y desired when he locked his fingers into her hair and directed her downward.
Millie learned quickly. While her father thrust and arched and churned beneath her bobbing head, she grew inventive, twisted and shook her head like a wildcat-like the hell-cat she was, as claimed by her father.
At the very end, while Millie gurgled the muffled sounds of her father's eruption, she heard him holler out, screech, really, and it was a sound that told Millie of her power over the excited male.
When she finally raised her head and accepted the handkerchief offered by Mr. Y, Millie's future was decided, she has claimed. It was at this point, she has related, that the future patterns of her life were set. It was at this moment that her future as a whore was established.
Millie brought order to her appearance, then faced her father, smiled, and asked, "Can I have that dollar now?"
Wordlessly, but with a certain expression of fear upon his face, he reached into his pocket and extracted a dollar. He handed it to her. Millie snapped it from her fingers, then turned and left the room. Five minutes later, the front door slammed behind her as she left the house to make her purchase of a dollar, black purse.
Fellatio became Millie Y's means of monetary gain during the next year. She bequeathed her oral copulations upon her father regularly, usually receiving some small amount of money for her effort. Sometimes she received nothing-only his threat of disclosure to her mother or the police. But, riding the wave of a wealth she had never known, Millie sold fellatio to the milkman, the mailman, the local newspaper boy, several neighborhood boys, and even one male teacher in her elementary school.
Millie was thirteen before she experienced the loss of her virginity. She received five dollars for the deprivation of that status. It was imposed by a neighborhood boy with a reputation as underling gangster in a large syndicate. When they finished the experience, the boy suggested that Millie had all the attributes of a prostitute. He suggested that he become her manager. She agreed.
Millie prospered. Until she was arrested for solicitation at the age of fifteen, she experienced sexual relations with hundreds of men. She submitted to their every desire. She became even more proficient at the art of fellatio, and added cunnilingus to her bag of sexual tricks. She also learned that flagellation brought a special fee from some very special clients. So did rectal intercourse and other deviations.
Within twenty-four hours of her release from a girl's reformatory when she was sixteen, Millie returned to the life of a prostitute. She was arrested again, sentenced to a longer term at a woman's prison, then was once more released to the streets under a probation that provided for psychotherapy, from which this case history has been compiled.
Millie gained insight to her problems. And the police files and psychiatric records have gained this case which takes its place in the files of thousands of other Baby-Pros.
CASE HISTORY
"Why do you look at me like that?" asked Veronica of her wealthy father's business partner.
"Because you're a very pretty girl," the man replied.
Veronica, at 14, was a frequent blusher. She blushed then stammered, "Aw, I'm only a kid."
"Yes, a mere child," the forty year old man said, as if to himself. "A very, very beautiful child."
Veronica blushed again, then turned from him to look over the rail of her parent's cruiser into the deep, blue-green water of Lake Michigan.
The man looked at all of her body as it was revealed to him from the skimpy bikini Veronica wore. She felt his eyes upon her and knew that he sighted the very things her mirror had so recently expressed; that she was growing into a lovely woman, one of large breasts, a flat, tight stomach, long, shapely legs, hips that both curved and flowed and buttocks that jutted sassily outward.
The man sighed longingly, then took his leave of the fourteen year old to rejoin the other partying, drinking, wildly dancing and singing guests.
Veronica waited until he had gone, then she turned and hurried to her small cabin.
She undressed at once, then posed before the full length mirror of her vanity. She looked at her body with a kind of wonder. And she felt excitement for it, too. Great excitement, most of it pulsating at her loins.
After a very thorough inspection of herself, she turned and flopped her naked body upon the small, built-in bunk. She sighed, then breathed deeply, watching how her breasts with their hard pointed tips raised into view, then fell from sight as she exhaled. Then, after she tired of this game, she made herself go very quiet. Then she lowered her hand to the place of her young, still growing womanhood.
Self-masturbation and the fantasies that accompanied it were part of a game frequently played by Veronica. Sometimes it absorbed her total preoccupation. Veronica had learned to masturbate when she was twelve. She pursued the habit until now, at 14, she began to think of greater satisfactions, those invoked by man alone.
She moved her hand slightly. She felt a shiver of response and instantly directed her mind to the man who had just flattered her, one upon whom she had had a crush for a full year. His name was Carver. He was tall, dark, dynamic, handsome, and very, very attentive to Veronica. Always, despite the number of guests or the circumstances of his presence in her parent's home, he would take the time to seek her out, talk to her, and listen attentively to anything she had to say. Veronica was charmed by his interest in her. And, she knew that he was charmed by her.
Veronica closed her eyes, then brought her fingers higher and more delicately upon her. Then she moved a single finger even higher and began a light circling motion that made her hiss sounds of mounting passion. As she worked upon her own body, she envisioned images of Carter, his tall good looks, his obvious infatuation with her. He had been her favorite subject of masturbation fantasies and the very thoughts of him made her sensations zoom higher and higher while she arched her body in a mad up-and-down ta-too of action. Soon, her hips snapped involuntarily, moving fast as if they sought to join the fast motion of her circling fingers. And then, when response and ultimate release was only a few seconds away from achievement, she raised her other hand and grasped one large breast. She imagined Carver bending and kissing that breast. And then she erupted, fighting her body against her hand as if it were an enemy.
Her play over, Veronica rolled to her side. Her hands clutched the bed covers and knotted them into a ball. Although experiencing a climax, it was something less than satisfactory. She was left wanting, steaming for some greater explosion of her body. She remembered that this was the way it had been lately, that she almost always was left unsatisfied after her episode of self-love. She twisted to her stomach and ground her naked body into the bed, simulating the actions of an aggressive woman in an act of love. And as she moved, she continued to think of Carter. She knew he was her only hope, knew, too, that she would continue to be frustrated until she experienced an act of sexual intercourse with her dream lover. She remained in the bed a long time, quieting her body and planning the event of her defloration.
Later the same night Veronica forced an interlude that permitted her an opportunity to taste of mature love. The guests on her father's cruiser, including his partner, Carver, had been drinking heavily all through the day. By the time the moon had risen high and glistened over the dark water of the giant lake, everyone aboard the ship was very, very drunk. Most of them eventually fell asleep or sliced off into couples where they found dark corners of the boat as their place for sex.
Veronica waited until she sensed that the partying had reached a peak. Then she dressed in her most revealing swimsuit-a bikini that revealed half her breasts and dipped low beneath her navel. Then she went to the deck of the cruiser.
For a few moments she stood in a dark corner, surveying the deck, hoping to sight her secret love. Carver was no place to be seen. Others, however, were very much in view, particularly two couples involved in off-beat love making. In one corner Veronica observed the activities of a middle-aged woman performing fellatio upon a man Veronica recognized as the copulating woman's best friend's husband. A dozen paces away, another couple were similarly involved. But here it was the man who accepted the active role.
Veronica turned her eyes from the sight. She thought how vulgar it was and considered that she and Carver would never do such things, that there love would be pure and fine and passionately exciting.
When she could not find Carver, Veronica went to the bow of the boat. She looked up at the deck covering the bow. Here she saw a man, alone and looking out into the lake. Her heart thumped heavily. She could tell by the dark profile that the man was Carver. She decided upon aggressiveness, immediately directed.
Veronica climbed the small ladder and pulled herself upon the smooth wooden bow. The man turned quickly, then seemed to withdraw a bit when he saw that the intruder was Veronica.
"Hi," she said. "What are you doing up here all alone?"
"Thinking," Carver replied. "Thinking, and trying to sober up a bit."
Veronica laughed, then hurried to seat herself next to Carver.
"And what are you doing up here?" he asked, smiling as he repeated her own words.
"Looking for you," she boldly told him.
"How nice. I'm flattered." He turned and looked at her and Veronica could see that his eyes traveled over her nearly naked body. They told her that he was still quite drunk. They told her, too, that he lusted for her.
Veronica braced her back against the framework, looked over the lake, and breathed deeply. Then she pretended a shiver and said, "It's chilly. I wish I had brought a sweater."
"Why didn't you?" Carver asked.
"I don't know."
"Yes you do," he said, laughing a bit.
She turned and looked into his face, then said, "Now what does that mean?"
"It means that I know that you know very well why you came dressed like that without a sweater," he said very quickly, shooting the words as if they were well-rehearsed.
"All right, Mr. Wise-Man," she said kiddingly. "What was my reason?"
"This," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders.
Veronica could not speak for a moment. This first touch of Carver's was more exciting than anything she had anticipated, more thrilling even than the final efforts of her own episodes of masturbation.
"Well, am I right?" asked Carver.
"Yes," she admitted, cuddling a little deeper into his arm which circled her protectively.
They remained very quiet for a long time, then Carver sighed deeply much as if it marked the end of some inner combat he had been raging with himself. Then he lowered his hand and immediately slipped it inside Veronica's bra top.
She grasped it with both her hands and pressured it tightly against her flesh. Her body shook violently from the contact and heat swamped her. She felt it rise and rise, much as if heat itself was the bubble of her passion. Veronica felt Carver's fingers moving upon her, kneading her flesh, then going light to finger-tip play at her small nipple. And again she thought that she would explode, split wide open, scream, holler, scratch, tear apart the cruiser and all the people in it.
But she did not. Instead, she turned her face to the side and raised it to receive Carver's kiss.
When his lips crushed upon hers she again thought she might faint. His lips were so hard and desperate. He shot his tongue into her mouth in such a wild, yearning search. Veronica nipped his tongue with her teeth, then drew deeply upon it, making it lengthen as she took it to herself. And at the same time she locked one arm around Carver's neck and moved her other hand to clutch at his thigh. Carver wore burmudas and a sport shirt. He was barefooted. The feel of his bare thigh beneath her fingers was cause for new trembling to come to Veronica's body. And then she moved her hand upward until she touched at the bulge of his manhood. Her hand darted away as if it had been burned. But then she returned it to the pleasurable feeling of the forty year old man's excitement.
Now, Carver's body stammered with passion. He brought his mouth away from Veronica's, twisted her and ripped her bra away from her breasts. They loomed at him, golden brown and heaving from excitement.
Veronica arched her naked body at Carver at the same moment that he uttered a cry and buried his face to her breasts. Veronica leaned backwards. Carver rose and hunched above her body.
When Carver mouthed her flesh and rolled the nipples of her breasts in turn, between his lips, it was the realization of all Veronica's fantasies. Again she thought that she would lose consciousness. And in a way, she did. Bright spots of color combined from distant boats, the stars, and the moon, dotted before her eyes in a rainbow mixture of multi-shades, making her feel far away and from another world.
Carver was a good lover, Veronica has stated to her psychiatrist. He spent a long time with her body that night upon the cruiser. He kissed all of her rapturously, kissed her from throat to knees after discharging the bottom of her bikini from her body. He applied it so exquisitely to the hot, humped clitoris of Veronica that she did truly experience a minor orgasm, one that she knew was exciting but was still a long way from what she would feel once they were joined and moving together.
Finally, Carver could not endure the intensity of love-play any longer. He raised to his knees, fumbled at his clothing, then assisted Veronica into position as she raised her knees and braced her bare feet solidly upon the cruiser deck.
He went to her slowly and delicately. Veronica arched high, her young anxious thighs quivering from this first strain of love. And then as Carver continued his descent and achieved total entry, she yelped the cry of her first true orgasm.
The case of Veronica has been questioned by medical authorities as to whether or not this child, fourteen years old and a heavy masturbator, could experience an orgasm upon man's very first entry into her body. Sexual response, some experts claim, is a "learned" reaction. Veronica's psychiatrist, however, believes that it is true, that Veronica did not elaborate upon the intensity and frequency of her orgasms with her first lover. The psychiatrist has stated that in his practice he has known many women with a hyper-sensitivity of the vaginal tract, that this alone when meeting man's initial descent can produce an immediate orgasm, fie has reported too that Veronica's clitoris was already highly developed as a result of her masturbation and that undoubtedly Carver's body, touching at this highly sensitive area at the same time that he was providing thrill by entry, doubly provided the child with the elements necessary for a violent orgasm.
From the moment of her first orgasm, Veronica's body reacted involuntarily. It thumped and arched and spun and churned beneath the ever quickening movements of Carver. Thrice more she experienced an orgasm this event of her first act of sexual intercourse. And even when Carver was finished, had erupted and fallen atop the girl's naked body, her body still twisted and arched and churned, leaping to achieve even more of the thrill she had already so adequately received. And it was his-her drive for more and more sexual excitement that, psychiatric authorities claim, led Veronica eventually into the world of Baby-Pros.
Veronica and Carver became lovers. They met regularly for a year. But always, after their adventures during which Veronica reacted with multiple-orgasms, she still thirsted for more, still sought even greater reaction in her young body. During the year, too, Veronica learned about the infidelity among lovers. She sought and found, dozens of lovers to fill those periods between Carver's visits. When one of her stranger-lovers offered her money, she laughed hysterically. But then she took the twenty dollar bill he had extended to her. It made her feel a little better about her promiscuity. Although she did not need money indeed, she was the child of wealthy parents-it served to help her rationalize this part of herself she sensed as morally unsound.
When Veronica was sixteen, she left home. Without money, shunning her parents and the temptation to contact them for help, she found a natural outlet for her violent and constant sexual desires. A stranger-lover was an executive in a prostitution ring. He offered her work. She gladly accepted the offer. Baby-
Pro prostitution provided her with an outlet for her body's excessive demands.
Veronica labored as a Baby-Pro for a year. Then she was arrested, returned to her parents and placed under psychiatric treatment.