Chapter 11

THE CASE STUDY OF DONNA C.

"When the masseur is working down my back I deliberately wiggle my body to shake off the towel and let it fall to the floor. Yes, of course, it's me who does it...Tm responsible. And after I am nude, I spread my legs, waiting, tensely moving my buttocks to draw his hands to them and then go down to my ass or into my cunt, I live for that moment. When he's hooked, gone too far to stop, I very casually reach over and unzip his pants and reach in to bring out his hard meat. Isn't that a pretty wild way to go about it?...I love it. It's a real thrill to be successful in seducing a handsome masseur who's turned down dozens of others. . . . "

Donna C, a beautiful and cunning married woman of thirty-seven, used the above sentences to sum up for me briefly her mode of seducing masseurs into giving her masturbatory massages. Of course, most masseuses are confronted with the problem of males coming to them for more than just a massage; and many masseurs find that male homosexuals are anxious for a little sex as part of the arrangement. I think, however, that it is not the common thing for a masseur (who is usually licensed and faces loss of his right to work if he is accused of molesting a patient) to find a woman so attractive and sexually responsive, and demanding, as Donna, although she is certainly not the only woman who has ever tried to seduce a masseur.

What makes Donna's case so unique is that the act of masseur-seducing to sexual practices other than regular coitus (though including copulation at least one or two times), has become an obsession with her. We might compare this to certain men who are strongly attracted in a sexual way to nurses or stewardesses or waitresses. Many a businessman or salesman who travels a great deal feels something less than masculine if he does not seduce a stewardess occasionally.

The analogy is not too good an example, except in the outward expression. Masseurs are all sex objects for Donna. It had taken a long time for her to develop a way in which she could have clandestine contact with other males and not suffer so much from a feeling of guilt as she might if she picked men up in bars or on the street or in theatres.

One of the first things I asked Donna was to attempt to go back in her lifetime and try to recognize what led her to this compulsion of seducing masseurs. As might be expected from a highly sexed female given to much self masturbation, she proved quite valuable and seemed to respond coprolahcally as she told me about herself and her sexual desires and experiences: '

I've been married a long time...too long, I guess, about twenty years. We have two wonderful children.

My husband is forty-six and we own and operate a little gift shop in the suburbs. As far as I can notice, we are well-known and liked in the community. Our reputations are above reproach. We are members of the local chamber of commerce, and I do P.T.A. work some evenings. If people knew what I really was like, our whole family might as well jump in the nearest river.

If I could stop doing these things...if I could give up this sense of adventure that draws me to men for sex, I could forget the masseurs, too. But I like what I'm doing too much, I'm a hedonist. . . but one has to be so careful and so quiet a hedonist in our society. . . .

Before the masseurs became my big hang-up, I had been corresponding with some men through the sex clubs. It was such a...a thrilling, sexy experience for a love-starved woman like me. I began to get turned on and secrete between my legs every morning when it was about time for the mail to come. One man wrote me such sexy letters about how he went down on women...it sounded like it would be the greatest experience in the world to have him do me.

He had some pretty kinky ideas too, but I don't think he had ever done half of what he said he had. I wouldn't have wanted to do any of those things myself, but the way he wrote about them, I was playing with myself each time I read his letters. And he sent me pictures, too. He had a habit of seducing young mothers and (as they were widows or divorcees and desperately wanted marriage) making them sex slaves to him for promise of marriage. The truth was he had perverted ideas about their children and could con some of these mothers into letting him go down on the kids...male or female.

The pictures he sent made me play with myself, too. He would send Polaroids of his hard, cock, holding it, shooting off his big cream load in mid-air, the cream all over his hairy belly. He told me so descriptively how it felt and what he was doing-rubbing it hard with his left hand while he was writing, letting his come fall on the letter and smudging the ink just a little. I was so sexy. I sometimes masturbated nearly all night with fantasies about this evil, wonderful "sexman."

And then my husband found the letters and pictures. He tore them up and beat me. He told me he would do no more because we had to preserve our reputations in the community. If he asked for a divorce, there would be an awful scandal. He let it go at that. I stopped writing letters because there was hardly any way to hide things like that from him.

My sex demands were still awfully strong, so I began running around with about seven different men; once with two men at the same time, which to me was the greatest pleasure of all. Oh, God, I was like a wild woman, all I could think of all day was fucking...yes, that was it. No delicate words or guarded inhibitions. I loved to be fucked! When I was with the two men, one of them performed analingus on me...oh, hell, he sucked my ass! And I sucked the other one off and swallowed it.

There may have been something three people can do together that we didn't do. But I doubt it. That only happened once, but I wished it could have been everyday. I had absolutely no reservations about any kind of sex act when we were together like that privately. Men always want to come back to me. I'm very sexy in everything I do and the way I dress, walk, sit down. But.. . it was so awful to slip around that way without my husband finding out. I went with low men, laborers and working men who had no idea of who I was. . . .

Please don't get the idea or make the assumption that my husband and I do not also do some pretty perverted things together. My husband always told me I was the best at sex. It gave me a great deal of pride. I wanted more. I decided that if I was so good, I should share this wonderful talent with others, too.

Six out of seven days a week I was seeing a married man for a while. We were fiends for orgasms! If he was exhausted and his hard would not come up again, we would very dramatically and fiercely masturbate each other. It wasn't enough for me either. I had to give sexual satisfaction to more and more men.. . . I've never been made by a woman, but I must tell you that the idea fascinates me more and more every day. My fantasy is to let some woman, a nice looking woman with big and lovely breasts, play with me naked, lick me, suck me. Two women could use me every way. A man and woman together, like a married couple, I wonder if I could find a couple who would work me over all night in every way? Alas...it's all wishful thinking, I suppose. I become frantic about my husband finding out...my children. I would want to panic and confess everything to him...all about the men I've had and the awful things they've done to me. But why? [Donna has a compulsion to be forgiven, to be loved, in spite of her unfaithful acts. She wants to be loved and accepted as she is. Nothing else will keep convincing her that her husband loves her in spite of everything she does. Her ego must be constantly fueled with acceptance as a lover by other men, forgiveness by her husband. One can only assume the genesis of the problem, but it probably began with a very strict and unforgiving mother or father, guardian, or even a favorite schoolteacher.]

Why can't I satisfy my sexual desires without being such a...a tramp? I know so many military wives. They tell me, when we're talking very openly, that they masturbate a lot when their husbands are at sea or overseas in a place where dependents are not allowed. I masturbate a lot, too...but it isn't enough! I've got to have more!

An hour...maybe only a half hour after I've gone through a two hour session with myself, I am always frantic for sex. I have to have men to love me. A woman could love me too.

I can remember once...maybe I read about it somewhere in a newspaper, that some male masseurs would give real "sex treatments" to a woman. I thought about that. . . how nice it would be to go to a massage parlor, have a man working all over my naked body...letting him rub my ass and thighs with his bare hands...slicked with oil. And I wouldn't have to worry about being caught.. . or really doing anything wrong...just hands. It was a dream...a wild dream. But.. . I could make it come true. . . .

One day when I was out shopping, I decided to try it, to find out if I could do it, if it would be as I thought. . . or just another disappointment. I looked up masseurs in the Yellow Pages and I made an appointment with a man across town, using the name Loreen Thomas, as I wanted this to be a very secret assignation.

I liked the sound of the man's voice on the phone. I had visions of his being very muscular, very demanding, and very sexy in every way. When I arrived at his place, I was not disappointed. He looked the part so perfectly-in his forties, graying hair, lean and muscular body in a white T-shirt and freshly starched white pants.

I was feeling very good! He gave me a large Turkish towel to wrap around me as he had me step behind a screen to undress. I was deliberately careless about the screen, dropping my bra over the top and stepping around to retrieve it. When I was naked, I looked at myself in the mirror there proudly, quite proudly. My heart was beating rapidly as I admired my own body, pleased that I exercised regularly, played tennis every week, stayed off starches, drank very little. My breasts are big...without being pendulously large, for a woman of my age, the red nipples are excited so very easily and were sticking straight out. I toyed with them languorously and smoothed a hand lazily across my black triangle, noticing my long legs and how they taper up nicely...good shape...nice bottom, too.

I was shaking with anticipation. I threw the towel carelessly around myself and walked out to the massage table. He had me lie on my back, and I welcomed the feel of the leather upholstered table beneath me, pressing my loins against it and sighing, while his strong hands began to massage my shoulders, and he insisted that I relax more.

It was so exciting. So wonderful to feel his hands and fingers digging into my warm flesh with so much...firm gentleness and control, kneading my body with confidence. Confidence. I wanted him to throw me over and climb on top. Rape me! No.. . . I knew he could not do that, I had to carry on just as I had planned and...hope I could be satisfied.

I glanced down to see my breasts sticking out when he massaged my back below the shoulders, and hoped he would grasp beneath my body and rub them, but he would not, going farther down my body until he was at the small of my back, his thumbs gouging lower and lower until they were at the cleavage of my sensitive buttocks. I couldn't help but begin to move my pelvis in a rhythm against the table, then found that by working my thighs like...like pistons, up and down an inch or two, it would begin to make me feel better...like masturbating.

When the towel slipped to the floor, he started to pick it up, but I shook my head and mumbled...like a plea, "Uh-uh." He straightened himself and began to work at the small of my back again, his fingers pausing to graze my buttocks occasionally.

I could take it no longer! I spread my legs as he first started to separate my cheeks, until my feet and calves were hanging over the side of the table. I arched my buttocks upward, knowing I had moistened the covering beneath my vagina, and that he couldn't help but see it, and know how very, very passionate I was.

I was so obviously tike a bitch in heat! But that was nothing to the joyous little shriek I let out when his fingers first slid through my abundant and wet hairs and touched the flesh of my vaginal lips. He was standing at my right, using his left hand on me. He did not try to stick his fingers deep inside at first, only slide them over the lips and down to my clit. I tried to see if he had a hard-on, but my view was cut off. Awkwardly, I suppose, I reached up with my right hand and tried to find the front of his trousers, but the angle of my arm was such that I couldn't get to it. I squeezed my legs together to trap his hand, and then he said to me...so very soft and...personal, but businesslike, too, "Would Madam like to turn over so as to be more comfortable?"

I was shaking all over with violent passion, but I managed a proud smile as I turned over to expose the front of my naked body to him. Obligingly, he moved to the other side of the table, and motioned for me to open my thighs, which I did quite readily. I know he must have had a great deal of practice at this, as he began at once to massage my inner thighs in an upward way so that his finger tips were soon entering me, rubbing my lips, until he was once more concentrating on my vagina and lips.

I was writhing in ecstasy, throwing my head from side to side, but I did manage to reach for his trousers and release his belt buckle, unzip the fly and push them over his hips, all with my right hand. He was wearing a jock strap, which I pulled at rather uselessly, until he finally smiled and used his left hand to remove it. When it.. . the front of it came down, the waistband caught over the head of his penis and pulled it way down until it finally slipped off and made the magnificent...prick...snap back up at an angle.

I couldn't wait! He was so hard! Like when a man is masturbated for a long time until he is so stiff that it looks as if his prick will burst, stiff and springy and there is a trace, a very small trace of liquid in the little hole. I grasped it immediately with my right hand, closing all four fingers around the stiff, hard staff, and wet my thumb by rubbing it over the head. I could feel...FEEL it throb in my hand, so big and wonderful!

He said nothing but cleared his throat, so I knew he was silently asking me what I wanted next. I wanted his prick in me! But...but isn't that strange? His fingers felt so good, his control and movement so...so powerful, strong, that it felt so good, I don't think I really minded saying, "More...hurt me...oh, God, hurt me-e-e-e!"

He reached up with his left hand and pulled my lips wide apart, stretching them until I could feel a delicious pain, and then he put two fingers deep inside me. My...my husband has a large penis, the married lover I saw for so long, even larger, so I suppose I am stretched inside, and the masseur decided to try to get all four fingers in me, slowly and...easily, until they were there, and he could rub my clitoris with his thumb. Oh! I came almost at once, and I felt his penis move as if...I could tell intuitively he was about to come.

I screamed, "No! Not yet! More." But I was too late. I watched raptly as his thick white cream spurted out, gushed...and then drooled, some of it hitting me, but most of it going on the side of the table and the floor.

"It's all right," he whispered, lowering himself over my belly until I could feel his hot breath thrilling me where my flesh was wet with his come. "I will continue to please Madam."

"No...not that," I managed the courage to say, when I realized he was going to put his mouth on me and eat. "Easy...never stop...never." I enjoyed the slippery, slimy feeling of his come all over my hands and his limp penis, while he resumed his more gentle rubbing of my soaked lips and probes of my vagina.

What a technique he had! As he would concentrate on my clitoris a few minutes to bring me to a beautiful orgasm, then pull at my lips and insert his fingers like he was...fucking me for a while until I would beg him to concentrate on my clit again. I was particularly aroused, after I had come a dozen times or more, when I could feel his penis swelling again, right there in my hand. I began to stroke again instead of just squeezing and rubbing; it was filling my hand with its bigness.

I was becoming tired, it was taking longer for him to make me come, so I worked myself up for the big one. I smiled at him and nodded, and he smiled back, giving everything a little extra something to show me he understood. I know I moved my pelvis more, working up to it, and I cried out more, things like, "Oh-oh...it's so good...oh-ow...so-o-o goo-ood...oh . . . . "

He used the underside of his index finger. He rubbed my clit the full length, like he had never done before...so hard and fast! I screamed and yelled...screamed and yelled, and I was twisting around, raising myself up off the table. Oh, my God, that was something!

I was coming, coming, coming, coming, and I was pressing myself to his hand, squeezing out every last ounce of FEELING! Oh! And his sperm started coming out...all over my hand. I was like an uncontrollable spastic, babbling in incoherent joy and splashing his sperm all over his stomach and rubbing it in his hairs and...oh, just everything. I didn't know what I was doing, still gasping for breath, moaning like a woman getting over a beautiful.. . beautiful pain.. . childbirth, or something.

"Well. . . that's my problem. He's my problem. I've been back to him several times, always the same, and he charges me only twenty-five dollars and masturbates me until I'm exhausted, an hour or more. No massage now, only masturbation, and we seldom say anything, all is understood.

"When we are traveling or I am traveling, I've gone to other masseurs, too. I always make an appointment with a new one, and I know there are other women like me because it's always the same, and I sense they know what I want. Yes, of course, it's me who does it.. . I'm responsible. . . . "

Comment: Donna's case is truly unusual in its behavioral aspects. Unfortunately, not much progress has been made because of her reluctance to discuss her early childhood. She seems much more interested in giving vivid details of her "kinky" sex life over the past few years, and thinks that some "magic" answer to her problem will suddenly appear. She tries to rationalize that the use of "just hands" does not constitute an illicit sex act.

Here is a woman with a strong sex drive, who fears the approach of middle age and the loss of her sexual attractiveness. The love of her husband is not enough to reinforce her confidence. She continually seeks the attentions of other men in the one way she knows how to get them. It is almost impossible for any one man to satisfy her because she is looking for something that is unattainable-perpetual youth, pleasure and happiness.

While the consultation continues, Donna is sincerely trying to interest herself in other challenging and time consuming hobbies and avocations. She and her husband have joined a couples golf group, she has taken up a small amount of volunteer social work, and she is also pursuing a course of part-time study to finish her work for a degree.

By these means, it is hoped that she may find her need for so much sexual attention diminished and be able to lead a richer and fuller life, while still holding out hope for a more permanent solution to her problems through insight and analysis. She has a long way to go, but at least she has taken the first step.