Chapter 7

There was no starting time. You could go any time and stay as long as you felt like it. You could wear, do and be what you liked. It was being held at Mount Royal Park and it was anything but organized. It was the biggest love-in in the history of hip.

The park was clothed in autumn, alive, but falling asleep. The gathering of people which, by the time we arrived must have numbered a couple of thousand, was a mosaic of weird and gawdy colors. The participants milled around forming small pockets within the large crowd, singing folk songs and petting lightly. But it was dull. I had been to these affairs before and I always came to the conclusion, "What does it all achieve?"

All love-ins look promising. There are always enough people, enough energy and enthusiasm to make a real big splash of some kind or another, but nothing ever comes from it. All it amounts to is a big picnic and I don't recall reading in any history books where revolution ever started at a picnic. To me it all seems too passive. I mean, thousands of kids just standing around as if the mere fact of their being there is going to make something happen. Very few of them know what they are doing there but they are ashamed to admit it. And the danger in this is that if something were to happen, it would probably be a riot and since no one actually started it, no one would know how to stop it. It all seemed rather mindless to me, but for the first hour or so it was pleasant to see so many people at once. I bumped into a few old friends and had some nice conversation. As for the philosophic or social value of the love-in, I would say it was about zero. I was about to pack it in and go downtown for a while when I was assailed by an idea. Instead of leaving, why not make something out of this great big picnic? Why not stage a love-in that the city of Montreal or, indeed, the whole country would remember for some time?

And who could be better qualified to make a big splash than Anne and myself? I took her aside and explained the idea. At first she was a bit jittery about the police being so near-there were forty or fifty circling the crowd, just waiting for something to happen so they could jump in and look as though they were earning the money the taxpayers paid them, but after only a little persuasion, she agreed to go ahead with it.

Since we couldn't very well address ourselves to the whole crowd, we picked out a likely-looking circle of singers and took a place among them. In the center of the circle were three boys playing guitars. I didn't know the song they were playing, but it had good rhythm and they played it well. The group of about twenty-five people around them were clapping their hands and roaring out the verses. The beat was enticing and easy to strip to. And strip we did-Anne and I in unison.

I was wearing a purple silk blouse and tight hip-huggers. The blouse had many buttons all the way down the front which served perfectly to build up the drama of the strip, to which a good number of people were already paying attention. When the buttons were all undone, I let the blouse glide smoothly over my shoulders to the ground. I heaved my breasts into the sun and squeezed them with both hands, then I loosened my pants and inched them down over my bottom and off. Anne timed her strip to end with mine and when we were both naked I shouted out to all within hearing range.

"Anyone who wishes to fuck us may do so. We'll fuck every male here if you want."

"Come one, come all," Anne added like a sideshow barker. "Come inside, come on our bellies, come in our mouths, whatever you want, but come!"

The crowd seemed to be astonished and bewildered. No one made a move.

"Well, come on, this is a love-in, isn't it? If you want a Sunday school picnic you should go to church," Anne continued with her hands cupped around her mouth.

"You say you want to show the older generation what love is all about, well, this is what love is all about," I yelled, elevating my buttocks a foot off the ground and clasping my hand over my cunt. "Fuck this and you are fucking the world. Fuck for fun and save humanity from annihilation."

At last our brazen stunt began to have an effect. Jo stripped and slapped his cock in my hand. I worked on it while encouraging others to follow his example. Several more did, then other girls started to shed their attire and soon nude bodies were popping up like pink weeds.

We had started the ball rolling and not a minute too soon. The cops were already moving in.

"Fuck while you can, here comes the fuzz," somebody bellowed across the park. It was a rather apt phrase, I thought, in light of all the pubic hair that had suddenly appeared.

The excitement made it impossible for Jo to attain an erection, but for the sake of show, he mounted me anyway and pretended to be fucking. I could feel his limp organ swinging like a rope against my cunt-funny sensation! But there were some guys lucky enough to get hard and enjoy a real fuck. I could see them scattered all around me, being tugged at by policemen, who were evidently as completely confused as I had anticipated they would be. How do you arrest a fucking couple without being indecent yourself? That must have been what most of them were asking themselves, although there were some I could see who were enjoying themselves immensely. They were grabbing girls by the cunt and tits and putting knees into the bare balls of their lovers.

A couple of cops grabbed Jo by the shoulders and lifted him off me. They ordered me to stand up but I ignored them completely. One of them tried to pick me up and his hand accidentally slipped in between my legs. I felt his finger jab into my cunt.

"Look, cop, if you want a fuck, put your cock in there, not your finger." "Is that a bribe, kid?" "Of course!"

"I'll remember that when you come up before the magistrate."

"And I'll remember that you stuck your finger into my cunt, on purpose."

They dragged Jo and me over to a paddy wagon, but Jo broke loose and I cheered as he seized another girl and mounted her.

The fuck-in was out of control. Some of the men had already come and their girls were off looking for another cock. The police had managed to round up sixty or seventy nudes, but they were escaping as rapidly as they were being apprehended. And those who didn't escape were fucking in the paddy wagons. Had the love-in turned into a riot, the cops would have cleaned it up in fifteen minutes without any trouble at all. But faced with something different, something they had not been trained to handle, they were as useless as old women. After more than an hour, they still had gotten nowhere and by this time hundreds of people had come up from downtown to watch the show. Even though they were mostly so-called respectable people, they were cheering us on and laughing at the incompetence of the police.

By that time, I too had escaped and was encouraging the bystanders to strip off their clothes and join in. Only a handful of them did, but I'm sure there were one hell of a lot of businessmen who would have given their eye teeth to get a whack at me or any of the other good-looking girls who were racing around like nymphs with their cunts dripping sperm and begging for more. Oh, yes, I'm sure there were hundreds, but they wouldn't dare for fear their wives or their bosses would find out. So, they eyeballed us, getting their kicks vicariously like a bunch of voyeurs.

I put the grab on a stud who was wearing nothing but his guitar and tried to get him erect before the cops came, but once again I missed out and ended up in another paddy wagon. Anne was there fucking some crazed hippie and fingering another girl's cunt. It was just one big beautiful orgy and I loved it. I let some guy fuck me in the wagon while carrying on a conversation with Anne. She had been fucked three times already and was hoping to reach five before we got carted away to the clink.

"Susie, what a fantastic idea this was. It's the greatest thing I've ever seen."

The guy she was screwing climaxed and withdrew his slimy cock. "Who's next?" she inquired, like a receptionist at a dentist's office, but she got no takers. There were only three boys in the wagon, the one she had just fucked, another who said he was all fucked out and another who was pissed off at the whole situation and refused to have anything to do with her.

Anne and I sat at the door and waited for a chance to make a getaway. Through the window I could see a couple of cops dragging Jo over to the wagon. I notified Anne and she got up on her haunches, ready to spring. When the door opened, she took a dive and I went out right after her. She made it, but I was caught by a policeman before I hit the ground. He got a damned good feel before putting me back inside. Right behind me came Jo. He told me that he had overheard the cops talking. He said that from what he could gather, they had given up trying to stop the fuck-in for the time being and were going to cordon off the spectators so they couldn't watch.

That, to me, was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard of, but it's just typical of the mentality that governs us today. They knew damned well that what we were doing was fun and that if they couldn't stop us from doing it, they would have to stop people from watching it in case they got ideas. You see, if everybody in our society could do whatever they wanted so long as they did not hurt somebody else, it would have a devastating effect on the country. Industries would fall apart because the employers could no longer exploit their staff and religion would disappear because people would not have to go to a priest or a minister to learn about God. They would know all they needed to know about him. It would be a fabulous place to live in if that were to happen, but the people who rule would never allow it. The police were driving the crowd of spectators away from our fuck-in so they wouldn't get any ideas on how to enjoy life.

Within five minutes, Anne was back in the wagon and within twenty, the wagon was moving. That was the end for us. Anne and I talked and joked to keep everybody's spirits from crashing down from the intoxicating high the orgy had put them on, but I'm afraid it didn't work. By the time we reached the police station, the wagon was filled with depression and it was even worse inside, where we were book and officially charged. When you're in great spirits, you can run around naked and not care who sees you, but when you're low, you feel like such an idiot. In the police station, we were all ashamed of our nudity, even Anne and myself. I guess it was because they, the cops, were in control now. We were back in their world and so we were just a small bunch of odd-balls, not the majority that we were in the park.

"What's your name?"

"Susan Biltmore."

"Oh, yes, we've heard of you before."

They separated the boys from the girls and gave us one blanket for every two nudists. Anne and I huddled in a damp corner and speculated on what was going to happen.

"What's the maximum penalty for public indecency?" I asked her.

"I think we'll get a suspended sentence. We'll have a criminal record after this, but we won't have to spend more than a few days in jail."

"I certainly hope not. This place gives me the creeps."

"Oh, I don't know. I think it's worth it. I mean, you're nobody if you don't have a criminal record of some type by the time you're twenty."

Thinking that way made it easier to get through the night. The next day bail was set at fifty dollars each and those who could pay up got out. That's when I started to get scared. Because, even though I could easily get the fifty dollars, I was denied bail at this time and kept in the cell with the few who could not or would not raise their bail.

"Why am I not getting any bail?" I asked the matron who supplied me with some prison outfits.

' I don't know anything about that, my dear," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared around a corner.

I thought at first it might have something to do with the plaster casting, but if that were the case, why wouldn't Anne be denied bail as well? I was worried and very lonely as the few of us who remained were packed into a paddy wagon and transported like cattle to a women's prison just outside Montreal. This is where we would spend the night. The next day we would come before the magistrate to set a date for our trials.

But in the meantime, I had to sleep in society's dungeon with all the other poor wretches whom society had deemed unsuitable to live in freedom. Naturally I approve of prisons. I think anybody who wants some sort of order in society has to, but this dump! This hole in the ground! Even the loosest definition of reform institution would not include this rat hole.

I couldn't help thinking as I sat bunched up in the corner of the cubicle that was to house five of us for the night of how stupid it was that right now in the government, they were talking of amending the criminal code as part and parcel of the "Just Society" program. The bill had all kinds of goodies in it about homosexuality, abortion and divorce and all of these plus a few more that got a lot of publicity, but nothing was said or written about the crap cans they call reform institutions. Nobody was interested in rehabilitating criminals, only in getting them out of the way-sticking them into these torture chambers to get a venereal disease or be raped by a Lesbian.

Nobody was concerned about the obvious and undeniable fact that prisons were churning out criminals faster than the law could throw them back in. Nobody was prepared to crusade against that. I'm telling you, if you've never been to prison, you have no idea what it's like. They throw young pranksters like me in with hardened felons with records a mile long and expect us to come out untouched. It's like throwing someone with a slight head cold into a room full of people with the plague and expecting him to come out cured of his cold. It's worse than medieval.

That night was the longest of my life. I couldn't sleep for the constant moaning and crying that reverberated around the prison. By the time three-thirty rolled around, I wanted nothing, absolutely nothing in the world, but to get out and stay out of that fucking sewer.

At breakfast, I was sick to my stomach. Alcoholics, drug addicts, Lesbians, prostitutes, murderers and God knows what else, nudged around a table elbow to elbow, slopping down their lumpy porridge, burping, farting and picking their noses. The old broad next to me smelled like a turd. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer. I pushed away from the big table and vomited what little porridge I had been able to eat, plus a lot of bile.

"Clean it up, toute de suite," ordered a guard who looked like she might have a set of sharp teeth in her cunt. I cleaned it up and sat on the floor away from the table until breakfast was over. I spent the time examining the guards. There were three of them in the room and all were heavy, ugly and completely sexless. It would be a safe assumption, too, that they were all either single or Lesbians. I tried to imagine one of them making love to a man and the thought was absurd and repulsive.

".put your cock in my cunt, . thank you, now move it in and out . . . more force, if you don't mind, I've got a leather cunt . . . thank you. Now be sure to tell me when that white stuff is about to come out. I use it for shampoo ..."

Or maybe she was the kind that stuffed the whole man, head first, right up her smelly box, then lifted her leg and spat him halfway across the room, the kind who lubricated their cunts with sulphuric acid.

Anyway, I was damned happy when we were hustled out single file into a waiting paddy wagon and I felt even better when we entered the courtroom and I saw about one hundred and twenty kids, including good old Anne, who was beaming a broad smile at me as I entered and stood where I was told to stand. It's funny what strength you have when you know there are others with you. The tough criminals at the prison were just as much my enemies as the guards were, but here I was among friends and it was amazing how fast the fear and impotency of the night vanished.

The judge read out a list of over one hundred names and then explained that these people would be arraigned in two weeks. Neither Anne nor I was mentioned on that list.

Then the judge read out several more names of people who would be arraigned separately on charges of assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest. Much as they should have been, our names were not included on that list either.

Then the judge announced that the trials of two people would be postponed indefinitely, pending the results of another trial in Vancouver. Those people were Susan Biltmore and Anne Armsted.

"Sunny," I gasped mentally. "The old drunk!"

So that was it. Anne and I were whisked away to the airport and along with two plain-clothes policemen, were hustled aboard a jet bound for the west coast.

Anne was subpoenaed as a witness, which wasn't so bad, but I was being implicated as an accomplice to murder, and I was scared shitless. Obviously, Sunny had lied to get me involved. He was probably sore at me for running off to Montreal and figured there would be no better way to get even with me than by getting me involved in this bloody murder. And even though I had faith in the legal system where crimes of this magnitude are concerned, I was still scared. I had heard too damned often about freak cases where innocent people were hanged for crimes they knew nothing about.

For the whole trip, I sat quietly looking out the window, getting progressively more depressed as we neared our destination. I started to doubt my way of life. Maybe my father and mother, stupid as they were, were right. I mean, I had only been out of the house four months and already I had been arrested twice and was now involved in a murder. The fact that I was entirely innocent was irrelevant. It was the fact that I hung around with people like Sunny that mattered. People are always judged by the company they keep and Sunny, admittedly, was not the best company.

When we landed in Vancouver, we were met by two other plain-clothes cops and the ones who had accompanied us during the flight said good-bye to us as though we were old friends.

On the grounds that I had run out once already, I was denied bail and locked away in another women's prison. During the next few days of incarceration, I felt myself slipping, psychologically. I was heading for a breakdown and every hour drove me further in that direction. But that was just the beginning. The worst was yet to come.

At the preliminary hearing, new evidence was brought in against me, evidence that proved I was being framed. They had found the knife that Sunny used to cut off the old drunk's cock. It had my fingerprints on it. Sunny must have been wearing gloves when he did it and then when I passed out he must have put the knife in my hand. That's the only way I could figure it and that's what I told my lawyer, but I could tell by the way he reacted that he did not believe me. Things were getting worse and worse and I was in a panic.

By the time the trial got underway, many things had switched around. I was being charged with manslaughter and Sunny with being an accomplice. My lawyer informed me of his plan to put me on the stand and then get Sunny on the stand after me. He said that if I were telling the truth, he thought he could rattle Sunny enough to show he was lying. It was a good tactical move, but I knew enough about legal proceedings to know that I would have to face the crown attorney if I took the stand and in my weakening emotional condition, I was afraid of what I might say.

I won't bother you with all the ugly details of the trial, but I will tell you the main factors.

Never, throughout the entire hearing, did my stomach stop flipping around, but by far the worst was when I had to take the stand. It wasn't so bad while my lawyer was doing the questioning, but when the crown attorney took over, things went badly. He asked his questions so rapidly that I really couldn't think properly. I was afraid he was leading me into a trap like I had seen Perry Mason do on television. If only he would slow down a little and give me a chance to figure out what he was trying to make me say. If only the questions were written like a school exam or something, then I would be all right. But, that's not the way a trial works.

In self defense, I started to answer negatively to all his questions, sometimes without even knowing what the questions were. And it was that childish attempt to protect myself that ultimately cooked my goose, as they say. One of the questions to which I answered no was, "Did you return to the scene of the crime the following day?"

A few minutes later two witnesses claimed they saw me there and naturally the court would and did believe them. Had it not been for that, I would be free right now, because the manslaughter charges were dropped two days later when Sunny took the stand.

My lawyer made mincemeat out of him. Had he not been such an egotistical bastard, he might have gotten away with the whole thing, but as it was, he fell right into all the lawyer's traps and ended up confessing the whole thing. He was charged with third degree murder, but I don't know how long a sentence he got. My name was cleared of the manslaughter charge, but I was charged with perjury and would have to face the music for that.

And that's where I am right now, in British Columbia's - beautiful reform institution for women. But before I start telling you about life here on the inside, I must tell you about my lawyer.

Most people think that lawyers are the mo^ law-abiding citizens in the country, next to judges, but that's a lot of bullshit. In fact, many lawyers are just big con men who'll take you for everything you've got and give you nothing in return but a lot of mixed-up legal gibberish.

My lawyer was not a con man. He was a damned good speaker and he knew the criminal code like the back of his hand. But when I was in his office before my trial for perjury, he did something that I would never have expected. He pulled out a marijuana cigarette and offered it to me.

"No, thank you, I don't smoke it," I lied, fearing it was some kind of trick.

"Oh, come on now, I know you do. Don't worry, I'm not trying to catch you. I'll smoke along with you."

Reluctantly I took a few hits off the joint and inhaled them deeply. The lawyer did likewise. He was a young and very handsome man whose name I will withhold. The more marijuana I inhaled, the better he looked.

"If this isn't a trick," I asked him, "why are you doing it?"

"You know that your trial this afternoon is just a formality. You have no hope of beating it. That means you're going behind bars for a few months and in that place you will be lucky if you get an ordinary cigarette, let alone one of these. I just want to see you enjoy yourself before they lock you up."

It was an extremely kind thing for him to do, but I knew men well enough to know that there was more to it than that, so I pushed him further.

"Thank you very much, but it seems to me that there might be some other reason for this treat."

He was a confident man. He had to be to be a good lawyer. So he didn't beat around the bush for too much longer.

"You are the most beautiful client I have ever had and I want you to know that, for the most part, I find your way of life very appealing. Sex is a wonderful thing and it's something else you're not going to get for the next few months. So what I'm saying is that I want it and I'm sure you wouldn't mind it. Why don't we make it right here in my office?"

All I could do was smile. I think of all the times I have been asked to fuck, this one was the most flattering. Here was a man who had made it in society and yet had not given up all his human qualities. Even though he was a lawyer and I a criminal, the call of the cunt was stronger than any social hang-ups he might have had about fucking clients. Of course, maybe this was a common practice for him, but I didn't want to think that at the time and I still don't. If ever I were to get married I think I would like to marry someone like him or even better, him.

I crushed out the joint I was smoking and advanced toward him. "I think that's a beautiful idea," I said, undoing his tie. His arms found their way around my body, and he drew me close. I opened his shirt and ran my fingers through the hair on his chest. When I felt his fingers tug my zipper down at the back, I leaned forward and let my dress fall off my shoulders. I was rather sorry that I had worn a brassiere, because I think they are ugly and silly. But I wanted to appear respectable in court and to stuffy people, a bra is a social necessity.

The lawyer let his shirt cascade to the floor, then undipped my bra. When it came off, my breasts fell forward and brushed against his chest. He held that position for several minutes moving ever so slightly and letting my nipples tickle his rib cage. His hands slid down my panty-hose and his fingers explored the cleavage of my ass. Under his pants, I could feel his cock coming alive. It bulged against my belly.

"Take your pants off!" And while he did, I stepped out of my panty-hose. When we were naked, we came together again. His cock was completely erect now and it stuck straight out about seven inches from his body. When we embraced, it dug into my abdomen.

"You have a very nice cock," I purred, wrapping my hands around it.

"You have a very nice body," he reciprocated.

"Really? What part of my body do you like best?"

"I like all of it, especially your breasts. I love your breasts. They're full and smooth and your nipples are big and hard."

He lowered his head and sucked on my left breast. It felt good. It would be the last time a man would suck my nipples for quite a while and I wanted to enjoy it to the full. I held his head and pushed my breast hard against his face. He increased the suction and I could feel it pulling at the root of my tit. I could feel it in the hollow of my cunt.

"Suck the other one please."

He shifted his head to my right side and took my breast in his hand. It bulged out, the aureole stretched smooth, the nipple straining its tissue. He plunged it into his moist mouth and lapped it with his tongue. My whole body tingled.

"Fuck me. Fuck me now," I whispered, already short of breath. I lay down on my back and spread my legs on the carpet. The lawyer stood for a minute and looked into my cunt, then he went down to his knees and slid along my body, kissing my vaginal lips as he did so. His body was heavy and powerful. It covered mine completely as he held the tip of his hard penis on my clitoris and teased me until a guttural demand gushed from my throat.

"Give it to me. Put it inside! Fuck me!"

But he still held back. Across my lips and chin, his tongue played and tickled. Then it sank deep into my mouth. His hands began once again to manipulate my breasts while he nibbled on my ear.

I was perspiring profusely. My body was burning with passion. I had to have that cock. It was like an addict's fix, but he wouldn't give it to me. I tilted my cunt this way and that, trying to negotiate contact with his rod. I tugged and pulled at him, but he kept the meat away from me. He kept me from my pleasure.

The incessant flicking of his finger across my left nipple tickled me into hysterics. My body pitched and twisted under him.

And then it came, what I had been waiting for. With a soft, mushy sound, his cock opened me up and penetrated seven long, thick inches. The flesh in and around my clit shifted with his thrusts, causing a sensation in my clitoris that would soon make me climax. I lifted my knees up to my chest and rolled my cunt around his cock. His greased organ moved in and out with ease, up to the pubic bone, back to the head, spreading the flexible walls of my cunt and letting them recede again.

Then, with the precision of an acrobat, he withdrew and turned me over. Lifting my hindquarters, he re-entered from the rear. His hands played with my dangling breasts. In this position, he fucked me through one climax and well on the way to another.

Without warning, just as the tingling in my body was about to reach a second crescendo, he pulled out quickly, causing the sides of my throbbing cunt to slap together with a loud smack. He opened my legs and slid between them. Then, lying on his back beneath me, he guided me down onto his swollen organ. This position afforded him the greatest penetration and that, coupled with the continual tweaking of my nipples, brought me to another orgasm. This time he came with me and I could feel his sperm gush in and dribble out of me.

While still inside of me, my lawyer's cock began to withdraw into its foreskin. The ball bag loosened its grip on his testicles and allowed them to droop down to his asshole.

The red flushes that always appear on my breasts slowly disappeared and my nipples started to go slack. It was over.

When we had cleaned up in his private shower, we had a cigarette, then went downstairs to his car and drove to court. He was right, of course. The trial was just a formality and in no time at all I was on my way to prison. He said good-bye and promised to visit me when he got the chance.

As I was leaving the courtroom, he leaned over and whispered into my ear. I am sure all the people in the court wanted to know what it was he said to me. Was he saying we'd appeal? Was he giving me encouragement or legal advice? Nope! He was saying, "You're the best piece of ass I have ever had."

I have seen him three times since then and I think when I get out of here, we'll probably pick up where we left off. But now I must dedicate some space to describing this place. This place of residence or, more likely, this place of residue.

When I arrived I was given my prison dress. It came down two inches below my knees and did nothing for my figure, but that didn't bother me a hell of a lot, since I have never dressed for women anyway. But what did bother me was that they had insisted on cutting off my hair. And I mean right off. It had nothing to do with disease, it was just tradition. I was only supposed to be in there for a couple of months, but they went ahead with it anyway. They just like to humiliate you, that's all. That's what prison life is all about-humiliation. The guards and the warden try everything in their power to make you feel like an animal and the old broads who have been in and out of prison all their lives are exactly that-filthy old animals.

The prison itself was huge. I don't know exactly how many inmates it could hold but it would be in the hundreds. And it must have been pretty well filled to capacity at the time of my sojourn. Each woman had her own individual cell in which she spent about nineteen hours. The other five hours were divided into two hours for recreation (that's a laugh), one half-hour each for breakfast, lunch and supper. And that was how we spent our days.

I resigned myself to the repulsive fact that I would be spending considerable time in this dump. You have to resign yourself or you won't survive. You'd crack up in a week. And, surprisingly, the first few days went fairly well. At the so-called recreation time, I met one or two fairly nice girls who were in on silly charges. They weren't really criminals, but they had already been toughened up by the prison environment. They gave me some very valuable advice which was later borne out rather dramatically.

"These old guards have been around convicts so long that they look and act and think like the criminals they are supposed to be guarding. They don't care whether you're good or not, only whether you're tough. If you are tough, or pretend to be, you'll come out of here in one piece. If you're weak, it doesn't matter how good you try to be, they'll break you, one way or another."

The girl who said that, Bobby Windfred, was killed three weeks later by a couple of Lesbians. None of the prisoners saw the body, but it was rumored that her breasts were cut clean off and her vagina slit open with a butcher knife. Her death hit me very hard, but no matter how depressed I got, I never forgot her advice. It paid off.