Chapter 9
That brief but incredibly intense affair with Samuel drained me to a degree that is almost unimaginable. For days afterwards, I sat in my office completely dazed, listening to my associates without comprehending them, as if they were a bunch of jabbering monkeys.
I began to break into tears at the least provocation. Once, my secretary brought some papers into the office for me to sign and as I was putting the pen to paper, I suddenly had a vision of his cock, erect and quivering, and the bittersweet memories of that organ reduced me to weeping.
A vacation was necessary in order to recover, in order to protect my sanity. I decided to take a week off and isolate myself in my apartment in order to get plenty of sleep and mend my ravaged psyche.
The first two days of my vacation were spent in that manner, sleeping until late in the morning, then breakfasting, showering and returning to bed with a book.
Slowly I regained my strength. My mind began to clear itself of the erotic cobwebs and I could think clearly once again. On the third day I resolved to attempt to break myself of my need for young boys. I went about it methodically, realizing that the only way possible was to have a completely satisfying sexual encounter with a grown man. The first name that leaped into my mind was Charles, a lawyer whom I had known for many years. He was divorced and lived in New York with a fifteen year old son.
While we had been friends for many years, our relationship had never reached that point of intimacy where we could contemplate an erotic alliance. And, since I had drifted into this maddening perversion, I had neither called him nor seen him.
I resolved to be seduced by Charles. It was as simple as that. Lying there, on my bed, thinking of the sexual possibilities to come, I let my hand rove over my body as if it was Charle's hand. My breasts rose to meet the probing fingers, my nipples sung under the manipulation and I felt the delicious shiver that accompanies such caresses.
Then I picked up the phone and called Charles. A voice answered but it was his son, Arthur, who informed me that his father was at work. The child asked if he could take a message.
"No," I said, "tell your father nothing. I am an old friend and I would like to surprise him."
The child hung up and I went back to bed, to plan my next move. I decided to show up at the apartment without phoning, just a few moments before Charles would return from the office. Once in the apartment I would make dinner for him and his son, as a prelude to the seduction scene. I was amused by my planning, done like a military campaign, and I order to prepare it for the night ahead, in order to attempt to condition my body to the hands and lips of a grown man, rather than the organs of children.
Hours passed slowly, the clock on the mantelpiece ticking loudly, ticking off the seconds which would, I hoped, see the last of my cruel and unusual lusts.
The time came for me to dress. But, a second before I rose to drape myself in a seductive, sheer dress which Charles had previously admired, I suddenly had a vision of such brutal charity that I could not catch my breath.
I saw Charles's maleness, detached from his body and beckoning to me. It was not the vibrant, beautifully proportioned cock of a young man. No, it was old and weathered and it hung in a grotesque manner from a picture frame as if it was mocking me.
But the vision passed and I dressed, and left the apartment. Hailing a cab, I was in front of his building a few minutes later. The doorman told me which apartment and I took the elevator up, nervous but dedicated to carrying out my plans.
His son answered the door. He ushered me in when I told him that I was a friend of his father and held out his hand, introducing himself in an adult manner: "My name is Arthur. I have heard my father speak of you often. Now, I'm glad we've met."
I turned away from him after accepting his handshake briefly, not wanting to embroil myself with this handsome sophisticated boy. There was a certain tension in his body and speech which made me realize that an adolescent volcano was buried beneath that suave manner.
"Do you mind if I make supper for the three of us?" I asked him.
"The kitchen is all yours. It's been a long time since Dad and I had a home cooked meal."
I went into the kitchen and began preparing a salad. Arthur followed me in and watched me, seated on a chair near the stove.
"You know," he said, "my father needs a wife."
I blushed at his frankness. So disconcerted was I by his words that the small knife which I was using slipped and the blade went deep into my thumb.
I screamed. Arthur leaped out of his seat and rushed to me, his handkerchief out of his pocket. He pressed the handkerchief against the bleeding wound and held it there.
"It's all right, it's all right," he kept saying to me, trying to assure me that the flow of blood would stop.
We stood there, together like that, my wound throbbing as the blood pumped into his handkerchief. As he increased the pressure of his hand in order to stop the bleeding, our pulses seemed to become one. It was a moment I shall never forget. Shudder after shudder seemed to assail my body, and I cried to him: "Hold me up, hold me up, I am falling." I felt his arm grasp my body and the sudden hysteria passed.
"There," he said, "the blood has stopped," and he removed the handkerchief from the wound.
I sat weakly on the chair, watching the boy as he turned the water on in the sink and began to wash himself.
Then I realized how futile my whole project had been for it was not the father I wanted. No, it was the son I wanted.
Yes, sitting there, still limp from the shock of my bleeding, I knew that I wanted Arthur. I wanted for us to be joined as we had been joined when the handkerchief pressed against my finger. I wanted that same throbbing pulse to become one, to join together in the heat of our bodies.
He looked up from the sink: "Look, I can finish the salad. Why don't you wait in the bedroom? I have a better idea. Why don't you lay down and when my father comes in I'll tell him you're here."
It was a good idea. I was still weak from the wound and from the realization that I could not conquer the cancerous perversion in my soul.
"Will you help me?" I asked weakly.
I struggled to rise from my chair and his strong arm helped. Joined together, we walked slowly to the bedroom. We reached the bed and I sat down on the side of it. He started to return to the kitchen, but I called back to him, in a voice charged with passion: "Wait! Don't go yet. Stay here for a while with me."
Still innocent of my motives, Arthur smiled and nodded. He pulled up a chair and sat beside me.
We were only an inch or so away from each other. The room was dark and only the outlines of our faces were visible. We did not speak but wave after silent wave of emotion poured over me. I knew I had to have him. I knew I had to have that delicately chiselled face against my cunt.
Finally, I spoke: "I have another wound, Arthur."
I could see his face move a bit, more like a twitch, but I could sense from the stiffness of his body that he did not understand my cryptic words.
"Yes, Arthur, another wound."
"That you got in the kitchen?" He asked, still perplexed.
"No," I replied, "that I have had all of my life. It is a terrible wound and it is difficult to heal."
"How can I help?"
"Only one thing ever works on it Arthur, and that is love."
He tensed. The crucial moment was coming and I knew that I must proceed carefully.
"Where is it?" Arthur asked, his voice nervous and almost breaking under the strain.
"Kneel down Arthur."
He hesitated for a long while before he listened to my command. But finally, pushing the chair back, he kneeled beside me.
I exposed my flower. He shivered, aware that he was in the presence of a naked cunt.
"Here is my wound, Arthur, heal it, heal it for me and you, too, will be healed."
The child was so torn by the situation that he could hardly reason. His body seemed a grid on which all the repressions of his life were being played out. There was a demon in that child, trying to tear him apart, trying to keep him from realizing the beauty of the flesh. I spoke to him again: "My wound is waiting for you, Arthur, it is waiting to be healed by your lips and tongue. My wound is warm and moist and it will leap to your healing mouth; that I promise you."
He could not withstand the temptation. His mouth touched the lips of my vagina. I quivered. Every inch of my flesh seemed straining to meet that glorious mouth.
"Yes, Arthur," I cried, "you are healing me. You are healing my wound."
His lips began to move against mine, bringing to them all the hysteria of youth, caressing them as only virgin lips can.
"Open your mouth Arthur, open it and let the snake out."
I felt him breathing heavily and then his lips parted and through them passed the snake of his tongue, pointed and sharp, ready to lance my shivering, expectant cunt.
It entered, going deeper and deeper, sending the most ecstatic spears of passion through my whole body. His tongue was touched by the devil, and its fiery tip made me weep with uncontrollable lust. I could not sit still. I gyrated my body to escape the thrust, and then I gyrated my buttocks to make sure that the tongue explored every moist recess in the center of my flower.
Then I heard a sound. It was the door! Someone was at the door. It must have been Charles, I thought, and Arthur heard it to for he tried to pull away. But I would not be deprived of that gift, not then, never, so I forced his head back between my legs, holding him there with all of my frantic strength.
He fought me. He fought to escape and then, in desperation he sunk his teeth into the juicy flesh of my flower and I fell to the floor, wounded in body and spirit, betrayed by the mouth I had seduced.
Arthur quickly ran to the door and opened it for his father. I arranged my clothes as best as I could and went to meet Charles. He noticed nothing, primarily because he was so surprised and delighted to see me.
All three of us went to the living room and sat down.
"Get us some drinks, Arthur," said Charles and he beamed at me as if saying-here is my son, isn't he wonderful.
It was utterly unreal. The three of us sat there and made meaningless chatter until Charles got up and began making a mushroom omellette for us since he was an excellent cook.
While he worked in the kitchen and talked to both of us, Arthur and I sat, watching each other. The silence between us was heavily charged with lust. Finally, I could no longer tolerate the separation. While his father was making nonsensical chatter, I walked close to him, and let my hand fall between his legs.
Quickly I opened his pants and grasped his globes.
"Stop it," he whispered frantically.
But I massaged those precious organs with such love and expertness that he was silent, breathing heavily as he allowed my hands to do the job.
Charles kept talking from the kitchen but neither of us listened. He was still talking when the juice began to flow from his erect cock and left my hand filled with the fruits of love. Arthur buried his head in his arms as if the events of the past hour were too much for him to bear.
Then we sat down to eat. When dinner was finished, I did the dishes and Charles waited for me in the living room.
Eventually, Arthur excused himself and went to his room. Charles and I sat in awkward silence, but I was still determined to go through with my original plan.
"Why have you come here?"
Charles' question was so unlike him, it was so blunt that for a moment I could not answer. I looked at him, his eyes were boring into me, they demanded an answer. For the first time I realized that Charles had loved me all the time I had known him.
"Here is why I came," I said, and walking to him I placed my lips against his forehead.
Not another word was said. Hand in hand we walked into the bedroom. We undressed quickly and quietly and fell into each other's arms. I felt nothing. Even as his body passed over me and his maleness sunk deep into my waiting flower, even then, I felt nothing except a tiredness and a lack of passion.
After it was over, we talked for a while and then he went to sleep. Soon, I could hear his gentle, steady breathing by my ear.
I tried to go to sleep but it was not possible, for I knew that only a few feet away, Arthur was waiting. I knew that he lay there in agony, his body tense, his mind reeling with the thoughts of our relationship. I had to go to him. With great caution I rose from the bed and slipped silently out of the room. Arthur's door was slightly ajar. I opened it and walked to his bed. He turned and even in the dark I could see his blazing eyes. He threw back the covers and a moment later we were together, our lips and hands crushing each other, his fingers playing with my quivering nipples.
His lips moved to my cunt, wanting once again to suck that juicy fruit. I let him have his fill of that succulent cup and then pushed him away and lay back, holding my arms to signify that I wanted his cock, I wanted it right then, I wanted to be ravaged.
He understood. He did not wait, his gloriously supple body came over me and I strained to receive it. In it went, furious, uncontrolled, without subtlety. But I thrilled to each thrust, bringing my buttocks up to meet him.
It lasted only a moment but it was one of the most glorious moments of my life. Our juice joined together as we exploded our bodies into each other and our teeth drew blood from each other's lips. When it was over, I gently kissed his inert cock, letting my tongue lay just for a moment on the globes.
Then I knew I had to leave. There would be nothing for me there but heartbreak. There was no way to make the transition from father to son. I left quickly. The last thing I remember was Arthur standing there, naked, his eyes like a wounded puppy and his hands stretched out toward me, asking-Why?
My mission had failed. I was more deeply immersed in the bodies of young men than I had ever been. Once again I had deluded myself.
The key incident in this episode is that strange wounding of herself with a common kitchen knife and the subsequent use of the word "wound" to describe her vagina during the seduction of Arthur.
The reader will notice that she wounded herself in the thumb, the finger most like the male penis. So, therefore, subconsciously she performed a double castration on herself, first by wounding the thumb-penis and then by calling her vagina a wound, which can only mean the wound which remains after castration.
We do not know enough about her past life to make a concrete clinical analysis. But we do know enough about her perversion to attempt to fit this strange episode into a general theory of female hallucinations about castration.
There can be no doubt that she was afflicted with a strong case of "penis-envy." Now, this is quite common in women and extremely common in career women. What makes her case unique, of course, is that she hallucinated this fact into a reality for herself and then proceeded to castrate herself on a symbol lie level.
If this analysis is true, and it is only speculation, than we cannot believe her statement that she went to that apartment in order to be seduced by the father. On the contrary, she went there in order to seduce both father and son and create the classical oedipal conflict between them, for that conflict is to a large extent the fear of castration; the fear that the father would castrate the son for desiring the mother.
The reader can see the incredible subtlety of her thought if our analysis is truthful. Furthermore, she has reached a point in relating this episode, where she no longer can tell the difference between hallucination and reality. An excellent example of this is during the seduction scene. Anyone reading that episode cannot help believing that she actually felt a wound between her thighs and only the boy's lips could quench the pain of that wound.
The future contours of her life will depend a great deal on her ability or inability to separate the reality from the hallucinatory sexual apparitions which seem to torment her.