Chapter 3

The gates of passion had opened and flooded every waking moment. When I returned from the cottage I knew that from henceforth, my life would be a struggle with this disease, these horrible desires which I could not control.

Everywhere I went, on every street I walked, my only thought was to find those young willing bodies which could give me the satisfaction I needed. It became more than a need, it was a compulsion. I began to desire young boys in the same way that a thirsty man desires water. The psychologists who talk about controlling emotions do not understand women like myself. There is no possibility of controlling a physical desire so powerful that the body shakes and cries out when it is deprived.

I began to dress in a strange manner, wearing little childish gimmicks, a feather or button, in order to tempt the young boys and show them that I sympathized with their thoughts and desires and ambitions.

Each day at the office was a torturous affair. My work no longer interested me and each report or paper which crossed my desk seemed to be a direct affront to my new-found passion. All day, seated in that silly executive chair, I watched the clock, waiting for the hours to pass so that I might go into the street. Before I became afflicted with these needs I used to work late in the office. But, then, I left with the office help, almost racing them to the elevator in my rush to leave that executive tomb.

A profound change took place in my thinking. The career which had been my object in life, my struggle to prove that a woman in business with the necessary talents can prove even more valuable than a man, that goal now went by the wayside. All of my past strivings seemed silly, hollow, the product of a deranged mind. Yes, this was one of the most peculiar aspects of my lust. While I knew it was a perversion, I still felt that for the first time I was healthy. And this health manifested itself in concrete ways. The small headaches which used to plague me during office hours disappeared. The pains in the small of my back went away. And, most important, for the first in many years I fell asleep quickly and easily, without resorting to pills, and slept right through until the morning.

But, on another level, the psychological one, I was like a person perched on a tightrope. Every sense that I possessed seemed to operate at a heightened and an excited pitch. A pleasant odor, from a tree or plant, which used to gain only my shrugs, now seemed to possess a cosmic significance. I often despair putting into words the dramatic change in my life.

One night, all these new, almost unbearable sensations that I was experiencing seemed to find their shape in a horrible incident, an incident which even when thinking of now, I am filled with the most horrible dread and the most delicious tremors.

I left the office that night at about five o'clock. Waiting for the elevator, an Executive Vice-President of the firm passed me by. He stopped, and said, smiling: "Now, I remember the time when we couldn't drag you out of the office."

I wanted to tell him my innermost feelings about him but I held my temper in check, and replied, smiling back at him with a copy of his sickening, phony smile: "As we grow older we grow more efficient. I can now do three hours work in one hours' time. This is the beauty of women executives."

He smiled at me again, not knowing whether I was serious or joking and then he moved out of sight.

The moment I got downstairs I began to walk. It was a beautiful evening, and the city seemed almost serene. Where I was headed, I had no idea, all I knew was that I wanted to stretch the cobwebs from brain and body, grown moldy from a day at the executive wheel.

I walked for hours and gradually I found myself in a rundown section near the waterfront. It had grown dark, except for the lighted fronts of bars which seemed to be interspersed between every two or three buildings. There was a diner in my path, a typical "greasy spoon" used by the waterfront truckers. I entered and ordered a cup of coffee at the counter. A few men were in there and they looked me over from top to bottom. The coffee had been made early in the morning and it was so strong I could hardly drink it.

Then, looking out the window of the diner, onto the street, I saw a strange scene. A small, black boy had approached a man, obviously in search of some change. Instead of giving the child a coin or saying no, the man had raised his hand in a threatening manner and I could see the boy cower against the side of the diner.

I left my coffee and went outside. The boy was still there, afraid, his hands shaking.

"Are you all right?"

"Who wants to know, lady?" He said, in a bravado manner.

At that moment, when I asked him the question and even when I had first spotted the child, there was no erotic thought passing through my mind, at the conscious level. All that I knew was that here was a child who was in need and had been brutalized by a man just because he asked for a few pennies. I swear that these were the only considerations. I bent closer to the boy and said: "I saw you from the diner and went out because I thought that man had hurt you."

"He didn't hurt me, lady."

The child was obviously not friendly and I turned to go.

"You got something for me, huh?"

He was a very bold black boy. I smiled at him and opened my purse, taking out a quarter. I looked at him. His face was both arrogant and pleading. He was very proud and very much in need of money. Such a situation had never occurred in my experience but I knew what a terrible situation it was for any person to be in, let alone a child.

He opened his palm. Taking a step toward him, I pressed the coin into his palm.

"Here, use it well," I said to him. It was a stupid sentence but I could not think of any other.

Then, suddenly, I felt myself unable to remove my fingers from his palm. We just stood there, that tiny sphere of coin joining us in some bizarre fashion. I looked at his face and eyes. The blackness of his person blended in with the blackness of the night. He was so young and so frightened and so desirable.

Right there, at that moment, I knew that I had to have him sexually. I had to, somehow and in some manner, open my body to him.

"Come with me, please, I beg you."

He looked at me, unable to understand, unable to envision what was about to happen. As each moment passed my lust grew and grew, it snowballed into an almost unimaginable desire. Still holding on to his hand, I tightened my grip and began to pull him into the pitch darkness at the rear of the diner.

"Lemme go," he said, frightened, afraid that he was dealing with a woman who had lost her sense.

"Listen to me, you must come with me, now. Nothing will happen to you. I promise you safety and love. I promise you whatever you want."

He was only a child, in his early teens, and he did not have the strength to withstand me. Half pulling him, half dragging him, we reached the small dark alley way which ran in the rear of the diner. I threw him to the ground. Quickly, kneeling beside his quivering body, I ripped open his pants and dug my fingers inside until, triumphant, I touched the black cock.

The boy began to struggle in earnest, but the more he fought the more I forgot I was a woman and felt like some hunter who had just brought down a succulent prey.

How his organ danced in my hand! How if fitted into my heated grasp! The night around became chilly. My eyes bore into him, immobilizing him, as in one of those strange movies where a super-natural object controls the actions of human beings.

"I love you, my little black child. I love your delicious cock as it caresses my hand. I love the feel of your vibrating flesh as it touches me."

His eyes grew wider with fear as I continued to moan these words. Bending closer, I placed my heated lips against his forehead, trying to transfer the passion which was within me.

Then I stood back, and lowered my undergarments. The cool night wind brushed against my naked buttocks and thighs. But those feelings only gave impetus to my passion.

He watched me with astonished eyes, propped up on his elbows, his organ waving in the night, trying to understand the hysterical white woman who had exposed herself before him.

"Lemme go, lemme go," he called out, without moving, as if knowing that every action he would take must be at my command. But I could not let him go. My nipples were vibrating with a profound intensity and the lower part of my body alternated between waves of hot and cold chills.

"Stay, stay," I warned him. There was a steel hard quality in my voice, more like a robot than a woman. I was beyond reason.

I watched his erect organ, pointing toward the stars and swinging from side to side in a strange, questing state. I followed that movement of his erect flesh, outlined against his black body which in turn was outlined against the black night.

For just a moment longer I hesitated, and then, I leaped upon the child, opening my thighs as I leaped, and impaling my lusting vagina on his dark organ.

It sank in so quickly and beautifully that I almost lost consciousness. My cunt drank up his penis, sucking it deeper and deeper. He tried to escape, he tried to pull that delicious organ out, but the walls of my flower were like a vise. What was once gained by my womanhood would never be relinquished.

The more he struggled the more shafts of joy moved through my body. I could feel the tip of that furious cock eating up my insides. I pressed down against him, wanting to be impaled even more, wanting to be martyred on that weapon. My hands slid under his shirt, to feel his lean breasts and my hands played with his childish nipples.

His hands clawed at my buttocks trying to remove my crushing weight but the more they dug into me, the more excited I became. It was growing and growing within me. I began to move my buttocks faster and faster in a circular movement, actually grinding the child into the ground. He cried out once during this glorious rape but I rammed my tongue into his mouth and he almost choked.

Soon, he could not help himself. His fear and his hatred of me were overcome by my powerful, lusting cunt, which turned on his flesh. The rhythm of my body began to draw him out and to seduce him into the music of his own body. He began to make little gasping sounds, like an animal crying over some lost home. Yes, he had lost his home. He had lost all his innocence for in spite of the fact that it was I who had raped him, at that moment, just before ejaculation, his cock was the cock of a full man and it tore my vagina with its thrusts which no longer needed my weight to be potent.

A second later that glorious seed came. It felt so beautiful as it flowed into my cunt, as my flower sucked up that hot juice which was a tribute to both of us. It was over and we lay there with the light from the neon sign of the diner showing on the wall above our head.

I knelt beside him and thanked the frightened bruised child. Picking him up in my arms, so that he was sitting up, I let my white breast glide against his lips. When they opened, I forced my nipple into his hot frantic mouth. We sat there for a long while. Soon he understood, and he became the son I had never had, sucking tenderly on the nipple as if it was the gateway to the richest milk a female could offer.

"Be still, it is all over," I crooned these words to him as if he was a baby, and began to rock him in my arms.

Finally, his lips dropped my breast and he struggled to get free. I released him. Standing up and shaking himself like a dog, he buttoned his pants. He was too ashamed to look at me, he averted his eyes to the ground and I could hear him mumbling some words.

Digging into my pocketbook I extracted all the bills that were there. I shoved them into the palm of his hand, the same palm which only a few minutes ago had aroused me to such a fury of lust. He looked at the bills as they rested there, his eyes blinking, unsure of himself before all of that money. Then, with a shrug, he turned and ran. I lost sight of his body after he turned the corner of the alley. My eyes yearned for one more glimpse of the child, but there was only darkness to greet my vision.

Lying on the cold ground, I buried my head in my arms and wept.

The rape of the black boy is a crucial episode in her life. This was the first incident in which she actually took to the streets in order to satiate her passion. No doubt, subconsciously she was looking for an erotic experience which would offer her a chance to enter another milieu, in this case the milieu of the waterfront.

But the importance of the rape goes far beyond this. For, if we look deeper into her description of the event, from the time she touches the boy's palm and is almost overcome by passion, to the moment when she weeps after he is left-we are struck by one peculiarity. That is, the rape was completely spontaneous and the idea only arose in her mind after she saw the boy's erect penis.

Any clinical analysis would have to take in the strong possibility that this rape was a symbolic form of suicide. At first this may seem farfetched to the reader, but notice the language she uses, words like "weapon" and "impaled"-in short, words which usually are associated with some form of killing or injury.

In raping the black boy, the woman was both accepting her perversion and martyring herself to it. Perhaps the reader can best understand this by thinking in terms of religious fanatics who often are compelled to inflict some bodily injury on themselves in order to make themselves pure enough for the religious experience.

Only in these terms, in fact, can we begin to understand the depth and intensity of this woman's lust.