Chapter 1
(Name: Ellen G. Age: Twenty-nine. Place of Residence: Boston, Mass. Occupation: Housewife.)
It started two years ago this winter. The snow had been falling for weeks-first slowly and then in blinding storms. A filthy white crust covered the ground. There was no place to go and nothing to do. The car stood snowbound in the garage.
As for the state of my marriage at the time; it was the same as it always had been-on the verge of breaking up. Night after night he would move over to my side of the bed and slip his hands between my legs, hoping for some feel of cunt. But I kept my legs shut like two iron bars.
His smell-his words-his face-everything about him nauseated me. When he realized my legs wouldn't relax, he kept begging me and telling me how much he loved me. He would take my hand and glide it around his erect cock, hoping the feel of that stiff flesh would make me relent.
Sometimes, I would take pity on him and let my fingers slide over the globes, squeezing and scratching his scrotum until he would lay back and purr like a contented cat. Then I knew it was too late, that I had already made the mistake of appearing interested and the only thing left was for me to slip my rounded mouth over his tip and let the cock move into my mouth. He would raise his ass and begin to pump it into me. I shut my eyes and accepted the thrusts, until the seed poured out and I would throw myself back on the pillow, weeping.
That winter, it seemed that all there was to do was weep. The snow never let up. I was in a prison. Most of my day was spent on the telephone with friends talking about the most stupid things in the world.
And then one day, after a specially heavy snow, the door bell rang late in the afternoon. I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I went to the door and opened it half-way, making sure to keep the chain locked.
Standing in front of the door, holding a massive shovel in his hand, was a young man. Immediately I was struck by the innocence of his face. He was tall and slender and fair-his longish hair curling around his ears. He smiled:
"Do you need the snow shovelled?" he asked.
"I suppose so," I said, not really thinking about the snow but keeping my eyes fixed on his face.
"Five dollars," he said.
"For what?"
"For the whole house and the alley and the garage."
I just stood there thinking about it. For some strange reason I didn't want him to go away, I didn't want to lose that precious innocence.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
God, fourteen, it had been so long since I'd met someone that age. I slipped the chain off and opened the door so I could see his whole frame. He stood there without a hint of self-consciousness.
"You said five dollars?"
"Yes," he replied respectfully, shifting his weight to one side and leaning on the shovel.
"My name is Ellen," I whispered and then cleared my throat and spoke my name again. It seemed unfamiliar to me, as if I was saying something that had no relation to me. He was becoming uneasy. He wanted me to make a decision but was too polite to say so.
"Very well," I heard myself saying, and closed the door and walked to the living room where I sat on the sofa.
As I was sitting there, I realized that my hands were trembling and the insides were drenched with sweat. What had happened to me? From the outside I could hear the sound of the shovel against the caked snow. I had to look at the boy. I had to watch him.
Moving carefully to the window, I pulled the curtains back a little. He was leaning into the shovel, his whole body a poem of grace and discipline. Even from the window I could see the veins stretched taut on his neck and the red flush in the incredible white skin.
I knew he was a virgin. I could feel it deep down in my bones. I knew he had never touched a girl or had never known the glory of the thighs. I kept watching until my body became so weak that I had to sit down.
He was working his way slowly around the house and I knew when he stopped for a rest because then the shovel was silent. I was wearing only a robe and by accident the front opened and I stared down at my full breasts. They were the breasts of a mature woman-the nipples like two heavy ripe fruits.
The shovel started again. I closed my robe and buried my face in my hands. What was happening to me? Why was I suddenly falling apart.
Then the bell rang again. He was standing there, completely exhausted.
"Are you finished?"
"Yes," he said.
I opened the door and beckoned him in with my eyes. He walked inside, leaving the shovel leaning against the front door.
"I still don't know your name."
"Phil," he said, smiling.
Only a virgin smiles like that. Only a child who had never known penetration-who has never known the power in his own cock.
"Why don't you come into the living room while I get your money, I'll make you some hot chocolate to warm you up."
He nodded and followed me into the living room, sitting on the sofa.
My hand trembled as I prepared the drink. The five dollar bill was crumpled in my pocket. Finally, I brought the cup of steaming liquid into the living room and handed it to him, placing the rumpled five dollar bill on the table in front.
"Thanks," he said, grabbing the cup and holding it like a child in his hands.
For just a moment I saw the brilliant whiteness of his teeth. He drank it down and the warmth flooded back in his body. The sight of his lips on the cup made me tremble and the nipples inside the robe sung with desire. I closed my eyes, envisioning that virgin cock, lying gently between his thighs and the tiny, sweet globes hanging loosely.
"Do you want another one?" I asked.
"No thanks, I have to get home."
I suddenly felt that my life depended on his staying with me. I felt that something horrible-something beyond description-would happen to me the moment he stepped out the front door.
"Wait a few more moments."
He didn't understand. He didn't know what to say to me.
I sat down on the sofa beside him. His eyes stared down for a minute at the cleavage between my breasts and then he looked away.
My hands went to my robe and I pulled it open.
"Look, look," I whispered.
He seemed to know what I had done for his head turned reluctantly, almost as if it was a terrible strain.
"Hurry," I whispered.
His eyes were staring at my naked breasts, wide-eyed, almost unbelieving. I could see the beads of sweat standing on his virgin forehead. His arm was beginning to move up, slowly, until the fingertips touched my nipple. I closed my eyes and trembled as he grasped my breasts and began to play with them, and explore them as if they were the most wonderful new toy in the world.
Suddenly, I needed more than that and reaching across with both hands I grasped him by the back of his neck and pulled hard so that his face was buried between the twin mounds. He moaned but stayed there when I released his neck.
"Your mouth, your mouth," I begged. He was so innocent that he knew nothing, not even how to provide his own gratification.
I could feel him struggling in the tit-hollow, trying to understand what was happening. And then, as if by a miracle, his mouth opened and the saliva began to form around the lips. He moved back and went for my nipple.
"Yes, yes," I whispered to the child.
He licked the nipple with his tongue and then took it in his mouth. I began to weep and shiver and pushed the breast in. His mouth was like fire and ice, the velvet lining of the throat making my point erect.
"Suck, suck," I moaned.
His tongue was flicking back and forth at the tit, the saliva beginning to drool down my white flesh. Deeper and deeper I pushed it in until his mouth was filled with my love. His white teeth widened and then sunk into the quivering nipple. I screamed and ran my hands through his golden hair.
Then, suddenly, he pushed the breast out and stood up. He was shaking. There was a wild look on his face as if he was a cornered animal.
"Why did you stop?"
"I have to go, I have to go," he said, almost hysterical.
But his feet wouldn't move. His eyes roamed over the room as if searching for a spot to hide. I stood up and walked over to him.
"Please," he gasped.
What did I care for his pleas? I dropped the robe from my body so he could see my shimmering nakedness. He tried to keep his eyes averted, but like a magnet my crotch drew his stare. The eyes bore between my thighs, trying to see the cunt jewel, trying to see for the first time the object of men's love.
"I want to go."
"But where?" I asked.
He opened his palms and looked at them-they were wet with virgin dew.
I began to undress him, piece by piece. First his jacket and then his shirt. I kissed his bare chest and ran my tongue over his nipples and then under his arms, tasting the bittersweet fear.
He was stiff as a board, his muscles under shock. Then his pants and shoes until the only thing between my love and his virgin cock was a thin pair of underpants. His limbs were straight and pure. I took his hand and guided it over my ass until he pulled it away like my flesh was burning hot.
"Are you frightened?" I whispered.
"I don't know. I don't know anything."
Then, slowly, I peeled down the garment until I could see the shaft lying in that golden jungle and beneath it, the incredibly sweet globes.
I stepped back and stared at it. It was just beginning to come alive. The blood was beginning to pump through that shaft.
I kneeled down in front of that golden rod. I felt that I was experiencing something unique; that I was about to taste the most profound food of my life-a god's food. There were drops of sweat on the insides of his thighs, gliding down the legs.
My lips were coated with a film of passion and inside my throat there was a gurgling like that of a volcano. The cock-tip was beginning to jut out into the empty space of the room. How I loved his innocence at that moment. How I loved the sheer splendor of raw meat encased in a golden fluff.
"Don't move, don't speak," I whispered. His eyes were closed and he swayed slightly from side to side.
I kissed his globes gently. He shivered. I took both of them in my mouth and sucked at the scrotum. He leaned forward and began to moan.
There was an odor from his thighs, an odor of young vibrant maleness, an odor that made me dizzy as I drank it in.
"Please," he begged.
My mouth was hot on his globes and I brought them all the way into my mouth and let the saliva pour over them. Then they slid out. The shaft was growing by the second-its virgin length was feeling for the first time the closeness of a human mouth. I kissed the bottom of his cock-working my way up and down the shaft until the tip was red with lust. He didn't know what to do or how to respond. He just stood there, trembling so hard I thought his body was falling apart.
I moved back a bit and opened my mouth wide. The cock-tip was only inches away. I let my tongue flick from side to side, waiting for the entry. He was afraid to put it in-he was afraid to let his maleness slip in that cavern of love. I opened wider so he could see the pink roof of my mouth.
Each second that ticked by was excruciating for me, I needed that cock desperately. I needed it plunging in my mouth. He leaned forward just a bit. He was weakening. I knew I would have my virgin love.
The tip was at my lips-tasting of the fresh earth and his virgin innocence. There was none of the cracked, putrid odor of my husband's cock-the odor of being encased all in nervous sweat.
I opened the lips wide and it slowly slid in. He groaned and twisted as the wet cage of my mouth fastened around his maleness. He had never known that such feelings existed. He had never known that somewhere there was a female mouth that would send him into a different kind of heaven than the one they had taught to him in Sunday School.
Deeper and deeper it slid and I began to suck. His moans filled the room. I sucked the cock in deep to the roof of my mouth and then played with it. I let my teeth sink gently into the stiff stem until he wept.
Then it was all the way in-up to the base of the shaft-so deep that his golden crotch hairs tickled my nose. I gave him all my love. My tongue played lovingly along his instrument, taking care to coat every inch with the burning saliva of passion.
My hands were around his back, digging into his delicate but lean buttocks, spreading the cheeks and letting them move back again.
It was enough. I pulled my mouth off and he cried as I let him go. Standing away, I could see the hysterical cock coated with my own saliva, shimmering in the dim light of the afternoon. He held out his hands to me in a sign of supplication. He wanted me to lead him further.
"What do you want?" I asked, baiting him. "I don't know."
"You want this," I said, moving my legs apart and thrusting the bottom part of my body forward so he could see the juicy crotch.
"I don't know."
"You want this," I screamed.
I began to rub my crotch until it was festering with passion. Then, I reached down and spread my cunt lips for him so he could see, for the first time, the maw of existence. He tried to turn away but he couldn't.
"Do you see it?"
"Yes."
"I can't hear you. Do you see it?"
"Yes," he screamed.
He was a young man and I was a mature woman but I had absolute control over him. I was the strong one. His physical strength in the bloom of youth meant nothing. I was the power in his life. I was the one who would make him act. The cock was stretching out toward me, excited, poised for entry, a massive, manly piece of meat that had to be satisfied.
"Take it," I whispered, spreading my cunt all the way so he could see the juicy inside. "I can't."
He tried to turn away but the weight of his stiff cock kept him rooted to the ground.
I moved a little closer and began to gyrate my body so he could catch glimpse after glimpse of the waiting nest; so he could see the walls which would close around him, so he could smell the lusting cunt odors which wafted toward him.
"It's yours, take it."
He reached down to touch his cock as if to control it, as if to somehow lessen the desire he felt. But there was no way to stop it. There was no way to keep him from manhood.
"Take me."
"I'm frightened."
I turned around and, leaning over, spread my cheeks so he could see the dark splendor of my ass. Then I spun, and held out my breasts, squeezing them until the nipples danced.
"It's all yours," I whispered, "but you must take it."
"Leave me alone," he screamed.
I watched him stand there, torn by the needs of his adult cock and the childhood feelings of innocence which still polluted him. I was watching a child fall apart.
"It will be good ... I promise you ... it will be the most beautiful thing in your life. You will never forget it. I promise you."
The muscles in his neck tensed. He was making his decision. He would gamble soon.
I turned from him, walked over to the couch, and lay down, spreading my legs so that the crotch was in his line of vision.
He took a tentative step and then stopped-and then moved again.
"It waits for you," I whispered.
I could tell that each movement of his body was an agony for him-but the cock would not let him rest; it was pulling his body step by step to its own gratification.
He reached the edge of the sofa and sat down beside me. His cock was like some primeval lance, suspended between entry and withdrawal. He reached out his hand and touched my bush; then drew back as if he had been bumed.
"Yes, yes, touch it, feel it," I whispered.
The hand snaked out again and I felt his finger playing with the clitoral knob. He moved it down-down-until his thumb was drawing a circle around my cunt lips. His eyes were closed and he breathed heavily.
I spread my legs wider and pulled him over me. At first he fought but then his body relented. The weight of his young body drove me down in the sofa. I felt the cock searching for the nest, twitching with the unbearable agony of time. Holding it in both hands, I rammed the squirming muscle into my cunt. The boy screamed as my nest sucked him in.
He tried to thrash-to twist-to pull his maleness from the cunt clutches but it was too late-the red-tipped cock had taken charge.
"Drive," I begged.
I pushed my ass up off the sofa to pull it in deeper, to feel every inch of flesh.
And then, something in him, some hidden knowledge that runs through his blood, gave him the signal. In an instant, I felt the terrible thrust of his cock driving deep and I fell back to the sofa only to rise again. And again he drove, coiling and uncoiling his body like some primeveal coil.
I could feel the vibrating phallus, the blood pouring from tip to shaft-the crushing of my own cunt walls as it lanced me again and again. We became two animals, two berserk animals trying to destroy and then to bring to life.
The innocence slipped from his shaft with each plunge. His mouth was against mine and he forced his tongue inside, moving it with an hysterical abandon.
He was grinding the cock into me. His childhood was gone. My cunt sucked the shaft in, covering it with the juices beginning to form along the maw. I was being sent to hell by a virgin cock and begging for more.
Then he froze in me and it grew so large that my cunt walls screamed with pain. He was nailing me to the sofa. I heard him expel his breath like an engine and then he plunged with a fury-sending my body deep into the fabric-his seed pouring out in a hot, vibrant stream.
It was over. He rolled off me. His eyes stared at the ceiling in shock.
"But now me," I whispered.
Crawling over him, I straddled his face with my cunt and forced the tongue from his mouth until it had plunged deep into the maw-still wet with his own seed. He nicked his tongue in agony and a second later I went over the top.
All was quiet. I gazed at his thighs and the semen still dripping down. He was soiled-totally soiled-the once-virgin shaft was now ugly and brutal, without charm. It was the same ugly flesh as Karl.
Suddenly I felt disgust, total and complete disgust. I wanted him out of there, I wanted him out of my house. The young, golden virgin was no more.
"You'll have to leave," I said.
He sat up-shocked by the change in my voice, by the tremor of dislike.
"But why?"
"You have to go-now get out of here." He dressed and opened the door, staring at me and saying:
"Can I see you again?"
"No."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I-now get out."
The door closed and I heard the shovel scrape against the door as he picked it up.
I was terribly tired and I crawled up to my room and lay down on the bed. I couldn't understand what had happened to me-the sudden need for the virgin and then the massive disgust I felt once his innocence had been wrenched away from him by my own body.
When Karl came in I was fast asleep and didn't wake until the next morning.
I tried to forget the whole incident, to push it out of my consciousness, but from time to time it would appear and drove me screaming to my bed.
Then it snowed again-a driving, deep snow that covered the city like some obscene blanket. Once again I was a prisoner in my own house. Once again there was no where to go and nothing to do.
A week went by and the snow kept falling. I could see nothing outside my window. When that bell rang again during the afternoon, I began to shiver. I was afraid of who it would be. I was afraid there would be another young boy, another virgin cock that would seduce me.
"Excuse me, Miss, five dollars for your house."
This time he was dark haired and short. His body was compactly put together and he kept sweeping a long lock of hair out of his face.
Not again, I kept telling myself, not again. I turned away from him without answering. My underarms were wet with sweat. "You hear me, Miss?"
"Yes, I heard you," I muttered, still keeping my back toward him.
"Five dollars is a good price."
"I suppose it is."
"And your snow's pretty deep."
What had the other boy said? Did he use the same words? For the first time in my life I wished Karl was there; at least his presence would keep me honest.
"O.K., O.K.," I said, and closed the door quickly. It was happening all over again but I knew I had to fight it. I shut my hands over my ears to stop the sound of his working from reaching me.
I was pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Where was he now? In the back? In the front? In the driveway? He looked like a young god, dark, mysterious, and above all there was that obvious innocence. For a moment I hallucinated that there was a conspiracy against me-to throw those virgin temptations on me.
It was no use. I walked into the kitchen and then used the side door to walk into the garage. It was freezing and I closed my robe tight. From one of the clear windows I could see the back of the child.
Banging on the glass, I caught his attention. I felt like some snake who had slithered up from the ground and was about to pluck a remarkable fruit. But with the snake's guile and courage was human guilt.
He stamped the snow off the shoes before he walked in the garage and then stood in front of me-a questioning look on his face.
"I didn't get your name."
"Bob."
"Hello, Bob," I said gently, and he flushed slight-ly.
"I have to finish up."
"No, wait," I said suddenly. "For what"
There was no time with this one. There was no time for the elaborate offerings I had given the other.
I was on my knees in front of him, digging at his pants. He cried out once but I savagely told him to shut up and before he could respond physically, I had his cock in my hand, his slim virgin cock-resting like a wounded bird in the palm of my hand.
"Be quiet, be quiet, my little bird," I whispered, almost hysterical with joy. I began to stroke it, to feel the globes and pinch the blood into the shaft until it was growing and pulsing from my caresses.
There was no time for anything but love. I worked his tender cock until it had reached the full bloom of manhood-until it was standing straight out-pointing toward the womb that I wanted it to enter. I opened my robe and stepped back so that my buttocks were crushed against the steel of the car. I held out to the child my hands and my cunt-squeezing the fig of life until it seemed to suck him in with the drops of moisture that were being pushed to the vaginal lips. He was walking toward me. All the virgins crumble before a juicy cunt. I pressed back against the fender and grinded my ass until he was close. The boy's face was a mask. Did he hate me or did he love me? Did he know what was happening to me?
The cock-tip was against my crotch and I spread the cunt lips with my fingers. He rammed it in, driving it deep with one thrust and pinning me to the car. I began to twist and his shaft followed my every move and he sent it cutting through the dripping cunt walls which surrounded the stiff flesh. It was good-it was so good and so beautiful. I took it all in and then began meeting his thrusts-driving forward until in protection he had to summon all of his strength and ram it to the depth of the womb. I was wounded and broken but a second later the orgasm rent my body and I soaked his seed up. When it was over, again that hatred for a virgin who had become tarnished. His body was filthy and ugly to me and I drove him from the garage without pay.
From then on there was no stopping my madness. And even now, even after all this time, I no longer know whether I am right or wrong or pathetic or psychotic. I only know that I must follow my lust.
R. D. Laing, the British psychoanalyst, has made one of the most important modern contributions to the theory of Schizophrenia. In his book THE DIVIDED SELF (Penguin Books, Baltimore, Maryland, 1965) he writes:
"The hysteric pretends that certain highly gratifying activities are just pretending, or do not mean anything, or have no special implications, or that he is merely doing such and such because he is being forced to, while secretly his own desires are being fulfilled in and through these activities." (p.96)
We must remember that statement while dealing with this case. Ellen continually tries to give the impression that she is acting under a demon, an uncontrollable urge. This, of course, is not the truth. Ellen is seducing virgin boys in order to obtain gratification-a gratification that has been thwarted her whole life.
Thus, her need for the children is a need for a cathartic gratification-an orgasm which will dispel certain unconscious thoughts that have been troubling her psyche. But why young virgins? This is a difficult problem and an exceedingly delicate one for the patient.
We can, however, make a beginning. It must have been at some point in her childhood when she suddenly felt the loss of both a spiritual and a sexual virginity. Undoubtedly, such fantasies of loss of virginity occur during the most intense phase of the Oedipal complex where the young girl actually wishes and sometimes believes that her father has raped her.
As a woman, with this unresolved conflict still in her psyche, she projected the loss of virginity into the young men. But she did more than project-she actually wished for a vengeance on her father for the mythical and hysterical rape of herself. She would rape the young boys, divert them of their virginity just as her father did to her.
Her poor relationship with her husband only fed fuel to her fantasy. Even her husband became a part of the conspiracy; of the phallus-father trying to re-assert his right to the hymen of the young daughter.
At the present, she is not actively seeking out such relationships. The phenomenon of cold winters provides her with fodder for her designs. But once she is willing to leave the house to actively solicit children on the street, there is no doubt that the authorities will eventually apprehend her and then she will be forced to receive adequate treatment.