Chapter 3
(Name: Felicia V. Age: Twenty-seven. Place of Residence: New York City. Occupation: Housewife.)
Just look around me. I have everything. A magnificent apartment with a view overlooking the river on three sides. A husband with more money than he knows what to do with. Maids, clothes, jewels, servants, cars, personal hairdressers, personal masseurs-yes, everything.
But everything really means nothing. Of course, only the rich really know what nothing is ... we can appreciate it. We are the ones who really rot away, who really feel the decay of our bodies.
When I was married five years ago I thought all the joy in my life would keep increasing. But it ended; it ended so quickly that it almost took my breath away. It ended that one particular night.
My husband and I had been to a party and we had been drinking heavily. It was late when we got home and I fell on the bed with my clothes still on.
"Why don't you get up and stop lying there like a drunken panhandler."
I thought he was joking but then I realized there was disgust in his voice. I realized for the first time that my husband had grown tired of me, that he kept me along only for the ride, only because it was too much trouble to divorce me. Suddenly, at that moment my whole world crumbled. I remember laying in bed that night and thinking. His soft breathing was audible. I wanted so much to remain loved, to somehow be wanted, to maintain the role of the wife. Lying there, unable to sleep, the tears falling down my cheeks, I became desperate. The need for happiness was like a cancer, eating all other cells. I slipped my hand over and rested it between his legs. He stirred but didn't wake. The flannel of his pajamas caressed my hand. I found the slit and my hand moved inside until it touched flesh ... until it touched the exquisite globes hanging just beneath the cock.
When I held him like that, he had to love me. When my fingers played with his globes, he had to know that the only way everything could be right in the world was to be loved by me. I spread the pajama bottoms wider and my face moved into the jungle of hair. He smelled gamy and beautiful. I licked the base of the cock and slowly began to work my way up, toward the tip. It was beginning to grow, to pound.
Suddenly, I felt a terrible pain at the back of my head and I was sent reeling away from him. When I gained my balance I found myself on all fours, staring dumbly toward him. Yes, he had struck me in a cold fury. He was sitting up:
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Doing? You're my husband."
"Just leave me alone."
With that he turned over and tried to fall asleep again. I found myself trembling, my whole body distraught with the idea that he had rejected my mouth. I crawled to him like a starving dog crawls to the master. I moved around the other side and bared my crotch against his face, hoping the delicate scents of my womanhood would overcome his hatred.
"Get away."
His voice was steel. His voice cut through me until I was unable to breathe.
I crouched in front of him, my hands on the in-sides of my thighs, rubbing the crotch line-spreading the cunt lips so he could see what was waiting for him ... so he could see that I was ready to give him all my love. My face was a mask of agony. I slipped a finger deep up my nest and twirled it about, driving myself upwards with a fury, fingering my own body to absorb the strength I needed to confront him.
"Don't throw me away like a piece of garbage."
"You're imagining things, Felicia, go to sleep."
I pulled my finger out and cupped my breasts so that the nipples were standing straight out toward him.
"Love me," I begged. "Go to sleep."
"Love me," I whimpered and my nipples were dancing and quivering in the air.
He turned away from me and buried his face in the pillow. I was right-he did think of me as garbage, as something that could be thrown away.
I went for him like a lioness, pulling back the covers and ripping his pajamas from his body. For a moment he took my attack without a word and then I felt his muscles tighten. He pushed me back and I rolled so that my legs were against the wall. I saw his cock-suddenly erect-suddenly waving in the dark night. He came toward me.
"You stinken bitch," he screamed.
I rolled away from him. He seemed to have gone berserk. I tried to get off the bed but he caught me and pulled me down and the next moment I felt his teeth digging into my white breast until it was covered with blood. He was like a crazed animal, chewing at the tit and then lacerating the nipples until I started to weep and begged him to stop.
Finally I pushed him off and I started to slide to the floor. He caught me while I was halfway down and pulled me back up. There were no preliminaries. He spread my legs apart and brutally rammed his cock in-sending it all the way-sending the tip deep into my nest. I struggled and squirmed but it only sent the giant shaft deeper. I had never known him like that. He was ripping me apart. I moaned and wept and cried out for him to stop but he pumped like a madman.
I could feel every ridge of the shaft, every muscle and vein and it slid up and down, growing larger and larger. My vaginal walls sucked it up no matter how hard I tried to fight. His face was twisted into a grotesque mask and I could hear the sound of his desperate breathing as he pumped. He was hurting me ... more than I have even been hurt in my life. Each thrust sent chills up and down my spine and opened my cunt until his thrusts were reaching the womb. I was being sent on a phallic journey to hell.
Then he stopped and it swelled inside of me. A second later his body convulsed and the seed ran through the shaft. But he pulled it out and in a gesture of contempt and hate, he let the cock spend its seed over my face, the liquid running down my eyes and mouth and throat.
"Bitch," he muttered hoarsely. Then he picked himself up and walked out of the room. I lay there ... almost collapsed. In that one night every dream I had was shattered. Every myth about happiness and my marriage were torn asunder in the terrible thrusting of his cock.
It was all over. The marriage was all over though we stayed together. So, as the days and months passed and I realized that in spite of my hurt I had to survive. I began to look for an alternative mode of life; one that would not revolve around him. I tried all the things ... all the hobbies ... but I grew bored with each one.
Painting, school, knitting, cooking-you name it and I tried it. But there was a void-a gap in my life and I couldn't fill it.
I knew my husband was having affairs with other women but when I tried to have an affair it ended disastrously. It seemed that everything I did, I did wrong.
Even the servants laughed at me and sometimes when I passed the maid's room I would hear her shaking her head and muttering as if I was the saddest example in the world. I began giving them extra days off because I couldn't stand to know that they were sitting around and pitying me.
When the maid and servants were gone I would take a perverse pleasure in cleaning up the house, in doing all the dirty chores. At least there was something intelligent in such acts; it was my house and I should clean it. I actually began looking forward to the days when I would send them away and the whole massive apartment was mine alone.
One afternoon, not more than a year ago, I was in one of those situations. Dressed like the lowliest maid, I was wearing a small smock and a dust rag around my head.
The buzzer rang. It was the downstairs doorman telling me that the delivery from the butcher had arrived.
"Send him up," I replied, trying hard to sound like the maid. I felt a tremendous excitement as if I had discovered a new game. The back door to the apartment faced the kitchen and I sat down at the kitchen table. About two minutes later there was a knock at the door. I opened it up and saw a young boy standing there, holding a large bag in his hand. He was very shy and he kept his eyes averted from me.
"What's that?" I asked. "Meat."
"But we didn't order meat," I said, trying to annoy him in a friendly manner.
"Look, lady, here's the slip and it has this apartment on it and this address. Ask the lady of the house."
He had fallen for it. He believed I was the maid. I almost started to laugh.
"But the lady of the house is out."
"You-want me to take it back?"
The boy was getting very impatient and shifting the bag from one hand to the other. "What's your name?" I asked. "Edward."
"Well, Edward, why don't you put the bag on the table and we can see what's inside."
"What you ordered is inside."
"You never know."
He sighed once as if he had dealt with crazy maids all his life and then placed the bag on the table and opened it. A healthy portion of raw chopped sirloin was resting in his hand.
"I love raw meat," I said, breaking off a chunk and eating it.
"You satisfied?"
"I suppose so."
"Then I'm going."
"But wait a minute, Edward, you have to taste some of the meat also ... or how will I know it is good?"
"You tasted some already."
"But I don't know meat. You work for a butcher. You know."
He kept squinting his eyes to see if he was really understanding what I had said. The boy probably thought I was crazy.
I broke off a piece of the raw meat suddenly and before he could protest any more I had pushed it against his mouth. He choked and spat. Laughing, I slowly peeled the shreds of meat from his mouth. When my finger touched his lips I felt a chill and I moved back. Something, in that instant had happened to me. It was no longer a game. He watched me with wide-opened eyes. There were a few more shreds of the meat on his lower lip but I dared not attempt to remove them. We both stood absolutely still and just stared at each other. Then he wiped the foreign matter away and started to the door. I felt open-totally open-as if he was something peering deep into my unconscious. It was crazy, I knew that, he was a stupid little delivery boy. I closed my eyes and shivered when I remembered the touch of his lips on my fingers.
"I have to go," he said.
"Then go," I snapped.
He still didn't open the door. I could see the beads of sweat and fear beginning to form on the back of his neck.
I was backed up against the kitchen wall.
"Turn the light switch off," I said. My voice came out in a whisper and I didn't know why or how I had said it. I just heard my own words coming out of the body. He flicked the switch and the kitchen was swathed in semi-darkness; only a few rays of the late-afternoon sun penetrating. I was shaking from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes. I held out my arms to some mythical savior but there was only a child. I ripped the stupid kerchief from my head and it fell to the floor.
"You can't go ... you mustn't go ... you must listen to every word I say," I whispered.
Slowly, in front of the child, I began to peel my clothes off. I don't know why-all I did know was that suddenly I felt I was strangling to death.
First the buttons on the front of the dress and I pushed my own naked breasts out and felt the currents of the air as they moved along the nipples. The boy was staring; I could see his lips move a bit when his eyes caught the ripe cherries suspended from the ends of my breasts.
The dress was off and then my undergarments and I felt my naked ass press against the wall. "Do you see how easy it is, Edward?" I asked. "What do you mean easy?" His voice was trembling and quiet.
"Pick up the raw meat and bring it to me." I saw his fingers grope toward the red, raw substance. And then the fingers and meat joined and he looked like he was holding the most terrible substance in the world.
"Bring it to me," I whispered. He began to walk across the room, stiff-legged. "Yes, keep coming."
He stopped about six inches away from me. I could see him straining to keep his eyes straight ahead, to avoid the naked female body that was beginning to squirm against the wall. My ass was hot from the plaster and each time I moved my cheeks spread just a bit.
"You may look at me," I smiled.
Suddenly, his eyes were all over me, boring into my flesh, digging and exploring. I could feel his eyes in my crotch and then over my breasts and then under my silky underarms.
"Do you like me?" I asked.
All he could do was shake his head. He had never seen the ripeness of maturity. He had never seen the full-bosomed nipples, choice and thrusting out.
He was trembling all over. I knew he couldn't wait. He leaned forward just a bit and the tip of his young tongue moved out like a snake and caught the tip of my nipple. I backed against the wall, moaning.
"I have to go," his voice trailed off.
Then his hand took some of the meat and spread it gently over the nipples. I winced and then felt myself being enveloped by the blood and the death. I closed my eyes. The raw meat was like some magical poultice which covered my breasts, bringing the love of the dead animal to me.
He sucked the raw meat off my tits and I threw myself against the wall, almost screaming with erotic desire. The feel of his tongue and teeth as it scraped the dead flesh from my own living point was almost too much to bear. "No," I moaned.
The raw meat was off. My nipples were covered with blood and saliva and I alternated between horror and the need for his childish mouth again. I needed all he could give me ... I needed every drop of saliva he could coat my nipples with.
Then his hands took another scoop of the meat and slipped it under my arms, entwining it in the downy hair. His tongue followed the meat and scooped it from my armpits and I felt myself falling from the touch. He was no longer a child-he was giving himself totally over to instinct. He was letting his organs direct him.
I slid along the wall, away from him, but he followed me like a ghost and my ass kept spreading as it moved along the plaster.
I stopped near the door and this time when I looked his hand was full with what was left of the meat. I spread my legs and something inside of me made me dance my ass against the wall, as if I was some primitive woman sacrificing myself to the young warrior. His eyes followed the movements of my body and when I turned to face the wall for a moment I felt his hand stroke my naked ass and probe between the cheeks.
Then I turned to him with wet and needy cunt, my crotch singing with his closeness. He slid one hand between my legs, the hand with the meat, and joined the raw steak with my nest, spreading it all along the cunt lips until I felt I had emerged straight from a slaughter house. He stepped back and his face was creased with doubt and fear.
"Hush-listen to me, Edward, you are doing what you have to do."
My fingers were around his neck forcing him down, forcing him to kneel. I heard him sob as he pushed his head between my legs. But he was still low down and I pulled him up until in one giant lunge he buried his face in my raw, hot crotch and he wiped his face with my crotch hairs and wept into the jungle of love. He kissed my cunt through the raw meat and then, slowly, with great love and great tenderness, began to suck the meat away. A piece at a time and as each piece went my whole body moaned and I closed my eyes and swayed.
I was being taken care of ... I was being fucked with a child's mouth. I whispered that I wanted his tongue but he kept sucking. I began to weep and moan until the child became a snake and it slipped out of his fiery mouth and impaled me against the wall. The tip was moving in ... all the way in ... probing toward the deepest area-toward the dark, juicy maw where eddies of juice play and wait to drown the alien object. My vaginal walls were dancing around his pink glory and my nails raked the back of his neck. His moans and cries of animal lust were lost in the echo of the juices which lapped around him.
I was reaching it-I was reaching the threshold-every thrust sent me closer and closer. Then, without warning, a sudden flash of lightning and I exploded on his mouth-going over the top in the most beautiful orgasm I had ever experienced. I fell to my knees and pushed his mouth away. But he was crying for more ... he was desperate for my taste ... the child was only beginning. As he lay there, I crawled to him and draped my juicy climaxed cunt over his face and let his tongue lick all the moisture away until he was satiated.
We were silent for a long while.
"Flick the light on," I finally said.
Once there was light, I could see the streaks of raw meat which dotted the area. He gazed at my nakedness in the full light of the kitchen and, opening his pants, tried to slip his cock between my cheeks, trying like a stupid little boy to obtain gratification in the only hole he saw. I closed my ass and bruised his shaft. He crept away to the door and crouched there like a wounded animal.
"You must go."
"No."
"Tomorrow ... come back tomorrow," I whispered. Half begging, half pushing, I finally let him leave, and our lips brushed just lightly and our tongues met for the briefest of moments.
It was over. That night, when my husband came home, I felt none of that desperate hurt and animosity. I felt nothing but contempt for myself that I had let him abuse me.
"You look good," he said.
"I feel good," I replied evenly. I wondered who his new mistress was but I no longer cared, I no longer would worry myself to sleep every night.
He wanted to talk; to throw me a few crumbs, but I turned my face away. My thoughts were on the delivery boy. My thoughts were on the taste and feel of his tongue as it had plunged past the silky jungle and into the raw, hot reality of a starved cunt.
"Really, I never saw you look so well. And I'm glad, because you looked lousy for the longest time."
His words made me laugh inside. How I yearned for the inarticulate child at the moment.
The next day I waited impatiently for him to leave for work and after he left there was still the maid. I told her to take the day off with pay but she protested because she had the day before off and she really didn't know what to do with herself. I ordered her out of the house and dressed in one of her outfits, except for an exotic silk scarf which I wrapped around my hair and which accentuated the brilliance of my eyes. Then I walked to the window and watched the river and tried to tune my body into the water.
The buzzer rang. Another meat delivery, the doorman said.
"Send him up," I said, between clenched teeth, desperately trying to mask the concern in my voice. I heard the knock at the door and I opened it quickly. He had barely taken a step inside when I grabbed his hand and shoved it under my plain skirt so he could feel the love I had for him, so he could feel the nakedness of my crotch and spread his fingered joy around my labia.
Then I pushed him back, and taking him by the hand, led him to the same wall I had stood in front of. I took the brilliant scarf off my hair and slipped it between his lips, letting him kiss the silk until it was hot.
"Do you have any meat today?" I laughed.
"No," he said.
"But I think you do."
Before he could protest I reached over and opened his pants, pulling the inert penis from the jail of fabric. He stared down at his own maleness.
"It is mine," I whispered.
"No," he retorted. He was worried over something which I couldn't understand.
I slipped the silk scarf from his lips and placed it under his cock, tieing a gentle knot around his globes. The brilliant scarf made a strange impression on the flesh-colored scrotum.
I gave the scarf a pull and the boy gasped ... another pull and the globes began to differentiate themselves from the scrotum, to stand out like ripe, twin apples, waiting for the man to pluck them. I bent close and kissed the globes through the scrotum and pulled at the loose flesh with little nibbles of the teeth until he was moaning and scratching against the wall. I licked his apples, making sure to cover them with saliva and then slid them into my mouth and out again. In and out until it was a fiery red and the cock above was beginning to perk. I moved very close and draped my silk scarf over the shaft-watching and feeling as the blood poured in and everything became hard. The scarf was around it like a banana skin.
Slowly, happily, more happily than I had ever done anything in my life, I peeled the scarf off and I could see every inch of that erect cock-every tiny vessel of blood-every muscle straining at the prison of skin.
The laughter and the joy died away and I started to weep and my tears fell on that naked cock. The boy closed his eyes and moaned.
I kissed the tip, my saliva mixing with his burning passion and then I let my tongue move all along its length-tasting, probing, covering it with a film of spit. He was weeping, as I was weeping. I unbuttoned his pants all the way and slipped them down so I could reach around and feel his ass. Then, as I kissed his cock without end, I began to push the silken scarf into his ass; inch by inch, ignoring his moans of protest. When it was halfway to his anus, I opened my mouth wide and let the cock slip in-deep and true-aiming toward the pink roof of my mouth. When it was all the way in-when its pulsing beauty was completely swallowed by me, I rammed the silk scarf all the way in and we were both impaled; me by his maleness and he by the subtle joy of silk fabric.
He was calling a name which I didn't recognize and I didn't care.
I started to slide my mouth back and forth, up and down, riding on the cock, getting every taste, every smell, every feel of the shivering flesh. He began to pump-to ram it all the way in my mouth-to bruise my gentle lips. It was growing and growing until I was choking as the red tip smashed against my teeth. His body tensed and I knew it was soon. I waited one more moment and then ripped the scarf from his anal core and his cock shot the seed deep into my mouth until I rolled on the floor in agony and glee.
"Are you all right?" he kept whispering, as he crawled about the floor searching for his pants. I caught him before he could hide his maleness and licked the semen from his globes. I wanted to remember that taste on my tongue forever.
"Why didn't we...." He stopped his question in the middle.
"What?"
"Why didn't we do it the regular way?" It was such a banal question that I laughed and it was such a cutting question that I turned away. "Are you unhappy?" I asked. "No."
"Then be thankful for what you have got."
"Aren't you going to undress?" he asked and his face couldn't hide the glee. "No."
"Please."
"What do you want?"
He was too shy to answer but I understood. I sat on the chair and opened my blouse and he came to me and fastened his loving mouth around my nipple until it burned with the passion of his saliva. He plucked it and played it and when his cock was hard again, in return, he let me slip down and fold my tongue over it until the seed came again, this time more slowly, but in a great white wave and I gathered it in my hands and rubbed it around my vaginal lips.
When I was wet there with his seed, he took the back of a spoon and slid it all the way up and then twisted until my cunt was on fire and I fell over the top-gasping all the way. When he walked out of the door, I embraced him and we kissed for a long time.
"Will I be back?" he asked. "Of course."
"Thank you."
I gave him one last suck on my nipple and then closed the door behind him. As I placed my breast back into the blouse I wondered if anyone had ever loved me like that; I wondered where the mouth would end.
One of Freud's most important essays was ON THE MECHANISM OF PARANOIA (Three Case Histories, Crowell Books, New York, 1963).
In this essay he writes:
"We may conclude then, that the process of repression proper consists in a detachment of the libido from things and people that were previously loved. It happens silently; we received no intelligence of it, but can only infer it from subsequent events. What forces itself so noisily upon our attention is the process of recovery, which undoes the work of repression and brings back the libido again on to the people it had abandoned." (p.174)
Many clues, coupled with the above paragraph, incline us toward Repressive Paranoia as the symptoms in this case. The subject's unrelenting Oral-ism can only be a repression of some severe dislocation in the oral stage of childhood. Hidden, all the years of her growth and during her marriage-one particularly difficult fight with her husband sends her back down the path toward the unresolved problem.
It is indicative of such paranoia that she eventually uses an object which can cause pain. Although fixated on the oral mode of love-making, she has also been drawn toward the silk scarf which she suddenly puts on without any reason except that it helps her accentuate her eyes. Naturally, there is a strong subconscious reason for such a decision and it has to do with her childhood fantasies, probably the wish to hang one or both parents. When she inserts the scarf slowly into the anus of the boy and then yanks it out while he achieved genital orgasm, she is recapitulating for herself the need to destroy her parents.
The reader will also remember the incident of the rew meat which is a classical syndrome for such paranoia. The meat takes on, in her mind, her own tortured body and soul. She begins to identify with the slaughtered beast and thus her act of redemption is to have the beast's flesh licked from her vagina.
No one can truly predict whether her paranoia will grow worse or somehow modify itself into a liveable neurosis. But the great weight of such a prediction falls on the choice of boys she will utilize for. her oral pleasures. If she chooses one boy, just one, who fulfills her paranoid beliefs-then she is well on her way to a hospital.
By "fulfill," I mean merely a cruel youngster who will express latent sado-masochistic fantasies which can be misinterpreted by her.
It is unfortunate that her husband is so disinterested, otherwise he could have been a key element in the safety of the subject. But the marriage seems to be beyond repair and the subject will not wait for connubial gratification.
One can see, in this case, how the wrong marriage can be a dramatic contributing factor to the casualty of nervous conditions, at all levels.