Chapter 5
(Name: Elizabeth M. Age: Twenty-eight. Place of Residence: Madison, Wisconsin. Occupation: Clinical Psychologist.)
I had been temporarily attached to the University to conduct in-depth research among the women of rural Wisconsin. My main task was to find out exactly what they were thinking in the areas of erotic gratification. It was an important study because most surveys in this area concentrated upon the urban women and here was a chance to discover the extent of their alienation.
The project was going well. Contrary to popular belief the women were quite willing to make candid confessions in this area. They were, in fact, desperate to talk to anyone.
Then I met Toni. She was a beautiful woman, a widow of the Vietnam conflict. Her husband had been a career soldier and when he was killed she was left alone with a fifteen year old son, Paul.
Even during that first interview I knew that I was face to face with the most elemental woman I had ever met; a woman who was from the earth, whose whole life had been molded from a struggle with the soil. She was honest and explicit and her language was basic.
"I want to fuck and I can't find anyone. Do you understand that? Do you understand what it means to want to fuck all night and all day and not have a man?"
Those were her first words to me. As we talked, as the sessions continued, I probed deeper and deeper into her unconscious; I began to understand the needs of her body. Soon, I was looking forward to her visits and scheduling them as often as possible.
Finally, she brought her son to meet me. Paul was one of those silent brooding boys-strong, innocent, seemingly able to bear the worst hardships without a murmur.
"He never had a woman. His cock is still dry," Toni said, laughing at her young son. But he just stood there-without replying.
Suddenly I wanted to do something for that child, just as I was trying to do something for his mother. I felt a need to wrap myself into the arms of that family-to learn about them, to discover the meaning of their silences.
"I caught him once at night, doing all those bad things. I caught him right in the middle and he had his cock in his hand and he just looked at me. I wouldn't go away and a few more jerks with his hand and he shot his gun-all over the clean sheet."
The boy still didn't say anything; he merely listened to his mother's explanation of his masturbation as if the description really didn't matter.
Then I realized that there was a way I could help him. The University had given me a grant which included money for a research assistant who would correlate my findings. Why not the boy? It was mainly a clerical job and the boy could probably easily handle it.
"Would you like a job working for me?"
"Sure he would," Toni said.
"I asked him," I retorted angrily; the first time I had ever raised my voice to her.
"All he's good for is pulling his cock-he's scared of girls."
I ignored her comment and waited for the boy to answer. Then he nodded his head, ever so slightly, and I knew it was an affirmative answer.
"You start next Monday," I said, and a few minutes later both mother and son left.
He began to work and he was excellent. The forms which had to be filled out and the figures which had to be graphed turned out to be no problem. I was proud of my choice and I ticked off his talents to him every day in order to build up his ego strength.
But the moment he began to work for me, my relationship with Toni took a bizarre turn. She was no longer the cool, analytical woman. Instead, she seemed anxious to lay bare her emotional states; to draw me into the world of her fantasies and her desires.
Two weeks later she exploded. We were sitting quietly in my office talking about her childhood. She was wearing a sweater and a short skirt. She leaned forward and I could see the frown of anguish on her face.
"You don't care about me," she suddenly yelled, "you just care about your stinken research project. I'm just another number to you; just another hillbilly who has problems."
Very slowly, I began to explain that I did care about her and that was why I was spending so much time interviewing and meeting with her.
She sat back and before my astonished eyes, picked up her sweater. She was wearing nothing underneath. My mouth grew dry and hot as I saw her full breasts-the nipples hanging to the end like ripe cherries. I tensed but was unable to speak.
Toni reached across the desk and grasped my hand. She pulled it with a savage jerk until I found my hand on her breast. She closed her eyes and moaned, saying:
"I knew it from the first minute I saw you. I knew you wanted to feel my tits; to play with them. I knew you wanted to love me. Feel the nipples, feel how they jump. I knew you wanted them. I knew it."
Violently, I pulled my hand away. I was shaking all over. Nothing like that had ever happened to me. Her face was twisted in a furious mask and she then picked up her skirt and I could see the naked vulva, resting like a jewel in the jungle of her crotch.
"You want this too," she screamed, "you want to suck my cunt. I'm giving it to you. I'm telling you that it's here. Look ... look down between my legs. It's juicy and nice and you want to kiss it."
Her hands were spreading the lips and I could see the juices along the vaginal walls. I felt my body growing tense, so tense I found it difficult to breathe.
"What are you waiting for?" she screamed, and a second later she was behind my desk, her strong arms drawing my face down until I felt the heat and wetness; until I felt her thighs blot out the light and surround me in a rush of love.
"It's yours. My cunt is yours," she moaned and I felt my mouth pressed against her wet sex.
"Cunt ... cunt ... suck ... suck...." she kept moaning, as if in a trance.
The lips parted and I felt my tongue slowly crawling into the wet nest, slowly beginning to move up the passageway as the vaginal walls sucked me deeper.
Suddenly I broke free and ran from the room, into the other area where her son, Paul, was diligently working over some figures. I was in a state of total hysteria, trying to control my trembling body. I saw him look up and without thinking-I threw myself in his arms.
His young body just stood there and accepted the weight. I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled his face forward, thrusting my tongue deep in his mouth. Then I stepped back, aghast. I felt that I was going crazy; that I had somehow become infected by my clients; that their bizarre feelings and fantasies had conquered me.
"I'm sorry."
It was a cool calm voice and I turned toward it. Toni was standing in the ante-room, completely clothed, dragging deeply on a cigarette. She watched me for the sign of forgiveness.
"Yes, yes," I said quickly.
"Can I come back tomorrow?"
"No, the next day."
A moment later she was gone. Paul went back to his work as if nothing had happened. My tongue was still wet from the entry into his mouth. He had a strange taste-half man and half boy.
That evening I tried to understand what had happened to me and Toni. I pored over the records trying to find some hint of lesbianism in her past but there was nothing. I found it difficult to sleep and spent the night pulsing and twisting; thinking of her body and her foul words. She al-way used the word "cunt" instead of the normal name and just the sound of those syllables made me uncomfortable.
For a week all went well and the madness seemed to have been forgotten; to have been only one of those strange and unexplained actions which suddenly surface during any therapy. And then the storm came again-only this time in a different form. We were discussing her late husband and I suddenly asked her the following question:
"Did you ever suck his cock?"
Immediately I blushed and wanted to crawl under the table. I had never asked such a question in my life and I have never used the slang word for penis before.
"Maybe you better go," I said.
But she just sat there-not saying a word-staring at me with a wisdom born of many years of suffering.
"I want you to go," I screamed.
She stood up and circled the desk until she was close to me. Her hands touched each side of my face and then slid down my body. She slipped one hand under my skirt until she had grasped my bare buttocks. She moaned and pushed me against the wall. I was too frightened to fight. I was too frightened to do anything. Her hand moved around toward the front until I felt her fingers stroking the inside of my thighs.
I was shivering and I closed my eyes. The finger was burrowing in my crotch and then it found my sex and I felt her prying my nest lips apart, until the finger slipped in and I caught my breath. She slipped it higher and I began to weep as I experienced those strange feelings. It was curling up through my core, kissing the wet passageway with its nails.
"Pull it out, let me go, pull it out," I moaned.
"No, no," she whispered and the finger dug deeper, churning up my insides, driving me crazy with a new desire, plunging and ripping and draining my will.
I broke loose-with one desperate lunge I broke loose and ran from the room. What happened next was so confused and so terrible that I can scarcely recall it completely.
Her son, Paul, was not at his desk. He was standing by the window and looking out. I ran to him and I held out my hands in a silent plea. He stared at me, as if he was an animal, not comprehending. I could hear the sound of his mother in the other room. I put my hands on him, around his throat, and for just a moment I thought I would choke him. Then my grip relaxed and in the same gesture his mother had used-I let my hands wander down his body. He was young and strong, without an ounce of fat. Just the touch of his body made me relax, made me lose the terrible tensions that was enveloping me.
"Paul," I suddenly shouted, "understand me," and then I was kneeling in front of him and my hands were at his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down.
He was open. My fevered fingers dug into his undergarments until the whole organ exposed. I bent over and kissed the globes-sucking at them until there was a fire in my body. I wanted to rip them from the scrotum and chew them and swallow them. The boy reached out and placed his hands on the window sill but otherwise there was no expression in his eyes or on his face.
I swallowed his globes and held them firmly in my velvet mouth. For the first time he responded, opening his lips and moaning. Then I let the round gems slip from my lips. There was something else for me. It was beginning to grow. It was beginning to wave and erect-the delicate membranes of the penis stretching and growing as the blood raced to it. My tongue nicked out and I tasted the tip. My whole body shivered and trembled. I knew then for the first time why they call it the cock. Academic words are too humdrum-it is the full throated cock-the primitive beauty of the phallic shaft.
I kissed every inch of it-letting my tongue deposit drops of saliva along its palpitating length. I wanted more-I wanted it to grow and grow-to smash through all my illusions. I forgot the woman in the other room and I forgot that only a moment ago she had her finger curved into my womanhood. I kissed that child's shaft until it was raw with my love. And then, unable to wait any longer, my body coiled in one erotic spring-I opened my mouth and the animal slipped in-inch after inch-crawling into my mouth-led by the red burning tip-driving toward the coolness of my throat. I was hysterical with joy. I felt free, freer than I had ever felt in my life. I felt beyond the realm of my boring life. He began to pump and I opened my mouth wide to suck as the shaft kept moving like a snake, in and out. In and out-the cock of my life-the blessed shaft which was burning into my mouth. I began to weep. I wanted more and more. His buttocks pounded and I accepted it deeper. My teeth nibbled on the veins and arteries as they pumped their precious power.
Suddenly-he stopped-and then one massive thrust and my mouth was filled with his wet love-the semen pouring into my lips and tongue.
I sucked it up-I swallowed the seed-I washed it around in my mouth-trying to taste every drop as if it was life itself. Then, exhausted, I stepped back.
Paul, satiated, was turned back toward the window, his face once again bearing the expressionless gaze.
"Are you finished?"
I whirled toward the words. Toni was standing there, her hands on her hips. I turned my eyes away from her.
"Did you hear me? ... I wanted to know if you were finished. I wanted to know if you enjoyed my son's cock."
I kept looking at Paul, hoping desperately that he would in some way come to my aid-hoping that he could deal with his mother because I was totally unable to cope with the situation. There was a long silence.
"Paul," his mother said.
"Yes," he answered.
"Tell, if you will, whether or not you like it."
Her voice had become cold and analytical-it was almost as if she had changed places with me. As if she was the woman in control and I was the woman who needed help. But she could get nothing further from her son. She smiled at me and then walked out of the door, coolly, as if nothing had happened. Just before the door closed, she called back:
"Next Monday as usual."
Paul and I were alone in the room. There was a sofa in the ante-room and I lay down and covered my eyes with my arms. I wanted to be dead.
For the next few days I stayed out of the office. I had to gain control of myself; to understand what had happened to me. One thing was clear-the whole situation had become intolerable. I was acting insanely; I was giving myself up to sexual practices that I had never thought possible. But the project had to be completed on time. There was no way for me to stop; to take a month off and go into the woods in order to regain mastery of my own body.
Three days after the incident I was back at work. Paul was there, hunched over the desk as if nothing had happened. After lunch, Toni came in for her regular appointment. My palms were wet with sweat as she sat down in front of me. I didn't know what she would say or do.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
I became furious. She was asking the question as if she was the interviewer and I was the subject. She was asking the question as if she was the cool, detached scientist and I was some raunchy woman who she had picked up off the street in order to help. Her tone of voice was strange-cold-almost analytical.
"You must take care of yourself better; you look haggard," she said, gazing at me with a maternal look.
"I feel quite well," I said.
"What shall we speak about?" she asked, again in her dominating tone.
"About you," I retorted sharply, "and why you are beginning to play this charade."
"What charade?"
"That you are the doctor."
She laughed and suddenly her face softened.
"But I am the doctor."
It was useless to argue with her fantasies and I pulled out a list of questions which I had compiled and began asking them, one by one. She answered carefully, trying to be as complete as possible. We worked for about an hour and then I saw she was becoming weary. We stopped for some coffee. It was strangely silent in the office as we sipped our liquids. From time to time she would look up at me and smile. It was one of those secret smiles and I despised her for it; as if she knew something desperate and criminal about my body. Perhaps she did, but it was foolish of her to be so blatant about it.
"Did you ever have a man?" she asked, softly. "Do you think I'm a virgin?" I retorted. "No, I didn't say that. I mean a real man ... a man who sent you around the world and back
... a man who thought of nothing else except to ram his cock into you, again and again, until you were a shivering piece of ass on the bed and you kept crying for more ... always more."
"If I did, it's really none of your business."
"Everything you do is my business now."
"Why?"
"Because of Paul."
I flushed and was silent. My hands were trembling so hard that the coffee was spilling over onto the desk. Quickly I put the cup down and wiped the desk clean with a soft tissue.
"Yes, because of Paul," she repeated.
I stood up and walked to the far wall. Paul was in the other room but he seemed close-very close. Suddenly, I heard her call her son's name and a second later the boy put his head through the door.
"Come in and close the door behind you."
The boy obeyed his mother and stood, silently, waiting but not really caring.
"Did you enjoy it, Paul?"
I knew what she was talking about and I flushed and my whole body trembled with shame. There was no sound from Paul but I turned away because I couldn't look into his face.
She got up, took him by the hand and led him to me as if he was a little child.
"Stand here," she ordered him.
My flesh was crawling. It was crawling with the need for the boy and with my own self-hatred for having that need. She was smiling and she enjoyed every moment of our dual misery.
Then she lifted up her hand and placed it along my face, rubbing the flesh slightly as if I was a statue and she was a blind person. Her hand moved to the back of my neck and then she pulled it away. I was trembling from the touch. What did it mean?
"She's lovely, Paul, isn't she?"
Paul didn't answer his mother's question. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and remained still. She was behind me, moving as quickly as a cat. I could feel her breath on my neck.
Her hands moved under my skirt and her fingers skillfully peeled my panties down. I watched Paul, almost desperate with my own shame and trying to convey to him with merely a look the fact that I was unable to withstand the erotic blandishments of his mother. She was fingering my ass and spreading my buttocks and letting them bounce back. She was exploring my cheeks, digging her nails in a subtle design along the plump flesh. Then she reached over and picked up the half-empty coffee cup. I could hear the liquid being poured into her hands and I shivered as she began to rub it into me ... to let the liquid seep into my anus. I started to mumble and moan. I wanted to scream ... to run from her ... to turn around and smash her evil face. But I just stood there-quivering-accepting every act.
"Look at Paul," she whispered, "look at how desirable he is. Do you remember the cock between his legs? Do you remember how it smelled; that strong, virile male odor?"
As she spoke, her hands were manipulating, forcing the liquid deeper-massaging the buttocks until the quivering cheeks self-pumped the liquid deep into my core.
Suddenly I screamed in horror and disgust, "But you are his mother!"
She laughed.
"Am I your mother, Paul?"
The child said nothing, staring off into space. Perhaps he didn't even know that his mother was perverting me, pulling me apart with her sexual wiles. I could no longer stand. Her manipulations of my ass had made me weak. When I tried to fall-she held me up.
"Come here, Paul," she said.
The boy moved behind me and I heard the sound of a zipper opening. A second later I felt the sweet point of his shaft grazing against my buttocks. I was filled with shame and hatred at his mother. But I couldn't move, and along with the shame was a desperate need. I leaned forward-to spread my cheeks, secretly yearning for that weapon.
"Do you feel it? You want it? Oh yes, I know you want it."
She was holding her own child's penis in her hand and guiding it into the blackness of my ass. She was pushing it in. I began to weep. My body was screaming with rage but I wanted the penetration. I wanted it to slide deeper and deeper into the lubricated core. There were beads of sweat on my forehead and my thighs were dripping with wetness-dripping and hot. I could feel it sinking in and heard her soft laughter.
"Be nice to her, Paul, be very nice to her."
She was a witch-a demonic witch who had splintered her illness by making me ill. I gasped as the phallus slid another inch-my anus giving way-sucking it in-quivering and erect.
"It's a cock ... do you understand ... a cock?"
Her words were like spikes being driven into my head. I turned and leaned against the wall-my fingers curled against the wood. He was pushing; the child was pushing.
In and in-the red fiery tip cutting through the anus-always seeking that one spot of total penetration. I closed my cheeks around his cock. Oh god, it was beautiful and terrible.
He began to pump, egged on by the insanity of his mother. I was being ripped apart and I loved every moment-I was being impaled against the wall as his virgin cock kept driving. Then, there was the total entry, that moment when his shaft found the center-the core of my anus and my whole body seemed to be splintering, to be melting. Then-calm-the cock tip unfolding inside of me.
Suddenly, she reached over and pulled her son away and as the pulsing maleness slid out I began to weep. I fell down against the wall and cried until I thought my chest would burst.
Toni kneeled beside me, her hands stroking the very spot where the penis had exited.
"Hush, hush," she crooned as if I was a child.
I tried to get away from her probing hand but it was futile. I turned a bit so I could look at Paul. His penis was still stiff-jutting from his pants like an oak branch. The moisture from my core was still wrapped around the tip and shaft.
He was my savior. I suddenly realized that. He was the man, the child, the cock that would save me from Toni. She was around the front, gently spreading my thighs, licking the sides of my legs and nibbling at the sanctuary. A second later she buried her face in my crotch and I held out my hands to Paul-but he would bring me no help.
"Paul, Paul," I whispered.
"Forget him," she suddenly snapped.
I gazed down at her and saw a passion that made my blood run cold. A second later her tongue was spreading my vaginal lips, and beginning its journey.
She was biting my nest as she moved it up. The organ shivered as she entered and her tongue made a funnel, to drain the juices from me. I felt myself trembling; I felt the vaginal passage opening and closing as the foreign snake wound its way to the womb. I was ripe for her plucking. I was wet and hot and she moaned as she slid back and forth, spearing the tiny pools of juice-spearing the organic fuzz which lined the cunt walls. I knew it was a cunt. I knew it was the cunt she had spoken of. All my pretensions of being a woman scientist were shattered at that precise moment. Her tongue was the winner-the font of wisdom-she was giving me what I had asked for-what my subconscious had been twisted 'into knots for.
Deep penetration-until every part of my body was like a fragile, vibrating weed.
Deep sucking until my mind was reeling-deep, twisting sucking until I opened completely-until the raw cunt was inverted and it displayed its wet plumage for the taking. Her tongue was on fire and she was piercing the wetness, eating up and drying out every spot of juice-every patch of lovely womanhood which persisted in displaying itself.
I moaned ... my hands covering my face from the joy. And then I felt her whole body tense and she rammed it home-so deep that I felt myself reeling back against the wall. It was that plunge which sobered me. It was that plunge which made me realize I had to break free.
From somewhere inside ... from some hidden reservoir-I gathered all my strength and pulled my crotch away. Her head snapped back and her glazed eyes asked for more.
I saw Paul again. I saw him waiting. My crotch was wet from his mother's love but I knew that he was waiting for me. He was an island of innocence and help-an island of escape. I crawled toward him, away from her grasping fingers and mouth.
The quivering phallus was dancing in front of my eyes. I reached up and licked the tip. For the first time he responded-his mouth opening in wonder and joy. I kissed the tip and licked around the pulsing front. She was crawling after me but I kicked her away. I pulled Paul down to the floor with me and in one moment of beautiful need-I sat heavily on his face and let him chew the cunt, still wet from the mouth of that strange woman. He gasped and chewed and then rammed the tongue deep inside. I wriggled on his face, crushing him, thrusting my jungle until his eyes and face were red.
It was enough. It was a taste and I wanted more. I rolled off him and lay back-opening my thighs all the way-opening them so he could see what he had tasted-so he could see the roaring sex-like a deep wound in some ivory nest.
"Paul," I begged.
He hesitated-turning to look back to his mother. Then he turned toward me.
"Take me, Paul," I begged.
"My son, my son," Toni moaned. I didn't understand what she wanted or what she cared for. I wasn't thinking of her. I was focussing on that swinging shaft-swollen with anticipation.
I won. He plunged it into the waiting, raw flower. He rammed me into the floor and screamed as my cunt wrapped around that pulsing cock. I was out of my filthy world, out of the world of manners and ritual. I was in a new dimension. I rose to greet his cock-to take the meat and suck it up-always up with love and gratitude. I could hear his mother sobbing but I laughed with joy as he began his rhythm-as the meat pumped and ground my flesh until in one moment of ecstatic joy my body opened and I went over the top-wave after wave of exquisite sensation-the orgasm I had always yearned for but deep in my heart thought was fantasy.
In the July, 1968 issue of THE PSYCHOANALYTIC REVIEW, the distinguished analyst Alexander Hartmann contributed an article titled THE ELECTRA COMPLEX AS A FACTOR IN LESBIANISM. In that article, he writes:
"The classical Freudian view of the Electra Complex as the desire of the female child to embrace the genitalia of the father is now open to doubt. Empirical studies seem to point toward an early lesbian attachment to the mother, which, if not solved, eventually becomes dominant."
The above words can help us to solve this perplexing case. My clinical analysis is as follows. The subject, Elizabeth, found herself interviewing a woman who exhibited enough behavior patterns to bring back the memory traces of her own mother. Those memory traces, in turn, activated the dark side of the Electra Complex-the hidden lesbian desires toward the mother. Her heterosexual feelings were suddenly buried in a blaze of lesbianism. The fact of her desires was thrust upon her so quickly and with such force that she needed a sub-the woman. Up to now it is fairly simple, but the stitute to guard against the blatant lesbianism of relationship with Paul becomes more complex. As she feels herself becoming more and more eroticised, witness her substitution of "cunt" for vagina-she begins to yearn for something that would re-enact the original family situation; the original situation of a young child wishing for the sexual attention of a parent. Paul was the substitute. By seducing him she could somehow recapitulate her original feelings in childhood. The mother was still looking on, only in this case it was Toni.
In her subconscious, Elizabeth was performing an incestuous activity. Paul was both her son and her father. Toni was both herself and a valid representative of her mother. The incredible burst of passion which she exhibited in her re-telling of the event shows the tremendous latent power that incestuous desires take and how, in spite of all cultural taboos, they re-appear and re-inforce themselves.
In cases such as these, little damage is done. The subject usually reverts back to the normal sexuality, often denying, in fact, that such an activity actually took place. But it will happen again and again until the root cause of the dilemma is solved through analysis or some other therapy.