Chapter 6
(Name: Anna F. Age: Thirty-two. Place of Residence: Trenton, New Jersey. Occupation: Dietician.)
I have a good job and I'm proud of it. About fifteen hundred men at a large Veteran's Hospital depend on me to keep them healthy. I make sure they eat right things at the right time. I make sure that the restaurant is run up to par and that every meal served contains enough vitamins and general nutrition. I guess a lot of people would think it's boring, but not to me-"you are what you eat"-as the old adage goes and I believe it.
Sure, I have plenty of problems but it's mainly because of the help in the cafeteria and restaurant. They're all drifters, all men who show up for a few weeks and then leave. I don't blame them; the pay isn't good-but it makes it hard to do my job.
I guess I've always been a little lonely and the men at the hospital sort of substituted for my family. I really want to help them. I really want to make them healthy.
Yes, it was a pretty good life. When I went home I slept soundly because I had done a day's work. As for my sex life, well I was never popular with the men. It's a fact of life and I just had to live with it. I suppose that like a lot of other women I always dreamed that one day my Prince Charming would come along. What I never realized was that when he came along he would be a sixteen year old boy who could hardly speak English-and our "love affair" would be filled with perversions that I never even dreamed I was capable of performing.
His name was Pedro and he came into the hospital looking for a job. Do you go to school. Who are your parents? They asked him a million questions but Pedro wouldn't answer. We needed people so desperately that they sent him to me and I hired him to help me in the kitchen.
He was small and very frail. He very rarely smiled but he was a willing worker. I used him to type out the menus and to check the meals, from soup to dessert. Weeks went by and we worked side by side without saying a word. Pedro had a knack of knowing exactly what I wanted him to do even before I told him and so I was really very happy that he had showed up. Whenever I asked him a question about his family or his background or why he wasn't in school, he would just smile and shake his head from side to side. Sometimes that made me so furious that I felt like smacking him across the face but then I would get control of myself and remember that he was only a boy.
Then, one day, after I had worked late and I was so goddamn tired I couldn't even think straight
-I walked out of the hospital to take a taxi home. It was a cold night and there was nothing moving on the street. Suddenly, I saw a shadow against the side wall of the hospital. I was scared out of my wits. Was it after me? I walked into the center of the street, still hoping for a cab, when I saw the shadow move ... and I could see that it was Pedro.
"Pedro, Pedro-is that you?"
No answer. I moved back to the sidewalk and stared at the figure. It was Pedro and there was something wrong with him. I walked quickly to him. He seemed drunk, standing against the wall and swaying slightly. I grabbed him and he didn't struggle. He wasn't drunk. There was no whiskey in his breath. Drugs! Of course, the boy was on something.
"What have you taken?" I asked, shaking him like a terrier shakes a rat.
"Hash," he whispered, and then I saw the needle marks just over his wrist. There are a lot of junkies in the hospital but I had never heard of taking Hashish by injection.
"You're going home, young man, and I'm going to have a talk with you," I said, furious at his stupidity.
"I go nowhere," he said, smiling.
Just then a cab passed and I hailed him. Half pulling, half dragging Pedro, I finally got him into the cab.
"Where do you live?"
He mumbled the address and the taxi moved off. It felt very strange sitting with that young boy in the back of the cab. He seemed almost to be absent-to be so thin that any breeze coming in from the window would blow him away.
It was an old dilapidated rooming house and he had a small room on the top floor. It consisted of a single chair, a small table and a bed. There was a sink in one corner but the bathroom was out in the hall.
He sat down at the edge of the bed and I could see he was still flying. I sat on the chair facing him.
"I didn't know you were this stupid. I thought you were a smart boy who was trying to go somewhere."
"I go to Hell," he said quietly, and suddenly I was afraid of the hatred and the strange wisdom he possessed.
"It's time for you to go to bed, Pedro," I said gently.
He was totally under the control of the drug and he stared straight ahead, his eyelids barely blinking. I pushed him back down and started to undress him. I had been a nurse and undressing difficult boys was easy for me.
But he wasn't difficult; he was cold. His body lay there like on a slab. His eyes were open but there was that coldness of death. Yes, a sudden fear came over me, that the child was dead. That I had let him die because I was unwilling to help. He was naked in front of me.
"Pedro, Pedro," I said suddenly, trembling that my fantasy would be realized. I could see a muscle in his jaw twitch, lightly, every so lightly, and I wondered whether I was imagining things.
He was such a child-such a young boy. I could feel the poison running through his body; I could feel the drugs tearing him apart.
I kneeled by the side of the bed and actually prayed for him-yes-I folded my hands like some stupid little kid and I prayed to whoever it is up there that Pedro live-and be happy-and conquer his need for the Hashish.
But still he didn't move; still he didn't even seem to be breathing. His naked flesh was crisscrossed with the veins and muscles of youth-throbbing lightly under the taut skin. There was not an ounce of flesh on his body that could be called fat. He was beautifully and finely built-like a dancer. Suddenly, when the prayer no longer seemed to help me, I buried my face near his armpit-where the arm hooks into the shoulder joint-and began to weep. Something else was beginning to come over me. Some other feeling, buried in my psyche and now leaping up. I could smell the tortured maleness of his armpits, the sweet, sour smell of his sex. I turned my head away and realized that my whole body was shaking.
My fingers touched his breasts and then slid down until they were resting gently on his belly. I would bring him back to life. I would bring him back to life with my own hands. It was the only way. It was the only way to rid him of the clodness and the drugs which were sucking the very life from his flesh.
I just stared at the sight of my fingers on his young body. His youth seemed to be transferring into mine and I remembered all the hatreds and fears and desires I had felt when I was his age.
My hands moved down his stomach and rested just above the quiet cock. It was lying between his legs, brown and warm, the tip sleeping like a bird. I could see the loose scrotum and the twin cherries in their repose. My fingers were burning-they had to go down further.
I touched him there and for the first time I felt a flow of life in his body. I felt something, something life-giving and beautiful beginning to affect him. I picked up the inert penis and held it gently between my palms, rolling it like a piece of fresh dough.
He began to stir and move. The cock was beginning to stiffen and I felt good and happy. It grew within my palms until it was a man's size-and he opened his eyes and stared at me. There was a look of fear on his face and a look of thanksgiving.
I bent down and pressed my lips against his young globes, tasting the strangeness of his scrotum, picking at the scrotum with my teeth until he actually moaned. Yes, I was curing him, I was bringing him life.
I nibbled at the sac until, looking up, I could see the red flaring tip of his cock. He was alive. He was not the silent, junkie Pedro-he was a young, virile man, with the whole promise of his life ahead of him. I swallowed both globes and sucked on them, delirious with joy. He turned away from me and I let the globes slip out-covered with my saliva. My mouth had gone berserk; it had taken over my will. It went after the shivering shaft and found it-the lips spreading wide and I was splintered with the most profound emotions as that magnificent brown cock slid past my tongue and went dancing toward the roof of my mouth. I closed my lips gently around it and began to suck. Pedro moaned. He was more than alive.
He thrashed about on the bed but my mouth was too velvet smooth and my tongue was too joyous with heat for him to take his cock out. He wanted my mouth-he wanted the drops of saliva which I lovingly coated his shaft with-he wanted anything that could save him from the drugs that had entered his soul.
But then I kissed the cock out-inch by inch-until its glaring tip was next to my eyes.
I jumped on the bed, fully clothed, more like a madwoman than a sober working dietician. He lay on his back and looked up. There was fear and anticipation in his inscrutable eyes.
My fingers slid my skirt off and then the panties. I let him gaze up between my legs so he could see the soft mound of hair which was his. I slowly spread my legs and wriggled so he could see the red splendor of the stretched cunt. I could see his chest heaving.
Very slowly I began to squat down. The pulsing tip touched the crack in my ass. I moved forward just a bit. Pedro moaned and lifted his body off the bed. He was totally alive-totally caught up in the moment.
The cock was grazing my crotch. I spun a little to hear him moan some more, to feel him starting to search for the nest.
The quivering cock was against my lips and I opened slowly for him-the tip and then the shaft slipping into my nest. I moaned and sat down more until the whole fat cock was engulfed by my vaginal walls. Pedro was murmuring but I couldn't understand what he was saying.
The frail, brown body suddenly came alive and started to pump upwards-ramming the cock deeper and using all his strength to grind the shaft in. I felt myself being driven upward-being spun around.
It was growing inside of me. I could see his arms stretched out on the bed. I could see his fingers clutching the bed spread in his moment of passion.
Thicker and thicker it grew inside and my cunt was tormented by the driving thrusts. I moved up and down-back and forth-bringing him all my love-showing him the juicy vaginal alternative to the poison he pumped into his arms.
And then a terrible foreign moan-and one desperate lunge. His cock threw the seed into me and I whirled on it like a dervish until I reached my orgasm and fell off the shaft. I rolled off the bed and onto the floor like some alley bitch that had been fucked.
A terrible and total shame came over me. I began to weep and grasping my undergarments ran from the room as quickly as possible. I felt like dying; I felt like throwing myself off the nearest building. What had I done? How had it happened? Why had that evil child been able to totally disarm me.
At the hospital the next day, I worked in a fog. Pedro didn't show up at all. For the next few days he was out but at the end of the week he showed up and said nothing. There was a strange calm between us-a lack of communication. It was as if we had both lived in a dream for that one night.
Then, a strange thing began to happen to me. I developed an insatiable need for food. I began to eat ten times my normal amount of food-stuffing bread and pastry and candy into my mouth whenever I had the chance. I was becoming as addicted as Pedro, only the drug was different.
It was so ludicrous-the women in charge of the nutritional health off thousands of men, sud denly forgetting everything, ignoring all the basic tents of healthy eating, and indulging in an orgy of food.
That was what it was; an orgy. I would sweat until I filled my mouth with the sticky chocolates and then and only then could I sit back and feel that I was filled.
One evening, the compulsions took a bizarre turn. It was late at night and I was unable to sleep. I walked into the living room and tried reading some magazines, stuffing my mouth with small, delicate candies.
But the magazine bored me. Everything bored me. From time to time the vision of Pedro's naked body on the bed; his brown succulent body, would suddenly appear and I would shiver until I thought I was falling apart.
I had a sudden desire to light the two grotesque candles on the dining room table. Applying the match, I watched the wick catch and then let myself be bathed in the eerie glow. I threw away one box of chocolates and took the other one which was unopened. That box was filled with ripe cherries covered with a dark, thick chocolate. I lay back on the sofa and stared at the candles and at the shadows the flames threw up on the ceiling.
Gradually, the flames flickered and died and the inevitability of death sort of overwhelmed me. I thought of Pedro sticking the needle in his arm-plunging that filthy thing into his flesh. The candies were rapidly being consumed and I couldn't stop my arm from going again and again into the box and pulling out another chocolate covered cherry-It was all so stupid-everything-my job, my life, my relationship with that strange child. I stood up and walked to the table. My fingers ran over the still hot wax of the candles. Some of the wax came off on my palm and I smelled it. It was the smell of burnt grass. Suddenly, without even thinking, I lifted one of the candles from the holder. It rested lightly in the palm of my hand.
There was another cherry in the box and I held the piece of candy to the side of the candle. Before my eyes, the chocolate began to peel off and slip over the wax. I found some more candy and applied it until the whole candy was dripping with the melted chocolate.
Suddenly, I picked the candle up and pressed it to my mouth, kissing the chocolate from the object. My forehead became covered with beads of sweat. The candle was beginning to change shape, to become fluid.
It was so hard and sweet-so warm from the flame, so sticky from the candy covering.
I held it toward the ceiling as if it was a religious object. I wanted to protrate myself before it. Oh, the madness was upon me.
My body was hot-too hot for the robe. I slipped it off until I stood naked and shivering in the room. The candle touched my breast. I felt the nipple being massaged by the candy and the hot wax. I twirled it against my point until it grew erect.
Before I knew what was happening, I was down on the floor. I felt strange, almost tormented. I felt that my body needed penetration as it had never needed anything in its life. My flesh was warm and quivering. I brought the candle down to my belly and it nestled in the navel.
It was time. I rolled on my back until the tufts from the carpet were digging into my ass. I held the candle with both hands and let it play against my crotch-darting in and out of the hairs-closing my legs around it. I began to curse Pedro
-to curse his drug habit-to curse the job I had always loved. I felt like a madwoman who was on the brink of hell.
I brought the candle one more time to my mouth and sucked the candied wick. It was so sweet and warm. I kissed its length and let my tongue loll on its cylinder.
Then I let it nestle deep in my crotch and the wick plucked at my cunt lips until they were wet and hot. I shifted my legs and they spread-they spread real wide as if they knew that I was evil. I let the wick move an inch-and then another inch
-and then gathering all of my strength I rammed the candle into my cunt and plunged it deep.
The scream came out of my chest and I rolled over and over on the floor. I wanted to take it out but my fingers were wrapped around the wax in a death grip.
It was too late. I sent it deeper and my whole downy cunt trembled. I was splintering myself; I was driving the object so deep that every part of me trembled. It began to spin in my nest until the heat drove me almost insane with rage and love. Then, kneeling like a beast-I closed my eyes and started the rhythm of love. I pumped the candle slowly in and out-driving deeper at the height of each plunge. My cunt sucked it in. How good it was! How beautiful was the movement!
There seemed to be no beginning and no end. I could feel the chocolate moving off the wax cock and melting inside my cunt walls-without a thought of my perversion. I was gasping and crawling about the room-trying to escape from the object-but trying to continue the ecstasy.
And then I felt my flower blossom-I felt the warm wax splitting my resistance. The cunt boiled over and in a fit of lust I flung the candle from me and quivered as my body achieved the most blessed orgasm in my life.
Immediately after, I showered, as if the dirt of my act could only be purged by burning water. Finally, satiated, I slept, and the night was full of the terrors of dreams.
It was time to go to work. There could be no further procrastination. I had to face the disease inside me. When I showed up that morning, Pedro was already there-performing the small tasks he was supposed to do. We nodded at each other and I began to work on the menu for the day.
"Do you hate me?"
I turned to his voice, almost shocked that he would begin a conversation-even if it was with a question.
"Why do you ask?"
"I think maybe you do."
"Why?"
"Because I am bad."
"But you are not bad."
"I'm a junkie."
I wanted to walk to him and take his brown face in my hands and kiss the black eyes-but I just stood there and stared at him.
"I don't hate you, Pedro, you must believe me."
He was holding a number of menus in his hand. They had just been run off the mimeograph machine and his hands were coated with the fresh ink.
"Thank, you," he said simply.
I turned and walked into the small pantry. I had to compose myself. He followed me in. What was he up to? What did he want?
He shut the door of the pantry behind him and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
"I have been clean for two days," he said, "but you must help me."
I didn't want to talk to him. I just wanted to bask near his body.
"I will try," I said.
My hands reached out for something-for anything that could give me calmness. There was a pound of butter that had to be unwrapped. I peeled off the top paper and began to cut it into little squares. He moved closer to me.
"I know what you do the other night. I know that you try and help me. I thank you."
He was feeling for the words-trying to make sure that everything he said was precise.
The butter was melting in my hand. The golden yellow substance was pouring over my skin. He was too close to me; he was too close. I could smell his young body and I remembered the odor of his naked flesh on that bed.
I felt trapped-unable to move-unable to understand his body.
"You are good, you are good," he kept saying. His face was an inch away. My finger was coated with the butter and I slipped it into his mouth. His eyes opened wide with shock but he just stood there-sucking on the finger. I slid it out-trembling and shaken.
"You must go away, Pedro."
He shook his head and there were tears in his eyes. I let the butter spread over my hand.
"You stupid little fool," I suddenly shouted, "open my blouse."
His young hands were travelling up my blouse until they came to the buttons and they undid them until my raw breasts tumbled out.
I massaged the butter into the nipples as he watched; as his eyes grew wide with fear and desire. He was too young to understand; he could only perceive the animal-the sudden pangs of lust. He was not able to understand my need for strange and beautiful sex.
I placed my hands by my side and the golden nipples twinkled in the darkened room. I thrust my chest forward so the white hillocks would be under his face. His lower lip was trembling and he tried to look away but there were the breasts. He could not avoid them. They were trembling in their warm coat of butter. He pursed his lips and took one of my nipples in his mouth. I started to weep and he sucked on it and sucked the butter off in gasps until only the raw nipple was left-the raw, dancing cherry which was darting in and out of his mouth-searching for his tongue. I rammed my whole breast in his mouth until he was full of my love. He spat the mound out and looked around-desperate and uncomprehending.
A second later my hands were ripping at my dress which I left a shattered rag on the floor. My fingers ripped the silk panties to pieces and then, grabbing a hunk of the melting butter, I plunged it into my crotch-thrusting the golden stuff over my black crotch hairs until the whole nest was dripping wet.
"Pedro, Pedro," I moaned.
He was crawling to me-making voiceless sounds. He licked the dripping butter from my crotch and then his tongue followed the drops until he was spearing the cunt juices-mixed with the butter.
"I want you-I want you-I want you," I kept moaning over and over and leaning against my table, used both my hands to open my cunt and give him the golden red flower.
A fastening of the mouth and then a shuddering suck and I felt like a thousand white hot prongs were ripping my cunt apart. My hands smashed him on the side of the head but his young tongue was all the way in-racing wildly along the vaginal walls-plucking and spearing the pools-driving upwards toward the womb.
I spread my legs so wide that the thigh muscles seemed to be falling apart-to be ripping by an invisible hand. I urged him on-calling for the tongue-forgetting everything except that sweet tip which was like some animal-strange and furry-discovering the love juices of my cunt for the first time.
My whole flower was quivering and the walls were sucking him higher until I heard him moan and gasp with the breath of desperation. It was too much for the child. The child wanted junk and poison and all I had given him was the slimy cunt-but the wetness was my own love and it was sweet as he plucked. He couldn't get it out. My thighs were like a vise-keeping his tongue there
-making him suck like a berserk funnel. Finally, I relaxed and let his mouth leave me. I was wild with passion. My hands went once again to the butter and holding a large hunk-opened his pants and desperately began to coat his cock which was menacing and erect-the veins pulsing against the taut flesh.
It was the golden cock and I stood back for a moment and there was a great calm over the both of us. He stared at his own penis and then looked at me-his face twisted into a mask and his young virgin lips coated with the juices of my vaginal flower.
There was a storm growing between us. He knew, I think, for the first time, that I was the only way to beat drugs, that my body was the only true drug-that his youth was to be fed by my love.
I kneeled and kissed the ground in front of him. Pedro closed his eyes. He was unable to fight anymore. He licked his lips and tasted my cunt love
-which still clung to his teeth and throat like dew. I crawled to him until the golden butter cock was only an inch from my face. My lips pursed and they wrapped around his pulsing tip. The whole child shuddered-the whole child was giving himself to me.
With open mouth-I let the smooth shaft sink in. Inch after inch I sucked until my whole being was filled with that brown shaft.
It was dancing in my mouth-it was thrashing back and forth, trying to suck all the juices. My tongue was like a burning cloth, covering it again and again with saliva. I wanted it to go all the way down my throat-to feel my whole body being taken apart by it.
"No, no, no," he kept moaning, unable to take my love any more.
But what did his cries mean to me? I was cock crazy; the butter was a divine kiss-a golden joy.
It slipped out with my blessing and I crouched, thrusting out my vulva. He was dancing on his toes-the child being destroyed by the need he felt. He ran toward me and plunged his erect shaft, coated with butter and spit, into my golden cunt. I was slammed up against the wall and he began to grind. My eyes filled with tears.
He was fucking me-as I had never been fucked before. The nutritionist-the creator of a thousand health hints was receiving an injection of young, brown, erect Vitamin Cock. I threw my old life away-that precise moment-when I was nailed against the wall.
Oh how I dreamed-even at the moment of orgasm-of all the young boys I would have.
One of Freud's most difficult but most fruitful essays was PSYCHOGENIC VISUAL DISTURBANCE ACCORDING TO PSYCHOANALYTICAL CONCEPTIONS (reprinted ifn CHARACTER AND CULTURE, Collier Books, New York, 1963).
In this essay, he writes:
"Speaking generally, the various organs and systems of organs are at the disposal of both sexual and ego-instincts. Sexual pleasure is not connected only with the function of the genitals; the mouth serves for kissing as well as for eating or speaking."
Most of our readers will, of course always be aware of this. But he goes on to say:
"This principle necessarily leads to pathological consequences when the two fundamental instincts are at variance, when a repression is set up on the part of the ego against the sexual-component in question....The ego has lost control of the organ...."
This last sentence is crucial to our case. The whole butter syndrome of Anna, which is merely an outgrowth of her perverted masturbatory act with the candle, is a prime example of what happens when the ego loses control of the organs, in this case both fingers and mouth.
She is using butter as the symbol of the freedom from the ego. And what is the repression she is encountering? Fingers and mouth are associated with the oral stage of childhood, with the moment when the child is clutching the breast and then taking it into her mouth. Clearly, Anna is experiencing a revival of her childhood traumas which were centered on that stage.
The butter wrapped around both the candle and then the young penis is the nipple which she has been unable to purge from her memory. The sucking in, with mouth and vagina, of the two objects, one natural and one unnatural, is her way to regressing to childhood in order to alleviate the unpleasantness of the repression. Why, after so many years, the need to alleviate the sympton has suddenly become paramount-is something we cannot answer because of the lack of concrete information.
There is a good reason why she seduces the boy.
The symbolism of drug addiction-the needle into the arm-is the same as the nipple into the mouth. The drug has always been considered a substitute mother; it is warm and pleasant and alleviates all woes-just like the warm, joyous nipple.
But the reader may legitimately ask, why not a mature drug addict? The child is the epitome of innocence and, as such, is not really associated with sexuality. The mature woman who seduces a boy is apt to feel that she is engaging in something pure-almost a religious rite-and this engagement lessens her guilt at both the seduction and the sexual act.
Even her profession-a nutritionist-reveals her dependence upon that childhood trauma. Nutrition was the prime fact of the nipple. Anna became such a professional worker in order to make sure that the nipple was available to all who wanted it; her desperate need for it made her believe that it was the universal palliative and that Nutrition, as a science, was, subconsciously of course, the analogue to that desire.
Without psychiatric care, this woman will fall apart. Each seduction, each young boy, will only bring the repressed material closer and closer to consciousness-until she will be unable to face the guilt.