Chapter 3

Clay's Theme

"I'm about as much an orphan as anyone can be. They tell me that I was found in a vacant room at the Claymore Hotel just hours after I had been born. Someone-my mother, I guess-had wrapped me in a bath towel and laid me between two pillows on a bed. Then she had written a note on a piece of cardboard saying there was an 'unattended' infant named Clay inside, hooked the note on the room's doorknob, and took off.

"Unfortunately, people must have been used to seeing notes hanging on hotel room doorknobs, because it was several hours before anybody took the time to read it and inform the manager. They tell me that another couple of hours and I would've died. Anyway, thanks to dear old mom, my first three months of life were spent in a hospital, throwing off one disease after another.

"I'm twenty-two now, and I really couldn't care less about how I was born, where I was born, or who was responsible. My feelings about the whole matter have been conditioned since my birth and, as a result, I'm thick-skinned about being a bastard. I don't hate my parents-whoever they are and wherever they may be. I'm sure they've given themselves enough punishment over the years, so why the hell would I want to add to it? The only time I do feel a little hurt is when I see my friends' families gather together for Thanksgiving, Christmas or some other holiday. And even then the hurt only lasts for a short while.

"Perhaps it was because I knew I was a bastard that I put out the effort to make something of myself. I'm an accountant now-a damn good one, too-and by the end of another five years I intend to own my own business consulting firm. I've set my mind on it and I'll make it-just like I've accomplished every goal I've ever set up for myself.

"The first seventeen years of my life were spent in a variety of orphanages and foster homes. I learned early how to take care of myself. I was what you might call a 'sneaky model child.' The difference between right and wrong was slapped into me before I ever reached kindergarten. Rarely did I do anything wrong, but when I did-crack!-right across the face. So I learned never to repeat a wrong act-or, if I did, I made damned sure I never got caught. It's a habit I've carried over to this day. You know what they say: 'Watch out for yourself, for sure as hell nobody else will."

"In school, I gave no one trouble, minded my own p's and q's, and studied hard. In fact, with the exception of my junior year in high school, I was a straight 'A' student all the way. During that one year, I slipped down to 'C grades, but there was good reason for it as I'll go into later.

"Sex was the one hang-up I never could shake until I reached seventeen. Until that time, it really frightened me. The reason for that was I didn't understand it-and nobody seemed to want to teach me about it. Oh, like everyone else, I heard stories about so-an-so, learned about the birds and the bees, and even saw some pictures of naked women. But I didn't know how to apply all this to real life. I used to try to avoid parties and dances because I was afraid someone might ask me to do something and I wouldn't know how to act. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's making a fool of myself.

"So even when I was in the orphanages, where all the parties were closely chaperoned, I used to either feign sickness or, if I did go, I'd make damned sure I was a first-class wallflower. I was helped somewhat by my looks. I wouldn't say I was an ugly kid, but I don't remember anyone saying I was good-looking, either.

"They sent me to my first foster home when I was seven. I was terrified. Mr. and Mrs. Porter had six kids, all older than me, with the exception of one. Danny was a month younger, and it didn't take me long to realize that I wasn't there because the Porters had fallen in love with me; I was there strictly as a playmate for Danny.

"Danny and I got along good, but the rest of the family treated me like I was some kind of stray dog. Oh, they'd feed me, clothe me, fix me up if I got hurt, but that was about it. Mrs. Porter was always clucking her tongue at me and telling me to go outside and play, and old man Porter was always complaining that I was underfoot. They never did anything to directly hurt me, but I still experienced a great deal of hurt those three years from their whispers and annoyed expressions.

"The person who hurt me most during that time was Melanie, Danny's sister. She was four years older than I, and a first-class, snotty bitch. Her greatest joy in life was teasing me and constantly putting me down. While all the other kids in the family hypocritically referred to me as 'brother,' Melanie chose to describe me as 'that stupid kid.' I'll never forget that smart-assed tongue of hers: 'That stupid kid is ugly'; 'That stupid kid is always taking my things'; 'When are we going to get rid of that stupid kid?'; and her favorite, 'I hate that stupid kid."

"I hated her guts. I thought of nothing but getting back at her. I wanted to pay her back for everything she had done to me or had said about me. It took almost three years, but on my tenth birthday I got my chance. And sex-the one thing that really scared me-was my weapon.

"Naturally, there had been no birthday party for me. The Porters, as they had done the two previous years, had apologized, saying that they were much too busy and perhaps next year they would be able to throw a party for me. So, when I came out for breakfast that morning, there on the kitchen table was my usual present: a cheap card and a small bag of rock candy. I thanked everyone for their wonderful generosity, then spent the rest of the day in my room, fantasizing about all the lavish parties I would give myself when I grew up and became rich.

"That evening, around seven o'clock, there was a knock on my bedroom door. It was Melanie and I could tell by the expression on her face that she was in a mood for some teasing.

"'Everyone's gone to the drive-in movie,' she said with that damned air of superiority. She swung her smart-assed butt up to my bed. 'Everyone but me that is. I've seen the picture."

"It cut me and Melanie knew it. Here it was my birthday and I hadn't even been asked if I wanted to go to the movies. I tried to keep an Idon't-give-a-damn attitude as I looked up at her face and said, 'I've got some work to do. Leave me alone."

"'You don't have any work to do,' she said sarcastically. 'All you want to do is just lie around and be lazy.' She paused for a moment, then tugged at my pants. 'Your pants are dirty, Clay. Don't you know where the hamper is. Why do you always walk around with dirty pants?'

"She was staring at my pants; more specifically, she was staring at my crotch. More and more in the past few weeks, I had noticed Melanie staring at my crotch. It didn't make any difference if I was outside in the yard playing or if I was in the living room watching television-I'd catch her sneaking looks at the front of my pants. It usually made me nervous, but I was too angry to be nervous tonight. So, without moving from the bed, I returned her look by staring dead ahead at the slight swell of her breasts.

"'Why should you care?' I asked.

"She knew damned well that I was staring at her tits and I was delighted when I saw that I was making her uneasy. But she swallowed hard and tugged lightly on my pants again. 'Because I don't want you disgracing the family,' she said with weak righteousness. 'Don't you think you'd better take them off and put them in the hamper?'

"A spurt of adrenalin shot through my body, but I did my damndest to keep cool. I wasn't sure what I was getting into. I heard stories about Melanie from the older boys at school and, if they were true, I knew that she knew a great deal more about sex than I did. That frightened me.

"'Now?' I asked cautiously. 'With you in the room?'

"She tried to look prim, authoritative, but she was breathing too hard to pull it off. 'Of course,' she said, 'It's all in the family."

"That dumb crack loosened my up. What a bunch of crap! I stood and fumbled with my belt. I knew that this was as good a time as any to pay Melanie back for some of the smarts she had given me. And, of course, I was a little excited, too. I had never 'played sex' with a girl before. But I also hated this particular girl, so I purposefully took my time with the belt, giving her enough rope to see if she would hang herself.

"'Oh, you're so slow, Clay,' she said impatiently. 'Here, let me do it.' She brushed my hand away from the belt and unbuckled it. Then she zipped down the fly and tugged the trousers down to my knees. I had a surprise for Melanie. I wasn't wearing any shorts. And even for a kid, I had a fairly thick, semi-hard prick. She stared and swallowed hard. 'Where are your shorts?' she asked, but her eyes never left my rod.

"The hate I was feeling for Melanie, plus the tingle of excitement that was leaping through my prick gave me all kinds of courage. 'Where do you think they are?' I snapped. 'They're in the hamper.' I paused for a few seconds while her eyeballs continued to measure my rod. I suddenly felt very daring. 'You can touch it, if you want,' I said, and I even forced a smile on her.

"Melanie hesitated, then slowly reached a shaking hand out. I brushed it away. 'Only if I can touch yours,' I said firmly. She looked up at me, a kind of strange, faraway look in her eyes. I smiled commandingly down at her. 'Is it true what I hear about you and those other boys at school?' I asked. She flinched, then stood up. 'Never mind that,' she said. 'You can touch me if you want."

"Swiftly, she hiked up her dress and dropped her panties to the floor. Then she lay down on the bed and spread her legs. 'Go ahead, Clay. Touch me.' And, as if to help me just a little, she slid her two hands down to the cunt I was gaping at and spread the lips for me.

"For a moment I lost courage. Here was a girl who really knew what she was doing-a real pro, and I didn't know the first thing about real live sex. I was ready to call the whole thing off when I heard the harsh bitchiness in her voice as she snapped, 'C'mon, you stupid kid. What're you waiting for? Don't you know anything!

"Now that really pissed me off and the courage roared back into my balls. This was more like the good old Melanie that I knew and hated so well. I reached forward and, for the first time in my life, I touched a girl's pussy. 'That's it,' she said huskily, 'right there. Keep touching it."

"The excitement of touching my first cunt filtered through my hate for the girl. My prick hardened. Of course, it didn't shoot out to any magnificent length of thickness, but it swelled to a firmness that I had never experienced before. Melanie reached down and took hold of it. 'Get up on the bed with me, Clay,' she whispered hotly.

"I was shaking a little as I climbed onto the bed and laid beside her. She positioned me so that my face was staring at her pussy and my prick was levelled in front of her mouth. I moved my head in closer to her box and I poked around her clit and hole with my fingers. Melanie needed a bath something awful that night-her cunt smelled like sour orange juice. It turned me off a little, just enough to remind me that I hated this girl.

"'You can kiss it, if you like,' she whispered down at me.

"I shook my head as I continued to play with her cunt. Oh, no, I wasn't about to put my head in there. 'Please, Clay,' she pleaded, 'you'll love it. All the other boys do.' Now that turned me off all the more. 'No,' I said aloud, 'I don't want to kiss it."

"'But it's easy,' she whined. 'Please, Clay.' She was begging me and I found that I was loving every minute of it. Smart-ass Melanie begging. Wow! 'No!' I said again, and I dug a finger into her hole for emphasis. She winced, but her breath was racing now. She was desperate to have me mouth her box.

"'Wait a minute, Clay,' she said hastily. 'Here, I'll show you how good it feels, then you'll want to do it.' And before I knew what was going on she had swept my prick into her mouth and was sucking furiously on it. She loved every minute of it. Her moans of pleasure rang against my ears, bringing back my excitement, turning me on again. I could feel all those tingly vibrations circling around my crotch and I knew that I was going to have a orgasm. She was right about one thing. It did feel good. It felt wonderful. And to add to all this, as she ate me and squeezed my little balls with one hand, her other hand slid down in front of my face and she began finger-fucking herself, all the time moaning like she was about to come herself.

"It took me about two minutes to reach my orgasm. A thin trickle of fluid pulsed from the head of my prick into her mouth. Quickly, she jumped from the bed and ran into the bathroom where I could hear her spitting my come into the toilet. A minute later she was back on the bed, her legs spread wide, whining, 'Now me. Please, Clay, now me. Eat me. Suck on my pussy!'

"I looked down on her and smiled. She was so hot that she was squirming all over the bed. 'Sure, Melanie,' I said, 'but first.' And without another word, I took hold of my limp prick, turned it toward her, and pissed all over her face and dress. By the time she had recovered, I was finished. Screaming like a madwoman, she leaped from the bed. I grinned at her as I watched my piss roll down her face and stain the collar of her dress. She began to blubber, then cry as she ran down the hallway to her room. I laughed loudly, yelling at her, telling her how funny, how foolish she looked, telling her that she made a great toilet bowl.

"Just before her door slammed shut, all the hate came pouring out of me as I shouted, 'Just think of it as a nice, wet present from that stupid kid!' I continued laughing as I walked back to the bed and fell on it, exhausted but very satisfied. It had been a helluva good birthday after all.

"Three months later I was back in the orphanage. I don't think it was because of what happened between Melanie and me. There was no way her parents could've found out unless Melanie told them, and I knew she didn't have the guts for that. I think I was sent back because Danny had made enough friends in the neighborhood and at school, so he really didn't need a live-in playmate.

"Although I've never seen any of that family since I was ten, would you believe that every birthday I still get a card from the Porters? There's usually a note scribbled at the bottom of the card saying something to the effect that I shouldn't forget the good old days. What a bunch of horse shit!

"For the next two and a half years, I didn't have any trouble with girls. That's because the orphanage kept the sexes segregated. The building was built in the shape of a three-story box, with two long long wings on either side. Boys and girls could go into the box section, which was called 'administration,' but they could not pass through it to get to the other wing. Anyone who tried and got caught was punished. Almost daily you could hear the screams of horny kids-particularly the older ones.

"I was nearly thirteen when they sent me to another foster home. My guardians this time were like out of a gothic novel. Mr. Gotham was in his seventies, Mrs. Gotham was thirty. The old man was a millionaire and therein probably lies the tale of the marriage.

"Mrs. Gotham was a gorgeous ex-model who reeked of sexuality. A five-year-old could have tabbed her. She balled more lovers the couple of years I was there than I could keep track of. She'd keep them around for a couple of weeks, then slip them a grand or so and send them on their way. No one-the housekeeper, cook, the butler, the chauffeur, or me-ever talked about her and 'her friends."

"But old Gotham talked about her. The old boy must have been a little out of adjustment, for every now and then he'd call me into his study and lay his troubles on my back like I was his father. The housekeeper used to tell me that he was senile and that I should play the little game with him. The next day everything would be back to normal. As I look back on it now, I don't think the old boy was senile, at all. I think he was just horny.

"One day, after swearing me to secrecy, he told me that his wife hated him and wanted to kill him. He said that they had been married only after he had agreed to certain stipulations. I particularly remember the stipulations regarding sex between the two of them, perhaps because he must have related them to me some thirty times. First, his wife was required to have sex with him only once a month, and she could select the time. Second, he could never kiss her on the lips. Third, he had to wear a contraceptive whenever they had intercourse. Fourth, she could remain passive during all sex activity, except when he requested masturbation. And fifth, the one that really goaded him, she could have other lovers.

"At the time I didn't understand all the implications of these rules. All I knew was that the old man was extremely unhappy because of his wife. He loved her dearly, and for this reason he would never divorce her. But he was convinced that she was out to get her freedom by murdering him. On one occasion he told me of several incidents-more like accidents-that had almost cost him his life. Later, I was to find out that most of these 'accidents' happened in his mind.

"Anyway, that gives you an idea of the type of environment that I was dumped into just as I was beginning my teen-age years. I had an oversexed 'mother' and a more than slightly paranoid 'father.' I'm surprised I came out of that place with my head on straight.

"You'd think that since I lived with a millionaire that it would be a kid's dream-life come true. Not so. We lived well out in the country and the only time I was actually with kids my own age was when I was attending school. Also, it was a major project to get out to a movie or a ball game. I had to check it out with everyone in the house before I could either get the chauffeur to drive me or get the housekeeper to come up with taxi fare. And even if I got that far, one of the servants had to accompany me-I was never allowed out alone.

"I got two important lessons out of my two years with the Gothams. First, when the old man was lucid, he taught me a great deal about business management. He owned a flock of factories, and, although he very rarely visited them in person, he actively managed them from his home and I would overhear conversations that fascinated me. All about debits, credits, expenditures, employee-employer relations, production schedules, and so on. He would throw parties at the house for important businessmen that would be corkers. I always had to keep out of the way, stay on the fringe of all these activities. But it didn't prevent me from learning. I think it's because of old Gotham that I'ma success in business today.

"The second important lesson I received was from Mrs. Gotham. Guess what the subject was. You bet your booties. And, she was an outstanding teacher. I suppose I always knew that something would happen before I got out of that house, but I never dreamed it would be so mind-blowing.

"First, I think I should give you a little background on our relationship. Although Mrs. Gotham was never anything but nice to me, I was completely intimidated by her presence. Whenever she would walk into a room where I was, or we would meet in the hallway, outside on the grounds or wherever, the sight of her would make me nervous. I mean, when she looked at me it was as if those beautiful blue eyes of hers were boring clear down to my balls. It was a sexual thing, no doubt, but it was merely a feeling-never anything put into words or actions, at least not until that night.

"It was a frigid December evening, about two weeks before Christmas. The old man had been tucked away hours earlier, the house staff had retired to their rooms, and I, unable to sleep, had made my way down to the kitchen for a midnight snack. As I was putting the finishing touches on a cold beef sandwich, I heard a commotion coming from the front of the house; raised voices and a lot of angry words being exchanged. Curious, I forgot about the sandwich and made my way to the study, just off the front hall foyer.

"It was Mrs. Gotham and her latest lover. They were both gassed. The man was waving a half-empty bottle of liquor in her face, using it to punctuate his statements. Quaint sayings, such as: 'You're nothing but a rich whore'; 'If you can go down on him, why can't you go down on me?'; T wouldn't sleep with you if you were a virgin'; and, 'I've got six fresh ones I can get any time I want; why the hell should I have to settle for seconds!'

"She countered with: 'I can suck off anyone I please at any time I please'; 'You took your own fucking time about getting there'; and, 'Go back to your cruddy little whore-what the hell do I care!'

"This went on for about ten minutes before the man finally ended it by flinging the bottle onto an expensive velvet chair, and storming out of the house. Mrs. Gotham sagged against a table, catching her breath, and staring daggers at the shut door. 'Bastard,' she muttered under her breath, 'bastard, bastard, bastard.' Finally, with a heavy sigh, she stood tall, turned, and started walking back to the study.

"She caught me before I could escape.

"'Clay, is that you?' she called.

"'Yes, ma'am,' I said, stopping dead in my tracks.

"I saw her framed in the doorway, the anger still on her face. Her hair was disheveled, and her clothes were rumpled, but she was absolutely gorgeous. She looked younger than thirty.

"'You know you should be in bed, she said evenly. 'Come on, I'll walk you up to your room."

"Dropping her mink on the nearest chair, she turned back into the foyer and headed for the stairs. I was at her heels in a matter of seconds. As she plodded heavily up the stairs, she glanced back at me. 'Did you hear all that?' I nodded. 'Well,' she began somewhat defensively, 'I hope when you're older you'll have more respect for a woman than that bastard does."

"'Yes, ma'am,' I mumbled, trying my damndest to see up the back of her dress. Mercy, her legs were gorgeous.

"When we reached my room, we both entered. I went directly to the bed and climbed onto it. As I began to pull the covers over me, she said, 'Wait a minute, Clay.' I stopped and looked up at her. 'I've got some news for you,' she said smiling down at me. 'What's that?' I asked. She walked up to the bed, reached down, and with the tip of a finger, touched my penis.

'Your fly's open, my dear, did you know that?'

"I was mortified. In front of her! How could I? I could feel the searing of a deep blush as it surged up to my face. I sneaked a glance at my pajama bottoms. Sure enough, there were two buttons opened and my prick was there in all its glory. And not only that, I had been so excited by the touch of her finger that my rod was growing, hardening out. She watched this happening and smiled. I grabbed the covers to pull them over me, but her hand stopped me. She gazed at my prick for a long time, a thin smile cracking her beautiful lips, then she looked up at me.

"'I was worried about you for a while,' she said. 'But I guess there was no need. You're as normal as the next one."

"With every breath I took, it felt as though I was being splashed by droplets of exotic perfume. I thought I was going to gag with ecstasy and I was praying like hell that she'd leave the room so I could jack off. Damn, I had to jack off.

"Then she did something really unexpected. She bent over and kissed me on the forehead. And, as she did so, that magnificent swell of breasts and that long dark corridor of meaty cleavage sagged close to my face. I thought I was going to shit. She drew back and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Oh, God! Her eyes, bright with alcohol-and something else-focused on my hardening prick. She touched it with her finger and her expression became tender; she looked like a little girl with a new puppy. 'Ooooo, how cute....' she cooed. Her lips remained puckered after the words were spoken.

"My temperature must have been 104, I swear! I had a fleeting urge to scream. I wanted to climb right out of that bed and leap through the window. I wanted to die!

"But-heaven help me-I also wanted her to continue. I wanted sex from her.

"'Cute,' she cooed again as her head suddenly swooped down and my rod was swept up into her mouth. I was as stiff as a sixty-day-old corpse. I couldn't have moved even if I had tried. As she sucked on my prick, her right forearm was pressing down hard on my stomach. What the fuck-there was nothing I could do. My body had taken over from my mind. She hadn't been mouthing me more than thirty seconds when I blew my wad. She took it easily and swallowed it down. I watched all of this pop-eyed, my senses reeling from one end of the room to the other. When she had gotten it all, my body sagged and flattened out on the bed. It was dead!

"Her head came up. She looked at me, her eyes glazed. 'Good,' she said simply. Then, wobbly, she rose to her feet, her hair cascading wildly down over her face. She reached down and patted my shriveled up prick. 'Don't go 'way,' she said. And then she turned and left the room.

"I finally got to speak. 'Wow,' I said, just loud enough for me to hear it.

"For the next hour or so I just lay on my bed, uncovered, and allowed my fantasies to run wild. The first trick my mind pulled was to reverse the sexual roles; I emerged as the aggressor, my sensual guardian as the naive and willing victim. I drove her wild with my manhood, and she begged time and time again to run away from this house, to take her to some faraway land where we would be free of the shackles of her marriage and where we could fuck and suck each other forever. We had just arrived at some secluded Utopia when my eyes focused back to reality and gaped at the vision wearing a purple baby-doll that had just entered my bedroom. Ohmygosh! I snapped out of dreamland and back to the world of reality.

"'Have you recovered, Clay?' she asked quietly as she moved to the edge of the bed. Then she glanced at my prick, which had suddenly blossomed into a tube of youthful steel, and she giggled. 'Oh my, I guess you have."

"She leaned forward and brushed my lips with hers. My breathing was irregular again and I was burning up. The situation was normal. 'Ever see a woman naked...? ' she blew into my ear. The thrill I experienced when her tongue followed the words were indescribable. I shook my head, still too shocked to speak. 'Want to?' she blew again. I licked my parched lips and tried to speak. I couldn't get a damn word out. Oh, those lovely hunk of tits! I nodded jerkily. 'That's my boy,' she said, pulling back from me and standing tall, her feet planted firmly on the carpet.

"Like Melanie was several years ago, sweet Mrs. Gotham was a teaser. However, the similarity ended right there. Melanie teased to hurt; Mrs. Gotham teased to arouse. Gracefully, she unhooked the top of the baby-doll and let it slip to the floor. She cupped her boobs-the largest handfuls of flesh I had yet seen-and squeezed them for me. She tilted her body forward slightly, so I could be sure to see them. Then she sensuously raised one tit high, then higher, then still higher, until she was able to suck the nipple into her mouth. Her lips worked languorously on it and theatrical moans slipped from the base of her throat. She was putting on a show for me and my rod.

"'Ummm, that's good,' she whispered, slipping the nipple from her mouth and leaning forward. 'Taste?' she asked, dropping the nipple down toward my mouth. Would a starving dog turn his tail on a bone? I practically leaped up at it, gobbling the delicious meat into my mouth. She murmured her approval and pressed my head hard against her tits. I sucked voraciously, feeling and thrilling to the hardness of the nipple as it bumped again and again against the flat of my tongue. 'Good boy,' she whispered. 'Good boy."

"I heard the pop of the snaps on the side of her baby-doll panties and knew that she had gotten rid of them. Then she slipped her hand over mine and guided it to an enormous clump of hair between her legs. I worked my fingers down through the hair until I made contact with the wetness of her cunt. The woman was sopping wet! She moaned, 'That's right, son, that's the place....' I pulled my mouth off her nipple for an instant, but she quickly pressed my head back. 'No, no, Clay ... don't stop. Keep sucking. Yes, that's it. Ohhhh, that feels wonderful, just wonderful!'

"I was wallowing in sex, maybe too much sex. I didn't know what to enjoy first: the taste of her heavy tits or the feel of her sopping cunt. I felt like I was on a train going in two different directions at the same time. I tried to organize my thoughts, but I couldn't. I was too charged-up, so I thought to hell with it.

"The fingers of my hand had worked their way down to her hole. They poked around at the entrance for a few seconds and then were sucked in. I swear! First, two fingers, then three, then four-all sucked into that huge cavern of raw flesh. I wiggled them, trying to touch the walls of her tunnel. She was breathing hotly into my ear. 'Get your hand in, Clay. I want your hand in.' My thumb slipped into her hole and I was in up to my knuckles. She reached down and took a firm hold on my wrist and, in a churning motion, pushed my hand forward. Slowly, my hand slid into the cunt hole, my fingernails cutting at some tender flesh deep in the tunnel. 'Good, good,' she husked. 'Keep it up. Don't stop."

"Her tit slipped from my mouth, but she quickly grabbed at it and thrust it back in. 'Suck, suck,' she ground into my ear. Meanwhile, my hand continued to slip in or be sucked into her vagina. And then it was all in. My wrist rested against the lips of her cunt. Her voice croaked as she let out a long, drawn out sigh of ecstasy. 'Now fuck me, Clay, fuck me."

"She began humping her hips, driving forward and then pulling back. Some instinct that I had never experienced before made me begin to pump my hand back and forth within her vagina. The tempo slowly picked up. I balled my hand into a fist and was punching away at the back wall of her hole. Back and forth, against and away, up and down, we smashed away at each other. Faster and faster we went as she tossed her head wildly, crushing her tit deep into my mouth. She squealed and cursed and I tasted the saltiness of her body as she broke out in a sweat. And then suddenly, she let out a low scream and her teeth clamped down on my ear. Her body shuddered, then went into a wild flurry of convulsions. Again and again it happened. My mouth was red raw from sucking on her tit, the arm that pumped my fist in and out of her cunt was exhausted. And she kept spitting into my ear, 'I love it, I love it. I've never had it this way. Oh God, it's wonderful ... glorious ... too much...."

"And then it was over and she fell back across the bed, over my body, and lay limp. 'Glorious,' she kept saying, 'just glorious.' After a few moments she guided my hand out of her cunt. It emerged with a loud, wet sucking-popping sound and she moaned happily. She turned her face up to me, kissed me long and fully on the lips, and whispered gratefully, 'That was the greatest climax I've ever hit. Thank you, son."

"And before another ten minutes passed on the clock, she had thanked me further by taking another mouthful of my spurting come."

In this case, three clearly defined psychological complexes emerge which tend to dominate the entire personality structure. Together they form a pattern which, if unchecked, could become the basis for future deviant behavior.

The first of these symptoms falls within the category of megalomania. Throughout the interview sessions, the one compelling, almost obsessive drive which motivated the subject was that of success. Clay often reiterated his desire for success whether it be in the form of scholastic achievement or the accumulation of wealth. Sandor Ferenczi, the famous disciple of Freud, describes this type of obsession in his classic work, Sex In Psycho-Analysis:

This almost incurable megalomania of mankind is only apparently contravened by these neurotics with whom behind the feverish search for success one at once comes across a feeling of inferiority (Adler), which is well-known to the patients themselves. An analysis that reaches to the depths reveals in all such cases that these feelings of inferiority are in no sense something final, an explanation of the neurosis, but are themselves the reactions to an exaggerated feeling of omnipotence, to which such patients have become "fixed" in their early childhood, and which has made it impossible for them to adjust themselves to any subsequent renunciation. The manifest seeking for greatness that these people have, however, is only a "return of the repressed," a hopeless attempt to reach once more, by means of changing the outer world, the omnipotence that originally was enjoyed without effort.

The feeling of inferiority referred to above is clearly evident in Clay's sexual frustrations. Although he excelled his peers in the academic area, he felt a tremendous sense of inadequacy in sexual-social matters. In fact, he confesses that the topic of sex actually frightened him, and he describes that aspect of his life as "the one hang-up" he couldn't shake.

In spite of his boast that he is now free of this sense of inferiority, Clay's current behavior as a high achiever indicates the pattern to be as firmly entrenched as ever. The origin of this neurotic symptom is traceable to his early childhood "training," involving a good deal of corporal punishment. This strict, authoritarian conditioning caused a fixation to occur in his omnipotent phase of development, and also served as the foundation for his autoerotic escapism.

The means by which Clay is attempting to achieve his highest success, both sexually and professionally, is in the accumulation of money, and this, quite naturally, brings us to the second complex, that of anal fixation. Ferenczi devotes considerable thought to the analysis of this behavior symptom:

As an individual-psychological phenomenon parallel with this fact Freud asserts that an intimate association exists between the strongly marked erogeneity of the anal zone in childhood and the character trait of miserliness that develops later....

In other words, Ferenczi and Freud develop the idea that extensive connections exist between the disparate complexes of defecation and interest in money. As the child develops, he takes objects from the earth, such as dirt, sand, clay, and transfers to them the special value he once gave to his own waste products. Soon after this, he enters into a period that Ferenczi calls the "infantile stone age": the collecting of pebbles, glass marbles, buttons and so on. However, the child's deep need to clean himself leads to the search for something purer to gather, and this is offered in the shining coins, later identified with paper money. At this point in his life, the child has not only gratified his need to accumulate and withhold feces-like material, but also the material itself-money contains the seductive possibilities of obtaining his greatest desires. In Clay's case, money is the means by which he hopes to buy the family life and sexual love denied him as an orphan child.

The third complex, inferiority, is closely related to the previous disorders and is often accompanied by the sadistic impulse. Clay recalls with considerable delight his experience of urinating on the face and clothing of Melanie immediately after his first heterosexual relationship with her.

In Sexual Deviation, Storr maintains that sadistic behavior is adopted by the individual in order to relieve his sense of inferiority. Furthermore, the sadist often goes beyond the point of giving pain, his real concern being that of complete sexual ascendency. Storr then relates this to sexual fulfillment:

By rendering his partner helpless, the sadist is creating a situation in which he feels free to do anything he likes to her, whether she wants him to or not. In other words, the sadist has no conception that his partner might invite or welcome his sexual activities. He cannot believe that anyone can really accept him sexually, and thus has to obtain by force what other more confident men expect to be given freely. It is only when he has established complete ascendency over his partner that the sadist can hope for sexual fulfillment; for it is only then that the partner is no longer frightening--

It is interesting to note that Clay's verbal imagery, especially the use of the "toilet bowl" allusion, most definitely relates to his anal fixation.

"Mrs. Gotham avoided me like the plague for the few remaining months I was to spend at her home. Then one day Mr. Gotham called me into the study and told me that for my best interests I was going to be sent back to the orphanage. He told me that he had been influenced by his wife. She had given him her opinion that this was not the correct environment for raising a teenager. Of course, I knew the real reason why she wanted to get rid of me; since our night together I had been a pain to her conscience. And now she was merely purging herself of that pain. Whatever the reason, back to the orphanage I went.

"For the next several years, the orphanage was merely a stopping-off point for me. I spent most of my time in various foster homes. The story was always the same; my material needs were taken care of, but I never really got the affection I was now beginning to crave. It's a void I'm still trying to fill.

"Putting into operation some of the business philosophy I'd absorbed from old man Gotham, I began to concentrate heavily on my schooling. I knew that if I was to be any kind of a success in life that I-a bastard orphan-would have to work my balls off for it. My goal was diplomas; to me they represented passports to success. Academically, I easily made the transition from grammar school to high school. Socially, I had a difficult time, a situation I created for myself. Because of my determination to be a scholastic standout, I became a virtual loner.

"But my plan seemed to be working. Whenever I'd get down on myself because of lack of friends, those A's that would show up on my report cards always gave me a boost. I kept thinking of the future, realizing that these difficult years would be easier later on in life. From the seventh grade onward, I worked for and made the honor roll each semester. Then I reached my junior year in high school and my world slipped down a few pegs.

"That summer I had been sent to a new foster home. The Newtons were from the South, God-fearing and strict. But they carried their convictions to senile extremes. Today they would be labelled as a couple of prime reasons for the generation gap-they still lived in the nineteenth century. Mr. Newton, in his late fifties, was a paragon of virtue. His occupation was carpentry and his main claim to fame was that he had built his house with his own two hands, a fact he never let me forget. He not only preached that work was good for the soul, mind and body, but he practiced it. The TV set was clicked off promptly at ten every night and everyone would rise at 5:30 a.m. ready for a full day of fulfilling work.

"Mrs. Newton was a rather slow-moving, plumpish woman in her middle forties. Strap a bonnet on her hair-bun and deposit her on the bucking seat of a Conestoga wagon and she would have been at home. She was a slave to the house, a twenty-four-hour-a-day cook and housekeeper-the type of woman who could invite you in to eat off her floor. My sloppy habits and her military-like mania for cleanliness clashed often during the year I was to be her 'tenant."

"I don't think the two of them had a sex life at all! He refused to go to the beach because of the nudity it perpetuated. So we sat in the bowels of the house all summer, broiling. Certain television shows never appeared on their set because of the reputation of the performers; and movies-well they were nothing more than vehicles of the devil. Their main entertainment appeared to be those wall-shaking lectures they'd subject me to about the promiscuity among today's youngsters. They knew the inside dope on sex, narcotics, hippies, and corrupt politicians, and spent a great deal of their time feeding it to me. All this information from people who refused to communicate with their next-door neighbors.

"But there was a link missing from their moralistic chain. Mrs. Newton was a hypocrite. Or perhaps it might be better to say that she was sexually starved. As I have already stated, the old man practiced what he preached. He preached that sex was a disease. So his wife suffered.

"From what I could gather from them, they had sacrificed all to help the lonely orphans of the world since the day they were married; that is, they were professional guardians. I was their 52nd child over the past twenty-two years, which should give you some idea of how long each ward lasted. I was exceptional; I was to hang around for a full twelve months.

"Mrs. Newton reached me one day, not long after I had arrived. After taking a shower I had discovered that I had left my clean clothes in my bedroom. Not wanting to embarrass the woman by strolling from the bathroom to the bedroom in my birthday suit, I called out to her and asked her if she would bring my clothes to me. When she arrived, I stood behind the bathroom door and opened it slightly, so she could slip in my clothes. Would you believe she shoved the door all the way open. She muttered something about 'No shame bein' connected with cleanliness,' and stood there, holding my clothes out, staring blankly at my naked body.

"I was flabbergasted. This scene wasn't right, at least, not in this house. I tried to keep my poise as I reached out for my clothes and mumbled a 'thank you.' I know for sure that my dick had all but shriveled up and disappeared somewhere behind my balls.

"'Didja wash good?' she asked, copping an eyeful of my nakedness. 'So many kids today ... they don't wash good."

"'Oh, yes,' I said flippantly. 'Clean as a whistle!'

"'Lemme see,' she said, dropping my clothes to the floor and tugging me forward by the shoulder. I was too stunned to react. I think I wanted to tell her to get the hell out of there and go mind her own fucking business; but I didn't. Instead, I became a zombie and let her examine me at her leisure.

"Those heavy-lidded, lazy eyes of hers moved slowly over my face; I thought of a bored butcher examining his one thousandth cut of sirloin for the day. 'Ears are 'portant,' she drawled, peering around and into them. She turned me around and tapped my back with her finger. 'Good ... good....' The finger ran slowly down my spine making me break out in a rash of goose pimples. It stopped at the tip of the crack of my ass, and then I could hear the starch in her dress crackle as she bent over. Her thumb and forefinger spread the cheeks and I knew she was looking up at my asshole. 'Bath might be better for down here. Ummm....Very 'portant."

"Her finger pierced my hole and I flinched. She withdrew it and I swung around. She was examining her forefinger. Thank heaven it was clean.

"I made a move to bend over and pick up my clothes, but she stopped that with a hand against my chest. Cocking her head from side to side, she gave my chest, sides, and stomach the once-over. 'Ummm. ... Good.' And then her hand drifted down and rested on the bush of hair just above my shriveled-up prick. I sucked in my breath, preparing for anything.

"Mrs. Newton's knees creaked loudly as they sagged to the damp bathroom rug. I watched her closely as she stared intently at my genitals, and I didn't miss the quick lick her tongue gave her lips. With her thumb and forefinger she took hold of my penis and stretched it out. She examined the top, bottom and sides minutely, from base to tip of the shaft minutely. I let out a long loud sigh of impatience. 'Jus' 'nother moment, son. Ummm ... good, clean babies....' Her hand cupped my balls, squeezing them gently. 'Still wet."

"I was about to damn everything and make my break when she did something extraordinary. This chubby woman opened her chubby lips and sucked my prick and my balls into her big fat warm and wonderful mouth. I couldn't believe it!!!

"But my rod did. It came to life and, like a fugitive snake, it grew out to a rock-hard six and one-half inches. Her head was forced back, but she gave a few good long, hard draws on my meat she could reach before letting it slip from her mouth. Then she looked up at me and smiled broadly, those lazy eyes now wide with a mixture of joy and lust. Guess what she said! 'Ummm ... good!'

"Then, with a swiftness I never knew she had in her, she rose to her feet, gripped me by the hand, led me into the bedroom, and brusquely sat me on the edge of the bed. Her hands flew about her dress and underthings until everything was scattered about the floor. It was like watching a white tornado. The woman's tits were enormous; fat and ponderous, they hung almost to her navel. She grabbed one tit, moved over to the bed, forced my mouth open, and made me swallow a mouthful.

"'Suck!' she commanded, and I was too frightened not to obey. Her nipple tasted like lime soap. I wanted to spit it out, but dared not.

"While I sucked, her fingers frigged furiously at her cunt. She kissed me on the top of the head. 'Good ... good....' she garbled. Dazedly, I watched her hand ravage her box. She rubbed it, pulled on it, twisted it, jammed her fingers well up into it, and pounded on it as though it were a drum. She was coming on like a madwoman, and the sounds that leaped from her throat were those of an animal in heat.

"Suddenly, she stopped and pulled her tit from my mouth. She grabbed and spread wide her cunt with her hands. Then she hunched up closer to the bed, closer to my face, and commanded again, 'Suck!' Again, out of fear because of the way she was acting, I did as I was told.

"Her meat was too flabby, too wet, too sour. But there was so much of it that going down on her actually turned me on. My prick, which had faded a little, now jutted again, and stabbed at one of her hefty thighs. The whole situation was ridiculous. How could I be doing this with Mrs. Newton? How the hell could the mistress of such a puritanical house attack a teen-age boy? I couldn't answer the questions, but perhaps it was because of the fact that they were there which made the atmosphere in the room so erotic. It wasn't long before I found myself actually participating in the act.

"Her next move was to smartly push my head away from her cunt, bend over, and kiss me fully on the lips. She sucked fiercely on my tongue, draining the saliva from my mouth. After several moments, she broke off and looked me dead in the eye. 'Ever do it with girls, son. You know, to make babies.' All this, and she was still hung up over the word 'fuck."

"I didn't lie to her. I shook my head, indicating 'no.' Her body shook with joy. She kissed me again, harshly, then abruptly slammed my body back onto the bed. Before I could move she was on top of me, pausing only long enough to suck on my hard on a few times, making sure it was good and wet. Then she knelt up, lumbered forward on her knees, until her cunt was straddling my waving pole. She grabbed my rod like you'd pick up a piece of silverware, and roughly jammed it up into her hole.

"My mouth dropped in amazement. You mean, this was it? This was what sexual intercourse was all about? No tenderness, no affection, just two chunks of meat slammed together? Why, she might just as well have blown me. There was nothing romantic about all this; I was her fucking prisoner. That woman had me pinned to the bed and she was using my rod for a fire-pole.

"Her eyes blazed wildly as she glared down on me, her tits flapping from one side of her chest to the other. 'Good ... huh?' she said over and over again, as if trying to prove something to herself. I nodded and then gave up. I decided to lay there, like the passive lump of meat I was, and let her do her thing. It took some doing but I was finally able to concentrate on the sex act itself and deposit my come up her raw box. As soon as I unloaded, she hopped off me, zipped to the bathroom and wiped her pussy with toilet paper. Then she came back to the room and jacked herself off to a floor-rattling climax while I sucked on her limey tits.

"Mrs. Newton sexually controlled me the entire school year, and my grades suffered because of it. She made so many demands on my body that it got to the point where I was afraid to come back to the house after school. I used to dawdle around until I knew that Mr. Newton had come home; then I'd go in. But I couldn't escape her all the time. And believe me, for a woman of such high morals-in front of her husband, anyway-this old gal knew every trick in the book. She taught me a lot, but I hated the lessons. If only there had been the smallest amount of affection.

"The following summer I turned eighteen and was free at last, free to control my own life, sexual or otherwise. I'll never have to submit to strangers again just because I was a bastard orphan. I'm going to be a smashing success in business, and before long I'm going to try and start my own family. I want to be a father."

Clay's relationships with subsequent foster families have served to intensify his feelings of alienation and sense of inferiority. His own description of himself as a "loner" is not far from the mark, and, in fact, sums up a whole set of complexes he prefers to keep concealed. His attitude during the interview sessions was considerably guarded. Unfortunately, rather than delve too deeply into the causes for his past and present difficulties, Clay has chosen to maintain a defense based on goal achievement.

This subject often connected his outer struggle for success with his inner drives toward sexual gratification. In so doing, he demonstrated a form of deviation in which the concept of sex is completely divorced from that of love.

Too often in our culture, the need for genuine affection is translated into sexual activity by old and young alike. The seduction of Clay by Mrs. Newton is typical of such behavior. In other words here is a case of a sexually starved, middle-aged woman seducing an affection-starved juvenile. This kind of maltreatment of a teenager is bound to produce serious, and sometimes permanent psychological scars.