Chapter 8
Sex And The Over-Sexed
Satyriasis is the term used to describe compulsive sexual drive in the male, and the female variation of this is nymphomania. Popular usage may have distorted the true meaning of these terms. There are many forms of compulsive promiscuity, and all are characterized by a multiplicity of casual and indiscriminate sexual contacts. But satyriasis and nymphomania are reserved, by psychiatrists, to refer to a few special varieties of promiscuity.
Both types, contrary to popular belief, are not necessarily over-sexed, and may even be essentially frigid. This appears to be paradoxical only because it is difficult to understand that promiscuity and frigidity can go hand in hand. One would think that a person who cannot get true fulfillment from sex would not over-indulge in it. Actually, the person who is totally frigid is not going to become a satyr or a nymphomaniac. Total frigidity incorporates the inability to gain any pleasure whatsoever from sex. In males, the inability to gain an erection is implicit in this concept, and a male without a stiff penis would obviously be unable to function is a satyr, even if, for some unfathomable reason, he should want to.
But the satyr is only partially frigid. He definitely does obtain pleasure and excitement from sex; however, his sexual experiences, myriad and stimulating as they may be, never provide the ultimate in satisfaction. He may never have an orgasm. He may ejaculate prematurely or he may have orgasms which do not give him total release or satisfaction. In rare cases, he may even suffer from an affliction called priapism, which is a constant erection that cannot be deflated, no matter how much coitus he may indulge in. Because he lives in a perpetual state of sexual frustration, and because he does get pleasure and excitement from sex (though not satisfaction or fulfillment), he seizes every opportunity for sexual relations, hoping urgently each time that this time may bring him satisfaction.
"His sex life might be illustrated by thinking of a man on a desert, dying of thirst, who keeps seeing a beautiful, cool lake. He arrives there only to find it is a mirage. But, just over the next sand dune, there lies another chance-so he struggles on. hoping that next time he will find the real thing."
Many argue that because satyriasis is something a man cannot help, and which usually leads him to seek sexual satisfaction through numerous but normal outlets, he should not be classed as a sexual deviate. Case histories, however, tend to show that in his pursuit of sexual satisfaction, the satyr may be driven to indulge in almost every sexual deviation known to man. Let us look at a typical case: that of Don W.
Don has been married three times. He is forty-two, and has been jailed three times for sex offenses. In accordance with the law, he is now registered with the State of California as a sex offender. Each of his divorces was instigated by him, and in no case was infidelity involved.
"I wanted to be a priest, up until I was fifteen. Maybe I would have been, if it hadn't been for my sister, Jewel. She was a year younger than I, and a real pig. A slut. I knew she was fucking guys when she was only twelve years old, but I never told anyone about it-not even her. She used to parade around in front of me, nearly naked, sometimes. She used to make fun of me wanting to be a priest, and tried to get me to look at her naked body, but I never did.
"When I was fifteen, I screwed her girlfriend and after that she stopped teasing me. Besides, I changed my mind about being a priest. When she found out from her big-mouthed girlfriend, Abby, that I'd fucked her, my sister came at me harder than ever. She used to sneak into my bedroom at night after everybody else was asleep, stark-ass naked, and try to play with my dick. She'd say things like, 'Come on, Donnie, I'm a better lay than Abby, give me a try.' I used to slap her on the ass and tell her to wash out her mouth and her cunt with soap to get the dirtiness out of them.
"She left home when she was seventeen, and went into burlesque. I never saw her dance, but she was going pretty good for a while. Then she got hooked on dope. When she was nineteen, she died from an overdose. I can see her yet, with her nice body and nice face, standing there naked, and I wish I'd had done what she wanted me to. But I couldn't, then."
Dr. Benjamin Morse, on satyrs: "It is the satyr's inability to find total satisfaction in intercourse that is most likely responsible for the development of satyriasis. Fear, hate, incest-wishes, these and other forces may give rise to the described condition. When it comes into being, the condition sets up the same vicious circle arrangement which we find in true nymphomania. Each and every failure to find sexual fulfillment and release, acts as a spur to make sexual satisfaction all the more essential and desirable to the satyr, and each failure further reinforces the pattern which has led to failure in the first place."
Don goes on, "I started screwing regular after Abby. Sometimes her, sometimes older girls, but it never seemed any good. Later I would masturbate and think about a girl I'd screwed, but I never got any real kick out of the fucking itself. Then I met this queer named Ken. We went the whole route. He used to suck my cock twice a day, and I'd fuck him in the ass-hole sometimes. But it was still the same thing. I'd come, all right, but I'd have to go and masturbate later. I never sucked his cock nor any guy's for that matter, and I never let anybody shove a cock up my ass. Ken brought a bunch of other queers around, but it didn't work for me so I knocked it off.
"I went to work as a stagehand in a burlesque house, figuring I'd get plenty of chances for some good ass. And I did, too. Then I married one of those tramps, and she wasn't any better than any of the rest of the dames I'd screwed. She tried everything. She sucked me, we tried sixty-nine sex from the front, the back, upside down, sitting, standing-it was no good. Worst of all, I couldn't seem to make her have an orgasm very often-maybe once in twenty times-so she started fucking around with other guys who could. She got a divorce in Reno while she was in a strip show there, and after that I quit burlesque.
"You might not believe this, but it's the God's truth. At times, I've had intercourse with women as much as twenty times a day! Not every day, of course, but some days."
Psychiatrists' casebooks contain records of this type, and in a series of tests conducted on satyrs, three men actually completed the sex act over thirty times-without ever once feeling fulfillment.
"I answered one of the ads in the paper and got into a sex club where they had group sex sessions with everybody in the same room. That was the closest I came to really getting my rocks off, but still it wasn't quite the real thing. I still used to have to masturbate two or three times a day, and I still spent all the money I could make, paying women to have sex with me.
"Then one night I was at this whorehouse, and I couldn't keep a hard on. The girl had sucked me hard and then tried to put my cock in her cunt. I'd ordered a half-and-half job, but I just wasn't up to it. All of a sudden, she got up, grabbed a leather belt and taunted, 'I know what you need, Buster!' She began to hit me on my stomach, cock, and balls with that belt, and she wasn't fooling. She left big red welts on me. I rolled over and she laid it on my ass and back. When she had finished, I had the biggest hard on that I'd ever had in my life! And I wanted to plow her like I'd never plowed a dame before.
"She laid down on top of me and put my pecker in her wet slot, and man, it was like heaven. All the time she was moving her ass up and down, sheathing my prick in her warm, wet box, she kept raking my back with her fingernails. I don't know if I really came or not. I juiced inside her, but it wasn't what I expected a good fuck to be. Still, it was the best I'd ever had. Even now, when I jerk off, I think of that naked broad, standing there, wielding that belt!
"I've been back there a dozen times, and I always want the same whore and the same treatment. Sometimes I come home in agony from the open sores that the belt leaves. A couple of times, she used a hairbrush. That's almost as good, but not quite. I've had to go to a doctor to have the cuts and bruises looked after, but I'm hooked. I'm sure that one of these nights, I'm going to explode inside that broad like a bomb! Then, I just know it will be the same with every other dame I fuck!"
It should be obvious from the above that satyriasis is no pleasure for the individual who is unfortunate enough to suffer from it. But because of the excessive premium we insist upon placing on a high frequency of sexual activity, we persist in viewing the satyr as a sort of sexual superman. Dr. Donald Arbagian says: "The satyr goes from woman to woman, sometimes with unbelievable frequency, partly because he hopes to meet the one woman who will satisfy him, and partly because it is unlikely that any woman could bear up under the sexual frequency he requires. He is thought to be more potent than most males, able to sustain intercourse longer, blessed with a more sizable organ, abnormally attractive to women and unusually skilled in arousing and satisfying his partners.
"This is all nonsense. One in twenty thousand satyrs are that way because of a glandular malfunction. Almost all of them suffer from a severe emotional hang-up. His organ is neither larger nor smaller than the average male's and although he is sexually potent when he is with a female, this, in his emotional state, can be more of a curse than a blessing."
Nymphomania is the term best used to describe this condition in females. In most cases, the causes are the same. Psychiatrists now have formed a pattern based on hundreds of cases, which indicates that one of the prime causes of nymphomania is the subconscious incest wish. The incest wish may begin in childhood as part of a parent fixation: the sex attraction of a young female for her father, or a young male for his mother.
Briefly stated, it is a situation occurring normally in a child's development, where he wishes to replace the parent whom he considers his sexual rival. However, if the desire becomes abnormal and continues into adult life, then the person so afflicted is in trouble-sexually.
One may ask, "How can an Oedipus complex trigger nymphomania or satyriasis? " Possibly the story of Susan will serve to answer this question.
Susan is twenty-nine, attractive and intelligent. Yet she continually drives men away because of her insatiability. She is never satisfied with sex and often is unable to bring to climax the men with whom she sleeps.
Fortunately, Susan sought professional help and she was honest with her psychiatrist. Sex had become an obsession with her, and the quantity and indiscriminate nature of her sexual contacts suggested the genuine nymphomaniac. Dr. Donald Arbagian relates the case: "In our initial conversation, Susan indicated that she did enjoy sex except for the climax. She revealed to me that the climax was her whole trouble, explaining that while the sensations of sex were very pleasurable, she reached the point of orgasm with feelings of guilt, disgust, self-loathing, and hate for her partner. Here is her history."
"I do have orgasms almost all of the time, but I just don't get anything out of the climaxes. I don't get any release-any inner satisfaction from the whole bit. I like the guys I screw with, but I never get what I want from them. I really don't know what I want. Maybe peace, happiness, contentment, or some exotic sensation is what I'm after, but all I can think of when I come is that there's something missing.
"I was an only child. My daddy was a writer. At first he wrote advertising copy, then later it was radio shows and finally movie scripts. He was a brain. He was smart and suave-the kind of a man that any wife would be proud to stand beside-except my mother, the slob. She was a dum-dum. She once wanted to be a nun, but after she met my father she decided that fucking was more important than God. But I think she got to feeling guilty and hung-up about it because she was always telling me about the sinful life. To her, everything my father did was sinful and rotten. Where my father was a warm person, my mother was exactly the opposite. She believed that sex was dirty and evil. Besides that, she was a semi-invalid from the time I was five and I doubt if my father ever had any sex with her after that. Even if he did, her attitude must have made it a real ordeal for him. As a result, he ran around a lot with women and drank pretty heavily.
"My father had a hot affair going with a neighbor for a while. I know, because I walked in on them one day when I was ten. The strange part is that I was glad for him. I could tell he was happy, and that made me happy. I guess I despised my mother by then, and I'd already decided that I wasn't going to live a life like hers. I wanted to enjoy life-like my daddy did.
"When I was twelve, a girl at school gave me my first lesbian experience. In fact, it was my first sex experience, outside of a few feels that the boys tried to grab. This girl was fifteen and she lived near us. I stayed at her house all night and we slept in the same bed. I'll never forget the way she looked at me when I undressed. My breasts were beginning to fill out and I had fairly thick pubic hair. She undressed first, and as I stripped, she fingered the nipple of my breast, telling me what nice titties I had. I felt ashamed and guilty, but at the same time I got a new feeling. She pulled me into bed without any nightgown on, and in a minute she was kissing my breasts and stomach. I loved the sensation, but I wanted to stop her because I knew it was dirty.
"But I couldn't stop. When she spread the lips of my vagina and began to tickle my clitoris with her tongue, I went wild. She tickled and tormented me for almost ten minutes. Then she switched and used her finger. I would be right on the edge of an orgasm, then I'd remember what I was doing, and I couldn't bring myself to a climax. But she wasn't bothered at all and I made her come twice.
"We tried it lots of times after that, and sometimes there were three or four of us involved. I enjoyed it, right up to the final stages, but I never did have an orgasm.
"My mother died when I was fourteen. The night she died, my girlfriend came and stayed with me and we tried to have sex. I couldn't do much for her. I felt so sorry for my daddy but I was also glad that he was now free. I felt listless and Emma kept trying to make me come. Suddenly there was my father standing in the doorway! Emma was down between my legs, and her tongue was in my vagina.
"Daddy was quiet about it, but he told Emma to get dressed and go home. Then he came in to talk with me. I could always talk to him, but this time I was too ashamed. I just cried. He put his arms around me and told me it wasn't all that bad. He kissed me and before I knew it, I was kissing him back, sticking my tongue into his mouth. I could feel his penis getting hard through his pants. I was so wild with wanting him that I begged him to do something.
"He took off his clothes and started kissing my breasts. Then he spread my legs and began to finger me. I got so hot and wet, I thought I'd have an orgasm that way, but I didn't. He finally got on top of me and eased his penis into my vagina. I guess my cherry had been broken long before, because I didn't bleed. It was so wonderful, feeling him deep inside of me like that, all the time he was kissing me on the mouth.
"He came real quick and I almost did, too. But just as I knew I was going to, the picture of my mother flashed across my mind, and I hated myself. I didn't hate my father, just myself. Maybe I hated my mother for putting the idea that sex was evil in my mind. Daddy tried hard. He kissed my clitoris, my breasts, used his fingers, and then tried to screw me again, but I couldn't come.
"I never again tried it with girls. I just couldn't. I had known that it would be good with my daddy, and I knew after I'd had him, that it was far better with boys than with girls. We tried again, many times, but I don't think I ever came. Maybe I'm built funny. Or maybe I came and didn't realize it because I was expecting skyrockets to explode. I don't know. Doctors have examined me and told me there is nothing physical stopping me from having a full, satisfying orgasm.
"Two months after my mother died, my father was killed in an accident. I went to live with his sister. He left me a lot of insurance money, and I wanted to get away from the place after he died.
"It was then that I started to be what the guys in school called a pushover. I wanted to be laid, every time I went on a date. I got in with this gang that were hung-up on motorcycles. They weren't like the Hell's Angels or anything like that, but they used to take these weekend trips and have a wild sex brawl. I still hadn't had an orgasm, and I was willing-even eager-to try it with anybody, hoping that the next guy would be the one to give me that thrill.
"Then I met Harry. He's colored, and he worked at the gas station where we used to get our gas. He was sharp with motors, and used to fix our motorcycles. I saw him looking at me one day, and I suddenly wondered if it were true what I'd heard; that Negro men have bigger penises than white men do and are also better in bed. So I asked him if he'd take me out on a date. At first, he wouldn't. He said I'd be sorry. He was a pretty decent sort of a guy. But I kept after him until he did take me out. We went to a nightclub in his part of town, and I got pretty drunk. We left with two other Negro couples and went to one of their houses, and it was a real gang bang.
"First, Harry had me. Just straight intercourse, while the others watched. I think I almost came with Harry, and I begged him to keep on, but one of the other fellows wanted me. He just took me all wet and juicy from Harry, and I remember thinking that h"e had the biggest penis I'd ever seen. It must have been nine inches long. Harry took on one of the colored girls, and I was watching them while the other guy fucked me. I think that I really came, with that big black dick inside me, but I was so terribly drunk that I can't say for sure.
"I went out with Harry a lot after that. But the old gang just turned cold when I started dating a Negro. They gave Harry a bad time, and he eventually lost his job. I loaned him a thousand dollars, and he started his own gas station in his neighborhood. When my aunt found I was dating a Negro she kicked me out, so I just moved in with Harry. Somehow, he couldn't satisfy me, and I began running around with other guys-black and white. I knew, deep down inside, that it was ridiculous, yet I kept hoping that sex would give me what I wanted. I even tried the lesbian route. It was at a party, and this colored girl kept after me until I let her go down on me."
Dr. Arbagian comments on Susan's progress: "Essentially, Susan's pattern followed a pretty straight line for the Oedipal type. She adored her father and despised her mother. She felt a disgust for the feminine characteristics that her mother misused, and this left her very ripe for lesbian experiences because she identified with the male, her father, and not her mother. She was also very confused about sex, due to her mother having constantly told her that it was dirty and evil.
"Usually, in these circumstances, many females might have followed a straight pattern of lesbianism. But when Susan's incestuous feelings for her father burst forth and were satisfied, she chose nymphomania instead of homosexuality. I am fairly sure that she has had a full orgasm. She may have had many. Perhaps she herself feels she has, but the guilt feelings are still very deep in her. I hope sincerely that, with a few more sessions-she is in group therapy now-Susan will be able to understand herself much better, and throw off the guilt feelings. Actually, she added to them by dating Harry, the Negro man, because she drew the disapproval of her close friends and of her aunt, and this further added to her feelings of deep guilt.
"Susan could not tell me why she was attracted to a Negro, and on a hunch I asked her to let me see a picture of her father. I was not too surprised to find that he had been a very swarthy complected man and, according to her, there actually was a strong facial resemblance between her father and Harry!
"Like most nymphomaniacs, she is constantly chasing the incest wish. She has, however, recognized the incest wish for what it is, and for several months has not had any sexual activity at all. If she can begin to have normal sex relations without feeling guilty, there is a good chance that Susan might yet enjoy a healthy sex life, for she has made progress in eliminating the two causes-incestuous feelings about her father, plus guilt feelings about all sex being evil, which is a legacy from her mother."
CHAPTER NINE It Starts In The Teens
The 1960's have given rise to a new aspect of the sexual phenomenon-the hippies. And one of the most startling things about this is the extreme youth of many of them. Police records show an alarming number of girls between twelve and fifteen who have voluntarily become little more than community whores, willing to engage in sex in order to eat, to spite protesting parents and other persons in authority, or even just for the kicks they get from it.
That early indulgence in sex orgies, or a continual string of multiple sex experiences must eventually pall, is almost axiomatic. Penny S., now twenty-two, has run the gamut of sex, and for all reasons imaginable. She has tried LSD, marijuana, heroin, and every kind of alcoholic mixture known, to rejuvenate her early interest in sex. Strangely enough, she has not tried lesbianism, but in her constant search for sex kicks, Penny has turned to sadism and masochism in. its most brutal form.
like many hippies, Penny comes from a well-to-do family. At twelve she began to date regularly, and her parents were reasonably permissive as long as the dates remained strictly at her age level. That is, she could attend school athletic events, a movie on Friday night, or a party at the home of one of her friends if it was supervised by adults. But Penny rebelled at this and took to sneaking out for dates with older boys. Penny had lost all respect for her parents early in life. She considers her father a "doormat" upon whom her mother wipes her feet. Her mother, in Penny's estimation, is a selfish "butch" type of woman who dominates every group or person with whom she comes in contact.
Partially because of this, Penny is a man-hater, although not to the degree where she prefers sex with females. She herself is a dominating personality, yet she is disgusted with the men she rules. She can no longer get her sex .kicks by ordinary forms of intercourse. Instead, she must use physical violence and debasement on males.
"Men are pigs. They deserve what they get from women, just like my father did. If you don't have the guts to stand up and fight for something, you deserve the loser's end of the shitty stick!
"When I was fifteen years old, I had a couple of men in their forties who would do any damned thing I wanted, just for a piece of ass! They would let me piss in their mouths, if I wanted to, in order to get into my pussy. I have guys right now that actually beg me to whip them-the mangy rats!
"I was one of the first real hippies," Penny claims with pride. "You might think that this started a few years ago, but it's been going on for almost seven years. I left home when I was fourteen, and lived with a bunch of kids my age. We stayed wherever we could and shared everything-food, clothes, money and bodies.
"I wouldn't call the sex we had gang bangs. There was no violence in it. You just screwed who you wanted to, or whoever asked you to. Oh, I've had three or four guys at one session, but it wasn't like they were fighting over me or anything. It was just that maybe a couple of the other girls wouldn't be in the mood to take them on, or maybe I'd be feeling extra hot.
"It was only after they busted up our group that the gang sex kick started. Even then, it was the girls who wanted it that way, not the mealy-mouthed guys.
"Maybe it was a good thing they did bust it up. I was using marijuana a lot, and had tried heroin once or twice, and there was a lot of the kids that were using it pretty heavy. We started to meet at this one guy's apartment. I was living with two guys in an empty room in the back of a store where one of them worked. We used to feed the rest of the gang, but they were on their own when they wanted booze or pot or dope.
"It happened sort of funny. The old guy that owned the building asked me if I'd let him watch one of our parties. So one night I did. There were seven or eight of us and we told him if he brought some booze, he could stay. We had a few drinks, then we started messing around. Then 'old John' got into the act. He said he'd never seen a daisy chain, and he'd pay twenty bucks if we'd show him one. So, all of us formed one. I was sucking a guy's cock, while another guy was eating my pussy. And it was the same all the way down the line-somebody getting sucked off while another sucked off somebody else. We had a pretty good session, and nobody paid much attention to the old guy, but he's sitting in a corner jerking himself off like crazy. I don't know why he didn't ask for a piece of ass-he could have had it.
Instead, he just sat there masturbating. But he can't get a hard on, and he came over and almost cried as he asked if one of the girls would whip him with a belt.
"I had never done anything like that, but I didn't like the old bastard much, so I thought that if that was what he wanted, he might as well get it. He stripped off his pants and underwear and laid down on the floor while the rest of us watched. I started off easy, but he kept begging me to hit him harder, and I really let him have it across his ass and legs. When I saw the marks begin to rise every time I hit him. I began to get a funny feeling. I got hot as a firecracker, but not for the old guy. I just wanted somebody to fuck me, hard and quick and deep. I could always have a good orgasm with some guy who had a big dick if he'd do it from the back. So I dropped the belt and called out to Rich, my favorite screw, to mount me from the back. I started to get on my hands and knees, and damned if the old boy didn't beg me to position myself with my cunt over his face, so he could watch!
"I got down over him, and Rich went to work-just as I like it, with hard, fast jabs. The old guy is lying there, and he had a pretty fair stiff on, for a guy his age, and he's larruping the hell out of it with his hand. I mean, he's actually whacking it from left to right. All of a sudden, he begins to pump it like crazy, and he shoots a load! Just about then, I came-real good--and so did Rich. When Rich pulled his cock out of me, all slimy and cruddy, this old guy goes after it! He really licked it and swallowed the juice and stuff, and he got Rich good and hard again. He managed to grab the belt and hand it back to me, and while he's down on Rich I gave him a few good whacks on his legs and ass.
"We talked about it later, and I got the idea
I'd like to see what this sadism bit was all about. I'd seen the kooky ads in the underground paper that one of the guys always brought around, but I thought they were just a put-on. Anyhow, I answered one that had some jazz about discipline in it, and what an awakening I got!
"After I got checked out so they knew I wasn't a fink, I went to this place in the Valley. It was a imagine joint up in the hills, and it was hidden from everything by big trees and bushes. There were about nine other people there, around the pool and patio area, and every one of them was naked. Nobody introduced anyone, but after a couple of drinks, we all gathered around a ping pong table and they played 'put and take,'-their way. Everybody had to take turns spinning this metal top that was flat on six sides. If it stopped on 'put,' you had to dish out the whipping or whatever. If it stopped on 'take,' you received the punishment, but you could name your own poison.
"I found out that almost everyone there needed some sort of physical punishment to stimulate them to have sex. I was honestly curious. I couldn't see why anyone would get a kick out of being beaten, but they seemed to, so I decided to find out just what the hell it did for you.
"When it came my turn to 'take,' I asked the youngest girl there what would be best for me, since it was my first time. She said the hairbrush-and lightly, the first time. So I picked this man, about forty, I'd say, who looked like he'd be a good lay, and I made him lie on his back on a mat they had while I got on top of him. He was already good and hard, and I just eased my snatch down over his tool, and we went to work. He was good, and I almost had forgotten about the hairbrush he had in one of his hands, when-he let me have it right on my ass! It stung like hell and I almost screamed. But he hit me another hard smack on the upper thigh, and all of a sudden I wanted to really be fucked! We went to work, faster and faster, with me doing most of the plunging, and he began to beat me with that hairbrush in a sort of rhythm that kept pace with my bouncing up and down on his cock. Each time he'd catch me on the rise. Then, at the end, he just let me have it as hard as he could, and I came in a big blaze of glory. I felt like I'd been tossed in a cold shower. I felt invigorated and different, and I was disappointed to discover that the guy hadn't come at all.
"We reversed positions, and I beat the hell out of his ass and legs while he was screwing me. And I came again, real good-not quite like the first time, but good-just before he did.
"That was my first time, but it sure as hell wasn't my last. I seldom go for straight stuff now. I've gotten to be pretty good with a belt, a whip and a hair brush. My favorite is to have a third party whip the both of us while we're screwing. That way, they can aim the cuts where they do the most good and really make them count."
Why do some people need to be physically hurt in order to enjoy sex? Most authorities agree that such persons suffer tremendously from a repressed guilt, and actually feel that they are rightfully being punished for having broken the laws of morality by which they were raised. This girl, for instance, was a rebel from her early youth. She was sexually promiscuous in defiance of the rules laid down by her parents. She had built up, over the years, a huge burden of guilt, and her first spanking with a hair brush actually served as a release. Thus, she enjoyed sex more fully as she unconsciously felt that she had paid for it!
Penny also had a strong compulsion to deal out punishment. Her actions were designed to shame and thereby punish her parents. She received a vicarious thrill from beating the first victim of her lust, 'old John', because she subconsciously connected him with her father. She admitted that she had often wanted to shake her father until his teeth rattled, when he meekly submitted to the mother's demands or orders. Almost subconsciously, Penny equates all men with her father, and she gains considerable emotional release when she can administer punishment and pain.
This mixture of sadomasochism is not unusual, especially in a person as young as Penny who has engaged in many varieties of sexual experiences.
Her attitude concerning sex had degenerated to the point where normal intercourse or even cunnilingus and fellatio were boring. Consequently, she joined a small army of thrill seekers. She had already tried stimulants such as alcohol and narcotics and had discovered that they are depressants rather than stimulants. The strong urge to punish her parents, combined with her unsatisfied desire for sexual excitement, led Penny easily into sadomasochism. And most psychiatrists agree that this is a sex pattern that is very difficult to break.
Everyone seems to have an opinion explaining the teen-ager's rejection of the "establishment" and it's conventional sex pattern.
Police are now saying that teen-agers are bored with life. Nothing seems to give them a thrill, nor to satisfy their desire for kicks. They have r all the advantages of life handed to them on a silver platter by doting parents. Now, they are demanding and taking more sexual freedom. They flaunt the use of drugs and pot as they protest against every form of authority, and often they take the law into their own hands. Failing that, they simply ignore the law and live by their own rules.
Listen to the defiant attitude expressed by a fourteen-year-old girl who was recently an overnight sensation in the Southern California press when she chose to tell all about the workings of her gang. She had been sentenced to a term in a juvenile institution with the added injunction that she be given psychiatric help. Her name is not Emmy, but we shall call her that. Here is her story:
"You squares give us a pain in the ass. Just because you were brought up by a bunch of dumdums who don't know what the hell life is all about, why pass it on to us? We've found our own answers, and we couldn't live long enough to get this crummy world out of the mess you've handed us.
"Why not sex-lots of it, with both males and females? What are you offering us instead? The 'establishment's' version of the good things? Well, let me tell you a little about my life, and see if you'd want to accept it or do something to change it. First, the shoes of Mommy and Daddy that I'm supposed to step into.
"My first sex experience was as a spectator. Oh, they didn't know I was watching, but by the time they got all hot for each other and half loaded, they wouldn't know if 'Big Brother' himself was watching. Yeah, my parents were part of one of those swap and slop clubs. You didn't know that's what the kids call them, did you? And, after what I saw, I'd say it's a good name for them.
"It was a Saturday night, and I was supposed to be staying at a girlfriend's. But they got unexpected company at her house and there was no room for me so I just went home. I knew by all the cars parked at our place that a party was going on. I had known for a long time the kind of parties they had, because my father got kind of jealous when he saw my mother eating another man's dick, and he let her know in no quiet way that he didn't mind her sucking a guy off, but she didn't have to act as if she was crazy about his hunk of meat!
"I sneaked in and watched from the upstairs landing. When some of them came upstairs and used my bedroom, I ran and got in my closet. After they really got going, I could just stand right in the doorway and nobody even noticed. First, five guys came up to my room. I thought they were waiting for the women, but they weren't. They began a wild circle of sucking cocks, and shoving their dicks up other men's asses, while sucking somebody else. One guy took a hell of a lot of Polaroid shots and showed them around. They all laughed like hell and made remarks about the size of somebody's cock, or how stretched out and useless another guy's ass-hole had become from having too many big dicks shoved up into it-stuff like that.
"Then three women came up and went down on each other. The same guy took pictures of them from all angles while they kissed and licked each other's pussy. Actually, when some of the others came up later and did some plain screwing, I was kind of bored by it all.
"So why make a big deal out of the beach party I was at when they arrested me? We didn't do anything worse than those so-called adults had done-except for the barbiturates."
Emmy and three others had forcibly stuffed almost two dozen barbiturate pills down the throat of a thirteen-year-old girl, and made her swallow them by forcing a boy's penis into her mouth. Fortunately, an older boy sobered up enough to get the girl to a hospital where she eventually recovered. However, she suffered a severe nervous disorder after her ordeal.
"That little cock-teaser was asking for it," Emmy continued. "She wanted to be one of the big girls, but she thought that all she had to do was to let somebody screw her. We don't play it that way in our gang. You go the whole route, with boys and girls, and any way they can think of for kicks. She was all hot and bothered to have the guys fuck her, front and back, but when they wanted her to suck, she acted like we were a bunch of sex perverts for even asking. That's what she called me, in fact. I got mad, then, and told her that she was not only going to suck the guy's cocks', but she was going to go down on the girls-starting with me!
"My start? Hell, I was smoking pot when I was in junior high. I lost my cherry in seventh grade-and to a man, not a dumb kid. One of my father's trusted friends, a guy he worked with. But I made that sonofabitch pay. I was his babysitter, and on the way home he made a couple of passes. I slapped him, and he hit me on the chin. When I came to, he had this big, fat cock shoved into me. I let him finish-I even helped himand then I socked it to him! I told him that unless I got twenty bucks a week, I would go to my father and to the cops. The bastard begged and cried about his three kids and his innocent wife. But I made the cocksucker pay off good-and he came up with the scratch every Friday just like clockwork. He knew he'd better. I used the dough to get pot and booze.
"They were glad to get rid of me that weekend I got into trouble with the fuzz. And why not? They were scheduled to have another of their sex orgies at our place, and my being away made it easier for them. I had a big date with a nineteen-year-old guy named Bill-he had the keys to his parents' place down at the beach. Real private, you know, with nobody to bother you, and all the booze and food you could want.
"There must have been about thirty of us there. We started out with a swim, and built a big fire on the beach. We had a bunch of Polish sausages that we were going to roast. Ever see them? They're long and round and about the size of a well-hung cock! There was this dumb kid there-I didn't want her along anyhow-she was trying to act so grownup, and she had hardly any hair on her snatch-who really burned me up. I told her she couldn't handle any of the cocks that were there, and to prove it, I measured her by sticking one of the sausages up her cunt. If she didn't holler at that, then she could take on one of the guys.
"She got mad, and told me that at least the guys wouldn't want a wide-open, outsized hole like mine. That did it. Two of the other girls took off her bathing suit and held her down, and I shoved this goddamned sausage into her cunt until I felt it hit bottom-or top. Another girl got another sausage and dipped it in mustard and shoved it in, after I took the first one out. Talk about yell! Then a couple of the guys washed her out and gave her a good screw. One of them told me later that he thought she actually was a cherry, and had been talking like that from all the booze she'd slugged down. She kept threatening that she'd call the cops, at the first phone she could find, and that made a lot of us mad. That's when we gave her the pills, to quiet her down. I guess we were pretty drunk, too, because we didn't know that there were as many as they said at the hospital after they pumped her stomach out.
"I gave her the teeny bopper douche, too. You don't know what that is? Man, are you square! What the hell do you think we do to keep from getting pregnant, and to keep ourselves douched out clean? Those birth control pills are hard to get, man. But, we don't need them. All you have to have is a few bottles of soda pop around. After you've been fucked, you uncap a bottle, stick your thumb in the opening and shake like hell, until it's all ready to fizz. Then, you shove the bottle up your snatch and let go! Man, it cleans you out like nothing else. Some say the lemon is better. Usually, we have the boys do it. I get a special kick out of a couple of the guys who will fuck you good, use the douche, then go down on you and suck it all out of you."
Is Emmy typical? Hardly, but she is not as unusual as some would like to think. Dr. Donald Arbagian comments: "Many adults, and particularly psychologists and psychiatrists, are as stunned as the parents of such children-and this girl of fourteen is still a child. However, we are astonished and puzzled at their attitudes as much as we are by their acts. Most of those I have studied or come in contact with, actually believe that they have the unquestioned right to do these things!
"Almost as one, they loudly cry that we, the adults, are doing exactly as they are, perhaps even more perverted acts, but that we hide it, while they bring it out into the open! The average teenager today wails that he is the victim of 'Do as I say and not as I do' preachings, and as a practicing psychologist, I must admit that they have a right to see examples, and not just hear admonitions and tongue-cluckings from their elders!
"I am of the firm opinion that not only is plural sex and the outright sex orgy here to stay, but that it is on the rise! We must not forget that, inside a few short years, these will be the adults who will govern our country. I believe that, for better or for worse, we will see a relaxing not only of sex mores, but of the laws governing sexual behavior, which will make us a nation of sex-oriented pioneers!
"Most observers agree. There can no longer be casual bystanders, for too many of us are involved-through ourselves or through our children-in the sexual merry-go-round. It is with concern that we gaze at the youngsters, and ask in quiet desperation, "Where do we go from here?"
For today's teen-ager, the question of "where to go" can be easily answered with his car and his weekly allowance. To the teen-ager, a car provides mobility, a status symbol and a private bedroom. If he can not have plural sex at home, his car can take him and his friends as well to where the action is. The gang bang has become an adventure to the youth of today. It is made easy by the availability of cars which permit them to range far from their own neighborhoods, thereby avoiding possible recognition. In addition to mobility, the car itself offers a great deal of privacy. In many urban communities, the rule of the affluent teen-ager has become one of illicit sex and liquor, often leading to terror, rape and even violent death.
The parking lots and the drive-in theaters and restaurants have become the domain of the thrill-seeking, sex-conscious teen-agers. In one Eastern city recently, adults passing by a drive-in hamburger stand were intrigued by a huge circle of teen-agers who massed around a convertible in the parking lot. Thinking that a fight might be taking place, a couple of men made a path through the crowd. They were dumbfounded to discover that a high school girl was in the car, naked and enjoying intercourse with two boys at the same time-one normally and the other oral-genitally. The others watched and applauded while awaiting their turn!
Delinquency at drive-in theatres has gotten so far out of hand that many managers now employ a staff of private policemen to maintain law and order. Often, this is not enough. At one suburban Chicago drive-in, several private policemen tried to remove two carloads of teen-agers who were drunk, using obscene language, and indulging in open intercourse. In the ensuing melee, during which knives, clubs, bottles and tire irons were used, the hoodlums inflicted serious injuries on two of the policemen and wrecked over $3,000 worth of sound equipment before escaping.
In one year, Houston's drive-ins were the locale for a murder, a gang fight that sent eleven persons to the hospital, and no less than thirty-five assaults.
Drinking teen-agers have become a headache to police and parents. Now, with the advent of vast parking lots and drive-in movies, they have a relatively easy time of finding a place to hold a bash. They have little problem obtaining liquor through unscrupulous adults. One California theater manager was instrumental in trapping a gang of ten men who loaded their cars with liquor, visited the drive-in, and peddled the stuff to kids inside, sometimes at $10 a pint!
Each year, 3,000,000 teen-agers reach driving age, and they are turned loose on the drive-ins, restaurants, beaches and parks, where they can drink, have sex and engage in acts of violence.
CHAPTER TEN It Ends like This
Sociologists and psychiatrists lead us to believe that many persons who might otherwise not develop a taste for plural sex, are led into it while they are incarcerated, or are restrained in other situations which isolate them from the normal sex outlets. Many of our juvenile detention units, according to penologists and sociologists, are far from being rehabilitation facilities, but are training grounds for plural sex perversions.
Jenny K. has spent seven of her twenty-three years in various detention homes and prisons. She is a narcotics addict and, as such, faces a very questionable future. She became addicted to narcotics when she was fifteen, and in between stretches in detention homes or jails, has spent many months in clinics and in two nationally recognized hospitals for addicts.
Hers is a sordid story, yet one that is repeated all too often in today's thrill-minded world. Jenny began her sex life with plural sex for kicks. Since then, she has come full circle, back to a life of perverted multiple sex practices, merely to support the "monkey on her back"-a $50-dollar-a-day heroin habit.
She has tried for several years to kick the habit, but all her efforts have been unsuccessful. When a woman is a narcotic addict, it is almost automatic for her to turn to prostitution in order to support her habit. Jenny begins her account by telling of how she became hooked.
"I was popular in high school; a good dancer, a 'good joe' with the right guy as far as going to bed went, and I also happened to be a good student. But, I was also the daughter of a no-good drunk, who later turned to narcotics peddling in order to keep himself in booze. I'm not blaming my father. He was a real zero-a lame-brain. I mean he was a low-grade moron. Who else would hook his own daughter on narcotics, so he could force her to peddle it-and to high school students, yet?
"My mother died when I was thirteen, and my father didn't make enough to keep himself in booze, let alone feed and clothe me, so I took a job nights in a drive-in restaurant as a car-hop. I still kept on with school, but I began to fall behind, keeping those hours. And, I used to go out on a date two or three times a week after I finished at eleven. Anyhow, I got sick-the flu-and my father gave me a shot for my flu. The crummy bastard shot me full of 'Horse,'-that's heroin. I was high as a kite on the junk for almost a week. It's a wonder that I lived, and I wish to Christ I hadn't. But I did, and I was really hooked. I didn't know what this craving was, but I told him that I needed another shot before I went back to work.
"He gave it to me, all right. He had been digging around, and had come up with some twenty names of kids at school who were on the stuff. Then he dug up other names of users, and used to send them to me at the drive-in. He had a good thing going for a time. He had me hooked and I had to peddle for him. Then, when I needed more and more, he would send his bookie friends and force me to lay them-sometimes four or five at a crack, in order to get the dough to give him for junk.
"So, at the ripe old age of fifteen, I'm not only a junkie but a joy-girl for a bunch of crooks, and a gang banger of the first rank. And, to top it off, the old man jumps me every time he can, which is usually after I've had a pop and just don't care who gets in.
"In a way, it was a soft touch for the narcotics dicks. All they did was plant a guy in a car at the drive-in. He told me that Pop sent him; I sold it (covering it with a napkin when I brought his hamburger) and that was that. They not only cooled me, but the old man also. He got a two-to-five and I got sent to a reform school where I was supposed to be cured of my habit. Cured? Hah! The second day I'm there, I'm climbing the walls. Guess who's got the action? Sure, a guard. She's a female-at least, she has tits and a snatch, and wears her hair long. I never went for the lesbian bit, but when you're carrying that monkey like I was, you don't act choosy if somebody has a pop in his hand. I wouldn't have cared if she was white, black or polka-dotted-I'd have done anything to get that pop.
"But there were a lot of others in the vicious circle at that joint. I had to go down on that babe-and while I'm at it, and almost gagging from the smell of her dirty pussy-this big moron of a cleaning man gets his cock in me from the back. Not up the ass, but in the snatch. Meantime, I'm sweating blood, trying to make this queer dame get her rocks off while I'm tonguing her. I don't know a damned thing about lesbian sex. All I know is that she's got her legs wrapped around my face and I'm smothering. The only air I can manage smells like it's coming from a coffin that has been opened after eight days, and this big ape is breathing his booze breath down my neck while he's jazzing me from the back and digging his fingers into my breasts until I'm almost bleeding.
"But, I made it. From there on, I had at least a couple of pops a day. I even did better than most, because I got a deal going with a couple of the top brass men where a visitor or two could have me on Wednesday or Sunday, if they laid the money in the right palm-and if they gave me an extra pop of 'H.'
"After awhile, I got so I even buddied up to a couple of the others that were on the stuff and, when things got tight and it was a long time until the next fix, we had some wild sex balls. Not because we were real, honest-to-God lesbians, nor because we hard up for sex, but actually just for something to kill the time and keep us from going off our rockers, for want of a 'high flyer.'
"They turned me loose when I was twenty-one. Cured! Rehabilitated! A twenty-one-year-old queer, sexpot, dope addict! You tell me where you think I could go from there. I was a parolee with a heavy habit and I wanted a man inside me to wash out the feel of all those women's tongues. I had no education, no recommendations, and looked like I was forty years old! Big chance, huh?
"So I headed back for my home grounds. At least, I knew some connections there, although the old man had disappeared or died or something. I wasn't loose three days before I was contacted to peddle. I'd taken a good week's supply of 'H' with me when I left the pokey. They saw to it that I had that much, just so I wouldn't fink on them and blow their racket sky-high. But I was already panicky about what would happen when I ran dry.
"I peddled my ass a little, and picked up some money, but I knew it would go fast. Besides, I didn't have a connection yet, and all the dough in the world doesn't mean a thing if you haven't got the guy that can deliver the goods. Then I meet this Toni. She's a gal, not a guy, and she's a weirdo. She runs around with a guy who has good connections, and she runs one of these sex palaces that specialize in the rough stuff. The word had gotten around that I was looking for a connection, and that I was willing to do most anything to make a good one and keep it. So this Toni sends for me and I go to her joint.
"It's a pretty classy place, with a great big living room and den combined, and she's got all the equipment you could imagine to accommodate these weirdoes that she caters to. She's got handcuffs set in blocks of cement, a crazy bed with shackles at the top and bottom to hold both hands and feet while you get the business-the whole schmear. She's got special-made shit-pots, located so a person is seated right over the face of a character that is tied down and has a head brace so he can't turn his head-things I never dreamed of or heard about. Even the weirdoes I'd been in jail with wouldn't know about these things.
"She told me that if I went to work for her, I would get two pops a day, plus a hundred a week in cash. I found out later, the bastard was getting a hundred a crack for me, and I was on tap five or six nights a week. Then I found myself in a real trap. I had to get high-really floating out of this world, in order to stand some of the stuff that I had to take. The more I popped the junk, the more I needed, and the worse it got for me in the 'sex-pit.' That's what I call the joint.
"I began to lose a lot of weight. I always had a pretty nice shape, but I was so much on the stuff that I didn't eat at all. I lived on coffee and cigarettes and dope, and it began to show. It got so that most of the good-paying customers didn't want me in the act anymore-especially the guys that wanted their straight fucking or sucking.'
"I guess I hit the bottom of the barrel when Toni rented me out to this burner. I didn't even guess that there were such beasts, but I found out the hard way. I was hard-up for a fix that night. I was almost out of my head with the sweats and the twinges and the ache in my gut. I hadn't had a fix for two days. I guess Toni had set me up for this guy, because I was never so happy in my life as when she told me I had a customer. I was crying with happiness, knowing that it would only be an hour or so more before I'd take that trip to paradise.
"Toni got me in the room with these two guys. I think there was three or four watching, but I'm not quite sure. Anyway, she put the shackles on me after I'd laid down on that special bed. That was the first time I'd ever been the one who was bound, but I didn't even guess what was ahead. I'd had lots of guys dig their fingernails into my tits while they were screwing me, and some that used to bite my neck and shoulders, even my lips, until I bled, but this pair were something else.
"One guy had a cucumber-I didn't see it at first, but it was big-at least three inches around, and long. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but the other guy was smoking a big cigar. There was another girl there too, but she just laid on the couch, stark naked, her legs spread wide, showing a lot of the inside of her over-sized snatch. She was just a plain barroom whore, as far as I knew-too old and baggy to make the grade anymore on her own fucking or sucking, so she'd joined Toni's little sex circus.
"I guess I knew that the guy was going to shove that cucumber in my cunt, but it didn't worry me. I'd gotten pretty stretched out by then, and I knew it wouldn't hurt much. But he had no intention of doing that! I put my knees up, like the told me to, and the other guy went over to the couch and made this crummy whore get up on her hands and knees; then took out his prick and began to wiggle it around her ass-hole while looking over at this other guy and me all the time.
"Then this bastard grabbed the cucumber and, without any warning, jabbed it into my ass-hole a good two inches! I screamed with the hurt of it, but he just laughed and jabbed it in and out, while this other guy kept time by shoving his cock in the ass of this other pitiful bitch.
"I saw that he hadn't got a good hard on, and he tried to ram it in her ass with his fingers, fumbling around like a schoolboy on his first screw. But I was in too much pain to care about his problem. You just try to imagine what it's like having pain all over you, inside and out. My whole body was crawling with the need for a soothing pop, and from the belly button down, I was on fire with the pain inflicted by this weird bastard and his cucumber.
"Finally, this other guy gave up in disgust. He got off this whore and walked over to where I was, all the time playing with his flabby prick and staring at my ass and cunt. I had shaved all the hair off my snatch a long time ago. Toni told me that most guys liked to see a shaved cunt so they could see all the folds and the valleys of it when you spread your legs for them.
"He grabbed the cigar out of this other guy's hand and, while the one was still jamming that cucumber up my ass, this guy put the lit end of the stogey on my nipple! I half passed out, and he began to slap my face. I came out of it long enough to see-I don't know if there was enough feeling left in me to feel-this guy shove the lit end of that cigar into my wide-open cunt! I passed out then.
"I guess Toni was pretty scared because she gave me a pop while I was out. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. I had flipped completely, and for the next several weeks, they had to give me all kinds of treatments: the wet blanket, electric shock, the whole works. Maybe it turned out for the best, though, because they also weaned me off the stuff. I still get a shot every couple of days, but they tell me I'll be ready for the 'acid test,' the total withdrawal try-in a couple more weeks.
"What does a woman like me want from life? Sounds crazy, but I want the same things any woman wants: a home and a guy to take care of me. Most of all, I want to go one solid year without any drugs. I know that I can lick the rest of it, if I get the monkey off my back."
This unfortunate girl is typical of the dope addict, in that, in order to support the habit which was forced upon her by her unscrupulous father, she turned to ordinary prostitution.
As her need for narcotics rapidly increased, she was forced to expand her sex activities in direct proportion. Police are unanimous in stating that this is one of the added evils of addiction for females-the sordid sex life they lead merely to exist.
When a prostitute hits the skids, when her body is no longer attractive to normally lustful males, she often winds up as the butt of the sadist. Jenny probably will never realize her dream of a home and a man to care for her. Her looks are gone. Her body is a shell-wracked by malnutrition, disease and the ravages of drugs and lustful, perverted males and females.
In the words of Dr. Jordan:
"It is a strange world we live in, simply because the mind of each of us is unknown. Surely, if we were to compare Jenny or others as unfortunate with the average male and female who today indulges in sexual freedom to the point of license, would we not prefer the latter? This is not to condone, but rather, to choose the lesser of two evils. It behooves all of us, when we encounter such cases, to stop for a moment and, if we enjoy healthy sexual lives, to bow our heads and say fervently: "There, but for the grace of God, go I.' "