Chapter 5
The Raped Crusader
"... It was in the south of France, of course. We'd just come from Monaco - no, we started that day from a little outside Monaco. We'd motored through Toulon to Marseilles. I really didn't like that city. It was smelly and dirty, inhabited by a lot of low, dirty types, pimps and prostitutes, gangsters, cutpurses... Reggie, however, found it all 'fascinating, absolutely fascinating,' of course.
"But at least I didn't have to suffer the embarrassment I did in Nice, Cannes, and, especially, in Saint. Tropez. Reggie insisted that, now that we were in the playground of France, we would, naturally, wear playclothes. Meaning, principally, that I would be wearing a series of the most dramatically revealing swimsuits Reggie's money could buy. Oh, he was sneaky about it, persuasive and sneaky.
"I'd met him in Paris, where I'd been attending some lectures at the Sorbonne. I thought he was an upper-class Englishman, who knew just about everybody and was always right in the middle of the heady intellectual life of Paris.
"He seemed the perfect gentleman. Perhaps almost too gentle, if you know what I mean-almost effeminate. He spoke knowledgeably about London, Carnaby Street, museums, and so forth. I thought maybe he was a fashion designer, or independently wealthy, or something. His French was excellent, and I marveled at the way he carried on the typical Parisian repartee.
"I met him first through a sculptor who, it turned out, was a mutual friend of ours. Pierre, the sculptor - that's a good name for a sculptor, isn't it? It means stone. Pierre had even talked me into posing for him, for some sketches he was doing, some studies for a metal figure he was going to cast. Oh, he worked on me for weeks, Pierre did, telling me that my prudery was an affront to art, and it was setting artificial limits to the realization of his talent.
"So finally I gave in. I mean, he was on his knees, literally, pleading with me to pose for him in the nude. One day he saw me weakening - oh, I used to blush, thinking back on that day. Used to blush, but what's happened to me since...
"Well. He saw my resolve weakening, and he quickly said I didn't have to stand totally nude. I could drape a long swatch of cloth around me... you know, to sort of get a classical drape to the material. Oh, he was cagey, Pierre was.
"He made me forget my modesty completely - subtly, by degrees.
"First I sat on a wooden crate, with the material - heavy, almost like brocade - draped over my shoulders and down to the floor. Pierre would adjust the hang of the material, the folds of the drape, just so. All that was visible of me below the neck was a patch of skin on the side and my one leg.
"Then the next day, he made me sit for a three-quarter sketch, one breast undraped, and the hang of the cloth revealing my entire thigh and hip.
" 'Marvelous,' Pierre said. 'Beautiful!' And he sketched quickly.
"The next day he told me the heavy brocade was interfering with his conception of the basic molding of the form. 'I have to see the muscles,' he said.
"So I flexed a leg and a thigh.
"Fantastic, I was. Just fantastic, according to Pierre.
"And when I looked at some of the sketches he was doing, I almost had to agree. They were alive and sensuous. You could almost see the torso breathe. I thought the molding of the legs too muscular. But they had weight and life. The breast and buttocks - I blushed to look at them! - seemed altogether too voluptuous. Pierre assured me they were not.
"A few days after that, when I'd gotten used to sitting nude, in a relatively modest pose, Pierre had me stand. He sketched me in a three-quartered back view, turned at the waist, so my torso was again in profile. This time my left breast was visible.
"This time when I saw the sketches, they were so suggestive, so voluptuous in line and shading, that I asked Pierre if he was sure they were art. What particularly struck me were the cleft of the derriere, so deep, so accented, so 'expressive,' Pierre said, and the rather full, and I thought exaggerated, shape of the breast, with the nipple standing stiff and erect and - so obviously there.
"Well, Pierre developed a mild artistic tantrum. 'That's you,' he said. 'That's your body and you must stop being ashamed of it.' He talked about the great artists, from Michelangelo to the present.
" 'And how do you suppose Bernini developed the marvelous conception of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa?' He demanded. 'His subject was a saint, a pristine, religious woman. But I'd be willing to bet he infused his model with something besides religious ecstasy.' He paused for effect. "I'll bet he made her concentrate on her body, on the flesh and form and reality of her body. No doubt he recounted to his model how Saint Theresa had, had a vision that an angel came to her bearing a golden spear with a fiery tip and plunged it into her deepest innards, and when he drew it out she glowed in the hot fire of love for God.'
"I told him I didn't know anything about that. I knew of the striking sculpture of Saint Theresa, of course. But I told him none of my art history courses had mentioned an angel with a fiery spear, sinking it into her.
"Then he showed me one of his art books, showed me a picture of the Ecstasy of St. Teresa. 'Look at it,' he said. 'Look at the expression on the face.'
"I had to admit that Saint Theresa's expression could be interpreted as something besides religious ecstasy.
" 'Sexual ecstasy,' stressed Pierre firmly. 'I wouldn't be at all surprised if the artist hadn't actually induced a sexual ecstasy in the model!' His eyes were intense and burned into me.
"Slowly his gazed softened. He placed his hands on my shoulders, on my bare flesh. His hands were warm and rough. The warmth seemed to flow out of them into my flesh. He spoke in a low voice.
" 'Now I want you here by ten o'clock tomorrow morning,' he said. 'And from now on until then, I want you to think about your body. Only about your body, your bones, your muscles, your flesh.' He paused and ran rough hands gently over my shoulders and down the skin of my back. 'Concentrate on feeling with your body - your whole body, and not just your hands and fingers.'
"His fingers rested lightly on my hips. I suppose it was a little forward of him, but his steady gaze held me and I felt almost hypnotized. 'Don't be afraid,' he said, 'to feel with all of your body. Your hips.' His hands gripped the flesh of my hips. 'Your breasts.' His brown eyes dropped to my breasts. 'Yes,' his voice was vibrant, 'even the most intimate parts of your body.'
"I felt a tiny thrill in my stomach. His hands were smoothing the flesh on my hips and waist, trailing warm fingers over my abdomen. My breath caught.
"Then he seemed to release me. His eyes lost their burning urgency. He turned and looked at the afternoon's sketches. 'Tomorrow at ten,' he said. 'And think about your body.'
"Well, as soon as I left his study I shook my head to clear it. A spell seemed to lift from my mind. I laughed aloud. He's very persuasive, I thought. Well, I'll be there at ten o'clock... but what nonsense about feeling with my body. My breasts... my 'intimate parts.'
"And yet I couldn't get his words from my mind. I'd be reading, or fixing something to eat, and all of a sudden I'd begin to be conscious of my body. The way it moved - my arms and legs... and, yes, my abdomen, my thighs, my buttocks. I fell asleep thinking about my legs and breasts. My dreams that night were frankly erotic.
"I got to Pierre's studio about five minutes to ten the next morning. My body was feeling strangely alive, almost vibrant. My breasts tingled. I'd decided to wear no bra, so I would feel the material on my cotton dress. I didn't want to think about it, but I couldn't sort out my thoughts. They were all sort of jumbled.
" 'Entrez,' Pierre called sleepily.
"I opened the door and went in, a brave smile on my face to cover my slight embarrassment at the knowledge that I would probably be posing nude that day, absolutely undraped. My smile froze and faded. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' I gasped.
"There were two naked figures on the bed, sprawled out, entwined in what could only be venereal disarray. Pierre, as disheveled as the bedclothes, frowned at me from red eyes. He looked hung over. There was an empty wine bottle on the floor at bedside.
" 'Good Lord,' he croaked. 'I forgot.' He sat up quickly, rubbing the sleep from his face, apparently still unaware that he was completely naked... and well, erected.
"But that, as shocking as it was to my sensibilities, was not what fascinated me most.
"Sprawled next to Pierre, in sleepy abandon, was a young, tawny, tousle-haired girl who looked more Italian than French. I gathered that she was from Marseilles or Corsica. She was rapidly coming fully awake. She blinked a few times and then her big, dark, button eyes grew wide as she stared at me.
"I guess I was staring, too. I mean, she was a striking young thing, in an animal way. And she had a sleek, well-developed body. Large breasts, but not pendulous at all. Her waist was kind of short, but her hips were wide and heavy, her legs long and lithe. She had a flat, muscled stomach, and her movements were like those of a cat.
"But what really floored me was... her pubic area. She was endowed with what I can only think of as a half-acre tract of curly, black pubic hair, through which I could clearly see her... her privates - her vulva and vagina. And she was not demure about exposing herself. As far as she was concerned, her privates deserved to be on display at the Louvre.
"Her eyes flashed at Pierre. 'Cochon,' she hissed, and sat up, one bare leg on the bed, the other on the floor. 'So! An Englishman!'
" 'An Englishwoman,' said Pierre. 'But she's not English. She's American.' He was still groggy.
" 'So!' And she launched into gutter English she'd picked up God knows where. I still blush to think of it, but at the time I was absolutely flabbergasted.
" 'So!' she said. 'You pull your cock out of me and stick it right into her eh?' She reached over and gave his erection a quick wrench. He let out a muffled groan.
" 'Alors, miss American,' she said. She got out of bed and threw on a short-sleeved, open blouse, which only drew more attention to her outthrust breasts and nipples. She picked up her slacks and held them, gesticulating with them. 'You come here to - to fuck this man, eh?' She stood with her legs canted, her legs spread, and her pubic mound thrust forward, as if she could take the brunt of the world's assault on it.
" 'No,' I began. 'I'm sorry...'
" 'Yes,' she said. 'I think so. He has got nothing left to fuck with.' Every other word was a swear word that grated on my ear. 'That - that machine of his, it's nothing lef'. 'e jus' have to go pee-pee.'
"Balancing on one foot, she pulled on her slacks and turned her ire on Pierre.
" 'And you, con. I'm happy we fuck all night. Now you see what you can do with miss American! I don't think nothing. Rien du tout.' She turned to look at me, looking like some raven-haired Brigitte Bardot. She smiled proudly.
" 'Firs' he lick me an' I suck him. It is very good. Vite, vite, vite! Many times for me. For him - hah! - once. But, mmn, mmn, mmn...' And she made obscene motions with her mouth. 'I work on this machine, his... 'ow you say? Cock! Mmn, mmn, mmmnn!'
"I watched her with a mixture of horror and fascination.
" 'Then when 'is cock is big an' stiff, e' fuck my... con, cunt.' She seemed to be searching for all the vulgar words she knew. 'Twat! 'E fuck my twat. Oooooh. Good! An Pierre, 'e again vite, vite!... Come!'
"Pierre had lit a cigarette and was sitting on the bed calmly smoking it and watching the young lady as she poured out scorn.
" 'Then, las', he fuck me in my cul... my ass. An' oh-la-la, that is the bes'! 'E push an' fuck an' vite, vite, vite! An' after that, he is a little worm, like so, an' e' sleep like the dead.'
"She slipped on her rope-soled shoes and picked up her small purse.
" 'Sculpteur manqué,' she spat at him. ' 'Ave fun with 'is little worm.'
"I think her calling him a failed sculptor angered him.
" 'Alors, putain,' he shouted. 'Va-t'en, va-t'en!'
" 'Good day,' she said to me pleasantly. 'A bientot.' And with a marvelous hip-rolling walk, she walked out the door.
"It took several seconds for me to catch my breath.
"Pierre snubbed out his cigarette. 'You mustn't pay too much attention to her. She is just a low type. No appreciation of the finer things in life.'
"Whether that was to excuse her vulgar language or to assuage his wounded ego, I don't know. But I almost laughed.
" 'You, on the other hand,' I said, 'evidently do appreciate the finer things in life.'
"He looked at me nonplussed. I was trying to keep a smile on my face, to be worldly and say something sophisticated and ironic. But my head was a mass of thoughts I couldn't untangle. I had, strangely been both repulsed and fascinated by what had happened.
" 'Yes,' Pierre said. I thought he was looking at me strangely. 'Why don't you make coffee?' he said brightly. I became suddenly aware that he was standing before me absolutely naked, with his... his thing, his machine, hanging there grossly. With effort I kept my eyes above his shoulders.
" 'Excuse me,' he said. 'I must go wash... uh, my fa... I must go brush my hair.' And he put on a pair of shorts and walked down the hall.
"I put a pot of water on the hot plate and waited for it to boil. There were some very weird thoughts trying to express themselves in my head. I felt odd tinglings and flashes all over. I began to realize that what was making me feel strange was the scene I'd just witnessed with that... that girl.'
"No matter how much I wanted to think of her as a slattern, a guttersnipe, I couldn't help but envy her, her pride in her body. It was her body. She was proud of it, and she flaunted it. The brazen gamine admired every square inch of herself. I resolved that I could do the same.
"And it was that resolve, at that particular moment, that started the trail of events that were to lead me directly to that hour of titillation and terror on the warm hillside next to a medieval ruin not far from the romantic city of Carcassonne. How I could possibly have let myself get into that predicament, I'll never know. One lone woman traveling with five men, four of whom I hardly knew... But I'm getting ahead of myself. You haven't even met Reggie yet.
"And I hadn't even posed nude yet for Pierre. But that day, after the young girl flaunted her body shamelessly, I decided to pose for Pierre completely nude, without any drapery and, if I could help it, without shame.
"When he came back from washing - I wondered what he'd washed, but I had a pretty good idea - his hair was combed, too, and in his shorts and sandals he looked like a freshly scrubbed schoolboy. It was difficult for me to imagine him as he'd been a few minutes before - naked, with his 'machine' dangling in front of him like a wrinkled, soggy piece of rope.
" 'I must apologize for the behavior of Yvette.'
"So that was the girl's name, I thought.
" 'She is a nuisance,' he continued.
"Yes, I could imagine what kind of nuisance she was.
" 'She has no education and she...'
" ' I know,' I said. 'She has no appreciation of the finer things in life.'
" 'Ah, you are annoyed, I see.' He made himself a large cup of instant coffee, and dumped two huge spoonfuls of sugar into it. He sipped tentatively. 'On these sketches,' he said. 'Perhaps you would prefer to wait till another day to...'
" 'Oh no, you don't.' I wasn't about to let him make me a scapegoat for his idleness when he didn't feel like working. 'It is now half past ten. I was here at ten sharp, as you told me. Now if you do not possess the artistic discipline to work with a hangover, that is all right. But...'
'No, no,' he hastened to say. 'But, of course we will sketch, if you...' He looked through the skylight and rubbed his hands. 'It is a very good day for work. Courbet would love this light.' He picked up his sketch pad and charcoal. 'Alors,' and he reached for the drape of brocade.
"But I'd anticipated him. While he'd been fussing with his coffee and sketch pad and the brocade, I'd taken off my cotton dress and was already standing completely naked in the center of the studio, standing as proudly as I could with my shoulders back and my head high.
"He stared at me wide-eyed and mute, then he whispered, 'Mon Dieu.' He dropped the brocade.
" 'Well, tell me how to pose,' I said. 'You're paying for it.' Yes, I neglected to tell you, he was paying me a few francs an hour to pose for him. It was enough for my lunch every day, and really helped defray expenses.
" 'Of course,' he said. 'That's fine. Just like that. Don't move.' He sat on the bed directly in front of me and began to sketch. But it seemed to me he didn't sketch as quickly as he had yesterday. He spent long moments between strokes just avidly looking at me.
"I suppose I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn't. I held my proud pose and felt a small sense of exhilaration. My body felt more alive than it had in months. I could feel the rise and fall of my breasts, the weight and flexure of my thighs and buttocks. A vision of Yvette crossed my mind, and I smiled to myself and tried to make my body feel like hers.
" 'Marvelous, said Pierre. 'Simply marvelous!' He sketched in bold strokes, hardly taking his eyes off me. I noticed, to my very slight alarm, that his penis was beginning to grow under his shorts. He seemed unaware of it. Whenever he looked down to his sketch pad, my fascinated gaze flicked to the rising lower edge of his shorts.
"Abruptly I caught a glimpse of - was it? - yes! - the head of his penis, red and swollen and throbbing, edging below the leg of his shorts. It snaked out like some live thing with a life of it's own, pulsing in willful insistence. My breath stopped and I felt my mouth go dry. I simply could not take my eyes off that penis. Visions of Yvette flooded my mind, her body, her legs, her lush mouth, her con, her cul. And always there was the sight of the solid flesh of Pierre's penis thick and red under his shorts. My mind began to whirl.
" 'No, no,' said Pierre. 'You're becoming tense now. Just relax.' He dropped his sketch pad and came toward me. With great effort I pulled my gaze from his penis and looked at a point on the wall beyond him.
" 'A little to your right,' he said, and reached out a hand to turn me. But at the same instant as I turned slightly to my left, and suddenly felt his warm hand smack on my breast.
" 'Oh!' I said. But instead of backing away, removing his hand from my breast, I stepped forward, clasping his hand to me, forcing my breast and burning nipple into his hand.
:Everything happened so fast. Suddenly Pierre was squeezing my breast and rubbing his other hand along my hip. My body seemed to explode. I leaned into him, our mouths met in a wet, passionate kiss. Before I knew it, my hand was on his penis, stroking it, fondling it, grasping it, feeling the life throb in it.
"His kiss became insistent. He pressed his body to mine, bending me in a passionate embrace.
"Now, I wasn't a virgin at that time. I don't want you to think that. I'd had love affairs before, two of them. But they'd been long courtship affairs, definitely on the square conservative side, when you consider the trend of modern morality. They'd been cases of love at first sight, flirtation, dating and petting, and finally, in moments of passionate giving and love, we'd tumbled into bed. And I'd always wrestled with my conscience afterward. Each time I went to bed with my lover, it was only after long foreplay had dispelled my reluctance. Half the time I didn't enjoy it.
This experience with Pierre was something entirely new. We stood in the middle of the brightly lit studio for several long moments, kissing hungrily, rubbing our bodies against each other, our hands caressing and groping shamelessly. I certainly wasn't in love. Just overwhelmed by a burning lust, a victim of rampaging urges I thought I had permanently locked away.
"We broke for a second and looked at each other with wonder. Then we both smiled happily, burst into laughter and tumbled onto the bed. Joyously we gave ourselves up to lechery.
"Pierre spent long moments kissing and mouthing my breasts. They began to feel like tiny hot probes were brushing them wherever his tongue touched.
"Slowly he pushed his shorts over his hips and down to his ankles. He pushed them off the bed with his feet. And all the time he never ceased caressing my body, running his sculptor's hands over my breasts and belly, my thighs and buttocks. And his mouth never stopped running moistly over my flesh, kissing, tonguing.
" 'Beautiful!' he kept saying. 'Marvelous! Fantastic!'
"I felt my body respond like a flowering bud to the sunshine.
" 'Oh, yes... oh, yes,' I said.
"And then I caught sight of his erect penis again, his 'machine,' the shaft thickly overlaid with veins, the head red and bloated. And I remembered in a flash Yvette and the strangely exciting coarse language she'd used... how she'd talked about the many ways the two of them had fornicated. And I remembered: She told me he wouldn't be able to make love today. What was it she'd said? 'See what you can do with miss American. Nothing I bet.' Well, I thought, if that little... that little putain could see us now, she would positively flip. Pierre with that angry rampant erection! If she excites him with her coarse, earthly behavior, so can I! No more little nice girl, I vowed.
" 'Stick it in,' I ordered. It seemed to release all my inhibitions. 'Stick it in,' I shouted. 'Fuck me! Come in me!' I hardly recognized my own voice.
" 'Oo-la-la,' said Pierre in a deep voice. 'We make love, yes... and we fuck too. Good.' There was a strange gleam in his eyes. 'We fuck with cock and cunt!' he growled. 'I feel your tits and ass, and I fuck your cunt, and then maybe I fuck your ass!'
" 'Yes, yes, yes,' was all I could say.
"I felt his hard penis push against my vulva. Expertly he reached under me with both hands and spread my genitals, my nymphae. And then, oh so slowly, he stuck his shaft deep into me.
"It seemed endless, huge and hot. I felt his testicles rest for a moment against my anus. And little sparks of fire seemed to burst out all through my body. My nipples and my clitoris, especially, were points of fire. He was an experienced lover.
"After a few moments, tiny waves of sensation began to wash over me, warm rings of feeling that seemed to roll out of my vagina and embrace my body.
" 'Good God!' yelled Pierre, bucking and heaving on top of me. 'Soon I think I fuck your tits too!' And with a gasping shudder he crested to orgasm.
"At the same time I felt a final wave of sensation bigger than I'd ever felt before. It washed from the center of my being in a warm surge. I knew I'd experienced my first small orgasm... A promise of things to come.
"In the days that followed, I didn't go back to Pierre's studio. I guess I was having a psychological reaction to our wild behavior of that last time. In those days I blushed whenever I thought that there I'd been, making love at half past ten in the morning. Me, who never went to bed with a man unless we both declared our undying love...
"I blushed to remember that I'd been brought to the extremes of lustful passion by thinking about the spiritual Ecstasy of St. Teresa. I recalled with chagrin how I'd been fascinated by the coarse behavior and vulgar language of Yvette.
"At the same time there was a kind of perverse pride and a disappointment that we'd only made love once. I remember how eager he'd been, before his orgasm, to try a little experimental sex - or at least sex that would have been experimental to me. After orgasm, Pierre had been absolutely exhausted, and had lain on the bed for two hours while I'd gotten up and gone out to bring back something for us to eat.
"He'd paid me handsomely that day, saying, 'Please, take it. This is for lunch.' But it made me feel even cheaper. I'd find some other artist to model for. Someone who didn't talk about the ecstasy of Saint Theresa.
"Then one day I was sitting at a table outside a small café on the 'boul' Mich,' The Boulevard St-Michel, wondering where I would go for my vacation. I had a little money saved up and thought I might go to Amsterdam to see a girl friend of mine for a few days. I would be able to stay with her and save the price of renting a hotel room. I really wanted to go to the French Riviera, but hadn't the money.
"I looked down at the boulevard, and who should I see but Pierre walking my way, deep in conversation with some young, well-dressed man. He looked very British.
"But I didn't want to meet anyone right then, especially Pierre, so I turned my chair so I was facing away from them.
"I heard them going by - they were speaking English - and suddenly their conversation stopped and Pierre's voice said, 'Janet!' He always made it sound like Janette, so I would know he was pronouncing the final t. I turned, feigning surprise.
" 'What a pleasant surprise!' Pierre said, clasping my hand warmly. There was no hint that he was remembering our last meeting.
"He introduced me to his British-looking friend. 'Reggie has just come over from London,' he said. 'Via Saarbrucken, where he picked up his new Mercedes.' He looked at Reggie. 'Ah, my friend, how I envy you.' He smiled. 'But I must leave you now. Don't let me spoil your promenade.' And he was off, hurrying down the boulevard.
"Reggie asked if he could join me for an aperitif. We talked for a long time. He was in Paris on business, but as soon as he concluded it, he was going, of all places to the French Riviera. He seemed quite interested that I was studying art history, but all he knew about it, he said, was from museums.
"He was tall and good-looking and dressed very well. He had a very quiet, mild manner and seemed almost effeminate. With him I felt none of the uneasiness, the threat, I'd felt around men the last few days. We agreed to meet the next day for lunch.
"I knew that I should write my friend in Amsterdam that very night, if I was going to spend my vacation there. But I didn't. I think even then, subconsciously, I was hoping he would ask me to go with him to the Riviera. When we met the next day, his manner was still mild, but he was much more talkative than he'd been the previous day. We had a jolly time. And then he popped the question. Would I like to go to the French Riviera with him. He was so humble and eager.
" 'I'd planned to do the bloody tour by myself,' he said. 'I'd be bored stiff till I got to Nice and Cannes. And it's better than picking up any old hiker for conversation.'
"So it was settled.
" 'D'accord!' we said and clinked our Camparis.
"At first I didn't like the idea of his offering to pay so many of my expenses, but he said, 'Look. I'm rich now. And I'd just spend it on foolishness or drinking too much or on the gaming tables. And a person like yourself - well, you'd be ruddy good company. You've been studying hard and you deserve a vacation. That's it - you deserve it!'
"So that was settled too.
"And everything went swimmingly... until we got to Nice and Cannes, where Reggie expressed dismay at my old, worn, one piece bathing suit.
" 'Absolutely not!' he said when I stepped out of my hotel room. 'Go back and take it off, and we'll go out and buy you a new one. No, I insist.'
"He insisted on going with me while I bought it, too. He talked me into getting a rather conservative bikini. Maybe it was just a two-piece bathing suit. I used to think of anything that didn't cover my navel as a bikini.
"Well, at first it didn't seem too bad, because all the other women on the beach were wearing more revealing outfits than I was. But then I noticed that men - almost every man I saw - were looking at me in that old threatening way.
"Reggie told me to relax. 'You have a very attractive shape. Naturally a healthy male will look at it.' He seemed quite gregarious at the beach. He was always bringing people over to sit and chat. Sometimes attractive couples came over, and that was fun. But most of the time, it was single men or two men. I began to wonder if Reggie was using me to meet men. But we were always together in the evening, except when he might want to take a stroll by himself. And he didn't give off any homosexual vibes.
"But when we got to Saint-Tropez! Well! Reggie bought me a new bathing suit that was absolutely indecent. My breasts were always on the point of falling out of the cups, and I had to make sure my pubic hair was shaved so it didn't peek out the tops and sides... Yes, I know, my hair is blonde, but... I'm not blonde all over.
"What I didn't know, until after I went into the water once, was that my whole pubic region showed through when the bathing suit was wet. I continued to wear it after that, because Reggie was so nice to me, and I'd gotten sort of used to brief swimsuits. But I never went swimming in it.
"It was at Saint-Tropez that I made a firm decision to see Carcassonne. I'd wanted to see it ever since I'd first been in France. For me it was beginning to take on the aspect of a pilgrimage to a holy place. Carcassonne was where the Cathars were finally crushed in the Albigensian crusades. The Cathars were a heretic sect that was brutally suppressed in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But they were very pious and pure people. And God knows I was determined to remain very pious and pure for some time, anyway.
"So I began to think of this as my own Albigensian crusade, a crusade to affirm my own piety and purity.
"And I was determined to remain pure - relatively speaking - in spite of Reggie, who was giving me frequent melting looks. He was a perfect gentleman, of course. But just his looking at me was enough to make me self-conscious and make my body start to get those warning warm, tingly sensations.
"Then, during our last two hours in Marseille, we ran into an American who was hitchhiking through France.
"Sam was a handsome, happy-go-lucky guy, traveling with a light pack and a rolled-up sleeping bag on his back. He was only too happy to ride to Carcassonne with us. We threw his packs in the truck and set out... Arles, Nimes, Montpellier. He was, in Reggie's words, 'jolly good company.'
"Then outside of Adge we ran into two more hitchhikers, an American and a German, Doug and Klaus. Doug was squat and muscular, and looked more like an Italian or a 'black Irishman' than an American. Klaus was erect, blonde, and blue-eyed, with wavy hair, and spoke fluent English.
"Well, what with four men in the car, the conversation came round to girls. Doug and Sam talked about the differences between American and French girls. Klaus talked about the differences between German and Italian girls. And they all talked about the differences between the girls of Normandy and Burgundy and Provence. Like they were comparing wines.
"Well, I was in the front seat, squeezed between Reggie and Doug, who took up quite a space. I found myself getting my old warm, tingly feeling, much against my will. Then Reggie, to my amazement, dropped his hand on my thigh and began caressing it slowly.
"It was such a surprise, I didn't know how to react. And by the time I was through wondering what to do, it was really too late to do anything. I mean, how can you let a man massage your thigh for a minute and then take it off? Besides, I figured, I was getting some sexual vibes from Doug on my other side, so it wouldn't hurt if Reggie made a little gesture like that to show that I was his.
"Sam, in the back seat, abruptly broke us up with: 'Christ! I haven't been laid for a week!' For a moment that eased my tension, everyone laughing and kidding Sam. Then the same atmosphere was back, thicker than ever. An air of suppressed sexuality. I was feeling hot flashes and breathing heavily.
"A few miles outside of Carcassonne, just as dusk was falling, we saw a lone figure walking by the roadside. Reggie slowed and asked him if he wanted a ride. He said yes. He spoke fairly good English, but with a pronounced accent.
"Reggie asked me if I would like to ride in the backseat, since it would be crowded in front. I said sure, the main reason being that Reggie had managed to raise my skirt almost to my hip on one side and was massaging my bare thigh. I was beginning to feel an overpowering sexual desire.
"So I climbed in back, while Sam thoughtfully held the door for me. Then I realized that by holding the door he had managed to squeeze me between Klaus and himself. When he got back in, both my thighs were snug up against theirs.
"Luis, the new fellow in front, was a Frenchman from Beziers, and he was going to Carcassonne to see his girl friend. He started to talk about his girl, who, it seemed, was not his only girl, but simply a girl he stayed with overnight occasionally.
"Then Reggie shocked me, shocked us all, I think at least for a moment. He said: 'She a good fuck?'
" 'Fuck?' Luis didn't know the vernacular.
"Reggie explained it to him in a few words.
" 'Oh, oui,' said Luis and laughed. Then he suddenly remembered me and glanced into the back seat. But I - stupid me - was sitting there with a stupid grin on my face, because Klaus at that moment began running his hand along my thigh the same way Reggie had been doing - the exact same spot at the same rhythm. And Sam, on the other side, had managed to place his elbow squarely on my breast and was doing a little massaging of his own. My breath came faster and deeper.
"Reggie and Luis casually discussed his girl friend in the front seat. I began to get hot flashes, and visions of Yvette sped through my mind. Fragments of talk about 'tits' and 'ass' came back to me, and I recalled a clear picture of Yvette standing proudly, clasping her breasts in her own hands. I breathed faster. Klaus's hand and Sam's elbow became more agitated in their ministrations.
"My Lord, I thought, what's happening to me? My mind was filled with anything but pure pious thought. Some pilgrim I am, I said to myself. Some Crusader.
"There was talk of sex all around me, it seemed. All the guys were talking about sex. The temperature in the Mercedes seemed to be rising.
" 'Just over there,' came Reggie's voice from the front seat, 'there's a medieval ruin.' He pulled off onto a side road, then turned in his seat and laid a hand on my knee. 'You'll like it,' he smiled. 'Very romantic.'
" 'Fine,' I said in a hoarse voice. I began to tremble. My face still wore it's pasted-on smile.
"After a few minutes we stopped. We all got out of the car. About a hundred yards from the car was a wall and an ancient turret, I guess. I was intensely aware that Klaus had draped one arm around my shoulders and Sam had his arm around my waist. Every few steps, he would slip his hand onto my buttocks. They were both talking to me in low tones.
"Suddenly Reggie stopped. 'Right here,' he said. 'Isn't it a beautiful sight?' He was gazing at the ancient ruin, framed in the rays of the sunset. But his hand reached back to stroke my breast and belly.
" 'Oh,' I said weakly, 'what-?'
" 'Beautiful,' said Sam, but his hand lifted my skirt and went to the bare flesh of my buttocks. Klaus, one hand on my breast, was lifting my pullover to my shoulders. Doug and Luis were making no pretense of looking at ruins.
" 'Oh please,' I said. 'I can't - not all of you.' It became abruptly clear what was going to happen to me.'
" 'Now Janet,' Reggie said. 'It's very romantic.'
" 'Oh my God,' I said. Suddenly it seemed as though I ceased to be there, except as a watcher and listener. It was as though my being left my body.
" 'My God,' said Klaus, 'she does have a body.' Both his hands were on my breasts.
" 'Jesus, what an ass!' Sam dropped to his knees and took soft bites of my thigh and buttocks.
" 'That's it,' Reggie said. 'Talk it up. Talk dirty. It really turns her on. She goes wild.'
"Hurried hands were laying me on the ground, pawing my body, wrenching my legs apart. The ground was fragrant with mown hay and warm from the day's sun.
" 'So.' Luis said. 'You like to fuck, too, heh? You like to fuck and suck, heh? An' have me lick your poo-sy.'
" 'Yeah, Luis.' Doug. 'Why don'cha get down there and tell us what it tastes like?' Laughter.
" 'Here, suck this, and you won't hurt at all.' Klaus above me, his erect organ inches from my mouth. And the insane smile still on my face.
"A wet, warm thing lapping insistently at my labia. Luis' tongue. My clitoris expertly caught. An exquisite shooting, electric sensation.
"A hard penis pushing into my mouth. Open, unthinking, to a throbbing, gristly shaft with velvety glans. Klaus moaning his pleasure.
" 'Sweet Christ, what a gorgeous cunt!' Sam, happy-go-lucky-Sam. "And you mean to tell me you haven't shtupped this once in ten days on the Riviera?' A sudden rending sensation from my labia. The enormous glans of a huge penis spreading the vestibule of my vagina. 'Hot fuck! What a sweet, tight cunt!'
"The eager, burning face of Reggie above me, temples throbbing, eyes glittering, speaking in a low voice. 'Enjoy, Janet, enjoy. Think of all the holy love that will thrust into you in the next few minutes... the golden spear with the fiery tip.'
"My insides seemed to burn, and waves of hot syrup flooded my vagina. My breasts are points of fire.
"Sam yells as his orgasm sweeps over him. My vagina turns into a primordial steamy marsh.
"My mouth is inundated with sticky, hot semen. It flows over my lips and down my cheek, into my hair. Klaus moans over and over again. 'Gott in Himmel... Gott in Himmel.'
"Then Luis is between my thighs. Another thick, gristly pole spears deep into me.
"Doug is poised over my face. I close my eyes as the tip of his glans presses gently against my lips, into my mouth.
"And always the crooning voice of Reggie. 'Here is where you make your crusade, Janet darling, by the medieval ruins of Carcassonne. And enjoy all the golden spears with fiery tips...'
For Janet, the events leading up to the group rape incident and the multiple rape itself represents part of a fairly complex phase of personality growth during which she begins to emerge out of the excessively rigid and restricting emotional and mental set which precludes enjoyment of sex and also makes emotional intimacy difficult. Before she arrives in Europe, she has experienced only two love affairs, both of them somewhat unsuccessful and characterized by sexual reluctance on Janet's part and lengthy, determined efforts on the part of her lovers to overcome her defenses. In most cases, once those defenses had been relaxed, she found little enjoyment in the sex and therefore the need for defenses seemed to be continually be reinforced.
In general, she is aware to a certain extent that her own rigid ideas and attitudes are responsible for her inability to enjoy sex. In her experience with Pierre she begins to understand that she need not necessarily be ashamed of her body. She begins to respond to his elaborate, intelligent seduction of her, but is then thrown off balance by the presence of another woman, a frankly sexual and self-approving woman near whom Janet feels more intensely that her own shame and guilt about her body are no longer desirable.
Her reaction to Yvette's sexuality is interesting, because she sees it as a challenge to her own sexuality, rather than allow it to further intimidate her. This indicates that Pierre's long weeks of subtle campaign to awaken Janet have begun to bear fruit, in that she is beginning to be willing to consider the possibility that she may be sexually attractive, and that she may enjoy it.
Although she finally consummates sexually her relationship with Pierre, she then immediately retreats into isolation because she is somewhat afraid of the consequences and of her own strong feelings. However, an important defense has been broken. She has seen the love of her own body as a desirable characteristic herself.
In this sense, she has made an important first step in emerging out of the Protestant Ethic, the tenets of which have characterized her previous behavior. Gerhart Piers and Milton B. Singer in Shame and Guilt discuss this Protestant Ethic in general cultural terms, but the discussion is applicable to Janet's personality transformation:
Max Weber's construction of a "Protestant Ethic" is one example of such a more complex kind of characterization. While it is still of some value for cultural characterization, it has tended, under the influence of excessive psychological interpretations, to become a designation for a generalized sense of guilt of "Protestant personality type," the absence of which is regarded as equivalent to moral and technical backwardness.
Janet herself believes that the absence of a sense of personal shame and general guilt is a corruption of decent values, as evidenced by her remarks about people and her intolerance of any departure from certain false "norms." In addition, she betrays her rigid, suspicious kind of thinking in her continual suspicion of men and her belief that they are manipulating and exploiting her at every opportunity. Of course to some extent that is true, but is largely due to the fact that Janet's super-strong defenses do not present an opening or opportunity for a man to relate to her in a more open, more honest way.
Once the events in Pierre's studio have taken place, we can begin to see definite changes in Janet's attitude. The primary evidence of change is the fact that she accepts Reggie's invitation for a shared vacation, an acceptance of real experience which might not have taken place had she not begun to come out of her shell.
On the vacation, there is still much indication that Janet continues to be somewhat ashamed of her body. For example, her strong feelings about the revealing bathing suits Reggie asks her to wear are an obvious indication that she still feels some shame about her body and her sexuality. However, she does wear the bathing suits, and allows them to become increasingly revealing. Janet is truly making an effort to overcome what she now sees as an undesirable rigidity in herself.
In the car, when the conversation and the behavior of the other men Reggie has picked up begin to arouse and stimulate Janet, she does nothing to stop the progress of sensuality. One senses she is encouraging it rather than discouraging it, although she is unable to frankly admit her fascination and attraction. In this, she shares something in common with other rape victims. Paul Gebhard, et al, in Sex Offenders, discusses this characteristic of some rape victims:
Another source of female desire to be forced is a psychological defense and projection mechanism that enables an inhibited woman to enjoy sexual activity without feeling guilt about it. "He made me do it" salves the conscience very readily. Unfortunately this excuse can have disastrous consequences if it is offered by the girl, not only to herself but to her outraged parents. As Dr. Kinsey has often said, the difference between a "good time" and a "rape" may hinge on whether the girl's parents were awake when she finally arrived home.
For Janet, of course, none of these disastrous consequences would take place. However, the fact that she does not need to take personal emotional responsibility for the rape situation does relieve some potential guilt feelings and at the same time allow her to enjoy, as she apparently does, the multiple intercourse that can only technically be called rape.
It is particularly interesting that Janet herself is aware of a kind of pilgrimage, and that Reggie is sensitive to this image in her life. She has indeed been on a pilgrimage throughout her European experience, and particularly on this vacation. But it is a pilgrimage toward finding her true sexual self, rather than to some outward place or token. It is extremely fortunate for Janet that the men she has encountered throughout this European summer are fairly understanding and not malicious. She would have been an easy victim, and it is rare that a woman as vulnerable as she is meets up with good-natured cooperation rather than the viciousness and terror that accompany most rapes.
Janet appears at this point to be on her way toward a new internal and emotional structure which should open up many possibilities for her in her life.