Me: Forget it. I enjoyed what we did.
Robert: I wouldn’t want you to think I’m usually like that.
Me: All the circle jerking and all the watching, naturally you had to hold it back. Hardly anybody lasted very long. The only one who did, he had the reverse problem, he couldn’t come at all.
Robert: Just so you don’t have the wrong idea about me.
Me: Anyway, I had an orgasm. The minute I took you in my mouth. I can come that way.
(Which is true. I can. I didn’t, but I wanted to make the poor schmuck feel good. With all he was going thru to assure me that this rarely happened, I was pretty sure it happened a lot. Poor bastard.)
• • •
Another round of Coke and apple juice. Plus a round of Vitamin E capsules, designed to increase everyone’s capacity for heavy-duty screwing. I don’t know if they work or not. I suppose it’s men who have a limited capacity. A woman can ball forever unless she gets a sore twat or falls asleep. Maybe they work if you think they work. I’ve been taking them for over a year and never noticed any sexual effect. (Did I notice I don’t get short of breath running for a bus the way I used to. Maybe it’s the Vitamin E.)
Then it’s talk time, Jeremy again structuring everything to hell and gone. We go around the circle, and everyone has to tell his most appealing secret fantasy.
This was a lot of fun in college. It’s also still fun in bed with someone you love. Not much fun with this crowd, tho. Just slightly interesting.
The women all have fantasies involving either bondage or rape or both. I wonder why. Do they all have this particular fantasy or are they getting their cues from one another?
The male fantasies are more diversified. One man, can’t remember who, has a fantasy of being kidnapped by a man and woman who force him to do things to both of them. Another has a fantasy of killing a woman at the moment of orgasm. A few of them have the balling two-girls-at-once fantasy. Can’t remember the rest.
Damned if I’ll tell these people my secret thoughts. I invent a nice fantasy on the spur of the moment about being given an enema while performing fellatio, and then defecating in a roar just as the man comes. It seems to go over pretty well.
I wonder if the rest of them are more honest about this than I am, or if we are all keeping our true fantasies to ourselves.
• • •
“Now I want you to tell us the person in this room you would most like to fuck, and the person you would least like to fuck, and your reasons for both of these choices. Let’s start with Arnie and go around the circle.”
Arnie says he would most like to fuck me because my enema fantasy turned him on and he likes my body. He says he would least like to fuck Janine because he doesn’t dig big hips.
Poor Janine. Well, this accomplishes something, all right. For the first time since I got to this madhouse I am genuinely involved as a result of being genuinely pissed off.
And it’s my turn.
Loudmouth Me: The person I would most like to fuck is Janine because she reminds me of a girl I was in love with once. Also I have the feeling she has never made it with a girl and it is kicky for me to make it with a girl who has not made it with a girl before. As for the other half of your question, I’m going to be liberated enough to tell you to shove it up your ass. I didn’t come here to make people feel bad by telling them I wouldn’t want to ball them, and anybody who does is an asshole.
Buddha just smiled and went on to Myron, who confessed he’d like to throw it to Linda. He just stopped there and didn’t say anything about who he would prefer to not fuck, and neither did anybody else all around the circle.
I got a couple votes, including Janine’s. I also got a couple of very heavy looks from Janine.
She doesn’t really appeal much to me. The bit about her resembling a former love was crap. She does remind me of a girl I once knew, but I had never had anything going with that girl and had never really wanted to. But now I’m getting turned on by Janine because a feeling is building up between us.
I suppose I started to get the lukewarm hots for her when Arnie said he didn’t want to fuck her. Well, it figures. I also tend to take in stray cats.
Poor Arnie. He’s the only one in the group who confessed to not wanting to ball a particular person, and I’m sure he hates himself for it. Or hates me for calling him an asshole.
Tough shit.
• • •
Jack, it’s very hard to remember just what happened from here on in. The first couple of hours are much easier to recapture. It’s a shame I couldn’t have written all this out the next day or something when it was fresh in my mind. I’ll just give impressions and incidents in no particular order to give you a sense of what was happening. When you write it up, you can make things up to fill in the blanks and give it a feeling of order.
Is that all right?
• • •
It’s dark outside. Jeremy turns off all the lights, plunging the place into total darkness. He announces the rules. No one must say a word or make any sounds beyond the inevitable odd grunt of pleasure. We can do whatever we want with whoever we grab. Anything goes. In fifteen minutes the lights will go on and we will stop whatever we’re doing.
My feeling at the beginning is that this is a very dumb thing, an adult version of a child’s game. I’m standing there waiting for something to happen when someone takes hold of my arm. It’s a man and he has hair on his chest, but so do most of them. He puts his arms around me and kisses me, and he rubs his hairy chest deliberately over my tits, which is very stagy but which nevertheless invariably reaches me. I take his cock in my hand. It’s rock hard and very large. We shuffle around, find a mattress, and collapse on it, and he rolls me onto my back and mounts me. I don’t even have to guide his cock in. He hits the bull’s eye on the first shot.
For a minute or two it’s disconcerting because people are wandering around and almost stepping on us. Then everybody seems to have found somebody, and I’m being fucked fast and furious by someone, and I don’t know who it is and he doesn’t know who I am, and I discover it’s kicky. Really kicky.
He fucks good, too. Nice powerful strokes, and I flash on the fact that all around me people are fucking in the dark same as me, and it gets to me, and in no time at all I have three teensy comes and one BIG one.
Then he pulls out and gets off and wanders away.
He didn’t come. Not that he couldn’t but he didn’t want to.
I have met lots of dudes like this at swings and I hate them. They want to screw all the girls they can so instead of just letting go and enjoying themselves when they’re into something, they hold back and get the girl off and then take their cocks out and find somebody else to finish in. I think it stinks. If I’m good enough to fuck I’m good enough to come inside of, dammit.
• • •
I get up and wander around in the dark. It is really pitch black in here. I find a couple of people fucking on the floor, guy on top of girl, grinding slowly and merrily away. I have no idea who they are but decide to play with them a little. I put a finger up the guy’s ass, pet his balls a bit. He seems to appreciate this anal, reaches out a hand which I guide between my legs. It’s a hard reach for him and I adjust my body to make it easier for him to get at me. I move my hand around so the tips of my fingers are between the two of them. I can feel her cunt and his cock going in and out of her between my fingertips. He fingers me quite expertly considering the fact that he’s busy fucking her at the same time. Well, maybe he was one of the ones who had the fantasy of balling two girls at once. If so, he’s got his wish.
She has an orgasm and collapses. He goes on fucking her and a few strokes later he comes, at which instant so do I. It’s kind of nice.
• • •
A sudden hysterical thought that I had somewhere in the course of all this. There are three married couples here. And it’s dark and no one knows who’s who. So what are the odds that somewhere in this room a man is fucking his wif
e and neither of them realize it?
Hysterical.
• • •
I’m taking tentative little steps in the darkness, hoping I won’t trip over anyone, when a hand touches me. I reach out and explore nice soft skin. Hands touch me, and there’s a little gasp when they find my breasts.
Because my little pal is female also.
Dynamite. She starts to draw away, but that is not at all what I have in mind. I reach out and put my arms around her and plant a solid kiss on her mouth. It’s a little like kissing a statue, but I’m hot enough for both of us. I stroke her ass and kiss her more insistently, and she has a little battle with herself and either wins or loses, you figure it out, and her mouth relaxes and opens and I stick my tongue halfway to her tonsils.
We stand there hanging onto each other, kissing and rubbing our bodies together. She’s got nice plump tits and very smooth skin. Who the hell is it? Janine? Linda? Who?
Ball first, find out later. I get a firm grip on her upper arm and stagger off in search of a mattress. I keep a tight hold on her because I do not want to give her a chance to get away. Ah, no, my proud beauty! Gotcha!
I get her on a mattress and kiss her and play with her and do everything I can think of, and she seems to appreciate everything I do. And she doesn’t just want to be done, like so many selfish little pigs first time they ball another woman. No, she’s grooving on my body. I put a tit in her mouth and let her enjoy it. Oh, so nice!
So I think of a number between sixty-eight and seventy. I crawl on top of her, our bodies inverted, and I open up those pretty legs (assumption—I can’t see them but prefer to think of them as pretty at the moment that my head is between them) and away we go. She hesitates for only a second or so, breathing her uncertainty between my thighs, and then her mouth is glued to me.
Ah, my proud beauty, you have been recently fucked! She tastes of boy and girl all at once, her juices mingled with sperm from some anonymous donor. Yummy.
We eat each other into double happiness. Then I get off her but I don’t go away. I put my arms around her and snuggle her head to my breast. Partly because I feel tender, but there’s also an ulterior motive. I am not going to be happy unless I find out who this is.
No such compulsion with the man. I’m perfectly willing to have him be a ship that passes in the night. But I have just taught this girl to do something she has not done before, and I was not lying when I said I liked that. I wanted to know who she was and I wanted her to know who I was.
She doesn’t try to escape. She’s fidgety for a minute, then calms down and relaxes. We lie there listening to grunts and sighs. I know one thing—she’s not Estelle, because I hear that yipping sound on the other side of the room as Estelle gets her cookies.
Lights on. About half of the people, scattered here and there in twos and threes, have not yet finished, but I barely notice them.
My little pal is Marilyn, Arnie’s wife.
I had not much noticed her before. I think her voice put me off. There’s a particular accent girls have if they’re born in Brooklyn and go to Brooklyn College. I had not even thought of her as one of the possibilities when I was trying to figure out who I was balling, and now here she is, lying next to me, glowing and blushing all at once.
Marilyn: Did you know it was me?
Me: No.
Marilyn: Are you disappointed?
Me: I’m only disappointed all these other schmucks are here. Give me a kiss.
Marilyn: I can’t believe any of this. I was almost sure it was you. Because you knew just what to do and everything, and I knew you were bi from what you said before. I knew I would have an experience with a girl here, that it’s part of the program, but—
Me: But what?
Marilyn: But I didn’t know I’d like it this much. This was my first time. I guess you knew that. It won’t be my last.
Me: It won’t even be your last time with me, honey.
Marilyn: You’re very sweet. You’re a nice person.
• • •
Score card: In the twenty-four hours I was there, I had all six of the men at least once. I had Marilyn again, and I had Linda and Janine. I had contact of one sort or another with most of the others in the course of various clusterfucks. You can probably make up combinations when you turn this crap into English. Don’t even worry about it being untrue, as any combination you can think of probably happened at one time or another.
There were snacks served periodically. Not served, exactly. We would all go into the kitchen and help ourselves. There was a cold buffet that night. The next morning you could go scramble yourself an egg or con somebody into doing it for you.
What really fascinated me was the behavior of the married couples during feeding time. As soon as the word food was mentioned the wives became responsible for their husbands’ well-being, a responsibility that was immediately recognized and acknowledged by husbands and wives alike. The couples hardly bothered with each other at all the rest of the time. (Jeremy’s orders may have had something to do with this; he’d told them that no one was married under his roof, that it was as if they had never met before. Obviously he didn’t subscribe to this one hundred percent or he might have occasionally paired a husband and wife together in one of the staged sex acts. It wasn’t that these people were not married under his roof but that they were not supposed to acknowledge each other’s existence under his roof.)
But mention food and everything changed. The wives fixed plates for their husbands, made sure they had enough, etc. And sat with them while they ate and talked about ah, this is good roast beef and other crucial matters. And in the morning each wife left whoever she had been fucking and fixed bacon and eggs for her lawfully wedded spouse.
Proving what?
I guess that fucking is one thing, but that food is a serious matter.
If houses and apartments didn’t have kitchens, I don’t suppose anybody would be married.
• • •
I suppose you were wondering what Jeremy did during all of this fucking.
So am I.
I disliked him on sight and liked him less naked than dressed, and I saw no reason to change this feeling in the course of the twenty-four hours I spent in his company. The feeling, I am sure, was mutual. Altho he didn’t make a big thing about it, my rebellion at the idea of saying who I didn’t want to ball did not endear me to him. He runs these things every week, and obviously does the who-turns-you-on number every time, so he must get his jollies out of it, and I spiked it for this group. So I don’t suppose his heart overfloweth with love for Nasty Me.
I also got the feeling that he realized I didn’t take this as seriously as I was supposed to. As time went by I became more and more inclined to make smartass remarks, altho I never challenged his authority directly.
Authority, I think, is his whole trip.
I have not been able to make up my mind whether or not he believes in what he’s doing. It’s possible that he really thinks getting people to open up their cocks and cunts is going to get them opened up in other ways, so that they’ll have open minds and open souls and will no longer have bad breath and sleepless nights and fart a lot. There are people who have had weirder delusions than that, so it’s possible he buys the whole trip.
It’s also possible that he just gets a kick out of it. I’m sure he’s a voyeur. He would have to be a voyeur. No one can spend that much of his life watching people screw in various ways and various combinations without either being bored to death or finding it a turn-on. Also I think he’s an emotional voyeur. He would purposely put together combinations that would engender a certain amount of uptightness. Nothing people couldn’t ultimately handle, because he’s also a showman and wants everyone to have a good time.
I wonder what he does for sex. As far as I know, he didn’t fuck anybody. I think he’s probably impotent, or else he has special kicks that he couldn’t indulge in a group.
He’s a toad.
After the firs
t few hours the pace slowed down a little. There was a long period given over to informal fucking. You could do whatever you wanted with whoever you wanted as long as whoever it was wanted to, too. And the hint from the Grotty Guru was that, while anyone had the option to say No, it would not be taken as a sign of liberation. So, as far as I know, no one directly refused anyone.
At a swing, you can say no. You can say no to everything and just stand around all night watching, as far as that goes. Of course you’re apt to acquire a reputation as a drag, and you may not get invited back, but everything is your option. Here there was implicit pressure to say yes, and I didn’t like that too much.
People would sit around and talk, and then they might get into something, and then they might drift away from sex and back to conversation or go to the kitchen for something to drink.
I think Father Jeremy put something creative in the apple juice and Coke. If I had to guess, I’d say that it was, as they say in the Anacin commercials, a combination of ingredients, probably an upper and a tranquilizer. Probably Dexedrine and either Valium or Librium, if I were guessing. (Which I suppose I am, huh?)
I had a glass of apple juice when I first got there and began to feel that I was on something more far-reaching than plain ol’ apple juice. So I stayed away from it from there on in. That would help explain, tho, why everyone had an abundance of nervous energy and the ability to keep going long after you would have thought they’d have had enough of screwing.
Whatever that drug was, it was also in the morning coffee. I had a couple of cups anyhow. Better drugged coffee than no coffee at all.
• • •
When we got up the next morning, someone noticed that Ralph and Sally were gone. Evidently they woke up somewhere in the middle of the night and decided they had had as much of the marathon as they wanted. And away they went without a word to anyone.
I was a little surprised. They seemed to be enjoying themselves more than anyone else, and none of the great sexual breakthroughs seemed to faze them in the slightest. I remember one happy moment when Sally was sitting on some man’s face and Ralph came over, gave her a big kiss, and then went down on the guy who was gobbling her. They seemed to be entering into the spirit of things beautifully.
The Sex Therapists: What They Can Do and How They Do It (John Warren Wells on Sexual Behavior Book 15) Page 13
