The Forbidden Family Game

by Ward Fulton

  "I wasn't even sure I could get up, I felt so limp, with every muscle slack. With Luigi's help, however, I did get up. And take a hot shower-with Luigi. In an odd sort of way it was just sort of friendly. Not really sexy, though I did get a charge out of taking a shower with him. And when he scrubbed my back and legs with a rough washcloth and rubbed it very gently over my teats, I got some more shudders. But mostly it was, as I said, just friendly.

  "I think Luigi wanted to propose to me. He •sort of hinted around at it, but it wouldn't work. I was only fourteen. My father-and mother would have to give their consent, and they never would. Having a married daughter-and maybe a grandchild-would spoil the lovely image Mother had created. I don't think Father would have minded. In fact, his having a grandchild might have given the show a shot in the arm. Only, of course, I didn't intend to get knocked up, even by a husband. I took The Pill-that was one of the advantages of having money; I could get things that maybe I shouldn't have.

  "Luigi was sweet that day-and every time after that. Of course, we didn't always^ do it on the gym horse-that was accidental, even if it did prove to be fun. Of course, he only came once, sometimes twice, a week, for the eurhythmic lesson, and, believe me, I got rhythmic lessons, only they weren't eurhythmic, they were eurhythmic.

  "Jeno, the cutest of our chauffeurs, was a little harder to manage, since I didn't really have much to do with the chauffeurs, except to ride behind them-and not so very often. So I had to invent a picnic-only I sort of forgot to invite anybody-and arrange for Jeno to drive me. There's a small lake I know about, out on the rancho of a friend of the family, that's very isolated. A wonderful spot for skinny dips because it's so private, which means it's also a good place for a fine fuck.

  "By the time we got there, Jeno had begun to catch on that everything wasn't kosher, since we hadn't picked up anybody for the picnic. I think he suspected I was meeting a boyfriend out there for a little private smooching, but didn't realize the boyfriend was to be him. When I went behind a bush to undress, Jeno even got out the car cushions and arranged them conveniently.

  "He was smirking a little when I came from behind the bush, a big towel held in front of me, looking so innocently surprised. 'Jeno. Do you know what? I forgot to bring a bathing suit.' And proved it by dropping the towel. I was naked.

  "Jeno's smirk turned into a gawk and he made gurgling sounds, pointing. But I could see his pecker jump inside his twill trousers. So I knew he was interested. Why not? I had a cute figure and I certainly wasn't bad looking, especially now that I had the braces off my teeth. Hell, I was one nicely stacked, cute-looking babe, maybe a little on the small side, but lots of guys like their women small. Big men, especially, I've noticed. It's the little men who have to have tall girls, to sort of compensate, I suppose.

  "I grinned at Jeno. ‘I guess I'll just have to skinny-dip, with no bathing suit.' I turned a little, to give him a profile view of my teats, and hunched one shoulder, making them wiggle. 'Why don't you strip and join me?'

  "Jeno wasn't too bright, but he was catching on. 'Strip? With you here? Wellll-' and he began to grin, shucking his jacket and shirt and peeling out of his twill trousers. His pecker was a good size, all right. Nothing startling. Maybe a shade larger than Luigi's, but not much. And it was rising to the occasion fast. He kicked off his loafers and practically snatched off his socks, then came toward me, grinning. I wasn't going to make it too easy, so I loped down to the lake and surface-dived in. With Jeno right after me.

  "Jeno was a good swimmer, almost as good as I am, so I only had to flounder a little to let him catch me. I can tell you, getting a feel-up under water was a new thrill. And feeling his pecker slide between my legs while my body was almost floating was really something. With the water so warm, I just naturally relaxed, and my feet and legs spread open. My cunt was hot and ready by that time and wet, not just from the water.

  "Jeno reached down with one hand and guided his prick into my cunt, his head pushing. Only there wasn't enough leverage, really. We were both too buoyant. I wrapped my legs around Jeno's hips and got him in a little way, just his head, though. Even with my grip and Jeno humping we weren't making progress, though I was having a lot of fun with the excitement building up where we were joined.

  "Jeno turned around and started wading ashore, with his pecker-head in me and my legs wrapped around his rump and his arms supporting my back. As we came into shallow water, losing that buoyancy drove my body down on him-and sent his dong shooting up my cunt. I squealed and locked my legs tighter and flung my arms around his neck. And do you know, Jeno fucked me standing up, humping and driving by rocking back and forth. It was crude but, oh, boy! it sure sent the hots way up me.

  "Maybe it was the start in the water, with our bodies feeling so light and free, and then the hot plunge of his prick in me, but whatever it was, the orgasm came quick. For me, for Jeno. Then, while his pecker was slowly going down, Jeno walked me back to the car cushions-and screwed me again, without ever really taking his dong out And he humped me so hard I had prints of the car seat buttons on my rump for a couple of days.

  "Oh, I liked it. Jeno wasn't any romantic. He didn't have any sweet words, but he sure knew how to give a girl fits in the cunt department. In a way, a few months of Jeno were good preparation for the profession I went into. As a call girl. Most men who pay for tail don't bother to be romantic. They just want to get serviced.

  "It was Wayne de B- got me started as a call girl. In spite of the fancy name, which I think he had created to help him in his movie career, Wayne was always broke. I met him at a studio party Phil took me to. Studio parties are usually either dull or a brawl. This one was dull. Except for Wayne, who had the looks and manners for a movie career, maybe as a new Gary Grant, if anybody happens to want a new Gary Grant. The old one is all right with me.

  "Wayne paid a lot of attention to me, mostly because he knew who my father was and he had hopes maybe I-or anybody even on the fringes of the profession-could help his career. Even so, I liked having a nice-looking guy paying attention to me. I even gave a few opportunities to make passes but he wasn't taking chances with jolly big daddy's youngest Even when I let him take me home in his practically antique MG, Wayne didn't really get around to much but draping an arm over my shoulders and asking me if I was cold-on a warm Hollywood night.

  "Still, I wanted to get better acquainted, like maybe on a bed. So I invited him to drop by for a swim. 'Make it Thursday, about three,' I said. I knew Phil was off for a polo match Thursday, and, of course, jolly big daddy and Mother were never home. Or, if either was, wouldn't go near the swimming pool.

  "Of course, Wayne was tickled pink to get an invitation to jolly big daddy's house and he'd have accepted if I'd had four legs and a long bushy tail and the swimming pool had been full of boiling tar.

  "When he did come and walked out of his dressing room in tight orange trunks he was kind of surprised to see me already swimming in the indoor section- naked. I waved an arm at him and rolled over in the water so he could see my teats. 'Come on in, Wayne, but shed that bathing suit. They're not hygienic.' I don't know if they are or not, but it sounded good- and rather Hollywoodish, I thought, and appropriate, since Wayne is so keen on making the Hollywood scene. I guess Wayne thought all the movie people swam nude-you can get that idea from some of the wilder newspapers. Whereas most of them are as proper as your maiden aunt Hattie.

  "Wayne peeled out of his fancy trunks-he'd probably spent his last few bucks on them-and dived in being very careful not to touch me in the water- until I had to pretend a cramp to get him to grab me. After that things worked out fine. We didn't screw in the water, though, but up on one of the big plastic chairs with foam rubber cushions-nice and bouncy.

  "By a few weeks later even Wayne had figured out how things were around our 'little bungalow' and that his chances of getting a crack at show business through me-through jolly big daddy-were about as thin as his bankroll. I wanted to help him, all right, but my chances o
f talking to jolly big daddy, even about a raise in my allowance, were pretty anemic. Of course, Wayne and I were having ourselves a grand old time. I even took him out to the lake and showed him skinny-dip screwing.

  "Then one afternoon Wayne came in, shaken, and not too coherent. 'This producer-he'd give me a job -if I could locate him a young girl who'll screw him. As if he couldn't get anything that walks.' I grinned at him. 'Wayne, you think every producer has a casting couch? It's part of the public image of Hollywood. He'd have to make the girl a star in her next picture-especially if he likes 'em young-or he'd be in trouble. He'd rather have it-arranged. Well, arrange it.'

  "Wayne blinked at me. 'But I don't know any young girls who screw.' I shrugged. 'So what have you been doing with me these last few weeks. I know I was the underdog, but it sure looked-and felt- like screwing to me.' Wayne gawked, his jaw falling so far he could trip on it. 'You? Fay, you're crazy. You're jolly big daddy's kid. Any producer would recognize you right away. And I'd be carrying my head around in a sling.'

  "I shook my head at him. 'Jolly big daddy and, especially, Mother Dear have kept all us kids so far under wraps our grandmother wouldn't recognize us. If we had grandmothers, which I doubt. I think jolly big daddy sprang full-grown out of a pregnant anvil and Mother probably created herself. No, Wayne, your producer friend wouldn't recognize me. And I can wear my middy blouse and long school stockings and a big straw hat and look even younger, if that's what he wants.' "It took a little persuading but no real arm-twisting, since Wayne wanted that job so bad he could taste it-and I'll admit it was a good role. In feet, it made Wayne a star-or boosted him.well toward being one. Wayne had a friend who had a neat Hollywood apartment and I turned into 'Mavis Trent' for the big night. Actually, it wasn't such a big night. The producer got in one labored screw, sitting in a chair, and then went to sleep. But he was happy and wanted to come back-even at five hundred, my price, since I had no idea what girls got.

  "So I got a little apartment of my own, as 'Mavis Trent,' and a telephone and a telephone answering service and set up in business, with Wayne as my 'manager' for the first few months. After that he was too busy-and I had the contacts by then. The telephone answering service wrecked me. When the police raided it, they got on to me… and here I am."

  Since most of Fay Y-'s drive toward sex was emotional, in anger at her parents, rather than a genuine physical need, the likelihood of a curative resolution is remote, especially as it would come, necessarily, from another "hired expert" without actively involving her parents, whom she desperately needed. Chapter 2 James and Jane: They Made Music Together

  "I suppose it is part of the egotism of every celebrity, expecting to be recognized instantly. I should be accustomed by now to having people outside my own field-music-failing to recognize me. But I am so much a part of that world-it's my only world, really-that it does come as a mild surprise that a man like you would not immediately identify me.

  "I am the female half of 'James and Jane,' the musical twins. Except we are not twins, actually. That was one of Mother's concepts and her publicity gimmick. We're actually about eighteen months apart. James is the older. But he was rather slight as a boy and I was more mature, so we could be taken for twins. At least, it started that way.

  "And it's ending like this, with me on a psychiatrist's couch, metaphorically speaking, trying to end an incestuous relationship. Trying to find, you might say, my own identity, as separate and distinct from the 'James and Jane' label under which I have lived, oh, for a number of years.

  "Understand, I love music. I have loved it from childhood. In a way I would dislike to break up the musical team of 'James and Jane,' but if that is the only way to rid myself of this-what would you call it? Obsession?-then we'll have to break up. Even though I am very fond of my brother-quite aside from this incestuous relationship, this sexual hang-up, we have for one another. James is a fine musician, probably much better than I am, really. I respect his musical ability. I think he admires mine. I know we work well together. Perhaps too well. Which is what started us on this form of sex.

  "It began-oh, when we were just children. Our close association, I mean, and our-well, I guess you'd call it isolation from youngsters our own age. Music, serious music, is a demanding taskmaster. So, incidentally, was my mother-a tyrant, really.

  "Actually, the seeds of it must have been planted long before. Even before we were born. My mother married rather young, to a very wealthy man. She, to quote her, 'gave up her musical career' to marry him. Actually, Mother is a rather mediocre musician. I suspect she was never anything but second rate. Certainly she wasn't ever concert caliber.

  "It was, I suspect, her frustrations that turned James and me into concert artists. And eventually drove us into bed together. And we were quite as good together in sex as we were on the concert stage. We had, of course, an inherent rhythm, which, I believe, is just as valid in sex as it is in music.

  "It was fortunate, for her, that my father is very wealthy. A musical career is costly to launch, make no mistake. It takes years of study, under the best of maestros, to produce a musician of concert caliber. Even the so-called 'prodigies' that spring up from time to time have had long coaching and training. All of which costs money. Without some form of sponsorship or a wealthy patron most of them would never make it.

  "We didn't need a sponsor or patron. Mother had her own built-in patron, my father. I don't think he gave one single damn about our being concert artists, but he adored Mother-and if she wanted it for us, then money was no object. So we had the best. In maestros, in instruments, in studios, nothing was too good. We even had private tutors, since, with the demands of music, we didn't have the time to go to ordinary school.

  "I don't know that I can remember anything but musical training. I know I never went to school-even the swank private schools that were available to people in our financial bracket. Oh, yes, I did go to one, for a semester. But Mother said my music slumped, so back we went to tutors. Nothing was allowed to distract us from Mother's goal, the concert stage.

  "I must have been eight or nine then, that fall and winter I went to private school. It was, as I recall, rather stuffy, and I was almost glad to escape back to our studio and the tutors and the maestros, except that I did miss seeing other kids. And it was that isolation that turned us toward each other- winding us up, as might have been expected, in sex.

  "My brother had a much broader range than I. He could handle almost any musical instrument, even wind instruments, which isn't so unusual with concert musicians. I mean, you're either a pianist or cellist or violinist, but rarely do you find a real musician who is equally good on wind instruments, concert quality, that is.

  "I was fair on the violin and cello but the piano was my instrument, and I was James's accompanist. Even in our piano duets, James was the lead-off and I followed. You might not think it, but that's the way with duettists-one leads and one accompanies. When James took the violin or one of the other instruments, it was obvious that I was the accompanist.

  "I was twelve and James almost fourteen when we gave our first concert, as piano duettists, with James doing a few turns on violin and cello. The notices weren't raves but they were fair. We were cute. And looked about of a size on the stage. Mother dressed us as near alike as she could, to emphasize the 'twin' billing. So the critics didn't tear us to pieces. Not that any first-string critics attended. That didn't come until later.

  "Do you know the work a concert pianist really does? And it is work, had work. Four or five hours of piano exercise a day. And pianists can't be sissies. It takes plenty of muscle to handle a concert grand with enough tone and volume to fill a hall. Ever seen even a band leader during a show? He looks as if he's doing something very simple, very easy, just waving a little stick. But I've know orchestra leaders who had to change clothes completely between each break in the program.

  "It's worse for a pianist, who is really beating the keys. Particularly during study and rehearsal. Sweat pours
off. James and I used to work out in shorts and singlets, which was all right when I had no more chest than a coal scuttle. And we weren't interested in sex at that time, anyway. Plus we weren't going to school and didn't hear any talk about sex and breasts and peckers, which I understand goes on.

  "I wasn't even really conscious that I had developed breasts until Mother insisted I wear a tight bandeau at concerts, to hide them, and keep up the image of 'child prodigies' she was using. I guess I must have been about fourteen, then.

  "Oh, I knew I was a girl. I was having menstrual periods, which rather embarrassed me, as I recall, mostly because, when I was having one, I couldn't practice as well a amp; usual. I felt I was letting James down. You probably know what Paderewski said about practice: 'If I miss a day's practice, I know it; if I miss two days', the critics know it; if I miss three, the public knows it' Practice is that important, that critical, in concert work.

  "So I was peculiarly conscious of being a girl, possibly because I didn't have any comparisons. We lived an oddly isolated life, in a funny sort of intimacy, James and I. And for at least four hours a day-often more-we were completely alone. Our practice time. We had a completely equipped, soundproofed practice studio, with tape recorders and playbacks, so we would record and listen to ourselves. We also had tapes of the great masters to play for comparison, to study techniques and interpretations.

  "It was during one of these practice sessions it first happened, the first time we were conscious of being male and female. Or, at least, the first time I realized it and what it could mean. We had two concert grand's, set with keyboards facing, so we could see and cue one another. I had just come through one of my periods and was intent on catching up, possibly overdoing it. I was sitting on the bench, facing James across the two pianos, with both of us in our shorts and singlets.