Toward this end, I would be very much pleased if you would care to report at some length on your experiences over the years. I am especially interested in beginnings—your own early sexual experiences and the manner in which the family circle took form as a sexual subgroup, etc. Beyond this, I would leave it to you to write about whatever incidents you might care to . . .
With best regards,
John Warren Wells
Although I have grown accustomed to receiving letters, answering them, and never receiving a second letter in return, I was quite surprised when Roger failed to reply. This did not make me doubt his letter, as I felt that, were he motivated primarily by exhibitionism, he would thus be ever more likely to continue our correspondence. After the passage of several months I returned to his letter and now found certain parts of it amusing. His statement about never having been ashamed of his relations seemed a singularly appropriate choice of phrasing. I began imagining family get-togethers at Roger’s house. Holiday celebrations. Thanksgiving dinners. At the very least, I thought, they would all of them damn well know what they had to be thankful for.
Eventually I sent a letter to Roger’s post-office box, suggesting again that a continuation of his correspondence might be useful. The letter was returned, and I did not expect to hear from him again.
Then, almost a year after his original letter, I received the following:
December 13, 1969
Dear Sir:
A considerable time ago, I wrote to you about disclosing a history of incestuous relations in my family. Your very kind reply indicated an interest, but I failed to follow up, since my wife was of the opinion that we did not represent a “normal” family, and no one would believe it in any event.
Since that time we have met four other marrieds who were either practicing sexual relations with members of their immediate families or had been raised under similar conditions. These people are all in the comparatively small town of ———, which indicates to me that so-called “incest” is a lot more common than we thought.
We met the last couple a week ago in a nearby city which was intended as a swap session. All our acquaintances are made in this manner, since we attend various sex parties at least twice a month. An exchange of experiences between this couple and ourselves over the past week brought your letter back to mind. So I am taking this opportunity to recount my own experiences, and understand that it will not obligate you in any manner whatsoever. Should you ever wish to use it, please do not disclose our names.
I was born and raised in northwest Ontario province of Canada about forty-five years ago. Our family consisted of an older sister and a younger brother. My mother was a full-blooded Indian who had been raised by a French-speaking couple in Quebec City. My father came from Orleans, France. Both he and my mother were strikingly attractive even in their later years, although her dark features contrasted sharply with my father’s auburn-haired fairness.
My sister, four years older than I, has retained the Indian characteristics and beauty of my mother, but my brother and I are fair, and the Indian in us is not easily recognized.
Nudity was a way of life with us at home, and open sex was never considered anything but natural. We did not have separate rooms of our own, and on many occasions witnessed or heard the sex act between our parents or other overnight visitors to our home. It made us curious, and we experimented among ourselves long before we were really old enough to enjoy sex.
Although nudity and open sex was the order of the day, our parents never forced its practice upon us. My sister did not have relations with my parents until she was sixteen, and then continued until they died nearly thirty years later, and even after she had married.
We were all bisexual by nature, although I did not realize that my attraction to the nude male was anything other than natural. This led to my first actual physical relations with my parents when I was nearly sixteen.
Due to the nature of schooling in Canada, the equivalent of high school here in the States can be finished as much as three years earlier than here. I was in the University of Ontario at fourteen, and was sent to the University of Illinois for my sophomore year.
It was there that I had my first homosexual experience as the aggressor.
I was at least two years younger than my classmates, and gloried in their acceptance of me as an equal, although my English was bad and my body gave me away as a young kid. I had no body hair, and hardly could boast of being well-endowed.
I had always admired my father’s body and the size and hairiness of his penis, especially on the many occasions that I had seen it erect. A classmate of mine with whom I roomed reminded me of this, and I finally convinced him that my obsession with going nude was an expression of complete freedom, etc. When he did disrobe the first time in my presence, I experienced an erection that actually hurt. He laughed at my reaction to his nakedness, and I decided to dispense with any formalities in seducing him, so I just knelt and took him in my mouth.
It was the first time I had ever sucked anyone but my brother, and the first who could come. When he did, I took everything he had and was trying to get more when he begged me to stop. We continued this nightly through the year, and I encouraged him to bring others to our room for the same—which he did. It soon got around about the Canadian who “had a pussy where his mouth ought to be.” I learned one thing, however. Regardless of how they may berate a “queer,” most men will not pass up a blow-job regardless of who does it. I have accosted complete strangers who appealed to me and made direct proposals which were accepted more often than denied.
I was determined to test my father’s reaction to this when I got home, because I knew my sister was already a definite part of his sex life.
My first night home I sat on the edge of his bed and boldly took his balls in my hand, and, without hesitation, told him what I intended to do. Before the night was over, he taught me by demonstration some tricks I never knew—how to caress the underside of the penis with your tongue, how to move your mouth, how to knead the balls, and, especially, how to take the “milk” when it came.
My mother was, of course, aware of all this. The following day she told me that, since I had now “tasted” a man, it was time to learn how to make love to a woman. I performed cunnilingus with both her and my sister, and to this day I am greatly excited at the smell and wetness of a woman’s genitals. My efforts at intercourse with my mother amused her more than satisfied her, since my penis was not overly thick—just long and skinny.
After this we combined our activities and experienced just about every combination of sex possible, including anilingus and anal intercourse. I was hooked on sex and enjoyed every minute of it. The thought of who I was having relations with did not occur to me at all.
I carried pictures of my father’s erect penis with me when I went back to school. In Chicago I had a close-up of my mother’s vulva greatly enlarged by a friend who had photographic equipment. I painted the enlargement with water colors, framed it, and kept it on my desk. It amused me to hear the various guesses as to what it was, since it certainly did not look like what it really was—a freshly fucked cunt—and nobody but my wife knows to this day.
During the war I was an officer in the Canadian Army and met my wife in Vancouver. She is American, born in the Midwest, and was a virgin, completely uninformed about sex when I met her.
I took her home with me before I went overseas. She lived with my parents for two years, and, needless to say, she was no virgin when I came home. I laid her for the first time the night before we were married, and it was apparent that she had learned a lot about sex. Her first actual sexual experience was with my mother, whom she loved as a lover rather than a mother-in-law. She still compares other women to her, especially the female lovers she occasionally runs into.
We have three children, ranging in age from twenty-three to fifteen. Except for the youngest boy, our children—the oldest boy of twenty-three and his sister of twenty-two—are regul
ar partners in our swinging parties. They pass for a young couple, and not too many people are aware that we are related. The ones who do know are strangely excited when they learn of it, and seem to get a particular thrill in watching either my wife or me have relations with them.
When my work as an engineer and mathematician brought us to this state, we joined a nearby nudist club just across the state line. We encouraged the kids to enjoy sex when they were quite young. The boy was ten and his sister nine. Both of us gave them their first experience with oral sex at that age and at the camp on the first occasion. I had intercourse with my daughter when she was fourteen, and the oldest boy can’t get enough of his mother. He is unusually well hung, both in the size of his penis and a very large pair of balls.
Other than that, he is inclined to look effeminate because of his slim, hairless body and good looks that are more becoming to a woman. Through a friend of mine who operates a beauty salon, the boy has taken to cross-dressing. He is very attractive in woman’s attire and can even fool some women as to his real sex.
The shock of detecting his true sex has given us a lot of amusement. On one occasion, we met a new couple, with whom we had corresponded, at their home in Cleveland. Young Roger, in miniskirt, high heels, and all, went with us, as well as his sister. We introduced them as sisters, but not as our daughters.
The other husband was anxious to get the younger girls, and seemed to be attracted to young Roger in particular. His wife never tumbled. Roger explained that he was unable to have intercourse but indicated that he would be glad to go down on our host. When they returned to the living room, we had already told our hostess that the “girl” was not inclined toward relations with men but much preferred women—especially women of her age. Since this was all prearranged, young Roger took the initiative and soon had the woman headed for the bedroom, while her husband proposed that we all undress and become acquainted.
We could tell the moment of discovery, because the woman, in the adjoining bedroom, let out a yell that scared her husband half to death. We told him that there was nothing to be concerned about, but he was damned anxious for her to come out. When they did, the woman had a shocked look and repeated over and over, “He’s a man!” and, “God, what a screwing!”
This broke the ice, and we enjoyed ourselves as usual. Our host insisted that Roger keep his dress on and sucked him off on the living-room couch. He couldn’t get over a “woman” with an enormous penis, and took several pictures before we left. That was two years ago, and the couple, who are now close friends of ours, are still talking about the beautiful “girl” with a cock.
There is a thrill in going down on a man who in all respects other than his genitals is a woman. I have never seen the boy in drag that I could resist him. It’s absolutely amazing to see him in a wig, brassiere, garter belt, and hose, but sporting an enormous erection. His mother, who is bisexual, like myself, has had him lay her in this attire. She says it is like making love to a woman who is using a dildo, and she should know.
My wife and I intend to continue our way of life, and feel that it has helped us in our relations with each other. All of us have private affairs that we enjoy outside the family group. I have a twenty-year-old boyfriend who is really a male “mistress.” He lives in an apartment that I maintain, and is available to me when I need him.
My daughter and her mother return to Canada four times a year. They stay a week each time in Montreal, where they are known as American prostitutes and cater only to the wealthier businessmen in that city. Between them, they make as much money in a week as most people do in a year.
My son lives here as the “mistress” of a man well known in state politics. He visits Hollywood, California a couple of times a year, where he is well known in the film colony as a female impersonator and “gay” boy.
We love each other in our own way and do not become emotionally involved with our outside interests. There has never been jealousy or trouble between us or with the people we know, both socially and sexually.
I maintain that sex is to be enjoyed in any form that appeals to the individual, and that most people have the desire to do the same but are usually restricted by social or religious hang-ups. One woman that I know told me that she was attracted to me but that sex, other than with her husband, was out of the question—and particularly oral sex. I told her that within two weeks she would be sucking my penis. It took exactly four days, and a week later I had seduced her husband, who “hated queers.”
Thank you for your patience in reading this rather long letter!
Roger ———
• • •
Long though the letter may have been, I was aware of exercising no patience in following it through to its conclusion. My own reaction was one of qualified incredulity, which became somewhat less qualified when I dug Roger’s first letter out of my files and compared the two. The reader may note for himself certain points on which the two letters seem to be at odds. Furthermore, I did find several things rather hard to take: the immense earning power of mother and daughter as traveling prostitutes seemed far more likely to be fantasy than fact, for example.
And yet there are touches of realistic detail that make it difficult to dismiss the whole business out of hand. As one who has taken the Red Queen’s advice and is thus perfectly capable of believing six impossible things before breakfast, I alternated between believing that the letter was mostly true and that it was an utter invention. lf the latter, the whole fantasy was so elaborately wrought as to suggest more than a desire to shock; obviously it would have to represent wish fulfillment.
Roger’s first letter had been typewritten and bore a post-office box as a return address. His second carried a street address in the same city. I considered replying, but somehow did not get around to it.
Then a few months later I found myself in the same state. The trip was unplanned, and so I did not have Roger’s address with me, nor was there anyone I could call to find it in my files. I tried to telephone Roger to ask if I might visit him while I was in the area. There was no telephone listed for anyone with his name, nor did he seem to have an unlisted number. I managed to obtain city directories for his city and the surrounding rural and suburban areas, and again found no listing whatsoever. Thus the name that he used in his correspondence (which of course was not Roger) did not seem to be his own.
Truth or fiction? You decide.
He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother
We always find ourselves wondering if anyone suspects the truth about us, both in our surface lives and among the people we swing with. Now, most swingers are like this, wondering how many of their straight friends have guessed that they swing, and also wondering whether certain of their straight friends are quite that straight after all. With us the whole thing is doubled. We wonder if the straights know that we swing, and we wonder if they or the swingers have any idea that we’re not only husband and wife but brother and sister as well.
By the same token, Rob and I wonder if any of those friends—swingers or otherwise—are actually blood relatives. The closest thing I’ve known to it is a father and mother and daughter who swing together as a trio. We’ve never met them, but we’ve known people who have swung with them, so they’re definitely for real.
I wonder if we’ve ever swing with any brother-sister combinations, with both couples keeping the facts a secret from each other. I would think it’s possible, really, because I’m just positive there are a lot of brother-sister marriages that nobody knows about. It’s really so easy to keep it a total secret, and it must happen. We may be unusual people, but I don’t think we’re that unusual, do you?
And you would think that people who were living that way would be very likely to get into swinging. More likely than the average couple, because they’ve already learned how to live with a relationship that society absolutely condemns in no uncertain terms, so you would think they would be past the usual hang-ups about swinging, which was the case for us when the idea
of swinging was first presented to us.
I would love to find a couple in the same situation as us. Rob and I have often discussed it. We both agree that it would be very exciting from a purely sexual standpoint. I know that when we do decide to tell certain people that we swing with about our relationship as brother and sister, they almost always find it adds some excitement to the situation. It ought to add ever more excitement for us, considering our own background and everything.
But more than that I would like to be able to talk to someone who has been through the same thing and compare notes and just find out what it was like for them and in what ways it was different from our own experience. The couple you wrote about in Three Is Not a Crowd really fascinated me, and I would be tremendously interested in meeting them sometime, or even just talking to them on the phone. Their lives were completely different from ours, and of course the situation they wound up with was very different, with him marrying another girl and then his sister moving in with them in a permanent threesome. That’s something completely different, isn’t it? Rob and I have had threesomes, both with an extra girl and with an extra man, and we enjoy them very much. In a lot of ways it’s better than with another couple. But on a permanent basis, no, I couldn’t see that at all, not for people like us. We would never want another person around for an extended period of time. There’s something enormously close and private about the relationship we have, and a third person couldn’t possibly share it, or if they could, we wouldn’t want it that way, because the special closeness and privacy is very precious to us.
Beyond Group Sex: Doing Their Own Thing (John Warren Wells on Sexual Behavior) Page 10
