I'm not really sure if there are other girls like me. For a long time I was so embarrassed about the way I am that I wouldn't even admit it to myself. But I suffered such shame and guilt that I'm willing to let my diary be published if it'll help just one girl to know she's not alone in the world. If there's another girl somewhere who has the same driving need to… well, to do the nasty sex things I always wanted to do without admitting it-that girl needs all the moral support she can get."
So states the young female victim of an overpowering sexual perversion which to this day dominates her intimate sexual relationships. Gwenn Henderson, as we shall call her to protect her identity, is twenty-one years old at the time of this writing. She is a file clerk in an Encino bank where she has been employed for almost a year.
With respect to these isolated facts, of course, Gwenn bears a resemblance to literally hundreds of other girls in Encino, and to thousands throughout the nation.
But in other respects, this young woman's life is radically different from the lives of her peers, particularly with regard to her personal sex practices. When her case was first brought to my attention I conducted a number of personal interviews in order to satisfy myself that her story was valid. During the course of these interviews, I recommended her to a psychiatrist. It soon became apparent that the girl's psychological problem was one which could be described as a "self perpetuating, traumatically induced erotic compulsion." In other words, although Gwenn's perversion originated as the result of an externally caused sexual episode which occurred during her childhood, it is now so thoroughly a part of her that she does not really want to change. Unconsciously, she desires to continue participating in precisely those acts which at an earlier time she had regarded with shameful guilt. At that time her claim was that she desired nothing more than to divest herself of her desire for her acts, although it has been now determined that on a much deeper level, Gwenn reveled in the satisfaction she received from them.
As to the perverse acts themselves, the intimate diary which follows is a more appropriate vehicle for such a revelation that is the more objective introduction which I am providing. Such personal details are much more effectively presented in Gwenn's own words, for only there can the whole story be told from the vantage point of the person who lived it.
Dear Diary
A girl in the savings department put a bug in my ear about a brand new sex kick today. At first I just laughed at her but then I found out that she was serious. She'd been dating a Negro, and she says he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. I. never would have thought of dating a black person before, much less… well, much less letting him put his black cock into my white pussy. I mean, I'm not prejudiced or anything, but, gee, the very idea of… well, anyway, let me tell you what this girl told me. She said she'd dated a lot of guys in her life but her black boy-friend is the most exciting guy she's ever known. And when she said "known," she meant it.
She said that as far as she was concerned the old joke about Negroes having bigger dicks than white guys is no joke at all. She said her boyfriend had a cock on him that would choke a horse. Then she giggled and said there were a lot better things for him to do with it than that, and that she never wanted him to waste even one inch of it by doing anything so silly with it. The more she talked about it the more I considered that a nice big black cock might be just what I need to give me a new
thrill.
Later, talking to the same girl, she could see that I was interested, I guess. She asked me if I wanted her to fix me up with a date. I didn't give her an answer right
away, but she was real nice about it and said I didn't have to tell her my answer right then.
I'm really thinking about doing it. A couple of nights after she first told me about how good Negroes were in bed. I had a dream about a big black guy. I dreamed he was sitting across from me with a big smile on his face and his cock out of his pants. And I had my hands on it playing with it. What a monster it was-it was like running my hands up and down a rolling pin.
I hope she broaches the subject again. I don't want to be the one to bring it up, but if she asks me again I think I'll ask her to get me a date with one of her black boyfriend's buddies. Who knows? Maybe a giant black dick in my mouth is what I need to start my pussy jerking in the throes of an orgasm even better than I've had before.
One week later it was all set. She mentioned it again and I told her I was game. She said she was sure she could get me a date with a friend of her boyfriend's named Joe. And she said that she's met him before. He has a great build-a small waist and a set of shoulders like a prize fighter's. That's not all, either. She said she could see a big bulge in his pants while he was with her and her boyfriend.
I can hardly wait until I see him. I've completely gotten over any misgivings I may have had about dating a Negro. All I'm thinking about now is the big cock he's supposed to have. Goodbye for now. Tomorrow night I'll know.
I must admit, last night I saw what a real man looks like. Joe turned out to be pretty much like I'd expected. And that's saying a lot because from the way my girlfriend at the bank talked, I was expecting a lot.
Joe picked me up at my apartment early. It was about a half hour before he was supposed to be there when I heard a knock at the door. As soon as I had let him in and introduced myself I asked him if he knew he was so early.
He said, "Sure, Gwenn, I know I'm here before you expected me. But it's no accident. I wanted to be early to take advantage of the short time we're going to have together."
When I asked him what he meant he said 'Honey, I have a hunch however much time we have together tonight won't be enough. You know what I mean?"
At first I was kind of taken aback by his being so familiar with me and calling me "Honey" before he hardly knew me, but something about the sparkle in his eye made me want him to be familiar.
And to top it all off, I wasn't even dressed when he knocked on my door. I had to answer it wearing only a robe. I made sure it was a thick chenille one though and not
a thin, transparent one like I could have worn. His eyes immediately riveted onto my tits. They were far from being out in the open. But my thirty-nine inches look especially big over my small waist and they were both pooching out my robe like they do in a wool sweater.
I asked him to wait for just a few minutes and I'd be ready. Joe looked down at the top of my robe-he was a tall guy, six two or six three-and said, "No problem, baby. I'm willing to wait a long time for that."
The way he said it left no doubt that he was referring to my tits. For a brief second I was kind of disappointed. I'd hoped he would notice how my eyes looked after all the work I'd done on them-that he'd notice my face, not just my body. But then I sighed and realized that it has always been my body that men noticed. Why should it be any different just because this man happened to be black instead of white?
When I got all my clothes on I came back out and asked Joe what he had in mind for the evening. What I meant was a place he wanted to take me but that's not how he answered me.
"Honey, you don't want to hear what I have in mind, do you? Why not feel it instead of listening to me talk about it?"
Without directly answering his loaded question about whether I wanted to 'feel it instead of talk about it,' I said, "Where do you want to do it?"
I didn't say what the "it" was. I just left that up to him to interpret any way he chose.
Joe said, "I thought we might just go straight up to my place, honey? I don't know about you, but I'm a pretty informal guy. I don't go out to the clubs very much. I don't think you'll be bored if we go to my place."
He was a man of action. I could tell that right away. He wasn't going to pussy-foot around wanting to get me in bed. That kind of thrilled me, and I felt a shiver of anticipation run down my spine. The way he was acting made me bolder than usual.
In my huskiest voice I said, "Joe, we don't even have to go all the way over to your place. I think we can do anything you have in mind right here at my place, without even making trip across town."
He picked right up on that offer. "I'm with you, baby," he said with a smile on his face.
I was feeling very coquettish by then. I knew he wanted to see me naked, and to do something good to my pussy. I became so bold that, looking back, I'm amazed at myself.
I stood in front of him and shamelessly allowed him to gaze at my body as though f was on an auction block. And I reveled in the heat of his burning eyes as he stepped closer to me and raised his hand to my shoulder.
"Joe" I asked him "do you know me well enough to answer a very personal question?"
"Shoot, baby," he said. "Is it true that Negros have… that their-"
He interrupted me and placed my hand on the front of his pants so that I could feel his pulsing manhood beneath the fabric of his pants.
"Don't be bashful, honey," he said. "If you want to know about my cock, just ask. You heard tales about a black man's cock being bigger than a white man's, right? Well, baby I'm not going to tell you anything about it. I'm going to let you find out for yourself-right now!"
Then he put his fingers on his zipper and forced them to pull it down. I felt my hand on a hard bone of flesh that felt like an end of a skin-covered rhinoceros horn. From that point on we cut out the shit of playing around with words and teasing each other, and got right down to the business of getting inside of each other's clothes.
I already had his giant pole in my hand as it stuck out through his fly but he wanted to get at me, too. He didn't ask, he just started doing it. He commanded me, by a firm pressure from his hand on my shoulder, to sit down on the couch. This put his big black cock on the same level as my eyes, and for a brief second I shuddered with a strange combination of revulsion and desire. But then he knelt in front of me and the feeling subsided as his giant cock was moved farther away from my face.
"Baby, you got something I'm mighty interested in seeing. If I don't miss my guess them tits of yours are a pair of the biggest, best mother fuckers I ever laid eyes on. Shit, baby, I gotta get them out here in the light."
Then he reached over and drew me down onto the floor beside him, unbuttoning the first two buttons of my blouse almost in the same motion. I knew that when he saw the naked skin of my big jugs he'd go wild to slap his tool into my pussy, but I had a different idea. I wanted a big hot mouthful of his huge dick.
I lay on my back like a rag doll. I was determined to let him do anything he wanted to my body. He had my blouse off and his black fingers on the white, silky fabric of my brassiere in seconds…
"Jesus Christ, honey," he leered, "you got to feel my mouth on that fine pair."
He turned me over on my stomach and feverishly undid the strap that held my bursting tits in check. Then my bra was lying over in the corner and my titties were bobbing around on my chest.. He pulled me to a sitting position and sucked my nipples like a crazy man, first one then the other. I looked down at his black lips on my pink tipped tits and saw that underneath, in his lap, he had a monster hard-on. I found out right then that it was no bullshit about Negroes having more meat between their legs than white guys do. And I did something about it, too. I grabbed his big cock and began to jerk it up and I down.
But he put his hand on mine and stopped me. "Baby, baby, take it easy on that thing unless you want a face full of come!" he yelled.
He slipped his hands down to my lap as he kept his lips busy on my tits, and I felt my thighs being freed from the hot confines of my skirt and petticoat. He went right on into my panties with his hands and I felt his fingers underneath the elastic band at the top. He pushed me down on my back and slipped my scanty underpants off over the soft part of my upper thighs, then I felt them pass over my knees and I knew it wouldn't be long until I felt the pressure of a nigger dick spreading my pussy lips apart. I kept my eyes closed partly out of habit and partly out of my growing concern to make sure I got what I needed from his fucking. I felt the nakedness of his skin against mine and I knew that he'd taken his shirt off, then I felt his naked knee separating my legs and I knew he had made himself naked all over. He had long since thrown my underclothes, petticoat, panties and all, over onto the couch and I lay under his muscular body without a stitch to cover myself.
He began to make grunting noises deep down in his throat and I knew he was really feeling it. I opened my eyes and saw him sweating above me as he let himself rub all over my front with his stomach and his crotch.
Then I felt the weight of his powerful prick on my stomach. It was so big I first thought that he'd jammed his leg up on me. But it only took a few strokes of the thing across my wet crotch for me to know what it was down there. I looked down at it and, I swear to God, it looked like the head of that thing was the size of my fist. I was afraid he'd split me open like a:ripe tomato if he tried to poke that thing in me all the way.
"Joe, Joe," I cried, "you're… you're too big for my cunt. Let me stick it in my mouth." But he was too crazy-hot to hear me.
But he just kept moving it around. I'll give him credit where credit's due-he didn't just jam it all the way in without even giving me a chance to prepare for it. But, Diary, his love tool was so giant that it didn't make much difference. He played it around over my pussy lips and tickled my hairs with it for a long time trying to get my pussy to warm up enough to accept it but finally he just began to slowly force it into me. I lay there praying that this would be the kind of thing I needed to make me get my rocks off. It started to hurt and I began to make my hips hunch up and down against it in
spite of the increasing pain in the hopes of starting the ball rolling toward that wonderful feeling. At last I felt the head of it pop into me like a plunger and I knew what it felt like to have my cave full of black meat.
After that I didn't have much control. I felt him start a slow, almost circular motion that seemed sure to split me open at the top and bottom of my tender pussy. I tried to move with him, but he soon began driving with such force that I felt like I was being raped. He was fucking my cunt like he owned it and grinding his entire body into the top of mine with the power of an army tank. He jammed his burning rod in and out of my smarting cunt then, abandoning the smooth, circular motion and letting himself go with no thought of anything but his own satisfaction. When he finally started making a moan that grew louder and higher as he pumped faster and harder into my pussy t knew it couldn't be long. Then I heard him getting there.
"Lay it on me sweet baby, whip that white cunt on me… oooooh shit, ooaaaaahhhhh!"
That's when I jerked away from him, turned myself around on the bed and sucked his big black cock into my hot mouth. I knew he was just short of coming, so I didn't have to hold back my own reactions. I had my mouth so full of his prick that I felt a hot whirlwind inside my wet cunt and as he shot his white come into my mouth I was getting my cookies right along with him. We both screamed and then fell back in satiated exhaustion.'
Then he collapsed his hulking body on me like a falling barn and I damned near had the wind knocked out of me. He rolled off me then and dragged me over on my side as he did so. The movement put my head on his stomach and I found myself staring right at his wilted cock. My eyes were only a few inches from it, and it was still plenty big even in its withered state.
I felt all over myself to make sure I was still in one piece. I thought that he must have knocked the wind out of me with all his thrashing around.
After he got his clothes on, he got a big drink of water from my refrigerator and before he went out the door he said, "Thanks for the action, pussycat. When you need a big dick in you again get in touch with me. And thanks for the blow job, too. See you around."
I thought that was damned ungrateful of him, not to mention being unromantic as hell. But then, his actions weren't much different from what I'd more or jess gotten used to from men. It seems like they're all the same, black or white. Well, it's true that this Negro had a giant cock on him and as it turned out, he was pretty damned good.
The hell of it is that I just know he'll call me back again whenever he gets horny. But I don't want it like that. I want to feel like something besides a pair of tits connected to
a hairy cunt separated by a warm stomach. So I won't let him have any more. If he calls I'm just going to be very indifferent. A new thrill is what-I'm after. I've already experienced all he had to offer.
And there's one small thing that's good. At least I did what I set out to do. I wanted to see if I could come with a Negro cock and was it any better a mouthful than a white one and I found out. Even if the answer was "No," I can at least say I tried it. And I can rule out one more scene in my attempt to achieve bigger and better orgasms. Experience is the best teacher, they say. And that's true even if it teaches you something you didn't want to know.
Good night, Diary.
Dear Diary,
I haven't written to you for two or three days because I've been so busy at the office. Tonight when I got home there was a special delivery letter waiting for me from my mother. I was going to go back for a vacation in three weeks, but Mom asked in the letter if it would be possible for me to get my vacation moved up to now. A terrible thing has happened. Curt, my old boyfriend, has been killed in a car wreck and she wants to know if I can be there at the funeral. She thought I'd want to know about it and I appreciate her mentioning it.
Tomorrow I'm asking my boss if I can start my vacation immediately and I think I have a good chance of getting it. When I come home from work tomorrow I'll know. Bye for now.
Dear Diary,
The boss is letting me go. I'm going to pack tonight and leave on the 10:30 Denver flight, then transfer to another flight for Des Moines. From there I'll have to take a bus.
I hate to take a plane because it's so expensive. I can't really afford it but it's the least I can do, I figure, in memory of Curt. I thought an awfully lot of him, in spite of the way I felt toward him the time I let him go all the way. I'll write all about my trip and when I get back. I guess there won't be much to tell, since I'm going there now just because of Curt's funeral, but I'll report whatever happens. Bye for now. See you in a couple of weeks.
Dear Diary,
Where do I start? So much happened to me while I was gone that it seems like it'll take me days to tell everything. I'll tell you right away that I had the wildest sex scene I've ever had in my life. Yes, even wilder than when I was in the park with the guy in the gray coat. I felt like I must be going crazy to have done what I did. And my mom
and dad were mortified, not to say anything about what other people who found out about it thought.
But before all that even happened I had a rather unnerving experience on the plane. It was okay from here to Denver. Very uneventful. But from Denver to Des Moines it was a different story.
A guy sat down by me and tried to strike up a conversation. He was all right but I really I didn't feel like being very sociable because of t the funeral coming up and everything. He was thirty or so, and good-looking enough, but I just wasn't in the mood.
He introduced himself and then proceeded to give me all kinds of compliments. He kept trying to get me to open up and talk to him saying things about the way I looked.
"Have you ever been on TV?" he asked me. "You sure do look familiar."
And "If you haven't been on TV, you should be. I guess you know you're an awfully attractive girl, don't you?" Stuff like that was what he kept saying.
Finally he quit bothering me and I went to sleep. About thirty minutes later I felt something touching me and I started waking up a little but I was still kind of groggy. This guy was taking advantage of me while I slept, but I was too far asleep to understand exactly what he was doing. Then I felt a hand on my blouse and I realized that this creep was working his hand around on my tit, copping a feel through my clothes. That really made me mad. I woke up and, lo and behold, this buy had his cock out in his hand and was playing with himself while his other hand was caressing my boob. I sat up straight and started to bawl him out good. When he saw that I had noticed what he had been doing, he increased the speed of his hand on his cock, got this real glassy-eyed look, and shot white come all over the back of the seat in front of him. Even though it was dark, one of the stewardesses happened to see him-she had probably heard him breathing hard like he was doing while he was playing with my boob-and she ran over and spoke sharply to him, then went up front and told the captain. When we landed a policeman was waiting for him and they asked me if I wanted to file a complaint. I would have done it but I realized I'd probably have to appear in court sometime and I knew I couldn't come back to Iowa just for that, so I told them that I didn't want to file a complaint, that I'd just let it go. But before I left them I gave the guy a dirty look that I hope showed him what a low down creep I thought he was for doing that to me while I was asleep.
When I arrived home I talked to Mom and Dad for a few minutes, then went to sleep. The next morning they took me to the funeral home where Curt's body was being held and I went in alone to view him.
Mom and Dad said they'd come back and pick me up on their way back from the store. The funeral wasn't going to be until the next day. When I first entered the
building I was shown into the mortuary by an assistant of the funeral director. He pointed down to the room where Curt's body was lying and told me that I could "observe the deceased." for as long as I wanted. He was real nice. On the way down the hall by myself I passed by another hall that branched off. I looked down it and happened to see an attendant pushing a metal table with a corpse on it. But it wasn't; like I would have expected it to be. This corpse didn't have any sheet over it or anything. And it was the corpse of a girl about my age, a girl who was very good-looking. I remember thinking if I died some stranger would get to look at me like that attendant was looking at that girl's body. And he sure was looking at her, too! He wasn't missing a thing. He was looking at the girl's body like he wanted to be on top of her doing it to her. I couldn't help wondering what he might do to her body once he wheeled it into a room where nobody could see him. The thought of him looking at her like he had made chills run down, my spine.
Then I came to the room where they said Curt's body was. When I walked through that door, Diary, it was very eerie. Curt looked just like he was alive. They had him all fixed up so that he looked like he was just sleeping. He was wearing a blue suit and tie, and white shirt, and his hair was combed just like he always did it in real life. It seemed like he might just open his eyes at any moment and start talking to me.
I walked right up to him and looked down into the casket at him. It was on a raised pedestal, so he was only slightly higher than if he, had been lying on a bed. Bed. The word stopped me cold. I started remembering how Curt liked my body when I'd known him in high school, and how much he would have liked to get me in bed. True, I'd let him do it to me that day on the ground, but I knew he would have liked it better if we could have been in bed. Back then, I reflected, I was more or less in love with him. He was so popular in school and everything. Any girl would have been proud to marry him, and I had been no exception. That made me kind of start to consider how it might have been if I'd responded differently to Curt's lovemaking that time when, I let him get into my pants.
I looked down at him and couldn't resist reaching to touch his hair. To my surprise it felt not much different than it had when he was alive. Or maybe it was just my imagination working over time. I was quite sure which it was. But it was when I touched his hair that I began to get this wild idea. I kept thinking about how much he liked seeing my naked body. The thought of him never getting to see another girl naked was very sad.
I decided I was going to honor his death in a very personal-if strange-way. I decided I was going to remove every stitch of clothing I had on. It would be like pretending that he could see me that way and enjoyed the way I looked.
I glanced behind me to make sure I was still alone. The door was still securely closed and I heard no noises outside. I stepped back and kicked my shoes off. I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it, tossing it on the floor in a heap. Next came my blouse. That left me standing next to his body wearing nothing but my panties, a
garter belt, hose and my brassiere. I sat down on the floor and raised my leg into the air so I could remove my hose after unsnapping them one by one from my frilly garter belt. Then I drew each stocking off slowly and deliberately, just as though I was putting on a strip show for curt.
Then I just sat there on the floor in my skimpy panties and brassiere looking up at the coffin. I could see Curt's outline from where I sat-his hair, the lines of his nose and chin, ad the contours of the front of his body down to his shoes. I stretched my legs out in front of me and thought how much he would be turned on if only he could be watching me display myself before him. "If he were alive right now and looking at me do this in front of him, I'll bet he would have a hard-on by now," I thought to myself.
The thought of him lying there with a hard-on made me get a nice warm feeling between my legs just like I had gotten when he had played with my pussy back in school. I put my hand down between my legs and felt an involuntary quiver run through my body. I was beginning to become stimulated. First I only had my hand on my panties, right in the crotch where the mound of my pussy makes the material rise up between my legs. But then I slipped my hand inside them and began to feel around inside my pussy lips. When my fingertips came in contact with the soft skin on the interior of my pussy I found out that I was wet down there.
I began to massage myself there while looking up at Curt inside the coffin and imagine how he would react if he could see. The thought of that made me even hotter, so I put my other hand down and started skinning my panties down over my thighs. Then I got up on my knees and let them fall all the way down to the floor, feeling their silky smoothness caress my thighs as they slipped down. I kept my hand busy between my legs as I slowly continued to rub myself there, but I also reached up and turned my brassiere around so the hook would be in front and unhooked it. It fell onto the floor near where my skirt and blouse were.
I got up on my feet then and walked toward the coffin, allowing my panties to drop to my ankles and off onto the cold stone floor of the mortuary room. By this time, Diary, I was really getting caught up in what I was doing. I was just letting my thoughts be acted out without stopping to think what I was doing. I was doing just whatever I felt like doing.
By the time I reached the coffin I was stark naked. I saw my reflection in the highly polished floor and noted that I had an expression on my face that looked like I was in a dream, or walking in my sleep. But that's not all I noticed. I also noticed the part of me that all the guys always noticed-my big breasts and my long, curvy legs. My tits stuck out big and full and when I touched them to the side of the casket I didn't even notice the coldness of the thing. All that made any difference-to me was that I was standing right next to Curt, my old love. I had kept my hand in my pussy all the time I had been walking and the motion of my legs moving back and forth had brought me to a somewhat higher plateau of excitement. Standing right up next to his coffin, I
continued to play with myself. I even leaned over farther so my tits actually came into contact with the lifeless arm of Curt's corpse. I guess I must have been beginning to go off my rocker then because I didn't get the slightest bit of a cold feeling from his dead body. It even seemed to be a little warm, just as though he weren't dead at all. I know that sounds silly to say, Diary, and it seems silly to me too now that I'm back here in my apartment thinking and writing about it, but it didn't seem to be at all out of the ordinary at the time.
With my big soft tits spilling over the edge of the coffin and touching the arm of Curt's dead body, I stood there for what seemed like a long time looking at him and playing with myself. I laid my left arm across his chest and left my right arm hanging down in front of me. My right hand was still toying with my pussy. I had my arm directly between the coffin and my own body so that the weight pressing against my pussy was warm and exciting to me.
As I looked Curt in the face I turned over in my mind what we had been to each other at one time, how he had become so aroused at the sight of my naked body when I lay that day before him on the ground. I thought of his hands touching me and how his hard chest had felt when he pressed himself against the smooth softness of my tits and my stomach. Then I thought of how his cock was the first one I had ever sucked.
And then, somewhere between the past and the present, I saw myself performing the same exciting act. In my mind's eye I envisioned my head between his legs. My hand moved deeper and faster on my pussy and I felt the flow of my love juice cascade from my tender reddened pussy lips through the curled and tangled ringlets of hair that surrounds my secret little slit.
Then, with my hands and pussy all but forgotten, with my whole being caught up in the forbidden thrill of the lewd act I was about to carry out on the dead body of the boy who had once fucked me and needed my mouth on him, I stretched my arms across the side of the casket and yanked his belt open. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I wantonly thrust my hands into the fly of his pants and grasped his cold, flaccid cock. My breath was coming in gasps. I was losing all control. My pussy burned hot against the side of the casket. My forehead was covered with sweat. My eyes blurred out of focus and my heart lurched inside my chest as I fell against his body and covered his cold dead prick with the hot wetness of my mouth.
I was lying fully on top of him with my pussy grinding into his lifeless face and my tongue furiously licking his cock. I was famished for love and starved for the feel of a man's cock in my mouth… I was beside myself with a crazed desire to suck the shit out of his prick until I had enclosed the whole thing within the confines of my licking lips.
Ripping his cock farther out of his pants like a mad woman, I stuffed his limp cock into my mouth and moaned like a banshee as I rocked my pussy against his face.
Faster and faster I sucked his cock, harder and harder I thrust my busting pussy against his cold face… hotter and hotter boiled a raging flame in my blood. I shouted at the top of my lungs, "On… oh God… I'm… I'm gettin' it'… I'm come… come…
COMING. Aiiiiieeeeee!n
The aftermath was too much for my poor, sex-crazed, brain to contend with. My cries brought a man to the door who looked in and gaped in astonishment. Then came the sound of his feet running down the long hall… the door bursting open… more men… the room suddenly full of people… the walls whirling as hands grabbed me, lifted me off the corpse and constrained my churning arms and legs… the sight of my clothes lying on the floor… the utter mess of the clothes of the corpse… I was lifted, screaming, onto a white cot. The last thing I remember about that horrible afternoon was the sharp jab of a needle in my shoulder, then peace… a dark, heavy sleep. Blackness.
For the next week I was kept in bed in a hospital. My parents came to see me but were very embarrassed and distant. I don't know what I said to them. I was kept under heavy sedation. At the end of the first week I got a break. A doctor said my actions had been' caused by the strain of circumstances. He explained that the death of my close friend, together with the physical stress of my long trip, had temporarily deranged me. He made it sound much less serious than most people thought. The emotional strain of all this had rendered me irresponsible for my actions, he said. If it hadn't been for him I'd undoubtedly still be there in the hospital in Valley Springs, Iowa. Or worse still, in a psycho ward at the Iowa state sanitarium. I was really very fortunate.
As to the effect all this had on my parents, I don't like to even think about it. They didn't want me to leave, begged me to stay there, to be where they could look after me. But I succeeded in leaving town. All the shame is behind me now. Of course, I could never" set foot in that town again in my life, but outside of that, I'm pretty well over the terror of it all.
If there was ever any doubt about it before, it should be plenty clear now-the only way I can have an orgasm is by having a man's prick in my mouth."
It's true. That's the way things are with me. The Negro, the young kid, taking on two guys at once. All that was just another warm body for me to work on with my mouth. I'm a girl who has to have a cock in my mouth. Unless I can get my lips around a hard, hot prick I'm no good in bed for myself or anyone else. Unless I'm sucking the love juice from some big cock, I'm not worth a damn. I'm not a woman at all, I'm just a big open mouth. It's the only way I can express my love.