The Gentle Degenerates (3 page)
I brought my cock out slowly, and let it hang half an inch over her face. She reached up her tongue and said, “Fuck me, fuck me in the mouth, fuck my mouth.” I brought my hand down and put my fingers into the sucking hole. She latched on to them with a deep suction, licking wildly, all the while staring into my eyes, watching me, letting herself be seen.
Suddenly a double fantasy invaded us. The stories of concentration camps she had heard as a child came to life in her mind, the whispered tales of how many Jews masochistically enjoyed the incredible sadism of the Germans. Tales of girls who came to want the men who brutalized them, who became willing slaves. And now she was one of those women, having been called in naked to the suite of the S.S. Colonel, lying amid his dope and music and books and metaphysical dreams of world empire. And he was treating her like a rag to wipe himself on, degrading her, and to her amazement and horror, she was loving it, wanting him to be harder, crueler. I saw myself burst into flames as I became pure Satan, black and violet, great horns sprouting from my head. I fucked my pointed tail, and hunched my haunches over her. The vision seared her brain, and the woman in her emerged wild-eyed and wonderful. Now she was moving turbulent body, living vibrant cunt, yearning breasts, wanting me, wanting my cock, wanting the man, the man, no matter how terrible he was, for the implacable cock lodged itself into her deepest cunt and held her in thrall.
I moved my body down slowly until I was stretched out over her, and then lowered my cock between her legs. I slid it down so that it passed her cunt and rubbed between her ass cheeks. She made little sobbing sounds and pressed her thighs tightly together. For a few minutes I continued to move into that warm fleshy space, made wet and slippery by the cunt secretions which oozed down from her hungry twat. Then I felt her bringing her pelvis back, trying to get her cunt low enough to grab my cock, but I teased her with it, keeping it out of reach, far back. She began to grow frantic. Her nails dug into my shoulders and her body wriggled wildly. “Please,” she said. “Please.” I was adamant, and only drove deeper between her luscious buttocks, nudging at the tight asshole. Her forehead formed into a frown. “I have to have it,” she said. “Please give it to me. Fuck me, please.”
I raised my cock a half-inch and she bucked up gratefully, grabbing the head of it with her cunt lips. The moment it entered she relaxed, and with a long sigh let it slip slowly into her box. For me it was electrifying. It was the softest cunt I could remember, totally sensitive and responsive. Immediately, I lost all sense of differentiation between cock and cunt, and we became a single organism joined at the one organ, the cockcunt.
And then we began to move. Her cycles were perfectly attuned to mine. As I rode a particular wave and started to get hot behind it, she would rise to meet me, and we would take it together until something in our minds coalesced and we came to a kind of mental climax; then a few moments rest, and another wave would come by. It was like surfboarding, catching wave after wave, riding in to shore and paddling out for the next one, knowing that one of them would be the really big one to carry us singing home.
She suddenly changed her rhythm and began pushing hard against me. I resisted at first, and we rolled back and forth on the bed, our genitals and breasts bumping each other. She began to push at me more violently, and then I yielded until she had pushed me first onto my side, and then onto my back. Like a great lizard crawling out of the water onto dry land, she reared herself up, separating her upper body from mine. Her breasts, covered with gleaming sweat, hung down fully, the nipples challenging my eyes. Her belly was relaxed and full and her mouth hung open like a wound. Then, with a long glide, she pressed her cunt into my crotch. I felt my head go back and my knees rise up off the bed. For an instant I felt like a woman, lying back, legs apart, head rolling, while a man hung over me, pushing his cock into my cunt. It was an exciting fantasy and I rode it for as long as it lasted, letting myself be open, letting my body be totally accepting. Her shoulders rounded, and again and again she brought her marvellous pussy down and wrapped it around my screaming cock, bathing me in juices and heat.
Soon her rhythm changed and I found myself moving in unison with her, bringing my ass up off the sheets and fucking her from underneath. She began to go crazy. Her mouth dripped saliva, and strange-sounding words dropped from her lips; her breasts jiggled like a seismograph needle, and her cunt did a dance that is impossible to describe.
I reached up with my hands and began rubbing her all over, putting my fingers in her mouth and grabbing her tits. She started to cry out loud, “No, no no,” and I reached down and pulled her ass toward me. The cheeks fit perfectly into my palms and I let them ride together, the bouncing cheeks slapping against my palms and fingers. She began to move faster and faster and my fingers beat a drumroll on her ass. She was very close to coming but still holding on inside herself. Then she screamed out, “Oh, hit me, hit me!” And with that I let all my inhibition loose and, yelling like a savage, began slapping and hitting her ass as hard as I could, spanking and spanking until her entire body started to shake wildly, and with a final cry she convulsed and sank her cunt all the way down on my cock and came with long deep shudders and great flow, raking my chest with her fingernails.
She sat there for a long moment and then sank down onto me. I held her very tightly and she shook with relief and fright. “Oh, I never . . .never . . .like that,” she mumbled. I continued to hold her, and after a while she calmed down.
We lay that way, half-dozing, half-drifting, for almost an hour, and then I rolled over on my side, bringing her with me. She looked at me with surprise and tenderness. My limp cock was still lodged inside her and began to stir. When she had come, I had held her mind in mine, so that no thoughts would disturb her climax. But now the undischarged sperm in my tubes was clamoring for release. “Again?” she said. “I don’t think I can do it again.”
“You won’t have to do anything,” I said, and slowly began to move inside her. At once her cunt warmed up, not with the fires of passion, but with the glow of acceptance. I knew it wouldn’t be long and I really didn’t want to start on another mutual trip. She lay back relaxed and spread her legs apart. She intuited what was happening and was graciously allowing it. I just wanted her box as a passive receptor, letting itself be entered and fucked. Her cunt opened to me like a mouth. Her ass firmed up and she pushed her pussy up so that I could move in and out of it more easily. Within a minute I felt the call, and with a long inner sigh of happiness, I let the load of sperm well up and come spurting out, and waves of unspotted pleasure rolled through my cock and balls and fingers while she sucked at my tool with her rippling lips.
We both slept for a while, and then, when we got up, there was nothing to say. It wasn’t that we were blocked, but that we had both become quite private. I didn’t want to spend the night there, and she didn’t want to come to my place, so we had a cup of coffee together, and I left.
Walking home, I felt free and easy. At that moment Regina was a dead issue in my heart. The world was filled with intelligent sensitive women, women who enjoyed fucking and who wouldn’t involve me in any nonsense concerning promises. But after getting back, showering, and falling comfortably asleep, nightmares visited me and my dreams were filled with terror. A dozen times figures climbed in through windows to slit my throat and suffocate me with my pillow. Several times I awoke gasping for air, a cold sweat on my forehead.
The next morning I woke up depressed. I was so deeply into the mood that I couldn’t just dig it and wait for it to pass. I needed some object to serve as a psychic lightning rod, and the first thing that appeared was an image of Regina in my mind.
Suddenly I was certain that she had betrayed me the night before. It is a curious facet of schizophrenia that, while one portion of the mind understands a reality in a certain way, another portion of the mind can totally negate that perception. And the conflict is so terrible between them, that one learns to accept whichever is stronger at the moment, no matter how far out of tune it is.
So Regina became the target, and I bombarded her with missiles of hatred and resentment, launching them three thousand miles to haunt her in California. I mentally destroyed her and then set her astral body in flames. I saw her lying on her bed, her mouth stuffed with cock, her cunt a quivering gift for hundreds of men who passed by daily just to fuck her. And as I ate breakfast, I realized that whatever demons lived in this particular part of my psyche had the upper hand, and there was nothing I could do about it.
JEALOUSY IS THE most obscene of all human feelings, for it attempts to make human beings into private property; it is an imperialism of the emotions. I lay in bed at night and think of all the women I have ever fucked. I picture their cunts in a giant mosiac on the wall in my mind, and hundreds upon hundreds of the hairy pink slits pile up in a writhing montage of movement and secretion. I don’t know how many thousands of times and into how many women I have plunged my cock, so that I am long past the point where there can be any specialness for me in the sensations of any one woman, any one vagina. Each woman is unique, and when I am with her, I am totally with her. But all women are the same, so which of the many hers it is doesn’t particularly matter.
There was a time when I felt cunt to be holy, and to enter a woman was the most sublime and tender of moments. There was a definite religious awe about penetrating past the opening and into the actual body of another human being, especially when that opening led to the deep mysterious folds of birth and consciousness. But in so few instances was my feeling reciprocated, so often did it get lost in the woman’s fears and fantasies, that fucking was relegated to an act of mere symbolic sensation. And after a while my sensibilities got dull, and one day I found I was past the point of feeling anything except my own reactions, and knew that I had lost the ability to know the sexual act as something precious.
Yet with that came a new freedom. I learned that what is important is the quality of the act and not the personality of the partner. That is, between two people there can be a bond of tenderness, a great subtlety of communication, a richness of trust. But it is the presence and expression of these qualities from which beauty arises, and it doesn’t matter who the people are, at all. I know deep in my heart, that I can have a full and totally satisfying and elevating sexual encounter with a total stranger as well as with a woman I have known for ten years. It’s a question of energy flow, and following the logic of that, there can be no room for jealousy, for how can I deny to any woman what I allow myself?
And yet I do. I have been away from Regina for as long as six months, during that time having intense love affairs, or going to the baths and making it with dozens of men in a single night. And in my egoism, I would tell her about these things. She is not jealous of my physical escapades, but of my emotional attachments. I, on the contrary, bless all her lose ties of the heart, but stand guard over her body.
I even told her about Marianne, my Aries poet of the three-week affair. We had met at a party, one of those pseudo-orgies uptown, where everyone is aggressively liberated but shows it by standing around shouting inanities and cackling at full volume. I had had enough hash in me not to care any more, so I took my clothes off and began dancing. Soon I was joined by three others and we spent the night titillating and scandalizing the assembled copywriters, account executives and psychiatrists who made up the weird melange. Marianne moved in fast, and before I knew it I had been cut out of the herd, like a cow being manipulated by a smart horse. There were several other chicks in the room who were giving me more interesting signals, but she came on so strong that I let myself get carried away by her.
As might be expected, she had a kid, and was just breaking off a ten-year marriage; had just finished two years of therapy and felt herself completely healthy; and in general possessed all the proper attributes of the neurotic young lady of our time. She had to leave early, and I found myself caught up in the vortex of her energy. “I’ll take you home,” I said. And so we rode all the way downtown in a cab, during which time she reached into my coveralls and played with my cock in such a tantalizing fashion as to have me groaning all over the back seat. She was devilish, running her hand down to the base and then skipping up the shaft with her palm and ending by twirling the tips of her fingers around the head. It was the kind of hand job that leaves you tingling at the edge of your come and crying inside for her to put her mouth over the tool and bathe it with warmth and wet, sucking at it gently, licking at it with child’s tongue, until the geyser roars up and fills her mouth with a throatful of bittersweet sperm.
We got to her place and dropped the kid in bed, and then tore straight for her room. Clothes flew off, and for the next hour it was all sparks. She came at me like a starved dog at a piece of meat. I bucked back at her but she was overwhelming. There was nothing to do but let the Aries power exert itself, and as always in these cases, the wise Scorpio retreated into himself and weathered the blast, knowing that even the strongest of foes one day tires and then lies down. At which time the Scorpion rattles forth and destroys him with a single sting of pure radiant energy.
It was as though she didn’t think we would survive until tomorrow and wanted to squeeze in all sexual experience tonight. She sucked me and forced my mouth to her cunt and spread the lips apart with her fingers so my tongue could penetrate deeper into the twat. She tore at me with her nails and cried in glee when I turned her over and spanked her fat ass. Then I sent her for some vaseline, and had her lubricate her asshole. I took her on her back, throwing back her legs so that her ankles were at her ears, and plunged into the tight waiting hole. She said she had only done this once before and it hadn’t gone well, but now she was all ass, quivering, sucking me in to her, and letting out groans that rose from her bowels, that hung halfway between pain and pleasure. I pulled out and plunged into her cunt, and we rode for a very long time, neither of us even thinking of coming, since the heat flashes and head trips and the delicious texture of flesh in our hands was so good that we didn’t want it to end.
Meanwhile Regina was living the life of a semi-recuse, struggling along on a small welfare check, taking care of a four-year-old kid twenty-four hours a day, going to school, teaching dance classes, and keeping a house in order. For weeks she went through the daily grind, each night collasping into an exhausted sleep. I received letters from her telling me that her life was hard these days, and I wrote back short notes indicating what a wild good time I was having. Finally, after a month of this, she visited with some friends and met a boy of seventeen who had been her neighbor some time back. He was one of those California model youth who spokes a lot of dope, smiles most of the time, says very little, and seems always to have a guitar in the immediate vicinity. She was tired and lonely and horny, and he was passively agreeable to anything. So they rapped, and he took her to a teen-age discotheque, where she had a chance to get into what it was to be a teen-ager again, and had a delightful time. Then he took her home and of course they rapped a bit more, and turned on, and soon they were fucking. They fucked two or three times over the next few weeks and then they stopped, because there was nothing else to sustain the relationship, he being so young and all.
In any court of law, of course, Regina would be acquitted. It would be absurd to call what she did infidelity, especially in light of my behavior. Yet, when I asked her about what she had been doing sexually, and she told me about the adventure, I flew into a towering rage. I called her names. I demanded to know details. It was a dark stormy night, and four times I slammed out of the house into the rain, returning dripping wet, only to begin another round. Luckily I had enough perspective to see the absurdity of the scene, and told her that she should take none of this seriously, because I was simply acting out a fantasy near and dear to me. The actual dynamic was that I could feel the jealousy as long as Regina’s body was nearby and accessible, and not have the jealousy overwhelm my basically warm feelings toward her. But now that she was back in California, the recall of the same scene brought up a cold rage, and in my heart I killed her again and again for the foul deed of letting another man fuck her.
She, of course, had her own game, for she never tells me about her sexual affairs right out. The stories always either slip out, or she formulates them in this way, “Oh, there was another man I forgot to tell you about,” and does that two or three times for each absence we have from one another. In part I think I am being extremely childish, but in another sense I am putting myself through a very special kind of school. Because all of this is pain. Although I am not being fair, although my feelings clash with my intellect, and my body is a blind referee, there is a definite path to my behavior, a general sense of learning very important lessons about life. I don’t know why I should have the university metaphor concerning living or for what cosmic report card I am trying to get good grades, but that is where it is at.
One night, for example, just two weeks after Regina’s departure, I spent the evening with a woman I had been eyeing for some time. Ironically, she is in a relationship with a man that perfectly parallels mine with Regina. Only she is playing me to Harry, while Harry is playing Regina to her. Harry, like most men, wants to have his cake and eat it too. He wants Isabel to sit at home and be purringly ready for his pleasure whenever he wants her, and yet to be able to go and come as he pleases, and fuck whom and when he pleases. She, like most women, has no objection to his tomcatting, provided he makes a basic commitment to hearth, home and baby. “If he would just give me the feeling that I was his woman, then it would be much easier for me to overlook his fucking other chicks,” she said.
I was with her at a time when their relationship was going through one of its endless redefinitions. We smoked some dope and listened to music and talked about only those things which would keep the evening flowing at its fullest and richest. This night I was playing a twentieth-century version of The Purple Mask, “Secret Agent from the Void Patrol”. I took her precipice-hanging, seeing how close we could get to insanity and social disaster and still maintain perfect control of the situation. Of course, it was a turn-on. It is the city boy’s version of taking a chick on a motorcycle. She sits spread-legged on the back, holding on to you for total support, and you open it up very slowly, letting her get used to it, doing fifty, then seventy, then ninety, until you’re wide open a hundred and fifteen down the highway and suddenly she realizes how fast she’s going and it’s too late to be scared but still she’s terrified and she’s holding on so tight she doesn’t even realize that her legs are locked and all sensations has been reduced to a great burning in her belly. And when you stop and she gets off, her thighs are trembling and her cunt is wet and her breasts are tender, and it doesn’t take anything just to lay her down on the grass and pull her jeans off, and fuck her like she’s never known she could have it before.
But then the phone rang. It was Harry. He was tripping and down. He had spent the entire day having a fine old time with some friends, but now the energy was running down and he was feeling like a lost little boy, and he wanted Isabel to comfort him. But Isabel was now out on a trip through the cosmos with me, and didn’t really want to get all involved in personality games at the level he suggested. Yet she couldn’t hang up. So this incredibly long tedious conversation went on, in which she kept telling him over and over again that she had said everything she wanted to say, and had heard everything she wanted to hear, and then would get sucked in to another round of his trip, and it would be followed by a long series of “Yes, buts”. I got disgusted after five minutes and went to take a shower. I wondered whether he could hear the water running, and how that made him feel. Probably the way I would feel in such a circumstance. Then I thought, “The way I have felt in such circumstances.” Anger rose up in me. “Fuck,” I said to myself, “I’ve paid my dues in this area. If he is still shmucking around out there in the sexual boondocks, that is no skin off my ass. I can have compassion, but I can’t save his soul for him.” I thought of the theatre of cruelty, and it occurred to me that he too was learning, learning from his pain, learning from my indifference and from the coolness of his chick.
I dressed and went out. The Christian part of my personality made one last attempt. I said to her, “Should I leave? If he wants to come over . . . “ But she shook her head and waved her hand for me to sit next to her. I sat down and she put her hand right on my thigh and began stroking up and down the length of it. Like good old Pontius Pilate, I washed my hands of the matter.
Then an odd thing happened. I suddenly realized that there were three of us in the room. The fact that Harry was on the telephone and not literally physically present made no real difference. His consciousness was as immediate as hers and mine. But he couldn’t see what was happening! I reached over and kissed her throat very gently. I could hear, from a distance, Harry’s insistent voice over the phone. I began nibbling at her neck and moved up to her ear, where I started to breathe and tongue and kiss the lobes and shell, and right into the center of the opening. It was strange, because in one ear she was getting the verbal communication from Harry through the phone, and in the other ear she was receiving my tactile messages. It was impossible to tell how she reacting to each element. It was all a mix. Inwardly, I hoped Harry would have the breadth and humor to appreciate this if he ever found out. And I said a prayer for myself, that when I found myself in his shoes, especially with Regina, I too could maintain the necessary perspective.
I moved my hands down and started to massage her neck. I didn’t know what the limits on the game were, so I decided to see how far it all went. I reached under her blouse and cupped a full breast in my hand. She slumped forward and then jerked back and said into the receiver, “No, no, I’m still here, I’m just listening.” Incredible! He had picked up on her shift in attention over the phone. I leaned forward and sucked one pink nipple into my mouth, licking under it to take the full weight of her breast on my tongue. She began to writhe and pushed me away. I looked up at her and her eyes told me that she couldn’t keep the phone conversation going if I really began to touch her.