"Thirty years ago, masturbation was an aberration, but then when the pundits decided that it was really quite nice, they dropped the label. Five years ago oral sex was an aberration, until Kinsey discovered that a goodly percentage of the population enjoyed it, so the medical witch doctors said, well, they guessed that sucking off was okay too.
"In discussing what's normal and what isn't, these witch doctors insist on tying themselves to a morality based upon unscientific religious concepts haphazardly pronounced by some pope hundreds of years ago, or by the Bible. It gives them a built-in bias and makes the whole thing insane. If a man likes to fuck donkeys, disease aside, then why the hell shouldn't he? Does it hurt the man? Does it hurt the donkey?
"Some people like to be shit on. It doesn't do anything for me, but I know that some people like it. So all the little Freudians start scurrying about with their little notebooks and their subconscious religious upbringings, and they say to themselves, 'Aha, this, guy likes to eat shit. The Pope 'says, or somebody, somewhere, we can't remember just who, says this is an aberration, it isn't normal. Therefore, we have to find a reason for this abnormality, and after due and careful consideration of two people who liked to eat shit, we found that both had trouble with their potty training. Of course, there's also a few million who have had trouble with their potty training who don't like to eat shit, but then why let the facts obscure the issue? We needed a reason and we found one. We'll put it in all the textbooks, and the Pope and all the religions and all the religious moralists will be happy, because these people whose freedom threatens them will be sick, and they will come to us, and we will cure them. Because everybody has to like their sex the way we say they should like it, otherwise, it's off to Happy Acres with them."
My brain was whirling from her inescapable logic.
"It felt good, didn't it?"
"What?"
"My urine coming onto you, it felt good, didn't it?"
I had to admit that it had felt good; in fact, it had felt terrific.
Mora and I talked for hours and I enjoyed her tremendously. She had only a high-school education and her modeling school, yet she was one of the most learned people I had ever met. Her ideas excited me, challenged me, forced my brain to work in areas of thought I had never considered.
She lay between my legs, her head on my genitals, her hands caressing my belly, and we fell asleep.
Chapter 5
Soon our life together developed a pattern of sorts. I would get up in the morning and go to school. Mora would sleep late, since she usually didn't have modeling calls until about ten. She forced me to study every night and stood over me until the work was done to her satisfaction, reading her books on philosophy and religion and scribbling tiny notes onto a scratch pad while she waited for me to finish. Then we would spend the rest of the evening making love.
Following her lead, my performance improved steadily. By being smart about the way I moved, I got to the point where I could fuck all night if I wanted and not ejaculate, at least most of the time. On other occasions my pump would be too primed, or Mora would move the wrong way at the wrong time, and I would shoot early. But it didn't matter anymore because we both knew that I could generally last as long as I wanted, and no longer had anything to prove. Often Mora would build up to a multi-climax, having one orgasm on top of another, and when that would happen she wanted me to come with her and not hold back to start again later.
My newfound ability made a big difference in my general attitude. I became confident and self-assured in my contacts with girls. I talked and even walked cocky because I really thought that there wasn't a woman alive who I couldn't please. Mora told me that my eyes seemed to say it, seemed to say, "Baby, you're looking at a man who can fuck you right up the wall." I think she enjoyed the change in me even more than I did.
I made an uneasy truce with my parents by telling them that I was living with an alto man named Al, and his wife, Mora. It was better that way because when my mother phoned, as she often did, she wasn't surprised when a woman answered. It never occurred to either of them that a sixteen-year-old kid would be living with the owner of that deep, womanly voice that always answered the phone. At Mora's insistence, I visited home on Sundays and went out to dinner with the folks. It was always a hassle because I fought with my father, and my mother tried to mediate and get me to move back home.
I told them that I was paying my share of the rent, and that Al and Mora were taking good care of me. Actually, I had offered to share the rent with Mora, but she would have none of it. My parents were pleased when I told them I was staying home and studying hard on evenings when I wasn't working.
Meanwhile, Mora had seen me through my learner's permit, which my mother had signed, and then my driver's license. I was tooling all over town in the MG and, like any new teen-age driver, I loved, it.
One Saturday we went to a Plymouth-Chrysler dealer on Van Ness Avenue, and I drove out with a new, canary-yellow Plymouth convertible. Mora had paid for it by check, and I replaced the cost to her the following week from my safe-deposit box, plus enough to pay for a year's insurance and the extra taxes she would have to pay, because she would have to declare another twenty-nine hundred dollars in income.
I still blew jobs three or four nights a week and Mora would often go with me. She would sit on the side of the room or back by the drums and wait for the breaks. It must have been terribly boring for her, and guests at the various affairs always asked her to dance, or went over to try to pick her up. But she never danced with anyone and she would talk only long enough to give them the brush off. During the time I stayed with her she never saw another man, and I never saw another girl. She demanded loyalty from me and from herself.
Mora believed that the close relationship between two people would break down if others were allowed in. She was completely free; she could have seen as many men as she wanted, but didn't. She told me that two people can't love each other when they're busy fighting feelings of jealousy and competing with strangers for affection. She preferred to keep our relationship pure. This is something else she taught me. I've always demanded the same loyalty from any woman for whom I've had lasting feelings, and given it in return. How can you enjoy a girl's company when you're wondering whose company she'll be in the next night? Or make love when you know that yours is just one of a number of cocks that's pushing in and out of the same cunt? Or kiss when you're wondering who she sucked off last? That kind of wondering destroys the good feeling and forces love to deteriorate into petty bickering and jealous tirades. Lovers should be as true to each other as a loving husband and wife. After all, the feelings are the same or better, only the certificate is missing, and a piece of paper never changed the way that people feel about each-other.
My lessons in bed never stopped, either. As time passed, I got all of the fancy positions that are illustrated in most marriage manuals. We fucked every way but standing on our heads, and I came to the conclusion that most of the positions are a pain in the ass, unless you're a born contortionist,
The books say the woman-on-top position is easier on the man and affords the woman greater freedom of motion, so the books are half right. The trouble is that most women are not disciplined enough to control their freedom of motion. They'll ride a cock like they're sliding up and down a flagpole, and get you off in no time at all. To prevent this, you have to put your feet flat on the bed, or whatever, with your knees up. This way, as she's going up and down, you can go up and down with her, to take off some of the pressure. Also, it helps if you grab her hips tightly, so your arms can help control her motions and also force her farther down on you to keep better contact with her clitoris. Most girls like to sit up on you, and even if you try to keep close contact, what usually happens is that when they start to come, in spite of your best efforts, they jerk you out of them at the crucial second. Then you're stuck trying to get it back into a fast-moving target. By the time you've done this, she ain't about to come anymore, and you have to build her up all over again. If a girl likes to be on top, Mora taught me to let her sit up until she acts like she's about to go off. Then pull her down face-to-face so she can't jerk it out when she gets so excited that control is lost.