The teeny-bopper seemed not to notice. The train pulled into a station and the doors opened. Quite calmly, she reached into the deep V of the transparent tank-top and reddened the wide outlines of the aureoles around the nipples with her lipstick. Just before the doors closed again, my eyes dropped. Because she was stretching to hold onto the strap, the miniskirt had hiked up. She wasn’t wearing any panties. There was a fine, tan, soft down covering her pubis like baby fuzz. It enhanced rather than concealed. The mons veneris itself was high and plump, deeply bisected to lips that had also been reddened and shaped with lipstick. The lips seemed to move with the rhythm of her breathing, the starting motion of the train, to pulsate as if puckering and relaxing in the throes of a deep kiss.
One of my trembling hands was seized with a spastic compulsion. Creaking with age, the arm and wrist straightened and the gnarled fingers extended. After an eternity the knobby knuckles grazed the warm inner surface of the teeny-bopper’s thigh.
She continued to stare straight ahead, swaying with the train, seeming not to notice the touch. But under my feverish fingers the muscle of her thigh responded like a well-tuned violin. Her feet were braced apart for balance and the high heels she was wearing had tensed the tendons of her legs. Yet it was more than just the need for balance because a moment later her thigh muscles were fluttering so quickly that they alternately clutched and released my hand.
Encouraged, I groped higher. The teeny-bopper moaned and grasped the. subway strap with both hands. She leaned in towards me and I stroked the light fuzz gently until my fingers located the small, distended bit of flesh at the mouth of her femaleness. The lipsticked lips kissed my fingertips eagerly, seeming to draw them inwards. Soon my hand was moving like a piston and the core of her being was bearing down on it in a series of liquid slapping movements.
This went on for a long time. My arm grew tired and I became aware of what an old man I really was. But I continued. Finally the teeny-bopper let go of the subway strap and slammed down for one final impalement with all her weight. She writhed for a moment and then screamed aloud with her release.
Suddenly everything changed. Her scream made me look up. It wasn’t the teeny-bopper standing there anymore. It was my ex-wife Marcy in nun’s garb. She screamed again and pointed accusingly.
I followed the direction of her pointing finger to my lap. My fly was open and I was completely exposed. The evidence of my arousal pointed halfway to the ceiling of the subway car. I should be so well endowed when I’m awake!
“Pervert!” Marcy screamed again.
Somehow I managed to reel in my machinery and stuff it into my pants. I struggled to pull up the zipper. Something caught in it. It was the navy blue jacket flap of the man seated beside me. I tried mightily to free it, but couldn’t. Finally, I looked at him. The man was a policeman!
Abruptly, the scene changed. I was standing in a courtroom between two cops. Miles above me a judge sat on a bench. I recognized him. The judge was Senator Hawthorne.
“GUILTY!” His voice boomed.
I hung my head in shame.
“Vance Powers,” the judge continued in the same hollow, echoing tones, “age one-hundred and sixty-seven, profession Inept Spy Third Class, guilty of the crime of senile sexuality and hereby remanded to the Geriatric Psych-Out for the rest of his unnatural daze. Takimawaynexcase!”
Again the dream picture switched. Handcuffed, I was being taken out of a police van and escorted into an official looking structure by two cops. A group of adolescents was picketing the building and chanting. “GERIATRICS MUST GO!” they shouted. “STAMP OUT FUDDY FUTTERS! CASTRATE ALTE KOKKAS! BAN SEX OVER SIXTY! HELP PRESERVE THE AMERICAN CHANGE OF LIFE! DEATH BEFORE DIDDLING!”
I hung my head.
Just as I entered the building I saw her. At the head of the column as it swung around was the teeny-bopper. She was carrying a large sign which proclaimed “SEX KICKS ARE FOR KIDS! WHEN YOU’RE OVER THE HILL, STAY OUT OF THE HAY! DOWN WITH OVERSEXED OLDSTERS!”
She smiled at me provocatively, whirled around, and tossed her miniskirt like a can-can dancer. Her plump derriére was a teasing insult jiggling in my direction. It was flushed and round and high and extremely pinchable. I reached out my hand although it was too far away for me to reach it. One of the hefty cops guarding me cracked me on the wrist with his nightstick. I took one last, lingering look at the irnpudently naked nether-cheeks and then obediently entered the building.
Now I was in a psychiatrist’s office. I was strapped to a couch. The Shrink was operating a slide camera aimed at the ceiling. Before he inserted the first slide, he spoke. “Rehabilitation, not punishment, is our goal,” he said in a tone of molten marshmallow. “We want you to leave here cured and take your rightful place in society as a geriatric deadweight. Now we commence the cure.”
A picture appeared on the ceiling. It was out of focus. He puttered with the camera and in a moment it was sharp and clear. It was a picture of the teeny-bopper from the waist up, naked. She was cupping one breast and holding it out invitingly. The nipple was very long, giving the picture an erotic, three-dimensional effect.
“Now free associate,” the Shrink purred.
“Yum-yum.” I free associated.
A mild electric shock was transmitted from the couch to my body.
“Free associate,” the Shrink ordered again.
“Yum-yum.”
This time the shock was stronger.
“Ditto,” the Shrink yawned.
“Yum-yum?” I was doubtful.
Another shock.
“Not yum-yum,” I decided.
“Free associate!”
“Ugh! Ptu-ptu! Yish!” I was learning.
The picture changed. It was a picture of the old man that was me, nude. Only I didn’t have any genitals in the picture.
“Free associate!”
“Ouch!”
A shock.
“There’s something missing.”
Another shock.
“Good, good,” I said hastily. “Peaceful.”
No shock. The picture changed again. Once more the teeny-bopper appeared on the ceiling. This time she was stretched out full length, the miniskirt pushed up over her slender hips, the lower part of her body arched so that her mons veneris protruded.
“Free associate!”
“I’m sixteen years old and I jump on top of her and I go wild and she goes wild and we make it and then I kiss it and she goes berserk and goes at me the same way and we roll around and around and she makes it and I make it and I roll her over and she begs me to-—!”
The shock this time was a wowser! I recovered from it hearing the echo of the Shrink’s redundancy. “Free associate!”'
“Not for me! I’m too old! Dirty-dirty-dirty! Phooey!” And so it went for a long time. Erotic pictures and shocks and more erotic pictures until I found myself beginning to believe the answers that were shock-free. Finally it was over and I was led to a cell. When I entered it I found the teeny-bopper there.
She was writhing on a cot, her body undulating like a snake with an itch it can’t reach. There was a transparent white sheet over her unclothed body. The buds of her breasts strained against this material. Her body surged as if she was in the grip of an erotic dream. Her hands moved frenziedly over the sheet, stressing the curves Of her body. Her eyes were closed.