"She jerked my skin up and down real smooth. She got a special kind of flipping action in her wrist in the position and it was easy on her arm."
"Ruthie kept her eyes on my peter as she worked the skin up and down. It was only a few inches from her face. She breathed through her half-open mouth. She said, 'Tell me when it's going to squirt.'"
"I said okay. I was sort of crouched over her and looking under with my head upside down."
"Pretty soon I was getting that hot, tight, ready-to-shoot feeling. I told her."
"She put the open olive jar right under the end of my peter and kept on jerking smooth as silk. In fact, she even went faster."
"I was pumping my hips some, I couldn't help it, it felt so good, sort of like fucking. Ruthie told me to stop it. I tried, but I was right THERE and I looked under and saw the stuff shoot out – just like a cow's teat shoots milk – it shot into the olive jar."
"Then I raised nay head and just enjoyed it and stared at the picture of Laurel and Hardy on my wall over the headboard of my bed while Ruthie kept on jerking me and milking me and cooing as I gasped and moaned over her. My legs nearly gave way."
"When I was empty she stopped jerking my peter. I collapsed onto my side beside her. There was quite a bit of the stuff in the jar. A tablespoonful at least. Three days' work of my nuts went into it."
"Ruthie screwed the lid back onto the small jar. 'From now on this is the way we'll do it. There's no mess at all this way.'"
"I asked her if she wanted me to finger her off. She said okay and let me pull down her panties. I slid my hand down in between her legs and she was gooey wet in her crack."
"She said, 'Use two fingers, Perry. One to finger-fuck me, and one to rub my hot spot.'"
"It was awkward at first because I had to use a finger from each hand to do it right. But I worked out a position and went to work on her that way. I got a good rhythm going, poking the middle finger of my left hand into her hole while I used the middle finger of my right hand to rub her clitoris in all that wet goo. She was really hot. She closed her eyes and held that jar against her chest and said she wished she could jerk me off at the same time."
"I had an idea. I pushed and kicked my pants and underwear all the way off and straddled her again, only this time facing her legs, so my peter and nuts hung down right over her head."
"I could still do her with two fingers by resting on my elbows."
"She reached up and started playing with my nuts and peter. 'Is there still some stuff left in there? I'll bet there is.' She started pulling me off again, slow and easy, to get me hard again, and she was looking right up at the bottom of my hanging nuts and peter, right up between my thighs. If I had squatted lower, her nose would've been up against my asshole."
"I was working my fingers pretty good after a minute, and Ruthie was getting close to coming. She had both hands up rubbing my peter and nuts, and the closer she got to going off, the faster she jerked me."
"It only took her a short time to make it. She was squirming around real good and I was finger-fucking and finger-rubbing her good and fast."
"She had her peak and relaxed for a minute. I stopped fingering her and rested, but didn't change position because she said to stay put."
"She kept on playing with me. And I was hard again, too. Seeing her all hot and having an orgasm got me interested again. My seven-and-a-half inches were wobbling around against her forehead and nose. There was a drop of that clear stuff at the tip and she licked it off. But she didn't suck or anything like that. She just kept on pulling on the skin smooth and regular."
"I started fingering her again. She was still gooey in the crack. This time we managed to make it off together, and she got another four or five good squirts from my peter."
"We both knew we'd do it again that way."
"And we did. Every two or three days we'd manage to get together alone and do it at least once."
"We never were caught, either. We got away with it every time."
"What got me was that Ruthie never emptied that olive bottle. She kept each drop of my stuff. When the first jar got full, she started filling up another one. I asked her why she did it, but she just clammed up and changed the subject."
"I think she kept the bottles – the full ones – hidden in the basement somewhere, maybe buried."
"We did that for three years, till I went to college. I moved away to school. And Ruthie got interested in boys."
"It was embarrassing after that to even try to talk about it. So I just let it slide and she did, too."
"But, God, could she ever jerk me off good!"
The above episode, if it terminated the way Perry claims it had – and there is no reason to doubt his story – could be written off as nothing other than normal adolescent experimentation with the mysteries of sex. The one disturbing factor in the case is Ruthie's displeasure with the fact that she was not born a boy. This "penis envy" situation is, however, quite common with young girls, and is, quite often, outgrown with psychological and emotional development. The chances are, since Ruthie did become interested in other boys, that she, too, eventually overcame this feeling of inadequacy.
CHAPTER FIVE: CORRI
You might title this last case history "One Last Fling". It is the story of Harry, a short man of fifty-seven years, gray-haired, fat, with puffy brown eyes and spotted skin who talked a blue streak about his great moment.
I met Harry in a local laundromat. He is the kind of person who likes to talk; he will pour out his life story to anyone.
As it happened, we were alone in the place; it was almost eleven at night.
We first exchanged basic "positioning" and "status" information so we would know where we stood socially and personally.
He was intrigued with my position as a freelance writer of sex material. His voice lowered confidentially. I knew what was coming…
I couldn't make notes, but I have a good memory, and I have a habit of as soon as possible typing out five and six page resumes of important, usable conversations with strangers and acquaintances and friends who don't mind if their experiences are used if they are assured of anonymity.
I always change names and keep places vague. So, with Harry, I listened attentively once I caught the direction and content of his story. I asked a lot of questions, too.
He had been divorced at fifty-five and was lonely. All the women he met who wanted to have anything to do with him were widows who wanted to remarry, and none of them appealed to him.
Harry wanted something young and beautiful to play with in his declining years.
But economics was a factor, too. He didn't have the income or the savings that would attract and keep a sweet young thing.
He was realistic enough to know his looks and personality would not be attractive to a young woman. There seemed to be no way out of his dilemma.
Then he decided that if he couldn't have it for long, he could at least have his dreams come true for one night.
Harry had worked for years in a fringe area of the entertainment industry. He knew some people who knew people who could arrange things, for a price.
He paid the price and set up a tryst – with a sexy young prostitute and her sexy ten-year-old daughter.
It cost him over four hundred dollars. But he had something he could remember and tell about and relive in his mind… something he considered special.
And this is what happened:
He arrived at the big motel at five in the afternoon, bathed, shaved, dressed, had a fine dinner and returned to his room.
The mother-daughter team were due at seven-thirty. His wallet was heavy with cash and his overnight bag held some interesting items.
He was anxious as he waited. He was afraid and yet hoped nothing had gone wrong. He listened for steps on the concrete walk outside his room.