And I plunge downward once more, only down, down, down, my pussy breaking into a flurry of shudders, pounding, pulsating, throbbing… like the waves that crash. Claudine!
And suddenly I'm sobbing. Not because it isn't Claudine – I knew that all along – but because I've deceived this young man, this perfect young man. Deceived him because he alone couldn't do what it took, only my fantasy, my recurrent fantasy could get me there.
"Hey, remember I'm a sick man," he was saying.
"Did I hurt you?" I said, catching my breath.
"No, but you surprised me a little. That was strong… With most girls it's never that strong, no matter how hard you try. It was great!"
"Yeah, it was," I said quietly, smiling down at his youthful, handsome face.
"And I loved it. I loved it every bit as much as you did. Don't forget that."
I had to hurry back to the main station and get on with my chores. But that wasn't the only time this kind of thing happened. Yes, I usually made excuses, tried to avoid it, then succumbed to his expert treatment which brought me to pinnacles of passion no less intense than that first time. One of these days he'll be discharged, and I'll be sorry to see him go. Because he got me over the fear that I might really be a lesbian. He really did, by eventually making me respond to him. Of course, I kept sucking his cock, just as fervently as ever…
As for Number Eight, it was a big day for me when I heard his bandages were to be taken off. I could hardly wait to see if his face was everything it should be to go with that marvelously structured body of his. And I'd been sucking him off practically every day, never knowing what he looked like.
I wasn't on hand for the removal of the bandages: though both a surgical nurse and a doctor were. I tried to suppress my interest when they returned from the room to note the progress on his chart.
Of course, I was prepared for the worst. Possibility of plastic surgery, loss of sight… either of these were things that could happen. His speech should be normal, though, for there'd been no severe throat injury, only a broken jaw.
I waited for the earliest possible opportunity to go see him, not wanting to hear the news from someone else. At last I crept to his room.
I wasn't disappointed, for there on the pillow was the swarthy face I'd expected, full-cheeked with excellent bone structure. His eyebrows, which had been shaved, were growing in thick and heavy, dark, of course, like the rest of his hair. And I knew from his eyes that he could see. There was an instant response though, of course, he didn't know that I was the nurse, the one who'd been sucking him off.
I let him know by means of the signal he'd given me, three taps on the table. And he smiled weakly. His face probably still hurt, I realized, but he seemed pleased at seeing me.
I went to the door, put out the sign and pushed in the lock. Then I approached the lower edge of the bed. Without even peaking under the covers I could tell that Old Faithful was rising. Then I lifted the sheet.
There it was, the object of my cock worship, tall, thick and hard. Slowly I approached it with my hungry lips. I looked at his face now to see how he was responding to my uninvited overture.
Much to my surprise, he was shaking his head. I was crushed, really crushed.
"It's not that I don't like you," he said in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper. "It's that I love you."
I was stricken. Flattered, of course, but disturbed. What was I going to do now. I didn't dare let him get hung up, serious.
Yes, he tried to talk me into marrying him, telling me about the property he'd inherited in Alabama and how we could raise peaches and children and all that. Oh, God, he thought I was just another cunt. Just another husband-hungry cunt. He was soon transferred to another ward, and though I promised to come see him, I didn't. I hoped that there he'd meet some nurse who was ready and willing to accept what he had to offer…
Because I was a long way from being ready for marriage of any kind, wasn't I? Of course the Alabama bit would have been all wrong, but so would any kind of permanent romantic commitment just then…
Yes, the day I started sobbing hysterically for no reason at all in the nurses' lounge, one of the other nurses, one of the other cock sucking nurses came up and said to me, "Gets to you after a while, doesn't it?"
That's all she said, but I knew what she meant I wasn't sure what was wrong, but I knew very well something was.
As the subject's narrative ends, it is encouraging to note that she has finally realized that she does have some serious emotional problems, although she as not yet fully accepted them and their consequences. The indications are that she will be able to resolve her problems, though, and along with them the mental turmoil that is affecting so much of her life. She was able to achieve, for the first time in quite awhile, a heterosexual relationship to the point of sexual gratification without having to resort to the subterfuge of fantasy to replace the object which gave her the gratification she sought.
CHAPTER FIVE: Carey
Talk about Sophie Portnoy! Man, I have a mother you wouldn't believe. Every chick I met, every chick I look at, every chick I dream about is a threat to dear ol' Mom. Don't get me wrong: I love her. But I wish to hell she hadn't hung on so long. I'm rid of her now – I'm moving out on my own next week – but it's been one hell of a trip, believe me.
"So who's this girl you're bringing home?" she asked way back before my first date in high school. Already then she was afraid I'd get a chick pregnant and I'd shame her and her ancestors forever. She should only know – she should only know! – that I don't even like fucking girls! Oral sex is my bag and Mother is responsible for that too.
Let me go back to the beginning. One day, when I was about twelve and just starting to realize my cock was growing and there was such a thing called sex I came home from school early with a sore throat. Dad ran a string of furniture showrooms and warehouses, and you never knew when he was going to be home. Already then he was losing his looks – he worked himself to the bone – and Mother never really had any. She's always been overweight, not what you'd call pretty, but not homely either, with her hair propped up with the help of ten cans of spray. I had never even pictured the two of them kissing, much less making love. I entered the house quietly and heard noises coming from the living room. I crept up behind the big planter and looked down into the sunken – Beverly Hills, mind you, posh sunken living room – area and immediately froze.
Mother was on the top-riding him, in a stooping position. Dad's long slender cock stood straight up from his balls and she bounced on it and I was amazed to see it disappear up her, and then slide out again and again. The rolls of fat on her stomach jiggled and her massive breasts heaved with each movement. Dad wasn't saying a word, just moaning a sick sound. Mom was shouting all kinds of shit, like. "FUCK THE JUICE OUT OF ME!" and "HAROLD, HAROLD, YOU HAVE SUCH A BIG PRICK!" (which he didn't, actually), and I was so sick I wanted to puke.
I watched for about five minutes until I could take no more. It was the most obscene sight, the most horrifying thing I had ever seen in my entire lifetime. I ran out into the yard and became sick and vomited right next to Dad's Cadillac. All sorts of things raced through my mind – was that how I was conceived? Was that what intercourse was all about? It was ugly and awful – Dad's helpless cock being used by her big hairy cunt – and I wanted to erase it from my mind, to blot it out.
Just a week before, Mother had sent me to my room without supper for saying "fuck" for the first time. And look what they were doing on that floor? I should have sent them to the gas chamber for that. Jesus, something like that can fuck up a little kid's head!