Chapter 2

This was the sort of thing that had characterized his fantasy life when he had organized the group two years earlier. Those first few months in New York had been hard though-scraping for a living, failing in a succession of pointless and boring job surviving only by paring expenses very, very close to the bone and giving a fag a blow job now and then. Romo winced as he thought back to those whore-mongering days, to the times when he had posed as a pimp and then, when the Johns asked to meet their partner, said “You’re looking at him-hands, asshole and mouth.”

Yes, times had been tough, but only because Romo wasn’t about to settle for less than he had laid out for himself before coming to New York. He had come to the big city with a single goal: to make good money having a lot of fun. He would organize a group of would-be swingers who had never managed to satisfy their fancies and fantasies with the sort of people they could pick up in Democratic clubs and singles bars. A fellow would be interested in, say urolagnia but wouldn’t know where to turn. Romo, by advertising in the various underground publications and carefully screening the replies, would act as a match-maker and scout leader. Once be had someone who liked to piss, he would locate someone else who enjoyed being pissed an. At that point all he had to do was tell each of the other’s existence and invite both to join the Group for Sensual Involvement which-like a corporate bigwig-he often shortened to GSI. Dues were high-fifty to a hundred dollars per month, depending on the individual member’s financial status and the oddness of his hangup-but once the group had been established for a while and its existence had become widely known through word-of-mouth advertising, Romo found himself making a great deal of money indeed. He had no overhead to speak of (just a large apartment, a phone bill, and a miniscule advertising budget), and the group now had close to a hundred active members, His current gross receipts were in the neighborhood of seven thousand dollars a month. Yes, Romo was doing all right from a long green point of view.

He was doing all right sexually, too. Few of the new female members-the heterosexuals, anyway were able to resist the chance to get laid by the founder and president of GSI. They no doubt figured that he must have a certain hypnotic appeal, and to a certain extent they were right. Romo was a magnetic sort of fellow; it took guts and drive to create something like the Group for Sexual Involvement, after all. His erotic technique had become a bit rusty thanks to hose eight years in prison, but he had acquired ejaculatory self-control through careful masturbation and made up in energy what he temporarily lacked in technique.

“Well?” Lisa looked up at him crossly. She was still crouched on the floor, her knees parted wide enough so that Romo could see her cunt through the lower cheeks of her ass.

“I was thinking.” And he still was, though his thoughts were now returning to her crotch and to what he intended to do with it. Should he eat her out first; should he simply fuck her in the ass and dispense with trying to bring her sexual pleasure; or should he fuck her in the ass but simultaneously to provide maximum manual stimulation to her cunt?

“Is this part of your humiliation of me?” she asked wearily. “Making me kneel here like this without knowing when you’re going to suddenly drop to your to knees and fuck my guts to kingdom come?”

Romo laughed. “I’m sorry, my dear.” He leaned over and stroked her ass lightly, marveling at the lovely olive flesh. “You’ve got fantastic skin,” be told her.

“Thank you,” she said dryly.

“You’d look great covered with baby oil. Or olive oil.” He beamed, proud of his sudden inspiration. “Olive oil. Christ, that’s perfect. Olive oil for olive skin. I think I’ve got some in the kitchen. Hang on a minute and-“

“Romo! Please don’t do that.” She was begging, but in a calm and almost matter-of-fact tone. Romo wondered if she were purposely avoiding a whimper or a whine; could it be that she knew such a plea would only increase his desire to humiliate her completely?

“Wait a minute,” he told her firmly. “I’m going to get the olive oil.”

Lisa muttered something obscene, but Romo ignored her. He strode to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a half-gallon can of olive oil dangling from his right hand. “Great stuff,” he said. “Imported from Italy. There’s all kinds of Italian shit written on the can. You can pretend you’re back in Wopland making films.”

Romo removed his bathrobe, not wanting to stain it with the oil. He unscrewed the can’s tin cap and knelt beside Lisa. Chuckling softly, he poured a small quantity of the golden oil into the palm of his hand and clenched his fist, working the oil over his fingers. Next he opened the hand and rested it on Lisa’s buttocks, letting it glide over the curved buns and leaving a shiny, slimy trail in its path.

Slowly, delightedly, Romo smeared the oil over the girl’s calves and thighs. Then he thought of something. “We’re going to soil the rug. Crawl over to that patch of tile.” He pointed to the sun porch. “There, next to the glass doors.” Lisa reluctantly obeyed, and the oily surfaces of her ass and legs glistened in the sunlight that poured in through the sliding glass doors leading off the sun porch to the balcony outside.

Ah, yes. This was going to be nice. Romo carried the can to Lisa, whose nose was only inches away from the glass.

“What if the neighbors see?” she asked.

“They won’t. Mine won’t, anyway. The only building with a view of this sun porch is a half-block away, so I don’t have to worry about anyone reporting me to the super or beating on my door. No, if someone sees us, we’ll simply give him a good show.”

Romo grinned and began to slather the olive oil onto Lisa’s back, eventually working the stuff over her shoulders and under her armpits and finally to her small, delicately formed breasts.

“Your nipples.” Romo coated the buds with oil. “Hmm. Getting hard, aren’t they?” he said with a chuckle.

Lisa’s reply was cool. “It’s the draft, that’s all.”

“What draft? I sure don’t have any goose bumps. Hell, the thermostat is set at eighty. degrees. It’s a good temperature for nudity, don’t you think?” Romo smeared the oil into her cleavage, returned his hand to the can, and filled his palm with another generous dollop of oil. Soon he was slathering the stuff on her belly, into her navel, onto the magnificent briar patch of her pubic hair.

“I’m going to fuck you, Lisa,” he sighed, trying to sound apologetic. “I know you aren’t going to like it, but what the hell. Women were created to serve men. Oh, I know an assertion like that isn’t going to win me any plaudits from Women’s Lib, but those dames are just a bunch of dykes anyway. Women are man-servers, Lisa,” he said, rubbing the oil into the crevice of her ass. “Look at their basic design. The cunt is a passive instrument, basically, a receptacle for man’s desires. Anything a woman does with it merely enhances the male’s pleasure. The male, on the other hand, can hick a woman without bringing her any satisfaction at all. He can introduce fantastic variation into the sex act, all for his own orgasmic well-being. I’d hate to be a woman, Lisa. It must be a tremendous pain in the ass.”

Lisa stiffened, perhaps because Romo’s fingers were sliding closer to her asshole as he finished his last sentence, and Romo laughed. “Sorry” he said. “Didn’t mean to make you nervous about what we’re going to be doing a few minutes from now.”

And what an asshole it was, too! He could tell simply by pushing against the anus from the outside that this was going to be a hell of a rectal fuck. There was a swollen quality to the asshole, a taut and firm swollenness, that told him there was a powerful set of muscles under there. A sphincter with spirit, a ring of muscle tissue that was going to squeeze God knew how many ounces of jism out of his angry, aching cock.

He wondered how she had become a lesbian. What the hell was wrong with a healthy man-woman fuck? Licking and sucking were well and good, but there were inherent limitations on the lesbian repertoire. That was the nice thing about heterosexuality-you could use your mouth until you were slobbering all over the bed, and then you could perform sexual calisthenics for hours on end. Man on top, woman on top, side-by-side, dog style, in the pussy, in the ass… no, you couldn’t beat man-woman sex. Not in Romo’s book. Though he wasn’t about to put down bisexuality, since occasional queer acts added even greater scope to one’s total sex life.

Romo had smeared olive oil all over Lisa’s body by now, and he was adding a second coat, to her rectal crack.

“It feels greasy,” she said.

“Not greasy. Slippery,” he corrected. “Olive oil has a smooth, anti-frictional texture while Vaseline and other lubricants tend to be sticky. Let’s put a little more oil on your ass… ” Romo pushed against her asshole, attempting to force his slippery fingers into the opening, and Lisa pulled away.

“Damn you-” she started to protest, then stopped.

“And your cunt. We mustn’t forget your cunt.” He removed his hand from her ass, poured more oil onto the fingers, and plunged the hand into her fur-lined furrow. Lisa jerked away as three fingers forced their way into the opening; Romo simply laughed and pushed deeper inside. “A little finger fucking is good for you,” he told her. “Maybe we can drive away some of those dyke tendencies. Pretend that you’re sixteen and I’m sixteen, and that I’m finger fucking you in a drive-in theater… ” He thrust his fingers in and out of her twat, relishing the splat-splat sound made by each stroke of knuckles against moist love flesh. He let his thumb creep around until it found her clitoris, whereupon he began to stroke the bud slowly.

Nail scraping lightly along the clit head, whorled ball of the thumb caressing the surrounding tissue, thumb shifting position so it could work itself, with the cunt alongside the fingers, hooking itself around the inner ring of the vaginal sphincter and becoming slick with the gathering juices of Lisa’s growing desire.

“So you want to get fucked, huh?” Romo said with a grin. “Well, you’re going to have to beg for it.”

Lisa’s laugh sounded more like a’ retch. “Fat chance,” she told him.

“Ah, but you’re jumping to conclusions, my dear. You’re assuming an inability to achieve heterosexual orgasm before you’ve given it a fair try.”

“I’ve been fucked before,” she said angrily.

“Not by me, you haven’t. Which reminds me-have you had it in the ass before?”

She shook her head. “No.” Her reply was quiet, with a hint of fear.

“Be happy, then! You’re about to embark on a new adventure!” He pulled his thumb from her twat and pressed it against the clit again, pressing hard and steadily for a moment before rolling the tiny knob to and fro with growing enthusiasm, He could feel her crotch stiffen, then relax beneath his hand. He smiled. She was getting there, willing or not. “The ass,” he said, “is the perfect sexual receptacle. It will accommodate a prick of any length and diameter; it will accept any quantity of semen without doing anything stupid like getting pregnant. One needn’t worry about its being too loose or wet; it has no natural lubricants, and if it were lacking in muscle tone it wouldn’t be able to ride herd on the turds.” Romo could feel the girl’s cunt begin to quiver; he smiled, pleased at the response. “Think of the power of the asshole-the power to take in, to clasp, to expel! And think of the affirmative nature of anal intercourse. At last, after a lifetime of forcing stuff out of your ass-hole, you’ll be taking something in!”

Lisa said nothing, but her growing excitement was obvious to Romo, whose fingers had worked their way to the very rear of the girl’s cunt, where they were kneading the meaty knob of her cervix. With his spare hand he reached under her body and grabbed her left tit, which he stroked gently, then with increasing vigor until at last he grasped the nipple in his fingers and rolled it to and fro, twisting and pinching it in the process. Lisa whimpered something unintelligible, then groaned.

Ass-fucking time, Romo told himself silently. He pulled his right hand from Lisa’s cunt and reached for his cock; the organ was hard. He stared down at it. Its tan sheath wag stretched over the swollen structural tissue, and the purple-red glans peered out of the taut foreskin; Romo pinched the upper portion of the prepuce in two fingers and pulled it to the rear. It came back reluctantly; he had to stretch it like a too small condom being drawn over an oversized cock. When the glans stood free in all its glory, Romo took the cock in his fingers just below the rim. Carefully, unhurriedly, he guided the stiff penis to Lisa’s cunt where he let it wallow in the puddlelike vestibule, its knob being coated by her pungent and slippery vaginal juices. And the oil, he thought, grinning. Yes, the oil.

She wanted to take his cock into her pussy. She was shoving the cunt back toward the prong, balancing all of her weight on her parted knees as she held her hands between her thighs and spread the vaginal lips with trembling fingers. He would humor her, Romo decided, but only partway. He would let her think he was going to screw her in the conventional manner, albeit from the rear, and then… He chuckled as he thought of how surprised she was going to be when she felt his cock forcing its way into her ass after all.

“Hurry,” Lisa was moaning, her trunk arched toward the floor now and her head pressed against the floor, scalp and forehead on the carpet, to preserve her body’s balance. She was still pulling on the cunt lips with quivering fingers, and once she let go of the right inner flap to run several fingertips over V the juice-slathered underside of Romo’s cock. “What is it you want me to do, Lisa?” Romo said calmly.

“Hurry, hurry!…”

“I know this is going to sound old hat, but I want you to tell me what I’m supposed to do to you. I’m sorry, Lisa, but you’ll have to explain your desires.”

“God oh God!…”

“Pretend that you’re a character in a classic porno-graphic novel. Say ‘fuck me,’ Lisa.”

The girl whimpered, then gasped out the words. “Fuck me,” she said.

“How do you want me to fuck you, Lisa?” He was grinning, oblivious to the spittle oozing out of one corner of his mouth. “How do I fuck thee? Let me count the ways… “

“Hard,” she pleaded. “Now!”

“In the vagina, or in the-“

“Just fuck me!” she groaned.

“In the ass, Lisa. I want you to say, ‘Fuck me in the ass.'”

Lisa hesitated for a moment, but when Romo pinched her clit between two fingers she was unable to resist. “Fuck me in the… the ass,” she whispered. Then, shouting, “Oh, God, Fuck me now!”

It was the signal that Romo had been waiting for. Quickly, before the girl could object, he pulled his cock from her pussy’s foyer and guided it back toward her asshole, pushing forward when he felt the glans come in contact with the pulsating anal sphincter. The asshole tightened; he could also feel her buttocks stiffening as he pressed against the ass with the lower part of his belly.

“Open up, goddamn it!” he snarled.

“No, no-“

“Shout ‘Fuck me in the ass!'” he warned.

“No, I-“

“Fuck me in the ass!’

“No, I-” She hesitated briefly, then gave in once more. “Fuck me in the ass!” she cried. Then, even louder, “Fuck me any way you want to, you selfish pig!”

Romo laughed, long and hard, evil and sadistic. He slammed forward, caught her anal reflexes off guard, forced the thick knob of his prick past the sphincter and into the shithole. He kept shoving, thankful for the thin coating of olive oil and love juice that eased his entrance into her ass.

“Good God!” she moaned.

“Never mind God. Think of my cock in your ass.” Romo took a deep breath and exhaled it in an explosion of air as he pumped the prick another four inches into the bunghole. One more breath, one more lightening of the dunghole. One more constriction of his own anal sphincter for intensity’s sake, and.

“GOD!” Lisa cried, writhing in pain as the full, seven-plus inches of his masculinity filled her tight, virgin ass. He could feel the fecal leakage adhering to his pubic hair; he could also feel her asshole twitching around his cock’s shaft, trying to expel it as it would have pushed out a rock-hard turd.

“How do I fuck thee? Let me count the ways.” He said it aloud this time, chuckling before continuing. “I fuck thee in the asshole, I fuck thee in the cunt. I fuck thee while you whimper, I hick thee and I grunt. I hick thee with my cock head, I fuck thee with my dong. I fuck thee till I feel your asshole tighten round my prong…”

The pain, the humiliation, the obscenity of his poetry, the mocking quality of his vocal tone… all combined to make Lisa react more powerfully than ever, and Romo felt his own guts begin to gurgle as Lisa forgot her fear and literally threw herself into the act. Thrashing, writhing female flesh… what could be nicer?

“I fuck thee with my penis, I fuck thee hard like this… and when, at last, it’s over, upon thee I will piss.” He was laughing now, a hysterical quality to the guffaws which emanated from his chest even as he fucked progressively harder in Lisa’s quivering, hurting ass. He felt her sphincter tighten even more, and then there was a moment’s suspension of all movement on her part as she tried to stay at the point before orgasm, at the delightful quivering stage just before all hell was to break loose…

“Oh God!” Romo almost jerked his cock from her ass when she cried out and thrust her anus backward, catching him completely by surprise. He restrained himself just in time, forcing his cock forward into the asshole and closing his eyes to relish the powerful spasms that had taken hold of her sphincter. One, two, three… he lost count. He held his breath, stiffened his back and his buff and his thighs, tightened his asshole and clenched his jaw as he tried to catch up with her, tried to match her rhythm.

One, two, three… “Motherfuck!” The thrusts had given away to spurts, the semen was coming up out of his balls and prostate to squirt through his penis and into Lisa’s asshole, where it lined the cavity like Pepto-Bismol, acting like an enema in the impacted shit. Romo felt like screaming, such was the intensity of his pleasure. But then he felt Lisa’s body relaxing, her asshole loosening its grip, and his own orgasm faded away as her rectum slowly slid off his prick and her body slumped to the floor.

“Lisa?” He was flopped on the floor beside her, his right hand resting on her ass.

“Hunnh-” She couldn’t say anything; she was too tired to do anything but gasp.

“Show me a dyke who can fuck yon like that, baby.”


There was a sudden gurgling in Lisa’s intestines, and Romo couldn’t help laughing when she jumped up and ran for the John.

It was in his role as counselor that Romo truly found emotional satisfaction. One of the nicest things about being President of the Group for Sensual Involvement was that the members, both male and female, had a compelling need to confess their problems to their leader and mentor. Romo was a combination sexologist, psychiatrist and priest. Girls would come to him to confess their frigidity, to inform him that they wanted to join the group in the hope that the total abandonment of moral principles would lead to the disappearance of their inhibitions: Men would confess the need to beat women, or to humiliate them through coprophilia or urolagnia, and Romo would often became excited as he listened to it all.

Of course, there were problems in paradise. Romo was making a great deal of money, and he was enjoying his work, but he knew that his group could only grow so far. When it reached a certain point, it would be difficult for him to provide the personal touch that his members demanded. Furthermore, he suspected that he would soon become satiated with all this sex. He was a participant at one moment and a voyeur the next. Sex had become the driving force-indeed, almost the only force-in his life. He thought back to his youth, to dreams of trips abroad and a hitch in the navy or the merchant marine and expensive cars. He didn’t have time for the cars, let alone the merchant marine or foreign travel. He barely had time to read the Sunday papers. Romo was working •a seven-day week, playing Christ figure to a flock of disciples. He knew that he couldn’t keep it up forever. The whole scene was beginning to wear him out already and he had occasional spells of depression moments when he almost wished he’d never conceived the idea of the group at all.

And the legal risks-Christ, he almost puked every time he thought of the law. What he was doing certainly wasn’t legal in a sense he was little better than a pimp. He was taking money to provide people the chance to fuck and to commit the strangest, most despicable perversions. He’d been providing his members with almost everything short of necrophilia. And he suspected he’d have to provide that before long.

Romo didn’t know how many years he could get for this sort of activity, but he did know that he was bound to get caught if he kept this game up forever. The cops weren’t stupid; slow, maybe, but not stupid. The larger his group became, the more likely it was that some cop might infiltrate it or that some disgruntled member might bring GSI to the attention of the police. The whole thing was depressing to think about, and it would be even more depressing if it came to pass.

“Romo?” Lisa was addressing him, her voice so low as to be almost inaudible.

“Talk louder. I can’t hear you.”

“I don’t know how to say this, Romo, but-” she hesitated. “I did enjoy that, you know.”

“I figured as much,” he said with tongue firmly planted in cheek.

“I’d been fucked before, but not in the ass.”


“I never liked being fucked the regular way. It made me feel… well, used. Like I’m in Women’s Lib, you know? Some of the girls use the word cunt to describe a woman who sells out to a man. You know, the kind of girl who marries some lawyer and lives unhappily ever after tending to the dirty diapers of a bunch of snot-nosed kids.”

Romo nodded as she looked him in the eye.

“So I have this emotional thing about being a cunt. Which probably has something to do with the fact that I’m uptight about using my cunt. Even when I’m with another girl, making it with a lez like Jan, I don’t find myself particularly turned on by having a bunch of fingers crammed up my twat. It’s the clitoris that counts, and maybe the love lips. My asshole, too, when someone’s thoughtful enough to give it a digital cleaning job. And today… ” She closed her eyes and I shuddered. “Well, Romo, it was nice.”

Romo picked at his nose for a moment, then spoke a quiet, almost fatherly tone. “What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“Huh?” She frowned. “How do you mean?”

“I mean are you going to stick to dykes, or are you going to open yourself up to other men?”

She glared at him. “I let you fuck my ass, didn’t I?”

“Yes. But we have a rather special relationship. I’m your leader, your sexual advisor. Your procurer, for that matter. You come to me when you want to learn something about yourself or when you need to have the shame reamed out of you via a nice session of humiliating sex-like today.”

Lisa said nothing; she merely stared at her knees. Romo reached out and touched her breast. Both them were still naked and were sitting side by side the living room sofa, the velvet one near the wood burning fireplace. “Well, what’s the story?” Romo asked.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to make it with another man,” she confessed in a choked voice. She seemed most on the verge of tears.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m-God, I’m just too uptight.” She bent her body forward, pressed her face into her hands and curled into a sort of sitting fetal position on the couch.

“Take it easy, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m trying tooooooo!” she sobbed.

“I want you to fuck another guy,” he told her.



“I’ll set it up for you,” he said. “Tomorrow. The day after, maybe. Hell, if you want me to I can arrange things for tonight.”

“I don’t want it, Romo!” she cried sharply, sitting up and staring at him with wild eyes.

“Good lord,” He put a finger to his lips, grabbing her wrist with his free hand and giving her a sharp squeeze. “Calm down. I was merely trying to help you, damn it.”

“I don’t want to be helped,” she sniffed.

“Sure you do. You’re not a dyke. Not really. Oh; you enjoy the lez stuff enough-I don’t blame you; if I a were a girl I’d like it too-but you’re not a hard-core dyke the way Jan is.”

Lisa stiffened. “I love Jan.”

“Sure, sure. A crush, that’s all it is. An unusually powerful relationship. Jan satisfies your sexual needs while providing you with a target for your nervous tensions. You can play the dominant role with Jan. She’ll take whatever kind of shit you can dish out. And when you’ve dished out all the shit you can give, you come to me and whimper for another heap. You can’t humiliate until you’ve been humiliated. You know, what you need is a schedule. A fucking schedule, with someone slipping it to you about four times a week. You need to be fucked just often enough to remember that you’re a woman, a receptacle and not someone who’s supposed to dish it out.”

“Male chauvinism again,” she said sarcastically.

“I was being facetious.” Half-facetious, he corrected himself silently.

“I still don’t see how you can say I’m not a dyke,” she told him. “I had my first lesbian experience when I was fifteen, in convent school where I-“

“The old Catholic boarding school bit, huh? Sounds like you stole it from a dirty navel. Little girls getting their hymens popped by nuns holding crucifixes, the same old corny bullshit-“

“Let me finish!” she said sharply. “It wasn’t anything like that. I was sharing a room with another girl, a French girl named Marcelle. She was pretty, very pretty, far more delicate in her features than She spoke French beautifully-which made sense, was from Lyon-and she had lovely manners, what with being the daughter of a second secretary to the French Embassy and all. Anyway, a lot of us girls were shy about undressing in front of one another and the like-the nuns’ influence, you know, don’t look at your tits in the mirror when you brush your teeth-all that stuff-but Marcelle was different. Instead taking her nightgown to the showers with her a putting it on in the stall like the rest of the girls, she come back to our room in her bathrobe and put it in front of me. I was embarrassed at first, and I’d ways try and time my tooth brushing to coincide with her arrival from the shower. I’d lean over the sink a brush my teeth for about five minutes while she slowly put on her nightie and crawled into bed. I was almost afraid to look at her nightgowns, in fact, some of them were almost transparent. A couple them were even confiscated by the Mother Superi who thought they violated the school’s rules.

“Anyhow, I started to think about the way Marcelle pranced around naked in the room. Though it wasn’t really prancing; she was far too delicate and mannerly for that. One night I held up my head higher thin usual while brushing my teeth so I could catch a few glimpses of her in the mirror. I saw her remove the soft flannel bathrobe and put it on the bed. She stood there for a moment or so, staring at her tits in the mirror on the dresser. They were nice ones, too-a little bigger than mine, but more pointed with big nipples that always looked pink and stiff. She balanced her tits in her hands for a moment, and I found myself on the verge of giggling as I thought how she looked like some housewife hefting rutabagas in the supermarket. Then I got another glimpse of her in the minor as she did a little ballet exercise while holding her hands behind her head. She seemed to be doing it for no particular reason, unless she knew I was watching. It was as if she were in love with her body, so in love with her sensuality and grace that she had to touch herself and look at herself before going to shed each night. I looked at her pubic hair, which was a lot skimpier than mine, and I saw how her legs looked like they were about three inches apart from the top. You could see the light coming through from behind her, and it was like the entrance to a cave as seen from inside. A real gap, you know? She must have trimmed the hair, because I could see the outline of her sex lips. The outer lips, that is. Very delicate, like all of her, but also very distinct, There was this little cleft in the middle of that space between her thighs, and I found myself transfixed by it. Suddenly she looked up and saw my eyes in the mirror.

Her mouth turned up in a little smile, and she said something to me, something so soft and low that I couldn’t hear. Stupid me, I said “What?” making it obvious that I’d been watching her. Naturally, I wouldn’t have known she had said anything if I hadn’t seen her mouth moving in the mirror.

“So she did another little turn for me, lifted her right leg delicately as if she wanted me to see more of that lovely crotch. Then she smiled again, blushed prettily, and put her nightgown on. Then we went to bed. And that was all.”

Romo had been listening carefully and was stroking Lisa’s right knee. “You’re sure that was all?” he asked quietly.

“It was all for that night,” Lisa explained. “But the next night… well, she did it again. But this time she made sure I saw her naked before I could start brushing my teeth. As soon as she came into the room she took off her bathrobe and hung it over a peg on the door. She smiled at me again, the same enticing smile, and she began her exercise routine. I couldn’t start my tooth brushing routine; I had to watch. I knew she wanted me to watch, and I also knew I couldn’t help watching. I stood there, feeling a sort of fluttering sensation in my stomach, and then-for no real reason-I found myself wanting to follow her example. I bit my lip, blushed like a radish, and pulled off my pajama tops. Then, before I could let my better judgment say no, I yanked off the bottoms and tossed them onto my bed, I began to pirouette with her, to lift my right leg while curling my left arm and all the rest of the ballet things that I didn’t know anything about but could imitate without too much trouble. She did a split, and I-did a split. I felt my cunt lips spread open as they almost touched the floor, and I heard a little farting noise as my twat filled up with air.

“Marcelle giggled at that, and so did I. I was blushing a mile a minute, but I was giggling too, and when I got to my feet I couldn’t do anything but stand there and laugh. It was like a barrier had been broken. Marcelle came over to me and put her arms around me lightly, at the same lime leaning forward and kissing me on the lips. Nothing dykey about it-just a light, sisterly kiss. But what it did to me! I could actually smell the juices that started oozing from my crotch. I was embarrassed as hell. ‘What if she notices?’ I asked myself. And I guess she did notice, because the next moment she was embracing me a little more lightly, mattering something in French. I couldn’t understand what she was saying; I never did get anything higher than a D in French. But I got the idea quickly enough when she started to caress my back with her fingertips. I felt ashamed of myself, and a little afraid, but I couldn’t think of doing anything but to do the same thing to her as she was doing to me. That is, I put my arms around her and I started to rub her back. The shoulder blades first, then the line or fissure or whatever you call it that goes down the back, then the little depression at the base of the spine. She started to rub the top of my ass, right between the buns, and I shuddered. It wasn’t just a shiver; it was a shudder. I felt those fingers in there, parting the cheeks at the top and rubbing the bones of my spine, and I shuddered.

Marcelle seemed to notice my reaction, because she moved the hands lower and continued to probe around in the crack of my ass. I shuddered a few more times, then tried, to pull away. I was becoming afraid; what if she tried to stick a finger in my rectum or something?

“Well, Marcelle didn’t want me to pull away, obviously, so she took her fingers out of the crack and; started to rub the cheeks, pressing just hard enough to force my hips against hers. We stood there for a long time, kissing and rubbing each other’s buns and resting our heads on each other’s shoulders. I was excited as hell, really juicing up. I could feel the moisture coming out of my cunt; there was a sort of cool sensation where the juice was evaporating from the hair of my twat. Some of the juice started to run down my leg, and I pressed my knees together to catch it. Marcelle must have misunderstood me, because she kissed me harder, really hard, and took her hand off my ass so she could grab one of my tits, I tried again to pull away; I was becoming too afraid, too confused. But she seemed to become even more insistent, and I melted completely when she momentarily let a hand dart between my thighs. It was like 400 volts of electricity suddenly shot through my body, all of it coming from a point right there at the top of my pussy. She had touched my clit, the clit I had been afraid to touch myself because-of what the sisters had said about masturbation. She touched me again, and I let out a little cry. She kept it up, kept stroking me there and sticking a finger into the outer part of my twat every now and then, and I was so excited I could almost scream. She started to strum the clit, and to sort of flip the inner lips from side to side with her fingers, and I started to clench her so tightly that I damn near broke her back. I thought I was going to come, I could feel all kinds of wonderful things hat I’d read about in the forbidden books, and it seemed even lovelier than I’d ever imagined. I was seeing stars in front of my eyes-really, it was like I received a good sock in the jaw-and my body was shaking all over. I started to rock my hips back and forth, I tried to wrap my legs around one of hers, and then, just as I was about to let it all go in a wild burst of nervous tension, she pulled her hand away. Just pulled it away and laughed. Then she said it was time to go to bed.

“I didn’t know what to say, of course-I was stunned, but I couldn’t very well ask her to finish jerking me off-so I just mumbled good night and went to bed. I didn’t even brush my teeth.”

Lisa laughed; Romo thought there was a bitter quality to her laugh, but it seemed tempered with nostalgia. “Go on,” he said.

“The next night, Marcelle came from the shower and hung her robe up again. This lime she didn’t play around. She went to her dresser, removed a tiny bottle of perfume that she’d apparently hidden in a box of sanitary napkins, and put it on at the usual strategic points, plus a few others-her wrists, her temples, behind her ears, between heir tits, at her pulse point-at the bottom of her neck, you know-and finally between her legs. Right there where her cunt was. Then she told me to lie on her bed. I obeyed. She told me to open my legs so she could see me better. I did that, too, feeling like I was going to be damned to hell at any moment but past the point of caring. I was juicing up just thinking about what we had done the night before, and I was even more excited by lying there with her eyes staring at my virgin little twat.

“She said something about how much hair I had, and about how it was a sign of maturity. I must have blushed, because she told me not to worry. She was being as kind and gentle as ever, but she was completely in charge. She sat on the edge of the bed with one of my legs next to her buttocks, on the mattress, and the other stretched across her thighs. She stroked the insides of my thighs, kept working her fingers higher, and then… well, she touched me. Right where she had the night before, right on the clit. I must have nearly leaped off the bed, because she laughed and told me I mustn’t get that excited so early in the game; She caressed me some more, making little circles around my clit in a way that was so maddening, so really excruciating. Then she parted the inner lips with her fingers and gazed inside, I thought I was going to die, I was so excited. And then, without my really knowing what was going on, she leaned over and put her lips on my cunt. On my cunt! I’d never heard of oral-genital sex. And there she was, eating me out. She was moving her lips around my clit, sucking on it, lapping at it with the saliva mingling with my juices. The stuff was running all over the place, soaking my thighs and asshole. I thought it was going to leave a stain, on the bed. But I didn’t care, not really. I just kept groaning and wishing I could talk to her in French, since French was the language of love. And finally I came, really came. I was writhing and twitching all over the place. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do after that. I wasn’t sure if I were just supposed to say ‘thank you’ and go to bed, or if I were supposed to eat her out, too, or what. I must have lain or sat there dumbly; I honestly don’t remember what I did for the first few minutes after I came. But I do remember finding myself lying below her while she knelt on the bed, following her instructions as she told me what to do with my teeth, lips and tongue. She taught me about sucking the clit, and about using the tip of my tongue to send little shivers through her perineal ridge. She taught me about licking the asshole, about touching it ever so briefly and delicately so and be able to arouse another woman without turning her off, And she taught me about using my fingers. Like I said, fingers in my cunt have never turned me on that much, but Marcelle seemed to like being fucked by hand. I learned how to part the lips with my fingers, stretch the hymen with one finger, then put maybe two fingers in it. I could do it without causing pain. It was a whole new world for me, and it almost broke my heart when Marcelle’s father was given a transfer and Marcelle told me she would have to go back to Paris at the end of the year.”

“And?” Romo was stroking Lisa’s breasts lightly, not for erotic effect but out of affection, as one would caress a dog’s ears.

“She left.”

“That s the end?”

Lisa smiled wanly. “We practiced a lot before she left. We had our… our first experience in March, and she went back to France at the end of May.”

“You said you were fifteen?”

Lisa nodded.

“Then you had several more years of boarding school after that.”

“That’s right. But I didn’t get very involved with sex again until I was out of school, I had one roommate who must have heard something about Marcelle and me, because she tried to get into the shower with me a couple of times. But I didn’t like her; she was too pushy, too much of a tomboy. Not at all like Marcelle, who was delicate and feminine.”

Romo pursed his ups. “Hmm. And after you got out of school?”

Lisa suddenly laughed. It was a joyous laugh, as if her confession had rid her of a great deal of tension. “You’re asking a lot of questions, Monsignor,” she said.

“You’re right, I am. But go on.”

Shrugging, Lisa continued. “I spent a couple of years in college. There was one girl in the dormitory who appealed to me, but it was hard to make it with another girl when you had a roommate around. Anyway, the atmosphere wasn’t right-too many girls running around the halls; too much noise from traffic and hi-fi’s and so on. I never was promiscuous. I quit school when I was twenty, and I came to New York. That was a year and a half ago. I got this job as assistant to a film editor, and I met Jan at a party, and… “

“How come you haven’t moved in with her?”

Lisa’s face clouded. “She’s living with someone else.”

“Another girl, you mean.”


“But she loves you.” Romo persisted.

“Yes. She lives with the other woman-some divorcйe, a dyke in her forties-because the bitch pays the bills.”

Romo sighed and shook his head, “Your only trouble, Lisa, is that you missed out on coeducation during your formative years.”

“There’s nothing less reliable than amateur psychoanalysis,” she said sardonically.

He shrugged. “Call it what you like. But I’m right, you know. What you needed was a good defloration when you were about sixteen. Six inches of high-school meat up your snatch.”

“Do you have to be so vulgar?”

He grinned. “Sorry, I was born that way.”

“And maybe I was born a lez,” Lisa pointed out.

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Lisa.”

“How the hell do you know?” She was angry.

Romo grinned. “I know,” he said, “because you squealed like a stuck pig when I fucked you in the ass.”


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