But except for the flush of passion that Laureen's hands brought to my face and breasts, I couldn't bring myself to indicate in any way that I wanted her fingers in my pussy, on my breasts and hips. When she did massage my shoulders, I tried to move in such a way that her hands would have to rub over my breasts, but it didn't work-she was too professional to slip and. perhaps offend a good customer. As I lay on the massage table, I planned things that I would do to force her to touch my cunt, rub my clit, maybe even kiss me. I never did any of them-I was too shy, too inexperienced to know how to begin.'
In his book Cunnilingus and Fellatio, Dr. John F. Trimble devotes chapter 6 to the childhood trauma or pleasure fixation. Trimble says, 'The childhood trauma or pleasure fixation quite frequently involves an approach by an adult which ends in a complete sexual act.' He then goes on to quote Kinsey's studies which show:
… something like 24 % (of female children) are sexually approached by adults in preadolescence, and that among these, 2 % engage in either cunnilingus or fellatio with the adult… ' For those approached who are in a gentle and seductive manner, and for many of a precocious constitution who are approached by stranger, these prepubertal contacts with adults have the capacity for establishing a primary preference or fixation. Simply stated, if the experience produced pleasure or orgasm, the individual may be prompted to repeat it in later life… When the developing child or adult does have an erotic heterosexual relationship, there can easily be a fixation of this form of expression. The roots may lie much farther back with the infantile urge for sucking, but the need becomes fixated and primary because of the drama, the trauma, of reacting to the living experience.
Much the same as a child will subconsciously pattern itself after it's parent or parents so it will frequently fix its sexuality on the first gratifying (or terrifying) sex act that It experiences. Thus will a girl of tender years find it impossible to become excited by a boy of her own age, and find it most titillating to be made love to by a man some twenty years her senior. Similarly, a boy who has been seduced by his neighbor's wife who is perhaps fat, slovenly and not too bright, will continually seek out women who remind him of the fat, slovenly type woman who first taught him to climax in a female body. Fortunately, not too many boys are seduced by fat, slovenly, stupid
women, but enough people have had very early sex experiences that implanted in their minds either extreme pleasure or fright, and they then mate, time and time again, with love objects who fit most closely the description and/or personality of their very first sex partner. How many times have we said, upon observing an unlikely couple with an age difference of fifteen twenty years, or some other unusual pairing situation, 'I don't know what they see in each other!'
What people see in each other that excites or stimulates them has everything to do with their choice of mates. The all-powerful subconscious mechanism which remembers everything we see, do, hear, and think records all the impulses, pleasant and unpleasant, that occur in the course of a lifetime. So it is that, against all reason and intelligent information, an individual will deliberately choose the one person in their acquaintance who makes them unhappy ('Mother taught me to be unhappy-she loved to suffer') or happy ('I had a good childhood-my parents both loved me. ') or emotionally cripple ('Everything I do turns to shit-I just can't win!') or productive and well-balanced ('When you're down and out, pick up your head and shout-I'm down and out!').
With all this rolling around in our minds, it is any wonder that 'good' marriages are so unusual as to be quite remarkable? How few of us overcome the negative patterning we received as children and take a positive stand in our life style? How many of us trot docilely along to the psychiatrists' couch and lay down our bodies and our money in an effort to change the things we want to change, and enhance the things that do go right in spite of it all? And how many of us find ourselves in the position of marrying two or three times-to two or three 'different' people, all of whom look, act and react in the same way?
Renee's case is, therefore, not at all unusual-it's perhaps a bit more dramatic than most, but still typical enough to be included in this study of fixated wives. She tells us that her sexual relationship with her husband, whom she loves, is satisfying until she encounters a 'familiar' touch while her masseuse is giving her a massage. Then she suddenly remembers her early sex experience with the man on the bus and her world is no longer the pleasant place it once was-all because her first neural pattern having to do with sexual release was with a man she didn't know, for whom she had great scorn, whom she used as a meal ticket, and whom she's not seen from that day until this. That the light, gentle touch belongs to the hands of a female is enough to make the attraction that much more exciting to Renee, who now indulges in masturbatory homosexual fantasies, plots ways in which she can seduce the masseuse, and finally does have a homosexual affair with said masseuse as soon as her husband leaves town. She tells us the rest of her story:
'Then Cabot signed a contract to make an important film in Italy and went away on location, with me planning to join him as soon as I could rent the house and pack my things for Rome. That took away the one source of sexual satisfaction I had and I increased my masturbation to three or four times a day, saying that I needed a nap, or was going to take a bath. On the days that Laureen rubbed me, my own fingers
got the hardest workout of all-I literally mashed my clitoris for an hour at a time trying to find relief from the awful sexual pressure that was building within me.
'In an effort to stop thinking about the whole thing, I took the car and drove around until I felt like shopping. After I'd parked, I realized that I didn't need anything, that I could do much better by waiting until I got to Rome and shopping there. But I was out and dressed and ready for something-anything-to happen.
'As I walked along the shopping center sidewalk, the display in the window of a bookstore caught my eye. It was a group of books that were all about the sexual revolution, about the sexual hangups that people had and how they got rid of them. That's for me, I thought. Before I got hungup over Laureen and that damned man-on-the-bus, I was a happy girl. Maybe they have a book that will help mixed-up Renee. I went in and asked for something that dealt with children who had been molested in their preteen years-I didn't know what else to ask for.
'The female clerk tactfully led the way to a large table with a display similar to the one in the window-book after book about sex, love and the weird hangups that people will have. I picked up one or two books until I found what I wanted, a psychological text on the results of early sex experience, and was ready to leave when I saw a magazine rack with some of the wildest magazines on it that you could ever imagine. I mean, I knew what pornography was, but I didn't know it could be actually beautiful.
'The photographs in those magazines were in color, and they were good. I bought one with a picture of two half-nude girls on the cover. They were gazing at each other like people in love, and one of them was fondling the other's breast, which was in full view outside her unbuttoned blouse. That picture turned me on almost as much as the thought of Laureen doing the same thing to me.
'After buying a few bottles of wines and some rum for mixed drinks, I went on home. It was one of those hot, dry Southern California days when the santana winds blow in off the desert and make everyone feel sort of-strange and daring. At least, that was the way I felt when the santana blew in, and that's the way I was feeling now. I was so tense that I mixed myself a rum cooler and after I'd had that one and was halfway through the second, I decided to look at my new magazine.
'As I said, I had never thought of myself as a lesbian-or even as a girl with a healthy curiosity about making it with another girl. But as I looked at the beautiful female bodies in that magazine, and at what those girls were doing to each other, I began getting hotter than even the desert winds could make me. I had the maid bring me another rum cooler and went to the phone to call Laureen. 'Laureen, this stupid hot wind has my nerves on edge-do you have the time to come over and give me a fast rub to relax me?' I asked, knowing very well that Wednesday was her day off.
' 'Well, for you I'll make an exception, Renee,' came Laureen's lilting, accented voice. 'It's my day off, but I'm just sitting around the house and I'd like to get out. See you in fifteen minutes,' she said, and rung off.
'I could hardly contain myself-I had no idea of what I was going to do, if indeed I was going to do anything beside get another of those maddeningly sexy, yet unfulfilling massages. I gave the servants the afternoon off, told the answering service to take all our calls and headed for my bedroom. When Laureen let herself into the house I was already naked, perfumed with my most expensive scent, and quivering with anticipation…
'As she walked into my bedroom in her immaculate blue uniform, Laureen looked like a Viking maiden-all golden hair and tawny skin and blue eyes that immediately saw that I'd been drinking. 'You shouldn't drink in the middle of the day, especially when you're drinking alone,' she chided.
' 'If you have a drink with me, I won't be drinking alone, will I?' I asked, and poured her a tall one from the pitcher I'd brought to my bedroom. Laureen's blue eyes seemed to be looking through my skull, right into my mind.
' 'Thank you, Renee,' she said, and sat down on the bed to enjoy her drink. Then she caught sight of the magazine I'd been reading and the blue eyes got quite wide. 'Is this your magazine; Renee?' she asked
