lot. It was an absolutely insane kind of perversion, and we both knew it. We tried to find out something about it from books, but none of the psych books say much. It's really an unusual kind of perversion, not like homosexuality or masochism. Of course, there's some of both of those in it, too; that's true. It bothered me, too. It was bad enough to get your happies out of being given an enema, but by your own mother! That was really too much. I really felt queer about it. I wanted it; I wanted it desperately sometimes, but it really bothered me.
“Anyhow, I finished high school and started at the U, and, of course, as you can imagine, decided to major in psych.
I guess I'm a pretty ordinary-looking girl. My figure is pretty good and my features aren't bad, except that I have to wear glasses, but Mom says that I'm particularly pretty in glasses and that it gives my face this pixie look. I guess I'm the pixie kind of girl; that is, the way I look is that way. But there're a lot of girls like me, and especially at the U, which is pretty big. I guess they have a registration of around fourteen thousand so that you're just lost in the crowd. I don't think anybody would ever know I'm a queer. I never mention it to anyone, of course, not even hint in the slightest way. In fact, the kids at the U are always teasing me for being so straight and Victorian. I'm supposed to be one of these real wholesome, healthy, good girls. I go in for sports, swimming, track, basketball, and stuff like that. I go out on dates, to parties, and all that stuff. I get good marks; I'm president of the psych club. Sometimes I really feel like a Miss Jekyll and Miss Hyde, because if any of those kids had the slightest idea what Mom and I did-wow! There's only one thing that might give somebody the idea that something is up. I don't hate my mom like most kids do. We have no generation gap. We go to movies together, and concerts, and we have fun lots of ways. That is one big thing that happened because of this silly enema stuff. It really brought Mom and me together. We really love each other, but it isn't a proper mother-daughter love. It's something else. It's lesbian. We know it is. It's incestuous, lesbian, and it's anal. You can't be much more perverted than that, and sometimes, when I'm at school, it amuses me to think how square I am in the eyes of the kids. I don't even wear minis. I'm always so darned modest about showing my legs or anything, and that isn't an act. It really isn't. I don't like showing any of myself to anybody. Maybe I'm ashamed of my body. That's probably also the reason why I take so many showers and why I'm so darned fussy about how my clothes look and everything. I guess there're a lot of things about it.
“But back to the enemas. Mom didn't give me one for quite a while after that time, even though I wished she would. I was too shy to ask. But then one afternoon when I came home from school, I just couldn't stand it any longer, so Mom and I went into this act.
“Mom was out in the kitchen. I threw my books down on the davenport, got up my nerve, and just asked for it. 'I wonder if you'd give me an enema,' I'd blurted out.
“Mom laid down her paring knife and looked at me sort of funny. We both knew, of course, that what I wanted was sex and pure sex, but we just had to cover it up and make it seem like it was legitimate.
“'Why, whatever is the matter, honey? Are you sick?'
“'Well, sort of,' I lied, 'I'm kind of constipated.' That was particularly a lie because I'm never constipated.
“'Oh,' Mom said, 'well, how about a good dose of milk of magnesia?'
“'I'd rather take an enema,' I said stubbornly. “'Why?'
“Of course, she knew why, but neither of us wanted to admit it.
“'I'd rather get all cleaned out right away and not have to wait for a laxative or something to work.'
“Mom arched her eyebrows. Mom is pretty young, and she's also very pretty, prettier than me, in fact. 'Well, of course, I'll give you an enema if you want one,' she said slowly. 'Suppose you get it ready, slip out of your things, and call me when you want me to come.'
“I was elated, and feeling so sexy I could hardly stand it. I went into the bathroom, filled the fountain syringe, smeared great gobs of cold cream on the colon tube with trembling fingers, and then stripped down my skirt, my half slip and panties, and took off my shoes. I kept rubbing my bare bottom. I could hardly wait. 'I'm ready,' I called.
“'Oh, she's all undressed,' Mom said brightly.
“Like always, I deliberately stood so that I could see my own bottom in the mirror. Then I spread my legs apart, bent down and grabbed my ankles. I just quivered all over when Mom inserted the tube. Oh, it was good.
“'Do you want me to run it way up in, dear?' Mom whispered.
“'Yes, please. Oooooh!' I closed my eyes and surrendered to the tube as it penetrated me. I tried to keep from yelling and moaning, but without much success. The sensation was sweet, real sweet, and as Mom slid the tube up high through my rectum and into my colon, I came. 'Oooooh, Mom, it feels so good! Oooooh! Ooooooh!'
“I took the enema kneeling down as usual. Then, later, when it was all over I came out and sat next to Mom on the sofa. She was reading a magazine.
“'Honey, that certainly turns you on, doesn't it?' she said.
“'Uh-huh; I guess it does.'
“'Well, tell me any time you want me to give you one. I may not always, because it isn't good for you to have them too often, but it's good for you to have a good cleaning out once in a while, and if you enjoy it that much, swell. Just enjoy away.'
“'Thanks, Mom,' I said. 'I'll try not to ask too often.'
“Ever after that Mom's been giving me enemas, always the same way, and I always get a terrific reaction every time she does. If I say I love it, it's an understatement. I guess she gives me one on the average of twice a month. I'd like it more often, but she's pretty reluctant, so if I've had two in any one month I never ask again.
“I don't know what all this is doing to me in other ways, though. Like I say, I go out on dates with boys and stuff, and I think everybody thinks I'm just a regular normal girl, if anything, sort of straight. But I don't know where it's all going to end. Mom and I have this hang-up and I don't ever want to leave her, not ever. I don't know whether or not I could ever really get serious with a boy. I guess it'll have to work out somehow.”
Patricia, then, is a very special kind of deviant. She is highly regressive, something which is apparent in her personality and appearance. She seems much younger than her twenty-two years. She clings stubbornly to her childhood, desperately resisting maturity. For the time being, while she is at the university, she can continue being a child. Sooner or later, however, life will shatter her little world. Her mother will grow old and die, and unless she establishes a new relationship with at least one other person, she will be condemned to bitter loneliness and isolation. She will probably turn to autoerotic fantasies and practices while all the while cultivating an external prudishness. She needs psychotherapy of the directive type and a drastic reordering of her psychosexual patterns.
CHAPTER THREE
KAREN
NOTE: The beginning of Karen's history has been presented in the Introduction.
“That experience with the prostitute in London really turned me on. After I flew home and had to go back to work in that stupid office, I just couldn't help thinking about it. It was really weird. But it was also frustrating in other ways, too. I couldn't talk about it to anybody. The whole thing was just too queer. I thought a little of going to a shrink, but I was afraid they'd cart me off to the looney bin, and, anyway, the whole thing was much too embarrassing and disgusting to tell anybody, even a psychiatrist. Anyway, I didn't go.
“I also thought of moving to New York. The city where I live is sort of medium-size, not quite big enough to be completely anonymous or to have enough freaky people. I thought a little of switching jobs and moving to Greenwich Village. I might meet somebody there like me.
“But then there was this other problem. It took me a long time to admit to myself that I got more of a charge
