from mom's cunt. 'That was great… great… GREAT!’
'Then about the time he uttered the last 'great,' it was my turn. My finger in my cunt hole and my make- believe man-cock in my mouth were the bombs, but the sight of my parents releasing their great passion in a gigantic come was the fuse that set off the explosion in me, giving me the biggest, wildest, most thrilling orgasm I'd ever had in my life. My come literally poured from my cunt, running down my thighs in rivulets of liquid fire, completely draining away all of my strength. Dimly I was conscious of slumping down on the floor of the closet in a limp, naked heap.
'In what seemed like a deep, euphoric dream hours later, but really only a minute or two later, I heard a voice whispering urgently very close to me. ‘Francine, honey… quick, get up and go to your room! Your pa's gone to the bathroom but he'll be back in a minute and then it'll be too late. C'mon, hurry!' It was my mom, of course, and mustering my little remaining strength, I gathered up my nightgown and did her bidding.
'That was beautiful, mom… really beautiful. Thanks a million for letting me watch,' I sort of mumbled as I left their bedroom and headed for my own.
'And mom answered hurriedly, rather matter-of-factly: ‘You're welcome, honey. I just hope that you learned something that will help to protect you when you get to New York. The whole idea of the sixty-nine you just saw is to have satisfying sex without getting pregnant… and without having to use those awful contraceptives. Good night, dear.’
'So that was sixty-nine? I thought when I got to my room and flopped in bed. How wonderful! How positively marvelous! But if the sight of it was so great, think of how much greater the actual experience will be, having a real man's cock in my mouth and a real man's tongue fucking away deep in my cunt jeepers! I could hardly wait to get to New York.'
Before we consider the events that ensued after Francine's early introduction to oral-genital love-making, it would be well to review some of the more pertinent psychological aspects of both her own and her mother's thinking on the subject as we have seen it evidenced in her confession thus far. First, there was her very candid admission that her desire for sex up to the time of her parents' orgiastic display was almost quiescent, for she had preempted it by her ambition for an advertising career. Since the strongest of human instincts, according to Freud and other leading psychoanalysts, is the instinct for sex, it would seem, at first glance, that she was either extremely dedicated to her career or extremely frigid. Though, as it turned out, neither hypothesis would be correct.
The fact of the matter was simply that Francine had subconscious compulsions outside the area of 'normal' sex drives involving 'conventional' intercourse between male and female. When she was made the object of sexual overtures by the various boys in the neighborhood of her farm, she resisted them easily on the premise that to yield and expose herself to the possibility of pregnancy would endanger her planned career; whereas the real likelihood was that she resisted because the idea of genital-genital sex just did not offer sufficient appeal and stimulation.
Why wouldn't conventional sex with the boys she knew from the adjacent farms excite a girl like r Francine? Subsequent to the completed interview with her, the psychiatrist with whom she was consulting diagnosed her as a 'pathological oralist as the direct result of parental influences and a hypererogenous oral cavity.' In other words, she entertained an inbred fear of pregnancy that reflected the more or less overt fear of her parents; she was made graphically aware of a safe and sexually satisfying alternative through the exhibit of her parents as they engaged in fellatio-cunnilingus (sixty-nine); and to further diminish her interest in-normal, conventional coitus, she had a congenital over concentration of sexually excitable nerves in her mouth, probably inherited from her parents.
Then, too, it must be conceded that Francine put great stock in the example of her parents, respecting them immensely for providing her with a good and happy childhood upbringing that could set the stage for a prestigious career in advertising. She especially seems to have respected her mother for showing her the sixty-nine way to contraceptive sex, never doubting in her adolescent naivetй that her mother put on the highly erotic show for any other reason than teaching. Even if she had the maturity and presence of mind to detect a strong exhibitionistic tendency in her mother, it is still highly unlikely that she would have thought ill of it; for what is most apparent in the foregoing narrative is the basic similarity in the natures of mother and daughter.
Francine came by her pathological oralism honestly, we have to grant that. Also, it is quite apparent from the interview up to this point that her parents who bequeathed to her their strong oralistic natures are not suffering any neuroses, guilt complexes or loss of community status because of their choice of sex. But what of Francine herself? She won't have the privacy and security and maturity of her parents when she gets to New York. She will be strictly on her own and to learn how she fared we must now continue with the second and final segment of her narrative.
'This morning after my mom showed me what sixty-nine was all about, my dad took me bright and early in his pickup truck to the bus depot in town. He had a happy, abstract expression on the way there, and spoke very little; but that didn't hurt my feelings any because I knew he was recalling the wild orgy with my mom the night before and, deep down, was sorry to see me go. Golly, what a bulge he had at his fly! His thoughts were giving him a tremendous hard on, and, I swear, if he hadn't been my own father I would have been tempted to haul it out and suck on it. To be perfectly honest, I was also recalling that torrid scene of the night before and carrying a hard on. A clit hard on. And on top of that, I could feel myself getting a tongue hard on. Wasn't that terrible?
'But then, thank heaven, we arrived at the bus depot and I got my mind on other things. There was the business of getting my tickets to New York, checking my suitcases and all that, not to mention the problem of getting a good seat at the very rear of the bus. Why the rear? Well, I'd heard that it is more private back there, that's why. If my thoughts of mom and dad playing sixty-nine got me excited again and in the mood to diddle myself, I wanted to be where I had the least chance of being spied on not during the day, of course, but after dark. A girl friend of mine once told me that she even got screwed on the back seat of a bus after dark, without any of the other nearby passengers noticing.
'Anyway, after I boarded the bus I finally managed to get an old geezer to trade his rear seat for my front seat. But I still wasn't alone back there because a sailor got on the bus at the last minute and plopped down beside me. He was courteous enough about it, asking if the seat was taken and if I minded having company, but I still would have preferred my privacy.
'Then, out of the corner of my eye, I got a better look at him. He was actually quite handsome, I noticed, and about five years older than my nineteen years. He had his little white sailor cap on, but cropping out from in front I could see pretty blond curls. And on the chest of his clean, neatly pressed uniform were a great assortment of service and battle ribbons, telling me that he'd really been around. I didn't know much about navy rank insignia, but I could see by the three stripes on his sleeve that he was pretty high up for an enlisted man.
'In other words, the guy sort of turned me on. So what if I don't get a chance during the trip to fantasize on what my mom taught me? I thought. This sailor boy is probably an extremely interesting conversationalist and maybe if I encouraged him a little after dark, he could teach me a lot more. Then the bus pulled out of the depot and soon after that my curiosity was in the process of getting satisfied.
'Do you mind too much if I smoke?' the sailor asked, turning to me with an easy, relaxed air.
'I looked his way just in time to catch him glancing fleetingly at my bosom and slightly exposed knees. 'No, I don't mind,' I answered with a polite coquettish little smile. 'So long as you don't smoke cigars. I hate cigar smoke. It makes me sick.’
'I could see, of course, that he had a cigarette in his hand, not a cigar, but I had to throw out some kind of bait for more talk. And, of course, wise man of the world that he was, he snapped the bait right up. He agreed that cigar smoke, especially on a bus, smelled awful. Then after offering me a cigarette, which I declined, he introduced himself as Richard I forget his last name and started asking questions about me, casual questions like where was I from and how far was I going. As I answered him, after first giving him my name, I sparked his interest in me a little more by thrusting out my chest, accentuating the contour of my tits, and by letting the hem of my skirt slide up a bit more.
'Did it work? You damn right it did. Richard's eyes jerked immediately to the swells of my tits and the inviting spectacle of my bare knees. And before long he was telling me what a sight for sore eyes I was to him. It seems that he'd just returned from three years of submarine duty on the high seas and hadn't been close to a girl in all that time, Sure, he was right now coming off of a thirty-day leave at home where he had several sisters, but sisters don't count, he said, because who wants to get close to them? Really close, that is.
