Mind Blower (6 page)

"Are you a nymphomaniac?" I asked.

"No, nothing like that. It's not a compulsion, and I'm not frigid. I come like crazy. And when I get tired of sex, I go off by myself and lie on a beach for a month or so, and get in touch with who I am without my relation to anyone else. I'm just a woman, and like all women, I'm insatiable."
 

"That's not been my experience."

"Women are afraid. They don't know how to be animals. And then, even if they do discover themselves, its so hard to find a man who is really a man, not some image of what he thinks a man ought to be. I've had to wade through hundreds of creeps to find the one or two who really did it for me, who understood who I am and what I want. Oh, it was all right in the beginning, getting fucked by some clunk-head who stood so low on the evolutionary scale he was practically still breathing through gills. But you know, unless there is a shared consciousness, the experience becomes boring. I tried putting ads in the sex papers and got mostly misspelled obscenities for my trouble. Finally one of the letters sounded intriguing. It turned out to have been written by one of Doctor Tocco's assistants. I came here and went through some of the same changes you are now getting into, and the rest is recorded history."
 

"How long have you been here?"

"About a year. I can't tell you how much I've learned and unlearned. Hip as I was, I had a list of prejudices a mile long. But Tocco is good. He's the best sexual philosopher alive."
 

She paused a moment, then smiled. "I'll get us something," she said. She went into the next room, and I kicked off my shoes. I was becoming interested in the story and in the woman telling it. Up to now everything had been so brisk and strange that I had not noticed that the people here were actually quite warm and friendly, despite their quirks. For the first time I began to feel normal. This wasn't a madhouse after all. These were just intelligent people, intensely dedicated to finding out all the intricacies of sexuality. They had faults and probably made mistakes, but that was like people everywhere. I sank into a comfortable bin of sentimentality. Susan seemed like a thousand girls-next-door, only without the sham and pretense. She was an example of what a woman could be, and I had a staggering vision of a world in which every woman was as free as Susan, and every man as strong as Tocco. It would indeed be a race of giants.
 

She came back into the room, having changed into a white toga-like outfit that had long slits down the side. As she walked it became obvious that she had nothing on underneath. She carried a tray with Black Russians sparkling in icy glasses. "Tocco doesn't usualty like unsupervised liaisons," she said, putting the tray down, "but an occasional breather from 'research' won't hurt anything."
 

We sipped our drinks and smoked a bit, and she put some Scarlatti on the stereo. Our eyes said many things, and finally the words came. "What were you doing before you came here?" she asked.
 

I sighed. "It's really a long story which seems interesting in detail, but is really dull in synopsis. Basically, I'm an ex-fanatic. I've joined almost everything at one time or another, political parties, church groups, avant-garde artistic cliques, communes, drug scenes; I was even a guru chaser for a while. I held the usual run of jobs, from dishwasher to high-priced do-nothing executive in a publishing house, getting by on personality and glib horseshit. But you know, running through it all was sex. Even though I didn't know it at the time, that was always the dominating passion, the unifying thread which gave me my deepest identity. And, like you, I got bored making it with people whose heads were as tight as a virgin's asshole. And I willy-nilly made my way here to find . . ." And then I looked up. Susan was looking at me with warm moist eyes, a little smile at the corners of her mouth.
 

"Do you like the beach too?" she asked, slightly mocking.

Then, as though following a hidden signal, we were in one another's arms. Her body was very warm and soft. Everything we did was gentle and small. It was a different universe from what happened in the hallway the other day.
 

I reached into one of the openings of the gown and started to stroke her skin in gentle, undulating movements. It was less that I was caressing her, so much as discovering her for the first time. Learning about the texture, the curve, the friction, the moisture, the hair . . . using my fingers like eyes to taste the sensual reality of her body. And where I touched her, she responded with awareness of being touched. She did not need to move or cry out. I received all the messages through the aliveness of her skin.
 

Then there was no longer her and me, but the single phenomenon of sensation. I can't even say we shared our feelings, because that would imply two of us, and in this touching there was only one, a single living being involved in and conscious of its own ecstatic tone.
 

She reached up and slowly unbuttoned my shirt, and where the shirt fell open she put her lips. It was not the greedy sucking of the desperate, but the loving awareness of the awakened. We lay like that for a long time, easily undoing one another's clothing, basking in the fullness of one another's bodies, going from a tender distance to sudden rushes of passion which would have us holding tightly and completely to one another.
 

Finally I reached down, and not losing contact with the flow between us, undid my pants. She also moved her hands and opened the clasps of her dress. And then we were naked. Now I had time to drink in her body slowly. Deep breasts that hung exposed in tender vulnerability. Nipples that had already begun to wrinkle and harden. Long expanses of smooth skin over evenly contoured skeleton. Her cunt was shaved clean and vaulted deep under a high pubic bone, like some great sea cave perpetually penetrated by the warm salt sea. She had full, very wide lips, and eyes whose keen intelligence was now suffused with clouds of longing.
 

It all came home to me at once, the brightness, the sexuality, the humor, the toughness, the tenderness, the beauty. Everything I had ever hoped for in a woman now lay in my arms and was moving toward me with wet openness and desire.
 

I ran my hand all over her. She turned and shifted to her side, and I explored her back, fingering the delicate curve of her spine, tracing one by one the vertebrae that went from her neck to the top of the deep cleft between her buttocks.
 

Her breathing was long and full and I placed one hand on either side of her rib cage, for a long moment doing nothing but feel the fragility of life with each breath as it surged in and out. I was exalted by an almost holy reverence for her body, for the very wonder and joy of it. I moved myself down until I was at eye level with the backs of her legs, and then ran my tongue up her thighs, licking and nibbling the entire expanse of flesh, moving in concentric patterns toward the inside and up to the treasure where her legs met. I could hear her gasps and moans of delight and felt her legs slowly, almost imperceptibly move apart. I looked up and could see the cunt slit unfolding as she opened up. With a long thrust I glided the flat of my tongue right up to the cleft where her cheeks rose up from her legs, and licked in a long arc until I had buried my face completely in her ass. I smelled the aromas rising from her cunt. She arched her back and brought her cunt close to my mouth, inviting me silently to taste the deepest part of her.
 

I was overcome with the lust and holiness of the moment and collapsed into her warmth. I heard her moan and she began to move, grinding her pelvis into my face, seeking for my tongue to get deeper and deeper into her. I was beyond all thought of technique. I tore into that immense small space and sucked and bit and groaned and lost all vestiges of any reality except the hot, wet gyrations of cunt and ass over my eyes and nose and mouth.
 

She pushed back and came up on her knees, so that the entire underneath of her hung open for anything I might want to do. She kept her shoulders low on the bed so that the angle of penetration would be the most acute. Fleetingly, amidst all the love vibrations that swam through me, I appreciated the fact that she was so skilled that her body had its own sexual intelligence. I glued my mouth to the now-inflamed gash, my lower lip rubbing her clitoris, my tongue playing into the grainy section of cunt just past the actual opening. I drew a great long breath that seemed to last for an eternity, and then her entire vagina ballooned up and I felt a stronger suction drawing me in. It was as though she were sucking my entire being into her. I drew even harder and pulled the balloon of air back into my lungs, and then pushed it out again, full into her cunt. She went wild with passion. Her head swung crazily from side to side, her ass moved in jerky gyrations, her spine rippled like worms. For a moment an incredible tension hung in the now-immense pocket of vacuum that our mouth and cunt had become, and then she gasped. Her whole body went rigid as the inside of her cunt arched and formed a great still cavern. And then it broke, wave after wave of convulsion and sobbing; I drank and drank of her until the cycle ended, and we both slid forward and lay there, sated.

After a while, she stirred. I looked up at her and her eyes held a light I had never seen before in any woman. She drew me up and kissed my mouth and face. "This is for you, Michael, only for you. I have never let another man have just this before. Only you have this special part. This is just for you. Now, fuck me. Put your cock in me. Let me give you my cunt."
 

Trembling, I pushed myself up and saw her lying on her back, her legs apart, her breasts quivering back onto themselves, her ass forming a cup on the sheets. "Here, take it," she whispered. "It's all yours, it's just for you."
 

My cock was almost bursting, and I lowered myself slowly into her. Immediately the heat and wet of her cunt changed the electricity of my entire body. Waves of relaxation washed over me, eddies of gratitude and joy. I felt my face light up with love. I was like a child overwhelmed with goodness. "Oh, Susan . . . Susan . . ." was all I could say.
 

"Yes," she hushed in my ear. "Yes, baby, it's all us."

And like that we fucked, cock and cunt becoming one organ, no separation between us, but just a single joyous riding through time into realms of timelessness. And our entire eternity was the smell and sound and taste and sight and touch and balance of the glorious, shitty, sublime human body. Deep, deep within we heard the call, the summons to climax. And a great heat and tumult began erupting throughout all existence, with our eyes locked to each other and our minds a single awareness, with jiggling breasts and heaving asses and drooling mouths and cries from some primeval plain, we came and we came and we came.
 

I must have lost consciousness, because I next remember waking up in Susan's arms and the sweat between our bodies had dried. "Susan," I called, and she gently opened her eyes. She smiled. "Hello, darling," she said. And in that instant fear struck. For there was no recognition in her gaze. And I wondered how many other times and with how many other men this had happened. It was not jealousy that bothered me now, but a sense of having been cheated somehow, of having been promised something unique, and receiving a beautiful present, but one which came out on a production line. Did she know who I was? What was in her mind? There was no way to ask without being clumsy.
 

She may have sensed something for she asked, "Is something wrong?" "No," I lied, "it's just that I was wondering about the time. Tocco said something about an experiment this evening." With the mention of that name, I snapped out of my meantime nirvana and plunged into contextual reality. Still, this is one time I was glad he hadn't burst in with one of his bits of esoterica. "Probably time for us to be getting dressed," she said, and we climbed off the bed to get our clothes on.
 

On impulse I grabbed her arm and asked outright: "Susan, while we were making it, what ... I mean, were there any things in your head that . . ."
 

But she cut me off. "It's too soon for us to go into that," she said. "Let us just enjoy it as it was."

"But what it was is what I want to find out about," I protested.

She looked at me levelly. "What more do you need to know?" she asked.

I realized that I had come down too heavily on the moment, and I backed off. "No more than I now know," I said.

She stepped quickly into my arms and put her head on my chest. "Oh Michael, I know it's difficult, and it's going to get harder. And I don't want to sound like I know more than you, but it's just that when you've worked with Tocco for a year, you are able to see things, somehow . . . oh, I don't know how to explain. We had something very beautiful and special. Just hold on to that. Remember, no matter what else happens, or you think you see happening."
 

My doubts melted and I held her close to me. Then she stepped back. "We have to be going," she said. I watched as she pulled her toga over her head, and saw her body disappear beneath the cloth. It is always sad when a beautiful woman puts her clothes on, but this time it was almost heartbreaking. I thought of what her body looked like under the gown, and I felt another erection beginning. But it was one of those greed hard-ons that lead to pinched orgasms, so I just let it subside. I dressed and went to my room to put myself together before going down to dinner.
 

SIX

DINNER WAS LIKE a family affair. I met Susan in the hallway upstairs and we entered together. I felt like a beau with his prom date. Our time in the room had roused romantic feelings in me which I knew were dangerous, but which I enjoyed too much to dispel.
 

The dining room now held about twelve people, including the two girls, Sarah and Jean, and their mothers whose names were, I learned, Sylvia and Joan. These two latter were among the most fervent in the group, having been with Tocco for many years and willing to let their children experience, from birth, the widest possible range of sexual play. I flashed the Greek temples in which children were trained from a very early age in the arts of pleasure.