J-3 Dog Show Girl by Carl Isley

J-3 Dog Show Girl
by Carl Isley

Introduction

"Bestiality--violation of animals--monstrous and revolting to mankind." Krafft-
Ebing used these words to introduce the subject of sex between humans and
animals in his monumental nineteenth century study of perverse sexuality,
Psychopathia Sexualis. The public attitude toward many deviant sex practices has
eased since those harsh Victorian times but the very idea of bestiality seems as
"monstrous and revolting" as ever to most people today.

The Old Testament, source of most of our basic behavioral taboos, is clear on
the subject. In Leviticus 18:23 Lord lays down the law to Moses, Neither shalt
thou lie with any beast to defile thyself therewith; neither shall any woman
stand before a beast to lie down thereto: it is confusion.

The Bible not only forbade bestiality but prescribed stern penalties both for
the human and the animal participants, each apparently being presumed equally
guilty in the affair. Thus Leviticus tells us, If a man lie with a beast he
shall surely be put to death: and ye shall stay the beast.

In the Middle Ages in Europe surviving court records show that the Biblical
penalties were carried out to the letter. In France one man was hanged and then
burned for fornicating with a cow and a goat, and then both animals were also
burned. Two centuries later, a sixteen- year-old girl was found guilty of having
had sexual relations with a dog, and both dog and girl were hanged and burned.

Most states today have no law on their books specifically forbidding bestiality,
but it is usually considered to fall under the general category of sodomy
offenses, which include everything from sucking a twat to screwing a turkey--
from buggering your wife's rectum to fucking a corpse on a morgue slab--from
jerking off in company with a friend to having your cunt licked by a cocker
spaniel. It's all sodomy in the eyes of the law, although the sodomy statutes
are seldom enforced these days except against homosexuals.

Anyway, Biblical interdictions and harsh penalties in the law codes never have
prevented bestial practices. As with all other varieties of sexual behavior,
people have always done pretty much as they pleased in the privacy of their own
boudoirs and barns.

Although records of specific incidents of bestiality down through the years are
scarce, there is ample evidence that it has been widely practiced in all
centuries by all peoples. There are many reports by travelers and explorers of
prevalent bestiality among the depraved citizens of other, less-enlightened
lands. Sanctimonious observers from the western world found it running rampant
among the pagans of the far east, Europeans observed it with horror among the
Arabs and black Africans, Arabs declared it to be common among the perfidious
Turks.

But there was plenty of beastly buggering going on among our own ancestors in
western Europe as well, the best evidence being that bestiality as a crime is
constantly mentioned both in church and civil law, century after century, with
ever more drastic punishments being laid down for the culprits. It would hardly
have been such a constant concern of the lawmakers unless it had been a
widespread habit.

In the Middle Ages, when penalties against it were the most severe, all the
evidence indicates that bestiality as an adjunct to witchcraft revelries and as
a casual barn-yard pastime ran a neck-and-neck race with incest as the favorite
sport among the peasantry.

In the prim and proper nineteenth century, Krafft-Ebing regretfully reported
that violation of animals was none too infrequent, and in the modern day Doctor
Kinsey's more extensive and enlightened research discovered that forty to fifty
percent of farm boys he interviewed had had some kind of sex relations with
animals at one time or another in their young lives.

A good indication of the way bestial sex has obsessed man's fancy through all
the ages is the frequency with which it turns up in popular literature and
mythology. The ancient myths and fairy tales are full of creatures half-human
and half-beast such as centaurs, sphinxes and mermaids, and human and animal
love affairs wherein the beast usually is a god or prince temporarily
transformed.

In our own time we continue to thrill over popular entertainments wherein
bestiality is suggested if not specifically portrayed. Jungle adventures in
which young lovelies are carried off by giant apes, presumably to satisfy their
bestial lust, have always been popular with matinee audiences.

As many writers, including Freud have suggested, where bestiality has persisted
so in men's fantasies, there certainly must have been widespread practice of the
actual deed, for men's dreams are reflective of their real-life desires.

In the free-and-easy climate of today, bestiality is not only common on a
pastime basis as ever, but many of those who practice it are quite willing to
spill their guts about it for publication without shame or fear. There is a
spirit of adventure in the practice of sex today--a reaching out for new sensual
experiences of every kind--and an unabashed readiness to share the fruits of
those experiments and spread the joyful word to the hesitant, still-puritanical
masses. So I had surprisingly little difficulty in finding a variety of persons
of all ages and both sexes who quite willingly 'told all' about their bestial
habits for this book. I have compiled from the resulting taped conversations the
case reports in the following pages. Only the names and places have been
disguised in some instances, in light of the sodomy laws, but the broad picture
these cases give of bestiality as it is practiced in our twentieth century world
is a true one.

Chapter 1 -- Spectator Sport

In the course of history, bestial practices have been not only a private pastime
but in various places and times have played a part in religious rituals,
witchcraft rites, and public spectacles for the titillation of the masses.

It is hardly surprising that the ancient Romans who made an arena spectacle out
of everything from costume dramas to gladiatorial warfare found sadistic delight
in bestial sex exhibitions on the grand scale, An amazing variety of animals
were trained to perform sexually in the arena, most often committing rape on
helpless, spread-eagled young maidens. Zebras, cheetahs, even giraffes
reportedly were involved in this kind of bizarre sport.

According to R.E.L. Masters, the diligent sex-researcher and writer, on one
infamous occasion in the Coliseum a hundred golden-haired young girls were raped
in unison by a hundred rampaging baboons, a girl-show spectacular beyond
anything ever dreamed of by Busby Berkeley.

On other occasions, to add an extra zest to the performance, wild apes would not
only rape the unfortunate girls but devour their bodies afterwards for an
encore.

Since those pagan times bestial sex-shows have never again reached such heights
of production lavishness or played to such arena-sized audiences. In recent
centuries and down to the present day virtually the only public performances of
the kind have been whorehouse exhibitions, usually involving a prostitute and
either a large dog or it small horse.

Krafft-Ebing noted such an exhibition a hundred years ago, an 'example of the
moral depravity in large cities,' in which 'a Parisian female showed herself in
the sexual act with a trained bulldog to a secret circle of roues at ten francs
a head'.

Since the old-fashioned garden-variety whorehouse has become practically extinct
in this country, generally one must travel abroad to find such performances
today. A few countries of Latin America, Asia and the Arab lands still offer
these usually pitiful spectacles as underground tourist attractions.

A New York executive who has spent much time in the Caribbean islands where his
firm does a great deal of business tells about an experience of the kind in pre-
Castro Cuba.

Case 1

Ben P.

Before the revolution down there, Cuba was really the place to go, I'm telling
you. It was murder trying to get any business done is the only thing, with all
the distractions--whores and whorehouse on every street, blue movies, orgy
exhibitions--you name it and you could find it. You didn't have to do any
shopping around either. All you had to do was walk out on any street. They'd
spot you for an American right off and there'd be a dozen pimps after you,
trying to sell you every kind of sex experience that man ever invented. You
couldn't help get the impression that every broad in Havana was peddling her ass
and every guy was pimping for them.

The 'exhibitions' were the big thing. First thing they'd mention to you.
'Superman' was the big star. He was a big black bugger with a cock like a
baseball bat, and he put on shows in one of the houses there. He'd take on about
four or five of the girls at once and they'd play the scene for you any way you
ordered it. If you wanted to, you could strip down and join the show yourself.
They'd do their thing in a performance just for you, or for a whole party of ten
or twenty tourists. How Superman kept his prick up all day is beyond me. Must've
had a steel rod planted in it. Or maybe there were three or four different
'Supermen' working in shifts for all I know.

Anyway, I'd been there a few times and seen and done just about everything there
was in that goddamn sex-town, and one hot day in December I landed in Havana
with some business to attend to, figuring I'd finish it up in an hour or two and
hop back to Miami that same night. No hanky-panky this trip I promised myself.
In fact I had a redhead date all lined up for myself in Miami that would put all
these fat-ass Cuban whores to shame. I figured she and I would have a little
private exhibition all our own that night in front of the picture mirror in her
apartment.

But of course I had the usual pimp parade on me like leeches as soon as I got
downtown from the airport, giving me all the usual pitches, and they didn't like
to take no for an answer. They figured that men came to Cuba from the U.S.A. to
get laid, period. You tell them not interested and they don't believe their
ears. After all, once you'd seen the Capitollo and the rum distillery and the
ancient cathedral in Havana, what the hell else is there left but the
whorehouse?

It wound up finally with just this one determined cat dogging my tracks, still
trying to sell me some kind of cock therapy. He'd already run through the whole
catalogue of goodies for me about twelve times. "You want the woman? Big tits
woman? Young girl? Very young! Teen-age schoolgirl for you. She do everything
you like. Two young girls--all for you. Two together. They come with you. Your
hotel. Maybe young boy? You like the young boy? You say what you like. I fix for
you. See the exhibition? Two girls? Three girls? Four? Five?"

Then he got into something that sounded like "done-kee the done-kee." I didn't
get the meaning at first, but then I realized all of a sudden that he was
pitching for a girl making it with a goddamn donkey. This was a brand new one on
me. I'd heard there were such things that went on but I'd never been steered on
it before. All of a sudden I was interested. It was something people talk about
but you don't get to see every day in the week and I was really curious. That
woman with a donkey shit--you don't half believe it really happens, you know? I
doubted that there were two guys in the whole of Philadelphia that could say
they'd ever seen it, and here was my chance to be the first in my neighborhood.

At first I thought maybe it was just a movie show this guy was talking about,
but he said, "No-o-o--real alive done-key--fuck pretty young girl for you."

I cooled down a little when he told me it was going to cost me fifty Cuban
pesos, which translates into exactly fifty U.S. dollars. That was the tab for a
private performance--just me, the girl and the donkey-- but if I didn't mind
sharing the spiritual experience, I could wait until night and there'd be a
group showing for a crowd of tourists at ten dollars a head admission. Well
shit, I couldn't pass that up. So I told him to put me down for a reservation,
kissed off my date in Miami and checked into a hotel to wait out the time.

My friendly guide came to pick me up in a cab at seven-thirty and we drove down
to the Chinatown section--the driver blasting his horn at every intersection the
way they do. We pulled up at a seedy-looking old mansion on a dark street--had a
huge front door about ten feet tall with an ornate grillwork all over it--real
old Spanish style.

There was the usual fat madame that let us in and we went across a shitty-
smelling courtyard and into the front room of the place. There was a lot of
Spanish chatter going on--about how much loot they were going to be able to
squeeze out of me, no doubt I'd already laid out five to the cab driver and ten
to the guide, but there was still the beady-eyed madame to take care of, and
probably the girl and the donkey besides. Then there'd usually be a few extra
associate whores and apprentice pimps coming around with their hands out before
any action finally got under way. There was a lot of featherbedding in these
Havana sex factories. Everybody wanted in on the loot, whether they'd
contributed to your orgasm or not. They must've had a hell of a strong union
going for them I guess.

I gave five to the madame right away to get her off my back and turned a deaf
ear to the swarm of young chicks that went at my pants the way they always did.
The smart thing to do in a whorehouse is to let them grab at your cock all they
want but keep your hand in your money pocket and protect that at all times.

The madame and my guide shooed the girls off me finally and we went inside
through about six layers of draperies and came to a big square room with a round
bed in the middle and the usual mirrors all over the walls and ceiling. There
were about ten or twelve guys sitting around the bed--stateside tourist types.
One of them even had brought his wife along with him. She was too prim and
plain-looking to be anything but a wife.

The show had already started, but I hadn't missed anything. This was only a
preliminary act--warm-up for the main event. Two naked girls were going at it on
the red satin bedspread, one of them fucking the other man-style with a huge
artificial prick fastened onto her lower body by straps. I'd seen this kind of
shit before and it didn't do a hell of a lot for me. The room temperature was
about a hundred-and-nine degrees--they didn't have air-conditioning in the
brothels in those days--and the tourists were all panting and sweating beads
with the heat and the excitement. I pulled up a chair in the second row, away
from all those steaming bodies. I figured I'd save my sweat for the donkey act.

Meanwhile the artificial cock was pounding in and out and the fat little broad
that was getting it was thrashing all over the bedspread, pretending to have
fantastic orgasms. I got more fun though out of watching the tourist's wife, who
was sweating worse than any of the men and looked very uncomfortable. She kept
one hand up to her face at all times as if she was afraid somebody from back
home was going to walk in all of a sudden and recognize her.

The girls quit their dildo fuck abruptly and broke off connections to move into
a new position, but just then the madame popped in clapping her hands and sang
out, "End of act one," or Spanish words to that effect. Four or five more girls
had come in with her, some naked and some in g-strings, and they all climbed up
onto the bed and struck leering poses, jiggling their boobs and grinding their
hips for our benefit, and the two broads that had been performing got up and
joined them.

Now it was up to us to decide which one of the girls we wanted to see getting
her well plugged by the donkey. I voted for a slim little giggly chick with
pointy, springy tits and a cute ass, figuring she'd give us a good lively show,
but most of the tourists voted for a phony blonde with a big-eyed baby-face and
a pair of boobs like Sophia Loren. It figured.

Then the other chicks all disappeared, we pulled our chairs back, and at couple
of black Samsons came in and carried the bed away. At that point I was wondering
how in the hell they were going to set the thing up. Getting a donkey's cock
into a girl has to be some kind of a contortion, I figured, for the donkey and
the girl both. There had to be some kind of apparatus.

Sure enough, they wheeled in a wooden platform and I began to see how they would
manage it. The girl apparently would lie on top of the thing on her belly with
her legs hanging down in back, spread wide, with her feet in stirrups and her
pussy through wide-open from the ass-end. And there were raised-up shelves on
both sides of the contraption where the donkey could rest his front legs when he
reared up into position.

But the girl--I think they said her name was Felicia--didn't climb onto her
perch right away. She was circulating around among the crowd making friends,
thanking all the boys individually for picking her to fuck the donkey, and
showing her gratitude with big slurpy tongue-licking kisses and by letting
everybody play bouncy squeezy with her fantastic boobs.

When she came by me I passed up the titty feels and ran a handful of fingers up
between her legs into her big slimy snatch, which is where I live, baby. I could
tell she had a donkey-size cunt all right. Wow! She opened her legs for me and
let me get my whole hand up inside her and then she clamped her thighs shut and
did a fast wiggle, twisting her snatch around my fist, and it the same time she
leaned forward and pressed her big flabby boobs into my face. Whoosh!

She had a real gamy, unwashed stink about her, but it was the raw, basic smell
of a woman and that turns me on more than any phony perfume or dainty deodorant.
That's one thing I always liked about those old- fashioned Latin whores--they
stank like a woman is supposed to stink. That's something we've lost in this
super-antiseptic age--the sensual value of human body-smells.

Anyway, speaking of smells, they brought in the donkey just then and he sure
stank like he was supposed to all right. He was a little squatty, stump-legged
bugger. Must've been half burro. His cock was still limp, but Felicia soon took
care of that. She started off stroking his neck and patting his nose and then
she pressed one of her big boobies to his mouth and rubbed it around and damned
if that donkey didn't start in licking around the nipple with his big old
tongue. She must've had honey smeared on it or something. Anyway that gave us
all a good laugh.

After little of that she ducked down underneath his belly and started teasing
his prick with her fingers. The donkey shuffled his hooves around and blew out a
noseful. She was beginning to get to him. Then Felicia lifted her head up with
her tongue snaking out, and damn if she didn't start in licking the shit out of
that old donkey dick. It was the god damnedest thing to watch you ever saw. I
heard a big gasp from the tourist broad. She probably didn't believe women did
this nasty thing to men's pricks, let alone to donkeys. It sure was a sight all
right, seeing that black dong swelling and stretching out like somebody blowing
up a balloon. It must've wound up at least a foot long at its full extension and
she was slobbering over it like crazy, licking it all up and down its length and
letting the ugly old thing slide way down her throat and then easing it out
again.

Finally she had that bugger so hot and horny he was tossing his head and tail
around and stamping his front feet and quivering his withers-- he looked like he
was going to explode any second. She jumped up then and the two attendants ran
out and grabbed the donkey or else he would've climbed right up on her then and
there before she could get in position. He was kicking around and snorting to
beat hell. Felicia climbed onto the platform and got set and then she yelled she
was ready, and the guys led the donkey in behind her and let him rear up. Then
they ducked out of the way in a hurry. From there on that fucking donkey didn't
need any help from anyone--he knew what to do. He lunged right in against the
girl's ass, his big belly up over her back and his long prong bobbing behind
her. It looked like he was going to crush the shit out of her, but with his
front legs set in the tracks on each side of her I guess his weight didn't come
down on top of her the way it looked. But his prick was wanging the hell out of
her rear end, bumping and butting at it before it found the hole. He finally got
down under the crack of her ass and settled into the slot, right on target. But
there still was a lot more stomping around with his hind legs and tail twitching
before he actually worked it into her pearly gates and started driving it home.
Felicia was yipping and yelling the whole time, telling him, "Fuck me, Pepe," in
Spanish and English all mixed together.

Just to see it happening you'd have sworn that fucking donkey was ripping the
living shit out of the poor helpless girl, but no such thing. She was even
laughing, along with all the yelling and whooping. I don't know how many times
she'd done this act before, but she must've been damn well broken in. The donkey
kept on humping and humping at her for quite a while. I was surprised--I didn't
think they went on that long. I'd heard that horses just made a couple of quick
plunges and shot their wads and I assumed donkeys would be the same. But they
must've had this bugger trained to hold his fire and make a better show of it
for the crowd.

It was wild and exciting to watch--I'll say that--but a little sickening too in
a way. Seeing that fucking ramrod disappearing at least a foot up inside a
girl's guts had to make you wince a little.

When the donkey came finally, he must've shot a half-a-gallon of juice up her
alley--it came oozing back out all around her ass and dripped down the backs of
her legs. She let out a big yahoo and right away the big boys came out and
pulled the donkey back off her and led him away with his prick still a half-a-
yard long and a big streamer of goo dangling off the end of it.

Felicia hopped down off her perch, as spry as ever as far as I could see. She
didn't took any the worse for her ordeal, although her body was dripping wet
with sweat and her pussy and ass were all lathered white with the donkey's
cream.

"You like?" she said with a big happy smile and we all gave her a round of
applause. I was thinking, "I wonder what the hell she could do for an encore."
But that was the end of the formal entertainment, Felicia went around the circle
collecting tips from the tourists and it looked to me as if she made quite a
haul for herself. But she'd earned every nickel of it as far as I was concerned.
I only hoped the goddamn madame would let her keep a few bucks of it for
herself, but probably not. Those Cuban whores lived a real slave existence in
those days, from all I heard.

Then all the other girls came back in the room bare-ass naked and tried to
interest the guys in a little private hanky-panky to round off the evening. I
latched onto the little giggly chick that had caught my eye in the first place,
and twenty more bucks to the madame fixed it up so I could take her back to the
hotel with me for an all-night ball.

Unfortunately she didn't speak a hell of a lot of English. Most of the Cuban
whores were recruited off the farms--a lot of them shipped in from Mexico--so
they hadn't had much chance to learn English. I wanted to ask the kid about what
it was like screwing the donkey--how the girls got broken in for it and all
that. With a lot of sign language and pantomime I found out that she didn't
enjoy donkey-fucking a hell of a lot, this girl. She had only done it a couple
of times so far. Felicia seemed to get the call more than any of the other
girls, and Felicia loved doing it with the donkey. But this chick of mine--I
forget what she said her name was--said that the girls practiced for it with a
huge, donkey-sized wooden dildo. The brothel operators would diddle a new girl
with that monster until she could take it up her cunt a foot-and-a-half without
shitting a brick, and then they'd figure she was ready to tackle the donkey.

This girl had a hell of an elastic twat, I must say, because I didn't have
anything like what that donkey had, cock-wise, but she still gave me a good
tight screw all the same. But then, she was still just a young kid at that time.
Give her another year or two in Havana brothels, fucking donkeys and every other
damn thing that came along, and that poor little cunt of hers would look like
the Grand Canyon-- like Felicia's.

I never got a chance to check up on the matter though. Castro moved in and took
over the whole works before I ever got back to Havana again and I hear he put
all the brothels out of business right off first thing. It must've been quite a
blow to those poor girls, having to go out and go to work. But the one I really
feel sorry for is that donkey. No more screwing pretty pink pussies for him. He
must've wondered what he did wrong. The lousy communists probably got him
pulling a junk wagon or some such thing. Poor little donkey. That revolution
really fucked up his sex-life.

Chapter 2 -- Dog Eat Dog

Through the years, if historians ancient and modern are to be believed, there is
hardly a creature--bird, beast or fish--that has not been used for man's sexual
gratification.

We have already referred to the Roman arena spectacles, wherein giraffes,
leopards, mandrills, bulls and boars were involved in the action. It is also
recorded that Roman ladies of that time enjoyed running snakes up their vaginas
in the warm weather for a cool, refreshing fuck.

In ancient Egypt both men and women regularly consorted with goats. In the
temples, goats were advertised as incarnations of gods, and were specially
trained to provide sex-services to worshippers of either sex. Monkeys were also
put to sexual use, dog-faced baboons being especially popular. And most
intriguing of all, there are reports that some resourceful and highly
adventurous Egyptians of the time even managed intercourse with crocodiles.

Chickens and other barnyard fowl have always been popular and are still often
used today. Men also have been known to enjoy intercourse with dolphins and sea-
cows, and women have found sensual delight in inserting squirming fish up into
their jaded quims.

Sheep and calves have most commonly served men down through the years and
continue to be most popular with farm boys today, although horses, pigs and
chickens still figure prominently in barnyard action. But the most popular
bestial partner of all in the modern world undoubtedly is the dog, and
especially among city-dwellers to whom he is the only practical animal readily
available. Dogs seem to adapt themselves agreeably to sex-relations with humans,
serving with either tongue or penis, eagerly cooperative in fucking a human cunt
or asshole when offered or slobbering over a honey-smeared prick or pussy.

Women are more likely to favor a dog over all other animals to serve their sex
purposes and many an unattached lady keeps a canine lover these days--the
perfect partner--always ready--always willing--and always absolutely discreet. A
dog will never kiss and tell.

But sometimes the ladies will, as in the following case report.

Case 2

Laura M.

I was married for four years, and for three years and eleven months of that time
I was the most miserable mismated wife in the history of matrimony. I'd had my
share of affairs before marriage I have to admit, and I'd always thought of
myself as a normal heterosexual female that responded with all the proper gasps
and twitches when a man made the usual penetrations, but somehow when I settled
down into marriage and it became a night-after-night thing, I became a nervous
wreck and got so I hated sex completely. I didn't even want that man to touch me
anymore for some crazy reason. It was all I could do by superhuman will-power to
put up with a wham-bam quick one from him. He didn't know what the hell was
wrong with me and I couldn't tell him either, so we just fought and yelled at
each other and things went from bad to worse until we wound up hardly even
speaking to each other.

If it hadn't been for this girl friend of mine, Vivian, I don't know what I
would have done. She lived in the same building and was a decorator. She'd
helped me to fix up the apartment when I first moved in and then she went on
being helpful in all kinds of ways after that. She spent a lot of time with me
during the daytimes, and I told her my sad stories--let her know all about my
sex hang-ups and everything that was bugging me about my old man and men in
general.

She never had been married herself but she talked as if she knew the rules of
the game pretty well. Anyway, she was a lot of comfort to me when my husband
finally pulled out for good. I won't say that Vivian and I fell into a lesbian
relationship exactly. We didn't go down on each other or anything like that. But
we did get pretty huggy and kissy sometimes and I found I was enjoying her
holding me and caressing me the way I couldn't stand my husband doing it to me
those last couple of years.

But I was getting more and more confused. What the hell was I, anyway? Finally I
up and put it to Vivian in plain down-to-earth terms.

"Am I a lesbian or what? I don't really know what I want anymore. I thought it
would be a big relief with my husband gone but now I find that I miss him
somehow--miss what he could do for me, if you know what I mean. Even though I
could hardly stand it when he did, that last year or so. He bugged me so--always
expecting his pleasure right on schedule, night after night. Insisting on his
'marital right.' What I need is a nice docile man who's available and ready to
go when I want him but never bugs me otherwise--just up and disappears when I
don't want him around anymore. Maybe I should hire a gigolo just for one hour or
so a week to come in and cool down my passions. Do they have such things?"

Vivian laughed and said, "Let me get this straight. What you would like is a man
with a good stiff member who's always up and ready when you say 'go' and then
crawls off and lies down in a corner afterwards and stays there with his mouth
shut until you whistle for him again."

I laughed too. "You hit it right on the head. But I'm afraid there just ain't no
such animal."

"Ha!" she yelled. "You just said the magic word. Animal. The answer to all your
problems, honey chile."

"Animal!" I assumed she was kidding. "What do you suggest--a nice friendly
chimpanzee?"

"Hell no," she said. "A chimp is a mean son of a bitch. Worse than a man even.
They'll bite the hell out of you, those bastards. A dog is the only animal for a
woman. They can do every goddamn thing a man can do for you except soul-kiss,
and I can take care of that department for you."

She was good at kissing. That's what had me worried about myself. I enjoyed her
expert kisses more than I ever did my husband's or any man's. But what I was
missing was the hard root up in the soft shaft. A good stiff prick, to put it
bluntly.

But a dog? I still thought she was kidding.

"You're screwed-up and frustrated, right?" Vivian said. "Can't live with a man
and can't live without one. A lot of us have that problem. But look at me. Do I
seem frustrated? Not for a minute, baby. But did you ever see me dating a man?
Forget it--who needs it?"

"Well, maybe you can keep cool just with women," I said. I figured she was
giving me a lesbian confession here. "I can't just cut myself off from men
though. I'm not programmed that way, I'm afraid."

"Oh, men are fine. I don't knock 'em. Great to talk to--have dinner with--see a
show. But you don't have to let 'em take any liberties. That's when they get
possessive and bossy. Keep 'em at arm's length and you got 'em at your mercy.
But when you feel that old crotch-fever coming on you and need something up
inside there to scratch it where it itches--that's where faithful old ever-ready
Bozo steps up and fills the bill for mama."

All of a sudden with a shuddering jolt I realized that this whole thing was
serious. I'd seen her walking Bozo a couple of times--Bozo was a gigantic hound
she kept in her apartment. Great Dane, or some such thing. I'd never been able
to figure before why she wanted to keep such a huge dog in a small city
apartment. But now it all came clear. Apparently she had Bozo trained to
"scratch her where it itches."

I didn't know what the hell to say. I guess I just gaped at her-- thunderstruck.
I couldn't believe it.

"Don't look so fucking horrified," she said. "And don't knock something till
you've tried it. Come with me, baby. I'm taking over your education right now."
She grabbed hold of my arm, "We're going up to my place and I'm going to give
you a free home demonstration of the kind of pussy therapy you need. No
obligation to buy. But I guarantee it'll put that half-ass husband of yours
right out of your mind and give you a whole new outlook on life, sex-wise.
You'll be ready and willing to kiss men goodbye and good riddance."

I must have been in some kind of a daze. I don't even remember riding up in the
elevator. The next thing I knew, we were in her apartment and big old Bozo was
leaping up all over her with his tongue out, sniffing and yipping. He must have
been able to smell her intentions. Personally I was scared to death of the
goddamn beast. I didn't even like little dogs. It looked like she had him pretty
well disciplined though. She yelled at him to quit his messing around and get in
the bedroom and he did just what he was told.

I guess I looked as if I was about to faint dead away, so Vivian fixed me a
drink, which I really needed at that point, and then she said, "Now, you goddamn
prissy-ass Victorian, relax here and breathe deeply until your head clears. I'm
going in the bedroom and set the scene for you. When I yell, you come on in and
you'll see my free home demonstration of doggy-diddling--the sport of queens."

She left and I could hear sweet-talking and sniffing and rustling around in the
bedroom. By now the shock had subsided and I was just burning up with curiosity
over the whole thing. It was so fantastic, I couldn't wait to see what she'd be
doing with that wild goddamn dog. I still didn't really believe that she'd
actually let him--well, my God!

Then she sang out, "Finish your drink, count three, and come on in, baby. Bozo
rides again!"

The dog was making a hell of a racket. I could hear him slurping and snuffling
as if he was lapping up his dinner-dish. And then I came through the doorway and
my eyes popped out. It was even crazier than I'd expected. Vivian had stripped
right down to practically nothing-- all she had on was her bra and garter-belt.
She was sprawled on her back on the bed with about three fat pillows underneath
her rear-end, so that her spread crotch was well up in the air where Bozo could
get at it. And was he ever at it! He was standing up between her legs, lapping
away at her slit with his long tongue, slobbering and drooling all over it.
Actually eating her pussy! Can you imagine?

"Oh no!" I said. "You gotta be kidding."

"Pull up a chair, oh thou of little faith," Vivian said. "This is just the
beginning. You ain't seen nothing yet."

I couldn't even talk--I was speechless. I sat down beside the bed and couldn't
take my eyes off the freaky scene. That wild doggy tongue was going like mad--
all up and down her slit and in and out the hollows of her crotch--really
lathering her up good.

"Doesn't that tickle?" I said like an idiot. I mean, I didn't know what the hell
to say.

She laughed. "You're goddamn right it tickles. That's the whole idea, isn't it?"

"How--how did you get him to--er--do that?" I said. "Did you smear something on
you or what?"

"In the beginning I did, to give him the idea of what I wanted. But he caught on
fast. He doesn't need any inducements anymore. Now I just lie down like this and
spread it and he takes it from there. Ain't it a gas? He gets his reward
afterwards--you'll see."

"I don't believe it," I said. Bozo was really zeroing in now. It was incredible.
Right dead-center on her clitoris--working it over with his tongue just like a
human person. I was beginning to get hot myself, just from watching. Vivian
wasn't talking anymore. That crazy tongue was starting to get to her. Her mouth
was hanging open and her breath was beginning to come hard.

All I could say was, "Wow, wow," over and over. Now the damn tongue was poking
up inside actually. Pushing into her like a prick. Her legs were twitching and
her ass quivering. And the dog must've been getting excited too, cause he was
beginning to drip saliva and he was panting as hard as she was.

Then all of a sudden she let out a whoop and waved her arms in the air. I guess
this was the signal for Bozo to cool it with the cunnilingus and really put it
to her. And he got the message all right. He raised up his head and barked a
couple of times and then he climbed up over her body and gave her face a couple
of licks and she kissed him back. Those two were real lovers, I'll tell you. Now
I noticed his prick was up by her pussy, in position to do a job of work, just
starting to swell up in anticipation of what Bozo knew was coming. Vivian lifted
up her legs on both sides of him and stroked his flanks with the insides of her
thighs. This was a huge dog, don't forget. The same general proportions as a
man. I mean, he really covered her.

She arched her hips upward, aiming her crotch right at his pecker to give him a
straight-on target to shoot it. It didn't look like he'd have any trouble
ramming it in her from there. Her slit was pretty well lubricated already too
slick and glistening wet from the dog's slobbering over it, plus her own juice
oozing out from inside.

"Come on, Bozo--come on," she was whispering to him. "Fuck mama, Bozo. Fuck me,
boy."

He nudged forward and poked his pecker up between her legs and she wiggled
herself a little and pressed up to meet the point of it and put it to the hole.
And then with hardly any trouble at all he slipped into the opening of her
spread cunt and drove all the way home,

"Go, boy--go!" she hollered out, and he started humping away like crazy.

I had to pinch myself, I swear. There I sat actually watching a decent
respectable woman in twentieth century America--my best friend in the world
practically--letting herself be screwed by a Great Dane dog! I thought such
things only happened in stag movies or in opium dens in Algeria or some such
place.

He was really pounding it into her--wham wham--with his big brown balls whacking
up against her ass with every thrust--and Vivian was meeting every push of his
with a bump of her own. She was completely out of this world by that time. I
don't think she even knew I existed anymore. Her head was lolling back and
forth, her eyes rolling in her head, her jaw hanging wide open. The dog was
drooling spit down onto her face and neck but she wasn't paying any attention to
that. She was practically frothing at the mouth herself.

She grabbed onto Bozo's front paws and lifted them up onto her chest, planting
them on top of her boobs, and then she held them there, pressing his hard claws
down against her nipples.

I guess she threw an orgasm before he did, the way she was thrashing around and
whimpering. I never saw such passion before in my life. But then, I'd never
watched another woman get screwed before, by man or animal.

She kept on making these little moaning noises in her throat and the dog started
in then sort of squealing himself, as I guess his own orgasm was coming to a
head.

But then it was all over all of a sudden. The dog quit his humping and his head
sagged down over her face, and she brought her hands up and held onto his body,
keeping him in position where he was with his prick still jammed up inside her.
She was puffing like she'd run a twenty-six mile marathon and she had to get her
breath back before she could speak to me again.

"We have to--we have to wait," she said, "until--the swelling on his prick goes
down--before we pull apart."

I didn't exactly get the meaning of that at the time, but she explained
afterwards that a dog gets a big puffed-up ball on the middle of his cock when
he inserts it into something feminine and starts fucking, and that anchors him
inside the cunt, rectum or whatever as if he was riveted there. It only subsides
after he shoots his load and goes soft again. If he tried to pull out while the
ball was still engorged it would rip the hell out of her cunt and she'd be in
big trouble trying to explain her lacerated twat to her family doctor.

That's how dogs manage to get stuck together sometimes when they fuck. The
female's cunt clamps down so tight on the base of the male's prick that the
blood can't drain off after the orgasm--the prick stays swollen and the two dogs
are clamped together and in big trouble.

I thought it was a funny notion at the time. Little did I know I'd be laughing
out the other side of my face later. But Bozo cooled down pretty quick that time
and then he backed off from her and she sat up and gave me a big smile. She
looked pretty hot and disheveled but very happy apparently.

"Well, how about it? Ever see anything like that at the afternoon bridge club?"

"God no," I said. "I almost don't believe it though. Is it really all that
good?"

"Listen--there's only one way to find out for yourself. Get those clothes off,
Miss Freeze-ass. It's your turn next."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," I said. "You're used to it and--and he's used to you.
He probably wouldn't do it with me--would he?"

"Are you kidding? He's like any other man. Show him a cunt and he'll fuck it."

"But it--it looks so rough. Doesn't he hurt you?"

"It hurts real good, baby. Hurts in all the right places. You won't believe it
till you try it, and afterwards you won't want it any other way. Bozo is 'the
spoiler.' The only thing I'm worried about is that after one wild orgasm on the
end of that bulbous cock of his you'll want to steal him away from me."

"God, Vivian," I said. "This isn't something I can just jump right into blindly.
You've got to realize--you've really bowled me over with the whole thing. I
mean--it's not exactly an everyday--oh, Christ, Viv--let me sleep on the idea
tonight. Maybe tomorrow. God knows, I need something new in my sex-life, but I'm
not so sure this is it."

"Hogwash!" she said. "I know you. If you take time to think about it your
prudish nature will scare you out of it. You've got to do it right now, while
the juices are flowing. You know damn well you're itching to try it." She was up
and at me then, pulling on my dress. "Come on, Laura. Get out of those clothes.
You'll thank me forever for this, believe me."

"Okay, okay," I said. "But just the cunnilingus part--okay? Let me see how I
like his tongue before I make any further commitments."

"Fair enough," she said. "So get stripped and I'll go get you another drink to
loosen your inhibitions. Come on with me, Bozo. Let the lady undress in
private."

I laughed. "Thanks. Whatever else happens, at least I can always tell my
grandchildren I was once eaten alive by a Great Dane dog."

I peeled down, taking off every stitch. After seeing what a sloppy sucker Bozo
was I figured I was better off naked. I didn't want him drooling all over my
underwear. So I was stark bare-ass by the time Vivian returned with the drink.
Bozo scared hell out of me by making a bee-line for me as soon as he got back in
the room.

I backed off yelling, "Hold him. Hold him!" I guess I thought he was going to
throw me down and rape me on the spot. But he only wanted to sniff around my
pussy a little, now that the wraps were off the merchandise.

"I'll hang onto him," Vivian said. "You get yourself ready. Pile up the pillows
like I had them and make yourself comfortable."

I lay down the same way she'd been, giggling self-consciously. I felt shameless,
all sprawled out naked that way in the bright daylight.

"Open wider, please," Vivian said, pushing my thighs further apart. "Give him a
good wide opening so he's not cramped for work space."

I giggled again and must have been blushing like a schoolgirl. I told her, "I
feel like a picture in a dirty book."

She said, "Take my word for it--you look like an art masterpiece in a museum.
Are you ready? Say when."

I took a deep breath and said, "I guess so."

Pow! The next thing I knew that great hairy monster was up there looming over
me, sniffing me up and down, blowing his hot breath all over my goosefleshed
body. I could have sworn he was about to chomp a great big bite out of me. I was
paralyzed. I didn't dare move a muscle.

"Relax--relax," Vivian said. "He won't hurt you. Close your eyes and think
beautiful thoughts. He'll do all the work--don't worry."

I closed my eyes and tried to close off my mind too, to everything except pussy
sensations. But it didn't work. I could feel that hot, humid breath hitting me
here, there and everywhere and every now and then a drop of warm dog-spit would
splash down onto me. I was wishing Bozo would get down below there where he
belonged and start his cunt- licking. But all of a sudden I felt his hot vapors
hit me right square in the face and I winced and turned my head away, and then--
UGGH! He began licking right on my mouth, and when I opened up to make a protest
noise his sloppy, dripping tongue went right inside. I twisted my head violently
and tried to sit up, but his hard paw came right down between my breasts and
pushed me back.

Vivian finally noticed that I was in trouble and she called him off me, and I
was ready to quit the whole business right then and there. I took another drink
to rinse out my mouth and get rid of the doggy taste.

I told Vivian, "Tell your friend, the kissing I can do without. Okay?"

She laughed. "Okay already. He just wanted to let you know he likes you. He's
ready to get down to fundamentals now."

So we started again and this time, thank God, he went right for the crotch. I
closed my eyes again and all of a sudden I wasn't nervous anymore. It started in
right away to tickle like a very very groovy masturbation. He was hitting the
ticklish places all right with a fantastic magic though. I'd had my slit licked
and diddled and fondled and fucked many a time before my fingers and feathers
and pricks and tongues, but nothing ever reached me as quickly as Bozo did with
that crazy educated tongue of his.

Vivian was talking to me--asking me questions, I think. But she should have
known better. I was already long gone--up on a cloud--out of sight. I could see
what she'd meant now. Who needed a man with Bozo on the scene? Forget it's a dog
doing it to you, I told myself just spread your wings and fly!

I began twisting around and rocking my hips. I couldn't hold still anymore. I
could hardly catch my breath. My butt came tumbling down off the pillows, but
that didn't stop Bozo. He stayed right in there and I held my legs just as wide
apart as they'd go to give him an open field. The crazy trembles were shooting
up everywhere through my insides now and I'd just about lost all control. I
don't know if I was whimpering or laughing or screaming or what. I was
completely gone. That wild crazy dog had turned my whole freaked-out body into
one great big explosive cunt, all five-feet-nine of me. That's what a woman
hopes for in bed but seldom ever finds. She wants to be turned into a complete
cunt. Everything else gone until there's nothing left but wall-to-wall orgasm.

And now I wanted to be fucked! Man or dog--what did I care? I needed a prick
right then--a rampaging fuck to split me up the center-groove-- stuff me from
gut to gullet.

I don't remember a thing of what happened from then on. All I can recall are the
feelings inside me--sugar-coated skyrockets. But Vivian told me afterwards that
I was thrashing all over the bed so much I tore the sheet right up the middle
and I was grabbing at Bozo and clawing him with my fingernails, yelling, "Fuck
me--please! Please. Fuck me. Fuck me!"

And fuck me he sure did. With a little help from Vivian I wound up back on my
pillow-perch, and Bozo's ever-ready and rigid prick went ramrodding up my snatch
and started pounding away. From there on it was Vivian's scene all over again,
only this time I was flying and she was the ground-crew.

All I know of the details are what she told me afterwards, and the physical
evidence that I saw with my eyes after it was all over and I'd come back down to
earth.

In the bathroom with Vivian to take showers and clean up, I noticed the
following things about myself. I looked as if I'd just come through fire, flood
and a street-riot. My entire body was drenched with sweat and various other
slimy juices I didn't dare try to identify. My breasts and ribs and belly were
all crisscrossed with little scratch- marks which could only have come from
Bozo's hard claws. Last but not least, my sopping wet pussy, clogged full of
doggy-goo, felt as if it had been reamed out with a hot poker. But I wasn't
regretting what had happened--not for a second.

"How about it?" Vivian said. "Did I exaggerate or not?"

"Oh wow!" I said. "The only trouble is, I don't know if I could survive another
round of it. How often do you do like that with Bozo? I should think you'd be
worn down to a shadow by now."

She laughed. "I don't overdo it. Anyway, when you get used to him it's much less
of a strain. The trick is to be completely relaxed and don't fight him, just let
it happen to you. You rolled around too much. That's why you're all scratched up
and exhausted."

She helped me to wash off and touched up my bruises and then she made me an
offer. "Any time you want to shoot the moon again, just say the word. Bozo is
always ready and willing. That horny bastard is insatiable. He'd take us both on
again right now if we'd let him."

I laughed. "No thanks, just the same. Give me a week to recover and maybe then
again."

Well, I guess I was hooked, because I found I couldn't wait a week. It was only
a couple or three days later when I started getting very restless and feeling
all warm and dreamy the way a woman does when she needs attention. So I called
Viv and asked her, "How's Bozo?"

She laughed. "He's been asking for you," she said. "I think he's in love."

We got together again that afternoon and it was just as fantastic as the first
time. Better, even--because I had no fear or hesitation to start with.

And from then on it was ball ball ball every other day or so. I was screwing
that crazy dog more than Vivian was. Man, was I hooked! In love, I guess--that's
the only way to explain it. And Vivian didn't mind. She was still getting all
she wanted.

This action went on for about a month or so and then Viv told me one day she was
going out of town for a week and asked if I'd mind taking care of Bozo while she
was gone. Would I? Wow! Did I ever have dreams of fantastic day and night
orgies. Just me and my doggy dream-lover. Alone together! Now I'd be able to do
some of the way-out crazy things with him that I'd never had the nerve to do in
front of Vivian. I wanted to kiss him all over his hairy hide--suck his prick--
everything! Give Bozo the same crazy pleasures he'd given me.

I couldn't wait for Vivian to get the hell out of town so I could get the orgy
under way. As soon as she was gone I went at it. I closed up all the blinds and
drew the drapes. Bozo and I were going to have complete privacy. I didn't even
want pigeons spying on us.

Then I stripped naked and Bozo and I started a romp on the living room floor. We
rolled around together all over the carpet, wrestling and biting at each other.
Bozo loved that kind of thing. Then I pinned him down flat on his back and
started kissing and licking him all over his belly and underparts. This was
something new for him, and he lay still just whimpering a little. I could tell
he enjoyed it. I teased him awhile, circling all around his prick before I came
down on it. Then I took his balls into my mouth and rolled them around on my
tongue and nibbled them gently. I knew men always liked that and I figured a dog
would too. Finally I took his prick in and licked it all over--drew the head out
and sucked on it as hard as I could. He seemed to enjoy it all right! But he was
getting pretty restless, and I guessed he was in the mood to fuck.

But I wanted to play games some more, so I hopped up all of a sudden and ran
into the kitchen to get him to chase me. I figured I'd make him work for his
piece of ass today. He came charging after me, but I ducked around the table and
ran back out and into the bedroom. He didn't come in after me right away, which
puzzled me. And then when he did come into the doorway, he didn't seem to be in
such a playful mood after all. In fact it almost sounded as if he was growling
at me way down deep in his throat.

So I figured I'd teased him long enough, and I started moving forward toward him
slowly, walking bow-legged in sort of crouch, with my crotch spread and my pussy
thrust forward.

"Come and get it," I was saying, very sexy. "Get your hot pussy."

All of a sudden he took me by surprise. He crouched down like lion and then
leaped onto me and knocked me sprawling on my back. I tried to push him off me
so we could get up onto the bed and be comfortable, but he wasn't waiting any
longer and he wouldn't let me up. He planted his big forepaws right square on my
boobs and squashed them flat and then started up a thunderous barking, square in
my face. This was something new. I'd never heard him do that before. I got the
idea though that old Bozo meant business. It was fucking time and no fooling.
And just to be sure that I got the message, he leaned in and snapped his jaws
about an inch from my nose. No more bullshit lady.

Then he backed off and I smiled to show him no hard feelings and spread my legs
and lifted my hips to let him see I was ready and willing. He sniffed at my cunt
a couple of times and bumped his nose against it, and then after a couple more
barks in my direction he climbed up into position and brought his prick up to
the slot. I raised up a little more and braced myself and he shoved it in me as
easy as always and started fucking away, even faster and harder than usual. I
guessed that my sucking on him had really got him stirred up and impatient.

I tried extra-hard to make it a good fuck for him this time. As soon as his
prick swelled up to full-size in me and filled my cunt, locking us together, I
took hold of his ribs and held on and rocked and wiggled and humped up and down
along with him. I tried to pinch his prick as tight as I could too, hoping I'd
give him the greatest orgasm a dog ever had.

But then my own insides started to freak out as usual and I got lost in the
ecstasies of my own exploding orgasms until we both had blown ourselves out
completely. I lay there afterwards, still holding onto his hot flanks, panting
from my extra exertions, waiting for his puffed up prick to cool down and wilt
so we could disengage. But this time of all times--with just the two of us
alone--that horrible dreaded thing had to happen to us. We were locked together!
The big hard knob on his cock was blown up inside me and it wouldn't go down.
Somehow, with all my extra contortions and cunt-squeezings, I'd managed to close
the mouth of my snatch so tight around the root of his prick that the blood
couldn't drain off and, for all I knew, he was going to stay hard up inside me
forever. I had no idea what we could do, and I was in an instant state of panic.
If only I'd had sense enough to ask Vivian what to do in such a case. But she
had only mentioned it as a crazy possibility and we'd laughed about it as a
joke.

Bozo wasn't too delighted about things either. He tried to pull back and get
free, and it hurt like hell when he did. It felt like a barbed fish-hook up
inside me, tearing at my guts. I guess it was painful to Bozo too though. He
whined a couple of times and then turned mean and started barking in my face
again. As if it was my fault. I figured the only thing we could do was wait it
out and try to stay relaxed, hoping the muscles or whatever would loosen or
something and undo us eventually. But what a drag!

I held onto Bozo and pulled him down beside me and we just lay there together
for what seemed like an hour at least, but it was no deal. His prick looked as
if it was going to stay hard forever unless we did something about it. But what?

I guess it was the first time it had ever happened to Bozo too, and he was
pretty confused about it all. Every now and then he'd start thrashing around in
a new try at breaking loose, and every time he did it my cunt was getting rawer
and rawer inside from all that chafing. And then as if that wasn't bad enough,
after awhile he started getting horny again and wanting to fuck some more, of
all things! All of a sudden he began a whole new humping sequence and I thought
I was getting my cunt reamed out with a barbed wire dildo. Wow! And that
miserable beast just kept on fucking me and fucking me--I thought he'd never
quit.

I couldn't hold him still anymore after that. The more we thrashed around and
humped away the weaker I got, so pretty soon I was just plain at his mercy. When
he moved, I moved with him--hanging on desperately, trying to minimize the
godawful frictions inside my tortured cunt.

I didn't have the faintest idea what to do about it. Go to the telephone? Who
would I call? Imagine trying to explain a predicament like that to anyone! And
then get myself arrested for bestiality on top of it. Prominent local woman
caught in bestial act. I could see the headlines now. And I could go on the
"I've Got a Secret" television show and win a bundle.

The only thought that occurred to me was that I'd heard of people throwing water
or turning a hose on dogs when they got locked together. If Bozo and I could
dunk ourselves in an ice cold bath--that might jar us loose. But getting that
monstrous beast into the bathroom was a major project that was beyond me. He
showed no inclination at all to move in any direction that I suggested.

So we lay on the floor together endlessly and every hour or two he'd start a new
round of thrashing about, which would always wind up with him getting horny
again and starting another session of excruciating fucking in my mincemeat
snatch. By now my inner canal was so swollen and inflamed, it was an even
tighter fit than ever around his fat cock, and all the more searing agony for me
with every move he made.

At last I managed to get to the kitchen with him in one of our cooperative
mobile periods and we shared some meat scraps from the refrigerator and then lay
together on the kitchen floor for some hours afterward until I finally fell
asleep, completely exhausted.

I woke up in the middle of the night, a mass of aches and pain, and it took a
minute for me to remember where I was and why. But then in a sudden flash of joy
I realized that I was lying on the floor alone. Bozo was gone. Somehow while I
slept he had achieved detumescence apparently and we were free again, I
staggered into the bedroom, hardly able to walk, and collapsed on the bed. My
whole belly was on fire and I was very much afraid that I had suffered serious
internal damage.

And then the damn nightmare wasn't over yet. I was just dozing off again when
Bozo suddenly loomed over me, blowing his steamy breath in my face, and he
jolted me awake with a couple of loud barks.

"Oh no," I said. "Haven't you learned your lesson yet, for God's sakes?"

Apparently he hadn't because he pressed me down with his paws again and started
rooting around my poor crotch, all ready to have another go- around. I didn't
have much strength left, but it was life or death for me at that point. When he
barked again I barked back at him just as loud.

"Get off! Go! Get out!" He snapped at me but I swatted him on the side of the
head and managed to slip out from under him and escape. He jumped after me and
gave me a nip on the arm when I pushed him away, but after a lot of hassling
around and a couple more minor bites on the legs and feet as I kicked at him, I
finally got him out of the room by superhuman brute force and slammed the door
on him. He pounded and scratched at it and barked his head off all the rest of
the night, but Bozo and I were finished. The love affair was over--period.

By morning he was too hungry to be thinking anymore about sex, thank God, and it
was safe for me to come out again. Even so, I wore several layers of clothes and
an extra-heavy pair of slacks for protection, just in case.

I had to keep the damn beast with me the rest of the week as per my agreement
with Vivian. I couldn't just toss him out in the alley. But I sure didn't let
him take any more liberties. I kept a broom handle near me at all times to belt
him with in case he got any more horny ideas. But there was no problem, since I
never stripped down again in front of him. That's what turned him on--the sight
and smell of naked pussy. He was as docile as a lamb as long as you kept
yourself decently covered.

I was very relieved to find that my tormented pussy was not seriously mangled
after all and needed no major medical attention. By the end of the week in fact
it was as good as new again. And a whole lot wiser besides.

Needless to say, I've given up animal fornication for good--gone back to casual
sleeping around with male human animals exclusively, a return to the habits of
my bachelor-girl days. Men can be problems for a poor defenseless woman and they
certainly can bug you in all kinds of ways, but it's reassuring to know when you
lie down with one of them that when the fuck is finished the meshed connections
will come apart again without major surgery.

Chapter 3 -- Passion in the Pasture

In this day and age with hordes of young people, hippy and otherwise, warring
against the establishment politically, socially, morally and sexually, there is
a great urge among them to try anything at all that's taboo, just for the sake
of rebellion. And if the opportunity for a "new kick" presents itself--a kick
that's way way out on the deep end of sex experience--a kick that is an absolute
no-no to the square world, not only unlawful but unthinkable--that makes it a
kick well worth trying.

So inevitably many youths today might be expected at least once to dabble
experimentally in bestiality. As one young man told me who had tried his luck at
triolism with a girl and a large woolly dog, "Why the hell not, after you've
done everything else? Anything that the straight world's moral spokesmen say is
absolutely forbidden can't be all bad. Like so many of our stupid taboos,
where's the harm in it actually? Me and my girl and the dog all enjoyed it,
that's for sure."

Another boy of my acquaintance, a college dropout who has since gone to Canada
to escape a draft call, gave me the following account of a group experience in
impromptu bestiality which is illustrative of the casual way in which such
incidents might often happen. None of these young people had any raging inner
drive toward bestial sex. The whole incident came up as a one-time-only lark--
just another spur-of-the- moment reaching out for kicks on their part.

Case 3

Jack O.

We were going cross-country in one of those "drive-away" cars, you know? Drive a
car to California--all gas paid. One of those deals. There was me and a buddy of
mine, Pedro, and this freaky chick Bessie we picked up in a fried chicken joint
along the way.

Somewhere in Tennessee, I guess it was, we passed by this place like a ranch,
and there was a sign that said:

SHENENDOAH HORSE FARM--BREEDING--STUD SERVICE.

Something like that. And that got us talking.

Pedro says to Bessie, "Hey man, you want in on a little of that stud service?
Now's your chance to get the screw of a lifetime for yourself."

She laughs and says, "Are you suggesting that I should fuck a horse?"

I said, "Why not? You've made it with everything else that walks, crawls or
flies."

She said, "I'll have you know that I never fucked any creature with more than
three legs in my life."

Pedro says, "You ought to try it with a big old fucking stallion one time. One
of those huge horse-cocks would be just about the right size for that goddamn
oversize cunt of yours."

Then they got to throwing names back and forth at each other like "dinky-dick"
and "tunnel-twat" but all in fun, and they wound up like they always did,
wrestling around and goosing and grabbing the shit out of each other on the back
seat. I happened to be driving and eating a chicken leg at the time or I would
have been in on it too.

But that's what got us started thinking and talking about animal- fucking in the
first place. After awhile when they'd got tired of wrestling, Bessie said, "I
wonder if anybody ever really did do it with a horse?"

"Are you kidding?" Pedro says. "Didn't you ever hear of people making it with
animals? They fuck with dogs, cows, sheep--even chickens."

"Oh, you're kidding," she said.

"Ask Jack," Pedro said. "He's an old country boy. I bet he's plugged more'n one
sheep in his career."

I told them that sheep fucking isn't worth a shit, despite what you hear. A
half-grown she-calf will give you a hell of a lot better squeeze-off any day in
the week." I was only telling them what I'd heard from some of my boyhood
buddies actually. I hadn't ever really tried it myself and didn't have any
present intentions of starting. I had seen other kids do it a couple of times.
It's pretty common sport around the farm country after all. It's just that the
idea never appealed to me all that much.

But a little while after that we passed by a field full of cows and Bessie yells
out, "Hey, let's fuck a cow. I gotta see this with my own eyes before I believe
it."

And Pedro says, "Yeah, Jack. What about it? Show us how it's done and we'll all
try it." He was at the wheel then, and he pulled off the highway onto a dirt
side road that ran up alongside the field.

"Hey, come on, man," I said. "You gotta be kidding. Right out here by the road?"

He said, "Once we're over this hill we're out of sight. There's more cows down
by those trees. Nobody can see us there from the road. We'll pick out one with a
sexy ass and take her in under the trees out of sight."

"Oooooh, groovy--groovy," Bessie is saying. "I can't wait to see this."

Pedro says, "Is that all you're gonna do is watch?"

She laughed and said, "What do you want me to do? Eat the cow's pussy? I
wouldn't want to turn the poor animal into a lesbian."

"Maybe there'll be a bull for you," Pedro said. "He'd give you a fuck to
remember."

Bessie said, "The old Romans used to screw with bulls, didn't they? I heard that
somewhere."

"You don't have to go back that far," I told her. "There are still women doing
it today, believe it or not. Bulls--horses--you name it."

"No thanks," she said. "I have enough trouble taking on you guys with your big
fucking elephant pricks. I'll try it with a cute little calf maybe if there is
one, but bulls are out--period."

I happened to recall a bit of history just then that I thought might interest
her. "There was an old Greek King way way back in Argos who had a couple of
beautiful daughters who went off into the fields and lived naked with the cows
and screwed with the bulls, according to ancient history."

"What the hell were they trying to prove?" Bessie said.

"The book didn't say. Maybe they were just trying to get their names in the
ancient history book."

Pedro said, "Maybe the bulls tore their clothes off and raped them, that happens
quite a lot with bulls." He pulled the car in off the road and onto a rutty
track that led into the field and we stopped beside the gate to the cow pasture.
The cows were all staring at us as we got out of the car.

"Look at them gape," Pedro said. "Didn't they ever see long hair on guys
before?"

Bessie said, "It's my big boobs they're staring at. They're jealous."

I said, "They know we've come to fuck them. They can tell."

"Then why don't they run away?" Bessie said.

"They know it's no use. They know grim determination when they see it. They can
read the burning lust in our eyes."

"Which one shall we fuck?" Bessie said.

Pedro said, "This nearest one has kind of a cute ass."

I said, "I'm a tit-man myself. I kind of like the one with the big boob."

Bessie laughed. "First tit I ever saw with a half-a-dozen nipples on it."

"Well, take your pick, lover boy," Pedro said to me, belting me on the back in
friendly fashion. "You gonna fuck one of these here critters or are you not?"

"This is ridiculous," I said. "You can't just walk up to any old cow in a field
like that. You have to get them in a special stall in a barn-- otherwise they'll
never stand still for it."

"Ah-h, you're getting chicken," Bessie said.

"Cow's are no good anyhow," I told them. "You've got to stand on a box or
something to come up to their level, and then their big old sloppy cunts are too
damn big in size for a man's prick. I told you before--a little heifer is what
you need. They're just the right height from the ground for easy entry by a man
standing, and just the right size of hole too."

"There's a little one over there," Bessie said.

I told her, "That's a he, not a she."

"So, fuck him up the ass," she said. "What difference does it make to a faggot
like you?"

"There's a bunch of calves down below," Pedro said. "Come on--let's go down
there."

"Aw, why don't we cut out this shit and get the fuck out of here?" I said. "This
whole thing is idiotic."

But they wouldn't hear of it. No turning back now. They had their hearts set on
seeing a cow molestation.

"We'll hold onto her for you," Bessie said. "One of those real little ones
shouldn't be much trouble."

"Listen to her," I said. "You want to be an accessory to raping a juvenile?"

"Why not?" she said. "The boys always used to tell me when I was nine, 'When
you're big enough, you're old enough.'"

"Come on, man," Pedro said. "I got seconds after you. I always wanted to try
this action."

So we climbed over the gate and took off down the hill, carefully sidestepping
the cow-flop as we went. I had a real sinking feeling about the whole thing,
wishing the goddamn subject had never come up in the first place. But these
two--once they got their feeble minds set on some wild piece of stupidity, there
was no turning them aside.

The cows moved away from us, sort of wary, as we came by. It almost seemed as if
they knew what we were after. And it wasn't even the mating season for cows.

We picked out a cute little brown calf with a white head and tail. She was gonna
be it, like it or not. But I knew we were going to have a rough old time,
whether those other fools realized it or not. It's no joke trying to catch a
calf--even a little one--and no fun trying to hold her once you get her.

"And another thing," I told them. "Whichever one of these big bastards is her
mother isn't gonna like it worth a damn when we start screwing around with her
calf."

Bessie laughed. "What can a cow do?"

"Listen, kid," I said. "When a wild-eyed cow comes charging at us, just don't
stand in my way--okay?"

Anyhow, we circled around this little old calf about three feet high and closed
in on her from three sides, and it wasn't such a problem as I expected it would
be. She bleated a couple of times and jumped sideways and fidgeted a little, but
she must've been used to being man- handled, because she let Pedro and Bessie
grab onto her without too much fuss. There was a big old cow nearby watching us
pretty close-- must've been mother--but she didn't seem too concerned. So what
if her only child was about to get diddled by a couple of dirty old men? What
the hell.

Pedro got a good arm-lock on the little bastard's neck and Bessie was down on
the ground underneath her, holding her around the middle.

"You better get up out of there," I said. "You're gonna get kicked in the
goddamn head."

She said, "Oh, she wouldn't dream of kicking me. She's so cute. I love her.
Oooh, I wish I could make love to her. Isn't there some way? Ooooh man--I want
to feel her rubbing me all over."

She hopped up and pulled her minidress over her head and tossed it away. That
was it for her, clothes-wise. Bessie never wore underwear of any kind. Said it
was "too confining, and unsanitary besides." So here she was naked again--her
natural condition. Bessie never passed up any excuse to get naked for whatever
reason--in public or private.

She threw herself against the calf now, rubbing her dirty white hide against the
calf's dirty brown one. She lifted up one long skinny leg and rubbed her inner
thigh along the calf's hind leg and then squashed her floppy boobs down against
her flank and ground her nipples against the rough hide.

"Ooooh, this is groovy," she cooed. "Isn't there some way I can make it with
her? Tell me how. There must be something sexy she can do to me."

Pedro gave her a hard swipe across the ass. "Will you cool it, for Chrissakes? I
want to see Jack fuck this goddamn beast. Isn't that what we stopped for? You
can get your jollies later. Now grab on there again, will you? We gotta hold
this mother-fucker still. You're just getting it all stirred up with your shit."

She said, "Well, come on then, Jack. I want to watch this too. Are you gonna
screw her or not?"

I said. "The thing is, I don't exactly feel in a hard-on mood right at the
moment. To tell the truth, I miss the preliminary intimacies of the love-making
process."

"Oh shit," Bessie said. "I'll fix that." She came over to me and unzipped my fly
for me--she was very good at zippers--I think she majored in zippers at
college--and then I let her pull down my pants and shorts and lit a cigarette
while she went to work with her hot lips and snaky tongue on my flaccid member.
It didn't take long. With her fingers at my balls and her mouth doing its usual
brisk gobble-job on the old weenie, I was hard as a rock before I even threw the
match away.

"Why don't we just forget about that fucking heifer?" I said, patting Bessie's
tousled and verminous head. She was a pig, but a number-one blowjobber, that
kid. "I'd just as soon carry on with what we're presently doing, if it's all the
same with you."

But she let loose of me as soon as I was all the way up and vibrating and she
dashed back to the calf to grab hold again.

"Come on," she screamed. "Now that you got it up--use it!"

I felt like a damn idiot but what could I do? There I stood in the middle of
somebody's field with my pants down and a rampaging hard-on shining in the
sunlight. What else was there to do but fuck a cow?

I knew it wasn't going to work though. You have to break a young calf in
gradually. Diddle her with a dildo and all that before she's ready to take a
real meat-prick. But I decided I might as well go through the motions of it
anyhow--put on a show for these jerks.

"If you want to be helpful," I said, "you hold her head, Bessie, and let Pedro
take her hind legs. You gotta really hang on there if it's gonna work. I just
don't want to get kicked in the balls, if you don't mind."

They switched around like I said, in deference to my balls, and then it was
party-time. "Hold that tiger," I said. "Here I come--ready or not." I kicked off
my pants and moved in behind the little brown ass, trying to remember how I'd
seen other kids do it back on the farm.

First I thought I'd better find a stick or something though, to poke in there
and sort of try the passageway.

"Let's go, man," Pedro yelled. "She's getting hot for you already. I can feel
it."

I decided I'd just use my hand to test the hole. If I could get a couple of
fingers inside, that would give me an idea whether I'd have a fighting chance at
risking my fragile ding-dong in the rump of that treacherous son of a bitch. I
moved in cautiously. I wasn't really sure whether these bastards kicked or not,
but I felt awful goddamn vulnerable with my weenie out in the open air, standing
high wide and handsome with no protection whatsoever between it and the possible
fury of a rampaging beast.

I began by patting her ever so gently on the flanks and speaking soft seductive
words. Calm her down--that was the thing.

"Nice baby. Sweet little heifer. Daddy loves you--yes indeed." What the hell do
you say to a calf, anyhow? Everybody knows how to talk to dogs and cats and
horses. But who ever heard of talking to a cow? Anyhow, she hadn't started
kicking yet at least.

"Hold that bastard, whatever you do," I whispered to Pedro. Then I started
patting and probing down along the crack of her ass. She shivered a little when
I touched close to home but no major reactions yet. Even when I gave her a
couple of pats on the pussy--no alarm bells.

She didn't really flinch until I dug one finger down the inner edges of her
crease and sort of eased open the outer flaps just a hair. Then she crouched
down a bit and twitched her tail at me. I gave her another reassuring pat on the
side of the ass and talked to her some more before I tried digging any deeper. I
was hoping to hell she wasn't as nervous as I was.

"What the hell are you doing back there?" Pedro yelled. "Looking for the hole?"

"Sh-h-h," I said. "Don't spook her, goddamnit. You gotta take these things slow
when you're dealing with a shy young female critter."

Bessie said, "You never showed all this sweet consideration when you were
fucking around my rear end. Wham bam is all I ever got!"

I said, "Different cows call for different kinds of handling." I'd let her
figure that one out.

She said. "Moo-oo."

Now I got first one finger up inside her and then two fingers, and I worked them
in to about the second knuckle and diddled around very carefully. Her cunt was
soft and warm and wet and slimy--not a hell of a lot different in its feel and
shape from a woman's pussy. It was sort of like rooting around in some big old
whore's snatch actually, is what it made me think of.

I got my whole hand in there finally and started to ease it in and out slow and
easy, and she was sort of twitching and fidgeting now and swatting hell out of
me with her tail and trying to shuffle her hind feet, but Pedro had a good grip
on her.

Then she started shaking her head up and down and bleating to beat hell, "Ma-a-
a--ma-a-a-a!" That did it. Mama got the message and this big fierce-looking
black and white cow took a couple of steps our way and let out a moo that would
wake the dead.

Bessie squealed and yelled, "Watch it! I think she's coming for us."

"You're a woman," I said, "You talk to her. Tell her it's okay."

Bessie yelled at the cow, "Mo-oo-moo-oo!"

That seemed to confuse her and she backed off again.

Pedro laughed. "Whatever you said to her, it must've been the right thing."

I figured now was the time if I ever was to get it into this little fucker's
cunt and be done with it. "Hang on, you bastards," I said. "Hang on. Here goes
nothing."

I stepped up behind the calf, gave my prick a couple of hard strokes to firm it
up, and then laid it on that little slit right where my fingers had been and
eased the head of it very carefully inside. It went in as easy as the fingers
had. I felt the warm soft snatch clutch onto it--a real pleasant feeling
actually. I began to think that this might turn out to be a groovier piece of
action than maybe I'd figured on, once I got all the way in. I put the pressure
on and pushed forward from the hips as hard as I could, but slow and easy still,
and inch-by-inch that sweet little cow-twat swallowed my prick right up to the
goddamn root.

"Hey man, I'm in!" I said.

"Pump her--pump her, goddamn it," Pedro hollered.

I gave it a couple of easy pokes and then started riding it in and out quicker
and quicker as I worked into a groove. Now the calf began twitching like she had
the itch--shuddering all over--and she was raising a hell of a racket. "Ma-a-a-
ma-a-a!!" or words to that effect.

And then, by God, it seemed like every fucking cow in the whole fucking field
started bellowing all at once. Jee-zus, what a racket!

I was beginning to get warm feelings in the gonads about then and so I pumped
all the harder, trying to get my nuts off before something happened to interrupt
things but I didn't quite make it. All of a sudden everything happened at once.
The heifer freaked-out completely and in one violent twist she broke free from
Pedro's arms and my prick all at the same time. I wound up with my pecker
hanging loose in the open air, halfway to orgasm, and I got a wicked kick on the
kneecap besides, that damn near broke my fucking leg.

The calf went prancing off away from me with Bessie still hanging onto her neck,
all sprawled out, her legs flying in the air, screeching bloody murder.

Pedro was yelling to her, "Let go! Let go!" But she was hanging on with a death-
grip, scared shitless.

With all the cows in the damn field starting to mill around now--every one of
them bellowing their heads off--it looked like we were about to get caught in
the middle of the god damnedest stampede you ever saw.

And then the final blow. "Oh shit!" Pedro yelled. "There's a truck coming up the
hill. Let's get the fuck out of here!"

There sure was a truck. A little pickup with at least three men in it coming to
find out who the hell was raping their cows. I made a grab for my pants and
started running and trying to pull them on all at the same time.

Pedro was yelling, "Wait! Wait for Bessie!"

I'm thinking, Fuck Bessie. If we got caught, I was the sucker that was gonna get
hung for this little caper. So I kept running as fast as I could with my
drooping drawers and my busted kneecap, and once I got the pants up and fastened
I made it to the car with plenty to spare. The only trouble was, Pedro had gone
back to rescue Bessie and he had the car keys in his goddamn pocket.

So what could I do? The guys from the truck had already grabbed bare- ass
Bessie. She was giving them a pretty good battle and screeching her head off,
but they had her captured and Pedro too. The game was up, as they say.

So I took a deep breath and said a prayer and then started back up the pasture
to join the crowd. All I was hoping was that those guys hadn't noticed me
screwing their calf. Farmers don't take kindly to that shit- -I know from
experience. A man might have his dick into his own cows and sheep and pigs and
every other damn animal in sight, but he doesn't like anybody else messing
around his livestock--anymore than he wants them screwin' his wife or daughter.

But they'd seen me at it all right. They'd been watching us the whole time with
binoculars, the goddamn perverts, and they had me dead to rights. They could've
locked up my ass and thrown away the key forever if they'd wanted to press it.
But lucky for me they turned out to be reasonable men.

They took what money we had on us to pay for 'damages' and beyond that they
settled for one hump apiece with Bessie. I guess they figured that we'd fucked
their cow and so now it was their turn to fuck ours.

Pedro put up a fuss about it but they told him it was either that or jail. We'd
already tried jail one time and we didn't want to go through that shit again.
Anyhow, I didn't hear any serious objections from Bessie about paying her
forfeit. Any time that chick could save her ass from trouble just by giving
somebody a fast hump or a suck-off, she figured she was getting off easy.

So the guys spread out a blanket in the back of the truck and had their turns
with her, and they sure took their sweet time at it too. But that was Bessie's
fault more than theirs. There was no such thing as a quickie with that chick.
You might say she took pride in her craft and she never turned away a client
unsatisfied. So she gave those four horny hillbillies the full treatment--screw,
blew and tattoo--and left them all laughing and full of kind feelings, which I
was mighty happy to see.

It was sundown when we finally wrapped up and got the hell out of there. The
cows were all back in the barn with their lawful guardians, having their udders
jerked and squeezed and submitting to who knows what other acts of bestial
depravity.

Nobody in our crowd was talking much.

Finally I said, "Man, we were lucky to get out of there as easy as we did. I've
known cow-fuckers to get put away, for ten years or more back home. That's no
laughing matter around farm country. The next time you motherfuckers want to see
somebody screw a cow, include me out--okay?"

Pedro mumbled, "Those goddamn hillbilly pricks. They had no right to act like
that. They're nothing but a bunch of animals themselves, raping a helpless girl
that way. If they hadn't had that gun with them, by God, I'd have beat the crap
out of them."

Bessie said, "What's everybody bitching about? Everything worked out great in
the end, didn't it?"

And I guess that was true as far as she was concerned. She'd got what she craved
out of it, that was for sure. And just to round off her day- -since I never had
got to finish my business with that heifer--I let Bessie polish off my prick
there on the back seat in her own inimitable way. Her cunt didn't exactly clamp
down and grab hold of my member the way the calf's did, but screwing Bessie's
friendly fuck-hole was a hell of a lot less nerve-racking experience--that's for
sure.

And since that time all the beasts I've put it into have been the two- legged
human variety--you can bet your sweet ass on that. As far as I'm concerned,
animals are for the birds.

Chapter 4 -- A Bird in the Bird

Birds in general would seem to be unlikely candidates for human sex- partners,
but there is hardly a living creature that walks, swims or flies that men (and
women) have not used to gratify their genital itches, and birds are no
exception. Birds of all sizes have served the bestial purpose, from the tiniest
songbirds to giant ostriches, penguins at the South Pole, and even fierce birds
of prey.

The most famous example from antiquity of apian love is the mythical seduction
of Leda by the swan (which turned out to be Zeus in disguise- -surprise
surprise!) But in actual history birds have much more often been used by men
than by women. Around the farmyard this is especially, true, for most varieties
of domestic fowl are capable of taking in a penis and affording it the necessary
frictions for orgasmic satisfaction. The elementary opening of the bird--the
cloaca--serves as a soft, warm and agreeably tight 'cunt' for purposes of bird-
fucking. The unfortunate difficulty is that a man-sized penis is more than even
a large bird call take inside him without suffering serious internal injury and
probable death. So a man violating his own chickens would soon deplete his
flock, and if he were to commit outrage on another man's fowls, he would leave
damning evidence behind of his crime.

Krafft-Ebing reported several nineteenth century cases of bird-assaults in his
book, Psychopathia Sexualis. In one, "a man of high social position" was caught
red-handed in the act of buggering a chicken. Great numbers of chickens had been
found dead in the village barnyards over a long period of time and an intensive
manhunt finally brought the culprit to justice. He excused himself in court by
pleading that his prick was too small to fuck women satisfactorily and he had
turned to birds in desperation.

In another case, a boy of sixteen, when charged with assaulting a goose, claimed
that he suffered "attacks with heat in his head" during which he became so
sexually aroused that he couldn't control his raging lusts and then he had no
memory afterwards of what he had done.

Krafft-Ebing fails to tell us how these cases were disposed of in the courts.
Presumably both the guilty men were turned over to psychiatrists for study of
their "sicknesses."

The following case history differs from most of the others in this book in that
it is not a first-person confession of a personal bestial experience. The facts
related in the account are assembled from various records of the subject's
career and from the diary of the girl who became involved with him--data
assembled in preparation of the court case that resulted from the affair and its
horrifying conclusion.

Case 4

Bryan T.

Bryan was an orphan boy. He spent his early years being shunted about from one
city foster home to another. Then at age fourteen he was sent to live with an
elderly couple on a suburban farm.

He seemed happier on the farm than he had ever been in the city. He had always
been a 'loner' who feared crowds, and he enjoyed being by himself all day long
on the quiet farm with no one to disturb his peace.

He was assigned chores to do around the barnyard which included feeding the
large flock of chickens. He found the hen house a perfect hideaway and he spent
many hours there among the chickens, shut away from the world.

In his shy and solitary life up to that time, he had had no association with
girls at all. He felt no particular attraction to them and was very shy in their
presence, as he was with most other boys as well. His only sex experience was in
emotionless mechanical masturbation, apparently without any fantasizing in his
mind during the act.

Now in his hen house hideout, he resumed his city habit of prolonged, methodical
masturbation sessions, manipulating his penis with a wide variety of cock-
teasing materials held in his hand. In the city he had made use of fur-pieces,
foam rubber scraps, and wads of modeling clay, among other things, in his prick-
fondling rituals. On the farm he first tried masturbating while holding a wad of
chicken feathers in his hand, and that led to the idea of actually holding a
live chicken against himself and rubbing his prick-head on her downy breast, or
perhaps squeezing off underneath her wing.

These tries proved disappointing however, and it was not until several days
later that begot the idea of trying to poke his penis up into the chicken's
'egg-laying hole.' This idea, which he imagined that no one had ever thought of
before, occurred to him during the night while he lay in his bed, and he crept
downstairs and out of the house to the chicken yard to put it to immediate test.

In the dark hen house he plucked a dozing pullet off her perch and began probing
her underside with his fingers, looking for the entryway that had to be there,
but the outraged bird raised such a clatter of protest, stirring up all the
other chickens in the coop to a considerable clucking uproar, that the old man
was awakened and he came hurrying down to the yard, expecting to catch a chicken
thief in the act. Bryan escaped into the barn undiscovered and hid out there
until his foster father had gone back to bed. Then he crept back to the house,
discouraged for the moment in his plan.

But the next day, as soon as the old man had left on his daily trip to town,
Bryan hurried to the chicken house to try his luck again at the great experiment
He knew that the old lady was too deaf to hear anything that went on, no matter
how much noise the chickens made.

He picked out a fat Rhode Island Red, found the cavity he was looking for, and
with some difficulty worked the head of his prick up inside. The bird struggled
violently, but Bryan held her fast and slowly plunged the full length of his
eager cock up into the warm, throbbing guts of the squirming chicken. He felt an
excitement greater than he had ever known before in any masturbation experiment,
and as he thrust in and out of the bird, her wings beating against his groin and
balls added extra zest to the business and he came quickly to orgasm.

As soon as he had shot off his load inside the chicken he released her, but she
dropped down at his feet and lay there, fluttering more and more feebly. Bryan
realized for the first time then that he had done serious damage to the bird's
inner organs and that he had better dispose of it. So he killed it with a rock
and then dropped the body down into an abandoned well where no one could ever
find it.

He was frightened and sorry at having killed the chicken, and for several days
afterwards he lived in fear that someone somehow would find out what he had
done. Above all he did not want to be sent back to the city again so he vowed to
himself that he would take no more reckless chances and never bother the
chickens again.

But then, as more days passed and life went on as usual, he began to realize
that there were far too many chickens in the flock for the loss of one or two to
be noticed. And the voluptuous experience of fucking the warm, throbbing body
had been too much of a rare pleasure not to repeat.

So he did it again that same afternoon, trying to be more gentle in his
penetration and so not to injure the bird this time, but the end result was the
same. Again he threw the body down into the old well-shaft.

After that it became a regular habit. He fucked at least one chicken a day and
sometimes two. Since he realized now that the penetrated chickens could never
survive the act, he no longer tried to be gentle with them, but got more and
more enjoyment out of fucking each bird with greater and greater violence,
thrusting his prick in and out with all his force and at the same time tearing
out handfuls of feathers and squeezing and wrenching its neck about. Sometimes
he would break the chicken's neck or cut its throat while he was still in the
process of fucking it and continue ramming into the dying carcass while it
quivered and thrashed about in its death throes.

He had no idea whether or not the old man had noticed that his chicken flock had
dwindled in numbers, but he overheard him one day telling his wife that,
"there's gotta be a chicken thief sneaking around here nights. We're gonna have
to get us a big, noisy dog."

Then an unexpected complication entered the picture. The old man's sixteen-year-
old niece came to stay at the farm for the summer. Deanna was a jolly,
uninhibited girl and she tried hard to make friends with Bryan. He was terrified
of her however and avoided her as much as possible.

But she was the kind of bold person who has no understanding or respect for
shyness in others and she chased after him wherever he went and drove him into a
state of panic. He had never known anyone in all his life who cared enough about
him to want to pursue him for any reason. Everyone had always ignored and
avoided him, and he had adjusted to that situation and assumed that it would
always be so.

Even in his sacred hen house sanctuary he was not safe from her insistent
pursuit. She soon discovered that Bryan spent most of his days hiding there and
she teased him about it and gave him no peace from then on.

"What do you see in those stupid chickens?" she said to him. "I think you're in
love with them or something."

He had no chance anymore to indulge his chicken-raping habit, as Deanna was
always about and she would have heard the commotion in the hen house and come to
see what he was up to.

So, cut off from his sexual pleasure and under constant harassment from the
pesky girl, he grew more and more nervous and desperate, while he joylessly
masturbated in his room.

But then, to his great delight and relief, Deanna began going to town with her
uncle on his daily trips and all of a sudden Bryan was alone with his chickens
again and free to resume his bestial pleasures.

For the next few days he enjoyed frantic ecstatic orgasms--greater than ever
before--and five more chicken carcasses wound up down in the well.

But then, one horrible day, he was just commencing his mid morning lust-ritual
in the hen house, kneeling naked on the floor, fitting his straining prick up
into one more protesting cloaca, when a shrill feminine whoop of surprise split
the air, and with sick horror he saw Deanna's big blue goggle-eyes peeping
through the slats of the wall, spying on his shameful game.

He let loose the chicken and sank down weakly in the straw, uttering a pathetic
moan of dismay. He assumed that this was the absolute end of the world for him.

But Deanna, it turned out, was more amused than shocked. She came bursting into
the hen house.

"Wow!" she cried. "This is freaky. I never would've imagined."

Bryan only crouched where he was, staring glassy-eyed, his erection slowly
subsiding.

"Hey man, don't waste that meat-bone on the chickens," Deanna gurgled. "I got
better uses for it."

She swiped at his prick with her foot. He fell back into a sitting position and
began to cry.

Deanna was astonished. She assured him he had nothing to worry about-- that she
certainly wasn't about to tell anybody what he was on to.

"Everybody to their own thing, man," she said.

She managed to calm him down and then to his utter amazement and horror she
suddenly pulled off her dress and confronted him in a nipple- revealing bra and
g-string panty.

She declared herself in on the fun and games from that day forward. She said
that she was going to show him what his prick was really intended for by Mother
Nature, and she gave him the impression that she still might squeal on him to
her uncle if he didn't cooperate and do whatever she told him to do from there
on out. She tossed away her bra and directed him first to kiss her breasts and
lick the nipples. He did so, even though his stomach was churning with disgust
and near-nausea at the thought of it.

Then she insisted that he kiss her mouth, and when she forced his lips apart and
thrust her wriggling tongue inside, he pulled back his head violently and turned
away from her, retching and sobbing again.

She laughed uproariously, delighted with his "freaky" behavior.

"You're priceless." she told him. "Am I gonna have a ball with you!"

Completely stripped now, she forced him to kneel at her feet and raise up his
lips, and then she straddled his face and pressed her hot wet pussy down hard
over his mouth.

"Kiss it," she demanded. "Go ahead. Make believe it's a sexy chicken and kiss
it."

He was nearly hysterical by then with the horror of her actions and so she
released him for the time being, but she warned him that she expected more
services from him the next morning and every morning thereafter until he had
learned to do all the things that gave her pleasure. And she promised him his
share of unbelievable delights too if he cooperated. But no more fucking around
with those filthy chickens, she warned him, or she'd let everyone know what a
queer jerk he was and he'd be one sorry son of a bitch.

The next morning at breakfast she frightened him out of his mind by innocently
asking her uncle, "Can human beings make love with chickens? Somebody told me
that they could."

The old lady gasped and her uncle pounded his fist on the tabletop. "That will
be enough of that talk! Who's been putting these nasty thoughts into your mind?"

"I--I heard a boy in school say he did it," she said, giggling.

"No more!" the old man roared. "A young lady does not permit her ears to hear
such conversation."

Bryan said not a word, but he got the message intended. As soon as the old man
took off in the truck for town he went to the hen house, sick at heart, to meet
Deanna and do his obscene penance.

She was already there, already naked, lying in a heaped-up bed of chicken
feathers, holding a chicken between her thighs and rubbing it up and down in the
cleft of her crotch.

"Come on in, baby," she greeted him. "Pull up a chicken and sit down. Personally
these birds don't do a thing for me. I must not be doing it right. I need advice
from an expert."

He stood uncomfortably against the wall, his eyes cast down, unable to look on
her nakedness without shuddering.

"Don't just stand there," she said. "Take off your clothes. I like to see you
the way you were yesterday. I dig your body, Bryan baby."

After he stripped nude she taunted him about his flaccid prick.

"What's wrong, baby? You can get it up for a chicken but not for a super sex-
bomb like me? Look at me. Look at me, dammit!" She thrust her stark-white boobs
within an inch of his face and shook then vigorously. "Doesn't that turn you on,
chicken-fucker? Even see a chicken with a pair of boobs like that? Shit, man--
open your eyes!"

He had shut his tear-filled eyes and covered his face with his hands, but she
tore his hands away and pressed her breasts onto his face, squashing them down
flat, grinding her knobby nipples into his cheeks and against his eyelids.

"What's wrong with you? What's wrong?" she screamed. Then she grabbed his prick
in her hand and yanked it disdainfully. "Get hard! HARD-- HARD, damn you!"

In a fury she picked up a chicken and flung it at him. "Here! Fuck a damn
chicken. Let me see you do it, if that's the only thing that turns you on."

She ordered him to demonstrate his hen-fucking act for her, but in his agitated
state of mind, even with the chicken he found it impossible to make his prick
come stiff enough to penetrate the bird.

"All right, then," she cried, "if you can't fuck me and you can't fuck a
chicken, what the fuck can you fuck? Isn't there any way you can do it? You'll
suck my pussy--that's what. Anybody can do that. Even you."

She sat on the chicken perch with her legs apart and she made Bryan kneel before
her and perform a long and very thorough job of cunnilingus upon her. While he
did so she told him a fanciful story, improvised on the spot, of a boy she had
known who was caught fucking a chicken and sent to the reformatory for nine
years. Meekly Bryan did everything she demanded--licking and nibbling her
clitoris and tongue- fucking her slit as per her explicit directions.

Then she had a sudden burst of curiosity. "I wonder if a little sucky- suck
would do miracles on that dead-ass prick of yours."

She hopped down from her perch, stood him up in the same spot, and knelt before
him to try her luck at oral-genital organ-raising.

She skinned his prick-head and tickled it with her fingers. "That reach you at
all?" she asked him. "Tell me if I hit a nerve or anything. There's gotta be
some life on this cold bleak planet."

Then she gave his prick a quick tongue-teasing all around its head while
fluttering her fingers over the shaft, and very quickly, to the amazement of
both of them, his shriveled cock leaped into life, stretching and stiffening to
full erection.

"Eureka!" she cried. "Give me a medal." She sucked and teased him a bit more,
soaking the whole length of his prick with saliva, taunting him between
mouthings, and then she jumped up all of a sudden.

"Okay--now the chicken. Now that you got your hard up, I want to see you fuck
that damn chicken. Go to it, baby. I bought my ticket--now I want to see the
show."

In a trembling sweat Bryan caught up one of the hens and before her fascinated
eyes he began his ritual of cloacal penetration, but very cautiously and as
gently as possible. He hoped desperately that somehow, miraculously, this time
the bird would survive the assault unhurt. He had a horrible fear that if the
chicken died with Deanna as a witness, that would be a foretelling of his own
doom.

But it was obvious before he made half a dozen thrusts into the bird that it was
already in its death agonies. He pumped more rapidly then, anxious to be done
with the terrible business, and as soon as he felt his orgasm coming on he
yanked himself free, flung the bird away from him, and stood wretchedly before
Deanna, sobbing while his prick spurted its last shots onto the floor.

She laughed and applauded. "Wow! Groovy! You ought to take that show on the
road. Be very big on the college circuit and in small towns."

Then she noticed for the first time the buggered chicken's mortally wounded
state as it thrashed feebly at her feet.

"What's wrong with the damn hen?" she said. She knelt and looked at it closely
in horror and disgust. "Agghr, that's gruesome! You killed it. Do they always
die like that?"

Then she raised the question of what he had done with the dead remains of all
the other chickens he had "murdered" and he reluctantly led her to the old well.
She was aghast when she saw the ugly sight down in the shaft--dozens of rotting
chicken bodies heaped up, the whole ugly mess aswarm with flies.

"You're a MURDERER," she screamed at him. "A sex-murderer. You should be locked
up."

From then on she treated him with absolute contempt, heaping scorn on him day
and night, causing her uncle to scold her for being "so mean to that poor orphan
boy."

In the hen house each day she subjected him to every sexual humiliation she
could think of, as well as painful paddlings with a fence slat and long sessions
of forced cunnilingus. And there were hardly five minutes in the day when she
was not reminding him that he was a hen-fucker--a sex pervert--a murderer--and
assuring him that it was only a matter of time before she would let the whole
world know about it. One of these days, she promised him over and over again,
"they" are going to come and drag you away.

In the presence of the uncle and aunt she would paralyze him with a remark like,
"Whatever happened to that sort of spotty hen with the dragging wing? She just
disappeared somehow. Do some of the hens just fly away or what happens to them?"
and another time, "Don't you think you ought to fill in that old dry well down
below the pasture, Uncle Robert? It seems dangerous to me. You should really go
down and look at it. I think you'd be surprised at how scary it looks."

Deanna's diary reports in gloating detail the humiliations and degradations she
forced upon the completely submissive Bryan and indicates clearly the contempt
she felt for him--more for his spineless acceptance of her dominance over him
than for his bestial "murders."

Several of the diary entries later became part of the trial record in the case.
The following excerpt provides a vivid account of one particularly ugly incident
and shows the extreme depths of depravity which their sick relationship had
reached just before the final tragedy.

"I really socked it to the freak today. And he took it like always, the jerk.
He's beginning to make me puke and that's no shit. He's got no more guts than
the fucking chickens!"

"I remembered that a boy showed me once how you could stroke a horse's crack
under the asshole just a certain way and it would loosen up his sphincters or
some such thing and he'd piss. I asked the kid why anybody would want to make a
horse piss and he didn't know. But yesterday I thought about it for some reason
and it gave me a new idea for something to do to the freak."

"I took him into the barn where Colonel Dobie is--the old black nag I used to
ride when I was little. Then I made him lie down naked in Dobie's stall, right
in the horseshit and everything. I told him if he moved one muscle, no matter
what happened, then there was going to be a guided tour to the old well for my
aunt and uncle and I wasn't shitting him. I got him so scared shitless now that
he'd jump off the windmill in a swan dive if I told him to."

"I made him lie with his face right underneath Dobie's ass-end so he'd get the
whole shower of piss right in the mush when it happened. Then I started in on
Dobie, giving her the strategic tickle. It didn't seem to work at first. I guess
the old nag's urogenital reactions ain't what they used to be. But then she
shivered her ass one time and all of a sudden the flood gates opened. I mean old
Dobie must've been holding it in since Wednesday."

"I nearly got myself splashed before I could get out of the stall and then I
just stood there laughing like a bastard. The freak nearly drowned. Groovy bit,
hey? Drowning in horse piss!"

"But he survived. Drenched down to his knees and choking and spitting and
blinking his eyes, but he survived."

'How's it taste?' I asked him. 'I didn't put too much salt in it, did I?'

"He couldn't have talked even if he'd had anything to say. I made him stay there
and soak in the puddle for awhile before I told him he could get up. And even
then he didn't, but just lay there with a dumb look on his dumb face--as if he
liked it, reclining in a piss-puddle."

"Twice I told him to get his ass up, but he didn't even act like he heard me and
finally I just took off and left him there. He's getting weirder and weirder,
I'm telling you. It's unbelievable!"

The last entry of all in the diary shows the state of Deanna's mind at the very
end--the night before the blowup.

"I'm going to have to cool it with the freak. He's right on the thin edge now. I
think maybe I went too far. Maybe the pissing bit was too much, although he
didn't make any fuss about it at the time. He's got a look in his eye now though
that gives me the creeps. He never used to dare even look at me at all and now I
notice him staring at me in the house, at dinner and all. It's getting to be a
drag anyway, this whole fucking scene. This farm is beyond the ass-end of
nowhere. Only two weeks more and back to civilization again. What a load off!
Back to normal people again. Rainey and Coral won't believe it when I tell them
about the freak. Once I get the hell out of this shit-pile I probably won't
believe it myself either. Two more weeks! I wish it was tomorrow. I better tell
the freak tomorrow that it's bye bye. He doesn't know yet that I'm leaving.
Won't he be surprised! He'll be inconsolable. I wonder what he'll give me for a
goodbye gift. (pause here for prolonged laughter)"

What happened the next day was never established indisputably as to the exact
course of events. But piecing together portions of court testimony and other
data brought out during psychiatric investigations, the following would seem to
be an accurate summing-up of the events of the day after the above diary entry.

In the morning Deanna was unusually pleasant to Bryan at the breakfast table--
this noted with surprise by both aunt and uncle.

At the end of the meal Deanna said that she wanted to be of more help to Bryan
from then on, and starting today she was going to help him take care of the
chickens. She thought the hen house would benefit from a "woman's touch."

They all laughed except Bryan, who hurried out of the house and was not seen
again the rest of the morning.

When her uncle left for town as usual, Deanna told her aunt that she was going
out to look for Bryan--that she had some things to tell him. She never came
back.

It seems that she went to the hen house to confront Bryan but she never got a
chance to tell him anything. The instant she came through the doorway he hit her
diagonally across the forehead with the sharp edge of a spade and knocked her to
the floor, and then he hit her a second blow, harder than the first, behind the
ear. She was still alive but unconscious after the second blow.

From then on Bryan apparently vented all his enormous store of pent-up
resentment upon her body for a considerable time--perhaps an hour or more. He
kicked and stomped her savagely, breaking several ribs and many teeth in the
process and virtually pulverizing her facial features. Then he ripped away her
clothes and subjected her nude body to further beating and abuse. At some point
after her death he committed rape upon the corpse. This ironically was the first
and only time in his life that he had ever engaged in "normal" vaginal
intercourse with Deanna or any other human female.

Afterwards he hacked the body apart and chopped it into a great many small
pieces, which he stuffed into two burlap sacks and carried to the old well.
There he dumped Deanna's dismembered remains down into the wellshaft among the
bones of the thirty-seven chickens.

But not before performing one last act of outrage upon her bloody parts. He held
two raw chunks of her flesh in his hands, pressed them around his penis and
masturbated one more time.

Then at last his raging fury had run its course and all his energy had drained
away with it. He dragged himself back up the hill toward the hen house, but
halfway across the pasture he collapsed, and there his uncle discovered him
later that afternoon, lying on his back in a glassy-eyed trance, his body
drenched with blood.

A jury found him innocent of murder by reason of insanity, and Bryan probably
will spend the rest of his life in the mental institution where he is now.

Bryan was not the first case in history of a tormented soul turning on his
tormentor and committing a brutal, vengeful murder. And although he and Deanna
might not have realized it, he was not the first person who had ever raped
barnyard birds and added to the pleasure by killing the bird deliberately just
before orgasm and taking extra delight in its death-thrashings.

Intercourse with dying geese was once a favorite sex-sport in China and India
among the depraved nobility. The Marquis de Sade reported this same game to be
popular in French whorehouses, where turkeys were used for the purpose. A naked
prostitute would hold the bird for the customer's convenience and slice its
throat at the decisive moment.

So young Bryan--"the freak"--"the chicken-murderer"--actually was playing an
ancient game. In bestiality as in everything else, there is nothing new under
the sun.

Chapter 5 -- Dog Show Girl

A young friend of mine, when he heard I was surveying the subject of bestiality,
suggested that I check out a freaky chick of his acquaintance who had been known
to perform wild stunts with a small dog at parties and other social gatherings.
I looked into the matter and came across Julia, a beautiful twentyish fugitive
from the love- generation. She had dropped out of high school and split from
home at seventeen and in the two or three years since then had set some kind of
world's record for number and variety of sexual couplings on her whirlwind
wanderings--making the grand tour of hippy colonies and crash-pads from coast to
coast. She was presently reported to be living as a "voluntary white slave" with
a pair of unemployed black poets.

Case 5

Julia C.

I was introduced to Julia in a luncheonette booth where she was surrounded by a
motley collection of her friends and fans of all ages, sexes and colors.

"I hear you wanted to interview me," she said.

"What's it for?" somebody asked, "Indoor Sports Illustrated?"

They all seemed to think that was pretty funny. I didn't know just how to
approach the subject I had in mind to her. Even without the crowd in attendance
and in spite of her wild reputation, I couldn't very well ask a strange girl
bluntly, "Is it true that you fuck dogs at parties?"

I tried to arrange a private interview session with her for a later time but the
best I could get from her in her dreamy high condition was an invitation to "see
me at the bash tonight." I figured I'd have to settle for that for the time
being. At the "bash" maybe I'd be able to corner her and get her talking, or
maybe I'd even get to see her do her famous dog act in person if I was lucky.

It turned out to be no ordinary party but a staged affair, specially set up to
be filmed for an underground movie. I felt a bit freaky myself when I walked in,
being the only one present in a business suit. The costumes generally were
pretty far over the line on the nude side-- with most of the girls covered more
by body paint, spangles and pasted- on flowers than by clothes. The music was
pounding--lights flashing-- and everyone dutifully writhing about in primitive
dance movements while a couple of hairy cameramen roamed the floor, shooting
orgiastic close-ups of them all, mostly at tit and crotch-level.

I found Julia stretched out flat in a corner, under a cloud of blue pot-smoke of
her own making.

"Why aren't you in the movie?" I said, inhaling a cautious noseful of her heady
exhaust fumes.

She laughed dreamily. Her big beautiful eyes didn't seem to be quite focusing on
me. "My big scene comes later," she said. "Stick around."

She had on an oversized T-shirt like a minidress, with a man's necktie around
the waist as a sash. I got the impression that she was wearing nothing at all
underneath it, but I couldn't be sure in the dim light. Then something stirred
behind her and I noticed for the first time a little dirty-gray mop of a poodle
lying there. He was staring up at me with one wide blurry eye and I would have
sworn that the dog was as stoned as she was.

"You brought your dog along I see," I said,

"That's what you came for, isn't it?" she said, "to see the dog act?"

I laughed nervously. "Did they tell you the subject of my book?"

"Bestial practices, isn't it? That's my thing, baby. Me and Sir Clarence."

"Er--what do you--you and Clarence--how do you--?" I didn't know quite how to
phrase the question.

"Just hold your water--you'll see for yourself how," she said.

"Are they actually going to film you and the dog--er--in action?" I asked.

"Shit yeah. Why not? It's the grand technicolor climax of the whole
motherfucking movie."

"Aren't you afraid of getting in trouble by putting yourself on record that way?
Making it with a dog is sort of illegal you know."

She laughed and patted Clarence's belly. "Everything I do is illegal. It's the
only way to live." She punctuated her point by blowing a cloud of highly-illegal
smoke up into my face.

Just then a very large Afro-American bruiser appeared from nowhere and gave me
what I took to be an unfriendly size-up. I figured he must be one of the poet
slave-masters I'd heard about, although he looked more like a middle line-backer
than a bard. He snapped his fingers at Julia. "Come on--up. Let's go. They're
ready for you and you ain't ready."

She sprang up and the dog popped up with her. The black man took hold of her T-
shirt and peeled it up over her head, which left her naked as a jaybird just as
I expected. Both her breasts--round and firm and beautiful--had been painted
blue, and there were arrows running down from them across her ribs and belly,
pointing towards her pussy, which was shaved bald. Otherwise there was just
acres and acres of beautiful golden naked skin, as far as the eye could see.

Her black master clapped a possessive hand onto her ass and said harshly, "You
better not fuck up the deal, baby, or you know what you get!"

She picked up the poodle and hugged it to her breasts. "He'll be all right
tonight," she said. "He's too stoned to be scared. We'll give them a complete
show, don't worry."

"Oh, I ain't worrying, baby," he said, giving her ass cheek a hard grab and a
twist. "I leave that to you."

The music had quit now and the lights all of a sudden came up brighter. "We're
ready for the dog-act," somebody yelled out.

The black man slapped Julia's ass and she gave me a wink and went skipping off
into the bright light, clutching her woolly lover tight to her with his head
perched up between her bobbing boobs.

I moved off to find myself a seat where I could be out of the way of the
bustling technicians but still get a good ring-side view of whatever act of
shameless bestiality was about to unfold.

A character with a handlebar mustache and a purple scarf who I took to be the
director was at center-stage under a cloud of cigar smoke.

"Right here," he yelled at Julia in a startling, near-soprano voice. "The
camera's centered on this spot, so keep your dirtiest action in this area, give
or take a yard or two."

Julia moved into the light beside him and they went into a conference together,
with the director patting and stroking either the dog's head or one of her blue
boobs--it was hard to tell which from where I stood. Then he backed off, leaving
her there alone with her little dog. The other kids took positions on the floor
around her in a semi-circle, acting the part of her audience.

"Okay, baby," the director called out. "As soon as the camera's rolling you just
go into your thing. We'll keep on shooting continuously--two cameras covering
the whole scene--long shot and close-up--let's get it all in one take."

"You better!" she said. "Clarence might not hold up if you need retakes. He's a
one-shot man."

The director held up his hand and yelled, "Okay, we're rolling--and GO!"

Julia set the dog down and he trotted away from her, out of the circle of light.
Then she took a cigarette that someone handed her and struck a "prostitute on a
street-corner" pose, with hand on out-thrust hip.

A boy came walking in, wearing a large cardboard fig-leaf. He stopped, eyed
Julia up and down, circled around her once, and then raised up his fig-leaf and
flipped his red-painted prick at her in a hip-bump.

She put her nose in the air and turned away from him in scorn. He shrugged,
bumped his blue ass towards her disdainfully and moved away.

Then Lord Clarence the poodle came high-stepping in. He stopped just as the boy
had done, cocked his head and looked her over, and then circled around her once.
Julia stood absolutely still, ignoring him altogether.

Clarence moved in close to her feet, sniffed around her for a bit and then all
of a sudden he lifted his hind leg, assumed the classic curbside posture, and
began pissing against her ankle. She still held her position but turned her head
and glanced down. The dog went on pissing nonchalantly until he was finished and
then moved away again and sat down nearby to watch her.

Julia looked down at the puddle she was standing in now and she wiggled her toes
about sloshing them in the piss-pool. Then she bent down and dipped her hands
into it and began dabbing her ear-lobes and neck and boobs and underarms as if
it were some kind of dainty perfume. Finally she put a finger into her mouth and
licked it, sampling the flavor, and she smiled down approvingly at Clarence. He
sat up then in a begging position and began wagging his tail, and Julia turned
sideways and wiggled her tail at him.

After that they circled around each other a couple more times and then Julia got
down on hands and knees and they moved in close and sniffed each other's noses.
Clarence ran around behind her and took a sniff of her ass, and then she bent
down and did the same thing to him. They were making quite a production out of
it. It was going to be something brand new for the movies, by all indications.
And the real action hadn't even begun yet. So far I'd have given it a 'R'
rating--not recommended for children under sixteen.

But things got pretty 'X'y from there on. Clarence scurried around behind her
again and began licking away at her rear-end--asshole, cunt, the works. After a
little bit of that action they reversed positions once again and she went to
work on the little mutt's hindquarters.

The boys with the cameras had moved in now. No more long shots. Everything would
be in full-screen close-ups from here on apparently. So I moved in myself, just
beyond the circle of prop spectators, to be sure I didn't miss any of the action
myself.

The little poodle was in a sort of spread-legged squat, his hind legs trembling,
as Julia's pretty pink tongue worked up under the cleft of his tail-end. Then
she flopped over suddenly onto her back, grabbed onto Clarence and pulled him up
over her face. With his hind legs straddling her cheeks, she proceeded to rain
kisses and lip-nuzzlings on his little prick, which didn't stay little very long
thereafter. She sucked him up to a respectable dog-sized erection and then she
did a quick flip over onto her back and twisted herself around while little Lord
Clarence stood patiently by, quivering all over in anticipation of the delights
to come. She popped open her legs with a dramatic flourish, aiming her split
pussy point-blank at the dog and into the peering eyes of the floor-level
cameras.

She whistled softly and snapped her fingers and Clarence gave a little answering
yip and then leaped forward up into the V of her sprawled crotch. He climbed up
over her belly with his front paws, his prick straining forward into the cleft
below, his tail wagging furiously.

"Go, man," the director called out, clapping his hands. Already he was counting
up his profits from this history-making film epic that he saw happening before
his very cameras.

But Lord Clarence needed no director to urge him on at this point. He knew his
part and carried it through without a hitch. Julia didn't have to guide him into
her. She only laid a hand on the fuzzy topknot of his head and patted him
affectionately while he squirmed his slim little butt and wormed his out-thrust
prick up into the ready receptacle of her slit. As soon as he was well up inside
he began a fast humping, pounding a furious tattoo against her.

Julia spread her legs even wider to an incredible near-180 degree split, raised
her feet off the floor and kicked out in time with the rapid rhythm of
Clarence's pumping action. She quivered her ass-cheeks, shook her boobs, and
pounded out a syncopated counter-beat on the tile floor with the palms of her
hands.

"Oohhhh, cock it to me!" she sang. "Drive it home!"

The cameras were right in there now--inches from the action--blocking my view.
But I could still see Clarence's pompom-tipped tail wig- wagging furiously in
the air and hear his shrill yips as he drove on toward orgasm.

Then all of a sudden both cameramen leaped up and backed away. Clarence had
finally called it quits apparently and now he just lay still where he was, up
against her belly and still plugged into her passage but obviously past his
orgasm. Only his tail was still in action, waving in the air feebly but
triumphantly to celebrate another smash performance under pressure.

I got up myself, assuming that this was the end of the act, ready to join
everybody else in a round of applause. But the show wasn't over yet after all.
There was a grand finale yet to come, and it turned out to be a piece of action
that I guarantee had never appeared on any motion picture screen before in
history.

Julia laid her hands on Clarence's back and held him there and then she eased
herself up slowly to a squat--then to kneeling--and finally all the way up onto
her feet, still with the little gray mop of a puppy pressed tight to her out-
thrust belly.

She stroked his head and bumped her hips against him a couple of times to firm
up the inside connection. Then she raised first one hand and then the other into
the air, and lo and behold! Little Lord Clarence was hanging there in thin air,
his paws braced against her belly and thighs, but supported only by his rigid,
bulbous prick, jammed tight up inside her tight-clutching cunt.

She bumped her hips again and then did a hula grind, but Clarence never budged--
he was firmly locked on. Then, smiling broadly, she went into a little spread-
legged dance step--spinning and gliding about the floor in her bizarre poodle
pussy-patch.

It ended finally with her flopping down onto her back again, grabbing hold of
Clarence, and then the two of them went into a wild final fuck with both of them
hip-jerking together even more frantically than before, and both of them
barking, "Yip-yip-yip!" at one another.

At last Julia let out a wailing shriek, presumably of unbearable orgasmic
ecstasy, and with that the lights cut off and the show and the film sequence
were finished.

And so finally I had seen Julia's fabulous dog-act with my own eyes. And now
that I'd seen it, I was more eager than ever to interview young Julia and find
out for myself how a sweet young maid from the country had managed to make good
as a white slave, drug-freak, and bestial exhibitionist in the big city.

Her black keeper hustled her away that night before I could get to her again for
further conversation, but I finally succeeded in setting up an exclusive lunch
date with her and at long last I was able to sit down in a quiet place with her
and Clarence and throw a few questions her way.

One's first impulse might be to feel sorry for Julia--that such a sweet,
angelic-looking young doll should have got herself into such a variety of sordid
messes at such an early age, but after talking with her and hearing her own
version of her "degradation" process I found that she had a remarkably casual
attitude toward it all and certainly did not pity herself in the least. It may
be that she has gone so far out into left field on various kinds of drug trips
that she just doesn't care what happens anymore. But let her tell it as she told
it to me.

Isley--Why should an intelligent and very beautiful girl like yourself submit to
such body abuse and abasement? Any rational reason?

Julia--(with a laugh and a shrug) Me and my body are two separate things. My
head is where I love. Everything's cool and beautiful inside there. The things I
do with my body are something else again. I use it for kicks--to get me around--
to earn bread--to give pleasure to others. It's immaterial to me what I do with
my body--it's nothing sacred to me. Only my mind is scared. Nothing reaches
there unless I want it to.

Isley--But unfortunately your mind is fixed to your body. So if your mind wants
to go here but your body is being forced to go somewhere else, then you have to
go with it whether your mind likes it or not.

Julia--Oh, but nobody makes me do things I don't want to do. I dig all the
things that happen to my body. When I freak out other people it freaks me out
too.

Isley--How did you get involved in this bestiality business? Was that your idea,
or did somebody steer you into it?

Julia--Oh, that was the cats I'm living with now. They made me do it once--
trying to humiliate me. That was before they found out that it's impossible to
do. You can't humiliate my body--I dig everything. Especially if it's something
that nobody else would do.

Isley--These men you live with are both black, aren't they? Do you dig black men
especially?

Julia--Not particularly. I'll tell you how I got into that. I met this one boy,
Courtland, at a party and he started giving me a lecture about snooty white
bitches. I just laughed and told him he was wrong--I didn't give a shit if he
was green or purple.

He said, "You wouldn't date me though. You wouldn't sleep with me."

So I went with him just to prove he was wrong--prove it to myself too, I guess.
But even after I slept with him he couldn't get over these hang-ups. I had to
keep proving everything to him. I sucked his prick-- I swallowed his come--I ate
his asshole.

Isley--All this just to prove you weren't prejudiced?

Julia--No, I would've done it for anybody that asked me. I told you, I dig doing
whatever anybody thinks I won't do. Courtland really flipped me. I'd never met
anyone so hard to convince--so paranoid. I was feeling groovier and groovier all
the time and he was getting more and more frustrated because he couldn't find
the place where I'd draw the line. So then he started slapping me around to work
off his aggressions and he told me that he wasn't going to let me go home. He
was keeping me around his pad just for kicks. I told him, groovy! I got no place
else to go.

Isley--How about getting beaten up? Did you dig that too?

Julia--Aside from helping him work off steam, it did sort of turn me on too,
strange as it may sound. I never had been really treated rough-- most guys treat
me too nice all the time. That gets to be a drag, getting man-handled that way
for once really lit my fire. From then on he punched me around every now and
then when he'd get uptight and he'd lay into me with a belt sometimes too. He
told me be was gonna pay me back for all the black people in history that had
been beaten on by whites. That made it all the groovier for me--connecting it up
with history and racial guilt that way.

Since then it's been real groovy for me with him all the way. No matter what
happens--everything I do for him is paying off installments on our debt to the
black race.

It doesn't work for him though unfortunately. I guess the fun in being master
over somebody is in seeing them suffer. I know it makes him madder than hell
that no matter what he does to me I always seem to enjoy it.

Isley--How did this second black man come into the picture?

Julia--Well, Courtland--always looking for a new hassle to lay on me-- tried to
spook me one night by threatening to invite all his friends in for a gang-bang
on me. I laughed and said, "Wowhee-groovy!"

That made him even madder and he started right in calling up all the cats he
knew, but the only one he could get hold of was E.I. ... He told E.I., "Come on
over, man. I got a blonde cunt here that's hot for it."

So E.I. came over and he balled me pretty good and after Courtland had told him
everything about me, he invited himself to move in and take over half-ownership.
It was all the same with me. Since then E.I. has been pretty much taking care of
me on the business end.

Isley--Who supports this cozy little household?

Julia--Well, the two guys make bread mostly by loaning me out to their friends.
E.I. is the businessman of the crowd. He's always thinking up new ways to cash
in on me. And we do all right for ourselves, I gotta admit.

Isley--Don't either of them ever work?

Julia--Well, they're poets, you know. That doesn't pay off too good. The things
I do pay better than the things they do. It's as simple as that. Sometimes E.I.
works with me in a fuck-show and then we both make bread for that.

Isley--Is that how the dog act started--as a way to make money?

Julia--Not exactly. Clarence is E.I.'s dog, and he already had the dog trained
to lick his prick just for private pleasure. Then he taught him to lap my pussy
and made me suck the dog too. One night when we were all stoned they got the dog
to actually screw me for the first time. It worked so good that we began showing
it off to other kids we knew for kicks and gradually from there it sort of
developed bit by bit into the act that I do now.

But I didn't ever do it in public shows until one night when E.I. and I were
putting on a sex-exhibition for this businessmen's party. We sixty-nined and
stood on our heads and fucked and all our usual shit like that. After we were
done they all wanted an encore, but E.I. was fucked out and couldn't cut it. So
I said, "Hey, how about if I do the dog thing, man?"

And that's how it started. Me and Clarence have been knocking them dead ever
since.

Isley--And now you're a movie star besides. Being at the pinnacle of show
business success at last what do you see in your future?

Julia--Oooh, we're all going to Africa. Kenya, I think. Won't that be groovy?

Isley--Planning to do your dog act in the Nairobi opera house?

Julia--E.I. thinks we could actually do it in night-clubs over there in some of
those countries. He says those cats flip over blonde chicks over there. We're
gonna get a monkey or a baby lion even maybe and work out a whole big sex-scene
with different kinds of animals. About four big black men and me--the white
goddess--and then these animals--and everybody will be fucking and sucking
everybody--the people and the animals all together--WOW--won't that be wild?

Isley--I don't know if Africa is quite ready for it yet. But good luck to you
and all your furry friends and be sure to drop me a postcard.

Chapter 6 -- Take That You Swine

Of all the readily available animals found around the farm, probably the pig is
the one that the outsider would be least likely to call "lovable." In our jokes
and imaginings about barnyard bestiality, we usually picture a sheep, a cow, a
goat, or perhaps a horse as the animal partner. Surely no man or boy, even one
so depraved as to pollute himself by bestial practices, would be attracted to
such an ugly, smelly, filth-wallowing, swill-eating beast as a pig.

But farm boys know better. When allowed to live in decent conditions, a pig is
one of the cleanest of all animals. When he is made a special pet like Lil
Abner's Salomi, he is loyal and warmly affectionate. Rochelle Owens' off-
Broadway hit play Futz dealt with a young man who carried on a love affair with
his pet pig, and it has now been made into a technicolor movie, probably the
first picture ever made for theatrical release on the subject of bestiality.

Persons who have had a close association with pigs tell us that they are among
the most intelligent of all domestic animals, possessing the lively curiosity of
the cat, and above all that they are veritable bottomless wells of sexual
passion, who will with a little practice become ardent sex-partners for human
beings.

The man in the following case grew up on a farm but never had any bestial sex-
relations at any time except for one minor incident with another boy who induced
him to smear molasses on his penis and allow a heifer to lick it off. But there
was not even an orgasm on that occasion.

However when he was a student at a Midwestern agricultural college, he went
through a bizarre bestiality experience with two "pigs" as part of a fraternity
initiation rite. He tells about it in his own words.

Case 6

Terry B.

No need to mention the frat by name, or the school. They may still be using the
same initiation gimmick for all I know. I've been out of touch with them lately
so I don't really know. It was a hell of a trick they pulled on us, and then I
helped them to pull off the same gag on new pledges myself. A couple of guys
balked at doing it but nobody ever blew the whistle on us.

To get right to the point, I had been accepted into the fraternity and all that
was left was the formality of the initiation. I'd heard it was a real doozy--
very different from what any other frat put you through. But I wasn't too
nervous about it. So you get your ass paddled or some such juvenile shit. No big
deal. There were fifteen of us new pledges and I figured I could stand anything
the other guys could.

So came the night and we all gathered at the frat house. We went through a lot
of bullshit rituals at first--bowing down--reciting sacred pledges--signing our
names in blood--and so on. But what was all what I expected more or less.

What came afterwards was the gas! They sat us down and said we had passed all
tests so far and now we were going to be entertained.

"We got a young pig here from the Brass Cat," the man said. That was a downtown
striptease bar that most of us were too young to be allowed into. "This pretty
little pig is going to dance for your enjoyment and education, leaving nothing
to the imagination, and then when she's finished you all will have a chance--
each and every one of you--to enjoy a little pig-fucking for yourself in the
adjacent bedroom. Before you are accepted as a full-fledged member and
fraternity brother in this house, you must prove to the watchful eyes of our
fornication and buggery committee that you are worthy cocksmen to live up to our
high traditions and campus-wide reputation."

Well, at that point we didn't get the significance of the word "pig" in what he
was saying. We assumed that he was referring to some fat old whore with warts
that would come out and shake her blubbery ass and then lie down and open up her
tunnel for everybody to fuck.

But there turned out to be a couple of real big surprises. First of all the
dancer came prancing out, and you wouldn't have called this a pig by any stretch
of the imagination. She was a gorgeous young chick-- looked like a college kid--
and boy she really set our mouths watering. To think we were going to see this
chubby little honey take it all off and shake her beautiful paraphernalia in our
direction, and then afterwards spread it on the sheets for our shafting pleasure
was a powerful bit of good news. And some surprise! We'd been expecting a rough
ordeal at this initiation and it was turning out to be candy and cake.

She was just a little peanut of a girl--short and squatty--but she was round and
bulgy all over, especially in the boob department. And her ass was a sight to
see besides--sweet little round, fat cheeks. She was only wearing a little
stringy belt on her hips that didn't cover a damn thing down in those parts, and
a stringy bra up top with the cups cut out of it. So she might as well have been
bare-ass mother-naked in the first place, since all the pretty little pink parts
were right out there in the lamplight to be gaped at.

I don't know about the other guys, but she sure got a quick rise out of me.
Right away she began doing split bumps and high kicks right in our faces and
there was the cutest little fuzzy blonde pussy you ever saw in your life, all
gooey wet and warm-looking, flashing dirty invitations at us from a couple of
feet away.

I remarked to the kid next to me, "Man, if fucking that is the price I got to
pay to join this frat, I'm ready to make the supreme sacrifice."

Man, did she put on a performance! She'd rear back and give us a little pussy-
split--a little ass-bounce--a little titty-jiggle--throwing it at us from five
directions at once. Then she'd lean over and dance right down along the front
row of us, shaking those lardy boobs about an inch from everybody's nose.

"Hot damn, she singed my eyebrows!" one kid said.

Well, she kept on with that until she had us about ready to cream in our pants
and then she went whirling off out of the room again and that was the end of it.
We all groaned and booed and yelled we wanted more.

The president got up again, holding up his hand for quiet. "Peace, men- -peace,"
he said. "Enough of tit-tossing, teasing and titillation. The time is come for
each and every man here to partake of his share in the feast. I'm happy to see
that you all found our carefully selected dancing pig so attractive to your
eyes. But just to be absolutely sure that everyone is satisfied and enjoys a
congenial screw, we have brought in a second pig to take care of the overflow.
Even chubbier and cuddlier than the first. So that everybody gets his fair share
of the action, some of you will get to fuck pig number one and some of you will
try the equally luscious pussy-passage of pig number two. I trust that all of
us, including the two very willing pigs, will be more than satisfied here
tonight."

At that point some of the smarter guys in the crowd were beginning to smell out
the gag. All that talk about a "second pig" gave them the clue, or at least
that's what they claimed afterwards. But little old stupid me didn't suspect a
damn thing. I really thought I was going to get to sink my hungry dick up into
that sweet little blonde dancer-- either her or her twin sister. Naturally I
imagined that pig number two was going to be a carbon copy of pig number one--in
other words no pig at all, but one gorgeous young chick. Ha!

I was number three in the line--two other guys got to go out into the back room
and make it before me. They never did come out again to give the rest of us a
clue. Once you'd gone in and found out what the joke was, they let you stay in
there afterwards to watch the rest of the gang come in and make jackasses of
themselves.

It took about fifteen or twenty minutes for each of the first two guys to go
through their scene in there, and then the door opened and the man called my
name. Man, I was nervous! It was horny as hell and barely able to keep a rein on
my goddamn rampaging boney, but this was going to be my first public fuck
performance and I wasn't all that sure of how I'd do when the bell rang. I mean,
I'd never had to worry about how I looked before in the saddle.

So I came in through the door and sure enough--there were the "two pigs" right
out in front of me--perched up on a round-top table. One of them was the little
dancer we'd seen, squatting there bare-ass and grinning at me real friendly. And
the other was of course what you guesses a long time ago--a real, live, barnyard
animal type pig, big as life--also bare-ass, but not nearly as pretty as pig
number one.

Benton, the frat president, took my arm and led me up to the table to introduce
me to the girls.

"This is Sally," he said, laying a familiar hand on the little blonde's golden
ass, and then he spun the table halfway around and brought that big old ugly pig
up in front of me. He patted the pig on the head. "And this is our special
surprise pig, Bertha. You're gonna love her, just like the first two boys did.
In fact, I would say that she's even more affectionate than Sally, if that's
possible, when you approach her the right way. And you, you lucky bastard you,
are going to get to throw a screw into either one of these chubby little
sweethearts, depending on which one you pick."

I laughed and said, "Do I get a choice?"

That made everybody laugh.

Benton said, "Let me tell you how the game works, Mister B. Just to make it fair
and square and not to burden you with an impossible dilemma, and so as not to
hurt the feelings of either one of these sensitive young lovelies, we leave the
choice to fate. You will stand precisely where you are now positioned, and we
will blindfold your eyes. Then the table will spin--thuswise."

Someone gave the tabletop a nudge and it began revolving slowly, shuddering and
creaking as it turned, with its two lardy female critters rolling around with
it. I tell you, that had to be one sturdy table to hold those two chubby
customers without collapsing.

"Now." Benton said, "You see the table comes gradually to a stop and you are
faced with prize pig number one in all her naked splendor. Being blindfolded of
course you will not know which of the two you have won. So you will lean in,
guided by strong and willing hands, and plant a kiss on the blushing cheek of
whichever one it is--pig one or pig two. Then, blindfold removed, she will be
yours to enjoy in wild rapturous intercourse through any of her body apertures
which strikes your fancy. The choice is up to you. I assure you, both of these
pigs are used to taking it in every possible way from long practice."

Sally giggled and started fucking her mouth with her finger, but Bertha didn't
seem to be paying attention. I was pretty much in a state of shock myself. I
couldn't believe this bit. Screwing a pig! I still figured it was just a gag and
nobody was really going to have to go through with that.

But I had no choice but to play along and hope for the best. They were already
tying on the blindfold. I could only hope that the damn table would stop turning
when Sally was on my side. Just in case they really were serious about the whole
thing. I'd lived for twenty years without ever screwing a barnyard animal and I
was hoping I could leave it that way.

Then I heard the table start croaking and squawking again and I knew it was
spinning around. The guys were laughing and yelling comments and when the table
stopped turning finally they all let out a big loud cheer. Someone slapped me on
the back and yelled, "Congratulations," but I wasn't doing any cheering myself
until I found out what the hell was being congratulated for.

They took my arms and pulled me forward and Benton said, "Bend over now and
pucker up, Mister B., prepare to bestow a big fat kiss upon the lucky girl."

I leaned forward and tried to reach out to feel whatever was there, but they
wouldn't let me use my hands. No feelsies. Then my lips all of a sudden came
down on something warm and soft and smooth and I was ready to laugh right out
loud. That had to be human female flesh my lips were tasting. I knew a girl's
cheek when I kissed one and this was it!

But then they yanked off my blindfold with everybody in a big laughing uproar
and I found out that lips had told me a goddamn lie. I had just kissed the soft
warm ass of a female pig. Yick!

It wasn't till afterwards, when I watched all the other guys going through the
same business, that I realized the whole thing was a fix. They made sure each
time that the table stopped where they wanted it to, which was with the pig in
kissing position.

But for the time bring I was just cursing my lousy bad luck. I realized right
off that I was going to have to go through with the whole hairy business to the
bitter end. They weren't fooling after all. Sally hopped down off the table and
they set Bertha up with her ass-end out toward me in it convenient pig-fucking
position.

"Okay," Benton said, "strip right down, first thing. Otherwise you're sure to
get your clothes all spattered when the passion-juices start to fly."

So I took my clothes off, feeling like a damn fool, but what could I do? This
was obviously the test I had to pass to get into the damn frat.

Benton started working his fingers around the pig's rear end. "Notice the
selection of openings available," he said. "Hole A--the more popular entry--
known as the cunt. I'm sure you'll find it warm and hospitable to your precious
tool. Or you may prefer hole B--known in polite company as the shit-hole. Some
prefer it for its more intimate caress."

He was running his fingers in and out of each of the pig's holes all the time he
was talking about them. The pig seemed to be used to it because she was only
grunting a little bit and not fidgeting around the way I would have expected.

I was standing there bare-ass meanwhile, wondering if I'd be able to make it or
not. My prick was as limp as a dishrag. I couldn't get excited somehow over the
idea of screwing a pig. But then all of a sudden five hot little fingers slipped
around me from behind and grabbed on--prick, balls and all. It was Sally, bless
her little heart, giving me a friendly helping hand just when I needed it most.

"Relax, baby," she whispered in my ear. "I got my eye on you. I'll be seeing you
later." And she brushed my back with the points of her boobs. Wow! That did the
trick all right. A couple of easy hand-strokes up and down the old weenie and
she had me as hard as a rock and ready to fuck anything in sight.

"Stand clear!" Benton yelled out. "The rocket is on the launching pad."

A couple of other guys had grabbed onto the pig to hold her tight where she was
and they'd also set up a chair for me to stand on, which would bring me just
about to the right height so that my erected prick would be on a point-blank
level with Bertha's broad ass.

"Up you go, man. Get her while she's hot."

I climbed onto the seat and then stood there holding my prick, not quite sure
what I was supposed to do with it.

"Lean in, man," Benton said. "Lay your hands right out flat on her back and
brace yourself. You going in the cunt-way are you?"

I muttered uh-huh.

"Well, there it sits--right in your path. Try the opening with your fingers if
you want. Let her know you're coming in. She'll give you a hearty welcome--don't
worry about that. This pig is a confirmed nymphomaniac."

I ran a finger up and down the line of her crack just to get the feel of it. It
wasn't so different from a human cunt at that. And it sure was soft and slick
and plenty big enough so that I didn't see any problem about getting into her.
So I figured I might as well get fucking and be done with it.

The other guys and Sally were all rooting me on now, chanting, "Go-go- go," and
so that's what I did. I moved forward on the chair, laid my prick right up head-
first against that slimy slot, and pushed forward, hoping for the best. Bertha
let out a grunt and flinched a little bit.

"Hold that tiger," I said and laid my hands down on her back the way they'd told
me to do.

"Lean right in over her, man," Benton said. "Lay all your weight on her the same
way a male pig would do. Let her know she's covered."

I got as good a hand-hold as I could and braced myself to try shoving forward
again, but all of a sudden Bertha did the job for me. She grunted and then
backed up towards me and ZIP--my prick slipped right up inside and I eased
forward and let it slide up the chute as far as it would go until my balls
bumped and I knew I was all the way in her for sure.

With my hands I could feel Bertha's back quivering, waiting for the action to
get under way. But I was just standing there, looking around with an idiotic
grin on my face. I guess I thought that's all there was to it. Look, ma--I'm
screwed into a pig! Gimme my prize.

But the crowd was egging me on to action. "Go-go-go!"

Benton waved his hand at me. "Get humping, man. Don't keep Bertha waiting.
You're never gonna pop your nuts that way. Fuck, man, fuck!"

So I pulled back and drew my prick halfway out of her and then shoved it back
in, and went on riding in and out that way, awkwardly at first, but I soon got
into a good screwing groove.

Bertha's snatch sure surprised me. It was slick and greasy and easy as hell to
pump, but at the same time it was a good tight squeeze around my prick--pretty
fair fucking, all in all. I could see where a farm boy could get awful fond of
this kind of action, especially if he didn't have anything else female around to
do the job for him. If you can imagine the greatest cunt you ever laid it into--
some real experienced old broad maybe, who had control over her pussy-innards
and could grab onto you sort of and milk you down with internal suction somehow.
A pig's twat will do that for you, I found out. I'd heard guys talk about it
back on the farm--pigs and heifers both--but you have to experience it yourself
to appreciate it.

The pig surprised hell out of me, the way she just stood there so quiet and calm
once I started really putting it to her. All she did was brace herself by
straddling her legs a little bit and crouching down, so that made me crouch a
little too to stay with her. And each time I'd run in all the way and bump her
ass, she'd let out a little burp of a grunt, so I must have been hitting home up
inside there.

All in all it was turning out to be a very pleasant relaxing intercourse
experience for me, considering the circumstances. I was surprising myself. I'd
been afraid I'd screw up the deal and here I was fucking up a storm like an old
pig-sticker from way back.

Benton said, "I get the feeling this boy's been practicing. He ain't no barnyard
virgin."

Somebody else yelled out, "Him and Bertha must be old friends from back home."

And Sally said, "If they wasn't friends before, they sure are now."

The crowd was all counting off a cadence with every push forward I made into
that pig's pussy. "--fifteen--sixteen--seventeen--" It turned out that they did
this with everybody, to compare how many pumps it took each of us before he shot
off his wad.

It didn't take me long to come. I didn't fight it and try to hold back. I was
remembering what Sally had whispered in my ear when she was stroking me up to a
boney, that she'd see me later. So I just wanted to pop off as quick as I could
inside this old sow's twat and not drain my battery any more than necessary--
save my best shots for Sally. Her human cunt may not have given me a grab-job
like Bertha's was doing, but pumping up into that giggly little teeny-bopper a
guy would have a lot more interesting things to bump against and grab onto.
Fucking a pig is a straight cock-sensation--better than a plain common ordinary
jack-off, but nowhere near the joys of pressing belly to belly with a chubby
chick like Sally.

So with my cock driving hard in and out of that suction pump pussy, I just
closed my eyes and forgot all that crowd of cackling jackasses watching me and
set my mind to erotic thoughts of the pleasures to come with sweet little Sally.
That did the trick in a hurry. I built up a real quick head of steam in my
gonads and bang, I had myself a nice pleasant little orgasm.

Then I eased my dripping pecker back out of Bertha's butt and looked around,
smiling sheepishly. "Okay?" I said.

The guys gave me a hearty round of applause and Benton belted me on the back and
said, "A-plus, man! Welcome to the brotherhood. Come join the crowd."

Sally came up with a wet towel to clean the slop off me. "Get dressed, Tiger,"
she said, planting a quick kiss on my ear and dragging a lush booby across my
rib-cage. And as she wiped down my still-rigid cock she whispered, "I hope you
saved some of that marshmallow cream for me," and she winked at me and flicked
her tongue out of her mouth like snake-fangs--sort of suggesting crazy action to
come, her and me wise.

It was quite a hassle getting my pants on after that because my prick just
wouldn't lie down and behave. I hobbled over to join the other guys and settled
down with them to watch the next victim come in and bang Bertha, but my mind and
my eyes were all on Sally. Man, I could hardly wait to get my weenie into that
sweet pussy.

The only trouble is, I'm still waiting. It never happened--that night or ever. I
began to get suspicious that I'd been diddled when I noticed that Sally was
giving all those other guys the exact same jazz she'd given me--whispering in
the ear, prick-fondling, booby-nudging. Shit, it was all just part of the show.

Sally, it turned out, was Benton's own very private chick actually, and outside
of looksies and feelsies like we'd already had, it was hands off Sally's fair
ass for all the other frat brothers.

So Bertha the cuddly pig was the only ass of any kind I got into that night--but
no complaint. Being a member of that fraternity I soon had all the pussy I could
handle and then some. And no more pigs either, human or otherwise. But at least
I did get to fuck one real live pig in my life, thanks to that crazy initiation.

I always say a guy ought to try everything under the sun at least once.

Chapter 7 -- The Lady Goes Ape

Man has always been intrigued with the idea of creating from bestial unions
strange and wondrous offspring--half human and half beast ... and the effort to
do so has been a strong motivation in prompting men to try "marriage" with all
sorts of animals in the vain hope of coming up with an exotic hybrid. Needless
to say it has never been known to work, according to cool-headed scientific
spokesman. Such unions they tell us are invariably sterile.

But for thousands of years men refused to believe it and went on trying to give
birth to living, breathing mermaids, satyrs, centaurs, wolf-men and similar
monstrosities of nature. Despite the disbelief of modern scientific scoffers,
according to mythical and early "historical" records many times they succeeded!

Several ancient Kings and Emperors claimed to be descendants of bears, wolves,
and other varieties of beast. In past centuries reputable historians have
reported great numbers of "authentic cases" of women giving birth to snakes,
rats, dogs, pigs, and even in one case a lion. Saint Jerome swore that he
personally had seen children half ape and half human, products of bestial
intercourse.

The possibility of a man and ape union proving fruitful seems not impossible on
the face of it. Apes certainly are very man-like creatures (or vice versa.) Why
should there not be a child resulting when a man pumps his seed into an ape?
After all, doesn't Darwin tell us that we all descend from a common ancestor?

A recently as the early twentieth century in Europe scientists actually were
doing experiments trying to mate a man with an ape fruitfully-- using artificial
insemination methods rather than actual intercourse. Unfortunately for
sensation-lovers however, no ape-man or monkey-woman resulted.

But whether in hope of offspring or not, apes would seem to be ideal partners
for the man inclined to dabble in bestial sex, because of their human-like
proportions and sexual equipment. And despite the obvious perils of close
grappling with large apes, which generally are ill-tempered animals of dangerous
strength, they have been highly popular love-partners for both men and women
throughout history in many parts of the world. Egyptian women commonly made use
of baboons for their pleasure as previously noted, and in fact the baboon seems
to have been a favorite sex-partner for sporty ladies all over the Middle East.

Apes of all kinds for their part apparently enjoy "making it" with their human
cousins. Without having read Darwin, they seem to recognize the kinship.
Mandrills and gorillas are reported to be especially susceptible to human
charms.

In the Roman arena the unloosed apes needed no goading to commit rapes on bound
human victims--usually young female slaves. Chimpanzees, mandrills and baboons
all took part in these assaults. Sometimes the victims were made more alluring
to the apes by swabbing their cunt- regions with female monkey piss--a powerful
aphrodisiac to the rampaging male monkey.

Not many men or women in the civilized world today have the opportunity to sport
lewdly with monkeys. Probably few men feel any strong desire to sleep with a
female ape even in their wildest fantasies. But women, who are more likely to be
turned on by brute strength and rampant hairiness in a sex-partner, often have
dreams of being carried off and raped by King Kong-like creatures. Probably many
of them in their waking hours have wondered idly how it might be, actually
getting screwed by an ape.

Valerie, the "star" of the following case report, had such dreams. But unlike
most girls, she turned her dream life with monkeys into a real- life career.

For several years Valerie traveled with a small carnival and circus, taking care
of the menagerie among other jobs. Now in her mid-thirties, she has written a
book of reminiscences about her life among the circus animals, but because of
the "sensational" nature of some of her confessions and revelations, she has
never submitted the book to a publisher.

"Some day I will maybe," she says, "after certain people have died off and when
I get old enough so that I just don't give a crap anymore. A lot of people
including my husband would have shit hemorrhages if I put this thing in print
now. He thinks I ought to set a match to it."

She gave me permission however to use excerpts from three chapters, dealing with
her life in the menagerie. I offer these extraordinarily frank selections here
just as she wrote them.

Case 7

Valerie Y.

I worked in the girlie show for a couple of months only, even though I was doing
fine. I had a hell of a build for a girl not quite eighteen-- especially in the
tit department. Brosz was even letting me do the windup almost every show, which
pissed off the other girls no end. That's where the marks shell out a couple of
bucks extra at the end of the regular performance for the privilege of seeing
one of the girls flash pussy. The new girls didn't usually get a crack at that.
Naturally the other bitches all figured I must be going down on Brosz, working
him for favors, but they had it figured wrong. I wasn't going down on him--he
was going down on me, Ha ha.

But they all had it in for me anyway for that and general jealousy reasons, and
the next town we played they spread the word that I was underage and the law
came around and put the heat on Mister Bennington (the circus owner) about me.

He got the shakes over it and told Brosz to can me and quick. But Brosz
persuaded him to let me stay on and help out around the menagerie. They were
always hiring boys to work there with the animals but the kids would always fuck
off and it was hard to get good help. Brosz told Mister Bennington that I was
real good with animals, which was just a shot in the dark on his part, but
Bennington said okay, he'd give me a try.

So that was the end of my professional bare-ass dance career forever and the
beginning of my new life among the monkeys.

Brosz was still trying to get me to move back in with him but I didn't need that
fat immigrant anymore. I had a nice cozy bunk-bed set up in the front end of the
monkey wagon and it suited me just fine.

I was getting very attached to the monkeys by that time and I liked being with
them. They were my favorites of all the animals right from the start. Camels I
could do without. Elephants I don't relate to. Lions are majestic to look at but
not easy to get to know. Monkeys though have personality as much as humans--
every one of them is a separate person to me.

So when one of the little Borneo monkeys took sick, I felt like it was my own
child and I nursed him with tender loving care. It was only like a cold in the
head he had actually, but that can be rough on a monkey.

They're very susceptible to pneumonia in temperate climates.

So when we had a spell of nippy nights, I took the little rascal into my bed
with me and let him sleep with me.

"I hope you appreciate this," I told him. "It's not every monkey that gets to
sleep in my bed on such short acquaintance."

That's all it was. I swear. Keeping the monkey warm and keeping my eye on him
until he passed the crisis. And maybe that's all it would ever have been. A
couple of days and he'd be back in his cage again, good as new.

But the word got around that "Valerie is sleeping with a monkey now," and that
started the kidding. All I heard all day was, "I hear you're monkeying around
nights," "How is that little bastard in bed, anyway?" "How about me, Val? I
guarantee I can give you more than any monkey," and "I hope you're taking your
pills every night before you make it with that monkey."

Well I just laughed everything off and gave it right back to them. I told them
he was a fantastic cocksman and he was going to take me back to Borneo with him
to meet his parents. Shit like that. All for laughs.

But even when I was laughing I was beginning to put some thought to it. What
about this? Could a monkey and a girl make it like that or not? Wheels started
turning over in my dirty little mind. Mind you, I'd never heard of people and
animals making it sex-wise. It wasn't that nobody had ever told me it was nasty
and sinful and illegal besides to fuck with a monkey. The thing was, nobody had
ever mentioned to me that such a thing existed in the world, or that it was even
possible.

So when I started turning it over in my head, at least I had no preconceptions
or prejudices to steer me. I just decided when the monkey got over his fever I
was going to try a little scientific experiment in animal sexology to find out
if I could work a diddle on his little pecker and give him a hard-on. That was
the full extent of my original intentions. No more than that. I thought it might
make him feel good and sort of cement our friendship together.

So that's how it started with this little monkey at first. I laid him out on his
back and patted his belly for awhile. I'd done that before to him and he'd like
it. It used to put him to sleep in fact. But this time I began patting lower
down and playing my fingers up and down the hollow of his crotch. I was no
expert on what monkeys like to have done to them, but I sure knew how to go
about setting a man's nerves on edge and I was curious to see if a monkey would
react the same way.

It didn't take long to find out. The little rascal started making squealy noises
right away and twitching around, and I nearly flipped when his prick started to
swell up even before I laid a hand on it, It made me laugh to think that little
monkeys like him must be just as horny as men.

I started tickling his prick then, running one finger up and down it and he
started grabbing on my arm--trying to tell me something--but I didn't know
whether it was stop or go or faster please or what.

That's really all it amounted to though that first time. I didn't even jerk him
off all the way. Maybe I should have and been done with it because I sure had
stirred him up with my cock-tickling. When I quit he started thrashing around
and grabbing onto me and he kept trying to get in close to me and rub his prick
up against me. He still had a hard-on for the longest time afterwards. And he
probably had a damn knot in his balls that was killing him, but I didn't think
of that I was laughing like hell at him, and poking and tickling his ribs, and
all of a sudden POW! He pops his nuts all over me. Splat! Splat! Splat! All over
me and the blanket.

Then I got mad as hell, although I don't know what I had expected. I'd been
acting like a cock-teaser and he'd given me what I deserved. But I didn't think
of it that way. I kicked him the hell out of bed and put him back in his cage.
That was the end of it. I'd had my fun with him and he'd ended up being a bad
boy.

But it wasn't the end for him. He wouldn't settle down. He kept up a jabbering
and squealing and kept racing around his cage for an hour or more.

Finally I had to go get him again and bring him back to bed with me. He was
keeping me and all the other monkeys awake with his squalling.

I let him snuggle up to me and he grabbed on tight and pressed his prick against
my hip and in no time at all he was sound asleep. Then I went to sleep too, but
I dreamed I was chasing after this huge monkey-- not an ape, just an oversized
monkey--and I finally caught up with him in the middle of the freeway and I
kissed him all over and nibbled his fur and then I pulled him down on top of me
and we made mad love together while the traffic zipped by all around us.

And then all of a sudden I woke up with a jolt and that dirty little monkey
bastard had shot off another load all over me. He must have been having the same
dream I was, only his turned out to be a wet one.

Well, I couldn't put up with that crap anymore, much as I loved the little so-
and-so. Something had to be done.

The next day I put him back in the cage with all the other monkeys and kept my
eye on him awhile, and before long he started out after a certain female
monkey--showing off for her, jumping all around and swinging on the trapeze--and
then he began chasing her around the cage and I could see already he had a hard-
on again. I was glad to know he could get it up for other monkeys and not just
for me. So now maybe I could get a peaceful night's sleep for myself again.

I put my little friend and his new lady love in a cage by themselves and after
awhile, sure enough, he got her into a wrestling around and nuzzling situation
and the next thing I knew one thing led to another and there he was ramming it
into her--ass-end to.

"My God!" I thought. "Do monkeys do it up the ass?"

But then I saw that he was into her little snatch after all. Monkeys just prefer
it the back way around. I never did see any monkeys do it face to face on their
own initiative. But even though they always do it from behind, they won't ever
go up each other's ass unless they've been taught that way by perverted humans.

I watched those two little bastards screwing and I began to get jealous. Not
that I couldn't get all the human humping I could handle around that sexy
sideshow bunch. But there was something lacking in all the guys I'd known. There
never had been one that really turned me on.

I got to thinking of my dream the night before--how wild and woolly it had been,
pumping off with that big monkey. And watching this little fellow pounding it
into his female, I couldn't help wishing he was about three or four times his
size so he could do the same for me.

Well brother, that set off a new set of wheels spinning around in my dirty
little mind. It just happened that we had apes in all shapes and sizes in that
menagerie, and maybe I could get one of the bigger boys-- closer to my five-
foot-six proportions--and do a little of the same kind of seduction work on him
that had had such spectacular results with the little squirt from Borneo.

There was a gorilla named Ghengis who came immediately to mind, but I wasn't
quite ready for him or he for me. Gorillas are not the ferocious monsters people
think they are--they don't even eat meat. But they're strong enough to mash you
into hamburger in the middle of a loving embrace and I didn't need that, thanks.

I finally decided to try my womanly wiles on the orangutan. He'd always been
gentle and friendly when I'd gone into his cage, and he was a perfect size to be
my partner in a dance or any other similar joint- venture between us that might
rise out of a developing friendship.

For the next couple of days I only thought about it--getting my courage up, I
guess. I wasn't sure yet just how far I wanted to go with Wimpy. I wanted to try
erecting his pecker the way I did the little fellers and see what kind of ideas
it would put in his monkey-head. But I was afraid I wasn't going to get away
with cock-teasing this big old boy. Turn him on and then yell cool it and I
might be in big trouble. So I gave it a couple of days of deep thought to be
sure I wanted to carry through on it to the bitter end and let my pussy take the
consequences.

It flipped me to think of having those long woolly arms of his wrapped all
around me and that broad hairy chest scratching my tender hide. I always had
liked broad-beamed, hairy men. (That was the only thing I liked about Brosz in
fact--his wide, woolly chest.) So I made up my mind I'd give it a shot. What the
hell did I have to lose? If the big ape went berserk--well, you gotta die
sometime. And if the worst happened and I got fucked to death, at least I'd be
sure to get my name in every paper in the country. What a way to go!

Now that I'd made up my mind, the when and where of it was a little ticklish. It
would have to be in his cage, I decided finally. Bringing him outside and taking
him into my bed like I did the monkey would have been a bit much. Especially
since I had no idea how he was going to react when I started to push his 'ON'
buttons.

And late at night was the only possible time. Friday would be best for a first
try. Rizzo the elephant trainer would be staying overnight in town and there
wouldn't likely be anybody else poking his nose around the cages at two or three
in the morning.

So Friday I got myself ready. I didn't bother taking a bath that night. I
figured the more I smelled like a female animal the better my chances of ringing
Wimpy's chimes. About two or so I got myself ready to go. I stripped down to the
buff and then put on an old coat for cover just in case I ran into somebody on
the way to the other wagon. Not likely, but there could be one of the boys
coming through on a short-cut back from town.

But I didn't see a living soul, and I climbed into the wagon, unlocked the gate
of Wimpy's cage, and slipped inside--nervous and excited as bell. I felt like a
virgin bride on the way to the slaughter.

I heard him sniff and stir as soon as I closed the gate. Then I just stood where
I was and called softly to him. "Wimpy-Wimpy."

I could hear him shuffling around and then he came lumbering over to me in the
dim light. I began talking to him as I always did and held out my hand to him.
He sniffed around a bit till he found out I hadn't brought any food along for
him and then he sort of lost interest and went back to lie down.

It looked as if I'd have to get more aggressive to break through to him on the
sex level. All I had ever represented to him until then was a human creature who
brought him food from time to time. I had to make him realize that ape does not
live by bread alone. What you need is love love love, baby.

So the first thing I did was slip out of the robe and I draped it over the bars.
It gave me a little shiver of excitement to be completely naked in an animal's
cage this way, as if I was an animal myself, caged and on display. That thought
made me all the more eager to start acting the part. If only I could get a
little cooperation from sleepy old Wimpy.

I wondered if he'd show any special interest in me being naked, something he
hadn't experienced before. So I called to him again. "Wimpy! Come on, boy. Come
sniff mama's pussy."

I thought that might be what a female ape would say in the circumstances if she
could only talk. I started towards Wimpy across the dark cage and I could hear
him getting up again and sniffing the air. I hoped I was sending out sexy smells
on the night breeze. I began to shiver again as I came near to him, a little
frightened, but impatient to feel his rough, hairy hide pressing up against me.

Then I could see his shadowy form standing just ahead of me, and I said his name
one more time and then moved in to touch him and let him touch me.

He made a peculiar whining sound as I laid a hand on his long arm, and then I
reached in and began rubbing his hairy ribs and wrinkly chest. I could feel him
shiver, and then he settled down into a squat at my feet.

I got down with him and moved up close alongside. Now we were really getting
cozy. God knows what kind of monkey-crud my bare ass was sitting in, but I
didn't give a crap at that point.

I picked up one of his arms and draped it over my shoulder, hoping that would
give him some ideas. But he was being pretty indifferent so far. I decided I'd
better quit beating around the bush and get to the point- -the point being his
monkey prick. The subtle approach wasn't working so far.

So I leaned in against him, rubbing my boob on his arm, and started finger-
walking down his belly the same way I had done with the little monkey, heading
for the royal scepter. I was real nervous at that point. I figured that once I
hit on his family jewels and started screwing around there, it would be for
keeps from then on--no backing off. There was still time right then to call it
quits, grab my coat, and get the hell out of there.

Before I could think too much about it and scare myself right out of the whole
deal, I took a big deep breath, reached down and just grabbed. Right onto his
big black prick. I was surprised to find it already halfway hard and hot as a
cooked weenie. I'd been doing better with my warm-up than I'd figured.

But the minute I touched it he pulled away from me and hopped up to his feet. He
was squealing a blue streak now. He was excited all right, but no telling yet
what it was going to lead to. He might be working up to a fighting mood instead
of loving, for all I knew.

I stood up too and reached out again to take his arm, but all of a sudden he
came back toward me on his own and started pawing all over the front of me with
big clumsy rough swipes. The palms of his hands were like dried-up leather
raking over me but I loved the feeling of it against my hungry hide. When he
brushed over my boobs the shivers ran all through me everywhere and made me weak
in the knees. I only hoped I could hit his magic nerve-centers the way he was
reaching mine without half trying.

I stopped in closer to him and pressed myself up tight against him and then he
did what I'd been hoping for--he wrapped his arms all the way around me in a
huge embrace and just about squeezed the breath out of me. Now I was in the
dream condition I'd been having fantasy orgasms about--surrounded by hot hairy
monkey on all sides.

He was whimpering now. Surprisingly he sounded exactly like the little monkey
when he was in my bed, all riled up and raring to go. And Wimpy was ready--I
could tell plain enough. His prick was up and rigid-- pressing hard against my
thigh.

I forced my hand down between us and took hold of that big thrusting tool. It
seemed to be steaming with inner heat--I imagined it was burning my fingers
through to the bone. But I clutched it tight and ground my belly against it and
squashed my inflamed boobs against the rough hair-mattress of his chest.

His hands were rubbing and grabbing at my back now--all up and down-- and then
pulling at the soft, loose flesh of my ass. I was beyond all caution and
restraint by that time. I was already close to orgasm-- trembling all over--
almost wanting him to crush me to a pulp--tear me apart--pound me silly with his
impaling prick.

But I'd have to steer him into doing for me what I craved. This was a brand new
experience for poor dull-witted Wimpy. He wasn't used to being accosted by
brazen bare-ass females in this manner. Lady orangutans had more decency and
sense of propriety. What does a poor respectable monkey do when a sex-mad slut
comes up to him and grabs hold of his intimate parts?

Naturally he was a bit confused. Maybe he was afraid I was going to ask him for
money.

So I tried to maneuver him into a position where I could slip his prick up into
me and give him the idea of the game I had in mind by setting the example. I had
sense enough not to pull him down on top of me--that would have squashed me
flat. What I intended, if possible, was to get him down on his back so I could
sit on his prick and ride him that way.

I don't know what it would have looked like to anybody watching us right then,
standing there embracing--like we were doing a slow rumba together, or
something--holding on each other and twitching our asses.

Finally, I managed to get him to lie down with me, reclining sort of side-by-
side, and then I threw one leg up over his ass and nudged my crotch in as close
to him as I could get and tried to work his prick up into position. I never
worked so hard at anything in my life. He just couldn't seem to get the idea of
what I had in mind. But I wasn't discouraged. I'd been in the sack before with
human boys that were almost this dumb.

He obviously enjoyed having me grab his prick, and I gave it plenty of tugging
and tickling to be sure he didn't go soft on me but there was no sign of that
happening. If I only could get it inside me just an inch he might catch on, I
figured, but every time I got his prick poking at the gates and just about to
slip up inside, the son of a gun would pull back.

One funny thing--he'd discovered my boobs, which are quite it bit better than
average-sized, and way beyond anything you'd ever find on a female monkey. He
was squeezing them in his fingers and batting them back and forth, one tit
against the other, like they were punching bags. But not real rough--just
playfully--and it was a wild sensation. I always had liked to have men play with
my boobs when they made it with me. It's the quickest way to get me hot, next to
going right straight to cunt city. I was never much for all that slobbery
kissing on the mouth that some guys like so much. I'd always tell them, "Kiss my
boobs if you want something to kiss." Nipple-sucking will turn me on in a
second. I was wishing then that old liver-lips Wimpy would give my boobs a lick
with that big juicy mouth of his. But that could wait for a later session. First
he'd have to learn to fuck--then suck.

All of a sudden without warning he shifted his ass and thrust his hips forward
and bent his legs back, it seemed like. And there was his beautiful ramrod
pecker then laid right out for me in the open air-- free and clear. No more legs
blocking my way to the weenie.

"Don't move--don't move," I whispered, holding my breath. I wiggled my body
forward and lifted up my leg and ever so slowly and carefully lowered my spread
cunt down onto his up-thrust prick.

I was pretty well juiced-up by then in the pussy regions, just from the
excitement of the anticipation, so once I got his big blunt pecker-head down
onto the groove, it slipped up inside without too much hassle. He was big--
bigger than any man I'd ever had in me--but I'd never had any, trouble taking in
whatever was offered to me by any guy. I always liked to feel myself well-
filled, I'm not ashamed to say. I like to know there's a prick in me, by God. If
I'm going to get fucked, I want to feel fucked--right up to the hilt.

So that first time Wimpy went up inside me I was having little mini- orgasms
every inch of the way. He wasn't helping a bit so far--just lying there blowing
his hot wet monkey breath in my face and holding on loosely to one of my
dangling boobs. But he didn't pull away from me, thank God. He held his prick
right out for me free for the taking and let me do whatever I wanted with it. I
grunted and wiggled my ass and hunched my hips and I could feel that fat black
pickle of his beginning to make it up into me a little bit at a time--tickle
tickle tickle all the way.

Then when it seemed as if it was stuffed clear up to my liver, I reached down
and went to work on his dangling balls, rolling than in my hand and squeezing
them together the same way he'd been squeezing my tits.

"Okay, man--let's pump," I said to him.

And with that I began to rock my hips up and down over his cock, easing it in
and out of me an inch or two either way. Just slow and easy at first to give him
the idea and also to get it riding smooth and slick inside my cunt. Being jammed
in there as tight is it was, it took a little bit of easy practice action to get
it sliding properly before we started any hard pumping. I wanted this screw to
last awhile, man. Start slow and build and build and build. What the hell--we
had all night ahead of us. Neither of us was going anywhere.

As soon as I felt his prick moving slick and smooth in the groove I started to
hump with more vigor, hoping he'd pick up the rhythm from me and join the dance.
Sooner or later this had to give him some kind of an idea of what we were
working towards.

And yes indeed! All of a sudden he quit blowing his breath on me and quit
pulling on my boob, and I could feel a little shudder down where his belly was
rubbing mine. Then WHAM! He squeezed my tit in his fist and gave it a yank like
he was going to pull it clear off. I let out a shriek and belted him on the arm,
and thank God he let go then and started to move his hips against me. In another
second his prick began riding in and out like a pile-driver. He'd figured out
the game we were playing all of a sudden and man--did he pick up on it fast! Pow
pow pow--he hammered that prick up me--his belly punching against mine like a
medicine ball--boom boom boom.

From that point on he just took over management of the whole operation himself.
I didn't have to do a thing but hang on tight and ride with him. I let go of his
testicles--which began slamming like tennis balls up under my ass--and just
grabbed on to his huge hairy hide and took off in orbit. My whole body was
rocking and shivering as if I was riding a bucking horse. He played rough, once
you turned on his switches. Wham! Wham! Pow! Pow! His prick pounding my guts--
his balls beating my ass--his belly bumping the breath out of me--boobs
wallowing all over my chest--my head bobbing around like it was on a spring--my
hair flying in all directions. Eee-yow! Man or monkey, this was the fuck of a
thousand fantastic dreams--the fuck you never expect to experience outside your
erotic fancies. I had always enjoyed a good rough ride, but this was the
absolute end.

His prick was going up and down my chute a mile-a-minute and reaching up into my
belly to places I wouldn't have thought possible. I couldn't even count the
orgasms. They just started popping all up through my guts and shot through me in
every direction until my whole body was just one big orgasm--arms, legs,
everywhere--just EXPLODING! Even my head. This crazy bombed-out drunk feeling in
my head that I'd never felt before in a fuck. Like I was freaked-out on some
kind of goof- balls.

But the goof-ball was his prick in this case--driving me out of my cotton-
picking mind.

Then all of a sudden he grabbed onto me hard and slammed me up against him. His
arms wrapped around me and just squeezed. I thought it was the end of me. It
felt like he was crushing my ribs--collapsing my chest--I couldn't breathe--my
face was buried in a muzzle of hair. And there I was, suffocating--but exploding
inside with a million crazy orgasms all at the same time. Heaven and hell
simultaneously.

That's when Wimpy shot his load. I could feel him shooting off inside me like
spurts of white-hot lava scalding my guts. And still he held me and held me
until I was just on the verge of passing out altogether.

But then at last it was all over. The prick-pounding stopped and he slowly
relaxed his grip and let me breathe again. I was drenched in sweat from head to
toe--mine and his combined--and I didn't have an ounce of strength left in me. I
just lay there panting against him, clinging tightly, completely satisfied for
the first time in my young life. And madly in love for the first time in my life
besides.

All I wanted to do was just lie on his woolly breast forever. At least I hoped
that he'd let me stay there for a little while, all wrapped up in his rough
warmth, but I didn't expect any favors. I knew how bored men get right after the
orgasm, and I figured monkeys probably were no different.

But he didn't seem any more inclined to move than I was. He must have got a
pretty good charge out of the action himself. After all, it was a brand new
first-time thing for him too. He went back to plucking at my boob and nudging it
back and forth and that was okay with me. I could see that we had got off on the
right foot of what was going to be a long and beautiful friendship.

After awhile his cock dwindled inside me--I could feel it happen, and a cold
draft of air suddenly hit up into me. Then he pulled out of me altogether and it
great big flood of his come-juice came rolling out my cunt and dribbled down
over my leg and ass.

I laughed and said to him, "You lying rascal! I thought you said you used it
rubber."

He squeezed my boob to let me know what he thought of that shitty joke.

A little latter I began to feel the urge coming on me again for another go-
round, and I reached for his prick and started in on it with a new lot of
pulling and squeezing, but I guess he'd had enough for one night. He let out a
snort and jerked away from me, and I went off his lap and down--CLUNK--onto the
cold hard floor of the cage. Wimpy went lumbering off, shaking his ass at me,
letting me know the party was over. See you around, baby.

I could take a hint. Anyway, that was action enough for the first night for both
of us. He was right. No sense rushing things. Tomorrow we'd tackle lesson two of
the course, although I wasn't too sure from here on whether it would be me
teaching him or him teaching me. Now that he'd got the hang of things, I had a
hunch it was going to be Wimpy's ball game the rest of the way.

NOTE: Valerie carried on her affair with Wimpy for several months after that.
She cut herself off from the circus men entirely and once they all realized for
sure that she had apparently gone celibate on them, they quit bothering her and
left her to her animal friends.

The only member of the circus who found out about her secret love affair with
Wimpy was a young man named Pete, who had been working as an attendant and
ticket-taker on the merry-go-round. One night, being drunker than he was allowed
to be and looking for a place to hide out overnight, Pete sneaked into the
number two monkey wagon and crawled under an empty cage. There, a little while
later, he was a flabbergasted witness as the aloof Miss Valerie staged one of
her flamboyant monkey-fuck performances, never intended for the eyes of an
audience. Valerie tells about it in a later chapter of her manuscript:

It just happened that night that I was in an even wilder mood than usual and I
was really laying it on. Wimpy and I had been screwing each other's asses off
for quite a long time then, and we had got so we made an elaborate game out of
it. On that night I was down on all fours-- bare-ass naked of course--scrambling
around the goddamn cage with my ass in the air, yapping and squealing like a
female monkey--scratching my ribs--flipping my boobs. Pete must have thought I
was stark raving loony.

Wimpy chased after me for awhile, never quite catching up. That was all part of
our game. Then I jumped up and grabbed onto the bars and climbed up about eight
feet high on the side of the cage, out of his reach. So there he was down below
reaching for me, grabbing at my ankles, chattering away, and there I was up
there hanging on the bars, kicking down at him, spitting, calling him a big
hairy motherfucker and every other name. Of all nights for somebody to be spying
on us. I could have killed that sneaky bastard.

It ended with me jumping down and landing right on top of old Wimpy and he
caught me like he always did and we went down onto the floor together. Then I
rolled over away from him and got up on my hands and knees; with my ass in his
face, and making monkey noises again. This was going to be a plain old-fashioned
monkey-fuck--in from the rear- end, under the ass and up the snatch. I gave
Wimpy a good spread to aim at and wiggled my ass at him and he slipped up behind
me and eased into position. Man, this was his kind of fucking.

He slipped his prick up inside with no trouble at all--we had our parts pretty
well tooled to a fine fit by then. I'd developed a perfect monkey-cunt, just for
him. So there he was whanging away against my ass and me bending the knees and
bumping backwards to help the action. As usual his long arms came around under
me to play squeeze-ball with my boobs.

Pete said later that he thought he must be asleep in a drunk dream, I mean who
would believe a sight like this--drunk or sober?

We pounded away to our usual A-bomb orgasm and then we wrestled around with each
other, making more monkey noises, and all through the whole nutty scene that kid
Pete wouldn't pop out and show himself. He let me go on making it jackass of
myself and then finally--when I'm climbing down out of the damn cage, all
smeared up with crud and straw and dripping sweat, looking like it bedraggled
sewer-rat, then he sticks his head out and says to me, "Good show, Miss Valerie.
Didn't know you had it in you." And he gave me a couple of tired hand-claps
along with it.

I let out it whoop and almost dropped right on the spot from heart failure. But
then I saw who it was and I started in giving him hell. The cocky young shit--
I'd slept with him once or twice when he first joined the show. That was when I
was still sleeping around a lot--long before I took up with the monkeys. I used
to try out all the new boys that came and went, the same as the other girls did.
I remembered this one well. He was a common variety--big mouth and small cock.

But then under the circumstances I figured I'd better play it cool with him. I
wasn't too anxious naturally to have the word get around the lot about me and
Wimpy's mad passion. So I invited Pete to come on inside with me and have a
drink and help me shower down.

Then over a drink, under the shower, and finally under the sheets together, we
made a little deal. Tomorrow I'd speak to his boss and arrange a transfer to the
menagerie for him. From now on he would work for me--helping out around the
monkey house.

And it wasn't such a bad deal for me. I could use the help, and from then on I
had somebody to stand watch for me when I was doing my thing with Wimpy. Pete
wasn't such a bad kid anyway. It certainly was no sweat keeping him happy. He
was a pretty feeble fuck compared to that wild monkey. I could drain Pete dry in
five minutes anytime without half trying and have plenty of juice left for Wimpy
whenever he was ready to ball.

Pete loved watching me and Wimpy do our stuff and I didn't mind that. What the
hell--I'd performed in the buff for audiences enough times before when I was in
the girlie show--stuffing myself with dildos and every other damn thing. So
there was no problem for me of self- consciousness or embarrassment. And it was
big kicks for Pete. Sometimes I think he got more charge out of watching me
screw the monkey than he did out of banging me himself.

One day when I wasn't on the scene, unfortunately, some woman got into a big
hassle with Wimpy. She claimed she was standing beside his cage minding her own
business when he reached through the bars and grabbed hold of her, tore her
dress down the back, and then reached around and "roughly handled her right
breast, inflicting major bruises and abrasions and causing her to suffer extreme
terror and severe embarrassment."

She informed Mister Bennington that she was suing the circus for some idiotic
amount of money--way up in the hundred thousand area. Old Bennington flew into
his usual tizzy and told me in no uncertain terms that Wimpy was a nuisance and
he was getting rid of him. Having him destroyed!

I nearly had a breakdown. Destroy Wimpy! They'd be destroying me too if they
did. But what could I do? I was at my wit's end.

But then good old Pete came to the rescue. I hadn't even seen the dame who made
the complaint, but Pete told me, "You know who she is. You've noticed her around
here plenty. Remember last week I pointed her out to you? The fat cunt with the
floppy hat."

Oh, did I ever remember! And all of a sudden the worries just melted away. We
had this dame by the balls, so to speak.

The thing is, there's a certain type of woman that's attracted to monkeys, and
they spend half their time hanging around zoos and menageries like ours. Any
place with monkeys can tell you they see this type of woman every day. Women
like that know that male monkeys can get horny over human females and with them,
like me, and vice versa. They don't have my opportunities though to actually do
something constructive about their urges, so they just hang around the monkey
cages half the day, hoping to see a monkey passing or playing with himself or
just showing off a hard-on.

So this cunt who was suing us was one of those. Pete had spotted her one day
poking a stick into Wimpy's cage, trying to jab his crotch while he was
sleeping. That's when he pointed her out to me and we had a security cop take
her for a walk.

So now we had me, Pete, and the cop to testify against that bitch and her
monkey-teasing habits, and sure enough--all of a sudden the case collapsed
without ever going to court. And there was no more talk from Bennington about
liquidating my sweet little old furry-ass common-law spouse.

FINAL NOTE: After that, Valerie carried on her passionate affair with Wimpy the
orangutan for more than a year, until one night the lovable ape suddenly took a
fit and died in her arms during one of their frenzied sex-sessions. He
apparently had suffered a heart-seizure.

Valerie reports that she was inconsolable for weeks afterward. She fled from the
circus and gave herself up to a series of violent love affairs with a great many
men, none of which satisfied her, physically or emotionally.

So at last she returned to the circus and her beloved monkeys, and eventually
she married and seems to have achieved a happy human- relationship with her
present husband.

Although she admits having cheated on him occasionally with other men, she
swears that she has always remained absolutely true to the memory of her beloved
Wimpy, and despite frequent bestial temptations, never again has she consorted
sexually with any other monkey.

The End

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