by Nuel Emmons
I can’t say that I fell in love, but this little girl was sure giving me a lot of pleasure. I thought I was satisfying her as much as she satisfied me until one afternoon when I walked into the apartment unexpectedly. I had entered the apartment without making much noise, the bedroom door was closed, and as I moved toward it to see if Darlene was home, I heard the sound of two people getting it on. My first impulse was to open the door and break it up. Instead, I quietly sat on the couch and listened to the noise of the bed, the words of passion, the sighs, the oohs and ahhs and then the exhilirated exhalation as Darlene reached her climax. I sat there burning, not so much out of jealousy, but because in our sex trips Darlene had never displayed that amount of ecstasy. Thoughts went through my mind about what an inadequate person I must be if the girl not only brought home another lover but seemed to get more out of that session than ours.
While I was thinking how I was going to handle the situation, the door opened. Darlene was the first to come out. She saw me sitting there; it startled her, she jumped and gave a small scream, almost as if she had been hit. The guy started to ask her what was wrong, then he saw me. He was a pretty big guy and I was hoping there wouldn’t be a fight. There wasn’t. The guilt was too strong in him to stick around for any words. He said a quick “hi” and was gone. He wasn’t the least bit concerned about the safety of his sex partner. I watched the door close and then looked back at the girl. Her face was flushed and she was trembling. She started to speak but no sound came from her throat, she made motions with her hands, but still no sound. Finally, “Oh, Charlie, I’m sorry.” I looked at her and played a part I didn’t feel. “Sorry for what? I told you in the beginning, you didn’t belong to me and I didn’t belong to you.”
That had been the trend of our conversation the first day she and I had made it. But when I told her that, I hadn’t expected her to turn it around on me. I was really establishing an opening for myself, in case I came across other action.
Once Darlene realized I wasn’t going to vent anger, disappointment—whatever—violently, she relaxed and again told me how sorry she was and that never again would she make love to anyone but me. I played indifferent and said, “No big thing, baby. Just don’t be bringing anyone to the pad, keep it someplace else.” Once more she said, “Never, not here, not anyplace, and never with anyone but you, Charlie.”
Neither of us mentioned the afternoon’s happenings to Mary. It was just between Darlene and myself. That evening Darlene went to bed early, and even though it was cutting off my nose to spite my face, I had made up my mind to let her sleep by herself for a few nights. Later that evening, Mary rescued me from my self-inflicted punishment.
After Darlene left the room, Mary, sensing the tension between Darlene and me, asked, “You two got problems?” No, no problems, I answered, she’s still a baby and doesn’t know where her head is at. With that, true to her habit of not prying into other people’s business, Mary dropped the subject. Watching Mary move around the room, tidying up the place, I thought, “Now how come I’m not making it with her? She’s my kind of broad. She minds her own business, she doesn’t pry, she has an open mind and we have great communication.” With those thoughts going through my head, I picked up my guitar and sang some lyrics that described my feelings at that moment. I don’t remember the lyrics verbatim but they were similar to the following:
I am a man torn—traveling a path well worn.
A man with a struggling mind—searching for love and happiness combined.
On the campus of a university—I found a girl to love and trust—but to her, sex was wrong unless a wife.
Not being the marrying kind—I searched on.
On the streets of San Francisco—I found a wayward waif without a home of her own—saddened by life.
This wayward waif, without love, shared my must for lust.
And now in my heart are two girls—one for love and one for lust.
I am a man torn—wanting the girl I love to ease my struggling mind and be my love—sharing my lust with some of her own.
Or must I travel on—seeking another who will be both in one?
Or should I stay and forever be a man torn?
Mary had stopped moving around and was sitting down by the time my impromptu serenade was completed. She remarked, “Gee, Charlie, coming from you, those lyrics were almost nice. You didn’t say, ‘I want to fuck you, baby,’ like you usually do. Though you implied it.” We laughed and I told her, “Some of your class and uppity culture is rubbing off on me.” “I doubt that,” she replied.
My song had been a kind of sexual pass at Mary, and I wanted to continue in a more serious manner, but I remembered my promise to her about keeping my distance when she had let me move in. So instead of talk directed at sex, we sat there in a comfortable and cozy atmosphere, me quietly playing the guitar when there was a lull in conversation.
For two people who were worlds apart in education and family background we had a lot of things in common, though for totally different reasons (if that makes any sense). Both of us were sensitive to the other’s thoughts and didn’t necessarily need to be mouthing words to paint pictures of what was going through our minds. Mary was on an environmental kick. The trees, the water, the air, land and wildlife were important to her because of her awareness of the importance of the earth and human life. I was concerned about it because I had been locked up all my life and had never been able to appreciate any of it. She wanted to preserve and enjoy; I wanted to enjoy. We were both on our own. She had been smothered and pampered all her life, and had left it all to become her own individual. While I had never had the luxury or the attention she had received, I craved the same chance at individuality. Three or four hours rolled by, of which I enjoyed every minute. Since Darlene had shown up and I was spending so much time trying to prove my manhood to her, it had been a long time since Mary and I had really rapped. Darlene had all the curves in the right places and was a pretty girl, but at the moment I was looking at a very beautiful person, a beauty that went far beyond the surface. And one-track-mind that I am, I was just on the verge of breaking my word and attempting a sexual pass at this beautiful person when Mary suddenly said, “Charlie, I changed my mind.”
I knew immediately what she was referring to, but played my game: “What do you mean, you changed your mind?”
“You know,” she answered, “about sleeping with you. I want you to do it to me.” A smile broke on my face and she blushed, embarrassed at her own aggressiveness. Mary didn’t have to repeat herself. Her timing was perfect. She saved me from breaking my word and possible rejection. I didn’t have to worry about getting weak in my hunger and finding myself crawling into bed with Darlene. I would be teaching Darlene a lesson without punishing myself. Also, maybe, if I really put my heart in it, I could shake that feeling of inadequacy that little girl had put me through earlier this very day. Oh, Mary, I thought, you’ll never know how precious you are, a real life saver.
In a previous chapter I told of my efforts to be a pimp, and, as I said, I did eke out an existence from it for a short time. But, truth is, if you aren’t already aware of it, I didn’t know much about girls. I was only doing the things I had learned from the conversations of a bunch of guys in jail. I went for their lines and tried to act on what I had heard before finally discovering that they had been lies all along.
Once a pimp acquires a girl who is willing to work as a whore, he must have three qualities to hold on to her. All three actually amount to maintaining some kind of respect, the nature of the girl establishing the procedure the pimp must use. Fear and intimidation control most prostitutes, but many girls would run from this alone, so the pimp also has to provide them with something they can’t find anyplace else: sexual fulfillment. He has to be the greatest stud in a whore’s life, the only lover that completely satisfies her. And at all times, unless it is just a temporary working arrangement, the girl must feel she is loved by her pimp. When I was trying the game in the 50s, I
was so naive I thought that simply because the girl was with me, I was the greatest stud in her life. Now I realize I had sex only to satisfy myself, and never really tried to make sure the girl had gotten the most out of it. In retrospect, I have to laugh at myself. I can’t blame those girls for splitting the moment I was locked up. For what I gave them, I didn’t deserve the thousand dollars for bail money.
Thanks to promiscuous little Darlene, who I had taken out of the clutches of a black pimp and rescued from a possible life as her prostitute, I had gotten one of the most important eye-openers of my life. Her affair of the afternoon told me I wasn’t shit in the sack.
Now that I was about to make it with Mary, I wasn’t going to be an inadequate lover. I had a point to prove to myself and I also wanted to lock Mary to me. This was going to be her party; I wanted to give her more than she could ever expect from another lover.
We kissed and embraced while removing our clothes. Instead of quickly jumping in bed, I kept control of our tempo and moved slowly, almost ceremoniously, as her blouse was removed and our lips and tongues explored each other. My lips moved over her breasts as my hands did away with her clothes, and she fumbled with the buttons on my pants. Once undressed, she wanted to move to the bed but I kept her standing with our bodies pressed close together. She was even stronger and hungrier than I was. She pulled me to the bed, wanting me in her. Instead, I slid my hand between her thighs and fingered her cunt until she begged me, “Oh, Charlie, now! Do it to me.” And though I was eager to do it, I continued with my probing, squeezing and teasing until she completely left behind her sweet, innocent librarian role. Her body was doing some frantic rolling motions, as her once-gentle hands clutched me hard, trying to get me inside her. “Goddamn you, Charlie, put it in me!” she pleaded. “Do it to me now. Fuck me, please fuck me.” The urgency of her body drove harder and harder into my hand, and as she climaxed I smothered her mouth with kisses. She sighed and continued a slow rolling motion against my leg and then relaxed and rested comfortably on the bed. Her eyes were closed and her face glistened with sweat. Her lips were curved in a smile that was easy to read. She opened her eyes and her smile broadened as she said, “It was good, but why didn’t you put it in me?” I smiled back and said, “Because it isn’t all over yet.” I let her lay there for a few minutes, then suggested we take a bath.
In the tub we lathered and washed each other, dwelling longer on the sensitive areas of our bodies, playing, stimulating ourselves for more sex. When we got out of the tub, Mary quickly covered herself with a towel. I took the towel away, saying, “Look, don’t be that way. Don’t try to hide something beautiful. Stand up straight and be proud of your body. Here, let me dry you off.” Once dry, we returned to the bed. The smell of good clean bodies was refreshing and increased our desire to go past the old dick-in dick-out sex.
Mary was not the experienced sexual partner that Darlene was, but once she overcame her self-consciousness, she was willing to try it all. And try it all we did! There isn’t a thing in the book we didn’t try that night, and everytime I felt her reaching her peak, I would ease off—not enough to let her lose anything, but just enough for her to get wild and frantic. After I held her there for a while, I’d do what was necessary to give her a total release.
After each one of her climaxes, and there were several, we’d lay there appreciating the contact of our bare skin.
In the beginning, Mary had been tense and reluctant to let her hands explore my body, but now as we lay there, she massaged me and caressed my testicles and penis. She talked freely about her past. I listened with very alert ears, especially when she spoke of things she had been programmed to believe were evil: sex, disrespect and the idea that there was more than one God. “Look,” I said, “Here we are. We’ve just done everything sexual your parents and everyone else has told you is evil. Was it bad? Do you feel guilty?” She squeezed me tighter and said, “No, not a bit. I feel wonderful.” About disrespect, I said, “Are those people who are demanding respect from you giving you respect? Are they accepting you as an equal? No, they’re asking for what they aren’t giving. Hell, respect yourself, girl. That’s what life is all about. As for the one God trip, God is in everyone. Each person is his or her own God. I’m God, you’re God. Believe what you want to believe and be happy.”
We lay there quiet for a while until the steady motion of our exploring hands stirred us both into wanting more. I went down on her, bringing her to a peak, and then moved so that we could exchange passionate kisses. She put me inside her, and as I entered her she let out one of the most satisfying sighs I’d ever heard. Several times she was on the verge of coming, but each time, I would change my motion just enough that it didn’t happen. I tantalized and teased her until she became wild, driving her body frantically against me, trying to reach the climax I was purposely delaying. I was enjoying the savagery of her lust. Even the pain of her fingernails digging into my back felt good because I knew it came from a passion I had created. When she almost screamed, “Oh God, now, Charlie, now!” we made it together, totally and completely one. Exhausted and too content to separate our bodies, we lay in our sweat, relishing our togetherness. After a few minutes, Mary moved her lips closer to my ear and whispered, “Oh my God, I never knew anything could be so wonderful, so complete. I could die now, I’ve had my day in the sun. I love you, Charlie, I love you with all my heart.” I squeezed her in my arms to acknowledge I had heard her and appreciated what she said. We fell asleep in the same position and were still in each other’s arms when we awoke the next morning. [Mary Theresa Brunner is considered the first member of the so-called Manson Family.—N. E.]
I had meant for the night to be totally Mary’s but in my desire to give her an exceptional evening I had also opened the door on a lot of things that made me feel better about myself. I felt like I had accomplished something and was just beginning to live.
When we got out of bed that morning, Mary was a different person, too. She wanted to do everything for me. She made me tea and cooked my breakfast, and before leaving for her job she asked me if I had enough money in my pockets to get me through the day. It was the first time she had indicated concern for my welfare. It was nice. She kissed me goodbye and said, “I would really like to make love before going to work, but, you little fool, you’ve made me too sore.” We both laughed as she walked out the door.
Darlene didn’t get out of bed until after Mary had left the apartment. When she did, she came walking through the room in nothing but her panties. I just looked at her and thought to myself, “You teasing little bitch, that shit isn’t going to move me.” She went into the bathroom and ran herself a tub of water, and once in the tub, she called, “Charlie, will you wash my back?” “Haven’t got time today, baby, I got too many things on my mind,” I answered back. All day, Darlene would cater to my every need. I let her do all that was convenient for me, but ignored her efforts to lure me into sex. On numerous occasions she apologized for the scene that had taken place the day before. If she realized Mary and I had made it during the night, she didn’t mention it.
Some time in the afternoon I picked up my guitar and headed toward the campus. I purposely didn’t get back to the apartment until pretty late, as I really didn’t know how I was going to handle the situation with me and both of the girls. It was almost midnight by the time I walked in. Darlene had gone to bed and Mary was there waiting for me with open arms. Our conversation was light, but intimate. We were soon in bed together. The sex wasn’t as prolonged as it had been the night before, but I made sure Mary was well satisfied before I released myself. In the morning I stayed in bed until after Mary went to work. As soon as Mary had closed the door, Darlene came into the room. She was jealous and wanted to know what was going on. I refreshed her memory as to who had made it with another first, and repeated that she didn’t belong to me and I didn’t belong to her. She started to cry, professing her love for me. I assured her it was all right to love me, but let me be my own perso
n—then she could always remain her own person. A few minutes later we were locked in an embrace and exchanging kisses that led to another terrific session. This time I applied my total consideration toward Darlene. I stimulated, taunted and teased. I located all her sensitive spots and was conscious of what pleased her most. I controlled my ejection until I had brought her twice. During her second climax I came with her, and after a few minutes pause we started all over again. We were about four hours in the sack. Not all of it screwing, but talking and enjoying our nudity. During our intercourse, I brought forth all the sounds from Darlene I had heard through the door two days before. And with those sounds, there was a brighter shine in Darlene’s eyes. She also, at least verbally, accepted the fact that she would be sharing me with Mary.
That evening I met Mary at the library and we walked back to the apartment together. On the way I told her I had balled Darlene again. Mary was silent for a few moments and then asked, “Does that mean you love her more than me and now you are through with me?” “No, Mary, love’s got nothing to do with it. What it means is, I love you, but I don’t belong to you, nor you to me. I do not love Darlene, she is just a body, a body that I like having. I’ve got some catching up to do, and as a matter of fact, I’d like to fuck that girl right there,” as I pointed to an attractive girl passing by us. Mary said, “Wow, Charlie, I don’t know if I can handle that. Are you always going to be that way?” “To tell the truth, I don’t know,” I said, “but it is the way I am now. For what it’s worth, I do love you and would hate to think of ever losing you. That probably doesn’t seem reasonable to you because of your upbringing, but if you can forget all that bullshit that has been handed down to you through the years from your parents, which they heard from their parents and so on, it’s not such a big thing to live with.” She said, “Charlie, you’re too much. I can’t say how I’m going to handle it, we’ll just have to wait and see.”