Doing It! - Going Beyond the Sexual Revolution (John Warren Wells on Sexual Behavior Book 13)

by Lawrence Block

  Dear JWW,

  I recently met this really great girl, and this has got to be it. A year ago I had a really bum trip with an older married woman, got her pregnant and went through the whole abortion thing. I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced a trauma such as this, but it left me in pretty bad shape and I had a rough time making it with girls. I met several beautiful girls, but I simply couldn’t get it up. It got to be so that I avoided them, and allowed myself to be picked up by a homosexual. I couldn’t get it up again, and excused myself by saying that it was the first time I had been with a guy. But deep down I knew it was more than that.

  Then last summer in summer stock (I am an actor), I fell in love with my leading lady, corny though that sounds. It took me ages to get around to anything serious, but finally I did, and it was absolutely fantastic. She was the greatest lover I ever had, and I started doing things I didn’t know I was capable of—I discovered my body for the first time in my life, and I experienced a woman’s body for the first time. Come the end of the season, and we returned to New York, where I discovered she was shacking up with someone else. Apparently the relationship had been disintegrating for some months, and our affair put the lid on it, and she has now moved in with me.

  So far, so good. But then I started up with the old problem again. I’m bright enough to put two and two together without going to the shrink (which God knows I can’t afford anyway), and I discussed the whole thing with her, and she was so understanding it almost hurt. Our sex life is back to normal again, except for the occasional lapse which I suppose everyone has, and we’re both ecstatically happy, except at ‘that time of month.’ For some reason she has very strong sex drives during her menstrual cycle, and being on the pill, her period seems to be every other day—which of course it isn’t, but it seems that way. How on earth can I overcome this revulsion and nausea at the thought of making love to her at this time? She is awfully good, but I can see how disappointed she is when I make excuses, and there should be no reason for me to act this way. I can rationalize about abortions, etc. etc. till the cows come home, but that’s fine in theory. In practice, zilch. Do other men have this problem? How do they overcome it?

  I would be so grateful if you could offer me any advice or recommend an inexpensive counselor I could consult. This girl means too much to me for a silly hang-up like this to ruin our relationship.

  Sincerely,

  M.H.

  It’s not at all uncommon for female sexual desire to be particularly strong during the menstrual period. Women who do not experience strong sexual desires at such time have probably been conditioned to regard their menstrual flow as unclean and sex at such times as distasteful—as M.H. regards it. This taboo is of long standing—one can readily trace it back at least as far as the Book of Leviticus, which proscribed sexual relations not only during a woman’s period but for several days before and afterward. Presumably this injunction was framed in the Mosaic Code to ensure copulation during the time of maximum fertility, although one can make the case that it was more likely the outgrowth of primitive superstition.

  There is no apparent biologic reason not to copulate during menstruation, and hygienic objections can be resolved by the strategic placement of towels. Not that there is anything fundamentally unhygienic about the menstrual flow in the first place. In The Female Eunuch, Germaine Greer discussed the taboo and advises women that, if the thought of eating their own menstrual blood makes them nauseous, they’ve got a long way to go, baby. And members of the Hell’s Angels earn their red wings, a badge of honor, by performing cunnilingus upon a female at that time of month. Which may strike you as a trivial observation, but I’ve always wanted to get Germaine Greer and the Hell’s Angels into the same paragraph . . .

  Therapy might help. I agree with M.H. that it’s foolish to let such a silly hang-up imperil a valid relationship. However, if his inability to perform coitus could imperil the relationship in and of itself, I would submit that the hang-up is not his alone, and that his girl, too, ought to try to get her head together, as the kiddies say.

  Which brings us to the end of another month—we came in on fur and go out in blood, with interesting stops along the way. Just enough room to remind you not to miss Blue Alice, a pornographic political satire parody of Alice In Wonderland that is one of the most hysterical things I’ve ever read. The author is Jackson Short, the publisher is Dell, and the place to find it is your newsstand—if it hasn’t been banned yet.

  Stay out of jail. And keep those letters coming!

  Chapter Eight

  A very mixed bag this month, dear friends. Our May correspondents include male and female bisexuals, a semen swallower who has never performed fellatio, a long-married couple who’ve discovered something new under the moon, and, neither last nor least, an electro-freak.

  Don’t be distraught if you don’t know what an electro-freak is. Neither did I until I read his letter, since the chap coined the term himself to describe his sexual preference. Should you care to enlighten yourselves about a kick that is a new one on me, you need only read on:

  Dear Mr. Wells,

  First of all, I want to contradict one of your pet theories which is always cropping up in your column, implicitly or explicitly. That’s the theory that one’s first sexual experience determines one’s sexual taste for the rest of one’s life. It so happens that the first time I ever made it with a girl it was on a damp October night on some railroad tracks in Ohio. Although I’ve been laid plenty since, it’s never again been on railroad tracks, nor have I had the desire.

  This is not to say that I think your columns are a bunch of bull. But I do think you’re confusing cause and effect. I suspect that one’s sexual inclinations are frequently formed prior to one’s first sexual experiences.

  For example, suppose you hear from a rubber sheet freak whose first act of coitus was with a girl on a rubber sheet, and who has been making it on rubber sheets ever since? It is entirely possible that he made it on a rubber sheet the first time because he was already interested in rubber sheet freakery. I mean, in a room where there’s a rubber sheet, there’s also a floor. You could make it on the floor instead of the rubber sheet. You could take the rubber sheet off the bed. You could go to the next room . . . But I’ll bet such a freak deliberately made it on the rubber sheet—either because his sexual fantasies about his first lay involved a rubber sheet or because the rubber sheet stimulated him into taking forceful action for the first time . . .

  So much for the bull you’ve been spreading through your column.

  The second thing is, I think some of your readers (particularly female, I hope) might be interested in my own rather unusual sexual thing.

  I am an electric torture freak. Basically, I play the dominant role and the girl plays the submissive role. I subject her to a mild (but extremely uncomfortable) electric shock, enjoying her discomfort. Then, after she begs, pleads, etcetera for me to stop, I take off the wires and we make it.

  Quite obviously, you have to be very careful with this kind of “hobby.” Too much of a jolt and you have a corpse instead of a playmate. However, I have developed a safe, reliable system which I now willingly pass on to your readers for those who are interested.

  I use an old Lionel transformer from the electric train set I got as a kid. The principle is simple enough. The transformer takes 110 volt house current and reduces it to an extremely low voltage. (I’m not even sure what this voltage is, but it doesn’t matter.)

  If you were to grasp the output wires of a transformer you wouldn’t feel anything. However, by inserting the wires into moist orifices of the body, a mild (but again, uncomfortable) shock can be elicited. The mouth is one example of a good place to apply the wires.

  It is rather more difficult to elicit a shock through the skin. However, if the skin is kept moist, you usually can get results, provided the wires are not attached to widely spaced portions of the body. A good electrolytic paste is great. The stuff doctors use to admi
nister electrocardiograms is fine, if you can get your hands on any. If not, try this: mix 4 to 6 teaspoonfuls of salt, two or three of flour, and one cup of water together. This mixture is fine for the purpose.

  Inasmuch as I have a fairly responsible job, I’m sort of a “closet electro-freak”—if I may coin the term. And inasmuch as most of the women interested in playing this particular game aren’t marriage-minded, I live alone.

  Of course you’re never entirely sure when picking up girls (even at S-M bars and such) that she’s particularly interested in electro-freakery. But I have a gimmick that works pretty well. I usually act just a little strange, and invite girls up to look at my electric trains. I happen to have a pretty good set-up in my bedroom, including tunnels, flags that go up and down, recorded announcements and so on. When a girl comes up to my apartment, if she acts interested in the trains, I start messing around with the wires and talk about shocks and so on, all the time mixing the conversation with talk about sex. If she still doesn’t shy away—well, you get the idea. By the way, in case either of us (me or my partner) needs stimulation during coitus, I’ve worked out a rather sophisticated system for it which your readers may be interested in. Electric train tracks are, quite obviously, electrified. So I’ve run a couple of wires from one of the spur tracks that happens to run under my bed to the wooden bedpost. If the woman in question needs shocking during coitus, I merely detach these electrical taps at the bedpost end and stick them in her mouth or nose or wherever.

  Obviously I have an ulterior motive in writing this column, and that’s to meet girls interested in electrosex . . . who can write to me in care of this column.

  Then maybe at some future date, Mr. Wells, you and I can get together for a drink and you’ll give me my mail . . .

  One last word. Girls: Electro-sex practiced my way is absolutely safe and, although interestingly and arousingly uncomfortable, it is not painful.

  Sincerely yours,

  Electro-freak

  I think Electro-freak may have misinterpreted some observations I’ve made concerning origins of fetishism. The root cause is less likely to be initial sexual experiences as the initial recognition of sexual desire.

  In any case, there’s obviously no connection between Electro-freak’s first sexual experience and the fact that he just happens to have an extensive train layout in his bedroom, which just happens to have tracks running under the bed.

  Simply shocking . . .

  Are there many other electro-freaks out there? I’d like to hear from you. And should anyone want to try this and not be blessed with trains in the bedroom, I should think a flashlight battery might do the job.

  Dear Mr. Wells,

  First I would like to state that I am a prisoner in a West Coast penitentiary. Because of the new concept of penology that they are trying to establish within this prison, we are allowed self-government and so we may have long hair (mine is shoulder length), wear street clothes from buckskin fringes to flares, have recorders, typewriters, cameras and uncensored mail, just to name a few things. I seem to have a problem, or at least I think it’s a problem. I am either a homosexual, transsexual, or transvestite—I have been labeled with all three labels by various psychiatrists—and I am in the process of preparing for a sex-change operation. However this is not my problem.

  I have a hobby of collecting nude male photographs either from magazines or gay newspapers. This is my only enjoyment in here, concerning hobbies anyway, and I have written to various gay and underground newspapers, advertising my desire to contact male nudists, whether straight, bi, or gay. I have written to one nudist camp but so far it seems everyone turned prude or at least very shy. I think there is nothing more beautiful than the male nude body, natural nude and not posed. I am interested in the nude and not in the size of his penis, and if I want to look at pornography I look at pornography and not nudes. We are allowed to receive this material but everyone outside seems to be afraid or ashamed to send it.

  Since being in prison is not a paying proposition, monetary or otherwise, I cannot afford to subscribe to nudist magazines. The kind of pictures I collect can best be described by reference to the Swank movie review on page 26 of the October issue. Do you know of any nudist that would care to write me, or where I could obtain what I seek at a very reasonable sum? Also where I could obtain a copy of your book The Male Hustler.

  Now, do I have a hang up or do I have a hang up? One would think being surrounded by 900 men daily would be enough for anyone interested in male bodies, but this is not the case. I am hardly conscious of them the majority of the time. I mean, they are here and I am here, that’s all. Don’t get me wrong—there are a few beautiful guys in here whom I like to look at, nude or otherwise; however, this is like men looking at a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t have sex with any of them, mostly because I am in love with and “married” to one of the most wonderful men in the country. We plan to be really married after my conversion operation. I realize also that nude pictures are usually a source of material for masturbation practices, but the pictures do not affect me this way. Pornography does, but in that case it is usually a prelude to a night of sex with my guy . . .

  Thank you,

  Oliver

  Couple of months ago I mentioned a theory that zinc in the diet is related to health of the male prostate gland, observed that the male ejaculate is rich in zinc, and wondered if fellators who swallow semen have healthier prostates than other men. This brought a letter two months ago stating that the writer had been ingesting semen regularly for many years and that his doctor had specifically commented on the healthy condition of his prostate.

  Since then some other musings on the subject have come my way, with one correspondent making the point that it would be especially hard to assemble as a large proportion of meaningful data, as habitual fellators often take a passive role in anal intercourse as well, which practice could in itself have an effect, beneficial or otherwise, on the prostate gland.

  And here’s another thought on the subject:

  Dear Jack,

  Forgive the informal salutation but I think of you as an old friend. Have been reading your books as long as you have been writing them, and have read all with the exception of The Taboo Breakers which I am unable to find anywhere . . .

  I almost wrote you several times but never seemed to get around to it. I felt I have a sexual life style which might be termed unique but was unsure if it would be of general interest.

  Your comments about the effect of sperm on the prostate, and Duncan’s recent letter on that subject in Swank, leave me with no excuse to postpone correspondence.

  Briefly: I am a man, fifty-three years old, married for the past twenty-eight years, two grown children. For almost forty years I have swallowed semen on an average of, say, three times a week. What makes my story unusual is that I have never performed fellatio, have never had a penis in my mouth!

  This first occurred when I was around fifteen years old and I am sure was prompted by the experience of fellatio performed by a woman who was a “local institution” in my town; she serviced a whole generation of adolescent boys in this manner, much as described in your book The Mrs. Robinson Syndrome. Loved the experience physically but the whole affair was disgusting, degrading, etc. While I could not bring myself to repeat it, I did desire to have my penis sucked and, while fooling around one night, I was put in mind of the young man from Nantucket in the famous limerick. In other words, I conceived the idea of doing the job myself.

  Well, this was easier said than done. I have since read that a small percentage of men are capable of autofellatio, and can only tell you that they have either suppler spines or longer penises than I do—or both! My efforts, lying on back with feet up and trying to reach penis to mouth, were both uncomfortable and frustrating . . . Ultimately I decided to try the next best thing, and masturbated into my open mouth.

  This experience was satisfying in so many ways that I repeated it almost without interruption (not i
n the sense of going at it night and day, but a few times a week) ever since . . . There have been times when guilt made me stop, or try to stop, and for a long time ceasing this activity was periodically to turn up on my unwritten list of New Year’s resolutions, but fell the way of most such resolutions.

  Guilt was greatest early in my marriage, both for fear my wife would find out and despise me and because which our sex life was good and she satisfied me completely, I still had a desire for this form of sex.

  The satisfaction of this as opposed to ordinary masturbation is considerable, but how to explain it? Excitement is higher and orgasm much more powerful. There is also oral pleasure in receiving the discharge, not merely the taste but the satisfaction of receiving rather than wasting one’s seed as happens in ordinary masturbation. Also the feeling of not depleting one’s resources because the ingredients of the discharge are reabsorbed in the system through digestion so that nothing is lost.

  I have never had a homosexual experience and have never wanted any. My wife enjoys performing fellatio, as I in turn enjoy cunnilingus avidly, but the one thing she does not do is swallow my discharge. I might add that she has not to this day the slightest inkling of my private habit, nor does anyone else; I have never been discovered and have never confided in anyone . . .

  Now to all my other pleasures is added the knowledge that I might possibly be doing my prostate some good!

  In recent years I have felt less and less guilt over this practice to the point where I consider myself virtually guilt-free in any practical sense. Of course I am still secretive about it but have reached the point where I can write a letter like this to you. I could never have done so previously. This bears out something you have mentioned in various contexts about the sexual revolution having its effects on us old codgers as much as on the young people. It really does cut both ways—the young are growing up freer of hang-ups to begin with, and the old are starting to shed the inhibitions and guilt feelings of a lifetime.