Denise Bryant: Mother and Daughter

“But your father, Kathy. He wouldn't…”

“Mother! Do you think I tell Daddy all my secrets either? We women have to stick together. Besides, I'm going to the drive-in with Chillie tonight, and we may be aw-ful-ly late. You and Bob can move up to your bedroom and make love all night for all I care.”

“Chillie!” I exclaimed, and I was really upset because I had forbidden her to see that awful boy again. “I told you not to go with that idiot… that beatnik again. He's 20 years old and you're only 14, Kathy. What will you be doing all nightlong?”

“Probably not as much as you and Bob are doing. Well, gotta hurry now and get dressed. See ya later… lovers…”

I knew immediately that Kathy had only used Bob's statement of policy to her own advantage. I heard her on the phone as soon as she went to her room. Undoubtedly, she was calling this Chillie creature to tell him the good news. Nor was Bob at all pleased with the results.

“Her father and stepmother undoubtedly have no control over the girl and neither do you,” he stated quite perceptively. “I may have to take over the job of disciplining her, if you can't do better. Do you think she's still a virgin?”

“Why… of course!” I replied immediately, if somewhat hesitant and defensive, then I broke down and confessed, “Oh, I… I don't know, Bob. A mother worries so much. I've thought about it, worried about it, a hundred times… a thousand times. I know that character, Chillie, must have tried. I think he'd try me if he thought he could make it.”

“Have you ever made love with one of your students, Denise?” Bob asked suddenly, fixing me with a stare that I could not avoid.

“Yes… once,” I admitted, almost having forgotten it, almost laughing as I recalled it, “This boy was a senior about 19. He was a terrible student, really. One afternoon he just dropped by the apartment I was living in, and asked if I could give him some help. You might say we had carried on a mild flirtation in the classroom. He was quite handsome and knew how to arouse a girl.

“I was in the mood that afternoon, terribly in the mood. I had him go through the practice piece from THE CURTAIN RISES, you know, where Franz comes in and teaches Elsa how to breathe, placing his hands at her diaphragm and back. He took the part of Franz, and I placed my hands over his and led his right hand up to my breasts. He got the message instantly. He was awkward, but beautiful. He made love to me twice and then we sat in bed and smoked cigarettes and told dirty jokes. I got him to go down on me before he left. I don't think he had ever done that before. It embarrassed him terribly, and I never had any more problems with him. It was all he could do to look at me after that.”

“You've led a rather sordid life, haven't you?” Bob commented, still staring at me. “I suppose you've done just about everything a morally corrupt woman can do. Have you ever whored?”

I refused to answer. I had never been so degraded and humiliated in my life. I put my head in my hands and bit my lip to keep from crying… or from screaming out. I didn't need to admit it in so many words, Bob could read me like a book.

“And look at you now,” he went on, “so sex-crazed that you can't wait for Kathy to get out of the house… so sex crazed that you were desperate to rent a motel room to relieve your lust. You're a very evil woman, Denise. I hope I can cure you.”

Bob's methods of cure were as bizarre as everything else about him. When Kathy went out, he came and sat by me on the couch. We kissed and embraced more hungrily than we ever had before, and I realized again that I had actually never had sex relations with Bob. Three weeks since we had met, and lived in the same house, and never a sex relation.

He loosed my gown and sucked my nipples, pulling on them until they came out full, and then raking them with the surface of his tongue until I felt mad with desire. I groped for his trousers and tried to pull down the zipper only to have him push my hand brusquely away.

“Oh, Bob… I want you inside me, darling,” I whined like the wanton I was. “Oh, Bob… I almost came when you sucked my nipples… oh, Bob…”

I got out of my clothes and lay on the couch, my eyes closed. I moved my body restlessly and snaked my hands up my sides, cupping my breasts in the way that drove most men to distraction. Slowly, I moved my hands over my stomach and twisted my fingers around in the top of my pubic hair.

“Go ahead, Denise. Relieve yourself, if you have to,” Bob told me, and I opened my eyes to find him sitting across from me, his eyes watching every move.

“Don't you… want me?” I asked him almost in tears.

“Of course, I do, Denise. But I'm not an animal. I have to practice constant restraint to keep me alert, deny myself the greatest of needs. You know how I enjoy sex. You've seen me enjoy it, as you shall enjoy it with me some day. For now, I must test myself against anything you can do to provoke me. Go ahead. It's very arousing for a man to watch a woman play with herself.”

I brought up my legs and spread them, giving my fingers full reign of my crotch. I let go and teased the insides of my thighs with my nails, thumbing my soaked vaginal lips and probing for my clitoris. Then, I parted the lips and rubbed freely the insides, working gradually back up to my clitoris and bringing on a flood of orgasms.

One after another they came. I called out to Bob. I cried. I whined. I begged him every way I knew how. Why? Oh, why, did the men who seemed to appeal to me strongest, always torture me this way? But then a strange feeling came over me. I worked on myself harder, finding a new kind of enjoyment in knowing that somehow this was, after all, an interpersonal act, and that in some way Bob was enjoying it.

“Oh… oh, Bob… I'm exhausted… oh,” I finally confessed aloud, laying back and closing my eyes, “At least you can come over and kiss me now. I feel so relaxed… so wonderful.”

“Don't you feel ashamed of yourself?” he asked gruffly, shattering every offbeat illusion and satisfaction I had gained. “I would think you would feel cheap and dirty after that orgy of masturbation you just performed. You don't think a normal woman would feel comfortable after such a depraved exhibition, do you?”

I was so exhausted, so confused, so humiliated and shamed, that I got up and started to put my clothes back on in a trance. The couch cushion was soaked where I had secreted so much, and Bob chided me about that too. I seemed to move around mechanically, taking orders from Bob. We moved everything of his up to my room and re-arranged the den like it had been before, pushing the single Hollywood bed back in the corner, putting the thick cover over it, then making a sofa out of it with the big cushions.

I was terribly tired, tired and frustrated, when we finished. Bob took a pair of pajamas from the drawer and started to undress. I felt so peculiar about the idea of going to bed with him. I felt physically and mentally unclean, as if I might tarnish him with my presence and closeness. I realized then that I was pretty dirty and did need a bath. I had been perspiring heavily with all the work, and I was messy otherwise too.

The shower refreshed me a great deal, a hot bath with scented soap always does. It seems to clean away both kinds of dirt, mental and the physical. It never did a complete job, but it helped immensely. I know whenever I had that feeling after a bath, I recalled Lady Macbeth's line that “will not all the perfumes of Arabia wipe out this damned spot?”

I walked back in the bedroom naked to find Bob lying in bed in the same manner. His penis was already erect and he announced to me, and I do mean announced, “Denise, I am going to make a woman of you. Come here.”