Ron Bywood - Beast humping

In the course of history, bestial practices have not only been 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 a 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 also 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 a 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 rogues 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 – whorehouses on every street, blue movies, and 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 but 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 private performance just for you, or for a whole party of ten or twenty tourists. How Superman kept that prick of his 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 you're not interested and they don't believe their ears. After all, once you'd seen the Capitolio and the rum distillery and the ancient cathedral in Havana, what the hell else is there left but the whorehouses?

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 realised 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 onto 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 neighbourhood.

At first I thought maybe it was just a movie show this guy was talking about, but he said, "No – real alive done-kee – 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 for 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 – it had a huge front door about ten feet tall with an ornate grill-work all over it – real old Spanish style.

There was the usual fat madam 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 swooped down on me next, pressing their tits into me and grabbing 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.