R Geis - A donkey named Peter

This dog was less well-trained, or more eager. He began mouth-fucking her immediately. Again, she used her hand to prevent too deep penetration. She sucked wetly.

She wasn't quick enough this time – she obviously took a spurt of his semen into her mouth. She flung her head aside and spat it out into her palm as the dog shot his stuff without benefit of her hand stroking him.

Abruptly the dining room doors rumbled closed and lights came on in the living room. It was time to go; the show was over.

I wanted to try to interview the girl. On impulse I knocked on the closed doors. After a few seconds they parted a few inches. The man looked out. I told him what I wanted. He said to wait a minute.

He came back and asked if I'd pay anything. I said no. He went away again, and returned to say I could have a few minutes if I didn't get too nosy.

While my friends agreed to wait outside in the car, I was taken in across the blanket-covered mattress to a back bedroom.

The girl was sitting cross-legged on an old club chair, wearing a blue shift, still with her wig and mask on. She was spooning chocolate ice cream from a white cereal bowl.

It was agreed no names would be used. She was sometimes breathtakingly honest. The man stayed in the room with us and occasionally vetoed a question.

Geis: I keep asking myself why you do an act like this. Is it strictly for money, or do you enjoy it?

Girl: For money. It's gotta be for money.

Geis: But it looked like you had an orgasm during the act. Did you?

Girl: I can't help that. I mean, sure, sometimes. But that isn't why I do it.

Geis: The dogs are beautiful animals and excellently trained. Did you train them yourself?

Girl: Well, yeah, sure. From puppies almost. We planned this…

Man: Don't talk about that. Shut up about us.

Geis: Let me ask… I'll try… In the detail of the act, where you take the dogs' penises in your mouth… the question is… do they taste any different from a man?

Girl: The come tastes like rotten caviar or something like that. It's evil.

Geis: How did you start doing this?

Man: No.

Geis: Well, could you tell how or why you first let a dog have intercourse with you?

Girl: He was a pet and I was just a stupid kid. I was just fooling around with him. It tickled.

Geis: How many times have you done this?

Girl: This act? About…

Man: Don't tell him.

Geis: Well… Have you ever done it with other animals – besides dogs?

Girl: No, just dogs. I like dogs.

Geis: Is that ice cream to get the taste of semen out of your mouth?

Girl: Yeah. I can never tell exactly when it's going to shoot.

Geis: Do you think a trained dog such as your Danes makes a better lover than a man?

Girl: Some ways. Beelz – well, the one who finished me tonight, he'll get me off almost every time, if I start with him. There's just something about him that does it to me. I don't know why. And sometimes you'd swear they could talk with their eyes…

Geis: Do you have trouble making it with a man?

Girl: Yeah, I really do. I give up trying, mostly. I get too tense or something. I can't relax right.

Geis: Do you get a better, stronger orgasm from having a big dog… well, fuck you… than from a man?

Girl: I don't know. When I make it the first time from screwing a guy I'll let you know.

Geis: Have you had any kind of orgasm at all from a man?

Girl: If they go down on me, I come. That's the only way. And it takes too long. They don't like to do it that long.

Geis: Do you come quickly when your dogs lick you?

Girl: Um-hmm. Their tongues are different. They send all kinds of shivers through me. It gets so strong I can't stand it.

Geis: So a man isn't much use to you.

Girl: Not for sex.

Geis: Ever try making it with a woman?

Girl: Once. I didn't dig it I only let her go ahead because I was curious. It was nothing – no feeling, no matter what she did.

Geis: Are the dogs ready to go every day? Do you get more than one performance out of them a day?

Man: That's enough. That's it. We've got things to do. Turn that thing off.

And that was the end of the interview. It was just enough to show that the girl is deeply disturbed. She has a king-size psychosexual hangup. It probably started in childhood, not with her first dog, but in her relationship with her parents.

It is tempting to speculate that her parents rejected her and denied her love and a place in their lives. She was left feeling inferior, not worthy of human love and status. She found that dogs loved her and accepted her. Men – other people – she could not trust, could not give herself to them. So she values herself – as a reject – lower than human, deserving to be in the dregs of life, fit only for degrading sex shows with her dogs… because she was convinced as a child she wasn't good enough to be loved by her parents. That meant there had to be something wrong with her, didn't it?

That's how a child reasons. He takes his values and value from the most important people in the world. He knows no others during those first critical years of life.

As I say – it is tempting to speculate that this was what happened to this girl. But we'll probably never know.

The following interview tells a tragic story. I have had it in my files for two years awaiting the accumulation of enough similar material to make up a book.

As is so often the case, I was guided to the woman by a "bird dog" friend who had met her and gleaned the substance of her story.

We'll call her Louisa. She was an alcoholic. Was. I learned a few weeks ago that she had died of poisoning – she drank (probably) something that may have looked and smelled alcoholic, but wasn't.

Louisa, as I knew her, didn't care. She was trying to kill herself by drinking. She was trying to atone for a horrible (to her) sin which her strict conscience would not permit to go unpunished.

She was forty years old when I taped this interview with her. We met in a lower-class bar, talked in a booth for an hour, and arranged for a meeting at her room. It was agreed that I would bring along a fifth of vodka to "further the cause".

There were six taping sessions, each about an hour long, each paid for with a bottle. Her mind was rotting away in a swamp of alcohol-destroyed brain cells. She repeated herself too often. She was antagonistic, suddenly erotic, suddenly in tears, suddenly calm, suddenly shaking in an agony of remorse as we dredged through that critical, terrible period in her life that was killing her.

But Louisa was able to speak with a kind of power that originated in her emotional agony and in her native talent. She had been to a small religious college and was interested in poetry. She told me she used to read great quantities of books. She even tried writing religious poetry.

Her husband was an electrical engineer and small contractor. He often had to be away on jobs for weeks at a time.

Listening to her and seeing her, during the taping sessions, when she literally ripped open her soul, was often almost physically painful. I often left her room shaken.

She was, in every sense of the word, tormented. She spoke with a fierceness and intensity that was sometimes frightening. Most of the time her eyes were dull, but once in a while they were like coals from that hell she was so eager to go to.

The question will automatically come to mind as you read this transcription: why did this woman's daughter cross the line to lesbianism and into bestiality. And why did the mother follow?

A December, 1968, article in Newsweek suggests part of the answer: "Stanford psychologist Philip Zimbardo found that women patients in mental hospitals are much more likely to swear than men. The psychological controls we put on women are so tight,' he says, 'that when they break through they really let go.'"