Jack Benjamin - The Paths Of Incest

It died down for a time, but the coldness between Cal and Jo caused a complete breakdown in their sex relations. Meanwhile, Jo and I continued to make love to each other, although she felt guilty about having introduced me to lesbianism. I told her she hadn't, that I had wanted to kiss her cunt that day, but it didn't help. She began to get nervous and irritable, and she and Cal fought constantly. Finally, he started drinking heavily and staying out nights-all night, sometimes. He told her bluntly that he was fucking any woman he could get, and would go on doing it unless she "straightened out and became a woman."

Admitting that she really did love Cal, Jo eventually went to a psychiatrist and then entered group therapy. I became like a lost, lonely lover that had been jilted. (My lovemaking became less intense, and finally, Jo told me it was all over. I screamed at her that she couldn't do that to me, but she pointed out that she had never made any advances, all those years she had been a lesbian. I went to live with an aunt, in Oakland, California. I went to the University of California at Berkley for one semester. I had a lot of lesbian friends there. Then the hippie crowd started to take over-at least, the bunch that I ran with, and I couldn't go for the bi-sexual bit. I tried sucking a man's cock-I never could allow one to be stuck inside my cunt-but I couldn't make it that way, either. I hooked up with an advertising company, demonstrating appliances in stores across the western states, and I met Laura there. I guess we recognized each other as lesbians from the moment we met. We slept together that very first night and we've been together ever since. We are active in a lesbian society, and we no longer pretend. I never knew how wonderful love could be until I went out into the open with it. I can't help what I am, and wouldn't change it if I could. I doubt if Jo, my sister, has really licked her problem-and it's a problem because she makes it one. She's a bi-sexual, I am positive, and even though she and Cal are living together, I doubt if they are half as happy as Laura and I are. I know, you probably think that I am not qualified to make a judgment, because I've never actually had a man's prick inside me, but you're wrong. I know that sex with a man, even one you might love, can never equal the emotional impact that love from a woman gives. We have women in our society, Daughters of Bilitis, who've been married, and most of them have had men. They can't all be perverted or twisted, can they.

Lesbian love, most experts agree, does provide that extra emotional and even spiritual uplift that Jill refers to. By the very sexual nature of man, he cannot be as gentle, patient and spiritual in his lovemaking as can a woman-at least, not without cultivating the trait. Jill is one of those women who is now leading a productive life, and society can have no quarrel with her. Judged by our normal standards, she is an unfulfilled woman; from hers, she is completely happy. In each of us, there are feminine and masculine genes and factors. In a majority of cases, they remain in proper balance. In a few, such as Jill's case, they are so severely overbalanced that it is sensible to recognize that she very likely is living the best life for her. At least, she seems not to be laden with guilt and knows no frustration in her lesbian role. This, in the final analysis, is what life is all about-happiness, when not at the expense of other human beings.

Prostitution and lesbianism have been believed to be closely intertwined, for many decades. It is difficult to make accurate conclusions in this theory, simply because prostitutes do not talk to researchers, police or psychiatrists, as a rule. However, most prostitutes, whether truthfully or not, relate sad stories of their being driven into prostitution by the brutality of a man, or of several men. If this is true, then medical science knows with certainty that the same conditions and thinking which drive a woman to sell her body, can, and often do, influence her strongly toward lesbianism.

Many prostitutes hate men. This is an accepted fact in psychology. It is also known that human beings cannot live successfully without love. This is a world of checks and balances; actions and reactions. If hate for men exists in a woman, it is almost automatic that strong liking or love for women must eventually appear.

In the following case, we have an opportunity to judge just how much truth there is in many of the statements of lesbians as to the reasons they choose this unnatural way of love and sex. The older of the two sisters is still a working prostitute. She is known to this writer (as she is to many others who do not know her true story) as a photographer's model. She poses for supposed "camera bugs" in a studio in Los Angeles. Police watch these studios carefully, for any indications that one may be a front for prostitution. In them, males come and pay for photographing nude women, either in group activity, or in private rooms. That this is an innocent pastime is questionable, for very little film is sold; the man may bring his own camera or rent one. Since he can pose the model in any position he chooses, one wonders where an amateur would take such film to be developed unless he develops it himself. Be that as it may, Ella talks freely of her activities as a model, a prostitute and a lesbian.

I know it sounds like a sob story, but this is how it started. My mother died when I was 15. My sister was 13, and my older brother was 16 and he left, right after Ma died. My old man was a ass-he always was. From the time I was nine or 10, he was always feeling me up, trying to get me to let him screw me. I know he was doing the same to Julia. When Ma died, I knew damned well what was coming, and he didn't waste any time, either. And before I tell you about that, I might mention that my brother used to make his pitches, too. Always surprising me in the bathroom, feeling my tits and my box, wanting me to suck his cock or let him fuck me. Well, I was screwing, I'll admit, since I was 13, but not my brother or father!

Anyway, Pa took off right from the cemetery on a binge. He never even showed up that first night at all. Imagine, me and Julia, just kids, that first night. Julia cried so hard, I had to let her sleep in my bed with me. My brother wasn't any help-he went out with his gang and I guess he was drinking, too.

Pa came home that second night, and he was mean drunk-not the fall-down kind, like he usually became. Julia was asleep, finally. It was two in the morning, but I was awake. I was scared, I guess. I hadn't heard from my brother all day-we found out later he'd taken off, and I was afraid of what Pa would be like when he did show up.

He came into the bedroom and leaned over my bed. He saw I was awake. He grabbed my arm and dragged me out into the living room. I had on a thin, short nightgown. We are Polish, not that it's got much to do with it, except that my father never would learn to speak English without that heavy accent, even though he was born in this country. When he was drunk, he'd speak half in Polish, half in broken English. I didn't understand a word in Polish, and it used to infuriate him. My mother wasn't Polish, and he must have felt he was an outsider, at times, when nobody understood his language.

"I know you fuck," he started out. "I no dumbbell. I see what go on in car, some nights. Now, Dom need fuck!" like I said, I knew what would be coming from the old bastard, but still, he shocked me with the.bluntness of it.

"You're a pig," I spat at him. Before the words were out of my mouth, he had backhanded me and it knocked me down, making my nose bleed. He picked me up, like I was a baby, and carried me into the bedroom and tossed me on the bed. He began undressing, all the time mumbling about "…you fuck strangers, and you call you old man pig. Well, then a pig should fuck another pig… and you a pig!"