Justin Caas - The Third Sex

I knelt on the bed, positioned myself above her, gripped her about the waist with an unconscious canine instinct. I could feel it extending, and drawing her close slipped into her body. We remained together for a long time after the final ejaculation, resting, at peace. Now and then Molly would shift slightly and as she did so the swelling at the base of my penis pressed against a very sensitive part of her vagina and she would shudder softly in another paroxysm of sensation.

We disengaged ourselves without speaking, now awkward and embarrassed. Mother smiled at me. I felt the warmth of her care despite the clumsy misuse of my attributes. I could put it down to the impulsiveness of growing up, to inexperience—but in truth I had simply given in to a mindless compulsion.

Shamefaced, I said goodbye and taking my hat this time, set out a little later than I had planned, to meet Brian and his boat.

The experience with my mother affected me profoundly. It was a first for me, the first time that I had actually done what I had been created to do. Something matured in me, and especially in my sense of smell which now focussed even more intensively on the smell of a woman on heat. Of course that term has over millenia rather ceased to be relevant for human females. Women are on heat whenever they feel they want to be, which to the disappointment of many men, is not as often as they would like them to be.

Dogs also have evolved and changed over the same millenia, reacting to centuries of close contact with human beings, living with them and from time to time, mating with them. For a dog the original impulses remain largely unchanged; they are aroused by a woman on heat, or to use another term, ovulating. The canine distinction is slight. Their exquisite sense of smell guides them to a woman in this condition and goads them to do what nature intended for them—to mount and impregnate them.

In domestic situations this natural impulse is often, perhaps mostly, thwarted by the human habit of castrating them. Humans at one time did the same thing to their own kind, perhaps they still do. In the seventeenth, or was it the eighteenth century no fewer that four thousand boys a year were castrated by a prominent and major church in order to provide sopranos for their holy choirs. It seemed to me that mankind is noted for bestial behaviour. But for the ultimate in depravity it is hard to ignore the words of a great scientist and professor:

“With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.”

—Steven Weinberg, quoted in The New York Times, April 20, 1999

In the same spirit in those earlier times if a dog merely performed his natural and instinctive function and mounted a willing woman and the act was discovered, the church decreed that the dog should be put to death, and very often the woman as well.

With this sick perspective on human behaviour in mind, I entered into adulthood—mindful of the dangerous prejudices that had gone before me, but hopeful that my status as a Stud, being recognised by the state would spare me a fate similar to my predecessors. In my history lessons, I learned to my astonishment that in an earlier era men went off to glorious war to kill and main other men. Sometimes in a village, a frail youth remained behind, who quietly and without fanfare impregnated all the married women left behind, not to mention a few who weren’t married so that when the victorious and gallant husbands returned from battle, they were surprised to discover that they were already heir to a little boy or a little girl which, if the mother was swift, she attributed to divine intervention.

Lucy Luckner was known to be a tease. She was also one of the most attractive girls at school. Boys fell over each other in an effort to be noticed and the lucky ones were granted the privilege of taking her to a show, a game, a movie or a meal and for the truly fervent, perhaps all four. The touch of Lucy’s delicate hand on a boy’s arm was enough to send shudders of emotion coursing through his body. Sometimes at the conclusion of a particularly lavish and expensive evening’s entertainment, she might grant her lucky admirer a chaste kiss. But this never seemed to develop into further liberties.

Yet here is a curious thing. Boys who took Lucy out, all tried desperately to explore further because with great skill, Lucy coquettishly led them on by gesture, a side glance, raised eyebrow a laughing innuendo that very soon now they would be rewarded with what she was hinting at very strongly—yes she was a consummate artist at the big pretend. There was also a slightly mean streak to her nature as well, as she took particular enjoyment in leading a boy on until he was so overcome that he created a nuisance in his pants, the evidence of which would be publicly visible and a source of shame and embarrassment to him. Lucy smiled quietly to herself as if this helpless oaf was so struck by her beauty alone that it was inevitable that he would lose control of himself. The reputation that Lucy cultivated was that of a refined, chaste virgin so boys were quite confused by the mixed messages she sent out on a date.

It happened that the Luckners were holding a party to celebrate the coming of age of their eldest son. Several of my classmates were invited, and rather to my surprise, I as well. I could see why Ken, Ron, Bruce and Thomas were invited, together with a large complement of girls. Ken for his athletic appearance, Ron was a humorist and kept a party going, Bruce was Captain of the First Eleven and Thomas could be teased unmercifully. The girls were chosen for their plain looks and humble clothes, the better to contrast with the scintillating beauty of Lucy herself. As for me, I suspected that my presence was merely that of a curiosity. If Lucy had a talking dog she’d have brought that along too, but in the absence of other freaks, Erin would be good for a laugh.

I decided to play along with her suspected motives carefully choosing my clothes for the occasion. I wore my hair shoulder-length and this was by no means uncommon for boys of that age. Nothing need be done to my face. I had never shaved as there was no need to do so. The skin of my face was smooth and flawless. I choose a shirt that was rather bulky with pockets at the chest and belted it at the waist. Instead of trousers I wore tights which of course could not help but display between my legs the smooth contours of a woman. I was careful to walk and talk like a man while my appearance gave a confusingly ambiguous message that perhaps I was not.

I have noticed that when people meet someone on the street or elsewhere their first glance is to put that person into a category. It’s either a man or a woman. Once that is settled they can go on to notice other things about the stranger if that is there inclination. But the very first thing is to instantly put the unknown person into either a male or female pigeonhole. Why do they do this? People generally do not like uncertainty, they like to have things clear-cut and orderly. By acting in one way and dressing in another this presents a disturbing ambiguity. I was aware that Lucy would notice this and I was curious to see what her reaction would be. I wasn’t particularly attracted to the girl, as I am seldom drawn to physical looks. For friendship I rely on someone’s personality and character and for amorous attraction I rely on an exquisite sense of smell to detect what a girl’s body is saying. It’s a lot simpler than words and a lot more reliable; small can’t be faked.