I never took out Faye again, although we used to talk occasionally in class. I don't know what she told her girl friends about me, but they looked at me very strangely after that, and whispered excitedly among themselves.
After Faye, I became fascinated with the art of seduction. For a period of about six months I concentrated on girls I went to school with, who had little experience outside of necking and letting boys feel their breasts. It was very interesting, cheap and lousy of me, since I had no real interest in them outside of getting into their pants. During that six months I had fucked sixteen of Faye's friends, and given eleven of them their first orgasms.
Some of the girls must have squealed, because I began to get a reputation around school as a bad-ass character with women. It got to the point where "nice" girls wouldn't even speak to me. However, this didn't bother me too much because things were picking up on other fronts. Anyway, I was tiring of the game; there was too much work involved in trying to bust a virgin.
Maybe I was a male chauvinist pig, a liar, a cheat, and a phony, but I never felt a moment's guilt. I had given twelve girls their very first orgasms. I had performed the function for which Mora had trained me, to please. And I'm sure that, as I never forgot Mora, none of those girls ever forgot me. I'm also sure that as the years progressed they remembered me with much more affection than, they had felt on the night of their seduction.
I had been playing a lot of jobs and my luck started to turn. During the same period that I was busy with virgin-busting, and for about a year after, hardly a weekend went by that I didn't pick up some broad, or get picked up at the various dances and clubs that I played. These girls were older, a few even into their thirties, and I was able either to go to their places or to take them to mine.
Some of the girls were married and out for the specific purpose of cheating on ineffectual husbands who had never learned the art of satisfaction. Some were divorced and lonely, looking only for an evening's companionship and something but their own fingers between their legs for a change. Some were single girls just out for a good tune. The married and divorced girls usually offered me no problem; it was just assumed that we would make love. The single girls were more troublesome and on many occasions I had to use the same tactics I had used on the high-school virgins to get them into my bed.
One girl, Felice, was twenty-three and had never been to bed with a man. She had an ugly face, but a hell of a good body and a very nice personality. We went back to her apartment on outer Geary Street and she introduced me to her roommate, whose name was Ginny. We talked almost all night, but nothing happened. I didn't mind, because I like Felice, who was a good conversationalist and a nonpracticing Catholic, so I started taking her out. I told her that I was twenty-one and a senior at San Francisco State College.
Felice kept bringing up the fact that she was a virgin, as though she felt guilty about it. She made jokes about herself, saying that by the time she found a man, "it" would be so rusty that he wouldn't be able to use it. When we talked seriously she told me not to push her, and that when she was ready she would let me know, so I followed her wishes. We necked a lot, but I never made an effort to get her really hot. Nonetheless, her face aside, I found that every time I masturbated it was Felice who occupied-my mind.
She worked as a receptionist at Pacific Telephone's main office, and I saw her several times a week. We had been going together for about a month when I was finally able to convince her to visit my place, because when we were at her apartment Ginny always seemed to be hovering about.
We had a drink and she said that she thought she was in love with me, and wanted to be made love to. She was nervous, so I did with her what Mora had done with me. I told her to take off all of her clothes, and that I would take off all of mine. I said that we were two people who cared deeply about each other and that we shouldn't have to play games, that I shouldn't have to sneak her clothes off piece by piece and get her so passionate that she wouldn't know what she was doing. She hesitated, but when I started getting undressed, very matter-of-factly, she followed suit. In a minute we were naked, facing each other. I was only semihard, and she tried to keep her eyes up, but they kept darting down to catch quick, guilty glances at my cock. I had been right about her body, it was beautiful. She had smooth, olive skin from her Spanish blood, high, firm breasts, a small, solid ass, and thin legs.
We got into bed and I held and stroked her for a long time as we kissed. When I thought she was ready I moved my lips all over her body, and she caressed me all over, but I had to take her hand and put it on my cock before she would hold it. When I started to put my head between her legs, she froze. "Don't!" she said. "That's dirty, it's not right."
I wasn't going to argue with her then, so I used my finger. She spread her legs and lay still, not humping but getting moist, and holding my cock but not stroking it. I had a feeling, mounting moment by moment, that something was wrong, impending disaster.
"Put it in me," she said, moving my hand away from her cunt and drawing me up onto her.
I kneeled between her legs and used spit to lubricate the head of my cock, as I didn't think she was wet enough. I was very gentle, and when I broke her she winced momentarily with pain, as did I, but then seemed to be all right. She didn't even bleed. Working back and forth, I sunk myself into her slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time. She moaned and moved a little, but didn't seem to be terribly excited. When I was sure that she was comfortable and not hurting, I started.
During the next hour I was heroic. I was at the best of my entire life. I tried everything I knew. I rode her high and used the head of my cock against her clit. I pushed it in full and bumped her until I thought she'd go through the head of the bed. I ran it in and out short, and in and out long, using my finger on her at the same time. I gave her a ride the length and intensity of which would have sent any ordinary woman into orbit and around the universe. I used everything Mora had taught me and some of the things she hadn't. Felice just lay there moaning. "Every time she'd start to get hot some silent sentinel in her would trigger a stop valve, and she would freeze. I didn't understand how any human clitoris could take so much and not respond, but each time she'd start to go, she'd stop.
Finally Felice started to cry and said she was getting sore "down there." No wonder, I had been blasting away at her for over an hour. I pulled out of her and came quietly on her belly. Her face filled with revulsion as she saw my sperm shoot out onto her sweat-soaked skin.
"Get a towel!" she cried. "Get if off me! Get if off! Oh, God, it's awful!"
I snatched up a dishrag from the kitchen and wiped her, so weak myself that I could barely move. She stopped crying, just sniffling a little as she shrugged, and with a gesture of hopelessness said 'Well, at least I'm not a virgin anymore."
Livid with anger, I held her in my arms. I wanted to kill all the nuns and all the priests and all the parents who had done this to Felice, who with their voodoo tales from the crypt, had robbed her of the joys of womanhood, and left her frigid, unable to enjoy sex even with a man she loved. If I couldn't give her pleasure, then I knew that nobody could. I wanted to hold up her naked, sterile body and scream, "See? See what you fucking bastards have done to her, you and your religion and your false Christian morals and your thou-shalt-nots? You've taken a fine human being and you've ruined her. You've made her unhappy today, and bitter tomorrow, and filled her with hate for the day after tomorrow."
But I just lay there silent, rocking her. After a while she said, "There's something wrong with me, isn't there?"
"Not with you," I said. "Just with all the people who taught you when you were little.
And we talked about it for a long time. I knew that anything I might have told her would have been years too late. I suggested that she see a good psychiatrist, that maybe he could help, but that it might be a long time before she could experience normal feelings without guilt.