Things were really looking up-for him, too. Somehow, getting rid of his wife had freed him of the tension that kept him from being the fine actor he was now becoming, and more and better parts started coming his way.
"Our sex life was wonder, Cabot, was the perfect lover-passionate, considerate, affectionate. After six months of an exciting, glamorous affair, we were married in a little chapel in Acapulco, and I knew then that all the working and saving and conniving had been worthwhile-I was the wife of a dear, good man who just happened to be one of the world's up-and-coming motion picture stars, and was also quite comfortably wealthy as a result of having invested his earnings in California real estate. No more slums for this lady, ever. No more fighting the rats to get to the garbage can, no more hiding my piggybank from my drunken father, no more hearing my mother call the police when she thought we couldn't hear her and ask if there was any news of my daddy's whereabouts, or if he was safely in jail again.
"Grandma was overjoyed, but she insisted on my continuing with the lessons for which we'd done without. 'You never know, Renee-a woman should always have a trade in case she needs to earn her own way someday. Keep on learning and you'll never starve, with or without a husband.' I took her advice and enrolled in the finest drama academy on the West coast. Along with all the other things that Cabot's money could buy, it brought my mother-my father had died three years ago as the result of a fall while he was on one of his drunken toots, and the two kids that were still at home to the West coast, and we installed them As proud home owners in a comfortable house not far from where we lived. I thought I had everything.
"Then one day I called the phone number of a masseuse who had been recommended by a friend of mine. All the rich food I'd been gobbling since coming to live with. Cabot had begun to show in a very unattractive layer of fat, and I knew if I wanted to get even a second lead that I'd better stay slim. So I called Laureen, and when she started robbing my body, something about her strong, capable hands seemed so familiar that my heart quite literally turned over. I couldn't remember for the life of me who'd touched me that way, who'd stroked me into an awareness of my own body that I'd never known before. Even though Cabot and I had a good sexual relationship, and even though I enjoyed myself tremendously in his arms, there had always been something missing-something I could never put my finger on, but that I wanted so much that I pushed it out of my mind because I thought I'd never have it.
"Now, the professional hands of a masseuse, a woman I'd only known for a half-hour, were reawakening memories.that I'd buried under a landslide of need, an avalanche of ambition. Where did I know that touch? Who had stroked my body in just that way-firmly but lightly, rhythmically but capably? After a few minutes of puzzling over this half-forgotten sensation, I let my mind and body be lulled by Laureen's expert touch and drifted into a hazy, half-waking state where impressions went slipping by like clouds across a summer sky. Suddenly I sat up on the massage table, my towel falling away, and I nearly shouted aloud, 'That's it! the man on the cross-country bus!'
"Good sense kept my mouth shut and I explained my sudden movement to Laureen as the result of a muscle twinge. We went on with the massage, but now I was tingling all over as my body remembered my first sexual experience, when the hands of a man in a dark bus taught me to climax. I knew that the worst thing I could do was tell Laureen about this-and certainly, never ever could I talk about it to Cabot. His frail actor's ego would never survive the blow that I would give it by telling him that I was more turned on by the hands of a masseuse than I was by the whole body of a gorgeous film star-who just happened to be my husband.
"So the days went by, with me tingling to touch of my masseuse while still madly in love with my husband. It was a good thing that I'd become such a fine little actress-my training in. that area was all that kept me from giving away the whole thing to both husband and masseuse. I hadn't been able to climax to Laureen's touch as yet, because naturally, she was only massaging the areas of my body that needed it, in her opinion. Unfortunately, the part of me that needed her massage more than anywhere else was my hungry pussy, with my breasts running a dose second. But how to get her to do it without having her think I was a roaring lesbian? I wasn't, at least not at that time. I just wanted Laureen to rob my pussy, massage my clitoris, stroke my breasts the way the man in the bus had done, I wanted it so much that as weeks went by, I could think of nothing else.
"Everything went by the board, because I just couldn't stop myself from thinking about the man on the bus, about his hands, his touch, and how much better it had been then the loving my husband gave me, how much more exciting it had been than the different affairs I'd had before I was married. Even though I'd never had a lesbian experience, or even known a lesbian girl, K started fantasizing about Laureen, about how K could get her to rub my pussy, maybe squeeze my breasts or even kiss my lips lightly, as the man on the bus had done so long ago.
"Unbelievable? Yes, it was unbelievable that a woman who had so much in material wealth, so much in married affection, so much in the way of a beginning career in films, should risk losing everything for the sake of reliving her first sex experience. But it had become an obsession-I had to experience once more the feelings that I'd first known in that cramped bus seat with the gentle lecher who had become in my memory, the man-on-the-bus.
"I began masturbating for the first time in my life, because I was so frustrated and confused. Cabot made love to me three or four nights a week, and sometimes oftener. I was losing interest in our lovemaking because I wanted something different-I wanted those soft, gentle hands on my body-I wanted the forbidden-fruit situation of a little girl and an older man touching each other in the middle of a group of people who didn't know what they were doing. I wanted to feel naughty, to go back and do it all over again-but I couldn't and knowing I couldn't was turning me into a mooning neurotic.
"The days when Laureen came to the house to give me a massage were red-letter days for me-I bathed, shaved my legs, douched, perfumed my skin, made up my face and did my hair as carefully as I once did for a lover. But except for the flush of passion that Laureen's hands brought to my face and breasts, I couldn't bring myself to indicate in any way that I wanted her fingers in my pussy, on my breasts and hips. When she did massage my shoulders, I tried to move in such a way that her hands would have to rub over my breasts, but it didn't work-she was too professional to slip and. perhaps offend a good customer. As I lay on the massage table, I planned things that I would do to force her to touch my cunt, rub my clit, maybe even kiss me. I never did any of them-I was too shy, too inexperienced to know how to begin."
In his book Cunnilingus and Fellatio, Dr. John F. Trimble devotes chapter 6 to the childhood trauma or pleasure fixation. Trimble says, "The childhood trauma or pleasure fixation quite frequently involves an approach by an adult which ends in a complete sexual act." He then goes on to quote Kinsey's studies which show:
… something like 24 % (of female children) are sexually approached by adults in preadolescence, and that among these, 2 % engage in either cunnilingus or fellatio with the adult… " For those approached who are in a gentle and seductive manner, and for many of a precocious constitution who are approached by stranger, these prepubertal contacts with adults have the capacity for establishing a primary preference or fixation. Simply stated, if the experience produced pleasure or orgasm, the individual may be prompted to repeat it in later life… When the developing child or adult does have an erotic heterosexual relationship, there can easily be a fixation of this form of expression. The roots may lie much farther back with the infantile urge for sucking, but the need becomes fixated and primary because of the drama, the trauma, of reacting to the living experience.