|Sex Stories of a Tarnished Virgin|
desperately to believe that she was not an Immaculate Conception. Still
it was impossible for her to imagine that her mother would ever. . . But
Vienna stayed always to herself because she had no friends. There were no children in the neighborhood with whom she could play, but had there been, she would not have been allowed to play with them. Her mother had taught her that children, all children, were bad, the off springs of Original Sin, impure until they had been sanctified in the Holy Pool of the Baptismal Waters. And just a dipping wouldnt do. The child must understand that it had been born of the wicked flesh. It must feel the humiliation and shame of it. It must yearn for the cleansing Power of the Pool and be willing to experience the sacrifices that sanctity demands. But could a mere child do that? Never! her mother said. No! Children are born sinners and will remain sinners for the entire span of their miserable lives.
Viennas mother should have been institutionalized. But what child could know that about its own mother? What child could know that many mothers are actually warm and loving and demonstrative, full of joy that a little one had been born unto them, even if it was imperfect and had been born in Original Sin and, as her mother had convinced her, would die in Original Sin. Vienna wasnt looking forward to living, certainly, but dying in Original Sin with all that Hell Fire and Damnation her mother knew so much about terrified her. Oh, please, God, dont let me die like that, she often prayed, never wondering where the disturbed woman had gotten her information. But her mother had said it so it must be true.
When Vienna was old enough to go to school she began to sense and hope that something wonderful would happen there. She didnt know what to expect of other people, but she prayed that they wouldnt be like her parents; that they might care for her; that she might even find a friend, one who had nice parents who would want her to come home with their child and have supper sometimes and maybe stay the night or a whole weekend! She had no idea where such thoughts had come from. She certainly had no idea that other children and other families actually did such things, but something in her was longing, and the longing told her that some time, some place, her life would get better.
It didnt. Vienna soon found that the parents and the teachers and even the children, many of whom seemed friendly enough, frightened her. They had surely arrived from another place. Their language was so different. It was purely colloquial, rich with the vernacular of the region in which Vienna lived, and she readily understood the words, but she had no idea how to interpret the multilayered sounds and nuances uttered by these strange people. She didnt know what their expressive eyes were saying, nor what it meant when they touched one another, or held hands while skipping home from school. Vienna was lost and frightened and unhappier than ever. The only thing that held more dread for her now than going to school was going home afterwards. The town was small, and she could walk the distance to her house with ease, but it hurt so much to see the other children walking with each other, as if they belonged together or to watch some of them being met by a loving parent who would kiss her own child and hug the others as tightly as if they too were hers; as if they too had been born in Original Sin and that it was all right.
Not with Viennas mother. Hers was a manifestation of such an array of unconscionable flaws that in the blink of an eye she could put to shame all the demons in Pandoras Box. And the martyr she played for Vienna and her father was a masterpiece of unabashed histrionic manipulation. She would stay the day in her comfy chair reading her Bible and sniffing snuff until she heard her young daughter ascending the rickety wooden stairs and turning the tarnished brass door knob. Her child was home! Her day had begun!
Out came the mops and brooms; out came the dust cloths; out came the silverware to be polished, the dishes to be washed, the evening meal to be cooked. A womans work is never done, she moaned on a regular basis reserving the louder and more committed moans for her husband. But he had dismissed her so many years ago that she no longer existed for him. He would come home from work, trudge into the living room, nod to his daughter if she happened to be there and sometimes even if she wasnt, sit down in his easy chair, cross his legs, pull a fresh ripe pomegranate out of his worn jacket, (he did this religiously no matter the season, and not once had anyone asked where he got it), suck on it obscenely, open his evening paper and read. The mother would bang away at chores around the house, and in one hour exactly from the moment the husbands bottom hit his chair, she would announce dinner. The family would file into the kitchen, sit at the too-small wooden table, gobble down a few bits of painfully uninspired victuals, and then go its own way; Vienna to her room, the father to his, and the mother to hers. It was a small house, but the distance between the rooms was incalculable.
* * *
dutifully for her father to push his pomegranate into the cracked old
ashtray, wipe his sticky fingers on his trousers, get up and honor the
command that had been volleyed from the back of the house. But he didnt
move. And the fruit was only half eaten. Its juice trickled down his chin,
and seeds dropped lifelessly from his open mouth. This was most unusual.
Devouring the pomegranates flesh with loud slurps and spitting its
seed into a large tin can was the manner in which her father usually consumed
his favorite fruit and Vienna didnt understand this departure. But
she had long-since learned not to question him about anything, so she
just sat and waited for him to rise. DID YOU HEAR ME? shrieked
the woman. Vienna had. But apparently her father hadnt. Father?
she asked tentatively. YOU GET OUT HERE! NOW! Father.?.
Vienna got out of her chair slowly and as silently as possible moved across
the room to the quiet man. His legs were crossed. One hand held his newspaper
firmly, as always. The other grasped the pomegranate tightly. His head
was lowered, open eyes
* * *
Spring came, and with it came outdoor recess. Having no one with whom to play, Vienna would hide alone behind the maintenance mans tool shed and watch the little boys and girls having fun at the monkey bars. The bars were the most prominent and popular attraction on the school playground, and for weeks Vienna watched from her secret place as the children laughed and pushed and scrambled and shoved, each vowing that the next turn to climb the bars would be his or hers. Almost without exception, it was one of the boys who commanded the next available pole. But on occasion, one of the little girls would display an inordinate amount of temerity, push ahead of the boys and shimmy up the pole with determination and glee. Once having descended she would throw a dainty hand over a giggling mouth and run to a nearby friend where she would point to one or another of the little boys and tell her friend that she was absolutely certain that he had tried to look up her dress. He is so bad, she would giggle as she daintily adjusted her panties. He is so bad! After all, if their mothers had told them not to let the little boys look up their dresses, then the little girls wanted to honor that, though they couldnt begin to understand why the little boys shouldnt.
Curiosity was pressing heavily on Vienna. She had to discover for herself just what secret powers those monkey bars held. And so, one day after school, knowing that she was risking the wrath of God should she be late arriving home, she tentatively approached the poles and touched one, remembering how, on occasion, if the sun was blazing, a boy would burn himself on the metal. But the day was overcast and the steel was cool and up Vienna went. UP SHE WENT! She couldnt believe it! Shed never climbed anything but the steps to her house, yet there she was. Top of the pole! First try! FIRST TRY! Wrapping her legs tightly around her very own individual pole, she slipped down it. And then pulled herself up, again. And down, again.
She was feeling something she had never felt before. Up and down, and up and down. Oooooooo! Aaahhh! It was a feeling between her legs. It felt so good! Again! Up! Down! Up! Down! She was getting very tired, but that feeling.?. Up! Down! What is it? she wondered. What is that feeling down there! Is that what makes the little girls giggle and the little boys touch between their legs! But no answer came. Only a sudden deadening fear. She was certain that she shouldnt be having those feelings. Forgive me, God! Please forgive me! And please dont let anyone ever find out! Please, God. Please! Vienna began to run.
Hello, little girl. Havin a good time?
God had not
heard her! Someone had seen! He was standing in his overalls in the open
door of the maintenance shed. She wasnt sure, but she thought she
saw something pinkish and hard peeping out through the overalls somewhere
near the place where his legs met. No, sir. I hated it! I hated
it! And she continued to run, tormented by the thought that the
man might tell her mother what an awful thing shed done. For days
she couldnt look at the woman. She knew, she absolutely knew that
her mother would see in her child eyes that shed been bad. But it
had felt so good. How could anything that felt so good be wrong? She longed
to feel that feeling, again. Just one more time. Just one
would it really be bad if I
? Without being aware
of it, one of her hands found its way into her lap. Please, God,
Ive heard the little girls in the rest room at school
heard them say that sometimes they
And then they giggled,
God. Can it be so bad if they giggled? While she was praying, her
trembling hands were slipping her plain white panties down over her knees.
Please, God, please dont let this be wrong
dont let my mother find out! Vienna had never known such courage,
and for that she was grateful, but just as she was slipping the little
finger of a tiny hand into that mysterious opening often referred to by
the naughty girls in the rest room at school as the woowoo,
her mother appeared. She seemed always to appear at the wrong time, and
when she did, she seemed always to be twice her size. Vienna tried to
think of something, anything, to escape her mothers wrath. But all
she could do was sit there with that tiny finger buried snugly up to its
first knuckle inside her wicked little woowoo. Suddenly, her mother was
the Colossus, standing in the doorway, glowering, growing taller and hissing,
If you so much as touch TOUCH that sacred vessel of
womanhood! Ever again! With anything! Finger, thumb, toe, or foot. CHOP!CHOP!
OFF WITH EM! And she returned to her comfy chair, her snuff
and her well-worn Bible.
school, Vienna remained deeply unhappy and frustrated. Yet it was in that
very school that she discovered her salvation; her escape from herself
and her burgeoning sexual obsession. Books. Books. Books! She read every
book she could understand that had print on its pages and a cover on its
back. She delved into every area of human experience with the notable
exception of human sexuality. Her mother would never approve of that.
But her mother was to have little time to disapprove. One evening while
resting in her comfy chair, reading her Bible and sniffing her snuff,
she became so enthralled with the soaring passages of the Holy Book that
she inadvertently pinched up an inordinately large amount of the ever-present
snuff and inhaled deeply. Shortly the woman began to sneeze, which would
have been expected. But these were most unusual sneezes; tiny little sneezes
like a kitten with a cold, sneezes with spittle which was dampening the
Holy Words on the Holy Pages of the Holy Bible. With each sneeze, Vienna
responded softly and appropriately from her room with God bless
you, Mother. But soon the sneezes were coming so rapidly that Vienna
couldnt keep up with them. The God bless you mothers
were tumbling over themselves. And as each sneeze continued to douse the
pages of the Bible her deranged mother attempted to wipe the spittle away
with such fear and anger that her trembling hands were ripping pages from
the Holy Bible. Terrified and enraged, she shrieked, GOD DAMN YOU!
And then there was silence. Terrified, Vienna rushed into her mothers
room. But her mother was perfectly calm, now; hands resting peacefully
on her breast, eyes open, seemingly glancing toward the Holy Word which
had fallen to the floor beside her comfy chair. But the eyes saw nothing.
Viennas mother was dead.
shovel dug into a mound of dirt. It made a Swishing sound
Sitting alone on the solitary, cold church chair that had been carefully placed in just the right position beside her mothers grave, Vienna became aware of a feeling that she had never felt before, one that must surely be akin to ecstasy. It was not sexual ecstasy. It was something else. Oh, God, miracle of miracles! Am I free now? Am I truly free!
Her gloved hands, folded properly and resting on her virgin lap, began to press into her crotch. A wicked smile brightened her eyes as she shimmied up and down that monkey bar while looking defiantly at the maintenance man as he pulled on his stiff, pink thing. In the far distance a voice droned something spiritual. This must be terribly inappropriate at this moment! Vienna thought, while the smile moved from her eyes to her lips as very subtly she began to rotate her hips against the increasing pressure of her pristine, gloved hands. Yes! Oh, Yes! This is good! This is . . .
CHOP!CHOP! OFF WITH EM!!!
The Colossus was looming over the terrified little girl. Its eyes were burning; its mouth spewing. Vienna threw her hands to her face, suppressing a scream that would have shattered steel had she allowed even the first sound of it to escape . She leapt from her chair and began to run - past the droning clergyman, past the grave diggers, past the tombstones with there wilting floral arrays decaying in front of them, past trees and shrubs and the swans in the fake little pond. And soon she had disappeared.
* * *
Resolute, Vienna plunged into a section of world literature that she had heretofore avoided. She would investigate every aspect of the human sexual experience. No longer would she allow herself the pain of not knowing. Vienna was going to join the Human Race! If it is thy will, God, she prayed. And added softly, And please let it be. Please let it be. Defiantly she haunted the libraries. She let herself read everything from the Kama Sutra to Krafft-Ebing, from Henry Miller to Fanny Hill, from D. H. Lawrence to the Songs of Solomon, which she had known since childhood, but which she had never begun to grasp until now. And then, there was The Taking of Sherrys Cherry. She had discovered the paperback book scrunched tightly into the corner of the back seat of the bus in which she was riding. Curious, she picked it up, glanced at the title and the accompanying art work, gasped so fiercely that for a brief moment she sucked up all the available oxygen in the vehicle, gagging the passenger, and with an explosive release, sent it back down the aisle.
How could she! How could she have glanced at such a book. She wasnt even sure what it meant. In her innocent mind, and despite her mothers perpetual remonstrations from the grave, she could intellectually justify reading anything she found in a library. The sheer respectability of the places gave credence to all of it. But Pornography? The Taking of Sherrys Cherry? NO! Yet having seen the vile book with its bronzed, muscular man clutching a bare-breasted woman to his firm bare chest, the need to visit a porno shop became a thorn in Viennas virgin flesh, and the deeper it gouged, the greater became her obsession for pure, unadulterated, down-and-dirty trash. Clearly, Vienna was defiant, but in the case of Sherry, her defiance wore a thin wrap and on one particularly Mother-Chilly day, the day Vienna determined that she would enter a dirty book store, no matter what, on that day her mothers Voice held another Shame Rally in her head, turned her defiance a sickly green and shriveled it into nothingness. The Demon Lady had won, again.
It was many years before Vienna overcame her paralyzing inability to visit an adult book store. She knew that pornography wasnt for everybody. Nor should it be. But she sensed that it could be important for her. Pornography, Vienna believed, would assist in carrying her through her blocks and barriers to the soft, sensual shores of spontaneity and passion. Am I rationalizing? Am I? She certainly expected to find extremity in the kinds of books she sought. She expected to be shocked and dismayed. But her condition was critical. She must go where her heart and mind and soul were leading her.
The bus that took her to the sex shop passed three similar shops as it drove into a community three communities away. Vienna was ready to give herself the experience she needed, but never could she chance being seen by someone from her own neighborhood. It never occurred to her that she didnt know anyone from her own neighborhood, nor did anyone know her. And though she was 31 now, she still had no friends. Nor did she have a job and no income other than small interest on the money she had placed in the savings account she had set up for herself following the sale of her mothers house. Money meant little to Vienna. Nevertheless, she was quite pleased that for all their faults, they had grasped and hoarded every coin that had ever crossed their palms. They had hidden the treasures in a burlap bag in the houses basement behind stacks of her fathers newspapers that he insisted were never to be destroyed. (In his own way, her father was as needful of psychological intervention as her mother.) And so, as it happened, they had left her comfortable, as some would say. And Vienna was truly grateful for that.
Of course, she had not been left comfortable in many other areas and sex was certainly one of them. But she would overcome, and on that particularly warm and sensual spring evening, jaws clenched, forehead drenched, Vienna walked into The Dirty Book Store. She was amused that she had travelled so far to a place that actually called itself exactly what it was. But there it was, and there she was, thumbing through a dirty book in The Dirty Book Store in a distant suburban place from which she intended to return to her home and experience pure, all out, to-hell-with-you-Mother passion. Even lust, if necessary! Her hope was that the mere ambience of the boutique (she preferred to call it that), would drive her sedately wild!
Instead, on reading the first pages of something called, GETTING IT ON WITH GUS, Vienna found that the description of Guss anatomy, particularly the minutely detailed and oppressively obscene description of his COCK?!?... She slammed the book shut. Shed read the word in more legitimate publications. She knew what it was. But this book.!. It clearly was going to approach the subject relentlessly and with unabashed zeal! Vienna felt dizzy. Then nauseous. Her hands grew cold. She was going to faint. Oh, God, she muttered. Please! Not here! Please, God, not here!
Hello, little girl. Havin a good time?
Vienna gasped. The maintenance man! It couldnt be! She spun about. It wasnt. Rather, it was a somewhat attractive middle-aged fellow with a somewhat pleasant smile and and (Oh, No! No!No!No!No!No!) and AN ENORMOUS PROTRUSION BETWEEN HIS LEGS WHICH WAS COVERED ONLY BY THIN, TIGHT SLACKS, AND WHICH HE WAS GROPING PROUDLY!!! Im going to die on this spot! I know it! Gods going to strike me dead! Here! On this spot! She started for the door. As she clutched her way through the endless rows of books, the man appeared again. This time he was in front of her. I gotta feelin you might get a kick outta this one, he said pleasantly. If you do, gimme a call, huh? The numbers in the back. Names Jack. He pressed the book into her hand. His fingers were warm. Strong. His touch, male. You dont have to pay for it. I own the place. Vienna glanced down at the book. She couldnt believe it! She wouldnt believe it! But there it was in her trembling hand: The Taking of Sherrys Cherry. Dashing from the store, one hand clutching the book to her breast, the other flailing wildly about, she screamed. Taxi!Taxi!Taxi!. One came. She went.
* * *
Into the night Vienna read. The Taking of Sherrys Cherry was the richest, most rewarding, most transcendent piece of literature she had ever encountered. It was all there. Everything she wanted. Everything she needed. The vitality, the passion, the ecstasy, the lust, the depravity, the guilt, the shame. It was sordid. It was vile. It was real. It was life! It was glorious! Sherry became an instant idol; the role model for whom Vienna had longed her entire post-pubescent life. Sherry had survived the shame and degradation of the lust that drove her insatiably, catapulting her into screaming, clawing madness, and then blessing her with the multiple releases that brought her down again only to catapult her once more into that divine hell, allowing her to experience over and over and over, the
had known none of this. None. There had been no caresses of the clitoris.
No inserting of strong fingers into a waiting vagina. She had never known
the feeling of something stiff and pink and pulsing as it pushed into
her innermost being. She had read of vibrators and dildos, but she never
dreamed that she could allow herself to purchase either, much less use
one. And yet now she longed for both. And more than that she longed for
a man. A man! Men! To know men as Sherry had!
Wide! Wider!! Wider!!!
Vienna was exhilarated. Sherry was going to be a wonderful teacher. And friend. Vienna just knew that. Sherry was going to teach her that she no longer had to fight urges that she had heard over and over were wrong. There was no more fight left in her and if her mother didnt approve and if God didnt approve and even if something deep within her still didnt approve, then that would just have to be, because this had to be, too. Vienna had to experience her fingers as she gently masturbated herself. Eventually she had to press herself down onto a vibrator or dildo or something of similar configuration. Eventually, too, she had to have Jacks STIFF PINK THING inside her, THAT ENORMOUS PROTRUSIOIN BETWEEN HIS LEGS WHICH WAS COVERED ONLY BY THIN, TIGHT SLACKS, AND WHICH HE WAS GROPING PROUDLY!!! Trembling with what she hoped was ecstasy, she took up The Taking of Sherrys Cherry and began to read again from the beginning.
11 when she first allowed herself to caress her virgin woowoo.
Viennas tiniest finger tentatively touched her virgin clit, as Sherry had referred to it. Nothing. She touched it, again. Nothing! The clitoris! It was supposed to feel good! Sherry had said so! And it had felt good! The pole; the monkey bars! It had felt so good. It had!!! She touched her clitoris once more. Nothing. Quickly she read on. Sherry had had no difficulty at all. Masturbation had made her cum (Yes, CUM!) over and over and over. Just touching that little hot spot had made her cum! Whats wrong with me!?! cried Vienna in a panic. WHATS WRONG WITH ME!
Many hours later, exhausted and despairing, Vienna promised herself that she would never again give so much as one thought to Sherry or the taking of her cherry. Pornography wasnt going to work for her. That was clear. And thats not really what she wanted, anyway. What she wanted was to be held. Thats all she had ever wanted. To be held. And loved. In her heart, she was certain that would never happen. Still, she thanked God for letting her see the errors of her ways, asked His forgiveness, and fell asleep feeling guilty , ashamed, frustrated, unhappy, frightened, and more alone than ever before.
Viennas rest was fitful. It was fraught with dreams. Dreams of Sherry experiencing ultimate sexual delights over and over and over, again. There was Sherry achieving ecstasy through simple, digital ministrations. Sherry with a Vibrator, Sherry with a Dildo, small, medium large and even white, black, pink and patterned. There was Sherry and the Cucumber; Sherry and the Python, Sherry and the Donkey and the Horse-Hung MAN! There was Sherry with . . .
(JACK! GUS! I NEED YOU!)
raging. She had to achieve that Ultimate Experience! And yet she still
was unsure as to whether or not her Maidens Head was
intact. It surly must be. But, oh, how she longed to have it taken; how
she longed to have it ripped asunder.
* * *
Inside, she went directly to the section in which she knew she would find GETTING IT ON WITH GUS. She removed the book from its shelf with the grace of a woman reaching for a quaint volume of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and flipped through its pages. It was exactly as she had remembered.
Hello, little girl. Havin a good time?
Id be havin a better time if that stiff, protruding thing behind those thin, tight slacks was bein jammed into my. . .
out for something to keep from falling. She bugged her eyes, found a naked
light bulb and stared into it, attempting to forestall the blackness she
knew was coming. But it didnt come. She remained upright. Trembling.
Panting. Sherry would have had no difficulty whatever saying those words.
And though it had been a terribly traumatic experience for Vienna, she
had, at least, thought the words. Even if she hadnt said them aloud.
She had thought them! Oh, thank you, God! she prayed as, Gus
in hand, she moved to the cash register to pay the sleepy-eyed kid with
the obligatory pimples. On the way home she asked the cabby to stop at
a market so that she could pick up fresh vegetables for a nice,
crisp, spring salad? Lettuce, peppers, radishes, carrots, perhaps, for
a little color. I really dont like carrots all that much, though,
do you? And a nice cucucucucomber! Thththe
dont you think? I do. I wont be long. As she left the
cab humiliation engulfed her. Why, oh why, did I speak to the driver of
my salad for heavens sake. What I put in my salads is none of his
business for heavens sake!
* * *
Make her stop! Vienna screamed. Please make her stop! And racked with fear and trembling she fell into bed and a deeper sleep than she had ever known. When she awakened, she felt a certain lightness. What had happened? Had she been visited by angels in the night? Had they protected her from her Demon Mother whom she had been certain would come while she slept and remove her thumbs, fingers, feet and toes? Surely they had. Vienna had not been punished. God was good! Throwing the covers aside, she bounded out of bed. It was still misting out, and the day was grey, but to Vienna, it was blindingly bright and rich with color. She knew exactly what she must do and she knew that, at last, she was capable of doing it. She would have liked to rethink the cucumber and allow it to be the object of her deflowering, but, in truth, and despite Sherrys particular relish for vegetables, Vienna just couldnt bring herself to place a cucumber! up her well, inside herself. And she decided that she would let that be all right. Even Sherry didnt appreciate everything!
Out the door she went into the misty morning. The Passion Pit was her destination. It was still quite early, but she had passed the place on occasion, and each time she had been aware that it seemed never to be closed, not even on Holy Days. She was beginning to tingle, and couldnt remember when, if ever, she had felt so giddy!
Once inside the boutique the Pits reference, not hers she hesitated. Other than the clerks, she was alone in the place, and it was truly an unusual establishment. All about her were whips and chains and leather goods that Vienna couldnt begin to describe. There were cuffs and hooks and boots and books, and case after case of most strange objects in myriad shapes and sizes. For long moment, she wandered about, stupefied.
Can I help ya, lady?
Behind one of the counters was a stocky man with a handlebar mustache. He wore black boots, black pants, black . . . things . ? .with metal . . . things . ? . all up and down his arms, and he wore a leather vest with similar metal . . . things . ? . all over it. His head was bald and he was wearing large, mirrored glasses. Vienna cleared her throat, and mustering all the authority of which she was capable asked, Where might I find your vibrators, sir? The man was amused. Where in hell did this one come from? he thought. Got a sore muscle down there, lady? Excruciating!, Vienna replied, being utterly surprised and supremely pleased with herself. The vibrators, if you please, sir! Dumbfounded, the leather man nodded toward a far corner. Vienna thanked him politely and glided to the counter in question. I want a vibrator. Eight inches. Stiff and pink she said loud and clear. I did that very well, too! she thought to herself happily. Very well, indeed! Excuse me, replied the gentle, young man behind the counter. Are you sure youre not looking for a dildo? Oh, my goodness! I am! I must be! Oh, dear! But she stood firm. Enough was enough! A vibrator, young man, please, she said with deliberation and glanced over her shoulder at the man in leather. I have a sore muscle! Yes, maam, said the clerk and went in search of an eight inch, stiff, pink vibrator. Vienna was incredulous at the freedom she was experiencing in this decadent place, and as she left, a pink, eight-inch vibrator in tow, the sun was just beginning to expose itself to the chill, grey morning. A good omen, she thought, and headed for home.
Lowering the shades to create a more appropriate atmosphere, one that was more conducive to secrets, candlelight and soft music, Vienna prepared herself for her deflowering. Though she was somewhat anxious, she was certain that once It had been penetrated, she would be free. The Hymen had become a symbol of liberation for her, and she was willing to endure whatever was necessary to become a woman. Once the Hymen was dispensed with, the proper feelings would come! Referring once more to her beginners manual, THE TAKING OF SHERRYS CHERRY, she carefully prepared herself for her initiation. Actually, all that was needed, according to Sherry, was a soft towel, a little lube, a vibrator, and knees that would hold a woman upright as she eased herself on it. Vienna was ready. The lighting was right. The music was right. Everything was in its perfect place. Following Sherrys instructions, she tentatively touched the tip of her tongue to the vibrator. She was to take it into her mouth then and tease it for a few moments, but that was more than Vienna was willing to demand of herself this first time out, and so she moved on to the covering of the instrument (lovingly, according to Sherrys admonition), with Vaseline. The tool was ready. Intoxicated, she aimed it at its mark. Her extensive reading on the subject of the taking of a Maidens Head had been quite clear. It could, and most likely would, be an ordeal. Still, it must be done. She must not turn back. And very slowly she began to sink onto her Liberator.
However, the position being somewhat unfamiliar to her, she quickly lost her balance, sank full force onto the thing, and to her amazement, discovered that it just slipped right in! It was as simple as that. Now you see it. Now you dont. There was no rending of the Hymen; no profusion of virgin blood; no deliciously excruciating pain. It had simply slipped into her vagina with the ease of a small childs hand slipping into a warm, furry mitten. Once the instrument was securely encased in her maddeningly tight orifice, and she had pressed a hand hard against that delicious hot spot she had remembered Sherry referring to as the Clit, she surrendered herself to the pagan within, flipped the naughty switch of her perfect phallus with defiant abandon, and knew beyond doubt, that at that moment, the Universe had coalesced every penis on the planet, real or fancied, past, present or future, and had inserted them into her sacred virginal vessel. Vienna had been entered by every man Sherry had ever known; as well as her pomegranate-munching father; the maintenance man with the stiff, pink thing; Jack and his protrusion; and by Gus, the little boys on the monkey bars, the cab driver, the pimply-faced kid, the macho leather man. They were all inside her at once, wanting her, needing her, loving her.
Oh, yes, OOhhyyess! OOOOOOhhhhhh, yesssssss!!!
Vienna was experiencing an instantaneous release of her once-clogged libido; a veritable treasure trove of erotic sensation; a Gatling gun of diabolical delights; a ground swell of Multipliosis Orgasmus that rocketed her into Space and into the Lair of Beelzebub and all the Demons of Hell, where she was plunged onto the mighty hump of the Sacred White Bull of Brahma, which she proceeded to fuck with all her might. The bull was startled. It reared back on its fierce hind legs, defying the woman to stay with him. If she wanted it she, by God, had to fight for it. And Vienna met the challenge, clutching its giant bull horns and riding hard. As they bucked and fucked and fucked and bucked, the bulls eyes became glazed with lust; its body quivered; its head jerked back and forth and back and forth in epileptic seizures, as streams of spittle spewed from its foaming mouth, lashing Viennas contorted, virgin face and splashing her naked, bouncing breasts. And from the very bowels of the beast, came the guttural mating cry of the Great Brahman Bull , IM CUMMMMIIIINNNNGGGG!!! It did. She did. And both tumbled into unconsciousness.
Upon recovering, Vienna was aware that she had been transformed. She had ridden the Devil. And seen God.
When one has seen God, had Man or Woman one whit to offer that could transcend the experience? Vienna was certain they hadnt. She had known the Ultimate. She would never ask for more. At that Divine and Maddeningly Extended Moment of the Multipliosis Orgasmus, Vienna sensed that she had joined the esteemed ranks of such personages as the Christ and the Buddha, those rare Human Entities who held within themselves that perfect balance between the Yin and the Yang, and who found it unnecessary to reach beyond themselves in order to achieve their totality. Each was whole in and of themselves, and, therefore, needed no one outside themselves to complete themselves, sexually, or otherwise. Vienna understood that. She had read of the theory on two isolated occasions in somewhat esoteric journals, and she had been bemused, but now she could accept the theory as being quite correct. She had known every delight that Man could possibly offer Woman, and as a result, had transcended the most powerful, honored and abused of all human needs. She no longer had need of her sexuality. She had found balance in the Face of God and needed no one or no thing outside herself to complete herself. She was whole. She was free.
the freedom came change. Out went the vibrator, the lube, the sacrificial
towel. Out went the books. Sherry and Gus belonged to the past. And though
it was quite easy to say goodbye to Gus (after all, he had only been a
one-night stand), saying goodbye to Sherry was far more difficult. Sherry
had become a friend, and a most liberating one, at that. Still, it was
time to move on. Vienna had grown beyond Sherry, and though it hurt awfully
to turn away from a friend, when the time is right the courageous are
willing. But then there was Casper. Dear sweet Casper. . . Tears welled
up as she held the Casper Comic Book close to her breast. Then, kissing
its cover tenderly, she dropped it into a trash can. Vienna sensed
that she must extend herself now; that she must go out into the world.
She must let her hair down. And thats exactly what she did.
day forth, she wore nothing but white; flowing white gowns that were so
sheer and voluminous they flowed even when there was no breeze. Even on
one of those sticky, summer nights when air conditioners roar and people
on fire escapes fan themselves with Morning Editions, Vienna could stand
perfectly still and flow.
As she reached beyond her little community, she found that there were a limitless number of charming places of many stripes, all offering books. Books, books, wondrous books! She had entered another world. A world beyond libraries. And she was surprisingly comfortable there. Except she still found that she was unable, or unwilling, perhaps, to speak to anyone. Her mother had told her that it was permissible to nod when spoken to, but out in the world, that great, big place, there were so many people, so many kinds of people, whom could she trust? And so, when she was approached by those who were open enough to speak, and considerate enough to speak in whispers, she acknowledged them with a smile and a gentle tilt of the head, while seeming not to hear. In a short time, no one attempted to speak to her at all. The woman was apparently deaf. But many continued to offer a pleasant nod, and Vienna liked that. So her good life continued, never varying. She would rise religiously with the sun, no matter the season, pray, meditate, move through a demanding set of yoga postures, brush her ever-lengthening red hair, scrub her porcelain skin until it glowed, slip into a full chiffon gown and drop into one of the blessed new sanctuaries that she had come to know and love. Often she would buy. At other times, she would linger for only a moment and move on. But most often she chose to simply sit and peruse, or indulge in one of her favorite pastimes: listening. People were becoming more and more interesting to her, particularly those who spoke intimately in her presence thinking she could not hear. She was that proverbial fly on the proverbial wall, and she enjoyed the role. It was while playing this role that she first heard herself referred to as The Swan Lady. The Swan Lady. She liked the ring of that. It was somewhat unusual, but she was unusual; eccentric, one might even say. So it was quite natural that she would eventually be labeled something or other. People find it necessary to do that. And the label she had been given she thought to be quite lovely. The Swan Lady. Soon, everywhere she went she found the name had preceded her. Or perhaps it hadnt. Perhaps it had always been there in Cosmic Consciousness, and was just now slipping into Mass Mind. Perhaps God had always intended that the Virgin Vienna should become the lovely, mysterious Lady of the Swans!
Pride goeth before the Fall, young woman, and dont you ever forget that!
You may shut your mouth, Mother. And dont you ever forget that! Vienna gasped and glanced about. Who had said that? It surely couldnt have been.?. But it was. The Swan Lady had moved somewhat beyond her mothers sway. And what had pride to do with it? It was, after all, quite an obvious moniker. The skin, the neck, the gowns pure white. Of course she should be known as the The Swan Lady. She even wondered why it had taken so long. She even wondered why she hadnt thought of it herself. She was The Swan Lady, and she was proud of it!
Pride! Pride! Pride!
Mother! For the Last Time will you please shut up and let me enjoy my life! she said. She was shocked, but exhilarated as she realized that she had spoken with inordinate authority, and to her mother, who somewhere out there in the Ether, gasped, gurgled, moaned and with a faint cry, shriveled into nothingness. Briefly stupefied, Vienna glanced upward for a moment, then went on her way. Smiling.
* * *
Who needs a man, baby? You were fucked by a bull! a gruff Voice said. Vienna clutched the lavatory. A sick feeling came up inside. And I saw God! she snapped defiantly at the empty room. God of Infinite Wisdom and Unconditional Love! The Voice was not impressed. Leda saw God, Vienna. And it continued with sanctimony. And God saw Leda. And He was pleased. And took the form of a Swan. And came unto her. And fucked her! Vienna threw her hands over her ears. No, no, no, no, no! Zeus took the form of a Swan, Vienna shouted. Zeus! Zeus. God. Gertrude Stein. A fuck by any other name . . . the Voice said, and there was silence. Vienna turned away from her mirror. Her reflection remained; its eyes piercing her back as she lunged for the lavatory door. But the Voice, more malevolent now, stopped her. And Beelzebub fucked you, Swan Lady. And dont you ever forget that!
* * *
* * *
to her feet, filled with ecstasy and terror. She wouldnt dare to
* * *