Sex Stories of a Tarnished Virgin


Part 1
Thus, Vienna

Vienna tried desperately to believe that she was not an Immaculate Conception. Still it was impossible for her to imagine that her mother would ever. . . But no,
she couldn’t say the word. Nevertheless, somebody’s seed had clearly penetrated somebody’s egg. Thus, Vienna.
* * *
The pretty little girl with skin whiter than swan’s down, lovely ice-blue eyes, warm despite the coldness of their color, the pretty little girl whose deep orange hair caught the copper hues of the sun and turned it Titian red, that pretty little girl with the Mona Lisa smile was a sad child. She came from her mother’s womb knowing that she wasn’t wanted; knowing that she would never be loved. She wanted to be. She knew that she needed to be. She just knew that she wouldn’t be. And although something within her told her that it was a sin, the sweet little girl with the Titian hair wished over and over that she had never been born. She certainly didn’t want to die. She just wished she’d never been born.

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 wouldn’t 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.”

Vienna’s 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 wasn’t 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, don’t 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 didn’t know what to expect of other people, but she prayed that they wouldn’t 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 didn’t. 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 didn’t 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 Vienna’s 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 Pandora’s 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 woman’s 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 wasn’t, 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 husband’s 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.

* * *
“Come an’ eat! NOW! Or it’s gettin’ DUMPED!”

Vienna waited 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 didn’t 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 pomegranate’s 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t. “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
seeming to study the print before them. But they saw nothing. Vienna’s father was dead.

* * *
Life got no better for the little girl. Her mother continued to badger her with concepts of Original Sin, and the children at school continued to laugh and play with each other and skip home together afterwards, and Vienna became more and more lonely. Had it not been for ‘Casper, the Friendly Ghost,’ she surely would have died of the loneliness. She discovered him in the Comic Book Section at the Neighborhood Drug Store, and slipped him home, never daring to tell her mother. At last, she had found a friend, and whenever she would think of Casper, her heart would grow warm. Soon, though, it would grow cold, again. Casper wasn’t real. Vienna knew she must always remember that. Casper could never be touched or cuddled or held, except in her imagination. “But, oh, how I wish he could ,’ she dreamed. “Oh, how I wish he could.”

Spring came, and with it came outdoor recess. Having no one with whom to play, Vienna would hide alone behind the maintenance man’s 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 couldn’t begin to understand why the little boys shouldn’t.

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 couldn’t believe it! She’d 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 shouldn’t be having those feelings. “Forgive me, God! Please forgive me! And please don’t 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 wasn’t 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 she’d done. For days she couldn’t look at the woman. She knew, she absolutely knew that her mother would see in her child eyes that she’d 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… “Please, God…would it really be bad if I…?” Without being aware of it, one of her hands found its way into her lap. “Please, God, I’ve heard the little girls in the rest room at school… I’ve heard them say that sometimes they… 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 don’t let this be wrong… And please don’t 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 mother’s 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.
* * *
Even as she entered adolescence, not once since that harrowing confrontation had she sexually manipulated any part of her genitalia. Nor had she dared to even consider approaching the monkey bars, again. But try as she may, the memory of the delicious sensations she experienced while shimmying up and down that pole had been pressed into very marrow of her bones, and the bizarre picture of that stiff, pink…thing.?. obtruding so majestically from the maintenance man’s overalls intrigued her mightily.

Still, at 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 couldn’t 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 mother’s 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. Vienna’s mother was dead.

As Fate would have it, long before the woman was being lowered into the ground, Vienna had quite innocently discovered a passage in a most respectable text and learned that those delicious monkey-bar feelings were quite natural for little girls and boys, and that that stiff, pink ‘thing’ was an erect penis. No more, no less. The context within which it had become erect was considered perverted, it seemed, but that mattered not to Vienna. Sin was sin and every sexual response, natural or otherwise, was perverted as far as she was concerned, and… “Or is it?” Vienna wondered with a start. “Is it really perverted?”

Crunch! A shovel dug into a mound of dirt. It made a Swishing sound
as it slid off the tool and a Thud as it fell dispassionately onto the top of
the Casket. Then again. And again . . .

Sitting alone on the solitary, cold church chair that had been carefully placed in just the right position beside her mother’s 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 . . .”


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.

* * *
The driver of the long, black limousine that was hers for the day and had come as part of the funeral package, stood deeply moved, beside his vehicle. “She must have loved her mother very much,” he thought, and somewhat embarrassed, brushed a single tear from his cheek. “Real men don’t cry,” his father had told him once. The liveried driver still believed that to be true.
* * *
“Damn that woman,” Vienna cried as she ripped her black crepe dress from her body and flung it onto the floor in an ugly heap. “Damn that woman!” She yanked at the black gloves, freeing herself from them and hurling them across the room. The creature was dead, by God! The creature was dead, and by God, Vienna would be free!

Part II
Multipliosis Orgasmus

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 Sherry’s 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 wasn’t even sure what it meant. In her innocent mind, and despite her mother’s 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 Sherry’s 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 Vienna’s 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 mother’s 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 mother’s 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 house’s basement behind stacks of her father’s 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 Gus’s anatomy, particularly the minutely detailed and oppressively obscene description of his…COCK?!?... She slammed the book shut. She’d 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 couldn’t be! She spun about. It wasn’t. 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!!! “I’m going to die on this spot! I know it! God’s 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 number’s in the back. Name’s Jack.” He pressed the book into her hand. His fingers were warm. Strong. His touch, male. “You don’t have to pay for it. I own the place.” Vienna glanced down at the book. She couldn’t believe it! She wouldn’t believe it! But there it was in her trembling hand: The Taking of Sherry’s 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.

* * *
Jack stood in the door frame watching the cab as it drove away. “Man, oh, man, oh, man,” he thought. “How I’d love to get me some of that sweet virgin stuff. Man, oh, man, oh, man, oh, man.” As his erection hardened, a prostitute strolled by. She looked down at it, and reached for it, not so gently. “Wanta’ get rid of that, sweetheart? Cost ya’ twenty.?.” Jack pushed her hand away. “Not with you, bitch,” he said gruffly and went back into his establishment. “Yeah? Well, fuck you and the horse you rode in on, motha’!” she mumbled, having summoned forth all her wit, and sauntered on into the night.
* * *
Once home, Vienna vomited, fell onto her bed and cried. She wanted him. She was absolutely certain of that. And she knew what it was about him that she wanted. His cock! Inside her! Deep, deep, deep INSIDE! HER! She prayed that the lust would be abated. It wasn’t. She prayed that she would fall asleep. She couldn’t. She prayed that she would have the strength to destroy the wicked book she still clutched in her clammy hands. She didn’t.

Into the night Vienna read. The Taking of Sherry’s 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…

But Vienna 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!
Were they all so passionate?
So cruel?
So inventive?
So tireless?
So Big!
So Hot!!
So REAL!!!
Vienna had to know. But she had one major concern. She had grasped enough from Sherry to comprehend, vaguely, what a ‘cherry’ was and that before she could enjoy the activities for which she pined, it would have to be dealt with. She was fairly sure she still had one, though she couldn’t be absolutely certain. She had never ridden a horse, and her bus rides rarely were all that bumpy. Still…? Vienna was determined to know. Acceptance, she discovered as she sank into her feelings, has remarkable healing power. Lifting herself from her wrinkled bed, she removed her clothes, lighted a number of candles, turned off lamps, put on sweet music, and placed the largest, softest bath towel she could find over the spread. She eased onto it, seeing herself as a sacrificial virgin, ritualistically stretching herself out across a cold marble slab, and of her own volition, spreading her long, shapely legs.

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 didn’t approve and if God didn’t approve and even if something deep within her still didn’t 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 Jack’s 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 Sherry’s Cherry and began to read again from the beginning.

Sherry was 11 when she first allowed herself to caress her virgin woowoo.
“No! Pussypussy! Sherry’s virgin pussy! Yes!” She learned later that most
little girls diddled themselves long before that, but Sherry had been repressed as
a child. That was about to change. Once her tiniest finger slipped inside that
juicy slit, Sherry knew that her life had taken a turn. Sherry was going to make
up for lost time and that was for damn sure!

Vienna’s 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! “What’s wrong with me!?!” cried Vienna in a panic. ‘WHAT’S 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 wasn’t going to work for her. That was clear. And that’s not really what she wanted, anyway. What she wanted was to be held. That’s 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.

Vienna’s 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 . . .


Vienna was raging. She had to achieve that Ultimate Experience! And yet she still was unsure as to whether or not her ‘Maiden’s Head’ was intact. It surly must be. But, oh, how she longed to have it taken; how she longed to have it ripped asunder.
Like Sherry’s…
Vegetable, bottle, animal, man. Man! Cock!. Stiff, thick, pink Cock! Veined Cock! Jack’s Cock! Gus’s Cock! Gus’s Cock! Gus’s Cock! GUSSSSS!!!

* * *
It was four a.m. on that drizzly, spring morning, and Vienna was in a cab motoring toward that community three communities away. She hardly remembered how she had gotten there. She simply knew that she was doing what had to be done. “Hold the meter, please.” (She had heard the expression a number of times on television and had always liked the ring of it.) “Hold the meter, please, sir” she said again and floated into The Dirty Book Store.

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?

“I’d be havin’ a better time if that stiff, protruding thing behind those thin, tight slacks was bein’ jammed into my. . .”

Vienna reached 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t 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 don’t like carrots all that much, though, do you? And a nice cucucucucomber! Thththe…they’re refreshing, don’t you think? I do. I won’t be long.” As she left the cab humiliation engulfed her. Why, oh why, did I speak to the driver of my salad for heaven’s sake. What I put in my salads is none of his business for heaven’s sake!
* * *
As the cabby watched Vienna glide through the misty morning and disappear into the cold gray structure known simply as The Market Place, he thought, “I know what that lady needs, and it ain’t no crisp, spring salad.” Chuckling, he scratched his crotch, scrunched down in his seat, and took a little snooze.

* * *
There was nothing that Gus hadn’t done to everything with a hole in it, including an exceptionally large, sugar donut. But for the most part, his primary interest was women: large women, small women, fat women, thin women, young women, old women, pretty, ugly, nondescript women, blonds, brunettes, redheads and streaked-heads, blacks and whites and browns and yellows, models and midgets, it didn’t matter to Gus. A woman was a woman, and every one of them had what he wanted, and when he wanted it, he got it, using every device known to man from a straightforward “Ya’ wanna’ fuck, lady?” through seduction and manipulation to out-and-out rape. Vienna was bewitched. Oh, yes, oh, yes! Gus was definitely the man for her. Of course, he wasn’t real, either. No more than Sherry, nor Casper, the Friendly Ghost. Vienna was well aware of that! Nevertheless, for the time being, she elected to put aside that awareness, sigh, “Oh, what a man!” and hurriedly flip through the book to another section where she found a particularly appealing passage. It described Gus’s deflowering of a maiden with a simple, everyday, ‘relaxes-those-muscles-baby’ vibrator. “It’s easy, see? Same as with a guy. Just grease it up and shove it in! Like this!” The entry was difficult. But Gus was one determined stud, and despite the young maiden’s screams, he achieved his goal. Needless to say, once Gus himself was inside her, she was eternally grateful to him. According to the book (which, incidentally, was written by a man), the agony of the deflowering had been well worth the ecstasy given the maiden by Gus, and Vienna accepted as an Ultimate Truth that a gentle ravaging would be just the thing. Perhaps that cucumber.?.

“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!

“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 Sherry’s particular relish for vegetables, Vienna just couldn’t bring herself to place a cucumber! up her…well, inside herself. And she decided that she would let that be all right. Even Sherry didn’t 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 couldn’t remember when, if ever, she had felt so giddy!

Once inside the ‘boutique – the Pit’s 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 couldn’t 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 you’re 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, ma’am,” 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 beginner’s manual, THE TAKING OF SHERRY’S 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 Sherry’s ‘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 Sherry’s 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 ‘Maiden’s 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 don’t. 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 child’s 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 bull’s 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 Vienna’s 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 , “I’M 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.

Part III

When one has seen God, had Man or Woman one whit to offer that could transcend the experience? Vienna was certain they hadn’t. 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.

And with 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 it’s 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 that’s exactly what she did.

The soft Titian hair fell gracefully over the subtle curves of her rounded buttocks, accentuating her long, white neck. It framed the exquisitely clear porcelain skin of her symmetrical face, highlighting the distant look in the ice-blue eyes that, paradoxically, seemed now to be intensely warm and present. Vienna had changed, there was no doubt of it; so changed that on one occasion, as she caught her reflection in her dressing room mirror, she was startled. “I do believe….” She had difficulty continuing. “I do believe I’m…pretty…” she said softly. And she was. Standing in a sheer white gown before her dressing room mirror, Vienna was exquisite.

From that 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.’
The phenomenon attracted people to her in large numbers. Not so that they could be caressed by the Spiritual Aura of this Remarkable Woman, but so they could catch a bit
of the cooling breeze, from whatever magical place it had come. Vienna, however, still being uncomfortable with people, would only smile, bless each individual silently, and move on. But in which direction should she move? Were did she want to go? Where did she have to go? In the past, with the exceptions of The Dirty Book Store and the Passion Pit, her only outings had taken her to the various libraries that dotted her community. She could always go back to one of them, but she hesitated to do that. They had been blessed havens in times gone by, but could she continue to hide in them? She longed to. She longed for the peace of their environs. She longed for the books they housed, and the solace the books had offered. They were so safe. In libraries, people respect one’s privacy; they seldom do more than nod. But in the World? The Real World? In bookstores, for example? The Dirty Book Store? Too many people dared to speak. “Hello, little girl. Havin’ a good time?” Of course that had occurred in a ‘specialty’ store. Perhaps if she visited more reputable ones she could have her books and her privacy as before. And, perhaps, she could try to have at least one brief conversation. Or maybe even two. Yes. She was certain that she would then feel a greater participation in life than she had ever known. Vienna’s heart was racing. She was frightened, but she was exhilarated, too. This was Life! Yes! It was only the beginning, but it was Life, and God was with her, and one day, with God, she would be happy!

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 hadn’t. 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 don’t you ever forget that!

”You may shut your mouth, Mother. And don’t you ever forget that!” Vienna gasped and glanced about. Who had said that? It surely couldn’t have been.?. But it was. The Swan Lady had moved somewhat beyond her mother’s 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 hadn’t 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.

* * *
Standing naked before her mirror, as she did at the end of each day, Vienna looked at herself, dappled cool water on her temples and mused, “The Swan Lady.” She smiled and caressed a cheek affectionately. “How perfect,” she said. “How perfectly perfect.” And then her mind wandered and for a moment she wondered if somewhere, maybe just for her, was a man, a Swan Man, perhaps, and if there was such a man. . . “A man? For Me?” She hadn’t thought of a man for her since that night so long ago when she had. . .

“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 don’t you ever forget that!”

* * *
That night Vienna slept poorly. She saw the voluptuous Leda, naked at her toilette.
Leda, proud of her woman’s body, caressing her breasts, her buttocks, her thighs. She saw Zeus, a large man with profound genitalia, looking down on the woman. And he was pleased. She saw his penis disengage itself from his loins and attach itself to his mighty forehead, its pinkish tones becoming as blindingly white as a winter’s sun on a bank of snow. Its bulbous head had two dark eyes and a golden beak. Feathers adorned it. Vienna fought for consciousness. “Don’t make me watch this, God,” Vienna pleaded. “Don’t!” But her beloved God did not hear. And from the deep recesses of her tortured soul Beelzebub appeared, spreading his muscular arms that became giant wings whose span covered the earth. Leda, moist with desire for Zeus, was beside her pool, now, admiring her reflecting image as she eagerly awaited her God. “How perfect,” she said. “How perfectly perfect. Come unto me Dear Zeus” But Beelzebub pushed Zeus aside, swooped down in the form of a Swan. And fucked her. Now in the throes of blinding passion, Leda pleaded, “Yes, yes, Mighty Zeus! Fuck me!” No! Me! Fuck me!: screamed Vienna. And Beelzebub left Leda to Zeus and entered Vienna. But as they bucked and fucked and fucked and bucked, the Devil’s 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 the Lady’s contorted, virgin face and splashing her naked, bouncing breasts. It came and as it came, it charged, trampling everything in its path. Leda and Zeus were in its path. They were crushed. As was God, who is Everywhere. He was in its path. God was crushed. All were gone now. Except Vienna. She was awake and trembling. But alive. And alone.

* * *
Far away from all things human, she stood on a promontory high above the sea, staring out at its endlessness, wondering if God had ever existed at all. There she was, at the top of the world, looking out to that point where the blue of the sky melded with the grey of the sea. One seemed to sweep out from beneath her, merge with the other on the horizon and sweep back, again, enfolding her in a Giant Womb. “Yet God must exit,” she uttered. “I am in His Womb.” But her words caught in her throat. And He is a cruel God!” she thought, and looked down. She was afraid to look down. Heights frightened her. Still, she looked. And the waters looked back, smiling, inviting here in. Her eyes widened and she stepped forward but the sharp rocks below snapped and growled and drove her back. Breathless, she turned and hurried away.

* * *
The sun was directly above her before Vienna began to feel tranquil. For hours she had sat in the shade of an ancient eucalyptus tree, watching butterflies, and studying the sky; the clear, luminescent sky, whose perfection was disturbed only by the tiniest, whitest cloud that seemed not to move, but rather hung far away in a never-never land. Were it snot such a pleasant cloud, Vienna would say that it had no right to mar the deep, rich sapphire of the perfect canopy, but it was a pleasant cloud. Such a pleasant cloud. And it had a face. . . A face? A familiar face! “Yes! Oh, yes!” She laughed happily. “Casper! Casper, my Friendly Ghost!” She smiled a broad smile. It smiled back. And out of its boy-mouth, a Giant Bird flew. Its body was large and white, its neck long, its wings spanned the earth.

Vienna leapt to her feet, filled with ecstasy and terror. She wouldn’t dare to dream
that. . . But before she could complete her thought, the Bird was upon her. It swooped down and then up and in and around; down and then up and in and around. “He wants me to follow him. . . The beautiful bird wants me to follow him!” “Follow me,” said The Swan. It swooped down once more, a tip of a wing brushing the tip of a breast. She trembled. “Follow me,” said The Swan. Vienna was transfixed as she followed, first with her eyes, then her head, then her body. Turning. Turning. Turning. “Follow me” said The Swan, and Vienna’s arms lifted and then lowered. Lifted, again and then lowered again in perfect rhythm now with the graceful movement of the wings of The Bird. Wings up. Arms up. Wings down. Arms down. “Follow me,” said The Swan. The chiffon caught the breeze and seemed to lift Vienna from the ground. “I want to fly with you,” she cried out. “I want to fly with my Swan!” The Swan swooped down, again, and brushed the second breast with a wing before starting away toward the precipice and the sea. Vienna hurried after it. “Wait for me!” she cried. “Please wait for me!” Flinging her arms up and down in a frenzy, she ran faster and faster. “In the name of God, please wait for me!” And The Swan heard. And hovered. And as Vienna drew near, The Great Bird looked back, said, “Now!” and soared over the precipice and out toward the Tiny Cloud as it hung in the sky. Vienna’s feet dug into the earth, her arms flapping in perfect unison with the wings of the bird. Faster, still faster she ran and flapped and over the side she went. “I’m flying!” she sang. “I’M FLYING!!!

* * *
On another promontory some miles away, a young couple was having a lunch of wine and cheese and chicken legs when they became aware that off in the distance an object was falling from the sky. But, no, it wasn’t falling. Rather, it was floating, or seemed to be. It had two appendages that were flapping like the wings of a bird, but it surely wasn’t a bird. It was much too large. And yet, the appendages were moving with the ease and grace of a gull. They were moving in such natural harmony with the object’s descent, with such power and authority, that the young couple expected the thing to sweep upward at any moment and soar into the sky.

It didn’t.
* * *
When the body was found, its arms were broken; its legs were broken; its back was broken; its neck was broken. But the face. . . It was the damndest thing. The face was smiling the sweetest smile. . .