Perversions and TransgressionsbyOver Stimulated©
I think that most people would say that my desires are perverse or disgusting or even cruel, and that's probably why I keep it a secret. Then again, perhaps the secret is what makes it all the more arousing.
I'm not sure what it is that drives us and compels us, that defines what we each determine as pleasurable. At one time I'd have thought the irregular appetites of some individuals were revolting, lacking any understanding of what drives someone to perform acts that to me bring no satisfaction. Now, I've realized that each person is an individual in more ways than people think, and we can only try to attain that which brings pleasure to each of us.
I would have never thought that I would have this certain compulsion if I had not discovered it by accident, an accident that for most people would have been a tragedy, but for me was an awakening. I can still remember the feelings, the confusion, the anger, the shame, being washed away by arousal, by hunger, an excitement I had never felt before. My body tingles when I even think about it, when I remember that first time, more precious to me than anytime after, because nothing compares with that first discovery.
At the time, I was a pre-med student and only a few months away from being accepted into one of the finer medical schools in the country. I was a diligent student and looked at those who weren't with more than a bit of disgust. I had a keen interest in the human body and always had since I was a child. The body is an eternal puzzle. Some compare the human body to a machine, but I've never seen that. Machines are designed with a single purpose. They can be easily repaired and just as easily discarded. The human body serves many purposes and takes a skilled hand to repair that which it can't easily repair itself. Each body is different. The body is a beautiful work of art. I had long ago set myself the task to discover how it worked, but had realized that I would never completely understand how the body functions. I think nobody ever will. But I had set myself the goal of learning as much as I could, actually enjoying an appetite that could never be satiated.
Being an admirer of the human body I've always taken good care of my own. I have a large frame, 6'3" tall and around 190 to 200 pounds. I have always worked out regularly. I love to feel my own muscles flexing and contracting. I love the shape of the muscles beneath the skin. I'm by no means a narcissist. I take pride not in how I look or how attractive my physique might be to the opposite sex, but take pride in my body functioning at its optimum. As such, I've usually abstained from any chemicals that might injure my body, from cigarettes to alcohol to sugar to hard drugs. But, on occasion, I would allow myself to indulge some, as I did that night I made my discovery. I remember that night well.
I had just finished the second quarter of my senior year. Christmas break was coming and all of the students were partying in an attempt to wash away everything learned that quarter. I went to a party at the rented house of three friends, all of whom were liberal arts majors and so had much practice at partying and wasting their time.
Thomas was a friend of mine from my private school days. He had a startling wit that could only serve him well as an English major and had plans of acquiring a Ph.D. in some branch of the field that I can't remember, and eventually settling for a teaching post at some college, probably as a professor who would have the occasional liaison with one of his more well-endowed and naive female students. Until then, he studied as little as possible and used his wit to get into the pants of as many young women as he could. I had always thought he was a lecherous rascal who would only get himself into trouble, but think he saw himself more as a romantic along the lines of Byron or Joyce.
Thomas's two roommates, James and Patrick, were indistinguishable from each other, and I commonly called one by the other's name. To alleviate the confusion I just called both of them James Patrick or The Other James Patrick and they didn't seem to mind, thinking it some kind of a clever joke that they were only too happy to be a part of. They were both at college to waste some time, pretending to be independent, while flitting away their parents' money on an education they would never use.
I arrived at their house that night when the party was already in full spirits, some popular hip hop song playing loudly enough to shake the wooden boards of the deck that was covered with sweating, smiling students holding cans and bottles and paper cups, cigarette and marijuana smoke sharing equal time in the smoke clouds clinging to the ceiling over the porch. I wondered that the porch didn't collapse under the weight of so many people and wondered if they would even know if it did.
To the party that night I brought my girlfriend and eventual wife, Denise. At the time Denise was a junior and studying psychology, a field of which I was very skeptical, but accepted her astonishing intelligence enough to assume she knew more about the field than I did and so would not squander her education. She was a startling beauty that had caught the eye of many guys on campus. She had long blonde hair that hung well past her shoulders and was held in a ponytail most days as it seemed she was always going to or coming from tennis practice. Her body was athletically supple, her arms and legs long and toned. Her eyes were a breathtaking blue that seemed to captivate those who first met her and she was often accused of wearing colored contacts, but I knew that such a color could not be manufactured, but could only be natural. I always found myself alternately looking at her eyes and her lips. Her lips were full and soft, very kissable, a look that most women use injections to mimic. She was the ideal female, intelligent and strong willed. She took care of her mind and body. She was a gifted athlete and rabid intellectual. I loved to sit with her and talk. I loved to watch her body during her tennis matches. She was an exquisite performer on the tennis court, giving her body over to the stress and demands of the sport. Her muscles were finely toned, her reflexes quick and sharp. She took the same pride in her body as I did, not just as an object to be desired and admired, but also as a wonderful work of art that embodied the soul of its possessor.
In my mind, we were, and still are, a perfect pair. We complement each other in a way nobody else ever could. Neither of us have ever met anyone who could match the standards we have set for ourselves or for our partners. We had both dated some before meeting each other and had been involved in some intimate relationships, but both had kept those to a minimum and been very careful out of respect to our bodies and maintaining the self-control that many of our contemporaries seemed to lack.
That night was an unusually warm night for the time of year and so Denise was wearing a flowing skirt that went halfway down her long thighs. She wore a sweater in case it got colder that clung to her body outlining her breasts that, at a B cup, were probably too large for a female athlete. She had her hair down and curled so that it flowed past her shoulders. All together with her lightly tanned skin and striking eyes and face, she was a vision of beauty, enough to bring out the lust in any male. As we walked up the steps of the porch I noticed the eyes of most of the guys watching her. I've never been jealous or mad of that. I understand men would find her attractive and their hormones give them little choice but to look at her, it's basically involuntary. Plus, I do get a certain amount of satisfaction out of it, knowing that she's with me and wouldn't even consider being with any of the men who stare at her. Perhaps that's male chauvinist pride, but so be it.
The front door of the house opened into a huge living room that had been stuffed with couches and chairs and tables that fit like a puzzle and made it hard to even navigate the room. A stereo sat in one corner blasting out the music. A few people drunkenly tried to dance in front of it, constantly bumping into furniture and laughing each time. The walls were covered with an odd mix of posters advertising Broadway musicals and Hollywood action flicks.
Thomas was sitting on a couch across the room sandwiched between two co-eds, his arms around both, his head turning from side to side as he was either reciting some poem or dazzling them with an oratory that would astound even the soberest of females. He saw us weaving our way through the maze of his crowded living room and gave one of his few genuine grins. He placed his hands on a knee of each of the girls, pretending to push himself to his feet, excusing himself and promising to return shortly.
"Michael, good of you to come mix with the rabble. How are you this evening?" he said and grabbed my hand to shake it.
"I'm doing well Thomas. It looks like you're doing well also," I said and glanced over his shoulder at the two young women watching and waiting from the couch.
"Love is in the air. After all, this is the season of giving," he said with a wink.
He released my hand and took Denise's hand. "The beautiful Denise. We are privileged to have such a ravishing beauty under our roof," he said and held her hand to his lips. His eyes moved over her subtly.
"Thomas, flattery will get you nowhere," she said, smiling at him.
"I flatter no one. I say only what my heart tells me," he said with a wicked smile and released her hand. He laughed and grabbed my shoulder, dropping the gallant knight act. "I'm just glad you guys could make it. You study too hard and don't get out enough."
"We study just enough. I think you get out enough for all of us," I said.
"I do what I can. There are a couple of kegs on the porch, beer in the fridge, some liquor floating around somewhere, just help yourself," he said.
"Do you want anything?" I asked Denise.
"I wouldn't mind a beer," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Why not? Quarter's over, might as well celebrate."
"Ah," Thomas sighed. "A woman after my own heart. If ever there was a perfect example of the female specimen, m'lady, you would be it."
She laughed and rolled her eyes. "I think those two girls are waiting over there for you," she said.
"Ah, yes. Melanie and Lisa, two sophomore English majors who desire some tutoring from an older and more experienced senior," he said, glancing back at them. "We were just about to partake of some of the devil's weed, if you would like to join us."
I started to say no when Denise interrupted me. "Sure," she said.
"Really?" I asked.
"I've always wondered what it's like," she said, looking at me seriously.
"Okay," I said, wondering what had gotten into her that night, but deciding if she would try it, then I would as well.
"It's some of the finest weed this state has to offer," Thomas said. "Come on to The Den and I'll light it up." He walked back to the couch, apologizing to the two girls for leaving them alone for so long.
"I'll go get us a couple of beers," I told Denise.
She stretched up and kissed me quickly on the lips, tasting faintly of strawberries. "Hurry back. Don't leave me alone with him too long. I might have to belt him one."
"He's harmless," I said. "Well, at least to you. Those two girls better watch out though."
I made my way to the kegs on the porch and got at the end of the line. James Patrick was working the keg and waved me to the front. He poured me two beers as the others in line eyed me suspiciously. I thanked him before I walked away and he said he'd see me again soon. I doubted it, but he was right. He saw me soon and often.
I made my way to the back room, an odd, small room that was more a walk-in closet than a room. Thomas had brought in several oversized pillows and cushions and set them up around the room. Thomas called it his opium den or just The Den.
Thomas, the two girls, Denise, and a couple of people I recognized from other visits to the house were sitting around the room, lounging on the cushions. Thomas was sitting between the two girls, leaning over a large water bong. The bong had been painted with what Thomas said were scenes from A Midsummer's Night Dream, but looked more like an x-rated scene of rape and beastiality.
Denise was sitting between one of Thomas's girls and the wall. I gave her a beer and sat at the only empty spot against the far wall, reclining comfortably in a nest of pillows.
"I'll do the honors," Thomas said.
He flicked a lighter, placed it to the bowl, and sucked at the end of the bong. The water bubbled wildly as he sucked on it and the chamber filled with smoke and then he cleared it. As far as I knew he was the only one who could clear the chamber of that monstrous bong. He passed it to the girl to his right, who hit it, pulling barely any smoke into the chamber and cleared it.
I watched as Denise took it next, wondering if she really was going to smoke it.
"We have a first timer here. Want me to show you how to do that?" Thomas said.
"No, thanks, Thomas. I think I can figure it out," Denise said.
She sat up on her knees to lean over the bong and her skirt slipped high up on her thighs. I saw Thomas smile and I shook my head.
Denise lit the lighter and sucked on the bong hard, making the water bubble and filling the chamber with thick smoke. Then, she emptied the chamber entirely. I couldn't believe it.
"Bravo!" Thomas yelled and clapped his hands. "That's how you do it, ladies and gentlemen!"
Denise exhaled and started coughing hard. She grabbed her beer. I found out why when it was my turn with the bong and started coughing as well. I emptied my beer trying to soothe my scorched throat.
"I could use one too," Denise said, holding up her empty cup and smiling at me.
"I get the point," I said.
I stood up and made my way out of the room on wobbly legs. James Patrick didn't make me wait again and just handed me the beers, saying he'd see me again, and I agreed with him. I figured it was going to be a long night.
When I got back to The Den the bong had made it around the room again, and everyone was laughing. Thomas had his arms around the girls as one of them was hitting the bong.
"That girlfriend of yours is a smoke fiend," he said as I handed her the new beer. "I knew there was a party girl lurking underneath that straight-laced exterior."
Thomas packed the bowl again and the bong made some more rounds. By that time I was feeling lightheaded and couldn't wipe the smile from my face. It almost hurt to laugh, but I didn't care. Thomas pulled a guitar out and began playing it, making lurid versions of different songs and taking requests. I lost count of the number of times I retrieved beers, each time sitting back down on the pillows harder, until I didn't want to move for anything.
The bong circled the room several more times until I had to pass on it, my throat too dry and rough to smoke anymore. I watched Denise loosen up more and more as the night wore on, laughing louder. At one point she got up to dance and attracted plenty of attention as she moved her hips and lifted her skirt up her legs. I laughed with everyone, too high to care. She collapsed back on the pillows laughing, showing off her white thong underwear.
People came in and out of the room until it was just Denise, Thomas, one of his two girls, and me. Denise had moved beside Thomas and they were talking and laughing. The one girl was laying back on the pillows with a smile on her face and Thomas's hand high up on her thigh.
Eventually the combination of alcohol and marijuana got the better of me and I passed out, snuggled into the pillows with my head against the wall. When I woke up the house was quiet and just Thomas and Denise were in the room, lounging back on the pillows, Denise on her back and Thomas on his side looking at her as they talked.
Thomas looked over at me and laughed. "He's alive!" he yelled and jumped up. He ran over and tried to hug me. Denise was laughing hard. He held my shoulders and looked at me. "We thought you were dead. We mourned your death with another bowl."
"I am so tired," I mumbled.
"Just fooling with you," he said. "Everyone's almost gone by now. If you want you can sleep in my room. I don't mind crashing in here."
"No, that's all right," I said, trying to push myself to my feet. "I'll just sleep in the living room on a couch."
"Whatever you want, man," he said. "There's a couple people in there, but they won't bother you. They'll probably end up crashing there too."
He helped me to my feet and stood beside me as I stumbled out of the room, almost tripping over the pillows.
"You all right, Denise?" I mumbled, staring at her through weary eyes. "Do you mind if we stay here for the night?"
She was laying on the pillows on her back, a big smile on her lips, her eyes closed, her sweater pulled up so she could lay her hands on her bare stomach. "That's fine, baby," she said. "We can't go anywhere." She laughed and lounged back in the pillows.
"Okay, honey," I said.
Thomas followed me out to the living room. The lights were dim and a few people were sitting around talking, the room covered with empty cups, bottles, and cans.
"Hey guys, what's going on?" James Patrick said, slouching on one couch beside a girl who seemed to be sleeping.
"Michael is just looking for a place to crash," Thomas said.
I fell onto one of the couches and immediately closed my eyes. My body felt heavy and all I wanted to do was sleep.
"It is about that time," I heard James Patrick say as I drifted back to sleep.
I slept hard and woke up later when I felt somebody shaking me.
"Hey man, are you awake?" I heard Thomas saying.
I couldn't respond, still drifting between sleep and consciousness.
"Ah, you're out," he said and stopped shaking me.
I tried to ask him what he wanted, but the words wouldn't come out. As he walked away I opened my eyes. The room was dark, but I could see the silhouettes of people laying on the couches. The music had been turned off and the house was silent except for the snoring of the people on the couches. I lay there for a while, trying to wake up, and wondering what Thomas wanted. Later I would realize he was just trying to make sure I was soundly asleep and instead had woken me.
I ran my tongue around my dry mouth. My bladder felt full. I needed to urinate and get a drink of water. I pushed myself up to a sitting position and rubbed my eyes. My head felt heavy and I could feel a headache coming. I wanted to just go back to sleep, but forced myself awake to see what Thomas wanted and to find the bathroom.
Shakily, I pushed myself to my feet and staggered towards Thomas's room. I looked in and saw a person sleeping on his bed, one of the two girls, but he wasn't there. I started to walk to The Den on the other side of the house and stopped at the bathroom on the way. I closed the door and emptied my bladder, sighing with relief. I took a drink of water from the faucet and forgot to flush the toilet.
Feeling a bit better with an empty bladder, a wet mouth, and regaining some equilibrium I made my way to The Den. Somehow I made it back through the living room without bumping into anything and started walking down the hallway, past the closed doors of the other bedrooms. A dim light was creeping through the half-closed door to The Den.
I heard something as I approached the door and stopped for an instant, my hand extended to push the door open further. I heard a moan and what sounded like a wet kiss and bodies rustling around on the pillows.
Dread filled my body immediately. I could already see it in my head, see Denise and Thomas kissing and touching as Thomas slid into her. Anger is an emotion that grips the body immediately and without warning, an emotion that I rarely gave myself over to, but at that moment I knew that if what I thought was true than there would be no controlling it. I clenched my teeth together and walked silently towards the door, wanting to catch them at it, see them doing it, burst in on them, and make a scene.