My Goddesses: A Memoir of the 70s

Oh, it was so very beautiful. I have died and finally gone to the heaven I don't deserve.

Then we sleep; so young, so innocent, so contented; in the waning, warm light of a California afternoon. Asleep like a litter of kittens entangled in blissful comfort; an arm under a thigh here; a hot wet crotch pressed to someone's hand. A shaven cheek against a breast. Little whimpers and sighs; small twitches as tensed thighs, bellies, arms relax. Deeply and innocently happy, slumbering in warmth and peace. Had you gazed at us lying there in affectionate sleep, you'd have said: how sweet.

Kayla is up first as the light softens into dusk; brings in bottles of icy beer. God, good as an orgasm. She is shy, but even in nakedness, glows with warmth and a deep contentment. A look of puzzled surprise down at her own crotch as she feels a copious leakage; she opens her thighs and wipes herself with her fingertips, then closely examines the pearly, sticky fluid. We all giggle at that. I feel so much love for these two women; we love one another. I am extremely happy: satisfied, PROUD, even; a sheik.

Feeling Kayla's deep tranquility; OUR contentment, I am also suddenly aware that something has changed. "We" are no longer Cherie and I, and Kayla; I now am loved by two women - we love one another; this was not an isolated incident, or just a coincidence, but PLANNED; a beginning of something, and an end of something. "We" are now three. A high bridge has been crossed, to a new beginning....and something left behind. With that comes also a slight twang of regret, or perhaps a subtle feeling of letdown. Is this what it's all about?

Several days later, driving back from a high desert field trip with an open quart of cold beer chilling my crotch and the windows down as hot miles of pine, sage and bitterbrush roll past, I think to myself that it was mostly just grown adolescents playing with each other's bodies: pleasurable, exciting, fairly harmless, and pretty superficial, compared to the intimacy of my coming to orgasm slowly with Cherie alone. The way we hold one another at "the moment"; her generosity; the expert, loving way she teases sobs and begging from me. My patience, love, and fascination as I nudge her gently, insistently, up the slope to the searing climax she experiences. I'd never known anything like it; so far beyond the fumbling, clumsy, usually brief experiences of my youth. We three are fun together, but it's not like just Cherie and I.

Such denial I was in: having had Kayla once, there would be no resisting my attraction to her; my fascination with her shy, innocent sexuality; her slim body. Kayla is a smoldering fire; only needing a bit of passion, patience, and love to bring to a bright, hot flame.

Some time in the first two months or so of Cherie, Kayla, and I becoming intimate, another thing happened. I haven't shared it with many people because it was weird; twisted might be the right description. One afternoon that summer, a tiny young woman named Rani, who lived at the Retreat, showed up uninvited and unannounced at our house in the woods. I didn't know her well; she had only visited maybe twice before she drove up this one hot afternoon. All I knew about her was that she was tiny and cute, and that she had bragged to us, Kayla Cherie and I, and apparently to the others at the Retreat, that she had a big clitoris. Not freakishly huge, but large. She was funny about it when she told us, and I snickered later; to me it seemed about the dyke equivalent of a guy in guys' company finding some way to boast about the size of his dick.

Rani drove in, parked, and got out of her car, and I knew immediately that there was something wrong with her. She was hyperkinetic, giggly, smelled slightly odd, and kept rolling her eyes up when she laughed. And she was laughing a LOT. Hysterically, I thought. After offering her iced tea, which she accepted and took a drink of with an exaggerated sigh of pleasure and a theatrical "Far out!", she told me that she'd taken some really good acid a couple of hours ago, and just had to get out of the Retreat to a more tranquil place. She said she was peaking; she kept touching her nipples and genitals inside of her overalls (standard garb at the Retreat; they rejected fashion, deodorants, perfumes, makeup).

I was at home alone, and quite alarmed. Whatever she'd taken, it was way too much for her body size. I still have vivid nightmare memories of buying a blotter in Amsterdam at the Club Paradiso during a Cream concert, taking it, then finding out when I came down three days later that it was a multi-user dose intended for six to eight people. It was a hellish experience; visions out of Dante's Inferno and Hieronymous Bosch paintings. I think I barely lived through it. So now I debated calling a friend of mine who was a physician, but Rani settled into a heady state that was happy and excited, not crazy. She kept staring at me, though; smiling blissfully.

She asked me to play guitar; she sobbed when I played Embryonic Journey on a D-28 amplified through a Fender Super Reverb. Loud.

I became apprehensive again when she unstrapped her overalls, then pulled her t-shirt over her head in the middle of the music room. Not looking at me, so I didn't immediately believe that I was going to be raped or treated to some bizarre ritual; but there was something spooky about being straight, and coping with a woman who seemed to have a dopey obsession with her own body. It felt wrong, and it's not that I'm an especially moral person or have iron control of my own libido. I just didn't know what she was going to do, and the prospect of maybe having to run her down and tackle her naked in the middle of the main road three hundred yards away was very unsettling.

So what happened was that she completely undressed, even though I suggested, trying to sound light and humorous, that she not. She sat down on the futon couch in the room with her legs open, and grinning luridly, told me that she had a "huge clit", and that she wanted ME ("I know you've heard about it!") to see it and touch it. And right then, all I wanted to do was just not look at her, or be in the same room with her, for that matter. If only I'd been out riding, or walking the dog when she drove up; I've never so desperately wished to be somewhere else.

God, hell!! Under other circumstances I might have been extremely interested in this - probably wouldn't have hesitated. Her being high, half-hysterical, flushed and slightly odd-smelling took most of the eroticism out of it, and just made me feel completely off-balance.

I gently told her that I didn't want to do that; suggested that she might like to take a nap (WEAK!), and went to refill her tea glass. She seemed hurt, and it again occurred to me that I might call Rich to come running with his black bag and a whopping dose of thorazine or whatever they give to people too high on hallucinogens; or that I might call the Retreat and tell them to come get her. That seemed like a shitty thing to do; she might go into hysterics, or get kicked out; I didn't have any idea how they felt about chemical mind expansion. And I liked Rani; genuinely. I didn't want to hurt her.

After filling her glass again and weighing the alternatives, I nobly concluded that it would be best to very unemotionally examine her as she wished; maybe she wouldn't remember it later. Maybe I'd get off SCOT-FREE! So I went back, sat next to her and for some stupid reason took off my shirt. I put my hands to her cheeks as gently and kindly as I could; kissed her forehead. She put her head against my chest, and her arms around my neck. I asked her if she really wanted me to touch her, and she nodded. Then, looking me earnestly in the eyes, she took one of my hands in both her tiny ones, and put it squarely on her vulvae. She tucked it in there, squirmed a little and moved my hand to nestle it in. Then she closed her eyes and waited.

I don't want to go into a lot of lurid detail here about her body and all; she was tiny; a pixie. Small hard breasts with pink gumdrop nipples; a springy brunette bush with a charming tight little curl protecting her clitoris. Very small, soft-skinned, and fit; she was well-toned; lean and hard under her smooth skin, and tan everywhere. There was a little reddish scar inside her left hip, about even with the top of her pubic hair line. And her eyes: a deep, startling violet color.

So, Rani put my hand over her little vagina, and through the curly brush of her tight curls I could feel her clitoral hood and her labia against my palm at the base of my fingers. And because she was hot, damp and opening; despite my resolve, it was like an electric current through my own genitals. An immediate erection, and the horny swallows. She looked into my eyes gravely with her piercing violet ones; and in a sweet loaded voice asked: "Make me wet?". I cursed myself silently for a fool, moron and a simpleton, but I licked the tips of my thumb and fingers; then got to work, one hand on the upper inside of her soft little thigh, the other doing you know what, tenderly and gently as I knew how. She was tiny, except her clitoris. I coaxed her open like a little orchid, which actually required very little encouragement from me. Rani was breathing deeply, her eyes closed, and a mottled flush was creeping up over her breasts and neck. She was aroused already, and becoming more so by the second.

Even at this point, I was trying to stay calm and objective (right, moron), not become personally involved, so to speak. Although it was becoming more difficult by the second, I wanted to get through this without losing control; being embarrassed. As I stroked her open, though, and she began to breathe hard, swell, flush, and glisten it became much more difficult. And it didn't help when she moaned, then thrust her pelvis upward and toward me; her abdominal muscles tensed, her eyes tightly closed; little hands on my forearms. (I'm no expert on hallucinogens, but I wonder now whether it really was LSD that she'd taken, or perhaps a designer amphetamine like MDA that seems to directly stimulate the genitals. Her little parts, for want of a more descriptive word, were that sensitive and agonized.)

I put my finger inside her to stroke the front of her vagina. My index finger was about all that would fit, I thought. It was when I moved my free hand from the inside of her thigh so I could both massage her clitoris and tease the opening of her vagina that both of us lost it completely. Rani moaned and squirmed against me, and pressed her head into the couch back, panting. I abandoned the hand strategy, and dove tongue-first into her little muff with all guns blazing. In a test of resolve, I surrender early and graciously.

I gave Rani my best, most tender and imaginative, and her body blossomed. She was hot: trembling; humping my face; squirming and gasping. I thought she was on the brink of orgasm, so I came up for air, and gently stroked her with my fingertips again. She moaned and writhed as I pulled back the hood of her fat clitoris to make it stand out so I could flick my tongue over it. And it WAS the size of my own ring-finger tip; a smooth and swollen reddish grape, or a small ripe cherry. Not 'hermaphrodite' size; and besides, she was quite feminine in every way. Really cute, and really aroused. No faking that.

I looked up at her; the blotchy flush creeping up over her breasts, neck and face. Her eyes were clamped shut, but she wore a faint smile, or just an upturn at the corners of her mouth. I didn't much think about it at the time, but I would wonder later whether I'd just been screwed in some way that a male - a straight male - would not be expected to comprehend. Rani then whispered: "I've never had a man inside me?". Out of sheer perversity, I was tempted to pretend that I had no idea what she was talking about, like: Well, sorry; but I don't have one of those, but it was already begging for freedom: there was a wet spot on my shorts right where the tip of my penis was imprisoned behind canvas cloth. One of those hard, insistent erections that isn't just going to go away by itself if you give it a stern talking-to.

Now I get it, but it's TOO LATE. So I dutifully comply; standing to remove my remaining clothing, a pair of shorts. I knelt between her thighs, held myself in my right hand, put my left hand at the apex of her genitals and pushed upward a little to center the sensitive tip of her clitoris at the crest of her pubic arch. I deliberately rubbed the head of my penis up and down over her slipperiness, which made her moan and push out her pelvis again, and I let go of myself, wetted the tip of my thumb on my right hand, and rubbed it over her clit gently. My penis was pointing directly at her; all I had to do to introduce it to her was push forward a bit, so that I was just barely in her. I alternated rubbing the head of my penis over her with deliberate strokes of my wetted thumb. Then I pushed just inside her again, and I could feel Rani's body tensing, either in vaginismus, to reject a hostile invader, or just to steady and gather herself. I couldn't tell, so I gently squeezed her clit with thumb and forefinger, and that did it: she gasped OH!!, and with surprising strength, grabbed my wrists. I put my other palm on her pubic arch and gently pushed upward toward her chest; Rani's abdomen rippled; she groaned from somewhere deep in her chest, and then her tiny body first arched off the couch, then contracted into a hot, panting, throbbing knot; belly and thigh muscles shuddering; toes curled.

I tried to push into her farther, but just inside her a couple of inches, she was so restricted and so muscular that I gave up, and just tried to stroke her clitoris from its base to the swollen tip between my thumb and forefinger as she came hard. I felt my face pucker in that sweet-sour way, a desperate tingle in my groin, and a preliminary pulse. In moments I was jetting what felt like a gallon of scalding juice into and onto her and the couch, and a few moments after that, I eased; completely spent and very deeply disturbed, stupidly watching my goop ooze out of her and onto the futon and floor. An animal watching itself bleed to death could not have looked dumber, or lower on the evolutionary tree than yours truly right then.

Rani lay breathing deeply with a glazed look in her half-open violet eyes for a few moments, then put her hands over her breasts and twisted her own nipples. She said "ohmygod" in a drugged, lazy voice.

I got up and brought her a towel; the same one, I realized with a guilty start, that I had put under my wife Cherie the previous afternoon when we had experimented outdoors on the yard bench. A couple of leaf fragments still clung to its terry nap, and it had, I saw, some unmistakable stains. I felt pretty shameful for a moment. And then, of course, I cowboyed up: felt worldly and godlike and thoroughly manly. Yeah, that's my job: I gotta service these horny young lesbians. Someone has to do it. (Spit, then shake head slightly; ruefully.) Really miss driving a log truck...(sigh). I took Rani home; she was in no shape to drive, and knew it. She sighed and closed her eyes when she got in my pickup; and I felt a twist of plain guilt and shame; a painful suspicion that I'd just taken advantage of a sweet young woman who was obviously in no condition to say "no", or "yes" or anything else intelligently.

I dropped Rani off at the Retreat, visited a few minutes and had a beer with the ladies. They were starting to like me, I guess I was their male mascot. I drove home with the dozen eggs they'd given me. Every mile nearer home, this little pulse of guilt hammered a bit harder. Walking back into the house and checking the couch in my study for telltale signs made me feel like a monster. I took a shower and still felt soiled; obviously this was not going to wash off.

I won't pretend that it did not occur to me how rotten this was going to make me look to my wife and Kayla, if they found out. And I had to assume they WOULD find out; the Retreat was a hive of gossip. If I was lucky, Rani wouldn't tell she'd had sex with a man, or would forget about it. Maybe she'd assume it was an hallucination.

SHIT! Had I just forced sex on Rani? Raped her?

After the Campus Creeper episode of last year, the student newspaper ran a series of essays and editorials on rape, the male-dominated society, and our handy male way of fitting sex taken by force into the fabric of our self-legitimized domination of our sisters. I suppose I, like most men, dislike having that sentiment rammed down my throat by angry women, but I do believe it: if a woman says no, and you touch her anyway, it's rape; a crime against another human being that I rank up there with murder. Even if it's just that she doesn't say no because she's afraid or uncertain, it's rape. If she for some reason CAN'T say no; it's rape. Two willing people have to unmistakably say or act "yes, PLEASE" to legitimize any act of intimacy.

And although I regret to say it, because it is such a sweet, complex, and devious dance, I no longer believe in or practice seduction. Truth? I never knew how anyway. Let there be no more games between us, sisters. No more stalking; no more manipulating, no more luring; no more games.

I still don't have a clear answer to my own question about whether or not I raped Rani, but those I've risked talking to about this bizarre episode - both men and women - have said "no" emphatically. We were both willing.

I'm not nearly so sure about that. I mean, I'm not sure I was willing. Maybe I was raped that day.

That's a possibility, and I'm well enough conditioned now not to laugh at that. I reject it for now because there is still a part of me that cannot accept it as possible for a man to be raped, except perhaps by another man. We're so much more muscular than you women, and one can't force even a really slippery-wet vagina onto a flaccid penis. Can't be done. There might be other circumstances, though, and I'll consider them, but not today.

The Goddess

Part II

Davi Bekke

I kept quiet about having had sex with little Rani, but it bothered me in a way that I felt ashamed of. I noticed that I was preoccupied with images of her tiny girlish body; her astonishing response to my handling her. Several days later, it became obvious that Cherie and Kayla had heard through the Retreat grapevine that Rani had been to visit me, and what had resulted. They quietly and effectively punished me for a couple of days by shunning my company and glaring at me, like I'd been caught in our dark and mouldy garden shed having sex with the dog. They made love with (I think) exaggerated ecstasy; I was pointedly excluded. God, I felt low. One afternoon when we were all at home except Kayla's friend Sarah (Sarah was also a friend of Rani's), I finally told them about my encounter with Rani in much more circumscribed detail than I've used here. I tried to make myself seem a victim of circumstance; wrong place/wrong time. Cherie shook her head slowly and said "Davi", in the same voice she uses to shame the dog for getting up on the table to eat the butter; she can make me feel awful just looking at me in her gentle, pitying way. Kayla didn't say anything then, but later actually cornered me for details about fucking Rani: her wetness and slickness, how tiny she was, how I touched and licked her, how aroused was I, penetration, orgasm, etc. Embarrassed me. First I thought she was shaming me, too; then I concluded she was hot for Rani. But I'd also felt her presence in bed with Cherie and I night after night; we three made love pretty regularly. I knew her body; her arousal; her orgasm intimately. No secret: Kayla was in a state of chronic arousal. She was developing a strong sex drive, a bold sexual curiosity; and not just about women.