"Dog show girl" - читать интересную книгу автора (Isley Carl)

CHAPTER FOUR – A Bird in the Bird

Birds in general would seem to be unlikely candidates for human sex-partners, but there is hardly a living creature that walks, swims or flies that men (and women) have not used to gratify their genital itches, and birds are no exception. Birds of all sizes have served the bestial purpose, from the tiniest songbirds to giant ostriches, penguins at the South Pole, and even fierce birds of prey.

The most famous example from antiquity of apian love is the mythical seduction of Leda by the swan (which turned out to be Zeus in disguise – surprise surprise!) But in actual history birds have much more often been used by men than by women. Around the farmyard this is especially, true, for most varieties of domestic fowl are capable of taking in a penis and affording it the necessary frictions for orgasmic satisfaction. The elementary opening of the bird – the cloaca – serves as a soft, warm and agreeably tight 'cunt' for purposes of bird-fucking. The unfortunate difficulty is that a man-sized penis is more than even a large bird call take inside him without suffering serious internal injury and probable death. So a man violating his own chickens would soon deplete his flock, and if he were to commit outrage on another man's fowls, he would leave damning evidence behind of his crime.

Krafft-Ebing reported several nineteenth century cases of bird-assaults in his book, Psychopathia Sexualis. In one, "a man of high social position" was caught red-handed in the act of buggering a chicken. Great numbers of chickens had been found dead in the village barnyards over a long period of time and an intensive manhunt finally brought the culprit to justice. He excused himself in court by pleading that his prick was too small to fuck women satisfactorily and he had turned to birds in desperation.

In another case, a boy of sixteen, when charged with assaulting a goose, claimed that he suffered "attacks with heat in his head" during which he became so sexually aroused that he couldn't control his raging lusts and then he had no memory afterwards of what he had done.

Krafft-Ebing fails to tell us how these cases were disposed of in the courts. Presumably both the guilty men were turned over to psychiatrists for study of their "sicknesses".

The following case history differs from most of the others in this book in that it is not a first-person confession of a personal bestial experience. The facts related in the account are assembled from various records of the subject's career and from the diary of the girl who became involved with him – data assembled in preparation of the court case that resulted from the affair and its horrifying conclusion.

CASE 4 – Bryan T.

Bryan was an orphan boy. He spent his early years being shunted about from one city foster home to another. Then at age fourteen he was sent to live with an elderly couple on a suburban farm.

He seemed happier on the farm than he had ever been in the city. He had always been a 'loner' who feared crowds, and he enjoyed being by himself all day long on the quiet farm with no one to disturb his peace.

He was assigned chores to do around the barnyard which included feeding the large flock of chickens. He found the hen house a perfect hideaway and he spent many hours there among the chickens, shut away from the world.

In his shy and solitary life up to that time, he had had no association with girls at all. He felt no particular attraction to them and was very shy in their presence, as he was with most other boys as well. His only sex experience was in emotionless mechanical masturbation, apparently without any fantasizing in his mind during the act.

Now in his hen house hideout, he resumed his city habit of prolonged, methodical masturbation sessions, manipulating his penis with a wide variety of cock-teasing materials held in his hand. In the city he had made use of fur-pieces, foam rubber scraps, and wads of modeling clay, among other things, in his prick-fondling rituals. On the farm he first tried masturbating while holding a wad of chicken feathers in his hand, and that led to the idea of actually holding a live chicken against himself and rubbing his prick-head on her downy breast, or perhaps squeezing off underneath her wing.

These tries proved disappointing however, and it was not until several days later that begot the idea of trying to poke his penis up into the chicken's 'egg-laying hole'. This idea, which he imagined that no one had ever thought of before, occurred to him during the night while he lay in his bed, and he crept downstairs and out of the house to the chicken yard to put it to immediate test.

In the dark hen house he plucked a dozing pullet off her perch and began probing her underside with his fingers, looking for the entryway that had to be there, but the outraged bird raised such a clatter of protest, stirring up all the other chickens in the coop to a considerable clucking uproar, that the old man was awakened and he came hurrying down to the yard, expecting to catch a chicken thief in the act. Bryan escaped into the barn undiscovered and hid out there until his foster father had gone back to bed. Then he crept back to the house, discouraged for the moment in his plan.

But the next day, as soon as the old man had left on his daily trip to town, Bryan hurried to the chicken house to try his luck again at the great experiment. He knew that the old lady was too deaf to hear anything that went on, no matter how much noise the chickens made.

He picked out a fat Rhode Island Red, found the cavity he was looking for, and with some difficulty worked the head of his prick up inside. The bird struggled violently, but Bryan held her fast and slowly plunged the full length of his eager cock up into the warm, throbbing guts of the squirming chicken. He felt an excitement greater than he had ever known before in any masturbation experiment, and as he thrust in and out of the bird, her wings beating against his groin and balls added extra zest to the business and he came quickly to orgasm.

As soon as he had shot off his load inside the chicken he released her, but she dropped down at his feet and lay there, fluttering more and more feebly. Bryan realized for the first time then that he had done serious damage to the bird's inner organs and that he had better dispose of it. So he killed it with a rock and then dropped the body down into an abandoned well where no one could ever find it.

He was frightened and sorry at having killed the chicken, and for several days afterwards he lived in fear that someone somehow would find out what he had done. Above all he did not want to be sent back to the city again so he vowed to himself that he would take no more reckless chances and never bother the chickens again.

But then, as more days passed and life went on as usual, he began to realize that there were far too many chickens in the flock for the loss of one or two to be noticed. And the voluptuous experience of fucking the warm, throbbing body had been too much of a rare pleasure not to repeat.

So he did it again that same afternoon, trying to be more gentle in his penetration and so not to injure the bird this time, but the end result was the same. Again he threw the body down into the old well-shaft.

After that it became a regular habit. He fucked at least one chicken a day and sometimes two. Since he realized now that the penetrated chickens could never survive the act, he no longer tried to be gentle with them, but got more and more enjoyment out of fucking each bird with greater and greater violence, thrusting his prick in and out with all his force and at the same time tearing out handfuls of feathers and squeezing and wrenching its neck about. Sometimes he would break the chicken's neck or cut its throat while he was still in the process of fucking it and continue ramming into the dying carcass while it quivered and thrashed about in its death throes.

He had no idea whether or not the old man had noticed that his chicken flock had dwindled in numbers, but he overheard him one day telling his wife that, "there's gotta be a chicken thief sneaking around here nights. We're gonna have to get us a big, noisy dog."

Then an unexpected complication entered the picture. The old man's sixteen-year-old niece came to stay at the farm for the summer. Deanna was a jolly, uninhibited girl and she tried hard to make friends with Bryan. He was terrified of her however and avoided her as much as possible.

But she was the kind of bold person who has no understanding or respect for shyness in others and she chased after him wherever he went and drove him into a state of panic. He had never known anyone in all his life who cared enough about him to want to pursue him for any reason. Everyone had always ignored and avoided him, and he had adjusted to that situation and assumed that it would always be so.

Even in his sacred hen house sanctuary he was not safe from her insistent pursuit. She soon discovered that Bryan spent most of his days hiding there and she teased him about it and gave him no peace from then on.

"What do you see in those stupid chickens?" she said to him. "I think you're in love with them or something."

He had no chance anymore to indulge his chicken-raping habit, as Deanna was always about and she would have heard the commotion in the hen house and come to see what he was up to.

So, cut off from his sexual pleasure and under constant harassment from the pesky girl, he grew more and more nervous and desperate, while he joylessly masturbated in his room.

But then, to his great delight and relief, Deanna began going to town with her uncle on his daily trips and all of a sudden Bryan was alone with his chickens again and free to resume his bestial pleasures.

For the next few days he enjoyed frantic ecstatic orgasms – greater than ever before – and five more chicken carcasses wound up down in the well.

But then, one horrible day, he was just commencing his mid morning lust-ritual in the hen house, kneeling naked on the floor, fitting his straining prick up into one more protesting cloaca, when a shrill feminine whoop of surprise split the air, and with sick horror he saw Deanna's big blue goggle-eyes peeping through the slats of the wall, spying on his shameful game.

He let loose the chicken and sank down weakly in the straw, uttering a pathetic moan of dismay. He assumed that this was the absolute end of the world for him.

But Deanna, it turned out, was more amused than shocked. She came bursting into the hen house.

"Wow!" she cried. "This is freaky. I never would've imagined."

Bryan only crouched where he was, staring glassy-eyed, his erection slowly subsiding.

"Hey man, don't waste that meat-bone on the chickens," Deanna gurgled. "I got better uses for it."

She swiped at his prick with her foot. He fell back into a sitting position and began to cry.

Deanna was astonished. She assured him he had nothing to worry about – that she certainly wasn't about to tell anybody what he was on to.

"Everybody to their own thing, man," she said.

She managed to calm him down and then to his utter amazement and horror she suddenly pulled off her dress and confronted him in a nipple-revealing bra and g-string panty.

She declared herself in on the fun and games from that day forward. She said that she was going to show him what his prick was really intended for by Mother Nature, and she gave him the impression that she still might squeal on him to her uncle if he didn't cooperate and do whatever she told him to do from there on out. She tossed away her bra and directed him first to kiss her breasts and lick the nipples. He did so, even though his stomach was churning with disgust and near-nausea at the thought of it.

Then she insisted that he kiss her mouth, and when she forced his lips apart and thrust her wriggling tongue inside, he pulled back his head violently and turned away from her, retching and sobbing again.

She laughed uproariously, delighted with his "freaky" behavior.

"You're priceless," she told him. "Am I gonna have a ball with you!"

Completely stripped now, she forced him to kneel at her feet and raise up his lips, and then she straddled his face and pressed her hot wet pussy down hard over his mouth.

"Kiss it," she demanded. "Go ahead. Make believe it's a sexy chicken and kiss it."

He was nearly hysterical by then with the horror of her actions and so she released him for the time being, but she warned him that she expected more services from him the next morning and every morning thereafter until he had learned to do all the things that gave her pleasure. And she promised him his share of unbelievable delights too if he cooperated. But no more fucking around with those filthy chickens, she warned him, or she'd let everyone know what a queer jerk he was and he'd be one sorry son of a bitch.

The next morning at breakfast she frightened him out of his mind by innocently asking her uncle, "Can human beings make love with chickens? Somebody told me that they could."

The old lady gasped and her uncle pounded his fist on the tabletop. "That will be enough of that talk! Who's been putting these nasty thoughts into your mind?"

"I-I heard a boy in school say he did it," she said, giggling.

"No more!" the old man roared. "A young lady does not permit her ears to hear such conversation."

Bryan said not a word, but he got the message intended. As soon as the old man took off in the truck for town he went to the hen house, sick at heart, to meet Deanna and do his obscene penance.

She was already there, already naked, lying in a heaped-up bed of chicken feathers, holding a chicken between her thighs and rubbing it up and down in the cleft of her crotch.

"Come on in, baby," she greeted him. "Pull up a chicken and sit down. Personally these birds don't do a thing for me. I must not be doing it right. I need advice from an expert."

He stood uncomfortably against the wall, his eyes cast down, unable to look on her nakedness without shuddering.

"Don't just stand there," she said. "Take off your clothes. I like to see you the way you were yesterday. I dig your body, Bryan baby."

After he stripped nude she taunted him about his flaccid prick.

"What's wrong, baby? You can get it up for a chicken but not for a super sex-bomb like me? Look at me. Look at me, dammit!" She thrust her stark-white boobs within an inch of his face and shook then vigorously. "Doesn't that turn you on, chicken-fucker? Even see a chicken with a pair of boobs like that? Shit, man – open your eyes!"

He had shut his tear-filled eyes and covered his face with his hands, but she tore his hands away and pressed her breasts onto his face, squashing them down flat, grinding her knobby nipples into his cheeks and against his eyelids.

"What's wrong with you? What's wrong?" she screamed. Then she grabbed his prick in her hand and yanked it disdainfully. "Get hard! HARD – HARD, damn you!"

In a fury she picked up a chicken and flung it at him. "Here! Fuck a damn chicken. Let me see you do it, if that's the only thing that turns you on."

She ordered him to demonstrate his hen-fucking act for her, but in his agitated state of mind, even with the chicken he found it impossible to make his prick come stiff enough to penetrate the bird.

"All right, then," she cried, "if you can't fuck me and you can't fuck a chicken, what the fuck can you fuck? Isn't there any way you can do it? You'll suck my pussy – that's what. Anybody can do that. Even you."

She sat on the chicken perch with her legs apart and she made Bryan kneel before her and perform a long and very thorough job of cunnilingus upon her. While he did so she told him a fanciful story, improvised on the spot, of a boy she had known who was caught fucking a chicken and sent to the reformatory for nine years. Meekly Bryan did everything she demanded – licking and nibbling her clitoris and tongue-fucking her slit as per her explicit directions.

Then she had a sudden burst of curiosity. "I wonder if a little sucky-suck would do miracles on that dead-ass prick of yours."

She hopped down from her perch, stood him up in the same spot, and knelt before him to try her luck at oral-genital organ-raising.

She skinned his prick-head and tickled it with her fingers. "That reach you at all?" she asked him. "Tell me if I hit a nerve or anything. There's gotta be some life on this cold bleak planet."

Then she gave his prick a quick tongue-teasing all around its head while fluttering her fingers over the shaft, and very quickly, to the amazement of both of them, his shriveled cock leaped into life, stretching and stiffening to full erection.

"Eureka!" she cried. "Give me a medal." She sucked and teased him a bit more, soaking the whole length of his prick with saliva, taunting him between mouthings, and then she jumped up all of a sudden.

"Okay – now the chicken. Now that you got your hard up, I want to see you fuck that damn chicken. Go to it, baby. I bought my ticket – now I want to see the show."

In a trembling sweat Bryan caught up one of the hens and before her fascinated eyes he began his ritual of cloacal penetration, but very cautiously and as gently as possible. He hoped desperately that somehow, miraculously, this time the bird would survive the assault unhurt. He had a horrible fear that if the chicken died with Deanna as a witness, that would be a foretelling of his own doom.

But it was obvious before he made half a dozen thrusts into the bird that it was already in its death agonies. He pumped more rapidly then, anxious to be done with the terrible business, and as soon as he felt his orgasm coming on he yanked himself free, flung the bird away from him, and stood wretchedly before Deanna, sobbing while his prick spurted its last shots onto the floor.

She laughed and applauded. "Wow! Groovy! You ought to take that show on the road. Be very big on the college circuit and in small towns."

Then she noticed for the first time the buggered chicken's mortally wounded state as it thrashed feebly at her feet.

"What's wrong with the damn hen?" she said. She knelt and looked at it closely in horror and disgust. "Agghr, that's gruesome! You killed it. Do they always die like that?"

Then she raised the question of what he had done with the dead remains of all the other chickens he had "murdered" and he reluctantly led her to the old well. She was aghast when she saw the ugly sight down in the shaft – dozens of rotting chicken bodies heaped up, the whole ugly mess aswarm with flies.

"You're a MURDERER," she screamed at him. "A sex-murderer. You should be locked up."

From then on she treated him with absolute contempt, heaping scorn on him day and night, causing her uncle to scold her for being "so mean to that poor orphan boy."

In the hen house each day she subjected him to every sexual humiliation she could think of, as well as painful paddlings with a fence slat and long sessions of forced cunnilingus. And there were hardly five minutes in the day when she was not reminding him that he was a hen-fucker – a sex pervert – a murderer – and assuring him that it was only a matter of time before she would let the whole world know about it. One of these days, she promised him over and over again, "they" are going to come and drag you away.

In the presence of the uncle and aunt she would paralyze him with a remark like, "Whatever happened to that sort of spotty hen with the dragging wing? She just disappeared somehow. Do some of the hens just fly away or what happens to them?" and another time, "Don't you think you ought to fill in that old dry well down below the pasture, Uncle Robert? It seems dangerous to me. You should really go down and look at it. I think you'd be surprised at how scary it looks."

Deanna's diary reports in gloating detail the humiliations and degradations she forced upon the completely submissive Bryan and indicates clearly the contempt she felt for him – more for his spineless acceptance of her dominance over him than for his bestial "murders".

Several of the diary entries later became part of the trial record in the case. The following excerpt provides a vivid account of one particularly ugly incident and shows the extreme depths of depravity which their sick relationship had reached just before the final tragedy.

"I really socked it to the freak today. And he took it like always, the jerk. He's beginning to make me puke and that's no shit. He's got no more guts than the fucking chickens!"

"I remembered that a boy showed me once how you could stroke a horse's crack under the asshole just a certain way and it would loosen up his sphincters or some such thing and he'd piss. I asked the kid why anybody would want to make a horse piss and he didn't know. But yesterday I thought about it for some reason and it gave me a new idea for something to do to the freak."

"I took him into the barn where Colonel Dobie is – the old black nag I used to ride when I was little. Then I made him lie down naked in Dobie's stall, right in the horseshit and everything. I told him if he moved one muscle, no matter what happened, then there was going to be a guided tour to the old well for my aunt and uncle and I wasn't shitting him. I got him so scared shitless now that he'd jump off the windmill in a swan dive if I told him to."

"I made him lie with his face right underneath Dobie's ass-end so he'd get the whole shower of piss right in the mush when it happened. Then I started in on Dobie, giving her the strategic tickle. It didn't seem to work at first. I guess the old nag's urogenital reactions ain't what they used to be. But then she shivered her ass one time and all of a sudden the flood gates opened. I mean old Dobie must've been holding it in since Wednesday."

"I nearly got myself splashed before I could get out of the stall and then I just stood there laughing like a bastard. The freak nearly drowned. Groovy bit, hey? Drowning in horse piss!"

"But he survived. Drenched down to his knees and choking and spitting and blinking his eyes, but he survived."

'How's it taste?' I asked him. 'I didn't put too much salt in it, did I?'

"He couldn't have talked even if he'd had anything to say. I made him stay there and soak in the puddle for awhile before I told him he could get up. And even then he didn't, but just lay there with a dumb look on his dumb face – as if he liked it, reclining in a piss-puddle."

"Twice I told him to get his ass up, but he didn't even act like he heard me and finally I just took off and left him there. He's getting weirder and weirder, I'm telling you. It's unbelievable!"

The last entry of all in the diary shows the state of Deanna's mind at the very end – the night before the blowup.

"I'm going to have to cool it with the freak. He's right on the thin edge now. I think maybe I went too far. Maybe the pissing bit was too much, although he didn't make any fuss about it at the time. He's got a look in his eye now though that gives me the creeps. He never used to dare even look at me at all and now I notice him staring at me in the house, at dinner and all. It's getting to be a drag anyway, this whole fucking scene. This farm is beyond the ass-end of nowhere. Only two weeks more and back to civilization again. What a load off! Back to normal people again. Rainey and Coral won't believe it when I tell them about the freak. Once I get the hell out of this shit-pile I probably won't believe it myself either. Two more weeks! I wish it was tomorrow. I better tell the freak tomorrow that it's bye bye. He doesn't know yet that I'm leaving. Won't he be surprised! He'll be inconsolable. I wonder what he'll give me for a goodbye gift. (Pause here for prolonged laughter.)"

What happened the next day was never established indisputably as to the exact course of events. But piecing together portions of court testimony and other data brought out during psychiatric investigations, the following would seem to be an accurate summing-up of the events of the day after the above diary entry.

In the morning Deanna was unusually pleasant to Bryan at the breakfast table – this noted with surprise by both aunt and uncle.

At the end of the meal Deanna said that she wanted to be of more help to Bryan from then on, and starting today she was going to help him take care of the chickens. She thought the hen house would benefit from a "woman's touch".

They all laughed except Bryan, who hurried out of the house and was not seen again the rest of the morning.

When her uncle left for town as usual, Deanna told her aunt that she was going out to look for Bryan – that she had some things to tell him. She never came back.

It seems that she went to the hen house to confront Bryan but she never got a chance to tell him anything. The instant she came through the doorway he hit her diagonally across the forehead with the sharp edge of a spade and knocked her to the floor, and then he hit her a second blow, harder than the first, behind the ear. She was still alive but unconscious after the second blow.

From then on Bryan apparently vented all his enormous store of pent-up resentment upon her body for a considerable time – perhaps an hour or more. He kicked and stomped her savagely, breaking several ribs and many teeth in the process and virtually pulverizing her facial features. Then he ripped away her clothes and subjected her nude body to further beating and abuse. At some point after her death he committed rape upon the corpse. This ironically was the first and only time in his life that he had ever engaged in "normal" vaginal intercourse with Deanna or any other human female.

Afterwards he hacked the body apart and chopped it into a great many small pieces, which he stuffed into two burlap sacks and carried to the old well. There he dumped Deanna's dismembered remains down into the wellshaft among the bones of the thirty-seven chickens.

But not before performing one last act of outrage upon her bloody parts. He held two raw chunks of her flesh in his hands, pressed them around his penis and masturbated one more time.

Then at last his raging fury had run its course and all his energy had drained away with it. He dragged himself back up the hill toward the hen house, but halfway across the pasture he collapsed, and there his uncle discovered him later that afternoon, lying on his back in a glassy-eyed trance, his body drenched with blood.

A jury found him innocent of murder by reason of insanity, and Bryan probably will spend the rest of his life in the mental institution where he is now.

Bryan was not the first case in history of a tormented soul turning on his tormentor and committing a brutal, vengeful murder. And although he and Deanna might not have realized it, he was not the first person who had ever raped barnyard birds and added to the pleasure by killing the bird deliberately just before orgasm and taking extra delight in its death-thrashings.

Intercourse with dying geese was once a favorite sex-sport in China and India among the depraved nobility. The Marquis de Sade reported this same game to be popular in French whorehouses, where turkeys were used for the purpose. A naked prostitute would hold the bird for the customer's convenience and slice its throat at the decisive moment.

So young Bryan – "the freak" – "the chicken-murderer" – actually was playing an ancient game. In bestiality as in everything else, there is nothing new under the sun.