Comas
are of many different kinds. Connor's coma has distinctive brain states
(too technical to go into here), but it has two notable properties
entirely accessible to the layman: the patients look quite healthy,
just as if they are asleep; and they never get better, dying within a
year.
An intriguing treatment idea involved capturing the
pleasure states of a healthy person from the brain structures where
they were experienced and transmitting them to the same structures in
the patient. The treatment concept involved implanting electrodes in
the patient's septum pellucidum, limbic system and related areas and
attaching them to a radio receiver and amplifier. Electrodes implanted
in the same areas in the transmitting person's brain would capture
activity there and broadcast it to the patient. It was apparent to all
that the treatment would use the most intense pleasure state we
experience: orgasm. Experiments with animals were promising.
Connor's
coma strikes all ages, but the treatment would only be suitable for
children. Adult brains have limited plasticity, but children's brains
are much more resilient and open to change.
The idea for this
treatment had been around for a few years. It was risky for the
patient, but then the patient was under a death sentence and a risky
treatment was acceptable. The problem was that it also looked to be
very risky for the transmitter, the most likely "side effects" being
death and extreme emotional disturbances.
As someone involved in
the research, I thought about the treatment from time to time. Would I
consider becoming a transmitter? I was in my 50s, with no family and
with no great enthusiasm for my future. It was so sad, looking at these
children who had their whole lives before them but would never get to
experience them. Everything they needed including brain function was
right there, if only someone could wake them up.
I felt
something else, when I stood looking at some of the girls, a sort of
romantic attraction. My relationships with adult women had been OK at
times, but there was something missing. I had gradually realized that
my stronger sexual attraction was to girls -- pre-pubescent girls. I
had mostly put it out of my mind, resigned to the reality that my
yearnings would remain forever unsatisfied. I was entirely clear that I
would never approach a girl just for my own sexual satisfaction. Even
if the huge moral problem was magically circumvented, I knew my own
sexual arousal would vanish knowing the trauma the girl would
experience. But these girls were doomed.
They were also
unconscious. Sex with a child carries an enormous stigma, and sex with
an unconscious child would be far worse. In terms of actual harm,
though, if the girl were not conscious she would be spared some of the
trauma. I wondered how I would feel about sex with an unconscious girl.
As I sat beside some of them in the hospital, I occasionally snuck a
peek below the sheet, even inside their johnnies, and decided I would
enjoy it very much. Maybe I was sick. But that was the way I was, and
if satisfying my inclinations could save lives, then it would be worth
it. There are folk tales where an obnoxious member of the village is
shunned until his offending characteristics are needed to save them all
from harm.
If I went through the surgery to become a transmitter
and I lived, I would offer parents hope: let me have sex with your
daughter and it might save her life. Take it or leave it. No boys would
be offered the treatment, nor girls that I did not find attractive.
There were in any case far more attractive girls with Connor's than I
could save.
If I could have sex with girls -- a great many, if
the treatment worked -- it would give a vibrancy to my life that had
been missing for years. Of course there were the dangers to consider. I
reasoned that life is short anyway, and a shorter life having satisfied
my deepest longings would be worth it. Dying while trying to save
children's lives is certainly noble.
I came out about my
pedophilic inclinations to a few trusted colleagues and explained my
plan. They had to get over the shock of what I was proposing, but when
they considered the choice the parents faced, they agreed it might
work. There was nothing in the treatment that required that my orgasm
be with the child rather than some other partner right nearby. But I
was only going to take the extreme risk if I could have sex with the
child. Someone mentioned that maybe matching peripheral stimulation of
the child's own sex organs with the brain input would increase the
effectiveness of the treatment. I doubted it would make much
difference, and I suspected the others felt that way as well, but we
all saw the advantages of assuming it was true and not testing the
hypothesis. There was no need to advertise to parents the selfish
aspect of my offer.
Neither my highly risky surgery nor sexual
activity with young girls could take place in the US. So we set up shop
in Columbia in a manner allowing the government to deny knowledge of
our existence.
I had the surgery. Nothing bad happened to me. I was over the first hurdle.
Although
Connor's coma is rare, there were still unfortunately dozens of
children from the US alone to choose from every month. I made a list of
the ones I found most attractive based on pre-coma photographs. Sarah
was the first. Her parents were revolted at the idea of letting a man
have sexual relations with their comatose daughter, as any parents
would be. They refused to consider the idea. Kate was the second. Her
parents had the same initial reactions, but they worked through their
feelings. She had nothing to lose except perhaps her dignity, and they
felt a chance at life was worth it.
My
first job was stretching Kate's vagina so it would accommodate a man's
penis. We had a cream designed to waken, enlarge and stretch her vagina
over the course of several days. It contained estrogen and a
skin-relaxing agent among other ingredients. I injected some into her
with a plunger and rubbed it into her vaginal walls with my little
finger. I repeated each day, and soon two fingers fit inside her, then
three, then four. It was time.
Nine-year-old Kate had lovely
shoulder length blond hair and a very pretty face. I knew her eyes were
blue, though they were closed of course, since she wasn't awake. Her
slim child's body with perfect skin lay before me. She was wearing a
robe of pink silk, open just enough to reveal the sleepy nipples of her
flat chest. I rubbed my hands over her front slowly, pausing and
curving around the nipples as if they had gravity. I slid the robe
aside to reveal her lower parts, and with leisurely circles brushed my
hand down her stomach, hip, thigh, jumped to the other thigh, slid up
towards where her thighs met but veered upward to her hip again,
running slow circles about the center of my attention. The circles got
smaller, and soon my hand was on her smooth girl's labia. I stroked
them gently with my hand. Beautiful, but dry. I took a little lubricant
and started rubbing it slowly up and down on her lips and they started
glistening. I worked my fingers gradually inside between her lips,
parting easily with some friendly lubricant. I rubbed very lightly over
her demure clitoris, and then did more circles with my fingers, from
clitoris around vaginal opening and back. I began working my little
finger into her, adding lubricant as I went. I moved over to kneel
above her naked, and now I caressed the inside of one thigh, moving my
fingers from her knee up, slowing as I reached the glistening labia and
reversed direction, and then gently pushed the thigh out to the side. I
did the same with the other, and then I paused to take in the sight.
Kate was lying on her back, chest partly covered with the pink silk,
legs spread wide, and the glistening labia were as exposed and
welcoming as they could be. My erection was very hard, and I lowered
myself slowly down onto her. Holding her slippery labia apart with one
hand, I gently placed the tip of my penis between her inner lips and
pushed in a little. This was the moment I had been dreaming of all
these months, the culmination of so much risk and effort. The flesh
parted to take in my tip. It was a tight fit, but there was no trauma
to her tender parts. Gradually I worked my penis back and forth, going
in a tenth of an inch more on each stroke. It was thrilling to feel my
whole tip get past her ring of muscles, and I kept working gently in.
She was as warm and wet inside as any woman, and my penis slid
smoothly. Finally it was in maybe four inches, and I felt substantial
resistance and decided to work in no farther. Four inches was a
generous welcome from a girl her age. I started back and forth slowly
just a fraction of an inch, which felt magnificent. I gradually
lengthened my strokes, and was excited to see my shaft buried between
her legs, pumping slowly in and out, her tissues stretched to
accommodate me, but not too far. Her girl parts were glistening, but
hairless and innocent. My tip stayed out of sight; it had private
business with her innards. My strokes got faster. I felt my orgasm
building, and slowed down to head it off a couple times, but finally
started thrusting with abandon. My whole body convulsed in orgasm as my
body shot semen up inside of her. It felt spectacular, a dream come
true.
Just then she stirred and opened her eyes, and another
level of joy followed my fading orgasm. She was conscious for the first
time in six months! She looked at me sleepily, confused. I let my
weight down on her, partly to one side so she could breath, and held
her. Although she was too dopey to feel anything too strongly,
confusion was giving way to distress. I imagined she could feel my
penis stretching her innards, a full invasion of her vagina, an organ
she had previously thought of as tiny and insignificant when she
thought about it at all. She had never seen me before. Catching my
breath, I said "Uh... I know this seems very weird, but, um... you have
been in a coma for six months and this..." I motioned vaguely downward
to where our bodies were joined, "This was the only way we had to save
your life."
She stayed conscious for half an hour, then she fell
deeply asleep again, and two hours later we could not wake her. We
feared she was headed back to the coma, so I caressed and fondled her
in the same ways, though a little faster because this time I knew the
way. I mated with her again, pressing my penis inside as far as it
would go, pulsing more sperm into her immature depths. More
importantly, I experienced a powerful orgasm. That woke her up again.
It not only woke her up, she woke with a dreamy expression and a
shudder and smiled at me. Her brain activity stabilized through that
evening and night. My job was finished, and Kate started her more
conventional recovery. Over the next couple days she started eating
well, sitting up, and walking.
As we had hoped, my extreme
pleasure had woken her up. Now that she was awake the plan was to send
her home, cured. It was safer to leave the electrodes in place than try
to remove them. Back at home she was to receive counseling to help her
get over the trauma of my having had sex with her. Considered from many
angles it was rape because of her age and because no unconscious person
of any age can consent to sex. We all hoped that she would recover and
lead a decent life compared to the alternative of no life at all.
But
then Kate started getting depressed and listless, and I came in to see
her. I felt a surge of lust as soon as I saw her, and I froze near the
door. She was of course much prettier and sexier now that she was
conscious. She was slouched in an armchair, dressed in shorts and a
T-shirt. When she saw me she smiled a little, then slowly sat up. She
stared at me in a peculiar and intense way, then walked towards me and
stood in front of me. Then she took my right hand in hers, looked it
over and stroked it a little, turned it over and back again, and as she
stared at me slowly moved it down and placed it between her legs, palm
up against the crotch of her shorts. She looked confused but also
excited -- sentiments I shared. Perhaps Kate sensed my growing
excitement as she moved my hand lower, and following those mental
contour lines she had guided my hand to a spot I found very alluring.
But it seemed likely that more than just my pleasure was getting
transmitted to her. I had made love to Kate's gorgeous body with the
goal of saving her life. Now her life was no longer in danger but she
was encouraging me to be sexual with her. She looked shy and still
confused, but she started rubbing my hand back and forth between her
legs. With some difficulty I marshaled some semblance of professional
detachment and slowly removed my hand and placed it gently against her
cheek. I reassured her that she wasn't doing anything wrong, but I was
not sure whether that kind of touch was a good idea. I retreated,
promising I would return shortly.
I consulted with my
associates. Kate's sexual interest wasn't part of the plan. Now that
she was out of the coma she was due to head back home in a few days.
She had already spoken to her ecstatic parents and they were dying to
come pick her up. We decided to ignore her sexual inclinations and hope
they would pass as she cheered up. So when I returned I told Kate it
wasn't right for us to be sexual any more, that the previous times were
to save her life and now she should return to the rules that all
nine-year-olds observed, including no stranger touch. She looked
deflated but nodded.
As the days went by, Kate got worse, not
better, and we had to delay her departure. She lay on her bed, refusing
to eat or drink and crying whenever she got enough energy to cry. When
asked what she wanted she just shrugged. There were no promising
treatments within the domain of accepted medical practice, especially
given how fast she was sinking. It was time to consider the
extraordinary and experimental once again. Kate's last enthusiastic act
had been rubbing my hand between her legs, so it seemed worth seeing
what hope for a cure might lie in that direction. When I went in to her
room her profound misery seemed to waver for a moment. I sat by her on
the bed and rested my hand gently on her shoulder. I started lightly
stroking her cheek and hair, and more energy seemed to flow back into
her. I said I would enjoy touching her more if she liked that idea, but
I would stop if she was in the least uncomfortable. She had put the
idea of being sexual with me totally out of her mind, but now as the
possibility reemerged she slowly realized that she liked that idea very
much. Sensing that reaction in her I felt a wave of sexual interest
glide through me. She sat up slowly, stared at me with wide eyes, and
gently placed my hand between her legs again. I felt a surge of
arousal. She flushed and shuddered a little as that feeling of mine got
radioed to her, amplified, and then surged through her brain. She
started to pull her shirt over her head, pausing to see if I would
object, and I gave her the go-ahead. In a matter of seconds she was
totally naked and trying to unfasten my pants. I paused long enough to
remove from my pocket the lube I had brought, then stripped. Kate
wiggled on the bed as my full erection bounced into view. I sat on the
bed with her and started fondling her chest, but she impatiently put my
hand back between her legs. I opened the lube, then she grabbed the
tube and applied it quickly and lavishly to her labial areas. She then
stuck the tube up her vagina and squirted half of it up inside her, and
it gushed back out, soaking the sheet. She told me with every bit of
body language she could muster that she wanted me inside her right away
and wanted my orgasm transmitted to her as soon as possible. I felt
pleasure burn through me as I slid into her once again, enhanced this
time by knowing she wanted my sexual attentions, and wanted them badly.
I started thrusting harder, attuned to any signs of her discomfort or
hesitation but detecting none. I let my animal instincts take over, and
could tell that the more I dropped my inhibitions the better she felt.
I forced myself up inside her farther and harder than ever and
fulfillment of my basest instincts pulsed more sperm up into her while
pulsing ecstasy through me. She screamed with pleasure.
I decided that if I died tomorrow it would have been worth it.
She
wanted it again and was disappointed when I explained that my penis
needed some time to recover. But I was ready in half an hour. As I slid
into her again and began the back and forth motion of sex, she moaned,
caressed my back, wriggled, and panted. She felt an extra surge from me
when she forced her hips up off the bed, pushing her vagina up at me. I
came again; she convulsed and screamed again. I promised we could do it
again the next day if she would eat and try to get better. That evening
she ate a hearty meal, bathed, and was in all ways an enthusiastic and
totally cooperative patient.
It wasn't clear just what would be
best for her recovery, but the next morning I decided to fulfill every
desire I had as long as she was enthusiastic about it too. If nothing
else, we would create a data point in the experimental search for a
lasting cure. And what a data point it was!
She licked the tip
of my penis and drove me crazy with artful tongue swirls and flicks.
She rode me, brushing her hair lightly over my face. We did it on our
sides, face to face. I mounted her like a doggy. She discovered that
not only did I laugh when she barked and panted, but my amusement
enhanced my sexual excitement -- transferred straight to her brain. So
thrusting away just as hard and fast as I could, I came inside my
panting, barking bitch.
After some rest and gentle snuggling my
erection reasserted itself and I stood, carrying her in my arms. She
twisted to face me and energetically impaled herself up to the hilt,
then bounced up and down with abandon. Later I pinned her in a corner
and took her there, feeling a little more mean than loving -- but she
adored it. We played hide and seek in the total dark, and when I found
her, I nailed her. When she found me, she impaled herself on me.
With
the lights back on, I eased the tempo, engaging her in missionary
position, centered properly on the bed. She put her hands up to
surrender, and I caught them and interlocked fingers. I kissed her,
gently and possessively let my weight down on her and soon sweetly
pulsed another few spurts of sperm up inside her, and she sweetly
moaned.
I was disappointed at one level that there was a
significant complication to this new treatment method, but thrilled at
an emotional and physical and animal level that her appetite for sex
with me seemed unlimited.
It was easy to isolate the key
elements that made the sex work for her. With my transmitter or her
receiver turned off she got no benefit. Her own sex organs were not
experiencing any significant sexual arousal, so lube was needed each
time. But if I simply masturbated with her she felt unsatisfied. It was
my total deep penetration and ejaculation up inside her vagina -- my
total satisfaction -- that she resonated with so strongly.
We
finally weaned Kate from my attentions and she went home, our first
success. Part of the weaning involved a vibrator which she could use
(initially morning, noon and night) so her own pleasure and orgasms
could replace a little of what I had broadcast to her.
We
accepted six more girls over the next few weeks. I was unsuccessful in
reviving two, but my ecstasy was able to wake up the other four. Curing
five of seven patients was big news. Some people argued that pedophilia
was so disgusting that death was better. It was the minority view.
Four
other people volunteered to be transmitters. Two died and two developed
untreatable psychotic manic episodes. We all realized then just how
serious a risk I had taken.
Originally when I moved to Columbia
I had modest quarters and continued to participate in research and
started setting up a small lab. As the technique became known as a
success, plenty of money came in, and I treated myself to a tasteful
villa with a fine view, a chef, and a hot tub. I found I wasn't so
interested in research any more. I had found a calling.
As for
the trauma we expected the girls to experience, no word of lasting harm
reached me. Instead, I received holiday greetings and in two cases the
girls became my pen-pals. A jury will not convict a person who is
breaking the law to keep something worse from happening. Maybe it works
in psychology too.
Like Kate, all of our successes at first
craved sex with me and needed it to keep from going into a severe
depression, but we were able to send them all home in somewhere between
two days and two weeks.
Our eleventh patient was Suzanne.
Despite three weeks of diligent effort we still could not wean her;
after a mere two days without my sexual attentions she became seriously
depressed. With trepidation we sent her home, hoping conventional
psychiatry could help her. After two suicide attempts and a year of
confinement, her parents were desperate and sent her back to me to see
if that could help. She was happy to see me, very unhappy to leave, and
totally non-functional once home. After two such tries her parents
asked if I would consider keeping her indefinitely to give her some
sort of life. I agreed. It was a strange and perverted life, but she
was experiencing more pleasure than any girl in history. We never
really admitted that Suzanne was going to stay with me indefinitely,
and certainly didn't want to publicize the fact. It was hard enough for
parents to submit their comatose daughter to sex with a strange. The
possibility that she might end up as a pre-pubescent sex addict was
horrifying.
In any case we wanted to avoid creating more
Suzannes. The trick was to give the comatose girl enough pleasure to
wake her up, but not so much that her brain demanded the intense
pleasure and slid into serious depression without it. It was a very
hard balancing act. Our best procedure included my having sex with each
girl once after she was fully awake and recovered, which was very
rewarding for me. I might have had sex with her two, three, or even
four times while she lay comatose, but then I got to make love to her
when she was eager (if not frantic) for the sex and I could sense her
intense experience of my orgasm and satisfaction. We discovered a drug
that was usually effective in helping the condition. That and the
vibrator were usually enough.
Nonetheless, among our first 45
successes Amy and Emily following Suzanne's course. Now there was a
dilemma. If I kept having sex with each of them, it would cut into the
number of girls I could awaken.
The solution was to "discover"
that I could transmit my pleasure to a girl who was nearby even if I
wasn't having sex with her. Somewhat to our surprise, the girls had
notably less intense pleasure when they were just nearby instead of
having sex with me. We continued to assume that to actually wake a girl
up from a coma I did have to be having sex with her herself. To get the
lesser effect Amy, Emily and Suzanne had to be within six feet of me.
Each girl needed a "booster shot" of actual sex with me every couple
weeks, but she could get along in the interim just by being nearby when
I had an orgasm. I was delighted to give "booster shots" far more often
than required.
As permanent residents Suzanne, Amy and Emily
needed a home, and it was likely that more girls would follow. So we
set up what amounted to a small luxurious boarding school.
It
would have been just barely possible to have my girls in different
rooms while being within six feet of me, but it made sense to try
having one of them present with me, and I found the prospect exciting.
I found that any sort of little teasing or flirting a lively girl did
while I was thrusting into my unresponsive girl added to my excitement
and pleasure. Over time statistics showed that this led to greater
effectiveness at waking up new girls. Our failures with Suzanne, Amy
and Emily ended up saving the lives of many others.
I found I
could wake up not just pre-pubescent girls but many up into their
teens, though with a lower percentage of success. It was exciting to
have some girls show up in various stages of development, some with
modest bits of pubic hair or breasts that were starting to grow, as
well as many with full-fledged women's bodies.
With girls who
craved all the sexual attention I could spare for them and a constant
stream of comatose girls to awaken I was very busy. I was fulfilling a
vital life-saving service while indulging all of my sexual fantasies. I
was happy. But as expected, the number of girls we had to keep
indefinitely rose as time went on.
Suzanne,
Bridget, Naomi, Deirdre, Amy, Zoe, Emily and Sarah all eagerly joined
me on the king-sized bed where the comatose Hannah lay on her back. I
gave each a leisurely kiss and cupped her labia gently with my hand as
she climbed up. Sarah and Zoe lay on their sides, each gently licking
inside the other's labia. Deirdre lay facing me with her legs wide
apart, gently thrusting with her hips and sliding her middle finger in
and out of herself, all the while looking at me with adoration. Suzanne
rubbed my shoulders. Bridget started licking my toes, something I found
I really enjoyed for some reason. Naomi skillfully mouthed my penis
while fondling my scrotum gently. Deirdre started running her hands all
over Naomi's rear end while making slow thrusting motions with her own
hips. Amy finished lubricating Hannah and started sliding her middle
finger in and out of her seductively while looking at me expectantly.
Emily nibbled on Hannah's ear while running her hand over her chest
where breasts were just becoming detectable.
I gently nudged
Naomi's mouth off my penis and positioned myself over the gorgeous if
unconscious Hannah. She had just the finest fuzz of pubic hair. Amy
guided my penis to Hannah's opening and I pushed in. She was tight but
smooth and hot and my penis slid easily. With this pile of adoring
horny girls all around me, I couldn't hold back long. My strokes in
Hannah got long and deep, fast and furious. I surged deep inside her,
ecstasy overwhelming me. Eight girls convulsed with my orgasm. They
muffled their screams and tried not to thrash too much for fear of
hurting someone else. I collapsed beside Hannah. The girls turned their
thoughts to her to the degree their fog of afterglow allowed; they had
been lying exactly where she was not so many months before. Then Hannah
stirred and opened her eyes. Emily saw it first and gently whispered in
her ear: "Good morning, Hannah!" The girls all repeated it in turn, and
my deep voice was the last. "Good morning, Hannah!" Her luck had
changed. Before she was slated to die, and now she was going to live.