Chapter 4: 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.