Most of the places and institutions featured in this story are real and the events related actually happened. However, the reader who tries to discover the identities of the persons in this story will be frustrated by my having changed all names and places.
Dinnertimes with my husband, Bert, are not just about food and a glass of wine. Dinnertimes are when we go over the day’s events, both good and bad. I had just related how well the hydrangeas that I planted last year were doing.
“Sara that’s great. Let’s go out and have a look after dinner. Hey, you remember Jerome Schuechterlich? Graduated 3 or 4 years back. I had him in about all my power generation and transmission classes.”
Jerome was one of those students I would be unlikely to ever forget. Giving Bert a knowing smile, I answered. “Jerome Schuechterlich is the one former student I won’t ever forget.”
Bert laughed and continued. “Well he stopped by today. On his way to a conference in Milwaukee. Works for Berkshire Hathaway Energy in Des Moines. Good job, probably makes more than I do.”
“Well Bert, just like you say so often, success, or lack of it, in college isn’t always a good predictor of achievement in real life. Remember him as a sophomore? Nobody would’ve pictured Jerome as much more than a low level bureaucrat with the state utility commission. Actually, at the time I wondered if he had what it took to even graduate. How’s he doing otherwise?”
“Sara, if ‘otherwise’ means married and having kids, he’s doing great. Married, 2 kids – both boys.”
“Makes you feel good, don’t it? Student of yours making good like that.”
“If I remember right, you made your contribution too, Sara. Especially the wife and 2 kids part.” Bert flashed a big knowing smile before acknowledging that, yes, he did feel good about Jerome’s success.
My contribution to Jerome’s success began one afternoon sometime in a fall semester. Working only 40% at the time, I was home 3 days a week and that afternoon was on one of my days off. Going to the door, I looked through the peep hole and saw a young red-headed man whom I recognised as a student in one of Bert’s undergraduate classes and who had been at our house the day before for some tutoring.
“Sorry to bother you Missus Bornwell. Uh, umm, you may not remember me but I was here yesterday afternoon late. I think, I, uh, maybe left my Power Generation notes here.”
I did remember him and not only from the day before. A shy lad, he’d been at our house for tutoring more than a few times. As Bert had described him to me, he was one of those wannabe geeks – hard working but hardly one of the brilliant ones who end up with job offers from Google, Apple, Microsoft, etc. Bert said that considering his lack of academic prowess, Jerome’s future was, at best, going to be as a low-level engineer with some government agency. Unless he got really lucky and had some high-level connections, he’d never get hired by a energy company.
I asked him in and led him to the den/home office where Bert held those tutoring sessions and wrote lots of his technical papers. “Jerome, look around for your notes but try not to disturb anything. It looks messy in here but Bert has his system and it seems to work.”
He found the notes in short order and thanked me profusely; so long and profusely that I thought maybe he expected a refreshment. However, my offer was met with protests that he didn’t want to be any trouble. The other times he’d been at our house for my husband’s tutoring, I hadn’t really had the opportunity to pay much attention to him. Today he was there alone and I slowly became aware of how shy he was; so shy that he mostly looked down when he talked to me. I became really curious.
At my insistence he finally agreed to join me for a cup of tea and some oatmeal cookies. I showed him to our sun room/porch and went to get the tea and cookies.
Sitting across from me, he hardly looked up as I poured tea. Twice I had to encourage him to help himself to the cookies before he finally took one. Where do you start with a guy like that? I started with easy, non-intrusive questions. Where was his home town? Did he have siblings? How did he like it here in university? Did he still have contact with high school friends? And so on.
What I found out was that Jerome came from a small town in southern Minnesota where his dad worked in the grain elevator and his mom worked part time in the local nursing home. He had one sibling - a sister who was a senior in high school and therefore around 2 years his junior. University was ‘okay’, whatever that meant. The tone of his voice told me he wasn’t really comfortable as a student and lacked confidence. Odd thing about that though was that he wasn’t a bad looking guy – far from it, curly red hair, twinkling green eyes, around 5’ – 11’’, lanky build. From his looks, the guy ought to have a date every Saturday night. I knew I was being too nosy but I just had to know so I asked him if he had a girl back home.
The way he hesitated before answering predicted his answer. “No.”
Seeing my initial surprise and questioning look, he stuttered out an obvious lie. “We broke up when I left for university. Too far to get home often.”
I came back with the cheerful consoling remark. “Well Jerome, here at Madison, half the 30’000 undergrads are female so you’ll have plenty of opportunities to find a good match.”
The tone of his reply, “Sure”, didn’t convince me that he was convinced. The therapist in me had to know more. But how?
I nearly made the mistake of asking him if he’d had any dates, period. Instead I just said it looked like something was bothering him.
His “no” reply wasn’t convincing either so I accepted defeat and changed the subject to movies and music. His increased comfort level was obvious but his shyness didn’t disappear altogether. In fact Jerome was one of those people who are not only too shy to open up and express themselves, their shyness also makes it hard for them to end a visit. I had some garden work to do before making dinner so I just came out and said so in a way that told Jerome that I wanted him to excuse himself.
His reply surprised me. “Missus Bornwell, I wish I could say things like you say them. I knew I needed to leave, but I just couldn’t figure out a way to say it. I sure wish I’d had teachers like you.”
That was the first crack in his introvertism and without intending to, I stuck my foot in that crack. “Jerome, thanks for the compliment, but you know, I’m a speech therapist; saying the right thing the right way has to come naturally.”
“Well, you’ll probably see me here again the next time I need extra help with a course. Anyway, it sure was nice talking to you.”
“Nice talking with you as well, Jerome.” Then out came my words that set things in motion. “Look, if you ever want to talk again, just stop by. I work 40% and I’m home Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.”
The next days and through the weekend, I kept asking myself two things; one was why I’d essentially offered Jerome free therapy and the other was whether he’d actually show up for us to talk. In a way it didn’t matter; I’m a speech therapist, not a therapeutic psychologist and therefore hardly qualified to help a very introverted young man.
Over dinner on Saturday night, I decided to mention Jerome’s shyness to Bert. His answer surprised me to no end. “Jerome? Hard worker, just not one of the brightest. Shy? Never noticed. Works well in lab groups. Seems to enjoy the company of the other guys. Far as I know, Jerome never misses a Friday happy hour. Him shy? Not as far as I know.”
I let the subject drop. I had my answer. Jerome had a problem being around women. I also knew right then that I would be calling my friend, Carolyn Hirnflicker who is a psychological therapist.
In my job, I treat kids with speech deficiencies. Around half of the deficiencies I treat are rooted in physical impairments like adenoids, cleft lip or palate and hearing loss. These cases get referred to the appropriate medical specialist. Then there’s a whole bunch that are founded in things like neurological or psychological disorders or vocal abuse. When I suspect vocal abuse or some other psychological disorder and can’t get to the bottom of it, I contact a therapist – typically Carolyn. But Jerome wasn’t one of my clients and calling Carolyn would have to be unofficial. I debated with myself the ethics of talking to her about one of my husband’s students.
Late Sunday afternoon, I finally rang Carolyn. After the appropriate amount of small talk, I asked if she ever came across guys who have trouble talking to women.
“Men who are nervous around women? OMG yes! It’s certainly not uncommon. Why?”
Mentioning only his given name, I told her about Jerome. She listened and then explained that when men are nervous around females, there’s always a cause. “Like something that happened to him, maybe as a small child, maybe as an adolescent, or even as a teenager. Some female made fun of him. Belittled him. In other words, it’s an acquired problem. In their DNA? Forget it!
Thinking back on the conversation I’d had with him, I remembered that it had occurred to me that Jerome had a strained relationship with members of his family–his younger sister included. “Carolyn, you don’t suppose he was abused?”
“You said he gets along well with his male colleagues? If that’s so, then I wouldn’t think he was abused in the immoral and illegal sense. My guess would be some kind of verbal abuse.”
We chatted a little longer about other stuff and then said good night.
The following Monday morning, I was in the garden clearing away the pole bean growth and putting away the poles when I heard the door bell. I went to the door thinking it was the postman with a registered letter. (Bert gets lots of them; companies and organisations who feel wronged – by some article or opinion he’s written – regularly threaten with legal action. (Most recently he’d offended a power company in Michigan with an article detailing how the company paid out fat dividends to stock holders and outrageous bonuses to managers instead of making some sorely needed investments in updating ancient transformers.) It turned out to be a nervous Jerome at the door.
I barely got the door open and he was already apologising profusely for interrupting whatever I was doing. Once I stopped the flood of his apologies, I asked him in and showed him to the breakfast nook in our kitchen. Over a cup of tea, we first made some small talk and then I led him into talking a little about his studies. It was clear to me that he was fascinated with electrical engineering and equally clear that he wished he were a better student. When I led him into talking about his social life, it also became clear to me that if he had any dates, they were few and far between. Jerome was also smart enough to realise that I realised that he had a pretty thin − actually it was empty − dating calendar.
Then something occurred to me! Could Jerome be gay? I wished I’d brought that up with Carolyn. I wanted to know without asking directly and she could have told me how. My best effort was: “Jerome, Bert says you get along well with your colleagues.”
He was sharp enough to see that for what it was – asking if he was gay without asking if he were gay. Looking up slightly, he replied, “Missus Bornwell I’m not gay if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Okay, sorry for snooping. It’s just that you seem so uncomfortable around women. I mean you hardly look at me, even when you’re talking to me. Feel like talking about it? I’m a good listener.”
He replied without looking up. “I lied to you. My girl and I didn’t break up when I left for university.”
I was pretty sure what the truth was, but I knew that therapy would have the best chance if Jerome came out with it of his own free will. I flashed a look of innocent surprise with my reply. “Oh, really?”
Still looking at the floor, he gave it up. “You see, Missus Bornwell, I didn’t have a steady girl. Actually, I didn’t have any dates at all when I was in high school.”
I was about to do another ‘oh really’ and thought better. Maybe it was time to be more direct. “Jerome, you never look at me. Is that somehow connected with your not having dates?”
“I just don’t feel comfortable around girls, er, ladies, women.”
“You mean like nervous? Were you were afraid girls would turn you down if you asked them to dance or for a date?”
“Umm, well, I guess, maybe. Truth is, somehow I never got to the point of thinking about asking a girl to dance or go out with me.”
Then it occurred to me that he may have lied about being gay and my question just popped out. “Jerome, if you’re gay, it’s okay. People who hold gayness against a person aren’t worth being concerned with.”
He came back pretty quick and pretty sharp. “I’m not gay! Some of the guys thought so at first too. Now I think they see that I don’t have dates because of what you noticed. Like being uncomfortable around girls. Sort of like a fear that I have.”
“Okay, so you have this fear, nervousness, discomfort, whatever. You always had this? Like before high school? Or longer?
“Missus Bornwell, this goes way back. I know I had it already when I started grade school. Couldn’t tie my shoes then. One day, I tripped and one got untied. This cute little girl comes up, real sweet like and offers to tie it for me. I ran away. Further back then that, I just can’t remember any incidents.”
“Jerome I think you don’t enjoy being this way. Have you tried breaking out?”
“If only I knew how.”
“Well a good friend of mine who does therapy says a condition like you have is hard to cure unless you find out what caused it. Mostly we’ve worked on speech problems, but she’s told me that lots of cases go back to an insult, a belittlement, somebody making fun of you, an embarrassment–that sort of thing. Something that bothered you a lot.”
Jerome shrugged his shoulders. Then looking at the ceiling, eyes closed, he was obviously searching his memory. My hopes went up. Then he shook his head in the negative. “I just can’t think of anything. Sorry.”
I told him not to be sorry. “Maybe you’ll have a flashback, when you least expect it. You know something like maybe your fly was open and some giggling girl told you; maybe she even teased you about it.”
He looked back at the ceiling and closed his eyes. Looking for a tell-tale emotion, I watched him intently. I almost missed it. A jerk of his neck, wrinkling around his lips and a faint reddening of his face.
The explanation I expected didn’t come. Instead Jerome got up and said, “I think I better go.”
It was pretty clear he’d remembered something significant and if I couldn’t get him to tell me right then, maybe I’d never find out. “You remembered something, didn’t you, Jerome?”
His face got even redder. “It’s pretty embarrassing.”
“That means it might be the problem and that makes it important. Why don’t you sit down Jerome. If you want, close you eyes; but just tell me whatever you remember.”
“Like I said, it’s pretty embarrassing. Missus Bornwell, well you see ……..” It seemed to me I could see his face getting redder. “You see, I’m, I’m circumcised.”
“Like around 75% of all American men, including my husband. That shouldn’t be embarrassing.”
“Thing is, my parents didn’t have me circumcised right after I was born. Only later. I was almost four. One time when it was almost healed, one of my aunts and her two girls stopped by for coffee. My mom had me show it to my aunt and of course the girls saw me too.”
“Did your aunt or your girl cousins tease you, make fun of you, anything like that?”
“Don’t think so. They just looked and then I got to pull my pants up and go out and play. Thing was though, I remember that afterwards, I always felt naked when I was around my aunt or these two girl cousins. Like as if my fly was open and my penis hanging out.”
“Jerome, you were what, four at the time. Four year olds don’t normally have this shame about nudity.”
“I bet you don’t come from a small town with an active puritanical Christian ministry. We got taught very early that we had to keep our privates hidden.”
“Sounds kinda hypocritical to me. You were supposed to be modest, but you get told to show off your newly cut penis.”
“I guess it was kinda hypocritical. But those people, my parents included, they’re all hypocrites. Hell, by the time I was ten, I saw through all their bullshit. Always talking about brotherly love outta one side of their mouths and out the other saying what kinda mean shit they’d do if a black family moved into the county. And then there’s the way they shun divorced women – white or black.”
Well that was another side to Jerome; his sense of right and wrong was very well developed. But I wanted to get to the bottom of his shyness towards girls. “These two cousins, they ever tease you? About being circumcised?”
“Can’t remember that hey did. But they didn’t get much of a chance. I tried to have nothing to do with them. In school though, whenever I’d see one or both of them with other girls giggling, I wondered if they were giggling about my circumcised penis.”
“And then Jerome, you avoided the other girls too?”
“Well, yes, I guess so.” To my raised eyebrows, he went on. “Yeah, I avoided other girls too.”
So I had my answer. The question now was ‘now what?’ Having no training or experience with psychological therapy, I didn’t have a clue where to take it from then on. I knew I’d be calling Carolyn sometime soon.
Just like on his earlier visit, I told Jerome I had some work to do and he excused himself. Before he left, I made sure he understood that I’d give his situation lots of thought and that we could talk again.
I didn’t wait long to call Carolyn and she didn’t take long to agree to see him. To my alerting her to his probable finances – or lack thereof – she quickly volunteered to work on a pro bono basis.
Convincing Jerome to take the offer of therapy wasn’t nearly as easy as getting Carolyn’s offer of pro bono therapy. It took me several meetings before he finally agreed. The three of us settled on a Saturday afternoon appointment because that didn’t interfere with Carolyn’s scheduled appointments nor with Jerome’s studies. We met in Carolyn’s practice where we’d have space, privacy and therapeutic props like mannequins, furniture, etc.
The first thing she did was see Jerome alone in her therapy room to confirm what I thought was the problem and the source of that problem. After something like 45 minutes, they came back out into waiting room. Carolyn’s beaming look of satisfaction told me she’d learned what she wanted to learn and Jerome’s subdued look told me it hadn’t been easy for him, but that he was glad he coughed up the secret. Over coffee Carolyn explained the therapy.
What she proposed was to re-enact the event that caused the problem and have it end on a positive note. That didn’t surprise me greatly because I knew she employed this method on a regular basis, albeit mostly when dealing with family conflicts. Thinking I was no longer needed, I got up and started to take leave.
Carolyn’s reaction surprised me and pleased me. “Sara, I was counting on you to play a role in this re-enactment.”
I made a little show of thinking it over and not looking to eager before I assented. (Actually I was more than eager. partly out of plain curiosity and partly because re-enactment therapy had interested me for some time.)
“Sara, I knew you would agree. Now why don’t you and Jerome wait out here while I set up the props. Jerome’s manner was still subdued and we barely conversed while waiting. It wasn’t long and Carolyn came out and announced all was ready. “Sara please come with me. Jerome, could you please wait here for a few minutes?”
In the therapy room, Carolyn had set up a mock living room with couch and facing armchair. On the couch were two stuffed mannequins. She wasted no time starting. “Okay Sara, you are Jerome’s Aunt Mildred and these mannequins are your daughters. I need you to sit between them on the couch.” As she sat down on the armchair, she said, “I guess you know whose part I’m playing.”
I nodded, but then started getting cold feet. “Carolyn, I’m not so sure about this. What do I say, or do?”
She answered in a calm low voice. “Just look interested. Actually, I doubt you’ll have any trouble looking interested.” Then quite a bit louder, she called, “Jerome dear, please come into the living room!”
Still sort of subdued looking, Jerome came in and took a stance close to and facing Carolyn. Her next instruction to him was in a soft sweet voice. “Honey, Aunt Mildred wants to see what your operation looks like.” Then she proceeded to unbuckle his belt, undo the waist of his trousers and pull the zipper down. It was a good thing that I hadn’t been assigned lines to speak because I was too astounded to speak.
Jerome protested rather ineffectively. “But, but, no please.”
She answered in the same soft sweet voice. “Jerome, Auntie just wants to see it.” At the same time using one hand on each hip, she grasped his trousers and underpants at the waist and pulled them down to his knees. I was flabbergasted; there was my friend Carolyn, the therapist, looking straight at the genitals of a 19 year man she’d just met. At the same time, the sight of Jerome’s bare butt sent a hot flash through me.
He uttered another ‘but,’ which she answered with another ‘Jerome, show her,’ this time a little less soft and sweet as she turned him around to face me. The sight of his nicely proportioned penis hanging down over his hanging scrotum made me catch my breath. It occurred to me that it surely was a waste of human resources that no girl had ever seen that; to say nothing of no girl having had it in her pussy. It also occurred to me that in the presence of two attractive and nicely built women, his penis ought to be at least partly erect.
I didn’t have time for any more thoughts because Carolyn was moving on with the therapy. “Now Jerome, please go over to your aunt so she can see it better.”
This time he didn’t offer any protest. Without delay and with his pants on his lower legs, he hobbled over to face me. There it was, hardly more than a foot from my face, handsome Jerome’s genitals fully exposed against a background of reddish curly pubic hair. Carolyn told me later my open-mouthed stare was one of frank appreciation. Puzzling though was that his penis still hung down, not a hint of an erection.
Was Jerome actually gay after all? Carolyn’s finger snap gave me the answer to that question; she had hypnotised him. I then witnessed what must have been a world record in erection speed and the sight of that handsome member loosed another hot flash in me. just as I heard Carolyn’s soft voice. “Now Jerome, how does it feel showing your pee-pee to Auntie?”
Jerome’s answer was more like a moaning grunt than a real voice. “Ahhhhhhh, oh God!”
“Would you like it if Auntie touched your pee-pee?”
Again the moaning grunt, this time the words more distinct. “Ahhhh, yes, please.”
Although I felt somewhat ambushed, I couldn’t resist what Carolyn had set me up with. I rolled my thumb and forefinger over the shiny red glans and on down the velvety hard throbbing shaft. Focused as I was on his handsome penis, I couldn’t see him throw his head back as his legs trembled and threaten to buckle. (Carolyn told me about that later.)
Jerome’s wasn’t as long as my husband’s but he was easily long enough for me to wrap all four fingers on his shaft and still stroke. What came next was a natural response on my part and Carolyn got up and came over to watch. From his hip thrusts, squirming movements and pleasure groans, it was clear that Jerome was in ecstasy. Carolyn flashed me a naughty smiles and then told me to be careful while she went for some things. I slowed down the pace of my jacking and held him more lightly while at the same time began playing with his testicles.
Carolyn came back shortly with a towel, a box of facial tissues and a toiletries bag. I had been so engrossed in masturbating Jerome that the messy implications of him going off hadn’t even crossed my mind and neither had maximising his comfort. But Carolyn had. “Sara, let’s have Jerome sit back on the couch.” She spread the towel and we steered him to sit on it while relaxing back against the lean.
Carolyn, now sitting beside Jerome on the couch, took him by the knees and spread his legs nicely apart – far enough that I could easily crouch on my knees between them. Before I could resume my efforts, Carolyn opened the toiletries bag and took out a tube of KY jelly. “Let me put this on first. We can’t have Jerome’s pee-pee get sore, can we?”
She hadn’t thought to warm it first so he jerked as she put on the first blob. “Oh, so sorry Jerome. Your pee-pee got cold. Don’t worry, Auntie will get it all warmed up again. Won’t you Auntie?”
Renewing my hand job, I started by gently hefting and caressing his testicles. He had actually lost a little of his erection but I got that back pretty quickly by rolling my thumb and forefinger over his now very slick glans. I was about to grasp his shaft and renew jacking him but Carolyn tapped my shoulder and mouthed some instructions. “Stay there! Make it last!”
So I kept caressing his testicles and his glans, refraining from the stroking that would bring about his orgasm. Again Carolyn mouthed a message to me. “Make him beg!” To increase the tension she had one of her hands under his tee-shirt, stroking his belly and nipples while at the same time kissing his lips, neck and ears. We knew what he wanted, that was clear from watching him writhe his body and thrust his hips. One of his hands was on my shoulder, the other clutched one of Carolyn’s hands.
Carolyn finally gave up waiting for him to beg on his own. “So Jerome dear, what would make you happy? What should Auntie do to make you happy?”
“Like before. Take it in her hand and ………!”
“And what Jerome? What should Auntie do when she takes your pee-pee in her hand?”
“Jack me off! I can’t take this anymore. Please have Auntie make me cum!”
Carolyn’s nod was enough. I took his shaft in my full hand again and jacked him steadily faster and faster. Keen observer that she is, Carolyn saw exactly when she needed to hold a handful of tissues several inches from his glans. I knew that from a 19 year old in good health and physical condition, there would more than a few little squirts and there was. Carolyn had to grab a second handful of tissues.
When it was over, he collapsed back against the couch lean, head back and breathing heavily. I suddenly noticed I needed to concentrate on breathing. I also became fully aware of how tense I was and how wet my crotch felt. Carolyn quickly returned to the mode of the emotion-free therapist. Her glistening face told me that the masturbation and milking down of Jerome had not left her cold – far from it. I suspected that her crotch was just as wet as mine.
While our breathing and heart rates got back closer to normal, I wondered what would come next. I couldn’t see anything else happening but Jerome suddenly experiencing embarrassment, pulling up his pants and leaving hurriedly. Actually that was highly unlikely and I saw why when Carolyn snapped her fingers loudly. Jerome shook his head as if coming out of a trance. I realised that he had been hypnotised already when the three of us had coffee in the waiting room.
She wasted no time continuing with the therapy. “Jerome, how do you feel now? Relaxed? Comfortable?”
To my surprise, his voice sounded quite relaxed. “Oh fine, actually great. Like a big weight is off my shoulders. Or like I just got better than a ‘C’ on and exam.”
“Your pants are down at your ankles and Auntie and I can see your penis and scrotum. Are you okay with that?”
“Oh yes! More than okay.”
“Would you like Auntie to wash you?”
Carolyn hadn’t asked me but she didn’t need to and she knew she didn’t need to. She had seen my enthusiasm giving Jerome the handjob. I started to ask there was washcloth in the bathroom but Carolyn had planned everything. She handed me a washcloth and a bowl of warm water. I started at his navel – he had ejaculated really hard and Carolyn hadn’t caught it all in the tissue. When I had to rinse and wet the washcloth while cleaning his pubic hair, Carolyn remarked on the advantage of trimming pubic hair.
When Bert and I bathe together, at some point I usually soap up my hands and wash his penis – something that never fails to get him hard, or if he’s hard already, makes him cum. I thought it might be cool to get Jerome hard again so I washed his penis really slow and tender like, holding it with one hand and washing with the other. When Carolyn realised what I was doing, she put an arm on Jerome’s shoulders and in deep sexy voice said, “Poor baby, Auntie wants your pee-pee to be big and strong but it’s too soon.” I didn’t understand Jerome’s response but the soft groan told me that in terms of sexual response, his mind was ahead of his body.
Had Carolyn asked me to go further, like give Jerome a blowjob or even fuck him, I think I would have done it. Instead, after I got done washing and drying him, she gave us some instructions for outpatient care. We made an appointment for the following Tuesday afternoon.
The hand massage therapy I’d given Jerome was on my mind the rest of the weekend and my Bert benefitted greatly from my mind state.
The doorbell rang and there was Jerome at the door. But it wasn’t the shy Jerome who looked at the ground when he greeted me. It was what I perceived to be the beginnings of a new Jerome looking at me, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “Afternoon Mrs Bornwell. Hope I’m not too early.”
After returning his greeting, my first impulse was to put him at ease as he would need to be for the therapy. “You’re not too early and even if you were, it’d be more a positive thing than negative.” Beckoning him in I continued. “I think we’ll use the sunroom in the back. Be a lot more comfortable and relaxing.”
He followed me in and I motioned for him to take a seat on the couch, which faces out to our garden. (Carolyn had instructed me that he should face the outside light.) And as she also instructed, I took a seat opposite him so I wouldn’t have the light in my eyes.
I began with some innocuous questions about his studies, then moved on to other stuff like the news, weather and such. Carolyn was not there to hypnotize him and I needed him to be relaxed and completely comfortable with me.
“Well Jerome, Carolyn and I are really pleased with how well Saturday’s session went. From your demeanor, it’s clear to me that you’ve already made progress. How do you feel?”
“Lots better. I didn’t have this tight feeling in my chest when I came to the door.”
“Good, that’s very good. And about Saturday’s therapy itself? How do you feel about that? Did you think about it over the weekend?”
“What you and Dr Hirnflicker did, that was very nice. Especially what you did. Over the weekend, I don’t think it was off my mind more than five minutes at a time.”
“So it must have been on your mind when you masturbated as well.”
His face got red and he stuttered a bit without giving an answer. I just looked at with what I thought was a soft understanding look of expectation. “Well, everyone masturbates, don’t they?”
“Yes Jerome, everyone masturbates but right now we are talking about you, Jerome Schuechterlich. Did you masturbate to thoughts of Saturday’s therapy? Remember we agreed at the beginning that you were going to be open with Mrs Hirnflicker and I.”
“Okay, I did masturbate over the weekend.”
Again I gave him my sympathetic expectant look.
His lips were twisting as he wetted and twisted them. Finally he squeezed out the words. “Okay, I imagined you wanking me.”
“Jerome, this is therapy. Make the verb masturbated!”
This time he didn’t hesitate. “I imagined you masturbating me, Mrs Bornwell.”
“See that wasn’t so hard was it? Now I think we should get on with the exercise that Dr Hirnflicker prescribed. Now remember to call me Auntie. We’ll start with right after you’ve been told to show it to me.”
“Should I face you when I drop my jeans?”
“No do it just like Dr Hirnflicker had you do it.”
He got up from the couch turned around and undid his jeans and together with his undies and pulled them to his knees. The sight of his tight sexy ass cheeks entertained me while he hesitated before turning to face me. His erection should not have surprised me but for some silly reason it did. He didn’t miss the look on my face and thought he needed to apologize.
I cut off his apology. “Jerome, getting an erection in the presence of a woman is perfectly normal. When your genitals are exposed to a woman’s view, it would be abnormal if you didn’t become erect. Now can we get back to the therapy?”
“Jerome, come over here. Auntie wants to see better.”
He shuffled over to where his engorged member was a foot from my face. His penis was throbbing and hard, angled up from his crotch so sitting as I was, my view was of the underside. I took my hand and ran my thumb and forefinger alternately and together over the glistening head. He was taking deep breaths, either voluntarily to hold back his orgasm or involuntarily just because he was short of air.
“Jerome dear, do you like what Auntie is doing?”
He answered in a moan-tainted voice. “Oh yes, Mrs Bornwell.”
I flicked my middle finger on his glans. “Jerome, for now, I’m Auntie!”
The flick had been hard and he lost some of his hardness. His whimpered a meek and apologetic reply. “Yes, oh I’m so sorry Auntie.”
“Do you want Auntie to make you feel good again, Jerome?”
“Yes, oh please Auntie, do it some more.”
“Do what some more Jerome.”
“Please Auntie, take my penis in your hand. Make it feel good again. Please!”
It took very little on my part and he was again rock hard and throbbing, the head again glistening. I cupped his ball sack in my left hand as I stroked him with my right. His hips were thrusting, I could hear his groans of pleasure. I guessed he wouldn’t last long and I was right. I caught the discharge with my hands, most of it anyway. Some went to the floor but that was no matter, the sunroom floor was tiled. I milked him down really well and until he was soft again.
I had planned this whole session and already had a bowl of water and washcloth and towel handy. “Jerome, do you want Auntie to wipe you clean?”
“Oh yes, please, Auntie, wipe my peepee so it gets clean again.”
I cleaned him up wondering if he might get hard again but he had ejaculated too much and too thoroughly. He reached down to pull up his undies and jeans but I stopped him. “No Jerome, you need to remain exposed to me. Please go have a seat on the couch again, spread your legs enough that I can see you easily and now you can call me Mrs Bornwell again.
“Now Jerome, how do you feel okay with me looking at you? Or do you feel embarrassed and wish it were over and you could pull your pants back up?”
“I do feel a little funny. Maybe embarrassed. Yeah, embarrassed I guess. Sorry, I just can’t help it.”
I told him being embarrassed was a reaction that resulted from his upbringing and the embarrassments as a small boy. “But don’t worry about it, the therapy that Dr Hirnflicker has prescribed will get you over all that.” He nodded in the affirmative and I continued. Now you told me earlier that you masturbated over the weekend and that you masturbated thinking about what I did at Dr Hirnflicker’s practice.” He sort of nodded affirmative and I went on. “Now Jerome could you show me just how you did that?”
“You mean like here with you watching me?”
“Yes, of course. Just like you did it, lying down, standing up, whatever. If it was in the shower, we can go to the bathroom and you get to take a shower.”
After a noticeable hesitation and with a sheepish look on his face, he replied quietly. “I did it standing in front of the bathroom vanity, so I could watch myself cum in the mirror.”
“See doesn’t it feel better when you’re open with me?” I didn’t expect an answer and didn’t wait for one. “So we’ll go upstairs to the big bathroom. It’s got a real vanity, not just a little sink like the guest bath downstairs.” Then I realized he couldn’t very well get up the stairs with his pants down. Oh, and Jerome, maybe you should pull up your pants. Makes walking easier.”
Upstairs in the master bath, he went straight away to the vanity and dropped his pants without me having to ask.
In the therapy business it’s important to compliment whenever there’s the slightest reason to do so. “Jerome, that’s very good. See, it’s not so bad when I see you naked. In fact I think you enjoy me seeing you undressed. Now just do it like you did at home over the weekend.”
“I first made it slick with some of the landlady’s facial cream. I didn’t have the stuff you used at Dr Hirnflicker’s. Wasn’t as good as her stuff though.”
“She had KY jelly. Bert and I use something a little better. I’ll get it.” I went in our bedroom and got a tube of YES from the night table on my side of the bed. (Bert and I have settled on certain things like the side of the bed we sleep on and who makes sure there’s always lube available.)
“Here you are Jerome,” I said as I handed him the tube, “this is YES. It’s water base and pretty easy on tender genital skin; and it slicks things up really well.”
Standing tight up against the vanity cabinet as he was, the flesh of his shaft and the shiny red glans stood out dramatically against the white vanity top and lavatory basin. As much as I desired to apply the lube myself, my loyalty to Carolyn’s instructions held me back and I contented myself with watching Jerome prepare himself for masturbation.
Once he had that handsome member completely shiny, he looked at me questionably as if wanting confirmation that he should go ahead with pleasing himself instead being administered to by me. With all the self-discipline I could muster, I nodded to him and purposely kept my hands still. He understood and proceeded to stroke himself slowly.
“Jerome, is it better with me watching?”
His voice was shaking as he answered. “Yes but it would be better if you did it for me.”
“Sorry Jerome but you need to do it for me like you did it in your landlady’s bathroom. Now don’t be bashful. Go as fast as you need to.”
He continued slowly and then imperceptibly faster and faster until I could see his muscles in his gut and his thighs tighten. Then a groan and strands of white cum peeled out of the end. Befitting a healthy 19 year old, his ejaculation was strong, some even splattering on the mirror. Several gushes and then a dribble that ran off his shiny red head. My crotch trembled at this demonstration of young male virility. A white smear on his thighs went down nearly to his knees.
Calming down he looked around, quite obviously looking for some tissues. “Mrs Bornwell, ahhh…, something to wipe with?”
“At that moment I searched my memory of Carolyn’s instructions. To the best of my memory she had said only that he needed to masturbate himself while I watched; she had said nothing about the clean-up. “Jerome, I’ll get a washcloth. But first let me milk you down. There’s sure to be particles of cum left in your urethra and it’s better if they come out.” The look of happy surprise on his face sent another quiver through my crotch. Using my thumb and forefinger I gently milked out the last. After soaking the washcloth under running warm water, I gently washed him. Once I felt all was clean, I could have just handed him a towel but my tingling crotch told me that was too simple.
I took out a fresh towel, sat down on the laundry hamper and with my index finger, beckoned him over to me. Can’t have you get dressed when you’re still wet, can we?”
I started drying at his abdomen and hips, went over his genitals loosely and then started working my way up from his knees. Urging him to part his legs wider, I carefully dried his crotch all the way to his asshole, doing a lot of bumping his ball sack in the process. Moving up, I dried his pubic hair and the top of his hanging penis. The final step was drying the underside of his penis; I took it by the head with my thumb and forefinger and then performed my drying act. Before I was done, holding it up became superfluous.
I couldn’t help but to compliment him on the quick recovery. “Jerome, you seem to be very comfortable with me seeing you nude; actually I think you like it a lot.”
He answered breathing heavily. “Oh yes, I do. But what I really liked was what you did in Dr Hirnflicker’s practice.”
“I guess you mean when I masturbated you. How would you like it if I masturbated you in a really special way?”
“It was pretty special, what you did there in her practice.”
I looked up at him and then after a girlish giggle, I said, “This is gonna be more pretty special.” I didn’t hesitate, one second I was looking at the underside of his handsome circumcised penis, the next second my lips slid over the shining red head and my tongue was exploring its surface; all around the rim, tickling the hole at the tip and enjoying the smooth slopes between.
His low sound of pleasure and the trembling of his legs told me that my fellating was indeed pretty special. I felt his hands, one stroking my hair, the other on my shoulder I wished could reach lower. Opening my lips and exhaling, the warm moist air flowed down his shaft and tossed his beautiful red pubic hair. Closing my lips again I moved my head forward so they traversed his shaft – not all the way, I like to fellate but not with the discomfort of gagging.
Then some feeling of guilt hit me. Was my comfort more important than Jerome’s? No! I withdrew and stood up to face him closely. “Jerome, I want you to be comfortable and enjoy this more fully.” I took his hand to lead him to the bedroom and then looked down at his jeans and undies at his ankles. “You can just kick those off here.”
In our bedroom I pulled back the blankets and motioned for him to sit on the edge of the bed next to me. I put one arm around his back and the other to his front and took his still hard penis in my hand. “Jerome dear, this has never seen the inside of a woman, has it?”
He answered without looking at me. “No Mrs Bornwell.”
“Would you like it to?”
“You mean ……., you mean you want us to do it?”
“Yes Jerome, I want us to fuck.”
His voice now had a noticeable tremble. “Uh, I don’t really know what to do. It might not work out right.”
“I’m going to make sure it works right. You just need to say you want to and then do what I tell you to do. Okay?”
His voice was trembling even more than before but he squeezed out an “okay.”
I turned my back to him and gave my first instruction. “Unzip my dress and undo the clasps on my bra!” He did and after shrugging off the top of the dress and the bra, I turned to face him and took his penis back in my hand. “Jerome my breasts are begging for your attention. You need to play with them. Now put one arm over my neck so you can use both your hands.”
I gave him some time to get used to having my breasts in his hands before I used my hands to coach him on what felt good. He got the hang of things pretty quickly and I went back to stroking his penis – gently and slowly; I sure didn’t want him to cum prematurely. Guiding his fingers, I showed him how to tease my nipples.
All this didn’t go without effect on me. I was tingling from my chest to my crotch and I could feel my wetness. Actually it was the wetness that made me want to move things along. Gently disengaging I got up and dropped my dress. Facing him clad only in my panties, I asked him if he knew what might be next.
He didn’t answer; instead he did what I least expected. He put his lips to my panties right at my mound and kissed! The sensation of his lips went right through the silky material and stirred my labia to get even wetter – if that were possible. A good looking naked man, 20 years my junior, kissing my mound; that was too much. I went over the top.
He backed off, plainly shocked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No Jerome, you did something right; very right in fact. You made me cum.” Collapsing to my knees between his legs, I took his penis in my hand and kissed the end repeatedly. Then remembering where I wanted him to cum, I stood up, pulled off my panties, and sort of rolled over Jerome while pulling him down beside me on the bed. He began asserting himself, rolling me over on my back, spreading my legs, and kneeling between them. I raised my knees higher in a way he couldn’t fail to understand. He kneeled over me and I felt him enter. I was so wet and loose that he was able to slide in easily and deep.
Wasting little time with slow easy thrusting, he was soon fucking hard and fast – almost frantically. It was only when he asked if he was too small for me that I remembered to use my vaginal muscles. That made a huge difference and he came quickly. “Oh God, Mrs Bornwell. Ahhhh!” Then he collapsed on me and we kissed frantically, tongues intermingling.
Conventional social norms would have it that after jacking a guy off, giving him head and getting fucked by him, I would ask him to call me ‘Sara’ instead of ‘Mrs Bornwell.’ The thing is that Carolyn had told me that in the interest of maintaining a good therapeutic atmosphere, I should avoid having Jerome address me by my first name.
I grabbed his ass cheeks and held us together. “Jerome, I want you to stay inside me.” Would he get hard again inside me? Pretty unlikely, he’d already had three orgasms. In a way it didn’t matter, I just wanted his handsome cock inside me, hard or soft.
Afterwards we went back to the bathroom and I got to clean up that handsome cock for the second time that afternoon. Wiping him carefully and slowly my hopes for another erection were not fulfilled. No matter, we would be making another appointment.
After Jerome left, I ran the tub full and got in to soak and masturbate. The first time I visualized Jerome on top of me and by fingering myself I could almost feel him cumming inside me. Then I laid back and calming down, I got to thinking of my husband Bert. Before long the thought of him rolling over to my side of the bed and feeling his big erection against me magically steered my hand back to my crotch and soon I went over the top again. Getting out of the tub, I looked at my watch and was pretty shocked to see how late it was. Bert would be home at the latest in a half hour. I made up our bed in record speed and put out a salad, bread and some cold cuts for supper.
Not much later, I heard Bert parking his bike in the garage. Faculty meetings are never uplifting for him and I always make an extra effort to get him in a good mood – table set attractively with his favourite cold cuts, avoiding bad news, and smelling and looking nice. Having perhaps a tinge of guilt but also horny as hell, I made an special extra effort. It worked. When he came into the kitchen to give me his I’m-home-honey kiss on the cheek, he patted my rear end. I had the feeling that if he hadn’t been hungry, we’d have done it right there in the kitchen.
Afterwards he helped me clear the table and then said he needed a shower – to wash off the crap from the faculty meeting. He gave me a special look that I couldn’t resist. “You need me to wash your back?”
In the same bathroom where I’d had Jerome jack off and afterwards washed his genitals, Bert and I got naked. He was already hard. God but I loved to look at his big one - standing out, swollen, red head glistening. On the pros and cons of circumcision, some girls say the big advantage of the cut is when you give head, I disagree. Before I met Bert, in high school and later in college, I sucked on both penis versions - lots of them – and I reveled in every one. No, for me the nice thing about a cut dick is the look, especially when the guy is hard and ready.
Once in the shower the backwashing took second place to the wanking and sucking. When Bert fingered me, he didn’t ever bother with one finger. Straight away he plunged in with two; I was that hot. We barely took time to dry off before rushing to the bed where a few hours earlier I’d taken Jerome’s cherry. Bert is big but I was so loose and juicy that I needed to use those special muscles just like with Jerome’s smaller one. By keeping him inside after the first go, he got off a second time without leaving the comfort of my juicy pussy.
Afterwards lying together all sweaty and with sticky crotches, he vented his curiosity. “Honey you were really something tonight. You been watching porn movies?”
“You know that garbage doesn’t do anything for me. Actually they’re all such jokes. Guy drops his pants in front of a girl and she still has to suck him so he gets hard. Makes you wonder if porn directors ever have sex.”
“So what made you so horny tonight? I noticed it from your breath when I, … uh we kissed in the kitchen.”
All cosy and warm, cuddled up with someone with whom you’ve just had mind-blowing sex, there’s an irresistible urge to be trusting and truthful. “I took a bath before you came home. It got me in the mood.”
There was doubt in his voice. “Honey, you take baths most afternoons before I get home. Didn’t you get yourself off today?”
“Well maybe not the way I should have.”
My lie wasn’t convincing. “C’mon Honey, there’s something else. Something happen today? Read a sexy story?”
What followed wasn’t easy for me. I knew how risky fessing up would be but living with a lie is worse. “It’s a long story.” The long story was even longer because of the interruptions for my crying. I feared he’d fly into a rage and leave partway through but all I got was nods and understanding looks. When I hesitated after relating a particularly racy scene, he’d just say “and then.”
When it was over and I’d spilled all, I cried and hugged him and begged. “Dear Bert, please don’t leave me, beat me if you want, I deserve it. I won’t do anything like this again. I’ll tell Carolyn I can’t do it anymore. I’ll tell Jerome to not come again. You can have me fitted with a chastity belt. Anything.”
Then came the surprise – and a very revealing one at that. I felt a familiar pressure against my belly and reached down to be certain of what it was.
“Bert, you’re hard again.” It took me a few moments to realize what that meant. The story of my wanking and blowing and fucking Jerome had turned him on and I got fucked for the fifth time inside of something like 6 hours.
The next morning at breakfast the only mention of the day before was Bert asking me when I was supposed to have another session with Jerome. He seemed almost disappointed when I told him it wasn’t until Tuesday of the week following.