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Chapter 10 of The Therapist’s Journey continues the story of Scottie Stone, who was featured in Chapter 9, and, of course, the Moms.
* * * *
That the opportunity to teach two summer-school courses was the best thing that had happened to me recently is some indication of the muddle my life had become. I was going to spend three weeks in Europe with Kevin, my long-time boyfriend, but he kept suggesting that we perform at sex clubs across the continent. I kept saying no. Eventually we had one of those fights, the kind where you throw at each other every slight and indignity you’ve suffered in five years. I told him it was over and then waited for him to apologize and beg me to take him back.
I stopped waiting when I heard he was going to Europe with his cute little secretary. After that friends started coming out of the woodwork with revelations that he’d been cheating on me for years with an array of different women, including that cute little secretary. Now I had nothing on my schedule besides feeling sorry for myself. When the teacher scheduled to teach calculus and statistics in summer-school had a family emergency and needed someone to fill in, I happily signed up. It would occupy my time and put a few dollars in my pocket.
It was the first day of school. I was wearing teacher clothes: white blouse, black calf-length dress, black glasses, and blonde hair in a pony tail. The class roster included the usual summer-school mix, 25% smart kids trying to get a leg up on the following school year and 75%, well, dunderheads, who had flunked the course during the school year, needed the hours to graduate, etc., etc., etc. A name prominent among the latter was Scottie Stone.
After my break up with Kevin I had consulted with his mother, Lauren, our town’s best psychologist. I wanted to discuss my broken romance and my ex-boyfriend’s repeated assertion that I had “sex issues.” In our sole session Lauren proved to be as good as advertised, but when she realized I’d be teaching her son she grew concerned. How could she counsel the person who would decide if her son graduated high school? She suggested a colleague, Sally Barry. I knew Sally; she was an impressive woman and her son Brad had been an outstanding student. Sally could not see me immediately, she was in San Francisco with Brad. I made an appointment for the following week.
My reminiscing was interrupted when the student who was, in part, their subject entered the classroom. I was surprised to see Scottie. He usually sauntered into class late and disappeared into the deepest reaches of the back row. He deposited his materials on the center desk in the second row.
“Good morning Miss Alice.”
“Good morning Scottie.” I glanced at the clock. It confirmed my impression, class would not start for another fifteen minutes. “You’re early.”
“Yes ma’am, I wanted to grab the best seat.”
“Determined to pass?”
“I’m hoping to do better then that. My performance last semester was embarrassing. I’ve decided to aim higher. I’m looking for the best grade in both classes.”
The class roster featured some of the school’s smartest kids. My doubts must have been reflected on my face.
“I see you don’t believe. How about a bet on it?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well, if I get the best grade in both classes, you go with me to the exhibit on fractals in art at the Museum of Art in New Orleans – you can explain the math to me. If I don’t,” he paused, “I’ll wash your car once a week for the rest of the summer.”
I smiled. This kid was not going to get the best grades in both calculus and statistics, much less one of them. He’d be lucky to pass, but he’d soon forget his promise to wash my car. “You’re on.”
He thanked me and headed out of the classroom. As he disappeared something struck me. What had happened to this kid? He had always been socially insecure and painfully tongue-tied around girls. While most of the boys flirted with me, and I was not above taking advantage of my looks, Scottie could barely put a sentence together around me. Now he was glib. Instead of his usual tee-shirt and gym shorts he was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt. He was well-groomed. Heck, the kid was suddenly good-looking.
* * * *
Summer school turned out to be a pleasure. Teaching good attentive students is a joy. Teaching poor students is not teaching at all, it’s managing the disinterested and disrespectful. The positive impression Scottie had made the first day of school turned out to be real. He had become an excellent student. Moreover, he seemed to inspire the dunderheads who became, if not outstanding students, at least much better ones.
Scottie paid close attention in class. He answered questions confidently. His new wardrobe complemented his good looks. I was not the only one who noticed; girls flocked around him before and after class asking for help with their assignments. At times he would stay after class with me for extra-help, seeming as at ease with me as he’d been uncomfortable a few months before. canlı bahis şirketleri At times he’d bring me a small thoughtful gift the next day to say thanks.
On most days he and I chatted, mostly about school, but he managed to work in a word or two of praise, noting how well my shoes worked with my outfit, before turning the conversation back to class. One day I briefly touched on the controversy over whether Isaac Newton or Gottfried Leibniz invented calculus: he sat down with me after class the next day to discuss the answer. The boy who had recently led the classroom in childish humor was now refined, smart, confident, mature, interesting.
* * * *
I had refrained from dating since Kevin and I broke up. Not that I didn’t have admirers, men always noticed me. I’m kind of a cliche: 27 years old, five feet five inches tall, 115 pounds, thick wavy blonde hair to my shoulder blades, brown eyes, fair skin, 36-25-36 with still firm “C’s,” and slim waist and wide hips, a classic hourglass figure. I stay in shape; my best friend Jodi is my personal trainer. The break-up, however, was new to me: men didn’t dump me, I dumped men. That Kevin had been cheating on me with his secretary, among others, was humiliating. I also found, somewhat to my surprise, that I didn’t miss him that much. Over the last eighteen months our relationship had gotten pretty dysfunctional. Even the sex, although it was still good, often seemed dirty. He had wanted to add new twists to our sex life, lots of role plays, dressing me up in lingerie, suggesting threesomes, lesbian liaisons, the works. While it would turn me on, sometimes fiercely, later I’d feel a bit gross about it, as if he had not been making love to me, but to a fantasy. Before I got back into dating I wanted to sort out my feelings.
Sally Berry returned from her trip the second week of summer school. I saw her on Thursday. She was, as always, dressed immaculately, wearing a mid-length black skirt and white blouse. She asked me if she could tape the session, expressed her regret that I couldn’t continue to see Dr. Stone, and apologized that she had not been able to see me immediately. And then, with a few gentle questions, she began to coax my history from me. The story soon poured out of me. When it did I was surprised by how much I talked about sex.
At the end of the session Sally sat next to me and placed a hand on my knee. Her touch was comforting.
“I know right now you feel like some sort of weird-o, but you’re not. You’re asking the kind of questions many of us ask and I feel sorry for those who don’t, those who never wonder about the place of sex in their lives and relationships.”
She took my hand in hers.
“I would like to discuss your situation with Dr. Stone.”
“I thought you two had already talked.”
“She only told me she had a referral. She didn’t tell me her thoughts. She didn’t want to influence how I approached you. But your having seen both of us does provide a unique opportunity. At this point I would love the benefit of Dr. Stone’s observations.”
Was I getting two for the price of one? “Sure, feel free to talk to her.”
* * * *
At our next session Sally focused on sex. “Last time you told me that Kevin’s suggestions both aroused you and disturbed you. That, for example, you enjoyed role playing while you did it, but the next day you’d, in part, regret it. The problem I’m having is that I can’t pull apart your feelings from their context.”
I’m sure I look confused. She went on.
“Let’s take an easy example. You said that after Kevin hired a pretty young secretary he wanted you to role play a scenario in which he seduced and tied up his secretary. If Kevin had not just hired a good looking secretary, it might be an innocent fantasy. However, he had and when your were play acting you wondered, quite naturally, whether he was thinking of her, not you, or even worse, whether he was engaging in a test run for something he intended to do. The question I have is whether what troubled you was the role play or Kevin’s potential, and now we know real, infidelity.”
I saw her point, but I didn’t hear a solution. “So what’s next?”
“During our session you mentioned watching pornography with Kevin. You didn’t seem offended by it. I am reading you correctly?”
“Early on we watched it together. I actually enjoyed it. It spiced things up.”
She handed me a box of dvd’s. The first one is a relaxation exercise I’ve designed. The rest of what was called Swedish instructional videos about fifteen years ago. I’d call them porn.”
“Listen to the relaxation tape while drinking a warm glass of the tea. Then watch as much or little as you like of the instructional videos. After you do so e-mail me your impressions – just three or four sentences.
“There is no right or wrong answer. The videos may repulse you or you might find them fascinating. You may hate some and love others or, after awhile, find them all boring. The idea is to relax and free your mind when you watch them. Let your canlı kaçak iddaa feelings be your guide, whether they call you to a nunnery or further experimentation.”
That evening I took a long warm bath and then, wearing just a robe, listened as Sally’s voice guided me through the relaxation exercises. I then selected “Lingerie and Dildos,” a film, if the description could be trusted, featuring women bringing themselves off with sex toys. It seemed the safest of the bunch.
Free of distractions I watched a series of beautiful women, dressed in classy, often stunning lingerie, masturbate with an array of sex toys. In the pornography I watched with Kevin the women often seemed slutty. The women in this film were elegant. After half an hour I surrendered to the inevitable and ran a finger up my labia, spreading the lubrication dripping from my pussy. I cupped my breast with my other hand, teasing my nipple with my thumb. It was nice; there was no hurry. I brought myself to a series of small orgasms in time with the woman on the screen.
In the film’s climax two beautiful blondes in evening gowns were returning from a dinner date with two drunk boyfriends. The men passed out. One woman gestured the other to follow her upstairs. They entered a lovely feminine bedroom. The hostess opened a drawer containing an array of sex toys. The ladies stripped to their underwear: sheer bras, panties, garters, and stockings, and brought each other off with the toys. In the final scene the women, their legs locked in a scissors pattern, exploded in orgasm as they slid a huge double-headed dildo in-and-out of each other. I came when they did. My orgasm was fantastic.
I stumbled to my computer, went to the Adam just because I was off men didn’t mean I couldn’t have a good time. I then sent Sally this message:
“Just watched ‘Lingerie and Dildos.’ Found it incredibly erotic. I ordered some sex toys. Thanks.”
* * * *
In the shower the next morning I couldn’t get the film out of my mind. I brought myself off twice. I opened the drawer in which I kept the lingerie Kevin had bought me. I considered a sexy Merry Widow, but that might be a bit much for the classroom. I settled on black stockings, panties, and a garter. My skirt fell a few inches above my knees. No one would know.
We were approaching the semester’s end and the summer heat was reflected in the classroom’s doldrums. Still, memories of last night’s film kept flashing in my head. That, and the knowledge of what I was wearing underneath my teacher clothes, primed an incessant buzz between my legs. I decided to distract myself. I called for a volunteer to work some issues out in front of the class. Scottie’s hand went up.
I sat at my desk as he worked the problems. When I asked a question he looked back at me. His eyes flashed a momentary surprise before they locked on my eyes. What had he seen? When he turned back to the board I glanced down. What caught his attention was obvious. My skirt had pulled up over the top of my stockings, revealing them and the straps holding them to my garter belt.
I felt a frisson of excitement at this unintended tease. I contemplated straightening my skirt, but the only one who could have possibly seen me was Scottie and that damage had already been done. I found the idea that I had inadvertently flashed him arousing and so, for the moment, decided to play the innocent.
After Scottie finished his work he again looked back at me, his eyes covertly scanning my peep show before settling on my face. When he leaned against my desk to explain his work, he placed a hand on his thigh and drew it up about two inches. For everyone else in the class it was a random fidget, but I knew what he was signaling. This game had started innocently, but I was hooked. I placed a hand on my skirt and raised it to within an inch of my panties, displaying legs and lingerie. Scottie took in the show, but with a peek so subtle as to be indecipherable to anyone but he and I.
After class he approached me. “Care to up the ante on our bet?” he asked.
He had not mentioned our bet since the first day of school. I had assumed it was forgotten. Obviously, not.
I brushed the hair away from my eyes. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, when we go to the museum, you wear stockings and garters like you have on today.”
“You like a girl in lingerie?” I asked, wondering what high school girls were wearing as undergarments.
“I prefer woman in lingerie.” There was a sexy challenge to his voice.
“And if you lose?” I asked, a slight tremor in mine.
He took a moment, feigning, at least, that he had not contemplated the possibility. “I take you shopping at Victoria’s Secret.”
I stepped closer and lay my hand on his upper arm. Nicely built, I thought. “And how do you know I won’t cheat and give you a low grade just to win.”
“Ms. Alice, it’s hard to believe a woman of your charms doesn’t have guys lined up to wash her car or take her shopping for something sexy.”
While I was slightly taken canlı kaçak bahis aback by his directness, I was pleased by the compliment. I extended my hand. “Deal.”
As we shook he covered our clasped hands with his free hand. I felt a quiver run through my body. Thank god, I thought, I asked for expedited delivery of my Adam & Eve order.
After Scottie left I went to the bathroom, removed my panties, and stuffed them in my purse. When I pulled out of the school parking lot I pressed the knuckle of my index finger just above my clitoris. A gasp of air exploded from my lungs. I kept up the pressure all the way home, not enough to come, but enough to keep me at hovering at a pitched state of arousal. When I got home I found, thank god, the Adam & Eve package on my doorstep. I stepped inside, took off my shoes, skirt, and blouse, leaving me in only the lingerie, and put on four inch heels. I checked myself out in a full length mirror. Not bad.
I opened the box and found the two items I wanted: a slim flexible six inch white dildo and a rose colored fingertip vibrator whose silicone nubs promised hours of pleasure. I coated the dildo with lubricant and looked at myself in the mirror. Was that horny bitch really me? I watched myself fit the head of the dildo to my vagina. The urge to shove it in was strong, but the urge to watch while I slowly fucked myself stronger. I pushed the first inch in. Pleasure shot through my body. I held it in place, shutting my eyes to focus on the joy erupting in my cunt. As my breathing calmed down and my chest stopped pounding, I looked again. Five inches of dildo dangled from my sex. I pushed it in, slowly, incrementally, soaring on the twin highs of filling my hungry cunt with the plastic cock and watching myself do it.
Once the dildo was inside me I turned on the vibrator and ran it in a “U” around my clit. My clittie swelled and stood at attention, poking its pink head from its protective hood. My cunt, as if on its own, clamped down on the dildo. The vibrations merged with the pulsations from my vagina. I had wanted to make this last awhile, but it was hopeless. Watching myself in the mirror, I felt the orgasm coming on like a freight train. I had neither the will nor the inclination to get out of the way.
I placed a finger on the base of the dildo, rotating it around inside of me, and then moved the vibrator directly to my clit.
“Ohhhhh…, oohhhhhhhh…, ooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh…, ooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,,,’ yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss…,” I screamed. My mind was filled with a blinding light, followed by sheets in a kaleidoscope of colors. My body tensed and the incredible pressure that filled my abdomen released. I fell back on the bed, breathing deeply, my mind scrambled by the pleasure ringing through my body, lodging in places I had not thought an orgasm could go. After some minutes I forced myself up on my elbows and looked at the hot little number in the mirror.
“Oh girl, you and I have some experimenting to do.”
After dinner I returned to the Adam & Eve box and unwrapped the g-spot vibrator. While I’d heard of the g-spot, I wasn’t quite sure I believed there was a g-spot. If I had one it had managed to evade every lover I’d known. I cleaned and lubed the vibrator and slipped it inside me, setting it on low and using the muscles of my twat to move it around. It felt nice, very nice, but still I didn’t think I’d hit pay dirt. I then set a bullet vibrator on low and after briefly running it above my clitoris, I brought it to my left breast, dragging it along the underside. I felt the stimulation throughout my boob, which sighed in happy contentment. I explored my other breast, avoiding my nipples. Soon my sweet titties were filled with a joy that leaked throughout my body.
My cunt was juicing up. My pussy twitched as the vibrator moved around inside me. I reached down to guide it and felt a sharp joy several inches inside my vagina, something I had not felt before. It began as an urge to pee, but quickly turned into a deep, subtle pleasure. I had found my g-spot. I sank back into the pillows and returned the vibrator to my breasts, working around my bright red areolas before touching my nipples. The sharp pangs of pleasure radiating from them combined with the deeper sensations growing inside my cunt.
Why had I not invested in sex toys years ago?
When my breasts could sustain no more stimulation I ran the vibrator down my body and used it on my thighs, occasionally pressing it to my perineum. The feeling merged with that from my g-spot, creating a single happy buzz throughout my sex. This went on for who knows how long, fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, forty-five, until the sensations were near overwhelming. My g-spot felt like it occupied my entire cunt. Cunt cunt cunt. I rolled the word around in my head, loving its vulgarity. I was a hot cunt.
It was time. I moved the vibrator to my clitoris and while flexing the muscles of my vagina, which sent pulses of pleasure throughout me, I worked the vibrator around my clit and then laid it on the hood, trapping the sweet nubbin underneath. My cunt convulsed. With my other hand I pushed the vibrator against my g-spot. Ohmigod, did that feel good. I turned up the power on the finger vibrator and returned it to my clit.
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