Afraid of Women Until...

WARNING: Has fairytale elements and possibly unAmerican-like humor.

ONE

The popularity of Kevin MacLeod virtually went from zero to heaps in 48 hours.

Lean and lanky, with teenager pimples on his 24-year-old face virtually devoid of character, eyes of near translucent blue and a flaring red nose and thin, turned down at the corner lips, the word 'unattractive' rather understated his woeful appearance.

"A carcass ready for the mortuary," one young upset English woman was heard to remark in the wake of Kevin's sudden popularity. She was bitter, Kevin not allowing her within an arm's length of his penis.

The result was a nickname, 'Corpus Kevie.'

The arrival through the window of a hairless (below the neck) female dressed in a flimsy nightdress, panting after a risky climb, would be expected to raise the pulse rate and penis of any man under the age of, say, 99, but did nothing but panic Corpus Kevie.

He shrunk away from her, greatly embarrassed and said, "Go away, I'm calling security."

Such a reception could break any girl's heart, and so that woman returned to France, heartbroken

Security, of course, was hard-pressed to counter the numerous ways women of all ages were trying to get to Kevin after loose-lip female staff of Castle MacLeod had fed the rumor mill.

Women far and near plugged into the grapevine went for Kevin. The race was on to claim his virginity, the intention being to thereby retain his attention. That makes sense as normally when you fuck somebody that person stays with you for a while, unless it was an oppotunist one-nighter.

So far no enterprising males were in the quest, trying for an all-male tryst. The women would have been uncompetitive in comparison because of the greater aggression of men and their superior brain power would have allowed them to deviously penetrate the defenses at Castle MacLeod with greater success.

So, why this interest in a Scottish dick with a limp wrist now referred to as Corpus Kevie?

His grandfather in New York had died, leaving Kevin US$7,000,105.

Yes, quite,

US$100,105 had been advanced to him to get himself to a particular Presbyterian church in Manhattan. The catch was he would find his fortune waiting outside only if emerging on the arm of his lawfully wedded spouse.

Interestingly an opening existed for a male final touchdown because the will definitely stated 'spouse' not wife, and same-sex marriages are now being performed in some churches. Fortunately for uptight readers it can be revealed same-sex sex was not permitted to mar Kevin's rehabilitation.

An elderly and trusted butler at Castle MacLeod tipped off Kevin about the possibility of an all-male union, when presenting his tip to Kevin. The shocked young heir kicked-butted the butler and fled under the cover darkness. He caught the night mail train to Oban, the weekly cattle boat to Liverpool and sailed on the tide to New York.

Grandfather MacLeod, widely known as MacDork by Manhattan's finest – high society women that is – knew of his grandson's confounding weakness: Gynophobia – the fear of women.

MacDork could not imagine anyone having such an affliction and had his will written in the hope that greed for the fortune would bring his grandson into the arms of a woman and thereby increase the possibility of a son or sons arriving to strengthen the family tree.

Fortunately for Kevin he could sit next to a woman as he did on occasions; gynophobia only struck him dumb, turning him into a quivering mass of jelly held together by bones when touched by a woman. The body learns to protect itself, hence the grotesque development of his appearance.

TWO

Kevin went Upstate New York and signed into a hospital run by a Doctor Judy Barrett. Doctor Barrett took on Kevin's case herself as it was so unique. She found she could touch him providing she wore rubber gloves, which raised the possibility of Kevin being able to have sexual union if he wore a rubber suit plus a condom. She decided she'd try out that theory in due course for intercourse.

The blacklisted and deregistered surgeon found Kevin had learned about her clinic on a disused web site abandoned after her succession of terrible surgical failures when suffering from drug addiction.

Kevin said he had $15,000 to spend and Doctor Barrett said providing he slept in the stables, thereby not occupying a valuable bed in the air conditioned suites, she would feed him and do all the operations Kevin required for that small amount of money which ordinarily would only get him a minor nose job.

Kevin's attitude was providing she didn't kill him, he'd remain grateful of any improvement.

Well, twenty-one weeks later he looked in the mirror and was amazed – his surgically-corrected mouth looked appealing, his reshaped nose was classical, his skin infection had been cleared and a diet of raw carrots and lightly steamed spinach had turned his translucent blue eyes cornflower blue. Very striking indeed.

"What do you think, Kevie?" asked the 38-year-old seducer of men - and skilled surgeon when not drugged to the eye-balls.

"Amazing!"

"Is that all you can say?" "Very amazing."

"Well, that's all I can do for you, darling, but here's a card for a sex therapist who is my youngest sister Matilda. She can help you completely overcome your gynophobia problem as she was a registered psychologist before taking up growing tulips. But I must prepare you for her because she's never had a virgin as a patient.

"While I had you under anesthetic I discovered in tests what you experience deep aversion to a female when coming skin-on-skin. Therefore, to have my way with you all I have to do is to dress you in a body suit with a piece cut out at the crotch for the fitting of a condom."

"A condom?"

"A synthetic tube closed at one end, so when I lower myself on to your penis there won't be skin-on-skin contact.

"You what?"

"You're on a learning curve my boy. Just come to my apartment at 7:30 this evening. You'll leave it a man."

"Really? And what will that leave you?"

"Released, but not full of cum, unfortunately."

"Released?"

"Try not to be so trying, Kevin."

The sex was very unsatisfactory, so remains unreported.

However the Good Doctor nodded with satisfaction when she got Kevin out of his body suit, took off the face mask and his gloves off and then masturbated him. Although he shrunk away from her hand contract and was terrified with her tongue invading his mouth he was delighted to find he had no skin-on-skin aversion – just acute shyness.

Dr Barrett was over the moon: she now had an article to write for the Medical Journal which might lead to her reinstatement.

It was love at first sight when Kevin saw the charming Matilda Barrett, dressed in red, standing in the middle of a 35 acre block of red tulips doing an ancient Morris Dance. Although she was dressed in tulip red, he was able to spot her by using his superior intelligence, finding she stood higher than the tulips.

For twenty-one weeks the fair Matilda worked on Kevie as she preferred calling him, talking to him, stroking his flesh and performing rituals handed down from one generation of psychologists to the next for more than 10,000 years.

At the end of twenty-one weeks Matilda snapped her fingers and intoned, "Kevie, heal thyself and emerge from your deep sleep." He awoke, cured of shyness and natural indisposition to women socially. He wondered where those twenty-one weeks had gone.

"Gawd, Matilda, you are stunning. Marry me?"

"When?"

"Today hopefully."

"Where?"

"At a Presbyterian Church on Manhattan Island."

"I can't," sobbed Matilda.

"Why not?"

"I'm Catholic."

"Goodbye, dear Matilda, said Kevie, handing her the $15,000 fee plus a $105 tip.

"Goodbye, dear Kevie," wept Matilda, handing him a card to O'Connor's Gym on Manhattan Island.

It's difficult to write how a young man cleared of gynophobia feels, so that will be avoided. Suffice to say Kevie, as he now called himself, felt good.

No longer did the young Scot cower in the presence of females, automatically believing they were better looking than he was, were his intellectual superior, multi-tasked unbelievably, smelt awfully and were altogether rounded off in an over-powering way.

Quickly the new Kevie learned why they did not speak infinitely better by rounding their vowels majestically as that tended to display bad teeth, and that their word-power although theoretically awesome, was never put to maximum use when trying to communicate with males. Further, almost all had a bad habit of finishing off sentences which made it difficult to understand them clearly and most thwarted greater understanding by speaking in long sentences. Usually.

Kevie headed for O'Connor's gym.

Matilda had said something about catching a greyhound but he couldn't find any so caught a bus going downstate and arrived on Manhattan wondering why it was necessary for some of the buildings to be so tall; to improve water pressure perhaps?

O'Connor's gym used to be in the disused granite quarry, but it had long being demolished, explained the pretty receptionist.

"As the sign says we are now O'Connor's Yoga and Pilates Centre."

Upset, Kevie unleashed a barrage of Gaelic curses.

"Oh, we have upset a skinny foul-mouth Scottish laddie have we?" said old Mr O'Connor. He being of Celtic origin replied in Gaelic which, translated, had him saying, "You can't have a gym these days you ignorant Scottish git, one has to move with the fucking times."

The receptionist clapped her hands in delight, hearing Mr O'Connor's native tongue flowing so elegantly.

Kevie looked menacing – he was no git and knew it. A dick perhaps, but not a git.

"Punch me boyo, and my granddaughter Kate will bounce out and deal with you."

"Did you want me Athair mór?"

For Kevie watching the tall body-beatuful young women walking towards them, it was love a first sight.

"Are you Catholic?"

"No."

"Would you marry in a Presbyterian Church?"

"Theoretically I could but I'm not the marrying kind. Now, shove off, we don't do consumer surveys unless we're offered big money."

"I can offer big money."

"Not enough for me, now fuck off before I call on my Athair mór to throw you out."

"Is your Athair mór you security guy built like a brick house?"

"It's what I call my grandfather, you Mac-Dick. Don't you ignorant Scots know anything and why haven't you got red hair? Are you genuine, and what an awful body you have - are you gay?"

A rush of red erupted within Kevie.

"Now look here you bitch, don't defame gays with that foul mouth of yours; we have to learn to live with them." " I'm not living with gays."

"Me neither, or is it either?"

"Don't know, at least we've got that in common," she said.

"Can I have membership?" asked Kevie, gazing at her delightfully sculptured breasts.

"It's my superior soirts bra, so don't get your hopes up," she said, noticing the direction of his gaze and huge smile. "Why didn't you say you wanted membership, Athair mór and I would have been much nicer to you?"

"I've just been cured of gynophobia and am a recent immigrant to the Big Orange."

"It's Big Apple, but only tourists, publicists and word-deficient journalists use that term – natives call it New York, Manhattan or Centre of the Universe.

"Anyway, that's irrelevant. Nobody can be cured of gynophobia."

"I was, by Matilda."

Kate looked at Kevie keenly.

"That wouldn't be Matilda Barrett, would it now?

"Yes."

"And you took the full treatment of 21-week under hypnosis?"

"That's the one."

"Then you're are cured. Omigod it also means you haven't had sex for 21 weeks - or have you had it after leaving Matilda's clinic?"

"Is this a consumer research survey, I don't answer such unless generously rewarded?"

Kate waved the boggling her Athair mór and receptionist away.

"Answer the question."

"No, I've only had sex once in my life and that was 22 weeks ago."

Kevie caught Kate as she fainted.

She smelt so lovely – perfume and sweat and something else he couldn't quite identify. Her curves fitted so snugly against him and her softness was slowly bringing him to a boil; something strange was happening to his body.

"Put her down on the sofa, and don't interfere with her," said the receptionist sharply.

Kevie looked at her intently.

"I wouldn't do that – she is an amazingly sculpture piece of divine beauty – absolutely priceless."

"Ohmigod," said the receptionist, turning red and racing off to the restroom clutching her crotch.

Kevie kissed Kate awake.

She smiled and then frowned, warning him not to do that because her body was her temple, not to be touched by males unless on St Patrick's Day.

"Will you work with me for twenty-one weeks, to build me a body befitting to a man of substance?"

"That will cost $15,000 including lodgings."

"That's fine, and as we work together I will work to persuade you to allow me to enter your temple."

"Ohmigod," screamed Kate, leaping up and racing off to the restroom clutching her crotch.

The receptionist returned with a slightly smug look on her face, telling Kevie he was good, very good.

"Good at what?"

"Bringing a girl to an instant climax with those eyes of yours when talking sweetly to her."

"Bullshit."

"That's not talking sweetly. Could you talk sweetly to me again but this time longer and more intensely. But wait, I'll run off and fetch a towel."

Kate had returned and overheard the receptionist.

"Megan – hands off, he's mine."

THREE

Twenty six weeks later Kate and Kevie were married in the Midtown Presbyterian Church of Scotland, built by Kevie's grandfather. It was a society wedding, with all MacDork's ex-women lining one side and current members of O'Connor's Yoga and Pilate Centre filling the bride's side of the church. MacDork's law firm representatives were in the bridal party as witnesses.

Kate and Kevie had been living together for those twenty-six weeks – apart from the forty-eight hours prior to the ceremony; that separation was necessary because Kate wanted to wear white. The dress covered her temple so beautifully that all the women and gay men at the service cried. Oh, Kevie cried too.

At the time of proposing marriage, Kevie had told Kate about the underpinning reason for wanting to wed her She'd thought some money would be useful.

Mrs and Mr O'Connor-MacLeod emerged from the church and walked to the limousine waiting to take them to JFK where they would change before boarding their aircraft. An armor car carrying a million bucks honeymoon spending money waited to follow the limo.

In the way that besotted brides do, Kate turned her back on the guests and threw the flowers over her head; they were caught by her surprised Athair mór who was immediately surrounded by the more aggressive of MacDork's ex-women.

It had been a lovely reverse wedding. Everyone was happy and partly or well inebriated as the wedding breakfast had been that – a wedding breakfast – and was held before the wedding which appealed to the Irish but it was done that way for convenience as the minister would not conduct marriages before mid-morning.

So, guests attended the reception where the cake was cut and then the wedding service began at 10:00. All this was because of Kate; she'd thought it would be romantic to fly to Scotland and have the wedding night at Castle MacLeod.

All good stories have a happy ending, apparently.

Next morning she whispered into her husband's ear they were six weeks' pregnant.

THE END