Miss Anderson's IBS

This story is within the anal section. It consistently and continuously concerns variations on the theme of anal sex. If anal sex is uninteresting to you, and certainly if it is repugnant to you, then walk away! There are lots and lots of other stories for you to read that you would much prefer and very likely enjoy. The story also concerns themes of reluctance, humiliation, and exhibitionism. All persons in this story are at least eighteen years old. I most certainly hope that you enjoy it!

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Miss Betsy Anderson had a lovely little anus. It was so wonderfully round and symmetrical, with the curled skin curving in parallel fashion around and around the tight teeny hole in the very center of that squinting eye, like waves directing a finger, a cock, or anything else that might wander in too close, down into the deep, dark, tight black hole of delight.

Hollywood film stars are often compared with respect to the prettiness of their faces. Hollywood and adult film stars are often compared with respect to the size, fullness, and roundness of their breasts. Perhaps only adult film stars are compared, openly and publicly, with respect to the perkiness, tautness, and roundness of their bottoms (Nina Hartley was often said to have the best), and some are even compared with respect to the loveliness of their most precious feminine parts, their cunnies. But it's difficult to find anyone comparing them with respect to their little brown stars. Even the Buttman hasn't done so (as far as I know). In any case, if there ever was a beauty contest for anuses, Miss Betsy Anderson would surely win.

But, she didn't feel that way about it. In fact, she had not really given it much thought at all. It took a young man, one of her students, to awaken her to its loveliness and full potential.

Robert Duffs came to Miss Anderson with a problem, a very serious and difficult problem and, not surprising for such problems, a rather personal and embarrassing one as well.

He wasn't even too sure he should approach her about it. It wasn't like Miss Anderson was an expert in that area. She was just his anthropology teacher. There really wasn't anything about anthropology that made one think about anal sex, was there?

But, Miss Anderson had always said that the door to her office was open to any student with any concern, and she emphasized the word "any." She recognized how difficult college life could be, leaving home for the first time, away from one's parents, away from parental support and guidance. Plus, many young men and ladies are not that particularly comfortable talking to their parents these days.

Miss Anderson embraced this role of the faculty member of a small college. She had been told when she was hired that her job would be not only to instruct the students as to anthropology, but to also serve as their mentor, their advisor, their model. Upon stepping onto the Templeton campus the student became part of the Templeton family. The goal of the college was not just to educate a student's mind but also a student's character. No student should ever feel reluctant to talk about anything to any faculty member. On the contrary, the doors should always be open.

"And what is indeed troubling you, Bobby," Miss Anderson asked in her most comforting and reassuring tone.

Robert choose to approach Miss Anderson because he figured she was one of the more liberally-minded faculty members, which perhaps isn't saying a lot at Templeton, as it was a rather conservative college. All of the students even had to wear a traditional school uniform. The girls wore white blouses with black ties, plaid skirts that had to go below the knee, white socks, black shoes, and, of course, white panties and bras. The boys wore white shirts, black ties, black slacks, and black shoes. None of the girls were even allowed to wear perfume, or excessive jewelry or substantial make-up.

Miss Anderson though appeared to embrace a more liberal, open-minded view of the world, or at least it seemed that way in some of her social constructivist lectures, talking about the different mores of different cultures, how it was not appropriate to apply the values of one culture to another, that all viewpoints, all perspectives, should be mutually respected.

"Well, it's kind of difficult, Miss Anderson," Robert quietly explained, his eyes trained on the floor, watching himself nervously shift his feet.

Miss Anderson smiled. A shy young man can be so cute. He did look rather vulnerable, and so much in need of her help, her understanding. "Now, Bobby, you can tell me. I'm your professor. You should always feel comfortable speaking to your professor."

That was good to hear. "Well, it's just, that, well, Miss Anderson, Nancy Andrews and I have been dating for quite some time now." He lifted his head up to look her in the eye. "She's my girlfriend, you know."

"Is she really, Bobby? I had her in my class last semester. She's a very pretty girl."

Robert blushed and averted his eyes. Nancy was very pretty, and it was nice that Professor Anderson noticed that as well, but somehow that made it even more awkward to discuss his concern. "Yes, well, um, you know, we decided that we were not going to do it..." His voice got even quieter, "go all the way, you know, until we got married."

He looked at her again, waiting for an affirmation of their pledge of abstinence.

Miss Anderson smiled. "Oh my, yes, well, that's just wonderful, Bobby. I'm sure your parents are very pleased with that." Miss Anderson was also sincerely pleased to hear it, and she knew that so would the Templeton administration. Templeton was indeed a very conservative college.

Robert smiled, finding her affirmation a little surprising. It didn't quite fit his liberal image of his anthropology professor. "Yes, well, um, but..."

"But what, Bobby? You said, 'but'?"

This was going to be so difficult to say, to admit, to confess, and yet he could even feel a swelling within his briefs as he thought about saying it. But, he did really have to say it. "Um, well, I was thinking, that, um, well, if perhaps it would be okay to do other things, you know, things that aren't like, going all the way."

"Oh," Miss Anderson replied, her own voice now a bit quieter as well. She could feel her heart racing. Well, she had said that she would be very, very happy to talk to any student about any topic. "Yes, well, what precisely do you mean?"

Robert's face grew red. Precisely what he meant was precisely the problem in saying it out loud.

Miss Anderson tried to help the boy. "Do you mean..." Her voice again dropped, "masturbating each other?" Her own face reddened, and she cursed herself for that. She really shouldn't have difficulty talking about such a thing with a student. Her lectures did occasionally concern sexual mores and customs. It was rather shocking what some primitive tribes will do! But, this was a bit different. This was more personal, more intimate. It lacked the dispassionate scientific coldness of an academic lecture.

"What? Oh! Um, no, no, not that, not really, well, sort of, but not really."

Miss Anderson was confused. Sort of but not really? What did he mean by that? Maybe frotteurism, rubbing their bodies together with their clothes on? She felt that was kind of unusual but it's rather common in some Asian cultures. "Well, Bobby, how do you sort of masturbate?"

Robert's face reddened further. This was turning out to be more difficult than talking to his mother about sex! Perhaps it was in part that Miss Anderson was herself so pretty. She had lovely round green eyes, long flowing dark hair, long eye lashes that often fluttered, and a very sparkling smile. She always seemed so gay and cheerful. Her breasts were a bit on the small side, as if that should in fact be important to a student. On the other hand, Robert did often notice that her bottom was so perky and round. He briefly wondered if that was why he had come to her, but certainly not consciously so. It was though clearly why he stiffened a bit as he considered speaking to her about it. "I didn't mean it like that, Miss Anderson. It's just that there are, you know, other things you can do."

Well, they were at least getting closer, and Betsy was not liking what she was hearing. "Bobby, you don't mean..." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Oral sex?" She did in fact disapprove of that. It was fine and legal for other women to engage in such things, but she would not do that herself. It just seemed rather disgusting to have a man's penis in your mouth. Gracious, he urinated with that thing! And, what if he in fact ejaculated! She shivered just thinking about that.

"What?! No, no, not that, Miss Anderson," Robert explained, sort of. The fact was, he and Nancy were already masturbating each other and performing oral sex. Doing those things was not like having real sex, so they figured. She was still a virgin if they confined their activities to the hand or the mouth. But, he wanted to step it up just one more notch.

Now Miss Anderson was really confused. She was glad to hear that they were not having oral sex, although she wouldn't raise a strong objection if they were. The kids these days were doing all sorts of things and if that's what it took to remain a virgin until marriage, well perhaps it was alright. "Yes, well, that's good Bobby, but what could it possibly be if not with the hand or the...mouth?"

Robert provided the answer, albeit very quietly. "It's anal sex, Miss Anderson."

"What?!" Now, that she found surprising.

"Um...anal." He didn't care much for the fact that she made him say it again.

Miss Anderson cleared her throat and then responded, "Nancy wants you to have anal sex with her? But she's such a pretty girl!"

"Oh! Um, no, no, she doesn't. Well, she might, she would, if I wanted to. I was just thinking that maybe that would be, like, um, well, okay. It's not like it's real sex, is it?" (see "The Lessons, Chapter 22").

"You would put your penis in her bottom."

'Geeez,' Robert thought, 'Do I have to draw her a picture?' "Um," he answered, about as quietly as he could, essentially whispering, "yeah, I guess."

"Bobby, that's disgusting!" Miss Anderson was indeed shocked. Using one's hand, or even one's mouth, was understandable, but anal sex?

Robert was shocked as well, but it was his teacher's shock that he found so surprising. "But, you said an anthropologist respects alternative values, different perspectives."

"Bobby," she patiently explained, "I do indeed respect alternative cultures but social constructivism doesn't mean that one does not oneself have any values or mores. You can, of course, do as you please. You are eighteen years old, and so is Nancy, but if you want my opinion, then it would have to be a firm 'no,' that would not be acceptable, at least to me."

"Well, why not?"

"Bobby, anal sex is, well, it's just wrong. I mean, gracious, it's inherently filthy. Just the thought, well, it's disgusting. You can't see that?"

"Golly, Professor Anderson, given what you've said in class, I just thought, well, that you would be, well, more understanding, more accepting of alternative ways, you know, of, well...doing things."

"Bobby, gracious me, one should not assume that all anthropologists perform anal sex, or even oral, for that matter. As an anthropologist I do respect the right of other cultures to make their own choices, choose their own values, but you must then also respect mine. Respect for the opinions of others doesn't mean you necessarily agree with those opinions." It was no coincidence that Betsy Anderson was a faculty member at Templeton College.

"Yes well, I did want to know how you felt about it. I mean, that's why I'm here."

Betsy was feeling very glad that he had come to her, as he had clearly misunderstood her lectures and was potentially heading down a very wrong and dangerous path. "Yes, well, frankly, Bobby, I think any such thing might be a big mistake."

"Really?" He had been so hoping for a more open-minded attitude from his teacher, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. He so much wished he had gone to a different college, a place like Abberville, where he heard that students even went to class naked! Of course, that really couldn't be true (see "Naked at College"), but he couldn't imagine any college being more conservative than Templeton.

"Well, son, I mean, it is still sex, isn't it? Is it not a form of sex?"

"Well, yes, I know, but it's not real sex. It's not intercourse. The girl remains a virgin."

"She does indeed, but there is still physical contact between a boy's, I mean a man's, sex organs and a woman's..." Her face flushed at speaking so bluntly with the young man. She averted her eyes.

"A girl's anus is not a sex organ, is it, Miss Anderson?"

"Well, no, no, I suppose it's not." Was that a valid point?

"It's like oral sex. That doesn't count either."

"Now, Bobby, you're just fooling yourself. You in fact just said it yourself. Oral sex is most certainly sex, as is anal sex. A girl's anus is not a sex organ, perhaps, but then all the more reason not to use it as one!" She regretted raising her voice, perhaps losing some of her professional, dispassionate objectivity. It's just that she felt so strongly about this.

"Well, I guess so." She was probably right. In the back of his mind he knew that was true. He was just trying to convince himself that it would be alright.

"And," Miss Anderson added, "it's not even normal sex. It's in fact a very dirty, filthy form of sex, involving, must I say it out loud? Where you go poop!" She could feel her heart racing. She just felt so agitated. "Gracious, it's probably a perversion or something."

"Well, golly, Miss Anderson, I don't know about that."

"Robert, if you go through with this you may regret it for the rest of your life. You will debase and degrade a very lovely young lady. Could you really look her in the eye after you have done such a thing to her?"

"Well, I wouldn't do it if she didn't want me to."

"Bobby, Nancy might in fact agree to such a thing because she is afraid of losing you. Girls will do that. Trust me, she won't really want to do any such thing and, someday, she may come to resent you for making her do it. Please, you must get such horrendous thoughts out of your mind. In fact, I think it would be best for you to schedule an appointment with Dr. Lowenstein, the counselor."

"Dr. Lowenstein? Are you sure?" He really didn't want to do that. He didn't think he was mentally ill or anything like that.

"Absolutely. She specializes in the sexual dysfunctions and perversions of young men, and ladies. I think she would be very helpful for you."

"Well, if you think so."

"Yes, yes, I most certainly do. In fact, I'll be happy to schedule an appointment for you."

"No, no! No, that won't be necessary. I can do that myself."

That was certainly true. Betsy realized that was probably going too far. She just felt that it would be such a big mistake for Robert if he did such a thing, and Dr. Lowenstein was indeed a well regarded specialist in sexual perversions (see "The Cornhole Championship" and "Teddy Visits a Therapist"). "Well, alright then, Robert, yes, of course, you can set up your own appointment." She got up from her chair, signaling to him that this discussion should now probably end, or at least she wanted it to end. She found it rather discomforting, to say the least.

"Yes, of course, Miss Anderson. I will do so," he replied, getting up from his chair as well, following the teacher to the door, his eyes following the sway of her bottom within her tight skirt. Such a shame, he thought.

"And, be sure you do, Robert. It's really quite important."

"Yes, ma'am, of course, of course," he promised, as he exited the office.

Miss Anderson closed the door quickly behind him. She needed to be alone. Thank goodness that the young man had come to her for advice rather than acting impulsively on his perverse urges. She shivered at the thought of such an act.

She did not consider herself a prude. But, was she? She was an anthropologist, for goodness sake! Why was she reacting so strongly against another person's simple sexual preference? Perhaps she was...No! No, no, not at all. Such acts are by their very nature wrong, and perverse. 'Gracious,' she thought as she returned to her desk chair, 'just the thought of a man sticking his erection up a woman's butt, up her butt for goodness sake, was so disturbing, so wrong!'

She instinctively clenched her sphincter as she considered such a thing, as if to express her adamant opposition to any such act, albeit at the same time feeling the nerve cells of her anus activated by the clenching. She shivered again.

'My goodness,' she thought, 'that's where a woman, where I, well, poop. Wouldn't his thing get all dirty and nasty with you know what?' She just couldn't stop thinking about it. It was so disturbing, so loathsome, so disgusting.

'Would a man also use his fingers on her anus, exploring and caressing her butt hole, poking around, maybe even sticking it up inside?' Her face flushed a deep red as she thought about that. Picking one's nose is bad enough. She hated it when she saw a man do that. And this would be her butt! She would assume that he must wash that finger immediately afterward, before he again touched her, but that would be awkward in the middle of making love. Well, clearly though it would not be love making that would be going on anyway; far from it.

She turned her attention back to her work. She had quite a number of papers to grade.

But, soon her mind returned to the disturbing image of a man actually having sex with a woman, down there, back there. She squirmed in her chair, feeling an unnerving itch or tickle within her anus. She wasn't quite sure how best to describe it.

Would a man actually kiss it? He kisses your lips when he makes love. Some men, perhaps, will kiss your cunnie when he makes love, at least once in awhile. She would never ask, or expect, a man to do that though. She shook her head, imagining a guy actually kissing her there, on the anus. It was really unimaginable, or at least too disturbing, even sickening, to imagine. "Oh my gracious," she exclaimed out loud. She rubbed her bottom against the chair, trying to get rid of that disconcerting itch.

The rest of the day continued that way. Perhaps not as intense as it had been for the first few minutes after the young man had left her office, but her mind did return again and again to that act, that abominable act.

Nor did it help that she had that recurring odd sensation down there. It was perhaps just a result of repeatedly clenching her sphincter in disgust, doing so only drawing her attention back to it. She was reminded of when a friend warned her, perhaps too late, that she was pulling up a vine of poison ivy. Her friend wasn't sure it was poison ivy but it sure looked like it.

For the rest of the day and into the evening she kept feeling an itch on her hand. She dared not scratch it, but not doing so made the itch last longer. She kept checking for a rash to explain the itch but no rash ever developed. It didn't help when she was told that the rash may not develop for days. Her hand probably never before itched more during those days, and for no apparent reason other than her preoccupied, ruminative mind.

Well, it was like that now, but a different sort of itch. Her butt hole would suddenly itch, or perhaps it was a tingling, or a tickling. She would squeeze her sphincter to get rid of the annoying sensation. If she was sitting down, by herself, she might even squirm her bottom against the chair.

But, it didn't seem to help. Did she in fact have a rash on her anus? That could not possibly be true. It was an absurd thought. Such a rash was not only ridiculously rare for a healthy, active human being, it would also be absurdly coincidental.