A Gift in Disguise Ch. 02

[In Part 1 of this story, readers met Dr. Lorraine Theriault, a licensed psychologist and registered nurse. As a 22-year-old otherwise healthy man, I had been referred to her with an embarrassing problem: I could not sustain an erection when trying to penetrate a woman. I had been treated by several medical doctors and behavioral professionals, but none had resolved my problem. Finally, my most recent doctor's office manager suggested Dr. Theriault.

With patience and unorthodox treatment methods, this 49-year-old woman had both solved my problem and uncovered what she called my remarkable "gift." It had been an expensive discovery for her. First she had done several laboratory tests on me. They indicated something, but she was not sure exactly what. Then she hooked me up to a laboratory instrument of her own creation to gather some data while I was masturbating. When I orgasmed, her machine fried. Well, actually only a couple of its sensors smoked. But the machine was not happy.

It wasn't until a few weeks later when Lorraine and I fucked (the first time I had ever been able to successfully penetrate a woman) that she fully understood why her machine had been damaged. It seems that while my body is building toward orgasm, it is also generating and storing an electrical charge. When I orgasm (or maybe just before) while in contact with my partner's sensitive sexual trigger spots, the electrical current is discharged. It is not a quick discharge, nor is it lethal. When I fucked Lorraine and came inside of her, she experienced a prolonged and remarkably intense orgasm. Based on her personal experience, she called it my "gift." I wasn't so sure.

During her initial interview and examination with me, Lorraine had determined what traits and characteristics in a woman were sexually exciting for me. What she found was that my preferences were for mature women who were vocal during sex and who recognized their own body hair could be a sexual facilitator, an aphrodisiac, with me. Obviously, there had to be more, something of a personal chemistry between us. In every respect, Lorraine met all my desires and expectations in a sexual partner. Moreover, she preferred me as a much younger man with stamina and a reasonably open mind. Since then we have sex almost weekly, sometimes twice weekly.

Until she treated me and experienced my "gift" personally, Lorraine had rejected the thought of writing for peer review in professional journals. After we had fucked two or three times, she felt there needed to be something documented about my condition. Since she could not both participate and write objectively about my condition, she had been carefully reviewing her clients to see if any of them might be a suitable laboratory sex partner for me. Of course, her first concern was that neither the prospective partner nor I could in any way be harmed by engaging in intercourse while she watched and recorded the interaction. Thus far, she had not found a suitable partner.

That brings us to Part II of the story. ]

*

I walked into my apartment and practically threw my book bag across the room toward the sofa. It had been a rotten day.

First my master's thesis committee had contacted me to schedule a supposedly urgent meeting, but when I arrived at the appointed place, on time, a note on the door just said, "Tom: Sorry, must reschedule. Call me."

So then I went to the university's swimming pool to swim off my frustration with some laps. As an undergraduate I had been on the swim team all four years. As a graduate student, I swim two or three times weekly just to stay in shape and work off frustrations. But when I arrived at the pool, it was filled with people from the community. The university had decided that with the economic downturn, it would open the pool at certain times to anyone and everyone and all their pool toys. I did manage to get a few laps in before the townies with their water play toys overwhelmed me.

The only thing that had a chance of turning out well was I had an appointment with Dr. Lorraine Theriault.

I took a quick shower to get rid of the chlorine odor lingering from the pool water. Then I dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt and headed to Lorraine's.

I arrived promptly and rang the doorbell. Her office was in her home, so there were no signs or other outward indicators of a business presence.

She greeted me with a bright and warm smile. She was wearing a very conservative pantsuit. She had a way of sending subtle sexual signals to me by the clothing she wore at our meetings. If she was wearing a skirt with dark stockings of slacks or a pantsuit, the meeting would likely be all talk, no sex. If she was wearing a skirt with no or sheer stockings, sex was a definite possibility as the meeting progressed.

"Let's go into my office, Tom."

Her demeanor was reminiscent of my first appointment with her. All business. She gestured to the easy chair in front of her desk. She seated herself behind, hiding her gorgeous legs under the desk out of sight, out of mind (well, not completely out of mind). Yet in our first meeting, she had been confident and clearly in control. Now, today, she seemed a bit unsure, maybe uneasy.

"After our last session, I went to my regular appointment with my cardiologist."

Instantly she was acutely aware of the distress her statement had caused me.

"Oh, don't worry. I've had a condition called atrial fibrillation for several years. It's just an irregular heartbeat. It seems to be more common or maybe just more noticed by people as they reach middle age. The condition itself is not the problem as much as the possible secondary effects. I don't really need to go into all the details. A-Fib is often controlled with medication. It has been in my case. There are other, often more permanent treatment options involving radio frequency energy. In my case, the doctor felt that medical control was appropriate."

"So are you telling me that we can't have sex any more because my charged orgasms may hurt you?" I asked rather indelicately.

Her stern expression flashed first to surprise and then to one of reassurance.

"Not at all, Tom. In fact, quite the opposite. I went to my cardiologist for a scheduled checkup after the second or maybe third time we had sex. She noticed a dramatic decrease in my A-Fib, so she reduced my medication. I think she fully expected the A-Fib to worsen. It didn't. When I went back for my next scheduled checkup, the A-Fib had declined even more. That's when she decided to take me off my meds entirely, but she wanted to see me monthly. Of course, you and I have had sex many, many times, but I never made any connection between the lessening of my condition and our sex until the doctor did more comprehensive tests. She said that my A-Fib was gone, and more than that, it was as if I had received the radio frequency treatment that often cures it. That's when it occurred to me that our sex might have been not only exceedingly pleasurable but also therapeutic."

"What did your doctor say when you told her about us?"

"I didn't tell her, Tom. I told you during our first meeting I would never betray your trust."

"Well, I think you should tell her. If we're doing anything that either helps or hurts your health, your doctor and you need to know that."

"Thank you, Tom. I was sure that is what you would say. There is more to this story, but I can't share it with you until after my appointment with her Friday. But just to be clear, you don't object to my telling her everything about our visits and even showing her your records and the videos of our sessions?"

All of Lorraine's examination and treatment rooms are fully wired with concealed audio and video recording equipment. All parts of each room, except the dressing room, shower, and toilets were covered completely. Audio and video recording of her sessions was only done with the client's explicit consent. I had consented early, so each of our sessions had been recorded.

I thought about it for a while. Although Lorraine's treatments had not exactly turned me into an exhibitionist, she had made it much easier for me to be able to both discuss and also display my sexuality, at least with her in her office. Now she was talking about someone else possibly watching me jack off and us fuck. She had always been completely honest with me, and I felt it important to reciprocate now. And yes, I guess I might have been a little excited at the possibility of an unseen third person watching.

"No, Lorraine, I don't mind. Frankly, I have to confess that the thought of someone else watching the two of us together is sort of exciting. Maybe I really am turning into an exhibitionist," I concluded rather tentatively.

"No, Tom, you will never be a flasher. But it is encouraging that you are willing to now be more sexually outgoing and demonstrative. In any event, I'll call you after my Friday appointment. By the way, I assume you are still swimming every Tuesday and Thursday at the university pool?"

"Yeah... well, trying to anyway. But like I said, its getting more and more crowded since they opened the pool up to the townspeople."

"Mm-hmm. And are you still wearing that rather small swimsuit you used to wear when you swam competitively?"

"Yeah, I took your advice and kept wearing it. Why? Do you think I ought to wear something a little more modest?"

"Oh, no, not at all. As long as you're comfortable wearing it, you have nothing to worry about."

With that comment she ushered me toward the door. No sex for us today obviously. Still, just seeing and talking with her had relieved much of my earlier frustration and tension.

I expected to hear from Lorraine on Monday or Tuesday after her Friday appointment, so I was quite surprised when my phone rang on Saturday morning.

"Hello, Tom. I hope I'm not calling too early." It was 8 a.m. and I was only partially awake, but I quickly recognized Lorraine's voice.

"Nah, I had to get up to answer the phone anyway," I replied trying to be cleverly humorous.

"When could we meet at my office to talk?"

Again, no preamble, no small talk, all business.

"Were you thinking next week?" I asked.

"Well, we could wait, but I'd really like to talk with you this weekend if there is any way we could meet."

I looked outside. Pouring rain. No outdoor activities today. I clicked onto the weather on my computer. Rain the entire weekend was forecast.

"This afternoon or tomorrow would be fine," I said.

"I'll see you this afternoon at 1 at my office. And Tom, don't worry. Everything is fine. Actually maybe even better than I had hoped." With that teaser, she hung up.

She greeted me at the front door before I could even ring the bell. She was wearing fashionable jeans and a modest white sleeveless blouse. I had hoped for less. If she noticed my disappointment, she didn't reveal it.

Once we were seated in her office she got right to the point.

"My cardiologist was stunned and quite fascinated when I told her about your 'gift'. She was reluctant to attribute my diminished A-Fib to it, but she could not discount that possibility. After she reviewed your records and after she watched my responses during our sex on the videos, she said that she would like to hook me up to an electrocardiograph and have it recording us while we have sex."

I'd had EKGs before when I was on the swim team. My mind pictured Lorraine with wires and leads and patches all over her body. Call me crazy, but that picture somehow wasn't sexually exciting. I could see the movie title now: Fucking Frankenstein. I told her what I was thinking.

She laughed and said she'd had a similar thought and had expressed her own concerns to the doctor.

"But Tom, she showed me the equipment. It is wireless ... well, at least there are no leads to get tangled up with. The receiver is concealed in a nearby stand, and the information will be sent from there into the adjoining room where Dr. Geiler-Callaghan will be monitoring."

"I guess it will be okay, but what if I can't get it up or keep it up?"

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that, Tom. After all, the -- what should we call it? -- experiment, I guess, will be done here in my office. You seem comfortable here. If you want, you don't even have to see or meet or talk with Dr. Geiler-Callaghan. I think if you did, it would put you at ease, but of course the choice is yours. During our past few months having sex frequently, you seem to have completely overcome your previous barrier."

Her voice turned sultry and seductive.

"And Tom, once we are together alone in the room, I intend to do everything I can to help you bring me to more exquisite and exhausting orgasms. I promise, you will forget all about everything else."

She looked at me with her brown bedroom eyes, and I felt my cock getting hard. She knew the effect her words alone had on me.

"There are a few other things we need to talk about, too.

First, you already know the immediate effect your 'gift' has on me when we have sex. But I've noticed a persistent or lingering after-effect, too. Now I've begun masturbating almost daily, and when I masturbate within a day or two, my orgasms have nearly the same intensity as when we fucked. The their intensity seems to diminish slightly with each passing day. I don't know exactly why. It may be as much emotional as physiological on my part.

I've also noticed that when I masturbate now, I am able to cum much sooner than before we started fucking. Where before it might take me ten or fifteen minutes to orgasm if I was able to at all, I can finger myself off now in just a few minutes if I want to. Being able to cum faster doesn't seem to lessen my orgasm's intensity, though.

And as you know from your own personal experience with me, I can be brought to orgasm just through nipple stimulation. You have become quite adept at that, Tom. Since we have been fucking, my nipple stimulation orgasms during masturbation have also intensified. I am eager to work with you to see if we can determine why your 'gift' seems to linger and intensify my masturbatory orgasms.

Second, Tom, I want to show you some pictures."

She carefully laid out several eight-by-ten photo prints of herself -- head shots only, nothing below the neck.

"Do you notice anything about these, Tom?" she asked.

"Not really, other than they're all of you."

"That's right. Each of these is a frame grab from a camera in a room we're having sex in. The head shot is when I'm walking into the room. Maybe it will help if I tell you these photos cover the entire time we've been having sex."

I studied the photos more carefully. Clearly, there was something she wanted me to notice. About the only thing I could see was that with each successive photo, Lorraine seemed to show slightly increased signs of aging in her face or hair. Reluctantly, I pointed that out to her.

"You're exactly right, Tom, but I've been a little deceptive in the way I put the photos on the table. In fact, the photos are arranged in reverse order. In other words, what you really see is the appearance that since we've been fucking, my aging appears to be reversing. My skin is looking younger, and so is my hair. It's not remarkably noticeable, but it is clearly visible. I didn't notice this; Dr. Geiler-Callaghan did.

I've noticed other physiological and behavioral differences, but of course they don't appear in these photos. One example is that as I become aroused, my vaginal sensitivity and lubrication seem to have returned to their condition of years ago. Now, there's no scientific correlation, but it is nonetheless an interesting observation.

And since I'm talking about Dr. Geiler-Callaghan, I've already told you she is my cardiologist. In fact, she is not only a practicing cardiologist; she is also a research neurocardiologist. That simply means she is interested in the interactions between the brain and nervous system, physiology, and the heart. That makes her the ideal doctor to try and determine the functional nature of your 'gift.'

What I am asking, Tom, is that you, she, and I work very closely together as associates. All the rules of privacy we discussed in our first meeting will still apply unless and until we change them. We will meet only here at my office. We will not meet or socialize or otherwise engage each other outside of this office without prior agreement of all of us. And of course, we will not discuss or reveal anything about our meetings to anyone else without each party's explicit consent.

Tom, I don't expect you to answer today. Think about this over the weekend if you wish. Please feel free to reject this proposal to include Dr. Geiler-Callaghan if you have any concerns about how her involvement might affect your own progress."

Lorraine arose from her chair as if she was going to walk out with me, but I didn't move.

"Lorraine, please sit down so we can finish talking about this," I said. My uncharacteristic assertiveness seemed to surprise her at first, but she returned to her chair. I continued.

"So far, all you've told me is that the doctor will be hooking you up to an EKG and monitoring your heart while we have sex. That might tell her what is happening to your body when we fuck, but it sure doesn't tell her anything about mine. Is there more to this story?"

She seemed momentarily taken aback, but she recovered quickly.

"Yes, Tom, there is, but I would prefer that Dr. Geiler-Callaghan be in the meeting where she and I can explain it to you. You will have more questions than I can answer. Could we set up the meeting for next Thursday, and then if you agree, we can schedule the testing?"

I had no reason not to trust Lorraine. Certainly she had never deceived me or withheld information from me. So I agreed.

"Thank you, Tom."

And with that, she escorted me to the door.

Thursday after my last morning class I went to the university pool to swim. Usually ignoring the townies in the pool was easy, but there was one woman quite some distance away who attracted and held my attention. She was wearing a one-piece swimsuit, not some revealing sex suit, but there was still something very arousing about it. For the first time I could recall, I started getting a hard-on at the pool. I quickly jumped into the pool and did another couple of laps. When I got out, she had already gone. I had only seen her briefly and from a distance, but my hope was she would come to the pool again.

I left the pool, walked home, and showered to get rid of the pool's chlorine smell. Then I headed off to Lorraine's. She greeted me at the door and ushered me toward her office. As we walked, Lorraine asked if I would agree to meet Dr. Geiler-Callaghan personally and talk with her. I had already made up my mind and agreed.

A woman whom I presumed to be the doctor arose to face us as we entered.

"Kim, this is Tom. Tom, this is Dr. Kimberly Geiler-Callaghan, my cardiologist."

I shook her hand as she extended it, and we exchanged polite greetings. Lorraine motioned for us to be seated. Once we were seated, Lorraine again went over the "ground rules" for confidentiality of our meetings. We both readily agreed.

I don't know what I expected Dr. Geiler-Callaghan to look like, but suffice it to say I was not expecting to see a five-foot-four-inch 40-ish woman with long brown hair, freckles on a "cute" face displaying a genuinely friendly smile, a very nice figure and a dancer's legs. Picture a perky 40-something high school cheerleader, and you've got an image of the doctor. She was wearing a perfectly appropriate but extremely well-tailored business suit with a skirt that showed off her legs without being unprofessionally revealing.

But when Dr. Geiler-Callaghan began to speak, she was all business, very professional, without being haughty.