Dennis Inn

EverybodyWantsSome: Doc, I was hoping you'd have an opening for me (pun intended) this afternoon. I'm low on cash right now, but I was hoping I could pay in kind. Just leave your panties at the office.

bored_and_old: You're in luck because I absolutely accept payment in kind. Exclusively, in fact. This afternoon is tricky, however. I have some work-life balance issues (i.e., children) that require me to depart the office - with panties on - in about an hour. I doubt I could squeeze you in (pun intended) while giving your case the attention it deserves.

EverybodyWantsSome: I doubt I'll still be in danger tomorrow, but it should never get to this point again, so I'll need your services as soon as possible. You've gotta keep my cock hard and my balls drained, doc. I will make sure your pussy stays wet and well licked/fucked. Have to keep my account out of arrears.

bored_and_old: You are correct. We must remain vigilant about frequent ball drainings in order to avoid disaster. I have full confidence in your ability to keep your account up to date, although I am willing to provide services on a contingency basis for a deserving patient such as yourself. Shall we work out a payment plan?

EverybodyWantsSome: Yes, let's work on a payment plan. What did you have in mind? I can give you orgasms or cum or both.

bored_and_old: Both, please!

My pricing structure is quite simple. I provide a standard service package that I consider necessary for treatment, but I strongly encourage you to modify the program at your discretion to suit your individualized needs. Each time you experience an orgasm as a result of therapy, I will expect to be treated in appropriate cumslut fashion. In addition, I will require you to provide me with orgasms on a one-to-one basis, although you may certainly opt to exceed the minimum and receive a credit on your account.

If that payment plan is agreeable to you, perhaps we should discuss the details of the type of treatment program you think would provide you with the maximum therapeutic value?

EverybodyWantsSome: I find your plan to be more than agreeable. I am especially amenable to treating you as my cumslut. Consider it done! My only condition is that you bring the dildo. I don't currently own one.

Now, as to the treatment plan with the most therapeutic value. I believe a standard program of you worshiping my cock and balls with full payment in cum followed by a dildo assisted fucklicking and 69 until you have as many orgasms as you can stand followed by me fucking you as long as I can hold out before emptying my balls in your mouth again ought to do the trick. Does this meet with your professional approval? I can modify that last one by filling your pussy with cum and then having you lick me clean, if you prefer. Or a 69 mutual cleaning where you lick my cock clean and I lick your pussy clean.

bored_and_old: Okay, the dildo order has been placed. Free one-day shipping! I can record this as a business expense on my tax return, right?

I must say that your proposed therapeutic regimen meets with my most enthusiastic approval. On a professional level, of course.* As to your last point, I am amenable to any and all of those alternatives. Treatment may necessitate multiple sessions in order to thoroughly explore and compare the therapeutic value of all such variations on cum-filled orifices and licking clean of cock and pussy. Is a longer-term treatment plan acceptable to you? If so, I believe sessions should commence as soon as possible in order to prevent any further danger of SBES. We will need to identify a mutually agreeable appointment time and location as my practice does not yet have a physical office - it's been an exclusively internet-based operation thus far and I would only consider expanding my business model for the most valued of patients.

*Also on the level that I am going to masturbate tonight.

EverybodyWantsSome: I think the course of treatment we've agreed upon will work very well. Any suggestions for time/location of appointments? In order to avoid SBES I will need you to swallow a LOT of my cum, so frequent appointments will probably be necessary. I'm glad you ordered the dildo! That means between my tongue, the dildo and my cock we should be able to give your pussy a thorough workout, thus ensuring the payment plan stays up to date. I would prefer to maintain a credit on my account by giving you lots of orgasms. Time to move your practice from online to brick and mortar. Or more accurately, pussy and cock. Cock in pussy? Cock in mouth and pussy?

bored_and_old: Frequent cock in mouth and pussy appointments would be ideal from a therapeutic perspective. With regard to scheduling, would you prefer daytime appointments only or do you have evening/weekend availability? I work at my "day job" until 5pm on weekdays and it should be possible to see a patient on my "lunch break" sometimes. Other than that, I could generally work you into an opening after 8pm or so most days, with more flexibility on weekends. Location is trickier. Perhaps a logical first step would be to establish our approximate geographic proximity to one another?

EverybodyWantsSome: I work in the Pine Lakes area, so I'm not sure how that affects your availability for lunchtime therapy. I'm usually at work until about 5:30 to 6:00. Weekends and evenings would be very tough.

bored_and_old: My office is only a few miles from there, near Stringman Park. Funny that we're so close! Daytime appointments should be easy to manage.

EverybodyWantsSome: So we have the when and the general location settled. Now we need to figure out the exact location of our therapy sessions. Any thoughts?

bored_and_old: Well...I'll concede this round of "let's fuck" chicken and ask if you're actually serious about meeting?

EverybodyWantsSome: I am serious about meeting. Doesn't mean I won't chicken out at the last minute, but yeah.

bored_and_old: Here's the thing...Well, there are many things. We have a good rapport online, but that says very little about how we'll interact in person. If you're expecting to meet some confident, seductive sex goddess who will immediately drop to her knees, you're going to be disappointed. What you'll get is a human who is awkward, nervous, and wondering WTF she was thinking. And probably kind of sweaty. I definitely need sex to explicitly not be the plan, at least the first time. No way could I handle that kind of pressure.

EverybodyWantsSome: Does that mean a blow job is out of the question? ;)

Seriously, I get it, and I am likely to be even more awkward than you are if we meet in person. I think that should that happen, we should absolutely take any expectation of sex off the table for that first meeting. I mean unless you just can't help yourself and find yourself uncontrollably sucking my cock. I totally wouldn't stop you from doing that.

bored_and_old: If I find myself uncontrollably sucking your cock, you have my permission not to stop me. Although we'd probably be in a public place, so things could get a bit sticky - and not in the happy fun way - if someone called the cops.

So we're agreed sex is off the table. Any other conditions? Do you still want to meet or are you having second thoughts?

EverybodyWantsSome: I always have second thoughts, but that's nothing new. Where would we meet?

bored_and_old: A coffee shop? Like regular people meeting each other? Maybe Cleo's across from Stringman Park? Do you know where that is?

EverybodyWantsSome: Okay, that works. Now I just have to show up. The rest of this week is pretty busy, but I should be able to make it work sometime next week.

bored_and_old: No pressure whatsoever. If you want to show up, I should be able to meet you any day next week. We can have a simple, friendly, awkward conversation. Regular friends talking about regular, non-blowjob related stuff. Completely non-threatening.

November 2016

Neither of us brought up the idea of meeting again until the following month. The tipping point was a trip he and his wife took for their 10^th anniversary. He planned the whole thing. Made reservations at a bed and breakfast in the mountains. Enlisted his parents to watch the kids. He saw it as a chance to reconnect by spending time together without distractions - much of that time in bed, ideally.

EverybodyWantsSome: It was a very nice weekend, beautiful weather, amazing scenery, very pleasant time spent together. But, there was something missing...can't quite put my finger on it...oh, yeah, that's right...

NO FUCKING, THAT'S WHAT!

So, how was your weekend?

bored_and_old: Oh no, so sorry to hear that! Why no sex? A pleasant time, but not exactly the romantic getaway you were hoping for?

My weekend was fine, uneventful. Book club meeting, play date for the kids, also no sex.

EverybodyWantsSome: She was obviously uninterested and avoiding the subject. She might have done it if I'd pushed, but I didn't want sex I had to beg for.

I don't know...call me old-fashioned, but I like my romantic getaways to include, you know, actual romance.

I guess I can take some perverse pleasure in validating to myself that the standard line about why women don't want to fuck their husbands is total bullshit and excuse making. Choreplay, date nights and romantic getaways don't do a fucking thing to make your wife more interested in you sexually. Either she has it, or she doesn't. Nothing will change that.

I'm resigned at this point. I know she'll never want me the way I need her to.

bored_and_old: I'm sorry. I'm sort of there from the other side. I just don't feel that spark for my husband anymore and fuck if I know how to get it back. I can blame it on him and say he's a selfish lover, but maybe that's all just a copout. Maybe I should have pushed more early on instead of accepting things the way he wanted them. Maybe I deserve some of the blame for closing myself off. I don't know. I only know I can't fix it and I can't make myself want to fix it. I'm just done. I'll never be sexually satisfied with my husband. Does that mean I'll never be sexually satisfied, ever? Seems like a pretty harsh life sentence.

EverybodyWantsSome: More like a death sentence. Or a long, slow withdrawal. As we've discussed, though, there are no viable alternatives.

bored_and_old: I think we've discussed some pretty enticing alternatives...

You know all you have to do is say the word and I'm yours. You fucking own me.

My stomach lurched as I stared at the words I'd just typed, my finger hovering over the mouse where the cursor rested on "submit." It was a truth I had only just realized. Somehow over the months of chatting, even though we'd never met, even though I had no idea what he looked like for fuck's sake, things had intensified to the point that He. Fucking. Owned. Me. The real me, not the fantasy role play version. I wouldn't call it love. How could I? Could I even properly call it lust? Is it possible to lust after a collection of words on a screen? He could be morbidly obese, bald, reek of body odor, have crooked teeth (or no teeth) for all I knew. But part of me knew it didn't matter. He could be all of those things on the outside, but thanks to the mind inside I would still drop to my knees and worship his cock if he asked me to.

I pushed out of my office chair and stood, turning to face the window as though seeking answers somewhere outside. Outside myself, because I knew this was all in my mind. The lines had blurred between fantasy and reality. The heat rising in my face, the fullness in my chest, the ache in my nipples straining against the fabric of my bra, the tingle in my groin that made me squeeze my thighs together - these were caused not by a man typing on a computer somewhere out in the world, but by a phantom I'd created. Reading between the lines, spinning text into a web of subtext until it was sturdy enough to hold me. I repeated these things to myself furiously: It's not him. You don't know him.

On the sidewalk outside my office window a woman passed by pushing a stroller. The stroller's occupant was mostly shielded from view under a shade, but two tiny sneaker-clad feet poked out at the bottom, kicking rhythmically together, then apart...together...apart.

What was I doing? I couldn't send that message. I sat back down and grabbed the mouse, shifted the cursor from "submit" to "cancel," and clicked decisively.

It took less than an hour before I caved and replied to his message. I changed the subject to something innocuous, shared an anecdote about a quirky coworker, but I couldn't maintain silence. Whatever this was, I couldn't give it up. I was weak. I was terrified.

There was one thing that might help, I thought, but it was a risk. We had to meet for coffee. Have a simple, platonic chat. I'd see that he was a real person, just a guy, not a fantasy. We probably wouldn't even have chemistry in person. We'd both be nervous and awkward, maybe wouldn't have much to say to each other away from the freeing anonymity of the internet. The tension between us that had grown unbearable of late would dissipate without the anticipatory thrill of possibility and the wild, boundless potential of the unknown. The next day I laid it out.

bored_and_old: Let's finally meet for coffee. That's it, just coffee and awkward conversation. How is Cleo's at 10 tomorrow?

EverybodyWantsSome: I've been waffling on the whole meeting you thing. I love a good awkward conversation as much as the next guy, but you know what they say, awkward conversation always leads to fucking. On the other hand, awkward conversation can lead to fucking...

bored_and_old: Like I said, it would be awkward conversation only. Most definitely no fucking. What are your concerns? Please be honest.

EverybodyWantsSome: My concerns have nothing to do with you. I'm not afraid of being disappointed or bothered by awkward conversation. My entire life has been one long awkward conversation. I just can't figure out whether I can live with myself as a cheating douchebag. I mean, sure, it's just coffee and conversation, but the subtext is that we'd be meeting because we really want to see if we want to fuck each other. I'm not afraid of meeting you and finding out you aren't what I hoped you'd be. Nope, I'm afraid of meeting you and finding out that, yes, I really do want to fuck you. Based on our interaction here, if there's any physical chemistry between us at all, next thing you know, we'd be filming our own amateur porn and become minor internet stars.

Basically, it's a case of feeling awful about myself if we do end up fucking, and feeling tons of regret if we don't.

Then again, it's just a fucking cup of coffee, right?

bored_and_old: Okay, let's consider the possibilities logically (this should really be in flow chart form, but the PM platform doesn't lend itself to that):

1. We don't meet. Things continue as they are.

2. We meet and there's no chemistry.

2a. Things continue as they are.

2b. It's so awkward that we cease all contact.

2c. We decide to be platonic friends and maybe continue to have the occasional coffee.

3. We meet and there's chemistry.

3a. We decide not to act on it. See 2a-c for potential results.

3b. We fuck. It's terrible. See 2a-c for potential results (probably 2b), with bonus guilt and regret.

3c. We fuck. It's awesome. We have a torrid affair (NO FILMING, though!). Maybe at some point one of us decides we can't live with the guilt and ends it, or maybe it just runs its course.

Anything else you'd add?

It comes down to a risk-benefit analysis. Option 1 is clearly the least risky. If we meet we don't actually get to choose between 2 and 3, but let's say they're equally likely. Should option 2 occur, I'd be disappointed about 2b but cool with the others. So there's a slightly higher risk and slightly higher potential benefit if the result is 2c. (Speaking for myself, of course; I don't know if platonic friendship would even interest you.) Option 3 is high risk, obviously.

EverybodyWantsSome: You should definitely do this sort of thing for a living. The analysis, not the sexy messaging. Well, that, too, especially if the money is good.

I'd say you nailed it. I'm cool with Options 2a, 2c and 3a. To a lesser extent, Option 1. Option 3 would be amazing, except that there's just no way it would end well for both of us. Somehow somebody, or somebodies, will get hurt.

I'm no closer to making a decision, however.

Hard to tell from this exchange and previous ones, but I'm actually, usually, a pretty decisive guy.

bored_and_old: It seems like you would rather meet than not meet as long as the outcome was positive and didn't involve fucking. The obvious solution in my mind is to meet for coffee and, regardless of chemistry, not fuck. Subtext eliminated. We get to be PM and coffee buddies, and no one gets hurt. Win-win. If you're worried about temptation, I promise not to seduce you.

EverybodyWantsSome: I'm not accusing you of having some secret agenda to lure me into your den of sin so you can seduce me because of my irresistible sexiness. That notwithstanding, I just have to figure out if being in-person PM and coffee buddies crosses some line that being PM buddies doesn't already cross.

bored_and_old: Well, you have until tomorrow at 10 to figure it out. I will be there either way.

I was there 15 minutes early the next day, perched on a high stool at the counter along the front window so I could watch the parking lot. I clutched my peppermint mocha with both hands and my right leg bounced nervously. I'd told him I'd be wearing a red sweater. It was an open cardigan draped loosely over the shoulders of my dress - black and white floral print with a bust-hugging bodice and flared skirt in a retro swing style. I knew he was a breast man and my cleavage was looking fairly impressive if I did say so myself. The thought occurred to me that maybe I looked like I was trying too hard, especially after the promise not to seduce him, and I drew the sides of the cardigan together to cover myself.

My panic grew as the minutes passed. My heart racing, my breathing rapid, my stomach churning, my hand shaking visibly around the cup. I tried to take deep, steadying breaths. I tried to come up with a calming inner dialog, but my mind was chaos. I drank my coffee in tiny, nervous sips.

I nearly choked on the latest sip when the silver Jeep Wrangler he'd told me he'd be driving pulled into the lot and parked. Adrenaline flooded my veins and I had to fight the urge to run out the back door. Instead I froze and watched him exit the car. He was an average middle-aged guy. Average height and build (5'10", 165 pounds, he'd said). Light brown hair cut short and greying slightly at the temples. Black dress pants and an olive green windbreaker. He turned to look at the coffee shop, squinting in the sunlight. Or was it an expression of doubt? He didn't move forward. His eyes swept across the door and along the front window, halting when they met mine. I saw the recognition there, saw them widen slightly. My stomach lurched. My chest contracted. Blood rushed to my face. His lips quirked in a wry smile and I felt mine curve in response, stretching my cheeks involuntarily wide.