tagErotic CouplingsDoctor of Desire Ch. 10

Doctor of Desire Ch. 10

byLargoKitt©

How To Catch A Mouse

Casey Darden, M. D., sex therapist was having trouble finding the rendezvous with his next appointment. It was in a distant corner of Lynn, down the shore in a part of town that had a pretty crummy reputation. It was also at 2 AM. It was the client's sister who had set up the appointment. OK, she wanted to be discreet. But this was downright clandestine. And wouldn't most places be closing up about now?

Finally, he caught a glimpse of a glow down among the boats in an old boatyard and parked next to them, wandering past old anchors and derricks to an odd-shaped shack with a single blinking blue Pabst sign in the small window.

He expected a rowdy bunch when he pushed in through the peeling red door. But when his eyes got used to the gloom he saw that almost no one was there. A small foursome of geezers in a corner playing poker. A hippie-looking dude at the bar nursing a beer. Where was his client? From her sister's description she wasn't even the kind of person who went to bars.

He asked the bartender, a guy who looked too young and healthy to be working there. But then he noticed the name on his shirt was the same as the place, Mack, as in Mack's Grotto.

"Excuse me, Mack, I was supposed to meet my date here and I am unforgivably late because my GPS puts the Grotto in the middle of the Atlantic. Has a lady been here who got disgusted and stormed out?"

The bartender/owner shook his head.

"Only one gal been in here all night and that's the one in the corner."

He pointed with the glass he was polishing. Casey could see no one on the dark red vinyl banquette. And then the dim light glinted off something.

"Must be her." He shrugged and walked carefully in that direction.

Only when he was a few feet away did he notice a very small person wedged in the corner, arms clamped across her chest; straight drab mouse-brown hair. He couldn't describe what she was wearing.

Cautiously, he approached the booth.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Darden, Casey, Call me Casey. Are you Winnifred?"

He saw her nod imperceptibly.

"May I join you?"

She barely nodded again, wincing.

"Your sister suggested we talk."

Another nod.

"So. She thought it might be a good Idea if I ... worked with you to overcome your shyness and get a little easier with meeting people. You are here, so I guess you are willing to think about the idea. Yes?"

A shrug.

"Or not?"

She twisted her hands together and bit her lower lip.

Casey signaled Mack for a drink. Ordinarily he would have shouted it across the room, but he was wary that Winnifred might bolt.

"I'm going to have a glass of red wine. I'd like it very much if you would join me."

Winnifred made a face.

"Look, it's okay if you never touch a drop. I promise that I have never pushed a woman, or anyone to drink alcohol if they didn't want to. Or are you a "friend of Bill"? I wouldn't think of pushing you to go off the wagon."

A whisper. "S'okay."

"Two merlot's then, Mack."

Casey realized this could be a difficult case. One false move and this client would flutter away.

"So, Winnifred, or do most people call you Winnie, or something else?"

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head firmly.

"Okay, Winnifred, it's late and if you like we can sip our wine, just get to know each other a bit and then meet at some time that is more convenient. Would you like that?"

She shook her head firmly and whispered something.

"Excuse me?" Casey leaned it.

A murmur. "I like the night."

"Okay. I do too, sometimes, and you are the boss in this."

Casey noticed a tiny smile that evaporated quickly.

"No, really. I can suggest things, but you know you best. I'm just here really to help you know, maybe understand, what you like. I can also go away when you are uncomfortable."

Another shake of the head and what almost was a gesture to touch his hand and keep him there.

"I'll stay for now, and here are our drinks. Thanks, Mack. So, how about a toast? 'To Winnifred and whatever adventure she chooses to pursue.'"

"To Winnifred."

Winnifred lifted her glass and mouthed the toast to herself without a sound. Casey noticed that she did not handle the glass like it was poison, or even something alien. She took a sip and set it down, nodding her head.

Casey smiled. "Not too horrible for whatever we could get in this place at two-thirty in the morning. But now I have a suggestion. You are free to shoot it down out of hand. I noticed coming in that there is a nice breeze off the ocean, and it is kind of stuffy in here. There's an old bench overlooking the harbor, and I love the sound of seagulls. If you feel you can trust me, and not otherwise, I suggest we finish our drinks on that bench. Mack can see us from the doorway if you are at all nervous. What do you think?"

Winnifred bit her lip again, but then she nodded.

As they left the bar Casey got the first good look at his new client. She was petite and moved with her shoulders slumped and her head forward, so her roughly cropped hair hung around her face. She walked as though being led to execution, no bounce in her step at all. Meekly she accompanied Casey to the battered bench overlooking the Rumney Marshes. A few lights gleamed in the distance. It wasn't romantic, but at that hour of the morning it was peaceful, if a little damp.

They sat down and Winnifred took one end of the bench, her wine glass held under her chin where she took little sips and stared out at the harbor. Casey didn't try to make conversation. He decided his best approach was to be a bit clinical.

"So, Winnifred, I would like to help you, that is, if you feel you need help. Your sister believes you might benefit from learning to feel better about yourself. But you are not a baby. You have been on this planet about thirty years, right?"

She gave a tiny nod.

"So you have made your choices. I understand you like to live alone; you like to live in this, pardon me, kind of industrial, run-down part of town. Aside from tonight you don't inhabit bars or clubs. You aren't looking for a romantic relationship. You work from home, writing. Your sister says you write advertising copy, good copy, for her company, for products you would never buy. Does that pretty much get it?"

Winnifred nodded and pressed her lips.

"But you are not entirely happy with this life, right?"

She shook her head rapidly.

"So. We will try to do something. Okay."

"Fine."

She actually turned to look at him and pasted on a smile for a moment. Though it was a phony smile it was pretty and changed her face.

Casey shook his head.

"I know you didn't really mean it, but that was a very nice smile. I hope you know it gives you power. But that's up to you. I'd like to suggest just one thing tonight. I feel that you are holding a lot of stress in your body; in your neck and shoulders, your back, even your legs..."

She seemed to shrink away, and Casey could tell that she was afraid he would touch her. So he told her, point blank.

"I don't intend to touch you. But I would like to help you gain a little more confidence by relaxing. It seems backwards, but if you are all tensed up you are in a worse position to protect yourself than if you are relaxed. So if you have finished your drink I would have you put it down and just sit quietly. I will sit over here. Focus your gaze in the distance, maybe on that light on the seawall. If any of this makes you uncomfortable enough to leave, just leave.

"Now. Let's relax. Both feet flat on the ground, but toward the back of the bench, hands on your knees, palms up or down; that's up to you. Back straight but not stiff. Tuck in your tummy just a bit, but don't worry about it. Imagine a string lifting your head from the middle of the top. Now let's breathe. In, two, three, four, out, two three four, in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. Just keep up that pattern, Feel your breath on your upper lip. In ... out. In ... out. Good. Now if it feels right you can extend the count."

Casey had anticipated some resistance, but Winnifred pretty much acted as though he were not there. Bit by bit her shoulders dropped down and back, her head lifted, her face smoothed out a bit. Casey just did the same; but while Winnifred seemed awake and alert, he found himself nodding off.

He snapped awake to find her grimacing; holding onto her knees with white knuckles and breathing hard.

"OH, GOD!"

A shudder shook her whole body and then she slumped next to him.

"Winifred? Are you alright? I'm sorry. Are you in pain? If I had known that you suffered from a difficult or painful condition, I never ... Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head hard.

"No. No. Not your fault, or ... thank you, I was so relaxed. I have to go."

"Okay. Fine. And we can call it off, or ... It's up to you."

"K. Text me. Try again."

She grabbed at her purse and without looking at him, scooted off into the night. It was as if she had never been there, except for one small thing. On the bench where she had been sitting was a small damp spot.

Casey shook his head.

"Maybe she didn't dare go to the ladies room. Or?"

He drove home very slowly and carefully that night. Puzzling over the mystery of this critically shy woman kept him awake.

She texted him three days later.

"My place. 9PM. 347 Harbor Way, Apt 3B.

W"

He arrived on time this time. A commercial building in an industrial area with a pizza place on the ground floor. Closed. Probably served only breakfast and lunch. Offices above that looked vacant. Lights behind curtains on the top floor. She buzzed him in and he walked up two flights to her place. She unlocked the door, but then he heard her scoot away after opening it a crack.

"Please stay there in that room. There's wine."

There was. A bottle of good St. Emillion on a little table next to a comfortable wing-back chair. Some crunchy crackers and a very soft, fragrant brie.

A voice came from the other room. It was louder, bolder but somehow more mechanical than Winnifred's voice. Casey realized he was listening to a computerized voice reading a text. It was almost a woman's voice, but a deep alto.

"Please make yourself comfortable there, if you don't mind. I am more comfortable if I can stay here while you are there. But, do you need to use the bathroom?"

Casey heard Winnifred tap a key. He called out.

"I'm fine for now. I'll let you know."

The machine began again.

"Okay, then, I want to explain myself a little. You are sort of here under false pretenses. See, my sister Janine thinks I hate men, or am deathly afraid of them, probably because she thinks I hate sex. I can understand why she might think that way, because I do hide out here, and I don't date. For a while I think she thought I was a lesbian, because I kept shooting down her suggestions of guys I could date."

Casey heard a funny mix of sound. The computer was continuing, but competing with it was a series of sharp breaths, growing in intensity. Sometimes a small moan. The furniture rattled.

"But see, my story is (ah oh) so awkward and embarrassing that (oo yes) I can't share it with anyone. (ah ah ah) I am to embarrassed to see therapists (oh yes, here it comes) because of these episodes that keep happening no matter what. (Oh yes! Oh yes! Ah!)"

Winifred was quiet for a bit as the computer continued.

"I am rarely more than a few minutes, maybe an hour or so away from having an orgasm. I'm not really like those people who have uncontrollable orgasms to the point where they are painful. My urges are different. Sometimes they are quick, sort of like a sneeze. Sometimes they are more like you really need a cup of coffee, a smoke, or a hot dog. I just need to get it or I am very nervous or cranky. Sometimes I have to "chain-bate" five or ten times to get it out of my system. Sometimes it's like going on a bender or getting stoned. I lose whole days, weekends. One time it was almost a week and I slept for two-and-a-half days afterward."

"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh god!" Panting.

"Of course I tried having partners. My sister Janine doesn't know, because there was no way I could tell her about it. I found a kind of biker-stoner guy who loved the idea of constant sex. He lasted a month. I kind of used him up. Then I did find a woman who said she loved sex. It was like too much ice cream. She literally got tired of pussy, pussy, pussy and never getting enough sleep. So. I take care of myself. I can't even be a hooker because I can't be bothered to wait for what a man wants."

A low moaning had begun and just went on and on. It rose a little in intensity and then subsided. It was a deep haunting sound that penetrated to the root of Casey's balls. It was so needy, so hungry, a touch of lonely child, a dose of ancient siren luring sailors to their doom. Over this the recording continued.

Casey sipped his wine.

"I decided to make my life possible by controlling it a little. Like a smoker trying to quit I parceled out my sessions. I promised myself I could have a good strong one after working. I could get in an hour at my desk that way and the tension built up nicely. I could run out and get a few supplies holding it in, sometimes crossing my legs tightly to squelch it, though sometimes it just exploded and I had to "relieve myself" in the Ladies room or the car. I knew I could meet with you, but to be honest, I had two little orgasms waiting for you and one strong one out on the bench. But normal meetings and such are almost impossible because I never know when they will hit and hit hard; or if they will just take over."

"I gave myself a regimen. Specific times to eat, to work, to exercise, to nap. And other times to tease myself or fuck myself silly. If I keep calm but focused I can decide what I will do when. I have lots of toys: ben wa balls, a pocket rocket, WeVibe, several rabbits, Hitachi wand, giant massager, skinny dildos, thick dildos, cone dildos, one that squirts, butt plugs, a dagger-saw fitted out with a dildo, a rocking chair mechanical dildo, and yes, a Sybian. I plan my "meals". It almost works."

The computer went silent, but Winifred was not. It was obvious that she could not and would not stop her body from doing what it wanted. She was her own lover and she was giving herself exactly what she needed. But still, Casey heard the longing in her voice, a deep need pulling him in.

"Oh yes! Oh yeees, that is so good, so so good. Just there, oh yes, just there. Yes, yes. Keep going. Oh more, oh yes more, oh please more..."

Casey kept himself clamped to the chair. He wanted to remain clinical, but his basic instincts had kicked in. He had a painful hard-on and it begged to do its job.

"Breathe," he told himself. "Just breathe and hear the woman's story and figure out a way to help."

The sounds from the other room were fierce now and rhythmic. Clearly she was rocking herself nice and hard. And her voice was low and raw, deep and urgent like a blues song for a lost lover. The whole room was charged with her sex. He heard the feet of the bed dancing, the headboard squeaked with a regular beat. Winifred's body rubbed the sheets with a steady rustle. Her vulva was so wet and the lapping sounds came in waves. Between moans her breath rasped, almost angry, struggling to reach her goal. She was surging toward climax and fighting it at the same time, riding it, milking the beautiful pain. He had never heard someone so deep in her own pleasure.

But then her tone changed. She wasn't just feeling it. She was begging for what she couldn't get.

"Oh yes, now. I want it. I want you. Please! I need you now. Oh where are you! I need you in me now. Come, come, please come. Oh no, oh no. I'm losing it. Where are you? Where are you? I need you here, right now. Please put your cock in me very, very deep. Please. Oh, yes, I really need a thick cock, please. Come here. Come here. Come!"

Casey gripped the arms of the chair. What should he do? She had exiled him to this hall. Should he ignore her, like Ulysses and the Sirens? Or had she changed her mind? He was so hard. His balls were blue.

"Come! Come in me now! COME!"

Casey jumped up and rushed into the other room. It was a beautiful space, with an Indian shamiana tent suspended from the ceiling in bright colors with small mirrors studding the fabric. Glowing Tiffany lamps. Candles. And Winnifred splayed out on a deep blue bed, her body like vintage ivory in the soft light. She was not still. Every muscle was tense, her face a mask of beautiful agony. Her left hand pinched a nipple tight. A gold butt plug discreetly filled her ass. And her right hand furiously jammed a thick slick red dildo in and out of her hungry vulva with a liquid melody.

"Fuck me! Fuck meee!" She screamed, locking eyes with Casey for a moment. He fumbled with his zipper. And then her eyes turned up in her head. Her hips thrust up hard against the dildo, spilling around it. Casey felt himself let go strongly, holding onto the bedpost for support. Winnifred collapsed into a bundle and her ragged breath slowly smoothed into sleep. Casey, pants a mess, stood gazing at her sleeping face and was amazed by how beautiful she was.

What was he going to do? How could he help her?

Casey went into Winnifred's elegant marbled bathroom and cleaned himself up. A jacuzzi with multiple jets. A shower with pulsating jets from several angles. This must have taken hours of dedicated work. What had Winnifred been doing while this playroom was installed? Did the plumber and the tile guy get an unexpected 'payment' for their beautiful work?

Casey went back to the bedroom and draped a sheet over Winifred's beautiful sleeping body. This glowing creature with the blush of orgasm still on her cheeks and breasts was a different organism from the slumped grey being he had met in the bar. Her figure was properly curvy, with high, round breasts capped by puffy lavender nipples. Delicate hair curled around her sex. A sculpted belly. She must work out.

He found a chair and set himself to puzzling out how he might help her. The computer screensaver glowed; a pink angelic face that opened its eyes and mouth in surprise and then drifted off to sleep again. Over and over. Winnifred's joke on herself. Usually he was hired to spark sexuality in a woman. But this one had more than she probably wanted. Should he just report back to her sister that, 'after a thorough examination and interview he had concluded that no intervention was necessary? The subject, while exploring various alternatives to heterosexual vaginal intercourse, had an active and fulfilling sex life.'"

Still, something was ticking at the back of his brain. There were two problems to solve: First, she might have a physical condition that made her sexual urges uncontrollable. Second, she might have a psychological issue that triggered these urges. One the one hand, she was avoiding close contact with other people. On the other hand, she was focusing her life on sex.

He wondered if he could lead Winnifred toward accepting something that she clearly was not getting. He had an inkling of what it was. Intimacy. Despite all her great toys and her schedule of virtually non-stop sex, she didn't have companionship. She didn't have that great feeling of someone who knows your body and cares about it; someone who listens for your needs; someone to laugh with in bed.

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