Dr. Chloe Burrell, Sex Researcher

"I was happy for them to publish that one," Chloe said, relaxing. "I'm eager to contribute to the science that could help improve people's sexual lives. It's such an important part of a relationship, but our society really manages to screw up and denigrate so much of what should be a normal, healthy part of everyone's lives. If science can figure out what's going on in the brain during arousal and orgasm, maybe we can devise interventions that can help people get back to enjoying satisfying lives."

It was a prepared speech that she had at the ready for explaining her work to journalists, lay audiences, high school advanced placement students touring the lab.

He had such pretty eyes!

"You don't have to sell me on the importance of your work, Chloe. I hope to be able to make a positive impact in improving people's lives myself," Rick said, smiling at her.

"I'm so happy to hear you say that, Rick. I have been so nervous about showing you what we need to have recorded for the next phase of the research."

He looked interested. He rubbed his chin for a moment.

"It's written in the language and idiom meant specifically to cause sexual arousal for a female research subject. Do you know of the research work involving language protocols when doing sexuality research with human subjects?" Chloe's palms had started to sweat.

"You mean the findings that natural language for subjects as a means to minimize their embarrassment or concerns in the lab?" Rick leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Yes. We had to cover that as part of counseling session good practice."

"I am being so silly, Rick. You know about my research. You're about to get a doctorate in psychology. Forgive me for being nervous but, well, no matter all the polite, scientific spin we can put on this—and believe me, I want nothing except pure scientific professionalism in my work—the words you'll be reading into the recorder down in the studio are, um . . . it's just so . . . well--"

"Explicit?" Rick saved her from more stumbling in embarrassment trying to describe the story she had written.

He smiled reassuringly. "I kind of figured, when I learned more about your research, that I would be reading something pretty steamy."

He grinned at her look of relief.

"Yes. I think I can handle it," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"Rick, the fact that you're being so understanding about this makes me wish the small amount the lab can afford to pay for you to record this for us were at least ten times more," Chloe said earnestly. "We can't use our own students for this, and you can imagine the potential delicate situations that would be created by asking any colleague to do it."

Rick raised his hand to cut short Chloe's tortured explanations. "Yes, I can just imagine," he laughed. "Say no more."

She handed him a manila envelope. "You might want to read it ahead of time. But don't practice! We just need a natural sounding male voice. The content is tailored for specific sexual arousal triggers for the particular research subject who will listen to the story as we run an fMRI on her."

There. It was done. Rick had Chloe's story in his hands.

"So the recording session is set for tomorrow evening at 8 PM, right?" he asked.

"Yes," Chloe answered, tossing her head backward to move a shock of hair away from her eyes.

(The move lengthens and exposes the female's neck, according to the evolutionary psychologists who study human mating behavior. This universal sexual signal of interest and availability was something Chloe had also studied. Knowing about it was part of her research, but she did it now unconsciously. She wanted him!)

"Just one thing, Chloe," Rick said, rising from his chair.

Chloe tensed.

"Why do you need an accent for this reading?"

She was caught off guard. The accent ploy required no explanation for Dr. Shropshire—she would assume Chloe's research was targeting some aspect of the neuroscience of second language acquisition or any of a dozen other potential plausible topics. She hadn't thought through her subterfuge enough to have planned an answer for Rick.

"Accent? Oh. I'm sorry, I guess I haven't explained that, have I?" Chloe responded, stalling for time as she cast about for an answer that would not reveal her ulterior motives in having selected Rick. "Well, it's just that," and her gaze fell on the spine of a book on the shelf behind Rick's head—"Language as Metaphor" was the title—and she had her answer, "it's just that this particular research subject has a thing for Latin men, and since we're trying to induce orgasm routed initially through the auditory control centers, I thought a Latin accent would be most appropriate."

He didn't look entirely convinced.

"So. Busted. I admit that when I went through the subject's interview history and remembered her statements about this preference, I immediately thought of you, having remembered our conversation after that time I spoke to your class."

Chloe toed the carpet nervously. She tilted her head down slightly as she looked at him, her expression begging him to say it was okay.

Rick let out a hearty laugh. Chloe melted.

"Just as I said in my email, Chloe," he answered. "This is the first time my accent has ever gotten me a job!"

***

Chloe had a restless night. She could not shut down the lines of thought that coursed through her mind as she lay in bed.

What had he thought when he read the story? Had he been turned off by it? Shit!

Even more unsettling (at least in terms of getting some sleep): Had he been turned on by it? Shit!

Chloe sat upright in her bed as a thought came to her, unbidden from her subconscious.

What if it turned him on so much that he masturbated to it? Georgia would. Chloe HAD! Oh, my sweet mother of everything holy, thought Chloe. What if Rick was at this very instant stroking his hard cock as he re-read Chloe's story?

The pit of her stomach clenched at the thought. What if her words had aroused Rick to the point that he had to stroke himself to an ejaculation as he read (and re-read) the story?

The mental image would not leave her. Chloe got wet thinking that maybe the man she hoped she would have the chance to get to know much, much better had been so turned on by her story that he was masturbating right now. Maybe the scenario she created in "His Woman Delights Him" got Rick so hot, so horny, so desperate to come that he had to wrap his fist around his naked, stiff dick and stroke himself to an orgasm.

Would he be sitting at his desk at home, her print-out propped up in front of him as he sat nude in a chair before it, fisting his cock? How big was his cock? Would he moan when he spurted?

Or would he be lying in his bed, pleasuring himself to the memory of the story, to what Simone did to Trent?

What would have turned him on the most about the story?

Would Chloe ever get the chance to ask him these things?

Would it be mutual masturbation if she played with herself right now imagining that Rick was doing the same?

It did not matter what it would be called. Chloe spread her legs, moved her hand to her naked crotch, and brought herself to a satisfying orgasm with the mental image of Rick, naked as he sat reading her story and stroking his stiff dick until he came, shooting spurts of white cum up onto his sexy chest.

Only then did Chloe get any sleep.

The next day was incredibly frustrating. Chloe botched several attempts at an analysis run, always forgetting to do some little thing that would have normally been second nature to her. She was as skittish as a new-born colt, distracted by everything, concentrating on nothing.

Damn! Would 8 PM never come?!

Finally, 7:30 PM did, and Rick knocked on her office doorjamb, leaning slightly inside as he did so.

"Chloe?"

Her skittishness, anxiousness, butterflies—everything combined—meant she jerked with a startle response that came from nowhere. "Oh, Rick! Sorry—I guess I was pretty engrossed in this print-out."

There WAS print-out on the desk in front of her. Engrossed in it? Hardly! Nervous beyond measure at what the evening would bring? Absolutely.

"I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be to give this a shot," Rick said, stepping into her office.

Chloe rose from her chair. She had agonized over what to wear (even moreso than what she had put herself through in advance of Rick's visit yesterday) and had finally decided it would be best to send no overt signals. The atmosphere would be charged enough as Rick read her story out loud into the mic in the little studio. Those were close quarters, though the recording booth was separated by a glass window from the digital recording station and soundscaping equipment on the other side.

Thank god Chloe needed no technician to do this job. She had booked the time for the studio, picked up the key before the Psych Department administrative assistant left for the day, and would be the only person with Rick in the studio.

As they walked to the elevator, Rick carrying the manila envelope in his hand, he asked, "Chloe, there won't be anyone around while I'm doing this, will there? I mean, I'm happy to do this for you, I really am, but, well, anyone else around hearing me read this—it might make me nervous and spoil the recording, you know?"

"No one but us, Rick," she answered, placing her hand on his arm briefly and drawing them to a stop in front of the elevator.

The hallway was empty.

"We're very sensitive to everything connected to this research, and that includes your wonderful assistance, Rick. There does have to be a recording engineer to run the console during the recording and to check for volume spikes and the like, but that's something I've done several times over the years. I thought it best that I be the engineer in order to save you from having yet another pair of ears hear you read the story."

The elevator door slid open and they stepped inside.

"Was that a good assumption?" she asked, punching the button for the basement, worried that it was not.

Rick swallowed hard and fidgeted, fingering the envelope for a moment before answering. "Yeah, that was definitely the right thing to do." He dropped his hands to his side, the envelope grazing against his pants in the process. "It's just that, well . . ." He leaned against the wall of the elevator and blew out a breath between pursed lips. The elevator ground to a stop, and the doors slid open to the basement of the building.

Rick pushed himself forward from the wall of the elevator and stepped next to Chloe as they exited into the hallway. Her stomach was churning in worry. What was he going to say?

"Chloe, this story. Well, I know you told me not to practice reading it, but I did."

She looked at him quizzically as they walked toward the recording studio.

"You see, I had to practice it. The first time I read it, well, it . . . it . . . oh, damn it to hell!" He stopped in his tracks, chewed at his lower lip for a moment, and then looked at the floor when he said, "Reading that story really got to me, Chloe, and I'm worried that I'll do a bad job of this. It was almost impossible to read this thing"—Rick raised the envelope and gestured with it—"and not stumble over the words or have my voice get caught in my throat, or," and he finally looked at her, "or just have to stop and settle down for a minute because the story . . . oh, god, how do I say this? . . . because this story turns me on so much!"

Chloe blinked twice. She hoped it hid the mixture of relief and happiness in her face. Chloe was ecstatic at what Rick had just admitted.

She laid a hand on his arm and said, "Don't worry, Rick. That's what the recording equipment is for. We can edit the recording every which way from Sunday no matter how many times you have to stop and start."

"I know all that, Chloe," Rick said as they resumed walking to the studio. "That's not what I meant by being worried about all of this."

Arriving at the studio door, Chloe unlocked it and ushered them inside. They were alone in the cramped space of the control room. Rick put his hand on Chloe's shoulder. "Sit down for just a minute and let me explain," he said. "I know I must have you thinking I am some kind of idiot."

Far from it, thought Chloe, but she let Rick have his say.

"Chloe, this story arouses me. THAT'S what I'm worried about. I want to help you with your research, but I also want you to think about me as a guy you might like to, well, you know, might like to go out with sometime," he said hopefully, looking into her eyes as she sat in the old, rickety chair that was swivelled around to face him from its place in front of the console. "And here I come tonight, not able to do this like you need it done because I can't get through it without getting so turned on that I have to stop just to somehow keep my wits together." He looked away from her, running his hands through his hair at the sides of his head before looking back into her eyes. "I know the recording can be edited, Chloe, and I know that somehow you're going to be able to piece together what you need from tonight for your research. But don't you see what I'm telling you? I've just told you that what goes on in this story turns me on sexually. I knew I wouldn't be able to hide that while I'm reading the story, so I figured I'd admit to it now." The tiny little room did allow him to pace, something his nervousness was demanding. "But Chloe, I am so worried that you might think I'm, well, kinky or something because this story gets me so excited, and if you do think that, then what you think of me will jeopardize any chance of what I want so much to happen between us."

He searched her eyes, and Chloe saw the fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead reflected in the glow from the fluorescent light overhead. Her heart melted for him as he concluded his tortured confession.

"And what I want to happen, Chloe, is to have dinner with you some night soon. I want to take you to a nice restaurant, then maybe go for coffee afterwards and just get to know you, just get to spend more time with you." Rick dropped the envelope onto the desk behind Chloe and shoved his hands in his pockets. "So please don't think I'm weird or a pervert or anything. Please don't think that!"

Chloe stood up to wrap her arms around his waist and rose up on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear, "I'm glad you liked my story."

She leaned back to see the stunned expression on Rick's face. "Your story? You wrote that story?" he asked, incredulous. "I thought it was something that came from some sexual research database or something. I never for a minute thought . . ."

He drew in a big breath and rolled his eyes back to look at the ceiling for a moment before returning her gaze. Chloe's arms still encircled his waist.

"I would love to go out with you, Rick," she said, looking into his beautiful brown eyes.

"This is the absolute craziest way any guy could ever ask a girl out," Rick said, a smile starting to form at the corners of his mouth. "What I've just confessed to you . . . Chloe, I really, REALLY hope that somehow in your sex researcher history you've decided that a guy who gets turned on by this story can still be an okay guy."

"Rick," she said seriously, releasing her grasp around his waist, "relax and stop worrying. It is definitely not a deal-breaker for me that this," and she reached behind her to tap the manila envelope lying on the console table, "has the effect that it does on you. If anything, it makes me--"

Chloe stopped herself, searching for the right way to put into words what she really felt.

He waited, trying to guess what she would say as he looked into her eyes.

"It makes me think you're a fascinating, complex, intriguing man who might be a very good lover for some lucky woman, maybe a woman who will be as gentle and loving and careful as Simone is in the story."

Then Chloe decided to stop being so coy. Rick had admitted he wanted to go out with her. They had discovered in their first two phone conversations that they liked each other. Now she knew that a woman finger-fucking a man in the asshole turned him on.

What more did she need? An engraved invitation?

"Maybe the lucky woman for whom you'll be a very good lover is me, Rick. You don't know it yet, but 'Simone' is my middle name."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Can we please start this recording session? Please?"

Chloe gave him a knowing smile. "Of course."

Then she was all business, setting up the mic, running a mic check and setting volume levels—everything an audio engineer would do. She was just as eager to get the recording session underway, though not for the same reason as Rick's.

And it was wonderful, absolutely perfect, that HIS reason was because he wanted to finish the task that had so bothered him for so long because he worried about what SHE would think of HIM for being so powerfully aroused by the idea of a woman finger-fucking a man in the asshole. What would he think of her if he knew that she had masturbated the night before to thoughts of him stroking his cock as he read her story? What would he think of her if he knew she wanted to do to him exactly what Simone had done to Trent? What he had admitted made Chloe think he would think that he could not wait to make to love to her.

Delicious!

Chloe could not wait to listen to Rick's sexy voice describing in vivid detail how a woman gently and lovingly finger-fucked her man in the ass.

God! Hearing the man speak those things she had written! What an incredible turn-on this recording session was going to be!

***

Chloe did not tell Rick that she burned a CD of his recording, and it supplanted anything in her collection in terms of pure, lustful eroticism. She masturbated more than once to his sexy accent narrating the story that had come out in one intense session at the keyboard in her office. When he read the things Trent said in the story—"God, Simone! Fuck me with your finger. Put it inside deep, baby. I'm gonna come! I'm gonna come!"—well, Chloe would shake with excitement, passion, lust, every erotic feeling she had ever felt, only three times as intense.

She could not wait to hear him say those things to her as her finger slipped inside his tight asshole.

And so. It came to their first coupling.

Looking up at her from between her legs, his chin slick with her juices, Rick said, "You taste wonderful."

Chloe was finally coming down from the fantastic orgasm he had given her with his tongue pressed against her clit, swirling it around and sucking it into his mouth as he slipped two fingers inside her pussy and found her G-spot, pressing gently but insistently against that bundle of nerves in just the right fashion to drive her wild.

"Do you think I'm wet enough for you to slip your hard cock inside me?" she teased.

He crawled up over her, his erection bobbing in obvious arousal, pre-cum smeared across the head of his dick.

"I'm going to find out, baby," Rick said.

The recent weeks had been heavenly for Chloe. She made excellent progress in her research and her publishing, and she was in love with a beautiful man. Being in this condition made her wonder how she possibly existed without it.

"An actuary, huh?" said Faye at lunch several weeks after Rick recorded "His Woman Delights Him." "He's not your typical accountant type, is he?"

"No," Chloe answered smiling. "He is definitely NOT a nerdy, introverted, sexually repressed man, if that's what you mean." Wiping her mouth on her napkin, Chloe looked at Faye and asked her own question. "And who says accountants are automatically like that anyway?"

Faye was too interested in Chloe's response to take the bait for a debate. "Wow—if you already know he's not sexually repressed, you two must have--"

"Get you mind back on your lunch," Chloe said, grinning as she looked down into her salad.