Futa Therapy Pt. 01

Dear Dr. Messersmidt.

Robert, thank you for agreeing to read through this -- I appreciate the professional courtesy. Even psychologists need to have someone to talk to from time to time, and given the years of our personal and professional relationship, I know that I can count on you for your discretion -- and your interest. We've known each other for so long now, I thought that you, of all people, would be the only person I can share this with.

In all my years of being a psychotherapist, I'd never had a patient like this. He'll never read this, but to keep up the appearance of some doctor/patient privilege, let's call him "John." Original, I know. So be it.

I thought that I might be able to write this up for a journal until... well, things got out of hand.

I have my notes sitting right here next to me to make sure I don't miss anything crucial, but I have to be honest -- it's almost impossible to remain detached and clinical. I'm going to try and keep this from being too sterile, because I'm afraid it will sound like I'm trying to pretend what happened didn't matter as much as I know it did but... well, I'll let you be the judge.

John first came to me about four months ago. He'd never been to a therapist before, so obviously he wasn't sure how to deal with the trust issues as well as his own sense of identity. He opened up rather quickly, though.

Patient Background

John is a young man, college student, aged 20. Average height and build. above-average appearance. Working-class background, not the most articulate. Like many men his age, he is trying to juggle the transition from boyhood to manhood and seeks approval from his peers. He relies very heavily on that approval, and has yet to assert his individuality in group settings.

Unfortunately, he is also a member of a fraternity, which doesn't encourage such behavior. He is not at the top of the pecking order, and he is acutely aware of that fact and it affects everything he does. As you'll see, he's also not very bright, but at least his is willing to listen - a rarity among his fraternity peers.

Session 1

"Hi, John. I'm Dr. Genvieve."

"Hi," he said.

"What brings you here today?"

He rubbed his hands together. "I need to talk to... someone."

I smiled. "That's what I'm here for."

He looked at me strangely, still rubbing his hands together nervously. "Can... can I ask you a personal question?"

"Depends on what it is," I said.

"You are a woman, aren't you?"

As you know, Robert, there are very few people who would ask me that question. For all the times I got hit on in grad school, you would think that it was pretty obvious. I've never been able to hide these C-cups and I certainly wasn't trying on that day.

"Born and raised," I said, smiling. "Although most people would think it's rather obvious."

"Most people, yeah," he muttered, looking away.

I thought I understood what was going on. "Has someone been playing a trick on you, John?" I asked. I thought perhaps some of his frat buddies had set him up with a transsexual as a cruel prank -- to both him and the trans person.

He shook his head. "A trick? No," he said.

I realized I was getting ahead of myself. "Okay, then, what are you concerned about?" I asked. "Why did you want to know if I was really a woman?"

He looked at me. "I got a new girlfriend, see," he said, trying to find the words.

"And she's not a 'girl'," I prompted.

"No, she is. I mean, I think she is. Man, I don't know," he sputtered.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" I suggested.

"See, me and Marie, we been friends for a while, see," he said. I nodded, but when I didn't say anything, he continued, "And we've been ood friends, like, we tell each other everything. And I confess I had a crush on her, ya know?"

I nodded again, but his hand-wringing got more and more frantic. I was afraid the poor kid might have a heart attack.

"So, Alpha Alpha Delta -- that's my fraternity, you see -- we had a party last week, and of course I invite Marie. No big deal," he added quickly. "So the party happens, and you know we're drinking, and all, and Marie starts telling me all this stuff.

"See, she tells me everything. She tells me how much she likes me, how much she wants to be with me, but she's scared, ya know?"

He looked at me, trying to get some sort of supportive confirmation. So far, I didn't know what he was upset about, so I just nodded.

"So, I kiss her, and she kisses me back. She was all soft and warm and I'm thinking to myself, I think, 'hey, this girl feels really good,' ya know? And she asks me if I like her, and I'm thinking to myself, hell yeah I like her! And it wasn't just the booze talkin'. I mean, sure, I'd love to get inside that bra and panties, but I was trying to be classy, ya know?

"So she smiles at me real sweet-like, and she pulls me into my room in the frat house, and locks the door. So she says that she won't fuck me, but she's ready to take me to the 'next level.'"

He was on a roll, and I didn't want to interrupt. "So she pushes me onto the bed, and starts taking off my belt. And I'm thinking, holy shit! -- oh crap, I'm sorry," he apologized.

I dismissed his breach of etiquette with my hand. I found it mildly amusing that he had no problem saying the word fuck, but balked at holy shit. "It's okay, John," I said. "I've heard much, much worse in this line of work. You tell me what happened however you want."

He nodded. "Okay, so she starts giving me a blowjob, right? And holy fuck she's good. I mean, I ain't never felt anything like it. I blew my wad in, like, thirty seconds. I ain't never come that fast!"

Now, Robert, I have to say, I almost laughed out loud. John was genuinely stunned at his experience, but the way he was talking was also quite comical. It took all my training to keep a straight face.

"Sounds like you enjoyed the experience," I said.

He looked to the side. "Yeah..." he said, clasping his hands together. Then he looked back at me. "See, the thing is, then she wanted it to be her turn."

"And you don't like doing it?" I asked.

His eyes grew a little wide. "No, no!" he said. "I love it! I could lick pussy all day long!"

Classy, indeed. "But?"

"But... when she lay back and spread her legs, I could see that she had a dick!" he blurted out. He put his face in his hands.

"So, Marie is actually a boy?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "She's got a pussy, too."

After his outburst, the matter-of-fact way he said it seemed almost resigned. For my part, though, I confess I was a bit shocked. I had heard of intersexed people before, but I had never come across any of them, nor met anyone else who had.

"Marie is a hermaphrodite?" I asked.

He looked confused. "A what?" he asked. "No, she said she's a futanari. A futa."

I decided it wasn't the time to correct him on the terminology. "So, what happened?" I asked.

He held his hands out and shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? I just stared at her," he said. "I mean, I ain't never seen anything like this before."

Robert, I confess, my curiosity was getting the best of me. I wanted to know every detail. I wanted to figure out a way to get him to tell me everything without him catching on to my prurient interest.

"John, help me understand, here," I said. "Tell me exactly what happened, and what was going through your mind."

He nodded. "Marie pulled down her panties, right? And out pops this cock. And it's hard. But underneath, she ain't got no balls. Just a pussy. I look at her, and she looked strange."

"Strange?"

"Yeah. Like she was both scared and horny at the same time."

"She probably was."

"Yeah, I suppose so," he said, thoughtfully. I honestly think it was the first time he actually thought about her disposition in all of this. I began to feel sympathetic toward Marie, though I can only imagine the shock that John had been going through.

"Anyway, she's leaning back on the bed with her dick standing straight up in the air, and I have no idea what the fuck to do," he said. He seemed to be getting slightly agitated. "I mean, does she seriously expect me to suck it? What? Are you kidding me?

"But then she says to me, she says, that I don't even have to touch it. 'Just lick my pussy,' she says to me. But I... I just couldn't." He threw his face in his hands again.

"Why not?" I asked, picturing the scene in front of me.

"I just didn't want to get so close to another dick," he said, truthfully. "I mean, she's absolutely gorgeous, except I don't want to touch her dick."

"Do you still want to touch her?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I'm still crazy about her, and she's beautiful, and she gives the most amazing blow-jobs, but I'm not gay!"

"So you don't think she's a girl after all?" I asked.

He shook his head vehemently. "No, she's a girl," he said. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

He looked like he was about to break out in tears. "She's bigger than me."

Robert, please don't think I'm a bad person, but I actually snorted when I heard this. I covered it up as if I sneezed, but I'm ashamed to admit that after this session I needed to have a good laugh for probably about fifteen minutes. I know it's not the most professional reaction but I simply couldn't help it. If you could have seen the look on his face, I'm sure you would have laughed too.

I genuinely didn't know if he was more upset that her dick was bigger than his, or that she had one in the first place.

"If she were smaller than you," I said, trying to choose my words carefully, "then everything would be okay?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, no! Maybe. Oh, fuck," he said. "Look, I'm not gay!"

"John," I said, trying to walk him back from the ledge. "People aren't gay or straight because they are attracted to a body part."

"They're not?" he asked. "But I thought..."

"Do you think of her as a boy?" I asked. He shook his head. "Does she think of herself as a boy?"

Once more, he shook his head. "No, she's always been very proud of the fact that she's a girl."

"So, if she sees herself as a girl, and you think she's a girl, then who thinks that you're gay?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. "I guess you're right," he said, finally.

"How did you leave things?" I asked.

"You mean, with Marie?" he asked.

I really had to struggle not to laugh at him or give him a sarcastic answer. "Yes," I said, flatly. "When she wanted you to take care of her, what did you do?"

"I fingered her," he said, acting somewhat shyly.

"And it went well?"

He nodded, but there was something obviously upsetting him.

"What happened?" I asked. "You look upset."

"She came very quickly," he said, not able to look at me.

"That's good, right?"

He shrugged. "I suppose."

"John, you're going to have to tell me what's going on, or else I can't help you."

He sighed. "She came," he repeated, "... all over me."

Once again I raised a hand to my face to face a sneeze in order to cover up my smile. I had this mental visual, Robert, of John sliding his fingers inside of Marie and having her explode immediately, covering him.

It turns out I wasn't far off. "She grabbed my wrist and started fucking herself with it," he continued. "And grabbed her dick with her other hand. Before I knew it, she erupted all over me."

"Well," I said, trying to keep a straight face, "I lot of guys don't get to know if their partners are faking it."

"I guess so," he said, looking dejected.

"Tell me, John," I said, some semblance of professionalism returning. "What's your relationship with Marie like at the moment?"

He looked up, but still shrugged. "I guess we're together," he said.

"You guess?" I prompted. "Have you two engaged in sexual activity since then?"

He shook his head. "No," he said. "She wants to, but I've been putting her off."

"Why is that?"

"Because," he said, slowly, "she says she wants to fuck me. And I don't know if she wants to fuck me, or if she wants to fuck me. Ya know what I mean? I mean --"

I held up a hand. "It's okay, John," I said. "I get it."

"Oh," he said, looking back down. "That's why I came to see you. I needed to talk to someone before... if..."

"John," I said, "Have you tried talking to her about this?"

"Not really," he admitted. "We hang out a lot anyway, but we've not really talked much."

"What do you guys do when you hang out?"

"She's given me a few blowjobs, but it's only been about three or four since the party."

I looked at him. "John, you just told me that you hadn't had any sexual activity since the party."

He looked shocked. "What?" he asked. "Blowjobs aren't sex!"

I just looked at him.

"Well, they're not!"

"So, if you give her a blowjob," I said, slowly, "that's okay, then, right? Because it's not sex?"

John just looked at me. "Oh," was all he could say.

The time for the session was almost up, and I told him that we should book for the following week. "In the meantime," I said, "You should talk to Marie about these things that you are feeling."

"I suppose so," he said. "But what do I say?"

"Do you want to continue to spend time with her?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "I dunno."

"Well, do you want her to move on and find someone else?"

He shook his head aggressively. "No way!"

"Well," I said, waving my hand as if it was a done deal. "That's it, then. If you don't want her to move on, you better find a way to talk to her about what you're thinking and feeling."

He swallowed. Obviously, he wasn't looking forward to that conversation.

John left my office feeling like he had replaced one weight with another, and I could see that there was going to be far more to his relationship with Marie that needed to be uncovered.

Robert, if things had stayed that way -- if only I had just sent him away and he never came back -- things would be so much better. But God help me, Robert, that's not what happened. And, to be honest, I don't know if I regret anything.

All I know is that my imagination was kicked into overdrive. I kept thinking about Marie, her dick hard and straining against her pants as she sucked John off in his room, or in a car, or in the frat house bathroom - John didn't elaborate, but it didn't matter.

Normally I take the interlude between patients to write down my notes, but after John left I couldn't keep my head straight. My notes were looking more and more like erotica, and my hands kept finding their way towards my groin, pressing into the fabric of my skirt to relieve some of the pressure.

Oh, fuck it, Robert. Within minutes my skirt was around my waist, my fingers playing with my pussy and rubbing my clit raw. At the time, I imagined poor Marie, suffering from blue balls (without the balls, apparently), giving but not getting the satisfaction she so desperately needed.

I imagined myself there to take her penis in my mouth as she sucked John off - and I had no idea what she looked like. She was a faceless girl with a smooth dick that begged for release in something warm and wet.

My mouth enclosed her imaginary prick, and held on for dear life as she worked her magic on John. He had said that she had magnificent talent - was it because she had one and knew what to do? I wondered if I was at a disadvantage, sucking her off in my mind.

I knew my pussy, though, so I treated her pussy with all the attention I would have wanted. Just like he described, she grabbed my hand and pushed it deeper into her body, her cock twiching in my mouth.

Yes, yes, I know. My imagination can run away with me - but you already knew that, Robert. I can almost see your eyes rolling as you read this.

Even so, I swear to god, Robert - I could actually feel a twitching in my mouth when I pretended she came. Well, more specifically, John came in her mouth, and then she came in mine. I could feel her gripping my fingers, but in actuality it was my own orgasm crashing around my own hand.

I love a long and leisurely masturbation session, but this time it only took a couple of minutes. I looked at the clock, and realized I had mere seconds to straighten myself out before the next patient came in. I can only imagine what musk I created in the room!

It took quite a bit of effort to focus on the next patient, of course, because I kept thinking about John and his unique situation. I think I handled it well, all things considered. A little fantasy masturbation didn't cross any lines, and it was a simple fun exercise of mental creativity. I did envy him a bit, but that's as far as a personal involvement went.

But his second session made me rethink my own situation and professional ethics, and that's why I'm writing to you. You're the only one I can share this with.

I have to get to another patient now, but will write more soon.

- Genvieve