I am Not a Nymphomaniac

"The difference is quite remarkable. Between the first interview and this one."

"Oh, Mr. Barnes, I know. I am so sorry about that. With my condition, I get so tense and I'm just not myself. Here, miles away on the phone, I'm totally safe and can be myself. I sometimes think I should just stay home alone forever. Just figure out some way to work, live, socialize remotely. Just save everyone the trouble."

"Well, we could certainly make some substantial amount of your work be remote. But, wouldn't that kind of existence be lonely?"

"Oh, you're exactly right. That's the real irony, is that I hate being alone. I'm a total extrovert. An extrovert with debilitating anti-social behaviors, haha."

"So I really shouldn't ask about your condition..."

"Oh, it's fine. I don't mind talking about it at all. And, I, sincerely thank you for not reporting what happened and giving me this second chance."

"I'm really glad I did. You're an excellent candidate, exactly what we were looking for. I wouldn't have found that out if we didn't have this phone call. We really didn't cover any of this in the first-"

She interrupted with laughter. "No we certainly didn't. I was too busy satisfying myself."

"Is that-" I caught myself. "No I shouldn't ask."

"No please, feel free. Ask me anything."

"Is that really how you view it? You're satisfying yourself?"

"Ha. Yes, definitely. Satisfying an urge. But it's not...how do I put this?" She paused. "For me, that...satisfaction is completely non-sexual."

"What? Really?"

"I mean it's very, very, verrrry satisfying to me, getting to touch. But not satisfying in a sexual way. Just calming, pleasurable. Again, like scratching an itch. Satisfying a compulsion. Obviously."

Listening to her gentle feminine voice talk this way, I suddenly had a change of mood. I felt my penis beginning to swell, and memories of her dress, her lipstick, and - man - her hands began to run through my imagination. Alone in my office with the door closed, I realized I was free to rub myself. I rubbed my rapidly hard cock through the material of my pants just like Valerie had, envisioning the sensations and just bathing in the sound of her soft voice.

She continued, "I understand that for you, for...the men, for you, it's a sexual thing, but for me it isn't. Satisfying, but non-sexual. It's about my hands, my palms, my fingers. I don't feel anything...down there. Or any kind of arousal. Sexual arousal, anyway."

My defenses were lowering, as I got more excited and as I was more assured she was not inclined at all to report anything that transpired to my company.

"So how - if you don't mind me asking - how did this start?"

"My condition? Well, when I was a kid it was a very non-specific OCD / tourettes and the manifestations would constantly change. Varying kind of month-by-month. Sometimes a year. For a whole year I touched the light switch of my bedroom 37 times every time I entered or left."

"37?"

"Yes, exactly thirty-seven. No more, no less."

"And through college, I was managing it pretty well but my manifestations where still shifting around. Then, I had this boyfriend, Frank, who I really liked, but, really, he was a total ass. He kept playing me against this other girl, Janie, who, after she picked up on the rivalry, was so mean to me."

Valerie's story:

Frank was, you know, trying to convince me to have sex, saying that Janie was willing to if I wasn't, blah blah blah, the usual. But also he was manipulative and Janie was so catty and - actually they were a great match for each other, now that I think about it. But of course at the time I hated the idea of them together.

His fraternity had a big event, kind of a prom-like thing, a southern thing. And he'd had enough of my resisting so he asked Janie. And she just loved telling everyone, rubbed it in my face. For weeks. Finally she and I had a big blow up in public at a party, screaming.

I told her and everyone that Janie was his second choice and I'd refused (which was a lie), and that if I asked him again, he'd dump her."

"She just laughed and dared me to, and I declared I would. I told her too bad, she'd just made a big mistake and I was going to revoke her relationship with Frank, like I had that power."

The next morning I went to see Frank, and I asked, then pleaded, then begged him to drop Janie, but he just laughed. And he was such a dick about it. Once he understood why it was so important to me and how embarrassed I would be if he refused he looked delighted.

He said, "Look, Val, if you'll fuck me, right here, right now, I'll do it."

"Ohmigod, Frank, no!"

"If you don't, I'll tell everyone how you pathetically made all this up."

I started crying.

"You know what, I don't even want sex. It's gonna be much more fun for Janie and I to watch you twist in the wind." It makes me cringe now remembering, what did I ever see in that jerk.

"Please, Frankie? Please please please please?" I pleaded.

"Fuck off," he said, and started to walk away.

I grabbed his arm and clung to it. "Please, Frank, I'm begging you, I won't ever ask for anything again. Just do this for me."

"Let go!" He shook his arm but I clung to it. "You have nothing I want. I'm with Janie now. Fuck off."

Suddenly his crotch was in my line of sight. I still remember, it was blue jeans, which I generally hate, but at least they were faded and soft, so you could feel at least something. But I could see the outline. I think my tears and distress were kind of arousing to his sadistic nature. I just was so stressed and I had a compulsion to just reach out and feel it.

So I did.

And suddenly his body just froze.

I kept staring at his boner, feeling it form through his pants, and rubbing it with my left hand, up and down diagonally towards me, feeling it lengthen and solidify while I still held him from leaving by holding his arm with my right. But he wasn't trying to leave, I suddenly realized. He was standing stock still. I looked up at his face, curious.

His expression had utterly, completely, changed.

"Frank?" I asked as I continued rubbing his cock with my left hand.

He didn't even answer.

"Does this mean you've changed your mind?"

He still didn't respond, but his eyes were half-closed and glazed.

"Frank, will you break up with Janie?" I asked, now rubbing in a circular motion.

He vaguely nodded.

After a while, I started calling her frequently even when there was no business-related reason. I just enjoyed talking with her so much.

"Valerie, I really like you, and-"

"I like you too."

I paused. "-And I'd like to ask you a very...very honest question."

"Sure, go ahead. Anything."

"I hope you take this the right way and understand why the answer is important to me." I hesitated. "Let me put it this way, and I hope you understand my true meaning and why I put it this way and take no offense."

"John, I'm positive I won't."

"Ok, then - there are some people, some...men...who take advantage of, for example, disabled women. Evil men. I don't know any, but, I'm sure they exist."

"Uh-huh. You mean take advantage in a sexual way."

"Yes. And it's utterly despicable. They take advantage of the fact that because of her disability, the woman cannot really make an informed choice about whether to participate or not. And to me, that makes them the lowest of the low."

"I think I understand-"

"Is that...did I..."

"You want to know if I think you did that to me?"

"Yes, did I?"

She paused, and I was instantly scared I had gone too far. Caused offense, been a dick, I don't even know what.

She began slowly, "First of all, I don't take offense to the question at all. It...it speaks well of you that the answer would be important to you. How shall I put this? For...for you, it's sexual. I understand. And there is a cultural association that sex means a man taking and a woman withholding and therefore by definition a man is at fault."

She continued, "Like I said, for me, it's completely non-sexual. I have a condition. I'm in possession of my faculties, but I break rules and norms because of my condition. Objectively, I know it's because of my condition. Subjectively, I do it because it makes me feel good. I want to do it to someone, I hope they will let me, which sometimes they do and sometimes they don't, and if they do, I take advantage of them and I feel great pleasure from it. So, honestly, I feel guilt about it. Because it feels good, I feel guilty. I'm doing something, violating someone else's space, their privacy, because it feels good to me to do so."

"There's a certain symmetry to it," I laughed.

"Exactly. If I'm not mistaken, you feel guilty because it feels good to you," she said.

"Ha, yes. I guess that settles that."

"So you're admitting it feels good to you? It felt good to you? What I did?" she asked.

I was suddenly aware that I was still rubbing myself and very aroused.

"Yes," I said softly.

"I..." suddenly her voice sounded tight. "I can hear it in your voice."

"What?"

"That you're thinking about it. About what happened. Between us. Aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm thinking about it. It was so amazing. It was the greatest experience I've ever had. I can't stop thinking about it." I was getting so excited I was starting to throw caution to the wind. "I'm rubbing myself now remembering it."

I heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "You're actually rubbing yourself right now? With your hand? On the outside of your pants?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Omigod. What does it feel like?"

"So good, I think I might come."

"No, I mean what does it feel like on your hand. Is your palm wet yet? Can you feel the whole shape of the cock through the fabric? Or is it a denser fabric so your fingertips can only sense the general position of it?"

I suddenly was amused. "Wow, you really do like that feeling of touching don't you? That's so weird. You like the sensation on your fingers."

"Oh, God yes!" she yelped. "Oh, I wish I was there with you. I love all of it. It's - sadly - what I live for. I love the reaching in, the movement of the pelvis, sometimes towards me, sometimes pulling away. I love the pursuit with my hand and then the catch. Oh I love the first contact especially. That's the first moment I feel...better. And then...the hardening. The wetting. It's all so good."

I was kind of shocked temporarily out of my excitement. "That's unbelievable. Your condition is so strange. You really just like the touch. It's so non-sexual. But, the way you talk about it, it sounds so..."

"Sexual?"

"Ha. Yes."

"Well if you were here, I would rub you so much. Make you come so fast. God I wish I could touch it right now. You would let me wouldn't you? If you're rubbing it now with your hand, you'd let me rub it with my hands? Both of them?"

"Oh yes, it's what I want more than anything."

"Oh, me too. I wish I was there, with you, right now.

"Valerie, are we having phone sex?"

She giggled. "Yes, we are having phone-OCD-manual-freaky non-sex. And both getting pleasure from it."

"It's so weird that talking on the phone can stimulate your urge," I said.

"Well, it is any weirder than the fact that talking on the phone can stimulate your sexual urge?"

"I guess not. But it does."

"John?"

"Yes?"

"I live on 22nd street, just west of 3rd."

"uh...okay?"

"It's pretty close by."

"Yes...it is."

"Can you come over?"

"Omigod, are you serious?"

"Yes, please."

"I'm on my way."

"Good I'll text you the address."