Porn Therapy

"I'm totally serious about that, Mike and don't ask me again. Hold that image. That's me, that's the way I want it to be; that's what makes me feel happiness and joy, makes me feel alive and wanted and valued and every other good thing in life. I'm a Smithers, Mike, we're all sexually weird. My mother was an absolute slut, her mother was the stuff of legends, like my sister. As a Smithers I've been an utter failure. But it's not too late for me, it can still come out and God knows it wants to."

"What wants to come out, Pat?" I still wasn't getting this. "What exactly? What exactly do you want to come out?"

"Devotion. Total devotion: giving myself to you. I've wrapped myself up for all these years. Now you can unwrap me, all you have to do is to order me to devote myself to you."

She quickly sat up and pulled at my shirt. In a minute I was naked and she had me in her fingers and swung her leg over me, and lowered her pussy onto my face as she lowered her mouth on my prick and in no time we exploded together, deep, roiling cums that had us crying out and shaking and demanding more with our bodies.

We didn't move when it was over, we kept our faces on each other's wet and still pulsating genitals; she snuggled in closer, pushing a leg under my head so I could rest on her thigh. I was still rock hard when I told her to finger herself. She did, immediately and it felt like the first real act of her obedience and I felt a flood of love wash through me.

I sat up, pulled her around so she lay beside me and I kissed her deeply for a minute then we relaxed and we had just settled into that post fuck funk when Janice walked in.

It was totally weird. She didn't seem to care that we were lying naked on the bed. She just walked right in, walked around the bed and sat down on the duvet. "What are you doing?" I was shocked. I covered myself with a pillow.

"I'm visiting my parent," she said, nonchalantly, as if she did this all the time.

"We're naked."

"Yes," she smiled, "I can see that. About time." She lay down as if she was staying, her head propped up on her arm. "Sounded like you had a good one." She was looking at her mother.

Pat smiled. She didn't appear even remotely uncomfortable. To look at her, this was perfectly natural.

But it wasn't to me. "Janice, what are you doing?" I repeated.

"I'm hanging out with my parents." She said it like I was an idiot.

"Your very naked parents."

She reached over and lightly cupped her mother's breast. "Yes. It's exciting."

"It's wrong." I glowered but she ignored me. She was looking at her mother's amazingly stiff nipple.

Pat looked at me, challengingly. "Why is it wrong?"

"Because we're naked for crissake!"

"Oh, pppppphhh. So what?"

Janice moved over and put her head on her mother's naked shoulder then she reached across Pat's body and took my hand and held it. We were all still for a few minutes when Janice said, "I love it that you too are together again. For the first time ever it's starting to feel like we are a family."

"I feel that, too," Pat agreed and languidly caressed her daughter's hair.

Janice waited a minute then said, "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Do you feel it, too?"

I did. Profoundly. It felt like the first time we had all been together emotionally. I squeezed her fingers. "Ya, I do."

"So, you're glad I'm here? As glad as mum is."

She brought my hand up and put it on her mother's naked belly then looked at her mum. "I'd love to see you guys make love, mum. Would you?"

As the words reverberated dizzily around my head Pat leaned over and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "I'd love to, hun. Ask your father."

Jesus. "No, don't ask your father," I interjected forcefully. "That's ridiculous."

"Thanks," said Pat, sourly.

"You know what I mean." Any fool would.

"No, actually I don't," Pat turned and half climbed on me. "If Jannie wants to see us make love, I think that's great, it would never have been possible ... like, yesterday."

She pulled the pillow off me and took my semi stiff prick in her fingers. "Come on, Pat," I protested.

Janice threw the pillow off the bed and pushed her mother encouraging her to get further on me. "Make love to her, dad, come on, we both want it. Why don't you?"

"Because you're here, obviously."

This put her in a snit. "You didn't even touch each other for all those years, didn't even talk to each other, not really. Now you do. Now you're in love and I want to see it. I think I have the right."

She had no such right, of course, but she did have a point and the thought of my daughter on our bed, my very insistent daughter, was starting to pulsate in my prick, the prick being slowly stroked by my wife. Why did I not run screaming? The question flickered through my brain. But I knew why. Memory. I had seen this scene before, played out on my computer screen, that's why this was merely wrong to me, not totally taboo, absurd, despicable. Pat was cupping my balls, now with an impairing look. "Fine, sure, but it this grosses you out I don't want to hear any comments. OK? Just leave."

There was a huge smile on Pat's face when I spilled her off me onto her back and knelt up with my prick sticking out. I ignored the visiting eyes and knelt between the mother's legs. Her smile was joyous. This mattered as much to her as if it was the consummation of a new family bond, which, in a weird way, it was. Janice shifted over to lie on her side beside her mother, again cupping her mother's breast, now flicking with her thumb at Pat's very stiff nipple.

I think it was Pat's eagerness more than the audience that got to me, she was just so fucking happy, just so willing to give herself to me in front of her daughter. She let out a long dramatic moan when I entered her and she reached for Janice's hand at her breast. "This is not going to take long, hun," she smiled brightly to her daughter then she reached up and pulled me down and we kissed like horny teenagers as we fucked, slowly at first but then furiously and passionately and ultimately noisily, first with oh, oh, ohs, then with moans that became sharp shrieks to her and to me deep bestial grunts.

Pat was right, it didn't take long, didn't take long at all until I collapsed on her and held her tight. At first, I lay still because I needed to recover, then I couldn't face the embarrassment.

But Pat wasn't embarrassed. Not in the least. After a few minutes she eased me away and got up from under me and onto her knees and started in on something that was flat out strange. She had a silly German accent when she turned to Janice. "So, you tink beauty to be shared, Ya? You tink honesty is beauty to be shared with your family?"

Janice was looking up at her as confused as I was.

Pat pressed on, "You vant to share with your family?" Now she was reaching out to Janice as if she had a microphone in her hand.

In a second the confusion on Janice's face turned to excitement. She quickly sat up, then stood up beside the bed. "Ya, das right. I want be close to family. Open." She had a vest over a blouse which she started to take it off.

Pat sat down cross-legged and was still holding out the 'microphone' when I got it. One of a series of porn videos I watch, as I said earlier, is of a middle aged German woman who interviews what seems like normal woman off the street who soon end up in what I gather is her apartment where they take off their clothes and cheerfully masturbate for a camera while the German 'interviewer' sits beside them with the microphone catching every utterance, grunt and moan. I've found these mesmerizing footage because I don't understand German so I have no idea why these otherwise sensible-looking woman are induced to engage in the most personal act under such weirdly casual circumstances — all in front of a camera. Obviously, Pat and Janice had seen the videos, too.

Janice had taken off her vest and was now on her shirt.

"Stop this, Janice! My God!" She had her shirt half unbuttoned, I could see part of her black bra.

"Stop this?" she shouted back angrily. "We've lived with nothing but misery around here and chastity. It's over, dad. We're different people now. We're adults and we love each other. That was beautiful, watching you two finally together. So watch me, I can be beautiful, too."

Pat seemed miraculously unfazed by all of this. The woman who used to cinch her breasts and padlock her belt now held out the 'microphone' and asked again, "Vat you think of masturbation?"

Janice had already handed Pat her vest. She now started in on her shirt, slowly, playfully, sexily and when it was off she handed it to the 'interviewer' as was always the case in the videos. Then, as she started in on her pants, she dumped the phoney accent and made her point, succinctly and forcefully, as she does. "I didn't masturbate, I haven't been able to. I've tried but it hasn't worked for me. That's why I went into psychology, I wanted to sort it out. But I didn't need to, I could have just looked at your pornography," she smiled, kicked off her pants, handed them to her mother and stood there totally unaware of her breathtaking beauty.

I felt my heart pounding when Janice reached behind and unfastened her bra. "So things changed," she was looking at me. "Thanks to her," she handing her bra to her mother. "We discovered your porn, I messed around with it and discovered a self I didn't know." She pushed down her panties and stepped out of them, handed them to her mother then stood in front of me, defiantly.

For the first few beats of my heart I was more conscious of my hard-on than I was of her body. But I looked at it, searched it as she appeared to want me to. I could see the slight scar on her left shoulder from the stab of a sharp branch while she was at summer camp. And the long scar on her right hip where the skate had slashed her in a fall. Youthful memories. But the body spoke only of maturity.

Janice was looking at me ... for approval? I wasn't sure. I hid my erection with the back of my hand. "You're beautiful, Jannie. You're absolutely beautiful."

She smiled then sat on the bed, her mother reaching for a pillow for her to lie against. When my daughter got comfortable she slowly opened her legs.

My shock was instantly trumped by my daughter as a desirable woman. I had no idea why she wanted to do this, but, clearly, she did. As her fingers ran up and down inside her legs she looked at me without a hint of embarrassment. She is hairy, like her mother, with slender, sensuous thighs. I was transfixed by her audacity: this was wrong on so many levels, yet it appeared so honest.

And Pat didn't help. She was kneeling by her daughter still with the 'microphone' in her hand to capture Janice's almost inaudible moans. Clearly and weirdly, Pat was into this. Her whole body was encouraging her daughter: she was leaning into her, her nipples stiff, her eyes locked on Janice: her face, her wonderfully healthy breasts, her rapidly moving hand. There was something going on here I couldn't possibly understand. This obviously wasn't just about masturbation, even public masturbation in front of her family. It seemed more like a rite of passage, a coming out — the daughter was announcing her sexuality and the parents were there to be proud, supportive ... encouraging.

It lasted a full ten minutes before the white cum trickled from her into her anus and onto the sheets. Then came the eruption and her cries and the cries of her mother.

And then it was over and my daughter slumped for a moment then rolled past her mother and half-crawled on me. She put her head on my chest as I held her.

It hadn't seemed like sex at all. It seemed more like she had opened up to us to close the family circle which had been far, far too long apart.

We'd had to leave the bed way too quickly; there were all kinds of little messages floating around that needed answers, message like my hard-on pressing into my daughter's leg, her little kisses on my chest, her mother's encouraging caresses on her daughter back. What was really going on here? Questions for another time. We had a party to go to at the Bakers.

The usual people were there, good friends, good fun. I caught Pat's eye a few times during the evening, each time I got a wide, warm smile. It was near the end of the evening when I summonsed the courage. I walked over to her as she stood talking in a small group. When I got to her I slid my hand under her top onto her naked belly and gave her a slight tug, then I asked her to get me another beer. Instantly, she handed me her glass, took my empty and was was gone.

I tried to pretend nothing had really happened when she left but I could easily see the discomfort, a discomfort that only intensive when she came back with a fresh bottle which she handed me with a peck on the cheek.

I asked her about it on the way home. She didn't say much, just that it was the single most erotic moment of her life and she would never, ever forget it.

At work the next day I closed myself up in my office, a safe port in an otherwise turbulent storm. For the first time in what seemed like a month things began to slow down a fraction. I could begin to focus. In the space of just a few days, my life had gone from one of mild depression to one of frantic exhilaration, and I wasn't sure why.

Pat convinced me utterly that she was sincere. I have never known the woman to evade or prevaricated, never mind to flat out lie — I never thought she had the imagination for that. Now, I was thinking, maybe she really is healing from a sickness I hadn't known existed. Our new sex life couldn't be more convincing.

But was this desire for submission actually a viable tonic to her troubles? And what, precisely, is the medical diagnosis? We had to find that out. But when I said as much to her she just waved me off. She knew what her trouble was. And she knew the solution. Just 'own me' and everything would be right.

But can it? Does such a condition really exist?

I grew immediately stiff when I thought of the change in her. The body that for more than two decades had been hidden away was now out there in every imaginable lewd pose: on her back with her legs open; kneeling, her breasts swaying; sitting on my chest with her pussy at my face; kneeling over me, her pussy gapping wide as she sucked me. This is what I had signed on for 26 years ago. Now I was getting it — she was doing everything I had watched and wanted on my computer. Why? Because she saw it all on the computer and now thought of it as submission? It seemed absurd.

But was it? She had said that on our wedding night she had expected me to just take her and fuck her until we got it right, until I had dragged her by the hair into my own personal cave. I think she means that. When I didn't, when I treated her as an equal, we just couldn't relate, and we hadn't, not for the entire length of our miserable marriage. Until now ... when she put her hair in my hand and told me to start walking.

It all seemed to fit. God knows I couldn't imagine a more dramatic change in her. I couldn't be more excited.

But scared, too. There was the slight matter of our daughter. What happened last night was not right ... by any measurement. I could excuse it and even justify it to an extent but in the cold light of day, it wasn't right. I told Pat this while we were leaving for work with Janice still upstairs in our bed.

"Sure it's right," she disagreed, cheerfully. "There's nothing wrong with it. We're finally getting in touch with each other and there is not a single thing wrong with that. It's about time."

I started to object but as we stood by her car she cut me off.

"Ya," I had argued, "but we're supposed to get in touch with each other. Not with our daughter, not this way."

"We've had our coming out part, right? Finally? Well this is a coming-out party for her, too. You've got to know that. When we lifted our own personal iron curtain from between us we lifted it from her, too. Why wouldn't she want to come out? I've talked to her. Don't worry about it. She needed it. She was beautiful."

"You've talked to her?" I had a feeling she might have.

She nodded and told me the story.

She was online a few months ago when Janice came into the room — 'you know the way she comes and goes and you're always surprised when she shows up.' Pat was in her underwear with a video on. Her hand was in her panties. Janice sat down on the chair beside her before she knew her daughter was even in the room. When she pulled her hand out, embarrassed, Janice told her to keep going. Pat refused. Janice got mad, so Pat, sensing where this might go, put her hand back in her panties and continued watching the video, or pretended to.

Janice quickly joined her mother, she stripped down to her underwear and asked, 'What's going on here, mum? This has always been a weird fucking house but in the last little while it's just gotten weirder.'

Sitting there in their underwear they had it out. To Janice the house, the atmosphere, her entire upbringing had been loveless. She felt the house was home to three strangers. She didn't understand why we'd stayed together. Pat admitted she didn't get it, either but things were going to change. Pat pointed to the screen and said, 'here's why.'

Janice admitted she had never been interested in pornography, never watched it. She had nothing against it, it just wasn't her thing.

'What is?' Pat asked, not having any idea what her daughter's answer would be.

Janice, crouched forward in her chair with her legs crossed, thought about this. Finally, she admitted that she had always been interested in the Goths; she never got into it, but that kind of lifestyle attracted her most because it was the most radical expression without going off the deep end with piercings and tattoos. Gothic was an off-the-shelf expression: she didn't have to form an identity, she could just borrow one. But she didn't have the guts to try it.

They talked about that for a long time, the search for an identity, how hard it was. Then Janice asked Pat about hers, what she thought her identity was, how she formed it. While a porn video played and while both women sat there in their underwear, the mother told her daughter that her identity had been created by a near life-long sickness that she was just now getting over. Janice pressed her to learn more but Pat wasn't ready to open up about it yet but would soon. She pointed to the screen and told her daughter pornography was the reason why she was getting better.

I had to remind myself that this conversation wasn't from one of my porn videos but was between my wife and daughter, two people I was beginning to realize I barely knew.

The two talked about pornography for awhile, what Pat saw in it. She told Janice that, basically, it introduced her to a world she knew nothing about, but a world she had a strong emotional connections to, connections that she had never exploited.

Janice kind of laughed. 'So you sit in front of the computer and masturbate?' Not just that, Pat explained, she tried to think about what she was watching, tried to place herself in the frame, tried to go where the people were going, tried to feel the moment, to open up, to express herself. Pat told her that she had been sexually shut down our entire marriage.

Janice wanted more but Pat fended her off, then outted me. She told her that I did porn, too, that it was me who, in effect, got her interested in it and that it was my sites she generally went to.

When she told me this she looked at me guiltily. "She's 24 years old and soon to be a Psychologist and she didn't know the first thing about her sexuality. What was I going to do? I showed her your sites. We spent a couple of hours going through your stuff, the sites and your databases of pictures. Then we talked. I told her what I've told you, how pornography has helped me. But I also told her that you needed pornography because I wasn't a functioning wife."