Porn Therapy

I was having a hard time with all of this. "You just sat there in your underwear and ..."

"We had a pretty frank conversation, Mike, then she asked me to send her all the links to your sites, she wanted to study them."

"Jesus. Study them?"

"She was curious how pornography affected us. I tried to be totally honest with her."

"Did she talk about herself, did she give you any idea of where she's coming from?"

"No, she never mentioned a peep about herself, I think she's having real problems, I get the impression she's facing some huge dilemma but she isn't talking about it and it wasn't the time to ask. She doesn't trust me, I know that but I could feel that after being totally honest with her she was changing a little towards me. I sensed that she may want to talk ... soon."

"Is she screwed up? Do you know that?"

"She's a Smithers, Mike, all the Smithers girls are sexually screwed up, it's just the way we are. We have a deranged sex gene and she's obviously got it. I left home because of it; she won't leave home because of it."

Huh? "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"She needs our love, Mike, I think that's it. I think our love as a family might make her feel whole."

"We do love her, we've always loved her."

"No we haven't, not properly and you know it."

I had a brief trip west for the next two days and didn't get home until evening. On the flight back I had fretted that all that had happened between Pat and I might prove a chimera, a flight of fantasy that Pat would soon sober up from and return to her old self.

I needn't have worried. She never picks me up at the airport but she did tonight and with a real sparkle in her eyes ... and in her voice as she brought me up to date.

The moment we got home, the very moment, we headed for bed and the very moment we got there, the very second I dove for Pat's fabulous belly Janice arrived and without a word stripped and got in between us.

She asked questions for a bit, about how Pat and I were getting on then she rolled over gave her mother and me a kiss and went to sleep. I did the same, after about three hour of dealing with the shame of my hard-on.

Pat was in the bathroom first thing in the morning and Janice was standing beside the bed when she asked me a question. Instinctively I looked over. She was braless and stepping into her panties. I answered her but I must have been stammering.

"Oh, for God's sake, dad, geez, get over it."

"Do you really need to do this?" I didn't get it. Does this actually go on in houses across America?

"Sleep with you two? Ya, it recharges my batteries and I think you owe it to me."

I was dumfounded. "Do you really think we owe you this?" She was calmly putting on her bra.

She dropped down on the bed and looked at me not attempting to conceal her anger. "That was the dumbest up-bringing in the history of parenting. Two smart, responsible, sensible people who didn't have a fucking clue about what they were doing, with themselves, with each other and with their only child. Do I really think you owe me something? Ya, you bet I do." She punched her finger in my direction. "You're getting it together, mum's getting it together and you're getting it together as a couple. What about me? Do you ever think about me?" Tears were welling in her eyes.

When I pulled her down and hugged her she lay still, sobbing quietly. I kissed her on the forehead as Pat came in and sat on the bed. "We always think about you, Janni, it's just that we had our ... difficulties."

"Ya, but they're gone now," she sniffled.

"Yes, they are. So what do you want?"

She spoke her words to my chest. "I what us to be a family. I need that, I need to feel whole."

"Done. Presto, we're a family," said Pat, cheerfully.

She was half-lying on me, Pat was rubbing her back. She looked up, her eyes wet with tears. "Don't reject me dad, I couldn't handle that."

"I'd never reject you, Janice." God, I had no idea she was so vulnerable, so damaged. Is there a common denominator? I've always known I had spent way too much time getting my business going but I never thought that my wife and daughter had paid a biggest price than I had. Now I was beginning to.

Pat pulled Janice by the shoulders and she quickly sat up and fell into Pat's arms.

Janice held on for a few moments then broke free, crawled over her mother and stood up. "When I come back tonight I don't want to be rejected."

I protested as she quickly finished getting dressed but she wasn't listening, she just left and when she did I turned to Pat. "You were a great help."

"She's right, Mike, we have been selfish, we have ignored her. We've been wrong, terribly wrong. For now on she gets what she wants from us. Period. I agree with her: she deserves it."

She got up and also ignored me as she dressed.

In fact, that Goth business didn't surprise me at all. I've long thought that Janice has a bit of a loose screw, a version of the same one that hasn't quite connected Pat to reality. Maybe what I think of as a loose screw is what Pat refers to as 'the defective Smithers gene,' a gene very much in evidence, according to Pat, in Janice.

Both Pat and Janice are literalists. What is, simply is, there is no ambiguity, no humour, no room for abstraction, no complex reasoning to make an outcome anything more than its parts. Life is not simply black and white it is either black or white. Maybe that's why Pat wanted me to take charge; realism precludes imagination and imagination is where all the fun in life resides. Maybe she has figured that out.

It shocked me that Janice thinks that I somehow owe her something for my perceived parental deficiencies. It shocked me but after thinking it through it didn't surprise me and it doesn't surprise me that Pat, apparently, agrees with her. Fine. But how would this empower my daughter to strip naked and jump into our bed, a 24 year old woman for crissake? Does my lousy parenting give her that right? Not according to the law, not according to the bible, not according to conventional morality. But according to the mother? Yes.

Pat has no problem with it for the same reasons Janice doesn't: the removal of the barrier of clothes makes us all feel that much closer. But of course it wasn't just the clothes. Janice wanted to watch us have sex and she wanted to masturbate for us. This was going to bring us closer? Janice thought so and so did her mother.

And, frankly, once done, so do I now. It's reprehensible, I don't dispute that, but our intimacy, our willingness to be intimate, had a way of stripping down our barriers to allow for more honest expression. Is this a rationalization? Doubtless, I wanted this to be true. But this had gone far enough.

Janice was coming back tonight and she didn't want me to 'reject her.' What did she mean by that? And what did Pat really mean by the Smithers gene? She implied it involved incest, incest that helped ruin her childhood; is this what she is recommending for her daughter?

"Janice isn't 13, Mike. She's 24 and she knows what she wants." We were having a light supper in the kitchen.

"And that's what she wants?"

Pat had her fork close to her mouth but put it down, pushed her plate away and sat back. "What do we do now for our daughter, eh? After 24 years of screwing up that's the question isn't it? What do we do? You have to answer that, right? We both do. I can't answer for you, I can only answer for me. Here's what I did."

And she told me. The night they were looking at porn, my porn, it may have been a look inside my head but it had been a key to opening up Janice's id. Pat had put her clothes on before they started into their long conversation but after awhile Janice started tugging at Pat's shirt. Pat had a dilemma, the same one, she claimed, I was facing. Does she stop her daughter and face further alienation or does she trust her daughter's maturity and let her deal with the consequences.

Pat chose the latter. "Because she's smart, Mike, we both know that, but she's injured, too. If she thinks this would help her, fine, I couldn't see how it could hurt. We've never been close, that was far more my fault than hers. Now she wanted to be, she wanted to be intimate. Was I going to say 'no?' Not a chance. And, I'll quickly admit, I loved it, I loved that she wanted to be intimate with me," then she added defiantly, "and I'm glad we were."

I could barely picture the scene. "Right there?"

"It wasn't sex, Mike. We made love. Now, every time we're together I feel remarkably close to her. I don't care what you think, it was beautiful, it was the right thing to do."

"Now, you're having sex with your daughter."

"She's not looking for a partner, Mike, she wanted to break through the barrier between us nd we have. That barrier isn't there any more and I have a real live daughter as a result. It blows me away. Porn came through again."

I tried to hide my hard-on when I got into bed a little while later but I couldn't.

Pat laughed. "I get it, Mike, she's a fabulous looking girl with a fabulous body and she'd better fabulously get here pretty fabulously fucking soon or I'm going to take that fabulous thing for myself."

I pretended to read but obviously I was listening to every noise in the house. The door closed about 20 minutes after we got into bed and she was in our room minutes later.

As always, she came in silently and went over to Pat's side. The light from the two reading lamps wasn't strong enough to easily read her face but her intention was easy enough to see. She quickly took off her clothes and when Pat opened the covers, she climbed over Pat and lay between us, as she had before, a young daughter wanting to be with her parents.

Pat leaned over and kissed her and asked her how her day was.

"That remains to be seen," she answer, without humour.

"Look, Jan ..."

She climbed on me, straddled me, reached between her legs and took me and put me in. It happened in an instant then she lay on me, her face in my neck and she very slowly fucked.

It was instinctive, as if fathers had done this since the beginning of time, I brought my arms around her, held her, feeling my love for her over-flowing in me, love and pride and ownership. Ya, sure, at some level I must have been unbelievably turned-on, but that's not what came through. All the other things did and the knowledge that, for whatever reason, my daughter wanted to be on me, wanted me to be in her and with her face pressed into my neck like it had been when she was a baby, she was slowly having me.

It took awhile. My only encouragement was with my arms. Perhaps for propriety, her noises were minimal; when she came she was squeezing my neck desperately. When it was over, when her orgasm had passed through her she slumped on me leaving me in her.

"You talked to mum, didn't you?"

I didn't know what she needed to hear so I was honest. "Yes."

"She told you I needed this."

Pat's voice was just inches away. "And that we did, too, honey. I told him we did, too."

She stretched up on her arms and looked down on me. "Did you, dad?"

"Your mum said she's closer to you now, much closer and she wanted me to be closer to you, too. And I want that Jan, I want us to be as close as we can be, as close as we reasonably can be."

She actually tittered at this then lay down again. "'As we reasonably can be.' OK, so no more fucking, dad."

"Come on Jan."

She tittered again. "No, I'm saying no more fucking dad." She squeezed me, I could feel my penis slipping in her. "Don't worry, dad, I'm not going to compete with mum but I still want to sleep with you guys once in awhile."

"OK," I said, relieved and to lighten things up I added, "so can I have my guy back now?"

She kissed me on the lips and pulled away and I flopped out. "How about if I give him to mum?"

Janice sat up and pulled Pat towards me. She came willingly and thought, as I did, that she was to straddle me but at the last second Janice pushed her head down toward my prick.

"That's what he wants, don't you dad?"

And that's what she wanted too, the horny little whelp. Pat got on me like a hungry pilot fish and she must have had her fingers between her legs because she was done as soon as I was and a few seconds after that we were all lined up, all ready to nod off, all with our own thoughts.

It was maybe five minutes later when her voice crept out from under the sheets. "You know, for the first time ever, I feel like trying to find what you guys have."

We were watching a football game two days later. We didn't do it very often but occasionally Art and I got together in an idle Sunday afternoon and drank a little beer, killed a little time.

It was well into the third quarter when he asked, with a little bit of a slur, "How did you do it? That business in our living room."

I didn't know what he was talking about, but then I wasn't paying much attention. I had been thinking of Pat and Janice and the way my life had been turned upside down.

He took a quick look at my lap and the hard-on that was obviously straining at my pants. He explained. "You put your hand under Pat's shirt and just about drove her through the roof. I try that with Gloria and I'd get my lights punched out."

I laughed, maybe because I could see it happening. Art is a thin, effeminate-looking guy. His wife Gloria is a robust, big bosomed ball-buster type. We've always thought of them as the Odd Couple.

"Seriously," he pressed. "What's changed? I've never seen anything like that from you guys."

I'm not normally open to talking about my personal life, never have been but things had changed. "Well, we've kind of rediscovered each other."

When he looked at my lap again his whole continence changed. "It looks like it."

I knew what he was referring to, it was conspicuous, I couldn't help it, I was so locked up in what got it like that I wasn't even embarrassed, it might have been the booze. I laughed again.

There was an awkward silence for a long moment, then he said. "That may have been my most erotic moment in the last five years, you sticking your hand under Pat's shirt."

This totally surprised me. I tried to make light of it. "You live with Gloria fucking Baker for God's sake and that was your most erotic moment?"

"I think Pat is the sexiest woman on this planet. I didn't, I used to think, well I've always thought that she was kind of cold but then that happened, you slid your hand onto her stomach and she just went nuts. Fuck me, now I've got one."

I laughed yet again but there wasn't any discomfort this time, this was kind of fun. "And you think I wouldn't get it up if I saw you slid your hand up Gloria's shirt?"

"Would you?"

"She's got an unbelievable rack, Art, but then," I chuckled, "you may've had occasion to notice."

He looked grim. This wasn't funny. "Not in the last few years I haven't."

This hung in the air like a black cloud. I didn't touch it.

"So what happened with you guys?" he repeated. "Can I ask?"

Why not, he had opened himself up to me. "Porn happened, Art. Porn. I got into it, she got into it, we got into it, then we got into each other. The story is longer than that but it would never have gone anywhere without online porn, sad but true."

"She looks at porn?" He sounded like he thought this was unthinkable.

"Started a while ago."

"I'd give my left nut to get Gloria interested in it, that might mean there's hope."

Again, I didn't bite, I stayed neutral. "It's a bit of a banquet out there, something for everyone."

"God, no kidding." He hesitated as if rethinking the next question. "How did Pat change? Is that too personal?"

I tried to give him something without saying too much. "I don't know; it kind of sensitized her to the possibilities. Once you look at the stuff you might want to try some of it, that kind of thing."

"Ya." He turned silent. Looked uncomfortable. I thought I had said the wrong thing or touched the wrong subject. He was rocking back and forth in his chair, I thought maybe he was going to be sick, then he sprang out of the chair and in a second was on his knees in front of me. "Don't stop me, Mike. Please don't stop me."

There was terror in his eyes and in his whole being. It paralyzed me. I sat still, disbelieving, as he unbutton my jeans. If he had been anyone else I would have slugged him but he was a good friend and clearly in need and, frankly, I always kind of suspected he might be into this. When he pulled at my jeans my underwear was too tight so he was struggling to get at my prick. Porn did it. I had wondered about a moment like this ever since I got comfortable online. I've seen this scenario lots of time. I knew how to handle it. I pushed myself up and let him pull down my pants and underwear and I let him take me out and put me in his mouth.

I had imagined how it would feel, having a guy do this to me. And how I'd react. As I watched it online it took me awhile but I decided I could deal with it; then I decided I should try it; then I knew I wanted to try it; now, as he sucked furiously on me, I wanted the experience, the full experience.

And so did Art. He wanted it bad. He was moaning irrationally, sucking hard, there was spit all over me. It was gross but neat, too, a thrill, not a turn-on but a thrill, a thrill that I was finally experiencing what so many others have experienced. I watched him for a couple of minutes, let his urgency then decided to go for it.

I pushed him away, down onto the floor, onto his back and before he could react I kicked my pants off, turned around and straddled him and put my prick back in his mouth then started in on his pants. I wanted it by the time I got it out, it surprised me but I did and man did he ever want it. When I took him in my mouth he let out a long mournful cry and thrashed at me frantically and then, with a long grunting groan, he shot so much cum into my throat that I started to choke.

I pulled away to recover and to catch my breath and when I did he pushed me down and took me again and sucked as he stroked himself, sucked and slobbered and stroked until I was ready and I fucked back with a warning and emptied myself on his thin white chest.

I was prepared to be embarrassed, even a bit terrified but he didn't let me. He got up and with his pants still around his ankles waddled on spindly white legs to his chair where he pulled them up while I was pulling on mine. "You wouldn't have done that before you started looking at porn, would you?"

"Not a chance," I laughed, glad of the escape route.

"I love doing that. I've done it before, a few times, I'm probably part gay, a lot more gay since Gloria decided to withhold."

"Does she know?"

"Fuck no, are you kidding?"

I got up and took a long drink of beer before sitting down. "Am I kidding?" I thought of what had happened to me over the past few days. "Good question. Actually, when it comes to sex I don't know what I'm kidding about any more. I've looked at so much porn in the past few years I no longer think I know what normal is, or if there should be a normal. I can live with what I just did, Artie, no problem. A few years ago? I might have put a gun to my head. That's porn, eh?"

We talked about it, talked about it for another hour, mainly about Gloria and their problem. Finally, I asked him how adventurous he would be to get her going again.

"You mean to try and turn her on again? If that's what you mean the sky's the fucking limit ... and," he added bitterly, "it would have to be."

"So what if I tried to turn her around while you were there. What if I tried to turn her around by getting her to do what has worked so well for Pat and I; tried to get her interested in porn?"

He laughed mirthlessly. "She'd probably deck you ... or maybe not. I've always thought she fits you into some of her fantasies, if she has any."