Rod's Rod for Rosa

Five years ago, Rod Singer was an insurance salesman. working in a small city over-populated with insurance sales agents that meant his earnings were poor and his suits looked jaded with frayed cuffs.

Gwen his wife practically despised him and the other women into whose arms he fell for lively conversation and pelvic exercise tended to be rather third-rate.

Five years on, and oh, what a difference!

Rod Singer is on the A-list for garden parties, wedding invitations and top municipal gatherings such as the annual opening of the town's public swimming pool, the closing of the ice-skating rink in late spring and the Mayoress's widely-acclaimed annual Summer Flower Show.

These days, the happy and expensively dressed, Gwen allows him to talk to her friends and she drives an iridescent purple latest-model Porsche and usually has her male friend ten years her junior at her side.

Just as he did as an insurance salesman, Rod now immaculately suited and wearing a gold watch and gold cuff links, still knocks on doors by appointment and is invited in by the lady of the house.

Rod doesn't sell insurance, these days. Instead, he signs up such women (the strike rate currently is 58 per cent) for an intensive three-week course at the Rod Singer Tweaking Academy for Maturing Women.

Three thousand dollars sounds exorbitant for a three-week training course, and for one not offering live-in facilities. The academy's clientele are either desperate women or women aware that desperation for them will begin as soon their husband with increasingly frequency says he's too tired to have sex.

The academy is a front for sexual stimulation and upgrading of technique for women whose husbands stare in the mirror at nights dismayed that their hair is falling out and their libido is melting away.

Often, these men have entered or are about to enter the 'let's rip off as many as I can stage while I've still got fire-power below." In other words, slipping into the dreaded twilight era in the face of a looming downhill slide in their ability to perform and suffering the misery said to accompany that malaise.

That status will confirm what every woman on this planet knows, that every man's brain is connected to his dick and in his mind that is paramount to everything else.

During pre-enrolment negotiations to the academy, every woman gets down to the basic thought: Three thousand dollars for six two-hour sessions of therapy sounds incredibly expensive.

Rod sighs, and his answer is always the same: "Look, consider the alternative - how much will it cost you to find another replacement bedmate with the ability to perform strongly and consistently?"

The replies vary, some embarrassingly close to the bone. For example, 'If I picked up a hobo off the street I would be ahead, and probably giving head and having my efforts appreciated'.

A well-trained salesman, Rod would nod, smile and say nebulous things such as 'rightly so' and 'I understand' but if necessary, to win over any woman not yet convinced about shelling out all that money, he'd say, "Difficulties would surely arise if you dragged in a hobo off the street and he obviously had BO and then you find in shock that he was wearing dirty underpants. Such an experience is definitely not for you,"

Then he'd toss a verbal grenade.

Picking up his briefcase, he'd walk to the door, turn and releasing his Number One smile for the first time of the interview, "You just think about it. Take your time. Only make your decision before your husband runs off with some jezebel half your age or begins sending fishing buddies straight to you after catching fish to service you sexually."

That indicates how Rod maintains that 58 per cent response.

* * *

Creation of the academy occurred by chance.

Rod was ass-fucking one of his newly signed up prospects for an insurance policy five years ago when she burnt his brain with her brilliance.

She said: "I never allow my husband to do this. You have the natural ability to woo the pants off any woman. You should be teaching women some of the things you know about sex instead of wasting your time and theirs by selling insurance policies that none of us really want."

"We all want to be fucked by younger men - younger and younger as we get older and older, I would think. At an earlter stage, there are also heaps of married women wishing to know how to revigorated their husbands who are under-performing in bed."

Bingo!

Being a risk-taker, Rod resigned from his job and called in workmen to convert the loft above the double garage into a home office and a bedroom with en suite.

The most expensive fitting was a huge flat screen affixed to a wall on which Rod planned to show excerpts from porno films for educational purposes.

He took out a bank loan and said he'd buy Gwen a new car and promised to renew it with an upgraded model each year provided she renewed her promise never to go into his insurance processing clearance depot above the garage or question his female and sometimes clientele who'd mainly be insurance company administrators arriving for computer and systems training.

Gwen had replied that of course she wouldn't go nosing around in such a boring workplace - and what sort of car did he have in mind?

After his first three clients had passed through the academy, Rod was able to refine his systems and feel much more confident in his new role. A session would begin like this:

"Good morning, Mrs Huntington. So lovely to see you again. Please sit here and relax. No operations are done here nor are orifices clinically inspected (he laughs and the nervous client might twitter).

"Allow me to pour you this little glass of exquisite French wine."

"It's rather early to begin drinking, Mr Singer."

"It's only a small glass."

"Oh, oh (hand delicately resting above her breasts), "This wine is absolutely gorgeous, out of this world."

"Exactly, and this is how you and I have to remodel you so that your husband says the very same thing about you. You'll recall when I signed you up and you handed over your big wad of cash that I promised big things would happen, well you now have the concept in your mind of becoming a person who seems out of this world, figuratively speaking.

"Mrs Huntington - Rosemary. I have no academic qualifications nor have I trained as a therapist."

"Yes, you told me that at the outset, but said you were a specialist in the field because you have had sexual relations with a large number of women and though astute questioning you have come to know from those women what they want from men as they age."

"Excellent. So, there's no suggestion that I am a fraud as I make no claims other than field experience through numerous sexual relationships. Is that correct?"

"Quite, that is my understanding absolutely."

"Rosemary, you have to change your name."

"What, I love my name!"

"A new image requires a new name. What above Rose?"

"Absolutely not. My father told me once that half the prostitutes he visited when in the military were called Rose."

"Fancy that. There must be a marketing message in that, somewhere.

"Then let's call you Rosa."

"Rosa?"

"Yes."

"Rosa sounds nice, in fact very modern."

"Exactly! Good girl."

"How old are you, Rosa - the truth?"

"Forty-four. And how old are you, and don't lie?"

"Twenty-eight, not that it matters. You are quite well preserved for forty-four. Please remove all of your clothes. You may keep your panties on if you wish, but I don't advise it."

"Whatever for?"

"Because I need to see you how your husband sees you. There may be things that need to be done."

"But you're not a doctor."

"I never have and never will claim to be a doctor, but you don't go to a doctor for sex advice - they may well be the world's worst lovers through receiving a daily over-dosed of bared genitalia. Now keep that thought in mind."

"Remove all of my clothes? Um, may I go into that room and undress?"

"Yes, providing I can come in and watch"

"Why, are you intending to seduce me?"

"I won't lay a finger on you during our sessions - without your invitation, either expressed or implied. But you may touch me at any time or ask me explicit sexual things as it's part of our quest to represent you to spice up your life. I want to see what your husband sees when you undress."

"Oh God, I don't undress in front of him."

"Why not?"

"Because I never have."

"Does he undress in front of you?"

"Yes and he walks about stroking his penis even when we're not about to have sex. He gives the impression that he loves his dick, err his manhood."

"He does, it's his sensitive manly toy. Do you masturbate?"

"Rod!"

"What?"

"Err, yes. Do you have to be so full-on with your comments and requests?"

"Yes, we only have six sessions, and this one is slowing down. Undress! Remember, I'm preparing you for an active sexual life for the next 10, twenty or perhaps even forty years."

"Omigod," says Rosa, shedding her clothing rapidly, eyes sparkling.

"Oh dear."

"What, is there something wrong with the way I present myself?"

"Does your husband like hair?"

Rosa turns pink and mumbles.

"What was that?"

"I said he's got enough of it as hair sticks out of his ass."

"Please focus Rosa. Does he like you being so hairy between your legs?"

"It's not something we've discussed, at least not for as long as I seem to remember. But after being down there he's always spitting and picking his teeth.

"I see," said Rod, grinning.

"Is hair an issue?

"In my experience 'down there' as you call it, I reckon three out of every ten women trim their hair, two are partially shaven and three are totally or almost totally shaven."

"Good heavens, so we who are luxuriously hirsute are in a minority?"

"It seems so, at least in younger women but let's not forget some men are aficionados when it comes to a bushy box."

"Goodness, were do you get such terms from."

"Aficionados is..."

"No, like box."

"There are some 500 terms, mostly slang terms for parts or all of women's genitalia. One I particularly fancy is one the Brits use - quim. It seems to describe it perfectly.

"Oh, I say. I gather you may be an aficionado of, how do you say, on quim, yourself?"

"Well leave that aside for the moment. I imagine your husband would really like you offering him a trimmer, taunter body."

"Yes, I know he would. It's just such a pain dieting and exercising."

"Find another likeminded woman and go to the gym with her. It helps to turn exercising into a social event."

"Now that's a good idea. May I put my clothes back on."

"Yes, but learn how to dress and undress in a sexy manner so that it becomes habitual."

"But men wouldn't look after a few times."

"You're wrong thinking like that. There's nothing like a tit flopping out of the bra of women bending over slightly, exposing the long curve of flank and she looks up, hair half covering her face, and catches a man's secretive admiring gaze. They need not exchange a word; they both know that for a few millisecond two souls touched."

"Good gracious, how can you know all this and express it so eloquently, so erotically in fact. You're almost making me, err..."

"Say it, Rosa."

"Wet."

"Good girl. Some men like their woman talking how it is; some want their woman talking like a lady while others want their woman talking a little sluttishly and when porking, very sluttishly."

"Do you know how to talk to your husband in such moments to hold his attention, or even to take him down that track?"

"I think so, I know I used to do it very well."

"That's the problem, Rosa. It's all become too familiar and one of you or indeed both of you have slackened off and forgotten to nourish your joint sensuality, which is a vital part of two people being together as fundamentally it's the reason why they came together."

"I know, but it's hard."

"Now that's the sort of talk a man likes to hear."

Rosemary/Rose/Rosa giggled.

"I'm getting used to you calling me Rosa, I shall think about the possibility of getting Rex to call me that."

"Rex is your husband?"

"Yes."

"A strong name."

"I know, and used to say that to him occasionally. I don't want to lose him, Rod."

Rod ignored that, apart from throwing a sympathetic glance. He pulled the curtains.

"Do you enjoy watching porno films?"

"Not really, they seem to debase sex and exist to feed the depraved."

"Well put. We're going to watch one today that I have made from a number of DVDs of men eating pussy. If you get sexed up, touch me; I won't mind."

"Whatever you do or think, I want you to pay attention to what the women are actually saying to their cunt-licker. Women with the ability to carry on so naturally like this and they are the women who get returned fucks and are appreciated by men for their participatory skills."

"All right, but Rod, are you sure that you are not a trained presenter?"

"This morning you have been talking to me like no other man has ever done, apart from my husband, that I haven't wanted to storm out or berate him screaming for saying so-called filthy things to me. In the past hour we have spoken so naturally - it's as if we have been exchanging recipes."

* * *

That dialogue more or less describes a typical session at the oddly-named Rod Singer Tweaking Academy for Maturing Women, not that the name appears on letterheads or his signboards.

Rod is seeing up to twenty women a week, some requiring evening appointment, and often between sessions he goes prospecting for new enrolments.

Rod is pleased with the way the academy is flourishing, making him virtually awash with cash compared with past career. Some of the academy graduated have given him presents, sometimes expensive presents or even another wad of cash in delight of what they term "our second marriage."

Some, not unexpectedly, offer him their bodies but usually he sweetly declines suggesting it would be unprofessional to frolic. He prefers, of course, younger women which simply proves he's not incredibly smart. Let's follow one of the few exceptions.

* * *

Rosa appeared before Rod again.

He said, genuinely in admiration: "You look beautiful today, Rosa. I cannot believe just how sublimely you have adjusted. Just look at that svelte hipline!

"You're making my spot my panties, you bad boy."

"Oh God, Rosa. Is this really you talking to me so procatively?"

Rosa is dressed in black. She puts one leg on to a chair and pulls up the front of her skirt with both hands, smiling under lowered eyebrows at Rod.

Rod sees the black stockings clipped into a black and purple garter-belt which is partly covered by matching bikini panties.

He has a secret fetish about the slices of exposed white thigh between stocking tops and panties and Rod's cock with a very swift response becomes Rod's rod. He suspects this is a display to allow Rosa to show him that she's either dethatched her bush or even shaved.

He's right.

Keeping her skirt outstretched, Rosa skillfully pulls her panties to her knees and as she straightens, Rod sees there's been a major clearance of terrain, with just a thin line of black hair just short of her nub, rising up towards her belly. Sexy, very sexy, he thinks, almost about to drool. What a graduation day display!

"Come and fill mummy's cunt with Roddy's rod," she purrs, spreading her pussy lips.

In three leaps Rod lands in front of her, not even bothering to unbuckle. He unzips in exactly the way that that most o his clients initially dread.

"Straight in, it's dripping," she smiles, pulling the cockhead towards her lower lips.

The 'quim' is wet and inviting.

Steering his fat and not overly long piece of meat resting very expectedly in his four fingers, Rod shunts it fully home without difficulty and none was expected with a 44- year-old mother who'd birthed three children.

Rosa's soft, sexy voice comes at him in stereo and he hears references to his 'wonderfully warm and vibrant thick cock' and something he'd never struck before - 'I'm going to cum so hard that I expect I'll scream my tits off.'

At that Rod just managed to think of the face of his battle-axe paternal grandmother to avoid a premature ejaculation.

She blows, he blows and they walk off arms around each other to the shower.

At the shower Rod inserts three fingers into her 'beaver' (which is her favorite name but now it's shaven the name is inappropriate) and he leers at her and says, "You've got wonderful tits (well for a forty-four year old without support), and scraping across her clit with one of his nails. She screams, and sinks against him, babbling in some strange tongue.

They come from the shower and Rosa pushes him on to the bed and sucks him off, very expertly he thought - those DVD excerpts did show some of the best in the game at work. Rosa pumping and sucked him to a massive orgasm that caused a temporary loss of power to his vision.

Later, when a farewell drink in his office, Rosa told him that most of her women friends were happily chatting to Rosa about her apparent increase projection of sexiness but most of the men involved in such intimate conversation thought it was a dumb move to pay some guy they'd never heard of running a academy to teach females how to really fuck when that came naturally to most adult females.

Two of the husbands had asked their wives why was Rex now always watching Rosa walk out of the room when previously he'd just ignore her.

The feedback was exactly the same, that the teachings at the academy teaching females how to project their sexiness had a rub-off effect on their men.

About one in five of those men would say, "Enrol in that fuck's academy darling. I'm interested in the benefits to you rubbing me off."

Little wonder Rod is writing specifications for a replacement motor yacht twice as long with three times the propulsion power of his 5-year old sleek water craft.

The End