The Freak

Once you get to the part about why I'm a freak, so that you don't condemn me too fast and too viciously, I want to put my freakish talent, and how I used it, into perspective.

If a basketball player is unusually tall while still coordinated, or exceptionally coordinated and can jump out of his or her shoes, society doesn't condemn her or him for using their natural talent to make money and to provide entertainment to the population.

Similarly if someone has the spatial awareness, the ability to remain calm, and self-confidence to be a commercial pilot, we don't condemn him or her for using their natural aptitudes to make money and provide safe travel for the population.

With that background I'll tell my story and hope that you'll treat me as charitably as you would a basketball player or airline pilot.

**************

I wasn't a star in anything, although most women would consider my looks in general to be about an 8 on a scale of 1-10, I have an IQ that is average for a college graduate, and I'm never mean to anyone so I rarely alienated or irritated people. Other than that I thought that I was boringly unremarkable -- that is until I found out that I am a freak.

I had normal social interaction with women and a normal sex life from 18 to 22 years of age. I almost always gave a sex partner an orgasm, and I usually could get it up twice a session. I rarely picked up women at bars or like establishments, preferring instead to meet them in other ways and to at least try for a relationship. However about six months after my 22nd birthday I had just come back from a two week wilderness trip with a plasma hot guide named Cheryl who was aloof and unapproachable sexually but who had a virtually perfect female body and really got my juices flowing; I hornier than a two-dick billy goat!

Given my state of horniness and since I had just come out of a four month long relationship and had no other good prospects, I went to a local meat market with one of my buddies. There was a bachelorette party going on and the women attending were in an exceptionally good (and drunken) mood. It was like shooting fish in a barrel to pick up a prospective bridesmaid named Susan who had a 7 face and an 8 body, and who from the back could almost pass for the hot trip guide Cheryl.

I was a little worried when I got Susan back to my apartment that she was drunk enough to be past the point of being able to consent, but she assured me -- her words slurred -- that she wasn't. To be safe, with my iPhone I even recorded her pleading that she was fine and anxious to fuck; she seemed hornier than a nun at a Magic Mike showing.

I ended up fucking her doggy twice, doggy because from behind I could fantasize that she was Cheryl, and I came like a freight train both times. Susan also had a rip-roaring orgasm each time, intense enough that she couldn't have faked them. I did notice that she wasn't as flexible or energetic as most of my previous sex partners, but my fantasizing about the trip guide Cheryl more than made up for it.

When Susan essentially passed out shortly after the second fuck I was a little worried about how drunk she was as far as consent was concerned, but quickly fell asleep myself. I needn't have worried.

The next morning Susan woke up as cheery as any woman I had ever slept with overnight. The main theme of her conversation was wondering what I had done to her that made her feel better than she had in months. I admit that her comments were a real ego boost because I had never considered myself a super-stud, but according to her I was.

Susan lived close enough to me, and I was so devoid of any other outstanding possibilities, that I was happy for us to be fuck buddies. While she wasn't as vivacious as other women I had had relationships with, she was a more than decent fuck. She also had one thing over most women -- she said that she felt better every time that we fucked, so she was willing to do almost anything to please me.

I had a nice sexual relationship with no strings attached (I made that clear and she was fine with it) for the next several months. Susan seemed to get more energetic as time went on, and although her personality wasn't compatible enough with mine for a true romantic relationship, I really did enjoy fucking her.

Then there came a time when she asked me "Brian; I know that this is a weird question, totally out of the blue; but...but...I wonder if you would come to see my doctor with me?"

"You're not pregnant, are you?" I asked, more testily than I wanted to. I had inquired about birth control before out second fuck session and Susan assured me that there were no issues.

"No...not close...uh...my neurologist would like...uh...to talk with you," she stammered out.

"You see a neurologist?" I asked, flabbergasted. What little I knew about neurologists was that they operated on people's brains.

"Yes; I have MS," she replied.

"What's MS?" I inquired.

Like she was quoting Wikipedia she rattled off something like "Multiple sclerosis, commonly called 'MS,' is a disabling disease of the brain and spinal cord. The immune system attacks the protective sheath that covers nerve fibers and causes communication problems between my brain and the rest of my body. In my case it can cause muscle spasms, fatigue, lack of balance and coordination, pain, and other problems that I'd not like to get into."

"How bad is your case?" I continued.

"My doctor says it's 'average,' whatever that means. Somedays I have no problems, other days significant ones. However..." she started then stopped and looked at the ground.

I gently lifted up her chin so that she had to look me in the eye. "However, what...?" I asked.

"However, ever since having sex with you I've felt better and better, and I haven't had a typical bad MS day since the first night that we slept together."

I think that I almost passed out, and I'm sure that my eyes were rolling in my head. Susan looked at me concerned, grabbed my arm and asked "Are you OK?"

After a short pause I was able to gather my wits about me and replied "Yeah...uh...I think so."

"Well..." she continued "when my neurologist saw my progress over the last several months and asked what I was doing differently, I told her about our sexual relationship. She said that sex alone could be responsible for my progress -- that's why she wants to see you."

That scared the shit out of me. I started to think that I would become a lab rat. I didn't know what the laws were concerning a doctor's right to make me do things that I didn't want to do if I had some sort of freakish ability, so I replied "Sorry...I can't do it," and took off.

Susan called after me, and I turned to look and saw tears streaming down her face, but I kept going.

I hoped that that was the end of it -- it wasn't.

************

I didn't respond to Susan's calls or texts for the next two weeks, and avoided her when she came by my apartment twice. I was having a hard time dealing with the situation thinking that maybe I could help, but I wasn't any closer to agreeing to be a lab rat. Then about nine o'clock one Friday night there was a knock at my door.

I looked through the peephole to make sure that it wasn't Susan. It wasn't. It was a woman who on first glance looked mature -- but WOW had she matured well. Curious, I opened the door.

"Hi," she said with a big smile. Seeing her without the distortion of the peephole and full size my breath was almost taken away. She was probably in her late thirties, but the only number that I could think of was "10," the only ten I had seen live aside from that wilderness guide Cheryl who had inspired me to pick up Susan.

She said something else after "Hi," but since I was mesmerized I didn't hear it. I finally snapped out of it and said "I'm sorry; I was a little taken aback by someone coming to my door, and I didn't hear you well. Do you mind repeating what you just said?"

She chuckled -- maybe she was used to guys temporarily losing brain function after looking at her for the first time, so she patiently repeated what she had apparently earlier said. "I'm Dr. Vivian Hampton, Susan Bernardo's neurologist. Mr. Stevens I know that you had an adverse reaction to Susan asking you to come to see me, but my reason for wanting to see you is important enough that I sought you out. May I come in?"

Vivian Hampton is not a woman that it is easy to say "No" to; at least it was impossible for me to say "No" to her; so I stepped aside and waved her in.

"Please call me Vivian; and may I call you Brian?" she said/asked.

"Uh...sure...Vivian," I stammered, still tongue tied. It didn't help that she sat across from me and crossed her long, toned, tanned legs which caused her already above-the-knee skirt to ride up slightly exposing more sculptured thigh.

"There are two things I would like to discuss with you. I hope that you will be amenable to at least one, Brian."

"Uh...OK...what are they Vivian?" I was able to stammer out but only by looking from her exquisite legs to her equally exquisite face.

"I would like to get a real feel for whether or not what Susan says about the progress that she has made with her MS is real. It will require actual experimentation, both objective and subjective; but hopefully the experimentation that I have in mind will actually be pleasant for you," she stated with a smile that I characterized as diabolical.

"Uh...what's the second issue?"

"I would like to do intense chemical evaluations of your body secretions and fluids, which would involve enlisting the services of a pharmaceutical company," she continued, with an even bigger smile.

"Uh...not so sure about the second one," I replied, starting to sweat.

"Are you interested in at least hearing about the first one -- which will not require any needles or unpleasantness?" she queried, crossing her legs the opposite way with just enough pause between the next crossing to flash a hint of beaver.

"Uh...sure," I gulped.

"First, I'm afraid that I'll have to ask you to sign a confidentiality agreement. This is necessary to protect me -- and you -- so that neither of us reveal any information that we shouldn't," she smiled, pulling a couple of copies of a two page document out of the valise that she had with her that I hadn't even previously noticed such was my preoccupation with her beauty.

She handed me one copy of the confidentiality agreement and then went over it with me paragraph by paragraph. It was in simple language, not legalese, so it was pretty understandable. It basically said that neither of us would reveal to any other party the objective and subjective experiments that she had planned. There was no obligation for me to go through with the experiments if I chose not to after hearing the details about them, but I couldn't reveal those details to anyone at any time. There was a penalty clause with a substantial monetary penalty if either party violated the agreement, which only had to be proven by a preponderance of the evidence -- which she explained to me was a 50.1% probability.

I asked her if I could call my mother -- who is a lawyer -- and ask her about it. "By all means," Vivian replied. "You can do it now, or I can come back."

"She's two time zones earlier, so it's only about 7:20 p. m. there, so let me give her a try," I replied, pulling out my iPhone.

Mom was happy to hear from me, even when I told her what the main purpose of my call was.

I read Mom the agreement; answered a few questions; and even put Vivian on the line to answer two others. At the end of the conversation Mom said there was no harm in at least finding out what the details were as long as I could keep a secret. I assured her that I could.

When I terminated the call I asked Vivian for a pen, I signed and dated both copies and she did the same thing. She gave me one copy and put the other in her valise. Then she asked "Can I reveal the details tonight?"

"No time like the present," I responded since it was a Friday night and I had no plans, nor any Saturday morning, so even if it took a while it was no big deal. Vivian started laying out her plan:

"Before I start I want to confirm that you are not married and have no romantic interest at this time and that there is nothing that prevents you from having a sexual relationship with others, including no STDs."

"I can confirm that," I hesitantly responded.

"You don't mind if tomorrow I take you for an STD test, just for the record; my expense," she remarked.

"No problem," I replied.

"Good. I have a fairly large number of MS patients, more than any other doctor that I know, and most of my patients are female. What I would like is to do a complete evaluation of each patient that we agree upon, then for you to have sexual intercourse with them on several spaced occasions, and then redo the evaluation after each time. That is the objective part of the test, which I will keep careful records for."

"What!" I exclaimed. "How would they agree to that?"

"Anyone who has MS is looking for a solution and I could easily convince half of my eligible patients to agree," she cackled.

"What if they're married?" I probed, sweat now actually rolling down my forehead and building up under my arms.

"We'd get the husband's permission otherwise we wouldn't do it."

"What if a patient isn't physically attractive to me?"

"You won't be required to experiment with anyone that you don't want to; however I think that you'll find that most of the women that I recommend are desirable in some ways."

"Maybe..." I demurred.

"That brings me to the subjective part of the experimentation," she grinned, although what she said next was far from humorous. "Ironically, I self-diagnosed myself with the early stages of MS just two months ago, confirmed by a colleague just a month ago. I would like to subjectively evaluate myself during a period of months of having a sexual relationship with you. Of course I would do objective testing of myself in addition to a subjective evaluation."

I think that the Brit's have a word for my reaction to that -- "gobsmacked" -- or perhaps even that word isn't strong enough. My sweat glands instantly produced a river, my breathing got labored, and my legs got weak -- thank goodness I was seated. My cock also inflated forming a tent in my pants.

Vivian laughed at my reaction. "I guess that you need some time to process it," she chuckled. "Let me give you some more data to use in your evaluation.

With that she wiggled her blouse off -- no bra -- walked over to me, knelt, pulled out my rock hard cock, and gave me a world class blowjob while I massaged her superb bare mammaries. After I shot a monster load, which she guzzled down, she wiped her lips with her hand, stood up, pulled her top back in place, and while my cock was still exposed and three-quarters hard got an evil smile on her face and said "I'll pick you up at 9:30 tomorrow morning to go get STD tests so that we can start real experiments before the end of next week."

All I could do was nod like an automaton.

I had to beat my meat thinking about Vivian's spectacular body and consummate sexuality before I could get to sleep. There was no chance that I wasn't going to "get with the program."

*************

Vivian arrived at my apartment right on time. It took only four minutes in her Ferrari before we arrived at the testing lab. She paid for expedited service, and for both our results to be sent to both of our phones. We were told that the results would probably be available by sometime Tuesday afternoon.

I would have thought that the fact that I went to get STD tested with her would be Vivian's answer to her question as to whether or not I was on board with the first prong of her program. However, after she turned off her engine in front of my apartment building she asked "So, Brian, are you on board for my program?"

"The first part -- hell yes," I smiled. "Except I'm still wondering if it's real. Believe it or not no woman who checked every '10' box I can think of has wanted anything to do with me."

"Why thank you for the implied comment," she chuckled. "You sell yourself short -- but this is just for science, isn't it?" she rhetorically asked before laughing.

Then she kissed me on the lips -- not a peck, but as smoking hot as any short kiss ever in my experience. "Assuming all is well can I bring my toothbrush to your apartment Tuesday night -- say about nine o'clock?"

"Shit, this woman doesn't let grass grow under her feet," I said to myself. What I said aloud was "Sure; 9 p. m. Tuesday it is."

That got me another smoking hot kiss, and then she laid rubber as I waved goodbye.

I found it hard to concentrate on anything that weekend extending into Monday. I had a significant project at work, however, so I had to get my head out of my ass and concentrate. I did OK until I got an email Tuesday about 4 p. m. with "all clear" test results for both of us.

I treated myself to a great dinner, although I ate about half of the volume that I normally do to make sure that my food was digested by 9 p. m. so that all of my blood would go to my penis then.

Vivian arrived promptly at 9 p. m. with her toothbrush, as promised, and an overnight case. After planting one of her trademarked smoking hot kisses on my lips she put her hands on my shoulders. "Brian; I had a bad day today. For the first time since I was diagnosed with MS I had muscles spasms and unusual fatigue. I need you to fuck my symptoms away."

I got out almost the entire response "I'll do my best" before she planted another scorcher on me, and started to unzip me.

It was the most restraint that I ever exercised in my life to not immediately fuck Vivian, especially since she seemed to be craving it -- but I had to taste her sweet pussy and manhandle her magnificent tits before I "got to work."

She really did have a sweet pussy, and a large hoodless sensitive clit. It didn't take much licking, sucking, and nipple-twisting to put her over the edge. She orgasmed so hard that she almost flipped off the bed. When she recovered she actually begged to be fucked. I never even had a date with a 10 before, let alone fucked one. My cock was ready.

Her pussy wasn't just sweet -- it was snug; really snug. She also had excellent pc muscle control and her strong muscular thighs effortlessly wrapped around my torso. Her pussy milking my cock, her nipples pressing into my chest, and the vision of her heavenly body and face put me over the edge faster than at any time since I was 18. I was afraid that I was premature, but when as I ejaculated her pussy clamped on my cock, her thighs squeezed my torso and she screamed and shivered.

It was the best fuck of my life -- by a light year!

Before that evening I had never gotten it up more than twice in one night. That night -- continuing to the next morning -- she got me up four times. She was a fucking goddess, and a goddess at fucking. By the time that she left for work at 8:30 a. m. I was so mellow that I wasn't sure that I had a backbone.

I was on cloud nine the entire day, but my great mood didn't distract me at work. It actually inspired me. I felt better about myself than I ever had before. So what if the mature goddess was fucking me because she thought that it would help with her MS; she was actually fucking me, so what did I care what the reason was?

My day got even brighter when shortly before quitting time I got a call on my cell from the Goddess. "Hi Brian," she oozed out with enough sexuality to almost cause an orgasm. "I thought that you might want to know how I felt today."

"You got that right, Goddess," I chuckled.

"I felt the best that I have in months. I had no MS symptoms at all today. Based upon my subjective evaluation I believe that there is something about your seminal fluid, or how you inject it, that at least temporarily reverses the symptoms of MS."