What Women Want; What Women Need 06

Author's Note: you should most definitely read What Women Want; What Women Need, Part 05 before this installment in the series.

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Arthur:

I had worked very hard in graduate studies in Ann Arbor. To earn simultaneous medical and law degrees at a leading University in four years was no minor accomplishment. And quite the grind: either degree takes a lot of work. During this period I needed to have my, uh, physical needs met. However, a conventional social life would have meant my pursuing women who all too often would need tedious maintenance requiring a lot of time and patience I didn't have to give. I needed a woman who would meet all my needs exclusively and require almost no attention, let alone coddling or even caring, in return. A tall order in this day and age, no? But a necessary one given the academic rigors I was about to face.

The unique way I dealt with that challenge is covered in "What Women Want; What Women Need" parts 03 and 04, published in Literotica®. If you add your name to my list of Followers, you will be notified when these installments are put on-line in these pages.

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With his degrees in tow, Arthur moved to Manhattan. He became a supervisor in a leading cancer-research facility, quickly passed the Bar Exam, and joined a prestigious law firm that concentrated in the areas of freedom of speech and libel law in an "of counsel" capacity. The law firm affiliation was unsalaried. Arthur entered into the arrangement just to have a platform from which to act in the event he might need to pursue litigation of any sort.

Arthur was more than content with and well-paid for his cancer research activities. He was a good manager, and had a real feel for the research. And he worked nowhere near the number of hours per week that he had when pursuing two advanced degrees - so he found himself with lots of leisure time on his hands.

Arthur was an avid musician - gifted in trombone and clarinet - and he would jam or sit in on gigs with local groups once or twice a week. But he had plenty to time left over to engage in the astonishing and intoxicating social milieu of Manhattan in the late 90's. He had the looks - the facial scar referred to in Part 01 of this series, the result of surviving a fatal fire while an undergraduate - had been rendered virtually unnoticeable by a deft plastic surgeon. Arthur was thus more than presentable, interested in a number activities and pursuits, was very personable, and had money. Most importantly, he understood women and their needs. Sounds like a recipe for social success, no? Well, it most certainly was.

Arthur:

For roughly a year and a half after coming to the Big Apple, I lived the dream life of most American males: seven-nights-a-week of unattached, uncommitted sex. I was truly decadent: my personal record was four (4) women in a 24-hour period. (As one of my understanding partners quipped, "Seven days make one weak.") I would go to parties and informal gatherings with friends and acquaintances - and non-acquaintances: with my looks, a bottle of good wine and a warm smile were my ticket of admission to almost any gathering in the big city. And three or four hundred dollars in my vest pocket and three or four condoms in my back pocket were usually sufficient to meet most eventualities.

I was mixed with, and delighted in, all types of women: struggling actresses, undiscovered artists, musicians, established stage actresses, fledgling models, nurses, paralegals, professors, established models, successful artists; but also tony owners of upscale galleries, physicians and Wall Street Titanettes - women with MBA's and law degrees who were recruited at $180K annually (a decent starting wage 20 years ago) but expected to work 80 or 90 hours weekly for that stipend in upscale law firms or investment banks. This servitude for the cream of tomorrow's female movers and shakers of course ruled out their having any kind of a conventional social life - and they found that Erica Jong's "zipless fuck" was just what the doctor ordered. And I was quite willing to help them out with this in their times of need.

I did not have a physical "type" that I preferred. Truly democratic, I accepted tall, short; svelte, zaftig; blonde, auburn, brunette; pancake breasts, average breasts, small-breasted femmes, tiny tits, big busted (but not excessively so - I drew the line at anything North of a D-cup; alert nipples, quiescent nipples, protuberant nipples, swollen areolae; average pussies, plump pussies, thin pussies, shorn pussies, jungle pussies, waxed pussies; piercings (except tongue or mouth) were fine. Pretty faces, plain faces, sophisticated looks, girl-next-door looks, happy expressions, pouty expressions; wary expressions, sad expressions, seductive expressions, innocent expressions, they were all intriguing to me. In short, there were very few fish I threw back into the feminine sea.

The corridors of Manhattan during this era pulsated with carnal excess. And I went for it, grabbing for sex of every sort - you name it, everything was within my wheelhouse except (a) I would not go down on a woman; and, (b) I would not enter her anally. The absence of these varieties did not matter a bit given my astonishing sexpertise and my constant emphasis on sharing (that is to say, imparting) pleasure as opposed to merely receiving pleasure. And invariably your humble servant did please one and all comers - or should I say, "cummers"?

I rarely had encounters that lasted more than five or six times with the same woman, often only once or twice - and neither they nor I expected anything even faintly approaching exclusivity. I misled no one as to my total lack of interest in a long-standing "gonnegtion" (as Wolfsheim would call it). Yet in my own way, I was a caring partner. These women and I shared the simple understanding that we owed one other nothing more than a brief interval of rigorous sexual release, perhaps (but by no means necessarily) accompanied by an occasional minute dollop of tenderness.

And then, it all stopped. I called a sudden halt to my dissolute behavior. My physical needs notwithstanding, I decided I just wasn't getting what I needed from the meaningless sex that was my lifestyle. Woody Allen once wrote, "Sex without love is an empty experience, but as empty experiences go it's one of the best." Well, my sex life was not actually entirely devoid of love; there was in fact plenty of love on my part - self-love. But seriously, all of a sudden I came to appreciate that I needed something more than the profligate orgasm-fest that was my existence. I needed a certain someone, a permanent partner. I needed the stability of a single bed. Well, actually, a single California King bed. (All right, not very funny.)

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Arthur made a 180 degree change of direction in his life. He became celibate, until he could find "the one." He decided to date women, but only those who appeared worthy, in other words not the female version of the horn dog he himself had very recently been.

In Arthur's quest, he resolved to see only one woman at a time. And he set a strict limit of three dates: if at that point he didn't feel a sufficient spark with someone, he would not see her again. But if he did elect to go beyond that point, he would explain his intentions (i.e., his interest in a long-term exclusive relationship) and seek a corresponding pledge of exclusivity from the potential partner while they got to know one another better. And here was the pièce de résistance: he would explain to any prospective candidate who had passed the three-date minimum that he would want to remain chaste until he might ask for her hand in marriage, and in turn would be accepted.

Well, the problem was obvious. While any number of young female Manhattanites of substance might well be drawn to a committed relationship with an eligible young man possessing a core of solid values, how many of those putative partners would want the understanding going in that the ultimate goal was marriage? Well, less than the initial pool, to be sure. And how many of that group would be willing to forego sexual satisfaction until a marriage commitment was made? Likely far less. But Arthur understood the realities of the situation and notwithstanding these he forged forth. In addition, he figured, a woman who was willing to forego easyliaisons in exchange for the possibility of something far more rewarding probably possessed the kind of character he would want in a wife.

And so over 15 months or so he saw a dozens of women once or twice or even three times, but after that he only sought to enter into an exclusive, initially non-physical relationship only three times. And only one of the women he then asked accepted his candid and unusual terms. The one trial relationship thus entered into lasted only a couple of additional dates, when he and she realized they weren't right for one another and mutually called it off.

So Arthur, only slightly daunted, continued his series of "try-outs," as it were, into year two. Sex continued to elude him.

Arthur:

And then I met Marti.

One early evening I attended a 6:00 p.m. lecture at the Cornell University Hospital, on Manhattan's East Side, where I had acquired (but never used) admitting privileges. A friend of mine on the Psychiatric service was speaking on "Clinical Hypnosis - Changing from the Ordinary to Extraordinary." I was very interested in the topic: in medical school I had taken as many elective courses as I could that dealt with hypnotherapy and hypnotic techniques. (The reader should note that my use of hypnosis for personal purposes in dealing with women is touched upon in Parts 02, 03, and 04 of this series.)

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When Arthur first became aware of Marti, Roger had been her slave for nearly two years.

Arthur:

There were about three dozen attendees, a handful of physicians and psychologists but mostly students from the two medical schools and three graduate schools affiliated with the hospital. One of them stood out to me when during the Q. and A. session she rose and asked an intelligent question that showed a deep understanding of the topic. She was simply attired but presented herself in a very professional manner, extremely self-assured for a student. And she was quite attractive physically. Repeat: quite striking indeed.

Professor F.'s reply helped her very little if at all: the question was fairly technical and, as he explained, could best be answered in a one-on-one setting with a professor or other trained therapist.

What happened next came as the result of instinct, not planning. Honestly - I did what I did without conscious thought, but as I later came to realize, it was with a design and purpose subconsciously aforethought: I quickly moved nearer to the stage, so that I could greet and exchange a few pleasantries with my friend Dr. F. when he was done with his lecture. And particularly to make sure I could be seen doing so by this mystery woman. My subsequent segue was swift: I wandered off a few steps from the podium and inadvertently (or so it appeared) brushed into the woman in question.

I turned and spoke: "I'm sorry, forgive me my clumsiness." She nodded, nothing more. I continued, "Oh, it was you who had the question about scripts, right? My colleague's response wasn't very helpful, was it?"

"Colleague?" she asked.

"Well, yes, the good Professor and I have been friends for years and I have recently acquired staff privileges here." In truth I had known him only a week, but I did have privileges.

"Oh."

"Well," I continued. "Carl (Prof. F's surname) gave you short shrift. He probably wanted to avoid explaining to you in public that you really were asking the wrong question or, more accurately, should have been asking two related questions."

"Is that right?" she asked.

"In my experience, yes."

"Can you go into greater detail?" she asked.

"Well, sure, I think I can help. Let's see, where can we discuss this in a quiet setting? Ah, I know. There's an intake room used for hospital admissions just down the hall, and it won't likely be in use at this time of night. Come," and with that I led her away from the lecture room. And to a new life.

Marti:

So I met Arthur at the medical center. He was young, perhaps a year older than I am, so at first I took him for another student. But he was actually a doctor, friends with a Professor who was delivering a speech on a topic of interest to me. When the lecture ended, I literally bumped into Arthur, we spoke, and he very kindly offered to provide clarity on an aspect of the talk concerning which Professor F. had been vague.

Arthur:

Marti and I made our way to the destination and sat across a small desk from one another in the quiet, tiny room with low recessed lighting. I had slid the status bar outside the room so it would read "OCCUPIED" and prevent intrusions; and once inside I lowered the shade over the windowed aperture in the door for privacy.

Marti was a graduate student taking a course in hypnosis at Columbia, in the psychology department. She wanted to be able to use this skill in her intended profession as a therapist. But in her practicum for her course, a sort of workshop, she had failed to "put under" (entrance) any of her intended subjects. These were fellow students in the course. She wondered if her scripts, the patter used to induce a trance, were faulty. I told her that the precise language used in scripts was rarely all that important.

"Have you ever been hypnotized yourself?" I asked.

"Twice, by fellow students taking the same course," she indicated. "That's why I'm frustrated that I cannot do it myself."

"Well, we don't want you frustrated, do we?" I asked. She blushed slightly.

Marti:

Very early he made a comment that could have been a double entendre and I was suddenly on my guard. I didn't want to deal with another testosterone-driven male whose sole goal was getting into my pants. But up to that point his behavior had been perfectly satisfactory, entirely professional and he apparently was a member of the faculty, a physician with admitting privileges at the hospital. So I let it go.

Arthur:

"Marti, have you ever hypnotized anyone in a non-course setting?" I asked. She replied in the affirmative but indicated it was not a part of her studies and she would rather not discuss the details.

"Well, that's fine," I said, and although I was quite intrigued and wanted to learn a lot about this I didn't let on.

"Look," I went on, "it's been my experience that the exact words used in a script are not particularly significant. Much more important is the setting and the trust the subject has in the therapist. For instance, now you're just a fellow student to your intended subject, and he or she does not have much invested in the exercise. So they're not giving it the attention needed. But when you're actually in practice, your patient will be quite desirous indeed of your succeeding, and will not doubt your ability to help.

"Further," I continued, "the tone of the therapist's discourse should be measured and calm." Here, I lowered my voice, and leaned in closer to Marti. Just a little.

"The pitch should be soothing, and bring ease to the subject," I continued, looking deeply into Marti's eyes. I used a very relaxed, informal inflection in my voice, initiating in her a tranquil feeling, and causing her to return my gaze.

"The language and timbre combined should lull the subject into a state of lowered awareness," I continued, "a pleasing, comfortable, unrushed condition of reduced consciousness. I slowly leaned forward and moved further closer to her; she reciprocated, and our heads were now about eight inches apart.

"You seem to be feeling that way yourself at present," I intoned. "Nod if I am right."

Marti nodded.

"That's because you feel at ease discussing this matter with someone who is well-versed and desires to help you. You do not doubt my ability to assist you; is that right?"

Marti nodded again, mumbling something fuzzy and indistinct.

"The subject should feel at ease, just like you are now, and when that happens she will become so restful that her eyelids become somewhat heavy. She also might sway or gently rock in her seat just a bit, as you now feel like doing yourself," I softly purred.

"Right now you are reacting just as a subject I am hypnotizing would. You are drifting, gently floating, beginning to feel drowsy. You feel wonderful, at peace. Marti, stare into my eyes; good: you cannot tear your eyes away from mine, and your eyelids are becoming rather heavy.

"As this continues," I continued, "you will find your eyelids getting even more droopy, and I see you're swaying just a little. Nod if it's getting very hard for you to keep your eyes open."

She did. Our eyes continued to be locked, though hers were noticeably listless, even lethargic.

"Marti, allow your eyes to close, there is no need to resist, it feels so pleasant, and so warm. You should let your mind drift and your head gently relax and rest upon your shoulder," I continued. She was almost there; no resistance at all.

"You feel wonderful in your serene state, and you have complete confidence in me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And you feel so comfortable knowing you can rely on me to help you." Nothing crossed her lips except a slight smile. We were there.

"Now we're going to have a confidential discussion, Marti, and you will open up to me about everything I seek to know. You will feel fine about doing this, because I am going to help you. You won't be able to refuse me any information, nor will you be able to disclose anything to me that is not completely truthful. You will want to do this very much. And you feel great about this process, don't you?"

"Oh yes, I do," Marti responded peacefully.

"Good," Arthur continued. "Now we'll start with your telling me about the times you have successfully hypnotized someone."

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Arthur proceeded from there. He delved into the details of Marti's hypnosis of Roger, and that led him to explore comprehensively her complete sexual history, the sexual violation she'd been subjected to in Greece that in turn led to her subjugation of Roger. Arthur was very impressed with Marti's intelligence, ambition, and burgeoning skills, and greatly sympathized with the tale of her ravishment. Yet he was absolutely repelled by her cruelty to Roger, and found it almost amazing that she had so little self-awareness that she couldn't see that Roger's enslavement did not help her in the least bit: not recovering from the trauma, not coming to terms with the opposite sex and her own sexuality. Arthur was strongly drawn to her, physically and emotionally but realized that given her flaws he could never love her.

Arthur decided to help Marti in the only way he could.

Arthur:

Then and there I decided to enslave her. This was absolutely necessary to correct the horrible direction her life had taken since she was accosted in Greece. Her hatred of men would have to be not merely curtailed but eradicated altogether. She would have to be made to see what she should have learned in the sandbox: two wrongs do not make a right.

Was I drawn to her physically? Was I hard as I contemplated her physical attributes, intelligence and skills? Let me answer that question with another question: "Are Democrats profligate spenders?" Answer: Of course. I had an enormous and stubborn erection.