The Story of D Ch. 03

byParis Waterman©

"They are and do. That's why you haven't heard or seen much of me all this time. But, and this is important... Here's why I believe it's all worthwhile. There are maybe six people in the world with my credentials. Now, I'm only making maybe $120,000 or so at the moment. And I'm still paying my educational bills. I'll be doing that for several more years, but..." I shifted in my chair and changed direction. "Hell, I never go anywhere or do anything. I really don't have a life outside the medical field. But, thanks to Dr. Ergstrom at Mayo, I'm the lead med-person searching for the gene responsible for Tourette's syndrome. Are you familiar with it?" I asked.

"To some extent I am," she replied. "It's a neurological disorder characterized by tics -- involuntary, tics and sudden vocalizations."

"Very good." I said, somewhat taken aback at Julie's knowledge of this rather obscure disease.

Gulping a breath of air into my lungs, I continued. "So we've got a diagnostic criteria which include both multiple motor and one or more vocal tics present at some time, although not necessarily simultaneously. Symptoms for TS are sporadic, sometimes disappearing for weeks or months at a time."

Realizing Julie's full attention was focused on me I roared ahead. "It hits most people before they reach 18. Although the word "involuntary" is used to describe the nature of the tics, it's not entirely accurate. It wouldn't be true to say that people with TS have absolutely no control over their tics, as though it's some type of spasm; it's more compelling in nature. People with TS feel an irresistible urge to perform their tics, much like you need to scratch a mosquito bite. Some people are able to hold back their tics for hours at a time, but this only leads to a stronger outburst once they finally let go.

"Coprolalia, the cursing, or racial epithets associated with TS are not, or do not have to be exclusively swear words. Many times coprolalia manifests itself as an overwhelming urge to use a racial epithet; even though that's the last thing the patient wants to do. Something about the "forbiddingness" of it impels a person with coprolalia to say it, seemingly against their will."

I paused, and then continued. "Now I'm to my neck in research, hoping to find a solution to TS." I looked at Julie, scratched my head and said, "We know it's genetically transmitted. Parents have a 50% chance of passing the gene on to their children. Girls with the gene have a 70% chance of displaying symptoms. Boys with the gene have a 99% chance of displaying symptoms.

"Unfortunately these studies have taken a great deal of time in the past. I... we, closely examined previous research. Nothing appeared to have worked as effectively as flaxseed oil. Keep in mind, though, that Tourette's syndrome is a symptom with many causes. What works for one child may not work for another. The reason flaxseed works is probably because it increases a substance called EPA which increases the good kind of prostaglandin. The prostaglandin definitely decreases the body's inflammatory reaction. You can only imagine what kind of havoc inflammation plays in the brain."

I sensed I might be losing Julie here and paused. She surprised me by gesturing for me to continue.

"Well, there is also a bad kind of prostaglandin, I call it bad for practical purposes; it serves a useful purpose by increasing the blood's clotting ability. Anyway, there appear to be a greater number of people responding to this treatment who associate worsening symptoms with virus and other infections like strep, allergy, and hormonal changes. I asked myself what connection all of these might have with bad prostaglandin.

"My guess was that the body increases the bad kind of prostaglandin when threatened with any kind of immune insult. Anyway, we're on the threshold of a major breakthrough. Merck, you know Merck?"

Julie tossed her blonde mane back over her shoulder and gave an affirmative shake of the head.

"Merck is cutting me in on one third of the profit for developing a successful medication. No. I've phrased that poorly. They've picked up extensive research costs. I've provided the brainpower. I have agreed to provide them with an exclusive use of the final product.

"As you're so fond of saying, the bottom line for me with respect to a viable solution to TS will be in the area of $3 Million. Oh yeah, when this research is completed I'll sign on with Merck and tour the world treating Tourette's Syndrome patients both mentally and physically wherever I find them.

"Now in between, I operate on a minimum of four patients a week, just to keep up with the latest in neurosurgery techniques."

"My God," Julie said, "you're unbelievable."

"Well Julie, remember we wanted to be the best in our fields as kids."

"Yeah, but that was mostly wishful thinking. Jeez, Rach, you've overachieved."

I decided to ignore that last comment and continued my story. "Well, needless to say, I need this break desperately."

"Shit, Julie, I nearly forgot, my husband, this is my second husband, Arthur. I believe you and Sidney met Brad. What a wuss he turned out to be. Well, that's not exactly true. He was all right; it was just that he couldn't keep up with me. Naw, I'm not being fair again. I had to let him go, my schedule made marriage to him an impossibility." I let go with a deep sigh.

"He had an eight inch dick on him. Thick too. He was my personal dildo for a year."

Julie laughed and scratched her leg. "So," she said, "Tell me about Arthur."

"Arthur and I got married last year. He's in banking in Minneapolis. Does alright I suppose. I don't pry into his business and he has little or no idea what I'm up to. We schedule our sexual activities every Sunday night based upon our upcoming schedules." I sighed, "He's not that demanding."

"Oh, poor baby," Julie cooed.

I got up and walked to the window and took in the panoramic view. There wasn't any. It was still a virtual wall of grayness outside, but looking out I was able to watch as a flock of pelicans glided past, forty or fifty feet below me. I continued to watch, enthralled as they wove their way until they were absorbed in the grayness.

"To quench my sexual appetite, I pick on the occasional intern. They're usually horny, and almost as pressed for time as I am."

"Now I'm getting horny," Julie volunteered. "What about you Hon? Or would you prefer to go shopping?"

"Shopping sounds good to me. I'll let you buy me something gaudy with all that money you're making from dirty old men."

"You're on." She laughed and stood up. "I know a great place to have lunch. The staff is male. And with this rain... well, they meet you with an umbrella... Did I tell you they're all bodybuilders and they wear tight, tight clothes. If you tip them well, they'll let you cop a feel... it's positively perverse."

I laughed and asked her who'll defend her in court when she's up for fondling a minor. Julie smirked, and the expression died upon her face as she exclaimed, "My God! I almost forgot the damn thing again... I promised myself not to do it again. Just a minute Rach, I'll be right back."

Julie hopped out of the room as she tried to fully insert her foot in one of her mules. A minute later she returned carrying a large box with the brand name 'Tide' on the two sides that I could see. Julie dropped the box at my feet.

"Do you remember this box?"

"I don't think so," I replied.

"Well, I've lugged this damn box around for twelve years. It's been through five moves. Last year I finally peeked inside and discovered it's your stuff. I knew it as soon as I... wait a sec..."

Bending over she reached inside the box and came up smiling lewdly as she produced a Barbi doll.

"Jesus!" I said, jerking forward to obtain a closer look. "Is that...?"

"Yes, Rach," she shrieked and jumped up and down. "It's your 'Special Barbi. Hey, it was even my special Barbi on occasion."

Malibu Barbie & the Diary

I don't know what to say about Barbie... Malibu Barbie, to be precise. I hadn't seen her in all those years.

Memories rushed in that I'd pushed back into the recesses of my mind. Time was I'd use it as my primo dildo. Not the head, mind you, my hole isn't that big! The feet − always feet first. Yes, both of them. Once started, I'd poke my fingers inside me and move the legs from side to side. I realized I'd absentmindedly spread my legs apart and discovered I was cupping my mons.

Julie had her hand over her mouth, silently laughing at me. I actually felt myself blush. Holding the doll out to Julie, I recalled the incredible feelings it produced. Like a twin cockhead, used with terrific aim. It was my personal, unconventional, masturbation toy. And suddenly I recalled Julie and me using it on each other.

Oh, yeah, Malibu Barbie was convenient in more than one way. We weren't very neat in those days, and on occasion my parents would drop in unexpectedly, Barbi was so much easier to explain than having a dildo or vibrator lying around the apartment. My parents never figured out why I wouldn't grow up and give up my doll collection. I found myself smiling at the memory and then for no discernable reason both of us burst into a giggling fit, just like teenagers.

It felt good. Julie sat down next to me and hugged her knees to her chest as we slowly regained our composure. "That's the only thing I've taken out. Once I established you owned the contents I left it alone, just waiting for the right moment to return it to you. Please, go on keep going. Let's see what else is in there. I'm anxious to see, damn it," she said feigning a morose expression, "I have nothing left of my own from those days."

Like a kid on Christmas morning, I poked around inside the box and removed several items that had little or no memories adhered to them.

Then I grasped the book. "It's my diary!"

"Damn," Julie exclaimed. "I didn't know you kept a diary. Does it...?"

"Oh, yeah. There's some hot stuff in here, but..."

"Come on, let's have a little sample."

"No Julie, it's my diary. It's sacred."

"Bullshit, Rach, a lot of time's gone by. Your Statute of Limitations has run out."

"Get real girl. For God's sake, you're an attorney. Cut the crapola will ya?"

Inexplicably, I found my grammar returning to that of my collegiate level. Julie's too, for that matter.

"Come on, Rachel. Please. Pretty please."

"Alright, just a small sample. Then we go out, okay?"

"Yes, sure. Pick a sexy part, Okay?"

"Let's just see. I'm not promising anything. For all I know it may be squeaky, pristine clean."

"RIGHT! Just for fun, start at the beginning. Go ahead. Oh, wait, want another cup of coffee?"

"Yeah, sure," I said turning to the first entry.

She was back in a flash and I was already deeply absorbed in the opening page.

"Here's your coffee."

"Oh, thanks," I said, and absentmindedly reached for the cup. Luckily I grasped it firmly, took a sip and started to read aloud.

"Last night I came out of the shower as I have a thousand times before. I stopped before the mirror and gazed at my nude body. This wasn't unusual, but the way I was looking at my reflection was. For some reason, I took a long, critical look at myself.

"Eighteen, really, really, long black hair. I noted (for the first time?) my eyes were somewhat almond shaped, and hazel in color. I stood five-foot eight inches barefoot and weighed exactly one hundred ten pounds. I cupped my breasts in my hands, hmmmm, they didn't exactly overflow them. My nipples began to stiffen. Watching them rise I thought, 'Still, 33C ain't all that bad.' My hands drifted to my waist and I watched coyly as my lips formed the words "twenty-three inches."

"Inexplicably, as if they had a mind all of their own, my hands traced over my hips. I smiled into the mirror and whispered, "thirty-three once again. I tossed my head and watched as my hair flew in a long arc through the air and whipped around my shoulder covering one breast. I turned to the side and checked out my profile. Speaking aloud I said confidently. "Not bad, in the vital statistic department. Not bad at all."

Facing away from the mirror I bent over and examined my ass in the mirror. One pimple stared back. After dabbing it with alcohol, I gave my cheek a nice gentle pat, and softly said, "I know you've turned a few heads this week."

My pubic hair had grown sufficiently so that it formed a neat triangle, and I hadn't had to trim it to get it that way. I wondered if the other girls had checked me out in the shower at the gym.

Now why would I wonder about that?"


"Well, that's interesting, but not insightful, Rach," Julie stated matter of factly. "You've managed to preserve those measurements pretty well if I may say so."

I thanked her and closed the diary. In a panic-stricken voice Julie pleaded, "Hey, no fair!" She placed her hand on mine. "Please read on. Just a little more, please?"

"Alright," I said placating her. "By the way, I think you're better looking now then you were at Columbia. How is that possible?"

Julie stretched like a cat. Very feline I noted. "I work hard at keeping my shape Rach. Very hard. Now let's get back to the diary."

I really wanted to read more myself, in private, but there was no way I could manage that without Julie being present at least for the next few days. Turning a few pages I settled on one and resumed reading.


"If I'm gonna keep a diary maybe I should put in a few details that happened to me before. This way I can have an accurate documentation later on. For example, I started dating at the end of my junior year in high school. I raised the bar from kissing to a lot more in senior year. I did it because I wanted to, not because my 'peers' were doing it. Hand jobs mostly, although there were a couple blowjobs during the later days of my senior year. Think Prom Night!

I liked the pleasure it gave the guys, and I enjoyed knowing that I was the one delivering 'that look' on the guy's face. I was in control. That seemed to be important to me. I mean, I'm not a control freak, shit, I'm not even sure what that expression means, but every few dates I would stonewall the guy, sending him home with what they called 'blue balls'.

"I always put up a bitchy tough front, so I made sure that I got the rep of being cold. No one thought about calling me a slut. When I did something for the guy, it was because I needed it. I guess I raped them, Ha, Ha, Ha, although they weren't exactly complaining."


Friday ____ "Met my roommate this morning. Her name is Julie and she's awesome! I can't believe how lucky I am. She's drop dead gorgeous and super intelligent! She's gonna take pre-law! Hot damn! I wanted a serious student to bunk with. This is better than expected. And the guys will positively drool over her! I'm sure I'd be happy with her rejects. Ahhh, the stud looking rejects that is. Whew! I can't believe my luck."

Sunday _____ "Julie and I have been together for a month now. I'm still in awe of her. Guys seem to topple down in front of her like bowling pins as we head for class and she just walks over their bodies."

Thursday _____ "Lately, I have been a masturbating fool. I mean, I did it watching the soaps this morning, then went to the mall, saw this hunk and ran for the ladies room and a vacant stall, not caring (or noticing) the one next to me was occupied. Later I called Brad (old high school beau) and ended up doing it with him on the phone. (No! he didn't know what I was doing!) And last I used two fingers to get off just thinking about Julie!

Yeah Julie. I saw her prancing into her room almost nude on her way from the shower. I recalled the way she's been dressing for class lately. Short skirts and tight sweaters, almost see-through blouses and the like. She told me she likes to get the guys hot and bothered in class; she concentrates on the lecture while they think about her. She thinks it provides an edge for her grade-wise and she enjoys flaunting herself to them too. She's goading me to try it. I just might."


Julie squealed as I read this last part.

"You slut!" she wailed. "I never . . ."

"Bullshit," I cried out. "You did! And you got me to follow suit."

A sly smile crossed her face. "Well you were acting like a virgin back then."

I fumed. "Goddamn it! I was a virgin then!" I wasn't mad I was just exasperated with her.

"Hey Rach, you told me you'd lost your cherry in high school." "Well... I lied to you then," I said belligerently.

"About what?"

In a more subdued tone, I said, "About how much I'd done with a guy."

"Come on . . . admit it. You gave out blowjobs and screwed like a rabbit in the back seat of what's his name's car."

"No, I really was a virgin," I said, blushing, even after all those years. "I mean," I blurted out trying to assert myself, "I gave a couple blowjobs, sure, but no guy ever got further than groping my pussy. Damn it! We just read about it in this diary. Why would I lie about it to myself back then?"

"You're telling me I got your cherry?"

"Don't you remember me telling you were the first?"

"Yeah... but I always thought I was the first girl."

She kissed me and said, "That's so sweet."

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