The dark, clowns, and women—three things Jeremy Price fears.
When he seeks out Dr. Jane Bernstein’s help, little choice remains but to face those fears one by one. But even in the safety of Dr. Jane’s office, that last fear can be paralyzing.
Friendly, supportive, but certainly no sexual object, Dr. Jane treats Jeremy as an equal. As a person. Unlike the other women in his life. Even so, Jeremy struggles with one simple request.
He’d rather lay on the sofa than sit in the chair. Aren’t therapy sessions supposed to be that way?
If you enjoy quirky cougar erotica, be sure to read Femme Phobia.
A Dr. Jane Erotic Short Story
Name three things that scare you:
1. The dark.
Jeremy Price hesitated on number three. Writing that one word took a long moment. The pen shook, his entire hand shook, as he tried to scribble that one word down. He was in a cold sweat and had a hard time breathing right. His skin itched everywhere. He wanted to throw the plastic clipboard across his therapist’s office and storm out.
But everything in the office screamed tranquility and peace. The soft, brown leather chair that made no sound when Jeremy shifted his weight on his butt. The tidy, too clean, massive oak desk that took up almost an entire wall. Even the clock on the wall was quiet, it’s arms moving silently with no tick-tock-tick. The venetian blinds were half-shuttered, letting in soft rays of sunlight on the beige carpet.
Even Dr. Jane Bernstein herself, the therapist, was a calm center of calmness.
Jeremy’s previous therapist had recommended Dr. Bernstein highly. He’d been skeptical at first, seeing that she seemed to specialize in sexuality issues, but after the first session Jeremy decided he liked her.
She sat on the sofa, cream colored stockinged legs crossed, her brown skirt covering her knee. She wore a pair of clunky flat dress shoes. All three buttons on her brown dress jacket were undone, underneath which she wore a green high collared turtleneck sweater. Her horn-rimmed glasses were low on her nose. She pinned her hair into a bun tight enough to stretch her brows upwards.
Even after five sessions, Jeremy still felt bad for sitting in the leather chair. He, the patient, should’ve been on the sofa, because that’s how these things worked. Therapist in a chair, taking notes and saying relaxing things. Patient on the sofa, spilling his guts to a stranger.
But Dr. Bernstein, on the very first session, asked him to sit wherever he wanted to. Jeremy had been nervous, and picked the leather chair. She never complained, and every session she took the sofa. He never got a chance to change the pattern.
Should’ve been simple enough to just ask. Right? Men were supposed to ask, that was a polite thing to do. But Dr. Bernstein was a… a woman.
Jeremy had grown accustomed to her of sorts. After all, not like she was a real woman. Sure she had the shape and the voice and small delicate features. But underneath the homely suits and turtlenecks, she could’ve been anything. By the third session, it hadn’t mattered to Jeremy as much. Dr. Bernstein was more like a sister, or a teacher. Friendly, supportive, but not a sexual object.
Being the way she was made it easier for Jeremy to open up. To express his anxieties with her. To bring to light the darkest of his fears.
She wasn’t like the other women in his life. The girls at school, the ladies at work, random women on the street. They all looked at him funny, like he was a carnival freak, and turned their heads. Jeremy just knew they all sneered at him. He hated how women ignored him. He hated their condescending tone when actually greeting him, like they were too good for someone like Jeremy.
Dr. Bernstein treated him like an equal. And he appreciated her for the honest kindness.
But he still had a hard time telling her that he’d as soon lay on the sofa.
Jeremy finished writing the list of three things that scared him and set the clipboard on the glass-top coffee table between the chair and sofa. He sat on the edge of the seat. He couldn’t stop tugging at his jeans. His red t-shirt felt a little too snug. He wanted to take off his tennis shoes and curl his toes on the carpet.
She took the clipboard, read it, and set it back on the table. Quick, precise movements, barely rustling her own clothing.
“Let’s talk about each of your fears,” said Dr. Bernstein. “Starting with the dark.”
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want to know?”
“How do feel when in a dark room?” She maintained an small, gentle smile, and pushed her glasses back up her nose.
Jeremy leaned forward on his knees. “Like… I can’t move. Like something’s behind me. Something with claws and teeth. And I can’t escape because I can’t see where to go.”
“The fear of the dark is normal,” she said, hands folded properly in her lap. “You mentioned before that you sleep with a nightlight.”
He was impressed she remembered that detail from their first session. She didn’t even have to look at notes, she just knew it as if Jeremy were a good friend.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve slept with a nightlight forever. I don’t know. I just can’t sleep without it.”
“What do you think would happen if you turn off the nightlight before you go to bed?” Dr. Bernstein said.
“I… I don’t know. I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”
Jeremy rubbed his chin. He imagined breaking into a cold sweat, tossing and turning, seeing shadows come alive in the dark. But all that was hard to imagine in Dr. Bernstein’s well lit office.
“It sounds stupid,” he said at last. “I haven’t tried to sleep without a nightlight in my entire adult life. I’m just too scared of not having the security.”
“And you’ve always slept alone?” Dr. Bernstein said.
“Just one, briefly during university. But she never wanted to move in or stay the night. So yeah, I was always alone at night.”
Jeremy expected her to say something more. But she paused, legs still crossed and hands on her knee. Dr. Bernstein nodded slowly and seemed to wait for him. He made eye contact with her, and then she spoke.
“Let’s put a pin here,” she said. “We’ll return to your fear of the dark later. For now, tell me about your fear of clowns.”
Jeremy chuckled, as if she just told him the funniest joke, and he was embarrassed by that lapse. He knew it was his fear response. Knowing didn’t make matters better.
“Ever seen the movie It?” he said.
“Yes, long ago,” she said.
“I never have. Couldn’t make myself sit through it. And I thought it might help. You know, maybe cure my fear.”
“There are far gentler ways of doing so,” she said.
“Yeah,” Jeremy shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know if I can explain this one.”
“Please try,” Dr. Bernstein said. “Just talk to me.”
“Okay,” Jeremy said. “It’s like the clowns have something to hide, wearing all that makeup. And the fake smile and silly colored hair. They’re just too happy. Like if you took off the red nose and makeup, there’s got to be something sinister underneath.”
“You told me a few sessions ago,” she said, “that you need time to trust new people. Maybe this is an extension of that?”
“You saying I should get to know more clowns?” Jeremy said, noting the rising defensive tone in his voice. In Dr. Bernstein’s office, he always recognized things like that. So hard to do the same in the real world.
“More like…” She bit her lip. “You think everyone is a clown. And you use the fear to justify not getting close to people.”
Jeremy stiffened up and retreated deeper into the leather chair. He hated clamming up like this, but Dr. Bernstein hit on a nerve. That wasn’t fair, and once again he thought about getting up and leaving the session. But Jeremy knew he needed help with his fears and anxieties, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud.
Dr. Bernstein seemed to understand. She looked at him with pity. “Put a pin in this too. Tell me about your third fear.”
“I don’t need women,” Jeremy blurted out. He wanted to believe it too. Women just caused heartache, and often headaches too. Not even the stupid ex-girlfriend wanted him. She told Jeremy repeatedly he was “marriage material” only. He was a twenty-five year old virgin, and hated himself for it.
“I’m a woman,” Dr. Bernstein said. She pointed at Jeremy and then at her chest. “We seem to get along just fine.”
“But that’s not the same.”
“Well, you’re… my therapist. Not like you’d date me. Or more.”
“And what if I wasn’t your therapist?” she said.
Jeremy was stunned. He was angry for no damn reason. He clenched his fists tight. Sure, she was attractive, in a goofy kind of way. Her cheekbones were lovely, and Jeremy liked the way she smiled at him.
Which just made him all the more angry, because he couldn’t have her. If she offered him sex, he’d have said yes. And not just to finally cure his fucking virginity.
He regretted not meeting her in some other setting.
But then, would she have given him the time of day if she weren’t his therapist?
Dr. Bernstein uncrossed her legs, giving him a quick flash of her inner thighs. Then she stood up.
“I’m sorry we’re out of time, Jeremy,” she said. “Think on that last question. That’s your homework for next session.”
He stood up reluctantly. Something he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t piece it together. Jeremy wanted to yell, to show her how upset he was. Instead, he thanked her meekly.
Dr. Bernstein showed him out the door. She pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled at him before shutting the door.
What if she wasn’t his therapist?
Jeremy wasn’t sure how to answer that.
Jeremy thought on that question all week. He wrote about it in his diary. Daydreamed about it. During his evening class at the community college, he doodled drawings of Dr. Bernstein’s crossed legs. He looked at lingerie ads and imagined her wearing silky black underwear. Jeremy liked that image.
In his most provocative daydreams, a thought crossed his mind: fire Dr. Bernstein and take her out for a coffee date. She didn’t wear a wedding band, so it’d okay. Wouldn’t it?
He’d probably tell her a lot more on a date or in bed than in her office. But that would mean finding a new therapist. It would mean the possibility she’d reject him, then he’d have no therapist and still be a virgin.
Truth was, he had no frame of reference for what to do, except an always angry girlfriend who had slept with everyone but Jeremy.
He hadn’t wanted to go to therapy this week. He barely made it into Dr. Bernstein’s office on time, and he hadn’t bothered shaving because he made himself too busy with house cleaning.
“Did you think about last week’s question?” Dr. Bernstein said. Her legs were crossed like always, with her hands folded on top of her knee. But today was different.
She wore a much shorter skirt. A black one, with pleats and a frilly hem, and it rose three-fourths of the way up her thighs when she sat. Her legs were covered in sheer black stockings. Instead of flats, on her feet were shiny patent leather three-inch heels. The turtleneck today was hot pink, and fit snugly around her torso which made her breasts seem bigger. She wore no jacket.
Jeremy averted his eyes away from her.
“I did,” he said. “Think about it.”
“Would you like to share your discoveries?” she said.
“I don’t know, Dr. Bernstein.”
She uncrossed her legs, giving him a brief flash of panties. Were they black? Jeremy couldn’t tell. After that quick moment that was gone too soon, she held her thighs together, proper and lady-like.
“Today,” she said, “call me Jane.”
“Yeah?” he said. “Jane.”
Jeremy liked the sound of that. Such a simple name, for a woman who was simple only on the surface. He very badly wanted to know what was underneath the surface. And not just under the clothes.
“Jeremy,” she said. “Look me in the eyes.”
He’d been staring at a spot on the carpet, near the desk. He brought his eyes to her feet, those shiny shoes. Then up her calves, wrapped in shiny black hosiery. The knees, the thighs, up her flat stomach. Her perfect shaped breasts, held tight under the turtleneck.
Dr. Bernstein—Jane—took off her glasses, and he found her eyes. They were dark brown, almost black, and stunning. Jeremy was surprised he’d never noticed until now.
She folded her glasses and held them in her lap. “As you know,” she said, “my specialty is sexuality and sexual anxieties.”
Jeremy nodded, not sure what to say next, if anything. He had thought it weird he sought help for a general anxiety disorder from a sex therapist, but he’d appreciated everything Jane had done so far.
He told her so in a short stuttering sentence.
Jane smiled the prettiest smile ever, one that reached from ear to ear and brightened her face.
“You’re most welcome,” she said. “You do realize why I was recommended to you?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I just figured my old therapist was moving, and you were the most convenient doctor to take me in.”
“That’s half the story,” she said. “But the rest of it is, your old therapist couldn’t truly treat your anxiety.”
“He did a lot for me.” Jeremy regretted the defensive tone in his voice, and hoped he didn’t offend Jane. He liked the old therapist, but didn’t miss him much.
“Yes, he did,” Jane said. “But he could only help you to a certain point. I hope to take you the rest of the way.”
She arched an eyebrow with the last phrase, and said it with a sultry voice Jeremy had never heard from her before. His throat clenched shut and he flushed hot and sweaty. He hated feeling this nervous. This helpless in front of a woman. Jeremy had to look away from her beautiful eyes. He was ashamed of his automatic reaction, and wanted to hide from her.
This was not the sweet daydream fantasies he’d been having all last week. Far from it.
Dr. Bernstein—Jane, damn it—stood up from the couch. Jeremy didn’t watch her stride towards him, but he was hyper-aware of the rustling of her clothes. He saw her long legs in his field of vision. She smelled like fresh soap and a hot shower.
Then she sat down on the edge of the glass coffee table.
The way she was positioned, she was lower than him even though he was slouching. Jane seemed so little and fragile.
When Jeremy caught himself staring at her awkwardly, he glanced away, finding that spot on the carpet again.
“Jeremy,” she said in a low, even voice. “The basis of all relationships is trust. Whether with a co-worker, a loved one, or between therapist and patient.”
“Okay,” he said, barely a whisper.
Jane was so physically close to him, as close as she’d ever been. He could reach out and touch her. Or she him. He stared a hole in the carpet.
“Let’s do a trust building exercise,” Jane said. “I promise, we won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”
Jeremy nodded his approval, and said nothing.
“First,” she continued, “let’s breath together. Sit up straight.”
Jane straightened her torso and threw her shoulders back, which had the lovely affect of pushing her breasts out. They were small, half a handful each, but he thought they were the right size.
Then he realized he’d stopped staring at the carpet. His eyes wandered downward, to her knees which were barely touching his, then he didn’t know what to do with his eyes. So he closed them. He sat up straight with her.
“Exhale everything out, like we’ve worked on before,” Jane said. She breathed out with him, and then told him to inhale slowly. Jeremy matched her breathing. Exhale, inhale, repeat. Despite himself, he could feel his muscles relax. Soon, his head felt lighter, a little emptier even. If he’d been lying down, he might’ve fallen into a nap.
And then, a pair of warm hands touched his.
Jeremy startled, almost opening his eyes. But he kept them shut. Jane’s hands were so small, the finger-bones delicate and dainty. Her skin was baby smooth, except for the calluses on the tips of her left hand.
“Just stay relaxed,” said Jane. “Keep breathing. Trust that I won’t hurt you. But if I do, you have the power to stop me.”
“Okay,” Jeremy said. He fluttered his eyelids, wanting to see her. At the same time, he didn’t want to see her. He had the perfect image of her in his brain, a mixture of those lingerie ads with Jane’s face instead of the models’. If he looked at the real Jane now, the image would be shattered. Wouldn’t be the same, and then he’d have to do something.
Whatever it was men without anxieties did around women they liked.
Kiss her? Say something cute? Take his hands back?
Exhale, inhale. Repeat.
Jane massaged her fingers into his palms, and rubbed his knuckles with her thumbs. She hummed softly, and then whistled a short tune. Jeremy gripped her hands in his, tightly for only a second. He didn’t want to hurt those delicate fingers. Nor did he want her to stop whatever she was doing.
But then she stopped. One hand stayed in his, but the other went away. He reached for her, but couldn’t find her hand.
And then he felt a gentle, loving touch on his cheekbone. With one finger, she stroked a line down his day old stubble, to his chin, down his throat and to the place between his breast bones. Jane pressed her palm flat against his chest.
“Be honest,” she said. “Do you want me to stop touching you?”
“No,” Jeremy said. But that wasn’t the full truth exactly. He suddenly wanted Jane to explore other parts of his body. He dared not tell her that. Dared not risk losing the small pleasure she was already giving him.
“Want me to touch you in other places?” she said. Damn it, like she was reading his mind.
“I… don’t…” Jeremy stuttered more than he wanted to. He thought he’d outgrown that. Apparently not. “Don’t know.”
“How about I touch your arm?” Jane slid the hand on his chest across, to the shoulder, and down his biceps. “How does that make you feel?”
“Ner… Nervous. Excited.” Jeremy opened his eyes at last. Jane had her glasses back on. He liked the way she looked up at him with her glasses low on the bridge of her nose.
“Good,” she smiled up at him. “I’m just beginning.”
“What do you mean?” Jeremy said, surprised at how calm he sounded to his own ears. Maybe the slow, meditative breathing was helping. But he wasn’t sure what to do with her. Was his own therapist really being flirty with him?
Jeremy didn’t know. It’d been a very long time since any woman had flirted with him. He no longer knew what that even felt like.
His armpits were sweating and hot. He hoped like hell he put on deodorant this morning, but the office was already smelling kind of funny. What was that?
Jane squeezed his biceps and slid her fingers down to his wrist. If she moved her hand a few inches over, she would feel the boner that was awkwardly bulging his jeans. Jeremy desperately wanted to adjust himself, so he could sit more comfortably.
“What I mean is,” Jane said, rubbing her thumb against his wrist, “this is the beginning of your real therapy.”
“I’m… still not sure what you mean.”
“Jeremy,” she said, leaning forward. Her breath smelled like peppermint. Up close, he liked the petite shape of her chin and nose. “You are a good, sweet man. And you deserve to be touched and loved.”
“I just, didn’t expect this,” he said.
“It was in the consent form I had you sign on the first session,” she said. “That I would give you sex therapy. I left that part vague on purpose, but we can review the consent form now if you’d like.”
“I suppose I didn’t understand at the time.”
“It’s okay,” she patted him on both thighs and sat back. Already, he missed her touch, and wanted more. She continued, “I spent the first five sessions getting to know you, and determining if you really needed sex therapy.”
“I recommend we do the full treatment.”
“So does this mean…” Jeremy couldn’t quite finish his question. It was like all his blood was either in his head or in his penis. He felt light and a bit woozy. He was excited and scared shitless at the same time. His entire body shook with nervous energy. Was today really going to be it?
Jane smiled kindly, and patted him on the knee again. “I won’t have intercourse with you, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.”
“Oh,” he said, disappointed that he had hoped for too much. His body calmed down a little though, and he let out a sigh of relief.
“This is a good time to go over the rules of what’s about to happen,” Jane said. “Then if you don’t agree to this, we’ll proceed with standard therapy.”
“But why do you think I need this… sex therapy?” Jeremy asked.
“That’s a fair question,” she said. “You suffer from anxieties that are mostly related to dealing with women. I can prescribe medications that will help you deal with everyday anxiety, but they won’t help you with women.”
“What you need is a boost of confidence,” Jane continued. “A little practice in a safe environment where you won’t be judged. That is what I mean by sex therapy.”
Jeremy glanced down at his hands. His body started shaking again, as if he’d just downed an entire energy drink in one gulp. He wished like hell he could control these reactions. He’d always worried about doing the wrong thing on the first encounter with a woman, though he never consciously thought it about that way.
“Jane?” he said.
“Yes, Jeremy?” Jane said.
He took her hands in his sweaty ones. “I’d like your help. Whatever you can do for me.”
“Good,” Jane smiled up at him, and politely slid her hands away again. She sat prim and proper, very ladylike, but oh-so close to him. He badly wanted to reach out and touch her again, even if just a finger-brush on a knee, but didn’t. He was frozen, though feeling a little more confident because of her physical attention, but still unsure what to do. Or when.
“What are the rules, again?” he said.
“First,” she said, holding up one finger, “no intercourse, ever. My panties stay on, unless I take them off for you, and even then it will be only for special circumstances.”
He nodded his agreement. Jeremy was excited to find out what the special circumstances might be.
“Understand I’m not your girlfriend or future wife,” she said. “I have a life of my own. I won’t hesitate to put a restraining order on your ass if you follow me home or otherwise cross the line. Understand?”
She paused and glared at him purposefully. Looking up over the rim of her glasses, Jane was no longer simply cute. She was threatening and serious. Jeremy gulped.
“Understood,” he said. That was a rule he had no problem following. He couldn’t imagine the frustration of losing contact with Jane. And he had grown to like her. He didn’t want to hurt her.
“Good,” she said, softening her tone. “Next, we do only things that make you feel sexy. I will respect your boundaries. But in return, you must respect my boundaries. If I say no to something, that means no.”
“I understand,” he said.
“Shall we begin?” Jane said. After he nodded his agreement, she stood up and walked to her desk. Jeremy liked the way she moved her hips in that short skirt. He could watch a gif of that all day. Jane flicked on the desk lamp, and then closed the blinds shut tight. The room was much darker. “Will this be enough light? Otherwise I can turn on the floor lamp, too.”
“I suppose,” Jeremy said, knowing it was a lie. Her body made him nervous enough to keep him pegged in the leather chair. The darkness gave him a cold sweaty chill down his spine. It would’ve been okay, if he had a blanket over his shoulders. “Maybe the extra light would be nice.”
She moved the floor lamp from behind her desk to the middle of the office, and plugged it in.
The ambiance made it just right. Jeremy always assumed candlelight was the perfect romantic scene, appropriate for a first sexual encounter. But then, he’d never imagined a therapist being his first, even if this was only going to be touching.
Jeremy’s heart beat rapidly. Blood thudded in his temples, as if his brain wanted to get out. His vision narrowed down to Jane. He wanted to focus on something else, because she made him nervous, but he could see nothing else in the office. He liked the way half of her face was in shadows, the other half brightly illuminated by the artificial light.
Jane strode toward him, pulling the pins out of her bun as she went. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders, and was much longer than he had imagined, almost to her waist. She set the pins on the coffee table, and then took him by the hands.
She pulled him to his feet, and quietly asked him to take off his shirt. When he hesitated, she handed him her glasses and then struggled out of her turtleneck. Jeremy raised his hands to help her, but wasn’t sure how. Jane was topless before he could figure out what to do. She tossed the sweater to one side.
And then she took back her glasses, and nodded at him while putting them on. Her bra had a lacy bow in the center, and seemed supernaturally black against her pale skin. She had freckles on her chest.
He pulled his shirt off, breaking a few stitches along the way. He tossed the garment on top of her sweater. Jane traced a finger down his chest, barely touching one nipple.
“You’re a handsome man,” she said. She gestured to the sofa. “Come here.”
Jeremy followed, feeling a bit like a puppy on a leash. Jane sat on one end, her back on the armrest, and spread her legs wide. She had on black Brazilian cut panties, giving him a wonderful view that he had only seen in movies and photographs. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, more out of habit than anything, not knowing how else to use them.
Then she closed her legs and opened her arms wide as if to give him a hug. Jeremy sat down next to her. Never had he felt so awkward, but at the same time willing to make a fool of himself. His back seemed to have a permanent hunch now, and he wished his stomach were a little flatter, and sweat dripped off his body in bucket loads.
Jane scooted closer to him. “Relax, mister. All I want is a cuddle.”
Sounded simple enough. With some fumbling he got his arms around her torso and his back on the sofa’s armrest. He tucked one leg underneath. That was going to pins-and-needles hurt later, but for now, he had Jane in his arms. He liked how soft and warm her skin felt against his.
She breathed softly against his chest, one hand lazily stroking his nipple. Her hair tickled him, it was everywhere. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tight.
After a few quiet minutes of just holding her, Jeremy relaxed. For the first time in a very long time, he felt comfortable. He never wanted this session to end.
He kept trying to come up with creative ways to ask her if she wanted to do more than cuddle.
But then, Jane lifted herself out of his arms and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. Lips only.
“Session’s over,” she said. “Thank you for the wonderful time.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said, surprised at how calm he sounded.
She touched him on the forearm. “See you next week?”
“Yes,” he said. Jeremy wanted next week to happen right now.
The next week floated by like a dream. Jeremy was energized and excited. He daydreamed constantly about Jane. He barely got anything else done.
And then, he was in her office again for another therapy session. For the first time, he looked forward to therapy. He hoped that didn’t mean he no longer needed to see her.
He shut the office door behind him. Today, the blinds were already closed and the floor lamp was the only source of light.
Jane wore a low-cut blue blouse that clung to her like a second skin. Every one of her lovely freckles were visible, along with her pushed up cleavage. Her white ruffled skirt was shorter than last week’s, if that were possible, and her legs were bare. Her high-heeled sandals were kicked off to one side.
And she sat in his chair. Legs crossed, one elbow leaning on the armrest, thumb under her chin and a long finger framing her face, glasses held in her opposite hand. She wore a lot of makeup, so much that she didn’t even look like the same person.
Her face was paler. Powder white. Her lips were fire engine red and far thicker than shoulder be, curled up in an unnatural smile.
Jeremy froze, confused with her sexy body and clown-like face, stuck between the sofa and the door. He inhaled shallow breaths. The sensation of claws tickled up and down his spine. He pulled his t-shirt tighter around his body, as if to clamp down on the sensation.
And then Jane reached between herself and the armrest, and pulled out a shiny red clown nose. She stuck it on her nose.
Jeremy stopped breathing. He muttered and stuttered his distaste, but even to his own ears his words came out as nonsense.
“Jeremy, I’ll make you a deal,” Jane said. “If you can pull the clown nose off my face, I’ll wash off the makeup.”
“Okay,” he whispered. He wanted to take a step toward her. He imagined moving his legs forward, and yanking the nose off her face and tossing it across the room.
But his feet went nowhere.
She leaned back in the leather chair. Jeremy thought she was cruelly smiling at first, but it was only the ridiculous lipstick. He couldn’t tell what her real expression was. And that nearly scared the piss out of him.
“You can do this,” Jane said. “You’re the one in charge here.”
“But,” Jeremy said. “But what if I can’t?”
“Then I won’t charge you for the session, but we’ll also be done for the day.”
“So, so the session will be over?” he said. “If I don’t pull off the nose?”
He thought on that for a moment. He could get the rest of the afternoon to himself. Wouldn’t be so bad.
But he’d very much looked forward to touching Jane. To maybe doing more with her than just cuddle with their shirts off. He really wanted to explore her body.
She was the one woman in his life who invited him to touch her.
Jeremy took one step towards her. His throat clenched tight.
Then another step. Deeper into the dark office, closer to her clown face, towards this woman who was fully clothed and yet still revealing a lot of skin.
Two more steps. Then one more. He stretched his arm out and leaned forward the rest of the way.
Jeremy grabbed her by the nose. It came off with a little suction, and he dropped it in her lap.
“Very good,” Jane said. “Thank you, Jeremy.”
He smiled at her with his best scared-shitless grin. “How did I do?”
Jane stood up, rewarding him with a flash down her blouse. Without her heels, she was much shorter than him. She patted him on the arm. “You did awesome! I’ll return without makeup, and then we can start the session today.”
“Sounds great,” Jeremy said, relaxing a little. He felt exhilarated, like he just climbed a mountain. Nothing could stop him now.
Jane flipped on a few extra lamps, to make the room suitably bright, and asked him to have a seat. Then she left the office for what must’ve been only a few minutes, but felt like hours.
He sat on the sofa, thinking about how nice it would be to have her in his arms again. Finally she returned, with only a little pale lipstick and eyeliner. Jane ruffled her fingers through his hair, and smiled at him.
“I’m proud of you,” she said.
He thanked her again, and then said, “I don’t think that cured me.”
“No,” Jane sat next to him, her fingers lingering on his shoulder. “But it was a step. We’ll work more on your coulrophobia in the coming weeks. But that’s enough for today.”
Jeremy wanted to place a hand on her thigh and squeeze. Instead, his limp noodle fingers only brushed her soft skin. Jane didn’t pull away, like the long gone ex-girlfriend would’ve done. Instead, she puckered her lips and kissed him on the chin. His cock sprang to life at her slight touch.
He pressed his wet lips against her forehead, sort of kissing her. “What do we work on now?”
“Well,” Jane said. “You cuddled me last time. I think it’s only fair if I cuddle you.”
“Oh?” He liked the sound of that. “Shirts on or off?”
“Whatever makes you feel sexy,” she said.
Jeremy took his shirt off in a flash. He sat up straight and sucked in his gut. The air conditioning felt nice on his bare skin.
Jane reached below the sofa and pulled out a beige beach towel.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“In case you decide to take off more than your shirt,” she said with a cute wink. She pushed him out of the way and spread the towel on the sofa.
And then she sat down with her back on the armrest, legs spread wide. Today, her panties were lacy and pink. The jitters returned to Jeremy’s body, again feeling like an overdose of a sugary energy drink.
Jane grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and pulled him down to the sofa. “With practice,” she said, “the nerves won’t get to you as much.”
“Will it ever go away?” he said.
“Perhaps not. But at least you’ll recognize it for what it is.” She kissed him on the lips, with a little hint of tongue at the end. Then she drew away.
“Will you take off your shirt, too?” he said. “Please?”
She sat up straight, pushing her small breasts towards him. “Only if you unbutton me,” she said.
Jeremy’s fingers shook as he slipped each button. It was slow work and it felt like he had no thumbs. But Jane didn’t interfere. She just watched with a pleasurable smile, playing with her own hair while Jeremy struggled. Slowly he revealed her pink bra with a bow in the middle, and then her tight ab muscles, the navel, the top of her skirt. Once he got to the last button, she framed his face with her hands and kissed him lightly on the lips.
Then he grabbed both her breasts, the way he’d seen it done in countless pornos. The bra was satin soft and warm to the touch. She let him linger for a bit, and then she pulled his ear to her lips, and kissed him on the lobe.
“Turn around,” she said. “I want to hold you.”
Jeremy didn’t argue. He did as she asked, and she slipped her blouse off. He scooted his butt lower, to bring himself down to her height. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, nestling her head in the crook of his neck.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Jane said. “You won’t crush me.”
It took him a few minutes. But she seemed to have a magic touch. The way she massaged his chest and stomach, a few sweet kisses on the neck, and the occasional sexy whisper in his ear. Jeremy settled down enough to simply enjoy her love.
He stroked her thighs and calves. He badly wanted to touch himself too, or have her touch lower.
“Is it okay if I take off my pants?” he said.
Jane snuggled into his neck. “I was hoping you would,” she said. “Maybe you’d like to masturbate for me?”
“I think that could be arranged,” he said, feeling like a dork for the way he said it. Jeremy kicked off his shoes and struggled out of his jeans. He tossed his briefs to the side. His cock was rock hard. Already the tip was wet with precum.
Jane gently pinched his nipples. “Just take it slow and easy. I want to enjoy this as much as you do.”
“Okay,” Jeremy said. He gripped himself with one hand. Never before had he really seen his dick like this. The long shaft. The tight ball sack. The smell of pubic hair and precum. He’d just never noticed, even when he masturbated. He hoped Jane was enjoying this.
He felt powerful in her arms. The way she scrapped her nails across his skin, how she blew into his ear, the warm satin bra pressed against his back, all of it was sensory overload and so very sweet. Jeremy took his time, knowing damn well how close he already was. But sometimes, very late at night when he was lonely as hell, he’d managed some incredibly long, intense masturbation sessions. If he did it by himself in privacy, he could do this for Jane.
Soon, he was slick with his own juices. Jane giggled. She nestled her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his arm. Her arms were strong and held him tight. She kept whispering sexy things. “Don’t stop. Good boy. Come on, baby.”
And then she slid her fingers down his stomach, past his waist. Jane grabbed him by the balls, squeezing gently, and then dragged a fingernail up his shaft. Jeremy let go of himself. She was more than happy to take over for a little while.
Her massage was achingly slow at first, just a hint of her fingertips and nails. Jeremy closed his eyes, giving in to her easy strokes. And then she wrapped her fingers around his girth and pumped him in her fist.
Jane didn’t go easy on him. She gave him rough, noisy, and wet handjob. He throbbed from the tip to the bottom of his balls, so much that his junk ached.
He reached back and mussed with her hair. A gasping moan escaped his throat.
The pleasure was anguish. And then the first pangs of orgasm started in his balls. His entire body stiffened. Without meaning to, he yelled her name.
And then blew the biggest load he had ever done.
All across his stomach and chest. Sticky wet cum hit him in the face. He laughed. Couldn’t help it.
When he tried to get up, Jane held him down. Her hand was covered in his juices. She shushed him.
“Thank you for sharing, Jeremy,” she said, dry humor in her voice. “I think we’ve had a wonderful session today. Don’t you?”
Jeremy turned his head to see her. She had a few globs of cum in her hair. “Thank you,” he said.
He relaxed again into her arms. For the first time in a long time, Jeremy decided he wanted to have a woman in his life. Dr. Jane Bernstein was a first step.
He hoped this first step would take a few more weeks, at least.
Copyright © 2017 Hermit Muse Publishing
Cover image: MilanMarkovic/BigStockPhoto
Cover design: David Anthony Brown
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