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Message-ID: <37727asstr$1028686205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "smilodon" <smilodon@postmaster.co.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 6 Aug 2002 21:47:06 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Story - 'Rising to the Occasion' (M/F, Rom)
Date: Tue,  6 Aug 2002 22:10:06 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Rising to the Occasion



"Well, there's nothing physically wrong with you, at least." The Consultant
Urologist had the biggest and bushiest eyebrows that Ben Farmer had ever
seen. "I would say, at your age, the problem is most likely psychological."
Ben nodded. He'd thought that was the case but better to be safe then sorry.
"I am reluctant to prescribe any medication. The risks of side effects are
always there and medication treats physical shortcomings, er, if you
understand my meaning?"
Again Ben nodded. It was what he was expecting. "I could refer you to a
colleague of mine, perhaps some counselling?"

Ben found his voice. "No. No thank you, Mr Sandford. And thank you for your
time."
"As you wish," said the Consultant. "I am confident the, ah, 'problem', will
correct itself in due course. As I said, there are no physical problems,
none at all. You are in excellent health, Mr Farmer." Ben had nodded one
more time and made his exit.

Ben's 'problem' had first manifested itself some twelve months before. His
erstwhile girlfriend had been sympathetic, at least initially. "Poor
Darling, I expect you're just tired. We'll try again in the morning." And
they had, with no better result. The sympathy hadn't lasted long. Within the
month she'd moved on to pastures new. He found he wasn't too bothered. The
relationship had been fun but wasn't going anywhere. They had enjoyed each
other and now it was over. 'Done and Dusted', as the expression goes.

He felt a vague sense of loss, but nothing more, and this soon vanished when
he met Rachel. His 'problem' seemed to have vanished as well. They had made
love acrobatically, Rachel seemed intent on working her way through the
entire Karma Sutra, but then, a few weeks in, the problem had reared its
head again. Or rather it hadn't. Reared, that is. It wasn't too long
afterwards that Rachel's toothbrush had disappeared from Ben's bathroom and
once again that vague sense of loss came back to haunt him.

Emma had followed Rachel, albeit very briefly. The 'problem' reappeared on
their second night together. Not enough time for Emma's toothbrush to have
been relocated from her handbag to the bathroom. This time Ben started to
worry. The offending appendage seemed to act normally. It was standing to
greet him every morning and responded in a perfectly behaved manner to his
own ministrations. It only acted up - or rather down - when Ben was with a
woman. He couldn't understand it. It had never happened before.

Sarah came next. Or, more accurately, she didn't. That 'amour' lasted one
frustrating night. Ben was able to convince himself that he had been
distracted by the fact that her tits were noticeably different sizes and her
voice had grated on his ears, once it was not disguised by the pounding
music of the Disco. But then a nagging little voice told him he was only
fooling himself. It was time to seek professional help.

His own Doctor had been distantly professional. After a detailed explanation
of the mechanics and hydraulics and an intensive cross examination on Ben's
use of illegal substances and intake of alcohol - none to the former,
moderate to the latter- he referred Ben to Mr Sandford at the County
Hospital. Now, walking back to his car, Ben felt particularly low for the
first time. 'My God,' he thought, 'I'll have to see a shrink'. He had the
ordinary man's horror of anything to do with mental illness. To be truthful,
the prospect scared him. He had debated with himself long and hard before
even visiting his GP. The thought of 'someone messing with his head' was
anathema.

His gloom persisted through the rest of that day. In bed that night he
wondered if he was gay. He tried to masturbate by fantasising about men but
he found the mental image of a pair of ample, hairy buttocks less than
arousing. There was nothing for it. It would have to be the shrink.

Ben was shown into a spacious office with light décor. He glanced around the
room and a female voice said "Looking for the couch?" Ben coloured. That had
been precisely what he was looking for but all he saw instead was a pair of
comfortable-looking settees each side of a coffee table. There was an
antique roll-top desk off to one side and a standard lamp of possibly
Scandinavian design. He noticed that none of the pieces really fitted
together but the whole was pleasing. He turned now to the speaker and saw a
tall young woman with short blonde hair and very large, very round glasses
that magnified her eyes to an extent that Ben found comical. He suppressed
the urge to smile.

"Dr Williamson?"
Just plain Ms. I'm a psychologist, not a physician. You must be Mr Farmer?"
"Ben. Please call me Ben."
"Only if you will call me Jane."
"OK then, Jane it is."

Truth to tell, Ben was far from happy discussing his particular problem with
a young woman. He'd rather imagined some elderly gentleman with wild hair
and a Viennese accent. He decided that he'd better just make the best of it.

"Well then, Jane, where is the couch?"
"I don't 'do' couches. Actually, I don't think anyone does these days,
outside of Hollywood. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable."


She paused to read the contents of a slim buff-coloured file. He watched as
her nose wrinkled and her lips made a sort of sideways twitching movement.

"Hmmm. Erectile dysfunction. You're very young for that. Good, I see you've
seen Mr Sandford. No physical causes, good. Look, I know it's embarrassing,
but can you give me a history? When it first started and what the
circumstances were, that sort of thing?"

" Oh Jeeze! Uh, I guess it started with Chloe. Everything was all right, you
know, normal and then one night, umm, I just couldn't manage, er, to
perform."

"How long had you been together?"

"About four or five months."

"And you found her attractive?"

"I suppose so."

"Put it another way; what didn't you like about her?"

"Oh I don't know. I guess that she was just a bit, well, shallow somehow."

"Shallow? How?"

"Well, look, please don't get me wrong, Chloe is a nice girl but just not
for me. I mean we used to go out and then go back to my place or her place
and ... What I mean is we never talked. It was like we had to have sex to
fill in the silences."

"I see. What happened to Chloe?"

"Well, when my problem came up - or actually stayed down, if you'll forgive
the expression, she split."
"And what did that suggest to you?"

"That she wanted regular sex and I wasn't providing it?"

"So your relationship was entirely based on sex?"

"I suppose it was, now you say it."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Great! I mean what man wouldn't? No complications, no emotional hang-ups,
just good old fashioned bonking!"

"I see. What happened after Chloe?"

"I met Rachel. It was fantastic for a while, six or seven weeks at a guess,
and then back came the problem."

"Tell me, Ben, do you still have the desire or does the desire go along with
the, er, performance?"

"Oh no, I want to do it. I want to do it like crazy but the old equipment
won't co-operate."

"Are you concerned about your size?"

"What????"

"Have any of your partners ever intimated that they were unsatisfied with
the size of your penis or have you ever felt that your penis was somehow
inferior to other men?" She gave a tight smile.
"I have to ask, you know. It's a common problem."

"No to both. I'm no pony but I know that I'm OK there. A good average, as
far as I know. I mean you could get a complex watching these porn stars but
they're freaks of nature."

"Do you watch a lot of pornography?"

"Christ, No! I mean I've seen a few videos - stag nights, that sort of
thing, but it's not a hobby!"


The session continued in a similar vein until Ben's time was up. Jane
Williamson instructed him to make a follow up appointment for the following
week and Ben left, feeling just as confused and depressed as when he'd
arrived. He couldn't see what the session had achieved. He simply couldn't
picture how any future sessions would help. He thought about Jane
Williamson; she seemed to be hiding behind those monstrous spectacles.
Looking at her glasses somehow prevented him from seeing her face.
'Physician, heal thyself,' he mused. He tried to picture her without the
glasses but it didn't work. He grunted. "Camouflage!" And found he was
wondering why.

Over the next few weeks they explored Ben's dreams, his childhood, his
relationships with his father and then his mother. They examined the causes
of stress in Ben's life - none, other than a dysfunctional penis. At last
Jane told him that she could do no more. "I cannot find any root cause," she
said. The magnified eyes conveyed concern. "I could refer you to a
colleague, someone more experienced?" Ben shook his head. In all their
sessions, he had tried hard for that illuminating flash, that moment of
insight. It had eluded them both. He shrugged; his worst fears had been
confirmed. The problem was intractable.

"Jane, do you mind if I ask you something?"
"Go ahead"

"Have you ever considered contact lenses? Oh God, that sounded all wrong. I
mean I was wondering why you hide your face behind those huge specs. That
sounds wrong too. I just think that you're really pretty but you seem to
want to hide it."

To his relief she burst out laughing. Her sincere, unaffected laughter was
infectious. He found himself chuckling and grinning for the first time in
weeks.

"OK, Doctor, " she said, "What's your diagnosis?" Ben smiled. He half shut
one eye, raised the opposite eyebrow and leered at her before replying in a
fake German accent:

"Vell, I sink ve haff a classical case of sormvun who vishes to be taken
seriously. Sormvun who sinks zey are too Jung!"

She groaned at his pun.

"You could be right, Herr Doctor, but on the other hand it could just be
that my eyesight is terrible - as bad as your accent in fact! Not that it's
any of your business, but I do wear lenses sometimes. My eyes are quite
sensitive, as it happens, so I can't wear them often. Can you imagine the
effect on my patients if they thought their therapist was constantly in
floods of tears?"

"Good point! You'd get their sympathy, though. Take their minds off their
own problems."

"Hmm, I never though of that. Sort of displacement therapy." And they both
laughed.

She saw him to the door. He hesitated, his hand upon the handle. "Look," he
said, "I expect there's some deep and binding laws against it, but could I
phone you sometime? I mean I'd like to see you again, but not, er,
professionally, if you know what I mean." She almost laughed at the look on
his face. Like a guilty schoolboy looking for mercy but expecting none. "Mr
Farmer!" she said, and thought she saw him wince, " It's 818213. Can you
remember that or shall I write it down?" But Ben had beaten her to it,
scrawling the number on the back of his hand. "I think I can manage, " he
replied, and left with a smile and a lighter heart.

They met six times over the next two months. A few drinks in a fashionable
Tapas Bar, a trip to the Cinema and dinner, twice. They had been wary of
each other at first. Ben couldn't get over the nagging feeling that she
might analyse everything he said while Jane thought that he was editing
every utterance carefully, choosing his words so as to keep all
conversations on neutral ground. She found herself growing frustrated with
him. She recognised this behaviour. Other men in her life had displayed the
same symptoms. It was as if they believed she could hold up a mirror to
their innermost thoughts and secrets. She decided to tackle it head-on.

"Ben, how much do you know about clinical psychology?"

"Not a lot, other than what I've experienced. Why?"

"You seem to think it's like some sort of witchcraft. Mostly what I do is to
get to people to recognise things they already knew about themselves. In the
old days, people had family and priests and what-have-you with whom to
discuss their problems. Today, those supports have gone. They talk to me
instead. I'm a sort of surrogate granny!"

"Some granny!"

"Ok, there is more to it. I have to be able to recognise those serious
cases, but mostly it's true. People know they have a problem. They often
know the solution, too, but are afraid to implement it. I help them come to
terms with doing what's good for them. I can't read minds, I don't try to
analyse my friends and I definitely don't make judgements!"

"Ouch! Was I that obvious?"

"Yes, Ben, you were. Now, can we start again and can you stop being so
bloody careful and defensive when you talk to me?

"I'll try. I won't make excuses. It's just the thought of someone
interpreting everything one says that is a bit, well, off-putting. I know
you wouldn't do it intentionally, but what if I let something slip that made
you think 'psycho'? I'll make you a deal, you lose the scary specs and I'll
lose the paranoia. How about that?"

"If that's what it'll take, it's a deal."

Things got better after that. When next they met, Jane, true to her word,
was wearing her lenses. Ben was taken aback. Without the visual impediment
of those huge frames, her face was elfin. The short blonde hair framed her
small, regular features perfectly. It was like seeing her for the first
time. "You look utterly fabulous," He said. In fact, she looked so
different; he had no trouble in forgetting that she had been his 'shrink'.

They drifted into those small intimacies that stand as landmarks on the way
to love. Holding hands, finishing each other's sentences, finding little
private jokes. Finally, one evening, Ben kissed her goodnight. It seemed the
natural thing to do. Her face angled towards him as he moved towards to her.
There was no self-consciousness. It was as if they had arrived at the same
point of the journey simultaneously. They broke the kiss and smiled deep
into each other's eyes, storing away the moment in memory. His heart sang as
he walked back to his car.

His euphoria continued until the weekend. Then he was gripped by the terror
of knowing that, sooner or later, they would go to bed and he would have to
perform. There had been no women in his life after Sarah and until Jane.
What if he still couldn't do it? How would she react? When next they met she
sensed his sombre mood. She guessed the reason and resolved to take matters
into her own hands.

When he walked her to her door that evening she took his hand and drew him
inside. He started to say something but she hushed him with a finger softly
placed upon his lips. "Ben, it's all right. I just want to be with you. You
don't have to do anything," she said. Ben nodded but his face was like that
of man facing the hangman.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh, not really. I mean we talked about it lots before, didn't we?"

"I don't mean like that. I mean like friends, more than friends, perhaps?"

"Oh yes, more than friends. OK." He took a deep breath. "The thing is, Jane,
I think I'm falling for you in big way. Now, it's suddenly really important
to me that everything's right. I want it to be perfect for you. And I'm
scared I'll be a disappointment."

She smiled. "You won't disappoint me, Ben. Don't you think that every time
two people make love for the first time at least one of them is nervous?
Usually it's the woman: 'will he like me? Will he find me attractive? Will
he think my breasts are too small or my bum's too big?' Well this time, it's
you. You're worrying about nothing; putting pressure on yourself. I don't
care if it's perfect. In fact, I'd be disappointed if it was, the first
time. It would give us no reason to practice!"

At this he smiled and she saw him begin to relax.

When they moved into the bedroom it was easy. Just a normal thing for a
normal couple to do. Jane went into the shower while Ben undressed. He
slipped under the duvet and waited for her. She returned, wrapped in a
towel. She saw there was still a hint of anxiety in his face and prepared
herself. She dropped the towel and stood in front of him, arms above her
head, one leg drawn back slightly like a dancer in a show. "Well then, Mr
Farmer, like what you see?"

Ben gazed at her in wonder. Her legs seemed to go on forever. She was
arrow-slim with smallish breasts perched high on her ribcage, the nipples
pointing slightly upwards. She exuded confidence. Her smile was tender but
slightly mischievous. He thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever
seen. She saw the frank admiration in his eyes and felt her heart jump a
little.

She slipped in beside him and they kissed. She could feel the tension in his
body so she commanded him to roll onto his front and began to gently massage
the taut shoulders, smoothing away the knots with supple fingers. He groaned
softly as she pressed more firmly into the tense deltoids. She could see the
muscle moving beneath his tanned skin.

Jane admired his muscular back as she moved down his spine. She paused only
to pour some moisturiser on her hands before continuing her stately
progress. She kneaded his buttocks and thighs, steadily moving on down until
she reached his feet. She massaged each foot in turn, working on the soles
and the ball of each toe. She could see him relaxing as she worked.

More moisturiser was needed and this she applied to her breasts before
slowly climbing his body, gently stroking him and trailing her nipples
softly up his back. She heard him gasp as became aware of what she was
doing. When she finished, she lay back down beside him. "I think that's
enough excitement for one night, don't you?" she said and turned out the
light.

In the bright morning Ben awoke before she did. He eased himself up on the
pillow in this strange bed and looked down at the sleeping girl. He found
himself touched to the depth of his being by simply looking at her. Her
breathing was slow and even, her face serene. He studied the shaded planes
and hollows of her face and neck like some explorer, seeking to commit the
map of her form and features to his memory. He loved the way her lips
curved, the delicate arch of her eyebrows and the smooth, unlined curve of
her jaw.

As he watched her, he tried to imagine her as a child, trying to see the
metamorphosis from little girl into young woman. He wanted to understand and
experience her past as well as her present and future. He was like a man in
a desert relieved by sudden rainfall. He yearned to draw her essence into
himself, to absorb her quintessential being into his own by osmosis. His
soul had been parched and she was refreshment. More, perhaps, could she be
that elusive thing called hope; hope for the future, hope for salvation,
hope for life itself?

In a flash of clarity he saw what he had been missing all those years. Those
wasted years, as he now thought. Somehow Jane had broken the pattern of his
relationships. Previously, he had rushed into sex with no knowledge of the
woman as a person. When that knowledge had come, he was dissatisfied. Now,
his new enlightenment allowed him to see what he had always missed; that
making love to a body was ultimately a sterile, futile experience.

Looking at her now, beginning to stir, one rose-tipped pale breast emerging
from the white sea of the sheets, his need of her was a physical thing. His
chest felt constricted as if his heart had swollen to three or four times
its natural size. He struggled to remember to breathe, found himself
hyperventilating. He felt as if he was choking on his love for her while she
opened her eyes and smiled up at him sleepily.

He shifted himself onto one elbow and gently kissed first her forehead, then
her eyes and then her lips. She stretched, arching like a cat in the
sunshine and drew his head down to return his kiss. He thought he could
still see a slow-departing dream in the gentle profundity of her eyes.

"Good Morning" she smiled, stretching and arching again. He did not trust
himself to speak but smiled and kissed her forehead again, stroking silky
hair the colour of a lioness' pelt.
"Why so serious?" One eyebrow lifting slightly to complete the quizzical
look.
"Not serious, my love, not really. Just thinking."
"And what were you 'just thinking'?"
"That I love you." This said quietly, looking directly into those marvellous
eyes.
She held his gaze for a long moment. He felt she was looking way down inside
him; that she could read his feelings, his recent revelation just as if it
was all etched on his retinas in some obscure script for which she possessed
both a translation and a key.
"I know you do". Her voice pitched low and sweet to his ears. She paused.
"I'd be very upset if you didn't. And you wouldn't be here, in my bed, if I
didn't love you."

He leaned down and kissed her throat, slipping down her body to take each
dusky pink nipple gently between his lips in turn. She watched him like a
cat. He nuzzled her breasts gently, placing kisses on the underside, where
they lay upon her ribcage. She was languorously still as he traced a line of
kisses down her stomach, pausing to cover each hipbone and the hollows they
formed with her abdomen. He loved the scent of her skin. He could not liken
it to any other. He breathed her perfume now as he returned to her stomach
and back down to her hips. It seemed to him she was redolent of love itself.
If he could distil the fragrance of her skin it would be the essence of
purity.

His tongue slipped lightly into her and she gave a slight gasp above him.
Slowly he quested through the curling folds and swirls, tasting her arousal
and loving the little noises she let slip. He was firmer now, longer
caresses of his tongue elicited a reciprocal urgency in the movement of her
hips and her breathing grew more rapid. It brought to his mind a violin or
cello, the modulations produced by the tensioning of strings. She was
getting near and her breath was coming in gasps. She made no other sound
until, at the moment of her release, there was a great exhalation and then a
dreamy murmuring, barely vocalised, meaningless noises. She clutched at his
neck and held him tightly against her, rocking her hips until the waves that
rippled through her retreated and she was back among mortal men.

Her voice was husky as she called him to her and he slid up her body like a
seal. It was his turn to gasp involuntarily as he entered her, feeling the
fluid firmness surrounding him and her arms twine about his back as her legs
parted further to draw him in more deeply. He gritted his teeth to keep his
pace slow and his movements gentle and once more felt her breathing grow
ragged by his ear and sensed more urgency as she pushed back to meet him. He
battled to control his own flaring passion, overcome by the deeper desire
for tenderness and the need to express the intensity of his feelings for her
in this most basic of human acts. He felt the need building in her. Her
movements became stronger and more convulsive and she ground her pelvis into
him. He was hanging on desperately now, keeping his rhythm deliberate. The
necessity to stay controlled was now almost painful yet exhilarating at the
same time.

This time she cried out sharply as she reached her climax and then he was
lost, sprinting madly to his own release while she clung to him, seizing his
face between her hands she covered him in kisses, her eyes mad and wild as
he poured himself into her in a series of ecstatic tremors. They clung
together, kissing and touching until the physical rush subsided and left
them with a surreptitious sense of delight, a feeling of something wondrous,
delicately achieved, too special to be sullied by scant words. Smiles and
gentle hugs spoke more profoundly.

At length they moved apart and Ben lay back with Jane cradled on his
shoulder. She stroked his chest and snuggled more closely. "I think we can
safely say you've made a full recovery," she said at last. "I think we can."
He grinned." But give me a minute or two and we can make sure!" Jane pushed
him away with a laugh and rose in a smooth lithe movement and padded naked
in the morning light to the bathroom. He lay back and listened to her
singing in the shower. She had a high soft voice and he smiled with the
pleasure of hearing her so obviously at one with the world. He caught a
feeling of self-satisfaction bordering on the smug. 'Time to get up' he
thought and grinned ruefully. He knew now that he would never have any
trouble getting up again.


     The End










                               Rising to the Occasion



"Well, there's nothing physically wrong with you, at least." The Consultant
Urologist had the biggest and bushiest eyebrows that Ben Farmer had ever
seen. "I would say, at your age, the problem is most likely psychological."
Ben nodded. He'd thought that was the case but better to be safe then sorry.
"I am reluctant to prescribe any medication. The risks of side effects are
always there and medication treats physical shortcomings, er, if you
understand my meaning?"
Again Ben nodded. It was what he was expecting. "I could refer you to a
colleague of mine, perhaps some counselling?"

Ben found his voice. "No. No thank you, Mr Sandford. And thank you for your
time."
"As you wish," said the Consultant. "I am confident the, ah, 'problem', will
correct itself in due course. As I said, there are no physical problems,
none at all. You are in excellent health, Mr Farmer." Ben had nodded one
more time and made his exit.

Ben's 'problem' had first manifested itself some twelve months before. His
erstwhile girlfriend had been sympathetic, at least initially. "Poor
Darling, I expect you're just tired. We'll try again in the morning." And
they had, with no better result. The sympathy hadn't lasted long. Within the
month she'd moved on to pastures new. He found he wasn't too bothered. The
relationship had been fun but wasn't going anywhere. They had enjoyed each
other and now it was over. 'Done and Dusted', as the expression goes.

He felt a vague sense of loss, but nothing more, and this soon vanished when
he met Rachel. His 'problem' seemed to have vanished as well. They had made
love acrobatically, Rachel seemed intent on working her way through the
entire Karma Sutra, but then, a few weeks in, the problem had reared its
head again. Or rather it hadn't. Reared, that is. It wasn't too long
afterwards that Rachel's toothbrush had disappeared from Ben's bathroom and
once again that vague sense of loss came back to haunt him.

Emma had followed Rachel, albeit very briefly. The 'problem' reappeared on
their second night together. Not enough time for Emma's toothbrush to have
been relocated from her handbag to the bathroom. This time Ben started to
worry. The offending appendage seemed to act normally. It was standing to
greet him every morning and responded in a perfectly behaved manner to his
own ministrations. It only acted up - or rather down - when Ben was with a
woman. He couldn't understand it. It had never happened before.

Sarah came next. Or, more accurately, she didn't. That 'amour' lasted one
frustrating night. Ben was able to convince himself that he had been
distracted by the fact that her tits were noticeably different sizes and her
voice had grated on his ears, once it was not disguised by the pounding
music of the Disco. But then a nagging little voice told him he was only
fooling himself. It was time to seek professional help.

His own Doctor had been distantly professional. After a detailed explanation
of the mechanics and hydraulics and an intensive cross examination on Ben's
use of illegal substances and intake of alcohol - none to the former,
moderate to the latter- he referred Ben to Mr Sandford at the County
Hospital. Now, walking back to his car, Ben felt particularly low for the
first time. 'My God,' he thought, 'I'll have to see a shrink'. He had the
ordinary man's horror of anything to do with mental illness. To be truthful,
the prospect scared him. He had debated with himself long and hard before
even visiting his GP. The thought of 'someone messing with his head' was
anathema.

His gloom persisted through the rest of that day. In bed that night he
wondered if he was gay. He tried to masturbate by fantasising about men but
he found the mental image of a pair of ample, hairy buttocks less than
arousing. There was nothing for it. It would have to be the shrink.

Ben was shown into a spacious office with light décor. He glanced around the
room and a female voice said "Looking for the couch?" Ben coloured. That had
been precisely what he was looking for but all he saw instead was a pair of
comfortable-looking settees each side of a coffee table. There was an
antique roll-top desk off to one side and a standard lamp of possibly
Scandinavian design. He noticed that none of the pieces really fitted
together but the whole was pleasing. He turned now to the speaker and saw a
tall young woman with short blonde hair and very large, very round glasses
that magnified her eyes to an extent that Ben found comical. He suppressed
the urge to smile.

"Dr Williamson?"
Just plain Ms. I'm a psychologist, not a physician. You must be Mr Farmer?"
"Ben. Please call me Ben."
"Only if you will call me Jane."
"OK then, Jane it is."

Truth to tell, Ben was far from happy discussing his particular problem with
a young woman. He'd rather imagined some elderly gentleman with wild hair
and a Viennese accent. He decided that he'd better just make the best of it.

"Well then, Jane, where is the couch?"
"I don't 'do' couches. Actually, I don't think anyone does these days,
outside of Hollywood. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable."


She paused to read the contents of a slim buff-coloured file. He watched as
her nose wrinkled and her lips made a sort of sideways twitching movement.

"Hmmm. Erectile dysfunction. You're very young for that. Good, I see you've
seen Mr Sandford. No physical causes, good. Look, I know it's embarrassing,
but can you give me a history? When it first started and what the
circumstances were, that sort of thing?"

" Oh Jeeze! Uh, I guess it started with Chloe. Everything was all right, you
know, normal and then one night, umm, I just couldn't manage, er, to
perform."

"How long had you been together?"

"About four or five months."

"And you found her attractive?"

"I suppose so."

"Put it another way; what didn't you like about her?"

"Oh I don't know. I guess that she was just a bit, well, shallow somehow."

"Shallow? How?"

"Well, look, please don't get me wrong, Chloe is a nice girl but just not
for me. I mean we used to go out and then go back to my place or her place
and ... What I mean is we never talked. It was like we had to have sex to
fill in the silences."

"I see. What happened to Chloe?"

"Well, when my problem came up - or actually stayed down, if you'll forgive
the expression, she split."
"And what did that suggest to you?"

"That she wanted regular sex and I wasn't providing it?"

"So your relationship was entirely based on sex?"

"I suppose it was, now you say it."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Great! I mean what man wouldn't? No complications, no emotional hang-ups,
just good old fashioned bonking!"

"I see. What happened after Chloe?"

"I met Rachel. It was fantastic for a while, six or seven weeks at a guess,
and then back came the problem."

"Tell me, Ben, do you still have the desire or does the desire go along with
the, er, performance?"

"Oh no, I want to do it. I want to do it like crazy but the old equipment
won't co-operate."

"Are you concerned about your size?"

"What????"

"Have any of your partners ever intimated that they were unsatisfied with
the size of your penis or have you ever felt that your penis was somehow
inferior to other men?" She gave a tight smile.
"I have to ask, you know. It's a common problem."

"No to both. I'm no pony but I know that I'm OK there. A good average, as
far as I know. I mean you could get a complex watching these porn stars but
they're freaks of nature."

"Do you watch a lot of pornography?"

"Christ, No! I mean I've seen a few videos - stag nights, that sort of
thing, but it's not a hobby!"


The session continued in a similar vein until Ben's time was up. Jane
Williamson instructed him to make a follow up appointment for the following
week and Ben left, feeling just as confused and depressed as when he'd
arrived. He couldn't see what the session had achieved. He simply couldn't
picture how any future sessions would help. He thought about Jane
Williamson; she seemed to be hiding behind those monstrous spectacles.
Looking at her glasses somehow prevented him from seeing her face.
'Physician, heal thyself,' he mused. He tried to picture her without the
glasses but it didn't work. He grunted. "Camouflage!" And found he was
wondering why.

Over the next few weeks they explored Ben's dreams, his childhood, his
relationships with his father and then his mother. They examined the causes
of stress in Ben's life - none, other than a dysfunctional penis. At last
Jane told him that she could do no more. "I cannot find any root cause," she
said. The magnified eyes conveyed concern. "I could refer you to a
colleague, someone more experienced?" Ben shook his head. In all their
sessions, he had tried hard for that illuminating flash, that moment of
insight. It had eluded them both. He shrugged; his worst fears had been
confirmed. The problem was intractable.

"Jane, do you mind if I ask you something?"
"Go ahead"

"Have you ever considered contact lenses? Oh God, that sounded all wrong. I
mean I was wondering why you hide your face behind those huge specs. That
sounds wrong too. I just think that you're really pretty but you seem to
want to hide it."

To his relief she burst out laughing. Her sincere, unaffected laughter was
infectious. He found himself chuckling and grinning for the first time in
weeks.

"OK, Doctor, " she said, "What's your diagnosis?" Ben smiled. He half shut
one eye, raised the opposite eyebrow and leered at her before replying in a
fake German accent:

"Vell, I sink ve haff a classical case of sormvun who vishes to be taken
seriously. Sormvun who sinks zey are too Jung!"

She groaned at his pun.

"You could be right, Herr Doctor, but on the other hand it could just be
that my eyesight is terrible - as bad as your accent in fact! Not that it's
any of your business, but I do wear lenses sometimes. My eyes are quite
sensitive, as it happens, so I can't wear them often. Can you imagine the
effect on my patients if they thought their therapist was constantly in
floods of tears?"

"Good point! You'd get their sympathy, though. Take their minds off their
own problems."

"Hmm, I never though of that. Sort of displacement therapy." And they both
laughed.

She saw him to the door. He hesitated, his hand upon the handle. "Look," he
said, "I expect there's some deep and binding laws against it, but could I
phone you sometime? I mean I'd like to see you again, but not, er,
professionally, if you know what I mean." She almost laughed at the look on
his face. Like a guilty schoolboy looking for mercy but expecting none. "Mr
Farmer!" she said, and thought she saw him wince, " It's 818213. Can you
remember that or shall I write it down?" But Ben had beaten her to it,
scrawling the number on the back of his hand. "I think I can manage, " he
replied, and left with a smile and a lighter heart.

They met six times over the next two months. A few drinks in a fashionable
Tapas Bar, a trip to the Cinema and dinner, twice. They had been wary of
each other at first. Ben couldn't get over the nagging feeling that she
might analyse everything he said while Jane thought that he was editing
every utterance carefully, choosing his words so as to keep all
conversations on neutral ground. She found herself growing frustrated with
him. She recognised this behaviour. Other men in her life had displayed the
same symptoms. It was as if they believed she could hold up a mirror to
their innermost thoughts and secrets. She decided to tackle it head-on.

"Ben, how much do you know about clinical psychology?"

"Not a lot, other than what I've experienced. Why?"

"You seem to think it's like some sort of witchcraft. Mostly what I do is to
get to people to recognise things they already knew about themselves. In the
old days, people had family and priests and what-have-you with whom to
discuss their problems. Today, those supports have gone. They talk to me
instead. I'm a sort of surrogate granny!"

"Some granny!"

"Ok, there is more to it. I have to be able to recognise those serious
cases, but mostly it's true. People know they have a problem. They often
know the solution, too, but are afraid to implement it. I help them come to
terms with doing what's good for them. I can't read minds, I don't try to
analyse my friends and I definitely don't make judgements!"

"Ouch! Was I that obvious?"

"Yes, Ben, you were. Now, can we start again and can you stop being so
bloody careful and defensive when you talk to me?

"I'll try. I won't make excuses. It's just the thought of someone
interpreting everything one says that is a bit, well, off-putting. I know
you wouldn't do it intentionally, but what if I let something slip that made
you think 'psycho'? I'll make you a deal, you lose the scary specs and I'll
lose the paranoia. How about that?"

"If that's what it'll take, it's a deal."

Things got better after that. When next they met, Jane, true to her word,
was wearing her lenses. Ben was taken aback. Without the visual impediment
of those huge frames, her face was elfin. The short blonde hair framed her
small, regular features perfectly. It was like seeing her for the first
time. "You look utterly fabulous," He said. In fact, she looked so
different; he had no trouble in forgetting that she had been his 'shrink'.

They drifted into those small intimacies that stand as landmarks on the way
to love. Holding hands, finishing each other's sentences, finding little
private jokes. Finally, one evening, Ben kissed her goodnight. It seemed the
natural thing to do. Her face angled towards him as he moved towards to her.
There was no self-consciousness. It was as if they had arrived at the same
point of the journey simultaneously. They broke the kiss and smiled deep
into each other's eyes, storing away the moment in memory. His heart sang as
he walked back to his car.

His euphoria continued until the weekend. Then he was gripped by the terror
of knowing that, sooner or later, they would go to bed and he would have to
perform. There had been no women in his life after Sarah and until Jane.
What if he still couldn't do it? How would she react? When next they met she
sensed his sombre mood. She guessed the reason and resolved to take matters
into her own hands.

When he walked her to her door that evening she took his hand and drew him
inside. He started to say something but she hushed him with a finger softly
placed upon his lips. "Ben, it's all right. I just want to be with you. You
don't have to do anything," she said. Ben nodded but his face was like that
of man facing the hangman.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh, not really. I mean we talked about it lots before, didn't we?"

"I don't mean like that. I mean like friends, more than friends, perhaps?"

"Oh yes, more than friends. OK." He took a deep breath. "The thing is, Jane,
I think I'm falling for you in big way. Now, it's suddenly really important
to me that everything's right. I want it to be perfect for you. And I'm
scared I'll be a disappointment."

She smiled. "You won't disappoint me, Ben. Don't you think that every time
two people make love for the first time at least one of them is nervous?
Usually it's the woman: 'will he like me? Will he find me attractive? Will
he think my breasts are too small or my bum's too big?' Well this time, it's
you. You're worrying about nothing; putting pressure on yourself. I don't
care if it's perfect. In fact, I'd be disappointed if it was, the first
time. It would give us no reason to practice!"

At this he smiled and she saw him begin to relax.

When they moved into the bedroom it was easy. Just a normal thing for a
normal couple to do. Jane went into the shower while Ben undressed. He
slipped under the duvet and waited for her. She returned, wrapped in a
towel. She saw there was still a hint of anxiety in his face and prepared
herself. She dropped the towel and stood in front of him, arms above her
head, one leg drawn back slightly like a dancer in a show. "Well then, Mr
Farmer, like what you see?"

Ben gazed at her in wonder. Her legs seemed to go on forever. She was
arrow-slim with smallish breasts perched high on her ribcage, the nipples
pointing slightly upwards. She exuded confidence. Her smile was tender but
slightly mischievous. He thought her the most beautiful woman he had ever
seen. She saw the frank admiration in his eyes and felt her heart jump a
little.

She slipped in beside him and they kissed. She could feel the tension in his
body so she commanded him to roll onto his front and began to gently massage
the taut shoulders, smoothing away the knots with supple fingers. He groaned
softly as she pressed more firmly into the tense deltoids. She could see the
muscle moving beneath his tanned skin.

Jane admired his muscular back as she moved down his spine. She paused only
to pour some moisturiser on her hands before continuing her stately
progress. She kneaded his buttocks and thighs, steadily moving on down until
she reached his feet. She massaged each foot in turn, working on the soles
and the ball of each toe. She could see him relaxing as she worked.

More moisturiser was needed and this she applied to her breasts before
slowly climbing his body, gently stroking him and trailing her nipples
softly up his back. She heard him gasp as became aware of what she was
doing. When she finished, she lay back down beside him. "I think that's
enough excitement for one night, don't you?" she said and turned out the
light.

In the bright morning Ben awoke before she did. He eased himself up on the
pillow in this strange bed and looked down at the sleeping girl. He found
himself touched to the depth of his being by simply looking at her. Her
breathing was slow and even, her face serene. He studied the shaded planes
and hollows of her face and neck like some explorer, seeking to commit the
map of her form and features to his memory. He loved the way her lips
curved, the delicate arch of her eyebrows and the smooth, unlined curve of
her jaw.

As he watched her, he tried to imagine her as a child, trying to see the
metamorphosis from little girl into young woman. He wanted to understand and
experience her past as well as her present and future. He was like a man in
a desert relieved by sudden rainfall. He yearned to draw her essence into
himself, to absorb her quintessential being into his own by osmosis. His
soul had been parched and she was refreshment. More, perhaps, could she be
that elusive thing called hope; hope for the future, hope for salvation,
hope for life itself?

In a flash of clarity he saw what he had been missing all those years. Those
wasted years, as he now thought. Somehow Jane had broken the pattern of his
relationships. Previously, he had rushed into sex with no knowledge of the
woman as a person. When that knowledge had come, he was dissatisfied. Now,
his new enlightenment allowed him to see what he had always missed; that
making love to a body was ultimately a sterile, futile experience.

Looking at her now, beginning to stir, one rose-tipped pale breast emerging
from the white sea of the sheets, his need of her was a physical thing. His
chest felt constricted as if his heart had swollen to three or four times
its natural size. He struggled to remember to breathe, found himself
hyperventilating. He felt as if he was choking on his love for her while she
opened her eyes and smiled up at him sleepily.

He shifted himself onto one elbow and gently kissed first her forehead, then
her eyes and then her lips. She stretched, arching like a cat in the
sunshine and drew his head down to return his kiss. He thought he could
still see a slow-departing dream in the gentle profundity of her eyes.

"Good Morning" she smiled, stretching and arching again. He did not trust
himself to speak but smiled and kissed her forehead again, stroking silky
hair the colour of a lioness' pelt.
"Why so serious?" One eyebrow lifting slightly to complete the quizzical
look.
"Not serious, my love, not really. Just thinking."
"And what were you 'just thinking'?"
"That I love you." This said quietly, looking directly into those marvellous
eyes.
She held his gaze for a long moment. He felt she was looking way down inside
him; that she could read his feelings, his recent revelation just as if it
was all etched on his retinas in some obscure script for which she possessed
both a translation and a key.
"I know you do". Her voice pitched low and sweet to his ears. She paused.
"I'd be very upset if you didn't. And you wouldn't be here, in my bed, if I
didn't love you."

He leaned down and kissed her throat, slipping down her body to take each
dusky pink nipple gently between his lips in turn. She watched him like a
cat. He nuzzled her breasts gently, placing kisses on the underside, where
they lay upon her ribcage. She was languorously still as he traced a line of
kisses down her stomach, pausing to cover each hipbone and the hollows they
formed with her abdomen. He loved the scent of her skin. He could not liken
it to any other. He breathed her perfume now as he returned to her stomach
and back down to her hips. It seemed to him she was redolent of love itself.
If he could distil the fragrance of her skin it would be the essence of
purity.

His tongue slipped lightly into her and she gave a slight gasp above him.
Slowly he quested through the curling folds and swirls, tasting her arousal
and loving the little noises she let slip. He was firmer now, longer
caresses of his tongue elicited a reciprocal urgency in the movement of her
hips and her breathing grew more rapid. It brought to his mind a violin or
cello, the modulations produced by the tensioning of strings. She was
getting near and her breath was coming in gasps. She made no other sound
until, at the moment of her release, there was a great exhalation and then a
dreamy murmuring, barely vocalised, meaningless noises. She clutched at his
neck and held him tightly against her, rocking her hips until the waves that
rippled through her retreated and she was back among mortal men.

Her voice was husky as she called him to her and he slid up her body like a
seal. It was his turn to gasp involuntarily as he entered her, feeling the
fluid firmness surrounding him and her arms twine about his back as her legs
parted further to draw him in more deeply. He gritted his teeth to keep his
pace slow and his movements gentle and once more felt her breathing grow
ragged by his ear and sensed more urgency as she pushed back to meet him. He
battled to control his own flaring passion, overcome by the deeper desire
for tenderness and the need to express the intensity of his feelings for her
in this most basic of human acts. He felt the need building in her. Her
movements became stronger and more convulsive and she ground her pelvis into
him. He was hanging on desperately now, keeping his rhythm deliberate. The
necessity to stay controlled was now almost painful yet exhilarating at the
same time.

This time she cried out sharply as she reached her climax and then he was
lost, sprinting madly to his own release while she clung to him, seizing his
face between her hands she covered him in kisses, her eyes mad and wild as
he poured himself into her in a series of ecstatic tremors. They clung
together, kissing and touching until the physical rush subsided and left
them with a surreptitious sense of delight, a feeling of something wondrous,
delicately achieved, too special to be sullied by scant words. Smiles and
gentle hugs spoke more profoundly.

At length they moved apart and Ben lay back with Jane cradled on his
shoulder. She stroked his chest and snuggled more closely. "I think we can
safely say you've made a full recovery," she said at last. "I think we can."
He grinned." But give me a minute or two and we can make sure!" Jane pushed
him away with a laugh and rose in a smooth lithe movement and padded naked
in the morning light to the bathroom. He lay back and listened to her
singing in the shower. She had a high soft voice and he smiled with the
pleasure of hearing her so obviously at one with the world. He caught a
feeling of self-satisfaction bordering on the smug. 'Time to get up' he
thought and grinned ruefully. He knew now that he would never have any
trouble getting up again.


                                 The End

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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