A Likely Story: A Wayward Ink Publishing Anthology (16 page)

Frosty has been writing all of her life, though never really any sort of fiction…that is until she entered the world of editing and made friends who urged her to try it. She now loves writing short stories as it suits her energetic, inquisitive temperament. She has hopes of someday writing something over 6000 words!

Frostina can be found at:

Website:
http://myrandomhandiworks.blogspot.in/

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Session One

WELCOME to my humble office, into which the frustrated, the needy, and the sometimes downright inept tread. Some walk in with purpose, eager to offload their woes and be given a quick solution. The joys, I guess, of being part of an ‘instant’ society. Everything seems to be either push button or remote. A case of ‘we want it, and we want it
now
!’

Others edge their way through my door, so skittish you’d think they were worried I was going to throw them out of a plane sans parachute. Those clients look everywhere and anywhere… except at me.

Who am I?

My name is Dr. Justin Gaylord. Before you ask, it’s real, not a stage name. I changed it by Deed Poll before emigrating from merry old England to the US to start my practice.

As for my practice… well, I run a clinic for those who want to learn—or improve on—their lovemaking skills. Business is booming, and let me just say: I adore my job—most of the time.

Appointments vary. A few walk in and only need one or two sessions before the proverbial light switches on and they realize where they’re going wrong. At the other end of the scale, I have clients who, even after many visits, would still opt to have me give them running instructions while they’re on the job, so to speak. That can prove to be awkward because, despite encouraging complete frankness and a hands-on approach, there’s a fine line between professional and perv. Therefore, on the occasions where said requests have been made, I do it from a separate room wearing an ear piece. In such instances, cameras are an inevitable necessity and recordings are made—with consent—to cover my ass as much as anything. No recording, no deal, and the clients are always given a copy.

The art of lovemaking is a passion of mine. Tall, short, thin, or not so thin, bland to kinky, every couple can find bliss with their partner, and where love is involved, it’s a beautiful thing.

As my name may suggest, I specialize in gay love, and for the record my personal orientation is gay. I do, however, have students of all persuasions—it would be financial and professional suicide not to—but my passion is showing gay men how to appreciate and get full pleasure out of each other. I could talk for hours on man-love and the joys of having a prostate.

I hold two group therapy sessions per week. One for gay couples; the other for straight. Sadly, it doesn’t pay to mix them together; both sides just get too inhibited. The sessions are not the dens of iniquity the rumor mill has made them out to be, though I admit the odd one or two have gotten a tad out of hand. Before you get the wrong idea, I must hasten to add, in each instance, all participants were consenting. I was not the initiator, and I left the room the moment I realized my professional expertise was redundant.

For my sins—and I do feel shame—I sometimes, just sometimes, have a couple come in, and as much as I love the human form, I shudder to look at them, knowing the images that will be ingrained on my brain by the time they leave. Unfortunately, being a professional doesn’t save me from being a human being with my own set of likes and dislikes. Some responses you just can’t help—though I can and do disguise them. Those are the times I bring out the heavy artillery in self-debriefing skills.

But enough about me; I have a couple coming in. They came to me as a referral from a colleague who accepted their appointment before realizing it would clash with his first vacation in three years.

What? No. My secretary has got to be pulling my pud here. These names can’t be real. Holy. …

Samuel Bushrod and Troy Longstaff.

This has got to be a college prank or something. I’d best take a look at their files.

Name: Samuel Bushrod

Well, it certainly rolls off the tongue.

Marital status: Single

Good.

Age: Twenty-one

Brilliant—legal.

Orientation: Gay

There’s a good chap. Gay men are so much more fun to deal with and oftentimes more adventurous than many of their straight counterparts.

Religion: Former Quaker

Now that’s interesting. Kind of explains the name too. Quakers preach that love comes in many forms and it’s the depth of love that counts. But in some communities there’s a difference between tolerance and acceptance. Plain dress, too, is usually a requirement for a whole host of reasons from equality and showing a united front, to a form of mask, hiding the true person underneath from the outside world.

Notes: Father died when Samuel was seven. Mother moved them away after the FBI hid a witness in their community and it all went pear-shaped. Mother decided that they’d learn about the world together, but still kept to certain practices like dress code and the teaching of tolerance. However, she wouldn’t allow him to take part in any Sex Ed classes.

Amazing, I was beginning to think she was a forward-thinking mother. Perhaps she thought that if he didn’t know what to do, he wouldn’t get curious. Wrong assumption, my dear… oh, so wrong

Described as painfully shy and reserved. Not happy with his body or how to use it, keeping it covered as a form of barrier. Has read a lot of books on sexuality, but finds them confusing.

Gotta admit, there ain’t nothing like hands on experience. Yay me—love him as a client already. Hmm, on to the other half of the equation.

Name: Troy Longstaff

Damn, can’t help smiling at that. Years ago the name would have been spoken without so much as a hint of a snicker. Historically an Anglo-Saxon name, Long Staff was the name given to individuals who worked as a bailiff or officer of the law and who carried a long-staff that acted as a badge of office.

Marital status: Single

Excellent, at least no one is playing hide the sausage. That will make my job and the scheduling of appointments a whole lot easier.

Age: Twenty-one

Brilliant—also legal.

Orientation: Gay

Okay, so they’re young, gay, and legal. You’d think they’d be fucking and experimenting like a pair of rabbits on steroids. What’s the problem, gents?

Religion: Lapsed Catholic

Hmm, could this be an issue? Difference of belief?

Notes: Comes from a middle income family. Both parents living. Currently studying astrophysics on a sports scholarship.
Well, there’s a conundrum: a jock who likes to exercise his brain muscle. Maybe these two have been overthinking things and getting their tightie whities in a twist.
Described as being confident with good social skills. No self-esteem issues evident. Happy with his body. Acts a bit of a clown.
So, Troy, are you as happy with yourself as you make out, or are you using humor to hide insecurities and keep everyone at arm’s length?

I have to say, I’m wondering what brought these two together: a painfully shy Quaker boy with body issues and a confident jock-cum-clown.
How on earth did these two ever get together, let alone be ‘together’ together enough to want to work out some sexual issues? My afternoon is looking to be more interesting by the minute.

The buzzer on my office phone chimes and the irritatingly loud and nasally tone of my secretary, Hope Morecock, fills the air. Delightful name. I confess—I hired her for her name alone. All that’s missing is ‘for’ as a middle name. It fit right in with Gaylord, but perhaps I should have interviewed her first. …

I wince as she informs me that my two o’clocks are in the waiting room. I really must organize some non-verbal way of getting her to communicate. Text, PM. … Hell, I’d even consider a carrier pigeon—anything but her vocal cords.

Stretching my fingers, I fill my lungs slowly and steadily in my pre-patient warm-up routine—yes, I have one. A quick stretch of my neck, and with my professional face now firmly in place—yes, I have one of those, too—I’m ready.

I press the buzzer. “Miss Morecock, please send the gentlemen in.”

I look up as the door opens.
Oh my.
Judging by the confident, athletic stance, my guess is he’s the Troy Longstaff half of the equation. He’s dressed oh-so beautifully casual in gear that shows off his toned body and strong arms—black, tight jeans that hug his… thighs, white sneakers, and a T-shirt with
Get off my dick
emblazoned on the front.
Hmm, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetie, but I thought the idea was to get someone on what I surmise is that delicious dick of yours.

My gaze moves beyond him to the slightly shorter man who has followed him in. Samuel looks to be rather fit too. Nowhere near a jock, mind you, but there’s no excess fat from what I can see.

By comparison, the second man’s dress is rather plain and in keeping with his Quaker heritage. He’s wearing brown pants and a white, long-sleeved button down. His sneakers, though, are the same as Troy’s, so there is some evidence of influence. His hair is straight, jaw length, and blond. Judging from his turned and dipped profile, he probably keeps it that length in order to hide behind it.

I’m almost speechless. It’s a travesty that two such prime examples of male beauty are having a hard time connecting in the bedroom. I pray to the heavens I have the skills necessary to help these young men make sweet, beautiful music together.

What’s already got me melting for these two, apart from the obvious, is the fact that as they hesitate in the doorway Troy tucks Samuel’s hair behind his ears, giving him a reassuring smile. And even better, the smile is returned. And what a breathtaking smile it is. When Samuel smiles his whole face lights up. However, it quickly disappears when he notices me observing them. The look which replaces it is nervous and somewhat somber. I sense a keen intelligence and inquisitive mind behind his searching gaze as he quickly takes stock of my work space, clearly curious as to what a sex therapist’s office looks like.

Some people expect me to have sex toys displayed on every shelf and hanging on the walls, like pictures. I have toys alright, and if the situation calls for it, they do come out to play. But love and sex is not all about toys. Instead, what I have on my walls are artfully done prints with a slight difference—they show erogenous zones and some wonderfully erotic ‘positions’.

I wonder what positions I might get to see these two in. … Stop it, Justin! Naughty! Give yourself a slap.

My apologies. Sometimes it’s easy to be professional and… sometimes it’s not.

Mr. Longstaff takes three paces into the room, and then stops, waiting for his boyfriend to catch up to him. He takes the smaller man’s hand gently but possessively in his, shortening his stride to match that of his partner as they continue across the large expanse of my room to the two armchairs facing my desk. I suppress my pleased smile—we’re off to a good start. Body language alone makes it clear the jock genuinely cares about the Quaker. Even while seated in separate chairs their hands remain linked.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Justin Gaylord, but you can call me Justin. Welcome to my practice.”

Troy’s immediate reply is as expected: strong and assured. Samuel’s, too, is no surprise—he merely gives a raised eyebrow smile and a small wave with the hand that isn’t attached to Troy’s.

“Well… first of all, let me be frank and put my cards on the table so that you both know what you’re getting yourselves into. You can then decide whether or not I’m the right person to help you. Okay?”

Oh, please, God, I’m on my knees, begging you… please let them want me to help them.

They nod in time, like synchronized swimmers.

“My sessions are… mostly practical. I won’t expect you to undress unless you want to—and don’t worry, I have a private room for anything like that. In the case of those that don’t feel comfortable with that option, I tend to talk and demonstrate with toys and the couples go home to practice in private.

“From years of observation, however, I find that the best results do come from more hands-on sessions, with me as a guide. It circumvents confusion and questions can be asked as they form. Believe me, I won’t say, ‘okay, guys, strip down and let me see your technique’. I’m more subtle than that. You’ll hardly know I’m there, really.”

My last comment earns me a small laugh from both.

“In this first session I’d like to hear from you both, that is if you decide that I’m the right person for you and your needs. I’d like to cover some of the simple things such as how you met, why you’re here, how long you’ve been together, and, of course, what you’d like to gain from our sessions. I’d also like to go over some basic terminology so that we’re all operating from the same page should you choose to continue. Once we have those things out of the way I will, naturally, need to know what type of session you’d prefer.”