In the 1920s

You sit patiently as the psychiatrist goes over his notes.

"Ah, yes. It is becoming more and more apparent. The headaches are still persisting, yes?" asks Dr. Schultz.

"Yes, Doctor," you reply.

"Gut, gut," he replies in German or broken English. "You gave yourself pleasure again this morning, I assume?"

You stare down at your feet in embarrassment. "Yes, Doctor, I have done as you have shown me. It has become more and more frequent, with less affect. I feel that more laudanum may be a better remedy, than self-pleasure."

"And I feel the opposite, Herr Mason," said the bushy-beard old German. "I have been in contact with an Austrian colleague and he informs me that you show all the symptoms of Französischsyndrom. Frenchman's Disease. It is a rare ailment that affects young men your age regarding penile ejaculations.

"You see, young man, if I am correct, you would best be served by a near-constant release of seminal fluid within a female, err, receptacle. Is that the word?"

You look at him plainly. "I don't know what you're saying, Doctor."

He smiles and responds, "A demonstration, perhaps, and final proof of my theory." He turns toward the door, "Frieda!" he yelled to his nurse/secretary.

She came in, "Ja?"

For a moment, Dr. Schultz and Frieda spoke loud and fast to each other, in a language you had little knowledge of. Your migraine made deciphering their statements impossible, although they may have mentioned penis, a word common in English and German.

Frieda turned to you, and said "This is gut, ja?" She knew less English than Schultz, but let her body do the talking.

Removing her one piece nurse's outfit, she was clad only in her two-piece underwear and hosery. You nearly jumped up in fear, looking for a quick exit.

"No need to fear, Herr Mason. You are in good hands," responded Schultz still at his desk. "Please proceed, Frieda," he said in English, probably for your benefit.

She pushed you down onto the chaise longue that you had been sitting down. Your confusion, headache, and shock at the entire situation made you feel numb overall, and not resistive as she quickly removed your belt and pulled down your pants.

The laudanum coursing through your system was not enough to prevent you from an embarrassing erection in front of Dr. Schultz, and for the first time ever, a woman. Frieda was only a few years older than you, you reckoned, and you momentarily wondered if perhaps she was a whore in Schultz's employ.

After a momentary look in the Doctor's direction, Frieda oddly took your entire member into her mouth and began a series of sucking, popping, and stroking on it that put any of your masturbation techniques to shame. The laudanum had dulled your senses, otherwise you would've exploded then and there.

She smiled at you as you grunted, and she sat up, even though you weakly wanted her to return to her position. Her hair was in long, blond tesselated ponytails on either side, which she flipped behind her as she undid her brassiere. You were fascinated at her large breasts, the first you have seen so close.

Laughing, she stood off the longue, and peeled off her hosiery and underpants, revealing a thatch of thick blond hair in her lap. Dr. Schultz, the office, the city, all disappeared from view and conscious as you were solely focused on Frieda's body, the only other being in the universe as far as you were concerned.

Frieda, with that unmistakable laugh of hers, straddled you once more, her legs kneeling outside of yours, your penis perilously close to her entrance.

Your pants were at your ankles, your shirt still buttoned, your shoes still on, when Frieda grabbed you by the base and placed you at the entrance. St. Peter's Gate. You did not await her permission, as you grabbed her hips and slid in.

Heaven is a warm blanket, says the old expression, and you now understood the "deeper" meaning. Frieda was shocked, yet visibly pleased when you pushed inside of her. Animal instinct told you to push in and out, and you managed to reverse the dynamic, laying her down in the opposite direction.

Her depth was wet, and she was yelling out, not in German, but a more guttural, primal language. Your headache dissipated, the laudanum wore off, and you were singularly focused. You ejaculated, came, within the blonde nurse, feeling tension relieved from untold years of pent-up energy. You knew you would do this again, but for now you just wanted to bask in the afterglow.

But Frieda did not, leaking your fluids onto the longue and floor, she slipped on her hose, her brassiere, the Doctor helped with her outfit, as she exited as quickly as she entered.

The Doctor was at your side now, as you realized your state of appearance and quickly pulled up your pants. "And your headache now?" he asked.

You stared at him, realizing "It's gone."

The Doctor gave you a quick "Bravo" and explained that his theory had been proven, and events such as that needed to occur very often for many years.

"Every day?" you asked, concerned how to manage this without a girlfriend or fiance. Maybe if you set up daily visits with Schultz and Frieda...

"Nein. Eight times a day. About every three hours." Okay, so this will be impossible.