Crazy doctor - psychotherapy can work miracles

So here I am, all alone in this office. It's quite nice and polished, maybe a bit posh looking, but with a twist to it: if the patient tries to relax too much by sinking in the couch, her (hopefully her) eyes will gaze at a very good copy of Munch's "Scream" on the opposite wall; if he (and i think it's going to be a he) tries to boredly or evasively look out through the window, there's a splendid copy of Raphael's

"Fornarina" between the windows, and it'll bring at least his gaze, if not his mind back. At the front of the room there's a desk with all kinds of papers thrown about (it gives a nice impression of intense work), and behind it, a stocky bookcase filled with all the possible crap written about human mind - poor old papa Freud's been ripped apart by these facy-ass cognitivists and those (fortunately extinct) beastly behaviourists. Anyway, on the top shelf, at about the eye level, are my favourites: an illustrated edition of the "Kama Sutra" and another of "The Perfumed Garden" - quite expensive they were, but they're worth it. There's a lot more here than all those prigs tried to fill the whole bookcase with. I like to browse them, especially

when I'm alone and bored, like I am now. There's not much to do - I've tried the 'net, but the porn sites with people simply having intercourse (they'rejust touching each other with their sex, they don't even bother to respond to each other, they're just mechanical devices) - are my greatest turn-off, not to mention the chat rooms, where language is used just for the same purpose. I really wonder

what happened to that mystery of the union (i. e. mutual involvement) between man and woman. There are a lot of sad cases (and, partially, I'm one of them), people looking for that special "je ne sais quoi" they feel it's gone, most of them not even knowing what they're missing, only a few of them (me included) actually knowing that.

Anyway, my favourite pastime is imagining what kind of a nurse I'll have - and I'm telling you that no woman is ugly who is sane (or at least apparently) and healthy, each of them has her special charm, all I want to do is find it. She could be a cute, petite blonde, small-breasted and energetic, with clear blue eyes (oh, I love this

thing, looking into their eyes, and I must tell you, the ladies are a lot better in returning your gaze than most guys are) - maybe she likes having her feet massaged; or maybe she's a sensuous, fleshy brunette, who likes to keep her shirt unbuttoned and wear a low-cut bra under - she likes gentle strokes on her back and hips (and I bet she loves every opportunity to bend down); or maybe she's that delicious spectacled, timid creature, who hardly dares answer my

questions - I bet she likes to be whispered lighly, my breath running over her ear and neck, how i'd love to touch all of her body...

Oh, but that's so rude of me, not to introduce myself! I'm Dr. Vlad (Dracula's first name), and, unfortunately, I'm looking it. I've never been handsome and during the past few years with the therapy training and all that, I got even worse. Just imagine a 6'1" chunk of a man, with 190 lbs distributed quite unevenly, sparse hair that used to be hazel and a closely trimmed beard (good old papa Freud's heritage of authority). The only feature that partly excuses my looks are my eyes - hazel-green, with a touch of gray, clear and calm, apparently dreamy, but always alert and ready to respond to gazes. The other feature are my hands - neat and tender, but strong - I love giving massages and touching, and I especially love sticking my long, flexible fingers in all those special places...

I lean back in my chair, my eyes half closed, allowing the luring images to become more and more real. I know there's an erection building up, and I welcome it - the gentle rubbing between the skin on my tool (it's not that long, but it's thick, and it can take a lot of punishment) and the cotton fabric of my boxers send waves of

pleasure upwards, to my solar plexus, and from there they irradiate all over the body. I can smell her skin, feel the soft fullness of her lips on mine, her tongue dancing on my teeth... Oh, baby, look what you're doing to me, I've got precum oozing out of my rod all over the underwear... I want to move further south, passing over your chin and leaving a trail with my lips to that sweet place between your collarbones (the anatomists call it "incisura jugularis" - I've been a dilligent student), then in your cleavage - that's right, press your breasts together, I love the way it feels when I bury my lips between them... let me trace the outline of your right breast, beginning with that absolutely delicious underside (I know it's one of your special places, I can feel you squirm as your tummy rhytmically reaches up to my chest), then along the fold leading upwards to the armpit, where I linger to place a full kiss, then wander as slowly as I can to that destination we've both waited for: the nipple. I like to prepare it by beathing on it (and the deeper you breathe, the closer you'll bring it to my lips), then by teasing it with puckered lips - it's an absolutely electrical sensation, it sends jolts of pleasure down, and you can feel my erection pulsing against your calves; I want to hear you beg me no to stop, or at least moan softly at me, I really can't resist doing

anything when I'm asked properly... Oh, i love how the skin of you nipple feels against the inside of my lips, over and over gain, until your heartbeats almost you, and I have to give you a break by placing gentle kisses in your cleavage while I set off to do the same with your left breast, following the rhytm of your heart I can hear, feel and see sending ripples on the skin of your breast - it's absolutely dissolving to be that close to somebody. Your whines of protest are

so sweet as I leave the nipple, but baby, we have to go on and, besides, you really need a break, you're breathless and covered in sweat - i love drinking those little beads that run on the underside of you breasts... No, I'm not stopping, I'm brushing your breasts with my fingertips, believe me, I'd have loved to stay there... I know you grab my head because you want me to go directly down, but please, be patient with me, I want this whole union between us to be perfect, I need to touch as much of you as possible. That's right, do your worst, pull at my hair, I'm kissing my way down to your belly button - I can feel your muscles contract, and your whole body is arching up as I enter there with my tongue. It's so hot and tight those gushes of precum down my shaft anticipate your "Holiest of Holies". I let my hands run idly over your tummy and hips, cupping those two mounds made by bones, then I trace that sweet curve between them with my tongue... Please don't, love, please don't spread your legs now, the smell of your honey is sure to drive me mad, and there are so many places I've never yet been to - I know I'm a bad boy, but please understand my hunger for you, for the whole of you. I barely brush past your pubic area to go down on your thighs, I love feeling the contracting muscles with my hands - I love the way you control yourself, sweetie, and I promise you won't be sorry. The firm roundness of your knees is a bit reasurring after that hot soft tenderness of the tummy, and I start to fill the pits on backs of you knees with kisses. The way you respond shows me I've touched yet another chord of your senisivity. Just now I begin ascending on your inner thigh. Oh, my love, I'm simply stunned by the sight and smell of your womanhood... My head is swimming, my heart is pounding, I almost pass out for half a second... I didn't fully realize how much I wanted you...

Damn!! Someone at the door. I have to get that. Among the things I've learned is discipline - you already know that. So I take a few deep breaths till the erection subsides to an acceptable size, then I stand up and make for the door with quick, light steps, just quickly enough to hear someone nervously fidgetting outside.