Chapter 1
I hadn’t been practicing long when Dr. F showed a troubling case file to me. Her first erectile dysfunction patient had stopped getting testosterone injections after his third and had not visited the clinic for over 15 months. One of her other patients mentioned that Mr. B, who is her neighbor, had become a hermit after his wife died a year earlier. Dr. F thought I might have some insight on how to get him to resume his treatments.
I called Mr. B on the phone and after I told him who I was and what my medical specialty was, I told him that his doctor and I were concerned that he might not understand the importance of his decision to stop getting testosterone replacement therapy. He sounded very depressed when he explained that his wife had died not long after he started treatments and that he hadn’t needed an erection since then. I explained that many other health problems could result from living with abnormally low T levels and that he should consider resuming them.
It’s difficult in cases like these to diagnose the underlying cause of depression. It could be due to grief or it could be a symptom of low T or it could be just ordinary clinical depression, so his negativity could be traceable to a very treatable condition. He made an excuse about having to drive so far to get his injections, but I interrupted him and said that his objections might be a symptom of low T and that it was my advice that he have at least one injection to see if his attitude about them changes. I looked up his address and recognized that it was on a road that I passed when I drove home from that clinic, so I offered to visit him and give him an injection.
“Well, if you can find the place, I’d be surprised.”
Clearly he didn’t understand the advances of MapQuest and GPS navigation, because I quickly found a route to his home. “I’ll be there at 6 PM,” I said and I hung up before he could object.
When I drove down the road to his address, I entered a forest. As this was November and after the Daylight Savings Time change, it was already quite dark before the forest made it even darker. I drove past his driveway twice before I confirmed that he actually did live a mile from his nearest neighbor. I almost got too scared of the whole gloomy backwoods situation but after going down his drive a short way, I could see an address on a tree to confirm I was on the right two-track and I could see a faint light in the distance. I drove for another 1/4 mile before I pulled into a yard with a large totally dark house on one side of the driveway and a small dimly lit log cabin on the other. I could also see other buildings and next to the cabin was an old Jeep. I parked next to it and wondered what I had gotten myself into. People disappear without a trace out here in the sticks, I thought.
I knocked on the door and it was answered by a large man holding a large glass of red wine. He was at least 6’4″ and easily weighed 230 lbs. The height was right for Mr. B, but he looked over 40 lbs heavier than his file indicated. His shirt was straining against the buttons at his paunch and loose around his shoulders and arms. His thinning gray hair was long and unkempt and his face and neck had a five day stubble. He looked upset and morose at the same time. If I wasn’t sure that he’d made the token effort of bathing and putting on clean clothes for my visit, I probably would have left.
“You found me,” he said glumly. “I was going to tell you not to bother but you hung up on me. I called the Doctor to chew her a new asshole, but she convinced me to listen to you for five minutes, starting now.”
“Mr. B, you’re smart enough to realize that you’ve let yourself go to pot since your wife died and you stopped your treatments. At this rate, you’ll be dead long before your time. I’m sorry for your loss, but I doubt your wife would have wanted that. If you’ll agree to one injection, you’ll either feel much better and slip out of this slide or you won’t, but at 55 years old, you’ve got your golden years ahead of you and you should be mature enough to understand that a hormonal imbalance is likely to be as much a cause of your decline as your grief.”
“Dr. F said you wouldn’t pull any punches, but you don’t know what you’re offering. If I accept that one injection, in a half hour, I’ll want a woman very badly and there won’t be one here. Then I won’t be able to fall asleep for the next 12 hours. Then I’ll be cranky for the next two days. Then I’ll just go back to being weak and flabby. I’m dying anyway. My heart condition will get me before I’m 70, and my next 15 years don’t look all that worthwhile from here.”
My mind was in hyper-drive now. The sleeplessness and crankiness were indications that the wrong synthetic hormone was being injected, but he would likely think I was just trying to bamboozle him with an excuse if I told him that. I needed to hook him with something before I tried to sell a review of his therapy. I took a big chance and said, “I can still be here in a half-hour and for the next two hours after that.”
That stopped him. He understood what I was offering. Now it was a put-up or shut-up situation for both of us, but the ball was in his court.
“How much will that cost?”
I’ve got him now! “Mr. B, you should understnd that I am not a prostitute. I’ll do the same things a prostitute does, but so will a wife or girlfriend. I’m a physical therapist with some unique training. This is my specialty. I fix broken dicks and that requires test driving them.” That brought a hint of a smile to his face and that was my first good sign. “My fee is $120 per session and I’ve got a moral code, an ethical code and a legal code that I have to accomodate. There will be rules, but from what you’ve described, I think your prescription needs adjustment. What works for most other men is not working for you. Sometimes a little experimentation is required. If you give up without trying newer medicines and different dosages it will be opportunities missed.”
“What are these rules you mentioned?”
“Well the first rule is that I have to get approval from your Doctor to try a different synthetic. Do I need to stand out here on your porch to do that?”
“Well, if you want to use a cell phone, you probably don’t get a signal here. You can tell me the rest of the rules as we go up the hill.”
I checked my cell phone and he was right, no signal.
“Can’t I use your phone?”
“I’m betting that Dr. F won’t accept an after hours call from a number she doesn’t recognize.”
He had me there. His number would not be on her associate list. I could try, but I had to show that I could trust him and that his doctor would accept a call from me. “Well, I guess we’ll go up this hill then.”
He set down his wine glass and threw on a jacket and went toward the Jeep. Before he got in, I asked how much wine he had drunk tonight.
“Two sips. I have one glass every night.”
So, I climbed in the passenger side and he started the motor. I thought to myself that he could have a shovel in the back and I could end up under a mound of dirt in the woods, but I had put on a brave face and if I took it off now, I would lose him.
He drove on a trail that was even narrower and rougher than his driveway and we were soon heading up a steep hill. My rules were simple and he didn’t seem to have a problem with them. Condom, no oral, no anal, I wear exam gloves, I’m on top. It’s the I’m on top part that most often causes problems. Most older guys are just programmed to “make love” a certain way. I told him it was to help me get information, but it’s just as much a matter of self preservation. If I’m on top, I’m less vulnerable to the unpredictability of hormone reactions. At least that’s what I thought.
A clearing soon appeared and in the far distance I could see the red lights of cell towers. I could also see more stars than I was accustomed to seeing because he switched off the headlights and it was incredibly dark. I got out of the Jeep to get some privacy and used the cell phone screen as a flashlight to guide me. I found a path and to my surprise, it lead right to a picnic table. I sat on that and called Dr. F on her direct line. She answered her cell right away. She warned me that his heart damage was a congenital weak wall condition and was complicated by Wolfe-Parkinsons-White Syndrome. It was almost certain and that one day, most likely before he was 70, his heart would just open up and spill his plood into his chest cavity.
I made a second call and this time I spoke a little louder. “Mom? I’ll be home a little late. Don’t wait supper for me. I’m at a client’s out in the forest south of Pike Lake.” I wanted Mr. B to know that someone knew where I was. “You’ll read them a story? Good.” I also wanted him to know that if anything happened to me, some children would go motherless.
I gave Mr. B the good news as I got back into the car.
“You have children?” he asked.
“Yes, a girl and a boy.”
“No husband?”
“I’m widowed.” It couldn’t hurt to let him know the children would be orphans.
“We have that in common, then.”
We drove back down the hill. This time he invited me inside and after I retrieved my bag from my car, he offered me a glass of wine which I declined and some dinner which I also declined, although it did smell good. I asked him if he needed Viagra or anything else to supplement the injection, but he said that wouldn’t be necessary “if the stuff works”. He retrieved his glass of wine and sipped a mighty big sip while I looked around the place.
His cabin was one big room with a smaller room boxed out in one corner. There was a nook for his king-sized bed and a fire in the fireplace. The appliances in his kitchen were ancient and all of his furniture had a kind of comfy-shabby-woodsy motif. I looked at some photos hanging on the wall and saw him with a tall slender blond fortyish woman who looked a little like my mother when she was younger. There were also two young girls with them.
“My second wife and her daughters. Five years ago.”
“Where are the girls now?”, I asked, hoping he wouldn’t glance at the chest freezer.
“Living with their father. Shelley would have hated that, but I had no authority to keep them.”
Below that was another photo of Shelley wearing hunter camoflage and holding the antlers of a whitetail deer with a bow and arrows leaning against it.
“Even though we knew she was dying, we got married and all four of us lived here while we built the house. We only lived in it for one year.”
I was surprised that he was opening up to me, but I chalked it up to nervousness about what to do next. I decided to quit wondering about whether I would survive the evening and I suggested that I give him the slow release injection so that he would have time to finish his wine. After the injection I asked if I could use the bathroom and he pointed me to the room in the corner. I suggested he get undressed and crawl into bed.
When I came out of the bathroom I was wearing only my sheer outfit. Bra, panties and stockings seem to work for most men. He was in bed and was just setting down his empty wine glass. The light was mainly from the fire place, so I had to admit to myself that he didn’t look half bad lying down. I slipped on the exam gloves and presented myself to his scrutiny.
“I may not look anything like your wife, but I hope I look pleasing.”
“Actually, you look a bit like my first wife and yes I think you are a pretty young woman.”
I sat down beside him on the bed and peeled back the sheet he had placed over him. His cock was starting to grow and I began carressing it.
“How does this feel?”
“Very good,” he said. “I’m definitely feeling the effects of the injection.
His cock continued to grow and I just have to say that it was the first cock I’ve ever seen that I would call beautiful. It was everything a cock should be. I could stack both hands on the shaft and there was still exposed shaft below the head. I began to stroke it and he clearly enjoyed that. I stripped out of my bra and panties and straddled him on the bed. I slid the condom down on his now huge cock and eased my wet pussy down on the head. It gave me quite a stretching but it felt wonderful. I began to ride slowly up and down on him and had a steady buildup to my first orgasm, which I tried to hide from him because the point is to make him cum, not to simply enjoy myself. I built up to the fastest pace I could sustain and I was building toward a second orgasm when suddenly I was on my back on the bed and he was thrusting into me with great force.
“No!”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
I had clearly lost control of the situation and he was clearly having an aggressive reaction to the injection. I took stock of my situation and decided that he wasn’t really hurting me, so I just let him hammer away at me, knowing that if I distracted him by arguing he could become violent instead of just forceful. Soon, I had the second orgasm and not long after that another one. It appeared he was getting frustrated about something and he soon shouted, “Why won’t you cum, bitch?”
The dear man. Even in the midst of a testosterone rage he was trying to please me first.
“I already came three times, Mr. B. I hide them because I’m here for your pleasure not mine.”
Suddenly, he flipped me over like a rag doll, pulled my hips up and buried his big cock into me doggy style. I came again and I didn’t hold back on the vocals and then he gasped and spasmed as he pumped his load into the condom. He gave me a few final shuddering thrusts and then suddenly all of his weight slammed down on my back and I collapsed under him.
‘Ohmigod’, I thought. ‘I’ve fucked him to death.’
It took all of my strength to roll him off of me and then roll him on his back. I quickly checked his pulse and his breathing and verified that he was only passed out. I pulled smelling salts from the emergency section of my kit bag and waved them under his nose. That brought him around quickly. “Wha?”
“It’s okay, Mr. B. You passed out after giving me the fucking of my life.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry Celeste. Did I hurt you? You have to believe that I didn’t mean to.”
“Relax Mr. B, this was not your fault. I’m to blame for this. Remember I told you that we need to experiment some? It seems that you are hypersensitive to the testosterone spike. We’ll lower the dosage next time.”
“Please tell me that I didn’t hurt you.”
“Well, I’ve never been fucked harder, but I really enjoyed that. I’ll be walking bowlegged tomorrow, but I’ll remember why fondly. Is this the first time you’ve ever passed out?”
“No, but it’s the first time in a very long time and the first time during sex.”
“Well hopefully next time we’ll avoid that.”
“Are you sure you want to try this again? I really do apologize for calling you a bitch and overpowering you. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to risk it.”
“Mr. B, Unless you plan on cheating me out of my fee, our relationship doesn’t end until we achieve a satisfactory treatment. I need you to understand this. I am a professional. It’s important that I find the correct treatment. What I learn from you will help me with future clients. We had a slight miscommunication and that resulted in increased risk, but I was not harmed and I know better now. It really is not necessary for you to try to please me sexually. I’m here to treat you.”
“But that is what I need to get off.”
The more I learned about this man, the more I liked him. “Okay, I’ll bend my rule and let my pleasure show. I won’t fake anything.”
I thought then about the long-unused outfits that I had often worn in role play with my husband before he died. “I can also dress up if that will help you. I can be a schoolgirl, a naughty nurse, librarian, french maid,…”
“No need Celeste. You don’t need any help looking sexy.”
“Well thank you, Mr. B, but I’m willing to do what it takes. How about if I shave my pubes off.”
That got a smile from him, so I said, “Ah, I see you like that. You’ll be the first man to see my tattoo.”
I removed the condom from his shrinking cock and I told him to let me know if he had trouble getting to sleep. I also told him to try to have sex every night until the next session because I wanted to know if the injection stops working.
“But there won’t be a woman here every night.”
“Mr. B, use your hand if you have to.”
He looked embarrassed and I thought that was kind of cute, so I said, “I’ll get the doctor to prescribe that if you would like. Here, you keep my panties. Use them to remember tonight. I’ll take them back next week.”
I called the next day to hear him sheepishly admit that he had slept better than he had in many months.
To be continued…
