In my line of work, I meet many people whose lives would each make an interesting novel. My name is Francis, and I teach ballroom dancing to adults. This story takes place in Boston. Names of course have been changed. Luke appears in many of my stories. All you need to know is, he is a well hung dumb SOB.
Usually I teach only adults. I did once have a couple of Russian preteens, brother and sister, who were mentally so quick, that if we ever get into outer space, these two will be responsible. But this story is not about them. It's about their mother, a divorced woman -- beautiful, voluptuous, and extremely intelligent. Her name is Irena. She had brought her kids in for dance lessons, and sat there on the ballroom bench against the wall until they were finished. I watched her out of the corner of my eyes. She seemed to have a twitch in her legs occasionally. As much as she told me she was fine, I saw she was not fine. She didn't snap at me if I insisted she didn't look good. She very pleasantly said, "Francis, I am OK. I just have trouble sleeping at night ..."
One of my favorite student couples was John and Debbie Boyle. John was a neurologist at Massachusetts General Hospital, one of the top hospitals in the country. Debbie was a psychotherapist. They didn't have any children yet. Debbie loved ballroom dancing, and John, like it or not, took lessons with her. Actually, I loved Debbie's boobs. She didn't flaunt them, but I could see the big thrust under her conservative dresses. Debbie also learned fast, so she made the lessons fun.
It was at our Christmas party that they met Irena. We were having a snowball dance, when John happened to have Irena as a partner. A snowball dance starts out with one couple; when the music stops the couple has to pick another partner, so we end up with four people dancing. By the time the music ends, everyone is dancing.
After the party John mentioned to me, "I really like Irena, but she doesn't look too well ..."
"Yeah," I replied. "She has trouble sleeping."
John was thinking about the sleep issue. Everyone has trouble sleeping at one time or another. But Irena's twitching was something else.
"Maybe if we set up an appointment for her to talk to Debbie ..." I suggested.
"OK, but let me meet with her first." John said.
We agreed. I asked Irena to have coffee with John at the Ritz coffee shop. She thought it was a nice social break, so they met at 11 AM. After some discussion, with Irena twitching occasionally, John had a gut feel for her problem. He ruled out an MRI because he didn't think it was Parkinson's. He suggested she needed to see Debbie first.
What I like about Debbie is, she calls a spade a spade. She's an 'in your face' kind of therapist.
They met for afternoon tea. After discussing the weather, Debbie broke the ice.
"How is your sex life?" Debbie asked Irena.
"What sex life?"
"Don't you have a sex life?"
"Exactly what are you getting at?" Irena asked, squirming.
Debbie got to the point. "Irena, may I speak frankly?" Irena nodded. "I'm going to use words that --"
"Go ahead ..."
"When's the last time you got fucked?" Debbie asked. Irena turned red.
"Oh, that was a long time ago ... before my divorce."
"Fine. Do you like having your pussy licked???"
Irena turned white then crimson. "I .. I never had my pussy licked."