A fetish occurs when there is a preoccupation with a particular part of the body or object, relying substantially on that object for sexual arousal, quite often to the detriment of a true or full relationship with another person. This is the story of a girl with a fetish. All of the characters in this story were at least 18 at the time of their actions.
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Emily Kay was one of Dr. Lowenstein's latest patients. She was an underclassman, a junior, nineteen years old, in her second year at Templeton College, and she had finally decided to do something about it; her problem; her secret problem.
Dr. Lowenstein spent the initial part of their first session gathering basic history, and then asked why Emily had come for treatment. She had already read the intake and so actually knew but, frankly, what Emily had written in the intake form didn't really sound like a problem. "I like boys," she said to Dr. Lowenstein, wringing her hands, keeping her eyes focused on the floor as she confessed her deep, dark secret.
Dr. Lowenstein furrowed her brow. She had female patients confess that they liked girls, but never a girl confessing that she liked boys. She even felt that the problem for girls who liked girls was their insecurity over their natural predilection, and not really a problem, at least in the way the patient felt. In any case, she attempted to reassure Emily. "Emily, I hardly think that's a significant problem. Actually, not a problem at all." It was at times amazing how neurotic and insecure college girls could be. "It's perfectly normal for a girl to like boys."
"No, Dr. Lowenstein, I mean, I really like them; like I really, really like them."
Dr. Lowenstein had to smile. She was reminded of being in high school, when one girl tells another that she doesn't just like someone, she really, really likes him. "Emily, still, that isn't really a problem. It's perfectly fine to really, really like someone."
Emily could see that Dr. Lowenstein wasn't getting it. "Well, I mean, like, it's not like the guy I like, it's just a certain part of him."
Dr. Lowenstein again furrowed her brow. She would have to admit that she was lost. "I don't understand, Emily. What do you mean?"
Emily could feel her lips and mouth getting dry. This often happened when she had to do oral presentations in class. Her mouth would get all dry and she could hardly speak. She needed a drink of water, or something to suck on to generate some saliva. She knew what that should be, or at least would be, in her case. But, in this instance all that was available was a glass of water. She took a sip, gathering enough courage to explain.
"It's not that I like boys, doctor. I mean, I do. But, what I really like most is, well, their, you know."
Dr. Lowenstein was a sex therapist. She was not a particularly experienced one, but what she lacked in experience she made up for in creative ingenuity. She did in fact have a pretty successful practice, due in part perhaps to being the only one in town, on a campus bursting with young men and women, many of whom, not surprisingly, do have sexual problems. In any case, one of the most important components of effective treatment is to help the patient articulate his or her concern, to speak openly and comfortably about the problem. "I believe I do, Emily." Actually, she still wasn't at all sure, but by saying she did, Emily could now feel that the worst of her confession was over, as the therapist does already know what she was trying to confess. "But, I want you to say it for yourself. It's important that you say it yourself."
She knew the doctor was right. But, she felt like such a pervert. Who wants to admit she is a pervert? What would her parents say? "You won't tell my parents, will you?"
This was a not uncommon concern among her college student patients. They were all above the age of 18. That alone made the therapy confidential. But, their parents were paying for their college education. They had access to their children's academic records. It was understandable for the students to think that they might also have access to their clinic records. They didn't, but it was an understandable concern.
"Emily, if they were to call, I wouldn't even acknowledge that I am seeing you in treatment, let alone tell them anything that you might say in the privacy of these sessions."
That was good to hear. Her parents would have a cow if they knew what she was about to say. "Yes, well, what I really like, about boys, what I really like." Her voice then got a lot quieter. "Their penises. I really like their penises."
There, she had said it. Her face became beet red, but she also felt considerable relief to have finally confessed.
Dr. Lowenstein, though, was still confused. "Well, dear, any normal heterosexual girl likes boys' penises."
It was Emily's turn to furrow her brow. The doctor was still not getting it. Weren't psychologists suppose to be empathic? "No, no, it's not just that. Well, that is it, actually. It's just that it's just that."
"Emily?"
"It's just their penises. I'm not sure that I really care much for the rest of them. I mean, I do like the rest of them, but it's just that I really, really like their penises. I like them a lot, an awful lot." And, once she got it off her chest, it seemed like she couldn't stop talking about it. "I mean, they're so handsome, so masculine, so manly. And, they come in so many shapes and sizes. Some are like really, really big. Have you ever seen a really big one, Dr. Lowenstein?" Before she could answer, even if she had wanted to, Emily continued. "I mean, like, they can even be scary sometimes, when they're really big. But, then, I also like the small ones too. I mean, like, they're really cute when they're small, and you want to help them build themselves up, at least their confidence. The small ones are at times so insecure." The doctor was beginning to understand her problem. She was now talking about the penises as if they were persons. "You sometimes have to be really patient with them. They'll sometimes just curl up and hide, like they're afraid to come out and play, and so you have to coax them without making them feel like they actually needed any help. But, eventually, they do respond, and then they stand up so straight and tall, showing off their muscles. They're muscles aren't at all big, but you can still see how proud they are of them."
"Yes, well, um."
"And, some are like perfectly straight, you know, but some are even curved, like, really curved. I was real surprised when I saw the first one like that. I was thinking, like, wondering, if they straightened out when they got inside."
The doctor knew she would have to ask the patient how many she had seen, but she was feeling a bit worried about the answer. Well, that wasn't a problem right now because she couldn't even get a question in.
"And, some are like really thin, others are like really thick. Doctor, do you think boys who are fat have little ones? That's what it seems to me, but, you know, it's not like I have checked all of them, but, you know, I have seen quite a few, a lot actually. One time I checked every single one at a party. That wasn't easy, cause I didn't want, like, any of the girls to know I was checking out their dates or anything. It wasn't like some sort of group thing, you know, although I suppose that would be pretty cool, just thinking about that makes me dizzy, imagine being in a room full of naked hard penises, just full of them. I like them all. Well, that's not actually true. I must admit that there is one, one kind, that I don't really like."