Two Hundred Dollars

"Do you feel more comfortable now?" Jason, my therapist, my shrink for the past month, asked.

"Much."

"You like being naked in front of other men. Or nearly naked."

I nodded. "I'm definitely..." I rephrased it: "I definitely have exhibitionist tendencies."

"Explain."

This was a road we'd been down before but, here we go again. "Nude beaches, having men over, strangers."

"Dressing for them?"

I looked down the length of my slender body. I was slumped against a pillow, my bare thighs crossed. "Dressed?"

"In panties," Jason explained, lifting a chin at me. We'd been discussing my crossdressing fetish, Jason had sensed my nervousness and asked me if I would feel more comfortable sitting on his couch in my panty. Assuming I was wearing one, which I was. Now my street clothes sat untidily folded on the cushion to my left, my slip-on shoes on the carpet below. I felt like a barrier had been broken through. I was at ease. I could say anything now.

"Yes. Usually in the beginning, when they arrived. Then..."

"And what did you do with these men?"

"Most wanted a blowjob. We would go in my livingroom, they'd undress quickly and I'd sit on my couch and...suck them off."

"You enjoy sucking other men?"

"Yes."

"Do you swallow?"

"Yes. Always. I always included that in my ads."

"So these men who came over--come over--they're responding to your ad?"

"Yes. Although sometimes I'll respond to someone else's. Someone looking for a BJ on the way home from work for instance."

"How many men have you been with?"

My eyes rolled toward the perforated ceiling, which had brownish water stains here and there. They reminded me of dried wet spots on the bed, when I was married. "Over the past ten years...since my divorce?"

I thought a second longer. All these "casual encounters" kind of bled together. "A hundred, I'd say?"

"Did any of these men...?" It was Jason's turn to rephrase his question: "Did you have anal sex with any of these men?"

I nodded. "Yes. A few of them."

"Did you practice safe sex? Not so important when giving oral, but..."

"Yes," I lied. Except for the first time, at my urging, not a single man who fucked me had ever worn a condom. I'd been barebacked every time, and on each occasion my partner had shot his load in me. In fact, for a brief while I carried it around inside me as a kind of trophy.

"What effect, if any, does having sex with another man have on you?"

I thought for a moment. This was a difficult question. There's a big difference between sucking cock and taking that same cock up your ass. "It makes me feel...submissive. And fem. Especially bottoming. I'm very submissive. I feel very..."

"Go on."

"Effeminate afterwards. I want to dress up in women's underwear."

Jason glanced at his legal pad. "But you began dressing up in women's underwear before you ever"--another glance--"bottomed for a man, correct?"

"That's true."

"So the root of your crossdressing, your fetish crossdressing, panties and the like...lies somewhere else."

"I guess. If you say so."

"When's the last time you had sex with another man?"

"A...couple of weeks ago," I hedged. Honestly I couldn't remember.

"And what did you do with him?"

"A blowjob."

"Were you dressed in panties?"

"Yes."

"Did he know you'd be dressed?"

"Yes, I guess so. I'd sent him a pic."

"What did he say when he saw you were dressed?"

"Nothing. He kind of backed me against a wall and gave me a fondle. He was in a hurry, though. They're always in a hurry."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "Get back to the wife and kids."

"This guy was married?" Jason acted surprised.

"In my experience almost all of them are. That's why"--a laugh leaking out here--"I've developed this theory. Bisexuality is the norm not the exception, especially as guys get older."

"Hm. Interesting," Jason mused.

"It's rare that anyone wants to have a drink and hang out and..."

"But some do."

"Occasionally. Usually before a fuck."

Jason pointed with his pen. "I notice you're getting aroused."

I looked down at myself again. At my cock now slanting crosswise in the vee-front of my colorful panty, constrained my the thin waistband. I was embarrassed. "I'm sorry," I said.

"No, don't be," the doctor advised, shifting in his facing chair. "It's natural. Normal. Did you used to get hard when you were here before, fully dressed?"

"No."

"So sitting here like this, in your panty...it's liberating for you."

I glanced at myself again. I was already feeling the urge to cum. "I guess, yes."

"I'll make a confession," Jason announced, uncrossing his legs and setting notepad and pen aside. "I'm getting hard too--sitting here listening to you and looking at you."

I shifted on the couch cushion. I was both pleased and not pleased. I said nothing. Jason looked at his wristwatch and said, somewhat vaguely, "We have twenty minutes left in the session. That's enough time don't you think?"

I swallowed again, thickly.

"For what? For--"

"Sex? To have sex? I'm turned on by you. Would you like that? I have good stamina."

A small wet spot had formed at the upper edge of the front of my panty. I could feel it. I wasn't sure what to say, or do. Jason leaned forward. He touched my knee, which, like the rest of my legs, the rest of my body, was shaved smooth.

"I'm asking you if you'd like to have sex with me. It could become part of your therapy," Jason half-smiled.

"How...how so?"

"Well, for starters, it would relieve you of all your tension."

I found this somewhat amusing. At the moment the only tension I felt, sitting there in my panty, was having sex with my therapist. Had this been his intent all along? Off to my right, behind his desk, were framed photos of an attractive blonde-haired woman and what looked like two small children. Wife and kids. Typical.

"It's up to you," Jason advised, withdrawing his hand from my knee. As I sat there, numbly, in a state of confusion, Jason rose and went behind his desk. He opened a drawer, then another one, and removed a foil strip of condoms and a tube of lubricant. He set them on the near corner of his desk saying, "Don't get the wrong idea. I don't do this with just anybody."

Jason had begun to undress.

I was now one, maybe two strokes away from ejaculating, if a hand had taken hold of me. I was the opposite: a quick-cummer. Just ask my ex. I asked, uncertainly, "How...how do you want me?"

Jason was not tall. And he was rather thick-bodied. He did have a flat, somewhat muscular belly however. I put him at about 43. I saw his hard-on in his briefs, before he pulled them down. He had a nice one. Thick, bulgy in the middle, circumcised. Naked now, he motioned at the couch.

"We can do it right there. On your hands and knees."

I started to ask if he was sure this was a good idea, but I swallowed the question instead. As I rose I looked at his cock again and said, "You don't have to wear a condom if you don't want."

"No?" Jason was already fingering a foil pouch.

"No, you're married and all..."

Jason smiled and said, "Fine with me. I hate those things."

I, meanwhile, tossed my panty aside and got down on my knees on the couch. Or rather, sank my left knee into a cushion while my right leg, remaining straight, went all the way to the floor. I'd lowered myself onto my forearms on the far end of the couch. I was in position, ready.

Jason came up behind me, his bare cock lubed up, put his hands on my hips and shifted my bottom a few inches to the right. He was going to do me standing up. "One good thing about these early-evening sessions...," he said, as he aimed the head of his cock at my hole, "...no one's here. The staff is gone. You can do anything you want."

He pushed in. I moaned, wondering about what he'd just said.

"You OK?"

I told him I was. I was wincing but that's what I told him.

He pushed in about halfway, thickly, a real assful, and paused. He patted my right buttock. "You good?"

I appreciated his concern. I nodded. He pushed, then he pushed again and then he broke through, my eyes closing and the blackness filling with stars. Planets, galaxies. I cried out--with pleasure. Oh!

"Remember. This is part of your therapy," he claimed, before beginning his motion in me. The thought reverberating: My therapist, my doctor...he's fucking me!

He asked again, one last time: "Are you good?"

"Fine," I replied, through clenched teeth.

His cock was big enough that it would take a few moments before unadulterated pleasure kicked in. I moaned anyway, with each of his thrusts, my hands now beneath my elbows gripping the rounded vinyl armrest.

"I haven't fucked another man in some time," Jason informed me. "Women patients, yes. A few. Now and then. But other males...?"

We fucked in silence for a moment before Jason continued: "My marriage...we've lost interest in each other. Stay together just for the...kids. But they're too young. That's not going to last."

I thought of the pretty blonde in the pictures behind his desk. Too bad. It's a shame how most marriages end up.

On the other hand here I was letting him bang me. I thought about the dozens of men I'd pleasured over the years, and wondered how many were now divorced thanks in part to me. To same-sex partners like me.

Guilt soon gave way to pure pleasure however. I moaned. I cried out. Jason shushed me.

"Not so loud," he said, breathlessly. "Just in case. There's another therapist in...the next office. Sometimes...sometimes she sees clients late too."

"We could do this weekly," Jason went on. "Or bimonthly or whatever. Every visit. You could dress for me in your panties..." He shifted the topic suddenly: "Do you ever wear stockings?"

"Yes. Sure. Thigh-highs and..."

"I'd like to fuck you next time in stockings. You have nice legs. I'd love to see you in them."

"I can do that," I promised, between moans. "I can wear 'em next...week."

"That would be...super!" Jason said. Then: "You're a good fuck. You have a nice hole. Not too tight...not too...Just right."

I was pleased to hear this. My rectum had opened up. He was sliding in and out of me easily now. I was loving it. I lowered my head nearly to my arms and moaned into the couch corner. Oh!

After he fucked me in silence for a few more moments Jason said: "Not to make you feel like a whore or anything...but...but I'll lower your rate for this. Two hundred instead of two-fifty? For an hour?"

I wanted to say: It's fifty minutes not a full hour. And I don't mind feeling like a whore. I'd cleaned men's houses for money, remember? "That's...fair," I got out.

"But don't feel like you're, um, prostituting yourself here. For me. That's..."

I said, even though I now did, "I don't feel that way at all."

Laugher dribbled out of Jason's mouth as he fucked me. "Anyway, fifty dollars isn't..."

The thought died there. He was pounding me now. I was gripping the couch arm. Breath was escaping--seething--through his teeth. Despite his admonition to me he screamed, twice. Then his motion began to slow as he ejaculated the last of his load into me. I got the feeling, for him, it had been a while. I was glad to have been on the receiving end.

Jason pulled out of me. Walking like a drunk, a staggering step, he pointed at the bathroom straight ahead and mumbled, "Oh god. I'll get a..."

He returned with a damp hand towel. After wiping his cock off along the way he handed it to me, and I wiped the lube from my crack. My hole had remained open right after he pulled out of me, the ambient air rushing in, but it was closing back up now. Nevertheless I plucked a few tissues from the box next to the couch and stuffed them in the seat of my panty. Just in case. I was feeling very, very effeminate by this point. I wanted to hug Jason, and kiss him and thank him for loving me so well...but it was obvious he didn't want this. He dressed quickly and moved behind his desk, as if for protection.

I put on my street clothes, a wistful smile on my face, and sat down to write Jason a check. I handed it to him. He studied it, started to speak--protest?--then caught himself and said:

"Oh, right. Two hundred dollars."

He seemed mildly disappointed as I left his office, his deposit of sperm deep inside me, warming me, thrilling me, ineradicable. I could not wait for the next session.