Hello, my name is Cleo and I'm a sex relationships councilor. If you type the name "Cleo" into the search engine of this site you will see several case studies I've reported on earlier. I've received numerous positive responses on my series called Awakenings 1 thru 5, Betrayal 1 thru 4, and I watched My Wife With An Older Man 1 thru 4.
I only write about the cases my patients give me permission to do. I tell them what this site is all about and stress that in order for their story to gain attention, it has to be true and be told in the naughtiest, most detailed manner possible. Why "naughtiest"? Because that is what apparently holds this audience's interest.
My clients must agree to these conditions and sign a consent form first. I tape their story just as they tell it and then try to write it correctly. I cannot validate every detail in each story is absolutely true, but based upon our numerous therapy sessions I believe they are very close to being accurate. Even if their story is not entirely true, there is much to be gained from it because it is their fantasy and therefore important to my understanding their problem.
The following case study is an unusual one. It's about a young woman named Rosa who completely changed her life, and maybe not for the better. She continues trying to adjust. As with all my clients in all the stories presented here, any interested persons can contact Rosa by including her name in the subject box and sending mail to my mail box here, and I will forward them on to her.
She has read this narrative and with only minor changes, has approved it for my use and possible publication. Although I suspect Rosa may have exaggerated some aspects of her story, this is as near to stating her experiences, as possible:
This is Rosa's Story:
I'm a 26 year-old married woman and my life has turned out in a very different way than I could ever imagine. My first name is Rosa – my last name is unimportant. I have long dark brown hair, gray eyes and been blessed with a beautiful creamy skin thanks to my heritage. I am small and slender, have slightly above average breasts that don't sag, and have been told all my life that I am very pretty.
I'm a Mexican Nationalist who is a naturalized US citizen. My husband was born in Arizona. His parents are first generation US citizens from the southern region of Mexico. I tell you this because attitude concerning sex and marriage among the Mexican community is much different than it is with other U.S ethnic groups.
My husband is a mason by trade; working with concrete, pavers or anything stone, he is a master craftsman. He makes a good living and we own an older style very modest house in the suburbs, in a nice quiet neighborhood. Every month, we send money to his grandparents back in Mexico; therefore, things are tight for us at the end of each month. I work part time for a wealthy retired businessman who lives in a large estate about a mile from our house. Most Mexican men frown upon their wives working, but as I said, things are tight for us financially.
My employer of one year, Mr. Diaz, is probably in his late fifties or early sixties. I say probably because it's difficult to tell precisely. He plays tennis and golf, and appears to be in good physical condition. His black hair is still thick and bushy, but has some gray at the temples. I'd say that when he was young, he was a handsome man. He had never been anything but a gentleman around me until a couple months ago. From the first day I went to work for him I could see Mr. Diaz's wife Mary, was very ill. Over the last six or eight months, she became bed-ridden, and gradually weaker. She seldom leaves her bed now.
The only other person living on the premises is Tito, who came to Arizona on a work permit from Nogales. He's the gardener and handyman, and drives Mr. Diaz sometimes. Tito lives in a small basement apartment and I seldom see him. When I do, he gives me the creeps the way he stares at me. On more than one occasion he plainly had an erection as he watched me work around the large house, once even rubbing it through his trousers while watching me.
Tito has never attempted to hide his lewd actions from me. He looks like a fat, ugly troll with way-too-long hairy arms. He shaves his over-sized head and his ears stick out, too. I hate him. He wears one of those "wife-beater" undershirts that some Mexican men favor and it's always dirty, his belly bulging beneath it, hanging over his belt. I always feel like I need a bath after being near him.
Except for playing something akin to what Americans call "post office" with a neighborhood boy when I was nine or ten, my husband is the only man I've ever slept with. He travels to jobs all over the state and I suspect he has slept with other women when he's away. What Mexican man hasn't? As for me, sex is okay, but I don't need it so much that I'd cheat on him. Once a week sex, or maybe even ten days, is fine with me. When I do climax, it's only like a small firecracker going off, and then it's gone.
Most times I don't even do that. About six months ago our sex-life dried up to about once a month and I did miss it a little, mostly the cuddling afterward. It seemed he was always "too tired", or he had to "get up early", or he'd just jump on, bang away and climax, hopping off before I even finished. I always think of it as "rabbit sex." But that's what husbands do sometimes, so I could live with that.
A couple months ago I was dusting the furniture at work and walked into Mister Diaz's office unaware he was even there. He was at his desk, doing whatever rich men do with paperwork. He looked up and smiled as I entered.
"Rosa! How nice! Just when I needed help, too. Come," he said pushing a footstool over for me to sit beside him. Beside it, he placed a cardboard file box. "When I say a name, look through this index and find the file for me."
I dropped down on the footstool and we'd only gone through about a dozen names, when things got really weird. I glanced up to find Mr. Diaz had turned his chair toward me and pulled down his sweat pants, his genitals swinging right in front of my face. Stunned, I froze with my hand outstretched holding a file, unbelieving of what I was seeing. He suddenly grasped my wrist with his left hand, taking the file from me with his right.
As I said, I simply froze – like a rabbit confronted by a deadly snake. Most Mexican women are not prudes, so I suppose I was also gasping at his manhood. My husband's cock is average sized, about five inches long – maybe even six on a good day. This one was easily twice that size, thick and meaty as my wrist.
His sacs looked like oranges! Altogether, it was very intimidating. I suddenly became aware that he was pushing my hand downward toward that enormous thing. With my body turned the way I was setting, the pressure on my wrist kept me from even rising to my feet.
"What . . .?"
"Be quiet."
"Mr. Diaz . . ."
"Shut up!"
His eyes looked so fierce, I was petrified into silence. Suddenly, he was rubbing the back of my hand, my knuckles, slowly up and down his hard penis. Using his other hand he persistently forced my fist open, turned my palm around and wrapped my fingers around his rigid shaft. It felt like a piece of marble under a soft velvet cover. Covering my hand with his much larger and stronger one, he slowly worked my hand up and down his meaty cock.
"Please . . ." I muttered, scared to death. "Please let me go, Mr. Diaz. I'm not . . . like that."
"Yes you are," he said softly, his eyes now closed, enjoying my touch.
Mister Diaz . ."
His eyes snapped open, fierce and demanding once again. "Do not talk!" Then he smiled as he took my free hand, also forcing it around his cock. He was in effect, masturbating himself using both my hands.
My mind spinning, I sped through my options. I could scream, but who would hear me? Mrs. Diaz was upstairs sleeping and Tito was in the back garden. I didn't want that dirty old man to see me like this, anyway. No telling how he'd react. Probably want the same done to him. The neighbors were too far away to notice, or even care. If I could turn around more I might kick him on the leg. What then? My job would be gone and I'd never find another job paying half as well. What would my husband think? I couldn't tell him the real reason I'd lost my job. My Mexican husband would never be able to except the fact I'd touched another man's penis, even if forced to.
I decided that with his wife so ill, he probably never had sex anymore and was simply desperate. All Mister Diaz wanted was a quick hand-job and considering my choices, I could do that. My options limited, I had little choice. I'd just have to grit my teeth and do it, then afterward I'd never let myself be alone with him again. This time I'd do what he wanted because I had to, but if anything else happened after this I'd quit and go home.
Forcing myself to think of other things, I let him manipulate my hands the way he wanted, determined to dodge his discharge when he ejaculated. When it was over I'd go home, take a long hot bath and forget it ever happened. That was my only option. He released one of my hands but I didn't remove it – just kept slowly stroking his hard, but velvet-soft, penis. The sooner it was over, the better I decided.
I felt his free hand pressing slightly on my spine and then slowly moving downward across my buttocks. I attempted pulling back, twisting as far as I could, but it went under the hem of my skirt, coming to rest cupping my entire vagina. I stiffened my legs, trying to evade his hand. It did no good.
Through my panties, a finger slid along the outer lips of my vagina, circling it several times as I moved my butt to escape his touch. Struggling, I tried pulling away, but he held my hand tight around his cock and eventually I just gave up. What was the use? He was just too strong.
"Please," I attempted once more to reason with him.
"You're wet," he said.
