Lesson Plan

The following week, again I was able to keep my clothes on. It was nice to get a little break from having to strip in front of Dr. Drew every time, but this also meant that my pent-up sexual arousal -- which was inevitable from this particular part of the lesson plan -- had to wait until I got home and into my room.

This time, we watched videos of women giving handjobs to men. "You need to learn what turns you on about touching a man," Dr. Drew observed, "because men just adore it when they can tell that you're into what you're doing to them."

As with the videos we'd watched of women pleasuring themselves, it seemed that every woman had her own special technique. Some used both hands, some were rougher, while some just gently massaged the man in his most sensitive spot. Some used lubrication -- even if only their saliva, applied in various ways -- and some used a finger, as Dr. Drew explained to me, to give a prostate massage.

I was pretty sure I wasn't ready for that, nor for letting the man ejaculate on my face, as some of the women in the videos had done. Certainly not with a man I knew nothing about.

But Dr. Drew eased that fear as we watched a woman actually pointing the stream of ejaculation right at her wide-open mouth. "Just as we protect your privacy absolutely," she assured me, "we also protect your safety. The man will always be wearing a condom in any of our contact activities."

Contact activities. I squirmed a little bit in my chair as I envisioned the many things that could describe.

We stepped out of the room for a moment to let the naked man come in and position himself on the bed, half behind the curtain as before.

When we returned, he was already erect, and lightly touching himself to maintain that condition. I was pretty sure I recognized the same penis from the previous week. Sure enough, under the condom I could see the little birthmark just above his pubic hair.

Last week, he had brought himself to his own orgasm with his hand. This week, it was my turn.

Obviously, up to that point, I had not spent a lot of time with an erect penis in my hand, and I have to confess that I spent a fair amount of my time just exploring how it felt on my skin. It was warm and dynamic. It responded immediately to my touch. It was thick and insistently firm, smooth and soft in a way, and yet rough with a system of bulging veins.

I enjoyed stroking its length with my fingertips, and I especially liked encircling it in my hand and using just my thumb to stimulate that obviously special spot just under the head. In fact, I was doing just that when I felt his body convulse and his penis throb urgently in my hand. I could see his semen oozing into the condom, completely filling the space he had left at the tip.

I had done it! I had given him an orgasm with only my hand. And it hadn't taken as long as that horrible blowjob I'd suffered in college. I must have been doing it right.

Dr. Drew placed on finger on the dark-haired man's thigh, as if to say "wait here for a minute," and she led me back out of the room.

"That was good," she praised me, "you clearly picked up some techniques from the things you've been seeing." She was right, and not the least from watching what the man actually liked to do to himself.

The next week's lesson was a repeat of this one, except that Dr. Drew instructed me to use what I had learned to prevent the man from reaching climax until she told me to.

Again, it was the same dark-haired man, and this time, I have to say, I felt so sorry for him. My confidence was growing, and each time I brought him just to that point and then lightened up, or slowed down, or even took my hand away, his plaintive whimpers sent spikes through my heart, and someplace lower down as well.

I could understand the lower-down part. But why through my heart?

I was beginning to see why so many societies frowned on casual sex. Sex was a powerful thing, connecting more than just bodies together. The way that it entangled our hearts probably stemmed from generations upon generations for whom casual sex meant not-so-casual babies. It was good for our babies that the sexual act tended to draw us together, to make us want more of each other.

The following week, the lesson was oral. That is to say, I gave him a blowjob and, in his condom, he came in my mouth.

I wondered briefly if the latex would be unpleasant to taste, but as I leaned in closer to the lovely erection, I became aware that it was a mint-flavored condom.

And that is a wonderful thing. It transformed the act of giving a blowjob into a pleasant act of giving pleasure, and I mean from start to finish.

Especially the finish. I said a silent word of thanks to the woman who invented the things.

Once we had stepped out of the room, Dr. Drew once again spoke to me. "All right," she said with a serious look. "The next time, you're going to do mutual oral stimulation, or what they call 'sixty-nine.' I trust that you know what that is?"

She waited for me to nod that I did before she continued.

"I told you there wasn't much you needed to know about receiving oral pleasure from a man, but I think it's worth working on doing it while you're pleasuring him."

She smiled knowingly and added, "doing it well requires a certain amount of ... balancing your concentration. The trick is to focus on him, and just let the rest happen."

So a man was going to be putting his mouth right up against my private parts. This was something I had never experienced before. As the ensuing days ticked by, I decided to do something to groom myself down there, since a man would be seeing me there, and up very close in fact, during my next lesson.

One evening, when Daniel was out, I took scissors and trimmed the unruly reddish-blonde bush as much as I could. Having done so, I paused to admire my work. I had never done this before, and I just couldn't get over the fact that -- even without being particularly aroused -- I had a slit formed by my outer labia that was now clearly visible, with even just the slightest hint of my more delicate inner lips peeking out.

It seemed so indecent, seeing myself that way for the first time as a fully-grown woman, but it was nothing compared to what was yet in store.

I stopped for another moment and thought about why I was doing this. I was doing this for him. I realized that I was beginning to care what this man -- my dark-haired man -- thought about me. And he had not yet pleasured me. How could desire and bonding bring me to this state before I'd even had one orgasm?

I sighed then and wondered if I might get the chance to meet him once this was all over.

That was probably not a good way for me to be thinking. For weeks, now, my girlfriends at work had been trying to get me to go on a blind date with this guy who they knew, and I had been putting them off. I told myself that I was waiting to complete my lessons with Dr. Drew, but as I caught myself thinking again about my dark-haired man, I knew what the truth was.

And the truth was that I was never going to meet him. I was never supposed to meet him.

I gathered the abundant reddish clippings up with my fingers and flushed them down the commode. I resolved that, when my lessons were nearing their end, I would tell the girls to set something up.

Sitting on the edge of the tub with warm water running, I went ahead and soaped myself up and reached for a brand new disposable razor.

Let me tell you how cautious and clumsy I was, trying to figure out how to maneuver a razor blade so close to such sensitive parts. It seemed to take me forever to work out every angle and direction and finally -- and safely -- get the job done. Then I brought up warm water from the faucet and rinsed away the soapy lather and looked at myself.

I couldn't help thinking that it looked kind of pretty down there. It exemplified the smoothness and soft curviness of being a woman. I know some women object to shaving themselves clean the way I just had, on the ground that it simulated childhood. But as I looked at my newly-bare lady-parts, I thought there was no mistaking the fact that I was a grown woman. There were other, unmistakable signs.

I rubbed myself softly with one hand, and I reveled in the unusual, smooth feeling. I thought that I just might do this again.

I guess I had been in the bathroom for a while, because I was snapped out of my thoughts by Daniel's insistent tapping on the door. I hadn't even heard him come into the house.

"Do you need any help in there, sis? Um, I've really got to go."

Out of habit, I snapped back at him, "Oh, go cross your legs or something. I'll be out in a minute."

At Dr. Drew's office, I had to wear a blindfold while I settled myself over the man and into the sixty-nine position, so that I wouldn't accidentally look back and see him before the curtain was in place. Thus deprived of sight, my senses were focused on smell and touch as I climbed on top of him, knowing that I was spreading my most private place just over his face. And of course, I would come eye to eye, so to speak, with his.

I was glad that I had taken extra time to prepare myself, because in my blindfolded state, I had misjudged where I was the first time that I lowered my hips toward his face, and I ended up feeling his nose pressed against me in a particularly intimate spot.

Once finally in place, I felt his hands gently embrace my hips, and just that tenderness from him sent warm feelings through me. Then my blindfold was removed as the curtain came down to bisect our bodies, so that I could see what I was doing as I sucked on him, but I couldn't see his chest and face, and he couldn't see mine.

I recognized the familiar lovely thick penis -- my handsome dark-haired man, with his distinctive birthmark just visible there.

And then I became aware of his hands and his lips and his tongue, doing the most wonderful things to me there on his side of the curtain. His hands were tracing the shape of my curves, and touching me gently in places and in ways that no lover's hands had ever touched me before.

And his tongue, oh my God the delicious warm grace of his tongue on me. This man seemed to know everything about me. He was stroking my soul. I found myself rising and rising and finally having one hell of an orgasm all over his face. I ground myself into him as he made small sounds of his own while I came.

But as I began to come down from the glorious heights he had brought me to, I saw that I held the base of his thick, firm erection in my hand. I had completely forgotten that I was supposed to be doing my part.

I heard Dr. Drew's voice, and I detected a clear sense of disappointment in her tone. "Well, go ahead and give him an orgasm, dear," she said. "We'll have to do this again in a week, but you can at least benefit from practicing doing it from this particular angle."

Still buzzing from my own wonderful orgasm, I tried to put into play everything I had learned about stimulating a man. The one frustration about giving oral from "this particular angle," as Dr. Drew had put it, was that I couldn't very well get my tongue onto that sensitive spot under the dark-haired man's penis.

But I had learned so much in the lessons leading up to this, and I knew that my hands could help out. So I wetted one thumb as well as I could in my mouth and I used it to stimulate that spot in conjunction with the pleasure I was able to give him with my lips and my tongue.

The lessons were working. He was moaning and writhing under me as I mixed the touch of my hand and my mouth on that gorgeous thick penis of his.

And then, as though he sensed that my own flesh had relaxed enough to accept further touch from him, he returned his mouth to my womanhood, and at last we shared an orgasm together. I thought once again that it was certainly an interesting sensation having him come like that inside my mouth, without it filling me with his warm, salty liquid.

I worried that his climax kept going, and that it would have to burst through the ultra-thin mint-flavored latex he wore. But we both relaxed as the sensations dropped off, and at last I took him out of my mouth and gave one last soft stroke on his flagging erection.

Then, as I tried to stretch the muscles in my now-tired arms, I felt the strong arms of the man underneath me wrap around my waist and tighten gently but firmly against me. For just a moment, I panicked, wondering if he was trying to hold me there against my will. But he planted one soft kiss on the inside of my thigh and then, stroking my backside with his hands, he let me go.

And then I knew what it was. It was a silent gesture, I won't say of love under these circumstances, but of kindness and appreciation. I stroked his thigh and tried to lean down and kiss the tip of his penis to return the gesture, but just then Dr. Drew's hands were replacing the blindfold on me, preventing me from reaching him with my lips. So I wiggled my butt playfully before I climbed off of him, and I hoped that the message got through.

During the two long weeks that followed before my next lesson, as I thought back on my first sixty-nine, what I remembered most warmly of all of the new things it involved, was the way the man held me for an extra moment down there in his arms, and that last kiss that he gave me, inches away from my sex. It was as unlike my first, unhappy blowjob as night was to day.

For my next lesson, I knew we would be doing our "mutual oral stimulation" again. My job was to keep my composure, something I had failed so badly at the previous time.

I touched up my grooming and cleaning, and once in my blindfold, I made sure that it was my smooth lower belly, and not my most intimate little hole, that was the first thing to press up against the dark-haired man's nose.

We settled ourselves into the position, and he brought his face gently to the apex of my thighs. As before, he seemed to know just the right pace, and just the right places for me, and even for my particular mood just then. I reached my first climax very quickly, but this time, as I felt my juices flow out onto him, I remembered not to let it distract me from continuing to suck and stroke on that lovely, thick penis.

Dr. Drew had once said that we could talk about swallowing ejaculate later on in the course if it was something I wanted to try. But as this wonderful man so tenderly and expertly made love to me -- me, a woman he would never know, and never really see, and as I simultaneously pleasured him, I made up my mind to give him a gesture I hoped he might never forget.

Sure, just about everything he had done for me had involved him having an orgasm; still, he had been there for me week after week, letting me touch him and learn on his penis. In this new phase of our lessons, he seemed to know every place and every way I wanted to be loved to heighten my arousal, and without any words or even eye contact, he had managed to find ways to communicate tenderness and, yes, perhaps even affection.

And it was these things, more than his technique, that made the experience so much more than just sex. They made it magical.

I don't know if sex alone can lead to true love. I had always thought it was supposed to be the other way around. But I felt a deep warmth and an odd sort of closeness to my dark-haired man -- a desire to do my absolute best, and not just for me, but for him.

I took him briefly from my mouth and gently eased off his condom, and then I resumed going down on him with renewed vigor, the smell and taste of mint now replaced with the smell and the taste of a man. I heard him gasp, although he barely missed a beat in pleasuring me.

I knew that I had grown wetter the instant I did it. It felt so deliciously good to be doing this "bare." I returned his quiet sounds of pleasure with little moans of my own. I was completely focused on what I was doing, and just accepting the electric sensations he sent into me as a happy addition and not the center of this act.

And uncovered that way, he came inside of my mouth. His warm streams coming into me in turn sent me over the edge at the same time. I moaned in true pleasure as I gave my gift to him, "yes, oh God yes" I was saying, my mouth still closed around him and far too full to actually get the words out. And like last time, I ground my hips against his face as the hard climax enveloped me, but it was even more magical this time, as I knew that we were both experiencing that heavenly sensation at the same time, fully, and with nothing between us.

After we had both finished, I just lay there on top of him, and we gently caressed each other in our most intimate places. Somehow, it seemed doubly intimate that we did not know who it was that we had just shared such pleasure with. And feeling such closeness just then, I played my fingers down along his softening penis, and he pressed his hands against the small of my back, giving me aftershocks as his strong, masculine arms forced me down once again onto his mouth.

And I made sure to kiss the tip of his penis this time, before the blindfold returned. He was still sticky and salty there, and a trail of him stretched from my lips as we finally separated.

To be sure, there were other lessons in Dr. Drew's plan. There was regular intercourse, which was anything but regular as I helped him to fit his beautiful thick penis up inside of me.

And yes, there was anal, where I learned to trust that his patient preparation of me made this forbidden act feel, not just safe, but unbearably hot.

As the series of lessons wound down, I kept my vow with myself, and let the girls arrange a blind date with their friend. His name was Victor, and our first date started out, at best, OK, and ended rather badly.

He took me to see a band that he knew, playing in a local café. We had dinner and talked -- mostly about him, I remember now, looking back on it -- while the band got set up.

He was willing to dance, I'll give that to him, and he wasn't too bad at it, although several times on the slow numbers I had to nudge his hands up off of my ass when he got a little lower than I was comfortable with. But that wasn't the worst.

When he dropped me off at the end of the night, he leaned across the front seat to kiss me, which was OK, if a little bit fast on a first date that hadn't exactly made angels sing. But he tried to put his hand inside of my blouse, and he tried again even after I had said, "please, not tonight."

But he did stop then, to his credit, although he seemed obviously put off. His kiss, then, was more of a peck, and he said goodnight without walking me to the door.

The next day was to be my last lesson, and it seemed a fitting way to end: anal sex. As I left the house on that Saturday afternoon, Daniel -- as usual -- was getting ready to go and play softball with the guys. I noticed that he stopped several times to sneeze in his own unique way, seeming to try to stifle it, and I told him again as I always did that he was going to blow out an eardrum some day.

My anxiety grew as I drove to Dr. Drew's office, knowing what I would be doing that day. I had never even thought of letting a man do that before.

But I found that, being properly lubricated and opened for it, I simply adored being able to give my dark-haired man that part of myself. It was certainly tight, but not painful at all.

And the feeling, for all of its naughtiness, was surprisingly arousing for me. I could certainly tell that it was specially arousing for him, because he had to slow down several times to delay for a while the moment when, at last, I could feel him throbbing inside me.

Remembering something that Dr. Drew had said in one of our first meetings, I even reached down and touched myself during the act -- tentatively at first, but then with a true but gentle determination -- and I managed to come just as the man's softening penis gently withdrew from my body.