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I am going nuts!
Part I I am going nuts! My life is in shambles. I haven’t seen my friends in weeks. I have come within inches of endangering my job. My marriage is on shaky ground, at best. AND, my balls ache constantly. I'm getting ahead of myself, though. My name is Jim. I'm in my mid-thirties, 6'2", 190, still in pretty decent shape. Since getting out of the military a few years back, I've been teaching music at a local high school. I met my wife, Debby, in college. We married after our freshman year. We both come from a pretty conservative church background. So, I, basically, got married for guilt-free sex. I got lucky, sort of. We have been through a lot the last fifteen or so years. I can truly say she is my soul mate. We mesh intellectually, emotionally, artistically, and spiritually. I have met few other couples that are as well suited for each other as us. Except for one thing, sex. Don't get me wrong. When we have sex, it is great! We do everything! Oral (giving and receiving, both of us), anal (occasionally), toys, ropes (she likes to be tied up), blindfolds, role-playing, her flashing, water sports, clamps, I've been working on fisting her, even! Sometimes, she can take four fingers. Still can't work the thumb in, though. What we do is not the problem. How often we do it is the problem. It's like there is this switch in her head. When it is on, she is the most sexual creature you can imagine. When it is off, nothing can begin to interest her in sex. Right after we were married, the switch was on, at least, a couple of times a day. That, soon, became once a day. After about a year, it became 3-4 times a week. By our third anniversary, it was once a week. You get the idea. Well, now, the switch is on about once every 3-4 months, if I'm lucky. I, on the other hand, was the standard horny teenager when we got married. Twice a day was what I wanted, then. But going four times, when she wanted, was easy to do. I expected for my sex drive to decrease, especially after I was thirty. That is what is supposed to happen, right? A man's sex drive, statistically, peaks when he is 19, and it's all down hill after there. A woman is supposed to slowly build to a peak at 30, and hold there for several years. Which finally, brings me to the problem. My wife didn't peak at 30. In fact, things seemed to get worse. I, on the other hand, have done the opposite. When we got married, I preferred twice a day, but I could go without for several days, no problem. I mean no orgasm, at all. Now, if I don't orgasm at least twice a day, my balls begin to ache and swell. I have to ejaculate 3-4 times a day to be comfortable. I mentioned earlier my religious background. So, cheating is out of the question. Meaning that all these orgasms are coming (pardon the pun) by hand. Before I go any further, I think I need to address the "equipment" issue. I don't fit into either of the two stereotypes prevalent around here. "Henry"(my wife's pet name for my cock) is not so small that I need tweezers to masturbate. Neither is it so big that I have to use both hands. Fully hard, I am 7 inches long, and 7 around. My balls are proportionate to my cock. So, I’m not “hung like a chihuahua”, but then again, my package doesn’t have its own zipcode, either. Just slightly above average. My wife, who was not a virgin when we met, says it is the biggest one that she has ever had. That may or may not be the truth. I am secure in my manliness, but not stupid enough to press that issue to see if she is telling the truth. Now to the problem: it seems like all I ever do is masturbate! I have to or my balls start aching! I do it in the shower getting ready for work in the morning. I’ve quit eating lunch when I come home from work at noon, so I have more time to get myself off! Then, after I get home from work, I sneak in a quick one before my wife gets home from work. (Her work day ends about an hour and a half after mine.) Then, if she goes to bed before I do (which she does most of the time), I go at it one more time before bed. My mind is constantly on sex. It’s gotten to a point where all work, eating, etc. is just something to do until I can get my dick back in my hand again. It started off as once, maybe twice a week. Then, once a day ... and now ... I thought I was going to lose my mind yesterday! One of my classes is a “general music” class. A little music theory, some music history, and a little piano instruction. It’s designed to give some prep for those kids that are thinking about majoring in music in college, and as an avenue for kids to get their required fine arts credit, without actually having to do anything artistic. There is this girl in the class, Kindy Burdett. Kindy is not incredibly attractive, but by no means ugly. She is one of those girls who has developed the body of a young woman. She has, also, figured out that that body can have an effect on males ... and not just those boys her own age that are a walking hormone storm. She’s not sure how much power that gives her over men, and, at this stage in her life, she is testing the bounds of that power. Nothing overt. The girl is not a slut. She just flirts, and teases. You have to understand that, in my view, these kids are young enough to be my own kids, if I had any. The idea I might seduce or be seduced by a student turns my stomach. One, I prefer older women, and two, the whole idea brings up images of pedophilia and incest. Two things that turn my stomach, and leave me limp. So, Kindy is in my class. She is not doing that well. Yesterday, she stayed after class on the pretext of seeing what she could do, in terms of extra work, to improve her grade. She was wearing a button down shirt,and short skirt. Man! Did she turn on the charm! Coy smiles, looking deep into my eyes, turning occasionally to give me glimpses of her legs, bending over to give me hints of cleavage. She kept moving closer and closer. I was spellbound. She held me with her eyes the way a snake does its prey. Until, our faces were just inches apart. She looked me in the eye with those ice-blue eyes of hers and said, “Mr. Lewis, I’d do ANYTHING to raise...” with that she glanced down at my crotch, and looked back up into my eyes, ”my grade.” I felt my body lean forward, my eyes began to close and my lips part. Just as our noses were about to touch, that little alarm, that we all have, went off in the back of my head. You know the one I am talking about. The one that shouts, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, IDIOT!” I stood up from my desk and walked away from her, turning my back to hide the “tent” in my Dockers. “Kindy,...uh” clearing my throat “Miss Burdett, I will present to the entire class, tomorrow, several options of projects to do for extra credit. I am sure that you will find one or two of those sufficient to raise your grade to where you would like it to be.” At that, the students for my next class started coming in, and the spell was broken. Jeezus! I have a friend from college that did jail time for what I was about to do. His wife left him, he lost his teaching certification, of course, and he has to keep a sign in his front yard proclaiming that he is a convicted sex offender. I had the first chair violinist warm up the orchestra, while I went and got some “air”. After going to the teachers lounge, having a cigarette, and walking back, I was okay. I think. That was too close! Between classes, I called my friend, Dave. “WOOF!” “Hey, Dave.” “What you been up to, man? I haven’t seen you in months! Are you and Debby ‘cocooning’, again?” Debby and I are, generally, extremely social people, but every once in a while we go through a period where we isolate ourselves, and just spend time with each other. “Nah, man, been, uh, busy. You know how it is with me. Climax of the marching season, orchestra getting ready for its first big concert, as well as the choir. ... and some other stuff.” “Yeah” “Say Dave, you wouldn’t have some time on your calendar free tomorrow would you?” “I’ve got the block free during your lunch hour, why? You want to hit Gallito’s?” Gallito’s is our favorite mexican restaurant. “No, I want to see you in a ... professional capacity.” Silence on the other end for a moment. “Really?” “Yeah, Woof, really.” “You and Debby okay?” “Yeah, man, we are as as good as ever. I just need some help. The kind of help that you give and you are the only one I trust.” “For you, bud, anything. Come ‘round the office on your lunch hour.” “Thanks, Woof. See you tomorrow got to get back to class.” “See ya! WOOF!” Part II Dave Jameson did his undergrad work at the same university that I attended. He graduated about 6 years before I got there. He was in a local frat that was nicknamed “the Dogs”. Ever since then, he has used “Woof!” as goodbye, and hello. It’s gotten to point where most of our circle of friends call him “WOOF” most of the time. Woof has a Phd in psychology, is a licensed family therapist, and runs a private practice out of his home, when he is not teaching psych at one of the local universities. He has professorships at two of them. One is talking about making him the chair of the psychology department. Debby and I met him and his wife, CJ, when we placed membership at the church we go to here. Dave has become one of the best friends that I have ever had in just two short years. CJ and Debby are very close. Debby and I love their two kids. It’s gotten to a point where whenever the Jameson’s (Dave’s parents) have a family gathering we are no longer invited, we are EXPECTED to be there as much as their children. It’s also nice hanging out in a crowd where I am not several inches taller than everyone else for a change. Dave is 6’4”, and CJ is 6”. Debby feels like a midget with us. She’s 5’4”. I walk into Dave’s office, and pull out my wallet, as I sit down. “I can’t take money from you, Jim.” “Woof, you have to” I hand him a dollar. “Now, you are my therapist, and everything I tell you is subject to doctor/patient privilege.” He looks at the dollar in his hand, and then at me. “Whatever you say, man.” He stuffs the dollar in his desk drawer. “You want a Snapple? I got mint tea.” He reaches over to the mini fridge in by his desk. “Here you go.” “Thanks” I open it, not looking at him. I take a drink. Then I lay it all on the line. I tell him everything. The masturbation. The incredible amount of free internet porn I have downloaded, pictures, video clips, stories. How much KY I have gone through in the last month. The ache in my balls if I didn’t masturbate. The lack of sex with Debby. Her lack of sex drive. How much I love her. How we mesh in so many ways, just as he knew, and how I want to keep this wonderful relationship. I remind him of the marriage enrichment events that he had led that Debby and I attended. I remind him of the times that he had asked Debby and I to attend some of his group therapy sessions with couples. So, that he could use us as an example of how to do things right. So, that we could show them how to have a good marriage. Then, I tell him about the episode with Kindy. How the very idea of “doing anything” with her repulsed me to the point of nausea. But then again, how I was so close, yesterday, to ripping her clothes off, and taking her right there on my desk, even if I had to do it in front of my 4th period orchestra. I, then, told him that Kindy was not much older than his own daughter, Mikel. I looked Dave in the eye. Debby and I had done some overnight babysitting for CJ and Dave, in the past. Their kids, Mikel, and Justin were ... Debby and I loved them like they were our own. There was dead silence for a moment. “Whoa, dude.” It’s amazing, but “WOOF” could sound completely professional using verbage from “Dude, Where’s My Car?” “Yeah, Woof.” I hung my head. He starts talking to me about Sexual Addicts Anonymous, and 12-step programs. I interrupt. “Woof.” “Yeah, bud.” “My problem is not mental, or emotional. It’s physical. How else do you explain the ache in my ... in my nuts.” He thinks for a second. “Yeah ... right.” Some more thought. “Fixing this problem is going to take some things that are beyond what I can do.” “What do you mean?” “I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist. I don’t have a medical degree. I can’t prescribe medicine, or do any type of medical procedures.” “Oh.” Silence. “Tell you what, Jim, give me a day or two. Let me call around to some of the people that I refer things to that are out of my arena, and see what they say. Okay?” “Yeah, Woof. That’s why I came to you. I knew you probably weren’t the solution to the problem, but you would know where to go.” “yeah, ... thanks” He looks down. I stand to leave, and turn back to look at him. “Hermano,” That’s kind of “code” between Woof and I. It’s the spanish word for “brother”. When we use it with each other, we are saying “You are more of a brother to me, than my actual brother.” We use spanish to communicate the truly important things to each other. I’m not sure how this happened, given the fact that we are, both, about as “gringo” as you can get. Our eyes lock. “This is probably the most private thing I have ever told anybody in my life. ...” I look at my shoes, then back at him. “I trust you. I want this kept private. Not even CJ.” Our eyes meet. “That’s why I paid to be your client.” He looks at me with this tortured look on his face, for a moment. “Verdad, hermano.” (For certain, brother) And he looks back at the floor. I walk out into the lobby. “Thanks, Woof.” He waves without looking up. “No problem, bud.” *** That was earlier today. It’s late now. Deb is in bed. I’m in the den. The TV is to my back with a baseball game on. The A’s are playing someone. I think Texas. Whoever ... the A’s are winning ... I think. I keep track of the score, kind of. That way I can tell Deb what I did after she went to bed. My hand is covered in KY, and “Henry” is in fine form. In front of me is a computer monitor. I have my earphones on, and the speakers turned off, so Deb can’t hear. I have one browser window with some pics in it. I have another with a porn story, and the last one is a video clip download. I hope it has sound. Please, God, don’t let her remind me of Kindy! END OF CHAPTER 1
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