I don’t know why the ad caught my eye. I never even notice ads anymore; my brain’s learned to tune them out. I ignore them and all I really ever see is the actual content of whatever page I’m browsing. But for some reason, I saw this one.
It was just a plain old Google Ads thing:
Trouble with your love life? Registered counselor and sex therapist in Pineville. 1-888-555-2309
Pineville’s less than half an hour away, and for some reason, the ad called to me. Jessica and I have been married for about a year now, but no matter how deeply I love her, things never seemed to go very smoothly in the bedroom. Sure, we made love a few times a week, but it was a very hit-and-miss thing, with more misses than hits. More than once I got the distinct feeling that she was faking orgasms for my sake, which somehow injured my pride worse than her simply not getting off at all would have.
I know I probably should have known better than to call a number I found just sitting around on the Internet, but a year of not being able to satisfy my wife was beginning to really wear on me! So I got my phone out and called.
Someone answered after a few rings. “Couples Counseling, Mandie speaking,” a young-sounding woman with a bright, cheerful voice announced.
“Uhh ... hi. I, umm ... I saw your ad online.”
“Oh, are you looking for counseling?”
“I’m looking for information, first off.”
“Sure! What would you like to know?”
“I’m just wondering, what exactly does a ‘registered counselor and sex therapist’ do?”
“Well,” the woman said, “of course the details depend on what sort of problems you and your partner are having, but basically, you come in and I sit down with you and talk things over, and help you work through it.”
“Including problems with sex?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of a ‘sex therapist’ before.”
“Well,” she replied, “some sexual problems are medical, of course. If you’re suffering from erectile dysfunction or something similar, I can refer you to a more appropriate specialist--”
“I’m not!” I said, a little too quickly.
“All right,” Mandie continued, not sounding ruffled at all. “But many things, problems where it just doesn’t feel like you’re compatible in the bedroom, are simply due to lack of proper experience and empathy with one another. If you’re having that type of problem, that’s where I can help.”
Not compatible in the bedroom. It stung, to hear those words spoken out loud, but it was kind of true, I had to admit. I loved Jessica with all my heart and all my soul ... but not all of my cock, apparently, and we both knew there was something missing.
“I think that might be useful,” I finally said after thinking it over a while. “What would your sessions set me back?”
For some reason, she hesitated briefly when I asked that, then after a slightly-too-long moment, she said, “Oh! The initial consultation is free--the two of you would come in and we’d talk a little to make sure that I’d actually be able to help you--and after that, each session would be a hundred dollars per hour. They would last as long as you need, but typically somewhere between half an hour and one hour for each counseling session.”
$100 per hour? That was ... ouch. Significantly more than Jessica or I made, even put together. But then again, we wouldn’t be seeing her 8 hours per day, now would we? And if it helped us fix up our love life, wouldn’t a few hundred, or even a few thousand, be a small price to pay?
“All right. Umm ... would you be able to see us for that consultation Saturday afternoon?”
“Sure!” she said. “How does 2:30 sound?”
Hoping I wasn’t making a huge mistake, I agreed. “That’ll work. Saturday at 2:30.”
Mandie gave me an address in Pineville, which I saved in my computer. “I’ll be looking forward to meeting you, Mr... ?”
I realized I’d never given her my name. “Dale,” I said. “Lou Dale.”
Jessica was a bit aghast later that evening when I told her what I’d signed up for, but with a bit of persuasion I managed to talk her into at least going to the free consultation and seeing how it went. Saturday was only two days away, and when the time came, we drove out to Pineville. The address was at a little business park downtown, one of those places with a few dozen offices all packed into the same 3-story building, and the parking lot was about half-full when we pulled in.
We took the elevator to the second floor and walked into suite 205, and it looked about like you’d expect, a waiting room with a pretty brunette sitting behind a desk. “Hello,” she said. “Can I help you?”
“Lou Dale, here for a 2:30 appointment.”
The woman stood up and smiled brightly. “Good to see you! I’m Amanda Whitman, we spoke on the phone. And this would be--” she glanced down, noting Jessica’s ring, “--your wife?”
“Jessica,” she said with a thin smile. I barely noticed, though; I was too busy fighting the urge to gawk openly at Ms. Whitman.
Don’t get me wrong. My wife is beautiful. 5’10”, nearly as tall as me, slender, with a youthful, sweet face, big blue eyes, shoulder-length blonde hair and not an ounce of extra fat anywhere on her frame. At 24 she still had the body of a supremely sexy teenager, with a beautiful smile, nice, pert boobs that were somewhere between a B and a C cup depending on which brand of bra she bought, and toned, sexy legs that just didn’t quit. More than one friend or coworker has asked how I managed to land a ‘trophy wife’ like her. I usually just laugh it off and tell them I got lucky and managed to meet my soulmate, which we really were, even if the body-mating half of it didn’t quite click as well as it should. But Ms. Whitman--Mandie--was something else entirely!
She was a little bit older, maybe 30 or so, and tall, easily a match for my 6 feet, maybe even 6’1”, but what really stood out was the curves! Where Jessica was beautiful and slender, Mandie was beautiful and voluptuous, with prominent breasts that her very professional-looking business suit and blouse couldn’t hide, a narrow waist just above flaring hips, and long legs partially covered by a charcoal-covered knee-length skirt, with dark stockings beneath. Her slightly wavy brown hair fell all the way down her back, almost reaching her magnificently curved ass, which I forced myself to look away from, especially with my wife standing right beside me!
I looked up at her face, and she gave me a knowing little hint of a smile for just the briefest of moments before looking all professional again. “Why don’t you come on in and make yourselves comfortable? I’ll be along in just a moment.” She gestured to a doorway at the other side of the room, and as we headed over, she crossed us, going to the door we’d come in and changing the sign hanging in the window. I assumed it was to make sure no one would come in and bother us while we were in session, but I had to wonder. No receptionist?
Inside the room, I was kind of expecting an office--maybe with a couch, like a shrink’s office, or even some sort of examination room like at a clinic--but this was decorated more like the living room of someone’s house, with a sofa, a recliner, a few bookshelves, even a TV against the far wall. A window looked out over the parking lot, or at least it would if the blinds weren’t drawn.
I sat down on the sofa, and after a moment Jessica sat down beside me, slipping her hand into mine gently. Mandie came in shortly afterwards, sitting down in the recliner, leaning back comfortably and undoing the buttons of her suit coat, smiling over at the two of us.
“You’re sitting close together and holding hands,” she said. “That’s always a good sign.”
“Oh, there’s no question that we love each other,” Jessica started off right away.
I nodded. “I hope this doesn’t sound too cliche, but ... Jessica and I, it’s like we’re perfect for each other, in every way ... except one.”
Mandie gave us a knowing look. “You’re having trouble with your sex life?”
I squirmed a little in my seat. “Well...”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Anything you say here is completely confidential. It does not leave this room.”
Jessica and I looked at each other for a moment, and then she turned and nodded at our therapist. “It can be very frustrating at times. Lou’s not a selfish lover, and I can tell he’s trying to please me, but no matter what, it feels like he’s just doing things at random and he can never find the right buttons to push, except sometimes on accident. I’ve tried showing him, but...” she gave a helpless little shrug. It’s true; I was kind of hopeless at it, and I really didn’t understand why!
Mandie nodded. “That happens more commonly than you might think. And Lou? Have you had any similar problems, with Jessica not really knowing what she’s doing with you?”
I bit my lip. “It’s kinda ... easier for guys, you know?” I said, being evasive. “I mean ... well...”
“You can say it,” she encouraged gently.
“I dunno how to say this without it coming across kind of crude, but ... you stroke and squeeze at the right places, and a guy’s going to enjoy it no matter what, right?”
That actually made her laugh. “Oh, I’ve worked with many men who would so not agree with that statement. Consider yourself fortunate.” Her green eyes twinkled a little, and even Jessica couldn’t help but giggle softly.
I wasn’t quite sure what the joke was. “Uhh ... if you say so?”
Mandie thought about it for a moment. “Well, to be honest, I can often tell things about people more easily by what they do than by what they say. Would you be comfortable kissing with an audience?”
“Hmm?” Jessica asked.
Mandie smiled. “Lean in and pull him close, and kiss him like he’s the man you truly love.”
Jessica looked at me, a little bit uncertain, but after a moment’s hesitation she put a hand behind my head and leaned in. I leaned forward to meet her, tilting my head to the side slightly, and brushed my lips against hers.
Jessica let out a soft sigh, her lips parting, and she began to playfully trace her tonguetip over my lips, like she always did. It felt nice, and we held the kiss for a good ten seconds or so before I pulled away, squirming just a little as my cock began to harden in my jeans.
Mandie looked over at us, grinning. “That was a very beautiful kiss,” she said softly. “It’s clear you care about each other a great deal. How long have you been married?”
“Our first anniversary was last month,” I told her.
“Oh! Congratulations! Why don’t you try that again? Another kiss, just pretend I’m not even here.”
I wasn’t sure what the point of sitting here kissing for her was, but ... OK. I gently pulled Jessica in and kissed her, and this time it was a little bit different.
I wasn’t sure quite what, but there was a spark there, something like I’ve never really felt with her before. She must have felt it too; she groaned softly into my mouth, squirming and kissing me back, parting her lips and trying to slip her tongue into my mouth after a few seconds.
The rest of the world seemed to fade away as we made out on the couch (the therapist’s couch!) thoroughly engrossed in one another. We kissed and kissed, tongues wrestling with each other, our fingers tangled in each other’s hair, and somewhere in the back of my mind I just barely heard Mandie’s voice, encouraging the two of us to keep going, and then to begin taking off our clothes.
I reached out without hesitation, unbuttoning Jessica’s blouse. She grinned like a horny teen, grasping the hem of my t-shirt and pulling it up. I raised my hands over my head to help her, then slipped her blouse off her shoulders. She lowered her arms and I slid it down them, then unclasped her bra while my hands were behind her back, grinning like a fool at the sight of her lovely bare boobs. Her nipples were stiff pink nubs set into quarter-sized circles of deep red. She leaned in for another kiss, pressing her chest into mine, and when her lips touched mine--