My name is Kasey. I’m twenty-three years old. I have a degree in computer science, and I think my brain works as well or better than most girls and a lot of boys. I like science stuff and I have a pet tarantula, so I suppose I’m the cute nerdy girl.

I like to think I’m good company and would make a pretty great girlfriend. So far, there haven’t been any boys interested in seeing if there is more to me than eye candy. I’ve thought about switching and trying to play for the other team, but while I’ve made out with quite a few girls, I don’t get the out of control, squirmy in my tummy feeling for even Miss Universe level girls, that I get when I’m around a good-looking guy. Well, I guess I’m weird, because I don’t get twitterpated over boys the way I do over a guy who is definitely a MAN.

Here’s my back story:

My mom convinced me to enter beauty pageants. She says it was to build my self-confidence. I’m not sure I believe that, but I’m not sure what other motivation she could have had. I suppose she could have been living vicariously through me. When she was young, her face was very pretty, but she was chubby, and now she’s fat. I got my father’s Swedish genes, and I have a svelte figure and I can wear Size Zero and Extra Small clothes as long as they aren’t made for short girls.

I was runner up a couple of times in local pageants, but I never won. I didn’t even make the top ten in the last contest I entered. Maybe I’m getting too old to compete with eighteen-year-olds.

Most guys only remember I was a pageant runner-up, but nothing else about me. Boys who act interested in me, and in my pageant experiences, seem to have a fixation with the swimsuit portion of the competition or they ask stupid questions about what it’s like back-stage with fifty naked, pretty girls. Boys are so immature. They ask if there are pajama parties, pillow fights, and lesbian sex going on between contestants. I only give boys one free stupid question. The second one, and I’m gone.

Boys acting stupid and immature may account for my lack of enthusiasm over guys who are still boys, even when they are really good looking. I don’t like “pretty boys” at all. I think most of them are narcissistic and totally useless. I read one theory about why girls get dewy over one guy and like the Sahara over another that said it was based on the cavewoman part of our brains evaluating whether a male would be a good hunter and able to protect us and our children from lions, and tigers, and bears, (Oh my!) even when we are perfectly capable of providing for ourselves. I think that author might be onto something, because that would account for males who are definitely MEN making me moist, while very handsome boys leave me feeling like a dust storm might blow through my valley.

I’m not like most women my age. In fact, I’m not a woman at all by the “virgo intacta” or “sexual experience” definitions. I’m not even a young woman and barely a young lady by the cultural definitions. My mom took care of all the real life, practical stuff for me. I couldn’t survive by myself. For example, I don’t know how to get cell service or pay bills. I’ve never had a real job.

My mom is business partners with a woman who owns two salons. I call the salon owner “Auntie” even though we aren’t related. It is the usual way to show respect to a female adult here in The Philippines. My mom manages one salon. I’ve worked at her salon part-time. I’m sort of like the hostess at a fancy restaurant. I dress nicely, have perfect hair and makeup, look pretty, greet customers, and seat them. Sometimes I help one of the skin care technicians or hold an extra hair dryer for one of the stylists, but as I said, I’ve never had a real job.

The salon owner likes to do a big Christmas party for all her employees. She takes them to a resort, has a big dinner, and they stay overnight. She has a fourteen-passenger van she uses for company trips. I didn’t go this year because I was auditioning for a role in a television drama.

The Quezon City salon manager was Auntie’s driver. He fell asleep, the van went over the railing, over the cliff, and crashed onto rocks on the shore of the ocean. The undertow pulled the van under water. Only one person survived.

Auntie’s husband is an American. I always call him, “Uncle George,” even though we aren’t related in any way. He was in the U.S. Air Force and had survival training that he still remembered after fifty years, so he was able to smash out a window and get out of the van. He got bounced against the rocks by the waves before he was able to move himself along the shore to a small beach and drag himself out of the water. Somebody saw the crash, so it was only a few hours later when the rescue squad got there and hauled him up the cliff to an ambulance. That sounds like a long time, but remember the Philippines is on the edge of being the lowest level “Third World Country,” so for us, that’s really pretty good. Even better, they took him to a good hospital that saved his life.

My mom died in the van crash. I don’t have any family except my dad in Sweden. He was mean to my mom, so I’ve never liked him much. I don’t know any adult friends of my mom’s, so I went to see Uncle George in the hospital to get his advice. He was a mess. He had casts and traction devices on both arms and both legs, plus a cast for broken ribs.

Kasey: “How are you Uncle George?”

George: “I’ve been better.

“I’m sorry your mom didn’t make it. The van was being rolled over and over by the undertow and the surf, so it was all I could do to get myself out. I’m the only idiot who always wears a seat belt, so everyone else got thrown to the back of the van. Eddie got his head bashed in when the big boulder we landed on came through the windshield, so there wasn’t anything I could do for him, and your mom and Auntie got their heads broken open too.”

Kasey: “I guess this might be an inappropriate thing to say, but here goes nothing. Were you still in love with Auntie, or were you just staying around because she made lots of money?”

George: “I was always crazy about Mary. There was no acting going on from either of us. We were both in love. I really don’t know what I’m going to do with myself without her.”

Kasey: “I’m sorry. I’m going to be inappropriate again. This accident has messed both of us over about as much as it’s possible to ruin someone’s life. I was jealous of how sweet you always were to Auntie. I thought no man was ever going to be that sweet to me. Eddie said some nice things to me, so I hoped he would get brave enough to ask me out and eventually marry me. I never made the first move though. Now I feel sorry I wasted all that time waiting for him to do something.

“That brings me to why I came to see you. I am over twenty-one, but I’m not really an adult. I can’t take care of myself. I don’t have a job. My acting career doesn’t give me a reliable income. Mom’s house is too big for me, but I need a big place because my dogs are both big. Mom didn’t have any life insurance. I have no idea what to do now. Do you have any idea what I should do?”

George: “You could go live with your dad and grandfather in Sweden. Your dad makes enough off TV commercials alone to take care of you.”

Kasey: “I’ve been there. I can’t stand the cold. The worst thing is that grandpa is totally pervy and makes my skin crawl. Sometimes I was shaking, I was so afraid grandpa would try to force me.”

George: “I’m about the same age. Do I make your skin crawl?”

Kasey: “No. You don’t undress me with your eyes. You don’t stare at my breasts or try to use x-ray vision to see my nipples through a bikini. I know for a fact that you’d NEVER try to force me.”

George: “You are right that I’d never force you. Are you sure about the rest? I’ve had to severely chastise myself for trying to see if your nipples were hard under your bikini top. I’ve admired your thigh gap more than once. I’ve wondered why pageant girls don’t ever show a camel toe in competition, and I’ve tried to see if you ever do when you are at the beach and the bikini bottom is wet. I have to confess, I’ve stripped you gloriously naked with my eyes many, many times. I find it hard to believe that you never, ever caught me looking.”

Kasey: “I suppose I do catch you looking, now that I think about it. When you look at me, it seems different than when grandpa ogles me. It makes me smile to know you think I’m pretty. To be honest, I do know you are a man and that you desire me. Knowing you love Auntie and are honorable so you don’t try to talk me into being your Sugar Baby, makes me think you are a higher quality male than the vast majority of men out there. Knowing you want me makes me feel flattered and warm inside. It looks like pure lust on grandpa’s face, and I’m not sure he would stop if I told him to. I have no fears about anything like that with you.

“What are you thinking when I’m stripped bare in your imagination?”

George: “I’m wishing you’d want me in real life. I’m hoping one day you will be so horny that you ask me to undress you and make love to you.”

Kasey: “That’s what is different. Even in your imagination, you ASK me. You make it my decision, my choice, and leav it up to me to make the first move. That’s why you don’t look predatory and scary.

“I have to tell you that I’m the prototypical virgin who is in terror of a man who might make me want him to make me a woman. It’s not just fear of pain during first intercourse, because I’m pretty sure I’ll like everything a man and woman can do together. It’s more about losing the ability to live my life totally selfishly because he makes me care about him enough to think about his needs and desires. I worry about what would happen to me if he made me like sex and perish the thought, NEED him to make love to me. Could I be a slut masquerading as a good girl?

“I’m so embarrassed! I can’t believe I told you that.”

George: “I infer that you are worried about a source of income, a place to live, and someone to take care of paying bills and other mundane real-life stuff. You are more embarrassed about needing a Sugar Daddy than you are about using your body to attract a man to support you. For you, the problem is that accepting financial support always involves some form of payment, so you were stalling and talking about anything else to avoid the real issue; being indebted and expected to actually pay with your time, attention, and your body. I’m not sure your real issue is being afraid you’ll like sex, but the reality that what you think you need to do to survive is really prostitution.

“I need someone to be my concerned family member, so if I’m in the hospital, the nurses don’t ignore me. I will need someone to help me after I get out of the hospital. I’ll need someone to drive me to physical therapy appointments. I might need someone to feed me, give me a bath, and even wipe my butt.

“It’s a lot easier for a wife to take care of legal and hospital things than an assistant. My permanent resident status with Immigration is because I was married to a Filipina. I don’t know if they revoke a 13A visa if your wife dies. Why don’t you marry me so we can take care of each other? That way it’s mutually beneficial, so it’s not really whoring.”

Kasey: “If I took care of your immigration and care issues, could we be married legally, but not have sex? I mean, with all those casts, you don’t look like a man who is able to engage in any kind of strenuous physical activity. I can get myself to wash your balls and wipe your bottom, but I just couldn’t make myself do whatever would be necessary to get you hard, and I couldn’t force myself to go all porno and do Cowgirl on you. On top of that, it’s not the ideal way for a girl to have her first time. Maybe if we live together for a while, you’ll eventually charm me into falling in love. If that happens, then it would be easier to become your wife in every sense of the word.”

George: “It will be really difficult for me to be married to you but have to treat you like an employee. I do agree that until the casts are off, and I’ve done some rehab, it wouldn’t be practical for us to have sex. I’m willing to agree to no sex until I’m able to take care of myself. After I’m out of the casts and finished with rehab, I’m willing to agree to six months of courting. We can write up an agreement on a logical schedule of gradually increasing levels of intimacy during the courting period. I do think we should kiss as soon as you can let me get that close, so we are always reminded that we ARE married, and our eventual goal is to BE married in all senses of the word. I think slowly starting to let me pet you would be good too. It would help you find out how good physical loving can feel, and that would help you get over your fear of intercourse. More importantly, it would give you experience with me touching you, so you would know I won’t hurt you and that I’ll always stop if you get panicky.”

Kasey: “Would you be as sweet to me as you were to Auntie?”

George: “Of course dear. I know I’m no prize, so I would always try to make your life as pleasant as possible. I’d probably be sweeter to you than you saw me be to Mary. We’d been married a long time so she already loved me, while I need to win your affection.”

Kasey: “If we were married, how would that work? Would you insist on your marital rights after the courting period, no matter how I feel about it?”

George: “In my imagination, we live in the same house. At first, you want your own bedroom. After the courting half year, you agree it is nicer to sleep in the same bed so I keep you warm at night. After a while, you kiss me good night on the cheek because you want to. A little later, you kiss me good night on the lips because your feelings tell you that’s what you want. The kisses get more frequent, longer, and warmer. After a little more time, we kiss like teenagers making out.

“Sometime later, you tell me you are embarrassed because your breasts seem too small. You want to have your breasts enhanced because you think your small bust is why you didn’t get into the top ten in your last pageant. You vaguely imply you’d like me to pay for enhancement surgery, but don’t actually ask me. You also imply that you are embarrassed for me to see you naked because you have such small breasts.

“I tell you that I think your breasts are the perfect size. You take my hand and put it over your breast. You ask me, ‘Are you sure? Are you telling me the truth or just flattering me?’

“I tell you that touching you confirmed my belief that your breasts are indeed the perfect size. I say that for a dancer, big breasts are a liability. I tell you it would be bad for you to have enhancement surgery because you wouldn’t be used to the changes in your center of gravity, so you would feel awkward coming down the staircase in a pageant or doing a dance routine.

“You take the straps of your camisole off your shoulders and pull the top down to bare your breasts. You put both my hands over your breasts. I cup and gently squeeze your bared boobs and roll your nipples between my thumb and finger. Your nipples get hard, and you sigh from the way it makes you feel. I kiss you and you kiss me back, hard. I kiss down your neck and make you sigh with pleasure. I cover both your breasts with kisses. I lick and suck your nipples and your hips move by themselves in a slow, squirming, circular motion. I keep kissing your breasts and licking and sucking your nipples until you have a small orgasm.

“You ask me what happened, and I explain about orgasms. You ask if girls have orgasms when they have sex. I tell you that if a girl is healthy and her partner knows what they are doing, she usually will unless she is embarrassed or worried or uncomfortable or in pain.

“We have a discussion about your nervousness about physical intimacy and your new belief that six months isn’t a long enough courtship. I draw a line in the sand saying that without a demonstration of good faith on your part, it would be difficult for me to feel you were being honest with me. I would be convinced you were scamming me, and that there would never be a time when you wanted the marriage to be consummated. I’d point out that you signed an agreement with me that specified the length of our courtship and the schedule of increasing intimacy culminating in a full consummation of the marriage by full penetration of your vagina by my penis and intercourse to include my ejaculation inside your vagina and my best efforts to help you reach orgasm.

“In my opinion, your options are to live up to the terms of our agreement or to default. I would not force you or rape you, but I would feel sufficiently wronged I’d want to let the world know you are not a trustworthy person, by all means at my disposal, starting with social media.”

Kasey: “If you blackmail or otherwise coerce me into sex with you, do you think that will get you what you really want?”

George: “Not at first. I suppose it is conceited, but I think if we were completely intimate, I could give you enough pleasure that you wouldn’t be afraid any more.”

Kasey: “I’m not afraid of you, so I believe you. I’ll marry you, as long as you promise not to force me. You also have to promise that if I want to learn how to do something, you’ll teach me as soon as I ask. I don’t want any secret cameras or peeking in the bathroom. If you promise not to rush me and give me all the time that I need to be ready for you to make me a woman, I’ll promise that within a year we will be married in every sense of the word. I also promise that after you make me a woman, I won’t ever fake a headache or cramps.”

George: “I promise. I won’t try to make you feel sorry for me or guilty about not being ready.”

I moved into Kasey’s house. She kept her girlhood bedroom, and I slept in the bedroom that used to belong to her mom. I bought a new king-size bed. I didn’t want there to be any ghosts in the room that would keep Kasey from joining me in bed some cold and lonely night.

Now why was I interested in a nervous virgin who is fifty years younger than I am? We always had something to talk about. Kasey is an educated and intelligent woman. Of course, the most important reason for a man is that Kasey is beautiful and even though she doesn’t know it, sexy as hell. She doesn’t try to be sultry or seductive, but when I look at her, I want to be a caveman and throw her on the nearest horizontal surface, rip open her bodice, and ravish her until she loves being loved by an out-of-control male.

It amazes me just how tiny her figure really is. Apparently to look like a beauty queen, a girl needs to be size zero. Sometimes I thought my hands would fit around her tiny waist with my fingertips touching. Her hips and bottom aren’t exaggerated like a certain American reality show personality, but her hips do flare just enough to awaken the primitive urge to breed. That sweet curve shows she is a biologically mature female, capable of carrying and delivering a baby.

I didn’t know this for a fact until we were living in the same house, but her white cotton panties were as small as a preteen girl would wear. That smallness awakens a male desire to take care of and protect a soft, lovely female. There is always the male compulsion to ravish her in a way that she comes to love, desire, and eventually need. While my desire for her is mostly about mutual pleasure, there is always the underlying instinctual need to impregnate her.

I hired a male nurse to help me with things I couldn’t do myself. I didn’t think Kasey was ready for the harsh realities of taking care of an old man in multiple casts. I thought she needed to feel emotionally close to me before taking care of me would be something she could do. I decided that wiping my hairy bottom would not be conducive to developing romantic feelings.

We fell into a pleasant routine, sharing a house, keeping each other company, and getting to know each other. Kasey didn’t tease me by walking around partially dressed. Sometimes, when she was sad, she would sit next to me on the couch and put her head on my shoulder. I asked for permission, and she agreed it would be more comforting if my arm was around her. Kasey made it easy on me because she felt that once she had told me she was ready for holding hands or having my arm around her, I had permission for that level of closeness without asking her again. Sometimes, she would put her arm around me to let me know she wanted that level of intimacy. When she sighed and cuddled against me when I put my arm around her, I felt we were making progress.

I didn’t want Kasey to feel helpless and totally dependent on me, so I started to teach her how to make a food budget, make a grocery list, stick to the list when shopping, and limit impulse purchases. I gave her a clothing allowance but gave her complete freedom to spend it as she pleased.

When the casts were removed, and I started physical therapy I made sure to keep very clean and always have fresh breath. After the rehab process got me moving without a cane, a limp or pain I couldn’t hide, I started exercising to trim up my waist and strengthen my upper body.

I always wore clean, neat clothes. When I got my waist down to let me buy clothes in the regular men’s department, not the fat man’s shop, I asked Kasey if she thought my wardrobe needed an update. She seemed to enjoy going shopping with me and putting her fashion stamp on my clothing. I think that gave her an approximation of the feelings a wife has for her husband. I was hoping that having input into my wardrobe would generate some interest in my appearance as well as a feeling of us belonging to each other.

When Kasey invited me to go shopping for her clothes, I thought my strategy was working. I tried to preserve that progress by only giving her positive input on things she tried on and modeled for me. I didn’t show morbid interest in her underthings or try to influence her purchases toward a sexy, let alone slutty, look. I was working hard to keep my imagination in check. I was hoping for Kasey to grow into a stylish young wife who was active and fit. I was hoping she would learn to enjoy sexual pleasure and have the glow of a young woman in love who was physically satisfied and emotionally fulfilled. I dreamed of a day when she would not be ashamed for her girlfriends to see a “just fucked” glow on her pretty face and a “I can’t believe he made me cum that many times” smile.

We had some difficulty keeping the increasing physical intimacy schedule. I told her that if I allowed her to delay a particular step, it would enable avoidance of dealing with emotional and intimacy issues to the point that we would never complete the schedule.

Kasey: “I don’t think a nervous bride would feel like she was head over heels in love with a groom who insisted everything had to happen on schedule.”

George: “You know why some girls actually fall in love with their father? It’s because a good dad has demonstrated he loves his daughter enough to insist on what is best for her, not allowing immature behavior, or avoiding responsibility when something is difficult. I don’t think you would respect me if I let you get away with skipping school type behavior. If you don’t respect me, I don’t think you can really love me.”

Kasey: “So are you going to make me? Are you going to force me? Are you going to rape me? Actually, you are an old man, and I don’t think you could make me do anything I don’t want to do.”

George: “I think we need to clear something up right now. Put on your workout clothes and we’ll find out.”

We faced off in the back yard. I did a wrestling take down and pinned Kasey in less than thirty seconds.

Kasey: “So you have me pinned. I suppose I’m helpless, and you could do whatever you wanted. Was that the purpose of this little exercise?”

George: “The purpose was to demonstrate that I choose not to rape you. Before you can progress emotionally, you have to acknowledge that I could force you if I wanted to. Once you realize that, it’s logical that I don’t force you because I choose not to. That means I’ve made good faith demonstrations of my honorable intent and non-violent behavior. I hope that my example will influence you to want to be an honorable woman and keep your word.”

Kasey: “I guess we are getting to the part of the schedule that’s scary for me. We are supposed to pet on this date. Does that mean I have to reach inside your boxers and touch your weenie with skin-to-skin contact? Am I supposed to jack you off and make you squirt?”

George: “The way it is supposed to work is that you let me touch you under your clothes with skin-to-skin contact. If you can relax a little, the petting will begin to feel good. When you can admit to yourself that it feels good, and you like the feeling, you will start to look forward to petting and want to do it more often. After that, you realize it is so pleasant to be touched that it stops being scary. As you learn to enjoy the feelings that having me touch you gives your body, you let me stroke your clitoris long enough for me to give you an orgasm. You find yourself looking forward to having me make you cum. After I get you off a few times, you realize you want to return the favor. That’s what gives you the motivation and the courage to reach in my pants and stroke me until I shoot off.

“It comes down to whether you learned a sense of what is fair and how to share in kindergarten. Having orgasms because her guy gives them to her normally makes a girl feel guilty if she gets off and the guy doesn’t.

“That’s why we have the schedule, Kasey. We are simulating what happens when a couple dates in their courtship phase. Things are supposed to develop naturally and in order. If we have a discussion where you are focusing on your fears or an immature, ‘you can’t make me’ response, the good feelings don’t happen. The whole purpose of petting is to influence you to let me touch you more because what I’m doing to you feels so good.

“If we start every date with you being combative and an obstructionist, we won’t get to where we need to go to start really being married. If that doesn’t change, it is going to be difficult for me to believe you are acting in good faith and have any interest in being married to me, other than to have me support you.

“If you could just let things happen, the good feelings are going to distract you and the fear won’t be such a big issue. I’m following the schedule when we are on a date. If the schedule doesn’t go further than petting, I’ll give you as many orgasms as you want, but with my fingers. I won’t try to push things faster than what I agreed to.

“If you can let yourself learn to like me because I give you orgasms, it’s possible that could eventually turn into love. That’s what I hope will happen, but it won’t be possible if you can’t at least keep an open mind and a neutral attitude.”

Kasey: “Those are good points. I don’t know why I get so combative with you. I think it may come from my mom’s bad attitude about men in general that came from her problems getting along with my dad. A lot of those troubles came from the cultural differences between a Filipina and Swedish man. I sometimes worry that you and I might have the same kinds of trouble understanding each other. I really want to be in love and know I’m loved as deeply as I love my partner.

“I don’t understand why I have such a negative attitude about any kind of sexual contact or such paralyzing fear of penetration and intercourse. I suppose that goes back to my mom too. I think I have a lot of fear that if we have sex, and especially if I like it or even more if you insist on getting me pregnant, that I’ll stop being a person and become like a Handmaid or a sex slave that’s more like a robot than a unique individual. That doesn’t even make sense because I know you are not an oppressor kind of person. I’m thinking that I may be so emotionally messed up that I may not be able to get past these roadblocks by myself, even with your help.

“Am I worth enough to you for you to pay for me to see a psychologist to get some help getting my brain sorted out so I could be a wife who is able to give you as much as you give me?”

George: “That’s a really good demonstration of your intelligence, and just one reason I believe I’ll enjoy being married to you. A lot of people think that at my age sex isn’t important, but my

experience has convinced me that the joining of bodies that is a part of sex becomes a symbol for the emotional closeness of two people in love and wanting to become a couple. I hope you can believe me that there is more to my telling you that sex is vital to a marriage than just my desire to have our naked bodies as close together as possible, as often as possible.

“Of course, I agree you might benefit from talking with a professional. I’m glad you felt you could talk to me about this. Having you suggest a way to help make things work is a demonstration of your good faith in this project or experiment of ours.”

We worked with psychologists, marriage counselors, and sex therapists separately and together.

One night Kasey said, “Georgie, I think I’m ready for us to get engaged officially. Can we go ring shopping?”

I said, “Our conversations have been more relaxed the last two weeks, and you have actually seemed happy to see me, so if you feel ready to take the next step, we can definitely go ring shopping.”