A small brown man in an expensive but ill-fitting suit sat behind the desk, smiling benevolently at the client in from of him. "Your complaints are not dissimilar to many I've heard, Mr. Frusten. Your wife has borne you the two point zero zero zero children she felt was her duty and has now turned her attention to other matters. 'Getting on with her life' many call it. Sex just isn't important in that plan, or outright dangerous in case another two or three point zero zero zero babies come along"

"Yes, that's it. I can't understand how she can do this to me!"

"She probably is not being intentionally cruel, Arthur. Most women simply have no conception of men's constant, overpowering need for sex and how much they want to see their wives stay pregnant, so she has no conception of the degree of your torment. I call it the 'asexual wife' syndrome: no miniskirts, no skimpy undies, no sexy sleepwear, no high heel sandals, no intimate dinners, no evenings out dancing, no giving or receiving of oral sex and especially no spontaneous, unprotected intercourse."

The man nodded sadly. "Is there anything I can DO, Dr. Vargas?"

"Of course, Arthur. You CAN just continue to take it, as you have for the last five or ten years. You are, what, 45 now? In another 25-30 years your sex drive may have diminished to approximate that of your wife's and you can spend your declining years holding hands and pretending you had been happy all the time."

"But I CAN'T take it any longer," the man almost sobbed. "I love her, but I can't go on without more sex. Isn't there anything else"

"You say you've tried all the standard advice to reassure her of your affection: leaving love notes, bringing flowers, buying her sexy lingerie, suggesting romantic vacations. But she knows what you really have in mind is SEX and she's not buying it. No, there is not much else YOU can do, but there's a hell of a lot SHE could do. I think we need to bring about a convergence of your sexual fantasies"

"But she doesn't HAVE any fantasies."

"You may be right, now. When you first married, she probably had some ridiculously fantastic expectations of you. When she realized you were just a man, she gave up on you and her fantasies. Not to worry. In a way it makes our job easier if she has NO fantasies.

"But then 'converge?'"

"We simply give her yours."

"Mine? But I don't really have fantasies, either. I just want a hot, pregnant wife.

"Fantasy enough, some would say, but don't sell yourself short, Arthur. Perhaps you just haven't explored your deeper desires. How much pornography do you read?"

"Pornography? Oh, gosh! None since I was married. Deborah would kill me. Well, maybe a glimpse of 'Playboy' when I travel on business."

"Hmmm. Ever read stories on the internet? MCStories. com? Erticstories.com? Storiesonline.com? Dark Wandereer.com? Or just the ASSM?"

"'A-S-S-M?'"

"'Alternative Sex Stories Moderated,'" the largest, most comprehensive site of all and maintained by readers who contribute money at:

http://www.asstr.org/donations.html

"No, none of that."

"Then you don't know if you have fantasies or not, Arthur. I think we'd better find out, don't you?"

"But if I don't know, how can we find out.?"

"Quite easily. I'll run a psychopornogram on you." He motioned to a closet-size contraption.

"A psycho-what"

"Never mind. Just remove your clothes and step into the machine."

"Remove my clothes?"

"Of course. Many fantasies -- the good ones, at least -- involve skin-to-skin contact with the opposite sex. The psychopornogram records your reactions as experienced during them."

"Wow! It's warm and slick and... oooh... this feels like... tits and... ahhh, a pussy in here"

"Two very important elements in a male sex fantasy, I'm sure you'll agree. Sensors and nano-servo-mechanisms can adjust the organs to various size, hardness, temperature, slipperiness, tightness, etc. The "pussy," -- that's the default setting for the penis receptacle -- can also become an "ass," a "mouth" or a "hand" of various dimensions and genders."

"Genders?" No way!"

"We're very thorough, Mr. Frusten. Now drink this before you put on the face piece."

"What's that?"

"A small dose of hypnohol. You need to be very suggestible for the period of the examination in order to react fully to each fantasy scenario as it's presented."

<gulp> And the face piece? Wow! That stuff is... goooood"

Well your mouth will also experience contact with "breasts," "asses," "tummies," "clitties," and "lips" of both types."

"Mrmpffg?"

"Now just relax as the psychopornogram takes you through a simulated reading of all 735,451,837 - wait, I see my "Chloe and Mom: Conclusion" and "Fantasy Aftermath" have just been posted -- 735,451,839 stories on ASSM."

"Mghrkdv!"

"Exactly."

A few hours later, the same small brown man in the same expensive but ill-fitting suit again was sitting behind the same desk, smiling benevolently at the same man before him. "Well, for a man with 'no fantasies,' Arthur, you certainly have some doozies," the doctor smiled. "Who would have thought? You liked a lot of some pretty kinky stuff, but the psychopornogram went off the charts when you hit the Frank McCoy stories."

"Frank McWho?"

"Well-known author. Writes fantasies in which incest is harmless fun and granddads and granddaughters, mothers and sons, daddies and pre-teen girls, uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews happily fuck up a storm, making babies out the kazoo."

"I wouldn't like that kind of trash!"

"Tell your cock that, Arthur. You came so hard you shorted out my PPG. Clearly this is the fantasy we need your wife to fulfill for you."

"But my wife would never fulfill an incest fantasy of mine -- if I have one."

"Get your wife here for an appointment, Arthur, and leave the rest to Dr. Vargas."

The office and the brown man and ill fitting suit were the same, but facing him was a well put together and very irate woman, a partially drunk cup of tea sat before her. "I don't know what kind of a 'relationship specialist' you claim to be, Dr. Vargas, but there is nothing wrong with Arthur's and my 'relationship' except that he continues to act like a fourteen year old boy."

"Could you elaborate, Mrs. Frusten."

"You know perfectly well what I mean," she glared, taking a sip of tea to gather her thoughts. "All he thinks about is sex. He pesters me for it ALL the time. If I didn't keep him under control, he'd have me doing it EVERY week, maybe more! And I know why. I've explained to Arthur very clearly that we are NOT having any more children. Since I'm not messing up my body with artificial chemicals and I sure don't trust HIM with condoms, he just has to be mature enough to restrict himself to once a month during my safe period."

"I see you DO have a problem."

"I should say." The next sip of tea was more of a swig. "Besides being oversexed, I can't trust him. He knew I'd said one child was more than enough, but one night -- and the sneaky bastard knew just WHICH night to choose -- he 'romanced' me -- dinner, dancing -- and then, boom, back home he took advantage of my having had a little too much to drink. Before I knew it, he was kissing my tits and had his hand in my puss, making me come like a cheap whore. He knows I don't permit that! After a few orgasms I was so addled I let him make love and, bingo, I wind up expecting again." The woman shuddered at the memory and sipped the tea.

"And he is so disgusting, no self control. He masturbates! Every day it appears! I find flaky pajamas and wadded up tissues - who does he think he's kidding?"

"It must be very difficult, especially for a woman like you."

"And what is THAT supposed to mean?" the woman sputtered with barely contained rage. She took another sip of tea to control her self. The tea was the only good think about this wretched interview. Quite tasty, actually. She took another sip.

"Well, Mrs. Frusten, may I call you Deborah, you are a healthy woman approaching that period of maximum sexual responsiveness. It must be difficult for you to control your volcanic urges."

"'Volcanic?'" She sipped, confused.

"Yes, a deeply buried, seething desire for frequent, hard, nasty sex, threatening to erupt at any time and overturn your tranquil life."

"Do you mean to suggest that I..." she took another sip of tea, about to tell this quack just how wrong he was when she realized that she DID occasionally have certain... urges, right now, in fact. "... that I should fall into bed every time I feel a twinge of desire."

"Certainly not Deborah! If you did, you'd spend all your time on your back."

"What?" Could that be right? She WAS horny. It was hard to think. "Yes, but... I'm a grown woman, I can't..." Thank God for the tea. It was helping her stay calm.

"Can't allow your self to express the constant, urgent need for sex clawing at you -- the burning itch between your legs, the full, tingling breasts that yearn to be squeezed. You can't allow your husband or your daughters to see how horny you are all the time. You have to fight constantly not to throw your self down and use your fingers or a fourteen inch vibrator to satisfy, if only fleetingly, the overwhelming need you have to orgasm!"

The woman was fidgeting, clearly distressed. The doctor took compassion on her. "You don't dare let your husband and daughter see what a cum-hungry slut you really are, Deborah, but here it's OK. No one will see you give in to your basic needs. You can take off your blouse..."

The woman looked confused, but began to unbutton her blouse.

"That's it Deborah, remove off that thick, constraining bra -- not the kind of bra a sexy wife with a set of jugs like yours should be wearing -- and free those big, sensitive titties.

"It's a relief, isn't it, to be able to rub, tweak and fondle then. That's it, squeeze those babies. Pinch your nipples, Deborah, the way you wish you could allow Arthur to do. Feels good... sooo good, to have your huge boobs felt and pawed,... gnawed!

The woman's eyes were closed as she worked her unremarkable breasts furiously.

"Feeling up your breasts is great, Deborah, but it only gets you hotter. Your pussy is getting so wet. You have to do something. Better shuck that skirt. It covers up entirely too much of those killer legs you've got, anyway."

With no further prompting, the woman skivvied out of the skirt and introduced first one then two, three, and four fingers into her pussy. The first orgasm didn't take long.

After a few minutes of watching the buxom matron pleasuring herself on his couch, the doctor smiled with satisfaction. "Would this help, Mrs. Frusten?" He held out a large humming phallus shaped object.