Chapter 1

My Dear Tutor:

You've told me that you wish to know me, my secret desires, my innermost passions. The easiest way to begin this journey is to tell you of one of the seminal passages in my life. This by no means represents the sum total of my fantasy world, but in effect represents my awakening and the beginnings of acceptance. I present it here in an effort to open myself to you so that you may know who I really am.

His name was Georges. When we first met, he was more than 25 years my senior. This was of no account to me since we were mere acquaintances and for my part there was no romantic intent. Georges came to work at the farm where I was employed at the time, taking a much- needed sabbatical from my usual vocation. He was a terrific conversationalist with many interesting stories from his native France, and had a wicked sense of humor. We soon became fairly close as I came to realize he was also an intent listener, often offering support and sage advice when needed most.

It was during this period of time that I was gaining the necessary resolve to ask my then spouse for a divorce. Although I wanted this more than anything, it was with great trepidation that I made the final break. How would I support myself with a large mortgage and rising taxes that were threatening to break me? I already had a full-time job, a second job on the weekend, and a business on the side; there was no more time or energy to give. In the end, it didn't matter... I had to end this.

On the day my spouse moved out, Georges insisted we celebrate with a fancy dinner. I felt like a young woman again, dressing up, having a man call at the door, all the stress of the past years flowing away. When he returned me to my home, he left with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a reassuring hug, admonishing me not to worry... c'est la vie.

During the following weeks, we shared confidences and an occasional informal meal. I told Georges about my life, and he, his. His wife had died 8 years previously, and although he was generally content, he was incredibly lonely. He made a suggestion which he reasoned could help us both... he loved to cook but hated to eat alone, and since I had almost no money for food, what if he made dinner for us at his home a few nights a week? Since his home was between our workplace and my house it would be both convenient and logical to accept, and so I agreed, with pleasure.

Our work was physically demanding, and although I was in great physical shape, I must have overdone it one day and ended up being unable to get out of bed the next morning. Georges called midday to find out how I was and I told him of the back spasms I was having. He stopped by after work and offered a massage to ease the muscles, which I immediately declined. His insistence and the pain finally wore me down, and finally I agreed.

He helped me roll over onto my stomach and began to gently knead my lower back. It felt so damned good, I must have moaned with pleasure. He laughed quietly and told me it'd been a long time since he'd made a woman moan. At that, I smiled and allowed myself to relax. After a few moments, he slid onto the bed and straddled my hips to more easily work his magic; I became aware of his rapid breathing and his erection pressing into the soft flesh of my buttocks. "Please," he breathed, "just let me touch you." He promised he only wanted to make me feel good, and that he would stop if I told him to do so.

What followed seems tame in retrospect. For me it was gloriously erotic, intensely pleasurable, as he brought me to three shattering orgasms over the next hour using only his hands and his mouth. I must have fallen asleep before he left, and awoke the next morning with very mixed feelings, as you might expect. Did I want it to happen again? You bet! Was I embarrassed? Absolutely.

I felt very uncomfortable knowing I'd have to face him at work that day, and spent the morning carefully avoiding any opportunity for Georges to speak to me privately. "This is ridiculous," I thought. Might as well give into the inevitable and face what had happened. That evening I went to his home for dinner, and we talked it out. When everything had been said, I asked him one final question. "Georges, as aroused as I was last night, why didn't you try to enter me? You must have known I wouldn't have stopped you." He sat quietly for a few moments as I watched his expression sadden, and then began to tell me that it had been quite a few years since he'd been able to attain a full erection. Tears filled my eyes as I realized how painfully embarrassed he was at the admission I'd forced from him. I think my distress made him feel even worse, and he came around the table and took me in his arms, begging me not to cry. He explained that he'd learned to live with it, and then assured me that even though he would be unable to satisfy me in the 'normal' way, last night had given him tremendous pleasure nonetheless. It had made him feel like a man again, and to him this was worth anything he might miss in the process.