A few months ago, I would not have dreamed that I would be in this situation. Not that the situation is necessarily bad, but the utterly blatant ethical breaches that I have committed sometimes weigh heavily on my conscience. Were they to ever be revealed to the licensing board, my career as a clinical psychologist would come to an abrupt end.

I had settled into middle age cruise control. At fifty-four, I had been married nearly twenty-five years and practiced my profession from a small, suburban office with the utmost concern for my patients. The majority of problems my patients brought to me were eating or sleeping disorders, alcohol problems, marital discord, and "why isn't my kid normal?" syndrome. In most of those cases, the kids were normal; the problems rested with the parents.

I had concluded that the intimate side of my life was to continue to decline. I don't feel as old as I am. In fact, most people say I don't look nearly as old as I am. My wife, on the other hand, seems old. Her interest in intimate encounters diminished immensely after she had our first child. It has continued to decline in the past two decades. We have sex, but it is the same routine over and over again.

When I found myself losing my erection in the middle of the joyous act or, on rare occasions, failing to get erect at all, I diagnosed myself as simply bored with the repetition. My doctor agreed and prescribed the magic blue pills for me with unusual candor. He explained that many of his erectile dysfunction patients feel the same way. The pills work fine. We are able to satisfy each other. But there was not much more excitement than before; until six months ago when Lori Telson became my patient.

Since many of my patients work during the day, I routinely have appointments in the early evening. My receptionist schedules the appointments, but leaves the office at five. My calendar indicated that Ms. Telson wished to consult me about a personal matter that she would reveal "only to Dr. Gray." That wasn't out of the ordinary at all. Various patients are embarrassed to tell a woman over the phone that they have emotional or mental problems. Not that any of my patients are crazy - just disturbed.

Finishing up with a patient whom I'm helping get over the fact that his wife cheated on him, I ushered him into the reception area and saw Ms. Telson. As my patient exited, she turned her head at an almost impossible angle attempting to hide her face from him. Once he was gone, she turned toward me.

She did not look like a super model, porn star, or cover girl. She looked like a wholesome, attractive young lady whom you might see modeling sportswear in a department store advertising insert in the Sunday paper. He complexion was flawless. Her blonde hair shimmered. Her figure was not in any way voluptuous, but would turn the head of any man alive.

"Ms. Telson?" I asked, noticing for the first time her bright green eyes.

"Yes. Are you Dr. Gray?" she asked in a voice that could have come from a twelve year old schoolgirl. In fact, she looked like she could be anywhere from fifteen to twenty-two years old.

"I am. Good afternoon. Have you completed the medical history questionnaire?"

I assumed she had, since the clipboard was resting in her lap on her skirt. She extended her hand holding the questionnaire. Her fingers were slender and delicate. Her nails were perfectly manicured and painted white at the tips.

I opened the door to my inner office and, with a flowing arm gesture, invited her in. As she arose, I admired the tailored fit of her blouse; not overly revealing, but certainly enhancing her pert breasts and small waist. As she walked past me I caught the sweet scent of her young body. I didn't detect a perfume or cologne. It was more like a sweet, fresh powdery aroma. I motioned to the chair opposite my desk and she sat, crossing her legs in a very lady-like motion. The calf that extended below the hem of her skirt was shapely and smooth.

In reviewing her questionnaire, I learned that she was twenty, unmarried, had no family history of mental illness, and that her contact person was Robert Telson. I recognized him as the CEO of Telson Industries, one of the largest employers in the area. Telson was reputed to be the richest man in the state, having started a shipping palette factory years ago, and branching out into virtually every facet of shipping container manufacture.

I looked up at her, and she was pink. Not red or flushed, as if she were frightened or embarrassed, but pink. Her skin was glowing. She was indeed very pretty, but in an innocent, childlike way.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yes." She paused and looked intently at me. "Dr. Gray, I have come to the conclusion that I have a problem and I need help." Her lower lip, adorned with a lipstick just a few shades pinker than the rest of her skin, was trembling slightly.

"I'll do what I can to help you." I thought perhaps she might begin to cry, which is not uncommon with first time patients. "Tell me about the problem you believe you have."

Her tongue slipped between her lips to wet them, and she swallowed hard. "What we say to each other is private?" Her head was slightly tilted to one side, making her question more of a plea than an inquiry.

"Everything we say is confidential. Only under extreme circumstances may I divulge information about our sessions."

"What extreme circumstances?" Her eyes had widened, and her breath rate appeared to increase.

"For instance, if you tell me you intend to murder someone. In our state, my obligation to society supersedes my obligation of confidentiality to you. Or, if it is my opinion that you need commitment to an institution, I will necessarily need to divulge confidential information about your case. Otherwise, I cannot reveal anything from our conversations, even if I'm subpoenaed to testify in court, unless you instruct me to do so."

She licked her lips again. She squinted at me, as if trying to fully understand. "You mean I could be committed?"

"I seriously doubt that. You appear to be a very levelheaded young lady. Commitment is recommended only in unusual cases."

"What happens in commitment?"

"Well, there is a court hearing where information about the patient is presented to a judge. If the judge decides that commitment is necessary, the patient is sent to an institution for treatment."

"For how long?"

"That depends on the severity of the patient's problem."

She was apparently considering my assurances for a few seconds. "Thank you, ' she said, fidgeting in her seat."I don't want anyone to know what we talk about. I don't even want anyone to know that I'm here," she declared, her voice still sounding girlish, but with an edge of desperation. "If I need to come and see you again, I will want to schedule my appointments so that no one else is in your office. I don't want to be seen or recognized." The depth of the expression on her face accentuated her beauty, making her look almost as old as her true age.

"I can assure you, I will reveal nothing about your sessions to anyone. I can arrange your appointments, if more are necessary, so that you will not encounter anyone in the reception area."

She seemed to consider my guarantee for a few seconds. She pressed her lips together tightly, exhaled from the bottom of her lungs, and uncrossed her legs. She scooted to the edge of the seat of her chair, and leaned toward me.

"I'm a slut," she stated, the corners of her lips turned down in a frown. "I have sex with every man I'm alone with. I can't control it. I crave it," she admitted, emphasizing the word 'crave' as if she were an addict describing her longing for her drug.

The immediate thought that raced into my mind was that she was alone with me in my office. The second was that, from her conservative appearance, she would be one of the last young women I would expect to be promiscuous. In fact, she was the epitome of the pure, intelligent, American coed.

"At first it didn't bother me because I enjoyed it so much. But now, I know it's wrong. I had myself tested for diseases and, thankfully, I'm completely clean. I want to stay that way. I don't want to be a slut anymore."

"How long have you felt this way?" I asked, using the usual routine of questions; never saying anything in early sessions that a patient might consider judgmental.

She sighed, apparently reluctant that she must tell me her story. "For about six months. My mother died when I was very young, and my father was very overprotective of me. I was tutored at home and rarely left our house." As she spoke, her head tilted down, and she focused her eyes on the carpet in front of her. "The only man who ever touched me when I was growing up was my father, and his touch was not very loving. I felt like he loved me, but all he did was try to protect me. I suppose he was afraid of losing me like he did my mother."

"Do you still live with your father?"

"No. That's really when this all started. When I turned nineteen, I thought had to be out in the world, on my own. I wanted to have friends. I wanted to be with people other than my father, my tutors, and the servants. He objected, of course, and we fought about it for months. I threatened to leave and refuse to tell him where I was going. But, finally I got my way." She continued to stare blankly at the floor.

"What are you doing now?"

She glanced up at me with an inquisitive look. "Doing?" She looked pensive as her mind developed a way to illustrate her answer. "I go shopping, I read, I go to museums, I eat out, just ... live." She turned a palm up and tossed it to her side as if I should have known the answer. "You see, my father is a very rich man. I've never not gotten anything I wanted. When I left home, he reluctantly set up a monthly allowance for me. If you wanted to know if I had a job, no. I don't need one."

"Do you associate what you're feeling now with leaving home?" As soon as I finished speaking, her eyes went to the floor again.

"I got an apartment for myself. The first day I was there, I met another tenant in the entrance. He smiled at me so nicely that it made me feel warm inside. I thought maybe he would be the first friend I made in the real world. I agreed to go out with him that night. I didn't know how old he was. I still don't. He took me to a nice restaurant for dinner, then invited me to his apartment."

As she told the story, the pace of her words increased. Between sentences, she would lick her lips and flutter her eyelashes. Her brilliant green eyes seemed to glaze over.

"When we got there, we sat on a couch, and he just started kissing me immediately. It was the first time I had ever kissed anyone but my father or mother. It was, um, it was like a switch inside me turned on something I had never felt before. It's difficult to describe. My body wasn't my own. As we kissed, he took my clothes off and touched me everywhere. I wanted to be touched. I wanted to feel everything I could feel with him."

She slowly raised her head to look into my eyes. It may have been my imagination, but she appeared to be even pinker than before. Her breath rate once again increasing.

"Once his clothes were off, he moved between my legs. I didn't know what to do. I, I," she stammered, a bewildered look on her face, "wanted him. When he put himself inside me, I felt pressure, a little pain, and then, when he was all the way in, I had the most intense, unique, wonderful feeling I had ever had." Her expression was one of utmost honesty. "I realized that I had an orgasm almost immediately; just seconds after losing my virginity" Her eyes were glistening as she recalled the pleasure she had received. "I never, ever, ever imagined that something could feel so good. I think I had three or four orgasms that night. I stayed with him in his apartment that night and most of the next day doing nothing but begging him to make me feel that way again." I watched as her eyes wandered. It was as if she were just first noticing the details of my office.

"Are you still seeing this man?"

"No," she said, suddenly fixing her eyes on the carpet again. "He gave me to one of his friends."

"Gave you?" I inquired, feeling my face grimace with anger at the thought of treating this lovely girl so wretchedly.

"Well, I went to his apartment everyday for a couple weeks to have sex with him. Then, eventually, he wouldn't answer his door, or even answer my calls. For three days I didn't see him. I was going out of my mind wondering why he wouldn't want me. I needed him to make me feel..." her voice trailed off. "I saw him when the elevator door opened one day, and he tried to walk away like I wasn't even there. I pressed him for an explanation. He told me he had a girlfriend!" The look on her face showed that she was reliving a horribly life shattering event. "I didn't know what I would do. I needed someone to make me feel the way he did. I guess I thought I was in love with him. That was pretty stupid of me. He said he knew what I needed, and that he would have one of his friends call me."

If what she was telling me was true, it was clear that she was suffering, if you could call it that, from hyper sexuality: essentially sexual addiction. She was a classic case of what had historically been referred to as nymphomania. However, unlike common thought, nymphomaniacs do achieve orgasm. That is usually what drives them to continually seek sexual gratification. I had never before had a patient who, in my opinion, actually had such a condition.

"I waited for his friend to call me. I couldn't stand the waiting. I thought about just going out and finding a man to bring home for sex. Finally, his friend called, and I invited him to my apartment the very same night. From there it just spiraled as more and more men would call me once they heard about me from other men. I had sex almost every day for six months; sometimes with two or three men a day."

"Tell me about your feelings toward these men."

"Feelings?" she asked, her eyes widening. "Like love? They were men. I can't seem to help it. Every man who asks me out, every man who happens to be with me, I can't help it. I need them inside me. That's the only feeling I have.

"They didn't know me. I didn't need to have them know me anymore than I wanted to know them. Some of them ... I didn't even know their names," she said with a look of shear embarrassment on her face. "But, about a week ago, I realized how they felt about me."

"Something important happened?"

"A guy I'd been with a few times invited me to his house. He had seemed like a nice guy and I had very good sex with him. When I arrived, he had four of his friends with him. At first, I thought that we would wait until they left to have sex. But, he just took my hand and we started off to the bedroom as he said something about giving the little girl what she needs. I was shocked that the other men would know what I was going to do with him."

"That shock is what made you decide to come to me?" She hesitated a few seconds before responding.

"Partly. He made me come a couple of times, and I thought I would be satisfied for the night when he had finished. But, he opened the door and called for the other men to come into the bedroom. He asked them, 'O.K, whose next?' Before I could comprehend what was happening, another man was inside me," she confessed, her lovely brow furrowed. "I was addicted. I had sex with all of them one after another; one twice. I had a dozen orgasms," she sighed. "At the time, I didn't comprehend how lascivious I was acting until I noticed one of the men holding a video camera. He was filming me having sex with several men!" The anger in her voice was evident. Her lower lip and jaw were trembling. "But, I didn't stop even then. I was enjoying it so much."

"But, in reflecting on that experience, you view it differently?"

"Oh, yes. When they were finished, I begged the guy to give me the video tape, but he just said, 'Fuck you, slut, '" she spat out the words in an attempt to imitate his tone of voice. "I realized, I am a slut. I realized it right then!" She squeezed her lips together tightly before continuing. "He said he would probably be able to sell the tape for lots of money. I finally paid him five thousand dollars for the tape. If my father ever knew about what I have done, I would have nothing. He would stop my money." Her expression revealed that the worst possible thing that could happen to her, other than going without sex, would be the loss of her father's fortune.

"The first step in changing your life is to realize that change is needed," I consoled.

"I've done that. I haven't been with a man in over a week. I can't stand it, but I haven't. I had my phone number changed so that they can't call me." She was turning pink again. She stared at me intently, with lust in her eyes. "Dr. Gray," she paused and swallowed, Dr. Gray, it's been ... well, it's been a very difficult week," she admitted in a hoarse tone of voice.

I sympathized with her. From what she had told me of her immediate past, it must have been difficult indeed to totally refrain from sexual activity. As I looked at her, I could see a definite, evolving change in her physical demeanor. She shifted in her chair and struck a sexy, provocative pose. She crossed her legs and allowed her skirt to rise higher on her well-formed legs.

"Dr. Gray, ' she said in a soft whisper, "right now I want you to fuck me so much ... I'm wet and I need a man inside me."

I had made a great effort to maintain a clinical attitude during her story. But, having such a lovely creature, obviously in a state of sexual arousal, come on to me like that was having quite an effect. My right hand, I noticed, had begun to tremble ever so slightly. I also felt a stirring between my legs.

"I have realized that I just can't stop 'cold turkey.' I need a man inside me. I need someone I can trust," she said, her voice lowering to a throaty, inviting murmur.

"I'm sure that is not the best course of therapy, Ms. Telson. Have you tried pleasuring yourself to ease the withdrawal?"

"Oh, yes," she lamented dejectedly. "I bought every vibrator and dildo on the market. I've poked and massaged myself until I was sore. Nothing works. For some reason I can't make myself come. I need a man's touch. I need a man's mouth on me or a man's cock in me to be satisfied. It's the only way. But, I need some sort of self-control. I don't want to be a slut, Dr. Gray." As she spoke her slender hands went to the buttons on her blouse. Staring longingly at me, she began to undo them slowly.

"Ms. Telson..."

"Call me Lori," she interrupted.

"Alright. Lori," I said, my mind stumbling for a professional comment to defuse the situation, "the relationship between a therapist and a patient must be based upon, ah, mutual trust. That trust is easily broken if a, ah, if any sort of physical relationship develops," I stammered, pleased that I could sound clinical even though I was becoming more and more aroused. She had the buttons released and was taking off her blouse. "I believe you should put your blouse back on for the rest of our session."

She extended her lower lip in a sort of pout, tilted her head slightly, and looked at me from under long, fluttering eyelashes. "But, I trust you. I've told you about myself so that you can help me. I want you to help me," she pleaded, slipping the blouse off her arms and reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. "You trust me, don't you? You trust me to change and get some self control, don't you, Doctor?" With that the bra was released and she removed it with a sensual flair.

Her breasts were somewhat small and attractively round; obviously natural, with small, upturned nipples that were deep pink. I needed no little blue pill to come to a full erection at the sight of her half nude body. I again tried to formulate an appropriate statement with which to respond, but couldn't take my eyes off of her as she stood and began to unzip her skirt.

"Lori, I do trust that you want to change, and I'm glad that you trust me. But, as your therapist, I cannot allow you to continue."

"You can't allow me to, but you want me too, don't you?" she slid the skirt down over her narrow, smooth hips to reveal silky, low cut, white panties. She was indeed wet, as she had confessed. The small cotton patch at the crotch was dark from her lubrication. "I need you, Dr. Gray. I need you to help me." She slowly lowered the panties down her flawless legs. "If I don't get your help, I'll probably fall back into the same routine I've lived in for the last several months. Please don't make me do that," she whimpered, revealing why she had probably always gotten what she wanted from her father.

She was beautiful. Standing naked just on the other side of my desk. Her pretty face and young, petite body looked virginal, although I knew she had probably more sexual experience than I had had in more than twice her years.

I couldn't think straight. The blood flow through my penis felt like it was straining the surrounding skin. I knew this should not be happening, but could not concentrate on anything but the youthful beauty who wanted me. Sure, she was at a disadvantage because I knew of her addiction. But, there was no methadone that could be prescribed to alleviate her symptoms of withdrawal. Suddenly, I had a professional, rather than carnal, idea slip into my head.

"Lori," I began as she started to move gracefully around my desk, "before this goes any further, I think I should refer you to a female therapist. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't choose one to begin with."

She gracefully floated around my desk, knelt on her knees next to my chair, took one of its arms in her hand, and tried to swivel it so that I was facing her. In my mind, I was trying to keep the chair from turning, but physically I put up no restraint.

"But," she paused, looking at my crotch, briefly noticing my erection before turning her brilliant green eyes to mine, "do you know how hard it was to tell you why I need help? I've already told you. I don't want to tell someone else." she said, turning the chair slowly. "Another woman wouldn't understand. Other women don't have the cravings I have for sex." She had turned my chair and was beginning to stroke my calves through the fabric of my slacks. "A woman would just think I'm a slut. I don't think I could trust a woman to truly help me."

I gave in. I know I shouldn't have. I know I put my professional and personal life in incredible jeopardy, but I gave in. Thoughts flashed through my head as she began to run her small, soft hands up my thighs. She wanted self-control. But, I knew I needed to be in control of this situation as much as possible for my own protection. I wanted to help her, and figured that I could, while taking advantage of a once in a lifetime opportunity: a beautiful, young, incredibly rich girl who wanted my professional and sexual services.

"Lori, I will help you if you agree to explicitly follow my instructions on a course of treatment," I said with as much conviction as possible in my voice. She was staring at the bulge in my pants as she placed her hands gently on my erection, then raised her beautiful eyes toward my face. "You must agree to do everything I tell you to do."

"I will," she half whispered in a sexy voice. "You're going to help me."

"I will. But, you must agree that you will not tell anyone about your therapy here." She had grasped the zipper of my pants and started to lower it slowly.

"I told you, I don't want anyone to even know I'm seeing a shrink."

"You must do exactly as I instruct you to have any success. Exactly," I said as firmly as I could.

The zipper was all the way down, and she started to reach into my shorts to withdraw what she wanted so dearly. "Please don't have me committed to an insane asylum, Dr. Gray."

With that comment, I knew that I had her where I needed her to protect myself. Her fear of disclosure of her past to her father was probably greater than the thought of being institutionalized. As long as she had the fear of possible exposure, I could probably keep her under control.

"I'll do everything I can to prevent that, Lori," I said as sincerely as possible. "Your course of treatment may take several months to be sure that you achieve your goal."

I involuntarily raised my hips as her warm fingers gently pulled my organ through the fly of my pants. It was as hard as I could remember. Having subjectively satisfied my concerns about possibly wrecking my entire life, I could turn my attention to the pink nymph between my legs. Her hands were so small and delicate. Her tiny wrists were about the diameter of my erection. She gazed at it hungrily and her eyes widened in anticipation.

"Do you understand, Lori?"

She looked up at me and licked her lips. "Whatever it takes." She looked back between my legs, then into my eyes again. "You have a very big cock, Dr. Gray. It's beautiful. Thank you for letting me have it."

I considered her comment a compliment, having seen any other erect penises since my adolescence. Her fragile face was inches from my cock. She leaned closer, licked her lips again until they were slick with her saliva, and opened her mouth. She began stroking my scrotum with her hands.

"Stop," I said. I reached down and held her face tenderly in my hands. I obviously wanted what she was offering, but not until I had tasted the sweetness of her lips. Prompting her to rise higher on her knees, I leaned toward her. She kissed me with more passion than I have ever received from a woman. Her lips were softer than I could imagine. Her tongue darted into my mouth like a hungry snake searching for its prey.

We continued to kiss as she fondled my balls. I lowered my hands to feel her breasts. I was surprised to find her nipples rock hard and extending well over half an inch from her areolas. She moaned in her twelve-year-old girl sounding voice as I teased the nipples with my fingers.

She withdrew her lips from mine, stared into my eyes, and whispered, "I can't wait much longer, Dr. Gray."

She lowered her head and kissed the very tip of my cock. It flexed involuntarily in reaction. Still looking straight into my eyes, she lowered her head even more, stuck out her pink tongue, and licked from the middle of my scrotum up the underside of my cock. It was heavenly. Still gazing at me with her eyes wide open, she plunged her warm mouth down and began bobbing her head in quick movements.

I couldn't remember when I had enjoyed such enthusiastic oral treatment. I was reaching a high state of arousal when she began to moan with each downward stroke of her incredibly soft mouth. If she wanted me inside her, I needed to end this luscious activity right away before I reached the point of no return.

Grasping her soft face again, I said, "Lori, that is fantastic, but if you keep doing that, you'll make me come very quickly."

She slowly raised her mouth from me, a strand of saliva trailed from her lower lip to the head of my erection. She stood, and I pulled her to me for another passionate kiss. With quick movements, she tended to my belt and the snap of my trousers. Once they were open, she dropped to her knees once more and removed my shoes and socks. I lifted myself from the chair, and she pulled the clothes from my body. I hadn't had a woman undress me in more years than I could remember.

She stood again, and I arose from my chair. She pulled at my tie as she placed her mouth on my neck; licking and kissing it with her warm, wet tongue. She continued to moan through her nose as she released the tie and deftly began unbuttoning my shirt.

"I need you Dr. Gray. Please?" she pleaded against the skin of my neck, "Please, give me what I need."

As the buttons were released she kissed down my neck to my chest, I took the opportunity to undo the buttons at my cuffs just as she completed her task. She threw open my shirt and pulled it off of me. We were both naked, and she pulled me against her warm tight body.

I was mesmerized by the feeling of her petite, feminine form pressed against me. My wife's body had long ago lost the smooth firmness that I felt in my arms at that moment. Since she was more than a foot shorter than I am, my cock was pressed against the silky smooth skin of her flat stomach.

"Now, Dr. Gray," she purred, separating herself from me and sitting on the edge of my desk. "Please, I need you inside me," she begged, a longing look of desire on her face. "And, don't worry, I'm on the pill."

"Nothing to worry about, at all," I replied. "I've had a vasectomy."

She reclined onto her elbows and spread her beautiful legs, inviting me into her. I moved between her legs, and she grasped my cock with her left hand. She guided it toward her open labia. I glanced down and saw them for the first time. The lips were deep pink and glistening with lubrication. There was a small wisp of fine, blonde hair above them.

"All the way in, please? Very slowly," she instructed me.

I moved forward and arched my hips as I did what she requested. The sensations of her warmth and tightness were exhilarating. As I slid completely into her in a slow fluid motion her lips formed into a small circle and she cooed softly. Then, she began to move her hips in slow, small circles.