22 comments/ 71084 views/ 9 favorites The Shoebox Ch. 01 By: SusanPSharpPHD My name is Dr. Susan P. Sharp and until last year, I was a practicing family therapist with over thirty years of clinical and private practice in marital and family counseling. I was formerly an adjunct professor at Rutgers Graduate School of Social Services and still lecture practicing counseling professionals. Before I retired last year, and except for my teaching and research work, I have conducted a private practice out of my home in an affluent suburb in Northern New Jersey. My clients are predominantly upper middle class and wealthy couples who live in surrounding communities. For the last four years I have been reviewing my case notes for possible publication. My first published story at Literotica was "Kathleen's Secret Life" and was a project that was abstracted from my address, "Changing Norms in American Family Relationships" presented before the American Association of Family Therapists in November 2001 at our annual meeting in Las Vegas. At an informal gathering after my presentation, there was a lively discussion among my colleagues about the need to alert the general public about the lifestyle and behavioral changes we have all observed in the last twenty years among our married clients. I have decided not to use the "case study" format for "The Shoe Box" as I did for my previous story, since I am making an attempt to publish this story more as "erotica" than as a case history. Although this case history was recorded over eleven years ago, I remember these clients as if it happened yesterday. As I am writing this in my home-office, I can't help but stare at the same couch that this amazing husband and wife sat on during his therapy sessions and wonder to myself about the private lives of the people in my community – lives that only a handful of people really get a glimpse into. SPS February, 2006 The Shoebox – Chapter 1: Joe Powell. It was a sunny morning in late spring. The verdant foliage from my side yard was projecting a green glow through the curtains of my office and the moist scent of budding plants wafted through the window. I must have been reviewing my notes for my afternoon sessions when the phone rang. I remember distinctly that it was a woman's voice, obviously a secretary, and obviously well trained, who first spoke to me. "Dr. Sharp? Susan P. Sharp?" "Yes" I answered trying to place the voice. "Mr. Joseph Powell is on the line for you doctor, will you hold please." Although my clients tend to be rather wealthy, I was surprised that a "new" patient would have the nerve to ask his personal secretary to call a marital and family therapist for an initial discussion. This is for two reasons. First, most people, no matter how callous, are not prone to tell their personal secretary that they are having marital problems. Second, it is not the most endearing way to impress your new therapist, who may or may not decide to take your case. Although I was getting slightly annoyed waiting for Mr. Powell to pick up the line, I admit I was intrigued by a man who had the audacity, or perhaps stupidity, to begin a clinical relationship this way. "Dr. Sharp?" Joe Powell's voice was deep and authoritative. He sounded like a man who was used to getting his own way. I immediately felt defensive and got my back up. I answered in a voice that was not as understanding and sympathetic as usual. "Yes, Mr. Powell. What can I do for you?" The tone of my voice made it sound as if perhaps I thought that he was trying to sell me a mutual fund. "Dr. Sharp, I have been referred to you by a former patient of yours, Ray Block." I tried to search my memory. The name 'Ray Block" was not familiar. I scribbled the name down so that I could go through my confidential files and recall who that patient was. "Yes Mr. Powell, but how can I help you?" "I need to see a therapist - a marital therapist. There is a problem with my marriage." I am ashamed to admit that my thoughts at that moment, for whatever reason, were not very therapeutic. I imagined Mr. Powell as one of those self-absorbed, "power-husbands" so common in our neighborhood. Men whose job and business come first and whose family comes second. I imagined poor Mrs. Powell in an apron trying to get her husband's attention at the breakfast table while he reads the Wall Street Journal, oblivious to the fact that she is a woman with needs and feelings. However, I have been a therapist long enough to know that my attitudes and feelings have no bearing on the truth of any matter or what my clients may need. I answered cautiously: "Mr. Powell. I really am not interested in taking on new clients at this time. My schedule is full, and in a few weeks I begin teaching a six-week seminar at Rutgers. All these things will take up an inordinate amount of my time. I couldn't possibly . . ." "Dr. Sharp, you must see me, even if it is only once." With that exclamation, Mr. Powell began to sob into the phone. Oh no, now what have I done! I was not behaving very professionally. I paused and listened to the silence at the other end of the line. For some reason, my heart softened. My calendar book was on the desk in front of me and I scanned today's schedule. Rather than dismiss Mr. Powell I made a quick decision: "Mr. Powell, I see that I have a cancellation this afternoon at 4:30. If you really need to see me, clear your calendar and come over. If not, maybe you need to make a few calls to other therapists." "No, Ray says that you are the best. I must see you. I will be there at 4:30 this afternoon, Dr. Sharp. Thank you. Thank you very much." Like a seasoned businessman, Mr. Powell hung up before I could change my mind or somehow wheedle out of the appointment I had just granted him. I was quite annoyed with myself. I didn't have any permanent openings for new clients at the time and the fact that one of my patients cancelled this afternoon didn't mean that I had any time in my schedule to take on a new one. I had done this before and regretted it. I allow a patient to have just one session, feel sorry for their plight and then overextend my schedule and my practice. Some therapist I am! Why can't I just learn to say "NO"? * * * * It was 4:15 that afternoon before I had a chance to check my client file lists. First I checked for "Powell" and there was no previous entry under that name. Then I checked for "Block". Ah, Pricilla and Raymond Block. That was years ago! I went to my file cabinets and pulled their dossier, laid it on top of the open draw and flipped open the file jacket. The Blocks were a well known couple, now divorced. How could I forget the story of Pricilla Block? "Still waters run deep" I whispered to myself as I closed the file and put it back into place. I began to grin and then felt guilty. Now that was an interesting case! I was sure that Mr. Powell's problems would be nowhere near as interesting as the Block case. I sat down and began shuffling my new client forms in preparation for Mr. Powell's appointment still thinking about meek little Pricilla Block. A knock at my office door woke me from my reverie. The rather handsome and tanned face of Mr. Powell peeked around the closed door. His eyes were dark and piercing and I must admit I was taken in by his physical appearance. "Ah, Mr. Powell, come in." I rose, smiled and extended my hand. Mr. Powell quickly and decisively entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Joe Powell, Dr. Sharp. Thank you so much for giving me this appointment." "Well, sit down Mr. Powell and we will see what we can do for you . . ." I gestured to the overstuffed love seat against the wall and sat down in my "therapist chair" in front of my desk. As I shuffled the patient intake forms in my hands, I looked back up at him over my glasses and gave him a wry smile: "if we can do anything, that is!" As I handed Mr. Powell the sheath of patient intake forms, I gave him my standard speech and tried to evaluate him. Mr. Powell was quite a handsome guy! About 38 years old I guessed, dark eyes, olive complexion just under six feet tall and obviously athletic. The clothes he wore were understated but expensive. I imagined that he drove here in his BMW or Mercedes. This was a little game I played. By the second session I would know more about Mr. Powell than his wife did! "So, Mr. Powell . . . " "Please call me Joe, doctor." "Alright then, Joe, what brings you here today? I assume you know that I am a marriage and family counselor. My practice is limited solely to that area and you did say that you were having marital problems." "Yes, that's correct." "And you were referred to me by Mr. Raymond Block." "Yes, Ray told me you were terrific, and really helped him cope . . . " "Did Mr. Block tell you that I always insist that both parties attend therapy?" Mr. Powell looked down at his shoes and didn't speak. "Mr. Powell, assuming that I agree to see you, and believe me it is almost impossible for me to fit in a new client at this time . . . " I stared intently at Joe Powell, making sure that he was hearing what I had to say. "Assuming that you become a client, I will eventually insist that I speak to the two of you – you and your wife. Otherwise, you might as well ask Mr. Block to recommend a divorce lawyer." With that Mr. Powell looked up at me with eyes blazing. "Doctor, I don't want a divorce. I love my wife. I love her more than life itself." With that, strong, athletic, handsome Joe Powell began sobbing. My hand went instinctively to the tissue box that I always keep at the edge of my desk. I swiveled in my chair and handed it to Joe. "Thank you Dr. Sharp, I'm sorry." "Sorry for what, Joe. Crying? There is no need for you to apologize to me about your feelings." I hoped my voice was the right mixture of tenderness and concern. I began wondering what horrible thing Joe Powell had done that had him crying like a baby after only twenty minutes on my sofa. Mr. Powell had indeed peeked my interest. "Your wife, what is her name . . .?" "Beth. Elizabeth." "Beth. Does she know you are here seeing me today?" "No." Joe's voice was small and afraid. "Why not Joe?" "I, uh, I need time to think. I need someone to help me sort things out. I was hoping that you . . ." Joe's voice trailed off as he looked at me with pleading eyes. I looked at the clock behind the couch. The session was half-over and I barely knew this man's name yet. I needed to move things along so that I could decide whether or not to take this case. "Why don't you tell me a little bit about your marriage? Tell me about Beth." "Well," Joe began, clutching a tissue in his right hand, "Beth and I were married a few years after we graduated from college. We're both from around here and have known each other most of our lives. We have two children, two little girls, Hannah age 6, and Bethany age 9. We have been married for about twelve years now. Very happily married . . . at least that's what I thought until recently." I was tempted to ask questions, but held back and let Joe continue. "I have my own investment advisory firm. My office is nearby in Hasbrook Heights. Thank God, my business has been successful and I have been able to provide well for my family. Damn well, Dr. Sharp!" "Does Beth work?" "No, she was trained as a teacher. Before our girls were born, she taught kindergarten; but she hasn't worked since Bethany was born." With that, Joe reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and handed it to me. He had pictures of his two adorable little girls taken when they were about 2 or 3 years old. I was surprised at the picture of his wife, Beth. I guess I was expecting someone more glamorous or attractive. Not that Beth wasn't pretty - she was. It's just that she looked rather "plain". I guess given Joe's rugged good looks, I was expecting his wife to be more . . . something - but certainly not plain. I handed Joe back the pictures and said nothing. I was wondering how long it was going to take him to tell me about his tryst with his secretary or his new girl friend. I thought I had Joe pegged now. Handsome, young, athletic, well to do with a "plain-Jane" wife at home scrubbing pots and changing diapers. Not such an unusual set of facts in my practice. How many dynamic young husbands, sexually and emotionally bored with their wives had I seen in my career? So this young man, hormones still raging, finds that not all women are shy and reserved about sex and gets a rush when he learns that they are still willing to jump in the sack with him. Then the guilt, the remorse sets in, and he comes to me - wanting me to tell him that it's all right, go home and be a good boy from now on. I flashed Joe a smile. "You seem to have a lovely family Joe. What seems to be the problem with your marriage?" Joe's eyes darted nervously about the room. He was obviously avoiding eye contact with me. He seemed like a caged cat, nervous and skittish. "I discovered something this weekend that really upset me. I find it hard to talk about this Dr. Sharp, really hard." My bubble of preconceptions about Joe's problem quickly burst. He must have seen the surprise in my eyes and looked at me suspiciously, as if I might know something already. I used my softest, calmest voice, almost a whisper: "Joe, I'm your therapist, we are alone. Our conversation is protected by the law and by the ethical standards of my profession. Why don't you just tell me, simply and in your own words?" I could see that Joe's muscles were tight; I could tell he was wound up like a spring. I smiled gently trying to reassure him. "Dr. Sharp, I think, I mean . . . I know . . . that my wife is cheating on me – sexually. I think it has been going on for a long time. Oh God! I can't believe this is happening to me." Joe began sobbing softly again. Again I held out the tissue box. I kept seeing that picture of his wife – "plain-Jane" was what I had pegged her as. "Joe, that's a serious accusation. Are you sure?" "Oh, I'm sure alright doctor, I'm sure!" Joe twisted the tissue in his two hands. "Did you hire a private detective?" "No, nothing like that." Joe nervously rose from the couch and began pacing in my small office. "Beth had taken our daughters to visit her mother on Saturday. I was staying home to do some chores and relax. That's when I found it." Joe stared at me with wild eyes, his mouth open, but no words were coming out. Impatiently I exclaimed: "Found what? Joe, what did you find?" "The shoebox! The fucking shoebox. It was on the top shelf of her walk-in closet." Joe spit out the last words as if they were poison. I looked at the clock. The session was almost over. "Joe, sit down. Try and calm down." I said in my most soothing voice. Joe crumpled down in a heap onto the couch. He looked at me as if I now knew all there was to know. I was very frustrated and tried to suppress my desire to ask him all kinds of questions. I knew that it was Joe, not me, who had to work through the raw emotions that were tearing him apart. "Joe, what was in that shoebox?" I said in a quiet voice. "Pictures, Dr. Sharp, dirty, filthy, disgusting pictures. At first I didn't believe it. I mean, come on, Beth? My Beth? Dr. Sharp, she was a virgin on our wedding night. For Christ's sake Dr. Sharp, she teaches Sunday school at our church!" "Was it pornography Joe? Is she into pornography? Is that what has upset you?" I searched Joe's anguished face. Quietly I looked into Joe's tear-stained eyes, hoping that my calmness would have the effect of calming down his wild, nervous demeanor. "Where are these pictures, Joe? Where is the shoebox?" "In my car - it's locked in the trunk of my car. I haven't been able to look at it since Saturday. I just sat with it in my lap. It was as if my mind was in an endless loop. 'What the fuck is this?' I kept thinking to myself. 'What the fuck . . . What the fuck . . .' " Joe's voice trailed off. He was obviously re-living his experience from last two days and, I must admit, I was starting to get frightened. It was as if the man just wasn't there in my office. He was somewhere else. The strong, take charge executive that bounded into my office was gone and a shell of a man was left. I remember cursing to myself thinking about how I was going to fit this man into my already overbooked schedule, because it was obvious to me that he needed help. I stood up, grabbed my appointment calendar off my desk and scanned the next few days for possible openings. Nothing! I swallowed hard and looked at the clock. It was 5 PM and my day was over. "Can you make it here at 5 PM on Tuesdays?" I asked trying to snap him back to the real world. "Sure, 5 PM is great. OK. I can do that. I don't usually get home until seven. Sure, Tuesday at 5 PM." "Tomorrow is Tuesday. You can make it tomorrow? Tomorrow at 5 PM? I could see Joe coming back to reality. This time he was obviously going through his calendar in his head. "Yes. This is the most important thing in my life. Whatever time it needs to be I will be here. I will see you at 5 PM - tomorrow." Joe held out his hand and took my hand in his. "Thank you Dr. Sharp, thank you for taking on my case. I feel more hopeful already." As Joe turned and opened the door, I called to him. "Joe, do you think that maybe you should give me the shoebox?" Joe turned to me and froze for about ten seconds. I couldn't fathom what his reaction was. Then he looked at me with a start as if he just woke from a daydream. "Yes. The shoebox. That's a good idea. It's driving me crazy in the trunk. It will be safer with you." "Joe, I intend to look at the contents, you know that, don't you?" "Yes, of course. That's why I brought it. I mean . . . you have to, don't you? Otherwise, how would you know?" Joe turned and left the office. I waited at the door. He returned moments later with the shoebox and held it out to me. It was yellow with a fabric-like pattern of leaves and vines, slightly oversized and obviously from an expensive pair of woman's shoes. I took the box from his hands trying not to give it too much attention. I smiled at Joe, thanked him and closed the door. I held the shoebox with two hands as I walked around my desk to the window behind it. My heart was beating fast, as if the box contained a bomb about to explode. I carefully pulled back the sheer curtains and watched out my window as Joe climbed into a late-model BMW and backed quickly out of the driveway. The sun was going down. It cast an orange hue over everything. Soon it would be dark. I turned around and sat in my desk chair, gingerly placed the shoebox in the center of my desk and just stared at it. For some reason the shoebox seemed alive, animate! What trouble this box has caused! I pictured Joe's two cute little girls and his normal looking wife. I then thought about how I now had to push my diner hour back until after six and imagined what my husband would say about that! I must have stared at the shoebox for quite a while, not wanting to open it. I was beginning to feel like a voyeur, a peeping Tom. I realized that it was now getting dark and that I had no lights on in my office. I usually kept them off because of the pleasant afternoon sun that filters through my window. I reached up and switched on my desk lamp. The golden yellow glow of the incandescent bulb illuminated the desktop and the shoebox. The lovely pattern of green leaves and vines on the outside of the shoebox seemed to slither over the top and down the side and pulsate against the bright yellow background. On the short side of the shoebox was a hole, large enough for a finger, surrounded by a heavy silver grommet. This would allow someone to easily pull the box down from a shelf using only one hand. I could see dimly inside the box from this hole. There were papers, something white, not tissue paper and not shoes. The Shoebox Ch. 02 Chapter 2: A Late Night Discussion I don't know how long I sat there. It could have been 5 minutes or 5 hours. Time had no meaning. Looking back I now understand what Joe meant when he said that his mind was in a "loop". That's exactly how it felt. The same thoughts replaying over and over in my head. "It can't be. I don't believe it! How could she?" After I slid the rubber band back on the stack of pictures and closed the box, I sat with my hands folded on my desk deep in thought. How must Joe Powell have felt when he first saw those pictures? The trauma. The anger. The disbelief. Poor man! It's bad enough to be told that your wife has been unfaithful – but to see that! One picture after another. One worse than the other, until . . . . I closed my eyes but all I could see was a deck of pictures being shuffled. I heard the doorknob to my office rattle and a familiar face appeared around the door. "Well, are we going to eat tonight?" It was my husband, Sid. I gazed at his round face and thinning hair. He flashed me a smile. Always smiling, always my rock. "I'm sorry honey, I just got embroiled with a new client and lost track of time!" "No wonder! I saw him leave! Quite a "hunk". What were you two doing in here?" "Sid! Will you stop with the couch jokes – please! You know, I am a professional, and I really don't think it's funny when you say things like that. . " "Just kidding, just kidding, calm down." Sid held up his hands in surrender and smiled. Then he plopped on the couch with a sigh and gazed at me with a look of loving concern. "Zu-Zu, what's bothering you?" I got up and sat next to my husband. He wrapped his arm around me as I looked up into his eyes. "This new case - I'm afraid it has really gotten to me!" Sid raised his eyebrows: "Zu-Zu, what could that young man have possibly told you that you haven't heard a hundred times before. What's his problem? He can't get an erection? Found out his mother doesn't love him? What?" I looked mournfully into my husband's eyes. "Infidelity. His wife is unfaithful." "Oh, surprise, surprise, Zu! How many times have your heard that complaint? I would estimate that about every fourth couple that comes into this office has some sort of infidelity issue! It can't be only that!" "Well Dr. Weisberg, this time there are pictures, very explicit pictures. Very DISTURBING pictures of a Sunday school teacher and young mother engaged in some pretty sordid stuff!" "Are we sharing the pictures?" Side whispered with a conspiratorial grin. "You pervert! Those photos are confidential and part of my file. You know I can't show them to you! Sidney, you are thinking with the wrong head!" "Ok, doctor, have it your way. But you know, I am a medical doctor AND your husband. And I will also remind you that there is still a law in this state protecting spousal communications, as well as doctor to doctor confidentiality . . ." "You are still a dirty old man and a pervert Dr. Weisberg . . ." I said teasingly as I purposely laid my hand in his lap. "and you are getting an erection, which proves to both of us your strictly professional interest in my case." "My dear Dr. Sharp, I may be a medical doctor AND the husband of a clinical psychologist but I am still a man and I make no apologies for my erections – particularly at my age." "Nor are any apologies required." I reached up and kissed Sid tenderly. "I do love you!" "And I love you, but you know I hate to see you take these cases so much to heart. I mean you give these people your time, your sympathies and your professional advice. Do they have to take our diner away from us too?" "Oh, don't start with that old complaint, mister. I don't see you wasting away in front of me. How about if a pretty girl takes you out for a nice meal? I'm treating." "Sure, neglect your wifely duties and make it up by taking me to a restaurant. I'm taking notes Dr. Sharp which I intend read to our marital therapist when the appropriate time comes." "And for which I will gladly give you a referral, Dr. Weisberg. I was thinking of Leslie Marks actually." "Dr. Marks, isn't she the lesbian? The one that hates men? The one with the castration fixation?" "The very same. So you watch it buster." * * * To make up for the late diner I took Sid to his favorite Japanese restaurant even though there was not much on the menu that I was willing to eat. I wasn't feeling very hungry anyway so the small bowl of miso soup seemed just perfect for my mood. Sid was sitting in front of a colorful bento box of assorted sushi and sashimi and attacking it like it was his last meal. "So what's so disturbing about this new case of yours Zu-Zu? Incest? Rape? Pedophilia?" "No just an unfaithful wife!" "So then, what's the big deal?" "Well Sid, the pictures WERE very graphic. And the wife, she looks so . . . normal. Then to see all those pictures. I don't know - I was disturbed." "So did she do anything we haven't done?" Sid gave me a mischievous wink. "Sidney Weisberg, I know your tricks. And yes, LOTS of things that we, at least I, have never done. If you think . . ." I looked furtively around the almost empty restaurant and lowered my voice. "If you think that I am going to describe those pictures to you, forget it. First of all this is a public place. Secondly, my cases are confidential . . ." Sid waived his napkin in front of my face in surrender and then wiped his mouth. "OK, OK I get the picture. Or rather, I guess I don't get the pictures." "No you don't get the pictures!" I whispered. "Not unless you are a good boy." Sidney raised his eyebrows. "So doctor, you think you might need a second opinion? A professional consultation might be in order you know. My couch may be available tonight." Sidney winked at me as I pushed my empty bowl away. "Why don't you finish up and I'll see what I can arrange." * * * Later that night we were both sitting up in bed reading, as we do almost every night. "Susan, were you serious about showing me those pictures? You really have piqued my interest." Sidney looked earnestly over his glasses at me as he put aside the medical journal he was reading. "I don't know, Sid. They really were pornographic. I don't understand why I was so horribly disturbed by them. Maybe you should look at them. Maybe I need a man's opinion." Despite my earlier protestations, this would not be the first time that I asked my husband to review one of my files and give me his opinion. True, he is not a psychologist, but I genuinely value his opinion and sometimes he has insights that I just don't see. Besides, my reaction to the shoebox had been so extreme and no one knows me better than my husband. I thought that maybe he could help me see why I had such an unprofessional reaction to this case. I scurried out of bed and padded downstairs to my office. The shoebox was sitting in the middle of my desk right where I left it. The lid was closed, silently guarding its contents. For some reason I was apprehensive, no scared actually. I hesitated to pick it up. It seemed evil. For a brief moment I imagined the vines curling around my hands and trapping me as I picked up that vile box. I realized that a knot was growing in my stomach. I really did not want this shoebox to enter our bedroom. I froze and felt my heart beating fast. For some reason I sat down at my desk, switched on the desk lamp and dialed the extension that rang next to our bed. Sid answered. "Hello" "Sid, I'm in my office with the shoebox. Could you come down here please?" "Zu-Zu, for God's sakes! Can't you bring it up here? Why do we both have to go down into that damn chilly office of yours?" "Sidney, I would prefer if you looked at the contents in my office. I don't know, maybe I'm being silly but I just feel more professional doing it that way. Please dear!" "Oh all right then." Sid gruffly hung up the phone. * * * When Sid entered my office he was wearing his brown silk robe. I could see the curly gray hairs on his chest through the opening of the robe. Since only the desk lamp was on, I was in the shadows. There was an eerie feeling in the room. Sid came around to the back of my desk chair and put his warm hand on my shoulder. We both stared at the glowing yellow shoebox without either of us speaking a word. I gingerly removed the brightly ornamented cover off of the box. The deck of photos lay on top of the contents of the box where I had found them. The first picture I had seen was back on top of the deck. I slid off the rubber band and held up the first picture. "Quite a little vixen!" said Sid quietly. I shuffled that picture to the back of the deck. "Oh my" said my husband softly. "I thought you said we never did anything like that." "Be patient!" I responded in a nervous voice. I continued to shuffle slowly through the deck, making sure Sid got a good look at each picture before I slid it to the back. Sid's breathing became more labored with each picture and I swore that his body heat started radiating from him, warming up the room. After going through about seven of the photos, Sid spoke: "Bingo, we never did that!" Sid was joking but there was no humor in his voice. "Let me see that!" Sid took the picture from me and examined it closely. "My, my! She is quite a woman. Sunday school teacher you say?" I turned to retrieve the picture from his hand. As I looked up from my chair, I noticed Sid's erect penis was parting the folds of his robe. Sid is a big man and his size is proportional. I looked into his eyes and then down at the offending member. "Excuse me!" my husband muttered apologetically, as he tried unsuccessfully to coax his erection from parting his robe. "Seen enough?" I asked raising my eyebrows. "Yes, for now at least." Sid answered with a sigh. "Let's go to bed Zu." For some reason, I reassembled the deck with the original picture on top and slipped the rubber band back on. I guess it seemed too obscene to leave any other picture exposed on the top of the deck. I closed the shoebox and stood up. Sid put his arm around me and warmed me in his masculine frame as we headed back up to our bedroom. For some reason, I had to turn and look at that shoebox one more time before I turned off the light and closed the door to my office. As I turned Sid was waiting for me. He took me in his arms and starting kissing me passionately. His robe was open and he took me in. I felt his warmth and his hardness and felt a hunger for him that I hadn't felt in a long time. Our tongues entwined as both my hands grabbed the back of his head, hungrily pulling him down to my small frame. My God, where did that come from? I pushed away from my husband and tried to catch my breath. "We better get a room!" Sid whispered as he looked lovingly into my eyes. I pulled him up the stairs and into our waiting bed. * * * For the first time in a long time, I felt a cool sheen of sweat coating my naked body. Content and satiated, I was lying on top of Sid basking in the love of my husband of many years. I am a petite woman and my husband is quite large. I secretly admire large men and find Sid, even after all these years, very sexy. Large, hairy, masculine, I love lying on top of him. It's like he is a big shaggy dog, my cheek on his fuzzy chest, although by now that hair is mostly gray. After lying motionless for a while, Sid groaned under me. "Zu-Zu what the hell has gotten into you? I swear you are trying to kill me!" "Me? I can't help it if you are so virile!" I crawled up his body, kissed him and said with a smile: "Twice in an hour. You haven't done that in 17 years!" "What!" said Sid in mock protest, "Do you write it down in your little diary for posterity?" "No, but I remember. It was 1973, the party doctor what's-his-face threw when you were a resident. You remember, the guy who does the boob-jobs now!" "I will have you know I did it three times that night! And Sinclair IS a boob job." Sid ran his fingers lovingly through my hair. He sighed and muttered in tired but theatrical voice: "I've got your number Dr. Sharp. You and your boyfriend, Mr. soon-to-be divorced Stud Muffin, are planning to kill me with sex. If you don't succeed, he will send his insatiable wife to finish me off! Then you will be free to analyze him for the rest of his young life." I played with the hairs on Sid's chest as I thought about what he just said in jest. "I don't think so." "What?" he asked groggily. I could tell he was drifting off to sleep. "I don't think he will divorce her. He says he doesn't want a divorce." "Who?" "My new client, Mr. Stud Muffin." "Go to sleep Zu-Zu." I sat up in the dark and tried to look into Sid's eyes. "Would you divorce her if she were your wife?" "Of course I would! How else would I be able to marry you?" "Sid, I'm serious! Listen, I have to meet with this guy tomorrow afternoon and I don't have the slightest idea how to deal with what he is going through. I probably shouldn't have opened that shoebox because now there are a lot of judgments going around in my head. Jesus Sid, I can imagine someone going homicidal under these circumstances." There was silence in the room except for Sid's regular breathing. "Sid?" Sid fluffed up his pillow and sat up slightly in bed. I still had my head on his chest but I was deep in thought. "OK! I can see you are not going to sleep until we thrash this thing out. How can I help you doctor?" "What should I do, Sid? What tact should I take this poor guy? I just don't understand where he's coming from. What do you think?" "I think he discovered something about his wife that he never, in his wildest dreams, thought could happen. Maybe he discovered something that he secretly wished would happen. You know what they say; "Be careful what you wish for because your wish may come true." Now he is frustrated, angry, sexually aroused and very, very confused. It's your job, Dr. Sharp, to straighten the poor guy out!" "But how, Sid? How?" "Well I think for one thing, you need to get him to admit how aroused the pictures made him feel!" "Sidney, think about what you are saying. This isn't a Jackie Collins novel. It's a young family with two children." "Susan, never underestimate the power of the male libido! What other answer is there? He told you he doesn't want a divorce. There are only two other options sweetheart - kill her or grovel in her kinkiness. Quite frankly, I admire him for selecting the latter." "Spoken like a true male! My God Sid, don't you guys think of anything but sex? "Of course we do - sleep for one. Now, go to sleep Zu, please." I rolled off Sid and let him spoon me. As he wrapped his large frame around me, I felt sheltered and protected in his arms, safe from any harm. I thought about how passionate Sid was tonight. "Never underestimate the power of the male libido!" How many times had I done that? But what about the female libido? What about Beth Powell, the Sunday school teacher? Who is underestimating whom? Sid's words were echoing in my head. Maybe he did have a perspective that would let me understand Joe Powell. I was getting annoyed at myself lying there half awake. I should have known that Sid's suggestion was at least a possibility, but the shoebox had poisoned me. It's one thing to listen to someone explain infidelity. You sit there and think, "Well we are all human!" or "I guess you are perfect and had absolutely nothing to do with this!" or any number of things that softens the impact of the revelation. But nothing prepared me for the raw emotions I felt when I saw Beth Powell groveling in such filth! Would I be able to look poor Joe in the eyes tomorrow and confirm to him that I had also witnessed his wife engaging in the most disgusting behavior? I began doubting myself. "I really cannot take this case!" I thought. It would be totally different if Joe Powell had been fuming and seeking revenge - if he was insisting on a divorce or demanding child custody. I could easily deal with that tomorrow afternoon. But forgiveness, shit, how do I keep my own emotions in check? Then again, I thought, it was just sex. We all do it. Hell, I had just enjoyed quite a raunchy night of it myself. Am I that myopic that I can only judge the behavior of others by some unattainable standard that I don't apply to myself? Of course behavior must be understood in context. I never did what Beth Powell did in those photos - at least not with those men in those places! Maybe with my own husband - but that's different, isn't it? As these thoughts rolled around in my head I drifted into a fitful state, a twilight sleep. I dreamt that I was flipping through a deck of glossy photos. First there was a picture of handsome Joe Powell, dressed as he was this afternoon. I flipped that over to reveal a picture of little Hannah, then Bethany, then the picture of Beth from Joe's wallet. In my dream, I started to put the rubber band around the deck when a hand reach out and stopped me. It flipped Beth's picture over and there it was! The picture of her naked, very pregnant and on her hands and knees looking over her shoulder with a wicked smile on her face! As I studied the picture I suddenly realized that my Sid was on his knees in back of her, his large penis erect and poised to penetrate! In my dream, I quickly flipped that picture to the bottom of the deck, but the same picture was next in line. Only this time, the face on the pregnant woman was mine! To be continued in Chapter 3. The Shoebox Ch. 03 Chapter 3. Putting Things in Context. I carefully slid the rubber band off of the stack of pictures. I shuffled the first picture, the one I had been studying, to the back of the pack. The next picture made me gasp. I was so startled I dropped the stack of pictures into the box and brought my hand to my mouth. It couldn't be! It just couldn't be! [Chapter 1.] **** I woke up earlier than usual on Tuesday morning. Sid was still in bed as I put on my running outfit and trainers and headed out for my daily three mile run. Although it was well into springtime, it was cool that morning and the rising sun seemed to do nothing to take the chill out of the air. As I jogged up the footpath to the park, I thought about what had happened in the last twelve hours. First, my meeting with Joe Powell, his entrusting me with the shoebox he had found in his wife's closet and finally the extraordinary effect that box had already had on my life in that short time. I thought about how passionate Sid had been last night; how passionate we had both been after just viewing a small portion of the contents of the shoebox. I thought about the different emotions I felt whenever I was in its presence; fear, loathing, excitement, disgust, disbelief and now sexual passion. It was if the box itself was alive and causing all these emotions. As I ran, I tried to formulate an approach to deal with Joe's problem. Although therapy is a process which is conducted almost entirely by the patient and facilitated by the therapist, I still required a methodology to approach his situation. All these thoughts collided as I ran my usual path through the park and back up our street. Before I knew it, I was heading down my winding, tree lined street. The time had flown by and I realized that I must have finished my run at least five minutes faster than usual. I stopped outside the back door, bent from the waist and tried to catch my breath. I was sweating and physically exhausted but feeling quite alive. I recovered and walked into the kitchen. Sid was at the table with the shoebox in front of him. He looked up when I entered the room. "Hi. How was your run?" "Invigorating! What are you doing?" "Finishing what we started last night. Listen, did you look at all these pictures?" "Yes, I told you I looked at them and was quite disturbed." "Did you notice anyone familiar?" "Yes, Beth Powell. Why?" "Of course Beth Powell, I mean someone else. Someone you know!" "What are you talking about?" I asked as I walked around the table to look at the pictures Sid had in is hands. "For instance, this woman." Sid's meaty finger stabbed at the picture he was holding. He pointed to a woman's face in the background. She was dressed in black leather, a leather bustier, black stockings and high black leather boots. I stared at the picture. "I know that woman?" "You should, she is one of your former patients!" I looked at Sid with a dumb stare then looked back at the picture. Nothing registered. "I know she didn't dress like that when she came to therapy with her husband, but God Susan, look closely." It may have been the hair or the context but I only had a vague tinge of familiarity with the face; or maybe I was distracted by her pert nipples peeking out over the top of the leather bustier. "Pricilla Block! You remember, Ray and Pricilla Block. Now she is Pricilla Williams. They used to be your clients." I was dumbfounded. Just yesterday afternoon I had pulled out the Block file after Joe Powell had told me that Ray Block had referred him to my practice. Of course, Pricilla - prim little Pricilla - the secret temptress. Why hadn't I noticed that yesterday? I grabbed the picture out of Sid's hand and moved it to the window to get a better view in the bright morning sunlight. It was definitely Pricilla Block! "Didn't she turn out to be quite the tart?" Sid asked. "No better or worse than her husband, Ray. They apparently had an "open marriage" only they didn't tell each other about it. Each thought the other was oblivious to their extra-marital shenanigans. In therapy it came out that they both knew what the other was doing and thought that their own little escapades were the big secret. Talk about lack of communication, it was almost comical." "The most surprising part was that Ray was mostly talk and bravado. He liked to grope the women that worked for him and fancied himself a real ladies' man. But it was Pricilla who was actually having most of the fun. There was an endless stream of men at the Block house; pool boys, delivery men, plumbers, carpenters, all manner and kinds of men. Pricilla never met a man she didn't like, or at least wouldn't try out! When I first met her, I thought she was all starch and tight as a drum. As their story unfolded I learned my lesson, never judge a book by its cover." "Well apparently, your Pricilla has added a new page to her book - Dominatrix!" Sid handed me another picture. A woman who appeared to be Beth Powell was on her hands and knees, her bare behind facing the camera. The woman in leather (whose face was not visible) was whipping her with a short black crop. "Looks like your Pricilla. Recognize the get-up?" "Yes, you're right. The face is not visible in most of the pictures, but it is the same woman. Pricilla Block! "And look at this." Sid handed me another picture. In this one, Beth was wearing a skimpy outfit and had a black leather collar around her neck. There was a dog leash attached to the collar and it was held by the woman we identified as Pricilla. Again, her face was not visible. The picture was at a bar at which other "masters" and "slaves" were standing. Apparently, this group of photos was taken at some kind of kinky, bondage club. Sid pointed to a sign over the bar. Although it was barely legible, I was able to make out the words "Eizenspritzer Society". "Have you ever heard of the Eizenspritzer Society?" Sid asked. "Yes, it's vaguely familiar." "They are like the Kiwanis Club of the BDSM set. The Northern New Jersey Chapter meets at the Starlight Lounge in Sparta. Apparently, Beth Powell was the entertainment at one of their meetings. She took quite a beating from the looks of this one." Sid handed me another picture, one which I did remember quite well. It was a shot of a woman's bare behind, red with welts from being whipped or beaten. It was apparent from the sequence of pictures that the whipped buttocks belonged to Beth. "It's hard to believe that people actually enjoy that kind of pain." I said staring intently and the red welts on display in the picture Sid was holding up for me to see. "Oh, they do doctor, endorphins you know. Their endorphin levels get so high that they don't really feel the pain, just excitement, pleasure and then, bam – orgasm. Kind of like you runners!" Sid gave me a sly wink. I thought back to my run this morning. Was that enjoyable? I did feel more alive! However, a dispassionate observer could look at me as I finished up outside my kitchen door, skin red and blotchy, sweat pouring off of me, bent over in pain trying to catch my breath and postulate that I was nuts! In fact, if someone had forced me to do that it would probably be considered "cruel and unusual punishment." "I think I understand what you are getting at." I mumbled sheepishly as I gazed at my husband. "What you are saying is that everything has a context. If you take something out of context, it seems absurd, or depraved, or downright crazy!" "Exactly Dr. Sharp! Let's consider a simple example. We see an attractive woman in a bikini, a very revealing bikini. She is on the corner of 42nd Street and 8th Avenue. We conclude that she is a hooker. Now put her at our local swimming pool at the church outing. She is a jezebel, perhaps a slut! Now put her at the Jersey Shore. She is one of thousands of women dressed this way. We don't even give her a second look, she is quite normal. Finally, we see the same woman wearing the same bathing costume, only now we are at Fire Island at the nude beach. She is now a prude! I rest my case!" "Sidney, certainly you are not trying to tell me that if I just put Beth Powell's behavior in the correct context, it is perfectly normal and acceptable?" "Susan, you are the psychologist. Far be it from me to tell you what is "normal" or even "acceptable". All I am saying is that you must defer judgment in this whole matter until you know all the facts. And as we all know, the "facts" are also colored by context and perspective. One man's truth is another man's heresy." "Sidney, now you are confusing me. What you say makes sense but it puts me no closer to a clinical approach in the Powell case than I was last night." "Zu-Zu, all I am saying is try to be open and not so judgmental! Keep an open mind and don't let it run in the background while you are trying hard to listen!" Sid packed up the shoebox and slipped on the lid, handing it to me. Then he kissed me on the forehead and announced that he was leaving for his rounds at the hospital. As he shrugged on his sports jacket and moved toward the kitchen door, he turned toward me: "I almost forgot, I have a lunch date this afternoon with Dr. Harley and coincidentally, we are meeting at the Starlight Lounge. I think I'll get there a little early and speak to one of the bartenders that I know. Maybe he can give me a little "deep background" on your clients." ***** After my shower, I decided to do some research on the Eizenspritzer Society and on BDSM in general. I was surprised to say the least on how mundane some of the websites appeared. If you didn't know what "BDSM" meant, you might think some of these clubs were the Ancient Order of Hibernians getting together for fellowship and good fun. I had to dig deep into the web sites to get to the pages showing the various bondage paraphernalia; the cuffs, harnesses, ball gags and all kinds of strange aparati those practitioners of the BDSM lifestyle need to be completely outfitted. I once read that the area were most patents have issued is golf. After browsing through the BDSM catalogues I guessed that bondage must be a close second! As I browsed through several sites my husband's words echoed in my mind. "Everything must be seen in context." To the BDSM lifestylers, all this stuff I was looking at must seem mundane and common, whereas for me it was quite shocking. I tried to imagine how shocked they would be to learn that I had never even dabbled in their beloved pre-occupation. Then I began to think how narrow my focus of sexuality had always been. I had never even been curious about how someone could be drawn to this type of sexual expression. Had I missed something? Was there a hidden "submissive" somewhere inside of me? What about Sid? He seemed pretty knowledgeable about this stuff. Maybe he had some deep longings that he never shared with me? I began to imagine my big, hairy, bear of a man with a collar around his neck, attached to a leash, with me holding the other end. The picture I conjured up in my mind made me giggle! Now that would be interesting! ****** My afternoon sessions flew by that day. As each face appeared at my office door I remembered that Joe Powell would be in at 4:30 and my heart jumped into my throat. Luckily, my 3:30 appointment left early and I had a full twenty minutes to relax and prepare for Joe's arrival. The shoebox was on the corner of my desk waiting for him. I had decided that he should take it home, since its contents belonged to his wife. As it was, I had played voyeur with its contents long enough. Explaining my snooping through her shoebox would be hard enough. There was in eerie silence in the house after my last patient left. The sun was setting and a warm orange glow was painting the curtains of my office. I heard Joe's car quietly stop in the driveway and the door close as if it were in another world. Joe knocked briskly at my office door. "Come in!" "Dr. Sharp," Joe stuck out his hand to me in greeting, "Good afternoon. I hope I'm not late." "No Mr. Powell you are right on time. Please sit down and make yourself comfortable." I sat down opposite the couch and crossed my legs. I always wear ankle length skirts for my sessions and today I was wearing a one piece, dark-brown dress that hugged my upper body but flared out at my legs. Joe looked almost chipper as he leaned back into the couch and flashed me a toothy grin. "Well young man, you look pretty upbeat today!" I said smiling. "Well, in fact, I am, doctor. I know you are going to help me . . . help both of us get our marriage back on track. I'm grateful that you gave me this appointment." Joe looked at me and then at the yellow Shoebox at the edge of me desk. I saw a cloud come over his face. He struggled to maintain an upbeat smile but it seemed to be a loosing battle. "So Joe, tell me, what has happened since you last saw me yesterday? Have you told Beth that you are seeking counseling?" Joe gave me a nervous smile. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I told her that I had gone to see you on a recommendation and that I wanted the both of us to see you to work out our problems. "Oh, and what did she say?" Joe smiled nervously. "She said, 'What problems?' I told her that I had found the shoebox and that I had given it to you." "You did! That was brave Joe. I commend you. What did she say when you told her that?" "She just smiled at me. She told me that she would come to see you if that is what I wanted." "That's all she said? She wasn't angry that you looked in her closet and found the shoebox? She wasn't upset that I was looking through her personal belongings; that you found out these terrible things about her?" I looked a Joe skeptically. He swallowed nervously and a strange look came over his face. "No, she was actually quite understanding. She hugged me and told me that she loved me and she would do whatever I thought was best. "And that was it?" "Yes, that was it!" "I don't understand how that can be "it! That's all you two said?" Joe began to look like he was trapped. There was obviously something he had failed to tell me. I glared at him waiting for him to explain what he was obviously keeping from me. "You see doctor, I knew . . . what I mean is, Beth and I had an understanding, an agreement about her . . . I guess you would call it her "submissive needs". I just looked at him and maintained my silence. "You see, before we married, I knew that Beth . . . this is really hard to explain Doctor Sharp. . . " "Take your time, Joe." "When I first started dating Beth, she told me that she was in a relationship that was very . . . I think she described it as "possessive". We were in college at the time and she was dating an older man, a man who was not a student or connected to the college. Apparently, he was her "Dom". As we got to know one another better, she slowly revealed the extent of her relationship with this guy. The way she described it, she needed . . . she craved, the release she got by being submissive to this man, by letting him control her in every way." "Including sexual ways?" "Yes, in particular, when they had sex. I told Beth that I just thought it was a phase she was going through. I mean, we were both young, in college, trying to find ourselves, learning new things. Doctor Sharp, believe me I was no angel in those days. Some weeks I had a different girl every day." "At first I was kind of intrigued by Beth's "lifestyle". I must admit, I was flattered that she found plain old "vanilla Joe" attractive even though she was dating an older, more sophisticated guy. We hung out after class for several months. One day she told me that the guy had dumped her. I consoled her and we started dating on and off. I guess you could say she was on the rebound. As for me, I was openly dating other girls, and Beth, well she seemed to have no problems with that. God, it was so refreshing. She treated me like a person, not like a "boyfriend"; you know the way young women are, "If you want to go out with ME, you better not . . . "fill in the blanks." "I knew Beth genuinely cared for me, but she wasn't possessive or controlling. She let me be my own person, and you know something Dr. Sharp, she still does! We didn't really talk much about her "former life" as a submissive, but at the same time, she never promised me that it was over, or that she had left it behind. In the same way, she never insisted that I change or modify any of my behaviors. I was free to be me. I gradually fell head over heels for Beth. I couldn't stand to be away from her. I knew I wanted to be with Beth for the rest of my life." "You would think that with a girl like Beth, a guy would have his cake and eat it too. She wasn't jealous of other women. Not that she was a doormat mind you, but if I told her I was dating another girl, she was cool about it. I treated her right and let her know that she was more important to me than they were. You know what I found out? With a woman like that, I actually lost interest in chasing other women! I didn't need to prove to myself that I could have them if I wanted to. I knew that I could, and I just didn't need it anymore." "Right before we graduated I proposed to her. That was one of the worst days of my life. That was the day she told me." Joe looked down at the floor and started to blush. "What did she tell you, Joe?" "She told me that she needed a man that could "dominate" her sexually. She told me that I wasn't that man." "God, I was shattered. We talked until late into the night. I told her that she was crazy, that I could be whatever it was that she needed me to be. I knew that the sex between us was good, hell it was great! I could make Beth cum just by touching her the right way. I knew she loved me and I knew that she loved to make love to me. I just couldn't understand." "I told Beth that if she needed whips and chains I could give her whips and chains. She laughed at me. She told me that I was sweet, but that I didn't have a dominant bone in my body. Now, let me tell you Dr. Sharp, I played varsity baseball in college and was scouted by a minor league team. I was no wimp or pansy. I was as manly as they come. But that wasn't what I was missing or what Beth was looking for." Joe had finished his explanation. I could tell by the tone of his voice, by his passion that this man really loved his wife. I looked at him with sadness in my eyes. "Did you try to give Beth what she needed, to play to her submissive side." Joe blushed and stammered. "Yeah. It was pathetic. I asked her what to do. She told me, kind of gave me instructions. "Tie my hands, tie my feet. Do this, do that." I noticed that the more she told me what to do, the more annoyed she got. Finally she got so frustrated she just got up and walked away naked. Some submissive! I just didn't have it in me. I could play-act, but she wasn't looking for play-acting. She wanted a man who reveled in the gift of her submission; someone who craved a submissive as much as she craved a person to dominate her. That night I found out that I just wasn't that person." "How did that make you feel?" "I was angry. I was frustrated. I felt inadequate and cheated; cheated out of a pleasure I couldn't share with the one I loved. It was like I was an alien and was missing a sex organ I needed to make love to Beth. She was giving me a precious gift of submitting totally to me and I just didn't know what to do with it. It's not that I didn't want it, I just . . . . ." "You just didn't have the tools to deal with it, perhaps?" "No, not that. Imagine that your husband writes you a beautiful poem. It is hand lettered on Japanese rice paper in traditional Japanese characters. You know this is a special gift, but the writing means nothing to you! You just stare at it dumbly not knowing what to say, not know what he has said in the poem. You are touched by the beauty, by the art of the characters. You long to know what the poem says. Your husband starts reciting in Japanese. You ask him what it means. His eyes tear up. "It loses all its meaning when it is translated into English," he tells you. In fact, the characters themselves have multiple meanings and part of the subtlety of the work is the play on those similar characters. You think to yourself, "I must learn Japanese so that I can appreciate this great gift." The Shoebox Ch. 03 "That's the problem Dr. Sharp. I have to learn Japanese!" Continued in Chapter 4. The Shoebox Ch. 04 Chapter 4. Joe's Therapist Works After Hours Imagine that your husband writes you a beautiful poem. It is hand lettered on Japanese rice paper in traditional Japanese characters. . . . You ask him what it means. His eyes tear up. "It loses all its meaning when it is translated into English," he tells you. In fact, the characters themselves have multiple meanings and part of the subtlety of the work is the play on those similar characters. You think to yourself, "I must learn Japanese so that I can appreciate this great gift. "That's the problem Dr. Sharp. I have to learn Japanese!" [Chapter 3.] **** There was a pregnant silence in the room as I contemplated Joe Powell's last remark. He seemed so confused and frustrated. Most important he looked deeply sad. "Well, maybe I can help you speak Japanese. Maybe if we work on this we can get some communication going between you and Beth on this important subject. Of course, I must speak with your wife. This may turn out to be a long process." "Thank you Doctor Sharp. I realize that. We have been married for a long time and this has always been the elephant in the room that neither of us would talk about." "There is one thing I would like to know, Joe. Why is it that you were shocked by the contents of the shoebox if you knew all along that Beth was fulfilling these needs of hers? Certainly you must have suspected something?" "Dr. Sharp, it was almost like 'Don't ask, don't tell'. After about four years of marriage, Beth was obviously becoming restless. She told me about a club or a society or something; people who supported each other who had similar interests as Beth. She invited me to come along. Basically I told her to go by herself and enjoy, but that I really didn't want to be involved in that part of her life!" "Beth started attending the meetings at a restaurant in Sparta. It's a public place. She would be gone on Thursday nights once or twice a month. She was always home before midnight. Sometimes she was very horny when she got home and we would have hot sex. Since I knew I couldn't understand what she saw in that kind of stuff - you know, how it could turn her on - we didn't discuss it. I began to think of her Thursday night activities as being the same as when I read Playboy or Penthouse and get turned on by the pictures. I don't go describing it to Beth, but we do occasionally have hot sex because of what I read in those magazines. What she was doing seemed innocent enough." "But Joe, weren't you curious about what went on at that place?" "Sure I was Dr. Sharp; after all, Beth is my wife and the mother of my children. Of course I was curious! During the first year she started attending the meetings, I secretly arranged for a babysitter to stay with our daughter and went out there once myself. Luckily it was crowded. I paid my $25 admission at the door and went in. There were all kinds of kinky people there wearing weird get-ups. You know, leather, rubber, latex. Some people had collars on. There were also a lot of people dressed pretty normally like me. There were a several guys trolling the place dressed all in black, big engineer boots - some with black leather pants. Some of them had a woman on a leash. One guy had two leashes and two women! I actually found it silly watching all these full-grown adults playing "dress-up". I had a drink, watched the parade and left. I saw Beth in a cluster of people having an animated discussion. Believe me Dr. Sharp, there didn't seem to be much going on in that room that would endanger my marriage!" "Several years ago, before our youngest was born, her friend, Pricilla, began picking up Beth and driving her to the meetings. Apparently she was also into the BDSM lifestyle in a big way after her divorce. In fact, about six months ago she married some guy, Hunter Williams, who she met at one of those meetings." "You mean Pricilla Block." "Yes, Ray Block's ex-wife. Ray is a client of mine. He told me that he and Pricilla used to see you several years before they broke up." "So then, you must have been shocked when you looked at the pictures in the shoebox? "Yes and no." Joe replied looking down at his shoes. "I knew that Beth and Pricilla had done some "scenes" together at Pricilla's house." "So it didn't bother you that your wife was . . . perhaps . . .bi-sexual?" "No, not really. That really didn't threaten me. In fact, thinking about it kind of turned me on. While I suspected that they had engaged in some type of sexual behavior, I really didn't get the impression that Beth was, you know, bi-sexual. It's hard to explain." "You mean she was submissive, and if that meant pleasing Pricilla sexually . . . ." "Yes, exactly! I always imagined that with Beth it is more a matter of being submissive. But after seeing those pictures, I don't know if I understand anything! All those men. All at the same time. Even while she was pregnant!" Joe held his head in his hands and sobbed quietly. "Has Pricilla ever talked to you about what she and Beth would do?" Joe wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and blew his nose. "Oh, she would make sly remarks and innuendos. You know, about how much fun they were going to have or how turned on my wife would be when she got home. Stuff like that. We never had a serious conversation if that's what you mean. Pricilla thought that Beth told me all about what they did. I felt kind of embarrassed that I didn't know - embarrassed that I didn't want to know. " "I take it that you could have discussed this with Beth if you wanted to? She didn't discourage your questions?" "No, she didn't sneak around and hide anything from me. I knew she went out to this BDSM club with Pricilla. I knew that she and Pricilla "played" or did "scenes" or whatever they call it. I just didn't want to know. I didn't ask her and she didn't volunteer anything." I looked at the clock. Our session was almost over. "I see that our time is up. But before you go there is one question that I would like to ask you. How is it that Ray Block referred you to my practice?" "Ray is one of my clients. I see him once or twice a year. We are not that close but we have known each other for many years. When I found the shoebox, I saw Pricilla's pictures, you know, and I thought I would ask Ray what he knew about her activities with my wife. He knew they hung out together but otherwise he didn't really know what his ex-wife was up to. He did recommend you though. Actually he raved about you!" "Well, apparently I was unable to help them save their marriage. What makes you think I can help you and your wife?" "Because they didn't want to be helped. They just wanted to do their own thing. Ray admitted it. I love Beth and I believe she loves me. I want to save our relationship." "Joe, I need to speak to Beth. Do you think she was serious about pursuing therapy? Do you think she will meet with me? "Absolutely, Dr. Sharp. I told you that she said she would, and I believe her!" "Joe, this is not my usual practice but given the circumstances with the shoebox . . . . Well, I think I would like to meet with Beth alone for our first consultation. Is that all right with you?" Joe looked a little hurt, but immediately perked up. Sure, if that's what you think we need. As a matter of fact, it would probably be better if she could speak to you frankly without me present to color what she tells you. After all, that's what we have been doing. "Exactly! Let's just say that this is a delicate matter. Before I throw the two of you in a room together I want to speak with Beth and find out her story. Please let me know if she will agree to meet with me next Tuesday, that's one week from today!" I smiled at Joe and stood up, indicating that the session was over. Joe looked nervous but hopeful. He promised me that Beth would be there next week without him and left without saying much else. As I listened to Joe's car start up and slowly back out of my driveway, I began to wonder if I would ever see his wife, or even him again. Somehow, I couldn't imagine her showing up. Not after what I had seen in the shoebox! How mortifying for her. I know that it would be hard for me to show up if the tables were turned. The shoebox! Joe had forgotten to take it with him! It was still on the corner of the desk, glowing in the orange light from the setting sun. "Damn!" I thought, "I can't get rid of that thing." I had only looked at a small portion of its contents and knew that if I kept it around much longer I would be doing more snooping through its obscene contents. Just then the door to my office opened and Sid's smiling face appeared. "Did Mr. Stud Muffin leave?" "Yes. He just left. What are you smiling about?" Sid walked into the room waving a white card in his hand as if challenging me to grab it from him. "Well doctor, if you must know, I had a very interesting conversation with my friend Willy at the Starlight Room this afternoon. Seems as if your client, Beth Powell, is one of the leading members of the Eizenspritzer Society, its secretary I believe and apparently she is at most of their meetings." "Oh, is that so? Her husband told me as much just a few minutes ago." "Really, isn't that cozy. The family that plays together stays together I guess! Anyway, Willy gave me this flyer which invites us to attend a "meet and greet" of that august society tomorrow night at 8 PM." With a dramatic flurry, my husband handed me the card he was holding. While it wasn't an engraved invitation, it was on heavy linen stock and looked rather classy. "The Eizenspritzer Society invites you to an evening of social consciousness and empowering discussions concerning the dynamics of "Power Exchanges". Please join us for a seminar and roundtable discussions, Wednesday evening at 8 PM . . ." "Very interesting. Great detective work! I will tell Sherlock to give you a promotion Dr. Watson!" I handed the card back to Sid. "I don't suppose you are suggesting that we actually attend this little meeting?" Sid looked at me sheepishly. His eyes twinkled with a mischievous look which I hadn't seen in years. "Of course, Zu-Zu! Don't you see? This is you chance to do some "field work" on Mr. Stud Muffin's case. You don't know the first thing about this lifestyle that his wife has obviously embraced. It seems to me that it behooves you to become a little bit more knowledgeable about this matter. Don't you?" "Oh Sidney, please! You are too much! How could I possibly go tomorrow night? My leather outfit is out at the cleaners!" I laughed at Sidney's idea but then realized from the look on his face that he was quite serious. "Sid, are you nuts? Suppose we meet up with Beth, which, according to you, is quite likely? Have you bothered to think this through? My husband raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath. I could tell that he had prepared for this discussion and that he had done his homework. "Well Susan, suppose that we met them at the Stop-N-Shop, or even at church? What then? So what? What difference does it make? You know what? If I was your patient and I saw you at a seminar involving something I was interested in, I would be quite pleased that I had chosen you as my analyst." "Maybe so, but I wouldn't be comfortable doing that. After all, she knows that I looked through her damn shoebox and saw all that terrible stuff! She told her husband that she would have no problem meeting with me AND I expect to see her a week from today. I would feel as if I were spying on her if we went to this thing. NO! It is out of the question. Out of the question, Sidney!" "You know what I think Doctor? I think that you are squeamish about learning more about the BDSM lifestyle, not about meeting up with your patient. In all the years that you have been practicing I have never heard you say that you didn't want to go someplace because one of your patients might be there. And let's face it Susan, you have had some real pain-in-the-ass patients!" I stared wordlessly at my husband. Actually, I was trying to stare him down. It was true! As unpleasant as it sometimes was to meet one of my patients at a public function, I never let that interfere with anything I wanted to do in the past. Sid was right, my knowledge of the BDSM lifestyle was practically non-existent and, had I not thought that Beth would be at this meeting, I would probably have let my intellectual curiosity overcome my reservations about attending such a function. I did need more background on the motivations of people in this lifestyle an evening meeting a few miles away at a restaurant was a pretty easy way to get more information. As I was thinking about of all these things, I noticed that Sid was staring at the shoebox on the corner off my desk. He was obviously deep in thought. He glanced back at me with a start and gave me a crooked smile. Then he took me in his arms and started kissing me gently, allowing his strong hands to caress the length of my body. Now my husband is a sensuous and romantic man. It is not unusual for him to hold me, kiss me and caress me for no reason, just to show me how much he loves and desires me. Most of the time, I am pleased with his attention but usually I am not sexually aroused. For some reason, this time was different. His kisses were tender and light on my lips. I could feel the electricity stimulate my nipples and travel down to my vagina. My entire body started to tingle. I leaned into him and returned his kisses with an urgency that actually embarrassed me. Sid sensed my aroused response and became more aggressive with his touches. I felt myself melt into his body as his strong arms enveloped me. Both my arms encircled his neck and I began trying to kiss him passionately, but he teasingly kept his lips just a hairsbreadth away from mine. His denial made me even needier. I was molding my body into him in an effort to get as much contact as possible. His large hands were now grabbing at my buttocks and pulling me into him. I began grinding my vagina into his leg and pulled his head down to my lips, trying to force him to kiss me. Finally, our lips met. My tongue shot out like a small penis into his mouth. I longed to taste him, to touch him. I was hungry and my hunger would not be denied! Sid slid both his arms down under my thighs and hoisted me up around his waist. I could feel his large penis through my dress. I could feel that swollen organ grind into me as he raised me up, signaling the promise of things to come. As he wheeled us around, he swept the contents of my desk off to the side, and with them, the shoebox. Then he roughly sat me down on the edge of my desk and began to grind into my sex as he passionately kissed me. I felt my husband's hands hoist up my ankle-length dress as my legs straddled his waist. We were still kissing passionately, tongues dueling in each other's mouth. I heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper being pulled down and then felt him and tear at the gusset of my white cotton panties, pushing them aside with a frantic urgency. As I held onto his neck I realized my position. I was in my office, my sanctus-sanctorum; the place where I met with all my clients. My dress was bunched up around my waist and my panties pushed aside. A large penis was snaking its way toward my vagina, parting my moist lips with its large, plumb shaped head. I was about to start rutting like an animal in my own office, begging to be taken like a bitch in heat. This had never happened before! I was over 50 years old! This was my husband of over 30 years who was practically raping me in my own office and I was almost begging him to fuck me! Sidney felt my need as his large penis began to enter my swollen outer lips. He kept just the wide tip of its head separating my pussy lips, teasing me, goading me to rut into him. For some reason, the only thought in my head at that moment was my need to be filled with my husband's penis. I began hunching up into him, obscenely begging him with my body to end my frustration and to fill me with his manhood. He held me an arms length away and gazed into my eyes with a self-satisfied look. It was maddening. Did I have to beg him to fuck me? I tried pulling him toward me but he was too large and I was too petite. Because of my position, with my legs around his waist and my ass on the edge of the desk, I had little purchase. I was smoldering. Finally I couldn't take his teasing: "For God's sake, fuck me!" There, I said it! A huge smile came across his face as he slowly pushed his engorged member into my needy pussy. I closed my eyes and pulled him in with my legs. I felt him go slack as if to give me permission to fuck myself with his beautiful cock. I pulled him into me again and moaned. God that felt so good! I was filled to the brim. He slowly swung back as if by gravity, withdrawing his large cock from me and leaving me with an aching emptiness. Again I flexed my knees and drew him into me at my own speed using his body as a large human dildo. Suddenly, my husband became more aggressive. He lifted my legs from around his waist and spread them wide. I plopped back onto my desk and allowed him to have at me. He spread my legs obscenely. My office was filled with the scent of my arousal, the scent of a woman in heat! He began to plunge into me like a man possessed. He was fucking me, not making love. I could hear my moans floating though the room as the slap, slap sound of his balls hitting my ass filled the air. Without warning, Sid withdrew. I felt a maddening emptiness that needed to be filled. He squatted down in front of me and began licking my wet pussy. I propped myself up onto my elbows and watched his head as he began to devour my sex. Although I ached to be filled, his tongue and his lips were bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. The delicious nastiness of us being in my office, both fully clothed and rutting like two guilty lovers catching a free moment alone was bringing me over the edge! As quickly as he had started his oral ministrations, he abruptly stopped. He roughly grabbed my legs by my ankles and opened me up to his lust. I watched as he grabbed his impossibly engorged penis in his hand and aimed it at my lewd gaping hole. I marveled at its size and hardness. Without any preliminaries he rammed it into me up to the hilt! My eyes rolled up into my head and again I plopped down onto my desk like a rag doll. I felt his massive organ withdraw almost entirely from my vaginal canal. I could feel the cool air enter against the hot moisture of my pussy as he paused. For some reason I imagined how open and engorged it must have looked to him. Again he thrust it into me. This time I could feel my clit being stretched down into my vagina, captured by the shaft of the huge organ that was slamming into me. By this time, my mind, my body, my sensations had been reduced to a single point at which we were joined. Again Sid withdrew his penis. As if in slow motion, I turned my head and opened my eyes. My cheek was flat against my desk and my knees were squashing my breasts. I saw the shoebox in front of my eyes. Sid's hasty action clearing the top of the desk had knocked off its top and turned it onto its side. From my obscene splayed-out position, I was staring into the shoebox. The deck of pictures was still inside, wrapped in its rubber band, the smirking picture of Beth Powell on top. My husband began thrusting deliberately, dispensing with all gentleness. With each powerful thrust, I felt his cock pushing past the slippery sides of my cunt and again capturing my clit. Each time he paused and ground into me, the head of his cock moving aside my cervix, as he pushed it up into me. As I was being taken, I found myself staring directly into Beth Powell's eyes. As I looked at her picture, it was as if she was taunting me, daring me to cum on my own desk, in my own office. Those sparkling eyes were telling me that I was a wanton slut, a bitch in heat and insatiable whore! The Shoebox Ch. 04 I felt Sid's cock expanding impossibly inside me as he again ground into me, groaning with lust. My clit was trapped, swollen and aching! As he withdrew I could feel the parting shots of his sperm splashing onto my cervix as his cock expanded and contracted in orgasm. One, two, three clenching spasms. I closed my eyes and for some unexplainable reason, saw young Joe Powell in place of my husband! I felt his cock withdraw, but only and inch or so, releasing the pressure on my clit. I was lost in my own world – the only reality was the amazing feelings that were inexorably building up inside of me. I felt as if I was at the top of a precipice in the weightless moment before beginning a free fall - my only attachment to reality was the shaft of the thick penis that was pumping its warm elixir into my swollen sex. Then it happened! I felt a bolt of lighting explode from my clitoris and shoot down my legs into my toes and up my spine and into my brain. I began to plummet in a headlong rush of indescribable feelings. My body shook as if I were being electrocuted. I heard the wail of my disembodied voice echo through the room and then . . . darkness. [Continued in Chapter 5.] The Shoebox Ch. 05 Chapter 5 - The Eizenspritzer Society Then it happened! I felt a bolt of lighting explode from my clitoris and shoot down my legs into my toes and up my spine and into my brain. My body shook as if I were being electrocuted. I heard the wail of my disembodied voice echo through the room and then . . . darkness. [Chapter 4.] The setting sun was dipping below the horizon as we motored westbound on our way to the Starlight Lounge in Sid's classic 1948 Mercedes 500 SEL. Sid was concentrating on his driving, trying to avoid the constant stream of trucks that barreled passed us on the left heading for the interior of the country. I thought back to our discussions yesterday and how anxious Sid was to attend this meeting. No doubt the announcements at the restaurant had piqued his interest in the Eizenspritzer Society. He had finally convinced me that we should attend; that it would help my research on the Powell case and perhaps give me a point of reference when and if I finally met with Beth Powell. I was now having second thoughts about acquiescing to Sid's suggestion. I could feel a knot tightening in my stomach from the anxiety of actually attending a meeting of a BDSM society. Would anyone recognize us? What would they think; that Sid and I are into bondage? Good Lord, why did I allow Sid to push me into this? The sex, that's why! I thought back to our very uncharacteristic sexual encounter in my office right after Joe Powell left. My God, was that us? I turned to look at him. Nearly fifty-six years old, thinning hair, slightly overweight, a well respected doctor and pillar of our community. Could it have been this man that seduced me in my own office, who made passionate love to me on my own desk in broad daylight? I shook my head as I looked at him with a thin puzzled smile. Sid glanced my way as he gripped the wheel of his classic car, trying to keep it in the right lane and out of harm's way. "What . .? A penny for your thoughts!" Sid smiled at me with a quizzical smile trying to keep his eyes on the road. "Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking." "Thinking of what? Tell the doctor Zu-Zu!" "Just thinking of how you are a dirty old man and a pervert, that's all!" "Me? I beg your pardon?" Sid smirked at me with a sidelong glance as a tandem trailer whizzed by us in the left lane. "It takes two to tango, Dr. Sharp. The last time you were strong-armed into doing something, you were twelve years old, so don't give me that load of bull . . ." "Keep your eyes on the road Sidney! I don't want you to miss the exit and end up driving half-way across Pennsylvania. I can see that your mind isn't on your driving tonight." "Yes, Miss Daisy." Sid replied as he smirked and looked straight ahead. I looked down at my black dress. I must have spent two hours going through my closet trying to decide what one wears to a BDSM "meet and greet". I was definitely not going to wear anything trashy or provocative, but at the same time I would stick out like a sore thumb if I chose anything too conservative. We both settled on basic black. At Sid's suggestion I wore a black ribbon around my neck with a silver broach. Not quite a collar, but suggestive. I actually thought it was a clever touch. Although the dress I picked went down to the floor, it was flared below the waist and flowed elegantly while the top clung tightly. My black boots were a given. The outfit would have to do! "Isn't this the exit?" Sid smoothly maneuvered the classic car onto the off-ramp of the interstate and headed toward the Starlight Lounge. I was hoping to have more time during the trip to think but I had forgotten how close it was. Sid pulled up to the portico and a young Hispanic man opened my door. Reluctantly, Sid gave up his classic car to the young man, who let gravel fly as he left us standing at the threshold to the stately old building. The Starlight was probably built sometime in the 1950's and renovated in the 1970's. It was elegant but had definitely seen better days. It was once a premier location for local weddings, but now its main function was to cater to local organizations looking for an inexpensive place to meet. The signs outside were a testament to its pedestrian status: the Kiwanis, the Shriners, the Rotary Club, even the Knights of Columbus met here at least one day a month - as did the Eizenspritzer Society! Only in America! Sid took my arm and we walked up the steps and into the dimly lit entrance foyer. "Yes, Madame, Sir. Can I help you?" I cringed as Sid asked the Maitre'd for the Eizenspritzer Society's meeting room. I studied his expression carefully - he didn't bat an eye. One would have thought that we asked him where the Girl Scouts were meeting! "Of course, sir, to your left and up the stairs to the Starlight Room." he intoned impassively pointing to a wide stairway whose murky carpet was in need of replacement. As we neared the top of the stairs we could hear the buzz of voices, glasses tinkling and nervous laughter. I was holding tightly onto Sid's arm hoping we wouldn't meet anyone we knew. We entered the room and I was amazed at the number of people there – well over 100. Many seemed to know each other and there were clusters of people in animated conversation. Others, like us, must have been first timers. Their nervousness showed. As Sid led me over to the small bar his face lit up. "Willy, I didn't know you were on tonight!" "Yes sir, Dr. Weisberg, I see you were able to make it after all." Willy glanced at me and then back at Sid with a conspiratorial smirk. "A vodka martini for the lady and a scotch for me, Willy." Sid said with a smile, obviously pleased that someone had recognized him. I got the distinct impression that he and Willy were in cahoots and that something was afoot. I began to feel uneasy, but worse, Willy's familiar banter with Sid made me feel self-conscious. I looked around wondering whether the newcomers would think that Sid and I were regulars at these meetings! I was impatient, hoping that Willy would keep his mouth shut and quickly make the drinks. Willy held up an olive on a toothpick and I held up two fingers. He gave me a grin and put two plump olives on a skewer and plopped them into my martini glass. Just as we started sipping our drinks, an extremely handsome man in his late 30's entered the room through double doors and asked for everyone's attention. "Welcome. Welcome everyone. I am so glad you could all attend our seminar tonight. I see a lot of familiar faces and some new ones." With that, he looked directly at me with his piercing black eyes. I looked down at my feet self-consciously under his gaze. "Well, our program is about to begin. If you will please follow me, the seminar will start in just a few minutes." We followed the handsome "Master of Ceremonies" through the doors. I spent an inordinate amount of time studying the card on the easel propped up outside the door as we all shuffled into the conference room. It read "Power Exchanges – A Discussion Of The Dominant-Submissive Experience." Sid sat down at the end of a row toward the middle of the room. A young couple, I would guess in their late 20's, sat next to us. He was wearing all black and she had on a light cotton dress with a floral print. Around her neck was a chrome choke-chain, the kind you would buy in a pet store for a large dog. The loop-ring hung down the cleavage formed by her ample breasts. She must have seen me staring at the choke-chain. She gave me a radiant smile and stuck out her hand and said proudly: "Hello, my name is Suzy! And this is my owner Peter." Peter peered over his sunglasses and stuck out his hand. "Hi, nice to meet you, - and your name is?" "Susan" I answered rather curtly "and this is my husband Sid." Sid shook hands with Peter and said in a stage whisper: "Unfortunately, I don't own her!" Suzy beamed at Sid's silly joke then turned and grasped Peter's arm. Sid and I sat down to await the start of the talk while Suzy and Peter remained standing, talking to some people in the row ahead of them. As she turned away from me, I noticed that the back of Suzy's sundress was almost non-existent. On her lower back, I was startled to see a large black tattoo. It consisted of a six-inch rectangular "plaque" with the letters "S-L-U-T" prominently printed in skin-tone! Try to explain that to your grandchildren! I turned around in my seat and faced Sid. I could see that he had also noticed Suzy's tattoo and his eyebrows lifted. "This should be an interesting night Zu-Zu!" I put my arm through his and smiled. "Yes, darling, it certainly should be!" * * * * The program started with the Master of Ceremonies introducing the speakers. There were four in all, although I don't remember their names. All were very articulate, attractive and passionate speakers. The first speaker was a woman by the name of Molly. She explained that she had met her dominant master, Adam, who was also on the dais, about six years ago, and that they lived a committed dominant-submissive lifestyle, with Molly being the submissive. I was amazed at how intelligent, passionate and unafraid this woman was. How could it be that she completely submitted her will to this man on a daily basis, being little more than a piece of property, his slave? She explained how "freeing" it was for her to leave her "improvement" to a strong man who cherished her and knew what was best for her. The concept was disconcerting for me. Many of her words seemed pathological, yet her demeanor was radiant, happy and well-adjusted. Although she didn't explicitly discuss their sexual activities, it was clear that "punishment" was a large part of their sexual interaction, with Molly being the "bottom" as she called it and Adam the "top". Molly explained that finding a good dominant partner was extremely difficult since (as she explained it) he needed to always be tuned into her needs and her limits but could not rely on her direction for help in ascertaining those needs. As I listened to Molly and the other speakers, I kept thinking of Joe's experience with Beth. Joe was totally unable to relate to the inner compulsion that motivates these people. Beth was aware that Joe was not "dominant" and made no attempt to make him into one. Yet, they fell in love. How cruel life can be sometimes! It was clear to me that these speakers were not people who were playing at BDSM like some of the "mainstream" couples I had seen in my practice, who occasionally dabbled in the "kinky". These people lived it. The two submissive women on the dais gave themselves completely to their dominant partner, body, mind and spirit. Their souls were stripped bare to their masters. Each had to trust that her partner would understand her needs and meet them. I began to think about how difficult it must be for a person to be a dominant. I looked over at my Sid who sat in rapt attention listening to the speakers. Could Sid take on the responsibility of ordering my world for me without my input? What a burden that would be for him! It's hard enough for me! Imagine doing it for another person, all the time, with no help! Would I be able to trust Sid enough to surrender my freedom totally to him? Could I allow him to do whatever he pleased with me without reservation, without my direction and without question? That would be quite a leap of faith, even for a short period of time and even though I have known Sid for over thirty years and love him dearly. I imagined how different tonight would have been if Sid were dominant and I were submissive. He would have merely told me "Zu-Zu we are going out tonight, wear this and be ready at 8 PM." No discussion! No explanation needed or allowed. By the same token, there would be little or no worry on my part. Since I wouldn't know where I was going, I couldn't worry about the problems that might arise. Ruminating about this gave me a surprising feeling of freedom which made me lightheaded. I realized how freeing it could be if one could point to one's master and say to the world that HE makes the choices, I just obey. In a way, a submissive can do nothing wrong except disobey! The submissive's "job" is only unquestioning obedience and servitude. If she does that, she is always right, always a good girl. If there is a problem, well, the master has screwed up, not her. I imagined my biggest concern tonight; meeting someone I knew. If I were submissive, I would be free, in my own mind, to excuse my being here as my obedience to my master. I am a good submissive. It was master who made the decision to come here and whether it was the right thing to do. It was master who decided that I should come along and not stay at home. I cannot be criticized for being here since I am just obedient; I am here because he has ordered it so. My wardrobe has been chosen by my master, it is not my choice; if it is ugly or inappropriate it reflects on him, not on me. I smiled as I understood this revelation. I wondered if this is the way it feels being a Catholic? * * * * I was startled by the quite staccato of polite applause which woke me from my thoughts. The darkly handsome man who hosted the program had just thanked the speakers. People started filing out of the room but Sid and I lingered and waited for the crowd to thin out before making our exit. I was interested in the people who were clustered around the speakers at the front of the room and enjoying watching their interaction. That's when I saw Priscilla Block. She went over to the handsome Master of Ceremonies who had run the seminar and was hanging onto him intimately, whispering in his ear. Since there were quite a few people standing around the dais and more clustered among the folding chairs talking in small groups, I was pretty confident that Pricilla would not notice me among all those still present. As I looked around the room I looked to my side. Peter and Suzy had also remained in their seats, but Suzy was kneeling on the floor intently focused on something in the seat next to her. At first I thought she lost a contact lens and was about to offer to help find it. Looking more closely, however, I realized that she was performing fellatio on her "owner" as he sat unperturbed among the now empty chairs in our row. When he saw me gawking at them, Peter gently collected the hair falling around Suzy's face and held it up, giving me an unobstructed view of the obscene display of his little "slave" slobbering hungrily over his angry red member. I saw Suzy's cheeks blush and her eyes opened wide as she tried to look at me without removing her mouth from his penis. Then I looked up and saw Peter's eyes boring into me and a sly grin forming on his lips. It was clear that he was playing with me as much as he was playing with her! With that, I stood up and grabbed Sid's arm, indicating that it was time for us to leave. Unaware of what was going on right beside us, Sid escorted me into the aisle and we exited the lecture room. As we returned to the anteroom, we discovered that tables had been set up with literature on BDSM themes, including a display table with restraints, leather items, blindfolds, gags and similar things. This was an opportunity for the attendees to meet and mingle and get a flavor for the BDSM "lifestyle". Sid made a beeline for the BDSM paraphernalia and I browsed the other tables taking whatever literature I thought might be interesting. As I sauntered around the room, I noticed Beth Powell sitting at one of the tables. She was dressed in a plain cotton dress and looked non-descript. Her hair was pulled back severely into a pony tail and she had on little makeup. Since Beth didn't know me, I felt emboldened and began browsing the literature on her table trying to overhear the conversation she was having with the woman seated next to her. I stood among the people in front of the table and was nonchalantly leafing through the brochures trying to look inconspicuous, when Pricilla Block appeared behind Beth and put her hands on her shoulders. The handsome young man who introduced the seminar was with her. Pricilla unfastened Beth's pony-tail and began caressing Beth's hair as Beth helped the bystanders around her table. Pricilla's caresses became more and more intimate as the Master of Ceremonies watched dispassionately. It was almost embarrassing to watch as Beth closed her eyes and submitted to Pricilla's soft caresses. Everyone standing around Beth's table, including me, was shamelessly witnessing the intimate interaction of these two attractive women. When she was satisfied that she had our attention, Pricilla swooped her hands down into the loose bodice of Beth's dress and began playing with her breasts under the thin material. Pricilla's attitude was casual, as if her actions were merely a friendly pat or handshake. Beth, on the other hand, was beet red and obviously embarrassed even as she writhed in pleasure beneath Pricilla's expert caresses. The Master of Ceremonies was watching stoically with measured glances as if he were permitting or controlling Pricilla's actions but not participating. The other people standing around the table with me watched unabashedly and crowded closer together blocking the table from the rest of the room. If you were standing a few feet away, you would have no clue that something untoward was happening. As I gazed from face to face, it was obvious to me that the people standing in front of Beth's table with me were more than mere voyeurs; rather we were all part of a "scene" and were supplying the needed frisson for Beth's humiliation and subjugation. I was transfixed by this scene as everyone watched Pricilla knead Beth's full breasts beneath her dress. Pricilla looked at each person around the table as if inviting each of them to visually participate in her indecent handling of Beth's tits. When Pricilla's eyes met mine, her mouth twisted into an impish grin as she recognized me. I saw her grasp Beth's breasts roughly under the thin cotton material as she engaged me in a warm, inviting voice. "Why Doctor Sharp, it's so nice to see you here tonight!" The spell around the table was broken and I was now the center of attention. Beth's eyes shot open in surprise and horror, as Pricilla's hands mauled her breasts even harder. As if in a slow motion dream, I saw Beth's expression change from one of increasing arousal to embarrassment and discomfort. Pricilla continued her conversation with me as if nothing at all out of the ordinary was happening. "Why Beth darling, aren't you scheduled to see Dr. Sharp next week? How nice of her to come tonight and get a flavor for our little organization and to see how much fun we have here!" My worst fears had come to pass. Not only was I identified by someone who knew me, but I was being made the object of attention in connection with a most disgusting and erotic spectacle. I was extremely anxious; the blood was pounding in my ears and I felt as if I were going to faint. Both Beth and Pricilla stared at me as did the others around the table, waiting for me to respond to Pricilla's remark. Some of the people around the table were smirking at Pricilla's audacity and Beth's discomfort. It was clear that I had been drawn into this obscene little tableau by my own pompous recklessness and now I was being used by Pricilla to heighten Beth's humiliation. I was becoming angry, at Pricilla for baiting me and at myself for being stupid enough to linger at Beth's table. Overcome by feelings of anger, humiliation, and yes, sexual arousal, I felt compelled to respond to Pricilla's taunting remarks, rather than turn and walk away, as I should have done. Instead, I engaged Pricilla and in a voice laced with sarcasm and, I am embarrassed to admit, cruelty, as I said in clear and measured tones: The Shoebox Ch. 05 "Well, Pricilla, you seem to enjoy putting your little slut through her paces!" There were a few quiet gasps around the table as these words left my lips; words that I immediately wished I could have taken back. Pricilla raised her eyebrows and allowed the hushed silence around the table to sink into Beth's psyche. She seemed to be pleasantly surprised at my retort and was clearly looking for a way to up the ante. She looked quickly at the Master of Ceremonies as if for guidance. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod as she broke into a wide grin. Pricilla stared at me with an evil smile as she fished down into the bodice of Beth's dress and cupped her hands under Beth's plump breasts. With one movement, she pushed down the top of Beth's dress with her forearms and pulled Beth's creamy tits out over the top for all to see! She then displayed them to those surrounding the table, one in each hand, and spoke to me in a voice dripping with eroticism: "These breasts are like a fine musical instrument, Dr. Sharp. With a little practice, one can learn to make beautiful music." With those words, Pricilla cruelly squeezed Beth's now aroused and engorged nipples until they were white and bloodless and slowly pulled those beautiful but abused breasts out from Beth's body until they were impossibly and painfully stretched. Beth screwed her eyes shut and arched her back in pain as she gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as she bore the humiliation and pain of Pricilla's cruel public torture. I felt as if it I were the cause of this horrible spectacle and was beside myself with panic. "ENOUGH!" I shouted. Pricilla stared at me defiantly for about two seconds and then, with a flourish, released Beth's tortured nipples and allowed her breasts to spring back into place. As the blood began rushing back into Beth's nipples, she began to tremble and whimper and then slumped down with her head and breasts pressed to the table. It was clear to everyone around the table that Beth had experienced a powerful orgasm at Pricilla's hands under the most unusual of circumstances. Both Pricilla and the Master of Ceremonies smiled triumphantly. I was frozen in place, unable to move or to think. Then I heard the sound of one person clapping – then two. Before I knew it, all those around me were politely applauding this obscene performance. Mortified that I was the direct cause of this sordid display I was about to chide Pricilla's conduct, but I decided that nothing was to be gained by saying or doing anything further. I was a fish out of water and I was not here to judge these people by my own standards. This was their world, not mine, and it was not up to me to decide what was, or was not, appropriate in that world. I wheeled around in disgust and walked quickly away from the table. I was disgusted as much with my own complicity in this scene as I was with Pricilla for engineering it. As I tried to get my bearings and find my husband in the crowd, I realized that I was sexually aroused – extremely aroused. The gusset of my panties was so wet, for a moment I thought that I had a small bout of incontinence and had urinated. I began to blush and feel flustered hoping that the scent of my arousal would not be obvious to anyone close to me. Embarrassed and confused I hurriedly searched for Sid's massive form among the lingering crowd of people. But, like a moth to a flame, I was compelled to take one more look back at the table. Beth was sitting up, her clothes properly adjusted. Her face was glowing. She looked beautiful; a blissful smile was on her face as she looked lovingly up at Priscilla. The Master of Ceremonies took Beth's elbow and indicated that she should stand. Her knees seemed rubbery, so both he and Pricilla gently supported her between them, turned and walked out the side door of the room. * * * * I finally spotted Sid leaning against the bar, speaking to Willy. As I got nearer, Willy reached up and took a martini glass from the hanging rack as he continued his animated conversation with my husband. "Yes, sir, Dr. Weisberg," he whispered in a conspiratorial voice taking me into his circle of confidence, "this here group is on its best behavior tonight. Always are on the open forum nights when they invite newcomers and gawkers, like yourselves." As he spoke, Willy mixed a vodka martini, occasionally glancing my way. I put my arm through Sid's elbow and hung on for dear life. Willy held up a toothpick with two olives for my inspection and plopped them unceremoniously into my glass, handing me my drink as if I were a regular. I don't think I ever wanted a drink more than at that moment. "Anyways, you should see what goes on here on the nights when you regular folk aren't around. Jesus B. Christ, you wouldn't believe what I seen here over the years." Willy leaned forward and looked around with a cautious air and winked at Sid. "And on the closed session nights, I hear almost anything goes! Not that I been to one of them. No sir, they don't allow no staff up here during those meetin's! But Lou, he looks after things on those nights, you know, and he tells me some of the things he's walked in on. Doctor, you wouldn't believe the stories he tells!" Willy rolled his eyes theatrically and winked at us. I really wasn't in the mood to hear Willy's second-hand gossip – especially since I had seen the pictures from the Shoebox. I took a few more sips of my drink and asked Willy directions to the ladies room. He gestured to a hallway near where we standing and told us that the lavatories were down that hall. Then he leaned forward and whispered to Sid in a concerned voice: "Doctor, sir, you'd better accompany the lady. No tellin' what might be goin on in that hallway with this crew here tonight." * * * * * We thanked Willy, bid him goodnight and walked arm in arm down the hallway toward the restrooms. The sound of talking and tinkling glasses faded as we padded down the wide, carpeted foyer past various couches, potted plants and alcoves. As we approached the restrooms we noticed a small group of people who had congregated in the seating alcove just past the restroom entrance on the other side of the corridor. Although there was a grandfather clock partially shielding this area from our vantage point, I could make out Pricilla's dress and surmised that she was one of the people there. Sid grabbed my elbow tightly as he craned his neck trying to get a better view. He gently but firmly drew me across the hallway to a better vantage point near the clock where we could observe what was going on in the alcove without being seen. Like two voyeurs, we peeked into the shadowy seating area. A perverse tableau unfolded before our eyes, a scene which was disturbingly familiar. An uncomfortable feeling of deja vue began to envelope my consciousness like a fog and, for a moment, I felt as if I were in a dream. Then it hit me! We were staring at a scene that was taken directly out of the Shoebox! [Continued in Chapter 6]