10 comments/ 46237 views/ 12 favorites Porn Therapy By: tarkatony I was conscious of my wife's breast on my shoulder. She was leaning over me looking at an email I was reading out loud from a friend. Foolishly, when I finished I click a new post from another friend. The picture that exploded onto the screen was of 18 entirely naked women in two rows of 9, all in the same pose, all without a smile, all with their arms down by their sides. Below, there was a tasteless, misogynist joke. After the shock of the images wore off I sped my mouse to the corner of the page to get rid of the picture but before I got there Pat asked, "Which one would you pick?" This isn't something my wife would say. I didn't know what startled me more, the pictures, that she hadn't freaked when it appeared or that she asked the question. But fine, I'll play the game. I seemed to have her permission so I stilled the mouse, looked more closely at the individual pictures and pointed to the one with a pleasant, kindly face in the top row. Her rounded peasant's face was far from attractive but she did have long brown hair falling off wide strong shoulders past breasts that would nicely fit into the palms of my hands and she had nicely rounded hips parenthesizing the thickest, lushest bush of them all. "Her," I pronounced. "Which one for you?" I joked to cover my discomfort. But she wasn't feeling discomfort, nor did she hesitate. She pointed to the one on the top right, the one with the heavy, sagging breasts and slightly bowed legs who wore a look of strong determination as if she was resolutely staring down the photographer. "Who's second," I said, getting over my surprise that she'd actually pick one — and that we were really doing this; we hadn't spent this much time this close in over 20 years. She looked carefully then the nail on her finger tapped on an over-weight blond with a slightly dopey look and a conspicuously swollen belly and a navel that somehow looked like it was two inches off centre. "She looks interesting," then added, "why would they do that? Why would anyone just stand there like that?" "They didn't. They were individually shot then spliced together." It was easy to see. "But they still stood like that for a photographer." "For the money, I'd guess." She continue to glare at the screen, she was obviously fascinated. "They're all someone's daughters." "Different times, Pat. And they're Eastern European; they probably have a much different attitude towards nudity than we do, and of sex, too, for that matter." I felt a pang of regret the moment the word 'sex' came out. We didn't talk about sex. Ever. But she didn't seem to hear me; she continued studying the figures, or I assume she was. Then she asked, "Would Janice do anything like that? Would she stand there and let herself be photographed?" Janice was our daughter. "Not for the money, never, but if there was a principle here, or a statement she believed in, ya, she might, don't you think?" I didn't believe that for an instant, I just wanted to. But our daughter wouldn't have stood in that line-up for any conceivable reason, she's too passive, unemotional, unengaged, disinterested, joyless, just like her mother has been since the day I married her — an event I've regretted every moment since. And the daughter is just like the mother only you can throw in the word 'odd,' too. "God," Pat still seemed transfixed. "We're all just the same, aren't we? Yet we're so different. Which body do you think is most like mine ... well, would have been at their age?" I was over the shock of the subject now and getting depressed at the conversation. Why should I feel guilt and shame and discomfort? And why would she ask such a stupid fucking question? "I should know?" I asked with unconcealed bitterness. "I've never really seen your body, have I?" She changes in the bathroom and any sex we have ... had, was in the dark. If she thought this was a shot at her, she didn't react. "I was like that one," she touched the most uninteresting figures in the line-up, a complete zero, plain, hair cut badly short, nice body but miraculously sexless — the every-women you pass on the street and never see. "Might explain why I've kept myself under wraps, eh?" There was a haunting hollowness in her voice that caused me to glance up at her. "Really? That's the way you see yourself?" "And that's the way you see me, Mike, you've never hid that from me." She stood up and walked away. I continued looking at the figure she had tapped. The woman was certainly the most sexless wallflower of the group. But it wasn't the body. The body was good, like Pat's, nice tits with terrifically big aureolas, pleasing hips, thighs and legs and a great clavicle, I've always been into clavicles for some reason. No, it wasn't the body that got me, it was the dull, sullen disposition of the figure. She was right. Of all the women up there that one was closest to her. She and that woman had the same colourless, characterless, bovine docility. Ya, the more I studied the picture the more I agreed with her; it didn't surprise me that she saw herself that way. And she was right, that's the way I saw her, too. But still, I searched the group for a better version of her, one who was as thin as she is, one with her nicely shaped breasts and wonderfully shaped thighs. They were there in parts, but none of them seemed to be her: all except the one she selected had vibrancy, appeal and sexiness, even in their healthy death-like poses. I sat back, defeated. I could have had any one of these other types and better, but 26 years ago when I was 19 and stupid, I chose her and now, here I am, looking at the image of a naked, sexless woman who we both thought pretty much personified my wife. This part of my life was a mess. What do I do? What are my choices? What do I do with a thoroughly boring wife and a nearly deranged daughter? Choices? I didn't have any. I will go the distance with her, a joyless ride to the finish, I don't know why, but I will ... and there will never be a hint of appreciation for my loyalty, not even from a daughter who should have long since seen just how loveless her parent's marriage has been. But Pat and I still share a bed and we still get into that bed at about the same time every night, to read, to peck at the cheek, to turn over, to ignore each other into sleep, me with thoughts of bodies and acts seen on internet porn; her? Doubtless, counting black-faced sheep as they leap over a white picket fence. But not tonight. Tonight as I was reading she turned to me and lay on her side, her head propped up by a hand. "Do you think about women ... like them. Imagine them?" This was the first question that has ever escaped her lips to me about anything to do with sex. I looked over at her as confused as I was surprised and decided, WTF, I'd actually give her an answer. "Sometimes." Her eyes grew a tiny bit wider. "Undress them, with your eyes?" "I don't make a habit of it, but sure, I've done that, everybody's done that, probably women as well as men." This, I knew, would be news to her. She seemed to digest this for a moment before saying, "You look at pornography on the internet." I noted that this was a statement not a question. Fuck you, I'm not running from this. "Ya, I do. Discreetly." I was still holding my book in a reading position, now looking at the ceiling. "I was talking to Ruby about pornography last year. She said all men look at pornography on the internet. That was the first I ever thought about it, that you might be looking at it, too, and I thought, ya, why wouldn't he?" I didn't say anything. Let her think what she wants. "Then one day I went into the history on your browser." A jolt of guilt shot through me but it passed quickly, flickered into relief, then into indifference. It surprised me but I found I didn't give a shit that I'd been caught. It was about time. But maybe she wasn't going to criticize because she quickly added, "Women look at pornography, too. I read up on it. A lot of them: I saw as much as 40% of viewers of pornography are women." I stayed silent wondering where this was going with this ... and where she got her statistic; it couldn't be true. "So I started looking at it, trying to understand it. This was last year, actually more than a year ago." The hollowness in her voice was still there, she was going to tell me now how disappointed she was in me ... and I was gong to pretend I cared. I stayed silent, stayed focussed on the ceiling. "It was the smiles that got me ... right away. I thought pornography was supposed to be exploitative and crude. It didn't look that way. It looked more like fun." Now that surprised me enough that I peeked over at her, but it angered me, too, it was like the observation of a child talking about nuclear fission: pornography is a subject my wife knew nothing about, pretending otherwise was preposterous. I stayed quiet, went back to looking at the ceiling but I was developing attitude, too. "Mike?" I glanced over at her, barely. She can have a mousey look I sometimes find pitiful. She was wearing it now. Why the fuck is she pretending to be interested? "Aren't we ready to move on. We've had the kid, built the company, paid the mortgage, planned for our retirement. We're only just in our mid-40s, what are we supposed to do? Wait? I mean, seriously. What? What do you want to do?" "Wait?" I didn't know what she meant. "What do you want to do, Mike?" she repeated, but she was more challenging now. "About what?" I still didn't know what she was getting at. "Do we go on as we are, or do we ... I don't know ... look, experiment, try something new?" I laughed contemptuous, "Ah, that would be 'try something new.'" Name anything — I don't care what the fucking question is 'try something new' would always be the answer. "I think so, too." I bit my tongue, I wanted to shout 'YOU CAN'T TRY SOMETHING NEW, YOU HAVEN'T GOT THE FUCKING IMAGINATION TO TRY SOMETHING NEW!' But I stayed quiet. "It's been bad, hasn't it? I mean for you." I hadn't completely tuned her out, but it was close. "What has been bad?" "Our life together. The sex." Sex? Ah, sex. No shit, Sherlock. We didn't really have a sex life. This didn't rate a comment. I continued staring at the ceiling. She persisted. "Hasn't it, Mike?" I was controlling myself though I didn't want to. "There's absolutely no point in us talking about this, Pat." "You think I'm hopeless." Hopeless? Ya, as a matter of fact I do. I gave her my answer: I remained quiet. "Answer me!" The demanding desperation in her voice had more than a little panic. "You think I'm hopeless. Sexless." I tried to stay calm, safe. "I think we have different threshold." "You think ..." I almost lost it. "I THINK you've shown absolutely no interest in sex since the day we were married." "You think ..." I couldn't take it any more. "I THINK? ENOUGH OF THIS BULLSHIT!" I almost shouted at her. It was her depressing, wimpish mewlings about a subject she knew nothing about and cared even less — THAT I found insulting. "I don't think, Pat, I know — we've been together 26 fucking years for crissake. You have as much interest in sex as I have in talking to you about it." "So you go to your porn." "What are you doing?" I snorted. "Forbidding that?" "No, of course not." I was back glaring at the ceiling, trying to control my heartbeat. "Then what are you talking about?" "That I want us to start trying to have sex, interesting sex." "Oh, for crissake, Pat, you don't know the meaning of the word sex, never mind how to make it interesting." "I'm learning." "Learning!" I scoffed. "How?" "The internet. Pornography. I've been going there, too. For awhile, for quite a while." The words jolted me. I couldn't help but look over to see if she was kidding. "You?" "I've been going online most every day ... for more than a year." "Why?" The notion shocked me; she's way, way too straight for this. The thought of her getting off in front of a computer was ridiculous. "Information," she said, looking at me intensely, "but the stories, too and the movies and the pictures. I've been looking at all of it." "Why?" I repeated. This seemed absurd; she's the last person I couldn't imagine peering at a screen of porn. "Because it helped; it helped a lot." "Helped what?" Were we really having this conversation? "Helped me to think of sex in new ways, interesting ways, helped me to ... I don't know, loosen up." "Loosen up." As if there was a chance of that. If there was one woman who didn't 'loosen' anything, it was my wife. "Yes." It suddenly dawned on me just how stupid this conversation really was and it pissed me off. "Don't fuck around with me, Pat. I'm in no mood." "I know." "So what's loosening up mean? What's interesting sex to you?" "I think we have to find that out ... by experimenting." "Experimenting." I couldn't have been more scathing. "You want to experiment?" "I want to turn you on, Mike. I want a sex life, a good sex life, I know it's been awful." "So at 46 you're going to flip a fucking switch?" "That switch has been flipped, Mike. I've read the stories, seen the pictures, watched the videos ... I have a good idea of what's possible now and I want us to start doing these things." "You don't have a fucking clue, Pat. Honest to God, you don't have a fucking clue. By interesting sex you mean having sex with the fucking lights on." "I'll try anything." She had her mousey, vulnerable, fragile look. It was pathetic. She had no idea what she was talking about. "You'll try anything — you'll sacrifice yourself for anything?" That's the way it sounded. "No. I want this." "Anything?" "I love you, Mike, I have since day one. But we've never made it, I know that and I know a good part of it is my fault, not all, but a good part so, ya, anything, I'm prepared to try anything to pull us together." "We're talking sex here, right? Rutting, sweating, fucking sex?" I looked at her closely to see if she recognized the words. "Sex is supposed to be fun. I want us to have fun." This was all bullshit: you don't change overnight. "Give me a fantasy, Pat. One. Give me just one of your fucking sexual fantasies." I had nothing but contempt for her on this subject and I wasn't falling for it. She had never once done anything that would indicate she had a pulse, that she was anything but sexually dead. I thought this would stop her in her tracks. It didn't. She answered immediately. "The biggest one? We're at a party. You look over at me. You want me, and everyone there knows it." "That's not ..." "No, but that's where I'm going and I know it's going to take a lot to get there." Some fantasy. "So you're standing in that room, right? Why would I look over at you? Why would I want to have sex with you, Pat? We haven't really had sex since the beginning; you'd be dressed like a librarian and you'd be giving off vibes to everyone in the room including me that you don't want to be touched. Why would I be looking across the room at you like I want you? Why? I know I can't have you so why?" "Yes you can. Wherever you want. From now on. Honest." "Bullshit." "Try me." I hadn't looked at her through the last part of this, I was just too goddam mad. Words. They were just empty fucking words. Fuck it! "OK!" I jumped out of bed, reached into my sock drawer, threw the night shade I use for plane travel on the bed, then went into my closet and grabbed a handful of ties. "Put it on, Pat, take off your nightie and lie down with your legs and arms stretched apart." Fuck it. If she wants to play with this, fine, play or shut the fuck up! She didn't hesitate, she did as she was told, quickly and in a few frantic, angry minutes I had her tied up, then I sat down and for the first time in 26 years I looked at the fully exposed, fully naked body of my wife. What a fucking waste. She still had the shape, the one I had fallen in love with, the sexy clavicle, the long legs, the smooth flat belly, the supremely feminine hips — she has a fabulous walk. And the great tits which I had spent next to no time with — they were hidden all the time, out of bounds, like the gash between her legs covered with brown curling hair now slightly flecked with grey, a pussy that was forbidden and unwilling but, at least, now I could actually see it. To think what might have been. She was uncomfortable, I could see that and I'm not a prick. "Am I scaring you?" "You're terrifying me." It looked like it. I jumped to my feet and reached to untie her hand. But she protested. "No, no," she, strained at the ties. "I'm terrified at what you're thinking. Why would you want to look at me? That's what's scaring me. Why would you be interested? I get that, I'm a sexless ... cadaver to you. Why should you care?" She tried to peer through her mask to find me. " Let's do this, Mike but not now, let's do this later. Now, let me do this to you. Let's change places." Fuck it! I tried. It took me seconds to untie her then I was heading downstairs for a much-needed drink when she grabbed my arm. "I'll do that, Mike, I want to do that but I need for you to want to do it first." She bent down, picked up the ties and held the mask out to me. "Put it on, Mike. Let me do this to you first. Please." She was nervous, ashen, tense — this was going to be the last of it, the absolute fucking last of it. I look off my pyjamas, surprised she didn't stop me, then grabbed the mask, got on the bed, lay down and put it on. When she started to tie me up I was wondering what could possibly be going through her head? She could barely ride out sex never mind initiate anything. When she completed tying me up I could feel her weight sink onto the bed. She was totally still for almost a full minute then she said in that hollow voice. "I'm sorry, Mike. It happened right from the beginning and I didn't know how to change it. But I'm going to try now." 26 years later? She gently ran her hand over my thigh. "First, let me get the preliminaries out of the way, OK? First, I love you, Mike, now as much as I did when I married you. It's been shitty, I know. I know I haven't deserved it; you could have left, I know that but you haven't, you've been good to me and you've been good to Janice. And you've never complained, never once. So why haven't I been fucking your lights out from the get-go?" She has never used terms like that before. I could feel my prick start to rise. She took my now half-stiff cock in her fingers and gently and inexpertly caressed it, then, for the first time ever, she put her lips on it. "Do you know why, Mike? Do you know why I haven't been fucking your lights out? Because you've been a fucking wuss, a grade-A fucking wuss. You should have taken me that first night and just done me because that's the kind of woman I am. You should have just picked me up and fucked me and kept on fucking me until we got it right and then we should have moved on to whatever it was you wanted. That was bullshit, Mike. You put me on a pedestal and treated me like I was some kind of fragile ... I don't know, a prissy little princess thing and I was afraid to object. Are you listening to me, Mike." "I didn't ..." "Fuck you. You've had your say, now hear me. You've never ripped my clothes off, never pushed me onto a bed and just fucked me, never put your hand inside my shirt and squeezed my tits, never shoved your hand up my dress and groped me, never told me you wanted to eat me, or squirt your cum on my face — all those things you watch on your videos. And have you bought me any of the sexy things those women wear? No. And you've never expected anything from me. I was sick, Mike, maybe I'll tell you about it some time, but I was sick for all those years, I needed your help, your guidance but you never did anything for me, you just allowed me to be me, pitiful, joyless me. It was hopeless." Porn Therapy The words tumbled out so fast I couldn't take them in. But I got the tone, the despair and it dawned on me for the first time that I might have a share in the blame. "It was hopeless, Mike and then I discovered your pornography. I saw what you looked at; I saw all the women in their panties and their sexy bras; saw all the pubic hair; saw the masturbating; the woman together; the groups. Finally, I saw inside your head, I saw what turned you on." I couldn't see her, couldn't read her. I was lost in blackness. Where was she going with this? We were on new ground, my cock sensed new frontiers but I wasn't so sure. Then her lips were on me and she sucked as if she had done it before, as if it was natural, as if she knew what she was doing. I strained at the ties. She pulled away. "I spent the first month tracking where you'd been and all the time I was wondering if you ever saw me in those pictures and movies you were watching, if you ever saw me in the little panties, the skimpy bras, if you ever saw me sitting with my legs open, with my fingers in me, if you ever saw me with my face between a woman's legs, in a group ..." "Pat." "Did you ever see me like that, Mike? No, I know you didn't, how could you? I gave you no reason to." She sucked a couple more times, her mouth hot and wet. "And then it happened, maybe a month into it. I forgot about you when I looked at the pictures and I looked for me. Could I do any of that? Could I see myself like these women seemed to see themselves, as sexy, as desirable, as a turn on? Me? No, of course I couldn't, not at first. But I stayed with it, I've been at it for months and gradually, it started to happen." She kissed along my thigh and pushed her face into my pubic hair biting me gently on the base of my prick. "I knew you masturbated to the pictures and videos — you sometimes left Kleenexes on the desk. I started to. I knew you liked panties so I'd strip down to my underwear and started to play with myself, imagining me being one of the girls on the screen, imagining people looking at me, imagining you looking at me. It took guts but only at first. I've never really masturbated, I've wanted to but it never worked for me. But it did with the pictures and the movies and the stories, it was easy and it became addicting. I masturbated all the time. I've had some fabulous orgasms, fabulous cums as they call them." My head was swirling, I felt dizzy, disoriented, I was pulling hard, I wanted out of the binding, I wanted my prick in her, I wanted to pound my prick into her cunt until she screamed. I could feel her move, she was getting to her knees, then she was straddling me. I gasped when she took hold of my prick and rubbed it up and down the outside of her wet cunt, slowly, she was taking her time, she was in no hurry. "The switch flipped for me when I started to look at the porn, not to imagine how you might see me in it, but to imagine myself in it. Could I lie there with my legs open so you could look at me? The thought appalled me at first, but the more I looked at your sites the less resistance I had until one day I thought I could do it, I thought I could lie there for you. Then, something came alive in me and I discovered that not only could I imagine myself doing what was in the pictures but I found I wanted to. That was the big change. I turned from cringing from it, to accepting it, to imagining it, to want it, now I'm trying to seek it. That's where I am now." She had slowly moved my prick up and down her crack going in a little deeper with each pass. I could hear myself panting, I wanted to thrust into her and keep on fucking but I was entranced, too. I didn't want to leave the moment, I didn't want her to stop talking, I wanted her to get it out, to see where she was going. I fought for control right up to the moment when she slid me down to poke at her asshole. "Oh, God, Pat." She chuckled as she teased me. "I've seen these pictures, too, Mike. Could I do that? I bought a dildo and tried it. Ya, I could. And in awhile, I knew I could do the rest of it, too. Could I take my clothes off in front of others? Ya, eventually, I thought I could, if you wanted me to. Could I 'go down' on a woman like all those women in the pictures? Ya, I'm pretty sure I could, if you wanted me to. And group sex? Ya, I could do that, if you wanted it, and if you wanted me to, I could see how I could fuck somebody else. That's porn, isn't it, Mike? It gives you ideas, the pictures and films break down your inhibitions and create desires, then they reinforce your desires until you realize, ya, I could do that and then ya, I want to do that if he wants me to do it." She slid along my body now, moving up so her knees were at my outstretched arms, her pussy just inches from my face. I could smell it. "You develop an imagination, don't you? If you see yourself in those pictures pretty soon you start imaging yourself in different situations. Don't you?" She waited for an answer. "Yes," I gasped. "It can take you to some pretty wild places?" "Yes." "But not me. Do you know why, Mike?" Not her? After all this. "No." "There's a reason. I'll tell you about it some time." She knew she was driving me crazy but she didn't move, other than to run her hands through my hair. "But it all boils down to this: I can do all those things you fantasize about on your webpages ... but only if you tell me to do them. Do you understand?" "No." I didn't. "Do you want to eat me, Mike?" "Yes." "Then tell me, tell me to put my cunt on your face." "Pat." "Tell me." "Turn around, put you cunt on my face and blow me." She has a nice ass, I've always thought so, a runner's ass, which was now dressed in grey slacks tight enough to show a seductive panty line. And she's got great tits, not as big as her mother's or sister's but nice, especially now, sagging seductively free under her white t-shirt. I hadn't said a word since it was over. I just got dressed as she did, followed her down into the kitchen, sat and sipped the beer she put on the table in front of me. I watched her at the stove as I tried to make sense out of what I was thinking of as the Great Metamorphosis. Nothing could have been more immediate, more unlikely ... and more welcomed. I still had a hard-on: I could still feel the sexual energy coursing through her body; could still feel her warm wet mouth sucking me; could still smell her wonderful femininity deep inside my nostrils. This wasn't going to be a one off, she convinced me of that. The moment it was over she flipped around and pressed her mouth against mine before saying, "I want this, Mike. Desperately. Let's just do it, do what they do in those videos and see where it goes." She glanced back at me now, maybe to see if I was still there and still smiling. She has a pretty face, not beautiful by any means, but pretty in a sensible, practical kind of way. She has a dark complexion with dark brown hair falling well past past her shoulders and she has a wide, firm jaw and small mouth, a somewhat thick nose and attractive hazel eyes that have just now learned to sparkled. She once was sexy to me in her unique Slavic way but that was a long time ago. Then she became plain and mousey — cold, dull, uninteresting. Now, she is looking sexy again. Our daughter Janice unlocked the door and entered the kitchen at 17 minutes to 11. She was surprised to see. "What are you two doing up?" She didn't live with us any more, she had an apartment downtown, but she often dropped by and often stayed the night in her old room. When Pat turned glad to see her, Janice slowly looked her mother up and down and grew a look of astonishment. "You've had sex, haven't you? My God, you've just had sex!" Pat smiled calmly. "It happens." Janice was so surprised she shook her head like a confused child in denial. "Not to you it doesn't. Not to you two. You haven't had sex in years." Pat turned back to the stove. "Well, we're having sex now, if that's OK with you." Janice continued to stand in front of the door. "Why now? What's changed? I mean, besides that you don't wear a bra any more." Pat looked over at her. "Want some eggs?" Janice looked at me. "No, seriously, what's changed? Why sex now?" "Mid-life crisis," I said, evasively, feeling as awkward as I often do with her. Clearly, she wasn't moving until she had an answer. "No, come on, seriously, I want to know. Why now? What happened? What changed?" We've never talked about intimate things before. None of us is the open type which was why I was surprised Janice was taking a Masters in Psychology, super-surprised she wanted to be a Psychologist. It just didn't fit: she had the least inquiring mind of anyone I knew. Pat could see her anxiety. "Do you really want to know what's changed?" "Ya, I do." She seemed rooted to the floor. "In a word?" "Jeez, use a thousand." "Porn." The word punched the air with impact. "I discovered pornography a year ago and when I did I found my inner vamp." She turned back to the stove. "Your father thinks I'm faking it." I couldn't believe she said that, the old Pat wouldn't have uttered that word on a dare. "No I don't, I'm just adjusting to the shock." Janice was clearly confused. "Porn? Really?" Pat shrugged, "What can I say?" Janice looked at me. "I don't get it. How could porn change anything?" Mercifully, Pat answered, albeit laconically. "I needed the shock." "Why?" she persisted, she still hadn't moved. Pat shrugged. "No, seriously, why? Why did you need the shock?" Pat turned back to her and hesitated for a moment, unsure of herself, then she said, "Do you really want to know?" "Of course I want to know. Why?" Janice seemed as out of sorts as we were, she never talked like this, was never demanding. There was a touch of panic in her voice, Pat could see it as easily as I could. Pat turned off the burner, turned around and leaned back against the stove and looked, not at Janice, but at me. "I didn't think I'd ever tell you this." She waited a moment to gather her thoughts. "By the time I married you I had shut down." She hesitated, then I could see her resolve building to go for it: "I was abused ... from the age of 13 to 18. Sandra made me into her little play thing. OK?" The revelation was so stunning I thought she was kidding but she doesn't kid and the tears that were welling in her eyes started rolling slowly down her cheeks. I jumped up and rushed over to her and held her. Instinctively, I knew it was true, it made sense. I had always thought that somehow she was damaged, I just didn't know how. Janice was asking more questions, rapid-fire. I waved her off. "She'll answer your questions tomorrow, not now. Clean up here will you?" I took Pat by the arm and walked her upstarts to the bedroom and sat her down on the bed. "We'll take tomorrow off, go for a walk, a drive, go out and get drunk, whatever. OK? Come on, I'll hold you, tomorrow we can talk about it." She nodded vacantly, started to undress and was in bed in a matter of minutes. I lay beside her holding her close for perhaps the first time ever. She wasn't crying, her breathing was even, gradually she relaxed. In awhile she said, "It doesn't matter any more, Mike. I've finally beaten it." She was exhausted. The roller coaster of emotions over the last few hours must have gutted her. I caressed her back and felt her drift off then tried for sleep myself. But I was wide awake. How can you live with someone and not know they have a problem, a deep debilitating problem? I felt ridiculous, particularly because I had been so condemning of others. I have friends who were shocked to discover their daughter had become anorexic. Anorexic! Give me a break. How can you live with someone and not notice something like that? But how can you live with someone and not know she had been abused? I tried to think how such a thing could happen. The father was long gone before I met her and I didn't know her mother very long before she died. I had met Sandra only twice and remember her vaguely as a big girl, loud and obnoxious. What exactly did Pat mean by 'little play thing?' What had Sandra put her through? Whatever it was the trauma to a young kid must have been soul destroying. And then I thought of the metamorphosis that blossomed just two hours ago. How a damaged woman had apparently overcome her emotional disfigurement and started to emotionally expressing herself. Was this real? Was it healthy? Was it genuine change? Did she, could she now feel honest, healthy lust? I didn't know, didn't know who I was dealing with, only that I had an interest in her now where just hours before I had none. I still hadn't found sleep a few hours later when she snuggled into me. "Forget about it. I have." "Can you?" "I couldn't ... but I have." "But are you healthy? Maybe you should get some professional help?" She crawled onto me, straddling my thigh, pressing her pussy into me as she kissed me on the neck. "No, I'm good now, the best I've ever been." She bit me on the neck. "And I'm deadly serious about what I said, Mike. I want to go for it, I want us to go for it." "Why?" She snickered. "For the most basic of reasons: I'm horny, I'm a Smithers, what can I say? We're all horny, it's just taken me a lot longer than the other two to figure it out." She wrapped her fingers around my prick. "Speaking of horny ..." Things seemed to have eerily reverted back to normal the next morning with the exception that, as I was thinking about it, I was slowly stroking my cock. Pat always got up before I did, went into the bathroom, showered, dressed in her dressing room off our bedroom then departed. It seemed today might be the same. So after the shower was turned off I called her. When she came in she was naked, holding her panties. Had she really changed? "Get on the bed," I said, glad to see her lips curl in amusement as she glanced at the cock in my hand. She did, without hesitation. I got up. "In the middle, on all fours," I ordered. When she did and I sat down behind her. "Now spread your legs and put your head on the pillow." And there it was. She has a great ass that, like her breasts and her pussy, I have always treated as off-limits. It wasn't now. I began stoking again as I leaned in and kissed her cheeks a few times before diving in. When I pressed my face into her crack and stuck my tongue at her anus I heard a deep sign of approval that changed my gears. Immediately, I jumped to my knees, grabbed her roughly by the hips and pushed my face into her as hard as I could. It wasn't a moan any more, it was a cry and she was rocking, pushing back at me, spreading herself wide and her fingers soon found her clit. I had imagined this a hundred times, not with her, of course, that would have been absurd, with one of the girls on the screen. I'd play with her anus with my tongue, trying to drive her nuts then when she got close I would force in my tongue as deep as I could awhile driving my finger into her soaking cunt. But you can't force your tongue in very far, I learned, but you can suck like crazy on it and you can take her places neither of you knew existed. We came together, in no time, I splashed my orgasm against her thigh, she ran her cream onto her fingers and then she was on her back and I was in her and we were kissing frantically as I fucked her as hard as I could. She was fully dressed and smiling down at me as I stoked my prick still sticky with her juices. "I'll call in for us then we'll plan the day, OK?" "Will it involve any of this?" "The rest of your life will involve a lot of that." Janice was in the kitchen with the coffee ready when we came down. She gave us a smirk, an oddly knowing reaction from her. If she had heard our cries I would more easily have expected her to shun us. Our daughter isn't exactly the warm and nurturing type, far from it. She is beautiful, an extremely pretty version of her mother with a more classically refined face and a more athletic body. But she's just as dull as her mother is, or used to be. I could never quite connect with her. I love her, or try to, and I've always given her everything she's wanted, which was never much except to be left alone, to come and go to her own rhythms. Fine. Her mother and I were expert at giving Janice all the space she wanted. Janice poured the coffee for us and waited for her mother to speak. After a few minutes of meaningless banter Pat could see her daughter's restlessness. "OK, I'll answer your questions but then it will be over, OK?" Pat was ready for her daughter's first question but she never could have expected the second. "Did porn really pull you out of it?" We all knew what 'it' was, 'it' was a state of sexless being. Pat sipped her coffee. "Yep, it did. It was invaluable, at least the porn that looked like fun was. That got me thinking. It took time, months but once I got a sense of what sex could be, my imagination took over and I started to get some idea of how I could ... fit in with it." When she smiled at me I could see a hint of sorrow. Janice looked nervous, I wasn't sure why, Pat's answer had been open and honest, exactly the kind of answer Janice would have wanted. I found out. "This is my last question for now, mum, but I really, really, really want you to say yes to it. I have a major paper to write later in the term. I want it to be on you. Here's the question: can I write as my paper the story of your sexual metamorphosis from beginning to end, with your discovery of pornography being the big break-through? You wouldn't be named, of course, but otherwise, the report would be an entirely accurate case study." Pat didn't need to think about it. "Sure, I'd like that." And I liked it, too, for only one main reason: working together could make them closer. They had always been estranged, never enemies but never friends. If Pat opened up to Janice it might change that. And Janice just might be able to help Pat: Janice has completed her under-graduate degree in Psychology and is well into her Masters so, academically, she's no dummy. But recently, Janice has expressed doubts that a career in psychology is what she wants. There had been murmurs of a course correction. Maybe an applied case like Pat's might help her make up her mind. If Janice was excited by her mother's response she didn't show it, she just smiled and said, "Thanks, mum. I thought about it all last night. It'll be an in-depth case study stressing the therapeutic powers of pornography, if there are any." Trust Janice to sum up something so profound into so few and such dull words. "So I open up," said Pat, a little doubtfully. "You open up," Janice smiled. "Are you ready for it?" Pat asked. "The story is pretty much all about the pain of my adolescence." Janice nodded. "But it's a story about discovery, too and with a happy ending." "Yes," Pat looked at me and smiled. "I think it does have a happy ending. When do you want to get started?" "In a couple of weeks." Janice picked up her coffee cup and brought it to her lips. "You know, this is a turn-on for me, having your parents discover each other after all these years. It's a real turn-on." "Thank you for that, Janice," I said with deliberate coolness. She smiled then came over and planted a kiss on my cheek. "Have fun." Then she kissed her mum's cheek and said, "You two have got a lot of catching up to do ... I can't wait to hear about it." The moment the door closed Pat said, "The girl is a Smithers, she doesn't know it yet but she is." "And that means?" Smithers is Pat's maiden name but I didn't know what she was implying. "You'll find out," she said, cryptically. I was guessing that in the near future I might be finding out about a lot of things I didn't know about. "What do you want to do today?" Porn Therapy "Spend time with you." We discussed it for awhile and agreed on a plan. We changed quickly, went to Starbucks then hiked an undulating trail in a park on the edge of the city. We didn't talk, we just walked. The joy was in the silence, and the proximity. Except for last night, we hadn't been truly together in decades, sounds ridiculous but it was true: I had spent the vast bulk of my time building my company; she had spent the vast bulk of hers in her career. Janice, we always knew, suffered. "I gather you don't want to talk about it?" I said in the car on the drive home. "I will, with Janice, but I don't want to talk about it with you. I'm ashamed, Mike. Don't tell me I shouldn't be, I know I should. I just let it take over and run my life. I knew I should have talked to you about it right at the beginning. But I didn't, I don't know why, maybe Janice can figure it out, but I don't want us to waste any time on it now. OK? I'm not going to try to seek your forgiveness, I'm just going to move on." "Which means?" "Well, ya, which means what? Here's what I do want to talk to you about." She was quiet for a moment, maybe marshalling her thoughts. "Because of the porn I think I've flipped a switch sexually. No, actually, I'm sure I have. But there isn't a switch for everything. I did what I was told as a kid, that's the way I grew up, that's what I got used to, that's what I expected. And that's what I wanted from you when I married you, Mike. I expected to be told what to do. But I found out you don't work that way; you're not the bossy type, so I've been lost in our relationship, floating out there on my own and I've hated it, hated ... I want you to dominate me ... I started to interrupt but she shut me off. "DO IT, Mike," she said loudly, fiercely, "JUST DO IT. I'm your responsibility; dominate me; get my life in order. Maybe I can make something of it yet." This was dumfounding, I fumbled with another objection ... But she just got louder. "DO IT! It's the only chance I've got. Dominate me, Mike, I'm your responsibility." This violated everything I believed in but she had turned a way, shut me out. It reminded me of last night. It seemed like it was the same kind of thing: she laid down an ultimatum, then, it was to have her, now it was to control her. Fine, I'd treat it the same way now as I did then. Control? She wants control? I'll give her control: "OK, Pat, that promotion you were going to turn down? You're going to take it and embrace it and you're going to do it well. And you're going to fully open up to Janice, tell her everything she wants to know, everything. And you're going to get some help learning how to dress. Who from? I don't know, but I don't want you dressing like you hate yourself any more." Her hand shot out and waved. "OK, OK, that's enough for now, I can only digest so much at a time." I drove for another couple of blocks. "So, you're serious about this. You want me to dominate you; you want me to control you, you're going to do what I say?" "Everything." "You don't look happy." "I'm not happy, why should I be happy? I don't want to take that job, it's going to mean doing a lot of things I don't want to do. But you know that. That's why you think I should take it. It's what I need to do. I get it but I don't like it." "So don't take it." She looked over at me and smiled grimly. "Nice try, Mikey." I drove for a few more blocks when she said, "And this goes for sex, too. I may have flipped a switch, I may have watched a lot of porn but it doesn't mean I have any confidence." "And I do?" "You know what you want." "Ya, well, it was never to have you as a submissive ... if that's what this is about." "It is, that's exactly what this is about." I looked over at her not sure she wasn't kidding me. "Leather and whips?" I knew nothing about submission and it scared me a little, excited me, too, but I had no idea where this was going. "Pull over, Mike. We need to talk." The way she said it left me with no doubt. I found a parking lot in another block and pulled in. She started talking before I stopped. She grew up in a household with two very strong women: her mother and her sister, older by three years. She was the baby. She was constantly told what to do and when to do it. "Are we talking sex here?" "Never mind about the sex for now, I'm talking about how I grew up." She took her time. It becomes a way of living, she explained. It becomes who you are: you wait for directions; you want them and then suddenly you need them, that's the way her teenage years were and then she married me and all the structure was gone. "I don't remember you ever telling me to do something. Ever. If you wanted something done, you'd do it yourself. I was lost, totally lost. We lived parallel lives. Whatever it was, either I'd do it or you'd do it, you never asked me to do anything and I never asked you. That's the way we operated." It was the exact opposite of what she wanted, what she needed. She didn't want freedom of choice, she wanted freedom from ambiguity, but more than that she wanted to be dominated. Controlled. Owned. Protected. "I talk like I knew what was going on then but I didn't. I got this domination-submission thing through porn, in the stories. One of the first stories I read just stunned me. It was about a timid little woman who was nearly paralytic when it came to sex until the man, in a loving kind of way, just picked her up and fucked her. It was rough for her, almost rape but over the next few days he did it again and again again and it broke her down and she succumbed, surrender ... whatever you want to call it and her whole life changed. Bam. That was it. It hit me between the eyes. It was me. It's exactly what I wanted. I read about a lot about submission and thought a lot about it, constantly. Then I traced it back to my childhood: everything fit together perfectly. I am a complete submissive, that's just me. I can function without it but I'll never feel desirable or fulfilled or satisfied until I'm dominated, totally dominated ... by you. Trouble is, you don't dominate, it's just not in your DNA. So what do I do? I shut up." "You're sure about all this, absolutely sure?" "Totally." "How could you be ... through porn, I mean, can that really be a way to diagnose behaviour?" "It can sure get you in touch with your inner self." She looked at me, intensely. "I've seen your albums, Mike. You have hundreds of pictures of women in panties. Why?" Her question didn't bother me, the last 24 hours has inured me to my own peccadilloes. "I love that women will allow pictures of themselves like that. They want me to look at them, I find that thrilling." "Why because I've never let you see me?" "Maybe, ya, but the reason I think I like them so much is because they seem so natural, so honest: here I am aren't I pretty. Ya, you are and ya, it's no big thing to sit in a chair in your underwear — we make it a big thing and it's stupid. I love that it's so ... natural." I was glad to be getting this out. And I had more. "I have a database of masturbation links, you've probably seen it. There's one particular series, a German woman on the street apparently talking to complete strangers, women, and they end up going up to her apartment, it's her apartment I gather, it's all in German so I don't actually know, but up there these complete strangers take off their clothes and they masturbate in front of a camera while the woman looks on with a microphone in her hand, encouraging them and sometimes helping. It's beautiful. I find it thrilling." "Ya, I'vve seen them. I think those women have to do it. They're given an opportunity, given a challenge and they can't resist: they just go for it. I get that. I'd do the same thing under the right circumstances, just like I'd stand in front of a photographer nude if you told me to. I'm those women, Mike, I just need your directions." Some things are too surreal to absorb. She guessed as much. "I want you to know precisely what I'm saying. Take this seriously. Maybe I can change, who knows, but I do know that I will never change if you don't take control. I am a totally submissive personality, Mike. I need to be dominated. Get it?" "You're absolutely sure of that?" "Totally. I'm certifiable." "Submissive in everything or just sex?" "Everything." "So even though it's irrational, counter-intuitive and insulting if I asked you to take your clothes off right now, you would?" "Immediately." "Seriously?" "Totally." "And you'd get sexual pleasure out of that?" "Relief and joy for sure, and sexual pleasure too if that's what you were getting out of it." "How about if I'm manipulating you for my own pleasure?" "That would bring me pleasure, too." "Really?" "I want you to manipulate me because that will mean you want me." I still couldn't grasp this. "What if we were some place and I told you I wanted you to have sex with some guy? You'd do it? "I would." Surprisingly, this didn't shock me. "And you'd get off on that because I'd get off on it or I wouldn't have asked you to do it? Is that the idea? You trust me absolutely?" She smiled. "Bingo." "So I am the man." "You da man." "And this doesn't scare you?" "It excites the hell out of me, Mike. I'm soaking." It was exciting the hell out of me, too but scaring me because I really didn't understand it. "So what's abuse?" "This is pretty close." She grimaced. "This?" "Talking about it. I just want it to be over, Mike. I don't want to talk about it, I just want you to do it. Snap your fingers, take control. You are the dominate, I am the submissive. Period. I don't want there ever to be any doubt about it: you master, me ..." "Slave?" "Slave." I knew I'd have to think a lot more about this before I understood it but right now she looked like she wanted to be tested ... and I knew I wanted to test. "I might ask you to take your panties off to show me you're wet." She demonstratively brightened. "Are you asking me?" "Yes." She didn't even look around, immediately she started in on her shorts. I leaned against the door and watched her, my erection now fully-grown. "What would happen if I liked this idea of domination as much as you do?" "You can't, Mike." She was kicking her shorts off. "You you can only like it. I need it." I watched, fascinated as she sat up and stripped off her panties and handed them to me. They were white and cotton and truly wet. "I want you to wear sexier stuff in future. Light colours." She smiled happily. "Sure." "Do you want me to buy them or will you?" "I will, but get me things you want me to wear. That would thrill me." She didn't try to cover up after she handed me her panties, she just lay back with her legs open looking at me with an entirely new appearance, one of devotion. "How do you feel?" "Like I'm owned, Mike, it's the best feeling I've ever had." I checked the mirrors before I leaned forward and kissed her. Tears rolled down her cheek. They were obviously tears of relief which ended quickly. It felt truly weird when I handed back her panties and told her to get dressed. She was right, I hadn't noticed it before but I've never actually told her to do anything, it just didn't come natural to me. Telling her to put on her panties felt strange, unnatural, even creepy. Could I do this? I drove out of the parking lot onto the street. "So I've officially taken over, is that how we're leaving this? I am now the dominant, you are now the submissive and in all things including sex? Is that what you want? This is the way we are now going to live our life together?" "It's more than that Mike. It's that but I want everyone to know it, I don't want you hiding this. I want you to show people you dominate me, that's the way I'd like to live." The weird just got weirder. "That isn't sick?" "You don't have to order me around, you just ask me so that people can see me obey." "Obey?" "Obey." "That's what you need. Submission, obedience?" "Domination, submission and obedience, yes." I really wasn't getting this but she was dead serious, I knew that. "We'll go slow." "Not too slow." I thought about this for a couple of blocks. "So if I'm always telling you what to do how do I know what you want?" "Jesus, Mike, you just don't get it, do you? If you're telling me what to do, I am getting what I want." "So, literally, if I was having a drink with Frank and I called you in and told you to strip, you would." "Yes." "Why?" "Because I'm a submissive, I do what you tell me." "But you'd be repulsed, if not at the thought of it, at me asking you to do it." "No I wouldn't. You'd have your reasons and that's good enough for me. I'd do it because you told me to do it and that's why I'd love to do it ... with that example in particular because then Frank would know that you're my man and I'm your woman." Jesus, the concept was a mind-blow. "Are there any boundaries here? I mean, are there any at all? What would you do if ... I asked you to shoot somebody?" She thought about this. "I don't know, maybe I'd do it but you'd never ask me to that, that's why I have all this trust in you, that's why I married you. I trust you." She told me not to run from it. To deal with it. But how do you deal with something like that? Anyway, I wasn't sure she knew what she was talking about. I had never had any sense that Janice was acting strangely towards me. In fact, I've never felt very close to her at all, certainly never felt what Pat was inferring. I put it out of my mind. It was too weird. Pat's problem was far more manageable, although I wasn't sure how. Don't need this if I leave out the section before. When we got home from the drive I had 2 beers to her glass of wine. We sat in the kitchen knowing that we had to start fucking fast, but I needed a drink, my nerves were shot. When I made my demand I had to force myself to say the words, and I recoiled at them, they were too crude and imperious but I thought she wanted to hear them. "Go upstairs, put on your sexiest panties and bra, get on the bed and wait for me." She smiled instantly, quickly stood up and left while I kicked myself all over the block. I have never once talked to a woman that way, or anyone else for that matter, even small animals. It was totally and offensively unnatural to me. As I watched her bum leave I popped another beer and let my mind just suspend in the swirl of half-baked abstractions that had assaulted me over the last few hours. In the past years I had gone online for my sex. My wife didn't know it at the time but I think she wanted me to; she wanted me to roam the world of smut; to learn as she would later learn; to evolve as she would later evolve. So here we were, two porn graduates about to fulfill our online tutorials. My hard-on started to press painfully at my shorts so I got up, pulling a six pack from the fridge and took the bottle of wine and glass from the counter. She was lying on the bed with more confidence than I had ever seen in her, in her yes and in her body, which was barely concealed by the most amazing orange panties and bra. I put the bottle, cans and wine glass on the night stand. Her eyes gleamed up at me as she opened her legs. She looked tantalizing lewd, wiry black hair on her smooth white thighs curled into the orange nylon. It was weakening, I sat down on the bed. The moment I did she scooted down as she pulled me in to her and in seconds I was there, where I had wanted to be after all those hundreds of hours looking at women in their panties. She was pushing my head into her, wrapping a leg around my head, my lips and nose and cheeks were rubbing into the hot, fragrant fabric. God, it was the heaven I knew it would be. I totally relaxed and kissed at her mound as she ran her hands deep through my hair. How can a man and woman live together and not connect, then, all of a sudden ...? It didn't make any sense. And it didn't make any sense that this woman could transform so instantly. What did it? I could hardly remember. The admission of incest? The admission of porn? The news that she is a submissive? Yes, it was that one word, submission, that's what changed everything ... because it changed both of us, not just her, but me, too — me in particular because if she was to be submissive I had to be dominant ... or it wouldn't work. That's what changed most for me. Not her, she had always had to deal with her problem. It was me who had to change and that changed everything. It would never have happened if it hadn't been for porn. With my lips tracing the edge of her panties, my nose tickled by the little black hairs curling out, I felt a surge of power flow through me. My face was between my wife's legs because I wanted my face there. I could order it now. Now it was mine for the taking because in some form of biological logic, she got off on me getting off. The power was intoxicating. Gone was the brooding, the wishing, the waiting. I could have her now, when and where I wanted, I could have her ... I just had to teach myself to demand her. My hand was pressed between my legs when I demanded: "Talk dirty to me, Pat. Make me feel like you want this." There was deathly silence. Had I got it wrong? Had I gone too far. I was about to retreat, to pull away, to apologize when she started in. "I have done this thousands of times with you, Mike. You take me. You kiss me, lick me, suck my breasts, eat my pussy, it's what got me through all those years. You wanted me. You were licking me and sucking and eating me when I went to sleep beside you. I'd ask you what you wanted. You'd tell me. You'd tell me how to lie, how to position myself for you. You'd tell me and then you'd be there with your tongue or your fingers or your mouth or your penis because I was yours. I could see your eyes when you were eating me, Mike, they were glazed in sex, but love, too, love that I'd give myself to you, surrender myself to you, that I wanted you to own and control me. I can't tell you how that made me feel. :Ater on, when I masturbated my fingers were always your tongue, I'd ask you what do you want and I couldn't wait to give it to you." Her smell was stronger now, the panties were wetter with my slobber but with her, too. I pushed off my shorts and underwear and gripped my cock, thrilled that she was watching me, squirming, charged, as close as I was. She was pushing at the panties now so I sat up and pulled them off and dropped them on the bed. She quickly took off her bra and reached for my head and put me back between her legs and again pulled at my hair. "I used to do to you everything I saw on your sites, Mike, everything I could do. While you read or slept I tried them all, I imagined myself in the poses, in the groups, in the situations. We did whatever I thought you wanted, what the girls were doing in your pictures and movies. You told me to and we did." I quickly scanned my memory to see what that might cover. I liked girls in panties, I had albums filled with girls together, amateur girls, girls with odd bodies, slight and fat and hairy and eager. And groups. And anal. And I had a albums of older women who, I thought, saw themselves as sexy, that was an enormous turn-on to me. But there was no S&M, no dominant-submissive stuff so I had to ask. "What did you want, Pat? Was any of it there?" She chuckled, "What did I want? I wanted a guy in a leopard skin loin cloth with a club over his shoulder dragging me by the hair into his cave, but it wasn't there, no. That isn't you." "Seriously?" "Ya, and with a little bit of pain just to remind me of who I am." I looked up at her and tried to read her. "Seriously? Are you really serious about that?"