I really don’t know what drove me to it, except possibly, perhaps, quiet desperation and a quieter sense of curiosity.
At 29 and an MBA from the Wharton School Of Finance and a great career as Director Of Marketing for a major Wall Street brokerage firm in NYC, making six figures + in income and paying more than I wanted to in taxes, having a great social life among the glitteratti’ of The City, and being the envy of many women and men with my 5’10”, 135 pound 38C-26-36 body, to be most people I had the world by the tail, but truth is, the world had me by its tail. Two long-term relationships slash engagements down the tubes already without a prospect of a hope for a decent one in the future, the endless stream of married men trying to cheat and single men turning out to be emotionally crippled from their most previous relationship, that or they were closeted gays, and I was just sick of men. SICK of them, I tell you!
I wanted to expand my horizons, I wanted to explore and see what was out there some more, but I did NOT want to do anything which might could stir up gossip and innuendo, which might hurt my career possibilities if enough rumors were put into play. And the Nineties being the 90’s, I also wanted to minimize if not eliminate any chance of catching one or more of the “social diseases”. That’s why I decided to give The Fleming Clinic in upstate New York, up near Syracuse, a call.
I told them what I wanted and what and why and how I was looking for what, and they said they could probably help me. A few days later a bunch of consent forms came in the mail which I had to sign, one for my gynecologist, one for the analyst I went to a few times in the past, one for my GP, etc. Then another trip to my GYN for some venereal tests, another quick session with my ex-analyst, and a week later I got a call from a secretary at the Fleming Clinic while at work.
“We would like for you to come for a weekend evaluation and educational session…what’s your schedule look like?” “I can’t make it this or next weekend…what about the weekend of Saturday the third of next month, how’s that look for you?” “We could do that, that’s fine…we’ll mail you a packet of further information and a couple of tests you can take at home and mail back to us ASAP after you complete them.” “What about my insurance?” “We’ve already contacted them, and they’ll pay 80% of the first $5,000 and 50% after that to $25,000 per annum, so you’re covered.”
“We’ll see you then.”
The clinic was located on the top, third floor of a non-descript office building near a suburb of Syracuse, not far from the University. Signs warned college students that their cars would be towed if the left them in the parking lot. Being a Friday afternoon late, there were still several cars in the parking lot, I figured they must be clinic employees. A security guard unlocked the double doors from the inside to let me in. He asked my business, I told him I was here for therapy at The Fleming Clinic, and he lead me over to an elevator and gave me a key for a special lock on the elevator control panel inside the passenger compartment, inserting it and turning it to the right making it zip up, turning it left making it come down. My weekend bag felt lighter on my shoulder as the elevator rose to the third floor.
A nurse in green surgical scrubs and a white doctor’s lab coat greeted me as the door slid open, asking if I was Jill Bostrom, I mumbling “yes”, she motioning and telling me to follow her. I plopped down on the couch in the waiting room, as Nurse Cathy gave me even more paperwork to fill out. Stretching over to her counter, the phone rang, but she wasn’t there to pick it up. The air conditioning must have been set at 50 degrees or cooler, goose flesh popped up on my arms. I shivered.
Nurse Cathy came out from down a long hall with a clipboard in one hand, and a urine specimen jar in the other, pointing me to the little girl’s room. “You know the drill,” she barked as she closed the door behind me, “When you’re finished, come to the office at the end of the hall,” she continued as I quickly flipped on the light switch so I wouldn’t be groping around for it in the dark of this strange bathroom.
Canned blues-Muzak trailed behind me from overhead speakers as I made my way down the hall to the office, warm piss bottle in hand. Nurse Cathy took the bottle from my hand with : “Is this all, Miriam?”, a pleasant-looking lady with red hair atop a 5’3” frame stuffed inside a tight black dress nodded yes back to her. Miriam rose and motioned me to sit down in a leather executive chair in front of her desk. My weekend bag slipped off my shoulder and next to my chair.
“Excited about this weekend?” Miriam asked.
“Oh, yes, very…” I replied.
“I commend you on the rational’ behind your actions in wanting to come here, Jill…perfectly logical.”
“Well, Miriam…may I call you Miriam?”
“Well, Miriam, as you know, absolute discretion is a must in my case, I can’t afford to have any rumors started that my bosses might hear about…and, I don’t know, I simply never have been around the gay or lesbian scene…I was afraid of doing something stupid, I was afraid of running into the wrong kind of person, I just wanted…”
“You just were looking for a safe, discreet way to explore your potential feelings about other women…”
“Exactly.” “…without jeopardizing either your career or your emotional health.”
“Well, then, Jill, we’re going to spend this weekend together…shall we get started?…you can leave your bag here.”
Gooseflesh covered my body as Miriam lead me down the hall to an examining room, stopping for a second to adjust a thermostat in the hallway up a notch, she noticing my shivering from the cool and anticipation. I kept looking at her, and she me. We smiled at each other. I had no clue as to what to expect, that was part of the therapeutic process, so I wouldn’t create a wall of irrational fears around me. She told me to get undressed, pointing to a coatrack with hangers to hang my clothes on, and hop up on the table. She warmed the vinyl-covered standard gyn examining table with a couple of towels fetched still warm from an autoclave on the counter nearby. I finished hanging my clothes up and jumped up on the table, my panties still on me, holding my maxipad in place. I had called them the day before and asked if my having my period would be a problem, since GYN’s of course won’t examine you while on your period, and they said, “No, it won’t be a problem.”
Miriam made small talk, asking me about my job, my family growing up, the small town in Ohio I was originally from, and on, as her hand gently massaged and clinically touched my face, my stomach, my legs, then my breasts. I rolled over on my stomach at her asking, as she palpated most of my back, the backside of my legs, and my butt, getting me to flip back over on my back, my feet going in the stirrups.
“Let’s see what we have here now…” Miriam chirped as she slipped my panties and pad down and off me, one of the still-warm towels going under my butt, “…Oh, look, A PUSSY!” she cackled, as I laughed at and with her. The ice had been broken, finally. I wasn’t sure if she was going to do something then, or not. I felt a plastic speculum open me up, then some cold liquid being painted inside me and on my labia. “Just double-checking for genital warts and such,” she informed me. Removing the speculum, she massaged my clit and lips some, making me squirm with anticipation. Then I felt a cold blast as she sprayed something on my cunt. “Depilatory, Jill, it won’t take but a minute.”
She kissed me lightly on the cheek as she left me on my back on the table, not coming back for another ten minutes or so. “Pee checks out, we’re ready to go!” she gleefully proclaimed as she kissed me lightly on the lips as she strode by the table on her way down to my butt, toweling off the now-loose pubic hair with another towel. Sounds were made as she moved stuff on an instrument table near her, and I felt my vagina open up as she spread me and inserted a tampon. Giving me a playful tap on my rump, she looked up at me with a “now, we can begin.”
She lead me back the hallway, past the reception area, to an office at the other end of another hallway, except it wasn’t an office. Opening the door, it was more like a nicely furnished studio student apartment. A queen-sized four-poster canopy bed dominated the back part right. The bathroom which had an old-style claw-foot bathtub with shower curtain around it besides the usual commode and lavatory was just five steps away from the bed. A kitchenette area, complete with combination refrigerator and upright freezer, filled out the left back area. The remaining area held a large couch, a small couch bigger than a loveseat, a couple of high-quality vinyl upholstered chairs, a cloth-covered Lay-Z-Boy, a couple of ottomans, and an entertainment center with large-screen TV and stereo.
Miriam adjusted the thermostat for the room up, my gooseflesh slowly going down, as I stood there waiting. Waiting. Waiting for her to lead me down this path, to see if I liked the destination at the end, or not. As she got herself a Pepsi, she asked if I wanted anything to drink. I asked if she had anything alcoholic, if I could have a Stoly Screwdriver. We sat down together on the couch, she sipping her Pepsi and I my Stolly Screw. She flipped the TV and VCR on, and together we began watching a movie. A high-quality lesbian flick flickered in front of us. I had seen lesbian porn before. Pretty boring. Miriam reached for and held my hand. Suddenly I felt warm.
She put my hands to her face. I kissed her. We stood back up. “Kissing is more important to lesbians than straight women,” she cooed as we kissed. “Jill, undress me.”
I unzipped her tight black cocktail dress, it hitting the floor as she stepped out of it. She put my hands to the front of her bra, I unclasping the front hook as it slipped from her shoulders. She traced my hands down to her panties. My thumbs hooked them as she stepped out of them. Touching my shoulders, she nudged me back down to the couch. “We need to kiss more, to ascertain your comfort level so far,” she urged. I was definitely comfortable as we kissed, embracing each other, our arms enveloping one another. I would look into her eyes, and she deep into mine.
We kissed for a good half an hour or more. Breaking for a moment, she finished off her warm Pepsi, as I swigged the last half of my Stolly down. “Follow me lead,” she urged. Her hands touched my breasts, not quite clinically maybe, but definitely not as a lover. It felt like a breast exam, as she worked her fingertips over my nipples and aereola. I dittoed her actions to me on her breasts. She kissed me again, our tongues met once again. That was more like it. Her touches became gropes. She held my breasts more fully now. I did the same to her. She moved her hands to my back and rubbed my shoulders and lower back as we kissed. I followed her lead. “Have you ever seen a vagina close up and personal?” she asked, I shaking my head, “uh-uh”.
Getting some towels from the bathroom, she lay on the bed, putting a towel underneath her bottom, raising and spreading her legs wide, motioning me to join her. A tampon string hung from between her lips. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I guess. Telling me that she knew I knew all the anatomy and physiology of female genitalia already, just to relax and have fun and play with her pussy all I wanted. As my hand stoked her labia, then pinched her clit, then a finger working its way inside her to find her tampon in place, I absentmindedly asked how long she had been doing this, being a professional sex therapist, and how many other women had she helped. She answered “five years” to the former and not a word to the latter.
Pulling her tampon out and rolling it in some tissue from the box on the nightstand, I asked if I could frig her some. She said I could do anything to her this weekend that I wanted to, as long as we could talk about afterwards. First one then two then three fingers made their way inside her. Her menstrual fluid covered my fingers and puddled at her pudenda. Her smell of womanliness filled my nostrils. My thumb mashed her clit as my frig continued. Her legs began to shake, and Miriam came on my hand, her cyprinne fluid diluting the red discharge on my hand to a light pink. My mouth found her cunt. I couldn’t help myself. I was so, SO turned on by her, I just started giving her head. I asked if that was okay and she silently but firmly nodded “yes”.
My tongue slurped and drank the nectar from her cunt which was her gift to me. Scooting up, I kissed her firm on the mouth, her tongue finding mine. She licked her menstrual fluid from my face, like a mother cat cleaning its kitten.
We exchanged places and she mirrored my actions to her on me. When we kissed again, I tasted my own essence, something I had never done, and would have thought gross as everything before that moment. My fingers found my own cunt, dipped some more inside me, and was shared between our lips as we kissed.
The rest of that night was spent in peaceful, happy bliss. We body-painted each other with our menstrual juices, then washed each other off as we showered together. Sleep was deep and deeper.
The next morning, after Miriam and I fixed breakfast together at the kitchenette area just a blown-kiss from the bed, Miriam made a phone call. She asked if I needed to call anyone, and I nodded my head “no”. She was talking about someone coming on over. I assumed it must be another therapist she was talking to.
About an hour later, two new therapists, one a blond about six feet tall, another one shorter and brunette-ish, walked naked into our therapy bedroom. Miriam sat me down beside her on the couch and explained that it is important for me to make love other women that weekend, so I wouldn’t become overly attached by accident to her. Miriam stood up as Joan The Blond and Missy The Brunette sat down beside me on the couch. We kissed a three-way kiss as they groped my breasts and pussy and I tried to return the favor.
Following their lead, Joan lay on the bed as Missy pushed me into her pussy, I knelling on all fours. Missy then kissed my back and rubbed my shoulders as she reached around for my clit. I exclaimed “Missy, my tampon!” as I felt the end of a dildo at my vaginal entrance. Missy stopped, pulled it out, and threw to the bathroom floor fifteen or more feet away, before resuming her beginning slow strap-on-dildo fuck of my pussy. After Joan had came, Missy rolled me over on my back and dove in, almost yelling “I just love a fresh jellyroll!” We all broke up laughing as Missy lapped her fresh pussyroll between my legs.
Soon after, Miriam joined us on the bed, and we four womyn with a “y” had the time of our lives. They might have been professional sex therapists, but when I would make one of them come, I could tell it was no act. They might have been professionals, but they were very human.
Sunday finally came the next day, and so did I, many, many, many more times with my three lovely but professional ladies. As the wheels of the commuter plane lifted off from the bumpy runway of Syracuse’s airport on its way to JFK, my pussy twitched and tingled, and made the decision of which fork in the road of my sexuality for the rest of my life I was to take.