Michael Alan - From Virgin to He-Whore - The Butterfly Effect

Because we had ample fucking friends, we never felt the need to fuck each other. Also, I felt that her situation as my rent-paying tenant would have been compromised if we had fucked each other.

There was one occasion however, where we almost ‘crossed that line’.

I had met a woman who lived in my complex at the local Hash House Harriers club. We became very ‘intimate’ friends and she would often knock on my door with a routine expectation from me to satisfy her sexual needs. It wasn’t uncommon for her to playfully push me onto the floor as she walked through the door and fuck me there and then. This floor fucking only happened when my flatmate wasn’t home.

One night while the three of us shared some alcohol and played cards together, my fucking friend demanded she was ready for sex (she was of German decent – hence her abruptness) and led me to my bedroom. As we enjoyed each other’s bodies, my flatmate had become aroused by the sloppy sounds of our fucking frenzy and for the first time joined us in the bedroom.

My experiences assured me that all women were bisexual so I saw nothing unusual in this development. However, she became totally agitated when she realized that it was my flatmate’s hand and not mine stroking her cunt and announced that she didn’t do ‘threesomes’ and left. My flatmate and I were a little stunned as my fleeing fucking friend had always seemed open to any sexual fantasy and actively sought new and unusual ways to enjoy sex.

Realising our passions were still highly active we looked at each other while glancing at the other’s aroused organ. An obvious amicable solution immediately presented itself to both of us! If I sucked her cunt to satisfy her passions, she’d return the favour to my cock. Without a word and just a simple smile we assumed the ‘69’ position and resolved our mutual frustrations.

She was extremely delicious and seemed to equally enjoy my full load down her throat. I had by now tasted many women and unfortunately some were extremely bitter with unpleasant vaginal odour. However, my flatmate’s juices proved to be highly tantalizing and I began to look forward to more of her twat taste testing.

This became standard practice from that point on, when either of us was in a state of unrequited arousal without a partner to help satisfy that passion. It was a simple friendly arrangement that didn’t require us to fuck each other, yet allowed us to benefit from our unique harmonious living arrangement. She’d only have to say “Michael?” with a knowing inflection in her voice and I’d get her message. While I could be eating or watching TV and she’d be orally eager to reciprocate if my cock began to twitch.

She was a normal, healthy, sexual woman!

Thanks to my flatmate’s welcoming encouragement and on her request, I would revive many of my yoni massaging skills that my harem sisters had helped me to develop.

Also, the ‘threesome’ episode didn’t affect my friendship with my fucking friend, but it did mean our fucking took place more often at her place than mine from then on.

It gave me a perspective that obviously some women AREN’T bisexual?

However, over time as my yoni massaging skills improved, my flatmate began to spread word at the squash club during the post game (piss-up) socials about the exquisite pleasures she was enjoying from my yoni massages. She wasn’t the least bit shy about her sexuality, even though many of those she regaled sometimes felt it was in the ‘too much information’ basket.

At first it became a joke that everyone loved to tease me about. I was called the ‘crack addict’! I wore the jokes and eventually the humour gave way to genuine secretive enquiries from women who were suffering from sexual frustrations.

Most of these requests resulted in a genuine yoni massage in my bedroom or at their home with financial compensation.

My flatmate knew of my nickname and had spread it around town. So, every now and then one or two of her friends would join us for dinner, a few drinks, a bong or two and/or strip poker, so that they could see ‘Goldilocks’ for themselves. Eventually, we’d all end up in her bedroom where I further honed my yoni massaging skills and usually put Goldilocks to work inside a cunt or two. If the situation turned more erotic than therapeutic it sometimes became an all-in orgy.

Eventually my flatmate met ‘the man of her dreams’ and moved in with him.

My reputation for yoni massage spread by word of mouth around the region and I had a regular flow of women seeking out my professional therapeutic services in the years that followed. In a large regional area this resulted in bookings on average once a week, with more than 50% of these being permanent clients.

My ‘endowment’ also became common knowledge amongst locals and many women would book a yoni massage, partly for the opportunity to ‘meet’ Goldilocks. Even if I didn’t utilize my cock during these yoni massage sessions, it certainly helped to attract clients.

A few psychologists in the region came to know of the therapy and its benefits from client testimonials and I even occasionally got referrals from these sources.

I was amazed how much I enjoyed facilitating these experiences for women. At first, I must admit there was a sexual component to my involvement at a yoni massage therapist. However, within weeks I was finding the joy it gave women was infectious. As my hands wove their magic on a woman’s yoni and she began to respond instinctively to the eroticism of the massage, I became ‘connected’ spiritually to her eroticism.

Each therapy session would begin with a casual chat, allowing my client to relax and become more comfortable in my company. I had an ease with women, that had grown from my many years working in all-female domains. Invariably, each client quickly lost any initial nerves after our chat and a drink. Once she was comfortable in my company, we’d begin the massage.

If nothing else, the main feature I learnt about women from my many ‘butterflies’, was that ‘time’ is the most effective aphrodisiac. All yoni massages built slowly and sensually allowing each client to reestablish her erotic pathways within her body.

I came to recognize the physical reactions within a woman’s yoni that signaled what stage of her erotic journey she was enjoying. When a woman’s vaginal cavity begins to expand and pulse, it is an indication that she is nearing her orgasmic climax. Then, her hips will instinctively begin thrusting and her vaginal cavity will pulse in a climatic implosion.

She is then on the crest of her orgasmic wave and breathing quickly and shallow.

Her stamina and physical reactions would determine how long I’d continue stimulating her yoni. Once she began to breathe more regularly, I’d hold the pressure on her g-spot and allow her to enjoy the recovery stages of her orgasmic wave. Most women will feel the urge to pee with this pressure, but I’d always assure them to relax and go with the feeling. If this pressure on their g-spot is intense enough many women will ejaculate when they orgasm. This capacity for female ejaculation would often totally amaze these clients.

The beauty of that connection with a woman as she relishes true orgasmic bliss is a sensation that cannot be replicated by any other experience. I never took this wonderful pleasure she was enjoying for granted or cut short the time she wished to continue. Almost always, a client would book a one hour appointment and sometimes three hours later as she recovered, be astonished at the time.

I can honestly say that facilitating yoni massages is one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve enjoyed in life. There had to be a financial component to this therapy otherwise other emotions become involved.