Stu Boy - She Needs Some Pleasin

"I don't know. I can't hear above the running water. Something about eleven o'clock."

"That's when the therapy session ends." He looked at. the control board on the desk. The picture on the monitor disappeared and was replaced by dark and obscure contours. "That's the frozen frame just before orgasm."

"How long before?"

"Thirty seconds. I wish we could get a fitting of the camera nearer to the entrance to the vagina."

"Well, we get some of the same readings from the close-ups of the clitoris."

"Too general. If we could just get a measure of clitoral erection… "

"Can I see the tape of the vaginal contractions again?"

The design on the screen began to move. The lines of muscle separated toward the sides of the television's face. When the dilation passed, Libby pressed her thumb down on the stop watch in her hand. "Four seconds," she said softly. The tape whirred as Chiver pulled the switch. "Get me the timing on the next one." Again the muscle opened. "Three seconds."

"That's true to Miss Carson's test patterns, isn't it?" he asked. He proffered a fresh pack of cigarettes to Libby and she shook her head in agreement. He tugged at the crisp cellophane, retrieved a cigarette, and lit it.

"By the way, have you got her replacement?"

He exhaled in a ring that floated above the TV. "A woman was referred by Dr. Lawrence in gynecology at the Municipal Hospital.

"How does she sound?"

"Young-he says she's quite attractive, and not prudish. She came to him complaining that she thought she was a nymphomaniac. He persuaded her it was nonsense, and suggested she see us. She's new in town, which is fine. I want the surrogate therapists to have as few ties with the townspeople as possible. It's easier on the women, and it's a protection against scandal."

"When do you see her?"

Chiver started, then looked down at his wristwatch. "In about five minutes. We have a ten-thirty appointment. You're welcome to interview her with me."

"These women are really more at ease with men than with other women. Several that I've interviewed have later told me the same thing-that I seemed scornful. That's nonsense, of course, but still… "

She rose and walked casually to the door. "Lunch?"

Chiver nodded. He turned his attention to the small animated box on his desk. The orgasmic contractions were like lightning spasms. He depressed an illuminated yellow button and the picture changed again. He turned the sound switch on, and the conversation in the room was heard through a small speaker attached to the side of the television.

Terri Carson rose off Bud Jones' penis. She moved the phallus head against the labial flaps. It was larger than normal, but not fully stiff. "Oh, come on, fuck me, make it hard… " She squeezed the damp tool in her fist.

Susie Giver phoned Stu Boston, the editor of Woman magazine, from a booth at a gas station one mile down the highway from the Institute for Socio-Sexual Research. "I'm going for the interview as soon as I get off the phone, Stu," she said with annoyance. "I don't want to be late."

"Well," he answered slowly. She imagined him at his desk in New York, his fingers combing through masses of paper clutter. She looked at her watch and only heard the last of the sentence. "… and I want you to keep detailed notes on every step. Including the interview. Hear me?"

"I hear you." Exasperated, she placed the receiver on the silver hook and left the booth. She ran to her car, a Mercury Cougar, and shivered at the warmth from the heater that assaulted her when she settled behind the wheel. She released the emergency brake, pushed on the accelerator, and the car lurched out of the station's driveway.

"Dr. Chiver will see you right away." Susie thought she detected disapproval for her slight tardiness in the nurse's last phrase. She followed the slim attendant inside the wood-paneled office. A gray-haired man in his late fifties, dressed in a dark business suit, arose behind the huge mahogany desk and extended his hand. He gestured that she sit down.

"The first question, of course, is whether you want the job. Dr. Lawrence said you weren't sure-"

In her enthusiasm, Susie cut him off. "I've thought about it a lot, and I have decided I would like the job."

"That is fine," Chiver smiled, and Susie wondered if he wore dentures. He was, she thought, quite handsome. "Then I guess we had better begin. Did Dr. Lawrence tell you that there would be certain… tests?" He paused and tried to read her mind and her reactions from her eyes. Giving up, he continued. "I'm afraid that if you find them embarrassing, you may find much of the therapist's workload embarrassing."

Her gleaming smile reassured him. "What shall I do first?"

"There is first an oral interview. Quite general." He opened the drawer of his desk and removed a sheath of mimeographed pages. He took a new pencil from an open. canister and tapped it on the leather edge of the ink blotter. "May I?"

Susie nodded.

"Have you ever masturbated?"

"Yes?"

"When was the first time?"

"I was thirteen."

"To climax?"

"Almost always."

"With foreign objects injected into the vagina?"

"Occasionally. "

"When was your first sexual experience, apart from autoerotic play?"

"At fourteen."

"Intercourse?"

"Yes. I-"

"Was there extensive precoitaI play, say with a boyfriend, before you were fourteen?"

"Several. But not many. Not until I actually started fuck-" The slip was intentional, but the blush was automatic.

"That's certainly all right, Miss Giver. We don't hold to any Victorian taboos around here. It would be hypocritical."

She nodded thoughtfully. "As I was saying… "

"Dr. Lawrence said that you evidenced a fear of nymphomania. Did it begin then, at fourteen?"

"Not the fear so much. That came later, in the past year, when one of the men I was sleeping with called me a whore. That upset me."

"Of course." Chiver's tone was fatherly. He looked down at the questionnaire. "Any experience with other women?"

She hesitated purposefully, but then she answered. "A few times."

"Were there orgasms?"

She blinked and nodded her head vigorously. "There certainly were."

"Would you have any objections-under scientific circumstances, of course-to performing acts of a homosexual nature in the Institute?"

"I… I guess not."

"Good, good." He looked up and twirled the pencil between his index finger and thumb. "One more thing. Have you ever engaged in sexual activities with more than one partner at a time?"

"Well, when I was working in New York, I used to belong to a swingers' club. I guess you know what those are."

"Certainly." He inhaled deeply and betrayed his interest as he cupped his. chin in hand.

"There were different combinations. Sometimes two girls and a guy, sometimes two men and two women, sometimes a whole bunch of people."

"So that would be acceptable, then, as well?"

"I don't see why not."

"The alarm will ring in ten minutes." The door closed, and Wit Chiver's face was lost behind it. Susie Giver found herself alone in a small white room. Rectangular, it was bare except for a single bed. Even the blanket above the clean and pressed sheets was white.

She was totally nude except for the elastic band Chiver's nurse had wrapped around her thigh. A small wire reached out and squirmed inside her vagina. It scratched her as she moved to the bed. She relaxed easily, and her legs raised off the floor. She stared at the small hump in the elastic where, Chiver had said, the transistors were placed. One thin wire was dangling loose. Yards long, it ended finally under the door that had just closed.

She had no time to lose, though she expected ten minutes would be long enough to produce an orgasm. She stroked her stomach softly with her fingers. She pressed her legs together, and the walls of her cunt meshed. She was warm inside, but not yet moist. She rested her pinky on the fillip of pink flesh that was dormant. She pressed it down. She rolled it over the tangle of black-brown pubic hair. She circled the tab with the smooth nail of her forefinger. Her left hand rolled the skin over her hipbone. She arched her spine and her breasts rolled up. Her wrist jammed against her hipbone, and she bent her arm at the elbow. The left breast moved toward her face. She tried to turn the tip toward her, and stuck her tongue out toward her chin. She just barely grazed the surface of the intricate texture with her tongue. Saliva made the chocolate-brown shine in the crisp morning daylight of the antiseptic room.