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The Storm

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Author's notes:

1. This is a work of fiction. The activities and practices described in this story are not necessarily either condoned or recommended. If you choose to do anything described in real life with real people you do so at your own risk.

2. All characters are fictional and any likeness to any living person is purely coincidental. However, although fictional, the characters in this story are based upon a melange of people whose characteristics have been encountered by the author.

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Prologue:

Everyone has a past and, with the luxury of looking back from some future time, many people regret what they have done in the past and may, in fact, be ashamed of their actions which, it seemed at the time, were both innocent and justified. In addition, many people have some inexplicable internal dark side or evil lurking, just waiting for an opportunity to escape and possibly wreak havoc. This havoc may be wreaked in public or private and may take many forms from unmitigated violence to simple manipulation of the desires and actions of another.

As Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn is quoted as saying: "If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?" (The Gulag Archipelago)

Thus it is that evil, or simply the actions of a person which would be frowned upon by the majority of people if they came to light, seems to be something that is inherent in humans and manifests itself in many ways. The unnamed storyteller in this story is no different. He is driven by a need to experiment sexually with himself initially and with others later, experiencing both the giving and receiving of pain until he is finally able to put to rest at least some of his demons. Perhaps this requirement to actually experience that which he thinks he requires is necessary for a person to exorcise these demons and finally find peace. Perhaps also this exorcism can occur in other ways. Perhaps this is the role of counsellors and psychoanalysts, perhaps the role of storytelling and writing.

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It was a dark night and the rain was pelting down, almost obliterating my view of the road. I checked my watch; two hours from the last town, making another two to home, with a coffee stop in the village that was an hour away. Oh well, getting there, I thought, visualizing my nice warm bed.

From out of the murk I saw the tail lights of a car on the side of the road. What a time and place to break down, I thought. I pulled over behind the car and was just about to get out when a woman's face appeared at the passenger's window. I reached over and opened the door for her, clearing the seat of the few things I had put there for easy access.

"Come in, get out of the rain," I said loudly, to make myself heard over the sound of the driving rain.

She sat on the seat, pulled her legs in and furled her umbrella, then closed the door.

"What a night," she said, "Thank you for stopping. My car just stopped suddenly with a a few loud clunks about half an hour ago. A few motorists have driven past, but you're the first who's stopped."

"Well, it's not much of a night for anything so they were probably keen to get home instead of stopping in the middle of nowhere," I replied charitably. "So what do you want to do? I doubt that I can fix it; the clunking noise you mentioned followed by it stopping sounds pretty terminal. The best thing to do would probably be to take you to the village about an hour's drive away and you could stay there for the night."

"I live in that village so if you could do that it would terrific, thank you."

As we drove off she introduced herself as Alison. I told her my name and we chatted easily for a short time while she dried her hair on a towel I gave her.

"What were you doing out late at night in the middle of a rainstorm?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm a therapist dealing with people who have sexual deviance disorders," she replied.

"That would keep you busy, I would think."

"That's for real. There's some real weirdoes out there, for sure. Many of them are quite young, like in their teens, and somehow develop strange fetishes."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," I replied. "I knew a guy like that a while back. As a teenager he used to rat around in his mother's underwear drawers and wear her elastic corsets when she was out. She never caught him, he told me. He would wear several of them so they compressed his balls, he said. Apparently he just liked pressure on these sensitive organs and he'd get really hard and masturbate for hours like that, reaching orgasm several times. Hey, you don't mind me sharing this guy's problem with you, do you? I'm really interested to know your take on the whole situation."

"No, that's fine, I'm interested in that sort of fetish myself and in fact I'm writing a paper for a journal on just these types of people. They're more common than you'd imagine. Of course, taken to the extreme they often end up as cross-dressers, transgender and suchlike. Sometimes they never really seem to get to grips with their own sexuality and often this is due to some dysfunctional relationship with their mother, for boys, or father for girls."

"Yes, that could well be the case for this guy too. His parents were very strict; his father was also under his mother's thumb."

"Well, for a guy seeing his father dominated like that could provoke feelings of impotence and shame that he was a man. Perhaps he had a deep seated urge to actually destroy his sexuality, hence his maltreatment of his testicles."

"Hmm, yes, that's quite a possibility. He certainly maltreated his cock and balls. He used to use cord and tie them up very tightly, put pressure on them, push them up so they were in their little pockets over his pubic bone then beat them while his cock was tied between his legs. I guess he almost looked like a woman then or certainly a person with no sex at all. Perhaps he was totally ashamed to be seen as a sexual being."

"Yes, that's quite common especially these days as more and more children are being brought up in fatherless homes. Did he do any permanent damage to himself?"

"No, he was fine. Had several children and two wives, sequentially, not simultaneously." I glanced over at Alison. She was grinning.

"Yeah, I guessed that," she replied. "So what precipitated all this? Often these latent tendencies simply remain hidden but something must have triggered these to emerge, something that happened in early puberty probably."

"Well, he did tell me that when he was a teen he found a girly magazine on the road and would spend time in bed at nights looking at the pictures. He also told me that about that time he was told about masturbation by a school mate. Apparently his sex education by his parents was almost nothing; a book about sex and an admonition not to have any. So I guess all that put together could have actually had the opposite effect of focusing his attention on sex."

"Yes, definitely, everyone has an innate curiosity and if that's not satisfied or if some things happen that change the focus into unhealthy areas, then that's where the main focus may stay. So he must have learnt something about sex and had some contact with girls or he wouldn't have married and had kids. What happened there do you know?"

"He told me he was extremely shy at any function where there were girls. He had no idea how to talk with them. He was sent to an all-boys school from when he turned 12 and had no sisters. He told me he had no idea that men and women looked different until he was about 15 when he visited some friends who had a 2 year old daughter who they stripped off after a swim and washed down outside to remove the sand. He thought she was deformed because she didn't have a penis, and then the penny dropped. Until then he had wondered how a baby could fit through a penis when a woman gave birth." I chuckled as I remembered this.

"That's amazing. But surely if he'd read a girly mag they'd have had fairly explicit pictures, and what about the sex book he was given?"

"No, back then girly books didn't show much, just a few busty women in fairly non-explicit bikinis. And the sex book was not illustrated at all. That all changed with the Internet, of course."

"Yes, the puritanical attitude from back then has a lot to answer for," replied Alison grimly. "If it wasn't for that there probably would be far less work for me."

"I guess. Eventually he did start going with girls. He joined a club and met a girl he liked when he was about 19 and she liked him too apparently. He ruefully told me how she engineered them both to be at her flat, alone, together and they sat and talked. He had no idea what to do sexually. She dropped him shortly afterwards."

"Poor guy. Poor girl as well I guess. Nowadays a girl who so obviously wanted some sexual attention would have taken the initiative, but I guess back then it wasn't so common for that to happen."

"Yes, that's right, after the so-called sexual revolution when the pill was available, though not totally fool-proof. He told me his first wife was on it when she conceived their first child, so they weren't totally reliable it seems."

"Yes, they certainly had a few teething problems at the start. So did he masturbate or anything like that?"

"Yes, he told me he masturbated frequently, like several times a day. He said that early on his cock was worn raw with friction but he simply couldn't stop. Eventually his skin toughened up and was fine, but he still needed it several times daily. He'd also masturbated at work in the toilets quite frequently."

"Sounds like he was way out of control and that his need for sexual relief was completely dominating him. Did that continue? Did he masturbate later in life?"

"Yes, he masturbated throughout his life up to when I spoke with him. He told me he enjoyed it and he felt horny, which he needed to relieve, but his wife wasn't nearly as highly sexed as himself. He spent a lot of time watching porn on the internet and had even modified an orbital sanding machine to use as a vibrator for masturbation."

"Wow, he really is in a bad way," was Alison's only comment.

The car hummed along through the storm, the rain lashing at the windscreen, both occupants lost in thought. Alison broke the silence after a while.

"So how did his first marriage end?"

"It was, predictably, sexually related. He wanted it in healthy doses, she thought he was a sexual pervert to want to have intercourse more than about once a year, he said. She walked out on him eventually; I suppose he would have gone and found a mistress nowadays, but that was neither easy nor common in those days, at least, we're led to believe it wasn't that common."

"Did they have marriage counselling?"

"Yes, but that was a sham. Apparently she told the counsellor her story and, when he went back in the room, all the counsellor told him was that it was his own fault and he should be ashamed of himself. God only knows what she told the counsellor."

"Yes, well, that wouldn't happen today, hopefully. In any situation like that there are two sides to every story and both husband and wife should have equal rights, but back then there was the puritanical attitude that it was always the guy's fault. Hopefully that is no longer the case now. Anyway, how's he doing now?"

"He's doing reasonably well now. Anyway, are you married or what?"

"No, I've spent my life studying and then working. I've had a few boyfriends and partners for a while but nothing that could be called long-term or overly serious. I guess in my field it can be a bit off-putting for guys. They probably think I'm being over-critical of them."

"Yeah, I guess they could think that."

We lapsed into a companionable silence as the rain continued to pour down, drumming noisily on the roof. There was surprisingly little traffic, making for a reasonably fast trip, slowed only by the added danger of the wet road and poor visibility. As time went on the rain began to ease and then stopped all together, resuming again briefly a short time later.

Conversation was sporadic and moved away from the friend and his sexual needs until the car approached Alison's home town. She directed me where to go and I pulled up outside her home.

"Thank you so much for the ride. I'll have to sort out the car tomorrow."

"That's quite OK, I enjoyed our conversation. Your comments gave me a few things to think about."

"Anyway," she asked as she held the door open still, "About that guy, how's he doing now? How did he turn out as a person?"

"He's fine now as far as I can tell," I replied with a grin, "He's well respected, successful and was happy in his second marriage. He even picks up stranded ladies in storms. 'Bye."

"Hey, not so fast," cried Alison as she continued to hold the door open, "That guy was you, right?"

"Yes, it was and is," I replied shame-facedly, "Sorry I tried to pin it on someone else."

Alison sat back in the car and turned to face me.

"Listen, it's time you faced your demons. Where are you heading tonight?"

"I'm heading home - it's still about an hour away. No hurry though, nobody's waiting for me and I've got a few more days leave."

"Why don't you stay here for the night? I have a spare room which you could use."

I knew I was tired and the past few hours of driving through bad weather had taken it out of me. Besides, I was interested to hear more from this counsellor about what I had admitted was my fetish.

"Thank you, Alison, I'd be very happy to stay the night if you're sure that's Ok with you."

"Of course it is. It's the least I can offer after the help you've given me. Drive your car into the driveway and I'll open up the garage. My car certainly won't need it tonight."

I drove into the driveway and the door opened as I approached, allowing me to park inside the clean and orderly garage. I took my overnight bag off the back seat and thankfully followed Alison into her home through the connecting door.

"Like a drink?" she asked me.

"Yes please, what're you offering?"

"Oh, beer or wine, or a spirit if you like. I'm having a chardonnay."

"That'll be great thank you."

She took two ready-made meals from the freezer and popped them into the microwave, setting it going, then poured two glasses of wine. I took the cold glass and together we walked into the lounge where she sat on an easy chair and I sat at one end of the sofa.

"So now you're here for the evening, tell me more about you as a youth. When did you first have sex with a woman? Did you do other things to your sex organs besides constriction?"

"Sex with a woman; first time was about a week after my first marriage. On our honeymoon we spent most of the time in single beds and she basically kept me at arm's length. I was devastated. All the time we'd been going out then engaged she'd told me that we had to wait till we were married, then once we were she turned out to be as cold as a frozen frog. She complained that she was too tired, had a headache, I was too big for her and all sorts of other excuses. Once we settled down in our relationship we had sex maybe once a week, but that became less frequent after a few months. Needless to say I would masturbate frequently at work, in the shower and in the toilet at home.

"Yes, I did other things with my sex organs, mainly before I was married. I'd put foreign objects like nails into my urethra as well as pushing water into my bladder and giving myself an enema. It was only many years later that I found that squirting water up my ass actually had a name. I remember at one time I cut a hole in a soft fleshed tree and fucked it. It hurt like hell for several hours afterwards due to the stinging sap from the tree. I never did that again but stayed with things like pieces of bicycle tube lubed with Vaseline," I grinned ruefully.

Alison grinned as well, before telling me I was lucky not to have had any bladder infections from what I was doing. I had to agree with her, knowing what I had learnt since then.

The timer of the microwave sounded and she went to the kitchen, returning in a few minutes with two plates with roast dinners and some cutlery.

"You happy to eat here or do you want the table?" she asked.

"Here's fine," I replied as she left again, returning with the wine bottle and sitting at the far end of the sofa from me.

"Thank you so much for your wonderful hospitality," I said as she settled again.

"Oh, it's nothing. As I said, without you coming along I'd probably still be waiting at the side of the road. Besides, as a sex therapist, I find your story about yourself absolutely fascinating."

We ate without speaking for a while, both obviously hungry, and when dinner was finished she collected the plates and took them to the kitchen, returning to fill our glasses again and sit back on the sofa, this time alongside me, curling her legs beneath her as she turned to face me.

"So how do you feel your early sexual experimentation and lack of sex in your first marriage has affected your life as an adult?" she asked.

I thought for a while, wondering why I had never asked myself that question. Who would I be now if I'd had a healthy sexual upbringing? What would I have done differently? How would I have regarded people, especially women, differently? At last I tried to provide some sort of answer.

"I always regarded girls and women as special creatures, delicate, almost as objects to hold at arm's length, never to be damaged. I also learnt that my needs were subservient to anyone else's needs, so if I really needed sex I could not really ask my wife to provide me with any release. I know she'd have just told me I was bad and perverted, and I knew that anyway because I told myself that all the time. It was only during my second marriage that my attitude to women and sex became healthier and I have my second wife to thank for that."

"So what happened to her? You talk about her in the past so I'm guessing you're no longer together."

"That's right. She died several years ago, killed in a car crash."

I felt the emotion hit me again, as it always did when I thought of my beloved Emily. Alison waited sympathetically until I was ready to continue.

"So what do you do for sexual release now?" she asked, placing her hand on my knee.

I looked at her and saw sympathy in her eyes. "I masturbate when I need relief. I haven't tried to date anyone since Emily; somehow it seems that would besmirch her memory. Silly of me I suppose, but there it is. So I'm just a lonely old man wanking myself when I need some relief."

"Oh you poor darling. You're not that old, fifties I'm guessing, and you're certainly an attractive catch for some lonely woman out there. I'm also guessing that after your long drive today you're tired, as am I, and I was wondering if you'd reconsider my offer of a bed in the spare room. Instead I would be delighted to offer you a sleeping space next to me in my large bed. I'm certain that I'd be able to offer you more than you'd get from masturbation tonight."

I looked at her in surprise, amazed that someone I hardly knew would make such an offer; that another woman would see my need and offer herself to fill that need. Then the guilt cut in; I was married to Emily, she was the love of my life.

"Thank you, Alison, that's a wonderful offer but I'm sorry, I'll have to turn it down. Emily is still my wife and I don't feel that I could sleep with another woman, even you, while I still feel married to Emily."

I turned my head in time to see tears forming in Alison's eyes. I could tell they were tears of regret for me rather than for herself.

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